#and wants nothing more than to bring them misery | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

artstennisracket · 6 days ago

Text

Sativa! ib: sativa by jhene aiko please listen while you read!

author’s note: this is a collab fic i made with ava (@tacobacoyeet) bc she’s the one i always bring music inspo to when I hear a song and it makes me want to write bc ik she’ll understand. when I brought this idea to her she helped me flesh out the idea and the rest was history. i love her so much it’s ridiculous and we each wrote 2 parts each and melded them together so I hope you guys enjoy!

summary: You can’t take it anymore. The stuffy dresses, the snobby people, you need to escape yet another event rich people only go to in order to flaunt their wealth. So you text the one person you think might be able to save you.

pairing: patrick x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw (18+), drug use, fingering, p in v, smoking while fucking

i know you won’t leave me hanging, smoking weed out the container

The champagne tasted like boredom. Flat, expensive, and trying far too hard to be impressive. You took another sip anyway, because it gave your hands something to do, and because the flute made a nice little clink when it tapped against the gold railing of the rooftop terrace.

Below, the gala sprawled in all its glittering misery—crystal chandeliers, murmurs over chamber music, men in tuxedos with cufflinks more expensive than most people’s rent. Women swanned around in couture like walking centerpieces, gloved hands clutching clutches, smiles sharp enough to slice a soufflé. Somewhere inside, a string quartet played a Vivaldi arrangement no one was truly listening to.

You’d made it exactly forty-two minutes before sneaking upstairs. Forty-two minutes of fake laughter, tight smiles, and your stepmother introducing you as "our little darling" like you were a rescue poodle. You knew this world inside and out—had grown up attending galas like this since you were old enough to toddle in patent leather shoes. It was all an exhausting pantomime. Your family’s wealth stretched back generations—old money, museum-donor, building-name-on-the-wing kind of money. And with that came expectation: charm, poise, silence, discipline. The good daughter. The pretty one. The polished porcelain kept on the top shelf.

But lately, the mask had started to slip. You weren’t sure when it began. Maybe it was the third boarding school, or the fourth therapist. Maybe it was the year you turned twenty and realized you didn’t care about charity auctions or legacy internships. You were supposed to inherit the world, and all you wanted was to escape it.

The dress tonight was Dior—custom-fitted, a shade of moonlit pearl that clung to your hips like obligation. Your hair had been twisted into something that would hurt by the end of the night, and you were wearing earrings that once belonged to your great-grandmother, the kind that required insurance. And none of it felt like yours.

You set the glass down and checked your phone.

Nothing from him.

Yet.

The screen glowed in the dim rooftop lighting. You opened your messages, thumb hovering. You shouldn’t. You really, really shouldn’t.

But your lungs itched, your throat burned for something more than champagne, and your skin felt too tight in this couture prison of a dress. You needed out. Not just from the party, but from the whole fucking night.

You opened your texts and scrolled until you found him.

you up?

A beat. Then another. Then:

i need to get out of here. i’m going to lose it.

are you close?

please.

You exhaled like you'd been holding your breath for the past hour, which… honestly? Maybe you had.

Another 20 minutes pass by and you started to give up hope. Maybe he was already sleeping. Or just with another girl or guy or whatever. Clearly you were not getting saved by your knight in shining armor. Until your phone buzzes once more.

im outside

You down another glass of champagne before making your way outside. He was here, in his 2007 Honda CR-V. Still fairly new, only a few years old. But a punishment from his parents nonetheless, for crashing his BMW the summer after highschool ended.

Climbing into the passenger side and shutting the door behind you, you can already tell what he had been doing that night, “So you’re not gonna share?”

He laughs, pulling away from the venue to park in an empty parking lot. “Been here less than 2 minutes and you’re already making demands. I rolled a fresh new joint just for you, princess.” It’s demeaning. A nickname he gave to you after a different late night smoke session where you opened your heart out about how being in this uppity world feels. Yet it still fuels the pit in desire you feel in your stomach. It’s been building for some time now.

He smirks, leaning over to open the glove box. He takes out his grinder, rolling tray, and rolling papers. He takes a little baggy out of his hoodie pocket and gets to work. You watch him intently. He’s focused. More than focused that he ever was at school or his latest tennis matches. He takes this craft seriously. More seriously than the craft that’s supposed to pay his bills.

Licking the paper to place his final seal, “The perfect joint. Best one I’ve rolled all week,” he murmurs. Holding it between two fingers with the mouth end facing you. You take it from him expectantly, placing it between your lips loosely. He takes out the roach he had tucked on top of his ear like a pencil to bring to his lips. Lighting it up, being careful not to burn his fingers.

You look at him, eyelids low with fake annoyance, head tilted in waiting. He knows you never carried lighters. You didn’t smoke enough to. You don’t smoke without him. This was maybe the third time you ever have. With your back pressed against the car door and your body shifted so you can face him. He rolls his eyes, leaning over the center console to light the joint between your lips.

You take a drag, blowing the smoke directly in his face. He smiles, finishing the roach to toss it out the window. You knew it would be long before he asked for yours.

“You’re getting good at that. Be careful, people might think you’re a stoner.”

“Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad,” He can hear the glint of mischief in your voice. But there’s was something deeper underneath. Tier to your utter dislike of the world you had to live in. Fancy parties, gallery opening, charity benefits. Appearances meaning everything. Your parents planning out every step of your life. You having no say. You’re sure they wouldnt be happy about this. This was not apart of their plan.

He studies you for a second too long. The curve of your cheek in the streetlight. The way your gown is folded awkwardly in the cramped seat, hitched up just enough to show the expensive sheen of your thigh. Smoke curls from your lips like you were born for it. He swallows something that tastes a lot like trouble. There’s a flicker of something darker in his eyes—like he’s watching a secret unfold just for him. Like the sight of you in his world, already a little undone, is his favorite kind of victory.

You glance at him, eyes narrowed. "What?"

He shrugs, feigning nonchalance. "Just thinking how funny it is. You, sitting in my busted-ass car, looking like that."

You smile lazily, teeth barely showing. "Maybe I like busted things."

His gaze drops to your mouth. "That right?"

You take another drag. Hold it. Blow it slow, right past his lips. He doesn’t move.

The tension is thick—coated in weed smoke and something warmer. Hungrier. Your hand lowers, brushing the edge of the console, knuckles grazing his. Not on purpose. Not really.

But you don’t pull away.

His fingers shift just slightly, meeting yours. It’s barely a touch—more suggestion than contact—but it shoots heat up your arm like he’d kissed the inside of your wrist. You can feel the air change, the quiet crackle between you.

He doesn't look at you right away, just passes his joint back with a casual, "You good?"

You nod. You take it from him and inhale deep, holding it for a beat too long, eyes locked on the slouch of his shoulders, the lazy way his legs are spread. When you hand it back, your fingers brush again. Deliberately.

His mouth quirks. Not quite a smile. Not yet.

The tips of his fingers trail from your knuckles up to your wrist—lazy, exploratory, like he’s just thinking out loud with touch. He taps the back of your hand gently, then lets his fingers slide up the soft skin of your forearm, featherlight.

Your breath hitches. Just once.

He leans in. “Princess,” he says low, amused. “You’re fidgeting.”

“Am I?”

“You’re squirming.”

You meet his eyes. Challenge blooming in your chest. “And what if I am?”

He lets his fingers keep going. Slow and smug. “Then I’d say you’re high. Or bored. Or...” His hand brushes the bare skin above your knee now. "Just looking for a better way to pass the time."

You don’t answer.

Because you know exactly which one it is.

You shift a little closer. Your knees could touch now—just barely. The air between you is humid with tension and weed and your perfume, some expensive jasmine blend that clings to your skin and his memory.

His hand lingers at your thigh, but this time it doesn’t just brush—it settles. Warm, solid, fingers splayed casually like they belong there. He watches your face the whole time, like he’s waiting for you to flinch. You don’t.

You lean forward again. Not for the joint. For him.

His breath catches before he can school it. You’re so close now, he could count your lashes, could taste the ghost of champagne on your breath if he dared to lean just half an inch more.

You tilt your head. “Still think I’m fidgeting?”

He laughs, but it’s quiet. Strained. A little rough. "No."

Then you swing one leg over the center console. Onto his lap. Slow. Intentional. Your dress rides up, the fabric pooling around your thighs as you settle, straddling him in the front seat like it's the most natural place in the world.

His breath catches—like he can't believe you're actually doing it. Or maybe like he can, because he knew you'd end up here eventually. They always do, when he pulls just right.

His hands go to your hips automatically. Instinct.

And now you're both holding your breath.

His hands grip your hips a little tighter—firm, possessive, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you. Your hands find his shoulders, warm under the hoodie, and you press into him just slightly, enough to make his breath stutter. His head tips back against the seat, and that’s all the invitation you need.

You kiss him.

It’s slow at first. Curious. His lips part with a quiet sigh against yours, and your fingers curl into the fabric at his shoulders. You kiss him like you’ve been meaning to for a while, like you’re tasting the idea of him. Weed and mint gum and something soft, unexpected. He hums into your mouth, one hand sliding up your back, finding the zipper of your dress but not tugging—just resting there, like a promise.

Then he kisses you back like he’s starving.

His mouth moves against yours with a sudden urgency, teeth grazing your lower lip, his other hand gripping your thigh hard enough to make you gasp. You shift in his lap and feel him already hard beneath you, and it makes you move again—just enough to draw a reaction. He groans into your mouth.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he mutters, breath warm against your cheek.

“Shut up,” you whisper, kissing him again, deeper this time, rolling your hips once—twice—until he’s cursing and dragging you closer.

His hands slide up your thighs, thumbs pressing into the soft skin just beneath where your dress has ridden up. He pushes it higher, bunching the delicate fabric around your waist, exposing you fully to his hands, to his eyes, to the heat blooming between you.

“You’re seriously in Dior right now,” he says, voice low and wrecked, eyes flicking down to where the silk is gathered around your hips.

“And you’re seriously hard in sweatpants,” you shoot back, breathless.

He laughs, sharp and dizzy, before pulling you into another kiss—this one filthier, deeper, with his hand sliding beneath the hem of your panties like he’s done it a hundred times before.

And maybe, in his head, he has.

Your head falls forward onto his shoulder as his fingers find exactly where you’re already wet for him. “Fuck,” he says into your hair. “You’re soaked.”

“Yeah,” you breathe, mouth at the base of his throat. “So do something about it.”

He does.

Patrick’s fingers start slow—just the faintest brush along your slit, dragging through the wetness he found like he has all the time in the world. He presses his forehead to yours, eyes half-lidded, watching every little twitch of your mouth, the way your lashes flutter when he circles your clit with the pad of his finger.

You grind down into his hand, chasing pressure, but he pulls back just a touch. Not enough to stop, just enough to make you feel how deliberately he’s holding back. “Pat—”

“Shhh,” he breathes, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Let me take my time with you.”

One finger slips inside, slow and deep. Your jaw goes slack. You cling to his hoodie, nails digging in, and he groans at the feel of you clenching down around him already.

“So fucking tight,” he murmurs, kissing your neck now, biting softly just below your jaw. “You get like this at every gala, or just when you’re slumming it with me?” His voice drips with something filthy—amusement, maybe. Or pride. Like he likes knowing he’s the one who makes you forget what you’re supposed to be.

You don’t answer. Can’t. Not when he’s curling his finger just right, when his thumb is back on your clit, drawing soft, steady circles that make your thighs shake.

He adds a second finger, and you gasp—hips jerking, breath hitching. “There she is,” he says, mouth ghosting over your collarbone. “Knew you’d let go for me.”

“All that polish and pedigree, and you’re falling apart in my lap,” he whispers, more to himself than you. Like he’s savoring it.

The rhythm is relentless but controlled. He fucks you with his fingers like he’s playing a game he’s already mastered—like he’s memorized every sound you make and exactly what each one means. Your hips start moving without thought, chasing every press of his hand, every graze of his knuckles.

“Patrick,” you gasp. It’s all you can manage—his name, like a warning.

He slows. Eyes locked on yours. Thumb easing off your clit.

“Not here,” he says, voice low and wrecked. “Not like this.”

You blink at him, dazed.

“I want you,” he breathes, pressing a kiss to your jaw, then another just below your ear. “But I want space. I want to lay you out. You deserve more than cramped angles and my fucking center console digging into you.”

You exhale shakily, heart racing. Then you smirk.

“Isn’t that what the backseat’s for?”

His eyes darken. Your answer hits him like a spark to dry tinder. He smiles, crooked and dangerous. “Yeah. That’s exactly what it’s for.”

“After you Princess,” he nods towards the space between the two front seats. You made your way to the backseat as gracefully as you could, crawling between two car seats. You stop to sit on the center console with your back facing him.

Moving your hair so the dress zipper is exposed, he gets the message, unzipping your dress. Taking his time. His eyes follow from the nape of your neck all the way down your now exposed spine. He traces lightly, fingers ghosting the slight curve of your spine. All the way down until he stops right above the waistband of your panties, “No bra?” he questions barely above a whisper.

You continue pulling your dress and panties off until you’re left in nothing. Leaving both articles of clothing abandoned in the passenger seat where you once sat. Before making your way to the back seat finally.

You sit on the right side, back pressed against the soft cushiony seat. You could sit here and explain the intricacies of Women’s clothing and the decision making process behind when to wear a bra and when not to, but instead you opt for the more fitting, “Are you complaining?”

It’s more of a rhetorical question. His eyes are already locked on your exposed boobs, nipples hardening from the light chill of the AC. His eyes drag across your body until he reaches your eyes. Smirking just to add, “Me? Complain about you? Never.” Rolling your eyes to hide how the light sarcasm in his tone is turning you on more than it should.

He follows, sitting right next to you. Clothed thigh pressed against your bare one, but not for long. He takes off his hoodie (no t-shirt underneath, shocker), sweatpants, and boxer briefs, with a sense of urgency.

He pulls you into his lap so you’re straddling him, mirroring the position you were just in minutes ago. You both lock eyes. His eyes roam your face like he’s trying to immortalize this moment. Cradling the back of your jaw, while grazing his thumb across your bottom lip. Without a second thought, you open your mouth slowly. Maintaining that eye contact while sucking his thumb into your mouth.

He sucks in a breath, subconsciously biting his bottom lip. You suckle his thumb, swirling your tongue around it, tasting yourself. The grip on your waist tightens, his fingertips digging into your skin and pulling you closer. Letting his hardness slide back and forth between your folds aided by your slick. A small whimper caught in your throat as his tip catches against your clit.

You see the way his eyes darken despite being surrounded by the darkness of the night. Like a switch flips in his head, he can’t wait any longer.

He cradles the back of your head as he changes positions, laying you down on the seats while he hovers over you. Slowly pushing inside you so you could really feel him filling you up inch by inch. You can feel the way your body stretches to accommodate his size. Your walls gripping him, sucking him in, in a way that makes his jaw tense. “Fucking hell,” he mumbles against the crook of your neck where his head had fallen.

“Patrick,” you gasp as he bottoms out. Nails digging into his upper back pulling another moan out of him. He starts his strokes off slow. Like he’s trying to savor the moment. Or maybe he’s trying to ingrain his spot in your body.

He lifts his head up, green eyes meeting yours. The sliver of light descending from the street light cascades across his face, allowing you to really see him for the first time tonight. You always used to tease him saying his eyes were actually hazel and not green, but up close you can tell he was right. Freckles sprayed over his face. They were your favorite physical feature about him, but you’d never tell him that. His brow was furrowed, the effort he was exerting visible. Sweat starting to form as he picks up the pace, “Fuck Princess, you’re so fucking tight. Gonna be the end of me I swear.” Not a hint of sarcasm behind the nickname.

Moans falling past your lips after he adjusts his angle to hit that spongy spot inside of you. But you can’t let him think he’s got you, yet, “Don’t tell me you’re close already,” you try to say as smooth as you can but the breathiness laced in your words gives you away.

He pulls out, making you whine at the loss. Wiping the sweat on his forehead before grabbing your hips to flip you over. Slumped over with your head resting on the seat while your ass sticks up in the air. He pushes back inside of you, quick and easy with how wet you are , “Big words for someone who’s dripping for my cock.”

He takes a moment. You can hear the lighter spark twice behind you, followed by the light sizzle of Patrick taking a drag from the previously forgotten joint. He keeps one hand on your hip, pulling you back to meet his thrusts over and over again. Other hand free to help him continue smoking.

You can’t see him, but the mental image combined with him assaulting that perfect spot inside of you is getting you really close to the edge, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, Patrick! I’m so ah—you’re so deep.”

He takes another drag, not letting up on his pace, “Yeah does it feel good? Me fucking my cock so deep inside you. Shit. Taking it so well.”

You nod, the side of your face dragging against the fabric of the car seat. You’re slamming your hips back to continue meeting his thrusts while you move one hand underneath you to start playing with your clit. Rubbing back and forth, Patrick’s balls slapping against your folds while his cock presses up against your g-spot and, “Ah ah I’m coming, fuck Patrick. I’m coming, I’m coming oh fuck.”

“There we go,” he grunts as your walls spasm around his cock. He places what’s left of the joint in a cup holder before gripping your hips with both hands so he can finish. Using your body to get off, your slick and cum starting to pool around the base of his cock. A few more hard thrusts and, “Shit baby, so fucking hot. Came all over my dick ah, m’gonna cum. Your tight fucking pussy ah—shit, fuck Princess, fuck,” he’s spilling inside you. Staying all the way pressed inside, ensuring you take it all.

After he pulls out, his hands rest on your ass. Fingers spread over your cheeks as he holds you open to stare at where he’s filled you up. Still trying to even out his breathing, “I don’t have any napkins or wipes in here.”

Blissed out from your orgasm you just hum in acknowledgment. Lazily you start, “So how am I gonna—“ you get caught off by the feeling of Patrick’s tongue diving into your hole. It’s slow and deliberate. Half like he’s trying to clean you up and half like he’s trying to make another mess. You wince from the overstimulation but whimper from the pleasure. “Patrick,” you whine. Subconsciously pushing back on his tongue a little bit. It didn’t take long until you were clean (debatable). The cum being replaced with spit.

He leans back to sit, grabbing the joint and lighter again before resting against the car door. You maneuver yourself so you’re sitting next to him. He throws his arm over your shoulder, pulling your face towards his chest. You watch in silence as he sparks the joint once again. Taking a drag before wordlessly placing the joint at your lips. You inhale while he holds it, exhaling after he moves it away.

You both sit there in silence. Skin to skin. You can hear the steady rhythm on his heart beat from where your ear is pressed against his chest. Silence broken by Patrick after another drag, “Wanted to do that since forever.”

“The fucking me part or the smoking while fucking me part?”

“Both,” he lets out a low chuckle. Giving you the last hit before he rolls down the window to toss out the roach and air out the mixture of smells in his car, sweat, weed, and sex.

taglist: @tacobacoyeet @newrochellechallenger2019 @antxnxlla @hanneh69 @urmomsucksfrogs @ctrl-mari @cha11engers @jesuistrestriste @imperishablereverie @shahabaqsa0310 @destinedtobegigi @ghostgirl-22 @artaussi @nozhdyved @asteroid-yuri @sweetheartfaist @jordiemeow @hangels @elsieblogs

#mel writes✍🏾#challengers #patrick zweig #patrick zweig x y/n #patrick zweig x you #patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig smut #challengers smut #challengers 2024 #avaaaa <3 #collab fic #with my wife #we worked on this for a good amount of time guys

153 notes · View notes

mollygrass · 29 days ago

Text

Turning but Resisting

Remmick x female reader

Summary: You're the one with the voice that lures Remmick to the juke joint and he succeeds in killing everyone, but you. Sooner than later he catches you in his wicked grasp eventually.

Warnings & Tags: ⚠️ MDI ⚠️ , preacher girl reader, coward reader, primal play, reader gets turned into vampire, dark Remmick

A/N: This is only proofread once, sorry for any grammatical errors. Please enjoy.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺ ‧⁺ ‧

It’s been done and it’s game over for everyone. All their bodies lie limp, drowning in pools of blood. Everywhere in the juke joint is nothing but rubble. Chairs broken for weapons, tables flipped upside down, blood splattered on walls and the floor. Remmick did the place in with plenty of time left as the moon still shines.

Far off into the woods nearby your sobs echo. They are loud and pathetic, ruining the silence of the woods. It disturbs the animals running about in the darkness, but to Remmick it’s a beautiful symphony to his ears. His haunting laughter fuels your burning legs to keep going. Flashing on replay before your very eyes is the bile inducing events from the juke joint.

In bone-freezing fear, you beheld their brutal deaths one by one. Each of them put their lives on the line for you. They protected you from that vile monster, Remmick. Yet, your body wouldn’t even allow you the privilege to aid them in the fight. All you did was cling to your guitar and cry. Like a true coward you listened to Smoke’s last words as the light faded from his eyes.

“Run…hurry up and never look back.”

You spared him one last glance. Jumped out of the juke joint’s door from high up, tumbled to the ground in a crash and never looked back. Just as he told you to. Originally when you made it into the tree filled land you thought maybe you could escape the white devil. But that hope quickly shattered when you heard him calling out to you.

So, now you sprint, breathlessly. Dodging every branch, bush and log with precision. However, you don’t know how long you’ll last. Not to mention his mocking echoes seem to loom closer with each dashing step you take.

