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somesecretpie · 29 days

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Weather Woman (Short Story)

Forty-seven dead. Bodies near unrecognizable. An eyewitness, Ms. Self, said the weather was to blame but Susan knew it was anything but that. This was homicide. Divine intervention.

“My poor poor little pansies,” she said, peering over their wilted corpses. It had officially been a whole year since Susan’s county had any rainfall. Several months ago, the town began issuing fines to anyone who dared to water their lawn. Susan did not find this to be much of an issue—she continued to keep her garden green as suburbia withered and died around her, until she ran into a small problem.

Susan ran out of money.

From all the fines she was paying.

She reentered her home, morning paper in one hand, and her weekly subscription to “Martha Stewart Living” in the other. Her house was a wondrous temple of correct furniture and appropriate color palettes, bowls of plastic fruit at the center of each faux-mahogany table. Photographs of a happy family arranged in a symmetrical pattern (Not her own, though; they were stock images.) She would have absolute perfection, were it not for that scorched eyesore that marked her entryway garden.

Susan poured her morning coffee, popped a bagel in the toaster, and turned on the weather channel for her district. That was the only thing she watched now: The weather. Mr. John Sunday in front of his green screen, with his little yellow bowtie, and his eyes the color of the unchanging sky. He looked quite unremarkable for a man that disseminated such important information to the public, but looks can be deceiving. One does not look at a perfect egg and see themselves contracting salmonella.

“Please, John, some rain for my pansies,” Susan whispered into her morning coffee. She turned up the volume and his pleasant voice filled the living room.

“Good morning, Marin County! It’s gonna be nothing but blue skies this week. Perfect weather for going on a nice long walk. And enjoying all that mother nature has to offer—“

Susan threw her bagel at the television in a fit of anger. Then promptly cleaned it off the floor and swept it into the wastebin.

What did she do to deserve these never-ending blue skies? I’m a nice woman, aren’t I? she lamented. Don’t I deserve purple pansies? Don’t I deserve a little rain?

There was something malicious and secret behind John’s blue eyes. Something he knew that she did not. She could not bear to look at them!

She shut off the TV.

Her heart beat madly in her chest. What ever would Susan do? Refill her bed of flowers with desert cacti and succulents? No, wrong color palette. Take out a loan to continue watering her plants? Now that would be ridiculous…

The weather was to blame—but Susan had a poor understanding of it. What went on up there in the sky? Who, exactly, could she send a strongly worded email to?

That same morning, Susan Kelvin decided she would take out a loan after all, but not to water her plants. Instead, she would go back to her local community college to study meteorology. She was quite sure that most of her coursework was merely propaganda from Big Weather, but she needed that associate's degree so she could learn that secret that lurked behind the eyes of Mr. John Sunday. So she could join his ranks. So she could become a Weather Woman.

Susan applied to the local television network with high hopes. The fate of her future rested on their acceptance. She snuggled into bed that same night of her application and dreamed of fresh purple pansies dotting the corners of her deep green lawn. But...something was terribly wrong!

Susan gasped for breath and opened her eyes. Strong hands grasped her arms, the fabric of a bag over her face—she was being kidnapped! Oh this is going to work horribly with my schedule! thought Susan. She began to protest but a harsh voice shushed her to silence. She was shoved into a car.

After an hour or so of stumbling around, the bag was lifted, and Susan blinked rapidly. She was in a musty room lit by candles. Deactivated cameras hung on racks against the wall, and a circle of sharply dressed bodies surrounded her, their shadows bending and stretching in the flickering light.

“Welcome,” someone said. “You have been called before our chapter because of your personal obsession with the weather. And from our understanding, your qualifications may permit that obsession to become...something more.”

Susan struggled to get her bearings. In front of her was, if she was not mistaken, sliced tofu arranged into an occult symbol.

“Your name is Susan Kelvin and you have a degree in meteorology from Marin County Community College, is this correct?”

“Yes,” Susan confirmed.

“You live alone, your parents are deceased, and you have no friends or loved ones. Is this also correct?”

“Who are you people?”

Susan then noticed that she recognized the woman sitting on her left—it was Ms. Rivers from channel eight. A proper weatherwoman, straightened and carefully sculpted black hair, with a stormy gray pantsuit that tastefully contrasted against her dark complexion. And to her right was that weatherman from channel seven what’s-his-face (his appearance was not noteworthy). And at the very front, at the head of the body of bodies, the man who had been speaking to her was none other than Mr. John Sunday in his yellow bow tie.

“What interest do you have in becoming a Weather Woman, Ms. Susan Kelvin?”

“I…um…”

They waited patiently for her answer. It suddenly occurred to Susan that this was probably a job interview. She straightened her back and folded her hands in front of her.

“I believe I could bring a lot of value and a unique perspective to the weather conversation,” Susan said. “It has affected me personally…My district hasn’t had any rain in over a month.”

“I’m sorry,” John said. “That must be terrible for you.”

“What are you apologizing for? You can’t control the weather.”

John Sunday leaned forward, and his blue eyes flashed a deep dark red. “Oh but we can.”

“Can what?”

“We control the weather, Susan.”

Susan narrowed her eyes. “That is completely absurd. You’re all a bunch of wierdo people who kidnapped me and I’m...I’m going to tell the authorities!”

“No one will believe you,” whispered Rivers.

Susan glared at everyone, but the weather people held still, not a trace of doubt of their ability. But surely the truth about the weather would not be so…uncomplicated. Surely the unseen forces that murdered her flowers would not have human faces.

“I don’t believe you,” Susan said plainly. “But I do need this job so that I can pay off my student loans–”

“The forecasters bear a burden.” John ignored her question. The speech was likely rehearsed. “To be a forecaster is self-sacrifice! To be a forecaster is to be a champion of the greater good! Does that describe you, Susan Kelvin?”

She hesitated.

Champion is rather vague. It can have multiple meanings.

She thought of her beautifully decorated house.

Oh, but I am certainly good.

She thought of her neighbors and their inferior sense of style.

And I am certainly greater!

Slowly, Susan nodded her head.

The weather people muttered amongst themselves enthusiastically, like children, until silenced by John.

“Excellent,” he said. “Very good. Then, on behalf of the California chapter of forecasters, the masters of the weather, we welcome you. Thank you, Great Mother.”

“Thank you, Great Mother.” the weatherpeople said in tandem.

Someone clapped twice, and the overhead lamps blasted light everywhere.

“You’ll be shadowing Rivers tomorrow at eight. Look sharp,” John said dramatically, but without the candlelight defining his cheekbones, it was quite hard to take him seriously.

The next day, Susan arrived at exactly eight o’ clock, wearing her best suit, and hair pulled back in a tight bun. She found Rivers, on set, eating conservatively from a bag of soynuts.

“Oh hey! It’s you,” the weatherwoman said. “Sorry about all that cult stuff. John can be so dramatic.”

Susan smiled in relief, but quickly hid it away. “That is an understatement,” she muttered. “Will there be any more kidnappings?”

“Only for your monthly status report,” she said, “But give me your number and I can text you before it happens.”

Susan did so hesitantly, and kept staring at her phone after the fact. She had one whole contact now. How quaint.

That day, Susan was supposed to examine the cue cards, inspect the camera crews, and stare intently at the weatherwoman, noting every minute thing she did. Rivers delivered her forecast with a smile. Blue skies again.

“That’s disappointing,” Susan said to her over lunch. “I was hoping for some rain in my district.”

“John already has the weather planned out for the next few weeks,” Rivers said stiffly. “So sorry.”

Susan did not laugh. “This again? Tell me you do not believe this “controlling the weather” nonsense! You are not wizards!”

“Did you not see our occult symbols?”

Susan swatted at the air. “Meaningless shapes.”

“And what about John’s flashing red eyes?”

Susan’s voice lowered to a whisper, “Now, I don’t know about that…But he should see a medical professional.”

Rivers rolled her eyes and left to prepare for her evening forecast. When it was done and there were no more cue cards to read from, she very quickly told the audience, in a joking manner, that there would be isolated showers over their recording studio from exactly five fifty PM to five fifty one PM. She then strut off the stage with a smirk.

“Well, that’s an oddly specific forecast—“

The weather woman grabbed her by the wrist and led her all the way to the back-door exit with the recycling and the parking lot.

“Check your phone,” Rivers said.

Susan did not see why she should, there would be no messages. This was because she only had one contact, you see. But as she held her phone in her hand, a large raindrop splattered on the screen. Then another. And now rain was pouring from the sky, dripping down her hair and suit. Susan’s jaw dropped. She had not felt rain in so long. It was five-fifty. And by five fifty-one, the clouds departed as if swept away by a large broom. The sunlight stung her face.

Rivers smiled at her.

So they really did control the weather.

This revelation posed a great many questions. Like, why did the public not know about this? And why did the weathercasters have these powers? And why had Susan studied for two years to become a meteorologist when she could just pulled forecasts out of her asshole? Susan frowned. Now that she thought about it, it was rather odd that her meterology courses mostly consisted of specifications for ritual sacrifice and obedience lessons. Susan had simply thought it was “one of those things” about academia.

“Well, Rivers…”

“Yes, Susan?”

“I suppose this whole “forecasting” thing is...it’s fun, isn’t it?”

“Fun doesn’t do it justice!” Rivers said, through a handful of soynuts. “Just knowing how much power there is behind your every word. So long the camera is rolling, there is nothing stopping you from doing anything you damn well please!” Rivers laughed heartily, but kept her eyes trained on Susan. “Except your conscience, of course!”

“Oh, yes,” Susan said. “Ha ha!”

Fun doesn’t do it justice…It had been a while since Susan Kelvin had fun. She tried to remember when that was.

Oh, yes, of course!

It had been two weeks ago. Susan had just gotten home from work after a rough day, shoulders drooping, hair ruffled, when she looked down on her front porch and saw a beetle. The bug was turned on its back, legs flailing weakly in the air. There was nothing nearby for grasping, nothing but hot sunburned concrete. This bug had no way of righting itself yet it struggled still. Susan sat down and watched this bug. She watched it until it stopped moving. Until it returned to its natural state. Nonexistence. That had been fun, Susan remembered fondly. I am eager to have fun again.

After two days of shadowing Rivers, Susan was given her own partition of airtime over her district and a weekly forecast by her fellow weatherpeople. She delivered the forecast exactly as instructed. Blue skies.

“Pretty good for a first-time,” Rivers said. “Although, you were a bit stiff. Trying showing more emotion, more body language, you know?” She placed her fingers on her own cheekbones, pressing them upward. “Remember to smile.”

Susan didn’t know why she hadn’t. Perhaps she wasn’t having fun yet. She spent the rest of that evening practicing smiling in the mirror. She read Martha Stewart, baked a five-cheese lasagna exactly per the instructions, and smiled upon removing it from the oven like Martha Stewart did in the picture. She smiled until she did it without thinking, baring her teeth even in bed, as she dreamed of purple pansies.

The next day, she delivered her forecast so well that even John himself gave her a flamboyant “Well done!” And Susan smiled at them as they congratulated her—but still she was not having fun.

All this power and I never get to do anything worthwhile. Susan sighed. I could fix my front lawn if only John would let me.

Later at the meeting, Susan tried to articulate her feelings.

“We could be doing so much more, John. We could be helping the needy, like those poor people of Marin County who’s front lawns have been destroyed by the California heat!”

The weather people muttered undecidedly. Susan recognized her experiences were not universal, and acted accordingly, “Or what about people affected by hurricanes! Or wildfires, droughts, what about them, John! All those poor people we could help with our power—“

“Our power is a gift, you fool!” John snapped.

Susan raised an eyebrow. “A gift?”

“From Zietzebala,” said Rivers. “Our Great Mother Earth. She has gifted us with this forecasting power in exchange for our obedience as well as a few…sacrifices.”

“Ah.” Susan looked down. “And I suppose they have to be virgins too, don’t they. I’m still friends on facebook with a lot of men I went to highschool with who are probably–”

“No! Dammit, no! I meant, like, recycle. Plant a tree!” John looked exasperated. “Sometimes we sacrifice a tofurky, but we’ve never really gone farther than that.”

“Maybe we should,” muttered Rivers.

John turned sharply to look at her. “Don’t think I don’t know about that little stunt you pulled yesterday,” he said with a voice like acid. “Isolated showers? Over our studio? You know how important the schedule is–”

“I’m sorry.” Rivers said. She did not appear sorry. “It will not happen again.”

“It had better not.”

John left the room in a huff.

Once he was safely out of earshot, Susan asked “What did you mean by that?”

Rivers sighed. “I know what you mean about wanting to help. About all the good we could do. Climate change has already killed millions…and the death toll will continue to rise.”

Susan thought of her dead flowers and trembled.

“Don’t feel bad, Rivers,” she said. “It’s not your fault.”

“No but it is literally our fault we control the weather Susan.“

“Oh right.”

Susan had forgotten.

Rivers began crushing the snacks in her hand. “The horrible thing is–I could fix it all. I have an incredibly detailed plan to fix the environment that, when I placed it on the alter to Zietzebala, turned into a swarm of doves! So I know she approves!”

Rivers glared. “But her pact is with John. And John has a bad heart.”

Susan nodded. “Truly a wicked man.”

“No, he literally has a bad heart. Arrhythmia.” Rivers hit twice against her chest. “I’m next in line for leadership if ever something terrible happens to him, just so you know.” She looked askance, placing her hand on Susan’s. “Do with that information what you will, Susan.”

Several things flashed through her mind at once. She saw Rivers dressed in the fanciful robes of climate cult leader. Rivers telling her how beautiful her lawn was. River’s soft, well-manicured hands holding hers, not just now, but over and over again in the future. Rivers could be more than her singular phone contact. Susan’s cheeks grew hot and she withdrew.

“Susan?”

She collected herself, pouring another class of ceremonial non-alcoholic wine. She raised it in a toast. “Here’s to hoping John drops dead!”

Rivers laughed, “Oh Susan, you’re so funny.”

Ms. Susan Kelvin squeezed her incredibly soft hand. “And when you’re head forecaster, you’ll give my district some water, won’t you? Because we are…coworkers?”

Ms. Rivers seemed confused for a half-second, then replied. “Of course! We will help everyone, which includes you!”

“But not me specifically?”

“Not you specifically, no.”

“Oh.”

Susan looked away.

Rivers offered her a soynut, but Susan refused it.

***

Next morning, Susan awoke with a start. She had a good feeling about today, that good feeling had apparently kicked her out of bed at an hour earlier than usual. What to do with the spare time?

She clapped her hands together. I know! I will go out for breakfast!

So Susan drove her little car down to her neighborhood Denny’s, avoiding all the dead beetles in the parking lot with her new high heels. She squeezed herself into a cozy booth. A nice table all to herself.

A waitress approached.

“Brown toast, and two eggs please.”

“Will that be sunny-side up, ma’am?”

“No no,” Susan turned from the window. Blue skies. With a twinge of bitterness she clarified, “I like my eggs over easy.”

“Sure thing!” The waitress jotted it down. “Sorry for assuming, most people like ‘em sunny—.”

“Well I like them over easy,” Susan said with a smile.

Susan tapped her heel as she waited, sipping some lemon water. A tingling feeling ran up her leg, like a bug was crawling. She quickly ran her hand up and down her smooth leg, but it was nothing. Nothing.

