#it’s HALF parasitic! it can live on its own if it so pleases | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

samsvenn · 2 years

Text

𝐀 𝐃𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐨𝐨𝐧 ║ 𝐋𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐮𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐮

warning! extremely suggestive themes, mentions of violence, submissive laito and subaru, reader is not a saint

Reader is a Pathovoratus, a mythical species that lives by consuming the heartbreak of others, and managed to break the Sakamaki Brothers' hearts. Reader managed to save enough money to escape and become the new co-owner of a small café outside the countryside’s outskirts. Three months passed and life was going well - until two heartbroken parasites paid a visit. (more info at the end) wc: 2.3k

The way the countryside reflected its glistening happy hues through the window was a sight for sore eyes - if you hadn’t grown accustomed to them by now. Waves of endless grass blades dancing with the wind as its partner, stray old cats loitering like they own the place, roasted coffee beans being your reliable penniless aroma, this was good. This was where you belonged.

But, if the café was near a cemetery, things could’ve been perfect. However, greed has a habit of suffocating those who weren’t grateful, and experiencing that chokehold again isn’t for the best.

Five customers, each showing their age difference, showed up at the café today. Most regulars here were old enough to drive, leaving you to tend to their mature taste. Your current customer was a woman who appeared to be in her late sixties; gray hair proudly streaking at the roots and all. Cleaning your portafilter and grinding up the roasted beans to a fine, almost powdery texture, the coffee machine starts to extract the auburn liquid into an espresso glass.

She hands the bill on a wooden Japanese pay slab before bidding an expressionless goodbye. You recline back on the stiff wooden stool and let your thoughts wander. ‘I should read the news tonight-’, ‘Maybe I can whip up a macchiato after this shift ends-’, ‘Do I have enough money to buy mochi at 7/11-?’

You get to work cleaning the appliances and wiping away dripping milk froth. You duck and grab a spray bottle behind the counter, but the door swings open, and wooden chimes sing their tune - a customer has walked in.

“I’ll be with yo- Ow!” You caress the back of your head to get some sense of relief but it never came. “...Sorry, just forget that. Now, what would you lik-”

The whole world froze when you saw who you were serving.

“Hmm… Perhaps an explanation with a side of a medium-cup vanilla cappuccino. Add two extra pumps, please. I hate bitter things. You of all people should know what I like, no?” That irritating sing-song voice only had one owner. He perched himself with his chair positioned directly in front of the counter.

“Ne, Subaru. Big Brother Laito’s gonna pay for you so be grateful and order anything you want.”

Subaru, who’s been hiding his face by looking at the cafe’s window stills, hesitantly walks up to the counter and sat himself down. “...Iced almond latte with caramel drizzled at the sides and rim. And… make it a large.”

Their eyes burn into yours. Even though they were half-brothers, these rare moments truly felt like they were related. Moreso united as one.

“One medium vanilla cappuccino with two extra pumps and one large iced almond latte with caramel drizzle coming right up.”

. . . . . . . . ◟੭

“You are truly one of a kind,” Laito says while you prepare your measuring spoons. Subaru’s been quiet and Laito was the first one to break the ice.

“How could you? Was it fun? Us being your little toys? No- No…” Laito pauses and whips his head away from you before returning. “Did you enjoy the attention while it lasted? Shu screaming his lungs out, Reiji crying and promising you that he’ll be better and ‘perfect’, was it fun watching us torment ourselves for you?”

The short answer: Yes, it was.

“-Say something.” Subaru bangs his hard-knuckled fist on the smooth counter and joins in with Laito.

“You two came here looking for answers. It’s been three months and you’re still hung up on that day.” The coffee machine finishes grinding up Laito’s beans and the milk frother is ready. You take out a white mug and fill it with the heated milk before taking a syrup bottle and adding splashes of vanilla to the cup.

“Not even a damn sorry?!” Subaru reaches for your collar and ends up holding you by your neck in the air. Laito’s not even looking this way anymore. He’s keeping his sharp green eyes on the beans being extracted.

Your head felt like it was gonna combust. “Y-You… killing m-me… just p-proves you still c-care…” Eight words. Only eight words were what you could manage.

“...!” The light in his eyes changed. His hands start trembling. Eventually, they gave up and you were back to finishing up Laito’s drink.

“One medium vanilla cappuccino with two pumps ready to serve.” You hand Laito his mug and his hands graze yours. It turns from a short, accidental touch to full-on handholding. You look up and stop ignoring his gaze, but Laito doesn’t dare look back.

“...I still need to make Subaru’s drink-”

“-I know.”

Laito’s grip won’t loosen no matter what and wriggling yourself out doesn’t work.

“Laito, let go.”

“...” No response emitted from Laito. Not a smile, not a frown, his face is glued towards Subaru and his bangs hide any bits of expression.

“Subaru, your drink’s gonna be postponed. That okay with you?” Talking with Laito proved to be useless. This man’s hands weren’t holding yours in a painful death grip, but soft caressing and your wrist being locked together aren’t ideal too.

“...Y-Yeah.”

The clock ticks down until it reaches the fifteen-minute mark. Subaru joined in but contrary to Laito, he took your hand and began to caress himself with it. Starting from his puffy cheeks, then letting you trace along the curvature of his face, before indulging more and kissing your fingertips until his lips were bright red.

“Mmhm…” Subaru slowly opened his mouth and shakily lets his tongue suck away the vanilla drops that spilled on your hands when he grabbed you.

An idea reared its ugly head, waving a big flashing, red billboard in your mind.

You thought to yourself, ‘What if…’

Subaru’s taken aback when you start moving your hand. Why? Probably because he didn’t expect you to pat his head the way he loved so much before gently prying his mouth open. There, you tell him one command: “Suck.”

Whether he was desperate for your love or attention, the line was blurry. Subaru’s tongue snaked and swirled itself around your fingers, not even noticing the obscene sounds he was making. His mouth felt warm despite his cold skin.

“Nngh..!” His beautifully dilated red eyes look back at you, pleading with a question he loves asking ever since your days at the manor: “Am I doing okay? Does it feel good?” He was never good at expressing his words. Oh, if only eyes could speak.

“How could I ever be unsatisfied with you, Subaru?” For the first time since their arrival here, you let out a content smile. This seems to rile up Subaru, causing him to choke when he tries to push your hand deeper into the back of his mouth.

Subaru lets your hands go before gripping onto the counter’s edge for dear life. “Ack-! Fuck I-” His eyes immediately dart at yours and his jaw clenches. He’s waiting for it - your disappointment.

“I-I’m sorry- I didn’t know- Listen-” You could almost hear your heart break when he tried to save himself the embarrassment. Almost.

“-It’s okay, Subaru. You’re not the one letting people suck your fingers till they choke after all.” You rub circles on his soft bed of hair and don’t miss the way he leans to the touch. Poor guy, you’ve been depriving him due to your hard-earned absence.

“Y-Yeah, what you said.”

“Waahh… What’s this? Little Brother privileges?” You two turn towards Laito, who’s been having the time of his life drinking his mug. Yet even after all that, your left hand is still held convict. “My, my. This isn’t what we agreed on, Subaru.”

“Fuck off. This was your idea and I came along for the ride.” Subaru grumbled through his teeth.

“It’s my older brother privilege to have first dibs.”

“Not my fault you’re too slow.”

“Hold on, ‘agreed on’?” Interrupting their verbal quarrel, you repeat Laito’s words and it hangs like a dark cloud.

Laito’s eyebrows raise sarcastically, taunting you for being clueless as you were. “You really think we’re here just to chat about how life’s been?”

Laito pays for his cup and guides his hand to the wooden pay slab. You look back at Subaru, who’s waiting for Laito’s cue to whatever they’re alluding to.

“Nfufu~ I admit it was a dumb idea to come here, to see you especially. But, the heart wants what it wants.” Something tells you that getting that macchiato was going to be near impossible with the pace of things.

“Did you think that after we found you, we’ll simply walk away and act as if nothing happened?” Laito’s sultry voice cracks at the end. It hurts him to say it - ‘Act as if nothing happened’ because that’s exactly what you did. There’s not a single shred of regret in your voice when you greeted them as if they were total strangers. And the worst part is that he knows.

Laito knows.

“And you think I’ll leave here willingly because..?” You say as you prepare the milk frother and place Subaru’s mug under the coffee machine’s extractor.

His voice deepens and all remaining playful cheekiness evaporated within Laito’s body. “I’ll brutalize your body until Kanato can't even salvage you. If I don’t, Subaru will. If he doesn’t, Ayato will. One flick of a finger and a familiar’s sent the word that you’re living out here.”

“...See, that’s the thing. No doubt, I believe you’ll rat out this place.” You drizzle the sides and ridge of the mug with caramel syrup. Carefully adding small cubes of ice, you add the cold almond milk and begin to slowly pour the extracted coffee at the top. “But I don’t believe you’ll kill me. At least for now.”

“You’ll hold onto that belief? That false hope? You’ve become utterly pathetic and that's coming from a guy like me~” Laito’s biting words were right. Clinging to such fallible reasoning would only kill you, and rot you from the inside out until decay spreads.

But it was okay.

It was fine.

Because deep down, you felt it.

Although their love for you dwindled compared to the size it once was, one thing was certain and sound: it was a minuscule amount, but it wasn’t completely gone.

You gave Subaru his mug and the air stilled in silence. An answer, they need an answer. A concrete one. One that promises you’ll be with them. Subaru fidgets his thumbs under the counter so that you won’t see what he’s been reduced to. Laito, on the other hand, can’t stop tapping his heel in preparation for what your answer is. It’s cute that your disappearance is the result of all these accumulating anxious fidgetings. Similar to them, there’s no guarantee that you’ll stay once more. There’s no guarantee that you can love them the way you did before. The more the facts add, the brothers had more to lose than you did.

It was a sickeningly delicious thought.

“Do you… have your a-answer?” Subaru gulps deep.

His swollen, dark eyes start tearing up. If your answer remotely resembles a ‘no’, things can get very ugly, exceedingly quickly. You know what your answer is; much to your dismay.

“Freedom was nice while it lasted.” A big, defeated sign leaves you and waves the white flag. Laito and Subaru look at each other with an unreadable expression. Both brothers somehow understood. Perhaps it was a sibling thing. Never in a million years would it come to you that any one of the Sakamaki could do something familial.

But you were proven wrong.

Laito and Subaru simultaneously stood up. You could’ve sworn they’d jump up and start pumping their fists in the air from the way their stupid grins glued widened their dimples awake.

“Take a snack. Or two. It’s gonna be a long drive back.” Subaru points at the café’s menu.

If Subaru was sneaking glances at you- Scratch that. Since he was, he would’ve mistaken your expression for thinking how many snacks you need for the drive. Be that as it may, assumptions are quite deceiving. “I will.”

You were hungry. Subaru wasn’t wrong about that. Whereas the idea is just a little off the mark. Food couldn’t supply you with the nutrition and vitamins needed for your survival.

The smell of trust makes you salivate when people are so readily available to put it up on a silver platter.

And soon, you were going to feast.

『••✎••』

Writer’s note and explanation:

made this out of spite bc DiaBoys need to suffer more and I was playing this game called "Here For Sweethearts" and there was a very big twist at the end. MAJOR SPOILER ALERT:

The twist was that the MC is a Pathospire who lives by absorbing the heartbreak/suffering of others. Simply put, Pathospires are a rare species that are vampires that drain emotions. But, they aren't really 'vampires', more so a symbiote/parasite. To live, they must absorb the negative energy of heartbreak/suffering, or else they’ll starve themselves to death. The creator of the game has expressed that they don’t want the concept of Pathospires to be stolen or completely copied, which is why I’m making major changes to the idea and of course, the name. And to confirm, the DiaBoys aren't aware of the Reader being a Pathovoratus except for Karl bc duh it's Karlheinz

I’ve changed the name from Pathospire to Pathovoratus; Patho which is greek for ‘suffering’ and ‘voratus’ which is latin for devour. I don’t know if I’ll make this an au, but there’s a good possibility it might be because I’m all for angst and hurt. I’m also a very big fan of the game so there’s lots of self-indulgence going on :)

Update: Will make a full post about the Pathovoratus Au in the future! But the main idea is that in order to live, they have to cause heartbreak so that they can absorb that negative energy, which is their food and life source

#subaru sakamaki #laito sakamaki #diabolik lovers #diabolik lovers fandom #sakamaki brothers #fanfic #dl #pathovoratus au

126 notes · View notes

gravelgirty · 1 year

Text

When you give a cat a home...

Please remember what it means. In the USA if you want to do the right thing, most vet offices won’t simply spay/neuter a cat or dog off the street without putting them through tests (bloodwork, scanning, labs) because that’s how they screen for diseases. And it is expensive.

We took in this little fellow, starving and rail-thin during a rotten winter storm. He had been living on his own for quite a while, but we can’t keep him. We were saving his life.

Fine, we thought...We’ll apply to the local shelter and pay the sliding scale fee to get him spayed and surely he will be far more adoptable that way (oh, yeah). My sister’s porch is overrun by all these cats the Crazy Cat Lady had on her porch and then she died...they all have diseases and keep breeding faster than she can keep up, and she actually found volunteers who do TNR for free.

But my application was processed at the same time the county seized multiple hoarding households and first one, then another, then another house made the news for SO MANY CATS brought to the shelter, all in physically poor condition and in need of their own neutering. Let’s not mention names; Tacoma is a big place but not big enough to protect privacies.

The weeks ticked by with no end and sight. We live sparingly; I have three jobs to keep up with rent and utilities and food. My kids work too but we don’t have a car and public transportation is a minimum $62 a month for each adult. My son’s cat is diabetic and needs $160 a month in insulin and syringes; that doesn’t even cover the diabetic cat food (pro tip: FELINE FANCY FEAST CLASSIC PATE any flavor is ok for diabetic cats!). But at $1 for a tiny little can...it adds up. For all the household cats we pay half and that means a minimum of $150 for food and litter). Those medical credit cards, like Kare Kredit, are great in emergencies but your ability to make payments on time is soon gobbled up by cascading recurring purchases.

This is not a bad cat. But he was in a bad situation.

Someone must have loved him. He was litter trained and let us clip his claws(!) But he rarely purrs, and is nervous at being brushed. Being an intact male 'Orca’ wants to spray and our cats are harassed at his high energy and desire to play. Perhaps someone just couldn’t take care of him when he stopped being an adorable and physically immature kitten. We don’t know. We were $900 in debt taking care of our cat before he came to us, and things are getting worse. The stool sample test for parasites costs as much as month’s supply of veterinarian insulin syringes. The pre-op health exam cost us $268.82. Tomorrow’s blood work will be another $50-60 and the neutering surgery alone? I don’t even want to know and that doesn’t cover using LYFT to get him to the vet--$30 in each direction, totaling to $120.

Surely there are cheaper vet offices? I have no doubt. But so many offices are full to bursting and not taking new clients.

We don’t regret bringing him in, because damn it, fair is fair. He doesn’t deserve being cold and hungry in a place where coyotes are feeding pretty well on cats their foolish owners let loose to ‘be free’. He came right up to us. No one posted a LOST sign; there was no proof he had been in a home for a long time.

I don’t know about other countries, but if medical debt isn’t taken seriously for humans if you are trying to apply for food stamps and other emergency resources, they sure as hell care less about pets needing care. System = Broken over here. We already live out of the food bank (that’s its own struggle, trust me).

If you want to take up someone’s offer for a needy pet, please don’t be nervous about offering to give a few bucks toward set pet’s care with them. Yes, many people are proud. But the phrase ‘pay it forward’ is pretty damn hard to argue with. Use it. Also, when people are stressed and wondering if this little animal is really going to a good home, offering them some money is a reassurance that you can afford to care for them.

We are humans. Part of our responsibility is stepping up to the plate when another human fails in their obligations. And sometimes, it really costs.

If anyone is looking for a pretty little cat in the Tacoma area and they know they can care for him, PM me. He’s coming chipped, vaxxed, tested, spayed--all the trimmings. Except for those pesky reproductive organs. Those are getting trimmed off on Tuesday.

