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dduane · 5 months

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WIP Wednesday: "Why The Wren is Queen of Birds"

From the upcoming Tales of the Five #3: The Librarian: a fairy tale* of southern Arlen.

***

In the south of our land, in the mountain-wall’s shadow near Dhiil, they tell this tale of the ancient days after the Great Dark was downthrown and destroyed at last.

In that time the Goddess first began to send humankind royal rulers to mediate between the folk of those first realms and the land on which they depended for their lives. And in those days the birds of the world came together in a great parliament and decided they too should have a King or Queen. "For we’re a far older people than the humans are," said some among the birds, "and far more numerous and varied in our kinds. So by rights we ought to have a ruler over us such as the Mistress of the World has given these new young creatures, to show forth our age in the world and our importance in it."

And no sooner had this been agreed than the birds began to squabble over who should be their new King or Queen.

"It should be the strongest of birds," said the great mountain vulture. "It should be the most beautiful of birds," said the rainbow-feathered lyretail. "It should be the bird that sings best, the sweetest-voiced," said the melodious nightingale. "It should be the sharpest-eyed of birds," said the passager-falcon.

A long time the quarrel went on, but no decision could be reached. Finally a hedge-sparrow said, "The owl is said to be wise, and has not spoken. Let us ask the owl." And that seemed a good enough idea that the birds went straight to the great crested owl, who sat in a tree hard by where the parliament had been taking place, dozing the day away.

The birds woke the owl and said, "Wise one, how shall we choose what bird among us shall be our Queen or King?"

And the owl looked south and north, and west and east, and over its own shoulder, seeking the answer. Finally it said, "The deepest truth of being a bird is that one flies. Therefore let the Monarch of Birds be the one who flies the highest."

And this advice seemed good to all the birds gathered there in parliament. So it was agreed and then sung and cried far and wide for every bird to hear, both great and small; from the great dragon-eagle to the tiny wren.

The wren in her holly-bush, when she heard this news, smiled to herself. "There are more truths to being a bird than flight," she said, "and more kinds of wisdom than are owned by owls. I have an idea which bird may yet fly highest!"

So the day came when all the birds of the world assembled, and all flew to see which one might fly the highest. Up and up they went in great waves of flight, so that the sky grew dark with them, and in their dwellings humans looked up in alarm, saying "What devilry is the Shadow planning now?" For the Dark was only a few lives of mankind gone, and humans’ fear of Its malice was greater than their wisdom.

However, the birds cared nothing for the fears of human beings, and only strove to see who would rise highest. The birds of field and hedge dropped away first, and then the birds of the treetops and the tall forests. A while longer the birds of the upper sky rose up together, the hawks and eagles and the mightiest seabirds. But one by one they all fell back and could fly no more through air that was too thin and cold for them; and at last the only one who remained was the greatest of eagles, a Darthene dragon-eagle, grey-pinioned and golden-eyed with a spiky crown of feathers.**

And that dragon-eagle beat his way up and up until it seemed the blue of the sky was starting to go darker and the horizon might to a keen eye be starting to show the shadow of a curve, and even for a bird who was so often neighbor to the great heights, breathing had become hard. And looking around and seeing no other bird had kept pace, the dragon-eagle cried out in triumph and folded his wings to fall back toward the world and his waiting kingship. But as his wings folded down, a tiny grey shape started up from between them and flew, and kept flying upwards. It was the wren, who had hidden herself among the dragon-eagle’s feathers, and now flew higher than he—a tall tree’s worth of higher; two trees’ worth; five.

The dragon-eagle was nigh spent, and could not follow her. He let himself fall back to earth until he knew there would be enough air under his wings for them to bite into. Then he made his way swiftly to the place that had been set aside for the crowning of the ruler of birds. But not too far behind him came the wren, falling as fast as he into the upper airs, and finally to the grove and glade where the representatives of the bird-parliament awaited the winner.

Great was their confusion when the wren came down to perch on a tree-branch in the center of the glade and cry, "I am your ruler, for I flew the highest!" And down in his turn came the dragon-eagle, full of wrath, though he kept his dignity about him. "She flew higher than I," he said. "That much is true. But I flew all the way on my own wings from a treetop perch right up into the great heights where the sky grows dark and the air grows thin. And all that long way the wren hid amidst the down of my back, so that I carried both myself and her all that way. The feat of the highest flight is therefore far more mine than hers, and I am your king by right!"

And hearing these two claims, the birds in parliament began to squabble and argue the merits of each side, until the whole place sounded like a great noisy rookery at sunset. Yet they could find neither answer nor decision; so at last they turned to the Goddess.

As always, where many call upon Her together, there She is, whether She be seen or no. And here, since there was need, swiftly She was seen. To them She looked of course like a bird, mighty and radiant: and all bowed in awe before Her. But the awe lasted only a short while, and in little time the birds began to quarrel before Her over the issue they had begged Her to resolve.

Quite soon, "Peace, my dears, have pity! You’ll deafen me with your noise," the Goddess said, when the commotion had swollen to the point where even a deity might not hear Herself think. "Set out your case, now, so that I may judge."

So they laid it all out before Her, glossing nothing over and leaving nothing out. Then all waited in breathless stillness for Her verdict.

Due consideration She gave their issue; and then spoke and said, "The agreement you all made was that the bird who flew highest should be set as ruler above you. No one said that the bird who flew highest must also fly all the way."

"But that should have been understood!" the dragon-eagle cried in his wrath.

"It may often seem after the fact that many things should have been understood from the start," the Goddess said. "But that is not how it goes. When a game is to be rightly played, all the rules must be agreed first. When the game is begun, and won, it must be judged by what rules were decided before it began: not ones thought of after it’s done." And She looked sorrowful. "I was first to learn that rule. Now, it seems, comes your turn."

And She rose up in Her majesty before them and said, "By the rules of the contest you set for yourselves, the Wren is now your ruler." And as the Wren bowed down before Her, the Goddess reached out a pinion and with one primary-feather brushed the top of the wren’s head, which to this day bears the little gold mark She put there—the sign of its new-made royalty, and the Kingdoms’ first crown.

“Here then behold your Queen,’ said the Goddess to the parliament assembled. And some birds bowed to their new-made ruler, and some did not, grumbling among themselves and glaring at the Wren—as they dared not glare at the Goddess, preferring to think of Her as blameless, and as one who had been befooled, even as the Shadow had befooled Her when the world first began.

And soon enough the Wren began to issue commands to her subjects, telling the ravens, "Your harsh voices were better not lifted in song," and saying to the nightingales, "Your voices are fair but you should be still after dark so that others can sleep," and to the sparrowhawks, "You must cease your preying on small birds and confine yourselves to rats and conies and other such vermin." In short, she put forth many edicts that either seemed to favor her own tribe of birds, or were made to show that she by her fledgling royalty might command what she liked whether there was much sense in it or not.

It was not long before the birds began to chafe at this. And one day the Wren saw a carrion-crow swoop down on a pond, where it snapped up a duckling and swallowed it whole; and the Wren became wroth and cried out, "I pronounce you cast out from among your kind for devouring the living instead of the dead!" And no sooner had the scaldcrow gobbled the duckling down than he stared at the Wren on the willow-branch where she sat, and cawed, "Pronounce what you like, cheating little hedge-peeper; you have no power to make me pay you any mind!"