Moments later a steaming hot plate arrived. The toast was cut into triangles (the only adequate shape), but the eggs. Oh, the eggs. They were sunny. Side. UP.

Susan stormed out of the establishment without paying, and sped to her job, positively seething.

She did her broadcast as normal, except for one teensy addition as follows:

“Lastly, you’ll be seeing a horrific category five hurricane over in Marin county with wind speeds of about one hundred twenty miles an hour. It will be localized entirely within this area.” Susan pointed with her pointing stick to the map, on which she’d drawn a red circle around that one particular Denny’s.” Susan smiled. “That will be all!”

They cut to commercial break.

No one approached Susan for a full five minutes. Then John appeared, apparently having powerwalked from the adjoining broadcast room.

“Susan, what the hell–”

“It was a joke!”

John looked flabbergasted.

Susan made a silly face.

“A…joke?”

“Yes.”

He shook his head. “Susan…you need to be really fucking careful with “jokes” when you’re on camera…You’re not in training anymore. Everything you say will happen no matter how ridiculous.”

Susan smiled slightly. That was exactly what she hoped.

John put a firm hand on her shoulder. “Look here, when the commercial ends, you are going to tell everyone that was a “joke”. You are going to tell everyone that there will be no category five hurricane at that particular Denny’s. Okay?”

“Okay, John.”

He backed away as the camera man counted down. Susan straightened her collar.

“Good evening, Citizens of Marin county. I have something to tell you all about that Category Five hurricane I mentioned earlier.”

Susan thought about reversing her decision. But why should she? That Denny’s had tried to poison her. She was doing God’s work.

She cleared her throat. “That hurricane is going to have hail. So so much hail.” John was pulling at his hair.

“And that’s not all. Susan looked directly at the camera, “Mr. John Sunday is going to die at exactly six forty-seven PM, and nothing that anyone does, not any doctor, not any ambulance, not any priest will be able to stop it.”

John Sunday ran onto the set, jumping over the rolling chairs and camera crew, reaching for her microphone.

“And the power to this station will go off NOW.”

Darkness fell. Susan tried to run, but John tackled her to the ground. He pulled the microphone from her face and shouted into it, “No! No that will not happen, actually, that will not happen. Susan is wrong!”

But the cameras were not running.

“You’re too late, John.”

John clutched his face.

“What time is it?”

It was six forty-six.

There was terror in his eyes, “That wasn’t even weather related!” he stammered. “You will be fired for this!”

“Who is going to fire me, John?”

John took out his cellphone with a shaking hand and dialed 911. Susan heard it ringing, a steady pulse in his hand. But what John really needed was a steady pulse in his heart. He fell over in agony, and Susan bent over his writhing body. She watched until it stopped. Until it returned to it’s natural state. Nonexistence. Now she was having fun. Susan took his yellow bow tie (it was a clip-on.)

She ran through the crowd of concerned onlookers, off to her car to beat the rush-hour traffic. She heard sirens in the distance, a wailing chorus. Approaching. She clutched the wheel until her knuckles turned white.

Susan saw the siren was that of an ambulance and sighed. Pity that it wouldn’t help anything. What was done was done.

That night, Susan made tea before sleeping, listening to the soft rain against her window as it cooled, with one of Martha Stewart's Living magazines resting on her lap. It was all very calming. She tucked herself into bed at exactly nine-thirty, as she did every night, and slept as she had always slept.

But in her dreams, something was wrong.

Something was terribly wrong.

Susan always dreamed about being in her house, but now she was on a pedestal. On all sides of her, a dark abyss stretched down into infinity.

Instead of her carpet, the ground was teeming with worms.

Instead of the whistling of her teakettle, she heard an ominous wind, delivering muffled shrieks and cries.

Susan tapped her foot on the wormy ground. Well, this is boring! she thought.

But no sooner did her mind form that thought than the wind began to pick up.

Howling now.

And from the sky of inclement weather came a flash of blinding lightning. Susan opened her eyes and who should stand before her but...

“Martha Stewart!” Susan struggled to speak. “I am your biggest fan, I’ve—I’ve read every issue of your magazine, I read your blog—I try so hard to be just like you!”

The woman answered in a booming voice that was far too deep, “But you are not like me, Susan. You are a hollow vessel. You are a parody of human being.”

“You’re not...really Martha Stewart, are you?”

The woman bared her teeth. “I’m afraid not. I am merely taking a form that you can understand.”

Susan had a feeling she knew who it was. “Are you... Great Mother?”

“The one and only!” Zietzebala winked.

Susan looked her up and down. That dress was actually quite unfashionable now that she really looked at it. In hindsight it was obvious this was not Martha Stewart. Susan sighed soberly. Yes, not even a literal goddess can replicate such perfection.

Susan spoke to her in her usual condescending manner. “Why have you come to me like this...in a dream?”

“Isn’t it obvious why I’m here?” Not-Martha-Stewart said softly. “John Sunday is dead.”

Susan began to sweat. She adjusted her bow tie—no that was John’s bow tie, now she had drawn attention to it!

With the intention of discreteness, and complete failure of that which was intended, Susan removed the article and hurled it into the abyss. Not even a full second later, the bow tie had reappeared.

Again, Susan tossed it.

Again, it reappeared.

Again, she tossed it.

Bow tie back again!

Again, she tossed it—

“This is who you are now, Susan!” shouted Zietzebala. Crackling thunder leapt from her perfect face-framing bob-cut of yellow hair. “This is your burden.”

But the yellow of the bow tie didn’t even go with the current color palette of her outfit! Susan stood helplessly, in her persistently unfashionable clothing, staring into the eyes of this unearthly creature. And for the first time in her perfect life, Susan feared for her immortal soul.

“Great Mother, I am so sorry,” she said tearfully, “But you must let me explain myself! He was preventing me from doing my job as a forecaster, so I had to kill him. I had to!”

Not-Martha-Stewart's eyes flashed red. “Don’t take all the credit, my child. I killed him. You merely allowed me to.”

Susan stopped pretending to look upset. “Oh. So we are on the same page?”

“Not exactly.”

The Great Mother began to circle her, her high heels striking the writhing ground. “John is dead because he thought he could worship two gods at once.”

“He cheated on you?”

“With money.” Zietzebala shook her head. “John was too soft, much like the tofu he insists on sending me…He was unwilling to make the sacrifices I demand. But are you?”

The goddess was getting too close for comfort.

“That…depends…what they are?”

“I want blood, Susan.”

She had figured.

“Rivers has a two hundred page plan on how to save the environment. You are instrumental to that plan, Susan Kelvin. Because you are unlike any human I have ever known.” Her eyes glimmered like starlight. “You are…completely empty.”

Susan frowned. She felt strange. She felt used.

“I must go now–”

“Wait,” Susan stopped her. “While you’re here, can I ask you some questions about the nature of the universe? I’ve had a sudden stroke of curiosity.”

Zietzebala sighed. “Ok. I’ll give you three.”

“Objectively speaking, is the “Farmhouse style” or “Riverside cottage” style superior for a home kitchen?”

“That depends on the context, Susan.”

“Why are all the flowers in the magazines prettier than mine?”

“Because of the drought, Susan.”

She paused. Her last question…What shall it be?

After putting some thought into it, Susan decided to ask, “Is there life after death?”

Zietzebala smirked playfully. “Oh, I think you already know the answer.”

“Do I?”

“Haven't you ever thought there was a bug on your leg, and upon looking, found there was no bug?”

Susan squinted. “What of it?”

The Goddess leaned in closely. “Ghost bugs.”

Susan shuddered, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling. Susan grabbed onto the front of the goddess’s coat.

“Wait, I have one more question.”

“I said I’d give you three.”

“Please, just one more!” Susan demanded. “Are there other gods?”

“You already know the answer.”

Susan scoffed. “I’m…not sure that I do!”

Zietzebala turned from her, staring into the abyss. “It is time for you to wake up, Susan. Remember all that I have told you. Collaborate with Rivers. Eliminate everyone she tells you to.”

“What?”

“Be the good that Martha Stewart wants you to be–or there will be consequences!”

With that, she clapped twice and disappeared in a puff of smoke that smelled like cedar and pumpkin-scented candles.

Susan sat up from her bed abruptly and jerked her head to the side. Six o’ clock. I must get ready for work!

Susan hurriedly bread her hands, popped her soap in the toaster, ironed the carpet, and tore down Main Street. In her urgency, she went two miles above the speed limit.

Seeds of doubts sprouted worries in her mind. Do I really have what it takes to be an eco-terrorist? Susan fancied herself the very image of perfection. Was she not? She who kept her lawn so neatly trimmed? Who’s china was so neatly kept? Susan breathed rapidly. She who ravaged a Denny’s…

Destruction.

Peace.

Order.

Susan whirled into the parking lot of the recording studio, blew past everyone without a word, avoiding inquisitive eyes, avoiding accusatory fingers, planting her ass firmly in her little red rolling chair. She took a deep breath. Be the good…that Martha Stewart wants you to be.

Rivers ran up on stage, grabbed Susan’s face and kissed her passionately. Susan stumbled backwards, bracing herself against the desk. This was NOT an appropriate workplace activity. But Susan could not help herself. She returned the expression, kissing Rivers hungrily, barely noticing the notecards that had been pressed into her hand.

“We’re on in five!”

Rivers pulled away and Susan gasped for breath. “Read these exactly as they are written Susan,�� Rivers said.

Susan dared not look down at the paper in her hand. What horrible dreadful things would be written on them?

Television static buzzed in her head. Someone was counting down.

The cameras trained on her.

“Now we will go live to Susan Kelvin with the weather!” The news reporter eyed Susan from her screen. “And I see you are wearing John Sunday’s signature yellow bow tie.”

Susan leaned forward slowly.

“That I am, Fiona. I have worn it to pay my respects—God rest his soul.”

“It’s kind of weird that you were able to forecast his death in such perfect detail.”

Susan paused.

“Yes well…he had a heart condition. So it was only a matter of time really.

“Of course.”

Susan exhaled deeply, and looked down.

Written on the notecards were not the names of oil barons to kill. Not golf courses to destroy. Not death, not destruction. Written on the card was simply the words “rain for everyone”

The television static grew purple.

Rain for everyone.

It was insulting.

“...Susan?”

Her eyes met Rivers. She was grinning ear to ear.

Rain for everyone.

Susan’s whole body shook as she began to deliver her forecast, “A cloud… will appear.”

The room melted away, only Rivers remained.

“Right over my house. A cloud will appear and it will rain. And it will never stop raining.”

Rivers smile twisted into a look of abject horror.

“And my pansies will respond to the rain. They will be the brightest purple. They will be the envy of all you disgusting animals.” Susan hadn’t noticed but she was screaming every word.

The ground beneath the recording studio quaked from thunder. The contract had been broken, wrath was eminent.

“I AM NOT EMPTY! I AM FULL OF PANSIES! I AM FULL OF RAIN.”

Flowers began sprouting from Susan’s ears, nose and eyes. Water poured from her mouth onto the floor. Choking on rain, Susan finished her forecast.

“And that…just about…wraps it up. Ba–ck…to you!”

A bolt of lightning shot down from the heavens, miraculously cutting through the walls of the recording studio, striking Susan. She fell from the stage. Shortly after, more bolts came and the recording studio violently burst into flames.

Forty-seven dead. Bodies near unrecognizable. Eyewitnesses said that the weather was to blame but Ms. Rivers knew that it was anything but that. Homicide. Divine intervention.

Rivers stood alone in the parking lot, charred bow tie in one hand, and in the other, a flash drive full of files full of lies for the goddess of earth. The only god. “Damn you.” Her fingers closed around the yellow cloth.

Rain fell in sheets from the sky above Susan Kelvin's house, with no sign of stopping. Her pansy grew taller than cornstalks, stretching upwards, garishly purple. But Susan would never see them. Susan Kelvin was gone.

Though, some say that on hot summer days when the sky is endless blue, at the back of your neighborhood Denny’s, you can feel her.

Crawling on your leg.

#This is my first short story I've posted to Tumblr!#It's like that one episode of the Fairly Oddparents but if it was more gay and political #It has lesbians and Denny's in it but I swear that was an accident I am not pandering #hope you like it #short story #short fiction #writers on tumblr #writeblr #writing #weather woman

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kaeyahiya · 1 year

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"Unrequited Enemies" (NSFW)

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Pairing: Ayato x Female Reader

Warnings: NSFW/Explicit content, use of y/n if that bothers you,use of feminine parts, enemies to lovers (kinda), swearing, and mentions of marking, a little bit of angst, a little bit of smut

Disclaimer: This is intended for adult viewing only, I have plenty of SFW content on my master list so please check that out instead. I am strongly discouraging and actively not condoning the consummation of this content for anyone who is a minor.

Word count: 5687 OH MY GOD???

Authors note: This is LONG the longest thing I think I've written to date. This counts as like a full fic, should be like a multi chapter type beat. It's a long read but dare I say this might be my best work yet. Anway, I haven't written anything for Ayato bc he was a faceless ncp before I went on my hiatus.... I am also in love with man and couldn't stand the thought of this. Hence I'm writing a self serving fic bc I'm incredibly selfish rn and need some of this man in my life. Also I enjoy a good enemies to lovers troupe sue me!! ALSO ALSO THIS IS GENDERED HAHAHAHA finally if you see my master list it's all been GN so ha I did it. Anyway enjoy me being selfish 🧍🏻‍♂️(edit) Future self here... This took me almost a month to write, this turned into a novel and I apologize....

This will also be crossposted on my A03 probably bc of the girth of this beast. You can read it: Here if you prefer that interface better

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Working under the Kamisato's was a blessing. Truly it was. You considered yourself exceptional in hospitality and an ace seamstress. That's how the Kamisato clan sought you out.

Lady Ayaka was kind, the easy one to put it bluntly. Her tasks were normal simply as asking you to clean her linens or making small repairs on her formal wears. (Which Thoma would normally jump in to help, cleaning and sewing was also his forte). Genuinely, she was the nicest noble person you've ever seen, still managing to keep an air of excellence and gracefulness to her despite her overly kind nature.

Working there is what kept you and your family fed and you were able to have a safe haven during the Vision Hunt Degree when being a vision holder yourself was hard to avoid.

However, working under the Kamisato's wasn't easy work by any means.

The head of the household was where the issue lied when it came to your work. Kamisato Ayato, you swear had it out for you since you arrived to work for them. One day he'd have you doing mundane tasks like taking inventory of the spices in the kitchen, and the next it would be making him tea over and over until it was the exact temperature he liked.

Not to mention all the constant repairs on his clothes you'd have to do, whether it be taking care of personal matters or training with his sister he'd always come back with piles of clothes in need of huge repairs.

You probably would have punched the pretty smirk off of "Lord Ayato's" face if it wasn't for poor Thoma keeping you afloat. You feel bad but while he cooks, you normally lament your frustrations to him. He'll occasionally offer his support or advice, since after all he's your senior and also a fellow outsider of Inazuma.

"Miss, your presence is requested in Lord Ayato's office." the guard locks eyes with you. You want to groan in agony, you were hungry and tired but still you mustered a smile. " I'll head over right now, thank you." You say with a small bow. Once the guard exits you you finally let out a long groan looking to Thoma for support. "Can't you go instead, at least you can put up with his nonsense." You sigh exasperated.