#cats in need #adopt #Tacoma rescue cats

6 notes · View notes

sleepless-in-southlands · 2 years

Text

And I am a Witness Watching it

Ao3

Epilogue of This Predacious Song, my multidimensional big bang fic! It’s a Mumbo-centric Hermitcraft/Last Life fic heavily featuring violence, blood, trauma, and horror-like themes. It is hurt/comfort with a happy ending. Please follow the embedded title link or the ao3 link for a complete summary and list of warnings for the story as a whole

Epilogue’s title from Mitski’s “A Burning Hill”

There’s a disease that poisons the blood.

A boogeyman curse, they call it. One that infects the brain, takes over the body. It lives in the bloody splendor of its unwilling hosts’ veins, camouflaged in the carnage of a beating heart. It searches for itself, seeking to tear limb from limb anyone and anything it encounters that might be the home of a fellow parasite.

It goes from host to host, body to body, mind to mind. There is no rhyme nor reason to how it spreads, no way to protect oneself from it. It comes and goes as it pleases, taking its pound of flesh one way or another.

Only luck can protect one from it, and there is only so much luck can do in the face of such wickedness. Escaping the plague means nothing if it slaughters you by another’s hands instead. And no one’s luck can last forever.

Yours didn’t, and it cost you everything. Your base. Your friends. Your life.

Even when the curse lifts, sated by your sacrifice on an altar of harsh obsidian and blood-watered grass, you can still feel it at your back, a spirit of violence silhouetting you. Death does not drive it away. Nothing can scare it from you.

Instead, it haunts you, pacing your world turned red beside you, watching as you craft destruction, twisting around your arms and inside your head as you strike and telling you to make it deadly, to show no mercy. There is no room for yourself in a body possessed, and during what few days you have left it prompts the question- which one of you is truly the ghost?

You can’t outrun yourself and you can’t outrun that lives within you either, although you try to.

Oh, how you try.

But there is nowhere you can go that will erase the memories of what your hands wrought. There is nothing you can do to silence the predacious song of your own heart, sustained by blood that is both yours and others’. You are ensnared, a beast captured by a beast, and all you know is how to claw and bite at any hand that might try and feed you.

You are monstrous, you are detestable, you are hated.

Yet still, as blood drips from your sharpened teeth and your cage tightens around you, you can see through a veil of blinding red someone reaching for you, someone still trying.

Mumbo sat up fast as he woke up, breathing quicker than he had any need too. In the echoes of the dream, he could almost hear a heartbeat laid under his hurried breaths, but he dismissed the thought as soon as he processed it. Time had made the reminders of the blood mod easier to put out of mind.

Slightly behind him, someone kicked a pebble, the light sound purposefully giving away their position without startling Mumbo. He looked back after another moment of collecting himself, unsurprised to find Grian sitting on a layer of rock jutted out above Mumbo’s.

“Nightmare?” He asked once he had Mumbo’s attention.

“Yeah.” Mumo admitted, stretching out his back. Stone blocks made for a rather stiff bed. “Not that bad, though. Not as frequent anymore either.”

Grian nodded, acknowledging the progress. He watched Mumbo do his best to make up for a (half) night spent asleep directly on top of his mountain for a few minutes before chuckling quietly, the sound barely carrying at all in the night air. “It’s kind of nice, you know. In a weird way.”

“What is?”

“Finding you passed out from your work.” Grian answered, grinning at Mumbo’s offended expression. “It’s just so… normal. Reassuring.”

“Does that mean you’ll let me go back to working?”

“Oh, no, you’re still getting moved to a proper, inside bed. I’m just feeling nostalgic about it.”

Mumbo sighed as he stood up, ignoring the look Grian gave him for his dramatics. “Doesn’t that mean it’s bedtime for you too?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“I haven’t passed out yet.”

“I’m not certain that’s how it works.”

“Of course that’s how it works. I would know, I’m the one who made up the rules for it.”

They continued on while Mumbo pulled on his elytra, trading words in the air as they made their way towards Mumbo’s nearest indoor bed, their winged forms casting long shadows across hanging bridges and colourful buildings.

#hermitcraft #last life #mdbb fic #m.y funky words #mfw: this predacious song #and that is that!!!!#hope y'all who read enjoyed :] it was a lot of fun to write

7 notes · View notes

ethandude15 · 8 months

Text

Book pages project - Invincible

Kirkman, Robert. Invincible. Image Comics, 2003.

Invincible, written by Robert Kirkman under Image Comics, is a graphic novel following the adventures of Mark Grayson. Mark, at first, seems like the average teenager, trying to get through high school, applying to college, surviving a part time job, all the works. However, under the surface, Mark Grayson is secretly the son of the strongest superhero on earth, Omni Man. As it turns out, Omni Man is a Viltrumite, a people from the planet Viltrum, making Mark half Viltrumite. The people of Viltrum are much like humans however possess incredible speed, strength, stamina, durability, and can fly. Omni Man originally came to Earth as a part of a peace initiative on Vilturm, as Viltrum had become a utopia that wanted to spread its peace throughout the galaxy by helping underdeveloped civilizations. When Mark turns seventeen, his powers finally awaken and, with the help and training from his father, he dawns a new hero identity known as Invincible. Suddenly, however, all seven members of the Guardians of the Globe, the top superhero team in the world, are brutally murdered and the rest of the heroes in the world must step up to fill in their roles. However, later in the novel it is revealed that Omni Man, the once beloved hero, is actually the murderer and reveals to Mark the true reason he is on Earth. Viltrum is actually a brutally tyrannical empire which is on a galactic conquest and Omni Man was sent to prepare Earth for the rest of the Viltrumite’s arrival to add Earth to their collection of conquered planets. Omni Man also tells Mark how Vilturumite DNA is so pure, Mark is not only basically a full Viltrumite but, just like other Viltrumites, Mark will end up living for thousands of years. Omni Man, however, fails to recruit Mark which leads to a large-scale fight between father and son. In the end, Mark is beaten to near death, but Omni Man cannot bring himself to kill his own son, so he flies off into deep space, his destination unknown to the people of earth. After Mark awakens from his coma, he once again dawns the alias of Invincible and becomes one of earths mightiest protectors. Now, Mark must prepare to fight off several threats including robots, a shape-shifting Martian parasite, interdimensional aliens, an evil alternative Invincible from another timeline, and even a Viltrumite invasion led by both the emperor of Viltrum, Thragg, and his own father.

I truly loved Invincible as Robert Kirkman is a genius writer and Image comics is truly one of the greatest comic book companies out there. The graphic novel is so amazing in so many ways, the plot and different arcs are interesting and keeps you on the edge of your seat, the characters are written incredibly well, Mark has a perfect balance of stressors from his superhero life and his normal teenage life, and the visuals are beautifully drawn, having the perfect amount of grit when needed and perfect amount of peacefulness when needed. One thing I do truly like about Invincible is that it is probably the most realistic superhero story, at least from the standpoint of the characters and how they would truly act and their internal struggles. For example, during Mark’s first fight, he has to go up against interdimensional aliens invading his city alongside a superhero known as Teen Team. The problem is that Mark ends up freezing up, having no clue what to do as numerous civilians are slaughtered before his eyes, showing how Mark is truly just an inexperienced kid who, like everyone else, never thought of the more traumatizing and darker aspect of superheroing. Along with this, certain media, such as The Boys, argues that if superheroes were real than they would most likely be terrible people, killing and maiming innocents as they please. On the other hand, other media, such as DC and Marvel comics, argue that, while still having some flaws from time to time, superheroes will always fight for the good fight and be upstanding idols. Invincible, however, is right there in the middle. Instead of arguing that superheroes would be good or bad, Robert Kirkman wrote an amazing story on how they would, just like the average person, be a grey area. No one is perfect, and while some people are better than others, Invincible very much argues for everyone having flaws, and, to a certain degree, it being ok, especially for adolescents, such as Mark.

Mark, just like every other adolescent, is just a teenager trying to navigate life and of course he makes mistakes along the way. Adolescents, especially nowadays, must deal with a lot, trying to get into a good college, trying to keep their loved ones pleased, trying to make sure their future career will get the enough money to just simply survive, keeping up with societal expectations, an Earth that may not be able to sustain life for long due to global warming, a horrifyingly politically polarized country, and even gun violence in schools. With the amount that current day’s adolescents must deal with, it could make someone feel like they have to be almost superhuman just to deal with all the stressors. However, Invincible makes sure to let their readers know that everyone has flaws and you can’t win every battle, even when it comes to superheroes. In the first half of the graphic novel, Mark, due to his inexperience and naiveness, loses almost every major fight, only surviving by the skin of his teeth. Along with this, even though you may not win every battle that comes your way in life, what matters is being able to learn from it, pick yourself back up, and get right back into it, showing that the best teacher in life is experience.

0 notes

rametarin · 11 months

Text

please stop doing this

Some Dude: “American Liberals and conservatives are the exact same thing.”

Also Some Dude: “I am so tired of people conflating socialists with communists! They’re not even remotely similar!”

wish even half of you that felt like they were the exact same would stop platforming the democrats/democrat party, and grow some gonads to actually A.) have some integrity and join the actual pro-socialism parties B.) actually join the American communist parties C.) go green, where the other people that are actually crypto-socialists/communists can continue pretending to be ecologists in the interest of ecology and not advancing policy, are living.

But I understand. Being what you are is, “bad optics right now,” probably due to, “CIA propaganda,” or whatever bullshit that takes the onus of responsibility from being associated with a violent, conspiratorial and totalitarian culture of usurpers away from defeating your own arguments.

Since a great deal of you unironically use the fact the US has HAD slavery and concentration camps historically as a reason why things can’t be fixed or modified to be better, they HAVE to be destroyed and replaced in order to not have the stigma or guilt of a thing anymore, it’d make sense you don’t want to speak up and declare what you really are and vote in the appropriate parties. You whom fly the god damned red and black and yellows would have to willingly associate with every bit of imperialism-in-all-but-name that was the Soviet Union, and any Socialist Republic that bore those colors, used those symbols and spoke those memes and slokans. So, given actual history, the famines, the pogroms of the supposed “anti-classist, anti-discrimination, anti-barbarism” parties and movements that turned into piles of pestilence, famine and pyramids of dead skulls don’t want your symbols associated with that.

And yet many of you that’d openly wave a hammer and sickle flag, think a statue of Lincoln erected and financed by freed slaves is too spicy to have without declaring, “LINCOLN WAS A WHITE SUPREMACIST” everywhere. That the United States can never clean the blemishes of its history and that that’s an argument as to why it needs to be snuffed out as a concept and paved over with a Year Zero and something else in its place.

Instead, you spineless fucking interlopers continue to commandeer the democrats. There’s been some headway by the russo-supremacists to commandeer the republicans by tricking some of them into thinking Putin is the cure to the worst of your shit, but by and large the republicans remain more entrenched in religious moralism or plutocratic corporatism and “small government statism,” which one way or another prevents the worst of your intrusions. Yes, the republicans and them doing that present their own sets of problems. They’re different problems from the ones you represent.

You know it suits you better to pretend to be liberals when it suits you, using the term and stretching it, hoping to make it synonymous with you- and you’ve managed to succeed, for the most part. Except; you that aren’t liberal, but pretend to be liberal for ideological convenience sake; the mask has been slipping, of late. You’ve seen that this vessel has taken you as far as it can go.

And I’ve been enjoying seeing this. The holes opening up, exposing the parasite or predatory mimic pretending to be the real deal. You are not liberal. You are anti-private property and pro government (”society,” that you dub a government declaring itself to be the voice of society) control over natural resources and employment opportunities.

I look forwards to seeing some of you actually arguing openly and honestly from the actual parties and stop trying to railroad another party towards your values and goals by pretending to be liberals. And you’d best do it quickly, because between liberal ownership of self, free market capitalism and the advancement of science and technology from both private and public outlets hurriedly bringing us towards an era of affordable miracles and quality of life improvements that just 30-40 years ago WOULD have required megawealth to even imagine, there’s not going to be much of a difference between the opportunities for a wealthy person and a middle classed one, much longer.

Then you’ll be back to trying to rally ‘comrades’ with bluster and insistence that everybody stop imagining the situation just between what’s fair for individuals and instead demanding we imagine some game rules where the rich are a nefarious and inherently evil force unto themselves while ‘the poor’ (those that aren’t rich) are inherently victims of their exploitation and oppression. Assigning malice to things not on the basis of the actual malice of actual assholes doing actual asshole things, but characterizing people as assholes because they have things, and someone whom has poor is automatically a victim because he’s not rich.

When stripped of your cover, and no longer given the benefit of the doubt, and denied the ability to play off peoples unfamilarity of your snake oil, you’ll eventually have to argue for what you really believe. And what you really believe is shit. Even the parts that sound good, are mere cover used to declare would be the positive outcome of your shit systems.

That’s why people will conflate the two systems and not care about the difference. One system will see the crimes of another, and alchemically transmute itself to claim it’s not affiliated with the other, that that behavior is characteristic only of the other guy, and they must be mistaken for presuming you the same. While you in fact engage in the same crimes.

Meanwhile, you cannot argue a secular liberal constitutionalist republic that can and has historically been a limit to social hegemony of religious authority, a federated and regulated secular system has been essential in filing down the much of the worst kinds of trade abuses by cartels and organizations, isn’t worlds different from a fucking religiously fascist ethnostate. American liberalism bears little resemblance to American conservatism outside the fact both to varying degrees and populations have and respect the right to private property, and use capitalism. When those are the only things you care about, your ideology may as well be the only religion you see as valid, and everything that is not your faith may as well be paganism when it’s not the antithetical Satanism to your beliefs.

0 notes

darkmarkets · 14 years

Text

The Horror of Editors

(Or, please, put the red pen down before someone gets hurt...)

So, one thing I like to try to do with this feature—this lovely corner of the internet that’s been so graciously given to me to spew words on—is say thing things writers might not say in public. I like to write about things that, mayhap, we’re all thinking, but might not actually give voice to for fear of dire repercussions.

So, I’m going to say it, even though the dark gawds or writing may strike me down where I sit:

Editors are scary.

Editors scare me a lot. Sometimes, I have dreams where flocks of editors come charging through my apartment windows under the cover of night to devour my soul.

Editors are the creatures who hold our very hopes and dreams in their hands. Whether trying to convince them that, yes, you like my story, you really do, or if they’ve already been convinced and now you’ve got a sale that just a few changes need to happen before its ready to go… Editors are scary.

And “Bad” editors are even worse.

Once, I sold a novelette (in a very loose definition of the word), and I got to have the experience of being gnawed alive by one of those “Bad” editors. It took six months for that editor to reduce me to bone and gory sinew, six months to murder a 20,000 word piece of writing that I actually liked before it was accepted. After the “tidying up” process was complete, the novelette that remained had been so chopped up and re-phrased in the editor’s own words that it looked like it’d been written by a brain-dead gopher flopping across the keyboard.

I’ve never been the same. *eye twitch*

So, yes; I know from first-hand experience that there are those kinds of editors out there. Those kinds of editors who failed at writing themselves so now seek to re-make your words into something that looks like they wrote it so they can live parasitically off your publishing credit. There’s no telling how many there are out there. But, I can say with confidence, and from first-hand experience, that most editors are less maniacal.

Most editors are good people who like fiction and writing, which is why they got into the job in the first place. Most editors do what they do because they want to bring high-quality stories to the public to enjoy. Editors are people, too (in most cases.) And those “Good” editors are going to tell us things about our fiction that we don’t want to hear. Which, I believe in, when it’s in the spirit of enhancing and improving our work so it’s at optimal enjoyment capacity for the reader.

For that, we should love the editor (like a half-crazed stalker lurking in the bushes outside their bedroom window at night, mua-ha..ahem.) We love them so much, we just can’t live without them.

And they can’t live without us, either. Sometimes, as writer, we can forget that, and elevate the editor to such a high pillar that suddenly they’re the dark gawd and we’re the subservient peon. In reality, the writer is just as important than the editor because, without us, they wouldn’t have anything to edit. And that’s good to remember if you ever get one of those “Bad” editors that want to break your heart and chew up your writing before pooping it out in a steaming pile of unrecognizable crap.

If that ever happens to me again, I’ve now procured a brain-dead gopher to aid me in the editing process. His name is Howard.

And I think he actually writes better than I do. Damn.

