My name is Valkyrie, I'm a published poet and writer from Aotearoa and I've finally decided to dabble more into fanfiction and actually posting what I've written so far!!
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Fandoms/things I like:
♡ … Outlast
♡ … Resident Evil
♡ … The Last of Us
♡ … Buffy the Vampire Slayer
♡ … We Happy Few
♡ … Undertale/Deltarune
♡ … Austin Powers
♡ … Skulduggery Pleasant
♡ … Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde
♡ … Pitch Perfect
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I also take writing commissions!! Please read this guide to learn more and see pricing :)
Valkyrie’s writing commissions!! Hello and thank you for considering me to commission! I greatly appreciate anything you send my way :) I
I'm excited to start sharing my work again and am always looking to meet other writers! Thank you for looking at my blog and hanging around ^-^
i hate that when you try and look up shit for writing purposes it starts linking suicide hotlines and addiction advice articles like bro i just wanna know the information im not killing myself i promise. now tell me what i wanna know
Everyone stop writing plus size!Reader fics where the whole plot is that the reader is insecure about their weight/looks. Better yet: don't explicitly write about the readers weight in ANY fic, like that just makes more sense.
You don't write "your brown hair blows in the wind" you just write "your hair blows in the wind". So why do we feel the need to make comments on the readers weight/body in fics when it's just another physical description that the writer can't exactly determine because it's up to the READER to decide.
As someone who is fat or at least falls on the plus size spectrum, it really takes me out of reading fics when weight is mentioned in any way. "You're so small", "you weigh nothing" etc. it's just not very fair for anyone especially if you want it to reach more people if that makes sense???? Obviously those statements above can make sense if there's a size difference in characters because of other factors but if it's just two "normal" people it absolutely doesn't need to be brought up LOL
I'm so sick of seeing PS!reader fics that are like "ugh I'm so ugly and disgusting and a pig no one will love me nor should they." If you want to write a PS!reader fic, don't make them filled with self-hatred, don't make the plot about the love interest liking them no matter what and that reader is actually beautiful because it's just pushing the sentiment of "you're not fat, you're beautiful."
Anyway, TL;DR: Stop writing about weight in fics when you don't need to, and if you're writing a plus size reader, don't make them hate themselves so intensely because I'm going to lose my mind!!!!!!!
Hi everyone!! I just wanna apologise for not updating my GooseberryxDimitrescu fic recently!!! I've been working on other projects and haven't found time or motivation to edit or write more of it :(( I'm going to try get back to it soon and write more fics to post!! If anyone has requests for fics or anything else please let me know!!!!
Lowkey personal gripe with fanfic on here is people using the smallest possible font because it's aesthetic or something, like PLEASE I can't READ THAT I feel like an old lady squinting at my phone trying to figure out what these characters are saying!!!!!
A portion of my Lady Dimitrescu x Mother Gooseberry fanfiction available on ao3!!
words: 308
warning// Blood
read the full fic here <3
Dimitrescu roamed the building as she drank, passing the rooms of the other prime assets. Some of them were inside, like a pair of conjoined twins swapping perverted comments between each other, and a man curled on his bed sucking his thumb and softly kicking his feet. She began to realise Mother Gooseberry might not be the worst of the lot. Speaking of, she found herself outside the plastic window of Gooseberry’s room. The walls had drawings by children sprawled across, and mannequin heads holding the faces of victims on the shelf.
Gooseberry was humming to herself as she sewed together a rip in her skirt, a yellow lamp lending no help.
“No puppet?” Dimitrescu said as she passed through the door.
Gooseberry jumped at her presence, the needle diving into her finger causing her to wince. She pulled it out and placed it onto the table, holding her hand and groaning.
Dimitrescu watched as the blood began dripping out of the little hole, bright red and thick. She couldn’t help herself.
She placed her cup on the desk and knelt down by Gooseberry, “Let me help.” She took her hand, curling her fingers in so only her index was out, she wrapped her lips around and began sucking the blood from the prick in her finger. Dimitrescu did plan on only drinking a small amount, but Gooseberry’s blood tasted so good she had to have more. It tasted like sweet fruit and the tip of a knife, she swore it sang to her, telling her to keep putting more down her throat. She gazed up at Gooseberry who was watching her with intrigue and traces of fear. But she didn’t stop her.
