#musician viktor

[zvdvdlvr]

Im fucking BARKING

Ok so my brain fog is real today bc awful pain but a friend and I were swapping Viktor headcanons one day specifically of musician!Viktor (and what else he could do with those hands 🤤) and now bass playing Viktor lives rent free in my head so do with that what you will if you feel so inclined. 😉 like idk maybe reader has been secretly watching him play at her favorite bar forever and has been pining….or it’s like a Judah/Princess Carolyn situation and reader has no idea he’s a musician on the side. ^_^

Here you go, Lyds!  I’m sorry it’s not terribly heavy on musical details, because while I love music I know precious damn little about making it.  

Just some sweet fluff, I decided to give reader a name bc I’m terribly tired of doing y/n stuff but it’s still reader perspective and limited name usage.

Musician!Viktor x Fem!Reader SFW

It was getting to the point you couldn't afford this. Neither your stretched thin budget, nor your sleep-deprived schedule. Not even your liver, to be honest. But each week, three times a week, you somehow managed to find a way to pay the cover charge, afford the three drink minimum, and drag yourself from bed the next morning and back off to work.

It was worth it. Viktor played beautifully. But it wasn't just the music, it was him. That first night you caught one of his regular sets at the bar was purely accidental. It was your favorite spot and once or twice a month you'd stop in, treat yourself, or else swing by with friends. He'd sat down quietly on the tall lone stool in the small cleared space that acted as a makeshift stage near the far end of the bar and in the solitary bright light in the warm, dimly lit space, simply began to play.

It was like that each time. No conversation, no introduction or rambling or belabored explanations of who he was or what each song was about. He simply sat, began to play, and one by one the conversations would hush or lower, the whole place wrapped up for the two hour stretch of each of his sets. He only ever sang along to the last song, and played the same one each time to wrap the set. It wasn't a language you understood, and he sang quiet and low, but oh how it haunted. Raised goosebumps across your skin each time, left scalp tingling deliciously without fail.  Mouth parted and breath tight, practically shivering, melting.

It had become like a drug.

The only thing that absorbed your week, the one thing you looked forward to and it was draining your accounts and pressing your time... but you needed it. Craved it. You'd even found the perfect spot, the perfect seat in the house to watch him play, relax and not be bothered by any other single barflies that might be looking for someone to make conversation with or flirt with. And most importantly, you were fairly sure he couldn't see you. Perfectly camouflaged in the sea of ever changing faces and other regulars.

Janna forbid he ever start looking up from that bass and caught you sitting there, rapt, with what you were very certain was an incredibly stupefied look of lovesick adoration on your face.

You knew this was stupid, one sided, and ridiculously parasocial. To entertain such an enormous and painful crush on a boy you knew nothing about - simply because he played so beautifully, looked so lovely sat perched there on that stool with the bass balanced on one lean thigh. He was all long, slim limbs, sharp cheekbones and cut of jaw. Heavy brows that would knit in concentration over the complicated parts of songs or lift in unapologetic joy at the lilting melodies.

The warmer nights he's roll up sleeves to his elbows. Rid himself of his tie. And you could sit there, nursing a cool drink as you watched the little trickle of a bead of sweat trace its unhurried path down his forehead, down between brows to roll along his nose and hang shivering off the end of it before dropping away.

To say nothing of the ones that ran down alongside his ear, trickling along the perfect hook of his jaw down along the lean column of his throat only to disappear into the dip of his collarbone just visible in the part of his shirt. Oh, to be able to chase such lucky things; to catch salt on your tongue and taste of skin. To have them drip down upon you with him braced upon elbows above, those narrow hips fitted neatly between spread thighs.

It embarrassed you, how much you wanted him.

You'd never had such a silly crush before. Never let yourself get so wrapped up in anyone that they were all you could think about, that you couldn't sleep at night without indulging in at least one little fantasy of them. He was ruining you, stealing your sleep from staying up late to catch each set and then even more, every night, moans soft across the pillow, thighs shivering out tension with no one between them, nothing but your own fingertips and the cycle of fevered fantasy of his mouth, his hands, his tongue.

His voice in your ear.

It was one of these sticky hot summer nights, and it had already got off to a terrible start. Held late at work, crosstown traffic terrible, a long line at the door of the bar. Your favorite spot had been taken, and you weren't sure how you were going to afford the three drink minimum tonight. You'd skipped your morning coffee and head had throbbed half the day to thank you for the caffeine withdrawal. It was time to accept you simply couldn't keep this up. It wasn't healthy, it would never go anywhere, and what had begun as a delightful indulgence had instead begun to hurt.

Glaring cold jealousy at the unassuming people who'd managed to nab your favorite spot you instead took a seat at the bar and ordered the most refreshing drink they had; laced with thin sliced cucumber and botanical infused vodka, positively crammed with ice and sparkling with the effervescence of charged water. You toyed with the little yellow nasturtium flower that came perched on the top of it and sipped slowly. Very slowly.

“That looks delicious.”  

Already having suffered a frustrating day, sitting in simmering in anger over having your comfortable plans ruined, miserable over being ready to shake off this silly crush and preparing to face the inevitable discomfort of having to stop all this madness, ween yourself back to a normal life, all of it compounded by the aggravating heat, you felt your temper spike hot and sudden at the nerve of some random man moving in to flirt with you.  Rolled eyes to yourself and clenched jaw before the hand holding the little yellow flower hit the bar and your turned sharply to tell the owner of that voice to piss off.

Only to be met by a soft, fox-sly tilt pair of golden amber eyes under familiar dark brows.

And your heart stopped.  Stumbled, stutter-started and tried very hard to both climb up into your throat and simultaneously drop into the pit of your stomach, leaving you reeling.  And he smiled, cupid bow shape of his mouth canting ever so slightly higher at the edge that a little beauty mark graced.  That soft gaze of his strayed to your glass before it rose to catch the bartender, and he lifted a single elegant finger to order the same drink for himself.

Apparently undeterred by your awkward silent ogling about ten inches away from his face, he turned back to you with that warm look again.  Your body forgot it had legs, limbs, internal organs or anything more than the panicked hammering of that treacherous heart and hard static buzz of your brain short circuiting.  He nodded at the little flower you held.

“Did you know those are edible?  My grandmother used to grow them in a little box outside her windowsill.”

Your attention strayed to the small flower whose stem you were currently crushing between thumb and forefinger.  And then that vaporlock finally broke in your brain.  Let you breathe a soft laugh that thankfully did not sound as unhinged as you felt.

“You’re putting me on.”

The bartender delivered his drink and Viktor plucked the little flower in his up, stared you dead in the face, dare accepted, and popped it whole into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully as that smile grew and you watched him incredulously.  Just waiting for him to give up the game, spit it out sputtering and laugh at having his bluff called.  Instead he swallowed happily, the lovely rise of that adam’s apple in his throat moving enticingly against the open part of his collar - no tie tonight - and took a slow sip of his drink.

You eyed your little flower and lifted it slowly, paused to narrow gaze at him before you bit one petal off.  It was edible.  Peppery, like bitter lettuce with a finish like fresh scrubbed carrots.  You felt your brows shoot up and heard him laugh warmly as he leaned an elbow on the bar beside you and took another long sip of his drink.

“See?”  

“Yes!  Its... they’re good!”  You took another nibble and he held out his free hand.

“I’m Viktor.”

You struggled with the half eaten flower, petal still hanging partway out your mouth, and finally dropped the flower back into your drink, covered your mouth with one hand and offered him the other.  Real smooth.  Just killing it.

“Yef. Imf.  Ahem.  Haha... I uh, I know.  I’m Tasha.”  

“Tasha.”  He took your hand, kindly ignoring all the awkwardness, or else actually mindboggingly charmed by it, “I’ve seen you here before I think?”

Oh damn.  Oh fuck.  

As delicious as the gentle fold of his hand was around yours, you tried to slide yours away and hide embarrassment at being caught out by turning back to your drink.  Instead he caught the tips of your fingers and held tight.  Not crushing, just enough tension to stop you, to draw your hand back toward him.  Had you blinking surprise as your heart decided its new job was to turn as many summersaults as possible in your chest instead of pump blood, leaving you feeling a little lightheaded. 

“Do you like my music?”  It was almost shy, the way he asked it.  As if he had no idea how good he was.

“Janna, yes.”  You breathed earnestly, before you could stop yourself.  Earned a delighted and open expression of surprise from him and a mortifyingly hot blush that swept from your throat to cheeks.  So much redder and undoubtedly less attractive than the sweet pale pink dusting in the hollows of his cheeks.  

He toyed a callused thumb at your fingertips he still held, gaze focused on them.  Oh no, you’d embarrassed him as well as yourself.  Good going.

“I’m...” You both began at once.  And then just like that the lights cut off.  A collective groan went up from the entirety of the packed bar.  Left only with the dim illumination of  the flickering small candles in their votives scattered on table tops.  It happened regularly out here on the city limits, so close to the drop off toward Zaun.  During the sweltering days of summer they kept the rolling blackouts random and confined to the edges, siphoning power into the wealthier, glittering city center to keep their lights on and fans running.  Just letting everyone stuck out here know their place, and weren’t you terribly grateful to get what you were given?  Imagine how bad it was a block or two over and a half mile down.  

The bartender threw his rag angrily upon the bar and people began tossing back their drinks and rising to head out into the night to somewhere less packed and stifling and perhaps left with power or in possession of a generator.  Viktor seemed only a little chagrined as he released your hand and settled unhurriedly on the barstool beside you to savor his cool drink in the dim light.

“Ah well.  No set tonight.”  He cast you a sly little glance that had your heart sinking.  He had noticed you, and not just as a vaguely familiar face.  He knew.  “Sorry I won’t be able to play for you tonight.”

Something in the way he said it, though perhaps it was just you reading too much into the cadence of his soft clipped accent; misunderstanding emphasis placed on certain words.  But it sounded... gods, it sounded like he really meant he was sorry he couldn’t play for you - just you.  No.  That was your silly one sided crush talking.  Stamp that idea out right now.  Intense foolishness.  Get a grip, girl.

“I don’t suppose...”  He’d turned away a little bit, toward the bar, thumb toying against the condensation beading and dripping off his drink in a way that made you jealous of the glass.  “I don’t suppose you’d like to go for a walk?”

Do what now?  Yes.  Yes you would.  Walk wherever.  Ends of the earth?  Straight into hell?  Yes indeed, lets go.  You managed not to choke on a swallow of your drink and nodded before voice found you.

“Yes.”  Could you possibly manage anything more than monosyllabic answers, please?  “Yes, I’d love to.”

There, was that so hard?

He brightened, and half turned back toward you.  As if you were the one doing him a favor here and not the other way around.  

The sweltering evening passed in a delicious little blur.  The two of you slowly finding footing in conversation at the bar, unhurried as you finished your drinks before turning out onto the streets.  The wandering was aimless and pleasantly slow as you chatted away, stopped at a street vendor to buy a few kebabs of  that unidentifiable but sumptuously delicious meat that was so common here and in Zaun.  Dripping with sweet spicy, sticky sauce that had you licking your fingers and him rubbing a smudge away from the corner of your mouth as you both sat on a stranger’s stoop to eat.

A little while later there was a second vendor, selling sweet iced milks, cardamom and cinnamon spiced, sweetened with honey and poured over shaved ice.  Viktor insisted on treating, absolutely thrilled to find this vendor out and about tonight, explained how he usually missed them.  Readily apparent the incredibly lean boy had a surprisingly raging sweet tooth.  

The cane had also been a surprise.  You’d noticed the slight limp and the brace that ran up his leg but had never seen him take more than a few steps onto and off the makeshift clearing of a stage at the bar.  It had you concerned at first about wearing him out with the walk, but he set a comfortably easy pace and you didn’t mind the meandering at all.  Though you did notice when he began to flag.  It couldn’t have been easy, along with the weight of his bass slung across his back.  

“I... uhm... my place isn’t far.  If you want.  The power’s probably not on, but there’s a fire escape that usually has a nice breeze.  And the stuff in the icebox is probably still cool.  If you want to rest a bit.”  It all came out in a bit of a rush.  Had him stalling on the sidewalk as he leaned weight upon that cane a bit heavily.  Gaze inscrutable for a long moment that had you panicking that perhaps he thought you were making a clumsy move on him.  

And then a little rocking step brought him closer.  Close enough to get a little distracted by that second beauty mark under one golden eye and the scent of iced honey sweet on his breath.

“Alright.  Only if you promise once we get there you’ll let me kiss you.”  Those luminous eyes not on yours but trained lower, watching the shape of your mouth.  And you realized suddenly he’d been doing that all evening; attention flicking between eye contact and sliding away time and time again to watch you speak, eat... and now to catch your lower lip between the crush of teeth like you needed to hide it from that gently hungry gaze.

“W-what?”  You heard it practically squeak out of you.

“I’ve been trying to figure out how to all night.”  He admitted with remarkable honesty, catching you even more fully off guard.  “Please don’t invite me back to your place if...  if that’s not what you want.”

Like he was running out of patience with himself and unable to face it if all you were doing was humoring him, somehow just being kind and coolly friendly.