Lorna D Keach

#The Horrors of Horror Writing

0 notes

inkykeiji · 3 years

Text

break my heart in two, but when it heals it beats for you

character: zenin naoya

genre: smut + angst

notes: aaaaah this is my lil submission for the sewer’s soulmate syndrome collab (and my first collab ever waaah!!!) it’s a curseless soulmate AU with the tiniest hint of the zenin’s being a prominent crime family. please please heed the warnings!! | title credit: back to you by selena gomez

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, incest (reader and naoya are half siblings), mentioned death of a family member (mother), naoya being his misogynistic self, excessive use of the word ‘Daddy’ to refer to their biological father, one (1) instance of physical abuse, size kink/size difference, mentioned relationship between a university student (reader) and their TA, infidelity, one (1) mention of Daddy being yakuza, age difference, spanking done by reader’s biological father, toxic relationships, minimal prep, rough sex, a hint of degradation

words: 9.5k

synopsis:

Except the torture doesn’t stop, even when you’re gone, because he’s assaulted with thoughts of you the very moment you leave—what you’re doing, who you’re with, if he plagues your mind as much as you plague his—you’re like a fucking sickness, a parasite that burrows deep between the folds and tissues of his brain, infecting it, and he’s hopeless to find a cure.

It’s a few days after his twenty-ninth birthday, the night you appear—unannounced, uninvited, and an absolute fucking mess—falling into his father’s arms the moment he opens the door, fingers curling in the material of his cashmere button up and tugging as powerful sobs rip through your entire body, violent tremors following.

It’s fucking disgusting, the way his father reacts. Naoya watches the entire thing unfold from the shadows of the living room, nose wrinkled in distaste, features twisted in aversion and saturated in abhorrence.

Because his father lets you cling to him like a child—a grown woman, gripping a seventy-one year old man like a sniveling little girl—as he manages to scoop you up into his arms, collapsing onto his favourite armchair with you in his lap, hushing you gently as he rocks you back and forth, large hands stroking your shuddering back as you nuzzle your puffy, snot-stained face into his chest, wailing out Daddy!

It’s the first time Naoya’s ever seen his father behave in such a way, revolt churning his stomach as he observes the quite frankly unfamiliar man in front of him. It makes him fucking sick to watch, acidic bile rising in his throat until it stings the back of his tongue, face souring as he swallows it back down.

And you can’t even manage to force words through your stuttering breathing and hiccupped little sobs, unable to explain the situation at all without being overwhelmed by another fresh wave of tears, crashing over your body as you fall back into the sanctuary of his father’s arms, face buried in his neck, now soiled with spit and salt water.

“Naoya,” his father calls, voice curt and stern and demanding, snapping Naoya’s gaze to his own in an instant. “A glass of water, please?”

Naoya scoffs, narrowing his eyes. “What the fuck do I look like to you? The help?”

And Naoya’s no stranger to the level gaze his father fixes him with, has seen that same look etched into his father’s face more times than he can count, eyebrows pinched and mouth pressed in a firm, fine line, chest rising as he inhales slowly, calmly, deeply, then exhales through flared nostrils.

“You look like a good big brother who’s on his way to get his baby sister some water,”

Ah, right, that’s who you are—the bastard, Daddy’s little mistake, an ugly, irreversible stain on their family’s prestigious name.

“That bitch is not my sister,” he grumbles as he stomps from the room and towards the kitchen to fetch you a drink, huffing under his breath about being treated like a fucking woman, yet obeying his father’s orders nonetheless.

It turns out, Naoya learns, that your mother has passed away, leaving his poor bastard of a baby sister all alone in the world, with nowhere to go—and you’ve come here to ask for shelter and food, just until you get on your feet.

It’s fucking pathetic, as far as Naoya’s concerned, shaking his head in condescending disbelief with a cruel snort. It’s almost difficult to believe that you, undoubtedly the family disgrace; you, with your dirty blood and the dishonour you haul around everywhere with you, have the balls to come crawling to his father begging for support. You’re an adult, for Christ’s sake, and you should act like one, should be out scouring the earth for some equally pathetic man to serve like you ought to, like you would have, if you knew your place. Maybe then, Naoya would have a shred of respect for you.

Maybe.

“How selfish. Daddy already pays for your tuition, why should he provide you with housing, too? Are you really that incompetent? Can’t do a thing for yourself, huh?”

Your head whips around to face him, almost as if you’re startled by his presence, by his voice addressing you directly, a sharp gasp falling from your lips the moment your eyes meet.

It’s the first time you’ve actually looked at him since you’ve arrived, the first time your gaze has connected with his, eyes bloodshot and gleaming as crystal tears stream down your cheeks, excess water clinging to spidery lashes, clumped together in spikes.

God, you’re beautiful.

It kicks him right in the motherfucking chest, hard enough that he stumbles back a few feet into the stone fireplace, a hand gripping the mantle for stability while his body caves in on itself. A spear of agony sears through his body, slicing clean through all of his vital organs as you choke out an apology punctuated with an honorific, head shaking in jerky little motions as your tongue struggles to form words to explain yourself.

And he’s never felt anything like it in his entire life, skin feeling as though it’s been set ablaze from the inside, thick black smoke filling is lungs as he wheezes on an inhale, strangled by it.

“Naoya,” his father snaps, eyes wide and scorching. “Leave.”

Each step away from the living room feels heavier than the last, as if his blood’s been replaced by lead, by rapidly drying concrete, rendering him incapable of lifting his feet from the floor, dragging them against the tile until it’s fucking painful, calves and thighs tingling as if the blood flow’s been entirely obstructed, muscles quivering and exhausted.

“It’s okay,” he can hear his father’s faint voice soothing you, each of your sniffles feeling like a sharp little thorn straight to his heart, each of your tiny I’m sorry’s carving out a vacant, phantom wound in his chest. “Shh, it’s alright, Daddy’s here, Daddy’s got you,”

“Pathetic,” Naoya spits to the empty hallway, though the word wavers, catching a little in his throat, letters scraping the gummy walls as he forces them from his mouth, leaving scalding little blisters in its wake.

It’s then that Naoya decides he hates you; standing motionless in the dark hallway, feet inexplicably bolted to the floor and chest burning with some unknown emotion, a fire that blazes and rages, flares and thrashes, with each of your hitched little apologies, his teeth clenched together so tightly he’s surprised they don’t crack.

But it’s only after your sobs have calmed, father having reduced them to soft sniffles and half-hiccups through tender words and sweet affirmations, only after Naoya knows that you’ll be staying here for the night—that you’ll be safe—that he regains control over his limbs, that he rips his cement-filled feet from the floor and trudges towards his bedroom, scalding inferno dulled to simmering coals and faint flickering cinders.

He doesn’t think about it—isn’t going to think about it, refuses to waste his time or energy on such absurdity, refuses to allow his father’s preposterous decisions and ridiculous sentiments soak up space in his consciousness.

And he absolutely refuses to think about is the way your sudden presence punched a sharp gasp from his chest, the way he suddenly feels incomplete, like something’s missing, now that you aren’t within arms-reach, the way that he lost control over his entire body for the first time in his fucking life, in that hallway, just a few moments ago.

✰ ✰ ✰

His father—your father—falls in love with you almost immediately; having only met you briefly a few times before this, despite sending your mother multiple cheques every month for over twenty years.

It’s truly deplorable, positively sickening to watch the way his eyes light up when you come skipping into the living room after your afternoon university classes, dropping a fat, almost obscene kiss to Daddy’s cheek before plopping down on his lap as you chatter on about your day—about what you learned in lecture today, about the essay you got back (top of your class, of course), about your cute TA with the white hair and crystal eyes who always seems to conjure a bashful expression the moment you mention his name.

Naoya watches the entire thing unfold day after day, a deep sneer etched into his face, jaw clenched so hard it begins to ache, light eyes glaring daggers in your direction.

Something akin to jealousy, a creature with glowing emerald eyes and gnashing teeth and razor claws that slash and tear at the pit of his belly, roars and rattles the ribs that keep it caged within his chest, gnawing on the bones every time his—your—father makes you giggle, your eyes sparkling with adoration as you gaze at him; every time lithe fingers brush hair back from your face or a large palm settles on the crown of you head, petting you gently; every time you nuzzle into his neck, curling up comfortably—perfectly—in Daddy’s big, strong arms that keep you protected from all of the bad, from all of the evils of this world, from him, the big brother that loathes you.

It’s unsettling, almost sad in a sense, seeing his father fall from grace, observing the way you decay his persona so quickly, eating away at it like corrosive acid, rotting him from the inside out; the way he morphs from one of the most powerful and feared Yakuza bosses into soft, sticky, sweet putty in your hands the moment you appear; the way your presence shatters his tough, hard exterior and renders him gentle and tender—gentler and tenderer than he’s ever behaved with Naoya or any of his older brothers.

He can’t fucking stand to watch it, despises every single thing about it, positively detests the inexplicable, uncontrollable sensations that thrash and thunder inside of him, an unusual mixture of envy and melancholy, of wrath and desire, combined to create something toxic, something hazardous, something uncontainable that erodes his senses and mind, leaking into his bloodstream and poisoning his thoughts.

Because his gaze stays glued to you the moment you enter a room, like he’s bewitched by you, cursed by you the way his father has become, unable to rip his eyes from your form until you exit.

Except the torture doesn’t stop, even when you’re gone, because he’s assaulted with thoughts of you the moment you leave—what you’re doing, who you’re with, if he plagues your mind as much as you plague his—you’re like a fucking sickness, a parasite that burrows deep between the folds and tissues of his brain, infecting it, and he’s hopeless to find a cure.

And the worst part, the worst part is that he hasn’t a clue why. He doesn’t know why he feels the way he does, why you evoke such strong emotions—emotions he’s never felt before, emotions he doesn’t have a name for—or why, suddenly, everything feels wrong, off, whenever you’re not around.

It’s fucking annoying. Those tiny, raised bumps on the inside of his wrist—shaped in the form of a zodiac constellation, a mark everyone is born with, a mark that supposedly hints at your soulmate—burn and tingle as he meditates on these notions, blunt nails scratching viciously at his skin.

✰ ✰ ✰

Daddy grants you permission to stay at the estate for as long as you’d like, because of course he does, a victim to the spell you’ve cast. He even gives you your own room, helps you pick out furniture and takes you shopping for new clothes. You promise to do your share around the house—pinky swear—and, to Naoya’s immense dissatisfaction, you don’t disappoint.

No. Instead, you excel.

Those pretty little words weren’t empty promises—you begin cooking all of the meals, taking on the task to do the dishes entirely by yourself, tending to the house and the garden outside, even going as far to aid the help in their daily cleaning routines, until Daddy tells you it isn’t necessary.

And you manage to capture almost everyone’s hearts through your deeds and duties, through your kind and compassionate nature, through your being attentive and, for the most part, obedient—but most important of all, being family oriented.

You do the laundry when it needs to be done. You keep the house spotless and the kitchen sparkling. You learn everyone’s favourite dishes and then dedicate hours upon hours to perfecting them.

Naoya observes you throughout it all, sharp eyes following your movements, watching as you expertly tend to everyone’s needs, almost as if you know what they’ll require before they do.

You’d be perfect wife material, if you weren’t his sister—he catches the thought as it drifts through his mind—a sentiment that’s almost involuntary, unthinking in nature— and strangles it with his bare hands, stomps on it until it’s nothing but dust.

Because what’s more infuriating than anything else is that you are a good woman, a perfect woman, a woman who—for the most part—understands her place and duty in the household; or, at least, you did, before Daddy began spoiling you rotten.

It earns you the nickname princess from your favourite nii-san, hissed through gritted teeth with narrowed eyes and scrunched up noses, drenched in condescension and sprinkled with artificial icing sugar—a nickname Daddy irritatingly and affectionately adopts, extracting all of the patronization Naoya had imbued it with and stuffing it full of love.

You aren’t invincible, though, no matter how precious you are, how sweet your voice becomes when you bat your eyelashes and fix a pout on your lips, how much Daddy is barely able to deny you.

Because Daddy’s incessant spoiling does eventually bite him in the ass, just like Naoya knew it would.

✰ ✰ ✰

“But Daddy,” you whine, wearing your prettiest pout and cutest puppy-dog eyes, lethal weapons that are nearly foolproof, your most cherished expressions that grant you almost everything you want. “It’ll just be for a little, I promise! Just a drink or two!”

“I said no—”

“But everyone’s going! Even my professors will be there; I’m expected to show up!” Voice rising in pitch, your arms cross over your chest as eyebrows knit deeply and a lip juts out further, looking about two seconds away from stomping your foot.

Naoya would be amused, really, to see a grown woman acting like a petulant fucking child over some inconsequential party being thrown by the department, if he didn’t feel like his heart was ripping itself to pieces with your teary expression and soft half-sniffles, with the knowledge that, if you attend, you’ll be with him.

“You have an exam tomorrow,” Daddy reminds you in a sigh, dipping his head to scrutinize you over the rim of his reading glasses. “Are they not all required to write the same exam as well?”

“Well, they are, but—”

“But they didn’t spend their study break out gallivanting with their TA, did they?”

Your eyes widen for a second, shocked by the words leaving your father’s mouth, but the expression is gone in an instant, morphed into incredulousness, eyes rolling as your tongue tuts in disbelief.

“Please, we were studying,”

The chuckle that escapes your father’s lips is anything but warm; it’s cruel and condescending, a sharp slap to the face, your bottom lip beginning to tremble as he snaps his book shut, the sound echoing throughout the living room.

“You must think me a real fool,” he’s almost snickering as he throws his glasses on the coffee table, grunting a little as he stands from his armchair and raises himself to his full height, towering over you. “Do you think Daddy’s stupid?”

“What? No, of course not—”

“Then why are you lying to him?”

“I-I’m not—”

“And you’re doing it again?”

Head shaking in jerky, quivering movements, your lips open and close, emitting nothing more but little squeaks of breath as you try to backtrack, managing to stammer out an apology.

“It’s a little late for that,” your father’s saying sternly, a large hand curling around your bicep as he yanks you towards him, beginning to haul you down the hall. “Good girls do not lie to their fathers,”

Naoya sits tense and coiled in his father’s armchair, a symphony of your cries mingled with harsh slaps of Daddy’s calloused palm against your smooth skin carrying throughout the house, and he swallows thickly, past the lump that’s lodged itself in the column of his throat, past the bitter acid rising in his chest, past the irregular thumping of his heart against his ribs.

Because he doesn’t know why your wails and squeals of Daddy! M’sorry! Daddy! make his cock throb and his chest ache—ache with longing, with want and desire, with jealousy—doesn’t know why he finds himself fucking his fist to those memories that same night, mind fixated on the quick glance he had caught through the sliver of the open door when he couldn’t stand it anymore, when he had to sneak down the hallway just to make sure everything was alright, images of you thrown over father’s knees, bare ass spanked raw materializing in his head.

Or maybe he does know. Maybe he refuses to admit it. Maybe he just pretends he doesn’t, because he wishes he didn’t.

Still, you always get off fucking easy, as far as Naoya’s concerned. He’s never witnessed his father allow any woman to talk back to him with such horrid disrespect, to whine and plead and roll their eyes without a backhand so heavy, so hard it knocks them to the floor.

And yet, you receive a few measly spanks to your ass—a punishment that’s more embarrassing than anything else, terribly unfit for a grown woman—and get sent to your room for the rest of the night.

“She truly is Daddy’s Little Girl,” his mother had snarled after one particular punishment, features curled up in an unattractive sneer.

Naoya can’t help but begrudgingly agree.

✰ ✰ ✰

“Oh, lighten up,” one of his brothers nudges his foot with the toe of his slipper before collapsing next to him one abnormally cold evening in early October, interrupting Naoya’s nightly routine of glaring at you, cuddled up into Daddy’s side as you watch a show. “Just because you aren’t Daddy’s favourite anymore doesn’t mean you have to skulk around looking like you just ate a whole lemon,”

“What’re you on about,” Naoya seethes through clenched teeth, glancing at his older brother through the corner of his eye.

“You know,” he responds airily with a knowing smirk, nodding his head in your direction. “She’s taken your place, huh? Or is that not what’s upsetting you?”