After one particularly frustrating day of repairing both Lord Ayato's and Lady Ayaka's training wear entirely and aiding another with mending their Shinai Practice Swords (The bamboo ones, commonly used in kendo??), which were almost beyond repair. You find yourself once again in the kitchen with Thoma going on and on about the day before a dreaded guards men enter.

Thoma chuckles. "I believe a 'Miss' was summoned, I'd be scolded if I showed up, besides I'm cooking. Unless you wanna deliver food to the entire staff and the Lord and Lady." You wrap him lightly on the back of his shoulder. " Fine, but if I wind up dead it's your fault." You joke. You excuse yourself and exit the kitchen; then head for your doom, Lord Kamisato's office.

You stand outside his office, the dimly lit Shoji (those paper sliding door things?) showing the silhouette of menace himself just waiting for you. "(Y/N) here My Lord." You grit your teeth. "You may enter." You can almost hear the sadistic smile in his voice. Sliding open the door you're immediately confused on why you are here.

Ayato looked right as rain, clean and on top of that his office looked organized and practically sparkling (you'll have to thank Thoma for that later), boba tea full, and a small before dinner snack fully eaten. What more could he need at this hour. "Ah yes, Miss (Y/N)" his eyes lock with yours. "I've seemed to have spilled ink on my clothes. I need them cleaned immediately before dinner is finished." Though the room was dimly lit, you could clearly see there was no ink anywhere on Ayato's clothing.

"My lord I don't-" before you can even finish getting the word's out, Ayato takes the ink on his desk and proceeds to dump its contents all over his clothing. All the while that signature sadistic smile plastered on his face. You face contorts, you try to conceal the seething hot rage from pouring out of your mouth. (Un)Luckily Ayato speaks first. "I'm sorry you were going to say something? Go ahead, I apologize for my clumsiness."

Your mouth opens but you quickly close it. You're dumbfounded. His informal attire is mostly white, similar to his training attire, getting ink of that amount out in such a short amount of time would be nearly impossible. As you continue to stand there in silence you can see Ayato absolutely blossom with happiness.

A few more seconds pass until you collect yourself enough to speak calmly. "I'll fetch you some other clothing to change into while I tend to your..." Your eyes narrow at him. " Accident. " Words laced with venom at the end. He nods, smiling. " Go ahead, I'll be right here. Do be quick though, I hear ink is a pain to get out the longer you leave it. " He smirks.

You bow rigidly before bolting out the door to his quarters to grab him some fresh clothing. Returning to the lion's den, you announce yourself once more. "You may enter," Ayato calls out again. Sliding open the door he promptly stands up this time.

You don't say a word but hold out the clean clothes to him. "My my, that was fast." He smiles. You don't answer but begin to turn to exit so he can change in private. "No need to be so shy. You're practically one of my retainers at this point. "

You quickly turn around deciding to face the door instead of him, face red with embarrassment this time. You hear the rustling of the rest of his clothes. After a few awkward quiet moments with your thoughts filled with annoyance and somehow Lord Ayato's bare chest and perfect stupid abs, he finally speaks again. "I'm dressed." You pivot to see him again, back in pristine condition, however not bothering to pick up the ink stained clothes off the ground.

Retainer??? Since when? Where's your pay raise? That's all that runs through your mind as you stare at him dumbfounded. You don't realize until you snap out of your train of thought Ayato has already started stripping, his bare chest on full display. "Miss (Y/N) I don't mind if you watch, but watching me so intensely is unnecessary." You didn't think that smirk could get any bigger but it does.

You let out a sigh you didn't know you were holding in and kneel to grab the stained clothes scattered around his feet. You go to grab a sleeve and the bastard has his foot still on the article of clothing. Giving it a little tug as a hint to move, Ayato simply looks down at you with a smile. "Oh my apologies, didn't realize I was standing on it and hindering your precious time to get those pesky stains out." He steps out of your way and plants himself back to his desk. Asshole is all that runs through your mind as you gather the clothes.

Once again you quickly excuse yourself and rush to the medical bay to grab some balls of cotton and rubbing alcohol. Storming back into the kitchen you decide you need to get this frustration out and combat this stain at the same time.

You definitely startle Thoma as you slide open the Shoji with little to no care of its fragility. "Listen I'm sorry, Lord Ayato is fucking awful." You say holding up the stained clothing to accentuate your point.

You recount your encounter with the Lord of the house to Thoma all the while desperately scrubbing the ink out with the rubbing alcohol. "He's a sadist Thoma, he hates me I'm sure of it. Why on earth would he do this." Thoma turns to the area of the table you're vigorously scrubbing at ,now almost finished with dinner at this point, offers you a pot of cold water and soap to help you finish cleaning the stain. "That's just Lord Ayato, and hey maybe it was a genuine mistake." He shrugs. "Thoma, I saw him pick it up and dump it on himself."

You move over a bit to let Thoma work his laundry magic. Taking the garment from you, which was now almost its original color, he washes it in the aforementioned cold soapy water. After some more scrubbing he pulls it out. Looking as radiant as it did on Ayato before he went and soiled it. "Thoma I'm sorry for roping you into this... I appreciate you." He smiles nudging you softly. " Stop that, you'd do the same for me if I needed that level of help. " You're glad Thoma is always here to save your ass.

"I may have done the best I can but it won't dry before dinner, since I'm almost done with it." You grab your Anemo Vision and wave it in front of him and he lets out a 'Oh yeah...' before he smiles radiantly. "You got this then, dry it quick and as soon as you're done I'll serve dinner. Hopefully that'll buy you a bit of time. " You bow to Thoma, thanking him profusely. You exit the kitchen before running to the courtyard to swiftly dry the Lord's clothes with a little help from your Vision.

After making quick work of drying the clothes. (Thank you Anemo Archon). You inspect the clothes one last time and decide they are pristine enough for him. Carefully folding them, you proceed to slide down the hall to Ayato's office once more.

For the final time of the night you announce yourself. "Miss (Y/n) back so soon?" he says as you enter. His eyes narrow in on the clothes in your hands. "I'm more than pleased with your speediness. However, folding them will definitely crease them." You wordlessly unfold the clothes, gesturing to the creaseless stainless garments. "I see... Very well then, I will change after dinner."

His eyes light up again and you regret opening your stupid mouth. "Ah yes, Thoma should be along with my dinner soon. My arms are awfully tired from writing documents all evening..." There it is again that fucking sadistic grin. "Stay here and feed me will you?" You can't stop the words from spilling out of your mouth. "What? Why?" Clapping a hand over your mouth. He didn't like that, you can tell as you watch sadism on his face fade to confusion. "Because you serve under me and I'm telling you to do so."

Taking the clothes from your hands, Ayato purses his lips briefly as your fingers touch during the exchange. You grimace at him, typical of him to be disgusted by touching you even for a millisecond. You quickly rearrange your face before asking the dreaded question. "Can I help you with anything else my Lord?"

Right. You forgot. You're supposed to be like Thoma, a loyal dog who does what it's told. Maybe that's what you're supposed to do but this was an outlandish request. However, knowing the wrath of Kamisato Ayato, you flop yourself in the corner in defeat, not bothering to put up a fight. You press your knees up to your chest, glancing at Ayato's, once again, happy smirk. He too proceeds to sit back down, at his desk.

A heavy silence fills the room as Ayato resumes his work. You want to yell at him, kick and scream, but overall you just wanted to cry. You're so embarrassed for what's to come and your mind is reeling. The tears brimming your eyes burn as you try to continue putting on a strong front. You refuse to let this asshole see you cry.

Thoma must be taking his time because amongst the scribbling mixed in with silence you have a lot of time to think. You evaluate your position. You signed up for this, but did you really? A maid sure, but dealing with a sadistic brat? No, that wasn't in the job description. Or maybe that was the plan all along, maybe it just happened along the way? You weren't sure at this point and you felt bitter and defeated.

"Lord Ayato?" Your voice comes out horse. "Hmm?" He questions. "Why do you trouble me with the most torturous and utterly embarrassing tasks?" You stare him down. He looks shocked you dare question his authority. He opens his mouth to answer? maybe yell at you? But as if the Archons themselves are taunting you, Thoma announces himself. "My Lord you dinner is ready, may I enter?" Ayato fixes his gaze on you for a second longer than needed before responding to Thoma. "Thoma. Yes, you may enter." He answers

Thoma comes in hands full of all of the dishes Ayato requested tonight. He almost doesn't see you in the corner for a second but being the loyal retainer he is, the actual retainer of Ayato, he says nothing but shoots you a sympathetic glance. "Thoma, please let Miss (Y/n) help you with the rest of your food deliveries. I wish not to be disturbed the rest of the night." Ayato says using a voice he normally only uses when talking with other officials. It's cold, a lot colder than usual. The blood drains from your face and a knot forms in your stomach, you fucked up big time.

Three days. It was three days of terrifying tranquility, free of summoning from Lord Ayato.

Lady Ayaka assured you, as well as your job, were fine. The looming anxiety however had you on edge, you couldn't sleep fearing you'd be assassinated in the middle of the night. After all Kamisato Ayato hated being questioned, the only thing you were sure he hated more was you. Death would be the only solution right?

You were in the courtyard, it was evening and everyone was eating dinner. Thoma approached you gently tapping your shoulder. "Dinner is ready for you in the maid's quarters... But uh, Lord Ayato wishes to see you in his quarters before dinner." He says sheepishly. You groan looking to Thoma “If you don't see me tomorrow, assume the worst." You joke but deep down felt your stomach drop. It had been three days of not seeing him, who knows what kind of punishment you'd receive.

Thoma gave you a reassuring smile as you bid him farewell and headed from the courtyard to the personal quarters of Kamisato Ayato. It's not like you haven't been there before, but something still felt off about addressing your punishment not in his office but your room.

So there you were, standing in front of the looming door to the man who was about to decide your fate. You swallow hard before addressing your arrival. "My Lord, (Y/n) here. Thoma said you requested my presence..." Your voice came out a lot shakier than you'd like to admit. Frankly you were terrified. There was, what felt like, an eternity of silence before he finally responded. "Come in."

Your hands waver as you pull the Shoji door open. It was almost pitch black inside Ayato's room. He was sitting under a Kotatsu with his dinner finished. His eyes immediately fixed on you as you entered. "Miss (Y/n) please sit. There's something I'd like to discuss with you." Fuck. Your family will be so upset if you lose this job, what will you do for work, where will you live? Sure you hate Ayato but you for the most part enjoy your job and- No no no you can't spiral right now.

You suck in a composed breath and take a seat opposite him under the Kotatsu. "What is it, my Lord?" You ask meekly. He closes his eyes, sighing. "I.. You see.." He's uncharacteristically fidgety. "My sister has brought it to my attention that I've been causing you much strife lately." You want to laugh, lately he says, it's been since day one but okay sure. You grit your teeth. "As you said before, I serve under you. It's my duty, I suppose." You respond promptly. As much as it hurts your pride to admit you needed this job. You belong here and you won't go down without a fight. "I see." He says, sighing again.

" (Y/n)... You loathe me do you not?" He locks eyes with you, as if boring directly into your soul. " My Lord, of course not. I'm grateful to serve the Kamisatos." He shakes his head. " Miss (Y/n), from the moment you arrived here you've seemed to take a disliking to me. I'm just trying to understand what started it. Please be cooperative."

Huh? You? You're the problem in this situation? You know what fuck your job. "Kamisato Ayato, I do believe from the moment I arrived here you've made me do the most outlandish things and have, frankly, acted like a brat. If anyone hated anyone first it'd be you." You bang your fist on the table of the Kotatsu. "I'm a mere maid trying to make a living, not a babysitter or a toy for a spoiled noble's amusement."

He has the audacity to laugh. "I'm sorry I seem to be missing the joke here my Lord. Please share so I too can laugh at the very serious call concerns I just raised." You glare at him. He smiles trying to suppress his laughter. "(Y/n) no one has ever talked to me like that before..." You pause. You've never seen Ayato look so pleased in your presence before.

"Shamefully I'll admit, I enjoyed hearing your true feelings about me." He fidgets under the Kotatsu again. "For the record, I never hated you. I enjoy teasing you, and I'll admit I take things to an extreme. For that I apologize for the suffering I put you through." You're stunned at his apology. The head of the Kamisato clan apologized to you? " My Lord I..." Your words catch in your throat and all the anxiety built over the past three days spills out of your eyes. The one thing you swore you'd never do happens, you're crying in front of Ayato.

Instinctively Ayato rushes to your side of the Kotatsu kneeling next to you handing you his handkerchief. You take it and turn away from him as you try to repress your sobs. "(Y/n) I'm so sorry, I didn't realize... I..." He turns you to face him. His face is almost unrecognizable, maybe from the blurry vision of your tears, but his face laced with pure concern and gentleness. "I apologize for being so bold to ask but my I... Hug... You?" H u h? Your world feels like it's been turned upside-down. Ayato is being nice to you, and the craziest part is you kind of enjoy how it makes you feel. A half hour ago you would've never dreamed you'd be in this situation.

You cautiously nod and Ayato gently pulls your much smaller form into his chest. You sniff, still calming down from your episode. Ayato gently strokes your back. It sends shivers down your spine but you don't... hate it?? You're conflicted at this moment. A man who was once so cruel to you is now being the perfect gentleman.

While battling your thoughts Ayato fills the silence. "When my sister and I were young, she would often hurt herself by accident. While she cried, I'd hold her like this until she would calm down." You hum softly. You're unsure what to say. This whole situation feels like a twisted dream. You feel like any moment you'd wake up in your bed and the sinister Ayato you'd known up until now would return.

You glance up at him, his eyes are closed as he still is gently stroking your back. He looks peaceful, a small gentle smile on his face. You dare even concur he looks rather handsome like this. Your face turns red as you now realize the situation you're in. Kamisato Ayato is holding you. Even worse, you're enjoying it.

One of his eyes opens and peers down at you. His smile gets wider but remains gentle still. "Feeling better?" He asks. "I think so. I apologize for my outburst My Lor-" "Ayato..." "Huh?" "You can apologize but please use my name, not my title." You snort with a smile, there's the Ayato you know. "I apologize for my actions Ayato. For the record as well, I don't hate you either."

You pause for a brief second confused by your own confession, then words continue to spill out of your mouth. "I think I hated the way you treated me and just assumed you hated me. Besides you'd make me do silly things and would cause problems just for me to fix, making my life harder, it was frustrating but..." Ayato tips your chin up from his chest. You both stare at each other in silence.

Whatever rambles you had in your mind vanished and all you can think about now is how pretty his eyes are and how you never noticed until right now. Ayato leans down, your lips inches apart from his, you can feel the heat of his lips radiating on to yours. "May I be bold once more Miss (Y/n)?" You say nothing, you're absolutely frozen so he continues. "I think I did all of that because I'm positively enamored by you." Then closes the gap between the two of you, kissing you.

His lips are soft and as his hand moves from your back to your waist you find yourself kissing him back. It's gentle but tender, all that pent up rage for the man you once loathed melts and in this moment it feels like you two are the only ones in the world. He pulls away first. You stare at him, he looks positively breathtaking now. His other hand runs a finger over your bottom lip then joins his other hand on your waist. "If you hate it please tell me to stop, and I will." You shake your head. "Please... Continue."

