#Viktor knack

[knackfandomarchive]

Top 18 of my favorite full-body poses of Little Knack, from the first game.

He still glows brightly from manifesting, here, but I like this expression because it reminds me of a kitten somehow lol.

I'm not sure why I like this one so much. He is far quicker at climbing the giant relic than this image describes, but there's something like, I like the shape and there is an energy there.

The composition? Is so pretty? You might notice that my avatar is a sketch of this (as of early June 2023. I know I will change it again).

This one, I really like: the color and shadows of the night, the grey stone, and drama of the pose. It's not really representative of the scene since he gets back up quickly and seems no worse for wear, but I still like it.

Knack has such long arms in the first game, that when he isn't running and is more casually walking, he sometimes holds his hands out just a bit while he swings them to avoid dragging. It produces an interesting effect.

More below; Thought it would be nice to cut off after 5 images to avoid long posts.

Trying to decide whether this one will make the cut. I like the hunched over crouch look, not sure why. Also did anyone notice they straightened his posture in the second game? I'll have to check again.

The sunset does a pretty good job of putting those carvings in stark relief. Literally! Look up "define in relief". Anyway I just love the colors, texture, and detail here.

Put that boy on a skateboard. Need I say more?

I'm mainly just putting this here because it can be hard to notice, although I think even the animators play pretty loose with it, but Knack's pupils may still be pupils when he small; there's a radial pattern that could define his eye region, and the pupils tend to move within that pattern, except for when they don't.

Once again I like the colors, the energy. You know he's going to hop off that rock. He is so Shaped.

The contrast here is perfect! You can see Knack and the relics lit up against the shadowed cliff. There is pleasing visual interest drawing the eye from the little sprinkle to the relics more up close and visually larger, you can tell the relics are falling away as Knack plummets. Interestingly, they seem to come off in layers.

Might remove this since I can't brain. Something like, the poses are nice and the lighting. There's somewhat the arm-swing I pointed out earlier.

Oh my goodness this one! Hi! I want to also include the smile he does, but that's a close-up.

And the high-five! YEAH!

I love Knack's expression in this one hehehe. Kind of wish I could combine it with another one where the Doctor and Ryder aren't awkwardly mid-stride.

BEAST BEAST BEAST

I just love that impish grin.

And the kinetics of this one are so nice I think. You can tell which direction he's going based on where his ears flap around.

That's basically it. I wanted to share screenies of the second game also, but my mama's laptop can't handle all the Knack.

[jamismejamiam]

It's crazy that Viktor literally gets transformed into an eldrich horror basically, and they don't even mention it?? Like the final boss in knack 1 IS Viktor, he went from a human to that thing and there's not even a cutscene really unless you count right after he went through the door and that's just extremely vague, plus there's like 0 shock? And we know it's him because of the warning on the door that talks about an awful transformation

Like it's genuinely brutal what happens to him, all his skin looks burned off and he's just a mindless beast basically

[discoknack]

I think I'm having trouble with the story because in my head, Knack is trapped in the super melodramatic Bad Ending. Oop possibly spoilers

Nothing is resolved to any satisfaction, and it is in fact squashed down and buried under quasi-normalcy under the guise of giving him a break from uh, everything. Nothing *can* return to normal, but everyone around him pretends otherwise, well-meaningly. They try to return to a simpler time as though shit didn't hit the fan and the little things leading up to it didn't happen. Like half the lab may or may not have needed to be rebuilt. This drives him absolutely bananas, and by extension also drives me bananas.

But it's not necessarily denial on their part? It's like they're babying him too much. This is where I bring up the age thing and that whole weirdness. He grew up fast, but his family wonders too late if it was *too* fast.

Ironically, I think that if I step away for a while, I can somehow come back and develop a different idea of how things will go down. Even though this version of the story literarily has no takesie backsies as a theme (given that this attempt to sort of 'do over' or extend Knack's childhood massively backfired. I sound insane). So resolving the conflict with authorial time-travel is hilarious.

I'm hoping I'll have a better sense of the characters and what sort of decisions they make, especially The Doctor, Lucas, and Knack himself.

[banj0possum]

could you ever try writing a poly between 3 vampires and male reader? like, reader is a painter and the vampires ask him to paint them something while in their house, and is just.. evolves. sorry if it doesn't make sense

Love Bites

Poly!Vampires x Male!Painter!Reader

CW: implied kidnapping, murder, implied vampirism

holy shit this is like one of the chillest fics ive made so far :0 anyways enjoy the funny vampire men !!

🌙 You always had a knack for finding beauty in everything, from the calming dance of raindrops amongst the smell of petrichor or the lovely reds and oranges of the fall when the leaves withered.

🌙 It was very handy considering what you did for fun.

🌙 You loved to paint, anything and everything you saw was inspiration for you. After a long day of delivering bread and pastries to the people in your village from your bakery, you would run up to your room and continue on the latest masterpiece you were working on.

🌙 Everyone in the village loved your work, many of them paying you for a painting of their own.

🌙 Life was simple and calm, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

🌙 But life decided fuck that bullshit.

🌙 Rumors and whispers filled the streets of the town, it wasn't like the usual talk like someone's daughter getting married or the like, it was much more...unusual.

🌙 News spread from neighboring towns of coffins being found unearthed and opened, shadowy figures roaming around in the late hours of the night, and bodies being found in the morning, drained from their blood.

🌙 It was a terrifying thought, but you didn't dwell upon it, you weren't the type to believe such rumors so easily, and yet a feeling of uneasiness lingered within your soul.

🌙 Your town was no longer the vibrant, happy place it once was before. Windows that once had lovely flowers and laundry lines hung on them were shut day and night, the busy streets you once traversed were covered in a gloomy fog. It really was like an evil has brought itself to your home.

🌙 Or should I say evils?

🌙 In the midst of all the tension, 3 men came to your town. Eccentric was an understatement when describing them, it was like the horrors and whispers of death and murder didn't faze them a bit.

🌙 Even so, you were happy to see something other than terrified faces and panicked expressions.

🌙 You greeted them politely during a cloudy day and noticed how covered they were. One had a large hat on, the other draped in a black cloak and the last holding a parasol that shrouded him in darkness.

🌙 "Good afternoon to you too, me and my friends here are just visiting this quaint little village, how uhm...calm..it is here..hah.."

🌙 The cloaked one chuckled whilst looking to the empty streets.

🌙 "My, my! Aren't you that famous painter I've been hearing about! I'd love to get a painting done from you, but it seems everyone here is quite busy with other things.." says the one in the hat.

🌙 "Oh no! I'd love to paint for you! Come, let's talk more in my bakery. Painting is more of a secondary job for me." You guide the men to your home as you hear the cawing of crows overhead.

🌙 Days pass and you grow closer to the men. You learned that their names were Viktor, Garrick and Silas.

🌙 Viktor had long, silky hair the color of raven's feathers. His eyes shone like two rubies in the dim light of the lanterns you lit around the house. He wore a black cape which hid a wine-red vest.

🌙 He was a gentleman and had a love for poetry. He would recite his favorites to you as you painted next to him. One interesting thing you learned was that he's scared of mice. 'Dreadful things' he calls them, you found it quite adorable once when you two were talking and he suddenly squealed and pulled his feet up at the sight of a small mouse crawling passed your floors. His face, although still as pale as the moon, turned into a light red.

🌙 Garrick had messy, dark hair. His fingers were always adorned with golden rings, and he wore a somewhat stained white, ruffled shirt, you can't tell what it's stained with though. His eyes were a deep purple, one of them covered by his locks. He was unusually flirtatious with you. You joked how he should be courting women, not a baker's son such as yourself, but he whined and cooed how irresistible you were to him, why wouldn't he be interested in a boy like you!

🌙 Silas is a bit darker skinned than the others, who were unusually pale. he had round black glasses and silver hair under a dark hat. Over his shoulders draped a coat, you weren't able to decipher what he kept under it, only that they were vials of strange substances. His eyes were the color of amber, like the hues of leaves that fell in the autumn. Rather shy, he was, always looking away from your eyes whenever he talked with you. He had an interest in flowers, always handing you one whenever he visited for inspiration purposes of course...

🌙 You wouldn't notice it at first, but they've gotten quite a liking to you, protective even. They would always check up on you, if you've been eating, who you've talked to today, things like that.

🌙 It was only until they scared off a young lady for making small talk with you that you started to notice something was off about them.

🌙 When you heard the next day her body was found dead with bite marks on her neck and drained of her blood, you started to worry.

🌙 You started avoided them after that, making excuses to not invite them over to your bakery, walking the other way the moment you see them down the street. They noticed your strange behavior towards them and knew something was wrong with you.

🌙 They didn't buy your silly act at all...

🌙 "You just had to leave the body there, didn't you?!"

🌙 "What? It's fun seeing them all scared and panicky!"

🌙 "Hahah yes but uhm...there's no food out anymore..."

🌙 You heard their voices by your door during the late hours of the night. The feeling that your new friends were not what they seem festered in your mind, but your kind nature overrode your fear and you opened your door.

🌙 "Hey! It's dangerous out there! Do you want to be gutted or something?"

🌙 The 3 of them were walking along the moonlit streets when they heard your voice.

🌙 "A-Ah! Yes! Uhm...of course, excuse us, we just came back from uh..."

🌙 "A pub-"

🌙 "A pub! Yes! And we've somehow lost our way! Could you, by chance, let us stay the night? Our inn is particularly far you see.."

🌙 You unlocked your door and let the 3 gentlemen in, going to the kitchen to warm up some bread and tea for them.

🌙 "Make yourselves at home! Apologies for the mess, I been really busy lately..." you say sweetly. Viktor nods with a smile and they all sit down, whispering softly amongst one another.

🌙 As you wait for the tea to warm, you get a good look at the 3 men.

🌙 Pale skin, pointed ears, not to mention their eyes, they have to be. You had to stop yourself from gasping when Garrick laughed, revealing his sharp fangs. Fear bubbled in your stomach once more until you heard the whistle of your kettle.

🌙 After giving them their tea, you feigned a yawn and told them you were off to bed, giving directions to the spare quarters before going in your room and waiting by your door for any sounds, grabbing a broken paintbrush you accidentally snapped, a makeshift wooden stake..

🌙 You then hear the men climbing the stairs, a conversation being exchanged between them.

🌙 "Shame we must drink from him now, he was such a darling though.."

🌙 "Oh, but I believe I'm quite well off with those wonderful treats he offered us. It's a mystery how someone as wonderful as him isn' married yet..."

🌙 "Unfortunate as it is, I don't think it would be in our best interest if the boy lives.."

🌙 Your heart pounded faster as you heard them talk about you. Your hunch was true, these men are the demons that have ravaged your town. You scrambled to your bed as you hear them walk to your room.

🌙 Your door creaks open as you grip your blanket tight. Footsteps approach you as you feel a dip in the bed.

🌙 "I can hear your cute little heartbeat darling~ I know you're awake~" You hear Viktor purr, tears start to well up in your eyes as they open.

🌙 A hand caresses your cheek and brushes your hair away from your face. You brace yourself as you feel Viktor's cold breath near your neck. You dare not move lest the beast lying next to you devour you whole.