Dimitrescu let go of Gooseberry’s hand, licking her lips and sighing with relief, “I’m sorry,” she smiled, “The blood they’d given me wasn’t exactly to my taste.”
Gooseberry’s words were caught in her throat, “It’s okay, I understand.” She didn’t, not one bit, but she didn’t know what else to say in a situation like this. “D-do you need more?” She asked, sticking her hand out again.
Dimitrescu waved her away, standing up, “I’ll be fine.” She grabbed her chalice and slowly walked back to the door. Before she left she looked back at Gooseberry, “For now.”
Does anyone have any ideas/recommendations for more Outlast Trials fics? I wanna do more but not sure where to start or what to do :0 if anyone has anything feel free to send them to my asks!! <3
Also posted on ao3!! Updates will be added there :3
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
The Sinyala Facility was cold and dim. The only colour it had was the safety signs and posters reminding you to behave and believe. Doctors and scientists, all with their faces covered, filled hallways while carrying clipboards and exchanging hushed remarks. Lady Dimitrescu sat and observed her surroundings while smoking a cigarette from her quellazaire.
One of those faceless doctors appeared at her side, “Doctor Easterman will see you now, Miss.”
She raised from the chill metal chair and followed behind him. In the distance there were screams and cries. Not that it wasn’t anything she wasn’t used to, but it was different what they did here compared to the village, more uniform.
The doctor gestured to a thick, dark wooden door, different from all the others in the hall, and quickly left to continue whatever task was keeping him before. Dimitrescu turned the handle and bent down through the doorway. The office was dark and held a thick layer of smoke and alcohol on each item. Files and confidential notes created a paper city in the room that rats inhabited. Dimitrescu sneered at the sight, and cleared her throat to gain Doctor Easterman’s attention.
He swivelled his chair to face her, a cigarette hanging from his lips, the room was too dark for her to see his face but she knew he was thin. “Alcina Dimitrescu, is it?”
“Lady Dimitrescu,” She corrected as she took a seat.
“Right,” he rested his cigarette in the overflowing ashtray. “I’m sure you’ve been briefed on what you and your… family are doing here. I appreciate your readiness to join us in changing the human mind as we know it.”
Dimitrescu tried to hide her disinterest, “We didn’t get much say in the matter, but I’m sure this will be an experience.”
“And a wonderful experience at that,” Easterman added.
Lady Dimitrescu didn’t respond.
“You have been paired with our Prime Asset known as Mother Gooseberry. A sweet, well, motherly woman adorned with a goose puppet.”
“A puppet?” She asked, gazing down at him.
“Yes,” he began, pausing to take a sharp inhale of his cigarette,”You’ll meet him, don’t worry.” The smoke spilled out as he spoke. Dimitrescu had more questions for the mysterious doctor, but before she could get a word out Easterman’s intercom on the desk rang. He pressed a button, “Yes?”
“Doctor Easterman, Doctor Wernicke has requested you in the reagent sleep room,” The monotone woman said through crackled audio.
Easterman sighed,”Just a moment.” The intercom shut off and the doctor took one last drag from his cigarette, squishing it into the ashtray, shrivelled tobacco spilling over like a wave on the desk. “I’m sorry, Lady Dimitrescu, I’ll have to cut this short.”
“I understand,” Dimitrescu muttered, standing from her seat and leaving the room.
“Just one more thing, Miss Dimitrescu,” Easterman called from his chair.
She turned, still hunched down.
“A piece of advice before you meet Mother Gooseberry: Doctor Futterman is not just a puppet. I wouldn’t provoke him.”
Dimitrescu let those words settle as much as they could before she gave him a nod, shutting the door behind her and leaving for the waiting room.
Lady Dimitrescu was told to observe Mother Gooseberry in a trial to get an idea of what she’d be doing, and also to meet her new “coworker” as the scientist walking beside her had said. She was escorted to meet her by what they called an insertion gate. As they got closer, Dimitrescu could hear a grating, mocking voice and a soft, honeyed tone responding. There was a quiet breakroom outside the insertion gate, with brutal metal furniture and a poster that said ‘hang in there’ with a man hung from a tree, she broke a smile.
The scientist waved her through the door and hurried away. Sat in the corner was a large woman in a delicate white button down and red tartan skirt. Her face was painted stark white, her red lipstick smeared to the side. But the most prominent thing about this woman was the puppet resting on her right hand. It was massive and covered in grime with human-like teeth. It could’ve been real teeth for all she knew. The woman turned and stared at Dimitrescu. So this was Mother Gooseberry.