“I am your Queen, made so by the Goddess, and you must obey me!" the Wren shouted in a fury. But the carrion-crow laughed at her and said, "The only thing I need obey is my stomach, which says you will make a good end to my nunch!" And he flew at the Wren, so that only hardly did she escape from him by diving into a hole in a nearby hedge-bank.

Soon word got about that the Wren had no power to enforce her decrees, and that they only had force when the will of those she commanded allowed it. And quickly she found herself being mocked or ignored, and sometimes attacked and pursued by other birds who hated her and tried to kill her. Some of these said "What fools thought a ruler over us would be a good idea? Let’s have no more of this nonsense, but be free!", and others, "Once this monarch is gone, who knows, the next one may be better."

In no long time the Wren wearied of this strife. At last she took her grievance to the Goddess. "Great Mistress and Queen of the World," the Wren cried to Her, "the birds will not acknowledge me to be their ruler! They hate me because I was cleverer than they."

“It is a hard thing to learn," said the Goddess, “that sometimes cleverness is not enough… or too much.” And She looked sorrowful. “I grieve that you have had to learn it so.”

“All this could be put right,” said the Wren, “if only You would simply give me the power to make them do what I command.”

“That would be a change to the agreement that, unchanged, made you Queen in the first place,” the Goddess said. “My sorrow that your change cannot be made so after the fact any more than the Dragon-eagle’s could be. You’ve built yourself this nest, dear one. Now you must lodge in it and hatch out what chicks you can.” And She vanished away.

And so it is that the Wren is yet held to be Queen of Birds, for though she was never deposed, no other bird was afterward ever found wise (or foolish) enough to hold the office, not even the owl. The only court the Wren Queen holds is hidden away in holes and hedges, to avoid her enemies’ sight, and there she raises her chicks on worms and bugs in a nest no bigger than a child’s goblet. Her only state is the flash of gold on her crest, and in all other ways she goes as quietly as she may—in all ways the smallest and plainest of all birds. Whether she ever came to understand that royalty rightly exercised needs far more than mere cleverness, and needs the heart at as much as the mind, if not more, no one can say. For in this making of the world, even the Goddess who made all things has no power to make even the smallest creature wise against its will. In Her next making, may all things run more smoothly!

So they tell the tale in the high South; and in the low North, where folly resides, who knows what tale they tell? But now this one is done.

*Using the class-name here as the closest match to this kind of story in the Kingdoms, which lacks beings corresponding to fairies.

**On our Earth, Harpia harpyja, the harpy eagle.

#WIP Wednesday #Middle Kingdoms meta #Tales of the Five Book 3: The Librarian

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llondonfog · 3 days

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OK so Baul and Lilias friendship lives in my mind rent free, so I think that a few days after silver gets sick for the first time and mama and papa zigvolt manage to teach lilia the proper way to care for a sick infant after he comes over to their house tembling with poorly restrained panic, Baul goes over with v little persuasion from his daughter to check up on them.

What he sees is a happy and healthy Silver just quietly smiling up at him from Lilias arms while Lilia is passed out in his rocking chair fevered and red from catching baby's first cold.

Baul immediately assigns himself caretaker duties, doesn't even bother trying to move Silver from Lilias arms and instead just picks them both up to deposit them both in Lilias bed for a proper nap before checking the fridge for tomato soup ingredients.

When he first heard from his daughter that Lilia— Lilia Vanrouge, the once General of the Right, feared commander of the fae armies and scourge of humankind— had adopted a human child and had been caring for it for several months now, Baul had roared with laughter so hard that he split a scale wide open on his cheek.

It was certainly a poor excuse for a joke, the very kind of rumor that the castle fae still bitter over Lilia's persistent existence four hundred years later might spread. The very idea that Lilia, Lilia Vanrouge, would debase himself to care for a human child not of his blood, to stoop so low as to toil over its screeching and wailing demands when he had bathed in the screams of its own kind with a mad vengeance after the tragedy of Lady Meleanor . . . not even four hundred years of honeyed peace was enough to sweeten that wound.

Time, it seemed, had forgotten what was so cruelly emblazoned in the very depths of Baul's mind, in Lilia's own memories, and the nightmares of all those surviving fae who stalked the forests during those blood-soaked nights. Those born in kinder years had never known the horror of human avarice, and even his own daughter had taken up residence with one of their kind despite her father's immense displeasure, simpering, soft-hearted fool that her husband was.

At least, to Baul's proud credit, their lineage rippled strong and true through his grandchildren— and with his daughter due any day under the weight of a third, he's only too certain for another healthy, bouncing, scaled Zigvolt.

So when she had simply stared back at him with crossed arms and an arched brow while he had laughed and laughed and laughed, a sinking kind of horror began to creep into his heart— surely . . . she wasn't serious?

Months— hardly the blink of an eye for faekind, but everything to humans. Months, Lilia had kept a child for several months, and not once had tried to rid himself of it? Not once tried to deposit it upon the stoop of a human village and wipe his hands clean of the responsibility of child-rearing? He had been taking advice from Baul's daughter and her wisp of a husband on how to pacify and coddle it? He had barged into their home, fretful beyond measure with a colicky babe clutched in his arms, and all but demanded them to cure the child?

("Or what?" Baul found himself asking, utterly bewildered and needing to find some kernel of normalcy in the fact that surely Lilia had menaced his daughter's husband some into obeying his whims.

"Or nothing, Father," she said, the taunting ghost of a knowing smile playing about her lips. "In all the years that I've known him, I've never seen him quite so distraught. He stayed by the crib all night, frozen— we had to tell him it was alright to breathe and to hold Silver's hand if he wanted, it was as if he was afraid to hurt him.")

Silver? Lilia, afraid? Holding the hand of some human child?

It simply couldn't be true.

It couldn't be, this had to be some elaborate, poorly executed prank.

He clung to that belief even as his daughter shoved a bundle of medicine, food, and knitted blankets into his arms with the stern instruction to deliver them to Lilia's home (Home! He had never heard the forest cottage to be described in such terms! The place was a hovel, a storage shed for Lilia to dump his treasures before venturing off to the next location, how could it be considered a home?).

He clung to it even as he emerged from the woods to the path that led up to the cottage's door, casting unnerved glances to the strange and new abundance of woodland creatures skulking about the thatched roof and scampering along the thick tree trunk supporting the cottage like a lean-to, soft little animals that would have darted away in fright from Lilia's presence before Baul's own.

He clung to it until he could no more, when he threw open the cottage door with an odd tightness in his chest to see his oldest friend collapsed on a worn and lumpy armchair with a honest-to-goodness human baby snuggled safely within his arms and sucking happily on a stray piece of ruby-stained hair. Beyond them, a soothing glow flickered in the fireplace where a kettle of milk quietly steamed, and the scattered presence of cloth toys littered the living room floor along with (Baul shuddered) well-thumbed pamphlets, their covers illustrated with the cheerful faces of frolicking human children.

What had this child done to Lilia Vanrouge?

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seraphic-saturn · 6 months

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Mercury Signs & Book Recs

Mercury in Aries: "The 4-Hour Workweek" by Timothy Ferriss. This book offers innovative strategies for maximizing productivity and achieving one's goals efficiently, appealing to Aries' dynamic and action-oriented nature.

