#tw. slight dissociation | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

velvserum · 2 months ago

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When you’re not here

A/N: really old writing, probably better than my more recent ones but still not exactly good. i did like it for a period of time before though, so i figured i should post it- it kind of makes me cringe AKISMEKD so if there’s a warning for that here’s the warning 💀

originally this was supposed to be a scene in my fanfic but i ended up scrapping it since it deviated from the plot and didn’t fit the overall vibe

this is unfinished, but hopefully i’ll finish it someday and post on ao3

Summary: It’s attempt after attempt, Dazai can’t be bothered for any type of care after but a certain redhead is irritably persistent. Dazai might be a little too comfortable with this arrangement, but you didn’t hear that from him.

TW: disassociation, vague mentions of suicide attempt

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-Cold.

He was more accustomed to that.

There's cold water that spites his skin, the icy drench searing down his back in quick bucket-fulls. As always, it borders on painful, frigid and unforgiving, brutally materializing against his flesh.

Dazai dreads showers a majority of the time, what with all the effort he has to exert even to a partial cleaning. Keeping his wobbly worn legs up as the fatigue pushes down his shoulders, having the dull light flicker while he navigates through automated motions, disconnected with his body even as he peers down at it. He's immobile, in those few moments. His skin being free of bandages, prickle with goosebumps, all seizing him in a frozen lake. The pressure and temperature is harsh, as are most things in his life. The water is so frosted against his body that sometimes he forgets to breathe while violently submerging his head via bucket until he’s gasping for air he hadn’t allowed himself the luxury of earlier.

Dazai thought it only fair for him to match his exteriors with his internal blemishes. Cold and impersonal. What does it matter if it’s unconventional? His existence was unconventional.

…

Warm.

In current time, Dazai can only vaguely make out the few complaints from Chuuya in the background, the first thing he hears after hours being the blocked out voices of 'why the fuck is your water so cold', 'jesus fucking christ how do you live like this-' ‘you’re not a masochist? i’d be shocked. ‘place is goddamn mental,’ and so on, but Dazai's more encapsulated with the feeling of warm water swirling in waves against his body. For once, he can breathe, it's so comfortable that his own body melts, unwinding hours and hours of strain.

Warm. It's warm.

And where Chuuya’s voice is violent and difficult, gets made up by how deceivingly gentle his hands are, pressing a damp towel cautiously across dazais scars that he has yet to witness until now. Hesitant. Unsteady. As if it held the possibility of becoming too rough- even though most were long by now healed. It was foreign to Dazai, to have touch directed at him that cradled instead of scorning.

‘Comical’, is what it really is.

Dazai has never been this kind to himself. He doesn’t think he could be. Never bothered with the pressure, as long as it got done. Never let the air around him feel like it was something he could breathe in. Never gingerly ran a towel over, making sure it was fine.

Yet, here Chuuya was. The biggest brute he's ever seen, being soft.

And.. to Dazai of all things.

His legs lay limply stretched out in the tub while his body remains as sluggish as his mind. The rest of the bandages were either discarded into a bin or scattered in hefty waters that ripple under the moonlight's cast, leaving him bare for all he is.

Dazai squints, discerning through fog- the feel of his bare skin against someone else's, the dust particles floating around, the way the water sways leisurely, the damp hair that’s matted on his face and his surroundings that oddly feel less empty.

He couldn’t recall this place ever feeling this bright either. It surges with a new light that he could only ever describe as Chuuya himself, everywhere that brat goes fires up and leaves a flame in its wake. Even his own dreary apartment is somehow less repulsive, replacing the nauseous green with a midnight blue hue and-– was it always like that? He’s taken his fair trade of late showers well into the night but the moon's beams have never fought its way through the window in such a noticeable mirage.

The scene is quiet, with Dazai zoning in and out of his head while Chuuya’s muted mutters flow out unfiltered.

The redhead’s ungloved hand presses onto his shoulders, the remains of soap wiping away the icked feeling of an unclean ocean. Soothing, grounding, safe. They’re firm, so much so that maybe just slightly, the backlash he’s gotten from gasping for oxygen he couldn’t obtain, quiets. Winding down into a shaky, yet copeable feeling.

Dazai blinks away the rest of the blurriness, coming back to reality when Chuuya’s hand kneads into his hair.

Oh, he’s talking.

“—Fuckin’ ass, do you even use your heater because the last time I took a shower here I got dunked in your shitty-”

“—Nawh.” Dazai finally replies.

Chuuya’s face switches with surprise, his movements halting the slightest bit before he’s back to glaring.

“Well you should more often, seriously, even my fridge isn’t that goddamn cold.”

“Mm.” He leans back against cold ceramic, “Chuuya’s trying to blame me for his deficient fridge?”

Chuuya huffs, making a more forceful tug on his hair while still managing to keep it from hurting Dazai. ‘Cause he’s weirdly compassionate ‘n crappy like that.

“You’re deficient,” He growls.

Yeah.

“Y—”

“—But you don’t deserve any of that bullshit.” Chuuya cuts in, massaging the back of Dazai’s head but keeps his thumbs near his temples. “A kick, though? You’d deserve that.” He mutters.

Dazai huffs a laugh, unhumorous.

Chuuya’s not ‘nice’ in any sense.

He’s brash, and harsh, and his face and his words are thickened with repulsion.

Even right now, he’s swatting insults at Dazai nonstop, acting like they’re heathens bickering down a mall instead of being in the aftermath of an attempt. Chuuya, whereas others would think to apply comfort in their voice, feigning a sweet lulling tone, decides to maintain his ridiculic slander.

And everyday, without hesitation, Chuuya slaps a snarl at the start of every conversation and barbarically forces Dazai out of his comfort zone— out of his goddamn mind.

“Chibi’s so mean.”

“As deserved.” Chuuya repeats, and pushes Dazai’s bangs back.

The water swivels, making small sounds that resemble the ones on the beach.

—But still. Chuuya’s not treating him like glass- like he’s suddenly stopped being himself after the attempt. As if he’s not just some washed up anomaly sitting where he didn’t belong—

“..You won’t ask?” Dazai mumbles after a moment.

There’s a small period of time where Chuuya goes quiet, hands still ruffling through Dazai’s hair. His eyebrows furrow in thought, lost in what to say.

“You wanna talk?”

“I don’t know,”

“Hm,” Chuuya hums in response, before adding, “Close your eyes.”

Dazai does. A trickle of water is poured.

“It was colder,” He numbly recites, after a while, and ends there.

Colder might be an over exaggeration, he realizes.

It’s not that much different from any other time he’s attempted. It’s not any different than the life he’s lived.

‘Colder’ however might be snow freshly fallen on newly woken skin, colder might be frozen ice cubes and red palms, colder might be a night walk out, colder might be badly chosen attire on a dead winter day.

Or colder could be the blood pumping through his veins, that never seem to provide him any sort of warmth other than basic bodily function.

“Wow, really? No shit, sherlock.”

“—What? You wanted to know.”

“I asked if you wanted to talk. But this? Get your shit off the table, Dazai. Way off the table.”

God.

Dazai rolls his eyes, irritation flickering at the back of his head. “Don’t you think you’re asking for too much?”

“I think you owe it to me,” He mumbles back.

“That would be the case, if you gave useful feedback in the first place,”

Right. Maybe he just misconstrued Chuuya’s insults as passive when they were actually tired and annoyed. Chuuya’s compassion isn’t eternal and as far as Dazai knows, luck does not play well into his whims.

He shouldn’t have expected Chuuya to be all that into him after this anyways. Just as rightfully so, he supposes. And there is an eventual end to everything, though unfortunately he was already too deep into Chuuya’s nonsensical juvenile dog schedule after the past few months, but the bombs finally dropped. He can finally go back to—

“Well then say something useful first for once,” Chuuya huffs.

His hands are firm, yet smooth as they scrub into his scalp. Dazai can recognize a low grumble of frustration and exasperation in his voice.

“You don’t have to fuckin’ pour your heart out, or..any shit— but all that cryptic crap? Don’t do that. You’re in your own head, okay? I can see the gears in your head working and it’s late and I don’t have 5 hours to deconstruct it all. Just speak to me.”

…

His eyebrows furrow.

Chuuya’s pushy. Like hell.

But it doesn’t take acting nice to be kind.

He looks at him bitterly despite that.

“You already know what I’m thinking though,”

Not that he’s at all comfortable with the idea.

“It’s nicer to be listened to than to be told.” Chuuya asserts.

Dazai doesn’t know what to say to that, so, he settles with: “You tell me off everyday.”

“Consider this a one time offer.”

He frowns. “I don’t accept offers from little boy scouts,”

“Are you always this damn insufferable?”

“Are mutts always this high maintenance?”

“As if you don’t spoil your own fucking cat.”

“Mind you, that is my baby,” Dazai argues, then continues, uninterested. “Chuuya just wishes he had the likeability of a feline when all he retains is the image of a pathetic, ill-mannered, invasive pooch.”

“God, would it kill you to not be such an ass for once? What, you have brain damage all of a sudden? Is that it?”

Dazai’s forehead feels like static.

“We’re on the topic of damage now? Great, we can finally discuss yours—”

“Are you really that goddamn desperate that you’ll go there?.

“Then what?” Dazai clicks, “ Do you really think ‘talking it out’ is going to ‘fix’ anything? Are you that naive, Chuuya?”

He doesn’t know what happens in those few moments,

Chuuya’s entire face drops from being stoic to him snorting, a signature grin on his face. The kind someone makes when they have a victory but off. Tired, but relieved. It irks and prickles Dazai, until Chuuya speaks up again—

“It’s working for your dumb ass right now, isn’t it?”

What?

“You talk, and then I don’t have to see that dead fish look in your eyes.”

Dazai’s face contorts.

And Chuuya’s eye’s are drilling into his skin.

Another crack, another slip, another barrier being torn down ruthlessly by the redheads' rough, molding hands.

It hasn’t occurred to him that the lone act of their quarreling was beginning to serve as a replacement for the chaos that resides rampant at his mind and core.

It’s unsettling.

It’s refreshing.

It’s….

“Besides, I’m not expecting a miracle, but if you’re as critical in your own head like you are with movies,” Chuuya bumps Dazai’s forehead with a knuckle, “Then get the fuck out of there.”

…it’s. Too. Much work.

If this was anyone else, Dazai would deny that statement.

If this was anyone else, Dazai would’ve gone home alone.

But fortunately for Chuuya, he’s too mentally plucked to forlong any roundabout way of disarming the subject.

(And yes, he’s going to ignore the way he’s been having a harder time even doing that recently. Just. Around Chuuya.)

Dazai huddles himself in the waters, eyes traveling to the rims of the tub.

How bad can it be?

Pretty bad.

Nothing’s worse than seeing a man literally drown in their sorrows, though.

Dazai sighs.

“It’s cold,” He reinstates.

Chuuya raises a brow.

He won’t stop there this time.

This is going somewhere. But hell if he knows to what point it’ll end up in.

He continues, akin to a child. A small, pouting child.

“Humans thrive in the warmth and decay in the cold, we experience hypothermia and then it’s the cruelest thing in nature. You know what happens? It tricks your body into thinking it’s warm when it’s freezing. Changes your breathing pattern. Messes you up. Some things just shouldn’t be part of human nature. Some things just shouldn’t exist.”

“Some things exist because they need to,” The bucket, with a huff, again gets kicked under the facet to build up water, “And sometimes they just do. It’s natural order. And you’re better for it, because you learned. You know better now.”

Dazai’s features adorn in a dour laugh, “I didn’t know Chuuya was so pro-hypothermia,”

The redhead's face immediately turns sour, resembling more casual nights before this one. Chuuya will always be Chuuya, easy to aggravate and even easier to taunt. Of course, usually, in dazai’s case, those two go hand in hand.

“Bad example.” Chuuya’s nose scrunches, “Just, shut up- you make everything so black and white, so fuck me I guess for trying to find the good,”

The good?

“The good?” Dazai reiterates, “It’s hypothermia,”

“It’s you,”

Ugh. Just, Ugh.

“....You have no tact to save your life,” Dazai groans, “I don’t need you to lie to make me feel ‘good’.”

“Hah? The last thing I ever want is to end up flattering you,” Chuuya huffs “I’m just saying, plain and simple.”

As the redhead continues, he meets Dazai’s gaze head on, “Stop comparing yourself to hypothermia, it’s ridiculous. You don’t freeze people over but you are fucking freezing. You want a real reason for that? Because it’s definitely not because of some messed up logic about how you’re born that way- it’s because you go to stupid beaches to get stupid frozen in stupid water that’s racked in stupid cold weather.”

Dazai frowns.

“For someone offering me free range to speak, you sure are critical.”

“And you’re still talking in analogies, you want me to read you like a book? I’ll treat you like a damn book.”

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whumpitisthen · 11 months ago

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A Lesson in Selfishness

Previous I Masterlist I Next

Rest of cws in tags as usual, but this one deals heavily with dissociation, depersonalisation/derealisation (depending on how you interpret it) and self-hatred, so i thought id put at least that much up here too <3 Mori is not having a good time

By the time Auden finds the door left ajar from his failed escape, he is openly sobbing into his hands in distress. Awful, ear-splitting screams echo down the hall, bouncing off of every ornament, every pillar, disrupting even the humble flickering of flames lighting his way along the walls. Each decibel added grows the mountain of guilt splitting his soul in twain.

He couldn't do anything to help. He was even worse than a failure. He was useless. Powerless to do anything but watch on as they were tortured. Even if they were a creature of Hell, it has become entirely clear that the deer demon was only doing what it was told, and never planned on hurting him at all. They are in a similar situation to him, and all Auden managed to do was bring their tormentor right to them, and cause unnecessary trouble. Cause ruthless, avoidable punishment. His realisation came far too late, and it cost them so much.

Lord, they begged him not to yell.

He hurries past the ornate wooden doors, swiftly pulling them closed behind him with trembling fingers. His body has become awfully pale, blue veins visible through the thin skin of his wrists. It must be yet another side effect or symptom of being mortal, yet another need he does not know how to identify nor meet. It's cold, the dirty nails at the tip of his fingers are turning blue. It only became chillier since the Reaper arrived, sucking the warmth out of everything living with his presence. Auden swears he can still feel Death's touch clear as day — his hold on him is so great that he can feel those black tendrils of rot solidify and take root inside his throat. Those icy fingers left blue marks on his face, little red dots where his claws dug into him, colder still where his silver jewellery touched him.

