#Surface Computing Market | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

highway-143 · 2 months ago

Text

webbed- nishimura riki

genre: fluff, smut, strangers to lovers, spider man au

pairing: black spiderman!riki x fem!reader

taglist: @urlocalmultigroupfan @minkilicious @vrusha01 @planetmarlowe @mrsjjongstby @drnkdz @strawberrynull @interfated @tasnemluvs @woniesbae @rikifordmiami @nishikio

word count: 9.2k

now playing: sunflower- post malone and swae lee (lol kinda a duh) & damn- fujii kaze

tw: blood, guns, sex, bdsm undertones, needles, mentions of rape, death

(mostly proofread but idc atp bro. just live with the typos ToT)

all scenarios are fake and are not meant to represent any idol in the story

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ₊

economics homework sucks.

but that's a given, isn't it?

who in the world actually enjoyed comparing the tax rates of 10 different countries and writing a 20,000 word essay about them for the final?

you certianly didn't.

and yet here you were, seated at the desk in your room. its surface was littered with borrowed library books, notes, and your computer. the screen was open to a google doc, two pages already filled out.

you check the word count.

1,009 words

shit.

you prop your elbows on the desk, your head in your hands.

who the fuck thought this class would be required for a marketing degree?

you hear rain start to patter on the window of your dorm. the sprinkles collecting on the pane, blurring the lights coming from the city.

you lived for tokyo at night.

the way the lights from apartments lit up the darkness like stars when the real stars were covered in the haze of a storm.

the way the neon lights from shops lining the street. it felt so beautiful. how the city came alive when the rest of the world was quiet.

that's when you hear it.

skrrrrrrrrrrreeeeeeeee

tires. on pavement.

you jump up from your chair and onto the miniscule balcony that connected to your dorm. it was hard to make out from the fourth story, but you saw an suv swerving through the road. it's tail spun out of control on the slick ground, almost crashing into patrons walking out of akasaka, the hostess bar across the street.

people screamed, the sounds of fear echoing off the tall buildings around the chaos.

you screamed too.

because a black figure swooped right in front of you, and you jumped so hard, you almost fell over.

spiderman

you watch as the shadowlike hero makes his way closer and closer to the suv.

the car skids to a stop as a flying web sticks to it, the other end already attatched to a rung on the side of your building. the tires helplessly turn against the pavement, but to no avail.

"going somewhere?" asks the deep voice, what you assumed was spiderman.

you couldn't see him though.

he dissapeared.

your eyes scour the scene, trying to find the source. all you see are two japanese men, both heavily muscled and in their late thirties.

and then another, exiting from the cab of the van.

he was pale, paler than you had ever seen. an albino, white hair styled meticulously with a ocean blue streak through the slicked back strands. his eyes were covered in sunglasses, even at night. his frame was long, thin, and looked somewhat malnourished. he wore a white trench coat over a white tutleneck and ivory pants.

he looked like a ghost.

"spiderman" he says, a thick french accent in his speech. "didn't expect to meet you tonight." his voice is cold, a piercing ice. "why don't you show yourself, hmm?"

"i think i'll stay where i am, thanks" says spiderman, his voice coming from somewhere below and to the right of where you stood on the balcony. "the real question, is why are you here, givré? what business do you have in japan?"

the albino, givré, chuckles. there's no warmth behind the laughter though. "why on earth would i tell you?"

"okay, don't then." you watch as a web shoots out from a balcony below you, attaching itself to givré's mouth, sending him stumbling backward into the side of the car.

the two mercenaries aim guns at the balcony. you hadn't even realized that they had them. the taller of the two fires, and you clap your hand over your mouth.

but nothing.

the balcony is empty.

you know you should go back inside. hide. not get killed.

but you can't stop watching.

because when the men turn around to help givré, spiderman is already standing behind them.

givré is struggling against the web on his mouth, trying to pry it off with his fingers. spiderman stands next to him, arms crossed. "you really thought that would work?" he asks, amused.

the street is almost completely cleared of bystanders now, only a few dumb tourists on the sidewalk with phones recording the scene. idiots.

the shorter man charges, almost like a rhino, and grabs spiderman by the waist, tackling him to the ground. the hero flips around and hooks a leg around the man's shoulder. "god, i didn't think i would be getting freaky today-" he says as his groin is pushed into the struggling face of the gaurd.

you can't help but laugh as spiderman kicks out of confinement.

and then you scream.

because another gunshot rang through the street.

givré stood, yards away from the fight, a gun pointed at spiderman, his mouth freed.

he laughs. "thought you could get away? nice try, bastard."

spiderman coughs, bringing a hand to his shoulder, dark red already covering the material of his suit. "fuck-" he murmurs. "come on, givré, you gotta try harder than that" and he lets go of his shoulder to shoot two webs, one at givré's gun, the other at the second mercenary, the sticky threads wrapping around his body.

he watches as the flashing lights of police cars pull up and cops jump out, running over to givré.

and he looks up, shoots a web, and swings away into the darkness.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ₊

you go back inside, shell-shocked and wet from the rain. who the fuck was givré? and what did he want from spiderman?

you stare at the balcony from your desk chair, watching the rain trickle down the glass of the door.

thud

another scream from your mouth.

spiderman. on your balcony, the eyes of his mask locked onto your surprised ones. the water on the glass blurs his features, but you can still make out the maroon blood dripping from his shoulder.

he looks at you, waving as he stands on the balcony, pointing to the handle of the door, then to his shoulder.

he needs to come in.

you nod shakily, and he slides the door open, with his good arm, stepping inside your pristine room.

"thank you," he says, nodding. "can i use your bathroom? and first aid kit?"

your eyes are wide as you get a better view of his injuries. the bullet grazed the top of his shoulder, tearing the fabric and his skin. an inch wide gash was visible even through the blood.

"y-yes. just in there," you point to the bathroom door. "first aid kit is under the sink"

he walks across the room, blood dripping onto the hardwood floor, a trail making its way to the bathroom along with the tall hero.

you want to give him privacy, but he leaves the door open.

that was the first mistake.

because you glance into the cramped room after a few minutes, and you don't want to look away.

who knew spiderman could be this attractive?

all you could see was his back, but god, his back.

he wasn't ripped like givré's bodygaurds, but his muscles rippled, shoulderblades jutting out as he cleaned blood off his arm with a wet tissue. his chest dipped to his waist in the most prominent v shape you had ever seen. the top half of his suit hung low around his hips, dangerously low, the rim of his boxers peeking out.

teasing.

taunting.

his jet black hair was messy, a few unruly strands sticking up out of his bangs. you could see sweat beading on the back of his neck and the short hair of his undercut.

without thinking, you walk up behind him, and turn the bathroom fan on.

he doesn't turn to look at you, but his voice is gravely as he thanks you.

a shiver runs up your spine. you force yourself to pull away and go back to your desk, trying to focus on your essay while fucking spiderman clattered around your bathroom.

"hey... uh..." you hear him mumble a few feet away. "can you... uh... come help me?"

you hesitate, only a second, before you stand up on shaking legs. he stood in the doorway of the bathroom, holding an alcohol swab packet out to you.

you take it, and look up into his eyes.

mistake number two.

he was fucking gorgeous. his brown- almost black- eyes looked like they were staring into your soul. his bangs hooded over them a little bit, the tips brushing his eyelashes. he had high cheekbones and a strong jaw, with perfect, full lips that looked delicious.

"just... the back of my shoulder. i can't reach it." he turns around, and you stand on tiptoe to see the wound.

"you're gonna need stitches," you say, transfixed by the deep gash that looked a little less bloody now. you could see the line from where he had cleaned most of the blood off and where some remained.

"yeah, i do that all the time"

"you stitch yourself up!?" you stare at him through the mirror.

he hisses when the swab grazes the injury. "fuck," he whispers under his breath. "yeah, i do. no big deal at this point. happens more than you think."

you take a closer look at his body, faint scars on his sides and more littering his arms. at least seven of them. the pink lines were barely noticable in the dim lighting.

"wow..." you say, not really knowing what the proper response would be.

you clean his shoulder in silence, his faint grunts when you press too hard the only sound in your dorm.

"there, done." you say, tossing the bloodied piece of cloth into the trash can. "do you... want me to help with the stitches too?" another chill goes right down your back, nervousness mixed with a hint of curiosity.

"you know how?"

"yeah, it's pretty straightforward."

he looks at you, his expression amused and something else, and he rummages around the kit, pulling out a needle and the thread, handing them to you.

you walk out of the bathroom, and he follows you to your desk chair. you sit on the cushioned seat, motioning for him to sit between your legs, his back to you so you could reach the wound.

you start threading the needle, and can't help but ask the insanely handsome stranger questions.

i mean, who wouldn't.

"who are you?"

"that's classified" you can feel the smirk in his voice.

