#i don't see it often but when i do i do wonder

[ckret2]

i am FASCINATED by the little scraps i've heard about bill's uncle. am i allowed to know more about him. and if the answer is no do you have a chapter estimate for when i am

yeah sure, I already made a post on Bill's mom, I've finally got enough material to make a post on Bill's dad.

Bill got his gorgeous eyelashes, warm color scheme, black limbs, and personality from his mom. He got his shape, his brick lines, and his slitted pupil from his dad. His dad's a self-made businessman*! (*His dad got suckered into joining a multi-level marketing scheme and now he makes money by suckering other people into joining the MLM scheme.)

And: his dad has a brother. They're twiiins!

Bill keeps targeting twins. (The Stans, the kids, TBOB says Pyronica's got a twin sister Hydronica...) I imagine Bill's twin obsession is rooted in something close to home.

Because Euclid & Euler's eye split in half mid-development, they have unusually oval-shaped eyes—a common sign of twins. They've been going to an optometrist since they were toddlers to deal with poor eyesight and floaters in their peripheral vision. They've had a mix of surgery, corrective lenses, and medication to narrow their field of view to the area they can see clearly. So when baby Billy said he was seeing "bright white dots" on "the outside of everything," Euclid went aha! He knows exactly what Bill's seeing!

He did not, in fact, know what Bill was seeing.

Bill's parents didn't regularly visit family, but Euler was the one relative they saw most often. He was the first person to snap out of the "haha it sure is funny how Bill can guess when somebody's about to knock on the door" rationalizations to realize that Bill really could see things no one else did.

And since Bill's parents are sort of disasters who think starting a cult is a great get-rich-quick scheme, Euler was one of the most emotionally stable role models in Bill's life. It sure is a good thing that Euler was a constant presence and nothing happened to him during Bill's tender formative years!

"But wait," you say, "you told us that Bill got his shape and slit pupil from his dad. But wouldn't that mean he got genes for a square? And how could he have gotten a slit pupil if that wasn't a genetic trait, but a consequence of an eyeball splitting in half?"

Triangles and slit pupils don't run in Euclid's side of the family. But squares and twins do.

I imagine Bill's twin obsession is rooted in something close to home.

"So Steve exists in your headcanon—?" No. He's a stillbirth his parents pretend doesn't exist. He's a crime Bill committed before he was born. He's the imaginary phantom Bill's parents are searching for when they look at Bill—starting fires, hallucinating, spitting up his medicine—and wonder what he'd be like if he was different. He's a symbol representing a source of unconditional love and support that Bill deserved and needed, but never had. Steve's all those things—but he doesn't and never has existed.

And there at last is my Euclid headcanons post. If y'all are interested & didn't see it, here's my Scalene headcanons post! And some headcanons about shape twins that still basically work post-TBOB, we just know now that Euclideans don't need a line and a polygon to reproduce.

(95% of my headcanons about Bill's dad & uncle are pre-TBOB. The only difference is that I originally designed Euclid & Euler as green trapezoids that had split from a hexagon. Trapezoids so that Bill and his dad could do this, green so that Bill's dad could be the original color Bill was designed as before the Gravity Falls crew made him yellow & so that his family could be money-colored: gold-colored Bill & mom, dollar-bill-colored dad.)

(After TBOB/TINAWDC revealed his dad's a triangle and either red or blue, I decided to make the twins blue-green (because I wanted to keep in that "bill's original color scheme" reference) and finagle it so that Euler could still be a trapezoid; after Pyramid Steve came out, I suddenly had a really good thematic reason to make them blue-green. I'd been playing with the idea of making Bill a shoulda-beena twin, Steve finalized that decision by giving me a physical design that could tie into Bill's extended family.)

[hitomisuzuya]

husband scaramouche x fem!reader. head canons. fluff. soft!scara.

i really got the urge to write headcanons about husband scara, and how he would act with a pregnant wife. this is mainly cute headcanons. i may do the same thing with childe and aventurine.

when you announce to scaramouche that you are pregnant, he kneels in front of you and puts his hand on your stomach. "there is a cretin growing inside you?" despite his..unique choice of words, there is a hint of wonder and pride in his voice. once you scold him for said choice of words, and he tries again, he puts his ear to your stomach and says, "hello in there? are you a girl or a boy? whatever you are, i am waiting to welcome you into this world."

yeah, you definitely married him for a reason. looking down at him, your heart swells with so much love that you thought it might burst. this man, the feared balladeer, notorious for so many things is also your husband, the very same man hovering his hand so gently over your belly.

scaramouche would have this fierce need to be a good parent because he has already been the victim of having a shitty parent. there is no way he would do the same thing to his child.

that being said, he also takes being a husband very seriously. he even is a bit old fashioned about it. no wife of his would work if she didn't have to. of course, you could freely choose to work. he wouldn't stop you, but he certainly didn't have to like it. the way he sees it, his wife is strong, but if he can be strong for her, he can and he will. he is the protector. the provider and that was that.

his wife is the center of his world. he also married you for a reason. you don't let him get away with his shit. you argue with him, and back talk him without fear. you tell him what's what while still being patient with him. you have shown him qualities like being gentle and caring still exist. and he would burn all of teyvat and celestia itself if anything dared take you away from him.

whatever his wife wants, his wife gets, pretty much.

also, the kind of husband that says he doesn't want cats, but then you find him napping with said kitten sleeping curled up on his chest. you want cats and other pets, and he can't say no to you. but also know this, he genuinely enjoys having pets. you gotta know when to look at the right times to see them. moments like the one you took a picture of. they do happen. and often.

during your pregnancy, he is incredibly on top of things. he keeps all of your doctors appointments carefully noted. he makes them in advance on the exact day that they should be. if the doctor wanted to see you back in a week for some tests, the appointment was scheduled exactly one week later, at the same time as the previous appointment. he is incredibly particular.

really, the doctors and nurses have never seen anything like it before. this man would background check everyone if he could. twice.

literally fort knox level protection anytime you go out. there is not a chance anyone will come close to accidentally bumping into you. you had to have a talk with him about snapping at people he thought walked too close to you. twice. he struggles with improvement in this area to say the least.

if you have some crazy pregnancy cravings food in the middle of the night. it could be at 3am and he wouldn't care. he would be out the door getting it. in fact, man would start a war over it. "i don't care if that's what not you do. my wife is pregnant. i say you can do it, so you can do it."

when it's time for you to go on bed rest, he makes sure he is doing everything for you. if you needed anything, he got it for you.

when you found out you were pregnant, you also had this thought: 'god help the doctors and nurses working when i go into labor. i don't they will be prepared for scaramouche.' and you were right.

the nurses at your doctors office even put notes about him in your chart for the emergency room and hospital staff to look at in advance.

scaramouche makes sure everything is done straight to the letter. and that includes little things like your iv getting put in. he is even able to calculate the exact amount of time it takes for your iv drip bag to empty and is calling the nurse to change it. don't take this as being overbearing, he is just very nervous and scared. and this is how he deals with it. he wants to be able to help if the slightest thing goes wrong.

that just doesn't always show in the most polite ways to the staff sometimes.

the look on his face when he hears his child cry for the first time, and holds them for the first time is so soft. like he has seen one of the most beautiful things in this whole world besides his wife. it even makes the doctors and the nurses think that dealing with his colorful temperament was worth it just to see that look on his face.

[aspenmissing]

I don't know if you've done this already, but would you be able to write what the arcane characters would be like as parents? With Sevika and the usual characters?

ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴀɴ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ || 7131 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ɴᴏɴᴇ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ɪ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴀᴅᴏʀᴇ ᴅᴏɪɴɢ ᴘᴀʀᴇɴᴛᴀʟ ᴏɴᴇꜱ, ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ɪᴍᴀɢɪɴɪɴɢ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʙᴇ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀꜱ ᴀ ᴘᴀʀᴇɴᴛ! ɪᴅᴋ, ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ʙʀɪɴɢꜱ ᴀ ᴡᴀʀᴍᴛʜ ᴛᴏ ᴍʏ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ <3

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ

JAYCE

The morning sun filtered through the curtains of your shared bedroom, casting a golden glow over the peaceful form of Jayce. His arm was draped over your waist, his breathing steady and deep. For all the chaos that Hextech and politics brought into his life, these moments—the quiet ones at home—were what grounded him.

A soft rustling from the adjoining room had you both stirring. You smiled as Jayce groaned, burying his face into your neck with a muffled, "Five more minutes."

"Tell that to your daughter," you teased, pressing a kiss to his temple before slipping out of bed. Jayce grumbled, but the sound of tiny feet pattering against the wooden floor had him moving.

Your daughter, whom you named Aline, was a bundle of energy with bright eyes and wild hair that matched her father’s. She peeked around the corner with an eager grin. "Mama! Daddy! Wake up!"

Jayce chuckled, running a hand through his tousled hair before lifting her effortlessly into his arms. "Alright, little one, what’s the emergency?"

She giggled, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Breakfast! I'm hungry!"

You leaned against the doorway, arms crossed as you watched the two loves of your life. Jayce’s expression softened, his love for his daughter evident in the way he held her close. "Alright, sweetheart, pancakes sound good?"

The enthusiastic nod she gave him was answer enough. He pressed a kiss to her forehead before setting her down. "Go set the table with Mama, and I’ll whip up the best pancakes Piltover has ever seen."

=

Breakfast became a ritual in your home. Jayce took pride in making the fluffiest pancakes, ensuring that mornings started with laughter and warmth. Your daughter often insisted on helping. She would sit on the counter, stirring batter while giggling at Jayce’s exaggerated expressions. "You see, Alina, the secret to the best pancakes isn’t just the ingredients, but the love you put into them," he would say, making her eyes widen with wonder.

Raising Alina with Jayce had been an adventure in itself. He was fiercely protective, always ensuring she was safe and cared for. He shielded her from the darker parts of his work, never wanting her to feel the weight of the expectations he bore. But he was also her biggest supporter—whether she wanted to build something in his workshop, learn about the constellations, or even practice fencing, Jayce encouraged her every step of the way.

"Daddy, look! I made something!" Alina exclaimed one afternoon, proudly showing him a small wooden figure she had carved.

Jayce knelt beside her, examining the details with exaggerated seriousness. "This is incredible, sweetheart! Your craftsmanship is already better than mine when I was your age."

Alina beamed with pride, and you watched the moment unfold with a full heart. There was no doubt in your mind that she had inherited her father’s brilliance.

=

One evening, as the three of you sat on the balcony, watching the city lights, Alina curled up between you both, sleepily murmuring about how she wanted to invent things like her father. Jayce’s grip on her tightened just a little as he whispered, "You can do anything you set your mind to, my little spark. And I’ll always be here to help."

You smiled, reaching for his hand. Parenthood wasn’t easy, but with Jayce by your side, it was the greatest adventure of all.

=

As the days passed, the bond between father and daughter only grew stronger. Jayce would take Alina to his workshop, where she would watch him tinker, fascinated by the glowing blue crystals of Hextech. "What makes them shine, Daddy?" she had asked one day.

Jayce chuckled, lifting her onto his worktable. "Well, sweetheart, Hextech is a combination of science and magic. It’s about understanding the laws of the world while daring to push beyond them. Kind of like how you build towers with your blocks—sometimes you have to try different ways to make them stand taller."

Alina nodded seriously, absorbing his words. You couldn’t help but laugh, seeing the determination in her expression. She had so much of her father in her.

