Question: Aside From Fanfics, Are You Open To Headcanon Requests? If So, Do You Have Any Sort Of Character

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.

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

(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...

THIS!!! THAT WEIRDO WHO THREATENED ME!!!

I posted the dm's they sent me, but beware, it's completely unhinged.

//Hey everyone! OOC speaking

Here's the accounts run by that aoi asahina creep, so you can block them and avoid interacting:

aoisitsonmyface

sweepingstarlight

bonbonpuppet

king-bon-asahina

bonbonpuppet117

glowstone-mod

aoiasahinasboyfriend

Keep in mind they could have more, so if they're still sending you asks or threats just ignore them, and if you know of any other accounts share them with me so I can add them to the list

Ember in the Dark pt.1

Young!Silco x Fem!Reader

pt.2

Warnings: War, Violence, Death, illness, Grief, Poverty, Persecution, Oppression, and Child neglect/orphanhood.

Word Count: 2914

Summary: Nayesa, a refugee from Ionia, flees to the Undercity with her infant daughter to escape Noxian forces, suppressing her magic to survive. She toils endlessly to keep her child safe, but when the girl unknowingly uses magic, Nayesa realizes their past will always haunt them. She works herself to death, leaving her daughter alone in the unforgiving streets. Forced to survive, the girl joins a group of orphans- Vander, Silco, and Felicia- learning to steal, fight, and conceal her powers.

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The putrid scent of burning wood and flesh clung to the air as Nayesa ran, her breath ragged, her muscles screaming for respite. Behind her, the once-pristine forests of Ionia were choked with smoke, their vibrant greens now painted in the sickly fire glow. The rhythmic clang of Noxian steel against Ionian blades still rang in her ears, but she dared not turn back.

Her infant whimpered softly in her arms, her tiny fingers clutching at the fabric of her tattered robes. She adjusted her grip, pressing the baby closer to her chest, shielding her from the cold wind sweeping in from the coast. She couldn't cry- she mustn't cry. If the Noxians heard them, if they saw the faint shimmer of magic that still crackled beneath her fingertips, they would be hunted down.

She had seen it before. A woman who tried to fight back, her magic searing through Noxian armor- only for the warbands to descend upon her like beasts, silencing her screams beneath iron and blood. She had turned away, biting back her own fear, and fled. Magic is a death sentence. That was the one lesson Ionia’s war had taught her.

The boats at the shore were barely visible through the thickening fog. She stumbled onto the dock, her heart hammering as she found an old ferryman willing to take her. He was a man of few words, his face lined with the hardship of someone who had smuggled too many refugees, but his hand was steady as he took her trembling coin. No questions asked. She clutched her daughter tighter as the boat rocked, her gaze fixed on the horizon where The Undercity- dark, industrial, and suffocating- waited.

It was not home. It never would be. But it was safe.

The Undercity embraced the lost, the forsaken, and those with secrets to keep. Here, in the slums where even Piltovan Enforcers feared to tread, they could disappear. She learned to hide in the shadows, to suppress the flicker of magic in her blood, to live as just another nameless refugee in a city built on the bones of the forgotten.

Her baby would grow up not knowing Ionia’s forests, not hearing the songs of the wind dancing through cherry blossoms. But she would live. And for now, that was enough…

Nayesa’s fingers tightened around the threadbare cloak wrapped around her daughter, her mind drifting as the boat rocked gently beneath them. The salt-laden air of the ocean mixed with the acrid scent of smoke still clinging to her skin was a cruel reminder of what she had left behind.

Ionia was gone to her now. The home where she once played among the cherry blossoms, where the rivers whispered songs of old, where the spirits still danced in the wind- lost. She forced herself not to think of the faces she would never see again, the family she had abandoned to the fire and steel of Noxus. Guilt gnawed at the edges of her thoughts, but she buried it deep. She had no choice.

The ferryman, silent as the grave, guided the vessel through the thickening mist. His hands, calloused and cracked from years of toil, moved with mechanical precision as he adjusted the sail. Nayesa knew better than to speak- men like him survived by knowing nothing, saying nothing. Still, when his gaze briefly flickered to the bundle in her arms, there was no malice there, only understanding.

She exhaled, glancing down at her child. Small, fragile, yet warm against her chest. A spark of life amid the ashes of war. She traced a gentle hand over the baby’s cheek, whispering a promise she had no idea how to keep.

By the time they reached the docks, night had swallowed the sky. The towering, rust-streaked structures loomed overhead, their smog-drenched exteriors casting jagged shadows against the dim glow of neon signs. The scent of oil, metal, and damp earth thickened the air, an oppressive contrast to the crisp mountain breezes of Ionia.

She stepped off the boat, her legs weak from exhaustion, and nearly collapsed. The ferryman caught her arm- only for a second before slipping away into the murk, his presence vanishing as quickly as it had come.

Nayesa pulled the hood of her cloak low, blending into the throngs of workers, refugees, and outcasts that moved like restless phantoms through the lower districts. No one spared her a glance. In The Undercity, survival meant minding your own business.

The slums welcomed her with the cold indifference of a city built on desperation. She found shelter in a crumbling tenement, a place where the air was thick with the scent of rust and mildew, where the walls groaned under the weight of their decay. But it was a place to rest, to breathe.

Days blurred into weeks, then months. She worked where she could- scrubbing factory floors, mending torn garments, selling whatever scraps she could barter. She spoke little, kept her head down, and made sure no one saw the shimmer of power that still lived beneath her skin.

Her daughter, whom she named (Y/N), grew into the shadows of the Lanes. She never knew the wind-chimes of Ionia, never saw the blossoms bloom in spring, never ran through the open fields where the spirits once roamed. Instead, she learned the rhythm of the Undercity- the hiss of steam vents, the distant hum of chem-tech engines, the quiet desperation in every hushed conversation.

She would watch her at night, curled up in the dim glow of a flickering light, and wonder what kind of life she had truly given her.

Safe. But at what cost?

One evening, as Nayesa walked home through the winding alleys, she heard a sound that froze her blood.

Laughter.

A child’s laughter, light and unburdened, echoed through the filth and grime of the Undercity’s streets.

She turned the corner and saw (Y/N), no longer a baby but a bright-eyed child, her tiny hands outstretched as small, golden sparks danced at her fingertips. A wonder, a gift- one that could get them both killed.

Nayesa’s heart pounded.

Magic is a death sentence.

The war may have been left behind, but its lessons had not.

She rushed forward, scooping (Y/N) into her arms, extinguishing the light with a whispered hush.

No one could see. No one could know.

She had sacrificed everything for her daughter’s safety.

And now, the Undercity would demand its own price.

It was a city that took as much as it gave, swallowing the desperate and forgotten whole. Nayesa had always known it would come for her too, sooner or later.

For seven years, she scraped by in the underbelly of the city, enduring the choking smog, the filth-ridden streets, and the cold that seeped into her bones. She endured it all for (Y/N). Every coin she earned, every sleepless night, every bruise from the fists of those who thought a refugee woman was an easy target- it was all for her daughter.

(Y/N) was bright and full of wonder despite the bleak world around her. She didn’t remember the war, the flames that consumed their home, or the screams that once haunted Nayesa’s nights. To her, Ionia was nothing more than stories murmured in hushed tones, tales of Magic and rivers that whispered secrets to those who listened. Nayesa never told her the full truth of their exile, only that they had left because it was too dangerous to stay.

But the real danger wasn’t behind them- it was here, in the Lanes, lurking in the shadows, waiting.

Nayesa had felt the sickness creeping into her body long before she admitted it to herself. The air in the lower districts was thick with toxins, a slow, creeping poison that gnawed at her lungs. Every cough was deeper, wetter. Every breath was a struggle. There were chem-doctors in the Lanes who could cure anything- for a price. But Nayesa had no money for miracles.

She worked until she couldn’t stand. Then, she worked more.

She didn’t tell (Y/N). She couldn’t.

But children saw more than adults ever gave them credit for.

"Momma, why are you always so tired?" (Y/N) asked one night, her small fingers tracing the lines of her mother’s weathered hands.

Nayesa smiled, brushing a stray lock of soft hair from her daughter’s face. "Because I have the best little girl in the world to take care of," she said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "And that’s worth everything."

But love alone wasn’t enough to keep her alive.

One morning, Nayesa didn’t wake up.

(Y/N) shook her at first, small hands gripping the worn fabric of her mother’s cloak. "Momma?" she whispered, her voice uncertain, scared.

She didn’t move.

The room was cold. The single candle by the bedside had long since burned out, leaving only the distant glow of the Undercity’s ever-present green smog filtering through the cracks in the walls.

(Y/N) curled up beside her mother, waiting for her to wake up. She didn’t understand. Not yet.

It wasn’t until hours later, when the gnawing ache of hunger set in, that the truth began to sink in.

Her mother wasn’t waking up.

She was alone.

No one in the Lanes cared about another dead refugee. There were no mourning bells, no neighbors offering condolences. By nightfall, scavengers would come, rifling through their tiny home for anything of value.

(Y/N) didn't wait for them.

She packed what little she could- her mother’s old cloak, a handful of stolen ration bars, a rusty knife too dull to be a real weapon- and ran.

The streets of the Undercity were not kind to the weak.

She learned quickly. How to steal without being seen. How to disappear when Enforcers patrolled too close. How to navigate the tangled maze of pipes, vents, and back alleys that served as the lifeblood of the Undercity.

She was small, fast, invisible. And she was hungry.

The first time she stole from a chem merchant’s stall, she was caught. A rough hand yanked her back, slamming her against a wall.

"Little rat," the man snarled, his breath reeking of grease and sour alcohol. "Think you can take from me?"

(Y/n) trembled, her fingers curling instinctively. A warmth flickered in her palms, tiny sparks of golden light dancing between her fingers.

Magic.

No. No, no, no.

She clenched her fists, forcing it down, burying it deep. Her mother’s warning echoed in her mind.

Magic is a death sentence.

She braced herself for the beating- but it never came.

Instead, another voice cut through the heavy air.

"Let her go."

A boy, older than her, stood in the shadows of the alley. His arms were crossed, his clothes patched and dirt-streaked, but his gaze was sharp, calculating. His black hair covered his eyes a bit, too short to tie back, too long to look completely neat. "She’s with us."

The merchant sneered but let her go with a shove. "Keep your rats on a leash…" he spat before stalking off.

(Y/N) coughed, her ribs aching, but she turned to the boy, confused. "I’m not with you…" she said, wary.

"You are now," he replied simply.

And just like that, (Y/N) found herself among the lost children of the Lanes- the orphans, the runaways, the ones who had no homes… Vander, Silco, and Felicia… They moved like ghosts through the city, stealing to survive, hiding in the forgotten corners where the Enforcers wouldn’t dare to tread.

(Y/N) learned their ways. How to fight, how to climb, how to read the shifting tides of the city’s underworld. But most importantly, how to keep her secret.

She never used her magic. Not once.

Not until the day she had no choice.

It happened during a heist gone wrong- when she was fourteen...

They had planned everything perfectly- distract the shopkeeper, grab the goods, and slip away before anyone noticed. But no plan ever survived the chaos of The Undercity.

The Enforcers came down on them fast, too fast. (Y/N) ran, her breath sharp in her chest, her feet pounding against metal grates and uneven cobblestone. She took a wrong turn- a dead end.

The Enforcers were closing in.

She panicked.

A flicker of warmth ignited in her palm. Then a spark. Then a flame.

Golden light flared to life, illuminating the alleyway in brilliant, searing heat. The Enforcers reeled back, blinded, startled.

And (Y/N) ran.

She ran until her legs gave out, until she collapsed in a forgotten corner of the city, her heart slamming against her ribs.

She had been careful. She had hidden it for years… But now they would come for her. In The Undercity, secrets never stayed hidden for long…

For seven years, she had hidden what she was. Buried it beneath bruised knuckles and nimble fingers, beneath the hunger and the cold, beneath the fight to survive. But now, the secret she had fought to keep was out. Maybe not fully- but it was a crack, and cracks always widened.

The others would know soon enough.

She couldn’t go back. Not yet. Not with the heat still on her.

So, she disappeared into the veins of the Undercity, into the places where the air stank of rot and rust, where even Enforcers hesitated to follow. The tunnels beneath the city were a maze- only those born to the Lanes could navigate them, and (Y/N) had lived here long enough to know every passage, every broken grate, every hidden crawlspace.

She found a hollow space beneath a collapsed structure and curled into it, pressing her back against the damp stone, pulling her knees to her chest. She needed to think. To plan.

But plans meant nothing when Silco was the one sent to find you. Silco moved through the Undercity like a shadow, his sharp eyes scanning every alley, every abandoned structure. He knew how to track a runaway. They all did; life had made them that way.

Felicia had been worried, of course. "She’s been gone too long," she had muttered, arms crossed, trying to mask her concern. "What if the Enforcers-"

"She’s fine," Vander had cut in, though his frown betrayed his doubts. "She’s one of us."

And Silco? He hadn’t said much. He had only grabbed a knife and set out.

(Y/N) was fast. Smart. She knew how to disappear.

But he knew her.

He knew the places she went when she wanted to be alone, the paths she took when she needed to breathe. And more than that- he knew fear.

He had seen it in her when they ran from the heist, when the Enforcers had almost caught them. But there was something else, something deeper in the way she had looked at them before she fled.

Not fear of getting caught.

Fear of being seen.

It gnawed at him as he moved through the city, picking his way through the forgotten tunnels. If she was hurt, if someone else had found her first-

No. He pushed the thought away. He would find her.

The search had fractured them into three silent battalions. Felicia, driven by equal parts concern and duty, combed through the labyrinthine upper corridors where the stale, clinging mist of decay blurred every step. Vander took a divergent route, his methodical pace revealing an unspoken determination as he retraced familiar paths that had once served as escape routes. And then there was Silco- moving like a whisper among the ruins, his focus as sharp as the blade he carried.

In the winding gloom beneath a collapsed structure, Silco’s calculated steps slowed as a fragile form emerged from the darkness.

She was curled up beneath a collapsed structure, half-hidden in the darkness, her body taut with exhaustion. She looked smaller like this, the rough edge she carried worn down by fear and fatigue.

For a moment, he just watched her.

"You gonna come out," he finally said, his voice calm, "or do I have to drag you?"

(Y/N)’s head snapped up, her eyes sharp and alert despite her exhaustion. She hesitated, her muscles coiled like a cornered animal.

"You alone?" she asked, her voice hoarse.

Silco scoffed. "No, I brought a whole damn parade." He stepped forward, crouching slightly so she wouldn’t bolt. "What the hell happened back there, (Y/N)?"

She swallowed, shifting uncomfortably. "We got sloppy."

