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quick baby silco concept because we were robbed ☹️

baby boy

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HEY YOU.

look at these two gorgeous women

happy pride to the foundations of our community. ❤��🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️

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Attention! The method of neutralization of Silco has been found out! Don’t tell Piltover!

In general. Yesterday I watched a video about wildlife, where a diver puts a shark into a trance by touching, stroking its muzzle, and a shark freezes.

WELL

So that’s how should treat you, Silco 😏

I always knew so should touch his face 😂 The main thing he is not to bite) But sharks usually don’t bite when this is done to them…

That’s it, Silco, we’ve figured out your special spot! All together we touch his cheeks 😀

It’s necessary to stroke near the mouth and slightly upwards, that’s where the hollows are, in circular movements ideally. And that’s it, this male shark is yours!

Imagine, everyone found out about it and grab him by the cheeks, and he just freezes and can’t do anything, like a kitten being carried by the scruff of the neck 😀

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Vander Headcanons PT2

I need this Old man. NEOW. GIVE ME HIM. Sfw and NSFW

Vander who knows your moods by the weight of your footsteps. He can tell if you had a rough day before you even speak, calls you over with just a gesture, sits you between his legs, arms around you like armor. Doesn’t make you talk unless you want to. Just hums low in his chest and lets you exist there. Vander who lets you trace his scars. Lets you ask about each one. How old, where it came from, who left it. But only you. No one else gets to see him this soft. And when you kiss them, even the oldest ones, he has to bite back a noise in his throat.

Vander who doesn’t always take control. When you ask to ride, when you ask to lead, he lets you. Hands gripping your hips, letting you use him however you want, voice ragged as he tells you how beautiful you look above him. “Take what you need, love. S’what I’m here for.”

Vander who gets possessive when someone flirts with you. Not in a toxic way, but his hand will slide to your hip, his nose at your neck, whispering things only you can hear. And if you tease him about it later, he’ll make you prove who you belong to. “Oh, so you liked them looking at you? Say that again while I’ve got you like this—go on.”

Vander who teaches you to bartend just so he can watch you do it. Calls you “my little showstopper,” even if you’re awkward. Loves watching your hands pour, shake, wipe down the counter. And when you’re too slow? He steps behind you, guiding your arms with his own, mouth at your ear. “Easy now… steady hands. You’ve got it.”

Vander who will ruin you with praise. Won’t shut up when he’s touching you, won’t let you go quiet either. Makes you say what you want, what feels good, what he does to you. “Use your words, darlin’. Want to hear how much you need it.”

Vander who keeps a picture of you in his locket. Not because he’s sappy (okay, maybe a little), but because on the worst days—the ones that smell like gunpowder and grief—he needs the reminder. That someone is waiting for him. That someone believes he’s more than his past.

Vander who keeps your favorite drink behind the bar, no matter what it is. Whether it's something fancy or basic, hot or cold, he makes sure it’s there. Already poured before you even sit down. He wipes the rim with his towel and gives it to you himself, every time.

Vander who groans when you touch his hair. Big hands resting on your thighs as you run your fingers through it, maybe braiding a few pieces if it’s long enough. He doesn’t say much, but his eyes are half-lidded and he leans into your touch like it’s the only peace he knows.

Vander who is a deep sleeper, but only with you in his arms. Anyone else? He’s light, alert, always one ear open. But with you tucked against his chest, breathing even, he lets go for the first time in years. You can feel it, the way his grip loosens and his jaw unclenches.

Vander who lets you ride his thigh until you're shaking. And he doesn’t stop touching you. One hand around your waist to keep you grounded, the other sliding over your chest or jaw or hips. Whispering how good you look falling apart like that. “That’s it, ride it just like that, lovie. Take what you need.”

Vander who carries you to bed when you fall asleep somewhere else. Slips his arms under you gently, presses a kiss to your temple, and makes sure the blanket is tucked all the way up. Grumbles softly if you stir, “Shh, it’s just me. Go on, sleep, sweetheart.”

Vander who smiles when you mouth off. You throw something sharp at him, sarcastic, playful..and his lips twitch. He doesn’t always respond right away. But hours later, he’ll press you up against a wall and murmur in your ear, “That sharp tongue of yours… I’ll find a better use for it.”

I need him so bad. He's on my 'Old men I need' list.

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Silco Headcanons

Unfortunately..I like slightly toxic old men that look like they could kill me.