Jayce’s protectiveness showed in different ways. When Alina scraped her knee, he was there in an instant, lifting her into his lap and gently tending to her wound. "It’s okay to fall, sweetheart. What matters is that you get back up."

And when the time came for her to attend her first school event, he was the proudest father in the crowd, cheering her on as she recited a poem on stage. The love he had for her—and for you—shone in every glance, every reassuring touch, every bedtime story whispered under the glow of her nightlight.

=

One night, after Alina had fallen asleep, Jayce pulled you close, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. "Thank you," he murmured. "For giving me this. For giving me her."

You cupped his face, smiling against his lips. "We built this together, Jayce. And there’s no one else I’d want by my side."

As the city of Piltover bustled beyond your home, the three of you remained in your own little world—one built on love, laughter, and the endless possibilities of tomorrow.

VIKTOR

The soft hum of Piltover’s ever-present machinery filled the warmly lit apartment, blending with the rhythmic creaks of Viktor’s cane against the polished wooden floor. The scent of oil and parchment lingered in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of tea that Y/N had left unfinished on the bedside table. He moved carefully, balancing his weight as he stepped closer to the cradle—no, cradles. Two identical wooden frames side by side, each occupied by two tiny, peaceful bundles—Mira and Alric. His golden eyes filled with an emotion so raw and deep it nearly overwhelmed him.

“Shhh, Moje malé hvězdičky,” he murmured, his accent thick with exhaustion and love. “Let your mother rest a while.” (My Little Stars)

Viktor had never imagined himself as a father. His life had always been an uphill battle, dictated by the sharp mind he was gifted with and the frailty of his body. But now, as he cradled one of his children in his arms, while the other stirred gently in their bed, he knew he had never loved anything more fiercely.

A small, furry creature stirred at the foot of the bed—Bramble, their ever-curious poro, blinked sleepily before rolling onto his side, his tiny paws twitching in his dreams. The poro had been a gift from Heimerdinger, a small companion Viktor had grown impossibly fond of, and now, he was just another part of their little family.

Y/N stirred from the bed, her eyes heavy with sleep but filled with warmth as she watched him. “You should rest too,” she whispered, her voice soft yet knowing. “Your leg—”

Viktor waved off her concern with a tired chuckle. “I have spent many nights awake for far lesser reasons than our children.” He settled onto the nearby chair with careful precision, adjusting his cane against the armrest before shifting Mira in his arms. Alric stirred slightly, and Bramble let out a soft, content snuffle before curling closer to the cradles. “Besides, I enjoy this.”

He did. Despite the exhaustion, despite the pain that often gnawed at his joints, there was a peace in these quiet moments. The way Mira’s tiny fingers curled around his own, the warmth of Alric’s small body tucked into the quilt—it was grounding, in a way nothing else had ever been.

He had spent years seeking progress, chasing knowledge and innovation with a single-minded desperation. Piltover was a city of advancements, a beacon of brilliance and invention. He had once believed that was all he needed. But here, in the soft glow of lamplight, with his children nestled safely in their cradles, he found something he had never sought but now realized he needed: a future not built on science alone, but on love.

Y/N smiled at the sight of him, knowing all too well that Viktor would deny any talk of his exhaustion, but that he would never deny their children a moment of his attention.

“You are so patient with them,” she mused, shifting to sit beside him, her head resting against his shoulder. “I think they adore you more than me.”

Viktor huffed a quiet laugh. “That is impossible.” He kissed the top of her head before gazing back down at Mira and Alric. “But if true… then I can hardly blame them. I am quite fond of them myself.”

Alric let out a small noise, shifting slightly before settling back into sleep. Mira followed suit, her tiny hand grasping at Viktor’s sleeve as if she knew exactly where she wanted to be. Viktor ran a gentle hand over the soft wisps of their hair, his expression softening even further.

“I do wonder what they will grow to be,” he murmured, his mind always lost in the possibilities. “What they will dream of. What they will create.”

Y/N sighed, content. “Whatever they choose, they’ll have us to guide them.”

Viktor nodded, his grip tightening ever so slightly around his daughter. A silent vow, unspoken but deeply felt. No matter what came their way, no matter how difficult the road ahead, he would be there. For Y/N, for Mira, for Alric.

Because love—this love—was the greatest thing he had ever created.

=

As the night deepened, the city of Piltover carried on outside, the hum of its mechanized heart never ceasing. But here, in the quiet of their home, time felt still. Viktor sat there for hours, his mind drifting between the future and the present, between science and family. Every so often, one of the twins would stir, a tiny yawn escaping them, and Viktor would press a kiss to their forehead, murmuring soft reassurances in his native tongue.

Bramble let out a soft purring sound as he stretched and curled up closer to the base of the cradles, his warm, fluffy presence adding another layer of comfort to their little family.

Viktor thought of the future, of the knowledge he could pass on, of the things he and Y/N would teach their children. Of the wonders Mira and Alric would one day discover, the brilliance they might inherit. Would they take after their father’s ceaseless curiosity, their mother’s boundless warmth? Would they build, explore, create?

=

As the years passed, Viktor imagined them toddling after him in his workshop, their small hands eager to tinker with the devices and tools scattered across his desk. He pictured Mira’s determined frown as she studied a schematic with the same intensity he did, Alric’s laughter echoing through their home as he chased after Bramble in the morning light.

He imagined them growing older, standing by his side, listening to his stories of his past—his triumphs, his failures, the lessons he had learned along the way. He thought of their hands, once so small in his, growing stronger, capable of shaping the future as they saw fit.

No matter what, Viktor vowed, he would be there to witness it all. To celebrate their victories, to comfort them in their struggles, to remind them that no matter how much the world changed, they would always have a place in it—together.

JAYVIK

The workshop smelled of warm metal and ink, the scent a permanent part of their lives. The hum of Hextech crystals and the soft scratching of Viktor’s pen against blueprints blended with the laughter of their children—chaotic, beautiful, and ever-present.

Lucian, their eight-year-old, sat cross-legged on Viktor’s worktable, a small contraption in his hands. His dark brown curls bounced as he turned the device over, careful, yet brimming with excitement.

“Tatínek, do you think if I adjust the pressure valve here, it’ll make it faster?” Lucian asked, tilting his head toward Viktor. (Papa)

Viktor, cane resting against the table, gave a small, proud smile. “That depends on what you want it to do. More pressure might increase speed, but stability is just as important, můj malý vynálezce.” He tapped the blueprints beside him, adjusting his glasses. (My Little Inventor)

Across the room, Jayce sat on the floor, holding a giggling Liana upside down while Felix clambered onto his back. “Alright, alright, I surrender!” he laughed, his broad frame barely wobbling under their combined weight.

Liana shrieked in delight, her tiny fists grasping at Jayce’s arms. “No surrender, Daddy!”

Felix, the quieter of the two, pressed his cheek against Jayce’s shoulder and sighed happily. “We win,” he murmured, victorious.

Jayce grinned and reached up to ruffle Felix’s golden hair. “You’re getting heavy, kiddo.”

Y/N watched from the doorway, arms crossed, amused at the contrast between their two partners. Lucian, the child she and Jayce shared, was quiet, thoughtful, and deliberate in all things—so much like Viktor that it was almost eerie. Meanwhile, Nova and Felix, their wild, boundless children with Viktor, were a force of nature, as if chaos had been bottled up and released into two tiny bodies.

=

Viktor’s parenting was meticulous, full of gentle instruction and quiet pride. He wasn’t one for running around, but he made up for it with bedtime stories, soft reassurances, and a keen awareness of their children’s needs. He saw them, truly saw them, whether it was Lucian’s fascination with mechanics, Felix’s curiosity or Liana’s boundless energy. He had a way of making each of them feel special,

Jayce, on the other hand, was all action. He built pillow forts that took up entire rooms, carried the twins on his shoulders like a living jungle gym, and never turned down a game of tag—even when it meant knocking over a carefully placed stack of Viktor’s notes. He encouraged their energy, their boldness, and met their every demand for attention with laughter and open arms. And though Lucian wasn’t as prone to chaotic bursts of energy like his younger siblings, Jayce made sure to include him too—whether it was by playfully challenging him to engineering contests or scooping him up into a bear hug when he was too deep in thought. Jayce never let Lucian retreat too far into his own head, keeping their son grounded with warmth and enthusiasm, knowing how important it was to balance intellect with play.

“I hope you know you’re teaching them to be absolute terrors,” Viktor mused, watching Jayce let Liana climb onto his head.

Jayce chuckled, catching her before she could tumble. “Terrors? No way. They’re gonna be strong, brave, and maybe a little reckless.” He gave Y/N a wink. “Just like their parents.”

Lucian adjusted the tiny gears in his hands, looking up. “Tatínek's not reckless.”

Jayce smirked. “Not now, but back in the day? Let’s just say he—”

“Jayce,” Viktor warned, a light flush dusting his cheeks.

Y/N laughed, stepping forward to press a kiss to Viktor’s temple. “I think we all know you’re the mastermind behind half of Jayce’s past chaos.”

Viktor huffed, but the way his hand brushed against Y/N’s waist betrayed his fondness.

Liana and Felix, meanwhile, had abandoned Jayce and were now engaged in their favourite activity: climbing whatever structure was closest. At the moment, it was Viktor’s bookshelf.

“Felix, Liana—off,” Viktor said firmly, his golden eyes narrowing.

“Aw, but tatínek, we were gonna touch the top!” Liana whined, pouting. Felix nodded, as if that argument was fool proof.

Y/N sighed and shook her head. “If you two want to climb something, go outside with Jayce. The bookshelf isn’t a jungle gym.”

The twins groaned but obeyed, darting out of the workshop, pulling Jayce along with them. “Come on, Daddy, let’s race!” Liana shouted, and Jayce barely had time to react before she and Felix took off.

Viktor exhaled, rubbing his temple. “How do they have so much energy?”

Lucian smirked. “They don’t sit still long enough to lose any.”

Y/N chuckled and leaned against Viktor. “At least they make life interesting.”

Viktor huffed but didn’t disagree.

Their home was loud. It was messy. It was filled with Hextech parts, scattered toys, and the occasional faint scent of something burning (thanks to one of Lucian’s early experiments). But it was theirs. And as Viktor leaned into Y/N’s touch, and Jayce was pulled into another game outside, one thing was certain—

Their little family was perfect.

VANDER

The bustling sounds of The Last Drop hummed softly in the background, a familiar lullaby of clinking glasses and murmured conversations. Vander leaned against the counter, his broad arms crossed as he watched Y/N cradling their daughter, Reina, in her arms. The toddler had just begun speaking in full sentences, and tonight, she was babbling excitedly about the stories Vi had told her before bed.

"Papa, Vi says she punched a guy bigger than you!" Reina's big eyes shone with wonder as she looked up at her father.

Vander let out a deep chuckle, shaking his head. "That so?" He glanced over at Vi, who stood near Powder and Mylo, grinning with pride.

"You should've seen it, Vander! He was talking trash, and I—" Vi mimicked a punch, making Mylo wince and Claggor smirk.

Y/N sighed, shifting Reina higher on her hip. "And you taught her this?" she asked, her voice laced with mock disapproval as she raised a brow at Vander.

He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Well, maybe she picked up a thing or two from watchin'." He crouched down to Reina's level, ruffling her thick curls. "But don’t you go punchin’ people, alright? That’s Vi’s job."

