westernwild

trying to get back into writing red dead redemption & arcane

[improbable-outset]

📂 𝐉𝐚𝐲𝐜𝐞 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐬 𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐀𝐥𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐭.𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐞

7k+ words….my God. I still don’t have a Masterlist for my Jayce fics. Soon though 🙌🏼

📄 𝐀𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.𝐝𝐨𝐜

If I had the write an essay on how Jayce’s affection manifests throughout Arcane, using case studies and evidence from the series to back up my points, I’d absolutely ace the task

Matter of fact, that paper alone would probably be enough to pass the whole course because it’ll be exquisite— mind-blowing even. The professors wouldn’t just give me an A*. They would invent a new grade entirely

The point is, Jayce’s affection is heavily presented in this show, and it’s clear that this man is dedicated to the people he cares about

We’ve all seen it most prominently with Viktor. I won’t go into too much detail (or we’ll be here all day), but Jayce’s loyalty and care for him are on full display

His physical presence is grounding to him, and he often uses touch to comfort or connect with the people he’s close to

With his romantic partner, I can definitely see him being naturally physically affectionate— holding hands whenever he can, resting his hands on your shoulder, or even lightly brushing your fingers. If he’s feeling anxious, he might just hold onto your fingertips, seeking reassurance from you

Whenever he feels overwhelmed by his responsibilities as a councillor, he wouldn’t hesitate to rest his head on your lap (sound familiar?) even wrap his arms around you to recharge

He doesn’t shy away from showing his emotions and vulnerable side, which creates a space of trust and intimacy between the two of you. If something was to bother him, he’d talk it out rather than bottling everything up and leaving you in the dark

As mentioned above, he’s unflinchingly faithful and loyal. We’ve seen the way he covers for Caitlyn, and I feel like he would extend that loyalty to his partner. Always ready to stand by your side and protect you, no matter what

📄 𝐁𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝.𝐝𝐨𝐜

Have you ever had a friend who yaps a lot? Not in an overbearing way that talks your ear off or doesn’t give you room to speak. But someone who’s just eager to share their thoughts and experiences with you. Probably oversharing occasionally

That’s what being friends with Jayce is like— especially if you were friends back in his Academy days. He was already a bright, intelligent student back then, driven by a passion of his studies and research, and always eager to learn more

When you’d study together, you’d hear him ramble about some experiment or project he’s working on. Even if half of it went over your head, you’d still listen because his excitement was contagious (blah blah blah proper name, place name, backstory stuff)

And you’d know that he would do the same for you. Whenever you spoke about something you were passionate about, Jayce would listen intently— always with solid eye contact and offering his thoughts and encouragement

If you need advice, Jayce would be there to talk things through with you. He’s rational, but also leads with his heart, so his advice would always come with empathy.

And let’s not forget his humour. Jayce might take his work seriously, but he knows how to lighten the mood when the moment calls for it. Remember the way he snuck up behind Caitlyn and tipped her hat? That same mischievous streak would show up in your friendship too

Whether it’s pulling an all-nighter for a project or grabbing a coffee together, Jayce would make sure you feel valued and appreciated. His loyalty runs deep, and once you’ve earned his trust, you can count on him to be a lifelong friend

📄 𝐂𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐬.𝐝𝐨𝐜

I’m not exaggerating when I say that physical touch is like fuel to Jayce— it gives him the extra drive, especially if it’s from you. And cuddles is no exception

When it’s the two of you in privacy, he closes the gap in bed immediately. His go-to is being the little spoon, though he wouldn’t mind switching things up and holding you from time to time as well

He loves lying on top of you, listening to your heartbeat and the soft rhythm of your breathing. It’s these little things— your natural scent, the way you chest rises and falls, or just the fact that you exists— fulfils him

God forbid if you were to shift in your sleep, unintentionally pulling yourself away from him. He wouldn’t be too dramatic about it but he will grumble softly from the lack of your touch and instinctively tighten his grip and pull you close (unless you really do want your space, of course)

Being in your arms feels like home, and he’ll savour every moment, preserving those quiet times together.

📄 𝐃𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜.𝐝𝐨𝐜

I don’t know what it is, and I can’t fully explain myself here, but I just can’t see Jayce being great with the cooking. And it’s not like the show gives us much to work with, maybe it was the sandwich he made for himself that appeared in the first episode— it didn’t scream “master chef”

I know that doesn’t really speak much. Though, that’s not to say he couldn’t handle himself if needed. He might manage some basic dishes (scrambled eggs or simple pasta), but that’s just me being generous here

Cleaning, on the other hand, would be Jayce’s strong suit in a domestic setting. He seems like the type who works best in an organised, less chaotic space, and that preference would carry over to his living space

I’m basing most of this on his lab that looked pretty tidy, while being spacious (it helps that Viktor was there to share the space). Plus, from the small glimpse of his bedroom, everything looked pretty neat and thoughtfully placed

Speaking of the bedroom, we do see him keep trinkets— like the photo of his father and himself as a boy and other nicknacks— and I think that speaks a lot about him. Those small items hold a sentimental value, and I feel like if the two of you were to live together, he’s carry that habit into your shared home

You’d find pictures of the two of you together (maybe even wedding photos, if it gets to that point), ornaments or objects that remind him of special memories or an event, and collections of meaningful things. He’s definitely not a hoarder, but he has a way of decorating that feels personal and homely without making the space look cluttered

📄 𝐄𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠.𝐝𝐨𝐜

I always disliked getting to this part of the headcanon alphabet because my heart can’t imagine breaking up with my favourite person. Breaking up is something Jayce would avoid as much as possible

He’s not the type to walk away lightly. If there was an issue, he would always try to fix things— sometime to the point where he might be blinded by his own feelings. In such a pivotal moment like this, he might fail to see the bigger picture, not realising that letting go could actually be the healthiest option for both of you

Jayce values commitment deeply, so it would take something monumental— likely a circumstance outside of his control— for him to really reach the point of ending a relationship

If he was the one to break things off, it would be rooted in his self doubts. We’ve seen blame himself heavily when things go wrong, like after his decision to arm the Enforcers with Hextech weapons led to disastrous fallout. If he started to believe that his actions were causing you pain or holding you back, those insecure thoughts could push him to make the heartbreaking choice to let you go.

Another major reason might be to protect you. As a public figure, tied to the Hextech legacy and Piltover’s council, there’s always a risk of danger surrounding him. The idea of his enemies harming you because of your connection with him would be unbearable. He’d rather live the ache of losing you than risk you getting hurt because of him

We’ve seen how much he struggled with his emotions— like when he broke down after seeing the destruction on the bridge blockade (and threw up over the bridge, yikes) or when Viktor revealed his illness. And don’t get me started on his face when he saw one of the smugglers helping with the Shimmer was a child.

Before actually saying the words, he’d spend sleepless nights agonising over the decision, rehearsing his explanation until his head starts pounding. When the moment comes, Jayce would be nothing but straightforward and compassionate though (even though he’s dying inside and would break into a sob if you keep looking at him like that)

I can see him blame himself more than necessary. His emotional driven nature means he could take on too much guilt. He would reassure you repeatedly that he still cares about you and you deserve better or that he didn’t want to hold you back. It’s not that he doesn’t love you— it’s that he loves you too much to put you in harms way or causing you unhappiness

If the breakup wasn’t his choice, it would devastate him. His idealism and compassion runs deep, and losing someone he loves deeply would make him feel like a failure.

While Jayce isn’t naive in the traditional sense, his trusting and tendency to act impulsive sometimes might make you feel like he’s putting others’ agendas above your own values or your relationship. If you feel like his choices are constantly being driven by outside influences, or his passion for progress leaves little room for the two of you, it could push you to make the decision to leave.

Other reasons could be an imbalance of ambition. You might reach to a point where you feel emotionally drained, unable to keep up with the pace or the expectations of someone so involved in shaping the future of Piltover— and staying longer could be daunting

Jayce would respect your decisions, even though it hollowed him out. This brings me back to the sadness in Jayce’s eyes when Viktor left him, ending his partnership with him.

He might try to make amends, but he wouldn’t force you to stay. You might catch a glimpse of his heartbreak the way he buries himself in work, pushing himself harder than ever to keep his mind occupied

📄 𝐅𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞.𝐝𝐨𝐜

Jayce is incredibly ambitious, and even before his rise to the Council, he was locked in with his studies at Piltover Academy. Marriage wouldn’t necessarily be at the forefront of his mind— at least, not until he feels like he’s reaching a point where it makes sense for him to settle down

That being said, Jayce is also emotional and very passionate. If you were in a committed relationship, he might consider the idea of marriage. Though he would make sure his other goals, like completing his work or studies, were handled first. It’s the practical and plausible choice in his eyes

When it comes to cultural norms in Piltover, particularly among the elite, there’s a focus on status, achievements, and societal contributions over personal milestones such as marriages. And if marriage was considered, it’s often seen as a catalyst for strengthening alliances or enhancing social standings

This might influence Jayce, especially after becoming a Council Member. While navigating the political implications of marriage, he refuses to prioritise it for political reasons. He wouldn’t let it dictate something as important as his love life. For Jayce, marriage would only be on the table if it was based on genuine love and commitment— not ulterior motives

In the end, it might just work in his favour. A marriage built on love could serve as a stabilising force for him, painting him as a family man who values commitment and balance— a sentiment that even the Piltover’s elites would admire and trust

📄 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞.𝐝𝐨𝐜

Jayce has always shown his gentler side throughout the show, especially more so with his interactions with Viktor. One stand out moment is when Jayce gave up his seat during a council meeting so Viktor can sit comfortably— a simple gesture that speaks volume. It shows his attentiveness to the needs of those he cares about.

And when Viktor confides in him about his illness, Jayce doesn’t brush it aside. We see more of his reassurance in the last scene, telling Viktor that he was ‘never broken’. Anyways, I’m not just here to talk about him and Viktor.

Jayce approaches delicate situations with care, and as his romantic partner, you’d see that same emotional depth and consideration

His gentleness isn’t just emotional though, it’s physical too. His relationship with Mel is a perfect example. Even if their relationship had a political undertone, you can see Jayce being tender with her during their private moments, as if he’s always mindful of his touch and presence

As his partner, you would expect him to be just as tender with you. Whether it’s stroking your hand during a tough conversation or holding your chin while tilting your head up to look at him. Jayce doesn’t rush— he takes his time to show his care, both his actions and words

Part of this stems from his upbringing. His warm and respectful relationship with his mother is something he carries into how he treats others, and it’s evident that he values meaningful connections (his mother taught him well)

📄 𝐇𝐮𝐠𝐬.𝐝𝐨𝐜

My God….where do I even start. To say this man isn’t a hugger is like saying the earth is flat. You know you’re lying to yourself

I cannot get over the scene where Jayce hugged Viktor before Viktor left him. You could see the yearning in his eyes when he pulled away

He’d definitely be the first to initiate a hug with his romantic partner. He’d take every opportunity to do so, especially if you’re in need of comfort or reassurance

Jayce’s hugs are unmatched. With his height and broad frame, you feel completely enveloped— like nothing in the world could hurt you. Bonus point for those biceps— when he wraps his arms around you, it’s a whole experience. It’ll leave you feeling protected, and completely loved

📄 𝐈 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮.𝐝𝐨𝐜

The first time Jayce confessed his love to you (and he definitely confessed first— have you seen the yearning in his eyes in the series?), he probably said something along the lines of ‘I’m in love with you.’ Words are powerful to him, and he needed to say something that truly expressed the depth of his feelings

A half-assed ‘I really like you’ wouldn’t have been enough for him— it wouldn’t even scratch the surface of what he felt. He wanted you to know, without any shadow of a doubt, how much you meant to him

And okay, technically, that might have not been a straight forward ‘I love you’ but it was the first time he used the word love. That counts for something, right?