His lips meet yours again this time with more passion. You wrap your arms around his neck and gently part your lips. Ayato takes this opportunity to deepen the kiss further, sliding his tongue gently into your mouth. His hands wonder about your body while he kisses you. You can't deny the sparks that follow in the wake of his touch.

You part briefly to catch your breath and Ayato uses this as an opportunity to explore your neck. You tilt your head to the side giving him more access. He chuckles softly at your action. "So responsive." He teases against your neck. "Please keep your thoughts to yourself and keep kissin-" He bites down on your neck leaving whatever grip you had planned to die in throat and gets replaced with a soft moan. He lavishes the bite with his tongue and you're positive that's gonna be a mark you'll have to cover tomorrow morning. He tugs at the corner of your kimono staring into your eyes asking for silent permission to continue.

Taking the hint you boldly slide down the shoulder of your kimono to let him continue. He smirks as continues his conquest from your neck to your newly exposed collarbones. Placing soft kisses on them while making quick work of sliding the top half of your kimono off, leaving the excess fabric to hang around your waist. The cold night air hits your skin leaving your exposed top half covered in goosebumps. Ayato reaches around to your back feeling for the clasp of your bra. "May I?" His voice comes out soft, filled with lust against the shell of your ear. "Please." You whimper. He skillfully unclasped the bra freeing your breasts from the confines. Instinctively you cover your, your face bright red with embarrassment with another realization Kamisato Ayato, your boss, is about to see your naked body.

Ayato wraps a warm hand around your wrist, planting a kiss on the inside of it. "If you're nervous we can stop here. If not..." His eyes wander to his bed, which is partially skewed from your vision due to the folding screen for Ayato's privacy sake. "No I want to continue... I just..." You laugh. "I don't want this to affect my job you know?" Ayato chuckles back. "I promise you it won't." You blush slowly unfolding your arms. "In that case..." He smiles, that's all the permission he needs and in one swift motion stands up and hoists your half clothes body over his shoulder, like you weighed nothing.

He takes a few steps and throws you on to his bed, one you've made many times before and one you'll probably have to make again after this. He takes advantage of you getting comfortable to take off his top. You're once again faced with Ayato's bare torso, this time you are able to ogle at it as much as you'd like. "You're staring again." He says with a smug expression, climbing on the bed now towering over you. "Am I not allowed to My Lord?" You quip back.

He raises an eyebrow and then you see that expression on him that you used to loathe, that sadistic smile. "I suppose I'll allow it tonight. I'll even do you one better." He once again grabs your wrists, this time places your hands on his bare chest, abs, shoulders. But Ayato being Ayato was in control of your movements Giving you the satisfaction of feeling his smooth skin but not giving you control to do so as you please. "Ayato..." You whine. He just laughs before releasing your hands and leans back down to kiss you again.

While kissing you his hands wander to your breasts giving them a little squeeze. You can feel him smile in the kiss when you let out a small moan. "Sensitive?" He asks. You nod in response, worried your words will betray you. His kiss trails back down your neck to your breasts this time. Taking a nipple in his mouth and biting and suckling on it you can help but cover your mouth and whine in pleasure. He takes his other hand and messages the other breast pinching your other nipple occasionally.

Your core was practically aching for friction at this point you wiggle your hips. Ayato's attention shifts again. "How cute.. Someone's needy." He says after releasing your breast from his mouth. He shifts his attention to untie your obi to get the rest of your pesky kimono out of the way. When he does you catch a glimpse of the sizable bulge in his pants. "I could say the same for you." You tease. "Can you blame me?" He responds as you lift your hips so you can let him discard your kimono on the floor. "Besides, your one to comment when your panties have a wet spot." He states bluntly as he slides off the bed dragging you by the hips to set you at the side of the bed.

Ayato plays with the waistband of your panties eyes once again meeting your asking for silent permission to go on. As if you would stop him now. He must take your silence for reassurance because he drags your panties down your hips and discards them somewhere with your kimono. He parts your legs and spreads your pussy open. "You're soaked..." He sounds breathless as he stares at your glistening hole. "Don't stare!" You protest as you attempt to close your legs, admittedly flustered. Ayato, of course, overpowers you by keeping you legs spread and plants a firm's kiss on your clit.

He takes his time eating you out. Making sure to tease all the spots he gets a good reaction out of you. Your grip on the beds' silken sheets will tear somehow. Ayato looks up at you making eye contact with you before sucking on you clit particularly hard. You almost cum right there. After a one more delicate kiss on your core he brings his fingers up to your mouth. "Suck on these for me please." He says. Instinctively you take his fingers in your mouth. The flush across his face as you tease the tips of his fingers is something you'll definitely be thinking about later.

Once Ayato decides you've soaked his fingers enough he gently pulls them from your mouth. You let out a whine and Ayato takes the opportunity to spread your legs a bit wider. "Oral fixation... Good to know." He teases. Taking his now wet fingers he gently prods at your damp fold locking eyes with you as he slowly inserts a finger into you. You bring a hand out to cover the guttural moan that spills from your mouth.

Ayato looks up at you, eyes boring into yours. "You better keep your voice down, we don't want the entire estate to know I'm giving my 'disobedient maid' a punishment. " He winks, and you click your tongue at him. Ayato quickly slides another finger into your hole before you can come up with something to throw back at him.

Ayato scissors his fingers, opening you up for him. You feel close, that all too familiar high. "C.. close" is the only thing you can muster without being too loud, you were just so sensitive. He smiles sinisterly at you, rudely ripping his finger from your aching core. "Not yet, I want you to cum with me inside you." He bashfully explains. To think Kamisato Ayato is blushing, you still honestly can't tell if this is a fever dream or not.

While in your own thoughts Ayato shed the rest of clothing and you finally get to see his cock. It's definitely not going to fit... He's going to split you in half. You move to get off the bed to 'return the favor' but Ayato stops you. "Next time... I need you right now." Pushing you back down on the bed he grabs some oil stashed under his bed and lubes up his dick. Pumping it a few times for good measure. The anticipation is gnawing at you, as he runs his length in-between your folds.

You open your mouth to tell him to hurry up, but his lips catch yours and he inserts himself into you. Ayato takes, what would have been an earth shattering groan, from your lips as he lets you adjust to his size. Pinning your arms above your head he peppers your face with kisses as your pain slowly morphs into pleasure. Eventually the pain stops and you relish in the feeling of being full, the glee of that gets old pretty fast and now all you want is Ayato to rail you into high heaven.

You wiggle your hips as a gesture to show him you're ready and he smiles down at you. "Use your words... Ask me what you want." He's a fucking sadistic asshole. "Please?" You whine. "Please what? (Y/N), you always have something to say, why are you so shy now?" You hate him, tears of desperation fill your eyes. " Ayato please fuck me, I need you to fuck me. I can't-" You choke back a moan as Ayato slides all the way out of you and rams his dick back into you. He buries his face into your neck. "Good girl." He praises before leaving yet another hickey you'll have to cover later.

He sets a steady pace snapping his hips into yours. You can only imagine how fucked out you look right now. Ayato looks like an Archon himself above you, his furrowed brow and the sweat glistening on his forehead. To think you hated this man a few hours ago... Now look at you, completely at his mercy. The soft grunts he lets out next to your ear you wish to engrave in your memories forever.

Ayato hits that spot inside you that makes your vision blur and you can't suppress the whine that spills out this time. "Ther..Fuck...There!" Ayato hones into that spot, causing you to fall over the edge. He gently thrusts in and out of you helping you ride out your orgasm. With the combination of your soft whines and how tight your climax made you, he pulls out and comes all over your stomach.

With no strength left Ayato collapses, gently, onto you. "Noooo" you whine weakling. " My stomach is a mess now you're messy too." "I'll call for a maid to bring me a towel." You smack him and he laughs, rolling off you. He pushes himself up off the bed and grabs a small towel from a drawer. Gently tending to your cum covered stomach before attending to himself. You curl up on his bed, as you watch him as he grabs your clothes along with his. "So next time huh?" You smirk. "Pardon?" He freezes for a moment. "I owe you one, so you know... This doesn't have to be a one time thing." He clears his throat. "I wouldn't be opposed to that, I suppose."

You push yourself up to grab your clothes from him but immediately regret it as every muscle in your body refuses to cooperate with you. You fall back on the bed Ayato chuckles softly. "Rest for a bit before leaving... Leaving too hastily will definitely cause more suspicion than leaving now anyway... " He lays back down on the bed pulling your body into his. "I didn't take you for a cuddler My Lord." You joke, followed by a yawn. He laughs, stroking your back just as softly as he did when you were crying. "Rest for a bit. I promise I'll wake you up in a bit." You nod sleepily into his chest. "Just for a bit is fine." You mumble before drifting off to sleep in Ayato's arms.

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OH MY GOD I FINISHED IT HAHAHAHA GET ABSOLUTELY FUCKED PAST ME. If you read all of this I both sincerely apologize and thank you for reading my self serving fic. I hope you enjoyed it even a tiny bit.

#kamisato ayato #ayato kamisato #ayato x reader #ayato smut #ayato x fem!reader #ayato x y/n #kamisato ayato x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin imapct #this is so long bro #my writing #kamisato ayato x you #kamisato ayato smut

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rainbowsillz · 7 months

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Azul Ashengrotto. | Character interaction | Genre: Dark?

⤷ Summary: He realized that everything was unreal. This world, his life, a mere playground for others in sake for entertainment.

He has always liked your expressions, it's a shame he can't touch or feel your warmth, although the first time that he defied his code, he has learned to pretend, reading his scripts, sometimes he can't help himself, he craves to see and hear you... more clearly.

“Shall we have a discussion together?”

Had you known, if only.. if only, you could reverse your time. You would not download this game as your friends suggested you.

Your future self lamented about your fate.

As you pondered what type of event was this about.

“Free of charge, let's say, it won't be harmful to you.”

It was a blatant lie, to cross a bridge, one must pay the toll.

The white haired merfolk addressed with a wide smile, there were options of words to choose. Yes or no, it depends with you.

....But then you can't move anything nor press on them.

You were albeit— curious about it, who wouldn't be? You were creeped out that there weren't the usual monologues.

“What the heck....? Did the system crash...?”

How could he had forgotten? You seemed spooked by this.

“Not Yuu's answer, I want your answers.”

You must be delusional, no, how... can a freaking 2D character verbalize with you, right—? Right? Have you lose it yet-?! And in perfect English too? He seems quite fluent in this... somehow?

“I'm going to 'delete' you out of this, I swear.”

That earned a fit of laughter from Azul as he gazed at you, with a hand on his chest and back with his feigned sorrows at you.

Despite the fact that he was in a sprite and on the screen.

His utterances to you will haunt you days and nights.

Your terrified face reflected in his narrowed turquoise pupils.

“I'm afraid you don't have the privilege, my dear player. Not when I already found a way to take you to Twisted Wonderland.”

#twisted wonderland #twst scenarios #twst x you #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland x you #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere azul ashengrotto #cw: yandere #twst azul x reader #twst interaction #twst self aware au #yandere twst #disney twisted wonderland #gender neutral reader #etihw.writes

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sootical · 5 months

Text

Permanence

->Wilbur Soot x Reader (hinted but never explicitly stated) ->No use of Y/n ->I tried to be as gender neutral as possible.

*Hurt, minimal comfort, hopeful ending TW: Su*cidal ideation, Self destructive thoughts and actions, SH mentions/references, depression, lots and lots of depression. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK Summary: You are stuck in a multi-month long depressive episode, and it's gotten so much worse. You're on your last leg, and you need someone to help you. Good thing best friend(?) Wilbur and his band are there to help :] Word Count - 2.4k

Wilbur Soot. Twitch streamer turned famous musician, heartthrob—you get it. He’s everything anyone could want in a partner. Trust me, I would know. He’s been my best friend since form. And since then, he’s only ever been kind and considerate and just overall an amazing person. What a guy right? With his stupid brown hair that covers one of his eyes when it’s outgrown. Stupid brown eyes that have just the right amount of dark and light brown in them. It’s stupid of me really, to ever hope for a future with him that involves us being more than friends. I can only hope though, right? He’s up there, in the states, singing his heart out on a stage. While I’m stuck, on the other side of paradise–more like purgatory–lamenting on how many people adore him. I’m feeling sorry for myself, rotting away in bed at 2 in the morning. It’s not like I have to work in three hours–whaaaat nooooo… A knot develops in my stomach at the mere thought of leaving my bed. Maybe losing my job isn’t so bad. Wilbur has told me time and time again he’d pay me to edit for him. But I could never make him do that. Never would I take advantage of him like that. I’d feel like more of a burden than I already do. The thought of him having to support me financially makes me want to vomit. It makes my skin crawl, so it’s okay if I waste away. If I end up rotting away in my bed. It’s fine. At least then I wouldn’t be able to consume too much of Wilbur’s time. Taking up too much of his time has always been my biggest fear. To me, it came true a long time ago and I’m finally reaping what I sowed. It sucks really, how I thought I'd have a shot. Just for it all to blow up in my face. Now he’s somewhere in America–having the time of his life. Good for him. Bad for me.

Reaching over, I grab my phone. My coworkers probably hate me. I keep asking them to cover my shifts so I can rot in bed for another day. It’s been like this since–September? It started off just once every few weeks. Now, it being almost December, I’ve not gone to work in over two weeks. What’s the point anymore anyways? I can’t do this. I can’t do anything. Deep down, when I started doing things for myself–I knew I wouldn’t be able to do this. That was two years ago. I guess I’m finally breaking.

Pulling the duvet over my head, I try not to think about how my breath smells, and the uncomfortable way the oil sticks to my face. I shove my head into the pillow. Trying to block out the sounds of people existing below my apartment. It’s so much easier to rot away when people don’t rely on you. When you have no reason for existence. I don’t want to die. But at the same time I don’t want to live. I’m too much of a coward to do anything about it, so I lay and wait. I wait for some omnipotent being to strike me down and judge me for how I’ve managed to mess up any and all relationships I’ve ever had with anyone. Me and Nikki haven’t spoken in almost a year. Me and Wilbur haven’t even seen each other in months My family doesn’t talk to me.

I wish I could say “The world is fucked and everyone hates me.” But that’s not the truth. The truth is I am my own undoing. I have destroyed everything I’ve worked for. Any relationships–platonic and romantic–have fallen through because of my own emotions and insecurities getting in the way. It’s not fair for anyone. Well, anyone except for me. I brought this upon myself. My phone is the only thing lighting up my face. I looked at the time. Suddenly it’s six in the morning, and I’m late for work. The thought makes me want to cry, but I can’t. I can’t tell if it’s apathy—or dehydration.

I call my boss. She answers. “Where are you?! I haven’t seen you in weeks! I’m worried about you hun, do you need me to call someone?” She opens, sounding both relieved and shocked I even called. I clear my throat the best I can, swallowing saliva feels like eating sandpaper. “I uh..I was calling to let you know I won’t be coming back. I’m quitting. And I’m sorry for not putting in my two weeks. It’s not–” Something foreign is bubbling up in my throat, I force myself to swallow it down. “-It’s not fair to you. And I’m sorry.” I whisper, hanging up shortly after.