🌙 "Do we have to Viktor?" You hear Silas say in a sorrowful tone.

🌙 "I'm with Silas with this one, why can't we just..I don't know, bring him with us?"

🌙 Viktor pulls back as he pauses for a moment. You could hear the smirk on his face when he chuckles. "Actually, that's not a bad idea Garrick.."

🌙 The next morning, the townspeople saw that your front door was wide open, a window or two was broken and paintings that hung on every wall was gone. There was no sign of you. The only thing that remained was a stain of blood on your bed and claw marks on the walls of your bedroom...

oOOoOooooOo cliffhanger or whatever :00000 part 2 soon !! sorry this one took so long, i had a hard time with the story and such..

And as usual, gay men doodles <3

[thegirlwhorideslikeasamurai]

YOI-meta: Viktor's apparent insensitive reaction to Yuuri's love confession & what it might mean

There are several ways to read Viktor's comment on Yuuri's love confession depending on the level of his knowledge of the Japanese language and culture at this point in the series. While his words seem insensitive and blunt at first glance, plausible explanations for the choice the creators made here align rather with Viktor's character and the concept of the show than Viktor only caring about Yuuri's appearance in one of the most significant moments of their relationship.

So let's break this down!

1. Language barriers

The press conference of the Japanese Skating Federation, where the skaters participating in the Grand Prix Series present their season theme, is broadcasted on Japanese TV for a Japanese audience. Hence, Yuuri speaks Japanese in this scene. By now, Viktor has been living in Japan for about 5-6 months, and while he possibly knows enough Japanese to get along on his own and communicate with Yuuri's family about basics like food or the weather, complex speeches are probably still beyond his abilities.

Besides Russian, Viktor speaks English and French, so we can assume he has a knack for languages. But whereas Cyrillic and Latin characters have some resemblances, Japanese has three different types of characters (hiragana, katakana, and kanji), and these differ vastly from Western scripts. Beginners spend a hell lot of time learning these in addition to vocabulary and grammar. It's not a stretch to assume that Viktor understood parts of Yuuri's speech but not enough to connect the dots. Like "here, Yuuri presents his season theme which is about love... Oh, I heard my name! He's talking about me now! ... Was that something about a gold medal and Grand Prix Final? That's my Yuuri! He's so fierce! I love this! But ugh, he really needs a new tie! That hideous thing doesn't fit his new image at all!"

2. Utter shock

That face...

Looking at this scene, Viktor is either completely shocked because he didn't see this coming or trying hard to understand Yuuri's speech. While in my personal headcanon, language barriers keep him from understanding the speech, a person who is described as a genius and already speaks three languages might be able to follow the speech after living in the country for several months (I'm not sure about this though, but some people learn at lightspeed once they start obsessing over a subject). In this case, his reaction is a coping mechanism due to overwhelm. So far, Yuuri has said a few sweet things that showed Viktor how much he matters to Yuuri, but this is a whole new dimension of expressing affection, especially coming from someone so reluctant to voice their feelings. And while Viktor undeniably has been hoping for Yuuri to love him back, seeing his love confessing his feelings live on national TV is quite something to process.

Which leads me to...

3. Viktor doesn't take Yuuri's love confession seriously

This interpretation falls into the category of "Did we watch the same anime?" and I will briefly explain why using some past instances of Viktor's reaction to Yuuri using love language:

Episode 2 "I want to eat katsudon with you!":

Episode 3 "I'm going to become a super tasty katsudon. Please watch me!":

Episode 4 "I want you to stay who you are":

We see the occasional confusion, which is attributed to the fact that Viktoir is still familiarising himself with Yuuri's unique way of expressing his feelings and desires. However, in all these scenes, Viktor is genuinely happy that he means so much to Yuuri. Although Viktor can be insensitive at times, he never mocks Yuuri, which speaks volumes about his character. Not even when Yuuri says things like "Katsudon is my eros!" It's not in his personality. So far, throughout the series, Viktor has helped Yuuri become more confident and express his feelings. As soon as he understands Yuuri's speech and has processed the meaning, he would burst with happiness because Yuuri loves him back and pride because of how confident Yuuri became. But mocking Yuuri for his necktie when he just expressed the full dimension of his feelings? Just nope. He's not JJ.

Bonus: Viktor's reactions after episode 5 (the pattern continues)

4. The necktie is a metaphor

This interpretation came up in a Twitter discussion with @maetae2288 (kudos to her for bringing this up!) and it can coexist with interpretations 1 and 2. If you tell a story that needed to be condensed to 12 short episodes, you don't waste precious air time on throwaway lines.

For this interpretation, I would like to refer to Tumbleweed's translation errors master post. It's a super long post, so I quote the relevant part:

「 初めて自分から繋ぎとめたいと思った人、それがヴィクトルです 」 [...]'For the first time in my life, there’s a person I want to hold on to. That person is Victor.’ Also, while I think this word choice is the best choice, 'hold on to’ doesn’t quite get all the connotations of 繋ぎとめたい across. Tsunagi tomeru is composed of two words, tsunagi = bind and tomeru = stop. It means tying the subject to something and stopping it from going away. Since he added 自分から, 'from/by himself’ in front of it, it infers Victor being the first person Yuuri wants to reach out to and bond with, and with those bonds, bind them together so that they would never part.

I highly recommend reading the full post if you're interested in the linguistic nuances of translations from Japanese to English regarding Yuri!!!.

In his speech, Yuuri voices his desire to form an inseparable bond with Viktor (it's quite a lot like "stay by my side and never leave" if you think about it, although he uses a different vocabulary). Bonds are often symbolised by a knot. In this sense, the necktie comment would refer to the new bond Yuuri and Viktor will form henceforth.

It's unclear when Viktor learns Japanese love language and dating culture (you can read my post on Japanese dating culture in YOI here). In episode 9, Viktor correctly identifies Yuuri's (accidental) marriage proposal, but when did he brief himself on these things? In fact, he uses love language as early as episode 3 ("I love katsudon"), but was he aware of this? Whether or not he is, it's beyond doubt that the creators knew what they were doing when they gave him this line. In this light, his necktie comment suggests that he understood Yuuri's kokuhaku very well and gave a unique response that refers to their future bond and is true to his character. This is top-notch storytelling.

To sum this up, whether Viktor understood Yuuri at once and responded accordingly, or this line foreshadows that he will understand somewhere between episodes 5 and 6, his comment implies that they will start dating soon after. And we see the result in episode 6.

If you enjoy my meta posts, please consider giving my blog a follow or checking out my works on AO3(link in bio). You will find the results of my meta musings in there!

[romione-trope-fest]

Have An Ice Day

Fic Title: Have An Ice Day

Author Name: voldemorts-tap-shoes/smjl

Selected Trope: Muggle AU

Brief Summary: Figure skater Hermione and hockey player Ron “meet-ugly” at the ice rink.

Word Count: 1580

Rating: G

Any Trigger Warnings: none

***

Hermione Granger only dates hockey players.

This fact was born out of sheer coincidence and not out of any conscious preference she has—quite the opposite in fact. Most of the hockey players she has to deal with on a daily basis are crass and obnoxious, and the thought of dating any of them brings a grimace to her lips.

She likes to think maybe she just has a knack for finding the good ones in the bunch, but she had no idea that Viktor was a hockey player—rather a talented one, in fact—when she met him during a foreign exchange program at her uni. And Cormac—well, it was hard to say that she’d dated him, if a single disastrous blind date could be counted at all, and he certainly wasn’t one of the good ones. He was the type to argue every call with the referees, and know all of his stats off the top of his head, repeating them incessantly and without provocation. And this was for a recreational team at their local rink; Viktor played on a low-level professional circuit and didn’t have the same obnoxious quirks.

So it’s not like she’s seeking out these hockey players. But still, the fact remains.

“He’s cute.” Lavender sidles up next to Hermione at the glass and slips off her skate guards before reaching up to fix her long blonde braid.

“He’s late,” Hermione gripes back, glaring past the scuffed up plexiglass panels at the current unknown object of her irritation. She definitely doesn’t know all of the hockey players at the Hogwarts Iceplex, but she’s sure she would remember the bright shock of red hair peeking out from beneath his goalie helmet while he takes slapshots from a puck launcher at the blue line. She and Lav are supposed to have the ice to themselves for the next half hour until their lessons arrive. Mostly she only gets out on the ice anymore to coach younger figure skaters, but her best friend still convinces her to skate with her for fun from time to time.

“Oh, will you relax?” Lavender scoffs with a roll of her eyes, tossing her plait back over her shoulder. “I bet we could share the ice.”

“Whether we could or not doesn’t matter,” Hermione retorts. “We booked the ice for 3:00 and it’s now 3:07 and—Lavender!”

Hermione’s indignant shout doesn’t stop Lavender from clanging open the heavy door in the boards and skating out onto the ice toward the unknown goalie. Her dress shimmers even under the dull fluorescents of the Iceplex, and Hermione flings off her skate guards to follow her with a groan.

By the time she catches up to her, Lavender has already finished showing off a basic spin move and is curtseying to the applause of the goalie. Hermione rolls her eyes; unlike herself, Lavender has no qualms about her preference for dating hockey players. “Hermione, this is Ron,” Lavender introduces him as Hermione slows to a stop outside the goalie zone. “He’s new in town.”

“Is that an excuse for not knowing how to tell time?” Hermione snaps back, addressing only her friend. “This is our ice time.”

The goalie—Ron—pushes his mask up onto his head to glare at her. Damn it; he is cute. Even though his bright blue eyes are narrowed at her, Hermione feels like she could drown in them.

“D’you know your clock is wrong?” He gestures up at the digital red numbers on the wall above the penalty box, which may or may not at any given time be accurate. A quick glance at her watch tells Hermione that currently, they are not.

“That’s beside the point,” Hermione snaps back, forcing herself not to get flustered by the handsome stranger.

Lavender grabs at her arm, fingernails digging into her flesh in warning as she giggles at Ron. “You’ll have to excuse her, she gets a bit crabby when she hasn’t eaten.”

“I’m getting a bit hungry myself,” Ron says. Though he’s talking to Lavender, his eyes keep flickering back to Hermione. “How’s the food in the Penalty Box?”

“Awful,” Hermione blurts. She can hardly stand the smell of grease and beer that permeates the Iceplex pub, but she does pop in from time to time to see her friend Hannah, the bartender.

“What Hermione means is, there’s plenty of restaurants nearby, and maybe we can take you to one of those sometime,” Lavender corrects, though that’s not what Hermione meant at all, and she forcibly restrains an eye roll. “Show you around town.”

“Sure. That sounds great.” Ron smiles, and Hermione can’t help but notice how nice it is—not a given with hockey players. Although since goalies have to wear a mask, she supposes it’s less common for them to be missing any of their teeth. Honestly, she’ll never understand why they don’t all wear full cages on their helmets; idiotic machismo, probably. “I’ll get out of your hair, then.”

He gathers up his gear from the bench under Hermione’s impatient eye, and when he exits the rink, leaving the girls alone at last, Hermione turns on Lavender with a glare. “Since when do you need a chaperone to take a guy out?” she complains. “I don’t need to watch you slobber all over him over dinner.”

Lavender skates a wide circle around Hermione. “I said we because I knew you wouldn’t ask him out yourself.”

