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amarantine-amirite · 2 months

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Everything is Crap

Here’s how sneaking out of the house usually ends for me. It starts when I'm not allowed to do something I need, and the reason I'm not allowed is usually really stupid. Nice, then something catches me off guard. I lose my cool and haul off at someone, usually because they try to gaslight me. After the dust settles, my parents find out and I get in double trouble: once for sneaking around, and again for yelling at someone. Sneaking out never seems to work for me.

That is, of course, until now.

I got canned from the soccer team for having short hair. I have no idea why that’s an issue, but it shouldn’t be. Back when I had long hair, I had such a hard time keeping it under control. I have a much easier time caring for short hair. Also, nobody can pull you over by your ponytail if you have short hair.

The good news is that nobody knows I got kicked off. All of us have a microchip embedded in our bodies that monitor heart rate, respiration, and other stuff like that. The school only monitors our physical location during instructional time, but they look at the biometrics 24/7. To see if we’ve attended sports practice, they see if the time at which our heart rates go up corresponds with practice time.

It's easy to bluff technology, especially if the technology in question feeds into a system built on a logical fallacy. All you have to do is take a digital metric and reverse engineer it to meet your needs. I could fool people into thinking I was still on the team by going to the gym at the time soccer practice took place. An increase in heart rate is an increase in heart rate, it doesn't matter what causes it.

I am not supposed to be here. The gym has a big sign that says NO PEOPLE UNDER THE AGE OF 19 BEYOND THIS POINT at the entrance. So far, nobody has cornered me. But I have a weird feeling that my luck will run out today.

I accidentally knocked the weights off a barbell at the gym. They shattered when they hit the ground.

It’s not like accidentally breaking a plate at a restaurant. Nobody claps. Instead, the glare at you. One person even took a step further and asked, "Can you go for longer than ten minutes without breaking something?"

“No,” I said, “but not for the reason you think.” I remained unusually calm.

“and why is that?” the person replied. I don't think it occurred to them that a person could constantly break things without being a total klutz.

I shrugged my shoulders. “Nothing these days is built to last.”

An attendant looked at me and nodded. “Yeah, ain’t that the truth”, she mumbled. I get the sense that this is not the first time she’s had to replace a free weight because it shattered upon impact with a rubber floor.

I can’t think of a better example than what I’m talking about other than the zipper on a $5000 pair of pants that abruptly came apart. My mom was angry that she spent $5,000 on a pair of pants that fell apart within a week, and it came out as scolding me for being clumsy. And it’s because of that zipper that whenever anyone tells me I break things or I'm clumsy, I tune them out. It's not my fault everything these days is very expensive junk.

It goes beyond goods. Services are going downhill, too. Nobody teaches people not to blow through a job without confirming what needs to be done. Of course, if you say anything, expect the political correctness crowd to rain blows on you.

After I finished at the gym, I went to the Starbucks down the street and ordered pumpkin tea. It took 22 minutes for someone to fill the order. The idiot barista gave me regular tea with chai syrup.

Now, there were two possibilities. Either she didn't understand the order and didn't double check or they ran out of pumpkin tea and she couldn't be bothered telling us.

I looked at the cup, waved down the barista, and said, “excuse, me, but this isn’t what I asked for”

The barista leaned over and yelled, “Hey, I have to juggle so much crap that I can't remember anything. You’re just too demanding!”

“what?” I said. I shook my head, “No, I'm not.”

The person behind me put my hand on my shoulder. I flinched. She nodded as she explained to me, “Instead of saying fast food employees are lazy, say fast food employees are overworked and underpaid and should be patient with them.”

My jaw dropped. “I never said that!” I barked, “I didn’t even imply it!”

The woman shrugged her shoulders. “Any time you complain about subpar service, you’re implying that providers of that service are lazy when in reality that is not true, they are overworked and underpaid.”

I ignored her. It sounded like she was trying to get me to say something that made me sound like a bad person. “Can you fix this please?” I asked the barista.

The barista walked over to me. Instead of offering to fix the drink, she said, “no, it’s cold tea season, not hot tea season”

I knew what she said was ridiculous. I gestured to the guy who just got a hot cup of coffee and said, “But the guy over there got a hot drink!”

“We have any of the following available during cold tea season,” the barista replied. She gestured to the Iced Drinks section of the menu.

I looked up the menu and my eyes widened. “all that stuff has a ludicrous amount of sugar!”

The barista shrugged. “May I please talk to the manager?” I asked.

The barista left. The manager arrived a few minutes later. "Hey, how can I help you?" she inquired.

"I ordered a pumpkin spice tea," I began, my voice tight with frustration, "but I got this instead." I gestured to the offending beverage.

"And the barista wouldn't fix it?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. I shook my head in response.

The manager seemed to understand. With a curt nod, she disappeared behind the counter. A short while later, she reappeared with a steaming cup of pumpkin spice tea in her hand.

"Here you go," she said, placing it on the table. "That should be what you ordered."

“Thank you so much,” I said. I reached for the cup, ready to finally enjoy my drink.

"That'll be $100," the manager added, her smile now completely vanished.

I shook my head. “To hell with that,” I grumbled.

I left. I didn't have it in me to complain. I can have tea at home.

My luck did run out today, but not because of a shattered barbell or everyone defending a barista who blows through things without checking what has to be done. The weather in Dallas screwed me over.

I saw a news story on TV. My school’s soccer team had a game down there. Every single on team got wiped out in a lightning strike due to the metal studs in their cleats. The other team was OK because they had plastic studs in their cleats.

My phone rang. I snatched it out, muttering a quick "hello?"

"Paula, are you okay?!" My grandma's voice, usually warm and soothing, was laced with panic. "I saw something on the news..."

"Yeah, I'm fine, just leaving Starbucks," I replied reassuringly.

Right after saying that, my heart hammered against my ribs. They’re going to find out that I got kicked off the soccer team.

@promptlyprompting

#writing #writers #writers on tumblr #short story #short fiction

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digimonloving · 1 year

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A human helping a homeless Bastemon that was sleeping on the street

A human helping a homeless Bastemon

Talk about a downgrade from her usual home... Bastemon didn't even know how she got to the Human World, and yet here she was. Not in the comforts of a nice and comfy bed, but on the hard ground that the cardboard box she was using as a "shelter" didn't help one bit. How did she end up this way? It was easier in the Digital World... But she didn't know how to get back.

It's better to just try and nap now, see if she could figure out everything when it was the morning. At least she didn't have to fear for her life, as she didn't have to keep an ear out for large Digimon that might be trying to look for a meal. Yea... so long as she just looks on the upsides, it'll be alright for now.

Bastemon didn't expect the sudden kindness of a human. Though, she is slightly on edge over it, just as any Digimon would be. She doesn't trust too easy... but their promise to help her and get her a decent space to sleep was better than nothing. Besides... form what she knew of humans, it wasn't like this one could really hurt her. Her claws could do much more than anything they had.

Even if this human had a small home, anything was better than sleeping out on the street. It wasn't an extravagant castle, and may not have had the best of plush beds... but Bastemon would make do! This human chose to be nice, unlike many who had passed by her like a sad kitten, so she'd hold her tongue, as much as she did want to say something.

Human World food was certainly something she'd want to try, especially if she tried to sleep but woke up to the scent of food cooking. Beit dinner r breakfast depending on how long she slept, she'd cuddle up to the human and ask if she could have some, batting her eyelashes as if they weren't already planning on giving her some of the food. Nobody deserved to go hungry!

She does leave a bit after breakfast, more or less searching for a way back home and generally exploring... but that human should expect her to show back up when dusk arrives, the Digimon once more batting her eyelashes and putting on a pout to be let in, which they do. She's welcome now, so leaving and coming back isn't a bother to this human!

#Digimon #Digimon and Humans #Bastemon #Mod Gabu

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silverskye13 · 9 months

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6, 8, and 29 for the ask game

6. Are there any fics from others you reread all the time?

Incarnate Inchoate -- underoriginal (unfinished)

Anything to Hear You (Say It One More Time) -- mgrnn

To Convey A Certain Brilliance -- Bee_4

Devil Town is Colder in the Summertime -- BananasofThorns

Hellfire -- Renwhit

[squints] I think that's every fic I've read more than once lol. I'm a Book Devourer so I normally just read a thing once really quickly and then promptly forget it exists. I Have Brain Like Swiss Cheese. AO3 bookmarks and digital libraries are the only reason I stay sane XD

8. What project(s) are you currently working on?

Redstone and Skulk Ch 20: ~ 1300 words, all of them from this week

Monsters Splitting Hairs Ch 28: ~ 2000 words, about 500 of them from this week

Unnamed Superhero AU with OverlordPink: No idea the word count XD less then 1000 I think

Before I Wake (original comic): Pg 27 finished, Pg 29 sketched

I keep a rotation so I don't get bored XD means overall less work on a single project gets done but! Everything gets done eventually.

29. Share a bit from a fic you’ll never post OR from a scene that was cut from an already posted fic. (If you don’t have either, just share a random fic idea you have that you don’t plan on getting to.)

Nobody asked for this but I have 5 chapters of Nailmaster's Folly [a Hollow Knight fic] I dropped, just done and languishing in my documents. I'm not going to subject you to all 5 of those chapters, but I will make you read the 2 I'm most proud of. So uh, here's a very out of context chunk from Nailmaster's Folly I guess.

Oro was halfway down the canyon when his guilt got the better of him and he stopped in his tracks. His insides were a tangled web, and no amount of grousing and grumbling to himself would soothe the knot it made. It bothered him a great deal, apparently, that Mato was scared of him.

Was Mato scared of him? No… surely not. It had been years since -- and honestly Mato was so much more capable -- sure Oro was pretty abrasive but he wasn’t--!

Oro shook his head.

Maybe he’d misread. It had been years, years he’d been in his solitude and Mato had been in his. Maybe they were both just so extremely culture-shocked and awkward that he’d read it wrong. Maybe he was just tense because of how suspicious he was, because of how stubbornly he held onto the idea that Mato must be here for some kind of… retribution? But Mato was never the type for things like revenge. He believed in accountability, yes, but not maliciously so. All of this was ridiculous.

And he’d looked so happy cheering him on while watching his fight.

Oro groaned up at the sky.

Maybe, like just about everything else in his life, the problem wasn’t Mato. Maybe the problem was him. After all, Mato had invited him to join him after his fight was over, and Oro had just gone trudging off down the canyon without a second thought. He was always so… antisocial. Maybe if he actually gave Mato a chance…

He’d been living alone for a long time.

Oro sighed. He ran a hand across his mask, then turned and looked up the direction he’d come. He couldn’t see Mato among the cliff faces above, but he knew he was there. Somewhere.

“I hate this, you know,” Oro protested out loud to a nearby boofly, “You know how much easier my life would be if this weren’t my problem?”

Of course the boofly didn’t answer. It just bobbed its head and flittered its tiny wings frantically, its big black eyes looking back at him vacantly. Frustrated, Oro smacked it away with the flat of its nail, sending it spinning further into the canyon. Then, huffing another grumble of a sigh, he turned and began walking back up towards the Colosseum.

“Mato, Mato, why is it always, always Mato,” Oro griped under his breath as he walked, “At least Sheo understood the basic concept of personal space. He knew how to leave me alone and not do stupid things like… like…! And he’s always so emotional it’s like trying to reason with a scared grub for Wyrmssakes--!”

He ushered to the air around him, as though the ambient noises of wind and hoppers and wings could grant him the validation he was looking for. Of course, none did. But the flurry of movement did attract the attention of a nearby primal aspid as it buzzed threateningly close to the canyon wall. And Oro, so lost in his grumbling, so lost in his slow progression up the paths of the cliffside, didn’t notice it’s presence until it was spitting bright orange in his direction. The flash of color was enough of a warning in his peripheral vision for him to lurch to the side in an attempt to dodge it - only for the scatter of its spray to catch him in the mask. Cursing, Oro staggered to the side, wiping furiously at the acid-like spit with his cloak. His shoulder caught against a nearby wall, and then abruptly Oro felt that wall give way behind him.

There was an instant where he realized he was going to fall. An instant where he realized there was nothing he could do about it. An instant where he resolved if he didn’t go tumbling down the side of the canyon wall and crush himself against the ground, he was going to come storming back up here and cut the wings off of every aspid he laid his eyes on. And then, Oro promptly tumbled off the ledge he’d been standing on into whatever cavity had opened up in the wall behind him.

He’d expected to fall longer than he did.

There were two, maybe three seconds where he was free-falling and it was incredibly dark, and his eyes still stung from the aspid spit. And then with a heavy oof! he landed hard on his shoulders on uneven ground, knocking the air out of his chest and leaving him wheezing rather ingloriously on the floor. When he’d managed to start breathing normally again, he felt around for his nail and once he found it, staggered to his feet. Above him, he could hear the echoing buzz of the aspid’s wings as it searched the hole he’d fallen through for any sign of him. As soon as it felt the cooler, wet air of the cavern he’d tumbled down, it turned back the way it’d come, hissing furiously.

“I hope you get eaten alive by something!” Oro shouted after it as it went, “Stupid, angry thing!”

If it heard him, it didn’t turn back to investigate.

With another frustrated sigh, Oro squinted into the gloom to survey his surroundings, finding mostly what he already knew - that it was dark in here. Some pale light filtered in from the hole he’d fallen through, casting the space immediately around him in washed out greys that very quickly faded into oppressive murk. The floor here was made of carapace and chiton, old and stoney. There was a smell of damp age about the place, like the air had been still and undisturbed for a long time, and there was a weight to it, like eyes in the dark. It felt very much like he’d stepped into someone’s grave, or just inside the toothy maw of some ancient carapace. If he weren’t so irritated, Oro might have even had the common sense to be scared here.

Instead his shell itched and his stomach turned itself in angry knots, and he thought of course of course he would fall through some damp, dark, probably beast-infested pit while walking up to find his brother. Of course this would happen to him right now. It was always Mato wasn’t it? Always the source of his chagrin, even when he wasn’t trying to be. This might as well happen.

After standing still for a few minutes listening to the sound of moisture dripping off the ceiling and the hollow echo of droplets onto the floor, Oro’s eyes managed to adjust enough to pick out another source of light in the darkness. A dim light, so distant that for a moment he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. But no it was there - a curve in the tunnel ahead giving off the subtle hue of an outline. It was hard to tell just how far away it was. His depth perception wasn’t fantastic when he was near blind from darkness and aspid spit. It was hard to stop himself from blinking every few seconds to try and clear the remaining fumes of the acid away. Not that it would help at all.

Oro cast his gaze up the direction he’d fallen. It was a long, sheer stone face to climb. He was sure he could if he gave it enough effort. But it would be hard work, and all in pitch darkness until he was near the very top. And while he could, he definitely didn’t feel like standing at the base and calling for help for however long it might take for a bug to come this direction. He had a match to get to tomorrow, after all. And pride in his belly. So, stepping carefully on the uneven footing, Oro made his way towards the light he’d seen further in the tunnel.

The sound of his own footsteps echoing in the silence itched at his nerves. He was loud and unwieldy, it seemed, and it made him paranoid that something might hear him coming, or try to ambush him. Swinging a nail in the dark was a dangerous idea. You never knew when you’d hit a wall, or perhaps even yourself, if your swing went too shallow.

