#its a bit of a different sort of relationship and like just its different but its so cool
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OMG, OP!
I was just about to suggest "Now & Then "
but I saw it in your tags.
I'm so sorry this may look like an unhinged rant no one asked for, but someone has to tell people younger than me what I know, so I spent 2 hours crafting a reply/follow-up/addendum to you post, OP. Please forgive any formatting errors. I tried to keep things simple and engaging but a few things may look a little bit odd depending on what sort of device you're viewing it on. I couldn't take the risk of making all the text too small
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RQLVzTtt2Ws
The biggest problem trying to find similar films is that they often involve at least two of the girls having some kind of relationship to boys causing drama (I'm looking at you, "Sisterhood Of The Travelling Pants "... and others) whereas a film like "Dead Poets Society " is definitely in that pseudo-homoerotic and explicitly homoerotic range of storytelling.
Why do you think "Little Women" was popular for so long? It was the 1oth century literary equivalent with the requisite brush with death and loss so common to an era before even antibiotics existed... and loss and grief still happen today.
It's true that so few are like "Newsies " and "West Side Story ", but DON'T sleep on hits like "Annie" &
🥁 drumroll, please 🥁
Want to guess what was the first obviously gay song featured in a film from Hollywood (after the Hayes Code)?
The First Gay Anthem: Calamity Jane's 'Secret Love'
It's not "West Side Story " because it's a western frontier musical, and they skirted the lines as hard as they could to have a nice Christian young woman fancying a "tomboy": Calamity Jane (who by historical record seems to have favoured women and men).
Though based on American Western folklore, this premise clearly imitated the successful 1950 film version of Irving Berlin's Broadway musical Annie Get Your Gun, about Wild West sharpshooter Annie Oakley.
But instead of a make-over, Calamity Jane gives its tough-gal heroine a powerfully symbolic pistol; her masculine aggression plays with sexual identity through gestures enlarged to the point of farce. And then it goes deeper--into emotional confusion that grows from Jane taking on supposed male habits. Doris Day brings comic overstatement to Jane's complex repression of her own instincts. Like many a closet case, she exhibits a self-defeating willingness to fit into a male-dominated culture. Her tough mannerisms are also designed to protect her hidden, vulnerable emotions.
You have to dig.
Dig deep, and be willing to watch a film with a different spoken language and culture, but there are some parallels.
Consider the Britney Spears film, which I believe is called "Crossroad(s)" in English. [Sorry, I don't have time to look up the title.]
Now— what if there were a film that's something a bit like a lesbian equivalent?
Touch
A Chinese movie produced/sponsored by the sapphic dating app Rela. It follows three girls on a road trip. Chinese language with English subtitles.
I've never, EVER seen any website draw direct comparisons to other films that way, such as:
If you loved "She's The Man" but want it more sapphic (though ultimately thwarted by the producer), you can't miss "Bend It Like Beckham"!
The photo which was posted by OP DOES contain valid points!! (No one is going to treat you "like a man/boy" unless they truly think that's what you are, and society DOES socialise people differently, so: how would a group of teenage girls or very young adult women ever have experiences identical to those in a film like "Dead Poet's Society"?)
Nevertheless, there are some similar films that are comparable:
"Superbad" — "Booksmart".
I decided to hyperfocus trying to think up some equivalents to "Dead Poet's Society".
Here's a quick comparison I spent far too much time on:
If you’re looking for a Dead Poets Society equivalent with mostly female characters, a few films capture that same blend of deep emotional intimacy, artistic passion, and repressed desire. Here are the best contenders:
1. Mädchen in Uniform (1931 & 1958)
This is the OG queer boarding school drama. Set in a strict Prussian girls' school, it follows a young student, Manuela, who falls in love with her teacher, Fräulein von Bernburg. The film is explicitly homoerotic in a way that Dead Poets Society is only suggestive of—there’s longing glances, whispered affections, and a stifling environment that tries to crush individuality and desire. Like Neil, Manuela faces tragic consequences for daring to express herself.
Cracks (2009) — If Dead Poets Society were darker and more explicitly about queer desire, it would be Cracks. This film follows a group of girls at a remote British boarding school under the spell of their charismatic teacher, Miss G (Eva Green, in all her seductive, unhinged glory). When a new student arrives, power struggles and hidden obsessions unravel. It has all the repression, poetry, and tragic queerness you could want.
Heavenly Creatures (1994) — Peter Jackson (yes, Lord of the Rings Peter Jackson) directed this feverishly intense drama about two schoolgirls in 1950s New Zealand—Pauline and Juliet—whose bond becomes so consuming that it leads to murder. Like Dead Poets Society, it’s about breaking free from repression, but it takes a much darker turn. The homoerotic tension between the girls is undeniable, and the fantasy world they create as an escape mirrors the way the DPS boys use poetry to carve out their own space in a suffocating environment.
Picnic at Hanging Rock (1975) — This one’s all about atmosphere—a haunting, dreamlike film about a group of girls at an Australian boarding school who mysteriously vanish during a picnic. While there’s no overt romance, the film is full of lingering touches, dreamy stares, and a pervading sense of longing and repression. The rigid Victorian setting and the contrast between the natural world and societal constraints make it feel spiritually connected to DPS.
The Falling (2014) — Starring Florence Pugh and Maisie Williams, this film is weird and hypnotic. It’s set in an all-girls school in the 1960s and follows a mysterious fainting epidemic that spreads through the students. It has the same themes of teenage rebellion, deep female friendships that tip into obsession, and an oppressive institution trying to crush individual expression.
Céline and Julie Go Boating (1974) — This is a more whimsical, surreal take on female friendship and creativity. It follows two women who fall into a bizarre, looping story in a haunted house, constantly re-experiencing and altering the narrative. It has a Dead Poets Society vibe in the sense that it’s about escaping rigid reality through art and imagination, but with a queer-coded, magical twist.
If you want the closest equivalent to "Dead Poets Society"...
..."Mädchen in Uniform" or "Cracks" are your best bets, and Cracks more than Mädchen in Uniform
because the latter is so old fashioned that to further scandalise viewers they paired a teacher with a student.
If you want something more poetic and atmospheric, "Picnic at Hanging Rock" or "The Falling" will scratch that itch.
If all of that is too gay for you (gofuckyourself, tee-hee)
You really, REALLY should try
"Mona Lisa Smile".
(...and if it's not too gay for you, then go watch CRACKS right now!)
"Mona Lisa Smile" [hereafter referred to as MLS] is often called the "Dead Poets Society" [hereafter, DPS] for women, and yeah, it certainly hits a lot of the same beats—
an outsider teacher inspiring students to challenge societal norms,
a prestigious school that values obedience over individuality, and
a group of young people grappling with expectations that threaten to suffocate them.
Where DPS is about breaking free through poetry and self-expression, MLS is about that sort of thing tosome degree, but more about feminism, gender roles, and the fight for intellectual freedom in a world that wants women to be just wives and mothers.
Similarities to Dead Poets Society
The Inspirational Teacher as a Catalyst for Change
In DPS, John Keating (Robin Williams) shakes up Welton Academy’s rigid, tradition-obsessed environment with poetry and passion.
In MLS, Katherine Watson (Julia Roberts) does the same at Wellesley College, using art history to challenge her students’ pre-ordained roles as perfect housewives.
Both teachers are NOT merely instructing— they’re awakening their students, making them see the world differently, and often doing so in ways that put them at odds with their school’s administration.
The Oppressive Institution and Its Ideals
Welton Academy is a suffocating prep school that values discipline over creativity, much like Wellesley College in the 1950s. They outwardly promote academic excellence but ultimately groom women to become ideal wives. (T_T)
Both films show how these institutions uphold deeply ingrained traditions that resist change, even when it's clearly needed.
Both films show some of the human cost of trying, and giving up.
A Group of Students at a Crossroads
Just like Todd, Neil, and the rest of the DPS boys who struggle between expectation and their own desires, the young women in MLS— Joan, Betty, Giselle, and Connie—each navigate their own battles between societal pressure and personal ambition.
Joan (Julia Stiles) mirrors Todd.
Betty (Kirsten Dunst) is like a mix of Cameron and Richard from DPS.
Giselle (Maggie Gyllenhaal) is the Charlie of the group.
The Tragedy of Repression
DPS’s tragedy is clear: someone's dreams are crushed & there is a heartbreaking su*c*de [all the trigger warnings apply]. MLS doesn’t have a singular moment that tragic, but its heartbreak is quieter—seeing some brilliant young women choose societal expectations over their own ambitions because it feels like the only option... that is definitely going to haunt some people more than it may haunt white cis-hetero male viewers.
In both films, someone (one you probably like most of all, in both films) will have something horrible happen to them by their own choice, and that is very haunting.
Additionally, I dont think it's too big a spoiler to say oth films end with the teacher leaving— but to say why would spoil the endings of the films.
The last scenes mirror each other emotionally: in DPS & MLS, a quiet, bittersweet goodbye with both endings suggesting that while the teacher is gone, the ideas they planted will live on.
Key Differences
The Central Conflict
DPS is about breaking free from repression through art and poetry. It’s about passion, self-expression, and the fight for creative freedom.
MLS is about that too, though with more of a (*cough*white*cough*cough*) feminist focus on gender roles, feminism, and intellectual independence to have intellectual and self growth as an individual— and it asks whether women can truly be free when they’re still expected to conform to outdated expectations.
Homoerotic "Sub"text
[be honest: if you miss it in either film you're in denial or unobservent and that is your own journey you need to take]
DPS is filled with homoerotic tension, especially between Todd and Neil. The intimacy between the boys—the longing glances, the whispered poetry, the emotional weight of their friendships—feels deeply charged.
If you DEMAND that level of queerness, MLS ain't it.
MLS has some queer subtext, particularly with [one character], who is coded as more fluid in her sexuality, but the film doesn’t lean into that as much as DPS does because it's focused more on the pseudo-historical narrative from the book upon which it was based.
Don't forget that DPS came out to cinemas...
THEN "The Craft" did,
THEN "Cruel Intentions" did,
THEN MLS.
DPS was intentionally pushing boundaries of censors for queer story-telling when the USA was still afraid for gay people to peck each other with a little kiss on the lips on television before 10 PM.
DPS ends in a tragedy that reinforces the cost of defying the system— [spoilers redacted], and the boys are [narratively] left in a state which leaves the viewers feeling a bittersweet limbo.
MLS is perhaps a bit more hopeful; and although the school seemingly remains unchanged, things in that world have definitely shifted for the characters.
Their worlds aren't fully transformed though for MLS, it’s beginning to open up, but MLS leaves viewers with their own bittersweet limbo like DPS[-lite] with a sliver of a dash of hope.
Final Verdict:
"Mona Lisa Smile" is "Dead Poets Society" through a differing feminist lens.
It swaps poetry for art,
an all-boys school for an all-girls college, and
queer-coded male friendships for female students fighting for their intellectual freedom.
It has the same spirit—
a teacher who inspires students to think for themselves, an oppressive institution trying to maintain order, and young people wrestling with societal expectations.
However, where DPS is a tale of tragic repression, MLS leans toward quiet rebellion— not a fiery "O Captain, My Captain" moment, but a slow, steady push toward change.
just saw this on pinterest and it hit me like a truck
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A Deal's a Deal.
Yan Chrollo x F Reader
Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, violence against minor characters, descriptions of anxiety, mentions of alcohol. Word count: 5k.
Next (TBA)
“... Sorry. This one’s no good either.”
Sighing dejectedly, you sink into your seat.
You can’t tell if your companion’s disappointed. He maintains a neutral countenance, betraying nothing of his inner thoughts. Still, you study him, awaiting some visual indication before moving the conversation forward. He must sense your intentions, for he catches your gaze and smiles.
“Should we call it a day? You look tired.”
“The hell? Isn’t it considered taboo to tell a lady she looks tired?” You grumble. “And here I thought you were Casanova incarnate. You’ve got to work on your charisma stats.”
Chrollo shrugs halfheartedly. “What point is there if you’re immune to my many charms?”
“Let’s be real — ‘many’ is overdoing it, a little humility won’t hurt. I commend your budding self-awareness, though. At least we’ve made progress on that front.”
He hums, offering no rebuttal. You realize that you’ve perked back up, reinvigorated by his goading. He certainly knows how to get people going. Among his defining features, that’s one of the first you recognized; his uncanny way of orchestrating favorable outcomes.
Sipping your preferred warm beverage, you canvass your surroundings.
The café’s less crowded than when you came in. There are still a few students typing away on their laptops while consuming a concerning amount of caffeine. In the corner sits an elderly couple, whose order you overheard by virtue of the volume it was placed at — “Give me a regular coffee. Straight black, none of that ‘appaccino, grand venti’ nonsense. Decaf for my wife.”
(You prayed for the barista’s sanity when he tried explaining the different ways ‘straight black’ could come).