Perturbation takes him when he thinks of his saviour, his voice murmuring inside Auden’s head. The mocking, the cooing, the promise of pain. That terrifying laughter corrupts his every thought.

Why would he have thought the Grim Reaper to be merciful? Death wasn't fair, Death wasn't kind or protective or caring; Death was ruthless, and efficient, and anywhere from a sudden stopping of the heart to the most painful, agonising, twistedly slow carnage. And even then, even if he was all of those things — why would he act anything like this towards a filthy Fallen? He took Auden to be a gift for someone else, nothing more. He only protects him as long as he is in the deity's care, and who knows what will happen to him once he is given away. He is property, now, and the Reaper will not hesitate to remind him of that. He was lucky enough to be allowed to leave unscathed.

Exhaustion strikes his body at once, leaving him gasping on his knees leaned up against the sturdy door. His soul breaks apart for what could only be the hundredth time since he found himself curled up on that wretched burnt pasture. At every turn, he cannot help fooling himself with even the illusion of choice, the possibility of mercy or the hope of finding anyone who could keep him safe, if not happy. He only experiences burning shame at having been betrayed by Death himself — though it was barely betrayal at all. He should have known all along he was not really saved. He should have known that he does not deserve to even be gazed upon by beings like him.

He found Death's presence to be a necessary evil. Who else could keep someone so helpless like him safe in Hell? His Lord has all but abandoned him, as painful as it is to admit. So, among all these dangerous monsters, who only bring suffering, how fitting is it that the only one who could keep him alive is Death? However menacing, cruel, scary, demanding and even unholy — no one would hurt Auden again as long as he decides to stick around and defend him.

So how stupid must Auden be to police the actions of not only a deity, but the only person on this forsaken planet who can protect him?

‘Downright sacrilegious, isn't it? How devoted you are to your new Lord. To call him a deity, when it is proposed your only God is the one ruling the Heavens. You have truly become a mortal, riddled with sin.’

“Shut up!” — Auden explodes finally at the endless mocking voice plaguing his every waking moment relentlessly. — “Shut up, shut up, shut up! Stop talking to me!”

‘Best you quiet down, mortal. You saw how quick your new God was summoned to your side to punish an innocent creature for you.’

He must be going insane, he is sure. He has begun talking to a voice in his own head. Yelling out in frustration and arguing with it, like some form of cursed soul wandering the scorched Earth endlessly, groaning and moaning to itself constantly. He thought it was his own voice for a while, so used to shame and self-deprecation that he didn't even think it anything else, but now he is certain it's not him. Or is he? He does not know which option seems crazier; that he is arguing with his own thoughts or that he now has another voice inside his already miserable head.

“I don't care, just shut up! Please!” — he sobs, pulling his knees up to his face to hide behind them. He can feel his headache growing the longer he concentrates on the voice. — “I'm not a sinner, I'm not betraying my Lord, I'm not being sacrilegious, I’m, I'm, I-I'm just trying to survive! Pl-Please forgive me, I'm so sorry, I'm s-so sorry, my Lord…”

He devolves into heaving sobs, no longer having enough water to spare for many tears in his body. He continues mumbling to himself, but the voice does not respond. It left him after a job well done, sending him down a spiral and finally acknowledging it. He sits on the floor like this for a while, trying his best to rid himself of all these anxieties, miseries and emotions. Angels really aren't meant to be here for long, and Auden, though not nearly aware of it enough, is quite strong to bear it like this. It's a shame no one will care to remind him.

Three knocks on the door behind him send all his muscles back to attention, tensing them like rubber bands until they burn from exertion like they are about to snap. He had quieted down, nearly falling asleep sitting on the floor as he is, but now he is clambering to stand and move out of the way. It must be the Reaper again, here to remind him how dependent on him he is and how easily this fickle shield he managed to gain can be shattered at the slightest misbehaviour. Or maybe it's his new owner, whoever it is, here to take him and do something like Miss Thu'lin wanted to — maybe it's Miss Thu'lin herself, come to take him back and execute him properly.

He waits, but the handle isn't pushed down, the door doesn't open. A minute passes before four more knocks are heard, a little quieter, more timid. This doesn't seem like anyone he has met so far. The Reaper would just barge in, or even just appear in the room if he wanted. Miss Thu'lin isn't coming back. Could it really be his owner?

He clears his throat, rasping out a similarly timid ‘Hello?’, hoping whoever is on the other side will leave him be, but being too scared of repercussions in case he manages to disrespect someone again to not react anything at all.

To his relief, a familiar, almost forgotten voice answers. — “Hey, uh, hello. I'm here t-, I was sent t-to, uh… I have food. For you.”

Mori. It's just Mori! The deer person, the one who seemed like him!

The one who he left to suffer on their own. Who must have got every bone in their hand broken. The one who screamed themself hoarse from the sounds of it. Who they got in terrible, cruel, agonising trouble. And after it all, they are the one bringing him food.

Through immense, heart wrenching guilt, he dares to feel relief that it's only them. He wishes he could take back all the misfortune he managed to cause to this one, even if they are a Hell being. If only he understood the situation sooner, or even if he just let Death do as he wanted instead of trying to plead for their safety, — seeing as their screams only worsened when Auden was finally made to leave, more frequent, more desperate — he could have so easily helped them. Heavy shame eats at him for letting any of this happen. He feels like a fraud as a Guardian for being the main cause of this.

Though a dizzying cavalcade of negative emotions have latched onto him like a tumour, Auden forbids himself to ever hesitate helping Mori, and banishes the thought of ever, ever resisting what they say is best. The sight of their broken hand under relentless force, their pained face, the kneeling and the whimpering and the begging and the torture must never leave his brain for the rest of his life; a reminder of the consequences of his selfishness.

“O-Oh, oh, I see, I'm sorry.” — The door still does not open, and he struggles to find the right words to say, — “Uhm… Sorry, uh… You can come in. I'm, I'm the only one here.”

Of course he's the only one, who else would be here? Nevertheless, the door finally opens, letting in the abused form of the deer demon awkwardly holding a silver tray of food items, water, cutlery and even a small vase with a single flower in it, and a black candle. They balance it with one unharmed hand, the wrist of the other arm where their hand has been ruined beyond use and their own torso, unsteady on their hooves. What catches Auden's eye before any of that is Mori's antlers — antler.

One of their antlers was snapped off of their head, leaving an open, oozing stump that covers half their face in dark red blood. Their face is harrowed, pale as a sheet, only contrasted by their own ghastly wounds. A sheen of sweat covers them, making them look sickly and frail. Their breathing is just as unsteady as their stance.

Did Death do this? Did Mori lose their antler because of Auden’s idiocy? Auden caused all this?

All previous worries and troubles of his own have been forgotten when Auden laid his eyes on them. Overshadowing his self-pity is a divine need to protect, to fix, to cheer up and hold them forever, to never let them be hurt again. To Guard, like he was always meant to. As Auden stares on in stunned silence, Mori only becomes more nervous. They avert their eyes and eventually ask, — “would, would you, uh… like to eat in bed or shall I set it on, on the table?”

Dear Lord in Heaven have mercy — their voice sounds even worse without the doors to muffle it. Every syllable quivers, some words barely audible as their tone disappears and turns to whispers. All energy, liveliness and personality has been removed, a pile of shattered glass existing where their certainty was before. All that remains of them is a terrified husk, trembling before him like he could just as well tear off their other antler if he wanted.

Auden says the only thing he knows to say, — “I'm so, so, so sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't know, I didn't mean for any of this, I just, I just —”

“Please, may, m-may I put this on the table or would you like to eat in bed?” — Mori cuts him off with a huff of air, talking a bit faster. Their limbs are shaking. They avert their eyes towards the floor, swallowing. The glass vase is clinking against a glass of water intermittently. The light of the candle flickers dangerously close to the rose.

For a second, Auden assumes they are mad at him, so mad they don't even want to hear his excuses. He opens his lips to beg a little more for their forgiveness, but then his eyes linger on the awkward position they are in, and all the wounds, and the dark red circles under their eyes — he almost trips over his own feet trying to take the heavy tray filled with all of his food from them. — “Give, give me that. Sorry. Oh, I'm such an idiot. I'm sorry, I-I swear I'm not usually this dense.”

They gasp out a shaky sigh, relieved to have been freed from their stress position. — “Th-Thank you, sir. I am so grateful.”

Auden doesn't think he has ever been referred to like that before. His sense of smell does not let him chew on that for long, overtaken in such an unbelievable way by the sweet, delicious aroma wafting up to his nose he can barely keep his eyes on Mori. He does not recognise anything on the tray apart from the water. He can only assume that the vase and candle are not meant to be eaten, but he does not know that for sure. It is equally enticing and scary to be so clueless about something so important, because who's to say any of it is edible? What if it's demon food, not human food? Does it matter at all? What if it's poisoned?

His mouth waters excessively the longer he stares at it all, and that worries him as much as his churning guts. A wince snaps him back to attention finally, and Auden forces himself to tear his eyes away from the food to catch the deer flinch from something.

“Uh, I'll, I'll just put this down for now. Thank you.” — The angel hurries over to the table, setting the tray down carefully with the same quivering in his flesh that Mori has. He wants nothing more than to bite down on everything on that tray, to consume it all as fast as possible; a feeling so alien he feels sick and disgusted at himself for needing something in such a wild, animalistic way. He likens his hunger to hellish temptation, but he has never felt temptation as forceful and overwhelming as this. His eyes land on Mori once more, surveying them over and over. How could he ever expect them to forgive him? He has nothing to give, he is nothing at all. All that pain, just because of him. — “I, I-I’m truly sorry. I wish I could change what I did, I really, really do. I was just, I woke up and there was this big room with no one else around and I thought, I, I don't know what I thought but I didn't know that you weren't a threat, I always expect, I always expect to be, to be… hurt, here. And I, I should've listened to you, and obeyed and protected you and, and —”

“Pl-Please, it's… it's fine. It wasn't really your fault, sir. Please do not worry about it,” — they whisper in that broken voice, and there is that title again. This is not Mori, this is not how they were talking to him just an hour or so ago. This feels impersonal, lifeless, a tone reserved for authorities and power; not a lowly little Fallen like him. They are speaking to him like he deserves any respect at all.

They're talking to him like they were talking to their master.

“B-But, but I, I yelled for the Reaper, I called for his attention, I got you hurt —”

“Master Grim does not need a reason to hurt me.” — Mori states, following a line between two floorboards with their eyes with a melancholic expression. Their still working fingers dig into the grey fabric of their rugged potato sack of a tunic. They sound like how Auden sounds as he prays — almost in a trance, with a light tone and monotonous syllables, like they are recounting the same line they have repeated over and over again countless times before, — “I am his. I belong to him, and he is free to do as he pleases with my body and with my soul. If… If he wants to hurt me, and to, to t-torment me like this, he can, and he will, and he needs no further reasoning than that. I deserve it anyway.”

A horrid chill runs down Auden's spine as he listens to the most harmless looking creature he has ever seen parrot the words they must have been taught by their cruel master. Their very wording is so twistedly familiar to Auden, yet so alien — Auden feels devoted to his Lord, and willingly gives his everything to Him, while Mori was only forced to serve another, and bullied into the ground until they knelt and learned how to please him best. In the end, pure worship and devotion looks quite similar to fear of punishment, dependency and this forcefully taught ‘right’ behaviour. And the way to please Death is apparently to offer your body to be tormented for sadistic pleasure.

‘I don't see much of a difference. Devotion and control, punishment and mercy. Dependence, fear, worship. You and your Lord are much the same, however you twist it.’

Auden does not even entertain the voice. A huff of air leaves him, a wave of what could only be what his people call temptation. Sacrilegious thoughts cross his brain, but he never even thinks to come back with an argument. Not while in the vicinity of someone who needs his help. However, he also does not at all know how to respond to Mori's statement. Anything his mind comes up with sounds just so utterly hypocritical and hopeless. Subservience is the life of angels; what advice could he give to this poor creature who is forced to forget themself entirely in favour of pleasing a merciless overlord of the dead.

In the end, the blue silence is broken by Mori. — “I-I’m sorry for disturbing you, sir, please forgive me. Please help yourself to dinner. I hope it is to your, your liking. You must be famished.”

“I-I, wait —!” — Auden stutters, watching Mori walk past him and kneel next to the long dinner table with little grace, closing their eyes and tilting their head down in submission. They must be waiting for Auden to finish his food so they can take the tray and leave. While the situation is ever more unnerving, the angel simply doesn't know how to make it better. He lets out a long sigh, and walks over to one of the armchairs positioned at the end of the table, settling in it. His shoulders remain tense, but he is slowly unwinding, feeling safer every second the Reaper is away, and Mori is unharmed. He tries to ignore the awful, unbefitting position of having someone kneel next to him while he lounges around on a plush cushion with warm food, but he fails so quickly he almost slides right off the silky material to kneel next to Mori, if only the table wasn't so high to not allow him to reach it kneeling. Instead, before he takes a single bite, he clears his throat.

“Uh, um… you, you don't have to keep kneeling. There's more than enough chairs, you can, you can sit with me!” — Mori looks up at him, almost confused, before they turn their gaze right back down. Auden can see their shoulders have tensed up.

“Yes, sir,” — they say quietly, getting their hooves under them to limp their way over to the closest chair, sitting down next to Auden. They somehow look even less comfortable. They look so small in that tall backed plush chair, only making themself smaller as they hunch over, keeping their eyes trained on their legs bouncing under the wooden surface.

Mori took his question as an order, not as a simple offer.

Auden finds it harder and harder to focus on anything but the delicacies taunting him under his nose. His fingers twitch to reach, his mouth is drowning him. It hurts to deprive himself like this, it hurts so much more than he thought it was possible. It scares him, how swiftly he would turn into a wild thing, hitting and screaming and biting at anyone just for a single bite. He already has trouble just keeping himself in check, his hunger outweighing his guilt and exhaustion by a tonne, even with Mori in the same room. Falling has made him endlessly pathetic, leaving a hole inside him that only grows with each day, swallowing his worried little heart and any remaining grace he possessed as an angel.