It didn’t take him long to say those three words, though. I can picture it happening in one of his happiest moments with you— maybe after you surprised him with a gift, or did something meaningful that hit him right in the heart. Riding that high of happiness, he’d look at you with the biggest grin on his face and just let the words slip “I love you”

He’d probably laugh softly right after, a little sheepish but not at all regretful before sealing it with a kiss. A passionate, heartfelt one

Jayce is the type to say it more often in private, when it’s just the two of you. He doesn’t throw it around casually— every time he says it, you can tell he means it. The words don’t lose their weight, only growing stronger with every moment he spends with you

📄 𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐲.𝐝𝐨𝐜

Awhh Jayce. Whenever it comes to your relationship and how he handles things, he runs on a lot of passionate emotions, which can be both a good and bad thing. He doesn’t get irrationally jealous and starts throwing hands, but he definitely has a sense of pride and protectiveness

That being said, Jayce’s jealousy doesn’t come from possessiveness but rather from a deep-rooted fear of inadequacy or not being good enough for you. It’s not about him doubting you— it’s about him doubting himself

When jealousy creeps in, he doesn’t lash out or make a scene. Instead you might notice subtle changes— he becomes quieter, more distracted and overall a little less cheerful. He struggles to hide how much it’s bothering him, but it’s obvious in the way his usual enthusiasm and affection falters

When it’s really eating at him, he might let out a passive-aggressive remark. Though he doesn’t mean to, and it usually comes out more awkwardly than anything. If you ask him directly what’s wrong, he’ll brush it off with a humour-laced excuse, cracking a joke to deflect the situation (which lands awkwardly) all while feeling uneasy inside

It’s not until the weight of his overthinking gets too much to bear that he finally gives in and tells you “I don’t know I just…do you think I’m good enough for you?” It’s not just the jealousy, but the fear behind that’s talking

He didn’t expect you to laugh softly— not at him, but at how adorable he looked, all flustered and overthinking everything. You cupped his face and reassured him that he has absolutely no reason to doubt himself or your love. You kissed him softly, reminding him that you chose him, and no one else.

Jayce melted under your reassurance, his shoulders finally relaxed. He chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck and muttered about how silly he’s being. You could tell from the way his hands lingered on yours that your words meant everything to him

📄 𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬.𝐝𝐨𝐜

This is always my favourite headcanon to write up. Smooches. I've definitely rewatch the scene of Jayce and Mel’s first kiss more times than I’d care to admit, just so I could see how Jayce kisses his partner

The first time he confessed his love to you, and you returned the feeling, he was ecstatic. But he also didn’t want to be too forward (even though he’d dreamed about kissing you so many times). Instead, he softly kissed your knuckles. It was such a sweet, chivalrous gesture, and quickly became one of his go-to ways of showing affection. He even lowers his head every time to meet your hand, like a knight bowing before their queen

Forehead kisses are also his signature, especially if you’re shorter than him. He find them warm and protective, a way of silently showing his presence

Now, kisses from you turn him into an absolute puddle. Surprise kisses are his ultimate weakness. The first time you caught him off guard, he just stood there, startled. Blinking like you’d short-circuited his brain. You pulled back with an innocent look, and he ended up rubbing the back of his neck, trying (and failing) to hide how flustered he was

There’s one moment where you hugged him from behind and kissed the back of his neck. He didn’t even know he was into neck kisses like that until you did it. He’s too shy to bring it up, but secretly hopes you’ll do it again (you absolutely should). Cheek kisses and forehead kisses from you are also high on the list, but the neck kiss is a core memory now

First time you shared a kiss, it felt like his whole world was muted. I can imagine him tilting your head up from your chin, and his eyes flicked between yours and your lips. while his heart is jackhammering inside his chest like crazy (how were you even more beautiful up close?). He almost hesitated, but when your eyes softened in anticipation, he leaned in.

The first kiss was gentle, almost weary, like he was testing the waters. But when you kissed him back, he couldn’t help but deepen it slightly, tilting his head to fit against you perfectly. That moment would be burned into his psych forever— how your soft lips felt against his, the way you made his chest tighten and stomach flutter.

📄 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬.𝐝𝐨𝐜

We haven’t really seen many paternal characteristics from Jayce in the series, so it’s a bit hard to pinpoint exactly how he would be as a father

However, based on the traits that shows throughout the series— his care for others, and his passion— I feel confident that he would be a good father (I can definitely see him asking his child to hold a flashlight while he’s working on a project in the lab, giving them the “mini assistant” title)

That said, fatherhood might not come naturally to him right away. The idea of having his own children wouldn’t initially cross his mind, especially how busy he is in the lab, and his additional duties as a councillor

Even if you do introduce the idea of having children, he would feel a little skeptical. Losing his father at a young age would play a role in his doubts— he didn’t grow up with an official father figure and might question if he's equipped for that role himself.

It would take time and some extra convincing for him to warm up to having children. But the moment you conceive, or once you finalise the adoption, everything changes.

When your belly starts to show, he would be all over you and the baby. He’d drop to his knees just to feel the baby kicking, resting his palms gently on your bump while murmuring sweet words to you and the little one

Once the baby is born— or if you do end up adopting— a switch flips inside him. He takes doting on the child to a whole new level. Sometimes, it might come off as overbearing (like when he creates an ultra-organised schedule for feeding, nap times, changing the diaper, and even tummy time)

Of course, he’s a man of science, Jayce comes prepared. Expect him to research everything about childcare— I’m talking crossing the t’s and dotting the i’s. Even applying scientific precision to parenthood.

But he’s also adjusting to the new lifestyle as much as you, so there will definitely be hiccups. At first he’s a bit of a nervous wreck— fumbling through diaper changes and fretting over the baby crying. But over time, he grows into the role, becoming a loving father.

📄 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠.𝐝𝐨𝐜

Naturally, Jayce would be an early riser— first as a dedicated student, then as a councillor with more duties. However, ever since you started living together, waking up to your warmth has made getting out of bed a lot harder

If he had the choice, he would sleep in just to stay wrapped up in you, basking in your presence. But the world doesn’t stop spinning, and the duties won’t take care of themselves

He showers first thing in the morning to wake himself up— probably preferring warm showers over cold ones. At this time, he prefers to be alone while freshening up, needing the quiet moment to fully wake up

On his mornings, he tends to rush through breakfast— even skip it entirely. But with you around, you always remind him to eat properly. While dressing, he multitasks, skimming through his reports with one hand while fastening his cuffs with the other

If he had to give a speech that day, you help him rehearse one last time in your room. He always steals a quick kiss on the cheek or on the lips before heading out. A quick thank you before the chaos of the day begins

On his days off however, he would definitely use the opportunity to stay in bed with you. Morning cuddles are non-negotiable. You’ll see a softer, almost puppy-like side of him— nuzzling into you, sneaking extra kisses, even draping himself over you just to keep you in bed longer

📄 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭.𝐝𝐨𝐜

It’s no surprise that Jayce often comes home late, exhausted from council meetings and Hextech work. Some nights, he doesn’t make it home at all, caught up in duties or attending evening events

If he’s working late in the lab, he tends to lose track of time, completely immersed in his research. He’s a workaholic when it comes to science, and sometimes, it takes you reminding him to step away and actually come to bed

On particularly long days, he’s so drained that he flops onto the bed fully clothed and immediately falls asleep. It’s happened more times than once— until you stepped in and stopped him

You help him out of his jacket and boots, and in return, he presses a tired but grateful kiss against your lips or forehead. Even when he’s dead tired, he still checks in on you, asking about your day— though don’t be surprised if he drifts off mid-conversation, lulled by exhaustion

On rare nights when he comes home early, the atmosphere is more relaxed. He enjoys having tea with you, unwinding as you both share stories about your day.

In bed, he pulls you close, whether you’re talking or just enjoying the quiet together. Physical touch is comfort to him, and even in his sleep, his arms always finds its way around you

If he comes home to find you already sleeping, he slips into bed carefully, wraps an arms round you from behind, plants a kiss to your shoulder before drifting off to sleep

He definitely sleeps better with you besides him— it’s probably something scientific, oxytocin level or whatever— but he knows with you there, he’s at peace

📄 𝐎𝐩𝐞𝐧.𝐝𝐨𝐜

Whenever I think of Jayce being open and vulnerable, I think of his relationship with Mel— especially more so when he rests his head on her lap. One of his lines that stood out to me was “nothing feels impossible when I’m with you”

So I think I can confidently say that with Jayce, it won’t take long for him to reveal things about himself, after he fully trusts you. He’s not the type of person that has a tough shell exterior (Thank God), even if front of the council, where we’ve seen how easily his emotions can show when he’s under pressure

Though he wouldn’t reveal everything at once, when you are alone together there might be some moments of silence and others where he opens up about his past: the House Talis, his family’s business, and how he was expected to join— but instead, he pursued his passion for science and became a scholar in the Academy

Sometimes it might take a little longer to talk about things he sees as personal failures or flaws, like the unintended consequences of his decisions or the guilt he carries for not always living up to his ideals. He might hesitate, afraid to burden you, but you always listen attentively and the way you reassure him makes it easier for him to talk

He would open up more with time, especially about his ambitions and fears. Most of these heartfelt, vulnerable conversations would happen when you’re alone in bed together, with the stillness of the night and the soft glow of your light where he feels safe

📄 𝐏𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞.𝐝𝐨𝐜

This is a bit of a two-sided coin. And let me explain why.

On one hand, we could see Jayce tirelessly working on Hextech during his early Academy days. Back when he didn’t have a lot on his plate and was just still a student— he always pushed forward with determination. His persistence show he doesn’t let setbacks anger him, even when the Council doubted his research

Based on this, I imagine Jayce as someone who would patiently listen attentively to his partner, hearing you out on your problems, trying to find a solution without immediately jumping into anger. If arguments do happen, he’d avoid raising his voice, though he’d still stand firm on his beliefs. I feel like he’d process his emotions first, calming down before returning to the conversation

However, after becoming a Councillor, we see his patience start to wear thinner under the weight of his new responsibilities. His duties have multiplied, and the stakes have gotten much higher. We see his argument with Viktor over the bridge blockade.

By this point, he’s juggling political pressure, the Hextech weaponisation, and his own guilt over the chaos unfolding in Piltover and the Undercity. His frustration boils over because he and Viktor are no longer fully aligned, and Viktor questions his decisions

This is a rare moment of Jayce misdirecting his anger— his frustration at the whole situation, but Viktor ends up on the receiving end because Jayce is overwhelmed (not that I’m saying this is excusable)

I’m not saying that Jayce would snap at his partner easily— he’s still incredibly caring— but under extreme stress, his patience might fray, especially if he feels unsupported in difficult situations. That said, Jayce would immediately regret it. He doesn’t like being at odds with the people he loves, and he works quickly to apologise and make things right

📄 𝐐𝐮𝐢𝐳𝐳𝐞𝐬.𝐝𝐨𝐜

One of the first things that comes to mind from the series is how Jayce never forgets the people who’ve helped him. After returning from the Arcane, he made it his mission to fulfil his promise to Viktor. Also, even as a councillor, despite his growing responsibilities, he still tries to check in on him, showing how much he values those close to him

That being said, Jayce would absolutely make an effort to remember details about his partner— especially if it’s something important to you. If you casually mention wanting something but never getting around to buying it, don’t be surprised if he gifts it to you later, acting like it’s no big deal

Another thing that proves how sentimental Jayce can be is his relationship with his mother. He still carries the medallion she gave him, a reminder of where he came from and the people who support him

Speaking of sentimentality— one year, on his birthday, you’ve gifted him a custom brooch, something small yet meaningful. Ever since then, he wears it on his jacket during council meetings, a quiet reminder of you no matter where he goes (that’s canon now)

📄 𝐑𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫.𝐝𝐨𝐜

One of Jayce’s favourite memories in your relationship is the time you surprised him with a telescope for his lab. You’d remember him casually mentioning how he was interested in astronomy and how owning a telescope would be pretty amazing. He never expected you to actually act on that passing comment

The morning he walked into your lab and saw it there, he was completely floored. From that day on, it became a tradition to spend every other night together in his lab, stargazing through the telescope and poring over his astronomy books

Those nights under the stars, where you both connected over something so simple yet meaningful, became a core memory for him. It wasn’t just the telescope, but the thoughtfulness behind the gift and how it brought you closer

📄 𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐲.𝐝𝐨𝐜

A lover boy like Jayce Talis is bound to have a protective streak to match. Argue with the wall. If he would sacrifice himself to save humanity, then what makes you think he wouldn’t move mountains for his partner?

One of the scenes that has highlighted this to me was when Jayce saw that the Hexcore had saved Viktor’s life. When Heimerdinger instructed for him to destroy it, Jayce gets defensive— for Viktor. (I don’t know, I just love seeing Jayce get mad when it comes to protecting his loved ones. What a man!)

