#chief’s life and lore | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nereidprinc3ss · 5 months ago

Text

do you believe me now? | 8

it's the morning after. spencer reid suspects you’re left with some doubts after losing your virginity to him. he has to figure out why—which is hard when you're keeping secrets.

series masterlist

this series is 18+ warnings/tags: fem!reader, blood related to losing virginity (dramatized for the drama duh), super vague allusions to the BAU being hungover, mild blasphemy if anyone even cares, pondering god bc am I really a fanfic writer if I don’t get a little religious w it, emily AND hotch are here and nobody knows why pls don't pay attention to that bc we are imagining like season 11/12 spencer and I'm inconsistent w who is unit chief in this series apparently, spencer slut lore, spencer emotional wounds lore, Spencer is a traumatic situationship survivor a/n: DADDYS HOMEEEEE (me and dybmn not spencer) anyway missed these little guys and am happy to be writing for them again!! idk what my upload schedule will becoming back to this but pls lmk what u think of this part, I have no idea how you will respond but I'm being brave and ily

Friday morning Spencer comes into the office fifteen minutes late (he tried his best), in yesterday’s suit (everything in his go-bag had been too wrinkled), hair messy (no doubt from your fingers), coffee cold (he’s exhausted) and overall, in an excellent mood.

The rest of the team isn’t faring quite as well—Spencer gathers they stayed at the bar celebrating Derek’s birthday a lot later than he had. It shows through sallow skin and dark circles and the grimaces he receives on the way to his desk that are probably supposed to approximate good morning’s.

Honestly, he doesn’t mind the dull mood—he doesn’t need the teasing and the prying questions that would be sure to come if his co-workers were at peak performance and were able to put together his unusually perky demeanor and disheveled appearance. At least Prentiss doesn’t appear to be paying him any mind. She’s always the one who can read him like an open book and has no shame in doing so aloud. Echoes from years of, ‘so who was the lucky girl, last night, Reid?’ Still ring through his mind and it’s like he can feel her finger prodding at his side.

The Emily of it all makes him smile, though the rest of the memory leaves a metal tang in his mouth. Back in those days, there were sometimes a lot of girls, but even then he was consciously aware he wasn’t necessarily doing something he enjoyed. He spent a lot of time, actually, staring at his bedroom ceiling, psychoanalyzing himself. Repetition compulsion. The insatiable desire to repeat or reenact emotionally painful experiences. Maybe he thought if he could teach himself to subsist off of emotionless hookups, he could in some way heal from his experience with Elle. Though, he’s hesitant to think of it now as healing—it’s not like he didn’t know what he was doing when a few nights after she said I don’t feel the same I’m sorry he opened up his front door for her. It’s not like he didn’t know what he was doing every time after that. So, maybe heal isn’t the right word, when one doesn’t have the right to be injured. Or when the injuries are, in a manner of speaking, self-inflicted. At the very least he could tell himself that this time around, meaningless sex was a choice he was making for himself. Spencer hates when things just happen to him.

But you—you’re different. You were a complete surprise. At first, a cute and unexpected complication. After a few painful and short-lived attempts at real relationships, Spencer decided he was simply not to be trusted with emotional intimacy of any kind, including that which inevitably develops from physical intimacy, and would resign himself to a life of celibacy. He tried not to like you, but you were just so damn likable. Magnetic, to use a trite and perfectly honest turn of phrase. All that to say: he doesn’t regret you at all. There is no filter of putrid shame or anguish over his memories of last night.

Just you. Perfect. Starlit. Glowing softly around the edges like you’re not even real.

I love you I love you I love you. A hymn with no melody. You, always reminding him exactly why he is decidedly not a man of faith. At least, not in the typical sense of the word.

How God became the idol and not Mary is lost on him. That’s why, Spencer supposes, tapping an eraser on his desk, marriage and sex were forbidden for so many ecclesiastics. After all, if they knew what it was to love a woman, specifically to love you, he doubts they’d feel like spending much time in the pulpit. Love. Humans had that long before they had any gods. It’s primeval. It’s the most natural manifestation of devotion and worship. It will always have come first. Isn’t it a better kind of religion when a man realizes he can kneel in front of a woman rather than an altar?

A heavy hand falling on his shoulder jolts him from his theological musings—which are in all practicality useless. What’s that saying about blasphemous thinking on the FBI’s dime? Right. There isn’t one.

“I’m scared to ask,” Morgan says as Spencer jumps slightly in his chair.

“What?” He mumbles, looking up from the document he’d only sort of been reading.

Morgan just looks at him, strong brows furrowed and a ditch between them, angles his head and glances to the side as if Spencer is missing the obvious. He almost follows Derek’s eye-line. When that doesn’t work, Derek just says your name. Like your status is somehow in question.

“Did you two work things out, or not? It looked pretty bad when you guys were leaving last night.”

People often misunderstand an eidetic memory. It’s not like things can’t slip his mind—Spencer can actually be quite forgetful. It’s made worse by the fact that last night at the bar feels like months ago. For a moment, he has no idea what Derek is referring to.

“Oh. Oh! Right, we—right. Yeah, we, uh—we worked it out.” Before Derek has a chance to read his face, no doubt as incriminating as his fumbled speech and an ill-timed throat clearing, he turns back to his paperwork. “Thanks for keeping an eye on her at the bar. I appreciate that.”

It’s quiet for a moment, and Spencer’s lips twist as he can feel the incoming inappropriate comment.

“Is that the same suit you were wearing last night?” Morgan quips, his wide grin audible. Spencer can practically hear the cartoon gleam of his friend’s bleached teeth.

“No.”

“You dog.” Derek is still smiling as he claps Spencer’s shoulder again. “What did you say to her that worked so well?”

Spencer clears his throat again and tries to look extremely involved in logging onto his computer, speaking quickly as if he’s beyond disinterested and can’t wait for the exchange to be over.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m actually trying to work so if you wouldn’t mind going back to your desk that would be great.”

“Uh-huh. I’ll let you work. But I see you, pretty boy.”

Spencer tries not to blush like a teenager as he refuses to look up.

Naturally the rest of the day is a slow descent into dread and madness as all those good feelings with which Spencer had started his morning begin to harden into something much worse, chilled by your lack of response to the text he sent you earlier. Which was essentially a rehashing of the note he left on your bedside table.

Maybe it was too much. It should’ve been one or the other, but not both. He’s overwhelmed you.

Okay, so maybe this is what religion is for. A last ditch effort when you can’t talk to your girlfriend so you have to try talking to God.

But Spencer knows you, and he knows something is wrong. You wouldn’t just ice him out so blatantly if everything was okay. He catches himself glancing up toward Hotch’s window to see if the blinds are drawn, and considers faking an illness to get out of work early and go check on you. But he powers through the remaining hour and a half that he is obligated to stay at work, he bounces a pencil between his fingers, drums at his desk, and gets nothing else done. As soon as 4:59 rolls around, he’s out.

Spencer can hear shuffling on the other side of your door as he stands in the hallway. A pot clatters. The walls hum with the rush of water through the pipes to your sink. He knocks, relieved that you’re okay and at the same time struggling with that weight on his chest—something cold that leans over his shoulders and whispers into his ear—so she just didn’t want to talk to you.

Suddenly all sound from inside your unit ceases. For a few long seconds, Spencer’s confusion only grows exponentially.

“Who is it?” You finally call, voice wavering. Also odd. Usually you just open the door.

“Um… Spencer?”

“As in my boyfriend Spencer?”

He frowns, bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly as he tries to decipher your sudden paranoia. “I hope so?”

The click and jingle of several locks precipitates your much-anticipated reveal.

“Come in,” you say breathlessly, more harried than usual and not giving him the tender greeting he’s selfishly become accustomed to—barely even giving him a second to look at you. But he steps inside, watching on in concern as you do up every single lock—the one on the knob, the deadbolt, even the chain. Is this really all because of his little comment last night about anyone being able to get in? He certainly hopes not. He didn’t mean to terrify you.

When you finally turn, he takes stock of your appearance. Big hoodie, pajama pants patterned in little hearts. Hair pulled back hastily. Your skin is sort of dull where you normally glow. But you’re beautiful, like always. It always aches just a little bit to look at you. Spencer’s always been like that. Going breathless at a particularly good piece of art or pretty girl. Like yourself. Mostly you.

You quickly turn to hurry back into the kitchen. “I was trying to make dinner, I—”

“Hold on,” he interrupts, stopping you with a hand on your stomach that is so non-demanding it’s really mostly a suggestion. He tries to clear his head, though you make it hard. “You didn’t talk to me all day. Not that you have to, but… I was worried.”

You glance at the floor and mumble, “I lost my phone,” with so much embarrassment he believes you’re telling the truth. “Did you, um—did you text me?”

Insecurity. Spencer knows well what it looks like on you. He softens. You weren’t ignoring him—but you’d been left in a vulnerable state without any ability to contact him or anyone. That couldn’t have been comfortable.

“Of course I did.” He pauses to observe you. Still anxious. Still prepared to run at any second. Something, and he’s not sure what, did a number on you today. Maybe it’s sheer exhaustion, maybe it was the anxiety of not having your phone. But he has to figure out what it is so he can undo it. “What? What’s wrong?”

He watches your breathing pause—watches your eyes gloss over with tears and a frown contort your features. Oh, god. He’s done something terribly wrong. It’s been thirty seconds and he’s done something wrong.

“Can we sit down? I don’t feel very good.”

“Yeah. Yeah, we can. Whatever you need.”

You cast a baleful look at him and now he has to wonder what that means. Spencer sets his bag on a pulled out dining chair and follows you to the couch where you settle on opposite sides—you’re curled up in the far corner, hugging a pillow to your chest with your legs folded in front of you. Spencer’s heart is beating fast. He doesn’t know what’s going on with you and he can’t figure it out just by looking and you don’t seem eager to tell him.

He’s exhausted all his typical ways of collecting information, and now he’s at a loss.

Eventually, the anxiety comes bubbling up.

“Please talk to me,” he pleads. And you do. Almost instantly, like he stepped on some sort of landmine.

“I know it’s my own fault for not having my phone on me and not being able to see your texts, but it really sucks that I had to find out from my creepy neighbor that you snuck out in the middle of the night without saying goodbye.”

The whiplash is so strong it’s almost a broken neck. Spencer reels, frowning deeply as he tries to process your impromptu speech, the sudden confrontation. What creepy neighbor?

“I… didn’t. I went to grab my stuff from the car around one, but I came right back. I left at 7:30. You don’t remember me saying goodbye?”

Your brow furrows, and your eyes dart over the design on the rug like you’re watching memories go by. He sees it in your eyes when you recall some hazy image of him holding your face, kissing your cheek more times than was necessary and whispering sweet things against your lips before he had to go. You shrink into the couch, clearly struggling under the combined weight of relief and embarrassment.

“I forgot. I thought… he said…”

A moment passes and it’s clear you’ve abandoned the sentence. Spencer is concerned about this shadowy male figure who put malicious untruths into your head. He slides his hand under yours and twines your fingers together. Finally, finally you meet his gaze.

“Someone made you believe I left without saying goodbye.”

And he almost wishes you weren’t looking at him as more tears pool before falling down your cheeks. You nod, and don’t make a sound.

“No, honey. I didn’t do that. I’m sorry that’s what you’ve been thinking all day.”

“I was worried that you… or that I wasn’t…”

His chest aches. You’d woken up alone, no recollection of his goodbye, and without the comfort of even a text.

“You didn’t see my note?”

The way you look at him then is heartbreaking. Eyes wide and wet and sad, lip trembling.

“You left a note?”

Murphy’s Law. Anything that can go wrong, will.

It must’ve fallen off the bedside table, or maybe he just hadn’t positioned it obviously enough.

A lost phone, a missed note, and not even a memory of his departure. While none of these things are verifiably Spencer’s fault, he feels so, so guilty.

“I did,” Spencer says gently, scooting closer and pulling you into him, head pressed to his shoulder as you try not to cry, and he rubs your back slowly.

Your sulky words are muffled by his shirt. “I didn’t see it. What did it say?”

“A lot of very nice things about you,” he whispers. Spencer thought maybe he could get away with giving you all the sincere compliments you can’t accept face to face through a note you could read while he wasn’t around. That way you couldn’t refute them or stop him. It was a good plan.

He feels the sigh of relief leaving your body against his neck.

“I didn’t know.”

“I know. I’m sorry. That’s not… I should’ve just stayed. This is my fault.”

You keep your cheek pressed to his shoulder as you speak.

“It’s not. You have a job. A really important job. You can’t just call out whenever I want you around.”

Logically he knows you’re right, but he doesn’t always think logically around you.

“I could’ve made it work. I could’ve come in late, or the team could’ve called me if there was a case, which there wasn’t—”

“Spencer, it’s okay. It’s not your fault. Don’t worry about it.”

He pulls back slightly, frowning at your tone. You do look relieved, much less plagued than you’d been when he arrived minutes ago, but something heavy still weighs you down. The burden of it darkens your eyes and dulls your expression. When he cups your cheek, you glance up at him, and then away once more.

He speaks softly. “Is that all you wanted to tell me?”

Again he earns a moment of your eye contact, but it’s fleeting. He watches the words spin around your head as you try to figure out what to do with them—and then choose to remain silent.

There is in fact something you’re keeping from him.

Spencer hates to use work tactics on you, but he doesn’t speak either, hoping that you’ll feel compelled to fill the silence with the truth. Knowing how you’re not entirely comfortable with quiet.

And you try, lips parting and the sound delayed as you wrestle with something you clearly don’t know how to talk about.

“I… my neighbor,” you say, frowning like you don’t quite know why you’re speaking. “The one who told me he saw you leaving in the middle of the night. He also—he said…”

Spencer brushes hair away from your cheek with a thumb, stroking the high point in gentle passes as your words taper off. Now that he’s thinking about it, he did encounter a man in a dumpy robe standing in the courtyard and smoking a cigarette when he left you tangled in sheets and dozing contentedly to get his bag from the car. In fact, they rode back up to your floor in the elevator in mostly awkward silence. Spencer was sure his outfit told a story—shirt untucked and hastily buttoned only partway, no belt, shoes barely tied, duffel slung over his shoulder—he wasn’t really expecting to run into anyone at such an hour, to be honest, but he hadn’t particularly cared what this man thought of him, so it didn’t cross his mind again.

Now he remembers.

Long night, huh? I remember those days.

It was an inappropriate comment, but given his job he’s used to ignoring those. Mostly his mind had been preoccupied with the idea of returning to you, who gave him such a warm and sleepy welcome when he climbed carefully back into your arms several minutes later that it was like he’d never known anyone else at all.

Now he resents that he hadn’t said anything, he hates the idea that you spoke to this man and he said something to upset you and Spencer wasn’t there. Usually he tries not a judge a book by its cover (metaphorically, of course) but he’s been around enough bad men to know when he’s looking at one. Last night he hadn’t even been cognizant enough to realize they got off on the same floor.

“What did he say, angel?” Spencer whispers, incapable of being anything but soft with you at the moment. Even though he senses something a lot like a tide of preemptive anger rising in his chest, painted over with layers of anxiety and guilt. He should’ve found a way to stay with you this morning.

You sniffle and let your head fall again, forehead resting against his collar. Instinctively his hand slides to the back of your neck and even at the awkward angle he finds a way to press his lips to yours hair. “Can we talk about it later? I don’t feel good.”

If it’s making you this uncomfortable, Spencer really wants to know what passed between you and this neighbor. In fact, he’d be willing to bet a lot of your strange behavior this evening stems from something that occurred which you don’t feel comfortable telling him yet. But he manages to bite back anymore questions. He doesn’t want to make you feel interrogated.

“Yeah, you mentioned that,” he says eventually, kindly, hand tracing down the length of your back and up again. “Why don’t you feel good?”

He doesn’t miss the way you reach up to discreetly wipe your cheek. But he won’t make you talk about anything you don’t want to talk about until you’re ready, and it seems like you’re already having a rough day. Which is not what he wanted. This is so far from what he wanted for you. He’s cursing himself for how he handled this whole situation.

“Um, I just… I don’t know. I feel… bad. I’m sorry I’m being so weird.”

“You’re not being weird, honey. You had a hard day. You’re having a normal reaction to an abnormal set of circumstances.”

You sit up, sniffing and wiping your tears like you can just make the whole thing go away.

“No, I am. I am. It’s all okay now, right? So I don’t know why I feel like this. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

He watches helplessly. “Nothing is wrong with you. We’ve… it’s been a big couple of days. Mostly good, but I think you’re probably really tired. Emotionally and physically.”

You bury your face in your hands and nod silently. He still feels like he’s shooting in the dark, but you’re not entirely comforted yet, and it’s killing him.

“Whatever you’re feeling is okay. If this is… about last night, or this morning, or something entirely different—regardless of what it’s about, you’re not going to be… in trouble with me if you’re having complicated feelings. And you can talk to me. But it doesn’t have to be right now. We don’t have to figure it out all at once, okay?”

You press the heels of your palms into your eyes, and for a moment, his words sink into silence. When you do raise your head, nodding, the evidence of your discomfort is all over your face—reddened eyes, cheeks polished with wiped tears. But you take a deep breath and try to project whatever it is you think he wants to see.

The back of your hand is soft under his thumb as he sweeps it, as if he could draw forth more information that way. People speak when they’re ready.

“Is there anything I can do?” He tries, all ramped brow and soft spoken.

You’re looking at where he’s tracing swirls on your hand as you swallow and blink the last of your tears away.

“Um… you can say no, but—do you think it would be okay for you to maybe stay again tonight?”

Spencer sucks in a breath, painfully aware that he’s about to let you down.

“I… I haven’t been home in a week. I’ve been wearing this suit for two days straight and I don’t think I would want to share a bed with me again until I shower.” He watches you wilt and lifts a hand to stroke your hair. “But I do want to spend time with you… do you maybe want to come stay with me instead? No pressure—”

“Okay. Yes. Is that okay?”

Spencer’s brow knits. You seem even more enthused about the idea of going to his apartment, like now that the opportunity has presented itself you can’t wait to get out. Maybe you have some sort of black mold problem.

“Of course. Do you wanna grab a few things and then we can go?”

“Um—I also haven’t showered today. Do you mind waiting?”

“Sure. Or you could use mine. With supervision, this time.”

Spencer is attempting to make a joke about your unplanned (and unmoderated) stay at his apartment last week after he left—but looking at your face now he’s wondering if he touched a nerve.

“Like… one at a time? Or…”

He thought maybe you’d be more comfortable around him after last night—and it’s not like he hadn’t seen you naked before then, either.

“Do you wanna do it one at a time?” He asks gently.

There’s this sparkly sort of longing in your eyes that he’s seen before, but you tamp it down like always. You’re so cautious. About everything. Even the things you’re curious about. It’s sweet and a little sad.

“I’ve never… showered with anyone.”

The corner of Spencer’s mouth twitches as he pushes hair over your shoulder. “I know. You don’t have to. We could save like 100 gallons of water depending on how long your showers typically last, but—”

“Spencer—”

“Sorry, sorry—I didn’t—I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not trying to pressure you. You absolutely can take your own shower. You can go first so you get the hot water.”

“No,” you laugh, and it’s like a sparkling cloud of gold has settled around you, fractals bouncing off the shine of your cheeks and eyes—the sound of your laughter, the look of it, is such beautiful relief he can’t believe how good it feels, but it fades from you quickly. “It sounds… I think I want to, I just… I don’t wanna, like… do… anything.”

For a split second your veiled language mystifies him and then he realizes what you’re trying to say without saying. Something has changed since yesterday, when you brazenly referred to it as fucking, and today, when you can’t even say sex. He’s gotten as far as it being something your creepy neighbor said. Maybe. He needs to know what.

But that’s not the topic at hand.

“We don’t have to. I didn’t mean to imply that we would do anything like that. I don’t expect anything from you.”

You swallow.

“Okay. I wasn’t sure.”

About what?

He says your name. No response.

“Can you look at me, please?”

It takes you a moment, and your head raises like you might need some oil in your hinges, but eventually you manage. Spencer hopes the way he’s rubbing your leg is comforting.

“You know I’m never, ever going to make you do anything you don’t want to do, right?”

To his horror, your answer isn’t an immediate and resounding yes. Instead you look back down and cover his hand with your own, fiddling nervously with his fingers.

Eventually, you reply, “Yeah… I know. I just thought… I’m not sure. Maybe it’s supposed to be different now.”

“It doesn’t have to be. Nothing has to be different. We’re still doing everything on your schedule, okay? And as for the next few days, at least—I think it might be a good idea to take sex off the table altogether.”

Your eyes narrow and you hesitate. “Why?”

“Because I don’t want you worrying about it. And I don’t think it would feel good for you right now. I think there are things we need to talk about, but… we’ve probably tried enough for a while, hm?”

You give him a shy nod and hum your agreement. For a moment he lets his hand linger on your leg and then pulls it back.

“Okay. Do you want my help packing a bag, or should I wait out here?”

“You can wait. It should only take a minute.” You pause, halfway up to look pensive. “Um, Spencer—do you think it would be okay if maybe I… if I stayed tonight and tomorrow? I just—I wanna get out of here, for a bit.”

He frowns but doesn’t hesitate. “Of course. Can I ask why?”

“It’s just… suffocating sometimes,” you call as you turn and hurry down the hallway to the bedroom. “Feels like my neighbors are on top of me, like they’re… breathing down my neck, half the time.”

Sure, bigger apartments exist—but it’s not like you’re in a studio. And you’ve never mentioned feeling that way before. That bad feeling is starting to come back—like you’re not telling him something he needs to know. But is it worse to let you deal with it yourself until you’re ready to talk or to force it from you?

A few minutes later you return, a duffel of your own over your shoulder and full to bursting.

“So I’m an idiot. My phone was literally in the pocket of my jeans on the floor.” You drop the bag as you bend down by the door to pull on your favorite slippers. “Oh—I think I forgot my charger, can you grab it? It’s by my bed.”

Spencer of course obliges, and is secretly pleased to be in your room again, in the light this time, so he can see better. It’s sweet. The pictures on the walls, the plants and the knickknacks and the sticky notes scrawled with messy reminders on every surface and the sweater hanging over the back of a chair—the one you’d been wearing at the cafe all those months ago—it all feels so you. He wonders why the two of you don’t spend more time here.

He lets himself linger for only a minute before remembering his task, but as he reaches down to unplug your charger, whatever dopey smile he’d been wearing evaporates. The sheets have been stripped from your bed, and he can see why—there’s a striking stain of dried blood, and several surrounding dots, soaked into the mattress. Not much, but enough to make him feel horrendously guilty. He cringes, imagining what it must’ve been like to wake up all alone to nothing but your own blood. Poor girl. Of course he’d noticed some, last night when he was doing his best at cleaning you up, but it had been dark, and he was exhausted, and he hadn’t done enough.