Sfw and NSFW

Silco who doesn’t believe he deserves softness, but finds himself craving yours anyway. He watches the way you pour tea, the way you sit beside him instead of across from him, and every time you reach for him without flinching, he shatters a little more quietly inside.

Silco who lets you touch the scar. The first time, it startled him. But now? He leans into your hand when your thumb grazes beneath his ruined eye. “Don’t look at it like that,” he grits, but his hand is gripping your wrist, not pushing you away.

Silco who lets you sit on the windowsill of his office while he monologues or plans. You hum or play with a ring on your finger while he talks about territory or loyalty. You always listen. Always. And he pretends it doesn’t matter… but he plans better when you're there.

Silco who remembers everything. Your favorite drink, how you like your collar straightened, that offhand comment you made about stars three weeks ago. He doesn’t bring it up but you’ll find his jacket over your shoulders, or a new constellation map pinned to your shared wall, and he’ll simply say, “It was nothing.”

Silco who never raises his voice at you. He commands rooms. He shouts at enemies. But never at you. If you argue, it’s cold, sharp, controlled, but he rarely ever lets it slip. Not with you. You’re the only person in the world he doesn’t want to frighten.

Silco who lets you take his gloves off for him. He could do it himself, but he waits, silent, watching you with sharp eyes while you peel the leather from his fingers like it’s something intimate. It is. He doesn’t say it aloud, but his breath always catches on the last finger.

Silco who listens better when you say things while straddling his lap. Something about your weight grounding him, your fingers in his hair or on his chest while you talk about your day. He nods slowly, his hands on your hips, thumbs rubbing little absent-minded circles. Focused. Tethered.

Sub!Silco who loves control, but adores the power you have over him. The way you can make him wait. Squirm. Beg, even through gritted teeth, pride thick in his throat. “You think I’ll fall apart for you?” he gasps but you already feel him trembling under your touch.

Dom!Silco who commands without raising his voice. A tilt of the head. A quiet, “Come here.” You obey not because you’re afraid, but because his presence wraps around you like smoke..thick, inescapable, and laced with desire.

Dom!Silco who marks you not with bruises, but with memory. Fingers tracing your jaw after he kisses you, lingering on your pulse like he’s branding it with the heat of his palm. He doesn't need the world to see the marks, you know exactly who you belong to.

Sub!Silco who can't help but whisper your name like a prayer when you touch him gently. Your fingers along his scar, your lips against his temple, his breath hitches like it hurts to be loved that softly.

Sub!Silco who trembles under praise like it’s something he's not allowed to have. "Good boy," and he whimpers. Just once. Eyes shut, mouth open, undone by two words like you tore down his defenses with a whisper.

Silco who switches mid-scene sometimes. When he’s on top, commanding, but you push him just right—he flips so fast, biting his own lip as you straddle him. “You really think you can—”

“Yes.” And just like that, he’s yours again.

I need this old man too. Vander and Silco AT THE SAME DAMN TIME. Sorry. The voices are getting to me.

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Silco Headcanons (2)

Transcript from Draculasintern file #V016-X

So, more Silco because I might have a thing for old men who could kill me. Sfw and NSFW

He doesn’t say I love you out loud very often. But he shows it in the way he pours your tea before his own. In the hand at the small of your back when he walks you through the office. In the way he listens—really listens—when you speak, even if it’s about something small.

He has a specific spot on the couch where he relaxes after long days. You always end up curled there with him—head tucked under his chin, his arm over your shoulder, fingers absently brushing your arm. He doesn’t speak during those moments. Just breathes. Just is.

Calls you darling, my heart, sweet thing—but only in private. His voice drops half a register when he says it, like he’s afraid the softness might leak into his public mask.

His coat has become your coat. You said you were cold once. Now he wraps it around your shoulders before you even realize you’re shivering. It smells like him. You pretend not to notice how often you bury your face in it.

He watches you sleep. Not in a haunting way—just quiet, thoughtful, like he’s memorizing the curve of your cheek, the way you twitch when you dream. His hand usually rests near yours, just enough to touch, just enough to keep you tethered.

He keeps a framed photo of you in his office drawer. Only opens it when things are too heavy. When Zaun feels too much like a war and not enough like a home. He looks at you, then closes the drawer, steadies his breath, and continues.

If someone threatens you—even with a look—he’s suddenly there. Not loud. Not theatrical. Just close. Just deadly calm. “Is there a problem?” A hand on your back. His voice like ice. Problem solved.

He loves when you sit on his desk. Legs swinging or crossed, papers scattered, you making commentary while he works. He pretends to be annoyed. He’s not. He’s never more focused than when you’re nearby.

