RHAENYRA & DAENERYS House Of The Dragon (2022-) | Game Of Thrones (2011-2019)

My Secret

Author’s Notes | Just placing some facts to all the readers: Sigurd’s hate/dislike for Völvas is not canon. He had his problems with his mother and the possibility that she might have bewitched Ragnar to take him away from his wife. However, I particularly think a man with a childhood like his, and these problems with his mother’s figure being a possible witch would have his own reservations with regards to women with any kind of powers. So, keep in mind this situation for you to understand his daughter’s fear in this work! Thank you for the request, dear anon! Enjoy! Universe | Vikings Pairing | No pair, Sigurd, Sigurdaðóttir! Reader Info | Viking Age AU, requested by anon for UKT2 Words | 874 ⁑ Warnings: Sweetness, fluffy.

It started when you were fifteen years old. Nothing but stupid stuff like seeing your mother coming home before she was really on the doorway in, preventing your little brothers to fall before they stumble, stupid stuff, daily stuff. And you knew how your father felt like about these magical gifts.

Maybe it was why you never even commented anything about your visions and dreams with him or even your mother – avoiding her to say anything that could make your father pissed off. Uncle Ivar could be scary, but you surely wouldn’t want to see Sigurd Snake in the Eye’s dragon spitting fire towards you.

Oh no. For sure. But the last nights weren’t about daily shit or anything worthless.

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showing yall a bit of my editing 🤭

Fezco & Ashtray - Sister

Requested? YES (Wattpad)  - "I had this idea that you could Rues fight with her mom and sister in season 2 but your Fezcos sister and your fighting about the same thing with fez and ash"

Summary: When reader gets caught doing more then just some weed all hell breaks loose between her and her brothers Ashtray and Fezco.

I posted this on my wattpad last night and I was very quickly asked to write a part two or turn into a book. I decided to go with the second option and chapter one is now posted on my Wattpad HERE. 

If you love this imagine I would love it if you could check out the story!

Y/N POV

“Y/N get your ass over here right now,” I hear my name being yelled while Im scrolling through my phone. I quickly get out of bed and making my way into Fez’s room knowing that’s where the voice was coming from. When I got in there fez was sitting in his bed and Ash sitting in a chair next to the window.

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the mushka experience

music: Mario Paint OST - BGM 1

Possessive much? Fez x reader drabble

summary: After finding out another girl tried fucking your boyfriend you show a side you never saw before

warnings: nothing really, fluffiness, cussing, talks about guns

Y/n was not a very possessive person especially with Fezco, you knew he could handle himself, but you also know damn well Fez wouldn't fight a girl if she fucked with him, so whenever you found out from Faye that a cilent of his tried fucking your boyfriend then insulted and belittled him after he rejected her.

You had went over first thing next morning, Fez sitting at the table in the living room counting his money, you start looking around, under couch cushions, behind pictures "What the hell you lookin for this early?" Your boyfriend asked, it obvious he had been awake alot longer than you "One of your guns" You said, focused at the task at hand, Fez threw a small mini lighter at you "What you worried about my guns for?" He asked leaning back giving you his full attention now, you weren't a violent person so why the fuck were you currently looking for a gun "Is someone fuckin with you" He asked a few seconds later "No. I'm not gonna let some woman come up in my boyfriend's house, try to fuck him then disrespect him! especially when you're doing the bitch a favor!" You ranted, your face getting redder with every word that left your lips, Fez's response was the opposite of yours though, he sat there looking at you chuckling to himself "What the hell is so funny!? I'm not gonna let some bitch disrespect you!" You yelled but he just still sat there and giggled, eventually he reached out pulling you up on his lap "You this upset about that mama?" He laughed looking at you, you huffed looking at him "Yes!" You yelled crossing your arms "I'm gonna be the fucking bitch's ass!" You threatened, your rants being silenced by Fez pressing his lips against yours, you still huffed but cupped his cheeks, running the pads of your thumbs over his beard, pulling away taking a moment to admire him, Fez somehow doing the same thing to you. He was like a dream, like a dream you never wanted to wake up from, the type of dream you wake up from and spend most of your time trying to go back to that dream or thinking about said dream. "It's cute when you're mad...epecially whenever it's about standing up for your man" Fez teased resting his hands on your hips, You sighed looking at him "it makes me upset knowing someone is a dick to you..you've dealt with enough shit.." You explained, not feeling his hands slowly running up and down your back until his thumbs tucked themselves into the waistline of your pants. "Mr. Fez...your hands are getting very risky" You giggled resting your hands on his shoulders, he smirked at you "Can't help it..You look good wearin my sweats" He smiled glancing at his sweatpants you had stolen "What're you talking about?.." You asked looking down at your sweatpants "These are mine?" You added on grabbing the fabric "Nah mama, these are mine" Fez whispered leaning up ripping the tag out of the back of the sweatpants holding them up "You don't wear no large in men" He smirked watching your face heat up "well they're mine now" You huffed kissing him one last time before standing up "Now seriously, where the fuck are your guns?" You deadpanned looking at your now shocked boyfriend who laid sprawled out on the couch "It's not happening" Fez said shaking his head looking at you "You ain't shooting anybody, or fightin anybody, you're gonna sit your cute ass back down on my lap and watch this movie with me" Fez demanded holding onto your pointer and ring finger "You're lucky your cute" You grumbled sitting back down on his lap laying your head against his chest "I love you mama" He whispered kissing your forehead.