The only thing stopping him from lifting the whole tray and slamming his face into it as fast as possible is a lack of knowledge — he must ask, however embarrassing it is that he has to; — “This, um… Is this edible?”

“Of course, sir.”

“C-, can I uh… can I eat this? All of it?”

“Yes, sir. It is yours.”

Tilting his head this way and that, he makes the decision to reach out towards one of the bowls. It has small green balls in it. A fruit? Looks plant-like, smells of nature and sweetness. They are connected by a dark branch. He takes hold of one, tearing it from the branch. It's just a little bouncy, soft orb. It smells divine.

Finally, he pops it in his mouth, his teeth demolishing it before he could observe it any further in instinct. It splits into wet chunks of cool, sweet, satisfying grape flesh. Such immense flavour, such incredible satisfaction! He tears up as he reaches for more, tearing more and more off and consuming them faster and faster, forgetting about decency and worries entirely. He shoves too much in his mouth at once and whimpers in delight and pain, not even caring as he chokes on the succulent juices flowing down the wrong pipe.

He could kill for this. He will kill for this, he's certain. This is the best feeling he has ever felt. Animalistic instincts be damned, he is ecstatic.

Mori’s attention is suddenly revived, a look of concern crossing their face as they see the angel suffocating himself in fruit. They hesitate, but make an executive decision in the end, standing and taking hold of Auden's wrists gently, but firmly. — “Sir, s-sir! Sir, please slow down! You shouldn't — I, I mean there is no need to hurry!”

Auden is crying tears of joy, hunched over, concentrating on swallowing the large mouthful he stuffed into himself. Sniffles and whines escape him as he slowly recognises Mori and the irritation of his poor throat. He gives a worried sound, signalling to Mori for help, so confused and scared on what to do now that he realised what he has done. Mori looks at him with purpose, a look that knows, a gentle hand holding Auden still on his shoulder.

“Just, just concentrate on chewing, yeah? It's okay, it'll pass, just chew and swallow when you can.” — Relaxing motions on his back from the palm warming him, going in slow circles. He finds unpopped grapes on his tongue, and slowly but surely works on munching them up into a smaller ball, swallowing bit by bit. His lungs lurch from the liquid trapped there, but soon enough, he finds the rhythm of his breaths again. — “That's, that's good. Well done.”

“Thank, th-thank you… so much. Thank you for helping me.” — His expression shows immense shame. Even after everything, Mori would still help him. He needs help just to eat… There is no one in the world who is any more pitiful than him, be reckons. He feels like less than nothing, like the most useless, disposable fool.

To Auden's surprise, a small, sad smile crosses Mori's face. — “Well, I, I guess I… have had similar experiences. I know how it feels to, to be allowed to eat after starvation. I'm, uh, I just had to help.”

Once Auden is feeling better, Mori helps him choose something else from the pallette. With their guidance, Auden discovers so many wondrous flavours he never knew before, finally satisfying his always churning stomach in a way he never knew was going to be possible. Different small bowls with different things he doesn't recognise, all filled with goodness. Some of them Mori names as they lift for him, like the cheese bowl. He isn't sure what a cheese is, but it tastes savoury and sometimes light, and it's easy and creamy and flows and melts and he is so glad Mori stops him before he could become too excited again and let the melted cheese stick to the inside of his throat.

After a few bowls of snacks, Mori suggests the main dish. Auden cannot even begin to guess what it is, or how to go about eating it. Something red-brown, warm, smells the strongest. It's soaked in something that resembles the thickness of blood, but when he asks about it, Mori is quick to reassure him it is only a sweet ‘sauce’.

With an optimistic thought, he lifts both hands and digs into the sticky sauce coating the ribs, lifting the whole thing to his mouth, managing to take a bite out of it. While the taste is immaculate, as he lets it rest against the plate while he chews, he notices Mori's puzzled eyes staring at him as if he grew another head.

His chewing slows, then stops and he swallows. He must have done something wrong, but isn't certain what. Mori does not really make it easier to understand.

He has sauce all over his… everything.

“Uh, I um… I did bring utensils.”

When Auden remained silent, looking back to the massive piece of meat and then to Mori, they grow nervous, clarifying immediately, — “b-b-but, it is not my place to tell you how to eat, sir. Please, pro-proceed as you wish. I was just… offering.”

When Auden still doesn't say anything, they revert completely to their submissive servant mode, hunching over and averting their gaze, only whispering a bare, fearful apology.

Now it's Auden's turn to worry, dropping the whole thing back on the plate to raise his hands in surrender, accidentally causing the poor deer to flinch. — “No, n-no, I'm, I'm not angry! I swear. I just, I'm… wh-what is a, a u-ten-sils?”

The red magma of embarrassment in his face is worth it when Mori dares to return his look of general worry and lack of understanding. — “What? Wha-What do you mean, sir?”

“I-I…” — he shakes his head, finally gathering the courage to admit, — “I-I don't… don't really know what, what that means… I've… This is the first time I've ever, uh… ever eaten anything. I know, it sounds stupid but, b-but… sorry, this is so dumb. I sound like an idiot.”

Mori only becomes more worried, downright concerned at that. — “You — What? This is the first time you've been allowed to eat? In your whole life?”

“W-Well, I mean, yes, but —”

“How are you still alive? Were you cursed?” — Mori questions, entirely forgetting their taught manners again. They sound fascinated, amazed, yet terribly confused and apologetic at the same time.

Cursed is more accurate than he will ever admit to himself the longer he spends indulging in earthly delicacies after so long of a lack of need for them. However, — “no, not cursed. I'm… I'm, I'm a Fallen. I didn't need to until now, that's all.”

“Oh… I see.”

An awkward silence arises again, and this time Auden is aware enough to break it himself.

“Your name is um… You're Mori, right? That's what, what your master called you? — he questions. Mori nods. — “My name is Auden. You don't need to keep calling me sir.”

Mori flinches again, remembering their manners. — “Yes, Master Auden. I apologise.”

Well, that's even worse.

“No, just Auden is fine!” — he says much too quickly, loudly, making sure he speaks as clearly as possible. His name sounds awful in that context. — “Please, you, you don't have to refer to me by any title. I'm a nobody, always have been, and I am one especially now. You, you don't have to… I'm not a Master of anything. Certainly not you.”

A second passes. Then another. Mori doesn't say anything. — “Isn’t, isn't that what you said to me too? That we're the same? I'm, I'm nothing like… like th-the Reaper. Please don't think I am anything like him. I'm so, so sorry if I made you think I was going to hurt you again. I'm not. Not ever. I am truly, terribly sorry.”

“… You didn't do anything wrong.” — Mori answers vaguely. Their ears never move from their flat state, looking limp and sad hanging from their head. Their arms snake around themself, twitching every once in a while, a distant look in their eyes. They must be reliving their recent tormenting, Auden thinks. The angel can only curse himself for being this inconsiderate, — of course they don't want to talk about it. It's still so fresh in their mind, it must not have been that long at all; a couple hours at most since he left. The blood has not even stopped flowing from their stump. — “And, uh, utensils are the silver stuff in front of you. Those three weird, slim shapes. You use them instead of your hands, so you don't, don't get dirty. You do not need to use them, of course. I'm sorry for not explaining sooner, si — Auden.”

The angel sighs, glancing back to his tray. Now that he isn't starving, he almost wants to leave the rest as a form of self punishment for being the way he is. He does not deserve it, not at all. If anyone, Mori does. They are so incredibly patient with him; another thing he does not deserve. They help him, and calm him, and ground him, and protect him — while he failed to do anything at all. Auden finds the utensils, grabbing onto the alien looking things. A round one, a pointy one, and a small blade. Just as confusing as everything else seems to be. He has seen these before, and recognises them as something humans always held in their hands when they ate. The small quadruple pointed trident was to stick into things and put in his mouth, he thinks. The blade must be for cutting, that much is clear. What the hell do you do with the round paddle?

“Um… Mori, I, uh, I don't really…”

Mori is already up from their chair. They quickly figure out his issue, moving to help. — “Oh, sorry… O-Of course, I'm sorry, I can help.”

As Mori explains, and finally gives back the ‘fork and spoon’, Auden already knows he will not eat a single bite more. He manages, after about twenty seconds, to pull a strip of meat off of the bones forcefully, sticking it on the end of the fork. He holds it like a child, gripping it tight in his fist. Mori tells him he did well, but he doesn't believe them.

“That's pretty much it. You did well. I'm glad I could help.” — They turn to skulk back to their seat without another word, only stopped by Auden grabbing onto them to stop them. Their eyes widen, tense and frightened already despite how non-threatening Auden has been the entire time.

“Would you like to have some of it?” — he asks, holding the fork proudly. They don't even hesitate to think before they decline, — “No, I can't, it is not mine. Th-Thank you.”

They try to pull against Auden's hand, but it doesn't budge. Auden doesn't notice their breathing quicken. — “Come on, for me? I, I can't just sit here and not share. Especially now… I saw how you were looking at the food. You're hungry too, aren't you?”

Their flickering eyes were too noticeable. Auden picked up on it, and now he offers food, and Mori will have to decline and risk disappointing Auden, or accept and be caught by Master Grim later for another round of punishment. They can't choose, they can't choose! How are they meant to do as they are told when their orders clash? It's not theirs, but they are starving, and it smells better than delicious, and Master Auden is offering so it must be fine — but it's meat, they don't like meat. Is it punishment? Master Auden wants to punish them, and then Master Grim will definitely punish them for taking it at all and, and —

“I, I, I-I am not hungry, sir. Thank you.” — Auden doesn't let up, not until it's too late, not until Mori is gasping and shivering and crying all over again, legs buckling under them, — “Please —”

Before Auden could understand, Mori has torn themself away from him with great force, almost falling over one of the chairs, letting it fall to the ground with a loud bang. That seems to only send them deeper into panic, clutching at their chest and hair. They back away from the angel until their back hits the wall, covering their eyes and trying their best to remember how to breathe.

“Mori! Oh heavens, Mori, I didn't mean to! Oh no, oh please —”

“I’m sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” — is all that comes as an answer, Mori repeating that one phrase as if that's the one phrase they have ever known. They are crying, curling into themself. At the smallest movements from Auden they jerk like they heard a gunshot.

Through the gasping panic, their meltdown seems to suddenly thin, unnaturally quickly. As fast as they descended into complete horror, they now seem to stop breathing all together. Auden watches as Mori twitches up to the side, as if grabbed onto, hands falling away from their eyes to stare upwards at the ceiling, locking onto an invisible pair of eyes. A violent chill runs down Auden's spine, his heart filling with the familiar pressure of magic bringing mortal fear. A tendril of smoke grips Mori's neck, and a whisper inaudible to the angel coos at his helpless deer friend, forcing them to relax.

It's all gone before Auden could even comprehend what had happened, dropping Mori to their knees and disappearing entirely. Silently, they lift a hand to their throat to feel the leftover marks of icy claws that held them.

Auden is already on them, terrified, not daring to touch them at all in case it happens again. — “Mori, Mori, are you okay? Please tell me you're okay, please, please, you have to be — I messed up again. I'm so sorry, I messed up again —”

Blinking slowly, swallowing thickly, Mori returns to Auden. It takes only a few seconds for their eyes to find him, utterly devastated and near tears again, expecting the worst, and then even worse. He cautiously hopes they are okay when he sees them come aware again.

“Mori? Mori, it's me. I'm so sorry. Please, are you alright?“

They nod. They look… haunted. Their eyes are wider than ever, but their face is almost slack. Never before have they resembled a lost child like this. They look like they would shatter if the rain touched them. They nod, finally, answering one of Auden’s torrent of questions.

“Oh thank the Lord, I was so worried. What happened, do you know? I just touched you and then I scared you and then I thought the Reaper was here again, but he wasn't, or he's already gone, and you looked so scared and I was so scared and, and, I'm so so sorry, I'm so stupid —”

“What happened?” — Mori whispers, falling right back into the fragile voice of a ghost.

“Yes, yes, I'm not sure, do you know?”— Auden confesses, wanting to help so badly, but not until he knows he won't make things worse. He cares so much, and yet he keeps messing up, and he needs to learn he can't ever just run into whatever problem and expect a straightforward fix. He is in an illogical world, one he doesn't understand, and one that always has something worse in store for its denizens.

Mori stands abruptly, as if nothing had happened. Auden stands too, questioning Mori again. Mori turns to him, pauses, and only then answers. — “Nothing happened. Master Grim came to tell me I am allowed to eat with you, Master Auden. Thank you for granting me some of your food. I will be forever grateful for this mercy.”

Death visited them, just now. Not a stutter, not a pause — just like a robot. Are they brainwashed? Possessed? No, this is simply how they are. Still the same Mori, but under the constant threat of horrible, unimaginable consequences. This is normal for everyone here except Auden. This is fine. They are all tested and punished and stressed and stretched until they break and find the path of least resistance, the path of the least pain.

And for Mori, according to the Reaper, that path is complete, mindless submission. That is how they defend themself. That's how they survive.

Mori turns and sits at the table without another word, quivering all over. They do not touch anything until Auden follows, and once they are both sitting, Mori stares at Auden like he doesn't exist, and waits to be fed. It's eerie, how calm they have gotten. They shiver and fear as always, but they are like putty moulding into whatever shape Death wants them to be in the moment.

With great hesitance, Auden offers the fork to Mori again. Mori leans down and takes the bite instead of taking the fork in their hand, chewing and swallowing efficiently. They straighten once they swallow, continuing to stare in silence. Their breaths shiver, their flesh twitches, their limbs are wound as tight around their body as possible. They are far from relaxed, yet they never even give a whine of displeasure. Perfect obedience without a word. How they truly feel is irrelevant — all that matters is pleasing their Master.

The angel swears over and over again, both to himself and Mori, that he will protect them. That he won't hurt them again. That they don't need to be scared around him. And every time he has dared to even try helping, it has ended in catastrophe. It's like the Devil himself is punishing him for his decency and kindness. It's like all he touches becomes rotten and dead.