“You can... you can kiss me right now.”  Janna, it just came blurting out of you in a hot rush.  Stammered and eager and slightly choked.

Ah, how he smiled.  Slow and sweet before he rocked forward and caught your mouth.  Fingertips trailing little licking electric lines of tingling fire back in a sweep above your jaw before he hooked hand in a cradle and pulled you closer.

Soft little suckle of your lower lip started it all, pulled at it temptingly and you felt the tip of his tongue brush a little taste, just a little one, before teeth caught a tiny tug and then both your mouths were open and you were done for.  Hands reaching up to stroke along his throat, slide fingertips up into that soft mess of hair behind his ears.  He was terribly gentle for the way you could feel him practically trembling with want as you slid tongue a slow roll slick against his own, drew it into your mouth in invitation, small teases of licks leaving you breathless until you both had to break at last.  

Not that either of you wanted to - but the hooting cat calls of several passersby finally managed to penetrate the silent, muffled solitary universe the pair of you had descended into.  Viktor glanced after their retreating backs before turning back to you with a shy smile, letting his forehead come to rest against yours as he thumbed away the glistening wet he’d left along your lower lip.

“I’ve been trying to figure out how to do that for weeks.”  He admitted and it turned your world on its head.  Had you break down in a breathless little ragged laugh. 

“Me too.”

[fictional-musician-competition]

ROUND 4 POLL D

[grinkcore]

viktor tsoi died today 34 years ago , rip

[aikoiya]

Arcane Prompt - Victor x Toph-like Fem!Reader

I'd kinda like to see Viktor with a Toph-like fem!reader. Not in attitude or power or anything (except for the hearing when someone's lying thing), but in that she's blind, but does not let that stop her from being the best at what she is.

Maybe she's a musician/musicologist? As in the science behind music & sound & how it interacts with the world around it. As well as the study of music's impact on cultures. How sound interacts with the brain. Things like that.

An "everything gives off vibrations" sort of thing. And maybe she has access to sound magic? But in the way that, instead of using it as a means to attack, she uses the vibrations to interact with the world around her. Also, a musical & mathematics genius.

A little bit of an August Rush-flavored Toph in that the whole world is full of music, you just have to be open to it.

I see her as being sassy, sarcastic, & very direct like Toph, seeing herself as no less than anyone else. Sure, she has moments of insecurity, but she's secure enough & genuinely likes herself enough that they don't last very long.

I see her as the sort who, much like Toph, doesn't tiptoe around being blind. It's just like, "I'm blind. Moving on." And she doesn't lament her disability because she genuinely doesn't see it as one. Because if she wasn't blind, she wouldn't be who she is now.

Sure, she'd like to understand what people get all jazzed about with "views" & "colors" & "aesthetics" & stuff, but ya know, whatever.

What she gets insecure about sometimes is whether or not she's pretty. Because she legit doesn't know.

She sort of acts as a 3rd to Viktor & Jayce's duo, but one that came later.

She's honestly not much for hardware, but her theories & ideas have helped them to advance HexTech a great deal.

For instance, one of their most used inventions was the Susurrecorder, which is a HexTech device that produces sounds at a frequency of 25 to 150 Hertz to mimic a cat's purr, which she discovered is a frequency which aids in bone repair & healing. This, when put together with the Hex Crystal powering it, simulates low-level, gentle sound-based healing magic that gives listeners low-level health regen & boosted immune systems.

It was a success & is now used in Piltovan hospitals to aid in recovery.

She also discovered Alpha Waves, Beta Waves, & Delta Paterns. Alpha Waves peak around 10Hz. Good healthy alpha production promotes mental resourcefulness, aids in the ability to mentally coordinate. Beta Waves are the fastest frequency of brainwaves (13-40 Hz). They are responsible for focus, concentration & analytical thinking. Binaural beats in the Delta Pattern operate at a frequency of 0.5–4 Hz with links to a dreamless sleep. Meanwhile, 432 Hz frequency is ideal for use as a sleep aid as it is known for its relaxing, calming effects.

Later models of the Susurrecorder are built with a knob allowing users to switch between the Healing Frequency, a mix of Alpha & Beta Waves called Brain Beats, & a mix of Delta Patterns & the 432 Hz frequency called Sleep Tunes.

An even later model built specifically for hospital patients has the Healing Frequency with a switch to turn on Sleep Tunes so that both can be on at once to both aid in sleep while still allowing for increased healing.

It was very successful!

She later helped the HexBros to create antigravity tech by discovering what in our universe is called Einstein's E=mc², then using it to change soundwaves into a negative energy current then conducting that energy into a ball which began to float. Basically, the idea of acoustic levitation.

This allowed the boys to create a simple device that would allow ships to fly through the air with much fewer resources.

What she considers to be her magnum opis was something called the HexTech Violin. It's basically an electric violin made of HexTech. Depending on how she plays it & what frequency she plays it at, a variety of different things can happen.

There's the healing, brain beats, sleep tunes, & acoustic levitation frequencies from above, as well as hydromanipulation at 23-25 Hz, acoustic phytomanipulation, & hydrophonic remediation at 423 Hz. Acoustic Phytomanipulation being based on how music seems to help plants grow. And Hydrophonic Remediation being the use of sound to purify water, which she would've been researching for a long time to help Victor with making Zaun a better place.

[opera-ghosts]

The postcards from 1910 show the atmosphere of a very rarely performed opera by Victor Ernst Nessler " The Trumpeter of Säckingen". It was only performed 11 times at the Metropolitan Opera, and this was the second performance since the US premiere.

The wife of the conductor Anton Seidl stood on the stage, Mrs. Auguste Seidl-Kraus.

[aimfor-theheart]

to break first

|| mel medarda x reader, jayce talis x reader, viktor x reader || E/18+ || messy dynamics/hurt/comfort || wc: 6k || ao3 ||

minors and ageless blogs dni, 18+

Your lovers are strange, demanding types.

a/n: idk man. but this revived my writing so. pls take it. dividers by @/cafekitsune

tags: messy dynamics, light smut/smut mentioned and implied, implied rough/hate sex, some hurt/comfort, ends on a hopeful note. not beta read/edited.

You've never liked Jayce much.

And you might just be the only person he doesn't like, either.

He plays nice, though, especially around Viktor. You think Jayce has teeth that he tries to hide, but you catch the flash of them from time to time. He smiles at you and it doesn't reach his eyes. It's just shy of contempt.

It makes your grin cheshire and sharp. You like watching him squirm. You like watching him wrestle with his distaste for you, try to keep his teeth hidden. Especially here, at this gala, all gold and sparkling and pristine, for all the world to see.

Bubbling rosé is bright and fruity on your tongue. You're shoulder to shoulder with Viktor, the two of you half-miserable together, stuffed into formal wear and ripped from your respective labs and studios. Which is why Jayce lingers; he's hovering in that annoying way of his. Bumbling a little. He's trying to make Viktor feel more at home but—

You have something Jayce doesn't.

Only you can do that.

You're Viktor's childhood friend, thick as thieves and twice as inseparable. You're an artist from the Undercity—a painter, a poet, a musician. An artistic genius, the world claims, an artistic savant. And one of the rare, lucky few who has been exalted and raised above your station to be paraded around Piltover like some trophy of success from their lowest. It's mostly Viktor's fault, you claim—the moment Heimerdinger found him, he also accidentally found you.

"Ah, if it isn't one of the most brilliant and groundbreaking artists of our generation." A smooth, easy voice floats through your thoughts. You turn your head to find Councilor Medarda, swathed in what could be a starry sky of silk and gold.

She's even more beautiful in person somehow; if you were to paint her, she'd be all easy, graceful lines, curved and long. A lily stem. The arch of a tiger.

"Just the person I was looking for." She muses.

"Me?" You balk, at the same time that Jayce gaps, "Them?!"

You swing your gaze to glare at him and even Viktor wrinkles his nose. Jayce tries to clear his throat, clear the mistake.

Councilor Medarda raises a brow at Jayce, but then her eyes flicker to you, honing in on you. Hazel and gold and reflective; a kaleidoscope of color. And with such—intensity. You feel it in her. Thrumming. "Yes, you." She says smoothly and she smiles in the elegant way of royalty; perfect and mysterious.

"Are you sure you have the right person, Councilor Medarda?" You joke, "you know I'm just—"

"I'm certain. And please—call me Mel. I'd love to commission you for several art pieces to be displayed in the council chambers."

Viktor whistles a little, impressed, though you can tell it's a little dry.

(He both rambles and rants about Councilor Medarda from time to time and you can never tell if he adores her or resents her.)

Jayce startles at this, but again, he tries to play it off. He places his hand on her lower back, "I didn't know the council chambers was looking to display art."

Mel allows his hand to remain, but she tilts her chin up and her eyes flash somewhat—quick, sharp. There's a silent conversation there that you can't decipher.

But you can tell there is something more than just coworkers happening between them.

"I'm looking to display art in the council chambers." Mel then says.

Jayce looks away, cowed somewhat, tail tucked between his legs in a way that makes you smile.

Mel drifts from Jayce's hands, offering her arm to you, "will you walk with me? I'd love to discuss what I have in mind."

If only to steal her away from Jayce, you finally peel yourself away from Viktor's side and the wall. Your shoulder, where it was touching his, goes cold. But Mel's arm is warm as you twine it around yours.

She draws you away from the scientists, into the fray of swirling, dazzling people.

You glance over your shoulder only once and catch Jayce's eyes, and let your smile curl into something a little smug, almost vicious; baring your teeth as if to gloat at his own, still tucked behind his lips.

***

"Mel's an artist." You say to Viktor, offhand. "A good one, too. You should see her paintings—"

Viktor sighs heavily, snatching one of the little tools that you'd been fiddling with out of your hands. "You sound like Jayce."

You wrinkle your face in disgust, reaching back for the tool and grappling with him a moment for it. You press all against each other, squabbling, before you win out and take it back from him. He stares at you, almost in some form of a glare and you stare back, watching his eyes, dark in the low light of the lab. He glances at the tool in your hands like he might try to take it back, and when he moves, you move faster, and hold it out of his reach.

"Are they together?" You ask.

He gives up on the tool.

Then, he lifts his shoulders in some form of a crooked shrug, eyes going skyward. "One can only assume."

"She's out of his league." You sigh, throwing your weight back in the chair in despair.

Viktor snorts at that, returning to his work, "I'm sure few are in league with Councilor Medarda."

His voice is dry. A little brittle.

"I don't know what you have against her." You then venture, speaking more to the ceiling, returning to fiddling with the tool. It twists in your fingers, the sound of metal whirling and softly grinding.

"I have nothing against Councilor Medarda." He says too evenly.

"You know, I've never been able to tell if it's contempt or adoration you have for her." You continue, as if he hadn't said anything to contradict you. "But either way, she gets under your skin."

"She does not—"

"Are you jealous? She took your big, dumb partner away?" You press, twisting and twisting away at the tool.

"No—" Viktor says sharply, but it rings with a note of truth. It's not quite that then.

You pause. And then.

You crack your eye open, "I think she likes me."

Viktor pauses now too, metal clinking quietly with the sudden stop of his work again. He knows that tone of your voice. His face pulls; distaste. Frustration.

(Jealousy.)

His speech is slow as he tries to parse through what to say, "Councilor Medarda is charming and—"

"She invited me to dinner." You say and now you're watching him carefully, "at her personal suite. Just us."

Viktor rounds on you, "you're going to get yourself into trouble."

You can't help but smile, slow and amused, "I feel like it's good for the art—fool around with a politician—"

"You know, I have always wondered if you would learn your lesson," Viktor continues over your monologuing about drama and passion and politics, "—maybe this time, you'll finally learn it."

He snatches the tool from your hands and throws it down on his desk.

"I love learning." You chirp innocently and he shakes his head, face flushed with passion.

He looks at you again when he can, shakes his head some more, some of the irritation fading from his features. He never stays mad at you for long; doesn't have it in him. Besides, he causes his own trouble. Doesn't learn his own lessons. And when the dust settles, the two of you are still here, beside each other. The artist and the scientist, making messes, breaking things—all for some higher purpose only the two of you have ever understood.

(You've loved him your whole life. Sometimes, you think you carry half of the other's ribs inside one another. He must have twelve of yours, and you must have twelve of his—)

You lift your foot, nudging his calf beneath the desk with it, then up to place it in his lap. An olive branch, of some kind. Your affection is unsurprising to him and he sighs. He drops his hand to your ankle. He squeezes.

"She's going to eat you alive." Viktor finally warns.

"One can only hope."

A laugh startles out of him, rough and raspy, before it dissolves into coughing.

You lurch up to give him water, sitting near you, and bring the glass to his lips on reflex, like you used to as children. And on reflex, he drinks—he doesn't try to take the glass from your hands right away or push you away. Instinctively, you care for him, and instinctively, he lets you.

(You think you're the only one he'd ever allow to do this, born out of years of pressed side to side in the same bed, listening to him weather the nights. Born out of years of your love and stubborn care for him.)

After a moment, he lifts his hand and slowly replaces yours.

You hover over him. He sets the glass down. The water is almost gone. You'll replace it for him before you leave the lab.