Reina giggled, resting her tiny hands on his scruffy beard. "I wanna be strong like Vi and Papa!"

Vander let out a hearty laugh, pulling her into his arms. "You're already strong, sweetheart. Strongest little one I know."

Powder, who had been quiet up until now, tugged at Y/N’s sleeve. "Mama, can I braid Reina’s hair before bed? I learned a new one!"

Y/N smiled warmly, brushing a strand of Powder’s blue hair back. "Of course, darling. She’d love that."

"Yay!" Powder gently took Reina's tiny hand, leading her toward the worn-out couch where she often played with her dolls.

Vi stretched, cracking her knuckles with a grin before flopping down next to them. "You should let me teach Reina some moves when she’s older, Pops. She’s got potential."

"Oh no, no, no," Y/N interjected, shaking her head. "One brawler in the family is enough."

Vander smirked, wrapping an arm around Y/N’s waist. "Gotta agree with your ma, Vi. Though, I’ll admit, Reina’s got the spirit."

Vi huffed but smiled. "Fine, but at least let me teach her how to dodge. That way, she won’t get hit."

Claggor chuckled. "I dunno, Vi. She might end up better than you."

Vi gasped dramatically. "Betrayal!" She flopped back on the couch as the others laughed.

=

Meanwhile, Powder was diligently braiding Reina’s dark curls, her tongue poking out in concentration. "Almost done! You’re gonna look so pretty, Reina!"

The little girl beamed. "Like a princess?"

"Like a warrior princess!" Powder corrected, tying off the braid with a small ribbon she’d scavenged earlier that week.

Vander watched them, his expression softening. He wasn’t a perfect man, but he tried. He tried for the family he had built from scraps of a broken world. Y/N, the love of his life, had given him another reason to keep fighting. Their daughter was the very proof that good could still be found in the Undercity.

He felt Y/N’s hand slip into his, and he squeezed it gently. "Y’know," he murmured, watching their kids chatter amongst themselves, "I never thought I'd get somethin’ like this. Not in a place like Zaun."

Y/N leaned against his arm, her warmth grounding him. "You built this, Vander. Our family. You kept them safe."

He exhaled deeply, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I’ll keep ‘em safe always. No matter what."

As the dim lanterns flickered in the quiet of their home, Vander knew—he'd fight for them till his last breath.

=

Later that night, after the kids had been tucked into their makeshift beds, Vander and Y/N sat on the small worn-out couch in the back of The Last Drop. Reina was curled up on Vander’s lap, breathing softly in her sleep, her tiny fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt. Y/N traced absent patterns on Vander’s forearm, their quiet moment of peace feeling almost sacred.

"Think she’ll be a troublemaker when she’s older?" Y/N teased, glancing up at him.

Vander huffed a tired laugh. "With this lot? No doubt about it."

Y/N chuckled, resting her head against his shoulder. "She’s lucky to have you. All of them are."

He sighed, watching the glow of the lanterns flicker against the old wooden walls. "I’m the lucky one, love. They gave me a reason to be better. To do better."

A comfortable silence settled between them, the weight of the world momentarily forgotten in the warmth of their shared love and the steady rhythm of Reina’s breathing.

For a moment, Vander allowed himself to believe that they’d always have this—that their family would always be whole, safe in the little world they’d built together.

SILCO

Zaun belonged to the restless, to the desperate, to the ones who carved their names into the undercity with blood and ambition. It had no room for weakness, no tolerance for sentiment. The strong survived, and the cunning thrived.

And among them stood Silco—The Eye of Zaun, the man whose voice could break kings and whose hand could build empires. Ruthless, calculating, unshaken.

But behind the steel doors of his sanctuary, he was something else entirely.

He was a father.

Their son, Lior, was still small, still soft in the way all children were, but Silco could already see the sharpness forming behind his storm-gray eyes. There was a quiet weight in them, a knowing look that reminded him of himself. Too perceptive for a child. Too thoughtful.

Perhaps that was why Silco found himself reaching for him more than he should.

=

In public, Silco played his part well. He walked with Lior at his side, his long fingers resting lightly on the boy’s shoulder or curling around his smaller hand with just enough pressure to anchor him. He did not dote, nor did he allow himself the indulgence of affection.

He never called his name too sweetly. Never offered a soft word in the presence of others. Never let the boy out of arm’s reach, but never held on too tight. To the world, Lior was merely a shadow trailing behind him, his existence acknowledged but never openly protected.

Silco knew what weakness in the open could invite. The vultures of Zaun, and worse—Piltover’s wolves.

Lior never complained about the distance, never questioned the way his father’s grip remained firm but never too warm. But sometimes, when the crowd pressed too close, when unfamiliar eyes lingered too long, he would squeeze Silco’s fingers just slightly.

A silent question. A reassurance.

Silco would barely glance down, his expression never shifting, but his thumb would brush over the boy’s knuckles in a rare, fleeting motion.

"I’m here."

It was all Lior ever needed. But behind closed doors? Behind closed doors, he could not put the boy down.

=

The moment the weight of the world was locked outside, Silco would find his son and lift him without hesitation, pressing him against his chest as if he needed to reassure himself that he was real. That he was safe.

Lior never protested. He simply curled into his father’s embrace, his tiny fingers clutching at the fabric of Silco’s coat. He knew better than to expect affection outside these walls, but here—here, his father was different.

There was no cold detachment, no distant authority. Only quiet whispers and steady hands, the soft rustling of Silco’s coat as he shifted, adjusting his grip to keep Lior close. The boy’s head would rest against his father’s chest, his breathing slowing to match the rhythmic rise and fall beneath his ear.

Y/N would often walk in to find them like that. Silco seated in his chair, legs crossed, one arm bracing Lior against his chest while his free hand absentmindedly stroked the boy’s dark hair. It was an unconscious motion, a habit formed from a love too dangerous to be shown to the outside world.

"You'll spoil him," Y/N would tease, arms crossed as she leaned against the doorframe, watching the way Lior all but melted into his father’s hold—a sight so rare, so fragile, that she never truly tired of it.

Silco never looked up. The only sign that he’d heard her was the ghost of a smirk at the corner of his lips.

"Then let him be spoiled," he would murmur, his fingers still threading through Lior’s hair, slow and deliberate. "Let him know his father’s arms will always be strong enough to hold him."

And hold him, he did.

=

On nights when the city was restless, and Y/N woke to the rustle of fabric, she would find Silco sitting at the edge of their bed, Lior cradled in his arms. The boy would be fast asleep, his face buried against Silco’s chest, completely unaware of the world beyond the warmth that surrounded him.

Silco would sit there for hours, unmoving, as though the slightest shift might cause the moment to shatter.

Y/N knew better than to say anything in those moments. She could see it in Silco’s gaze—the unspoken fear that clawed at the back of his mind. The same fear he never voiced but that always lingered.

He had built an empire, made himself untouchable, but power was fragile. A child was fragile.

And he would not lose his son. Not to the city. Not to fate. Not to anyone.

=

Morning always brought a shift in the air.

By daylight, Silco was back to his usual self—composed, detached but never unkind. Lior was expected to be observant, to listen more than he spoke, to learn the undercity not just with his eyes but with his instincts.

The world would not wait for him to grow.

Silco never coddled him in the streets. He did not scoop him up when he fell, did not shield him from the grime of Zaun, did not soften the lessons that needed to be learned. When Lior tripped, he was expected to stand. When he made a mistake, he was made to understand it. Silco never raised his voice, never scolded without purpose. He simply watched—waiting, assessing. And when Lior found his footing, dusted himself off and raised his chin without complaint, his father would nod in quiet approval.

But he was never alone.

Silco’s hand was always there—a firm, steady weight on his shoulder. Not forceful, not indulgent, but present. A silent promise.

=

Lior didn’t understand at first. As a child, he had only known that the streets were different from home. That in public, his father’s voice was sharp and cutting, his movements purposeful and unyielding. He was not a man who lifted him without hesitation, not the same father whose fingers carded through his hair when the city was locked away behind steel doors.

But as he grew, he began to see.

He began to notice the way people looked at him when they realized whose child he was—the weight of their gazes, the calculation in their eyes. He began to hear the way voices shifted when his father entered a room, the way some grew sharp with resentment, others lowered in quiet fear.

He began to understand why.

One day, when he was older, he would remember the times he had reached for his father’s hand in the crowded streets of Zaun. How Silco had let him, but only briefly—only until the moment passed, until the air grew still again. Until it was safe.

“There are people who would see you as a weakness,” he finally said, his voice even. “I cannot allow that.”

One day, he would understand that love, when tied to power, had to be protected.

The world of men like Silco was cruel, unyielding. It did not permit softness, but that did not mean Lior would grow unloved.

No—he would know love in the way only his father could give it. In the security of his grip. In the strength of his arms behind closed doors. In the quiet, whispered reassurances at night.

And one day, Lior would understand why his father had to be both things at once.

SEVIKA

The dim glow of the Last Drop’s neon sign flickered against the rain-slicked streets of Zaun, painting the pavement in a dull red haze as you finally stepped inside your apartment. The weight of the day pressed down on your shoulders, exhaustion creeping into your bones, but the familiar scent of oil, metal, and smoke reminded you that you were home.

Sevika’s presence was unmistakable.

She was seated at the small, battered table in the corner, her usual spot, methodically disassembling and cleaning her mechanical arm with the precision of a well-practiced soldier. The candlelight flickered against her sharp features, casting shadows across the deep scars that marred her skin. Her brows were furrowed, lips pressed into a tight line, focused on her task.

A small, warm weight squirmed in your arms.

Your son, Cassian, let out a quiet giggle, his tiny hands clutching at the worn fabric of your coat.

“Mama home,” he murmured sleepily, voice thick with drowsiness as he tucked himself further into your embrace.

Your heart swelled as you pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. “Yeah, sweetheart,” you whispered, rocking him gently. “I’m home.”

Sevika’s eyes flickered toward you both.

For a brief moment, something in her expression shifted—so subtle that if you weren’t paying attention, you would have missed it. A flicker of something softer, something uncertain, before her face hardened once more. Without a word, she turned back to her arm, running the rag over the metal plating, the only sign of her tension being the slight clench of her jaw.

She never quite knew how to react when Cassian called you that.

You had been together for months now—long enough for her to get used to your presence, your touch, the warmth you offered despite the cold, unrelenting reality of Zaun. But when it came to your son?

Sevika kept her distance.

Not out of hatred. Not out of disinterest. But something else. Something quieter. Something like fear.

=

That night, when you were half-asleep, you felt the bed shift.

The mattress dipped slightly under her weight, and a heavy sigh filled the room—one of those deep, wearied exhales she let out only when she thought no one was paying attention.

Through the dim candlelight, you cracked open an eye and found Sevika sitting on the edge of the bed, her broad shoulders hunched forward, her gaze locked onto the small, sleeping form across the room. Her usual hardened mask was gone.

For once, she wasn’t scowling, wasn’t exuding her usual air of indifference. Instead, she just stared at him—watching the slow, steady rise and fall of his little chest, the way his tiny fingers curled around the edge of his blanket.

Something unreadable flickered across her face. Something vulnerable.

Reaching out, you brushed your fingers lightly against her back. “You can hold him, you know,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

She tensed under your touch, her shoulders locking up for a brief second before she shook her head.

“I don’t wanna break ‘im.”

A quiet chuckle slipped past your lips. “You’re not going to break him, Sev.”

