Jameson

poems and stuff

[icariusshapedheart]

I wish I was a decent builder in Minecraft 😭 I wanna make a city and a lil town but I don't know the first thing on how to make decent buildings that aren't just BOXES

Anyway, all of this to say...

Would anyone like to build a city in Minecraft with me? I'm on console, so Discord would be the best option for communication.

❤️❤️❤️

[alisha-on-arcane]

It's a cliche 'cos it's true: forgiveness and the cycle of violence in Arcane

I do think a lot of Zaun-aligned Arcane fans find the themes of forgiveness quite hard, particularly forgiveness when great wrong has been done. But.... it's not really forgiveness if no wrong has been done, is it? And by season 2, there's some major forgiveness needed. Piltover's Council has done Zaun wrong, and Zaunites have committed terrorist attacks against Piltover citizens who weren't responsible for the actions of their government. The whole situation there is so messed up that any attempt to allocate justice will most likely create new aggressors out of innocent people on both sides, as Jayce's attack led to Renni's attack, and Renni's (and Jinx's) attacks led to Caitlyn's attacks, and Caitlyn's use of the Gray led to Jinx rerouting it back to Piltover's citizens...

The Jinx - Vi storyline is not really relevant to that. It's nice that the sisters reached first a sort of peace (Jinx watching Vi at the pit fights, betting on her but not coming to talk) and then finally resumed a sort of relationship. But then Jinx just died / left, so all that really happened from the forgiveness was that they both got some closure. That's a great resolution for individual people who can simply get over one another, but it doesn't work for cities that are geographically next to each other. They share a water supply! They could have different governments, but those governments would still have to work together.

The storyline relevant to that is Zaundads. I still think it's weirdly out of character to give Silco (even blissed-out and somewhat inebriated AU Silco) the line "the greatest thing we can do in life is to forgive", but it works thematically. Because what Vander did to Silco was unforgiveable (seriously, rewatch the drowning scene), and no sane person would advise Silco to resume that relationship. But we also know that main timeline Silco was miserably hung up on Vander until his dying day, while AU Silco apparently gets Vander making him cocktails every evening and doing unspeakably pleasant things with him every night. Forgiveness might not be deserved by Vander, but it certainly was the best thing for Silco to do for himself.

... and that's the way with the two populations at war, isn't it? I'm sure the Silco-Vander reconciliation was nowhere near as simple as 'Silco reads the letter, forgives' (for one thing I don't think Silco would have, or should have, simply abandoned his Shimmer plans). And the new combined Piltover-Zaun Council has huge arguments ahead of it, and will probably never reach gazing-into-one-anothers'-eyes-lovingly levels of amity. I bloody well hope their first agenda items are a huge Zaun infrastructure bill, an agreement on more equitable policing, and a joint task force to legalise medical Shimmer. It's unlikely. But I still think that like Silco and Vander, they can build a happier future by working together than apart. They don't really have any good alternatives.

[icariusshapedheart]

Something's been pickin at my brain

In Vandors letter to Silco that he left in the mine, he says in it:

"When she died…I lost my head. I told myself what I did to you was for the greater good, that you deserved it..."

I know he says later that the dirt was on both of their hands, but it still doesn't make sense to me. But how, in any way, shape, or form, does mauling your "best friend" (let's be real boyfriend) to the point of ALMOST DYING and taking his eye??

I understand that after he saw Vi and Powder, it kinda hit him how what they were doing wasn't the "right" way. But, still...

If y'all can help me out here and maybe explain to me like I'm 5, that'd be great haha

Dont be rude or condescending, I will cry.

[icariusshapedheart]

Y'all I wrote this at 5 in the morning, so sorry if it was confusing.

What I MEANT to ask was:

Why would mauling your best friend to the point of losing an eye be "for the greater good"?

I see a lot of people thinking I'm talking about Felicia's death, which I totally fair with the way I framed my question.

But I am enjoying ALL of the comments

[raphaellearp]

Sevika's first day as a counselor

My baby standing up to the snobs that treated her people horribly for years <3333

[icariusshapedheart]

Something's been pickin at my brain

In Vandors letter to Silco that he left in the mine, he says in it:

"When she died…I lost my head. I told myself what I did to you was for the greater good, that you deserved it..."

I know he says later that the dirt was on both of their hands, but it still doesn't make sense to me. But how, in any way, shape, or form, does mauling your "best friend" (let's be real boyfriend) to the point of ALMOST DYING and taking his eye??

I understand that after he saw Vi and Powder, it kinda hit him how what they were doing wasn't the "right" way. But, still...