Hermione scoffs. “Me? Why in the world would I ask him out?”

“Because he was so totally into you. God, you can be thick sometimes.”

Hermione raises a skeptical eyebrow at Lavender, who drops easily into a sit spin, her glittery skirt fanning out around her. Lav still dresses in old competition outfits when they go skating, just for the fun of it, and she always turns heads. By contrast, Hermione is wearing her favorite fleece-lined leggings and an oversized sweatshirt, her frizzy curls piled into a messy bun atop her head. The glitz and glamour was always her least favorite part of figure skating.

“And what makes you think I was into him?” she retorts, folding her arms across her chest. Cute or not, the last thing she needs in her life is another hockey player.

Lavender affords her an eye roll as she rises out of her spin and slows to a stop. “You mean besides the way you were undressing him with your eyes?”

“I—I wasn’t—”

“Uh huh.” Her best friend grabs her hands and begins gliding backwards, pulling her around the rink. “Honestly, Hermione, he seems nice. You can give him a chance.”

“Oh, yes, and I’m sure he’ll be quick to give me one after that delightful first impression.”

“I doubt you’re the first uptight figure skater he’s ever met.”

“Doubtful you’re the first that’s ever flirted with him in net, either.”

A smirk twitches on Lavender’s glossy lips, and she winks at Hermione. “What can I say? We can’t all be in denial about our romantic preferences.”

Forty-five minutes later, after they’ve concluded their lessons, Lavender loops her arm through Hermione’s and steers their steps toward the pub. “One drink,” she coaxes as they march past the rows of smelly, overstuffed hockey bags that line the hallway between the ice and the locker rooms. A neon sign overhead with two letters burnt out and a gap in the row of bags mark the pub entrance in the middle of the hall. “I promised Seamus. And we’ll see if your new friend is still here.”

“Lav, he’s—” The words catch in her throat as she spots him at the bar, showered and in street clothes now, sipping on a frosty pint and chatting with Harry, one of the few hockey players at the rink who she’s neither attracted to nor repulsed by. If he’s friends with Harry, he can’t be all bad.

Lavender gives her a nudge in his direction and then prances over to the ragged leather couch in the corner where she deposits herself into Seamus’s lap with an exaggerated giggle. Hermione sighs and approaches the bar, shooting a nervous smile at Hannah in greeting. Ron turns and meets her gaze, and one corner of his lips quirks up. “Hi,” she says tentatively, sliding onto a stool next to him.

He pushes the little paper tray in front of him across the bartop towards her. “Mozzarella stick?” he offers, his smirk widening. “Or would you rather stay hungry and keep grousing at me?”

“No, thank you. But I am sorry,” Hermione apologizes. She means it, but she pushes the greasy offering back towards him. “We got off on the wrong foot. I don’t have much patience for the chaos of the rink.”

“You don’t say.” Ron smiles to lessen the impact of his quip, and Hannah leans against the bar to interject as she sets a glass of water in front of Hermione.

“To be fair, Hermione here does the rink’s bookkeeping, so she gets stuck with more of the chaos than anyone,” she explains to Ron, who looks at her appraisingly.

“You work here, too?” Hermione nods. “Come on, you must like hockey, then. To spend all this time at the rink.”

Harry snorts from Ron’s other side, and Hermione leans around Ron to glare at him. As she does, she catches a whiff of something spicy like cinnamon, and her heart gives a little thud of appreciation. “Not really,” she admits. “But I think it’s growing on me.”

[simplifiedemotions]

Who Said That?

You see Hermione Granger in phases.

She’s the girl you learned to hate before you even set eyes on her bushy hair and too-large front teeth. Mudblood, Mudblood, Mudblood, you think, point, and snarl, and expose the delight of her tears to those around you. 

For a moment, this thought: didn’t mother tell you that making a girl cry wasn’t part of a proper Pureblood upbringing?

But then you shake off the feeling, think: Mudblood. She is not the same. 

Oh, you will find out how wrong you are in the years to come. 

—

Her slap in third year makes you boil with rage.

It isn’t until later, when your hands are shaking and the sting on your cheek blooms red, that you remember the hurt in her fiery brown eyes.

Did you cause that?

Not that it matters, you reassure yourself.

You ignore the twinge of something that feels stupidly like guilt, and go on to tell everyone about the savageness of Muggles.

It’s only right. 

Right?

—

Periwinkle blue. A fluttering of dress robes. How could Viktor Krum demean himself so low as to take the girl with filthy Muggle blood to the Yule Ball? Any girl could make a pretty face with the right charms and pouty lipstick. One such girl hangs off your arm at this very moment, though Pansy’s nails are sharp and you can’t help but wince.

You see Granger twirling in your periphery, her entire face lit up in a way you’ve never seen before.

When you see her crying later on the bottom steps of the Great Hall, her makeup splotched and her smile vanished, you think, maybe, that her smile was at least preferable to this look of devastation.

—

You’ve barely looked at anyone this year. 

Every time your ribs expand, there is poison being dusted across your bones.

Death Eater. The name finally makes a sort of twisted sense.

— 

You confirm her identity in order to protect Potter’s, and bile forces its way up your throat, lines its way on the walls bordering your trachea and sticks there like an old friend.

Later, when the memory of her screams rattles your bones and makes you break out in a cold sweat, your throat refuses to upend itself.

That, too, is a form of guilt.

—

The sickly sour taste remains, as you float through the first half of your eighth year. 

She is one of many who stare at you as you wander the castles like a ghost, but it’s only her stare which makes heat creep up your neck.

Unrelenting shame clouds you through most of the year, until you feel sick with it, until your bloodstream is more shame than blood.

Dirty, dirty, blood, but you’re only talking about yourself.

—

You work with her now, as part of your probation. Two years at any Ministry of Magic department willing to take on an almost murderer. 

Some twisted sort of faith brought you both here. She’s smiling through a grimace and you stare off at a wall behind her head.

“I know I wouldn’t have been your first choice—” she starts, and you surprise yourself with the bark of laughter you let out. 

She’s glaring at you when you meet her eyes. 

“I didn’t mean—”

“I’m sure,” she says primly. 

“No.” You stand firm, not wanting this to be a rerun of the first eight years you’ve known each other. “I’m just surprised you took me on.” The admission hurts, but pride is no longer a comfort you can afford.

She looks staggered, and you almost want to smile. She’s so expressive, and it’s the first time you don’t feel a pressure rising inside you at the thought that she’s rather pretty.

“Well,” she says after a moment, “shall I explain your position?”

—

It becomes routine, working with the girl who wants to save the world. You expect most of the reason Granger took you on is that no one else will work the mind-numbing hours she does.

That, and she seems to have a knack for taking on broken things.

Of course, you have no choice. You call her an evil little chit, but she only grins.

It only takes the first year: the accidental brush of hands, the way she forces you to eat when at first you only settled for tea, and a persistent Granger-shaped stubbornness, when you realise you’re already half in love with her.

—

It’s eight years of working together with her, when you finally crack. Somehow, it makes sense that you would have to atone for the eight years in which you made the wrong choices. You’re not sure if you believe in balance, or even the thought of your redemption, but you’re a selfish man, and the way Granger looks at you makes you believe in something more.

Even after probation, you stayed on. You became her second-lead for several projects around feature legislation for magical creatures. 

It’s this: the way she is clearly jealous when one of the witches at circulation asked if you wanted to go to dinner with her.

(You declined.)

It’s this: the way she snuggles into you when she makes you watch b-rated Muggle films.

(Her warmth is a foreign relief. You don’t deserve to have your arm around her, but you still can’t help but tighten your hold, wanting to make sure she isn’t just a figment of your imagination.)

It’s this: when she comes swerving into your hospital room after you were attacked in Diagon Alley, promising revenge on whoever hurt you.

(A four-year wand probation for the two men who attacked you, and two broken noses.)

“My wand slipped,” she says innocently, and even though it hurts your ribs, you can’t stop laughing. 

It’s this: a drunken kiss, started after a drunken fight, when she screamed at you at the top of her lungs about how stupid you were for assuming it was one-sided, and how dare you, how dare you, Draco Malfoy, not notice how she’s felt for so long.

“I’ve waited longer, Granger,” is all you say, as your hands curve around her face. 

She smiles. “Who said that?”

In another few years, you’ll tell her about your eight long years of wretched pining, and she’ll admit that her crush on you started back in eighth year, when you were assigned as Potion’s partners and she couldn’t stop staring at your hands. 

She always did have to come first in everything.

But, for now: finally, finally, the last scene.

She sighs into your mouth like you're air, and you recoil. You’re air mixed with noxious gas, and you don’t want to hurt her. You’ve hurt her enough. 

She opens her arms, and you, you pathetic Draco Malfoy, sink to your knees and‌ press your face into her stomach. Her touch is a balm against you. The softness of her delicate fingers as they weave into your hair.

She is the tremble that makes up your heart.

“Forgive me.”

It’s benediction. It’s you, begging, quite literally, on your knees.

It’s hope then, when she gets to her knees in front of you and gives you a smile.

Yes, you think, as she closes the distance and presses her mouth to yours, as you remember her in fourth year, with a smile lighting up her face. 

Her smile is the thing you want most.

[bringthekaos]

So, we have the first image of Cait's ~ iconic ~ hextech rifle. In the original lore, the rifle was a gift from their parents (her dad was an artíficer); however given the rework in the story regarding hextech, I think it's safe to assume that Jayce had some involvement in making it.

In which case he really put his whole pussy into it, that thing looks gorgeous

Yeah, I always say that Jayce has a knack for form where Viktor leans more toward function, but… Jayce is incredibly skilled at both. Like, the hammer is gorgeous, that rifle is gorgeous, but they’re also functional and reliable (or I’m assuming the rifle is/will be, based on League). Jayce has grown up in a world where everything has to be pretty to be accepted, so it’s just ingrained in his work without him even having to try. But I like to think he gives a little extra special touch when he’s creating things for the people he loves, and none more than Caitlyn. She’s family to him, she never gave up on him even when the rest of her family did.

But at the same time, that rifle is exactly what Viktor feared Hextech becoming—a deadly weapon. And I know Jayce agreed, but is clearly going to have his opinion swayed, so it’s gunna be interesting to see; Jayce creating this weapon for his oldest friend, hoping it’s enough to protect her while simultaneously grieving that he had to create it in the first place. Makes you wonder if the engineer’s regret will play a role in how the rifle’s Hextech power behaves.

[sparrow-mask22]

The Umbrella Academy Story of The Mothers (7/8) umbrella edition: Tatiana

TW: childbirth, blood, mentions of chronic illness

October 1, 1989. Moscow, Russia. 18 seconds before noon. (Also please forgive me for misgendering Viktor since this is chronologically meant to be before he transitioned)

Tatiana Barinova was a 14-year-old girl with a knack for mathematics. She was standing in front of the gates of the Moscow State Pedagogical Institute, waiting impatiently for her best friend, Katya, to arrive. It was a cool autumn day, and the air smelled of leaves and wet concrete. Tatiana shifted from foot to foot, tugging at her oversized sweater. She didn't like being late, but her parents' old car had broken down again, and she had to take the bus.