“Where’d your sheets go, baby?” He asks once back by the front door with his own bag on his shoulder, setting a gentle hand on your lower back and holding out your charger for you. You jump slightly, and he makes circles on your back, wishing there was something he could do to settle you.

“Oh! They—they got ruined. I threw them out. It’s fine. I have others.”

So you didn’t have enough energy this morning to walk a few feet to your shower, but stripping your bed, getting dressed, and walking down to the trash chute at the end of the hall had been top of your priority list.

You swallow as he undoes the locks and holds the door open for you, and pretend like you’re not doing surveillance to either side as you stand in the hallway, locking your door again like you can’t get out of here fast enough.

Spencer casts a sidelong glance at you and wonders if you’re intentionally avoiding eye contact. He tries not to think like a profiler. He tries not to assign meaning to your actions, but he can’t help it. He can’t not notice.

He can’t not worry.

And he can’t not wonder what you’re not telling him.

part nine

#spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #criminal minds smut #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfic

1K notes · View notes

bbkoolkatz · 3 months ago

Text

𝖋𝖆𝖙𝖊 𝖈𝖍𝖔𝖘𝖊𝖓!

comment to be added to the taglist for this story!

»»————> presenting;

pairing: barbarian!prince! Katsuki Bakugo x chief!daughter! reader.

synopsis: an arranged marriage to the prince of the barbarian clan to save your kingdom from being wiped out... cliche innit. stem's off the MHA fantasy au!

content warnings: FEMALE READER! strangers to lovers! slow burn! MHA fantasy AU! adult themes! arranged marriage! sexual content! rough n gruff Katsuki! mentions of blood in a lot of scenes! rituals! dub-con in some scenes! (for caution, because y'all can't understand each other) if u're religious, PLEASE PROCEED WITH CAUTION!!! angst! fluff! smut! WARNINGS APPLY TO ALL CHAPTERS!!! and are there to exercise caution!

updated on Wednesdays and Saturdays!

𝖕𝖗𝖔𝖑𝖔𝖌𝖚𝖊↓; 2.5k+ words

»»————> LORE! [you can continue without reading all this]

the barbarian clan is known for conquering any village, kingdom and/or empire. they are brutes, usually settling anything by waging war and desecrating the land.

the barbarians speak in old Norse! conversing is difficult...

Katsuki is the only son and prince of the barbarian clan.

barbarians are stronger and bigger in size than regular humans.

your kingdom is ruled by your father—called cheif instead of king—who's a big softy and doesn't see the point in things like war... he prefers to talk things out and leave casualties to a zero. even if that means marrying off his only daughter...

you are the only daughter of your father which only makes you more precious and worthy of bearing the heir of both your kingdom and their clan.

tetsugami; a huge, semi intelligent crab. [there are few now as people have hunted them down to the double digits.]

crimson dragons; giant flying lizards. [they are very friendly despite their mean looking faces & their scales are extremely valuable.]

(more coming soon)

Old Norse Alphabet;

1. A/a- Pronunciation: ah as in "father."

2. B/b- Pronunciation: b as in "bed."

3. D/d- Pronunciation: d as in "dog."

4. Ð/ð (called eth)- Pronunciation: Soft th as in "this."

5. E/e- Pronunciation: eh as in "bed."

6. F/f- Pronunciation: f as in "fox." Between vowels, pronounced as v.

7. G/g- Pronunciation: g as in "go." After certain vowels, it softens to a y sound.

8. H/h- Pronunciation: h as in "house."

9. I/i- Pronunciation: ee as in "see."

10. J/j- Pronunciation: y as in "yes."

11. K/k- Pronunciation: k as in "king."

12. L/l- Pronunciation: l as in "lamp."

13. M/m- Pronunciation: m as in "man."

14. N/n- Pronunciation: n as in "name."

15. O/o- Pronunciation: aw as in "law."

16. P/p- Pronunciation: p as in "pen."

17. R/r- Pronunciation: Rolled r, like in Spanish or Italian.

18. S/s- Pronunciation: s as in "see."

19. T/t- Pronunciation: t as in "top."

20. U/u- Pronunciation: oo as in "moon."

21. V/v- Pronunciation: Often interchangeable with f, pronounced like English v.

22. Y/y- Pronunciation: Similar to ee but with rounded lips, like French u in lune.

23. Þ/þ (called thorn)- Pronunciation: Hard th as in "thorn."

24. Æ/æ- Pronunciation: ai as in "air."

25. Ö/ö- Pronunciation: ur as in "bird" (without the r).

M-LIST!

𝖕𝖗𝖔𝖑𝖔𝖌𝖚𝖊 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 1 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 2 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 3.5 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 3.5

marriage. the best thing that could ever happen to a girl. all your life, you'd imagined being a bride; delicately decorating your hair with wild tulips, adorning your body in silver and white silk. spending the rest of your life with the person you love most.

now you're here, kneeling in front of a bonfire beside a complete stranger, cloaked in boar fur and animal skeletons, as the thick, warm blood of a lamb is poured over you. your marriage ceremony... filled with unfamiliar faces—including your now-husband—and traditions. drinking, dancing, and celebrating the union.

"nú ger hana konu þína!" a spiked-blonde woman, with an uncanny resemblance to the man kneeling beside you, announced, raising her hands in the air. you looked around confused as ever, as he leaned in, blood-stained fingers pulling you in by the back of your neck. your nose scrunched at the metallic taste of blood that his tongue shoved past your teeth. you push him away, gasping at the foreign feeling.

"hvat í helvíti, kona!?" he frowned, turning away from you, mumbling something under his breath, that you didn’t quite catch. not that you'd understand what he was carrying on about anyways...

the spiked-blonde woman—whom you guessed to be some sort of priestess or elder—shot you a sharp glare, her arms lowering slowly as she spoke in a hushed yet commanding tone. her words were incomprehensible to you, but the crowd seemed to murmur in agreement. your husband huffed, his frown deepening as he looked at you over his shoulder. you were kneeling there, with eyes pressing on you from all directions. the fire crackled in the silence, and the warmth of it did little to ease the chill settling in your chest.

two women approached you, their faces painted with intricate swirls of red and black. they tugged you to your feet without a word and began guiding you toward a tent decorated with bones, animal pelts, and dried herbs hanging from the entrance. inside, it was dimly lit by a few small lanterns. the air smelled of earth, smoke, and something sweet but unfamiliar.

they gestured for you to sit on a low stool and began pulling at your ceremonial garb, their movements quick but not unkind. your protests fell on deaf ears as they stripped you of the heavy fur cloak, wiping the blood from your skin with damp cloths. one of them muttered something, shaking her head as she scrubbed at your face. it was clear they didn't understand you either, but their disapproving looks were universal.

by the time they were finished, you were dressed in a simpler gown of rough-spun fabric, a far cry from the silks you were used to and had imagined for your wedding night. the older of the two handed you a wooden cup filled with a thick, bitter scented liquid. she pointed to it, then your mouth, her expression stern. reluctantly, you sipped it, grimacing at the taste. the woman nodded, seemingly satisfied, before they left you alone in the tent.

you sat there, staring at your hands, trying to gather your thoughts, but instead, they drift back to just a few mere hours ago...

"arranged?" you seethed in disbelief, looking at your defeated father, seated across from you at the council table, surrounded by old wrinkled elders.

"yes, daughter," he affirmed, voice devoid of emotion. "war against the barbarian clan would destroy everything we've built—"

"so they made a proposal, a very very rare one," one of the wart ridden elders interrupted-

"to make an arrangement," another continued-

"one that cannot be broken once forged," -

"a marriage,"-

"your sacrifice would save us all, child," the eldest croaked, concluding the proposal, "and as the chief's daughter, it is your duty to your people." one after the other, they all slowly turned their heads toward you, kneeling at the center of their godforsaken grey gazes.

your eyes flickered between them, their crinkled foreheads making you feel sick to your stomach as their words wrung your heartstrings. "marriage is sacred... it can only happen once. i don't know this person that you'd like me to be bound to for the rest of my life..." you snarled, stating the very obvious to those expired raisins.

"i'm afraid you misunderstood us, girl," the eldest fumed, weakly slamming his fist down, "it is arranged. you will wed the heir of the barbarian clan. that is why you have been summoned." firmly raising from his seat to intimidate you.

"that is my daughter you're speaking to, elder... as old as you are, mind your tongue." your father shifted his attention to you. "unfortunately, he is right, my dear. it's already been arranged, and you are to be wed at sundown."

dumbfounded... that's the look on your face. they we're giving you away to complete strangers... and at sundown!? despite all the colorful words that wanted to fly out your mouth, you grit your teeth and settled with a curt nod. you do have a duty to your people.

though it wasn't supposed to happen like this. it was supposed to be the happiest day of your life. you only get married once in your entire life after all.

the sound of heavy footsteps outside the tent snapped you out of your thoughts. the flap was pulled aside roughly, and your husband stepped in. his presence filled the small space, his broad shoulders and wild blonde hair almost brushing the top of the tent as his crimson eyes bore into you, a mixture of frustration and curiosity in his gaze.

he said something, his voice sharp and demanding, but you could only blink up at him in confusion. "i don't understand you," you said softly, shaking your head, as your voice trembled, despite your efforts to stay composed.

he huffed, combing a hand through his hair before pointing at you and then gesturing to the pallet of furs in the corner of the tent. his tone suggested he was giving you an order. when you didn't move, he groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"leggjask. sofa." he barked, his frustration very much evident. when you still didn't respond, he crossed the space between you in two long strides, grabbing your wrist and pulling you to your feet. the roughness of his grip made you wince, but he didn't seem to notice as he guided you toward the furs. he pointed again, his expression leaving no room for argument.

you hesitated, thinking that maybe he wanted you to lie down, and slowly you lower yourself onto the makeshift bed. he stood over you for a moment, his intense gaze making your skin prickle, before he turned and left the tent without another word.

you let out a shaky breath, your heart pounding in your chest. you were alone in an unfamiliar place, surrounded by strangers who you couldn't even get to know, married to a man you didn't understand. tears pricked at the corners of your eyes with the overwhelming thoughts, but you blinked them away, refusing to let yourself break down on your wedding night.

the two women that cleaned you up earlier came back with him, and they began to remove his furs. you quickly averted your eyes, feeling a heat crawling up your neck, as the thought of them removing more than just his cloak tainted your mind.

"nei!" the old one scolded, "Þú verður að líta!" ... why are they babbling their jibberish when they know you don't understand them... "she said, 'you must look'," the younger translated, seeing the confused wrinkle in your brows. oh thank the gods! you smiled briefly at the familiar words before coming back to your senses.

"must i?" you blush, slowly turning back to them.

"yes," she smiled, cleansing your huge husband before your eyes, "if you do not, you give chance for another woman," she carefully rubbed the damp cloth over his bloody forehead while you let the thought sink in.

"leave," you softly ordered, "I'll take care of my husband," and without hesitation she whispered to the old lady, they dropped everything and left. ain't no way you were about to let your husband be seduced away on the night of your union...

gently, you wrung the cloth of most of its water and brought it back up to his face, wiping away the dust and dried blood that covered little scars freckling his almost perfect face.

his eyes burned through your skull with his staring, slowly scanning over the curves and dips of your body as you moved. your finger danced over his skin, tracing the scar on his right cheekbone, moving down to brush past his thin lips, wiping away the remnants of dirt on his well built, chest. he seemed to relax against your touch, closing his piercing crimson eyes, and hanging his head back to let you do your work.

so soft... and smooth... the texture of his skin isn't what you expected. who would've thought that such a rough looking barbarian had the skin of a baby? would explain all the scars though. like this one running down his neck to his collarbone, and these over here trailing down his firm biceps. you almost forgot you were supposed to be cleaning him up... you've finished the upper half and tugged at the leather holding his pants up, struggling to get them undone.

a low chuckle rumbled in his throat and your eyes shot up up to his smirking face, "what's so funny?" you quiver, frowning, as he shifted to stand, undoing the leather and dropping his pants to the dirt floor. "þar," he rasped, smug at your flustered state.

having those women clean him up was starting to seem more and more reasonable now... nevertheless, you dippied the cloth in the bowl of warm water and squeezed it, before wiping at his lower abdomen. you're so adorable between his legs like that, avoiding his eyes at all costs, while you wipe your way down and around, to his back. again, your hands moved of their own accord, twitching along the scupletd bumps on his back.

he grunted softly as your fingers worked over the knots in his shoulders, his broad frame shifting slightly under your touch. emboldened by the lack of protest, you continued, pressing harder into the muscles along his spine. his head dipped forward, and a low sigh escaped his lips, sending a wave of warmth through you. he brought a large hand up to yours on his shoulders and guided you in front of him.

both your eyes reflected in each other's for a long moment before you tried to break the silence, your words sounding like nonsensical ringing in his ears. he pulled you into his chest, just holding you there in an attempt to shush you, closing his eyes as his brows pinched over them.

"what's your name?" you asked softly, your voice barely audible over the crackling of the distant bonfire. you paused, waiting for a response, but he didn't seem to react, his eyes still closed as if savoring the moment. you tried again, a little louder this time, "what is your name?" you pointed at his chest.

he peeped through his eyelids, a sliver of vermilion meeting yours with a flicker of confusion. "nafnið mitt?" he asked, the foreign words rolling off his tongue. he tilted his head, as though trying to piece together what you were asking.

you frowned, gesturing to yourself. "i'm…" you said your name slowly, pointing at your chest, then gestured to him, raising your brows expectantly.

he blinked, mildly confused, before a smirk tugged at his lips. "Katsuki," he said, his voice low and rough. he tapped his chest, meeting your eyes again. "Kat-su-ki," he repeated, in the same manner you pronounced yours, ensuring you understood.

"Ka-tsu-ki…" you tested the name on your tongue, the unfamiliar syllables feeling oddly satisfying. his smirk widened slightly, pleased that you had caught on.

you nodded, offering a small smile in return, then gestured to yourself again. "my name is…" you repeated your name slowly once more, hoping to bridge the language barrier. his brows furrowed, lips moving as he attempted to mimic the unfamiliar sounds. his effort was clumsy but endearing, and you couldn't help the small laugh that escaped you.

his frown deepened at your amusement. he murmured your name under his breath a few more times, his pronunciation improving with each attempt, until he finally said it with enough accuracy to make you grin.

"that's right!" you cheered softly, nodding in approval.

he held your gaze for a moment longer, his expression unreadable, before his hand came up to gently brush against your cheek. his touch was surprisingly tender, his calloused fingers rough against your skin, but warm.

"sofa," he murmured again, his tone softer this time. he gestured toward the furs, his crimson eyes watching you closely.

you hesitated, unsure if he was commanding you or simply suggesting something. this is it. you thought, heart racing, as you slowly nodded, giving him a glance over your shoulder, before crawling onto the makeshift bed.

he stood for a moment, watching as you adjusted yourself among the furs, before he joined, sinking beside your head with his weight on his palms, caging you in under him. his hair fell beautifully over his narrow, glowing eyes, his nose brushing against yours as he lowered to your quivering lips, sucking them between his, tugging at your plump bottom lip with his teeth.

footsteps thumping right outside your tent made your heart race, thinking someone was coming, but he didn't stop, nor did he care, he hiked up the thin fabric of your dress, his large hand caressing your upper thigh as he shed the leather covering his— good god... you look down and your eyes widened. he smirked and hooked the strap of your dress with a finger to pull it down, and expose your heaving chest.

"Katsuki!" the blonde woman from earlier yelled, barging into the tent, "Tak hendur þínar af henni, þú þarft at vera við ráðsafn. núna!"

"För Guðs sakar, kona!" he yelled back, moving himself off you to sit. he looked up at her worried frown... "Ek kem..." you had no idea what was happening... eyes darting between them as their words flowed out of their mouth and their hands moved in frustration as they spoke.

katsuki looked back at you, a worried expression overtaking the lustful one he had mere seconds ago. he kneeled down kissed you, then threw on his cloak and left. the woman rested a comforting hand on your shoulder, gently smiling before she too headed out, leaving you alone, following behind your husband.

»»————> 𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖘𝖑𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘; <————««

❈ "Nú ger hana konu þína." - now make her your wife

❈ "hvat í helvíti, kona!?" - what in the hell woman!?

❈ "þar" - there

❈ "nafnið mitt?" - my name?

❈ "leggjask" lie down

❈ "sofa" - sleep

❈ "Katsuki! Tak hendur þínar af henni, þú þarft at vera við ráðsafn. núna!"- katsuki! take your hands off her, you need to be at the council gathering. now!

❈ "För Guðs sakar, kona!" - for gods sake, woman!

❈ "Ek kem..." - I'm coming...

hope u enjoyed and look forward to more! don't forget to comment to be added to the taglist! mwah~♡

mlist!

497 notes · View notes

depresssant · 4 months ago

Text

Shades of Cool

NEGLECTFUL!PLATONIC!YAN!batfam x GN!reader

synopsis : growing up with a shit mom and constant step-dads and mom's boyfriends, your view on life has grown pretty bleak. you just want to die, since it doesn't seem to get better than this. things can't get any worse, can they?

wsp guys. it's been pretty long, huh?... OK IM SORRY FOR NOT POSTING IT QUICKLY. here, damn 🙄. anyways, i hope yall enjoy n im glad u guys liked the first chapter. lets just hope this one lives up to yalls expectations 😭. follow me and repost this if u want a chapter three. also I NEED SOMEONE TO EDUCATE ME ABOUT SUNDAY FROM HSR BC I WANNA WRITE FICS ABOUT HIM SO BAD SO PLS SOMEONE EDUCATE ME N ALSO IF U KNOW LOVE AND DEEP SPACE??? PLS HIT ME UP AND EXPLAIN THIS LORE BC I WANNA WRITE YANDERE FICS FOR THEM SO BAD

“Why are balls called balls when testicles sounds hella fancier?”

At your friend’s bizarre question, the face of your other friend, Zarian, twinges in disgust. “Jayelene… why do you feel the need to put that out there?”

You huff in amusement, focusing on your pizza before what Jaylene says ruins your entire mood.

“I’m just saying! Testicles just seems more appropriate⏤the type of fancy shit drake and his family would say.”

Tim Drake Wayne…

Dinner with him and his freak-a-zoid family was like trying to make it past no-man’s land without any help to shield you from the straight up chilling vibes they gave off with their constant comments about bat facts. Bats. The atmosphere during the entire time you spent there was dreadful and quite literally heavy since Tim's youngest little brother wanted to sneak stares at you as if you wouldn’t notice his bug-looking eyes creeping into your soul.

Rich people really are weird, huh?

The Wayne family is nothing like how you expected them to be. They’re supposed to be cold, mysterious, and irresistibly enchanting, but all you’ve got are creepy vibes and a strong urge to stay away from them as much as possible. From the way Mr. Wayne made that weird comment about your father in the limo to how forcibly happy Richard or “Dick” was with you, you’ve come to an understanding that rich people are complete lunatics.

The Wayne family is full of a bunch of lunatics.

And you’re not afraid to voice that.

“There you go again,” Jaylene sighs when she notices the irritated expression on your face. “It’s never that serious, [Name]. You just hate everyone.”

“No, you don't get it! They were creepy as hell! Like… Like bats in dark caves coming at you all at once. They talk funny, they look funny⏤they act funny! What normal man name drops your mother’s name after knowing each other for about thirty minutes?”

Zarian huffs in amusement. “That’s the creepy part. How does Mr. Wayne know your name?”

“I dont know.” You run your fingers through your hair and lean back against the booth seat. “I don't want anything to do with them. Billionaire or not, how the hell does he know my mother’s name.”

It was perhaps towards the end of your stay at the Wayne’s manor for dinner, and you knew you had to go home, so you had largely hinted at leaving to Drake. Everything had gotten wrapped up, but when you were just about to leave, Mr. Wayne had told you, “make sure to tell [M/n] I said hi.”

You could only stare at him in shock as your body carried along, because how does a man as famous and wealthy as bruce wayne know your mother⏤your mother? He’s the chief executive officer of Wayne Enterprises yet mentions your mother?

That moment alone is enough to wave every red flag in your brain that screams at you, telling you something is up with these shady people. The only question is what? What can a billionaire possibly want from you? Out of everything the world has to offer, the most influential billionaire in America wants to target some meager high school kid?

What do these people want from you? Is it a rich people thing to play around with those below you? Well, you guess it probably is. Like, is Mr. Wayne gonna pop out with his soulless eyes and say, ‘you’re my long lost child?’ or something?

You still don’t know why you’re being a goat stuffed before slaughtering. These people want something from you, but you? You’ve got nothing to offer that they could want. Why the hell do they even bother? If there's one thing you really hate, it’s being left in the dark like this. Not knowing is terrifying. It's dangerous. Not knowing means not being prepared, and if you’re not prepared, you won’t make it out. Damn it, you should’ve booked it the moment Mr. Wayne mentioned your father in the limo. Movies and shows always display rich people as eccentric and psychopathic weirdos, and now you’re finally believing it.

Damn it.

You’re in danger. Okay.

Maybe that’s an exaggeration. But maybe it’s not.

You’ve watched enough true crime and have enough intuition and trust in your gut to know when something is wrong.

It’s not adding up.

You’re not dumb. You see all the warnings there, but what if you're exaggerating. What if this is just the nature of the Waynes, and you think you’re special enough to be noticed by them? Mr. Wayne is a damn billionaire! He’s got the money to do whatever he wants, so it’s only natural for him to do a background check on everybody that interacts with his sons, right?

It’s all in your head… It’s all in your head.

Sighing, you stare at the plate of food in front of you, appetite long gone. Still, you grab a fork and continue to eat as Zarian and Jaylene scream back and forth next to you. Drake, who had accompanied the three of you to the diner after practice, has left, thankfully. He left as soon as his food arrived while talking about some family emergency, and honestly, you’re pretty damn grateful for that.

Ever since dinner at his house, he’s surrounded you like a pillow smothering you, and you can’t do anything about it. He’s a billionaire’s son, for fuck’s sake.

It doesn’t take long for you and your friends to finish up, and you all part ways at the door of the diner before you clutch the straps of your backpack and walk around the city endlessly. This is a habit for you now⏤a way to put off going home as much as possible ever since you found out your mother’s boyfriend doesn’t come home until one or two in the morning.

That balding, ugly, sleazy piece of shit.

He’s as gross as every other man your mother’s brought home under the terribly veiled illusion that he’ll provide her a good life and treat her right. No matter how many times you try to tell that blind bitc… No. It's wrong. It’s not your mother’s fault.

But it sometimes feels like that, though.

Most mother’s destroy their own lives for their children, yet yours cannot even think about leaving the man that beats her child on a daily. Those types of mothers leave their spouses the second they see something wrong, while your mother treats those finger-print bruises around your neck like a necklace instead of abuse.