I feel terrible for worrying her. I feel terrible for upsetting her. I feel terrible. I am terrible. I’m a parasite. I always have been. Mooching off of others in order to help myself get by. My thoughts fall back to Wilbur. I’ve been mooching off of him for however long we’ve been friends. I want him to be happy. I don’t want him to feel like he needs to be my friend to keep me alive. But at the same time–I can’t do this anymore. I can’t look myself in the mirror and tell myself it’s me. I can’t. I’m not the person I thought I’d become. I’m not the person I thought I was. I’m useless. My phone rings again. I go to decline it, I can’t.

Wilbur’s face greets me. His contact photo, the two of us at the amusement park I helped them film for Tommy’s vlog channel. We’re smiling. His arm over my shoulder, and my head on his arm. I remember that day. Wilbur held me for a bit while Tommy and Phil were off filming a different part of the vlog with Russ. I was overwhelmed and so was he, so we took the time to chill by the snack stands. He got tommy cotton candy, and we split popcorn even though he couldn’t really taste it. We spent a good time just taking funny pictures with each other. I remember that day, it was a great one.

Tears breach my eyes before I can stop them. A sob ripping through me, I force my face into the pillow to muffle it. The ringing stops. My tears don’t, and that makes me feel so much worse. My chest convulses as my sobs reverberate through the room. I’m a mess. I’m laying in my bed, rotting. Wasting away and feeling sorry for myself. Everything is terrifying, every breath I take reminds me of how I’m alive. Reminds me of how I can’t escape the feeling of impending doom that washes over me. I’m going to die here. I’m going to die. I was never permanent.

I knew I couldn’t do this. I’ve been lying to myself, little lies, white lies. To convince myself everything was okay. That it was fine for me to fall in love, it was fine for me to believe I wasn’t just taking up space. That I wasn’t slowly getting tired.

Contemplating whether or not cut myself some slack–but ending up just cutting myself loose. I lift the duvet from my head, staring at the ceiling. My eyes flick to the ground, clothes and food everywhere. Some of it’s moldy. It makes me feel worse about myself. Turning my head, I look to my PC. I should sell it. Someone else would be much happier with it. I haven’t used it in a while anyways. I can’t take care of any of the stuff I have can I?

My phone rings again, this time I do answer.

“Oh my god–” I hear multiple people take a sharp breath in. I can’t stop myself from making a small noise of confusion. “Hey..Your boss–called us.” I recognize the voice to be Joe. I lift the phone, checking the caller ID. It was Wilbur again. “Wil—?” It hurts so bad to talk, I haven’t used my voice this much since the end of October. I hear a choked noise and whispers. “We’re gonna—come over there okay? The tour ended last night, no gigs for a while. Wil’s been missing you y’know.” I can’t tell who said that, “I–no. Sorry.” I don’t know why I said that. I don’t know why I hung up either.

Maybe deep down I did want them to help, I do want their help. But logically–It’s for the best.

I swing my legs over the side of my bed, cringing at how my clothes hang off of me. My back hurts something awful. I’m so tired.

Yet I stand on two feet and walk to my bathroom. I look at myself in the mirror, I don’t recognize them. My hair–too long and too oily for it to be mine. My skin is pale and the bags under my eyes are so dark they could rival a racoon.

It’s then that my legs decide to give out. I can feel my knees split as I hit the tile. I’m so tired. I look down at the sweater I’m wearing. It’s one of Wil’s. I can’t remember when I put it on. I can’t remember a lot of things recently. Like when this got so bad. Or when my arms started to sting. My eyes are heavy, I can barely keep them open. Maybe a nap wouldn’t be so bad.

When I wake up it’s to voices around me. I’m laying on something warm–It’s moving. I can’t find it in myself to open my eyes. My breathing picks up, and I hear an intake of air accompanied by a hand on my forehead. My eyes are shooting open in fear before I’m trembling. He’s above me, looking down at me like I could break.

I look around, there's two other people. I can barely make them out. Joe and Ash. It’s hard to think. It’s so hard to think.

“There you are..” Wilbur whispers, his pointer finger gently stroking my cheekbone. “What happened to you love?” I can’t tell if it’s his tone, or the fact he looks so broken. But I can’t stop my eyes from watering and my body from turning into him, hiding myself away. Embarrassment filled me, they’d seen it all. The moldy food, the dirty clothes. They probably saw the abundance of mail I'd gotten as well. People are walking out the room. Not Wilbur, he stays. He stays and makes me look at him. “Here’s what’s gonna happen, I’m gonna help you shower, and they’re going to clean and get you food. Okay?” My eyes widened. I shake my head so quickly it hurts. His face falls, he looks down at what I’m wearing. His face falls even more. “Love…” He whispers. “I don’t–I can’t. Don’t make me.” I whisper. Wilbur wipes away my tears and shakes his head. “No. You’re going to get clean, eat, and then you will sleep for however long you need to.” He lifts me like I’m nothing.

He sets me on the toilet, turning to the tub and turning on the faucet. He waits for it to get warm before he’s plugging the drain and helping me get undressed. He brushes the hair from my face, he frowns at the sight of the back of my head. He looks down at my arms before I can see him clenching his jaw. “We’ll work on the matts too.” He picks me up again, placing me in the tub and going to shut the door. He grabs a towel from the cabinet, as well as a washcloth. He swipes the comb from the counter.

“I’m sorry.” I can’t help but whisper. He sighs. “I know. But it’s alright. We were worried about you.” Was all he said before he’s dousing my hair in water. He keeps a hand on my forehead, stopping the water from getting into my eyes. And with that, he applies conditioner and starts to de-matt my hair. An hour and countless tub refills later, my hair is de-matted and I’m clean. Feeling slightly better too. Wilbur gave me the crewneck he was wearing for comfort, before planting a kiss on my forehead and leaving the room to grab other clothes. The sounds from the outside are a lot less foggy now. I can hear the boys outside bickering and talking. “Are they okay Wil?” “What happened?” “From your face, I can tell it wasn’t good.”

I can’t help but stand weakly, the towel wrapped around me. I look in the mirror. I look a little more like myself. I touch my face, I look pale. I am pale. My hair is a bit longer now. I don’t smell bad anymore. I do feel better, but I can’t help but think I’m making Wilbur do this.

Wilbur reappears, he looks at me and smiles. He hands me the clothing he picked out before leaving the room once again, though he stands just outside the door.

I dress quickly. Slipping on Wilbur’s crewneck once I have my shirt on. I walk out, giving Wilbur a small smile. “You uh–You didn’t have to do this.” He takes my hand and leads me through my now clean apartment. “I did. Because if I didn’t–If we didn’t, you’d be dead right now, or you’d have killed yourself soon.” He says, sitting me down at the table that’s been cleared off. “Now, be honest. When is the last time you remember eating something?” He asks.

My face drops. That’s the thing–I can’t. “Uh–Tuesday?” I say, like I even know what day it is, his face falls. “It’s Friday.” He deadpans before going into the kitchen, he comes back with Ash, Mark, and Joe. They each have both in their hands. Wilbur has two.

“It’s just soup. Easy on the stomach.” Joe pipes up before sitting on my right, Wilbur sits on my left, and Ash and Mark sit across from me. “We don’t need to talk about things right now, no one is going to make you. But you need to talk to someone soon. Maybe not us, but someone.” Wilbur said, putting his hand on my knee. “Yeah. I think I can do that.” They smile, I eat my soup, and for the first time since September–I feel permanent.

#wilbur soot #fluff #wilbur mcyt #wilbur #angst #x reader #wilbur soot x reader #Wilbur Soot x Reader angst #wilbur soot x y/n #wilbur soot x you #heavy angst #hurt/comfort #Minimal comfort #lovejoy

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poorlittleyaoyao · 8 months

Note

Wei WuXian, “I hit you so that you can think about your uncle. He’s not someone who likes to poke his nose into other people’s business. For your sake, he went around flaunting his strength in front of all those other sects, receiving so many jabbing remarks. And now you’re saying his surname isn’t Jin. If he heard this, wouldn’t he feel disappointed?”

Jin Ling paused in surprise before he fumed, “That’s not what I meant! I…”

Wei WuXian asked instead, “Then what did you mean?”

Jin Ling, “I! I…”

The first ‘I’ was full of confidence, while the second ‘I’ began to lose air. Wei WuXian, “I, I, I—I’ll say it for you. This is what you mean. Even though Jiang Cheng is your uncle, after all, he’s still an outsider to the LanlingJin Sect. In the past, he’s already helped you a couple of times, but if he messed about too much with someone else’s domain, it’d be hard for him not to be a target of attack in the future, for you not to bring him any trouble, am I right?”

Jin Ling raged, “What do you think?! So you understand, don’t you?! Then why did you hit me?!”

Wei WuXian landed another slap, “That was exactly what I meant to do! Can’t you say anything properly? Such wholesome words, and out of your mouth they sound especially gross!”

So this is the part in the extra people are talking about, and its honestly hilarious that antis love to use this as Evidence that jin ling is cutting ties with mean nasty abusive jiujiu because he sucks in favor of Perfectly Loving da-jiujiu wwx. This is also often used for extra evidence that wwx hates jc and is done with him because when /I/ hate a guy I always advocate for our shared nephew to rely on him more. Don't we all do this.

I feel like Jin Ling could state "I love my jiujiu so much and am so grateful to have him in my life!" and people would be like HE'S ONLY SAYING IT BECAUSE JC MADE HIM! 😡

meanwhile, WWX could show up to Lotus Pier to clearly and openly communicate that he wants to still have a relationship with JC and clear the air between them to start fresh, and people would lament how tragic it was that poor uwu baby Wei Ying had soooo little self-esteem that he would voluntarily go be abused, or something.

(But for real, WWX, stop hitting the tween. Unless your end goal is to frustrate JL so much that he summons JC to kick your ass, you are undercutting your own point.)

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fujii-draws · 4 months

Text

Regrets

Summary: As golden orbs of light brought an end to Dusknoir’s existence; he’s confronted with a thought. One he’d long been avoiding since the day he arrived in the world of the past, and came in contact with two young, small Pokémon. The same two he’d eventually come to grow fond of, only to betray as part of his mission. As he’s forced to finally confront it in his isolation, Dusknoir finds himself coming to an epiphany. One he’d been denying for a very, very long time.

[Word count: 2130]

–––––––––––––––––––––

‘Aimilios... Ribbons...’ The ghost type melancholically lamented to himself. ‘They… did it….’

The black, paralyzed skies had begun to shift as the morning came. Rays of light hit the ghost type’s body; although numb, even he’d felt the warmth of the sun course through him. Time was finally moving again… and all Dusknoir could do was helplessly watch as his body faded; the light bringing an end to his existence.

Dusknoir cannot describe the emotions he’s feeling. Proud…? Accomplished…? Fearful….?

Damn it all. Arceus… if only he’d realized the mistake he was making. If only he’d defied Primal Dialga and had his change of heart sooner… perhaps those two would’ve still…. The three of them could’ve been-

No.

It’s over.

He ruined it.

…Dusknoir turns his head slowly, his gaze falling on to Grovyle; the reason he decided to go against Primal Dialga’s wishes in the first place. The reason he lived; for what would perhaps be the first time in ages… Had it not been for his speech back at the icicle pillars…Dusknoir doesn’t even want to think of the calamity that would’ve ensued. He continues to stare at the slowly disappearing grass-type, almost thoughtful.

“Grovyle…”

The grass-type’s eyes meet the black specter’s pained expression.

“My M-my life… Did it shine….?”

Dusknoir wanted to hear it from Grovyle. He wouldn’t feel satisfied, or even happy hearing it from himself. The ghost’s self-hatred was deep rooted enough as it was. Especially after all of what he had done. He needed a second opinion.

“…Yes.” The lizard Pokémon smiles, softly reassuring Dusknoir in what would be his final moments. “…Extraordinarily.”

…Dusknoir, despite not believing Grovyle, chooses to do so. Offering a small smile back at his old friend. “Grovyle… Thanks to you…..”

He pauses.

“…I have no regrets.”

…Dusknoir starts to feel himself slipping away completely; his physical form fading into illuminated lights in the sky as he draws his final breath… His death is almost comforting... At least- it would’ve been, had he made peace with his unspoken feelings… towards them. Even when he’s disappearing. Even when he’s dying…

He still couldn’t tell the truth.

One regret.

He had all but one.

…And now, he’ll never see them again. Never be able to tell them how sorry he was. Never be able to tell those two how much they meant to him… what they actually meant to him.

How foolish was he…? To get attached like this…? To care so much about their futures as well as his…? ..He couldn’t even admit how much they mattered to him in his final moments… Dusknoir grunts. really is just a liar, isn’t he? And that’s all the two will remember him for. Their scornful expressions when he’d laughed at their misery during their confrontation in the future. Their looks of betrayal. Tears rolled down the eevee and riolu’s faces as they unhinged their claws and teeth at Dusknoir. To think at the time, he found their reactions simply hysterical…

——————

“YOU LIAR..!”

“W-WE TRUSTED YOU..!”

“Pray tell… who’s fault is that?” Dusknoir sneered. “Not once had I asked for your background, or your names.”

Dusknoir began to float menacingly towards Aimilios. “Last I recall, you were responsible for your own partner’s downfall.”

“I-I….”

“LEAVE HIM ALONE…!!”

——————

…Now all he feels is a sharp pain stabbing through his chest recalling that horrible memory.

If there was a heaven or hell; the latter would be awaiting him right about now.

Speaking of…

Dusknoir opens his eye, attempting to browse his uncanny surroundings. What meets the ghost-type is… emptiness?

“…What on earth..?” His eye wanders down to his body.

…He appears in what looks like a pitch-black void. Dusknoir himself would’ve blended right in with the endless abyss had it not been for the yellow outlines distinguishing the features of his silhouette-like shadow… the same exact hue of yellow lights that’d been responsible for his disappearance moments ago… it’s almost as if he’d become a ghost all over again... He’d find the circumstances slightly amusing had it not been for his current dilemma. Dusknoir stares at his golden-laced hand, before contemplating something.

‘…Perhaps..’ Dusknoir thinks to himself. ‘Perhaps… it’s better this way…’ He knows it’s selfish. He knows he’s being a coward. But… now he doesn’t have to face Ribbons and Aimilios. He doesn’t have to look at those same faces that once revered him with such adoration; now fear, in the eyes… And yet… The thought of never seeing those two again… why does the thought bring him so much unnecessary pain? They were only means to an end to begin with- so why does he even CARE?!

“…GWOOH.. GWOOOOH..!!!” The ghost-type’s head begins to throb uncontrollably; Dusknoir clutches his head; nearly identical to how he did when breaking down in the midst of Grovyle’s speech. He clutches his temple harder in a feeble attempt to satiate the pain. Why couldn’t he just stop…? He’d tried so hard to detach himself from Ribbons and Aimilios once he realized who they were... Yet like a complete and utter fool; he stayed close. So close to an eevee and riolu he was ordered to execute. Why couldn’t he just forget about those two…? It would hurt so much less. They were means to an end to begin with- so WHY?!

“B-BLAST IT..!”

He slams both of his fists on the onyx colored ground beneath him in frustration. The yellow outlines of his body begin to glow violently as he draws heavy, shallow breaths.

