Drifting Between Worlds Pt.1

[Request]

HH x TOH AU

This one is with Amity and Angel bonding with each other after they both find out that they have similar experiences with abuse.

(WARNING: Mentions of Self Harm, Suicide, both Physical & Psychological Abuse.)

A/N: @beastkeeper91, I love writing for fandom crossovers, so I love how many I've been getting :}

Trust Fall Trauma pt.2

pt.1

Sinner!Amity Blight x Hazbin Hotel.

Warnings: Mentions of Self Harm, Suicide, Physical/Psychological Abuse, Toxic parent-child relationships, Trauma responses, Mild language.

Word Count: 1377

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It started, as many things at the Hotel did, with chaos.

“WHO put glitter in the toaster?!” Vaggie shrieked from the kitchen, holding up the crime scene with righteous fury.

“That would be me,” Angel Dust said proudly, sipping something fizzy and definitely not Charlie-approved. “I was experimenting.”

“With what? Arson?” Vaggie snapped.

Angel winked. “Domestic sparkle.”

In the corner, Amity bit back a snort. She was draped lazily across the bean bag she’d claimed during the last “team-building” activity (A.K.A the hostage decorating session). A book was open on her lap, mostly ignored.

Charlie breezed in, arms full of new flyers for her “Soulful Sundays” program, handing them out like cursed coupons.

“Angel, Amity- go put these up around town, please!”

“What am I, your poster boy?” Angel asked, examining one with his face doodled onto the logo. “Wait… actually, this is kind of cute. Look at my lashes.”

Amity rolled her eyes but stood. “I swear, if I get stabbed doing this again, I’m charging something next time.”

They were out the door five minutes later, squabbling lightly as they walked through the dim streets of Pentagram City.

“I still don’t get why I have to help,” Amity muttered, clutching her roll of posters.

“Because you have claws and you’re scary and people won’t mess with us?” Angel offered. “And because you secretly like us.”

She snorted. “Keep dreaming, spider.”

They wandered for a while, stapling posters to demon poles and charmingly decrepit walls, dodging the occasional mugging in progress. Eventually, they found themselves on the roof of a low building overlooking the twisted skyline.

Amity sat on the edge, feet dangling. Angel joined her, legs crossed delicately, cigarette in hand. For a while, they just watched the city breathe.

It was surprisingly… peaceful.

“Hey,” Angel said after a beat, glancing at the stripes on her arms. “You always had those?”

Amity tensed, glancing down.

The markings were faint, like natural fur patterns. But they weren’t. Not really... Not to her.

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “I've had them since I got to hell… Had them before too, but uh… They weren't exactly just marks at that time.”

Angel didn't push. He just nodded, taking a drag.

“I got scars, too,” he said after a minute. “...Val made sure of that.”

Amity looked at him sideways. There was something raw in his voice, despite the lightness he tried to fake. The cracks showed through if you knew where to look.

“My mom,” she said slowly, “Didn’t even care that I was hurting myself when she found out. She used to say the pain meant I was being shaped into something ‘worthy.’ That I’d thank her someday…”

Angel scoffed. “Let me guess. You didn’t.”

“I bled out on the floor of my bedroom when I was sixteen,” Amity said flatly. “So, no. I didn’t.”

Silence.

Angel took another drag, then offered the cigarette to her.

To no one's surprise, she declined it.

“Val told me I was nothing without him,” Angel said, voice softer now. “Just a pretty face with a hole to fill. Said I was lucky he kept me.”

“He sounds like Odalia,” Amity muttered, watching the smoke curl up from the cigarette Angel was smoking, into the deep red sky. “Except she preferred emotional evisceration. Less mess.”

“You ever try to fight back?”

“Once,” she said. “Got locked in my closet for a week.”

Angel winced.

They sat there, two ghosts with matching bruises in different shapes, saying nothing for a while.

Eventually, Amity spoke again.

“You ever wonder why the scars aren’t here, but the damage still is?”

“All the time,” Angel said. “I think Hell takes the pain and turns it into something you gotta wear. Like a suit. Or a warning.”

Amity looked down at her arms. The fur shimmered faintly under the lights of Hell.

“Maybe it’s not a punishment,” she said. “Maybe it’s a reminder. That we went through it...”

Angel looked at her then, really looked. The kid who called Charlie "Mom" by accident. The tough girl with the sharp wit and the too-tired eyes.

“You’re alright, Blight,” he said, tapping ashes into the void. “Kinda messed up, but in a way I respect.”

“You too, Angel,” she replied. “Spider freak.”

He grinned. “Trauma twins?”

She held up a fist.

He bumped it.

Eventually, Angel's cigarette burned down, and the chill of the rooftop crept in- not that Hell had real seasons, but the air still found ways to bite… Even with the heat.

Amity stretched, tail flicking lazily behind her. “We should finish the job before Charlie has a meltdown and starts handing out redemption-themed stickers again.”

“God forbid,” Angel groaned. “Last time I found one on my ass.”

They hopped down, finishing their poster rounds with minimal incident- aside from one demon who tried to flirt with Angel and got a mouthful of claws courtesy of Amity’s quick temper.

“Damn, girl,” Angel whistled as they walked away. “Remind me not to piss you off.”

“Good,” she said. “I was gonna put that on a business card.”

By the time they got back to the hotel, the front lobby was quiet, lit only by the warm golden glow of Charlie’s favorite chandelier and the soft flicker of whatever infernal candles Alastor insisted on lighting. The chaotic noise of earlier had faded. For once, things were… calm.

They stood in the doorway for a second. Neither of them moved.

“You ever get that thing,” Angel said, voice oddly gentle, “where you walk back into a place, and it feels like home, but your brain’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop?”

Amity nodded slowly. “All the time.”

They entered together. Quietly. Like if they talked too loud, the spell might break.

Charlie was curled up on a couch in the lounge, half-asleep with a book open across her chest and her hair messed up a bit.

Angel grinned. “Sunshine passed out mid-sentence.”

Amity smiled faintly, something warm flickering behind her ribs. “She does that.”

They didn’t wake her. Just set the last few posters on the coffee table and sank into the nearby beanbags- Angel flopping like he was melting, Amity perching with the caution of a cat ready to bolt.

“You think she really means it?” Amity asked suddenly. “All this redemption stuff?”

“Charlie?” Angel leaned back, arms behind his head. “Yeah. She's nuts, but she means it. I’ve never seen someone try so hard to love everyone. It’s kinda annoying, honestly.”

Amity smirked. “She’s nice to me…”

“She's nice to everyone, but... Yeah, pretty sure she has an extra soft spot for you,” Angel teased. “Especially after the whole 'Mom' thing.”

Amity gave him a half-hearted glare, then sighed. “I didn’t mean to say it.”

“Sure,” he said. “But you felt it.”

She didn’t answer.

Instead, she pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her chin there, eyes tracing the edge of the chandelier above.

“I used to imagine what it would feel like,” she murmured. “To have someone who didn’t hurt me. Someone who stayed. But after a while, it just… felt stupid. Like fairy tales for broken kids.”

Angel was quiet.

Then, softly, “I used to fake voices when I was little. Pretend someone was reading to me at night. Said goodnight. Said I was safe.”

Amity looked at him. “You've never told anyone that, have you?”

“Nope,” he said. “You’re just special.”

She rolled her eyes, but it lacked heat.

A long moment passed. Then she asked:

“What does healing even look like for people like us?”

Angel thought about it.

“Not running,” he said finally. “Not hiding. Laughing more. Flinching less. Waking up and not feeling like the worst version of yourself.”

Amity nodded, quiet. “That sounds… impossible.”

He smiled sadly. “Yeah. But Charlie thinks we can get there. And I guess…” He nudged her foot with his own. “If I’ve gotta stumble toward healing with anyone, I don’t mind if it’s you and the rest of these idiots...”

She didn’t say anything.

But she didn’t pull away either.

Instead, she leaned back into the beanbag and let herself breathe. For the first time in longer than she could remember, Amity didn’t feel like she had to earn the right to just exist…

Ember in the Dark pt.2

Young!Silco x Fem!Reader

pt.1 - pt.3

Warnings: Violence, Themes of survival, Themes of secrecy and trust., Trauma, and Emotional distess.

Word Count: 2281

Summary: (Y/N) reveals her long-hidden magic to Silco, who, instead of reacting with fear, warns her of the danger if others find out. As they return to their hideout, she struggles with whether to tell Vander and Felicia. Silco advises secrecy, reminding her that once shared, it’s no longer just hers. Before she can decide, an unexpected visitor arrives- Vander and Felicia, worried about her disappearance. Their concern turns to frustration, prompting (Y/N) to make a choice. She reveals her magic, summoning a flicker of golden light. Stunned, Felicia reacts with shock and exasperation, while Vander, though concerned, reassures her that she’s still one of them. Despite their initial frustration, they accept her, and the tension eases.

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(Y/N)’s hand was still in Silco’s as he helped her up, steady despite the grime and damp clinging to her skin. For a second, she just stood there, forcing herself to breathe, to push down the tremors in her limbs.

She had to decide.

She could tell him.

The thought sent a sick kind of fear curling in her gut. For years, she had fought to keep it hidden. She had watched her mother waste away under the weight of survival, all while whispering the same warning over and over: Never let them see. Never let them know.

But Silco had seen something. Maybe he didn’t know exactly what, but she could feel his eyes on her, sharp and calculating even as they started walking back toward Vander and Felicia.

If she told him now, if she trusted him, would he keep it?

Or would he look at her like she was something other?

"You're quiet," Silco muttered as they weaved through the labyrinth of rusted pipes and narrow alleys. "Not like you."

(Y/N) huffed, pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders. "Almost got caught by enforcers. Guess I’m not in a talking mood."

Silco gave her a sidelong glance. "You weren’t just running from them."

Her throat went dry.

She kept her expression even, but she could feel him watching her. The way he always did when he was picking someone apart, digging beneath the surface until he found the weak spot.

She should lie.

She should.

Instead, she stopped walking.

Silco took a few steps before realizing she wasn’t following. He turned, brow furrowing as she clenched and unclenched her fists at her sides.

"(Y/N)," he said, slower now, careful.

Her chest ached. Say nothing. Swallow it down. Keep it buried.

But she was tired of swallowing it down.

"I have to tell you something," she blurted before she could stop herself.

Silco’s expression didn’t change, but she saw the way he straightened slightly, the way his hands twitched as if bracing for a fight. "Alright," he said, voice measured.

(Y/N)’s heart slammed against her ribs. This was it.

She glanced around, making sure no one was nearby, then took a slow breath.

Her fingers twitched.

And then, with a hesitant, controlled motion, she let the smallest flicker of golden light spark between them.

The glow barely lasted a second, just a tiny crackle of warmth between her fingertips, like the dying ember of a flame.

But Silco saw.

His whole body went rigid.

The silence between them stretched, thick and suffocating.

(Y/N) clenched her jaw, forcing herself to meet his gaze. If he ran- if he flinched- she would bolt and never look back.

But Silco didn’t flinch.

He just stared, something unreadable flickering behind his sharp, dark eyes.

"You’ve been hiding that this whole time," he said at last, his voice disturbingly calm.

(Y/N) swallowed hard. "Yeah."

A long, tense pause.

Then-

"Smart," he murmured.

She blinked. "What?"

Silco tilted his head, watching her like he was seeing something new, something dangerous. "If people knew, you’d be dead."

She exhaled sharply, some part of her unraveling at the words. "I know."

Silco’s gaze didn’t waver. "Does Vander know?"

She shook her head. "Just you."

His lips twitched slightly, not quite a smirk, but something close. "And you trust me with it?"

"Wouldn't have shown you if I didn’t."

Silco was quiet for a moment, eyes flickering with something she couldn’t quite name. Then, to her surprise, he let out a short breath of laughter.

"Well, shit," he muttered, rubbing a hand down his face. "That explains a lot."

(Y/N) frowned. "You’re… not freaking out?"

He looked at her, something sharp in his expression. "Oh, I am," he admitted. "But not because of what you can do." His voice lowered. "Because if the wrong people see, we won’t just be running from Enforcers next time."

(Y/N)’s stomach twisted.

Silco sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair. "Vander and Felicia are still looking for you. We need to go back before they start tearing up the whole damn city."

She hesitated. "And… you’re not going to tell them?"

Silco met her eyes, something dangerous curling at the edges of his smirk. "Your secret, your choice."

(Y/N) felt her chest tighten.

She had always expected fear. Hatred…

But Silco…

Silco just looked at her like she was a puzzle he had finally solved.

Like she was someone important.

Something powerful.

"Come on," he said, turning back toward the hideout. "Wouldn’t want Vander to cry over you."

(Y/N) snorted despite herself. "Yeah, right."

She followed him.

And for the first time in years, she wasn’t running.

The walk back was quieter than (Y/N) expected.

Silco didn’t push her to talk. He didn’t ask questions, didn’t prod at the weight sitting heavy on her chest. He just kept walking, hands tucked into his pockets, his sharp eyes flicking toward her every so often like he was keeping tally of her breaths, making sure she didn’t disappear again.

She should have felt relieved.

Instead, her stomach twisted tighter with every step.

She had told Silco.

The words still rattled in her skull, the image of that tiny spark of magic dancing between her fingers burned into her mind. For years, she had kept it buried so deep it felt like a second skin, an instinct as natural as breathing. But now-

Now, he knew.

And soon, she’d have to decide if Vander and Felicia would too.

The old hideout came into view- a crumbling, half-abandoned space wedged between rusted pipes and makeshift walls of scrap metal. It wasn’t much, just a shelter against the chaos of the Undercity, but it was theirs. A place where they could breathe, even if the air was thick with smog and secrets.

Silco pushed open the creaky door and stepped inside, the dim glow of a stolen lantern casting shadows across the room. (Y/N) hesitated in the doorway, her fingers tightening around the frayed edge of her cloak.

"You coming in, or you planning to stand there all night?" Silco asked, throwing himself onto one of the old crates they used as seats.

She rolled her eyes but stepped inside, kicking the door shut behind her.

The space was eerily quiet without Vander’s gruff voice or Felicia’s sharp, teasing remarks. Their absence made the place feel hollow, like a ribcage missing its heart.

(Y/N) paced.

Sat down.

Got back up again.

Silco watched her, an amused tilt to his expression. "You’re overthinking."

"Shut up," she muttered, dragging a hand through her hair.

Silco didn’t argue. Just leaned back, stretching his legs out in front of him. "You don’t have to tell them," he said after a beat.

(Y/N) froze mid-step. "What?"

"You heard me." He tilted his head, studying her with that sharp, calculating gaze. "It’s your secret. No one else’s."

Her throat tightened. "But if they find out later-"

"They’ll be pissed," Silco finished bluntly. "But that’s a problem for later, isn’t it?"

(Y/N) clenched her jaw. She hated that he was right.

She should tell them. They were family- or as close to it as anyone could get in the Lanes. Vander, with his stupid protective instincts and his too-big heart. Felicia, who could cut with words as easily as with a blade, but always made sure they had food, even if it meant going hungry herself.

She trusted them.

Didn’t she?

"Would you?" she asked suddenly, turning to face Silco.

He raised a brow. "Would I what?"

"Tell them. If you were me."

Silco considered that for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, he smirked, lazy and sharp. "I would take it to my grave."

(Y/N) groaned, flopping onto a crate beside him. "That’s so helpful, thanks."

Silco shrugged. "I’m just saying. People don’t react well to things they don’t understand. You already know that."

She did.

Gods, she did.

Her fingers curled into her palms.

"Vander’s not like that," she murmured, more to herself than to him.

Silco hummed. "Maybe. Maybe not." He tapped his fingers against his knee. "But once you tell someone a secret, it’s not just yours anymore."

The words settled deep in her ribs, heavy and true.

She hated that.

The handle of the door rattled before she could respond. Silco had locked it when they came inside…

Both of them stiffened.

(Y/N)’s breath caught as she shot a look at Silco. His expression shifted instantly, the easy amusement fading into something sharp and ready.

Then-

"Oi, you in there?"

Vander’s voice, rough and edged with something tight- worry.

(Y/N) exhaled, her pulse still hammering in her throat.

Silco smirked, rolling his eyes. "Took them long enough."

Felicia’s voice cut in, laced with irritation. "If she’s not in there, I swear, I’m-"

(Y/N) pulled the door open before she could finish.

Vander and Felicia stood on the threshold, their expressions a mix of frustration, relief, and exhaustion.

Felicia’s narrowed eyes swept over her. "You little shit-"

(Y/N) barely had time to brace before Felicia yanked her into a tight, bone-crushing hug.

"You scared us," she muttered into (Y/N)’s shoulder, her grip fierce, like she was making sure she was real.

(Y/N) swallowed against the lump in her throat. "Sorry," she mumbled.

Vander crossed his arms, his gaze flicking between her and Silco. "What happened?"

The question lingered in the air, waiting.

(Y/N) felt Silco’s presence beside her, silent but steady.

This was it.

Tell them. Keep it secret. Trust them. Keep them safe.

Her fingers twitched.

She took a breath-

And made her choice.

(Y/N) stepped aside, letting Vander and Felicia into the hideout. Her stomach churned as she shut the door behind them, sealing herself in with the weight of what she was about to do.

Felicia flopped onto a crate with a dramatic sigh, arms crossed tightly over her chest. "Do you have any idea how much time we wasted looking for your ass?" she grumbled. "Vander was ready to bust down half the city."

Vander didn’t deny it. He just gave (Y/N) a long, searching look before sitting down himself. "You alright?"

That was Vander. Not scolding her. Not demanding an explanation right away. Just… asking.

(Y/N) swallowed, nodding stiffly. She wasn’t alright, not really. But she was here. And she had made her choice.

Silco leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching but not interfering. It was her secret to tell. He’d already said as much.

(Y/N) clenched her hands into fists, then forced herself to relax. Just do it. Before you lose your nerve.

"I need to tell you something," she said, voice tight. "And before I do, I just- I need you to listen. Just listen. Don’t freak out."