You’ve given up on her. You gave up on her back when you were eleven years old locked in a room with her boyfriend, and she didn’t listen. Or when you were twelve. Or thirteen. Or fourteen. Or fifteen. Or sixteen. Or seventeen. And now eighteen.

And each day feels like a repetition of the same. Wake up, go to school, practice, walk around, go home, get beat, and sleep like none of it all happens. It’s a routine you despise with every fiber of your being⏤makes you wanna jump over Gotham City Bridge before thinking about returning home because who would want to? Who wants this average life?

A life where you’re not happy enough, not sad enough. Not good enough, not bad enough. Not energized enough, not tired enough. You feel like a survivor of a plane crash floating on a raft at the center of the endless ocean with no way out. Everything just seems so vast, wide, and unreachable. How can you find the shore on a simple raft? How can you find a way out of inescapable misery if it’s not by drowning?

You’ve been waiting to find the shore, but it’s been a whole eighteen years since you’ve found yourself floating along the ocean.

That whole “it’ll get better” shit is a tragic lie.

Whatever.

It doesn’t matter⏤not anymore, at least. You’re going to get far away from this place and never look back. Never have to relieve this wretched city. Never have to be confined by chains again. You’ve only a few months left before you’re free.

Until then, you’ll have to be patient and go home because the sun has fully disappeared.

Nothing but satellites twinkle in the disgustingly polluted sky of Gotham City, and the streets have come to a staggering halt as you stroll about the sidewalks, trying to find the longest path to get home. One in the morning is always the perfect time in Gotham because it’s too late and too early to be outside, so it’s generally safe for a walk.

Of course, the universe likes to prove you wrong at every point.

The sound of a thud followed by a pained groan behind you has your legs locked and ready to run with your brain screaming alerts, but you take a deep breath and turn around. How bad can it get, anyways? The sight before you surprised you nonetheless. It’s… Nightwing, a Bludhaven hero, here in Gotham, just randomly popping up behind you?

With clear bleeding cuts and sprouting bruises across his body.

In the random alley you just happen to be in?

No. You’re looking into it too much.

His eyes lock onto and they make you freeze right then and there like he’s cast some spell upon you. But that’s for a cold, brief second before you’re hooking your thumbs under the straps of your backpacks and turning around hot on your heels, refusing to spare him a single second.

You even hear him murmur a strained, “wait,” but you don't care.

It’s rude, mean, cruel, and it’s also none of your business. All you simply do is walk ahead to your approaching doom with an pit of unease and bitter understanding of your helplessness in your stomach. You can already feel the soon-to-be new bruises blooming along your back.

You’re not a good person.

But, really, who is?

Smoking really does skill.

But now you know why people do it.

Each drag is more out of necessity than it is a choice ever since you’ve met your friend’s plug at the dumb age of sixteen, but it's a way to dull the harsh truth of reality. The world just fades into nothing but muted and mixed colors like the loud city underneath your balcony it blurs into a faint hum the longer you stare at the spiral puffs of smoke that disappear into the air.

Everything’s bitter⏤the joint and you.

Really bitter at the blood semi-dried on your face and the dull ache along your back.

You’ve got about an hour and a half until you have to head out to school, so what other way is there to spend it than smoking away your brain? The joint’s a temporary escape, but it helps you stall whatever new feeling of despair you’ll feel for the day. Until you’re interrupted by your phone buzzing⏤the sound still a dull hum in your ears

“... Hello?”

“[Name]!”

Zarian’s voice?

“Where the hell are you? Hurry up and get to school or else you’re gonna get in trouble for not helping to set up the club fair, and coach will be on our ass! And don't forget to bring money for the tickets!”

Coach?... Club fair?... Club fair! Holy shit!

Your eyes shoot open, and you frantically scramble up, tossing the joint over the balcony railing before hectically staggering through the living room like a drunk man. Damn it, how could you be so clueless and forget such an important event? Especially one you need money for! Damn it⏤damnit! What do you do?

… Mom! She’s got a box of money somewhere in her closet, right? You’ve seen it before! It's just twenty dollars, and she wont notice. Okay… Okay. You’re quick to get ready. You wash away all the blood that’s dried on your face, brush your teeth, and change into baggy jeans and a clean shirt before storming into your mother’s bedroom and rummaging through her things.

She’s off at work. Her bastard boyfriend doesn't come home until late at night, which means he’s probably already taken money for the day. Okay. That's fine. They won't notice.

But you can't find anything! What the hell? Where is that fucking box? You could’ve sworn it was there on the top shelf last night, but as you swipe your hands across everything on the shelf, you can’t find it. All of a sudden, something made of wood hits the top of your head and falls to the ground with a crack. You hiss, palm moving to cover where you got hit, but your eyes land on the box that now has money strewn all across the floor and a broken… false bottom?

What the fuck.

You pull away at the rest of the false bottom to only be met with countless photos of you as a child with your mother. Mom’s shit boyfriend had all the family photos taken down for some weird reason, so they’ve been here this entire time? All of these photos are full of you throughout every stage of your life, but some have different people in them as well. Their faces are either scratched out or they’re ripped out of the photo entirely.

From what you can gather, the figures are a man and what seems to be a teenage boy. The absurdity and even slight creepiness of the scratched out faces has you laughing, yet even with your now dulled senses, your eyes land on a photo you failed to notice earlier. Maybe you’re hallucinating. There must be something wrong with your brain. Or your eyes. The universe must be playing with you because is that a photo of you and a teenage-looking dick grayson?

Your eyes widen because it looks just like the strange man you had the unfortunate opportunity of having a conversation with during dinner with the Waynes. It’s him! More importantly, why the hell is he holding a ‘three year old’ you’s hand? You probably should be screaming. Yelling. Maybe panicking? But all you can do is shuffle through the rest of the box before your fingers graze against something metal that has your heart jumping.

It’s a small camera.

With a bat engraved on its side.

Ears ringing so loudly in your head you can't even think, you wipe your teary and red eyes hastily before grabbing a twenty dollar bill, putting everything except for the photo and camera in the box, set it back on the closet shelf, and hastily grab your backpack before making way to school.

The second you reach the damned place, you seek out your now three friends and drop into a seat with a heavy thud, sighing and meeting Tim's eyes with a burning gaze.

“You mean to tell me [Name] found the camera? And you decided to tell me after school?”

Time Drake Wayne sighs and runs his fingers through his black hair, shrugging apathetically while scrolling through every photo in his phone that he’s taken of you during the club fair. His brother, Richard, is pacing throughout his room anxiously as he rambles off about their latest fuckup.

“Look, Bruce doesn't let any slip ups happen,” Tim murmurs in exasperation. “He wouldn't let this happen because [Name]’s mom and him talked this morning. Relax, he probably knows.”

It's not a lot, but it’s enough to calm Richard down. The man takes a deep breath but finds himself sitting down next to Tim, trying to get a good look at the pictures. “How mad was [Name]?”

“High, for starters, but clearly pissed off. Very observant, too.”

“Don’t tell anyone else. Not until Bruce gives us the okay.”

TAGLIST :

@ilovemyhusbandnanami (so real), @missikkj, @ferakillia, @darlinqvi, @soriansick, @sleepydhanie, @h0rr0r-10ver-69 (love ur blog aesthetic bae), @anuttellaa (OK WINX 😽), @feral-childs-word (love the pfp), @shycreatorreview, @friesandfixations, @stuff6969fuckyou, @babiebubsie, @jsprien213, @cattioo, @cherrydaisymanic (cheetah?leopard? printttt 😍), @00hellohello00, @princessloveweird, @amber-content, @idonthaveanameforthisacc, @f1lover4ever, @dreamsarenicer, @imaginarydreams, @solkara (love the calm aesthetic), @bobfood, @toast-on-dandelioms, @ijustfuckme, @cantfindmelol, @xx1shadow1xx, @azulawayne, @box-of-kinderjoy, @iamaunknownsecret, @missybabes, @phoenixgurl030, @couldeatthatgirlforlunch, @devils-blackrose, @arevvv, @freakthis, @yourhornysister, @kirahhhh, @perfectparadisegardener, @testishere, @spaceunicorn293, @vanilliona (love the pfpp), @uknowimdumb, @esposadomd, @dakotali, @lilyalone, @kore-of-the-underworld, @pix-stuff, @hellcatsworld, @chericia, @mspoisoncoil (love the bannnnerrr) , @devotedlyshamelessdetective, @cheeseburgercasserole (love the aesthetic), @twismare

so follow me n repost if u want part lll. and somebody pls explain hsr and love and deepspace lore to me. making a taglistttttt. if this post doesnt get as many likes as the first one, im deleting this series 😭. if u see a grammatical mistake, no u didnt 😃🔪

if anybody’s got requests about this series or in general, feel free to ask!!!

WAIT!! FOLLOW MY WATTPAD ACCOUNT : @depresssant. I JUS PUBLISHED A HISTORICAL YANDERE X READER STORY

899 notes · View notes

zaynes-nieve · 5 months ago

Text

Zayne Confirmed Lore

Anything confirmed by the developers, including any accounts or information within the game! (I will update you as the game continues, and I appreciate any info I can get from you all as well!!!!)

Basic Info:

Zayne's Birthday is September 5th | About Him

Other Names: Rei (JP), Lee See-Oen (KR) and Li Shen (CN)

Zayne's Constellation sign is a Virgo (like me)| About Him

Zayne is 6'1 | About Him

Zayne's age is 27 | About Him

Zayne is the Chief Cardiac Surgeon at Akso Hospital | About Him

Zayne's evol is Ice | About Him

Daily Life and a good chunk of the lore

Zayne is a workaholic, and he likes it | Gentle Twilight/About Him

He is good at snowboarding! | Everlasting Snowdrop/About Him

He knows how to peel an apple in one go | Spring Remnants/About Him

He is good at drawing (those anatomical diagrams, ftw!!!) | Suprise Encounter/About Him

He has a sweet tooth (like me) | Nostalgic Sweetness/About Him

He gets toothaches (unlike me) | Nostalgic Sweetness/About Him

He is a terrible patient (Strict against others, indulgent to his own whims) | Nostalgic Sweetness/About Him

Zayne is a teetotaler (a person who never drinks alcohol) | Drunken Intimacy/About Him

He is good at pool but is a strict teacher | Exclusive Tutorial/About Him

His Parents are also Doctors and work with Doctors without Borders overseas | Eternal Attachment/About Him

He sends them a message on his birthday each year, telling them he is just fine! | Eternal Attachment/About Him

Zayne has a hard time controlling his Evol | Main Story 4-10/Never Ending Winter ch.4

Starcatcher Awardee (2046) | Main Story 4-5

Linde Award Winner (Year 2046) | Main Story 4-5 / Never Ending Winter ch.10? Last chapter mention

His patients all are obedient (terrified) of him | A Pure White Heart ch. 3

Dr. Zayne and Dawnbreaker see each other in their dreams | (Never Ending Winter Ch.1, Ch.2, Ch.4)

He has a pet squirrel named after the medication, Clopidogrel! | Feed the Squirrel/Message

It appears Zayne also frequently volunteers to assist in medical relief for disasters or joins the medical teams assisting hunters fighting wanders in high-frequency zones | Dawn's Shadows, Foreign Aid/Video Call, Hidden Motive, Medical Rescue

He is quick to forgo his well-being to save others in dangerous situations. He truly puts his own duty as a doctor above everything else.| Medical Rescue, Neon Night

He is surprisingly (not to any of us but to MC ig) a novice to the art of sleeping in. | Fluffy Treatment/About Him

When he is sick he dodges the cold medicine for Hot Cocoa. | Engraved Affection/About Him

His Past:

Zayne was one smart cookie and skipped several years! But because he was so young and his classmates were not. He had a hard time making friends | Delicacy/About Him

When he was in medical school, he visited a barbeque stall a lot | Delicacy/About Him

He has a good tolerance for pain😭and he gets injured a lot, leaving many scars | Medical Rescue/About Him

Dr. Zayne was in the 35th Cohort of the Skyhaven Medical School in a PhD Program | Never Ending Winter ch.1

He was an intern under Dr. William (took him under his wing) | Never Ending Winter ch.1

It's implied he had to kill William after those black crystals seemed to be turning Dr.William into a Wanderer (Do we consider this confirmed enough?) | Never Ending Winter ch. 6

He Plays Tennis (and won a prize!) | Tennis Game/Messages

Due to the time travel shenanigans and our boy being the best at everything, Zayne is now an expert Jade carver! | Moonlit Dream

He briefly studied keyboards as a child. But quit after a month. | Heartstring Notes

All he knows how to play is Little Lamb | Heartstring Notes

When he worked at the hospital during New Years, the Akso Hospital Staff celebrated the holidays together | Cherished Longing/About Him

Zayne has a brother....it's a Monkey | Cherished Longing

His Likes:

He really hates carrots!!! | A Frozen Promise/About Him

He visits medical museums to relax, or he will go look out at the river | Heart Within Reach/About Him

Our Story 💙❄️☃️

He gave us a little snow seal when we were children (we thought it was a snowball) | A Frozen Promise/About Him

After seeing our name on the volunteer list for the Frontlines, he follows us. Hidden Motive/Insta Acc.

He is our Primary Doctor!!! (we're not gonna talk about the ethics of this LMFAO) | Main Story 1-8/About Him

Zayne said he melted an "old" popsicle (our popsicles at this time) for us when we were kids | Nostalgic Sweetness/About Him

Our Grandmother left us a letter with Zayne, and he seems to know more than he is letting on | Main Story 4-7

We voted for him in the Patient's Favorite Doctor poll on Asko's official account (He also won) | A Vote/Message

HE USES US AS HIS WALLPAPER | Screen Saver/Message

Zayne is not above bribery (whether it is us or his patients) | I Miss You/Message

We gave daffodils to Zayne! (they're garlic) | Gardening/Message

World Underneath

Longly Flame

Williams Girlfriend was named Sienna

She gives Zayne, Williams Martyr Badge.

(See the Everlasting Anecdote for more info on William)

They call Zayne the 35th academic god XD. They pray to him before exams lmfao

Zayne and Dr. Noah are apart of an experiment along with Carter regarding proctores and hearts. It starts growing black crystals

Zayne deletes all of his research

In General this just introduces that Dr. Noah had three protégés; Zayne, Carter and William

Snowy Stairs

Carter didn't get his doctorate degree (what a scum bag)

Carter is stalking Zayne.

He also seems to be playing and is obsessed with life and death

Cabin 607 is a patient, Carter is attempting to use to get Zayne to join him in his efforts at Xander Sciences

His name is Felix, 45 and a teacher

Carter tried to hack Zayne with a Trojan horse. This man is obsessed oml

Carter is now attempting to use MC to get to Zayne and possibly use MC for the X-Heart Experiment

No Morning (The Greyson Anecdote)

Zayne is the type to micromanage

This occurs after Im assuming after MC and Zayne’s trip to Mt. Eternal due to context clues but this may be wrong

Greyson has a crush on a Hunter

Zayne and MC are considered close by the Akso staff

Snowball Flower on Zayne's desk though it looks a little sick according to Greyson

Called a Snow Velvet

Rescue Operation, both Greyson, Zayne attend for 2 days and 2 nights

Awww Greyson got himself a little Hunter girlfriend

CPR and the 6 minutes if they're heart stops. To not give up cause that is when a person is declared dead and can't be resuscitated. (I think Greyson was telling Zayne this but I originally thought it was Zayne telling Greyson)

Overall it really is just getting into how scary being a hunter is from a non hunter perspective. Especially since it's from a surgeon who is like Zayne.

We also learn more about some of the medical conditions that occur with Hunters and protocore symptoms

And once again the mention of the Grim Reaper and again the mention of dark ICE crystals with the dying snow velvet .

MYTH STORIES

Foreseer

Master of Fate

Dawnbreaker

Anything talked about in this section is written as if you have already had the knowledge before hand.

Never Ending Winter: Zayne Anecdote #2

First mention of Dawnbreaker and also where we get the info of Zayne's Nightmare into Dawnbreaker's world.

Zayne mentions the nightmares again and talks about how his current reality is more bloody than his nightmares (Dawn Breaker World)

We get Dr.Zayne's perspective as he is "in that world of ice and snow" Zayne attacks himself from his perspective with dark crystals (which we know from The third ancedote is the color of Dawnbreaker's ice

Dr.Zayne refers to this black coated version of him as the Grim Reaper.

Zayne almost accidentally killed someone important to him when he was 12. He was 12 when he first started getting dreams of Dawnbreaker

Crystals begin to grow off of William (though, they mention the color of said crystals being black, they dont mention if they're ice)

Future edit: 1/25/25: Infold has made it very clear recently between the difference between the dark ice of Dawnbreaker and the black crystals that seems to involve humans turning into wanderers. Zayne now in the most recent main story with Caleb has made it clear that the crystals on Kevi was the ones that were on William!!!

The people Dawnbreaker killed appear in front of him after he kills William

Still in the Dark: Zayne Anecdote #3

Georgie's first description of Dawnbreaker Zayne is that of a Grim Reaper (hence the connection to all mentions of him in Never Ending Winter)

Georige is a young boy who hires Zayne to help him find the person who killed his mom

Dawnbreaker is the in canon title for the serial killer who leaves no bodys only dark blue crystals

There is footage of Dawnbreaker killing these people, so it isn't speculation

Detective Ivan, the police working on the Dawnbreaker case, gives distrubing insight into the situation, giving his point of view that the people who Dawnbreaker is killing leave behind shards like Wanderer protocores

When he catches Dawnbreaker in the act, he finds the victim with tentacles and attacking Dawnbreaker.

Georgie's mother was a worker at an ungergound protocore factory

Zayne, after running out of chocolate, takes some from Georgie, and so begins the Georige & Zayne duo.

DB!Zayne watches Old Doctor Television Shows

He also only lives off of Nutrient Solutions

DB! Zayne also has a Jasmine Plant

He also oftens visits a decayed plaza with a jasmine field

In their universe, Linkon City is a city from a distant past.

DB!Zayne confirms that he also dreams and that it is of our Linkon City

Chapter 4 is where we get the most intermigle between Zayne & DB! Zayne.

Zayne dreams of MC and the snacks we share with Zayne in particular a popsicle which could be a reference to the bond story Nostalgic Sweetness

He dreams of being a suregon. He started getting these dreams also at the age twelve

He knew at 12 that MC and Zayne would meet at 27

Dawnbreaker lives vicariously though these dreams and the remnants of Linkon he can find in his world.

Zayne calls the Humans who leave behind Protocore fragments "Abominations"

He plays some recording about Zhuangzi and the Butterfly essentially not knowing if he was the dream or if they are. (Butterfly dreaming of being Zhuangzi or Zhuangzi dreaming of being a Butterfly) Dr.Zayne and Dawnbreaker to a T.

Georgie dreams of being a monster (Foreshadowing yall). Zayne notices a bump under Georgies eyes 😭

Georgie, on the day he turns 12, begins to show more obvious symptoms of being an Abomination

IK this has been more of a recount, but we got little to work with Dawn Breaker lore yall

Dawn Breakers first kill was when he was 12, after he killed his adopted father, who became an Abomination

It is also here that we learn that if not killed, these beings turn into Wanderers.

Zayne is the one who murdered Georgie's mother

We find out that Georgie's mother requested that Zayne kills her half a month before she turned.

Her Coworkers having turned into Wanderers (She believes it was due to their long exposure to the protocores)

Zayne kills Georgie after he becomes an Abomination

Detective Ivan gives us the run down that the government and those in power are hiding the fact that some of those wanderers were once human. He also intends to stop and destory the investigation against Dawnbreaker, likely so Zayne can continue doing his job.

Eternal Attachment

Zayne's Birthday Card!!!! What is it doing in the Dawnbreaker section people ask as I slowly sink into despair about the implications of it

So! I conveniently didn't mention something in a previous section, Still In The Dark

Why are you telling me this you ask having after reading walls of text or just looking at this section first. Well because of this dialogue RIGHT HERE:

A familiar melody drifts through the darkness.

It’s “Happy Birthday”?

“Happy Birthday, Dr. Zayne!”

The girl’s clear voice rings out, her smile warm like the morning sun.

Is he dreaming again?

“From now on, I’ll always be by your side for your birthday.”

The girl’s sincere yet slightly shy expression makes him unable to resist the urge to caress her cheek.

He lowers his head and discovers they’re holding hands. He reaches out, but right before touching the girl’s cheek, she's suddenly looks shocked.

“You… aren’t Dr. Zayne. Who are you?”

Zayne abruptly wakes up. A gray wall stares back at him. The alarm resounds, and the holographic screen starts flickering red again.

Zayne takes a deep breath. What did that dream mean?

How did the girl see him? It’s as if she saw through time and space, through his dreams, to realize he’s not the doctor.

NOW LETS GO LOOK AT THE BIRTHDAY ETERNAL ATTACHMENT AND SEE WHAT HAPPENS!

Y'all I'm physically sickkkk. It was very mean of INFOLD to do us like this and then hit us with the Special Investigations.

But in all seriousness I think there was a similar situation in a 4 Star memory but I can't find it so maybe I've gone crazy. But it is connecting and preparing/setting the scene for the Special Investigation: Thorns Under The Moon

Special Investigation: Thorns Under The Moon

Dr. Zayne, our Zayne and DB Zayne or DB is Dawnbreaker

This first main story lore that connects our Zayne with Dawnbreaker. Everything else has come from the anecdotes or something extremely similar

Prologue

It's been two months since the N109 Zone

Once again modified protocores & Aether cores are making amouck

Specifically the type of Wanderer with a Beta Protocurve can distort time and space. That new aether cores may appear where these Wanderers do

We start off in Zayne's POV it refers to us as "The Girl" which makes me believe based off last experiences that this is Dawnbreaker

Black Crystals (Like we have seen regarding wanderers) spring out of the walls and move towards us.

It mentions a time distort which reminds me of those Wanderers mentioned earlier.

It then cuts to our Zayne. He had been sleeping. At the Asko Rehabilitation Center in a Sleeping Pod. He had a nightmare.

Zayne has been having nightmares since his visit to Mt. Eternal.

It's been two months and he hasn't been able to sleep at all.

He doesn't tell us what happened in the Artic only that he is having a rerecurring nightmare

MC mentions that Zayne has a business trip next week and that she is concerned for his health

Zayne tries to say something about how even if he collapses they're other doctors but MC isn't hearing it calling him "My Doctor" 💙

Dr. Zayne tells us he will be careful and stay alive

We tell him our concerns about who we think the fragment we gave him after the N109 zone is the cause of his nightmares.

He tries to tell us it's a coincidence but I'm not so sure about that. Zayne has had these nightmares since he was 12 yes but they're has been no indication they occur so often until now. I think the protocore fragment is doing something.

We also learn, relearn? That Zayne is studying the fragment and it's possible relation with Protocore Syndrome.