Cessa il vento, calma è la bufera Torna a casa il fiero partigian Sventolando la rossa sua bandiera Vittoriosi, e alfin liberi siam!

Happy Anniversary of Italy’s Liberation!

A Good Name 🌟

-Set some months after the trio's conversation that night at the bar, the guys get a visit from their friend..and new companion. My heart is broken and I need some fluffy healing okay I really wanted to write a thing with Vander meeting baby Vi sue me.

A light rapping at the door makes Vander look up and Silco glance over his shoulder. They weren't open, and unexpected knocks usually came with some sort of headache or trouble.

They catch each other's gaze in a silent question of if they should answer, and whom if so. Silco's pen hovers above the ledger in front of him, brow raised a measure, his glass-green eyes sharp and steady. They dart towards the sound before meeting Vander's again, his head tilting slightly. Vander nods and reflexively rolls his shoulders, stepping around the table he was cleaning and takes a couple steps forward when there's a second knock-only this time it comes in a very distinctive, two-three-two pattern and both men are instantly fully alert.

Vander makes it to the door in a few hurried strides, undoing the locks and throwing it open to have two people dart inside. Closing it again he whirls and steps toward them, Silco also approaching now.

"Felicia, Connol!" he huffs, irate and concerned all at once, "We haven't heard from you in over a week! We were starting to think-"

She whips a hand forward and presses a finger to his lips, "Shhhhh...she's dozing-oh, not anymore."

It's then a small, thin cry is heard, the sound suddenly the only one in the room, and certainly not normally heard.

Vander and Silco freeze for a moment before the larger man barely finds his voice, "Is...did you..?"

Felicia rolls her eyes with a smirk, "Sorry guys. Been a little preoccupied."

Pulling aside the loose cloak she wore, she turns to reveal a wide piece of fabric wound around herself, and securely bound in the middle, cradled against her chest, was a tiny, wiggly bundle. Connol smiles broadly, weaving an arm around her shoulders, "Mates, meet our daughter."

As if knowing she was being talked about, the infant's wriggling increases and she turns her head, topped with a fluff of pinkish-red hair and gapes at the adults with brilliant, sky-blue eyes.

There's a beat of silence, save for the newborn's whimpers and soft cries, as if the reverence and significance for this moment was an unspoken agreement. Felicia tenderly brushes her fingers across her cheek and the puff of hair, a soft, peaceful smile on her face.

It's Silco who breaks the quiet with a simple, understated, "Ah...I see." still at a loss how to properly react to the situation.

"Lookit her...so small..." Vander breathes, moving closer, a lopsided grin slowly growing, "Hello there little one...lemme be the first to welcome you here though eh, it'll be a bit before you're a customer yeah?"

Connol rolls his eyes with a snort, yet Silco's face hardens just the slightest degree, "Not that I'm questioning your judgement, however is it not incredibly risky to whisk a newborn all the way here?"

"We know the best routes, and besides, this is about the safest place she could possibly be." answers Felicia.

Connol nods, "Ain't no better spot than the one that means so much to us all. It's practically our home, and we felt there'd be no better for ya to meet her."