"okay, have fun stitching yourself up then" you say, half joking.

he laughs, then flinches, his shoulder muscles flexing from the flash of pain. "kidding, kidding. riki. my name's riki. happy now?"

you nod, satisfied. "why did you come here? how did you know i would help?"

"i saw you on the balcony, almost died when i swung by you, yeah? and i heard your scream when the gun fired. thought you'd be on my side."

"yeah, i guess you're right." you slowly poke the needle through his skin, pushing it all the way through and starting the stitches. "what does givré want with you?"

"i don't fully know yet. he's the most obscure person i've dealt with. no criminal record, no run-ins with the law ever. i don't even know if he's a legal person."

"what does that mean?"

"means i haven't found any records of him. no social security number. no school records, no tax files, no id, nothing. he's either an alien, or never been registered anywhere."

"i'm betting on alien" you say, making riki laugh.

"that would explain the blue streak." he says. "shit, i forgot. what's your name?"

"y/n."

"y/n... pretty. so, how do i know you aren't going to spill my identity to the whole city?"

"why the fuck would i do that? i do want you to stop criminals, you know. the police don't particularly love you because you do a way better job than them. they could arrest you easy. i would have to be insane to tell people. anyone would be."

he nods, satisfied, but still on gaurd. "yeah... swear you'll stay quiet though. believe me, if you tell, i can find you no matter what. i don't care if you flee the country to live in zimbabwe."

your spine stiffens, fear pumping through your veins. riki looks at you over his shoulder, and you stop using the needle.

"i'm not fucking kidding. if this gets out i can always sic givré on you."

"i swear. and i don't think he would listen to you if you tried."

riki turns back around, and you sew the last few stitches on his shoulder, cutting the thread with a pair of scissors.

you tap his side with your foot, having him stand up so you can throw away the used needle and thread. you grab a thick band aid and hand it to him. "put this over the stitches."

"thanks."

but neither of you moves.

he just stands there, staring at you, eyes stuck on yours.

and then they trail down your body, taking in your silk pajamas, a button up shirt and shorts, both black with pink trim. running over your bare arms and legs, the skin covered in goosebumps. he clears his throat when he sees your breasts, nipples peaking through the thin fabric.

he looks away.

but you don't want him to.

you move out of the way, walking over to the kitchenette and grabbing the clorox wipes.

riki takes them from your hand when you turn around.

"i'll do it. it's my blood."

you nod, cheeks red from the simplest thing. he crouches down and starts to wipe up the drops of blood scattered on your floor.

you sit back on the chair, turning to mark your page in the open books and close them up. you stack them under your computer, making sure to save the document. you were too exhausted to work anymore, the night was too fucked up to focus.

riki looks up at you when you spin in the chair, turning to watch him. his muscles flexed, his abs clenching.

he was doing it on purpose.

fucking asshole.

your thighs squeeze together. you hadn't meant for them to. they just did. how could they not, when riki looked up at you like that, his suit pulled off his chest, his collarbones prominent and the lines of his neck so... there

he noticed your thighs. he noticed the way your pupils dilated and your eyelids drooped ever so slightly. he knew what he was doing.

he wasn't new to seduction.

and neither were you.

you lean forward, fingers reaching out to trace his bicep, the muscle twitching under your soft touch.

"fuck, y/n..."

"what?" you say, batting your eyes innocently.

"you fucking know what you're doing."

"and you're pretending you aren't doing the same thing?"

"shit-" he stands up, towering over you as you sat in the chair. "can't fucking do that to me."

"why not?"

that got him.

riki stands in silence, just watching you rise from the chair, reaching up to whisper in his ear.

"please"

that's all it takes. riki's hands drop the container of wipes, wrapping around your waist and pulling your chest flush against his. he leans down, taking your lips in a searing kiss.

you moan into his mouth, pushing into him. his tounge slips between your lips, swiping along the corner of your mouth, tasting every inch of you before you let him in all the way.

your hands rub his chest, nails teasing his abs, thumbs brushing over his nipples. you feel him shiver as you pinch them, his mouth pausing as he revels in the feeling.

but the break is brief.

he picks up the pace, slowly stepping backwards and pulling you with him as the back of his legs hit your bed.

"fuck," he says, turning around and pushing you onto the mattress. "can i..."

"yes." you breathe, needing- craving- more of his touch.

he hooks his fingers under your shorts, pulling them down your legs, revealing a pair of laced pastel pink panties.

he moans at the sight, your legs spreading to reveal the gathering slickness on the fabric.

"fucking wet... god-"

he leans down and presses a kiss to your covered clit, earning a whine from you. every touch was fire, his fingers brushing over your thighs, caressing your hot skin.

his teeth find the waist of your panties, pulling them down your legs with an expert skill. cool air hits your cunt, the whisper of riki's breath already making it clench around nothing.

"so pretty..." he groans, holding your thighs down with his hand as his tounge licks your clit, just grazing the sensitive bundle of nerves. you whimper, hips bucking slightly into his face.

he laughs, tounge licking up your slit, circling your tender clit. his teeth nip at it, giving a gentle tug.

you let a real moan escape your throat, hand threading into riki's hair, pushing him into your pussy.

he happily thrusts his tounge into your clenching hole, nose circling your clit as he flicks inside you, fingers trailing up your legs to spread your lips further apart.

his eyes look up at you, your head thrown back, arms shaking, one hand on your breast, teasing the supple mound through your pajama shirt. he groans into your cunt, tounge thrusting faster, pulling you closer and closer to orgasm.

and you came.

riki clamps his mouth onto you, sucking your slickness into his mouth, drinking you as your hips jerked and your head lolled to the side, hands grasping the comforter in a desperate attempt to ground yourself.

riki let go of your legs, climbing up over you to kiss you again, lips locking onto yours. his chin was damp with you, but he couldn't care less.

he just kissed you.

when his hands went to pull his suit off, you moved to kiss his jaw, then below his ear.

you nipped at his earlobe, teeth feeling the empty piercing he had, and he moans, chest heaving as he grinded his now freed dick onto your cunt.

his hardened shaft slipped between your folds, teasing your already overstimulated pussy. every sound that left your sore throat was caught in his mouth, his lips moving against yours as his cock pushed into your clenching hole.

the stretch was impossible, his thick length filling you up, your cunt clenching around him.

your hips roll against his, and his hands bring your knees to your chest so he could thrust deeper into you.

his teeth bite your lip when he starts picking up the pace, dick drilling into your sensitive cunt.

you whimper, "fuck, fuck, fuck.... shit-" you feel your orgasm approaching again, and riki notices.

"cum for me baby, come on.... let go... please, please"

you snap, legs shaking and hips jerking as you cum on his cock that was still pumping into you as you spasmed. when riki feels his orgasm coming too, he pulls out of your cunt and releases on your stomach, hot, thick ropes of white cum painting your equally hot and sweaty skin.

"riki.... shit, you feel so good"

"so do you, baby, so tight."

he stands from the bed and grabs your panties, wiping your cunt with them as your fingers gather his cum and shove it into his mouth. he tasted salty, warm and sticky. he groans at the sight of you eating his cum, lips wrapped around your finger.

he pulls his boxers on, stepping back into his suit and pulling it over his arms, pressing a plate on the silver spider that tightened it around his body.

"you're leaving?" you say, tired and spent on your wet sheets.

"i'll be back," he smirks, pulling the mask over his head and tightening it. "see you later, y/n"

he opens the door to the balcony, waves, and shoots a web into the night sky.

he left you in the bed, legs still shaking and cunt clenching from two amazing orgasms.

and he took your panties too.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ₊

three days.

three whole fucking days.

you finished the essay and started a new one for your business class in those three days.

you read two books cover to cover in those three days, but couldn't answer a single question about them.

every noise made you jump, thinking it was riki. whenever you got a knock at your door you thought it was riki.

everything reminded you of riki.

your silk pajamas, the clorox wipes, your bed, the fucking floor.

how much longer was this going to go on?

it was 10pm on a saturday. you should be going out with friends, you should go out on a date you promised the boy from your graphic design class.

but you couldn't.

you just sat at your desk, staring at the page of paper that should have been filled with notes but was instead covered in little hearts and doodles of riki.

you traced the hem of your shorts, remembering riki's touch on your bare skin, his fingers ghosting over your thighs.

you glance out the window for the millionth time, hoping to see riki, but not really expecting to.

and you jump.

because he's there, grinning and leaning against the railing of your balcony, mask pulled off and hanging from his finger, hair wet from the heavy rain that had refused to let up since the last night you saw him.

you run to the door, sliding it open and stepping onto the balcony.

and you slap riki on the cheek.

hard.

"where the fuck were you?! you said you'd be back, little shit!"

riki's smirk fades quickly, a dark look gathering in his eyes the longer he looks at you.

"sorry, i was busy saving the damn city. did you stop to think i might have been a little tied up?"