Felicia narrowed her eyes. "That’s a terrible way to start a conversation."

Vander frowned. "(Y/N), what’s going on?"

(Y/N) took a deep breath, before raising her hands, steady despite the tremor in her fingers.

A spark of golden light flickered to life. Small, hesitant, barely enough to illuminate the dim space. It crackled like embers, dancing across her fingertips, warm and alive.

The room felt too quiet.

Felicia stiffened. Vander’s eyes widened, his lips parting slightly, but he said nothing.

(Y/N) forced herself to meet their gazes.

"I have magic," she said, barely above a whisper. "I’ve always had it. I just- I never told you because I couldn’t. Because it’s dangerous. Because-" Her throat tightened. "Because I was scared."

The silence stretched.

Felicia blinked. "What the fuck?"

Vander exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. "Shit."

(Y/N)’s stomach plummeted.

Felicia stood, staring at her like she was seeing her for the first time. "Magic," she repeated, slower this time, like she was still trying to process it. "You’re telling me you’ve had magic this whole time?"

(Y/N) nodded, bracing for the worst. For them to pull away. For them to tell her she wasn’t one of them.

Vander sighed heavily, but his expression wasn’t anger. Just… concern. "How long?"

"Since before I came here," she admitted. "Since I was born."

Felicia let out a sharp breath, raking a hand through her hair. "I don’t- shit, (Y/N), do you know what could’ve happened if someone else found out?"

"Yes," She snapped, frustration bubbling over. "Of course I know. Why do you think I kept it secret?"

Felicia opened her mouth, then shut it again, jaw tightening.

Vander rubbed his temples. "And Silco knew?"

(Y/N) hesitated, but Silco answered for her, his voice calm. "She told me first."

Felicia turned on him, eyes flashing. "And you didn’t think to tell us?"

Silco shrugged, utterly unbothered. "Not my secret."

Felicia made a strangled noise, but Vander put a hand on her shoulder before she could start yelling properly.

"Alright," Vander said, his voice steady in the way that made people listen. "Alright. We… we’ll figure this out." He looked at (Y/N) again, his gaze softer this time. "But you should’ve told us sooner."

(Y/N) swallowed hard. "I know."

Vander sighed, then did something she didn’t expect.

He reached out and put a hand on her head, ruffling her hair the way he always did when he was trying to be reassuring.

"We’re not gonna turn on you, (Y/N)," he said, quiet but firm. "You’re still one of us."

Her throat tightened painfully.

Felicia groaned, throwing herself back onto the crate with a dramatic flop. "Gods, I hate that I’m not mad at you."

(Y/N) let out a breath that was half a laugh, half relief. "Yeah?"

Felicia shot her a glare. "Yeah. Asshole."

Silco smirked from his spot against the wall. "That went better than expected."

...Felicia flipped him off...

Can you do platonic sera x overlord!reader multipart/fanfction?

The lore: The Y/N is a powerful overlord who own entertainment district of pentangram (he posses velvet tea and Vox souls after they tired to kidnap Charlie, val dies lol) also he’s best friend of alastor and Charlie Morningstar. During one of this meeting with his subordinates vox and velvette they noticed something was fallen from heaven, they goes to check this out only to find out fallen sera and VERY hurt and wounded Emily, after he find out they known Charlie he help takes Emily to hotel, where lucifer helps Emily with her wounds. Y/N calm down sera enough to she could tell what happened in heaven. In heaven after sera approved Charlie plan after extermination, where due to that pentonius reddemed himself, lute somehow thanks to other seraphim’s, which convinced that hell and their allies are the danger managed to overthrow sera and the rest seraphim’s who were on sera and Emily side and she (lute) brought totalitarian rule to heaven.lute kills pentonius for being a “spy” and BRUTTALY injures Emily (she lost wings, right leg, left hand and the right eye) and banish her and sera to hell. She also planned in 6 months organize the final extermination, where he plans to kill all people not only from hell but also on earth.

A/N: Yes, of course! This one took me... Way longer than I thought it would LOL. Got it done though! Gonna start working on my other requests now, since this was the one I was solely focusing on, trying to get it done :} Also, fair warning, I didnt have all the colors I wanted for their dialogue. (Y/N), Charlie, Alastor, Sera, and Emily all have specific colors, buttttt... Everyone else doesn't. Sorry, but I did what I could.

Ashes of Grace

Sera x Overlord!Male!Reader

Warnings: Religious themes, Violence/Body horror, Death, Torture/Enslavement, Corruption of authority, Genocide/Extermination, Substance use

Word Count: 4868

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Pentagram City rarely slept. And neither did its monsters. Between the sleaze and sin, the neon-soaked streets, and the endless echoes of jazz and gunfire, power shifts were as common- and as violent- as the weather.

When Valentino’s body finally hit the floor, burned out and twitching under the weight of a wrath he'd never anticipated, the District changed forever.

At the center of it all stood (Y/N)- a name now spoken in equal parts awe and terror. A new overlord, born not from vanity or greed, but something deeper. Something biblical.

His rise hadn't just been loud; it had been seismic. After Velvette and Vox made the mistake of trying to kidnap Charlie Morningstar- Hell’s favorite princess, and (Y/N)'s dearest friend- (Y/N) retaliated with fire and iron. Velvette and Vox now belonged to him, their souls shackled to his service. Sometimes figuratively, sometimes... not. They wore their chains like tarnished jewelry, reminders of the price of betrayal.

Valentino didn’t get that luxury.

He died.

And with him, the District fell.

What rose from the ashes wasn't just a new territory. It was an empire of creativity, ruthlessness, and control- no longer just a playground for abusers, but a stage for something greater. Alastor, always amused by chaos, had grinned wide at the news. Charlie, overwhelmed, had cried when it was over, throwing her arms around (Y/N)'s shoulders.

"Thank you," she whispered against him, her best friend…

(Y/N) only nodded, hiding the smoldering rage still burning deep in his bones.

A week passed. And inside his repurposed theater, (Y/N) lounged in a battered chair at the head of a heavy oak table, eyeing Vox and Velvette with lazy disinterest.

The two former overlords sat like petulant children, glaring daggers at anything but him.

"Don't act so bitter," (Y/N) drawled, resting his chin in one hand. "You're lucky I didn't turn you into lawn ornaments."

"I'd rather be one," Velvette muttered under her breath. "At least I had free will before."

Before (Y/N) could reply, something flashed through the high, smoke-clogged sky.

Not light. Not in the Hellborn sense.

It was something... higher… And it was falling fast.

Vox stiffened, staring upwards. "...That came from upstairs."

The theater doors slammed open, and they raced outside.

What they found wasn’t a crash site. It was a massacre.

The crater still smoked, shards of shattered halos glittering in the ash. Feathers- too white, too pure- floated like dying fireflies through the air. In the center, two figures lay broken.

One was barely breathing- her right leg severed, her hand gone, one eye torn out, her wings sheared off like scrap paper.

The other, though bleeding and shaking, was already dragging herself upright. Protective. Furious. Radiating raw divinity even through the grime.

(Y/N) approached carefully, his hands open, head tilted like a curious wolf.

"...You're angels," he said slowly. "Do you know Charlie?"

The seraphim’s expression cracked. She nodded, voice raw. "Yes... She's... our friend."

That was all (Y/N) needed.

Without hesitation, he lifted the mutilated one- Emily-into his arms. Gentle, despite the gore. His voice was low, steady.

"Then you're not enemies," he said. "You're survivors."

The Happy Hotel had seen its share of strange guests. But even here, Emily’s condition turned every head.

Charlie gasped the second she saw her, rushing forward to help. Vaggie barked sharp orders at Angel and Husk, clearing the lobby with military precision. Alastor, all false grins and real concern, set up a makeshift recovery area with eerie efficiency.

Then, Lucifer Morningstar himself swept in, as radiant and ridiculous as ever.

"Charlie!" he boomed, voice theatrical. "I came to see if-" His words cut off the second he spotted Emily. “Oh, fuck…”

Then Lucifer dropped to his knees beside her, pressing a glowing hand over Emily’s shattered body. His usual swagger softened into something almost tender.

"Hold on," he murmured. "We can fix you."

Hours later, after Emily stabilized under a blanket of maigc and careful hands, (Y/N) sat across from the still-shaking seraphim- Sera.

She couldn’t sit still. Pacing, flinching at every noise. Until finally, (Y/N) stood and placed a steadying hand on her shoulder.

"Breathe," he said quietly. "You're safe."

Slowly, she exhaled. And spoke.

"After Sir Pentious... After he came to Heaven, some of us began to question things," she said hoarsely. "Charlie’s idea of redemption didn’t seem so crazy anymore. Emily and I... we supported it. We gathered others. We tried to change things from within."

Her voice broke.

"But then came Lute."

The name seemed to leech the warmth from the room.

"After losing her arm in the fight you all had, she twisted everything. She called Charlie a devil. Called the hotel a trap. She rallied the fearful and the bitter... and they listened. Heaven turned into a machine."

Sera’s fists trembled.

"They hunted us. Emily and I were caught trying to flee. She... She ripped Emily apart. Then she banished us here, as a warning."

At the doorway, Charlie stood frozen, fists shaking.

Sera turned to face them fully.

"And it’s worse than that. She’s planning a Final Extermination. In six months. Not just Hell. Not just sinners. Earth, too."

Silence fell like a blade.

(Y/N) straightened, shadows unfurling around his boots. His voice, when it came, was steel.

"Then we’re not just saving Hell anymore," he said. "We’re saving everyone."

...Far above, Heaven's Throne Room had changed...

Where once golden beams warmed marble floors, now the light was colder, harsher, casting long skeletal shadows.

Lute sat perched atop a jagged throne, once a Exterminator- now a Leader.

A trembling seraphim bowed low before her.

"All remaining supporters of Sera have been purged. The rest... converted."

"And the traitors?" Lute asked. Her voice was a metallic hiss.

"Banished or destroyed."

She rose, wings unfolding in sharp, almost mechanical snaps.

"In six months’ time," she declared, "there will be no Hell. No Earth. Only perfection. Heaven will ascend through fire."

The court erupted in cold cheers as the corrupted seraphim spread their wings.

Back in the Happy Hotel, Emily’s eye fluttered open.

She was alive. Battered. Different. But alive.

Charlie was instantly by her side, gripping her hand tightly.

"You’re safe," Charlie whispered. "I promise."

Emily tried to sit up, her body aching with every movement.

"C-Charlie...?"

"Yes, it's me. Don’t worry. We’ve got you."

Lucifer, leaning nearby, flashed a crooked, nervous smile.

"Only because bleeding out on my daughter’s carpet is absolutely unacceptable. Bad for the aesthetic," he said, lightly. Then, more serious, he added, "I healed what I could. Your leg, your hand... But your wings..." He trailed off, frowning. "Those may take more work."

Tears welled in Emily’s remaining eye.

"Sir Pentious... He's really..."

Lucifer’s face darkened... Charlie just hugged her tighter.

Across the room, Sera sat curled at the bar, silent. Husk, uncharacteristically gentle, pushed a mug of something nonalcoholic toward her.

Nearby, Alastor watched with predatory curiosity.

"So," he said brightly. "Heaven’s fallen into the claws of a madwoman. Your friends butchered. Your hopes dashed." He smiled wider. "Welcome to Hell."

Sera flinched.

"We tried," she whispered. "We tried to save them. We believed in Charlie's dream..."

(Y/N) approached quietly, Vox and Velvette trailing behind like resentful ghosts.

"You still believe in it?" he asked.

Sera looked up, tears brimming.

"Yes."

He nodded once, a grim glint in his eye.

"Then we fight."

From the couch, Angel Dust cackled, tossing a grenade from hand to hand.

"About time! I’ve been dying to throw hands with someone uptight!"

It didn't take long for one of the Hotel’s many rooms to be taken, and changed. Celestial maps sprawled across walls and floors. Candles flickered wildly against the cracked stone.

Around a heavy oak table stood Lucifer, Charlie, Alastor, and (Y/N)- each face carved with focus.

"She wants to erase everything," Charlie said, voice tight. "Not just sinners. Everyone."

Alastor chuckled, low and eerie. "An ambitious apocalypse. I almost admire it."

(Y/N) planted his palms on the table, voice low and furious.

"We can't just defend. We strike first."

Charlie nodded fiercely, fire blazing in her eyes.

"We’re going to stop her. We’re going to prove we matter."

Lucifer clapped a proud hand on her shoulder.

"That’s my girl."

The mood was heavy, but not hopeless. A tense undercurrent thrummed through the room, setting everyone on edge. Maps and blueprints lay scattered across the table, papers weighed down with empty mugs and books. Sera stood at the center of it all, tracing a slow line along a map with two fingers, brow furrowed.

Around her, the others listened in silence. Charlie, Lucifer, (Y/N), Alastor, Vaggie, Angel Dust, Husk, and Emily- propped up in a wheelchair and bundled in fresh bandages around her shoulders- watched with focused, anxious attention.

"Most of Heaven’s 'Winners' are still willing to listen," Sera said, voice low but steady. "They aren't like the Angels. They're just... humans. Humans who died and moved on. They remember. They can think for themselves."

Charlie tilted her head thoughtfully. "But what do they have to do with all this?"

"If we’re going to have any support up there, it'll be through them," Sera replied. She glanced around the room. "Lute’s seized control of Heaven’s higher ranks. She's convinced most of the Angels, crowned herself their queen. But the Winners... they’re still undecided."

(Y/N) crossed his arms, the gears already turning behind his narrowed eyes. "We could start a rebellion inside Heaven itself. Get the truth out before Lute locks everything down."

Sera gave a sharp nod. "Exactly. But we don’t have much time. After Emily and I fell, Lute accelerated her plans. She’s preparing the final phase right now."

"Then we don't just defend anymore," Lucifer said, his voice darkening. "We invade."

Sera met his gaze without flinching. "We hit fast. We send the message. And we take Lute out before she can trigger the Final Purge."

As the meeting dissolved into quieter preparations, Angel Dust wheeled Emily back toward her new room, a soft pink guest suite Charlie had thrown together- full of pillows, gauzy curtains, and delicate little touches meant to comfort. Emily was quiet, shrinking into herself, the overwhelming changes of the past days pressing in on her.

Angel, never good with heavy silences, plopped into a chair beside her and swung an arm lazily over the backrest. "So," he drawled, "how’s it feel bein’ the first angel who didn’t try to shank me on sight?"

Emily managed a weak, almost surprised smile. "We were taught that... souls in Hell couldn’t feel... I knew no different until I met Charlie."

He snorted and bumped her elbow with his. "Yeah, well, guess we’re full of surprises down here. Welcome to the club, doll."

She blinked, absorbing that, then tentatively leaned against him. "Thanks... for not being thrown off by me."

"Pfft." Angel waved it off. "Sweetheart, I’ve seen worse. Hell, you look better than half my dates."

"...I’m not sure if that’s comforting."

"It ain’t. But it’s true."

Later that evening, the corridors of the hotel grew quieter. Emily, wrapped in a simple jacket Charlie had picked out for her, made her way slowly down the hall. Every step was stiff, awkward- her balance thrown off.

Pushing through the swinging doors, she made her way to the bar, wincing as she hoisted herself onto a stool. Husk looked up from polishing glasses, one ear twitching as he noticed her.

"Not servin' you liquor, kid," he muttered, voice rough. "Charlie’d have my ass."

"I don't want a drink," Emily said quietly. "I just... wanted noise. Not pity."

Husk grunted, setting the glass down. "You walked pretty far," he said, more observation than praise.

Emily let out a hollow little laugh. "Didn’t want to stay in that room. It's too... Quiet."

She tapped the side of her head lightly. "When it’s that quiet, all I can hear is screaming from outside..."

Husk didn’t flinch. He just leaned his weight against the bar and nodded slightly, like he understood all too well.

They sat in silence for a while, broken only by the low hum of the fridge and the occasional clink of glass against glass.

Eventually, Husk broke the quiet. "Why’d you come down here, really?"

Emily hesitated, looking down at the frayed sleeve covering her wrist. "Because... I think I'm scared." Her voice cracked slightly. "I don't know what I'm supposed to be anymore."

For a moment, Husk simply stared at her. Then, with a grunt, he reached beneath the bar and pulled out a battered, worn playing card- the Queen of Hearts. Its corners were frayed, a small tear across the center.

"My last hand in a real poker game," he said, sliding it across the bar to her. "Lost everything. Still survived."

Emily stared down at the card like it was something sacred.

"You’re giving this to me?"

"Loaning it," Husk corrected. "For luck."

She tucked the card against her chest like armor, tears stinging the corners of her eyes. "Thanks," she whispered.

"Don't thank me. Win the next hand."

Meanwhile, across the hotel, final preparations were underway. In the lounge, Lucifer clapped his hands sharply, drawing everyone's attention.

"Our infiltration team, then," he announced, a glint of theatrical excitement in his eye. "Charlie- the optimist; Sera- the righteous outcast; Emily- our fallen helper; and you, dear (Y/N)- the wildcard’s wildcard."

(Y/N) raised an eyebrow. "You gonna narrate the whole mission?"

"Only the dramatic parts," Lucifer quipped, giving him a large smile.

"...So basically, all of it," (Y/N) muttered.

Charlie, ever the peacemaker, cleared her throat gently. "We have three objectives: reach the Holy Gates, rally the Winners to our side, and remove Lute before she can lead an attack."

Lucifer’s playful air faded slightly, replaced by something colder, sharper. "This isn’t just about Hell anymore. Or Heaven. This is about Earth. About proving redemption isn't some cruel joke."

Sera met his gaze and nodded once, solemn. "Then we strike fast."

At Lucifer’s gesture, a portal shimmered open in the air, unstable and crackling with divine static. It glowed like a tear in reality itself- liquid gold and silver threads of light straining to stay woven together.

Charlie approached the portal first, her hands trembling slightly, though her face was set with determination. Opening a portal to Heaven from Hell was unnatural, dangerous- and it showed. The light bled into the floor, the walls, everything it touched humming unnervingly.