When he reached the curve in the tunnel ahead he stopped, taking a moment to survey the slowly brightening light ahead of him. There was some bioluminescence here, sickly looking roots that sprouted in tangled patches from the ceiling, and reached like limp claws towards the horns of his mask. It was barely enough light to see by, and a pale shade-like purple. As Oro took a step down the lit tunnel, there was a soft hiss as the roots seemed to respond to his presence above. For a moment Oro crouched low, nail over his head, expecting the roots to reach for him. Instead he watched as they slowly shriveled and curled towards the ceiling, flattening themselves away from his touch. The light from them dimmed even further but remained.

Tch. Weird.

Oro straightened again and, eyeing the ceiling suspiciously, continued walking, trying to ignore the creeping noises of moving roots above his head as he went. When he passed by them, the roots slowly unfurled themselves and dropped back down again, a curtain of slowly brightening claws guarding his exit. It was… unsettling... claustrophobic. He didn’t like the idea of walking into something that could sense his presence.

Further down the tunnel he went, one hand on the wall as if afraid it might suddenly fall in on him, his other hand clutching tight-fisted around the hilt of his nail. It was incredibly still here, the air dead. Unlike the open hole he’d fallen into where noises attempted to echo, the sound in the tunnel ate itself up in the roots over his head, making his every movement seem muffled and abrupt. He checked his progress every handful of steps, making sure his way back hadn’t magically disappeared - and it hadn’t, though it was obscured by those twisting roots. Where in the Wyrm-cursed World was he even heading? Should he turn back? His sense of direction was tangled in the darkness somewhere, caught in the shifting roots over his head. He had no idea where this tunnel was or where it was winding.

There was a murmur… a soft sound on the edge of his hearing. Wait… what was that…?

Oro stopped walking abruptly and breath held, he listened.

There was… a noise… coming from up the tunnel. Stifled and faint. It didn’t carry well here but he could still hear it; persistent and quiet, wafting toward him like mist. First it came in bits and pieces, but as he continued forward he made it out a bit more. Humming, haunted almost. A song...?

Was there another bug down here? Maybe there was another opening somewhere then, some outward-leading tunnel he could scramble out of instead of trying to make the climb up the way he’d fallen. That would be grand. Sure, he’d be a bit lost when he got wherever he was going, but that was a problem for later.

“Teeth… and claws….”

“A mind of teeth and claws…”

Oro felt a creeping prickle of nervousness crawl its way up his shell. He didn’t like the sound of that. But he kept walking - he’d gone so far now it didn’t seem worthwhile to give up now. Besides, he was a strong bug with a great nail and enough light that, though it would be tedious, he could at least see a fight if it happened. And fight he would, if it came to it.

“Dreaming Wyrms, a bed of nails…”

“A hunger still beneath us wails…”

Just as he resolved this in his mind, the path before him yawned open into another opening. A cavern, smaller than the first he’d fallen into and tangled across the ceiling with more of those roots. Their thickness made their glow brighter, and some of them even managed to worm their way down from the ceiling and into the ground below, burrowing further into depth incomprehensible. It was probably a trick of his eyes but they seemed almost to pulse, faintly, that sick violet hue.

“A mind of teeth and claws…”

Oro noticed with a flash of horror like a lightning strike that the floor was covered in broken masks. Slashed cleanly in half. One eye broken. The ground beneath a slurry of crushed chitin and whatever moisture it was that dripped from the ceiling. It seemed nearly to be moving, breathing, churning beneath the fragile surface. A phantom of crawling legs shivered beneath Oro’s shell and he stumbled back a step away from the chamber, unable to stifle the choked noise that rose in his throat at the sight of it. In Hollownest there were many floors made of petrified chitin and old discarded masks. Resting grounds. Old battlefields. Place where once the life of the world was thick. This was fresh, moving, alive, grotesque. Wrong.

Crick. Crack.

“Oh, hello Nailmaster.”

Oro snapped his gaze up from the floor to the center of the room. Standing in a circling of broken masks was the Announcer, seemingly unperturbed by the ground on which it perched, despite the fact that Oro himself could practically hear it’s writhing. The bug’s eyes glinted pale in the dim light, and silhouetted against a background of those burrowing roots, they looked both pitifully small and sinister, like some small weaver who just lured a bug into its tangled web of a lair.

“You may enter,” it said, a smile in its voice, “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“Yeah,” Oro muttered, gaze sinking back to the floor, “And beasts don’t bite.”

The Announcer laughed, a thin, frail sound, like it was unused to the sensation. It turned its back to him, and Oro saw now entwined in the roots it stood near was… something. A shape he couldn’t quite make out in the dim light and the distance. Though the glowing roots were thicker here, their light was still low.

He should leave. Being here was… a bad idea. But Oro doesn’t run. Not from enemies. Not from his brother. Not from this.

Tentatively, shell still crawling with shivers and nerves, Oro took a step forward. He expected his foot to sink, for the mask to give under his weight and crack and sink into the slurry of mud and chitin below, but it didn’t. In fact, he couldn’t even feel the ground moving. Emboldened by this just barely, he took another step forward. And another. And another. Until he was standing just behind the Announcer, towering over the diminutive bug and staring down at what it stood before.

It was… an egg? A large one, nearly as tall as the Announcer, and as high as Oro’s chest. It was hard to tell it’s color when the only light to see by was tinged in the bruised blue-purple of the roots above them. But it was an egg, large and spiked and cracked in half, whatever creature born inside it long gone. Inside the remains of the shell, there was a curling of sickly roots that spiraled about themselves before burrowing into the ground, thick and twisted.

“Interesting, isn’t it?” the Announcer hummed, “Even here at the edge of the kingdom, Hollow Nest hosts its mysteries.”

“What in the Black Abyss is this place?” Oro asked abruptly, hoping the shortness of his tone sounded more angry than scared.

The Announcer shrugged, “A place of beginnings. A place of hunger.”

It tilted its head in his direction, “A place of nothing, perhaps, if that’s what you want it to be.”

“Well that’s gross and cryptic.”

“You’re doing well in the Colosseum, Nailmaster Oro,” the Announcer said, disregarding his grumbling and turning its gaze back to the massive egg, “The place seems to suit you. You have a powerful spirit, a strong sense of ambition.”

Oro squinted down at the bug and backed up a pace, “There’s a lot of strong bugs entered in the tournament.”

It hummed noncommittally in return, the sound not unlike the voice Oro had heard humming its way towards him down the tunnel, “I suppose. But strength alone doesn’t satiate the Colosseum, does it?”

It looked up at him again, those pale eyes glinting, “I always thought the Colosseum of Fools was an interesting thing. It almost seems alive sometimes. Watched after and hungry. It so loves a crowd, and it loves its Champions and legacies. God Tamer was its favorite for a long time, and it’s quite a shame the one who struck her down refused to stay. I’m sure it would have made an interesting Champion all its own.”

“It’s a Colosseum,” Oro snapped, irritated by how unnerved the conversation was making him feel, “It’s a bunch of bugs in the shell of an even bigger bug hosting a tournament for a prize. It’s not alive.”

“Of course not,” the Announcer chuckled patronizingly, its voice sickly sweet with a grin that didn’t find its way to its pale gaze, “After all, if it had its own voice, surely I wouldn’t be here.”

It turned away from him and finally moved from its spot before the rooted egg, “I do wish you luck, Nailmaster Oro. I did mean what I said about the Colosseum suiting you, sir.”

It stopped at the edge of the room where Oro could barely make out the gaping darkness of a tunnel - probably the entrance the strange bug had used to enter the place. It flashed him one last smile, this time showing those unnerving teeth, “And doesn’t Nailmaster Champion have such a glorious ring?”

Then with another of those curling, whispering laughs, the bug disappeared down the tunnel ahead of it, leaving Oro alone in the dark. With no one to watch him, Oro allowed himself a shudder.

"This whole place is just a pack of shrieking belflies isn��t it?” he snarled under his breath. A pack of shrieking belflies indeed. All pretty noises and deadly dramatics. Oro shivered one more time and then, grimacing, dropped his gaze to his feet to figure out where best to step next - only to find the ground normal.

What?

Oro glanced around the room, casting about the floor for any sign of the writhing floor, the broken masks. But… it wasn’t. It was just fossilized chitin, like the floor he’d fallen into when he’d first dropped here. It was all old stone and solid ground and--! And it was all just gone?

Hesitantly, Oro knelt and placed his hand against the floor, and waited. He didn’t know what he waited on exactly. For the floor to shift? To feel the moisture of churning mud where his eyes were clearly seeing none? But… it was just stone.

“Wyrmssakes,” Oro grumbled one more time, getting back to his feet. He cast a wary glance over to the rooted egg as if it could somehow explain his surroundings. Then, gathering up his courage, he followed down the tunnel he’d seen the Announcer disappear down. He was walking for a handful of moments before a familiar roaring caught his ears. Cheering. And then light, bright and pouring across the tunnel around him. And Oro was suddenly in the pit beneath the Colosseum, blinking dazedly at the resting forms of combatants. Behind him was a solid wall, as though the ground had opened up to spit him out and closed itself behind him.

Shell itching with nervousness, Oro climbed back out of the Colosseum and made his way home. It wasn’t until he was sharpening his nail late in the evening that he realized he’d forgotten his brother.

#fan fic ask meme #lady-eclipse3 #nailmaster's folly #god that fic really died an inglorious death #it was maybe 5 chapters away from being done #and it had i think 6 chapters finished and never posted? something like that #it just had some plot holes i was too demotivated to patch #and also i wanted Oro to be just the angriest dogshit protagonist #but i eventually got too scared to write such an unlikeable protag so i stopped XD #i should try it again someday <- probablg wont do that

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wiw3 · 2 years

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Daddy’s Birthday; Making it All About Me

Thinking you’re a problematic 21 year old is probably the mark of some pretty pretentious, self-aware narcissism. The self-awareness within shouldn’t overshadow the fact that it’s lampshading at it’s finest. I’m flexing a new term I learned a week ago, where you mention the issue in a joke, without doing anything about it, or making any meaningful commentary on it as an issue.

The point is that I’m tired, I haven’t gotten a full night’s sleep in weeks since my routine’s been shattered. I’m getting it back on track. My dad’s birthday went off without a hitch! My father is one of the hardest people to shop for, and it shows in the gifts we give him. Digital money, hallmark cards, cold hard cash, all of the quiet ways to say that we’re very insecure about our inability to make you happy.

The unhappiness in my house is pretty nuanced. Nobody knows how to make anybody happy, so we all settle for not trying. We settle for comfort, for a day-to-day life of working all day, coming home, eating a meal, watching TV, and sleeping. We don’t take risks here, my parents gamble regularly and smoke like chimneys, so believe me, we’re a household of consumerism, through-and-through.

Don’t pay my insane babbling any mind, it’s going to drive everyone that matters away from me, one day. Lovers will leave you, or try to change you. The fact of the matter is that change shouldn’t be scary when its done to better the world for someone you care about. It should be easy as pie, then. There should be no question, it should be second nature to change for a person. I’d change for my father, if I’d only known what he wanted.

I don’t know what my mother wants, either. Her birthday’s close to half a year from now, and I have no idea what this woman wants. Maybe she wants what I want, for us to come together and talk through twenty years of trauma or so, and be healthy, but my parents and I aren’t close like that. Nobody likes being told that they’ve done something wrong, and by the transitive property, any criticism of their parenthood is met with sharp derision, as with most other emotionally-unavailable and neglectful households go.

I shouldn’t be surprised. I had to search for love elsewhere as a child, constant sleepovers, playdates, gaming sessions, parties, distractions, distractions, distractions for mini Doc back then, anything to keep from bothering my parents. Anything to keep from interrupting bills being paid or, God forbid, a “Two and a Half Men” rerun.

My dad always did watch the strangest TV growing up. If I had to ascribe meanings to the shows, I think I could do two of them right off the bat. I think my father watches “Two and a Half Men” to dream, and “Married with Children” to relate to where he actually is in life. Seinfeld was for when he was single in his 20s and 30s before meeting my mom.

Studying TV is something I’m still trying to do whenever I can. I can’t afford school or classes for it, but I’m putting in manhours and burning the candle at both ends trying to both read and write, so to speak, in the form of screenwriting. I don’t know. I can have more empathy for my dad and certainly give him more breaks and better birthday gifts if I can piece together that puzzle of a man. I hope you all have jigsaw fathers who are all easier to assemble than mine has proven to be. Au revoir~!

#daddy issues #dad #daddy #blog #blog post #sorry #sorry for the rant #i hate it here #writing #writeblr #creative writing

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thephantomgirl11 · 2 years

Text

Man I wish it was easier to sell stuff on DeviantArt!

I feel nobody even sees my prints or brushes or even my subscription tiers! Anything I try to sell gets zero attention, I've noticed that other users seem to get sales but I never do, even when I promote that I have resources for sale nobody seems to even view them. I've even tried various prices, but nope, nobody seems to notice! It's much easier to get traction on Artstation then on DeviantArt! I’m really not sure what i’m doing wrong on DeviantArt that's making it hard to get noticed.

And now that they made it harder to sell digital goods, since you have to be a core member to even sell them! Um, how do I exactly pay for DeviantArt's core membership if I can't make any sales?! Why cut off a resource that was useful for users who actually want to buy core?! It just boggles my mind that they’d make it harder for artists to sell stuff when they're the ones who are pushing these money options on users who don't have any way of using them! They claim that they're helping artists but in return they're literally locking up all the options and tools sellers want to use!

The only way to get any money on DeviantArt now is to either sell commissions or prints. And their prints shop isn't very good anymore for selling, since I've only seen that they push the best selling prints I've saw for the past Three years! The commission option isn't so bad, but I don't feel really ready to start selling commissions right now. Especially since I've been busy with my comics and learning how to draw perspectives. The other thing that bothers me is the fact that you can't even pull any earnings off unless you have a core! So yeah, that's my rant for the day!

#deviantart #rant #why can't i sell anything?!

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soxcietyy · 2 years

Text

Lessons 18+

Yuta x reader NSFW

Tw: Exhibitionism, fingering, rubbing, praises, probably one of my worst works.

You squirmed under his touch as he held your hands together. Shoving his fingers in and out of your tight hole. Your gummy walls devouring his fingers and coating them in juices.

Today Yuta was left in charge with the first year boys and Inumaki. That being that he was the most responsible. Panda decided to be a no show because a new panda themed Restaurant had opened. That left him alone to teach them anything he thought was important. Which he couldn’t think of. "Yuta Senpai, can you teach us how to please a girl?" Itadori asks eagerly knowing Yuta had a girlfriend for a while now. To his surprise nobody rejected what he said. All of them being quite interested in the topic. He eventually gave in with all the begging.