"you could have let me know. i fucking waited for you, riki."

his fingers reach up to his cheek, tracing the blooming red mark from your blow.

and then he grips your wrist, shoving you back into your dorm.

you squeak, tripping over your feet as riki pushes you into the wall on the other side of your room, pinning you between his arms.

"you fucking slapped me." his voice is a growl now.

you manage to nod your head, but it was hard with riki's face only inches from yours. you could feel his breath on your face, uneven and angry.

"i came to talk to you-" he says, hands running harshly down your shoulders and to your breasts, squeezing them in his palms. "and you slap me. for your information-" he manhandles your waist now, turning you around and pushing you towards the bed. "givré escaped and i was trying to find the little shit. went all the fucking way to australia, still couldn't find him."

you whimper when he bends you over the bed, shoving your face into the comforter and grabbing your ass from behind.

"let me use you" he whispers into the dim room. "please"

you barely say yes before he's already pulling your shorts and panties off, exposing your cunt.

"shaved for me? little slut..." he mutters, taking off his suit and boxers, pumping his hard cock a few times before parting your lips with his thumbs and pushing into you.

your cunt stretched around his length, a burning pain that was relieved when riki started thrusting in and out, pulling completely out of your tight hole just to pound back in, over and over and over again.

tears filled your eyes with every thrust into you, each time he hit the spot that made you see stars released a sharp sob from your throat. his hand squeezed one of your ass cheeks before he leaned over you, chest pressed against your clothed back and gripping your neck, shoving you deeper into the mattress.

"please, riki, gonna cum... fuck"

he slaps your ass and you cry out in pain and white hot pleasure. "not cumming til i cum, slut" he murmurs in your ear, pounding his dick into you harder.

and he orgasms, a loud gasp leaving his mouth as he collapses on top of you, his seed filling whatever space was left in you, warm and thick.

he pulls out, watching his cum drip out of your used hole and onto the floor.

"fucking hell... you look so perfect like this, my cum filling you up, huh?"

and then you cum too, your body trembling as you squirt all over him, his chest painted with your slick, his lips hungry for more.

he grabs your hips and turns you around, pushing you onto the bed, letting you lay down before climbing in next to you, pulling you close to him and wrapping his arms around your waist.

your bodies lay entwined for a while, riki holding you so close that you could feel his heartbeat.

"riki?"

"hmm?"

"what did you want to talk about?"

"shit," he sits up, standing from the bed and walking over to the door, where he left a thick black briefcase you hadn't noticed he brought. "okay," he pulls his boxers back on and walks over to sit on the bed with you, where you were already rising to see what he was doing. "promise you'll listen before you answer"

you nod, a little scared.

he opens the case, revealing two syringes and another suit. a white one with a gold spider.

he pulls out the mask, handing it to you. "when i went to australia, i learned some things about givré. the first was that his base is in singapore. the second is that he also has powers. can turn whoever he looks at into ice as long as it looks him in the eyes."

"like medusa"

"yeah, like medusa." riki continues, "and the third, is that he's trying to take the technology that gave me powers and combine it with his genetics to make an army of weird ice-spider people."

"and this relates to me... how?"

"i can't take givré down on my own. his base is too heavily gaurded and there's no way i would be able to take him out alone. your... feminine charms... are exactly what i need, along with agility and just extra hands. so i want to turn you into a spiderman, spiderwoman, too."

"absolutely not." you look at him as if he had lost his mind, which he probably had.

"y/n," he looks at you with a softness in his eyes. "you know i wouldn't ask you to do this if i didn't think you could handle it, right? and i can help you. you're the only person i trust to do this with me."

"no, i'm the only person, period. you don't have anyone else who will help, do you?"

he shakes his head, a somber expression on his gorgeous face. "please," he pleads. "we could be a team." he raises a playful eyebrow, nudging your shoulder with his.

you sit in silence for a few minutes before giving him an answer.

"i'll do it, but only because i hate givré for hurting you," you trace a finger over the stitches healing on his shoulder. "he deserves to die."

riki nods, handing you the rest of the suit; letting you examine it.

"damn, that's nice."

riki nods. "you can put it on, but i need to inject these into you first." he points to the syringes, pulling one out and uncapping it.

"what are they?"

"one's the venom stuff that gives you weird spider powers, the other is a instant-reaction inducer that i perfected so that you get the powers faster. should only take an hour instead of a week."

"should?" you eye the other syringe, filled with purpleish pink liquid.

"i've... never tried it before. but it isn't particularly dangerous."

you give a wary nod, eyes refusing to leave the suspicious syringe in case it grew a pair of legs and plunged itself into your leg.

"we'll start with this one on your arm" riki uses an alcohol swab to wipe your arm before pressing the needle to it, plunging it into your skin and pushing the clear liquid into you.

you shake your arm, feeling a tingle run through your body that wasn't from the cold.

"and then this one." riki wipes another spot on your arm, and quickly pumps the needle and magenta serum into your bloodstream.

you shake your arm again, this time a sharp pain shooting from the puncture through your entire body.

"riki, it's stinging," you say, tears falling from your eyes. "fuck, i shouldn't have done this. shit shit shit."

riki laughs and pats your shoulder. "relax. the rats i tested it on had the same reaction. it goes away in about two minutes."

you raise your voice, practically yelling at riki in a stress-induced rage. "are you calling me a rat?!?!?!"

he bites back another laugh. "no, baby, you're much prettier than a rat. and smarter. and cleaner."

you frown, but already feel the pain lessening.

"put the suit on, let's see how it fits."

you slip the white fabric over your legs, unbuttoning your pajama shirt and pulling the rest over your shoulders.

"this is ridiculous" you say, the weird fabric at least two sizes too big to fit you.

"press the center of the spider."

you do as he says, and the fabric tightens around your body, fitting perfectly against your curves. the lining on the inside was smooth and silky, not chafing against your bare skin at all as you walk around the room. "damn, this feels awesome"

riki stares at you, transfixed.

"what?" you ask, chuckling.

"you look... gorgeous." he stands from the bed and grips your hips, his large hands holding you as he took in your accentuated curves. "like a goddess."

you blush, cheeks flaming. "thank you"

his lips press down into yours in a soft kiss, not urgent, just pure love.

love.

riki loved you.

but he didn't fully know what the feeling meant yet.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ₊

"just jump!"

"thats like... seventy feet! what do you mean 'just jump'???"

"come onnn y/n, it's not as far as you think."

riki is crouched on the edge of the dorm building's roof, his mask back on as he tries to convince you to throw yourself off the edge.

"just get a running start. you know i can catch you if you fall"

you walk backwards, all the way to the other side of the roof, take one last glance at riki, and run.

every sense is heightened when you push off the edge, throwing yourself to the other building.

the wind, the rain, the sounds of people thirty stories below, the lights from akasaka and the convenience store on the main floor of the building across the street.

everything.

and as soon as it started, it was over.

you roll into a somersault onto the other roof, and land sitting with your legs spread, your hands bracing between them to stop your skull from smacking into the concrete.

riki cheers from the building you hurtled off of, standing up and clapping his hands wildly.

"lets gooo!!" he screams through the darkness, barely visible when you turn around to look at him.

you laugh and shoot a thumbs-up.

"what's next"

"let's use those webs"

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ₊

a few hours later, you and riki collapse in your room, laughing from exhaustion and the amount of webs stuck to riki's suit.

you definetly needed to work on your aim.

"your hand-eye coordination sucked" says riki, pulling his mask off and hanging it on the post of your bed. his head rested against the wall with his shoulders pressed into the bed while you were sprawled out on the floor, hair a mess around your face.

it wasn't easy to pull all of it into the mask, but with riki's help you managed to fit all of it under the fabric with only a few strands sticking out.

not bad, it would just take some getting used to.

"sorry, i've only had the powers for two hours. i had to get used to it." you laugh, kicking the part of his leg you could reach.

he rolls his eyes, flipping around to lay on his stomach and kiss you off the side of the bed.

you turned to face him better, your lips pressing into his, hands reaching up and grabbing his jaw. he whined into your mouth, and his cheeks went red when you opened your eyes to look at him.

he was flustered.

cute.

"did you... whimper?" you giggle, hands still tracing his jawline.

he rolls his eyes again, pulling away from you and trying to play it off. "it felt good. sue me."

you laugh again, wrapping your fingers around the back of his head and pulling him into your lips again, taking the lead again.

he folded easily in your arms when you crawled up into the bed, your head in the pillows with his nestled into your shoulder and his hands wrapped around your waist.

you rub your hand through his hair, and he whines again in absolute bliss.

your heart hurt.

he was so sweet. so considerate. so loving.

he tossed a leg over yours, cuddling closer to you, even with both of your suits on.

and thats how you two fell asleep, limbs tangled and riki's head resting in the crook of your neck.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ₊

"we should go to singapore soon."

you look up at riki from where you hung by your legs on the balcony, blood rushing out of your head.