"We don't know how long it'll hold," Lucifer warned. "Maybe a few hours. Maybe less if you screw around too much... Portals like these aren't usually supposed to be opened from this side..."

(Y/N) adjusted his coat, checking the weapons strapped across his hips. Nearby, Vox and Velvette watched, their usual smugness tempered by real worry. Sera tightened her grip on her sword, the blade gleaming faintly. Emily secured Husk’s playing card near her heart, her new sword slung awkwardly across her back.

Together, they looked ready.

Charlie turned back to Lucifer, her eyes fierce. "We’ll be back."

Lucifer smiled- but it was a fragile thing, brittle at the edges. "I know," he said.

Without another word, they stepped through the portal- and into stillness.

The air on the other side was cool, quiet in a way that felt... unnatural, like the whole world was holding its breath.

The gates loomed ahead, bathed in blinding light that offered no warmth. The team emerged slowly, blinking against the unnatural brilliance. Emily exhaled shakily, her hand tightening on her sword.

“The gates aren't usually... empty,” she muttered.

Normally, Saint Peter would have stood watch. Now, there was only silence.

(Y/N) swept his gaze over the endless marble sprawl before them. The architecture was grand, opulent- but it felt hollow, abandoned. Like a stage after the actors had fled mid-performance.

Sera muttered under her breath, voice strained. "This isn't right. Something's wrong."

Charlie tightened her grip on her staff, glancing nervously at the others. "We need to move. Fast."

They slipped forward through the eerie stillness, boots whispering over immaculate stone. Statues of angels lined the path, their faces twisted into expressions that were almost... pained. Not the serene smiles Heaven was famous for.

Emily limped slightly, favoring her newly healed leg, but kept pace grimly, the Queen of Hearts tucked safe against her ribs. She refused to slow them down.

As they neared the first courtyard- a vast open space dominated by a towering monument of silver and gold- (Y/N) raised a hand sharply. "Wait."

Movement… At first, it was just a ripple, like a heat mirage. Then forms began to materialize.

Dozens. No- hundreds.

Figures stepped out from the edges of the courtyard- Winners, eyes shadowed, hesitant. They were armed with angelic weapons- some with swords, others with halberds or spears- but none of them attacked.

Instead, they just... stared.

One woman near the front- a thin, graying soul with sharp cheekbones, hollow eyes, and large bunny ears- took a step forward.

"You're the ones who escaped," she said, voice cracking.

Her gaze landed on Sera, then Emily. "You came back."

Charlie stepped forward quickly, heart hammering in her chest. "Please- we’re not here to fight you. We’re here to stop Lute. To save everyone."

Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Some looked uncertain. Others terrified. A few- a precious few- hopeful.

(Y/N) moved to stand beside Charlie, his voice carrying clean across the courtyard. "You know what she’s planning," he said coldly. "You’ve seen the signs. The exterminations... the disappearances. Heaven isn't salvation anymore. It's a slaughterhouse with a crown."

Silence.

Emily, breathless and shaking, found her voice. "I lost everything because I tried to help," she said, voice trembling but steady. "Sera and I... we saw the truth. If you stand with her, you'll lose yourselves, too."

A long, agonizing pause.

Then- a man near the back threw down his spear.

It clattered against the marble with a ringing finality.

One by one, others followed. Weapons dropped. People stepping out of their neat little lines, their faces raw with emotion.

The graying woman stepped forward again, her hands shaking.

"We follow you now," she whispered

(Y/N) let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

Charlie pressed a shaking hand to her mouth, overwhelmed.

Sera looked ready to collapse from relief.

But before anyone could celebrate-

A loud banging sound tore through the air. Mechanical. Shattering. It echoed through the bones of the city like a death knell.

Charlie paled instantly. "She's coming."

From above, like a thundercloud, Lute descended. Around her, Exterminators unfolded from the shadows- sleek, brutal things, all flashing blades, baring their masks.

Lute smiled- a cruel, hateful one. "So this," she hissed, "is your rebellion?"

The newly turned Winners hesitated, fear rippling through their ranks.

(Y/N) stepped forward without hesitation, drawing his blade in one smooth motion, the tip glinting with something darker than metal.

He didn’t need to shout.

His presence alone was command enough.

Emily braced herself, lifting her sword with both hands. Sera set her jaw, raising her blade to guard. Charlie lifted her hands, trembling- but with fire in her eyes.

Lute laughed, the sound hollow and electric. "So be it," she said. "You can all burn together."

The Exterminators surged forward.

And the battle for Heaven began.

Lute met (Y/N)'s charge head-on, screaming a soundless war-cry, her wings flaring out wide like a specter of vengeance.

Their blades collided- but (Y/N) didn’t yield. He pressed forward, every strike hammering her defenses, forcing her back with sheer will. Charlie fought at his side, her eyes glowing with desperate red light, every swing of her claws another prayer hurled like a weapon. Sera drove her blade home again and again, ignoring the golden blood leaking from her side where a blade had caught her earlier. Emily, staggering but unbroken, struck too- a shallow cut, but enough to make Lute snarl and stagger.

The four of them moved like a single force. Hope. Anger. Love. Defiance.

"You're DONE!" (Y/N) bellowed. He struck low- a brutal, gouging slash across her knees.

Sera was already moving, her sword flashing upwards- tearing open Lute’s exposed side. And Emily- battered, exhausted Emily- threw her sword with everything she had.

The blade spun through the air- and punched through Lute’s heart.

The world seemed to stop.

Lute gasped, golden blood streaming from her mouth. Her wings spasmed violently, the corrupted light sputtering. Her eyes, so cold and cruel, flickered- fear flashing through them for the first time.

She fell to her knees.

"You… can’t…" she rasped.

(Y/N) stood over her, breathing hard, the others gathering behind him.

"You already lost," he said, voice quiet and absolute.

Lute tried to lunge one last time- a desperate, broken advance-

(Y/N) drove his blade through her throat.

The light died.

Lute crumpled, falling limp onto the marble. The Exterminators, leaderless, gave in, most either fleeing, or tossing down their weapons in defeat.

Across the courtyard, the everyone fell silent.

The battle was over. For a long moment, none of them moved.

The only sound was the ragged breathing of the survivors.

Then, slowly, Winners who had fought alongside them began to move through the carnage, beginning to clear the battlefield- gathering their fallen, offering silent prayers.

An eerie, heavy silence settled over Heaven’s once-pristine halls.

At the center of it all, (Y/N) stood with Charlie, Sera, and Emily.

Sera wiped her blade on her tattered dress and sheathed it slowly. She walked over, Emily limping close beside her, the two of them visibly shaken but steady.

Sera stopped before them, and for a moment, the words caught in her throat… Then she bowed- a deep, respectful gesture.

"You saved us," Sera said, her voice rough but sure. "You saved Heaven."

Emily offered a trembling smile, her bandaged hand pressed to her heart.

"You saved us," she echoed. "And... maybe yourselves too."

Charlie shook her head, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "We saved each other."

Sera smiled- soft, sad, but real. She looked at the group- at Charlie, at (Y/N), at Vaggie, Angel Dust, Husk, Alastor lingering just out of the bloodstained light.

"I hope," Sera said, "that one day... when your mission fully succeeds... when Hell isn’t just a prison anymore... we’ll see you all again."

She swallowed hard, her hand brushing against her sisters.

"In Heaven."

Emily nodded fiercely, emotion thick in her throat. "You deserve it," she said. "Every one of you."

(Y/N) tilted his head slightly, a faint smile curling the corner of his mouth- something tired, but deeply grateful. "We'll hold you to that," he said.

Behind them, the golden portal by the gates- flickering dangerously now- shuddered violently, cracks spiderwebbing across its edges.

Lucifer’s voice echoed from near the portal, "Time’s up! If you don’t wanna get stuck up here with the corpses, MOVE!"

Charlie turned, urgency snapping her back into motion. She grabbed Vaggie and (Y/N)'s wrist, tugging them toward the portal. Sera and Emily stepped aside, watching them go with solemn pride.

One by one, they sprinted toward the portal, battered and bruised- but alive. Alastor practically skipped through, humming under his breath. Angel Dust threw an exaggerated salute at Emily before diving in backward. Husk grumbled something about Emily keeping the card he gave her under his breath, but followed close behind.

The light swallowed them all.

And then- with a soft shuddering sigh- the portal collapsed, leaving only the broken battlefield and the survivors behind.

Above the battered gates of Heaven, for the first time in what felt like an eternity, the light began to soften. No longer harsh. No longer cruel.

But warm.

Hopeful.

And far below- in a hotel full of sinners and misfits- redemption no longer seemed like just a dream.

The group stumbled out of the collapsing portal like survivors of a storm. They hit the lobby floor hard, some collapsing onto couches, others simply dropping where they stood.

Charlie sagged against the wall, clutching her chest, gasping huge breaths of smoky hotel air like it was the sweetest thing she’d ever tasted. Angel Dust sprawled dramatically across a bench, one leg draped over the backrest. "We’re alive! Suck it, Heaven!" Vaggie just dropped onto a nearby chair, burying her face in her hands with a weak laugh. Husk growled low in his throat, shuffling over to the bar- which Charlie didn’t even bother to scold him for.

(Y/N) stood a little apart from them all, his shoulders tight with exhaustion but his eyes still sharp, scanning every corner like he expected another attack.

Alastor straightened his coat with a little flourish, looking barely ruffled despite the battle they'd just fought. He approached, that permanent sharp-toothed smile a bit softer now- genuine, in its strange, predatory way.

"My, my," Alastor said, voice lilting. "I knew you had potential, but even I didn’t expect that little symphony." He gave (Y/N) a low, mocking bow. "You have my admiration."

(Y/N) snorted quietly. "Coming from you, that's... concerning." But a tiny smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Charlie pushed off the wall, her footsteps slow but determined, and closed the distance between them. She stopped in front of (Y/N), looking up at him with an expression so open, so grateful, it nearly staggered him.

"You didn’t have to do this," she said quietly. "You didn’t have to stay." Her voice wavered, just slightly. "But you did. And you saved so many more lives than just ours."

(Y/N) reached up, brushing his knuckles lightly under her chin, tipping her head just a fraction higher. "You’re my friend," he said simply. "That's all the reason I need."

Charlie’s throat bobbed in a thick swallow. She reached out impulsively- wrapped her arms around him in a tight, fierce hug. For a second (Y/N) froze- then he exhaled, slow and warm, and wrapped his arms back around her, grounding her.

Alastor watched with a faint tilt to his head, the smile on his face unreadable, but his red eyes softened around the edges.

When they finally pulled apart, Charlie’s smile was damp and glowing. "You’re one of us," she said. "No matter what anyone says."

(Y/N) ruffled her hair lightly, making her sputter a weak laugh- before his expression turned a little wry.

"...Speaking of things that belong to others," he muttered, voice dry.

Across the lobby, Vox and Velvette- looking thoroughly miserable- stood awkwardly by the doors. Velvette noticed him looking and made a dramatic gagging motion. Vox simply scowled, his screen flickering with static annoyance.

Charlie giggled nervously at the sight, covering her mouth. Even Alastor chuckled low in his chest, the sound like an old radio popping on.

(Y/N) sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah. I better get the gremlins back to their cage before they start redecorating."

He turned back to Charlie and Alastor one last time, catching their expressions- tired but proud.

With a mock salute, (Y/N) turned on his heel and strode across the room. He grabbed Vox by the back of his stupid designer jacket and yanked him forward, ignoring the glitchy cursing. Velvette followed, grumbling under her breath.

The front doors of the Hotel creaked open with a slow, eerie groan. (Y/N) paused just once in the doorway- glanced back over his shoulder.

At the threshold, the warm, battered light of the Hotel spilled across the floor behind him. It caught the edges of his coat, the lines of his frame, silhouetting him against the chaos they'd left- and the strange, imperfect hope they'd returned to.

Charlie stood watching him, Vaggie at her side, Angel Dust waving lazily from his perch. Alastor leaned on his cane nearby, grinning wide but... almost actually looking happy, while Husk offered a casual two-fingered salute from the bar.

(Y/N) let the corner of his mouth quirk up- a tired, crooked smile- and gave a simple nod.

Then he turned, dragging his reluctant prisoners with him, disappearing into the neon-drenched night of Pentagram City.

Outside, the air buzzed with tension and distant sirens and screams, the streets littered with scattered debris from the city’s usual violence. But somewhere under all the rot and grime, a pulse beat- faint, stubborn. The pulse of change. Of something new.

Inside the Hotel, Charlie wiped her face quickly, sniffling once before straightening her back.

"We're going to make this work," she said quietly, but with growing conviction. "We're going to fix this. All of it."

Vaggie squeezed her hand tightly. "We will."

Alastor chuckled, adjusting his tie. "The world will never know what hit it."

Angel Dust sprawled further across the bench with a groan. "Wake me up when it’s time for the afterparty."

Husk just muttered into his glass, "We better get a damn good one."

Art post!

These are some of my older, finished pieces. Most of my art is posted on insta, but I do have two art books posted ony Wattpad too (both of which are in my bio). I have a lot more of my old art in those, all from the age of like 12, all the way to current time. I won't lie, a lot of it is cringe, but art is a journey. It would be more surprising if I wasn't cringe in my early teens, to be honest.

Anyway, here is my art! It's a bit old, but I will post more recent art in another post :}

Ember in the Dark pt.5

Young!Silco x Fem!Reader

pt.4 - pt.6

pt.1

Warnings: Violence, Combat, Injury, Mild gore, Abduction, Restraint, Death, Hallucinations/Visions, Blood, and Panic/Fear.

Word Count: 6174

Summary: (Y/N) is ambushed by three hooded figures trying to abduct her. She fights back but is restrained until her scream alerts Vander, Silco, and Felicia. A brutal fight ensues, leaving her stabbed before her attackers are defeated or driven off. Silco rushes her home, where Felicia stitches her wound while Vander and Silco struggle to contain her unstable magic. Before losing consciousness, she sees a vision of her mother. Realizing the attack was a targeted abduction, Vander and Silco investigate and learn that the Mageseekers, possibly backed by someone powerful, won’t stop hunting her. Meanwhile, Felicia watches over (Y/N). When she wakes, Silco warns her not to go out alone. Though frustrated, she accepts his help, and in an uncharacteristic moment of tenderness, he washes and combs her hair, revealing his fear. She reassures him, but both know the danger isn’t over. Left alone, (Y/N) struggles to rest, haunted by how close she came to being taken.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The grip on her arm was like iron.

One moment, she was walking behind the others, her steps careful, keeping an eye on the shadows. The next, a rough yank wrenched her off balance, dragging her into the darkness of a narrow alleyway.

She barely had time to react before she was shoved against the damp stone wall, a gloved hand clamping over her mouth. Instinct flared- she thrashed, trying to throw her weight forward, but another force seized her other arm, pinning her in place.

"Quiet." The voice was cold, controlled. A tone that expected obedience.

Three of them. Just like before.

Her heart pounded as she tried to make sense of what was happening. Their clothes were dark, heavy- made for blending in. Beneath their hoods, she caught glimpses of stern faces, sharp eyes that held purpose.

They weren’t just some random thugs looking to mug her.

This was something else.

The man holding her still leaned in slightly, eyes flickering over her face, searching for something. Confirming something.

“She’s the one,” he murmured.

Her blood ran cold.

The second man- broader, his grip bruising her arm- spoke next, voice laced with disdain. “Took us long enough to track her down. She’s been hiding.”

She didn’t understand. Who were these people?

The third figure, standing just behind the others, exhaled sharply. “She doesn’t even know why we’re here...”

She stiffened.

Before she could process that, the first man leaned in closer, his voice quiet but sharp as a blade.

“You’re coming with us.”

No.

She didn’t know who they were or what they wanted, but she knew she couldn’t let them take her.

She jerked against their grip, shoving her weight forward, twisting, trying to rip herself free. The man restraining her hissed in frustration, tightening his hold.

Then, she felt it.

A tingling beneath her skin. A crackling in her bones. A spark, desperate and wild, clawing to the surface.

Her breath came fast, her pulse hammering against her ribs as she fought against the instinct screaming at her to let go. She could- she knew she could- but she wouldn’t. Not here. Not now.

Instead, she did the one thing she avoided at all costs.

She screamed.

A raw, desperate sound tore from her throat, sharp and jagged, cutting through the damp, crowded streets of the Undercity.

The men cursed, reacting instantly. The one holding her mouth recoiled, caught off guard just long enough for her to thrash against his grip. The broader man snarled and clamped down harder on her arm, yanking her back before she could bolt.

“Shut her up,” he snapped.

A gloved hand struck her cheek. The sting was sharp, burning- but she didn’t stop.

She couldn’t stop.

“VANDER! SILCO!!” she screamed again, using every bit of breath in her lungs, hoping- praying- that they heard her before these bastards dragged her away.

Shouting erupted from the streets.

The men tensed.

Her heart soared.

The voices were distant but getting closer- familiar voices.

“(Y/N)?”

Vander.

Then another, sharp and cutting- “Where is she?!”

The hooded figures exchanged looks, calculating.

They had seconds before her people arrived.

The grip on her loosened just slightly- just enough.

And she took her chance.

With everything she had, she drove her knee into the nearest man’s gut, using the momentum to rip her arm free. The other lunged to grab her, but she twisted away, slipping through his fingers just as-

Vander and Silco came crashing into the alley.

Felicia rushed in after, keeping her distance but ready.

Vander was a force of nature, barreling straight for the nearest hooded figure. His sheer presence alone sent the man stumbling back.

Silco was precise, fast, cold- lunging straight for the one who had hit her, a blade flashing in his hand.

Panting, she stumbled back. Felicia was suddenly at her side, gripping her arms, steadying her.

She wasn’t alone... The alley exploded into chaos.

Vander fought like a battering ram, his fists landing like sledgehammers against the people who had been attacking (Y/N). He slammed one against the brick wall, sending the man crumpling to the ground with a sickening crack.