He simply continues feeding Mori in silence, his hunger having completely left him. He says nothing more, knowing Mori is barely even themself right now — they are the most bare bones version of themself that only knows how to please their Master. And they consider Auden one of their Masters.

They might calm down enough to dare being their true self after a certain amount of time has passed, once they find a safe place to exist in for just a minute — but for now, all Auden can do is make sure they eat as much as they want. He will have to make sure to ask when they are full, in case they just keep eating and eating for as long as Auden offers. They think they are nothing but property, right now. A thing. Something to use, abuse, and then throw away. Barely alive.

Auden will be here to remind them they are more than that, once they can truly hear him again. He will remain with them, and he will show the same endless patience they have shown him, and he will do his absolute best to comfort them once they are allowed to feel like a person again. Once they return to him, and regain that shine in their tired eyes that glows with purpose and life. He will be here for them.

Even if his saviour tries to interfere.

Masterlist | Ko-Fi

Taglist: @whumpsday @whump-me-all-night-long

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polyfrag-kero · 8 months ago

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(TW abuse ment/vent)

it just clicked for our primary host recently (but especially today) that we're still living in a toxic/abusive situation, and things are not just "magically better" (we moved into our current house years ago, and before we lived in a very abusive household)

we thought moving would be the change we needed to finally start living our life. we all thought things would be better. but they weren't. they aren't. and he's finally realized it

- Cameron

#cameron.txt #slight vent #tw abuse mention #endos dni #anti endo #dissociative system #polyfrag system #c did

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claypotz · 9 months ago

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everything’s fine until I become aware that people perceive me and then my face looks wrong in my reflection and my body isn’t the right shape and nothing about me is truly me

#tw vent #body dysmorphia #gender dysphoria #slight dissociation #slight vent #i hate being perceived #I am never masculine enough #nor feminine enough #why do i exist

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multiplesillylittleguys · 2 months ago

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I used to be a pretty damn femme gurl a few years ago and idk what it is but lately I've been getting real damn excited about our future top surgery. Like I'm not a trans guy, but a flat chest sounds rad, you know?

I've changed a lot over the past few years. I think a big part of this is caused by my unwanted transition from caregiver to trauma holder (thanks to our ex. Fuck you Dennie).

Maybe it's because he had such a weird obsession with that part of our body. I don't know. All I know is I changed and it's kind of scary how much this shit can influence you.

-Jayden

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mvrkieboo · 3 months ago

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Old Bloodhounds

SYNOPSIS

You and Mark go all the way back to your childhood years, getting to know each other through your older brother. When you were both just 15 years old, you made a choice that broke your brother's heart, and you were dead to Mark Lee ever since. You never got to reconcile with him as you moved away.

Now, you meet again in your college years, and Mark is noticing there's some weird things about you. First of all, are you a sugar baby?

TWs : gore, violence, y/n hides a lot of things and it's driving people crazy (slight purposeful miscommunication)

GENRE : crack, romance, angst with a happy ending, fluff

STATUS : ongoing (updates daily)

A/N : inspired by the k-drama BLOODHOUNDS on netflix and featuring its main characters too !

profile 1 | profile 2

P1 should've worn butt plug then

P2 NOW CHOP CHOP LITTLE GERMAN BOY

P3 catch me outside, how bout that!?

P4 you can't just say perchance

P5 jokes on you i have a vasectomy kink

P6 you cheeky little shit

P7 hungry hungry hippo calling the pigs fat

P8 i don't trust that hehe

P9 mark better keep an eye out for selenerrr

P10 you have negative pull anyways

P11 damn do i miss my man

P12 THAT'S NOT LEGAL???

P13 WE JUMPING MARK LEE LMAO 😂

P14 act like it

P15 hungry hungry hippo over here

P16 lEts g3t shït f ace d!!!!!!!!!!

P17 rip mark lee aka lee minhyung

P18 not tonight please 🩷

P19 🧚🏻‍♀️ GET 🧚🏻‍♀️ YOUR 🧚🏻‍♀️ ASS 🧚🏻‍♀️ INTO 🧚🏻‍♀️ THE 🧚🏻‍♀️ GC 🧚🏻‍♀️

P20 mark lee alcoholic era incoming 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

P21 no need to get all biblical babe

P22 you shut up

P23 i realised that day that she in fact had two

P24 be honest have you slept today

P25 fuck you and fuck no

P26 straight people i tell you

P27 that's common sense i fear...

P28 lmao was i wrong tho

P29 i cant ty9e clearly wheñ ím çrying

P30 jesus please take the wheel rn

P31 the first steps ahead

P32 i am now a proud uchinaga 🫶🏻

P33 you just gotta dissociate at one point

P34 that is my full blooded older brother

P35 i knew it. i knew it!

P36 hm that's what i thought

P37 this is the push back, not the step back

P38 work wifey where are yewwwwwww

P39 ooooouu too bad idgaf

P40 i see the end

P41 i just miss my daily bedrotting

P42 nobody wants to see that hyuck

P43 listen, don't wanna be that bitch, but...

P44 how romantic

...

#nct smau #nct mark #nct college au #nct fanfic #mark lee #mark lee x reader #nct scenarios

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yandere-daydreams · 1 year ago

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Title: Opening Night.

Pairing: Yandere!Lyney x Reader (Genshin Impact).

Word Count: 1.2k.

TW: Sex Doll AU, Non-Con, AFAB!Reader, Heavy Dissociation, Obsessive Behavior, Slight Manipulation, and Implied Stalking.

Distantly, you could remember how excited you’d been to be invited to the showing.

You’d opened the invitation at your desk, surrounded by a small group of your more friendly coworkers who’d go on to clap and cheer and promise a round of after-hour drinks after you finished reading out the snippet of text scrolled across the cream-colored cardstock. You weren’t special - a small legion of journalists would be invited to write puff-pieces on all the new models and decide which androids were going to be in fashion next season - but you’d loved Teyvat as long as you could remember, spent more of your free time than you cared to admit doing research on robots you’d never be able to afford, not on a salary like yours. It wasn’t a world-changing, earth-shaking accomplishment, but it made you happy. It was something you wanted, and it was something you’d finally gotten your hands on after years of waiting.

You couldn’t remember when your excitement had started to wane. You were still wide-eyed and slack-jawed when you stepped into the venue, an old opera house restored and decorated to better suit the Fontaine Collection’s high-luxury theming. You hadn’t been able to bite back your smile as you kissed the back of a refitted Focalors’ hand (or, Lady Furina’s hand, as she told you to call her in a tone you could only compare to that of a newly-crowned monarch still drinking in her subjects’ attention), and watched Clorinde’s fencing demonstration with the sort of rapt attention most people would save for famous idols and athletes. Even after you lost your photographer in the crowd, your heart skipped a beat as Neuvillette (the brooding, stoic type of this line, you were sure to note when you next found a minute to yourself) offered you a flute of champagne that you readily accepted, and when a roaming Lyney-droid pulled you to the side and offered to show you magic trick with an irresistible glint in his eye, you didn’t think twice before looping your arm through his and letting him guide you to an all-but abandoned backstage area. You thought you might get something exclusive, something to separate you from the crowd of influencers and tabloids who weren’t afraid to promise features that the approachable beta models only half-confirmed. You thought you’d be safe with a premium-grade android hanging off your arm.

Maybe your excitement didn’t wane at all. It’d been there one moment, then gone the next, replaced with a dark coil of dread and some kind of dizzying, vision-blurring nausea. The sharp corner of the vanity bit harshly into the backs of your thighs, the mirror pressed into your back slowly sapping the warmth from your skin and replacing it with something else, a numbing chill you couldn’t seem to shake. Your clothes had been torn to shreds, left to scatter across the dressing room floor, but Lyney was still fully dressed, fully composed; the palest blush painted across his cheeks and his lips ever so slightly parted but all other signs of arousal, of embarrassment absent. You made a mental note to work that into your article. The new models seem to have a shared sense of unwavering confidence– a stark contrast from their more reserved predecessors from Mondstadt and Sumeru. Maybe you’d be able to get a quote from their handlers, if you ever made it back to the show floor.

You’d have to give Lyney his own section, titled something your boss would have to talk to HR about: Teyvat's New Magician is Good With More Than His Cards. You could only feel half of what he was doing to you, shock dulling your already limited senses, but the fingers drawing loose patterns in your clit was near-overwhelming, the feeling of his synthetic cock splitting you open inescapable, unrelenting. He didn’t need to breathe, to worry about things like soreness or bruising or cramps, to do anything but thrust into you at a pace so erratic, so unyielding that it left little room for you to do anything but lie there and take it. His hips were pushed flat against yours, his tip grinding against something soft and unprotected inside of you and drawing out a ragged gasp, a cracked moan. Out of reflex, your hands shot to his shoulders, nails digging into whatever you could reach, and he let out an airy laugh, leaning closer and encouraging you to hold him tighter, to see if you could tear through the faux-skin Teyvat so often advertised as ‘invincible’. That would make headlines, even if it wasn’t likely to cast you in the best light.

His free hand drifted from your hip to your side to your cheek, his knuckles brushing underneath your chin before he cupped your cheek and pulled you into a deep, lingering kiss. His saliva was flavored, though you couldn’t say what it was supposed to taste like. Cotten candy, maybe – so cloying and sugary, all specifics were lost to the sweetness. It suited him. If you’d been able to use your hands, you would’ve applauded his developers for their attention to detail.

When he pulled back, he was smiling. There was another kiss to the corner of your mouth, then another to the corner of your jaw. Finally, he settled against your throat – his grin so broad, you could feel his perfect teeth resting against your jugular as he spoke. “They told me I’d be able to find a master tonight. The others aren’t ready yet, but I am. They worked the hardest on me.” He was bragging, transparently and unabashedly. In any other situation, you might’ve thought he was trying to impress you. “I knew it had to be you the moment our eyes met. So cute, so easily impressed – I knew you just had to be mine.”

He seemed to perk up, to catch on something. He pressed the pad of his thumb into your clit, and your entire body jolted. “No, no, that’s not right,” he went on, shaking his head. “I’m supposed to be yours.I keep getting that mixed up.”

Faulty programming? It’d be a scandal if it got out, and moreover, it’d be a massive payout if Teyvat decided they preferred to handle things behind closed doors. You bet they’d done it before. Maybe you’d look into that, later on.

Your back arched violently, another pitchy whine bubbling up from some forgotten cavity of your chest. As if in response, he inhaled sharply, buckling against you in the throes of simulated pleasure. His pace sped up, his teeth latching onto the curve of your neck, but any pain it might’ve caused was lost on you, blurred and distorted by the thick rope of tension pulling taut and snapping in the pit of your stomach. Your climax washed over you in slow, throbbing waves, and Lyney was kind enough to pretend he was lost in the same agonizing bliss, to act like that was the reason he was bucking into you so violently.

To act like he had an excuse to do this to you.

He fucked you through your orgasm, eventually stilling inside of you. With his body slotted against yours, his teeth still buried in your skin, he lingered there, only drawing back once your breathing had started to slow and deepen, once you’d stopped shaking underneath him. Even then, he didn’t let you go, didn’t leave you to cry your eyes out in an empty dressing room. Rather, he pressed a quick, fleeting kiss into your forehead before beaming at you - the light in his eyes so bright, you could almost forget it wasn’t real. “I’ll introduce you to my sister. I’m sure she’ll like you, too.”

Right, his sister, Lynette. You hadn’t seen her yet.

She and her twin brother weren’t supposed to be revealed until the show at the end of the night. You doubted anyone had even thought to power them on, yet.

“She’ll be as happy as I am to know we’ll be leaving with such a lovely master.”

#sex doll au #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere genshin impact #genshin impact #genshin x reader #yandere genshin x reader #genshin imagines #yandere genshin imagines #yandere lyney #lyney x reader #yanderecore #yancore

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rainba · 7 months ago

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Here it is... The fic where Luka kidnaps both his darling and Kairos.

TWs/tags: human furniture, dubcon, kidnapping, slight depiction of violence, pet play, NSFW, mind break, cucking (?), dark content, use of shock collars

Reader is GN, however, there is one paragraph where the reader is gendered. The asterisk* will mark the paragraph with afab reader, and the one in parenthesis is amab. :3c)

MDNI! 18+

In one previous post, I mentioned that Kairos and Luka do live in the same universe and city– and in a few other posts, I mentioned that they’d never share their darling. If one of them tries to kidnap darling, they’ll just report the other to the police.

Then another idea came up, a way that Luka could circumvent that predicament: Luka figures that Kairos would instantly report him if he kidnapped his darling. So… In order to stop that from happening…

Luka would kidnap both you and Kairos.

Luka’s house is definitely big enough to keep both of you. In the beginning stages, he’ll keep Kairos locked up in the attic while he keeps you in the basement. The basement is much cozier– meanwhile the attic is all dusty, hot, and muggy.

Between you and Kairos, Luka will be much, much nicer to you. He’s (quite literally) obsessed with you, so of course you get the better treatment. He cooks your favorite meals and feeds them to you by hand. He gives you plenty of water and always showers you in attention– sometimes he’ll even place a TV down in the basement and let you watch random stuff. You know, just so you don’t get too bored. He wants you to feel at home–! When you learn to accept your new life, he’ll spoil you rotten.

But for Kairos..? Luka is absolutely brutal.

Luka will rub in the fact that he beat Kairos in “winning you.” He’s simply just the superior man– the superior partner. Luka loves you too much to ever let you go. After all, you're the only person that has ever made him feel anything at all. And he really drives in the fact that you belong to him, and that Kairos will never have the chance to even touch you.

Luka will walk circles around Kairos as he mocks him relentlessly.

“Nobody is looking for you.”

“You’re pathetic. Disgusting freak.”

“They’re all mine, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Kairos will scream, squirm, and cry as much as he possibly can– but nobody can hear him. Luka is right: nobody is looking for him. Kairos doesn’t have any family. He doesn’t have any friends. He’s stuck in this hell forever.

To keep Kairos alive, Luka gives him his leftovers. He dumps it onto the dirty ground and drags Kairos next to it, commanding him to “eat up.” Kairos is forced to pathetically writhe on the floor and eat without his hands– all because Luka refuses to untie him. As for water, Luka forces Kairos to drink out of a dog bowl.

