Arcane headcanons | °• Silco •°

You refuse to back down from a fight

• The room is tense, filled with the sharp sound of clashing voices. The enemy taunts you, their words dripping with venom, and your anger burns hot, blinding.

• You step forward, your weapon in hand, ready to face them head-on despite the odds. Silco’s sharp voice cuts through the chaos. “Stop. This isn’t the time.”

• His hand grabs your wrist, firm but not harsh, pulling you back as you struggle against him. His good eye locks onto yours, and there’s a warning there, but also a flicker of concern.

• “Let go, Silco,” you snap, your voice trembling with fury. “I can handle this.”

• He doesn’t release you, his grip tightening slightly. “You’re letting your emotions control you,” he growls, his tone low and steady. “Do you think they won’t use that against you?”

• You wrench your arm away, glaring at him, your anger now partially directed at him. “They deserve this,” you spit, stepping toward the enemy again.

• Silco’s patience snaps. He moves in front of you, blocking your path, his expression dark and commanding. “I won’t let you throw your life away for some misguided sense of justice.”

• The enemy watches, smirking at the tension between you two. Silco’s gaze flicks to them, his lip curling in disdain, but his focus stays on you.

• “Get out of my way,” you hiss, your hand tightening on your weapon.

• Silco doesn’t budge. “No.” His voice is cold now, his jaw set. “You’re not thinking clearly, and I won’t let you make a mistake you’ll regret.”

• You stare at him, your chest heaving with frustration, but his unwavering stance forces you to hesitate.

• The enemy makes a move, and Silco reacts instantly, taking them down with swift precision. His fury is palpable, each movement calculated and deadly.

• When the dust settles, he turns back to you, his face a mask of controlled anger. “Was that what you wanted?” he snaps, gesturing to the carnage.

• Your silence speaks volumes, and his expression softens slightly as he steps closer. “You’re better than this,” he says quietly, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek. “Don’t let them reduce you to their level.”

• You feel the heat of your anger start to fade, replaced by the weight of his words and the tension in his touch.

• “Come with me,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “Let’s end this, but we do it the right way. Together.”

• He waits for your nod, and when you finally give it, his relief is visible, though his lips press into a thin line as he takes your hand.

• As you walk away from the battlefield, his arm slips around your shoulders, holding you close. “You’ll be the death of me, love,” he mutters under his breath, though there’s a faint warmth in his tone.

• Back in the safety of his quarters, he doesn’t let you out of his sight, his fingers brushing over your hands as if reassuring himself you’re unharmed.

• “Promise me,” he says softly, his good eye meeting yours. “Promise me you won’t let anger control you again.”

• When you hesitate, he leans in, his forehead resting against yours. “You’re too important to lose,” he whispers, his voice raw with emotion.