"Not what I meant." His gaze didn’t waver. "You ran like they were hunting you."

(Y/N) flinched, just slightly, but Silco caught it.

For a long time, neither of them spoke.

Finally, she exhaled, looking away. "I just… I can’t go back yet."

Silco tilted his head, studying her. "Why?"

She bit her lip, hesitating.

Because I have magic. Because I lost control. Because if you knew, you’d never look at me the same way again.

But she couldn’t say that.

So instead, she forced a smirk, weak but convincing. "Didn’t feel like dealing with Vander’s lectures."

Silco snorted, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, well, you’re gonna hear them anyway. So get up."

She didn’t move.

Silco’s smirk faded. He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "You don’t have to tell me, you know. But whatever’s got you scared?" He straightened up, eyes dark. "Don’t let it turn you into prey."

(Y/N) looked at him then, something unspoken passing between them.

Silco had always been sharp, always seeing things others missed. Maybe he didn’t know the truth yet. But he knew something.

And that was dangerous.

Still, she took his outstretched hand...

A/N: I am trying to work on my multi-part fic's, now that I'm mostly caught up with all my requests. I missed writing for Silcooooooo.

Loyalty Cuts Deepest pt.2

Silco x Fem!Reader

pt.1

Warnings: Violence/Combat, Trauma, Imprisonment/Restraint, Explosions/Fire, and Death

Word Count: 5894

Summary: (Y/N) is led through Silco’s factory- alive with shimmer, but hollow with grief. Silco remains tender, pretending nothing’s changed, even as he parades Vander, weak and broken, as a symbol of failed ideals. When Silco offers Vander shimmer in exchange for loyalty, Vander refuses, desperate to protect the children. In a private chamber, (Y/N) finally breaks, confessing she searched for Silco for years. Their reunion is intimate but laced with sorrow. When Vi and the others storm the factory, everything spirals. Silco unleashes his shimmer-mutated monster, and (Y/N), bound by enchanted chains, is forced to watch the chaos unfold. Powder’s bomb kills Mylo and Claggor, devastating (Y/N), who Silco tries- and fails- to console. Vander ends saving Vi, transformed by shimmer into a final act of defiance. Afterward, (Y/N) and Silco find Powder, shattered. (Y/N) cradles her and later, she claims the name “Jinx,” offering unconditional love. Back at The Last Drop, (Y/N) remains shackled but tenderly cares for Jinx. Silco releases her chains, but (Y/N) doesn’t retaliate. Her only focus is Jinx- her “little firecracker”- the last thing worth protecting.

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

The factory loomed like a carcass on the edge of the Undercity- cold, rusted steel and flickering lights illuminating a world that wasn’t quite dead.

It should’ve been abandoned.

It wasn’t.

Inside, the place was alive with movement- gears turning, people working, machines thundering deep within the structure’s bones. And all of it was for him.

Silco.

He kept his hand wrapped gently around (Y/N)’s as he led her forward, step by step, like they were just walking home. Like none of this had changed.

But her eyes were fixed on the floor. On the trail of oil and soot and blood leading them deeper in.

Her mind buzzed like static- empty and deafening at once. Everything she thought she understood had collapsed in a matter of hours. Grief curled around the edges of her thoughts like smoke, choking out the edges of her reality.

Silco’s thumb brushed along the back of her hand, slow and deliberate. The same way he used to, late at night, when they lay in bed and the world was quiet.

It made her heart ache.

How could she still miss it?

How could that part of her still want to melt into his touch, even now?

“This place is a little crude, I’ll admit,” Silco said, his voice low as they crossed a metal walkway above the factory floor. “The base violence necessary for change... but we both know Topside won’t listen to anything else.”

She didn’t respond. Couldn’t.

Nearby, the man- creature- that had dragged Vander through the streets was deteriorating. No longer monstrous. Just sick. Slumped over the rail, vomiting some viscous, purple substance into the depths.

Another man approached, grabbing Vander roughly and throwing him against the side of the walkway with a clang.

(Y/N) flinched slightly, but Silco’s hand tightened gently around hers, guiding her to a stop.

Vander groaned, coughing, blood splattering the steel beneath him.

And for the first time, he looked up.

Straight at her.

Eyes full of pain- not from the injuries. From her.

(Y/N) didn’t return the look.

She was still watching Silco, eyes wide, almost in a trance, like she was trying to match the man before her to the boy she had once loved.

It wasn’t until Vander spoke that she snapped out of it- his voice ragged, cutting through the fog in her head.

“Even with your monsters,” he rasped, “You won’t win a war against Piltover.”

Silco exhaled a low hum. “I don’t have to. I just need to scare them.”

He turned slightly, reaching out to her again- fingers brushing softly behind her ear, tucking a stray strand of hair away like he used to.

“Piltover won’t dare set foot in the Underground again,” he murmured.

The former monster gagged and groaned again, the sludge he threw up hissing against metal.

Vander didn’t spare him a glance.

“You’ll get people killed,” Vander said, his voice heavy with grief and fury. “For what? Pride?”

Silco’s jaw tightened.

“For respect,” he snapped, turning fully now. “Opportunity. Everything they’ve denied us.”

He released (Y/N)’s hand finally and stepped forward, crouching down to Vander’s level. He stared at him like a blade about to be unsheathed.

Vander glared, breath ragged. “You had my respect. The Lanes’ respect. (Y/N)’s.” He nodded toward her. “But that was never enough for you.”

That struck something.

Silco’s calm shattered in an instant as he stood, pacing a step back with fury rising behind his eyes.

“We shared a vision, Vander. All of us.” His voice rose. “A dream of freedom. Not just for the Lanes, but for the entire Underground. United. One people.”

He turned to (Y/N) then- voice softer, filled with weight.

“The nation of Zaun.”

Then back to Vander, venom lacing each word.

“Do you even remember? I trusted you… and you betrayed me.”

(Y/N)’s eyes finally took in all of him- his ruined cheek, his sunken features, the warped skin trailing from his jaw to the edge of his glowing eye.

The scar where the toxic water had seeped into his skin.

The proof of how far he’d been willing to go.

And how much further he’d fallen to crawl back.

Vander’s breath rattled in his chest as he leaned against the steel railing, blood still wet on his lips. The anger in his eyes had softened into something heavier- regret, shame.

“…What I did to you,” he said, voice low, almost too quiet to hear, “I’ve never forgiven myself.”

He looked up at Silco- truly looked at him.

“You were my brother.”

Silco didn’t respond right away. He stared down at him for a long moment before his gaze slid toward (Y/N), and the edges of his expression flickered with something harder to name.

“No,” he murmured. “You still don’t understand.”

He turned to them both now- his voice rising slightly, almost reverent, almost haunted.

“Can you imagine what it’s like… when your blood mixes with the filth? When the river toxins eat through your nerves, strip away everything soft, everything human?”

He stepped closer to Vander again, looming now, his voice low and trembling- not with weakness, but with conviction.

“Oh, I hated you for what you’d done. Every breath I clawed in was filled with hate. But hate burns fast. And when it fades, it leaves room… for understanding.”

His eyes bore into Vander.

“The only way to defeat a superior enemy… is to stop at nothing. To become what they fear.”

He tilted his head.

“I hated you, Vander. But I still respected you. Until you made peace with them. Until you played lapdog to the people who tried to crush us. After everything we suffered.”

Vander’s jaw clenched, but his voice was tired. “I had no choice.”

“Perhaps,” Silco echoed with a hum. “But now… now you do.”

He reached into his coat, retrieving a small vial- glass, delicate, and filled with a swirling, violet liquid that shimmered even in the dim light.

He knelt again, holding it out between them so both Vander and (Y/N) could see.

“Shimmer.” His voice was soft, full of dark promise. “This is power. This is what they fear.”

He glanced up at (Y/N), then down at Vander.

“We can finally realize our dream. Together... Brother.”

Vander looked from the vial… to Silco… and finally up at (Y/N).

She didn’t say a word. She couldn’t. Her heart beat hollow in her chest, her thoughts knotted beyond reason.

Vander’s eyes turned back to Silco.

“Look at what you’ve done,” he whispered. “Benzo. These kids…”

He shook his head slowly. “In fighting Topside… you’d sacrifice everything that we are. It’s not the way. Can’t you see that? If it has to be me, then fine. Kill me. But please… spare the Lanes.”

Silco’s eyes narrowed, sharp and burning.

“You’d die for the cause,” he spat, “but you won’t fight for one?”

Vander gave a breathy laugh, shaking his head. “I’m just… not that man anymore.”

Silco’s lips curled- not in amusement, but disappointment.

“I’ll show you what you really are,” he muttered.

Then, without another glance at his old friend, he turned and walked toward (Y/N) again.

Her breath caught when he reached for her. He took her hand gently- fingers warm, familiar, haunting... And like something out of a long-forgotten dream, he laced his fingers through hers and led her away down the walkway.

Past the shimmer.

Past the scars.

The room they entered was dim, lit only by flickering industrial lights high in the rafters, casting long shadows against the grimy walls. Vander grunted, still dazed but regaining strength, just in time to be dragged inside by two of Silco’s men. He struggled weakly, but they forced him into a heavy chair bolted to the floor.

Without a word, the men bound his wrists to the armrests with reinforced chains- tight, unforgiving.

(Y/N) watched it all.

She didn’t move.

She just… watched, her heart twisted in knots, as Vander met her gaze with something between understanding and heartbreak. She gave him one last lingering look- long, pained- but didn’t pull away when Silco’s hand gently guided her from the room.

He led her up a flight of grated stairs, each step echoing with the weight of history between them.

At the top of the factory was a room- an old office overlooking the chaos below. Large, reinforced windows gave a full view of the operation, of Vander strapped below, of the quiet power Silco now commanded.

Inside, it was just the two of them.

(Y/N) stood awkwardly at first, eyes scanning the space like she might find an anchor.

She didn’t.

Silco motioned to one of the chairs before his desk. “Sit.”

She did.

He pulled the other chair closer, sitting directly in front of her, his eyes searching her face. He didn’t speak. Not yet. Not while the silence still held its weight.

They sat like that for a while- just breathing, listening to the distant hum of machinery, the ghost of bloodshed still heavy on both of them.

Then (Y/N) spoke.

Her voice cracked.

“I… I looked for you…”

Silco’s jaw twitched.

“For years, I looked,” she whispered, broken and small. “I searched every body on the bridge. Dug through rumors. Lies. Begged for information… anything that would lead me to you.”

She inhaled sharply, her hands shaking.

And then- gently- she reached forward, taking his hand into hers, lifting it slowly, reverently, pressing his palm to her cheek.

As soon as she felt his skin on hers, she nearly sobbed.

Her breath hitched, her face crumpling with the weight of every year she’d spent missing him. She hadn’t let anyone this close since he vanished. Hadn’t let herself feel this deeply. Not with Vander. Not with anyone. Only the children had been allowed into that tender part of her.

But this- this was different.

This was him.

And she’d missed him so much.

Silco stood slowly.

Then, wordlessly, he reached for her- his touch uncharacteristically gentle as he pulled her to her feet, even as she trembled beneath his hands.

She nearly collapsed into him.

But he caught her.

His arms wrapped tight around her small frame, pulling her flush to his chest as she nuzzled into the crook of his neck, her sobs muffled against his collar. She breathed him in like she was afraid it might be the last time.

He still smelled like he always had- warm, sharp, a little like smoke... But now there was something else. Something chemical. Acrid. Lingering under the surface.

It clung to his coat, to his skin.

Shimmer.

She didn’t ask. Not yet. She just held him tighter, her fingers curling into the back of his coat... And Silco closed his eyes.

For the first time in years…

He held her like he’d never let go.

Silco held her until the shaking dulled, until the sobs faded into shallow, trembling breaths. He cupped her face afterward, thumbs brushing away the tears left behind on her cheeks, movements tender in a way that almost didn’t fit the man he'd become.

But then his gaze drifted past her- eyes narrowing toward the window that overlooked the catwalk.

He stilled.

(Y/N) turned, heart clenching.

Outside, darting shapes blurred through the shadows.

Mylo… Claggor. Vi.

Her heart dropped.

She spun back to Silco, panic in her eyes. “Sil- Silco, please- don’t hurt them. Please, don’t kill them. I- They’re just kids. I raised them. I love them. I-”

He leaned down, his hand slipping behind her neck. His lips pressed softly to her forehead.

“Calm down…” he murmured. “I can’t promise anything… I think you’ve figured that out by now.”

Her heart cracked again.

“But,” he added, gently taking her hand, “I will do all I can… Just for you.”

Her breath hitched- part fear, part relief, part dread.

He led her from the office, down toward the walkways that twisted like veins through the heart of the factory. His hand never left hers.

A whistle cut through the air behind them.

Footsteps answered.

Sevika fell in beside them, lifting an eyebrow at the sight of (Y/N) before letting out a sharp sigh and shaking her head.

“Of course,” she muttered.

Another man appeared, stepping forward.

He held chains.

(Y/N)’s stomach turned cold.

She pulled her hand from Silco’s, taking a step back- heart hammering.

Silco’s hand caught her chin gently, tilting her face toward him. His expression was unreadable.

“I have to take precautions,” he said softly. “You understand, don’t you?”

She didn’t have time to answer.

The man with the chains moved in quickly, wrapping them around her wrists and upper arms. As soon as the metal touched her skin, she felt it- pain, sudden and sharp, as the runes engraved in the chain flared to life, cutting off her magic.

Her breath stuttered. Her knees buckled slightly.

He made these… for her.

The realization made her blood run cold.

She struggled on instinct, fire rising in her throat- but Sevika grabbed her from behind, locking an arm around her shoulders to drag her forward.

Silco walked ahead of them all, his voice smooth as he approached the group below.

“Welcome.”

The children turned sharply.

Mylo tensed. Claggor instinctively stepped in front of Powder. Vi’s fists clenched at her sides.

And then they saw her.

Sevika dragged (Y/N) into the open, the chains glowing faintly against her skin.

Their eyes locked with hers.

And (Y/N)’s heart shattered.

Fear. Sadness. Betrayal.

Vi’s voice broke through the silence, small and shaking.

“M-Mom…?”

(Y/N) choked on the lump in her throat, pulling against the chains- only to cry out softly when the runes sparked again.

“I’m okay…” she managed, voice soft and shaking. “Focus on them, alright? Focus on each other.”

She tried to smile, tried to soothe them like she always did.

But her hands were bound. Her power was locked down. And she was being dragged by the man she’d once loved more than anything in the world.

Silco stopped beside her, reaching out to brush her hair back with a tenderness that made her flinch.

“Have you heard the rumor?” he asked the kids, voice light, casual- cruel.

“Vander the coward fled town, left his children behind…”

He paused, eyes glittering with venom.