And that hurts—it hurts, because he used to be Daddy’s favourite, Daddy’s youngest—the baby—Daddy’s spoiled brat. He’s used to being the center of Daddy’s attention, used to being the object of his praise, used to being the golden child, the prized child, the destined son nurtured and conditioned to take over the Family Business once his father retires.

Light eyes roll back in his skull as he tsks in disapproval, shaking his head and clearing his throat to rid the tremble from his voice. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,”

“Mm, I think I know more than you believe,”

The words are spoken in a murmur, only loud enough for the two of them to hear, but Naoya’s gaze snaps back to his face immediately as he calls your name, gently pulling you from the hushed conversation you were having with Daddy, full of giggles and murmurs, nonchalantly asking, “When’s your birthday?”

No.

No, Naoya wants to hiss at his pathetic excuse of a brother, large hands curling into quivering fists, nails biting into the fleshy heels of his palms as teeth grit, forcefully swallowing back down the two letter refutation.

No-no-no-no-no, he doesn’t want to hear this. He doesn’t want to know, doesn’t need to know, throat constricting as you inhale to speak, chirpily responding.

Blood turns to thick ice in his veins when he hears your birth date, when he realizes those raised little bumps he was born with on the inside of his wrist match your zodiac sign. Heavy dread, black and poisonous and akin to thick disappointment, sinks in his chest, latching onto the floor of his stomach and spreading quickly, sticky as it engulfs all of his surrounding organs, coating them in acidic pollution.

He’s up and out of his seat before his brother has even finished asking you his next question, stumbling out of the room on unsteady legs, nearly tripping over his own ankles in his haste to get away from you, to escape.

He doesn’t want to know what the bumps on your inner wrist are, tells himself that it doesn’t matter, that he doesn’t care, that this is all bullshit anyway, century-old myths created by the dreamers and the sentimentalists. It isn’t like the prospect hadn’t already crossed his mind—drifting through a sick orgasmic haze after fucking his fist to the memory of you—the potential that you may be his ‘soulmate’, a cruel trick played on him by the gods. Except…

Except it isn’t real. It isn’t real. There’s no science backing it up, nothing to concretely prove that the zodiac constellation embedded in his skin has anything to do with his ‘soulmate’—or anyone else’s. It’s just a legend, an old wives tale made up for the romantics and nothing else.

In his alacrity to resist it, he turns fucking ruthless in his verbal assault, but nothing seems to deter you; it barely seems to phase you at all, carrying on your tasks or your cute little babbling as if he hadn’t just insulted you.

Because you’re incessant, almost desperate to gain his approval, continuing to treat him like a god—doing more for him than you do for anyone else, including Daddy—regardless of how many how many expletives and offensive sentiments he hurls at you.

And eventually, he goes a little too far.

✰ ✰ ✰

The night before Halloween is dark and dreary, thick grey clouds stuffed with rain that continuously drizzles over the estate, brutal winds whipping the tiny droplets against the windowpanes, tiny specks and splatters of water decorating the glass, rearranging themselves every time the wind throws another smattering of rain towards them.

You skip into the living room, full of bashful giggles and muted squeals as Daddy fawns over you, awestricken as he murmurs about how beautiful his princess looks.

His princess.

Naoya’s not quite sure what you’re supposed to be, nor does he care, tearing his gaze from your scantily clad form before his brain can even register what the costume is, before blood can rush to his cock, before he can witness the shy little smile on your lips and the pretty way your eyes glitter as you twirl for Daddy.

No, the only thing Naoya cares about is the fact that the dress of your costume is way too short to be considered decent, fluffy petticoat barely covering your ass, fanning out to reveal the edges of dainty pink lace clinging to the supple flesh of your ass as you twist and turn.

And he hasn’t a clue what you’re chattering on about, isn’t listening, can’t hear anything over the roar of blood rushing in his ears as he stands from his seat and stomps towards you, strong, callous voice cutting off your excited babbling as he glowers expectantly at his father.

“Jesus Christ, Daddy, you aren’t actually going to let her go out in that, are you?”

“Why?” you ask before your father can respond, genuinely confused, head tilting cutely. “What’s wrong with it?”

“What’s wrong with it?” he repeats incredulously, thick eyelashes fluttering as he blinks several times, eyebrows raising and huffing out a sarcastic laugh in disbelief. “Are you joking?”

Your head shakes slowly, a frown beginning to materialize on your lips as your eyebrows knit.

“It’s entirely inappropriate,” he scoffs, enunciating his words slowly, like you’re stupid.

You stare up at him cautiously, bottom lip jutting out in a pout so deep your chin puckers. “But nii-san, it’s Halloween—”

“Oh? And what are you going as, a slut?”

A little strangled gasp of Naoya-nii! hitches in your throat, your entire expression crumpling at his disapproval, hands running over the costume in an almost protective manner, smoothing it down.

“N-No, I’m—”

“I don’t care,” he hisses. “There’s no way you’re leaving the house in that—go change. Now.”

The direct order surprises you, shock saturating your features before resentment begins to bleed through. Blinking hard, you force the tears from your eyes, expression hardening and shoulders rolling back, spine straightening.

“No.”

“What did you just say to me?”

“Is there something wrong with your hearing? I said no,”

That sharp, self-assured smile drops from his face in an instant, face screwing up from such defiance, such disrespect. “Excuse me?”

Shivers skitter up your spine, tiny spikes of ice chasing them, but you refuse to back down, even though your voice is beginning to quiver.

“Y-You’re not Daddy! You don’t get to tell me what to do, I don’t care if you’re older!”

And just like that, the sharp smile is back, stretched abnormally wide across his lips—like it had been cut, carved, into his handsome face—uncanny and inhuman as his eyes glint with malevolence, words flowing from his mouth slowly, calmly, almost serenely, as he prowls towards you.

“You’re right—I’m not Daddy, because I would never let a woman speak to me the way he allows you to speak to him, you ungrateful little brat,”

A large hand, decorated with chunky, glittering gold rings, cuts through the air, striking you across the cheek with such force you stumble backwards from the impact, nearly tripping over your own feet only to have Daddy wrap a strong arm around your waist, catching you with ease and pulling you to his chest.

And it’s intense, so intense it kicks the breath right from your chest, barreling up your throat where you choke on it as it tangles with a sharp yelp. Hands fly to clutch your cheek immediately, throbbing thorns of pain shooting through the side of your face.

Daddy’s yelling, but it all sounds muddled, muffled, like your deep underwater and he’s shouting from above the surface, despite the fact that you’re clinging to him, pressed up so tightly against his side you can feel the vibrations of his voice in his body.

Naoya-nii isn’t saying anything, hand dropped limply to his side, pretty gold adorning his fingers coated in gleaming crimson. He isn’t even looking at Daddy—no, his gorgeous light eyes are focused on you, on the sticky scarlet leaking from the wounds his rings left when they collided with your cheek and the glistening tears shielding your eyes.

And for once, he has nothing to say, no sarcastic remarks or cynical little comments, voice evaporating in his throat as his chest burns, scathed with regret, remorse, repentance—all unwarranted, undeserved, unnecessary. Because—because you earned that slap for being so fucking disrespectful; you needed it, were practically begging him to put you back in your place, back where you belong: below him, behind him, and never beside him.

Because no matter how cute you are, how sweet and precious and good, none of it permits you to speak to him in such a manner, to act as though you’re equal.

So why has this inexplicable agony taken root at his core? Why does he feel like his heart is mutilating itself, tearing itself to shreds, with each of your pitiful little whimpers? Why does he feel the overwhelming urge to make it better, to make your pretty tears and precious sobs stop?

Inevitable anger surges through his veins—furious at you, for eliciting such bothersome emotions; furious at himself, for being so weak, so vulnerable, and allowing such pathetic sentiments to take over, to rob him of his control, of his autonomy.

And despite everything, all of his rage and loathing and confusion, his hand buzzes from it, from the sensation of touching your soft skin for the very first time, even in such a brutal and malicious manner, and instantly, he craves more.

✰ ✰ ✰

You don’t speak to him after that. You stop making his favourite meals, stop asking him about his day and then uninvitedly reciting your own in that cute, excited chatter that is so distinctly you, stop doing all of those extra little chores—washing his clothes and changing his sheets and scrubbing his bathroom until it sparkles. You put an end to everything.

And he fucking misses it.

He shouldn’t, but he does.

It’s painful to admit, but he can’t ignore it, notices your lack of presence almost immediately, that gaping void spreading, growing, as it roars in protest, claiming more and more of his body every day, like some sort of inky disease that only your presence seems to calm, to cure.

It fucking sucks. It fucking sucks, because he can’t stop it, regardless of how hard he tries, an impossible ailment he can’t void himself of. It fucking sucks, because you’re eating him up, consuming his very soul, devouring him from the inside out without even sparing him a goddamn glance—and you don’t even know it.

And it’s getting exhausting, putting up this front all the time, fighting against the intense feelings you swirl around in his chest, in his cock, without a hope, without a chance in hell. Fighting for nothing, because he knows he’ll never win. Fighting for nothing, because he isn’t sure he wants to anymore.

They’re unruly, voracious and rabid, tearing up his chest, his lungs and his heart and his throat, with sharp piercing claws and becoming increasingly difficult to overlook, to disregard.

Still, he’s too stubborn, too proud, to give in, to give up, even though the thing living inside him grows stronger every day, even though he knows that one day, it will overpower him.

✰ ✰ ✰

It’s windy—the estate quiet as the wind howls softly through the dense pines outside and ruffles them—the night it finally does, the night it takes over entirely, bursting through the barriers he keeps rebuilding and repairing around his soul and his sanity, writhing inside him when he hears soft sobs, muffled by the wood of your bedroom door, just past three in the morning.

It possesses him, like some sort of eternal spirit sinking deep into his bones and sewing itself into his soul, revoking his control over his body as a sudden, intense need to comfort you, to find out what’s wrong and make it all better, courses through his veins, entirely unaware of his actions as he pushes past the door and into your room.

“Naoya-nii?”

It’s the first time you’ve spoken to him, the first time you’ve even looked at him, since he struck you.

And he aches to apologize, I’m sorry’s and I shouldn’t have done that’s blistering his throat as they linger, just behind the back of his tongue.

But his pride outweighs them by a hair, despite how much his chest stings with the need to make things better, to make things right, for a reason unbeknownst to him. It’s just a sense—vague in meaning but strong in feeling—that longs for reconciliation, that’s desperate to rid your pretty face from the permanent scowl his presence etches into it.

That’s the first time he creeps into your room, the first time he loses his autonomy to the thing inside of him as he takes you into his arms and comforts you, the first time he allows you to cum from grinding on his cock.

Except it becomes a habit, an addiction, a nightly routine, cravings becoming stronger and stronger with each passing night. And for a brief span of time, it’s enough to appease the creature, the short nights spent with you in his arms, body trembling against his as you whimper out his name and his honorific, tangling on your tongue.

Because it feels right. It feels righter than anything in his life ever has, uncharacteristically gentle hands guiding your hips as they rock against his, soaked cunt gliding over the flannel of his pajama pants with ease as you huff out the prettiest little mewls into his neck.

It feels right only when he’s here with you, alone with you. Suddenly, it’s like everything makes sense again, like the world is in colour again, like the planet balanced again. He can no longer deny this feeling, this ache deep at the very pit of his soul that throbs and stings and burns mercilessly without your presence. You’re the only thing that can heal it, that can quell it, that can complete it.

So he gives in. It’s just for the nights, he promises himself, vows never to allow such sentiments to trickle into the daytime, to save it for when the sun sinks beneath the horizon, pledges never to permit these nightly escapades to advance from anything more than dry humping, nothing further than your cum on his fingers and your thighs stained with sticky cream.

But eventually, that isn’t enough, either.

And he was stupid to think it would be.

✰ ✰ ✰

The harsh slap of Testoni loafers against stone echoes out among the immaculately landscaped front yard, bouncing off thin tree trunks and being absorbed by tall, thick shrubs. Silver light, cast by the haloed moon hanging high in the clear navy sky, illuminates the garden, the foliage faded and washed out, painted by the moonbeams. Somewhere in the distance, the gentle trickle of water mingles with Naoya’s harsh breaths, cellphone gripped tightly in one fist as he paces back and forth like a rabid dog, small rocks popping under his feet.

It’s late. It’s too late—you were supposed to be home hours ago. Naoya’s tried calling—seven times, now, his phone buzzing in his palm to warn him of a low battery—but you haven’t picked up once. But that isn’t new, nor is it unusual; you rarely answer his calls while you’re out with Satoru.

So, really, this shouldn’t be cause for alarm. It shouldn’t.

Except he knows the man you’re out with, knows what you’re doing with him, and he can’t get it out of his fucking head, assaulted with fabricated images of you trapped under a large man with ivory hair and crystal eyes, back arching in ecstasy, his name leaving your lips in the prettiest gasps, in the way Naoya’s name leaves your lips during his habitual sneaking into your room in the middle of the night.

He’s terrified it’s going to drive him insane, eyes pricking and throat burning as his nose twitches with the threat of tears, eyelids shut so tightly his whole face scrunches up, tense and crumpled every time a new wave of contrived memories of you cumming all over that asshole’s cock crash over his mind.

Copper stings his tongue as sharp front teeth nibble at the raw cuticles surrounding his nailbed, face puckering at the taste and ripping his thumb, glistening with saliva, from his mouth.

This is pathetic, goddamn it! It shouldn’t even matter who you’re with and what you’re doing with them, shouldn’t be any of Naoya’s concern at all whether you’re safe or not, shouldn’t fucking hurt nearly as much as it does, a heavy ache that weighs on his chest more and more and more as each second ticks by, ribs caving in and splintering under the force, snapping into sharp spikes that puncture his lungs and make it painful to breathe.

“This is such a waste of fucking time, I don’t even—” he’s muttering to himself when you step out of Satoru’s car, his internal monologue beginning to leak from his head out his lips, your presence immediately cutting it off as his head snaps up, light eyes paler than normal, practically glowing in the moonlight.

A startled little whimper pries its way past your lips when you see him, stomping towards you with a heaving chest and a growl ripping from his throat.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he’s seething as a large hand seizes your arm, wrapping around your bicep and yanking, bring your face closer to his. “Huh? Do you know what fucking time it is?”

Frenzied eyes search your face, wild and erratic in their movements, sharply zeroing in on the tiny galaxies of swirling lilac and cobalt peppered with little pinpricks of scarlet that’ve been sucked into the flesh of your neck.

He chokes on something—a gasp or a snarl or a sob, maybe a mixture of all three, you aren’t entirely sure—pearly teeth gnashing together. “You’re a little slut,” he spits the word out like venom, harsh and biting as it whizzes past your cheek, slicing into your skin.

“That’s it, that’s all—that’s all you’re fucking good for,” his grip tightens with each word that flows from his mouth. “At least you’ve picked a rich man to sell your pussy to, at least you aren’t a total idiot, just like your mother, huh?”

“What is your problem?” little hands claw at the fingers latched around you, finally breaking free from him, ripping your limb from his grasp with such vigor you nearly fall on your ass, teetering backwards on unsteady feet. “You know, just because you can’t own up and face your feelings, doesn’t mean you get to take it out on me. This,” you gesture between the two of you. “Isn’t my fault.”

“This?” he spits, face screwing up in scorn. “There is no this,”

“Oh my God,” eyes rolling, you shake your head, exhaling a dubious laugh. “Shut up. There’s no one here—you can be real with me, I’m not gonna tell anyone,” you snark, arms crossing over your chest as you level your gaze with him.

He glares back at you, sharp jaw rhythmically clenching and unclenching with the grinding of his molars, large hands balled into tight, trembling fists on either side of his body.

“You know there’s something here, between us, within us, even if you refuse to admit it,” you continue after a beat of silence, voice softening.

His whole form is beginning to quiver and he jerkily shakes his head, exhaling harshly. You think he may be crying, but in the faint moonlight it’s hard to be sure.

Holding your wrist up, you swallow thickly, glancing at those little bumps embedded in your skin, watching the tiny shadows that form when your arm twists. “I have your sign,” your voice is quiet as you look back at him, flashing the inside of your wrist to him. “And I know you have mine,”

A cynical smirk spreads across his lips, but it looks more like a grimace, like a flimsy mask desperately attempting to cover something else, tongue tutting in disbelief. “Yeah, and there’s millions of people in this world with any given sign. It’s all bullshit—it could be anyone,”

“It could be anyone,” you agree, nodding. “But it isn’t.”

