#dad vik

[timaeusterrored]

(Like Father Like Son)

((I feel like I’ve never actually written a father-son moment between Vax and Vik, and what better time than now? Set sometime after he starts healing from the Space Station))

Vax had always loved rooftops, ever since he was a kid. Whenever he sat up there, for once he didn’t feel so small. That maybe being up there could save him from the city trying to swallow him. Even as a kid, V was terrified of the city eating him whole, becoming a no one. Another face in a sea of nobodies.

“Y’know, I’ll never forget the first time I looked up and saw you sitting on a roof. Damn near climbed the building to get you down.”

Vax turned at the sudden voice, not expecting anyone up here. But there stood Vik, arms crossed and leaned again the door way.

“Don’t you have your own roof to go sit on or somethin’? Or did the ol’ Rockerboy finally chase you away?” Vik sat down next to V, their legs dangling over the edge. Vax noted Vik was making an effort to not look down. Not everyone could handle heights.

“Nah, he’s busy with the ‘Saka bullshit still… and his new album.” Vax tried to keep the sad tone out of his voice, but he was struggling to. And he knew Vik heard it.

“Trouble in paradise? He fuck up?”

“He’s been perfect, Vik… it ain’t that.” Vax sighed, rubbing his eyes. “I’m so fuckin’ tired… and lonely. Ker invites me to join him when he goes places… but he doesn’t need me. No one fuckin’ does. No one needs V anymore…”

Vik let that settle in, watching his son for a long moment. Was that what this was? He felt unneeded? Unwanted even?

“You’re right. I don’t need V.” Maybe that was a bad way to start because Vax chuckled like he knew something. “I need Vax. I need that spunky little fifteen year old smart ass I met damn near 15 years ago.” Holy fuck it had been 15 years already.

Vax was staring at him, as if confused by his statement. He never had been a man of words.

“Y’know… when I first brought you in, I was thinking ‘what the fuck am I doing? I can’t raise a kid. Much less a 15 year old.’ And with you glaring at me for like a month straight, I really didn’t think we were getting far. But Vax… you changed my life. When you won your first boxing match, I just yelled ‘That’s my kid! That’s my kid right there!’ I was so fucking proud of you… then that fucker took you when you were 17 and I didn’t know what the fuck to do. All I knew was that my kid was gone and no one had seen him in days… then Rogue comes to my door holding you, you’re shaking and covered in blood and smell like a fucking campfire and I don’t think I’ve ever been more relieved to see you in my life… until Arasaka took you. Losing Jackie felt like losing a son… and I kept just… hoping, praying, I dunno, everything to just get that thing out of you. For you to live.”

When Vik was mostly done because he felt he was talking nonsense, he looked at V… to find him with tears in his eyes. Oh fuck, he hadn’t meant to make him cry.

“And when you brought fucking Kerry Eurodyne home, I was like “oh hell no.” Because I’ve read some shit-“ Vik attempted to joke but Vax let out a sound that he couldn’t tell if the poor man was laughing or crying.

Vik patted his son’s back, letting him get it out. Kerry said Vax had been rather unresponsive to things, and this is probably the first time he’s cried in a while. The ripperdoc couldn’t even begin to understand what this man went through.

“Fuck… I’m sorry.” Vax sniffed, rubbing his eyes. “I’m so… I’m so tired, Vik… I know people are trying to give me space and to let me rest… but I can’t help but feel like everyone has moved on from me… even Ker and Judy don’t feel like they need me anymore… and you and Mama Welles got your own shit goin’ on-“

“Me and Guadalupe have been worried sick about you. So don’t you start pulling that shit onto me… No one has moved on from you. You spend too much time in your own head, you always have.” Vik sighed. Vax had been horrible for getting in his own head, Vik never could get him to stop. “You been talking to your therapist? And taking your meds?”

Vax nodded, and yet Vik didn’t believe him.

“My keeper isn’t letting me forget. Don’t worry.” Vax mumbled, his hands falling into his lap in defeat. Vik had no clue what to do to make this better… he didn’t read any parenting books on how to make your adult kid feel better after dying three times.