"really? it's only been three days!" you say, climbing to sit upright on the ledge. riki leans against the wall, randomly shooting webs into the early morning sky.

"givré's not gonna wait for us. you're better now too. i think we need to go as soon as possible."

you walk over to him, wrapping your arms around his chest and looking up at him, resting your chin against his chest.

"i'm scared." your voice is small, shaky.

riki smiles softly, his finger brushing a stray hair from your face. "me too." he kisses your forehead. "i won't lose you."

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ₊

you were on the plane three hours later.

riki knew you'd go. he had already booked the flights, already had a bag packed.

you had never been on a plane before. you hadn't done a lot of things before, but riki taught you.

neither of you packed much. just a change of clothes, your phones and chargers, some water bottles, and the suits in a backpack.

riki sat next to you on the plane, giving you the window seat and sitting next to the aisle. his hand rested on your thigh posessively. your skin tingled under his touch.

when the plane took off, you squeezed riki's hand. he smirked when you shut your eyes during turbulence. you opened them to find him smiling, and you hit his arm lightly.

"you're cute" he says, rubbing your leg.

"i'm nervous"

his fingers trail further and further up your thigh, almost touching the apex of your legs.

"then relax" he whispers, knuckles grazing your throbbing clit.

a defeated moan leaves your mouth, and he leans in to whisper in your ear.

"be quiet for me baby. don't want anyone hearing what i do to you. those noises are fucking mine."

you clap a hand over your mouth when he slips a hand into your shorts, sliding his finger between your folds and dragging it up and down.

he laughs darkly, kissing your jaw when he plunges a finger into your aching hole.

every sound you suppress makes you clench around his finger even more, his thumb rubbing your clit for more stimulation. he pushes another finger into your cunt, stretching your walls as your hips buck slightly into his hand.

"shh baby, stay quiet for me. stay quiet and you can cum."

you bite your palm, as he curls his fingers inside you, hitting deep and hard.

and when you fell apart on him, he grinned triumphantly, feeling your pussy clamp onto his fingers as you came over his hand.

he laughed, pulling his hand out of your pants and licking your slick off of them, a tiny groan leaving your lips as he sucks you off of his digits.

just as he finishes, a flight attendant walks down the aisle, and hands you both a bag of crackers and a napkin.

"in case you need to clean up" she says as she walks away, leaving you with a red face and another sly smile on riki's face.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ₊

you were asleep when the plane landed.

riki was surprised you actually were able to rest. he spent the seven hours on his computer, buying acces to the plane's wifi and scouring the internet for any information on givré.

he found almost nothing.

but he did find something.

he poked your cheek with his middle finger, waking you up with a chuckle.

"w-what?" you ask, rubbing your eyes and clearing your throat.

"we landed. and i found some stuff on givré."

"really?"

"yup. apparently, he went to college." he says, turning the laptop to you where a website of a prestigious university in france was open.

"how did he do that without any other records? he doesn't exist!"

"thats what i thought." says riki, typing away on the keyboard. "then i did research into the workers at the college. i scoured the benefactors recognition page and found this guy."

he shows you the screen. there was a picture of a black haired man, he had a long face and pale skin, with grey hairs and glasses, he looked important.

"okay...and he's significant because...." you say, confused.

"he's significant because he's givré's father."

you stare at riki, your eyebrows raised skeptically.

"this guy, gabriel dubois, is a well known scientist. graduated high school at 10, went to that school because his mom went too and had connections, not like he needed them. graduated with his bachelors when he was 12 and got a masters in genetics when he was 15. he worked for a lab in germany for a long time before he got married at 21."

you nod along with riki's words, following his story.

"he started his own study in genetics, using a grant he got from the university to start helping the french government in growing reproduction rates and using genetics to strengthen traits and stuff. he had two daughters, twins, and when he died he donated half of his will to the university. they built a memorial for him too."

"so where's givré in this story?"

"givré is the illegitimate affair child of another woman." riki says, a half smile on his face.

"how the fuck could you possibly know that"

"emails from gabriel and the lady, sarah. it wasn't too hard to get into gabriel's google account. found the messgaes along with pictures and updates on givré. gabriel made sarah keep givré hidden, not wanting anything to happen to himself or the kid. gabriel was able to use his status in the college to pull strings and get givré into the school even though he didn't 'exist.'"

"wow. nepo baby much?" you say, laughing.

"exactly, anyways, givré apparently inherited his daddy's genes, ironically, because he got a masters in genetics too. thats the only trace of him i could find. so now we just have to figure out what the fuck he's working on in singapore. with his base empty it'll be easy to take a peek."

you stand up with riki when everyone starts exiting the plane, filing out of the tight chamber and into the singapore airport.

when you leave the gate, you almost instantly see the waterfall.

"oh my god!" you gasp, staring at the massive structure. an open circle in the ceiling of the huge building. crystal water flowed straight to the ground, a massive pond catching the flow. foliage in all shades of green decorated the whole place, surrounding the stores and balconies.

it was absolutely beautiful.

riki's hand slipped around your waist, pulling you close to him.

"i saw it last time and wished you were here with me," he said, kissing your cheek when a grin spread across your lips.

you giggle, turning your head to peck his lips, and then start walking to the escalator, pulling riki with you.

he follows you to the base of the fountain, watching you stick your hands in the clear water.

he pulls his phone out and takes a picture of you, your back to him, hair in a messy ponytail and your backpack slung over one shoulder.

he puts his phone back in his pocket when you turn to walk back to him, taking a mental note to set that as his wallpaper when he has the chance.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ₊

"so when do we storm the castle?" you ask, your head hanging off the edge of the motel bed as you scroll through instagram.

riki's on the other side of the bed, head resting on the headboard and your foot in his hands.

when you sat down and took off your shoes, you mentioned they hurt. five seconds later, he was massaging your sore feet.

it was sweet.

"tonight. we should go around eleven. it's gonna be better if it's dark."

you nod, lifting your head to look at him.

"we can do whatever for nine whole hours bro"

"bro?" he asks, looking wounded. "bro!?"

you laugh and roll your eyes. "chill bro."

he grabs your calves, dragging you up and into his lap. your cheeks flush, embarrassment so plain on your face.

he presses his forehead to yours, whispering in the small gap between you.

"don't fucking call me bro. your bro doesn't get to fuck you. your bro doesn't get to kiss you like i do. i'm not your fucking bro."

you squeal when he flips over you, pressing you into the mattress and kissing you like his life depended on it.

like he was teaching you a lesson.

your hands trace the outline of his abs through his hoodie, nails scratching through the thick fabric as best as they could. his lips trail down to your neck, sucking on your skin and licking the marks he left.

you push him away, and he gives you a confused look.

"i'm hungry, bro"

he grips your hip as he moves to kneel between your legs and stare furiously at you.

"you're so fucking lucky we need to save our energy for tonight, or my dick would already be halfway down your throat."

you laugh sultrily, rolling over and onto your stomach and going right back to scrolling on your phone.

riki scowls and lays next to you, kissing you on your temple as he turns on the tv and secretly takes a picture of you with a loosened ponytail and your phone in hand.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ₊

riki took you to dinner that night.

nothing fancy, just a hole in the wall sushi place in a strip mall that had good reviews on yelp.

but he was sweet. he remembered you said you didn't like fish eggs, so he ate them for you. he asked about school, apologized for taking you away even with the workload you had, and told you stories about his life.

something you hadn't known much about.

he had two sisters, a dog, friends. people who didn't know about his secret life at night.

that made you feel special.

he liked to dance, even taught classes with his older sister to kids and teens.

adorable.

he dabbled in art, painted and drew a little bit. when the check came he sketched a picture of an anime character on the back.

you kept it, folded it and put it in your pocket.

he noticed.

you went and got ice cream afterwards, huge cones that you could barely hold without dropping.

riki got one with durian on it, you warned him not to, having heard the horrors of the rotting garbage scented fruit, but he was set on it.

you laughed when he spat it out onto the dirt, wiping his tounge with a napkin.

"i didn't know it would be that bad!" he said, licking his vanilla ice cream in a desperate attempt to get the taste out of his mouth.

you shake your head in dissapointment, handing him your stronger, chocolate flavored dessert so he could taste something else.

you walked back to the motel, sitting cross legged on the bed and talking about life, family, dreams.

he held your head in his lap when you got sleepy, rubbing neck and advising you to get some rest before you had to start getting ready to find givré's hideout.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ₊

"do you have everything?" riki asks, pulling the sleeve of his suit over his shoulder and tightening it to fit his body.

you nod, suit already on and your hidden utility belt filled with extra web fluid, a small tazer, a tranq blowdart thing that riki developed, and a bunch of other weapons and devices.

riki stands behind you when you look in the mirror, studying the suit.