Silco was faster, sharper- his knife found its mark in the shoulder of the second man, twisting with ruthless precision. The man cried out, staggering back, clutching the wound as blood seeped through his cloak.

(Y/N) gasped for breath, pressing a hand to the fresh bruise on her cheek, her heart hammering. She could barely focus as Felicia yanked her further back, shielding her from the fight.

The group was trying to retreat.

They hadn’t expected this.

But just as the last one turned to flee, he moved too fast- too close to her.

It happened in an instant.

A flash of steel.

A searing pain tore through her side.

She sucked in a sharp breath, the world tilting as she looked down.

The blade was small but deep, buried just beneath her ribs. The figure yanked it back, and warmth spread across her torso- blood soaking through the fabric of her cloak.

Felicia screamed.

Silco turned instantly, eyes wide as he saw her sway.

Then, his expression shifted.

Pure, unrelenting rage twisted his features. His hand tightened around his knife.

He didn’t just stab this time- he drove the blade into the man’s gut and twisted it, his face inches from the man’s as he watched the light leave his eyes.

The hooded man gurgled.

Collapsed.

But she barely saw it.

Her knees buckled.

Pain flooded her senses, her breath ragged and shallow. Arms caught her before she hit the ground- Silco, his grip firm but shaking.

“(Y/N)- (Y/N), stay awake.”

Vander was suddenly there, pale-faced, pressing his hands against the wound.

Too much blood.

Felicia hovered, panic tightening her expression. “We need to move. Now.”

The fight was over. The group was either dead or gone.

But (Y/N) was slipping fast.

Silco clenched his jaw, his voice steady but tight. “We’re taking her home.”

Then, without another word, they ran.

Silco didn’t stop.

He couldn’t.

(Y/N)’s blood was everywhere- soaking into his shirt, warm and sticky against his skin as he tightened his grip. She was too still, her head lolling slightly against his shoulder, breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps.

Her eyes- he caught a glimpse of them through her half-lidded stare.

Glowing.

A faint, golden shimmer.

Not now.

Not here.

“Stay with me, (Y/N),” he muttered, barely hearing his own voice over the pounding of his heartbeat. “We’re almost there.”

Vander was at his side, keeping pace despite the panic in his expression. Felicia ran ahead, shoving people out of the way, clearing a path.

The bar was too far.

Too damn far.

Silco’s arms ached, but he didn’t dare let her go.

She stirred slightly, fingers twitching against his chest, lips parting as if to speak. But when she did, it wasn’t words- just a sharp, pained exhale as another jolt of golden light flickered through her hands.

Shit.

They burst through the back entrance of the bar, nearly knocking the door off its hinges.

Benzo took one look at (Y/N), at the blood, at them, and rushed forward.

“Get her upstairs. Now.”

Silco didn’t need to be told twice.

He took the stairs two at a time, Vander right behind him, Felicia on his heels. They reached her room, Silco lowering her onto the bed with a care that felt unnatural for him.

The moment he let go, her body tensed. Her fingers clenched in the sheets as a golden glow crackled up her arms.

She was losing control.

Vander swore. “(Y/N)-”

Silco grabbed her wrist, his grip firm, grounding.

“Breathe,” he ordered, voice sharp, forcing her to look at him.

Her eyes fluttered open- still glowing, but unfocused.

“It... hurts,” she rasped.

“I know.” Silco’s voice softened, but his free hand pressed against her wound, trying to slow the bleeding. “But you need to stay here. You hear me?”

Benzo shoved past Vander, dropping a bowl of water, cloth, and a needle with thread onto the bedside table. “She’s burning up. Someone’s gotta patch her up before she bleeds out.”

Felicia moved first, rolling up her sleeves. “I’ll do it.”

Silco didn’t let go of (Y/N)’s wrist. Vander hovered anxiously at the foot of the bed.

(Y/N)’s breathing was shallow, her hands trembling as golden light flickered along her skin, fading in and out. She was still here, still fighting.

And Silco wasn’t leaving her side.

Felicia’s hands were steady, but her heart pounded in her chest.

(Y/N)’s body was slick with sweat, her magic crackling at her fingertips, sparking against the sheets. It was wild- unstable. Every time she tensed in pain, the light flared, lashing out like a live wire.

“She’s gonna fry me,” Felicia muttered under her breath, threading the needle with shaking fingers.

“Then be quick,” Vander said, his grip tightening on (Y/N)’s shoulders. He and Silco pressed her down to keep her from thrashing.

Silco was still gripping her wrist, his knuckles white. “(Y/N),” he murmured, voice sharp. “You have to stop moving.”

She let out a choked sound- not quite a scream, but damn close. Her body jerked, golden light surging up her arms, singeing the sheets. Small embers hissed against the damp cloth Benzo had thrown over her stomach to catch the blood.

Felicia clenched her jaw. No more hesitating.

“I’m sorry,” she said, and then she pressed the needle into torn skin.

(Y/N) screamed.

Her back arched violently, her arms seizing as another burst of magic crackled out of her. Silco barely flinched as sparks danced up his forearm, burning through his sleeve. Vander gritted his teeth, holding her down as Felicia worked as fast as she could, threading the needle through her flesh, sealing the wound shut.

More sparks. More magic.

(Y/N) convulsed, nails digging into Silco’s arm, breath ragged, uneven.

Felicia’s fingers trembled. The needle was slick with blood. (Y/N)’s blood.

She worked faster.

Silco murmured to her again, voice low, grounding.

(Y/N)’s thrashing slowed.

The light in her hands flickered.

Felicia forced the last stitch through, tying it off with a sharp tug.

“It’s done,” she gasped, pressing a cloth over the wound to stem the bleeding. “She just- she just needs to rest now.”

Silco loosened his grip but didn’t move away. Vander let out a breath, rubbing a hand down his face.

Felicia wiped the sweat from her forehead with a shaky hand.

(Y/N) was barely conscious, her body limp, her breathing shallow. The glow at her fingertips had faded to a dull flicker, no longer sparking against the sheets.

They had stopped the bleeding.

But she had come too close.

Too close to dying.

Too close to losing control.

Felicia swallowed hard. “We can’t let this happen again.”

Vander exhaled. “No. We can’t.”

Silco said nothing. He just stayed where he was, still holding (Y/N)’s wrist, even long after her fingers had gone still.

The world blurred at the edges. The pain in her torso dulled, lost beneath exhaustion and the magic still humming under her skin. Voices murmured in the haze- Silco, firm and steady, grounding her. Vander, heavy with something unspoken. Felicia, exhaling sharply, muttering under her breath. Benzo, chiming in now and then but mostly quiet.

But beyond them, just past the flickering light of the room, stood someone else.

A figure- blurry, shifting, barely tangible.

(Y/N) blinked, her vision hazy, her mind tangled between reality and something else entirely.

The shape before her crackled softly, golden light sparking along its edges.

The same color that bled from her hands when she lost control.

The same magic.

The same blood.

“…Mama?”

The whisper barely left her lips, slipping away into the space between breath and silence.

The figure didn’t speak.

But it watched her.

(Y/N)’s chest tightened. Her fingers twitched, aching to reach forward, to touch what wasn’t really there.

She knew it wasn’t real. Knew it was just her mind playing tricks on her.

Or maybe… something else.

Still.

The golden light crackled again, curling like smoke. And for the briefest moment, she swore she could see her mother’s face- soft, sad, watching her with eyes that held too much.

The same way she had the last time (Y/N) ever saw her awake.

A lump rose in her throat.

“Don’t go,” she murmured.

But her voice barely held weight.

The light flickered- once, twice- before dimming entirely.

The figure was gone.

And (Y/N) finally let herself fall into the dark.

The room was heavy with silence after (Y/N)’s whisper faded. Her outstretched hand fell limply to the mattress, her body finally succumbing to unconsciousness. The faint golden glow at her fingertips flickered out like a dying ember.

Felicia exhaled, shaking out her hands, still stained with (Y/N)’s blood. The stitching was rough, rushed- but it would hold. It had to.

Vander sat heavily on a crate, rubbing his face with both hands, exhaustion clear in the slope of his shoulders.

Silco hadn’t moved. His fingers still rested against (Y/N)’s wrist, checking for a steady pulse. His grip was tight- too tight for someone usually so composed.

Felicia was the first to speak.

“That wasn’t some random street scuffle.” Her voice was quiet, but certain. “That was planned.”

Silco’s jaw tightened. “I know.”

Vander straightened, resting his elbows on his knees. “Did you get a good look at ‘em?”

Silco nodded, eyes dark. “Hooded figures. Armed, coordinated. Not from around here.” His fingers twitched- like he wanted a cigarette- but he didn’t reach for one. “They weren’t just after a payday.”

Felicia swallowed, glancing at (Y/N)’s still form. “They were after her.”

A beat of silence.

Vander let out a long breath. “Then we need to find out who the hell they were.”

Felicia ran a hand through her hair. “If they knew what she is- what she can do this isn’t over.”

Silco’s voice was flat. “She screamed. Drew attention.”

“Good,” Vander said firmly. “Or she’d be dead.”

Felicia shuddered. “And if they’re still watching?”

Silco’s fingers curled into a fist. “Then we make them regret it.”

Vander nodded. “We start asking around. Someone’s bound to know something.” He met Silco’s eyes. “I’ll check the Lanes. See if anyone’s heard about strangers poking around.”

Silco exhaled sharply. “Benzo, you’ll hear more than most at your shop.”

Felicia crossed her arms. “And what about her?” She jerked her chin toward (Y/N). “We can’t leave her alone.”

Silco’s answer was instant. “Then we don’t.”

Vander nodded. “We take shifts.”

Silco looked down at (Y/N), his expression unreadable. “She needs rest.”

Felicia sighed. “We all do.”

But they wouldn’t.

Not tonight.

Tonight, they had work to do.

Benzo left first, pulling his coat tighter around himself before disappearing into the streets. He knew better than to ask too many questions- he’d hear what needed to be heard soon enough.

Felicia sat on the edge of (Y/N)’s bed, arms crossed, watching the slow rise and fall of her friend’s chest. The worst was over, but she still looked pale, her breathing uneven. Felicia reached down, adjusting the blanket over her, though she knew it wouldn’t help much.

“She’ll be fine,” she murmured, more to herself than anyone else.

Silco and Vander stood near the door, preparing to leave. Vander exhaled through his nose, glancing once more at (Y/N). “If anything changes-”

“I’ll come get you,” Felicia finished, giving him a tired look. “I know.”

Silco rolled his shoulders, eyes sharp with something cold. “If she wakes up, don’t let her move. She’ll be stubborn about it.”

Felicia huffed a short, humorless laugh. “No shit.”

Vander placed a hand on Silco’s shoulder, nodding toward the door. “C’mon. The longer we wait, the harder it’ll be to track these bastards down.”

Silco gave (Y/N) one last look before turning sharply and stepping out into the streets. Vander followed, closing the door behind them with a quiet click.

Felicia sighed and leaned back against the wall. “Well, (Y/N),” she muttered, glancing at her unconscious friend. “Looks like you stirred up a real mess this time.” She just hoped they’d be able to clean it up before it got worse.

The Undercity was never quiet, even at night. Vander and Silco moved through the twisting alleyways, boots scuffing against damp stone, the scent of soot and metal thick in the air. They didn’t speak at first- there was no need. Their minds were set on the same goal; finding out who the hell had come after (Y/N).

Vander clenched his fists. “They knew what they were looking for,” he muttered. “Didn’t go after me, didn’t go after you or Felicia. Just her.”

Silco’s jaw tensed. “They knew about her magic.”

Vander shot him a glance. “She’s been careful, Silco. No way word got out just like that.”

Silco exhaled sharply through his nose, sharp eyes scanning the streets ahead. “Doesn’t matter how careful she was. Someone saw something. Someone talked.”

The thought made Vander’s stomach twist. They had spent years making sure (Y/N) kept her secret hidden, had uprooted their lives, moved from place to place, taken jobs in the mines to keep her safe- and still, it wasn’t enough.

They stopped outside a makeshift gambling den wedged between rusted pipes and flickering neon signs. It was one of the places that thrived on knowing things- people paid debts with information as often as they did with coin.

Inside, the air was thick with smoke and tension. Eyes flicked toward them as they stepped inside, taking in their presence but quickly looking away. Vander had a reputation- so did Silco.

They made their way to a table near the back, where a wiry man with thin, calculating eyes was nursing a cheap drink. His name was Lark, and he had a talent for sniffing out whispers in the Undercity.

“Gentlemen,” Lark greeted, his voice smooth, practiced. “Didn’t expect to see you two tonight. What brings you here?”

Silco slid into the seat across from him, Vander standing close behind, arms crossed. “We’re looking for information,” Silco said coolly. “About some hooded bastards prowling the streets. They went after a friend of ours.”

Lark’s lips twitched. “Hooded, huh? That’s not much to go on.”

Vander leaned in, his broad presence casting a shadow over the man. “You know exactly who we’re talking about.”

Lark hesitated, swirling his drink. He measured his words carefully. “You’re talking about the Mageseekers.”

The word hit like a hammer. Silco’s expression remained unreadable, but Vander stiffened slightly.

“Mageseekers?” Vander repeated. “Never heard of ‘em.”

Lark tilted his head. “You wouldn’t have. They don’t come down here often. But when they do, they’re hunting.” He leaned in slightly, voice dropping. “They work for those with money, be it Piltover, Noxus, anyone with the information to give them what they want... Real nasty types. Their job is to sniff out anyone with magic, and when they find ‘em… Well. Let’s just say they don’t send ‘em off with a friendly warning.”

Silco’s fingers drummed once against the table. “Why come all the way down here for one girl?”

Lark gave a loose shrug. “Could be a mistake. Could be she caught their attention somehow. But if the Mageseekers know about her, that means someone up top does too. Piltover doesn’t waste time chasing ghosts…”

Vander exhaled slowly, the weight of the situation settling on his shoulders. This wasn’t just a gang looking for an easy target. This was bigger. More dangerous.

Silco pushed back from the table. “If you hear anything else, you’ll let us know.”

Lark smirked. “Of course. For a price.”

Vander reached into his pocket, tossing a few coins onto the table. Lark scooped them up greedily, nodding in satisfaction.

“Be careful,” Lark said as they turned to leave. “If the Mageseekers have her scent, they won’t stop coming.”

Vander and Silco left the gambling den, stepping back into the cold, oil-slicked streets.

“This is bad,” Vander muttered.

Silco’s gaze was hard, calculating. “We’ll handle it.”

But Vander wasn’t so sure. Because for the first time in a long time, they weren’t just up against the Undercity’s dangers. They were up against Piltover, against Mageseekers… 

The walk back to the bar was silent. Vander and Silco moved with purpose, their minds spinning with what they had just learned. The Mageseekers were bad enough- but the fact that they were sniffing around meant someone in Piltover had taken notice of (Y/N). That alone was enough to make the situation dangerous.

When Vander and Silco reached the bar, the warm glow of the lights was a stark contrast to the cold weight settling in their chests. The place was still closed to the public, but inside, up the stairs, Felicia sat in the same spot she was in before...  On the edge of (Y/N)’s bed, (Y/N) resting beside her.

Felicia looked up as they entered. “Well?” she asked, her voice edged with frustration.

Silco exhaled, running a hand through his dark hair. “Mageseekers,” he said flatly. “They’re sent from Piltover. Hunting people like her.” His gaze flickered to (Y/N), still unconscious, her breathing shallow. “If they found her once, they’ll find her again.”

Felicia’s lips pressed into a thin line. “So what do we do?”

Vander pulled up a chair, resting his forearms on his knees. “We stay close. No more going off alone. No more risks. They’ll come back, and when they do, we’ll be ready.”

Felicia nodded, but something about the way she looked at (Y/N) was uneasy. She knew it wasn’t just about keeping her safe anymore. 

Felicia let out a quiet sigh, rubbing a hand over her tired face. “I’ll go make some food… She will need the energy…” she murmured, though the exhaustion in her voice betrayed her need for a break. She cast one last glance at (Y/N), still motionless on the bed, before rising to her feet.

Vander followed suit, rolling the stiffness from his shoulders. “I’ll be downstairs. Give a shout if anything changes,” he said, though the weight in his tone made it clear he wasn’t expecting good news anytime soon.

Silco remained seated, his sharp eyes never leaving (Y/N). As Vander and Felicia made their way out of the room, the door creaked shut behind them, leaving behind a heavy silence.

For a moment, there was only the dim glow of the bedside lamp, casting flickering shadows across the walls. Silco exhaled slowly, leaning back in his chair, his fingers absently toying with a knife at his belt.

“You really don’t make things easy, do you?” he muttered, watching the slow rise and fall of (Y/N)’s chest.

The Undercity was dangerous enough- but now, with the Mageseekers involved, things had taken a sharp and deadly turn.

(Y/N)'s eyelids fluttered open, the dim glow of the bedside lantern casting soft shadows across the room. Her body felt like it had been dragged across the Undercity’s roughest streets, every movement sending sharp pain through her torso. The wound throbbed, stitched together with Felicia’s quick, practiced hands, but the bruises on her ribs and shoulders made even breathing an effort.

She blinked, disoriented, mind foggy from exhaustion and pain.

Silco was sitting nearby, leaning back in a chair, one leg crossed over the other- his sharp eyes were on her the second she stirred.

“You’re awake.” His voice was quiet, but there was something in it. Relief, maybe. It was hard to tell with Silco sometimes.

(Y/N) groaned, shutting her eyes again. “Unfortunately.”

Silco let out a breath that might’ve been a chuckle. “You had us worried,” he admitted, shifting in his seat.

Her fingers twitched as she tried to push herself up slightly, but pain flared up her side, forcing her back down. She sucked in a breath through her teeth. “Shit.”

“Careful,” Silco warned, watching her struggle. “Felicia stitched you up, but you tear that open, and you’ll be bleeding all over again.”

(Y/N) huffed, frustrated. “Feels like I already am.” She hesitated, eyes flickering to Silco. “What happened?”

