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theowritesstuff · 2 years ago

Text

Everything

Kaz Brekker x gn!healer!reader

Requests: “Don’t make me say it. I can’t say the words.” & “You are everything. Everything.” Although I did change it to “You are everything to me. Everything.”

Warnings: bruises, knives, guns, stabbing, blood, murder (feral Kaz)

A/N: Yeah, this is pretty dark guys. If you’ve watched the show/read the books you’ll be fine, but the crows plotlines are usually dark. I actually really like this one though! Italics are Kaz’s thoughts.

Request a prompt with one of my characters!

Kaz Brekker was methodical. He planned everything he could down to the very minute. It was how he was able to become the leader of the Dregs, the Bastard of the Barrel. No one dared cross Kaz, in fear of losing their life.

His crew were nearly as untouchable as he was. Jesper, the sharpshooter. Inej, the wraith. Wylan, the demolitions expert. Nina, the heartrender. And Matthias, the druskelle. They, along with their leader, made up one of the most prominent gangs in Ketterdam.

Then there was you. You were the crow that Kaz kept tucked away from the rest of Ketterdam.

Nina had brought you to Kaz after finding you help a small child with a nasty scrape on his knee. She watched as you guided your hand over the scrape, and the cuts disappeared. She hadn’t seen another Corporalnik in Ketterdam before, and knew that having a healer would help immensely when it came to heists.

Kaz was reluctant to take you in, only agreeing once he’d seen you heal a black eye Jesper had been sporting for a few days. He gave you a room at the Slat, gave you a few kruge, and introduced you to the other crows.

They were all easy to get along with. Nina helped you ease into this new life, often times joining you for meals, or taking walks through the markets with you. You had an obvious initial distaste for Mathias, often times choosing to stay away from the druskelle, but seeing him with Nina quickly put you at ease. Inej was incredibly kind to you, and graciously thanked you whenever you healed her. Wylan and Jesper were easy to get along with, often times too absorbed in each other to be aware of other things going on around them.

Then there was Kaz. It was more difficult to have a working relationship with Kaz, anyone could tell you he usually kept to himself unless he was giving orders or collecting kruge. You tried not to take his indifference to you personally.

You do remember the day things changed between you and Kaz though. The group had all come back from a heist exhausted, some injured, some just tired, but you could see Kaz out of the corner of your eye walking to his room quicker than he usually does. You followed him upstairs, and softly knocked on the door.

“Come in.” He grunted.

You’d never been in Kaz’s room before, you don’t think anyone other than Kaz actually has. It’s dark, and honestly exactly what you’d expected. A bed in the corner, a desk against the wall cluttered with paper, and a wardrobe that he was currently riffing through.

“Is there a reason you’ve decided to grace me with your presence Y/n?” He asks, his tone sharp.

“How did you know it was me?” You shuffle forward, and close his door behind you.

“Everyone else knows not to bother me after a job.” He turned his head towards you slightly, allowing you to catch a glimpse of red on his cheek.

“You’re hurt.” You take a step towards him. He steps back from you instantaneously.

“I’m fine.” He turns back to his wardrobe.

“Saints, why must you be so stubborn?” You sigh. He doesn’t answer you. “I thought you hired me to heal you, so let me do my job.”

It’s his turn to sigh this time. It would be nice to stop the stinging sensation on his face. He glances at you, then gestures you towards him. “Fine.” He sits down in the chair at his desk, and watches you slowly step towards him.

You slowly move towards him, aware of the way his shoulder tense with every step you take. You don’t know exactly what’s happened to him, but you can easily tell he’s got some sort of touch aversion after watching him for a while. The black gloves that never come off his hands are used as another layer to keep others away.

Once you’re standing in front of him you take a look at the thin cut across his cheek. “I didn’t know the bastard of the barrel could bleed.” You murmur.

You don’t fail to miss the slight upward quirk of his lips at your comment. He holds his breath as your fingertips hover over him. He expected to feel the waters rise up in his chest, drowning him, instead he’s surprised to feel warmth from your hand. You’re careful not to actually touch him, pulling away once he’s been healed.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” You ask, stepping away from him.

That was the moment you became more than just the Dregs’ healer. Whenever you went out anywhere Kaz would send Inej with you for protection. He knew how valuable a grisha was in Ketterdam, and he was not going to let someone else take you away. He called you into his office in the Crow Club or his room in the Slat more often. Sometimes he’d need you to heal a paper cut, other times he’d just want your company while he planned out heists. On nights where he came back banged up more than usual he’d bare more skin to you, allowing you to heal him and provide him the comfort a part of him so desperately needed.

He’d never let it be known he was growing some kind of attachment to you. You were a weakness to him, and Kaz Brekker didn’t have any weaknesses.

It didn’t take long for the other crows to figure out something was different between the two of you. Kaz was a cold, corrupt gang leader, but they could see a shift in him when you were near.

He’d give you his coat if you felt cold on the walk from the club back to the Slat. He kept your favorite drink in stock at the Crow Club. He’d look to you for your opinion on plans for heists. He whispered comments to you while he thought the others weren’t paying attention, a smug grin growing on his face as you laughed at what he’d said. Soft isn’t the right word for what Kaz had become when you were near. He was gentle with you.

Jesper caught you sneaking out of Kaz’s room early one morning still in the clothes you’d worn the previous day. He smirked at Kaz as he ate his breakfast for the day.

“Have a pleasant night boss?” He asked over his cup of coffee.

Kaz raises a brow at him, silently asking what he meant.

Jesper simply looks over at you, who is currently in conversation with Nina and Mathias on the other side of the room. His eyes travel back to Kaz, gleaming with mischief.

Kaz looks like he’s about to hit Jesper over the head with the crow’s head of his cane. He gets a stern talking to in Kaz’s office later that day, and is informed that if anyone finds out about his meetings with you, his precious revolvers might end up on someone’s table in the market.

No one mentions any changes they’ve seen in Kaz after that. Everything goes smoothly from then on, until one particular heist.

It was a lot like any other heist, sneak into a place, steal something that costs an exorbitant amount of money, then sell it for twice the price. The problem was Kaz needed someone to sneak into a crowded party, and at that point most of the barrel could pick out any of the crows in a crowd. They needed someone that could be inconspicuous.

It was the perfect job for you. You’d always wanted to go on the crazy adventures your friend went on so often, and this was finally something you could swing.

When you volunteered to step in, Kaz immediately refused. There was a reason he kept you locked away in the Slat during jobs.

No amount of kruge is worth putting your life on the line.

He gives excuse after excuse as to why you can’t be used. You haven’t done this before. You don’t know your way around the building. They need their healer ready to treat them afterwards.

I can’t bear the thought of losing you.

“You don’t even know how to use a weapon.” Kaz sighed, barely looking up at you from the blueprints on his desk.

“Inej can teach me, right?” You turn to the wraith with pleading eyes.

Inej stutters as she looks between you, and the icy stare coming from Kaz.

“Besides, you said that you wanted me to learn how to fight.”

No, I said you should learn to use a weapon. I figured Jesper would let you shoot a few bottles behind the Slat.

“We need them boss. Y/n is our best bet.” Jesper shrugs as he becomes the receiving end of Kaz’s glare.

Kaz looks back down at his blueprints. He knows it’s going to be a busy event, and the others will be spotted on sight. He briefly wonders if he can hire someone else to do the job, but then he looks back up at you. He trusts you, more than he’s trusted anyone in a long time. He knows this is something you’re perfectly capable of, but is it something he’s willing to risk?

“Fine.” He grunts. “But Jesper and Inej will teach you to use their weapons first.”

Your hearts swells up with pride. If you didn’t know any better you would’ve thrown yourself over his desk to hug him. “Thank you Kaz. I promise you won’t regret this.”

If only you knew how wrong you had been.

You did train with Inej and Jesper prior to the heist. You even practiced fighting with Mathias a little bit, who was significantly holding back his punches in fear of actually hurting you.

Kaz had made sure to drill his instructions into everyone’s heads, until they could repeat their schedules without thinking about it. Everything had gone to according to plan on the night of, until things took a drastic turn.

He kept an eye on you for as long as he could, until he was needed somewhere else, leaving you in the crowd of the large hall completely isolated from the rest of the group.

You were doing well on your own, slowly becoming more confident as you strolled around and made conversation. You managed to distract all of the merchants with conversation long enough for the crew to get what they needed. It was nearing the time Kaz told you to meet him outside when you were spotted by someone. You vaguely recognized the face, it was a man you’d seen in the Crow Club a few times.

He must’ve known about your affiliation with the crows, because next thing you know you’re being escorted the opposite direction you need to go. You try to stay calm, and remember what Jesper and Inej taught you about fighting, but you know with them holding onto your arms it’ll be near impossible to reach for the knife you have hidden away.

You end up in a courtyard behind the building when they start to question you. Simple things like “why are you here?” and “where are your friends?”. They quickly become aggravated with your innocent act, and become more incessant.

All it took was for one of the men holding you to loosen his grip for you to swing your arm away, and hit him on the side of his face with your elbow. Chaos ensued immediately. You were able to grab your knife, and used it as best you could against the three men fighting you. You had taken a few hits, but were able to stand your ground fairly well, until you felt a sharp pain in your side.

You froze, partially from shock, but mostly from the searing pain you felt. You looked down to see a dagger lodged in your side, being held onto by one of the men. He had a wicked grin on his face as he twisted the knife inside of you. You wailed out as he pulled the knife from your body, and watched as you collapsed to the ground.

“Brekker won’t be able to save you from that, little bird.” He snikered, then ran back inside with the others.

You could feel the blood pooling at your side. You tried to press a hand to the now sticky fabric of your shirt, and put pressure on the wound. You were far too hurt to be able to concentrate your powers to one spot. Your vision started to get spotty when you heard voices above you. A girl’s voice, clearly in distress, and a boy’s voice, sharp and stern.

More hands pressed to your side, then something was wrapped tightly around your waist.

You couldn’t hear what they were actually saying before you felt yourself being picked up, and held in someone’s arms. You looked up to see the figure that was holding you. A bigger build, wide shoulders, blonde hair? Mathias. Had you been conscious enough to speak you would’ve made a joke. Something about a druskelle carrying a grisha to safety. He’d laugh, but retort, telling you about how many times he’s had to save Nina.

You let yourself fall into the darkness after a while, your head lolling against Mathias’ chest. It’s okay, you thought, you knew you weren’t going to make it as soon as he pulled that knife out of you. You just wish you were able to see your friends one last time, to see Kaz one last time.

Kaz could feel his heart thundering in his chest. He tried to keep a calm composure, but anyone of the crows could see the anxiety building up in him. He was barking orders as soon as he saw you laying on the ground, a puddle of your own blood surrounding you. The waves start to build in his chest. He wants to reach out and touch you, to give you any semblance of comfort, because you’re not dead, there’s no way he’s letting you die. He’ll destroy all of Kerch before he lets that happen.

He notices when your head lolls. “Quickly.” He urges the group, speeding his own pace back to the Slat.

Once everyones regrouped they all gather in your room, where Mathias has lain you down on your bed.

Kaz tosses a pouch of coins to Jesper. “Go get some medicine. I don’t care how much it costs. Get the best you can find.”

Inej kneels down next to you, whispering prayers to her saints. Mathias leaves to gather supplies to help you. Nina keeps your heartbeat steady, her hands hovering above your chest.

The waters have reached his lungs now, pulling him down deeper into the ocean. Your blood coats the scarf Inej tied around you earlier, staining the blue material a dark, deep red.

“Saints! Kaz, your heartbeat is obscenely loud! Could you please go anywhere else?” Nina snaps at him.

Kaz doesn’t move for a moment, then quickly leaves your room to go to his own. He attempts to slow his breathing, to calm himself down, but anytime he closes his eyes he sees you again. You and Jordie.

It’s days before he talks to anyone. He only ever leaves his room to step into yours. Nina occupies a chair near your bed, dark circles under her eyes from lack of sleep.

“Still alive.” Is all she says to him. He nods, then retreats back to his room.

He scours any and all information he has about the party, until he finds what might give him some relief. He leaves the Slat early one morning, and doesn’t return until late that evening. The gold crow’s head of his cane is now a bright crimson color. Blood is splattered on his neck, and one can assume his clothes as well, though the black hides it well from anyone giving him a second glance.

Jesper is surprised to see Kaz in such a state, knowing that he liked to keep up appearances.

“Hey boss, you’ve got a little…” he trails off, gesturing to his neck.

“It’s not mine.” He rushes passed Jesper, back to his room to start scrubbing the blood away.

You wake up about a week after the heist. Your throat is dry, and you feel incredibly hungry. Your limbs feel weak when move to sit up.

Nina sits next to you on a chair. She’s slouched over, soft snores falling from her lips. You softly nudge her, and let out a hoarse “Nina.”

She grumbles to herself as she wakes up. “Kaz, they’re fine.” She slowly opens her eyes to see you staring back at her, and she gasps. “Saints! You’re awake!”

You point to the cup that sits next to her, and gulp down the water when she hands it to you.

She stands up and looks towards the door to your room. “I’m going to go get Kaz.”

You grab her wrist before she can leave you. “Please don’t. I don’t think I can deal with incessant “I told you so”s right now.”

Nina scoffs. “Oh please, he’s been worried sick about you. I had to kick him out of here because his heartbeat was distracting me from yours.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. He even paid for some pretty pricey medicine for you. Speaking of which, here, take these.” She holds out a few pills. “Now, I’m going to go get Kaz, and maybe after this near-death experience you two will finally just tell each other that you love one another.”

“What? I don’t-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You shake your head.

“It’s okay, he’s not very good at hiding it either.” She smirks at you before she leaves.

She’s only gone a few minutes before your door swings open with Kaz in your doorway.

“You’re awake.” He says.

You shift so that you’re sitting up on your bed. Kaz closes your door behind him, then sits down in the chair Nina had been using, his eyes trained on the floor ahead.

“I’m sorry about the heist Kaz. But I promise I didn’t tell them anything-”

“I know.”

You furrow your brows. “You know?”