Silco clears his throat with an understanding nod in return, a smile playing at his lips as he turns and steps back toward the bar, "Well then. I do believe congratulations are in order. How old is she?"

"Five days now," Felicia answers as she and Connol go to sit at a nearby table, readjusting the sling so she can hold her on her shoulder, "And already giving me sass!"

Vander laughs, a bright, warm laugh that bounces off the walls before he sits with them, "I don't know what you expected, bein' the result of you two!"

"Oy man what's that supposed to mean?" says Connol with feigned indignation and a smirk.

Silco joins the group then, carrying a tray with several glasses-and one deep blue tumbler. He passes a glass to each of the men, then with a little flourish and gallant bow, sets the cup in front of Felicia, who laughs and does a slight bow in return.

"A toast then. Congratulations to the new parents, to your new addition, and many hopes for the future..." says Silco proudly, raising his glass, and the others follow suit.

"Oh! Right!" Vander snaps his fingers, "So, what's her name then?"

Felicia catches his eye, a glimmer both sly and yet softened with pride in her own, "Violet, of course."

Vander freezes, mouth half open in disbelief, feeling his heart leap, having to set his glass down before he dropped it, "...What?"

"You heard me." she grins, Connol adding, "We talked about it, considered others, but we kept coming back around and decided...Violet is a good name."

Swallowing thickly, Vander takes a moment before responding, "I...don't know what to say..."

Silco shakes his head with a smile, patting the larger man's shoulder, "I think he means he's honored."

"Of course I am, just also...wow. I didn't think..." Vander laughs, much more softly, running a hand through his hair, "Violet. Yeah."

Felicia turns so the newborn is facing them, "Say hello to your uncles Vander and Silco, Violet! They look like dorks, and they can be, but I'll tell you something...there's no one who cares about us down here as much, who'll fight harder for us, who will love you more, besides me and your pa, then these two."

The baby stares at them, and Vander is surprised to feel tears pricking the corners of his eyes, "Hello, Violet...what your mum said is true. No matter what happens, we've got ya."

Noticing, Silco breaks into a mocking grin, "Oh dear dear what's this? Is the great Hound of the Underground actually crying?"

"Shut it. It's dusty in here." grumbles Vander, yet unable to hide his own grin. All laugh, then the conversation carries on...

sure. resending. basically vander successfully drowns silco to keep the peace only for a few days later for some kid who turns out to be silco's child comes to the last drop saying their daddy hasn't been by for a while and told them if anything ever happened to go find "A nice man named vander at a place called the last drop...."

-Thanks for the resend and sorry again for Tumblr's bullshit broken system 😒 Now onto the ANGST and I am so fucking sorry this took so long

**CW for darker subjects including: drowning, accidental murder, implied strangulation **

There were three days of silence, save for the ticking clock, the constant murmuring heartbeat of the city outside and occasional muffled sobs. Three days of drinking himself unconscious trying to chase away the demons, only to have them haunt his nightmares and awakening to start the cycle over again.

One lone man sat slumped at a corner booth of the empty barroom, a spent bottle next to his ragged form and another clutched in his shaking hand. His hair and clothing were a disheveled mess, his hands still raw and red from scrubbing them dozens of times. His eyes, glazed and unfocused, stared ahead into nothing, trying to avoid closing them for too long because every time he did he could see him-

Flailing, eyes wide in terror and shock, struggling and clawing at the water, at anything his slender hands could reach, streams of bubbles ripped from his throat as they and he slowed and slowed until-

Groans morphing into hiccups and quiet sniffles, he lowered his forehead to the table, his thoughts a howling whirlwind of guilt and fury; at himself, at him, at all of this. Try as he might he couldn't get the images, the screams out his head...

He was gone; his best friend, his brother, drowned by his own hands after months of disagreement, arguing and eventually back-stabbing had resulted in one final fight, fueled by blind rage and frustration. It had been a horrible accident; he hadn't meant to, hadn't wanted to go so far, he just wanted him to shut up and listen for once but he'd held onto him underwater just a little too long, squeezed just a little too hard-he clutched his hair then with a roar of despair, whirled to fling the bottle at a wall where it exploded in a shower of glittering shards and liquor before collapsing back to his seat, now sobbing outright...

"I-I'm sorry Silco...I'm so...so s-sorry..."