He settles back into his chair, eyes returning to the pieces in front of him; all the odd metal scattered like little silver stars in front of him against a vast, dark sky. He picks up one, and then another, and tries to fit them together.

Then another. And another.

You watch him twist and turn, put the puzzle together.

He says, "Lately, I feel as if—" his fingers are careful, almost shaking, as he tries to create something of the scattered, broken pieces, "everything is quite fragile. And it's all just going to—" he presses a little too hard, and the metal all splinters apart, clattering back to the desk, "break. At any given moment."

After a moment, he looks up at you, still hovering over him, "I fear you're heading towards a breaking point."

You hum a little.

"What is it you scientists say?" You ask, running your fingers through his dark hair, thick and tousled. You twirl a strand around your finger, let it fall;

"It has to break first, before you can discover anything."

***

You'd say Mel Medarda is a wolf in sheep's clothing, but she doesn't feign anything so harmless or lost as a sheep.

You do think she's—

A little like Jayce, where she hides her teeth. But where Jayce irritates you because he's certainly trying to seem better than he is, or more harmless than he can be, Mel does so with intention. Mel hides her teeth to lure you closer. She doesn't pretend she doesn't have them; she waits until you're in range before you catch a glimpse of them.

And by then, well. It's too late.

You realize this over dinner, as she laments about what art she'd like from you and she's adamant about not censoring you.

(You're known for you controversy; whether in your physical art, your poetry, or music. Once pulled to the light of the Upper City, you refused to let them defang you. Where Jayce pretends he doesn't have teeth, you bare yours proudly, and sometimes wish you could tear the tender parts of Piltover open.

You strive to do it with your art. And while applauded in some vague capacity, you are also kept on a tight leash. Your patrons are warily supportive of you. Your commissions are strict. You're treated the way you think a wild animal is; with utmost care and fear and awe.)

In fact, her only rule for you, is to not hold back.

Which, given the growing tension between the Upper and Lower Cities, you realize this cannot only be from the goodness of her heart or for the integrity of art but—

You tilt your head and consider her.

"Am I a political move, Mel?"

She smiles in that enigmatic way of hers, her teeth flash, "isn't all art?"

You narrow your eyes, "perhaps. I wonder of it's effectiveness when it's employed by the people it often critiques." You lift your chin and pretend to be hurt—or perhaps, mask your hurt within dramatics to make it seem ironic, "and here I thought you really liked me—"

"I do." Mel assures, "I've admired you a great deal from afar. And getting to know you, your mind, it's—" she considers her words, "it's been nothing short of mesmerizing. Astonishing."

She sounds sincere. But you wonder if she always sounds that way.

She can tell she hasn't convinced you because you've never been able to mask your emotions well, so she leans forward and says, "unfortunately, everything I do is a political move, whether I'd like it to be or not. Both can be true—" she says, "I can adore you. And I can also need you to make a public point, wield you like my own elegant weapon."

"Artists make for disobedient weapons, usually." You say.

She laughs a little at that and agrees, "True." And then she lowers her voice, looks at you through the fan of her dark lashes in such a way that seizes you—arrests you, holds you right there, caught, in her heady gaze;

"But I don't need you to be obedient."

"I can never tell if you're trying to seduce me or persuade me." You blurt out, the words running from your mouth like a rabbit from a wolf. Your desire bursts from you like frightened birds taking to flight, like most of what you feel does, all of it spilling out of you in a gush of rawness.

She stands gracefully and again, you think of how you'd draw her—how you'd capture her in a poem or a song. The sharp curve of her waist, the predatory grace she carries effortlessly. You think her song is a croon from the deep part of your chest. You think her poem looks like an hourglass on the page and she slips from your fingers as easy as time does, too.

She rounds the small table to your side.

You look up at her. Your heart kicks up into a quick dance.

She brings the back of her knuckle to your jaw and gently—with all the carefulness in the world, strokes you.

(She touches you the way one does a bird, as if they know it's fragile. Perhaps as if they know it might fly away.

Or maybe she touches you the way one does an animal they're not sure of; will you bite? Will you lean into the touch?)

"Both can be true." She finally answers.

When she kisses you, it's fiercer than you're expecting; a lightning strike, a blow to the heart.

Your teeth come up against hers.

She gasps when you drag her further down to you, greedier than she's ever known, meeting her fierceness with your own, like the clashing of blades, or the destruction of stars.

And you think, if you don't want obedience, then I'll show you.

I'll show you.

***

"What are you playing at?"

Jayce's voice is a vicious little hush in the caverns of the council chambers. Mel has just left you after peaking over your shoulder to view the preliminary sketches.

You lift your head and blink up at Jayce slowly, dragging yourself from your sketch; from your world of art.

(It sets his teeth to grinding because Viktor makes that same look, when he's so deep into his work and Jayce disturbs him. It's a face he finds endearing on both of you, unfortunately. He imagines your minds are in heaven and he's selfish enough to drag you both back down to earth.)

"What do you mean? For the art piece?" You ask, glancing down at your lap, at the series of gestures and lines that you've been lost in. Maybe you're feigning innocence a little. But you want him to say it, if he's going to pick this fight.

Jayce's eyes flash like the too-hot part of the flame.

You have to bite back a smile.

Come on, you think wildly, say it. Let's fight. Here in the chambers, where you try so hard to be their golden boy.

"What are you trying to get out of Mel?" He asks and it makes you laugh outright, because he's dancing around what he really wants to ask.

Your laugh echoes in the hall, bouncing off all this marble and gold. It's out of place here, too loud, too free.

"The better question is what she's trying to get out of me." You say, "do you think I have it in me to manipulate the Mel Medarda?"

He goes quiet at that.

"Are you doing this to get back at me?" He asks after a moment and it's so close to what he wants to ask, so close to what he really wants to talk about.

"She kissed me first." You answer. "Have you had this conversation with her?"

You can tell by the shadow of uncertainty that passes over his face that he hasn't. You stand, easily setting your sketches and pencils aside, and drift nearer to him.

"Oh," you hum, "you didn't know. She didn't mention some plan of seduction to you? Maybe she really does like me."

He rounds on you so sharply that you are genuinely surprised. You gasp when your back hits the wall and he's got you caged in, a snarl on his lips and you finally get to see those teeth of his—

"You just always have to push me, don't you? In all the years I've known you, you've only ever tried to get under my skin. I tried so hard, for so long, for Viktor's sake to get along with you." He says lowly and distantly, you think, does he cage in Mel like this? With his big arms and broad chest? Or does she have him on a tight leash, underneath her?

"This time, I didn't mean it. Surely, you understand—" you say slyly, "when she comes onto you like that, all honey-voiced and half-lidded. She's hard to resist, isn't she?"

The grip he has on your biceps tightens to a point of pain—he'll bruise you. You'll be tender there, where his big hands gripped you, and it only makes you smile.

"Stop it." He snaps.

But you can't help yourself now, because once you've got something between your teeth, you've never been able to let it go;

"I just want to know if she kisses me the same way she kisses you? Does she play nice with you? She's quite fierce with me—"

When Jayce kisses you, it's a crush of aggression.

You laugh into his mouth wildly as he shoves you harder against the wall, teeth mean in the tender part of your bottom lip so that your laughter melts into a groan of pain. Of pleasure.

You claw at his back and wonder if Mel does, too.

You fight and hiss and snarl, show him your teeth when he sinks his into the fluttering pulse at your throat. You try to draw blood. You think he tries to bruise.

And well, you always wanted to see his teeth—

Just never thought you'd end up with a ring of their mark on your neck.

***

You're not really sleeping—nights are long. Days are longer. You're in the studio too much. This art piece is strangling you, wrestling with you and you're losing. Your lovers are strange, demanding types. Jayce comes to you at his lowest, and Mel at her highest. She licks the wounds Jayce leaves on you, purrs about how good you're being for her, goads you into putting up more of a fight that she likes to quell. She asks, have I stolen your bite? Are you going soft on me? Until you try to wrestle with her, too.

Mel subdues you the way snakes do—constricts and tightens and puts all that pressure on you until you just burst.

Until you go slack in her grip.

Jayce takes his anger out on you and he's not so cunning or delicate as her. You think Jayce struggles with you the way he must with his hammers, with high heat and all his strength.

Your art is starting to look like pieces of them; brutal and brilliant and cunning and beautiful. Tricky to capture, even more difficult to mesh together.

You're covered in paint when Viktor comes to visit you, frustrated with the canvas in front of you, which you think you'll end up scrapping again.

(This is the fourth one. You've been trying to fit all the components and pieces together but none of it's working, all of it's a mess. Splintered apart on the canvas. It looks like a disaster on the page.)

"Have you eaten?" Viktor asks as he comes to stand behind you. He gazes at the canvas n front of you.

You sigh heavily. "Have you?" You return.

He snorts at that, "No. I'm coming from the lab and thought I'd check on you—Mel mentioned you were here."

He pauses and then, "that you'd been here. For awhile now."

You hear the layers in his voice; the worry, but then the—

Irritation? Disdain?

"Are you asking me to dinner?" You say instead, dashing the canvas with a sudden great, horrible X. It's your meager attempt at some sort of joke or flirting, but your voice is perhaps too thin for it. You stare at your canvas, now dripping with that great X, the paint slipping down and marring it further.

When you turn to look at Viktor, he regards you warily. He glances at the canvas you've just ruined, and then back to your face.

He takes in your appearance; your disheveled hair and the paint all over your clothes and skin. And then his eyes skip down to your throat, to your arms. All marked up and bruised, unhidden and worn proudly here, in the safety of your art studio.

"Should I be concerned?" Viktor asks instead and you've always loved his bluntness. His lack of tact is like coming home. It's a relief, when you're constantly with Mel and Jayce lately, who talk in riddles and niceties and flowered language that hides their intentions or feelings.

There is a bitterness in Viktor's voice that you know well, too.

"About?" You prod.

"I'm no fool." Viktor answers, "I know you're sleeping with Councilor Medarda."

"Is that all you know?" You return, tilting your head.

"Is there more to know?" Viktor asks, eyeing you.

"Jayce hasn't said anything?"

You watch a strange shadow pass over Viktor's face as he slowly comes to the natural conclusion that you've lead him to. He's right, he is no fool. And then you watch his eyes catch fire, catch jealousy.

"I warned you—" he starts, suddenly.

"And I told you, it's good for the art—" You joke.

"Obviously it isn't!" He snaps, gesturing to the canvas behind you, ruined and glaring at your back. And then he heaves out a rough, agitated breath, dragging a hand through his hair. "Do you ever think of consequences?" He demands.

"Sure," You say, "I'm exactly where I want to be."

"You know, they are my colleagues. What am I supposed to do if—?!"

You laugh at that, enough that it startles him out of his beginning tirade. He comes up short and his shoulders bunch with tension as he glares at you.

"Is something funny?" He hisses.

"Your colleagues?" You repeat, "that's all they are to you?"

"Well—yes, technically." He stumbles on his words here.

"Are you jealous, Viktor?" You ask. "You don't have to be."

"I'm not jealous—" He refutes, even as his cheeks grow ruddy. And for a moment, you could be twelve with him again, his face flush as he looks at you after you'd kissed him for the first time because he'd never kissed anyone before. Or twenty-two and drunk, kissing one night under the stars when you felt so lost and disorientated in the Upper City—just wanted to feel like yourself again.

Or now, at thirty-two, staring at the man you've loved your entire life and whatever mess you've made out of everything.

You reach out and touch his cheek, glowing with color, and at first he winces away, but when you persist, he relaxes. He presses his cheek to your open palm and looks at you; raw and frank and so Viktor that you can't help the faint smile that touches your lips. Even as he frowns at you.

"What are you meddling with?" Viktor murmurs, turning his face into your cupped hand. You feel the faint brush of his lips, a little dry, and soft. Warm.

"Apparently our political landscape." You respond and that at least gets a laugh from him. You feel it against you and some spark shimmers through you, shudders and opens itself to you.

(Your desire for Viktor is something always with you, ambient, perhaps dormant, that always resurfaces like the great fins of some horrible, huge monster in dark waters. Your desire for Viktor is a symptom of your love. You've never know what to call it except that, except his.)

"Have I upset you?" You ask now as his laughter fades, and with it his amusement.

He sighs deeply and you feel his breath against your skin. You draw nearer. He leans back onto his crutch only slightly, only for a moment, before he allows you further into his space.

"I don't—" He struggles for the words before admitting, "yes, somewhat. For some reason."

"Are you feeling neglected?" You ask and try very hard to keep your amusement out of your voice, lest you irritate him further. He's always had a jealous streak in him, even as kids. If you made another friend, he would pout until you draped yourself over him and showered him in your attention again.

Even your previous relationships had bred some sort of jealousy in him; he's never liked any of your partners.

(It's so endearing to you that you have to tuck your teeth into your own lip and hum a little.)

You lean towards him, ducking your head so that your nose dips to brush against the line of his jaw. You feel his body shudder more than you see it. His breath goes tight. Your eyes flicker, a flash in the sun-spun light of your art studio;

"Do you want me to kiss you the way Jayce kisses me?" You murmur, your lips hovering over his. You watch his face gutter, lashes fluttering against his cheeks. His breath goes shallow.