Mercury in Taurus: "The Art of Happiness" by Dalai Lama and Howard Cutler. This insightful book combines practical advice and spiritual wisdom, encouraging readers to find lasting contentment and inner peace, which aligns with Taurus' appreciation for practical and enduring principles.

Mercury in Gemini: "Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind" by Yuval Noah Harari. This thought-provoking book provides a comprehensive overview of human history, catering to Gemini's intellectual curiosity and passion for exploring diverse subjects.

Mercury in Cancer: "The Power of Now" by Eckhart Tolle. This transformative book emphasizes the importance of living in the present moment, fostering emotional healing, and cultivating inner peace, which resonates with Cancer's intuitive and introspective nature.

Mercury in Leo: "The War of Art" by Steven Pressfield. This motivational book explores the creative process and encourages readers to overcome self-doubt and unleash their artistic potential, appealing to Leo's desire for self-expression and creative fulfillment.

Mercury in Virgo: "Atomic Habits" by James Clear. This practical guide to building effective habits and achieving personal growth aligns with Virgo's detail-oriented and systematic approach to self-improvement and organization.

Mercury in Libra: "The Seven Principles for Making Marriage Work" by John Gottman. This insightful book provides practical relationship advice and strategies for fostering healthy and harmonious connections, catering to Libra's focus on maintaining balance and promoting positive interpersonal dynamics.

Mercury in Scorpio: "The Power of Vulnerability" by Brené Brown. This empowering book explores the strength and courage found in embracing vulnerability, aligning with Scorpio's depth of emotional insight and their inclination towards exploring life's profound truths.

Mercury in Sagittarius: "The Alchemist" by Paulo Coelho. This inspirational novel encourages readers to follow their dreams and embark on a journey of self-discovery, resonating with Sagittarius' adventurous spirit and philosophical outlook on life.

Mercury in Capricorn: "Grit: The Power of Passion and Perseverance" by Angela Duckworth. This insightful book highlights the importance of resilience and determination in achieving long-term success, catering to Capricorn's disciplined and goal-oriented approach to personal and professional endeavors.

Mercury in Aquarius: "The Innovators: How a Group of Hackers, Geniuses, and Geeks Created the Digital Revolution" by Walter Isaacson. This engaging exploration of the digital age and its key pioneers appeals to Aquarius' interest in progressive ideas and groundbreaking innovations.

Mercury in Pisces: "The Untethered Soul: The Journey Beyond Yourself" by Michael A. Singer. This transformative book delves into the realms of spiritual growth and consciousness, resonating with Pisces' intuitive and introspective nature, and their pursuit of spiritual enlightenment.

#astrology mercury #mercury in signs #astrology book recommendations #mercury #astrology

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writerdream22 · 2 years

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requested by: no one, but I sincerely hope you like this anyways ✨🌻💛

pairings: Dream of the Endless x goddess!reader, Hob Gadling x goddess!reader (platonic), etc.

warnings: none, except for the presence of a few curse words

feedbacks are always appreciated!

Being betrothed to the Lord of Dreams himself wasn't an easy task, especially when you were a goddess that often had her own tasks to take care of.

In your 'past life', or so you liked to call it, people worshipped you and called you Athena. Even though wisdom was one of your virtues, you did some things that you now regretted; pride was one of your flaws after all, and you were working on smoothing out this imperfection.

Back when you wandered around Greece, you helped humankind and tried to aid them in the moment of need. As time went on, though, you noticed that less and less people asked for your help and you couldn't do anything but watch humanity start destroying itself.

One day, you dreamt of a better world. A world where you and all your brothers and sisters were still needed, where men were willing to listen to someone else's advice rather than act according to their own, individual needs.

And in a flowery field, which felt much too real to your liking, you saw him. Morpheus— the god of sleep.

You immediately recognized him thanks to the red ruby he wore around his neck; you'd met him once before, and you knew that he'd been married to one of your sisters, the muse Calliope, many centuries prior.

“Greetings, Athena”

“Greetings, Morpheus. Am I in the Dreaming?”

“Indeed, goddess of wisdom. And I've come to ask you what is the reason for your visit”

“Wow. I'm getting a special treatment, it seems”

“You are not answering my question”

“Well, if you must know... I ended up here. I did not intend to dream. I never did. It's the latest events that might have made my mind wander so far”

“I see.”

“I don't want to disturb you, Endless. I must wake up at once, for I have a few matters to take care of”

“On the contrary. It was an honour”

That is how your friendship started. You didn't dream often after that day, but when you did, Morpheus was there to keep away whichever Nightmare might have come your way.

As time went on, you decided to start roaming around the world, changing residence every few years so that no suspicions would rise regarding your inability to age. You lived in Turkey, Portugal, Spain, France, Morocco, Egypt, Italy, Germany and even Norway.

One day, in the 16th century, you found yourself walking through the streets of London. You were disguised as an ordinary woman, yet if another mystical being like you was to meet your eyes, they would have recognised the faint golden hue that was typical of the children of Zeus.

Somehow, you ended up in front of an inn, and after some hesitation you decided to walk in. You immediately felt the eyes of the few people inside burning into your back, as you asked for a pint of beer; your request was quickly denied, and your foolish pride brought you to begin arguing with the owner.

Just as things were about to escalate negatively, a dark-haired figure put himself between you and the man.

“My apologies, kind sir, but my little sister was just jesting”

“Yeah, keep that little thing away from stuff that isn't for her!”

“What? You filthy—”

“Now, my dear, let's sit at our table. I'm sorry, sir, she won't disturb you any longer. Right?”

“Right”

With that, the man led you away and invited you to sit in front of him at his table. Even though you didn't like talking to humans that much, he seemed interesting and deserving of your attention.

“You're not from here, aren't you?”

“No, I am not”

“Are you european?”

“I'm from Greece, yes. You were close, Mr.—”

“— Gadling. Hob Gadling. And you're— ”

“You can call me... Y/n, yes”

“I guess that it's not your real name”

“Indeed, it is not”

“You remind me of a friend. He must be here any minute now. I'll introduce him to you, if you want to wait for a little while”

“Yes, I can wait. I have all the time of the world, after all”

“You're funny”

“Thank you, Mr. Gadling”

While you waited for the man's mysterious friend, you started talking about even the stupidest of things. Thanks to him, you started thinking that humans weren't so boring, after all.

Suddenly, Hob's head turned towards the inn's door; you followed his gaze and you couldn't believe your eyes. It was him. Morpheus.

“Y/n, this is the friend I talked to you about.”

“It's a pleasure to meet you, sir”

“Likewise”

The two of you acted like you didn't know each other, though you were dying to talk to the Lord of Dreams alone. It had been some time since you last saw him and, even though you couldn't really admit it, you'd missed him dearly.

When he was about to leave, he asked if he could escort you home and you gladly accepted, not before bidding Hob Gadling goodbye and thanking him for his help.

“I see why you took an interest in him. He's a nice man”

“Indeed, he is”

“Why didn't you visit?”

“I was... busy”

“Doing what?”

“I had to find a suitable gift”

“You don't give gifts that easily, Dream. Is it for a new lover of yours?”

“No, actually. It is for you, Athena”

“Come on, you're kidding me. This means that— oh. Oh ! I get it now”

And in that moment, while the Endless handed you a little box, you realised what he meant by his gesture. He wanted to court you, and you were left speechless.