“…And he was never seen again.”

(Y/N) sucked in a sharp breath, biting her lip to keep from sobbing.

And Vi- her face slowly twisted from fear into rage.

But (Y/N)… she could barely look at them.

Not like this.

Vi didn’t hesitate.

The second she saw (Y/N) like that- bound, chained, magic suppressed- something in her snapped.

“Claggor,” she barked, voice firm. “Find another way out of here.”

Claggor gave a quick nod, already moving, slipping back into the room Vander was in to search for an exit route.

Vander, still slumped in his restraints, his voice raw with emotion, rasped, “You don’t have to do this-”

“Yes, I do,” Vi cut him off, tone solid. Final.

And then one of Silco’s men stepped forward.

A mountain of a man. Thick arms, heavy boots, a massive knife in hand.

The second he approached Vi, (Y/N) instinctively lunged forward- pure panic in her eyes. “No!” she screamed, heart thundering as she tried to reach Vi, tried to protect her babies.

Sevika’s grip tightened around her waist, holding her firm.

(Y/N) fought against the chains anyway, gritting her teeth through the pain, trying to claw her way free.

“Let me go!”

But Sevika didn’t budge.

Vander’s voice broke, more desperate now. “Vi!”

The girl stood tall, squared her shoulders, clenched her fists.

And met the man head-on.

She glanced once- only once- back at Silco, then dropped into a fighting stance, steady and sure.

The man lunged.

He brought the knife down hard, but Vi lifted her arms- Vander’s gauntlets catching the blade with a clang that rang through the entire factory.

The force vibrated down her arms- but she held firm.

Then she struck.

One brutal, upward punch.

Crack.

The man’s head snapped back, blood flying from his mouth along with a tooth. His body flew backwards, crashing to the walkway with a heavy thud.

Out cold.

Silco’s eyes widened just slightly. Not fear. Not quite. But... surprise. He said nothing- just lifted a hand and gave a sharp signal.

Sevika responded immediately, yanking (Y/N) back by the chains, dragging her a step away as more of Silco’s men stepped forward.

(Y/N)’s eyes never left Vi.

Even as she was pulled back, she watched her girl fight.

One after another, they came.

And one by one, Vi dropped them.

A punch to the gut. A backhanded swing to the jaw. A full-force slam that sent one man tumbling off the side of the catwalk, screaming as he fell.

If the situation weren’t so dire, (Y/N) would’ve been bursting with pride.

Even through the fear, through the chains biting into her skin, she felt it rise like warmth in her chest.

Her baby girl was holding her own.

Then… only Sevika remained.

She stepped forward, cracking her knuckles, clearly ready to jump in.

But Silco raised his hand- calm, measured.

“Hold.”

Sevika paused, eyes narrowing. But she obeyed.

Still gripping (Y/N) tightly, keeping her locked in place, but she didn’t move to fight.

Silco stepped forward slowly, watching Vi with a calculating eye.

This wasn’t over.

Not yet.

Silco’s expression was unreadable as his eyes shifted toward the sickly man lingering nearby- the one who had once torn through Enforcers like paper, and now barely looked human at all. Gaunt, twitching, with veins of violet threading beneath his skin.

“Ready to rise to the surface?” Silco asked, his voice deceptively soft.

The man’s eyes flicked to the small, glowing vial in Silco’s hand- a pulsing purple liquid that shimmered with unnatural energy. His gaze grew desperate, wild. He snatched it the second it was offered, uncorking it and downing the contents like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

And then- he screamed.

The transformation was immediate, violent. His spine arched, bones cracking, limbs lengthening, skin distorting. Purple fluid spilled from the corners of his mouth as his body twisted into something monstrous. The shriek that followed rattled the steel beams of the factory.

(Y/N)’s blood ran cold.

“No- no!” she shouted, yanking against the chains as hard as she could. Sevika held her firm, but her grip trembled slightly under the struggle. “Silco!”

Vi didn’t hesitate- she lunged in to strike the creature before it fully stabilized, gauntlets swinging.

But the monster was faster.

It caught her by the throat, lifting her effortlessly off the ground.

“No!” (Y/N) thrashed harder, desperation clawing through her throat. She looked at Silco, eyes wild. “You said you wouldn’t kill them!”

Silco’s jaw clenched. His face flickered with something- guilt, maybe. Regret.

“I said I’d try,” he said quietly.

It wasn’t enough.

Vander roared over the chaos, his voice raw. “Silco! Let her go! This is between you and me!”

Silco’s eyes darkened. His voice was flat- cold. “You had your chance.”

And the monster threw Vi.

She crashed hard into a nearby wall, grunting as she slid across the floor. One of the gauntlets skidded free, clattering loudly across the steel.

(Y/N)’s scream cracked out of her, her knees buckling as she fought harder.

Vi coughed, gasping, barely able to pull herself up. The monster advanced, step by heavy step, dripping shimmer and fury with every movement.

She crawled.

Clawed toward the others.

(Y/N), Vander, Mylo, and Claggor all shouted her name, voices overlapping in a desperate crescendo.

And then- Vi reached the door. With a trembling hand, she slammed it shut- and locked it. The bolt echoed like thunder.

The monster crashed into the other side, but the door held.

Inside, silence reigned for a moment. A breath of reprieve. Of safety.

(Y/N) collapsed to her knees in Sevika’s grip, a sob tearing loose from her throat.

Vi was safe.

For now.

Tears ran down her cheeks as she whispered, “Thank the Gods…”

But her eyes never left Silco.

And her heart had never hurt more.

The creature outside the sealed door snarled and slammed its fists against the metal, again and again. The walkway shook with the force of it, rattling bolts and echoing through the factory like thunder.

Sevika kept her grip on (Y/N), who was breathing hard, her cheeks damp with tears, her arms still trembling from the aftermath.

Silco stood nearby, unmoving- expression unreadable, eyes fixed on the blocked doorway.

(Y/N)’s voice cracked through the din, soft, pleading. “Please… Please, Silco… don’t do this…”

She turned her face toward him, eyes wide, broken. “Let the kids go. Please.”

There was a silence between them.

And then he looked at her.

His gaze softened- just slightly- as he sighed quietly.

“…Fine,” he said after a pause. “Once we get them all gathered again, I’ll let the children go.” His tone stayed firm. “But only the children.”

(Y/N)’s breath hitched, her body sagging in Sevika’s arms as if the tension had suddenly drained all at once. A strangled sob slipped past her lips.

And then- click.

A small sound. Metal ticking softly against the walkway.

(Y/N)’s eyes widened in an instant. “What..?”

Her gaze darted toward the source- a monkey. Small, mechanical, familiar. It shuffled forward, toy-like limbs moving with mechanical innocence.

She recognized it immediately.

Powder’s.

The monkey sat still for a beat, and then-

BOOM.

The explosion ripped through the walkway in a blinding blast of heat and sound.

Silco lunged, pulling (Y/N) into his arms and wrapping himself tightly around her, shielding her body with his own. Sevika threw herself in front of them both- arms outstretched.

The force hit them like a wave.

Smoke. Shrapnel. Flames.

When (Y/N) came to, her ears were ringing. Her limbs heavy.

She blinked hard, vision swimming- and realized Silco was still holding her, arms wrapped tight. Sevika lay sprawled across the walkway ahead of them, unmoving.

Her left arm… was gone.

(Y/N) cried out in horror and pushed away from Silco, slipping from his grip. The chains slowed her, made her stumble, but she didn’t stop.

She crawled, dragging herself across the scorched walkway toward the room where the kids had been.

“No, no, no-” she whispered over and over.

The devastation was unreal.

Pieces of the railing hung loose, sparks flying from destroyed panels.

And in the back of the room-

Claggor.

Still. Lifeless.

Mylo- bloodied, crushed under debris, unmoving.

She fell to her knees in the middle of the walkway, her hands bound, unable to even hold them. She just stared through fresh, silent tears, sobbing until her voice cracked.

Behind her, Silco slowly emerged from the smoke. He stepped around Sevika’s body- limping slightly- and moved to (Y/N)’s side.

He knelt, wordless, placing a hesitant hand on her shoulder.

She shrugged it off.

He didn’t try again.

But when her body gave out, she collapsed against him anyway, no fight left in her. Her sobs echoed against the steel.

From inside the room, Violet’s screams and cires rang out. High, panicked, broken.

(Y/N) closed her eyes and shook her head, lips trembling. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

Then-

Movement.

Vander stumbled from the room, face battered, holding onto the wall for balance. His eyes flicked from (Y/N) to the remaining men around them- and the monster, who was still alive, still looming.

He roared and charged.

Fists flew.

He threw punches with the strength of desperation, slamming into the beast again and again. The creature responded in kind, and the two clashed like titans- blows echoing through the factory.

Then-

The creature landed a blow, sending Vander crashing down onto the walkway.

He groaned, tried to stand-

And from beside (Y/N), Silco rose to his feet. Slowly... Deliberately.

(Y/N) watched, dazed. She didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

Just watched.

Silco stepped up behind Vander- silent as a shadow.

And then… The blade.

In the back.

Vander choked, his body jerking forward. He turned, gasping, and grabbed Silco by the throat.

Silco- eyes fierce, lips curled into something almost mournful- stabbed him again.

Lower.

Vander’s grip weakened. He sagged forward, collapsing against Silco’s chest. The two of them locked eyes, breath labored and pained.

“…I knew you still had it in you,” Silco whispered.

And then he shoved him.

Vander’s body tumbled over the edge- into the boxes of shimmer bwloe, where spilled chemicals, shattered shimmer vials, and fire burned like hell itself.

Everything went quiet.

Except for (Y/N)’s trembling breath, and the sound of Vi sobbing somewhere in the dark.

Silco's steps were measured, calm despite the blood on his hands and the tremor still rolling through the floor beneath them. He approached the shimmer-mutated creature with purpose, voice sharp but steady.

“...Find the girl.”

The monster obeyed, stomping toward the ruined room. Its heavy limbs dragged it forward into the wreckage-strewn room where Violet had been trapped with Mylo and Claggor's fallen bodies.

Vi panicked as the creature loomed over her, its breath huffing like steam, arms rising to grab her-

BOOM.

A massive crashing sound rang through the factory, making the entire structure lurch violently.

(Y/N) stumbled.

The walkway groaned beneath their feet.

And then- a low growl.

Primal. Familiar.

Silco stepped in front of (Y/N) instantly, his arm thrown out to shield her, body still tense from the last fight.

Another figure emerged through the smoke and shadow.

Twisted. Unnatural.

A different kind of monster.

It grabbed Silco’s beast by the throat before anyone could react- crushing, choking- and with a violent twist, snapped its neck like it was nothing more than paper. The limp body was thrown aside, crashing into a wall and slumping into the rubble.

Silco’s jaw tensed as his eyes widened.

He stepped forward and forced (Y/N) up, gripping her arm, steadying her.

She didn’t speak- didn’t move beyond what he guided.

Her eyes were locked on the new creature.

Its eyes met hers- burning, tinged with shimmer.

“...Vander,” she whispered, barely audible.

He had survived.

He had used the shimmer.

And he had changed.

Silco realized it too, the horror evident in the way he slowly stepped back, pulling (Y/N) with him, his body subtly shifting into defense again. Vander snarled- deep and guttural- his distorted voice still capable of forming one clear word:

“Silco.”

(Y/N) tensed as Silco’s grip tightened around her hand.

The building shuddered again- more violently now. Pipes groaned, embers danced across the floor. The fire had spread.

Vander’s monstrous form looked between Silco and the collapsed room behind him- where Violet’s sobs could still faintly be heard.

And then, with a roar, he turned and ran, barreling back through the corridor.

(Y/N) and Silco watched as he scooped up Violet and charged through the broken wall just as the room collapsed around them. The building behind them erupted into flame, collapsing in on itself as embers roared toward the sky.

They stood in silence.

Silco gently tugged (Y/N) forward, guiding her out of the ruin. She didn’t resist, her legs moving on instinct alone. Her face was hollow, her eyes empty. The world around her felt far away.

But she heard it.

Faint, echoing through the smoke:

Vi's screams.

Powder’s cries.

They walked until the sounds grew louder- closer.

Then, voices. Muffled at first.

Powder’s, frantic. “Violet?! Please! Come back! Vi!”

That- that- snapped something in (Y/N).

She yanked free of Silco’s grip, her chains rattling as she stumbled forward.

“Powder!” she gasped.

She ran, her feet carrying her through the scorched earth, eyes scanning desperately- until she saw her.

Powder.

Kneeling in the ash. Shoulders shaking. Her arms wrapped tightly around herself.

“Vi!” she sobbed. “She left me! I didn’t mean to- I didn’t mean to-!”

(Y/N) froze a few steps away.

Her heart shattered all over again.

Powder was curled up so small, so broken.

Tears spilled from (Y/N)’s eyes as she slowly stepped closer.

Powder looked up.

And launched into her.

“Mama-!”

(Y/N) caught her instinctively, knees hitting the ground as she wrapped her arms around the girl- holding her so tightly, like she could piece her back together if she just held on hard enough.

Silco reached them seconds later, catching both of them as they toppled into his legs. He knelt behind them, arms wrapping around them both- sheltering them from what little of the world was left.

(Y/N) glanced around, confused, still dazed and trying to keep her sobbing to a minimum. “Where… Where did Vi go..?”

Powder cried into (Y/N)’s shoulder. “She left me. She’s… Not my sister anymore…”

(Y/N) stroked her hair, sobbing silently, her throat too raw for words.

Silco’s voice was low, gentle- soothing in a way she hadn’t heard in years.

“It’s okay…” he whispered. “We’ll show them.”

His hand brushed through Powder’s hair… then over (Y/N)’s.

“We’ll show them all.”

And in that hollow quiet, surrounded by ash and ruin, (Y/N) clung to Powder.

And Silco clung to them both.

And for better or worse…

This was what remained.

The chains still bound her wrists, biting into her skin, heavy with runes that pulsed faintly against her magic. But (Y/N) didn't care. She held onto Powder as best she could, arms wrapped tight despite the limits, despite the pain. The girl was clinging just as hard- shaking, sobbing, burying her face into (Y/N)’s neck.

They stayed like that for a long while. Just breathing. Just surviving.

Eventually, Silco shifted beside them, his voice low, yet steady.

“Come on,” he said, gently.

He reached down, wrapping an arm around (Y/N)’s shoulders to help her rise. She trembled as she stood, her limbs aching, the chains dragging against her legs. Powder still clung to her, and with no small effort, (Y/N) shifted the girl up into her arms.

It hurt. It was heavy. Her body screamed in protest.

But she carried her anyway.

Silco kept close at her side, his hand never leaving her back as he slowly led them out of the ruins.