With that scene, I can totally see Jayce standing up for you, even in your absence. The last thing we wants is hearing people talking bad about his beloved. He doesn’t get aggressive, but he would be firm and commanding when defending you— especially to anybody who dares to overstep

That being said, he absolutely values a partner who truly believes in his work and isn’t afraid to stand up by him when the rest of the world is against him. Even though he doesn’t necessarily need someone to fight his battles, knowing that you’ve got his back just as much as he has yours will always give him the confidence he needs

Additionally, this man is physically strong. We’ve seen his physique in the forge scene, as well as his ability to wield the Mercury Hammer. I can only imagine how heavy that is, and he handles it like it’s a toy. So, of course, he would use his strength to physically protect you from danger (even if he doesn’t know how to fight)

As protective as Jayce is of you, he craves to feel secure and supported by his partner. You being his steady source of encouragement and emotional protection means the world to him. He might not outright ask for it, but small gestures— like gently reminding him to take a break and drink water— would make him feel loved and safe. Security in a relationship goes both ways and nothing feels insurmountable with you

📄 𝐓𝐫𝐲.𝐝𝐨𝐜

With everything that I’ve described about Jayce so far, it wouldn’t make sense to say he wouldn’t put effort into your relationship. He isn’t the one to half-heartedly approach anything

We see a snippet of this in the series, all the way back to Season 1. After Caitlyn is suspended from the Enforcers by her mother, Jayce visits her and offers her a position as his personal bodyguard. While she does ultimately declines, this highlights how he tries to support and protect the people he cares about, even when they’re at a low point

Now imagine the level of care and attention he’ll bring to his romantic partner. Jayce would be the type to take anniversaries and birthdays seriously, plan them well in advance. Whether it’s an extravagant dinners at one of Piltover finest restaurants or a quiet night home in front of the fire, he’d make sure every detail is thoughtful and personal to you

Speaking of personal, Jayce would definitely be the type to make handmade gifts in his forge. One year, he surprised you with a metal rose for your birthday, each petal crafted with care

And let’s not forget the big one— your engagement ring. I saw a headcanon that Jayce would craft the ring himself, and I’m fully on board with the idea. That’s my our man right there!

Every moment of his labour, every drop of sweat from his pores, would be worth it to see the look on your face when he gets down on one knee and asks you the ultimate question. (And yes, he absolutely daydreams about that moment more often than he’d admit)

📄 𝐔𝐠𝐥𝐲.𝐝𝐨𝐜

My brain was a little all over the place when I came this this letter, so let’s break it down

One of Jayce’s common flaws— something that’s pretty evident early in the first season— is his naïveté. He has moments where he lets other people’s influence guide his decision, like the councils agenda or Mel’s early manipulation

This habit could be deep into your relationship, too. He might unintentionally hurt you by prioritising the wrong thing or listening to other people’s opinion over yours, even when he means well. He’s not malicious, but it can still sting

Another habit of his (that’s tied to how much responsibility he carries) is his tendency to overwork himself. He takes on more than he can handle— working late in the lab, balancing council duties, or trying to fix every problem by himself

Because of this, he might struggle to make time for you. It’s not intentional, but you could feel neglected at times. And if he doesn’t pace himself, it could lead to burnout or moments where he’s short-tempered from stress— and you’d end up being on the receiving end

None of this means he doesn’t care about you, though. If anything, Jayce’s flaws come from how much he cares about everyone else. It’s just that sometimes, in trying to take care of the world, he forgets to care for himself. And you

📄 𝐕𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲.𝐝𝐨𝐜

After being appointed to the Council, Jayce definitely started putting more effort into his appearance. As the voice of progress and the co-founder of Hextech, all eyes are on him, so looking presentable is part of the job (not that it take much effort with Jayce)

The white jacket with the gold accents on the maroon shoulder pads show that he’s polished and takes pride in his status. The Talis family crest on his outfit is a reminder that he hasn’t forgotten his roots (plus the hammer doubling as the letter T is a chef’s kiss design choice)

Later in Season 2, we see him clean up after being stuck in the chaos of the Arcane. He ditches his council robe for a sharp black dress shirt with a white jacket (though I prefer it without the jacket, and definitely not because we get a better view of his biceps)

Honestly, I’m still vexed that we only got to see him in that outfit for a few scenes. It was easily his coldest look, and I think dark colours suit him more— it might be the scruff and the longer hair that really ties it all together

📄 𝐖𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞.𝐝𝐨𝐜

Whenever I think of Jayce, I’ve always seen him as independent. From his early Academy days, he was immersed in his research, working in the lab to chase his vision for Hextech. Even before that, it was just him and his mother growing up— he learned earlier on to rely on himself to push through life’s challenges.

But even Jayce knows the importance of connections. After all, it was the Kirammans patronage that gave him the foundation he needed to bring his dream to life. He’s never truly been alone, even if he feels like the world was on his shoulders

With that in mind, it’s hard to imagine Jayce feeling entirely ‘incomplete’ without you. He has his work, his allies, and his sense of purpose to keep him moving forward. But that’s not to say you haven’t profoundly changed his life for the better. Being your partner has opened new doors for him, feelings he didn’t fully understand before— love, partnership, and the comfort of knowing someone sees him for who he truly is.

You’ve given him something deeper than any political alliance or patronage could— a sense of belonging and a safe space.

If, God forbid, the two of you were to ever separate, he'll keep going because that’s who he is. But there’d be a deep-rooted sadness, a yearning in the quiet moments where he’d normally share his thoughts and vulnerabilities with you. He’d still have work, the Kirammans, and the weight of Piltover's progress— but none of it will fill the space you left behind

📄 𝐗𝐭𝐫𝐚.𝐝𝐨𝐜

This headcanon has nothing to do with your relationship, but rather, Jayce’s signature scent. As a Councilman, an inventor, and former Academy scholar, his fragrance reflects his polished, ambitious image— but without overshadowing the warm, approachable demeanor that makes him so charming

You can always tell when he’s in the room— his cologne lingers just enough to leave a lasting impression, but it’s never overpowering

Here’s what I think his scent would be like:

Base note— I imagine sandalwood or cedarwood, which gives the fragrance a rich, slightly smoky essence that feels masculine

Heart note— maybe amber or vanilla. Adding a touch of sweetness that mirrors his good-natured personality

Top note— cardamon for a bright, sophisticated opening that reflects his confidence and intellect

A luxurious scent that speaks to his taste— polished, yet warm and undeniably Jayce

📄 𝐘𝐮𝐜𝐤.𝐝𝐨𝐜

For someone who genuinely does have a good heart— someone driven by passion and ideals— it’s not surprising that Jayce has a few deal breakers in a partner. Whiles he’s not one to judge so hastily, certain behaviours and mindsets could clash with his values and make the relationship unsustainable

Jayce is a man with vision. He dreams to unite magic and technology has defined his life, and we’ve seen how deeply he pours into his work. Do you know how hard it is to build new technology, as well as harnessing magic? Back in his Academy days, when everyone doubted him (including his mother) he hit his lowest point. He knows how it feels to have your efforts dismissed, so he thrives on encouragement (we’ve seen it from Caitlyn).

A partner who undermines his ambition or brushes off his ideas would cut deep. He could handle skepticism from strangers, but the love of his life— that would wound him

He’s also a man who strives for progress— not just for himself, but for the world. His vision for innovation isn’t just for selfish reasons— he wants to help improve lives. So, if his partner was indifferent to larger issues or uninterested in changing the world, that disconnection could create a rift between the two of you. Jayce is someone who wants to share his dreams, not feel like he’s dragging someone along

Jayce is vulnerable when it comes to his personal life. He thrives off of constructive criticism when it’s beneficial. But constants belittling from his partner who only points out his flaws while ignoring his effort, would chip away at his confidence. He already struggles with his self-doubt at time, but harsh words from you would only amplify the dark voice of his doubts

And going back to his emotional nature. I’ve mentioned earlier that Jayce isn’t the type to call quits immediately, even when the red flag starts to appear. He would try to make it work, holding onto hope and trying to see the best in you. But if the relationship is starting to drain his energy rather than uplifting him, even his optimistic heart would have to let go

📄 𝐙𝐳𝐳.𝐝𝐨𝐜

Have you ever seen a koala hugging a tree? Now, imagine Jayce as the koala and you as the tree. Are you getting the vision?

When you sleep together, he’s quick to have his arms clutching around you. His face is either buried in the crook of your neck or resting on your chest— all while being the small spoon (how greedy)

However, Jayce tends to forget that his body runs hot naturally, especially when he’s already half-asleep. So you’ll often wake up feeling like you’re trapped in a furnace of his body heat

On warmer nights, he would sleep shirtless, of course. He also loves the skin-to-skin contact when he’s cuddling you. It’s his favourite way to fall asleep

It’s hard to predict when the nsfw version will be posted. But if already liked the wholesome HC and want early access to the explicit stuff (I know you do 👁️👁️), I will be posting it on ao3 first. They will be posted here

[w3sternwild]

The level of detail in this is so so great. I really enjoyed reading!!!

[c4stelllan]

i need to bury my whole face into his armpit or whatever

[hy6erion-deactivated20251118]

𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐈 𝐍𝐞𝐞𝐝 - 𝑱𝒂𝒚𝒄𝒆 𝑻𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒔 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

⍣✰...𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞

⇢ minimal use of y/n, only description are dark eyes

obviously inspired by all i need from radiohead (∩︵∩) love a pathetic jayce

fluff/angst, 800+ words

The dormitory was quiet except for the rhythmic hum of distant machinery and the faint rustling of papers on Viktor's desk. Jayce sat by the window, his broad frame hunched slightly as he stared out at Piltover's skyline, the lights glimmering in the deepening twilight. Behind him, Y/n moved around the room with her usual purpose, her steps light but deliberate.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her—not when she passed by, her hair catching the soft glow of the chem-lamp, or when her dark eyes flicked to him, unreadable but magnetic. She had a way of filling every corner of a room without trying, a quiet gravity that pulled him in and left him weightless all at once.

Jayce leaned his head against the cool glass of the window, his thoughts swirling. She was everything. And yet, he often felt like he wasn’t enough.

“Why are you so quiet tonight?” Her voice cut through his reverie, sharp but not unkind. She was standing at the edge of the room, her arms crossed, watching him.

Jayce turned slightly, a small, lopsided smile forming on his lips. “Just thinking,” he said, his voice softer than usual.

She tilted her head, studying him. “About what?”

He hesitated. There was so much he wanted to say, but he wasn’t sure how to put it into words. Instead, he shrugged, trying to play it off. “About everything. About you.”

Her expression softened slightly, and she stepped closer, her movements slow and deliberate. She stopped in front of him, leaning against the windowsill. “Me, huh?” she said, a faint smirk curving her lips. “Should I be flattered or concerned?”

“Both,” he replied with a small laugh, though his gaze didn’t quite meet hers.

She frowned slightly, her sharp eyes narrowing. “Jayce,” she said, her tone quieter now, almost tender. “What’s going on?”

He looked at her then, his brown eyes full of something she couldn’t quite place—something raw and aching. “You consume me,” he said finally, the words spilling out like a confession. “Every thought, every moment… it’s you.”

She blinked, caught off guard by the intensity of his words. “Jayce—”

“I know you don’t need me the way I need you,” he interrupted, his voice thick with emotion. “I know that. You’re strong, brilliant, capable. You’d be fine without me. But me?” He let out a shaky laugh, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know who I am without you.”

Y/n‘s breath hitched, her heart tightening at the vulnerability in his voice. For a moment, she didn’t know what to say. Jayce was always so confident, so sure of himself—but now, he looked almost fragile, like a man standing on the edge of a cliff.

“Jayce,” she said softly, reaching out to touch his face. Her fingers brushed against his cheek, and he closed his eyes, leaning into her touch like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

“I’m like a moth to a flame,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re all I need. And it terrifies me.”

She frowned, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “Why does it terrify you?”

“Because,” he said, opening his eyes to meet hers, “you don’t just hold my heart. You own it. And I don’t think you even realize it.”

Her chest tightened, the weight of his words settling over her like a heavy cloak. She knew Jayce cared for her—loved her, even—but hearing it laid bare like this was almost too much. Almost.