What he'd gifted you was even more surprising: a hairpin, which had an owl engraved on it. He knew how much you loved that animal, it was one of your symbols after all, and he also knew that you didn't like pompous stuff.

“This is beautiful, Morpheus. I don't know how to repay you”

“You don't have to. I only ask of you to love me, and I'll be happy. That is, if you reciprocate my feelings. If you don't, I'm sorry for having made such a bold move”

“It's not. I mean... your feelings are reciprocated”

“Really? Because I thought that—”

“Even I, goddess of wisdom, think that you sometimes think too much, Lord of Dreams.”

Soon after, you and Morpheus became husband and wife. Time was relative for you, but you were willing to spend your immortal life with him just as he was willing to devote himself to loving you for eternity.

The next few hundred years, you spent staying both in the Dreaming and the Waking World; you preferred staying with Dream and Lucienne, if you were honest, but you couldn't just leave humanity like that. And your husband fully supported your choice.

When he was captured, you didn't know what to do; being his consort, you were the Queen of Dreams, and you were appointed to rule over the Dreaming in his place. Lucienne aided you whenever you needed help, and Jessamy was left to look for Morpheus alone.

When she didn't come back either, your hopes to find your husband started fading away.

You regretted missing your centennial meetup with Hob Gadling and leaving your "human self" behind, but you were determined not to leave what your decaying realm unattended.

After more than a hundred years, in 2022, you felt his energy in the Dreaming, and so did Lucienne. Therefore, the two of you ran to greet Morpheus.

“Lucienne. Athena”

“My lord, you're back”

“I— uhm, we missed you, Dream.”

Then, the three of you got past your realm's gate, and to see sadness in Morpheus's eyes made you want to return to your old, vengeful self.

Nonetheless, you were set on helping your husband bring back who'd escaped from the Dreaming and retrieve what was stolen from him.

And you knew very well that it wasn't going to be easy.

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bettsfic · 2 months

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I’m not sure if you answered something like this before but I’m having a bit of a writing crisis. I have only ever written very short pieces of fiction and I have discovery written all of them. As I embark on the journey of novel writing, I have decided that discovering the plot as I go wouldn’t work because there are just too many moving parts.

Now I am outlining and pre-planning, like architects, but this process fills me with so much doubt. Like I can’t execute these plot points. This story isn’t good enough why tell it? Things like this and worse fill my mind dude the planning stage and I’m very tired of it. It takes away my desire to tell the current story I’m working on so then I’ll just assume it’s the idea and try a different one but the same process happens again. I really want to write a novel but it seems like I just can’t sit in the planning stage without feeling discouraged and completely loosing the motivation to tell the story. Not out of boredom but out of confidence in the story and in myself to execute it in the best way possible. There are so many decisions to make, so many moments of insecurity at this stage, for me.

Note: I have tried discovery writing a novel but I always struggle to connect the plot threads to the main conflict while drafting this way and I tend to deal with a lot of decision fatigue for such a project, slowing down my writing.

Do you know of any steps to take to deal with this?

it sounds like you're focusing on your weaknesses over your strengths. there are a few people in the history of humankind who have been able to sit down and write a book-length work of fiction in a planned and measured way, and who execute it the way they intended. doing that is a task so close to impossible that i don't know why we don't consider it a miracle. i guess it's success bias. we only ever see the work of people who can do that so it's hard to see that almost nobody can do that.

my point is, very few writers write a novel on purpose.

you say, "i have only ever written very short pieces of fiction." that's your answer. if that's your natural writing state, if that's the way you perceive ideas and execute them, that's what you do. one of two things will eventually happen: you'll amass enough stories that you have a book length collection of stories, or you will stumble accidentally into a novel. either way, you'll end up with a manuscript. i know everyone thinks "i want to write a novel" and honestly i love that, i love that people want to contribute to the lineage of fiction, but just because novels make the most money in western publishing doesn't mean that they're the highest literary art form.

right now it seems like you're banging on the doors of a broken elevator, when actually you have to take the stairs. except the stairs won't actually take you where you want to go; they'll take you somewhere else entirely and you just have to accept where you end up. but it's better to take the stairs somewhere than to take the elevator nowhere.

my advice is this: make a list of all the novel ideas you tried to plan but gave up on, and write them in the shortest possible form. give yourself a word count maximum. say, 4k words. it's going to be hard, because you wanted them to be longer and you had a different initial conception of them, but that's the fastest, most methodical way to figure out which ideas can't be executed in short form and therefore must be given a longer form. you'll know it when you finish the short version and you can't stop thinking about it. you'll want to stay in that world with those characters for as long as possible until they finish telling you their story. at that point, doubt becomes irrelevant. doubt withers in the face of curiosity and personal fulfillment. you have to know what happens simply for your own satisfaction, and that will lead you to a very sprawling, messy, overwhelming draft of something that you might be able to carve down into a novel. but by that point, even a novel may seem too small to contain the world you've built.

push yourself to be better at what you're already good at instead of trying to be good at something you struggle with. it's the long road, but at least that road will take you to new places.

#writing advice #process

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engie-ivy · 2 years

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(Actual microfic this time @wolfstarmicrofic)

Waiter Remus and Restaurant Owner Sirius!

19th: Lemons

When Life Gives You... Cod

Remus is standing at the front desk going over the folder with reservations, tapping his pen on the paper.

“Lupin!” Benjy Fenwick walks up to him holding up two bottles of wine. “So, I’ve got an Italian Pinot Grigio, with a citrusy palate of limes, lemons, pears, white nectarines, and apples, always a nice combination with its faint honeyed notes and floral honeysuckled aromas. But on the other hand, I’ve got a Spanish Albariño, which has a lemon zest, but also a rich stone fruit flavour. Now, both have of course a brilliant acidity and a weighty mid-palate, and many appreciate Pinot Grigio’s bitter almond note, but there’s also much to say for the Albariño’s light aftertaste of green almonds and citrus pith. So, what do you think? The gentleman at table twelve wants to know which one will make the best pairing with his seafood risotto.”

Fenwick tilts his head and looks at Remus expectantly.

Remus blinks. It’s only Fenwick’s first day, and Remus likes to make it at least a week before new staff finds out their maître d’hôtel doesn’t know shite about fancy dining.

But Remus also knows his strengths and weaknesses. He shakes his head. “You should ask Sirius. He knows this stuff better than I do.”

Remus is the kind of person who can taste whether a wine is sweet or dry. Sirius is the kind of person who can taste in what year and in what exact month the grapes were harvested.

Fenwick looks at him questioningly.

“Storage room at the back,” Remus says, pointing over his shoulder. “Long dark hair, bright grey eyes, tall, broad-shouldered... You know what? There’s not gonna be a ton of people in the storage room. You’ll see.”

Remus goes to see the couple just entering to their table, and after the elderly lady has shown him photos of all her grandchildren, he returns to find Fenwick behind the bar pouring a glass of Albariño.

“Sirius managed to help you?”

Fenwick looks up and grins. “Yeah, nice guy. Really knows what he’s talking about. Very good-looking guy too.” His grin becomes more of a suggestive smile. “Say, do you know if he’s single?”