We learn about the Wanderer and the Protocore we are hunting

It moves through distorting space. Anywhere it appears those with Protocore Syndrome fall into comas and some even shock

The location is Chansia City. Which we then find out is where Zayne is going for his business trip!!!

We ask to join the medical team and it's Approved.

As we leave the building to meet Zayne, someone gets in our way. (It's Carter 🤢)

He tries to invite us to dinner which fucking EW. (If it was clear at this point that while I keep the lore/plot accurate I'm not afraid to put my own opinion on these. Now it is)

Zayne comes out and saves us and we get to see the Carter and Zayne beef live

Carter tried to invite all three of us to dinner but MC swiftly declines saying that the association forbids its hunters from accepting dinner for work related purposes (idk if that's true or not)

Carter is trying very hard to give us these flowers (I'm like 98% sure he did shit to them) but Zayne snatches them before we can decline and THEN GIVES THEM BACK TO CARTER(My God I love this man)

This line is EVERYTHING oml

"They're much appreciated. Unfortunately there's no room for them in MY car" omlllll

Carter apparently came to give us a warning about being careful when we are traveling which is SO fucking weird. How did he know we were traveling YALL.

Once we are in the car we try and get more information on Carter and Xander Sciences from Zayne

It flashes back to one of Zayne's earlier chapters regarding that rich person with Rafayel's art that sucked people into it. How Xander Sciences has been trying to get Zayne to join them

Zayne tells us that the only thing they have in common is that they studied under the same professor. (Which we already know because of World Underneath but again!!!! This is really connecting all of the outside Anecdotes and various other stories to the Main one!)

We get to call Carter crazy which is fun for me personally (Its also how we find out he is trying to poach us from Zayne to be Carter's patient. Ewwwwwwww)

Zayne also gets to call him crazy 🤣

We get more information about why the medical team is going to Chansia from Greyson

A specific patient has a weird crystal growth in his heart that is different from the normal patients. (Beta Protocurve anyone?) When this patient was admitted to the hospital he caused a Metaflux burst.

We keep trying to surprise Zayne on these trips and it never works XD. He signed all our paperwork so he knew we were coming

Dr Zayne in a surgery clothes!!!

The Wanderer we are chasing closely resembles Myst ( a type of Wanderer) the proctores don't match up however.

The proctore that is pulled from the patient is like the ones we gave Zayne from the monsters in the N109 Zone.

Then out of nowhere a Metaflux occurs

We try and get Zayne and the other doctors to leave the ER but Zayne refuses trying to keep the patient alive

Zayne asks us to use our evol to suprees the Metaflux (Something I didn't even know our Evol could do but also like ofc I will cause he asked me to 🤣)

We do manage to suppress the Metaflux using our Evol and give Zayne enough time

Zayne pulls us off to the side to do a quick Evol examination

Zayne calls us out for not being entirely honest about why we were here. Which fair. But I'm pretty sure it's like classified so-

Zayne counters our point about how the Aether cores can't be causing the mutations due to one being perfectly integrated with our own Heart.

Zayne believes it's human made and I'm definitely inclined to believe him with all the shady shit Ever and Xander Sciences has done.

Somehow the patient is already awake which is genuinely terrifying cause WTF did they do to this dude?

FUCKING CARTER IS BACK AGAIN. THAT WORLD UNDERNEATH SECTION WAS RIGHT. HE IS SO STALKING ZAYNE WTF.

He says he wasn't following us but I don't fucking believe that shit

And this is when we find out that this dude is a Xander Sciences client. Which like. I've been acting like he was already, but this is the actual confirmation from Carter no less

He is trying to get us interested in whatever Frankenstein shit Xander Sciences is doing but both Mc and I could care LESS.

"It's okay, you'll be interested someday"

Omfg he gives me the ICK

He tells us that only Xander Sciences can tell us about what is happening with our heart.

Greyson comes out and tell us that Zayne wants us inside and Greyson also kicks Carter out!!!!

The patient says that "It" trapped him somewhere, a nightmare.

We show him the Wanderer we are hunting. It's the one that put him into the coma

It's a little vague but we ending up in its reality shifting thing.

(Alr outside of the canon, I'ma mention this before we continue. This part is rooted in vague mentions. We still as of now 2/2/25 haven't really gotten any more information about what exactly occurs. We know Dawnbreaker is apart of it but wheter we actually meet Dawnbreaker or Dr. Zayne as Dawnbreaker is something that was debated and still is. Im going to try and keep it to the facts as much as I can but just know that it's difficult to tell even to MC in game who we are talking to. So unless it states otherwise I will be referring to them as "Zayne")

MC deduces after a moment that we are in the Wanderer's protofield

We see "Zayne" and sharp ice crystals materialize around us to pierce our heart

We wake up to "Zayne" in Dawnbreaker's outfit mind you. Which I don't think in any story outside of Dawnbreaker's we ever see Zayne wear.

His figure apparently matches up with the dark figure we have seen before.

MC describes the place she is in and it's Dawnbreaker's apartment from Still in the Dark

Ex. In the fridge is only "weird packets" which we know to the nutritional drink that DB drinks and Chocolate.

MC starts speculating. She mentions how the patient was only trapped in their own dream

She is implying that this is "Zayne's"

"Zayne" mentions that he has dreamed off this place but that everything was better off than it is now.

"Zayne" confirms that this is the place where his nightmares have been occurring

MC mentions how "Every Detail" of this place is fleshed out. That "Zayne" must have seen these places alot to recreate it so clearly (This is what I mean about vague. It's implying that is only a dream of this world but it also keeps hinting that it may be an reality)

"Zayne" mentions that while it dies resemble his nightmares. It is definitely a protofield. We see a Protocore cluster

MC deduces that there is another cluster somewhere and that they need to destroy both at the same time to escape

"Zayne" and MC argue a little bit about who takes the cluster which is across the city.

MC ends up going after it

AFTER SHE IS GONE WERE BACK TO "ZAYNE'S" POV

It goes back to referring to MC as "The Girl"

He freezes the mist and black impurities are in the Ice, some of it still normal Ice. (Is this supposed to be a reference to the fact that DB ice crystals are Black?)

"Zayne" starts seeing people he has killed as Our Zayne or DB.

William • Never Ending Winter

Georgie & Possibly Georgie's Mom • Still In The Dark

A BLACK ice crystal is what shatters part of the Cluster

More lines

"It's Her. But she can't possibly be here"

(It could be a reference to the fact MC can't be here cause she is across the city or because she doesn't exist in DB world)

It's definitely an illusion though as he is imagining her with dark ice flowers growing out of her and her begging for him to Kill her.

He forms BLACK ICE CRYSTALS

A random voice "Zayne" doesn't recognize says

"You shouldn't throw yourself in danger just for her" "Seek your destiny. Only then can you be redeemed" (Is this supposed to be Astra???)

We're back to MC's POV but we aren't back in Chansia. We are in Asko Hospital.

"Zayne" is injured, ice is growing from him.

"Zayne" tells us the clusters was just one layer. We still need to defeat the Wanderer.

MC hears a voice that is echoing "Zayne's" words. (90% certain it's the lines Foreseer gives MC in their myth story) So now Myth Stories are in main story too

Blackened Ice is whats growing on Zayne

MC doesn't think it's just Zayne losing control of his evol

Memoria: Frozen Nightfall

Frozen Nightfall is apart of Thorns Underneath the Moonlight. It is a free five star card taken directly from the story. So you get the cards content without getting the card at all

MC resonates with Zayne as we have done in the past to get rid of the ice.

"Zayne" tells her that the Wanderer isn't the only danger here. He seems certain that he may harm her.

It like suddenly does a Hard Cut? They are back in the city. They aren't in room they were in before and a bunch of mist appears.

"Zayne" is carrying an unconscious MC into a hospital room.

"Zayne" says letting her step into this nightmare was a mistake. He says he has "One last choice"

And seemingly takes the ice that we resonated from him back.

MC once again mentions the weary face of one Zayne and her own merging and then immediately separating.

The attack on MC from the Wanderer wasn't in the protofield

MC asks what "Zayne" did? (I'm not exactly sure what she means by that)

She asks if this is why he has no control of his Evol

MC asks if this dream is more than just a dream to him.

"Zayne" is concerned he will never wake up from this nightmare at some point.

Later, Zayne and MC use their evols together to destroy the last layer. The world turns into "Black Amber"

After defeating the Wanderer they are back in Chansia.

MC makes Zayne back and forth around.

She says she is making sure that "Dr Zayne is the person with me right now." (What does this even mean?!)

MC collapses but she says she is fine. She is holding a part of the aether core fragment it's green

It's been three days since Zayne and MC disappeared in the Protofield.

They discover a strange device in one of the Flux stabilizers in the ICU

Someone tampered with it (Looking at Carter)

We are back in Linkon now. We are in Zayne's home.

Zayne is resting and we get a call from Simone

Simone tells us that the device resonates WITH Metaflux fluctuations

It locates protocores and ATTRACTS Wanderers.

Raymond the rich dude who died, owned Xander Sciences. Xander Sciences was passed on to Ever.

MC says that Ever is creating Monsters

We're back in Zayne's POV. He is in a dream

It looks happy at first but then it goes back to that hallway and Zayne's Evol seemingly attacks MC Again

He is still having those nightmares 😭

Pls hit me up with any more information and where it's from!!

823 notes · View notes

spiicii · 9 days ago

Text

bloodline property / valentine’s day (roman)

roman reigns x fem!reader word count → 2.9k summary → your tribal chief makes sure to treat you right for valentine’s day. you know that you should tell him about what happened last night with jey, but this isn’t the right time. you should focus on roman and just try not to think about jey tonight. unfortunately, roman brings up jey himself. links → masterlist / taglist tags → unprotected piv sex, dom/sub, daddy kink, subspace, dacryphilia, hair-pulling, humiliation, degradation, possessive behavior, praise, dirty talk, spanking, face slapping, lore accurate tribal chief (roman is not always nice to his cousins), bad communication (you’ve been warned!), mildly dubious consent (girl is confused!)

Friday ✩ Valentine’s Day ✩ Roman

While you were free to spend the rest of the week with his Bloodline, Roman had made it clear that Valentine’s Day was for him and him alone. And if Roman was anything, it was traditional.

On Friday morning you awoke to a dozen red roses and breakfast in bed, his words sweet and his smile happy as he pampered you. He showered you with gifts, including a beautiful backless dress that he wanted you to wear out to dinner with him that evening. And when he took you out, he was sure to show you off, keeping his arm wrapped around your waist and smiling for the cameras as he led you to a private room at the nicest restaurant in town.

He wore a custom-made suit, his hair slicked back in a tidy bun and his eyes only for you as the two of you laughed and talked over dinner. He was thoughtful and attentive, his questions interested in your life with him and his Bloodline. Did you feel taken care of? Were you enjoying yourself? Was his pretty girl happy? And when he led you out of the restaurant, his large hand pressed against the small of your back to keep you close, he smiled at a reporter and told him that he had the most beautiful woman in the world to take out for Valentine’s Day.

It was perfect.

You weren’t thinking about Jey. Nope, you definitely were not thinking about Jey.

Because that would be wrong. Because you shouldn’t be thinking about Jey. You should be focused on your Tribal Chief. You should be focused on Roman, the man who found you two years ago crying and alone and had given you a purpose. A family. That’s where your loyalty was.

You had tried to sit still during the dinner, terrified that Roman would somehow be able to read your mind and know that you’d professed your love to his Right Hand Man. How would he react if he knew? What would he say?

In your time with Roman, he’d never told you that he loved you. And you weren’t mad about that. He’d made it very clear when he first took you in that this was a power dynamic. He got what he wanted: complete control and domination; a perfect, pretty servant to keep his bed warm. You got what you wanted too: to be completely owned and dominated, allowing your master to call the shots and take care of you.

It was a mutually beneficial relationship, one with a lot of perks. He gave you money and gifts, allowing you to live in his fancy penthouse with his family. He allowed you to fuck his Bloodline, more than happy to share you with the people he cared about the most. He gave you a purpose in life, a feeling of satisfaction from knowing that you had a master to serve. He appreciated you. He took care of you. He made you feel safe.

The two of you had never talked about feelings, nor did you ever feel the need to. You were fond of Roman, of course, but you weren’t in love with him. You loved the power he had over you, the feeling of being completely and utterly owned. You loved how good he fucked you. You loved how he took care of you. But you didn’t love him. Not like Jey.

You knew that you could talk about your relationship at any time, and perhaps you should. Roman had made it very clear that communication was important and he wouldn’t be happy if he knew that you were hiding something from him. Besides, you truly doubted he would be angry. What was he going to be mad at? That you’d caught feelings for his cousin, a man he loved like a brother? Since when was that a crime?

But what would you even say to him? He’d probably ask you what you wanted, but you didn’t know. You felt terrified that he would end the power dynamic between the two of you and you didn’t want that. At least, not yet. You didn’t know who you were outside of him. For the past two years, you’d been Bloodline property. His property. And that gave you comfort. You couldn’t handle a big change right now, not while you were still confused and scared.

Besides, tonight wasn’t the right time. It was Valentine’s Day and you wanted to give Roman all your attention and devotion tonight. After how well he took care of you, he deserved that at least.

You shouldn’t have been particularly surprised when Roman pounced on you the second you made it back to his penthouse, his mouth hot and possessive over yours as he pulled you into a searing kiss. He corralled you to his bedroom, slamming the door shut behind you as he claimed your mouth for his own, his tongue slipping into your mouth at your easy submission.

He was quick to push you back against the bed, already hiking up your dress to shove his hand between your legs. He smirked when he found that you weren’t wearing any underwear, wetness already coating the inside of your thighs.

“Fucking slut,” he crooned. “Look at the mess you’ve made.”

Your eyelids fluttered as if he’d just whispered the sweetest pillow talk in your ear, leaning against his strong body to steady yourself as he parted your wet folds.

Roman chuckled. “Need me that bad, sweetheart?”

You looked up at him through your long lashes, your mouth already open and small pants escaping. “Please, Daddy. I always need you. So bad.”

The Tribal Chief loved you like this: all needy and desperate for him. Only for him. It’s why he always made sure to have these moments where it was just the two of you. He needed to remind you that while he generously allowed you to fuck his Bloodline, you belonged to him. And no one else.

He removed his fingers from your cunt and you couldn’t suppress the needy whine that left your throat.

Roman was quick to shush you, already shrugging off his suit jacket and throwing it to the side. He began removing his cufflinks, the small ruby ones you’d gotten him for his birthday last year, and set them on the bedside table, his gaze at you dark and hungry.

“On the bed, slut. Present yourself to your Chief.”

You hastened to obey, already moving onto your hands and knees as Roman began to roll up the sleeves of his dress shirt. You yelped as he landed a harsh swat across your ass and he chuckled at the sound.

“So eager, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

You arched your back and presented yourself. A hazy fog was already beginning to settle over your brain, entirely focused on being good and obedient for your master.

You felt the bed dip and Roman’s large hands grab at the soft flesh of your hips, his thick fingers brushing across your sex to collect the wetness there. You let out a small gasp at the feeling, your body already beginning to thrum with pleasure.

And when his fingers began to dip into your empty hole, you felt your eyes roll back at the feeling, a wave of submission and obedience washing over you as the Tribal Chief lavished you with his attention. He was the only person in the world who could get you into that headspace, your mind slowing down until you could only focus on one thing: obey.

Roman moved closer to you, his large hand reaching up to brush some of the hair out of your dazed eyes. He made an appreciative sound, his voice deep and calming.

“Already going under, baby?”

Whenever you got this it was hard to speak, but you still tried, no matter how heavy your tongue felt in your mouth.

“Yes, Daddy.” The words were barely audible, no more than a whisper, and Roman’s gaze at you was understanding.

“It’s alright,” he murmured, running his hands appreciatively down your exposed flank. “Daddy’s gonna take care of you, okay?”

You gave him a slow nod, your eyes already half-lidded as you looked up at him.

Roman reached up to curl his hands into your hair, his grip firm, but not painful. “Say your safeword back to me.” He commanded and you were quick to obey.

“Red.” Your voice was already wrecked.

“And if you can’t speak?”

You reached out a hand and typed his thigh twice, feeling relieved when he beamed at you.

“Good girl.” He cooed, cupping your cheek with his hand just to watch you nuzzle into his touch. “So good for me, sweetheart.”

He pushed his fingers past your lips and you relaxed, allowing him to fuck his fingers into your mouth at a slow and leisurely pace.

“I love seeing you like this,” He hummed, continuing to push his fingers further down your throat until you felt like you might gag on them. “Just a pretty little doll for me to play with. Just need your holes filled, don’t you, baby?”

You nodded around his fingers, obediently sucking on the digits no matter how deep they went. And when he finally removed them you let out a small whine, looking up through your long lashes to stare pleadingly at your Tribal Chief.

Roman gave you a condescending pat on the cheek before standing, moving behind you and out of your line of vision. You felt your body thrum in anticipation, the room quiet as you waited for your master to decide what to do with you.

“Such a needy, submissive little thing, aren’t you?” murmured Roman, the head of his cock already beginning to push into your hole. “Such a good girl for me.”

You were grateful that he took it slow, your body struggling to adjust to his massive size as he began to push further into you. You could feel the distant burn, but it was quickly sizzling into pleasure, your back arching further on instinct to grant him more access.

Roman chuckled, keeping his movements gentle and slow. “You need it that bad, huh?” He teased, digging his fingers deeper into your flesh so hard that it would leave bruises. Just how you liked it.

And when he bottomed out, you could hardly breathe, your entire body feeling impossibly full. He stayed still for a bit, appreciating the way your body trembled beneath him and your hole continued to spasm and clench around his length.

“Still so tight,” he breathed. “Not sure how you do it after getting fucked every day by my Bloodline, pretty girl. Such a talented slut, aren’t you?”

You were beginning to feel antsy without him moving, so you started rocking your hips back to try to simulate some kind of friction or movement. Roman let out a displeased noise, smacking your ass so hard that you gasped, immediately stilling.

“Don’t be greedy,” Roman admonished, even as his hand reached out to soothe the skin he had hit. “You’ll take what I give you, whore. And then you’ll thank me for it.”

Had your brain not been so foggy you would have had some kind of intelligible response for him. Instead, all you could do was moan as he pulled out and slammed back into you, the force so strong that you were sure you would have fallen into the mattress had the Tribal Chief not been gripping you so tightly.

Roman set a brutal pace, his hips snapping forward as he pounded into you. You could hear the lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin, his heavy balls smacking against your clit with every thrust. You felt white-hot heat spreading across your body as pleasure began to build inside you, breathy little moans falling from your mouth after each rough thrust.

“None of the others fuck you like this, do they?” Roman’s tone was conversational, not even a little bit breathless despite his brutal pace. “Solo’s too quiet, isn’t he? He won’t say what you want to hear. What you need to hear.”

He yanked you closer to him and you yelped, your eyes screwed shut at the rough treatment.

“You like hearing what a dirty little slut you are. How you’re so desperate you now need five men to fuck you. Never met a bitch as greedy as you.”

The mixture of arousal and humiliation at his words had your entire body flushed beneath him.

“Jimmy’s probably the only other one who roughs you up like this, I know.” The Tribal Chief continued. “But he just can’t do it like I can, can he? He doesn’t see you for what you really are: a pathetic little cumslut who can’t even last a few hours without begging for someone to fill your holes. He just doesn’t understand you, does he, baby?”

He was crooning the words like he was reciting a love poem, your hole spasming helplessly at the degradation. Roman noticed and laughed, landing another harsh swat across your ass.

“And poor Sami… He doesn’t even know what to do with you, does he? He’s never met a whore as needy as you. He probably blushed and fucked you like some teenager in high school. He couldn’t give you what you wanted either, could he?”

Some part of you felt like he was being unnecessarily cruel. You liked Solo. Jimmy. Sami. They made you feel good too. Then Roman grabbed you by the hair and yanked you up from the mattress and whatever protest you might have had died on your lips.

“Don’t even get me started on Jey,” the Tribal Chief snarled, his thrusts somehow picking up more speed at the thought of the younger twin. “Little Jey. My Right Hand Man. He’s a good soldier, but he’s no Chief. He’s too soft-hearted. Too sweet.”

Roman spat the word like it was an insult.

“He treats you like you’re made out of glass. Too gentle, isn’t he, slut? But you don’t want to tell him. Don’t want to hurt his feelings.”

The Tribal Chief laughed and the sound was mean.

“That’s okay, sweetheart. That’s why you belong to me. I know what you need. I know what you crave. That’s why I’m the only one who can give it to you. Isn’t that right?”

Your heart began to pound in your chest, feeling tears prick at the corner of your eyes at his words. Jey wasn’t too gentle. Jey was perfect. Everything about him was. You could feel yourself beginning to slip out of subspace, almost wanting to protest at the Tribal Chief’s words. He shouldn’t talk about Jey that way. He shouldn’t.

Then Roman twisted his hips sinfully and you groaned, nearly blacking out from pleasure. Despite how much you cared for Jey, everything Roman said was true. Your scalp was stinging, your hips aching from how hard he was gripping you, yet you couldn’t deny just how good it felt to be used like this. As he continued to drill mercilessly into you, you were reminded that your pleasure was just a bonus. You were here to serve your Tribal Chief, his power and dominance completely overwhelming you as he held you up by your hair.

“That’s what I fucking thought,” Roman laughed, smacking your ass again just to hear you moan. “I can feel you strangling my cock, whore. Gonna come for me? Gonna come on your Tribal Chief’s dick?”

You could barely nod around the tight grip he had on your hair, your words completely gone as Roman’s cock turned your brain into radio static.

“I know you can’t beg me for it. My cock’s turned you braindead. It’s okay, your Tribal Chief understands, sweetheart. Come for me.”

His commanding tone had your body obeying on muscle memory alone. You felt your body convulse, the tension inside you snapping with such an intensity that you nearly sobbed, your body coming apart at the seams.

Roman made a pleased rumble above you, your hole clamping down on him and triggering his own release. The Tribal Chief filled your insides, the feeling warm as your body began to relax. You felt full. Sated. Your brain was still hazy, your thoughts fragmented as Roman continued to shallowly thrust into you, ensuring that you took every last drop of his seed.

He slowly pulled out of you and you collapsed against the bed, a puppet with her strings cut. Roman made an appreciative sound, leaning forward to card his hand through your hair.

“So good, baby girl.” He cooed, his voice low and soothing. “Always so good for me.”

Your eyelids fluttered at his touch. Although you could barely think straight, you still felt a small seed of guilt sprout in your chest. You hadn't liked how he talked about Jey, but you hadn't stopped it. Weren't you supposed to care about him? Why had you allowed it, even though you didn't enjoy it?

But you enjoyed the rest of it, didn't you?

You tried to tell yourself that it was just all part of Roman's game. The disdain he'd had in his voice when he talked about Jey wasn't real. He respected Jey. He respected all of them. They were just words. They weren't real.