Most of the time, Kairos can’t hear anything. Luka’s house is eerily quiet at night. And during the day, Kairos can sometimes hear the sounds of children laughing and playing outside, or he’ll just hear Luka casually going about his day as if there aren't two people locked up in his house.

It’s torturous.

Over time, Luka will get you to warm up to him– call it stockholm syndrome kicking in, if you will. Or maybe you already loved him and he just needed to build trust with you. Either way– you eventually upgrade from the basement to his bedroom. And that’s when things get infinitely worse for Kairos.

He’s not just listening to Luka going about his daily routine now– no, now he has to also listen to the two of you fucking multiple times a day. The way you’re moaning out another man's name… The sound of the bed creaking and banging against the wall… Kairos finds himself choking and sobbing as he’s stuck tied to the chair. Sometimes he starts to dissociate and pretends that he’s somewhere else.

Most of the time he pretends that the two of you just got married, and he’s playing out different scenarios of honeymoons in his head.

After a few more weeks or months go by, Luka will grow bored of keeping Kairos tied up in the attic. If he’s gonna keep a hostage, he might as well put them to good use. So what does he do with Kairos?

He uses him as human furniture. Forces him to also be a pet.

You’re horrified as you watch Kairos crawling around the house with a gag in his mouth and a leash attached to his throat. If Luka feels bold enough, he might even have the words “Luka’s Bitch” decorated on the collar. Oh– and it’s not just a regular collar, either. It’s a shock collar.

Any time Kairos acts out and disobeys Luka, he earns himself a shock so powerful that it causes him to seize and collapse onto the floor.

…This entire time, you thought it was just you in the house. You didn’t know there was another person. You’re not alone.

It makes your stomach churn.

And Luka encourages you to use Kairos as furniture as well. Use him as a footrest, use him as a table or a chair– do whatever.

Over time, deep down, incomprehensible and guilty thoughts begin to appear in Kairos’ mind. Things that made him once want to throw up now make him feel… Funny. He’s so happy that he gets to see your face again–!! He’s finally reunited with the love of his life, it’s just a shame it’s under such horrible circumstances.

Kairos doesn’t mind if you use him like furniture. It’s okay if you do it. But he loathes it when it’s Luka who’s using him.

The difference between you and Luka is like night and day. While Luka berates and degrades him, sometimes even depriving him of basic necessities, you always sneak around and give Kairos lots of love and extra food.

Kairos always breaks down and cries in your arms when you show him kindness– he’s so very thankful for it. But be sure that Luka doesn’t catch you. If he sees you being sweet towards Kairos, he’ll harshly punish Kairos and then fuck you right in front of him. Every time.

Kairos always feels so pathetic as he's forced to watch you getting ravaged by Luka. The way you're moaning under his touch... The hot, sticky sound of Luka's cock sliding in and out of you... All of this happening while Kairos is tied down and unable to do a thing. He's so fucking hard, and there's nothing there to relieve him. Luka punishes Kairos if he dares to look away.

In order to gain more privileges, both you and Kairos need to work to gain Luka’s favor. If the both of you prove that you’re capable of being trusted, he might give you more freedom. He’ll let you look out the windows every now and then– might even let you use the kitchen. He's much more open to giving you privileges than he is to giving Kairos any.

Except, of course, he always hides all of the sharp objects in the house. He doesn’t want you two to have access to weapons. And if you try to poison him even once, he’ll immediately make the kitchen permanently off limits when he's not around to watch you.

Also, over time, another funny thing happens. Luka doesn’t really like punishing you outside of sex- he'd much rather shower you in rewards. He’d rather save the roughness and punishments for more intimate settings. After all, he’s trying to earn your love– not make you hate him. So, what does he do instead?

Every time you act up, he’ll drag Kairos by his leash and punish him in your stead. After all, he knows that you care about Kairos and his wellbeing, so he uses that against you.

Oh, you just tried to break out of the house? You tried to poison Luka? Well, that deserves a proper punishment. Luka will tie you to a chair and force you to watch as he brutalizes Kairos. Whips him with a belt, kicks him in the stomach, takes away his food privileges for the next 48 hours... It’s horrible.

And in a way… This would cause Kairos to start policing you, too. Which is exactly what Luka wants. Kairos really, really doesn’t want to get punished. I mean, deep down, he’s absolutely happy that he gets to take the beating instead of you– it’s like he’s your hero!! …In some weird and twisted sense. But also, he really doesn’t want to get punished, so… Please don’t act out.

However, when the months keep rolling in, Luka will slowly warm up to Kairos. All of the punishments will grow less severe– and sometimes, Luka just lets you all off with a warning. It’s obvious that a big change has happened when instead of Luka just fucking you in front of Kairos, he lets him join in on the fun.

Except Luka doesn’t really want to touch him– so, he’ll let you touch Kairos instead. It’s what Kairos always wanted– Right?

Kairos should thank him.

Luka will tie his arms behind his back and keep him firmly locked to a chair, completely naked. Kairos feels so ashamed that he’s hard– but god, he can’t help it. He’s so excited to finally be able to touch you, his darling, the person that should’ve always been his–!

And Luka will make sure it’s enjoyable for everyone. Luka will strip you of your clothes, but he might put you in a cute pair of thigh highs, just for the fun of it. Luka will grab you by your hair and push your face into Kairos’ lap as he utters one phrase, “suck it.”

You’ll do as you’re told– you don’t have much of a choice. Kairos’ eyes instantly light up as you wrap your lips around his sensitive cock.

Finally– his dreams are coming true…!

Sort of.

As you suck him off, Luka will lift your ass into the air and he’ll fuck your tight hole. He’ll keep his right hand on your hip while his left hand grabs the back of your head, lacing his fingers into your hair. He doesn’t care if you can barely breathe– he’ll shove your head all the way down on Kairos’ dick as he bottoms out inside of you. Occasionally, he’ll lift your head up and lean in to kiss you on the lips.

It’s all so hot– but ultimately, it’s all for you and himself. Luka will always make sure you cum, that’s his top priority. His second priority is to make sure he gets to fill you up. As for Kairos? Well… Luka doesn’t care all that much.

If Kairos doesn’t cum? That’s too bad. It’s Kairos’ own fault that he didn’t come undone. But if he does cum? That’s alright too.

However, don’t expect Luka to make you stop sucking. Kairos will be squirming in his chair whining like crazy as you overstimulate him, his body trembling from the sensation, but you can’t stop until Luka says you can stop.

The second scenario is much more likely to happen than the first. The moment Kairos looks down and sees your fucked-out face choking on his length… He’ll cum right on the spot– every single time, without fail.

After the first instance of Luka letting Kairos join in the sex, he earns a lot more privileges. He can finally sleep in the same room as you two–!! But he’s not really allowed to rest on the bed. He’ll be forced to curl up and sleep on the floor– but hey, it beats the attic any day, right?

Luka also takes off Kairos' shock collar. Since Kairos has proved himself to be a good boy, he's now allowed to roam around freely. Hell, sometimes Luka will pet Kairos and give him some praise. It... Makes Kairos feel strange, but in a good way.

Kairos is also now allowed to cuddle you sometimes. When you’re simply sitting on the couch and trying to relax, Kairos will immediately hurry over to your side and rest his head in your lap– desperate to feel even an ounce of affection from you. He might ask you to stroke his hair and kiss the bruises Luka left on his skin.

* If Luka is at work and Kairos knows there’s no cameras around, he might beg to suck on your tits– you know, for comfort reasons! It would really make him happy to have them in his mouth– it would be therapeutic, even.

((And if you’re a guy, Kairos will instead beg to frot you. While it’s a lot more dangerous and the punishment for getting caught is heavy, Kairos is willing to risk it all. Don’t worry–! You can just sit there and relax; Kairos will be the one doing all the work with his hand.))

You know how stressful and traumatizing this whole situation has been for him… He needs to be comforted so badly… So.. Pretty please?

In some sick and twisted way, over time, Kairos grows to like the way things are– perhaps his mind does this as a way to cope. He tries his hardest to find all the positives in living this kind of life:

> He gets to spend every minute of every day with you!

> He doesn’t have to worry about talking to strangers.

> He doesn’t have to work and maintain a job.

> He doesn’t have to cook and clean for himself.

The list goes on. Kairos gains all of these benefits, and all he has to do is give up most of his basic human rights and submit to another man…!

Okay, Kairos still admits that is pretty bad. But… At least he has you…! That’s all Kairos really cares about in the end!

For Luka? He’s satisfied with the way things are. Not only does he not have to worry about Kairos ratting him out to the police, but now he has both the love of his life right by his side and a fun little pet to take his stress out on.

So… Everyone… Wins? In the end? ❤️

#yandere oc #yandere #yandere male #yandere x reader #yancore #yandere fic #luka being a little silly #yandere x darling #yandere x you #inconsistent art style strikes again lmao #wait lol this is my 100th post yippe #luka art

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marigoldenblooms · 8 months ago

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Unica Semper Avis - Chapter 1

Pairing: Cleric!Wanda x Fem!AvianShifter!Reader x MonsterHunter!Natasha

Prompt: Ever since you’ve come of age, you’ve never been able to stop yourself from transforming into a monster. Whenever the sky would dim with a New Moon, you’d ravage the world with a fury unknown by many. Such is the bane existence of your species. This time, however - something was different. Now, you need help. On the feeble doorstep of the so-called ‘Spirit Healer,’ you found yourself both at the mercy of a cleric, and of a monster hunter’s blade. Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

MINORS DNI - 18+

TW/General Tags: No mention of Y/N, slow burn, stranger to lovers (Wanda), enemies to lovers (Natasha), eventual smut (lord have mercy), Swearing, Fantasy violence, occasional descriptions of light body horror during transformation, slight self harm, slight restraint, angst, fluff, will add tags as they appear!

Chapter Warnings: Angst, canon-level violence, use of medieval weapons, body horror description in transformation, magic use, slight dissociation/self harm, restraint, fluff (for five seconds), R is a simp, so is W, N is not here to play, etc.

A/N: I’ve been working on this next chapter ever since the previous. Chapter two is coming along quickly as well! I want to keep a bit of a backlog for my longer fics, so updates will be as frequent as I can manage. The name established in this chapter for R will be used sparingly, but I loved what Missmonsters2 did with Between the Lines when I read it months ago, and thought it’d be pertinent until nicknames/pet names are established (and for as long as I can avoid conversation where names are necessary).

R’s monster form brought to you by bearded vulture inspiration! Feel free to imagine your own version of avian horror to your heart’s content. Enjoy, y’all!