Remus fully turns to him and narrows his eyes. “Look, Fenwick. Since this is only your first day at Patmol & Cornedrue, let me give you some friendly advice, co-worker to co-worker. Do not try to hook up with the co-owner on your first day. It’ll look highly unprofessional, people will talk and before you know it, you’ll have a reputation.”

Fenwick’s cheeks flush, and he adverts his eyes, opening his mouth to reply, but stops when someone steps up behind Remus, placing a hand low on Remus’ lower back.

“Rem,” Sirius’ face is so close, his lips almost brush Remus’ ear. “Could you try to sell people on the cod tonight?”

“The cod? The cod truly isn’t that popular.”

“I know,” Sirius sighs. “But James seems to think cod is the best thing to have ever happened to humankind, and has ordered enough cod to feed the entire city.” He rolls his eyes.

Remus chuckles, leaning into Sirius a bit more. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Sirius presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Thanks, babe. You’re the best.” He gives Remus a playful slap on the butt before taking off again.

Fenwick doesn’t say anything, just looks at Remus with a raised eyebrow.

Remus crosses his arms over his chest. “For your information, I did not hook up with him until at least my second day!”

#my tumblr writing #wolfstar microfic #wolfstar #wolfstar fanfiction #wolfstar fic #marauders #marauders fanfiction #marauders fic #sirius black #remus lupin #remus x sirius #restaurant au #remus might be a hypocrite

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askadrianalucardtepes · 2 months

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"Hello Alucard. Nice yo meet you. My name is Ana Bolleli, but you can calle me An. I heard a lot about how you protect humankind against your father and how you fight against your vampire instincts.

Do you have an advice for someone who recently was turned into a vampire?

I turned into a vampire but I don't want to hurt nobody.

I hope you could help me..."

"I'm so sorry to hear that, An. That's a tragic fate. If I knew of a way to cure you I would offer it to you, but alas, I have nothing. From what I know however, if you wish to not bring harm to anyone your best bet is to drink animal blood whenever you can. Feeding off of livestock is a generally sustainable way to keep yourself full without harming any humans in the process. And of course, avoid sunlight, silver, running water, all those things. Vampires are powerful beings, but their weaknesses are incredibly deadly for them in return. If you need help in learning to control your vampiric instincts, I am open to try and teach you as best I can. While I normally would't be particularly excited about helping a vampire... I recognize when someone is an innocent victim, not an enemy. And I wish to help the innocent as best I can."

#castlevania rp #alucard #ask alucard #alucard castlevania #castlevania netflix #castlevania askblog #castlevania #alucard tepes #alucard rp #alucard roleplay #adrian tepes #askadrianalucardtepes #ask adrian fahrenheit tepes

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apocrypals · 1 year

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Weird question maybe but how do you both like Christmas so much?

I am ex-evangelical in the way that probably lots of your listeners are and now that I don’t have the like church-y part of Christmas I just kind of feel bad about it :/ and you guys have such a genuine love for Christmas it seems like !! So if you have any advice about liking Christmas and not getting bogged down in bad theology feelings i would appreciate !! Or if that’s too big of an ask thanks for the show anyways and I hope you’re listening to Darlene love !!

A number of years ago, Chris did a podcast episode with our mutual friend Elle Collins about the joys of secular Christmas, but it doesn't seem to exist on internet anymore, alas.

But without even diving deeply into the semiotics of the thing, I feel there's much to like about Christmas at an absolutely surface level with minimal religious trappings: lights, decorations, music, food, candy, hot drinks, getting together with friends and family, parties, that kind of stuff. For a lot of people, that kind of thing is enough to enjoy Christmas even if they don't have a religious attachment.

However, if you need something more, the things I like to think about when it comes to Christmas are that it's a celebration at the darkest time of the year, when much of nature sleeps or dies, and in a way, we're forced to confront our own mortality. BUT, Christmas (and other winter holidays; this isn't a Christmas exclusive) reminds us that life and death is a cycle: today is dark, but tomorrow is a little brighter. If you're no longer into the idea of an incarnate deity born that man no more may die, consider the holly, the evergreen. If they can tough out the winter, so can we. "Hope," saith the holly.

And we foster that hope with lights and songs and games and music and good food and good will and forgiveness toward the other people around us. Consider these verses from a favorite song of mine:

All hail to the days that merit more praise Than all the rest of the year And welcome the nights that double delights As well for the poor as the peer Good fortune attend each merry man's friend That doth but the best that he may Forgetting old wrongs with carols and songs To drive the cold winter away 'Tis ill for a mind to anger inclined To think of small injuries now If wrath be to seek, do not lend her your cheek Nor let her inhabit thy brow Cross out of thy books malevolent looks Both beauty and youth's decay And wholly consort with mirth and sport To drive the cold winter away

In that podcast I was talking about at the top, Chris talked about how he loves the very idea of Santa Claus, because he represents humankind at their most selfless. Not just in the idea that there's a powerful figure whose whole deal is giving other people things, but that Christmas morning is likely to be the happiest a kid will feel all year, and parents are willing to give someone else credit for it. It almost staggers the mind, tbh.

On top of that, for me personally, one of the major draws of the Christmas season is the wealth of folklore that comes along with it, but your mileage may vary on that.

Anyway, of course, all this winter stuff only applies if you're in the Northern Hemisphere; sorry if you're in Australia or something, I don't have any metaphors for you.

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jay-avian · 7 months

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Finding True Inspiration

So I read this book for one of my creative writing classes called Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott (I highly recommend for anyone wanting advice on writing) and I came across a chapter that was really helpful in terms of truly being inspired to write your pieces. The chapter starts out by saying:

"If you find that you start a number of stories or pieces that you don't ever bother finishing, that you lose interest or faith in them along the way, it may be that there is nothing at their center about which you care passionately."

I firstly felt very called out by this fact. But then I kept reading, and I understood. In this essay, I will try and explain what it means to write morally without being preachy.

Essentially what Lamott is saying is that everyone has some truth they must share, some core concepts in which you believe passionately and whole-heartedly. It is these concepts that drive a story. She's not of course saying to have some overall moral or message to your story. But characters in a book are in fact human, or at least have humanoid consciouses. Because of this, they are beautifully and wonderfully complex, just as humanity is.

You may want to write your stories because you got a cool worldbuilding idea or you want to use a cool character concept. You may want to include some really cool quotes you thought of in the shower or at 3am in bed. But as you write, "...what seems to happen almost organically is that you end up wanting your characters to act out the drama of humankind. Much of this drama does not involve witticisms and shimmer. Yet this drama is best couched in moral terms; the purpose of most great writing seems to be to reveal in an ethical light who we are." We inevitably make our characters into ourselves and those around us. As unrealistic as the world we throw them in may be, good characters should always provide a sense of grounding for the reader and a good foundation for the writer.

Why do we like the books that we do? What makes us drawn to certain characters? A good story is driven by good characters, this is a lesson I'm sure we've all been taught at some point in class or on the internet. But why is this? It is, in fact, because those characters are driven by much of the same things we are, "...they internalize some decency in the world... They let us see that there is in fact some sort of moral compass still at work here, and that we, too, could travel by this compass if we so choose." The plot only leads our characters together. And though they may find themselves lost, their compass still knows the way, unfaltering.