“Run all you want, but you know I’ll get you soon.”

Hearing his voice so close nearly trips you as your feet tangle from daring to peek over your shoulder. He’s right because the more you keep pushing onward the more your limbs grow heavy as lead. The arm carrying your guitar goes limp and a cramp blossoms to life in your ankle. Distracted by the new pain in your bone, a rock trips you.

Your body crashes, rolling wildly on the damp grass. You don’t stop until your side slams into a tree. It knocks the wind out of your lungs and for some time you lie there writhing in pain. The terrified little voice in your head yells for you to get up, but your body cries the opposite.

Grass crunching beneath a pair of shoes stirs you awake. It’s him and he’s not too far away.

“Aww, look at ya. You done went and hurt yourself. Poor thing,” he coos.

Shaking away the pain burning in your side you spring to life on your feet. You try sprinting away, but he’s faster. In a blur your back is slammed against the tree’s hard bark. His long, sharp claws hold you still. There he savors the sight. You, nails digging into his sleeve. Fresh tears threatening to fall as you whimper in his hold.

He licks his lips. “Be still, this'll only hurt a bit, darlin.”

You squirm in his iron grip like prey desperate to live. “No, no, no! Please, stop it! I don’t wanna die,” you sob.

Your cries fall on deaf ears as he leans in, sinking his razor teeth into your delicate flesh. Your skin easily tears and blood sprays everywhere. He hums, enjoying the sweet taste. The way your hands shake, gripping his shirt to how your voice wavers in pure shock. It fills him to the brim with cruel delight.

Misery comes, finding you quick and it brings guilt as well. They chew you to bits before spitting you out and worse of all remind you of the lives lost earlier. Each of their dying breaths sparks something new in you. An emotion you haven’t known all night—rage.

Ignoring the burning of your muscles in your arm, you slam the guitar in his head. He stumbles back on his feet, the guitar’s silver disk splitting his skull.

Free of his grip, you slip away past him. The aching pain spreading in your neck slows you. You silently sob, applying pressure on the grave wound. It’s pathetic, really. The way you drag your feet in a limp like an animal who barely escaped its hunter. Step after step your vision blurs. Regardless of the amount of pressure you force on your neck, the blood doesn’t stop gushing out.

“I don’t want to die. Please, god, please.”

Weak and tired from all the blood soaking your neck, your body leans on a tree. Slowly you sink to the grass. Your hand still resiliently presses on your neck as your head spins in endless loops.

A voice rings in your ears. It’s not yours. No, it’s his.

That’s it, just let go.

A wave, powerful and strong, hits you hard. It’s like your drowning, sinking further to the dark abyss. Deep where the light doesn’t shine. You fight against it, mind thrashing around.

Don’t fight the inevitable.

You can’t stop what’s already been written in blood, darlin.

Hanging on to what’s left of life by a thin thread, you see him. Through your blurry gaze you watch helplessly as he cradles you closer in his hold. His muscles flex, hooking around your torso leaving no space between you two. Instinctively, you tightly grasp at his shoulder for support.

He softly hushes you, kissing and licking away your tears. “It’s okay I’ve got you. I’ll take care of you.”

Then his voice comes again, but it’s everywhere in you.

You shove weakly at his chest, whining. “No, stop…get out.”

“Just let it happen, darlin.” His blood stained lips curl as he chuckles. “After all, you’ll let me in eventually.”

Part two?? Maybe?

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺ ‧⁺ ‧

@boogiemansbitch as promised I tagged you!! I hope this is how I’m supposed to do this loll

#remmick x reader #remmick x female reader #remmick x fem!reader #remmick x you #remmick fanfic #remmick fic #remmick imagine #remmick sinners #remmick #sinners fanfiction #sinners fic #sinners fandom #sinners #jack o'connell

158 notes · View notes

shaunamilfman · 5 months ago

Text

canine teeth (in the side of my neck)

pairing: Shauna Shipman x f!r Summary: Shauna's chasing you through the woods. note: minors DNI. warnings for blood, biting, also kind of dubcon but (spoiler: discussed, consented to before hand and mentioned in the end.). thank @soffsh2 for this one too ngl.

For a brief moment, as your face slams into the ground and everything goes a little hazy around the edges, you think you might’ve just died. Which is a dumb thought, all in all. As if the universe would let you be that lucky by now. The Wilderness, the mystic force that has seemingly guided your life since your plane crashed down into the shithole, wouldn’t let you do something as simple as black out when it could wring out a few more painful hours from you.

You can feel the blood dripping down your face and pooling into the dirt beneath you, like you’re already being prepared to be their next sacrifice. There’s no time to deal with the mess you’ve made of your face in the fall, not when Shauna was so close behind you. You’re scrambling up to your knees when your legs are pulled out from beneath you by a tight grip on your ankle, and suddenly you’ve got another face full of dirt. There’s a loud grunt of complaint from Shauna as your foot lands hard in her stomach in a futile attempt to get away.

She manages to fumble your ankle just long enough for you to get it free, but she’s scrambling over you to plant her knee squarely in the center of your back. You’ve taken more than your fair share of hits, both in soccer and out in the wilderness, but the feeling of her resting the entirety of her weight on that one spot is enough to make your eyes water with pain. You can’t help the pained groan that leaves your lips, even as your hands start searching for some sort of purchase to get out from underneath her.

God, you would take anything to get away from her right now. Any of the other girls were better. You would even take Misty over Shauna. The fact that you’ve reached a point in your life when that comparison matters would be sickening if you weren’t so fucking terrified you could hardly think.

Her hands wrap around your arm, pulling it out from under you hard enough that you can already feel the bruise forming. She wrenches your arm back far enough that you could feel that strain of it in your joints. Shauna’s treating you like some kind of ragdoll she could just maneuver wherever she wanted. It’s not like she was wrong. The feeling in your shoulder made you sick, like all it would take is one thoughtless tug to do some real damage to you. Something Shauna was more than capable of, shown time and time again.

She had enough leverage on you that the only thing you could do was scream as her teeth sank into your arm like some kind of feral animal.

There was absolutely no warning, not even the mocking taunts you expected there would be. You didn’t even see it coming until suddenly your arm felt like it was on fire. The pain of it was blinding, enough to make the lingering ache of her knee seem like background noise as every nerve in your body was lit up by the feeling of her teeth latching on like she was trying to see how deep she could go before something gives beneath her.

All you could do was writhe and gasp, biting at your lip hard enough that you felt something tear beneath your teeth in some desperate gesture to keep yourself quiet. The only thing screaming would do was bring more of them toward you, which was the last thing you needed. Then again, maybe cooler heads would prevail, and they'd put you out of your fucking misery instead of eating you alive.

You can’t focus, can’t even think.

It’s strangely quiet between the two of you, nothing but the sounds of leaves and twigs crackling as you struggle beneath her and the frantic wheezes that leave your lips when you can manage to rub enough brain cells together to remember you need to breathe. The pressure of her weight on your back doesn’t help, making each and every breath a struggle to overcome as she presses you into the dirt.

Shauna huffs out an annoyed breath that ghosts hot against your arm as you cry out again, pulling away just enough to clearly hiss “Shut up!” before biting back down. It has the opposite of its intended effect as she bites down somewhere new, sending even sharper waves of pain instead of the duller ache you'd grown used to. It tears a sob out of your throat as you feel her jaw flex, grinding her teeth back and forth like some rabid animal. A sawing motion that makes you feel like she’s trying to tear her way through your skin and start ripping pieces off right there.

She doesn't like that at all, a fact she's not shy of making clear. The words she's speaking are so muffled as they vibrate against your arm that you almost can't make them out as she speaks them, and the panic that revelation causes didn't help correct it. It’s like every part of your body capable of conscious thought has fled and left you to flail around helplessly beneath her.

You can feel her hand sliding up your back, her hand pushing with deliberate force that you can’t even begin to fight against. All you can do is suck in another breath before your face is crushed into the damp earth beneath you. It’s cold, still a little wet from the rain the night before, already sticking to your face and smearing across your skin. The scent of dirt fills your nose; the taste clings to your tongue. That’s all you have: dirt and pain.

Finally, mercifully, you’re able to make out what she was saying.

“Shut up, shut up, shut up.” Like if she just says it enough, you’ll be forced to listen. If only it were that simple. Then, so quiet that you think you must have imagined it, "Please."

Still, everything that’s happened so far has nothing on the jolt of pure fear that goes through your body as her grip on your head shifts. Just enough for you to feel the way her fingers are wrapped around the hilt of her knife behind your head. Oh, God. You didn’t think it could get worse.

You stiffen as you notice, and she flexes her fingers purposely around the hilt. She wants you to know, doesn’t she? Wants you to feel the way she holds your life in her hand while you're powerless to stop it. Shauna’s just playing with you now, but that could change just as quickly as she wills it to. It’s a threat and a promise.

“Please!” You cry out, so muffled by the dirt in your mouth it comes out as a strangled whimper. You aren’t even sure she could hear you to answer. But Shauna hesitates just for a moment, her breath stuttering and her mouth going slack for a half a second before she’s biting again.

That’s all you need.

“Shauna, please. Please.”

Shauna doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even justify your begging with a response, but what she does do is answer enough. You can feel her shifting on top of you, and at first you think she might just be getting a firmer position to dig her knee further into your spine, taking the last of your breath from your lungs.

That’s until the first slow roll of her hips as she’s pressed against your side. It’s a lazy, almost mocking grind. Taking her time with you, knowing there’s not anything that could stop her from it. You shudder, a different feeling altogether from the fear that’s been wreaking havoc on you rising up and settling in your stomach.

She doesn’t say a word. She doesn’t have to.

You beg just the way she wants.

“Please, please,” you garble around mouthfuls of dirt, tongue covered in grit and blood but too desperate to care as you force the words through chapped lips. “Don’t kill me, Shauna. You don’t want to do that–”

She bites harder in response, and you cry out, your voice cracking.

Shit.

Shauna does want to do that.

Shauna wrenches your head to the side as she rubs your cheek into the dirt, now wet with your drool as you spit out what you can manage even as the taste of it lingers on your tongue. Your head is turned the other way, so you can’t even see her. Maybe it’s better that way.

“Fuck, Shauna. Jesus,” you hiss.

The pressure of her jaw softens just slightly, not because of anything you could say to convince her otherwise, but because in all your thrashing beneath her she manages to find the angle she needs to draw a whimper from her lips as she slowly moves against your side.

But fucking you means she’s not trying to eat you, right?

“Shauna, God. Don’t stop. Please. I’ll do anything.”

Oh, she liked that last one.

It’s one thing to be at her mercy. Another to feel how much she enjoys it. And she is enjoying it. You can tell with each roll of her hips, so wet you can feel the warmth of it through her sweatpants. With each motion, she becomes more coordinated, more set in her rhythm as quiet noises leave her lips and echo against your arm.

She grinds her teeth at your inaction, digging further into the torn skin of your arm.

“Please, Shauna,” you plead, going tense as the blade of Shauna’s knife presses against your face. It’s cold, so fucking cold that the temperature itself is a shock to your system beyond just the threat that it carries. The blade might as well be frozen for how it feels against your sweat-slickened skin.

Blood drips onto your skin, and for a moment you think she’s killed you before you realize it was hers. A cut on her hand bleeds freely down the side of your face where she must have nicked herself on the blade during the struggle. “Oh, fuck. Shauna, don’t–”

You sputter as it finds its way down your face to your lips, the copper taste causing you to jerk away and only managing to give yourself a shallow cut across your face for your trouble. You hiss in pain, which draws Shauna’s attention for a moment as her jaw slackens. Concern, amusement–maybe both. But she’s too invested in causing you pain and getting off, not necessarily in that order, to pay it any mind.

“Shauna, Shauna! Please, please. Be careful.”

She can’t pull away, can only push closer.

Shauna’s getting closer. You can tell. The sounds that leave her lips make you ache even as she tries to stop them, the heat of her impossible to ignore. Shauna’s lost herself in the sensation, quiet needy noises spilling against your skin as she starts to get desperate.

“Anything you want, Shauna,” you breathe in a low whisper, feeling the way it makes her hips stutter before pressing harder against you. “You don’t want to kill me, right? Then you could only eat me once.”

It should disgust you that those words are what finally make Shauna come with a pitiful whine, hips moving frantically against you as she chases her high. But she just sounded so good. Her jaw clamps down reflexively, tearing another scream from your lips that goes straight through Shauna as she shudders in response.

Shauna groans, finally letting your arm slip out of her teeth to flop uselessly against the ground. She follows it down, drawing pained whimpers from your mouth as she laps at the edges of the wound with her tongue. It’s somehow more painful than the biting was, the slow drag of the tip of her tongue as she maps the bloodied skin. At least you had grown somewhat numb to the biting.

The gentleness was so much worse, each press of her tongue like she’s mapping you. Then she hums, low and unhurried, and you know that she knows. That she wants it this way.

She’s going to be the death of you one of these days.

And what a way to go.

…

She rolls you over on your back as she stares down at you, the knife still held loosely in her hand where it rests against your collar before she reluctantly hooks it in the back of her pants. You huff a laugh, reaching up to slap at her shoulder.

“What the hell?” She questions, glaring down at you as she rolls her shoulder. You roll your eyes. That didn't hurt.

“You fucking bitch,” you accuse. “Thought you were going to break my arm the way you were bending it.”

Shauna shrugs, like it was a small price to pay until she catches sight of the glare you're sending her.

“I'm sorry,” she says wryly. “Is that better?”

You scoff, and Shauna just grins down at you with bloody teeth, which is a look. You hate how much you like it about as much as you hate how Shauna immediately takes notice. She raises your bloody arm to her mouth, slowly running her tongue across the torn skin as you hiss in pain. At least, you think it’s pain.

There’s something about the warm press of her tongue as she reopens the skin again that leaves it up for debate. Especially as she grabs your hand, shifting up on her knees to swing one leg over your hip as she brings your fingers where she wants them.

Again.

#minors dni #yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets x you #shauna shipman x reader

216 notes · View notes

porcelainbirdss · 4 months ago

Text

the sweetest

summary: when someone told you that being in love doesn’t necessarily mean loving, you couldn’t believe the absurdity of that statement. as life went on, the truth of those words would continue to weight heavily over your head.

cw: fem!reader, both mydei and reader are equally disturbed individuals, toxic relationships, codependency, angst, hurt with the littlest of comfort, soulties/soulmates au || wc: 10k

the food on your plate seemed especially unappealing today. on the other hand, was it ever? perhaps when you first stepped into Okhema, completely enamored by the culture. yes, you could remember it clearly - the way it would melt on your tongue, flavors mixing with fresh air you’d breathe in everyday on the high balcony. meat and fruits, expensive wine you spent way too much money on. you’d chuckle to yourself as you dipped the slices of cheese in honey, thinking about how lucky you were to reside in the holy city. the state of unawareness you possessed only made everything more blissful.

right now the dinner was nothing but dry - with the first bite, you genuinely thought you would choke. it tasted the same way his name felt on your lips. Mydeimos. the man that decided to test your patience, will and mental strength everyday. you didn’t like the thought, but did he bring anything other than misery into your life? at first you didn’t want to perceive the relationship you both shared as something inherently bad — as time went on, it turned out near impossible. venom seemed to be laced through his words, and you knew that it seeped from your mouth too. sometimes you liked to imagine him as the wrong one - however, with the way things stood, you were equal in your spite. you could stop the chain of events and run somewhere else, to another city. looking back, it was the best option you had, and yet still declined to take. rope bound your hands to his, and you would tug on it relentlessly. in the back of your mind, the image of Mydei finally stumbling over, and letting go replayed constantly. but if it ever came to that, would you be satisfied? happy?

the answer was simple, but dreadful all the same - no.

as you took another bite of your meal, the image of your late mother flashed. perhaps she was the root of all your suffering? the damned prophecy she revealed to you when you were younger, of a boy with golden hair dipped in blood, who one day would bask in glory.

"you see, my dear [name], all of humanity has their other half, hidden somewhere. not everyone is destined to meet them, but you will. i’m sure of that."

(the way she smiled at you with so much glee in her eyes was disgusting).

"but mom, how do you know?"

(you wish you never asked this question).

"i have my ways," she chuckled, swiping the mischievous hair behind your ear, "see that mark on your wrist? look for someone with the same one. it means you both are meant to be."

you glanced at the singular line that stretched from the knuckles up to your wrist, and thought it looked more like a scar than anything else. you have seen other people with similar marks - but they were always more intricate. veins of ivy embedding an arm, or stars splattered in a specific pattern. yours wasn’t like that.

"ugh… that will be so hard to spot on someone! do you at least know how that person looks?"

the woman seemed to take a second of contemplation. "well, it was revealed to me in a vague way. but i can tell you, if you want to."

"yes, please!" you giggled as you jumped up all thrilled, tugging at the long sleeve of her dress. to your younger self, there was nothing more exciting than finally meeting the person you were 'tied' to. your soulmate.

"alright then,” your mother nodded, giving your head an affectionate ruffle, "his hair is blonde. it’s a very beautiful color, mixed with red. those eyes… striking to the bone. a born leader, i’m sure."

at that, you hummed in deep acknowledgment as you tried to imagine the boy. for some reason, nothing concrete came to you. still, it wasn’t like you were unsatisfied - maybe you had a different picture in mind, but that person was destined to you nevertheless! as you kept on brooding, one of your friends suddenly called out to you. immediately distracted, you followed after the beckoning girl to play in the fields.

how you wished it ended at that. your past self forgot, and kept on frolicking in the lush meadows with your old friends forever. your mother never passed, and you pursued your physician studies at home. the soulmate you dreamt of meeting got left behind as nothing but a mere, blurry visualization. but here you were, sitting in one of the apartments of Okhema, locked up in your room. Mydei was probably attending to some important stuff, or bickering with Phainon, like he always did. maybe they were sparring? from the sound of clashing swords outside, it was likely.

you sighed, digging the knife into the piece of meat with more force than necessary. the momentary guilt you felt from blaming your mother for the situation you created with your own hands shook you a bit. how could you? she never meant any harm. nor did you, but things turned out as they did, and who else was there to blame?

perhaps the winds that took you to the holy city.

it was unbearably hot that day. sweat covered your temples as you tried cooling down your face with a makeshift fan (which worked poorly). still, you couldn’t help but feel a wave of excitement wash over you as you took the views in. streets bustling with life, merchants yelling over each other, people laughing somewhere, and children running to their heart’s contents. the general atmosphere successfully pushed the discomfort to the back of your mind. it was only your sixth day in Okhema, yet you were already feeling as if it was the place you belonged to.

your peaceful stroll quickly came to a halt when you saw an awfully familiar silhouette standing not so far away. you didn’t know the man - it was not possible, as it was your first time seeing him. however, something about him seemed… unsettlingly different. you could recognize the blonde-red hair, so rare and distinct. you felt your heart jump - both from fear and elation, a mixture that caused you to freeze. you blinked twice, then rubbed your eyes, but the man was still there, talking to someone.

you clenched your fists as you remembered the words of your clairvoyant mother. meeting your soulmate wasn’t the objective of life you led so far, but the thought of having someone important was still dear to your heart. with new-found resolve, you took a few steps forward, wondering how you could strike up the conversation. first impression was always the most important, after all. the image of coming up to a stranger, and waving your mark before his eyes was ridiculous. what if it wasn’t him, after all? now that would’ve been awkward.

you approached the blonde, gently patting his arm.

"excuse me, sir, how do i get to the baths?" you could never go wrong with a classic. of course, you knew the way to the baths, but playing oblivious was your best option.

when he turned to face you, you felt your blood pressure rise once more. two golden hues met with yours, and at that moment, you knew your mother was right. striking. it was the only word you could use to describe them. fierce eyes filled with something your mind couldn’t quite comprehend. your gaze flickered over all of his body in search of a soulmate mark, yet you were unable to spot it. stress squeezed your guts. where was it? under his clothes? if so, then you had no real way of confirming if he was the one.

as he opened his mouth to answer you, his vision seemed to suddenly lock onto something else - your right hand. recognition seeped onto his face, and you felt brief relief before the man’s expression twisted. something was wrong. why wasn’t he happy? you were, at least that’s what you thought a few seconds ago. joy quickly morphed into an ugly feeling of distress, sitting firmly at the bottom of your stomach.

"is… is there something wrong?" you asked, furrowing your brows as the relentless sun beamed straight onto your nape. it seemed as if the heat only made the situation worse.