She scoffed, but it wasn’t her usual rough dismissal—it was hollow, uneasy. “You don’t get it,” she muttered, voice low. “I don’t do… kids. I don’t know how to be—”

She cut herself off with another sigh, running a tired hand down her face. How to be what?

Gentle? Safe? A mother?

You didn’t push her. Not yet. Instead, you curled up closer to her, resting your head against the warm, solid strength of her back.

“You don’t have to be perfect, Sev. He already has me. But he could have you, too.”

She didn’t respond. Just sat there, eyes still locked onto Cassian’s small, sleeping form.

=

The change wasn’t immediate.

Sevika was still Sevika—sharp, rough-edged, and unapproachable in the way only someone who had spent years hardening herself to the world could be. She didn’t know how to be soft, didn’t know how to offer warmth the way you did.

But little by little, the cracks started to show. She stopped avoiding Cassian so much.

At first, it was subtle. When he toddled around the apartment, chattering excitedly to himself about whatever wild, nonsensical things a child’s mind could conjure, she didn’t immediately leave the room anymore.

She lingered.

She would stay seated at the table, pretending to be focused on cleaning her blade, or adjusting the mechanics of her arm, but her eyes would flick toward him every so often, sharp and observant. It wasn’t disinterest—it was caution.

She was watching. Learning.

Trying to understand this tiny, chaotic creature that had somehow become a permanent part of her life.

Then came the moments where her presence became more than just a passive one.

=

When you sat on the floor with Cassian, rolling a little wooden ball back and forth, Sevika would pretend not to pay attention—arms crossed, expression unreadable. But every time the ball tumbled just out of Cassian’s reach, and he scrambled to grab it, she would watch closely.

And then, if he caught it—if his tiny fingers finally wrapped around it without fumbling—you’d hear it.

A low, almost imperceptible, gruff: "Good job, kid."

It was barely anything, really. Just two words, muttered as if she wasn’t sure why she was saying them.

But to Cassian, it was everything.

The first time she said it, he lit up, beaming so brightly it nearly knocked the air from your lungs. He turned to her immediately, as if hoping to catch her gaze, to confirm that yes, she was talking to him.

Sevika, realizing her mistake, grunted and looked away, pretending to be more interested in the scratches on her gauntlet. But you caught the way her lips twitched—just a little.

She was cracking. And Cassian noticed it too. Because after that day, he started looking for her.

=

"Sevika, look! Sevika, watch me!"

Every time he figured out how to stack his blocks higher, every time he coloured some messy, indecipherable drawing, he would turn to her. His little hands clutching whatever prize he had just created, his wide, bright eyes searching for her approval.

And for the first few weeks, she didn’t know how to handle it.

At first, she would only grunt, offering vague hums of acknowledgment, trying not to encourage the idea that she was interested. But then came the day when you caught her off-guard.

You had stepped into the other room for barely a second, just long enough to grab a rag to wipe down the counter, and when you returned, you found them.

Cassian was standing by her chair, holding up a crude little drawing in his tiny hands. Sevika, who had spent weeks acting like she wanted nothing to do with him—was holding it. Holding it with her flesh hand, turning it slightly as if actually studying it.

It was a mess of smudged crayon and clumsy shapes, mostly scribbles that barely resembled anything at all, but Cassian was waiting. Waiting for her reaction.

Sevika exhaled heavily through her nose. Paused. Then—softer than you had ever heard her speak before—she muttered:

“Not bad, kid.”

And that was the moment it all changed.

Because Cassian grinned—this wide, toothy, purely delighted grin—and without hesitation, he wrapped his little arms around her leg, hugging her.

Sevika tensed immediately, her entire body going rigid, as if the sudden contact had physically struck her.

For a split second, you thought she would push him away. Not out of cruelty, but out of pure panic, the same way a soldier reacts on instinct when something unexpected happens.

But then— She didn’t. She didn’t push him away. She let him stay.

And for a second—just one second—her flesh hand twitched, hovering awkwardly before finally, carefully, settling against his small back.

It wasn’t much. Just a single, brief pat. But it was enough. More than enough.

And as Cassian pulled away, his tiny voice filled with pride, he beamed up at her and said something that made Sevika’s entire world tilt.

“I like you, Sevika.”

You swore you heard her stop breathing. The words hung in the air for a long, aching moment. And then, after what felt like forever, she swallowed hard and muttered—rough, hesitant, but genuine:

“…Yeah, kid. I know.”

She wouldn’t say it back. Not yet. But the walls were cracking. And she didn’t try to rebuild them.

=

It happened one quiet evening, Cassian had been toddling across the room, his small hands clutching a worn wooden toy, the paint chipped and faded from years of use. He had claimed it as his favorite weeks ago, always keeping it close, dragging it across the floor as he moved with that unsteady, fearless energy that only children possessed. His tiny feet pattered against the old floorboards, his laughter filling the apartment, an innocent sound in a city that had very little innocence left to give.

And then—he tripped.

It happened so fast—too fast.

One small misstep. A tiny foot catching on a loose floorboard. The sharp, startled gasp that left his lips just before his little body pitched forward, too quickly, too suddenly.

Your chest tightened. Instinct kicked in, panic seizing every muscle in your body as you moved, heart lurching toward your throat—

But you didn’t get the chance. Because before you could even react— Sevika was already there.

She moved like a shadow cutting through smoke, reacting before thought, before hesitation could creep in, before the fear of touching him could take hold.

Her flesh hand caught him mid-fall, strong, steady, effortless, while her mechanical arm hovered awkwardly at her side, twitching slightly as if wanting to help but too afraid to touch.

And then—she froze.

Her entire body locked up, muscles tense, shoulders rigid as if she had just caught a live grenade instead of a child. Her breathing grew uneven, her chest rising and falling in shallow bursts as she held him—not pulling him closer, not letting him go, just holding him.

She was stiff, uncertain, like she had just realized what she had done. Like she didn’t know what came next.

Cassian sniffled, his big, teary eyes blinking up at her, tiny fingers grasping at the fabric of her vest in a quiet plea for comfort. For a brief moment, you expected him to cry—to reach for you, call for you, the way he always did when he needed reassurance.

But instead— He giggled.

Soft. Light. Completely unbothered.

As if being caught by Sevika, of all people, was the most normal thing in the world. Then, before she could even begin to process it— His little arms wrapped around her neck.

His body curled into her chest like he had done it a thousand times before, the kind of trust that was so pure, so absolute, that it felt impossibly heavy in a way Sevika had never known.

And then— One small, earth-shattering sentence.

"You're really warm, Mom."

Sevika went completely still.

Her breath hitched, her body stiffening as if the words had physically struck her. Her grip on him faltered for just a second—not enough to drop him, but enough for you to see it. That moment of absolute disbelief.

The way her jaw clenched, the way her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard, the way her entire world seemed to tilt beneath her feet. She didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

Didn’t do anything except stand there, frozen, as the weight of those words settled over her like a tidal wave, drowning her in something too big to contain. You could see it breaking her down.

The way her usual sharp, hardened exterior crumbled at the edges, unravelling into something raw and aching.

You had seen Sevika take hits that would have shattered another person. You had seen her face death without flinching, without hesitation, without fear.

But now?

Now she looked like a woman who had just been laid bare—a woman who had spent years building walls around herself, only for a single sleepy, innocent voice to tear them all down in seconds.

Her flesh hand, the one still clutching Cassian, slowly relaxed. Her metal fingers, which had always hesitated, always hovered just out of reach, finally—carefully, cautiously—brushed against his small back.

A light, almost hesitant touch. Like she was testing whether she was allowed to hold him. And then—so softly, so quietly, you almost missed it—

She exhaled.

The tension in her body eased—not completely, but enough. Her flesh hand shifted slightly, adjusting, settling, cradling him with more certainty than before.

Her grip, once stiff and unsure, became something else. Something solid. Something secure. She still looked overwhelmed, still looked like she wasn’t sure what to do with the small child pressed against her, but—

She didn’t let go. She didn’t pull away. And her eyes—her sharp, battle-worn, haunted eyes—shimmered.

She wouldn’t cry.

Not in front of you. Not in front of him. But you knew. You took a quiet step forward, closing the space between you, placing a gentle hand over hers. Sevika startled slightly, like she had forgotten you were even there. Her gaze snapped up to meet yours, and for the first time in a long, long while—

She looked afraid. Not of Cassian. Not of breaking him. But of losing him. Of losing the one person in this world who had just called her ‘Mom.’ Her lips parted slightly, her voice barely above a whisper, raw and unsteady.

“…Guess I’m a mom now.” You smiled, your fingers squeezing hers in silent reassurance.

“Yeah,” you whispered, pressing a soft kiss to her shoulder. “You are.”

And Sevika— who had spent her life closing herself off, keeping people at a distance, choosing steel and strength over softness— Held Cassian a little closer.Not enough for anyone else to notice. But you noticed. And for the first time in a long, long while—

Sevika didn’t look so afraid.

[psycheetamore]

@houserautha : thank you for this vulnerable post. I feel you. I support you. I love you for writing this. I love you for writing TDE and the one shots.

When I first joined Tumblr I did not feel entitled to comment on anything. Now I have more of a FU, I will comment on whatever approach. So where I may not have been commenting on every single bit, I have been mentioning your work here and there.

Let me be a bit introspective. Show some of the negative impacts the point you raise, which I also undergo, have caused me to commit.

A first disclaimer to add: I know I am in no way entitled to any response from anyone. This is a me-problem. I know that. That does not mean it does not hurt. But that is not a you-problem, it is a me-problem.

I have been inclined so often to make a similar post. But what refrained me, is that I know some of the topics I explore in my fics are quite niche, and that I know my writing qualities are nowhere near for instance yours. Anyhow, it has made me feel not entitled to make this observation, but if you do it, with your wonderful writing style and mix of plot & smut, while capturing our na-Baron's heart perfectly, then I am entitled to support you by sharing my own feelings.

A bit of background on what I have tried to do to keep the fandom alive, and how it has (not) been responded to:

I try to comment increasingly on posts, trying to increase engagement and kickstart a convo. Sometimes I will go out of my way and do lenghty reposts. Yet this more often does not result in any responses than it does. Again: I am not entitled to any response, me responding does not mean anyone is obliged to respond. But even the lack of a smiley or whatever makes me feel like I am a social outcast (it throws me back to my youth, truly). Sometimes I will see in the blogger's page that they are on a spectrum, which removes that negative feeling btw - in such cases I will continue.

I became a member to a Feyd community (invitation only thing). I felt so honoured! I dragged in some of my favourite fanfic writers, who all happily obliged. Only to see that after a first few posts from my hand the responses started to decline. With the last posts resulting in zero engagement. Nobody owes me anything, but it makes it hard to stay in there. It feels like rejection (more on that below), and I have too much self respect to act like a puppy being kicked repeatedly yet coming back. Again: this is all about my feelings, and nobody owes me shit.

I write fanfic. My writing style is not there with the Feyd author gods I so adore. Working on that, pouring my heart and soul in it, and it is ok if people don't like it. Somehow, few likes and no comments allows me to see my fic as niche, while a lot of likes and no comments make me feel more empty? I don't know.

And it has started to bug me. It has caused me to have periods of negative vibes around tumblr. It has concretely caused a few types of responses:

I have stepped out of the Feyd Tumblr Community Group. I thought about it for a few months. Was very reluctant as I dragged in quite a few people. That tbh has reduced these feelings; stepping out of that has been positive for my mental welbeing.