On the fourth day, waking up on the floor of the sparse bathroom next to a puddle of vomit that'd missed the toilet and a searing headache, he lay staring at the ceiling for some time before deciding he had to make some sort of effort. After he acceptably cleaned up the mess he dragged himself into the tub, hissing and cursing as the cold water ran over his sore, tired and dirty body.

He tried not to think too hard about the water.

On the fifth day, realizing if he didn't get the bar up and running again he'd likely lose it from lack of funds, he shuffled into the main room and began slowly to pick up the chairs he'd knocked over or thrown and sweep up the broken glass. A lot of folks relied on this place for a warm, decently safe refuge from the outside world, somewhere they could get a drink and find some sort of comrade among the other customers. News, gossip, business transactions, tall tales, all of these and more flowed through the place like the alcohol that was served, creating a sort of haven for the people of the Lanes, rough as it could be. Losing it would letting them all down, and he just couldn't bear the thought of that. He'd let people down enough for two lifetimes already.

He paused frequently, taking deep breaths and trying to calm the storm still threatening in his mind. The raging, boiling despair of the past days had partially given way to a sort of creeping numbness that was gradually seeping into his very bones. He wasn't sure if it was better or worse. What he did know, was that it had happened and it couldn't be taken back. He had considered seriously the notion of turning himself in to the authorities and spending the rest of his life rotting in prison, he deserved it, but then remembered how much people still looked up to and relied on him...if he did that even more would suffer, thus he was stuck now with the gift and burden of what he'd worked to become.

There was no way to remedy things, make amends for what he'd done, but perhaps...he could do what was possible to continue the dream of a better, safer, more independent city for everyone else.

As he worked he thought he heard a faint knocking at the front door. At first he was sure he'd imagined it, but then he heard it again, and again until eventually a small, insistent voice joined in. Sighing, he leaned his broom against a table and slowly made his way there. No doubt a child was looking to either try and sell him something, or play a joke, or ask for their parents when the place would reopen. He had not the strength or patience for any of these but regardless unlocked and cracked the door open. Immediately he spotted a small girl on the doorstep who couldn't have been more than six, her slender frame swimming in clothes that were a couple sizes too large and her auburn hair pulled back with a length of silk ribbon. But it was her eyes that truly grabbed his attention; pale blue-green and oddly intense, they caught his and didn't let go.

"...Can...I help ya?" he muttered after an awkward moment of staring at each other.

She took a couple steps back to look upwards at the building, gave an assured nod, then approached him again, "You're Vander, right?"

Vander tilted his head, immediately regretting it with the headache he still had, "I am...and who might you be? This ain't exactly a place for kids."

She fished around in the inner pocket of her coat; it looked like it had once been a fine piece, likely belonging to some well-off child topside, but was now worn and patched, the brick-red wool faded to a dull brown. Her pants and shirt were of similar condition; it seemed someone had put considerable effort into clothing her in the finest castoffs they could manage. Finding what she wanted, she straightened herself and held out an envelope with an air of grave importance.

"My name is Olivia, and I was told to come here by my papa if I didn't see him for more than four days. He told me to find the Last Drop and a nice guy named Vander and to give him this letter."

She recited all this with a practised tone, as if she'd gone over it dozens of times. Vander's brow furrowed; what was all this? Some sort of prank? A trap? Who had sent her? And why him? Who did he know that had a daughter? All these questions swirled in his fogged brain until he spied several men nearby leering curiously at Olivia. He clutched the doorframe a little harder; he didn't like the look in their beady eyes whatsoever.

Whatever the reason for her showing up she wasn't safe out here, and with the tiniest, faintest flame reignited in his heavy heart he opened the door wider, "C'mon love...it's gettin' cold out. I'll get you something hot to drink 'n we'll get this sorted out yeah?"

Soon Olivia was seated at a table, sipping a mug of weak but much appreciated hot chocolate as Vander sat across from her and turned the letter over repeatedly in his hands, trying to glean some sort of clue from the outside alone. The only mark on it was a neat 'V' in the center in bold, black ink. He glanced up at this mystery child, again wondering what in the world this was all about and with a reluctant sigh, tore the seal off and unfolded the couple-page length letter.

The moment he saw the handwriting the air was knocked from his lungs. The quick, graceful pen strokes and neatly straight sentences across unlined paper were instantly recognizable even before he'd registered a single word...but then his eyes traitorously began reading on their own and he couldn't tear them away.