He looks up at you. When he does this, you realize just how close you are to him. You can see every detail in his face. The way his blue eyes sparkled in the dim candlelight of your room. You could brush your leg against his if you shifted. You start to move away from him, afraid of touching him, but stop when what sounds like a plea escapes him.

“Stay.”

You let out the breath you’d been holding, and relax beside him.

“Nina said you were worried about me.” You say softly.

He laughs a little, shaking his head. It’s a sight he’s reserved for just you. “Of course she did.”

“Were you?”

He looks into your eyes as if he’s searching for something. “I was.” He takes a breath, then turns his body so he’s facing you. “You scared me Y/n. I thought you had died, or were close to it. And I…” His admission is quiet. “Don’t make me say it. I can’t say the words.” He hangs his head in shame. The bastard of the barrel can’t admit how he feels.

“I understand.” You nod. “I feel so much love for you Kaz, you consume my every thought. You don’t need to say anything. I understand.”

He looks up at you, surprised. Surprised that someone as pure as you, someone who was literally made to heal, could ever love someone who’s caused so much pain as he has. He slowly removes his right glove, and drops the leather to the ground. He lifts his hand to your face, hovering near your cheek.

“You don’t have to.” You whisper, body frozen.

“I want to.” He takes a deep breath in an attempt to push the waves down, and slowly caresses your cheek. His throat tightens up, and for a moment it feels like he’s drowning again. But he focuses on your warmth, and his breathing slows down again. “You are everything to me. Everything.”

#kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker #shadow and bone #shadow and bone x reader #six of crows #six of crows x reader

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pix-writes · 5 months ago

Text

Catalogues

Stanley Pines x F!Reader (one shot)

AO3

Tags: mild mentions of sex work, homelessness and implied sexual trauma, angst with comfort, fluff, smutty themes (stan gets a little of the TLC he deserves), newly established relationship, implied age gap (not specified but are both adults)

Rating: Mature | 18+ MDNI

Summary: based on the prompt on this post from lore on thisisnotawebsitedotcom by @razziematazz

Words: <1.6k

Shrugging with the heavy box in your arms to adjust your grip, you called out into the shack. “Hey! Stan! I’ve got a surprise!”

You couldn’t believe your luck when you had found this stack of old-looking comics at the big yard sale, Stan was going to be thrilled.

Now here you were, spreading the contents onto the living room floor.

“So, did I do good or what?!”

“You did great, toots! How much did this cost?”

“Pff! That’s not important!” You grinned, watching as Stan flicked through one of the comics. “How old do you think they are, anyway?”

“Definitely vintage, some of ‘em are probably older than you!” He said with a wicked glint in his eye.

“Shut up!” You laughed, throwing a mock punch. “I’m not that young, you know.”

Stan caught up your wrist easily, motioning like he was about to bite off your fingers he chuckled at your squeal, before placing a kiss to your palm. “Yeah, yeah, whatever you say sweetheart.”

“Don’t know what’s gotten into you.” You muttered reaching into the box to pull out another pile, some of the glossy paper slipped through your hands, landing with a slap on the floor.

Stan snatched up a few just as you registered what you were looking at.

“Oh.” The heat rose to your face.

“"Now this is interesting! Who knew you were the type to buy a load of dirty ol’ mags, huh?”

“I didn’t know they were in there, the guy selling them likely didn’t either.” He was trying to be sly, but you could see he pocketed one of them and you reached to snatch one up. He stretched his arm up, so it was out of your grasp. “Hey! Stan! C’mon, that’s a double standard.”

“Hmm… I’m just gonna take a peek, maybe it’ll give me a few ideas.” He wiggled his eyebrows salaciously.

You both burst into laughter.

“I’m glad the kids aren’t here!”

You dove to reach the ones in your partner’s hand and this time he let you take it.

Sitting on the couch you both glanced at the forbidden material and giggled.

“Oh man, some of this stuff is older than me! And terribly niche!” You were so absorbed in looking at the men in the catalogue, hair and clothing looking so dated now, that you didn’t notice how quiet Stan had gotten. “I mean, hunky drifters, who even buys this stu-”

You had turned the page to an image that was familiar from photos you had seen before, though admittedly, he had more clothes on in those. Swallowing thickly as you realised that the eyes staring back out of the page at you were definitely those of your partner’s.

Stan remembers it clearly, though some of the details are hazy, he remembers the ad, the amount of short-change in his pocket and the duffel bag with the broken strap he kept over his shoulder. The nice lady at the desk had the gift of the gab and reeled off what they wanted, how he fit into it, how much money he could get. The place didn't look too classy, but it was warmer than it was outside.

"That's all part of it, darlin', it's supposed to be real, that's what our customers want!" She'd said with a wink and a squeeze of his arm, after he'd voiced some misgivings about taking off too much. He remembered the beady eyed photographer and his small crew directing him…

The place was a total meat market too, as he glanced around, he’d seen other people there to model all under dismissive eyes or hungry ones. The comments he’d gotten had made him shiver and he’d tried ever since to block them out of his mind.

He'd only left with a fraction of what they'd promised, but it was better than nothing, even if his ears were burning.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away for a few long moments. Stan was lying, no leaning, against the hood of a beaten-up looking car, rough jeans unzipped, cock in his grip red at the tip and dribbling precum. His face held a crooked, almost nonchalant smile - if that was a thing. Like he knew he looked good and he didn’t care who was watching. And yet… the camera had managed to pick up the faint blush over his cheeks. It sent a spark of heat straight down to your groin.

You practically dropped the magazine when you saw the second photo, the younger Stan was in the backseat of the car, legs spread, the camera took the shot from a low angle which meant there was little left to the imagination, since the only thing he was wearing was a loose, open hoodie…

“Oh my, Mr Mystery! I never knew you did this, how scandalous!” You said, trying to laugh to break the tension, though your mouth felt dry.

But Stan didn’t say anything, your smile dropped as he turned away.

"Stanley.” That gave him pause. You only said his full first name when you were being serious or affectionate. "Tell me what’s wrong…. Are you embarrassed?”

“No!”

“Then tell me. I’m sorry, I was just joking around, I didn’t mean to poke fun.”

Stan sighed, turning to look at you once again. “It’s not to do with you, baby. I… you know about my driftin’ days?” You nodded. “I needed some quick cash, I saw this ad, talked to a couple people who told me it was some modelling photoshoot. Hah, well, naively it sounded kind of classy to me then, but it turned out to be… not. But it was okay, I guess. Just didn’t think any of it would still be lying around.”

"What did you, um... Think about, when you...?" You couldn’t help but let the words tumble out of your mouth.

"I don't remember thinking much of anything… 'cept wanting money for a warm bed."

You looked as the man shrugged like it was nothing whilst you felt like your heart, once again, shattered into a million pieces for him. "Oh, honey..."

He cringed at your tone. You couldn't have that.

You took his hands into your warm ones, stroking your thumbs over them. "Stanley. Look at me... Do you honestly think I'd judge you for this?"

He squirmed at your directness. “I... You... I dunno, you're so..."

"So?"

"So... Uhm... Fine! I thought you might, okay?”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m hardly a pinnacle of virtue, baby.”

“Yeah, but, you deserve better than me, ya know?” He smiled weakly.

“I don’t pity you and I’m certainly not going to judge you for surviving. Hell, I wouldn’t judge you if you’d done it for fun, either…In fact, I, uh…”

Stan registered the way you ducked your head, hands clasped together, like you had done on your first date. “You what?”

“Never mind.” You said, getting up to gather some of the magazines together. “L-let’s just-”

"-Hey! Hands off the merchandise, toots." He swiped the damn magazine still open to the pages he featured in from underneath you.

“I’ve told you, now you’ve gotta tell me.” He crooked a finger underneath your chin, so you had to look up at him.

You bit your lip. "I found it, um, attractive."

"Oh yeah?” He leaned in close, that same crooked smile forming, though you could see that the light of it reached his eyes this time. “How attractive?”

“Very.” Stan hummed in response waiting for you to continue. “I-I liked the way you looked, confident and also flustered. You looked good.”

“And what about now, does the real thing live up to it?”

Your hands had started to roam his body, pulling at his shirt, grabbing at his stomach, knowing he was self-conscious about it, despite your insistence that you loved it. You felt almost breathless and he hadn’t even touched you yet. “Let me show you.”

Finally, you were pushed back into the cushions as he kissed you. Feeling the heat of his body on top of yours as you deepened your next kiss. “Touch me.”

He pushed a hand up your shirt teasing and pinching your nipples with his hand. You whined.

“Stanley.”

“I know, doll, I know. So needy.” He rearranged your positions so he could properly grind against you, pulling off your sweater in the process. He moaned into your open mouthed kisses, tongue stroking over his own.

Just when you were starting to unbutton your pants, you heard as someone pulled up onto the gravel outside and a bunch of different voices.

“Shit!”

You don’t know how you managed to untangle yourselves, but soon you ware hastily gathering up the salacious material.

“Sixer's finished his trip with 'em early!”

Taking stairs two at a time, you managed to dump the box in a hidden spot in your room by the time you heard your names being called by Ford.

“Wait a second.” You took the copy of ‘hunky drifters’ out of Stan’s pocket and tucked it under the mattress. “For later.”

A blush creeped up his neck. "You'll be the death of me, doll."

#stanley pines x reader #stanley pines x you #stan pines x reader #gravity falls fanfiction #reader and stan are kinda feral for each other if you haven't guessed that already :P

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mint-and-authoress · 1 month ago

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Slime HRT - Full Core Integration

<<| ⏯️ |>>

[The scene opens to a not before seen living room. Familiar decor can be seen alongside other furnishings. Elise sits on a couch inside a small plastic tub, where only the upper half of her body can be seen. Next to her is a shorter woman, speckled with red scales across her skin and small claws and horns. The timestamp reads ‘5½ Months.’]

“Oh gosh, how does she do these…

“This is Elise’s entry at five and a half months into transition. I’m Pandora, her wife, and I’ll be speaking for her for this entry and hopefully only this entry. I just started my own species replacement therapy like two weeks ago I think? I kept it hidden from her to surprise her but about three days ago Elise’s vocal cords finally dissolved. That’s why I’m speaking for her.

“Normally she wouldn’t have done an update this early but I encouraged her to make something, mainly because I think it’s important to have this documented. Anyone who goes through the same stuff my wifey has should know how things go when you absolutely need help around the house.

[Pandora retrieves a piece of paper from offscreen.]

“We did make a list of things to go over. My love is going to be demonstrating a few things, and it is her documentation series… thing, so she’s gotta be a part of it! First off is the obvious: no more muscles, and no more bones either!

[Elise outstretches an ‘arm’ to show the lack of muscle and bone. The entire limb is transparent and a vibrant green.]

“All she has left is a few organs and her brain. Everything else is just a little goopy puddle.

[Elise nuzzles into Pandora’s shoulder, and is met with a kiss to the forehead.]

“All the affection is just my wife being all cute and loving, like she’s always been. She’s basically been biologically a slime for a few weeks now, and definitely passes as one from the few I’ve been able to see.

“As a matter of fact, we learned that slimes are apparently part of the country’s No Fly List, since they’re made up entirely of fluid. We had to do a whole cross-country road trip, meaning four days full of driving for me. Loved that. But it just meant that my little goop got to be a little passenger princess all the way back to the west coast!

“Back to the ‘my wife’s organs are starting to dissolve’ matter, she’s actually about two and a half months ahead of schedule. Which meant I had to have a very strongly worded talk with Dr. Acosta from Something Else Solutions.

“Something Else Solutions is not licenced by anyone in Hyper City. We had to hire a private investigator to find that doctor. Turns out, he gave Elise a fake name and the whole office turned out to be some shady black market coven trying to advance their practices. So, my last week and a half has been spent talking to doctors and specialists and actual fucking witches. That last one was actually pleasant, and I would’ve enjoyed it a bit more if it wasn’t my love’s life on the line, possibly.

“The only real reason we’re doing an update now is because Elise is going into surgery tomorrow to get her core formed. Normally, Slime HRT has the patient go through something called C3 surgery: Core Cell Conversion. They’d take all your organs and link them together, and after a few weeks they’ll turn into what’s called a proto-core, which basically just replaces the organs. Eventually that proto-core absorbs the brain after like a month and at that point it’s just a normal slime core.

“Buuuut, now that someone went and fucked up my wife, she’s going into an emergency surgery called FCI: Full Core Integration. What they have to do–and thank the gods that we did this before her organs got dissolved–is take all her organs and her brain and rapidly accelerate that core formation process with donated nuclei from other slimes and a whole bunch of other inpatient hospital stuff. It takes a week, and after that Elise is gonna have a few gaps in her memory.

[Pandora hugs Elise from the side.]

“It’s scary. But we’ve somehow made it through worse.”

[The segment ends. The next segment fades in and shows a still image of a hospital waiting room. An anthropomorphic boar, a human skeleton with glowing green eyes, a well-dressed vampire and two humans are present around the room.]

-captions-

-The waiting room in the Hyper City Interspecies Hospital. Elise’s surgery was 12 hours long.

[A picture of many specialists and surgeons, human and nonhuman, with a blonde human woman in the centre.]

-Thank you to the care team for everything and an even bigger thank you to Dr. Therkin for walking me through every step of the procedure.

[A picture of Elise in a pressurised tank, connected to a series of tubes, wires, and monitors. A very small, almost invisible mass is at the centre of the slime.]

-This was my wife for nine days. Very glad to report that she pulled through.

[The final picture fades out. The next segment fades in where Elise sits in a long tub in a hospital bed, with an intact emerald green core. A timestamp reads ‘Five Days Post Surgery - 6 Months.’]

“...This is…my entry at 6 months during transition. Or at least that is what I’ve been told.

“I’ve been conscious for five days. In that time I learned how to speak and I was reminded who everyone was. Apparently I was in a…terrible condition. My core was able to save my life, and for that I am very grateful.

“I came out of surgery with near total amnesia, they said. Apparently that is a risk when you undergo such a procedure. It isn’t all bad, though. Relearning you have a wife is incredibly nice, makes the core sing something fierce.

