Sorry not sorry but I'm in love with young Silco
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Children of Zaun Sneak Peek - Chapter 25
Vander gets protective. Just like a loyal dog would.
In the days following, it really seemed like the whole thing would blow over. That this mild wrinkle within the Childrenâs ranks had already been ironed out. Until a small group of three older teen boys approached Vander in the early hours of The Last Drop being open.
Their timing was purposeful; only a small handful of beleaguered and elderly Zaunites were peppered around the tavern. Men and women who didnât want to be talked with or entertained. They only wanted the momentary peace a rocks glass or tankard could offer before they had to get home, go to bed, and live another day. It was a time during working hours Vander was more available. It was a time there were fewer witnesses.
âWe need to talk,â one had said. His upper lip quivered as he took in the man-mountain before him.
Vanderâs eyes narrowed, and he peered over the group. His customers appeared at ease, so he jerked his head, instructing the young men to follow him. His instincts fizzed as they trailed behind. The hair on the back of his neck pricked up, his muscles coiled and braced.
Vander slid into one side of a shadowed booth. The others toddled in awkwardly with all the grace of new whumplings fighting for space in the nest, shoulders bumping and legs twisting together.
âWhatâdya need?â he asked once they were settled across from him.
His eyes cut from one face to the next. He recognized them as part of the gaggle that had orbited around Kells, but knew none by name.
âYou heard about what happened in the mines a couple days ago,â the one on the right said. He was wiry with curly brown hair and pale skin. Dark green eyes blinked up at Vander under thick lashes.
Had his instincts not been priming his mind and body for some kind of fight, Vander wouldâve thought him pretty.
âAye. I have.â
âWell, whatâre you gonna do about it?â The middle one asked.
Vanderâs nostrils lifted. This one had limp dark blond hair, a pug nose, and too-round cheeks that were splotched angry-red.
âI wasnâ aware there was something to be done about it.â
âSilco killed Kells!â the one on the left hissed, his dark brown skin radiating vengeful heat. Black-brown eyes blistered beneath his thick, ebony hair.
Vanderâs eyes flashed quick-silver. âHe didnâ.â
âHe was going to if the medic heâs been eyeballinâ hadnâtâve jumped in!â the middle one said, pig-nose flaring. âThey probably planned it together.â
Vander shot up from his seat, knuckles hitting the table with a crack! as he braced his arms and loomed menacingly. The three young men collectively jumped, and hunkered back into the booth. The vinyl at their backs crackled as if in warning. Gone were their indignant expressions, replaced by utter shock and fear as they beheld the behemoth lording over them. Vanderâs body and wrath blocked out the little light that reached into the boothâs alcove.
âListen up,â he hissed, his voice all growl and warning grit. He bared his teeth at them and loomed closer. They shrank further. âKells died âcause he made a stupid, evil decisionâ â it wasnât his place to speak about Katyaâs assault, so he kept it firmly tucked down his throat â ânâ he got what he deserved, frankly speakinâ.â He leaned closer, broad shoulders hunching up threateningly like a crest, âThis conversation is over. âN if I catch a whiff of any of ya tryinâ to rustle up more problems, youâll be the first bodies I test my gauntlets on. Savvy?â
After a beat, all three reluctantly nodded and crawled out of the booth, scampering for the door.
Vander stalked back behind the bar rubbing his temples, mind spinning like a top.
It was one thing to fight with Topside. It was another for it to happen amongst the Children. This burgeoning rebellion wouldnât withstand in-fighting. Zaun would bleed out, wouldnât make it past its infancy, and be buried by Piltover again. The Children of Zaun needed to stick together, Brothers and Sisters arm-in-arm; an impenetrable wall of scrap metal, zeal, and will.
Then the threat heâd delivered to those three yellow-bellied malcontents . . .
ââN if I catch a whiff of any of ya . . . .â
A wince creased Vanderâs face. He didnât suppose threatening Brothers and Sisters did anything for morale or loyalty. There was the chance that he had just made things worse. He shouldnât have done that. He needed to keep his temper in check.
That was difficult when his Brother was concerned. Vander was protective of Silco, loyal to him â perhaps even more so than he was to Zaun. Although, Vander felt they were often one in the same. Yes, they had dreamed up the idea together, small and squatted behind minecarts, but Silco latched onto the idea like it was air. Cleaner and purer than anything in Piltover. He had always led the charge from there on out. And Vander would be at his side.
âYer as loyal as a dog to âim, Van,â Benzo had said one night, long before the Children of Zaun.
He had said it with a certain amount of distaste that had Vanderâs brow curling questioningly.
âHeâs my best mate. âCourse I am.â
Vanderâs heart and shoulders softened at the memory. But immediately tensed again when he recalled what the blond teen had said.
âHe was going to if the medic heâs eyeballinâ hadnâtâve jumped in!â
Vanderâs hand dropped heavy onto the bar top, gathering empty glasses and crumpled napkins. The comment had been innocuous, and utterly meaningless. The shithead had only meant to implicate Katya. But that little throw-away barb had slid under Vanderâs ribs as if expertly laced.
âOi! Vander!â
A customer in need of a refill pulled the barkeep from his spinning thoughts. Landed him right back into the moment like someone dropping a melon off Old Hungry. Grateful for the distraction, Vander went back to work.
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15 break up sex?
Like You Still Love Me - Silco Smut
Rating: Explicit
Content Warnings: office/desk sex, gender neutral anatomy with the exception of "cunt", no pronouns for reader, silco pov, p in v/a sex, porn with a little bit of plot, cheating
no beta !