“... I am losing my touch, aren’t I?” Chrollo murmurs. You snap your head in his direction, having temporarily forgotten his existence. “You prefer older men?”
You almost choke mid-sip. “Pleh…! That’s it, I’m retiring, good luck sorting your issues out.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“How I wish you were wrong,” you deadpan. Lifting his phone off the table, you scroll through its contents. There’s nothing new to look at. “An exorcist, huh? You’re positive that’s a real thing?”
“They exist. They’re just rare, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”
“I blame the Protestant Reformation.”
The skin beneath his eyes wrinkles. “... Cute.”
His compliment makes you frown.
“Quit it with the flattery, already.”
“Flattery implies a degree of insincerity, no?” He challenges. “You of all people should know when I’m being genuine.”
“You make it sound like I’m a walking polygraph.”
His lips part and close as he considers his response. “That isn’t how I view you.”
This guy’s clever with his word choice, you think. Too clever.
Disliking where this conversation might go, you redirect.
“This ‘Hunter’ site you’ve been using… is there any way for me to access it?”
“Feeling a bit impatient, are we?”
There’s a patronizing lilt to this tone that has you inhaling sharply. Closing your eyes, you ball your hands into fists, willing your agitated mind to relax. Your goal feels so close. This future you never believed possible dangles above your head, only to recede as if you were Tantalus whenever you grasp for it. Needling Chrollo won’t get you any closer, but at least it gives you something to do, mimicking progress.
“The Hunter site has various measures in place to prevent account sharing. You don’t want to end up on their radar,” Chrollo retrieves his phone and tucks it into his coat’s pocket. “While your enthusiasm’s admirable, I suggest you leave this part to me.”
You swallow thickly. “... Right.”
“Are you upset?”
“No, I’m not,” you rest your hands on your lap. “Just, y’know. Reminded that we’re from two different worlds.”
Outside the café’s windows, individuals from all walks of life bustle about. Some are on their phones, others chatting with friends, or holding their partner’s hands. It’s a picturesque display of normalcy. They’re likely thinking about what to have for dinner, when to set their alarm for the following day, if they can squeeze out of plans they halfheartedly agreed to over the weekend; you know this because you aspire to live the same way.
“You’re closer to mine than you think.”
A fervent disagreement blazes then turns to ash on your tongue. There’s an unidentifiable quality to his stare — neither kind nor outright malicious — almost clinical in its effort to elicit a reaction. You stir in your seat. Despite your time together, he’s as much an enigma as he’d been upon your first meeting. Charming and courteous, yet lacking genuine warmth, like a faux candle.
“Do you get some kick out of riling me up?”
“Maybe a little,” he admits. “Your expressive nature is endearing. I can’t help myself.”
His words resonate with such clarity that you can’t help but wish he’d been a little dishonest.
“I’m not a toy for you to entertain yourself with.”
His smile makes you squirm.
“I know you aren’t.”
“Then what—” you cut yourself off, fearing what might occur if you continue your original line of questioning. “Man, you’re exhausting to deal with. Has anyone ever told you that you have an awful personality?”
“Few get to be around me enough to comment on its quality.”
“I’m counting down the days until I’m no longer a member of that inner circle.”
Before Chrollo can respond, his phone audibly vibrates. Newfound excitement overwhelms you at the sound. He glances at the notification and nods, confirming your speculation. He places it in your eager hands. While you prepare, he steeples his fingers and leans forward, intrigued as always with your work.
You relax your breathing. This entire process is based on intuition, chasing after faint sensations until your desired outcome manifests. A pliable force thrums through you — what Chrollo refers to as ‘aura’ — awakening from its dormant state. Mindful of your public surroundings, you keep your dominant hand beneath the table. Where there was once nothing, a three-dimensional object rests snugly against your palm. Buttons of varying utility jut outward along its perimeter. This small item, shaped like a cassette recorder, stirs antipathy in your heart.
Holding down rewind, the cassette whirrs to life. You prepare to record the latest audio note sent in for analysis.
Instant Replay (One More Time!).
These past few months have seen your ability frequently leveraged. It was your personal conviction to refuse its use, lest paranoia eat away at you. However, freedom from this bondage necessitates further entanglement. You’ve parted with your long-standing morals, primed to pick through the syllables of others for your own purposes.
Right and wrong no longer concern you.
All you care about is surrendering this loathsome ability to the man sitting across the table.
-
The night air is unforgiving in its chill. It infiltrates your layers of clothing with laughable ease, seeping into your marrow and demanding that you shiver as recompense. Gritting your teeth, you pick up your pace, cursing the parking garage’s elevator for being out of order. You knew parking at your friend’s apartment complex was sparse, but this is a new record.
The heels of your shoes click against the concrete staircase as you rapidly ascend. A pale, yellowish hue illuminates your path, the lights occasionally flickering. The moon must be feeling shy tonight, for it hides behind thick, stationary clouds, refusing the world its silvery guidance.
Upon arriving on the third floor, you hear an ominous crackle in the distance.
The consequences are immediate. Intuition tells you to pause, goosebumps erupting over your flesh from head to toe. Darkness swallows your surroundings whole in inky blots. Blinking rapidly, your eyes struggle to adjust. You feel around for your phone and turn the flashlight on. The sudden loss of power perplexes you, did the building’s breaker trip? From what you can see, the rest of the street is unaffected.
You’re about to resume your journey when you feel something cold press against your temple.
“Don’t move,” a deep voice demands. The roar of a car’s engine echoes nearby, as does the hurried screech of tires. “Not so much as a fucking inch.”
Anxiety sets your every nerve aflame. You go stiff as a corpse, and perhaps you may have been mistaken for one, if not for the thunderous pounding of your heart. The moisture in your mouth dries up. Tortuous seconds drag on, devoid of any further commands. You’re ready to offer up your purse, wallet, or anything else he insists on, but he’s eerily silent.
A pair of approaching headlights blind you.
Is this more than a robbery? You struggle to comprehend the nightmarish events. The man holding you hostage radiates agitation, shifting his weight from foot to foot. In doing so, the barrel drags along your sweat-slicked skin. His apparent sloppiness has you weak in the knees — it’s your life hanging in the balance, why is he acting like the situation is reversed?
Abruptly, the vehicle veers off course, crashing into a line of parked cars. A terrible cacophony follows. Glass shatters, metal debris shrieks whilst scattering, and car alarms angrily sound in disunity. What you’re witnessing doesn’t feel like real life. Your disbelief is mutual, for the man holding you captive spews curses.
You hear a click by your side; the gun’s safety being disengaged.
“Shit!” He maneuvers you in the direction of the crash like you’re a shield. “There’s no way we were followed, no way, we did everything perfect—”
The man never finishes his sentence.
There’s a wet gurgle, then a wheeze, as something warm splatters on you from behind. Bile rises up your throat as the wretched noises continue. He must’ve fallen to the ground, for you no longer sense his lumbering presence, or feel the cold kiss of metal on your skin. Regardless, you refuse to budge. You squeeze your eyes shut and tremble wildly.
“There, there. You’re safe now. ♥” A rich baritone speaks from behind.
His declaration comes out discordant, belying the reassuring contents. You bristle at the new threat that’s presented itself. If what came before was a house cat, then this is an apex predator, the king of the jungle. The air around him feels oppressive, almost noxious. Even without a firearm directed at you, your panic reaches its zenith, soaring to heights untraversed.
“Hm? Still scared? Ah, that’s right,” he muses to himself. “Chrollo said you’re sensitive to dishonesty. This could be troublesome.”
“You… you know Chrollo?”
“So you’re not in a catatonic state — how reassuring.”
Slowly, you turn around, sensing a distinct lack of ill intent. Flashlight in hand, you try to make sense of what you witness. The scene that greets you is gruesome beyond your wildest expectations. The man who you assume held you at gunpoint has collapsed onto the ground, his jugular slit clean. Blood gushes from the wound like a geyser, forming a crimson puddle around his head. His eyes are wide, bloodshot, nearly bulging from the sockets. Liquids ooze from every visible orifice and a foul odor rises alongside them. This pitiful creature could’ve been your end. Instead, he met his, departing this world in abject terror.
Unexpectedly, his muscles twitch. Out of reflex, you jump back and yelp.
“Rest assured, he’s dead as a doornail.”
“Why…” you wet your dry lips, “What… what just…?”
While you stumble over your words, the building’s power makes a triumphant return. The lights flash intermittently, then go steady, allowing you an unobscured vantage point. Before you stands a tall, bizarrely dressed individual, with bright red hair. His beady, yellow eyes have a predatory gleam to them that he doesn’t bother suppressing. He holds a playing card in his claw-like hands, the three of spades.
It’s coated in fresh blood.
Your eyes fall to the fatal wound on your assailant's throat, the gears in your head turning.
You take a step back.
“Let’s try this again, shall we?” With a flick of his wrist, the offending card disappears, though its memory burns strong. “I’m Hisoka, Chrollo’s… colleague of sorts. Now, there’s no need to introduce yourself. I’m well acquainted with you. ♥”
Is that supposed to make you feel better?
You couldn’t hide your suspicion if you tried. At the very least, there’s no indication that was a lie. However, his familiarity with you is a double-edged sword. If he’s crafty, he can outmaneuver your ability. Dishonesty isn’t black and white, there are loopholes to avoiding your detection. For instance, one can remain purposefully oblivious, lie by omission, or speak in vague terms. These gray areas pass you by as if you lacked this ‘sixth sense’ to begin with.
He was lying when he said I’m safe now, you recall. But he doesn’t seem interested in harming me…? Something isn’t adding up.
After much deliberation, you ask, “So you just happened to run into me?”
“Nope. I’ve been following you,” he freely admits. Your aghast expression makes him laugh. “What’s the matter? You were baiting me for the truth, were you not? You’re welcome to have it. ♦”
In your heightened state of sensitivity, you sense multiple presences converging nearby. Security guards, if you had to guess. You weigh your options. If you stay here, you’ll undoubtedly be harassed for a story that explains the chaos. Telling the truth would land you in a straight jacket whereas deception guarantees cuffs. Leaving in your car is off the table too, you’d be dubbed an important witness. There’s no way you can claim you drove by the carnage without noticing anything.
“I can help get you out of this debacle,” he offers. “We’re both seeking the same end — the return of Chrollo’s Hatsu. The latest recording I’ve obtained is most promising. So, I’d rather we don’t continue this conversation in prison. ♣”
Hisoka takes a step forward and extends his hand.
The security guards are getting closer, you think. There’s no time left.
And so you make your choice.
-
You didn’t think places like these existed outside of the movies, or maybe you just don’t get around enough.
You’ve found yourself in what you can only describe as a biker’s bar. The decor is old-fashioned, slightly worn yet authentic. There are pool tables, too many televisions to count, and a functioning jukebox nestled in the corner. Rough-looking men wearing leather jackets make up the main clientele. Fortunately, it’s Hisoka who draws the most attention, his gaudy getup acting as a magnet for the eyes. No one pays you any mind.
For the second time this week, a weirdo treats you to drinks. The main difference is that this is a depressant and not a stimulant.
You take hearty sips to calm your nerves. All that happened feels so surreal, like a collection of grotesque images that would be blurred out in a documentary. This is exactly what you wanted to avoid. You want to be normal, untethered by the oddity that is Nen, the ‘world’ Chrollo inhabits. You decided long ago that nothing good can come from it. Maybe if you were more adventurous, prone to taking high risks for high rewards.
But you’re not.
Endless money, power, and influence don’t sound appealing. Sure, there’s an allure initially, until you consider reality. Lots of money means either lots of taxes or lots of tax evasion. You barely know what a W-2 form is, much less the hoops you’d have to jump through if your income exploded. Power and influence aren’t all they’re cracked up to be either. All that scheming to stay at the top would take away from what makes life truly worth living — reading Wikipedia articles and watching eight-hour-long videos analyzing a video game from two decades ago.
“Holy shit,” you press pause on the cassette recorder. “This Abengane guy’s the real deal.”
“Oh?”
“He’s familiar with getting rid o’ Nen. During his… huh, what’s it called again… oh. Yeah. Audition. Durin’ his audition for Greedy Island—”
“ —Greed Island.”
You wave his correction off.
“—Yeah, yeah, whatever. But, basically, he’s legit. How’d ya even come across this?”
“Magic. ♥”
You make a face. “Is everyone who uses Nen annoying?”
“Some more than others.”
Speak of the devil. Craning your neck, you’re met with piercing gray eyes. Unlike Hisoka, Chrollo isn’t dressed like he’s auditioning for the circus. Instead, he comes across as a guy who’s going to pitch the worst idea for a startup you’ve ever heard. He’s wearing a dark blazer with a gray turtleneck beneath it, along with white pants and black loafers. You’re about to make your joke known when something about Chrollo’s demeanor changes your mind. Intensity pours off him in waves, giving you pause.