“Did you need someone to reach the top shelf for you, Phyllis?" the puppet, Doctor Futterman, spat humorously at Mother Gooseberry, letting out a guttural chuckle afterwards.
“Daddy, that’s no way to talk to new friends,” Mother Gooseberry scolded Futterman. “I’m sorry about him, he seems to be in a slight mood today.”
“You call him Daddy?” Dimitrescu asked cautiously.
“It’s Doctor Futterman to you, skyscraper,” the puppet grumbled.
Gooseberry covered his mouth and pushed him away, “Daddy!”
Dimitrescu was starting to plan what she’d say to Mother Miranda about taking them all here. This woman was all kinds of insane. And once Dimitrescu had seen her up close, she realised it wasn’t her face painted white, it was a mask stapled to her real face cut with eyeholes and a small slit for her mouth. It was all rather disturbing, considering it seemed to be made from human skin, but somewhat artistic.
“So,” Dimitrescu sighed. “How does this work?”
Mother Gooseberry turned to observe the insertion gate. “Once that light turns green we can enter. That screen tells us which one of us can enter,” She pointed to each object she spoke of then faced Dimitrescu again.
“And what do we do again, exactly?”
“Drill! Cut! Bleed! Murder!” Doctor Futterman yelled.
Dimitrescu was getting annoyed with this whole puppet thing. She didn’t deny he probably scared the reagents, but did he have to be in the sleep room?
“Yes Da– I mean, Doctor Futterman. They’re trying to take things from us, destroy and hurt the children, we have to stop them at all costs,” Gooseberry added.
Dimitrescu watched the security camera feed playing in the corner of the room. Three people frantically running around an abandoned factory while mutilated beings followed closely behind. One of them fell to the ground, their pursuer caught up, stood over them and began hacking. It made her think about the Lycans. Disfigured, disgusting and rabid. They only answer to that all-knowing voice that can sometimes snap them out of their crazed states. The two other reagents watched from afar before deciding to keep running.
The green light penetrated the dull room while a siren rang out. A cracked TV demanded Mother Gooseberry to enter the insertion gate, and she swiftly obliged.
“Watch and learn,” Doctor Futterman said before the gate closed and Dimitrescu was alone.
She pulled up a chair in front of the camera footage, watching intently.
Gooseberry hunted like a lion through the dark hallways, Futterman spewing demeaning remarks at her as she tried to focus. Dimitrescu watched as a reagent stumbled and glass cracked under their bare feet just down the hall from Gooseberry. She whipped her head around, the reagent was trying to stifle their cries of pain, but once they saw Gooseberry bounding towards them, they bolted back the way they’d come, running into cans and dolls hanging from the ceiling, making more noise than a marching band. Eventually they found themselves at a dead end, a brightly lit room with nowhere to hide. Gooseberry entered the room, Futterman cheering her on to slaughter the poor guy. The reagent pleaded but it was no use. All Dimitrescu could see from the camera was Mother Gooseberry over the reagent on the floor and a fountain of blood pouring from their face as they screamed like she’d never heard before, the sound of a drill could faintly be heard underneath it all. Once the place was filled with silence and blood, Gooseberry calmly left the room, making her way back to the insertion gate.
The door opened, Gooseberry’s white blouse was now stained red, the same went for Doctor Futterman’s teeth and bill. Dimitrescu swallowed and stared at her.
“That was an impressive display,” Dimitrescu cooed at Gooseberry as she took a seat.
She looked up at her but not for long, “Oh, well that’s very kind of you… Oh my goodness, I never caught your name! How rude of me.”
“You stupid slut!” Futterman hissed. “Did I not teach you any manners?”
Dimitrescu looked at him, eyes wide, then looked to Gooseberry for a reaction but all she did was look to the floor.
“I’m Lady Dimitrescu,” She smiled, looking at Gooseberry from the brim of her hat.
“It’s wonderful to meet you, Lady Dimitrescu, I’m glad to make a new friend.” She extended her hand but Dimitrescu did not reciprocate.
Gooseberry’s eccentric voice that Dimitrescu had heard inside the trial had dropped and became flat as she played with her skirt, trying to “fix” it.