“I’ve watched through those progress reports and learned about the journey I’ve taken to get this far, and to think that all that progress is behind me is incredibly inspiring. I’m going to continue living, all because of the work she did. I get to be happy, have a wife, all thanks to her.

“I’m not the same person as she was, definitely not. I have her voice, her life, and eventually the memories will come back, or so I’m told. But I don’t have her face, don’t have the same struggle that she had. So, please allow me to introduce myself once more to you all.

“My name is Mint, and I am a slime girl.”

[The scene fades to black as Mint extends herself towards the camera.]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

SLIEM TIEM IS BACK EVERYGOOP!!!

Plot Twist: Mint is Authoress :3c

I've been meaning to get this out for a while and Solstice hit me with a lead brick of inspiration! Mint is now here to stay, but by no means is her story over!

Shoutouts today go to @ariathelamia whose character Dr. Therkin made an appearance to advise the surgery team! Tbh I do not trust Erian as far as I can throw him (and for therian standards that is not that far), so we got a second opinion and went to her!

Next time on Slime Ball Z: going to the solstice and definitely having a transgender moment[tm] with doubts about what makes oneself a 'real slime'

#I'm kinda impressed with how fast I pumped this one out :3c #slime #slime girl #slime hrt #therian hrt #otherkin hrt #my gender #my oc #my writing

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karlachismylife · 5 months ago

Note

For the celebration! The Prompt: laying their hand on the other’s leg. The pairing SoapxReader or DammonxReader, you choose! >:3 pls and tyyy

Never ask me to choose again, darling, I'm polyamorous for a reason >< You get both! And also lots of love from me for your support and overall awesomeness <3

Link to the celebration post for anyone interested here!

Emotional Support Dog

John "Soap" MacTavish x gn!civilian!reader

Even the air around you feels charged with anxiety. No amount of meticulously created comfort can tone it down: tucked into the soft corner of your couch, surrounded with pillows, a blanket, a steaming cup and a bowl of snacks to accompany fat stacks of papers to read, you still feel nervous. No one can blame you though: your boss wasn't particularly fair informing you of the upcoming meeting late. Very late. Couple of days before a very important meeting with your place at the company depenging on it - that sort of late.

Goddamn corporate.

So it's not surprising that you're slightly crumbling under pressure to get prepared with all available documentation; maybe they're trying to set you up to be at their mercy or fail, but you're not going down without a fight. Even if the fight makes your knee bounce nervously and the almost-forgotten nail biting come back as your eyes scan one bureaucratic word vomit page after another.

You're so engrossed in the process of absorbing vital information from the bulky speech figures and long columns of numbers that you nearly miss the sound of the apartment door opening and closing - and the one entering isn't even trying to be subtle about it. Poor door suffers a concussion in its core each time it gets slammed shut by the overly excited to be home individual; then follows the jiggling of keys thrown to their place, two hasty thuds of boots being enthusiastically kicked off, and finally - a dramatic pause. Were you a little less busy, you would've already been at the door, right where one hearty hug awaits, arms opened and everything; maybe you would've made him wait on purpose, just to see a sulky pout of an impatient pup light up with pure inner sunlight by your presence; but you can't just pull yourself away from this very important reading.

So in a minute Johnny peeks around the living room entrance, wary expression immediately replaced with a loving glint in the aquatic eyes at the sight of you. In two strides he is already at the sofa, plopping his ass right next to you and nuzzling the side of your face with one, two - three kisses: to the temple buzzing with brainwork, to the soft cheek and to the corner of your sightly frowned mouth.

"Whit are ye doing there, bonnie? Thought ye fell asleep, didnae even come hug me at th' door," here comes the famous pout, eyes full of betrayal boring straight into your soul in hopes of coaxing more kisses and cuddles. Would've definitely worked.

If not for the bloody headache fussing over this goddamn meeting planted into your skull.

You open your mouth with a sigh, planning to answer him - you're going to hug and kiss him alright, just a second, you just have to finish this paragraph, so wordy and inhumanely written that you almost don't doubt it was done by a real person - to deliberately make every reader's of this file head explode. An efficient way to balance the workforce market.

Soap, however, reads into your frowny silence and immediately smells that something's wrong. And it very much might be his fault - even though he did the dishes, took you to your favourite Italian on the weekend, showed impeccable restraint when a guy at the parking lot ran his mouth at you (that prick was lucky Johnny didn't want to start the date with a fight: "Ye better thank tis guardian angel 'ere fur haudin' me back, or ah'd teach ye a lesson, ye sod," - all said with a firm hand placed on the small of your back while you glared at the mouthy motherfucker), folded the laund- oh shite. It was the laundry, wasn't it?

"Bonnie, ye're nae angry at me, are ye?" Johnny tilts his head, trying to catch a direct glimpse at you, and almost shoves himself between you and your reading, squeezing in more kisses. "Ah'll dae th' laundry, ah promise, must've forgotten-" - you finally blink and emerge from your hyperfocused state, immediately cupping the Scot's worried face and planting a loud smooch on his nose.

"I'm not angry... not at you, at least," you give him an apologetic kiss on his pouty lips and look back down at the paper in your lap. "It's just work. Gotta read all this or I'll be in trouble, boss gave me a really short notice this time. It's like they're trying to set me up... sorry for ignoring you, sunshine."

Initial relief on Johnny's face that showed there when you confirmed he didn't get on your bad side (he did fold the laudry after all, just managed to forget that he did) gets replaced with a concerned look once again. Leaning back a bit, he gauges the stacks of papers laid out on the coffee table in front of you and furrows his full brows.

"'N' how long ye 'ave tae read all tis?" - "The meeting's two days away, morning." You rub your neck with another exasperated sigh, and a much larger hand, warm and calloused, comes up to do it for you, squeezing the sore spots and making you shudder as it forces the knots away. How long have you been sitting here, hunched over the papers?

"Steamin' Jesus, tha's a lot of reading tae dae," he mutters, squinting to try and make something out of the corporate gibberish - and inevitably failing. With a sigh, Johnny reserves to kissing your temple again. "Well, shite, nae lik' ye 'ave much choice, dae ye? Wanntae 'ave pasta fur dinner? Ah'll cook."

With a confirming nod and a grateful grunt from you, already deep in the papers again, he raises from the couch that creaks with relief, but then pauses and sits right back down. His big hand finds its way to your leg, squeezing your knee reassuringly and stopping the jittering with warm, heavy weight. You lift your eyes once again, meeting his bluest ones with a net of crow's feet around them, nothing but warmth towards you. This sight makes breathing, constricted by the pressure put on you by the situation, easier.

"Ye got tis, aye, bonnie? Ah ken ye got tis. Ye gonnae show 'em."

With a pat, meant to gently hammer in this confidence in case you were still worrying and doubting yourself, Johnny finally gets up, and your knee immediately feels cold without his big paw on it.

"Ah'll go start th' dinner, and ye holler if ye need anything, aye? Ah heard snoggin's good fur yer brains."

Of course he did. Bloody rascal with his innocent blue eyes winking at you and calming your wired self down. Well, why refuse such considerate service when offered?

Forged Under the Stars

Dammon x gn!reader

The cool of the night yields under the relentless burning of several campfires and torches lighting the clearing your celebratory party takes place at, their heat amplified by mulled wine and other drinks generously shared between everyone present. Sitting close to one of the campfires, you quietly observe folks with genuine smiles on their faces that only add to the pleasant warmth in your chest. It's nice, you think, seeing them relax and shrug off the heavy weight of barely avoided danger. They deserve this small moment of peace and quiet among impending doom, and so do you.

Drunken laughter at one of the barrels people gather for the good ale distracts you, your curiousity piqued as you lazily try to make out what caused the whistling and hooting - some brave soul trying to compete against others in absorbing a humongous mug in one go, perhaps? Whatever it is, it keeps your attention long enough for someone to stumble a bit clumsily and seat themself down with a quiet "oof", warm knee nudging your leg in an accidental move before the person straightens up. Snapping your eyes to the right, you can't help the wide smile tugging at your lips.

"Hello to you too, Dammon," you raise your clay mug as a greeting, taking in the view. The blacksmith doesn't look too out of it, but he's clearly tipsy - you aren't surprised, he does give off the impression of someone easily getting lightheaded from a drink or two. Even the warm orange hue of the campfire can't hide cute rosy blush on his cheeks and pointy eartips; neither manages he to conceal a certain glint in his bright glowing eyes.

"Sorry," he mumbles, probably referring to his clumsy landing, but you just shake your head - he didn't even really disturb you, holding up quite well. Same can't be said for everyone: with another glance around, you notice a completely plastered tiefling maiden try and dance with Wyll, who ends up catching her and preventing a fall after fall for the giggling girl. A quiet rustling from behind alerts you, but even without looking you realize it's just Dammon's tail getting restless, usual reserved attitude lifted by ale or whatever he was drinking.

You two sit in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, watching the party and stealing glances at each other, smiles widening and chuckles escaping when you catch each other looking - after one of these accidental eye contacts Dammon and you burst out in particularly loud fits of laughter, leaning forward and shaking your heads. Alcohol makes it so much funnier, fuzzy, pleasant feelings coiling like furry cats in your stomachs.

"Gods above, I haven't laughed like that for a long time," Dammon sits back up and tilts his head back, inhaling fresh night air and watching the night sky. His vision makes the stars shine brighter, and while you watch him instead of the nightsky, you think you see the celestial bodies swirling in his eyes, reflected as if they were a crysral clear lake.

"Not much laughter in Avernus, eh?" Your slightly intoxicated tongue works faster than your brain, and you immediately stutter, cursing yourself for bringing The Descent - of all things, damn it! - up. "Sorry, didn't mean to..."

"It's alright. I know what you meant," Dammon's smile doesn't falter and he tears his gaze away from the sky to look at you. Maybe it's a play of the flickering flame you sit at, but it seems as if his eyes only shine brighter when looking at you. "And you're right, that wasn't... although there was this one time..."

He briefly checks if you're listening and goes off - waving his mug, unusually expressive and talkative, clearly encouraged when you prop your cheek on your palm and listen on. Maybe you don't quite keep up with the amout of terms and unkown words his slurred speech is littered with, but you still laugh, when he puffs his blushing cheeks, reenacting the way some poor apprentice thrown into his forge held a heavy anvil and tried to use it as a hammer when they ran out of those (how does a forge run out of hammers? why yes, of course, when a whole squadron of unprepared for battle soldiers swarms it and takes everything and anything they can use as a weapon. yes, the firepokers too.)

At the sound of your laughter, loud and unbothered, Dammon pauses with his antics and turns back into his shy self, holding his breath and drinking in the sight of you with a surprisingly sober shine to his eyes. Your fit of giggles dies down, when you feel a warm hand on your thigh, barely squeezing, long tiefling claws carfully denting the skin underneath your clothing.

"Thank you," sincerely whispers Dammon, looking at you like you've hung the moon in the skies and lit up the fire in his forge, "for everything. For this night."

He leans in closer, lips slightly parted, something else dancing on the tip of his tongue, something he can't brace himself to say out loud. You smile, covering his palm with yours - his is strong, warm, a hand of someone working hard, rough and with visible burns from accidental sparks scorching through the protective mittens. It startles Dammon, fingers twitching and squeezig a bit harder before he lets go of your leg and moves his eyes away. His ears slowly start glowing brighter, tail swishing behind you and nearly swatting your bum - turns out, it almost coiled around your waits while you two were sitting next to each other.

Unwilling to let his bashfulness to get in the way, you catch Dammon's hand before it slips away and hold it gently, allowing to rest on your thigh again, your fingers almost intertwined.

"I'm glad you're here," there's enough courage in you for the both of you, added in liquid form or coming to you naturally - doesn't matter. Dammon's shy smile grazes his lips once again, and he finally allows his tail to wrap around your seated form, carefully, ready to pull away if you show any signs of discomfort.

You don't.

"I hope we see each other again," with your support, Dammon allows his thoughts to spill out. It's a little bittersweet, a reminder that the celebration will eventually come to an end and you both will have to move on, heavy burdens on both of your shoulders. But maybe, just maybe the knowledge that wherever life chucks you, if there's a forge nearby, you might see a familiar face - maybe that knowledge lifts the weight just a little bit.

After all, this blacksmith has some fine, strong shoulders you can lean on.

If you know anything about the Faerûn traditions, it's that lovespoons are carved out of wood. Unlike that little forged one that you find among your posessions the next morning.

#call of duty #cod #soap cod #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #dammon #bg3 dammon #dammon x reader #oneshot #fluff #juju's thirty frames a second celebration #x reader #cod x reader #bg3 x reader #writing requests #killerpancakeburger

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arafilez · 1 year ago

Text

☆ ⼂ LOVE, TAILORED ﹗one

ꔫㅤㅤ ❜[ fashion designer khj x ceo fem!reader ] ㅤ⋆ ㅤfluff, crack, e2l 𓏧 for the company assets you have to work with solo designer kim hongjoong. even if it meant him annoying you at every step. ㅤ warnings flirting ㅤ﹢ㅤ2.1k wc ꔫㅤㅤ ❜part one . two . three

Headstrong. Calm. Organised.

This is how you are described everywhere you step foot in. Wearing a Chanel dress, Louis Vuitton handbag and Balenciaga shoes you made sure you are an icon wherever you step, and that typical red-lipped smile in every camera that is ready to capture you.

You aren’t afraid to show you are made from money. And of money too. Yes, you got the company from your father. But under you the company grew bigger, made overseas branches and had more affiliations with other companies.

Your father trusted you enough to hand it over to you on your twenty-fourth birthday. And by your twenty-sixth birthday, you proved to be one of the best CEOs among all leading companies worldwide.

Known among your workers for a bright smile, kind heart and nice behaviour you are never anyone’s bad example. Your working style is organised and you are always calm, strict when only there is an absolute need to be.

So why are you now holding your secretary cum best friend Park Seonghwa by the collar against your table?

Seonghwa’s eyes bulge looking at your fuming face while he tries to explain, “Calm down, he isn’t that bad.”