When he texted you to come to him you did. The second you opened the door he grabbed you and sat you on the teachers desk. Kissing you long and passionately. His warm lips touching yours so delicately. Managing to find a way in your mouth he continued to kiss you until you where begging for air. "Yuu what’s going on?" You say catching your breath. He didn’t bother answering instead he started to undress you until you were completely naked. He tied your hand is a rope tightly and brought you closer to him. " Today I am going to teach my students the basics of pleasing a girl. So be a good girl and behave." He said as he turned you around so you could see the class. Your eyes widen in realization of the situation. They all looked at you a bit shocked to see an actual girl naked In front of them, but nobody did or said anything. "What I like to do first is get my fingers moist" he said as he put his middle and ringer finger to your mouth. You hesitantly open it for him to shove his fingers in. He tells you to suck on them and you comply moving your tongue all around them Coating them with your saliva. At times you could feel him shove his fingers deeper making you gag. You knew that was a sound he loved coming out of you. Eventually taking them out a sting of saliva connected you with his digits. He let out a small chuckle and reached to your entrance as he spread your legs for everyone to see. Your face reddening from embarrassment. "Next we insert our fingers inside her. Now that my fingers are wet it makes it easier to slip in." He said shoving his thick fingers in you making you gasp. You could feel how his fingers curled up inside of you repeatedly. You let out small moans as he continued to look for your spot. You looked up to see his focused face trying to remember where it was. you would of thought he would remember it from how many times you’ve done this. "Senpai! Can I help?" Itadori yells out. You were to busy feeling good to care about what he said. All you wanted to do was cum. His thick fingers inside of you just felt so good. "I don’t remember saying it was hands on but I guess you can hold her legs open. She has this habit of shutting them close when she’s about to climax. " Yuta says as his students approach him. They grab on your leg forcing them to be open. You try hiding your face with your tied arms but Yuta gave you a certain look meaning he would be mad if you did so you don’t. The second Yuta pressed on your favorite spot you let out a loud moan. Your legs twitched from pleasure as he continued pressing on it rapidly. Your hips rolling to the same pace he was going. "Now to really get them to cum you also need to rub here." He said putting your head on his shoulder and his other hand on your clit. You being soaking wet helped rub your clit faster and easier. He rubbed your clit the way you liked it. Rough. You began squirming under his touch begging for him to slow down. Your back arching and your thighs wanting to shut but couldn’t due to being held down. "Arnt you a good girl? Show these boys how a pretty girl cums." He said cooing. He accelerates his speed making you a mess. "Yuu! I’m going to cum." You say shaking your head not knowing what to do with your body anymore. He gives you a nod giving you permission and you do. Cum seeps out of your hole as he pulls his fingers out. They release you letting you ride your high. Your legs twitching uncontrollably on the desk. "And that’s how you do it!" He says licking his fingers off.

AN: wow that was a bad .

#jjk second years #jujutsu kaisen #yuta okkotsu #yuta okkotsu x reader #yuta okkotsu x you #jjk movie #jjk 0 movie #jjk x y/n

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mackjlee9 · 3 years

Text

Corpse x Seme!Male!Reader [Smut]

Masterlist

A sighed left (M/n)'s mouth as he stared up at the ceiling after checking the time on his phone, bored and annoyed. His boyfriend, who he got used to call Corpse, had been ignoring him for the past couple of days, whether it was intentional or not, he doesn't know, but it got on his nerves.

Right now, he was playing Among Us with other youtubers, and seemed to be having fun, (M/n) heard his laugh at times, which made him smile but at the same time, feel slightly jealous.

Two and a half hours had passed since he locked himself in his recording room, only getting up to got the bathroom but calling for him to get him some water. Now, it was one of those times.

"Babe!" He heard Corpse's deep voice calling out to him and he got up from the couch, pausing the movie he was watching but wasn't paying attention to. His feet took him to the closed door, opening it and peeking his head in, Corpse turned to look at him over his shoulder, pushing down his headphones, "Could you get me more water?"

(M/n) walked in and went to grab his boyfriend's water bottle right next to him, he looked up at him with his left eye and smiled, before putting his headphones back on and focusing back on the screen. The taller male walked out of the room and went to refill the bottle.

He stood there, contemplating life, asking himself how the fuck can he get Corpse's attention, and an idea popped up in his mind. It wasn't a good thing to do it, but he was desperate and in need of his cute boyfriend's attention, so he took a deep breath and prepared for what he was going to do.

(M/n) closed the already filled bottle and walked back to his boyfriend to give it back. He stepped in and closed the door behind him, Corpse glanced at him for an instant before focusing on doing a signature vent kill. He slowly walked closer, placing the bottle where he got it from and he stood there, behind the black haired male as he watched him play. It was so convenient that he wasn't recording or streaming.

He placed his arms around his shoulders, resting his chin on the crown of his head and the body was found, through the headphone he could hear the rest of the crewmates discuss the location of the body and who might be the possible killer. None of them sused Corpse obviously, he had his fellow impostor vouching for him, which made things easier for them.

No one was voted off, mainly because the votes tied, so the round continued, and (M/n) started his mischievous plan.

One of his hands started to travel down slow enough for Corpse to ignore it, until he felt how that same hand was pressing down on his crotch making him flinch.

"(M/n)... what are you doing?" Was all he could ask, feeling a shiver run down his spine as the taller male had leaned down to start pressing open mouthed kisses on the skin of his neck. (M/n) knew how sensitive Corpse's neck was, so he took advantage of that. "S-stop, babe... I'm p-playing now."

(M/n) hummed innocently, rubbing on the growing tent inside Corpse's jeans.

"I know, just ignore me, like you've been doing the past three days." Corpse's breath hitched as he felt the sneaky fingers of his boyfriend unbutton his jeans and undoing the zip, slipping inside his underwear.

He bit his lip as he felt how (M/n)'s hand began to rub up and down, stroking his length in a torturous slow pace, teasing his tip with his thumb. Corpse noticed that an emergency meeting has been called and he started to panic, feeling his body shaking with nervousness and anxiety. (M/n) noticed that and he moved next to his ear.

"If you are quiet they won't notice... you have to be a good boy, baby." Corpse closed his eyes tight, listening to his friends discuss something with one another. Toast noticed how Corpse's character had been kind of AFK so he questioned him about that.

The curly haired male felt his heart sink when he tried to think of an excuse.

"Um... (M/n) w-was sh-showing me something..." he managed to stutter out, hoping that they would believe him.

They seemed pretty much convinced with his excuse, so they all skipped vote and kept going with the game. Corpse tilted his head back, as he felt his erection throbbing, begging for realise, but (M/n) wasn't going to give him that just yet. The (h/c) haired male kept kissing and sucking on his neck, occasionally going up to his earlobe and softly bit it, tugging with his teeth on his earring.

Corpse's mind was blank, completely out of it, but for a reason totally opposite than usual. All that he could think about was, 'I want to cum,' and that's it. He didn't even tried to keep playing anymore, he was focused on the hand that was sending him to heaven, or hell for all he knew.

"(M-m/n), please... I wa-wanna c-cum-nghm~," the male just stared at his face, scanning it up and down over and over again, seeing the lusty look he had and the red on his cheeks. (M/n) bit his lip and leaned in to press a kiss against his boyfriend's soft lips.

Corpse let out a gasp as (M/n)'s hand squeezed his tip, making pre-cum ooze from his slit and wetting his hand. He was about to let him cum, when the screen darkened for an instant, before showing 'Victory' in blue letters.

As soon as they were back on the lobby, Valkyrae -his fellow imposter- asked him what happened to him, Corpse had no idea what to answer so (M/n) decided to talk in his place.

"Sorry, guys, I've been bothering Corpse so he couldn't play at the end there, I'm sorry," everyone understood and said that it was all good, before another round started. The discord call was muted once again.

"No no no, I-I can't play any-anymore... I'm not-gnh, focused r-right now..." Corpse squirmed on his chair, gripping tightly his computer mouse and letting out soft groans. Poor little Corpsey...

He got imposter again. With Sykkuno.

But even if he wasn't in a good state to keep playing, he tried his best and somehow, managed to sneak a kill before another body was reported. Corpse said where he was and everyone skipped, short with evidence.

(M/n) noticed how Corpse managed to play somehow good, so he dipped further into his plan.

He lifted his free hand up to his mouth and licked three fingers, slipping them inside his underwear and further down, gracing his entrance. Corpse's body tensed, trembling slightly as he couldn't help but whimper out loud.

"Babe, why...? Aah~ fuck, d-don't touch th-there..." he mumbled between ragged breaths, without noticing how he had killed a crewmate in front of someone else. He was instantly voted off when he couldn't say a believable excuse, and he got ejected from the ship.

(M/n) saw that as an advantage and pushed a finger inside of his boyfriend, making him wince in pain. Corpse turned towards the taller male, hiding his face on his neck, gasping and whimpering as he uncontrollably squirmed on his chair again. His teeth bit down on the soft flesh of (M/n)'s neck as he felt how his finger reached deep inside of him.

(M/n) started moving the hand on Corpse's dick again, making him moan his name as he thrusted his hips into his hand, breathing rapidly. He pushed a second finger in and started stretching him as he teased his shaft once again, pre-cum dripping in a big amount.

(M/n)'s fingers suddenly pressed on his prostate, rubbing it slowly and making his back arch, his body trembled as he moaned out loud, cumming inside his pants. Corpse was catching his breath once again, when he saw the round end, now the word 'Defeat' was displayed in red.

He thought this was it, that his boyfriend was going to leave him alone and he could play peacefully again, but little did he knew about (M/n)'s plan.

Another game started, and Corpse relaxed when the word 'Crewmate' showed up on his screen. He took a deep breath and started to do his tasks, but another finger was pushed inside of him, thrusting in and out roughly making him whimper and close his legs tightly. (M/n) growled on his ear lowly, something that made his body weak, good thing he was sitting down.

"Spread your legs, baby, I won't repeat myself." Corpse swallowed at the raspy voice of his boyfriend and he, hesitantly, obeyed. (M/n) hummed in approval when the curly haired male spread his legs open, allowing him to fuck him with his fingers.

Corpse clenched around the digits inside of him as they pressed on his prostate, making him bit down in his bottom lip so he wouldn't moan out loud. (M/n) was having fun, seeing how other crewmates walked up to Corpse's character and "danced" around him, as if trying to get his attention.

His (e/c) eyes saw how Corpse was holding tight on his mouse so he realized the pressure on his prostate, something that made the black haired male relax greatly. He must be done by now, right? He though as his eyes opened, turning to look at the screen.

He was standing in the same spot for the past minutes, nobody had killed him and nobody had called a meeting, so he assumed nothing was happening.

Taking a deep breath, he moved his character a coupe of steps, before (M/n)'s voice slipped through his headphone, echoing in the room.

Oh boy, he was in for a long night.

"Stand up, baby." He tensed up but his as he was told, grimacing at the wet and sticky feeling of his underwear.

(M/n) moved the chair back and sat down, taking his twitching erection out of his sweatpants and pulling down Corpse's jeans and underwear together, making him jump in surprised. Before he could say anything, (M/n) grabbed his hip and made him sit down on his lap, or well, that's what it seemed like.

The taller male made Corpse's hips align with his dick, the tip pressing on his stretched hole, and he lowered him on it slowly, until he was fully inside of his boyfriend.

Corpse stayed still, feeling how (M/n) was reaching inside deeper that he ever was, and stretching him to his limit. He held his breath, gasping for air as he could feel (M/n) in his stomach, filling him up more than ever.

Fortunately -or unfortunately- for him, (M/n) stayed completely still, breathing on the back of his neck and playing with his erection again. Corpse didn't knew if it was good or bad the fact that (M/n) wasn't moving, but he started to think it was a bad thing, because he could feel every inch inside of him, and every time he moved the slightest bit, his boyfriend's dick would rub against his sensitive insides. Right as he was about to do his last wire, a body was found.

His eyes went to the task bar, which was almost full, and yet, only one person was dead.

Everyone skipped and they ran around doing their tasks, before Poki stood in front Corpse, waiting for him to do his task. He panicked and with a trembling hand, he did his wires, going further into admin to do his card swipe.

As soon as he did that task, his body shook, a strangled moan getting out of him mouth.

(M/n) had started to move, thrusting inside of him as slow as he could, driving him crazy and making him whimper with need. He felt his boyfriend's fingers rub his cock at a steady pace, while the other one held his hips in place. Corpse swallowed, trying to keep doing his tasks to win the game, but it seemed impossible for him. He couldn't focus at all.

All he could think about was how badly he wanted to be bend over and fucked mercilessly by his boyfriend. He wanted to scream his name and lose his voice, completely losing his mind to the pleasure, but right now, he wasn't getting any of that, he felt so riled up and on edge, and he couldn't think about anything else.

Corpse struggled to open his map, and saw that had only two tasks left, so he attempted to do them, but thankfully, one of the imposters noticed his out-of-it behavior and killed him.

As a ghost, Corpse went instantly to do his long tasks, which were both at med-bay. He did the sample and stood in the scan.

As he did so, (M/n)'s hand had moved away from his erection and was holding onto his hips now, his thrusting starting to get faster. Corpse felt how the tip was pushing on his stomach, which made him moan out his name as he squeezed around him.

"Fuck fuck fuUccK... I-I n-need-mngh~ moreeee~, (M/n) please..." the (h/c) haired male noticed how the sample was done, so he got Corpse's attention.

"Do your last task, win the game, say you have to go and I can fuck you however you want." He whispered in a raspy voice. Corpse heard the lust and desperation on (M/n)'s voice and it made him feel better knowing that he wasn't the only one so needy for the other.

The pressed the button for the red sample and the game ended. Corpse took a deep breath as he pressed the Quit button, unmuting his discord for a moment.

"S-sorry, guys, I-I have to... go now," he muted again as he felt a moan being trapped on his throat and he heard everyone complaining about him having to leave, but they said goodbye anyways. "Go-goodbye..." he muttered and ended the call.

He took off his headphones and held himself with his desk, bouncing up and down on the big cock inside of him.

"FUCK! It feels so... gooood~, fuck me (M/n)... wreck me, fuck me as h-hard as you w-waAant-eunhg~," Corpse bit down on his lip, riding (M/n) and taking him deep inside. He lifted his shirt up to take it off and he whimpered at the sight of (M/n)'s tip pressing on his stomach, making a little bump appear.

Corpse kept moaning his name over and over, making (M/n) want to completely destroy him. He stood up from the chair, making Corpse bend on his desk and he started to thrust into him at an inhumane pace, reaching deep into his colon. Corpse's mind blanked totally, mixing moans with whimpers and screams, muttering his name like it was the only thing he could say.

(M/n) gripped his hips and lost himself in the tight and hot pleasure of his boyfriend's insides, leaning down and biting on his shoulder, leaving hickeys along his upper back as he kept fucking his brains out.

Corpse's mouth was wide open, drool dripping out the corners, his tongue slightly poking out and tears falling down his red cheeks. His mind was wrecked, he was incapable of thinking about other thing that wasn't (M/n)'s cock.

"AahH!! FuuUcck~ I... I'm g-go-gonna... cuuuum-FUCK!! (M/n)~!!" He screamed his name as he came on his chest, feeling his boyfriend riding his high, making him cum longer.

(M/n) growled when he felt Corpse clench around him, his thrusting becoming sloppy and with a last thrust, he came deep inside his cute boyfriend.

They panted as their caught their breathing. (M/n) pulled out slowly, observing how his cum was dripping out of his babe, and he almost had another erection, if it wasn't because of Corpse's painful whine.

He hurried to help him, and he sat on the chair, placing Corpse on his lap and caressing his back as he played with his curly locks, "Did I hurt you, baby?" He asked in a worried tone that made the black haired male chuckle.