“Good news, boss. We found your exorcist.”
The title Hisoka uses to refer to him has you tilting your head. He did refer to himself as Chrollo’s ‘colleague,’ but the word boss implies hierarchy.
“I heard,” Chrollo smiles, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m surprised you’re not rushing back to Greed Island to track him down.”
He slides into the booth beside you while never looking away from Hisoka. The tension brewing in the air perplexes you. Shouldn’t this news be a cause for celebration? You’ve helped Chrollo search for a Nen exorcist for months now. Chrollo’s been searching for a Nen exorcist for months now. You’re uncertain what reaction you expected, but it certainly wasn’t this.
“All in due time. I’d hate to cut my time with your little assistant short.”
Hisoka makes a point of looking you up and down.
Somehow, Hisoka has made Chrollo seem normal by comparison. Disliking the attention, you reach for your drink, only to notice how light it is. Have you already drunk that much? While inspecting the near-empty glass, you realize the room’s starting to feel warm. The stress of what you endured must’ve impaired your judgment.
What time is it, anyway? Do I have work tomorrow?
Your watch reads 2:05 a.m.
Shit.
“I need— need to get going…”
“Why the rush?” Hisoka questions. “Things were just starting to get interesting. ♥”
You ignore him and stare Chrollo down, waiting for him to move aside so you can leave. Instead of getting up, he leans closer, pursing his lips. This is the closest you’ve ever been to him. Heat creeps over your face, from your cheeks to your ears. There’s no denying that the bastard’s handsome. Your friends love teasing you about him for that very reason. They never believe your insistence on having a ‘strictly platonic’ relationship, some even have bets for when you’ll end up together.
Maybe you would’ve considered it if you didn’t know about his Nen proficiency.
There aren’t any readily available statistics for Nen, but if you had to guess, you’d say most of the population is ignorant of its existence. People who do know about the Hunter’s Association consider it a private enterprise that specializes in exploration and taking on contract jobs. According to Chrollo, this is by design. You can barely go about your day pretending there aren’t superhumans roaming the planet, doing all sorts of crazy nonsense.
Society would plunge into chaos if the knowledge reached them.
You hear what sounds like your name coming from underwater.
Blinking sluggishly, you discover Chrollo’s hand on your shoulder. “Hm? What?”
“I’ve been calling your name,” he speaks languidly, likely for your benefit. “Are you alright?”
“Well…” you trail off, pondering the question. “... Mm, yeah, probably not. I gotta get home, and— god, my car— it’s still back there. I don’t want… I can’t…”
The anxiety you thought you buried resuscitates itself. It’s dull compared to earlier, yet your breathing grows shallow and your hands feel clammy. Your intenses churn like a parasite had been embedded inside. Everything feels far away, as if you’re in a dream, physically present yet mentally adrift.
You could’ve died.
You almost died.
You’d fought desperately to scrub your mind of this knowledge, but the bottle can only do so much.
“Say, Chrollo,” with a nearly imperceptible motion, Hisoka summons a playing card between his middle and pointer fingers. “If I were to slice her pretty neck, what would you do?”
The old-fashioned glass Hisoka had been sipping from cracks.
Pressure invades the air like a thick, heady fog, so tangible in its potency, that the chatter elsewhere dies down. The sudden silence allows for the clinging of billiard balls to reverberate throughout. Patrons glance around, vaguely aware that something is wrong, yet ultimately unable to identify the source. This primal sense of foreboding evaporates as swiftly as it arrives. The lively atmosphere reemerges, until all present seem to have forgotten anything unusual ever occurred.
Hisoka absentmindedly cleans up the glass shards, piling them into the corner while Chrollo drums his fingers along the table. Chrollo’s jaw is set and the skin between his eyes is pinched in contemplation.
Hisoka lets out an exaggerated sigh. “This is turning into a bore. I was confident you’d lose your cool, even if just a bit…”
“Pathetic.”
The unexpected vitriol has them both turning their heads in your direction. Chrollo blinks, while Hisoka tilts his head, staring at you owlishly.
He points to himself. “Me?”
“Yeah, you! You’re like— one of those birds, those showoff birds… dancing with your colorful feathers… ‘nd stuff…” your speech isn’t the most coherent, unaided by the irritation that’s boiling your blood. You leer at him, fed up with everything, especially whatever schemes he’s roped you into. A rough picture is presenting itself, one stroke at a time. To Hisoka, you’re nothing more than glorified bait. You don’t know if he played a role in engineering the evening’s events, but it wouldn’t be a surprise.
At the very least, he admitted to following you. Even if he was a third party, he could’ve disposed of the impending threat. Instead, he waited, exposing you to bloodshed for his own ends. You wish you could come up with a more scathing insult. Unfortunately, your temple is throbbing and clear enunciation grows harder as your body digests the liquor you inhaled.
Hisoka looks at Chrollo. “I’m a bird?”
“She’s calling your bluff,” Chrollo clarifies. “Had you intended to follow up on your threat, she’d know.”
You’re glad Chrollo realized what you were going for. The diatribe sounded better in your head. Nonetheless, he’s communicated the essence of things, lacking as it is in panache. Hisoka hums, eyeing you like you’d make for a fine appetizer before the main course.
“You must have kept that detail from me on purpose. What an intriguing ability. ♥”
Chrollo brushes aside his comment and refocuses his attention on you. “I’ll drive you home.”
“But my car—”
“I’ll handle it,” Chrollo reassures.
He slides out from the booth and stares at you expectantly. You get the sense that trying his patience isn’t a good idea; his encounter with Hisoka must have soured his mood. He helps steady you as you stand, securing his arm behind your back. Neither of you acknowledges Hisoka while making for the door, though you can feel his eyes tracking your every movement.
Upon emerging from the bar, the cool air you deplored earlier feels like a godsend. You hear cars rushing up and down the street, indicating the presence of a highway. Other than that, you don’t recognize the area. It’s a small, decrepit outlet, featuring shops plastered with neon signs and bars over the windows.
Chrollo ushers you in the direction of a black, unmarked McLaren.
“If you’re gonna do all that, at least get a less basic color… like pink…”
“I’ll give it some thought.”
Once you’re in the passenger seat, he fixes the strap of your purse and then buckles you in. It isn’t long until you’re on the road. He stays in the slow lane, mindful to avoid abrupt motions. You recline back and rest your head, hugging your arms close to your body. At the next red light, he sheds his coat, draping it over your person. The cashmere fabric is soft on your skin, embedded with his cologne and warmth. This, paired with the low hum of the engine has your eyelids growing heavy. You try resisting the temptation.
“Thank you.”
“Hm? For what?”
“... Are you serious?” you murmur. “For comin’ to get me.”
“Of course.”
Relief rushes over you as the surrounding area becomes recognizable. Traffic is nonexistent this time of night, it shouldn’t be but a few more minutes until you’re home. Then you can crash out on your bed and deal with the existential weight of reality in the morning. Work can fire you for all you care, you just want to sleep. If you were on your deathbed, you’re ninety percent positive they’d ask you to find shift coverage before you croaked.
Chrollo pulls into your apartment complex, parking as close to the entrance as he can.
You fiddle with your seatbelt, intending to make the rest of the trip by yourself.
He places his large, calloused hand over yours, preventing further progress.
“... Chrollo?”
He doesn’t respond. His thumb rubs slow, steady circles against your skin. You swallow a growing lump in your throat. He hasn’t been himself all night. Or, to be more precise, he’s showing you a side of himself he’s hitherto kept hidden. You always knew there was more to him than he let on. You never wanted to open that Pandora's box, lest your plans be jeopardized. Playing with fire has its risks, yet cauterizing your personal wounds took priority. You don’t know if you have the right to pray the rest of your being doesn’t go up in flames.
“I assume you’re aware of my fondness for you?”
“I— well…” you stumble over your words, then meekly ask, “Is now really a good time for this?”
Chrollo lowers his head and smiles. “No, I suppose not.”
An uncomfortable silence hangs in the air.
“One more question, then I’ll let you go,” he looks up at you through thick lashes, an enigmatic gleam passing over his eyes. “Do I frighten you?”
Your body tenses. He addresses you so softly, so sweetly, had you not witnessed his mouth moving, you would’ve mistaken his voice for belonging to another. Your facilities aren’t functional enough to properly process his query. Perhaps that’s the point — him cornering you at this vulnerable junction. You don’t get why. You don’t think you could even if you were sober.
Chrollo, for his part, seems to acknowledge he won’t get far in your current state.
Or maybe he gleaned his answer.
He lifts your hand to his lips, where he presses a lingering kiss. You can’t bring yourself to be the first to pull away. He lingers a while longer, as if stuck in a trance. When he does part, the skin tingles in his absence.
“I’ll be in touch.”
-
For the past week, you’ve carried on as if nothing ever happened.
It’s easier this way. There are instances where your performance is threatened, like when you ran across a news article detailing the ‘grisly murder of two men at a parking garage on 9th St,’ yet these lapses can be smoothed over. Ignore, distract, forget. This cycle lends you a credence of normalcy and eases you back into everyday life.
You haven’t seen Chrollo since that night. You suppose he’s preoccupied with his arrangements to meet the Nen exorcist. While you don’t know the specifics, you imagine he’ll have to meet this Abengane in person. In the recording, he addressed two men — named Battera and Tsezguerra — where he proved himself qualified to enter ‘Greed Island.’ Aside from a few anonymous forums, information on this mythical game is sparse. All you know is that the price is exorbitant and that Battera obsessively tracks down every copy available.
Wherever there’s Nen, things inevitably get weird, you think.
You begin tidying up your apartment. First is drying off the dishes, which saw their first use all week for a much-needed home-cooked meal. While doing so, your phone vibrates. You throw the damp rag down in a hurry and check the screen. All you find is a notification about your upcoming menstrual cycle. Sighing, you put your phone down on the counter.
Chrollo had been truthful when he promised to take your Hatsu for assisting in the return of his. A part of you is relieved by his absence; the other is frustrated. You want to get this over with. It’s like when you have an appointment later in the day and spend the time leading up to it in a limbo, not wanting to get involved in anything until the commitment is over. Is it possible he already took it? Curious, you hold your dominant hand out. You haven’t used Instant Replay since the night at the biker’s bar.
Aura surges through you, concentrating at the palm of your hand. Much to your disappointment, the light pink cassette tape appears. Maybe it no longer works? As a test, you rewind the recording of the audio Chrollo provided at the café. Once primed, you press play, listening attentively for certain cues.
“It is my great honor to profess that I, Lilith, can purge you of any ailment, even scourges derived from Nen — for a small donation of…”
The self-proclaimed Mistress of Panaceas sounds increasingly garbled as her lies surface. Clicking your tongue, you deactivate your ability. Everything remains operational. You don’t know what you expected, you’ve overheard the telltale sounds of lying the past few days. It just hasn’t been directed at you, which weakens the effect.
Will you really have to endure this the rest of your life?
Shortly into resuming your task, there’s a knock at your door.
You ignore it, not in the mood to deal with a neighbor asking for something. After thirty or so seconds, there’s another round of knocking. You suppress a groan. Why can’t the world sense that you’re moody and let you brood in peace? Trudging over, you try to put on a pleasant face, unwilling to lash out on others even if you’re in a terrible mood. Erring on the side of caution, you glance out the peephole.
Upon doing so, you almost lose your balance.
…
He must’ve decided he kept you waiting long enough.