With people who engage with me, I will return the favour. With people who don't, I will feel reluctance. With a few I even thought about unfollowing them. I prioritise commenting on authors who engage with me on a regular basis, over great authors who don't. Perhaps it is because it makes me feel they are entitled. This is bad, because this causes the downward spiral. And there could be good reasons why they do not ready any of the fics I write, even if I tag them very deliberately (I do not tag a lot). And again: I am not entitled to anything. But it hurts. And effectively it makes me respond & engage less than if I would be a 100% happy go lucky me. Want my engagement, want my engagement continuously? A little pat on the back will go a far way.

I write less than I would want to. I am an extravert. I thrive on engagement with people. Bouncing ideas of them. Lack of it has a negative impact.

Esp around christmas I felt quite horrible about all of this. It was esp the result of a few bloggers who suddenly did not respond anymore. It made me feel so rejected. Like I did something wrong. It made me contemplate quitting tumblr a couple of times. But I decided not to do that, because this is not the first time this happened, so it is something linked to me, not tumblr as such. It made me do some soulsearching. It stems from my youth. I listened to quite some podcasts, read articles etc. I learned that I am hardwired for rejection. Everything that happens, or does not happen, will be seen in my head as rejection. I feel so freaking ashamed to admit this, tbh. I have only 1 real life friend I dared to admit this to. I felt so ashamed around christmas, that I was being brought to these obsessive feelings over a fricking fandom. I am nearly at tears writing this. No, let's be honest. I am in tears.

And this is all not helping the fandom! I am showing behaviour that is not helping this fandom I so much love. With the bloggers I mentioned who stopped responding, I later on continued to have some nice convo's (but I feel held back to show myself as deeply as I did before - I am hardwired for rejection), showing it is a problem with me and how I interpret actions.

But that is all not helping the point you so rightfully raise. The topic on how we keep this fandom alive.

To keep it alive we do not need a lot of people, we need a few people who are willing to engage a lot.

In the real world my suggestion would be to gather a core group of Feyd girlies who see this as an issue and have proven to be active and supportive, and do something about it. Like voluntarily promise to try to support each other. I hoped this would be the case with the Feyd community I stepped out of last week, but unfortunately it wasn't.

This is a fandom: the fact that it is declining is by itself the rightful consequence of its members not feeling it is worth having. So, my crude conclusion is that the decline is the natural consequence of what all of us are willing to put into this.

But, now I have poured my heart and soul into this post, it has caused relief. And I have an idea. Because not only am I hardwired to find rejection and look at myself in a bad way, I am also hardwired to see solutions.

personally I think it’s a shame how fandoms “died” too soon these days. I’m not talking in literal sense and I know there are people who stay passionate about their fandoms long after the hype is gone. I’m talking about the “popularity” and how people in general engage with a piece of media they like and how fast they let the hype die down? I don’t know if I’m making any sense, but what I’m trying to say is a fanfic or a fan art of a show that is recently released will get tons of likes, comments, reblogs which is great. but the engagement for fan made content about that same show usually drops drastically — and I mean drastically — once the show is no longer “recent”. and I’m not even talking about when the show is several years old. because you can see the significant drop of engagement a fanfic or fan art about that show receives once the show is like a month old or two. it’s discouraging how most people tend to lose interest and stop engaging with fanfic / fan art once its source material is no longer “new and shiny”.

especially when writing fanfics and creating fan art take time. writers and artists often receive less engagement / appreciation for their works if they take “too long” to create and the source material is no longer “new and shiny” and so people move on to something else that’s new and shiny. it’s heartbreaking to see.

obviously this is in no way to manipulate or guilt trip people into engaging with anything. because yeah you can do whatever you want. this isn’t to force, manipulate or guilt trip anyone into liking or reblogging a fan work or anything. this is just me hoping people will one day take things slower and enjoy things they’re passionate about longer like how we used to in the past.

[cheralith]

— always in your orbit.

character ; itoshi rin || wc ; 1.0k contains/cw ; gn!reader, they/them pronouns, she/her pronouns used not for reader synopsis ; you and rin run into a stray kitten when you walk home together one evening after school.

when you and rin were schoolmates, there was a large land-locked lake that you and him had to pass on your way home since you and him were neighbors on the same black. a large, vast mirror, it often reflected the setting sun and it was a sight for you to savor and engrain into your memory. there was indeed a shortcut to get to the block faster, but you insisted on walking there to take in the view.

in your third year, just before you left for college, you and him ran into a stray kitten, abandoned and left to die in a shallow cardboard box at the bottom of the hill leading into the lake. probably the runt of litter, it was small enough to curl into the palm of rin's hand, the noir of its fur spreading like ink, mimicking rin's own locks. its mewl was just barely there, clearly malnourished and weak.

you had burst out into tears at the sight, your heart clenching so tightly at the sad scene unfolding before you. given how close it was to the water, it might’ve accidentally tossed itself in and drowned. fate was on its side today at least. you wanted to take the poor thing home so badly, but your mother detested cats and your sibling had a severe cat allergy. rin, in a panic at the sight of your overflowing tears, had babbled that he'll take it home and nurse it to take it to the shelter. that shut you up good to his relief.

"can i visit it?" you had asked, wiping your face on your sleeve.

rin nodded shyly as he picked up the box with the kitten in it, making sure it rested properly in the safety of the scrappy box as he wondered what he had gotten himself into just because he wanted to make you stop crying.

because you and rin had found him just before you and him left for university, you only got to visit the kitten a spare number of times before you left the suburbs and into the big city. but in the times you were able to, rin couldn't help but let his affection for you grow as you played with the small kitten, happily laughing whenever it did any tricks to your pleasure. he supposes the addition of the kitten mewling for you to pay attention to it whenever your eyes weren't on it didn't help either, both parties clearly having an affection for each other.

"are you gonna name her?" you had asked on what would be your last visit for awhile, "i thought you guys were gonna take her to the shelter once she was nursed back to health."

rin shrugged, watching intently from his desk as you wiggled your fingers and tickled the kitten's small, now much more plump belly thanks to rin and his parents' care. "dunno. we just call her kitty for now."

you deadpanned. "you named a kitten 'kitty?' you can't be serious."

"i'm not the best creative," he muttered as he returned back to his homework. "it's not like we're gonna keep her anyway, i don't want to get too attached to her."

years later, unbeknownst to you, the cat, now four times bigger and a little chubbier than most, still resides within the walls of the itoshi residence. because you only got to visit home a spare number of times, you hardly had any times to visit your neighbors on the block to check up on how they were doing, how rin was doing. a small ditch formed itself between you and rin's friendship, as he went to study abroad in paris so he could play for pxg while you stayed in the country to attend the local city school, meaning that communication was often scarce. but you still tried, though it often ended up with emptiness from his end.

eventually it was clear that your energy for him was going nowhere, so you stop trying to text him to see how he's doing. so you're a little surprised when one weekend that you come home, your parents tell you to get ready for a surprise dinner with the itoshis, and that though you only think it'd just be rin's parents, their youngest son sitting in the living room.

it was the first time you had seen him in three years. he was taller, more handsome, more mature. you don't see it, but when rin looks back at you, something glimmers in his eyes when he spots you looking prettier, more elegant, more sophisticated. both of you are clearly in the awkward pool, trying to gather up the right words as you're reunited for the first time in years.

he swallows thickly after two anxious "hello"'s have been exchanged. he coughs.

"you look—" rin's voice cracks.

at twenty-one years old, the ghost of puberty still seems to haunt him and he can't think of a more embarrassing moment for his voice to enact in such a manner.

both of you abruptly pause. a flush of pink scatters across his face in the moment of silence.

"... good. you look good," he mutters, his voice tight in embarrassment.

you giggle, that same giggle that rin would often replay in his mind when he was abroad in paris and feeling homesick, the sound of your bubbly laugh reminding him of home.

"not too bad yourself," you murmur softly, grinning as you give him a light, teasing punch. a quiet forgiveness blessed upon him at your gentle eyes looking at him, ones he's missed looking deeply into.

rin would never tell you, but there was something about your touch that'd always send his nerves rushing a certain warmth through his veins, always feeling a little lighter for some reason, less tense.

when you and him settle down at the table, his father perks up as he plates the pickled vegetables.

"oh, rin," he says and turns to his son, "before we eat, make sure to give (y/n) her tuna with her food."

at the sound of your name, you lift your head, confused. next to you, rin's eyes widen and a panic bubbles inside of them at his dad's reminder.

"oh, um," you begin to start, blinking. "thank you, but i'm actually allergic to fish."

suddenly, a loud meow is heard from behind you and the sound of a cat perks your ears. before rin has a chance to reply, you turn and see a familiar black cat strutting into the kitchen, tail swishing in the air.

"i thought—!" you turn back to rin, who has another fluster of rouge running across his face and the tip of his ears.

"ohoho, oops," rin's father laughs heartily to his son's disdain. "forgot about that. you see..."

rin shoots daggers at his father. "dad, don't."

his father only smiles at him before he turns to you, tittering a bit with his wife who seems to know where he's headed.

"... our cat's name is also named (y/n)."

a/n ; not the best thing i've written but i still wanted to write it since i was inspired by this one page from ao haru ride and thought that kou and rin would def be one in the same if rin were ever a shojo protag. esp since both characters have conflicts with their older brothers lol

[olderthannetfic]

Aye...Hope this does not come off as shaming but I do not understand "kink is not inherently sexual" at all! I see it a lot in fandom and kink communities, but I don't get it, because to me kink is always a sex thing?

I wanna say I do RESPECT that, whatever it means, and when I say I don't understand I literally just mean that in the most actual meaning, that I don't understand! Maybe it's something as simple as a language barrier and I just dont get it, but honestly I'd rather ask here for clarification than google anything lol.

Like, does it mean that people like stereotypically kinky things for nonsexual reasons? Am thinking of Shibari practice in particular, which can often be nonsexual!

or does it mean "kinks" that don't inherently involve sex? Like things that are like -- I dunno, latex or leather? Which can be so very completely vanilla! But can also be sexy if that's what you're into.

Or is it more about asexual inclusion, even?

I'm asking to learn, not to bait - I feel there is an actual language and/or experience barrier here, and regardless of the meaning I WILL agree with "kink does not have to be sexual"! Like it is not me disagreeing, it is more so me... not understanding? It is I wanting to know what actually defines a non sexual kink? But only because of my understanding of the definitions of the words, not because of my beliefs, if that's makes sense?

For context, I literally only have one kink, and it is very very very vanilla and "soft"...I like praise lol. But I don't see nonsexual praise as kink. I just see it as compliments. So I'm wondering, how nonsexual kink works? Again, I wanna say I'm asking because I want to learn and be inclusive! Also I'm sorry if my message was worded weird or misinterpreted for any reason, my first language is Spanish, and while I grew up in an area that speaks enough English that I *almost* know it natively, I still very very struggle with conjugation, that on top of learning disabilities is very much a "wow what actually even IS proper grammar" issue for me lol.

--

Oh god, this again.

Yes, it's an asexual thing, basically. There are people who like kinks in a BDSM kind of way but not in a genitals touching kind of way. It's not like regular old praise. It's praise kink without fucking.

[rwshfordgirl]

Can I request a fic where reader and Hector are uni roommates and she has a crush on him but she thinks he’s dating someone else cuz he keeps talking about a girl but turns out it’s his baby cousin and it’s angsty af but then fluffy af?