"Not really... but I feel really embarrassed..." he his his face on (M/n)'s chest and squirming on top of him, whining as he felt how the warm semen inside of him started to come out even more. "Can you take a bath with me?"

"Of course," (M/n) smiled and kissed his forehead, holding him up and carrying him to the bathroom.

#corpse husband #corpse #one shot #fanfiction #smut #seme male reader #yaoi #male reader #corpse husband x reader

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apprentice-maliya · 3 years

Text

the things you don’t say, i’ll make them mine

pairing: asra/mali’ya cw: none, just some pre-plague, light angst and fluff because i am self-indulgent and i missed them. also stargazing (kinda). enjoy ! word count: 2.2k song(s): lover and the archer by taylor swift

With a snap of Asra’s fingers, the candles in the shop lit up all at once. The sudden light was almost blinding in their eyes, still used to the dark shades of the storm hovering above the city that merged into the soft, pink and orange hues of sundown. Behind him, Mali’ya sealed the door with a spell so that the rain wouldn’t get in, leaving at least the shop alone and dry.

The golden mark was still glowing on the wooden surface when she turned to her friend, pleased to see that he had already put the bags in a corner where they wouldn’t bother them. In the meantime, Faust had slowly emerged from the worn-out scarf he was wearing, and was now taking a careful peek at her surroundings.

Asra laughed, shaking his head to let the raindrops fall away from his white curls. “That was close.”

“Please don’t do that,” Mali’ya said, though she was soon betrayed by her own amusement when a small smile appeared on her lips. She gladly accepted Asra’s hands holding hers, shivering when the heat coming from his warming spell dried out any trace of damp in her clothes and her hair as well. Once he was done, Mali’ya sighed in relief.

“We should clean up,” she suggested, taking off her shoes since, in the hurry of getting inside and taking refuge from the storm, she’d forgotten to. “I’m sure we left some mud when we walked in.”

Asra waved a hand as to dismiss the option. “Or we could get away with it with little to no effort,” he suggested before the stains disappeared from the blue-coloured tiles with another snap of fingers, as if they’d never been there in the first place.

He rubbed his hands one against the other, giving her a satisfied look. “Easy peasy, right?” Asra grinned. “Now, let’s set up camp for the night.”

Mali’ya stared at the floor—she still wasn’t that accustomed to using magic to solve even the smallest inconvenience, and it showed—but upon hearing that, she glanced at him in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Rummaging in their bags as he was probably searching for their blankets, Asra shrugged. “Seems like a waste of a lovely night to me, don’t you think?”

She could tell he was smiling while saying that, still Mali’ya hesitated. It wasn’t like she didn’t appreciate the idea; on the contrary, she was eager to see what Asra had in store for her with that change of plans. After all, aside from the couple of nights she’d slept in the wild, on the run to Vesuvia with her aunt and her girlfriend, Mali’ya had no idea what camping really implied: Asra had told her about gathering your own food, sharing stories around the fireplace and stargazing as though it was nothing out of the ordinary for him, and, in hindsight, Mali’ya now realised that wasn’t but his everyday life. The life of someone who had nothing else in the world but himself.

In comparison, the years she’d spent in Venterre were a walk in the park.

Would you like to come live with me?

Her lips parted without her thinking. Once, almost a year back from that moment―a lifetime, really―her aunt had asked her that same, exact question. For the first time someone had brought up the possibility for her to dream, provided the instruments for her to make her own choices, and there she was, months later, living her happiest days in a place she’d learnt to call home.

All of that because at some point, someone cared.

It was truly that simple.

I could ask him now.

“Besides,” Asra added, silently commanding one end of a jute string to tie itself around the knob of the backroom door, before he pointed his digits towards the entrance handle for the other end to do the same, “I wanted to show you some cool tricks.”

Mali’ya watched as he tossed a sheet over the tensed thread, thinking that they definitely needed something heavy to secure the cloth on the floor if they wanted something close to a tent-shaped, homemade fort, or even one of her bedsheets so it would be easier to make it wider and more comfortable for the two of them.

All things considered, there was enough space in her room for another bed.

Finally, she spoke. “We should ask aunt—”

A voice coming down from the stairs interrupted her mid-sentence, before the thin silhouette of her tutor, neatly wrapped up in her frilly pink housecoat, appeared on the landing. “Ask me what?” She inquired, throwing them an inquisitive though sleepy glance.

“Sorry for waking you.” Mali’ya immediately apologised, bending down the string to approach her. “We were on the way to the clearing you showed us last time when the storm hit, and then we...”

In that moment, as to prove the truth in her words, a thunder echoed above them, followed by the even more violent sloshing of rainpour against the rooftop. Heralia looked up with a sigh, not at all impressed with the tantrums of summer, then noticed the blanket hanging sideways on the jute thread. “And I get that you don’t intend to give up on your stargazing, is that right?”

“That was my idea,” Asra stepped in, kneeling down to place one of the doorstops on the hem of the blanket. “You suggested that we studied the constellations in detail since the sky is clearer and it’s meteor shower season. Shall we perhaps postpone our lesson?” he challenged her, staring at his mentor with an innocent smile and a cunning glint in the eyes.

Heralia scoffed. “Do as you please, I don’t care.” A yawn ran past her lips, so she turned around with a shrug to climb up the stairs and go back to the comfort of her bed. “Just make sure you fall asleep at a reasonable hour and put everything back in place before opening, tomorrow.”

“We will, I promise.” Mali’ya nodded, surprised at how easily her aunt had given in this time. “Thank you, and goodnight.” Heralia hummed something in return that she didn’t quite catch, but since her mentor didn’t repeat herself Mali’ya supposed it was nothing important.

Clasping her hands together, she looked down at Faust, who was slithering around freely on the floor now that her aunt was gone. “Wait,” she told Asra, “Let’s use my bedsheets for the tent.”

- - -

Half an hour later, sitting comfortably amongst soft pillows and a couple of warm blankets, Mali’ya traced carefully each word printed on the astronomy book that lied open on her lap.

“What is…” she started, squinting in the dim glow of the small ball of light floating just above Asra’s hand. “What is an ‘Equinox’?”

“That’s when day and night have more or less the same duration,” he explained, stretching his limbs by her side like a cat that just woke up after a long nap. He couldn’t help a yawn. “Equinoxes mark the start of spring and autumn, so they happen twice a year.”

At that, something in Mali’ya’s chest fluttered with triumph. “Oh! I think I got it.”

With half-lidded eyes, Asra followed the movements of the quill in her personal journal as she wrote down the definition. “You want me to spell it out for you?”

“Yes, please.” Her voice was nothing but a bashful whisper.

A hand ran up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she nodded again, jade eyes steady on every letter in fear of messing them up. He couldn't really see it, but a hint of blush painted her cheeks with something akin to shame; there was still so much she had to learn after all, and since Asra was way ahead of her in terms of magic knowledge, she always felt like she was only slowing him down.

“How do you say that in Venterrean?”

She didn’t even lift her eyes from the page. “Rivnodennya.”

Her handwriting was still unsure, he noticed from where he was lying, almost childlike and adorned with ink stains and spelling mistakes; but despite that, a pleased little smile had come to grace her lips, together with a quiet satisfaction that danced in her eyes every time she made some progress. Shyly, a pair of small dimples also appeared on her freckled cheeks, matching his own.

Pretty.

“And Solstice?”

Mali’ya still wasn’t looking at him, and a moment passed before she was done writing. Finally, she closed her handwritten dictionary with a soft thud. “Sorry, I don’t know what that means.”

Asra smiled, shaking his head with a light huff, before eventually giving up on lying on the blanket so he could sit up and borrow the astronomy book from her.

“I told you, you don’t have to apologise for every word you don’t know.” He flipped a couple of pages like he meant to find a specific chapter or image; peeking at him, Mali’ya couldn’t help but notice how the words slid under his eyes without him even noticing them. Just how much did he know on the matter? And who taught him all that, given that he was only a year and a half older than her?

Asra was such a mystery, she thought. He possessed extraordinary talent and a unique predisposition for magic, was resourceful and clever, but nobody seemed to have acknowledged that yet. In her modest opinion, his shine would only have gone to waste, had him kept busying himself with their lessons.

In the end, Mali’ya saw him settle for a star chart.

If only I wasn’t such a slow learner. Mother always said I―

To her surprise, Asra set the book aside and reached for one of their bags. “Solstice marks the first day of winter and summer, by the way.”

She was still lost in thought when she answered, “That’s sontsestoyannya.”

“Oh,” was all he managed to say as he handed her a smaller bag, the one filled with the berries they’d picked on their way to the woods just the other day. “Sounds complicated. Vesuvian is pretty different from Venterrean, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Mali’ya agreed, taking out a single blueberry from the sack. It was soft and full between her digits and the rind was just the perfect nuance of indigo any ripe fruit should be. It would’ve taken a single, light squeeze to smash it.

“So is Zadithi.”

It was a statement so soft, a whisper so nostalgic, she almost didn’t catch it.

Asra had his eyes fixed before him, though he didn’t seem to be actually seeing whichever thing he was looking at. Faust, who’d been napping among the creases in the blankets, had probably sensed his discomfort since immediately, though ever so gently, she slithered up around his arm as to console him.

Arms around his knees to make himself smaller, a stare that spoke to none―he looked much older than his fifteen years of age, but also somewhat younger, the way when a self-made teen grows up too fast; an inner child whose heart, she was sure, ached for something he would hardly get back.

In the silence of the night, Mali’ya began to understand. Why she’d been drawn to him since that morning at the market. Why she always felt so at ease around him, even though she’d only known him for a few months. She had never been able to notice that before, because both of them were just dancing around the other; trying to see if they could really let their guards down.

They really weren’t that different, then.

Wait.

All of sudden, a realisation―raw hope―pushed anything else aside.

Silence?

“Asra,” she called, her tone urgent and bright all the same. Hurriedly, but as not to startle him, her hand ghosted on his forearm. “The rain. It stopped.”

Not minding the sheets rustling under her knees after her eagerness, Mali’ya crawled out of their makeshift tent but stopped half-way, turning to Asra with an outstretched hand.

“Come,” she smiled, in a way she hoped it said I see you. You don’t have to be alone. “Let’s go see the stars!”

The cold, humid air that followed storms was pleasing on her skin as she unlocked the seal, letting the breeze in while Asra handed her one end of the blanket. Still on the doorstep, Mali’ya watched as her breath formed uneven clouds of steam.

“The sky’s clearing up,” Asra whispered beside her.

The holiness of it all, of the dead of a midsummer’s night, was enough to keep their voices low. Everything was painted in delicate shades of black and blue, and as they huddled close to one another, Mali’ya and Asra waited for the stars to show up.

Little by little, on the dark, empty canvas around the moon, a faint white dot appeared. Alone at first, it was soon followed by another, and another again, while the wind gently pushed the clouds aside to offer the city, and the few bystanders still wandering around―or standing on a threshold with their hands so close they almost touched―a sky so wide and mighty.

ao3 link

#asra #asra alnazar #asra x apprentice #asra x mc #the arcana #💌 : can’t stop you putting roots in my dreamland #btw this is kinda rushed since i wrote it down in like; a whole afternoon #but i so much needed to get it out of my system asap #can you guys believe that i initially planned this to be like 700 words long and then i rly got THAT far?#me neither #i'm also kinda proud #not one of my best works but... love the vibe #you can actually pinpoint the moment mali’ya goes ‘i’m so lucky and everyone has it worse so it’s my duty to make up for that’#screaming into the void like aaaaaaaa #dani writes

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yandere-daydreams · 3 years

Text

Title: Domination.

A commission for the very lovely @evaesis.

Word Count: 4k.

Pairing: Yandere!Dabi/OC (& Slight Yandere!Overhaul/OC).

TW: Non-Con, Dub-Con, A/B/O Dynamics, Oral Sex (M. Receiving), Kidnapping, Imprisonment, Slight Exhibitionism, Non-Consensual Touching, Mind Break, Physical Abuse, Slight Stockholm Syndrome, and Possessive Mindsets.

There was someone in Kit’s apartment.

She knew there was. She knew there was, she’d known since the moment she found her deadbolt undone, a new scratch next to the lock, the interior of her flat just a little too quiet not to be suspicious. She should’ve been used to it, now, considering her quirk, how it heightened her senses, how often it seemed to attract fans a little more proactive than most, but she still found it difficult to fight that familiar paranoia, the feeling that something was wrong, even if evidence was sparse. She tried to ignore it as she pushed open her front door, but it was difficult to suppress. It was always difficult, for—

“Are you ignoring me, Bluu?”

Her anxiety spiked, but dropped just as quickly. Right.

She’d managed to forget about the phone in her hand, Aizawa still loitering on the other end.

She took a second to sigh before she moved it back to her ear, already hitting herself for letting such minor details get under her skin. “Trying to,” She countered, stepping through the threshold, dropping her bag on the nearest table before bothering to grope for a light switch. “You were talking about tomorrow’s stake-out? C’mon, I’m dying to hear how two Pro-Heroes will somehow, against all odds, spend eight hours staring at an empty storefront.”

There was a hum, a breath of a laugh, but Aizawa was just as stern as ever when he went on. “Don’t change the topic. If something’s wrong, I can—”

“You can go home and relax.” Her lights flickered on, and Kit’s nerves eased. Her furniture wasn’t toppled over, her windows weren’t broken, and nothing was out of place, even if her ears were still pressed to her scalp, her tails flicking anxiously behind her. “I’m a big girl, alright? If anything’s wrong, I can handle it.” Aizawa hummed skeptically, and Kit groaned, making her exasperation clear, as she went on. “Goodnight. Make sure you’re ready to be this helpful tomorrow, Mr. Alpha.”

“Make sure you’re still alive, tomorrow,” He retorted, trying and failing to hide the fondness in his voice. “Keep yourself safe. I don’t work with corpses.”

He hung up before she had the chance to respond, leaving Kit in frustrated, giddy silence. Tossing her phone on to the closest table, Kit tried to take her own advice. She’d just gotten off of patrol. She was on high-alert, she was exgausted, and she was projecting that onto the place she wanted to feel safe the most – her apartment. She wanted to feel safe, but she didn’t want to let herself. She just wanted one more fight, a few more minutes of adrenaline, and if she couldn’t find one, her irrational instincts were content to make one.

And then, she caught it. A hint of smoke, something similar to burnt sugar. Caramelized past the point of sweetness, but still pleasant enough to cover up the rot, just underneath it.

An arm wrapped around her waist, a chest slotted itself against her back, and Kit grit her teeth, fighting the urge to kick herself for not listening to her irrational instincts sooner.

“Talking to an alpha behind my back, dollface?” The voice was rough, low and raspy, at the same time, and Kit recognized it instantly – Dabi, a member of the League of Villains, a familiar face from the other side of battle fields and walls of fire that always seemed to be just a little too far for Kit to fight, beat, and arrest, before he could cause any more carnage. Anger shot through her, bright and blinding, but the feeling dimmed into numb, logical terror as a scarred hand rose, wrapping around her neck, his palm just hot enough to remind her of his quirk, of the damage it could do in seconds, if she gave him a reason to use it. “Try anything, and the whole fucking building goes up.” His tone was still light, teetering on the line between careless and calculated, but Kit knew better than to test him. If Dabi made a threat, she knew he’d be good for it. She’d already given him plenty of chances to prove that, unfortunately. “I just need to help my friend with somethin’, sweetheart. Nobody has to get hurt.”