He doesn’t sleep much. But when he does, he sleeps better with you in the room. Even if you’re reading. Even if you’re quiet. He’ll rest his head in your lap with a soft exhale and let himself drift.

Sometimes he leaves notes. Sharp handwriting. Folded with precision. “Don’t forget to eat.” “Your scarf is on the rack.” “Wake me if you need anything.” You keep them. All of them.

He touches you like you’re precious and breakable, but he kisses you like you’re the only real thing he’s ever known. Lips to your knuckles. To your temple. Your pulse.

If you’re angry or upset, he gives you space—but not distance. He’s still there. In the room. Back turned, waiting. And when you’re ready, he turns around, opens his arms, and lets you fall into them without a word.

He lets you fix his tie. Run your fingers through his hair. Adjust his collar. All things he could do himself—but he likes when it’s you. He closes his eyes and sighs like your hands make the weight on his shoulders a little lighter.

You once traced the scar around his eye with your fingertip. He didn’t flinch. Just watched you with something molten in his gaze. “Does it frighten you?” he asked. You shook your head. “Good,” he murmured. “It frightens everyone else.”

He never really believed in softness until you. Never knew gentleness could be powerful. But you—your smile, your voice, the way you touch his face like he’s something worth keeping—you changed him. And he’ll never forget it.

He doesn’t rush. No matter how badly he wants you, his control is a blade honed to perfection. He undresses you slowly, step by step—hands dragging down your arms, your thighs, until you’re trembling and asking him to do something about it.

He has you spread out across his desk—hands gripping the edge, cheek to the cool surface—while he fucks into you slow, steady, deliberate. His voice is in your ear the entire time. “You like this? Like how deep I am, darling?”

He likes power in small, quiet ways. Holding your jaw while he kisses you. Keeping his hand on your chest while he pushes into you, just to feel your heartbeat stutter. “You’re shaking.” He sounds amused. “Is it from pleasure or fear?”

He doesn’t just talk dirty—he tells you what you’re doing to him. “You feel that?” he groans, fucking deeper. “That’s how wet you are. That’s how tight you’ve got me. Gods, you ruin me.”

If you tease him—flirt in public, whisper something filthy while he’s in a meeting—you’ll pay for it later. Bent over the arm of the couch, legs trembling, his voice a low rasp in your ear: “Next time you want to misbehave, think of this.”

He rarely lets go of control—but when he does, it’s desperate. You ride him and he’s all breathless groans, eyes fluttering, hands gripping your hips like he’s going to fall apart if you stop. “Don’t—don’t stop—please, just like that…”

He whimpers when he’s close. A sharp contrast to his usual calm. You kiss his throat, grind down hard, and he moans—high, needy, completely undone. “You’re too much, darling. I can’t—fuck—”

He adores when you talk him through it. Praise, teasing, all of it. “Such a mess, sweetheart. Can’t even think straight, can you?” You murmur, and he bites his lip, bucking up into you. “So sensitive, huh?” He whines into your mouth like he hates how much he likes it.

When he’s underneath you, it’s like the world vanishes. He watches your every move—eyes heavy, lips parted, letting you take what you want from him. His hands shake on your thighs. His voice breaks on your name.

Afterward, he clings. Chest pressed to your back, arms around your waist, breath still catching. “You’re… everything,” he murmurs. Quiet. Almost ashamed. But you know he means it. He always does.

So.. How we feeling?

-The Intern

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Happy Pride my fellows, with a message from my personal little angry gay man, Strudel: survive to see them die. outlive those who wish to see you dead. Keep going out of spite: we will make it through this together.

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Happy Pride Month I wish all my trans friends "You are so powerful and cool I hope this makes you feel very powerful and cool"

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A happier and healthier Silco would keep fish methinks

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Girldad Silco vs Tween Jinx who will win

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5 Tiny Writing Tips That Aren’t Talked About Enough (but work for me)

These are some lowkey underrated tips I’ve seen floating around writing communities — the kind that don’t get flashy attention but seriously changed how I write.

1. Put “he/she/they” at the start of the sentence less often.

Try switching up your sentence rhythm. Instead of

“She walked to the window,”

try

“The window creaked open under her touch.”

Keeps it fresh and stops the paragraph from sounding like a checklist.

2. Don’t describe everything — describe what matters.

Instead of listing every detail in a room, pick 2–3 objects that say something.

“A half-drunk mug of tea and a knife on the table”

sets a way stronger tone than

“There was a wooden table, two chairs, and a shelf.”