Thank u in advance and I really like your writing please keep feeding us mother 🛐

BABY COUSIN

all images were taken from pinterest.

a/n: I feel like I could have developed it more but I rewrote this fic twice lol but I have high expectations for the second part of it ;) thank you very much for the request and I'm happy to know that you like my work.

hope you like it!

Hector had just woken up from a nap when I saw him stopping in front of me at the kitchen counter. "Did you get much sleep?" He nodded and I smiled. "Hey, do you mind going to the grocery store for me today?" I glared at him before taking a sip of my juice "I don't mind, but did something happen?" He denied as he rubbed his eyes "I'm going to take my mother to see Lucia."

Lucia, a name I started hearing frequently four months ago. I remember well that when I moved into this apartment, on my first night he came home late and said he had just met her.

He visits her often, talks about her almost all the time, but I've never seen her. He's never shown me pictures of her and never brought her here.

It's strange because I feel jealous of him going out to someone I don't even know and it makes me a little upset knowing that Hector doesn't feel for me what I feel for him, but I can't force him to do or feel anything.

I already knew Fort before I came to live with him in the college accommodations, we were in the same year but in different classes at school and I couldn't take my eyes off him. I'll never forget a mutual friend's birthday party we went to and while playing spin the bottle, I ended up giving him my first kiss.

But we were never close, not even after the kiss. And time passed, we changed schools and I only remembered the kiss we had shared. I didn't imagine that I would have a falling out with my old roommate and be forced to change accommodation at the beginning of the third semester. I also didn't imagine that boys and girls could live in the same apartment, much less that Hector goes to college here. And he seemed so happy to have me as a roommate.

And I found myself again at twelve years old, in love with Hector. He managed to improve what was already good, every day more beautiful, every day more thoughtful, more funny and more special. Lucia is lucky.

"Oh, is she okay?" I asked politely, trying to hide something strange I felt and didn't know what it was.

"Yes, but my mother really wants to see her and so do I, to be honest." He smiled at me. "Have a nice trip then." I said as I walked towards the kitchen exit "See you later."

I left the apartment with only one thought in mind. "I have to forget about Hector." even though it's impossible since I share an apartment with him. But I went to the market praying that someone as perfect as him would appear in my path.

But it was the return home that left me completely in shock, in the notification bar of my cell phone it appeared that there was a message from Hector, a photo. I opened it, maybe I was going to see Lucia for the first time.

I stopped in front of the building, bags on the floor and my mouth open. Lucia is a baby, Lucia is a beautiful baby. My God. Lucia is a baby. I laughed nervously while mentally cursing myself for being jealous of a baby.

I went home, left the groceries in the kitchen and laid down on the couch, still in disbelief that Lucia was a baby. I felt relieved even though I knew that I would probably not confess my feelings to Fort now. But I kept wondering if at some point she had already mentioned that she was a baby and I hadn't paid attention.

I laughed at myself while opening again the photo he had sent, in the caption "Lucia.❤️" and in the photo he was holding her on his lap while smiling at her. I think I would melt if I saw this in person.

The sound of the front door opening made me jump off the couch and put my phone aside. Hector approached me smiling. "Did you see the picture of me and Lucia?" he asked. "Yes, you two are very cute! But you didn't mention that she was a baby." I told him "My baby cousin." he replied "Your baby cousin?" Lucia continues to surprise me "Yes! She's four months old." I smiled "Hector, every time you talked about her I imagined a girl of our age." He laughed "But Lucia is such a cute baby, I want to meet her in person one day."

[racoon-master]

Ok, I've got a rant. (All things aside though, this was an amazing video, dip and pip always deliver <3)

I didn't find out about this video till I saw @dnpstardust post though! I can't believe this didn't get recommended to me the day it was posted on YouTube, I was checking basically every day for all of January. I had a lot going on at the start of the year and for some reason I thought D&P text each other was normally posted on the gaming channel, so that's what I was checking every day. I'm very much still subscribed to AmazingPhil though, I so I couldn't believe I found out about this video through tumblr 3 days after it was posted! YouTube was recommending me D&P compilation videos, but not this?! Come on!!

Has anyone else noticed a trend of YouTube not recommending Phil's videos? Cause this isn't the first time I've noticed. I didn't joint the phandom till 2023 so there is still some content I haven't seen yet. I've been watching a combination of old and new videos from the gaming channel and for both of them individually. I subscribed to both Dan and Phil's channels at the same time, and yet Dan's videos get recommended to me way more often. Which is bizarre to me, especially considering their different upload schedules (i.e. Phil having more consistent uploads). More then once I have found myself intentionally seeking out Phil's content, but Dan's videos are constantly in my recommended section. Why would it recommend a video from Dan from like 10 years ago when Phil uploaded one a couple months ago?

I know it's got to do with the algorithm and all that (which can be unpredictable at best), but from what I know Phil has done a bit more to keep on top of that with his consistency/lack of hiatus (no shade to Dan what so ever). I know there is a difference in subscribers between the two of them (which I think is silly, but that's a whole other topic lol), and I wonder if this has anything to do with it.

Even though I subscribed to both their channels at the same time, YouTube tends to only recommend Phil's videos if Dan is in them. What's up with that? :(

This happened (to a lesser extent because I knew to check both channels) when "So what now Dan and Phil??" was posted on AmazingPhil. Every time a new gaming video gets posted it's at the top of my recommended, but I have to seek out Phil's videos (context, I have notifications on for both AmazingPhil and D&P Games, but I don't have the YouTube app).

Has anyone else noticed this trend? I haven't been a part of the phandom for as long as some of y'all so I'm curious to see what you guys think.

Just here to remind every one of this btw!

[iamnmbr3]

This isn’t meant as an accusation but after seeing some of your posts I have to ask, are you pro-Israel and if so, why?

Oooh. Definitely a totally in-good-faith ask that isn't at all a (poor) attempt at a gotcha and didn't come in response to me posting about antisemitism. Anon, I don't really know what you mean by being pro-Israel. I've actually been pretty up-front on this blog about my views of issues pertaining to Israel, the situation in Gaza, Palestine, the West Bank, and antisemitism - which are, actually, separate things shockingly, despite what a lot of uneducated people who insert themselves into nuanced discussions seem to believe.

If you check my Israel, Gaza, Palestine, and antisemitism tags I think it's not hard to get an idea of my views. I think antisemitism is bad and should be condemned and that some people try to be antisemitic and then claim they are just being pro-Palestine despite not actually knowing or caring about Palestine at all. I think Netanyahu is a despicable, corrupt wannabe dictator and he and the Israeli Far Right promote terrible, inhumane, and illegal policies that are a danger to the whole region and that will cause more suffering for Palestinian people and for Israelis too and that Netanyahu needs to be removed from power and pay for his crimes (which probably would have happened already if not for the October 7 attack). I think anyone who didn't do everything to get Harris elected despite Trump's obvious embrace of Netanyahu and the Israeli Far Right in contrast to Harris and Biden's very public efforts to work for a ceasefire (which they achieved!) has blood on their hands and is directly responsible for what is happening now under Trump and is an ideological fraud who needs to be held accountable for their actions and the consequences.

I think Hamas is a deplorable and violent terrorist organization and that anyone who actually cares about Gaza would be condemning it since shortly after Israel withdrew from Gaza in 2005 (a withdrawal that remained in effect till AFTER the October 7 attack) Hamas seized power there and has been brutally oppressing, terrorizing, and murdering Palestinian people in Gaza ever since. I think the terrorist attack in Israel on October 7 was appalling and also unjustified and I don't think rape or torture or murdering babies are ever justified or a form of "resistance." I think Jews are indigenous to Israel as demonstrated by historical and archeological records. I do not support genocide which is what the destruction of an entire country would be and thus think Israel has a right to exist and that anyone who says otherwise is a deplorable bigot. I think harassing random Jews in other countries is just antisemitism and is in no way a valid way to criticize Israel's policies.

I support a two state solution as the only viable long-term path for regional peace and stability. I think many people in the West who claim to care about Palestine couldn't actually tell you the difference between Gaza, the West Bank, Palestine, the PLO and Hamas and thus should stop trying to center themselves and should shut up and stop getting in the way of actual activists' work.

I have been very clear about all of this. And yet often when I post about antisemitism I get "well meaning" asks like this wondering if I "support Israel" and why I would do such a thing.

I've been clear about my views on Israel (which is an entirely different issue than antisemitism) so what these asks REALLY seem to be about is trying to shame me for speaking out about antisemitism and for decrying the narrative used by some antisemites that their antisemitism is really just pro-Palestinian activism, when in reality, it is anything but and they don't see Palestinian people as anything other than a convenient shield for them to use when attacking Jews which is despicable and racist. Palestinian people are human beings who deserve rights, freedom and dignity, not to be used as a tool to help bigots avoid accountability.

[featherfangart]

Hi las!

I thought your vash cosplay was so neat at dokomi last year and I am planning to do one myself this year. I was wondering if you could tell me what kind of wig and where you got yours from (as you are also from europe). I have never used a wig without bangs that I couldn’t just put on as is, let alone styled one. I have no idea what to look out for or where to start and yours looks do nice both in form and color so I figured maybe you had me a tip?

It would just be blonde anyway since I’m doing the post july/jeneora rock under suit because packing myself in tons of leather, belts and eva during peak summer is a great idea greatly appreciate if you have any tips for me and thank you!

Hii!!

I'm SO SORRY It took me literal weeks to reply. I haven't been this busy in-- almost a year. BUT.

Thank you so much! Glad you like my Vash costume. n_n Alright THE WIG ✨

I got my wig from Ardawigs EU branch. I tried them once and their hair is a great quality, very easy and nice to style. Holds the shape like a rock.

They're super pricey, but I usually run on a lot of leftovers from other costumes (fabrics, materials), pants and base boots from thriftstores/vinted, try to save wherever else I can. And I usually only buy wigs once in a blue moon. I got burnt so many times buying cheap ebay wigs which often ended up in a trashbin, bc they were just SO low quality and there was nothing I could do with them.

Unfortunately, Arda EU is closed now and taking a look at their site, they don't plan to reopen any time soon. =/

Which... is very unfortunate, bc adding customs fee on top the wig itself being pricy + shipping + tax and everything. Blergh.

Most of my friends get wigs from Aliexpress now.

In any case - the US shop is here. I think I have Cady in Champagne.

So that is not very helpful...

What I can advise you on

You'll most probably need a FRONT LACE WIG (the type you see in the picture). Considering Vash's hair is styled back and up, you'll need a wig with a nice front, so the ribbon/band isn't showing once the hair/bangs are up. You can either get the hairline done by adding more hair to the front (basically you sew it on, hair by hair, time consuming, but much better looking) or you can cut the line so you like it (I do that). Here's a video on cutting the front lace and wearing the wig. I'm honestly not too satisfied with the front of my wig, but I have a personal problem with never being satisfied with my wigs in general. Ever.

For the SPIKES (and general styling) here's a video I used back when I first started spiking up my wigs (good lord, first Cloud Strife wig was five years ago). It covers literally all the techniques I use for styling. I'm not great at it, but It helped me get by. ❤️

And for the UNDERCUT (if you decided to do it later). Being the lazy ass I am, instead of sewing on half of the black wig like I SHOULD, since I have Trimax version, but... an undercut instead bc... I had a leftover piece of my 1,5 USD fur fabric from when I was making TriStamp wig earlier (see? saving where I can lol) and was like, heck, I can use this. Here's the video I used to figure out what the hell am I supposed to do.