"Or would you prefer Mel?" You murmur, just before you close the distance and kiss him with a certain fierceness, a meanness that you don't usually have with him. He stumbles back a little with the force of it and your hand that had been holding his cheek, slips into the hair at the nape of his neck.

A groan startles out of him when you tighten your hand into a fist and pull.

You part from the kiss, panting a little, and he looks down at you, eyes molten gold and burning.

You're about to kiss him again, when he murmurs, "I want—" he swallows hard, "I want you to kiss me the way you do—I want—"

You press back into him instantly, suddenly overwhelmed with the thought, with the notion that his desire, his jealousy—

You kiss him like you always have, overeager and desperate and messy. You urge him backwards, towards your workbench, all cluttered with paints. His crutch clatters against the ground uselessly as you grab for each other. You knock over a jar of brushes half-haphazardly placed on the floor.

You're overwhelmed with the thought that his jealousy might've been for you, too.

When he braces his hand against your work bench, he knocks over a cup of paint. You laugh into his mouth as you paw at his stupid, perfectly buttoned vest. When he touches you again, he stains you blue—and later red and violet. Burnished gold and paint so silver it makes the stars look dull.

A mess, he tsks, impossibly fond, as he looks at you and himself and the work space.

At all that you'd done.

***

"You've been pulling strings," Mel says as you lay in her lap, letting her pet and stroke you. Her fingers dance over the ridge of your brow.

You blink up at her slowly, eyes fluttering. "Shouldn't that be my line?" You ask.

"I'm not naive to the way you've been pulling our strings." She muses, fingers tumbling into your hair. She's gentle here, careful as she cards her way through your hair, her fingers nimble.

"Pulling strings is a far too sophisticated thing to call it." You snort and lean into her touch like a cat, preening a little.

"What would you call it?" Mel asks and the smile she wears is less of a mystery to you now, and you can tell there's a fondness to it.

(She does really like you—she is really being sincere, you've learned.)

You think about this for a long moment; you toy with saying a fucking mess. Or digging my own grave. But neither feel quite so full—while true, in many ways, there leaves little room for—

Well, this.

The way she holds you. The cat's curl of her smile, pleased and mischievous. Her fingers, gentle and coaxing, urging you to unfurl and bloom.

Or Viktor's rasping laugh that you can pull out of him. The fondness you hold for him like a pearl held inside a clam, growing and glowing. The way you drape yourself all over him, and he accepts it as easy as the day accepts the sun, or the night accepts the moon into its skies.

And even Jayce and the strangled back-and-forth that the two of you dance; it's still yours. It's still his. And the way he cups your cheek admist the violence or how he let's no one speak ill of you in front of him.

(Or the way Jayce and Viktor's minds work together, or how tactical Jayce and Mel can be; sharpened like daggers and twice as pretty. Or the creativity you pull out of Mel, allowing her to see the world like a boundless piece of art. Or the way Viktor's science influences your art; how your art influences his science. The fierceness you bring out in Jayce—the passion he brings out in you.)

It doesn't quite account for all the parts that make you burn and grow and shake out your great, big wings to fly.

Finally, you say, "it feels like I'm trying to find the melodies and harmonies and how they mesh—or the composition of a painting, or the feeling of a poem, but some of the words are still missing. It feels like when I chase art and try to break it open, to reveal what it wants me to learn—or show me."

"Have you figured it out yet?" She asks and she's genuinely curious, almost quiet in her desire to know.

At that, the door creaks open and there are several hushed whispers before Jayce suddenly strides into the room with all the false confidence in the world. Viktor looks sheepish behind him.

You sit up sharply, trying to detangle yourself from Mel.

"I told you they were here—" Viktor hisses to him, "and we shouldn't—we shouldn't be here."

Jayce isn't listening, though, and he's clearly inflating himself to get out, "I've come on important business of the council."

Mel raises her brows and throws you a sideways glance. She then says, "then come in, Councilor, since it's so important that you've come to my personal quarters. Unannounced."

Jayce at least has the good sense to look a little sheepish now, too. You can't help the laugh that springs out of you.

He throws you a dark look before clearing his throat.

"Councilor Haskel and Salo are seeking to strike down the art deal." Jayce announces and your heart drops a little, sinks in your chest.

You look at Mel. She purposefully keeps her face a mask of coolness. She rolls her shoulder briefly, which is your only tell of irritation or concern.

"Come in, Jayce." Mel finally says, "and you, too, Viktor. Shut the door behind you."

Both wander into the space and it's such a surreal moment, all four of you, for once, in the same room, that you can't help but laugh again.

Mel sighs in a way as if to say, I suppose this would happen eventually.

Jayce and Viktor can't quite look anyone in the eye and they both take uneasy seats int he living room.

Again, you feel like laughing—you're not sure what all the trepidation is for. Each of them have you seen you naked; you have seen them naked.

"What's their angle?" Mel asks, ignoring both Jayce and Viktor's shyness.

Jayce clears his throat, "they don't think it's worthwhile to support an artist from the Undercity at this time."

You wince and Jayce adds, "their words, not mine."

"Well, that won't do." Mel tsks and she suddenly moves to stand, graceful as ever, her robes trailing in a wave of silk and the smell of lillies. She likes to pace when she's thinking, and she pads over the window, to look out at the city.

Eventually, she says, "we'll need a grander plan. Something they can't refuse."

"What are you thinking?" Jayce asks.

She turns and all around her, she's doused in gold light, glowing in the evening sun as if she was born to it. "Perhaps combining some science with it." Now she looks at Viktor, "something symbolic to the current advancements with Hextech, perhaps."

Viktor looks at you, then back at Mel, "I can do that."

"Jayce, I need you to talk to the other Councilors and be sure they're not swayed by Haskel or Salo." She then adds, "and I want more publicity around it—and around our artist and scientist."

Our artist.

Our scientist.

"Ah—" Viktor starts, "I don't want to be in the public eye."

Our, our, our.

"It'll put pressure on Haskel and Salo if the people are behind you both, too." Mel presses gently, though her gaze has softened on him; she's sympathetic to his desires.

To assure him, you chirp, "I can do all the talking."

"Not sure that's our best idea." Jayce remarks.

"I am certain I can name several worse ideas of ours." You quip without thinking, and then you toss one of Mel's throw pillows at him; the beautifully embroidered one that's likely far too expensive and made from the rarest threads.

It hits him with a dull thud. And for a moment, he's shocked. The room is silent.

Still, your heart sings our, our, our.

But then Viktor snorts, before breaking out into his low, soft chuckle. And then the twinkle of Mel's giggles, coupled with your own laughter that bursts from your chest like a bird taking to flight.

And Jayce watches a moment, all of you laugh and smile, and if you could paint him in this moment, you would—

A little awe-struck. Tender around the edges, burnished gold. Breath stolen from him.

(Oh, he does really like you, too. All of you.)

But then laughter rumbles from him, too. And the tension slips from all of you, drains from your bodies with each bubbling sound.

And all of them together—finally together—are the melody you've been looking for, the words you couldn't place. The color on the canvas that finally brings it all together.

It's all the broken pieces like a mosaic, finally put together to create something whole.

And it's all ours, you think, the sun a flare of light and beauty bursting through the room, bathing all of your favorite people in it's gold and glory;

It's all ours.

[inkspiredwriting]

Wedding Woes

Five Hargreeves x Fem!reader

Warnings: none

Planning a wedding should be a joyous occasion, but for Five Hargreeves and his fiancée Y/N, it quickly turned into a battlefield of hilarious disagreements. From the moment they decided to tie the knot, every decision seemed to spark a new debate.

“Chocolate!” Five declared, arms crossed, as they sat in the office of Sweet Sensations, the premier bakery in town.

“Red velvet!” Y/N countered, her eyes sparkling with determination.

The baker, caught between the two, held up a tentative hand. “We could do a combination cake?”

Five and Y/N turned to her, then back to each other, shaking their heads simultaneously. “Nope.”

“What’s wrong with red velvet?” Y/N argued, her brow furrowing. “It’s elegant and delicious.”

Five scoffed. “Chocolate is a classic. And I don’t trust a cake that’s named after a fabric.”

“Fine,” Y/N said, rolling her eyes. “What about the design?”

“Simple and clean,” Five said, envisioning a minimalistic cake.

Y/N, however, had other ideas. “I was thinking something with a little more... flair. Maybe some flowers, intricate designs—”

Before Five could retort, Klaus burst into the bakery, trailed by Diego and Luther. “Hey, lovebirds! How’s the cake tasting going?”

Five sighed. “We’re just... debating the finer points.”

Klaus waggled his eyebrows. “Why not go with a giant rainbow cake? It’s festive!”

Diego chuckled. “I vote for something with bacon on it.”

Luther just looked confused. “Do people put bacon on cakes?”

The baker looked like she might faint.

In the end, they settled on a layered cake with alternating tiers of chocolate and red velvet, topped with simple but elegant decorations. It wasn’t exactly what either had envisioned, but it was a compromise—a word that Five was rapidly learning to accept.

Next on the list was the music. Five preferred a live jazz band, while Y/N was leaning toward a playlist of their favorite songs.

“Jazz sets the mood,” Five insisted, adjusting his tie as they met with a potential band leader in their living room.

“Yeah, the mood for a 1920s speakeasy,” Y/N shot back. “We need something more modern, something we can really dance to.”

The band leader, an older gentleman with a pencil-thin mustache, interjected. “We can do a mix, if you’d like?”

Before either could respond, Viktor wandered in, carrying his violin. “Need a musician? I can play Anything you want.”

Five perked up. “Can you do jazz?”

Viktor nodded. “Of course. But I also know some contemporary pieces.”

Y/N’s eyes lit up. “What about ‘You Are the Best Thing’ by Ray LaMontagne?”

Viktor smiled. “I can do that.”

Five threw up his hands. “Fine, let’s have Viktor play. Just... not too much Ray LaMontagne.”

Klaus sauntered in, a mischievous grin on his face. “I could DJ! Imagine the fun we’d have with a mix of 80s pop and punk rock!”

Five stared at him. “Absolutely not.”

When it came to decorations, Five wanted sleek and modern, while Y/N envisioned a romantic, rustic theme.

“We need string lights and mason jars,” Y/N said, flipping through a wedding magazine.

Five groaned. “We’re not having a Pinterest wedding. How about something more sophisticated? Like geometric centerpieces.”

“Geometric?” Y/N laughed. “What are we, hosting a math conference?”

Lila, who had shown up uninvited but was enjoying the chaos, added her two cents. “I think you should go with a theme park idea. Imagine—carnival games, cotton candy, maybe even a Ferris wheel!”

Y/N laughed. “Actually, that sounds kind of fun.”

Five buried his face in his hands. “We’re not turning our wedding into a circus.”

In the end, they settled on a rustic-chic blend with some modern touches—fairy lights and mason jars for Y/N, and sleek tableware and geometric designs for Five. It was a mix that surprisingly worked, combining the best of both their visions.

Even the wedding invitations were a source of contention. Five wanted them to be minimalist and elegant, while Y/N wanted something more whimsical and colorful.

“This font is too boring,” Y/N complained, staring at the sample invite. “It doesn’t scream ‘fun.’”

Five rubbed his temples. “We’re not throwing a rave, Y/N. We’re getting married. It should be timeless.”

Klaus, had another idea. “Why not go with a pop-up invitation? Like those 3D books! People would love that.”

Five shot him a look. “We’re not making pop-up books, Klaus.”

Despite the disagreements, the wedding day arrived, and everything was miraculously coming together. Five and Y/N stood at the altar, their family and friends gathered around them. The setting was a perfect blend of their styles—rustic yet sophisticated, whimsical yet elegant.

As they exchanged vows, Five couldn’t help but smile at Y/N. Despite their differences, their love for each other had only grown stronger through the process. It was clear that, no matter the debates, they were perfect for each other.

When they shared their first kiss as husband and wife, the crowd erupted into applause, and Klaus, predictably, started a slow clap that turned into an impromptu chant of “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

Five’s siblings had their mishaps—Klaus accidentally spilled champagne on Viktor’s suit, Lila got into a friendly wrestling match with Allison over the bouquet, and Luther accidentally triggered a sound system malfunction that blasted “Never Gonna Give You Up” at full volume during the toasts.

At the end of the night, as they danced under the twinkling lights, Five pulled Y/N close and whispered, “You know, despite all the chaos, I wouldn’t change a thing.”

Y/N smiled up at him, her eyes sparkling. “Not even the part where we almost had a bacon cake?”

Five chuckled. “Not even that. Well... maybe a little.”

Y/N laughed, leaning in to kiss him. “I love you, Five Hargreeves. Even if you have terrible taste in cakes.”

Five grinned, wrapping his arms around her. “And I love you, Y/N Hargreeves. Even if you have questionable taste in everything else.”

As they swayed to the music, surrounded by their chaotic but loving family, Five realized that the debates, the compromises, and the occasional disaster were all part of what made their love story uniquely theirs.

And for Five and Y/N, that was all they ever wanted.

[ihopeinevergetsoberr]

I love the at a canes length story.

The power dynamic of him just reclined back watching his partner in their knees for him just does something yk?