"i know you asked for directions, but i’d like to have a talk with you. in private." he glanced at the other man who was still standing there, "then, i can lead you to the bathhouse."

the slightly harsh tone of his voice made you wince, but you nodded, knowing that refusal wasn’t a choice you could afford to make here. the blonde excused himself, telling you to follow him somewhere secluded. you did, even though something deep within your mind was screaming at you to turn on your heel and run. at that time, you didn’t recognize it as anything other than nervousness. at least now you were aware your gut feeling was right. back then, if you decided to dismiss the man, would it all turn out differently? it is common knowledge - you meet your soulmate once, and the universe will make sure for you to never truly part ways. at the end of the day, it didn’t matter. you could have sprinted with all your might, but you’d still cross paths nevertheless. be it in a few months, maybe on your deathbed. there was no telling.

to be honest, it was much more of a complex problem. you could continue to blame all of your choices, thinking of ways you should have avoided it. the domino effect began long time ago, when your mother first got sick, and soon the delightful life you once had crumbled over your own head. all of your struggles lacked in any meaning, and the house of cards you meticulously crafted for all those years got swiped by a strong gust of wind. grief-stricken people seek resolve, and the only way of keeping your mind from the tragedy was to change your environment.

image of the man’s back as you trailed after him like some kind of a ghost was still vivid. something between his shoulder blades, located around his thoracic vertebrae caught your attention. it wasn’t easy to tell, but there it was. slightly obscured by his clothes, a singular line. that really was him. surely, the moment of meeting your soulmate didn’t go as planned, but perhaps he was more… sensitive than you? your fantasies of jumping into each other’s arms got successfully dimmed by his rather odd reaction, yet you couldn’t blame him. after all, it was so sudden, so unexpected. obviously he’ll eventually warm up to you.

after walking into an alleyway, you finally stopped, almost bumping into his back. fortunately, it was much darker and cooler here, and he couldn’t see the sweat beading on your forehead. the blonde turned to face you, his expression unreadable. it wasn’t angry, nor sad, but rather cautious in a certain way.

"show me your hand.” he demanded, stretching out his palm towards you. the man was straightforward, that’s for sure. usually you’d have no problem with it, except this time it actually irked you.

"you won’t even introduce yourself?" you cocked your eyebrow, gazing up at him with a bold look. his piercing gaze made you feel as if he wanted to fix you into place, just like people do with dragonflies. securing them with pins and needles, their lifeless forms never to move again.

you managed to spot the twitch of his eye. “Mydeimos." he huffed, lips stretching into a thin line, as if he was barely stopping himself from adding unnecessary comments.

"[name]." you replied shortly, placing your hand atop his. resisting made no sense, even though you wished to spite the impossibly impatient man.

is it really your soulmate if your first thought is to make his life harder? are you truly meant to be when instead of feeling giddy and excited, you’re starting to become irritated?

a clipped breath of disbelief escaped Mydei’s lungs, his grip on your hand strengthening just for a second before he let go. "why do you look so calm? do you not have any oppositions towards a stranger dragging you off, and then showing him your mark?”

that was a fair question. you definitely were acting as if the course of action was natural, even though it wasn’t.

"my mother, she—" you began, thinking of the simplest way you could explain it to him, "when i was younger, she had a prophetic vision. specifically speaking, of my soulmate. she managed to describe you to me, and the image stuck." a heavy sigh slipped from your mouth as you got met with silence, urging you to continue. "well, of course i wasn’t sure if it was you, but once i saw your back…"

you trailed off, wondering what caused Mydei to be so deeply submerged in his thoughts. all the time he kept quiet, looking between you and your wrist, as if contemplating something.

"a-are you not happy?" you managed to force out, dreading the response he would offer. slowly, the hopes of a better life with someone by your side started to fall apart.

you should have stayed in your hometown. why didn’t you?

(grief-stricken people seek resolve).

why do they seek resolve?

(because they have nothing—)

"no." Mydei’s curt answer cut through the air, making you jump. "i’ve no time for soulmates, or any other type of romance." he scoffed, "hmph, to think that a person would willingly put themselves through such trouble simply because of a mark on their skin."

you watched the man cross his arms over his chest, your eyebrows narrowing together. "then why didn’t you ignore me earlier? if soulmates really hold no significance to you, why’d you confirm we are tied?" you almost barked out, feeling the heat crawl back on your skin. oh no, you wouldn’t let it go simply because your soulmate is apparently also a coward.

"listen, i understand why you’re upset. my mind won’t change, though." the man’s tone got a bit darker, as if owning you at least an explanation was already too demanding. "i just wanted to set things straight with you. it is more than probable we’ll… stumble upon each other some more."

"so you don’t want me to get my hopes up, is that it?" you barely contained your anger, Mydei’s indifference only adding to the fire in your chest.

"exactly. now, do you still want me to show you the way to the baths? or was that just an excuse in order to talk to me?"

your fists clenched by your sides, and the thought of slapping him across the face appeared in your mind. fortunately (or perhaps not), you were above that.

"bastard." you hissed through your teeth, rapidly turning on your heel and walking away. damn him and that stupid stubbornness, and his hair, and eyes, and— and everything! not only did your 'soulmate' humiliate you, he seemed so stoic about the whole situation in contrast to your boiling blood — as if he didn’t care at all! and the bitter truth was, he most likely didn’t. why did your mother insist that you find him? her passing already took an unfathomable toll on you, and now her absurd death-bed wishes continued to only further your misery.

''once i’m gone, you’ll be left on your own'' she’d say, her voice trembling with fatigue, ‘'you’ll need someone to take care of you. to stand by your side, and protect from the world’s harm.'’

couldn’t you protect yourself? did she really think so lowly of you?

'’he will treat you well. i’m sure of it."

(liar).

you closed your eyes, traversing the streets at a fast pace. tears welled up behind your eyelids, and you knew it wasn’t because of how Mydeimos rejected you, but rather at the memory of your frail mom. the unwavering love still filling her gaze as coughs shook her body, careworn words urging you to find a better life. perhaps you weren’t doing it for yourself, but rather for her - for that ghostly vision of her face.

you seldom fought for anything, however now it seemed that a new resolve sparked within you. you won’t stick by your soulmate’s side, but you’ll strive. depending on anybody was no good, and that much was clear to you.

the memory of that fateful day made you cringe as you attempted to convince yourself the vegetables you were currently chewing on weren’t exactly awful in taste. they were, but you still continued to eat. wasting food wasn’t something you usually did, even if it was disgustingly bland.

three years passed since then, but all those events were still clear as a day in your mind. you remember swearing to yourself that you wouldn’t even look at Mydei’s face — turns out, Phainon found out about the correlation between you. it was long before you and Mydei started to jump at each other’s necks, so you were sure the man harbored no harm when he came up with that wicked plan of his. for whatever reason, he thought that playing a matchmaker was his call, and by some means he found out about your qualifications for a physician. the energy that emanated through your body, which took you years to master into a healing form would soon be used for a ‘greater good'.

Chrysos Heirs never exactly lacked in medical care, yet now you were hired as their personal nurse. by that, you also found out Mydei was apparently the crown prince of Kremnos. it wasn’t like you were unaware of his high status in society, but the sheer importance he carried took you by surprise. with that, something else was revealed — he couldn’t die. he was a warrior, and his body lacked in any kind of scarring. when you first heard it, you were almost relieved, as it obviously meant he wasn’t in the need of a physician.

turns out your hopeful thinking was for nothing, as your current position was only meant to get you both closer. you could as well be polishing the baths, and it wouldn’t make any difference.

it began out slow, and you don’t remember which one of you started it. you would regularly see Mydei, and share just a mere glance of acknowledgment. sometimes he’d scoff under his nose, then again you’d make a brief remark about his attitude. those small interactions were nothing but a dragged out prelude to the events that future held for you. a testament of sorts, building the fundaments of your downfall. snarky comments couldn’t sate neither of you, and soon you’d begin to argue on daily basis. soulmates are further cemented by interaction - which you were aware of, yet couldn’t stop digging your own grave. every time you talked to Mydei, you knew the mud around your ankles got denser, and soon you’d be stuck. he would be as well - at least you weren’t the only one at disadvantage here. constant fighting was draining, even for the mighty prince, and that thought never failed to make you chuckle grimly under your breath.

others took notice of the scenes you both would cause. sometimes they would end long before escalation, but more often than not Mydei was faced with flying ceramics, and you with a logorrhea of curses and damnations. the worst part is that it didn’t only affect you, but others too. even though you both had enough decorum to stop yourself from fighting in front of civilians, Aglaea would often point out how anxious Tribbie got, careworn by your constant barking and scowling. Phainon has shown genuine concern too, going as far as to scolding Mydei. needless to say, he was always getting dismissed by a wave of the uninterested man. as how things were unfolding, you had thought many times of leaving the Okhema. however, wouldn’t that equal you admitting defeat? in your soulmate’s eyes, your picture would be reduced to a cowardly nobody. for some reason, it would sting way more than his words.

"everytime you open your mouth, i am physically resisting the urge to push you off a cliff!" you seethed, shutting the cutlery drawer with an unnecessary amount of force. the knives and forks clattered inside loudly, filling the communal kitchen with an unpleasant noise.

"what makes you think you could?" Mydei snapped back, perhaps hoping to intimidate you. in answer, you cocked your head to the side, granting him with an unaffected look.

"just a guess, but you’re not very likable, are you?" you swiftly changed the topic, knowing that pushing him off a cliff was certainly impossible, and you had no arguments to back up your homicidal idea. "even your own people seem to—"

his eyebrows narrowed dangerously, clear indication you were walking on thin ice. "you’re not exactly popular around here, either." he interrupted, "you’re just a nurse, gods know from where—"

"just a nurse?!"

"—and nobody seems to take you seriously-"

"you’re foolish if you think i care about the opinion of other’s, especially yours!"

"well, maybe you should start to, because—"

"you think yourself mighty, huh? not everyone’s gonna be—"

"—i have a very good advice! pack your things, get out of Okhema, and as far—"

"—kissing your feet and worshipping the ground you walk on! unlike most people, i—"

"—as i am concerned, no one would miss you!"

"—actually have eyes and i’m capable of recognizing a cowardly bastard!"

you both kept screaming over each other, interrupting, and snarling as the packet of sugar between your fingers seemed close to ripping in half from the amount of tugging it faced. it was a conflict you could easily resolve, yet you seemed to ignore the fact. why share the sugar when you could fight for it instead?

every single one of your days in the holy city looked like that, filled with the sound of biting teeth and roars of anger. if you avoided the clashes, Mydei wouldn’t perceive you as someone worthy of recognition (and you needed to be, you had to make his life harder for the way he was treating you). if you ran, he’d laugh about it with others, saying how easy to scare off you were.

you could try to justify the reasons why you stayed, but at the end of the day, one answer resonated profoundly in the back of your mind — you wanted to prove it didn’t hurt.

"hey, would you two—"

"what?!" you yelled in unison, your necks snapping towards the innocent Phainon who stood in the doorframe of the kitchen, a bit shocked. you didn’t even notice when the sugar package torn in half, its contents pouring all over the floor.

"…keep it down." he finished with utter disappointment, his weary eyes taking in the mess you both made. "look, now because of your petty arguments the sugar is wasted."

Mydei measured you with his fierce gaze, and you did the same. the air got heavy with tension once more as you stared at each other with murderous intent, mulling over whichever insults would be the best this time. Phainon gripped the bridge of his nose with silent resignation, knowing the unavoidable screaming match was going to erupt once more.

"you clean it up!" you bursted out, pointing towards the sugar-covered tiles.

"no, you clean it up, you imbeci—!"

"why would i? i wanted the sugar first, and you started to—"

"what?! no, i put my hands on it first!"

"gods, you’re insufferable! that’s not how it—"

Phainon shook his head, closing the kitchen door with a loud thud. you paid no mind to him, way too occupied by your quarrel. even from the halls, he could still hear the distant shouting, and began to wonder how long it’ll take before someone loses their mind.

the arguments you shared varied on the scale of severity. one time they were closer to a bicker, and everyone was grateful that at least you didn’t want to kill each other. a few hours later the clamor was back on, and wouldn’t stop until you both got fed up. it mattered little whether the cause of your argument was serious, or no — you’d still put your everything into those screams. if someone told you that everyday you’d be having an altercation with the crown prince of Kremnos — be it about who gets the last sugar packet, or who is more of a pathetic-foolish-wrongdoer — you wouldn’t believe them.

it is said that soulties can make you feel emotions tenfold. sorrow, anger, joy, love. it only applied towards one’s soulmate, but could be destructive nonetheless. it can either make you more infatuated, or cause you to regret ever meeting them. you surely identified with the latter.

exactly one year passed before your relationship with Mydeimos took… a slightly off-track route.

it was pretty obvious that you and him were at your wits ends, and bearing any more of that would lead you both astray. each day, you prayed to whoever was willing to listen, begging for this nightmarish charade to finally end. countless days spent on either bawling your eyes out, or tearing your throat as you screamed in frustration were making you more than exhausted. wicked satisfaction coming from making Mydei’s existence harder was meek, and the constant headaches drove you up the wall. you felt trapped — perhaps you truly were. dark shadows hanging low under the man’s eyes were a clear indication he felt the same. still, no matter how much you tried to stay separated, the nature of soulmates was unavoidable. a bond, no matter how dire, once created wouldn’t be able to break. it could only progress further, and when you realized that you were practically attached by the hip, your heart sank low. did you really have no way of breaking free in this dystopian world? nowadays, even your own thoughts seemed to betray you. whenever you crossed the line with Mydei and said too much, guilt would follow you around like a stray dog. a dog from what? the nether, most likely. a vicious, snarling hound, gnawing at your bones, only to lick the marrow with apology in its bottomless eyes.

a tug of war. that’s the best way you could describe it.

as always, the sun hung high on the horizon, and even though you liked to think of yourself as accustomed to the holy city’s climate, it still took a toll on you. you decided to open the window, hoping the fresh breeze would make you feel better. it did, even if just a little. you sighed in relief, smiling to yourself as you watched children playing outside of your surgery’s window. they seemed so carefree, falling and instantly getting up, unable to pay any attention to their scraped knees as the whirl of fun distracted them from pain. this sight brought distant memories, buried somewhere deep within your mind. once, you were like them too — running around the fields, covered in dirt and grass until your mother would finally drag you home, and lecture how dangerous it was to stray so far away. when was the last time you thought about that? life in the holy city stripped you away from all that was once dear. never ending conflicts and problems piling upon one another, forcing you to push back any comfort left.

you prayed that those children would never have to bear such burdens, even though it was nigh impossible to avoid.

as you continued to brood, someone opened the door. your head snapped towards the direction of the sound, immediately recognizing the silhouette. your brows furrowed as you tore yourself off from the windowsill, stepping a bit closer to the man. it was an extremely rare occurrence — him visiting you out of his own volition, that is. you sent him a cautious look, feeling a tinge of anxiety rise up in your gut. you were having such a good day, and now he probably came to ruin it, likely out of boredom. you already opened your mouth to chase him away, but before you could say anything his voice resonated through the room.

"what?" Mydei asked, as if your expression offended him, "can’t i visit our physician?" the man’s words were phrased like one of his usual sarcastic remarks, making your brow twitch.

your frown deepened slightly as you continued to study him with intent eyes. something was obviously off. "well, why’re you here then?"

at that, Mydei paused. his gaze jumped around the room, and he appeared a bit conflicted. it was unlike him to be caught off guard like that, but he came to you - obviously he had a goal in mind, yet now he refused to voice his thoughts. perhaps his pride didn’t allow him to. if it was anybody else you’d be already on the case, sitting them down and coercing into admitting their troubles. however, this was Mydei, and you were adamant about helping him. you stood there, tapping your foot as you scrutinized him, waiting for the man to finally say something.

before your patience managed to reach its limit, his voice once again tore through the silence. "i want you to cast healing energy on me."

you barely stopped your burst of laughter caused by the absurdity of his demand. seriously, come again? he seemed completely fine, standing straight and still managing to get on your nerves. if it wasn’t the picture of health, then you definitely didn’t know what it was. anyway, since when did he experience any kind of pains? Mydei was able to take blows effortlessly and live through fatal wounds, and now he was asking you to waste your time on him. was it to ridicule you?

"you’re joking, right?" you put your hands on your hips, restraining yourself from making any unnecessary comments. for whatever reason, you didn’t feel like fighting today. truthfully, you never did.

"is it really so unbelievable to you, [name]?" the man scoffed, taking few long strides towards the medical bed, "and you dare call yourself a physician." he taunted, a crooked smirk stretching his lips.

Mydei sat heavily, making the bed creak dangerously under the sudden pressure - you winced, hoping it wouldn’t break. you could feel your blood pressure rising, but you clenched your teeth in order to keep any remarks behind them. no, you won’t allow him to get a rise out of you. not today.

"alright, let’s assume something is genuinely wrong with you. what is it?"

another prolonged pause. the only sound filling the space was distant laughter and ticking of the clock hanging on one of the walls. it was arguably worse than listening to Aglaea’s scoldings.

"must you always ask such stupid questions? get to work, or i’ll make sure you bid goodbye to your little workplace tomorrow morning." after a while of contemplation Mydei snarled, visibly annoyed by your questions. it’s something he often did - threaten you. he rarely pulled off any of his promises, but they still made your mind stir with anxieties. if you could, you’d take a basin filled with water and forcibly dip his head inside until he finally lost consciousness. an unrealistic vision it was, because before you’d manage to get a handful of his golden locks, he would have already knocked the water out of your hands and laughed at your poor attempts.

why did you keep putting up with him, even though you were fed up beyond reason?

(grief-stricken people seek resolve).

"at least i wouldn’t need to look at your face everyday," you snapped back, closing the distance between you two, "tell me what’s bothering you, or i won’t cast anything."

it’s not like you cared — you genuinely didn’t, but you wouldn’t be effective unless you knew where the problem was rooted. spreading energy through the whole body was always pretty demanding, so you’d rather focus on one specific spot. you waited for Mydei’s response, but upon receiving none, you sighed with defeat. you throughly washed your hands with soap (something unpleasant crawled up your spine as you felt his eyes fixated on you the whole time), and stepped behind the bed. the sooner he leaves, the better.

you usually announced whenever you started to cast your energy, as the feeling at first was often akin to a slight shock. this time however, you firmly put your hands on his back and surged all of it at once, wanting to capture his jolty reaction. unsurprisingly, Mydei didn’t do anything other than gaze at the floor tiles with a bored look. how come things never turned out the way you wanted? with a little more fervor, you moved your hands towards the nape of his neck. your fingers twitched as you imagined curling them around his throat, cutting out the oxygen — but soon you turned down the vision. you weren’t always like this - this aggressive, and violent. what were you even thinking? Mydei was the bane of your existence, but it’s not like he deserved to suffer.

(or maybe he did?)

your brows narrowed together as you forced the intrusive thoughts out of your mind space. you were a medic, damn it—

"are you doing this on purpose, or what?" he murmured, slightly turning his face to look at you from the corner of his eye. you blinked twice, not understanding what he was referring to. "i mean breathing so hard on my neck. stop it."

you almost retracted your hands, suddenly feeling a mixture of embarrassment and ire. you didn’t even realize that your breaths got so labored, and much to your chagrin, you had no witty response to offer. with a heavy heart, you continued to move your palms around the man’s back, trying to find out yourself where his pains were located. finally, when you stopped around the shoulder blades, Mydei’s muscles seemed to relax at last, even if just a little bit.

"does it hurt here?" you asked absentmindedly, focusing on the flow of energy escaping your fingers.

being so gentle with someone who would never do the same to you felt almost disgusting. but you weren’t wicked at heart, and it was your job to put people at ease instead of furthering their misery. your mother would never approve of causing harm, no matter if the patient was especially awful.

Mydei nodded in response, his back hunching. you took that as a 'yes', continuing to heal. after about three minutes you were done, and the man got up from his seat, stretching his limbs as if he just woke up from a long slumber. you worked your expression into something more unpleasant, worried that if he saw the softened look on your face he might mock you for it.

"we’re done now, so get out of my face." you announced bluntly, the tone of your voice turning harsher than before.

he didn’t even spare you a glance as he walked towards the exit. "i don’t feel any difference. you’re awful at this, [name]." Mydei answered, shutting the door with a loud 'thud!'.

you stood there for a longer while, contemplating whether you should run after the man and choke him like you wanted to earlier. you ultimately abandoned that idea, instead sitting back into the chair and cradling your head with your hands. you hated Mydei. not because he was horrible, but rather because you still were somehow able of being delicate with him. why? how was that physically possible? bodies respond to spite with stronger reactions that yours — if your hatred was real, you wouldn’t even let him into your surgery in the first place.

that dreadful thought would haunt you for the next two years, everyday.

normally, you wouldn’t even dare to reminiscence about such things, but the dull taste of cauliflower made you think of equally terrible recollections. during the second year of your stay in Okhema, things took the turn for worse, and the unpleasant sensation on your tongue made all of your memories resurface.

the drastic shift in the air definitely felt like a thunder’s roar, at least in retrospection. soulmates are a complex thing, and even though they play a very significant role in people’s lives, the research on them is surprisingly lacking. alas, one thing is for sure — there is no turning back. the same applied to yours and Mydei’s case, the feelings of odium soon melting into something more conflicted. he was - much to your dismay - occupying your mind all the time. of course you would think of him earlier on, however back then it definitely got out of hand. constant questions plagued your already fatigued brain, forcing you to seek him out. you did nothing but argue, or huff and scoff at each other, but somehow it put you at ease. a certain sense of twisted familiarity. it worked both ways, unfortunately, and whenever you got busy with work, he’d still come bustling through your door. sometimes you’d fight, other times he’d ramble about things that got on his nerves, and you listened. you started to rely on him — apparently the same happened to Mydei, as Phainon often pointed out how agitated he got whenever you got separated for too long.

you never acknowledged the change in your behavior. it came naturally, just like sun peeks from behind the clouds after rain. your stormy relationship didn’t exactly calm down — Phainon still complained about the noise you two would make, and Castorice winced whenever you both appeared in the same room. mayhem followed in your wake, but at least Mydei stopped his constant threats on your person, and you spared the plates you oh-so-loved throwing at his head (even though he always avoided every single one of them).

what didn’t stop however, was the feeling of going crazy. hatred, spite and agitation took the nightmarish shape of obsession. alienation shook your bones whenever you tried forming any other meaningful connections, and your thoughts always sprinted back to the only question in your head: "where is Mydei?".

more often than not, you felt as if you completely lost yourself. the promises you made to your own self — to run far away from that man, never looking back — it all seemed so distant now. two years of mental exhaustion made your perception crooked, and everything seemed wrong. sometimes you’d wake up and look around, feeling as if someone moved the furniture in your surgery. it wasn’t rearranged, no, but the placement was off by a few inches. the same feeling of unease would creep up on you whenever you thought about how cruelly you betrayed yourself.