She could’ve fought back. She wanted to fight back. Dabi wasn’t good with close-ranger combat, but she was, and she could’ve fought and won, if she tried to.

But, as soon as she caught a stroke of red in her peripheral, as soon as she heard that sigh, she knew she couldn’t. Not if Keigo was here.

Not when she knew he’d sooner slit her throat than let her interfere with whatever plan the Hero Commission had arranged for him.

In his defense, he seemed hesitant. His expression was grim as he stepped into Kit’s line of sight, his wings folded against his back and his mouth set into a small frown. She only got a moment to glare, though, before Dabi drove his heel into the back of her knee, shoving Kit to the ground and grabbing her wrists, forcing them against the small of her back while she growled, baring her teeth to both of the men that surrounded her. She wouldn’t fight back. She wouldn’t blow his cover, but that didn’t mean she had to be nice about it. “Bastards,” She spat, Dabi’s hand already slipping under her shorts, his intentions becoming more unignorable with every passing second. “Don’t touch me. What the fuck do you think you’re—”

“Don’t take this personally.” At least Keigo fit the part, just as cold and just as villainous as his more sincere counterpart. “It was Dabi’s call. I would’ve gone with a civilian, if it was up to me.”

“Our initiation.” It was a purr, this time, punctuated by a chuckle as nimble fingers found her panties, tracing the shape of her slit through the thin fabric. Despite herself, her breath hitched as his thumb caught on her clit, pushing a slow, deep circle into the vulnerable bundle of nerves. “You should feel honored. Another villain would’ve been easier, and there’s gotta be a hundred different sidekicks easier to track down than you, but I figured if our golden boy wants to prove he can get his hands dirty…” There was a pause, another laugh, this one muffled by the dip of her shoulder. “Might as well let him have a taste of my favorite little Hero before I take her home, right?”

An initiation. That was what he claimed this was for – Keigo’s initiation, but Dabi didn’t seem in a rush to pull away. He took his time, pushing open-mouthed kisses into the side of her neck, nipping at all the tiny, sensitive spots that made her eyes clench shut, her body jerk under the oh-so-generous attention of an alpha. She didn’t want him to touch her. She didn’t want him anywhere near her, but her body did, and that was enough to spur Dabi forward, a deep chuckle falling from his lips as his gaze shifted, rising to Keigo, still kneeling stiffly in front of her. “Didn’t take you for the shy type, rookie. Get down here, before I start to think you’re havin’ second thoughts.”

Keigo rolled his eyes, but his hesitation was playful, at best, a show put on for Kit’s sake rather than his own. “I’m not trying to ruin your fun.” His tone was light, but the way he moved was stiff, clinical, his fingertips barely brushing against her waist as Dabi pulled back, giving her just enough distance to let Keigo take the lead. Keigo didn’t argue, only taking his place, his lips ghosting over the edge of her jaw. “I’m sorry,” He whispered, just quietly enough to let Dabi believe it was some idle threat. “I’ll make it quick, I promise.”

At least she didn’t have to lie. Her lines were the same, regardless of his role. “Go fuck yourself.”

If nothing else, Keigo tried to keep his word. It was a small mercy, how little he used his hands, how swiftly his feathers cut through her shorts and her panties, and yet, she couldn’t bring herself to be grateful, not when she still felt so exposed under Dabi’s prying eyes, not when it just gave him more skin to touch, more to burn. She didn’t need to be prepped. There was already slick coating the inside of her thighs, heat pooling at her core, her omega instincts reacting to the alphas’ pheromones before she could will herself not to, but Dabi must’ve been feeling nice. Whether or not she needed it, Dabi still took the time force two fingers through her tight entrance, the sudden intrusion drawing out a pitiful whimper that only seemed to make Dabi’s grin widen further. It was too intense, for something so thoughtless. He didn’t set a pace, didn’t try to find a rhythm, just curling his digits, spreading them apart, aiming for whatever made Kit grit her teeth and bow her head and keen, loudly, needily, despite how hard she fought not to. It was embarrassing. It was humiliating. It was…

It felt good, and she hated him for it.

By time he pulled away, she was bent over, squirming in his hold and panting, trying desperately to ignore the hum Dabi let out as he popped his fingers into his mouth, all sick contentment, all satisfied pride. There was a squeeze to her wrists as he acknowledged Keigo, barely offering a nod before shoving her into his chest, finally letting him take the lead. “Get it over with, pretty boy.” It was an order, not a request. If Kit was in a more sympathetic mood, she might’ve felt bad for him. “Before I get tired of watching you sulk.”

Keigo didn’t force her to watch. With her hair strung around his fist, his nails dug into her scalp, he forced her face into the crook of his neck, keeping Kit on her knees as fabric rustled and the tip of his cock bumped against her pussy. “I’ll be gentle,” He muttered, and Kit had to wonder why she couldn’t bring herself to believe him.

Then, he thrusted into her, not bothering to pause until he bottomed out, and Kit had her answer.

Dabi hadn’t been kidding, when he said he’d bring her home.

She tried to pretend he had been, sometimes, to close her eyes and pretend she was anywhere except the damp, dank cellar of whatever warehouse she’d been sedated and trapped inside of, but it was difficult. The quirk-cancelling collar around her neck was too heavy to be ignored, pressing against the base of her throat with an uncomfortable chill, and she couldn’t seem to get used to the way the chain attached to it rattled every time she tried to move. The concrete made it difficult, too, scraping against her knees, threatening to draw blood whenever she tried to shift, whenever Dabi’s grip tightened around her tether and he saw fit to drag her in one direction or another. He was good, at that. He knew how to keep his eyes on her, even if her gaze could hardly be called adoring.

“C’mon, baby.” His voice did little to endear her any further, a smug simper already tugging at the corner of his lips as his free hand dropped to the base of her ears. He was sitting on her cot, the only piece of furniture in that god-forsaken basement beyond a few forgotten crates and boxes she couldn’t bring herself to open, leaving Kit to sit between his legs. He’d been kind enough to edge his jeans down, his shirt discarded completely, his cock half-hard and already on display. He wasn’t feeling patient enough to force Kit to do it herself today, obviously. “I’m on a schedule, ‘ere. I’d love to play around, but I’m afraid I’m gonna need my omega to do her job, today.”

He said it like she had a choice, like his fingers weren’t already tangled in her hair, jerking her towards him until the flushed tip of his cock was pressed against her cheek, pre leaking onto her cheek as his palm grew warmer, just hot enough to be searing. Kit got the message quickly. If there was any silver lining to being with Dabi, it had to be that. He didn’t bother pretending he was any less depraved than he’d already proved himself to be.

She tried to get it over with as quickly as she could. Relaxing her throat, Kit closed her eyes and let Dabi thrust into her mouth, playing with the idea of giving her time to adjust before dragging her forward, only stopping when her nose met his pelvis and Kit gagged, her chest heaving as she tried to blink away the tears welling in her eyes. If Dabi cared, he didn’t try to show it. With an airy groan, Dabi guided her into a rhythm that fell between unhurried and uncaring, between self-sacrificing and selfish, slow enough to be agonizing but consistent enough to keep Kit on-edge, unprepared despite how predictable he was starting to become. Still, she tried to get used to it. To let the tension in her shoulders dissolve, to ignore his bitter, musky taste, to—

“She can still bite, y’know.”

To let Keigo ruin it, just when she’d gotten good at disassociating.

Dabi didn’t pause, but he lifted his head, eyeing the man leaning against the far wall, watching carefully. She supposed she should’ve been thankful for Keigo’s lasting heroism, his persistence when it came to making sure Dabi didn’t leave damage beyond burns and bruises, and yet, it was hard not to hate him for it, too. Just the raspy chuckle Dabi let out was enough to irritate her, enough to spur her loathing for the cause, rather than the source. “I’ll take the risk,” Dabi replied, only making the idea more tempting. “Wouldn’t be that bad, if she tried. ‘d give me an excuse to—fuck, give me an excuse to teach my omega some manners.”

There was a pause, a second filled with Kit’s heavy breaths and Dabi’s quiet swears. “She’s not yours.”

Without warning, she was shoved back, forcefully separated from Dabi with an audible pop. Kit moved to speak, but she didn’t get the chance to, not before his hand was clamped around her chin, his forefinger and his thumb digging into her cheeks as he stared down at her, a smirk painting itself across his lips after a long, careful second. Blatant, unconcealed, unashamed. Like he’d already forgotten Keigo was just across the room. Like he’d never cared at all, as long as Kit was still kneeling at his feet.

As long as she was still powerless, compared to him.

“Not yet.”

At least Keigo had the courtesy to leave, this time.

To be fair, he’d done his best to stick around. He’d perched himself on a storage crate as Dabi left his first bitemark on Kit’s neck, sat on the stairwell as he pried her legs apart and made Kit cum on his tongue, lingered in the doorway when Dabi brought in his first set of ‘toys’, but today, he’d chosen to make himself sparse. It felt like a betrayal, in a way, one greater and more hurtful than the faux sacrifice that’d gotten her into this. Like he’d left her. Like he’d pushed her into a lion’s den, promised to rescue her after a few bites, then pulled up the rope behind him. But, at the same time, she was relieved. Anyone would be. She had to be.

It would only make it more painful if Keigo had stayed to watch the beast tear her apart.

Her head was fuzzy. Her mouth tasted like dust and her tongue felt like cotton, and her whole body seemed to throb. It was probably the exhaustion, the poor sleep and the dehydration and the lack of sunlight, and the fact that she hadn’t so much as seen her suppressants in more than a month didn’t help. It was all she could do to keep her arms crossed under her head, her back arched in a way that wouldn’t break her spine as Dabi pounded into her, his hands on her hips and his cock abusing her poor, drooling cunt. This was the first time he’d fucked her, really fucked her, and it showed, his satisfaction oozing out in his pheromones, his wild grin, the way he couldn’t seem to think about doing anything but bucking into her faster, deeper, harder.

She was used to it, or she should’ve been, at least. He usually focused on his own pleasure, Kit’s needs serving as something unnecessary enough to be completely forgotten, but it would’ve been impossible not to react as he rutted into her pussy, it would’ve been impossible not to squirm and whine and go tense, if only because she knew there was no way out of his iron-clad grip. She did make a half-hearted attempt, clawing at the sheets and struggling, but Dabi put a stop to her futile attempts to fight back with a single hand, pressing the heel of his palm into the base of her spine and letting his skin smolder. Instantly, she went still, but the heat remained, lingering as Dabi chuckled. “C’mon, baby, you’re still gonna try that?” There was a pause, a thrust sharper than the rest. It felt like he was trying to fuck her cervix rather than her pussy, honestly. “Haven’t I been a good alpha? Tell the truth, now.”

He wasn’t a good alpha. He wasn’t a good anything, but her tongue felt heavy, her brain too hot to think, and for whatever reason, she couldn’t bring herself to say that. Still, she tried. She didn’t know if she’d be able to forgive herself, if she didn’t. “I don’t have a… You aren’t my—”

Another flare, another warning. This time, Kit screamed, and she could feel Dabi’s cock twitch inside of her. “I’m your alpha.” It was a growl, deep and throaty and overwhelming. He wasn’t asking. It wasn’t a choice. “I’m your alpha. You belong to me. You’re my omega. Say it.”

She didn’t want to. She didn’t believe it. She knew what an alpha was supposed to be, what her alpha was supposed to be, and he wasn’t it, he couldn’t be, even if he made an effort. He wasn’t nurturing, he wasn’t caring, he wasn’t even nice, not to her, not when he didn’t have a reason to be. She didn’t want him as her alpha. She didn’t want to be his omega. She didn’t want him any where near her.

But, she didn’t want to be in pain, either. She wanted him to stop.

And for just a second, she was willing to do whatever she could to make him stop, even if it meant giving in.

It was a moment of weakness, little more than a gasping breath that could’ve been mistaken for something coherent. She didn’t even realize she was talking, not until her mouth was open, words stumbling out before she could choke them back. “I’m you’re omega!” It was a short, desperate cry, but Dabi didn’t seem to mind. Not if she took the nails digging into her hips as a sign of encouragement. “Please, I’m—You’re my alpha! Please stop, I can’t—”

She didn’t get a chance to finish, not before Dabi bottomed out, filling her cunt with something thick and hot as her entire body went rigid, a bolt of pure electricity that shot for her core to her brain, lulling her into a depleted, fatigued state, something more mindless and more tolerable than what she’d almost gotten used to. She didn’t even flinch back as Dabi leaned down, his lips barely brushing against the harsh, blackened bruises he’d left littered across her skin. She just didn’t have the energy to. She just couldn’t remember why she’d wanted to so badly.

Dabi wasn’t her alpha. She knew that. He wasn’t.

But, she was starting to think it’d be easier, if she pretended he was.

Or, it might’ve been easier, rather.

As it turns out, she wouldn’t be with him long enough to find out.

It’d been a trade. She thought it was, at least – it was hard to tell from the position she’d been in, her face buried in Dabi’s chest, her arms draped over his shoulders, clinging to him the way he liked to be clung to whenever he took her to one of the League’s meetings. She tried not to listen. She really, really tried not to, as the air filled with dust, as she heard someone scream, as even Dabi reacted, holding her just a little tighter while Shigaraki muttered and snarled and bargained, holding her until a man she’d never seen before lifted her out of Dabi’s lap entirely, snapping his fingers once before leaving with her in-tow, cradled in his arms like a damsel in distress. Like a doll, helpless and breakable, freshly bought off a less deserving owner.

He was wearing a mask, an elongated beak that contrasted harshly with his pale skin. A memory resurfaced, dull and distant, the idea of face and a case she hadn’t taken up – something small, non-violent, money laundering or drug trafficking or all of the many things Kit had never taken an interest in. She pushed it away without a second thought. Kit tried not to think about things like that, anymore. It really never ended well, when she did.

She must’ve been staring, but he didn’t see mad when he finally glanced in her direction. She couldn’t tell if he was smiling, but she thought he might’ve been, beneath the mask. It was enough to give her the confidence to speak, even if her voice still shook. “Are… are you my new alpha?”

“No,” He said, his tone calmer than Dabi’s had ever been. Not kinder, but less needlessly cruel. “But, I’m going to be. We just have to clean you up first, get you to a condition more…” His eyes dropped to the bruises circling her neck, to the dented metal collar at the base of her throat. To the letters burnt into her skin, just barely peaking out from underneath her oversized shirt. “A condition more fitting of my omega.”

Kit fell silent, at that. She didn’t bother arguing. She couldn’t seem to remember why she would.

It wasn’t like this alpha could possibly be worse than her last.

‘She’s alive. With Overhaul. If Dabi’s tantrum was anything to go by, he plans on keeping her.’

Aizawa got Keigo’s message a few minutes after midnight, in the dead center of that night’s patrol. He hadn’t been expecting it, honestly. Keigo’s updates were infrequent, rare, more of an obligation than a courtesy, a hint at security in exchange for Aizawa’s promise not to do anything… impulsive, despite his stand-offish reputation. He’d almost lost his temper once, the day after Kit was taken and Keigo privately confirmed that she was with the League, but it would’ve been a waste of energy, back then, it would’ve been a waste of time. He couldn’t do anything, not on his own, not when Keigo was so intent on earning the League’s trust before taking any action to oppose them. Not when Kit was already in so much danger before he had a chance to interfere, before he had the chance to do something half-baked and make the situation infinitely, irreversibly worse.