"Vander; I despise sounding cliche, however if you're reading this, it means I am either somehow incapacitated, or tragically, I've met my end. In either case, I'm certain you're wondering who the girl is that gave it to you. There's no point in playing games or sugarcoating things, so to cut to the chase, this is my daughter, Olivia-"

'My daughter'

Here Vander stopped reading for a moment, of all the words scrawled on the page to tear at his heart those nearly made it stop. Silco had...a daughter? He pried his gaze from the paper to glance up at Olivia, feeling dizzy and sick all over again. Her attention seemed to be focused on the jukebox at the moment, those bright blue-green eyes wide with curiosity. Her father's eyes...

Vander shut his own tightly, drawing a slow, deep breath before reopening them to continue reading.

"-who as of my writing this is nearly six. If you're wondering how, I trust you recall the time we decided it would be great fun to visit that new brothel in Piltover just over the bridge? In a moment of youthful weakness I, well, even you can figure it out. I put it out of my mind entirely until several months ago, when a woman approached me with Olivia in tow, insistent I was her father. Of course I didn't believe a word of it, and called in a favor to have a test performed to prove it...and much to my shock it was true. I'm still trying to sort out my thoughts on this whole matter. Gods know I'm no man to be a father. Though, I must confess, my fondness for her has increased greatly these past months. She is a highly intelligent and inquisitive child, with a natural instinct for problem solving and a strong sense of justice. Paternal feelings are not something I'd ever expected to experience, yet here I am. I'm certain you're wondering many things right now, first of which why I haven't told you until now-"

Here the pen appeared to have stopped, multiple dots and specks of ink seeming to indicate he had been tapping it on the page as he paused to consider his next words. Vander felt his eyes well at the mental image of Silco sitting at a table or desk, chin resting in one hand as he tapped his pen and stared at the paper, Olivia curled up asleep in his lap clutching a puzzle toy. He exhaled mournfully, blinking the tears away and continued reading.

"-At first I didn't quite know how to, but then I concluded it would be best for all if her existence was kept quiet. We've become successful Vander, perhaps too much in some ways. We have our enemies, and can't risk them learning of anything, or anyone, that could be used against us. The less people knew about her the better. Secondly, about her mother well, she's not the reliable sort, and often vanishes from their meager apartment without a word or even a note. I question how much she truly loves Olivia versus how much she enjoys holding my purse ransom for her care. She's been disappearing more lately, which brings me to the most critical part of this letter. I need to do something to ensure her safety and wellbeing, even if I can't be there personally. I know we've been at odds for some time, but should you still hold any affection for me-"

Vander had to stop again for a moment to gather himself, pressing his knuckles to his mouth. Of course he did...but did he have any right to? He could hear Silco's voice in his head, narrating the words as clearly as if he was standing over his shoulder right now. For a brief, mad second he was certain if he looked, he really would be there, those bright eyes he'd gifted his child boring critically into him.

Now Olivia noticed, and blinked at him, "Are you okay mister?"

Vander let out a quick gasp, wrung from his dark thoughts and trying to force a smile, "Y-yeah sweetie just...was thinkin'. Gimme a moment gotta finish readin'..."

"-I ask you, with utmost sincerity, to do this one, vitally important task-I need you to bring her to her grandparents in Piltover, where she'll be safe and well cared for. I've included the address at the bottom of this page. Her mother refuses to do this out of stupidity and stubborn pride, but since she refuses to be a proper mother, I must be a better father and I know the grandparents would be thrilled to take her in. I have included a second letter for her to give to them explaining all relevant matters so you needn't worry about talking to them more than strictly necessary, if at all. Lastly, as for explaining to Olivia what's become of me, be honest. If I am locked away, tell her. If I am dead, be gentle, but tell her. Better her heart is broken now so she has more time for it to heal. Please do this for me, brother, and for her. She deserves the chance we never had, and if all my efforts in this world amount to lifting this one child from the muck and poison, then I can leave it with pride. Farewell, for now, or forever, and thank you for everything. -Silco"

Vander sat and gaped in stunned silence at the paper in his trembling hands. Would he help her? Without question. He'd utterly failed Silco already, and though helping his daughter wouldn't erase his sins or bring the man back, at least he could honor him by fulfilling his last request. That numbness had cracked, letting the howling storm of grief back in, especially when he dared look up to find Olivia staring at him in both concern and curiosity and had to look away again; her eyes, so alike Silco's, were too much to bear right now.