Mydeimos was important to you. coming to terms with that fact was hard, and the unfathomable hurt of it was almost comparable to when you cradled your mother’s terrifyingly bony hands in yours. two completely different situations, yet you still felt as if they shared a common ground — your downfall. it will continue to torment you, until your body will finally be lowered in a casket.

the worst part is, you still don’t know whether you genuinely lost your mind, or if the soultie effect caused it.

everything is changing. everything is getting worse. Phainon payed you a visit today, and he was talking about something, yet you couldn’t recall what it was. you gave him some tea — he said it was the best he had in a long time. you wanted to believe him, but the way his lips stretched in unnaturally cordial smile indicated otherwise. you couldn’t blame him though, as the brew was prepared with health-prosperity in mind. you could put a few sugar cubes inside, but it would defeat its original purpose.

the conversation between you and him didn’t stick, and you felt awkward. when you first got into the holy city, Phainon was definitely someone you would call a friend. he secured you a good job and a place to live, and would always try cheering you up. right now, there was an invisible wall separating you both. you could see no way around it.

"so, uhh, [name]," he began after a long pause, putting down the elegant cup back on the table, "Mydei was asking about you. i told him you were busy with work, so that he wouldn’t bother you." Phainon let out an unsure chuckle, carefully observing your expression.

you hummed in acknowledgment, taking a sip of your herbal drink. "good thing you did, else i’d have to put up with that man for gods know how long."

the image of Mydei walking unceremoniously into your surgery, and starting to pick at you made your skin crawl. you’d pick at him too, spewing insults left and right. you’d push him to the limits, watching the man come undone in front of your own eyes before the conversation would turn into a screaming match. then, you’d calm down. he’d stare at the tiles again, counting, and you would fall onto your chair with a resigned sigh. Mydei would eventually apologize, and you’d smile at him. it sounded terrible, no?

(yet you still yearned for it, the equal ruin).

Phainon laughed genuinely now, and you had to admit that happiness looked great on him. as of late, he seemed more worried than usual.

"well, i’m glad you approve of my decisions. you two really don’t get along, do you?" he mused, his gaze now trailing over to the window. perhaps the sights outside were more interesting than your face.

"no, no we don’t." you admitted in a weak voice, even though you didn’t want to sound so unconvinced. what was there to deny? someone once compared you and Mydei to two tigers — you didn’t catch on it until later, when you realized those animals were prone to killing each other in fights to death. that person was on point, much to your chagrin.

when you were unable of adding anything else to your lacking sentence, you thought it would be better for you to spend time with some other people. perhaps then you’d relearn what it means to be a normal, functioning human instead of a husk who only could spew and clash.

"oh, look at the time [name]!" Phainon suddenly called out, getting up a little bit too fast from his seat. "Aglaea wanted to see with me, and i don’t want to be late." he explained vaguely as you sent him a perplexed look, also standing up.

"a-alright then." you stammered out, taken aback by his rapid reaction. maybe he got bored, and came up with an excuse on the spot. "see you soon?"

"yeah, see you soon." he sent you a slightly nervous smile before walking out of the door. you watched him disappear, the surgery once more filled up with silence. you gazed at his barely touched tea, and decided to pour it out in the sink.

as you were doing that, you heard the distinctive footsteps outside. you didn’t even get the chance to turn around before Mydei walked through the entrance, that ever-present scowl on his face deeper than usual. you carefully placed down the cup, afraid of breaking it. it was your favorite, and you couldn’t afford to lose anything else dear to your heart, even if it was only porcelain.

"so that’s what you were busy with, huh?" the man asked, his tone low as he stepped closer to you. at first you didn’t understand what he meant, but after a second everything clicked. Phainon lied to him on your account, and then managed to spot him through your window. he left in hurry, thinking that Mydei discovering you both would only cause more problems. your heart clenched at his consideration as you observed the man with narrowed eyes.

"are you insinuating something?" you hissed, feeling the tension in the air arise with every second. "who are you to tell me what to do anyway? go find someone else to bully, because i’m really not in the mood for your bullshit."

"no, i’m not insinuating anything," he replied, venom practically dripping from his words, "i simply find it hilarious that you thought you could deceive me like that. do i look stupid to you, [name]?"

you couldn’t help the huff of irritation escaping your lungs as you looked around yourself, almost bewildered. Mydei seldom acted like that — yes, he was an absolute pain, however he has never outwardly shown his disapproval of you meeting with others. you didn’t even like Phainon in a romantic sense, and you never would. to think that this man came to such a conclusion was baffling, especially when you two weren’t even in a relationship.

"deceive you? are you crazy?" you barked out, spreading your arms apart, "you’re acting absurdly, Mydei! do you think i’m your possession, or something? you always seem to talk about how much you despise me, and yet here you are, ordering me around as you see fit!"

"it’s because—" the man paused, as if searching for the best words, long fingers woving through his hair. "you’re driving me mad, [name]! can’t you see? can’t you see what you’ve done?!" he shouted, making you want to take a step back. instead, you boldly rendered the distance between you two.

insanity. the slow descent into pits of human destruction kept dragging him down — perhaps you were much lower than Mydei, gripping his ankles and pulling — or maybe you were above, waving at the man, beckoning him to crawl out. as things were standing now, you were equal in your devastation.

"why are you blaming me?! go blame yourself, you lunatic!" you seethed, grabbing something from the drawer beside you. you paid no attention to the item in your hand, your sight focused solely on Mydei.

why do things between you always have to escalate at such a quick rate? sometimes you felt as if you were treading above an active volcano, where one wrong move could lead to a rapid eruption. you thought of yourself as the victim, and that much was foolish, as you were deeply aware you and him were both lava, and nothing else.

when Mydei failed to snap back in time, you decided to provoke him some more. "what, maybe you’re just jealous? it definitely sounds like that to me." you sneered, but the thought seemed horrifyingly real.

"why would i be jealous of someone like you?" he retaliated, even though the false denial in his expression was obvious, "look at yourself! you think that little cup will do me any harm? you must be really slow of mind." he laughed mockingly at the weapon you gripped in the palm of your hand.

to this day, you still don’t know what pushed you to such extreme. maybe it had something to do with soulties, or you were simply becoming what you’ve always hated. still, the already weakened strings which previously held your sanity together seemed to snap, and no amounts of regret could fix it.

"want to see for yourself?" you didn’t wait for the man’s response, shattering the porcelain across your tiled floor. you immediately bent down to reach for the biggest fragment, cutting yourself in the process, though you cared little for the stinging pain in your fingertips.

possessed by anger that only someone literally tied to your soul could evoke, you surged towards Mydeimos, aiming at his throat. he wouldn’t die, but the few minutes of him coughing up blood and gripping his own slashed neck would be enough to satiate you. you didn’t care that after his recovery, he’d likely kill you. leading such a life carried no sense within anyway.

("you are a medic, my sweet girl. your job is to save people, and make them happy. isn’t that a wonderful vocation? make your mother proud. i’m sure you can”).

Mydei gripped your wrists as you flailed your limbs, struggling against his strength. you kicked at his shin, your foot meeting with the golden metal, and you cursed yourself for forgetting it was there in the first place. a sickening whine of pain ripped from your throat as you realized that even if he unhanded you, letting you do as you please, you still wouldn’t be able to hurt him. after all, how could you?

the force of your efforts made you both stumble down and crash onto the hard floor, littered with sharp pieces of the cup. you felt the breath get knocked out of your chest as you gazed up at the man with wide, terrified eyes. warm blood trickled down your hand, and only then you realized just how deeply you wounded yourself. tears fogged over your vision as dry cries began to jerk your body.

(why do grief-stricken people seek resolve?)

(because they have nothing).

"i’m—" you sobbed, your voice trembling as you looked at Mydei’s equally shaken expression, "i’m so sorry! i’m so very, very sorry!" you wailed, letting go of the porcelain fragment, hearing it clatter on the ground. the man slowly released your wrists from his grasp, still hovering above you.

"stop it, [name]. i went overboard this time. you don’t have to apologize." his voice was uncharacteristically doleful as he observed your face, measuring the amount of tears with downcast eyes.

you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer to you. you could lie to yourself and pretend like you had genuine friends here, in Okhema— but at the end of the day, Mydei was all you had left. there was no one else. he wasn’t your home, but he was the only one who managed to stomp out the loneliness from your heart. you hated each other to the bone, and yet you still held your bodies on that cold floor, surrounded by nothing but muffled sobbing.

you were not violent. you were kindhearted, and warm, and you never would’ve thought of doing such things, however now all of it seemed repressed somewhere else. Mydei — no, perhaps entirety of the holy city — caused your breath to stop. you wished to view him in repulsion, but for gods’ sake, you knew you could not. once the summer sun will extinguish your being, up until the last cloud of smoke, you’ll be thinking of him. the soulmate mark stretching from your knuckles to wrist hurt. a pulsating kind of pain, reminding you it was still there, and you couldn’t forsake it.

"i’m so sorry…" you choked out, pressing your face into his shoulder.

"don’t be."

"i— i never meant to harm you, i just—"

"i know."

your hands gripped Mydei’s clothes, the blood from your cut already seeping over his previously clean attire and body. he didn’t seem to care, stroking fingers through your hair in attempt of showing any semblance of comfort (could he ever offer it?). you searched for something meaningful to say, but your thoughts narrowed to only one thing.

it was your favorite cup.

you chewed on the piece of meat with a twisted expression, the scar still visible between your fingers and the palm. sometimes it would itch, making it utterly irritating. the sounds of the swords clashing outside seemed to quiet down, now replaced by idle chatter. you were almost finished with your meal, and the time on the clock was indicating near evening. the day was coming to an end.

just like the food in your mouth, tasting rotten even though it looked completely fine, by the third year of your stay in Okhema things suddenly simmered down (wreck of your mind remained). the storm was no longer, thunders and lightning turning into whirlwind — still unpredictable and very much able to cause harm, but a bit more subtle. leading a war for three years straight would humble everyone, even the most capable warriors. for that, you were grateful.

the scorching sun no longer bothered you, and with enough savings you managed to buy yourself a place somewhere further from your surgery. now you didn’t have to reside in the small space, sleeping on medical bed and pretending like being caged there was no problem for you. this change brought you a certain peace of heart, as you regained at least a small piece of your independence.

as for you and Mydei — you still continued with your usual routine, although a bit less fierce. even though you never touched upon the topic, it seemed as if you shared a collective agreement that snapping your teeth at each other’s gullets brought you no good. it never did, but it took you both three years to realize.

now as you stuffed your mouth with some more vegetables, you wondered if Mydei possessed any redeeming qualities. if he didn’t, then you surely would have lost your mind a long time ago. after a short while of brooding, you came up with a verdict — he did. after that incident, it seemed like you started to notice more things. it’s not like you didn’t before, but perhaps you were buried too deep within your own sorrow to actually pay attention. the man wasn’t always awful. there were certain moments when you found common ground, and actually got along. though rare, the soultie progressed, and you felt as if some kind of understanding between you two formed.

after all, he was your soulmate, wasn’t he?

you sat down on the ridge of a big fountain, a heavy sigh escaping your lips. the weather was nice for a change, skies colored with a mesmerizing hue of yellow as the rain stopped pouring a few minutes ago. your clothes were soaked, but that didn’t matter, the cool on your body soothing you. you had a hard time at work today, so you wished for nothing more but a moment of rest — alas, it seemed like the universe wanted to mock you some more.

"look who we have here." a booming voice came from your right making you jump up, even though you were all-too-well accustomed to its sound. "what, don’t tell me you got caught up in the rain?"

"Mydei, give me a break…" you groaned, rubbing at your temples. he was the reason why you had to sweat so much today, and the mere sight of his face already made your blood pressure skyrocket. "are you aware you’re the reason why so many people came to me today?"

from what you’ve gathered, some fools decided it would be a great idea to spar with the Kremnoan prince. nobody wanted to admit to being the originator of the concept, though Phainon appeared especially nervous. you decided against pressuring him into speaking, as he was already injured enough. while you tended to the wounds, sewing the broken skin and putting gauzes to them, everyone kept murmuring one word: 'Mydeimos.' yes, that definitely made sense.

"it’s their fault for being overly-confident." he huffed, sitting down beside you, his eyes fixated on two birds jumping cheerily in a puddle. "if you’re not at least slightly afraid of your opponent, of course you’ll underestimate them, and fail. a pathetic mistake."

"well," you began, stretching out your legs as you captured his expression from the corner of your eye, "i’m not afraid of you at all. does that make me pathetic?"

even though your words sounded a bit exaggerated, it was the truth. throughout all of your fallouts and vicious arguments with Mydei, there was never a time where you were genuinely scared. maybe of yourself — but not of him. over the time you have learned to trust your gut, and right now it was telling you that your soulmate wasn’t a threat. yes, he throughly enjoyed making your existence filled with various anxieties and hardships, but did he ever rise a hand at you? you tried to literally slit his throat, and yet he didn’t even look offended, meanwhile most people would have strangled you unconscious.

his eyebrows rose slightly as he turned his face towards you. "is that so?” he didn’t seem to believe you, doubt arising in the honeyed irises.

"yeah," a humorless, dry chuckle escaped your lips as you studied the look he carried with great attention, "the sun will go out before i’m truly afraid of you. i have no reason to, anyway."

perhaps you should have reasons, because one of Mydei’s glares was enough to render someone unmoving. you watched him fight before, and the enemies seemed to be nothing but mere rag-dolls to him. a mentally-sound person would be trembling in respect before him — unfortunately for you, you were far from that, hence why you had to put up with all of the shouting and arguments.

"how can you be so sure, [name]?" Mydei mocked, but his comment lacked in real bite. it fell as something lighthearted on your ears, urging you to continue.

"if you really wanted to harm me, i’d be beheaded by the time i first threw a plate at you." that evoked a poorly contained snicker from him, and you couldn’t help but smile along. "and you’re… you’re not a bad person, Mydei— at least i don’t think so. bad people don’t play with children, nor do they bake pastries in their free time."

Mydei looked at you as if you just offended his whole lineage, way too dumbfounded to respond. you shook your head, an involuntary huff of laughter slipping past your lips as you took in his baffled expression. "you thought i wouldn’t notice?"

"well— well, obviously—" he forced the words out, struggling to compose a proper sentence, utterly embarrassed. "Phainon must have told you, right? he must have. oh, when i get my hands on that little—"

Phainon didn’t tell you anything. it’s just that after three years of knowing someone, people usually become aware of such things. you vividly remember Mydei playing hide and seek with a group of Kremnoan children, even if a little begrudgingly. it was one year ago, and Krateros asked you to relay some informations upon him. you can’t quite recall what it was, but you remember it being grim — normally you wouldn’t care, but it somehow made you feel somber. you didn’t want to ruin Mydei’s moment of peace, so you simply stood behind a pillar, watching the man count down as kids ran around trying to find the best hiding spot. after a while you departed, thinking it would be best to tell him later.

the other thing — precisely speaking, his baking hobby — you discovered by accident. after a long working day, you spotted Castorice and Tribbie eating something. you didn’t mean to stare, but they eventually noticed your longing gaze and invited you to sit with them. it was rare for you to share a meal with anyone, so you gratefully accepted one of the profiteroles. it was delicious, and the girls giggled at the way your eyes lit up. Tribbie explained those were a gift from 'De', as they liked to affectionately call him. you were surprised to hear that, and even thought about using that as a leverage in one of your many arguments, but eventually abandoned the idea. it wasn’t a bad activity. actually, you found it quite endearing, as far as your positive feelings towards Mydei could go.

you sighed, looking up at the yellow sky as you pleaded the gods for more patience - then, you focused back on the man. "Phainon didn’t tell me, and i don’t perceive any of those things as something you should be ashamed of. they’re good qualities. at least i know you still have a heart, Mydeimos." you grumbled, rolling your eyes.

his features seemed to relax a bit, as if the cause of his stress was based solely on your opinion. "well, aren’t you the sweetest." he murmured, a bit dryly.

you hummed in response, watching Mydei suddenly turn his face away from you, his expression obscured by the blonde locks. before you could say anything else, he pulled himself up, and started to walk away. for a second, you contemplated whether you should call after him, but decided to keep your mouth shut. it was rare for you both to share a conversation so civilized, without any crude remarks or insults. you didn’t want to ruin it for yourself, so you watched his silhouette slowly fade into the crowd of people.

and that was it. sometimes, you’d pace around your room and wonder whether you held any love for him. somewhere, in the deepest corners of your soul, the answer perhaps lied. you would have to dissect your body over and over again, searching for it, until you’d finally find the core — oozing with the venom of a rattlesnake, covered in wildflower petals. being in love, what does it feel like? were you even capable of it?

your scorched mind couldn’t grasp the concept, so you decided to leave it unanswered. even though you yearned for it — even if you wanted to catch it like a butterfly, gently nursing against the palms of your hands. contradictions are an inevitable part of the human nature. soulmates were a curse of sorts, and nowadays it seemed as if you were close to giving in. remaining hellbent took a toll on you, and the line between "surrender" and "acceptance" started to blur. still, you would never forget the torment he brought upon you. Mydei won’t forsake the thousands of your spiteful actions either, their ever-presence hovering just a few steps behind.

in a metaphorical sense, it seemed as if you both were constantly throwing up on each other. reduced from humans to mere specimens, created only to claw at one another’s throats, and then crawl back into the warm embrace as the bloody wounds made your bodies shake with cries. nothing less, nothing more.

the fork in your hand scraped against the ceramic material, forming an unpleasant sound. there was nothing left on your plate. the disgusting dinner gone, replaced with smudges of sauce and vegetable scrapes. you frowned when you suddenly heard the knocking on your door, characteristic enough for you to recognize who was standing behind them. you placed the dish onto your desk, sitting back on the bed. usually you’d be stomping to the door, ready for another clash, vicious words already on your tongue. however, now all of your bared teeth was gone. nothing made sense, and you were worn.

"come in." you called, smoothing out your attire from any wrinkles.

the door opened slowly, and a second later you were already facing Mydei. you sent him a questioning look, taking notice of his slightly slumped form. did he injure himself while sparing? no, that wasn’t possible. you observed him carefully, waiting, trying to deduce what the issue was. maybe those annoying pains were getting to him again.

"i was looking for you." he announced, his tone depraved of any kind of ire he’d still sometimes grace you with.

"you know i’m usually at my place during evening hours." you replied, your eyebrows narrowing together. "did something happen?"

"no." Mydei sighed, taking a few steps forwards. "i just wanted to see you, [name]."

you sent him a chary smile, noting the unabashed tone of his voice. honestly, it took you by surprise, but somehow you understood what he meant. it was always like that — you wished to never talk to him again, yet you felt as if you were conjoined.

(grief-stricken people seek resolve, as they have nothing — and once it’s caught by their fangs, they won’t let go, no matter how much pain it brings in its wake).

Mydei’s expression was a little absent, stripped from the usual high-awareness. "you seem tired." a soft mutter left your lips as you gently grabbed his fingers and tugged towards you, wondering whether he was getting enough sleep.

"maybe a bit." he admitted, kneeling by the side of your bed and wrapping his arms around your waist. you let him without any hesitation, watching as he put his head on your lap.

moments of intimacy were not a part of your everyday life, however there were times when one of you would unravel and lean on the other person. humans needed connection. they needed touch, warmth, affection. those were things you’d never use to describe the relationship with your soulmate, yet you couldn’t resist the sparse comfort when offered.

Mydeimos was much nicer to you in your head. your conversations didn’t usually go as planned. sometimes, when you felt the side of his face press into your neck as you let your healing energy flow through his spine, you dwelled on things he harbored within his heart. after you were done, he’d retract his body away from yours and send you a fleeting glance, filled with grudges and dismay. you’d scowl back, thinking how nice it would be to never see him again.

you ran your fingers through his golden locks, feeling at how soft they were in contrast to their owner. whenever the man got tired — genuinely tired — he’d always become so docile. the rise and fall of his chest was meek, and you would’ve thought he wasn’t breathing at all if you didn’t look closer. the same hands that ripped his enemies apart were now cradling you, as if your body was made out of glass. all the hatred and rage was gone, replaced by silent agreement to let this moment last before you’d be back to spitting at each other.