Silco is not one prone to âbad decisionsâ, but it should be obvious that a relationship with his employee was a terrible idea.
The breakup was messy and problematic, sending an array of tense situations his way. Between awkward meetings to discuss finance and import status and the occasional glare, the most apt description was uncomfortable.
However, the current situation is far from uncomfortableâphysically that is. Buried deep inside your cunt? Pulling you back into his every thrust? Definitely not as uncomfortable as it could be.
Despite your compromising position, you still find it in you to glare at Silco over your shoulder as he fucks you from behind, poorly masking your impending climax.
âCouldnât get off without me?â he taunts, watching the rage on your face slowly crank up. âYou always did wonders for my ego.â
You grit your teeth. âDonât let it get to your head, you arenât the only dick Iâve had this week.â
âCome again?â
Without his knowledge, Silcoâs fingers tighten their grip on your waist, hips snapping harder into you. If the âoâ of your mouth is anything to go off of, he would say you almost did come again.
âI. Fucked. Someone. Else.â
âWho?â
As if it wasnât already, Silcoâs blood pressure is spiking at your spiteful silence, watching you grin to yourself.
âWho did you fuck?â Silco grits out, taking hold of your hair and pulling hard. When did âsplitting upâ mean fucking someone else within days.
You look over your shoulder, making a show of how exposed your throat is with the way Silco pulls your hair back.
âThe lovely sheriff of Piltover.â
Red, all Silco sees is red. Red and the brutal, carnal need to dominateâto take back whatâs his. Silco abandons his hold on your hair to grab both wrists and pin them behind your back, forcing your front against the hard surface of the desk with a dull thunk. Your low moan is not the sound Silco wants to hear but it spurs him on nonetheless as he drills into your backside with relentless fervor.
âMmmnnn he has a big dick too,â you groan, boots scrambling on the floor as you try to find purchase, âI think youâ ah!â have competition, Sil.â
Youâre getting close to your release, clenching tight around him in frequent throbs, stuttered cries of his name tumbling from your lips alongside your cruel story telling.
âAnd he came inside.â
Silcoâs hand comes down hard on your ass and you cry out again.
âYou think you can get rid of my claim on you that easily?â he hisses, slowing his pace to settle on something harder and more brutal that has your climax fading away. Your hedonistic whine confirms this. âIâm not a man you can just forget.â
âI know!â You yelp, squirming against his hold on you, walls still clamping down on Silcoâs cock as you adapt to his changes and get close again.
âIf you know then why did you do it?â Silcoâs voice is ragged, your tightness becoming too much to handle as you tumble off the peak of your orgasm, going rigid in the throes of your pleasure. Silco is not far behind, finding it hard to even thrust into you with how fiercely your body takes him, not wanting to let go as he throbs out his release inside of you.
Bated breaths fill the thick office air, the smell of sweat and sex an odor Silco will have to remedy with a few smokes.
âWhy did you do it?â he asks again, throat dry and hoarse with the visceral groans he had bitten back whilst filling you up.
When he releases your hands they fall limpishly to your sides and you make no attempt to get up or even look at Silco. The shame is evident in your shaky voice.
âSo you would fuck me like you still loved me.â
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@nestaarcheronweek Day 3 - Self Care
Self care is calling your sister's bluff and moving away from the Night Court instead of to the House of Wind.
Listen, I fully believe if Nesta and Tamlin got to compare notes on how the NC treats them they could have bonded. And it would be hilarious.
Bonus twitchy Tamlin reaction picture free to use.
Second one too. I'm generous like that.
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âbut AI art lets me create my OCs!â YOU WILL USE PICREW AS GOD INTENDED
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*minces onion and garlic for you with romantic intentions*
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ATTENTION EVERYONE!!!!!
The person who reblogged this from me needs a hug. Reblog to hug the previous person. đ
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Children of Zaun - Chapter 24
Pairing: Silco/Fem!OC
Rating: Explicit
Story Warnings: Canon typical violence, drug use/dealing, dark themes, smut
Chapter Summary: Rynweaver pays Heimerdinger a visit. Grayson and Bone have a talk.
Previous Chapter
Word Count: 3.2K
Heimerdinger knew it was coming. He could only stave off this meeting with Rynweaver for so long.
It had been three weeks since the Children of Zaun had made themselves known. Three weeks since security measures had gone into effect. Three weeks since the investigation started. Three weeks â and there were no new developments or leads. And Enforcers were no nearer to tracking down the stolen money.
Rynweaver and the other families who had been stolen from were growing restless and agitated. Heimerdinger couldnât say that he didnât entirely understand. While money held little interest for him, he understood the frustration of having oneâs belongings snatched away. Sometimes scientific research fell that way, too. Sometimes what you thought was safe, thought was yours, was suddenly slipped out from beneath you.
Money was one thing. Ideas were another.
Heimerdinger shook his head, ears flopping from side to side, and returned his attention to the paperwork on his desk. The new budget reorganization lay before him, and it turned his stomach more than he wished it would. A sidelong glance went to his fireplace, where not long ago the chair Katya Slostov had thrown into the hearth had lain, broken and splintered.
He didnât know if she had told Viktor about the tuition increase, if he knew that his place at the Academy hung in the balance. He didnât think so. Viktor had been carrying on like usual: pensive, studious, and dedicated. He gave no sign that he was aware that anything was afoot. Heimerdinger did not approve of keeping the boy in the dark, but Viktor was not his ward. As much as he disagreed with Katyaâs decisions, he had no right to trample on them.
Instead, he focused on supporting the boy where it was in his power: in the classroom.