Leaving his collar, you stand back as you watch Seonghwa fix his tie and shirt which was wrinkled by you. You scoff lightly and look at him saying, “Not bad? Of course, he isn’t bad, he is just simply terrible.”

“How do you even know that? You haven’t worked with him yet” Seonghwa retorts as you roll your eyes.

“Yes,” you breathe, "but I have seen him on numerous shows. And he is the most arrogant, self-absorbed bit- I mean person I have ever seen. It is clear from his attitude."

The thing is, your company is about modelling. And though you do have your own fashion designers, Kim Hongjoong has a great influence on the world. He has no company behind him though. His bold fashion statements which he made alone and his dressing sense earned numerous applause from everywhere. At the mere age of twenty-seven, he can easily be called one of the most successful solo acts in the world.

“Look you understand right? How big this will be on the market? Kim Hongjoong is a self-made fashion designer. Collaborating with him will increase your company assets. And besides you know how people’s on-screen and off-screen personalities are different,” Seonghwa explains as you keep quiet.

Maybe he is right, maybe Kim Hongjoong isn’t such a person as he has built his image to be. You sigh quietly as you take your pen and sign into the contract paper, handing it over to Seonghwa.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ————

The cool November breeze hits your face as you see a black car stop and Kim Hongjoong getting out of it.

As soon as Kim Hongjoong enters your building you can feel the aura changing. He has a confident strut, holding a coffee in one hand and a black file in another. His body is covered by a black overcoat, simple light-blue jeans and a black silk shirt.

And you can say he makes it work.

You stand quietly at the entrance of your building in a black pantsuit with a black coat hanging loosely over your shoulders. But you feel extremely underdressed as you see the man and gasp a bit visibly but gain your composure back in seconds, a professional smile etching your face.

After the initial introduction, you shake hands with him as multiple reporters take photos before you head inside the building, ignoring the cries of the reporters. Seonghwa walks behind you and Hongjoong and reaching the elevator he presses the buttons while you stand there patiently waiting for it.

It feels calm, too calm for its own good, before Hongjoong leans in slowly and whispers to your ear, “Oh Darling, the reporters might not have noticed but I clearly saw you gawking at me.”

Your breath hitches in your throat feeling his face so close to you, face heating up as he stands up straight again casually and you try to process what just happened. His warm breath lingers in your ears as you take a deep breath trying to calm yourself.

And then you scoff lightly. You were absolutely right.

And Seonghwa was wrong.

Kim Hongjoong is a total jerk and you know it right then and there.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ————

You let him enter your office as Hongjoong’s eyes scan the room in a boring manner. You feel judged and that makes you glare at him from behind until Seonghwa nudges you and you look away.

Good lord, he has two-toned hair, what is this even? Why is one part of his hair black and the other white? You want to make a snarky remark so bad about it, especially after the elevator incident but you keep quiet.

Being a jerk is not how you deal with a jerk.

Seonghwa’s voice cuts your thoughts saying, “Mr. Kim, please take a seat.” Hongjoong simply nods before sitting down on the sofa as you sit down on the opposite side.

You cleared your throat lightly before nodding your head to the file and Seonghwa walked over to bring it.

“Nice to meet you Mr. Kim,” you say politely as he finally looks up and meets your eyes. “Yeah, nice to meet you too,” he replies before looking back at the file again.

You try your best to not gasp in disbelief. Seriously, like he can’t even say a greeting properly. You jerk in shock as Seonghwa’s hand touches your shoulder as he slips the file in between your hands whispering a quick “good luck” before leaving the room.

You sigh quietly before addressing Hongjoong and say, “Mr. Kim I believe we need to start worki-“ and immediately get interrupted by him saying, “Can you loosen up a bit?”

“What?” you stare at him as he makes himself comfortable leaning back on the sofa. “I said loosen up a little, what’s with all this uptight behaviour?” Hongjoong smiles as you roll your eyes visibly.

“In case you have forgotten Mr. Kim, I am a CEO. So yes I like things organised and I am not uptight, I am professional, unlike well,” you say laughing lightly, “you.”

“Damn you really are uptight, I used to think that was all for T.V,” Hongjoong says eyes boring into yours as you bite back a snarky remark.

Be professional. Do the business for the two months collaboration and then it will be over. You can deal with him for two months. You can.

“Anyways, I think we can plan this out-“ and again you get interrupted by Hongjoong saying, “Plan? Fashion needs no planning! It is all about spontaneity and with someone as uptight as you I can’t possibly do any work, darling.”

“Do not call me that, Kim Hongjoong,” you snap as he smirks, “Oh, leaving all formalities so soon?” he teases as you purse your lips. God this man is insufferable.

“Look, we need to work together for two months, and I want to make this work, Mr Kim, so please cooperate,” you try to make him listen as he finally gives in.

“Yeah alright, we can start with your plan now, but when we start real work we will follow my work ethic,” Hongjoong says as you mouth opens wide. You tilt your head slightly before opening your own file. This is some progress and you are willing to take it. Time was ticking away.

He nods at everything and much to your dismay never takes any notes but you don’t call him out as it will result in another pointless argument. After everything is done you close the file looking up at him as he keeps his eyes trained on his hands thinking something.

After a moment of silence, he gets up suddenly and extends his hand as you look back cautiously but shake it anyway. You voice out, “Pleasure doing business with you Mr. Kim.” You see him smirking lightly and you wait for what remark he is about to make.

“Pleasure doing business with you too darling,” he replies in a honey-laced voice as you shoot daggers at his back glaring at him.

This time you were wrong.

You cannot possibly work for two months with this man.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ————

It has been a week since Hongjoong came here. He had wanted a week to design the dresses in his copy before showing them to you. You had happily granted him the week, the less you see of him, the better.

Now, Hongjoong is late- by twenty minutes. Your patience is decreasing with each passing second and you warily look at Seonghwa who just gives you a sympathetic smile. You curse Hongjoong in your mind but soon enough your door swings open as you abruptly sit up.

Hongjoong walks in and Seonghwa takes his leave as you stare at him.

“Ah yes, your eyes will be blessed if you stare like that,” Hongjoong says smirking as you look away scoffing. The audacity of this man- first, twenty minutes late, second, has no decency of mere knocking, third, thinking you are swooning over him.

“I am not swooning over you Kim,” you snap before realising what you called him and your eyes widen.

“I did not say you were swooning, did I? Darling?” he smiles in an innocent manner that just makes your blood boil. God why is he so insufferable.

You dismiss his comment and hate at the same time how your ears grow warm at the mention of the pet name that he probably calls everybody.

But then again he was free of scandals, to the point where people thought he was asexual.

You scolded your mind for thinking of unnecessary details before delving into work.

“You know what? Just show me which designs you have made. We are already behind schedule,” you sighed as you cocked his eyebrows at you.

“You and your schedule, didn’t I tell you fashion is all about spontaneity?” Hongjoong says lightly and your eyes bore into him. “Yeah well be all spontaneous as you want, I am not the fashion designer here,” you comment as Hongjoong shrugs.

He hands you the file as you flip through the pages. You awe at the designs because they have impeccable style and every one was unique in its own way. As much as you hate Hongjoong you cannot not underestimate his talent at these.

Your eyes get stuck in a drawing of a dress which has flowers as the design. It was so beautiful you almost wish he made it specifically for you.

Keyword- almost!

“Well looks like Miss Schedule is speechless now,” Hongjoong’s cocky voice makes you glare at him as you slide back the file. Goddamn, he just had to ruin the fine moment you were having with the dress.

“I will just come right out and say it- your designs are impeccable,” you smile pausing and then saying, “but you are very fucking annoying,” you smirk satisfactorily as his face changes from confident to surprise.

“Well that was some smooth-talking, wasn’t it darling?” he gains back his composure within seconds and you fume saying, “Don’t call me that.”

He smiles cheekily before getting up and walking towards the door. You groan in your hands quietly before getting up whisper-shouting, “Kim wait up, you have to meet the models.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ————

Meeting the models was a fairly easy process. Hongjoong asked for their proportions which Seonghwa promptly handed him over in a big copy.

You stood at the door quietly scoffing every time the models tried to flirt with him and he gave a deaf year to them. Where were people’s dignity nowadays?

After meeting with the models you are now walking with Hongjoong to show him his working area. Seonghwa leaves to get to some other work and you are now left alone with him again. The walk down the hallway was pretty quiet as Hongjoong looked around observing everything inside the building.

You quietly open the door to the lavish working room as he looks around and nods. You stand there patiently as he checks the drawers and sewing area. You now realise why he doesn’t take on any big projects, he has no workers and does all of this himself.

The tenacity he has is admirable. Only if he didn’t have such a big mouth.

He hums in satisfaction and turns towards you as you cock your eyebrows. “So do I get a schedule for this too? Maybe a binder?” he challenges as you roll your eyes.

“Just get along with your work Kim,” you replied gritting your teeth.

“Sure darling,” he grins and you turn on your heels to leave. The less time you are in the same room as him, the better.

“Did he just call you, darling?” you jump at the voice behind you as soon as you leave the room.

ꔫㅤㅤ ❜ [ ara's notes ] ㅤ⋆ ㅤidea credit to @iwishiwasrichasfuck. banner made by @/DathanHamen in wattpad. idk if i can bring the story to life. but i genuinely am trying my best ꔫㅤㅤ ❜ [ taglist ] ㅤ⋆ ㅤ@haneagerr @tunaasan @stellarlune-love @jeonghanfr @soocore @chaotic-floral @loveateezㅤmain mlistㅤ atz listㅤ navi ㅤtaglist

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paigesbasketball · 2 months ago

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Under Oath

Chapter 2: The Crying whispers of Deception Paige x Black OC Warnings: swearing, sister issues

The tension in the air was thick, the kind of atmosphere that presses down on you the moment you walk into a room. Me and my sister grew more apart as the years went on and lets just say she got herself into shady shit, so when the I heard the news of Paige and her teammates breaking the contract with my sister’s company the thought had hit me like a ton of bricks. But it wasn’t the breach of contract that troubled me most—it was the fact that the company was her company, and I had no idea that my sister was involved with something so crucial to Paige’s team.

My sister had always kept me at arm’s length when it came to her work. I understood that she was ambitious—driven, even—but after everything that had happened with the college situation, the shady deals she’d gotten herself into, and the paths she’d gone down... I never thought she’d be involved with something like this. This company? It wasn’t some high-end, adult market. It was for kids.

That thought hit me hard. For all the messed-up things I knew she’d done, this—this was supposed to be a company dedicated to creating a safe, fun space for children. But there she was, wrapped up in a business deal with Paige and the UConn team, a team that had just broken the contract with her. It didn’t sit right with me.

I knocked twice on the door, already knowing the answer. Her icy tone beckoned me inside.

"Come in."

As I stepped into her office, the coldness of her demeanor was immediate. She was seated behind her desk, papers scattered around her, and a sharpness to her eyes I hadn’t seen in a while. The moment she saw me, her lips thinned into a tight line.

"What’s this I hear about you getting involved with Paige and her team?" Her voice wasn’t exactly hostile, but there was an edge to it that made my chest tighten.

I walked toward her desk, carefully placing the file about the contract I’d been looking into. "I’m just asking questions, Sis. I found out that some of Paige’s team broke the contract with your company, and I wanted to understand why."

Her gaze flicked to the file I’d placed in front of her, and I could tell by the way her lips curled that she didn’t want to discuss it.

"I don’t need you meddling in my business," she snapped. "I can handle it."

I didn’t back down, despite the icy reception. "I wasn’t planning on meddling," I said, keeping my tone steady. "But KK is involved in this, and I’m not just going to ignore it. She’s a lifelong friend. I need to know what happened."

At the mention of KK’s name, my sister’s eyes flickered. For a moment, I thought I saw something shift in her—almost like she wasn’t quite prepared for this conversation to take this turn.

"KK? That’s your defense?" She leaned forward, her face hardening. "If you were a real sister, you wouldn’t be helping them. You wouldn’t be involved in this at all."

Her words hit me like a slap. My pulse quickened as I stared back at her, trying to read her face, trying to understand why she was acting this way. She wasn’t usually like this. There was something off. Her eyes, usually so confident, were now dark, brimming with something I couldn’t name.

"You’re not telling me something," I said, stepping closer to her desk. "Why are you acting like this?"

For a moment, she didn’t answer, the silence heavy between us. Her jaw tightened, and the look on her face—one of betrayal, of cold anger—seemed to consume her entire expression. Her features seemed to absorb it, like she was becoming that feeling. I could see the walls coming up, the barrier she’d always put between us when things were too complicated for her to deal with.

"Just get out of my office," she snapped harshly, standing up and gesturing toward the door. "I don’t need your help, and I don’t need you questioning me."

I couldn’t just leave, not when everything was wrong in the air between us. I refused to back down. "Tell me what’s going on, and I’ll leave," I said firmly, crossing my arms. "Why are you so upset? What’s really bothering you?"

There was a flicker in her eyes, a brief moment where I thought she might actually open up to me. But instead, she stiffened, clenching her fists. And then, she said it—the words that would change everything.

"I made a contract with the UConn team to try and get in good faith with Paige," she confessed, her voice almost a whisper, like the words burned her. "I was just trying to make things right with her."

I didn’t believe it for a second. My sister hated Paige. She had always made it clear that she wanted nothing to do with her, especially after everything that had happened between them. This wasn’t about "making things right"—it didn’t make sense.

"You’re telling me you made this deal to make peace with Paige?" I asked, narrowing my eyes. "That doesn’t sound like you."

She didn’t meet my eyes. "I was trying to show good faith," she muttered. "But this is just Paige trying to deceive me again. She always does this. I’m trying to play nice, and she thinks she can push me around. Well, I’m not going to be made a fool."

I pushed further, my instincts screaming that something wasn’t right. "What about KK and the others? Why did they sign the deal?"

Her face softened for a moment, and she looked away. "KK signed in favor of chocolate-covered peanuts. It’s part of her brand. She wanted it, so she signed. It was a simple agreement." Her tone was dismissive, as if she were trying to brush off the question.