For context, Tatiana had severe Juvenile Idiopathic Arthritis (JIA), which caused her joints to swell and made it difficult for her to move. At first she was administered joint injections every week, but she experienced negative side effects, so her doctors switched her to a aquatic physiotherapy program. It was a long and arduous process, but it was the only way for her to keep her condition under control.

As Tatiana got on her swimwear, she could see her friend approaching. Katya, who was only two minutes late, was already out of breath. "Sorry, Tanya," she gasped, "I had to run the rest of the way." She held out her hand to help her friend up. "Are you sure you don't want me to walk with you?"

Tatiana accepted her friend's help and winced slightly as she stood up. "No, no, I'll be fine," she said, trying to sound more confident than she felt. "Let's just hurry up and get to class."

As they walked side by side, Tatiana couldn't help but steal glances at Antony, a boy in their class who she had a crush on. He was tall, with messy brown hair and a crooked smile that lit up his entire face. He was talking to some of their other classmates, and every time he laughed, Tatiana felt a warmth spread through her chest. She wished she could muster the courage to talk to him, but her shyness always got the better of her.

"So, Tanya," Katya said, breaking into her thoughts. "What's new with you?"

"Oh, you know," Tatiana replied, forcing a nonchalant tone. "Just the usual. Math, physio, trying not to get lost in the halls. How about you?"

Katya rolled her eyes. "You know I meant something exciting, Tanya. Come on, you're always so quiet about your feelings. Spill it."

Tatiana hesitated, her cheeks flushing slightly. "Well, I was thinking of applying for a summer program in Leningrad," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "They have this amazing music school there, and I've always wanted to become a violinist."

Katya clapped her hands together in excitement. "That's fantastic, Tanya! I knew you could do it. You've always been so talented with the violin. I bet you'd get in too."

Tatiana's cheeks flushed with excitement as she and Katya continued their walk to class. The prospect of attending a summer program in Leningrad was exhilarating, and she couldn't help but feel a sense of determination welling up inside her. She knew that getting into the music school there would be no easy feat, but she was willing to work hard to make her dream a reality.

Once everyone was in the pool, their swim teacher, Miss Olga, instructed them to pair up and practice their synchronized swimming skills. Katya and Tatiana found themselves partnered up, and after a few moments of awkwardness, they began to follow Miss Olga's instructions. As they moved through the water together, their bodies forming graceful shapes and patterns, Tatiana couldn't help but feel a sense of freedom and joy. For a brief moment, her discomfort with her arthritis disappeared, replaced by the sheer exhilaration of being able to move like this.

She glanced over at Antony, who was swimming with a girl named Svetlana. They seemed to be having a good time too, laughing and joking as they performed their routine. Tatiana wished she could be as confident and outgoing as Svetlana, but she knew that her shyness often held her back.

"Hey, Tatiana," Antony said, swimming closer to her as they waited for the teacher to give them a new instruction. His voice was deep and smooth, making her heart flutter. "You know, you're really good at that violin. I've always wanted to learn how to play."

"Oh, thank you," she replied, her cheeks flushing. "And you should! It's never too late to start. You'd be really good at it."

Antony grinned at her, his eyes twinkling. "Well, maybe I'll ask you to teach me someday. I hear you're pretty good at it too."

"Oh, I'm not that great," Tatiana demurred, blushing again. "But it would be nice to have someone to practice with."

Antony grinned and splashed her playfully. "Well, I'm sure I can find something we can practice together after class. Maybe something less...wet," he teased.

As they continued their routine, Tatiana couldn't help but feel a connection with Antony. He was charming and attentive, and she found herself losing track of time when they were together. It was a welcome distraction from her usual worries about her arthritis and the pressure to succeed academically.

She jumped in the pool, the cool water enveloping her body and sending a shiver down her spine. The pool was deep, and the water lapped gently against the sides, creating a soothing rhythm. The sun beat down on her skin, warming her up, and she felt her muscles relax as she began to swim. As she glided through the water, her strokes fluid and graceful, she couldn't help but feel a sense of freedom. For a brief moment, she forgot about her arthritis, her worries, and her responsibilities.

But then, the twelfth bell tolled, and something shifted inside her. As she broke the surface of the water, her breath caught in her throat. She was no longer surrounded by blood. The water around her was crystal clear, and the only thing that seemed out of the ordinary was the fact that she was...heavier. Very heavy. She tried to move her arms, but they felt numb and awkward, as if they weren't connected to her body properly. Her belly protruded outwards, swollen and round.

"Tatiana!" called out Antony, his voice alarmed. "Are you okay?"

Tatiana tried to speak, but only a gurgling sound came out. Her heart raced as she felt another contraction begin, her belly tightening uncomfortably. She reached down between her legs and felt something warm and wet, the water around her pooling around her feet. Fear gripped her as she realized that her water had broken.

Soon, the whole class was encircling her, their faces filled with a mix of awe and concern. Some of the women had already called for help, and the pool manager was rushing over with a phone in one hand and a towel in the other. As the contractions became more intense, Antony moved closer to her, his hands steadying her as she leaned against the edge of the pool. Her legs glistening from the water, she let out a sharp cry, her body tensing as the pain coursed through her.

The baby was immediately wrapped in a soft, warm blanket. Her mother, still basking in the glow of her miraculous birth, looked down at her child with awe and wonder. The room was filled with a sense of serenity and peace, as if time itself had paused to witness this momentous occasion.

The pool manager, having already called for medical assistance, busied herself with making sure everyone was comfortable and attended to. She glanced over at the new parents and smiled warmly, her eyes twinkling with tears of joy. "Congratulations," she said, her voice filled with genuine emotion. "You've just brought a beautiful soul into this world."

A girl was sent to the nearest GUM to pick up garments for the baby. She arrived with a bag full of soft, fluffy clothes, carefully chosen by the new parents. The baby, now clean and warm, was dressed in a pink and white onesie with a delicate lace trim, and a blue hat to match. As the GUM girl handed over the bundle, she couldn't help but marvel at the sight of the mother, still basking in the glow of her miraculous birth.

(The colors of the baby's clothes is also foreshadowing of his eventual transgender identity.)

As Tatiana caressed her child’s hand, she looked around the room, her eyes filling with awe and wonder. The women who had gathered around them were like a coven of ancient priestesses, their faces etched with the wisdom of countless births and the strength of countless loves. She felt a newfound sense of belonging in this circle of life, a connection to something greater than herself.

"Miss Olga, there’s some old mushroom faced man here," announced the front desk girl. "He says it's important." Miss Olga sighed, already feeling irritated by the interruption. She motioned for the man to enter her office. As he stepped inside, she couldn't help but notice his dapper appearance: the expertly tailored suit, the crisp white shirt, and the perfectly knotted tie. It was almost as if he'd stepped out of a 1950s movie poster.

"Good morning, Miss Olga," the man said with a warm smile, extending his hand. "My name is Reginald. I was hoping we could discuss something in private." Miss Olga hesitated for a moment, her curiosity piqued. She took his hand and led him to a comfortable chair in the corner of the room.

"Now, what is it that you wish to discuss?" she asked, sitting down across from him.

"Well, Miss Olga, I'm here on behalf of an old friend of mine. You see, he's rather...old-fashioned. He believes in traditional values, and he's always dreamt of having a family. He's even prepared to adopt, if necessary. But he's always been rather fond of the idea of having a biological child, and I believe that your Tatiana's newborn daughter might just be the answer to his prayers."

(Likely story)

Reginald paused, choosing his words carefully. He leaned forward in his chair, his gaze steady and earnest. "Now, I understand that this is a delicate matter, and I'm not here to pressure you or the mother in any way. But I thought it was worth a shot to at least discuss the possibility. My friend is more than willing to provide a loving home and all the financial support necessary for the child's upbringing."

Miss Olga listened intently, her expression thoughtful. She knew that the adoption process in Moscow was notoriously strict, and she wondered if Reginald's friend truly understood the challenges they might face. Still, she couldn't help but feel a spark of hope in her chest. Perhaps this could be a solution for Tatiana and her newborn daughter.

“You have six babies with you already," Miss Olga pointed out. "All of whom are languishing in a hot car while you're here. I'm not sure what you expect me to do with another child."

Tatiana's heart skipped a beat as she overheard Reginald's proposition. A sense of dread filled her, and she felt her grip on the baby tighten. She looked around the room, searching for any sign of support or understanding. But the other women were busy tending to the other infants, lost in their own worlds of love and loss.

Miss Olga, the swim instructor, was the only one who seemed to register Tatiana's discomfort. "I'm afraid you misunderstand," she said, her tone gentle but firm. "This is not a marketplace, Mr. Reginald. These children are not commodities. They are precious lives, entrusted to our care until they can find their forever families."

Tatiana's heart was racing as she listened to Miss Olga speak. She knew that the woman was right; these children were precious lives, not mere commodities. But she also couldn't deny the desperation she felt, the fear that her baby would never have a home or a family. She glanced down at her daughter, still wrapped in the blanket, and her resolve began to waver.

She entered the room, meeting Reginald's stare with a mixture of defiance and despair. Tatiana was hardly more than a girl herself, her body still bearing the weight of pregnancy despite the newborn nestled against her chest. The other women in the room, all older and more experienced, exchanged knowing glances as they tended to the six other infants scattered about the floor. But it was the look on Reginald's face that unsettled her the most.

"I understand your situation, my dear," he said, his voice gentle but firm. "Times are hard, and I can't even begin to imagine the desperation you must feel. But I assure you, I am not here to take advantage of you."

Tatiana looked at him skeptically, her eyes darting back and forth between him and her precious daughter. She wanted to believe him, but the desperation was like a weight pressing down on her chest, making it impossible to think clearly.

"If you were to give me the chance to raise your baby girl, I could promise you that she would grow up in a loving home, with all the opportunities in the world. (You forgot to mention the part of ostracizing him from his siblings and calling him “ordinary", but oh well!) I would give her the best education, introduce her to the finest arts and literature, and make sure that she knows just how special and loved she is. I would be there for her every step of the way, guiding her through life's triumphs and tribulations."

Tatiana's heart ached as she listened to Reginald's words. He seemed sincere, but how could she be sure? He was a stranger, an old man who currently had seven children languishing in a hot car. Still, the thought of her daughter growing up in a loving home, with all the opportunities Tatiana could only dream of, was almost too much to bear. She glanced down at her daughter, still wrapped in the blanket, and felt a tear trickle down her cheek.

"I... I don't know what to say," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's just... I want the best for her. I want her to have a good life."

Reginald nodded, understanding the depth of her emotions. He reached out and gently took the blanket-wrapped bundle from her arms, cradling the tiny form against his chest. "I understand that, Tatiana. And I promise you, if you were to entrust your daughter to me, I would make sure that she has everything she needs to live a wonderful life. She would grow up knowing that she is loved, and that her future is bright."

Tatiana's heart ached as she watched Reginald hold her daughter, but something in his words, in the way he looked at her child, filled her with a sense of peace. She took a deep breath and tried to steady her trembling hands. "Okay... okay," she whispered. "I... I trust you."

The weight on her chest seemed to lift a fraction as she watched Reginald nod, his expression softening. "Thank you, Tatiana," he said quietly. "I promise you, I will never bring harm to your daughter. I will love her and cherish her as if she were my own." (Yeah, I'm sure the other six kids in the car will feel just as cherished.)