He exhaled through his nose, tapping his fingers against his knee. “Mageseekers.”

Her stomach twisted at the name.

Silco’s gaze didn’t waver. “They were following us. They caught you when you strayed too far back. Vander and I got to you before they could take you, but one of them got a lucky hit.”

(Y/N) swallowed hard. “And now?”

Silco leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “Now we wait. See what Benzo finds. But you… you don’t leave the bar. Not alone.”

(Y/N)’s lips pressed into a thin line. She hated being confined. Hated feeling weak. But she wasn’t stupid- she knew this was bad.

Still, something nagged at her. The Mageseekers weren’t usually in the Undercity. They had no reason to be here unless… Unless someone had given them one.

Or unless someone else had sent them.

Her throat felt dry. “…They won’t stop, will they?”

Silco was quiet for a moment. Then, with a voice far softer than she expected, he said, “No. They won’t.”

The weight of that truth settled over her, suffocating.

Outside, the distant hum of the Undercity’s streets carried on, the world moving as if nothing had changed. But for (Y/N), everything had.

Silco hadn’t moved from his seat, his eyes never straying far from her as she sat there, lost in thought. The weight of everything pressed against her ribs, heavy and suffocating. The pain, the attack, the realization that she wasn’t safe- probably never had been.

But what got to her most wasn’t the danger. It wasn’t even the Mageseekers. It was the damn feeling of weakness clawing at her insides.

She felt disgusting. Dried blood clung to her skin, crusted over her stomach where the wound had been stitched. Her clothes were stiff with it, the fabric sticking to her in the worst places. She wanted out of them. She wanted to clean herself up, to not feel like she was still stuck in that alley, surrounded by those hooded bastards.

But moving- hell, even sitting up- wasn’t something she could do on her own.

The realization made her stomach twist. She hated this. Hated asking for help, hated feeling small and pathetic. But she’d rather die than go downstairs like this, looking like something dragged through the Lanes and left to rot.

Her fingers curled into the bedsheets as she debated it, chewing at the inside of her cheek. Silco was still watching her, patient but expectant. He knew she was working through something, but he wasn’t going to pry.

Her throat tightened. She exhaled sharply, barely above a whisper.

“…Can you help me?”

Silco raised an eyebrow. “With?”

She clenched her jaw, looking away. “I need to clean up.”

He didn’t answer right away. Didn’t tease her for the hesitation or draw attention to the shame buried in her voice.

Instead, he just stood.

“Alright.”

Relief flooded through her, though she refused to let it show.

With Silco’s help, she slowly- agonizingly- pushed herself up. Every movement sent fresh spikes of pain through her body, her wound burning, but she bit her tongue and kept quiet. Silco slipped an arm around her waist, careful of the injury, keeping her steady as her legs wobbled beneath her.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured.

“I’ll be fine,” she muttered back, though she wasn’t convinced.

Silco guided her across the room to where the old metal basin sat, a rag and a pitcher of water next to it. It wasn’t much, but it was all they had.

“Sit,” he ordered, helping her onto the stool beside it.

She obeyed, too tired to argue.

The water was cold as she poured some into the basin, soaking the rag before wringing it out. She hissed when the cloth touched her skin, wiping away the dried blood from her stomach. It took more effort than she wanted to admit just to lift the hem of her shirt, exposing the stitches.

Silco watched, arms crossed, but he said nothing.

After a few moments, (Y/N) swallowed her pride again and held the rag out to him.

“…Can you get my back?”

Silco took it without a word.

She sucked in a breath as the cold cloth pressed against her shoulder, dragging down her spine where bruises had already started to form. His movements were precise, careful, but he didn’t hesitate. He never did.

She closed her eyes, letting the silence settle between them.

“…Thank you,” she murmured, voice barely above a breath.

Silco didn’t respond, but he didn’t have to.

Once she was clean, he helped her into fresh clothes, a loose shirt that wouldn’t tug at the stitches, before carefully wrapping a new bandage around her torso. Once done, he carefully brought her back into her room.

(Y/N) sat stiffly on the edge of her bed, still adjusting to the feeling of fresh bandages against her skin. She felt better- cleaner, at least- but the soreness hadn’t faded. Her body ached like hell, but at least she didn’t feel like she was drowning in her own blood anymore.

She thought they were done. Thought Silco would leave her to rest now that she was taken care of.

Instead, he stayed.

She tensed when she felt him move behind her, fingers gathering her tangled hair.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice laced with suspicion.

Silco didn’t answer immediately. He took the small comb from her bedside table- one she barely used- and ran it through the strands, carefully working through the knots.

“Your hair’s a mess,” he said simply.

(Y/N) huffed, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, well, getting stabbed tends to make things like brushing my hair less of a priority.”

Silco made a noncommittal sound, focused on his task. He worked in steady strokes, more careful than she expected from someone so sharp-edged. It was… odd.

He was being soft. Unusually so.

(Y/N) didn’t know what to do with that.

She swallowed, staring at her hands in her lap. “…You don’t have to.”

“I know.”

Then why?

The question hung in the air, unspoken.

Silco didn’t answer it, but she could feel it in the way his fingers combed through her hair, untangling the knots with a patience she hadn’t known he possessed.

It wasn’t like him to be openly gentle. But this- this was different.

Maybe he thought she wouldn’t remember. Maybe he assumed the pain, the exhaustion, would dull the weight of this moment. Or maybe he just didn’t care if she noticed.

Either way, she let him do it.

For the first time in a long time, (Y/N) let herself be taken care of.

Silco lingered behind her after tying her hair back, his hands briefly resting on her shoulders before slowly falling away.

He should have left. Should have walked away now that she was taken care of... Instead, he stayed.

(Y/N) sat still, her head slightly bowed, her breathing steady but fragile- like even that took effort. He watched the way her fingers curled into the fabric of her pants, gripping them tightly as if grounding herself.

She had almost died today.

The thought clawed at his mind, tightening in his chest like a vice.

Silco had always understood that death was inevitable in the Undercity. He had seen enough of it to know that anyone could be taken in an instant. But the idea of losing her- of seeing her crumpled in an alley, blood pooling beneath her, magic flickering uncontrollably in her weakened state- was something else entirely.

It was a fear he hadn’t let himself acknowledge.

But now, with her here, still breathing, still alive… He felt it.

(Y/N) exhaled softly, tilting her head slightly, as if sensing the weight of his silence. “You’re still here,” she murmured.

Silco clenched his jaw, steadying himself before responding. “…Yeah.”

A beat of silence stretched between them.

“You’re scared,” she said suddenly.

He stiffened. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

But (Y/N) only gave a tired, knowing smile. “…You are.”

Silco hated that she could see through him.

He hated it even more that she was right.

His hands curled into fists at his sides. “…They almost took you from us.” His voice was low, barely above a whisper, but there was an edge to it- sharp, dangerous, like the promise of a blade in the dark.

(Y/N) swallowed, her fingers loosening their grip on her pants. “But they didn’t,” she reassured, glancing back at him. “I’m still here.”

Silco’s eyes flickered to hers, searching, unreadable.

Still here.

For now.

He let out a slow breath through his nose, his shoulders relaxing just slightly. He reached out without thinking, his fingers brushing against her back lightly- just enough to feel that she was real. That she wasn’t slipping away.

“…Get some rest,” he murmured, finally stepping away.

(Y/N) didn’t stop him this time.

But before he reached the door, she spoke again- soft, but certain.

“…You don’t have to be scared, Sil...”

He didn’t turn around.

Didn’t tell her that it was too late for that.

The room was quiet now, save for the distant hum of the empty bar below and the occasional creak of pipes in the walls. The dim light on the bedside table flickered, casting long shadows across the room.

(Y/N) lay still, her body heavy with exhaustion, but rest wouldn’t come. The dull ache of her wound pulsed in time with her heartbeat, a constant reminder of how close she had come to being taken. She stared at the ceiling, thoughts circling like vultures.

She couldn’t just lie here.

(Y/N) forced herself up with a wince, pressing a hand against her aching side. The stitches pulled uncomfortably, but she had never been the type to stay still for long- especially not now, when there were Mageseekers lurking in the shadows, and questions she desperately needed answers to.

Her boots were quiet against the floor as she made her way down the stairs, the dim glow of the bar’s lanterns casting warm light over the wooden surfaces. The place was still closed, but Vander was behind the counter, cleaning a glass with slow, thoughtful movements.

His gaze flicked up as soon as she reached the bottom step.

“You shouldn’t be up,” he said, his voice edged with something between exasperation and concern.

(Y/N) exhaled, leaning against the counter. “I’d rather be here than lying in bed, thinking too much.”

Vander sighed, setting the glass down. “That wound’s fresh. You push yourself too hard, kid.”

“I’ll live.”

He gave her a look, one that made it very clear he wasn’t amused. “Not if you go tearing your stitches open.”

(Y/N) only offered a faint smirk in return, ignoring the way her body ached as she pulled herself onto one of the barstools. “Benzo back yet?”

Vander shook his head. “Not yet. But I doubt it’ll take long… And Fel is in back cooking...”

She nodded, tapping her fingers against the worn wood of the bar. Silence stretched between them, save for the distant hum of the Undercity beyond the doors.

It was Silco who finally broke it.

“I told you to rest,” he muttered from his seat near the end of the bar, watching her with sharp, unimpressed eyes.

(Y/N) turned to him, raising a brow. “And I told you I’m fine.”

Silco’s gaze flickered to her side, to the way she was ever so slightly favoring it. “…Sure you are.”

She rolled her eyes, but before she could retort, a door swung open at the far end of the room. Felicia emerged from the back, wiping her hands on a rag, her expression set in a tired scowl.

She froze for a second, eyes narrowing as she took in (Y/N), sitting at the bar when she was supposed to be resting. Then, with a sharp exhale, she threw the rag down onto a nearby table.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she muttered, already storming toward her. “You got stabbed, hours ago, and you’re up and walking around like it’s nothing?”

“I can’t just lay around,” (Y/N) muttered, swaying slightly as she tried to sit up on her stool. “We both know this isn’t over.”

Felicia let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Yeah, no shit. And you bleeding out on the floor is really gonna help, huh?” She sighs, shaking her head. “I made stew. You’re eating, and then you’re resting. Or Ill knock you out myself…”

There was no real threat behind her words, just frustration, worry- the kind that only came from caring too much. But (Y/N) wasn’t sure she had it in her to fight back against that right now.

(Y/N) didn’t argue, she just slowly nodded. She was too tired. And, truth be told… the stew smelled pretty damn good.

“Good,” Felicia muttered. She crossed her arms, shaking her head. “Stubborn idiot.”

(Y/N) smirked faintly. “Takes one to know one.”

Hello my friend! I have a good funny story request idea that you may like to do! Well I wanted to see you could do a headcanon/ story on the Demon Slayer Au x female!reader where they had a small argument with each other then the reader screams out how there aren’t very funny or loving because there either too serious, sad, rude, airhead or nice which shocks the Demon Slayer character. Then they decide to play a prank on the reader to prove them wrong ( it can be any type of prank from making them food with something their allergic to plus funny ingredients, trying to scare them, dress up in something silly, pretending to have amnesia and etc). But when their prank is over instead of getting a laugh or apologize; the reader would either get hurt/hospitalized (physically or emotionally), angry, cry, annoyed and even threaten to leave them ( is also joking as well) which causes them to feel guilty, like a jerk or beg for forgiveness?!!~ (It’s up to you whether or not they forgive them or not!)🤭😅❤️‍🔥✨

A/N: Of course, @lelewright1234! I made ths one a oneshot, since the other two you requested are headcanons :}

Terrible Prank- Better Apology

Tanjiro, Inosuke, Zenitsu, Nezuko, and Genya x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Physical Injury, Mentions of Leaving/Breakup Threats, and Miscommunication

Word Count: 4767

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tanjiro:

The morning sun crept through the paper-paneled windows, the scent of freshly baked bread lingered in the air. Laughter echoed faintly down the hallway as Zenitsu teased Inosuke, and Nezuko hummed while tending to the garden.

But in the center of the house, things weren’t quite so peaceful.

“I’m just saying, Tanjiro,” (Y/N) huffed, crossing her arms as she stood in the kitchen doorway, “you don’t always have to be so perfect all the time.”

Tanjiro blinked, confused, ladle still in hand from making soup. “Perfect? I don’t think I’m-”

“You are!” (Y/N) cut in, voice rising in frustration. “You’re too kind, too polite, too... I don’t know, nice! You’re never mad, never sarcastic, never playful- how do you expect people to relax around you when you’re always one step away from offering a moral lesson?”

The kitchen went silent, save for the gentle bubbling of miso soup.

Tanjiro's eyebrows furrowed. “But… I’m just trying to keep the peace. I like being kind to the people I care about. Especially you.”

(Y/N)’s throat tightened, but she forged on. “I know you care, but it’s like... you never joke with me. You don’t tease, you don’t play around. Sometimes it feels like you're scared to just be real.”

Then she added- too loudly and too emotionally- “You’re not even that funny or loving, honestly!”

As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted it. Tanjiro’s eyes flickered with something quiet and deep- not anger, but woundedness.

“…I see,” he said softly.

“No- wait, I didn’t mean-” (Y/N) began, but Tanjiro simply nodded, setting the ladle down with a calm gentleness that somehow felt heavier than a slammed door.

That Afternoon, (Y/N) looked around for Tanjiro, but… She couldnt find him, anywhere.

“...He hasn’t said anything to you?” (Y/N) asked Nezuko in a hushed voice as she watered the bonsai plants. Nezuko gave a tiny shake of her head and shrugged.

(Y/N) sighed, heart heavy. The argument had been stupid. She hadn’t meant to accuse him of being unloving- she just wanted to see a messier, funnier side of him. To know he could be silly or imperfect around her.

Just once.

And it seemed, maybe, Tanjiro had taken that challenge to heart… Even so, she kept looking.

“Hey… Inosuke, where’s Tanjiro?” (Y/N) asked, glancing around the dinner table as she sat down. Zenitsu paused with a mouthful of rice halfway to his lips.

“Oh, didn’t you hear?” Zenitsu said, chewing. “He hit his head earlier- fell on a wet step outside.”

(Y/N)’s eyes widened. “What?!”

“Yeah,” Inosuke chimed in, grinning. “And now he doesn’t remember anything. Doesn’t even know who you are.”

(Y/N) bolted from the table, heartbeat pounding.

She found him sitting on the porch, a serene smile on his face, moonlight painting his skin. He turned to them with wide eyes- gentle, unfamiliar.

“Oh. Hello. Are you a friend of the family?”

(Y/N) stopped in her tracks. “…Tanjiro?”

He tilted his head. “I was told that’s my name. You’re… (Y/N), right?”

Her heart twisted. “You don’t remember me?”

Tanjiro smiled sweetly, with not a hint of recognition. “Sorry.”

Days later, the amnesia act continued.

Tanjiro asked the same innocent questions over and over: where they had met, what they meant to each other, what her favorite color was. (Y/N) answered every time with a trembling voice and a forced smile. On the third night, she cried herself to sleep.

Zenitsu started looking guilty. Inosuke avoided her eyes.

By the fourth day, (Y/N) broke.

She stood up from their shared porch bench, voice shaky. “Alright, Tanjiro. You win.”

Tanjiro blinked. “Win what?”

“You’re funny. You’re playful. You got me, okay? Real good prank. Hilarious,” she said, voice cracking. “Except I guess I was wrong when I called you too nice. Because no one that kind would do this to someone they love.”

She turned away, rubbing at her eyes furiously.

“I’m leaving tomorrow. Maybe not forever- but definitely long enough to figure out how I let myself fall for someone who thinks this is funny.”

Her voice dropped, half-joking, half-dead serious:

“…Hope it’s worth it.”

She didn’t wait for a response. She walked inside, quietly shutting the door behind them.

Late that same night, there was a soft knock on her door.

(Y/N) rolled over, wiping dried tears from her cheek. “Go away.”

“It’s me,” Tanjiro’s voice said. And it was his voice- not the stranger from the porch, but the one she knew. Warm, guilt-ridden, real.

The door creaked open. He stepped in, candle in hand, and shut the door behind him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I thought... maybe if I showed you I could be playful, you'd laugh. And we could make up. I didn’t think it would hurt you like this.”

(Y/N) stayed quiet.

He sank to his knees beside the futon. “I missed you. Even when I was pretending not to know you- I missed the real us. Every time you looked sad, or forced a smile, it made my stomach twist.”

(Y/N)’s voice was soft. “Then why didn’t you stop?”

“I was afraid you wouldn’t forgive me,” he admitted.

There was silence between them.

Finally, (Y/N) sighed. “You’re a dummy, Tanjiro Kamado.”

His lips twitched. “I am.”

“And a bad actor.”

“I know.”

“And I still love you.”

His breath caught. Then he leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers, eyes closed. “I love you too. Always. Even when I’m too nice. Even when I mess up.”

(Y/N) snorted. “You’re allowed to mess up, Tanjiro. Just… not like that again.”

He nodded solemnly. “No more fake amnesia.”

“Good.”

A beat of silence.

“…Unless I need an excuse to get out of helping Inosuke with his… Nature stuff,” he added hopefully.

(Y/N) laughed, smacking his arm.

And just like that, the tension cracked- and love slipped in, soft and sure.

The next morning, Zenitsu glanced up from his tea as (Y/N) entered the kitchen with Tanjiro behind her, arms wrapped around her waist, chin resting on her shoulder.

“…So, did he get his memory back?” Zenitsu asked innocently.

(Y/N) grinned. “Nope. Still thinks he’s hilarious.”

Tanjiro just laughed and kissed her cheek.

Inosuke:

The forest was still, too still for (Y/N)’s liking.

The soft chirps of crickets were the only sounds keeping her company as her walked along the dirt path, surrounded by towering trees and the dim glow of moonlight. The mission was over, the demon slain, and the village safe again. But (Y/N)’s shoulders remained tense- because the most exhausting part of the evening wasn’t the battle.

It was Inosuke.