If y'all can help me out here and maybe explain to me like I'm 5, that'd be great haha

Dont be rude or condescending, I will cry.

[monophobix]

the real MVPs of arcane

[cinnabarfangs]

whatever dude. dream daddies your jayvik

[icariusshapedheart]

IM GOING TO LOOSE MY MIND

[icariusshapedheart]

Can someone, WITHOUT CAUSING AN ARGUMENT, tell me why people think Zaundads is problematic? Minus the obvious toxicity their relationship carries??

Feel free to message me privately if you're more comfortable doing that!!

[once-more-with-anxiety]

you know what, fuck you *undooms your yaoi*

[themilksallgone]

Patience, Silco decided, was a virtue. That day on the river, its toxic water seeped through his wound and permeated his skin until it rendered the flesh around his eyes decomposed. He could not kill Vander, much less claw his angry hands away from his throat. But he could cling to patience, to rage, and bide his time until an opportunity presented itself.

Nearly a decade later, he sat on the second floor of The Last Drop, a whiskey in his glass as he perused the bar’s catastrophic accounts. Vander never had the sense for these things. As long as he sold drinks, he said that there was no reason to worry about profit. Felicia was even worse, practically gave away bottles and bottles of vodka to anyone who asked. It was no wonder then that the business side of things fell into Silco’s lap all while she danced around to the sound of the jukebox, as he wiped glasses with his old rags.

The heavy wooden chest at the corner of the office begged for his attention. Instead, Silco let the bitter spirit coat his tongue, let its taste numb his mind. Only the scritches of his pen filled the room even as the muffled music from the first floor tried to intrude. But another sound managed to sneak in.

A soft sob, imperceptibly so, nearly drowned out by the buzz and the clatter of the bar. But Silco knew that sound—had become attuned to it in a matter of weeks.

He pushed the door open, the hinges creaking as it did. Green neon lights flooded the dark room, nearly empty save from the new wooden bed lodged at the corner of the room.

The poor thing had one hand cradled to her mouth, knees tucked against her chest, shaking shoulders flushed against the wall. Her sobs wedged between her fingers and escaped through the narrow space there.

“I'm sorry,” she hiccupped, fingers fruitlessly swiping away tears that would not stop coming, “I didn't mean to bother you. I'm sorry.”

He softened his steps until his shoes made no sounds against the floorboards, his hands tucked to his sides as he walked. He didn’t smile. But he wrought his face into something that wasn’t a scowl. These were the things he had to relearn after Powder—no, Jinx came to stay with him: how to make his limbs pliable, how to hide the callous of his fingers, and perfume the stench of iron embedded under each of his nails.

The bed dipped when he perched on the edge of it. He found some satisfaction and relief in her lack of flinching, a progress from last week. A tear escaped from her clumsy fingers, one that he caught easily just as it rolled down her plump rosy cheek.

Blue eyes—familiar yet foreign all the same—peeked at him from behind wet fingers, wary and watching.

He didn’t smile. Face paralyzed from the poison. Believed himself to be afflicted with a sickness that permanently barred him from the action altogether. Still, he forced the corners of his lips into something that he hoped resembled it.

He was rewarded when Jinx’s hands lowered from her face, revealing the track marks her tears left down her cheeks. Slowly, hesitantly, she inched closer to him until she sat on his lap, his arms not quite embracing her but near enough that his body cradled hers.

“Nightmares again?” he murmured, the gravelly sound of his voice breaking the silence of her room.

She nodded once, then buried her nose deeper into his shirt.

No words spill from his mouth, not when he never knew what to say, not when she seemed to need his presence more than his voice. In a few huffs, her breath evened out, though her small fists were still tight against his lapel. 

“Please don't leave me too.” Her voice melded with the wind, but Silco managed to pick it apart from its howling.

He ran his fingers through her blue hair, clutching her head close to his chest, the closest he’d ever let anyone touch him in years. 

“Never.”

She was weak. Her bombs never worked except for the one time they didn’t need to. Young, naive, hopeful, useless.

But so was he, once. Until he was rebirthed from the very river that killed him.

She, like him, could be rebirthed too. She’d already done the first step, abandoned the name her mother gave her and called herself Jinx. 

She would not hurt and be betrayed like he did. She would not drown and burn like he did. She would not fail again, not when he was there to guide her into the path of perfection. He would mold her into something useful, someone that could help. He would do everything in his power until, eventually, even her own monsters feared her; like his feared him.