He praised Viktor openly for the initial sketches he had done for the boat he was planning on building in next termâs robotics curriculum. The ingenuity of its shape and proposed motor mechanism caused the yordleâs chest to puff with pride.
Viktor was leaps and bounds ahead of his classmates; even some of the older students. It would be a tragedy for him to cross the Bridge and never come back. To have his burgeoning genius swallowed up and snuffed out by the maw of the Undercity.
The soft, warm buzz of the intercom on his desk pulled Heimerdinger from his thoughts. He stared at the blinking red light by his right hand, letting the signal drone for a beat longer than he normally would.
Finally, he answered. âYes, Miss Banforth?â
âProfessor Heimerdinger, Sir Thade Rynweaver is here to see you.â
Heimerdinger utilized the last moments of privacy for his face to crumple and warp into an expression of long-suffering annoyance.
âYes, yes. Of course. Send him in, please.â
Heimerdinger gathered the budgeting materials on his desk and stowed them away in a drawer. The door to his office quietly clicked open, Ivy graciously at the knob, directing Rynweaver inside.
Thade was dressed in his usual preferred black ensemble: tailored trousers and waistcoat, and shoes with a lacquered shine. Today, he also wore a knee-length wool coat, silver thread and buttons glistening in the cold-seasonâs watery light that streamed in from the window behind the desk.
âMay I fetch you anything?â Ivy asked.
âNothing. Thank you,â Rynweaver answered.
Ivy pulled her lips between her teeth and looked to Heimerdinger. He looked kindly at her, mustache lifting at its tips. A gentle shake of his head excused her, and she bowed out, the door softly snicking shut.
âBlessed Snowdown, Mr. Rynweaver.â
âAnd to you, Professor.â
Thade draped his coat over one of the chairs in front of the desk, and took the other for himself.
âDid Miss Banforth not offer to take your coat?â
Heimerdinger eyed the expensive article, its black so pitch that it sucked up light like a sponge.
âShe did. But I trust you understand my hesitancy in handing my things over.â
Heimerdingerâs ears folded minutely.
âI understand how frustrating this is for you and the other families involved, Mr. Rynweaver.â
Thade reached into the inner pocket of his waistcoat and withdrew a slim, silver cigar case. He pulled a matching lighter from his trouser pocket. He did not ask if he could smoke, pulling out a thick cigar and lighting it as if it were his own home.
Heimerdingerâs pink nose wrinkled, his eyes pricking at the intense smell of the smoke.
As Thade went to tuck the case away, he stopped and gestured it to his host, a thick eyebrow lifting.
âI donât smoke. But thank you.â
âIt is frustrating,â Thade sighed, settling into his seat. âAnd I know that LeDaird is doing everything within his power to right this wrong. To not only recover my funds, but to also put a stop to these terrorists. Stop them before they can do anything truly heinous.â
Heimerdinger nodded, but his mind whirred, wondering when Rynweaver was going to get to his reason for this appointment.
âHow may I help you today, Mr. Rynweaver?â
A thick plume of sweet, eye-stinging smoke rose above their heads, refracting the sunlight streaming in through the window. The smoke slowly spun through the air, its tendrils leisurely unfurling and dissipating before the answer came.
It annoyed Heimerdinger, this power play.
âMy grandfather told me stories about you, Cecil. From his father, who in turn heard them from his own. Stories about Piltoverâs brilliant and dedicated founder. A Yordle â a being tied to spirit and magic, and yet you favor scientific progress and humanityâs growth. Foregoing your, arguably, natural inclinations to bear this great city-state.â
Rynweaver gestured his hand to the space above Heimerdingerâs head, signaling to the sprawling cityscape below the window.
As the man spoke, Heimerdingerâs plush coat hackled and puffed under his clothes. He kept his face open and neutral, but inside he was bristling. Mostly because of Rynweaverâs arrogance and, thus far, vague motives. It also irked him to be called his first name by someone who was not invited to do so. The generalized, vague, and misinformed commentary on his raceâs cultural background made his blood hot.
âI am flattered your grandfather spoke so highly of me,â he decided to say. âHe was a good man.â
Thade nodded in agreement. âHe loved this city. As did my father. As do I, Cecil. As do you.â
He took a lengthy drag from his cigar. Heimerdingerâs ears twitched, sensing that this meetingâs point was about to be revealed.
âI understand that LeDaird is doing everything within his power right now. And yet, no results have been yielded. Not an inkling of information, much less the recovery of my and the other familyâs money.â He rolled his cigar between his fingers, blue eyes following it carefully. Then, his voice darkened, âHonestly, I am not anticipating seeing my coin again. Those sump-snipes have probably spent it or sent it away to some secure location. They are most likely preparing a more serious strike.â
The heat in Heimerdingerâs blood chilled, leached out by how Rynweaverâs eyes seemed to go black.
âThe Enforcers need more teeth. The Undercity needs to be made afraid. They know how to tolerate a squeeze, a slap on the wrist. These Children are unprecedented, and Piltover must be protected.â
âThey are Piltovan citizens, Mr. Rynweaver.â
âAnd yet some percentage of those citizens committed a terrorist attack. The rest protect them with their silence.â Rynweaver looked at Heimerdinger, cold fire blistering in his gaze. âThey do not love Piltover as you or I do. Surely you can see that. We need to protect our city of progress.â
Heimerdingerâs ears tucked back, his thick brow dropped. Lowly, he asked, âWhat would you have me do, Mr. Rynweaver?â
Thade crossed his long legs. âI am asking you to consider throwing your weight around more. You are Piltoverâs founder and greatest champion. While the idea of Council is to ensure a system of checks and balances, and an equitable division of power, everyone knows that push come to shove, your word is law.