Behind them, a few of his surviving men regrouped near what was left of the factory. The fire still burned high in the distance, lighting the skyline like a grim beacon.

Silco glanced over his shoulder, voice firm as he spoke to them.

“Gather everything that’s left. Anything not lost in the blast- documents, weapons, shimmer... all of it.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “We’re done here. We take the bar now.”

There was no discussion.

The men moved quickly.

And Silco turned back to (Y/N), his voice quieter now, meant only for her and Jinx.

“We’ll start again,” he said, more to himself than anyone. “From the ashes.”

As the three of them walked off into the night- (Y/N) carrying Powder, Silco walking protectively at their side- the echoes of everything they’d lost still clung to their heels.

One they got to The Last Drop, Powder sat small and trembling on the bar, legs drawn up, ash smudged across her cheeks and under her eyes like a warpaint she never asked for. (Y/N) moved on instinct- her hands steady despite the shaking in her bones. She soaked the cloth in warm water and gently wiped away the soot, the blood, the smoke. Each stroke soft and methodical.

“There we go, Powpow…” she whispered, voice quiet, mother-soft. “I’ve got you.”

Powder flinched at the name, her lip wobbling. “Jinx…”

(Y/N)’s hands froze, just for a moment.

Powder didn’t look up. Her voice cracked as she repeated it. “I’m a jinx… That’s what I should be called…”

(Y/N) didn’t argue. Didn’t correct her. She just resumed cleaning, her touch never wavering.

“…Okay…” she said softly. “Either way... I’ve got you...”

From the far side of the bar, Silco watched. Silent. Still.

His eyes tracked the chains at (Y/N)’s wrists- the way they pulled at her skin every time she moved to tend to Powder.

He stepped forward slowly, fingers brushing the edge of a small brass key in his coat pocket. When he spoke, his voice was cautious. Careful.

“(Y/N)…?”

She glanced over her shoulder, eyes sharp and cold beneath her exhaustion. She looked like she hadn’t fully come down from the chaos. Like a thread pulled too tight.

Silco held up the key.

“Can I trust you still?”

She scoffed, the sound dry, brittle. “I think that’s my question, Silco.”

He let out a quiet hum. Not a laugh. Not quite.

“I suppose it is.”

He walked closer, holding the key between two fingers. “This is for your chains. If I know you won’t turn on me… I’ll undo them.”

Powder’s- no, Jinx’s- eyes widened as she noticed the chains for the first time. “You’re- You’re chained-?” she gasped, reaching for (Y/N)’s wrists.

(Y/N) didn’t look away from Silco, but her expression softened as Powder pleaded, “L-Let her go… please?”

Silco didn’t move yet.

(Y/N) took a deep breath.

“I won’t attack you,” she said finally, her voice low, calm, resolute. “If that’s what you’re asking.” Her jaw clenched. “Undo them.”

Silco studied her for a moment longer- long enough for the weight of the moment to settle between them.

Then, slowly, he stepped forward… and slid the key into the lock.

The moment the chains hit the floor with a clatter, the magic surged.

Golden marks bloomed like ink across (Y/N)’s skin, glowing softly as they curled up her arms, pulsing with life and power that had been kept caged for far too long. Her eyes lit with the same glow- bright, wild, beautiful- before it all flickered, then faded, like the last flare of a dying star.

She didn’t flinch.

Didn’t revel in the return of her freedom.

She just exhaled quietly… and turned right back to Jinx.

There was no rage. No revenge. Just… care.

She dipped the cloth again, gently cleaning around the girl’s forehead where soot clung to her hairline. Her voice was soft, steady again.

“Almost done, sweetheart…”

Jinx stayed quiet, sniffling now and again, her fingers gripping the edge of the bar tightly.

Silco didn’t speak. He simply watched her- this girl who once burned like fire, now bent over the broken remnants of a child she swore to protect. There was something reverent in the way he looked at her, something unreadable in the way his fingers twitched at his side but never reached out.

(Y/N) gave no further reaction to her magic’s return.

No questions.

No celebration.

She just tucked a lock of Jinx’s hair behind her ear and whispered, “There we go, little firecracker…”

Because for now, she’d take care of her.

And she’d call her by something warm.

Something safe.

Until the world made room for her again.

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 :}

Hiiii!!!

I absolutely adore your Silco x reader, it's wonderful. Your writing it great 🥺 I was wondering if I could make a request? Okay, so, I love TOH, and SU, and you have both listed on your masterlist, sooooooo I was thinking maybe you could mix them?

Here's my idea, Hunter x reader, but reader is half Gem, like Steven. She somehow finds herself in the Demon realm, and ends up having to join the Coven Scouts, so she can find a way home.

A/N: Hiiii!!! Thank you so much! I can absolutely do that. I also love TOH and SU, so this is awesome. Actually, if it's okay, I'd love to make this into a new series because I had SO much fun writing it! If it's not okay, you can go ahead and send me a dm or another ask, and I won't, but I loved the idea, so I'd be more than willing to.

Drifting Between Worlds pt.1

Hunter x Fem!Reader

pt.2

Warnings: Violence/Physical Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Manipulation, Blood/Injury, Power Imbalance/Authoritarian Abuse, Themes of Control/Oppression

Word Count: 7292

Summary: (Y/N), a half-human, half-Gem, is transported to the Boiling Isles and brought to Belos by his scouts. Forced into the Emperor’s Coven, she trains alongside Hunter, growing close to him while searching for a way home. During a scouting mission, they discover Eda Clawthorne teaching a human girl- Luz. Knowing the danger of this revelation, (Y/N) hesitates to report it, but Hunter insists on following protocol. When they inform Belos, he punishes Hunter, leaving him scarred. Furious but powerless, (Y/N) helps Hunter recover and comforts him, strengthening their bond. However, witnessing Belos’s cruelty sparks (Y/N)’s growing doubts about his rule.

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

(Y/N) gasped for air as she broke through the surface of the water, her heart hammering against her ribs. Her entire body ached from the force of being shot through- whatever that was. One second, she was swimming in the ocean back home, and the next, she was being hurled through some kind of portal.

She blinked, disoriented. The sky above her was a deep, unnatural purple, with swirling clouds. Strange, jagged rock formations jutted out of the landscape around her, glowing with eerie light. But the most terrifying thing? The water below her boiled.

(Y/N) barely managed to grab onto a rocky ledge before she slipped back down. Her fingers burned slightly from the heat of the steam rising off the water. Breathing heavily, she pulled herself up, rolling onto her back and staring at the alien sky.

“What the heck,” she muttered, sitting up. She took stock of herself- her bathing suit was intact, even if it wasn’t ideal for whatever situation this was. She patted her collarbone, where the smooth, light pink Onyx was embedded into her skin. At least it wasn't cracked...

She had been through weird situations before- living with Steven and the Crystal Gems meant weird was normal- but this? This was new.

(Y/N) stood, shaking out her limbs and glancing around. The terrain was wild and unfamiliar, filled with crooked trees and strange creatures flitting about in the distance. “Okay,” she said to herself, taking a deep breath. “Step one: find someone in charge. Step two: figure out where I am...”

She moved cautiously, her bare feet brushing against the rough ground. She wasn’t too worried about getting hurt- her being a Gem meant minor scrapes and cuts weren’t a problem- but she didn’t exactly want to go charging into danger.

After what felt like an eternity of wandering, (Y/N) spotted movement- a figure, in uniform, carrying some kind of spear, walking along a worn dirt path.

A guard!

Hope flared in her chest, and she ran toward them. “Hey! Hey, excuse me!”

The guard- a creature with a birdlike mask and a white cloak- whipped around, gripping their spear tighter. “Halt! Who goes there?”

(Y/N) skidded to a stop, holding up her hands. “Whoa, whoa! I don’t mean any harm. I just- I need help. I’m lost. I don’t know how I got here.”

The guard’s head tilted. “You are… human?”

(Y/N) hesitated. “Uh… half?” She tapped her Gem. “Long story. But yeah, mostly human.”

The guard stepped back. “Humans are not meant to be here.”

(Y/N) groaned. “Yeah, I figured. Look, I just need to find someone in charge- some kind of authority? Maybe they can help me figure out how to get home?”

The guard hesitated, then sighed. “You should not be here. But I cannot leave you to wander. Come with me.”

Relieved, (Y/N) followed as the guard led her down the path, her mind racing. She had no idea what world she had stumbled into, but one thing was for sure- she had a long way to go before she found her way home.

(Y/N) followed the masked guard through the bizarre landscape of the Boiling Isles, her bare feet brushing over gnarled roots, uneven stone, and patches of strange, pulsing moss. Everywhere she looked, there were creatures that seemed ripped straight from a fever dream- multi-eyed birds, chimeric beasts with too many limbs, and even a small, scampering thing that looked like a skull with legs.

She tried to keep her face neutral, but every now and then, a shudder ran through her. She had seen weird before- Homeworld’s Gems, corrupted monsters, the things that lurked in Beach City’s more supernatural corners- but this? This was something else entirely.

“Are we almost there?” she asked after what felt like forever.

The guard barely turned their head. “Patience, human.”

She huffed, crossing her arms, but kept walking. Eventually, they emerged onto a wide, towering bridge that stretched over a massive chasm, and beyond it stood an enormous structure.

The castle- or palace- was massive, carved from gleaming white stone with gold accents. Tall spires twisted toward the sky, adorned with massive banners depicting a sigil she didn’t recognize. The entire place had a looming, eerie feel, like it was meant to impress and intimidate.

The guard gestured toward it. “This is Emperor Belos’s Castle. You stand before the heart of the Emperor’s Coven.”

(Y/N) frowned. “Right. And that means…?”

The guard didn’t answer, simply leading her across the bridge.

As they entered the palace, (Y/N) got an even better look at the inside- huge corridors lined with pillars, flickering torches casting long shadows, and walls decorated with more of those same sigils. Guards in similar white masks patrolled, watching her with curiosity- or suspicion.

“Where are we going?” she asked, voice lower now.

“To the Emperor,” the guard replied.

(Y/N) blinked. “Wait, seriously? I was meaning more of like, a local with some sort of knowledge or something… Not your leader or whatever...”

“You wished to meet someone with authority,” the guard said plainly. “There is no higher authority than Emperor Belos.”

Well. That was something.

As they walked deeper into the castle, (Y/N) felt her stomach twist uneasily. She had no idea who this Belos guy was, but something about this place felt… wrong. There was a heaviness in the air, a weight that settled against her skin, making her Gem hum faintly in her chest.

Something was off.

But she had come this far. If this Emperor guy could help her get home, she had to try.

Squaring her shoulders, (Y/N) followed the guard deeper into the palace, toward whatever fate awaited her.

The grand doors to the throne room swung open with an eerie creak, revealing a vast chamber lined with towering pillars. The air was thick with the scent of something old, like parchment and candle wax, but there was an undercurrent of something… darker.

(Y/N) swallowed hard as she stepped forward, her feet hitting the cold stone floor. At the far end of the room, seated atop an imposing throne, was the man she assumed to be Emperor Belos.

His presence filled the room like an unseen weight pressing against her shoulders. He was draped in a flowing white cloak, gold accents catching the dim light, and his face was hidden behind an ornate golden mask. Even though she couldn't see his eyes, she felt his gaze settle on her.

Beside her, the masked guard immediately knelt, lowering their head in reverence.

(Y/N), on the other hand, shifted awkwardly.

Yeah...

She wasn't doing that.

Instead, she let out a nervous laugh and rocked on her heels. “Uh. Hi. I take it you're the guy in charge?”

The guard shot her a look from beneath their mask, but Belos merely tilted his head. His voice, when he spoke, was smooth- calm, but holding a distinct weight to it.

"You are… different.”

(Y/N) blinked. “Uh. Yeah, understatement of the year.” She gestured vaguely to herself. “Human. Or, well, half. Kind of got lost, ended up here. Thought maybe someone in charge could help.”

There was a long pause. The air in the room felt colder.

“Half-human…” Belos murmured, almost as if he was turning the thought over in his mind. He rested his chin on one gloved hand. “How fascinating.”

(Y/N) didn’t like the way he said that.

Her fingers twitched, and instinctively, she reached up to brush her Gem- a small, subconscious action she often did when she was nervous.

Belos’s head moved ever so slightly, like he had noticed.

“You say you arrived here by accident,” he said. “How?”

(Y/N) hesitated. “I, uh… I was swimming. In the ocean. Then, boom- portal. And next thing I know, I’m nearly getting boiled alive.” She gestured vaguely toward the door. “So, if you could help me find a way back to my world, that’d be great.”

Silence.

Belos regarded her for a long moment. Then, slowly, he rose from his throne.

(Y/N) stiffened. She was good at reading emotions- her connection to them ran deeper than most- but right now, standing in front of this man, she felt… nothing. It was like standing in front of a void.

“You wish to return home,” he said, stepping down toward her. “And yet… you are something quite rare. A human in the Demon Realm is already an anomaly. But a half-human with a power I do not yet understand? That is even more intriguing.”

(Y/N) took a step back. “Uh. Cool? I mean, I’m flattered, really, but I kinda just wanna go home.”

Belos stopped a few feet in front of her. He was tall- taller than she expected- and even though she couldn’t see his face, she felt the intensity of his gaze.

“You may yet prove useful, child.”

That set off every alarm in her brain.

“Yeahhh, see, I don’t love being called ‘useful’ by ominous masked guys in creepy castles,” (Y/N) said, forcing a grin. “So, if that’s all, I think I’ll just-”

She turned on her heel, ready to leave, but before she could take another step, a wave of green magic flickered out from Belos’s fingertips.

(Y/N) barely had time to react before the ground beneath her feet locked up, thick green tendrils snapping around her ankles like chains.

Her heart leapt into her throat.

Okay. Not good. Really not good.

Belos tilted his head. “I believe you will stay here a while longer.”

(Y/N) stood frozen, the green bindings around her ankles pulsing faintly with energy. Her mind raced, trying to figure out the best way to not be trapped in this nightmare situation, but Belos spoke before she could act.

“I have made my decision,” he said, voice calm, measured. “You will join my Coven.”

(Y/N)’s stomach dropped. “Wait, what?”

“You will receive the mark of the Emperor’s Coven,” he continued, ignoring her protests. “And you will train to become one of my Scouts. You will learn our ways, our laws, and how magic truly works in this world.”

(Y/N)’s hands clenched into fists. “Yeah, huge problem with that- I don’t do well with being told what to do.”

Belos regarded her, unmoved. “You wish to return home, do you not?”

(Y/N) hesitated.

Belos took a step closer. “There are no known portals back to the Human Realm. None that I know of.” There was something about the way he said it that made her gut twist- like maybe he did know something, and just wasn’t planning on telling her. “But if one were to be discovered…”

(Y/N)’s breath caught.