“Could you please not charge in next time without a plan?” (Y/N) asked, for what felt like the fifth time that day, her arms crossed tight across her chest.

Inosuke grunted in response, leaping over a rock and puffing out his chest like a peacock. “I didn’t need a plan! I WON! HAHA!” he declared, full of pride, his boar mask swinging from one hand. “You’re just mad ‘cause you didn’t get the final hit!”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes so hard it almost gave her a headache. “I’m mad because you almost got your head bitten off, you idiot!”

He turned toward her, that wild, half-mischievous, half-oblivious look on his face. “Then you would’ve been the one crying, huh? All like, ‘Oh nooo, my big strong wild man got himself eaten- waaah!’”

“I’d be crying of relief because I’d finally have some peace and quiet!”

That shut him up- if only for a moment. But when (Y/N) saw him frowning in confusion rather than embarrassment, something inside her snapped.

“You’re-!” she shouted, fists clenching. “You’re not even loving! You’re just... some wild airhead who acts like a rabid raccoon on a sugar rush!”

“HUH?! I’m totally loving!! I let you sleep on my arm that one time, didn’t I?!”

“That’s because you passed out mid-conversation!”

“Well... still counts!”

“No, it doesn’t!”

(Y/N) turned around and stomped off down the trail, fuming, ignoring the way the leaves crunched under her boots. Inosuke stayed back for a second, scratching his head, visibly baffled.

He’d seen her mad before, but never like this.

“Hmph. She thinks I’m not loving?” he muttered to himself, then suddenly smirked. “I’ll show ‘er loving. I’ll love ‘er so much, she’ll scream.”

Inosuke had a plan. A brilliant, perfect plan.

It involved a dead deer skull he’d found earlier, some long branches, a cloak soaked in dark mud, and his natural ability to hide in trees like a very aggressive bird.

He waited until (Y/N) had cooled off and was sitting at their shared campsite, fanning the flames of the small fire with a quiet pout still on her face.

Then- BAM!

A bloodcurdling shriek echoed from the treetops as something monstrous launched from the shadows. Mud, bone, and antlers flashed. (Y/N) screamed and scrambled back, drawing her blade by instinct. Her heart nearly leapt out of her chest.

Then-

The “creature” tripped over a root and faceplanted in front of her.

“HAHA! GOTCHA!” Inosuke leapt up, flinging off the deer skull and mud-caked cloak with a triumphant grin. “See?? Bet your heart’s racing! That’s love, baby!”

(Y/N) just stared at him. No laughter. No playful push. Just silence... and slowly rising anger.

She stood stiffly, brushing leaves and dirt off her clothes with trembling hands.

“You...” she began, voice shaking. “You scared the absolute hell out of me, Inosuke!”

He blinked, grin faltering. “Well, yeah! That was the point! It’s funny, right? Right?”

“You think traumatizing me is funny?!” she snapped, backing away a few steps. “You know what? I’m done. I’m so done. I’m going to pack up my things and leave. You can marry that deer skull and live happily ever after with your mud cloak.”

“Wait- WHAAAT?!”

“I hope you and Mrs. Deer Bone have a great life together.”

Inosuke looked genuinely terrified now. “No no no, wait, wait- (Y/N)! Come on! It was just a joke! You’re not really leaving, are you?!”

(Y/N) turned dramatically, starting to walk away.

Inosuke scrambled after them, dropping to his knees. “Okay, I’m sorry!! Please don’t go! You can punch me in the face! Kick me in the ribs! Stab me in the arm! Wait, no, not the arm, I need that- BUT STILL!! I’M SORRY!!”

(Y/N) stopped.

She turned, arms crossed again, raising a brow. “So now you’re saying sorry?”

“YES! I mean... yeah! I didn’t mean to make you mad, I just...” he fidgeted, looking anywhere but at her. “I thought if I could make you scream and laugh and forget being mad at me, then you’d know I care. But... I guess that wasn’t the smartest way.”

(Y/N) exhaled, finally letting her shoulders drop.

“I was never actually going to leave, you dumb boar,” she said softly. “But gods, Inosuke... you’ve got to learn how to show you care without nearly giving me a heart attack.”

He stood, slowly padding forward with his head low.

“Then... how do I show you?” he asked, for once not shouting or charging. Just curious. Soft.

(Y/N) walked over and gently took his hand, still stained with mud.

“This. Talking. Listening. Just be with me. Not hiding in trees trying to traumatize me.”

“...But trees are so cool, though-”

“Inosuke-”

“Okay! Okay! No more tree-jumping monsters!” He grinned sheepishly. “...Unless you want one.”

(Y/N) snorted, pulling him into a hug. “You’re impossible.”

His arms wrapped around her tightly, face pressed into her shoulder. “Yeah... but I’m your impossible.”

Zenitsu:

The sun filtered gently through the cracks in the wooden shutters, bathing the room in golden light. The safe house was unusually quiet this afternoon- Tanjiro and Inosuke were off training, Nezuko was napping peacefully in her box, and that left just Zenitsu and (Y/N) to occupy the space.

And that… was not going well.

“You always run away!” (Y/N)’s voice cut through the silence, sharp and frustrated.

Zenitsu flinched as if she'd thrown something at him. “I don’t always run away! I-I just... use tactical retreat when necessary!”

“Tactical retreat? You screamed and climbed on my head, Zenitsu!”

“That demon was horrifying!” Zenitsu wailed, gripping his own hair. “It had four arms and teeth where its eyes should be!”

“And I had to take care of it while you were shaking like a leaf behind a bush!” (Y/N) crossed her arms, exasperated. “I’m not saying you’re not brave when it counts, but when you act like this all the time- it doesn’t exactly scream ‘loving and protective boyfriend,’ Zenitsu!”

The words hit him like a slap, his wide amber eyes growing misty. “You don’t think I’m loving?”

(Y/N) sighed, rubbing her forehead. “Zenitsu... I love you. But you’re such a scaredy cat sometimes! And it hurts because I feel like I can’t depend on you unless you’re unconscious and lightning-charged.”

Zenitsu stood there, stunned, lower lip wobbling.

(Y/N) groaned. “I need to go cool off.” She stormed out of the room, sliding the door shut a bit too hard.

Later that day, Zenitsu paced in the hallway with his hands behind his back, muttering to himself.

“Scaredy cat... scaredy cat... I’ll show her scaredy cat... I’m going to prove I can be fun and loving. I’ll do something bold! Something dramatic! Something... memorable!”

It was then that he spotted a costume closet one of the Kakushi used for festivals. His eyes gleamed with mischief. An idea bloomed in his head, outrageous and ridiculous- and perfect.

Later, when (Y/N) returned from a walk, calmer now. Her fingers trailed along the hallway walls, the air carrying the scent of tea and clean wood. She was already planning what to say when she saw Zenitsu again- something like “I’m sorry for being harsh,” or “I know you’re trying.”

But then-

“RAWR!”

A creature leapt from behind a sliding door, arms flailing and covered in bright, ridiculous fabrics. Zenitsu had somehow forced himself into a lion onesie, complete with fuzzy tail and painted whiskers. He charged with a roar that sounded like a cat having a coughing fit.

(Y/N) screamed- not in amusement, but in raw, startled panic.

She tripped over a rock, fell hard on her side, and rolled a bit before groaning in pain.

Zenitsu dropped the fake roar instantly. “(Y/N)!!” He scrambled over in his fuzzy lion getup, paw-gloves flailing. “Oh no oh no oh no-! I didn’t mean to scare you like that!”

(Y/N) sat up, wincing. Her arm was scraped, her knee had caught the worst of the fall, and a forming bruise throbbed under her robes.

“I was trying to make you laugh! I thought-! I just wanted to prove I could be brave and... fun and... romantic and-!” Zenitsu’s bottom lip trembled again, eyes glassy. “I didn’t mean to hurt you…”

(Y/N) blinked at him- at the giant lion suit, the silly little ears, the dumb tail, and his completely crumpled expression.

“I should leave,” she said solemnly.

Zenitsu let out a strangled noise. “NO! Don’t go! Please- I’m sorry- I’ll throw the suit away- I’ll be serious- I’ll go punch a demon in the face right now- I-”

“I meant leave you, not the house,” (Y/N) interrupted, deadpan.

Zenitsu looked like a kicked puppy.

“I’m joking, you ridiculous fuzzy idiot.”

Zenitsu blinked.

Then (Y/N) chuckled softly. “You really thought dressing up like that would make me laugh?”

He nodded sheepishly. “I wanted to be a brave lion boyfriend.”

(Y/N) shook her head, wincing again as she moved. “You’re lucky I love you.”

Zenitsu moved to help her up, all dramatics gone now, just soft and apologetic. “You... do still love me, right?”

She leaned heavily against him, hand resting on his fuzzy chest. “Of course I do. Even if you’re a bit of a coward, even if you’re dramatic... You always try. And that means a lot.”

Zenitsu flushed a deep scarlet, holding her tighter than the lion suit allowed. “I promise I’ll do better. I’ll be there next time- no matter how scary it is.”

(Y/N) smiled against his shoulder. “Just don’t dress like a circus act again, and we’ll be fine.”

“Deal.”

Later that night, Zenitsu sat by the futon, gently dabbing at (Y/N)’s scraped knee with some ointment.

“You’re lucky Tanjiro isn’t here. He’d be so disappointed in me.”

“He would lecture you about safety and emotional responsibility,” (Y/N) mused.

Zenitsu winced dramatically. “Ugh, even worse than fighting a demon.”

(Y/N) reached out and pulled him into bed beside her, sighing contentedly.

“I guess I do have a pretty loving boyfriend,” she mumbled sleepily. “Even if he’s a ridiculous coward.”

Zenitsu blushed as he pulled the blanket over both of them.

“...I love you too, you bruised-up gremlin.”

“Goodnight, lion boy.”

“...Rawr.”

Nezuko:

The sky was pale and overcast when the argument began. Spring usually meant new life, blooming trees, and bright sun filtering through clouds. But today? The wind was a little too sharp, and the air carried a tension that matched the sudden silence in the Kamado household.

"You always act like everything's perfect, Nezuko," (Y/N) snapped, turning away from the young demon-turned-human, arms crossed. "Like nothing ever bothers you. Like... you're always calm. Always sweet. Always too good to be real."

Nezuko stood still, mouth slightly open. Her soft pink eyes blinked once, then twice, hurt flickering across them like a candle guttering in the wind.

"But I am real," she said softly.

"Yeah, and I love you- I do. But sometimes I feel like... you’re not really here. Like you don’t feel the way I do. You’re so perfect all the time that I feel like I’m the only one who's ever angry or jealous or scared. And I hate that! I hate how you never screw up, how you never mess up, never yell- never even sweat under pressure. I hate that I’m the messy one in this-"

(Y/N)'s voice cracked, and she sucked in a breath.

"...I feel like I’m the only one trying sometimes."

Nezuko's lips parted, but no sound came out. Her fingers clenched at her sides, a dozen replies dying in her throat. She didn’t want to cry- not in front of (Y/N), who was already trembling from the weight of their confession.

"I’m not very loving," (Y/N) added bitterly. "Not like you. Because you're... you’re too perfect."

And just like that, she turned and stormed out onto the porch, leaving Nezuko alone in the kitchen, her heart quietly shattering beneath her ribs.

Later that night, Nezuko sat curled up on the tatami mat, frowning into a bowl of ingredients. She didn’t cry- crying wouldn’t fix it. But she was bothered. Maybe she hadn’t realized how distant she'd felt to (Y/N) lately. Maybe her quiet nature- once a comfort- was starting to feel like a wall.

"Too perfect, huh?" she whispered to herself.

A mischievous glint entered her eyes.

"Well... maybe I should show her I’m not that perfect."

She cracked her knuckles, glancing at the small box of dango flour and the recipe for (Y/N)'s favorite sweet- matcha mochi. But this time... she had a special ingredient in mind.

Nezuko grinned as she reached for the spice shelf.

"Wasabi... just a little prank."

The next afternoon, she presented the mochi like it was a peace offering. Green, soft, dusted with rice flour. Perfectly handmade.

(Y/N) was still a little raw from the fight, curled on the edge of the porch with her arms around her knees, watching clouds pass overhead.

"...I made you something," Nezuko said gently, nudging the plate into her view.

(Y/N) looked up, hesitant. "Mochi?"

Nezuko nodded innocently. "Your favorite. Matcha. With extra love."

There was a beat of silence. Then (Y/N) gave a small, lopsided smile. "You’re trying to bribe me with sweets, huh?"

"...Maybe."

She took one without much thought, bit in- and immediately froze.

Nezuko tried not to laugh too soon, but she saw her eyes widen comically and a sputter leave her lips.

"W-What the hell is in this?" (Y/N) gagged. "Is this... is this wasabi?!"

Nezuko burst out laughing, holding her sides. "Got you!"

"You little-" (Y/N) laughed too at first, nervously, wiping her tongue. "Nezuuuko!"

But then she stopped.

And blinked.

Nezuko’s laughter faltered.

"...You okay?"

(Y/N)’s face turned a little red- no, splotchy. She reached toward her throat.

"Shit."

She stood quickly, stumbling. "Nezuko- I-I'm- I'm allergic to wasabi-"

Her eyes went wide in horror.

"What?!"

Nezuko grabbed herinstantly, guiding her back inside. "Why didn’t you tell me?!"

"You’re not supposed to put prank spices in my favorite food!" she croaked, wheezing as she dug into her bag for her emergency medication.

It wasn’t a severe allergy- thankfully. Just enough to make her tongue swell, her face puff slightly, and breathing get mildly tight. But it was enough to scare the hell out of Nezuko.

As she downed the medicine and slumped back into a seated position, fanning her mouth with her hand, she gave Nezuko a sharp side-eye.

"That was evil, Kamado. I’m breaking up with you. I’m going to go find a quiet, boring farmer girl who can cook without trying to kill me."

"...No you're not." Nezuko’s voice cracked, her hands trembling as she tried to steady the cup of water for (Y/N).

"You don’t know that," (Y/N) teased weakly, though she were already leaning into her.

Nezuko placed the cup down, then sat beside her, face pale and tight with guilt.

"...I was trying to be funny. Trying to prove I wasn’t perfect. That I do mess up. But I didn’t want this."

(Y/N) chuckled, still half-wheezing. "Well, you definitely proved it."

Nezuko dropped her face into her hands. "I’m sorry. So, so sorry. I didn’t think- I didn’t even ask-"

(Y/N) leaned into her, resting her head against her shoulder, breath finally starting to come easier.

"I forgive you."

Nezuko looked up slowly, shocked.

(Y/N) gave her a small, crooked grin. "...You were trying to reach me. That’s what matters. Even if you nearly poisoned me doing it."

She let out a weak giggle.

Nezuko blinked a few times, and suddenly threw her arms around them, burying her face in her shoulder.

"You scared me..." she whispered.

"You scared me, too."

Silence fell between them for a moment, but it was warmer now. Closer.

"...Can I still cook for you?" Nezuko murmured after a while.

(Y/N) groaned dramatically. "Only if you promise never to go near wasabi again."

She nodded solemnly. "Deal."

"Also... maybe let’s both stop pretending. You don’t have to be perfect. And I don’t have to be the mess. We’re allowed to meet halfway."

Nezuko smiled into her neck.

"I love you, imperfections and all."

(Y/N) smirked. "Good. ‘Cause this relationship is definitely messy now."

Nezuko giggled, and for the first time that day, (Y/N) genuinely laughed with her.

Genya:

They were in the middle of a quiet clearing, sun filtering through the treetops above them. The scent of pine and moss lingered in the warm breeze, and for a moment, it felt like the world had paused. No demons, no missions, just stillness.

Except… not really.

“You know, you never joke around,” (Y/N) muttered, crouched over the small fire pit she was trying to light. “Always so serious. It's like you’re afraid your face will crack if you smile too hard.”

Genya, sharpening his blade nearby, tensed visibly. “What the hell does that even mean?”

(Y/N) blew at an ember from within the fire and glanced at him. “It means you're not very… loving. You’re all ‘training’ this and ‘focus’ that, but never ‘Hey, (Y/N), I care about you’ or even ‘you look cute today.’ You’re like a really buff rock with a grudge.”

That got him. His eyes flicked up, brows furrowed deep.

“That's not fair,” he muttered. “Just 'cause I don’t say stuff like that doesn't mean I don't care.”

(Y/N) stood up now, hands on her hips. “Then show it once in a while, Genya. I'm not asking for poetry. Just… affection. A little fun. You’re always acting like smiling is illegal.”

Genya stood, jaw clenched, flustered and defensive. “I ain’t unloving! Just ‘cause I ain’t goofy doesn’t mean I don’t-”

But (Y/N) had already walked away, huffing, “Whatever.”

The argument settled into an awkward silence between them for the rest of the evening. But Genya couldn’t get her words out of his head. Too serious. Not loving. That stung. He wasn’t like his brother, sure, but he wasn’t heartless.

So... he got an idea. A stupid idea.

The next morning, (Y/N) woke up to an empty camp. She stretched and yawned, only to find a strange trail of bloodied feathers and ripped fabric leading into the forest. Her heart dropped.

"Genya?!" she called, already grabbing her weapon.

No answer.

Panic rising, she followed the trail- only for a blur to come rushing out of the bushes with a loud screech.

"DEMON!!" she screamed, drawing her blade-

-and immediately tripping over a random stick that was on the ground.

She went down hard, rolling down a small slope, crashing into a fallen log with a sickening crack.

"SHIT- (Y/N)!" Genya's voice cut through the trees as he dropped the silly makeshift costume of torn fabric and fake teeth.

He practically leapt down after her, heart hammering in his throat. (Y/N) groaned, clutching her ankle, which was visibly twisted. Her arm was scraped raw and bleeding, and there were bruises forming fast.

“You absolute jackass,” she hissed, eyes watering from pain and rage. “What the hell kind of prank is that?! I could’ve broken my neck!”