"What...does it say?" at length she wondered, "Does it say when mama or papa will be back?"

"I-" Vander choked, coughing out a breath then took a slow, deep one to steady himself, sniffling back more tears. The girl's face fell, seeming to understand his expression and Vander winced as she spoke again, quietly with a wavering voice.

"...Did...something happen to them...?"

"Sweet'art, I-I don't know 'bout your mom, but...but your dad...he..." Vander swallowed the lump in his throat preventing him speaking, forcing himself to look at the girl with every thread of calm sincerity he could muster; she deserved that much, "He's..."

Some time later, Vander gazed hollowly out a window, watching the raindrops occasionally spatter against it as he slowly blew puffs of smoke into the still air. He glanced at the small figure dozing fitfully and curled into a ball in a nearby booth. He had honored Silco's wish. He told her the truth...but not the whole story. She was grief-stricken and traumatized enough; telling her the man her father had trusted, the one sitting across from her and from whom she expected help and protection was the one that had taken his life wasn't something he could put her through. Perhaps someday he would tell her the rest, and should she choose to take revenge, well, he wouldn't blame her.

After hearing the grim news she had thrown herself onto him, seeking comfort and burrowing into his broad chest as she sobbed, but he'd been unable to return more than gingerly 'hugging' her with his forearms. Holding her with the same hands that had killed her father seemed, at the moment, far too cruel. She'd then crawled into a booth and eventually cried herself to sleep, so he'd taken up a vigil and draped his jacket over her for extra warmth. A small comfort perhaps, but one he could stomach easier.

Now she suddenly stirred and awoke, rubbing her red, swollen eyes and sniffling as she clutched the heavy leather garment around herself. Neither spoke, and Vander stood, going behind the bar and fetching a soft cloth and a dented cup, pouring the cleanest water he had into it. He then brought the items to Olivia, who took the cup with a whispered thanks. He gently dabbed her eyes and nose, cleaning her up the best he could.

She glanced at him with glassy, scared eyes then the floor, "...What's gonna happen now...?"

Vander hesitated for a second before laying his hand on the letter, "Don't worry, Olivia...I'm gonna take ya to your grandparents, safe 'n sound. You'll be a'right...your papa made certain of that."

She only nodded, still sniffling as Vander stood, "I'll be right back love, then we'll head out so we can get there b'fore dark. Ain't safe after dark..."

Vander adjusted his vest and pulled his overcoat a little tighter around himself to ward off the evening chill, keeping a close eye on his charge as she trotted beside him, and ignored all the sharply curious glances they received. He had changed into a set of more 'respectable' clothes he kept stashed away for whenever a trip topside was necessitated and he didn't want to draw any attention to himself. Well, once they crossed the bridge anyway; down in the Lanes still they garnered quite the variety of looks. Olivia's small fist was balled tightly around the hem of his coat as she kept close, and soon, after climbing flights of cracked stone and metal stairs and taking a rickety elevator, they found themselves on the surface level just as the hazy, clouded sun was sinking into the horizon. The drizzling rain had stopped for the time being, with a blanket of fog settled over the area. Vander strode down the muddy, trash-littered road leading to the bridge when he felt an insistent tugging at his pant leg, and looked to see Olivia gazing longingly up at him.

"What's the matter, sweet'art?" he inquired, and she stretched her thin arms toward him, "I'm tired...please?"

In an instant he realized what she was asking but this time, instead of feeling ill at the thought, although a stab of shame still coursed through him he was overcome by a sort of mournful bitter sweetness. Here was the daughter of his friend, a friend now heartbreakingly gone but here in front of him was a part of them. He couldn't apologize, make amends, but he could do this much.

'...if all my efforts in this world amount to lifting this one child from the muck and poison...'

Mustering a reassuring smile, he gently scooped her into his arms, holding her securely to his chest and shoulder and she curled herself into him with a content, if not equally melancholy, sigh.

In this way he made his way to and across the long, imposing structure, the fog obscuring then completely hiding the dark and toxic city behind them as he carried her toward a better life than her father ever had...