"what's up?" he asks, wrapping his arms around your waist and putting his head on your shoulder.

you shrug. "it's just weird, having powers, bring a hero. i don't even feel like one. i don't want to lose you, so i feel like the only way not to is to help.

he nods, kissing you on your temple- his new favorite spot. "i feel the same way. honestly, i'm so proud of you for being brave. for helping me, for being here. i promise i'll protect you."

you stand in silence together, staring at eachother through the mirror.

then he pulls away, grabbing his phone and taking a picture of the two of you in the mirror, your head tilted up and to the side as you smile at him and his hand resting on your hip.

you giggle, telling him to text the photo to you and walking away from the mirror.

he favorites the photo, wanting to remember this moment forever.

×××××××

it was 11:13 when the two of you arrived at the warehouse.

riki found gabriel's will and saw the property was left to sarah, listed as a childhood family friend, but givré was the one who used it.

the building was about the size of an airplane hangar, gaurds at every entrance. the main one had three, and the two side ones had two each.

you and riki were crouched on a water tower, riki steadily watching the side entrance closest to you.

the technology in the masks made it easier to see, the high contrast filter and enlarging lens made it easier for riki to keep tabs on the gaurds.

you fiddled with your suit, shooting webs onto the water tower and molding them into little animals while you waited for riki.

"okay, i have a plan." riki says, not taking his eyes off of the men below.

"shoot." you say, putting down your web cow.

"they rotate every thirty minutes. there are two inside the warehouse every rotation, its like a big circle."

you listen intently, waiting for his direction.

"i need a distraction from one door so i can slip into the warehouse and take a look around. that's where you come in. i need you to get the two gaurds to pay attention to you."

"how do you want me to do that?"

"preferably something that's gonna cloud their judgement. also, the suit turns into an anklet if that's a piece of information you'd like to use."

you can feel the smirk in his voice. but you nod, jump off the tower, and swing into the forest next to the warehouse.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ₊

riki waited for you.

he sat on the water tower, one of the web fishes you made in his hand, and watched the gaurds.

he thought he was ready for you.

but he wasn't.

he watches as a figure stumbles out of the treeline, dirty, ragged, and running towards the gaurds.

he zooms in.

you.

fucking naked.

he knew that's what you were going to do. that's what he wanted you to do. but now he wasn't so sure that's what he really wanted.

because he didn't want other people to see you the way he got to see you. you were his.

he was yours.

but he pushes through, watching as you catch the gaurds' attention.

they fucking noticed.

you grab one of their arms, pleading for help, begging him to save you.

riki saw the gleam in their eyes.

fucking assholes.

you told them you were kidnapped. raped. you had run from the man, and needed shelter.

and they believed you, each one grabbed your arm and pulled you into the warehouse.

riki dropped down to the ground and darted to the door just before it closed, stopping it with his foot and peeking in.

he had to bite back a laugh.

because there you were. your suit was back on and you already had one gaurd on the ground, the other in a headlock with your legs wrapped around his waist and a web covering his mouth.

riki jumped in, tazing the guy in the neck and letting you climb off of him. your hair was a wild mess, covered in mud and knotted at the ends.

riki pulled his own off and kissed you, the mud from your nose smearing on his cheek and his hands holding you tightly.

when he pulled away, he laughed. "you're a fucking brilliant actress"

"yeah, you would think so."

"hey, not my fault you were gorgeous. you actually convinced them."

he helps you pull your hair up and put the mask back on, hiding your face along with his.

"what is this place?" you ask, finally looking around the room you were in.

"looks like a storage closet?" riki holds up a lab coat from a hanger. your hand traced a box filled with safety goggles and gloves.

"let's keep looking." you open the door and poke your head out of the closet, checking for anyone in the hallway.

you motion for riki to follow you, walking past windowed rooms with thousands of mice, rats, and guinea pigs.

the smell was horrid.

like death, shit, and chemicals.

riki pressed a button on his belt, breathing faster now.

you cocked your head at him, and he reached over to press the same button on yours.

you didn't smell it anymore.

an air filter.

you kept walking, past doors with complex locks, windows that were covered yet had light seeping through curtians, and branching hallways.

it reminded you of a hospital.

riki pointed at a door with a lock that was slightly ajar, carefully slipping his fingers into the crevice

your heart pounded.

riki opened the door, and was met with an armored gaurd.

he instantly tazed the bulky man in the neck, the spot the least covered and most vulnerable.

he collapsed, and you kept walking, stepping over the body while riki tied him up with webs.

you gasped. the room was filled with rows and rows of vials, bright blue goo filling the thin tubes.

riki looked up, picking a vial from the row closest to him and twirling it in his fingers.

"this is it."

you watch riki as he drops the vial to the ground crushing it under his foot.

"we should take a few" you say, grabbing a couple from the stand.

"yeah. here are some stoppers" riki says, handing you some corks from the counter against the wall.

you slip three tubes into your belt, tucking them safely away with a few webs to cushion them.

"should we burn the place?" you ask, turning around to riki.

but it isn't just riki in the room.

givré is right behind him, glasses covering his eyes, blue streak prominent as ever, and his turtleneck wrinkled.

"what the hell are you doing here?" you ask, causing riki to spin around and look at givré.

"i should be asking you that question. i didn't know spidey had a girlfriend!"

givré struts around the room, making his way towards a counter.

you shoot a web, covering a gun that was sitting on the tiled surface.

givré chuckles, tounge poking out of his hollow cheek.

"okay. okay. what do you want to know?"

riki holds his ground, pulling a gun from under the table.

"we already know what this is for. obviously you escaped prison, obviously you want to do something to somebody. who else know's whats happening here?" he aims the weapon at givré. a threat.

"there's no one else. i couldn't risk people finding out.looks like that didn't matter" says givré. you can see the nervousness plain on his face, hands shaking.

"okay. great. oh, one more thing," says riki, hand steady. "i think i deserve a little revenge, huh?" he points the gun at givré's heart, cocking it with his free hand.

givré whimpers, falling to his knees.

"please, please don't kill me. please"

"oh, i won't." says riki, chuckling. "but the fire will."

he shoots givré in the shoulder, blood sprouting on the white of his sweater.

you tie him up with webs, sticking him to the ground as riki smashes all the vials he could reach, destroying almost everything that givré worked towards.

"you have a match?"

"yup. this stuff is 100% flammable, it'll be easy to destroy everything. lets light her up."

and that's when you run, flames erupting behind you and riki as you race down the hall and out of the storage room, swinging up to the water tower and watching the warehouse erupt.

"i feel kind of bad for the animals" you say, pulling off your mask.

"it's better they die than be tested on. trust me, i only had a few and i still regret testing on them."

you watch the building burn, walls crumbling and the gaurds racing around, trying to find givré and the missing ones.

riki pulls out a knife, pries open the in the water tower, and lets the cold liquid flow down into the wreckage.

it's over.

for now.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ eight months later ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ₊

"you have got to be kidding me"

riki is standing in your doorway, holding a boquet of lego flowers shaped like spiders, a stupid grin on his face and a box of chocolates under his arm.

"happy eight months to my little eight legged partner in crime!"

"what the actual fuck?" you say, laughing when you open the chocolates and see little plastic spiders decorating the inside.

riki walks in and kisses you, and you kiss him right back, putting the flowers and chocolates on your desk just before he picks you up and carries you out onto the balcony.

"you like them?" he whispers, pressing another kiss to your lips.

"i love them. i love you. my little spiderman."

"woah woah woah," he says, dropping you onto the floor of the balcony. "i wouldn't say little."

"i mean...." you giggle and grab his hand. "i think your hand is bigger than your dick."

"they're like... the same size!" he protests, looking at his hand compared to yours and laughing even in frustration.

"i think you need to prove it."

riki chuckles and picks you back up. "i was planning to watch the sunset with you but now i'd rather watch you under me."

he puts you on the bed, climbing over you and kissing you. "happy anniversary"

"happy anniversary riks" you say breathlessly.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ₊

a.n- AHAHAHHA SPIDERMAN RIKI AHAHHAHAHA im fine im fine im fineeee.... tysm for reading! comment if youd like to join my tagilst and lmk if you have any reqs in my asks!

masterlist you might also like: assigned- n.rk

#── ブーン #˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ─── 力 #ni ki #nishimura riki #ni ki smut #ni ki fluff #enhypen #enhypen x reader

194 notes · View notes

ms-demeanor · 3 months ago

Note

I apologize, do you know anything about "rugged" laptops? I'm an ADHD college student who has a lot of difficulty with spacial awareness and stuff so I have trouble with delicate laptops that break if you set them down too hard and I'd like something that can handle basic coding requirements (R studio, Jupiter Notebook, etc), and preferably can stream video for classes as well, though that's less of a requirement. I emergency ordered a cheap lower-spec used rugged laptop from eBay because my laptop isn't working, but I was wondering if a.) you think the whole thing is a gimmick and there's an easier way to get what I need and b.) if it's not a gimmick which ones actually do what they need to. Thanks!