#chrollo x reader#yandere chrollo x reader#yandere#yandere x reader#hxh x reader#yandere hxh x reader#chrollo brainrot#my stuff
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[OLD ART ALERT] A COLLECTION OF SCENES FROM THE GILLIONS CATSCRATCH ARC THAT BROUGHT ME GREAT JOY. i love fishy chips especially when its just gillion being delirious and violent and hostile
#jrwi fanart#jrwi show#jrwi riptide#jrwi riptide spoilers#JUST NOTICED A MILLION MISTAKES FUUUUUUUUCK BUT WWHATEVERRRRR IF I STARE AT THIS ANYMORE IM GONNA HHUURRRLLL#SO I REALLY LIKE FISH AND CHIPS RIGHT. IVE BEEN IN LOVE W THE SHIP EVER SINCE THAT NAT 20 KISS#BUT I THINK I SHIP IT WRONG. OR LIKE. I AM CORRECT BUT EVERYONE SHIPS THEM DIFFERENTLY#THE FISH N CHIPS I SEE EVERYWHERE ELSE IS SO FLOWERY AND SWEET AND ROMANTIC. AND THATS NICE! THAT STUFFS NEAT#but gillion and chip would NEVERRRR enter anything similar to a romantic relationship. chips too damaged and gillions too uninterested#I LIKE MY FISH N CHIPS ONE SIDED AS FUCK#bc 2 gillion chip is his best friend in the whole wide world but hes also kinduvagross little man that took him a MINUTE to really warm up2#but to CHIP gillion is this powerful and gorgeous and heroic paragon of destiny and his best friend in the whole world who will#bring about the eschaton. 'i didnt believe in destiny until i met you' until i met a champion radiating with a light thatll alter the world#OHH REMEMBER THE FIRST ICE ARENA?he was so mad.still probably shaking from the ordeal.NEVER had he felt true divine radiance CLEAVE through#his SOUL like that.do you remember that moment in the forest w the bugs. an alien from the ocean; lacerating the land w lightning#when the realization flickered in chip for a moment.that the thing standing before him was more powerful than he could ever fathom#remember when grizz mentioned that the nat20 kiss was the 'best kiss chip ever experienced'. that has nothing to do w this. where was i.#LOST MY TRAIN OF THOUGHT. BUT HEY. I THINK at the beginning chip absolutely knew that gill was smth grand n powerful n scary#when gillion revealed what exactly the prophecy was;chip got defensive and mad.sure he was sleep deprived but OOH. HES SCARED!#he believes gillion too! he believes that his destiny is to eradicate either the sea or land and that scares him!#but then he gets past it bc ultimately he trusts his bestfriend gillion so so much. he fuckin loves this dude.#he would throw himself intothe path of fire for this dude. he would boat across the ocean for this dude.he would build arenas for this dude#even if this dude will end half the world.even if this dude wields the power and the obligation to eradicate him at any second.#even if this dude is going to throw himself into harms way for his own comrades.even if this dude is just going to sacrifice himself.#one way or another one shall die for the other.these self-sacrificial bastards click so well with eachother!!#chip believes his body is best used to pave roads and gill believes his body is destined to pave prosperity.WHATEVER!!#i really love their dynamic!! they care for eachother so much!in MY heart tho. the icing on the cake here is the fantasy that chip is#just a bit more In Love w gillion than he realizes. like this powerful fish guy is HOT and PRETTY and KIND and FUNNY and LOYAL and STRONG#but gillion would never rly feel that same sort of attraction towards chip. its just not rly his thing. aroace as fuck man.#thats how it is in MY little heart atleast. and i sit here and play w my touys in my brain n i explore my silly lil one sided fish y chips.
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ava during her volunteering at a ranch and hooking up with the ranch owners daughter era + the daughter in question
#ts4#ts4edit#ts4 edit#myedits*#sims 4#some more lore#this is like after some shit went down with their best friend that they had some sort of romantic relationship with lol#avas like 17/18 and this is the summer before college#its looking a lot different than they expected it to be and the farm was a nice change#the ranch owners daughter does not currently have a name#im very abd at coming up with names but im gonna try later#idk how canon this is i just had the idea last night but its fun!!#also hello i opened sims yesterday#oh!! also i changed avas nose a bit#same like general vibe but not an uninteresting button nose that all my sims had in 2019 bc her mom was made then lol#also changed her skin overlay#ava*#carter*
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I think the different types of masks (transparent vs. opaque) also speaks the difference between Dr. Chilton’s extremely unethical approach to the presumed Ripper, and Dr. Bloom’s (equally, but differently) unethical view of the real thing.
As head of the BSHCI, Chilton’s main aim (with Will as with Abel Gideon before him) is to uncover some sort of sensational insight about the “Ripper” that he can use to further his own career. He wants to communicate with the Ripper - to see him, to analyze him, to build trust with him that he (Chilton) can exploit. All of this is supported by the choice of a transparent mask. It potentially assists (at least a little bit) in building trust with the “patient” / exploited party by dehumanizing them slightly less than an opaque mask would, and it allows the clinician / exploiting party to glean maximum information from the exploited party’s facial expressions.
Alana, on the other hand, has no interest in deepening her understanding of Hannibal by the time he ends up in her custody.
And while she’s probably an overall better steward of the BSHCI than Chilton, in that she isn’t trying to use the inmates to further her own career, when it comes to Hannibal, she illustrates exactly why psychiatric professionals are expressly prohibited from providing care to persons they’ve had romantic relationship with.
(More detailed Alanalysis under the cut. I don’t hate her, but I think that the way she breaks down in s3 is under-appreciated and under-examined.)
Dr. Bloom is absolutely not objective about Hannibal. She dismisses out of hand the possibility that there is anything about him that could or should be treated, and instead appears intent on punishing him to the greatest extent possible.
(I am assuming all the special privileges we see Hannibal enjoy in the BSHCI are the result of blackmail - something he alludes to when he mentions Mason, and says “You’re welcome for that.)
The opaque mask serves her purposes better than a clear one would, because (as the story of The Man In the Iron Mask illustrates), being forcibly deprived of the identity and expressive capabilities of your own face is its own form of dehumanization.
Quick Side Note, because Islamophobia is A Thing:
This is not an anti-niqab statement, or some covid conspiracy nonsense. Miss me with that conspiratorial racist bullshit. Choosing to cover your face is completely different from being forced to do so, and Muslim women are absolutely capable of choice, dear god. Looking at you askance from across the river, Marois and Legault governments.
Also, I’m immunosuppressed. I obviously support public health initiatives to limit the spread of respiratory infections.
…back to the topic at handibal..
But yeah…. as far as Alana’s choice of an opaque mask for Hannibal, I think it’s a good reflection of the fact that she only wants to punish and diminish him. She does not want to know him, or work with him as a patient.
She just wants to grind him down to a fine Hannipaste - to destroy him just as he has so casually destroyed a part of her.
Sympathy for, and criticism of, the soon-to-be-delicensed (if anyone spills the beans about her prior relationship with Hannibal) Dr. Bloom
And like… I get it. Hannibal, as a character, deserves many slaps.
But also… Dr. Bloom is probably not making him any less of a risk to the public with this approach.
Like, it’s hard to know if there even is an approach that could succeed in rehabilitating an offender like Lecter, but… this is definitely not an approach that ever had any hope of achieving anything constructive.
On Hannibal as the author of this dynamic / Hannibal’s solitary act of kindness to Alana
In a sense, Hannibal himself created this dynamic - not just through his atrocities (generally) and cruelty to her, but also through one of his only acts of actual kindness: specifically, the conversation at Muskrat Farm where she asked if she could ever have understood him, and he said no.
(Parenthetically, I think that, and “In your defence, I worked very hard to blind you” are some of the kindest gestures he actually makes towards anyone in the course of the show.
It’s far more kindness than Hannibal ever shows to Will, or to Bedelia.)
But yeah, in freeing her from the hope of ever understanding him, he allowed Alana to see him as a an unambiguous villain, without any nuance or shading.
Conclusion and Inevitable Personal Anecdote
As a person whose ex (accidentally) did something similar for me in our breakup conversation*, I can attest that being liberated from the binds of seeing an abusive partner as a salvageable human being that you “failed” or “gave up on” is very, very helpful to one’s recovery. 10/10, would recommend.
But like also, I probably shouldn’t ever be made responsible for my ex’s living situation and psychological care in a custodial environment.
* As I was breaking up with him, my ex said something so stupid and cartoonishly despicable that it instantly undermined my entire conception of him.
Kind of going insane about the different choices of bite masks for Will and Hannibal.
Transparent for Will vs. white for Hannibal.
At this point of the show, Will is in prison, but he is also needed at a crime scene because of his special autism powers.
His transparent mask is an interesting choice for that. People think that they have discovered his true nature. That he's a killer, a cannibal. That all along, he has been lying to everyone about who he truly is.
However, a transparent mask allows people to still see him and his facial expressions. Yes, he is being held back, but at the same time, he isn't hidden. It's all out there for anyone who has eyes and doesn't jump to a conclusion because it's the most convenient and easy option.
Those who choose to look, to really see him, can still do so, even when he's muzzled. In fact, Jack Crawford's first order of business at the crime scene is to take Will's mask off.
For Will, his mask doesn't take away from his essence, his character.
Now Hannibal gets a white mask.
Let's ignore the obvious associations of "clean", "sterile", "medical", and "Doctor". Instead, let's focus more on what the mask literally does.
Hannibal is at BSHCI on an insanity plea. At this point, people know who, or rather what he is. A killer. A murderer. A man who quite literally eats people. The metaphorical mask is off.
But at the same time, that is also what he is being reduced to. Hannibal the Cannibal.
This is where the mask comes into play. It hides his face. You can't see his facial expression. It's a shield, but it's a shield in both ways. It protects the world from Hannibal, but it also protects Hannibal from the world.
Even if you wanted to look, you can't. Everyone is locked out.
Everyone except for one person.
The one person in front of whom Hannibal chooses to take off his mask.
Will Graham.
#frederick chilton#alana bloom#alana bloom character analysis#hannibal lecter character analysis#bite masks#symbolism in nbc hannibal#hannibal analysis#hannibal meta#hannibal lecter#will graham#nbc hannibal#hannibal#hannibal nbc#cw islamophobia
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I've referenced before how I have a big google document to keep track of every media I've ever seen in my entire life (just for reference because I like to track everything possible lol… I am the Data Collector), but recently as I was updating it, I thought of actually evaluating them to find out random percentages (like for example, out of Total Shows Watched, what percentage did I finish vs. stop watching, what percentage did I like or dislike, etc.)...
Evaluating these things is made easier by the fact that I already place everything on each subsection of the list into 6 broad ranking categories, so I don't have to go back and guess to figure out how I feel about them or anything. The categories are: Ranking 5 - overall best* (despite some criticisms of course because I'm too much of an Analyzer to ever find anything Perfect lol) Ranking 4 - more positive than neutral, but not good enough to be 5 Ranking 3 - either the good + bad negate each other, OR it's just not memorable/interesting in any way enough to be ranked higher or lower (this is the Default category ALL things are placed in if no other rank applies) Ranking 2 - maybe a few redeemable elements but largely more negatives than positives Ranking 1 - So bad that it circles around to being fascinating to observe in some way (not necessarily Funny, or Good, but just interesting somehow) Ranking 0 - Bad in a genuinely frustrating or obnoxious manner
*("best" primarily defined here as most interesting, rather than most good in a technical sense, or some other measure. I tend to value more highly whether there's something novel or thoughtful about the worldbuilding, tone, writing, base premise, etc - than about whether it's actually executed perfectly.)
And here's the amount of shows that have so far been placed into each category -
TV shows ~ Rank 5 (highest) - 20 shows ~ Rank 4 (mid-high) - 28 shows ~ Rank 3 (neutral/default/meh) - 114 shows ~ Rank 2 (mid low) -33 shows ~ Rank 1 (low low but intriguingly so) - 14 shows ~ Rank 0 (iredeemably low) - 2 shows
This would make for a total of 211 TV shows overall. However, there are 57 shows within these list marked as "didn't finish" (typically meaning I quit on the very first or second episode - but log them still to keep a record that I at least had a brief view of them).
So my total of genuinely fully watched shows would be more 154. 211 Total, but a More Accurate Total of 154.
Counting them all and using the Total Number Of The List (211) -- that means roughly 9.5% of all total shows I have ever watched (or at least attempted to watch) have been Mostly Good, 13% have been Moderately Okay, 54% have been either entirely Forgettable or some mix of good + bad that lands them right in the Neutral Middle, 15.6% have been Mostly Bad, 6.6% have been Bad (but in an interesting way), and 0.9% have been Terribly Bad.
Additionally, I didn't even get past the first two episodes of about 27% of the total.
Sooo, discounting ones I didn't finish, my total TV shows ever watched in my life would be about 154 (maybe give or take a few, assuming I might have forgotten some from very long ago).
But instead of entire life, let's just say this is the total for 'About 20 Years' (so, not counting very early childhood when I likely wouldn't remember things I saw/have no detailed recollection of them (like for example, I'm sure at some point when I was like 4yrs old I must have seen an episode of Spongebob or something, but I have zero distinct memories of it, can't quote anything of it, and barely recall the premise - so I don't count it on the list, etc.)).
In that case, 154 divided by 20 would be roughly 7.7 shows a year.
Which is actually surprisingly low considering that I often have stuff on in the background for hours whilst I make sculptures and do costumes and stuff (maybe I should have also marked some distinction between 'things I fully paid attention to' and 'things I kind of half listened to whilst sculpting', but that would further split the categories too much probably lol), but I guess a lot of that is youtube videos or random documentaries, so .. eh.. maybe I get it being lower.
Now, doing the same thing for movies-
Movies ~ Rank 5 (highest) - 4 movies (3.4% of total) ~ Rank 4 (mid-high) - 12 movies (10.3% of total) ~ Rank 3 (neutral/default/meh) - 91 movies (78.4% of total) ~ Rank 2 (mid low) - 8 movies (6.8% of total) ~ Rank 1 (low but interesting) - 1 movie (0.8% of total) ~ Rank 0 (irredeemably low) - none in this category (0%)
That makes 116 for a Total (Actually Remembered) Movies Watched In Lifetime (Or At Least In 20 Years).