EPILOGUE:

Some time late in the night, Vander stood in the bathroom with his hands braced on the sink, staring blankly into the mirror at his exhausted and scruffy face. Dark blueish bags hung under his tired eyes and he could see the grey beginning to creep into his hair and messy beard. Insomnia and vivid nightmares had again claimed any attempt to sleep, so after pacing the empty building he'd ended up here.

Giving his reflection a disgusted snort he grumbled, "You're a right fuckin' mess..."

He turned the faucet on, gathering a palm-full of water to splash on his face and reflecting on the shock and emotional rollercoaster of the day. Silco had had a daughter he'd known nothing of until she appeared at his door, and though not her fault had only helped to deepen the wounds of guilt and shame in him. Still...

He recalled now showing up at the home of her grandparents, though clearly being not especially wealthy were quite comfortable, and how the older couple were obviously overjoyed to see Olivia and grateful to the man who introduced himself as a friend of her father's for bringing her there safely. Though they didn't speak much Vander realized they were well aware of their daughter's...unpredictability and Olivia would benefit from staying with them. The last he saw of her, and likely would ever, was when she waved to him and expressed her thanks before being led into the house.

He'd fulfilled his duty in escorting her safely there, not that it should have ever been under the circumstances it was. He had to grip the sink again as one more question crossed his thoughts, one she had every right to know but one he was praying she wouldn't ask and that just dug the knife further into his heart. While making their way through Piltover Olivia had abruptly asked what had happened to her papa.

"....He drowned..." had been his only reply, and seemingly satisfied the girl fell quiet again.

"...and it's my fault..." he now whispered to the empty air, scooping up another handful of water.

Before he could douse his face however, he felt a sudden and violent chill start at the base of his spine, and as it raced up his back all the hair on his body stood with it. A wave of creeping dread followed and he slowly lowered his hand, the water falling through his fingers to splash in the sink and onto the floor...wait. There was so much water on the cracked tile where had it...?

Then he was aware of something else...a presence of sorts, the sensation that someone was there, just at the edge of your conciousness. Braving the slightest upward glance-he quickly dropped his gaze back to the sink, nauseous and terrified to look up fully at the reflection he could just see in the mirror behind him out of the corner of his eye and certain he'd finally gone mad.

Silco stood there, ghostly pale, soaking wet with water dripping from his hair and clothing and glowering at him. A ring of dark bruises encircled his neck, and his hair clung to his face such that his left eye was barely visible-but the right absolutely burned with fury.

After the initial shock, shaking and heart hammering, Vander addressed him, "If you're...here to kill me too...I know I deserve it..."

Silco remained silent, unmoving except for the eerily unnecessary rise and fall of his chest with his 'breathing'. Vander felt his own chest tighten with the continued confusion and horror of this situation coupled with the guilt of what he'd done. He tried another line of conversation.

"Silco the-there's a million things I could, that I wanna say but it all feels...inadequate and stupid. You're gone and nothin' I do or say will change that. I...I'm so sorry..." his throat tightened but he coughed to clear it, a jumble of words he needed to say flooding out, "I wish ya'd told me 'bout Olivia...she's somethin' special. But especially now I understand why ya didn't...ya know what fucks with me? That not only did I-I take your life but I took the time ya coulda had with her...gods I-"

He drew several deep, calming breaths, unfair as it felt before continuing, "I did what ya asked. She's with her family, and they'll see to it she's well loved..if she's half as smart 'n resilient as you she'll really be somethin' one day..."

He dared to look upwards, feeling he owed Silco that much, "...And if she ever comes seekin' answers or justice, I'd rightfully give 'em to her..."

Vander saw his expression had gone from cold rage to still angry, but now blended with almost a regretful sadness. He gave the slightest nod, then slowly raised a hand as if to reach out to him...

And suddenly Vander couldn't breathe. He panicked, coughing and gasping for air, then braced himself on the sink before collapsing to his hands and knees. Falling onto his side, his vision swam with the water that filled his lungs and eyes and the image of Silco standing over him as he lost consciousness-

He awoke with a strangled, terrified shout and bolted upright, grasping at his neck and heaving in deep breaths, the realization that it had been a nightmare gradually settling in. Though that one had been a figment of his guilt-ridden imagination, the true nightmare of reality, of having to live every day with the knowledge and weight of what he'd done would be neverending. Eventually, he fell back into the sagging and worn mattress, staring at the wall and knowing sleep would likely allude him the remainder of the night.