âGive LeDaird more leash and tighten up on Boneâs. Allow captains of industry â such as myself â who employ a large populace of the Undercity to use our influence to help flush out these traitors.â
âIt is not that simple â â
âIt could be though,â Rynweaver bit back. âThis is your city, Cecil. And these Children are threatening it. Do not let them.â
With that, Thade lifted from his seat, cigar in hand. He paused and looked around the office before stepping over to the fireplace and crushing the ember end into the hearthâs wall. He tossed the remains into its ashy mouth and went for his coat.
Sliding his arms in their sleeves, he addressed Heimerdinger once more, âThank you for your time, Professor.â
Heimerdingerâs pink nose twitched at the sudden use of one of his titles.
Thade strode for the office doors, and over his shoulder wished again, âBlessed Snowdown.â
The cold season was always hellish on Boneâs illness. The chill in the air froze the blight in his lungs and trachea into sharp, painful, icy stabs every time he ventured outside. Which made it difficult for him to put his ear to the ground and try and learn about these Children of Zaun.
He did his best, though.
In the days following the Councilâs bulletin and subsequent decisions about movement and trade in the Undercity, he hobbled up and down the streets of the Promenade and upper Entresol attempting to glean information from anyone he could.
What hurt more than the pain in his lungs, were the looks of distrust he received from some of the Undercity citizens he approached. The ache sat low in his stomach and tugged down on his heart. He never thought something would stand between him and his people.
He lived for them, would die for them.
It was in those moments â when he was looked up and down, suspicion curling their lips, and doubt in their eyes â that Bone feared he had failed. That he had spent too much time across the river in Piltoverâs mighty towers. That all the work he had attempted to do, and what little he had achieved, had gotten stuck in the blankets of kelp that stitched either bank of the Pilt together.
Had he lost that much touch with his constituents?
One afternoon, though, when the sun sat bright and heavy in the sky, he caught a small break.
He had shuffled into a small cafĂ© that sat on the lip of the Promenade, near a conveyor car station. Heâd spent a few hours canvassing the Skylight Commercia to no avail. Disheartened, and chest burning from the cold, he decided to stop and get something warm to drink before limping home.
The few patrons in the establishment looked up as he stepped in. Only a few nodded, the others kept to their drinks and thin sandwiches. Bone coughed into his scarf and approached the cash register. He ordered a mint tea and paid with two gold hexes. When the cashier blanched and sputtered, trying to explain that she did not have the change for such coin, he insisted she keep it regardless.
Bone perched himself on a stool seated in front of the large, greasy windows that looked out onto the conveyor car station. He watched all manner of people and creatures pile into, and traipse out of various cabs. The color and diversity of the Undercity always tugged at something prideful in him. Despite its setbacks, he loved that so many beings from Runeterra settled here, made the Undercity a veritable melting pot.
As the cashier brought him his tea, Bone watched as a conveyor car operator exited his vehicle and trot towards the cafĂ©. He was a big man â wide, with skin the color of rust. The cafĂ©âs door jingled merrily open as he pushed through, and a flurry of greetings were sent his way.
Boneâs stomach and heart dropped further. Was it jealousy?
âTolder!â the cashier greeted. âUsual?â
âYeah. âN can I get,â his gruff voice ground to a hum as he eyed the glass display case full of sweet breads and pre-made sandwiches. âCan I get one oâ the wharf rat tails? Theyâre muh boyâs favorite.â
âSure thing.â She placed a steaming paper cup on the counter, and then whipped a paper bag open, reaching for a pastry drenched in glaze at the front of the case. âYou gonna be at The Last Drop tonight?â
âPlanninâ on it. Hopefully thereâs some idea oâ how to get these fuckinâ enforcers off our backs. Pigs.â
Boneâs ears perked at the man and womanâs exchange. He knew The Last Drop â what Trencher didnât? â but it had been years since heâd last gone, back when it was under original ownership. He had heard through the grapevine that the previous owner had died in recent years and had passed the establishment to a longtime employee.
Something about what the pair said caused his heart to flutter in interest, his gut poking him with intuition. Bars, taverns, restaurants had long been places for Undercity citizens to meet and gripe about Piltover. But there was something more concrete in their tones, more bite. The word âideaâ felt weighty. Promising.
âThanks fer the coffee and Rat Tail,â the man said, slapping a fistful of coins on the counter and heading for the door.
Bone watched the man stride back towards his conveyor car, and his mind whirred. He sipped at his tea, thinking. Glancing over his shoulder, he watched the woman behind the counter take a wet rag and wipe down the sides of the display case. He wondered if LeDaird or Grayson had, or were planning on investigating The Last Drop.
Draining his cup, Bone stood and limped to the counter, placing the small ceramic mug near the register.
âThank you.â
The woman looked up from her dusting, and nodded, her lips a thin line.
As he opened the door, a gust of cold, salty wind blew past him. Hurriedly, he pulled his scarf up around his mouth and hacked into it, leaning heavily on his cane. Behind the wet fabric, he grimaced. His lungs burned and throbbed, and he felt light-headed. Indeed, it was time to head home for the day.
As Bone approached the building his loft was in, he was surprised to see Captain Grayson standing in front of the buildingâs iron and glass door. She was dressed in her uniform and captainâs hat, but her breathing mask was slung around her neck. She remained still, hands behind her back, seemingly unperturbed by the way people walking by would give her a wide, wide berth.
Bone winced. He wished she wouldnât meet him at his home. It was difficult enough to get his people to trust him; having the Captain of the Enforcers on his doorstep could only cause his constituents to pull away further.