Mydei never opened up to you. you didn’t know what he went through in the past — all the horrors and trauma shaping him into who he was now. it must have taken a lot of effort to stay gentle, at least in a certain way, hidden away from the eyes of others. you leaned down, watching his relaxed face as you trailed over the tear-shaped tattoo with your intent gaze. when you felt Mydei press himself further into your lap, one conclusion appeared clearer than anything you managed to deduce throughout those three years of bloodborne struggles.

no matter what, all wolves dream of being a dog.

#mydei x reader #my thoughts ⤑#it was written on a whim with no previous preparation #might be canon divergent #i believe in open interpretation of this piece #though as an author i feel inclined to say it’s not romantic #and i’m not romanticizing nor condoning anything!#okay that’s all lol #hsr mydei #mydeimos #mydei #honkai star rail mydei #mydei x you #mydei x y/n #hsr x reader #honkai star rail

188 notes · View notes

acupofinkedblood · 3 months ago

Text

Icedagger and child reader who eventually grew up

Note: This is a new breeze because I want to give it a shot with Icedagger’s new potential personality because of his rewritten lore, maybe like a rant on this new side of his character in the tea itself (ᵕ—ᴗ—)

Note 2: I’m not exactly too proud of this (￣^￣ )ゞ

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

• “Slumber, as the night shall be eternal when the sun has been casted away by the haze. The merciless cold shall wash away all the spouts of the upcoming spring, burying them under a blanket of everlasting snow in peace. Close your eyes, dear children of the cruel winter, embrace the blessing of your fate with no question. For he who has isolated himself in the icy heart of his own until the next lullaby of death. Sleep, with little care to the world,”…The lullaby itself has became a classic of old Blackrock based on its extreme weather’s conditions. But one thing that annoyed Icedagger until this day is how those mortals dare to include his personal matter inside their lyrics. Not calling his name out directly, but still. Out of everything they can add, they choose that. For a kid’s lullaby too, how ironic. Yet Icedagger can’t bring himself to even make a fuss of it, slumbering for too long has reduced his thirst of conflict at this point being

• How many millenniums have passed? How many times has the sun risen up after the curtain of the night? How many moment of silence had he realized after awakening from his slumber? How many blizzards have reflected his heart that caused nothing but misery to the mortals? Icedagger doesn’t know, nor does he care. After all, what even matters to him anymore? He simply can’t give a damn about such trivial matters that occur outside of his domain. If he doesn’t even bother to send his regards to his siblings to check up on them despite haven’t seen them since certain things have changed, why should he bother with anything else? All he has is his own company to be annoyed with, such a dull and monochromatic life of his that he has chosen for himself — O Icedagger, habringer of the cruel snowstorms born from his cold heart

• The snow has been nothing but a false glimpse of mercy, so pure and beautiful, how can such thing ever hurt anyone? That’s when you’re just judging a book based on its cover. Dear children of the land where the sun cradles your face with love, how foolish has you been. That snowflake which dances so graceful on your hands shall then melt into ice, and your smile shall quickly fades and you yelp when the frostbite has gotten through your skin. The children of Blackrock has soon grown accustomed to these harsh blessings their god has granted them with little complains. Yet, some of those children just can’t help themselves but adores the snow despite everything no matter what. How foolish. Icedagger has always found mortals to be beyond his understanding. Such distasteful creatures with unexplainable behaviors, one with such a small lifespan that is as insignificant as an ant that froze beneath his feet

• He will never understand the fascination that his sibling held so close to that annoyingly blazing heart of his with mortals. What is even the appeal of them when compared to the likes of him? They are ridiculously fragile, one small gust of chill is more than enough to send them shivering like crazy. Mortals have needs that they need to get access to, or else they might as well just bid life a goodbye and join hand with Ghostwalker himself. Always need to be handled as if they can melt away under stress at anytime, like a delicate ice sculpture that has to avoid the sun but still wants to be under it so they can shine. Icedagger has forgotten the last time he had ever interacted with mortals. Hell, should he even remember? He can barely remember how many ice sculptures he had, how can he just sit down and mourn the old times where everything was still right as it should be? But then again, for a deity that has lived for that long, he might need a better excuse to cover for the face that he just does not want to recall those time due to not feeling like it

• Icedagger can’t recall the exact period when he was still walking among mortals. Maybe when he was still around his siblings with their assigned duties, since he was less interested in sleeping his existence away in those times, a contrast to now. But maybe it wasn’t that long ago yet, maybe during when he accidentally sleepwalked out of his home which caused an unexpected snow showers to wherever he went? Though he wouldn’t say he was exactly “walking among mortals”, since he barely made an effort to even interact with them at the first place. Unlike Firebrand who is so insisting on meddling with mortals, Icedagger wants nothing to do with them, at least not every single time. To word it more correctly, he’d say it was those time that he still managed to get out of his domain for a walk during such wintry weather. Even when it was mainly to ensure that he can get some fresh air for once like how they insist him to do, Icedagger didn’t complain. It wasn’t like any mortals could recognize him anyway

• Out of the seven SFOTH siblings, Icedagger held an infamous record of isolating himself the most away from any living beings despite no matter how much the others tried to convince him to go out. Even the SFOTHs themselves found it to be a pretty big deal when it came to see Icedagger in his physical form for once, let alone mortals. He would find any excuses possible to ditch any event they held, only made an appearance briefly for pleasantries before got back to his place. Hell, Darkheart had soon given up on Icedagger’s stubbornness as he too couldn’t figure out a way to get Icedagger to be genuinely interested in doing something rather than just shutting himself off in his domain all by himself. He always had shown little consideration to matters that didn’t revolve around his own existence. Not mortals, not any trivial matter, not anything that doesn’t concern him directly. Not even his siblings’ lives. It was enough for mortals to forget that he exists in the first place and only briefly referred to him as a mysterious entity that was behind Blackrock’s constant blizzard without knowing his name. For someone, it was a curse. But Icedagger simply embraced his fate as he found it to be unnecessary to be remembered by those whose lives shall end before his own. Why would he care for mortals anyway?

• That is until the day he found something. The ‘something’ in saying that resembles a poor excuse of a small Inphernal almost buried alive beneath the pile of frosty snow outside of his domain while he was on a walk. Poor thing was all black and blue because of the ruthless cold, looking as if just by staying underneath the snow a bit more and this unfortunate soul shall be guided to the afterlife by Ghostwalker himself. It shouldn’t be Icedagger’s problem. He didn’t gain anything by meddling with mortals before, so why should he now? He could have left you and continued his walk without looking back, like how he did to the other creatures that had departed this physical plane by his power without acknowledgement of it. Icedagger could just walk away, yet something about you that made him halt his pace. No, he wouldn’t call it a glimpse of pity, maybe it was something else. Amusement? Curiosity? Or maybe it was simply mild annoyance out of the blue. Even Icedagger was a victim of his own swallow emotions, how laughable

• In the end, Icedagger surrendered. If any of his siblings ever dared to observed him from afar and witnessed the fact he just scooped up a mortal from the snow in his arms, he knew he would never hear the end of it. Honestly though, he gotta gave you a bare minimum of the credit. If his memory served him right, you were in his main territory — the entire region of Blackrock is his territory, but this specific part is the main one — which was probably far away from your original home, enough to make anyone wince. To what did you stumble into this place? Out of pure stupidity, or was there something else deeper? Damn him for being curious, yet he couldn’t help himself. He wasn’t born with a gift of a medic, so he did try his best to somewhat sustain your life. Trust him, he tried, somewhat

• The moment you woke up, you were still feeling the chill running down your spine, but seemed like your temperature had been moderated to a balanced point so that you wouldn’t die right away like earlier. And to top it up, you saw him. He hadn’t left just yet since the last bit of decent empathetic feeling was trying to ground himself down until he made sure you have been saved. And well, you definitely didn’t recognize the person in front of you to be one of the feared SFOTH deities. As annoying as that made Icedagger sulked, he had that coming. He had been isolated himself long enough for time to bury the last remain of his existence in the mortal’s mind after all, so he had expected your lack of manners as well as tried to excuse it. You were still young after all, and he wasn’t petty enough to hold it against the likes of you. At least you were able to stand up again without collapsing, a relief, he’d say if he had to

• Though he might just regret saving you. Because then all of the sudden you kept bugging him like you have no common sense when it comes to strangers. Sure, he helped you, and that was it. And now you expected him to stay? For what? Was this what Venomshank meant when he said that rescued animals will sometimes cling onto you like a tail? Are mortals always like this? How could his siblings even endure this nonsense? Icedagger genuinely wanted to brush you off and fly away. He wasn’t awakened enough to deal with this. But damn him for that too, because Icedagger was still rather somnolent to the point that he just didn’t have the strength to get himself out of this position with you holding onto his cloak. It was a weak grip, but hell, he didn’t even feel like struggling at that time. For the icy heart of his, what had he gotten himself into? Just treat it as another weird dream, as he would say to himself when finally agreed to entertain your childish behavior for a mere moment

• Icedagger didn’t know what to expect. He hadn’t interact with mortals before after this long, so he couldn’t really understand you. Deities and mortals are different in that aspect of unable to fully understand each other after all, and Icedagger himself fully committed to that fact. You just met him a few minutes ago, yet here you are, following him around while talking about something that he couldn’t hear fully due to his lack of interest for such trivial matters. And not to mention the question you had for him too: Who is he? Why is he here? Does he live here? What color does he like? Gosh, it was endless. Sometimes he would nod to play along to mask the fact that he was counting every minutes of nonexistent seconds in hope that you would stop soon. And even when you stopped, you still followed him like a lost puppy. You were definitely a lost case. If you were to be even more stubborn than you had already showed him, then Icedagger might actually have to pray under his own name for his sake

• He expected you to give up soon when he didn’t answer you for more than a couple of short sentences, most of those who had crossed paths with him always surrender their attempts to try to interest Icedagger in a conversation for more than five minutes anyway. To melt the sculpture of everlasting ice just by a little match within a day wasn’t a task someone would have the patience to do. But then if he was to comparing you to a tiny match, that wouldn’t do justice to the item itself. Hell, you were definitely a flamethrower, much to his annoyance. Icedagger wouldn’t be the type that you could call as kind or merciful, but he was like ice itself. To call someone who was just cold ‘cruel’ wasn’t doing their personality the justice it deserved. Ice was never cruel in nature to begin with, it is just cold. Just staying there, doing nothing while shooing people away by its coldness. Icedagger had successfully isolated himself from the rest his kin by that. And yet despite all of that, you just couldn’t seem to take the hint that he had given out which just screamed ‘Leave me alone’ in subtle. He was being somewhat nice, mind you

• He had intentionally shoo you away. But Icedagger had never shouted at you to get away from him with full volume like his sister. He lacked that intensity of raw emotions, as you mortals would call it as such. Still, Icedagger still tried to make an effort in a passive aggressive way. In which he complained to you directly on how you just bragged into his territory without a warning, and here you were. Did he tell you directly to leave him alone? Yes. Did you leave him like he wished? Sadly, no. He tried to drop you somewhere and just moved on with his monotonous life, yet you always managed to get on his nerves with your wailing, which dragged his attention to where he had left you all over again. Even Icedagger couldn’t even explain why couldn’t he just get away from this insufferable child even when the last thing he wanted was for someone to walk into his life and just stayed there. At this point, he wholeheartedly gave up

• Even when the night had fallen and he had made you to return to your home, even walked you out of his territory to your town to bid you a farewell message, the very next day you would still show up in the same place where he first saved you patiently. Icedagger’s stroll schedule was rather inconsistent due to how he would just lose all of his energy and slept for days, but when you found out what you were doing? Icedagger found a new motivation to snap out of his slumber to try to drag you out of his area. As comical as that sounded, please understand that even Darkheart’s pranks couldn’t get Icedagger out of his cave no matter how much he tried. That meant you were definitely special, in your own whimsical way. It even resulted in him chasing you around while you were laughing your heart out as if this was nothing but a fun game of catch for you. Yes, he could just ignore you and left you to freeze to death because of your stubbornness as a punishment, but something kept making him go all of his way to check up on you. Why was it that he had such interesting complications going on in his mind when he first met you? No one could answer that question, not even the physical manifestation of fate itself

• Days after days, hours after hours, Icedagger still tried to entertain you enough so you can just listen to him and go home, while you were still…well, you. Full of life, full of energy like the warm sunshine itself. And Icedagger didn’t even like the sun, yet he managed to stretch his patience out just so he could try and tolerate you. A game of chase like it was mentioned before, a snowball fight which Icedagger had to literally hold back the urge of digging the snow up to sleep there for the rest of the game, a couple rounds of hide and seek when Icedagger could just easily follow your footsteps on the snow to catch you. One game after another, and Icedagger had somehow gotten used to it to the point that if you were to sulk and wanted to play a completely new game rather than the old ones, he would bring his own ability to come up with something. Another door to your fascination that was his doom when you kept pestering him to get creative even more

• Iceskating was probably what he managed to keep you busy with most. He knew there was no way that someone could easily do it in the first attempt without hitting their butt against the icy surface, and that should include you too. The whole purpose of the games was to tire you out enough so you wouldn’t have enough strength to protest when he brought you back to your home, and this whole ice skating scheme was to make sure that you would be so occupied with this specific activity to the point that it would stop you from asking him to exhaust his mind with creativity again. It was two birds with one stone. The only downside of it was that you insisted on him teaching you from the baby steps even when he wasn’t really that enthusiastic about the whole thing. After all, he originally just wanted to sit on the sideline and relax while you do your own things. Between exercising physically or exercising creatively, both options didn’t really seem that inviting. But oh well, he had it coming from the start, might as well obliged so you wouldn’t make a fuss about it

• Another thing he had managed to distract your enthusiasm with was solitaire. No, not with cards, sure he was definitely not the most interesting deity to talk to, he wasn’t that basic at all. Icedagger was still a deity, mind you. You don’t really see a deity such as him going around and buy a box of card on his own, especially when he was living alone. One thing you might found to be pretty interesting about Icedagger was the fact that despite not having an intense interest with anything at all — excluding you, but it wasn’t really an ‘intense interest’ because he only found you to be annoyingly interesting for the very first time in his life, it wasn’t something too ‘intense’ in traditional words — he oddly had a fondness with ice sculpting. He would do so just to kill the time with all the sizes, though his preference was still the small ones so they wouldn’t take too much spaces of his living area. Each sculptures were handled with upmost care to make up for the fact he had procrastinated the process for who knows how long. A small bunny, a little dragon, a tiny moth…All originated from his everlasting glacier

• The sculptures would be replacing the cards in this game of solitaire. How so? Icedagger had this way to explain things to you later. After all, the more he made it pleasantly complicated for you to understand, the more he could get you to pipe down to stimulate your brain. It would be good for you too, since playing solitaire can offer mental benefits like improved memory or focus, while also providing a relaxing and enjoyable way to pass the time. Not to mention the strategic gameplay of it. Now that Icedagger had replaced the cards with his sculptures, it would make things even more fascinating for you to take part in. Icedagger had always played that game alone to pass the time, he didn’t expect to be the one who would watch another player play from an opposite side. He wouldn’t say he had expected this soon in the near millennia, but so far, Icedagger didn’t really hate the feeling of teaching someone else but him. Maybe you — a stubborn child — had managed to make it somewhat better, it seemed

• His idle monochromatic peace was definitely disturbed by your appearance in his life. Yet this disturbance wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be. Hell, you even considered him a ‘friend’. Icedagger had thought that word would never exist in his dictionary at the first place. Friend with a mortal, sounded like something Firebrand would say to him. It was less of a dramatic effect when Darkheart shared his own advice of him should befriend a slumbering snail instead, but still, those were equally absurd. A mortal who was barely an outstanding kid, there was nothing worth the gaze of a deity like him in the beginning of this whole thing between you and him. But maybe you were the slumbering snail that Darkheart had mentioned. It was an idiotic comparison, Icedagger was aware, yet that was the only explanation he had on how did you even manage to be this stubborn to be friend with him. For once he had gotten back his motivate to do something else rather than just sulked in the corner of his domain, all thanks to you, the stubborn child that was more of an enigma than he was

• There was time that Icedagger had asked you on that subject too. Surely there must be mortals your age that would be your friends, no? Yet you seemed to avoid his question at this specific topic of forming friendship with the Inphernals at your town. Icedagger could literally feel the mood shifting just by bringing that up. Of course, Icedagger wouldn’t really be the type to be fixated on getting an answer out of you for the sake of his low-functional curiosity. If you wanted to stay silence, then he respected your wish to not push any further. He could leave his territory to investigate the case himself, but then that wouldn’t be the Icedagger that you knew, but an imposter. He tried beyond his limits to get out of his self-isolation to hang out with you in his main territory, but to go out of it into a place with other living beings? You were definitely asking too much. This was the boundary that Icedagger shall not cross for the sake of his own comfort. You did mention just how it felt like you were stepping into a dream land to meet him, that this was like a fun dream to escape reality. Such interesting view for a kid, but you did have a point

• Whether it would take a while for you to gather up the effort of telling him of what had been troubling you or you would just spill the tea without a second thought, the decision to be made was purely yours. But in the end, you did tell him about your own situation within your own town. How you were being picked on by your peers to the point that you just ran away from them then got lost in his territory at the first place. The bullies were mean, saying all those rude things as well as made sure that you wouldn’t make any new friends as long as they were there. It was a natural circulation, if Icedagger had to admit. The strong shall rise while the weak somber, as such was how life itself worked. Though would he interfere? Not quite, it wasn’t really his thing to do all those heroic stuff. He would listen to you though, like always. Maybe gave you a few advice of trying to stand up for yourself while he was doing it. The weak couldn’t survive in this world by being weak, they had to find a solution to survive at all cost in any ways possible. He would encourage you to beat those kids back with a monotonous resting face, and somehow you knew he was actually serious about it. As long as you won or whatever, it was your attempt, not his

• Staying with Icedagger for long enough would grant you quite the great deal of philosophical viewpoints that you might have never heard before. Just judging on his character alone might stimulate your curiosity on how did he even become like that. Well, it was more of a natural thing since his existence as long ago as he could possibly remember, but if there was one thing that Icedagger would have said to back up this monochromatic personality of his was how he realized those lessons of himself and the world around him. Some might be too much for a kid like you to be able to understand, some could be explained in a less complicated manner if he made an effort. But overall, he would suggest you not to keep all of his lesson to heart and just treated it like story time for fun mostly. Icedagger had his reason, so you should just listen to him without question why in the first place

• A typical fact about Icedagger that you might have noticed was how he always carried a blanket outside whenever he went out on a walk to hang out with you. Based on how he looked sleepy for most of the time he was around you, you might guess that maybe he was like a bear that loved hibernation a bit too much. Honestly Icedagger would go on a rant to explain why was he like this to you, but he soon figured out that he should just let you keep that silly thought of yours rather than explaining in depths how sleeping was a good way to kill the time without the need to pay any effort to anything around him since he had lost all of the interest in reaching out for new connection on his own for the time being. He did try to be awake when you were there though. Sometimes he would give you the blanket if you were feeling too cold. Though you did have his blessing that allowed you to endure the cold better, you were still a mortal. As long as you didn’t tear his blanket in half or anything similar, you were good to pass

• With how you constantly talked about this new friends of yours after your adventure in the deep snowy wood at the outskirt of your town, the people that heard your stories might just assume that your vivid imagination had created this version of an imaginary friend with all these colorful details. No matter how much you tried to convince the folks that Icedagger was real, they didn’t really seem to take you seriously at all. Especially how Icedagger had made it clear that he wouldn’t leave his place at all, as he felt bounded there and had gotten used to it by now. It had definitely bothered you, that was for sure. But in Icedagger’s effort to keep a low profile, he suggested that it might be a good thing because if too many people know about his existence, it would be a hassle because then you would have to share you ‘best friend’ — your words, not his — to other people, and then he would be too busy to even pay attention to you. Safe to say that it did convince you. Children were easier to talk sense to than adults, Icedagger knew it mainly because of you

• All those times of spending most of your childhood with this mysterious yet magical friend of yours had definitely been a memorable experience. And even when Icedagger wouldn’t allow himself to say it directly in front of your face, he felt the same way too. He had been alone for if not most of his life after discovering just the philosophy of the world which he held against his frosty heart for dear life as he lived under it this entire time. You were definitely a flaw in his original calculation that had distorted the dull harmony he had tried to maintain this whole time. Who knew what he actually thought? Hell, even he couldn’t give you the clear answer. Yet one thing that Icedagger would say was how much you have been a good memory in his mind. All those games, all those silly little things you said or did, all those years of staying around him - even when to him, it was just a short period of time within a blink of an eye, you made it as if time had slowed down so the both of you could just live in the moment for once. And it meant quite a lot to him. But then Icedagger had noticed something out of the ordinary

• You were slowly, yet steadily, growing up. He had totally forgot the fact that you were a mortal, that this aging process was a normal thing to your kin. The unexpected realization hit when you suddenly gotten taller as time flew by. You were no longer the pipsqueak that was shorter than him, but then you started to grow taller like a spout climbing out of the snow for survival purposes. But he knew that it wasn’t how you were trying to adapt to whatever the environment you were residing at. His suspicion was confirmed even more as he noticed the naive tone of what was used to be a childish manner of yours was starting to become rather more responsible. Icedagger knew it. You were growing up. You were changing. He always reminded himself that nothing lasted forever, yet when it came to you, he almost forgot the entire thing - which explained why it had caught him so off guard. As if he could feel a major change approach. And changes had never really been his liking