I must’ve shown my disbelief because my sister immediately noticed. Before I could say anything, she pulled me into a tight hug, her arms wrapping around me in a way that felt… insincere. "You’re overthinking this," she whispered softly, almost too softly. "I didn’t do anything wrong. Trust me. We should catch up sometime, okay?"

I pulled back, looking at her face one last time. There was something wrong with her—something I couldn’t put my finger on. But in that moment, I knew: she had lied to me.

I walked out of her office, the cold air hitting my face as I made my way down the hallway. The sound of my footsteps echoed in the silence, and all I could think was how easily she had tried to cover up her lie.

But I wasn’t convinced. KK was allergic to peanuts. The very idea that she would sign a deal to promote something that could hurt her was ridiculous. My mind raced, piecing things together. None of it made sense.

And what hurt the most? The company she was running wasn’t some shady backroom deal for quick cash (like she used to be involved in). It was meant to be for kids—a world that I always thought would mean something pure, something she could believe in. But instead, it seemed like it was just another avenue for her to get what she wanted—no matter the cost. I had to find out the truth.

"Oh sister, sister, what have you done…"

ooooooohh i wonder what's gonna happen next...SIKE only i shall know😌

This was a little treat in honor of thanksgiving but the stories are now going to start lining up with the every Tuesday thing. seeing as i already have stories stuff pending the 3rd chapter might come out 3 or two tuesdays from now.. but i am not sure it may come out earlier if i find time

hope you enjoyed darlings

- Caty writes

#paige bueckers #uconn wbb #paige #uconn huskies

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baronessvonglitter · 6 months ago

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Eating Out for Christmas

Max Phillips x f!Reader

Word count: 1.7K

Summary: your period comes early, ruining your fun for the office Christmas party. Luckily, your workplace enemy offers his assistance..

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Mature and Explicit, blood kink, menstrual sex, oral (f receiving), office sex, Christmas smut, hate sex, no romance, shameless smut, reader doesn't know Max is a vampire, reader wears a skirt, mentions of period cramps, brief mention of giving a bj, no use of y/n

Author's note: my Christmas in July offering, written during a particularly AWFUL first day of my period. This was also inspired by a certain scene from "The Tale of the Body Thief", one of my favorite of the Vampire Chronicles by Anne Rice.

FULL MASTERLIST

“Shit!” you mutter, checking your panties in the restroom stall. “Fuck fuck fuck!”

You period is here early, and now your brand new white satin panties are ruined. You’d bought them specifically for tonight, your office Christmas party, when you’d planned to finally hook up with Jordan, the guy in Marketing you've been flirting with for weeks. Now that's down the drain.

The toilet paper is out, so creating a makeshift pad is out of the question. You have to slip your panties back on in order to retrieve the spare pair you keep in your desk drawer for times such as these. You make a sound of disgust as you put your panties back on and quickly wash your hands. It'll be just a moment and you'll get a fresh set of underwear and a tampon from your emergency stash.

Leaving the restroom you can already hear the Christmas party in full swing. So your night isn't going to go as planned, that doesn't mean you can't have a little fun in the meantime. Jordan isn't going anywhere, and at the very least you can give him some head in the supply closet.

A cramp stops you in your tracks and you nearly double over in pain. Leaning against the wall you breathe through it. Until you get some Midol in your system, nothing's going to happen between you and Jordan.

"What have we here? A wallflower?"

You hear that voice and automatically cringe. You can't stand your new boss, the sales manager Max Phillips, aka HR Nightmare. You ignore his little comment as he nears you in the hallway. He's wearing a Santa hat and a shit-eating grin. You inwardly groan.

He says your name in a singsong voice and it curdles your blood. "I know you heard me. What are you doing out here?"

"On my way to the party," you try to make your voice light even as another cramp overwhelms you. Max puts his hands on the wall on either side of you, effectively trapping you. His dark eyes take on a predatory look, like a shark who's just scented--

"Blood," he says in fascination. "You're on your period, aren't you?"

Weirded out while at the same time a little intrigued, you answer, "That's none of your damn business, is it?"

He chuckles and you hate how charming he's trying to be. "You are. I can smell it on you. I've been able to smell it on you all week, your body conserving just the right amount of blood, doing its job, just waiting.. and when the magic doesn't happen, all that blood just trickles out of you. It's messy work being a woman, isn't it?"

You take a moment to absorb everything he's said, your face frozen in a look of confusion. "Max, I'm just gonna go get a tampon if that's okay with you." You move his arm away so you can leave.

"No need." He easily traps you again, and for a split second you marvel at his speed. "I can take care of that for you," he whispers seductively into your ear.

Maybe it's the fact that you were expecting sex tonight, or that your hormones are wildly out of control, but something deep inside you is awakened when his breath tickles your ear. "What do you mean?" your voice is soft, yielding.

His eyes bore into yours. "Come with me."

He brings you to his office, traversing the party, but in the festive atmosphere you two are overlooked. Plenty of people are either too drunk or too engrossed in other activities to notice you.

In his office he cuts the light, leaving only a small lamp lit on his desk. He locks the door but leaves the blinds open, giving you a little smirk and a wink.

"What are you doing? Why am I here?" you ask him.

"I'm offering my help," he says easily, leading you behind his desk and letting you perch on the edge of it. "You're bleeding, you're cramping.. that's no way to enjoy tonight's party."

"So what exactly are you offering?" You have some idea, now sitting on his desk.

He gently lifts the hem of your skirt and your scent, mixed with the scent of blood, wafts up to him. There's that predatory look again. "May I?" But without waiting for you answer, he reaches under your skirt and caresses you through your panties. Your gasp is enough to encourage him. He moves the satin material to the side and then his fingers are inside you. You gasp again, louder, and put your hands on his shoulders.

"Jesus, you're soaked," he says, pumping his fingers inside you as you open your thighs wider. "So fucking wet and warm.."

You're so into it you don't even question his obvious predilection for your menstrual blood. It's a turn-off for most guys but Max seems to need it.

"I always.. thought.. you hated me," you said, panting as he switched up the pace: going rough and fast then slowly, curving his fingers so he could stimulate the secret spot inside of you. "You made fun of my presentation in front of our new clients last week.. we lost the account."

"I did do that," his face is buried in your neck, taking in the scent of your perfume, of your shampoo. "I had to. That client was flirting with you, he would have been all over you if I hadn't intervened."

"Why? Why would you do that?" Still you cling to him, still you allow this pleasure he gives.

"So I could eventually have the chance to do this," he says, and as he fingers you he swipes the pad of his thumb over your clit and you see stars.

But he's a tease, and deep down you know it. He pulls his fingers out, slimy with your blood, and licks them slowly, savoring your taste. Even you have to admit it's pretty hot, even if it's a little weird.

"On the desk," he commands you, his voice husky. In your delirium you obey, and he pushes your skirt up to your midsection. He's delicate about removing your panties, and runs his tongue along the bloodstain, catching what's left of its essence.

He's fucking crazy, you think to yourself, but at the same time you're excited for what he's about to do. He moves you a little closer to the edge of his desk and takes a seat in his chair, pulling up to you like you're his dinner. Opening your thighs his breath hitches and then he dives in.

You gasp in surprise at the feel of his mouth on your pussy, the way he licks along the edges, cleaning up the blood that somehow always gets to the crease between your cunt and your thigh. He's ubiquitous, licking everywhere, tasting you. Your mind races. Part of you wonders why you're even letting him do this if you don't even like him all that much, and the baser part of you unabashedly grinds your pelvis up, demanding more from him.

With a barely-contained growl he lifts your hips and tongue-fucks you, moaning at the taste of your blood and juices on his tongue. You try to stifle a scream, and Max stuffs his Santa hat into your mouth. You remove it, too worked up to try to be quiet, and throw the hat on the floor.

The blinds are open, and colored disco lights spin around the room. You two could so easily be caught, but the noises you both make are muffled by the sound of "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree".

Max is relentless, sopping you up no matter how much you have to give. He drives you crazy when he laves his tongue over your folds, adding more pressure at your clit, and sucking hard until you've come and you beg him to stop. The bastard only starts up again once you've recovered, switching it up between tonguing your cunt and lapping at your so-sensitive clit. Your body trembles, thighs quaking as his fingers dig into your flesh. You lose count of how many times he sends you to heaven. All you know is a cycle of pleasure, seemingly endless, turning your brain to mush.

There's a knock at Max's office and the doorknob jiggles. "Hey, Max? You in there? The party's already started." It's Jordan's voice! Your eyes pop open but Max keeps at it as if he hasn't heard. You tap him on the shoulder with force.

"Go away Jordan, I'm in the middle of dinner!" Max only gives himself enough time to shout before diving back in. You close your eyes as the pleasure rises once more, a wave engulfing you and you can't help but cry out.

Max slows down, uncharacteristically placing a kiss on your clit before moving away from you. In the lamplight you see your blood smeared on his mouth, nose, and chin. He licks most of it off and uses his handkerchief to wipe the rest away. "Orgasm is a natural pain remedy, and if I counted correctly you came at least seven times.."

"Shut up." Even though your legs are weak you manage to scoot off his desk, looking for your panties.

"I'll keep them, if that's okay with you," he says. "And don't worry, I got all of it."

"Got all of.. what?"

"Your blood. Your period's over. You're welcome." He looks so self-satisfied.

"How..?" you begin to ask, but a part of you really doesn't want to know.

"I'm just very good with my tongue," he shrugs. "But next month, if you want to do this again, I'd be more than happy to oblige." The way he smiles at you is just evil, but damn if it doesn't make your pussy throb again. "For a favor, of course."

"What favor?"

"Stop seeing Jordan. He already knows about us, he was watching through the open blinds." You're speechless, angry even, but Max continues. "And you might have to put up with a little more of my teasing you at the sales meetings. I have a reputation to uphold, you know."

"You're an asshole," you grumble, and arrange your clothing before heading for the door.

"So. My office, 8 pm, about 28 days from now?" He's wearing a smarmy grin as he waits for you to respond.

You hate Max, but you hate your fucking heavy flow even more. The man knows how to make you come, and it's not like you'd have to date him. Sighing, you pretend to look indifferent. "Sure. I'll be there."

dividers by @firefly-graphics 👑

#pedro pascal #pedro boys #max phillips #ao3 smut #ao3 author #ao3 fanfic #max phillips fanfiction #max philips x reader #max philips x you #max phillips smut #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal character smut #pedro pascal character fiction #pedro pascal cinematic universe

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mostlysignssomeportents · 2 years ago

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Dow promised to turn sneakers into playground surfaces, then dumped them in Indonesia

Dow Chemicals plastered Singapore with ads for its sneaker recycling program, promising to turn old shoes into playground tracks. But the shoes it collected in its “recycling” bins were illegally dumped in Indonesia. This isn’t an aberration: it’s how nearly all plastic recycling has always worked.

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/26/career-criminals/#fool-me-twice-three-times-four-times-a-hundred-times

Plastic recycling’s origin story starts in 1973, when Exxon’s scientists concluded that plastic recycling would never, ever be cost-effective (#ExxonKnew about this, too). Exxon sprang into action: they popularized the recycling circular arrow logo and backed “anti-littering” campaigns that blamed the rising tide of immortal, toxic garbage on peoples’ laziness.

https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/14/they-knew/#doing-it-again

Remember the campaign where an Italian guy dressed like a Native American shed a single tear as he contemplated plastic litter? Funded by the plastic industry, as a way of shifting blame for plastic waste from the wealthy, powerful corporations who lied about plastics recycling to the individuals who believed their lies:

https://www.chicagotribune.com/opinion/commentary/ct-perspec-indian-crying-environment-ads-pollution-1123-20171113-story.html

When I was a kid in Ontario, we had centralized, regulated, reusable bottle depots — beer and soda bottles came in standard sizes, differentiated by paper labels that could be pressure-washed off. When you were done with your bottle, you returned it for a deposit and it got washed and returned to bottlers to be refilled again and again and again.

After intense lobbying from soda companies, brewers and the plastic industry, that program was replaced with curbside “blue boxes” that promised to recycle our plastic waste. 90% of the plastics created has never been — and will never be — recycled. Today, the plastic industry plans on tripling the amount of single-use plastic in use worldwide:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/04/26/plastic-fatalistic/#recycled-lies

You know those ads from companies like Bluetriton (formerly “Nestle Waters”) that promise that your single-use plastic bottles are “100% recyclable…and can be used for new bottles and all sorts of new, reusable things?”

Bluetriton is a private equity-backed rollup that has absorbed most of the bottled water companies you’re familiar with, including Poland Spring, Pure Life, Splash, Ozarka, and Arrowhead. When they were sued in DC for making false claims about their “recyclable” water-bottles, their defense was that these were “non-actionable puffery.” According to Bluetriton, when it described itself as “a guardian of sustainable resources” and “a company who, at its core, cares about water,” it was being “vague and hyperbolic.”

https://pluralistic.net/2022/04/26/plastic-fatalistic/#recycled-lies

With this high standard for plastic recycling, Dow’s Singapore scam shouldn’t come as a surprise, but it seems to have surprised the government of Singapore. Writing for Reuters, Joe Brock, Yuddy Cahya Budiman and Joseph Campbell describe how they caught Dow red-handed:

https://www.reuters.com/investigates/special-report/global-plastic-dow-shoes/

The method is actually pretty straightforward: Reuters hid tracking devices in cavities in the soles of sneakers, dropped them in one of Dow’s collection bins, and then followed them. The shoes were passed onto Dow’s subcontractor, Yok Impex Pte Ltd, who sent them hopping from island to island throughout Indonesia, until they ended up in junk-markets.

Not all the shoes, though — one pair was simply moved from Dow’s collection bin to a donation bin at a Singaporean community center. Of the 11 pairs that Reuters tracked, not one ended up at a recycling facility. So much for Dow’s slogan: “Others see an old shoe. We see the future.”