Roman's grip on your hair suddenly tightened and you whined, your mouth still open and your lips covered in drool. The Tribal Chief’s face was still hungry and your heart stuttered at the sight.

“Where are your manners, slut? What happened to my sweet, polite little girl?”

You struggled to find the words, your thoughts still hazy, but a slap to your cheek brought you back to your senses.

“I’m sorry,” You breathed, your eyes still glassy. “Thank you for using me, Daddy. Thank you so much.”

Roman released his grip on your hair and your face fell into the puddle of drool you’d left on the sheets, your body still limp and boneless. Your cheek still stung from how hard he'd smacked you.

“Good girl.”

Despite your confused thoughts, your safeword was the last thing on your mind. It felt too good, the humiliation and degradation positively delicious. You couldn't help it - you craved more.

And when Roman grabbed your hips again, already gearing up for round two, you told yourself that you wouldn’t think about Jey again tonight. You’d focus on your master and be good. You didn’t need to think. You just needed to be Bloodline property.

_____

previous part: valentine's day (jey)

besties: @acute-crashout-jeyuso @mindairy @amandairene88 @askullasunflower @partypoison00 @brianochka @femdisa @luvrsluxe @zephyrazzz @scorpiochaos @gardencottage @minteagalaxea @annyanse @nbanenefrmdao @wishyouloveme @glittergirl7 @bloodline-fanacc @key05marie @mzv11 @neytiri-20 @solarrexplosion @ayeeeitsmiracle @buttercup0024

226 notes · View notes

yunmeng-jiang · 1 month ago

Text

I put this in the tags of something I reblogged recently, but I'm going to say it again: it is my firm opinion that fix-it fics where Jin Guangyao dies don't actually solve every problem, and therefore cannot be ideal fix-its.

It's explicitly stated in the novel (and at least implied in the live-action; I'm still only about three-quarters done with my rewatch so I can't say I remember everything 100 percent) that the jianghu was better off when JGY was the Chief Cultivator than it was before or after. No matter what you believe his motivations were, he demonstrably improved the lives of the common people, especially peasants and non-cultivators, assisted smaller sects who had few resources, and ushered in a golden age of peace and prosperity in the jianghu. Once Jin Guangshan died, JGY got rid of the demonic cultivators that his father had sponsored, cut down on corruption in the sect, and ruled in a benevolent and generous way, despite the prejudice against him due to the circumstances of his birth. It's pretty clear to me that JGY is the best option here. Plus, it gives the other characters the freedom to do what they want instead of shoving them into a role that's not suited to their personality or how they want to live their lives.

In a fix-it that's actually interested in creating a good outcome for everyone, JGY stays alive, but is not put into the situations he faces in canon where the only options are "do something horrible, or die." He doesn't want to be a bad guy - he just wants to be safe. A true fix-it gives him different choices, ones that don't result in danger or destruction; he's allowed to make decisions that end well for him and for everyone else involved.

Some things, I think, can't be avoided - at least, not without making a drastic change. It's extremely difficult, for example, to give NMJ a long life; he would have to be a totally different person, the lore around the Nie cultivation would have to be completely redone, or he would have to go through some kind of life-changing event that made him give up cultivation forever in order for that to happen. But the bad things that JGY does in canon, he only does because he feels like he has no other choice. He doesn't need to die in order to prevent him from doing those things - he just needs better options.

#jin guangyao #it's not that hard to fix things for him. you just need to tweak the situation a bit #you can start as early as getting his mom out of the brothel when he's still a kid‚ or as late as... well. that one kind of depends i guess #killing nmj is definitely a point of no return #but if he doesn't do that you could argue that nmj will just keep on trying to kill him until it finally sticks #so either he needs to have a chance to do something that convinces nmj to get off his case or you need to go earlier #having jgs drop dead of something unrelated fairly early on is a pretty reliable way to change stuff up imo #yunmeng bee posts #mdzs #the untamed #mo dao zu shi #cql #chen qing ling #grandmaster of demonic cultivation #mo xiang tong xiu #mxtx

169 notes · View notes

jadeshifting · 3 months ago

Text

— THE HOGWARTS NEWSPAPER

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

i’ve had this in my script and my drafts for a while, but i saw @beatrixshifts mention on my tl that it would be cool so that’s why i’m posting it >:)

(also, I did not come up with the name of the newspaper, i got it from another user yearsss ago, so cred to them !!)

“The Daily Prophet and their flobberworm of a head reporter can keep their drama— we don’t twist our stories to fit some stale Ministry narrative.” — The Editor-in-Chief of The Puffinton Post

THE PUFFINGTON POST is a chaotic yet strangely efficient operation run out of a repurposed classroom on the third floor (which is lovingly referred to as The Quillery.) run by a rotating team of overachievers, gossipmongers, and one sleep-deprived layout wizard, it’s both a battlefield of deadlines and the social pulse of the school. the editors use enchanted Quick-Quotes Quills to speed up production, though it’s anyone’s guess if the quills capture actual facts or just the juiciest version of the truth

HOW IT’S RUN

the team is led by an Editor-in-Chief (usually a loud, opinionated seventh-year), assisted by a handful of section editors who wield red-inked quills like weapons. each week, they hold heated brainstorming meetings, where the room crackles with enchanted floating parchment and enough spilled tea (literal and metaphorical) to fill the Great Lake. submissions are open to any student, but staff writers get first dibs on big stories—assuming they can charm the editors, who love a bit of drama

THE NEWSPAPER TEAM

REPORTERS . scout the juiciest gossip, biggest news, and weirdest happenings on campus. practically unstoppable, they’ll dive into the Forbidden Forest for a scoop if it means landing the front page

EDITORS . ruthlessly revise articles and argue over headlines, aiming for maximum drama without ending up on a professor’s radar

PHOTOGRAPHERS . armed with charmed cameras that capture moving images, they often risk life and limb chasing Quidditch players mid-match or snapping Peeves in action

ILLUSTRATORS . craft whimsical moving cartoons or hauntingly detailed sketches, depending on the tone of the piece

LAYOUT TEAM . use advanced spellwork to arrange articles, images, and enchanting advertisements that sometimes wink at readers

SECTIONS & NOTABLE STORIES

HEADLINE NEWS . covers Hogwarts’ biggest events. Recent splashy stories include “Are the House-Elves Planning a Union?” and “Hagrid’s Pumpkin Patch: A Site of Magical Growth or Magical Mischief?”

QUIDDITCH CORNER . tracks team stats, with columns like “Is Gryffindor’s Seeker Actually a Golden Snitch Magnet?”

SOCIAL SPOTLIGHT . a slightly catty, endlessly entertaining rundown of who’s dating, who’s fighting, and who’s been caught sneaking butterbeer into the Astronomy Tower

MYSTERIES & ODDITIES . a deep dive into Hogwarts lore, featuring pieces like “The Hidden Staircase That Eats Shoes” and “Who Really Haunts the Fourth Floor Lavatory?”

OPINION & SATIRE . snarky takes on everything from new potion regulations to the controversial topic of house unity, with regular features like “Why Ravenclaws Think They Know Everything” (written by a Ravenclaw)

CREATIVE SHOWCASE . poems, short stories, and student artwork, like “An Ode to Dobby” or fine-tip pen sketches of the Black Lake’s grindylows

DISTRIBUTION

The Puffington Post is distributed every Friday morning via enchanted paper airplanes that zoom directly to breakfast tables in the Great Hall. the magic wears off if you take too long to read, so dawdling isn’t an option. prefects often complain about students reading under their desks during Charms, but professors secretly subscribe, too.

SPECIAL EDITIONS (every one is a chaotic affair, jam-packed with so much Hogwarts spirit you can almost smell the butterbeer stains on the parchment)

— THE VALENTINE’S SPECIAL : Love, Lies, and Lacewing Potions

this edition is dripping with enchanted hearts and aggressively pink margins, with stories like “Top 10 Secret Spots to Swoon Your Sweetheart” and “The Most Romantic Love Potions You Absolutely Shouldn’t Use (But Totally Will).” the gossip column goes full throttle, outing secret crushes (with questionable accuracy), while the Creative Showcase features poetry so sappy even Madam Pince has been caught dabbing at her eyes

— THE FIRST-YEAR SURVIVAL GUIDE : Sorting, Snitches, and Surviving Snape

released every September, it’s a crash course for newbies. expect practical tips like “How to Get the Moving Stairs to Chill” and “10 Ways to Not Cry in Potions (Impossible, But Worth Trying).” veteran students contribute anonymously to the “Unofficial Rules” section, which includes gems like “Don’t Look the Bloody Baron in the Eye” and “If Fred and George Weasley Offer You Candy, Run.”

— THE YULE BALL EDITION : Fashion, Feuds, and Footwork

a glossy, glitzy masterpiece with enchanted images of past Yule Ball outfits and step-by-step charms for fixing last-minute wardrobe disasters. the Social Spotlight section is essentially a pre-ball betting pool on who’s showing up with whom, while Opinion dives into debates like “Should Durmstrang Boys Be Banned from Stealing All the Dates?”

— THE END-OF-TERM SPECTACULAR : Grades, Gags, and the Great House Cup Debate

published in June, it’s part celebration, part roast. professors get “awards” (like Flitwick for Most Patient and Snape for Most Likely to Kill You with a Glare), and there’s always a cheeky exposé on house-point shenanigans. expect tear-jerking farewells to seventh-years alongside brutally honest year-in-review recaps, like “Was That a Troll in the Dungeon or Just Another Tuesday?”

EXTRA, EXTRA !!

— RIVALRY . there’s a (very one-sided) feud with The Weekly Wizard, a smaller Ravenclaw-run zine, though it’s been dismissed by most students as “too niche and painfully dull”

— BEHIND THE SCENES . the staff always keeps a stash of Honeydukes’ chocolate for late-night edits, and their mascot—a tiny enchanted quill named Zippy—flits around leaving motivational doodles on unfinished articles

if Hogwarts has a pulse, The Puffington Post is the enchanted quill jotting down every thrilling, bizarre, and scandalous beat

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

#hogwarts dr #shifting to hogwarts #hogwarts scripting #shifting motivation #shifting antis dni #reality shifting #shiftblr #shifters #shifting blog #shifting script #shift #shifting realities #shifting community #shifting to harry potter #shifting consciousness #shifting #hogwarts headcanons #hogwarts desired reality #harry potter dr

208 notes · View notes

hhughes · 2 months ago

Note

I need more small town hughes bros. Especially Jack

especially jack you say . . . 😌 see this post for context!

famous bull rider jack is the biggest flirt. he knows the ladies wanna have him and the guys wanna be him and it fuels his ego sooo much. he can’t help but let that ego slip into his personality a bit. when he enters the room, ladies swoon, guys glare (or take notes) and he eats it up like his favourite steak dinner. he makes your panties melt and drop with just a smile.

famous bull rider jack’s motto should be ‘it isn’t arrogance if it’s true right’

jack doesn’t just walk. he strides. he saunters. every step oozes confidence. the way he tips his hat, even the lazy drawl in his voice screams confidence.

he loves to play the cocky pretty boy but make no mistake he’s still a hughes , and he’ll kick your ass no problem. especially if you talk shit about his family.

beneath all the bravado, famous bull rider jack’s not a bad guy—he just loves the attention. (don’t all versions of jack?) he’s young, he’s hot, he’s the best there is ; and if the whole world’s watching, he might as well put on a show right?

in my head there’s lore behind famous bull rider jack and fire chief quinn’s relationship. quinn is selfless, brave, adored by everyone without even trying. and jack secretly idolizes him but will rarely admit it.

luke is quiet, reserved, hardworking and wins hearts with his humility. while jack thrives on the attention the town gives him, luke despises it. jack loves to push him out of his shell and embarrass him a bit. “c’mon baby brother, flash those pearly whites. the ladies love it” jack says, winking at one of the girl with a smile and luke just rolls his eyes, focusing back on his beer.

sandwiched between two community darlings, jack knows everyone wonders where his parents went wrong when it came to him. but while his brothers are admired for their steadiness, jack takes pride in being the one who shakes things up a bit.

no one would ever guess but play!boy jack is a hopeless romantic. he believes in soulmates and he’s waiting for the right girl to tie him down. until then he’s happy entertaining whoever but … he’s knows that special one is right around the corner somewhere.

jack may flirt like it’s his second job, but he’s careful about who he lets get close. he wants someone who sees through the fame and charm and his family name to the man underneath. he even writes letters to his future wife, keeping them tucked away in a shoebox for when he finally meets her. (it’s something his grandpa used to do for his grandma before they met and jack thought is was cute🤧)

despite his flashy rodeo lifestyle, jack never forgets where he comes from. sunday dinners with his family are sacred, and he cherishes his family traditions. no matter how big his ego gets, a sharp look from his mom or a warning ‘jack’ from his dad is enough to cut him down to size.

as much as jack loves the thrill of bull riding, he dreams of a quieter life someday. the one his grandparents had, the one his parents have, the one his brothers are bound to have soon. a little ranch, couple of horses, couple of kids with a girl that has his heart.

#꒰ ✉️ ꒱ — 𝓘nbox

131 notes · View notes

theblueflower05 · 2 years ago

Text

Crawling Back to You

(Part Two of First Love/Late Spring)

A/N: So like, I’m really excited that you guys seem to be digging this story. I was hesitant about it just because there’s so much of my own Na’vi/Metkayina lore thrown in there. Thank you for all of the kind response.

Word Count: 8k+

Warnings: From here on out, this story will be extremely explicit. Minors DNI. If Aged Up! Neteyam isn’t your thing, please exit to your left. Let’s all respect each other's boundaries, please.

Angst. Self deprecation. Alcohol consumption. Smut. Mutual masturbation. Fingering(fem receiving). Nipple sucking. Breeding kink. Scent marking. Public sex(if you squinttttt)

Summary: Neteyam returns from his Motnaui and isn’t in much of a celebratory mood when he realizes that he’s scrapped any chance of having a mate for Fertility season…or has he? Neteyam x Reader

Series Masterlist(all parts can be found here)

Previous< First Love/Late Spring

Next>: Bottom of the Deep Blue Sea

Secret's that I’ve held in my heart

Are harder to hide then I thought.

Maybe I just wanna be yours- Artic Monkeys

The brilliant Pandoran sun beats down on the crystal blue waters, fragmenting into bursts of light under the surface of the waves.

The Motnaui is intense, Neteyam’s lean frame isn't made for the open ocean but over the months as he trained intensely with the Metkayina hunters, he gained muscle he didn't even realize his body could retain.

His shoulders are broader and thighs thicker. He can keep up with the clan, he can help row the boats without his arms giving out on him.

Neteyam hasn't felt this way since they had fled the safety of the forest. He’s useful again. He’s worked hard to regain his title of Hunter.

Warrior.

Brother of the people.

He sense’s it as they jump between the endless maze of isles. Hunting and sleeping on the beaches under the open night sky. Swapping stories around the small campfires.

They don't see him as an outsider anymore. No, he is Metkayina. All of the hunters treat him as such. Clapping his back. Embracing him tight. Sharing in the whopping joy as he makes a clean, merciful kill.

They listen to the Omaticayan legends he tells the and fill him in on the lore of the sea.

The four days out at open ocean are needed and he feels sure footed now. Knows that he will always have a place in Awa’atlu. He can't wait for Lo’ak to complete his Iknamaya next cycle, to get to feel this feeling of deep belonging. Of acceptance.

The tattoo forever etched into the the skin on his on his shoulder burns. Throbs all the way down his elbow, ends right above his wrist. The permanent swirling ink a symbol of his place among the reef.

His third birth is as beautiful as his second. He is a man, twice recognized.

Neteyam reminds himself of that fact as he sits down next to Tonowari one night. The stars are sparkling and the dimming light of the dying fire makes the hulking chief look larger than life.

Still, the younger man gathers his courage.

“I wish to mate with Y/N” Neteyam states firmly. He had been Olo’eyktan in training for over a decade back in the forest. He uses the voice he’d take on when speaking of important matters “I would like your blessing to do so, sir”

Their brothers and sisters in the hunt surround them. Either asleep at the late hour or lost to their own conversations.

Or maybe they just know not to interrupt this important exchange. They only listen in with peaked ears and envious hearts.

Tonowari’s features go stern, his strong brows pulling together “Before my T’smuke returned to the great mother, I promised her that I would always take care of her daughter as though she was my own. I love Y/N as I do my children. Do you understand that, Neteyam?”

Neteyam is nodding “Yes sir, of course”

“She is a good woman. A very important member of our community, if I allow this courtship I have to be certain that you will honor that. That you will honor her place among us, and be serious about what that means for your own”

Neteyam mules over the words, thinks he knows what they mean. He will be marrying into the royal family of the Metkayina. He will be bound by blood to the clans chief. His future children will have a claim to the title of Olo’eyktan or Tshaik, third in line should anything ever happen.

“I am very serious about her, I will work hard to give her all that she deserves. I will build us a Mauri to raise our family in. I will dedicate my life to her and the tribe” It is not a vow lightly made, Neteyam knows this.

He had never been one to be fickle about responsibility.

It’s only when the intense expression on the Olo’eyktans face shifts, a broad smile stretching across his mouth, that Neteyam feels his posture untense.

Tonowari claps him hard on the back and offers him the leather flask of strong liquor that the hunters pass amongst themselves-

“Then you have my blessing” Tonowari laughs as the younger Na’vi man almost chokes on the burn of the Kava.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

When they return to the main island of Awa’atlu with their abundant catch they are greeted warmly by the clan. The giant horns are blown, drums play rhythmically. Children scream joyously and women dance scantly clad in ceremonial drab.

Its busy and blustering but there's only one thing on Neteyam's mind.

Only one person.

The same woman who had plagued him since his arrival all those months ago. You’re as elusive as the receding tide and he had become accustomed to having to look for you. To having to seek you out in a crowd, to go searching for you.

You hadn't seen him off and he hasn't spoken to you in many days. He misses you. It's an ache that he wants to soon remedy, that he knows he’ll never have to feel again. Not with Tonowari’s blessing fueling him.

Since he was young, Neteyam had wanted to be bonded.

He’d dreamt of sharing that special connection with another individual; the way that his parents did. He craved someone to cherish him, to take care of him and in return he’d do the same for them. He itched for a woman to braid his hair, to bear his children. To bury his cock in every night and wake up to every morning.

He was a simple man with a big heart and a lot of love to give. And he wanted to give it to you.

He just has to find you first.

Neteyam tries not to worry when he can't catch sight of your petite frame. Not one peek of your long hair or seafoam eyes. He couldn't scent the natural perfume of florally herbs that always seemed to surround you-

“Neteyam!” It’s Tuk.

She collides with him hard. Many years of being a climbing post for his siblings is the only reason he doesn't topple over. Is able to catch her mid air and hold her to his chest.

He’s greeted by his family-

And only a moment passes before he can notice that something is wrong.

It’s written all over Kiri’s face. In his mothers expressive eyes and the glances his father throws him as he embraces the Olo’eyktan from across the way. Even Lo’ak gives him something akin to a small glare.

“Whatever is going on, it will have to wait” Neteyam decides out loud, slowly lowering his baby sister to the ground. “I need to find Y/N, have any of you seen her?”

Kiri’s mouth opens and shuts, as though she’s trying to figure out what to say and it frays his nerves. His legs are antsy, burning with the need to run. To seek you out- still on the high of the hunt.

“I don't have time for this-”

“Brother, wait. It is about Y/N” Kiri grabs his elbow, keeping him still.

He doesn't like her tone.

Likes the expression on her face even less. She looks too serious, it doesn't suit her at all. Kiri had always been as airy as a tree sprite- carefree and bubbly.

Call it a gut feeling or the simple ability to read the room. He just knows whatever she’s about to tell him isnt going to be pleasant.

“What happened?”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

His sister pulls him aside, into the mangrove tree’s and away from prying eyes and ears so that she can relay what she’d heard. Fill Neteyam in on what he’s missed.

He listens to every word…and they settle like stones in his stomach.

“Y/N thinks that you have accepted an offer of courtship from another woman”

“I didn't- I’d never!” Neteyam hisses in protest, shaking his head. It’s all one big misunderstanding. He has to make find you, shake these thoughts out of your head. Make you see-

“But you did,” Kiri replies firmly, her mouth pulled into a grim line.

She explains the meaning of the Lei’s.

The gravity of him accepting one from another female and Neteyam hasn't felt so small in many years. He’d been forced into adulthood early. Taken care of his siblings from a young age and then was thrust into the war with the RDA before he had even fully come out of adolescence. He was wise beyond his years, that’s what everyone had always told him.

He doesn’t feel that way now.

He’d fucked up, made a mistake that could very well cost him the future that he had worked so hard to secure since coming to the reefs-

And he hadn't even meant to! He’d been as naive as a baby, as ignorant to Metkayina traditions as an untrained child-

He wants to scream in frustration. Wants to kick the absolute shit out of himself. Instead he listens to his sister, his hands shaking as he balls them into fists.

You had been devastated. Heart broken. Wouldn't talk to anyone or come out to eat. Couldn’t stop crying-

“Enough” He pleads, he can't hear anymore of it. Guilt rises in his chest like bile.

Imagining what the last days had been like for you as he’d spend them having the time of his life, galivanting with other hunters. Getting drunk and having carefree fun-

“Kiri, what do I do?”

She sighs. It’s so rare to see her older brother like this. He’s always so solid. So strong and stable. It’s unnerving when he loses his composure. When his carefully built walls come down

She had known that the whole thing was a miscommunication and had tried along with Tsireya to convince you of that fact. But you wouldn't hear it, and avoided her at every turn.

You and her brother are both such stubborn dumb asses. Rubbing at her temples Kiri prays to Eywa for strength. Sully’s stick together.

“We fix this”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

As the evening eclipse starts and the sun disappears in the sherbert sky the beach lights up.

Bonfires roar, their flames tall and burning bright.

The air is filled with the smell of roasting Paokpak(island boar) and fish. Huge pots full of dishes that Neteyam had never seen line the long wooden table set up at the center of the celebration. Barrels of Kava have been brought out. The strongest of Metkayina liquors, brewed and stored for decades in airtight containers. Made from berries that are extremely hard to harvest.

This is a time for celebration, to gorge on the hard earned harvests the hunters have brought back. To celebrate the newly rited adults and prepare for the Fertility Season.

The beat of the drums is hypnotic. It's sexy and primal. It's a tune that all Na’vi know in their chest, one that their hips move to as if of their own accord.

Children play, Women sing, stories older then the briny deep are told. The air is electric; so full of magic and unity.

And yet, Neteyam is on edge.

He had been since his rude awakening earlier in the day. He’d spent his afternoon running around like an Austrapede with its head chopped off. Desperately trying to solve the issues that he hadn't meant to create.