“You’re not wrong,” she said finally, her voice quiet but steady. “I don’t need you. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want you.”

His breath hitched, his gaze searching hers. “You mean that?”

She nodded, her fingers curling gently against his cheek. “I do. You’re important to me, Jayce. More than you realize.”

The tension in his shoulders eased slightly, though the ache in his chest didn’t fully disappear. He reached up, covering her hand with his own. “Then let me be enough,” he whispered. “Just tell me I’m enough.”

Her heart ached at the plea in his voice. She leaned forward, pressing her forehead to his, her breath mingling with his. “You are,” she murmured. “You’ve always been enough.”

For a moment, they stayed like that, wrapped in the quiet intimacy of the moment. Outside, Piltover’s lights flickered like distant stars, their glow casting faint patterns on the walls.

Eventually, she pulled back, her dark eyes meeting his. “But you have to stop doubting yourself,” she said firmly. “I don’t need perfection, Jayce. I just need you.”

He nodded, his throat tight. “I’ll try,” he said softly. “For you, I’ll try.”

She smiled then, a rare, genuine smile that made his heart skip a beat. “Good,” she said, brushing her thumb against his cheek. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

Jayce let out a shaky laugh, relief washing over him like a wave. “Neither am I.”

As the night deepened, they stayed by the window, their hands entwined, the unspoken promise between them as steady as the distant hum of Piltover’s machinery. And though the ache in Jayce’s heart remained, so did the warmth of her presence—a constant reminder that, in her own way, she needed him too.

[w3sternwild]

UGHH THIS WAS AMAZING

[w3sternwild]

hope everyone’s doing well. sorry i’ve been absent - i’ve been busy with exams.

i hope to get out chapter 3 of Lovefool by the end of this week. apologies for the delay.

hopefully this finds those who are following along with it. let me know if i should create a taglist if that would be helpful!

[geneviveleocardius-deactivated2]

arthur morgan, who might have a little (big) crush on you.

the camp was quiet for once. the sky stretched wide and orange as the sun dipped low, the sounds of nature settling into its evening rhythm. arthur walked up to you, his steps heavy but purposeful, a small parcel in his hand. you were sitting by the fire, scribbling in your journal, oblivious to his approach.

“got somethin’ for you,” he muttered, voice low and rough like it always was, but there was a hint of… something softer there.

you looked up, curious. “for me?”

he nodded, shuffling awkwardly before holding out the little package. you took it, fingers brushing his for the briefest moment. inside was a necklace—a small, delicate heart on a thin chain. it sparkled faintly in the fading light, and your chest tightened.

“arthur…” you said, breath catching. “this is beautiful. thank you.”

“ain’t nothin’,” he said quickly, scratching at the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at you. “just… thought you’d like it.”

“i do,” you said, smiling up at him. “would you… put it on me?”

his hands froze mid-air, but he nodded, stepping closer. you turned, lifting your hair. his calloused fingers brushed the back of your neck as he fastened the clasp, and the air felt heavier somehow, charged with something unspoken.

“there,” he said, stepping back. “suits you.”

“thank you,” you repeated, your voice softer now. you touched the pendant lightly before meeting his eyes. “would you sit with me for a while? i was just writing about one of the books i finished recently.”

he hesitated but sat down beside you, his knees brushing yours. as you began talking, your voice lit up with passion, describing plots and characters with a kind of fervor he didn’t hear often. but then your tone shifted, a little quieter, a little sadder.

“i don’t get to read as much as i’d like,” you admitted, eyes on the fire. “my vision isn’t great. i use my father’s old glasses, but the lenses are so strong… they make my head hurt after a while.”

arthur frowned, his brows knitting together in concern. “why don’t you get a new pair?”

you shrugged, the firelight catching the edges of your smile. “they’re expensive. i don’t have much income, and what i do have… well, most of it goes to the camp. it feels more important, you know?”

he sighed, his jaw tightening like he was trying not to show how much that bothered him. “you can’t just go ‘round hurtin’ yourself like that,” he said, his voice softer than usual. “let me see ’em.”

you hesitated but reached for the glasses, pulling them out of your pocket. they were old, worn, and when you put them on, arthur’s breath hitched. the lenses made your eyes look cartoonishly large, and you blinked up at him with a sheepish grin.

“see? they’re fine. i don’t need new ones,” you said, trying to sound convincing.

he stared at you, his face unreadable, though his lips twitched like he was holding back a smile. “you look… real cute,” he muttered after a moment, and you felt your cheeks warm. but his eyes lingered, more serious now, taking in the discomfort you were so clearly brushing aside.

“i’ll figure somethin’ out,” he said, more to himself than to you.

you opened your mouth to argue, but the look he gave you—steady, determined, and just a little too caring—made you stop.

“arthur…” you began, but he shook his head.

“just let me,” he said, voice low, and for once, you didn’t argue.

[w3sternwild]

gosh he’s soooo

[notririreal]

there was nothing quite like the view of the ocean at sunset, wine-dark and glimmering. it made a lot of things seem smaller, feel easier to bear. put things into perspective from the hull of your ship.

of course, said perspective right now is the imminent death of your captain, and the beauty of the ocean was but a faint impression in the back of your head while your hands were cupped over his ears, trying to keep him from succumbing to the siren song below. she'll get tired once she realises this is a standoff you're planning to win. her hunger is strong, but your patience is stronger. it has to be.

she ends up swimming away eventually, searching for food elsewhere, and you take jayce to his quarters to talk.

"so," you start, pretending to look over the map on his desk, shifting a brass paperweight to one of the curled edges, "me, huh?"

to his credit, jayce looks sheepish when you meet his eyes, like he wished the siren had been successful in dragging him under. it had taken on the image of something he desired in order to lure him—that something being you. your image.

"yeah," he says, ragged, raw, "you, uh...yeah."

you throw your head back and laugh. what else can you do?

he's a far cry from the elegant navy captain that you know—the loud, self-assured visionary himself: jayce talis. the one you'd been so eager to work alongside, with his booming voice and larger-than-life image. he shone so brightly in your eyes back then. still does, in a way. the thought that you're important enough to affect him like this—that he nearly threw himself overboard at the sight of your image in the water—makes you feel strange.

but not at all unpleasant.

"you are unbelievable, captain," you tut, walking the two steps it takes you to reach him, "nearly died for little old me?"

for a moment, jayce's face burns scarlet, and then it splits out into a blinding smile.

"what can I say," he leans back on his arms, a little more comfortable now, "you're irresistable, you know."

you grin.

"i think i have an idea."

[lizajane2]

I constantly think about Arthur's quote, "I can barely speak English." because the same man is saying things like, "I must moderate my approach to wine." "Despite my best efforts to the contrary..." or "I have to insist." At times he can be poetic (threatening or not) in the way he says things too. For example, "Maybe when your mother's finished mourning your father, I'll keep her in black on your behalf." Or one of my favorites, "Lack of something to feel important about is almost the greatest tragedy a man can have."

Or how about when he finds that crashed airship along Little Creek River? He mentions Icarus, a Greek myth about a man who flew too close to the sun and the wax melted, causing Icarus to plunge into the sea and drown. At that time not everyone is learning and reading classical literature, you literally have to go out of your way and read that shit in a book. Sure Dutch and Hosea taught him to read, but what outlaw is teaching a teenager about Greek Mythology?

Arthur is smarter than he gives himself credit for. He's by no means stupid. He's self-aware and far more emotionally intelligent than he comes off as.

And it makes it a bit more tragic when you think of the potential Arthur might’ve had outside of being an outlaw.

[oidingus]

I wanted to do a couple of scenes of boys nerding out about V’s new body and now i have a whole dozen, help😭 a little WIP

[w3sternwild]

LOVEFOOL: CHAPTER II

word count: 3.8k

chapter I : chapter III

It was like fucking a chihuahua: all bark and certainly no bite.

The old patron she sought to tend to after her time on the balcony was especially eager, making her stomach churn. He was quick to have his way with her after the event ended, and the only benefit she got out of the whole ordeal was the fact that not once did he make any attempt to kiss her. She would have come away with some kind of mouth sores if he had, no doubt.

It was now the morning and finally time for her to slip away. She avoided touching anything she hadn’t already as she struggled with the little zip of her evening gown, ultimately deciding to leave it undone at the nape of her neck, hidden by the curtain of her hair. She fixed her face in the mirror, smoothed over her hair and the creases in her dress. In the reflection, her eyes fell upon the snoring mound of filth half-covered by soiled silk sheets and she forced herself to breathe the nausea away. When her eyes fell back to herself, she finally noticed the exhaustion in her features. It was indisputable; the shadows beneath her eyes and the set frown on her face. She always tried her best not to let this grind her down, but there were instances where she just had to let it. 

She missed how things were - the painful simplicity of it all. Sure, her stomach had been more empty than it was full, but she had them with her to keep her warm, to feed her light. In a sense, she used to have everything to keep her soul full, her mind sharp. Now, that same soul relied on monthly visits for sustenance that felt rigid and cold, that mind on books and papers she could find on the sly. 

This particular patron seemed to adore himself and his supposed achievements for every surface was adorned with some kind of exorbitant trinket or trophy. Upon closer inspection of those upon his dresser, she noticed a miniature golden man looking triumphantly upwards, in his hands a wreath. What he did to receive this award she had no idea and equally no interest in reading the engraved detailing below - she simply slipped it into her purse and gave the sleeping magnate a final, venomous glance before clicking the condo door shut.

Her heels clacked against the marble flooring of the corridor, her strides purposefully long in order to put as much distance between her and that client. Never, never had she enjoyed this business. Who would? It left her skin forever grimy, and that was something she wouldn’t ever be able to change, no matter how hard she scrubbed.

Thankfully, the complex was quiet and she could step into an empty elevator, her gold prosthetic instantly being caught between her other fingers to be played with. The weight of what was to come today played heavily on her mind as it always did. She had to be grateful, she supposed, at how easy it was to slip away unnoticed. 

“We’re out of screws.”

Jayce looked up from his station, lifting his goggles to rest atop his head. “Already?”

Viktor nodded, flicking forward the remaining screw so that it rolled across his desk, essentially useless. “We get through them like water.” He noted, resting his head upon his fist, eyes scanning over his equations, quadruple-checking. 

“You’d think Heimerdinger would give us an endless supply,” Jayce replied absentmindedly, his voice quiet as he focused on his soldering. Once he finished, he declared, “I’ll go pick some up after my meeting.”

At the mention of a “meeting”, Viktor made a sound. It seemed to be all Jayce could think about nowadays - his business in governing this beloved city. He made it no secret that he missed the intense focus they shared when all they had was their work. When 24 hour streaks of solving equations, electric shocks and litres and litres of coffee weren’t interrupted with meetings and politics. Jayce knew this, understood this more than Viktor could imagine, and part of him wanted the same. But the other part of him enjoyed the more direct role he played in governance now - nobody was forcing his hand. He felt he was a genuine voice for the people, someone some of the other councillors certainly were not, and he took pride in that. The corruption of Piltover stopped with him.

Jayce tactfully excused himself when it was time for him to leave, setting down his tools and casting Viktor an apologetic smile, though he knew he would not look up, far too immersed in his work. He had grown mostly immune to Jayce’s pleading eyes, anyway.

Once the mostly fruitless meeting concluded, Jayce was finally able to go buy those damned screws. The pair’s preferred supplier lived on the outskirts of the Promenade level of the Undercity, and before Jayce became Piltover’s “Golden Boy” he could traverse there with reasonable ease. Now, however, with his newfound position, the journey is made much more consciously.

The further away from Piltover he got, the longer and nastier the stares became. He didn’t feel unsafe, per se, but felt scrutinised, like an ant under a magnifying glass. He was fortunate enough that his supplier was as close to Piltover as you could get, saving him from the snide remarks he’d undoubtedly receive were he to go any further in or any further down. 

But passing into the Undercity was never as stark as others had described: the people, though more rugged-looking, would occasionally give Jayce a polite smile or greeting if they were indifferent to his status or compassionate enough to ignore it. Certainly, prior to his political ascension it was easier for him to slip in and out of this region without much fuss, since the Promenade people were much more accustomed to Piltovian tourists. He enjoyed it, too: his regular stops for nuts and bolts and other mechanical supplies at the same shop earned him a particular rapport with the owner, even if it was only mannerly conversation; Jayce nonetheless took a small amount of pleasure in these little excursions.