Any ideas for him bossing around his partner like that? Or him being able to do what he want and they are not allowed to touch him, even if they beg? (All consensual ofc!!)

we’re all into our darling tease viktor, aren’t we? btw, i’m naming this drabble after my favourite am song.

cw: gn reader, smut, dirty talk, nipple play, i got too carried away and wrote a poetic filthy little thing.

word count: 700~

Normally you wouldn’t dare to complain about your lover’s hands — deliciously nimble, they never failed to tame you with the length of each cautiously curious finger, the callousness of them tortuous, yet professionally precise — just the right spoon of tar in a barrel of sweet honey. They were the hands of a pianist, attached to those lanky, just as much fitting for a musician arms — had your brain stupidly doomed whenever their defiant owner rolled up a ruffled sleeve just high enough to tease you with a sight of a pointy elbow or a weave of cerulean veins under the translucently pale skin. 

However, tonight — they became the hands of a jeweller, short nails the figurative tweezers gently piercing into each pretty bud of your nipples, restraining you with the unbearable thoroughness of Viktor’s most sensual touches — all lazy tugs and languid circles besieging the aureoles. Pure torment — nothing more and nothing less, increasingly intricate considering the utter complacency in the pair of amber eyes ogling your naked chest — not a single bead of sweat left unnoticed or unkissed away.

And this tactic — although insanely efficient — made you hiss numerous pleas into the softness of a dump pillow, back an impatient arch above the clinging to your sticky skin sheets. Because jewellers are impeccably methodical — most importantly, slow, and slow was never your pace of choice, despite all its charming offers of savouring. You wanted him now, invariably inside, shirtless, with spitslick lips and open against the curve of your shoulder mouth: fast, and deep, and eagerly frantic — something a pianist might allow, but a jeweller must strictly avoid. How truly devastating. 

Or, perhaps, not?

His tongue is an unexpected tool — it gently soothes the pinched nipple, dripping with generous, thick moist onto the awakened goosebumps — a welcomed diversity, most perfectly combined with the dexterity of his skilful digits, and you meet it with a string of breathless curses — grateful for the little mercy, yet still not nearly satisfied enough. 

The ‘no touching’ rule effortlessly slips your mind when Viktor’s mouth lingers there — wrapped around the relentlessly teased bud, sucking at it so gently you might just melt into this very bed. You impatiently clutch his tie, clumsily pulling him forward into a pathetic attempt of stealing an open-mouthed kiss, and Viktor instantly regrets he didn’t free his slender neck off it earlier, silently remorsing the missed opportunity of tying your wrists together. 

He sighs, reluctantly peeling his right palm off your covered in saliva chest, and it insistently nudges you off the tie and leads right back where your hands belong — nailed into the pillow right above your head. 

“Was I not clear enough when I kindly asked you to avoid touching me?” his voice is soft — raspy and gentle, not upset with you in the slightest — just genuinely curious, ludicrously polite for a man so eager to torture you. “Or, perhaps, patience is simply not one of your virtues?” 

He offers you a smile — a chaste one, oh that specific stretch of thin lips into an unbearably handsome line — worthy of whatever foreplay-durations he wishes for. 

Now it’s your turn to sigh. 

“It’s just that… I’m afraid you might not be done with me even until dawn,” you mumble sweetly, fingers already itchy to intertwine with his hair — and you wonder if he might be willing to consider this compromise. He simply arches a thick brow, humming with a playful half-turn of a head. 

“I was not aware we were in a rush,” he chuckles, and — oh heavens, finally! — hovers above your flushed face for a split second, picking a feature to award with a long-awaited kiss. 

You’re not surprised when his warm gaze drifts over your lips, evidently recalling the irresistible softness of them. No matter how much into denying it Viktor might be, he is a needy man in the very depth of his heart — and these rare occurrences might just be your favourite moments of his vulnerability. And when you’re almost ready to release an ardent tongue into the blissful heat of his mouth — your precious inventor smirks, cruelly changing his route. 

“Besides,” he whispers — cheeky, and so unbearably hot, brushing the tip of his sharp nose against your earshell. “You’re underestimating me. I intend to proceed until at least next noon.” 

[wisegirl25]

University AU Timebomb Headcannons!

-Jinx would major in engineering with a focus on weapons

-Ekko would also be majoring in engineering but with minors in quantum mechanics and visual art

-Jinx is a musician on the side who puts out mostly pop-punk and metal music. She hates sticking to one genre and refuses to let labels choose what kind of music she makes

-Her EP would be called “Get Jinxed” with the songs Get Jinxed, Paint the Town Blue, Rebel Heart, and two more metal songs

-Her music blew up after Paint the Town Blue was used in a huge show and her music became pretty popular

-Ekko would be a small rapper//his songs include Misfit Toys and Dynasties & Dystopia (Featuring Jinx)

-Ekko would eventually join the band True Damage and put out the song GIANTS which also blew up

-They help each other produce their music

-In their first year they were required to live in the student dorms and boys/girls were not allowed in each other’s dorm buildings so Jinx would constantly CLIMB Ekko’s building and sneak into his dorm (which pissed off Ekko’s roommate Scar to no end)

-In their second year they got an apartment off campus together

-Jinx is constantly forgetting to hand in her work even though she does it so Ekko keeps reminders for both of their deadlines on his phone

-Jinx convinced Ekko to get matching tattoos, she got his hourglass and he got her monkey

-They’re both scholarship students. Ekko does everything in his power to keep Jinx out of trouble so they don’t get kicked out (and if some mishaps were conveniently written off by the Heimerdinger, well that’s none of Ekko’s business)

-They’re both addicted to energy drinks and put off doing their huge assignments to the last minute so they can focus on their own inventions

-In their second year they won a national invention competition and they were granted a shit ton of money for their research

-Viktor and Jayce are their professors that end up basically being friends with them by the time Ekko and Jinx start their PhD’s

-They would publish research papers together and Jinx would always insist her name should be put first because “Jinx and Ekko sounds better than Ekko and Jinx”

-Ekko would end up doing his PhD on time in quantum theory while Jinx would stick to weapons engineering

-Although they had different specialties Jinx and Ekko would be extremely educated on the other person’s topic, and they would also use their individual knowledge for collaborations

-Jinx would wear those stupid physics and math joke t-shirts around campus as a joke and force Ekko into matching with her (totally not projecting I don’t love those shirts whatt)

[vendetta-if]

What superpowers do the members of the Morozov family have? Perhaps I didn't read carefully and missed this information (if that's the case, I'm sorry🙏) . Grandma, Victor, Luca, etc.

No worries! Some of them are more of touched on only in the story, so it’s understandable if you miss them 😄

Viktor: Power Replication. Copying the power of the person he last touched (and actually intended to copy the power of).

Luka: Teleportation, both long distance and short distance (blinking).

I explain both of their powers in far more detail in the Character Guide section of the Stat Screen 😁 So, if you’re interested in a bit more explanation on how they work and stuff, you can find them there.

Grandpa: Compulsion. Compelling/forcing people to do what he commands and bids them to. I made the sentence or words bold to kinda help make it clear when he’s using his power or when he’s just speaking normally.

Grandma: Cryokinesis (Ice Manipulation). I think the only subtle reference to this in the story so far is in the Christmas dinner flashback in Chapter 2 where little MC met their grandparents for the first time, and when she touched MC’s cheeks, MC recalled her hands being very cold.

Also as extras, I don’t think I’ve brought up Takashi’s and his wife, Azami’s powers here before. Or maybe I have but I just forgot. Nevertheless, I’m just gonna add them too in this post since we actually haven’t seen any of their powers in action in the story so far 😉

Takashi: Super Strength. Included in it are also superior resilience and stamina compared to normal people. So, yeah, even though Takashi looks like the more friendly and open-to-talk kind of guy, he’s also capable of physical violence if needed 😆

Azami: Music Hypnosis. It’s basically like Yvette’s Empathy power but only applicable when she’s playing musical instruments. So, affecting people’s emotions when listening to her playing musical instruments.

She always tried to suppress it when she’s actually performing in a concert because she kind of sees it like “cheating”. Although, over the years as she has successfully cemented herself as a pretty renowned classical musician, she has learned to embrace her power and used it a bit to add more impact to the viewers when watching the performance.

[somedaylazysomeday]

Noisy - Part Three

Viktor is going to be busy in the lab for the next week. He comes over to tell you personally.

Viktor x fem!reader

Rating: Explicit. Minors DNI

Word Count: 5,200

Warnings: Arguments, misunderstandings, Viktor has a chip on his shoulder, fingering, unprotected piv sex, discussions of sex with disabilities, creampie

Previous | Next | Masterlist

---

The knock on your door was a surprise. 

Not that you didn’t have friends, but very few of them worked or studied at the Academy of Science, Technology, and Innovation in Piltover. Of that small group, even fewer of them would come visit you at your apartment unannounced.

Which meant it was probably one of your neighbors. Your downstairs neighbor was a rather bubbly girl attempting to become a professional musician. She studied under a cellist who taught at the Academy - though you had never quite managed to figure out why a school of science and engineering had a concert orchestra. In any case, she helped conduct the orchestra when she wasn’t working with the professor and gave lessons to students in her off hours. 

But given that you hadn’t heard any music coming from her apartment that day, she was probably preparing for the holiday concert that the orchestra was putting on next week. 

That left Viktor - scientist, assistant to the Academy’s Dean, and your upstairs neighbor.

He was also the man you had shared a brief sexual encounter with a few weeks prior. In your defense, you had been trying to force him to go to sleep so he would stop making so much noise late at night. It didn’t hurt that Viktor was devastatingly attractive, but you had really been more focused on the sleep. 

Another knock shook you from your reverie. It was softer, almost hesitant, and you hurried to open the door. 

Sure enough, Viktor stood on the other side. You took a moment to congratulate yourself for your deductive reasoning, then smiled at him. “Hey Viktor. What’s up?” 

He smiled back, but it looked sickly. You watched his thumb strum nervously along the handle of his cane. “I wanted to let you know that I spoke to Heimerdinger and got permission to work late in the lab next week.” 

You nodded thoughtfully. “I know that curfew has been the bane of your existence for a while now. Do you have a specific project you’re working on or is he just tired of you trying to break in?” 

Viktor’s uncomfortable smile turned to a scowl and you fought back a chuckle. Stiffly, he told you, “I do not try to break in, I-” 

A hand lifted between the two of you interrupted whatever he intended to say next. With your most serious expression, you said, “Viktor! I don’t want to be a party to your crimes!” 

He gave a deep sigh. “You are a menace.” 

You finally broke, and your laughter made him smile. It was a real one and you reached out to pat his arm. “There you are. I needed to see you happy, not fake happy. You’re a terrible actor.” 

Viktor rolled his eyes, though he was still smiling. “And to think I was trying to be a considerate neighbor…”

“Go ahead,” you told him. He raised an eyebrow and you laughed despite yourself. “I’m serious! I’m done. Please say what you came here to say.” 

Though he still looked deeply skeptical, Viktor relented. “I received permission to conduct experiments outside of the lab curfew. I will be working late at the lab for much of the next week. I wanted to tell you myself.” 

A realization was tingling at the back of your mind, but like any good scientist, you needed to test it. You kept your face blankly serene as you nodded. “Thank you for letting me know, Viktor. I hope your experiments go well.” 

He looked mildly disappointed. “Thank you. And I hope your week is pleasant. You will not have me around to make noise over your head.” 

“That will take some getting used to,” you teased. 

“And you likely will not see me very often,” Viktor added, ducking his head at your joke. “When I am home, I will be sleeping. And we work in such different sections of the campus…”

You nodded slowly, your hypothesis all but proven. “That’s good to know. I would have wondered if you were avoiding me.” 

“Never,” he denied instantly. 

That made you feel warm, as did the way Viktor stood in the hall, nervously shifting his weight back and forth as his thumb tapped frantically at the handle beneath his fingers. Despite his clear unease, Viktor glanced at you every few seconds, eyes bright and hopeful in a way that you found both amusing and sweet. 

“I suppose I should leave you,” Viktor admitted, slumping slightly. 

“You know,” you started, pausing the half-pace Viktor had taken in the opposite direction. “If you want to sleep together, all you have to do is ask. If that’s in any way what you were-”

“Can we sleep together?”

The immediacy of the question made you laugh aloud even as you nodded and stepped back. “Well, I was in the middle of grading some papers, but it can wait.” 

“I can wait, if you prefer?” Viktor said, in the middle of crossing the threshold into your apartment. 

“No, you’re going to be gone for the next week,” you reminded. “Besides, this sounds much better than slogging through another essay on population ecology. Come on inside.” 

Viktor seemed almost sprightly as he stepped into your apartment, the tip of his cane hardly touching the ground. He looked around eagerly, studying the interior of your living room with such intensity that you were forcibly reminded that he had never seen it before. With that in mind, you did your best to look around with a fresh perspective. 

The furniture was well-worn - all of it was, in this particular housing unit - but you had done what you could. You'd used an assortment of soft blankets to cover stains or tears while comfortable pillows that shielded your back from spots where the padding beneath the upholstery had all but disappeared. The small table in front of the couch bore stacks of textbooks, reference guides, and the aforementioned papers you had been grading. 