…Dusknoir is suddenly plagued with a memory- of those two. He… remembers the eevee and riolu smiling widely; at him no less. It was… around the time when he’d referred to them as his ‘friends’. A mere front to gain their trust. Dusknoir recounts just how overjoyed they looked… and how that happiness made something in his chest hurt for a split second. He didn’t have to give them false hope. He didn’t have to play this ruse as far as he did… and yet. There was a small, foolish part of him that genuinely enjoyed it; and an even smaller part of him that knew he’d regret it.

————————

“You mean it?!” The riolu beamed. “You’ll really help us?!”

“But of course!” Dusknoir smiled, placing a hand on his chest. “I offer you two, my full cooperation!”

Dusknoir watched as the two Pokémon whip their heads towards eachother; almost trying to confirm the other’s disbelief. They look back at him; tails wagging rapidly in unison— before Ribbons excitedly jumps onto the ghost-type. Dusknoir nearly stumbles from just how sudden it was. Despite this, he catches her with his quick reflexes.

“Thank you thank you thank you!!!” Ribbons cheered. “You have no idea how much this means to us!”

Dusknoir recollected himself; before putting a hand on each of the overjoyous Pokémon’s heads.

“I’m… glad to hear. Truly.” A lie, obviously…but even he couldn’t help but smile a little at their shared enthusiasm.

“By golly..! Huff… huff…”

All three of the Pokémon had turned their heads to the out-of-breath Bidoof. Dusknoir immediately put Ribbons and Aimilios down; a slightly embarrassed blush crossing the ghost’s face as he brushed himself off coughing, returning to his more professional, stoic-like persona.

———————————

…He didn’t have to play with their emotions. He could’ve just as easily stayed acquaintances- kept his distance- but no. He just had to enjoy spending time with them. He had to get closer to them. He had to remember their favorite foods. To enjoy laughing with them until his stomach became sore, protecting them, watching over them, loving them as if they were…

Were…

…Dusknoir can’t help but hold his hand under his eye. He… he really did care those two... As if they were his own… his own…

“….Hoh…”

His train of thought comes to a complete halt. The idea of those two? Seeing him that way? After what he had done? After the horrible things he’s said…?

“Ho..Hohohaha..! HOHOHOHA-HA-HA-HA!”

His laughter becomes more and more erratic; holding one hand under his eye as the other grips his head- his cackles echoing into the never ending void.

“HAH-HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAhahaa…!“

Dusknoir’s broken laughter echoes throughout the void; until there’s nothing left but silence. Both of Dusknoir’s hands now cover his face as he crumbles to the ground. A shell of what was once the ‘Great Dusknoir’… was nothing more but the husk of a broken ghost. Too selfish and weak to do the right thing; and stand by the only two Pokémon who were willing to trust him with their lives… He wishes the endless abyss he was in would just swallow him already.

“Aimilios…Ribbons…” Dusknoir’s voice cracks; calling out for the ones he’d hurt.

…They deserved so much better than him. He didn’t deserve them. And to think in the beginning, they’d been the ones who were trying to prove themselves to be worthy of him... When it’d been the other way around this entire time. How ironic.

How absolutely ironic.

…Which reminds him-

“Ribbons…!” His head shoots up in a panic; his eye filled with worry.

She had already disappeared at this point, didn’t she..? In front of Aimilios no less..? He can’t even begin to fathom how horrible it must’ve been for both of them… at such young ages… maybe if he’d assisted them on their perilous journey to Temporal Tower…. he could’ve been there to remedy the weight of their situation… but of course instead, he used it in a pathetic attempt to beg for his life. Dumping everything onto Ribbons in a last ditch effort to save his own ghostly skin… in the small desperate hope she’d finally understand why he…

…Selfish.

So selfish.

Of course his train of thought immediately went straight back to him. He can’t think about anyone’s wellbeing except for his own. His ‘self preservation’. His ‘life’. Nevermind all of the Pokémon he was going to deny the futures of. He was at risk. So they all had to pay for it. Because of his cowardice.

This was his atonement.

He deserved this.

Dusknoir closes his eye. Maybe in his next life he’ll be a decent Pokémon. One worthy of respect. Of adoration.

Of love.

“Gah...”

Dusknoir groans. Why does it feel so cold all of a sudden..?

Wait.. cold?

He sees… ice… and feels… wind?

‘…What..?’

He slowly gets up; using his hands to suspend himself in the air. He looks around- only to see himself back.

Back on the mountain.

He stares at his hands for an indeterminate amount of time before they begin to tremble. His expression contorted into one of self-loathing and confusion.

“W-we’re still here…” His fingers curl into fists.

“I didn’t disappear…! Wh-Why?!”

Dusknoir shouts; almost disgusted by the fact he was revived- rather than questioning how it was even possible in the first place. No. He doesn’t- He shouldn’t be here. It must’ve been some kind of mistake… That’s it. There’s no other logical explanation for why he should be still here. Perhaps the higher being that brought him back into this world will immediately realize their error, and make swift work of him.

“We… we truly are still here…” Grovyle lamented, breathing a sigh of what would be an overwhelming rush relief. Celebi begins to flutter her wings happily around the grass-type.

“Wonderful!! I don’t know why we were fading and didn’t disappear…” She twirls, overjoyous now having gained all her strength back. “…But everyone is safe!! Oh my beloved..! Isn’t this just an amazing wonderful thing?!”

Grovyle chuckles heartedly. “It is.”

Unfortunately among the three; the ghost type was not experiencing the same joy as the grass type pokemon. Dusknoir had been drowning out half of their words of cheer and relief with thoughts of contempt. Self-depricational thoughts clouded the ghost-type’s mind as he kept searching for logical answers for his revival… Everyone else made sense. But why him of all Pokémon..?!

“Why..? Wh-Why me..?” Dusknoir whispered to himself dejectedly; mirroring his words from when his Sableye ‘betrayed’ him.

The only difference being how genuine it was.

Pr- Dialga had appeared to explain the whole situation to the trio. Once that had been done, Grovyle, and Celebi walked and flew individually near the edge of the mountain to feel the sun on their skins; their accomplishments finally having been paid off, soaking in the sun…

……Dusknoir, however; had stayed in the exact spot he’d been revived. His thoughts plagued him. This was not his victory. This was not for him to enjoy. What was he to do now..? Live his life as if nothing happened..? As if he didn’t hurt countless Pokémon..? Guilt had almost immediately begun to eat away at the ghost-type. He looks down at his hands one last time... Perhaps death would’ve been too good for a despicable Pokémon such as himself. The torment of being alive, and living with what he had done seemed like a fitting and ironic enough punishment… but that wasn’t what truly scared him.

Far from it, in fact.

Without a doubt in Dusknoir’s mind; Grovyle and Celebi would want to return back to the past… perhaps not this very instant; but at a given point. And when that time finally arrives…

Dusknoir stares at the Passage of Time facing him. Almost mocking him.

…He’d have to face them.

“…” Dusknoir clenches his fists tightly; his brow furrowing.

…The mere thought of confronting those two again- No no no no no. He- he should have disappeared. Death would’ve been a mercy. He can’t face them- not again. Looking at the same two children he tried to slaughter with his bare hands mere hours ago face-to-face..? Dusknoir’s fists tremble as his terror consumes him. What would they say..? Let alone think..? They’d run at the mere sight of him. He…

He doesn’t want to scare them.

He doesn’t want to hurt them.

He..

…Now he has something else to be afraid of.

#pmd eos #pmd writing tag #Another Dusknoir-centric fic I worked on!!! :D I hope you like it!!#this took me like a week on and off #also second time writing!! YIPPEE!!!#I’m still not as good but I’m still having lots of fun and learning !!#anyways. I need to see that old man on the floor writhing in agony.#/j BUT YKNOW #dadnoir

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ellethespaceunicorn · 1 year

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Praise You

Rating: G, pure fluff

Pairing: Clark Kent x Insecure PlusSize!Reader

Word Count: 500

Summary: For @lilacprincessofrecovery; Clark Kent loves everything about you, especially what you think are your flaws.

Warnings: self-doubt, talking down about one’s body, cavity-causing fluff

A/N: Unbeta’d, we die like people who tried their best.

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics

Support/Reblog banner by me

My Masterlist

Clark Kent may have been the best thing that ever happened to you. He made you laugh, he surprised you with gifts and gestures, and he helped you to learn to love yourself.

For every moment of self-doubt that made your heart race, he was there to soothe and heal your wounds. With every negative comment you had about your body, he would kiss and caress the area, letting you know exactly why he loved it.

He would watch you stare at your face from different angles in the bathroom mirror, then make you giggle by pressing kisses into your flesh quickly. He indeed was an amazing partner, always there to contradict your worry and praise you.

‘I just wish my stomach was flat,’ you would say, just for Clark to reply, ‘But then, what would I grab onto while I’m holding you?’

‘Maybe if my thighs weren’t so jiggly,’ you lament, Clark, countering with, ‘But they are the perfect size for my hands.’

He could bring you joy like no one else has before. Dancing with you to old love songs, his lack of dancing skills left you in shambles with laughter. Burning dinner by accident and having to use his super-breath to put out the flames on his casserole. He had wanted to surprise you with dinner after you had a rough day.

Where he failed at dancing and cooking, he excelled at expressing himself verbally and in the written word. He loved to leave you sweet love notes around the house, especially on every mirror in the house.

‘I may gain strength from the Sun, but you are the true light of my life.

I love every part of you, more and more with every day.

xoxo, Clark’

‘I can hear your heartbeat from across the world, like a beacon drawing me home.

I can safely say it is my favorite sound, it is music to my ears.

xoxo, Clark’

‘You are the best thing to ever happen to me.

My past, present, and future begin and end with you.

I would fly to the ends of the Earth just to pick you a rare flower to make you smile.

You just say the word and I will bring you whatever you desire.

You are my world, you are my love, and you are my hope.

xoxo, Clark’

You kept all of them in a small decorative box on your vanity. Whenever you would feel melancholy, you would take out each letter and read them aloud, feeling the love he put into every word. You knew wherever he was in the world, he could hear you reading them so you were never surprised when he would whoosh in to check on you.

He would wipe your tears and kiss your forehead. Hushing your cries with soothing words, he would cradle you in his arms. You felt so safe in his strong arms as if the entire world around you didn’t matter.

Clark Kent. The love of your life.

A/N: To my sweet @lilacprincessofrecovery, I hope you enjoy this story and I am very glad to have made a friend in you. 💙❤️

Tags: @astheskycries @enchantedbytomandhenry

#henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill #henry cavill characters #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill x reader #ellethespaceunicorn fanfic #clark kent #clark kent x reader #ellethespaceunicorn prompt fill #ellethespaceunicorn request fill

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curiouser--and--curiouser · 6 months

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“Is it over? Is it really over?” | Mark Watney x Reader

Fictober 2023 Day 24 - “Is it over? Is it really over?”

Mark Watney x Reader

Warnings: making out, occasional swearing, use of Y/N, Matt Damon (Matt I hate you and your use of slurs, but why do you keep showing up in my favourite films? 😫)

A quiet day is usually hard to find at NASA, but since the rescue of stranded astronauts Mark Watney and Y/N L/N from Mars, things had certainly calmed down as the Hermes ship continued its almost year-long journey back to Earth, safe and sound.

Instead of calculating trajectories and plotting courses, the scientists at NASA now had a slightly more chilled job of combing through the hundreds of video logs made by the pair of astronauts during their time of exile. As soon as they arrived at the Ares IV MAV, the high-bandwidth connection on board was used to upload the diaries to Earth, to chronical their time on the red planet, but also provide the memory of their final living days in case the worst occurred during their rescue mission.

Thankfully, the worst did not happen.

Vincent Kapoor and Mindy Park now crowded around an office computer scanning the videos for any important information they missed to be filed away for NASA’s future space missions. Annie Montrose kept an eye on them and the screen over their shoulders for anything she might be able to release to the public who continued to clamour for anything about life on Mars.

“Our own employees shit-talking the scientists of NASA and their advice to help save their lives maybe shouldn’t be broadcast to the world,” Annie lamented as Mindy shut off another video where Mark whined about an army of botanists trying to micro-manage his potatoes with a new growing technique and Y/N complained about the demanding engineers who critiqued her repairs on the rover and quote “wouldn’t know a wrench if they sat on one”.

“Self-awareness can be a refreshing approach for a government agency,” suggested Vincent, sarcastically, rubbing his eyes from the glare of the screen. Mindy laughed as Annie launched a pen at Vincent’s head in annoyance as she clicked on the next video. It began with Mark alone on the screen.

xxx

“So, nothing has caught fire in 15 sols, I think that’s a new record for us,” Mark always managed to sound cheerful on his video diaries no matter the situation. He could be smoking from an explosion, arm falling off and in the middle of a claustrophobia-induced argument with you, but still have a boyish smile on his face.

You couldn’t think of anyone better to be stuck on Mars with. His constant witty narration and array of new bold ideas to keep you both alive braved your unfathomable storms, even when you were close to giving up on ever returning home.

No wonder you fell for him.

And he fell for you too.

Some would say being stuck on a deserted planet with your crush would be a dream. Maybe not a dream, but the constant close quarters did force you both to admit your burgeoning feelings for each other and begin your relationship. Sure, the adrenaline-fuelled trauma bonding and distinct lack of personal space at all times sometimes felt like a wall, your patience with each other and resolve to overcome triumphed.

“Y/N should be back soon,” Mark continued, “it’s been pretty goddamn quiet without them here. I hope they get back soon, I’ve started talking to my potato plants again… Y/N, please come back soon.” You had been on a multi-Sol test-drive of the rover, trying to gently push its limits before the long pilgrimage that was to come. Mark loved your commitment to the rover, how you cared for it like your child - both your child - but all he wanted now was for you to return, safe and back in his arms.

Mark continued his daily report diligently - so diligently, in fact, that he was completely unaware of your early return back to the Hab.

All that could be seen on the screen was his eyes suddenly snapping to the side and widen with a gasp.

“Oh my God.”

In an instant, he was up and completely gone from the camera, but soon he returned, locked in a heated embrace with you.

You both crashed and clattered into the wall of the Hab; you straddling his thighs with your dusty suit rolled down, exposing your torso, and him laid almost completely flat on his desk chair, pulling you into him with all the force of a lonely lover finally reunited. Your lips moved with a frantic speed, making up for lost time, as your weathered and slightly dirty hands threaded through his hair. He clutched and squeezed all over your curves as he whispered affirmations of “God, baby, I missed you”, “fuck, I was so worried”, “I love you so much” between kisses.

Mark eventually broke away, only for a second, remembering in a panic that the computer was still recording. It took all his might to pull away from you, but you launched back in immediately, planting sloppy kisses down his neck. His eyes started to roll back with a sigh on his lips and his hand fumbled around for the computer’s off switch.

xxx

In all their years, the NASA employees had never been more shocked.

A simple briefing log quickly descended into softcore porn. But it was so hard to look away.

Mindy had her hands covering her eyes, but still secretly peeked between her fingers; this was by far the most interesting briefing she had ever been a part of.

“Is it over? Is it really over?” she asked worriedly from behind her hands. She got no response from Vincent who simply looked ahead, stunned and silent, no words to wipe their memories of what they just saw. An exasperated sigh sounded from Annie, her brow pinched within an inch of its life.

“No one release that one to the public.”