I hope this helps at least a little bit. ❤️ I know my wig looks okay-ish from a distance, it's a gd mess up close. As my cosplayer friends say - you never look at the costumes too close. ❤️

[pascalislove]

ANGEL: SALESMAN X FEM!READER- PART 5

Summary: She was an angel and she should be his.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and toasted bread filled the small café in the corner, a cozy haven where Y/N often spent her break time. She was sitting by the window, absently stirring the sugar in her coffee while her mind tried to ignore the annoying feeling of restlessness that had accompanied her since the morning.

The meeting in the bookstore with that man... that strange, arrogant and mysterious man, had left her with a bad taste in her mouth. His brazenness irritated her, but she was even more bothered by the way he seemed to enjoy teasing her.

She sighed, shaking her head.

—It's not worth thinking about— she muttered to herself, raising the cup to her lips.

But just as she was about to take a sip, she felt a shadow looming over her table. She looked up and her stomach clenched.

He.

With his impeccable dark suit and that damn confident smile, the man settled into the chair in front of her without even asking permission.

Y/N snorted in annoyance and rolled her eyes.

—There are several tables available.

He rested one arm on the table, his expression relaxed.

—I like this one better.

Y/N narrowed her eyes.

—¿Oh, yes?

—From here you can see the people —he said, pointing to the window with a slight nod of his head.

Y/N crossed her arms and looked at him with obvious displeasure..

—If you wait for me to call you, it's not going to happen.

He smiled, as if he had expected that answer.

—I'm not in a hurry.

—Well you're wasting your time.

The man tilted his head slightly, a look of amusement in his dark eyes.

—Sooner or later, you will be mine.

Y/N felt a chill run down her spine. Not out of fear, but because of the coldness with which he said it, as if it were an inevitable fact, as if her destiny was written and he was simply waiting for her to realize it.

But instead of being intimidated, Y/N held his gaze defiantly.

—If that's your way of flirting, you're failing hugely.

He gave a low, almost imperceptible laugh.

—¿Do you really believe it?

—With all certainty.

The man rested his chin on his hand and looked at her carefully.

—I wonder... what kind of man would catch your attention?

Y/N shrugged.

—One that doesn't show up uninvited.

—Oh. So you don't like spontaneity.

—Not when it comes from someone like you.

He smiled, as if each of her responses only entertained him more.

—You're interesting, Y/N.

—And you are annoying.

—That depends on perspective.

Y/N exhaled in frustration.

—Look, I don't know what you want with me, but you should find someone else to play with.

He shook his head slowly.

—I don't want anyone else.

His tone was low, almost intimate, and for some reason, that made her more uncomfortable than his previous provocations.

—I'm not interested in what you want.

—Still.

Y/N frowned.

—¿What?

He sat up straight and picked up his cup of coffee, taking a sip as if he were enjoying small talk.

—You're not interested yet. But the day will come when I do.

Y/N pursed her lips.

—¿Why are you so sure?

He looked directly at her.

—Because when something interests me, I don't let it go.

His response sent a shiver down her spine.

Y/N looked down at her coffee, trying to ignore the way her heart raced.

—You should learn to accept no.

—I'm not one of those who accept no without trying several times.

She looked up, glaring at him.

—Well, you're going to get tired.

He smiled.

—I don't believe it.

There was a heavy silence between the two. Y/N hated to admit it, but the man's confidence was disturbingly hypnotic.

There was something about him, in the way he spoke, in his relaxed but imposing posture, that made it difficult to ignore him.

But she wouldn't give up that easily.

She grabbed her bag and stood up.

—Enjoy your coffee.

The man watched her get up, making no effort to stop her.

—We'll see you soon, Y/N.

She paused for a second, not looking at him, and then left the cafeteria without answering.

But deep down, she knew he was right.

That would not be their last meeting.

This story does not follow the plot of the series, tell me if you like it and if you want me to tag you in the chapters🫶

Tag list:

@beebeechaos, @onyxmango , @muchwita @czarinera , @putrescentpoet

MASTERLIST

[paci-papa]

My Daddy and I do what we refer to as "Maintenance Spankings." However, they don't really follow the typical protocol for them. it's not a regular occurrence. Though, the end result is similar. You see, I go to Daddy for spankings to help me release emotions I'm having issues letting out my feelings. Daddy uses a wooden paddle (the pain factor helps with this) until I'm openly sobbing over their lap. Every few swats of the paddle, Daddy reminds me that I'm safe and that they love me. When the tears start flowing, Daddy stops with the paddle and cuddles me until I've cried myself out. We do it to help remind me just how much I'm loved, and the experience is often cathartic for me, resulting in epiphanies and moments of clarity about difficult situations.

I've been spanked by other dommes, and the result is very different. I get all blushy and squirmy. It's erotic, not cathartic. However, with Daddy, it's more cathartic and loving. I guess I just wanted to share what Daddy and I do with another Daddy who knows how to treat Littles right.

Oh, sweetie, it sounds like you have a wonderful and loving Daddy!

Believe it or not, this is not the first time Mr. Paci has heard of using spankings as catharsis. In my opinion, one of the greatest benefits of little space is that it allows a person a reason to stop holding on to those awful, big emotions that we are forced to repress as adults, and let them lose into the world.

Mr. Paci is so happy you have found a way to release and confront those emotions with who sounds like a wonderful, caring partner.

Thank you for sharing!

[namgyunation]

i'm rlly interested in your take on this because your nam-gyu meta posts are amazing, i find myself nodding profusely the entire time i read them lmao i was wondering if you think nam-gyu would ever let his gf or situationship see him cry? and what would make him cry?

sorry for the late response!!!

and ahhhhh thank you <3 :]]] i have soooo many thoughts about his stupid ass 🙂‍↕️ i have way too much fun looking too deeply into the small, nonexistent scraps that we were given in the show LMAO

one thing that i think is clear about nam-gyu's character as he's presented in the show is that he hatesss being seen as weak or being associated with weak people, scared that it might reflect back on him. it always seems like he's overcompensating to look stronger (joining in on the fight with thanos when they had mg coin on the floor even though... he looks like he barely knows wtf he's doing and he ??? falls??? myung-gi was already on the ground 😭), lecturing min-su and trying to reaffirm to himself and others that he was strong before the pentathlon to 'not fear death' even though he was literally just as fucking scared and shaking and had to take a pill to calm himself lmao, and then referring to the other players as "cockroaches" after the pentathlon and trying to exert himself over min-su for no reason at all (and then we even got to see that nam-gyu was the only other person besides min-su that didn't get their game done on the first try lol...)

he seems so emotionally constipated, repressed, and terribly insecure about how he's perceived by others, that i just don't see him ever wanting anyone to see him cry, especially not a situationship / girlfriend / partner.

i honestly don't even see him being the type to even let himself cry. tbh, i get some vibes of toxic masculinity in the way he acts, since he's shown to be desperate to control / exert himself over others using aggression and intimidation, as well as how often he feels the need to suppress his "bad" emotions (fear, sadness, insecurity) and come off as confident and strong. this is straying to my own headcanons here but idkkk he just seems like the type of guy to believe in some bullshit like 'crying = weak', preferring to just bottle everything up and pretend it doesn't affect him. he seems like the least vulnerable guy ever.

then, if his partner were to ever see him in a vulnerable state, i think he'd be horrified and reject any attempt at comfort / connection. he seems like the type of guy to hate the idea of someone pitying him. i think he'd just want to be alone and deny it / shut it down immediately if you tried to bring it up after the fact

bro is barely even honest with himself. i don't see him being honest with anyone else, either. no guy that acts like that has good emotional regulation or is in touch with his feelings lmfao

he seems like he'd rarely ever let himself cry in front of someone. i think he'd rather mask it with anger, if anything. and if he did let it slip and let you see him cry, he'd definitely be furious with himself

when thanos died in the show, he was very obviously upset, and idk, watching the closest thing you have to a friend—in a game where you've nearly died three times—bleed out in front of you seems like... a pretty valid reason to cry, imo! and even then he denies feeling upset, pretends he doesn't care at all, and just takes the pills in an attempt to ease his mind.

though, i think if he were without the comfort of the pills, he would've actually cried, or at the very least teared up.

i think to get him to actually cry, it'd likely have to be over something big with the right conditions, like him being alone or with little to no distractions.

death

so, death, for one. we already saw him get close with thanos's death. i could see him losing it over the death of a family member or a close friend

(headcanon here, but i don't think he had the best relationship with his family when growing up. like, look at how he behaves. hence why he's so insecure and desperate for attention / someone to latch onto in the events of s2. despite this, i think he'd still yearn for their attention / approval, and the death of a family member would kind of cement the fact that he no longer has the chance to impress them / prove to them that he's special or worthwhile. he seems very hung up on gaining the respect of those that look down on him, eg. thanos)

though, i could see him still trying to pretend he's above crying and play it up in front of other people, acting as if he just grieves differently. though when he's alone with no one to perform for, that's when he'd really cry. i could see him being mad about it the whole time, though, laughing / yelling at himself and trying to pretend that there's not tears coming out of his eyes. i don't think he'd want to admit to even himself how much he's affected by it. he'd put off the grief and try to keep going about his life until it caught up to him one day and hit him full force

abandonment

bro seems starved of any and all forms of love and attention. i could see him having a pretty deep fear of abandonment. in the show, he seems very hesitant, timid, and unsure when he's on his own, always following someone and waiting for them to take the lead on things / be there to back him up before he does anything. he does nottt strike me as someone who's independent, capable of making his own decisions confidently, or operating without the validation of others.

if he were to be abandoned / given up on by someone he cares about (whether they respect him or are genuinely good to him or not), i could see this being another thing that pushes him to the edge and makes him cry. he seems like the type to desperately try to avoid / deny his need for affection, but if he's truly abandoned (especially after swallowing his pride and trying to keep someone in his life), it'd act as a constant reminder of his overwhelming desire to be loved to the point where he can't keep avoiding it, though he'd once again try to mask his tears with anger and try to convince himself that he didn't gaf about said person to begin with

from a romantic standpoint, i could definitely see him going especially apeshit over a romantic partner that decides to leave him, especially since said romantic partner is likely one of the few people in his life he's allowed himself to depend on and display some level of vulnerability with. based on how he acts in the events of s2, he doesn't seem like he'd be the sweetest or most emotionally mature boyfriend in the world, so it'd probably cause him to spiral, knowing that it was his own issues that led to his relationship ending.

bad trip

considering his substance abuse and the way he acted after thanos died, he most definitely uses drugs as a means of coping and avoiding his emotions so he doesn't have to deal with or acknowledge them. i could see him doing this, having a bad trip, and then coming out the other side feeling like shit and having to grapple with the fact that he's still alone, still bruised from whatever negative experience happened to him, and still right back to where he started emotionally. i don't see him knowing how to deal with his own feelings in a healthier way, so if that coping mechanism fails to make him feel better and forget about things, i could see him crying over that and just feeling worse about himself and the situation once he comes down from it.

insecurity

clearly, nam-gyu has a lot of insecurities and is unsure of himself. he has a specific image that he wants to uphold, and doesn't like when he's called out. if someone were to directly harp on these insecurities, it would definitely set him off. however, he's clearly used to this behavior, as rjw said nam-gyu's been disrespected for basically his whole life, so i think for him to actually cry over it, it'd have to be something that cuts particularly deep and/or is said by someone he perceives to have some sort of importance or agency in his life and how he views himself. for example, a family member or partner expressing their disappointment in him or being embarrassed by him.

ok now to narrow it down to just specifically what would make him cry within the context of a romantic relationship bc i think that's more what you were asking:

being abandoned for real; knowing that it's his fault and that he pushed you past a breaking point and it's completely out of his hands whether you come back or not

jealousy; feeling like you genuinely like someone better than him or would actually leave him for them, especially if it's someone more 'successful', 'normal', and well-adjusted, with a better relationship with their family. things that he's not and doesn't have. i could see him imagining what it'd be like if you were to be with them instead, and how much easier and more 'acceptable' your life would be without him. he seems like he would never admit this while sober but would become more open about it when he's on drugs and being unable to stop himself from crying / showing you how much it affects him

after a particularly bad / intense fight, especially if either you or him threw some harsh words at each other. though, he'd wait til he was alone to cry

feeling like he's disappointed you or has done something that has altered your relationship forever, something that he can't come back from or fully fix / gain your trust back no matter how hard he tries or what he does (eg. maybe if he stole your money for drugs, lost your money by investing it into crypto lol, made a bad impression on your parents / family because he couldn't control himself)

anywayssss YEAH. thank u so much for enjoying my nam-gyu meta posts... i'm crazy but i am free.