“I-I didn’t think you’d actually fall- shit, I didn’t mean-”

“Oh, don’t give me that face,” she snapped, trying and failing to sit up without wincing. “This was totally uncalled for.”

Genya hovered, guilt flooding every inch of his body. His hand shook as he touched her arm gently.

“I was just… I was tryin’ to show you I could be fun. That I ain’t too serious. I thought… if I could scare you a little, you’d laugh at it after. I was tryin’ to be less stiff for once.”

(Y/N) glared at him, then muttered, “Well, congrats. You broke me instead. Maybe I should leave your ass after all. Find a Hashira with a sense of humor.”

That hit him harder than any demon ever had. His expression crumbled.

“…You don’t mean that,” he said quietly.

She looked at him for a long moment… and then sighed, a small smirk forming despite her pain. “Of course I don’t. Dumbass.”

Genya blinked.

“…Wait, so… you’re not actually leaving?”

“No, Genya,” she said softly. “You’re lucky I love you. Just maybe… stick to jokes that don’t involve fake demon attacks next time?”

He exhaled with a laugh- relieved, guilty, and embarrassed all at once.

“Yeah. Yeah, I get it. I really messed up.”

“You really did.”

He crouched beside her, lifting her injured arm gently and pulling out a small jar of salve. “Let me patch you up. And I’ll carry you back. I owe you.”

(Y/N) leaned into his side a little, her voice softer now. “You know… that was kinda loving. In a Genya sort of way.”

“…Yeah?”

“Yeah. Just don’t do it again, or I’ll punch you.”

He chuckled quietly, resting his forehead against hers for a moment. “Deal.”

Later that night, after she was fully bandaged and resting on a pile of blankets near the fire, he came over with something behind his back.

“…What’s that?” she asked suspiciously.

He revealed a crude bouquet of wildflowers, tied together with some thread. “I… uh… picked these. Earlier. Before the dumb prank. Just didn’t know how to give ‘em to you.”

(Y/N)’s lips twitched into a crooked smile. “You’re seriously trying the soft-boy act now?”

He shrugged, ears turning red. “Just shut up and take the damn flowers.”

And she did- with a smirk, a kiss to his cheek, and a mumbled, “You’re still a dumbass, but you’re my dumbass.”

Art post!

This post has some more recent art, and sketches. My last post had some of my older, finished pieces. Feel free to give me any suggestions, tips, or requests in my asks or dms :}

A lot of these are unfinished, but I do plan on finishing them eventually. As soon as I do, I'll post them on here, and my insta!

Question: Aside from fanfics, are you open to headcanon requests? If so, do you have any sort of character limit?

Hello, anon! :}

I'm open to doing headcannons, I mean, I basically insert all of my hc's into the stories I write LOL

It might take some getting used to, though! Since I'm so used to writing flowing stories.

As of right now, I don't have a character limit. But be aware, the more that is requested, the longer it might take to write. I usually write every other day, so I have days in between to draw. I'd appreciate if the characters requested are in the same fandoms, though. Unless it's something like a mix of fandoms, like my Hunter x Fem!Reader (which was a mix of TOH and SU) fic that was requested.

Just make sure any requests follow the guidelines on my masterlist, and I'd be more than willing to try!

Thank you for asking!

A/N: This is the sequel to Ember in the Dark! I really enjoy writing for this fic :}

Loyalty Cuts Deepest pt.1

Silco x Fem!Reader

(Ember in the Dark- prequel) pt.1

Warnings: Violence/Gore, Death/Grief, Trauma, Substance Use, War/Revolution Themes.

Word Count: 6110

Summary: After a failed topside heist, the kids return to The Last Drop bruised and reeking of trouble. (Y/N) and Vander quickly realize something went wrong- an explosion, a chase, and Enforcer heat. They soon learn Piltover is demanding someone take the fall. Vander refuses to give up the kids. Just as Grayson arrives, Silco reemerges- changed, vengeful, and flanked by a monstrous ally. He slaughters the Enforcers, kills Benzo, and takes Vander. When Silco turns to (Y/N), she sees a man both familiar and monstrous. Despite everything, she still loves him- and when he asks her to come, she does. They disappear into the shadows, leaving the shattered remnants of their family behind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The bar had been alive with its usual hum- clinking glasses, laughter a little too loud, the low rhythm of a deal being whispered between regulars at the corner booth. (Y/N) had fallen into the comfort of routine, her hands quick behind the bar, pouring drinks and trading coin, while Vander worked beside Huck a few steps away, smoothing out a supply deal with his usual half-gruff charm.

It had been a good night.

Until the door creaked open, and the kids walked in.

The smell hit first.

Then the bruises.

Then- Powder’s wide eyes, Vi’s split lip, Mylo’s torn sleeve, and Claggor’s slumped shoulders. They looked like they’d crawled through the Undercity’s rot and back again, covered in grime, bruised and battered- and definitely not just from a run through the Lanes.

(Y/N)’s entire body went still.

Vander looked up, went quiet. She caught his eye, and they both moved without a word- leaving one of the bartenders to manage the bar.

They followed the trail of reek and silence down into the back room.

Before they even reached the door, they could hear the muffled voices- Vi’s sharp whisper, Mylo’s whine, Powder’s soft murmur- and something tight curled in (Y/N)’s gut.

She pushed open the door.

There they were- slouched around the coffee table like the ghosts of their younger selves. Vi in the armchair, sitting tall despite the bruises, her arms crossed over her chest like armor. Powder curled up beside her on the couch, her knees to her chest, eyes fixed on the floor. Mylo and Claggor sat opposite, not quite meeting anyone’s gaze.

(Y/N) didn’t speak.

She turned and grabbed a stack of clean cloths from the shelf and tossed them- one to Vi, one to Mylo, one to Claggor. Her way of saying Start cleaning yourselves up before I lose it.

Vander’s voice broke the silence, low and grim.

“Everyone all right?”

Mylo huffed, eyes anywhere but on them. “Never better.”

Vander hummed, slow and deliberate. “Good.”

He stepped forward, hands clasped behind his back, his voice cold enough to silence the whole room.

“I don’t suppose you can explain why we’re hearing about an explosion and a foot chase topside. Four children fleeing the scene.”

(Y/N) moved quietly around the room, ignoring the smell, the grime, the tension in the air. She crouched in front of Vi, gently grabbing her chin, tilting her face side to side to check for broken skin or swelling.

“What the hell were you thinking?” she asked, low and sharp, eyes flicking over the bruises on Vi’s cheek.

Vi rolled her eyes and tried to pull back. “That we can handle a real job?”

Vander’s face hardened instantly.

“A real job?”

Vi straightened, her voice quick now. “We got our own tip. Planned a route. Nobody even saw-”

“You blew up a building,” (Y/N) snapped, grabbing her chin again, giving her a warning look that stopped her cold.

Vi tried to deflect. “That wasn’t-”

“Did you even stop to think,” Vander cut in, “what could’ve happened to you? To them?”

He pointed to each of them, one by one, and they all flinched. Even Mylo stopped pretending to act tough. Vi’s bravado shrank a little, and she looked down, finally letting (Y/N) finish checking her over in silence.

When she was done, (Y/N) moved to Powder, brushing dirt from her temple with gentle fingers. The girl hadn’t said a word yet, just sat curled in on herself, her eyes wide and glassy.

Vander exhaled hard, dragging a hand down his face.

“Where did you even get this tip?”

Silence.

(Y/N) shifted to check Claggor’s arm, noting a deep scrape along his bicep.

Still silence.

Then Powder’s voice came, soft and tired.

“…We just heard it at Benzo’s shop.”

Vander’s brow furrowed. “From?”

“…Little Man,” Powder admitted.

(Y/N) froze just slightly- then closed her eyes and let out a breath, pressing a cloth to Claggor’s arm.

Of course it had been Ekko.

Of course.

Vander muttered a curse under his breath, starting to pace again as the room sat heavy in shame.

(Y/N) didn’t yell. Didn’t need to. She just kept working, her voice calm but cold.

“You’re damn lucky you all made it back,” she said, not looking at any of them. “You’re not invincible. And you’re not ready.”

No one argued.

No one could.

And still, in the back of her mind, a sharp pain echoed through her chest-

We were them once.

And look how that turned out.

The silence in the room following Powder’s confession hung thick- too heavy for the small space, for their small shoulders.

Vander exhaled deeply, weariness settling into his spine like weight he hadn’t shaken in years. He turned to Vi, but she was already standing, her chin tilted up defiantly.

“I took us there,” she said, her voice firm and unflinching. “If you’re gonna be mad, be mad at me. But you’re the one who always says we have to earn our place in the world.”

Vander’s jaw clenched, and he huffed. “I also told you time and time again- the Northside’s off-limits.”

(Y/N), still kneeling by Claggor’s side, looked up, her voice cool. “We stay out of Piltover’s business.”

Vi threw up her hands, talking fast and hot now. “Why? They’ve got plenty, while we’re down here scraping together coins. We’re supposed to just be grateful for scraps?”

She turned her glare to Vander, eyes sharp. “When did you get so comfortable living in someone else’s shadow?”

The words cut through the room like broken glass.

Silence fell.

Even Powder looked up at that, her face unreadable. Mylo’s leg bounced, fast and nervous. Claggor stayed still, not meeting anyone’s eyes.

(Y/N) sighed, slow and heavy, and pushed herself to her feet now that she was sure no one was bleeding out or had a concussion.

She looked at all of them- Vi’s glare, Powder’s clenched hands, Mylo’s sullen posture.

“Right,” she said, with finality. “Everyone out. Come on.”

There was no argument.

They stood, shuffling past her in silence. She guided them out of the room, her hand resting briefly on each shoulder as they passed, quiet reassurance even in her exasperation.

She left Mylo and Claggor in the hallway, watching them both closely for any lingering tension.

Then she followed Powder out the bar's back entrance, lighting a cigarette as the younger girl knelt by one of the bins, digging around with practiced ease.

(Y/N) watched her, blowing out smoke slowly- until Powder paused.

Her hand stilled. She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out something small, bright, and unnaturally blue.

A crystal.

It shimmered faintly even in the low light, and for a heartbeat, Powder just stared at it- eyes wide, breath shallow.

(Y/N) raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

But Powder flinched, snapping out of it, and shoved the thing deep into her coat like it might vanish if she just willed it hard enough. Then she bolted back inside without a word.

(Y/N) let it go.

For now.

She dropped her cigarette, crushed it under her boot, and followed after her, heart starting to beat a little faster.

Down the hall, just outside the kids’ room, she heard voices again.

Mylo.

“She's a problem.”

Vi’s voice, quiet. “Mylo, I'm really not-”

“Do you remember what was in that bag?” Mylo snapped. “The biggest payout we’ve ever seen. And she lost it.”

(Y/N) froze outside the door, hand hovering near the handle.

Inside, she heard the soft thunk of a ball bouncing against the wall. Mylo caught it. Threw it again.

“She made a mistake,” Vi said defensively.

“Name one time she hasn’t.”

“She’s young.”

“Don’t bullshit me. You were twice the person at half her age.”

A pause.

Then Vi’s voice, lower now. Bitter.

“You know what, Mylo? You’re right. There’s a bunch of things Powder just can’t do.”

Mylo didn’t hesitate. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

The words hit harder than they realized.

Because Powder had heard them, too.

She ran past (Y/N) in the hallway, wiping at her face, shoulders shaking.

(Y/N) didn’t say anything- she just followed, quick and quiet, until she found her in the kids’ room, curled up in her little makeshift fort. The same one she used to sleep in after Felicia died. Nestled between blankets and pillows and broken bits of inventions, trying to lose herself in something that wasn’t this.

(Y/N) slipped inside the fort without hesitation, kneeling and gathering Powder into her arms like she’d done a hundred times before.

Like a mother.

Because she was, in all the ways that mattered.

She didn’t say anything- just held her, stroking her hair, pressing a soft kiss to her head like Felicia used to do, like (Y/N) had once wished someone had done for her.

Eventually, Powder’s trembling eased, though she still clutched at (Y/N)’s coat like she was afraid to let go.

Then footsteps.

Vi.

She stood awkwardly in the doorway, a small frown plain on her face.

(Y/N) pressed one more kiss to Powder’s head, then slowly stood. She passed Vi on the way out and didn’t say anything- just reached up, brushed a thumb across her cheek, and kissed her forehead gently, too.

Then she left them alone.

Sisters.

To mend it on their own.

She made her way out of the bar, walking through the Lanes. The air outside Benzo’s was thick with tension, the kind that curled around your ribs and didn’t let go.

(Y/N) spotted Ekko leaning against the wall just outside, trying to look casual but clearly on edge. His arms were crossed tight, eyes sharp as they scanned the alley like he was expecting someone to come flying around the corner.

She softened at the sight of him- such a little thing, trying so hard to act grown.

She ruffled his hair as she passed. “Hey, little man.”

He gave a small, tired smile, but didn’t say much- just gave her a subtle nod before returning to his watch.

Inside, Benzo’s place smelled like oil and metal and something acrid in the walls that never quite went away. Vander was already talking when she stepped in- low, angry tones, his back half-turned to the door.

Benzo caught her eye and gave a slight nod. “She’s here.”

Vander turned, and just the look on his face made her stomach drop.

“They’re blaming us,” he said without any preamble. “Grayson- she says Piltover needs someone to hang it on.”

(Y/N)’s jaw clenched. “Of course they do.”

“She said it came from higher up,” Vander went on. “One of the councilors. Said they can’t afford to ignore this. So they want blood. Names.”

Her arms crossed slowly. “Let me guess- they want our kids.”

Vander nodded grimly.

“They want someone to take the fall for the explosion. For the theft. For trespassing topside.”

(Y/N) didn’t speak right away. She just stared at him.

She knew about the deal- Vander had brokered it years ago, when they were still clawing their way out of the ruins of the bridge. Keep the Undercity quiet, and Piltover wouldn’t look too closely. Keep things calm, and they’d stay out of the Lanes.

It had always felt like a fragile truce. Like balancing a knife on glass.

And now… it was breaking.

“They think you’ll hand over the kids,” she said, flatly.

Vander’s eyes burned. “I won’t.”

Benzo didn’t interrupt. He just watched as Vander pulled a small device from his coat- a metal piece that could be sent topside.

Vander nodded toward it. “Grayson gave the signal. She’s waiting for an answer.”

(Y/N) stared at it, then nodded once.

“We tell her no,” she said. “And we watch everything.”

They made their way back to the bar.

The kids had already scattered down into the arcade on (Y/N)’s word- somewhere out of sight, somewhere quiet. Somewhere that used to be theirs when they were younger, running from the world before the weight of it caught up.

Inside The Last Drop, the mood had shifted.

The usual warmth was still there, but the edges were fraying. People were tense. Voices were low. There were more eyes on the door than there were on drinks.

(Y/N) took her spot behind the bar. Vander leaned against the far end, scanning the crowd, quiet.

They didn’t talk much. Just kept their ears open.

Hours passed like that.

And then-

The kids came back.

One by one, they filed in through the side hallway, muddy boots scuffing softly on the wood. They didn’t say anything, didn’t cause a scene. Just… lingered.

Near the back. Close enough to (Y/N) and Vander to be protected, but not so close they’d be noticed.

Smart kids.

They’d learned to move like shadows.

And for now, that was exactly what they needed to be.

The tension in The Last Drop had become thick enough to choke on. Whispers had turned to murmurs. Murmurs into open frustration. And when Sevika stood from her booth, drink in hand, there was no mistaking the shift in the room.

“We should hit them back,” she said, her voice cutting clean through the chatter. “We’ve got the numbers to best them.”

(Y/N), standing behind the bar with her hands gripping a towel a little too tightly, said nothing. But her chest stirred with reluctant agreement.

She knew Sevika was right.

But she also knew what happened the last time they 'had the numbers.'

So she stayed quiet.

Because following Vander’s lead- whether it sat right or not- was the only thing that had kept the Undercity from burning again.

Vander raised his voice calmly but firmly, pushing off from where he leaned.

“You sure that’s what you want?” he asked, stepping forward slowly. “We crossed that bridge before. And we all know how that ended.”

(Y/N) tensed. She didn’t move, didn’t speak- but the weight of his words hit her like a hammer to the ribs.

Felicia’s hands, cold and bloodied in hers.

Connol’s still body on the ground.

The last time she saw Silco.

She said nothing. Just lit a cigarette and looked away.

Someone else, half-drunk and bitter, chimed in from near the door. “You’re just protecting your kids.”

(Y/N)’s eyes snapped over her shoulder- straight to the back corner, where the kids stood, lingering. They’d kept quiet, kept out of sight, but they were still watching.

Still listening.

Vander didn’t rise to the bait. He stepped in calmly, the firm voice of a man who had earned this room.

“I’m protecting our people,” he said. “I’d do the same for any one of you. We look out for each other. That’s the way it’s always been.”

(Y/N) exhaled slowly, smoke curling from her lips.

“This’ll blow over,” she added, tone even. “We just need to stand together.”

Sevika scoffed, ignoring her entirely. Her eyes were locked on Vander.

“The Vander I knew- the one who built the Undercity- he wouldn’t be afraid to fight.”

The bar hushed again.

Vander stepped toward her slowly, unflinching, until they stood toe-to-toe. He stared her down.

“Do I look afraid?”

Without hesitation, Sevika fired back: “No. You look weak.”

Then she let out a sharp whistle.

Her crew stood up in unison- shoulders squared, weapons at their hips- and one by one, they filed out the bar behind her, Sevika last.

(Y/N) didn’t stop them.

Neither did Vander.

Silence returned.

The kids- still watching- retreated down the hallway toward their room. Not a word. Just quiet understanding.

(Y/N) let out a long sigh and lit another cigarette, taking a slow drag as she leaned against the bar.

Then the door opened again.

Three Enforcers entered.

Not the usual grunts. Higher rank. Clean boots. One of them, Marcus, stepped ahead of the others like he already owned the place.

(Y/N) straightened, flicking her ash but saying nothing.

“We’re looking for some kids,” Marcus said, eyes scanning the room.