"But you must not contact her," Reginald said, his voice gentle but firm as he met her gaze. "It would not be safe for either of you. The world is a dangerous place, Tatiana, and people like you and I... well, we can't always protect those we love from its harsh realities."

Tatiana bit her lip, the conflicting emotions warring within her. On one hand, she desperately wanted to keep her daughter safe and close, but on the other, she knew that Reginald was right. She couldn't keep her in hiding forever.

"I... I understand," she managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'll find a way to live with that knowledge. Just... please, take care of her. Make sure she has a good life."

Tatiana forced herself to let go of her daughter, relinquishing her last physical connection to the child she had carried for nine months. As she watched Reginald place the blanket-wrapped bundle into the TRUNK of the car, she fought back the urge to stop him, to take her baby back and run away. But she knew that it was too late for that. The world outside was too dangerous for them both.

(Though the fact that the other six kids got to sit up front in the car and Viktor was stuffed in the glove compartment probably didn't help with the whole "cherished" thing.)

[ao3feedvictuuri]

Sorry This Page Cannot Be Reached

by buggybugs Viktor's phone call with Yakov went about as well as expected. After ranting at Viktor for a solid ten minutes about his reckless behavior and lack of foresight, Yakov finally wound down enough for Viktor to get a word in edgewise and explain the situation. To Viktor's surprise, Yakov's tone shifted from irate to almost sympathetic once he heard about the online harassment targeting Yuuri. "I still think you should have found a better way to handle it than blurting it out on the internet," Yakov grumbled. "But I understand the impulse to protect him. You're still an idiot, Vitya, but at least your heart was in the right place this time." “This time?” “You have a knack for blowing up the internet.” ___ OR: 5 Times Viktor and Yuuri unintentionally break the internet, and one time it's definitely on purpose. Words: 1477, Chapters: 1/6, Language: English Series: Part 2 of Bugs Canon-Compliant YOI Headcanon Fics Fandoms: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M Characters: Katsuki Yuuri, Victor Nikiforov, Yakov Feltsman, Minami Kenjirou, Christophe Giacometti, Phichit Chulanont, Jean-Jacques Leroy, Yuri Plisetsky, Isabella Yang, Minor Characters Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Yakov Feltsman & Victor Nikiforov, Katsuki Yuuri & Victor Nikiforov & Yuri Plisetsky, Phichit Chulanont & Katsuki Yuuri Additional Tags: POV Outsider, Victuuri breaks the internet, Viktor spelled with a k, Social Media, Social Media Expert Phichit Chulanont, 5+1 Things, Oblivious Katsuki Yuuri via https://ift.tt/qGpx7y1

[cheeriecherrymain]

Hear me out hear me out. tattoo parlor and flower shop au

AU TIME

Viktor x fem!Reader (SFW)

-Now hear me out, anon.

-Viktor already works a lot with his hands, focusing on intricate details and tiny contraptions - that’s basically already an art. I feel like if this is an au where hextech didn’t exist, and he had more of an interest in visual design, he’d be a great tattoo artist. Plus he canonically carved a bunch of runes into himself so we know he can also tolerate getting ink.

-He can probably do a lot of different concepts, but I feel like he’d really have a knack for semi-realistic mechanical pieces - making it look like his clients’ skin has rubbed away to reveal the metal workings beneath. Honestly cool af.

-And then one day, you walk in. It’s a nice parlour that he works at, so there are all styles of people who come in looking to get work done - he’s only surprised when you ask for him by name.

-He doesn’t recognize you at first, since he doesn’t really have any reason to pop across the street to a flower shop, but once you mention that you own the place, he kind of remembers your face. Or at least…he remembers seeing you wipe out on the sidewalk in front of your store during the previous winter.

-But he doesn’t mention that.

-Instead you find a comfortable seat in the little lounge area and start talking. He asks the general questions - do you have a concept or ideas, where do you want it, what colours, how big, etc etc. 

-You pull out a couple pieces of folded paper and hand them to him. “I know it’s outside of what you usually do,” you say sheepishly, “but a friend of mine had some pieces done by you, and I loved your colour work.”

-He looks down at the references you brought, and skims over them. Flowers. Of course it was flowers.

-Your shoulders droop slightly when you notice his brows pinch together ever so slightly. “If you’re not sure about it, that’s cool,” you assure him, “I can ask around and see if I can find someone who specializes-”

- “I can do it,” he cuts you off, folding the pictures back up and putting them in his pocket. “As long as you’re alright with my own style, as opposed to exact copies of the image.”

-The smile you give him makes his heart skip a beat, wide and excited, and you begin buzzing with energy. “That’s what I was hoping for!” you say.

-You set up an appointment for a couple days out, to go over his designs and change up anything you wanted altered. When you skip out the door and head across the street, Viktor can’t help but feel a little mushy on the inside - something about your enthusiasm, or maybe your charm…maybe the fact that you sought him out specifically? Whatever it is, something about you has Viktor wanting to impress you.

-He works diligently on potential pieces for you, staying up later than planned to make sure that every colour and every line was perfect. And by the time your next appointment rolls around, he’s cranked out what is quite possibly some of his best work.

-And you seem to think so, too, staring slack jawed at the sketches he presents you with. “These are beautiful,” you tell him, in awe of how he was able to make something so bright and flowing. It’s hard to make a decision on which one you like the most, but eventually you make your choice, and the process begins.

-You pull your shirt off in one of the private rooms, and shrug off the straps of your camisole, getting comfortable on the chair. Viktor knocks before he enters the room, and you smile at him while he sets things up.

-He doesn’t usually chat too much with his clients while he works, preferring to remain silent and focus, but you’re…different. You ask him question after question about his job, but instead of getting annoyed, he finds it easy to continue giving you answers - where he studied, how he got into the profession, what some of his favourite artworks were.

-The conversation eventually flows into your own line of work, and he finds himself curious about you and your flowers - how you started in your field, what you enjoyed about it. 

-He learns that you wanted to be a botanist all your life, but you eventually fell into flower arranging. He learns that most of your clientele consists of event-planners, and that the little shop is just a front for a larger business. He learns that you do all your arrangements yourself, and hand-select every flower that goes into them.

- “It’s tedious,” you admit, “But it’s rewarding. The money is lucrative, but I get so many heartfelt letters from people about how much they loved the flowers I sent for whatever event they had planned; that’s really what makes it worth it.”

-You chatter back and forth for another hour or two while Viktor works, and when he’s finished, you’re almost sad that it’s over. You’re plenty sore after sitting so long -and after having needles repeatedly pushed into your skin- but you’re still bummed that you don’t get to keep talking with him.

-You pay for the tattoo, and make sure to leave him an incredibly generous tip for all of his effort, and then you leave. Viktor watches you depart from the shop with a little wave and a skip in your step, and then you’re gone from his life.

-Over the next couple of weeks, he finds himself easily distracted. Work goes on as usual - he gets a bunch of people with simple tattoo ideas that he’s done a million times, and a couple of repeat-customers who’ve had work done by him previously.

-But when he’s in between clients and sitting behind the front desk, he often finds himself casting his gaze out through the windows lining the front of the shop, across the street, and over to your shop. He notices you coming and going a handful of times, but you never seem to look over at him.

-He’s honestly a little weirded out by how hung up on you he is, scolding himself for getting too friendly with a client. He knows he’s not actually been too friendly -all he did was have a good conversation with you while he worked- but he’s just. A little taken aback by how you seem to always be at the forefront of his mind.

-He even doodles flowers on his downtime: blooms he finds pretty, or that he knows the meaning behind, designing tattoos that he thinks you might like and thinking of all the places on your body that he could sneak a little bit of art in.

-He fully expects you to be a one-and-done kind of client - you got a flower done because you’re a florist, and you don’t need more than that. But some weeks later, when he’s at unawares, the bell on the front door rings. And you traipse in.

-You’re just as pleasant as when you first met, skipping up to the front desk to greet his coworker. As soon as Viktor hears your voice from the front room, he ambles over and all but steals you away. 

-You exchange pleasantries, and you update him on how you’ve healed. You’re still in love with the little piece you’d gotten from him - so much so that you’re back for more. You admit to him that you don’t really know what you want, just that you want more flowers.

- “It would also be cool to see some of your own style, too,” you tell him softly, “My friend had a mechanical piece done by you - it’s gorgeous. It’s not really my aesthetic, but…I wonder if you think you might be able to combine the two? Plants and machines! Like, um….biomechanical?”

-He’s suddenly very aware of the fact that he definitely has a crush on you.

-You talk a little bit more, and he makes a couple of very loose sketches while you do so, to give you a general idea of what might work. He asks the typical questions again, but this time when he gets to sizing and placement, you shrug.

- “I have a high pain tolerance,” you tell him, “so…I was thinking that you might just. Pick for me? If that’s weird, then I totally get it. You hardly know me, after all! Um…”

-Adorable, he thinks, seeing you so flustered.

-But he agrees to make a couple of pieces for a couple of different areas, and then you can decide later depending on which sketch you choose.

-It’s all basically a repeat of the last art he made for you - he works tirelessly to draw out some of the best pieces he’s ever created, though they’re larger and more vibrant than the last. It’s startlingly easy for him to combine his usual style with yours, incorporating delicate plants and tiny flowers into his wired and industrial machines.

-You end up loving all of what he makes, once again having a hard time picking a single design. But eventually you decide on a drawing, and the two of you settle down to get through the process.

-Conversation flows just as easily as the last time you met, except this time you both end up dipping into more personal matters - your childhoods, your relationships, your hopes and dreams. It takes most of the day to get all your ink done, and there’s barely a moment where the two of you aren’t talking the other’s ears off.

-You’re thrilled with the finished product, too, even moreso than the last. You want so badly to trace your fingers over the intricate lines, but you know he’ll only scold you for touching a fresh wound. You settle for tearing up instead, quietly laughing at yourself as you wipe your eyes.

- “It’s perfect,” you tell him.

-You pay him what he’s owed, once more leaving a hefty tip for all his troubles - but this time, you give it to him in cash.

-Only once you’ve left the shop does he go through the roll of bills, his eyes nearly bugging out of his head when he realizes how much you’ve given him. He’s half a mind to call you back to return some of it, or at least ask if you gave him as much as you intended to. At least, until he gets to the center of the roll, when he finds a slip of paper.

-A little note scribble in your handwriting, thanking him for the beautiful work, and telling him not to stress over how much he’d received. -And there, on the bottom of the paper, is your phone number, scrawled beside the question ‘Wanna get coffee sometime?’

[knackfandomarchive]

Found him!

Sorry this is super random. I keep getting distracted.

[sylvie-fics]

The MH Vik fic chapter that has smut

Part 1   Part 2    Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

Word count: 5.6K

Rating: M, minors dni

Warnings: Nsfw, afab and fem identifying reader, attempted murder.

Authors note: Thank you to everyone who helped me get through this chapter. Thank you to everyone who thinks my fanfics are worth reading. Thank you to everyone who catches the cats the musical reference hidden somewhere in this fic.