[playstation-dreamcast]

I've seen yalls requests and I'm working on them but oh man I gotta get this out of my mind.

Chris's need for control absolutely started incredibly young.

Okay follow me here: I know the popular headcanon is that Chris took care of Claire in a very literal sense, posing as a legal guardian from an incredibly young age... but like, that's just not the case.

Legally speaking you have to be at least 16 to be legally emancipated. This includes from the foster care system. Meaning Claire would have been around 12 years old at the earliest that Chris could have gotten out of the system.

But heres the thing: in most states, you can not legally adopt a child until you're 18. Meaning Chris could have maybe taken legal custody of Claire when he was 18 and she was 14. I think Chris probably immediately went into the military to try and get out of pvoerty/build a better life for Claire, but that's a post for another day.

That means they spent their entire lives at the will of a system that didn't give a fuck about them

It didn't give a fuck if they were placed in a safe home.

It didn't give a fuck if they were separated.

It didn't give a fuck about what they wanted. And Chris was powerless to do anything about it. Especially as an older sibling, it's hard to find placements for older kids- even harder to find placements with room for two kids.

I wonder how often they we're separated, left to the whims of whatever foster guardians they had getting a long so they could see each other. Siblings don't get visitation rights you know.

And like, I fully believe Chris stepped up to get his sister out of the system as soon as he most possibly could- but he spent his entire adolences there. Learning that his will, and his wants and needs do not matter. He had to internalize that right?

I wonder if that's why he had such a hero complex even before Racoon City

It explains to me why they made sure they kept such close contact once they could. And why Claire probably freaked out so hard when he vanished

But that's probably why Chris feels the need to be so in control now as an adult, even before Racoon City (see: how bitchy he gets with Jill when he's in the cage and he has to trust her to get him out.) Because as a child he had zero control of his life and it probably led to a lot of hurt.

You think him and Wesker ever bonded over their time as orphans? Do you think that shared string of trauma was the first thread that bound them together? I wonder if Wesker ever used it against him, softly nudging at his sore spot to manipulate Chris into doing what Wesker wanted him to do

I just got home from an overnight shift at work, so this is probably pretty incoherent and all over the place. You're welcome 💙💙

(Oh, and btw: I stand by that Chris was a running back in high school. I just think he had to drop after his freshman year and get a job. I believe this because God damn it I need him to have ONE good thing man)

[veinspookiebear]

Do you perhaps have any Link Click headcanons you'd like to share with the class??

Not immediately off the top of my head, but you've given me a great reason to sit down and think about it SO!! These may be wordy I like to yap when I think about things

(They did in fact get wordy putting them under a cut so it's not a wall of text /silly)

Big fan of the headcanon that LG cuts CXS's hair when it needs a trim <3 I think before they lived together he always got it done by a stylist, but they could never get it quite to his liking. QL did it for him sometimes and he much preferred that, but she couldn't do it all the time. Then LG offers one day when he's complaining about it and gets it perfect and that just becomes the normal (LG never complains because he secretly loves his hair. And CXS maybe loves the feel of his hands in his hair too)

They order takeout a lot cause it's more convenient and works better for them especially when in the middle of missions (no wonder they're broke) but LG and CXS can both cook pretty well with the time, effort, and resources. Sometimes they cook together!! It goes about as well as you'd expect but somehow the food still turns out delicious. CXS says it's because they made it with love

QL (basically canonically /hj) clocks shiguang so hard but I think it'd be funny if she like. not quite wingwomans but does subtle things to push them together that gradually get more unhinged/obvious. Neither of them piece together what she's trying to do and she refuses to explain it even as she slowly loses her mind

QL and CXS have video game nights on the weekends. Occasionally they can drag LG into playing, but mostly he watches and commentates where he sees fit. He's in charge of snacks though

Both CXS and LG have nightmares, especially frequently after the events of S2. Inevitably they wake each other up. They have a silent agreement not to talk about things they dream about, at least not in depth (they can kind of figure, anyway), but they know how to comfort each other even without that specific knowledge. If it's particularly bad they end up cuddling the rest of the night, a constant reminder that the other is there, and they're safe for now, and they're loved.

LG actually has a ton of pictures of cosplays he did before he and CXS met. CXS found them, and ever since he's been trying to convince LG to cosplay again. It's not that he doesn't want to, necessarily, he just doesn't have the time and resources that he used to. Once things settle down, he starts cosplaying every now and then, and a lot of times CXS joins him as the other half to a duo or just another character he likes. QL joins in sometimes too. (Turns out to be a great marketing strategy)

CXS in a dress. Need I say more

(Okay I'll say more. He doesn't wear dresses or similar clothing very often, but he does have a few and occasionally, when they don't have any business and he feels like it, he'll wear one. It's made entirely worth it by the way it utterly breaks LG, without fail. QL insists that's not a bro reaction. She also wholeheartedly encourages CXS)

LG isn't afraid to crossdress either if it means breaking CXS in return. This is exactly what happened the first time he cosplayed a female character.

CXS has a loose workout schedule that he can fit around their job and maybe takes a fighting class every now and then to keep his skills sharp. He says it's for his skills. It's mostly for his skills. Having some muscle definition with his sleeveless shirts and giving LG something to stare at is just a bonus!

Projecting here but I think both of them would love Epic: The Musical. CXS would vibe with the music and know all the words and LG would analyze it and reread the Odyssey and break down source to adaptation comparisons. They would love musical theater in general actually they just have that vibe to me

Also projection but giving LG a weighted blanket. He deserves it

Plushies too!! They don't have any in the show I can recall of the top of my head and I think they would both have at least a couple. A respective dog and cat that look like their shorts versions, for sure

CXS is grumpy about waking up until he's fully functioning, then he's got so much energy he has to get up and spend it. LG is not a morning person. If there's no urgent reason to get up, until CXS coaxes him out with coffee, he is not moving.

[cometst4r]

Safe to say, Simon Riley has a sweet tooth. And you so happen to be the sweetest thing his eyes land upon.

tags/cw: simon is grumpy, awkward and lowkey highkey a pervert, also a little touch-starved and probably also deranged but its mild. a small explicit scene at the end. idk what else to say here. reader has no personality bc i wrote this in like half an hour sorry

=============================

One of the many things Simon Riley hates is the paperwork that needs to be done whenever he goes on leave. He'd much rather be deployed all year-round just so he wouldn't have to deal with the frustrating task.

And after waiting around at the admin office for some excruciating hours, he was on the brink of mental breakdown. He already felt the beginning of a migraine throbbing behind his eyes.

He was in desperate needs of a smoke. And since he's in town, he might as well get some nice rich coffee, not the cheap and burnt instant one he has home, to go along with his cigarette or plural, because he definitely needs more than one.

Tense and with his ever permanent scowl, he went to the first café he finds. The door bell chimes aggressively as he steps inside, the smell of coffee beans and too sweet pastries hitting him straight in the face. Grab an espresso and get out, smoke on the way home. Easy.

Except everything is forgotten, both cig and headache and all the moment he sees the pretty thing behind the counter. Maybe he's craving something sweet instead of the bitter coffee.

And the way you greet him—polite and alluring like the voice of a siren—he might just melt on the spot.

"Good afternoon, what can i get for you today?" you chime in your customer service voice. Usually he hates the fake tone people put on, but oh you sound so genuine and sweet, all for him.

"Espresso," he grunts the singular word, dark eyes boring into you so intense it's like he's taken a hold of your soul.

You gulp and smile kindly at the behemoth of a man in front of you. Did the sky get cloudy all of a sudden or is it him that's covering the sun from coming in through the windows? "Is that all?"

He just stares blankly at you. You wonder if he even heard you. No answer comes, his penetrating gaze doesn't move an inch. He just lifts his hand and points at the glass display, his finger pointed at the first thing there is—some plain croissant.

So awkward, you think to yourself as you bag the pastry.

You try not to mind the burning of his bullet like gaze as you turn to make his coffee.

All the while, Simon is already envisioning all the things he wants to do to you. In his more than just touch-starved mind, you're an angel sent from heaven. So sweet and innocent and kind. The way you smiled at him, or the flutter of your eyelashes as you spoke and looked at him. He just found a new hobby for while he's on leave.

You really hate the new policy of having to write on every single cup you serve. You never expected to find the task to be so thought provoking. Maybe he's just introverted, or is having a difficult day, don't be a prude. So you just settle for a simple 'Have a great day :)'.

Placing the cup next to the croissant, you ask how he'd like to pay. Again, no answer. He just slides a 100 pound bill across the counter.

You hold out the coffee and pastry for him to grab and for the first time since coming into the shop his eyes flick from your face down to your hands. He takes his order and you were about to hand him the change when he finally says something again. "Keep it."

You look at him in bewilderment. That's a lot of money to tip.

He's out the door before you can even verbalize a 'Thank you".

Well, your day just got ten times better. As odd as the interaction was, you pray he'll come again. Little do you know, you'll see him again, way too often acrually.

--

The carton cup, now empty, was settled on the coffee table of his living room. The small and neat handwriting stood facing towards the couch where he was sat. He stared ahead at the tiny words, imagining the pretty face that wrote them.

You smiled all cutesy and even drew a sweet smiley face for him. It's obviously your way of flirting, has to be. But don't you worry, he gets the message.

Taking the tiny cup in his hand, he thinks of your own hands, soft-looking and dainty, so different and small compared to his.

He almost feels bad thinking it. Almost.

Unashamedly, he undoes the front of his pants. He remembers how your hand looked holding the coffee cup, fingers barely touching. He can't help but wonder how it would look to have your hand wrapped around his cock, your soft palm stroking him instead of his rough, calloused one.

===========================

so idk wtf i just wrote, is a first for me. after lurking around for roughly two years i decided to maybe write some fics too. this is not original, recycled idea obviously.

also english is not my first language so i apologize if some sentences dont make sense. if you're actually reading this, thank you for taking your time and reading my silly fic xoxo love u