3. Use beats instead of dialogue tags sometimes.

Instead of:

"I'm fine," she said.

Try:

"I'm fine." She wiped her hands on her skirt.

It helps shows emotion, and movement.

4. Write your first draft like no one will ever read it.

No pressure. No perfection. Just vibes. The point of draft one is to exist. Let it be messy and weird — future you will thank you for at least something to edit.

5. When stuck, ask: “What’s the most fun thing that could happen next?”

Not logical. Not realistic. FUN. It doesn’t have to stay — but chasing excitement can blast through writer’s block and give you ideas you actually want to write.

What’s a tip that unexpectedly helped with your writing? Let me know!! 🍒

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"That day, I let a weak man die. And another was reborn."

So any fellow Silco enjoyers here? If so come get your food! I love this character so much so had to do some fanart of him 😭😭

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The Evils of Generative AI

Posted this on my Instagram and thought I would share here too.

I know most of you follow me for the cute and colorful animal portraits, and I am not stopping creating art. But I am irate about the state of the world and will use my platform to discuss the uncomfortable realities that negatively affect me personally, and everyone I know. This is a topic I am passionate about, and I will not keep quiet about it; complacency and apathy are the death of creativity and of our livelihoods, so I will continue to educate about and fight against this.

Copyright Infringement

Generative AI takes the work of millions without permission, license, or compensation. All creative works are copyrighted the moment of their creation, and using them in this manner is unethical. GenAI would not even have content to produce if it wasn't stealing millions of copyrighted material.

2. Marginalized Groups

There is a significant overlap between artists and marginalized groups. LGBTQ, Bipoc, neurodivergent and those with disabilities are disproportionately affected.

3. Environmental Impacts

Generative AI uses a disproportionately large amount of electricity and water to generate content, and has a detrimental effect on the environment.

4. Loss of Jobs

Artists, musicians, writers, authors, photographers, comic creators, linguists, translators, actors, voice actors, animators, graphic artists, designers, and other creative professionals have lost or will lose their jobs because of generative AI. GenAI steals from these individuals and then creates content that undermine them and their careers.

5. Cognitive Decline

When you outsource critical thinking to a machine, you will lose the ability to think for yourself. Cognitive decline and loss of creative thinking skills is a serious side effect of AI.

6. Misinformation and Harm

Generative AI is prone to something called "hallucinations" where it will completely make up something false just so it can have something to output. This has resulted in misinformation in published AI books and articles, as well as weird artifacts in images. False information can have detrimental effects.

7. Loss of Humanity

Art is a human achievement. The purpose of art is to share your life experience, emotions, and ideas with others through your creations. Using GenAI to spit out material completely misses the point of creating art, it lacks the human touch. Art should never be commoditized. Art is not about making money fast as the expense of humanity.

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I am so. fucking. tired. of AI being revered as some big fucking step forward for humanity. I’m tired of people acting as if it’s going to solve all of life’s problems, while turning around and using it to do the most mundane, creative, enjoyable and rewarding things.

oh? It’s going to solve cancer, complex mathematical equations, world hunger, economics, climate change? Yeah? But in the mean time, you’re using it to write books, newspapers, eulogies? You’re using it to make art, songs, clothing? All things which have always held inherent beauty due to the touch of humanity seen in them? It’s gonna solve world hunger, fix climate change, but in the meantime it’s used to generate brainrot images while its servers suck up so much money and power and water that it’s actively ruining the climate?

my mom is an author. A few months ago she found out that her books, and all books in the romance genre, were being fed to AI. To train its skills. She got no say in if her work was used for it

my dad got put in the newspaper, and he was excited about posing for the photo they took. Today he found out the entire article was written by ChatGPT.

my English teacher encourages us to use it to write poetry. To cite sources and make art.

when the fuck are people going to realize that it’s not funny? It’s not a joke? It’s not something to grin and present to someone, like, “I made this with AI! Look what it can do! We’re in the age of technology, and it’ll only get better from here!”

you can’t “make” anything with AI. You put that in there, you have no true hand in its creation. You are not an “ai artist”. You are an ai user, and a fucking ignorant person. being in the age of technology could have been a good thing. You twisted that by allowing the technology to take over the elements of your life you could have found the most happiness in.

it will not get better from here. People will rely on it like they rely on any crutch—to the point of muscle atrophy. The muscle in question? Their brain. And they won’t give a shit, becuase it’s making life easier. It’ll solve world hunger and fix climate change.