He looked down at the child’s sleeping face, tucking stray blue strands of hair away from her wet cheeks. No one was going to touch her. She was never going to let anyone touch herself. He’d march out of hell and rise in his grave before he would let it happen. He would make sure of it.

It would take time, but he already spent a decade perfecting Shimmer, plotting and planning for the liberation of Zaun.

Afterall, Silco was nothing if not patient.

[goldandlights]

That moment when the watercolor paintings of Vander's memory disappear as he is assimilated

[onesharpfang]

[tophat-69]

Vander and Silco - First Meeting

When I started writing for Arcane I wasn't sure if I wanted to write Jayce/Viktor or Vander/Silco first. I landed on Jayce/Viktor because the idea for "it's the good, defining itself" pretty much took over my life to the point that I was putting out a chapter a day for 22 days. But I backburnered a prequel fanfiction of Vander and Silco, to get back to later. I'm not quite ready to commit to it, but wanted to put out there what would be my first chapter. I'm hoping you enjoy it, because I'd like to revisit the idea and keep going someday. So, for now--enjoy Vander and Silco meeting for the first time in the mines, and the start of a partnership.

To be honest, on first impression Vander’s not actually all that impressed. 

“Hey-hey, slim! How was lockup this time?”

It’s midday at the mine, not that anyone would be able to tell if it weren’t for the whistles that echo down into the depths. The only lights in the drift tunnels come from their headlamps, and there’s a sort of liminality to that—it could be dawn or it could be midnight, and in the tunnels they would never know. All they can see is directly ahead of them, and everything else is shadow and rock, like blinders for the beasts of burden that they are. 

As the forward line, their crew is down deep enough now that stopping for meals is almost as miserable an affair as chipping their way through rocks, the kind of heat that makes the heavy protective gear suffocating, the kind of humidity that has Vander’s hair plastered to his neck and forehead beneath the hard hat, and his shirt melting into his skin under the leathers. 

“Still dank, dark, with terrible food and worse company. So, roughly the same as being down here with you lot.” There are a handful of hearty laughs at the dry sarcasm coming from within the echoing cavern, the kind of shared bleak humor that comes with working in the shittiest conditions known to man and, apparently, spending time in prison too. The voice continues with a sly undertone that lends itself well to the affected accent of the Promenade. “Still, food on the table and a roof over my head and topside footing the bill. I’m considering the merits of making it my summer home. ‘Stillwater Manor’ sounds very refined, don’t you think?”

As they stump into the echoing depleted cavern, tobacco smoke curls through the air, though smoking down in the mines is a dangerous game to the point that bringing a match or lighter down is highly regulated. Yet the thirty hewers of their shift fan out to sprawl onto the rough stone floors on either side of the cart rails, and all of the more experienced members of the crew seem to be taking this as expected and normal, throwing out greetings as they haul out their lunch pails and settle in.

Taking off their protective gear is more than just against regulations, it’s a stupid idea: yet there’s a helmet hanging from a rivet in one of the support ribs of the walls, head lamp pointed down to illuminate a book in the lap of a shadowed figure comfortably sprawled out lounging while the rest of them busted their asses. In the dark and with the light focused on the book in front of him, all Vander really gets is a glimpse of stick-thin legs resting on top of the thick leather uniform jacket as if it’s a cushion. 

Vander’s not even really a tight-ass about the regulations. Just someone who understands why these particular rules exist, and how dangerously stupid it is to ignore them.

So, overall--not the greatest of first impressions. 

“You ever consider not getting arrested, Silco? It’s getting to be a pain in the ass for the foreman to pull you out of there.” Cray may be their shift supervisor but down this far he’s just another one of them, putting his back into it to lead by example. Until Vander came along he was the biggest of the crew and did that just in productivity alone, and he’s a well-respected and liked man overall. But leading by example extends beyond hauling rocks and apparently means plunking himself down next to this ‘Silco’ and hooking his helmet off of the bolt, dropping it down onto his head and then thumping his loose fist on top of it. As Vander settles nearby, feet braced against the rail, he can hear Cray’s voice lower, his tone a warmly affectionate warning. “Keep your helmet on, kid. We had a rib pop about a month after you were pinched. Sully didn’t make it out.”

“When they’re given the choice between having me break rocks up there and break rocks down here, I always end up back in the mines. Congratulations, even Stillwater thinks this is a worse punishment than prison.” There are a few of the men who have clearly done time as well who raise their canteens in a toast to that, and the echoing clamor of ribald and lively conversations pick up, letting the newcomer drop his charismatic performance to respond to Cray. He sounds different without a crowd to perform to, and Vander has to strain to listen as he sits nearby and opens up his thermos of leftover stew. “I heard the news when I came in. He was a good man, it’s going to be hard to replace him. …Though I assume that’s why we have the eavesdropping newcomer.”