In my classes, we are taught the difference between "literary" works vs genre works. Literary works have some sort of lesson of life within them, while genre is very plot heavy and typically is predictable. I began resenting this esteemed view of literary and nonfiction is much better than genre, it means so much more. But of course, there are quite a number of genre works that can be considered literary: Lord of the Rings, Frankenstein, The Narnia Chronicles, Beowulf, to name a few notable ones. Some of the "classics" as they're called do have the intention of teaching some moral lesson. But this moral message doesn't have to always be a lesson; it's something you must care about passionately. We know that we live in a world of greedy dragons, we don't need reminders of this. Instead, tell us how we should live, how we should care. "A moral position is not a slogan, or wishful thinking. It doesn't come from outside or above. It begins inside the heart of a character and grows from there." Don't just write about the truth, write about your truth. Only then can you be truly attached to your writing. Only then can your readers be as in love with your story as you are.

(p.s. - I wrote this instead of actually writing an essay for school)

#writing advice #creative writing #writing tips #writing resources #writing motivation #writing community #writers of tumblr #anne lamott #bird by bird #tumblr essay

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queenmuzz · 1 year

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A Prince of Hell

There have been rumors reaching the island of Fortuna the past few decades... sacrilegious whispers that the Saviour wedded a mere human, and even fathered twins. The fate of said twins was lost for many years until a decade or so ago, when one of them dared to rip open the veil that divides us from the Underworld, nearly causing untold devastation, until the other twin came and defeated him.

Most of the rumors follow that story, but then, the tale diverges. One legend has it that the eldest fell into the abyss, his hubris telling him that he alone could do what his father could not: defeat the God Emperor once and for all. The other twin remained in the human world, saddened by the loss of his brother, and decided to fight for humankind.

But there's another legend, whispered in the shadows....

That when the elder twin leapt into the underworld, he did not do so alone. His little brother, unwilling to be parted from him yet again, jumped in as well. What befell both of them? They have never been heard from again, but demonologists have noticed a marked decrease in demonic invasions in the past decade. And for the few that make it into our world, they aren't looking to invade...but to escape. Before they are destroyed by our stalwart Order, many of these pitiful wretches claim their Lord and God has been destroyed, and that a new ruler, clad in red and blue now reigns, ruthlessly meting out justice to any demon who dares oppose them.

It was a lovely day. Well... it HAD been a lovely day. He, Kyrie, and a bunch of their schoolmates had decided to play a bit of hooky work on their studies in the sun on one of the first warm days of spring. Kyrie, always worried about what her parents might think, had been the hardest to convince, but when Nero promised her that they were just going to read their books in fresh air, not do anything that would get them into trouble, she had reluctantly agreed.

And now… Nero thought ruefully, maybe he should have followed her advice and stayed in school. While he was kinda entranced by her voice, and idly imagined which spring flowers would look good in her hair, he had heard not so distant screams. Before he knew it, people were running for their lives, scattering in all directions as a group of demons in the shape of wolves made of shadow that had somehow materialized out of nowhere. It made no sense. Fortuna hadn’t had a demonic attack since Nero was a baby! The faithful claimed it was the benevolence of the Saviour that protected their blessed isle. The skeptical had given more credit to the Order. Either way, it was publicly agreed that the island had never enjoyed such peace since the departure of the Saviour. Privately though… Nero had heard Kyrie’s dad mention to his Order comrades that things weren’t going as well, that a lot of the Order soldiers were focused on keeping people out of Mitis forest… or was it for keeping things in? Nero wasn’t sure… but that would explain why there was little to no presence of guards, leaving the civilians to fend for themselves.

He tried to grab Kyrie by the hand to grab her to safety, but they were knocked down by panicking Fortunians. His backpack went flying, its contents scattering over the grass. He was momentarily disoriented as he narrowly missed being trampled on by a woman carrying her baby, oblivious to the kid beneath her in her panicked state. The screams died down for a few seconds as his mind became a muddled mess from rolling out of the way, and then as he tried to get his bearings. He needed to get to safety, or at least find an Order guard to call in a company, maybe Credo was nearby, he’d know what to-

A high pitched scream cut through the muffled panic, sharper than any sword. He knew that voice, and it chilled him to the bone. There, only a dozen yards away, Kryrie was trying to scurry away from a large, no HUMONGOUS demonic wolf, this one made of flesh instead of shadow, but her dress, the demon had pinned it to the ground, trapping her. She was trying to yank away, hoping to rip the dress, but the sturdy Fortunian stitches would not give way.

He looked around for a guard, an adult, anyone who could save her from the beast that loomed over her. There was no one. Just one frightened boy who was terrified about losing the one bright spot in his life. But, he didn’t have anything to fight with, his training sword was being repaired by Kryie’s dad, (he wasn’t sure how he kept managing to break it, considering how big it was, but somehow he put so much force into his swings, it needed fixing after every other sparring bout.) But there, laying next to him, was his wooden school ruler. So without thinking, he grabbed it as he scrambled to his feet and charged the beast, screaming at the top of his lungs.

SMASH!

The ruler shattered into countless wooden fragments as it hit the matted fur, but he still had a flat stump, now sharpened point. Using all of his rage, he struck, digging his makeshift knife past the fur, into demonic flesh. A howl of pain was music to his ears as he knew he had made his…point. He had a brief moment of inwardly chuckling to himself for that pun before he realized he hadn’t thought of the next step: what to do when the demon wolf focused on him.

The beast answered that question for him, as he felt a dull pain in his side as he went flying a short distance, and landed with damn thud on the ground, his makeshift weapon flying off to Saviour knows where. He blinked as he attempted to get up. No blood, what a relief, apparently the demon just hip checked him. But that moment of peace was obliterated by a heavy paw on his chest, and the warm gust of sulfur air in his face. There, towering over him was the wolf, its jaws dripping with bubbling saliva that sizzled as droplets hit the rapidly wilting grass. The demon’s maw came closer to him, sniffing his shirt. So, this was it. He’d lived a good life, short as it was, and at the very least, he’d saved Kyrie, the person he most admired. That had to account for something. If Sparda was real, hopefully he would approve.

The sniffling stopped, and the beast’s yellow eyes grew wide. Suddenly, it lifted up its head and let out a piercing howl that chilled the blood in his veins. The demonic cacophony that surrounded them suddenly went silent, and he was dimly aware of the surrounding demons scurrying away towards a portal of hellfire that had just appeared… were they retreating?

He didn’t get much time to ruminate about it, since without warning, the hellhound gripped his torso with its teeth, lifting him up, and began sprinting away, towards that void ringed by flames. Despite its teeth being larger than his forearms, and his continuing struggling to escape, the demon’s grip was surprisingly gentle, with the teeth barely tearing his clothes, let alone his skin. Yet, it held on to him in an unescapable grip as it passed through the portal, his last view of Fortuna before the portal slammed shut was of Kyrie chasing after him, crying out his name.

Time went murky for him afterwards. The landscape was dull, dour shades of red and brown, with a darkness that could be seen, felt, and even tasted. The wolf had left its contingent of demon pack, and was running at a breakneck pace, past fields of tarnished silver grain, past trees the colour of weathered bone that seemed to almost touch the blood red sky. Where was he? And more importantly, where was he being taken? None of the options seemed pleasant. Was he about to be supper to a littler of hellpups? Taken as a sacrifice to some ugly demon lord? He had long since stopped struggling, resigned to his unfortunate end.