• Yet Icedagger had mentally prepared himself before things would get too sudden. For a good while, he was preparing overnight for a gift dedicated to you, something that might be out of character for him to do especially when you had grown up beside him up until this point. Out of the blue, during that one time you two were still hanging out like usual, Icedagger suddenly gifted you a thing he called ‘lucky charm’ that was crafted from the same eternal glacier of his which he used to carve those sculptures. He knew you would like it, he knew you would wear it without a second thought. But he also knew that you didn’t know it was a parting gift that awaited for the unexpected future Icedagger had foreseen. During that time, he was still keeping that secret shut without mentioning it even once while you were still overjoyed with the gift he had made for you. At least then it would be a memento that would allow you to feel better during your hardship

• From a child to a teenager, you started to show up less to the meeting spot despite how it used to be a part of your daily schedule. Icedagger still made his effort to stay at the same place, waiting for you even when you were obviously absent that day. He did wait, until time was up, and he would return to his domain once again. He knew you were starting to forget about him. As much as the thought left a bitter taste on his tongue, he knew that this outcome was inevitable. Yet he still tried to fulfill this act of the play which would be served in your memory core as much as he could physically. From a teenager to an adolescence, Icedagger started to stop coming to the meeting spot as he did his calculations on how busy life must have gotten to you to the point that he barely saw you for weeks. When you came back to him, he could see the clear change in your expression. It was different than how he remembered you to look like. And he could definitely tell the confusion that presented on your face when sometimes you didn’t even know why did you come here in the first place. That marked the day Icedagger decided to retreat from your life as he had done his part. From an adolescence to an adult, you didn’t even come back at all

• You have completely grown up and moved on from your past memories of a mere imaginary friend that stepped out of your wild imagination. Most people could barely remember their childhood anyway, so you might just let it go like the rest of them so that you could walk your own path to see and experience the real world on your own. In another word, you had abandoned this piece of sweet dream and woke up to reality. Meanwhile, Icedagger had lost his motivation to go out again ever since you let your inner child go. He was back to where he was again, all alone with no actual interest in anything. Don’t think that he will recover quickly since in a deity’s eye, mortal is but a grain of sand in the eternal life of his. He will mourn you a little, but then he will discard the grief aside as he has always done to go back to that dull life of his like normal. The only difference is that now he has to live with the memory of a friendship who he might never get to experience again. Even when he is as cold as ice with barely any emotions to understand everything as it is, Icedagger can still be sentimental without showing it, even when he is now completely alone again

• They always left in the end, didn’t they? Nothing ever last forever, but the memories that have soon became a mere reflection of what he used to have shall stay in his cold embrace once more as he slumber himself to live in the past of somewhere no one knows. Icedagger has forgotten why did he feel so disconnected with his surroundings, even with his own peers, until now. Ice will melt when something warm comes into contact with it, but then what to do with the leftovers of said attempt of connection? It will take time before the puddle of water to be formed back into ice again, but things will never be the same. Nothing has ever stayed the same after all. The only comfort he can cling onto to soothe this unexplainable weight in his heart is the fact that you have fit into that definition of what he would call a ‘friend’. The first and maybe last friend he will ever have. A dear friend of his, who has woken up out of this melty wonderland to move forward to the unexpected future, while Icedagger is still there in the middle of nowhere. All by himself because of this act of self-isolation he has seek comfort in, all on his own as things have always been like such

• Mythology has it that when Blackrock is about to endure a sudden blizzard out of calculations, it is actually a reflection of a troubled supernatural force’s heart that is projected onto this land during their slumber. Some people is going to use science to get rid of that foolish myth, but some still firmly believes in that childish hope that maybe there existed someone who has the ability that is responsible to Blackrock’s current weather. And maybe, just maybe, you will still keep that little silly piece of ice he craved out for you. A keepsake, a lucky charm, or whatever you call it in the future. Even when you have forgotten him, calling him an ‘imaginary friend’ or never mention him again completely - that is fine too. Wherever you are, whoever you have become, he wishes you a life full of warmth, something he will never get to experience himself. Live with love, with empathy, live and know that you have been nothing but a memorable experience. And he regrets nothing, not at all, as this sweet dream shall live in his mind until time has stopped ticking

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

#phighting x reader #phighting!#x reader #icedagger and reader #phighting icedagger #icedagger phighting #shui mo’s floral tea

137 notes · View notes

assortedcriminality · 5 months ago

Text

snippet #2

Hero looked up from their anxious pacing and let out a sigh of relief as a dark shape dropped into the alley. “Villain,” they breathed, stepping forward and throwing their arms around their lover’s neck. “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.”

“Well, I’m here now,” Villain said, carefully removing the arms from them. It was always a shock to see Hero in civilian clothes, with their hair down and their face clear of disguises. Not exactly like a regular person, because they could never be regular. That smile, their laugh, those beautiful eyes--it would all make them stand out in any crowd.

“So… what is it that you want to talk about?” Hero asked, bringing Villain back to the present.

Internally, Villain steeled themself for what they were about to say. They stood up straight, tossed their head, and put on their best smirk. “I just thought you’d want to know the truth about our relationship.”

Their lover looked taken aback. “Oh…well, if there’s something important I should know…”

“It’s very important,” the criminal assured them. “So important you’d better run back to Superhero and tell them everything I’m about to say.”

Hero’s eyes widened. “What? Is Supervillain planning something, or-“

Villain laughed. “It’s not Supervillain’s plan, dear. It’s mine. And it worked perfectly.”

Their nemesis took an unconscious step backward, confused and a little wary. “I don’t understand.”

“Oh, but you wouldn’t. You were always clever, I suppose, but you’re far more gullible than you think.”

“V-Villain, what-“

“What I’m trying to say,” they continued, “is that this was fun, but I have what I came here for.” They grinned at the dumbstruck Hero. “What, still don’t get it? I made you love me. None of this was ever real.”

Hero’s mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. They were too shocked to speak. Tears started forming in their eyes.

Villain chuckled. “It started out as a ploy for information, of course. But once I saw how hopelessly you fell for me, I decided to stick around and see what else I could get.”

“But-but I never told you anything about the agency, or-“

“Darling, you really think you didn’t tell me anything? You betrayed yourself and the agency to me so many times, it’s laughable.”

Fear crept into Hero’s face. “N-no. It’s not possible.”

The criminal sighed. “When are you going to get it into your head that I won? I’ve been lying to you for so long, and you never even noticed.”

“I don’t believe you’re that good of an actor.” Their fists were clenched but trembling, doubt creeping in through the cracks despite themself.

“Oh, I’m a terrible actor,” Villain said, examining their nails uninterestedly. “You’re just that big of a fool.”

Hero sobbed, stumbling back until they hit the alley wall and covering their face with their hands. It was true, then, they thought hopelessly. This was nothing like the person they had dated. They didn’t know them at all…

“Oh, don’t cry, darling,” Villain soothed. “It’s not your fault. But really… if you couldn’t see what was right in front of you, are you sure you’re cut out for the hero business?”

Anger and misery were boiling over in Hero’s mind. They shoved their hands out in front of them, a burst of power blasting their enemy away from them. Villain put their arms in front of them to protect themself, but even now, they could tell Hero wasn’t really trying to hurt them.

“Leave me alone!” The crime-fighter cried, tears dripping from their chin. “Go! I never want to see you again!”

Villain shrugged. “Whatever you want, love. But think about what I said, will you? It might be time for a career change.” They gave Hero one last dazzling smile and lifted off into the sky. In the alley below them, their former partner slid to the ground and buried their face in their knees. Villain could hear their sobs echoing in their ears all the way back to their base.

Once they got there, they looked around to make sure all of their henchmen had gone home like they’d ordered. When they were sure they were alone, they pulled out their phone and dialed a number with shaking hands.

Supervillain picked up immediately. “Did you do it?”

“Yes. And you’ll uphold your end of the deal?”

“As long as you stay away from them, Hero will be safe from me.” The smile in their voice was evident. “Pleasure doing business with you, Villain.” And with that, they hung up.

Numbly, Villain set down their phone. Their heart felt like someone was squeezing it out of their chest. Hero’s heartbroken face was floating in front of their vision, in so much pain, all because of them. How could they do this to someone they loved so much? But how could they not, with someone as powerful as Supervillain threatening their lover’s life?

“I’m so sorry, Hero,” they whispered. They lowered their head, eyes closing in defeat. “I’m going to keep you safe. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Only then did they finally allow themself to cry.

word count: 858

#thank you so much for the support on prompt 2!#trying to post a bit more regularly from now on #hero x villain #hero x villain community #heroes and villains community #heroes and villains #villains and heroes #villain x hero #my writing #assorted writing #writing #assorted snippets

172 notes · View notes

centaurianthropology · 5 months ago

Text

'EXU: Divergence' is the Series I Didn't Know I Needed Right Now

I’ve now watched ‘Exandria Unlimited: Divergence’ fully through twice, plus the cooldown multiple times, and from the beginning to the end of the first episode it hit me like a sledgehammer. It's probably the most brutal EXU to date, and it is also somehow the most uplifting.

It's such a departure from the other Calamity-era EXU series in the best possible way, and I wish we could have an entire longform campaign with this cast in this time and place.

Spoilers for episode 1 of EXU: Divergence below the cut.

‘Calamity’ was a tragedy in the most classic sense: powerful people at the height of their strength who damn the world in their hubris. ‘Downfall’ was also a tragedy in a different way, a family of gods coming together briefly to save themselves, but at what cost?

But ‘Divergence’ is a story about ordinary people. As the gods play their family games, and the powerful vie for even more power than they could ever use, and hoard wealth and resources beyond what they would ever need, these are just five people trying to get enough food and water and rest. Trying to survive in a world that acts first as an oppressive prison and then in indifferent chaos as the gods fight above them.

They're not even Level 1 adventurers. These are level 0 nobodies. NPC stat blocks. They don’t have classes; they have jobs. And in each of these people, we see the true heart of what good people can do in desperate and damning times.

I want to talk about all these characters, because I love them so much. I love the story they and their rolls are telling.

Nia isn’t a cleric with magical healing; she’s a nurse with some herbs and bandages and a little knowledge. Hell, in a world where misery is endlessly and pointlessly perpetuated by the games of the powerful, she’s not even a healer. She’s a repairer of bodies. She keeps feeding them back as grist in the mill, because what else can she do?

She can hope. She can believe that change is coming. But more than believing in it, she can act toward it. She can enact tiny acts of rebellion and kindness. Because maybe she is just repairing bodies, but she will desperately overreach and overplay her hand to try to buy them a little more time, a little more comfort, a little more light in the darkness.

She's young and naive, but her hope is still chosen at every terrible moment. Even when she falls into exhaustion, having prayed over her sister's locket and received nothing in return, Nia still chooses to act. She chooses to get up and, if water isn't coming to her, to go looking for it instead. She is doing better than the others, even if she's not doing well. And so she goes. She looks. She sees a friend die, wishing with his dying breath to see the rain.

And it rains. Not, to her mind, because a god walks across the world before her. Even if she sees the god, she's not looking there. She knows that Starmian made the rain. She sees the acts of people good and bad. She sees the power in hope.

Garen isn’t a fighter or a druid; he’s a stonemason with one arm and a hammer. And he’s a man who has spent so long under the boot of oppression, so long being ground down into nothing that he’s learned never to hope except when exhaustion takes him so fully that he forgets not to hope. That's when he can still see the faces of his family, instead of the prison he's lived in for so long he built most of it.

He is a character we meet in complete despair, but he's also the first to move past it. As soon as the opportunity for action arises, as soon as there are people in need, Garen takes his old and tired body and makes it work for people he’s never met, simply because an injustice is being done to them. Because he’s been waiting for longer than he can remember to stand back up after being beaten down. When he brings his hammer down on a guard’s head, when he breaks through a wall to save a bunch of dragonborn he’s never met, when he insists that they will not leave children to die. This is a man remembering what it is to stand up.

He wants to save everyone, well beyond what he's currently capable of, because once hope is rekindled he clings to it. He believes firmly that if people who can help others don’t do so, then what is the point?

Fiedra isn’t a rogue; she’s a gang leader with the ability to talk her way out of trouble. She also isn’t nearly the altruist that Garen and Nia are. She acts out of self-interest because that was how she’s survived as long as she has. She has a roach tattooed on her arm. She is a survivor, someone who can worm her way into a position of slight privilege even in the worst prison imaginable. And when she’s starting to feel the effects of exhaustion from their march north, she sneaks a meal from their dwindling food stocks that no one else gets. Because that is what a survivor does, even if it hurts others.

But she's also not so simple. She only eats the cheese after she checks to make sure her friend isn’t becoming exhausted as well. Because as much as she knows how dangerous it is, Fiedra cares. She shows it again and again in her interactions with Crokas, how she drops everything including her position of privilege and relative comfort in the prison to try to break him free.

Crokas is her family; her gang was her community, and she cared for them fiercely. And now all she has is Crokas (because the dice tell an amazing story, and those terrible rolls were incredible for her character development). So she looks after him. She jumps to his defense when it’s revealed that his breath weapon doesn’t work. She talks him up, tells everyone how great he is, explains things to him when he doesn't understand.

She’s not to the point where she’s capable of expanding that compassion out beyond the two of them (“The best I can do, kid” was a hell of a line). But she’s making steps in that direction. She survived a hellish march with these people. When she and Crokas found Starmian’s body she was the one who immediately asked where Nia and Erro were. Sometimes, when the shit hits the fan, all you can do is care for yourself and those you love. Learning to care for more than that tiny sphere is part of part of reclaiming the best of one’s personhood in the worst of times, and part of finally building a future instead of just surviving now.

Crokas isn’t a barbarian; he’s a massive bodyguard in way over his head. He has no idea what’s going on most of the time. He has an intelligence stat of 6, and he’s stuck in a world that keeps upending itself on him. Maybe he understood how life worked in a city with his gang and with Fiedra guiding him. Even in Rybad Kol, the worst prison imaginable, a man as massive and imposing as Crokas probably did all right, especially with Fiedra talking the Roaches’ way into running the Slop.

And then every dragonborn in the prison was taken to be carted off to die for a goddess he’d never heard of, purely because they were dragonborn. He can barely even understand that he’s part of a singled-out minority group, and certainly can't grasp the machinations of gods.

But he can see that, in the cart with him, there are children. And when they escape he might not understand how this happened. But he understands that this long march toward some hope for a future is currently killing them. They don't have food or water. Their feet are damaged for the rest of their lives by this endless walk north. It is SO BAD.

But he notices when those children start to become exhausted, so he walks like a monitor lizard with them riding on his back.

Because that's what strength is for.

Not to rule. Not to hurt. To lift up those who can’t stand, and carry them. Crokas may not understand what’s going on, but he understands what needs to be done, and what he can do. And the fact that he starts carrying those children, taking penalties against his constitution saving throws at the end of every bad day on the road, right after Fiedra ate that cheese in secret? The look on her face says it all.

Erro is not a ranger or a druid; he's a mapmaker who has survived for far too many years seeing far too many horrors. He is clearly almost as old as Garen, and is far more stubbornly jaded. Their lives have both been destroyed, but all of Erro’s travels, everything he’s done has ground him down to basic survival. He is practical, but still not cruel. Liam said in the cooldown that he’s been on a teeter-totter between simply surviving to live another day, and the thought he could even hope for a better world.

He’s not there yet. He’s more like Fiedra in his fatalism, even if he's not as openly cynical. And yet he still follows Nia when she goes out with Starmian to find water. He still looks after her, just like Fiedra looks after Crokas. And like Fiedra, he sees in Nia the hope he tries to smother in himself. Starmian dies, as Erro knew he would, because he’s seen dozens of Starmians.

But then the rains come. The gods give and take and take and take and give and take. The world is a cruel place, but he still watches a younger, more hopeful person fall to her knees with the rain in her hands as she cries in thanks.

I am immediately and completely enamored with these ordinary people living through extraordinary times. I can’t wait to see what becomes of them, how the world shapes them and breaks them and how they might lift one another and a community up out of the rubble.

I didn’t know how much I needed this right now. Because it’s SO BAD, but the very first word in the very first episode is hope. And more than hope, these people are embodying acting in tiny ways to build a better future. I know that myself and a lot of people have been watching the enshittification of the world around us and feel like ants under the feet of uncaring, cruel tyrants and gods. Like their games always lead to suffering, and they either don’t care or actively enjoy that part of it. And it's so easy to give in to despair, to become convinced that there is absolutely nothing that can be done.

But we are all level 0 ordinary people too. And we can still hope. We can still take acts of defiance and kindness, great and small. We can stand up again when we’re knocked down, even when it hurts. We can help those we love to live day to day, even while we can take what steps we can to build and lift up a larger community. We can live through hell, because even in that hell there will be moments of exquisite beauty and joy.

Because maybe all of us can find the rain.

#critical role #exu divergence #exandria unlimited: divergence #brennan lee mulligan #matthew mercer #liam obrien #celia rose gooding #alex ward #jasmine don #rei'nia saph #garen #fiedra marrow #crokas #erro mordaurum

242 notes · View notes

cheshiresense · 7 months ago

Note

" Kisuke's observant as fuck and Ichigo's actually really bad at staying away from this one mad scientist who created him and weaponized him and pointed him at the enemy but also followed right after him [...]. So even a hundred years in the past was never going to prevent Kisuke from gravitating to Ichigo" - I'm sorry, I'm just imagining Kisuke's confusion at the odd Shiba and the mental acrobatics he is doing to understand him. Hiyory just want them to fuck and put her out of her misery

Hiyori is the real MVP, enduring all the bullshit at the Twelfth, especially when Kisuke stops only obsessing over science and starts obsessing over science and the crazy Shiba constantly breaking into their compound and dragging Kisuke out of his labs for a spar or lunch or whatever like it's his right, and Kisuke just lets him. The day her dumbass captain starts skiving off work to stalk the kid is the day Hiyori pulls out the rulebook to check up on the laws for fraternization (thankfully few, subjectively speaking; disturbingly few, objectively speaking) and also the laws on making eyes at a kid from a noble clan (varies depending on the clan, although generally speaking, no officially recorded spouse has ever been from the Rukongai, and they're all the result of one political arrangement or another; the Shiba Clan's the best about it in that their members in the more recent couple hundred years were at least allowed to choose their own match and bring them home for approval, and the clan head and elders were generally agreeable about it so long as there were some benefits involved).

Now Hiyori doesn't know much about her dumbass captain but she's pretty fucking sure he's not only from the Rukongai, but he's also a former assassin and a creepy scientist and has like nothing going for him except a captaincy he doesn't even seem to care about. His social skills are in the dumps, his capacity for honesty and moral integrity is next to nonexistent, he's a workaholic who enjoys dissecting corpses for breakfast and stashing the parts in the freezers next to the ice-cream, his right-hand scientist is a clown with even less morals than him, and he may or may not be holding an unrequited torch for the Shihouin clan head. 0/10 would not marry. Shiba Kaien would have to be mentally deranged to agree to this match.

The thing is though, she's also heard stuff about the newest Shiba, one of them being that Kaien has zero control over him. The guy will do what he wants and damn the consequences, especially when those consequences would probably be things he allegedly doesn't care about like cuts in clan stipend allotment and disownment. Also, Kaien's a soft touch and likes this new cousin a lot and would most likely yield instead of push the point if Shiba Ichigo really insists.

So basically it all comes down to what Shiba Ichigo wants, and Hiyori's pretty damn certain she can take a good guess. She's less certain her dumbass captain can, but she thinks it means something too that for the first time since she met him, Urahara's actually taken interest in something outside of his research.

Beyond that, she doesn't actually care enough to matchmake or whatever. The Shiba kid can get Urahara out of his labs and even into his office to work on his paperwork, if only so he'll have it out of the way when Ichigo swings by, and that's all she cares about. She just wants to make sure this whole thing won't blow up in their faces and possibly get Urahara demoted because she'll be damned if she has to field another new captain, one who might be worse than her dumbass captain, which she would've said was impossible even just two years ago but she has unfortunately met Kurotsuchi now.

Everything is in line with the rules though so that's that. She has no interest in sticking her nose any farther into whatever's going on between those two, even if she does wish they would hurry up and get their shit together because her dumbass captain is kind of gross every time Ichigo is in the vicinity and he gets all sparkly-eyed at him.

#ichigo & starrk time travel verse #sarugaki hiyori #bleach #uraichi #man i should just set down the ichigo ship at this point shouldn't i lmao

328 notes · View notes

pomefioredove · 1 year ago

Note

i crave angst and hurt/comfort/fluff maybe something like that with vil? maybe reader gets hurt pretty badly or something and vil gets upset?? hehe angsty scenarios>>

on my hands and knees rn... vil... save me vil...

summary: anger is an ugly emotion type of post: fic characters: vil additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, angsty..... mentions of bullying/abuse etc?? very open ended you can interpret that how you please, GOD this is indulgent

Anger is an ugly emotion.

So much is true even for Vil Schoenheit. If you asked him, there is nothing more undignified than losing your composure in front of others, especially those under your care.

No, Vil keeps such emotions to himself. If he feels the need to get a point across, or to settle a conflict, he will do so with grace and dignity. He won't even break a nail.