When the headlamp swings his way, Vander turns and squints against the glare of it being directly aimed at him until his eyes adjust to the light.

Vander’s second impression is an entirely different matter. 

For Vander’s first job, he had been a dockhand where the River Pilt met the Conqueror’s Sea, saltwater and freshwater slow to mingle in the estuary. The brackish waters were a pretty shade of blue-green under the too-bright sunlight, beautiful and troubled, river eternally forced to cede to the overpowering force of the ocean. 

Staring into brilliant, challenging eyes, Vander’s second impression is just ‘pretty.’ Which is probably stupid to think about a dirty little thing so grayed in coal dust that it looks like he’d rolled in it, no matter how striking his eyes are under direct lamplight. 

“Vander, Silco. Silco, Vander. He’s a cousin of mine, so maybe try to be nice to him?”

“Half of you up in the sumps are cousins and all the rest of you call each other siblings. I’m not going to ‘be nice’ to any of them until they prove they’ve earned it.”

It’s an interesting way to phrase things, almost like a slip of the tongue. There are damn few people in the world who would consider the Sumps to be ‘up’ from anywhere at all, even in the undercity. You’d have to be looking up from the bottom of the fissures or the mines themselves to see the world that way. That combined with the Proms accent doesn’t make sense, but Vander just files it away for now as he offers an amiable smile and an extended hand.

“Well, let’s just hope I can earn it, then. Pleasure to meet you, Silco.”

It’s hard not to feel like he’s being dissected when under the glaring bright light of Silco’s headlamp, sharp eyes assessing him. It certainly makes it easier for Vander to do the same without it being awkward, despite being the only thing the other can see clearly for that moment. 

‘Slim’ isn’t a surprising nickname—he’s built small and wiry, all limbs and no bulk to him. There’s a shrewd, wary intelligence in his eyes but one of them is bloodshot; beneath the coal dust Vander suspects he has a black eye and a gash on his cheekbone that he’s trying to conceal. Stillwater wasn’t the picnic that he wants to pretend it was, and the second he’s in direct light it’s obvious. Vander’s nineteen and he’d estimate Silco’s seventeen or eighteen, but he talks as if he’s been a part of this crew for years, he’s gone to Stillwater more than once in that time, and he is perhaps overly comfortable in the mines. 

And he’s a snarky shit who doesn’t even pretend like he’s going to shake Vander’s hand. 

Instead bandaged fingers bring his cigarette back up to his lips as he drags in one last deep pull before stubbing it out on the toe of his boot and pushing himself to his feet, Vander’s outstretched hand completely ignored.  

“Charmed.” His voice is dry, sarcastic, and then he’s back to the show of it all again so others can hear. Illuminated from below by Vander and Cray, they watch as he tucks the book into the small of his back to be held in place by a cinched in belt, then tugs on a uniform jacket. “New rule number one of these mines, Vander. If you see your blaster run, you get the hell out and if I tell you to stand clear you stay the hell out. Cray, I’ll be at the third inbye. You haven’t done anything with it since I’ve been gone.”

“We hit solid on that one about three weeks after you were picked up, slim. I could have asked for another blaster since mine decided to spit in an Enforcer’s face, but then I’d have a harder time convincing them we needed you bailed out.”

Standoffish towards newcomers or not, it’s clear that Silco’s deeply embedded in the crew and they’re looking out for their own. Mining communities are tight-knit like that, and they may squabble among themselves but they’re viciously protective of each other among outsiders. It’s one of their best qualities, and has carried over into the culture of the Sumps. The Enforcers picked up the youngest member of the forward line, and they raised enough hell to get him back out a little early by grinding their operations to a crawl. 

“I’d thank you, but now they’re making me work off that bail so I’m doing this for half my take for about as long as I’d have been behind bars. Which as far as I’m concerned means I’m not being paid to be nice to any of you.” Cray grimaces, but Silco’s wry, slanted smirk doesn’t slip as he shoves his tied-back hair up into his helmet and grabs up a leather toolbag. Wedging a rod through the strap, lighting a safety lamp, and tucking a stub of chalk behind his ear, he then waves a hand lazily as he lopes into the dark. “Tell Myra not to wait the cart on me at shift’s end. I need a chance to get some prospecting done while you’re all out of my way. Draw straws for who’s going to butty me, because I’m blowing something up tomorrow one way or another. ”

“Try not to make it one of us!” One of the miners pipes in, and Silco huffs his amusement as others laugh, but he’s disappeared into the dark, just a narrow silhouette and an uneven bob of a light as he heads to the tunnels, voice echoing back to them.