The two sat in silence after, sometimes you just needed quiet with a safe person to feel less alone. Until Vax rested his head on Vik’s shoulder.

“Thanks pops…”

Vik wrapped his arm around his son and rubbed his shoulder.

“Anytime kiddo…”

[beastking-golion]

Jayvik fankid cause I can’t help myself. Her name is Skylar and she’s a mage (something they learned by well… an incident).

[solgemn]

The way i just realized we actually only got to see silco and powder together the one time because we have put SO much silco and powder content into the fandom 😭

[our-inspire-verse]

Family portrait coming together so slowly and tediously im spending sooo long rendering this thangffgggg

[goshtoon]

I need t4t jayvik to go crazy on my strap please please please please please please

[starrycassi]

An engineer. An assistant. A heir.

Located on my jayvik work for silco au.

.

Singed doesn't think too highly of himself.

Maybe he did, once. Young and full of passion, he thought himself the next big thing. A lifetime ago, he’d stared at the mirror and grinned, proudly eyeing the way his Academy badge gleamed under the light of his table lamp. Maybe he was foolish enough to think that it was him, him and his ideas, that would change the world. His days at The Academy are not days he recalls too often.

Then he had a daughter, and his world was reduced to her. Her smiles, and her cries, and the way she said pouted when things didn't go her way. He wanted nothing more than to give her the world. Maybe he would have, had things been different. They weren't.

Sickness came, as sickness does. People bawled, as people do. Colleagues tattled, as colleagues do. Oriana wilted away, as flowers do. Unstoppable sequence of extremely common events. When tragedy makes herself at home, the host tends to believe themselves unique in their suffering. They are not. There has been far too many parents and far too many daughters, and far too many of them have met this exact same path, have stumbled in the exact same rocks and crevices. It is what it is. It is as it should be. Death is inevitable, the sky is blue, water is wet. It is as it should be.

The casket should have been lowered, as caskets are supposed to do. It never was.

And now, Singed doesn't think of himself too highly. He knows that his intellect is unmatched, his skill is unheard of, his knowledge is craved. He is different, better, in a way that not many people are. He is, also, failing.

Oriana's face shows no change when he taps the glass of her enclosure lightly. It is not a surprise.

“Soon, my dear.” He tells his little daisy, staring at the still flesh, the closed eyes. “Do not get impatient.”

She does not answer. He is used to it.

.

Singed is a horrible person.

He knows his morals are skewed. His code of ethics is nothing but a two-page pamphlet with vague drawings of fairies in it. He is, objectively, a bad man. He has aided in the killing, torturing and general misfortune of dozens, if not hundreds, of people. It's not like he's keeping count.

“Did you do build this, boy?”

He knows how dangerous he is, even if the boy seems unaware. Thankfully for the strangely trusting young man, he is many things, but not attracted to children. That is one of the few lines he won't blur. Not because he is a father, or because he particularly cares about the wellbeing of potential victims, or because he feels some sort of empathy for the many, many kids subjected to some sort of abuse in these parts of the underground. Though he does think that it is unfortunate, as everything around here is. No. He simply has never been interested, and that’s that.

The boy —Viktor— comes by. He learns, eager for someone, anyone, to pay attention to him, to his ideas. He is silent in a way that Oriana never was, not when she was awake. At first, it is a practiced, learned quietness. The stillness of the deer who has no other option but to play dead. It evolves. Daily, Viktor starts asking more questions, suggesting more improvements. He starts to smile whenever Rio licks his cheek, batting her away with no real force. He starts to cry silently when he thinks Singed is too occupied to notice, usually while cradling a bruised arm or a broken cane. He starts to pout when things don't go his way, frowning with annoyance at whatever prototype has managed to defeat him today.

Singed wonders if his parents know where their son is, who he is with, what he is doing. Do they care? They should. He will never allow Oriana to be alone, in a secluded cave, with an unknown man and a potentially deadly animal, sometimes for hours on end, when she wakes up.