After hunting down the culprit to all of this mess, a pretty lei made up of sunset orange lilies which he’d given to Tuk almost automatically after it’d been given to him, he returns it to its owner.

Seychelle is haughty. Rightly upset and shrilly confused as she takes the token of her affections back. Neteyam’s apology is poor and he knows it, he backs away before she can throw her drink in his face.

Tsireya had told him this was the only way to remedy the issue- to refuse the offer for courtship so that he could be open to be with another. The younger girl had been so relieved when he came to her, begging her to help him win back your affections.

“I knew you are a good man, that you don't have a mean spirit”

Tsireya is as eager as Neteyam to see her cousin happy. She doesn't think she could spend another night listening to your inconsolable weeping.

The last obstacle is the hardest.

You refuse to be anywhere near him. Are forced into the festivities because of your family standing, but pretend that Neteyam simply does not exist.

At every turn you evade him.

Sandwiching yourself between the hulking muscle of Ao’nung and Tonowari at the buffet table. Dancing in an enclosed circle of swaying women. Flitting away in a plume of smoke when he approaches you with your favorite ripe fruit in hand; leaving him standing there stupidly. Palms stained by the juice of the Lionberry as he squeezes it in frustration.

You’re hauntingly beautiful in the firelight.

He hates the fact that he’s not the only who notices it. The way the other males consume you with their carnivorous gazes makes him sick. His fingers clench and his knuckles crack of their own accord.

Long dark hair pours down your back in bouncing waves. The top that you wear clings to you like a second skin; the pearls and seashells glittering in the warm hue of the flames. Your own Lei, pink and pristine, is still resting on your throat. Many intricate bracelets and anklets clink as you walk and he cant take his eyes off of the way that the back of your tweng sits on your pert ass-

“Go talk to her” His dad suggests gruffly as he watches his son watch you. It’s getting hard to stomach at this point, all of that longing palpable and souring the atmosphere.

“She doesn't want to speak to me” Neteyam mutters. Trying not to feel too bad for himself. And failing.

Neteyam hadn't thought his return from Motonui would be like this. He’d envisioned a lot more kissing, and alot less moping.

“Woman aren't as complicated as they seem, son. You don't need some grand gesture-”

“Says the man who tamed Toruk after his first fight with his mate” Neteyam interrupts and Jake snorts at his unusual outburst.

His eldest son is usually so very put together- it's entertaining to see that a woman could bring out this side of him.

“I have nothing to offer her. Back home in the forest I could have given her- everything” Neteyam sighs as he admits what's been on his mind since he’d begun pursuing you “There’s no reason why she’d want to be with me, I’m aware of that”

Jake pulls his son close.

His first born. The apple of his eye. Neteyam was good to his core, and anyone who knew him could see it. Jake was so proud of him and wondered if this lack of self confidence came from the fact that he probably didn’t tell the boy of that fact enough.

“All that girl wants from you is reassurance. That’s all you need to give her, everything else will come with time. If she wanted to mate for status she would’ve done it long before you got here, kid. ”

Jake had been shitty at motivational speeches since his stint in the military. You would think his time as reigning Olo’eyktan would have given him some kind of skills. But still, his words are a bit clunky. But sincere.

After a moment, Neteyam gulps at the Kava in his hand. Drains his cup and then squares his shoulders before he’s off.

Eyes set unyieldingly on the prize.

Jake grins. If a good ol’ pep talk doesn't do it- liquid courage sure will.

You’re half heartedly participating in the conversations going on around you, just distracted enough that Neteyam’s able to stalk over. Unnoticed until he’s standing right infront of you-

“Y/N” His voice is firm, he wonders if you know how hard it is for him to keep it as such. “I see you”

Up close he can see how swollen your eyes are. How exhausted you look. You just nod, muttering out a quiet “I see you” in response.

Everything about your body language screams that you want to be left alone. Your arms are crossed over your chest, your ears tipped low. Your tail curls around your ankle and your nose keeps scrunching up.

He wishes he could let you be,

But you make him selfish. You bring out a side of him that wants to take. Has to be satiated or he’s going to lose his fucking mind.

“I must speak with you” He states his intentions, clear. Ignores the way Ronal glares daggers at the side of his head.

“I don’t think-”

“It will only take a moment. But I ask for the privacy to explain myself to you. If after you hear my words you still do not wish to talk to me I will respect that”

You glance at your family before responding to him. Sharing a look with both Ronal and Tsireya. Your cousin smiles encouragingly, your aunt gives a barley tolerant tilt of her head.

You sigh and nod, but step away from his hand when he offers it to you. It's an obvious rejection, but Neteyam tries not to dwell on it. His tail flicks anxiously behind him.

“We may speak in private. Come” your voice is low, before you begin to lead him away from the festivities. Down the beach until the firelight is in the distance and the beat of the drum is a low hum on the howling wind.

The storms will start soon. The sea is choppy, the clouds rolling in and the breeze cool.

It’s hard to find privacy on the sandy shores, intertwined couples can be found scattered along the waters edge. Lips locked. Speaking lowly and intimately.

Neteyam is pretty sure that one of his fellow hunters has his mate twisted into a mating press- if her breathless whimpers are anything to go by.

He avoids their writhing bodies, ignores the way it makes his own core tingle.

Fertility Season is all but here. The entire clan falling under its low boiling energy.

All he could think about as he had been out on the open ocean; is that this cycle he wouldn't have to spend it alone.

He’s not sure that is the case anymore.

After more walking, completely in silence, the two of you come to a mostly desolate area. Quiet and still, as private as it’s going to get.

You stare out at the cresting waves and Neteyam knows he needs to say something, anything. But all he can to is look at you.

At the way that the moonlight illuminates your silhouette, at the dusting of turquoise bioluminescent freckles that are scattered across your nose.

“I-Um-” You start, and that wont do. He cuts you off quick.

It is only him who needs to explain himself. “Let me start by apologizing to you. I am so sorry, Y/N”

You appear as though you’re going to start crying and if you do, he’ll lose all his carefully cultivated cool.

So he presses on.

“I had no idea that accepting Lei’s was a courting symbol here. I don't know how to make you believe me but if I had know I would’ve never-” Neteyam lets out a long shaky breath “I can only swear to you that in the future I will be more mindful of your clans traditions”

Time ticks by. The moon shines and the waves crash against the shore.

“Our clan” you break the silence, your voice gentle and melodic. “You passed your Iknimaya. It is your clan as much as mine”

He wants so desperately to hold you. He has for months, but the need is almost unbearable at this very moment.

“If I have lost my chance. Please, tell me now” it’s a plea. Because it hurts to look at you. If he can not have you- if you do not want him, he will accept it. Somehow. But being alone with you like this and not knowing is killing him. “I will…I’ll leave you alone, if you want me to”

You scoff, not looking away from him. Refusing to meet his eye, still staring blanky at the waves. “You act as though I am the one who accepted someone else’s offer. I have never wanted you to leave me alone, Neteyam”

“I’m sorry” Does he sound as idiotic as he feels? He surely hopes not.

“You already said that”

“Please, look at me”

“I can’t” you whisper- hissing at him warningly when he outstretches his hands “I- I don't want to ever feel like this again. You need to tell me what you want from me because I do not know. I will get confused again, if you do not tell me what we are doing”

He can tell by your expression that you are serious, and even so. He cant fucking believe it. Had he failed at courtship so immensely that you really don't know? He’s stuck in his head for a moment too long.

It makes you anxious, makes you back even further away.

“Please-” He’s all but begging, yet

you avoid his touch again and it feels like blades.

Your shrill warning hiss rings in his ears.

He returns it with a snarl of his own when you continue to refuse to let him touch you. Can't help it, the need to rebuff all of this uncertainty around the union that is so special to him is strong.

He grips the top of your arms, his long fingers holding your biceps.

You finally look at him. Your round eyes wide and vulnerable. Filled with unshed tears and unspoken questions.

“I want to mate with you” He starts because if you need to hear it all, word for word, then he’d tell you. “I want to build my life here with you by my side. I want us to have a home that will never know war-”

A tear rolls down the swell of your cheek.

“I-I want you to choose to be with me” He swallows, the lump in his throat getting bigger, higher. Threatening to choke his vocal cords “I will be good to you. If you let me”

His family had always required him to be the rock. Had leaned on him to take on the role of caretaker, he had had to keep it together. Keep them together. It wasn't easy for him to break open like this. It went against his very nature, all that self preservation he’d learned early.

But you need this. And he thinks he might too.

“Neteyam-”

“I will ask you again. If I have lost my chance tell me now”

Have mercy on him.

“I understand if you want to be with someone who can offer you more. I won’t fault you for it” he doesn’t know why he feels the need to tack that on. Why the self deprecating thoughts manifest their way into words that hurt for him to speak “I don’t have much here. But I’ll build it, for you”

Your muscles tense under his palms and he prepares himself for the rejection. The physical blow of it-

But then, you melt. Loosen. Your entire body sags fully into his grip. That pinched expression on your face slips away. Your full lips part and your eyes soften, brows furrowing together.

You look at him like he is something precious. Like you can see him- and he thinks you might be the first one who ever has.

He’d known it in his bones. Since the day he’d arrived. Since he’d first spotted your face in the crowd.

“Oel ngati kameie” you whisper, your hand coming up to cup his jaw. “Oel ngati kamei, Neteyam. I see-”

He leans heavily into your hand. His forehead clunking against yours, pressing hard. The contact stings, but its welcome. He needs it.

He needs.

“I don’t care about any of that. I don’t care what you have or don’t have. You know I don’t.” you murmur urgently, he can feel the words against against his skin.

When you press a whisper light, tentative kiss against the sharp of his cheekbone, something snaps. Something that had been strained and barely held together just breaks.

His control, he realizes as he crowds you.

As his fingers dig into your arms and he presses the line of his body against your own firmly.

You’re so soft everywhere. So much smaller than him. He’s all lean muscle, tall and hard. You’re pliable skin, a layer of blubber to keep you warm in the deep. So different from the women he’d grown up with. Your hips are wide, thighs pillowy.

You’d give him healthy children. His hindbrain howls.

When he captures your lips he hopes you realize that there’s no going back. That this is until death. He’d go to his grave before he was robbed of this again.

You gasp, sweet and small, and he eats it. Consumes all of the air in your lungs. You’re good at holding your breath anyway, right?

“Neteyam” you whine, pulling away, your lips wet and your pupils wide. You’re shaky, already a bit disoriented and he wants to keep you. Protect you. He’ll give you anything if you just keep looking at him like that.

“Are you ok-”

You reach up on the tips of your toes, slamming your lips back against his before he can finish his words.

Your hands tangle into his braids as you try to gain traction, pull him down to your level. Get a better hold on him.

Its intense, dizzying. You kiss him like you’re dying and maybe you are. Maybe you’ve been slowly dying since he first got here. Every moment that you hadn’t been able to be held by him had killed you- a slow torturous death.

You drag him down. Do you know he’d follow you anywhere? Under the waves, down onto the soft sand. He cups the back of your head, shelters your neck as he bullies his thin hips between your dense thighs and pressed you against the ground.

The months worth of tension isn't released gently, because it can't be.

The kisses are bruising. Wandering hands and desperate tongues. It’s carnal, Fertility season making both of your minds cloudy as you try to dig into each others flesh.

Nothing is close enough.

With a whine, your fingers slip under Neteyam's multilayered choker. Using it as leverage to tug on as you thrust your hips up violently. The heat at the apex of your legs grinding against his covered erection dangerously.

“Ah-” he gasps wetly “Easy, Narlor. Easy”

“Sorry” you simper, panting. Trying to get a hold on the feelings rushing through you. One hand gripping his necklace, the other slipping into the back of his hair, brushing the nape of his neck “I want- I dream about it all the time”

Fire rushes down Neteyam’s spine, both at your words and your feather light touch to his kuru. He wonders if you touched yourself after those dreams. If you had to take the edge off like he had. He shudders at the thought-

You’re kissing at his neck again, at all of that sensitive skin under his braids, near his ears.

Your quick touches are everywhere. Rushing all over his body. Manicured nails scraping over his skin-

“Ugh,” he warbles out as your curious hand disappears under his tweng.

Its a tight fit as your fingers dance along his hard cock. Delicate and teasingly light. He’s going to come all over himself like some inexperienced teenager that had never gotten a taste of pussy before if you don't. Slow. Down.

“Tell me about those dreams of yours. What’d we do in them?” Neteyam teases, his lips moving against the corner of your mouth. A distraction for both you and himself.

You can't form words, not as you feel how big he is. As you cherish the fact you’ll never be empty again. He's hard and pulsing in your hand and you want him inside of you. Your mouth, your cunt. You don't care. You want to be the only one who gets to feel him, no one else can ever-

There’s only one way to ensure that.

“Tsahelyu” you whimper, “Please Neteyam. Need it”

He slows down a bit, his head spacy but not totally lost. The bond is everything. It’s the most important aspect of Na’vi culture “I can't bond you here”

“Why?” its a petulant whine, your hips pressing against his again.

“I’m not going to bond you on the cold ground, Yawne. Out in the open”

“It’s okay, I don’t mind” you press and he chuckles, shaking his head “you could have me anywhere you want me”

It’s the raw honesty in your voice that drives him crazy.

Devotion in a way that makes him lightheaded.

He can't give you Tsaheylu yet, he wants it done right. He wants you tucked in a mountain of blankets with a warm fire going- at the height of Fertility Season. The ancestors watching over you as he intertwines himself into your soul for the rest of time.

“I will have you” He assures you, dragging his mouth across your clavicle, his long fingers working the strings of your intricate top loose “And you’ll have me. But you have to let me do it right”

You hate waiting. You tell him as he suckles his way across your chest. Moaning as he finally gets his mouth on your soft breasts. Your fist his braids, shivering as he feasts on your skin.

“I’ll make it worth your while” Neteyam promises between mouthfuls of supple flesh “You’ll want for nothing. I’ll give you anything”

He’s humping down into you, unable to stop his hips from shifting. His cock seeking your warmth. You’re right there, he could just-

“Please” you shiver, like you know what he’s thinking. Like you can read his mind and all the dirty thoughts that cross it.

You can't take it. All of his hesitating.

You’d heard that the Omiticayans were more reserved, more traditional when it came to mating but he was going to drive you crazy.

You push on his chest. Gentle yet demanding.

He doesn't want to remove his mouth from your breasts but he allows it all the same. His lips swollen, a thin string of spit connecting him to your tender nipple as he stares at you with questioning eyes.

Neteyam lets you push him off of you before he goes down onto his back, the sand grating against his shoulder blades as he lays flat. You grin the entire time. Your eyes sparkling with excitement. With hunger.

You look as horny as he feels and it kills him.

Your fingers pluck at the at the delicate ties of your tweng, loosening it until it falls from your curvy hips.

“Y/N” he warns as you then reach for his own. Tugging at the leather straps of his loincloth. He raises his hips, helping you shimmy it down his long legs.

“You can't bond me” You whisper as you straddle his waist, your small hands using his broad chest for balance, palms on his pectorals “Not yet anyway”

“Mhmm” Neteyams murmurs as his eyes roll into the back of his head. You're hot and dripping wet, the center of your legs steaming as you rub it against his groin.

“That doesn't mean you cant touch me” you coo at the man under you as you slowly begin to undulate above him. Your hips circling as your head lowers to tongue at the underside of his jaw.

“Shit” He curses in English, gasping at the night sky as you drag damply across his lower stomach .

“Yes?” you question him as you reach for his hand, leading it exactly where you need him most.

“Yeah” Neteyam assures, fingertips dipping where you're skin is plush and dripping- right in between your spread thighs “Yeah, Yeah”

Your hand is still leading his, cupping him firmly against your pussy as he feels how much you need him. You hadn't been the only one dreaming of this. You had danced behind his eyelids for months. His brain had played tricks on him, desperately splicing together mismatched audio in an attempt to conjure up what you would sound like when he finally got to have you.

A shivery keen escapes you when he presses on your swollen bundle of nerves and nah. His imagination couldn't hold a candle to this.

It’s not just how you sound its how you look.

Sat on top of him, resting on your knees with your chest bare save for that brightly hued Lei. Your kiss bruised bottom lip is skewered between your sharp teeth as you worry it in keyed-up concentration. Blue eyes low, your long eyelashes almost fluttering against your cheeks as you stare down at him.

It’s how you smell.

Ripe and earth wet- his mouth floods as he inhales lungfuls of it, your juices are all over him. His waist, coating his hand . Everywhere but right on his tongue where he wants it the most.

Exploring you where you’re the most vulnerable is slippery, your pussy swollen as he traces along the folds. Your clit beats with your pulse under his touch, inflamed and you cry out.

“Awe, baby” he tuts. Your hips chase him in jagged little movements, unsure and needy and it’s enough to get him grinning. You’d been so sure of yourself when you’d pushed him down and climbed on top of him.

Yet here you are a whining mess of his thing in his lap.

There’s no room to tease, he wants to watch you come all over him. Everything still feels too over sensitive. Too new and easily breakable. You’d spent the last near week questioning his feelings.

Neteyam had his words. He could wax to you poetic until your ears bled,

But he had this too. He needed to make you feel a way that no one else could and as he sunk his long digit inside of you he realized that this was better then any conversation. This felt like the most natural way to express all of his emotions, you sucking him in knuckle deep felt so right.

Velvet soft and vice tight, he’s hard between his own legs from just the feel of you. Just knowing that this was his.

You, your heart. Your body. Your tiny little cunt.

Tiny but taking him so well, not just one finger. But two. Then three. Your body moves like the crashing waves behind you, intense and wild. Shoving down onto him so hard that his wrist starts to ache with the demanding press.

“More” you pant wetly into his neck “Faster. Net-please”

He figures out that faster means harder, and harder means he has you all but vibrating on top of him. Bouncing in time with every thrust of his digits. The arm that isn't preoccupied comes around you to hold you steady as he finger fucks you until you're a squealing mess.

This isn't the first time Neteyam has done this.

There’d been girls back home. One girl in particular that didn't take it too personally that he needed tension relief from the war raging around them and not the arranged soon to be wife that everyone had been trying to shove down his throat back them.

This isn't the first time he’s done this but it’s the first time he’s felt this.

He nuzzles your head out from its hiding place in his shoulder. He has to watch your face, needs to see the way he’s making you fall apart.

This is the first time he’s felt the all consuming pull to be with another person. He wants you like this always. So close to him that he could taste the perspiration from your panting breaths.

You tighten up in his arms, going rigid as your pleasure crests. Your pussy fluttering and mouth gaping. It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. You’re orgasm is ethereal, raw and fervid.

It’s a glance at Eywa. He sees the great mother on your face as you writhe atop of him.

It’s alot, he can tell. Fuck he can only imagine what you’re feeling if it had been this intense for him. Neteyam lets you hide again after a moment. Your hair covers your face as you shake and he thinks you might be crying, but he just brushes a hand down your damp back. Soothing you back down from the high.

The stars are brighter, even as the clouds gather in gluggy gray storm clusters. Everything seems a little bit more beautiful with his fingers still inside of you. It pains him to slide them out, missing the tight clutch of you once his wet fingers are exposed to the cool night air.

Tsaheylu, you’d begged him earlier. His kuru throbs and gooseflesh erupts all over his body just thinking about bonding with you. He wants it more than he’s ever wanted anything.

You nuzzle against him, nosing at his cheek. Your lips ghosting at the corner of his own.

“You okay?” you wonder. Your voice deep and husky. So sexy it makes his eyes close for a second.

“I should be asking you that”

“Mmm, no need to ask. I feel so so good” you assure him, starting to sit up a little “I um-I kind of got really into it. I’m sorry”

“Sorry?” Neteyam questions, keeping his grip on you as you start to squirm. Not in pleasure this time. But in shame, the embarrassed kind. Coming down from the pleasure haze, that anxious edge comes back. Unsure even as you’re on top of him. “Don’t say that. Why would you be sorry right now?”

You huff, nose scrunching. Ears flicking “I made a mess all over you”

It might not be very nice but he can't help but laugh at you. His pearly white canines on display as he hoots, the belly laughs jostling you from your perch.

“What!” you grumble, but smile all the same. “Stop”

“Hmm. I love messes like this. Feel free to make messes like this anytime” his fingers, still glistening come into view as he brings them to his mouth. Your eyes widen, glued to him. At the slight suction of his cheeks as he licks them in earnest “See. Easy clean up, you’ve got nothing to worry about, Pretty”

You taste as good as you smell. His tastebuds tingle as he swirls the new flavor around. Complex; a sweet musk that he wants to bathe in. He’s acutely aware of the way you watch him, your sweet cheeks burning at his lewdness.

When he frees his fingers with a pop, he gasps as your tongue surges in his mouth.

Tasting yourself on his spit.

Fuck.

He lets you kiss him breathless. Lets you run your sloppy kisses all over his face, down his chin. Across his neck. He arches into it all, gives you all the room you need. He’s well aware of what you’re doing. Working your strong scent into every inch of his bare skin.

Scent marking is a vital part of Na’vi courtship. Ancient, ritualistic and respected. Practiced by your ancestors before the first songs.

It’s makes something in him pur, knowing that you want him to smell like you.

“I think that's enough” He grins when your tongue dips into his navel “They can smell me, baby. You did a very thorough job”

The pout on your face is beyond cute as you sit up on your knees. The little ‘hmph’ sound so adorably out of place in the highly sexually charged situation “But I wanna smell like you too. How will anyone know I’m yours if they can’t smell it?”

Neteyam's nostrils flare. His ears swivel on his head and his tail gives a good lash at that. You want to be marked by him too. Are willing to parade his scent around all of those assholes in the clan that have been trying to win your affections, even when it was clear you were uninterested.

“Lay down” It’s an order, spoken softly but directly and you follow it at once. A giddy smile on your face as you lounge on the sand.

You are a vision.

Hair sprawling and messy behind your head. Your legs spread, back arched. Pretty nipples pebbled hard and on display. The only thing covering you is the floral necklace around your svelte throat.

It doesn't take him long at all. He strokes his striped cock firm and efficiently. Too many years of having to get himself off fast enough not to be caught has made his practiced movements almost perfect.

You’re looking at him like that again. Adoration clear as day on your face. Soft for him. You see him-

“Ol Ngati Kamiel” your voice is saccharin as you speak and he grunts violently as he comes.

Ropes of it land on your belly, across your exposed chest. It’s almost too much when you reach down swiping into the translucent, sticky, mess and start rubbing it into your smooth skin. He collapses shakily beside you, needing to collect himself for a minute before he helps your cause.

It’s the most intimate thing the two of you have done all night, laying together. Basking in the afterglow. Your scents mingle, dancing together in the evening breeze and Neteyam wants to imprint this memory somewhere deep.

The festivities are still raging- and you really do need to get back. It’s an important night. Your clan wants you there, the two of you need to make your rounds. Keep appearances. He won’t keep you from your duties, no matter how much he may want to.