“I would decide whether or not you needed to know.”

Her fingers twitched toward her Gem, her instincts screaming at her. She could fight him, try to break free- but the room was filled with guards, and she wasn’t exactly at full strength after being thrown into this insane world.

For now, she needed to play along.

She forced her shoulders to relax and exhaled sharply through her nose. “So let me get this straight. I get branded with some magic tattoo, train to be one of your creepy bird-mask guys, and in exchange, you might help me get home?”

Belos tilted his head, as if amused. “That is the arrangement.”

(Y/N) gritted her teeth. The sigil- whatever it was- was meant for witches, right? But she wasn’t a witch. That whole system shouldn’t even apply to her. And yet, he still wanted her branded.

Something about that sat very wrong with her.

But she had no choice.

Not right now.

She forced herself to nod. “Fine.”

Belos lifted his hand, green magic curling around his fingertips. “Then we begin.”

A wave of energy surged forward, striking her wrist like searing hot ink.

(Y/N) clenched her teeth, swallowing down a hiss as the magic carved itself into her skin. The symbol of the Emperor’s Coven flared bright for a moment before settling, leaving behind an eerie, glowing mark embedded into her flesh.

She glared up at Belos, heart pounding.

"Enough of this," Belos said, his voice echoing through the throne room. His tone was final, dismissive. "The decision has been made. Send word to Hunter- she will be joining him in his room. That way, I can ensure the human is kept under watch."

(Y/N) stiffened. Hunter? That name meant nothing to her, but the idea of being shoved into some random room with a complete stranger wasn’t exactly comforting.

Belos turned his gaze toward one of the scouts. "You. Take her to her quarters."

The scout immediately bowed. "Yes, Emperor Belos. It would be my pleasure."

(Y/N) scowled but kept her mouth shut as the scout gestured for her to follow. As much as she wanted to argue, to push back, she knew she had no leverage here. Not yet.

The golden sigil on her wrist still tingled uncomfortably as she was led through the castles halls. The deeper they went, the more she realized just how massive this place was. There were halls lined with banners of the Emperor’s sigil, corridors guarded by silent scouts in their eerie masks, and doors leading to rooms she probably didn’t want to know the purpose of.

She kept her arms crossed over her chest, partly from irritation, partly because she was still just wearing a bathing suit.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, they arrived at a set of large wooden doors. The scout opened one, stepping aside.

"This will be your room," the scout said. "You’ll be sharing it with the Emperor’s nephew, Hunter. He’s also training to become a scout. You’ll receive your uniforms and off-duty clothing shortly."

(Y/N) arched an eyebrow. "The Emperor’s nephew?"

The scout gave a stiff nod. "He is young, but skilled. The Emperor believes it best that he keeps an eye on you."

Of course he does… (Y/N) sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "Great. He's on babysitting duty."

The scout didn’t respond- just motioned for her to step inside.

(Y/N) hesitated before entering. The room wasn’t terrible, but it was nothing fancy either. Two small beds sat on opposite sides of the space, both neatly made. There was a single wardrobe, a desk against the far wall, and a few shelves lined with books, candles, and training manuals.

The room smelled faintly of parchment and dust, mixed with something vaguely metallic- probably from whatever weapons or armor were stored in here.

And then she spotted him.

A boy sat on the edge of one of the beds, hunched over a book. He looked up when she walked in, his bright magenta eyes immediately locking onto her.

He was younger than her- probably twelve, a little shorter than her, with short blond hair that swooped slightly in front of his face. His features were sharp, with a hooked nose and a slight gap between his teeth. He had a small chip in his ear, but other than that, he didn’t seem to have any visible scars.

For a second, they just stared at each other.

Then, (Y/N) sighed dramatically and flopped onto the unoccupied bed.

“So, Hunter, huh?” she said, folding her arms behind her head. “Guess that makes you my new babysitter.”

The boy bristled. “I’m not your babysitter,” he said quickly, his voice carrying the kind of indignant edge only a twelve-year-old could manage. “I’m training to become a scout. I have actual responsibilities.”

(Y/N) smirked. “Uh-huh. Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night, kid.”

His eyes narrowed. “You’re not much older than me.”

“I’m thirteen.”

“That’s barely a difference.”

“Still older.”

Hunter exhaled sharply through his nose and shut his book with a snap. “Look,” he said, crossing his arms. “I don’t know why my uncle wants me to share a room with you, but just stay out of my way, and we won’t have any problems.”

(Y/N) snorted. “Oh, trust me, staying out of the way is the last thing I plan to do.”

Hunter gave her a long, scrutinizing look.

Before either of them could say anything else, a knock at the door interrupted them.

A scout stepped inside, dropping a neatly folded pile of clothes onto a nearby chair. "These are for you," they said to (Y/N). "Your scout uniforms, a mask, and a few off-duty outfits."

(Y/N) sat up, finally feeling a little relieved. "Awesome. Running around in a bathing suit wasn’t exactly my plan for today."

The scout gave a curt nod before leaving.

(Y/N) picked up one of the uniforms, inspecting it. The material was sturdy but flexible, mostly gray with black accents- same as what she had seen on the others. The off-duty clothes were simpler, mostly dark tones, but comfortable-looking.

Hunter watched her from his bed, arms still crossed.

"So," he said, voice measured. "You’re really human?"

(Y/N) glanced at him, then tapped her collarbone where her Gem gleamed faintly. "Half."

Hunter’s magenta eyes flickered to the gemstone, curiosity flashing across his face.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, Hunter tilted his head. "Well… at least you’re not completely useless."

(Y/N) snorted. "Not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult, but I’ll take it."

Hunter just hummed, flipping open his book again.

(Y/N) exhaled, rubbing at the fresh sigil on her wrist.

This was her new reality- for now, at least.

But she had no plans to stick around forever.

She just had to play along… until she found a way out.

Two years had passed since (Y/N) had been thrown into the Boiling Isles. Two years since she had been forced into the Emperor’s Coven, branded with a sigil meant for witches- one that, strangely, never seemed to affect her the way it did others.

She had learned a lot in that time.

Magic wasn’t just one thing here- it was divided, structured, controlled. There were different types of magic, and each coven specialized in one: Abominations, Healing, Illusions, Potions, and so on. Every witch was expected to join a coven, to be marked with a sigil that locked them into one type of magic for life. Only the Emperor’s Coven- Belos’s personal force- had the privilege of wielding multiple types of magic.

And anyone who refused to join a coven?

A wild witch.

(Y/N) had heard plenty about them. The Emperor painted them as dangerous, reckless, a threat to the system that kept order in the Isles. But the more she learned, the more she saw how much of it was just control.

She had trained alongside Hunter, learning the ways of the scouts, learning about the world she had been thrown into. And, in that time, she had become something she never expected- a partner.

After their training, they had been officially paired as scouting partners, working together on missions for the Emperor’s Coven. They had been given a slightly larger room than before, though they still shared it- two separate beds, a single wardrobe, and a small desk where Hunter often poured over books late into the night... Plus the little things (Y/N) made, scattered about in some places.

Despite their rocky start, they had grown into a strange, competitive sort of friendship.

Hunter was still Hunter, stubborn, cocky, always trying to prove himself. But over the years, (Y/N) had seen the cracks in his mask. He wasn’t just some power-hungry lackey- he wanted to be something, to prove his worth.

She got that.

And, despite everything, she trusted him more than anyone else in this place.

Not that she’d tell him that.

(Y/N) leaned against the railing of a high balcony overlooking the city of Bonesborough. The sky was dimming, lanterns flickering to life across the streets below. She tugged her gloves higher over her hands, absentmindedly brushing her fingers over the sigil on her wrist.

It still didn’t affect her.

Not the way it did witches. She had seen them struggle when they tried to use magic outside of their coven’s restriction, felt their pain when the sigil burned into them. But her? She could still summon her weapons, still feel the hum of energy in her Gem, still do things no one else here could.

And Belos knew it.

He had never spoken about it directly, but she had seen the way he watched her, the way he monitored her training, like she was an experiment he hadn’t quite figured out yet.

And she hated it.

“(Y/N).”

Hunter’s voice pulled her from her thoughts. She turned to see him approaching, his white Scout cloak swaying with each step. He had gotten taller over the years- not by much, but enough that he was no longer shorter than her. His face had grown sharper, more defined, but his magenta eyes still held that same intense focus.

“Daydreaming again?” he asked, stopping beside her.

(Y/N) smirked. “What can I say? Your Uncle gives us such boring work, Blondie.”

Hunter rolled his eyes. “We have a mission tomorrow. Higher-ups want us scouting near the Knee. We leave at dawn.”

“Right, right,” she said, waving a hand. “Any actual details, or do I have to guess?”

Hunter huffed, crossing his arms. “It’s just recon. There have been rumors of wild witches moving in that area. We’re supposed to investigate, report back if we find anything.”

(Y/N) exhaled through her nose. She knew how this went. If they found wild witches, they were supposed to report them, let the coven take care of it.

The problem was…

She wasn’t so sure she wanted to.

Over the past few months, rumors had been circulating- whispers about wild witches banding together, resisting the coven system. And, more interestingly, there had been talk of something else.

Another human.

(Y/N) had been keeping her ears open, listening for any mention of this mystery person. A human in the Isles? That wasn’t something that happened every day. If there really was someone else from her world here, she needed to find them.

Hunter shifted beside her, his eyes scanning the streets below. “You’re distracted.”

(Y/N) shrugged. “Aren’t I always?”

Hunter frowned but didn’t press. He knew her well enough by now to know when she wasn’t ready to talk. Still, as the sky darkened and the city lights flickered, (Y/N) made a silent decision. If there was another human here… She was going to find them.

After gazing at the area below for a while longer, the two of them head back to the Castle, to rest and prepare for the mission in the morning...

When the time came, the wind howled as (Y/N) and Hunter crouched low behind a jagged rock formation, scanning the Knee for any signs of wild witch activity. The area was desolate- snow-covered ruins and eerie skeletal remains of the Titan’s long-dead body stretched across the landscape. It was cold, but nothing (Y/N) couldn’t handle.

Hunter adjusted his mask, his magenta eyes narrowing as he peered through the holes. “Anything?” he asked.

(Y/N) kept her eyes on the distant figures ahead. “Couple of witchlings,” she muttered. “Nothing worth reporting.”

Hunter sighed. “Great. Another boring recon mission.”

(Y/N) smirked. “You’re the one who wanted to take this seriously, Blondie.”

Hunter shot her a glare, but she ignored him, focusing on the three witches she had spotted earlier.

The Blight kids.

She recognized them from past missions- Edric and Emira, the older twins, and their younger sister, Amity. They weren’t causing any trouble, just training. The twins were helping their sister with a training wand, guiding her as she practiced spells.

It was harmless.

(Y/N) leaned back against the rock. “Nothing to worry about. They’re still in school. Too young to be locked into a coven yet.”

Hunter hummed in agreement, but they both knew that wasn’t always a guarantee. Not many were allowed to join covens as young as they had been, but the Emperor had made exceptions before.

(Y/N) turned her gaze elsewhere, scanning the landscape for anything unusual.

That’s when she saw them.

At first, she thought they were just another pair of witches training in the wilderness. One was tall, wearing a red dress, with a coat over it. She was moving with practiced ease, magic swirling at her fingertips. The other was younger- around twelve, maybe- with a small frame and a hat covering her head.

(Y/N) wouldn’t have thought anything of it… if it weren’t for the way the girl struggled.

The older woman flicked her wrist, effortlessly making a spell circle. The younger girl tried to copy her… but nothing happened. She tried again, waving her hands frantically, but the magic simply wasn’t there.

The girl pouted, stomping her foot in frustration.

(Y/N)’s breath hitched.

That… wasn’t normal. Most witchlings could do at least some magic, even if it was weak, even if it needed assistance. But this girl? Nothing. Her eyes darted back to the older woman. It took her a second to recognize her, but when she did, her stomach twisted.

The Owl Lady.

(Y/N) had heard about her before- Eda Clawthorne. A notorious wild witch, a troublemaker, and someone the Emperor had his eye on.

And she was training a girl who couldn’t use magic.

(Y/N)’s fingers twitched toward her Gem, her mind racing.

A human.

It had to be.

She could feel Hunter shift beside her, his attention also locked onto the scene ahead. “That’s the Owl Lady,” he murmured. “We should report this.”

(Y/N) hesitated. “Should we?”

Hunter turned to her, brow furrowed. “She’s a known wild witch. You know the rules- if we spot her, we report her.”

(Y/N) clenched her jaw. She knew the rules. She had followed them for two years- but this was different. This wasn’t just a wild witch causing trouble. This was another human.

And if Belos found out?

She had no doubt in her mind- this girl wouldn’t get a choice in what happened next.

“…Not yet,” (Y/N) said.

Hunter frowned. “What?”

(Y/N) forced a smirk. “Come on, Blondie. You really think Belos doesn’t already know the Owl Lady’s out here? If we bring him this, he’s just going to say we wasted his time.”

Hunter hesitated, clearly torn.

(Y/N) pressed further. “Let’s keep watching. See what they’re up to. If it’s anything actually dangerous, then we report it.”

Hunter exhaled sharply, rolling his eyes. “Fine. But if we get in trouble for this, I’m blaming you.”

(Y/N) grinned. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

She turned her gaze back to the girl.

This was it.

This was her chance to finally get some answers.

(Y/N) moved silently through the snow-covered terrain, crouching low behind the jagged rock formations as she and Hunter edged closer to The Owl Lady and the young girl. The wind howled through the valley, but she barely felt the cold, her entire focus locked onto the scene in front of her.

She needed to be sure- was this girl really human? Or just a witch with some sort of magic-blocking issue?

Hunter followed after her, his arms crossed, clearly annoyed. “This is reckless,” he muttered under his breath. “We should’ve reported this already.”

(Y/N) smirked. “You should’ve reported this already. I never said I was going to.”

Hunter groaned. “This is why I don’t let you plan things.”

(Y/N) ignored him, her eyes fixed on Eda and the girl.

The Owl Lady was… something else.

Instead of teaching the girl proper spells, she was eating snow, explaining the different types as if that had anything to do with magic. The girl- who was bundled up in a coat and hat- looked increasingly frustrated, her arms flailing as she pouted.

(Y/N) raised an eyebrow. What kind of training method is that?

“She’s not even teaching her,” Hunter whispered, unimpressed. “What is this supposed to be?”

“No clue,” (Y/N) muttered, tilting her head as she watched.

The girl huffed, stomping her foot. “Eda! I wanna learn real magic! Not about weird snow flavors!”