Rugged/Ruggedized laptops are absolutely not a scam, they are incredible, it's just that the ones that are actually rugged are incredibly expensive.

I have a small collection of used Panasonic Toughbooks that are absolutely positively not functional as modern computers but work great for slowly connecting to the internet and running a word processor or programming radios. They are literally used lineman's computers and are supposed to be able to survive falling off a telephone pole. They're dustproof, so they're great to use in the desert. If I tried to edit raw image files on them they would go on strike. I'm pretty sure I could use one as a hammer.

You CAN get used or refurbished ruggedized laptops that are useable; here's a site that sells them. BUT. BUT. You're still going to be paying a high price for computers that are slower and more limited than a cheaper, more delicate computer.

So basically you're combining two separate needs here and they're not playing together great. A rugged laptop can be a great thing to have if you're the kind of person who drops your phone ten times a day (me!) But it's going to be slower and more cumbersome than a lot of what is on the market and it's going to cost a lot.

Honestly in your situation I'd probably focus on getting better performance specs out of a thinner, cheaper, lighter laptop and maybe maximize performance at the lowest price possible if you know you're a laptop destroyer (there's a reason my phones are always whatever's cheapest and in a protective case; I drop them so frequently and so creatively that I can't afford to have nicer phones).

Either that or throw power into a desktop and get a chromebook or something similarly cheap to carry around campus and have your real working computer live on a flat surface that never moves.

If you're trying to find a middle ground, business-class computers can take a bit more abuse than the flimsiest cheapie student computers because they're meant to last and are expected to move around. ThinkPads are my fallback rec for a bunch of reasons, and "sturdiness" is one of those reasons, but a business desktop is not going to tolerate being dropped. So it depends on what level of sturdy you need.

From an ADHD management perspective, you might want to consider your habits around how/where the computer gets moved; don't put it in a backpack if you're likely to drop your backpack on the ground when you get to class. Don't put it on the arm of a chair if you'll forget and knock it off the chair. Don't put it on your bed if you'll forget and sit on it. Make very specific landing spaces and very specific rules for how it gets moved and where it can go (my laptop can only go in one specific backpack and only if it's totally turned off; my laptop cannot be moved when open, i need to shut it before I carry it someplace; my laptop is not allowed on the bed or the center of the couch, it is only allowed on my desk or on the arm of the couch; I tend to set my laptop down hard so I don't set it down on my desk, it gets set on a stand. Etc, etc, etc)

Hopefully that's at least somewhat helpful. I wish that real rugged computers were more affordable and had better performance specs; if you can find one that will perform to your needs and you can function with linux, you may be able to get a toughbook or something like that for under a thousand dollars but you'll sacrifice processing power to get one that old. Good luck, I'm sorry!

195 notes · View notes

ceausescue · 4 months ago

Note

Could you explain the labels in your bio? I'm not sure what half of them mean

straight: im normal

white: im white

male: i am a man

fujoshi: i appreciate the art form known as "yaoi"

techbro: i consider all computers to be my brethren

rat: i am a rationalist

slave moralist: i hate strength and love my fellow man

reddit atheist with catholic characteristics: i am smarter than you and will go to heaven

tme: i am a man

crypto fightgod: i will wage war on the deep state until all those who wish to free us of the tyranny of traditional banking are free themselves

markets faggot: im into markets in a manner reminiscent of a feminine, lesser man

new jerseyan irredentist: i recognise the historically and culturally justified claims which the state of new jersey has to the land traditionally taken to compose the cities of new york city and philadelphia

summarist: i believe the purpose of information is refining models, which is a self-justifying activity

dengist-trotskyist-stallmanist: self explanatory

a man with the aesthetic judgements of a very dull child: i am significantly dumber than ogre. not even surface level themes impact me. i am distrustful of all representation, and doubly distrustful of all "meaning"

168 notes · View notes

angelesca · 6 months ago

Text

over and over, you read the sign outside a small agency, rolling the name in your head and flipping it up and down: teyvat's sleuth operatives, sleuth operatives... sounds tacky and lame...

it is only when a brown-haired someone approaches you, that your doubts are erased. their uniform neat, mastering the archetype of a professional private investigator, amber eyes unexpecting your early arrival. “you must be the new recruit, why don’t you come inside?”

edit: i think my tumblr is finally working again, hopefully this post works(-ω-、) w.c. ~3.5k / content: modern au! private investigators (PI) au! [not canon, slight ooc?] bulletpoints and scenarios, writing out of my arse again, lil' crack, another gang of idiots, total braincells: 8.88 (a high score!!), surprisingly they co-exist pretty well, zhongli doesn't know what a waffle maker is, you and childe watch a traumatic talent show, alhaitham's love lang is bickering with you, and wrio has a depressing backstory👍, tldr; working with 4 very fun guys / boss!zhongli / rival!childe / childhood friend!alhaitham / colleague!wriothesley / x gnreader

𝐳𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐢 as your boss!

✦ oldest member, worked in the profession for many years. however, when you ask about that, he is suspiciously evasive. zhongli seems to have lived a long life, though his appearance does not tell it

✦ out of touch with the new generation and technology. asks alhaitham to fix his computer and the kettle (bro just needed to plug it in) or asks you what the newest trendy slang means. it is a wonder how he manages the workplace

✦ tea buddies with wriothesley. hosts tea parties in the local retirement home to discuss and rate tea (power scaling tea real). there's enough boxes to last a lifetime in the breakroom. oh, zhongli is pointing at the clock. it’s… tea time… again

✦ talks your ear off about philosophical questions such as what happens after death, or whether a hotdog is a sandwich

✦ you and childe share a joint role as zhongli’s personal wallet. as to what your boss spends his paycheck on… maybe the countless snacks he leaves at your desk. and tea. more tea. poosssiibly those trinkets he has gifted you too

✦ glasses wearer. appears when zhongli is in deep concentration, due to an unexpected influx of cases so he's staring at the computer often, or during an intense reading session

ᯓ★

you flick through the papers detailing the information you recorded from your client. you and zhongli are out on a scouting mission to obtain clues that could point the case in the right direction. “are you listening?”

“mhm,” zhongli claims, but you can see your words are flowing in one ear and out the other with the way he is plucking free food samples as if they were flowers, bunched together in his hand like a bouquet, offered to him by the fawning ladies at the market stalls. the foreboding premonition of another unproductive day is brimming to the surface.

“where should we start?” you clear your throat, keeping the task on track.

“we should entertain any threads and trace it back, even if it proves to be a dead end. there is no such thing as a bad clue,” zhongli pauses in front of a shop. “for starters, what’s this?”

you raise an eyebrow. “a waffle maker.”

“interesting. what about this?”

“a robot vacuum cleaner. would be good for the office.”

“indeed,” zhongli’s eyes shift. “and this? such a profound colour, this corrosive yellow that erodes my vision is quite unpleasant. could it be…? is this a weapon of mass destruction?”

“zhongli, sir, that’s a banana.“ you shake your head. “is this important?”

zhongli nods. “could be. is it really a banana? a true investigator must question even the simplest of theories.” he points a finger at your pocket. “and this?”

“... that’s my wallet.”

zhongli has a penchant for being attracted to your money, if he can trace the imprint of your wallet against your pocket.

zhongli nods, closing his eyes. “a sacred item indeed,” he opens one eye which looks at you expectantly. “i suspect you have quite a formidable sum of mora on your person. and mora is an imperative factor that may save the day, or destroy the world. after all, we still do not know if the banana is deceiving us in its testimony, hm?”

you give up, handing the money over to the shopkeeper.

his philosophy remains a cryptic language to you. perhaps it’s the gap in experience that makes it hard to connect a bridge to whatever planet zhongli lives on, a divide in universes between you, a disciple, and a master. sometimes, you do believe that there’s a rip in time and space with how zhongli’s senses lag behind as if stuck in the past.

you hand one over to your side. “here—huh?” where did he go?

one look behind you and you find zhongli by a lamp post. a young girl, scratching the ground with a sharp branch with a pout, gazes at zhongli. “who are you?”

zhongli slowly crouches down. “someone who listens to everyone’s troubles. would you mind telling me yours?”

no response. then, a small stomach growls.

zhongli motions at you. immediately, you walk over. “may i take one of the bananas?” you hand him one. “why don’t you take this?”

despite her embarrassed expression, the girl grabs it. she hesitates. “... mama, gone.”

your lips part in realisation.

“come now, we’ll help find your parents.” zhongli offers a hand but the girl extends his invitation, taking his whole arm instead, hugging it. he chuckles, picking her up, her arms naturally cradling his neck as if he is family.

you observe the warm scene, smiling. “you’d make a pretty good parent.”

zhongli watches you, quiet for a moment. “why don't we raise one together?”