After a quick dip in the ocean, removing the filth of love making but still wearing the strong scent of each other's pheromones, you begin to redress.

Neteyam watches. Highly distracted as you shimmy back into your tweng before looping your top around your shoulders. He works clumsily at the leather of his loincloth.

“Wait-”

The two of you are starting the trek back to the bonfire when he reaches out to halt you. His fingers play with wreath of lilies around your neck and his eyes bore into yours pleadingly.

The smile you give him is more radiant then the silvery moons that twinkle in the inky sky.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Even at the late hour the ceremonial bonfire still crackles with life. The festivities have ebbed into something slower, more intimate.

The adults of the clan are all that’s left, children long gone and tucked into their beds or dozing off against their parents' side.

Kiri sits on a carved log, in a circle of familiar faces.

Her mother and father had left not long ago. Tuk had been fighting slumber but succumbed after the Elders crooned a particularly slow song about the Sky and Sea’s forbidden love. Jake had hoisted the young girl up and bid everyone adieu, swaying on his feet as his wife hissed at him about how after all these years, he still couldn’t handle his liquor.

Now, Kiri listens to stories as she sips slowly on her cup of Kava. Enjoying the pleasant burn;

But not willing to end up like her dumb as rocks brother who is sprawled on the ground. Lo’ak is all but unconscious, every time he opens his eyes they are unfocused and hazy.

That’s what he gets for trying to out drink clan members twice his size. He’d been on the losing end of the drinking competition from the start- he was just too stubborn to see it.

Lo’ak is lucky Tsireya doesn’t care much for drinking, and is more than willing to tend to him. She keeps trying to force him to drink water and nibble on bits of food.

Ao’nung isn’t faring much better; he stares at the moon with a dopey smile as he sings, incredibly off tune, to the song that fills the air. A gaggle of girls surround him. Each hoping to catch his eye.

It’d been an all night thing, affections being thrown at him while he ignored it all too easily.

“My bed will be full this season, I’m not worried about a thing” he’d shrugged it off when asked about it.

Roxto’s boisterous laugh had dwindled down when Kiri shot him an extremely unamused glare.

She’s debating on leaving Lo’ak to sleep on the beach for the night when out of the shadows comes her eldest brother; who had been missing for most of the evening.

The hours had bled away and Kiri had tried not to worry too much about the confrontation that was going on just beyond the jovial bubble of the Metkayina celebrations. You had been distraught and Neteyam had never been good at voicing his own emotional needs-

Huh.

It looks like she had nothing to worry about.

The grin on Neteyam’s face is shit eating. It’s the smuggest she’s ever seen him. Even at his first Inknimaya, back with the Omiticaya, he hadn’t reacted like this. All head raised high and walking on a cloud.

You tug him along behind you, you guys’ fingers tightly intertwined. Your hips sway excitedly as you bounce along the sand. Kiri’s brother's chest is puffed out in obvious pride as he follows your footsteps.

Around his neck is Lei made up of vibrant pink flowers. It matches the one in your hair, that sits kind of lopsided now.

As the couple gets you closer, and Kiri catches a whiff of your approaching bodies, she wants to wretch. You’re drowning in each other's scents and it’s quite obvious what you had been up to all night.

“So gross” Kiri gags in accusation once you’re both in earshot.

You two owed her so big. She thinks naming one of your future children after her would suffice.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Okayyyyy. This was so fun to write and I already have Part Three brewing! TAGLIST IS CLOSED.

So like. Lots to address here. Tons to talk about. I’m gonna start the conversation but I hope you guys continue it in the comments.

1. The Motnaui is something I completely made up(…yes after watching Moana and taking inspiration for the name) lol it’s a ritualistic hunt that newly anointed hunters and warriors go on after their Metkayinan Iknimaya’s. I know all the different clans Iknimaya traditions would be different and I thought this would be cool.

2. I read a story in the Avatar fandom where the liquor they drank was called Kava and it just stuck in my brain. I know Kava is a drink in real life too, but for the sake of storytelling, please think about them as completely different things. The drink in this story is more of a wine/moonshine mixture deal. Would really fuck your ass upppp.

3. Fertility Season is obvs totes made up. Why is it rainy during it? Because I myself would want a week of non stop loving making with a nice little fire going, under lots of blankets with it chilly and rainy outside. And at the end of the day I’m writing for me lol

4. NETEYAM IS A SWEETHEART WHO STRUGGLES WITH HIS SELF WORTH JUST LIKE THE REST OF US. Please listen to the Artic Monkeys while you read this chapter(wanna be yours, do I wanna know, 505. THE LONGING)

5. Expect more POV’s to come! It will always be mostly rooted from Y/N’s point of view but I love touching base with all of the other characters. It’s so fun. I’m thinking a snippet of Neytiris in Part Three!

#neteyam smut #neteyam x reader smut #neteyam x reader #aged up neteyam #SMUT!#neteyam x metkayina!reader #neteyam x you #atwow neteyam

3K notes · View notes

viridescentelf · 4 days ago

Text

Investment - Sylus x Reader

sup bitches, i am feral for this man

DISCLAIMER: i know extremely little about Love and Deep Space, I can‘t start playing it bc I know I will lose years of my life lol I don‘t want to fully commit to the brainrot that Sylus would do to me in game nsdksks (all i know is he‘s hot, he‘s rich, he‘s like into selling weapons ?? he‘s a dragon??????? idk??? lol)

So I just kinda took his beautiful face, plopped him into my own realm with what I know and wrote something so I can stop thinking about him.

The lore isn‘t accurate at all lol sorry but i just can‘t play it.

SUMMARY: You‘re an undercover cop on a mission to seduce a prominent mob boss‘ lackey. Sylus takes notice of you and decides to intervene.

If you want to listen to the music that inspired this fic, here you go. Bonus: if you can guess the song I had in mind for the performance, I'll write a short fic of your choice.

WARNINGS: possessive and obsessive behavior, prostitution, talk of violence

Part 2 will be NSFW

Word Count: 5kish

—————

„Do you copy?“

The radio chirped quietly, while you discreetly pushed the miniscule device deeper into your ear.

„Yes Sir“, you answered barely audibly, looking at your own reflection in the mirror. You barely recognized yourself: a done up face, more skin than you‘ve shown in a long while, hair quaffed and tied up to avoid it getting caught somewhere during the performance. The invasive voice of your chief in your ear mumbled the usual blabber such as „stay alert“ and „focus“ etc. while you finished the last touches of your look.

You were in a room full of people. Lockers and costumes adorned the walls, the lights reflecting in the colorful sequence.

The dancers lent you some jewelry; they treated you extremely kindly. No one here knew you were undercover, so they treated you like they always treated newcomers: expecting a scared person unsure of what they had signed up for, they held your hand and comforted you with calming words, the usual phrases you would think of. You smiled as a return of affection when they spoke to you, but your mind was racing with the plan you needed to complete. As kind as they were, you couldn’t let that distract you.

Your mission today was fairly straightforward: seduce one of the underlings of Alastair, a notorious mob figure in this area, then corner and interrogate them in order to find out where their boss was hiding.

There was no other way to penetrate the cluster of security that the mob kept going, seeing as cameras and mics were hidden everywhere in the city, run by them. All of the criminal underbelly hid in plain sight when venturing through the streets and were pretty much impossible to track down. Alastair was one of many heads of the mafia here, albeit one of the less influential ones. Your unit zeroed in on him, because he seemed the most promising to break.

An informant within his circle found out that Samira, your target, gained a massive privilege from Alastair: visiting the mob run auction house this very evening. With finances covered by her boss, Samira could have a special evening of watching burlesque performances and enjoying paid sex.

The auction house had a simple system. If you wanted a performer, you had to throw roses and outbid the others.

The roses were all tagged and had different colors:

Red was the simplest, equaling 1k.

Purple was 5k.

Blue was 100 k.

Bronze was 500 k.

Silver was a milli and extremely rare. You knew Samira had one.

And finally, Gold, which was an exorbitant amount. The owner didn’t even bother telling you the figure, being that it was never used.

Your boss knew you could dance. And knew you were Samira‘s type.

The informant arranged everything: the owner of the auction house had been paid off so that you could join and perform on your first day. He had no clue who you were, he just thought he gained new meat.

So, here you were, stretching at your seat.

You weren’t too nervous, you knew you could flirt and get your way in other aspects of your life. Why not on a grander scale?

The owner placed you sort of in the middle of the rotation, where most average performances took place. The cheaper options. He didn‘t want to risk you being an absolute flop and disappointing the customers.

It didn‘t matter. You only needed to get Samira‘s attention. Then you could go on with the mission.

A petit dancer tapped you on the shoulder and asked if you needed any equipment during your performance. You paused, looking at them through the mirror, going through the routine in your head.

„Just a chair“, you decided eventually.

The dancer blinked and giggled to themselves: „Wow, that‘s it? We have aerial hoops and stuff like that if you want…“

You smiled back. You couldn’t help but notice how young they looked.

„Thanks, but I‘ll just take the chair.“

The person turned, about to walk away, when you thought of something:

„I‘ll take a ladder too, please.“

You watched the roses fly onto the stage where a young man had just finished his dance with feathers and beautiful cloth artistry. He bowed several times, throwing kisses into the crowd. You could see a particular pile of purple roses with the same tag becoming more prominent at his feet. Seemed to be the best bid.

The owner bellowed into a microphone: „Sold for 15 000 to the gentleman in the silver tux!“

You saw the young man clap happily when the winning bidder walked on stage. It was an ugly looking guy, tux far too tight and in a gaudy hue, dark hairs peeking through the holes between his shirt buttons. He wrapped his stubby arm around the dancer, who gracefully leaned into the touch and escorted him off stage.

You knew there were lounges above the stage. You were supposed to take Samira up to one and question her there.

Your boss made himself known again: „Y/N, stay calm. Zero in on your target. She‘s bound to give every rose she has.“

You cleared your throat, which you had agreed would be yes while others were too close to you.

It was your turn. The stage hand checked with you once more if you had everything you needed while she plucked and pinned your outfit for the final time. You nodded in response, simultaneously confirming the music you picked to accompany your act. She seemed a bit flustered at your answer, you knew the sound was unusual for the establishment. It normally played slower, more sensual tempos. Acts also rarely required strobing effects, like yours.

But you had to make an impact. This was your one shot at getting to Samira. You needed to stand out. And if that meant standing out with a wilder song, dance and lighting, then so be it.

The owner blabbered on into the booming microphone about you being new and how „fresh“ you were (whatever that meant), while you ascended the ladder by the side of the stage, shielded from view. One poor sod was tasked with holding the ladder in place, you could hear him swearing. It was quite high, but you had enough practice. You knew how to catch yourself without injury.

The echo of the microphone died down and you could hear a few cheers already, the crowd expecting a timid little person, terrified of their new environment. They seemed to relish in young, helpless creatures feeling lost and scared in front of them.

But that wasn‘t you.

The music crept into the hall, the quiet beginning misleading the listeners of what was to come now. Your ears were waiting for the beat cues so that your arrival would have the maximum effect.

There it was. You bent your knees on the top of the ladder and pushed yourself hard into the air towards the middle of the stage, stretching as far as your muscles allowed.

At the perfect time, you landed into a beautiful split with a mighty crash. Catching yourself with your hands to avoid any pain, you immediately struck a blind smile into the crowd while your eyes quickly scanned for Samira. At your impact, the sounding cheer deafened the music briefly. Facing the crowd obstructed by heavy lights, you started your routine. It was so hard to see. Eyes still sweeping over the shadowy members within the seats, you struck pose after pose showing off your figure, while letting the rhythm guide you into more sensual movements.

You realized you wouldn’t be able to find her from where you were, so you decided to continue your dance and find a way to reach the edge of the stage without being too obvious.

The music slowed for a moment, allowing you to grab the chair by the side entrance and drag it behind you while your heels slid sultry across the wooden floor. You dragged it semi close to the front and started your section of dance with it there. With a teasing smile, you slid onto the chair, each movement deliberate and full of flair. You rested one hand on the back of the chair, your hips swaying as you played with the rhythm, inviting the audience into fantasizing you being on their lap. Your legs extended with a controlled stretch, a perfect balance of strength and seduction. As the music pulsed on, you rose with a fluid motion, effortlessly transitioning between powerful and sensual poses, your eyes locking with the crowd, blindly trying to locate your target. Every flick of your wrist, every arch of your back, was a testament to your rhythm and control, turning the chair into an extension of your body, your partner in this captivating dance.

Climbing all over it, you used this part of the song to show off how far you could arch your back and made your ass pop a few times to massive cheers. You had to show what you could offer, anyway.

You were halfway through. You had to do something drastic to find her.

This wasn’t part of the routine, but you decided it was necessary. Climbing onto the chair, with one foot on the back support, you teased the onlookers by tilting it back and forth, waiting for a moment in the song where the fall would make the most sense.

Forcing the tilt further, the chair fell over with you diving into a quick and practiced tumble and coming up right at the edge of the stage. You turned quickly and let your hair fall over the edge of the stage, opening your eyes with a lusty grin etched across your face. You scanned the rows as fast as you could.

Samira was luckily easy to spot, she sat in the second row, completely enthralled with your act. Her short black hair half-up and yellow eyes pointed directly at you while her toned arm hung over her chair.

You looked straight at her and winked, blowing a kiss at everyone watching but stopping for her once again, trying to seal the deal.

Samira wouldn‘t break eye contact with you, a look of sheer determination to have you.

Easy as fuck, you thought to yourself, getting up to continue and finish the act.

The beat intensified and you hit every move with sharp muscles and graceful ease, finalizing your act with the most alluring pose you could think of: your body turned away with your head facing the crowd.

A final wink. The hall erupted with applause. The roses already started flying in and you noticed Samira‘s tag being part of the massive pile before your feet. The owner was already prattling on about how this was such a rarity with someone as talented as you. You bowed appreciatively as the roses kept coming, Samira‘s pile growing more and more: You spotted a bronze. And then the silver one.

Bingo.

Samira grinned triumphantly. Elbowing the poor sod next to her, who had no more roses to give. The crowd all accepted that she had outbid everyone, a silver rose was just such a rarity.

The owner laughed into the microphone: „What a show! Wow Miss Samira. Looks like a massive bid for the young thing. 1.5 million going once, going twice-„

A flash of red made your spine thunder. It came out of a high balcony. You saw something flying towards you, like a dagger. Your reflexes betraying you, you caught the thing flitting towards your face and held it between two fingers. The sparkling, priceless hue glittered, as you gaped at the beautiful golden rose.

„My- my word! 50 million?!? I- uh 50 million going once, going twice…“

Your stomach dropped. No.

„S-SOLD! I CAN’T BELIEVE IT!!! WHAT A MILESTONE FOR US, SOLD TO THE GENEROUS MR. QIN!!!“

You heard the chief in your ear shouting profanities. Something about the informant not telling him he would be here as well?!

„Y/N, you have to get out of there. Now!“

You couldn’t move. The shock cascaded through you, as you watched a tall, domineering figure descend the balcony stairs. Your eyes briefly flickered to Samira, who was yelling some insult at no one.

Stepping into the light, the red eyes were the first thing you noticed. They stared into you, plucking every nerve you had.

You recognized him immediately. You had heard about Sylus Qin. But you never thought you would lay eyes on him. And definitely not like this.

He wore a tailored maroon suit, the jacket draped casually over his broad shoulders. His salty hair danced in the limelight, perfectly kept and styled to stay out of his piercing gaze. Walking towards you, the almost invisible grin on his face made your heart convulse anxiously.

It seemed his presence not only stole your own ability to move a muscle. The entire venue quieted, a few hushed voices whispering in the background. It was like an evil spirit had entered this space and stolen the sound.

He approached you determinately, never letting his red eyes leave your own.

Your chief was shouting in your ear that you needed to leave. His screaming broke the charm briefly and you were able to tear your own eyes away from his to look for a quick exit strategy. You spotted a door across the seats with a staircase sign. Perhaps you could find a window somewhere there and squeeze through. It was worth a shot.

Just as your muscles got ready to turn towards the crowd, Sylus‘ arm swooped around your shoulder, squeezing you into him softly.

You dared not move. You had no way of knowing what he was capable of. His aura was mighty and something about his cologne made you forget you had a tongue. Looking up, he eyed you from head to toe. Your outfit didn‘t leave much for imagination.

„What a sight you are. I couldn’t resist spending a pretty penny on you. Let‘s not waste a moment.“

The depth of his voice made your stomach flutter, involuntarily.

He guided your movement without force, your body just simply obeyed him. You were both walking towards the place the last dancer had led their benefactor. You knew there were rooms up there.

He stopped in front of the owner. Giving a brief nod, the infamous man with his arm around you spoke again: „With the amount I paid, I‘m taking this one with me.“

The owner blinked rapidly, eventually nodding stupidly in agreement. Even if he didn‘t want that to happen (you were obviously popular), he couldn’t risk one of the biggest buyers to become disgruntled. The sheer panic rose further and nestled itself in your throat.

Your figures disappeared from the crowd behind the velvety curtains. Sylus kept walking and your head followed the very obvious Lounges sign that passed by you.

Where was he taking you? What was going to happen? And how could you escape?

He aimed for a small decline, leading to an emergency exit. A few of the stage hands scurried out of his path while the next performer entered the limelight. Your breath was caught in your throat as you both descended the four steps, reaching a long, bleak and concrete hallway with a door at the end of it. Your radio crackled unnervingly; you could make out snippets of words your chief was trying to verbalize. Then he vanished completely. There was no service here. No safety.

Your footsteps echoed in this hall, your heels clacking in sync with Sylus‘ shiny dress shoes. The way was narrow, so he squeezed you further into his body. You tried to keep your shoulders steady, the smallest bit of resistance you could muster was worth it, in your mind. You weren‘t going to just submit.

You were close to the exit and you pictured how you could elbow his side and make a run for it once the door opened.

In that moment, Sylus moved quick and shifted you with one hand so your back was against the cold and textured wall. The swift movement took you off guard once again and you held up your fists, ready to defend yourself.

He quickly grabbed your wrists, with surprisingly little pressure, but you weren’t able to follow through on the punch you wanted to give him.

„Steady there, officer. That’s no way to treat someone who just saved your life.“

Your eyebrows twitched in confusion. The question obvious on your face. He knew you were a cop? How? And what did he mean by saving? He just bought you!

Sylus’ eyes scanned you thoroughly. Then he laughed to himself, the exacerbated air hitting your face softly.

„Can I let go of your wrists or are you gonna try and punch me again?“

„Don‘t make me.“

He tilted his head: „Oh? Cocky, aren’t we?“

You weren‘t sure what was happening. Your eyes flitted to his hands then back to his intense stare.

Sylus let go of one of your wrists, but held the other one pinned against the wall. A seeming compromise, or a trick?

You could punch him, if you wanted to.

But you wanted to know how he knew. How did one of the biggest mob bosses know your identity?

Sylus free hand reached up to your check, a finger brushing your earlobe. You flinched.

„The radios all of you use are extremely cheap. Real easy to track and crack into, if you have the right software. I’d suggest moving to newer models, if the city allows the price uptick…“

His finger invaded your ear and pulled the iridescent, tiny thing out before you could stop him. You tried to grab it from him, but he held it up like a boy teasing his younger sibling.

You tried to jump to get it. When that didn’t work, you tried to wrestle your way to the door, but he turned you easily and pinned you back against the wall with one hand.

He smiled and you heard a small click. Then the broken shards of the radio fell to the ground. You stared at them in disbelief. What had you gotten yourself into?

You looked up at him angrily. His grip on you seemed so limp and careless, but you could feel that he was capable of hurting you, if he felt like it. You were cornered and unsure what you could do. How could he have known about this heist? Had he bugged the police station?

Perhaps you needed to play along, learn what you could and watch for an opening. That seemed to be the best course of action. Trying to fight him right now wouldn’t go well for you.

Sylus watched you stare at him and seemed to sense that you were calculating and questioning, then he grinned: „You really thought you were going to trick Alastair? With that weak of a security system? Sending undercover plans through text messages… I weep for this city…“

He shook his head theatrically. You raised an eyebrow. What?

„Because of your careless chief, Alastair knew of your cute little plan. If I hadn‘t intervened, he was going to kill you tonight. Samira would drug you and deliver you to his doorstep. Then he’d probably enjoy you a bit in his sick way-“, He gestured vaguely at your figure, „-before dumping you in the river.“

It was clear on your face that you were distraught at this information. You knew the mob had a ton of resources, but if what he was saying was true, they were never going to get anywhere. They were always a few steps ahead. But could you really trust what he was saying?

„What the hell do you want?“, you hissed.

Sylus grinned again.

„How about dinner first? You look hungry. But first, we need to get you an outfit. As beautiful as you look in this, I can‘t be seen with you looking like a floozy.“

He let go of your wrist and flung his coat off of his shoulders, draping it over you.

„I promise to enlighten you after we‘ve had a meal. And seeing as though I paid a decent amount for this date, I assume you won‘t be rude enough to reject the idea.“

You gaped at him. You were about to retort, when his arm flung around you again while he simultaneously opened the door.

Streetlights flooded your senses and a black car stood by the pavement, ready for the two of you. Your head whipped around trying to locate anyone you knew, looking for your chief, any comrade. Anyone!

No one. They were all on the other side of the building, and you had a feeling Sylus knew this.

He opened the door for you, one hand still around your arm. Reluctantly, you lowered into the strange car.

The driver greeted Sylus and called you Milady/Sir, simultaneously starting the engine and taking off. He drove through the city with a speed that was definitely illegal, but no one seemed interested in stopping him. There were more pressing matters in the city than speeding.

Sitting in the car, your eyes frantically searched the streets for an opening to roll out.

„I wouldn‘t try that, if I were you. Doors are locked.“

You turned to him and watched him type something on his phone. Then he brought it up to his ear and spoke in a language you didn‘t recognize.

While talking, he turned to you and eyed you up and down: „What size are you?“

He was serious about the outfit thing? You must be dreaming, this couldn’t be real.

You didn’t answer.

Sylus waited for a short while, scoffed, then turned back towards the call: „Your size.“

He guessed. And correctly? What?

Sylus finished the call and continued to type something. The rapid noise of his fingers tapping his screen was all you could hear. The silence was bugging the hell out of you.

None of this made any sense. It would’ve been so much easier to just let you get killed by Alastair. It’s not like your death would’ve meant anything to the police station, it happened daily.

What was the purpose of this entire spiel? What did he want with a cop in his backseat?

Was it simply just sex? Some weird fantasy he was fulfilling?

What was his plan?

These questions raced through your head and you couldn’t help but want to know the answer to all of them. Your tongue was shaking with a strong urge to ask what the loudest question circling in your brain.

“Why did you help me?” you finally said.

Sylus kept scrolling on his phone, not looking up: “We have similar interests.”