This is different.

This is seeing you turn away from him with tears in your eyes, and feeling as if the very world itself is crashing down around him.

He cannot stand it.

He cannot stand seeing you like this.

It shakes him to his very core. You've had bad days, evenings where you come crawling into Pomefiore looking as if the world had chewed you up and spit you back out at his feet, and he's tended to it.

He's combed your hair, cleaned the dirt out from under you nails, bandaged your paper cuts with a sort of gentleness he doesn't even reserve for himself, made you look new and whole again.

Vil can't help with this.

It drives him mad. It makes him feel like he's stuck inside his own ribcage with nothing but the sound of his beating heart, trapped in a flurry of confusion and anxiety.

He wishes you would just talk about it. It would make everything so much easier if you would let him help.

But he won't pressure you. He couldn't bring himself to. And, quite frankly, if he knew even the slightest detail about whomever had been making you feel this way, he was afraid he wouldn't be able to stop himself from finding them and mincing them to shreds.

As they deserved.

But Vil is not one to rush into anything. He is patient, cordial, taking his sweet time to understand a problem from all angles before enacting a solution.

And so, he doesn't ask.

He holds your chin between his delicate fingers and dabs at the corners of your eyes, hoping to brush away your misery along with your tears.

You sniffle. It's not a pretty sight- you're certainly no graceful crier.

He couldn't care less.

The only thing that Vil can think of now is how only one measly person could be your undoing.

After everything you've been through without even breaking a sweat, all it took were a few too-familiar words to melt you into a pool of bad memories and misery at his feet.

Sevens help whichever poor fool had done this to you.

"Now, now. That's alright," he coos, wiping your cheeks just as a new barrage of tears runs down them. "Don't worry about a thing."

You just barely manage to choke out a response. "I'm sorry, this is- this is embarrassing,"

"Nonsense. You have nothing to feel bad for. I promise I won't utter a word of this to the others,"

He cups your face in his palms, giving you a moment to compose yourself.

"Deep breaths," he instructs. "Seven seconds in, hold it, for just a moment, and then seven seconds out. There. Excellent job."

It's quiet. The sound of sobs and his own heart pounding seem to fade into quiet breaths shared between the both of you.

"Good," he strokes your cheeks with his thumbs. A repetitive, soothing motion. "How do you feel?"

"Guilty," you say. "I didn't mean to ruin your evening."

"You've ruined nothing. You're very important to me, you know. I would never want you to think I'm too busy for you," he offers a smile. "Now, how do you feel?"

You're quiet for a moment, likely mulling over his words. Your voice is softer when you reply. "Tired,"

"Oh... you poor thing. I can't have you dead on your feet tomorrow, now, can I?"

You shake your head.

He stands, pulling you up with him. "Come along, then. Let's get you to bed. I'll help,"

He begins guiding you away from the couch you'd spent the better half of the evening sobbing on. You respond in a quiet voice.

"Vil?"

"Mm? Yes?"

"You promise you won't say anything about this to the others?"

A look of utter softness crosses his face at your request, and he smiles again. "My lips are sealed,"

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #lalala #queued

489 notes · View notes

lostatsea-blog · 6 months ago

Text

Aftermath Part 1

Alexia Putellas x England Reader

Warnings: None

The immediate aftermath of the ACL injury. This is a 3 part fic and will go between different POVs

Alexia’s POV

Numb, that is the only way to describe how you feel right now. There is noise, chatter and movement all around you but you cannot process anything. Mapi is besides you, answering questions asked by the doctor while you remain silent. You did not need a doctor to know what had happened, you knew the second you felt the pop and your knee gave out under you. Everything you had worked so hard for was being taken away and you did not even have it in you to cry. Mapi had tried to get you to talk but you had remained silent and so after a while, she stopped trying. Your first European championship group match was due to take place tomorrow but you knew that your tournament was over and now your career hung in the air. You were Alexia Putellas, Ballon d’Or winner, the best in the world but now you were nothing more than a failure, who had let her nation down. Mapi had told you that they were trying to get hold of y/n, but you knew it was no use. y/n had joined the England camp two weeks ago and they were having very little contact with anyone outside their bubble, which included you. It did not matter anyway. y/n was also one of the greats in the women’s game and would not want a failure like you holding her back.

After a series of scans and X-rays, the diagnosis was confirmed. You had torn your ACL and would not be competing in this tournament. It would also be a significant period of rehabilitation so you likely would not be involved in Barcelona’s upcoming season either. After discussions with the doctor, you were released to return to the team hotel, where you would have to make preparations to return to Spain for surgery and rehabilitation at Barcelona. In all honesty you did not know if you wanted that rehabilitation, you did not know if you ever wanted to kick a ball again. You knew that your silence was unsettling Maria but you could not bring yourself to care. You did not want comfort or reassurances that everything would be okay. The van that had brought you to the hospital also returned you to the team hotel with your knee propped up along the back seat. As you sat and stared at the compression bandage covering it, you could not help but feel a sense of betrayal. Your body had betrayed you and you could not bare to look at it.

Once back at the hotel, you were taken into the dining room where the rest of the team were eating dinner. Food was placed in front of you but the rolling in the pit of your stomach made it impossible to eat. You could hear whispers all around you but did not have the energy to engage with any of your team. They told you that they had not been able to contact y/n but would keep trying. Again, you told them not to bother. She still had a chance at becoming European champion and you did not want her wasting her time on you. Once dinner was over you hobbled to your room and collapsed on your bed allowing yourself to fall into what felt like oblivion. You don’t know how long you had been there wallowing in your misery when you were interrupted by an insistent knock on your door..

#alexia putellas #alexia x reader #barcelona femeni #woso imagine #woso community #fcb femení #fc barcelona femeni #barcelona women #woso x reader #fcb femeni x reader #woso fanfics

171 notes · View notes

ultravioletrayz · 1 year ago

Note

So my idea for degradation fic involving Miguel would be something like this- (also please keep an open mind this idea is kinda out there)

So lets say Miguel is your mentor and you are so eager to please and do good work. You have always been kinda good at everything so people complementing you and telling you how great you are is nothing new. But Miguel is different, he's hard to please. So when you do something right he's not complementing you and that is odd for you, and when you mess something up well...he's quick to criticize you. this stirs something within you.

So you keep trying to please him and he's not into it he just keeps bringing you down and reader is starting to like it, sometimes wanting messing up. So lets say reader makes a big mistake on a mission and Miguel is ready to yell and degradant them but reader is getting turned on by it and Miguel noted it so he starts to degradant them more and it starts getting into NSFW territory. while he's getting into it he's just saying filth to you. "your so such a needy slut" "look at you getting turned on while I bully you, pathetic" "you want to be a good girl? you want me to praise you? too bad...now open..." *spits in readers mouth*

then if you can end it off where reader in passed out and thats when he's sweet in the aftercare when she dosn't know. he will open up to her one day just not yet.

Not even gonna lie, if Miguel was a meanie towards me i wouldn’t know whether to cry or cum.

Pairing: miguel o’hara x f!spiderperson!reader

Warnings: 18+, degrading kink, rough sex, fingering, orgasm denial/mild edging, getting bent over miguel’s desk, marking, clit slapping (like, once), pull-out method, absolutely terrible and rushed ending, miguel being mean, horny, and ultimately just socially-awkward

Summary: you strive for perfection in all areas… until the opportunity arises where doing the opposite will give you access to the perfection inside your mean boss’s boxers.

A/N: before anyone tries to come for me for making miguel seem like an asshole in this fic, ik that this isn’t entirely true to miguel’s character. however, i’m horny and dgaf. enjoy!!

Word Count: 3K (unedited)

For as long as you could remember, people would refer to you as ‘gifted’. It was as though everything you attempted to achieve was accomplished with ease. In your world, on the days when the Society was a distant memory and you were given the opportunity to act as a true Friendly Neighbourhood Spider-Person, you practically lived in a bubble of praise. Surprisingly, the media worshipped you, recognising you as the hero you are. Locals chanted your name, asked for autographs, and even demanded you accept gifts and tokens of appreciation every time you were spotted in your costume on the streets.

Although you forced yourself to stay humble within the public eye, you would be lying if you tried to convince yourself that the compliments and special treatment didn’t make you feel good, didn’t push you to be a better superhero for the sake of the citizens who practically worship the ground you walk on.

Which is the primary reason why having to tend to work and assignments at the Spider Society caused you so much misery. When you were first recruited, a few other Spider-People had mentioned how short-tempered and cold the boss is, but you had expected to win him over with your natural, over-achieving flare. That goal was quickly crushed when you met Miguel O’Hara for the first time. He had immediately lectured you on certain habits he had observed from footage of you fighting crime at home, giving you strict instructions on how to be better at your job. From then on, you’ve tried your best to view his constant criticism as a positive and value his (poor) attempts at mentoring you.

It didn’t take long for you to realise that he wasn’t really trying to help you, and he was just a grumpy asshole as everyone had warned and wanted you to follow orders rather than going out and trying to prove yourself constantly. Lately, you’ve been slipping up, making mistakes. You had come to terms with the fact that Miguel wasn’t interested in showing you any appreciation or praise for your hard work, and it had begun to affect your performance on missions, bringing you to this point.

“What the hell was that?” Miguel snarls at you, his platform lowering as he slams his fist on his desk and glares at you, his sharp red eyes burning holes in your pretty, sad little face. You had almost let an anomaly get away, blinded by your insecurities and Miguel’s lack of interest in your skills, you would have destroyed an entire universe if it weren’t for the backup Miguel had sent you.

“Miguel, let me explain-” You start, being cut off by an angry huff from Miguel.

“I’m sick of the excuses. I don’t care about how you handle shit in your own dimension. When you come here and are trusted to keep the multiverse stable, I expect you to do as you’re told. Unless the small task of containing the minor anomalies I assign you is too much to handle?” Miguel scoffs, shaking his head as he looks you up and down.

The look of disappointment on his tan, chiselled face would usually have you on the verge of tears, but as you’ve grown accustomed to his harsh beratement, it’s begun to have a very different effect on you. You can just imagine him, brushed back curls dishevelled and clinging messily to his face as he pounds into your needy pussy, whispering absolute filth into your ear as he uses you to get off. The thought has you practically soaking through your Spider-Suit, causing you to instinctively squeeze your thighs together as you force yourself to keep your gaze from dropping to Miguel’s broad, muscular physique. As his glare intensifies and he rolls his eyes at your subtle movements, you know he’s got you figured out.

Miguel’s heightened senses pick up on your current state of arousal, the scent of your slick making him dizzy as it clouds his mind. He had always beaten himself up about how harsh he could be towards you, reflecting on his cruelty to such a pretty girl with shame and regret. But finding out that you liked being treated so poorly by him, it has him going fucking crazy.

“Por el amor de Dios,” (for fuck’s sake) Miguel hisses, taking a step towards you, looming over your smaller form with a judgemental scowl plastered on his face. “You’re pathetic. Risking everything we work for here, just so that you can imagine me yelling at you while you finger-fuck yourself at night?”

Your eyes widen, his words reigning true as they hang in the air of the room. Yet, you make a miserable attempt at denying the accusation by shaking your head softly and taking a step back. Miguel only moves closer to you, intimidating you with his mere presence as his scowl curls into a cruel smirk.

“No me mientas, hermosa,” (don’t lie to me, beautiful) He whispers, one of his large, calloused hands grabbing your face and pulling you back towards him, fingers squeezing your cheeks as his breath hits your skin, sending shivers up and down your spine. “You’re usually so eager to please me. Did you think I was stupid enough not to notice when you started messing things up?”

“Miguel-” You whine, voice muffled due to the way he squishes your cheeks together, making your pretty lips jut out in a sad little pout.

“It always annoyed me how bubbly and determined you are,” He admits bluntly, sharp red eyes scanning your face, before trailing down to watch the way your thighs rub together in a pitiful attempt to alleviate the arousal coursing through you due to his relentless disparagement. “But I didn’t think you’d resort to acting like a dirty whore just because I’m not impressed by the ‘Friendly Neighbourhood’ act.”

His free hand trails down your body, fingers gliding between the valley of your breasts, down your stomach, and stopping just above the crotch of your Spider-Suit. He chuckles lowly as he watches the way you squirm in his grasp, hips attempting to roll against his hand for any kind of friction.

If we had to be completely honest, he actually enjoyed watching you work. You really are gifted, always applying yourself to missions. When he heard you would be handling an anomaly for him, he would feel relieved, even proud. But he knew that any compliments he gave you would just be lost in the sea of praise you already received. So, in order to set himself apart, he decided he was going to be a complete dickhead to you. He figured bullying you would motivate you to seek him out in a crowd, make you strive to impress him and show off to him, and ultimately bring the two of you closer. It was shameful, how awful he is at making first impressions, that he’d rather hurt a beautiful young girl’s feelings as opposed to being a reliable boss and potential friend. But now knowing that he hadn’t completely ruined his chances at getting closer to you, he was certainly going to take full advantage of this new development.

“Now look at you, you don’t wanna be a good girl for me anymore, nena?” Miguel teases, grinning as he sees the need and innocence in your eyes as he releases your face with a harsh push. “You wanna be a dumb little slut for your fucking boss, instead?”

You want to say no, want to deny his harsh words and hopefully gain back some of the dignity he was stripping away from you, but your body yearns for Miguel’s touch, his degradation fueling your most carnal desires, and you nod your head frantically. Miguel sighs at your eagerness, tapping your cheek firmly as he wraps a hand around your throat, not applying any pressure but allowing his thumb to lazily stroke the side of your neck.

He leans in to bite your bottom lip hard, causing you to cry out in pain and open your mouth. He takes the opportunity and slams his plump lips against yours, tongue intertwining around yours inside your warm mouth as he groans into the sloppy, demanding kiss. His hand drops from your throat as his bulging arms tuck themselves underneath the fat of your ass and he lifts you up, carrying you over to his platform and dumping you on top of his desk, lips never leaving yours. Miguel’s razor-sharp claws protrude from his fingertips, slicing through the material of your Spider-Suit and prompting a startled yelp from you as he rips your clothes right off your body.

The matching set you have on underneath has his dick thrumming in his suit, and he almost loses sight of his initial plan in a desperate temptation to worship your gorgeous body and shower you with the praise that he knows you deserve. But he wants to be different, wants to hold a special place in your heart, and this was the only way to do it.

“You wore these for me, didn’t you?” He hisses flippantly against your lips, throwing the rags of your once cute little Spider-Suit across his office, before tearing your bra open from the middle with just the strength of his grip, claws retracting back into the pads of his fingers. “Puta de mierda.” (fucking whore)

Miguel flips your body over on his desk with ease, your face now pressed against the cold, hard material as Miguel leaves a trail of deep bite marks and hickeys across the exposed skin of your back, making his way down to your clothed pussy at an agonising pace, your ass wiggling enticingly to try and convince Miguel to give you what you want, what you need from him. Miguel peels your soaked panties off of you, tossing them onto his desk chair for later, as his fingers run up and down your already dripping folds, causing him to chuckle to himself.

“I never would’ve pegged you for a girl who gets off on this kind of thing,” Miguel whispers as his fingers explore your wetness, his tone much softer as his sharp, red eyes admire the way your body looks bent over his desk. He snaps himself out of his trance, opting to tap on your clit harshly with his fingers to bring himself back to a place of lust and callousness, and to tease you further.

Miguel dips his two fingers into your cunt, making you moan and cry out, your hands gripping the edge of Miguel’s desk as you push your hips back to fuck yourself on his thick fingers. He pumps his digits in and out of you at a leisurely pace, curling them to hit that sweet, gummy spot inside of you each time they delve deeper into your pussy. Miguel groans at the way you clench around his fingers as he thrusts them into you, his knuckles drenched in your arousal as he watches the way you grind against his hand when his thumb rubs your pulsing clit to stimulate you further.

You’re completely falling apart at his touch, the way his fingers deliciously stretch your hole making you see stars as you approach your climax. Just as you’re about to cum, Miguel pulls his fingers out of your cunt and gives your clit a harsh slap, making you whine as your entrance twitches at the sudden loss.

“Sluts don’t get to cum ‘til I say so, muñeca.” Miguel taunts, disabling his nano-tech suit, the holographic material dissolving and revealing his tall, tan, muscular, the mere feeling of him towering over you from behind making you moan against his desk. He holds his fat, stiff cock in one hand, dragging it between your folds and gathering the slick trickling down your thighs as he scoffs at the way you tremble and spasm at his touch. “Especially sluts like you.”

Miguel plunges his dick into your pussy aggressively, bottoming out in one harsh slam of his hips against your ass and causing you to scream, his hand coming down to cover your mouth and muffle your echoing moans as he delivers fast, disciplining thrusts into the depths of your core, tip kissing your cervix with each frenzied movement. His cock rams into you mercilessly as he digs one hand into the plush of your waist while the other holds your head up, the two fingers he was using to play with your pussy forcefully entering your mouth. On instinct, you wrap your lips around them and suck the remnants of your essence off of his skin, moaning and choking on his thick digits as Miguel’s length stretches you to the brink of what is possible for your tight little pussy to handle and his balls slap against your puffy clit.

“Pussy was fucking made for me,” He grunts, delivering a smack to your juicy ass, the sting making you whine against his fingers, saliva dribbling down your chin and saturating the desk below your face. “Squeezing me so tight. It’s a shame that this pretty cunt can’t make up for how shit you are at your job. Maybe I won’t bother assigning you missions anymore? I’ll just call you in when I need a hole to fuck.”

Wow. He really did think of you as useless. You had always considered yourself to be good at what you do. At home, you were a hero. Here, bent over your boss’s desk and being fucked so mercilessly, you felt like nothing but a whore. You cry, tears rolling down your cheeks as you moan and squeal with each thrust of Miguel’s thick cock into your hungry pussy. Despite your underlying feelings of shame for your recent failures as an employee, being fucked like a slut by the very man you’ve been fantasising about since the first time you had the displeasure of meeting was able to snap you out of your sadness and overwhelm you with passion.

Hearing you sob around his fingers fills Miguel with a sharp pang of guilt, but he brushes it off and pounds into you harder to remind himself of his end goal, breaking you down until he can make you his. If you really were as into his cruelty as you seemed, he was going to give you exactly what you so desperately needed.

“Mig-Miguel, I’m- fuck! I’m so close.” You whine, his fingers in your mouth making your voice come out as a spluttering cry.

Miguel pulls his soaked fingers out of your mouth and holds your waist with both hands, fucking his cock impossibly deeper inside of you as the sound of skin slapping against skin and both of your desperate, breathy sounds of pleasure fill the dark office.

“Beg for it, amor.” He whispers against your ear, his chest pressed flush against your back as he nibbles at the smooth skin of your neck as his dick moves in and out of you at a brutal pace, the veins of his thick length caressing the warm walls of your pussy as he smushes his tip against your sweet spot with each thrust.

“Please, Miguel! I promise I’ll do better. I won’t make another mistake again, I’m gonna be so good, I swear! Better than I’ve ever been!” Your breathless pleas make Miguel feel a conflicting surge of both guilt and power. He watches the way your back arches and your thighs shake as you try so so hard not to cum, to be a good girl for him and follow his orders. At the end of the day, you just wanted him to like you, to see how good of a hero you are, and he knew that. Which is why he’s finding it so fun to toy with you like this.

“Shh, I know. I’ll let you cum, sweetheart.” Miguel coos, tugging on your hair so that he can reach your face and plant a kiss on your tear-stained cheek, his soft, long-awaited act of reassurance contrasting the lewd sounds of squelching as he fucks you with mind-numbing intensity.

He reflects on his words as he listens to the way his unexpected words make you cry and whimper, and part of him regrets the way he approached your relationship, wishing he had just been honest with you and praised your efforts from the start, rather than being cruel and bending you over his desk to fuck you so harshly. But the way you tighten and pulse around his sensitive dick brings him back to the present, and he gives your waist an encouraging squeeze.

The tiny action of consolation has you spiralling, your vision going spotty as you squirt around Miguel’s fat cock, squeals and moans leaving your glistening lips as your whole body twitches with the all-consuming sensation of your release. Watching as you come undone, Miguel feels himself rapidly approaching his own release. He curses and pulls out of your sopping cunt, watching the way his leaky tip shines with your juices. It sends Miguel over the edge. He lets out a sharp whimper as he cums all over your round ass and your spine, thick globs of his climax staining your sweaty skin and making you exhale shakily.

The sex and your crying make you pass out on the desk, and Miguel quickly covers you up and carries you to his quarters, laying you down in his bed and tucking you in. He whispers a quick apology to you, letting his cruel persona disappear and showing you how much he actually values you as a colleague and person when he thinks you’re asleep, but you hear everything.

Maybe you didn’t really need to be praised by Miguel to know that you were good enough. And maybe he didn’t need to be so afraid of showing you that appreciation. For now, though, the angry sex would be a pleasant memory for both of you, in an odd way.

“Get some rest, cariño. You deserve it, for being such a good girl.”