The past couple of days have been less than ideal for both of you. Between answering the door for angry business-owners whose walls were destroyed and burning the daily letters from your former “investor” Jayce Talis, you hadn’t had much time to talk with Viktor. Of course, talk–meaning yell at him while helplessly pounding your fist on the kitchen table.

“Look, I can tell you’re upset.”

Upset couldn’t begin to describe your emotional state. You were raging, fuming, head-down sobbing onto the tablecloth. The new tablecloth– which he had still not realized was there.

For only a moment, you raised your head up to look at him. He seems… mildly concerned. Though, with his monotonous voice and stoic mask, it’s never easy to read into how he’s feeling.

“Upset? Oh– I’m losing my mind. What the hell do you expect me to do, Viktor?”

Viktor has never been great at communication, especially when it involves emotional labor. In his mind, not being required to fuck your investors was a fairly good deal. A great deal, even. In fact, Viktor was rather astounded that you had to do that to begin with. Despite your obviously useless ideas, you had quite a knack for design. Surely there was a non-sexual job market for that.

“Think of it like a job, all you have to do is work on your ideas, and then–”

You cut him off, nearly scream sobbing, “Are you serious right now!? Job?! Like–Consistent working?! I can’t fucking believe you. Who am I supposed to fuck for money now?”

“No, that's the point (Y/N), you don’t have to.”

It was at that point you threw your head back down onto the table, resuming your fist fight with it.

“Ack. I’m gonna grow my virginity back.”

He would tell you ‘(Y/N) that's not how that works’, but he was certain you already knew. Instead, he opted to reach into a drawer, and then slide a pot holder under your hand. The pounding was a bit quieter, at least.

Funny… he doesn't remember buying one of those.

Viktor found you to be unpredictable. Having known you for this long, he feels it would only be natural to have gained a deeper understanding of your inner workings. In the same sense one might know a friend's fears, or recognize their patterns of behavior. You… you were a special case. No matter how much he observed you, he had yet to understand your thought process– much less what goes on in your mind. Perhaps this lack of consistency was why he found you so… amusing.

“(Y/N), have you considered taking this as an opportunity to —”

“Don’t even try to give me advice right now!” You yelled, once again interrupting him.

“I don’t know what else you want me to do here.”

Viktor understands lobotomies have been unsuccessful in the past. He understands the moral implications of doing such a procedure. Sometimes, though. Sometimes he is willing to cast morals aside if it benefits the greater good. Could a lobotomy advance humankind, rather than setting it back? In most cases– no. Once again, he remembers you are a special case.

“… And I hope it’s so expired that it ruins the rest of your human body, and all those metal pieces too. Yeah. Doesn’t feel so good when it's you, huh?”

He’s sure whatever you’re ranting on about has something to do with how upset you are, and how you’re going to commit a violent act, and how you hope this affects him. He’s blocked it out– he’s been blocking out those rants for quite a time now.

“Uh-huh. (Y/N), you’re not a very logical person. The only reason you're here is because I find your stupidity so astoundingly entertaining that I’m willing to pay for your company. I’m well aware you won’t create anything of value, and if anything will waste time, money, and resources. You are perhaps the most useless creature I’ve had the misfortune of discovering. I am maybe 5 minutes away from welding your mouth shut. Stop complaining, shut the hell up, and go make your stupid bird outfits.”

Viktor finds you to be unpredictable. No matter how much he observed you, he had yet to understand your thought process. He did not understand why you were upset to begin with, but he especially does not understand why saying that as loud and angrily as he did made you look… like that. Red cheeks, red ears, and eyes that look almost longingly. It doesn’t make sense. He could maybe pass it off as you being embarrassed or upset.

Still, your eyes told a different story. Those weren’t embarrassed eyes that look away, refusing to meet the other person. Nor were they tear-filled eyes of sorrow. It was piercing, like you could see through the mask. Letting him know–no– reminding him that he was vulnerable. He doesn’t understand how eyes could show that. He doesn’t understand how that could make him feel… something.

You terrify him.

Things seemed to go better after that. While Viktor was still doubtful that bird eyewear would go anywhere, he had to admit you worked pretty damn hard on it. He’d always been told he was a workaholic, that he hyperfocused on his projects. Alas, it seems he had met his match.

He hadn’t really been keeping track of time. Minutes, hours, days. All he knew was that the two of you had been sitting back-to-back across the room from each other in his lab for a while. He may have seen the sun come and go a couple of times. Occasionally there was the sound of a pencil sharpening, paper crumpling, or an angry sigh.

But then… there was the sound of the pencil slamming against the table, the chair moving away from the table, and approaching footsteps.

“Ahah! Bird eyewear!”

It was a horrifying scene. Your face was contorted into some sort of sick smile, your eyes wide and bloodshot. Your entire body was shaking ever-so-slightly as you held the paper in front of Viktor. Your head snapped to the side, crazed laughter escaping from you uncontrollably.

“Tell me what you think, Viktor! TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK!”

He’s not sure critique is the way to go here. He just needs to remember how compliments work.

“The design is very human.” He states, factually.

“Human?” you ask quietly. “HUMAN?!” you yell frantically.

Viktor became rapidly aware that this was not the correct answer. Part of him has to wonder if this is what he looked like to others back in the day. Within a split second, you had grabbed onto his shoulders, and slammed your forehead against his mask. Presumably, you were attempting to shake him back and forth.

“HUMANITY means SUFFERING Viktor! SUFFERING! HUMANITY IS ONLY ABOUT SUFFERING. AHAH.”

You let go of him, only to rapidly tear apart your most recent design like a feral animal. Then turning, making it about three feet to your station before passing out and hitting the ground.

Viktor was in a daze. It’s just something about the way you grabbed him. The way your face was so close. The way you screamed about humanity and suffering. He’d never agreed with you so intensely before. In fact, he had rarely ever agreed with you on anything prior to this. The moment kept replaying in his head. Grab, come close, reject humanity. It made him feel something… different.

He wasn’t entirely proud of himself for leaving you on the floor. Still, he couldn’t be in there any longer. He was out the door and down the street in moments, repeating aloud to himself a personal mantra.

“Don't think about it, don't think about it, don't think, don't think, don't think.”

It's all he could think about. The more he thought about it, the more it evolved– altering into a different situation entirely. The way you gently held him, kissed him, and offered to reject humanity with him. No, that's not right. You straddled him, ran your hands through his hair, and offered to reject humanity with him. No. you handed him a marriage certifi—

“Sir? Sir? Can I help you?… sir?”

Being a shopkeeper in a place with an already collapsing economy is difficult. Being a shopkeeper with extremely difficult customers who sometimes put holes in your walls? Awful. ‘Haven’t I suffered enough?’ shopkeeper asks himself day and night. ‘Is life so meaningless for me that I become a nameless character in the story of two insane people who consistently ruin my life?’.

Viktor had been standing at the front counter of that shop for a few minutes now, still repeating the occasional “Don’t think about it.”

‘Was this all my fault?’ the shopkeeper continues to ponder, still trying to nudge the giant cyborg man back into reality. ‘Could I have avoided all this by giving that blue orb to the idiot girl?’

Viktor, having momentarily regained his grip on reality, responded with a solemn, “I’m beyond help, aren't I?” To which he then left, still muttering his mantra.

“Everyone in this town is fucking crazy…” sighed the shopkeeper.

Things seemed to be tense after that. Viktor was sure his very… physical… reaction to that incident could be explained by a combined lack of sleep from the two of you. Still, he found that feeling persisting. In most cases, this feeling seemed to come to the forefront of his mind at completely awful times. 

Having these feelings is not ideal. It’s distracting. 

It seems like anything will send him out to town these days. So you think, anyway. One moment you’re talking to him, and the next he's gone– making up some excuse about needing some part or another. You don’t mind, It’s really been rather helpful. You send him a list of things you need around the house, and he's usually back within an hour or two. Still, you don’t understand what he’s been so antsy about.

Oh, what’s that phrase? Zaun is the firework stand of gossip. 

Over a period of weeks, Viktor has been seen walking frantically up and down the streets whilst muttering to himself. No one has seen (Y/N). Word around the street is that she rejected him, and he went psycho. Some even speculate that she’s dead.

“Don’t think about it, don’t think about it, don’t think, don’t think, don’t think.” 

On that day in particular, he was not thinking about what you did in the lab today. How you couldn’t reach a tool that was on the other side of the table, and, rather than walking to the other side, you bent yourself over the table. He was not thinking about this. He simply was not. 

But, if by some chance he was… he definitely was not altering the situation in his mind. Bending you over the table and holding your head down. Pressing into you, leaning over to whisper in your ear about who you belonged to.

The bell chimed.

“Sir, please, go have your crisis anywhere else. I’m trying to run a business here.”

The day after, he was not thinking about how you stood next to him– in between him and a wall. And you had said something about being bored and wanting to go ‘hang out’ somewhere ‘fun’. He told you he had to work– that you should go repaint another room or something. 

But he was especially not thinking of how you ruffled his hair and called him boring. Furthermore, he definitely did not alter the situation to where you ran your hands through his hair and called him ‘boyfriend’. And how after that he slammed you against the wall and kissed all up and down your body while you called out his name over and over.

Oh, or the day after that when he wasn't thinking about how you fell asleep in the lab. You’d woken up while he was carrying you to bed, and said something about joining you. He responded that he was busy, but after he laid you down on the bed he stood in the doorway and… hesitated. 

He couldn’t sleep that night. Nor did any work get done.

There came a day was different. You’d taken it upon yourself to go out and about after hearing the rumors of your untimely death, leaving Viktor to his own devices. This, of course, being a terrible idea. 

He couldn’t stand it– having these feelings. He didn't understand what these feelings were. He didn’t understand why they only showed up when you started barging into his life. He’s been suffering with these…urges… for months, and they’d only gotten stronger. How is it one could go from being content in their solitude to suffering no matter the situation.

Yes… the only explanation was that you had an arcane ability, and used it to curse your victims with these awful feelings. 

“But.. where is the evidence that she could possibly do that?” he sighed, completely oblivious to the door opening, and you walking in. “Perhaps if I simply castrate myself, I’ll never have to feel this emotion again.”

…

The room went silent for what seemed like hours. Viktor, unfortunately, became acutely aware of your presence in the room. Standing in front of the door, mouth in a straight line, clearly struggling to comprehend what you’d just walked in on.

“Do you wanna talk about this, Viktor?”

“Nope.” He said, attempting to push past you.

You blocked his exit.

“Hey– no– you’re not gonna hurt yourself, right? Life gets hard, but is castration really the answer here?”

“Move.”

“I’m just saying, it’s a little extreme.”

He very easily could have overpowered you, just pushed past you and walked out. For whatever reason, though, he didn’t. He let you drag him to your workspace, while you said some nonsense about wanting to keep an eye on him for ‘safety’. 

Bird eyewear is revolutionary. That's what you think, anyways. You're positive others will think the same once you show them this prototype. Your assistant seems to be a bit zoned out over there, but occasionally he listens to your commands. Pass the wrench, pass the screwdriver. So far, nothing he’s handed you has been the right tool– but that's alright. Progress is, in fact, being made. Kinda.

Viktor wishes he was dead right now. But then again– he thinks–you have the attention span of a fish, you’ve probably already forgotten about the conversation. He thinks you’re asking him to hand you things, but he’s not really sure. 

