#Vilcor

[satellite-slickers]

Warframe is a gacha game but for father figures.

Aaaaand post.

[gillyeowalters]

Picture for an upcoming video/analysis. Vilcor's arm is translucent; the part of the video talks about the symbolism of him losing his arm.

[whymustyouhurtmeinthisway]

Warframe fans:

Images of each under cut

Mother:

Father:

Son:

Daughter:

Grandmother:

Albrecht:

[makedvioletplayable]

If I wasn't a coward/a better artist I would make vilcor fetish art

[toasty-tealeaf]

Tennotober2024 Day 15: "Wedding"

renewing vows and trying to remember the forgotten happier times #warframefanart #tennocreate #gomaitru #vilcor #entrati

[finlaena]

The idea of Faction NPCs wearing Signas wouldn't leave me until I got this one out of my system.

[alteredsilicone]

will you still love me if i started drawing euleria entrati

[neige-leblanche]

stop i was scribbling at work & this neige looks exactly like how my little sister did as a child

[venture-through-the-mist]

Tennotober 2024

My collection of works based on the Tennotober 2024 prompts.

Hi all! I wanted to take part in Tennotober 2024, but I also knew that I wouldn’t be able to draw 31 art pieces, so I’m doing some fics instead!

The Warframe Tennotober 2024 Prompt List can be found here: https://forums.warframe.com/topic/1412660-official-tennotober-2024-megathread/

Day 15: Wedding: Fondness Lingers, Even In Wounded Souls

The Entrati family has changed drastically, has lived through wrath and loss and pain. They will never again be who they once were, yet perhaps there is merit in who they are now, and their connections to one another — new and old alike.

TW:

Mentions of paranoia, anger issues, and other mental health issues.

Going off of the above warning, there are brief, non-graphic mentions of the canon-typical domestic abuse—mainly physical, though you might see verbal if you squint—that comes with this family, as well as the lingering emotional impacts of that.

Memory issues due to the Infestation.

Just as another note, this piece does switch from Vilcor’s POV to Gomaitru’s POV about half(ish)way through. I tried to make the transition pretty smooth so it didn’t break up the flow of the story, but I do apologize if it’s a little unclear. Also, as I’m sure y’all might’ve gathered by now, this will have spoilers for Rank 5 with the Entrati family.

With everything out of the way, the fic begins under the cut.

She’s still the woman he married.

Somewhere, locked away in the far recesses of his mind, in one of the few places that hasn’t been consumed by the Infestation that worms its way into his thoughts, is a memory. It’s muddled, faces blurred and names obscured, but it’s still mostly intact. Or, rather, the important parts are.

It was a lavish ceremony—no, it wasn’t…was it? That doesn’t sound right, somehow—, but his focus hadn’t been on the sea of experts, nor had it been on their parents—his, he manages to recall…her father was already gone by then—, no. He had paid no attention to them, to the saccharine smiles and the practiced niceties that their kind was so well known for. 

His eyes were solely on her.

Her expression had been seared into his mind, those sharp, azure eyes boring into his soul, the corner of her lip turned into the faintest hint of a smirk. The dress she wore was flawless, of course, milky-white with golden accents, and her hair had been done into a style not much different from what she normally wore, save the ceremonial rings and beads adorning it. She hated it, he remembers. She had despised taking time away from her precious research to be primped and preened like some ornamental songbird. It didn’t matter anyways. Not to him.

He would’ve married her even in peasant’s clothes.

He remembers sitting next to each other, late that night, after everyone left, after all the superficial flatteries were done with. She had scoffed at him as he placed his hand next to her own. One hand rough, calloused, its nails cut short—and cleaned of oil and other debris, for once. The other, thin—not delicate, never delicate—, with sharp angles and even sharper nails, manicured so they were flawless. Despite their differences, both were united by the thin, ornately-carved gilded bands that wrapped around their ring fingers. 

That damn ring had been a bitch to find, something that wouldn’t be cumbersome as she worked, but was adequately stunning for a being of her station. He’d eventually turned to one of his colleagues—an engineer with an odd knack for metallurgy—to create it.

The ghost of a rare, genuine smile had danced on her lips, covered by a pointed insult that he knew she didn’t truly mean.