He doesn't care for the kid, not any more than he does for Rio. He is useful. Smart. Quick to understand, easy to guide. He rolls with the punches that Singed throws him, taking them with an unwavering grace. Eventually, he even learns to punch back.

“That is wrong,” Singed says, eyeing the way Viktor's tiny fingers try to mold the copper, “It is far too cold. If you can't understand thermodynamics, then you should not be on my lab. Ever.”

“I am developing a new method,” Viktor answers, not even turning around to look him in the eye, “If you can not understand innovation, then you should not carry a lab.”

“The correct word in that context would be own, or have. Possess, even. I do not *carry* the lab. It is always here.”

“You understood my idea.” Stubbornly, Viktor keeps on turning the material, making absolutely no progress. “Good enough. For me.”

.

Oriana liked ballet. Fairies. Make up. She was a stereotypical girl, with stereotypical tastes. Singed never cared about it. If she wanted to be a princess, like a hundred girls had wanted for hundreds of years before, who was he to say no?

“If I was, eh, a prince,” Viktor muses, staring into his mug. “I would fill my castle with, how you say? Food. For everyone. Blankits. Water.”

Singed hums, taking a sip of his own mug. The smell of coffee fills the room. His has a drop of whiskey sprinkled in.

“Blankets. Blan-kets. Not lab equipment? Chemical resources? Aluminum, copper, steel parts?”

Viktor imitates his gesture, using the excuse of the drink to think his answer up properly. Singed would be impressed, if he wasn't already aware of how perceptive Viktor is, how quickly he adapts. Chameleon boy and his little cane. Oriana would like him. She will, when she wakes up.

“Well, yes. After I am done feeding all the people. Then, for me, laboratory. And a new bedroom. Big bed. Thick blan-ket.”

.

He asks for parents. Dead father, alcoholic mother. No siblings. The lacking communication skills come from his grandmother, who never learned Piltover common and never explained how she ended up in the undercity. She had raised him, then died. He spoke a fully foreign language at home, which made bonding with other kids even harder. Viktor was ostracized by his circumstances. No one has his back, not fully. No one to stop him.

He offers the spare room on his main sleeping quarters. It is more of a closet than a room, but he brings a new mattress and the fluffiest pillows he can find. A heavy, yellow blanket. His various works pay decently enough for him to feed another mouth. Clothes and necessities can be figured out when the time comes.

If Singed was a better man, he might say that he did it out of care. Or concern. Maybe even out of curiosity.

Singed is not a better man. He did it for the same reason he does everything else. For Oriana.

He is not stupid. The days are passing. His age increases, increases, increases. He isn't any closer to waking her up, and his back is starting to ache when winter arrives. He is getting older, but his daughter is not.

She needs someone else. A brother, if not an assistant. Someone younger than her dad, someone to keep her company in the world. It can not be him, not anymore. His body is starting to resent him from the all-nighters and meal-skippings.

Viktor is not, necessarily, healthy. Or well liked. Not even well known. He has no responsible parents in sight (because, really, how come this child is so often with him?) and no money of his own. Singed could latch onto that. Instead, he thinks of castles with halls full of food, and decides that the way that Viktor will understand is the emotional one.

For all his talk of science and progress, Viktor is a child. Immature and temperamental. He comes with all the downsides of being a child. Fortunately, he brings the upsides, too.

Was Oriana to wake up in the next half of a decade, she would have someone to grow up with. Someone to keep at her side, to play and explore with. Oriana has always been kind. She will slow down, for Viktor, and that will make it easier for Singed to know where she is at. Was she to wake up someday after that, she would have an older caretaker. Old enough to know more about the workings of their environment, young enough to be in the loop of how the external world has changed. Viktor won't live long, not without some tweaks and fixes, but Singed would gladly make the boy a new set of lungs every single month, if it meant that he would look after Oriana.

The decision is taken. He makes sure to keep Rio in her cage. Viktor's attachment to the mutation’s vessel is a problem. Singed is not only a scientist, but a drug-dealer. He's used to solving problems, by now.

.