Dow blamed all this on Yok Impex, but didn’t explain why its “recycling” program involved a company whose sole trade is exporting used clothing. Dow promised to cancel its deal with Yok Impex, but Yok Impex’s accountant told Reuters that the deal would be remain in place until the end of the contract. Yok Impex, meanwhile, shifted the blame to the low-waged women who sort through the clothing donations it takes in from across Singapore.

Indonesia bans bulk imports of used clothes, on the grounds that used clothes are unhygenic, displace the local textiles industry, and shipments contain high volumes of waste that ends up in Indonesian incinerators, landfills and rivers.

In other words, Singaporeans thought they were saving the planet by putting their shoes in Dow bins, but they were really sending those shoes on a long journey to an unlicensed dump. Dow enlisted schoolchildren in used-shoe collection drives, making upbeat videos that featured students like Zhang Youjia boasting that they “contributed 15 pairs of shoes.”

Dow does this all the time. In 2021, Dow’s “breakthrough technology to turn plastic waste into clean fuel” in Idaho was revealed to be a plain old incinerator:

https://www.reuters.com/investigates/special-report/environment-plastic-oil-recycling/

Also in 2021, in India, a Dow program to “use high-tech machinery to transform the [plastic from the Ganges] into clean fuel” was revealed to have ceased operations — but was still collecting plastic and promising that it was all being turned into fuel:

https://www.reuters.com/article/us-environment-plastic-insight-idUSKBN29N024

Dow operates a nearly identical “shoe recycling” program in neighboring Malaysia, and did not return Reuters’ requests for comment as to whether the shoes collected for “recycling” in the far more populous nation were also being illegally dumped offshore.

The global business lobby loves the idea of “personal responsibility” and its evil twin, “caveat emptor.” Its pet economists worship the idea of “revealed preferences,” claiming that when we use plastic, we may claim that we don’t want to have our bodies poisoned with immortal, toxic microplastics, that we don’t want our land and waters despoiled — but we actually love it, because otherwise we’d “vote with our wallets” for something else.

The obvious advantage of telling people to vote with their wallets is that the less money you have in your wallet, the fewer votes you get. Companies like Dow have used their access to the capital markets (a fancy phrase for “rich people”) to gobble up their competitors, eliminating “wasteful competition” and piling up massive profits. Those profits are laundered into policy — like replacing Ontario’s zero-waste refillable bottle system with a “recycling” system that sent plastics to the ends of the Earth to be set on fire or buried or dumped in the sea.

The ruling class’s pet economists have a name for this policy laundering: they call it “regulatory capture.” Now, when you hear “regulatory capture,” you might think about companies that get so big that they are able to boss governments around, with the obvious answer that companies need to be regulated before they get too big to jail:

https://doctorow.medium.com/small-government-fd5870a9462e

But that’s not how elite economists talk about regulatory capture: for them, capture starts with the very existence of regulators. For them, any government agency that proposes to protect the public from corporate fraud and murder inevitably becomes an agent of the corporations it is supposed to rein in, so the only answer is to eliminate regulators altogether:

https://doctorow.medium.com/regulatory-capture-59b2013e2526

This nihilism lets rich people blame the rest of us for their sins: “if you didn’t want your children to roast or freeze to death in the climate emergency, you should have sold your car and used the subway (that we bribed your city not to build).”

Nihilism is contagious. Think of the music industry: before Napster, 80% of the music ever recorded was not for sale, banished to the scrapheap of history and the vaults of record companies who paid farcically low sums to their artists.

During the File Sharing Wars, listeners were excoriated for failing to pay for music — much of which wasn’t for sale in the first place. But today, fans overwhelmingly pay for Spotify, a streaming service that notoriously pays musicians infinitesimal sums for their work.

Spotify is a creature of the Big Three labels — Sony, Universal and Warner — who own 70% of all the world’s recorded music copyrights and 65% of all the world’s music publishing. The rock-bottom per-stream prices that Spotify pays were set by the Big Three. Why would the labels want less money from Spotify?

Simple: as co-owners of Spotify, they make more money when Spotify pays less for music. Musicians have a claim on the money they take out of Spotify as royalties — but dividends, buybacks and capital gains from Spotify are the labels’ to use as they see fit. They can share that bounty with some artists, all artists, or no artists.

Not only that, but the Big Three’s deal with Spotify includes a “most favored nation” clause, which means that the independent artists who aren’t under Sony/UMG/Warner’s thumb have to take the rock-bottom rate the Big Three insisted on — likewise the small labels who compete with the Big Three. The difference is that none of these artists and small labels have massive portfolios of Spotify stock, nor do they get free advertising on Spotify, or free inclusion on hot Spotify playlists, or monthly minimum payouts from Spotify.

The idea that we shop at the wrong kind of monopolist in the wrong way is a recipe for absolute despair. It doesn’t matter whether you listen to music with the Big Tech-owned monopoly service (Youtube) or the Big Content-owned monopoly service (Spotify). The money you hand over to these giant companies goes to artists the same way that the sneakers you put in a Dow collection bin goes to a recycling plant.

Think of the billions of human labor hours we all spent washing and sorting our plastics for a recycling program that didn’t exist and will never exist — imagine if we’d spent that time and energy demanding that our politicians hold petrochemical companies to account instead.

At the end of Break ’Em Up, Zephyr Teachout’s outstanding 2020 book on monopolies, Teachout has some choice words for “consumerism” as a theory of change. She writes that if you’re on your way to a protest against a new Amazon warehouse but you never make it because you waste too much time looking for a mom-and-pop stationers to sell you a marker to write your protest sign, Amazon wins:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/07/29/break-em-up/#break-em-up

The problem isn’t that you shop the wrong way. Yes, by all means, support the creators and producers you care about in the way that they prefer, but keep your eye on the prize. Structural problems don’t have individual solutions. The problem isn’t that you have chosen single-use plastics — it’s that in our world everything for sale is packaged in single-use plastics. The problem isn’t that you’ve bought a subscription to the wrong music streaming service — it’s that labels have been allowed to buy all their competitors, creators’ unions have been smashed and degraded, and giant accounting scams by big companies generate minuscule fines.

The good news is that after 40 years of despair inducing regulatory nihilism and “vote with your wallet” talk, we’re finally paying attention to systemic problems, with a new generation of trustbusting radicals working around the world to end corporate impunity.

Dow is a repeat offender. A repeat, repeat offender. Chrissakes, they’re the linear descendants of Union Carbide, the company that poisoned Bhopal:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bhopal_disaster

They shouldn’t be trusted to run a lemonade stand, let alone a “recycling” program. The same goes for Big Tech and Big Content company and the markets for creative labor. These companies have repeatedly demonstrated their unfitness, their habitual deception and immorality. These companies have captured their regulators, repeatedly, so we need better regulators — and weaker companies.

The thing I love about Teachout’s book is that it talks about what we should be demanding from our governments — it’s a manifesto for a movement against corporate power, not a movement for “responsible consumerism.” That was the template that Rebecca Giblin and I followed when we wrote Chokepoint Capitalism, our book about the brutal, corrupt creative labor market:

https://chokepointcapitalism.com/

We have a chapter on Spotify (multiple chapters, in fact!). For our audiobook, we made that chapter a “Spotify Exclusive” — it’s the only part of the book you can get on Spotify, and it’s free:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/09/12/streaming-doesnt-pay/#stunt-publishing

Next Thu (Mar 2) I’ll be in Brussels for Antitrust, Regulation and the Political Economy, along with a who’s-who of European and US trustbusters. It’s livestreamed, and both in-person and virtual attendance are free. On Fri (Mar 3), I’ll be in Graz for the Elevate Festival.

[Image ID: A woman kneeling to tie her running shoe. She stands on a background of plastic waste. In the top right corner is the logo for Dow chemicals. Below it is the Dow slogan, 'Others see an old shoe. We see the future.']

#pluralistic

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harukadrawsthings · 8 months ago

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Super Mario is the second reason why I'm an old Nintendo customer. I've played many games in the franchise, the first being the 8-bit classic Super Mario Bros.

When you ask a fan what the best Mario game is, the answer is likely to be Galaxy 2 or Odyssey, but for me it's not either of the plumber's key titles (although the two I've mentioned are excellent 3D platformers).

I was one of those people who was overjoyed when it was revealed in September at the Nintendo Direct that they were bringing back "Paper Mario: The Thousand Year Door" for the Switch with improved graphics and dialogue and with extras that didn't exist in the GameCube version! (And a good solution to the problem of scalping in the grey market of retro gaming).

I've loved the Paper Mario they made for the Nintendo 64 since I was a kid and I had the chance to play the sequel almost a decade ago and I thought it was amazing how they took everything that was good about the first game and made it even better. Never has a Mario game absorbed me as much as this one; Thousand Year Door is a lot of fun and a turn-based RPG that's both accessible and challenging. It's a shame that the sequels don't follow the same type of gameplay, although I really enjoyed Origami King in general. Here's a suggestion for my followers who have a Nintendo Switch at home. It was great to relive this story in search of the Crystal Stars to save the world and for me it's undoubtedly one of the best games available on the console. 😊

Do not repost. Do not modify. Always credit me!

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#nintendo switch #super mario #nintendo #paper mario #paper mario ttyd #paper mario the thousand year door #mario rpg #goombella #koops #flurrie #yoshi kid #paper mario vivian #ms mowz #admiral bobbery #fanart #drawing #illustration #traditional art #alcohol markers

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blasphemous-lies-and-deceit · 4 months ago

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Flufftober Day 4. Market Day

"Oh! There's another soap maker," Michael said cheerily, immediately beelining towards the stall. Gerry followed at a more sedate pace, eying the booth wearily.

"How many soap stalls can one market have?" he grumbled, dutifully shadowing Michael as he began to sniff each and every soap on display. At least these bars were more subdued and natural-looking, instead of the brightly colored and outrageously scented soaps at the other stalls. Michael stuck one under his nose, flooding Gerry's senses with peppermint.

"That's nice, right?" he asked, pulling it back for another sniff. "They have other minty scents if that's too much."

"The lavender mint is really nice too," the seller piped up, leaning over the table towards them. "It's one of my favorites." Michael quickly picked up that bar next, expression brightening into a grin as he inhaled the scent.

"That is good," he sighed, offering it to Gerry. Gerry agreeably breathed it in and nodded his approval, holding on to the bar as Michael continued sampling soap smells. Even if he wasn't as enthusiastic as Michael about going to farmer's markets and craft fairs and such, it was still a good time, especially since Michael was in his element. He loved watching his boyfriend have a good time, and he also got to chat with any bakers and pastry makers who might happen to be there. It was nice.

Gerry's attention was caught by a row of bars on the bottom shelf, set away from the rest of the soap. "There's unscented, too," Gerry noted, picking up one of the bars. "Is that better for sensitive skin?"

"That's what we hear a lot, yeah. There's also some unscented lotion if you want to try that." The seller pointed towards their other table, where rows of bottles were set up in neat lines. Michael immediately turned away from the soaps and snatched up a half-filled bottle that said "Try Me", squinting curiously at the ingredients list before flipping the lid and squeezing some lotion out on his hand.

"Oh, it's thick," he said in surprise, rubbing his hands together. Gerry offered one of his, and Michael gave him a dollop of lotion that he rubbed onto his arm. To his surprise, it absorbed into his skin quickly, without the unpleasant residue that other lotions left. "What do you think?" Michael asked, taking his arm and wiping more lotion onto it, studying his burns intently. "It seems really nice."

"It is," Gerry smiled, turning his arm in Michael's hold so that his soft slick hands caressed the other side, getting the last of the lotion on his skin. It was cool and moisturizing and felt absolutely fantastic against his scars. He could easily imagine how good that would feel after a full-body application. Without even glancing towards the price board Gerry grabbed three of the bigger bottles, carrying them over to the seller as Michael tried out the other lotion scents.

"I really hope that lotion works for you," the seller said genuinely, beginning to pack their items into a paper bag. "And I'm not just saying that because I'm standing on this side of the table. I really mean it."

"If it does, we'll definitely be back for more," Gerry told them, taking one of their business cards and tucking it in his pocket. Michael appeared at his side, smelling of flowers and adding another bottle of lotion and three bars of soap to their purchase. Gerry slung his arm around his waist, leaning into him as Michael continued chatting with the seller. He hadn't expected to find something so nice while they were out, but he was very glad they had.

#flufftober2024 #Day 4 #the magnus archives #gerrymichael

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kayatoastkkat · 1 year ago

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infodump time!

this is for my TOH au, some basic information for the big three of the cast and what their roles are! aaaand maybe also a sketch dump since I have too many pencil drawings of this au...

Dr. Henry Jekyll

Leader of the Secret Society for Wild Magic. Also a part-time potions seller.

After graduation from Hexside, his initial aspiration was to join the Emperor’s Coven. As such, he began trying to test out his magical prowess and became a curse researcher, collecting rare curses (akin to Eda’s) and began looking for cures. While some of his methods proved effective, during this time Jekyll was deeply absorbed into his work and started neglecting his own health, leading Lanyon and Rachel to become very worried for him.

One night, while researching a particularly gruesome curse, Jekyll believed he finally worked out a cure. With no other subjects, he could only test it on himself. Thus, potion in hand, he decided it was a great idea to go curse himself with a cure that he believed was mostly effective.

Lo and behold, that was the first transformation. The curse lashed out in black ribbons, enveloping Jekyll before diving straight into his heart, issuing several screams from the brunette until all that was left was a bundle of loose clothes, shattered glass, scraps of paper leftover from the curse and research, and one tiny blonde gremlin among said loose clothes. Thus, that very night, Hyde was born. A curse that should’ve killed Jekyll, torn his very body apart, taken control over the leftover scraps, now resides in his body as half of himself, shares his memories and would become the mask Jekyll uses to indulge in activities he finds unacceptable for himself to engage in. The potion that failed to cure the curse is now the key to transforming into each other.

With Hyde, Jekyll quickly realised that joining the Emperor’s Coven is no longer a feasible choice for himself and instead, with Lanyon’s help (due to his family being super wealthy and influential) was able to pull some strings and fake a Potions coven sigil, thus taking suspicion off of him while keeping his status as a wild witch.