He did love her. He still does.

That’s why it hurt so much, watching as her paranoia heightened, her descent quickened by the Infestation that stole her memories, that had twisted those which remained into something toxic.

It was easier to bear the brunt of her fury than it would’ve been to break what was left of her heart.

It was easier to pretend that he hated her.

Regrettably, a part of him wasn’t pretending for a long time. He learned from his wife, learned to do what she did, to lean into his anger—his hurt—, let it consume him. Only when their Ayatan gave them the opportunity to mend the cracks did he realize that it did no one any good to keep blaming her for everything.

One mistake doesn’t change his love for her.

Not if he doesn’t allow it to.

His wedding band is gone, lost somewhere in the Necralisk with the long-decayed remnants of his left arm. He doesn’t know if she kept hers, what with all the animosity that’s gone around. It doesn’t matter, he realizes. Those bands symbolized who they were, but they’ve all changed. Perhaps not entirely for the better, but that doesn’t make it any less true. They’re scarred, and sometimes he finds himself unsure that he feels entirely comfortable with her, after everything—his body still aches on bad days like it did all those years ago.

But they’re together.

So, he finds himself moving through the tunnels, slipping around the corner towards her post. He finds himself under the scrutiny of those piercing, ice-cold eyes—the eyes that still ignite something within him, some feeling of warmth that fights its way from beneath the weight of his scars—, as he holds out his hand to her. He hopes that he isn’t imagining the way the edges of her gaze soften slightly, her jaw relaxing just barely.

His hand hangs in the air.

Waiting.

Her husband is flawed. She knows that well. She has punished him for it countless times—the uncomfortable feeling of regret is one that she is still learning to endure—, and yet, she has only recently begun to let go of her rage in an attempt to understand. 

He had only wished to help her, in his own misguided—idiotic—way. She recognizes that now, though a part of her still does not wish to accept it. That part of her still screams of betrayals and conspiracies and plots against her. 

He will leave her. He will destroy her.

Just like all the others.

She can stop that from happening if she strikes first.

With some difficulty, she ignores the voices which threaten to send her back into her fury. She decides that, for the first time in a very long time, she will not hide behind her anger. She will no longer use it as a weapon to destroy what has finally started to mend. Her tongue will remain sharp, her words pointed like the thinnest of blades, but, she rationalizes, they are used to that. She never was a weak-willed being. One can be coarse without being cruel. It is time that she remembers how. 

She did trust him once.

Her memories have fallen prey to the Infestation—more-so than the others’, evidently—, and she finds that she is unable to recall most details from before. Whenever she seeks them out, she only finds glimpses, fragments of larger moments, the context unknown to her. 

His warm, ultramarine gaze is in more of those shards than she would care to admit.

The thin, gold band presses against her neck, hidden from view behind the larger pendant. She does not remember when she had placed it there, nor the reason why. She attempts to deny the fact that her skin prickles uncomfortably at the thought of losing it, similar to how it had burned at the thought of giving up the only connection to her father.

But that shard had never been a connection to her father at all, had it?

The ring is, however, a link to her former self. It is a link to him. 

In her darkest moments, she had contemplated tearing it from its place, discarding—destroying—the ring and thus her connection to the pathetic being that she had married. 

She knows not of why she never followed through with that thought.

She is secretly relieved that the ring remains where it is.

Her gaze narrows as he moves towards her. Suspicion and fury and disgust coil around the recesses of her mind, scratching at her thoughts, attempting to provoke her wrath once more. He holds his hand out, and something new flickers through her, winding through the negativity, forcing it to quiet. It forces her to confront her more difficult emotions. 

She still cares for him.

After a few patient moments, Gomaitru slowly takes Vilcor’s hand. Her fingers entwine with his, the callouses feeling familiar beneath her skin. His muscles are slightly tense, holding a wariness within that she doubts will disappear simply because his mind has begun to forgive her. She feels the pendant on her neck shift slightly, and notices surprise dance through his gaze, his warm eyes lingering on the strip of gold that lies behind it. She fights back the urge to snap defensively, to build up that barbed shell once more, the armor which harmed others in the interest of self-preservation.

She used to think herself incapable of regret, a mentality which nearly cost her everything.