The soft tinkle of the bell signalled his entrance. The little tool shop glittered with thin dust and was deeply infused with the strong scent of metal, something that did not strike Jayce’s nostrils like it may a new customer. He greeted the owner, asked him how he and his wife were doing, all whilst scanning the shelves for the particular screw he was searching for. A small, triumphant sound escaped his lips when his eyes fell upon the small tin, crouching to retrieve it from a lower shelf. As he was handing the shopkeeper his coins, his gaze travelled outside the front window, and that's when he saw her.

Perhaps. Maybe it was her - he could not be certain. Although, upon stepping away from the counter, peering flagrantly through the glass, his eyes followed her, and he was certain. 

He swiped his tin of screws from the wooden desk, forgoing adding the leftover coins to his palm. He strode towards the door like a man entranced, eyes fixed on her swift figure which darted through groups of people much too quickly for his liking. “Keep the change.” He muttered just loud enough for the shop owner to hear before the bell signalled again, announcing his departure. 

Jayce didn’t know why he felt the sudden, urgent need to speak to her - couldn’t explain it, even when he paused briefly to consider what he was doing. Having had her snatched from him so abruptly last night, he reasoned, influenced him to feel a certain obligation to continue their conversation, however it may have ended. His feet picked up again, faster this time, eyes working hard not to lose sight of her. Her brown cloak didn’t help her stand out, much to his dismay, and neither did the hood shielding her face from him. She turned a corner into a quieter alleyway, oblivious to how she was leading him, and he took this as an opportunity to call out to her. Her head, previously bowed, shot up, and she whirled her sharp, startled gaze around over her shoulder just as she darted into another street. Jayce swore her eyes fell onto him before she disappeared. 

This new street was much quieter, only one other person leaning against the wall at the end of it, smoking. Jayce, feeling increasingly foolish but inexplicably dire, called out to her again, and this time she stopped. She paused, back to him for a few moments as she considered whether this was really worth her time, before turning to face him, eyes narrowed. 

“Why are you following me?” She questioned hotly.

“I’m not–” She gave him an incredulous look and he sighed. “I recognised you.” He decided, and winced at how feeble an excuse it was.

She stepped towards him, observing him cautiously but still with that cutting gaze. “Do you follow everyone you vaguely recognise into dark alleyways?”

He rolled his eyes, “You led me here,” he began, tilting his head, “I called out to you and you ran.”

“Speed-walked.” She corrected with a huff. She didn’t even know why she was bothering with this; she had places to be. She supposed she felt obliged (for whatever reason) to entertain him and his hopeful eyes. Telling him to leave her alone would be like telling a puppy he couldn’t play ball, and she wasn’t completely heartless. “And I was attempting to evade you, who was chasing me.” 

Jayce clicked his tongue, growing a little frustrated. Perhaps because there was some truth to her accusations, and he hated seeming foolish. “What brings you to Zaun?” He posed instead, scanning her. For the first time, he noticed the small brown paper bag held between her fingers, and his eyebrow quirked up in silent questioning as he observed the rest of her: her clothes were drastically different to what she had been wearing at the gala - these were plain. Inconspicuous. Her legs were enunciated by the trousers she wore, contrasting the lack of definition from the night previous with her glossy silk dress, and her blouse hung loosely from her shoulders, pale and beige. Her face was somewhat stripped of that glow too, bare and rather tired, like in the hours that had passed since last night she had seen a thousand wars.

“I could ask the same of you, Councillor.” She returned, the corner of her lip curling in the false belief that she had him on his back.

Jayce merely held up the tin of screws, shaking it to allow the jingle to ring out and echo against the cobblestone. Her expression fell flat and he lightened.

“I have business here.” She managed to get out, a little hum escaping her throat, as if satisfied by her lie. 

“Business?”

“Indeed.”

“What kind of business?” Jayce pressed, his thick eyebrows raising inquisitively. He matched her little, amused smile, the one that told him in a million different languages that you’re not funny. 

“Business of which is none of your concern.” She returned swiftly, and Jayce knew he was at a dead end, so he pivoted.

“What’s in the bag?”

She sighed impatiently, “You’re incessant.” she muttered, going to unfold the top of the bag which she had pleated over itself neatly. Her gold finger glimmered in the afternoon sunlight as she did so, shining like a heavenly light that just beckoned Jayce to ask her about it. The question burned his tongue but he wisely chose to hold it.

She held the bag open beneath him, and he was initially underwhelmed - within it sat in what must have formerly been a relatively uniform pile of sweet treats: cupcakes, miniature tarts of various flavours, macarons and other bite-sized pastries. Just as he pulled away he made the connection between what felt like a familiar icing design and the question that sat in his mind, “Those treats are from the other side of Piltover.” He noted pensively, eyeing her with a gradually-forming grin, realising that he may be in the delicate process of catching her out.

“And?” She retorted, eyes squinting with him, fearing he was catching her out.

“Where are you taking them to in the Undercity?” He finally asked.

She frowned, her lip pointing into a subtle pout, “Nowhere.” She uttered stubbornly. “I was going to eat these myself.”

“At home?”

“At home.”

“Your home in Piltover?”

She groaned loudly, frustratedly, “You’re unfathomably nosy!”

He laughed, displaying her with his full set of pearly teeth. “It is my job.”

Rolling her eyes, she began walking back where they had just come, Jayce following close behind her. Ceaseless. “Your job is to ask relevant questions about all of your scientific endeavours, not about my eating habits and where I choose to partake in them.”

He hummed as they drew closer to the first corner which they had taken, returning back to the now hushed main street. “Thank you for reminding me.”

Her eyebrow quirked in silent acknowledgement of his sarcasm, looking around at the flow of people, some of which were obviously of Piltover with their lustrous jewellery and sumptuous fabrics, and others, comparatively, from Zaun, otherwise indicated by their less obvious conceit. “You should get going.” She remarked, bringing her fingers to rub at her brow tiredly. “You shouldn’t be on this side of the bridge when the sun goes down.”

Jayce was markedly unsurprised by her brusque words, looking over her curiously while he still could. She was, indeed, curious. “Neither should you.” He commented.

Her face curled into an elaborate, sympathetic pout as she said, voice dripping with motherly affection, “I will be right behind you; don’t you fret, Councillor.”

He scoffed. He’d never win her over.

Nodding slowly, he gave her one final, perplexed look before stepping away, the screws jingling faintly in his coat pocket.

She exhaled a heavy breath, watching him leave, the bag of treats clutched tightly in her grasp. She saw his steps stutter with his hesitation and he spared a glance over his shoulder. Her blood froze, like in that moment he had figured out everything she had avoided mentioning, every question she eluded answering. He frowned when his eyes found her again, the cogs in his mind visibly churning, eventually electing to just turn around and continue walking.

In all honesty, she was caught by surprise at having met him again. It was strange, she thought, to come across a member of the Council in the Undercity, even if it were the outermost and least unpleasant part. And for him to reach out to her directly certainly elicited a feeling of ambivalence toward him: she assumed, had they caught eyes whilst passing, for example, that they would exchange polite nods, perhaps, and nothing more. He instead chose to follow her, the creep that he was, and investigate her sweet treats.

She let a dry chuckle emit from her chest as she walked and pondered, now much further in the smog of the city. The fumes undoubtedly clung to the fabric of her clothes, as they always did, and were she to turn around and head straight back to Piltover she would receive looks of utmost abhorrence, the smell alone removing the glossy mask she wore on that side of the river and revealing her naked for what she was.

Ironically, the deeper she travelled into the city the higher her head rose, when before it was very much lowered. Acquaintances she recognised gave her a pleasant smile when she passed, making a venerated comment about her success “up there”, navigated with that voice of hers. “We miss hearing it down here,” they’d say.

The Entresol level was comprised of narrow, winding lanes. She relied entirely on muscle memory now, because if she thought excessively about where she was, what landmarks she was supposed to pass on her way, she would get entirely lost. Years of Piltover’s expansive clarity will do that to you. Thus, she relied on feeling alone: deciding whether or not turning left here feels proper, or no, turning right leads there, and that takes me in the opposite direction, and so on. She eventually arrived in a quieter lane, the ‘street’ in which she grew up, should a ‘street’ constitute a corridor, more suitably. 

Standing opposite the shanty-esque building, she was filled with sudden gloom. It hadn’t changed much since last month, but she felt that she had, if just a little; but all these small changes within her, these small decays, accumulated into greater erosions within her heart like acid onto the skin. It hurt to come back, but she stepped forward.

The front door had been fixed since last time, however. It was at her instruction and through her payment that it be realigned properly, for it was previously crooked on its hinges and a draft of fumes would waft in. Her fist rapped upon the wood and she rocked on her heels slightly, waiting. There was commotion inside, a loud clatter, a shrill, frustrated curse, like the owner had been at their wits’ end, and then the door finally swung open with a chaotic whoosh.

“My daughter is home!” She exclaimed, opening her arms wide with a matching, joyous grin splitting her face. She was pulled into a hug a trifle forcefully, feeling the bones of her mother’s shoulders stab into her’s.

“Mother,” she greeted, feeling somewhat apprehensive. The older woman stepped aside, granting her daughter entrance, who was quickly met with the dusty, acrid smell that was her childhood home. Habitually, she shrugged off her cloak and hung it up on the far-right peg, turning to see her mother already fussing in the kitchen as she set down her bag of sweet treats. Her hair, though scraped back in a hasty updo, was loose and already had strands falling over her forehead as she tended to the stove and the pot of bubbling stew upon it. She observed the shattered plate fragments that had been hastily kicked into a pile on the stone floor and, with a somewhat amused sigh, went to deposit them in the bin.

“That program of yours was particularly generous, this week - more than usual.” Mother chirped, tasting the sauce with a few cautious blows of cool air. She hummed, turned off the heat, then faced her daughter properly with an adoring smile. “How you’ve changed over this month. Have you been sleeping alright?” She questioned, stepping forward to cup her face worriedly, observing the bags beneath her dispassionate eyes, then going down to grasp her hands, examining them. Her aged fingers ran over all nine of those that were flesh, running thoughtfully over the tenth, golden finger. Satisfied, she patted those hands and gave her a warm smile, backing away to begin plating their meal.

The silence didn’t stretch on for very long, however, before thunderous steps came stomping down the wooden stairs, which were bound to snap and splinter one day with the rate he was growing. ‘He’ being her younger brother, who jumped on her like a wild cat, wrapping his arms around her middle, exclaiming her name with endless enthusiasm.

Her smile widened exponentially, face finally relaxing into something a little easier, patting his head lovingly before he pulled away to look up at her. “Still got some growing to do before you catch me.” She teased, ruffling his hair. 

“Just you wait - one day I’ll be so tall my head will peek into Piltover.” He countered, rounding into the miniature kitchen to seat himself at the tiny, mismatched assortment of chairs and a table. It was not long before his mother placed a steaming bowl of stew - with real meat, markedly - in front of him. She looked up at her daughter expectantly. Hesitantly. 

“You are staying for dinner, right?”

She slid into the chair opposite her brother, who had been watching her hopefully, in answer, and her mother handed her the plate she had prepared with satisfaction. 

“How are your studies going?” Mother asked, taking a sip of her water and dabbing her mouth with her napkin.

“Just fine.” She answered carefully, focused on scraping the last of the sauce from her bowl. 

Her mother frowned. It went this way every time: she would ask, genuinely curious, and receive in turn a terse response. Though, she wasn’t completely oblivious to her mother’s discontent, “I have exams coming soon.” She lied, “It’s been… intense studying for those. You know how consuming it is at the Academy.”

Pleased at finally receiving a cohesive answer, her mother nodded and swallowed her final spoonful. “It’s good that they’re stretching you; you’d never have received that down here.”

There was a pause in which she didn’t exactly acknowledge what her mother had said, mind instead wandering to other things. “They’re treating you alright? The delivery men?”

Her mother laughed at her caution, “There were no problems last week, or the week before, or the hundred times or so that they’ve come,” she said, smiling, “All they do is hand me the crates and leave, and your brother and I have full bellies for another week.”

She released a rather heavy sigh, nodding at her reflection in her glass. 