His palisman is a crow named Crowley. His staff also never initially had the red gem lmao, he stuffed it in himself to try and give it a more sophisticated look. He also has ear piercings! First made just to get Hyde to stop whining, he later decided he may as well wear something, namely tiny black diamond studs.

Mr Edward Hyde

bithc.

Jekyll’s personal “assistant”. A trader and scammer at the Night Market. He often enjoys committing petty crimes and also trades his potions for rare ingredients required for more powerful spells. Sometimes he’d even bring a few of the Lodgers to sell their inventions too, to make sure the Society still has snails to spare for basic necessities. Most of what Hyde earns in the Night Market goes to his nighttime adventures, but whatever’s left by the time he transforms back will be used by Jekyll to keep the lights on in the secret Society. Besides the Night Market, he likes to go drinking at the sketchier parts of Bonesborough, often getting into skirmishes and bar fights. He relies on Jekyll’s magic and rarely ever uses his palisman to avoid divulging his identity. For transportation, he prefers teleportation spells or magic some wings to make a quick escape. No, he’s not a bird beast. I’ve long decided he is not some crow beast or something, he’s just an amalgamation of Jekyll’s worst traits.

He has about the same relationship with Jekyll as in TGS, perhaps even more tense as Jekyll is very concerned about ensuring that Hyde keeps a low profile and does not reveal the fact he’s a wild witch. Hyde hides it about as well as you’d expect, and eventually the information that he doesn’t have a sigil is picked up by the Emperor’s Coven. He’s never gotten caught before though, oh, and he also idolizes Eda the Owl Lady very much, but never goes to find her, since he’s terrified of Hooty.

The oopsy-doopsy arson will still happen, which I will cover eventually but bottom line is it’ll make Belos strengthen efforts into finding and tracing Hyde’s roots. Through the following disagreements and punishment from Jekyll, Hyde learns he can block Jekyll from using his magic for short bursts of time, and eventually with practice, longer periods spanning from hours to days.

He also has silver ring earrings. Every time he transforms he takes the time to take off Jekyll’s plain black diamond studs to replace it with them and I find that funny.

Dr. Robert Lanyon

A master illusionist, one of Jekyll’s closest friends and co-runner of the Society. Also helps around Jekyll’s potions business.

He’s the reason Jekyll was able to stay a wild witch in the first place. He was able to use his Illusion magic to fake a sigil for Jekyll and using his position of power, pulled some strings to prevent the scouts from investigating further. His father is a prosperous Constructions witch who helps Belos strengthen the castle and fortify bases for scouts throughout Bonesborough, earning him a position of high rank in the Isles. Lanyon despises it though, and took Illusions to spite his father, who wanted him to take a more “useful” track in school such as Abominations or Constructions so he would have more job opportunities. Outside attending dinner parties or finishing errands for his father, he does whatever he wants, usually sneaking off to parts of Bonesborough or to the Society to see Jekyll. He doesn’t even necessarily attend dinner parties, often preferring to have an illusion of himself attending. Lanyon Sr pretends not to notice this.

Unaware of Jekyll’s curse, he hated the idea of Hyde being affiliated with him and yet always so dangerously on the brink of exposing his identity as a wild witch, but so long as Hyde continues helping the Society stay afloat and doesn’t get caught, Lanyon keeps his thoughts to himself. That is, until the arson changes everything. While he helps sort out the paperwork and aids Jekyll in keeping the Society hidden, he is not close to any of the Lodgers and prefers to pretend he isn’t associated with them, mostly out of concern and to keep suspicion off him and by extension, his dear friend.

He has the most insane piercings too, with large gold spheres resembling Eda’s, along with two more piercings further up his ears.

also, minor thing but I've finally given this au a proper name lol, it's now called The Crow House after Jekyll's palisman, which is a crow! I've also updated the tag for it in my pinned post so not to worry!

#look who finally made this #I had the idea of what they do etc mapped out so clearly for so long #and yet never made anything for that #well that's changed! there's this now :D #the glass scientists #the crow house au #my art #please ignore the shit formatting i copy pasted it from Google docs #i have no idea how to fix it aaaa #traditional art

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aghost-writer · 29 days ago

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Enough

Chapter 11

This is a Yandere MHA/BNHA x Female Reader Fic!

MDNI!!

Izuku stood outside the doors of U.A., his fingers nervously scrolling through his phone. He had been waiting for a while now, hoping to see Y/N. It had been a few hours since the quirk assessment with Aizawa, and though she seemed fine afterward, Izuku couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. She had always been someone who preferred solitude, especially after intense moments like that, but still—he couldn’t help but worry.

He glanced at his phone again, debating whether or not to send her a message. It felt a bit too forward, but the hesitation didn’t last long. He quickly typed out, “Hey, are you okay? I was waiting outside for you. Thought we could hang out for a bit.”

The minutes ticked by without a reply. Izuku shifted from foot to foot, feeling the uneasy tension in his chest. He knew Y/N liked her space, but the silence made him nervous. Just when he was about to call it a day, his phone buzzed in his hand.

“Hey, I’m about to be in class. I’ll talk to you later, alright?”

Izuku blinked at the message, confusion furrowing his brow. Class?

He hastily typed a response, “Class? But Aizawa-sensei canceled class for the rest of the day. Did I miss something?”

He waited, his fingers drumming against the side of his phone. The reply came quickly, but it only deepened his confusion.

“Not the Hero Course class. The business class. It’s about to start.”

Izuku froze, his mind racing. Business class? He had known Y/N had been accepted into the Business Course, but this was new information.He had assumed she had switched to the Hero Course shortly before school had started, but apparently, that wasn't the case. The realization hit him like a wave.

A small smile tugged at his lips before quickly fading into a deeper curiosity. There was something about Y/N that fascinated him—something that had intrigued him ever since they first met. She was different from the others, and despite her quiet nature, she seemed to hide so much beneath the surface. The more he observed, the more he wondered what her life was really like, and what had driven her to keep so much locked away.

Izuku flipped open his notebook and started scribbling notes again, almost instinctively. He couldn’t help himself. Her mysterious nature, her strength, her intelligence—all of it seemed like a puzzle waiting to be solved.

“Y/N L/N – Unusual healing factor, superhuman strength and speed, highly intelligent, but clearly hiding her full potential,” he wrote, his pen flying across the paper. “Seems to avoid attention but excels when it matters. Potential for a major role in U.A.’s future?”

He paused, staring at his words. This is crazy, he thought, but couldn’t stop himself. There was so much about Y/N that he didn’t understand, and that made her all the more intriguing. Why had she chosen to pursue business instead of focusing entirely on the Hero Course? What did it mean for her future?

He shook his head, realizing how deeply absorbed he had become in his thoughts about her. He quickly closed his notebook and sent one last message to her, “Okay, I’ll talk to you later, Y/N.”

Izuku smiled softly as he tucked his phone into his pocket. For now, I’ll have to wait until I see her again, he thought. But one thing was clear—Y/N L/N was someone worth paying attention to.

Y/N sat at her desk in the business class, trying her best to focus on the professor’s lecture. The room was quiet except for the occasional scratch of pens on paper and the sound of pages turning. It should have been easy to pay attention. After all, she was a natural when it came to business concepts—strategy, economics, market trends, and risk management were second nature to her. But today, her mind refused to cooperate.

Her foot bounced rapidly under the table, betraying her restless thoughts. No matter how hard she tried to concentrate on the words spilling from the professor’s mouth, she couldn’t help but think about the earlier spar with Aizawa. She had been in the training field, sweating and focused on her moves when he had called her out. His presence was almost overwhelming in a way she couldn’t describe. Aizawa had always been one of her favorite instructors at U.A. His no-nonsense attitude, his straightforwardness, and his ability to see through people were qualities she admired. But today, it was different.

He’s so hot, she thought, her chest tightening at the memory. It wasn’t just his looks, although they were certainly nothing to scoff at. The man was a powerhouse in his own right, ruggedly handsome with a sharp edge that made him stand out in a crowd. But it was more than that. It was the way he moved during their spar—effortless, confident, and precise. Aizawa didn’t waste a single motion; every step he took had purpose, and every time his eyes locked onto hers, she felt like he could see right through her.

Y/N clenched her hands on the desk, feeling the heat spread to her cheeks. She couldn’t stop thinking about the fight. His quirk—Erasure—had completely nullified hers in the blink of an eye. She’d been expecting it, of course, but the way he used it to break down her defenses had left her stunned. And the calmness with which he addressed her afterward, like he hadn’t just bested her in a sparring match—like it didn’t matter to him that she had fallen short—that had shaken her more than she wanted to admit.

Her foot bounced harder, a nervous habit she couldn’t control. The other students in the class seemed perfectly at ease, scribbling down notes and paying attention to the lecture. Meanwhile, Y/N was lost in her thoughts, unable to fully engage with what was happening in front of her. She tried to force herself back to the lesson, but every time she looked at the board or tried to read the professor’s notes, her mind circled back to Aizawa. The way his eyes had narrowed as he observed her every move, how his voice had been smooth yet firm, almost teasing when he’d told her that she needed to focus more if she wanted to keep up.

Focus, she reminded herself. She needed to focus. There was no time to get distracted by her thoughts about Aizawa. She couldn’t afford it—not when she had worked so hard to keep her true abilities hidden. Her quirk wasn’t something she wanted anyone to know about, especially not someone like Aizawa, who would definitely see through her carefully crafted persona if he even suspected what she was capable of. If anyone knew the full extent of her abilities, it would complicate everything. She was trying to lead a life as close to normal as possible, but every interaction with Aizawa made it harder.

Yet, even with all the warning bells ringing in her mind, she couldn’t push the thoughts of him away. The memories of the spar kept playing in her head. The way his gaze had never left her, even when she thought she had evaded his grip. The way his voice had remained calm, almost as though he were enjoying the challenge. Every move he made was calculated, efficient. It made her feel… out of place, somehow. She was used to being in control, used to being the one who set the pace, but with Aizawa, she had been nothing more than a student learning from a master.

Focus. Y/N’s foot bounced faster, and she bit her lip, frustrated with herself. Why was she so flustered by him? It wasn’t like she had never interacted with teachers before. She had sparred with plenty of other instructors, faced challenges from others at U.A. But with Aizawa? It was different. She couldn’t pinpoint what it was that made him stand out so much, but there was a certain magnetic quality to him. The kind of intensity that made it impossible to ignore him once he had your attention.

Her hands clenched again, this time against the edge of her desk. She had to get it together. She had never been one to let emotions interfere with her work. She couldn’t afford to be this distracted, especially in a class that was supposed to help her develop her business acumen. She was here to learn, to focus on building a future that was solid and secure. Not to get lost in thoughts about a teacher who was far beyond her reach.

But despite all of her attempts to rein in her emotions, she couldn’t help but feel a tug in her chest every time she thought about him. She couldn’t explain it, couldn’t make sense of it, but something about Aizawa stirred something deep inside her. Maybe it was his confidence, or maybe it was the way he didn’t seem to care whether or not she was paying attention to him. Whatever it was, it had left her flustered and distracted in ways she had never experienced before.

“Y/N,” the professor’s voice broke through her internal turmoil, snapping her back to reality. Her head snapped up, and she found herself staring at a few curious eyes from her classmates. They were all waiting for her response, some with raised eyebrows, others with a knowing look. Y/N blinked, feeling the heat rush to her cheeks as she realized she had completely zoned out.

“Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention. What was the question?” she said, trying to mask the slight embarrassment she felt. Her voice was steady, but internally, she was kicking herself for letting her thoughts wander so far.

The professor offered her a small, amused smile. “I was asking if you had any insights on the latest market trends. You’re usually quite engaged in class.”

Y/N let out a silent breath of relief. At least she hadn’t been caught too off guard. She straightened up in her seat, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. Time to focus.

“Right,” she began, her confidence returning. “Well, given the current economic fluctuations, I think it’s crucial to focus on stability in the market while diversifying risk, especially with the global supply chains being so volatile lately.” She kept talking, leaning into her comfort zone and steering the conversation back to business matters. It wasn’t hard; this was her forte, after all. Business theory, data analysis, risk management—these were the things that came naturally to her. Still, even as she spoke, her mind kept drifting back to the spar with Aizawa.

Focus, she reminded herself again. She couldn’t let herself be distracted.

But deep down, she knew that no matter how much she tried to push him out of her thoughts, Aizawa would be hard to forget. And maybe, just maybe, the next time she saw him, she wouldn’t be so good at hiding what she felt.

The staff room was quiet except for the gentle hum of the air conditioning and the soft clink of ceramic mugs being set down on the table. The day had been long, and the teachers had gathered for a brief moment of respite before heading back to their responsibilities. Yagi, ever the optimist and sunshine in the room, sat across from Aizawa, his mug of tea cradled in his hands as he took a sip. His bright, ever-curious eyes gleamed, reflecting his characteristic interest in everything and everyone around him.

Aizawa, in contrast, was the complete opposite. He leaned back in his chair, his face as perpetually serious as ever, eyes hidden behind the messy bangs that framed his face. He stirred his coffee slowly, the motion mechanical, his attention not so much on his drink as it was on the thoughts that ran through his mind. Aizawa was someone who spent his time observing, analyzing, and keeping to himself. He had a reputation for being curt and often detached, though beneath the gruff exterior was a deep care for his students. The students of Class 1-A had his respect, though he rarely showed it outwardly.

“So,” Yagi began, breaking the silence in his usual upbeat manner. He placed his tea down with a soft clink and leaned forward slightly, his voice casual but with an underlying thread of genuine curiosity. “What do you think of the new students in Class 1-A?”

Aizawa didn’t immediately answer, his eyes not leaving the swirling surface of his coffee. The question was simple, innocuous enough—Yagi was known for asking such questions, usually in an attempt to connect with others—but Aizawa knew better. Yagi had a tendency to ask about things with the aim of understanding them, to probe deeper than surface-level answers. The fact that he was asking about Class 1-A suggested he had noticed something too.