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extraordinarilyextreme · 8 months

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Zeng Shunxi's Goodbye to Fang Duobing

Original video on Weibo:

去岁初夏逢君¹盛² Last year, at the beginning of summer, I met the flourishing you. 今朝花落²梦方醒 Now, as the flowers fall, Fang wakes from his dream. 故事到此收笔 This story has since reached its end, 但人生还长 But life still goes on, 江湖路远 And the roads of the jianghu stretch far. 意气江湖正道³安 The spirit of the jianghu lies in following the correct path; 风华正茂⁴是少年 At life’s blossoming is the youth. 愿将来的方小包 I wish that the future Fang Xiaobao 经历风雨⁵ Will forge through wind and storms 不忘少年初心⁶ Without forgetting the original aspirations of his youth. 走遍人间 Even after walking to the ends of the mortal world, 仍有他路可寻 There remain other roads that can be sought for. 山高水长见日光⁷ The mountains are lofty and the rivers are long; everyday, may you see the light of the sun; 始终不忘少年样 And from the beginning to the end, may you not forget your younger self. 前路存知己⁸ The road ahead harbors the one who knows your heart, 江湖有相逢 for in the jianghu, there exist reunions. 于道各努力⁹ Work hard on every path you take; 千里自同风⁹ Even separated by a thousand li, he and you are buffeted by the same wind. 方多病 Fang Duobing, 希望你不服众望¹⁰ I hope you will not disappoint everyone’s expectations, 成为下一个传奇 And become the next legend.

Detailed explanations (footnotes) under the cut!

Any mistakes are my own.

1. 君 is a formal and literary way to say “you.” It can also be used to refer to lords, monarchs, rulers, etc.

2. Note the juxtaposition of 盛 “flourishing” (also: splendorous; vigorous; blooming) and 落 “falling” flowers.

3. The 正道 can also be understood as the “orthodox path.” In Buddhism, it is the right way: it is the path of correct principles and of doing the right things.

4. 风华正茂 is an idiom that simply means “in one’s prime.” I chose to invoke imagery that would call back to the beginning two lines about flowers.

5. 经历风雨 is an idiom that means “to go through thick and thin.”

6. 初心 is a commonly invoked theme in such coming-of-age stories (which this thematically may as well be, for FDB) and translates literally to “the heart at one’s beginning.” For FDB, it would mean keeping his principles of justice and goodness in mind, no matter what he goes through.

7. 山高水长 can be an idiom that describes one’s personality and/or character. This line can also be understood as praising FDB’s noble and optimistic/positive character (见日光: seeing sunlight; sunny-dispositioned; always looking on the bright side).

8. 前路存知己 is very similar in phrasing to a line from Tang Dynasty poet Gao Shi’s 《别董大》 (Farewell to My Friend Dong):

莫愁前路无知己 Worry not, on the road ahead, that you will lack someone who knows your heart. 天下谁人不识君 Beneath these skies, who will not know your name?

If you watched 《说英雄谁是英雄》 Heroes (2022), this line will probably be familiar.

9. These two lines come from the end of Song Dynasty poet Zhou Xingji’s 《送友人东归》 (Sending My Friend to Return East), which I believe laments the pains of a long-distance friendship. The lines that ZSX has quoted here essentially encourages FDB to continue working hard on the life path he has chosen, despite how the sadness of separation can feel unbearable, for even if he and his friend (LLH) are a thousand li apart, they will ultimately reach the same goal and destination.

10. I thought it was interesting that he uses 服 and 望, because the phrasing is very similar to LLH’s letter at the end of the series, when he apologizes to DFS (终有服君之所望): “I have failed you ultimately.”

#mysterious lotus casebook #莲花楼 #zeng shunxi #fang duobing #mine #when i found out that ZSX was quoting a poem i wanted to cry #1) bc it's really hard to translate lines from poetry out of context #2) because oh my god?? my FangHua heart??#they're zhiji... 🥺🥺🥺#my translation #have i really not made a tag for that... i cant remember

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crimsonstonetranslations · 1 month

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Translation updates - Mar 2024

Hi everyone,

It's been a while since the last update, and I hope everyone is having a good year so far.

File 3 of Another Files - The Dead's Wish is now up. This is the last file in the volume and admittedly the one that left me the most emotional. I hope you will enjoy it as much as I did. The epilogue and afterword should be up in the near future as well.

Moving on, I've decided to self-edit my translation in hopes to pick up the pace a little bit as I foresee having to juggle even more real life commitments alongside the translation. I hope it's not going to sacrifice too much of the translation quality.

Next up, about the translation backlog. In case you missed it, Kaminaga-sensei and staff made a major announcement late last year that 1) a sequel to the Shinrei Tantei Yakumo series is in the works and 2) they are making a 'complete' version of the previous volumes. As the series was Kaminaga-sensei's debut work that started back in 2004, my understanding is that they're updating the setting to keep up with the times while keeping the outlines intact to make something that both old and new fans can enjoy. Both are scheduled to start publication this spring. Currently, like most materials that are only available in Japanese, I'm not certain if I'll ever be able to pick these up ever (or anytime soon), so I'll just keep an eye on the official updates for the time being.

Hence, as scheduled, I will be translating Shinrei Tantei Yakumo Another Files - Lamenting Doll next. Like The Dead's Wish, this volume also consisted of 3 files that are self contained cases and an epilogue. As a preview for now, here is the blurb:

Yakumo’s uncle, Isshin, brought him a case of a painting of a man with red eyes. Alongside Haruka and Gotou, they then travelled to a sake factory at Yamanashi, where the painting was located. However, after their arrival, terrifying incidents fell one by one upon Haruka! The case of the painting of a man with red eyes led them to another case with the ghost of a child and a talking doll. Yakumo had to deal with spiritual phenomena one after another amidst heavy downpour!

However! While you guys wait for the file 01 of Another Files - Lamenting Doll to be completed, I'm planning to release another short translation beforehand: if you've been looking at my schedule page, I have a separate backlog of shorter-length materials only available in Japanese that I wish to slowly commission a JP-EN translation out of.

I'm excited to announce that the first item on the list is currently being worked on: Shinrei Tantei Yakumo 6.5 - Unexpressed Feelings. It's a not for sale booklet from a limited-run campaign in 2011 containing 2 short stories with illustrations by Oda Suzuka (instead of Suzuki Yasushi that usually did the paperback illustrations). The first story took place after the end of file 3 in the manga/novel volume 3, in case you'd like to refresh your memory of that particular case before reading. I'm hoping to have it published sometime in April.

This post's getting long, that's everything I have for now. Thank you for reading and do look forward to the upcoming updates!

#shinrei tantei yakumo translation #psychic detective yakumo translation

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the-archxr · 2 years

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she needed more than me

steve harrington x afab!reader

summary: i’m friendly and thoughtful and quite awfully pretty, but she needed more than me.

a/n: *gif isn’t mine, it’s from pinterest* I’m sorry, but this bitch is sad. I’m on my period and I’m very fucking emotional and I was craving some pining angst so here we are, I guess. based off of ‘illicit affairs’ by taylor swift, ‘she needs him’ by hers and ‘tears over beers’ by modern baseball. also if this does well, a smutty part two is in the very near future. (hint, it’s very fucking graphic.)

warnings: sadness; pure fucking heartache; one-sided pining; self-deprecation; obliviously in love; idiots in love; eventual fluff (the tooth-rotting kind); jealous!steve; best friends with benefits but it’s messy; just steve lamenting on how he loves you; swearing; mentions of sex, but nothing super explicit (I’m savin the goods for part two)

word count: 2.2k

main m.list | steve harrington m.list

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part two

•••

Steve Harrington has always needed you.

It’s a pathetic thought: the idea that the solution to one person’s problems is simply the presence of another. But it’s the truth. One of the hardest pills he’s had to swallow, and one of the harshest realities he’s had to live through. From the moment you saved him from those demodogs in senior year, to when you helped him look for a place after his parents kicked him out, he’s needed you. You’re the lifeline to his solitary island. The one constant in his new life that keeps him grounded, keeps him sane.

Steve Harrington will always need you.

But you don’t need him.

It’s a painful realization that he may never get used to. One that he knows he’ll never get used to. He’s been able to live with that knowledge, understands that you couldn’t possibly need him like that and he should be okay with that. But some days, when he’s lonely and hurt, and all he wants is you, that fact is a little hard to cope with.

Especially now.

You’re asleep by the time he’s done in the shower. The sounds of your falling breath rising over the faint noises of the tv alert him of the fact. His reflection in the mirror is foggy, distorted as a mop of brown hair falls over his eyes. The strained ache of his muscles releases with every roll of his shoulders as he inspects his neck. A bruise, a litter of discolouration dots his collarbones—a delightful constellation of where your mouth was and where he wanted you most. Even as his finger caresses the tendon in his neck, he can still feel the electricity of your mouth, the energy of your hand in his and your hot breath on his face. He could get lost in the feeling, he has on more than one occasion. It’s an addictive drug; a feeling of relaxation and ease that swirls around him in a thick, silently deadly fog. If he stays there and just takes a little longer to admire your work, maybe he could get lost in it all. In your spell. In this fantasy world, he’s created. The one he maintains and waters and cares for as it awaits your sporadic return.

The air-conditioning hits him, remaining beads of warm water freezing on his exposed skin as he tightened the towel around his waist. He steps into his room, standing still in the doorway as he looks around. Flashes of staticky blue and white and red paint the walls, the furniture, and your figure. You're lying on your stomach, naked back exposed to the light as the messy sheets rest on your hips.

You look peaceful. Safe, sound, and protected in the cocoon you’ve made of his bed. Turning the tv off, darkness overtakes the room. A swell of black drowning everything other than your face. You're illuminated by the moon filtering in through his window; soft curves and delicate features loosened as your body rises with every breath. Kicking the towel to the corner, he tugs on a pair of clean boxers before climbing into the space beside you.

He moves slowly, careful not to disturb you as he lies down, pulling the sheets up with him. He covers you first; the sight of goosebumps on your spine leading him to wrap you up as he tries to get comfortable.

Turning on his side, he takes a moment to look at you. Your face is squished into the pillow, creases forming on your cheek with the bunched-up fabric, hair falling everywhere.

You look so beautiful like this.

Granted, you’re always beautiful. Steve can’t remember when he looked at you and didn’t think you were utterly breathtaking. But right now, in your most vulnerable state, you feel safe with him. Safe enough to sleep beside him like it’s your typical routine. As though this is your home, and this is your bed, and the man beside you is yours. And that in and of itself is beautiful.

The idea of being yours is beautiful. It’s the desire for something he’s wanted for what seems like forever—the ability to love you in the way he wants. In a public display of love as opposed to a private affair. To show you that all the words he says when he’s on the verge of coming are real. That everything he promises in the heat of the moment, all those tender words and passionate kisses are for you. Only you.

Everything he is, and everything he does…it’s all for you.

It’s just that you don’t notice. Or maybe you do, and you just don’t bring it up. Whatever it is, it’s never addressed. You and Steve find solace in each other in the quiet, in the lonely moments where the nightmares become a little too real and you can’t possibly turn to anyone else.

It seems that whenever you show up on the other's doorstep with your hands in each other’s hair and hips rutting together, that’s the only time you allow yourselves to honestly want each other.

After all, you always say it. Right as Steve lines himself up at your entrance, head hung low with his hands on your hips, chest stuttering with anticipation. I want you.

You always want him then. You want him and his body and you want him to make you cum.

But Steve wants you in other ways, in ways he isn’t allowed.

So when he can, he indulges you. Guides you up to the peak and throws you over, only to walk you up all the way again. He hopes, although incredibly naively, that all those times he swallows your moans, every time he shudders as he feels you squeeze him in further, that it’s enough. He hopes that it’s enough to tell you everything he can’t, and won’t say.

He just…

He wants you to know.

He wants you to know that he’d carve his own heart out if it meant he’d get to keep yours; that he’d sacrifice himself a thousand times over if it kept you safe; that he’ll keep making love to you as long as he gets to see your pretty face because the sight of you coming is enough to make him say ‘I love you’.

Steve Harrington wants you to know that he needs you more than anything.

His blood, and his bones, and his body are all yours. There’s a golden tattoo, a brand on his heart, in large, loopy letters that spell out your name.

He’s yours.

But you’re someone else’s.

And he knows this. You weren’t exactly dating Rick, nothing set in stone or real enough for you to be monotonous.

But that moment, the teetering cliff of something else, was drawing closer.

Steve didn’t like Rick, though it was nothing against the guy himself.

He lived alone, in a nicer apartment than Steve’s just outside of Indianapolis. He had a nice car, a bank job that gave him a steady paycheck, money that he spent on you constantly. He had friends and a good relationship with his parents, full of weekend barbecues and restaurant outings he invited you to more than once.

You never said yes, but Steve could tell you would soon. With Rick, a 6’3 sight of tanned skin and warm eyes, it was only a matter of time. Because first came the gifts and the dates, then came the titles and the weekends at his house until you would eventually move in, with the promise of marriage and children and a large suburban house in your joined future. All the while Steve would be left in the rearview mirror. A broken pile of kicked-up dirt from your tires and a heart bloodied by your raging fist.

Everything was barreling toward an aggressive end; an agonizing conclusion to your relationship. The story of Steve’s demise and his replacement.

Rick was the one person who could take you away from Steve. The only person who could drag you away from this hell hole before Steve could even get a chance.

Except in hindsight, he can’t really blame Rick.

Because he considers that he’s already had a chance.

The universe has given him plenty of chances. There had been millions of little moments over the past three years for him to finally tell you everything. Even now. As he watches you sleep, with your hand subconsciously curling into his side as you snuggle closer to him, he wrestles with himself over possibilities and chances and miracles.

He could wake you up. Could kiss you in the way he’s been holding back, tell you just how much he fucking loves you before rolling into you until you’re coming all over him.

He’s had so many chances. So many times has the little voice in the back of his head told him to take the plunge. To leap into your gravity and kiss you in front of everyone, in front of Hawkins and the world, in front of Rick.

He’s not too sure if you’ve had sex with Rick yet. And really it’s not his business. But part of him can’t help but preen at the thought that you two haven’t; at the thought that he’s the only one you’ve been fucking. Ego spreads through his veins at the sight of his marks on your neck, on the bruises that adorn your breasts, and the way he memorized the feeling of your slick-covered thighs.

He’s been everywhere; over every stretch and dip of skin, from the tip of your head, down to your toes and to your pulsating cunt. There’s a map of his love, of his affection and his adoration decorating the alter of your body, and not once had he seen evidence of another partitioner.

Jealousy, possessiveness and pride lick at where his hand strokes your shoulder. Although all ugly emotions and feelings Steve knows you hate, he can’t help but pardon them.

Steve knows you in ways Rick never will. In ways, he never could.

Rick could give you the world. Give you a cushy house and money and stability and a life full of comfortability.

But Steve could give you love. Steve could give you his body and his soul promises beyond the physical as a sign of his devotion. Steve has given you his life. His attention. Gone are the days full of random dates, much to yours and Robin’s teasing. Steve has given you his heart. His home, the place where he lives and breathes you.

Everything is you.

And he’s sure, no matter how interested that dickwad might be, Rick will never need you the way Steve does.

You’ve rolled over onto your side, your left leg entangling itself with Steve’s as your head falls to the space beneath his chin. Warmth blooms within the cavity of his chest, rattling his ribs and his heart to the point where he’s sure you would wake up from the sound of beating alone.