“Would you like to–”

“I should be heading back. The gates lock after a certain hour.” She stated firmly, finally looking her mother in the eye. The older woman was visibly hurt, a frown burrowing between her eyebrows as she nodded slowly in acceptance, reaching over to collect her plate. Her brother had long since found himself reading on the frayed armchair in the living room after he had demolished his meal, and she called his name as she approached. “I have a gift for you.”

At this his ears perked up, his eyes lighting up with childish wonderment. He held out his hands as his sister placed a small package in his grasp, immediately going to unwrap it. Tearing the silver tissue paper away, he was unsurprised but clearly delighted to see a small owl carved out of wood in his palm. “To add to your collection.” She stated, smiling down at him and his radiant expression. He instantly leapt up to wrap his arms around her once more, mumbling a genuine “thank you” into the fabric of her blouse.

When he pulled away, she looked over at her mother, who had been watching them from the kitchen with a pensive but contented expression. She went to wrap her arms around her and she met her halfway, pulling her tightly against her. 

All between them that could not be said translated into this devastating embrace.

“You will reap the rewards of your hard work soon.” Her mother whispered into the air, and her heart clenched at her sincerity.

If only she knew.

Note: Thank you for reading! I do apologise it took so long. If it came down to me reading over this chapter again and trying to swallow a bowling ball, I would find more joy in the latter.

Things should go a bit smoother from now on since I've actually outlined the next few chapters (I hadn't before because I truly thought I could just wing it lmao).

[tacitusk1llwhore]

Would y’all hate me if I said that I think that Eliza was Black? Would y’all think I’m crazy if I say that because of that reason I don’t think she was killed over $10 like he believes but rather for a far more sinister and obvious reason (Black woman with a biracial child)? I don’t have any evidence of this, like at all— other than the fact that like the only working girl Arthur goes along with in the game is a Black woman, and the fact that not even he can fathom someone killing someone else over $10 and like history and stuff…I think that his lack of understanding the ability people possess to be racist to that extent and this would and could (and has) heavily skew his ideas on why Eliza and Isaac were killed (among other things) as he looked for reasons that make sense in his brain (killing POC for existing is not one of them, killing for money is).

Would y’all hate me even more if I said that if this is incorrect, my second theory is that Dutch was involved somehow in their deaths?? I mean, Arthur away all the time, sending money, spending time, traveling to get to them. His focus isn’t on the gang nor on him; his loyalties have split, and we all know how much Dutch doesn’t like it when loyalty to him is split. I don’t think Dutch himself killed them, but dropping a tip to some down-and-outs or sketchy men at the saloon about it, I don’t think, would be below him in one of his episodes. Do I have evidence of this? Other than the way he treated John and how careless he was when Abigail was facing death? No. Do I still see it as my second biggest theory? Yeah.

Could they have been killed for $10? Yeah. Am I reading too much into this? Probably! Do I care? No. I think there’s more to the story there. I do genuinely believe or hope rather that Eliza was a WOC. She is in my heart. I just know it.

[w3sternwild]

i love the take that eliza was black. i think it adds so much depth to arthur’s character, chiefly being that his ignorance surrounding racism prohibits him from fully understanding what happened to his family.

but then again, is it fair to to call arthur ignorant? maybe he’s simply more indifferent to the whole idea of differences between race (as shown by him saying he’s got friends of various races, and in his experience, people are just as bad as each other) that was obviously dominant at the time, instead of ignorant and uneducated. in that case, i guess his ‘indifference’ doesn’t so much as prohibit him from comprehending but demotes the whole idea of eliza and isaac being killed due to racism, instead pulling forward the idea that they were murdered for money.

your evidence of arthur only once being pulled away by a working girl, who was black, i feel is evidence enough for me. I LOVE THIS IDEA.

as for dutch, i feel like his involvement in their deaths would only work if we’re looking through the lens that he was crazy from the start. i feel like dutch would certainly not have been happy about arthur’s situation, if arthur even told him, but i’m not so sure he would have gone as far as to kill them. i suppose it depends on the situation of the gang, if they were deep in shit and didn’t need any other loose ends. perhaps, if he did kill them, he thought he was doing arthur a favour: killing them now so that they wouldn’t the caught in any crossfire later down the line.

but i also like the idea that maybe arthur didn’t tell anyone about his secret life. i haven’t played the game in a while, so maybe i’ve forgotten an interaction in which he does tell someone, or someone else mentions it. i guess arthur’s sneaking away to see them could also fuel dutch’s paranoia. who is he going off to meet?

red dead is so easy to reach in. i love these kinds of theories.

[tacitusk1llwhore]

Don’t mind me replying, but I love, love, love discussions like this!! So first, I definitely worded some things poorly in my original post. I was a little wine tipsy when I wrote it, so some things definitely didn’t come off the way that I wanted them to. So first, I didn’t mean to imply that Arthur was ignorant to racism; he isn’t. He knows it exists 100%—what I more meant to say was that Arthur cannot comprehend the thought process or actions of racism when applied to himself. Coming to find this woman you care for and your child murdered would lead to rationalization—how can I find a reason in the unreasonable as it relates to my thought process and feelings? Arthur would never consider killing someone for the sole purpose of being that they’re a POC, but he has killed for money—he could’ve simply equated their murder with money rather than race because rationalization can lead to the easiest conclusion! People have pointed out that I didn’t word or explain that well a lot, so it’s not just you who said it, but I am glad to be able to put it out there and clarify on that point!

I’m going to try not to harp on Dutch too much because I do have a post in the works about the cult-like behavior of the VDL gang and the fact that Dutch is an expert manipulator that preys on the vulnerable and marginalized because when you give someone everything, their loyalty will be more unwavering (see literally all of the stories of how people joined the gang). Dutch, I believe, was always like that; we see bits and pieces of it even as far back as chapter one. However, looking at it in the way of Arthur is his main workhorse, their enforcer, the man that goes on every job, and equating it to when John started to pay more attention to his own family and the very quick switch, we can only assume that Arthur leaving so often would not have gone down well with Dutch. Especially when we think of that fact that when they found Arthur, he was vulnerable—until then, he’s had no real connections outside of others that are also loyal to Dutch (other than Mary, who was high society and would’ve been far harder to easily dispose of; however, when she broke up with him, that problem was solved for Dutch).

However, now he’s got a family. A woman and a little boy, and he’s getting a taste of a life outside of this little bubble he’s created. If you know anything about cults, it’s that they don’t like outside connections; it splits your loyalty. John having a baby wasn’t great but more tolerable because Abigail lived with them. Arthur having a baby and leaving constantly to see them, give them money, would be a far bigger issue for Dutch. Arthur is outside of their group, with someone who hasn’t been indoctrinated into blind loyalty to Dutch, someone who has something that Arthur loves dearly: his son. With the evidence we have, that Dutch has always been like that, just in general, I would not put it past him to spot some down and outs or rough-looking people and point them in that direction. I mean, even if Eliza and Isaac weren’t POC, they aren’t prime robbery targets for the simple fact that they don’t have anything. I would not put it past Dutch to see this and sever the connection, get Arthur more vulnerable to pull him further in and back to this blind loyalty. Only now Arthur is cold, which means he can carry out jobs more diligently. It was a win-win for Dutch.

As for telling anyone there is evidence in-game that they did know (despite the assumption that they would know anyway from his absences that weren’t job-related), but if you say something to John about not playing with Jack, you can get an interaction in which Arthur calls John the “Father of the Year.” In a sarcastic manner, John replies back with “Look who’s talking.” Which first of all, damn, hit him with “ your sons dead and mine isn’t,” but second of all, leaves the assumption that they did in fact know that Arthur did have a son.

Also, just to add the working girl thing, he very willingly takes her hand and is led off. He’s more than ready…I mean, she’s living everyone’s dream and tries to rob him instead. Crazy to fumble Arthur Morgan like that. But from that alone, we can assume that Arthur likes WOC, like a lot lmao.

Thanks for the open discussion!! I love furthering talking points and integrating new points, especially for this post that I wrote not of sound or clear mind lol.

[w3sternwild]

i LOOOVEEE your analysis and can’t wait for your discussion on Dutch and his cultish-ness!

john is also too sarcastic for his own good lmao

[tacitusk1llwhore]

Would y’all hate me if I said that I think that Eliza was Black? Would y’all think I’m crazy if I say that because of that reason I don’t think she was killed over $10 like he believes but rather for a far more sinister and obvious reason (Black woman with a biracial child)? I don’t have any evidence of this, like at all— other than the fact that like the only working girl Arthur goes along with in the game is a Black woman, and the fact that not even he can fathom someone killing someone else over $10 and like history and stuff…I think that his lack of understanding the ability people possess to be racist to that extent and this would and could (and has) heavily skew his ideas on why Eliza and Isaac were killed (among other things) as he looked for reasons that make sense in his brain (killing POC for existing is not one of them, killing for money is).

Would y’all hate me even more if I said that if this is incorrect, my second theory is that Dutch was involved somehow in their deaths?? I mean, Arthur away all the time, sending money, spending time, traveling to get to them. His focus isn’t on the gang nor on him; his loyalties have split, and we all know how much Dutch doesn’t like it when loyalty to him is split. I don’t think Dutch himself killed them, but dropping a tip to some down-and-outs or sketchy men at the saloon about it, I don’t think, would be below him in one of his episodes. Do I have evidence of this? Other than the way he treated John and how careless he was when Abigail was facing death? No. Do I still see it as my second biggest theory? Yeah.

Could they have been killed for $10? Yeah. Am I reading too much into this? Probably! Do I care? No. I think there’s more to the story there. I do genuinely believe or hope rather that Eliza was a WOC. She is in my heart. I just know it.

[w3sternwild]

i love the take that eliza was black. i think it adds so much depth to arthur’s character, chiefly being that his ignorance surrounding racism prohibits him from fully understanding what happened to his family.

but then again, is it fair to to call arthur ignorant? maybe he’s simply more indifferent to the whole idea of differences between race (as shown by him saying he’s got friends of various races, and in his experience, people are just as bad as each other) that was obviously dominant at the time, instead of ignorant and uneducated. in that case, i guess his ‘indifference’ doesn’t so much as prohibit him from comprehending but demotes the whole idea of eliza and isaac being killed due to racism, instead pulling forward the idea that they were murdered for money.

your evidence of arthur only once being pulled away by a working girl, who was black, i feel is evidence enough for me. I LOVE THIS IDEA.

as for dutch, i feel like his involvement in their deaths would only work if we’re looking through the lens that he was crazy from the start. i feel like dutch would certainly not have been happy about arthur’s situation, if arthur even told him, but i’m not so sure he would have gone as far as to kill them. i suppose it depends on the situation of the gang, if they were deep in shit and didn’t need any other loose ends. perhaps, if he did kill them, he thought he was doing arthur a favour: killing them now so that they wouldn’t the caught in any crossfire later down the line.

but i also like the idea that maybe arthur didn’t tell anyone about his secret life. i haven’t played the game in a while, so maybe i’ve forgotten an interaction in which he does tell someone, or someone else mentions it. i guess arthur’s sneaking away to see them could also fuel dutch’s paranoia. who is he going off to meet?

red dead is so easy to reach in. i love these kinds of theories.