I FINALLY FINISHED IT OMG. Thank you all for being so patient 💜💜

#ultravioletrayz #miguel smut #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o’hara smut #spiderman 2099 smut #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel x reader #𖤓uv-c𖤓

760 notes · View notes

merakiui · 7 months ago

Note

Do you think Jamil would use his um to hypnotize darling into being his dorm’s fuckhole? Or a fuckhole between him and octrio cuz I do love gangbangs with guys that have a super slimy side. Maybe someone is recording the gangbang for jack off material that might also be used as blackmail material if needed?! Or maybe it gets you stuck in a contract as their sex doll before it escalates to cam girl to bring in some profit or maybe doing some exclusive live late night shows at the lounge hnnnnng. I’m sorry it’s just that gangbanging has been doing a number on my brain and I’m ready to combust

OOOOO omg yes absolutely!!! WAIT,,, Jamil doing that out of hate..... just pure dislike for you, and it scratches some sadistic part inside him to see how you come undone with the help of his hypnosis. Hypnotizing you to be Scarabia's silly cock-slut...... just a dumb hole for everyone to fuck into,,, free use...... in my mind Jamil wants nothing to do with those fish, but if he somehow owed some sort of debt to them or if Azul was on his tail about how grateful Jamil ought to be for their help during the events of book four..... maybe he would be inclined to do it but only once and then that's that; debt paid!!! orz whatever happens to you after that when you're in the arms of the fish is your responsibility. >:)

The ideal and underrated combination would be Ruggie and Jamil. One slimy guy who can turn your mind to mush and all he needs to do is have you look into his eyes so he can utter the spell, and another slimy guy who can take complete control of your every move..... the potential!!!! Their cooperation in Glomas was so scrumptious..... Jamil hypnotizing you while Ruggie's making you spread yourself open for both of them...... the two of them exchanging looks and trying to see who is the most devious between the two of them, but clearly they're both enjoying it because Jamil is smirking and Ruggie won't stop snickering..... </3 terrible men......

But back to Scarabia!!! I love the idea of Kalim wanting to repay Octavinelle for all of their help (much to Jamil's dismay), so what better way to do that than throw a big celebration!!! :D and those slimy fish certainly aren't going to object. The dorm doesn't even need to get you drunk when you're hypnotized and maybe Kalim doesn't even realize that's what happened because he's too busy having fun and forcing more food and drink your way..... orz and because Scarabia is so thoughtful and has the foresight for these things...... one way or another, you're being spread out on the luxurious carpets in Scarabia lounge and someone's passing around condoms and lube and toys and the whole thing quickly becomes all about sex because you're so cock-drunk.

Hehe thinking about Jamil who doesn't partake at all, merely watching from the sidelines as you're plowed raw by some of the students, as they move your hands towards their waiting dicks, as you choke on cock and get covered in cum, as Jade and Floyd sink their teeth into your shoulders and neck while fucking you at the same time, etc etc. I think Jamil would get the most pleasure from the moments after, when the party has settled down and you come to from the hypnosis and you're left with this gaping emptiness inside you as you realize you were just used by so many guys, some of whom you thought were your friends. Why would you have sex with so many guys? That's not like you at all!!! >_< waaa the panic...

And Jamil who smiles and will play at being your friend when in reality he could care less. AAAAA HE'S MEAN....... I love Jamil who gets sick satisfaction from having you depend on and trust in him.... as if he isn't the cause for your misery.

#twisted chit chat #n/sfw #tw: hypnosis #tw: noncon

207 notes · View notes

rooksamoris · 8 days ago

Text

this is an analysis of jamil's solo song snippet!! im going by the fan translation of the wonderful @winterspellsfrozenkit who has provided fan translations of the other snippets as well!! without further ado, here is a copy of their translation followed by the analysis.

蛇と瞬き-JAMIL:

Jewels and magic cannot Fulfill the wishes in me Knowing no end To days filled with misery. Gasping as I just try to breathe Desires creeping out, trying to leave The more that I desire, The more narrow this place is The light will never fade in me My anger will never cease to be If only I could expose it all Ah ah ah! A shadow is dancing Listen to the insatiable voice Freedom’s in my hand, Like I’m cursing and To the end I’ll FLY-yah-yah Ah ah… Not enough to get by-ah-ah The Snake and Blink

let's do a line by line analysis of the song and then i'll share my thoughts!!

"jewels and magic cannot/fulfill the wishes in me" immediately what comes to mind is marx's theory of commodity fetishism which he writes about in capital volume one.

"A commodity appears, at first sight, a very trivial thing, and easily understood. Its analysis shows that it is, in reality, a very queer thing, abounding in metaphysical subtleties and theological niceties. So far as it is a value in use, there is nothing mysterious about it, whether we consider it from the point of view that by its properties it is capable of satisfying human wants, or from the point that those properties are the product of human labour" Karl Marx, Das Kapital

basically, commodity fetishism is what happens when we value commodities outside of the labor that goes into creating them. it is most blatant with things like designer items because we are so separated from the labor and yet put some idealist value onto the product for the label. commodity fetishism begins in the supply chain when the capitalist, who owns the means of production, separates the commodity from the laborers who make it. it happens when you purchase clothes and don't acknowledge the labor and raw material extraction that went through making those clothes.

in this case, jamil is acknowledging that commodities are not what he wants, even though in his book seven dream we see that he merely replaces his hierarchical position with that of the al-asim family, whom he is loyal to through the caste system. deep down, jamil knows that it is not what will fulfill him which is why in the wish event all he asks for is one trip where he can go some place where no one knows him and the curse of his caste lineage cannot oppress him. what jamil wants is freedom, not wealth and power.

jamil himself deals with commodity fetishism, in which his labor/labor power is the commodity. his time, effort and his very life are commodities, and because of this, he is heavily alienated from his work and others. jamil's position in society allows for him to be dehumanized and that is an alienating experience. he is nothing more than what he can bring kalim.

"Presupposing private property, my work is an alienation of life, for I work in order to live, in order to obtain for myself the means of life. My work is not my life. Secondly, the specific nature of my individuality, therefore, would be affirmed in my labour, since the latter would be an affirmation of my individual life. Labour therefore would be true, active property. Presupposing private property, my individuality is alienated to such a degree that this activity is instead hateful to me, a torment, and rather the semblance of an activity. Hence, too, it is only a forced activity and one imposed on me only through an external fortuitous need, not through an inner, essential one. My labour can appear in my object only as what it is. It cannot appear as something which by its nature it is not. Hence it appears only as the expression of my loss of self and of my powerlessness that is objective, sensuously perceptible, obvious and therefore put beyond all doubt" Karl Marx, Comment on James Mill

the last line heavily applies to jamil since his work, serving the al-asim family, is a loss of himself. he lowers himself, his intelligence, his abilities, and his strength for the sake of kalim. he is powerless in this situation, as he has stated previously, since upsetting kalim's father could drag his entire family into the streets or worse. his work is not something he does because he sees value in it for the betterment of society or for personal enlightenment, but because he is forced to.

a lot of this can be attributed to the english translation being so bad and censoring so much?? here's some examples that come to mind!!

chalking things up to just "im loyal to kalim" really lowers the stakes and it blurs how bad things truly are for jamil.

"Knowing no end/To days filled with misery" i find this issue comes a lot with the fandom, but we forget that jamil born into an unfair caste system and has no real way out of it. his suffering is endless and if he marries and has children, he will just be dragging them down with him.

unlike a wage laborer, jamil is stuck working for the al-asim family because of his lower caste. we don't know if he earns money at all, but i highly doubt it. his situation is like other caste situations in which he and his family have their home tied to the al-asim's. jamil is doing "well" but at the price that his family serves kalim's. sure, he is housed and fed, but at the cost that his life be at risk to save kalim's. since caste is tied to lineage and tradition, there really is no escape for jamil from this.

also, reminder that if jamil literally dies taste-tasting something for kalim, there will be no consequences. imagine being a child and learning that another kid's life is more sacred than yours because of your unlucky birth?

"When one individual inflicts bodily injury upon another such that death results, we call the deed manslaughter; when the assailant knew in advance that the injury would be fatal, we call his deed murder. But when society places hundreds of proletarians in such a position that they inevitably meet a too early and an unnatural death, one which is quite as much a death by violence as that by the sword or bullet; when it deprives thousands of the necessaries of life, places them under conditions in which they cannot live – forces them, through the strong arm of the law, to remain in such conditions until that death ensues which is the inevitable consequence – knows that these thousands of victims must perish, and yet permits these conditions to remain, its deed is murder just as surely as the deed of the single individual; disguised, malicious murder, murder against which none can defend himself, which does not seem what it is, because no man sees the murderer, because the death of the victim seems a natural one, since the offence is more one of omission than of commission. But murder it remains." Conditions of the Working Class in England, Friedrich Engels

i share this quote with you guys because i want to remind you all, if jamil dies in service of kalim, it is murder since people knew it was possible that he would die. i remind you of this argument because further lyrics have a more revolutionary spirit to them. what jamil did was wrong, but violence only creates more violence, and violence against one's oppressor and oppressive state is a reaction, not unwarranted. poverty and caste are violent. it is my belief that if someone dies in poverty because of the state's refusal to provide these people with healthcare, housing, or food, it is murder with the blood being on the hands of the state.

in this case, the violence done to jamil is due to caste. there is a constant threat of his family being thrown to the streets if he dares to rebel. jamil has been doing an adult's work since before he could properly even reach over the stove. what jamil did was cruel, knowing that kalim trusted him, he betrayed him, but that betrayal did not come from a place of pure malice. as a child, he knew kalim was deemed more important than him and was stripped of his autonomy because of it.

"Gasping as I just try to breathe/Desires creeping out, trying to leave/The more that I desire,/The more narrow this place is" here, jamil is restarting his desires and depicting his life experience as suffocating. he desires just as anyone else does, but he has no means of reaching these desires.

marx writes a lot on the way "want" is a motivation which keeps the workers alienated and working for the possibility of earning enough to enjoy the things that bring true fulfillment in life.

"Self-renunciation, the renunciation of life and of all human needs, is its principal thesis. The less you eat, drink and buy books; the less you go to the theatre, the dance hall, the public house; the less you think, love, theorise, sing, paint, fence, etc., the more you save – the greater becomes your treasure which neither moths nor rust will devour – your capital. The less you are, the less you express your own life, the more you have, i.e., the greater is your alienated life, the greater is the store of your estranged being. Everything ||XVI| which the political economist takes from you in life and in humanity, he replaces for you in money and in wealth; and all the things which you cannot do, your money can do. It can eat and, drink, go to the dance hall and the theatre; it can travel, it can appropriate art, learning, the treasures of the past, political power – all this it can appropriate for you – it can buy all this: it is true endowment. Yet being all this, it wants to do nothing but create itself, buy itself; for everything else is after all its servant, and when I have the master I have the servant and do not need his servant. All passions and all activity must therefore be submerged in avarice. The worker may only have enough for him to want to live, and may only want to live in order to have that." Economic and Philosophical Manuscripts of 1844, Karl Marx

ultimately, these wants further push us into positions of submission to capitalism and labor. it is like the concept of working to live. you do labor, have your surplus value extracted, and maybe eventually you'll get the chance to take your family on a nice vacation. since jamil is not a wage laborer, and instead a member of a servant caste, this manifests a bit differently in his case, but marx's point of self-renunciation still applies. jamil is a creative person, like we know he is good at dancing and cooking, but the latter is in service of kalim and the former he tries to lower to not outshine kalim. he has the ladder to reach for the stars but he isn't allowed to.

he is alienated from himself in this way. i don't think anyone just performs their creative arts for the sake of praise, but praise is nice. artists post their art, writers post their writings, dancers and actors and singers perform, because art is something to be shared. art is also something which is infamously bought and gate-kept by the wealthy.

how much has jamil really been able to explore his creative passions? every waking hour is spent making sure kalim is alive and satisfied. kalim can dance and make music because he has the time and resources to, jamil has much less of that since his existence is tied to the well-being of kalim. his "passions are submerged in avarice" because it is through wealth and visibility that kalim get the time for his art, which is exactly what jamil does not have. it makes the point of his book seven dream so much more interesting, because even though he truly does not wish for wealth, but instead freedom, subconsciously, he acknowledges the power and blessing that is great wealth.

what jamil is saying here is that the more that he wants, the more that he yearns and longs for things, such as freedom, the more suffocated he becomes. capitalism creates the disparities for this want to exist, waves possibilities around, and then pulls the goal post further and further from us. jamil sees the freedom of others every day, he sees the privilege of kalim all the time, and the finish line just gets farther and farther away from him. "this place" becomes more and more narrow the bigger he dreams, so he may as well make himself and his ambitions as small as possible to fit into his caste.

"The light will never fade in me/My anger will never cease to be/If only I could expose it all" here jamil acknowledges that despite his attempts to not want, to make himself smaller for the sake of kalim, his desires will truly never cease, nor will his anger.

"if only i could expose it all" is a rebellious cry and it makes me wonder if the caste system is deemed unacceptable by others. is this, like in our world, an archaic form of oppression that people deem barbaric? or is he talking about exposing his resentment and finally taking back his autonomy by violent means?

"The history of all hitherto existing society is the history of class struggles. Freeman and slave, patrician and plebeian, lord and serf, guild-master and journeyman, in a word, oppressor and oppressed, stood in constant opposition to one another, carried on an uninterrupted, now hidden, now open fight, a fight that each time ended, either in a revolutionary reconstitution of society at large, or in the common ruin of the contending classes." The Manifesto of the Communist Party, Marx and Engels

marx is not saying that revolution is inevitable, but that it is always a possibility, and if revolution does not happen, the oppressed class will just be further oppressed. jamil is the oppressed and the al-asim family are the oppressors. as we see, he is fearful of what could happen of kalim's father got wind of him rebelling. jamil's overblot was the manifestation of all the violence done to him, releasing in a violent revolutionary act. what he did was cruel, but i would argue it is even more cruel to let a child believe that his life is lesser than that of his peer.

now im gonna get into frantz fanon and the wretched of the earth, i couldn't help myself </3

"And it is clear that in the colonial countries the peasants alone are revolutionary, for they have nothing to lose and everything to gain. The starving peasant, outside the class system, is the first among the exploited to discover that only violence pays...The exploited man sees that his liberation implies the use of all means, and that of force first and foremost... non-violence. In its simplest form this non-violence signifies to the intellectual and economic elite of the colonized country that the bourgeoisie has the same interests as they and that it is therefore urgent and indispensable to come to terms for the public good." The Wretched of the Earth, Fanon

these lines read to me like a cry for freedom. it is the young revolutionary raising his gun in the face of his oppressor, it is the peasants arming burning down the manor, the villagers destroying the basileos's estate and taking the economy and politics in their own hands. his anger will never be satisfied until he gets what he is owed, his very own life. all those years spent taking care of kalim have just been years of the constant reminder of his status.

under a caste system, your lineage is what decides your fate, and for jamil that means he will serve the al-asim's till he dies. he cannot escape this. many caste systems, such as the one in yemen, make it so that you cannot even marry out of your caste, and no matter how much wealth you accumulate, you will still be considered a member of the servant caste. while it is fun to imagine jamil marrying out of his caste and moving away somewhere, the reality is that it is most likely not plausible. his parents probably married because they were both in the same servant caste, and if he ever ended up married, it would probably be to someone in his same caste.

i've repeated it a million times, but there is no escape. he is suffocating and violence is the only way out, it seems.

"A shadow is dancing/Listen to the insatiable voice/Freedom’s in my hand, /Like I’m cursing and/To the end I’ll FLY-yah-yah/Ah ah… Not enough to get by-ah-ah" for the sake of time, i'm going to analyze this all together since i feel like i've been writing this since the release of those snippets.

now, the shadow can be many things. im most convinced it is referring to the manifestation of his resentment, the overblot phantom. @estcaligo has this post discussing blot as a physical manifestation and the cultural depictions of negative emotions as something physical. and i reblogged it with this post adding onto the islamic/sufi depiction of nafs and how it relates to overblot.

here's what i said on the topic and i will relate it back to these last few lines of the fan translation:

"the word nafs is derived from nafas which means breathing. nafs, colloquially means self/person. for example, in my dialect of arabic, we say "nafsi" to mean "myself" since the "ee" sound makes a phrase possessive. theologically, nafs is most often referring to the soul. i think the idea of nafs coming from the word nafas/breathing is important in this case. you breath in and out. you take in and then you release. in islam, nafs is cannot be bad or good or beautiful and so on, but it is more like your health, something you nurture. you feed your nafs bad things, it will have a bad reaction and release bad into the world. when it comes to the blot and overblot in twst, we can imagine the blot accumulation is their nafs being corrupted and their overblot is the release of their tainted nafs. the whole idea of the phantoms being created from the blot, and the characters having to fight them off (like jamil arguing with his phantom that he is not imprisoned like a genie). this concept exists within the quran, the idea of battling that which corrupts your nafs through jihad. and no, not jihad like the crusades, but general struggle. jihad just means struggle... ultimately, this struggle is what helps clear the nafs of corruption, and when we battle the mages who have overblotted, we are faced with the negative emotions which led them there, and they struggle against them to survive."

the blot is fed by external experiences that deepen the negative feelings of the mages, which corrupts their magic. for example, leona has a scene of blot accumulation when jack says something that reminds him of his elder brother, who he resents.

right after this, the ink spills.

like leona and the others, jamil's blot has been fed by all sorts of negative experiences which nurtured the seeds of his resentment until it grew too much to be held within the confines of his soul, and so it burst and released into the form of the phantom. this is exactly the way nafs is depicted in islam. to counteract it, you try to feed your nafs good things.

the negative voices in jamil's head, the voices of his parents and the figures of authority who keep stacking heavier things onto the boulder he's rolling up the mountain fighting against his reason. the "insatiable voice" is the urge to just say 'fuck it' and go wild. to attack those who oppress him, to hurt kalim, the symbol of his disenfranchisement, and forget about his responsibilities to his family. it's tragic. "freedom's in my hand" at the cost of so much, but he has been pushed to the point where it seems worth it to just release it all. he wants to drop the boulder and let it crush whoever was climbing the mountain behind him. "cursing" may refer to the cost of his freedom.

like he says, he cannot just drag his family into the streets for his own freedom. imagine the devastation of his family, of his sister if he decided to defect. they would face the consequences of his actions, cursed by his need for freedom, while he was off away doing whatever it is that he wanted. the cost is a curse, and it is too great.

of course, "fly" is commonly used to depict a state of transcendence and escape, so i won't stick too long on it. the next part, "not enough to get by" reminds me a lot of the story of icarus. it seems like that despite his desire for freedom, jamil subconsciously sees it as a doomed ambition. even if he does fly, his wings will melt. something will pull the ladder out from under him as he reaches to grasp the stars, something will grab him by his hair and drag him back down the hellish life he's been living.

i've been wracking my brain for a while about "the snake and blink" part of the song and here's the ideas i've got so far before i conclude:

a) the usual christian symbolism of snakes being the temptation of knowledge, corruption--you guys know the garden of eden story. john milton's paradise lost snake.

this analysis suggests that the snake is some sort of temptation, and the moment jamil blinks, it disappears.

b) other cultures don't view snakes in a negative light. i talk about it more here, but in islamic culture, snake iconography is used in hospitals and some art depicts snakes stinging away evil spirits. the islamic story of adam and eve does not feature a snake and instead the whispers of iblis/satan.

there's the middle eastern folktale of shahmaran, queen of snakes. she is a half snake half woman creature who is never portrayed as good or bad. sometimes she is an oracle and other times she is respected or tricked into being killed. kurds specifically have her symbolize good luck and many depictions of her death regard her sympathetically.

in ancient egypt, wadjet, the cobra goddess is a protective goddess who was the nurse to the infant horus, and protected isis. in many iterations, she symbolizes greenery and fertility. the aztec deity quetzalcoatl is a "feathered snake" whose domain is rain, wind, learning and agriculture. he brings life and had a role in bringing about the world. the naga is a half-human half-cobra who is often depicted as the protector of siddhartha gautama and the buddha. they are powerful and dangerous when angered, and protective.

im gonna make a full post about snake symbolism and jamil some other day, but for now, these interpretations of the snake make things seem less sinister and more hopeful.

these snakes are instead symbolizing life, protection, and the possibility of a future, but these hopes are gone away in a blink "snake and blink" as he says at the end of the snippet.

for just a quick conclusion of my overall thoughts. i think the rest of this song will further play on this idea of freedom and desire. i like it a lot. no, i LOVEEEE it omg the vocal performance??? that high note is constantly replaying in my mind like jeez the rent was due. the themes are loyal to jamil's character and i wonder how the song will end, yk?? will any of these songs have a positive/hopeful conclusion? personally, i think i prefer the ideas of all the threads not being completely tied. as much as i felt sad during the kalim and jamil interactions in book five, i felt like it was best that it ended that way. i agreed with silver's "let them fight it out" sentiment during book seven as well because i dont think anything can truly fix the issues between them.

IM DONE!! hope you guys enjoyed this long ass analysis of that like less than two minutes snippet of jamil viper's solo song!! idk if i have the energy to do the other ones as well, but malleus' and leona's brought some interesting eco-criticism stuff to mind.

#💝 — lore and theories #twisted wonderland #jamil viper #twst analysis #twst jamil #leona kingscholar #twst spoilers #jamil solo song #malleus draconia #mythology #culture #karl marx #friedrich engels #frantz fanon #twst x reader #jamil viper x reader

70 notes · View notes