She prides herself on her intelligence, yet it had become twisted into paranoia.

Her husband has his flaws, it is true. But, although her stomach twists uncomfortably at the admission, she is finally realizing that she does as well. As she releases her grip, huffing a remark that she knows he is aware that she does not fully mean, a tiny ember of a thought ignites amidst the hissing voice of the Infestation.

He is still the man she married.

[midorishinobi5]

Art backlog: commission for @finlaena of their Titania OC and Vilcor Entrati

[space-ninja-fashion-show]

Thinking about nicknames

About how North will sometimes call Higgins "Higgs." About how Lanius sometimes gets shortened to "Lan" by Keiko and Alden and North, and rarely to "Lannie" by Kohlrabi, but also about how sometimes during missions they get called "Butcherbird" over the comms bc it makes everyone involved feel So Cool. About how once the Solaris learn the Tenno's true nature, they keep "Sparky" for Alden but figure out something more fitting for Kohlrabi

But I'm also thinking about the opposite of nicknames, so to say

The names the Orokin had given to their warframes were names in the sense that a car's model is a name, even if warframes were mostly unique. Names always prefaced by an article (a/the) to make clear that this is a weapon, not a person

Alden doesn't listen if you call him "Volt Prime." He doesn't have a lot of feelings attached to the name, bc he spent barely any time conscious while he had still worn it. There's a chance he won't even realise you're addressing him, but even if he does, He Will Not Listen To It

Similarly, Lanius does not listen to being called "Nidus (Prime)" but with them it's a lot more on purpose. Bc they Were conscious while it still applied to them. There is still the leftover of the instinct to answer to it. And they very consciously do not

Call Higgins "Lavos" and you might just get stabbed for it

[goddessofblood]

stinky smelly shit you never take a shower nobody loves you

[gillyeowalters]

This was for a mono-color shadow challenge. Father and son/daughter. (Yes, I traced the Railjack-mobile from a screenshot, I am sorry).

Pose reference by ScharlieCharlieCharlie.

[endermanalbino]

Vilcor floof for /finlaena

Thank you for your donation to QTCC!

[silence-of-autumn42]

Kinda frustrating to me that Loid has taken over from Euleria as the primary "victim" of Albrecht's machinations. Euleria has suffered far more because of Albrecht's actions than Loid has, imo. The apparent majority of her adult life was spent chasing the ghost of her father, who she believed was missing or vanished. It deeply affected her relationships with others, and it heavily influenced her academic career as well. And she was lied to and manipulated by her father, by Loid, and by Father/Vilcor throughout.

Its pretty clear to me that Albrecht didn't have a great opinion of his daughter. When he discusses her in his Requiem Vitruvian, he talks about raising her with "inconsistent vigour", indicating that he was a rather absent father (to go alongside her never mentioned again mother [let albrecht be bisexual dammit]), but despite this, she clearly still held a high opinion of him, one that Albrecht believed to be a lie. The next time he discusses her is in his Laboratory Notes fragments, specifically when he arrives in Duviri. There's no mention of her in the aftermath of the Void excursion, only of Loid, despite the fact it was Euleria who activated the machine that allowed Albrecht's journey. This discussion of Euleria is not particularly flattering. He describes her writing Tales of Duviri based on his old stories as "trivial", and her motives he initially believed to be "pastoral attentiveness", as though she was motivated by enforcing some religious doctrine. All of this, to me, indicates that Albrecht believes his daughter to be, at the very least, naive and motivated by less than virtuous intentions. And while he does recognise that this opinion is incorrect, he still never involves her in his plans, lets her know he's alive, or even leaves her a message.

Yes, what Albrecht did to Loid sucked. Making a replica of your boyfriend's brain to keep him company while you fuck off back in time is a really dick move. But Loid was, frankly, complicit in Albrecht's deception of Euleria, especially once Father/Vilcor got involved. Yes, there's clearly a power dynamic in their relationship, and it's unlikely that Loid could outright disobey Albrecht based on their social castes, but he nonetheless still kept things a secret, and let Euleria believe her father was dead or gone.

Someone should give Albrecht a "System's Worst Dad" mug. He can fight for it with Hunhow and Ballas.

[toasty-tealeaf]

Vilcor and Titania commission for @finlaena!