116 divided by 20 is roughly 5 or 6 movies a year (I feel this has probably been skewed though by adding everything since like elementary school onwards, as I remember a lot more movies from child/teen years.. Whereas, the past 3 years I feel like I've barely seen maybe even 5 movies?? lol). I also have "Didn't Finish" marked on 18 of them. Which means I quit halfway through about 15% of the total movies.
So, a for broader summary stuff..
I seem to be less forgiving to movies than tv shows, by far. Which makes sense to me, I guess, because I love elaboration and details, so "short form" things that only last an hour or two are often lost on me a bit. My biggest complaint with movies is indeed usually walking away just wishing there had been more exposition, more scenes where characters are doing nothing, more "mindless bantering" conversations, more Quiet Downtime and Lore Elaboration and so on lol, so... of course most 1-2hr films end up feeling a bit Not Enough To Draw My Interest/Nothingy to me.
If you count 5 and 4 as "like" and rankings 2 to 0 as "dislike", then for TV shows I at least somewhat liked 48 of them, and at least somewhat disliked 47 of them.. So it's almost exactly the same lol. I'm just about equally as likely to find something bad as I am to find something redeeming about it. But overall, the largest chance is that I just won't really care much for it at all and it will be tossed into the 'neutral' pile, forgotten forever. Movies have a bit better of a balance, "liking" 16 of them, and "disliking" only 9 of them. So I'm slightly more likely to enjoy a movie than to find it annoying - though still VASTLY more likely to just not find it anything in particular, possibly not even finishing it.
ANYWAY.. this is vague and literally pointless, but like I said, I just really find information fun. Like my document where I've rated every apple flavor I've ever tried (like 40 of them now?), or reviewed every oreo flavor (32?), or ranking data from my entire 10 years of Trying To Make Friends process (out of 100 people, roughly 8% chance of a moderate compatibility, 3% chance of high), or etc. etc.. I love to have random pointless things to analyze I suppose lol.
I doubt anyone tracks things in their life in this same exact way, but I'd be interested in hearing any at least somewhat similar data !!! (like, how many TV shows you watch a year on average, and what percentage of those you like vs. dislike (if you keep track of that sort of thing), etc.)). I guess it might be easier with movies, since I think some people use those websites where you curate a list of movies you've seen and you can rate them or something, so maybe the numbers are already available on those places. :0
#maybe this is my version of spotify wrapped lol.. Lifetime Media Google Doc Wrapped.. kind of.. except I'm not going over specific titles.#I can't do this with music since I rarely EVER look for new music or add to my Youtube To MP3 folder library as I just don't really#listen to music that often. When I'm working (the majority of when I seek background noise) I need like.. people's talking voices#for some reason. Just instruments and singing are not distracting enough to me to work as background noise because theyre#almost TOO in the background if that makes sense? like if I put music on then I just tune it out and it's virtually no different#than if I were daydreaming stream of consciousness thoughts in an entirely quiet room lol. And I can't really do it with books since#essentially 100% of what I read is non-fiction. usually about some specific subject or academic topic OR stuff like#1800s magazines or cookbooks or historical people's diaries. Which is not really.. the type of thing I would#rank as easily I guess? like 'ooh yeah putting the sociology textbook in my top 5 hee hee right next to the 1920s radio recipes book' lol.#Then for games... I just sadly dont play enough of them. I've been banned from new games as I've told myself I cant play anyting#long form (no rpgs or etc) until I actually finish MY OWN game first - to keep me from wasting time. so on average#I play... 0 new games a year. ToT... I do play the sims sometimes but that's really all (which is not a new game at all since#I've been playing it on and off for years). Thus I guess movies/TV are really the only things that make sense#to collect this sort of information on. I could do youtube videos I guess also but that seems kind of strange like...#giving a rating to every single video I watch in a ranked list lol.. Especially since I would say a good 85% of the time#they are exclusively background noise whilst I'm working on something or cleaning the house or etc. and not things I pay serious attention#to. There are only a few specific topics/types/creators of videos I watch where I'm ACTUALLY sitting in front of a screen paying#direct attention to the content (usually when it's educational or political things). Everything else is too mindless to even rank.#ANYWAY... ever analyzing my little hermit Weird Relationship To Media (in the sense of seemingly not processing or getting the same#things out of it as many other seem to). I think that can contribute sometimes to the whole difficulty socializing and stuff#since our culture is very centered around media consumption generally speaking. People want to talk about The New Movie that came#out or The Big TV Show Of The Year. and for me it's like.. highly likely I just plain have NOT seen it. Or if i have. statistically#I most likely was entirely ambivalent if not slightly negative towards it lol. Which just kind of takes the steam out of a 'fun' 'casual'#conversation and you seem like a bit of a bummer if most of your only feedback is either 'idk what that is' or 'oh yea... i did#see that one.... i didnt like it all that much though... I think it'd be better with elves in it.. and 7 hours longer..'' lol..#Which I am not disliking things in a 'grr i hate it bc its popular'/just to be contrarian way. I actually dislike that mindset/find it#silly (by striving so hard to be counterculture you are thus still defining yourself by the whims of external culture - just in the#opposite direction. but are still just as preoccupied with the mainstream (going against it) as everyone else. etc. lol..)) In my#case I think it IS just having niche hyperspecific tastes.. for example- it peeves me when cell phones are in media bc I dont want to be#reminded at ALL of the real world. so.. cross off anything set in modern times. so on & etc. Judging all things by these weird criteria lol
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Friendship is the most special thing in the world because no award could be give me bigger happiness than jumping around in my room and smiling because my pookie asked me if I wanted to match pfps
#SHES AMAZING I LOVE HER AHHHHH#I hope we manage to find a cute bsd pfp it would be literally my dream#little vent tw!!#it's been so long since I matched pfps last time was with my ex who started being wayyyyy too weird..#and the other time was with a friend who started ghosting me some months later just because I didnt give her enough adopt me pets or smth 💔#and like. her stopping talking to be literally broke me as a person. it was devastanting for like 13yo me#woahhh thank you k. now I have social anxiety and keep dobting whether people really want me there or not#I still have a sort of love hate relationship w her but like its been over 2 years maybe 3 why do I still care abt it sm :<#especially since our other bestie is wayy more affectionate w k than w me it just makes me feel so weird like im sort of a 3rd wheel#but at least the friend im gonna match with is the sweetest person ever and we can be silly together :333#unfortunately we only know eachother from a course so we always have to wait 2 weeks to see eachother#and even tho i still see k almost every day shes pretty different now#but ive been feeling so so happy the last few days since school started and im afraid I might go back to being how I was when she returns#because. I bet my two friends will keep being silly together and ill have to sit w my ex again cuz hes still part of our friend group#I mean hes a nice and funny guy but I figured that a relationship wont work with us. I tried it and I just wanna be friends#I have a lot of fun w him but like in a platonic way#and im afraid he still thinks we should be together#meanwhile my besties keep flirting w eachother like??#I mean its pretty funny as a joke but I cant help but feeling kinda jealous especially because I used to have a huge crush in one of them#talked a bit too much ooopssss#Im just trying to move on but I hope k coming back doesnt start everything over again#anyways!! I love my bestie from the course smmmmmm Im still so so happy :D wish we could see eachother more#random stuff#chaos#friendship#violet rambles
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mr spices and mr wines. also mr candles and mr veils.
have you ever seen that one tumblr post that's like. "i don't ship these characters i just think they belong in couples therapy together". yeah. that's pretty much my stance on most spacebat ships
#the hearts on the veils/candles bingo are broken bc. well. yknow#ask#i do have slightly different outlooks on both of them#spwines is basically just canon to me in a divorced way. like. i dont think they're romantic. but i Do think they're infinitely divorced#the spwines divorce is extremely real#soulmates that will find each other in every universe type shit. except the soulmates is being Exes™ in every universe#their constant bickering is amusing and im delighted everytime they show up together bc without fail they argue. and it's enrichment for me#i just know the scoundrel is involving herself in the spwines divorce war on the side of mr wines#(she really needs better things to do with her time)#fallen london#veils/candles on the other hand i dont really actively ship? i think it's an intriguing prospect#i like seeing interpretations of their dynamic#but i dont think they necessarily ever had a relationship like that. and if they ever did. well. it's a bit fucked up now isnt it#the tragedy of candles is definitely a lot more tragic if you interpret him and veils as being Close. but i think of it as extra spice#on top of an already delicious dish#yknow?#that being said. they're kind of on the same Extreme Divorced wavelength as spwines. albeit obviously in a VERY different way#i think the most karmically fitting fate for veils is being tormented by its sins (particularly towards candles) for all eternity#and like. that's a ship. in a way. of a sort.#veils alone with the corpse it lovingly handcrafted and left to rot at the bottom of a well#it's the classic disney villain ending where the antagonist gets literally dragged away and punished by their victims#which is all to say#that one bag a legend text where veils is speaking to someone you cant see and it's Afraid. that's delicious#i love it being tormented like that and we all should hold candles over its head forever and ever
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its interesting as someone who used to be a bit closer to the very online capital A "Art Community" but is now a little more outside of it and focused on local art academia etc instead because the former always compliments me on "art style" and the latter always compliments me on the supposedly bizarre subject matter choices i make... its not bad its just interesting to see those two bubbles and how surprisingly separated they can be. unfortunately for them both, my art style is only Like This because i have a learning disability that slightly colours every line i draw and the unusual compositional choices like only drawing one eye and shit is because i was on deviantart in 2009 <3
#i dunno i was thinking about this because i was doing some experimentation with different ways to draw cartoon characters#i used to do it way more often but recently ive been super busy from school and family stuff going on (nothing bad just a lot of work)#the bmpmp3's artstyle is only extremely consistent when shes stressed!!!! jk jk but kinda LOL#if im too busy to play around my drawings will slip into whatevers comfortable for my dysgraphic hand <3 <3 <3#but i loooove experimenting and fucking around. consistency for brand purposes is long outside of my perspective at this point#do i wanna draw detailed hair and faces... do i not.... who knows. it will change within the hour#i do appreciate when people compliment my art style tho even tho its not something i really try to do#because while i dont try to make things look a certain way - recently i had decided to not hold back on my dysgraphic nature#i probably talked about it before. instead of painfully agonizing and trying to get a line perfect and scrapping a whole drawing because#of the hand-got-tired-after-2-lines jerks and wiggles i just decided to leave that all in. show off the drawing even if its scribbly#the other day i got a compliment saying my art style is robust. im not sure i fully grasp what that means but i really like that compliment#its very evocative. robust..... gonna be thinking about it for a while#but im not joking about the academia thing professors get so baffled by some of my drawing choices and like i straight up tell them#these are habits of children largely. children on early internet in my case that i never grew out of but also habits that children still us#go on an art website and sort by new and look up fanart for something popular with kids and you'll probably see someone doing#stuff with similar artistic choices. maybe not the same because i am 26. but similar. coming from similar places.#they always laugh and seem to think im being humble or making a joke.... im not orz im not trying to downplay my skills either#if anything im trying to bring up the skills of a thousand children uploading oc art every moment of every day.... they are out there...#yeah i dunno its funny these different relationships im having to different art worlds. in the end i will always probably be a tiny bit#outside of them all as some kind of alien or creature masquerading as human but i think thats what we're all doing after all
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i made this a few months ago for a discord and i figured i might as well share it here too
#loz#legend of zelda#phantom hourglass#bellum#bellum is kind of a nothing villain but i like him#this image is basically the framework for how i write bellum's relationship with linebeck a lot of the time#the severity and seriousness of 'ruined your life' varies between aus n shit#ironically post-ph is one of the ones where 'ruined your life' is a bit hyperbolic#im in a talkative mood rn so im gonna have a little tag tangent going on#bellum is fun and like with this image you can take him many different ways depending on your own tastes and readings n stuff#recently i pinpointed some character i mightve accidentally based my take of bellum on and it escapes me rn#but i like to have him come off as a sort of brash young god sort of thing whos been very gung-ho about what hes been created to do and#represent and ive def leaned into him acting differently in different aus but backing it up with the idea that. hes immortal and thinks its#fun to try different things hwne he earnestly interacts with and among mortals. like in my crimson king au (the uh. one where he has a#homoerotic relationship with linebeck) his purpose behind masquerading as human and settling for a decidedly slower and more complicated#method of obtaining food and taking control is because he wants to challenge himself after years of just smashing through and taking what h#wants and because hes more interested in the more minute details of mortal interaction and how he could play along for a while#hes a bit more... whimsical? laid-back? something for the most part with linebeck because he's used to being a fuckin demonic god whos#mostly just playing around and not making attachments bc fuck it if he gets bored he can just eat these people and this one guy gets his#mercy and support because he's interesting and useful as a tool (and eventually as a source of genuine friendship. a common theme i seem to#have with bellum [perhaps as an accidental parallel or smth to the spirits n oshus] is him stumbling into finally understanding why#relationships are worth it? like a lot of the time his interactions with linebeck give him a new understanding of humans and he learns to#care about linebeck despite starting off seeing him as just an interested subject to watch or tinker with idk how to describe it#like in post-ph [ig post ph spoilers] as the fourth member of the main cast his main arc is abt kinda being forced to mingle with mortals#and ends up really caring and supporting these people and considering his own role and place in the world after kind of isolating and#surrounding himself with effectively a literal hivemind and loyal monsters and just reacting to outside forces with the intent to consume#and eradicate all danger so ig theres some parallel with linebeck too? bellum is a work in progress he's kinda a weird oc at this point?#when does an existing character stop being that and starts becoming an oc idk. its a weird line here bc bellum has minimal characterization#) anyways. funny meme or whatever. the discord seemed to like it im not used to sharing memes or whatever.#my post
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that one post that's like if the doctor and x had fucked is very good but they fail to understand that nine and rose fucking would not have fixed them. nine rose and jack fucking would've fixed them all tho.