That wasn’t really an answer. You kept staring at him.

Sylus’ red eye finally turned towards you, noticing you weren’t satisfied with his response.

“I promise to tell you everything after dinner. Now, go enjoy the scenery.” He waved his hand at you, gesturing for you to leave him be.

Perhaps you could take this undercover thing a lot further: learn as much as you can about one of the biggest threats in the city, then run away and get the entire force to come after him.

You decided to wait. You couldn’t do anything else, anyway. There was a looming panic festering within you and you weren’t sure how long he would keep you alive. You needed to stay alert, but hopefully learn as much as you could to take back to the station.

Once you knew of his plan, you would run and report.

You sat at one of the largest dinner tables you had ever seen. Sylus sat at one end, you at the other.

You were in a giant penthouse on the outskirts of town. The place was decorated with many boxing trophies and high-end art. Everything looked expensive.

The food was fantastic. You had been reluctant to eat it in fear of being poisoned, so Sylus had stood up, taken a piece of your meal and put it in his own mouth – proving that it was safe.

Before the meal, a butler had delivered a beautiful outfit for you – classy, elegant and it fit you like a glove. You changed in an enormous guest bathroom. Your favorite necklace really harmonized with the outfit, as if Sylus had taken notice of it and planned it accordingly.

Despite everything looking and tasting divine, you were still sitting across one of the most dangerous men in this city. This was someone who hurt people. He was this city’s most wanted and you were sharing a meal with him.

You needed to remind yourself that he bought you at an auction. He was there, because he enjoyed that lifestyle.

You couldn’t trust him.

You both ate in silence. It was awkward. Sylus was on his phone the entire time, either taking calls or texting.

As you finished the last bite of your exquisite meal, Sylus set his phone down with a soft click. The abrupt absence of tapping drew your attention. His piercing red eyes met yours across the expanse of polished mahogany.

"I suppose you're ready for answers," he said, his deep voice resonating in the cavernous dining room.

You nodded, trying to keep your expression neutral despite the curiosity and apprehension roiling inside you.

Sylus leaned back in his ornate chair: "As I said before, we have similar interests. You want to get rid of Alastair. I wouldn’t mind him gone, either. But your methods will never work. I can offer my assistance.”

Your brows narrowed. A deal?

“I assume that assistance isn’t out of the gracious nature of your heart.” The words just left you. You couldn’t stop them.

Sylus chuckled, a low rumble that sent an involuntary shiver down your spine. "Perceptive. I like that." He stood up, his imposing figure casting a long shadow across the table. With deliberate steps, he made his way towards you, each footfall echoing in the vast room.

"You're right, of course. I have my own motivations." He stopped beside you, pulled the chair closest to you out and slunk into it, his proximity making your heart race. "Alastair is a thorn in my side. He's unpredictable, volatile. Bad for business."

You raised an eyebrow, curiosity overcoming your caution. "And you're not?"

His lips quirked into a half-smile. "I'm calculated. Alastair? He's a loose, dumb cannon that keeps causing fires I have to put out. He needs to go."

You blinked. The chair made you feel tiny, it was so wide and expansive that you could’ve easily sat cross-legged. It caused him to feel even larger than he already was, being so close to you.

“So, what? You pulled this entire charade just to get rid of some competition? Surely you don’t need my help to do that. Spit it out, what do you want?”

Sylus watched you, his eyes mapping your face. The lingering stare made you forget to breathe.

He was extremely handsome. It was distracting.

Sylus leaned in closer, his cologne enveloping you in a heady cloud. His voice dropped to a husky whisper, "What I want, pet, is someone I can trust inside the police force."

The term of endearment sent an involuntary shiver through you. You tried to mask it, but the slight quirk of his eyebrow told you he'd noticed.

"Don’t call me that. And why would you think I'd ever agree to that?" you challenged, forcing steel into your voice.

His laugh was low and rich, ringing in your ribcage. "Because, pet, you owe me. I saved your life tonight. Without my intervention, you'd be nothing more than a cold corpse floating down the river by now."

The stupid nickname bothered you, endlessly. But you dropped it nonetheless.

“That’s what you say. I have no way of knowing if that’s true.”

Sylus rolled his eyes and flicked his phone out of his pocket. Typing something quickly, he pulled a video feed onto his screen and held it towards you.

You were watching Samira in the auction house hallway, pacing frantically up and down on the phone.

“That fucking twink outbid me. What the hell am I gonna tell Alastair?! …. 50 million… yeah I know… it’s a huge fuck you…. no dipshit I can’t just pick another one. I literally bet all of it on that cop. Plus he knows the difference, these whores are built different…-”

Sylus pulled the phone away from your eyes, nodding in your direction for you to reply.

You swallowed hard, your mind reeling from the implications of what you'd just seen and heard. The reality of how close you'd come to death tonight was sinking in, leaving you feeling shaken and vulnerable.

So it was true.

Sylus leaned back, giving you a moment to process. His red eyes never left your face, studying your reactions intently.

"I still don't understand. Why go to all this trouble? You could bribe anyone to work for you with the money you have. Why..." you trailed off, a horrifying thought suddenly occurring to you. Your eyes widened as you looked at him, really looked at him for the first time since you'd arrived at his penthouse.

He was undeniably powerful, clearly wealthy beyond measure. And he'd just spent an obscene amount of money to... what? Have a little cop sex slave on the side? Why was he at the auction house to begin with? If not for that?

Sylus leaned his elbow on the arm rest and placed his cheek in his hand. His eyes wandered down to your chest, where your necklace swung quietly.

“Is this some sick kink of yours, buying people and making them fulfill some weird fantasy? Like your personal plaything?”

His eyes widened and a hearty laugh escaped him with such force that it made you jolt inwards.

“You think I bought you for sex?” He laughed even harder. “Pet, I don’t need to pay for that. Trust me.”

You started to get annoyed. Standing up from your chair, you tried to make yourself feel bigger by creating this distance.

“Then what? Why the fuck were you at the auction house then?”

Sylus looked up at you, tilting his chair back and forth playfully: “Again, pet. Your chief has shit security measures. I saw an opportunity…besides...”

He stood up as well. His towering form cast a shadow over you once again.

“I couldn’t just let a pretty thing like you die, now could I?”

Sylus’ cologne swirled into your nostrils and you shook your head to concentrate. Looking up at him, you couldn’t help but focus on the beautifully carved jaw line that pointed down at you. Blinking hard, you mustered up the last shred of courage and sanity you had:

“I’m not some trophy you can buy.”

Sylus' eyes sparkled with amusement at your defiant statement. He took a step closer, closing the already small gap between you. The heat radiating from his body made you acutely aware of your own.

"A trophy?" he mused, his voice a low groan that seemed to vibrate through you. "No, you're far more interesting than that."

His hand reached out, fingers gently brushing against your necklace. The touch was feather-light, but it sent electricity coursing through your veins. You held your breath, unsure whether to step back or lean in.

Then he brushed your hair away from your shoulders, tucking a strand behind your ear.

“I’ll give you some time to consider. I can really use a friend in the force. And you can use me, and my resources, to destroy Alastair. A fair exchange in my opinion.”

He turned away and walked towards a large door. With one hand on the handle, he shifted his face to the side to look at you once more.

“My driver will drop you off wherever you’d like. He awaits you downstairs.”

Your brows narrowed again.

“You’re letting me leave? Just like that?”

“Of course you’re free to leave. I never said you were a prisoner. I just, technically, own you.”

A sly grin stretched across his lips. With that final statement, Sylus opened the door and closed it behind him.

The complete silence in the room enveloped you.

What the fuck just happened?

You walked towards the elevator and pressed the button.

You were alone. Free to leave.

Free to tell the force your location and have him arrested.

The elevator descended smoothly, each floor passing in a blur of lights. You found yourself touching the strand of hair Sylus had tucked away, his phantom touch still lingering on your skin. The weight of the decision before you pressed heavily on your shoulders.

You could run to a payphone and call for backup right now. You could end Sylus Qin's reign over the city's underworld with a single dial.

But you didn’t want to.

Shaking yourself once more, you closed the elegant coat Sylus had provided for you and walked towards the exit.

It had been a long, strange night. You needed sleep. And you needed to think.

#Spotify #love and deepspace sylus #sylus lads #lads sylus #lads #lads mc #sylus x reader #sylus x you #sylus x y/n #love and deepspace #lads smut #sylus fanfic #sylus qin #sylus x mc #sylus

67 notes · View notes

raven-at-the-writing-desk · 2 months ago

Note

was reading through your lovely analysis of leona-malleus-kalim spouse expectations and wondered if you'd feel up to writing your thoughts on idia... he's a bit difficult for me to categorize socially since he's both a heir to a cursed dynasty (with all the implications) and just some guy (in the average public's eye). also the hardest (maybe?) out of the cast for me to imagine in a relationship at all. if it was to happen, how do you think it could go?

[ The series: Malleus / Leona / Kalim ]

As I say in the disclaimers of my Malleus post: "[...] in canon there are very specific in-universe rules and expectations laid out [...] so these are what I will be referring to. I also want to emphasize that the final traits I discuss in this post do NOT reflect [Idia's] personal tastes or views. [...] The traits I will be bringing up are based on what I believe the lore implies are the desirable traits for those marrying into the [Shroud] family.

Please keep that in mind while you read; this is not meant to invalidate Idia shippers!!

I feel like there would definitely be an unspoken pressure for Idia to marry and produce a child. As I said in my Malleus post on this topic, this would be regardless of what Idia himself desires. He is practically obligated to have a blood-related child that is a mage due to his life circumstances and the… “family business”, shall we say. The Shrouds have a unique magic that is hereditary (Gate to (the) Underworld), which seems to open and close the gates to Tartarus, where the most dangerous of the Phantoms in S.T.Y.X.'s facility reside. The implication seems to be that, without the UM, they may not be able to protect the world from these dangerous beings. The Shroud line also heads S.T.Y.X. itself as the director and the eldest child is raised to assume the position so the organization can continue its valuable blot research. This was the case for Idia's father, who succeeded the previous director, Aidne (Idia's grandma). Similarly, Idia is set to succeed his father. I'd imagine his own child would have the same fate mapped out for them. Again, NOT because Idia would want that for them, but "for the greater good".

I'm not certain if there would really be any other requirements other than... "continuing the bloodline", for lack of a better term?? We don't know much about the Shroud family's operations, what their role in the larger Jupiter Conglomerate is, or how the current Jupiters feel about the Shrouds. I do think that Idia's parents wouldn't be super strict about their son's spouse; they do demonstrate care for his wellbeing and, as Idia describes them, they care more about results than how those results are achieved, so... If it all ends the same anyway, it might not really matter to them who Idia ends up with so long as that person meets the bare minimum requirements. Maybe the Jupiters would be pickier about who is accepted into their prestigious family??? But I could also see them not caring that much because I believe the Shrouds are a branch family and not part of the main family.

Now, what would the minimum requirements be in the first place? We don't exactly have a list of expectations or traits that Mama Shroud had to hit before being taken in as a Shroud. She happens to also work at S.T.Y.X. as their Chief Engineer, so maybe a candidate would have to have technical know-how or otherwise be able to contribute to S.T.Y.X.'s research efforts?? I don't think this is concrete though, because it's entirely possible that it's a coincidence and she + Papa Shroud met and fell in love while she was already working for S.T.Y.X. and things just ended up working out for the both of them since they work so closely as-is.

I think a large part of marrying into the Shrouds would be... whoever it is, they'd have to be okay with (or willing to adapt to) isolation and gloominess. They'd be exposed to S.T.Y.X.'s work and would be expected to contain those secrets. It's also very possible that they would be shackled to the Island of Lamentation for most of their life and rarely allowed to leave (implied in Idia's post-OB flashback). Not only that, but they'd constantly be around Idia and the other members of his family (mostly his father), who aren't exactly the most chipper people around. Idia's spouse would also have to come to terms with raising a child in that kind of environment. That could wear away at a person mentally and emotionally. Mama Shroud deals with it fine enough because she's a very bubbly, loving, and supportive person. Her personality is a protective factor against the gloom and doom of the place.

I honestly believe a lot of it comes down to knowing what they're signing up for. To marry into the Shroud family is a lifelong commitment. It means turning away from the world, toiling away in the shadows, and submitting to the idea that this same fate will befall their child. I can only imagine what goes down in genetic counseling where the medical mage has to spell it the Shroud curse very explicitly to the spouse... Their child always has to be around blot, because otherwise the curse will start to feed on the child's energy instead, which puts their life at risk. They won't get to decide what they want to be when they grow up, because their fate is already set in stone from the moment of their birth. Revelations like this might be soul-crushing to a parent, and they have to be prepared for all of this. Like, the Shrouds may be happy to have a new member to their family but life as usual for them would not be so for the spouse, at least not until they are able to fully adjust and accept all of this. I speculated that Idia's parents went through a similar arc as what I described here; that's largely where I am drawing my ideas here from.

#disney twst #disney twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland #Idia Shroud #notes from the writing raven #question #book 6 spoilers

108 notes · View notes

bezilvalentine · 1 month ago

Text

Well, uh,,,,

I've finally decided on a name for the white lady and I'm working on her lore. Mercury has a secretary, but more on that later. 96 is her "student" on whom she tested her parenting methods, practicing manipulation. As the chief justice and Nemo's former friend, she had her own views on societies, wanting a stricter division into classes, creating a semblance of a caste system. 96 was her attempt to try out her powers, but by the time they grew up, the planet was destroyed. They are not socialized, they do not know the concepts of morality, they are not familiar with gender roles, they did not have the opportunity to develop their personality, and the main goal in life was to serve Mercury. On Earth, while Mercury and her secretary are hiding to recuperate, 96 have to explore our planet and look for other cardbots to win them over to Mercury's side and help her build a new society on a new planet by exterminating organic life.

Mercury's alt mod is Tu-160, 96's is CH-53 and unnamed secretary's is su-47

And yes, 96's humanization has cleft lip

(The sketches also feature @/static-arz's character Hard Shield. 96 is his wife heh.)

#metal cardbot #메탈카드봇 #original character #digital art #transformers #artwork #art #metal cardbots #digital illustration

69 notes · View notes

derww · 3 months ago

Text

have you ever read a fanfic where authors self-insert travels into some story and fixes the life of a sad and pathetic wet cat character? | some thoughts about several new members being lifesteal watchers before joining.

one thing ive been thinking alot lately. before s5 we didn't really have a moment of "oh, this new member has been watching lifesteal before joining". and even in s5, its almost like this is not that important because here we have, to a much greater extent, people whose metagame-luggage is in the fact that they knew lifestealers. as 4c having his friendship and silly feuds with mid, and jumper being really close vi's friend, and pentar being jumper's friend, and squiddo knowing ash for ages, and wemmbu being friends with zam&minute for like an eternity. even jepexx with all his ive literally founded this server, hes an irl friends with mapicc and poafa, I literally remember one time when he came in the middle of the lore and mapicc had to bribe poafa to distract him. and it is a really cool and interesting theme as its own, a great foundation for the different headcanons and aus and using it as a part of the dynamics, but nothing of what we've been searching, yeah?

wrong. minutetech. minutetech who was clowns fan and literally created a team clown would want to be – his actual character's basis has watching lifesteal in it, and his weird attitude towards clown drags on throughout the season, ending with his death. but hey, it's been more than that, not just watching videos, he was watching streams, he was a visitor in the zams chat. and watching streams, even in fragments, is a completely different level in regard to just watching videos. and it is obvious by how he speaks about zam and how he is inspired by past him, and how he remembers some specific parts. minutetech is the fanboy on the server, im sorry, and i love him for it. he wasnt a frequent visitor, but he was able to open the curtain and be impressed, and that's cool.

moving away from the relatively linear rookie roster of the season 5, the season 6 one if a fucking rolecoaster. okay, okay, lets start with something easier. hannah defo didnt get the memo, zero idea about sb but i think he watched atleast clown, e doesnt seem to really care, his thing is the reverse, his connection to bliss and how they showed themselves as both touching and deadly family, threatening pentar with knives in case he did not protect their boy, and chief does it s5-style, being friends with minute. its really hard to consider flame, he defo watched atleast part of the things, and he is friends with pentajumper, and he refers to the past seasons but misses out a lot and doesnt seem to have a consistent understanding of a context.

okay. manepear. his case is kinda close with minute's in a part that he actually was a big lifesteal and esp clown's fan. never saw that one fanart he drew for zam but really would like to. lifesteal was an important thing for him much before he actually joined, and i can see him having good ground knowledge of video-part of the server, albeit easily missing something really important. hes also friends with pentajumper and had his clown rivalry story on bizzare just before lifesteal, giving him an interesting starting point and explaining why he did betray his idol of the past so easily. making him vodwatch s4 eclipse would make him better in lifestealing i promise. he just needs to find a balance.

to the main course. lets speak about kab first. this is a part where shit gets actually interesting since. you know...

("Powerless", 03/29/23)

oh, hi, Derapchu.

(literally the betrayal stream 03/28/23)

wait, lets make a pause. look, its Fl4pp0!

(also the betrayal stream)

the one who made new lifesteal stickers! wow! absolutely nothing interesting about them aside from thi-

okay. let's digress from the topic for a bit – it will make sense later, I promise. you know showtime smp? its fine if you dont.

the important part you should know is that showtime aknowledges stream viewers as an important part of a plot. they are called the audience, and how interested they are in a particular character is directly responsible for their well-being. most of the characters know that they are being watched, and some even hear the voices of the audience, and sometimes they are even asked questions, the answers to which can have a real impact on what is happening. and here is mika flappo. yes, this flappo, from the chat. (fun fact, there was also atleast two other showtime members lol)

firstly he is just a really cool fanarter in the showtime fandom, and she enjoys the streams and the plot as we all do, and then it... then they are just HERE.

just imagine. you live your very fucking hard and terrible life, having to deal with all sorts of shit and somehow not lose your head, and you hide so, so fucking much from everyone, because they can't know, because it's so scary and dangerous. and then you meet someone for the first time, and the first fucking thing they say to you is "oh, its YOU". and they do know what you did.

they were a part of the audience because mika has been literally watching the streams all this time. and yeah, she doesnt know everything, only the parts gods chose to show to the viewers, and they actually watched live, but its still sooo fucking much. and now an absolute stranger is walking around the server, and they know your worst secrets and impute you for your sins. luckily, mika can't spoil things, so its not like he can actually tell anyone, but her existence by itself is still pretty fucking terrifying.

luckily, both kab and derap are not just some strangers, but also they don't have to keep their mouths shut. they know what only the audience knows, and for them it becomes an important part of their understanding of the world and zam, something that they can use to their advantage. and they do.

kab heavily relies on a feeling of understanding and knowing better, and sometimes for me it feels like shes trying to do it even speaking about zam's feelings. at some point shes been heavily relying on pitying him as a way to show that she understands, and she's sorry, and she knows what exactly zam has to change to be better. its like... being the chatter who always backseats, but now you are actually here. absolutely no neg to kab, obviously.

its actually interesting how kab simultaneously sees and knows (or thinks she knows) so many zams weak spots and problems and traumas and calls him broken and harming himself and almost as if unable to make the right decisions for himself, and at the same time she puts him on a pedestal, perceiving him as a hero, as someone who should adhere to the correct perception and reflect her idea of a good person and teammate. and... it makes sense as a way of wanting to help your favorite anime character to become better without actually understanding either them or their beliefs and wishes and just trying to recreate the picture from my head of how things have to be, depriving a character of personality and autonomy in the process. even her expecting him to help her with the karmas law – she thinks that this idea is objectively right, so obviously white knight (lol) princezam has to get it.

people really liked her asking if she reminds him of someone he once was. i really do not. because sure, shes right at the ground lvl, but she doesnt get it. shes not s5, shes s4. she is vi and zam at the same time, and it makes my head hurt. "not everything is about you, zam", but she does make everything about him, really. i wonder if he was her favorite character.

i like that sometimes she acknowledges that she doesnt actually know better than anyone else. that she is just scared because her methods doesnt work anymore. but she speaks the opposite so often that sometimes i just dont know what she really thinks. with her strange division into lore and non-lore, with how much kab lies to people and lies to herself, she remains frustrating. sometimes I have a feeling that she plays a completely different character than the one she ends up being, and hey, that's part of the server.

some of it can be said about derapchu, and its easy to say that hes better than kab, but i dont really think so. hes less pushy about it, surely, but he also thinks he knows how itd be better for zam and intends to make him change in a way he deems correct. sure, he doesnt idolize or pity him, but he still wants to fix zam.

its not that easy as just dividing things on yours and servers because zam has a connection to it, and the server's well-being is directly connected to his. with enough mental gymnastics, even the desire to repair the spawn can be called at least partially selfish since zam does it for himself too, since he loves things being pretty and cool. speaking of the server as a whole, it is difficult to draw a line between where he does something for himself and where he does something only for others with just how conditional the common good is and how important the server itself is to him, just alive, just working, just being played. he wanted to make everyone give a shit and never fully left this modus.

and in a sense, derapchu fails. as gapples being for the fights against mane, or considering that zam perceives the hearts in a similar way as he does (and he really isnt, our guy was giving out the hearts left and right, really, and he knows derap enough to be sure he wouldnt do anything malicious), or seemingly never noticing that zam, despite being mostly truthful during the whole dialogue, never actually opened up to him. maybe his common experience and zam trusting him makes him feel like it is enough, but its barely a half. he said sorry for being too pushy today tho. and helped zam just because. it was good. sadly its not enough to understand that he cant just choose whats better for the other person.

you know, i really like to think about having all this background of being a lifesteal watcher from the point of the full-blown lore, without pulling out the card that the characters are also streamers or youtubers. this is a part that requires an individual approach: for example, i have drafts where boomie and kab, as centrals, contact their lifesteal friends directly through hacked communicators. or, for example, clown is known because the coolness of his conquests spread into legends, caught everyone's eye, and became worldwide news. in general, you can just come up with a connection between the worlds, like fidonet, or even a more modern Internet, and this will make everything much better. or you can follow the showtime trail and give each character an audience – similar to just making them streamers, but that's the twist that makes just enough of a difference. and, in the end, people can just be friends, meet in their free time, and tell stories. both derapchu and kab were zams friends long before joining the server, and this is something that should not be forgotten either. they, unlike the rest of us, have a real context. and, like, wow.

overall: these aussies gotta understand that zam is not their pet project and that he doesnt need to be fixed. some help here and there wouldnt be bad, sure, but they cant just choose whats right for him and whats not. he is, in this context, his own person and not just a book character and he needs a friend, but not saviour nor doctor nor manipulator nor mechanic. just a friend.

#d.thoughts #lifesteal spoilers #do not pretend to be completely reliable lol #on this note. i dont really feel comfortable about them being like that but i do love them being zams teammates and friends.#i hope that things will change because i cant really analyze something that makes me so uncomfortable

76 notes · View notes