“oh, i’m not—”

“alhaitham can be the teacher; wriothesley will do the cleaning. i can do the cooking, and childe can do all the shopping. you can play the toys with the child.”

“ah. of course,” teyvat’s sleuth operatives is one big family, after all. you have to ask, “also, that banana, how did you know to buy it?”

“well, who knows?” zhongli pats the girl’s back, helping her fall asleep. there’s a glint in his eyes when he looks at you, asking you to work out the mystery. to chase after the clues he left.

another cryptic answer. the master really does live in another world—one that you want to keep learning about.

𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐞 as your rival!

✦ works for the rival agency which, unfortunately, is much more popular. when watching cat videos, their adverts often pop up with childe’s annoying face plastered on it, winking at you

✦ tags along when you are on a case. doesn’t he have anything else to do? at least he buys your fav drink from the vending machines. although he trails around you like baggage, you hate to say that he is good at what he does.

✦ … a bit too good at his job. you’ve spotted him slinking into dark alleys occasionally. what’s he doing there? one day you will know.

✦ trained under zhongli before. therefore, he is lowkey in competition with you. any task is met with the following question: who’s the better apprentice? so far, the score is even, but you’ll get him next time

✦ never enters your agency through the front door. opts to crawl in through the window (no idea why, maybe it's the challenge). comes bearing gifts such as expensive fruit baskets, bouquets, and medicinal roots like ginseng. you’d think he’s meeting his in-laws or something. rare, but may bring his younger brother teucer as well. on these days, teyvat’s sleuth operatives becomes half private agency and half daycare.

✦ for uniform, the red shirt from his birthday art is nice. maybe a leather jacket that hangs on the shoulder. wears accessories: earrings, rings, bracelets, watches, gloves. bro is something of a fashion icon, tbf he’s rich so might as well

ᯓ★

desolation unwraps itself before you, beckoning its finger at you to sink into the drab swamps. you saw a tuft of ginger hair disappear into this alley, submerged by its fog. it is inevitable; you need to know the truth behind the mystery to quell the ‘investigator’ in you.

as soon as you think that, your face hits against, according to your common sense, a wall—if the wall defined was actually an amalgamation of flesh and muscle.

“need our help?”

a voice irritates your ears. you frown, looking up at the culprit. “you can’t steal our catchphrase like that, childe.”

childe—your rival, your nemesis, the guy who childishly filled a ketchup bottle with strawberry jam so that he could chug it in front of you, without flinching, solely to disgust you, and counted it as a victory—that childe, shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly.

“boss, who’s dat?” a voice calls from the darkness.

your ears perk up. boss? childe? a responsible leader? no way. you push childe aside. “... who are you guys?”

a whole lot of people are uncomfortably staring at you. “us?” one man stands out from the crowd. “the fatui, duh. have ya not heard of us, newbie?” the man proudly puffs his chest out.

childe rubs his forehead. “you doofus.”

bells were ringing in your head, red alarms were sounding. “the fatui? aren’t you guys wanted?”

before you can reach for your phone, childe catches your hand. “don’t,” his tone is rigid. it takes you by surprise. “look,” childe sighs. “they’re not bad people, promise.” he lets go.

a fatui agent is dancing. “yup, we have many talents, like stealing lunch money.” that is literally illegal. “say, why don’t we host a talent show?”

“oooooh!!” a chorus of easily amused delight.

“me! me!” a burly man wearing a tank top and shorts, holds up a jar of hotdogs. he twists open the lid.

you and childe exchange glances. the next sequence of events you witness are really unfortunate. “oh– please don’t shove that up your– well, okay then.” the sky looks especially wonderful today.

these guys should be in prison after all.

“ahaha, okay, okay,” childe gestures with his hands, asking everyone to quiet down. “alas, this should be enough–”

“but i can break into people’s houses without triggering the alarm system!”

“i can use my anemo vision to amplify my fart!”

“aha…” the light in childe’s face falters. suddenly, he grabs your hand. “run!”

“—!” in an instant, your legs suddenly burst into strides, finding the right pace to keep up with childe. “where are we going?!”

“anywhere! anywhere is good!” under the sky, the breeze carries his airy laughter. in his eyes, the blue sea parts, a brightness coruscating on its horizon. it is refreshing, brilliant, childish. and vulnerable.

you can’t help getting carried along by the waves.

“i should report you… for almost getting me killed by an anemo-amplified fart,” hands on your knees, the words struggle out of your mouth.

“sorry about that, they’re just really friendly.” he laughs. you notice, the way childe expresses himself towards the fatui, it is a delicate artistry woven with heartfelt tenderness. it’s the same fragileness as when he talks about his family and home. “how about i buy you a drink?”

you contemplate his offer. after taking a few more breaths, you stand up. “even though i know you meddle with the fatui? how does a vending machine drink suffice?” childe tilts his head, encouraging you to speak. “for a week straight at least. there’s a new cafe opening, but the prices are too steep for my wallet.”

“okay, okay,” his gentle, tender voice extends to you, lifted by a smile. the blue sea parts, and behind it is childe, offering you a place in his home. “you win this time.”

𝐚𝐥𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐦 as your childhood friend!

✦ more like estranged childhood friend. you left teyvat at a young age, leaving your childhood friend, alhaitham, behind. you only returned recently, surprised to find that little alhaitham grew up well

✦ does not concern himself with anything that doesn't yield results, keeps conversations succinct, conveying what needs to be said for the job with as little words as possible. only interjects if something intrigues him, or when anyone makes a clueless comment that needs correcting

✦ favours are not regarded well. one time, you asked him to grab you some coffee if he was going out for lunch break. alhaitham sighed, listing the side effects of overconsumption on caffeine and how a sufficient amount of sleep will do you better. although, when you came back to the office after an outing, you found a mysterious cup of coffee on your desk. must be the wind

✦ dislikes outputting energy where it’s not needed. when finished with his tasks, he will head to the breakroom or the corner with the bookshelf to relax until zhongli’s next order. rarely seen at his desk

✦ went to uni for a comp sci degree but it wasn't challenging enough. dropped out, but zhongli, a guest lecturer, managed to recruit him after witnessing his talent. has rejected prestigious titles and positions in favour of a peaceful life. but with you in the picture, he wonders how long this peace would last

✦ wears strapped pouches and harnesses… around the chest... and biceps... straps around the thighs... (;´༎ຶٹ༎ຶ`) for utility ofc. equipped with useful items for the job, like a gps tracker, voice recorders, spy cameras, and his music player.

ᯓ★

“can you afford to be slacking off right now?” the silence breaks, and you are forced to speak.

“i’m not.” you quickly glance at the time on your screen. “besides, i should start heading home before the last train runs—”

“the last train has already gone.”

“... great.” you sigh. “how come you didn’t tell me earlier?”

“the sharp possibility that you’d insist on finishing your work is comparable to chasing after a dead end, and ultimately, a waste of time.”

a trained oracle, predicting every branching future based on your rooted disposition. it is difficult to debate against that which has inputted all your details, computing every possible output.

you rest your chin on your palm. “what are you even doing here? shouldn’t you be getting your healthy eight hours of sleep?”

“and in the time that has spanned since you’ve sat at your desk, shouldn’t you be done already?”

you object, “you can’t deflect me with a question.”

“which principle asserts otherwise? i can.”

“you can’t.”

“can.”

“can’t.”

“can–”

you sigh frustratedly, knowing that you’re talking to a wall. throw your words at it and it bounces right back, a ball hitting at you squarely.

with purpose, you blurt out, “little haitham was so much cuter, you used to follow me everywhere.”

and finally, alhaitham looks at you for the first time today. and for the first time today, you get a good look at him too. his posture manages to be effortlessly upright, not a lick of exhaustion burdened on his face.

“why are you bringing that up?” alhaitham returns to his monitor.

the buzzing of the ceiling light fills the silence. you blink. once. “we promised to the stars that we’d be the best detective duo in teyvat.” the mechanical clicking of keyboards clogs your ears. blink. you tug at the cuffs of your sleeve. “to solve all the mysteries, crimes, and beat up the bad people hiding in the world.”

sounds of the mouse clicking. a pause builds. alhaitham glances at you. “and? we’re doing that pretty well, aren’t we?” you can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic.

“i thought you’ve forgotten about that,” you admit.

“it was you who forgot.”

you sit up. “come again?” your eyes twinkle, watching alhaitham, your childhood friend. the hope that swells on your face, and alhaitham notices it; the stars in your eyes, he’s tracing the constellations in them.

"why do you think i'm here in the first place?" his voice dips, as if hoping you didn't hear that.

a promise embedded in the stars, and one of them was waiting for the fated reunion. then, in a split second, you see a younger haitham tugging at your sleeve, following your footsteps. you hide the smile behind your hand. “you’ve been waiting for me all this time?”

“don’t flatter yourself.” alhaitham quickly extinguishes. ouch. another pause washes over before he speaks up, “come over.”

your eyes widen. “over? where?”