“You don’t know that!”

“I do! I know you feel it too! Christ, why are you so—so adamant on denying this, even when it’s just the two of us? What’s the point?”

“You’re my fucking sister, that’s the point. This is inappropriate, it’s wrong,”

“If it’s so wrong, then why do you sneak into my bedroom every night? Why do you let me cum on your fingers? Why do you fuck my thighs?” your footsteps speed up, jogging a little to catch up to him. “Huh? Huh? No answer? Or do you know the answer, and you’re too afraid to say it?”

“I don’t know!” he explodes, whirling around on you and trapping you against the brick, palms laid flat against the wall. “Alright? I don’t fucking know why I do those things. They make me feel sick afterwards, but I…”

But I can’t stop.

But I need you.

But I love you.

Chests heave with harsh exhales that mingle and echo in the garden, your eyes studying his face intently, in a way that makes him feel naked, exposed, makes him want to turn and hide from you.

“I’m not asking—” you start, words catching in your throat and blinking hard to clear rapidly welling tears from your eyes. Your voice is softer, more fragile and weak, when you speak again. “You don’t have to marry me, for Christ’s sake. I just—I just want you to—I need to know you feel it too,”

“Why?” he hisses, acidic envy bubbling in his chest, beginning to erode his resolve, walls crumbling to rubble. “What is there to know? You already have him,”

“But I’d rather have you,” the words materialize on your tongue before you even know what you’re saying, earnest eyes boring into his.

“God, don’t—” eyelids shut tightly, lithe fingers tangling in blonde hair and tugging. “Don’t say shit like that,”

He can feel them, those three little words thrashing in his chest, desperate to claw up his throat and spill from his lips, but he grits his teeth and swallows them back down, letters lodging and forming a painful lump.

And you notice. You notice, because you’ve studied him extensively, have learned to read him—his mannerisms, expressions, behaviours—well.

And you’ve just found his weakness.

“Do you want to know what I think of when he fucks me?” you ask, eyes searching his face in an almost frenzied manner, breath accelerating as you quickly push the words from your lips, worried if you don’t speak fast enough, if you don’t vocalize these sentiments now, you’ll lose him again. “It’s you. It’s always you. I’ve tried—I’ve tried to think of someone else, of anyone else, but you just…you just won’t leave my brain! It’s like a—a sickness, or something. Like a chronic illness, and it’s only getting worse,”

A strangled growl rattles in his chest as he tears himself away from you, fists violently rubbing at his eyes.

He knows. He knows, because he’s tried the same thing, attempted to desperately forget you, to disintegrate the weird feelings you endlessly evoke in his chest by losing himself in women night after night, often multiple women at once, drowning himself in their moans and gasps and soft bodies to no avail.

“There’s no cure,”

He doesn’t even mean to say it, words slipping from his lips unconsciously as he gets tangled in his thoughts, flipping through the countless memories of faceless women of all shapes and sizes, faceless woman that somehow always mange to morph into you.

“No,” you respond, shaking your head. “There isn’t. But at least I’m trying!”

He spins around, gleaming eyes flashing, brimming with bewilderment, features falling in surprise for just a moment before they harden again, varnished in offense.

“What’re you talking about,” he seethes, eyebrows furrowing deeply as his eyes narrow into sharp slits, scrutinizing, analyzing, dissecting.

“I-I’d rather have you, yes, and he’ll—no one will ever compare, will ever even come close to how much I—” you cut yourself off, swallowing the thought, then clearing your throat and beginning again. “At least I’m trying to find someone, though. At least I’m trying to find just a shred of what I feel for you, instead of sitting around feeling sorry for myself, alone and miserable,”

“Oh,” he laughs humorlessly, a callous little sound that viciously tears from his chest, that scrapes his throat and comes out strangled, full of incredulity. “You don’t think I’ve tried? You don’t think I’ve tried endlessly to forget you? To cleanse you from my mind? To move the fuck on from something that had never begun in the first place? You’ve imprinted yourself in the tissues of my fucking brain in a matter of months. It’s tiring. It’s hopeless,”

His voice breaks on the last word, some of the merciless heat fading from his features as he glares at you, eyes almost pleading for you to understand.

Because you’re the only one that can.

You’ve been in this together the entire time, right from the start, from the moment you walked through that front door.

And he’s been resisting it, fighting against it, against himself, all while the current only becomes stronger, only continues to grow in strength and size, and he’s motherfucking exhausted at this point, sick of battling some invisible force he was convinced didn’t even exist, sick of waging a war he will forever be destined to lose.

You’ve broken that wall, shattered it to dust, destroyed all of his weapons of defense and robbed him of his sovereignty, and now it’s all pouring form his mouth, an endless, uncontrollable stream of confessions, of thoughts and desires, of agony and misery.

“But it doesn’t even fucking matter, because I love you. I love you and I fucking hate you for it. And I’ve been trying, alright? I’ve tried not to, I’ve tried every single trick in the fucking book to stop it, to get over you, to forget you—and none of it has ever fucking worked, not even for a second. I don’t want you; I—I don’t want to be, but I’m in love with you,”

It looks as though your breathing has ceased, chest halting in its rapid movements, body gone still, static, stagnant. Your silence is deafening, has his ears ringing and his heart pounding, thrashing against his ribs as it aimlessly attempts to crawl through the cage, to present itself to you, bloody and beating and all yours. It’s all yours—take it, kill it, end its suffering.

“And there’s nothing—”

Surging forward, your lips crash into his, body following as it smacks against his own, effectively cutting him off. Naoya freezes, eyes wide and breathing stopped, entire body turned to ice, rigid and tense, but you are not deterred, arms winding around his neck as fingers thread through the gold and ink at the base of his skull.

“I love you, too,” you mumble into the kiss, refusing to break contact for even a second, lips brushing his as you speak. “I love you so much,”

The confession—an admission he already knew, deep down in his very bones, an admission he can no longer ignore, now that you’ve said it—snaps him out of his trance, and something switches, something breaks. Because then he’s kissing you back, tongue forcing its way through your lips to assault your own as calloused hands find purchase on your hips, squeezing your flesh hard enough that you yelp.

He chuckles against your lips, and then he’s pushing forward, forcing you to walk backwards, too fast for you to keep up, his legs longer than yours, body bigger than yours, stronger than yours.

Even with all of his shoving, you still aren’t moving quick enough for him, clumsy and stumbling over your own feet, whimpering hushed apologies into his mouth, a response to the growls that rumble in his chest each time you trip, your pitiful little sorry!’s consistently being cut off by his tongue.

Large hands hoist you up without breaking the kiss, mouth still attempting to devour you whole, to suck up your very soul, and your legs automatically wrap around his waist, latching onto him.

Either of your bedrooms are too far, and he can’t take it, he can’t wait—not with the way your fingers are tangling in his shirt and tugging, the way needy little whines are hitching in your throat, the way you’re squirming in his grasp, trying to grind against his half-hard cock.

You’re fucking desperate, but so is he, thigh whacking off the edge of the wooden coffee table as he blindly staggers towards the kitchen, tongue hungrily dragging against yours while he does so.

The cold marble stings your skin as he deposits you onto the nearest countertop, hips wedged between your thighs keeping them spread.

Little fingers immediately go for his belt, nonsensical whimpers sounding in the back of your throat as you fumble and struggle, hooking your fingers through his beltloops and pulling.

“Eager girl,” he chastises, a little breathless as nimble fingers find the soaked lace at the apex of your thighs, pushing it to the side. “Nii-san has to prep you first,”

“No,” you whine, pitched high and much too loud. “M’wet enough. Want you, want you now, nii-san, please, just give it to me, been waiting so long, please,”

The words are slurred together as they tumble from your lips, infused with a potent lust that casts a dense haze over your mind, rendering you capable of only focusing on what you need.

Light eyes dart up, holding yours through fanned lashes for a moment, as if they’re searching for any hesitancy, before his lips form the most genuine smile he’s ever given you.

“Yeah?” he huffs out, finally breaking your stare to watch his hands undo his belt, continuing to speak as he shoves his jeans down his thighs and frees his cock. “You think you can take it?”

“Yes, nii-san,” you nearly mewl, gazing at him with blown, glazed eyes and a cute pout. “Please, give it to me, I-I want it, please,”

His gaze finally flicks up, that sincere smile stretched wider across his face, a playful glint in his eye, voice void of any of its usual derision. “You want what? Hmm, baby? Come on, nii-san wants to hear you say it,”

A low whimper leaves your throat and you shift on the countertop, as if trying to wiggle closer to him. “Your cock, nii-san, want your cock, please-please-please, gimme-gimme-gimme,”

It sounds as though you’re close to tears, voice cracking and thick with desire, Naoya’s cock twitching in his palm in response to the sound, and, God, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to that, absolutely adores it when you beg, thinks you sound so pretty when you’re pleading for him.

“You’re a greedy little girl, you know that?” he pants while he pushes in, a muffled yelp prying past your lips. “Shh, hush now, nii-san will give you what you need,”

The stretch is incredible, cute little cunt throbbing around his thick cock as it struggles to adjust to the sudden intrusion, feeling as though he’s going to tear you into two, leaving stinging micro-fissures in the delicate flesh.

Yet despite the burn, the ache that settles deep in your core, that feels like he’s splitting you in half, a satisfied moan leaves your lips, head falling forward and resting against his broad shoulder, fingers curling in the cotton that adorns his torso and pulling him closer, closer, closer.

Because, finally, you feel whole, more whole than you’ve ever felt in your entire life, satisfying an inexplicable desire buried at the crux of your very soul, something you didn’t even realize you were missing until you finally had it.

“S’not enough,” you mumble into him, nuzzling your face against him like a cat. “Need more, nii-san, need more,”

“You really are a selfish little fucking brat,” he grunts as fingers flex on your hips, tips digging into the pliant flesh and gripping, singeing his name into your skin in rapidly blossoming indigo and ultramarine.

“Nii-san was going to try and be nice,” the words, strained and husky, spill from plush lips as his hips begin to thrust, slow and hard, winding back as they draw the force to ram forward, slamming a cry from your chest as his cockhead pounds against your cervix. “But you’re too impatient for that, aren’t you?”

It’s a fucking lie; his self-control had been hanging by a thread, barely restraining the primal need to wildly buck into you, but you just snapped it, just tore the last of his treasured discipline to fucking shreds with nothing more than a few words.

The pace is ruthless, your head bouncing off the cabinets with each powerful snap of his hips, an endless stream of cries pouring from your lips, one hand curling around the edge of the counter as the other grips his shoulder, nails burying themselves in the hard muscle through the thin cotton of his shirt. Sharp bones carve a spot just for him, made for him, between your legs, into the tender flesh of your inner thighs.

“You’re mine, you hear me?” he pants out, eyes so bright they’re practically glowing. “Mine.”

“Yours!” you gasp out, head nodding in sloppy little movements against his shoulder as you fall forward, wrapping your arms around him and squeezing. “Yours, yours, yours,”

Everything feels hazy, almost dreamlike in a sense, vision blurring over with a thick shield of tears that you can’t quite explain, his name and the honorific becoming muddled on your tongue, fusing into one as you wail it out, clinging to him in a way that’s almost possessive.

“Nii-san’s here,” he promises you, voice hoarse. “Nii-san’s yours, too,”

“Mine,” the arms thrown around his neck tighten, fingers tangling in soft gold and wrinkled cotton. “Mine, mine, mine—”

“Mine,” he echoes, hips never faltering even as you wind your body around his, large hands keeping your hips still as he fucks into you. “And only mine—”

“Forever and ever and ever—”

“You belong to me, were made for me, put on this earth for me,”

Words of confirmation are escaping from your lips, you’re absolutely sure of it, can feel them vibrating up your throat as you speak them—but it’s so much, too much, all of the feelings swirling around in your chest, sending spikes of pleasure and thorns of pain shooting through your veins as they clash together. A sudden wooziness settles over you, brain fogging over as he becomes the only thing you can think of, the only thing you want to think of, nonsensical babbling still slipping from between parted lips in hitched puffs of breath.

“So full,” you nearly sob, one of Naoya’s hands tangling in the hair at the back of your skull and yanking, pulling your face from the sanctuary of his neck and exposing your expressions to his scrutinizing eyes, devouring the beautiful tears streaking your cheeks, the contorting of your features as pleasure washes over them. “M’so full, nii-san, it’s so much,”

“Yeah? Better than he could ever stuff you?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you’re wailing out, affirmations falling from your lips with each brutal piston of his hips. “More, need more,”

Because it’s like an addiction, an innate need for more of him, for all of him, ravenous and unquenchable, that’s always existed within you, that his cock stretching you out, filling you up, has only just awakened.

His aura is positively intoxicating, overwhelming your senses and becoming all you can see, all you can hear, all you can smell, taste, touch. His taste lingers on your tongue, faint notes of minty pine and sharp nicotine dancing with your tastebuds; his touch brands itself into you, bruises and bitemarks carving his name into soft skin; his scent assaults you, envelops you, overpowers everything else as it wraps you in a shackled embrace of expensive aftershave and cedar wood.

A growl tears from his chest, so rough that it vibrates throughout his entire body, and his pace quickens, cock plunging into you and an incredible speed, dragging against that one spot that has you nearly screaming, that has your eyes rolling back and your little hole fluttering around him as a blistering fire sparks to life in the pit of your belly.

You can feel it, furling in on itself with each vicious rut of his hips, each relentless bang of his cockhead against your cervix, a concentrated ball of scathing heat pulsing, quaking in your stomach as it curls tighter and tighter and tighter with each plunge forward—until it bursts, a fiery explosion that buzzes through your veins as your cunt clenches, gushing on his cock as he praises you—yeah, that’s it, make a mess on nii-san—entire body coiling from the sheer strength.

“Tell me,” he keens almost desperately, voice pulling you from the clutches of post-orgasm unconsciousness, hips stuttering for a moment before he regains his finesse. “Tell me how badly you need it,”

And you don’t need to be told what, pleads pouring from your mouth in an instant, before your brain can even comprehend what you’re saying, an instinctual reaction to his command. “Need your cum, nii-san, need you to full me up, fill my tummy with it, stuff me full of it, need it so bad, nii-san, please gimme your cum, please, please,”

The words are all jumbled together, thick with tears and wet with saliva and imbued with delirium, quivering and breaking as your body trembles from overstimulation.

“Fuck,” he chokes on the curse, hips stilling, pressed flush against your ass as his cock throbs, filling you with spurt after spurt of thick cum, a broken whine catching in his throat as endless words spill from yours, peppered with the sweetest moans—yes, nii-san, thank you, nii-san, fill me up, fill my body with it, my brain with it, I need it, I need it.

And he does, pumps you full of so much that it begins leaking out from your abused little hole—still stuffed with him—and down his cock.

And it’s then—after he has filled you up, with your precious little cunt still pulsing around his length, whimpering out his honorific as you hold onto him, voice raw and wrecked and cracking with residual tears—then that Naoya’s sure you were meant for him, made for him, perfectly tailored to him; he knows you were, his very own gift from the gods.

#zenin naoya x reader #zenin naoya smut #jjk smut #zenin naoya #zen'in naoya #tw:incest #tw death #tw toxic relationship #tw abuse #tw physical abuse #WAAAAAAH FINALLY HE IS DONE HEHEHE YAAAAY #whew okay

1K notes · View notes

bruhstories · 3 years

Text

Pet

summary: you're his perfect weapon pairing: karl heisenberg x fem!reader warning & content: master/slave dynamic if you squint, oral sex (male & female receiving), unprotected sex, daddy kink, slightly possessive heisenberg? word count: 1.7k

a/n: it just hit me that the other heisenberg fic i'm working on maaay work as a prequel to this one, so if you're interested in reading that, let me know. happy reading! and @theeerealpunkin, this is for you xD

When you wandered into that junkyard, you were nothing but a helpless little girl, orphaned, battered and bruised, weak and on the brink of death. It was honestly a miracle you made it so far, but he took pity in you, took you under his wing, taught you how to survive in such a cruel world, and turned you into a weapon. A lethal weapon. To the other lords, you were Heisenberg's rabid dog, and no one dared to lay a finger on him while you were there to guard him, but to him, you were his favourite pet. Obedient little thing, you would steal for him, kill for him and die for him, should he ask you to do it. But he never did, and never will, because in his heart, whatever was left of it, he cherished you.