[thehoneycrypt]

welcome to "how to accurately write about disability" ft. viktor from arcane (by a dude with the same conditions/aids as viktor) !

pt 1. viktor’s mobility aids & assistive technologies

in the pre-timeskip of season 1, viktor solely uses a cane without any visible bracing; the way he holds his cane is indicative of whether he’s using it as support (handle facing forward) or to help walk (handle facing backwards)

in season 1 after the timeskip, his condition progresses and he upgrades to an unique, arcane-specific mobility aid; it’s a mesh of two types of crutches (forearm crutch & under-arm crutch)

therefore it’s more accurate to refer to viktor’s mobility aid after the timeskip in season 1 as a crutch

given the angles & mirroring, the leg impacted is the left leg (just like me fr) and actually features two different braces but due to the animation of it, sometimes it looks like their combined

viktor has a knee brace & an ankle-foot orthosis, which provides assistance to his knee/ankle/foot

the ankle-foot brace is likely made of metal to stabilize them for walking while the knee brace has some flexibility to it to allow the joint to bend while walking

now onto something very unique about viktor’s condition, his back; what he has on his back (in my opinion) is a blend of a spinal fusion (a surgery in which rods & other metal is inserted into the spine to stabilize the vertebrae) and a traditional back brace

i say it’s a blend of a visible spinal fusion & traditional back brace because of circular scars we can on viktor’s upper back, the aid’s design featuring an almost steampunk visual of the spine and its vertebrae; in addition, the other components of the aid match with ordinary back braces (supportive shoulder strap, full coverage of the spine, etc.)

when someone has a spinal fusion, their physical abilities become limited; they cannot lift over a certain weight, bend, twist, or do any movements that can compromise the spinal fusion

as for the back brace and its structure, i’m sure that it’s very uncomfortable to wear (picture being trapped in a metal corset) but viktor likely has to wear it 24/7 (unless for bathing, i presume? because it’s metal, but idk it’s a fantasy setting so anything comes)

pt 2. what to do before you write

for accuracy, determine what version of viktor you’re writing about; is it act 1 season 1 viktor with a cane? it is act 2-3 season 1 viktor with braces & a crutch? etc. this is important because viktor uses different assistive technology/devices depending on the act or season of the show. once you have that determined, you’re ready to write.

beyond viktor's mobility aids and braces, it's key to incorporate his chronic pain. as someone with his condition (spine disorder), chronic pain is a given. it's something that many writers fail to include when writing viktor or other physically disabled characters like him.

pt. 3 suggestions of what to write

cane & crutch

sounds (i.e. rubber tip thumping against the floor while viktor walks, sudden bang or crash sound effect if viktor drops his aid, etc.)

textures (i.e. feeling the refined wood of the cane, the smooth metal of the crutch, the plush foam of the handles)

visuals (i.e. describe the aid's design, the colors, the engravings, etc.)

complications (i.e. viktor not being able to reach the cane or crutch sometimes when it falls to the floor, the pain in his hand and underarm from constant use)

knee brace & ankle-foot orthosis

sounds (i.e. metal rods grinding against other metal components when viktor walks, the sound of metal hitting the ground with the AFO, creaking/whining of metal)

texture (i.e. how cold the metal is, how stiff the rods that hold the braces together are)

visuals (i.e. describe the details and design of the braces, include things like the color of the metal and the engravings)

complications (i.e. broken rods in the braces, metal cutting viktor when they takes them off)

spinal fusion brace

sounds (i.e. grinding metal against skin, the clicking of the brace's rods, etc.)

textures (i.e. the cold metal, the rigid notches of the vertebrae, etc.)

visuals (i.e. mention the circular scars above the brace, describe the brace's design with mentions of its color and structure, etc.)

misc. additions

try including viktor's thoughts and feelings towards his disabilities and aids; it's not all oh fuck i'm in hell 24/7 when it comes to be disabled. there's an unique humor in disability

viktor can poke people with his cane/crutch, trip people, use it as a pointer, etc.

viktor can make silly or dark jokes/jabs about his disabilities (i.e. jayce, i may be a cripple, but i'm no idiot. or this meeting is more agonizing than the time i fell down the stairwell by the lab- you fell down the stairs?!- i lived.)

include viktor's chronic pain, some areas likely impacted by his disabilities are: legs, back, hands, and underarms

an easy way to show this is through the mention of chronic pain relief tools (i.e. tiger's balm, pain medication (muscle relaxants, opioids), kinesiology tape)

remember that viktor is more than a disabled character; he's an inventor, a scientist, a good-hearted person. he's expressive and has lots of empathy for those like him and the people of zaun. his disabilities influence the path he's on and his experiences, but they are not the sole defining component of viktor's identity.

pt. 4 conclusion & final notes

thank you for taking the time to read this through! if you're able to, please share this with your fellow writers. i hope this post can help folks better represent disabled characters in their writing. if you have any specific questions, message me on tumblr! thanks <3

[w3sternwild]

bath time - viktor

the room is rather steamy, allowing its damp warmth to permeate the tissue of your lungs. 

viktor is already settled in the bath, head tilted back to rest against the tile of the bathroom wall, his adam’s apple punctuated through the pale skin of his neck. his eyes were closed, allowing you to watch him shamelessly as you undressed. 

when you lowered yourself into the water, hissing quietly at the sheer heat pinching your skin, viktor opened one eye to peer over at you, a little smirk curving his lips. the molten copper of his iris fit the warm atmosphere, and you gave him a derisive smile. “you’re trying to cook me alive.” you muttered as you settled, your back resting against the opposite side of the bath. 

he only hummed in response, looking over you with a smile that was somehow both genuine, soft, and also containing a great deal of ravenous longing. you watched him, too: how the hairs at the nape of his neck were dark with damp, his chest, a few moles scattered across it, rising and falling with rhythmic, full breaths. he looked serene, for once, the stress of his work and the ache in his leg momentarily subsided.  

the subtle, almost challenging raise of his eyebrow seemed to magnetise you both, for you moved towards him gently. he shifted to grant you more room as you settled between his legs, back to his chest. his head lowered to press a devoted kiss to your shoulder, then your pulse point, murmuring something against your skin. 

you didn’t bother asking him what it was he said, allowing the sigh to release from your chest at the overwhelming honey-feeling of it all: the heat of the air, your skin, the pressure of his body behind yours — it encased you in a thick layer of love that could never be replicated.

his lips curved into a smile against your temple, inhaling your scent with great pleasure, a contented moan pushing past his lips. he pulled away, reclining back into his original position as you mirrored him against his chest. your hair, which was piled atop your head, a few stray coils escaping across your forehead, tickled viktor’s neck a little, but he didn’t mind. he took one of the longer ones between his fingers, looking over it with endearing inquisitiveness. his obsession with your hair wasn’t childlike. no, it was cultured, worshipping, like it was his only responsibility in this world. he pulled, extending it gently before letting it spring back into the mass of hair. it made him grin every time. 

his eyes ran over your side profile, appreciating every soft curve, every angular line you possessed. he wanted to solve you, this labyrinthine body and its soul that tortured him with all its infinite warmth. looking at you was like looking at all that was good in the world, and he wanted nothing more than to bask in the rays of light you emit so effortlessly. 

[altergoat02]

[w3sternwild]

LOVEFOOL: CHAPTER II

word count: 3.8k

chapter I : chapter III

It was like fucking a chihuahua: all bark and certainly no bite.

The old patron she sought to tend to after her time on the balcony was especially eager, making her stomach churn. He was quick to have his way with her after the event ended, and the only benefit she got out of the whole ordeal was the fact that not once did he make any attempt to kiss her. She would have come away with some kind of mouth sores if he had, no doubt.

It was now the morning and finally time for her to slip away. She avoided touching anything she hadn’t already as she struggled with the little zip of her evening gown, ultimately deciding to leave it undone at the nape of her neck, hidden by the curtain of her hair. She fixed her face in the mirror, smoothed over her hair and the creases in her dress. In the reflection, her eyes fell upon the snoring mound of filth half-covered by soiled silk sheets and she forced herself to breathe the nausea away. When her eyes fell back to herself, she finally noticed the exhaustion in her features. It was indisputable; the shadows beneath her eyes and the set frown on her face. She always tried her best not to let this grind her down, but there were instances where she just had to let it. 

She missed how things were - the painful simplicity of it all. Sure, her stomach had been more empty than it was full, but she had them with her to keep her warm, to feed her light. In a sense, she used to have everything to keep her soul full, her mind sharp. Now, that same soul relied on monthly visits for sustenance that felt rigid and cold, that mind on books and papers she could find on the sly. 

This particular patron seemed to adore himself and his supposed achievements for every surface was adorned with some kind of exorbitant trinket or trophy. Upon closer inspection of those upon his dresser, she noticed a miniature golden man looking triumphantly upwards, in his hands a wreath. What he did to receive this award she had no idea and equally no interest in reading the engraved detailing below - she simply slipped it into her purse and gave the sleeping magnate a final, venomous glance before clicking the condo door shut.

Her heels clacked against the marble flooring of the corridor, her strides purposefully long in order to put as much distance between her and that client. Never, never had she enjoyed this business. Who would? It left her skin forever grimy, and that was something she wouldn’t ever be able to change, no matter how hard she scrubbed.

Thankfully, the complex was quiet and she could step into an empty elevator, her gold prosthetic instantly being caught between her other fingers to be played with. The weight of what was to come today played heavily on her mind as it always did. She had to be grateful, she supposed, at how easy it was to slip away unnoticed. 

“We’re out of screws.”

Jayce looked up from his station, lifting his goggles to rest atop his head. “Already?”

Viktor nodded, flicking forward the remaining screw so that it rolled across his desk, essentially useless. “We get through them like water.” He noted, resting his head upon his fist, eyes scanning over his equations, quadruple-checking. 

“You’d think Heimerdinger would give us an endless supply,” Jayce replied absentmindedly, his voice quiet as he focused on his soldering. Once he finished, he declared, “I’ll go pick some up after my meeting.”

At the mention of a “meeting”, Viktor made a sound. It seemed to be all Jayce could think about nowadays - his business in governing this beloved city. He made it no secret that he missed the intense focus they shared when all they had was their work. When 24 hour streaks of solving equations, electric shocks and litres and litres of coffee weren’t interrupted with meetings and politics. Jayce knew this, understood this more than Viktor could imagine, and part of him wanted the same. But the other part of him enjoyed the more direct role he played in governance now - nobody was forcing his hand. He felt he was a genuine voice for the people, someone some of the other councillors certainly were not, and he took pride in that. The corruption of Piltover stopped with him.

Jayce tactfully excused himself when it was time for him to leave, setting down his tools and casting Viktor an apologetic smile, though he knew he would not look up, far too immersed in his work. He had grown mostly immune to Jayce’s pleading eyes, anyway.

Once the mostly fruitless meeting concluded, Jayce was finally able to go buy those damned screws. The pair’s preferred supplier lived on the outskirts of the Promenade level of the Undercity, and before Jayce became Piltover’s “Golden Boy” he could traverse there with reasonable ease. Now, however, with his newfound position, the journey is made much more consciously.

The further away from Piltover he got, the longer and nastier the stares became. He didn’t feel unsafe, per se, but felt scrutinised, like an ant under a magnifying glass. He was fortunate enough that his supplier was as close to Piltover as you could get, saving him from the snide remarks he’d undoubtedly receive were he to go any further in or any further down. 

But passing into the Undercity was never as stark as others had described: the people, though more rugged-looking, would occasionally give Jayce a polite smile or greeting if they were indifferent to his status or compassionate enough to ignore it. Certainly, prior to his political ascension it was easier for him to slip in and out of this region without much fuss, since the Promenade people were much more accustomed to Piltovian tourists. He enjoyed it, too: his regular stops for nuts and bolts and other mechanical supplies at the same shop earned him a particular rapport with the owner, even if it was only mannerly conversation; Jayce nonetheless took a small amount of pleasure in these little excursions.

The soft tinkle of the bell signalled his entrance. The little tool shop glittered with thin dust and was deeply infused with the strong scent of metal, something that did not strike Jayce’s nostrils like it may a new customer. He greeted the owner, asked him how he and his wife were doing, all whilst scanning the shelves for the particular screw he was searching for. A small, triumphant sound escaped his lips when his eyes fell upon the small tin, crouching to retrieve it from a lower shelf. As he was handing the shopkeeper his coins, his gaze travelled outside the front window, and that's when he saw her.

Perhaps. Maybe it was her - he could not be certain. Although, upon stepping away from the counter, peering flagrantly through the glass, his eyes followed her, and he was certain. 

He swiped his tin of screws from the wooden desk, forgoing adding the leftover coins to his palm. He strode towards the door like a man entranced, eyes fixed on her swift figure which darted through groups of people much too quickly for his liking. “Keep the change.” He muttered just loud enough for the shop owner to hear before the bell signalled again, announcing his departure. 

Jayce didn’t know why he felt the sudden, urgent need to speak to her - couldn’t explain it, even when he paused briefly to consider what he was doing. Having had her snatched from him so abruptly last night, he reasoned, influenced him to feel a certain obligation to continue their conversation, however it may have ended. His feet picked up again, faster this time, eyes working hard not to lose sight of her. Her brown cloak didn’t help her stand out, much to his dismay, and neither did the hood shielding her face from him. She turned a corner into a quieter alleyway, oblivious to how she was leading him, and he took this as an opportunity to call out to her. Her head, previously bowed, shot up, and she whirled her sharp, startled gaze around over her shoulder just as she darted into another street. Jayce swore her eyes fell onto him before she disappeared. 