“Half pay, so I only half promise.”

Vander frowns after him, and based on tone he’s fairly sure Cray is doing the same. “Don’t mind Silco. He takes a while to warm up to people…”

“Your blaster is limping and beat to hell from being in prison. He’s going to get himself killed.”

“The limp isn’t from Stillwater, it’s why he got himself picked up in the first place.” Cray passes over a hunk of bread for Vander in exchange for a portion of the stew, and together they eat side by side. Vander doesn’t have to ask him to explain, his silence says enough. “We had a shitty roof bolter, it’s why the rib popped on Sully too. Too much strain on a pillar ended up with a rockburst. Snapped Silco’s leg like a twig, and it’s only because he’s a fast little bastard that his leg wasn’t just crushed and him along with it. He went from the medical tent straight up to the first Enforcer he saw, picked a fight and let them think they fucked up his leg. So, Stillwater foots the medical bills and gives him three hots and a cot while he can’t work to feed himself or keep a roof over his head anyway. He’s done it before, and him being a kid usually lands him a short stint, too. We’d have left him in for another couple of months to finish healing up...”

But they were threatening to replace him. So Silco is back with a half-healed leg in a job that requires him to be fast on his feet or be caught in his own blasts, doing overnight deadwork that isn’t even going to get him paid, and still dryly quipping with the people who screwed up his plans to let himself heal. 

He’s also not really a kid anymore, so the trick with the Enforcers isn’t going to get him leniency in sentencing for much longer if he goes and gets himself injured again. And it’s clear he’s not exactly making himself friends in prison, either.

“Don’t draw straws.” 

Silco needs a partner, but whoever is stuck with him loses the chance for production bonuses while they’re paired up, and risks being blown up alongside him. Vander has a roof over his head, can get by on the daily wage, and doesn’t have a spouse or kids waiting to see if he’s coming home. 

Plus he’s pretty sure he could throw the cantankerous little shit over his shoulder and book it faster than Silco can run right now. 

Cray’s scrutinizing him, light bright on Vander’s face again, but he just dunks stale bread into three day old stew and continues eating. 

“…Well, guess we’d better get you the gauntlets, then.”

[icariusshapedheart]

Silco x Vander RP (+18)

Hello everyone!!!

I'm looking for someone/multiple people to RP Slico!

Rules

I do expect these rules to be respected and followed, as it's for everyone, not just myself.

• I prefer literary RP! This means big, long descriptions with detail. It, personally, helps me with my replies.

• Please do not make it a purely explicit RP! I want A STORY, not just one explicit scene after another. I find the characters and the story so much more important than the explicit stuff.

• Please tell me if anything makes YOU uncomfortable! I would hate to accidentally make someone feel uncomfortable!

• The only reason I have an 18+ warning on this post is because I'm 24 and really don't want to be talking to minors

• We can talk about things outside of the RP! Please don't feel like you can only text me when you're replying!

• Id appreciate it if you'd start the RP, just because I am so bad at starting off stories 😂

• If there are multiple characters, please mark who you're talking as, I get confused easily

I haven't done RP in A LONG TIME, so I apologize if my skills are rusty for a while. But I promise I can make an amazing RP!

Storyline:

I'd like to play around with the idea of post Bridge War, after Vander had tried to drown Silco. Vandor is desperate to gain Silco's forgiveness and trust, Silco going through the motions of anger, grief and the complex emotions of trying to forgive something so terrible. Especially coming from the man he's loved for so long, the man he followed across the bridge to achieve their shared dream, The Nation of Zaun.

Places to Reach Me:

Here on Tumblr is always a great option.

Discord is also great! ✨User: jaeisexhausted ✨

[icariusshapedheart]

Seasonal Sadness

When the air gets crisp

With the leaves falling suite,

The cinder block depression

Creeps into my chest

The days start to lessen

The Sun only out for a few hours

Bringing darkness faster and faster

Each season

Bringing the same sadness

But

Much like most things

This seasonal sadness

Doesn't last forever

The leaves turn green

The air warms

And the Sun shines again

So,

When you feel that

Cinder block depression

Seasonal sadness

Return

Just remember

Seasons change

[icariusshapedheart]