The dynamic you two had was... strange, to say the least. He was your master, and you never questioned his authority, but the difference between you and his mindless minions was that you willingly gave yourself to him, mind, body and soul, no brainwashing needed. Still, Heisenberg knew that, should you ever turn against him, you could kill him without breaking a sweat, so he made sure to show how much he appreciated you, rarely ever treating you badly. In fact, he always considered you his equal, despite your personal choice to submit to him. And he didn't mind. By the gods, he didn't mind it one bit. To see such a powerful being as yourself whimper and writhe under him, begging for more, aching to please him, these things only made Heisenberg adore you. And he couldn't deny he was drunk on the fact that he had so much power over you, someone who could literally destroy him. But what could you do? You loved him. You loved to please him. "Crawl to me, pet." He orders, and you comply, kneeling in the doorway, placing your hands on the floor. You were exquisite, down on all fours, dragging your knees across the cold metal, eyes on him, always on him. You crawl under the table, resting your head on his thigh as he pats you head. "Atta girl. Daddy's had a long day, gonna help me feel good?" You eagerly nod, fingers immediately fumbling with the buckle of his belt. He chuckles, watching you struggle with the damned thing, but he won't lift a single finger to help you. Drool pools under your tongue when you feel how hard he is, and you finally undo the blasted buckle, releasing his cock from its confinements.

"Please..." You whisper, head tilted, breath tickling his glistening tip, but you don't dare to taste him unless he tells you to.

"What's that?"

"Can I have it? Please?"

He would love to humiliate you, but the fact of the matter is that he can't wait any longer.

"Have it all." Heisenberg gives you permission and you don't even thank him, tongue already swirling around the tip of his cock. This isn't the first time you do this, but he just can't get enough of you. He's been with other women before, even after he met you, but none of them were you. You hollow your cheeks, bobbing your head with a frantic pace, sloppily sucking and slurping and moaning. "Fuck, that's right, take it all." Heisenberg pushes your head down, depriving you of air. When he removes his hand, you pull away, gasping for air with teary eyes, but as you lean back, he stops you. "I'm feeling generous today. Get on the table."

You don't question his command, but you can't help but feel slightly confused. It's not unusual for him to fuck you, you just weren't expecting him to do it so soon.

"How do you want me, daddy? Bent over?" You purr, stretching your arms on the table.

"No, no, lay on your back."

Nodding, you turn around, tugging at your skirt and letting it fall to the floor as you lift yourself on the table. Heisenberg removes his leather gloves as you patiently wait, and he finally turns to you, jacket and shirt discarded, planting kisses on your inner thigh.

"I'm feeling very generous today." He sneers before dipping his head between your legs, and you want to protest, but you can't, because you never question him. You feel his tongue dragging over your slit, sending chills down your spine. This is definitely a surprise, since he's never given your pussy this kind of attention, but you can't deny how good it feels, the way he's lapping at your cunt like a famished man, his beard tickling your oversensitive skin. You throw your head back, chanting his name over and over again, thighs trembling from the stimulation.

"F-fuck, 's good! Daddy, this feels so good!" You mewl, your juices mixed with his saliva dripping down your ass. In the heat of the moment, you dare to card your fingers through his salt and pepper hair, hips bucking against his mouth. You can feel his grin against your skin, because no matter how much Heisenberg likes to use you for his own pleasure, he adores to see you break from the bliss. And as much you would love to come on his tongue, you need something to fill your aching cunt. "P-please fuck me, I need to feel you, please please please!" You cry out, propping yourself on your elbows to look at him — and, boy, he looks incredible, with your arousal and his spit dripping down his beard, so focused on making you feel good. Heisenberg pulls away giving your pussy a good slap, which makes you jolt up. He takes a step back, taking a good look at you — legs spread, eyes glossy and lidded, tits out of your half-buttoned shirt — a sight for sore eyes.

"I haven't even fingered you yet. Think ya’ earned it?" He tilts his head and you nod like a broken puppet, pushing your hips closer to the edge of the table.

"Yes, yes, please, daddy! Use me, use my cunt!" You mewl, and he digs his fingers into the plush of your hips, turning you around.

"Act like a bitch in heat, get fucked like a bitch in heat." Heisenberg doesn't hesitate to push his cock between your folds after lifting one of your legs on the table. Inch by inch, he bottoms out, and like a good girl, you throw your head back, mouth agape and tongue poking out.

"Just l-like t-that!"

"Shit, you're so tight." He can't help but be astonished that after so much time of using and abusing your cunt, it always feels like it's the first time. It could be because you're not technically a human anymore, or because he's just so fond of you. When he pinches one of your nipples, you automatically lift your ass, bucking against his hips, clenching around his cock and moaning his name. But the pleasure engulfing your entire body makes it difficult for you to prop yourself on your arms, and so you let yourself fall on the wooden table. Fingers gently brush through your locks before Heisenberg yanks you by the hair, pushing his chest against your back to feel you closer.

"Tell me, Y/N, who do you belong to?" He sneers into your ear, breath fanning over your skin.

"You, I belong t-to you!"

"Good. And there's no way in hell anyone else gets to touch you the way I do."

"N-no one, daddy! I'm yours- oh, fuck! Please, let me see you..."

"You wanna look into my eyes when you come on my cock, you little slut?"

"Mhm!" You can barely speak, his thrusts numbing your brain.

Heisenberg doesn't reply, only pulling out to grant you your wish while turning you around. His elbow pushes your leg to the side, despite not needing to, since you're already eager to take him back in. He slips his cock in with so much ease, and you just know you were made for him.

"Better?" He quirks a brow at you, green orbs burning into your soul.

"Yes, t-thank you!" You don't forget to show him just how much you appreciate his kind gesture, your trembling hand cupping his cheek.

The gesture is so tender that he can't help but sigh at the touch. Heisenberg doesn't want to give you the impression that he cares that much, because if he does — if he cares — you'll only become a weakness. And he can't afford to be weak, can't afford to lose you. The man slaps your hand away, gripping your hips so hard your skin begins to bruise, fucking you deeper, harder, pace so brutal the table begins to slide on the metal floor. The pain you're feeling is nothing compared to the pleasure, and so you wrap your legs around his waist, digging your fingernails into his shoulders, earning a hiss out of him. You can feel your orgasm building up, culminating in the sweetest release. He's close, too, you feel it in the way his cock twitches against your spongy walls, so drag your nails over his skin, pulling him closer to you. He smells of oil, liquor and cigarettes, and it's so intoxicating and addictive you come undone.

"F-fuck, I love you! I love you so much!" You melt under him, muscles relaxing. Your confession has him reach his climax, and with a few final thrusts, he spills his seed into your cunt. Not that it would matter since the parasite that turned you into a weapon made both of you infertile. Heisenberg slowly pulls out, careful not to cause you any discomfort. You're still a quivering mess on his workbench, and he hands you a towel, his way of showing that he cares.

"Does it bother you that I don't love you back?" He lies. You tilt your head, scrunching your nose as you wipe yourself clean.

"Hmmm, no, not really. You are my master, after all, and I'm your pet."

Heisenberg doesn't speak, focused on getting dressed. You're his pet, but you make him want to live another day. You make him want to destroy Miranda and break free. You make him smile, and laugh, and you make him feel human again. He turns on his heels, tucking a few strands of hair behind your ear before planting a soft kiss on your forehead.

"That's right, you're my pet."

#karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg x reader #karl heisenberg x you #karl heisenberg x y/n #karl heisenberg smut #resident evil #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #re village #resident evil fanfic #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut #female reader

342 notes · View notes

the-broken-truth · 3 years

Note

Donna meeting a doctor/field medic who manages to reduce/eliminate the cadou parasite growth on her face- 👨✈️

Broken Truth (Holding a Granny Smith Apple): An apple a day keeps the doctor away...(Throws it over my shoulder and walks off to find some granola & yogurt)

It had been half a year since he arrived in the small Romanian village with nothing but a small bag of clothes, a leather doctor's bag, a pouch of Lei, and the smile on his face. For an outsider - he was well versed in the language and asked if there was any property that he could buy; he was given 2 small plots of land that were completely bare.

One the first month of his stay - he cleared the land of any imperfections and started to build. Upon his first plot - he made a home, a firm structure of wood and stone. The villager watched as he broke the stone into pieces and combined them with clay before sculpting them into a kind of paste and filled a strange wooden mold he made on the flattest area of the ground he owned. They watched as the man stabbed long wooden posts in each corner of the paste and some in-between of others. After a day of waiting - the pasta hardened into something as strong as the castle's stone.

Then began making the bones of his house to ensure it would be sturdy in the most unforgiving of winters and it would remain warm in the hardest of rains. Once the bones were placed - he built the rest of his house and used the remaining paste to fill any possible crack. His home was done but...empty. He went into town the next day and did business with a rather fat man who didn't wear shoes and his hands were drowning gems.

Upon the next 2 months - he built a business upon his second plot - a business that most residents of the village appreciated for he was a man of medicine and he was very good at his job. He spent a lot of time familiarizing himself with the land and the forest, along with the plants and berries to make different kinds of salves to relieve anything or...could he really heal everything?

The sound of the bell above the door made the man look from the clipboard he was writing on - he was taking inventory on which salves he was running low on. He looked upon a veiled woman in a black dress with a doll in her arms.

"Good Afternoon," He began as he placed the clipboard back on the hook attached to the wall beside the dresser, "Welcome to the [L/N] Clinic. What can I do for you?" The man asked with a smile but instead of the woman speaking - the doll did.

"This is Mistress Donna Beneviento - The Head of House Beneviento, 2nd Lord of the Village." The doll said.

"Oh, so this is Lady Beneviento? A pleasure to meet you." The doctor bowed before looking at the doll. "And what about you, Young Mistress?" The doll looked confused for a while.

"My name is Angie - Lady Donna speaks through me as she isn't very...trusting of humans."

"Understandable. I am Dr. [Y/N [L/N] - The owner of this clinic. What has caused the Second Lord to bless me with her presence?" The doctor asked with a smile.

"Have you heard of the Cadou?" Angie asked.

"Vaguely. I hear some whispers around about the word but I never really investigated much into it." [Y/N] said.

"The Cadou is a kind of living parasite that infects its host with incredible abilities but it changes its host in some of the worst ways," Angie explained.

"Allow me to assume - Lady Beneviento is infected with one of these Cadou and you wish for me to do something about it." The doctor said.

"Yes. The Cadou in Lady Donna's Link to me - it's the reason I am a living doll but it has caused a horrible scar upon her face that she wishes to be removed or at the very less, reduced in size; we're hoping it won't affect her abilities though." Angie explained.

"I think I might be able to craft a represent for the Cadou but I need a sample of it first." He looked at Donna. "Lady Beneviento, may I see the scar? If I can collect a sample of this Cadou, I can craft something to aid you." The doctor explained. There was a moment of silence before Angie spoke again.

"She shall remove her veil but she warns you - it is not good. Please, do not judge." Angie warned. With a firm nod from the doctor, Donna removed her veil and the doctor's eyes widened before a blush crept upon his face.

"Lady Beneviento...you are...radiant."

'What?' Donna thought.

"What?" Angie asked.

"Forgive my forwardness, but, My Lady, you are a marvel; a true masterpiece, even with your difference. You shouldn't hide such beauty." The doctor praised her with a blush on his face before he looked at the ground like a nervous child talking to his crush.

"You...You really think so?" The voice of the Second Lord asked.

"Most certainly!" The doctor reassured.

[Y/N] went into the back and retrieve two empty syringes and walked over to Donna - slowly piercing it through the skin of the Cadou that took her right eyes and pulled back on the injector to collect the blood infected with Cadou Cells before using the second syringe to take a sample of Donna's blood from her arm unaffected by the Cadou. He promised to find something and call them when he found something and gave them a bow before they left.

He was sad when they left.

[A Few Nights Later]

[Y/N] had not returned home as he looked through the two microscopes - the one of the left was a small sample of the Cadou Cell Blood while other one held the blood of Donna unaffected. [Y/N] had been working for 3 days straight - making sure to tend to his clients but he hasn't slept or really eaten a full meal. He wanted to help Donna.

This was this 5th Attempt at the Cadou repressant - he was sure to document any kind ingredients used in case his memory failed him. He dripped the dropper into 2 nliquified ingredients and plopped it on the slide of the Cadou Sample and his eyes widened as the cells reacted, changed, and began to shrank until they were nothing but small cells - the same as T-Cells. He looked between the 2 microscopes and was pleased with his results and made a note to call Donna in the morning.

'I can't wait to see them again.' The doctor smiled before he walked over to his office chair and fell asleep - his dreams filled with images of the Head of House Beneviento.

[The Next Morning]

"Lady Beneviento and Angie! I'm glad you both got my call!" The man said with a smile as the veiled woman and her doll entered his shop.

"A pleasure, Dr. [Y/N]. When we received your call this morning, we rushed over. We assume you've made promise." Donna said.

"Better than that! I constructed a Cadou Shrinkage - it will shrink the Cadou down to cellular level while still remaining within you so you won't lose your link to Angie." The Doctor smiled.

"And...you are certain that this will work?" Donna asked with slight fear in her voice but soon her hands were taken in the doctor's - they were warm and comforting.

"I swear upon my life, My lady, this will work." He said as he brought her hands to his lips and kissed her knuckles; making the dollmaker blush under her veil.

"O-Okay..." Donna whispered and the two of them went to the Operating Room.

[Hours Later]

Donna looked at her face in the memory - her complete human face. The Cadou Shrinkage was successful but due to it consuming her face for so long, her right eye was blind but [Y/N] assured her that he would be able to contrusct something to restore her sight; in the meantime, he gave her an eyepatch to cover just the eye. She thanked him and processed to gather living doll in her arms before turning to the door to leave when...

"Wait! Lady Beneviento..." She turned to look at the blushing face of the young doctor.

"Yes, Dr. [Y/N]?" Donna asked with a raised eyebrow - his blush darkened.

"I...Um...Have you eaten Breakfast, yet?" He asked as he scratched his cheek with the tip of his finger.

"No. I have not." She answered.

"Then...May I have the honor of taking you out for a late breakfast?!" He asked with a bright face and she smiled.

"I would love that." She nodded.

"Oh...Just fuck already." Angie groaned in Donna's arms.

"ANGIE!!!" Donna and the Doctor blushed before he closed up shop for the day and the 3 of them walked into the light of the sun with smiles on their faces.

#resident evil 8 #donna beneviento x male reader #donna beneviento

133 notes · View notes

cheelduh · 3 years

Text

How to bet your way into someone’s heart. (Highschool AU)

Pairing: Childe x fem!reader

Warnings: Fake weed. Poor Signora smh. Oh yes, lots of swearing. UNEDITED ASF IM LAZY BYE.

Synopsis: Childe is being an infatuated idiot, Lisa has eyes for vending machine chocolate, and Kaeya is desperately in need of a pencil. With all these distractions, there’s no way in hell you’ll be able focus on the task at hand.

This is crack.

I don’t have time.

You think as you race down the hallway, shoes slapping against the floor as you expertly dodge multiple students in your way.

Bullet. You're as fast as a bullet, because everyone around you is a blur and you don't stop, can't stop, not until you meet your target.

It's funny how one can accomplish many challenges and feats they were unable to, merely due to pressure. Pressure is a twisted ugly thing that can gnaw its way into the pit of your stomach and grow like a parasite. Pressure is a parasite that can either bring the best in you, or the worst, but at the cost of one's peace of mind.

"Move it Signora!" You shouted a warning at the senior blocking your way. There wasn't any time for you slow down at that point, and you'd risk bumping into the breakfast club's stall if you swerved to the side, sending juice flying everywhere.

Signora's eyes widened momentarily, getting the gist albeit her anger, and choosing to back up flatly against the locker.

Her lipstick nearly slips from her fingers as you swerve past, a thick gust of wind in your wake.