This new street was much quieter, only one other person leaning against the wall at the end of it, smoking. Jayce, feeling increasingly foolish but inexplicably dire, called out to her again, and this time she stopped. She paused, back to him for a few moments as she considered whether this was really worth her time, before turning to face him, eyes narrowed. 

“Why are you following me?” She questioned hotly.

“I’m not–” She gave him an incredulous look and he sighed. “I recognised you.” He decided, and winced at how feeble an excuse it was.

She stepped towards him, observing him cautiously but still with that cutting gaze. “Do you follow everyone you vaguely recognise into dark alleyways?”

He rolled his eyes, “You led me here,” he began, tilting his head, “I called out to you and you ran.”

“Speed-walked.” She corrected with a huff. She didn’t even know why she was bothering with this; she had places to be. She supposed she felt obliged (for whatever reason) to entertain him and his hopeful eyes. Telling him to leave her alone would be like telling a puppy he couldn’t play ball, and she wasn’t completely heartless. “And I was attempting to evade you, who was chasing me.” 

Jayce clicked his tongue, growing a little frustrated. Perhaps because there was some truth to her accusations, and he hated seeming foolish. “What brings you to Zaun?” He posed instead, scanning her. For the first time, he noticed the small brown paper bag held between her fingers, and his eyebrow quirked up in silent questioning as he observed the rest of her: her clothes were drastically different to what she had been wearing at the gala - these were plain. Inconspicuous. Her legs were enunciated by the trousers she wore, contrasting the lack of definition from the night previous with her glossy silk dress, and her blouse hung loosely from her shoulders, pale and beige. Her face was somewhat stripped of that glow too, bare and rather tired, like in the hours that had passed since last night she had seen a thousand wars.

“I could ask the same of you, Councillor.” She returned, the corner of her lip curling in the false belief that she had him on his back.

Jayce merely held up the tin of screws, shaking it to allow the jingle to ring out and echo against the cobblestone. Her expression fell flat and he lightened.

“I have business here.” She managed to get out, a little hum escaping her throat, as if satisfied by her lie. 

“Business?”

“Indeed.”

“What kind of business?” Jayce pressed, his thick eyebrows raising inquisitively. He matched her little, amused smile, the one that told him in a million different languages that you’re not funny. 

“Business of which is none of your concern.” She returned swiftly, and Jayce knew he was at a dead end, so he pivoted.

“What’s in the bag?”

She sighed impatiently, “You’re incessant.” she muttered, going to unfold the top of the bag which she had pleated over itself neatly. Her gold finger glimmered in the afternoon sunlight as she did so, shining like a heavenly light that just beckoned Jayce to ask her about it. The question burned his tongue but he wisely chose to hold it.

She held the bag open beneath him, and he was initially underwhelmed - within it sat in what must have formerly been a relatively uniform pile of sweet treats: cupcakes, miniature tarts of various flavours, macarons and other bite-sized pastries. Just as he pulled away he made the connection between what felt like a familiar icing design and the question that sat in his mind, “Those treats are from the other side of Piltover.” He noted pensively, eyeing her with a gradually-forming grin, realising that he may be in the delicate process of catching her out.

“And?” She retorted, eyes squinting with him, fearing he was catching her out.

“Where are you taking them to in the Undercity?” He finally asked.

She frowned, her lip pointing into a subtle pout, “Nowhere.” She uttered stubbornly. “I was going to eat these myself.”

“At home?”

“At home.”

“Your home in Piltover?”

She groaned loudly, frustratedly, “You’re unfathomably nosy!”

He laughed, displaying her with his full set of pearly teeth. “It is my job.”

Rolling her eyes, she began walking back where they had just come, Jayce following close behind her. Ceaseless. “Your job is to ask relevant questions about all of your scientific endeavours, not about my eating habits and where I choose to partake in them.”

He hummed as they drew closer to the first corner which they had taken, returning back to the now hushed main street. “Thank you for reminding me.”

Her eyebrow quirked in silent acknowledgement of his sarcasm, looking around at the flow of people, some of which were obviously of Piltover with their lustrous jewellery and sumptuous fabrics, and others, comparatively, from Zaun, otherwise indicated by their less obvious conceit. “You should get going.” She remarked, bringing her fingers to rub at her brow tiredly. “You shouldn’t be on this side of the bridge when the sun goes down.”

Jayce was markedly unsurprised by her brusque words, looking over her curiously while he still could. She was, indeed, curious. “Neither should you.” He commented.

Her face curled into an elaborate, sympathetic pout as she said, voice dripping with motherly affection, “I will be right behind you; don’t you fret, Councillor.”

He scoffed. He’d never win her over.

Nodding slowly, he gave her one final, perplexed look before stepping away, the screws jingling faintly in his coat pocket.

She exhaled a heavy breath, watching him leave, the bag of treats clutched tightly in her grasp. She saw his steps stutter with his hesitation and he spared a glance over his shoulder. Her blood froze, like in that moment he had figured out everything she had avoided mentioning, every question she eluded answering. He frowned when his eyes found her again, the cogs in his mind visibly churning, eventually electing to just turn around and continue walking.

In all honesty, she was caught by surprise at having met him again. It was strange, she thought, to come across a member of the Council in the Undercity, even if it were the outermost and least unpleasant part. And for him to reach out to her directly certainly elicited a feeling of ambivalence toward him: she assumed, had they caught eyes whilst passing, for example, that they would exchange polite nods, perhaps, and nothing more. He instead chose to follow her, the creep that he was, and investigate her sweet treats.

She let a dry chuckle emit from her chest as she walked and pondered, now much further in the smog of the city. The fumes undoubtedly clung to the fabric of her clothes, as they always did, and were she to turn around and head straight back to Piltover she would receive looks of utmost abhorrence, the smell alone removing the glossy mask she wore on that side of the river and revealing her naked for what she was.

Ironically, the deeper she travelled into the city the higher her head rose, when before it was very much lowered. Acquaintances she recognised gave her a pleasant smile when she passed, making a venerated comment about her success “up there”, navigated with that voice of hers. “We miss hearing it down here,” they’d say.

The Entresol level was comprised of narrow, winding lanes. She relied entirely on muscle memory now, because if she thought excessively about where she was, what landmarks she was supposed to pass on her way, she would get entirely lost. Years of Piltover’s expansive clarity will do that to you. Thus, she relied on feeling alone: deciding whether or not turning left here feels proper, or no, turning right leads there, and that takes me in the opposite direction, and so on. She eventually arrived in a quieter lane, the ‘street’ in which she grew up, should a ‘street’ constitute a corridor, more suitably. 

Standing opposite the shanty-esque building, she was filled with sudden gloom. It hadn’t changed much since last month, but she felt that she had, if just a little; but all these small changes within her, these small decays, accumulated into greater erosions within her heart like acid onto the skin. It hurt to come back, but she stepped forward.

The front door had been fixed since last time, however. It was at her instruction and through her payment that it be realigned properly, for it was previously crooked on its hinges and a draft of fumes would waft in. Her fist rapped upon the wood and she rocked on her heels slightly, waiting. There was commotion inside, a loud clatter, a shrill, frustrated curse, like the owner had been at their wits’ end, and then the door finally swung open with a chaotic whoosh.

“My daughter is home!” She exclaimed, opening her arms wide with a matching, joyous grin splitting her face. She was pulled into a hug a trifle forcefully, feeling the bones of her mother’s shoulders stab into her’s.

“Mother,” she greeted, feeling somewhat apprehensive. The older woman stepped aside, granting her daughter entrance, who was quickly met with the dusty, acrid smell that was her childhood home. Habitually, she shrugged off her cloak and hung it up on the far-right peg, turning to see her mother already fussing in the kitchen as she set down her bag of sweet treats. Her hair, though scraped back in a hasty updo, was loose and already had strands falling over her forehead as she tended to the stove and the pot of bubbling stew upon it. She observed the shattered plate fragments that had been hastily kicked into a pile on the stone floor and, with a somewhat amused sigh, went to deposit them in the bin.

“That program of yours was particularly generous, this week - more than usual.” Mother chirped, tasting the sauce with a few cautious blows of cool air. She hummed, turned off the heat, then faced her daughter properly with an adoring smile. “How you’ve changed over this month. Have you been sleeping alright?” She questioned, stepping forward to cup her face worriedly, observing the bags beneath her dispassionate eyes, then going down to grasp her hands, examining them. Her aged fingers ran over all nine of those that were flesh, running thoughtfully over the tenth, golden finger. Satisfied, she patted those hands and gave her a warm smile, backing away to begin plating their meal.

The silence didn’t stretch on for very long, however, before thunderous steps came stomping down the wooden stairs, which were bound to snap and splinter one day with the rate he was growing. ‘He’ being her younger brother, who jumped on her like a wild cat, wrapping his arms around her middle, exclaiming her name with endless enthusiasm.

Her smile widened exponentially, face finally relaxing into something a little easier, patting his head lovingly before he pulled away to look up at her. “Still got some growing to do before you catch me.” She teased, ruffling his hair. 

“Just you wait - one day I’ll be so tall my head will peek into Piltover.” He countered, rounding into the miniature kitchen to seat himself at the tiny, mismatched assortment of chairs and a table. It was not long before his mother placed a steaming bowl of stew - with real meat, markedly - in front of him. She looked up at her daughter expectantly. Hesitantly. 

“You are staying for dinner, right?”

She slid into the chair opposite her brother, who had been watching her hopefully, in answer, and her mother handed her the plate she had prepared with satisfaction. 

“How are your studies going?” Mother asked, taking a sip of her water and dabbing her mouth with her napkin.

“Just fine.” She answered carefully, focused on scraping the last of the sauce from her bowl. 

Her mother frowned. It went this way every time: she would ask, genuinely curious, and receive in turn a terse response. Though, she wasn’t completely oblivious to her mother’s discontent, “I have exams coming soon.” She lied, “It’s been… intense studying for those. You know how consuming it is at the Academy.”

Pleased at finally receiving a cohesive answer, her mother nodded and swallowed her final spoonful. “It’s good that they’re stretching you; you’d never have received that down here.”

There was a pause in which she didn’t exactly acknowledge what her mother had said, mind instead wandering to other things. “They’re treating you alright? The delivery men?”

Her mother laughed at her caution, “There were no problems last week, or the week before, or the hundred times or so that they’ve come,” she said, smiling, “All they do is hand me the crates and leave, and your brother and I have full bellies for another week.”

She released a rather heavy sigh, nodding at her reflection in her glass. 

“Would you like to–”

“I should be heading back. The gates lock after a certain hour.” She stated firmly, finally looking her mother in the eye. The older woman was visibly hurt, a frown burrowing between her eyebrows as she nodded slowly in acceptance, reaching over to collect her plate. Her brother had long since found himself reading on the frayed armchair in the living room after he had demolished his meal, and she called his name as she approached. “I have a gift for you.”

At this his ears perked up, his eyes lighting up with childish wonderment. He held out his hands as his sister placed a small package in his grasp, immediately going to unwrap it. Tearing the silver tissue paper away, he was unsurprised but clearly delighted to see a small owl carved out of wood in his palm. “To add to your collection.” She stated, smiling down at him and his radiant expression. He instantly leapt up to wrap his arms around her once more, mumbling a genuine “thank you” into the fabric of her blouse.

When he pulled away, she looked over at her mother, who had been watching them from the kitchen with a pensive but contented expression. She went to wrap her arms around her and she met her halfway, pulling her tightly against her. 

All between them that could not be said translated into this devastating embrace.

“You will reap the rewards of your hard work soon.” Her mother whispered into the air, and her heart clenched at her sincerity.

If only she knew.

Note: Thank you for reading! I do apologise it took so long. If it came down to me reading over this chapter again and trying to swallow a bowling ball, I would find more joy in the latter.

Things should go a bit smoother from now on since I've actually outlined the next few chapters (I hadn't before because I truly thought I could just wing it lmao).

[w3sternwild]

alright guys, the second chapter of Lovefool is coming TONIGHT!!!!!!!!

thank you all for reading the first chapter and also that little drabble (blurb?? someone tell me the difference) i posted.

give me your thoughts when you read, i'd love to hear them <3

[w3sternwild]

guys i promise Lovefool chapter 2 is coming 😭 should be out by the end of the week