The apartment’s small kitchen was visible from where Viktor was standing, a wine bottle and an old dish sitting in plain sight on the countertop. But you were far too wary of pests to allow any kind of mess in the kitchen, so you didn’t have much to be embarrassed of in there. 

Overall, it was a little messy - especially compared to the stark desolation of Viktor’s apartment - but the most notable feature of your living room wasn’t found in the furniture or in the traces of your work that were scattered around. 

You had installed a collection of corkboards and dry-erase boards around the apartment. The corkboards held the results of your latest experiments while the dry-erase boards held scrawled collections of notes and ideas about relationships between criteria. Your goal was to go around and gather those musings once per week so you could erase the boards, but it had been a while and they were cluttered with your handwriting. 

Anyone else might have made some bland comment about your apartment, but Viktor cut directly to what interested him. After moving to study one of the dry-erase boards more closely, he gestured to it and asked, “What are you attempting to calculate?” 

“Well, each board is set up to have its own focus,” you explained. “On that one in particular, I’m trying to figure out why the toxicity in the Sump level of the Undercity is as high as it is.” 

Viktor’s shoulders tightened, but his voice was bland as he said, “Perhaps it has something to do with the large levels of industrial waste and chemical byproduct that moves through or is stored in the area.” 

He was here to fuck, not fight, you reminded yourself. And yet, even after you had taken a breath and bitten back your immediate harsh response, you couldn’t let the implied insult to your scholarly skills go unchallenged. 

You marched to a corkboard on the other side of the doorway, tapping it sharply with your forefinger. “Yes, I realize that, but look at the particular levels of these toxins. They don’t match up with those you would expect to see from anything produced by the plants in Factorywood.”

“No Undercity industries admit to what they are truly producing,” Viktor said, eyes still roaming over your hastily written notes. They lingered on where you had written ‘Silco?’ beneath a particularly strong toxin found in some products from Priggs Industries. 

“”Of course they don’t,” you agreed easily. “But the toxic by-products still generally match up with what everyone knows the factories are producing. From these numbers, someone on the Sump level is creating chemical products in a quantity that threatens the existence of the entire city, not to mention the serious health risks linked to living in the Gray.”

Viktor sighed, his dark eyes meeting yours. There was a deep sadness in their depths, and it made your heart ache to see it. “It is a noble thing to work on a problem like the Undercity’s health. But you will not get far with it. Piltover has more to gain from looking to the future rather than fixing the problems of the present or the past.” 

“You’re from the Undercity, right?” you asked, needlessly. You knew where Viktor was from. Everyone did - it was one of the reasons he struggled to be respected despite his incredible intellect. 

“You think I do not care for where I am from?” he asked, a sharpness in his voice. “You think I would not keep others from enduring what I endured?” 

The sharp thump of his cane against the floor was loud in your living room, but you kept from wincing. With your steady gaze fixed on him, you slowly shook your head. “I don’t think that at all, Viktor. But I also think Piltover will care about these findings, even if it’s just for self-preservation purposes.” 

“You realize they are more likely to clear the Undercity than make meaningful changes?”

That was something you hadn’t truly considered, though you should have. Anyone with a brain knew that Piltover’s treatment of the Undercity had been reckless and unhelpful. 

Still, you lifted your chin. “I will keep that in mind moving forward, but I have to believe I can do something meaningful to help the people who have no choice but to live there.”

Viktor was quiet then, his gaze fixed blankly on the dry-erase board in front of him as his thoughts consumed him. Eventually, he tilted his head to give you a sidelong look. “Why are the boards next to doorways?” 

You smiled despite yourself. “Sometimes, I get flashes of inspiration if I only catch a glimpse of a problem. Something about seeing the information as I walk into and out of a room when I’m doing another task makes me think differently about a problem. That’s why the boards are everywhere, too - so I can write down what I’ve thought of before it has a chance to get away.” 

“It is a good idea,” Viktor admitted. 

“The Academy has plenty more boards and you definitely have the space for them,” you teased. 

The ghost of a smile flitted over Viktor’s face and the odd tension disappeared. "Perhaps I should look into having some installed. They certainly seem to be helping you." 

You made a face at him, but there was no real antagonism in it. “I have to admit, I’m surprised you’re so interested in the boards. I thought you were here for other things.” 

Viktor’s gaze sharpened as he turned to face you, but his tone was light as he retorted, “Talking about your research findings doesn’t put you in the correct frame of mind? I would have thought better of such a respected scientist.” 

The unexpected teasing brought a delighted laugh to your lips as you gave a shallow bow. “I don’t think anyone thinks of me as a respected scientist, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

“I happen to have a great deal of respect for you,” Viktor said, the effort ruined somewhat by the way he was focused on your lips. “Can I kiss you?” 

“So much for respect,” you said, leaning eagerly toward him. Viktor was smirking when his soft lips pressed against yours. 

The first time you had kissed, Viktor had been hesitant. When he had gotten over his own discomfort, the depth of his need became apparent, but not before that. This time, his intensity was immediate. After a split second of softness, Viktor’s lips firmed and he used them to part yours so his tongue could slip into the space between them. 

Viktor tried to pull back at the surprised noise you made, but you weren’t having it. Your hands fisted in the front of his vest, keeping him close as you responded to his explorations with some of your own. Viktor was exceedingly sensitive, and you teased as many reactions from him as you could manage before you parted for air, both of you panting. 

“There is such a reaction when we kiss,” Viktor mused, almost to himself. “It cannot be simple chemistry.” 

“I don’t think there’s anything simple about it,” you countered wryly. “Besides, why can’t it be chemistry? Everything else is. Every smell or taste or touch… Chemistry is how we understand and interact with the world around us. Why should kissing be any different?” 

“You are being deliberately obtuse,” Viktor muttered, mouthing butterfly kisses over your jaw and down the side of your neck. You were swaying into the sensation when his lips parted to deliver a sharp nip to the tender skin. You groaned, but didn’t move away. 

“See?” Viktor asked. “Why should that feel pleasant? Simply because of chemistry?” 

“Dopamine, serotonin, and oxycontin,” you informed him. “They’re a strong combination.”

He rolled his eyes, but leaned in again, working his way back up until he could meet you in a furious kiss once more. It managed to be more intense than the first, though both of your attention was split. Viktor was ruching your shirt upward while you were doing your best to unbutton his vest. 

“Your skin is so soft…” he murmured, and you felt like you were on fire. 

Perhaps that was why you forgot yourself, giving his vest a sharp yank. Buttons scattered across the floor and Viktor gave a disbelieving laugh. You offered an apologetic look. “This would be much easier if you didn’t insist on wearing fourteen layers at all times.”

“You are right; that was my fault,” he agreed. You smiled, though it turned to a startled laugh when his fingers tickled up your ribcage. You probably would have protested more vocally if you hadn’t been so relieved at his pulling the shirt over your head. 

“No,” you said decisively, pushing his hands away. Viktor immediately withdrew, looking apologetic, horrified, and confused. “You don’t get the easy job. I’ll take off my own clothes and you deal with all of the buttons.”

Viktor’s eyebrows arched so sharply that they approached his hairline, but he obediently began to undress himself. You made short work of your own outfit and took a comfortable seat on the couch. The soft texture of a blanket teased at your buttocks and the backs of your bare thighs and you luxuriated in the feeling. Perhaps you should lounge around your apartment in the nude more often…

Then Viktor was approaching. He was completely bare and your breath caught at the beauty of him. He was pale, all long-limbs and angular joints. Dark freckles and moles dotted his skin, almost artistic in their placement. Instead of looking small and frail, Viktor put you in mind of a sculpture. He looked like a piece of ancient artwork, perfectly formed to capture a human emotion you recognized, but couldn’t quite verbalize.

The thatch of hair at his pubic bone was dark, eye-catching surrounded by the stretches of pale skin. His cock rose from that darkness, proud and erect, the slightest hint of an upward curve that promised to do delicious things inside of you. 

Before Viktor could come too close to the couch, you stood and motioned for him to turn around. “Let’s go to my room. I want us to be comfortable.” 

When he nodded, you led the way to your room. It was plain compared to the rest of your apartment. You tried to keep the most chaotic parts of your work away. Bedrooms were for sleeping, not thinking, and you did your best to keep the two from being combined in your mind. 

But there were still touches of your personality spread around. You had specifically requested a bed that was larger than average. There were pillows scattered at the head, each one a slightly different softness so you could use whatever pillow you needed for each specific day. They were matched by different blankets across the lower part of the bed. Each one was made of different fabrics, but all of them felt like heaven against your skin. 

You stepped toward the bed, but froze when Viktor let out a soft chuckle behind you. “What?”

Viktor gestured toward the bed with his free hand. “It seems they have allocated my returned bed to you.” 

It took a moment for that to sink in, but then you belted out a laugh. “Thank you for your sacrifice, then. I hope to give you a glimpse of what you gave up.”

“It has a better life here than I could ever give it with me.” When you looked at him, Viktor was studying your body with obvious admiration. 

Before you could tell him how utterly cheesy that was - no matter how charming you found it as well - he stepped into kissing range. Well, you had always heard it was better to show than to tell…

This kiss was no less demanding than the last had been. In fact, each touch seemed to increase in urgency, building toward a precipice. It was exactly what you wanted from someone you were about to sleep with, and you started to get impatient with the teasing touches. 

“Any-” kiss “Any preference?” kiss “For position, I mean.” 

Viktor looked dazed, drunk on your lips, but a concerning thought jarred you from your self-satisfaction. “Wait, this isn’t your- Is this the first time you’ve done this?” 

He frowned at you, color rising high on his cheekbones. “Did you not ask this the last time?”

“Did I?” Honestly, as much as you had thought about that night in the time since it happened, very few of your thoughts had centered on the conversation you’d shared before your focus shifted to other things. “And what was the answer?”

“No, believe it or not,” he grumbled. “I have managed to find at least one partner before you.” 

“Oh, good.” 

Viktor’s eyebrows shot upward at that. “Not quite the reaction I had expected.”

“Sorry,” you offered instantly, hoping you hadn’t hurt his pride. Viktor seemed a little sensitive about his self-image. “I just meant that I’m glad you found someone you wanted to share this with in the past.” 

“How magnanimous,” he said dryly. “But I would prefer if you wanted to share this with me now instead of asking if I am virginal.”

“Virginal?” you asked, nose wrinkling. “Am I an 18th century lord? I don’t care if you’re- ah!”

With a well-placed push, Viktor had sent you sprawling across the bed. The sheer number of blankets over the mattress meant that the impact was so minimal that you hardly noticed it, but you still took a moment to blink up at Viktor in surprise. 

For his part, Viktor looked so self-satisfied that his expression verged on smug. He stepped up to the edge of the bed and stooped to lean over you when you remembered your original point. 

“Wait, I was asking for a reason,” you protested. 

A look of genuine irritation crossed Viktor’s handsome face. “No, you are not my first.”

“Not-” You took a second to give a silent laugh. “Not that. I meant about positions. Do you have a preference?” 

“Not in the slightest,” he assured you. “Now, if you were to ask for my preferences on when we get together, I have several strong opinions-”

“And your leg will be okay?” you asked softly. Viktor paused. “I don’t want this to hurt you.”

“I am not so delicate,” he said. “Any further objections?” 

“Only that you’re not already inside of me.” 

The stunned look on Viktor’s face at your tongue-in-cheek answer was a glorious sight to see. But it was fleeting; only a moment later, his jaw firmed with determination and he crawled onto the bed. Most of his weight was supported on his arms, planted firmly on either side of you, and the weight that remained on his legs didn’t seem to bother Viktor in the slightest. 

So you didn’t feel bad for losing yourself in the sensations. 

Perhaps, given the nature of your first hookup, you shouldn’t have been shocked that Viktor would want to explore. He sucked a mark over your collarbone, and you could feel his smile at the noises it pulled from you. When his clever fingers dropped to your breast, you froze under his touch. Viktor finally pulled away from the tender place on your skin, but only so he could study every microexpression that crossed your face at the feeling of his fingers on the sensitive peak. 

When he finally pulled away, you arched into his retreating touch. Viktor managed to soothe you into lying against the bed once more. That made it far easier for him to lower himself onto top of you, his hips pressing squarely between your thighs. Suddenly, losing his hand on your breast felt like a fair trade. 

When those talented fingers drifted down to your core, you wriggled impatiently. “I’m ready, I promise. Please, Viktor…”

He looked conflicted. “I know. I will give both of us what we want in a moment. But I- I need to feel you.”

Any further arguments you might have made faded away with the feeling of his long finger sinking into you. Your body accepted him easily, so easily that you might have been embarrassed by it if you weren’t so relieved by the feeling of something to grip with your desperate muscles. 

Viktor withdrew his finger far too soon. You groaned when he studied it for a moment before putting it in his mouth. Then you were groaning together and your core clenched so sharply that it took your breath away. 

“Viktor-”

He gave a decisive nod, lined the head of himself up with your entrance, and began pushing inside of you. As if your body was angry at having lost your previous stimulation so soon, the muscles of your channel contracted around his length. In fact, they spasmed so hard that Viktor paused. 