But it had been challenging for he and she to touch base. The minute the Children of Zaunâs letter fell into LeDairdâs hands, Graysonâs time and priorities were automatically spoken for.
âCouncilor Bone,â she greeted as he limped up.
âCaptain Grayson,â he wheezed from behind his scarf. He glanced around and said, âCome upstairs. I donât want us to talk here.â
He led her inside, and up the winding metal stairs to his front door. Grayson thought it odd that an old, sick man would be made to have to deal with stairs.
âIs there not a lift?â
Bone coughed and shook his head, wispy hair fluttering side to side.
They arrived at a large, ornately carved door and the Councilor used a key to let them both inside.
Grayson said a quiet thank you as she stepped through the threshold, her eyes habitually roaming over the new environment, taking notes. Small, with high ceilings. Large windows looked out over the river at Piltover, its skyline looming. The space was sparsely furnished and had no noticeable smell.
Behind her, Bone had begun coughing again as he removed his coat and scarf. He batted her away as she stepped over to help. He thumped his cane against the wood floor as the last gasps of the fit lurched from his throat.
âFollow me,â he wheezed, shuffling in the direction of a small, but neat kitchen.
With shaky hands, he filled a glass with water and took a careful sip. His throat burned and head throbbed.
âWhat can I do for you, Captain?â he finally said, turning. One hand held his cane, the other braced against the countertop.
Grayson watched him carefully. He looked worse than usual, and she was concerned sheâd have to leap forward and hold him up.
She set her hands behind her back again, and said, âI am here to touch base.â
A small derisive huff shot from between Boneâs teeth. âOf your own volition? Or on orders from the Sheriff.â
âBoth.â
The Councilor nodded and renewed the grip on his cane, standing as tall as his short stature would allow. There was a moment before she spoke where he took her in. Like the first time heâd met her, he sensed her goodness. Her reasonableness. He knew she was the tool he needed to get enforcer brutality in the Lanes under control.
âSheriff LeDaird is wondering if you have heard anything.â
âOnly LeDaird?â
Graysonâs lips thinned. âAdmittedly, I am curious, too. There are terrorists in the Undercity, Councilor Bone. My focus right now has to be rooting out the Children of Zaun. You and I cannot do our work while they are free.â
Boneâs wooly brows dropped, knowing she was right. He couldnât get what he wanted without her. He couldnât have her time and resources while she and her team were investigating terrorists. The idea to tell her what he had overheard today in the cafĂ© crossed his mind. But he kept it to himself. After the last several days of doing his own searching, and experiencing the unexpected withdraw of his community, he was nervous to give Captain Grayson anything. It was bad enough that people had seen her on his step.
What good was securing Graysonâs time if his own people didnât trust him?
There had to be another way.
âI have not heard anything, Captain.â
Grayson looked disappointed as a sigh blew from her nose, arms dropping to her sides. Briefly, Bone felt badly about withholding information from her. But, if he could get to and disperse the Children before the Enforcers closed in, there would be minimal bloodshed, he would hopefully recement his peopleâs trust, and he and Grayson could carry on with his plans.
âI am sorry, Captain.â
She nodded ruefully. âThank you. Let me know if you hear anything.â
She turned and began to head back toward the front door.
âCaptain Grayson,â Bone called. She turned, eyes questioning. âWhen you need to seek me out, please do it at my office.â
The smallest embarrassed flush tinged the tops of her wide cheeks. âYes, Councilor. Apologies.â
He waved the concern aside, and kindly said. âBlessed Snowdown, Captain.â
âBlessed Snowdown, Councilor.â
Notes: A quick lil' chappie. Comparatively speaking đ
. What do we think? Will Heimer cave to Rynweaver's pressure? Is Bone making a good decision leaving Grayson in the dark??
Thank you for reading! I'd love to hear yout thoughts in the comments or reblogs â€ïž
Coming Up Next: The Children celebrate Snowdown at The Last Drop. After weeks of avoiding him, Katya asks for a moment of Silco's time.
Taglist: @pinkrose1422 @dreamyonahill @sand-sea-and-fable @truthandadare @altered-delta
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Children of Zaun - Chapter 24
Pairing: Silco/Fem!OC
Rating: Explicit
Story Warnings: Canon typical violence, drug use/dealing, dark themes, smut
Chapter Summary: Rynweaver pays Heimerdinger a visit. Grayson and Bone have a talk.
Previous Chapter
Word Count: 3.2K
Heimerdinger knew it was coming. He could only stave off this meeting with Rynweaver for so long.
It had been three weeks since the Children of Zaun had made themselves known. Three weeks since security measures had gone into effect. Three weeks since the investigation started. Three weeks â and there were no new developments or leads. And Enforcers were no nearer to tracking down the stolen money.
Rynweaver and the other families who had been stolen from were growing restless and agitated. Heimerdinger couldnât say that he didnât entirely understand. While money held little interest for him, he understood the frustration of having oneâs belongings snatched away. Sometimes scientific research fell that way, too. Sometimes what you thought was safe, thought was yours, was suddenly slipped out from beneath you.
Money was one thing. Ideas were another.
Heimerdinger shook his head, ears flopping from side to side, and returned his attention to the paperwork on his desk. The new budget reorganization lay before him, and it turned his stomach more than he wished it would. A sidelong glance went to his fireplace, where not long ago the chair Katya Slostov had thrown into the hearth had lain, broken and splintered.