“Her name is Oriana.”

Viktor gapes at him, eyes wide with far too many emotions for Singed to pinpoint even one. The soft hum of the machines fills the silence for them. A mechanical heartbeat, designed for one person and one person only.

“She is…”

Whatever Viktor is about to say, dies on his lips. He hovers over the glass, careful not to touch, seemingly mesmerized by the body kept inside it. He looks like he's hyperventilating and breathing far too slowly at the same time. Singed considers, briefly, the idea that his daughter will wake up tomorrow and Viktor will be infatuated with her. That would work, too, he supposes. It wouldn't be his favorite option, but it could be manageable.

“Is she… dead?”

Ah. That's it, then. Singed, carefully, turns his words in his brain, making sure to pick and choose them with surgical precision. Viktor is not crucial to the operation, but he could be. He is smart, and lonely, and Singed knows that human nature is not impossible to mold. He could turn Viktor into something vital. He could turn Viktor into someone necessary.

“Medically? Yes. Technically? No. See those tubes? They give her the proper nutrition. The ones over there? They keep her blood flowing, artificially. Much like a water pump. It is only temporary, Viktor. I will wake her up.”

Viktor's face changes. One of the feelings seems to simmer down. He looks less scared. Singed had not realized the boy was even trembling, not until he stops. Was he put off? Probably. Viktor was a scientist, but even great scientist had a weak stomach every once in a while. He will come out of it. Singed will help. Then, Viktor will help Singed. Symbiotic relationships are not a foreign concept, specially not to undercity children.

“How will you get her alive?”

There it is. The exact same moment where the cut has to be made, the spot where flesh and bone leave a gap for a scalpel. Viktor is as much of a scientist as he is a kid, and both those sides are easily swayed with shiny new theories. Singed sees his opportunity and takes it. He talks, and talks, and talks. Curative plants, cell-regeneration properties, necessary sacrifices, nature and evolution and everything he can possibly think of that would appeal to the child. He spews back years of research in a way that would make it impossible to replicate, making sure to leave information out when he deems it necessary. Can't have a preteen run around with your life's work, now, can he?

It doesn't seem to matter. At the end, Viktor's eyes are practically shining. He seems so starstruck. So impressed. So swayed. So convinced.

“Do you understand, boy?” Singed asks, placing the palm of his hand over his daughter's bed. "If you live here, I will ask nothing of you but your help with my investigation for her. When she wakes up, you will be her friend. You will be under my protection. I will feed you and keep you, as long as you comply."

“I don't, eh, understand the theory now.” Viktor answers, voice choked with emotion, gripping his cane. “But I really, really want to. I study. I care for her. I behave.”

“I will teach you, then. You must obey me. Everything I say, yes?”

With far too much convention for a child who hasn't finished dropping his molars, Viktor nods solemnly.

“Yes, sir.”

.

Singed doesn't think too highly of himself. Soon, Viktor starts to share the same idea. His disgust with the man is a river that starts with Rio and never ends.

It's far too late when he realizes that Singed is, truly, a horrible man. He is in it far too deep. Silco tugs at his leash, never pulling, not yet.

Then, he brings in a man. Jayce Talis understands Singed in more ways than one. The theory is complete.

[gomzdrawfr]

I am very late to the whole shenanigans but I watched a clip of Silco and Jinx from Arcane 1 (I think) and instantly teared up

[toastysol]

Can I just say I love Viktor Vektor so much. He's literally the best ripper in nc. V gets any sort of grim diagnosis from any medical professional, Vik goes "they did it wrong, lemme check up on you." He genuinely really cares about doing his job right (and he cares about v specifically I know) and I wouldn't trust any other ripper in nc to do my top surgery tbh. I think that's my metric for this. Would I trust them to do top surgery? No? Then they're not as good as Vik.

[ohwolfling]

The true divide in the Cyberpunk 2077 fandom...

is Viktor Vektor your

Dad™

or is he your

♡daddy🎀

[timaeusterrored]

“Hey pops?”

Vik’s patient looked up in confusion. “You dog! Since when did you have a kid?”