“Am I hurting you?” 

The real concern in his voice was sweet, but you were nearing desperation. “Only because you’re going so slow. Please, Viktor…”

He gave a stuttered half-thrust into you, clearly trying to stop himself before he drove too hard into you. With a crooked smile, he said, “Have I ever mentioned that I enjoy hearing you say my name?” 

“No, but I can do better than that,” you offered. “Start moving now and I’ll scream it for you.” 

Viktor’s eyes widened and he started a series of pulsing thrusts, each one driving himself a little further inside of you. When he was - at last - as deep as he could be, you both paused to soak in the sensations of it. His hips were flush against your ass and one of you was throbbing. You were too close to know which of you it was. 

Most of your focus was on the realization that you had been right: that slight curve of Viktor’s length was in exactly the right place to press against your g-spot. The delicious pressure of it made your toes curl and you lifted your hips in an effort to urge him deeper. 

When you remembered that your eyes worked, you smiled a little to see the intense concentration on Viktor’s face. Your hands smoothed down his back and when they were as low as you could reach, you pulled him closer, urging him into motion.

For someone who had a tendency to be oblivious, Viktor took the hint beautifully. With an audible sound from where you were joined, he pulled out. His motions were achingly slow, but he thrust back in before his head could leave you entirely. This push of his hips was made up of more mini-thrusts. The next only had a few. Then he was driving full-force into you at a pace that took your breath away. 

And his. 

Getting a little winded during sex wasn’t exactly uncommon, especially when things were as heated as they were with Viktor, but it worried you. The legs you had wrapped around his waist - though you couldn’t remember exactly when you had done that - could feel tremors wracking the right side of his body. They seemed to stem from his weaker leg, and it was quickly growing more severe. He was frowning, and while it seemed to be mostly concentration, there was more than a hint of genuine pain buried in the wrinkles of his forehead.

“Viktor,” you started, cutting off with a low cry when he slammed into you. “Viktor, wait.” 

It took another half thrust for your request to filter through the fog of good sex. When it did hit him, Viktor slowed, though you could see the strain of it in his muscles. “What is it?” 

“Roll over,” you said. “I can tell you’re hurting.” 

An expression of displeasure crossed his face. “I told you: I am fine.” 

“You aren’t,” you argued, watching his face turn incredulous. “Viktor, I can see it. It’s not a bad thing. I like being on top.” 

“I don’t need you to pretend you know what’s best for me!” he snapped. 

Arguing with someone who was currently buried inside of you was a new experience. From the stubbornness in Viktor’s eyes and the set of his jaw, he wasn’t going to let you win. You would bash yourself to pieces against the stone of Viktor’s personality. But maybe you could try a different tactic…

“Please, Viktor,” you murmured. “I promise, I’ll still make things feel good for both of us. Just let me do this. Let me take care of both of us, even if you don’t need me to.”

You watched him think that over. A direct and combative approach wouldn’t get anywhere with Viktor, he had spent too much of his life fighting. But the one-two punch of logic and emotion helped you get through the walls he had built around himself. 

He didn’t agree verbally - that would be too much like admitting defeat. But he carefully withdrew from you and settled onto the bed beside you. When you realized what was happening, you scrambled upright and straddled his thighs as soon as he was fully horizontal. 

The brief pause had done strange things to your libido, but it came roaring back as soon as you saw Viktor lying beneath you, his body still hard and eager and shining with remnants of you. 

You sank down onto him so quickly that it pulled a startled noise from both of you. And then you were moving, surging up and down so quickly that the muscles of your legs started aching almost immediately. That wasn’t enough to stop you, not nearly, especially when you saw the stunned pleasure on Viktor’s face. 

You rested your hands gently on his chest, using him more for balance than a true counterpoint, but Viktor thrust his hips sharply. The force of it knocked you off balance, pushing you forward until you were braced against him. 

His hands covered yours, keeping them planted over his heart. You glanced up at him, unsurprised to see Viktor’s intense gaze fixed on you. “I will not break.” 

You nodded, taking the low promise as truth. With the additional weight resting on your hands, your legs lifted you far more easily, working up and down on his shaft. Pressing your hips backward let you brush your clit against the thatch of coarse hair at Viktor’s base, but it also pressed that slight curve against your g-spot. Your inner muscles tightened so hard and fast that Viktor made a shocked noise and you started having trouble keeping your rhythm. 

“Are you close?” he asked, chest rising and falling more rapidly under your hands. 

You didn’t quite trust your voice, so you nodded again. He nodded with you. “Me too. Where-?”

“Inside,” you interrupted. You used birth control for several reasons, but sex actually wasn’t one of them. Having someone come inside of you wasn’t a sensation you particularly enjoyed, but you were close and pulling out was always tricky when you were on top. And Viktor felt so good…

His eyes widened. “Are you-?”

Before he could ask if you were sure, you had fallen over the edge. You fingers curled against Viktor’s skin, legs tingling so badly that you almost stopped moving on him. But as if your body was willing to circumvent your brain to keep the stimulation going, your legs and hips and torso kept going. You were moving up and down and forward and back all in an effort to chase the incredible pleasure that wracked your body and made your movements stutter.

Somewhere in the middle of your orgasm, Viktor reached his as well. He stiffened under your hands and between your legs, thrusting into you to drive you both higher. You felt his length twitch and pulse inside of you, along with a general sense of warmth as he spilled. 

When the incredible flood of endorphins began to fade, you collapsed like a puppet with cut strings. You slumped forward onto Viktor’s chest with him still buried deep inside of you. His hand came to rest on your back, stroking your overheated flesh. You stayed like that for a long while, your ear pressed to the reassuring sound of his gradually slowing pulse. 

“That was incredible,” he said eventually. His voice was low, but the awe in it was unmistakable. 

“It was pretty good,” you agreed. 

A displeased noise escaped him and you lifted your head to look at him, wincing at the way your sweaty skin had stuck to his. “What’s wrong?” 

“There is a considerable difference between ‘incredible’ and ‘pretty good’,” he told you, the disgust clear in his voice. 

You were already smiling at the way ‘pretty good’ sounded in his accent. “Sorry, I meant it was the single most mind-blowing experience of my entire life. Is that better?” 

Viktor hummed, but his amber eyes sparkled down at you. “That seems like a lie. But it is fine. We can work up to incredible.” 

You chuckled at that, and Viktor pressed a kiss to the back of your hand as you settled back against him.

---

Author's Note - You'll note that this isn't a two-part fic, but there will be another Viktor fic this Fanfic February because I had two ideas that I liked.

Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you thought!

[fictional-musician-competition]

ROUND 2 POLL P

[frogthane]

I love how professor Heimerdinger became a street musician, happy to just be able to play his little guitar and sing tales weaved of wisdom; Ekko got his childhood back briefly and was able to reconnect with those he once seemed forever lost, either to death or the past, and even kindled a flame of passion.

Meanwhile, Jayce is the sole human left in a post-apocalyptic world, deals with severe injuries and no better way to cure them than the good ol handy dandy twist and snap method, agonizes over his entire life’s purpose and what it has become, evades divine creatures that behave like they’ve in fact spawned from the depths of literal hell, only to finally make it to the summit of Hextech and find Viktor spouting a bunch of existential and philosophical bullshit about why he gave Jayce the stone, and then he gets whisked away back to his dimension with the sole task of killing his own lover brother.

I’m so glad everyone got an equally as enlightening experience of character development this season😊

[applebuttercringe]

Arcane and Class Conflict

So, it has become pretty obvious that Arcane will mostly abandon the class oppression plotline and end Season 2 with Zaun and Piltover teaming up to fight off Noxus. The plot is almost definitely going to gloss over Caitlyns fascist martial law over Zaun, and focus the story on redeeming her personally via her relationship with Vi. As is reasonable, a lot of people are kind of upset with this direction, and in general how Arcane seems to try and portray both sides as equally in the wrong even when the majority of Zauns issues can be directly traced back to mistreatment by the Topsiders.

Lets be honest, this was obvious from the start. Here's why:

Arcane was made by a big budget corporation: Arcane cost $250 Million to make, which is the largest budget for an animated series ever. This money came directly from Riot games. Riot isn't exactly the most enlightened company. Despite their profits and budget increasing year over year (the average income per employee was $600,000) in 2024 they layed off 530 employees with little warning or reason. Then they opened an Arcane themed office with Executive offices. They recently settled a $100 Million dollar Sex discrimination lawsuit for gender discrimination and sexual harassment in the workplace. As talented as the writers, artist, designers, musicians, coders, animators, etc. at Riot are, ultimately the story has to fit into the boxes of what the producers and executives want. Those executives aren't exactly the most class critical.

Arcane is first and foremost an advertisement: Arcane is a prequel for League of Legends, giving more detailed backstories to some of their most popular characters (Jinx, Vi, Caitlyn, Jayce), after Arcane was released the usage rates of these champions increased immensely and with it so did the profits associated with these champions. Interestingly, the amount that these characters popularity increased was mostly in line with how well their character was received in Arcane. For example: despite being practically unrecognizable to his League counterpart in season 1, Viktor experienced one of the greatest increases in usage rates of all champions. This was directly connected to his fan favorite status amongst the Arcane audience. As such, Riot has an investment interest in making the champions as interesting, badass, and likable in Arcane as possible. If Caitlyn was really torn down by the narrative for her turn to fascism they might not sell as many Pool Party Caitlyn cosmetics. In Arcane, the world building regarding extreme poverty and oppression is just a backdrop to give the champions cool backstories. Not to make you think critically about wealth disparities or systematic oppression.

Not to mention, taking any political stance at all would alienate part of the audience. They invested $250 Million dollars in this show, they need/want it to appeal to the greatest audience possible if they are going to make that money back.

Arcane is character focussed, not world focussed: From the beginning Arcane was always focussed on the characters first and foremost. I saw some people upset that Season 2 didn't spend enough time on the world outside the main cast. Like not showing the audience in detail how the power struggle between the chem-barons affects life in the Undercity. But this is just always how Arcane has been. Season 1 never focussed on how the Hexgates revolutionized trade or cross continental relations, only on how it elevated Jayce. The most we saw of the child labor in the mines in season 1 was as a backdrop for a Jayce and Vi fightscene, and then a child is fridged to start an argument between them. In season 2 the only significance the freeing of the child miners is that Isha joins the cast. The world exists to serve the characters, as is only shown in detail in the way it directly affects the characters. It is a cool setting, but ultimately the show will always spend more screentime on the characters emotional lives than the cultural and economic life of Zaun and Piltover as a whole. This isn't necessarily a good or bad thing, it is just a writing choice. This also means that the finale will be far more focussed on the conclusion of these characters emotional arcs than it is in resolving or otherwise finding some conclusion to the civil war plotline.

Of course Arcane isn't a revolutionary story about rising up against oppressors. It is a League of Legends champion advertisement. Subversive political takes don't emerge from big budget blockbusters on Netflix. That isn't necessarily a bad thing, it is just the genre.

Just some thoughts. I've seen some discussion about this and wanted to throw in my two cents on the topic.

[theplatinumcritter]

Hey so like why tf haven't I seen anyone talk about the implications of the alternate timeline shown in ep7

Like yes the focus is on Ekko seeing what he could've had,seeing Powder,seeing the world he's always wanted

BUT THE IMPLICATIONS?????

First of all Jayce probably got a worse reprimand because his work killed someone,and that someone was an actual kid. Second of all Hextech doesn't exist,did Jayce pull through with taking his life? Was he stopped anyway but went and did something else? Was it Viktor?? Is there a Viktor here or did something happen to him?? What about Caitlyn,she's close to Jayce,and this means there's no Vi for her to meet

AND VANDER. VANDER LOST NOT JUST HIS FRIEND BUT HIS FRIEND'S DAUGHTER. Does he blame himself? How did he handle the grief?? Was Silco already in the picture did they raise the kids together in this timeline? Or was it after and Silco changed upon seeing Vander so distraught?? Probably the former assuming Silco read that letter in this world but still

What's up with the council? Did Heimerdinger retire? Was he never part of it to begin with?? He's surprisingly chill with just being a musician ngl

Just. CAN SOMEONE THINK ABOUT THE IMPLICATIONS WITH ME. IS THERE FANFIC ABOUT THIS ALREADY. I'M GOING INSANE HERE

[nalyra-dreaming]

Is there any sort of supporting vampire index? I read the first five books back in high school and have been slowly making my way through the entire series (currently mid merrick) this year. But recently it feels like every other day someone brings up an important character from the later books that already appeared, or was implied in the show.

Nonny, you're in luck :)

Anne herself provides us with one in "Prince Lestat" and in "Prince Lestat and the Realms of Atlantis" :) Obviously the short descriptions refer to the book versions. I would take note of Sevraine (who is Gabrielle's implied girlfriend later on!), Seth and especially Fareed, and definitely Rhoshamandes and Amel here. Gregory, too. And Viktor (whose summary does not contain the reveal btw) and Rose. These at the very least :) - let me know if you want to know more details!

I'll paste the character list from PLatRoA here! SPOILERS though - so under the cut!