In his head, he is creating a series of scenarios, and ranking them by likelihood of succeeding. Theories, if you will. 

You once again ask him for the screwdriver.

He reaches over, grabs nothing, and then places his hand on yours.

This is not a screwdriver. 

“You know, Viktor, I do worry about you.”

Maybe he could suppress his feelings even further, and eventually phase them out completely. Yes. This is a great idea. What are the complications here? Well– though he won’t admit it to himself, Viktor can be a bit possessive. Occasionally a bit jealous. What happens when you start going out and about with someone? Easy kill– unless you start seeing another Jayce Talis.

Oh, he hated Jayce Talis. Despised him. 

“Hey. Viktor? Vik? You’re really squeezing my hand here.”

It’s not that he minds your former occupation. What he does mind is your number one so-called ‘investor’. He’s sure Talis was the one who convinced you that was the industry standard. Who knows how many people he did that to? Then, the audacity to show up and try to whisk you away like... Like he just thought he could do that?! Expected you to have no complaints, to just blindly follow. 

“Viktoooor? Viiiiiiktor? Are you just ignoring me?”

But, what if one day you gained common sense? What does he do then? How can he reasonably expect to live up to expectations of someone who lives a humanly feasible lifestyle. No– you wouldn’t. You rejected humanity over bird eyewear not that long ago. You’re past the point of returning to ‘sane’. You might be better at hiding it to the general public, though.

“Dammit. Did you have some wire malfunction or something? Did you shut down? Am I gonna have to Mary Shelley you back to life? Remember? Mary Shelley? Anything? Vik?”

It’s not like he can stop you, he doesn’t want to take away your freedom. Maybe he could just… work on your critical thinking skills. Not standing outside in storms. That's a good starting point. Oh, but why does he even care? Why does it matter to him if you live or die? Why does it matter if you go out with other guys? Why does he find himself carrying you to bed when you’re passed out at a desk? Why does he imagine all these situations with you?

There you were, sitting beside him. Despite all the horrible things you must have heard about him, you still treated him like just another person. You don’t look at him with an air of fear or pity. How is it that he could go his entire life judged by the world with preconceived notions, and you just… ignored that? 

Your eyes– how vulnerable they make him feel. 

“This isn’t like you to–”

“Get out of my head.”

It was aggressive. You could barely squeak out a “huh?” before he’d pulled you closer to him, his grip on you tightening. You’re close to him. Extremely close.

Again, louder, more stern.

“Get out of my head!”

You hear it– the fear in his voice. He may pretend to be fighting with you, but he’s just fighting with himself. His voice is growing more and more distressed, the pacing increasingly frantic.

“What have you done to me? What curse have you put on me? I was so content, so productive before this. Before you. And now you infiltrate my mind with your strange words and food and decorations. Why? Why are you doing this?”

You’ve seen him reject his emotions for a long time. The way he pulls himself back from physical contact, or walks out the door from intrusive thoughts. You can’t help but wonder if he wants to suppress uncomfortable feelings– or if he just hates that those feelings are for you. Does he think lowly of you? Are you not worthy of those feelings?

“What is it that you want from me, Viktor?”

You couldn’t look at him. Something in you knew the answer. Something in you feared the answer.

“Just

…

you.”

How badly you wished you could hide behind a wall of your flirtatious quips. Been able to throw out a smooth line about love, or friends, or… anything. Confidence was your facade, the lie that kept you afloat. But in this moment of vulnerability, all you could feel was fear. Scared that someone could see you in conditions so true to yourself, and not be revolted. If only you knew… he felt the exact same.

“You already have me… but, you know that, don’t you Viktor?”

“Having and keeping, they’re two different things.” 

Wasn’t love for the girls who lived reasonable lives? Who spoke kindly, and held themselves to high standards. The girls who made it out, living a life that would never make it in the history books. 

“Then keep me.” you trailed off, your voice nearly inaudible, “There doesn’t have to be feelings involved… if that's what you want. Would that be better?”

He’s tense– you can see it in the way his shoulders are raised, his hands creating fists. Wouldn’t most men be happy to hear that? No feelings–no complications. It makes it easy to move on when they find those girls who made it out. Who are perfectly content to be dull housewives. Who are happy to live an unfulfilling life.

Viktor wouldn't want someone like that though… would he?

“Are feelings usually involved?”

“No, not for me. Not normally.”

Something is off, and he knows it. You aren’t yelling, or laughing, or making a life-or-death choice out of sheer spite and amusement. No. You were looking away, audibly breathing. If he looked close enough, he would notice how you shook ever so slightly. What were you trying to hide?

“Is this— like normal.”

“…”

Gently, he takes free hand, reaching it to the side of your face and guiding you to meet his eyes. 

“(Y/n). Is this like normal?”

“...”

“Y/n”

“...”

“Please, just say something.”

“Things would be a lot easier that way. If it was… like normal.”

You’d tried so hard to hold back, but he sees the tears that fall down your face, hears the stressed laugh that escapes from your mouth. He can’t stand seeing you like this. He can’t stand that he was the one who made you like this.

Fear. Looking at you so despondent, wondering how many more poorly timed confessions he is from never seeing you again. It’s not like normal. Normal is walking down the street alone, working late nights alone, eating alone, sleeping alone. How quickly he’d forgotten all about that sense of normalcy. How much easier it would be if things were normal. How hard it would be to go back to normal now.

Viktor, he thinks, you’ve really gotten yourself into it this time. 

His iron grip on your arm loosens, giving you a spare moment to wipe away your tears. When was the last time you cried over a guy? Shameful, the way you let yourself get to this point– daydreaming about a love that was never meant for you.

Between your sniffling and thoughts, you hadn’t paid any mind to the clinking sound of something being placed on the table. Or the arm that wrapped around your back. The hand that cupped your cheek.

His lips were so… soft.

Maybe, Maybe love could be this. Two inventors, working their lives away on inventions that might not outlive them. One, amalgamating himself into the cyborg-like creature he is. The other… well… doing whatever it is you do.

And right now, you were kissing him. 

You were kissing Viktor?

It had happened so fast, far too quick for you to process initially. Though, once you did, you had no problem reciprocating– wrapping your arms around his neck and running a hand into his hair. You felt burning hot. Could it be the way he was deepening the kiss, pushing you back as he leaned further into you? His deep humming of contentedness as you complied with his need for affection. Or– perhaps it was the deadly laser beams firing from the hexclaw on his shoulder. 

He pulls away, muttering a quick “sorry” before quickly undoing the pauldron holding the claw, and carelessly throwing it on the floor. 

It was  dark, only the dingy light of a nearby lamp to illuminate the lab. Despite this, you couldn't help but notice how his honey eyes seemed to glow. What a shame, to hide such a beautiful face behind a mask.

“Oh, Viktor…” you trailed off, enamored with the sight before you.

“Hm?” 

“You do have a face!”

The two of you shared a short laugh–this time not of nervousness, but relief. Now that the fear of rejection had been completely thrown away, there wasn’t much to stop either of you. Viktor was hasty to stand up, grabbing and throwing you onto the worktable. He had tasted happiness for the first time, and now he needed more. As much as he could get. As much as you would give him.

In between the kisses he planted across your face, moving down to your neck, he sarcastically pointed out that the two of you had been over that so many times. 

You couldn’t help but squirm as he began to get rougher with you. Hands on either side of your hips held you in place as his kisses became love bites. You’d be horribly bruised tomorrow if he kept this up. Of course, he had no intention of stopping. If anything, this was an assertion of dominance– showing everyone else who you belonged to. 

Your breathy fuck was a command, one he was more than happy to oblige to. He pushed between your legs, allowing himself to grind against you as you sighed in frustration. God, you really need some relief, and soon. 

His arms traveled up your hips, over your stomach, and to your arms– lifting them above your head. The way he towered over you was… exciting.

This was the first time in a long time he’d been so overtaken with emotion, and with no way to stop it. Each little lewd noise you made only encouraged him to keep going. His body rutted against yours, a sort of primal urge controlling his erotic movements. 

He leaned over, pushing harder against you as he half-whispered into your ear. 

“You don’t get to leave after this, (Y/N). If you ever find someone you consider more suitable, I will make sure they have a slow, tortuous death. I’ll tie you down and make you remember who you belong to. You know who you belong to. Say it.” 

“Mmph- All yours, Viktor.”

That was all he needed. Viktor backed off of you, working away at what he could take off, throwing a look that implied for you to do the same.

“How do you want me?” you asked, pulling off your shirt.

“Just as you are.”

“Want me to make you feel good?”

“You already do.”

Obviously, you’re not going to get anywhere with this conversation. 

“... yeah, I’m gonna suck your dick.”

He was a bit taken aback— but not complaining. He was sure by this point you’d realized that he was totally lost. It’s a bit easier to feign experience when you’re fully clothed and only engaging in sensual kissing. Not that he was particularly well versed in that field either…

He just hoped it wasn’t obvious that he was staring at your exposed chest.

You’re pretty damn sure this is the first pair of tits this man has seen in his life the way he’s looking at you. And, if that’s the case— then you were also certain the previous 10 minutes of pillow talk were all bark and no bite. This man’s a virgin, and he has no idea where to go from here.

You’re in control now.

Back in the days, you knew there were a couple universal truths when it came to sex. Egotistical men can only finish once. They talk themselves up, pretend they know what they're doing, and then completely disappoint you. Been there, seen it, done that. 

You positioned yourself on your knees, reaching up to tie your hair back.

Virgin boys finish quick. They can’t help it– it's a learning experience. You tend to have more sympathy towards that. Usually, they’re pretty open and honest about it. 

“Alright, let me see what i'm working with…”

But above and beyond, there's still one thing left over– and that is the thing that you never will guess. The thing that no human research could discover, but the slut herself knows, and will never confess. 

“Ahah. Hey Viktor. What the fuck.” 

Tall and scrawny guys. They’re easy to underestimate. From an outside view, one might think them average in every way. Every tall and scrawny boy, though, has a secret. What they lack in muscle, they make up for elsewhere. 

The more he revealed, the more it became increasingly clear– Viktor was tall and scrawny.

Intimidatingly tall and scrawny. 

Viktor worries he’s fucked up. You were rather seductive just a moment ago. Now, you’re on the floor making the world's most straight-lined face, eyes wide with an emotion he can’t quite decipher. He’s not sure what average is, maybe this was small? Maybe you were having second thoughts? He was already worried he’d disappoint you with his lack of experience, but now he’s going to disappoint you with a small dick too?

You seem to come to your senses after a moment, a sort of determined aura radiating off of you. It’s go time.

The instant you makes contact with it, he has to hold himself back. This new sensation in combination with the way you look up at him is nearly too much. You’re grazing your tongue along the underside with an intimate slowness, making sure not to overwhelm him upfront. You pull back only for a moment– placing a light kiss atop the tip. A string of precum jolts from him, which you lick from your lips. How curious, it tastes rather sweet.

A stunned “a-ah” sounds from this tower of a man– his hands looking for anything to hold on to, eventually finding a place on your head. 

You place your mouth on him slightly, looking up for permission to continue. In response, him pushing you further onto his length. It was experimental. Starting slow, then with swiveling movements, then with tongue. Pick up the pace, repeat. You were surprised with how well he was holding up. Though, his sounds indicated a nearing climax. 