Not when he’d already thrown away his chance to prevent this entirely, all because he’d convinced himself she’d hate him for doing what had to be done, when she insisted on being so reckless.

But, that didn’t matter. He couldn’t keep beating himself up. He had a better way to spend his time, now. He had better things to do than just worry.

Kit wasn’t with the League anymore, after all. Keigo’s position wasn’t a factor, and Overhaul was much more predictable than Dabi.

It was time to take his omega back, whether or not she still wanted to come.

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ask-spider-man-61610 · 3 years

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The Infiltration: Part One of Three

To say that two shapeshifters stood in the basement laboratory of a government building wouldn't be quite accurate. One shapeshifter stood in the basement laboratory. The other could more honestly be described as meticulously sculpted into shape. The particles that made up his body were arranged into the shape of a standing man, held in place by static cling, but that wasn't really standing. It was a rough approximation of standing, just like everything about Flint Marko was a rough approximation of a human being. He'd long since gotten used to the fact, but that didn't make it any less unpleasant.

The other shapeshifter, Reed Richards, leaned against a table that was great for projecting holograms but terrible for holding papers or drinks. Fancy and impractical equipment like this was one of the Cape Code Authority's most well-known features.

A third man stood in this laboratory too, off to one side. He was, in a way, the exact opposite of a shapeshifter. More on him later.

"I've taken some time to look into your request," Richards said as he tapped a few icons on the tabletop. "Here's the basics of my thoughts so far. A shell to house your nervous system and respond to electrical signals."

There was a sound like sand sliding down a dune before Flint began to speak. It had taken him a long time to relearn how to talk after becoming the Sandman; even now, it took effort to hold the shape of those granular vocal cords as he spoke in a deep and raspy voice. "Yeah. Y'said that last time, Doc. What's changed?"

Richards, in response, pinched an image on the tabletop and widened it out, his fingers stretching like rubber bands to expand the picture further. He raised his arm--he seemed to ignore his joints, the entire limb bending like a garden hose--and flicked one finger up, and a hologram rose out of the table's display to cast a soft white glow over the room. The hologram looked like eggshells glued to an Erector set, arranged into the shape of a bipedal form that lay on the table as if it were a stretcher. "What's changed is that I've done some research into actually making that shell. Take a look, I've drafted up a basic schematic for what it'd look like."

"And you decided it'd look like a Phantom?"

Richards snorted, but ignored the question. "The outermost shell is solid-light holography," he continued, making a vague swiping gesture through the air above the image. The eggshell faded out, revealing the bare animatronic beneath, which (judging by the sculpted face made of sand) Flint found even less impressive. Frowning, Richards looked down at the hologram again and added, "We could, given some finagling, calibrate it to resemble an actual human. But generating these 3D models is a pain, so I didn't bother."

Perhaps a more critical mind would have asked why, if 3D models were such a pain, they bothered to use holograms at all instead of pen and paper. But Flint's mind had never been an especially critical one; he was in no way stupid, but for all his life had tended to take things as they came. Instead he asked, "Is that why it looks like a Phantom? 'Cuz you're just recycling a picture you already had?"

"Not letting that go, eh?" Richards replied, the ghost of a smirk on his face as he glanced up at the Sandman again. He waved his hand again, and the computer misinterpreted his gesture and deactivated the projection of the suit. Rolling his eyes, Richards reactivated the hologram and said, "No. Well, partially. It looks like a Phantom because that technology is what a lot of my idea is based on. You see, what you're asking for is very similar to how the technology works anyway--an artificial support structure for a unique nervous system. The only difference is that your nervous system is two gallons of granulated silica, whereas the Phantoms are currently working with--"

And here he stopped, falling silent and stoic. His eyes, suddenly devoid of their smiling crow's feet, glanced Flint's way before his disgusting elastic fingers returned to typing on the touchscreen between them. The pile of sand, insomuch as it could, looked confused.

"What?" he said, in a voice like a seashell crushed underfoot on a beach. "What're the Phantoms workin' with? I thought they were just robots."

This was a common misconception, and Richards, like most of the Cape Code Authority, had a vested interest in upholding it. "Phantoms" were the colloquial name for Perpetual Holographic Avatar/Nano-Tech Offensive Monsters. Bipedal, autonomous drones with light weaponry, they were the foot soldiers of the CCA, the beat cops, the cavalry when an agent wanted reinforcement. They had been in development since the War of the Worlds had brought the Chitauri and all their technology to Earth six years ago, and some of the core technology of the drones was better kept unknown. What Richards had said threatened to jeopardise that secrecy.

The third man in the room chose then to speak. Stepping forward, his black cloak obscuring the entirety of his six-foot-plus form, he spoke with a voice that was digitally altered to be an octave deeper. "They are robots," he said, his white face mask moving like genuine flesh. "Their processors have a unique method of operation, though. They have some of the most sophisticated A.I. in the world, and their microprocessors are similar enough to a human's that it won't require too much tinkering to render it compatible with your...situation."

This was Scrier--or rather, a Scrier; one of many--and he was a champion liar. Nobody quite knew when he had joined the CCA or what level he occupied, but the executives of the organization seemed to treat him as a special case. He never answered distress calls, except to break up protests and strikes. He had no patrol routes, no assigned partners, and the only training courses he attended were the ones he taught--the ones about corporate rights and the agency's responsibility to them. Agents weren't allowed to try and investigate Scrier's identity. For all they knew, he was an undercover boss trying to hear his subordinates' opinions on him.

This was true, but it was a little more specific than that.

"Yes!" Richards said, gesturing towards the man gratefully. "Thank you, Scrier. I didn't know how exactly to put that. Yes, Phantoms run on a very human-like system. In theory, adapting it to suit your nervous system should be far easier than trying to create something out of whole cloth."

"I thought you were like a super genius," Flint said, sounding a bit annoyed. "You've invented flying cars and indestructible fabrics that let you go to space. You have yer own interdimensional portal. Why is this taking so much thought? Why does this need to be made out of other stuff and spit and prayers?"

Richards gave him a blank glare for a few seconds before sighing. "Okay," he said, leaning on the table. "First of all, I am a genius. I'm one of the smartest people to ever live, but that doesn't mean I know everything. I have to research and experiment. Any innovation, even one from me, takes time." He waved his hand again and the hologram vanished. "Second of all, remember: I'm doing this out of the goodness of my heart."

"You're doing this because that was my condition!" Flint shot back, and the pile of sand swelled slightly and grew almost half a foot. He raised his arms; granules fell from the sculptures and scattered across the floor. "That's what I said when I joined this stupid super-cop thing! I hate being the Sandman, Doc! You guys offered to give me this--this job of disrupting protests and taking down unregistered super-guys because your bosses told me you could make me...not."

He glanced down at his hands. And indeed hands they were; years of practice had let him sculpt the sand at the end of his arms into an incredibly realistic form, with perfectly jointed fingers. You could almost see what must have once been his fingerprints. But as he looked at them a small stream of sand fell from them to the ground.

"I'm not expectin' you to make me human again," he said. "But just...something that'll make me feel more human. Something that feels like a body." His features hardened again, sand dunes into sandstone. "If you're just half-assing that--if you're just giving me something that-that makes people treat me like a Phantom and that'll break in like a week--"

And here he stopped. There was more than just a salary that kept agents of the Cape Code Authority in line. You had a lot of wiggle room as a superhero registered under them: you could slack off on the job, you could issue arrests for what you were pretty sure was a crime, you could stop and frisk anyone you liked, you could be sure that the beatings you gave to unarmed suspects were graciously forgiven by your superiors. But one thing you couldn't do was leave. Quitting the CCA was a surefire way to bring the coworkers you had once trusted down on your head; no longer registered, you had no more immunity than a child experimenting with the most basic powers did. Nobody wanted to find themselves imprisoned in Complex 42--stranded inescapably in the Negative Zone, tortured by armed guards and experimented on to replicate your powers, only protected from the hostile, annihilating environment outside the prison by a few wafer-thin force fields. But that was exactly where Flint's line of thinking threatened to take him.

"...Forget it," he mumbled, defeated, and as he slumped down slightly his face and body lost much of its detail.

Richards stared across the table with an uncomfortable air. Glancing down at the table, he tapped a few keys on it and the hologram vanished. With one hand he pushed his glasses up, and then his arm stretched the five feet across the table and patted Flint's semblance of a shoulder.

"Look," he said. "I can't make any promises. You're...unprecedented, Marko. The only shapeshifter of your kind. I'm doing the best I can to help you. But if I can use technology we already have to do it, then I'm going to. You're not my only job in the CCA. But I'm working on it." He took his hand back, and then needed a second to brush off the sand that had come with it. "...It's getting late. We ought to call it a day, I need to head home."

"Have to convince Susan not to walk out on you again?" Scrier suggested, already heading for the door.

Reed just dragged his hand down his face, his features stretching in his grip, and didn't answer. His eyes were bagged and his posture tired. Instead he began to trudge towards the door, each leg bending like it was made of plasticine, and followed by an animate pile of sand.

The light of streetlights and storefront signs shone through the windows as the three of them stepped out of the laboratory. About ten feet away, a custodian looked up from the floor he was mopping and gave the trio a quizzical expression, but the only one who paid him any mind was Scrier, whose expression was hard to parse through the prosthetic mask. Richards and Flint just began to head the opposite direction down the hall.

"Hey! Scrier! Don't you have some skulking to do somewhere else?!" Flint called back.

As the door to the lab swung closed, the janitor adjusted his grip on the mop and looked back down at his work. Scrier, after a second more of staring, turned away and began to saunter off.

It was a long hallway. They kept walking for a good long while before they turned and were out of sight. And for all that time the janitor continued to mop and silently sweated, waiting for them to notice that the security cameras weren't moving like they usually did. Even when the three Cape Code Authority agents were gone, the custodian continued to work. He worked until the vibrations of their footsteps through the floor had faded into the background tremors of the environment. And even longer than that, until the buzz of spider-sense in the back of his mind had subsided slightly, no longer quite so focused on them.

#Spider-Man #Spider-Man AU #Peter Parker #Earth-61610 #Cape Code Authority #Reed Richards | Mister Fantastic #Flint Marko | Sandman #Scrier #story #long #Odyssey Prelude

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starkeristheendgame · 4 years

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If you are okay with it, I was wondering if you could do a body switch soulmate au. When you first make eye contact with your soulmate you switch bodies. You stay in each other's bodies for 24 hours. I feel like this could cause some shenanigans on both sides. Tony hasn't had to be taught anything in awhile and Peter doesn't know how to run a company.

I was a little apprehensive about this idea at first but honestly? I adore it. I am afraid, however, I took this away from the ‘humor’ pathway and plopped it straight down into ‘light angst’. Please accept my apologies for that - And I’d be happy to write something more lighthearted if this doesn’t hit the spot. Keeping your own emotions and mindset out of what you write is hard sometimes.

Slight AU in that they meet differently to CW.

TW: Light angst | Slight hurt

He was going to lose his fucking mind. He could feel each one of his IQ points disintegrating as he stared at the board (an actual digital board, what fucking year were they in? 2015?) and tapped his pen restlessly on the desk. He hadn’t been to school since he was eighteen. The last time he’d been in a classroom was January, giving a motivational speech to Princeton graduates.

He felt too small and too stifled and if this woman pronounced Epinephrine wrong one more time, he was going to launch his desk at her and snap that stupid board in half.

Because he could do that, now. Displays of sheer power. Because Peter Parker had been bitten by a genetically modified spider and Tony was currently occupying Peter’s body.

Soulmates were so, so overrated.

“Hey, wonder kid. Tap that pen one more time” the girl to his left whispered, and Tony shot her a cool side-eye. MJ quirked a brow at him, equally unimpressed, and nodded to the board. Tony scowled but knew the effect was ruined by the soft, pretty baby-face he currently wore. Curse Peter and his lopsided brows and his huge eyes. Curse soulmates for existing.

MJ was thus far the only one who’d noticed The Switch. It was only sheer coincidence that Peter and Tony both had brown eyes of a similar enough shade that the telling switch of eye colour between soulmates hadn’t given them away. MJ, however, was astoundingly attuned into her best friend, and it had only taken three minutes in her presence for her scowl at him and ask who the fuck was wearing her friend’s meatsuit. Tony had to begrudgingly admit that he could see why her and Peter were good friends. She’d looked unimpressed at his claim until he’d pulled out his (Peter’s) phone to show the frantic texts from that morning, and then she’d huffed, rolled her eyes, and dragged him to first period.

He thought lunch would be a reprieve when it came, but instead he found himself staring with growing dismay at a tray of food that he’d refuse even if he was a prisoner, blanching in disgust when a sloppy excuse for a mac’n’cheese was dumped into one of the slots. “I’m going to die” he complained, ushered along by an unsympathetic MJ. “This is cruel. This is inhumane. Dogs don’t even get fed this”.

“Yeah, well. You’re a billionaire, so. Put up or shut up. I have no sympathy for capitalist elitists”. And, wow, rude. But understandable. He sank down onto one of the bench seats and tried to stop his stomach from rolling at the way the meal wobbled when it was set down. He’d been poking at it for several moments, largely ignored by MJ, when a shadow fell over his table. He looked up and stared with disinterest at the sneering figure above him, before he sighed.

“Which one are you, then? Neb? Flake?”

“Flash” the form above him frowned, and Tony waved a dismissive hand.

“Yeah, whatever. Class killed off half my IQ points and I’m not wasting the rest on you. Off you pop”. He turned back to his pitiful excuse of a meal, prodding the macaroni distrustfully with his fork. The boy besides him gaped, flustered, before turning on his heel and stomping off. When Tony glanced up, the girl was looking appraisingly over her book at him.

“Maybe you should leave your balls behind. Peter could do with them” she noted, before dropping her gaze again.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“How much money does he actually have?”

“Sir’s total net worth including assets, liabilities and investments are currently estimated at just short of a trillion, Mr. Parker. In terms of ‘real time currently’ Sir has £515,268,385,012 as of the current hour”.

Peter was gonna pass out. He was wearing the body of a man with five-hundred billion in the bank. He’d known Tony Stark was rich, obscenely and un-necessarily so, but that was a whole other level. Vaguely unsteady, he sank down on the plush couch, feeling a little green. It had already been a few hours since waking, but he had yet to get used to the fact that he was, for all intents and purposes, Tony Stark.

“Does that bother you?” The artificial voice asked after a moment, sounding impossibly curious. Peter hadn’t thought AI of this level possible, but here he was, talking to a voice that was more realistic than some of the living people he knew.

“Its...A shock, I guess. I mean, it does bother me, I suppose. Nobody needs that much money. That much cold cash alone could eradicate homelessness in America. But...I don’t know. Its his money, he earns it. He saves the world and stuff. I don’t know how you could put a value on some of the things he’s done”.