And then, without warning, the dog stopped. It lifted its head, its ears perked up, as if it heard something calling for it. And for an instant, he heard it too. A high pitched whistle, one that was barely within his range of hearing. Was it part of the hellhound’s pack? Its master?

What he did not expect was to be dropped suddenly onto the ground ad the dog sprinted up away. It howls didn’t seem agitated or fearful, it almost sounded like it was excited. And it was running towards the sound, not away. Nero wasn’t sure what to do. He was free, of course, with barely a mark on him, but he knew that there was no way going back.

And maybe his ears were playing tricks on him, but he swore he heard a voice. Not a demon voice, garbled and creepy, but a real human voice. Curiosity pulled him forward, so, he covered his head with his hood and with clenched fists as his weapon, he followed.

The path led to a clearing and the strangest sight: the hellhound leaping around what looked to be, not a demon, but a plain ordinary guy. He was a bit old, going by his white hair, but he seemed as energetic as the dog that pranced at his feet, who then, to Nero’s astonishment, rolled on its back, as if asking for belly rubs.

The man happily obliged, eagerly scratching its tummy like it was an off duty Order hound, and not a ferocious demon.

“Who's my terrifying hellhound?” He cooed, “You are! Yes you are, Dru! You’re the most adorable, cutie-patootie girl!” He bent over her, slapping his hands on his pants, “You gave those silly humans a scare didn’t you? Make them think twice before sticking their noses in our business, right?”

The dog stiffened, quickly rolled back on her feet, as if she had just been reminded of something. To Nero’s horror, she looked directly at him and sprinted towards him. He only got one step away before he was tackled, and dragged by the scruff of his cloak, like a disobedient pup towards the man, and dropped at his feet. The hellhound sat down behind him, panting happily, as if proud to show off the trophy she’d acquired.

The man, who now towered over him, seemed less than impressed.

“Drusilla!” His tone had changed, and Nero felt a distortion in the voice. “You were just supposed to have you and your buddies scare them, not bring one of them here! Sheesh!” Behind Nero, he could hear the dog make a sound that he’d never thought could come from a hellbeast: a whimper. If the demon was scared of this guy, that meant he was really bad news for a kid like Nero. He kept his eyes to the ground wishing he could just be ignored like he was in Fortuna.

“You okay kid? Dru didn’t nick you with her teeth? She’s a big softie when you get to know her, but she kinda forgets her own strength.” The angry voice had softened, and he risked a look up at the guy. He was tall, and despite having white hair (even whiter than sanctus), he didn’t really look that old. His wine red coat seemed to flutter in a non-existent wind.

“I-I’m fine” Nero stuttered, trying to put on an act of bravery.

“Sorry ‘bout that-uh”

“Nero”

“Nero, good name. Anyways…” he sighed, slicking back his hair, before pausing, and ruffling it back down, “looks like there’s been a bit of a mixup, you see… some people where you live have been breaking into our place”

“What's this place?” He asked, very confused.

“Goes by many names. The Underworld, Hades, Hell.”

“Wait,” Nero stammered,”We’re in Hell!? But,” he observed the man, just to make sure he wasn’t missing anything, “I thought only demons lived here, and you’re human!”

The man threw his head back and laughed, “Kid, you have no idea how happy it makes me to hear that. It’s been too long…but back to the point I was making. Some guys in white hoods, calling themselves ‘The Order’” he rolled his eyes and he made finger quotes, “keep thinking they can just create portals and swipe stuff from us, stuff that’s bad mojo for humans to use.”

Nero was incensed at that accusation. “The Order wouldn’t do that. They protect us! They uphold their vows to the Saviour!” He couldn’t see Credo or his dad ever stooping to being thieves.

“Hate to break it to yah kid-Nero, but that’s the truth. Now I’m not saying every person in the Order is up to no good, but whoever is in charge of these raids, they’re mighty persistent. They tried to break in at least a half dozen times before we came up with the idea of how to dissuade them. We kept sending parties to ‘encourage’ them to stay on their side of the fence, but noooope, they wanna keep busting down the veil, so we-”

“Who’s ‘we’?” Nero queried.

“Me and my bro, we run this place now. Hell’s been under ‘new management’ for a few years now.”

Nero gasped… humans… in charge of the… Underworld? If only the Saviour could see it.

“So anyways,” he continued, “we decided to up the ante. If the Order is so bored that it wants to B&E our turf, we might as well give them something to do, like protecting their own people. Hence the little invasion. Not to hurt, of course” he clarified, “just to put some fear of the Devil in them, and certainly NOT,” he glared past Nero, ostensibly at the hound, who let out another whimper, “to kidnap people. That causes way too many headaches for us. We got to get you back home, your parents must be worried sick about you.”

“Don’t got parents” Nero admitted , before kicking himself for admitting that. It now could ruin his escape chances of the guy realized he was disposable.

“Shit… sorry…wait.” The man panicked “Your parents didnt get uh-they weren’t involved in this attack?”

“Nope, don’t know who they were,” Nero kicked the ground, and then proceeded to brush his hair back with his hand, knocking his hood off. The man stared at him, a strange , unreadable expression on his face.

“H-how old are you, Nero?”

“Nine, I guess”

“And you were born in Fortuna?”

“Yeah” he answered with confusion, “I don’t get why that would make any-AH!”

Without warning, the man lifted him up, held him close, and most alarmingly of all, SNIFFED him.

“PUT ME DOWN!” he screeched, struggling fruitlessly to get out of an unwanted bear hug.

The man stood still for a moment, then laughed. It was loud, full of power, and almost giddy with joy. The dog, Drusilla, ran around the two of them, barking with echoed happiness.

“Oh Verg,” he exclaimed to no one in particular after a few minutes, “ I always wondered why you were so knowledgeable about this backwater island. Guess you got reeeaaally acquainted with the place.” He looked down at his hound with a grin, “ I owe you an apology, Dru. And a rack of behemoth ribs when we get home.” The dog leapt up and down in excitement, her slobber going everywhere. The only one who wasn’t feeling festive was Nero, who still kicked and struggled to no avail.

“LET ME GO!!” He screamed, but the man refused to release him.

“No can do, little buddy! I’m taking you home, not sure if my brother knows who you are, but he’s definitely gonna want to meet you. Oh yeah,” he paused, and for a brief moment, Nero hoped that he would be put down, and he could get away from this weirdo with his demon dog. “Forgot to introduce myself. The name’s Dante… although I guess the correct term would be ‘Uncle Dante’.”

That title caused Nero to freeze as the man began running down the path towards Saviour knows where, the hound happily keeping up. “Uncle…?”

“Yup,” this Dante guy said cheerfully, oblivious of the curveball he had just served Nero, “And we’re gonna have a little family reunion.”

#devil may cry #nero #dante #canon divergent au #my writing

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chuuyas-collar · 1 year

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Bungou Stray Dogs ✦ Normal AU

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・

⚕ These HCs might not even make sense. EW.

( •̯́ ^ •̯̀) I'm sorry that some of them are super-duper random / confusing.

𓆩♡𓆪 Advice / compliments / comments are appreciated!

₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ.

↪ Although I personally love the headcanon of Atsushi and Ryuunosuke being roomates, I feel like the Akutagawa siblings would live together instead (because one of them is an overprotective brat)

↪ Ryuunosuke works in the Port Mafia Studios as a V-Tuber. No one knows of this, except for Gin and the Port Mafia company.