It messes with the hair she woke up two hours early for.

Signora plots her revenge. You still don't have time.

You nearly kick the door to your home room down, but you can't risk the perfect image your teachers have of you. So you pat down your t-shirt, take five tempting deep breaths, and tentatively knock the door.

The door opens and you're met with a young man, familiar amber pupils welcoming you.

You try not to huff and puff at the cost of your stamina. Thinking back, there's no way in hell you could have physically been that fast.

"Good morning Y/N," Your homeroom teacher gives you a small smile, moving aside to let you in. "Class is just about to start."

You check your watch, then turn to him with an apologetic tone, trying not to crack under the eyes of your classmates. "I'm so sorry Mr.Zhongli, I slept through my alarm."

Your idiot ass forgot to set one because you studied till four in the morning.

"You're like thirty seconds late, cut the shit." Beidou boos from the back, causing your stance to stiffen.

"I don't wanna hear it Beidou. If anything, you're two periods earlier than usual." Ningguang calls her out for you, but you have a feeling it's more so on behalf of a personal vendetta.

Ignoring the two bickering, Mr.Zhongli gives you the handout. "Take a seat. Do not fret over such minuscule things dear."

Relief washes over you. Your impeccable attendance is not on the line.

Childe tries to flag you down next to him but you send him a pointed glare and sit next to Lisa instead.

"You should give him a chance you know." Lisa doesn't even have to open her eyes to know what's going on.

"Please," You scoff, digging through your bags to collect your notes. "As if I have the time to fool around with a shady kid like him."

Your friend sighs in disapproval, and makes no move to take out her own notes as Mr.Zhongli begins the lecture on the Archon war.

"You should really pay attention." It bothers you that she doesn't, but then again it's not your place to tell her what to do or not to do.

"I don't need to." She yawns, blinking an eye open towards you. "I have you after all."

"I'm tired of saving your ass." You groan and pull a pen out of your pocket to get started on the exercises as Mr.Zhongli talks in the background.

The course outline contained all the topic, and you made sure to teach yourself as much as you could before class to stay ahead.

Immersed in the worksheet, you blinked away your sleep and tried to answer as many questions as you could at the moment. You didn't hear the slight shift next to you, and the change of breathing, or the rate of which time went by.

A familiar scent makes its way into your nostrils.

"Lisa. Why do you smell like mango juul juice." You know the scent from when Signora blew a mango flavoured fog in your face yesterday at lunch when you said you were hungry.

A chuckle erupts and you freeze in place. "That's because I'm not Lisa."

You blink. Once, twice, and then crane your head to the side to meet a pair of teasing cerulean eyes.

Fingers loosening in shock, the pen drops on the desk with a short thud.

You whisk your head towards the front of the classroom, and Mr.Zhongli is nowhere to be seen.

"There's no saving you now." Childe's smirk widens, and he scoots closer to you. "Mr.Zhongli had to get something from the staff room. The staff room is near the cafeteria."

"Which is also near the merch stall." You grumbled, bringing both hands to massage your temples as a headache is beginning it's reign.

"Tsk tsk. Smart girl. I'd like to add that he's forgotten his wallet in his office as well, which is in the south wing."

"Son of a..." You mutter underneath your breath, and opt to scoot further back, but your efforts are futile because your desk is in a corner.

Your next beacon of hope is Lisa, so you scan the room full of chattering students, only to find her pestering her crush, Jean.

Shit...there's nothing getting you out of this one.

"What did it take?" Is your only question, the despair starting to brew. How much did it take for your best friend to betray you?

"A dollar and fifty for vending machine chocolate."

You take a moment to breathe, calming your nerves and burying down the urge to screech. "What will it take?"

"For what?" Childe replies back innocently, and you can't believe how fast he can change masks. You almost give in.

"For you to leave me alone."

"Aww come on girlie," He whines, closing in the distance. "Don't be so cold."

What did your mom tell you that one time? Oh yes. That if you were ever backed against a wall, then just break the damn thing down.

Too bad it's figurative. You're just about ready to sock him in the face if you didn't know he was into that sort of thing.

"I'm serious about you," He says, and it sounds so real, so genuine, nearly makes you sputter. "See? I've even bought school supplies.

He unzips his light backback and spills the contents on the table.

A lone piece of paper flies out, a lighter, and a mechanical pencil with no lead that follows straight after. There's also a pocket knife that you choose to ignore.

You're not the least bit surprised.

"First of all, how the fuck are you passing this class. Second, do you really think I'm into nerds?"

"Well, considering that you are a nerd—"

"You're making things worse."

"My bad, my bad." He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. "But on a serious note. I'll do anything."

You cross your arms. "I'm not just another one of your conquests Childe. It's not like I have the time. There are better things to do."

"You need to relax." He says so simply, with complete disregard as to what you are trying to say.

"I am relaxed." You reply, picking up your pen to continue your work. If he's going to annoy you, then you might as well get shit done while he's at it.

You're not wasting any more time.

"When was the last time you got a full eight hours of sleep?" His voice is soft, too soft, and it's not at all like the Childe you know.

Your pen stops momentarily, but you will yourself to continue writing. The words look fumbled, but you don't care. The best thing to do is get your work done and ignore the idiot next to you.

"C'mon, Zhongli won't be back for another half an hour at least. Let's go." He kicks the bottom of your chair to urge you.

The pen shakes in your hand, and you narrow your eyes at the paper, digging holes into poor question eight. "I'm trying to work here. Let me work." You'll say anything to get him off your back.

"Fine fine fine..." He raises both hands in mock surrender. "I'll stop bothering you."

Your ears perk up at that, and you turn to him so fast he has to hold in his laugh. "Really?"

"Yeah," Childe nods along, bringing your hopes up. "If you win a bet, that is." And they're back to ocean level.

You roll your eyes. There's always a catch. That doesn't mean you're any less interested.

"What's the bet?" You ask curiously, all your focus now on him. Just as he longed for from the very start.

He flicks a thumb towards the door, leaning closer to whisper next to your ear. "We bet when Zhongli comes back."

"Are you kidding me?" You aren't bothered at all at the close proximity, mainly because you're too tired and only care about the freedom that will come with your win.

Childe, however, is a completely different story. His heart is beating a thousand times a second, but his face doesn't show it. Not one bit.

Kaeya leans in from the seat behind you two, interested in what's going on. "Ooooh secrets."

"Shut up Kaeya." Childe and you monotonously drone in sync, still having your little staring contest.

The captain of the skating team smiles, about to ask—

"No. We don't have an extra pencil. Even if we did we wouldn't give it to you." Childe finally breaks his gaze to scare off Kaeya.

Kaeya raises a smug brow, and leans back in his chair like the jerkwad he is. "Then don't let me keep you two love birds."

That's all it takes for him to earn Childe's unwavering respect and loyalty for as long as he lives.

After the two are done creating an elaborate handshake as a mark of their newfound friendship, you decide to just forget about the handout. It's not like you're getting anything done anyways.

"Anyways, back to the bet." Childe says, resting his cheek on his fist as he stares at you dreamily. You try not to break under his gaze.

"If I win, you have to go on a date with me."

"No way in hell—"

"Then I'll bother you for the rest of highschool."

Highschool is eternity. You don't want to live through an eternity of this.

"Fine." You answer, and for the first time he sees genuine fear in your face, it makes him waver slightly. Not enough for him to pity you.

"If I win..." You trail, thinking loud and clear as you ignore the excited chatter of your classmates. "I want you to pay attention to class."

"What?" He exclaims incredulously, blinking in disbelief. "I thought you'd get me to stop talking to you altogether."

"If you're paying attention in class, you don't bother me as much and your grades go up." You grin smartly, and oh archons it livens his entire day up, and it's only nine in the morning.

"You care about my grades?" Childe bites back a smile.

"Not at all." You lie, and quickly look away. Woah the floor tile looking trippy.

He decides it's better to get on with the bet without causing you any more distress. After all, you've given him such cute facial expressions today. He's feeling quite generous.

Pulling out his cracked-as-shit latest model phone, he unlocks it and tinkers with it a bit before turning the screen towards you.

"We'll be using this to time both of our predictions at the same time. Whoever has the closer time to when he finally swings by is the winner." The rules are simply put, no room for error.

You tilt your head in confusion. "Why am I seeing a slime review?"

"SHIT!" Childe fumbles with his phone, aggressively tapping on the screen. He lowers his head and voice as if he's been through fifty consecutive hits in the face. "It's uh, Teucer's account."

"Yeah...okay." Is all you can say.

"Ok what do you bet?" He changes the topic to unfuck the situation.

Putting a finger in your chin, you think for a minute, calculating the average of all the times Mr.Zhongli has left the classroom for a considerable amount of time.

"Fifteen minutes." You're sure of it. It's like clockwork every day.

"Hmm..." Childe crosses his arms, seemingly in deep thought. "Five minutes." He places his bet, and both timers start simultaneously.

Five minutes?! Is he serious?

You laugh inwardly. This challenge is in the bag.

The sense of victory you feel dulls when your ears pick up the echo of footsteps nearing the classroom.. Both your heads snap up to the doors.

There's something scary about Childe once his competitive side comes out. "Looks like I've won." He turns to you, eyes darkening evilly.

"What? There's no way in hell a ginger is right." Your palms are clammed up, eyebrows furrowed in panic. You calculated every single variable, how could this be?

You race to the front, Childe right on your tail as the entire class clamps up. The footsteps get louder, causing even whispers to become total silence.

Then it hits you. The shitty music about getting bitches and bars playing on the other side.

The door is swung open by Childe, and you're face to face with an idiot sophomore with a speaker in his pocket.

Childe’s grin is long gone, and you sigh in relief.

The false alarm encourages the class to return back to their idle chatter.

"Scaramouche?" Childe spits, narrowing his eyes at the unamused boy. "I thought it was Signora's shift today."

By "shift" he means being a complete dickwad and scamming fake weed to students in return for their souls. It only really works on the freshmen.

The only reason the club still runs is because Signora threatened the principal with some sus pictures she snapped of him and his assistant.

"Apparently she had an emergency." Scaramouche explains, lowering the volume on his outdated beats pill. "Something about a hair appointment because she got ran into by a, and I quote "lecherous imbecile.""

You steer clear of the conversation, finding the whiteboard far more fascinating and worth your while.

A loud cough is heard from behind the kid, and you're met with a crestfallen look on your beloved teacher's face.

You go through a whiplash of emotions, becoming completely numb towards your loss.

"They were out of slow cooked bamboo shoot soup." He sighs, handing a stack of papers to Childe, who is wearing the fattest smirk on his face at his victory. "Please hand these out to your classmates Childe, and we will begin shortly."

You check down at the timer despite knowing who’s won. Five minutes and twenty five seconds. Somehow, you don't feel as dejected as you thought you'd feel.

Maybe the date will be fun. Maybe Childe isn't so bad. Maybe...you do have time to indulge in these sort of things. If he’s so hell bent on getting your attention, perhaps it’s possible that you can make some room in your heart for him.

However, all those thoughts fly out the window when Childe hands you the new worksheet.

“I hope you're ready for our date tomorrow. We'll be sparring till sundown, and after you’ll be feeding me with chopsticks." He winks, and it makes your heart flip even though all you want right now is to go to the bathroom and barf your guts out.

Feelings are complicated.

You smile back at him nauseously, tight lipped and all, then you pull out your phone, go on maps, and search for the closest cliffs to jump off of.

After he's done, Childe slouches back in his original seat with a different kind of enthusiasm, and opens up his messages. He texts Zhongli a "thank you <3".

#childe x reader #genshin oneshot #genshin impact oneshot #genshin imagines #childe #tartagila #kaeya alberich #fanfic #genshin impact #genshin tartagalia

240 notes · View notes

madasthesea · 3 years

Text

I’ve sort of accepted that all those Irondad WIPs I have are never going to get finished, not only because Marvel has pretty effectively killed my interest in the MCU, but also because I haven’t felt like writing in over a year now (not cause anything’s wrong, I just haven’t really wanted to).

HOWEVER. There’s a fic that I was going to write about Venom Peter and while the story as a whole is definitely not even close to presentable, there’s a scene I really, really love and still want to share with people even though it has little to no context. It’s under the cut if you’re interested :)

(A bit of backstory for anyone who wants a bit of context. This whole story was supposed to be based on season 3B of Teen Wolf, with Nogitsune Stiles, for anyone that watched the show. Basically Stiles is possessed by an evil trickster spirit, but it takes a little while for it to take over and only comes out in bursts. It gets to the point that the audience, and the characters in the show, never really know if it’s Stiles or the Nogitsune pretending to be Stiles.

There’s a scene where Scott, Stiles’ best friend and a werewolf, is stabbed through the stomach with a sword. They get away from the bad guys and Stiles soothes Scott like he’s going to take out the sword so Scott can heal with his magical abilities. He puts a comforting hand on Scott’s shoulder, grabs the sword handle, then twists it in deeper instead of pulling it out. This scene is based on that.)

Peter looked down at Tony’s arm, the skin already swollen and red.

“Does that hurt?” he asked, his eyebrows furrowed in concern.

It did, but Tony had had worse and telling Peter that it hurt would just make him feel even guiltier than he probably already did.

“Not much,” he said with a small smile, trying to catch his eye. But Peter was still looking down at the injury.

Peter stepped closer, his head tilting to one side. “That’s too bad.”

Tony’s head jerked up, teeth snapping together in surprise. Faster than Tony could blink, Peter’s hand shot out and grabbed his arm, his grip tight enough to bruise. Looking Tony dead in the eye, he began twisting it, sending white hot agony racing up Tony’s arm as his elbow popped out of place, the broken bones grating.

“How about now?”

Peter’s eyes were alight with curiosity, a childish sort of fascination. He tilted his head to one side as he watched Tony’s face contort in pain. He looked like Tony had just shown him something new in the lab, like they were tinkering with the Iron Man suit.

Tony swayed and Peter put his other hand on Tony’s waist, supporting him.

“Whoa, I’ve got you,” he murmured in that soft tone he used with Morgan, with May, with Tony when they were talking late at night. Tony was going to throw up.

He swallowed convulsively and he tried to even his breathing.

Peter smiled. Then wrenched Tony’s arm again. A hoarse scream clawed up his throat and even that hurt. His eyes watered uncontrollably from the pain.

Looking like a scientist observing a mouse in its cage, Peter reached up and wiped one of his tears away with his thumb, fingers brushing almost tenderly against Tony’s jaw.

Then he raised his thumb to his mouth and licked the tear away. Tony’s nose wrinkled in disgust.

Peter made a sound of appreciation. “You’re afraid. But not for yourself, right?”

Tony eyed the creature in front of him, the one that had taken his kid and used him to wreak havoc and sow destruction in the lives of everyone who knew him. The one that had no intention of letting Peter come out on the other side of this alive and whole. No, he was not afraid for himself.

Peter stepped away, letting Tony stagger backward until he hit the counter, pain still radiating throughout his body.

“Did you know,” Peter said, casually circling to the other side of the island, looking through cupboards as if searching for a snack after school, “that he can smell emotions? Only if they’re particularly strong or he’s really tuned into the person. Like you. That’s how he finds people to help sometimes, he smells their fear. Amazing, isn’t it?”

Peter lingered near the knife block for a long moment, thin fingers dancing over the handles in a reverent manner that made Tony’s stomach clench in anticipatory fear. Then he moved on, peered into the fridge.

“I didn’t know that, when I chose him. It was merely providence.” Peter pulled a carton of orange juice out of the fridge, squinting at the ingredients. After a moment, he wrinkled his nose and dropped it on the floor. Tony heard liquid spatter over the wood and huffed.

“My kind, we are... hungry. Starving. All the time. A bit—” he shot a grin over his shoulder at Tony “—like a teenage boy.”

“If all you needed was a burger run, you could have just said so,” Tony snapped, watching as Peter sniffed the jar of mayonnaise. “So, what, I get a few thousand calories in you and you’re on your way?”

Peter laughed; a familiar snort of amused teenage sass that made Tony’s teeth hurt with how almost-right it sounded. “Not quite,” he murmured. “Some of my kin are satisfied with mere food,” he said with disgust and a cup of yogurt was also carelessly tossed to the ground. “But I require something a little more filling.”