Eda licked a bit of snow off her hand, nodding sagely. “That’s exactly what someone who doesnt know what they are doing would say.”

The girl groaned dramatically, throwing her arms up. “Come on! You said you’d teach me properly if I became your apprentice!”

Eda sighed. “And I will! But magic isn’t just about waving your hands around and hoping for the best, kid.” She turned her back for a moment, rummaging through her bag. “You’ve gotta understand it, feel it-”

(Y/N)’s eyes sharpened as the girl suddenly perked up, her expression shifting.

Something mischievous.

She glanced over at where the Blight siblings had been training earlier- where Amity’s training wand still lay abandoned in the snow.

(Y/N)’s stomach clenched as the girl quickly tiptoed over, her boots crunching lightly in the snow.

“Ohhh, here we go,” (Y/N) murmured.

Hunter frowned. “What?”

The girl smirked, crouching down and snatching up the wand before Eda could notice. Her fingers curled around the handle as she straightened up, holding it like it was some kind of trophy.

Then, with a spark of excitement in her eyes, she quickly copied the spell circles Eda had been trying to teach her. Before (Y/N) could see if she could actually cast the spell, Hunter jabbed at her slightly with his elbow, making her glance over at him.

“We need to go back and tell Belos,” Hunter said, his voice tense.

(Y/N) snapped her gaze to him. “Are you kidding me?” she whispered harshly. “We just found another human, and your first thought is to run off and tell him?”

Hunter’s jaw tightened. “That’s what we’re supposed to do.”

(Y/N) scoffed. “Right, because Belos totally won’t just lock her up the second he finds out she exists.”

Hunter exhaled sharply through his nose. “You don’t know that.”

(Y/N) narrowed her eyes. “Yeah? And you do?”

He hesitated. Just for a second. But it was enough.

(Y/N) shook her head. “Come on, Hunter. You know how he is. You know what he does to people who don’t fit into his perfect little system.” She gestured toward the girl. “She’s human! She’s not even a wild witch! What do you think he’s going to do when he finds out she doesn’t belong?”

Hunter’s grip on his staff tightened. “That’s not our call to make.”

(Y/N) stepped closer, lowering her voice. “So what, we just hand her over? Let Belos decide what happens to her? Just like he decided for us?”

Hunter’s eyes narrowed at her slightly. “That’s different.”

(Y/N)’s heart pounded. “How?”

“Because we chose this!” he hissed. “We trained for this! We earned our place in the Emperor’s Coven! She-” He motioned toward the girl. “-She’s just some random kid who got stuck here!”

(Y/N) crossed her arms. “So was I! So why should we turn her in?”

Hunter groaned, running a hand through his hair. “You’re being reckless again.”

“And you’re being blind.”

Hunter whipped toward her, his eyes sharp. “I follow the rules, (Y/N)! That’s what keeps us safe!"

(Y/N) opened her mouth to retort, but before she could, Hunter grabbed her by the shoulders.

She froze.

His grip wasn’t painful, but it was firm. Desperate. His magenta eyes locked onto hers, his expression taut with something almost pleading.

“We need to go back and tell Belos,” he said, his voice quieter now, but more urgent. “You don’t understand- he… We’ve already done too much.”

(Y/N)’s breath hitched.

She did understand.

Hunter wasn’t the Golden Guard yet, but he was striving for it. He wanted to prove himself, to be someone in Belos’s eyes. And he knew- just as well as she did- that they had already gone too far off course.

If they stayed, if they pushed this any further…

There would be consequences.

For both of them.

(Y/N) felt the tension in Hunter’s grip, the slight tremble in his fingers as he held onto her shoulders. She didn’t need to use her Gem’s abilities to feel the desperation radiating from him- his expression said it all.

He was scared.

He was scared of failing.

Scared of what would happen if they made the wrong call.

(Y/N) swallowed hard, her shoulders slowly relaxing under his grip. She had spent two years by his side, training, fighting, surviving in this world. They had started as rivals, as reluctant partners, but now?

He was the only person in this entire place that she trusted.

Her lips curled into a soft, almost resigned smile. It wasn’t her usual cocky smirk, nor the teasing grin she always threw his way.

It was something real… Something gentle.

“Okay,” she said quietly. “We’ll go back.”

Hunter blinked, surprised at her sudden change of tone. He let go of her shoulders, stepping back slightly, as if unsure whether to believe her.

(Y/N) exhaled through her nose, running a hand through her hair. “You’re right,” she admitted, though it pained her to say it. “We’ve already done too much. If we wait any longer, we’ll get in trouble.” She let out a dry chuckle. “And I really don’t feel like getting locked up today.”

Hunter studied her, searching her face for any sign of deception. But there was none.

(Y/N) meant it.

His shoulders lowered slightly, and he nodded. “Good. We’ll report what we saw. Belos needs to know.”

(Y/N) forced herself not to grimace at that part. She just casted a glance toward the girl again, before nodding slowly.

“Alright, Blondie,” she said, rolling her shoulders. “Let’s go.”

With one last look at the wild witches in the distance, (Y/N) turned on her heel and followed Hunter back toward the Emperor’s Coven.

The wind whipped past them as Hunter’s staff soared through the sky, cutting through the dark clouds over the Boiling Isles. (Y/N) held on tightly, her mind racing.

She glanced at Hunter, his face set in a determined, almost grim expression. He believed this was the right thing. He had to. This was his whole life, his whole purpose- following orders, proving himself, earning his place.

And, for better or worse, (Y/N) had chosen to stand beside him.

As the castle loomed ahead, its towering white spires gleaming under the pale light, (Y/N) forced down the unease bubbling in her gut. When they entered the throne room, (Y/N) immediately felt the oppressive weight of Belos’s presence settle over her.

He sat on his throne, his golden mask unreadable, his long cloak draped over his form like a shroud. The air was thick with something dark, something wrong.

(Y/N) and Hunter both dropped to one knee.

No matter how much (Y/N) hated bowing to anyone, she knew better than to test Belos’s patience.

Hunter spoke first, his voice steady- though (Y/N) could hear the faint edge of nerves beneath it.

“We scouted the Knee as ordered,” Hunter reported. “We spotted a few witchlings, nothing of concern… but then we saw The Owl Lady.”

At that, Belos tilted his head slightly. “And you did not return immediately?”

Hunter swallowed. “We wanted to be sure-”

That was the wrong answer.

Before (Y/N) could react, a sickly green tendril of dark, corrupted magic shot from Belos’s fingertips, moving too fast.

It slashed across Hunter’s face and neck.

Hunter choked on a breath, his eyes going wide as pain ripped through him. His body instinctively curled inward, one hand shooting up to press against the fresh wound. Blood dripped between his fingers, staining his gloves.

(Y/N) moved without thinking- she was at his side in an instant, her Gem flaring to life, her eyes burning bright pink.

She glared up at Belos, her fists clenched so tightly that her nails dug into her palms. She could feel everything- the suffocating darkness in the air, the flicker of pain rolling off of Hunter, the twisted amusement buried deep in Belos’s presence.

This wasn’t a lesson.

It was punishment.

Her voice was sharp, shaking with barely contained rage. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

The room fell into a suffocating silence… Gi didn’t care. She knew she had just crossed a very dangerous line.

But right now?

She didn’t give a damn.

Belos tilted his head slightly, his golden mask betraying nothing. The room still felt suffocating, heavy with his presence.

“This is punishment,” he said calmly, his voice steady, as if explaining something simple to a disobedient child. “For not following orders.”

(Y/N)’s blood boiled, her pink-glowing eyes still locked onto him.

Hunter, still doubled over, sucked in a sharp breath, his fingers pressing against the wound on his cheek and neck. He was trying to keep quiet, trying to stay composed, but (Y/N) could feel his pain like it was her own.

“Next time,” Belos continued, his voice dripping with authority, “maybe you’ll think twice before disobeying.”

(Y/N)’s jaw clenched so hard it hurt.

But she knew better than to push further… Not now.

Belos flicked his wrist dismissively. “Leave me.”

(Y/N) was already moving- she slid an arm around Hunter’s back, careful but firm, helping him stand as his legs wobbled slightly. He still held one hand against his wound, his breaths shallow but controlled.

They didn’t say a word as they left the throne room, moving through the castle halls in tense, heavy silence.

The Healing Wing of the Emperor’s Coven was quiet when they arrived, dim candlelight flickering in glass lanterns along the walls. It was meant for scouts who got injured during missions- but not for those injured in the throne room.

Still, (Y/N) didn’t hesitate. She carefully led Hunter to one of the cots, easing him down before turning to one of the nearby healers. “He needs help. Now.”

The healer, a middle-aged witch from the Healing Coven, raised an eyebrow but quickly got to work, their hands glowing with soft blue light as they approached Hunter.

(Y/N) took a slow breath, crossing her arms tightly over her chest, trying to breathe past the lingering rage still burning inside her. Hunter just sat there, silent as the healer examined his wound, his magenta eyes staring at the floor.

She hated this.

She hated all of this.

But more than anything- more than the mission, more than the punishment, more than Belos- she hated that Hunter wasn’t surprised… Like he had expected this. Like it had happened before.

(Y/N) clenched her fists, her Gem pulsing faintly.

She wasn’t going to forget this- and she sure as hell wasn’t going to forgive it.

The soft glow of healing magic flickered against the dim candlelight as the healer worked on Hunter’s wound. (Y/N) stood off to the side, arms crossed tightly, watching every movement. The healer’s hands glowed a calming blue, slowly sealing the gash, easing the bleeding, knitting the torn skin back together. But even with magic, some things couldn’t be undone.

When the healer finally stepped back, they sighed. “That’s all I can do. The wound is closed, but the scarring… it’ll stay.”

Hunter barely reacted. He just gave a stiff nod, his jaw tight. (Y/N), however, clenched her fists. She knew that. She knew it wasn’t going to disappear entirely. But hearing it made her stomach twist with anger all over again.

The scar ran from the side of Hunter’s neck, up along his jaw, and across his cheek, ending just below his eye. His skin was still bruised around it, tender from the rawness of fresh healing.

Belos had done this to him.

Their own leader had scarred him just for hesitating.

(Y/N) inhaled sharply through her nose and forced herself to swallow the rage bubbling inside her. Now wasn’t the time. She stepped forward, moving to Hunter’s side. He hadn’t spoken much since they left the throne room.

“Come on, Blondie” she murmured, her voice softer than usual. “Let’s get you back to our room.”

Hunter didn’t argue. He stood, stiff but steady, and let (Y/N) guide him out of the healing wing.

The walk back to their shared quarters was quiet… Too quiet.

(Y/N) glanced at Hunter out of the corner of her eye. His expression was unreadable, his gaze fixed straight ahead. But she could feel the way his emotions twisted and churned inside him. She wanted to say something. Anything.

But what was she supposed to say? Sorry our boss is a complete psychopath? Sorry this happened to you? Sorry I dragged this out and made things worse?

None of it would fix this… So she said nothing.

When they finally reached their room, she guided him inside and shut the door behind them. Hunter wordlessly sat on his bed, rubbing a gloved hand over his face before resting his elbows on his knees. He exhaled slowly, staring at the floor.

(Y/N) hesitated, then sat beside him, not too close, but close enough. For a long moment, they just sat there in silence.

Then, finally, Hunter spoke. “I shouldn’t have argued,” he muttered. His voice was hoarse, tired. “I should’ve just… obeyed.”

(Y/N)’s eyes flashed. “No.”

Hunter blinked, looking up at her.

(Y/N) turned to him fully, her (E/C) eyes- still faintly pink from lingering emotion- burning with something fierce. “Don’t do that. Don’t act like this is your fault.”

Hunter frowned, his fingers twitching at his sides. “But I-”

“No.” (Y/N) shook her head. “Belos chose to do this. He didn’t have to, Hunter. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Hunter swallowed hard, his gaze dropping again. “Doesn’t change anything.”

(Y/N) exhaled, running a hand through her hair. “Maybe not. But it wasn’t your fault.”

She hesitated for a moment, then reached out, gently touching his sleeve, just for a second. A small, silent reassurance… Hunter didn’t pull away. He just sighed and closed his eyes, his shoulders slumping slightly.

She hated seeing him like this.

Carefully, she shifted a little closer, keeping her movements slow, deliberate. Her free hand lifted, hesitating for just a second before cupping the uninjured side of his face.

Hunter stiffened at the contact, his magenta eyes flicking to hers in surprise… But he didn’t pull away. Her thumb brushed against his jaw, slow and soft, a comforting touch rather than anything demanding. She let out a quiet sigh, her Gem glowing faintly in the dim candlelight.

“Hunter,” she murmured.

His throat bobbed slightly as he swallowed, but he stayed quiet.

(Y/N)’s lips curled into a small, knowing smile, her voice dropping to something softer, something teasing. “I am sorry, though.”

Hunter frowned. “For what?”

She tilted her head slightly, her smile turning just a little playful. “For dragging this out. For making things harder. But, y’know…” Her thumb brushed along his cheek again. “You still look just as handsome.”

A slow blink.

Hunter’s ears immediately turned pink.

His mouth opened, then shut. Then opened again, as if he was trying to find words but failing miserably. His usual composure, his sharp retorts and perfectly structured logic- gone.

(Y/N) grinned.

There it was...

A small, flickering moment of something other than pain, than duty, than the crushing weight of what had just happened. Just for a second.

She could do more. She could use her Gem, could ease the tension twisting in his chest, could make him feel lighter, could quiet the storm inside of him.

But she wouldn’t.

Because even though she could sense emotions, even though she could manipulate them if she wanted to… That wasn’t her choice to make. Hunter’s emotions, his pain, his feelings- those belonged to him.

So instead, she just let her hand linger, warm and steady, letting him decide what to do next.

After a moment, Hunter finally managed to find his voice. “You’re ridiculous,” he muttered, his face still lightly flushed.

(Y/N) smirked. “And yet, you’re not denying it.”

Hunter groaned, rolling his eyes, but she could feel the shift- the tiniest, smallest change. The weight of the moment didn’t disappear, but it eased, just a little.

Ember in the Dark pt.4

Young!Silco x Fem!Reader

pt.3 - pt.5

pt.1

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, Smoking, and threat/following.

Word Count: 3895

Summary: Drunk and lost in thought, (Y/N) is helped to her room by Silco, who dismisses her drunken compliments about his appearance despite the buried feelings they stir. The next morning, she wakes with a pounding hangover and regret but pushes forward. Down in the bar, she shares a tense yet teasing conversation with Silco about the previous night. After making breakfast for their group, (Y/N), Silco, Vander, and Felicia head out to handle supply shipments. Along the way, (Y/N) notices hooded figures following them. She and Silco silently acknowledge the potential threat, deciding to stay cautious.