Aizawa let out a quiet sigh and finally spoke, his voice low and neutral, as though not fully invested in the conversation. “They’re all varying degrees of unremarkable.” He didn’t meet Yagi’s gaze, though he could feel the weight of his friend’s stare. “But, of course, that’s the point. To find those who have potential, those who can push past their limits. It’s always the same.”

Yagi chuckled softly at the dry response, but there was no malice in it—just a warm, knowing amusement. “True,” he agreed, “but you must admit there’s something different about this year’s batch. I’m interested to see how they develop.”

Aizawa was silent for a moment. His thoughts drifted over the new faces he had observed during the first few days of class, the students who were brimming with energy and nervous excitement. It was the beginning of their journey, and many of them were still unsure of their place. But even in their uncertainty, there was a spark of potential. And yet, as Yagi had pointed out, there was something different about this group.

“Well,” Aizawa said slowly, his voice almost imperceptible against the quiet hum of the air conditioner, “there’s one student in particular who has caught my attention.”

Yagi’s interest was piqued. He leaned in slightly, his playful smile never wavering, though there was a hint of seriousness in his eyes now. “Oh? Do tell,” he prompted, his voice curious but careful.

Aizawa’s gaze darkened, his eyes narrowing as he considered his words carefully. “Y/N L/N.” The name was said with a tone that was both flat and contemplative. There was something more beneath the surface, an undercurrent of something Aizawa wasn’t quite ready to admit. “She’s different.”

Yagi raised an eyebrow, intrigued. He placed his mug back down, giving Aizawa his full attention. “Different how?”

Aizawa took a long sip of his coffee, still not meeting Yagi’s gaze. “Her performance in the sparring session... she’s holding back. Too composed, too controlled. I’m not sure what she’s hiding, but I know it’s something. And… there’s something about her. She doesn’t quite fit with the others. It’s like she’s constantly calculating, thinking two or three steps ahead, even when she’s trying to blend in.”

Yagi’s expression shifted slightly. He wasn’t surprised—Aizawa was the kind of person who noticed the small, telling details that others overlooked. Still, hearing him speak about a student in such a way was rare. Yagi hummed thoughtfully and leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers lightly on the edge of his mug. “That’s interesting. Do you think she’s one of those rare students who has the potential to push the boundaries of what we expect?”

Aizawa’s gaze darkened again, his voice almost a murmur. “Maybe. But there’s more to it than that. She’s hiding something—something about her abilities. I don’t know if she even knows what she’s truly capable of. I can’t quite put my finger on it yet, but she reminds me of someone who would rather hide their strengths than reveal them too soon. She’s trying not to stand out.”

Yagi’s eyes narrowed, as though he were carefully considering Aizawa’s words. It wasn’t like Aizawa to be so cryptic about a student, especially one he hadn’t worked with much. “I see. And you think she’s doing it intentionally?”

“Definitely,” Aizawa muttered under his breath, irritation creeping into his tone. “It’s bothering me.” He rubbed his eyes for a moment, as though trying to clear away the frustration he felt. “She’s talented, but I can’t trust someone who refuses to show their hand. If she keeps this up, she’ll face her own limitations sooner or later. She’s not ready to take full advantage of her abilities.”

Yagi leaned forward, his expression softening with understanding. “I wouldn’t be too hard on her. Sometimes students don’t know how to handle their own power, especially when they’re still figuring out where they fit in this world. It’s possible she’s been through a lot. We both know how difficult it can be for students to find their place.”

Aizawa’s expression didn’t change, though his thoughts seemed to drift elsewhere. “Maybe,” he replied quietly. “But if she’s hiding something, it won’t stay hidden for long.”

Yagi smiled knowingly, his voice light but laced with a deeper understanding. “Sounds like you’re interested in her, Eraserhead.”

Aizawa’s eyes flicked toward Yagi, and for a brief moment, there was something flickering in them—a subtle shift, a small, imperceptible change in his demeanor. He quickly masked it, though, and his face returned to its usual stoic expression. “I’m not interested,” he muttered, his voice firm. “I’m just… trying to figure her out. She’s a mystery. And I don’t like mysteries.”

Yagi chuckled softly, clearly enjoying the teasing. “You say that, but I’m sure you’re more intrigued than you let on. You always were a sucker for those who make things more interesting.”

Aizawa didn’t respond, but there was a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he took another sip of his coffee. His gaze shifted toward the window, the quiet weight of the conversation lingering between them. Yagi’s words, however lighthearted they seemed, held a deeper truth—Aizawa was intrigued. The thought of a student who seemed to be hiding her true potential, someone who wasn’t quite what she appeared to be, had undoubtedly piqued his interest.

Yagi leaned back, his eyes twinkling with a knowing expression. “Well, Eraserhead, just be careful. You might be underestimating her more than you think.”

Aizawa didn’t respond. His eyes narrowed slightly, a quiet storm of thoughts brewing behind his usual detached exterior. Whatever it was about Y/N, he couldn’t shake the feeling that she was more than she seemed. And whether she liked it or not, he was going to figure her out—whether she revealed herself or not.

The classroom was quiet, with only the steady ticking of the clock breaking the silence. Y/N sat slumped in her chair, her face resting in her hands as exhaustion from late-night studying weighed heavily on her. The room was dim, and the cool air felt like a gentle embrace as her eyelids drooped. She tried to stay awake, but her mind was drifting in a haze.

Suddenly, the door flew open with a bang, causing Y/N to jump in her seat. The sudden noise shattered her drowsiness, and she blinked rapidly, trying to adjust to what had just happened.

“WHAT’S UP, CLASS?!” boomed a voice, full of energy.

Y/N looked up to find a man standing in the doorway, wearing a bright yellow jacket and sporting wild, spiky hair. His grin was wide, almost too big for his face. It was Present Mic, the eccentric English teacher known for his boisterous energy.

“Oh, just you, huh?” Present Mic said, his voice exaggerated with surprise. “Well, no worries, kid! We’ll have a blast anyway!”

Still half-dazed, Y/N rubbed her eyes and straightened in her chair. She had heard of Present Mic, of course. His voice was famous throughout the school. But she hadn’t expected to find herself the only student in his class today.

“I… didn’t think anyone else would be here,” Y/N mumbled, trying to shake off the drowsiness.

“HAHAHA! No worries, no worries!” Present Mic shouted, completely unfazed by her sleepy state. “We’re gonna make English SO MUCH FUN, you won’t even believe it! We’ll hit all the basics, but with a twist!”

Y/N sighed, her exhaustion making it hard to focus. “Right, but… I don’t think I’m going to be much help. I was just—”

“You’re gonna be GREAT!” Present Mic interrupted, spinning around and tossing a pair of sunglasses onto his face. “The class isn’t gonna teach itself, right? Now, let’s get down to business!”

He slid behind the desk, grabbed a marker, and slammed it onto the whiteboard, turning to face Y/N with a wide grin. She blinked a few times, still trying to make sense of the situation.

“Alright! Here we go, we’re starting with something easy—some common English phrases! Ready to learn how to be a pro in communication?”

Y/N rubbed her temples, half-dazed, but there was something about Present Mic’s energy that made her sit up a little straighter. His enthusiasm was contagious, and despite her exhaustion, she felt a flicker of curiosity.

“Alright, I’ll bite. What do you have for me?”

Present Mic pumped his fist in the air, as if celebrating a victory. “THAT’S WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT!” He pointed at the board. “Let’s start with something simple. Repeat after me: ‘I’m feeling great!’”

Y/N, still fighting the pull of sleep, reluctantly repeated, “I’m feeling great,” her voice quiet but clear.

“YES! YES!” Present Mic cheered. “That’s what I like to hear! Now, let’s add some flair to it! Can you say it with some ENERGY?! I need you to make it POP!”

Y/N hesitated, but decided to humor him. She sat up straighter, forcing herself to push through the exhaustion. “I’m feeling GREAT!” she said, louder this time.

“THAT’S IT!” Present Mic shouted, raising his arms in triumph. “You’re a natural! I’m telling you, by the end of this class, you’ll be a superstar of communication!”

For a brief moment, Y/N couldn’t help but smile. Despite her exhaustion, it was hard not to get caught up in his infectious enthusiasm. Even though it was just one-on-one, it was hard not to appreciate how Present Mic turned the most mundane lesson into something fun.

She glanced at the clock, realizing that the class was just beginning. She might be the only student here, but for now, that didn’t seem so bad—not when Present Mic was giving her a personal lesson. Maybe, just maybe, this class wasn’t going to be so bad after all. At least, not if he kept shouting “ENERGY” every few minutes.

The hallway was dimly lit, the quiet of the evening settling over the building. Y/N stepped out of the classroom, feeling the weight of the energetic lesson with Present Mic still hanging on her shoulders. Her muscles were stiff, and her mind buzzed from the spar with Aizawa earlier that day. It had been a long one, and the cool air of the hallway was a welcome reprieve. She sighed as she made her way toward the exit, hoping for a moment of peace before her next task.

But as she turned the corner, she froze. Standing against the wall, his arms crossed, was none other than Katsuki Bakugo. She blinked, unsure if her exhaustion was playing tricks on her. What was he doing here? Bakugo wasn’t exactly the type to hang around unless he absolutely had to. He wasn’t one to linger in hallways or have pointless conversations.

Her gaze met his, and she noticed something that threw her off guard. He wasn’t glaring at her as he usually did. Instead, his eyes were fixed on the floor, and his posture was less aggressive. For the first time, he almost looked… hesitant.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, confused by the sight. “What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice steady, though tinged with curiosity.

Bakugo didn’t answer immediately. His gaze shifted, but he refused to meet her eyes. His jaw clenched, and his hand twitched at his side as if he was bracing himself for something unpleasant. The silence between them stretched for a moment before he spoke.

“I… wanted to talk to you,” he muttered, his voice quieter than she had ever heard it.

Y/N tilted her head, arms crossed as she leaned back slightly against the wall. “Alright. Talk.”

Bakugo hesitated, taking a deep breath as though preparing himself for something difficult. His mind was racing, torn between wanting to get this over with and wanting to run in the opposite direction. He couldn’t avoid it any longer. The guilt had been eating away at him for years, ever since that day—the explosion, her cry of pain, and then… nothing. She had disappeared, and he hadn’t known what happened to her. It was a constant gnawing worry at the back of his mind.

He had only known she was okay because, in a rare moment of weakness and curiosity, he’d stolen Deku’s phone. He had scrolled through the texts between her and Deku, reading every single message, needing the reassurance that she was alive and well. He even copied her number down. Every time he thought about messaging her, though, his pride and guilt had held him back. It wasn’t just about the fight anymore. It was about the fact that he had never gotten the chance to apologize.

“I…” Bakugo finally looked at her, his crimson eyes filled with frustration and a heavy dose of guilt. “I wanted to apologize.”

Y/N blinked, taken aback by the sudden admission. “Apologize? For what?”

“For burning you,” he said bluntly, though his voice wavered slightly. “Back then. During… that stupid fight. You disappeared after that, and—” He stopped himself, his words stumbling in frustration. His hands curled into fists again, but he quickly forced them to relax. “I never got the chance to say I was sorry. So… yeah. I’m sorry.”

For a long moment, there was silence between them. Y/N studied him, her expression unreadable, while Bakugo shifted awkwardly, his gaze dropping to the floor. His mind raced with the thought that he had made himself vulnerable, something he hated, and was waiting for her to tear him down for it. But instead, she said nothing for a long time.

Finally, Y/N broke the silence with a small, almost amused smile. “That’s what this is about?” she said softly. “You’ve been holding onto that all this time?”

Bakugo frowned, clearly frustrated. “Of course I have!” he snapped, his voice sharp but not accusatory. “You disappeared! I thought I—” He stopped himself again, shaking his head, a deep sense of regret filling him. “Doesn’t matter. I just… I needed to say it.”

Y/N looked down briefly, her mind drifting back to that day. She remembered the explosion vividly—the heat, the force that knocked her off her feet—but she also remembered that it hadn’t hurt as much as it should have. Her healing factor had kicked in almost immediately, taking care of the burns and leaving her with only the memory of the incident. She had been fine. She hadn’t held any grudge. But Bakugo didn’t know that, and it seemed like he needed to hear it.

“Bakugo,” she said finally, her tone gentle but firm, “it didn’t hurt as much as you think it did. I healed pretty fast. Honestly, I forgot about it until you brought it up.”

He blinked, caught off guard by her response. “What?” he muttered, looking at her in disbelief.

Y/N shrugged slightly, her smile still warm but soft. “I mean, yeah, it was shocking at the time, but I moved on. It didn’t leave a scar or anything.”

Bakugo stared at her, his mind reeling as he processed what she had said. All this time, he had been beating himself up, imagining the worst. And here she was, telling him it hadn’t even been a big deal.

“Then why the hell did you disappear?” he asked, his voice sharp, though no longer hostile. “You just… vanished. Like it never happened.”

Y/N’s expression darkened slightly, but she remained composed. “It wasn’t because of you,” she said simply, looking him directly in the eyes. “I had my own reasons for leaving. Things I needed to figure out.”

Bakugo studied her for a long moment, still trying to process everything she had said. He felt an odd mixture of relief and frustration. Relief that she wasn’t holding it against him, but frustration that he had assumed so much for all these years.

“Still,” he muttered, his voice softer now, “I’m sorry.”

Y/N smiled at him, her eyes warm and understanding. “Apology accepted.”

For the first time in years, Bakugo felt a weight lift off his chest. His usual defensiveness faded slightly, and he nodded curtly, a small but genuine acknowledgment of what had just passed between them. His old, familiar demeanor slowly crept back as he crossed his arms.

“Good,” he said gruffly. “Just… don’t think I’m going soft or anything.”

Y/N chuckled softly. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

She turned to leave, the air between them now noticeably less tense. As she walked away, Bakugo stayed where he was, watching her leave. For a moment, he felt a strange peace, as if a chapter of his life had just closed. He glanced back at her retreating figure, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. Maybe now, he thought, he could finally let go of the past.

#mha #yandere mha #mha x reader #yandere bnha #bnha #bnha x reader #yandere x reader

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