Characters and Places in the Vampire Chronicles

Akasha—Queen of ancient Egypt six thousand years ago, and the first vampire ever created, through a merger with the spirit Amel. The story is told in The Vampire Lestat and in The Queen of the Damned.

Allesandra—A Merovingian princess, daughter of King Dagobert I, brought into the Blood in the seventh century by Rhoshamandes. First introduced in The Vampire Lestat as a mad nameless vampire living with the Children of Satan under Les Innocents Cemetery in Paris. She also appears in The Vampire Armand in the Renaissance where she is named, and later in Prince Lestat and Prince Lestat and the Realms of Atlantis.

Amel—A spirit who created the first vampire six thousand years ago by merging with the body of the Egyptian Queen Akasha. The story is told in The Vampire Lestat and in The Queen of the Damned. Prince Lestat and Prince Lestat and the Realms of Atlantis continue the story of Amel.

Antoine—A French musician exiled from Paris to Louisiana and brought into the Blood by Lestat around the middle of the nineteenth century. Referred to as “the musician” in Interview with the Vampire. Later appears in Prince Lestat and Prince Lestat and the Realms of Atlantis. A talented violinist and pianist and composer.

Arion—A black vampire of ancient times introduced in Blackwood Farm. At least two thousand years old, perhaps older. Possibly from India.

Arjun—A prince of the Chola dynasty in India, brought into the Blood by Pandora around 1300. Appears in Blood and Gold and also in Pandora.

Armand—One of the pillars of the Vampire Chronicles. Armand is a Russian from Kiev, sold into slavery as a boy, and made a vampire in Renaissance Venice by the Vampire Marius. He is introduced in Interview with the Vampire, and appears in numerous novels in the Vampire Chronicles, telling his own story in The Vampire Armand. The founder of the coven at Trinity Gate in New York. Armand maintains a house in Paris in Saint-Germain-des- Prés, which functions as the Paris Court for Prince Lestat.

Avicus—An Egyptian vampire who first appears in Marius’s memoir, Blood and Gold. Appears again in Prince Lestat.

Benedict—A Christian monk of the seventh century in France, brought into the Blood by Rhoshamandes. Benedict is the vampire from whom the alchemist Magnus stole the Blood, a theft described in The Vampire Lestat. Appears in Prince Lestat and Prince Lestat and the Realms of Atlantis as Rhoshamandes’s companion and lover.

Benji Mahmoud—A twelve-year-old Palestinian Bedouin boy, brought into the Blood by Marius in 1997. Benji originates the vampire radio station heard round the world in Prince Lestat. Resides at Trinity Gate in New York and sometimes at the Court of Prince Lestat in France. First appears in The Vampire Armand when he is living in New York with his companion, Sybelle.

Bianca Solderini—Venetian courtesan brought into the Blood by Marius in Blood and Gold around 1498.

Château de Lioncourt—Lestat’s ancestral castle in the Massif Central in France, splendidly restored and the home of the new dazzling and glamorous Court of the Vampires with its orchestra, theater, and frequent formal balls. The adjacent village, including an inn and a church and several shops, has also been restored to house mortal workers and visitors to the Château.

Children of Satan—A network of medieval vampire covens, populated by vampires who sincerely believed they were children of the Devil, doomed to roam the world in rags, accursed, feeding on the blood of innocent humans to do the Devil’s will. Their most famous covens were in Rome and in Paris. The coven kidnapped many of the fledglings of Rhoshamandes until he finally left France to get away from them. And the Children of Satan in Rome spelled catastrophe for Marius and his great Venetian household in the Renaissance. Armand told of his experiences with the Children of Satan in The Vampire Armand.

Chrysanthe—A merchant’s widow from the Christian city of Hira, brought into the Blood by Nebamun, newly risen and named Gregory in the fourth century. Wife of Gregory. Introduced, along with Gregory, in Prince Lestat.

Cimetière des Innocents—An ancient cemetery in the city of Paris until it was destroyed near the end of the eighteenth century. Underneath this cemetery lived the Coven of the Children of Satan, presided over by Armand, which is described by Lestat in The Vampire Lestat. Referred to in the novels as “Les Innocents.”

Claudia—An orphan of five or six years old, brought into the Blood around 1794 by Lestat and Louis in New Orleans. Long dead. Her story is told in Interview with the Vampire. Later appears as a spirit in Merrick, though the appearance is suspect.

Cyril—An ancient Egyptian vampire, maker of Eudoxia in Blood and Gold, and named for the first time in Prince Lestat. Age unknown.

Daniel Molloy—The nameless “boy” interviewer in Interview with the Vampire. Brought into the Blood by Armand in The Queen of the Damned. Also appears in Blood and Gold living with Marius. Also in Prince Lestat.

David Talbot—Introduced as an elderly member of the Talamasca, an order of psychic detectives, in The Queen of the Damned. Becomes an important character in The Tale of the Body Thief, and also solicits Pandora’s story from her in Pandora. A pillar of the Vampire Chronicles.

Davis—A black dancer from Harlem, a member of the Fang Gang, brought into the Blood by Killer sometime in 1985. Introduced in The Queen of the Damned. Further described in Prince Lestat.

Eleni—A survivor of the Children of Satan who helps found the Théâtre des Vampires in Paris in the eighteenth century; corresponds with the Vampire Lestat after he leaves Paris to travel the world. A fledgling of Rhoshamandes made a vampire in the early Middle Ages.

Enkil—Ancient King of Egypt, husband of the great Queen Akasha, the second vampire to be brought into existence. His story is told in The Vampire Lestat and The Queen of the Damned.

Everard de Landen—A fledgling of Rhoshamandes from the early Middle Ages who first appears in Blood and Gold and is named in Prince Lestat.

Fareed—Anglo Indian by birth, a physician and researcher, brought into the Blood by Seth to be a healer and researcher of the vampires. A major character introduced in Prince Lestat.

Flannery Gilman—An American female medical doctor, biological mother of Viktor, and brought into the blood by Fareed and Seth. Part of their medical and research team working with the Undead.

Flavius—A Greek vampire, a slave purchased by Pandora in the city of Antioch and brought into the Blood by Pandora in the early centuries of the Common Era.

Gabrielle—Lestat’s mother, a noblewoman of breeding and education, brought into the Blood by her own son in 1780 in Paris. A wanderer who dresses in male attire. A familiar figure in the background throughout the Vampire Chronicles.

Gregory Duff Collingsworth—Known as Nebamun in ancient times, a lover of Queen Akasha and made a blood drinker by her to lead her Queens Blood troops against the First Brood. Known today as Gregory, owner of a powerful pharmaceutical empire in the modern world. Husband of Chrysanthe.

Gremt Stryker Knollys—A powerful and mysterious spirit who has created for himself over time a physical body that is a replica of a human body. Connected with the founding of the secret Order of the Talamasca. Introduced in Prince Lestat.

Hesketh—A Germanic cunning woman, brought into the Blood by Teskhamen in the first century. Now a ghost who has managed to produce a physical body for herself. Also connected with the origins of the secret Order of the Talamasca. Introduced in Prince Lestat.

Jesse Reeves—An American woman of the twentieth century, a blood descendant of the ancient Maharet and brought into the Blood by Maharet

herself in 1985 in The Queen of the Damned. Jesse was also a mortal member of the Talamasca and worked with David Talbot in the Order.

Khayman—An ancient Egyptian vampire, made by Queen Akasha, and rebelling against her with the First Brood. His story is told in The Queen of the Damned.

Killer—An American male vampire, founder of the Fang Gang in The Queen of the Damned. Of unknown history or origin.

Lestat de Lioncourt—The hero of the Vampire Chronicles, made a vampire by Magnus near the end of the eighteenth century, the maker of a number of vampires, including Gabrielle, his mother; Nicolas de Lenfent, his friend and lover; Louis, the narrator of Interview with the Vampire; and Claudia, the child vampire. Presently known as Prince Lestat by one and all.

Louis de Pointe du Lac—The vampire who started the Vampire Chronicles by telling his story to Daniel Molloy in Interview with the Vampire, an account of his own origins, which differs in some ways from Lestat’s own account in The Vampire Lestat. A French colonial plantation owner made a vampire by Lestat in 1791. Appears most prominently in the first Chronicle, and in Merrick, and in Prince Lestat and Prince Lestat and the Realms of Atlantis.

Magnus—An elderly medieval alchemist who stole the Blood from a young vampire, Benedict, in France. The vampire who kidnapped and brought Lestat into the Blood in 1780. Now a ghost, sometimes appearing solid, and at other times as an illusion.

Maharet—One of the oldest vampires in the world, twin to Mekare. The twins are known for their red hair and their power as mortal witches. Made at the dawn of Vampire History, they are rebels leading the First Brood against Queen Akasha and her Queens Blood vampires. Maharet is beloved for her wisdom and for following all of her mortal descendants through the ages all over the world, whom she called the Great Family. Maharet tells her story—the story of the twins—in Queen of the Damned. She also figures in Blood and Gold and in Prince Lestat.

Marius—A pillar of the Vampire Chronicles. A Roman patrician who is kidnapped by the Druids and brought into the Blood by Teskhamen in the first century. Marius appears in The Vampire Lestat and numerous other books, including his own memoir, Blood and Gold. A vampire known for reason and gravitas. Much loved and admired by Lestat and others.

Mekare—Maharet’s twin sister, the powerful red-haired witch who communed with the invisible and potentially destructive spirit Amel, who later went into the body of Queen Akasha, creating the first vampire. The story of Mekare and Maharet is first told by Maharet in The Queen of the Damned. Mekare figures in Blood and Gold and in Prince Lestat.

Memnoch—A powerful spirit claiming to be the Judeo-Christian Satan. He tells his story to Lestat in Memnoch the Devil.

New Orleans—Figures prominently in the Vampire Chronicles as the home of Louis, Lestat, and Claudia for many years during the nineteenth century, at

which time they resided in a townhouse in the Rue Royale in the French Quarter. This house still exists and is in the possession of Lestat today, as it has always been. It was in New Orleans that Lestat encountered Louis and Claudia and made them vampires.

Notker the Wise—A monk and a musician and a composer brought into the Blood by Benedict around A.D. 880, maker of many boy-soprano vampires and other vampire musicians yet unnamed. Living in the Alps. Introduced in Prince Lestat.

Raymond Gallant—A faithful mortal scholar of the Talamasca, a friend to the Vampire Marius, presumed dead in the sixteenth century. Appears again in Prince Lestat.

Rhoshamandes—A male from ancient Crete, brought into the Blood at the same time as the female Sevraine, about five thousand years ago. A powerful and reclusive vampire obsessed with operatic music and performances, and the lover of Benedict. Lives in his castle on the island of Saint Rayne in the Outer Hebrides, traveling the world from time to time to see different operas in the great opera houses.

Rose—An American girl, rescued as a small child by Lestat from an earthquake in the Mediterranean around 1995. His ward. Lover and later spouse of Viktor. Introduced in Prince Lestat.

Saint Alcarius, Monastery of—The secret residence of Gremt, Teskhamen, and other supernatural elders of the Talamasca in France, near the Belgian border.

Saint Rayne— The island on which Rhoshamandes lives. Santino—An Italian vampire made during the time of the Black Death.

Longtime Roman coven master of the Children of Satan. Presumed dead.

Seth—The biological son of Queen Akasha, brought into the Blood by her after a youth of roaming the ancient world in search of knowledge in the healing arts. He is introduced in Prince Lestat and is the maker of Fareed and Flannery Gilman.

Sevraine—A remarkably beautiful Nordic female vampire, made by Nebamun (Gregory) against Akasha’s rules. Sevraine maintains her own underground court in the Cappadocian Mountains. A friend to female vampires. Introduced in Prince Lestat.

Sybelle—A young American pianist, beloved friend of Benji Mahmoud, and Armand, brought into the Blood by Marius in 1997. Introduced in The Vampire Armand.

The Talamasca—An ancient order of psychic detectives or researchers, dating back to the Dark Ages—an organization of mortal scholars who observe and record paranormal phenomena. Their origins are shrouded in mystery until they are revealed in Prince Lestat. They have Motherhouses in Amsterdam and outside of London, and retreat houses in many places, including Oak Haven in Louisiana. First introduced in The Queen of the Damned and

figuring in many Chronicles since. Vampires Jesse Reeves and David Talbot were mortal members of the Talamasca.

Teskhamen—Ancient Egyptian vampire, the maker of Marius as told by Marius in The Vampire Lestat. Presumed dead until modern times. Connected with the origins of the Talamasca. First named in Prince Lestat.

Théâtre des Vampires—A boulevard theater of the macabre, created by the refugees from the Children of Satan, funded by Lestat, and managed for decades by Armand, who had once been the coven master of the Children of Satan.

Thorne—A red-haired Viking vampire, made centuries ago in Europe by Maharet. Introduced in Blood and Gold.

Trinity Gate—A coven dwelling made up of three identical townhouses just off Fifth Avenue on the Upper East Side of New York. Armand is the founder of Trinity Gate. And it functions now as the American Court of Prince Lestat.

Viktor—An American boy, biological son of Dr. Flannery Gilman. His story is revealed in Prince Lestat. Lover and later spouse of Rose, Lestat’s ward.