#except ten would still have left jack behind. he has to because that scene in utopia is like a drug to me#also that post is good bc it memtions how matt smith and jenna louise coleman have no chemistry which is so true they really dont#i was talking with my mother yesterday about how with eleven and clara it really does just feel like theyre avting a scene which is a#feeling i don't really get with any of the other doctor/companion relationships. not that either of them are bad actors they just dont#have any sort of chemistry. like eleven with amy and rory was really good and idk about twelveclara i haven't got that far but ive heard#they're fucking insane so idk what it is but eleven clara just doesn't gel. to me#i think id like it more if their relationship was more about the doctors fascination with her and desire to know why she keeps dying.#also i think she should've been an occasional character in a few more episodes more spread out where she dies every time but its just#different enough for not all of the audience to pick up on it#and THEN she should've appeared as a companion. and i think she should've hated him a bit#because he keeps looking at her like hes looking at a science project.#anyway enough of that ive finished series 7 now thank fuck. peter capaldi i am NEARLY THERE
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do you ever see someone just walking around in life so beautiful u could cry
#incoming rant but like#man#some parts of me think its gender envy some parts of me think its the lack of any kind of romantic relationship or romance directed at me#in my entire 20 years of living (which isnt a lot in the grand scheme of things i know)#but today a pretty dude sat across from mine and my family's table when we got lunch and for whatever reason it just made me sad#bc like. its not that i dont like myself or the way i look#moreso that i will never be able to achieve that very specific type of beauty#and also that someone who is attractive in that sort of specific way#wouldn't not wouldnt but like. hasnt ever approached me. in any way ever? ig? that is just a little bit melancholy.#oh to have the charm and ease of an attractive man in their early 20s#again its not that i dont like the way my body looks or that im not confident in my body#just that. i dont move through life the same way. i dont have the ease of movement and grace. i take up space in a different way. idk.#im rambling lmao#tbd maybe
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having tumblr mutuals is so cool friend? were friends now? besties?? pals?? wdym i have like 20 friends what thats so cool shh yes htey are internet friends its ok you guys are so cool <3<3<3
#fishy rambling#no but for real its so cool waughhg#like your telling me i have a bunch of friends?? more than 5?? like so many its kinda hard to keep track of?? thats so cool dude#like i know friendships go in and out not all of these ppl will stay friends but like the moments we had were cool yknow#like irl friends are so so hard to make but here its like your my friend now#its a bit of a different sort of relationship and like just its different but its so cool#<3<3<3#anyway if you are my mutual?? we are friends now.#perhaps even besties#sorry im weird idk how friends or social interaction work just in general tbh#but like#waaah!! <3#it feels nice#mm friends :3#some tumblr mutuals are like i would die for you#some are like you are m y best friend i want to hang out#some are like we are insane together#its so fun#ok im done rambling
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Hi guys guess who's literally shaking rn from excitement
#rat rambles#oni posting#beta moments. explodes.#now as expected not everything is fully implemented and I imagine theres going to be more logs and such when the main story trait of this#planetoid is fully implimented in the actual dlc when it releases#but there are still some new logs that can be viewed already and Holy Shit#ok ok so first of all we have confirmation that gossmann is her last name and her first name starts with an e#I also am amazed at my hc of harold being a dad being true like yo I actually nailed it with that hc#however that news is far outshadowed by the fact that pretty much all of my jackie childhood hcs being completely obliterated#and by completely I mean COMPLETELY like its not even like a detailed retelling or anything its just an email#but as I honestly kind of expected my hcs are completely dead and gone in the wind rest in peace jackie hcs#Im honestly completely ok with this tho as while I did like my hcs ot definitely was the sort of thing I did not want to be canon#like honestly the fact that this implies that jackie actually has a decent relationship with her family is perfect to me#I also like how it gives us another bit of insight on jackie's life outside of gravitas without her even saying anything directly#its going to be sad to move away from my old hcs but I am honestly kind of digging the new implications#wait a minute#ok now I need to know what the family tree here looks like jackie are those your parents and are they divorced this is important#WAIT I NOTICED A SECOND THING#ok well first of all one of the presumably jackie relatives is a colonel which like so fucking lines up with how jackie is#but also I think that some of the other new logs might also be abt jackie relatives#one of the new logs in fact directly mentions a colonel#in fact the log in question seems to be a part of another trio of logs that probably are abt different outcomes of the same event#they seem to be about an incident that either resulted in the injury death or successful recovery efforts of a crew of piolets#with the one that ended up being able to be saved being credited to the colonel (telling us they were almost certainly in the air force)#all three end with gravitas showing some form of hostility towards the vertex institute for some reason or another#and in the two where things go wrong stretches out an invitation for those affected to apply at gravitas instead#and the one where things turn out ok theres mention of claims of corporate espionage#which I find Facinating on so many levels in either direction this could go#to be clear these three logs are written in a very broken up manner as they seem to be corrupted radio programs or smth#anyways this is all to say that smth fucked up happened over there and it has the chance to make jackie so So much worse
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Being in an Established Relationship with Jayce and Viktor • Headcanon
(Gif not mine)
Request: I am desperate for more Jayce x Viktor x Reader content! Would I be able to request headcanons for what an established relationship with them would be like?? 🥺 -- @spatialwave
Warnings: gn!reader, first time writing arcane and jayvik so I hope it's all good!!
A.N: Andy (@spatialwave) has inspired me so much so PLEASE go read their beautiful writing! You need to understand I got this request LAST NIGHT, I just had to bang it out I was writing like a FIEND. I loved writing this so much, I hope to write more in the future!! Hope you enjoy!
•
Being in a relationship with Jayce and Viktor is like being a part of an old married couple that simultaneously bickers all the time and is just falling in love all over again every day
Jayce is like a ray of sunshine on a summer afternoon
He's clingy--but not overwhelmingly so. Jayce just has to have some sort of body part on either of you at all times (except in the lab unless he's feeling especially in love that day)
He loves putting his arms around your waist, chest pressed up against your back and lips ghosting over your neck. Jayce is a bit more subtle with Viktor, since your other partner prefers smaller touches, so their fingers are always tangled together. Some days Jayce will even sneak his hand into Vik's back pocket, making the slimmer boy light up red from the neck up
Jayce is also the type of boyfriend that will always have you two on his mind. He picks a flower from someone's garden to give it to you because "the vibrancy of its color reminded me of your eyes," or buys a little knick knack for Viktor because "I thought you would find it hilariously stupid" (Viktor will put it on his already cluttered desk at the lab because Jayce was right, it is stupidly funny)
Jayce will always get an A for effort because even if he can't remember how you like your coffee or tea, it's the thought that counts
Has bigass puppy dog eyes and he fucking knows how to use them against you two
All he has to do is look between you and Vik with those golden eyes are you're both putty in his hands
Speaking of being putty in hands, Jayce is the cuddler of the relationship
Which is good because he is also the space heater of the relationship too
Will basically have Viktor curled up on one side and you on the other. His face will be buried in Viktor's hair, placing sleepy kissed on his scalp. His fingers will rub circles on the small of your back. Jayce is the best pillow and blanket in all of Piltover AND Zaun
Viktor, on the other hand, is like the moon at midnight
He loves the both of you in a slightly different way than Jayce
While Jayce is more touchy and exuberant with his love, Vik is certainly more subtle, though that doesn't mean he loves you two any less
He is actually exceptionally smitten with you and Jayce. It's like his walls come crashing down whenever you two are with him. He could come back from having a disagreement about a project with Heimer, with his jaw clenched and brows furrowed, and then he'll spot you and Jayce in your shared apartment and it all melts away
Viktor isn't carrying the world on his shoulders with his partners around him. He knows that you guys will lift the hefty weight from his shoulders
While Viktor isn't as touchy ad you or Jayce, he shows his presence in other ways.
Viktor will always have at least one eye on you at all times. It's not that he doesn't trust you two (on the contrary, you two are the only people he trusts with his life), he just needs to know his lovers are ok
Jayce could be tinkering with something in the lab and 50% of Viktor's attention will be on him. Making sure he doesn't shock himself or mix the wrong chemicals together. And if that does ever happen, Viktor drops everything to help him. He masks his worry with wit, but the mask is transparent for you and Jayce
Viktor is also the one with the extreme attention to detail. Your coffee or tea is always right and always the right temperature in the morning. A scarf is always hanging on the coat rack near the front door on chilly days for you. Puts a bookmark in the book you're reading when you unexpectedly fall asleep reading on the couch
He is so big on being a gentleman. Will open doors for you two, pull out seats during a nice dinner. Also is the type to lift up your hand so he can kiss your knuckles (he knows this drives you wild and he struggles to hide a smirk at your heated face)
The three of you are witty and biting and funny in your own ways, quips are basically thrown around every hour of the day. The day isn't complete without someone rolling their eyes. Teasing knows no bounds--the apartment, the lab, a fancy dinner, in front of councilmen and women--doesn't matter
Every day you feel lucky to have these two as your partners, you really hit the jackpot with them. They're caring and attentive and loving in ways no one else is
And they feel the exact same way
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#arcane#arcane x reader#arcane x you#jayce talis#jayce talis x reader#jayce talis x you#jayce talis x viktor#jayce x viktor#viktor arcane#viktor x reader#viktor x you#jayvik#jayvik x reader#jayvik x you#arcane headcanons#arcane fanfiction
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Unfamiliar Nobody
You are a witch preparing for winter. Luckily, you have an extra set of hands - if they'd ever help.
Content: Possessive behavior, Semi-Safe/Semi-Sane/Consensual Intimacy, implied (pseudo) cannibalism, Violence and Death, Unhealthy but Happy Relationship
You haven’t been the same since the ritual.
Souls are tricky things, somewhere on that rickety fence between the Seen and Unseen, a bit of practical magic so common that people don’t think much of it.
Souls are like stones or plants. Abundant, but varied. Some are rare and precious, some are beautiful, some are poison. One soul does not weigh the same as another, and the beings that deal in their collection and sale value them differently. Souls aren’t rare and only some of them are powerful.
It’s a narcissistic misconception of humans - even the ones that can perceive beyond the physical world. That a soul is considered precious and coveted and powerful by all things of heaven, hell, and beyond.
Not so.
That said, like a bit of gold or a well-woven blanket, a soul can be commodified. Reshaped and displayed, butchered for parts, sold…
The selling of a soul has its merits, though not many. High risk, high reward sort of gamble. Tempting for clever witches - or desperate ones.
You were neither when you built the summoning circle that night.
You weren’t looking to forge any contracts or make deals beneath that moon. Didn’t expect to invoke any infernal beings or heavenly apparitions with the stars.
Well, best laid plans and all that - not that it had been an especially well laid plan anyway.
Baring your soul that deep into midnight had not yielded the results you intended. Or maybe it had and your expectations were just skewed. Souls are tricky things.
And yours hasn’t been the same since.
You always rouse as the sun begins to set. Late afternoon at the earliest, when most everyone else is finishing their suppers.
You can manage stark daylight, but poorly. It hurts your eyes and prickles your skin. A deep hood and long sleeves does the trick when required, but you don’t make a habit of it if you can help it, if only for the teeth that bury in your throat when you return.
Tend the garden in the dying rays, light the shop candles before night nestles in. Say your blessings, leave your offerings, wriggle out from beneath clingy weight to secure any provisions or materials from the town.
As the temperature cools and the shadows deepen, you settle into your work.
The shop once belonged to an apothecarist. Died in a plague some four decades ago, or so you’ve been told. No one of any skill or natural talent replaced them afterwards. Too frightened, perhaps, of what could be lingering within.