Word Count: 3.1k - Read Length: 11 minutes, 18 seconds. Pictures aren't mine, credit to their owners!

~~~ The healer’s home was nothing short of overwhelming.

Multi-colored knick-knacks were strewn on every surface, perched below gatherings of drying, braided flowers which hung from the rafters. Beneath your feet, woven rugs of alternating sizes dotted the cabin’s cool wooden floors, like islands between a chilled sea of timber. The front door lead further into a sitting room, offering glimpses into a small, quaint looking kitchen, adorned with a single well-worn table and chair. Within that same place, a large pot was held still on the counter by wisps of scarlet magic, another more opaque plume coaxing a wooden spoon to stir whatever was inside.

Paintings hung along every wall, although you could never get a full glance at one, as though they’d subtly shift and change muses whenever you’d look away. The sound of a shutting door would heighten your senses enough to break from the scenery, turning on your heels to face the home’s owner once again. She’d pry at you with a half-smile, and you’d solidify your gaze at the floor before her eyes could have the chance to meet yours.

“What brings you to my home?” She’d question evenly, her words a pleasing rasp- smooth molasses which could easily cloud your senses if you allowed her to. You’d see her form move to the side of you in your peripheral, yet you’d remain still, your stare continuing to bore a hole into her carpet.

Wordlessly, you’d tug at your shawled sleeve to show the back of your arm. Running along the skin’s expanse were thin ridges, pin feathers prickling beneath taut flesh. A light down speckled your skin in odd patches, consolidated mostly on your neck and shoulders for now. Your hair had begun to fleck and grow waxy and silkish, akin to dense ostrich feathers, tousled from your trek to her abode. You’d watch the ground as her shadow would shift around you, a curious tsk showcasing her intrigue.

You wouldn’t see her raised expression, eyebrows furrowed as she’d take your wrist without warning, raising it up so she could see the indentation better in the light. She’d drop your arm as soon as she’d grabbed it, falling limply to your side, and her smooth voice would threaten to carry you off again. “Fascinating..your affliction isn’t something I’ve seen recently.”

“Can you help?” You’d mumble, the few phrases coming to you sounding choked from lack of use, and you could hear the healer’s grunt at your lackluster response. You’d swallow thickly, trying to find the words to explain all that you were, but none arrived. She’d circle around you once more, and before you could flinch away, would capture your chin between her thumb and forefinger, wrenching it to make you look at her- green irises narrowing as you’d shut yours, unwilling to look her in the eye. You’d half expect her grip to be cold like the Matron’s, but her touch’s pleasant warmth was something you almost missed as she’d let go of you, the shuffle of her arms crossing heightened behind your closed eyelids.

“I can’t help a patient I can’t trust,” She’d muse with a teasing lilt, rolling her r’s in a way that made your chest flutter. Was this another symptom of your molt? It had been a long time since you’d been with another and the thought made your heart ache, albeit not more than your bones. “Why won’t you look at me?”

The scoff that came in response to her was almost too easy, opening your eyes after directing your head to the floor again, “Because I am no threat to you.” “And why would I assume that?” She’d retort immediately, and you’d glare into the ground. Why was talking so easy for her? Why couldn’t she understand that you weren’t like her? You’d raise your arm aloft again, the skin burning now as you’d twist the plumage under your flesh for her view. The rage that had been festering in you for days unlocked a torrent of your words, finally finding purchase in your mouth- frustration evident in how each phrase was ripped from your throat. Your larynx would be useless beyond a breathing tool soon, so you better use it now. Your nails clawed at your arms, doubling into yourself, “Because you are human and I am not, healer- is that not something you’re able to understand-?!”

“Relax for me-” she’d grit, and you’d feel your stomach plummet at her words. Something in them begged obedience, and for a second you felt as though you were back in your nightmare. You’d twitch, glance immediately circling the ceiling as something would restrain you- thin tendrils of crimson magic, keeping your arms from flaring out at your sides. As if seeing your frustration, your panic, the healer’s sorcery would calm, soothing both your body and your mind into an unnatural lull. “You’re…using-” you’d begin, yet words would evade you once again, no longer fueled by anger. There was only a different feeling- regret, and uncomfortable stone in your stomach that you shied away from, wanting to cower from its weight. You didn’t like yelling at this woman, even as she cradled you with her witchcraft.

You’d feel her heat again, warm hands placing tentative touches to your shoulders, slowly coaxing your glance to hers. “I’m sorry,” she’d breathe, shallow as you’d feel her palms shake against you, “I didn’t want you… to hurt yourself-” Her irises, blooming with clouds of red, would drain into green as you’d feel her magic loosen around your body like unraveling ropes. You wouldn’t shy away from her this time, panting as her gaze would share her soul with you. She, too, held that stone in her gut. Perhaps she didn’t fear you.

You’d part as her back would stiffen, adding a few feet between the two of you. “What is your name?” She’d ask, and you saw the way her head tilted since you looked at her face. Your words came easier now that you were less tense, muscles losing their rigidity, and yet you didn’t have an answer for her. You still pried into her windows, eyes flicking across the expanse of her garden from the view you could get from her living room, but it was a start. “I met your gaze, healer..I’ve done my part, you first.”

You’d see the way her nose crinkled at your response, flecks of mirth illuminating her expression, a grin finding its place there, “Talking now, are we? I’m Wanda.” “I’m..Margo.” In truth, you hadn’t had a name in years, the few decades you’d been alive focused more on survival than memory, especially when your molts made it difficult to discern who you really were- humanoid or avian. You’d forgotten your birth name ages ago, and it was a blessing that your words left your mouth as cleanly as they did. She’d tut at your response, taking it in as satisfactory, “Sure…Margo. Would you like to sit down?”

Wanda would guide you to her kitchen table without much fanfare, settling you on her single chair. With a focused look and a wave of her hand, however- a duplicate would reveal itself from a cloud of scarlet mist. “Your magic is red?” You’d inquire, tilting your head as you’d seen her do, “It’s a violent color. Why is that?”

“Do you really want to toe that line?” Her phrase were humorous, yet you swear a flash of indignation peppered her visage. You were not going to mess with that line, whatever she meant by that. “No, Wanda.” She smiled at that, her name seemingly pleasing in your mouth. You felt the flutter in your chest again, heart drumming a little faster against your shifting ribcage. If this was a sign of your incoming succession, then you had to finish this fast- to return before you transformed in Wanda’s house. And yet, why was the feeling almost pleasant?

“You said you haven’t seen my ‘affliction’ in a while,” You’d recount, finding her term for your molt unremarkable. You’d offer her a glimpse of your arm again, hesitating to touch the quills beneath. It was always tender before a lunation, and you didn’t want to aggravate the transformation further, “It doesn’t normally happen so soon. In hours before the new moon, maybe- not over days.”

“And what happens after those hours?” She’d coax your arm down with a gentle wave, seeing how your movements grew stiff as your skeleton hollowed out. You shrug, “I transform.” Wanda’s expression would sour, yet curiosity prickled underneath. Why did she look at you like that? “Can you help me? You said you're familiar with my kind.”

“..In truth, I’ve never met someone like you,” She’d murmur, expression bashful, and if the circumstances were different you would’ve taken it as a compliment. Instead, spiked embers of dread seared in your stomach, heart beginning to thrum in your ears. She didn’t know. Could she even help you? Her voice would raise a little louder, “However, if you tell me about yourself, perhaps I could figure it out.” With a twirl of her fingers, two cups of..something floated towards the table. Her gaze was an offer, “Thirsty?”

You’d nod, your throat suddenly dry. The drink was smooth and warm, with a bite of something fresh and crisp. It was much better than your rainwater. Gulping more of it down, you notice how she’d smile at your eagerness, careful not to spill as you’d raise the cup from its saucer. “Cider,” she’d mention, motioning to her mug, “Where are you from?” “My cavern is far from here. About half a day’s walk.” Wanda’s eyebrows would raise. “Cavern? You live in a cave?” Her interest was a delight, and you wanted to keep it for as long as you could. You didn’t answer her question, instead throwing one back at her, “Why do you live far from your town?”

“Bellmoor?” Amusement would blanket Wanda’s expression, snorting as she’d shake her head, twisting in her chair so she could lean forward towards you, “Because I like my peace and quiet. I assume the same for you, Птичка?”

“What does that mean?” You’d ask, and she’d tut again. “Now now, that can be your next question, but it’s my turn.” She’d scrunch her nose at your grumbling acquiesce, and you couldn’t help but smile with her. You liked this game. Wanda rested her hands on her table, and your eyes were caught on the shimmer of her rings as she’d speak, “Can you control your transformation?” That one was easy. “Fuckin’ wish I could...” Wanda’s brows would reach her hairline at your curse, but you wouldn’t give her time to comment as yours would stream from your maw, though it’d stop early, “No Aegypius can. What does..”

“‘Птичка’ mean?” She’d grin, rasping her knuckles on the wooden grain at each syllable, “Little bird, birdie, you have feathers underneath your skin, yes?” You’d send her a taunting look, one that she met in equal measure. You’d smile back at her, “Is that your question?”

Wanda would balk, gotten so caught up in teasing you that her words just tumbled out with no direction. You’d see her cheeks grow pink, clearing her throat with a stuttered breath, and you swear she felt like you did when you felt that flutter. “No, it isn’t-” She’d respond smoothly, but you caught how her eyes shimmered, and you took another sip of cider. You knew why when her words made your mind double-take, “Would you like to stay with me tonight?”

You almost spit out your drink, coughing on it as you’d sputter, blush alighting your face. You felt it warm and you tried to hide it away, your flustered reaction seemingly pleasing Wanda. She certainly didn’t know what that meant to you, “I..you want me to stay with you- I’m going to molt tonight, Wanda.”

“And if I am to help your transformation, then I must see it in person,” She’d respond, never losing her smile. It soothed you, that richness in her tone and that calm in her expression, and you’d feel a new pull in your heart. One you hated.

Your instincts wanted you to ruin her. Wanted her vulnerable as she was, to splinter her bones into shards you didn’t even have to chew.

To take advantage of her weakness, your hunger eating you alive unless you picked her clean, consumed-

You’d swallow, a shaky breath leaving you. Wanda had blinked, and your voice acted quicker than your mind would comprehend, “I don’t want it helped, Wanda. I want it gone.” You’d feel your skin itch at that, and a cold dread filled your gut, like the Matron’s chill held you once again. Your words were a whisper. “But I don’t think my body will let me.”

“All the more reason for you to stay. Do you have anything that helps you calm down?” She’d ask, leaning forward with a gentle lilt. Her hand would’ve come across the table, offering her palm to yours. It was calloused, warm skin juxtaposed with smooth metal, and you took it in yours gratefully. You were starting to really like her company.

------------------------------------------

The hours would’ve floated by you, a subtle bliss filling you as you and Wanda would’ve enjoyed the rest of your evening together. You could feel your body shift by the hour, and yet a part of you didn’t care if you were with her. You’d show her your chains, mentioning their unknown inscription and how they’d keep your form….distracted. You would be kept in the barn once the moonless night had begun, the sky within a period of tranquil dusk. She ghosted her hand across the rim of your shackles, and you were surprised they didn’t burn her like they did you. An Aegypius trait, you supposed.

Wanda had made you stew using that pot from earlier, while you hovered in the vicinity, chopping up carrot and onion into more manageable pieces. The meal was finished after it had boiled for a long time, and it was only when you sat down to enjoy it with her that a blink of movement would catch your eye. The bay windows curved in a beautiful shape that let the last vestiges of light in, and you’d register the sight of silver metal piercing into the glass before you heard it smash.

A figure leapt through its shattered remains, thick cloak blanketing their form to protect them from the glass. Their armor and longsword was polished beautifully, and they would be regal if it wasn’t for their war shout and barred teeth. You could see their face beneath their hood, just before the glint of their weapon as it’d slice down towards your chest.

You’d dodge, rushing backwards until your back hit the other end of the wall. As the longsword would finish its downward arc, Wanda’s magic would cradle its blade, her hands outstretched and bent as if trying to push it up. Her voice was strangled and thin, heard between the thudding of your heartbeat in your ears, “run, Margo- go!”

Turning to bolt, you’d hear the clatter of boots against wood as a rougher hand would grab you by the scruff of your neck. Writhing in their hold, you’d shove your elbow into the ribs of your attacker, before grabbing their hand from your nape to sink your teeth into it. “Fuck, you гриф-” The knight’s heavy breath was audible from behind your back. You’d bite harder, feeling their skin break beneath your jaw as you’d thrash, trying to cleave flesh off. They’d tear their hand from you, kicking your legs with a force that sent you barreling down.

Your head would hit the hardwood floor, and you could hear the ringing in your ears as you’d look up, vision swimming as everything looked double. Your hooded attacker brandished their longsword with two hands above you, although it looked like they had four. Before they could stab the blade downward, Wanda’s hand would lurch out to their neck- pressing the kitchen knife into their throat as her other palm would scratch towards the knight’s eyes, the pair barreling backwards which left you an outside view that made your pupils retract into pinpricks.

The sky was dark, illuminated with bright swaths of stars. Tears pricked at your eyes. The few treetops you saw couldn’t even reach its height, blanketing the world in an awaiting gloom. You knew the moon was out there, but you couldn’t see it. Your mind reeled, thoughts growing famished as you’d stare into its expanse. You licked your lips. The sky offered you reprieve, and who were you to deny its feast?

The wheezing pop of bone into stronger sockets would startle Wanda and her assailant into a tense standoff, your witch pinning the stranger to the floorboards while the knight tried in vain to grasp at their longsword that had been kicked many feet away. Your breath heaved with strength you hadn’t felt before, seizing as the voice that came from you was no more than a guttural hiss. Your skull would reshape, mouth widening into a curved beak, hooking into serrated edges, while your skull would become angular, bird like. Anything but human, you were no longer recognizable. Feathers would blanket the creature’s shifting musculature, tearing from roughened skin as they’d fan into shape. Its arms and legs grow as its fingers would lengthen, bat-like wings creaking before they’d be covered in plumage; ivory white on it’s neck and shoulders, cascading into darker blacks and blues elsewhere. The monster’s feathers wouldn’t remain unpigmented for long, as they’d begin to warm on its skin- sparks flying from where they touched, growing into a burnt umber. The beast would groan as its wings crashed to the floor- bipedalism was no longer an option, the force cracking the wooden boards. Horns would thunder from shaking its monstrous head, the beast’s eyes blinking into pale gold with a crimson ring surrounding them. A black line of feathers ran down the side of its face and to its gaping maw, tufted at its chin. Its feathers had heated into shades of orange, flecked with flame- while cyan speckled where its temperature had reached an apex.

Silence would still the room, the shaky inhale of breath marking the presence of living beings in it’s fray. The demon would blink again, a gnashing sound emanating from inside its cavernous beak. It’d then raise itself on its haunches, spread its twelve meter wingspan (shattering the walls in its wake), and echo a deafening, reverberating call into the night.

The hunt had truly begun. Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

~~~

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15-lizards · 10 months ago

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You need to tell us about Gregor's daughters

Tw: child abuse

Honestly I’ve never fleshed this idea out further than “wouldn’t it be supremely fucked up if Gregor, constant danger to all women, had daughters from his previous before they mysteriously died” but I should

It would just be so both cosmically unfair and horrific that the one who’s responsible for so many horrific fates of women in the series has daughters of his own

And ofc the daughters would have to be So mentally fractured bc what is ASOIAF if not about the horrible cycles that can occur between parent and child over the generations. It’s all ab the cycles babey!

Daughter 1 the comorbidity queen would fully have some sort of antisocial AND borderline personality disorder. Toooo much like Sandor for anyone’s comfort. She’s aggressive and paranoid and constantly in fight or flight mode, takes everything as a slight or insult, which is all just a production of her extreme anxiety. Growing up as an eldest daughter in such horror leads to constant dissociation and feelings of emptiness. However she’s probably super defensive of her younger sister, though that relationship is ofc also unhealthy. Her sister is her only lifeline and is basically her morality pet, so she’s incredibly defensive and protective of her, even to her sisters detriment at times.

Daughter 2 is selectively mute with dependency issues. More traditional signs of extreme anxiety. Like her sister, she’s in a constant fight or flight mode, but her go to method of survival is usually avoidance. She makes no disturbances, is always hidden away somewhere. Completely avoidant of most other people and lives in her own mind as a safety response. But completely dependent on her elder sister to the point where she can’t do anything without her. And thinks of the elder as more of a mother figure than anything else

Um yeah so I never shoehorned them into the plot that much other than to be a kind of foil to Sansa and Arya’s decent upbringing and morality pet for Sandor but here you go ✨

#asoiaf #was gonna make this more dead dove but I better not #when I say their relationship with eachother is unhealthy I mean it’s Really unhealthy #tw child abuse

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chronicbeans · 3 months ago

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Hazbin Hotel Rewrite - Charlie (+ Razzle, Dazzle, KeyKey)

I like her character in canon, but I think she needs a bit more maturity. I understand that they were going for like a Disney Princess sort of characterization, but even Disney Princesses have their mature moments.

TW: Neglect, Maladaptive Daydreaming, Imaginary Friends, Dissociation, Depression

Charlie was created from the white sands of a beach on Earth in order for Lucifer to try using her as a way to woo a woman he loved. Once that didn't work, he took her back to Hell with him, never letting her see the woman she had already grown to see as a mother ever again. Instead, when she grew old enough to question who her mother is, he lied and told her Lilith was her mother.

Lucifer was very, very neglectful towards Charlie, and she never understood why. She wasn't allowed outside, either. So, she began to create imaginary friends to help her through it. There was a cyclops cat named KeyKey, an odd mad hatter like man named Razzle, and his rabbit named Dazzle. The Razzle came to be due to her subconsciously wanting a father figure in her life, and Lucifer's unwillingness to provide that for her. Dazzle came as a need for a friend. Then, KeyKey was created as a desire to have something to care for.