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

The night stretched on, the hum of the Undercity’s distant machinery a lull beneath the quiet of the nearly empty bar.

(Y/N) had long since stopped paying attention to her drink, her fingers still loosely curled around her cigarette, the ember fading to nothing. She slumped against the bar, her head resting on her folded arms, her thoughts drifting somewhere Silco couldn’t follow.

He watched her for a moment, then sighed.

She was a mess. But then again, weren’t they all?

With quiet efficiency, he slid off his stool, stepping around to her side. "Come on," he murmured, voice softened just enough to be different from his usual sharpness.

She barely moved, blinking sluggishly as he pried the cigarette from her fingers, snuffing it out before guiding her up. She was unsteady, the alcohol dragging her limbs down like lead, but she followed his lead without complaint.

He brought her to her room- small, tucked away, but hers. He wasn’t gentle, not exactly, but he was careful as he eased her onto the thin mattress. She flopped onto it with a quiet sigh, her eyes half-lidded, lost somewhere between wakefulness and the pull of exhaustion.

Silco turned to leave.

Then- a hand on his wrist.

Her grip was weak, barely there, but it stopped him nonetheless.

He glanced back.

(Y/N) wasn’t looking at him, her gaze still distant, but her fingers curled slightly, as if to keep him from disappearing like the rest of her thoughts.

For a long moment, Silco just stood there.

Then, with an exhale, he sat down at the edge of the bed.

He wouldn’t stay forever. But for now? He’d stay.

(Y/N) stared up at him, her eyes glassy, unfocused- but still seeing him. Really seeing him.

Silco wasn’t looking at her. He was sitting at the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees, fingers loosely clasped together as he exhaled through his nose. He looked exhausted, always carrying the weight of his thoughts, his ambitions. The dim light filtering through the grimy window cast soft shadows over his face, highlighting sharp angles, tired blue eyes.

Gods, he was pretty.

The thought drifted through her whiskey-soaked mind before she could stop it, her lips parting slightly as if she might say it aloud.

She had fallen in love with him years ago, back when they were younger, when their world had been a little smaller, their dreams a little simpler. She had never said anything, never acted on it. What good would it do? They had always been fighting for survival, struggling to carve out something more in a city that tried to swallow them whole.

But the whiskey made her tongue looser than it should have been.

"You know," she murmured, her voice softer than usual, slightly slurred. "You’re really pretty."

Silco blinked, turning his head to look at her properly.

(Y/N) just smiled lazily, her cheek pressed against the pillow, eyes still locked on his face. "Too pretty, really… s’not fair."

Silco scoffed, shaking his head. "You’re drunk."

She hummed in agreement. "Maybe."

He looked away, rubbing a hand over his face, muttering something under his breath about her being a lightweight.

(Y/N) just kept watching him, her mind a fog of whiskey and years of feelings buried too deep.

"Bet you don’t even realize," she mused, her voice barely above a whisper.

Silco turned back to her, brow furrowed. "Realize what?"

(Y/N) just smiled, slow and lopsided.

"Nothing," she murmured, letting her eyes slip shut. She’d keep her secret, for now.

Sleep took her quickly, pulling her under like the tide. The stress of the day, the weight of unspoken thoughts, and the whiskey swirling in her system all dragged her into the depths of exhaustion.

Silco sat there for a moment longer, watching the slow, steady rise and fall of her breath.

She had always been like this- carrying too much, saying too little. Even now, in her drunken haze, she had stopped herself before saying something real.

With a quiet exhale, he stood, carefully pulling the thin blanket over her.

"Idiot," he muttered, though there was no real bite to the word.

Then, with one last glance at her sleeping form, he turned and left the room, shutting the door softly behind him.

(Y/N) woke with a groan, her head pounding like someone had taken a hammer to the inside of her skull. Her mouth was dry, her stomach twisted in protest, and every little sound outside her room felt like a personal attack.

Shit.

She had done this to herself. Again.

It wasn’t the first time she had woken up feeling like death after drinking too much, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. Still, that didn’t make it any less miserable.

For a moment, she just lay there, her face buried in the pillow, trying to will the world away. But she knew better. The longer she stayed in bed, the worse she’d feel.

With a groan, she forced herself to sit up. The room spun slightly, her stomach lurching in protest, but she swallowed it down, running a hand through her tangled hair.

She needed water. Food, maybe. And a cigarette.

With slow, sluggish movements, she dragged herself out of bed and started getting ready for the day, just like every other morning.

(Y/N) moved through her morning routine on autopilot, every action deliberate and slow to avoid making herself feel worse. Don’t move too fast, don’t think too hard, don’t throw up.

By the time she was dressed, her head still felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and her stomach was a mess of nausea and regret. But she had survived worse.

She made her way downstairs, the air in the bar thick with the lingering scent of old liquor and smoke. It was still early- too early for business. The Last Drop didn’t open until midday, sometimes later, depending on what Vander felt like or how much of a headache they all had to deal with.

The place was quiet, save for the distant hum of the Undercity beyond the walls.

(Y/N) let out a slow breath and leaned against the bar, rubbing at her temple. She needed coffee. Or maybe just another drink to even herself out.

She wasn’t sure which sounded worse.

(Y/N) opted for the easiest solution- whiskey.

With a practiced reach over the bar, she grabbed the bottle and poured herself a glass, the amber liquid sloshing slightly as she tried to be steady. She took a slow sip, wincing as the burn hit her throat. It wasn’t pleasant, but it was better than the headache clawing at her skull.

She was halfway through the glass when she heard footsteps descending the stairs.

Silco.

He stepped into the dimly lit bar, looking as put-together as ever, despite the late night before. His sharp gaze flickered to her, then down to the glass in her hand.

“Whiskey for breakfast?” he asked dryly, his voice laced with amusement.

(Y/N) didn’t bother looking up. “Helps the headache.”

Silco scoffed, moving toward the bar. “It causes the headache.”

She shrugged, taking another sip. “Then I’m just balancing things out.”

He leaned against the counter, watching her for a long moment.

“You remember anything from last night?” he asked, his tone casual- too casual.

That made her pause.

She frowned slightly, her mind sluggish as she tried to recall the details of the night before. She remembered drinking. She remembered feeling heavy- dragged down by old memories and smoke. She remembered Silco bringing her to bed…

And then-

Shit.

She had said something, hadn’t she?

(Y/N) took another sip of whiskey, refusing to meet his gaze.

“Not much,” she muttered. “Just that I drank too much.”

Silco hummed, unconvinced, but he didn’t push.

“Figures,” he said, reaching over to steal the glass from her hand, taking a sip himself.

(Y/N) rolled her eyes but didn’t argue… Maybe it was better if they both let last night go.

(Y/N) exhaled a long breath, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it with steady hands- too steady, considering the storm in her head.

She didn’t want to let it go.

Even if the whiskey had dulled the details, she knew what had been there underneath- the truth of it. It wasn’t some drunken slip, some meaningless flattery. It had been real.

And maybe it was stupid, definitely reckless, but for once, she didn’t want to bite her tongue and bury it.

She watched as Silco took another sip from her glass, his sharp eyes already moving past the conversation, onto something else.

(Y/N) took a slow drag of her cigarette, letting the smoke settle in her lungs before she spoke.

“I meant it.”

Silco raised a brow, setting the glass down with a quiet clink. “Meant what?”

Her fingers tightened slightly around the cigarette. “What I said last night.”

Silco studied her, the amusement from earlier fading into something unreadable.

(Y/N) exhaled smoke, glancing off to the side. “I don’t remember everything, but I know I meant it.” She flicked ash into a nearby tray, her voice lower now. “Still do.”

A beat of silence stretched between them.

Silco leaned forward slightly, his expression unreadable. “You are aware you were completely sloshed, yes?”

(Y/N) scoffed. “Doesn’t mean I was wrong.”

Another silence.

Then, Silco smirked, slow and sharp. “I am quite pretty, aren’t I?”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the slight curve of her lips. “Asshole.”

Silco just chuckled, pushing the whiskey back toward her. “If you’re going to start confessing things, at least wait until you’re not hungover.”

(Y/N) shook her head, taking another sip. Maybe she would, maybe she wouldn’t… But at least she had said something.

(Y/N) downed the last of her drink, stubbing out her cigarette in the ashtray before stretching her arms over her head. The whiskey had dulled the edges of her hangover, at least a little, but it wouldn’t last forever.

Time to get moving.

She pushed off the bar, glancing at Silco, who had already made himself comfortable with her glass of whiskey, refilling it. “You planning on helping, or just sitting there looking pretty?”

Silco smirked. “I think you already established my strengths.”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes and made her way toward the small kitchen in the back. The Last Drop wasn’t exactly known for its fine dining, but they had enough supplies to make something decent- decent meaning anything edible that kept them from starving.

Felicia and Connol usually stopped by around this time, and Benzo wasn’t far behind. It had become something of an unspoken routine, a part of their mornings that had settled naturally into place. And (Y/N)? She was usually the one who ended up making breakfast.

She didn’t mind, though.

It was something normal. A small, steady thing in the chaos of the Undercity.

She gathered what ingredients they had- eggs, some bread that wasn’t too stale, and whatever meat Vander had managed to get his hands on- and started cooking, the familiar sounds of sizzling filling the air as she focused on the simple motions.

Soon, the others would show up. The bar would come alive again, and another day in the Lanes would begin.

(Y/N) carried the plates out to the bar, setting them down so everyone could grab what they wanted when they arrived. The scent of cooked food lingered in the air, mixing with the ever-present smell of smoke and old whiskey.

They still had time before the bar opened for the day, so for now, things were slow- calm, even.

Benzo was the first to arrive, pushing open the door with a casual stride. “Smells good in here,” he commented, tossing a glance toward the food. “Better than whatever the hell that street vendor was sellin’ on my way over.”

(Y/N) smirked as she leaned against the bar. “That’s not exactly a high bar, Benzo.”

He chuckled, grabbing a plate without hesitation. “Hey, food is food.”

Not long after, Felicia and Connol arrived.

Felicia was talking before she even stepped fully inside. “Finally! I was starting to think you forgot about breakfast, (Y/N).”

(Y/N) scoffed. “Like I’d let you starve.”

Connol, quiet as usual, gave a nod in greeting before helping himself to some food. He had been around more lately- a lot more, and while (Y/N) didn’t fully know what to make of him yet, he seemed alright. He made Felicia happy, at least, and that was worth something.

Everyone settled in, eating and talking, the morning taking on the familiar rhythm of their routine. For a little while, it almost felt… normal.

Once breakfast was done and the plates were cleared, (Y/N) wiped her hands on a rag before making her way over to Vander and Silco, who were already deep in conversation near the bar.

Vander had his arms crossed, his usual serious expression in place, while Silco leaned against the counter, flipping through his notebook.

(Y/N) slid into the space between them, raising a brow. “So, what’s the plan for today?”

Vander glanced at her, then exhaled, rubbing a hand over his beard. “Depends.”

Silco, without looking up from his notes, added, “We’ve got some shipments coming in later- nothing major, but enough to keep an eye on.”

Vander nodded. “And I was thinkin’ we might head back to the mines later, put in a few hours. Keep up appearances.”

(Y/N) sighed. They didn’t have to work in the mines as much anymore, not with the Last Drop slowly becoming a more stable source of income, but keeping ties there was still important. “Figures.”

Silco finally shut his notebook, glancing between them. “And, if we have time, I wouldn’t mind checking out a few places in the Lanes. Get a read on things.”

That caught (Y/N)’s attention. “You mean more than just ‘getting a read,’ don’t you?”

Silco smirked. “Always.”

Vander gave him a look but didn’t argue.

(Y/N) crossed her arms, considering. A trip to the Lanes could mean anything- connections, information, or just making sure they weren’t falling behind on what was happening in the Undercity.

“Alright,” she said finally. “Sounds like a full day.”

Vander grunted in agreement, and Silco just gave a knowing tilt of his head. With the plan set, they went over the details quickly.

“Alright,” Vander said, leaning against the bar with his arms crossed. “First, we handle the shipments. Make sure everything’s in order.”

Silco nodded, already thinking ahead. “After that, we move through the Lanes, see what’s stirring. There’s been talk of tensions rising in a few places- I’d rather not be blindsided.”

(Y/N) exhaled, rolling her shoulders. “And then we finish off in the mines.” She smirked. “Saving the best for last.”

Vander chuckled. “We’ll be in and out. Just enough to show our faces.”

Felicia, who had been listening from the side while finishing the last of her drink, stretched her arms over her head. “Sounds like a long day.”

Silco shot her a dry look. “You are still capable of working, yes?”

Felicia smirked. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll be there. Just don’t expect me to be happy about it.”

With everything decided, they gathered what they needed. (Y/N) grabbed her coat, Silco tucked his notebook away, and Vander made sure the bar was set to be running while they were gone. He had gotten one of his newly hired bartenders to come in, along with asking Benzo to sit around and drink… Just to watch things. 

Then, without wasting any more time, they headed out into the Undercity to start their day.

Felicia lingered by the door, saying a quick goodbye to Connol before he disappeared into the winding streets of the Undercity. Whatever he did during the day was still a bit of a mystery- probably something inventive. He looked like the type to be scientific, always thinking, always watching.

But that wasn’t (Y/N)’s concern right now.

With Connol gone, the four of them set off, making their way through the dimly lit streets toward where the shipments were being delivered. The air was thick with the usual blend of smoke, oil, and the distant hum of machinery. It was a scent that clung to everything in the Undercity.

As they walked, Vander took the lead, his broad frame naturally clearing a path where needed. Silco, as always, kept sharp eyes on their surroundings, his thoughts likely already drifting toward whatever he expected to find in the Lanes later. Felicia walked beside (Y/N), hands in her pockets, a casual bounce in her step despite the rough streets beneath them.

(Y/N) flicked the butt of a cigarette into the gutter as they approached their destination- a tucked-away storage lot run by a man named Harker, a supplier they’d worked with a few times before. The shipments weren’t anything fancy, just supplies for the Last Drop- booze, some preserved goods, and whatever else they needed to keep the place running.

Vander stepped up first, knocking twice on the metal door. It took a moment, but soon enough, they heard the sound of locks shifting before Harker himself pulled the door open.

The man squinted at them, his face rough with age and soot. “You’re early,” he grunted.

Vander shrugged. “You got it ready or not?”

Harker snorted, stepping aside to let them in. “Yeah, yeah. Come on in. Just don’t touch nothin’ that ain’t yours.”

(Y/N) exchanged a glance with Silco before following the others inside. Time to get to work.

(Y/N) adjusted her grip on one of the heavier crates, the weight digging into her arms as she walked alongside the others. The streets of the Undercity were always filled with movement- faces ducking in and out of alleyways, the low hum of machinery echoing in the distance- but something felt different.