↪ Gin works as a V-Tuber designer for their customisable avatars. Her job is able to grant the two of them a small house near their university.

↪ The siblings go to Yokohama University, the one that most of the cast go to as well.

↪ Atsushi and Kyouka would live together and Kyouka would definitely cook because Atsushi probably has no idea how to / burned the kitchen down before in a pathetic attempt to. Most of the time they just have take-away.

↪ Kyouka loves crepes; every weekend Atsushi takes her to the local crepe café and they get the sweetest things known to humankind. Atsushi always ends up paying, though.

↪ That's also how they met Lucy M. Montgomery, a worker at the café. They find out that Lucy also goes to Kyouka's high school and sometimes, when Atsushi drives Kyouka to school, he picks up Lucy too.

↪ Lucy lives in a small house with Louisa and Poe. They both have important jobs working in the Fitzgerald Policy Bank, which is how they have so much money. However, Lucy wants to be more independent so she also has a job at a café to help pay off the bill as well.

↪ Poe mainly spends most of his time at home, all holed-up in his room, writing horror stories and mystery fanfiction. One time, Ranpo asked him to write a romance story and it actually blew up.

↪ Kouyou owns a small flower shop. Her adoptive son, Chuuya, sometimes helps out when he has time. Dazai, one of Chuuya's school-mates, one which he doesn't particularly like, once came into the shop looking rather lost. Chuuya had helped the brunette find a fitting bouquet of flowers, and they didn't speak of the incidence since.

↪ Kouyou worked at a preschool a long while ago, which is when she had met Kyouka. Other people that went to the preschool include Kenji, Kyouka, Elise, Q and Karma.

↪ Chuuya wants to be an actor and is in the same university as Dazai.

↪ Ango works in the Government and rarely goes home at all, being the workaholic he is, so usually his work college, Mizuki Tsujimura, has to take care of him.

↪ Oda used to own a bookstore called The Flawless Bookshop and had met Poe and Kunikida before through his occupation. They were regular customers who sometimes stopped by to chat with Oda. Now that Oda has passed away, Dazai manages the bookshop whenever he can.

↪ Kunikida would definitely be a maths teacher at a private school who specialises in algebra. He lives alone and his house is probably very organised and tidy.

↪ I feel like Dazai would be his very annoying neighbour that Kunikida tries to avoid at all costs (but obviously fails in).

↪ Dazai majors in Business Studies as well as Economics.

↪ Kenji helps out in An Encouragement of Learning by keeping everyone cheerful and marking the scores. Fukuzawa shows his appreciation by giving the boy glasses of milk whenever he drops by.

↪ Kenji actually lives with Chuuya and Kouyou and helps out with the flower shop whenever possible. Both Chuuya and Kouyou absolutely adore and treasure the blonde.

↪ Tachihara is a famous V-Tuber working under the company Port Mafia Studios. He lives with Higuchi and they go to the same university (Yokohama University).

↪ Usually, they bicker a lot. Tachihara and Higuchi had both had a slight, small (very insignificant) crush on Gin and strangely, they actually bonded over that.

↪ Higuchi likes eating Sakura Mochi and Cherry Blossom Dumplings. They, like Atsushi and Kyoka, go to the local crepe café to get the snacks. Tachihara and Higuchi split the payment are share the food.

↪ Several people have mistaken the pair as a couple, much to their amusement. Tachihara likes to jokingly flirt with Higuchi, and Higuchi likes to shoot pick up lines at the other. However, their relationship is purely platonic.

↪ Kajii is a lab scientist. He's basically the BSD Dottore equivalent. He locks himself in his lab all day to work on his projects and incoming reports. No one really knows much about him, except that he likes to talk really loudly and in complete, utter nonsense. He comes out of his lab-cave at night only to get a hot bowl of Chazuke.

↪ Paul and Arthur live together and both work under Port Mafia Studios. However, Arthur works in the economic part of the company and Paul works in the business part, like a spokesperson / ambassador (public speaking). They play chess on weekends and sometimes volunteer in the schools / community whenever they can.

↪ I don't know why, but I think Yosano would live with Ranpo and Fukuzawa and would be currently studying / getting a doctor degree.

↪ Ranpo and Yosano are seen as a sibling duo to their neighbours!

↪ Fukuzawa works in his office room all day, organising his small business on tutoring (An Encouragement of Learning). Ranpo likes to assist whenever he can by getting small treats for him.

↪ Mori owns the company Port Mafia Studios. He spends lots of money on people who design the avatars. Elise even gets her own avatar because she thought they looked really cool.

↪ Hirotsu works in the Port Mafia Studios, doing most of the paperwork and managing the connections. He thinks it's quite a boring job, but it's nice to see different recruits and get to know them.

↪ Higuchi is almost like a privately hired scout for Port Mafia Studios. She finds people that fit into the requirement for V-Tubers.

↪ The Tanizaki siblings live in the same apartment complex as Fukuzawa, Ranpo and Yosano. Naomi works at the same café as Lucy and I have a feeling Junichirou would work in The Flawless Bookshop. Junichiro also works part-time in a tutoring company called An Encouragement of Learning.

↪ They enjoy going to the local park often together. Sometimes when the evening is warm, the siblings get ice cream together. Naomi's favourite flavour is strawberry or taro and Junichirou likes vanilla or mango best. Sometimes, they even see Kenji, Kyouka, Elise, Q and Karma in the playground and wave to the little group as they pass.

↪ Fyodor, Sigma, Nikolai, Bram and Mushitarou live together. I really like the idea of combining the two groups together and how singularly, their energy is kind of muted, which together, they would all be a chaotic mess.

↪ They all share one house. Their neighbours often file complaints about how much yelling would come from the house on Saturday evenings, when the five would play card games / poker. The complaints got so bad that Kenji had to literally knock onto their door (only to get a goofy clown in his face).

↪ The Hunting Dogs minus Fukuchi and Tachihara (aka Teruko, Jouno and Tecchou) reside on the university campus. They love practicing Martial Arts in their backyard and sometimes they help out with the community. Other times, they go along their street with hand-baked cookies and offering a packet to each household.

↪ Jouno and Tecchou cannot cook nor bake. Teruko enjoys being able to feel helpful and also able teach them something new, as she takes Food Tech and Studies, as well as Maths.

↪ Jouno and Tecchou both take English, although I feel like Jouno would take Geography as well and Tecchou would take History, too.

↪ Aya Koda and Bram randomly met at the local park one fateful evening. It was a rather comical first-impression; Bram was swinging on a kids' playground swing and Aya and Q wanted to go on. The two had an intense staring match with a lot of yelling and Q screaming in the background.

↪ Now, Aya and Bram go to arcades on weekends. Q sometimes tags along with them and they spend all of Fyodor's bank credits on plushies and the like.

↪ There isn't much known about Shibusawa either, like Kajii. The man usually just stays in a university dorm on campus, but he studies Fashion Design Tech and is really good at it, especially the designing part of the criteria.

↪ Dazai claims to see Shibusawa and Fyodor at an ice rink together once. He reckons they were professional skaters and told everyone who would listen that he joined them. Nothing is really known about that recount.

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sylvie-fics · 1 year

Text

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.

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