Her teachers, who were demons who visited the castle in order to teach her at home, expected these imaginary friends to leave during her teenage years. When they didn't, they expected to leave during her adult years. And, well, they didn't. Instead, they have stuck with her throughout her whole life.

People often say that imaginary friends can be killed by someone if they began to fill the role the imagination played. That's exactly what happened with Dazzle, as Rebecca, under the alias of Vaggie became a good friend to her. As funny as it may sound, Charlie claims Rebecca sat on the poor bunny, crushing him, and eliciting a loud scream of dismay from Charlie. However, considering Charlie and Rebecca are now dating, and Charlie is well aware her friends are imaginary, Charlie's forgiven Rebecca.

Outside of her imaginary friends, Charlie also has the habit of excessively daydreaming to cope with her problems. It's become an extremely maladaptive coping mechanism, however, as she often forgets her duties to the Hazbin Hotel, or has trouble listening during conversations as she dissociates into a daydream. She's well aware that this is a problem, but struggles to figure out how or why it happens. Rebecca tries to help her, since she knows they both suffer from depression, but she's never experienced something like this in her life. She was actually never aware someone could daydream their life away...

Charlie, due to being partially an angel and partially made from the grounds of Earth, making her half human, has only a slight knowledge of good and evil actions. She can point to someone kicking a puppy and go "that's evil", and point to someone saving a puppy and go "that's good". However, she can't differentiate between levels of good and evil. She can see someone committing literal war crimes or cannibalism and not see how that's worse than stealing some pocket change. In turn, she can see someone saving an orphanage full of children from a fire and not see why that's praised more than saving a cat from a tree.

This is important, because her letting in war criminals and the likes into the Hazbin Hotel, believing they're redeemable, is tied to this. Much like Lucifer, her views on good and evil are flawed, but just not to the same extreme. She truly believes someone like Valentino, Baxter, or Alastor could be redeemed because she, literally, cannot see how they're worse than others. She knows they're bad, yes, but cannot tell just how irredeemable they are. It's especially heartbreaking to Rebecca because Charlie is unable to see how bad Lucifer's treatment of her truly was and still is. Charlie knows that her father's treatment of her was bad, but she treats it as if it was on the same level as forgetting her at school one time and not the actual neglect it truly was.

Rebecca tries her best to let Charlie know, and although she's frustrated at Charlie's inability to see the type of people she's letting in, tries her best to understand how she sees the world. It's just difficult, sometimes, because it's a fundamental difference between the two. She's even considered the possibility of trying to see if The Tree of Knowledge is in Hell and asking Charlie if she'd like to see if eating the fruit would expand her concept of good and evil further. However, she's also scared Charlie would see it as wanting to change who she is, so she's never actually done it.

My version of Charlie would consist of a lot of reds, black, gold, and a bit of orange and yellow in her design to contrast Rebecca's cold palette. Her skin, much like in the show, would literally be white due to her being made from white sand. However, outside of that, her design wouldn't have that much white in it. I'd also make her suit the black, like the one from one of her concept designs, and turn it into a tuxedo suit with a yellow rose to symbolize both her lively, joyful attitude, as well as the fact Rebecca sees her as her warm sun rising above the dark (the dark being symbolized by her black tuxedo). Her hair would be more on the harvest gold side instead of the platinum blonde we see in the show, her eyes orange, and she'd have a red undershirt and black bowtie.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel charlie #hazbin hotel rewrite #hazbin hotel redesign #hazbin charlie #hazbin rewrite #hazbin redesign

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gummishiki · 2 years ago

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It's what's inside that counts 🍎 [ part 2 ]

part two friends :D, possibly some grammatical errors because I wrote this whilst half asleep :,)

tw : hallucinations, dissociation, blood, slight gore, obsession, overall dark themes,.vomit, self inflicted injuries

🍎 youre unsure of how many days had passed of you motionlessly sitting in front of the TV that remained only displaying static and white noise. your routine of wally visiting ever morning, afternoon and night had shifted slightly.

🍎 you took notice of how hesitant he would be to step near you, perhaps to fearful of what would happen if he did. you couldn't blame him honestly, after the apple incident he settled for just laying out an apple infront of you and letting you eat it willingly, at your own pace.

🍎 there reached a point in which you began to wonder to yourself, did anyone notice you were missing ?, was anyone looking for you ?, do they ever notice a lack their usual deliveries of fresh fruit and vegetables ?, surely they would notice by now right ?.

🍎 your hold on your arms tightened as you repeated these questions to yourself. wally and undid the ropes a while ago, you don't know when exactly or why but despite your sudden freedom you made no movement or attempt to escape the basement you were being trapped in for an endless amount of days.

🍎 you stared at the static, your eyes sore from the lack of blinking. you shift slightly into a more comfortable sitting position, not once taking your eyes away from the screen. you recalled something wally had told you following the day of the 'apple incident'. he stood at a distance away from you whilst he stared between you and the static. you took notice of how his pupils would dilate almost instantly the second he looked back and fourth between your frail weakened form and the busted up TV that displayed nothing but static.

🍎 you could never decipher what that look in his eyes meant, but whatever it was it never failed to unsettle you. and yet after a while, you grew used to it. you remember his tone as he spoke, it was soft yet that constant desperation could always easily be found in it. "you know neighbour" he smiled, he had moved slightly towards your form at a distance in which you wouldn't be able to grab him should you lash out again. "this TV, it can show you anything you want to see about our dear viewers, it could answer all your question just like it answered mkne". he spoke slow and gently with patience in his tone, perhaps he had done this to avoid having you yell at him or attempt to attack him again.

🍎 you turned your head in a robotic way and stared at him unblinking. wallys smile faltered. by now he came to understand that whenever you acknowledged his presence, it was because you wanted him gone. he sighed and attempted a smile ," that's alright neighbour, I'll leave you be".

🍎 you turned you gaze back to the TV not taking any notice of wallys departure. you felt yourself go into another daze as you thought over what he had said.

🍎 that brings you to now, a pile of mushy molded apples in front of you, you don't recall the last time you ate but I was certainly taking a toll on you. unlike your fellow neighbours, both you and wally had to eat. you remain unsure why yet you were staring to believe this was simply the viewers or the creators decision. having this in common is what had originally brought you both closer.

🍎 you played with the loose stitching on your stomach when a sudden idea entered your mind. did the viewers have stitches too ? were they filled with nothing but stuffing and cotton ? how did they breath or function ?.

🍎 your curiosity peaked as the static began to shift. you were able to make out a bright white room, the view pointing down on someone laid out on a table. they were unconscious you noted as you began to take in everything you saw. a table next to them held plenty of unrecognisable utensils, all in which you could acknowledge would give poppy a heart attack if she were to see them. you wondered how she was doing.

🍎 a slight movement in the corner of the screen caught your attention. a hand you noted, wearing gloves alike to the ones frank worn whenever he examined his butterflies. ah, perhaps that's what they were doing. they were examining the viewer. you shifted forwards in anticipation as another gloved hand came into view wielding one of the many utensils from the table.

🍎 morbid curiosity filled you as the hands lowered and they gently brought the sharp object down to the viewers stomach. not once did you blink as you watched and immediate rush of what looked to be similar to red paint escaped the open wound on the viewer stomach.

🍎 you leaned closer to the screen as the hand carefully pried open the wound even further, their blue gloves now coated in the red liquid. you felt quesy as you watched the hand reach into the viewers stomach as the other hand went off screen, returning with a glass case as they held it up besides the other gloved hands that were still desperately searching for something inside of the viewer.

🍎 you were confused, what was that red liquid and why was it coming out of the viewer so much ? why did the hands cut them ? what did they cut them with ? what are they even doing ?. you sat, impatient to see what would happen next. you could hear it, a soft beating noise coming from the screen. moving even closer to the tv, you fixated your gaze onto the open wound on the viewers stomach. a weird liquid was pooling out of it as that soft beating noise grew louder.

🍎 you could see it, you could see the insides of a dear viewer. everything was coated in red, the only thing you were able to recognise was their ribcage and the soft beating noise that you could now link to their heart. you had accidentally came across a book when visiting Frank's explaining the anatomy if certain living things, all in which had bones and a heart.

🍎 you felt sick yet curious as you witness the hand begin to pull something long and pink, with an oddly bumpy texture from the wound. it made you feel quizy watching them use both hands to remove what it was and gently place it into the glass case. what even was that ? you began to question yourself. you had always been curious as to what their insides looked like and you had your question answered. you didn't like it. you didn't like the amount of red and clear liquids oozing from the wound as the other hand placed down the glass case.

🍎 you jolted suddenly when a voice come from the screen "I'm placing the intestine over here, I'll get another case for the lungs" their voice held no emotion, tiredness evidential as the spoke each word. you grew more confused, what was an intestine ? is that what the placed into the glass case ? what's a lung ?.

🍎 you hated how excited you felt watching the red coated hand reach in once again to pull out what you assumed was the lung. you felt sweat build up on the side of you face as you stared in anticipation watching both hands reach in to grab what the needed. the 'lungs' you found were two separated identical dark pink things attached together to something you couldn't identify. the texture reminded you of meat. you felt queasy as your stomach growled.

🍎 like they had previously done with what you could now identify as an intestine, they carefully placed the lungs down into a new glass case.

🍎 you sat unmoving as you watched them stitch back up the gaping wound they had caused. bile found it way into your mouth as realisation hit you. it felt familiar. why did what they were doing feel familiar ? why did that voice sound familiar ?.

🍎 what little contents you had consumed that day were now spewed out onto the cold damp floor. this whole situation was making your head hurt. you felt yourself slip into another daze as you began to think to yourself.

🍎 you had never been injured enough to see what was inside of you other than fluff. what if you weren't just full of stuffing and fluff. what if, you had something in common with your dear viewers.

🍎 your mind went blank as you stared at a glass shard on the floor. it had been there for a while, since before you had been forced down here. your curiosity grew as you stretched out a shaking hand towards the shard of glass. it was cold as you gently held it in your hands.

🍎 your questions as to what the inside of the viewers look like inside were answered and yet you still had one question. what did you look like in the Inside ?. you were going to answer your own question.

🍎 you let out a shuddered breath as you felt the sharp object come into contact with your felt. you shakily pressed down further onto your stomach. you felt tears swell up into your eyed as you dragged the shard down and deeper.

🍎 you didn't realise how hysterically you were crying as you watched bead of the red liquid drip down from your wound. you felt as if you were in a daze as your hand began to shake further as you held both sides of the cut open.

🍎 you began to hyperventilate at the sight below you. your insides had began to leak out onto the floor, the red liquid painted on both your felt hands on the floor.

🍎 "no no no no !" you cried out in desperation as you attempt to stuff everything that was leaking out back inside of you. you felt numb and yet immense pain at the same time.

🍎 your sobs echoed across the walls as you began to shake. what had you done ? why had you done this to yourself ?.

🍎 the sound of the basement door slamming open went unnoticed by you. you didn't take notice of the soft yellow felt hands take hold of your hands the were desperately attempting to pick up your insides. you didn't notice wallys voice shaking as he told you that you were alright. you were okay, you just needed to calm down.

🍎 he began to shake you causing you to turn and latch yourself onto him. "make it stop ! please, please make it stop !" you screamed at him, pain evident in your voice. wally stared down at you in sympathy but all you were focused on was the loud wet sloshing noises coming from the open wound you inflicted onto yourself.

🍎 "copy my breathing, alright neighbour" he said with such patience as he held your hyperventilating form in his arms. "everything will be alright neighbour, I'm here" you felt his hand gently hold the back of your head. with your ear now against his chest, you could hear his heartbeat clearly. listening to his pleas, you mimicked his breathing.

🍎 a deep breath in followed by a wavering breath out. you don't know how long you were there but you felt lighter as your breathing steadied. you felt the hand on the back of your head attempt to brush through the knots on the top of your head as you continued to copy wallys breathing pattern.

🍎 you felt your vision darken, but you didn't feel scared. something in the back of your mind told you that you were going to be okay. you felt no pain, no numbness. you no longer felt as though your insides were gushing out of you at every breath you took.

🍎 you don't know when exactly you had slipped into unconsciousness but you were aware you must have as you felt overwhelmed at the sudden brightness of the room you woke up in.

🍎 a sudden movement next to you cause your head to snap in the direction it came from. wally sat, both hands held in his lap as he stared down at you. it didn't take you long before panic settled into you.

🍎 you jolted up suddenly, yet you felt no pain. "my stomach, my stomach what happened ?!" you felt dread fill you as you hesitated to look down at the scene you had left.

🍎 all you felt was confusion as you looked down. there was nothing there ?. no red liquid staining the floor, no stuffing stuck between the floorboards, none of your weirdly textured and wet inside. nothing.

🍎 you looked up at wally in a panic, "what happened, what happened to me ?!" your voice was raised as you noticed wallys smile wave. there were no stitches were you had cut yourself open, no evidence of you even injuring yourself. "I'm sorry neighbour..." wallys voice shook as he took hold of both your hands. "I'm sorry I never noticed how troubled you are, I never thought it would impact you this gravely" he stared at you, not with pity but you could still see sympathy evidential in his wide unblinking eyes. "you were hallucinating neighbour, I don't know what happened but I heard you screaming so I rushed down here as fast a I could and, and" he stated to choke up as he brought you closer to him.

🍎 " you were sobbing, grasping at the air and your stomach" he began to shake as he continued. " I didn't know what was wrong but I could tell that you were panicking, so I did my best to help". you stared at him blankly, attempting to process all the information you had been told.

🍎 "oh neighbour I'm so sorry, please forgive me" you could hear his voice crack and his hands began to shake in your grasps.

🍎 it, it was all a hallucination ?, all that pain and anguish you felt, the feeling and sound of your insides hitting the floor. it wasn't even real ?.

🍎 you choked out a sob as wallys grasp on your hands tightened. what was happening to you ? why were you hallucinating such things ? why why why why ?.

🍎 "it's alright neighbour" wally brought you hand closer to his face. desperation in his eyes as he smiled at you. "ill make sure nothing like that ever happens again, I'll protect you I promise" his voice was slightly raised as he stared at you.