He didnât know if she had told Viktor about the tuition increase, if he knew that his place at the Academy hung in the balance. He didnât think so. Viktor had been carrying on like usual: pensive, studious, and dedicated. He gave no sign that he was aware that anything was afoot. Heimerdinger did not approve of keeping the boy in the dark, but Viktor was not his ward. As much as he disagreed with Katyaâs decisions, he had no right to trample on them.
Instead, he focused on supporting the boy where it was in his power: in the classroom.
He praised Viktor openly for the initial sketches he had done for the boat he was planning on building in next termâs robotics curriculum. The ingenuity of its shape and proposed motor mechanism caused the yordleâs chest to puff with pride.
Viktor was leaps and bounds ahead of his classmates; even some of the older students. It would be a tragedy for him to cross the Bridge and never come back. To have his burgeoning genius swallowed up and snuffed out by the maw of the Undercity.
The soft, warm buzz of the intercom on his desk pulled Heimerdinger from his thoughts. He stared at the blinking red light by his right hand, letting the signal drone for a beat longer than he normally would.
Finally, he answered. âYes, Miss Banforth?â
âProfessor Heimerdinger, Sir Thade Rynweaver is here to see you.â
Heimerdinger utilized the last moments of privacy for his face to crumple and warp into an expression of long-suffering annoyance.
âYes, yes. Of course. Send him in, please.â
Heimerdinger gathered the budgeting materials on his desk and stowed them away in a drawer. The door to his office quietly clicked open, Ivy graciously at the knob, directing Rynweaver inside.
Thade was dressed in his usual preferred black ensemble: tailored trousers and waistcoat, and shoes with a lacquered shine. Today, he also wore a knee-length wool coat, silver thread and buttons glistening in the cold-seasonâs watery light that streamed in from the window behind the desk.
âMay I fetch you anything?â Ivy asked.
âNothing. Thank you,â Rynweaver answered.
Ivy pulled her lips between her teeth and looked to Heimerdinger. He looked kindly at her, mustache lifting at its tips. A gentle shake of his head excused her, and she bowed out, the door softly snicking shut.
âBlessed Snowdown, Mr. Rynweaver.â
âAnd to you, Professor.â
Thade draped his coat over one of the chairs in front of the desk, and took the other for himself.
âDid Miss Banforth not offer to take your coat?â
Heimerdinger eyed the expensive article, its black so pitch that it sucked up light like a sponge.
âShe did. But I trust you understand my hesitancy in handing my things over.â
Heimerdingerâs ears folded minutely.
âI understand how frustrating this is for you and the other families involved, Mr. Rynweaver.â
Thade reached into the inner pocket of his waistcoat and withdrew a slim, silver cigar case. He pulled a matching lighter from his trouser pocket. He did not ask if he could smoke, pulling out a thick cigar and lighting it as if it were his own home.
Heimerdingerâs pink nose wrinkled, his eyes pricking at the intense smell of the smoke.
As Thade went to tuck the case away, he stopped and gestured it to his host, a thick eyebrow lifting.
âI donât smoke. But thank you.â
âIt is frustrating,â Thade sighed, settling into his seat. âAnd I know that LeDaird is doing everything within his power to right this wrong. To not only recover my funds, but to also put a stop to these terrorists. Stop them before they can do anything truly heinous.â
Heimerdinger nodded, but his mind whirred, wondering when Rynweaver was going to get to his reason for this appointment.
âHow may I help you today, Mr. Rynweaver?â
A thick plume of sweet, eye-stinging smoke rose above their heads, refracting the sunlight streaming in through the window. The smoke slowly spun through the air, its tendrils leisurely unfurling and dissipating before the answer came.
It annoyed Heimerdinger, this power play.
âMy grandfather told me stories about you, Cecil. From his father, who in turn heard them from his own. Stories about Piltoverâs brilliant and dedicated founder. A Yordle â a being tied to spirit and magic, and yet you favor scientific progress and humanityâs growth. Foregoing your, arguably, natural inclinations to bear this great city-state.â
Rynweaver gestured his hand to the space above Heimerdingerâs head, signaling to the sprawling cityscape below the window.
As the man spoke, Heimerdingerâs plush coat hackled and puffed under his clothes. He kept his face open and neutral, but inside he was bristling. Mostly because of Rynweaverâs arrogance and, thus far, vague motives. It also irked him to be called his first name by someone who was not invited to do so. The generalized, vague, and misinformed commentary on his raceâs cultural background made his blood hot.
âI am flattered your grandfather spoke so highly of me,â he decided to say. âHe was a good man.â
Thade nodded in agreement. âHe loved this city. As did my father. As do I, Cecil. As do you.â
He took a lengthy drag from his cigar. Heimerdingerâs ears twitched, sensing that this meetingâs point was about to be revealed.
âI understand that LeDaird is doing everything within his power right now. And yet, no results have been yielded. Not an inkling of information, much less the recovery of my and the other familyâs money.â He rolled his cigar between his fingers, blue eyes following it carefully. Then, his voice darkened, âHonestly, I am not anticipating seeing my coin again. Those sump-snipes have probably spent it or sent it away to some secure location. They are most likely preparing a more serious strike.â
The heat in Heimerdingerâs blood chilled, leached out by how Rynweaverâs eyes seemed to go black.
