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#sister caitlyn
chaoticvi · 8 months
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Caitlyn and Vi being protective over each other
requested <3
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standsforjinxed · 1 year
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BONUS:
Caitlyn anytime watching these two
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blue-blugs · 2 months
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I'm sorry I CANNOT stop thinking about how Vi does not know how to use chopsticks. I guarantee you that Caitlyn does but she's too busy being obsessed with Vi to bother teaching her.
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thesparringpanther · 1 year
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arcanegifs · 1 year
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Arcane Tumblr Mobile Headers + Torn Paper Effect
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Arcane Tumblr Mobile Headers + Torn Paper Effect
Heya, I made some simple Arcane Tumblr mobile gif headers with the torn paper effect for anyone to use. Please don't right click and save these directly from Tumblr, because it'll mess up the quality. You can download them here. The header sizes are 640 x 360, and make sure your mobile background color is white for the torn paper effect to look consistent. If there's any problems, feel free to send a message/ask. Credits are also appreciated, but not needed. Enjoy! For those who don't know how to install or don't know how these mobile headers work, here's a tutorial.
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lady-griffin · 1 year
Conversation
Caitlyn: Vi, why did you tell Jayce that Jinx doesn’t think fishbones is her father?
Vi: Because she doesn’t.
Caitlyn: What? She absolutely thinks that rocket launcher is in some kind of way Silco.
Vi, starting to cry: SILCO WASN’T HER FATHER!!!
Caitlyn: ...oh my god.
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starry-nights12 · 8 months
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You can tell Vi and Jinx are related by them making bedroom eyes at their crush😏🤭
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m00nblune · 4 months
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if I had a nickel for everytime I saw an animated wasian character with blue eyes and dark blue or black hair I'd have 3 nickels. Which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it happened thrice.
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bringthekaos · 1 month
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Been reading my comfort fic Pulse of the Machine for the 6509x and I don’t know if I ever commented how hard I laugh at the idea of Jayce needing a signed permission slip to visit Zaun. Under reason he writes: “Getting dicked down by cyborg husband” and poor Caitlyn has this paper trail of Jayce’s sex life. “Inspecting the Machine Heralds new ‘parts’” or “Getting milked by the hexclaw” or “I’ve been a bad boy and I need to be punished”
I know I say it every time, but it still makes me emotional to know people reread my fic, and that it’s a comfort fic??? 😭😭😭😭🥰
Also… I’m fucking cracking up at this, and it’s 100% the level of petty Jayce is in Divorce Era. His fucks are gone. He thinks this is the stupidest shit ever, writing up a damn permission slip, so he is intentionally and grotesquely detailed on them.
And Caitlyn is like… I didn’t force this on you, why I gotta see this shit??? I’m just doing my job!
Jayce just shrugs and waves goodbye like the little tart that he is.
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stealthily · 2 years
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yes yes i know the general stakes of the world are too heavy for it to be a reality but I simply think Vi and Jayce should have a very antagonistic relationship, but in like, a fun-bickering sort of way. where they’re just sort of reluctantly forced to care about each other. their entire energy boils down to “if it were up to me i’d leave your sorry ass behind, but then Caitlyn would be mad at me, so-” and it could just be either of them saying it at any given time
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intp-energy · 5 months
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So hear me out. Wouldn't Kristina Tonteri-Young be a perfect Caitlyn Kiramman? Not saying I'll like a live action movie of Arcane, but if KTY were there as Cait, I'll support it.
Now who can photoshop or draw the heck out of that? Pretty please? With cupcake on top? Hmmm. Lol
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kiraman · 1 month
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What are you shooting for?
( Written in Caitlyn's POV. Wanted to try something different. Set between 1x08 / 1x09. Cait x Vi. )
My mother says I'm good at finding bad and making it stick like flypaper to me; I say: okay but at least no fly dies lonely and squashed under a cruel hand too impatient for their buzzing. How sickening. A small insignificant death. No one wants to listen. No one spares the unwanted things a second thought. Flies, I tell her, they've got 5 eyes, see things a different way. They're harmless.
I'm bitter; I'm the things she's buried inside of herself reborn and shining bright like teeth in front of her and she does not want to feel the bite.
My mother says, different is unnecessary, Caitlyn. You're just bored. Her voice is oddly thin, as though it'll snap like a bone crushed under the weight of the walls put up between the two of us. She does not look at me, I think; she does not see me, she looks right through me like I am paper thin, crinkled, and I don't say anything, I scoff her off, shut myself away into my bedroom and lock the door. Before I shut it, I catch a glimpse of my father, stood at the end of the hallway, his eyes like a hand on my shoulder, squeezing.
But I have seen the world through her eyes now, and it's no longer a cave and I the sheltered small thing inside of it, pretending that I am not afraid; I've come out, stepped into the mouth of the wolf laying in wait at its entrace; I've witnessed, I've testified, dove into its throat like a bullet, and I've got bite marks where its teeth sank into my body, where I've been gnawed at and spat out, chewed skin and shakiness. I've felt her fury in my blood, her grief in my throat, her hand in mine, a promise. Her hand in mine, my fingers on her cheek. Her body next to mine on my bed, a new world. Revelation. Our hands intertwined, a swallowed cry. Our heads plunged in a close, trembling darkness, the rushing sweetness of her warm breath, spilling like fire from her parted lips.