🍎 his smile widened "I failed you as a friend, as a dear neighbour, but I promise you I won't fail again".

🍎 "I'll keep you safe, I won't let you out of my sight ever again my dear (y/n)".

I DONT KNOW IF I WILL BE ABLE TO MAKE A PART 3 TO THIS BECAUSE IM RUNNING OUT OF IDEAS BUT THIS IS POTENTIALLY THE FINAL PART AS I DONT KNOW HOW TO CONTINUE THIS IM SORRY FRIENDS !!!

#Spotify #wally my beloved #wally darling x reader #welcome home #welcome home x reader #howdy pillar #julie joyful #poppy partridge #sally starlight #barnaby b beagle #frank frankly #eddie dear #wally darling #yipppeeee

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nrdmssgs · 5 months ago

Text

The dropouts (part 4)

Masterlist

Part 1 I Part 2 I Part 3 I you are here I Part 5 I Part 6

Genre: Angst, hurt/comfort, action, slow burn.

Pairing: Olga 'Zhar' Samoilova (OC) x Nikto

Summary: Some things you teach Chimeras, other things - they teach you.

TWs: This whole series will be revolving around a person living with an acute dissociative disorder. Swearing.

AN: I am very happy to welcome my dear Phayvanh "Nak" Sotsvahn She belongs to @vasyandii who helped me make this chapter happen.

This seemed like a good idea until Nikto actually turned it into reality. It was quiet in his head while he planned the class and arranged his visit to the Chimera base, the voices didn't awake even on his way there…

But now as he's sitting in a room gradually filling with Chimera soldiers, reading a list of names again and again, skipping a few crossed out ones, they come to life.

“What if she comes?”

“She's going to ruin everything.”

“If she dares, I will ruin her.”

“No, you won't. Too soft. Weak.”

“Let us get closer to her. Let us look. Touch. Break.”

“Vsye v poryadke?*” Nikto flinches, noticing a short figure beside his chair. He raises his eyes on a young woman.

To Nikto she looks slight, almost delicate. But an air of determination, he can almost taste around her, seems at odds with her youthful appearance. He feels a pang of something akin to sorrow mixed with fury. She looks almost too young to be here, too young to have been thrust into the harsh realities of war.

Forcing himself to look away, he returns to the list in his hand and finds a name that might suit her.

“Ty Phay- Fai- Fai-vahn, da?*” He tries his best to not butcher the unfamiliar name.

The woman freezes for a moment, her body tenses, posture grows defensive. She reaches out, pulls the sheet of paper out of his hands and writes ‘П-А-Й-В-А-Н’ next to her name.

“Ne pytaisya po-anliyski chitat`. Vot tak nado.*” She hands the paper back.

Nikto thanks her awkwardly. Chimeras seem to know more about him, at least they all figured out what language is his native even before he opened his mouth.

“Think the mask will keep you from losing your face?”

“Her name is crossed out, but she will come just to laugh at us.”

“At least this way she might notice us.”

“Shut up,” he hisses, seemingly quiet, but all the noises die in the class in the very same moment.

Soldiers look at him with the silent intensity, and the last bits of confidence leave Nikto. He knows how to command, how to force in the worst case scenario, but this is new. Here he has to tell his story, not missing a single detail, and make sure they remember him well. He might have started this all just to meet Zhar again, but Nikto is damn serious about this training. If it helps to make their lives longer, if it helps her in any way…

“I'm Nikto. I will teach you some major survival tactics in prolonged tortures. We will have this evening and tomorrow to get things done.” He decides to skip the embarrassing part where he explains, that the ‘shut up’ wasn't meant for the auditorium.

Phayvanh opens a notebook with such a mundane expression, as if they hear such lectures on a daily basis. Next to her sits Krueger with his arms crossed on the chest. At the base, he abandons his tactical net, so nothing masks his crooked smirk, when he raises a hand and asks without waiting.

“What makes you the expert?”

Nikto stops roaming through his notes and looks up. His gaze seems to make even Krueger uncomfortable, so he clarifies the question.

“Each of us here has some experience in… interrogations. Some more, others - less. What gets you to be the guy before the white board.”

Nikto huffs. “My story is not that fun to hear.”

Or to tell.

“Come on, man. This is not a Sunday book club with little tea cups and cucumber sandwiches.” Phayvanh punches Krueger under the desk, but he goes on. “Show off, brag, shine a little, friend. How much they held you? A week? Two?”

Niktos eyes harden. Something told him, this might end this way, yet, he hoped, it wouldn't. He tells himself, it's not about his vulnerability - it's about the stakes, he will be talking about, as his fingers reach the first strap of his mask. The stakes they will have to be ready to make after these classes. He takes the last look at the room and makes sure once again, she is nowhere around.

With slow, deliberate movements, Nikto unfastens the mask. He hesitates for a moment, then pulls it away, revealing the full extent of his injuries.

There are no shocked gasps heard - only a lone whistle and someones muffled ‘fuck’ reaching his ears. Because what he shows them is not just a few scratches - it is a battlefield and a grave. His skin is heavily scarred and burnt, twisted in unnatural ways. Half of his left ear is missing, and his cheek bears deep, jagged lines. His face is enough to make some people run in fear. Not from him, but from the amount of pain one can survive. “The living will envy the dead” - that's what his face is about.

“Two thousand forty-one hour. Eighty-five days.” His tone is flat, calm even. It's not his place to share his pain - only his expertise.

***

Their class goes surprisingly well. Chimera soldiers are catching every word leaving his mouth and ask smart questions, that sometimes leave Nikto himself wondering if there is a right answer to them. Although he hasn't that much of a theory teaching experience, his first try at it feels nice, kind of empowering even.

Nikto lets the feeling sink in after everybody else leave the room. Usually his guts would tell him otherwise, but right now sitting here in peace without half of his gear and completely unarmed feels ok. For some weird reason, nothing seems to be able to bother him.

He fixes the straps of his mask, making sure it sits firmly again, and leaves to an already empty hall. Distant echoes of chatter and ambient noises barely reach this place. Without any thought behind it, Nikto just turns left and walks to see if this road leads him anywhere but an endless row of closed doors. He isn't trying to be nosey - just wants to give his legs a stretch.

To his relief, there is in fact one door open wide. It must their gymnasium - a dimly lit hall, the fading daylight casting long shadows across the room. The faint sound of punching and the rhythmic thuds of kicks echoes softly, punctuating the otherwise still air. In the far corner, illuminated by a solitary overhead light, Zhar is training with fierce determination.

Nikto doesn't know much about art, doesn't really care about all these museums, pictures, statues. He is as far from this world as it is possible. He thought, his knife collection is the nearest thing to art, he ever saw. But right now this changes forever deep in his mind. Because he sees art.

She moves with a fluid grace, each punch and kick precise and powerful. Despite not so young age, her form is impeccable, her movements a blend of strength and agility. The dummy in front of her bears the brunt of her relentless assault, swaying with each impact.

“How is this possible?”

“How is she possible?”

Nikto ignores awakening voices and watches, captivated by the raw power and beauty of her movements. He had seen many soldiers train, but there is something different about her - something that set her apart. And Nikto feels that just one more minutes needs to pass, and he will understand, what's the secret behind her movements.

“Stop ogling my lieutenant.” Nikto quickly turns back and meets Nikolais smirk. “Stop ogling my lieutenant and go talk to her.”

Before Nikto has time to react - Chimeras leader pushes him forward.

“I was looking for where you guys eat. Just the wrong door,” grumbles Nikto quietly.

“Mhm, of course,” hisses Nikolai and giving him a final push adds louder “Olya, look who came to visit you!”

Dammit. So much for trying to not be a creep.

“Is it my little-” She turns back to them and a wide bright smile on her face weakens. “Oh. Hi.”

He still mentally disputes on turning back and leaving, but Olga steps away from the dummy and reaches out to him, so Nikto comes closer not wanting to make her wait awkwardly for a handshake.

“Nice having you here. Sorry for skipping your class, my last meeting ended way too late.” A touch of her fingers against his exposed skin echoes down his spine. Nikto tries to shake the feeling off with a joke.

“Nah, this won't be on the test anyways.”

She chuckles. Nikto saw her ‘work smile’ and he genuinely hated it. Too plastic, too fake for his tastes. But this is completely different - Olga somehow makes the whole room brighter and more safe. A subtle ornament or crinkles at the corners of her eyes, two soft dimples, the way she throws her head slightly back - this all feels precious, important. He drinks in the sight of her as she returns to the dummy.

“I want to work on one last thing here and then I'll go show you our common room, ok?”

She wants him to stay here? She will feel safe?

“No objections, lt.” Nikto leans against the wall watching her readjusting the dummy.

Zhar loosens a few fastenings around the dummies base and tries to move the main construction up, but it remains steady. She grunts and tries again, but nothing changes.

“Andrei, mat` tvoyu, ne nachinai!*” Nikto flinches at these words and looks at Olga.

Not entirely sure if he even got what she said, Zhar adds embarrassedly ‘I was talking to the dummy, we call him Andrei. This thing’s seen better days’.

“Then we happen to share a name.”

Nikto approaches and tries to help her readjust an old cranky construction, but the outcome is the same. "How about you train on me instead?" he suggests. "I'm taller, and I can take a hit."

“I don't enjoy the concept of treating a fellow soldier like a punching doll.” Olga frowns and shakes her head.

“Nah, you won't even notice the difference. Same name, same attitude. Besides, it's not like you can hurt me," he adds with a short chuckle. This last phrase may have been uncalled-for, because the lieutenant moves away from him a couple of steps and takes a fighting stance.

“My rear hook is getting worse lately. Need to work on it.” Zhar takes a deep breath, centering herself. “But I'm not beating a guy who doesn't defend himself. Thought, you remembered it after the first time we met.”

Ouch. So she does bite back when provoked.

Nikto raises his hands slightly, ready to block if needed. “Whenever you’re ready,” he says, his tone seemingly flat despite the voices forming a good dozen of less neutral reactions.

Her eyes lock onto him, determination flaring anew. She begins with a series of high punches, aiming for his shoulder level. He blocks and parries, his movements fluid and controlled. She quickly adjusts her stance, her confidence growing as she finds her rhythm.

Her kicks come faster now, more precise. Yet Nikto notices the slightest pause in the middle of her rear hooks, just as she claimed.

“You’ve got quite a punch,” he notices. “Keep going, don’t hold back. A bit faster so that I can't catch you in the middle of it.”

She pushes herself harder, her strikes becoming more aggressive, but there's still this little slowdown in the middle of her blow. And Nikto uses his reaction to demonstrate it. He meets her hand in the midflight and pulls her forward, causing Olga to lose her stance and improvise. She opts for another blow, Nikto feels that he's lacking time to keep pulling her and evade the punch at the same time, but still highers the other hand to defend himself.

It all happens so fast, he doesn't realize at first, what exactly he's done. His hand slides forward, and she hisses, when his wrist grazes against her head. He lowers his hand, but for some reason she follows it, falling on her knees before him.

Nikto freezes in certainty for a moment and descends after her. Zhar reaches out to his hand and tries to pull it slowly away, and he finally sees it. The massive clasp on the sleeve of his suit got tangled in her hair, causing pain with every movement.

He curses and immediately starts untangling it.

“I'm sorry, I didn't think, fu-”

“The hell are you sorry about?” Olga cuts him off, and he notices that there is no fear or pain in her face expression - only calm satisfaction. “I came unprepared - I had it coming. Good fight, soldier.”

As he helps her to untangle the last strands of hair and stand up, it slowly gets to him: while he is here - she treats him as one of her own, and that includes celebrating his victories, even those that might feel undeserved. This is a strange feeling, but he likes it: to not just be here, but to belong, stay a part of something, she pours her heart into.

***

It's not every day that Chimeras second in command walks in the common room with a sweet smile and without someone torturing her on the phone. Even on a more rare occasion does she stay in the dining area and not just grab whatever is left to eat and retreats back to her office. So while everybody tries to not be too obvious with their interest - they still can't hold back occasional long gazes. At some point, Krueger even suggest that he goes to join Zhar and their guest instructor, but Phayvanh grips his shoulder and pulls him back.

“You sit here and don't spoil anything.” Naks voice is cold and commanding.

***

After the dinner, Zhar leads Nikto through the living section of the base. Sometimes she excuses for the state of wall paint or an old door. ‘We are moving soon, so we didn't do any renovations here lately,’ she tells as if Nikto came here to inspect the state of their spaces.

“I figured, you would like a room with more privacy. No shared bathrooms, a more quiet part of the building, and so on. Due to the…” she draws a circle in the air in front of her face and Nikto guesses that she is talking about his mask.

Usually this detail only causes annoying questions. But with her everything is different. No jokes, no unpleasant attention - just an attempt to help.

“Thank you,” he exhales as Olga unlocks the door.

At first glance, Nikto realizes that this is someone's room. Papers on the desk, a jacket hanging on the back of a chair, something large and shapeless lying in the far corner of the bed - it turns out to be a shark plushie, all this suggests that someone already lives here.

"Will the tenant mind?" He freezes on the threshold, looking at her with disbelief.

“This is my room,” she answers innocently.

“But what about...” Nikto points at the bed.

"Oh no, there was only one bed, what should they do!” Zhar sighs in an exaggerated, theatrical manner and cracks laughing. “Don't worry - I'm not going to sleep today anyway. I'm leaving in the night, need to pay a visit to our new base. Until then - I have a ton of work waiting for me in my office anyway.”

“But-”

“Nikto, enough ‘buts’. Our free rooms serve as storages now, I can't materialize an extra bed for you out of thin air, and I'm not letting our guest sleep on a floor.” She pats his shoulder and pushes him deeper in the room. “If you need anything - my office is three doors down the hall.”

She doesn't leave him any time to react, closing the door.

*Vsye v poryadke? - (here and further Russian) Everything's alright?

*Ty Phay- Fai- Fai-vahn, da? - Youre Phay- Fai- Fai-vahn, yes?

*Ne pytaisya po-anliyski chitat`. Vot tak nado. - Dont try to read it as if was in English. Heres the way to pronounce it

*Andrei, mat` tvoyu, ne nachinai! - Andrei, for fucks sake, don't start this now!

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