It wasn’t haunted until you (and your shadow) occupied it.
You’ve stocked it up quite nicely now. Herbs and spices, vegetables and fruits, roots and seeds. Thistles hang from the ceiling and bones rattle in the drawers. Mortars and pestles line a wall, weights and measures beneath the counter. Not a single thing labeled or organized, the latter of which disconcerts your… companion.
Fickle is not the word for him, but it’s the one you use.
(And he is a he, at least according to the long, thick cock he crams into you every chance he makes for himself. Though you suppose such trifles as gender are superfluous to nonhumans. A categorical fallacy for your own ease of reference.)
You told him once, that if he did not like the disarray of the shop, he was welcome to rearrange as he saw fit. In response, he left teeth rings around the base of each of your fingers, telling you how easy it would be to bite them off. He didn’t, of course - wouldn’t - but you spent a good portion of that evening updating the inventory logs (sat on that long, thick cock.)
The shop was never reorganized.
Tonight you wake to his tongue, a dark and wicked thing, improbably dexterous, lapping at your thighs.
“Winter comes,” he drawls into your skin. His voice is dredged up from the deepest pit in his chest, scrapes against his throat before nuzzling into your ears.
“I thought so,” you sigh, sleep laden and languorous. “Felt it on the wind yesterday.”
He hums. Or maybe it’s a growl. It’s hard to say when he’s sinking his teeth into the plush of your thigh, though he does it without hurry.
For a creature without definite expiration, there is little need to be hasty.
You click your tongue when he threatens to break skin. His jaw locks like that, just on the verge of taking without being asked. This is his price for greeting the evening with you - or so he claims.
“We’ll have to begin preparations,” you muse to the inky ceiling. “I’ll make a list over tea. You’ll help, won’t you? What kind of winter will it be?”
He relaxes his bite, laps at the iridescent fluid left on your skin. His saliva, or what passes for it in this vaguely human form.
“Long,” he drawls. An unseen thumb rubs circles into your calf. “And frigid.”
You hum, can already see it in your mind. Howling winds and a silent earth. Still and peaceful, little creatures huddled down and hibernating. It was a good, warm, lush summer that promises a sweet, abundant harvest.
“A lot of snow?” you ask, fingers buried in something almost too coarse to be hair.
He unseals his mouth from a fresh, livid mark on your hip. “Da. Snow.”
Your fingertips trail over the gnarled, raised topography of long-healed wounds. Marks that go beyond flesh, wounds of essence. No matter his appearance, he will always be scarred - disfigured, even.
Sometimes you fancy that he was some fearsome fae king or warlord of hell before retiring to become yours.
Sensing the direction of your thoughts, he nips at the meat of your thumb. Draws blood the time. You hook your index finger around a too-sharp canine and shake a bit. He grunts and slides his tongue over the pinprick of blood.
“Any storms?” you ask.
“Two,” he rumbles around your finger. “Maybe three.”
You didn’t used to love winter so. But this will be your third with him. As the climate chills and the nights lengthen, he comes into his patron season. It’s helpful to have a thing of the cold and dark when times are lean and everything (even people) lose their pretty foliage.
“Shall I expect more pelts, then?”
You balked the first time he brought (more) death to your door. Thought him cruel and ruthless. Perhaps he is without you to metamorphose the slaughter into necessity.
Furs for warmth, meat for food, bones for your work. Nothing gone to waste under your care.
“Pelts,” he agrees, “skins, down.”
You trace your thumb over the bridge of his crooked nose, press between his brows when he tries to tilt his head into the warm apex of your thighs. He bares his teeth against your wrist but cannot defy you.
“Tea for that drop of blood,” you bargain.
He sighs deep and vexed. “Mistress.”
Before slithering from your blankets, though, he buries his nose against your pubic mound and takes a deep, noisy inhale.
“Nikto!”
A village girl comes a little after the sun has fully set.
You finished your tea (and bread, for the price of a wet, filthy kiss) while making a list of preparatory chores. Have started grinding up rosemary to replenish your stock.
Nikto senses her before you do, pthalo eyes flicking up. She hesitates at the closed door, poised to knock, then decides against it and simply pushes in.
You pretend as if you’ve just glanced up from your mortar, an easy smile at your visitor.
“Good evening,” you call.
“E-evening,” she replies, lingering in the door.
While you’ve taken measures to keep the air of the shopfront clean and light, it’s something of a fruitless endeavor when Nikto’s made his den here. (Or more accurately, in the room behind the shopfront, where you dwell.)
Still, she only wavers another moment, finding nothing immediately alarming or perilous. She can’t see him lounging on the back counter like a lazy cat.
“Have you need of something?” you ask.
Your easy, friendly tone loosens her shoulders, coaxes her from the doorway.
“I’m here for something for my grandmother?” she says.
You tilt your head. “Anna?”
She blinks. “How did you know?”
Because Nikto grumbled it just now.
“You have her eyes,” you lie. “I have her medication just over here. One moment.”
You turn away to collect the little parcels that make up Anna’s bi-weekly order. Brews for her tea, ointment for her joints. You’ll mix extra as the chill sets in, fewer trips while seeing her through the harsh season.
“Usually Alexei comes to collect these things,” you say.
She rocks back and forth on her heels, a more curious eye trailing over your wares now.
“Mama and I have come to take care of nana. She’s getting older, you know. And this town has better prospects than our old village.”
You hum in agreement, neatly bundling all the items in a cloth and tieing a length of twine to secure it.
“Uncle Alexei is away with papa to finish sorting matters back there.”
“So you and your mother have come ahead, then,” you summarize.
“Mhmm!”
“Well, Anna is lucky to have you. She speaks fondly of you and your mother,” you say.
The girl lights up, cheeks rosy with pride. You slide her grandmother’s order across the counter.
“Anything else?” you ask.
“No, thank you!” she replies, dropping coins into your palm.
You glance at them (overpaid as usual, oh Anna) and sigh fondly.
“Hold on,” you call, “here.”
You pass her a little jar sealed in wax. She accepts it with a bemused smile.
“What is it?”
“For travel sores, when your father and Alexei return.”
She absolutely beams. Any apprehension she had when entering your shop is long melted away.
“Thank you, Miss!” she chirps, waving, and sweeps out the door.
Niko pounces in an instant, arms so tight around your waist that you don’t even stumble from the force.
“What’s gotten into you this time?” you ask.
“You were thinking of those men,” he grumbles. You’d call it childish if he wasn’t damn near mauling your neck.
“They’re well-paying customers,” you scoff, “and more good will is never remiss.”
He snarls, but moves on quickly. “You were so kind to that little girl. She had stars in her eyes.”
You hum in question, surprised.
“Makes me think of you with little ones. Younger ones.” He’s near rambling, drool soaking into the collar of your dress. “My brood. Clinging to your skirts and your hips. Getting sticky hands in the beeswax.”
You huff out a startled laugh. “You’re thinking of babies?”
He moans into your ear, pressed tight to your back. Broad palms knead at your lower abdomen.
“Little voices calling ‘mama’. They would all adore you, want to be just like you. Mother is god in the hearts of children.”
“All?” you repeat, twisting to stare owlishly. “How many is ‘all’?”
“As many as you will let me breed into you.”
Another laugh escapes you, a bit bewildered. He’s never spoken like this before, never seemed interested at all by the women (or their husbands) that come to the shop to ease their pregnancies or births.
“You couldn’t stand to share my attention,” you scoff. Which is to say nothing of it even being a possibility. You’re not sure that you and he could produce viable offspring.
He pauses, nose in your hair, considering.
Finally, he grunts, “Maybe.”
You’d thought so.
It’s not just the change in your natural sleep rhythms. You crave the iron of raw meat and inhale deep the burn of black smoke. Sometimes, you’re too preoccupied with the spill of ink on parchment, or the length and depth of shadows.
Subtle things, perhaps. A change beneath the skin, in the dark parts of your eyes.
You used to ask your questions in the sun, and look for the answers in the bloom of flowers or swirls of clouds. Now you whisper into abyssal shadows and they whisper back with a man’s rasp.
Not everyone can see it, the unusual glint in your eyes or the sharp edge to your smile. For those that do, it’s something of an open secret - that you provide more than helpful tonic and tinctures for common ailments.
A serum against pregnancy. A syrup for unkind spouses. Cut cords for bad friends and bent coins for poor business partners.
Tonight it’s the smith’s daughter. She’s just come into adulthood this past spring. A crown of youth on her brow, vitality draped around her shoulders. Darkened, this eve, by deals made with her as the currency. You see it beneath the sweep of her skirt, a chain of her father’s own making, a key in the hand of the mayor’s son. It drags her step in your doorway, rattling along the wood floors.
“Irina,” you greet.
She doesn’t admit it right away, demuring to purchase her father’s usual burn salve. You don’t pry, instead taking your time to spoon the thick, cloudy mixture into a small jar.
“You’ve…”
You tilt your head to show your attention, expression open. She clears her throat, smooths her skirt, tries again.
“My father designs to wed me to Boris.”
She blurts it like the words escaped between the gaps in her teeth, looks shocked in their wake You flick Nikto a reproachful glance.
“Is that so?” you reply mildly, as neutral as you can manage.
“I don’t want to,” she whispers, as though it is a shameful secret. But there is little shame to be found in your presence, and when your expression only reflects polite interest, she repeats herself, stronger. “I don’t want to. Boris is a coward and his father is…”
Mean. Lascivious. A bastard with a heavy hand and wine for blood, kind only to coin.
You don’t make her say it all aloud, you’ve heard it just fine.
“Is it an ear you’re after?” you ask. “I’ll listen.”
You do not offer more. It is something she must request of her own will. For your sake as much as hers.
It only takes another breath for her to gather the courage.
“Would you help me?”
“I would.”
You don’t jump as Nikto pours himself over your shoulders, teeth already scraping the nape of your neck. He’s hard and insistent against your spine, where scars of his teeth have begun to blossom. You sense that you’ll have a new notch for the collection soon, already feel slick and achy with the promise of his maw.
“What will it cost?” Irina asks, fidgety.
Your cunt three times over. Your blood on my tongue. Your juices down my throat.
“That will depend on our solution,” you say over Nikto’s sibilant entreaties.
Irina’s brow furrows. “Not coin?”
“Maybe coin,” you correct. “Do you want any of these three men dead?”
She startles, pales. Nikto groans in your ear, hips jerking hard, cock catching on the laces of your corset. Irina mistakes the sound for your shop settling, eyes flicking nervously around as if either of you will be caught.
“N-no!” she answers. “No, that’s too - I just want papa to change his mind. O-or for Boris to… to wed someone else. Is that wicked of me?”
You shake your head, soften your smile to ease her conscience. Once upon a time, you stood on the other side of the counter like she is now.
“Then coin won’t be necessary. I have a different price.”
Her shoulders lower, just a bit, curiosity where she should be wary. Coin is a paltry payment in comparison to things a creature like you could request instead.
“What is it?”
“Scrap from your father’s forge, as much as you can manage, and whatever Boris gave you for your hand. Bring them to me tomorrow night.”
You fish a shirt button from beneath the counter. Prick your thumb on a needle and press the droplet of blood that wells into the smooth surface.
“This is a contract of my services,” you explain as it dries in the open air. Nikto inhales deep and ravenous, tongue flicking over the shell of your ear.
“If you take this, there is no going back. Do you understand?”
Irina hesitates; she’s always been a smart girl. That’s why she knew to come to you.
“What happens if I don’t come back with the payment?”
You flick a glance at Nikto, but he’s too busy toying with the ribbon around your throat. Patience fraying with each beat of your heart.
“Even I don’t know, but I’d rather neither of us find out, yes?”
“Alright. I understand.”
She accepts the bloodied button and drops it into the pocket of her frock.
“Tomorrow,” she promises, and steals out into the night.
Nikto bends you over the counter, heavy body flattening you to the polished wood. It’s unnaturally warm beneath your cheek. You suck in as much air as you can while he paws at the hidden parts in your skirts. He growls to find you wet and willing (always, regardless of what your mouth says) between your thighs.
“Tithe,” he rasps, sinking to his knees.
Massive arms snake around your thighs as he finds his home between them. Buries his nose in the soft crop of curls so that his tongue and lips and teeth can partake in the sweet offerings below.
“All this for a severed tether?” you gasp, hips twitching in a bid to escape the too much, too fast, too good of it all.
His grip does not relent. On the contrary, it only tightens, dragging you down to smother himself in your cunt.
“Yes,” he hisses.
He takes and takes and takes. Sucks your clit until it’s throbbing at the slightest touch. Licks at the rim of your cunt, forcing his tongue deeper and deeper. Impossibly deep, until you feel the tip of it curl against the hard wall of your cervix, the root of it as thick as two of his fingers.
Your knees have long given out, your voice but a weak trill in your throat. It’s only when he hears you sniffling that he wrenches himself away.