The kid was no older than 16, standing awkwardly at the entrance to Vik’s clinic. Vik rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Your jacket is over there, heading out?” He asked.

“Think so, I’ll bring home some dinner.”

“You two look nothing alike.” The client said rather bluntly.

“I’m adopted.” Vax stated, crossing his arms. Vik snorted and nodded. “What he said. Be safe, call if you need anything. You already know my order for the Chinese place down the street?” Vik asked like they hadn’t been doing this song and dance for a while now.

“Yeah. I’ll see ya later.” V hesitated, before giving Vik a surprise hug and rushing up the stairs to join his friends in doing god knows what. Vik snorted and rolled his eyes.

“Cute kid.” His client stated.

“He is. Love ‘em like he’s my own. He IS my own I guess.” He was still getting used to the whole ‘pops’ thing V had started.

[stcries]

are you okay?, accepting!

@plasticsouled wrote: 🫳 to put a comforting hand on my muse's shoulder. // Silco for Viktor in our au we've been plotting :) hehehehe

one was well aware of his deteriorating condition, he had been for a long time now, but did that curb his pursuit of knowledge? no, in fact, it only made the inventor all the more desperate, throwing aside basics needs and plunging head first into his research. with such tools at his fingertips, gifted by none other than silco himself, viktor wouldn’t dare to let such an opportunity go to waste. so here he was, when everyone should be asleep, hunched over at work table, continuing to push through.

however, his body wouldn’t let its pain be ignored for much longer. it hurt, everything hurt, his back from poor posture, the way eyes stung from forcing himself to be awake at such an hour. and then it came, a horrendous burning sensation within his throat and lungs, and before even viktor could try to stop it, he’s almost fighting for air.

loud coughing rings out in the room, lasting only about a minute, but energy is completely spent by the time it’s ended. quick, ragged breaths follow soon after, replenishing lost oxygen as golden hues are cast towards the crimson staining both face and sleeve. any normal person would be horrified, but for viktor? it’s simply another evening.

he’s just about to go back to his work, but the sudden hand upon his shoulder is quick to make him freeze. the briefest glance over his shoulder reveals its identity, making viktor internally curse. “ah silco, apologies if i woke you. i was just finishing up here, don’t mind me.” oh yeah he could try to lie all he wanted, but they both knew how this was going to end.

[humberg]

After standing to the side and admiring every single talented modder in this community I took the plunge and decided to give it a go!

Took about an hour, most of it was searching for the wrong button that was called something else 😂 But I have my first mod! <3 Shout out to @elvenbeard who was with me throughout the amusing process 😂

Obviously this is a jacket that Vincent would wear, it's now a staple in his wardrobe. On to the next one!

[tarmac-rat]

TFW you're two weeks removed from leaving your entire life behind and moving to Night City but you're restless and anxious and can't sleep so you sneak out in the dead of night and do something reckless and the only person you know who can fix you up is that old doctor guy your new friend took you to see in a basement last week for back alley chrome and fighting tips.

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

(insp.)

[rathockey]

cactus, mahonia, chamomile !!

cactus ⇢ something you’re currently learning (about)? oh to be learning something that wasn't work related..... currently i'm learning about the Employee Center of the ServiceNow platform. I hate it. adljfalksdjf

mahonia ⇢ what place, thing, activity inspires you most and how do you express yourself when it does? nothing makes me feel more alive than a snowfall tbh and i express that by rolling around in the snow like a maniac (not really sure this answers the question exactly but im feeling so uninspired lately this is the only thing im sure of LMAO)

chamomile ⇢ what kind of things do you like receiving as gifts? i'm really not a big gift guy, so definitely something practical! i've moved around a lot so knick knacks just read as clutter to me. but a good book or a silly kitchen utensil is always appreciated!

get-to-know-me ask game

[ka-pustka]

tosiek dropnij linka do tego mprega o fiyero

[nightingaletrash]

pink V is now the boxing queen, and damn these fights are so much easier when you invest in a blunt melee build lmao