The AI was quiet for a moment, pensive. “Sir’s ‘profession’ is high cost also, Mr. Parker. The worth of the Mark IVII alone is £6,000,500,000”. Peter thought about it for a moment, then gave in, humming softly. He supposed in that sense, having that much money kind of didn’t matter, then, when a huge chunk of it was consumed by saving the world. He’d seen how often that suit got dinged up, and had no doubt repairs and replacing parts was costly.

“Am I allowed to get something to eat?” He asked after a moment, stomach rumbling a little. He’d spent so much time this morning freaking out and being consoled by JARVIS that he’d missed breakfast and lunch had slipped him by.

“Of course, Mr. Parker. Several components of the kitchen are automated, but I am capable of guiding through any recipes or devices you are unfamiliar with”.

JARVIS had apparently activated something called ‘Romeo and Juliet Protocol’ when it had been revealed that Tony had been Switched, and a large majority of the Tower was closed off and protected. Peter couldn’t leave the penthouse and JARVIS had strict control of everything, even down to the doors. Peter was happy enough to just sit there and wait it out, though. As amazing as being here was, snooping was rude, especially when what he could find could potentially compromise the entire world.

He chose to make a simple, small sandwich which involved nothing more than a single knife and plate, marvelling at the giant fridge and the ridiculous amount of food within. Apparently Mr. Stark had a chef that stopped by once every other day with prepared meals, and was on-call for whenever he required a fresh meal without having to cook it. The produce was organic and far different to the sad, wilting lettuce that could be found at the local Cheap Fresh.

Technically, if it was plausible, when you Switched you were supposed to follow a specific protocol set up by the Government, but Mr. Stark had ultimately lost his entire mind at discovering his soulmate was fourteen and had immediately demanded Peter stay locked up like Rapunzel while he pretended to be him for the day to throw off suspicion. Peter couldn’t deny that had hurt a little, but he understood it. Soulmates or not it would be the scandal of the century - Tony would be called all sorts of things at best and investigated at worst, and the nature of their age difference meant a lifetime of interference and monitoring by the Government and protective services. He knew it was easier to pretend it hadn’t happened, to hide it from the world. Tony had suggested a private agreement, a ridiculous sum of money in exchange for Peter’s silence.

He realised he’d been staring morosely at his plate when JARVIS prompted him softly, and he sighed, taking a bite. There was no physical remote for the TV but JARVIS helped him to access a cache of movies and he settled on Inception, his weakness for Tom Hardy and Leonardo DiCaprio soothing the ache of his new reality.

“Am I allowed to ask what running a business is like?” He asked after a while, head balanced on his palm.

“In what regard, Mr. Parker?”

“Well, I don’t know. I mean, I’m fifteen. I don’t know how to run a company, let alone run a company and be a superhero. What kinda stuff does he do? Does he attend meetings? Does he fly around the world on company retreats like in the movies?”

JARVIS sounded lightly amused when he replied. “Sir has delegated much of the daily company operation amongst several trusted employees, but he is still the namesake, owner and CEO of Stark Industries. He does attend frequent meetings, but most of Sir’s ‘flying around the world’ is done for leisure or Iron Man related activity”.

“Sir spends most of his time in the lab, conducting important work for both his priorities. Sir also does a respectable amount of charity work, investment work and supportive work. I believe his latest venture is funding the entirety of MIT’s PhD graduate projects”.

Wow. That was...That would be a lot of money. And being supported by someone like Tony Stark was bound to be something to boast about, something that would fluff up your resume a little.

“Does he enjoy it?” Peter asked after a moment, fingertips raising absently to the arc reactor in his chest. It ached constantly, a low-level background pain that never quite faded out of touch, the odd sensation of a gaping maw in his chest something that had made him heave earlier that morning. Mr. Stark was tired, burnt out, but still going. It made Peter want to spend his twenty-four hours just sleeping, to try and soothe the man’s headache.

“Sir finds great gratification in his duties” JARVIS replied quietly, though he did not specify which. Peter gave a hum and succumbed to the desire to nap, curled up on the corner of the couch with Inception fading quietly into the background.

He ate again when he woke up, and blinked when he saw the time. Mr. Stark’s phone had been heavily locked down, but he could still access the message channel between this number and his own. The messages there were disheartening.

Told your hot Aunt I’m staying at that Nate kids house tonight. I’ll be coming to the Tower, but you won’t see me. I’ll stay on the level below.

Sorry, kid. Seeing someone else wearing me like a Givenchy suit is just too head-spinning.

JARVIS will keep you safe up there. We switch back at midnight, so try and get some sleep. You’ll wake up as yourself and I’ll get the plan in motion.

“JARVIS, when was the last time Mr. Stark cried?” He asked timidly, and the AI was silent for a moment.

“Four years ago, Mr. Parker”.

“Oh,” he breathed out, vision blurring. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I’m about to ruin that” and he let the teardrops fall.

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x0401x · 4 years

Text

Jeweler Richard Fanbook Short Story #2

Feel free to message me about possible corrections, and please consider supporting the creators by purchasing digital copies of the official releases: Novel || Manga || Fanbook. In case anyone is feeling generous: Ko-fi | PayPal. ( ╹◡╹)っ’･*

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Daily Life of Etranger: Professor Kunz and Morgan

Saturdays were long at Jewelry Etranger. We had a client scheduled to come by at four today. It was three-thirty in the afternoon. While on stand-by together with the shop manager, I felt like we still had a long wait ahead of us.

“Hey, Boss, why do stones always end with ‘nite’?”

Mr. Richard, the Englishman, reflected silently on the meaning of my question for a moment. Deep in thought, he had an elegant facial expression.

A few seconds later, Richard nodded with an “aah”. “What you are referring to is the naming of alexandrite, tanzanite, kunzite and others?”

“Yeah, yeah, that.”

“It is because of the ‘ITE’ suffix, right? Not that the names of all gemstones have it, but it is widely used to denote minerals. From the title of honor of the Romanov royal family, ‘Alexander’s Stone’, we have ‘alexandrite’. From ‘Tanzania’s Stone’, we have ‘tanzanite’. The latter is a commercial name given by a jewelry company, though.”

I get it; seems to be something like an alias.

“Then is kunzite also the name of a place called Kunz?”

“That one is the name of a person. It is named after a famous gemologist, Professor Kunz.”

So this one also received the suffix and became “kunzite”. I see; it’s pretty simple.

“Is that like the ‘sandwich’ in ‘Earl of Sandwich’? Was this Professor Kunz the person who discovered it?”

“Exactly. Good guess.”

Putting your own name on a stone. What was this feeling that someone could randomly stir up a romance with it? I did know that when people were granted naming rights when finding new stars or animals, but I see, that’s also valid for gems.

“So if I found one, it would be a nakatanite...?”

“Are you going to aim for the discovery of a new type of mineral?”

“Might be good! I could write in my resume that I’m ‘the Nakata who discovered the nakatanite’.”

“Pathetic. To think that your reason to be happy about discovering a new stone would be filling up a blank space on your resume...”

After that, Richard discussed that a new discovery meant expanding the scopes of science. That knowing about the existence of a stone that had a different structure from the already known minerals meant broadening the ranges of the world. Of course, an expansion of the jewelry world could also be useful for the development of the latest technology. The world of stones was unfathomable.

Since it was about a time where it wouldn’t be weird if the client showed up, I went to make today’s second serving of royal milk tea, and as I returned from the kitchenette to the reception room, Richard had opened his treasure box. There were two beautiful gemstones cozily lined up inside the large velvet box. One of the pink stones was tinged with a faint shade of lavender, while the other had a trace of orange. Both were very light colors.

“Those are pretty stones. What’re they called?”

“This is a kunzite. I was just stocking up on it.”

So that was the rumored one. With square-faceted cuts, both stones were about the size of half a pinky fingernail, emanating a shiny glow as they reflected the light.

“It is not very suitable to wear as everyday jewelry since it is a delicate stone, but it allows you to enjoy your day plenty enough. Collectors of rare stones are fond of it.”

“Is that kinda orange-ish one the same stone too?”

“This one is called morganite. They have a similar color but are different stones.”

“I’ll guess so don’t say it. Don’t say it no matter what. If kunzite is named after Professor Kunz, then this one... is named after Morgan-san?”

“Correct.”

I heard Richard’s “good for you” for the first time in a while. He spoke such an unfaltering Japanese that you could only think he was an actual Japanese man if you talked to him with your eyes closed, but his nationality was British and he was a blue-eyed blond. Just from his tongue-tying name, Richard Ranashinha de Vulpian, it didn’t seem like his origins were from England alone, but I didn’t know the details. Not yet.

“Aah, so this one was Professor Morgan’s discovery?”

“You were in the faculty of economics, right? Do you know the name and the bank J.P. Morgan?”

“Eh? I do. He was an American billionaire and founder of a big bank... Eh?”

A billionaire had been the discoverer of a mineral? Really?

As my eyes widened, Richard shook his head. “He was one of the world’s leading jewelry collectors. He was also a sponsor of the organization that Professor Kunz belonged to, and there was a deep liaison between the two. Kunzite was named after Professor Kunz, so for this one, they used Mr. Morgan’s name.”

“Heeh...”

Kunzite and morganite.

On one hand, there was the name of a gemologist who worked in the USA. He was surely famous in the world of stones, but if I hadn’t seen that gem, I likely wouldn’t have known his name for the rest of my life.

On the other hand, there was a financial king who had founded a huge company. Even I knew his name. But stones were stones.

Looking at them lined up on a velvet cushion like this, it sort of felt like I was also looking at two friends with similar tastes standing beside each other. Unlike stones, human beings had many kinds of titles clinging to them stickily, but in the end, we were all the same once we were stripped of them. Like “financial king”. “University student”. “Jeweler”. “English”.

“Hey, if I find two new types of stones in the future, I’ll name one ‘nakatanite’, but I’ll give the second one your name.”

Richard made an indescribable face. He did not take me seriously at all. That was expected. It was probably like discovering a new type of vegetable or fish. But there was no way that it didn’t exist.

“But how do you look for a new type of stone? Should I go find a mine that nobody knows about and get to digging it or something?”

“Unknown mines should still exist here and there even nowadays, but the planet called Earth is just one. Even in a place that has never been dug, if you analyze the soil of the area, you can have a rough idea of what kinds of stones are likely to come out of it. Rather than this, there have been several cases where people ‘discovered’ stones by proving that something people had been handling until recently as a different type of stone was actually a new type with a differing composition. Either way, a discernment backed by the knowledge of minerals and an analysis made through the required equipment is indispensable.”

“That’d turn into a pretty chemistry-centered story, huh?”

“Exactly. And of course, it would take time and money.”

“What a fleeting dream~”

“Great to see that you woke up from that dream. If you could find something by thinking of looking for it, nothing would ever be difficult.”

As Richard told me to put away the tea set, he took the flat jewelry box and returned to the backroom. It was 3:45 PM. The client had still not arrived. I washed the glasses in the kitchenette, somewhat unsatisfied, then went back again to the reception room. While the shopkeeper stood by the windowsill and stared down at the street, I called to him with a “hey”.

“Serious talk: between ‘richardite’, ‘ranashinhite’ and ‘devulpianite’, which do you prefer?”

Richard had good looks and was smart. The languages he spoke as if they were his mother tongue were not limited to Japanese. At the very least, speaking five to six idioms was a piece of cake for him. He knew about everything very well. He acted by thinking about ten times more thoroughly than me with a perspicacity more than ten times sharper than mine, so he didn’t make any imprudent blunders. I believed he could be working leisurely in a more secure, more advantageous and easier job. But he was working as a jeweler alone in Japan.

Which was why there was no mistake that the one behind that calm and composed face was quite a romanticist.

As I laughed with a “take it like I won the lottery”, Richard made a face of losing focus. “You mean to say I am your Morgan?”

“Now that you mentioned it, yeah. You’re the one paying my salary.”

“As for you, I think seiginite is better than nakatanite.”

“Eh?”

“If you were to name a stone,” Richard said. “Names are the only ‘garments’ that gemstones wear. I know that Nakata is quite a splendid name, but Seigi is more like you. I also feel that the benefits of wearing it would be easier to distinguish.”

“‘Benefits’, you say... like wanting to help people at random? That benefit’s a bit of a bother.”

“Not bad, is it?” saying so as he turned around, Richard smiled softly.

I wondered if that guy wasn’t actually doing minute calculations on when and in what way to smile, with a clear understanding of how to make the people around him feel good. I had a simple character, so I would end up getting extremely happy when I was told things like that. As I held back from grinning smugly, the beautiful storekeeper furrowed his brows.

“Anything wrong?”

“N-No, no, nothing.”

Shortly thereafter, the shop’s intercom rang. It was the scheduled appointment. The one who came in was a female costumer carrying several store bags – a collector of rare gems. She picked the loose kunzite and morganite, as well as two more rare stones, and went home highly satisfied. Richard had probably laid those stones in stock because he could predict that she was going to purchase them.

After closing the shop at five as usual and bidding goodbye to Richard at Sotobori Street, I remembered the talk we had left unfinished. It wasn’t because his smile was destructively beautiful or anything like that. Thinking logically, finding two new types of gemstone would be hard no matter how lucky I could be – no, one was already absurd –, so in any case, I wondered if “Richard and the Stone of Justice” would do. Dream stories were good, but if an English jeweler was saved by a Japanese university student and hired him to work part time for some reason, despite the low chances of something like that happening, I thought it would be great if I could do something of that level to surprise him. I was pretty serious about it.

#housekishou richard shi no nazo kantei #the case files of jeweler richard #jeweler richard #richard ranashinha de vulpian #nakata seigi #tsujimura nanako #richard #yukihiro utako #novel #my translation #jr short story collection

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yanderes-stuff · 3 years

Note

...Michael Andersen? There's barely anything for the dude, so you can do nsfw or sfw if you want?

Yeah sure bro let's get the yandere man with jean curtains to clap cheeks because your the only one that doesn't treat him like a psycho

P.S I saved this for Michaels birthday and it's 3:22 am right now so I'll revise this later but I wanted to post right now

Tw: dubcon (manipulation) and cussing and yandere stuff and bad grammar

Word count: 1,725

The door to your room gently shut. as you wandered to your bed waiting for Michael to come out of the bathroom after a long day relaxing together previously he was texting you about how lately he was feeling miserable all because only a few people don't treat him like an individual and those people would usually not bother to spend time with him

So out of pity, you decided to agree to invite him over to cheer him up after all that's what friends are for. Michael seemed to be appreciative of you since you would always comfort his misery at any chance you got especially the times he would come over uninvited crying over the loneliness begging you not to leave but it's worth it just to see him at peace for once

But alas he was faking his despair for your comfort he didn't know any other way that would get your instant attention so he decided that he was going to go to desperate measures you were the only one that was there for him and he needed you for himself

Which sometimes led to him sneaking into your room uninvited when he was feeling especially unstable at nightfall though by then you were in a deep sleep however he discreetly snaps photos of you sleeping to ease his nerves later which led to him having a whole photobook of candid photos taken without your knowledge but he couldn't help it! You're the only one that makes him feel soothed from his descending sanity

But there were times when you were together where you would mention other people to him then he'd start fussing about the flaws of the person and telling you why he doesn't like them nevertheless he was clever about exaggerating his views on people but that's a bit of an understatement

This leads to him enacting his plan right this moment without your knowledge he's been waiting quite a while to perfect this plan without any chance of failure he'll just have to protect you from those people as you did with him

With a gentle creak of the door, you hear Michael out the bathroom "Hey [Name.] Thanks for inviting me over." He muttered gently

"You're welcome I like it when you're here." You admitted your words made his heart warm-up although he didn't show that

"So uh [Name.] I was wondering if I can ask you something." He mumbled a light pink dusting contemplating over his next selection of words

"Hit me with it." You said casually looking up to meet his eyes that were staring right back at you with a hint of uneasiness to them

He swallowed thickly and his eyes scanned the room for a moment "Could we do the thing again...I just like being seen as an equal and being taken into consideration while I please you."