A sense of sadness eats at his body as his arm comes to cradle your back. In the morning you’ll wake up, apologize to Steve over your ‘penchant for cuddling’ then get dressed for work as though it never happened. And he’ll shake his head, tell you it’s alright with a laugh even though you’ll never know the true extent of his words, before getting ready for his day.

Because he’s had countless opportunities. Hundreds of stolen glances, burning touches and desperate moments where he could be brave.

But bravery could lead to calamity. You might not want him the same way. And Steve knows you will never need him the way he needs you.

You need more than Steve Harrington.

But you're all he needs.

So as long as he gets to keep you if he has even the slightest chance of keeping a rope tethered between the two of you, he’ll take it. He’ll take whatever you can give him.

So for once, he indulges himself.

His head dips down to yours, a gentle press of his lips kissing the top of your head. You smell like vanilla and coconut, his detergent and his cologne—a concoction of scents he’s become accustomed to. The smell of home and sanctuary. Of hushed moans and pleasured groans, of laughter and silent whispers of 'I would die for you'.

His home.

Rolling onto his back, he tucks you under his arm, enough room to hold you close but let you go when you inevitably leave.

His eyes droop with sleep, tiredness beginning to finally possess his body as he melts into you. If he can’t have you the way he wants, he’ll take this.

Pressing another kiss to your nose, he closes his eyes and breathes you in one last time. He can feel the thrum of your life beneath his palms, and it’s that alone that makes him swoon. “…I love you, —, you know that?”

The last bit of weight lifts off of his chest at the confession, of the finality of being unleashed into the open without repercussions. You don’t respond, not that he expects you to.

But at least he gets to live in your silence.

At least he gets to pretend for just a little bit longer.

•••

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nutmeg-mayonnaise · 1 year

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If Gregory, Mia and Mel are Phoenix and Maya's biological kids, does that mean Phoenix and Maya have Done the Deed, so to speak? Or were other methods involved?

Hello friend! I feel like if I gave the “quick” answer to this question, it’s going to be missing a lot of important context, and since I feel like the topic of family planning from a queerplatonic/aroace perspective is seldom talked about, I'm going to go more in-depth.

[ID: Edgeworth, Phoenix, and Maya holding or carrying children. Edgeworth is carrying the fan character Gregory Wright as a child on his back, with his eyes closed and a tense expression. Gregory has a happy face with closed eyes with his arms wrapped around Edgeworth’s shoulders. Phoenix has the fan character Mia Fey as a young child on his shoulders and head. Mia has her hands covering Phoenix’s eyes and has a determined expression. Phoenix is gripping Mia’s legs. Maya is holding Melusina Fey as an infant to her chest with a happy expression with her eyes closed.]

This is a little long and I know the subject matter isn’t for everyone, so the details along with a mini-comic are below the cut! (Nothing discussed is above the T rating!)

In my AU, Phoenix, Maya, and Edgeworth are all on different places on the aromantic and/or asexual spectrum (cue "Ace" Attorney jokes). It’s also worth mentioning that they're in a queerplatonic relationship, so their orientations don't really matter that much with regards to the polycule. If any of them wanted to pursue a romantic relationship with someone besides each other, it doesn’t break the queerplatonic polycule. However, their orientations does matter with regards to the kids.

One of the fics I'm writing takes place after Spirit of Justice where Maya is starting to seriously think about the future of the Fey Clan lineage. This makes Phoenix anxious, as he's well aware of the history of disastrous marriages in Kurain Village, and hopes to whoever's listening that it doesn't happen to Maya, too. However, he's not attracted to her in that way, so he doesn't get involved outside of being there for moral support.

Extremely long story short, after Maya's disastrous dating life--where she discovers she does not like romantic attention--soul-searching, emotional turmoil, Phoenix and Maya ask themselves why they couldn't have a family together as friends--especially after Edgeworth lectures both of them on separate occasions that they were viewing the situation too romantically. Fey Clan lineage doesn't care about romance, you see.

Obviously how the kids came to be was a huge hang-up. When Maya lamented that she wasn't fond of romantic attention during her moment of self-discovery, Phoenix recommended she have a chat with Edgeworth, who suggested the very unromantic route of donors (and offered to help pay). On a different occasion, when Phoenix was hung up over the birds and the bees, so to speak, Edgeworth suggests that he (Phoenix, to be clear) could be a donor for Maya. That doesn't involve contact, Maya's kids would have a dad who loves them and their mom, it's a win-win.

Unfortunately, well after Phoenix and Maya were already emotionally invested in starting the family together, Maya learns that known donors require a lot more time and money than unknown donors, as well as mandatory therapy. Did I mention money? So, to put a finer point on it, since they felt very secure with their friendship and nothing has threatened it thus far in this situation, they didn't see why they couldn't give the "free" route a shot.

As you might have guessed, given the lack of attraction towards each other in that way... it did not go well.

It was the straw that broke the camel's back and started to strain their relationship. So much so, that when they were working together in court after trying for a few months, Edgeworth noticed they were irritable towards each other and requested a recess to chat with them...

[ID: Two comic panels. The first panel has Edgeworth, Phoenix, and Maya in the Defendant Lobby. Edgeworth is standing before Phoenix with his arms crossed. Phoenix is sitting on one end of the couch hunched over in distress with his hand over his forehead. Maya is sitting on the other end of the couch, facing away, with her hands together on her lap and a red face. The narration says “After a long vent about Phoenix and Maya’s Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Time...”. The second panel has Edgeworth with his arms crossed and his eyes closed. He says “Why are you two not considering medical assistance?”]

[ID: Two more comic panels. The first panel has Phoenix in the same pose as before. He says, “We don’t have that kind of time or money. I know you offered to help with the expenses, but it’s still too much, and we can’t ask more from you...”. The second panel has Edgeworth adjusting his glasses with one arm still crossed. His grits his teeth as he says, “Are you aware they have............. they sell....”]

[ID: Two more panels. The first one has Edgeworth typing on his rose gold phone with the onomatopoeia “tap tap tap”, looking flustered. There is a speech bubble with several ellipses. In the next panel is Edgeworth showing his phone to Phoenix and Maya, with him saying “Here.” Very small text pointing to the phone says “At-home kits that allow kids to happen with no contact for about $100. :)”. Phoenix looks at the phone with his eyes wide and Maya leans in, also looking at the phone with wide eyes.]

[ID: The same illustration as the first image, with the narration “Seven years and three kids later...”. Phoenix says “Hey, thanks again for the recommendation, Miles!” Edgeworth’s speech bubble has “.....*grumble*........” written. Maya has a speech bubble with a pink heart.]

(And Edgeworth is still in disbelief that he did more research than they did..........but he got a son out of the whole ordeal so it’s okay. :) )

To sum it all up, while it was far from their first choice, they certainly did give Doing the Deed a shot for the sake of saving time and money, but they found it was too much for them so all three kids were conceived with those at-home kits.

Thanks for the question!

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wonderlandleighleigh · 8 months

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It feels like every other week, someone makes a post, lamenting that the fic writers for The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel missed the point of the show and we focus too much on the Midge x Lenny romance and not enough on Susie/Midge or Midge's success without a man.

And I feel like I need those people to understand that if we've missed those big points (we haven't. It's just that Midge x Lenny are fun and real life is hard and this is a hobby), then they have maybe missed the other big points of the last season:

1. Midge failed in every aspect of her life but comedy. Sophie was a cautionary tale she did not heed. "All Alone" was a cautionary tale turned into a self-fulfilling prophecy. She drove her children away, which means it is unlikely she has a close relationship with her grandchildren. Her best friend is 3000 miles away. She has a string of failed marriages. She has celebrity "friends" who likely don't know her as a real person.

Midge has comedy and a half-hour phone call with Susie every day. That's not a happy ending. For a woman that so valued connection and family for the whole series, that's fucking sad. If she had ever expressed a desire to be alone, it wouldn't be. We know it's not what she wanted. It's sad.

2. The season 5 flashforwards are, largely, about unexplored, unacknowledged grief, and the narrative tries to make it seem like no big deals. Lenny dies in '66. Rose dies in 'in the mid-70's. She loses Abe, and likely Noah. Moishe and Shirley. Joel dies in '04. Again, she drove her kids away, whom she did love and tried hard for even if she wasn't mother of the year. We dont get to explore her falling out with Susie in any real way and the grief in that. The grief of so much failed love. We never get to explore any of those things with Midge. The narrative intoduces these ideas and then moves on, asking us to shrug those things off, but how do we do that? Surely Midge wouldn't, and didn't, but we're asked to just keep it moving, as if these things don't deserve more time.

Instead, we get to see a whole season of boring late night drivel along with these underdeveloped snippets of future we're asked to shrug off because "Midge did it!! She doesn't need a man!!!!!!"

And in the meantime, she ends the series with...nobody. nothing but Susie's disembodied voice over the phone.

And if the entire point of the show was for Midge to end it lonely in her fame, what the hell was all of it for?

I'll stick to my fic.

#the marvelous mrs. maisel #leigh is grumpy #I've been thinking about this for months

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super-paper · 11 months

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:re your tags about body motifs in bnha got me curious about something. I can think off the top of my head several examples of how this applies to the trio, and a couple more about how this applies to AFO. But can I ask you to expand on how the eye motif is present in AFO specifically? The hands and mouth are obvious, but I can't say I've ever picked up on the symbolism around eyes when it comes to him. Well, unless you're referring to that scene with the sensors in Tartarus. But I'm curious if there's more that I missed, and since I'm a slut about themes and symbolism (and the eye theme relating to the todofam in particular), I would love a deep dive into it and how they're connected, if you don't mind sharing, of course 👀 Really love your meta btw

Thank youu~!

Yea, the eyes def receive less focus overall compared to the emphasis placed on AFO's mouth/hands-- but I feel that AFO's association with eyes is still pretty important even if they don't get as much focus, and the rare scenes where we -do- get to focus on his eyes + his relationship with eyes do a lot for his character.

↑ Breaking down AFO's character design to its barest essentials, you can see Hori more or less designed his "true" appearance with these three elements in mind: mouths, hands, and eyes. A perpetual mask-like grin, the stigmata marks to both hands, and completely blank white eyes. Hori uses the composition and lighting in his art to further emphasize these aspects, usually by placing focus on one part/motif at a time-- AFO is essentially introduced to us in pieces, bit by bit, body part by body part.

I would say act 1 focuses primarily on his hands, while act 2 shifts to focusing on his mouth/smile. The final act is where we finally start exploring AFO's relation to eyes-- and imo, Hori chose to focus on AFO's eyes last b/c AFO's eyes seem to be what connect him to his humanity and """true""" feelings:

Panels that emphasize AFO's eyes specifically are almost always tied to Yoichi! It's a neat and completely loaded little detail. In what's heavily implied to be the aftermath of Yoichi's death, we suddenly shift from obscuring AFO's eyes to obscuring his mouth-- the total reverse of how he's typically depicted during flashback scenes. His eyes (and tears) receive all the focus. The narration doesn't match or address what we're actually*seeing* in a fashion that's eerily similar to the way that Tomura narrates over the deaths of his family. There's a lot of set up here already, and I'm looking forward to see how it all ultimately pays off.

And if eyes are ultimately the motif that ties AFO to his humanity, then the lack of eyes throughout Act's 1 & 2 also feels intentional.

Blank eyes are also a design trait he shares with Twice (i.e. "Guy whose own quirk drove him to insanity and completely wrecked his sense of identity/individuality") and Sir Nighteye (i.e. "Guy whose quirk lets him see into the future of others, and the future he saw caused him to fall into despair and become a bitter husk of his former self")-- both characters are depicted w/ blank eyes for 90% of their screen time, but "gain" pupils during key scenes. Twice stands out in particular, bc Hori starts consistently drawing him with pupils immediately after he's able to verify his identity and overcome the trauma associated with his quirk.

Also worth mentioning: Jin kicks off his entire arc talking about the importance of knowing who you are and lamenting about the pains that come with losing sight of yourself/no longer being able to connect with or trust others, and he completes his arc by affirming that he knows exactly who he is and dedicating his heart completely to others. Nighteye's entire arc is about smashing past his fear of the future and the fear of change while *also* learning to value Mirio and Izuku as individuals instead of merely viewing them as vessels for OFA. Both arcs are very much relevant to AFO's whole deal as a character/antagonist and the overall theme(s) of MHA as a whole. Twice and Nighteye serve as semi-heroic foils to AFO who manage overcome the same shortcomings that AFO implicitly struggles with, specifically because they allowed themselves to care about others-- So imo it's neat that these three all share this particular design trait!

they're also the two characters whose deaths have the most narrative impact outside of Yoichi and Nana/The Shimura Fam (whoops)

The final act has also been placing more and more emphasis on how a person's eyes look when they finally get to be their best selves and follow their dreams, and how they sparkle and shine when they think about their origins and their hopes for the future (and I've talked about how this contrasts with Tomura's fairly dead-eyed expression whenever he talks about his "dreams" of destroying everything before (link!), so I'm pretty pleased that the narrative is now calling attention to how a person's eyes look + making the total lack of ~shine~ in Tomura's eyes a very intentional thing).

AFO addresses this directly-- on the surface, he appears to be echoing Touya's desire to be "seen" and expresses resentment that people aren't looking at him. But where Touya longs to be seen in a way that truly validates his humanity and reason for existing, AFO instead wants to be "seen" as something completely devoid of those human qualities. Dabi wants people to see Touya, Mysterious Shigaraki X only wants people to see "AFO." He wants to be a looming, mythical figure who blots out the sun itself-- and when people look towards their future, they should only be seeing a path that ends with him and him alone:

This sequence will never not be thematically relevant

Tomura, Himiko, and Touya all desire the basic human connections that are associated with Hands/Mouths/Eyes. Even as they continue to lash out and use their respective motifs in increasingly violent/self-destructive ways, their core desire never changes. The desire to be touched gently, the desire to be spoken to like a normal girl, and the desire to be truly seen-- that longing for human intimacy (and who they ultimately seek understanding/intimacy from) betrays what their true desires are more than anything else.

AFO shares the same body motifs as the hero and villain trios, but he's a corrupted version of those motifs and represents what hands/mouths/eyes are capable of at their absolute worst. AFO doesn't truly "see" others. AFO doesn't see people as individuals, he only sees them as extensions of himself or as bit-part "roles" to be played out in his increasingly off-the-rails real people fanfiction. AFO doesn't want people to look to the future or even attempt looking beyond him. AFO doesn't want anyone to see what lies behind his shadowy mask and the AFO persona. AFO counts on society to avert their eyes from problems and pretend they don't see, so he can swoop in and play the benevolent savior to those who have been abandoned. AFO doesn't want anyone to see "Tenko," he only wants them to see "Shigaraki." Et cetera et cetera et cetera.

Anyway--!!

There's also the underlying implication that AFO wants everyone to have eyes that are just like his:

Blank. Empty. Completely devoid of spark and soul, pushed past the brink of total despair, with no hope whatsoever for a future.

#all for one #bubaigawara jin #sir nighteye #srry for the late reply i've been pretty busy with work!#my hero academia #nothing to see here just afo being a freak about his brother and taking his larping sessions way 2 seriously. you know. the usual!#mha.txt

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