She had noticed them the moment they left the Last Drop- a few hooded figures lingering just a little too long in the alleys, their steps just a little too measured. At first, she thought it might be a coincidence, just another group moving through the Undercity like everyone else.

But now, as they neared the bar, she knew they were being followed.

She didn’t say anything at first, choosing instead to glance toward Silco, who was walking slightly ahead of her. His sharp gaze was usually quick to pick up on things like this- he had to have noticed, right?

Felicia, carrying a smaller crate beside her, was too caught up in complaining about the weight to notice anything. “Seriously, why does alcohol have to be so damn heavy? Can’t we start serving something lighter?”

“Like what?” Vander asked dryly, barely breaking stride.

Felicia huffed. “I dunno, something that doesn’t make my arms feel like they’re gonna fall off.”

(Y/N) wasn’t listening. She shifted her hold on the crate, subtly glancing over her shoulder.

The hooded figures were still there. Three of them. Keeping their distance, but staying close enough that it wasn’t natural.

Her pulse quickened, but her expression remained calm.

Silco turned his head slightly- just enough for his eyes to flicker toward her before looking forward again. He had noticed.

Good.

(Y/n) exhaled through her nose, keeping her pace steady. They were close to the bar now, but that didn’t mean they were safe. Whoever these people were, they weren’t just watching- they were waiting.

For what?

And more importantly- why?

As soon as the last crate was set down in the storage room, (Y/N) dusted off her hands and made her way over to Silco. He was already expecting her.

The others were still busy- Vander double-checking the shipments, Felicia stretching her arms and complaining about the heavy lifting. It gave (Y/N) the perfect moment to pull Silco aside, just out of earshot.

“You saw them too,” she muttered, keeping her voice low.

Silco leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his sharp eyes watching her carefully. “Of course I did.” His tone was calm, but there was a knowing edge to it.

(Y/N) exhaled, running a hand through her hair. “They’ve been following us since we left the bar. I didn’t get a good look, but… they weren’t just passing through.”

Silco hummed in agreement. “No. They weren’t.”

That unsettled her. If Silco was concerned, it meant this wasn’t just her overthinking things.

“You think they’re watching us specifically?” she asked.

Silco tilted his head slightly, considering. “Possibly. Could be unrelated, but I doubt it.” He glanced toward the door. “Three of them, moving like they had a purpose. If they wanted to attack, they would’ve done it already. That means they were either scouting us or waiting for something.”

(Y/N) crossed her arms. “And that’s what worries me.”

Silco studied her for a moment before lowering his voice even further. “Did you notice anything about them? Anything off?”

(Y/N) thought back. They moved well, blending into the streets with ease. But something had felt strange about them. “Their movements were too careful,” she muttered. “Like they weren’t just random thugs.”

Silco’s expression didn’t change, but she could see the gears turning in his head. “We’ll have to keep an eye out. If they’re still around by the time we head to the Lanes, we’ll know for sure.”

(Y/N) nodded. “Should we tell Vander and Felicia?”

Silco considered it, then shook his head. “Not yet. No need to spook them if this turns out to be nothing.” (Y/N) hesitated but ultimately agreed. For now, they’d just have to watch their backs.

With the shipments handled and the Last Drop running smoothly for now, the four of them set off once more, weaving through the winding paths of the Undercity. The Lanes were the heart of the Undercity’s chaos- filled with traders, workers, gang members, and those just trying to survive another day. It was where information spread fastest, where rumors carried weight, and where they could keep their fingers on the pulse of the city.

(Y/N) stayed alert, her eyes flickering to the shadows between buildings, the alleys where trouble tended to brew. She hadn’t seen the hooded figures since they returned to the bar, but that didn’t mean they were gone.

Vander led the way, as he often did, his presence alone enough to command respect. People recognized him now- not as some leader, not yet, but as someone reliable, someone who got things done. Silco walked beside him, quiet but watchful, his mind likely still working through the same concerns (Y/N) had.

Felicia, as usual, brought a different kind of energy to the group. “We should get something to eat while we’re out,” she suggested, stretching her arms. “That stew from Elda’s stall? Real good. And I’m starving.”

Vander smirked. “You’re always starving.”

Felicia grinned. “Yeah, well, lifting crates all morning will do that.”

(Y/N) barely heard them, her attention on the movement around them. She caught glimpses of familiar faces- merchants selling scrap, chem-dealers peddling their poisons, Enforcers nowhere to be seen. It was business as usual.

But still… something felt off.

As they rounded a corner near one of the busier market areas, she caught it again- just for a second. A hooded figure, leaning against a wall, just barely in her peripheral vision. By the time she turned her head fully, they were gone.

Her stomach twisted… They were still being watched.

Please may I have The Walking Dead platonic headcanons of what if Carl Grimes had a older sister who is maybe 3 years older than him and had a 6th Sense when it comes to safe houses and places that is unlikely raided for supplies and what to avoid...e.g. if a certain place seemed overrun with walkers being one of them and when someone offering a safe haven being too good to be true and they seemed 'off'..which had saved her group on numerous occasions. She's a good one and always had been..even after her mother's passing, she promised to look out for Carl and for Judith. She learnt how to use a gun under her father's guidance at the start from the age of 12 before handling it on her own when it comes to having to shoot walkers..or use daggers. She is mostly the person who looked after and raised Judith since infancy and was willing to die to protect her when she was in harm's way.

Rick Grimes relationship with his daughter

Carl Grimes relationship with his elder sister

Lori Grimes relationship with her daughter too.

The Group's relationship with her..(with the same ones who knew Carl for a long time too)

Shane's relationship with her..and how he felt that she didn't see him as a father very much..she saw right through him but she didn't say anything because he was her Dad's colleague and friend.

A/N: Absolutely! I might make a longer fic based on this request! Already got permision from the requester :} I'm either gonna base it off this one, or make one new walking dead fic all together. Eighter way, ill credit you for the request, @the-letter-horror-lover!

Raised by the End of the World

Older-Sister!Reader x The Walking Dead Headcanons

Warnings: Violence/Death, Parental Loss, Trauma, Existential Despair/Sacrifice

Word Count: 1798

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- (Y/N) has an uncanny gut instinct that rarely fails her: While not supernatural, her "sixth sense" is more of a hyper-awareness built from trauma, observation, and cold survival logic. She knows the difference between quiet and too quiet. She’s the type who will stop everyone mid-step because something “feels off,” even if there are no walkers or sounds- and more often than not, she’s right.

- She can “read” people frighteningly well: One look, and she can tell if someone is lying, desperate, dangerous, or putting on an act. Rick has learned to trust her instincts even over his own at times. In abandoned houses, she can glance at the dust, placement of things, and smell of the air and tell if someone’s been there recently. She’s especially good at finding caches of supplies overlooked by others. She's the one who always checks under floorboards, between false walls, and above ceiling tiles. It’s almost become a running joke- until she finds a forgotten stash of canned goods or ammo.

- Rick started training her in basic gun safety and handling when she was 9, back before the world fell apart: It began with weekends at the range- slow, careful lessons on how to respect the weapon. Mostly so he could eventually go hunting with him, and actually know how to aim.

- She took to it quickly, surprising even Rick with her precision: She never flinched. When she asked to learn how to use a knife next, Rick hesitated, but taught her anyway- something he later thanked himself for.

- After everything went to hell, she became one of the best shots in the group: Not just accurate, but calm. She doesn’t waste bullets. Every shot counts. She's also quick with a dagger or makeshift blade. She's not the strongest, but she’s fast and precise- throat, eye, skull. She's had to learn how to end things cleanly, especially when Judith was with her.

- Lori loved (Y/N), but often didn’t understand her: While Carl was more emotionally reactive, (Y/N) was quiet, steady, and internalized everything. They had friction- especially as the world began to collapse- with Lori sometimes chastising her for “acting like an adult” or “trying to be in charge.” (Y/N) never argued back. She just kept doing what needed to be done… But deep down, Lori was proud. She told Rick, before her death, that (Y/N) was stronger than both of them- that she had something in her that would keep them all alive.

- Their last real moment together was quiet: Lori cupped her daughter’s face, said “Take care of your brother. Take care of Judith.” And (Y/N) nodded once, already promising without needing to say it aloud. After Lori’s death, (Y/N) was the only one who stayed with Carl that whole night. She didn’t say a word. Just let him lean on her until he slept… 

- Now (Y/N) often acts more like Carl’s second parent than just a sister: She's firm when she needs to be, but she's never condescending. Carl listens to her more than most, even when he pretends not to. They argue like siblings, but when the world goes to hell (again), Carl always looks for her first. If she’s nearby, he knows things will be okay.

- From the moment Judith was born, (Y/N) took over almost all of her care: She was the one waking in the middle of the night, rocking her, warming formula, changing diapers even during the hardest of times.

- Judith’s first word wasn’t “mama” or “dada.” It was “Sissy,”: The whole group melted when they heard it. She braided Judith’s hair when it got long enough, wrapped her in scraps of blankets when they were on the road, and told her made-up fairy tales when the real world was too ugly to explain. If Judith ever cried or screamed when walkers were near, (Y/N) would press her forehead to hers and whisper calming things until she went quiet- even if her own heart was pounding out of her chest. She once hid with Judith in a broken-down car overnight, clutching her tightly while walkers passed within feet of them She didn't move. Didn't blink. Didn’t breathe until the moans were gone.

- Rick sees (Y/N) as both his daughter and his second-in-command: After Lori’s death, she became the emotional pillar of the family, even when Rick wasn’t in a place to be the father she needed. He regrets that he put too much responsibility on her shoulders too early- relying on her to help raise Judith, to keep Carl in line, to read the room when he couldn’t. But deep down, he trusts her instincts more than almost anyone.

- Their bond is strong but often unspoken: Built on quiet glances, half-nods, and wordless understanding. When something goes wrong, she’s usually the first person he looks to. He’s told her, more than once, “You shouldn’t have to be this strong.” And each time, she just gave him a tired smile and said, “I know.” He worries about the cost of the apocalypse on her soul, even more than Carl’s. She carries so much, and rarely lets anyone see her fall apart.

- Carl both idolizes and resents her, in that complex sibling way: She’s his protector, his compass- but also a reminder of everything they lost. She was the one who taught him how to bandage his first walker scratch, who stayed up with him after nightmares when Rick was spiraling. When Carl went through phases of trying to be hard or emotionless, it was her disappointment- not Rick’s- that stung the most. She didn't yell, just gave him that look that said, "You know better."

- He never wanted to admit how scared he was of losing her: But when she once got clipped during a raid and bled out onto the concrete, Carl didn’t leave her side all night. She always made him feel like he didn’t have to be strong all the time. He could crumble, and she would carry the weight for both of them.

- Everyone knows not to second-guess her gut feelings: Even Daryl has said, “If (Y/N) says we don’t go in there, we don’t go in there.” She's quiet but respected- the kind of person people turn to when things get tense because she doesn’t panic, and she always has a plan. Carol shares a soft, maternal bond with her- the two often look after Judith together. Carol sees how much of herself is reflected in (Y/N)’s sacrifices. Glenn was always amazed by her resourcefulness; he once told Maggie he thought (Y/N) could find a full grocery store in a burnt-out gas station.

- At an abandoned hotel just outside of Atlanta, the group thought they’d struck gold: Clean water, canned goods, beds. (Y/N) took one step in and froze. Said the smell was wrong. Turned out it was a trap set by scavengers waiting on the roof with rifles.

- During a harsh winter, she led them to an abandoned church no one wanted to check: “too obvious,” they said. But she felt it in her bones. Not only was it untouched, it had a hidden root cellar stocked with old food from a prepper priest.

- Once, they were approached by a smiling man offering food and shelter at his supposed “community.”: Everyone wanted to hear him out. She stared him down, her voice flat: “He’s not hungry. Look at his boots- clean. He’s hunting, not surviving.” The man ran when she exposed him.

- When walkers broke into a safehouse and (Y/N) was upstairs with Judith: She shoved the dresser in front of the door, locked herself and the baby in the closet, and readied her knife. She didn’t expect to survive- only to keep the door shut long enough for someone else to get to Judith. In a moment where bullets ran out and Judith was in direct danger, she used herself as a human shield without thinking. Daryl pulled her out at the last second, but she was ready to die without hesitation.

- Once, she and Carl were separated from the group during a supply run: She kept Carl behind her the entire time, even when they were ambushed by a lone hostile survivor. She was the one who fired first- Carl never forgot the look on her face after. Calm. Empty. Controlled.

- Daryl Dixon: Daryl sees a kindred spirit in her. Not loud, not flashy, but lethal when it counts. He’s seen her gut a walker with one arm while holding Judith with the other. They often patrol together in silence, both appreciating the lack of small talk.

- Carol Peletier: Carol is maybe the only person who understands what it means to be both warrior and mother in one body. She once told (Y/N), “We do what we have to, and we carry it forever. That’s just how it is for people like us.”

- Michonne: She respects (Y/N) fiercely. They’ve fought side-by-side more than once, and Michonne once admitted she thinks (Y/N) has the best instincts in the entire group. When things feel “off,” Michonne always checks her face first.

- Glenn Rhee: Glenn used to tease her gently, trying to get her to laugh or loosen up. He told Maggie that she reminded him of a cat- quiet, deadly, and always watching.

- Maggie Greene: Maggie bonded with (Y/N) over motherhood. Though their circumstances were wildly different, they shared a resilience born from loving someone so small in a world so cruel.

- Hershel: Before his death, Hershel treated (Y/N) with warmth and fatherly affection. He once told Rick, “That girl’s got an old soul. Like she’s lived through this before.”

- Shane never knew quite how to handle (Y/N): She was polite, respectful, but distant. She didn’t laugh at his jokes the way Carl did, didn’t trust him the way Lori sometimes did. He could tell she saw through him. Through the bravado, the barking orders, the possessiveness over the Grimes family. And that infuriated him- because she never said anything. Never called him out. Just looked at him.

- That silence was worse than yelling: It was judgment without words. Shane knew she didn’t see him as a father figure- not even close- and that burned. He tried, once, to bond with her. Brought her a box of supplies and said, “Thought you’d like first pick. You earned it.” She just nodded and said, “Thanks,” but her eyes didn’t soften.

- After Shane’s death, she didn’t speak of him often: But once, years later, when Judith asked about “Uncle Shane,” (Y/N) just said, “He tried to love us. But he lost himself before he ever really could.”

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!

I decided I wanted to make a bigger version of my little profile guy, with my new hair since I cut it sorta recently.

I actually finished this one, which is sorta surprising lolol. I have like, 20 unfinished pieces I'm currently working on.

My masterlist, where all my other art or writing posts are :}