âThe Enforcers need more teeth. The Undercity needs to be made afraid. They know how to tolerate a squeeze, a slap on the wrist. These Children are unprecedented, and Piltover must be protected.â
âThey are Piltovan citizens, Mr. Rynweaver.â
âAnd yet some percentage of those citizens committed a terrorist attack. The rest protect them with their silence.â Rynweaver looked at Heimerdinger, cold fire blistering in his gaze. âThey do not love Piltover as you or I do. Surely you can see that. We need to protect our city of progress.â
Heimerdingerâs ears tucked back, his thick brow dropped. Lowly, he asked, âWhat would you have me do, Mr. Rynweaver?â
Thade crossed his long legs. âI am asking you to consider throwing your weight around more. You are Piltoverâs founder and greatest champion. While the idea of Council is to ensure a system of checks and balances, and an equitable division of power, everyone knows that push come to shove, your word is law.
âGive LeDaird more leash and tighten up on Boneâs. Allow captains of industry â such as myself â who employ a large populace of the Undercity to use our influence to help flush out these traitors.â
âIt is not that simple â â
âIt could be though,â Rynweaver bit back. âThis is your city, Cecil. And these Children are threatening it. Do not let them.â
With that, Thade lifted from his seat, cigar in hand. He paused and looked around the office before stepping over to the fireplace and crushing the ember end into the hearthâs wall. He tossed the remains into its ashy mouth and went for his coat.
Sliding his arms in their sleeves, he addressed Heimerdinger once more, âThank you for your time, Professor.â
Heimerdingerâs pink nose twitched at the sudden use of one of his titles.
Thade strode for the office doors, and over his shoulder wished again, âBlessed Snowdown.â
The cold season was always hellish on Boneâs illness. The chill in the air froze the blight in his lungs and trachea into sharp, painful, icy stabs every time he ventured outside. Which made it difficult for him to put his ear to the ground and try and learn about these Children of Zaun.
He did his best, though.
In the days following the Councilâs bulletin and subsequent decisions about movement and trade in the Undercity, he hobbled up and down the streets of the Promenade and upper Entresol attempting to glean information from anyone he could.
What hurt more than the pain in his lungs, were the looks of distrust he received from some of the Undercity citizens he approached. The ache sat low in his stomach and tugged down on his heart. He never thought something would stand between him and his people.
He lived for them, would die for them.
It was in those moments â when he was looked up and down, suspicion curling their lips, and doubt in their eyes â that Bone feared he had failed. That he had spent too much time across the river in Piltoverâs mighty towers. That all the work he had attempted to do, and what little he had achieved, had gotten stuck in the blankets of kelp that stitched either bank of the Pilt together.
Had he lost that much touch with his constituents?
One afternoon, though, when the sun sat bright and heavy in the sky, he caught a small break.
He had shuffled into a small cafĂ© that sat on the lip of the Promenade, near a conveyor car station. Heâd spent a few hours canvassing the Skylight Commercia to no avail. Disheartened, and chest burning from the cold, he decided to stop and get something warm to drink before limping home.
The few patrons in the establishment looked up as he stepped in. Only a few nodded, the others kept to their drinks and thin sandwiches. Bone coughed into his scarf and approached the cash register. He ordered a mint tea and paid with two gold hexes. When the cashier blanched and sputtered, trying to explain that she did not have the change for such coin, he insisted she keep it regardless.
Bone perched himself on a stool seated in front of the large, greasy windows that looked out onto the conveyor car station. He watched all manner of people and creatures pile into, and traipse out of various cabs. The color and diversity of the Undercity always tugged at something prideful in him. Despite its setbacks, he loved that so many beings from Runeterra settled here, made the Undercity a veritable melting pot.
As the cashier brought him his tea, Bone watched as a conveyor car operator exited his vehicle and trot towards the cafĂ©. He was a big man â wide, with skin the color of rust. The cafĂ©âs door jingled merrily open as he pushed through, and a flurry of greetings were sent his way.
Boneâs stomach and heart dropped further. Was it jealousy?
âTolder!â the cashier greeted. âUsual?â
âYeah. âN can I get,â his gruff voice ground to a hum as he eyed the glass display case full of sweet breads and pre-made sandwiches. âCan I get one oâ the wharf rat tails? Theyâre muh boyâs favorite.â
âSure thing.â She placed a steaming paper cup on the counter, and then whipped a paper bag open, reaching for a pastry drenched in glaze at the front of the case. âYou gonna be at The Last Drop tonight?â
âPlanninâ on it. Hopefully thereâs some idea oâ how to get these fuckinâ enforcers off our backs. Pigs.â
Boneâs ears perked at the man and womanâs exchange. He knew The Last Drop â what Trencher didnât? â but it had been years since heâd last gone, back when it was under original ownership. He had heard through the grapevine that the previous owner had died in recent years and had passed the establishment to a longtime employee.
Something about what the pair said caused his heart to flutter in interest, his gut poking him with intuition. Bars, taverns, restaurants had long been places for Undercity citizens to meet and gripe about Piltover. But there was something more concrete in their tones, more bite. The word âideaâ felt weighty. Promising.
âThanks fer the coffee and Rat Tail,â the man said, slapping a fistful of coins on the counter and heading for the door.
Bone watched the man stride back towards his conveyor car, and his mind whirred. He sipped at his tea, thinking. Glancing over his shoulder, he watched the woman behind the counter take a wet rag and wipe down the sides of the display case. He wondered if LeDaird or Grayson had, or were planning on investigating The Last Drop.
Draining his cup, Bone stood and limped to the counter, placing the small ceramic mug near the register.
âThank you.â
The woman looked up from her dusting, and nodded, her lips a thin line.
As he opened the door, a gust of cold, salty wind blew past him. Hurriedly, he pulled his scarf up around his mouth and hacked into it, leaning heavily on his cane. Behind the wet fabric, he grimaced. His lungs burned and throbbed, and he felt light-headed. Indeed, it was time to head home for the day.