“Give me,” he demands, surging up.
Laves that slick, black, inhuman tongue up your jaw, over your cheek. Doubles back to swipe at half-dried tears that dripped down your neck and onto your hands. He makes an obscene sound when the salt mixes with the dried blood on the pad of your thumb.
“I want to eat you,” he snarls, baring his teeth against the tender veins of your wrist.
“Maybe one day,” you pant, “when I’ve passed on. You can have my corpse.”
His eyes snap open, a manic rage burning so hot it feels cold.
“Never,” he snarls, cruel fingers plunging into your tender cunt.
You cry out and grip onto his shoulders, fresh tears sliding down your hot cheeks. There is no mercy in Nikto, not even for you. He strokes and pets your walls relentlessly, abusing all the sensitive places he’s long mapped out. Brutal as the muscles in his arm bunch and jump with the pace and force of it.
“Never,” he repeats. Teeth in your throat but you can still hear his voice. It’s so loud and rough that glass rattles. “Just like this. You stay just like this for me. Mine, all mine. Always. My little witch.”
He makes you cum on his fingers, then jerks his angry cock using your release to ease the way. Spends himself in burning, sticky ropes directly onto your clit. As you drag in ragged breaths, he draws his sigil inside your cunt with your mixed fluids.
The bond has long been formed, there is no need to renew it. Your soul is no more or less his than before. You still shiver with the memory, an echo of the sublime sensation of your soul taking new shape. Making room for something else to lace through it.
“S-someone is coming,” you whimper, weak in every sense.
“Dmitiri,” Nikto answers. You knew who it was, of course, but you don’t think he would abide you saying any other name right now.
“Leave his order on the counter and make sure he pays,” you sigh, limping away in search of water.
Nikto may be a bastard, but he manages to follow your orders most of the time.
Irina returns the next evening with all that you asked. A bucket of metal scraps and shavings. In a little velvet pouch, a simple gold engagement ring.
“The button too,” you request.
Nikto, raven-shaped this evening, swoops in to snatch it from her fingers. She yelps, moon-eyed as he perches on a tall shelf and swallows the button down his scarred gullet.
“Should… should it eat that?” she asks.
You don’t even glance at him. “Too late now, isn’t it?”
She doesn’t look amused so you laugh softly and assure her, “He’ll be alright. He’s done it before.”
You turn away, scooping up the items for the spell.
“Now then, take this pin. Carve your name into one candle, and Boris’s name into the other,” you instruct.
“Which one is which?” she asks, a green candle in one hand.
“Your choice,” you reply simply.
When she’s done as you ask, you tie a piece of twine between the two, about halfway down. Set them on a metal plate facing each other and light first Irina’s, then Boris’s.
“Pull up that stool. Watch the candles burn down to the wick.”
It takes nearly an hour. You keep half an eye on it. Watch the candle meant to represent Boris start to eat at the twine, a slow encroachment towards the midpoint. Only for Irina’s flame to latch onto its end of the tie and scorch through the knot, the remaining length falling away.
Irina gasps softly, glances up to find you already watching. Studiously turns back to observe the remainder of the melt.
In the meantime, you continue forming the other half of your spell. Irina has been too preoccupied to notice the raven’s disappearance. Nikto is behind you again, guiding your hands to carve the woodblock in neat little peels. His fingers are threaded between yours, dripping raw power that you shape with intent. If Irina were to look, it would just seem that the candlelight casts strange shadows down your forearms.
When the candles have burned down to nothing, and Irina turns to you expectantly, you press a finger to your lips.
“Do not speak again until sunrise. When you get home, throw this into the hearth, as deep as you can get it. No trace of it will remain, rest assured.”
You press the carved wooden key into her palm. Her eyes trace the unfamiliar runes in wonder, but she keeps her silence and takes her leave with one final, grateful nod.
It is only just past midnight, but you yawn. The connection between Irina and Boris was not a strong one, but severing the covetous teeth of the mayor’s greed was tedious.
He has a weakness for fair hair and light eyes - both qualities passed down to Irina in lovely spades. Qualities his own wife doesn’t possess, but he would gladly see in his son’s if he had his way.
“Nikto.”
“All for a severed tether,” he purrs.
You tsk at him, shove his face away when he tries to steal a kiss.
“Finish the spell and then you will be rewarded,” you huff, waving him off. “Useless thing.”
He moans softly, eyes burning into you. “Useless,” he agrees, sharp teeth grazing your cheek. “Worthless.”
“Out with you. We’ve not all night,” you chastise.
He sinks slowly into the shadows; his eyes are the last to disappear.
Winter preparations are well under way.
A small mountain of firewood is steadily accumulating in the backyard, stacking higher and wider by the day. You’ve already finished harvesting the last of the garden, drying, preserving, and pickling by the jar. Have knitted half a dozen more shawls and socks with thick wool yarn.
Cough medicines, warming tinctures, lotions and ointments. You’re accumulating your winter remedies along the back wall and in crates beneath the counter, well-stocked for the town and smaller surrounding villages that frequent your shop.
Thus far, Nikto has brought you two pelts, and promised two more before the season truly sets in. A new pillow has also been added to your nest bed, a puffy, heavy thing of feathered down and cotton.
You like it so much that you bounce on Nikto’s cock until morning when he brings it to you, spitting into his mouth whenever he opens it in supplication. You drop lavender buds into the casing and breathe it deep as he lays you down after daybreak. It makes an excellent throne for your pelvis when you’re too worn (or over-pleasured) to hold yourself up any longer.
Still, as promising as your preparations are, you need items unavailable even in town. The journey to the nearest city is one day's (or night’s) walk there, and another back. Well worth the trouble.
Nikto has no particular affection for any dwelling, so long as it’s yours. He’s just as eager to travel as you are.
Before nightfall, you drop off any orders expected in your absence, and receive well wishes from your customers. No one asks why you are traveling alone at night. No one warns you that it would be too dangerous.
Nikto accompanies you along the well-trod road, a hooded figure more likely to be mistaken for the grim reaper than your familiar. He’s human enough if you don’t look at him for too long. A tall man thick with muscle, broad-shouldered, built for labor. Likely malformed beneath the scarf hiding his features below those blue eyes - or perhaps just shy.
Just don’t try to peer into the depths of that hood, or ponder that mysterious scarf for too long. The moon acts as a strange prism, waters down the light into eerie refractions. One might start to imagine sharp teeth peeking through ripped lips. Or glimpse poorly sewn hills of flesh, nothing but dark, empty space between the seams.
Luckily, there are no travelers on the road this late into the night. Any errant gaze is that of night creatures, and those know well to avoid the shadow at your side - and you by extension.
The trip into the city is no great adventure, but you weren’t looking for one. Nikto, you sense, is something almost like disappointed. You arrive in the small hours of the morning, just as the earliest risers have begun their day.
The innkeeper seems surprised by such an early (or late) guest, but is happy enough to welcome you in. Bread has yet to be bought from the baker, but there’s stew that’s been simmering overnight. It’s warm and hearty and thick. You eat two bowls with a cup of peach wine, pay for food and board for the next two days, and retire to the second story of rooms.
The bed is not nearly as comfortable as yours. The blankets are thin and woven, though they are layered enough to be warm. The mattress and pillow are both straw - comfortable by most standards, but a poor substitute for your cotton and wool and furs and down.
You make due on Nikto’s rumbling chest (prideful that you miss what he has so diligently provided) and let yourself drift into slumber.
At midday, you wake. City merchants aren’t accustomed to your odd hours, and you don’t want anything to be out of stock - you’re not the only one that’s made the journey for winter.
Luckily, it’s an overcast day and the sun isn’t too obnoxious when you venture out. You get a sweet bun from the bakery to tide your hunger while you shop. Follow Nikto’s whispering for directions, or to pick the best items of any selection. Spoil yourself a bit on honey from abroad and a new grimoire.
Return to the inn at the brightest part of the day for a nap. Rouse again in the late afternoon for more exploring and shopping, as well as a drink at one of the alehouses.
You’ve no friends in the city - or anywhere, really, for that matter. But being surrounded by good spirits and bright noise provides an unusual source of energy. There’s a band to watch and strong drink, some gambling that you amuse yourself meddling in from afar.
There are eyes on you, but there always are in such a busy place. You tend to attract very few gazes, but the ones you do will return time and time again, musing at the lone figure by the wall. None are brave enough to approach - especially not when it grows dark enough for Nikto to reveal himself.
Even he is in unusual form, telling you stories of a bygone time. A time when perhaps he was more finite than he is now. He uses names you’ve heard before, in passing, and chuckles at exploits more mortal than he deigns to participate in now. You like to hear it, like to provide him with the excess buzzing in your veins.
When the crowd begins to thin, you take your leave. He stays at your side (always too close, nearly underfoot) all the way to the inn, and is waiting in your room when you come up with the meal. He manhandles you into his lap and feeds you with his fingers, pours water into your mouth from his.
You stave him off until your food settles, and then he’s taking you into his lap. Has you twice before you doze off. Wakes you three hours later with his tongue lapping at your swollen folds. Has you twice more before you settle in properly until dawn.
The second day passes in much the same fashion as the first. Your indulgence this time is a pretty, slender knife, a length of ribbon, and a simple burgundy frock. The combination has Nikto salivating by the time you return to your room to rest. Not that there’s much to be had with you splayed out over your new garment, his hands and mouth and cock working you over until a puddle of slick and cum forms beneath your writhing bodies.
You send him to wash the stains in annoyance, and it’s returned seemingly pristine - though he gloats that the scent of your coupling remains. At least to him.
Nasty creature.
“If I get tired, you will be carrying me,” you huff on the road home.
He nuzzles his nose into your temple, a silent assurance that you need only say the word.
Halfway there, a band of highwaymen makes the fatal mistake of trying to ambush the two of you. Aware that anyone coming from the city will be laden with coins or goods, they would be correct if you were anyone else.
You click your tongue, steps never faltering.
“Kill anyone that’s taken an innocent,” you call over your shoulder.
“Mistress,” Nikto churrs into the air, breath so cold it sinks in the chilly air.
An unnatural growl reverberates off the trees. You don’t spare a glance behind you, steps easy and light, crunching over dead leaves and dry twigs.
A hand lands on your shoulder - heavy… and then not. Heat splatters and soaks into your sleeve, dripping down towards your wrist. The severed arm falls with a wet, fleshy thump.
Always so messy.
You tilt your head, veer off the road and follow your intuition until you find a stream. Humming, you shed your clothes and saunter into the gentle current. It’s frigid, only just unfrozen. You sigh, minding your step for slippery rocks as you wade deeper. The water rises past your scratched calves, over bitten thighs, soothes your well-used cunt and the bruises on your hips. Tingles over the silvery flesh of your scarred back until it’s nearly to your breasts.
Only then does the water darken around you.
Nikto’s hand closes around your wrist, draws your arm back until he can lick away the smears of a stranger’s blood.
Feast before the season’s famine.
You moan softly at the drag of his serpentine tongue along your skin. The ball of your shoulder, the curve of your tricep and bicep. Tickling the bend of your elbow… up your forearm… and wrist. Twisting between each digit. You lean into the sturdy pillar of his body until his other arm curls around your waist. You stand with him in the water like that, cradled by shadow and bathed in moonlight.
He is never hasty, but tonight he’s unusually slow. Almost lazy.
Wait, no. Not lazy.
Deliberate.
Each flick of his tongue, scrape of teeth, brush of lips is applied with the same care and reverence afforded to an altar.
You tilt your head to rest against his shoulder, bare your throat. Peer through lidded eyes at the thick fingers twining with yours.
It’s as if he plunged his hands into a fireplace and didn’t care to dust away the charcoal and ash afterwards. It fades at the forearm into alabaster. In the crease of his elbow, it looks like he has ink for blood. You know from experience that it tastes of almonds and tannins, heavy on the tongue like thick wine.
You let him lay you down on the bank, dry and clean. He pampers you on his cock with slow, languid rolls of his hips. Grinds deep, pulls out only halfway to massage the head into that sweet spot over and over until you’re shuddering apart with a deep, heavy moan. He finishes on your stomach and thighs, drawing symbols into your skin before rubbing it in.
“Nikto,” you croon, thumb drawing a line down the left side of his face. From forehead, over his eye, down to the corner of his mouth where there’s an unnatural split. He lets you scrape your nail against the big canine, amusing yourself on the sharper bicuspid just beside it. “My Nikto.”
He purrs into your chest, drooling down your sternum.
“Who do you belong to?” he asks.
You smile, indulgent.
“I belong to Nobody.”
There is a possibility of a second part. Maybe. If that's something people want.
#cod#my writing#fanfiction#dark fic#reader fic#nikto fic#nikto cod#nikto x reader#witch reader#afab reader#mind the warnings#heavy kink
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