I get more tired in my bedroom now than out there where the world feels like a net cast over me and I only a fish, thrashing wildly on a dried up riverbed. There's so much that I don't know; I feel half blind, a hypocrite, a liar, and what do I know anyway. At dinner, I pick at my plate: smoked fish and honeyed plums, exquisitely dark, rich wine flowing; I hear my mother pour my father another glass. I listen to the clink of her black patent heels when she rises from the table to put on music, something lavishly melodious that sounds empty in my ears. I stab the fish with my fork and laugh. Sharklike, my teeth are gritted, make the bark of it sound stifled. I feel my father's eyes on me; I hear a high note in my head, a buzzing, and whisper to my thoughts: let’s pretend it's not my fault; I can fix this, I will fix it, I will find a way, I have to, must to, going to.
I wonder if she's thinking of me, too. I wonder if she's alone. I wonder if she feels the world close in on her like it has closed in on me too, as if time has dimmed, and color and sound are gone and made strange. Changed. Unrecognisable. Wine is not wine to me anymore, food tastes like murder in my mouth. She's got nothing and I've got everything and there are people dying down there, ugly loveless unwanted things; and here I am, in a glass palace, wine smouldering on my tongue. I feel like I'm going to be sick. I push my plate away and do not do my mother the favour to return her stare; her eyes are a rope around my neck but I do not yield under its pulling. I turn the music off.
I’ve been chewing my cuticles again. Short, small nails, sleek and perfect, painted a deep shade of dark blue. I stare at them obsessively, there's a chip in my right thumb, and I can't be bothered to paint over it. I sigh. I toss and turn, listen to the plashing patter of a dark, hard rain against my window.
—but I am better today; 17 hours without her and her absence is a bruise the colour of her mouth inside of me. I blink at the ceiling and suddenly I cannot breathe, the walls are swallowing me up, I'm suffocating. There is smoke inside my room, but nothing is burning. I close my eyes and it feels like Vi is slowly disappearing. My fingers curl into my palm, chasing the ghost of her hand in mine. I put my hand on the bedsheets where she's been and try to find her there, but she's gone, she's that space at the back of the mouth, where a tooth has been violently removed, but the memory of it still lingers. When I open my mouth, my voice feels sharper now, like a warning.
I am better... today I am better than yesterday. I only stare at the ceiling for three hours at a time. There's a fly on my door, a black, big ugly thing, buzzing incessantly and I slip out of my bed and open my window, hope it will fly away. I don’t remember the last time I cried.
My mother's laughter wakes me up. I rearrange the pillows on the bed with painstaking flawless concentration. I sit on the floor and stare at my map, put my finger over the little sketch of Stillwater Hold, trying to chase something I can hold onto, trying to fold the hours neat enough that I can find some sort of meaning, a sick desire to please, a sicker need to refix the world she's part of— make it right make something right. My mother's voice leaks through my door like kerosene, and I shut my eyes when I hear her call for me.
I found a family of spiders in my room last night. I stayed there and stared at it and brought each one outside. See. One by one.
We each stay alive.
I take a shower and think of her; the way the rain had kissed her skin, the back of her neck, dark and slick with rainwater, and suddenly in my mouth I feel the taste of fire again; I blink and bite into the flame on my tongue until I feel the blood gushing, thick and metallic between my teeth. I scoop up water in my palms and watch it run out. My thigh is throbbing, the water has gone cold and crimson with blood around my feet, and I don't know how long I've sat in it, I must have washed her all off, (her hand on my cheek, her blood on the back of my neck, her mouth her voice her desperation, her hand in mine; her hand in mine) and suddenly panic gathers in my throat and I pull away from the water like I've been scalded, I put my hand on my thigh where my wound has torn open and I turn off the tap.
I drip water all over the floor, my feet are cold and I can feel a sharp deep hunger in my stomach. The fly has not flied out the window; it's there on the bedpost, buzzing when I come out of the shower. I stare at it blindly. Lightning flashes in the mirror.
The fly stills its wings. Streaks of thunder shake the house. A deep dark silence fills the room, suddenly airless. The windows steam up and as I move to stand at my mirror, I inhale, feel the salt in the air, a familiar desperation. My bedroom smells like a storm.
When I look up a part of hers greets me in the shadows.  
The world suddenly stops spinning.
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sihakadan · 9 months
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*uses OC like a Barbie doll* Having fun playing around and figuring out some things. Every now and then I get my template out of Vee and just do the silliness. I am struggling with her tattoos so she is going without until I can make up my mind about it.
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nathaniacolver · 1 year
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laid in my bed for 90 min just now brainstorming & constructing protagonist (korra/vi/ava), asian gf (asami/caitlyn/beatrice), & epic interracial wlw couple (korrasami/caitvi/avatrice) Venn diagrams. coming soon to timelines near you
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saintdollyparton · 1 year
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Both Caitlyn from Arcane and Beatrice from Warrior Nun being half/part Asian lesbians from upper-class families with big expectations forced upon them, only to go after what they truly want in life and be badass and honorable anyway... okay I see it and I love it.
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lady-griffin · 2 years
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Look, I’m not saying Jinx was right; I’m just saying that if my sister was struggling between choosing me or some cop, she met less than a week ago…
I would not be happy to say the very least.
And I could see myself hosting our family’s most awkward and uncomfortable family dinner ever, to get my feelings of betrayal across loud and clear.
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