As Bone approached the building his loft was in, he was surprised to see Captain Grayson standing in front of the buildingâs iron and glass door. She was dressed in her uniform and captainâs hat, but her breathing mask was slung around her neck. She remained still, hands behind her back, seemingly unperturbed by the way people walking by would give her a wide, wide berth.
Bone winced. He wished she wouldnât meet him at his home. It was difficult enough to get his people to trust him; having the Captain of the Enforcers on his doorstep could only cause his constituents to pull away further.
But it had been challenging for he and she to touch base. The minute the Children of Zaunâs letter fell into LeDairdâs hands, Graysonâs time and priorities were automatically spoken for.
âCouncilor Bone,â she greeted as he limped up.
âCaptain Grayson,â he wheezed from behind his scarf. He glanced around and said, âCome upstairs. I donât want us to talk here.â
He led her inside, and up the winding metal stairs to his front door. Grayson thought it odd that an old, sick man would be made to have to deal with stairs.
âIs there not a lift?â
Bone coughed and shook his head, wispy hair fluttering side to side.
They arrived at a large, ornately carved door and the Councilor used a key to let them both inside.
Grayson said a quiet thank you as she stepped through the threshold, her eyes habitually roaming over the new environment, taking notes. Small, with high ceilings. Large windows looked out over the river at Piltover, its skyline looming. The space was sparsely furnished and had no noticeable smell.
Behind her, Bone had begun coughing again as he removed his coat and scarf. He batted her away as she stepped over to help. He thumped his cane against the wood floor as the last gasps of the fit lurched from his throat.
âFollow me,â he wheezed, shuffling in the direction of a small, but neat kitchen.
With shaky hands, he filled a glass with water and took a careful sip. His throat burned and head throbbed.
âWhat can I do for you, Captain?â he finally said, turning. One hand held his cane, the other braced against the countertop.
Grayson watched him carefully. He looked worse than usual, and she was concerned sheâd have to leap forward and hold him up.
She set her hands behind her back again, and said, âI am here to touch base.â
A small derisive huff shot from between Boneâs teeth. âOf your own volition? Or on orders from the Sheriff.â
âBoth.â
The Councilor nodded and renewed the grip on his cane, standing as tall as his short stature would allow. There was a moment before she spoke where he took her in. Like the first time heâd met her, he sensed her goodness. Her reasonableness. He knew she was the tool he needed to get enforcer brutality in the Lanes under control.
âSheriff LeDaird is wondering if you have heard anything.â
âOnly LeDaird?â
Graysonâs lips thinned. âAdmittedly, I am curious, too. There are terrorists in the Undercity, Councilor Bone. My focus right now has to be rooting out the Children of Zaun. You and I cannot do our work while they are free.â
Boneâs wooly brows dropped, knowing she was right. He couldnât get what he wanted without her. He couldnât have her time and resources while she and her team were investigating terrorists. The idea to tell her what he had overheard today in the cafĂ© crossed his mind. But he kept it to himself. After the last several days of doing his own searching, and experiencing the unexpected withdraw of his community, he was nervous to give Captain Grayson anything. It was bad enough that people had seen her on his step.
What good was securing Graysonâs time if his own people didnât trust him?
There had to be another way.
âI have not heard anything, Captain.â
Grayson looked disappointed as a sigh blew from her nose, arms dropping to her sides. Briefly, Bone felt badly about withholding information from her. But, if he could get to and disperse the Children before the Enforcers closed in, there would be minimal bloodshed, he would hopefully recement his peopleâs trust, and he and Grayson could carry on with his plans.
âI am sorry, Captain.â
She nodded ruefully. âThank you. Let me know if you hear anything.â
She turned and began to head back toward the front door.
âCaptain Grayson,â Bone called. She turned, eyes questioning. âWhen you need to seek me out, please do it at my office.â
The smallest embarrassed flush tinged the tops of her wide cheeks. âYes, Councilor. Apologies.â
He waved the concern aside, and kindly said. âBlessed Snowdown, Captain.â
âBlessed Snowdown, Councilor.â
Notes: A quick lil' chappie. Comparatively speaking đ
. What do we think? Will Heimer cave to Rynweaver's pressure? Is Bone making a good decision leaving Grayson in the dark??
Thank you for reading! I'd love to hear yout thoughts in the comments or reblogs â€ïž
Coming Up Next: The Children celebrate Snowdown at The Last Drop. After weeks of avoiding him, Katya asks for a moment of Silco's time.
Taglist: @pinkrose1422 @dreamyonahill @sand-sea-and-fable @truthandadare @altered-delta
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SEKHMET
First born of Ra. She was the lion goddess of war and vengeance. Also from disease and medicine. She was a symbol of strength and power, and it was said that her breath created the desert.
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Things have been real fucking shitty lately. My coping mechanism? Draw Silco/Katya smooches đ đ
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BEAUTIFUL PERSON AWARD!âŁïž Once you are given this award you're supposed to paste it in the asks of 8 people you adore! Absolutely no pressure but. It's sweet to know someone thinks you're beautiful inside and out <3
Get right outta here, queenie.
(actually don't. stay right here)
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Is anyone else having issues posting new content??
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BEAUTIFUL PERSON AWARD!âŁïž Once you are given this award you're supposed to paste it in the asks of 8 people you adore! Absolutely no pressure but. It's sweet to know someone thinks you're beautiful inside and out <3
NO YOU FRAGS đ
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Rewatching Arcane and I'm so not okay because of this man
Right from the start, even episode 1... He has no business being this charismatic. NO. BUSINESS. His body language and his voice and aahhhhhh
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