#oc.myshka

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myshka 🎃 and/or 👕?

Got this ask forever ago but I can’t find the thing it was from . Have this instead

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Characters that feel everything so strongly it makes them destructive, withdrawn, or even explosive my beloved

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Myshka was very tiny for a long time. They'd always demand Vlad to carry them ("up! Up!!!!") and when Vlad was in prison, they mourned that they were getting bigger and he wasn't there- they wouldn't be able to be carried anymore.

Fast forward to Myshka hanging out with Houston and saying they wish they could still be carried. Houston immediately picks them up, throwing them over his shoulder like a loot bag, and they start scream laughing because of course he fucking would pick them up.

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🎮 for myshka?

🎮 VIDEO GAME CONTROLLER — what are three of your oc's favorite hobbies?

Does messing with Dallas's office count? Or bothering Houston? Cause they do both a LOT lmao, one can find them following Houston around or moving Dallas's stuff around.

In actuality:

Baking and cooking! They bake with Vlad a lot and help him and Iveta make goat's cheese and goat's butter for the bakery!

Paintballing/Airsoft: they do this with Chains, Wick, and Dragan on the weekends

Card games, especially poker! Jimmy and Sokol both can count cards, so they learned from them!

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Myshka stares. A lot.

It's not intentional, and they usually don't even realize. Chains and Jacket both recognize it well: the thousand yard stare.

Sometimes, Myshka's eyes will shift, tracking someone's movement. Their hands twitch sometimes, especially if there's noise, or more than one person, or if someone gets too close.

The first time Dallas encounters it, he doesn't recognize it as a thousand yard stare. No, he recognizes it as the same stare his younger brother would get when they were kids, or when there's fireworks, or Dallas is hurt.

He calls out to them, asking if they want something to eat. There's a barely noticeable nod, and he lets Houston know- by text, as not to make more noise- he's making waffles for Myshka.

Seconds later, Houston is in the kitchen, quietly approaching Myshka. He calls out, arns open, and Dallas watches as a spell is broken- Myshka nearly crumbles, their face falling as they try not to burst into tears, barreling into Houston. He simply holds them, mumbling something Dallas can't hear. They're scared to let go, that much he can tell, but it's easy to see they feel safer now that Houston’s there.

In his mind, Dallas yells at himself. It should have been like this, years ago. But when Houston says "It's okay", Dallas catches his brother looking at him. "It's okay." Houston says again.

His attention goes back to Myshka, who's quiet, but a bit more like themselves. They curiously examine what Dallas is doing, even carefully pouring batter with his direction.

The next time Dallas finds Myshka staring off, he calls to them, and is startled when they latch onto his arm, holding tight.

He lets them hang on, and doesn't ask.

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Vlad does not like when Myshka swears. He tells them not to, and has said they are not to drink or smoke because they're "not old enough, it's illegal." While this is because he worries for them and their health (and they are his baby), all opportunities to laugh at this are taken.

"It's okay if they go on heists and kill and steal and yea some drugs are okay, but by God we better draw the line at drinking, smoking, and swearing." - literally everyone

Myshka doesn't care either way, but does enjoy holding a bottle of vodka for the sole purpose of getting a reaction out of Vlad.

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GOD OKAY THE FUCKIN BLOOD POLL GOT ME THINKING OF ALL THE TIMES MYSHKA IS COVERED IN BLOOD.

Cw: death, violent reincarnation, cannibalism, mild gore, blood, torture

Being revived over and over messes you up. It’s not just the death and coming back and the feeling of nothing in your body feeling right. It’s the amount of food you need, the panic of waking up, the rage at the world around you, the feeling of the souls of the damned clutching your ankles, some telling you to run, others begging you to stay, never knowing if it maybe was a bad dream and nothing else.

The first time Myshka dies, they scream and don’t stop. There’s still blood dripping from their nose, eyes, ears. When they are finally sedated, a hefty dose of tranquilizers they’re too young to pronounce or spell the names of sent directly into their veins, they dream of reducing the Dentist’s watchers to nothing but a pile of flesh and bone. When the meds wear off and they’re left to wander, they come face to face with two, and the Dentist finds Myshka standing over near-unrecognizable bodies, blood dripping from their teeth, hands covered to the elbow. He’s amused, and proud. The first time they kill is animalistic, gruesome.

Monstrous.

The second time, they’re despondent. Myshka doesn’t react, despite the blood covering their torso. They were dead for a bit too long, rigor mortis having set in.

The first time a partial body transfer is done. Myshka smiles when they realize the hand they were given is from one of the Watchers they killed, and the Dentist wonders for a moment if he’s gone too far.

The third time is a massacre. The Dentist barely gets control of the situation, and by the time he does, at least 22 people are dead. Myshka howls with laughter, childish glee at the carnage. The Dentist realizes they thought he would bring them back, too. It was a game to them.

He puts them in isolation for two months, reviewing the plans. He’s lost too much control, he won’t lose it again.

The fourth time, Myshka cries. Their friend tried to stop the Dentist, and dies in Myshka’s arms shortly after they wake up, leaving a handprint on their face. Myshka promises him they’ll find him.

More deaths, until they feel nothing about it. Nothing beyond a desire for true death. They don’t know how to react when the Payday gang becomes distressed at the near-death of their fellow heisters, stepping away in a quiet, confused bitterness. When Bain has been rescued, they simply offer a shoulder to cry on.

When a bullet pierces through their vest, dropping them during a heist after Bain’s rescue, they collapse, hearing Locke and Bain yell for someone to help, tell Myshka to hang on. Rushed to the safehouse, where Bain’s choice of medical team waits, Myshka feels that old feeling. Vlad holds them, trying to keep them calm as the doctors frantically get their equipment, nearly collapsing himself when Myshka whispers to him before they black out.

“I don’t want to die.”

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Myshka writing because i am. in a Mood and State of Mind

cw: flashbacks, implied self harm, suicidal ideation, unhealthy attachments, grief

At some point, hands pull the blade from their fingers, quickly applying pressure to the wounds. They haven't stopped chanting, angrily repeating past orders to themselves an they tremble, tears and spit falling to the floor as they work themselves into a state of hysteria.

"Shh, you're safe, little mouse, he's not here," Vlad's voice murmurs distantly. At the sound, the walls of the prison they called home fall away, and they're brought back to the floor of Vlad's living room.

"He's gone?" they ask softly.

"He's gone." Locke confirms, brushing the hair from their face.

"And... am I... am I alive?" they whisper, voice weak.

"You are alive."

A broken sob leaves them, and they collapse, pressing their hands to their head, fingers gripping on the hair and pulling. Quietly, Vlad sings, carefully detaching their hands each time they begin to pull again. Locke repeats the same things to them, "It's okay. He's gone. You're safe. You're alive. We love you, we love you so much."

Myshka can't describe the feelings properly. They don't have the words. But deep within them is a discomfort. The one person who was always around them is gone. The twisted sense of stability they'd had is gone. The one constant in their life- the chaos, the pain, death and rebirth, the torture, the one King. Gone forever, while they remained.

They hated it.

They wished they were dead, too.

Bring him back bring him back bring him back bring him back

Rage fills them, and they scream before bursting into tears again. Vlad gathers them in his arms, letting them wail and kick.

He knew. He knew the emptiness. He knew the confusion. The despair.

The grief.

Despite it all, Myshka had always had death and its Healer. And now, in a way, there was nothing.