Vander didn’t miss a beat. “Bar’s full of ‘em,” he replied casually. “Best be specific.”

As the Enforcers started walking, poking through corners and checking under tables, Vander moved behind the bar. He grabbed a bottle, uncorked it, and offered, “How ‘bout a drink, eh?”

As he poured, his fingers dipped under the counter- click. The emergency switch. A signal to the kids below.

Hide. Now.

Then, Marcus dropped a line that made (Y/N)’s head whip around in alarm.

“Ran into an old friend of yours,” he said to Vander. “Had some stories.”

The bar went still.

Marcus stepped forward and took Vander’s pipe right out of his hand, rolling it between his fingers.

(Y/N)’s body tensed. So did half the bar.

Vander gave a subtle shake of his head- don’t.

Marcus smirked. “You weren’t always the peacekeeper, were you?”

Then, without flinching, he dropped the pipe into the liquor glass. It caught fire instantly.

Flames crackled in the silence.

Vander’s jaw flexed, but his voice stayed even.

“Yeah, well… you can’t escape the past, right?”

He lifted his eyes slowly- toward the wall above the bar.

Toward the gauntlets mounted high.

The ones he hadn’t touched since that night.

“Be a shame if I had to put ’em on again,” he said, voice low. “Cast irons… well. They’re hard to clean.”

The fire between them flickered. The room held its breath.

And every single person in The Last Drop remembered exactly who Vander used to be.

The search didn’t last long. The Enforcers poked through the bar, lifting up old crates, checking behind curtains, pulling up floor panels that had already been repaired twice over. (Y/N) didn’t flinch. Neither did Vander.

Eventually, the other two returned to Marcus.

“All clear.”

Marcus rolled his eyes with a scoff, lips curling into something sharp and cruel. Vander raised an eyebrow, half a shrug in response.

But Marcus wasn’t done.

“You people down here are all the same,” he sneered, turning to face the bar. “Mistaking arrogance for bravery. You think you're standing up for something, but we all know there’s a crime behind every coin that passes through this place.”

He turned to face Vander, stepping in closer, voice dropping low enough to be lethal.

“You’re just a small man in a little hole the world forgot to bury.”

And then, just to twist the knife-

Marcus lifted his baton and slammed it down onto the burning glass of liquor, shattering it across the counter. Fire spilled over the wood, licking up the side of a bottle rack.

“And I’m gonna bury the lot of you.”

Then he turned, shoved through the crowd of tense patrons, and left with his officers in tow, boots echoing against the stone.

The door slammed.

Silence followed.

(Y/N) didn’t waste time. She grabbed a nearby cloth, slammed it over the fire, smothering the flames until the last of the smoke curled up and vanished into the ceiling vents.

Vander stood there, unmoving, jaw locked tight, eyes still on the door. That line had cut, but he wasn’t about to show it.

Once they were sure the Enforcers were gone, the two of them quietly made their way down to the kids’ room. The tension clung to their shoulders as they descended the stairs.

The kids were all there, huddled and tense. Powder had her hands fisted into her sleeves, trying not to shake. Claggor sat stiffly, while Mylo bounced his leg, eyes darting to every sound.

(Y/N) glanced around, making sure no one was more hurt than they already were. “Are you all okay..?”

Vi was the first to speak.

“No, we’re not okay. They almost saw Powder.” Her voice cracked, furious and terrified all at once. “What if they took her?”

Vander stepped forward quickly, firm but calm. “No one is taking any of you.”

(Y/N) nodded, kneeling beside them. “We would never let that happen. Not to any of you.”

But Vi wasn’t comforted. She threw her arm out, motioning toward the others, her voice rising.

“It’s already happening! You heard him- he’s not gonna stop. They’re gonna keep coming. So we need to fight back. And if you two won’t-” her eyes flicked between Vander and (Y/N), “-then I will.”

(Y/N)’s chest went tight.

It reminded her too much of another voice, another pair of burning eyes once full of conviction.

Silco.

Vander heard it too.

His voice was quiet, but laced with weight. “I’ve heard this kind of talk before...”

He gave (Y/N) a look- a heavy one- before gently placing a hand on Vi’s shoulder and guiding her toward the exit.

“Come with me.”

(Y/N) didn’t stop him. Just watched as they disappeared up the stairs, Vi’s shoulders squared with defiance, Vander silent and steady at her side.

She stayed behind with the others, crouching down beside Powder and gently wrapping her in her arms, murmuring softly to calm her trembling hands.

The kids needed someone to stay.

And she always would.

She stayed downstairs with the kids for a long while after Vi left with Vander- running a hand through Powder’s hair, checking Claggor’s bruises, pressing a damp cloth to the scrape across Mylo’s temple. No one said much. They didn’t need to. The air was heavy with all that almost happened.

Eventually, Vi returned. Quiet, but calmer. She nodded to (Y/N), the unspoken signal that she was okay now- enough, at least.

(Y/N) gave her a gentle touch on the shoulder, then stood, smoothing her palms against her thighs as she made her way back upstairs.

The bar was quieter now, most of the patrons long gone after the Enforcers had stormed out. Only a few lingered in corners, keeping their voices down, casting side-glances toward the bar where Vander stood alone.

He didn’t look at her as she approached. Just held up a half-crushed pack of cigarettes, and she took one wordlessly.

They lit up together, just like they used to.

Back before everything fell apart.

Before the bridge.

Before Silco disappeared.

Before Felicia and Connol never came home.

She sat beside him, leaning against the counter, breathing in the smoke.

They didn’t say anything for a long moment.

Then Vander spoke, his voice quieter than she’d ever heard it.

“I’m going to turn myself in.”

The words struck like stone in her gut. She stared at him, cigarette paused halfway to her lips.

“If it gets them off the kids- if it keeps them safe- it’s worth it.”

Her chest tightened, and she felt the burn of tears she refused to let fall. Vander didn’t flinch. He just reached over and pulled her into a hug- tight, grounding, familiar.

“Promise me,” he murmured into her hair. “If I’m gone... you’ll look after them.”

“You know I will,” she whispered, voice shaking.

But before she could pull back, before the weight of goodbye could fully land-

Vander exhaled, slow and bitter.

“There’s something else.”

She stilled.

And then he told her.

What happened the night of the bridge.

How he and Silco had fought after the battle.

How Vander had overpowered him. Dragged him to the river. Held him under.

Cut his face.

Watched the man he’d once called brother claw his way from the edge, stealing Vander’s own blade before vanishing into the darkness.

“I thought he was dead,” Vander said, quietly. “For a while, I hoped he was.”

(Y/N) stepped back, her cigarette trembling in her hand.

“You tried to kill him?” Her voice was soft, but full of a furious disbelief. “You let me think he was gone. You watched me mourn him, and you knew.”

“I didn’t know how to tell you.”

Her jaw clenched, eyes burning. “You didn’t even try.”

He saw it then. The look of hate on her face. Like she didn’t recognize him anymore.

And maybe, for the first time in years- she didn’t.

Vander turned away, jaw tight, reaching beneath the bar for the signal Grayson had left. He figured now was as good a time as any.

But then the stairs creaked.

They both turned.

Powder stood there at the base of the stairwell, her eyes red-rimmed and sad, fingers curled into the hem of her oversized sweater.

Vander hesitated. Slowly straightened.

“…Want something to drink?” he asked, reaching for a bottle and grabbing a small glass- something sweet, the same kind of juice Felicia used to like.

She nodded, sliding onto the stool as Vander poured it and gently nudged it her way. “Cheer up, eh?”

But (Y/N) hadn’t taken her eyes off her.

Not until she saw it- nestled against Powder’s side, sticking out of her bag slightly.

The bunny.

Vi’s old stuffed bunny.

The one Felicia had given her. Years ago.

The one Vi hadn’t touched in ages.

Vander saw it too.

His body went rigid.

“…Powder,” he said, carefully. “Where did you get that?”

But she didn’t answer. Just looked down.

Vander reached under the bar for the signal.

His hand patted around.

And his face dropped.

“…It’s gone.”

They moved fast.

The second (Y/N) realized the signal was missing, her cigarette hit the floor, half-smoked and forgotten. She met Vander’s eyes- no words needed- and they were out the door before Powder could even ask what was wrong.

Benzo was just locking up his shop when they caught him.

“We need you,” Vander said sharply, grabbing the old man’s arm.

Benzo didn’t ask why. He saw their faces and followed without hesitation.

They ran through the alleys, cutting corners and weaving past the confused late-night crowd, boots echoing over cobblestone. (Y/N)’s heart pounded, every step fueled by a sick dread deep in her gut.

She’s going to turn herself in.

Vi already sent the signal.

We’re too late.

They reached the safehouse tucked just outside the Lanes, its rusted door creaking slightly under pressure. Vander pushed it open, and there she was.

Vi stood near the center of the room, her hands wringing nervously. She looked surprised when she saw them, her brow furrowing.

“Why are you-”

“We don’t have much time,” Vander cut in, stepping forward, already out of breath.

Vi blinked. “How did you find me?”

But Vander didn’t answer. Instead, he grabbed her by the shoulders, steadying her, grounding them both.

“I’m proud of you,” he said. “We all are. Always have been.”

Vi leaned into his touch, confused, her voice cracking. “I’m sorry, I… I thought this was the only way to protect the others.”

While they spoke, (Y/N) and Benzo had moved toward the front window, keeping low. She whistled sharply when she spotted movement outside- dark figures, uniforms, the glint of polished boots catching the faint streetlight.

Benzo’s head snapped toward Vander. “Vander…”

But he was already moving.

He cupped Vi’s face in his hands, eyes locked with hers.

“You’ve got a good heart,” he murmured. “Don’t ever lose it. No matter how the world tries to break you. You and (Y/N)… protect the family.”

“What are you-?”

Then Vander shoved her.

Quick. Rough. Out of nowhere.

Vi yelped as she stumbled backward- falling into the room behind her. Before she could get up, before she could reach for the edge, Vander slammed the door shut and twisted the lock.

Vi pounded on the wood.

“No- Vander!”

But it was too late.

She was safe.

And they would face what came next without her.

The banging hadn’t stopped since Vander locked the door- Vi’s muffled voice yelling his name, fists slamming against the wood from behind. It was the sound of desperation. Of betrayal. Of family being torn apart.

(Y/N)’s heart clenched with every hit.

Then the door to the safehouse opened.

Grayson entered first, calm and composed as always. Her eyes swept the room- landed on the sound coming from beheinde them- and she sighed softly.

“I’m guessing that’s for me.”

Before Marcus could take a single step forward, (Y/N) moved- planting herself in front of the door, arms crossed, jaw tight.

Marcus scowled and stepped forward anyway, only to find Vander stepping in front of him, blocking his path.

“You gonna let us make the arrest or not?” Marcus snapped, already gripping his baton.

Vander raised a hand, voice steady. “You’ll oblige a doomed man one last smoke…”

Before the sheriff could reply, (Y/N) already had a cigarette in her fingers, flicked it to life with a spark of a lighter, and placed it gently between Vander’s lips. Her hands trembled slightly, but she didn’t pull away.

Even now… even after what he’d confessed…

He was family.

He had always been family.

Vander took a long drag, the smoke curling slowly from his lips as he exhaled, voice low and rough.

“Won’t you?”

But before Marcus could lunge again, Grayson moved- swiftly stepping in, shoving Marcus aside without even blinking.

“I’m not putting you away, Vander,” she said, looking up at him, her voice tired but sincere.

Vander’s lips twitched in something close to a smile. “The council needs its pound of flesh.”

“Without you down here,” she countered, “it all falls apart.”

Vander shook his head, smoke trailing from his mouth as he gestured toward the others. “Benzo and (Y/N) will handle things. Might not have my devilish charm, but they run a tight ship.”

Grayson’s expression darkened, just slightly. “You won’t be coming back. Not for a long time.”

Vander took one last drag of the cigarette before pressing the cherry into the floor and crushing it under his boot.

Then he held out his wrists to Marcus.

“…I know.”

Grayson looked at him one last time. “Why?”

Vander’s eyes didn’t leave hers.

“It’s the only way.”

Marcus stepped forward, grabbing Vander roughly and binding his wrists. Vander didn’t fight it.

(Y/N) stood frozen as they turned to leave, the air thick with something that felt like grief- but not quite.

She looked back- just once- at the door behind her. She could still hear Vi banging, yelling. Her voice muffled by wood and fate.

And then, with a heavy heart, she followed them out.

The night air outside the safehouse was sharp, unnervingly still. (Y/N)'s boots hit the stone with practiced calm, her eyes scanning the shadows, instinct prickling at the back of her neck.

Something felt wrong.

Then- a blur.

Faster than any of them could react.

A sound like a blade slicing through the air.

And in one sickening swoop, Enforcers dropped like puppets with cut strings- blood spraying across the cobblestones. Limbs twisted. Armor crumpled. The sheriff was the last to fall, her body collapsing with a weighty thud, lifeless eyes staring at the stars.

(Y/N) froze. Vander cursed, stepping back instinctively, placing himself between her and the carnage.

Vander muttered, “What the devil…”

Marcus stumbled back, panic on his face, reaching for a weapon he barely knew how to use.

Benzo was quicker. He snatched up a pipe from the blood-slicked ground, holding it steady in both hands, old soldier instincts kicking in. “Stay close,” he muttered to (Y/N), voice taut.

But (Y/N) wasn’t hiding anymore.

The grief. The rage. The betrayal. It had been simmering under her skin for years- and now, with the taste of death in the air and the weight of fate hanging heavy, she let it burn.

Her hands lit with flame.

Her magic surged, raw and electric, glowing through the veins in her fingers like wildfire. Her eyes blazed with power, bright and defiant, reflecting the fire pooling at her fingertips.

No more hiding.

Vander stepped forward slowly- his eyes locked on something just beyond the smoke and ruin.

And then his face fell.

“…No,” he breathed.

(Y/N) turned, eyes narrowing, senses sharp.

And then she saw it too.

A figure stepped forward from the shadows. Cloaked in smoke, half-silhouetted by the flickering light of burning lamplight. His shoulders were broad. His coat was unfamiliar. But one eye- one eye- glowed an unnatural, searing orange, burning like a dying star.

She didn’t recognize him at first.

Not until Benzo let out a hoarse, broken whisper beside her.

“…Silco?”

The name struck her like lightning.

Her flames faltered for the briefest moment.

That thing- that man standing before them, drenched in shadow and ruin- was Silco.

Her Silco.

But something was wrong.

Something had changed.

And whatever had crawled out of the river that night wasn’t the man who had once held her like she was everything in the world.

But it was him.

And her heart cracked open at the sight.

Benzo was the first to move.

He let out a sharp cry, his pipe raised high as he charged forward- anger flashing in his eyes. “You animal!” he shouted. “Go crawl back into whatever hole you came out of!”

The moment cracked.

Out of instinct- old, ingrained instinct- (Y/N) almost stepped in front of Silco.

Her body remembered before. Before the fire, before the hatred, before the bridge.

Before the man she loved had disappeared beneath the surface.

“Benzo, stay back!” Vander yelled, already lunging forward, hand outstretched.

But it was too late.

Silco tilted his head slightly, his eye never leaving (Y/N). His voice came low, almost amused. “You never did know when to walk away… Benzo.”

And then it happened.

A whip of movement- barely visible, a blur of sinew and shadow- and the creature returned.

The same unnatural beast that had slaughtered the Enforcers moved again, and in the span of a breath, Benzo was gone.

His body hit the ground hard, unmoving.

(Y/N) froze.

Her magic flickered.

Her gaze locked on Benzo’s lifeless frame.

A strangled sound escaped Vander’s throat as he fell to his knees. “No!”

He scrambled toward his old friend, grief crashing through him like a wave.

Silco stood over it all, watching.

His voice was quieter now, maybe even tired. “Stubborn till the end…”

Marcus, pale and shaken, stepped forward slowly, breath ragged. “What the hell have you done? This- this wasn’t the deal!”

Silco turned his head toward him, one hand still clasped neatly behind his back. He walked slowly, deliberately, like the world around him hadn’t just shifted on its axis.

“Deal’s changed,” he said calmly, before tossing a pouch of gold at Marcus’s feet.

It hit the ground with a heavy clink, blood flecking the edge.

Marcus stared at it. But said nothing.

(Y/N) hadn’t moved.

She couldn’t.

She couldn’t tear her eyes away from Benzo.

Not until she felt him approaching.

Silco’s footsteps were soft, measured, until he stood in front of her. The creature behind him moved toward Vander- without a word- and slammed its fist into the side of Vander’s head. The crack of impact echoed in the alley as Vander slumped unconscious.

(Y/N) twitched, but didn’t react.

She couldn’t.

The monster picked Vander up like a ragdoll and disappeared into the shadows.

Silco… stayed.

He turned his full attention to her.

And for the first time in nearly a decade, she looked into both of his eyes.

One glowing bright, unnatural orange.

And one still the same soft, piercing blue she remembered falling in love with.

Even now, with everything burning around them, with blood still warm on the ground, with her magic humming violently at her fingertips-

Her heart ached.

Still.

Silco reached up, slowly, fingers brushing her chin.

His touch was gentle. Too gentle.

“Did you know?” he asked, voice low. Measured.

“…D… Did I know?”

“Of what happened between Vander and I.”

She swallowed hard.

“…Not… until today.”

Silco’s face barely moved, but something behind his eyes flickered—pain, maybe. Memory.

“I don’t wish to hurt you,” he said, quietly. “But you have to come with me.”

(Y/N) didn’t know what she was doing when she nodded.

Her thoughts were gone- ripped out like a tide.

All she could feel was the burn in her chest, the roaring silence in her mind.

She nodded again, slower this time.

And Silco, seeing her surrender, nodded in return.

Then, without a word, he reached down, took her hand into his-

And led her away.

Away from the blood.

Away from the flame.

Away from the person she had become in his absence.

Marcus watched them disappear into the shadows.

And said nothing.

I love this 🥺

High-ish quality scans of the Silco & Vander pages from the artbook