“If you say human flesh I’m gonna spontaneously combust,” Tony warned, his mouth dry.

His injured arm bumped the counter as he shifted his weight and his world briefly whited out. When he opened his eyes again, panting, Peter was suddenly right next to him, eyes fixed on Tony, inhaling deeply. He looked half mad, desperate. Hungry.

“All that feeling and you let it go to waste.” Peter leaned even closer.

“Ok, seriously, back off.” Tony retreated until his heels hit the stairs. He clenched the railing with his good hand.

Peter smiled, a sharp glinting thing and for a moment Tony felt all his animal instincts kick in, half of his brain screaming run and the other half yelling save Peter save him savehimsavehimsavehim. But Peter just turned, meandering toward the sink.

“I’m not a vampire, I’m not going to drink your blood,” Peter said, rolling his eyes. “I eat what you feel. The stronger the emotion, the better.”

He paused in front of the pictures on the shelf.

“Like the anger of a child whose father never loved him,” he murmured, picking up Howard’s picture. Tony grit his teeth as the frame was flicked over Peter’s shoulder, shattering into pieces on the floor. The creature controlling Peter picked up the other frame, the image of Tony and Peter together. The photo that had saved the galaxy.

“Or the grief of a father whose love for his son was stronger than the laws of the universe.” He turned back to Tony.

Tony jumped as the frame was brought crashing down against the marble counter, splintering the wood and tearing the picture as shards of glass exploded outward. A sliver caught Peter on the cheek, cutting him.

It was instinct to reach out to him, to attempt to calm and comfort and protect. Tony didn’t stop himself fast enough.

Peter’s smile suddenly looked much less like Peter, much more like an alien wearing his skin. His laugh echoed off the kitchen walls.

“Imagine your grief when I kill him in front of you. Imagine what it will taste like.”

Goosebumps erupted over Tony’s skin, his heart tripping in fear at the very thought. The memory of ash on his hands, of Peter begging filled his mind and he choked on his next breath. Peter’s grin widened, something feral and foreign.

“Why,” Tony gasped, “Why would you kill him? Don’t you need him?”

“For now,” Peter agreed, casually stepping over the mess on the floor, closer to Tony. “But I’m afraid he’s wearing a bit thin. I’ve almost used him all up.”

Tony’s knees went weak.

“He’s almost too exhausted to fight me, now. Still won’t shut up, though,” he hissed, closing his eyes for a second as if hearing a very loud, unpleasant noise.

“What?” Tony asked, his head spinning. He sat down heavily on the stair behind him. Peter tilted his head, humming.

“You should hear how much he’s screaming.”

“He’s—” Forget throwing up, Tony was going to pass out. “—he’s screaming?”

Peter came closer, a predator stalking his prey. Tony knew he should pull himself together, knew that the thing enjoyed his distress, his pain, but he couldn’t fight the image of Peter, locked inside his own mind, screaming at the parasite controlling him.

“Oh, yes,” Peter murmured, his voice low. “’Not him, please,’ he’s saying. ‘Don’t hurt him, don’t you dare.’ He likes to threaten me. Not very intimidating, but I do admire his creativity.”

“Stop,” Tony whispered.

Peter reached a hand out and seized Tony’s chin, gripping with bruising fingers. Tony stared at him, hatred and love in every cell of his being. He could never hate Peter. He could never forget the way Peter’s face looked as an alien stared down at him, intent on nothing but destroying everything he loved.

“’Please, I’ll do anything,’” the creature continued to narrate. “’I’ll stop fighting. I’ll stop. Don’t kill him.’”

“Peter, no!”

The thing went silent, as if listening to something Tony couldn’t hear. Then he straightened, smiling down at Tony.

“What’s he saying?” Tony asked. “Peter?”

Peter considered him for a moment, glanced around at the cabin around him. “I think we’re done here.”

“What? No,” Tony argued. Peter ignored him, turning and disappearing out the door in the blink of an eye. Mind still trying to catch up, Tony rushed to the door, looking out at the trees and lake. There was no sign of him.

#my writing #I guess #sorry guys I really wish I could have finished all those stories I had planned #but I just really really do not see that happening

38 notes · View notes

quazartranslates · 3 years

Text

Welcome to the Nightmare Game II - CH45

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

-----

Chapter 45: Star Death Reality Show (XXVIII)

His right hand slammed against the emergency close button, and his body rushed out with the instant acceleration from pushing off it. As if Qi Leren had thought about the plan in his mind for a long time, he opened a hand and threw a grenade behind him without looking, sprinted out like an arrow leaving the string, and repeated this old trick when he rounded the corner, throwing down another hand grenade!

Two consecutive explosions shook the corridor like a tottering boat. Qi Leren threw himself to the ground, feeling the turbulent heat flow from the corner and blow his hair into a mess.

He coughed twice on the ground, got up, and ran away again.

Leviathan didn't catch up, and Qi Leren who had already run to the floor where the arsenal was located finally breathed a sigh of relief.

The research institute was huge, and it would take "extraordinary luck" to run into that monster again. However, he didn’t know whether Leviathan had a sensitive sense of smell... Qi Leren looked back, and the world was immersed in a bright silence. This kind of terror hidden under the light was frightening.

He Yi had been parasitized by Leviathan, who was obviously Su He’s doing. He himself had said that he’d released the dangerous creature in the underground glacier. The octopus was similar to the alien queen in Aliens, much more difficult to deal with than the ordinary octopuses. What's more, it also had human intelligence... Hey, why did you listen attentively to He Yi just now and forget to smash his head?

Qi Leren walked on, and when he came to the corridor where the arsenal was located, he saw at a glance that Dr. Lu was poking around.

"Ah! Qi Leren! You’re still alive!" Dr. Lu excitedly ran out, "How is it on your side? Have you seen Su He?"

"Have you met Du Yue?" Qi Leren asked.

Du Yue also ran out of the arsenal and took Qi Leren's arm: "Qianbei! I thought you were going to die! Thank god! You can't die!"

Hey, what did this kid say? Qi Leren lamented Du Yue, who was too agitated and incoherent, and patted him on the shoulder in comfort.

"Why is that guy so stalker-ish?" Dr. Lu muttered with a bitter expression.

Qi Leren said with a straight face: "He can hear you."

Dr. Lu's face went white with fear, staring at him, looking overwhelmed.

"I’m just scaring you, he should be gone." Qi Leren pondered that Su He seemed to have too much free time. He was acting as both a prison guard and a Devil, and he also had a lot of beautiful subordinates. No matter how much he divided his time, he couldn’t do everything. He shouldn’t be idle enough to come here to peep at how a group of wannabes did in their task.

Dr. Lu was relieved and complained, "Don't scare me all the time."

Only Du Yue, who had never seen Su He, wondered: "Who is Su He?"

Dr. Lu quickly waved his hand: "A super terrible Devil, who is cruel, cunning, and ruthless, the worst in the universe! Your qianbei was killed by him before, and his death was miserable. You could say he’s a freak!"

Du Yue was taken aback: "So bad…"

Qi Leren, who had died miserably: "........"

"Yes, your qianbei's boyfriend is grief-stricken, and he’s still wandering the world, unaware that he’s still alive."

Du Yue was dumbfounded again: "Ah, my qianbei has a boyfriend? Isn't it a beautiful woman? Qianbei said that she was particularly beautiful!"

Dr. Lu looked at Qi Leren silently. Qi Leren, who had once talked with this youth about first loves while they were watching Annie, coughed twice: "Don't talk about this now, I have something very important to say: in the glancer beneath the institute..."

Forcibly changing the subject was successful. Qi Leren locked the door of the arsenal, briefly explained the previous events, and skipped a lot of things. He only told the two people about Su He's saying that he had released Leviathan from the underground glacier, and told them about his previous fight with the monster.

"We need a temperature below minus forty degrees? Awesome, our temperature regulating clothes only guarantee that we won't lose heat in environments above minus 30 degrees. Once the temperature drops below minus 30, we won't last long, and even worse when it reaches minus 40. If you cool down that much, you may as well sign your will. To tell the truth, it's quite amazing that you can still insist on not wearing gloves..." Dr. Lu looked at Qi Leren's bare hands and then at his own hands in thick gloves and couldn't help showing envious eyes.

Qi Leren moved his fingers. Although he was cold, he wasn’t frozen. He had good resistance to cold now, otherwise he probably wouldn’t have escaped just now.

"I can't think of a way to deal with it now." Qi Leren walked around the arsenal to find the weapons he needed. "Shall we set a trap and blow it up here?"

"You can try, but if there’s an explosion in the arsenal...……S/L Data can't save you from the fire after the explosion," Dr. Lu worried.

There were indeed difficulties. There were too many explosives in the arsenal. If the explosion lasted for several seconds, even if he saved here, the resurrected Qi Leren would still be blown to pieces.

"What should we do then?" Du Yue looked sad.

Qi Leren was also depressed, and he had to worry about another question: "How much private time do you have left?"

"This is reset at 8:00 every morning...I only have half an hour left." Dr. Lu was even more sad.

"Me too." Du Yue was also worried.

Qi Leren looked at his privacy time that was less than half an hour, which was also a headache.

After the privacy time ran out, the invisible camera that followed him would ignore his instructions and shoot him from 360 degrees without any privacy. In this way, he could neither use unscientific skill cards indiscriminately nor discuss things with Dr. Lu.

If only this thing had been blown up when Mark blasted it with a rocket launcher... Unfortunately, he had used the "Prophet's Heart" at that time and he was unscathed. Sadly, even the camera was preserved.

"Where are the others?" Qi Leren asked Du Yue.

"They ran away, and then I only met Dr. Lu," Du Yue said sullenly.

"Don't worry about them, you can't stop them from dying." Dr. Lu squatted on the ground heartlessly. "Think about how to get home alive first. By now, this task is definitely not C-level. We might say there is also an A. This Leviathan looks much more difficult than the crazy lady of B-level. "

Of course, Qi Leren thought. This Leviathan was released by Su He in order to force him to level up. However, now he didn't even know what the principle of a half-field was, because his teacher Chen Baiqi hadn't expected him, a loser student, to break his shell. In her prediction, this wouldn't happen for a long time.

The plan couldn’t keep up with the changes

"Let’s think about it again... This amphioctopus is intelligent, strong defensively, fast, and aggressive... I’m afraid it’s also very strong, and ordinary weapons can't handle it. I’ll try the rocket launcher next time." Qi Leren was also very worried about this weapon that he had never used before. There was no instruction manual for weapons here, and Chen Baiqi had never taught him how to use it.

Dr. Lu and Du Yue looked at him with eyes full of doubts.

Qi Leren coughed: "Let’s think of another plan, I don't think this is foolproof."

Qi Leren’s biggest reliance was the Prophet's Heart given to him by the Prophet, but the cooldown time of this item was as long as 24 hours. To try to wait for this to finish its cooldown, Qi Leren didn't think they could spend 20 hours safely.

Then what else can I do...

Glacier.

Underground glacier.

This word jumped into Qi Leren's mind without warning, and he suddenly remembered what He Yi had said before he died: "...Even if it’s frozen in the extremely cold environment of minus 40 degrees, it will not die, but will only go to sleep. It’s like the amphioctopuses’ soldier ant, and its fighting capacity far exceeds that of the workers. Leviathan is different from the ordinary octopuses. As long as it senses the approach of living creatures, it will be forcibly thawed..."

He Yi wanted to express the danger of Leviathan, but if you thought about it carefully, wasn't this its weakness?

40 degrees below zero wouldn’t kill it, but it would go to sleep. If he could lead it back to the underground glacier and then escape quickly, so that Leviathan, that couldn't sense the biological atmosphere around it, went to sleep, then he could wait for the Prophet's Heart to cool down before going back and killing it.

The more he thought about it, the more he felt that this may be the only way.

"I have an idea," Qi Leren said into the silence. "The danger of confronting it is too great. My idea is that I’ll lure it into the underground glacier and let it return to its dormant state again."

Then Qi Leren explained his reasons, and discussed specific measures with Dr. Lu and Du Yue. The biggest problem was that Leviathan has intelligence, and it was difficult to set traps for it.

"We haven't been to the underground glacier. I don't know what the terrain is like. If it’s an underground crevasse or a huge underground lake, even you will be in danger. Why don't we try the laser corridor, surely it isn’t stronger than steel plates?" Dr. Lu also had an idea.

Du Yue nodded at the side: "Yes qianbei, it’s too dangerous for you to lure it to the underground glacier."

"He Yi knew about the laser corridor, and that I can pass through it. It would be difficult to lead it into that trap... But it reminds me that we need to find the others. After making sure that they haven’t been infected by the octopuses, I want to send them out of the research institute first, and then re-seal the basement of Annie's house. If they’re running around here, they could easily be killed by Leviathan," Qi Leren said.

The corner of Dr. Lu’s mouth twitched: "I think they aren’t already done for."

It was hard for Qi Leren to refute.

"But if you want to lure it to the underground glacier, will it be fooled?" Du Yue asked.

Qi Leren tried to maintain a strong smile: "Yes."

Only on this point, Qi Leren had full confidence. He would be able to taunt the monster’s ire towards him. As long as the laser corridor trap wasn’t in front of it, this monster would be like the most loyal boyfriend, only watching him in a crowd, abandoning all temptations and running towards him.

The two EX lucks, Dr. Lu and Du Yue, were just like wild flowers and weeds on the roadside, which were ignored by this single-minded monster.

This kind of thing had happened so many times that Qi Leren was used to it.

Time passed by, and there was only ten minutes left in Qi Leren's privacy time. The three people discussed how to explain it to the audience later, and unanimously recommended that Dr. Lu pretend to be the anchor, so that he could think of his lines quickly.

Dr. Lu wore a tearful expression as he auditioned:

Ladies and gentlemen of the audience, I have bad news. Just now, XXX went crazy, together with XXXX. Then they were all killed by Qi Leren and God. This god-like Qi Leren is neither a special soldier of the military nor an interstellar mercenary. Please believe that he is just an actor... Oh no, a lead singer of a tone-deaf band. Next, the lead singer of the strongest band in history is going to fight the boss. Please look forward to it.

"You really seem like a default actor. Come on, is this filming?" Anchor Lu said with disgust.

The heavy-hearted Qi Leren was not in the mood to make jokes and rolled his eyes.

He didn't want to waste any more time, so he could quickly took care of Leviathan and then set off for Ning Zhou in Purgatory.

Qi Leren pondered it. He could only use Save/Load now. Secretly Observing and Rain Day Laundry were cooling down alongside Prophet’s Heart. There were still Pleasing Rations left, but according to his experience, this monster was not in the range of creatures that could be bought off.

Then there were these weapons. Qi Leren picked up a rocket launcher and weighed it on his shoulder. Dr. Lu opened his mouth and said, "Wow, have you used that?"

"No, but I was shot at with one and hit straight on," Qi Leren said.

Dr. Lu looked at him with an expression of "I know you’re acting, but for the sake of friendship, I will barely cooperate with you." Only Du Yue, who was stupid, sincerely praised: "Qianbei is so powerful!"

Qi Leren glanced at the time. It was the early morning of the fifth day. Let's make it quick.

Dr. Lu considered his physical condition and suggested that Qi Leren rest for a few hours to refresh himself. Anyway, the door to the weapons room had been locked by him, so there was no need to worry about Leviathan breaking in.

In the past, Qi Leren might have thought about it, but now he was full of thoughts about Ning Zhou and refused this proposal.

Dr. Lu sighed: "Well, suit yourself. In fact, I’ve thought about waiting in this arsenal until the army arrives and rescues me. Either way, it can't get in."

Qi Leren was not so optimistic. The monster would come up with a way to break into the room sooner or later. Here, he could only wait to die, and...

Suddenly there was a slight noise above his head, as if something was crawling in a pipe. The three men looked up and looked at the metal ceiling above their heads, and fell into a strange silence.

Qi Leren suddenly thought of a problem.

The air of this large underground research institute was unexpectedly clean, and there was no staleness of air being trapped. Its exhaust facilities were obviously operational.

Qi Leren's eyes turned to the vents in the corner of the ceiling. There was a metal shutter one meter square. It seemed that the sound of something crawling had come from there!

-----

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

24 notes · View notes