You were quiet for a second a little startled but not disgusted you had an idea of what the aforementioned "thing" was quite some time ago since you had sex with him but it began when he implored you to have sex with him to unwind from his depressed state which you hesitantly agreed just to comfort him but you quickly grew to have the ritual relatively often until you grew apart for some time busy with other friends

You held a small smile "Oh sure I guess...it's kinda been a while since we did it hasn't it." You agreed with an awkward laugh you patted the side of the bed signaling him to come to sit down

Once he sat down he took you in his lap and cupped his hand to your cheek admiring your face once done gazing his lips crashed with yours in a fierce kiss while he massaged your right breast over your t-shirt after a few minutes of this you took off your shirt and threw it on the ground then he switched sides and gave the other the same treatment his lips danced around your collarbone

He started playfully rubbing his fingers against your womanhood over your shorts then he slipped his hand in and started darting his fingers in and out now you could barely think straight with the sensations he was giving you and when you took a glance at his boxers you could see his cock bulging from within the fabric

You awkwardly slipped off your shorts to give him easier access to your lower region you were dripping wet from the feeling of euphoria he gave hitting your sweet spot with his rough digits once he was satisfied with his effort he disrobed himself and crawled over your figure lining up with your soaked genitalia

Then he fitted his girth in you with one quick motion and sits still for a second letting you adjust once you settled he started to rock his hips gently his breathing getting slightly erratic from the pleasure coursing through him than his movements quicken with speed his hips bucking back and forth against the bedrest then he put his hands to your neck not enough to choke you but enough to feel his hands there you can feel him chasing his climax with the thrill while you reached yours for a second time but before he could cum inside you he pulled out and came on your Inner thighs and stomach with the hot sticky liquid

He crawled beside you and snaked his arms around the top of your body in a warm and cozy embrace you grabbed a nearby towel from the side table and patted yourself off before you snuggled him back

"Let's just go to sleep and get some rest for tomorrow, deal?" He whispered in the tip of your ear

"Deal, good night Michael I love you." You mumbled your words made Michael extremely delighted and words couldn't describe how much he hoped you were being honest

"I love you too [Name.]" He returned the sentiment and with that watched you slowly go into a deep slumber

When he was finally certain you were asleep he quietly tiptoed outside whilst grabbing a large kitchen knife on his way and when he strolled to your vehicle in your driveway and in one swift motion jabbed the knife into the rubber tire glancing around to make sure nobody saw quietly chuckling to himself

As he was ensured there were no witnesses he walked away from the harsh hiss of the tire slash and came back inside and started once again to hold you close to him later in the morning when you both woke up and you cooked breakfast fluffy pancakes for Michael as well as yourself and told Michael you'll be right back to get mail

When you wandered outside to collect your mail from your mailbox when you discovered that your car had a flat tire noting this in your mind you went back inside your house and notified Michael while he was still at the kitchen table eating the food you made for him

"Hey Michael can you do me a favor." You implored him with a straight face standing next to the doorway

"Yeah, sure what" Michael answered back already knowing what you're going to ask him trying to hold back his excitement cupping his own chin with his elbow propped up on the table

"Could you take me to the auto shop? I need a new tire. I think I might've cut it on a rock or something." You pleaded and continued "I'll pay you back somehow." A small frown on your face you didn't want to send Michael to get it by himself because you knew he didn't like being left alone

"Yeah sure I'll take you but you don't need to pay me back." He told you casually he already knew how you would pay him back…

When you two got into Michael's car there was an uncomfortable silence you two tried to make small talk in the meantime but there was something off about Michael his eyes seemed to be more dilated lost in thought while still navigating through the strangely empty roads

After a while more uncomfortable small talk there's another thing you noticed was a bottle of pills presumably medication and in addition to that some heavy-duty rope maybe it was for camping was a thought that cropped in your head but that thought was interrupted from the sight of the repair shop in the distance

Until…Michael passed it "Uh Michael you passed the shop buddy." You said trying to snap him out of his supposed trance but he just hesitated to answer until finally

"I know." He confessed giving you a side-eye while driving you can now make out the fact that his breathing is slightly more unstable

"Sorry, but I can't let you go...love" he emphasized the last word in his sentence while you heard the click of Michael locking the car door before you could open the door to escape

Michael turned on an unfamiliar path that was secluded in a forest then he turned to you

"Look, this is for the best. You don't understand now but your will." He growled he scrambled to you pinning your body between his legs as his figure loomed over you

Then he took your throat in his hands and started to crush it harshly still with that labored breathing and dilated eyes focused on you, but you tried to struggle but to no avail, your world was fading, and the last thing you saw before passing out was Michael leaning in to gently kiss you

You awoke chained to a bed presumably Michaels you squirmed trying to get up but you quickly realized that Michaels's arms were latched over yours in a tight grip and you could feel the rise and fall of his chest against your back

"I love you so much, you have no idea what lengths I'd go to prove that or more so what lengths I'm going to prove that."

#yandere slenderverse #yandere michael #slenderverse #michael anderson #mlandersen0 #fanfic #send asks #smut #birthday #request #Michael x reader #what the fuck #fuck it #yandere x reader

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kikenmuses · 3 years

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@kusatta‘s shigaraki sent to rane: “stop squirming, i’m trying to help.”

the wound isn’t as bad as some he’s experienced, but it’s in a complicated space. his own fault. the result of his own brooding. a mirror. the surface so flat, so perfect. exact. his hand had come up to touch his reflection against the cool surface --- every flaw visible. so imperfect. labeled as perfection by those who lost their lives to give him one and put him where he is, now. years of training. books read. videos studied. he knows all might’s dialog by heart. he knows every line on his face when he grins --- and yet when he looks for them in his own features, they aren’t there. a question booms so loud that it shakes his every thought, his very core:

WHAT ELSE IS MISSING?

the thought alone had been enough to apply pressure, to watch his own reflection crack and splinter into about a dozen pathetic repeats of the same frustrated expression. it’s not enough. he’s too young, too weak. he still bleeds. the cut on his hand is proof of that. the fact that it hurts is proof of that. he needed more time. some would say that he has it, now --- that he can use the jump to learn more about his quirks and perfect them. maybe, with time, he’ll be able to make some kind of change. his presence here means the future has already changed. to what, nobody knows. and not knowing ... that’s the hardest part. that, and being near him. there’s something that can be said about keeping one’s friends close but enemies closer. shigaraki’s touch is nothing like rane imagined. he’s being careful. palm upturned, rane watches as he reaches for the bottle and washes red away down the sink. it stings. digits twitch and his brow knits. reflex begs him to jerk his hand away, to remove the source of the pain but he forces himself to redirect --- to brace against the counter with his other hand, instead. he feels too much like a child and he hates it. displaying weakness. being reminded. right now --- right here. the breath he exhales through his nose is enough of a warning that he’s not enjoying the interaction, but with the cut on his palm, he’s stuck with just the one hand and that makes things complicated. that makes letting someone help him easier. silence prevails as gauze ends up wrapped a few times around, tight but not terribly so. how many times? how many times has he had nightmares about these very hands causing his skin to crack like the mirror? how many times has he woken up in a cold sweat, terrified of the taste of dust in his mouth? white hair. red eyes. a monster in every story ever told to him and yet here he is with gloved fingers trying his best not to cause any more damage. how long before that changes? when does he fall? when does he break? when should rane make his move? he doesn’t have answers and it’s starting to drive him absolutely insane. shigaraki has been a boogeyman in rane’s life --- a scary story in the dark. it’s hard not to stare. it’s hard not to be intimidated and yet he feels it so deeply in every bone.

something else ... bothers him. he can’t place it. he doesn’t know what to name it, but it’s there. the sign itself is neon but rane’s vision is blurred. the moment his hand is no longer needed, it retracts back into what appears to be a very personal bubble. he needs to say something. he needs to use his words --- and that’s strange. social protocol. he’s not alone on an island anymore. no. japan is overflowing with people and everything feels so noisy, everything feels so goddamn loud. this feeling. this inner turmoil. he wants to snuff it out. he wants it to end. he wants so many things, many of which he cannot begin to name. for a moment, he lingers. he tries to think of movies he’s seen --- tries to ask himself the same question he’s asked a billion times: what would all might do? he knows the answer. save him. you have to fucking save him. a shame, when all they taught him was how to fight. his mouth opens and closes. he’s ... not great at this. there’s a small internal struggle and then? two words. words he never thought, in a million years, that he would ever be saying to this person in particular. they come out sincere, but weighted. “ ... thank you.”

#kusatta #answered #self harm #kinda #anyway i love you

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love-sapphirerose · 3 years

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Yashahime: Princess Half-Demon Episode 19

https://www.animenewsnetwork.com/review/yashahime-princess-half-demon/episode-19/.169235

Similar to the last time Yashahime gave Moroha something substantial to do, the insidious stupidity of “Princess Aya's Beniyasha Hunting” can only be truly appreciated if I just describe the events of the story in chronological order. Given the crummy vives that the preview gave off, I don't think anyone was expecting much more than a cheap detour from this episode, but I'll be damned of this series doesn't continue to impress with how little of a shit it gives about being good, or even mediocre, or hell, even functional. And before we dig into this post-mortem, I'd like to field any defenses that people might make about Yashahime being meant more for kids, and thus shouldn't be taken seriously. For one, this is a decades-in-the-making sequel to one of the most popular anime ever, so don't act like the show shouldn't have something to offer for fans whose ages can be counted with more than one digit. Also, y'all know that crappy kids' entertainment still sucks, right? It doesn't just get a free pass for being made with younger viewers in mind. Nobody in their right mind is going to argue that stuff like Avatar the Last Airbender or Steven Universe should be judged at the same level as Caillou, for Pete's sake.

Anyway, “Princess Aiya's Beniyasha Hunting” commits the gravest sin that any work of art can commit, in that it is a completely pointless waste of time that takes the precious minutes of existence that its viewers have been afforded on this earth and just flushes them straight down the toilet. I, dear reader, respect your lives much more than Yashahime ever will, so I'm going to dispense with the “twists” and lay it all out in order: Way back in Episode 1/7, when the girls busted into Hiiragi Dango's place to rescue Towa, they brushed by his daughter, Aya, and got a speck of mud on her kimono. Being a literal psychopath, young Aya then hatched an elaborate scheme to trick the girls and get her revenge: She recruited a band of mercenaries and forced Jyubei to sell Moroha's services as well, and then she established the false pretext of recruiting demon slayers to her father's employment to lure Hisui and his two nameless buddies into fighting the mercs in a big, competitive battle.

These mercenaries are cartoonish morons, and one of them, Lady, is a pretty offensive homophobic/transphobic/maybe-even-racist stereotype, but in one of this episode's few saving graces, it's actually hard to get all that mad about it, because these goofs are pointless and don't really do anything. They spend all night building a wooden façade of a castle on the battlefield for…some reason, and then they all sort of disappear once the firebombs start dropping. No, the demon slayers know that Moroha is the only one that really needs to be taken seriously as a threat, so they recruit Setsuna to aid them, leading to a cousin-vs-cousin showdown for the ages!

Except that obviously isn't what happens, because even though Setsuna and Hisui suck, they're not awful enough to be completely on board with burning InuYasha's kid alive in the middle of a field for the sake of some half-cocked job interview. No, we eventually learn that Moroha and the slayers were in cahoots all along, since they figured they could throw the fight and earn enough cash from the not-actually-real job offer for everyone to profit. Sure, the slayers apparently didn't even tell Moroha about the very real volley of firebombs they'd be tossing her way, but who's keeping track of neglectful homicide attempts amongst friends and family, eh?

It's that throughline of “not telling your teammates the most basic and necessary information” that really sinks this episode, which was already a bummer to begin with. Nevermind Hisui and Setsuna almost turning Moroha into barbecue; the big dramatic turn of the story occurs when Setsuna and Moroha both agree to not tell Towa about the fixed battle because…she's a bad liar, I guess? Except Moroha is the one that lets slip about the battle in the first place, and I don't know why anyone would assume that keeping Towa in the dark would be easier than just explaining that the fight is rigged, nobody is getting hurt, and so on. Even if you bought that silly excuse, the episode still doesn't make any goddamned sense, because once Towa predictably gets mixed up in the fight anyways and mistakes Setsuna's “acting” for real aggression, nobody bothers to just explain what's going on then, either! The episode establishes that Aya can't hear anything they say from her little tower, so why keep up the charade? And how is any of this easier than one of the girls just telling Towa, “Hey, we're going to scam the spoiled daughter of that guy who kidnapped you out of some money by faking a battle. If you want in, cool, but if you can't keep up the ruse, just, like, hang out here this afternoon or something. We'll be back in a few hours, tops.”

It's just so unbelievably lame, and it's the kind of plot that is doubly frustrating because it depends entirely on characters withholding important information for no reason other than to cheaply manufacture some consequence-free drama. Also, remember how the whole setup for the battle was a lie, anyways? Yeah, Kohaku shows up out of nowhere to explain to Aya that he knew the whole thing was a waste of time, except he didn't tell his own crew of demon slayers this because…he wanted them to learn a lesson?

To recap: Aya, a character we've never met, goes to insane lengths to deceive Hisui, a cardboard cutout that we do not care about, in order to double deceive (and possibly kill) Moroha, all on account of that one time she got some dirt on Aya's clothes. Then, Moroha, Setsuna, and Hisui attempt to trick Aya, which ends up being a waste of time since they already fell for Aya's initial trick, and there's a bunch of needless drama with Towa because everyone made a conscious decision to also trick her, even though she probably would have been able to allow the secretly useless and entirely overcomplicated ruse-within-a-ruse to go off without a hitch, if only she had she known what was happening in the first place. Takechiyo even gets in on the action by tricking Towa into thinking Moroha got horribly murdered in her arms. Why? Who the hell knows! Maybe it's because Takechiyo just gets off on psychologically abusing teenaged girls. I'd buy it. Just look at the little creep.

Throw in some harmful stereotypes and a hilariously clunky last-minute scene where Towa gets all tearful over Moroha's safety – despite definitely not giving a crap all those times that Moroha was in actual danger – and there you have it: “Princess Aya's Beniyasha Hunting.” No, Moroha does not transform into Beniyasha. Yes, I'm just as mad about all of this as you are. The only reason this episode is getting a two-star rating is because there's a funny bit where Moroha plays along with the bounty hunters' silly entrance-theme bit. I'm giving it one extra start for making me laugh exactly once. That might be damning Yashahime with faint praise, but with nineteen episodes down and only a handful to go, I'm afraid that faint praise is just about the only good thing Yashahime can hope to earn at this point.

#anti hanyo no yashahime #anti yashahime #anti towa #anti sunrise #anti sessrin

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