He’s loud. Extremely loud. Loud enough that you’re sure everyone living in Emberflit Alley can hear him gasping for air and crying out. By tomorrow morning, the rumors will be flipped around. (Y/N) finally went crazy and killed Viktor– all those bruises were signs of a struggle, he didn't go down without a fight.

You're pushed off of him and onto the floor, a trail of his release streaming from your mouth to your stomach as you fall. Seeing you there, covered with him, completely submissive to him… it gives him a second wind.

Before you can process your fall, you're raised in the air again. Your back is against a wall, but you’re not quite standing. He’s holding you up, one hand gripped tight around your neck, the other supporting your waist. 

“More…” he growls.

Who are you to deny? If it’s more he wants, it’s more he gets. 

Adrenaline is coursing through his body. He uses his leg to part yours, placing himself at your entrance. He notices the way you adjust, making yourself easily ready for him. Fuck is the only thought he can manage.

Tomorrow, he can look back and regret this. But today, he can fuck you senseless.

You’re a bit more quiet than he is– but not silent. As he pushes himself in, he relishes in the melody that is your ‘hmmms’ and ‘mmphs’. Something about it only makes him more exhilarated. Sure, he had enjoyed when you were working on him– fuck, though, making you feel good was so much better. 

He's pumping into you aggressively, taking delight in the way your nails grip into him. He’s sure you're drawing blood, he can feel it– but that doesn’t matter to him. The harder he fucks you, the more he can drill it into you– you belong to him, and him alone. 

“Say it. Tell me who owns you.”

“Ah- you,” you choke out, “You, Viktor.” 

Your eyes are rolling into the back of your head– you might pass out at this rate. 

“Again.”

“Only you, viktor. Fuck. No one else matters.”

And with one final thrust, he pushes himself deep inside you– locking eyes as his warmth fills your stomach. He stares for quite a while after, making sure to memorize every detail of you. Memorizing what you look like absolutely ruined by him.

“No one else matters.” he reinforces. 

The world began to fade, your vision going black. Yes, this is what it feels like to die. Choked by a metal amalgamation, combined with 8 inches of internal impalement. Dying was so wonderful, so peaceful. Unlike anything you had ever felt before.

Or– maybe that was just an orgasm.

Vik, you did so great. I'm so proud of you, I think I’m really in love with you.

“Viksogudsproloyou”

“Eh?” 

“Vproulov”

“O–okay?” 

Dammit, he’s fucked out your final brain cell. No matter how many times he asks for clarification, you only respond with a sad attempt at a sentence. Viktor isn’t sure what to do. Meanwhile, you’re pissed as hell that this man can’t accept a compliment– you swear it's like he can't hear you. 

With all the strength you can muster, you slap him across the face.

Viktor notices your arm raise about three inches in the air and then fall again. He’s confused on what you're attempting to accomplish there.

“(Y/N)?”

“Fuckyou”

“You did. Lets… I think you should go to bed.”

The rest of the night was a haze to you. You can remember groaning in pain as he pulled out. Then, you can remember yelling at him for throwing you in water much too cold for your liking. Kept saying something about “stop trying to drown yourself” every time you tried to take a nice, peaceful nap. He attempted to feed you… something? Whatever it was, it wasn’t very good. Too burnt. 

As morning approached, you remembered those things in bits and pieces, slowly regaining your consciousness.

You remembered getting fucked out of your mind. You remembered a confession or two. What you did not remember… was who was laying beside you. 

Viktor awoke to your shrill scream, followed by a pillow smothering him. You weren’t particularly strong, but you caught him off guard. He wasn’t expecting a murder attempt so early in the day.

He was able to grab your wrists, throwing you off of him and onto your back. 

“Who are you?!” you screamed, panic clear in your voice.

“(Y/N) you know me! Viktor! Stop trying to kill me woman!”

You seemed to calm down after that, a silly grin returning to your face as you sleepily responded,

“Viktor? Oh, you have such a cute face.”

Then snuggled back up to him, and immediately falling asleep.

Viktor, on the other hand, stayed up for hours after this– preparing for your next attack. 

You really do terrify him.

[nowwheresmynut]

Please tell me about Dimitri Arcane

Im so happy you asked.

Here's this very important (to me) page of jayces journal:

Jayce adds two entries regarding Dimitri and adds a little doodle cause he's a very visual person and drawing friends and enemies is important to him and taping those in his very professional schoolgirl journal is very normal.

The first entry

Is Dimitri the academys best and brightest or is it just Jayces jealousy talking? More on that later. Jayce seems to have some sort of rivalry (the one sided type) with this guy. Jayce thinking up witty retorts and writing them in his science journal is grade A comedy.

Moving on, the next entry:

That's very healthy behavior Jayce. I like how much time pre-viktor Jayce spends on this one dude.

This has been almost a whole page dedicated to Dimitri. This guy.

He even gave him a little smug smile. Dimitri doesn't seem to wear academy uniform. Probably because of his massive chest and his knack for spontaneous adventure, as demonstrated by his single shoulder armor. I bet he has a bastard sword or smt. Look at that ponytail, smh (Jayce, probably)

Lastly i start pushing it into headcanon territory:

I feel your anger Jayce, at piltovers best and brightest coming up with a grooming kit.

Did Dimitri invent the nose hair trimmer?? Did it make you mad Jayce? Did Jayce get one just to be able to criticize the junior level engineering that went into it?? Did he??

I bet it made Dimitri a lot of money, as simple inventions and people's hate for nose hair often do.

That's the (let's call it) evidence we have, the rest is all personal headcanons.

Thank you for asking, you’re the real MVP here <3

[bestbuybathroom]

knack: aroace ik its not good rep bc hes not human but like i cant imagine him dating anyone currently in the games to be honest. everyone uses he/him but he doesnt really mind if you use any other pronouns also agender he is rock

lucas: also on aroace spectrum. maybe panromantic idfk tho. uses he/it/compute/byte/tech pronouns :3. is transmasc as well as autigender, programgender, computergender, technogender and catgender because hes a fucking freak /pos

ryder: pan and trans, uses he/him but doesnt mind they/them

doctor: hear me out but asexual greyromantic. also i've said this before but i swear to fucking god he is not cis. the first time someone uses they/them pronouns on them they have a gender euphoria moment. they/he

charlotte: bi???????? mtf she/her

katrina: trans and bi, she/her

viktor: straight cis he/him

ava: transfem asexual lesbian, uses she/they

xander: idfk he kinda has transgender swag

ill probably change these later bc im indecisive as fuck. mental illnesses are next

[talesofsonicasura]

Glitch in the Relics Shenanigans

Hey there everybody. I'm back with FE Reader shenanigans and this time we're dwelling into the world of Knack. Gonna be quite a doozy as our heroes have more than just technology to contend with. Simple or unconventional weapons tend to be used a lot in this particular franchise. Let's get started.

Between the three iterations, Fatal Error Reader here remains mostly chill in temperament. They are still snippy and a bit snide about the situation. It leads to counter snark whenever someone says or does something stupid. Mostly and harshly at Viktor.

The entire team didn't fully trust FE Reader at first. Understandable when the human now virus had hack and emerge from Viktor's security drone. I can imagine they have a very advanced firewall to handle viruses. Something Doctor is aware of since he does have history with Viktor.

There were definitely questions when Reader says they used to be human. Ones that wouldn't have much answers since the living virus is still confused about the situation. Viktor doesn't care about it though.

The billionaire already saw FE Reader as an unwanted pest even moreso when it comes apparent that their abilities expand further than crashing programs. Doctor, Ryder, and Lucas are willing to give the virus a chance. Knack is a mesh of friendly curiosity.

FE Reader's strange abilities doesn't really faze him since he's just as abnormal. Also it is quite obvious that they have no idea about their potential powers either. Like the general freakout upon realizing virus' stomach turn out to basically be a pocket dimension when they had accidentally lost the communicator inside.

He does his best to make sure FE Reader doesn't feel alone throughout the entire journey. Even when they both accidentally find out the virus could hitch a ride inside his chest orb. It did feel weird as Knack heard FE Reader inside his head and they can partially merge with his body to assist him. (Think of the CO-OP Knack fusion from Knack 2.)

Everyone obvious freaked out when FE Reader practically became a hooded cape like shroud over Knack's upper body. His face seen inside their jaws akin to him wearing a helm, the viral upper arms entangle around the golem's own that they were now larger while the lower limbs remains normal and their body overlap his in a plasma state without obscuring the relics. It felt even more awkward speaking due to their voices being mixed together.

Doctor: Incredible... Are you two alright?

FE Knack::I- We're fine other than feeling so tingly. Like just had six straight shots of the most intense expresso/black coffee combo strong.

Ryder: That actually sounds worse than what the Doctor makes for his longer projects.

Doctor: Hey! My preference to get enough caffeine to complete my inventions isn't that bad.

Lucas: Not when it's stronger than three energy drinks. -_-

Despite the oddities between each other their kinship is very strong. Reader often storing any relics they find in their pocket space so Knack can defend himself better or communicate vocally if he's small. It isn't uncommon to see the virus napping inside the golem's chest orb, evidence being soft red data 'flakes' ebbing off it. Knack and Reader are protective of each other, moreso the latter who will share their ire if the former is mistreated.

FE Reader: Call him a pet one more time then you'll quickly find a gag sewn inside your throat and a muzzle glued to that sad excuse for a face, Viktor.

Lucas: That's much more extreme than what I had in mind. Any tips?

FE Reader is gonna be quite an influence on Lucas. They are happily willing to hear him out whether it be his ideas or opinions. Even moreso that he's part of the group decisions tends to be sidelined for his age.

Doctor documents any info that revolves around Reader's powers and mannerisms. He is given permission as the former human wants to understand their new body without accidentally hurting anyone. Although they'll pull Vargas back if he goes a bit overboard.

Ryder is there for the ride and hopefully keep things civil in the group. When it comes to FE Reader, he helps in wherever he can. Simple advice and of course warnings on what machinery is fragile to errors.

FE Reader ends up going into the Goblin Village thus separated from Lucas and Knack. Or living virus tries to keep three unarmed people alive throughout a heavily fortified fortress. Not a fun experience especially when said virus loses their temper.

When canon Fatal Error looses his temper, he takes on Critical form. More powerful, more monstrous, and even more eager to tear apart who garners his rage. Same goes for FE Reader albeit with a chaotic buckwild attitude instead.

You can sum it as a walking hurricane of viral code. They'll need to constantly feed on energy or data in order to sustain Critical mode should their rage wane enough. FE Reader will be exhausted afterwards.

They seem to have a peculiar reaction to Giant Relics or exposure to large quantities of relic energy. One such instance would be immediately going Critical just by touching the giant relic in Viktor's Mansion.

Whatever connection they may have to these particular artifacts are still unknown. It will put Fatal Error Reader and those they care about in the crossfire for those with bad intentions. Whether they be humans, goblins or something else.

It'll take more than crashing a few systems to tackle this particular threat. That won't stop this living virus from trying. It's delete or be deleted.

That's it for now! Untill next time folks, I'll see on the next expedition. Ciao!