“to mine.”

“mine? yours?”

“my apartment. it’s close by.”

“your place?”

“yes,” alhaitham glares at you. “do i happen to be speaking in another language?”

“i mean, how come?”

“i do not want to be investigating a missing person’s case anytime soon,” alhaitham stands up, packing his belongings, leaving you no choice but to swiftly follow suit. “and our photo albums,” he stops moving. “i've kept them.”

your heart skips, touched by the rare sincerity. you tease, “so you do care about me.”

alhaitham scoffs. “it's only a sensible suggestion. i don’t.”

“you do.”

“don’t.”

“oh, come on.”

𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐲 as your colleague!

✦ was classmates with you at a police academy. by the academy was an arcade where you two played too many games. after graduation, you two silently seperated. wriothesley worked in enforcement for some years before gaining his investigators licence, moved to teyvat, and eventually settled at teyvat’s sleuth operatives

✦ your current hangout place with wriothesley is still an arcade, the one by the agency - it reminds you two of the past. favourite games include money-grubbing claw machines, boxing machines, and “dancing dance rev rev” (i dont wanna get sued–). that, or you end up chatting the day away about whatever new complaints you received from alhaitham, not realising the sun has set and the owner ends up shooing you two out

✦ owns a red motorbike. will take you on rides for fun, watching sunsets on the highway feeling the breeze. will take you home whenever you need—just give him a call. he insists that the best place to hold onto is around his waist

✦ the tea connoisseur of all time. drinks a minimum of 5 cups a day, and you worry he might drop dead one day. you’ve tried to get him onto different drinks, like the popular boba tea, but plain old tea always triumphs in the end. tea is life and zhongli agrees

✦ good at subduing any targets. prefers not to shed blood, but will deescalate confrontations, usually by submission rather than violence

✦ messy uniform. shirt not buttoned all the way up, rolled sleeves, fingerless gloves, dark colours. often seen with bandages along his arm. wears a choker. like a werewolf, rugged

ᯓ★

years back, before you returned to teyvat, you attended a police academy to aid in the preparation and experience needed for your investigators licence.

you always frequented the desolate arcade by the academy. there was no door, the arcade was impartial to any of its visitors, like an open hug.

time and time again, you blew your stress off after a long day. the boxing machine was particularly satisfying in that regard. you and that machine watched the early evening resign, and the night shift taking over everyday.

the tedium was so easily penetrated by soaking crimson, the liquid leaked vividly dripping down from the forehead. a moment was needed for you to process it.

a dark-haired person sat languidly against an arcade machine, in a uniform you recognise. half bent-over, head tilting. the sanctity of life departing through hurried breaths.

“h-hey,” you crouched next to him, hands outstretched but were waiting for a coherent command. “shit.” the lectures slipped by you, running past but never handing the baton. it felt useless.

suddenly, your hand was flicked away by the person. behind his fringe, it was frozen, crystallised, icicles shot past his dark strands piercing you. “don’t bother. it’s nothing.”

eyebrows furrowed. “you’re insane,” you brushed the hair out of his face, finding splotches of bruising. his lip, busted red. injuries walked all over his skin, trampling the delicate layer. his complexion ghastly pale, you weren't sure if it was his skull peeking through his skin. “i need to call you an ambulan–”

“i’m serious,” he reiterated, “i… i just need a moment, some quiet. please. i don’t want them to find…” his sentence trailed off.

you gulped, hands trembling. “you’re sure you don’t need me to call?”

he nodded.

he reassured you, but you can’t help but feel weighed by the fact that an injured person was right next to you. you made a mental note to ensure he visits a doctor by the end of this. sighing, you slowly sat next to him.

“... i’m just stressed. tired.” his words hung heavy in the blank air.

a familiar word. a sentiment that resonated. all too familiar.

if there was a way to cheer him up... there was only one thing you knew about feeling burdened. you point a thumb at the boxing machine. “wanna blow off some of that stress?”

“do you think that the arcade by the academy is still open?”

“i hope so. i wanna know if we’re still first on all those machines. and if my bloodstain still frightens people when they walk in,” a snicker. “remember when we played ’dancing dance rev rev’ for six hours straight? those were good days.”

you and wriothesley watch the boxing machine, your joint high scores blinking on the leaderboard in excited colours.

“do you still have those old plushies i gave you from the claw machine?” you ask.

“of course,” wriothesley searches his pockets and pulls out his keys. a miniature wolf plush keychain hangs, bobbing up and down. “like this one. named it after you, how adorable they are.” he playfully pokes "mini you", cracking a grin.

you smile at the gesture. after all these years, you never forgot each other. “hey, no bullying.” you pause. “... weren’t we supposed to be tracking a suspect? i think they have already left this arcade.”

“oh, yeah. oops.”

a pair of fraternal twins stand outside outside a small agency, reading the sign over and over: teyvat's sleuth operatives… sounds tacky and lame... they think in unison.

it is only when you approach them, that they stop hesitating. your uniform tidy, almost mastering the archetype of a professional private investigator, smiling at your newfound clients. you are no longer the new recruit. “need our help?”

a/n: i havent played genshin seriously since inazuma so i missed out on many events ( ; ω ; ) sorry alhaitham and wrio i tried my best⭐ lemme know if my reserach sucks bc my references were ace attorney and google (ﾉД`) also i wanted to draw their uniforms but got lazy, so i drew the banner instead (･ω<)☆ anw im off to read more manhwa (great start to the year), ill be back when the motivation finally whacks me hard again. if anyone wants to request ideas, feel free! my inbox is open 24/7! happy new year!!!! 🎆🎆🎆2025 will also be the year of the snake, so shoutout to all my snakes😎

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #zhongli x reader #childe x reader #alhaitham x reader #wriothesley x reader #genshin x you #they said the world is ending in 2025 #when bro #im waiting🧍‍♂️

156 notes · View notes

pmpmyread · 4 months ago

Text

an exercise in expression

It’s always eluded you, always sat just beyond your reach, so you persuade yourself that the combination of words that accurately conveys what it is like to be loved by Nanami Kento simply doesn’t exist.

You’re firmly convinced now, so you’ve long since abandoned the absolute fool’s errand it was to define a feeling that is as intangible as it is potent.

Only if your life were on the line, would you dare attempt to describe it as a presence characterized by a wonderful tapestry of innate dualities, not unlike the polarity that underlies your union.

To the casual observer, Nanami operates at one speed, belongs to one temperate climate. Gathered over several years of close partnership, your observations are anything but casual.

So a presence then, one that is both safe and untamed, both reserved and passionate.

The only man your heart has ever moved for in earnest carries a cool melancholy, one that betrayed the weight of the heavy, unspoken burdens that still weigh heavily on him, burdens you want to take off and throw away, but not before developing a deep understanding for them as a bridge to understanding their carrier.

Because you do make it your life’s mission to consistently unearth his radiant warmth, manifested in the sun that forms his understated yet unparalleled sense of witty humor, one that has you chuckling days, weeks after you’ve first been exposed to its rays.

There are moments where you see it clear as day, in the depth of his steady gaze: the introspective awareness with which he listens as you rant about something or the other. It is his unique quiet steadiness, carrying the fidelity of a metronome, that keeps you grounded on the days you need it the most.

And yet there also is this dormant, subdued turmoil that occasionally comes roaring to the surface, after a close call or an encounter with a cursed spirit that bears too close a resemblance to an echo from the painful past. There manifests a certain resignation in his tone, a certain air of deference in his posture that paints the complicated relationship between Nanami and the concept of impermanence. They’re the moments where you step up, where you show up as his anchor, your reciprocal calibration to his temper acts as your renewed declaration of love.

Sometimes you close your eyes, and you let your sensations take over, your hand moves, it extends forward, and you imagine Kento holding it. Most times, it’s just this, imagining his touch, how familiar it feels, how effortlessly it brings you home. Sometimes, it’s the memory of the first time he held it, the memory of a scorching summer, of a busy market, of his hand slipping into yours, leading you through a busy crowd. No matter where this maladaptive dream starts, the destination is always the same: safety.

Perhaps the reason why your memory automatically flits to this particular phantom feeling, whenever you feel the early pangs of inadequacy set its roots within you on a random day at work is the same reason why you find yourself making a grab for his hand today, unprompted, as you sit next to him one quiet evening pulling his attention from his computer screen. You squeeze his hand once, and he squeezes it twice, just like you knew he would.

Perhaps this is the closest you come to defining, wordlessly, the feeling of being loved by Nanami Kento.

109 notes · View notes

mrsvante · 2 months ago

Text

The Long Game VI

pairing: namjoon x reader

genre: sugar daddy au, yandere, angst

summary: there’s a storm raging, but it’s not outside, it’s humming beneath his skin. screens glow, voices drone, the city pulses below—but all he can focus on is you. the way your name lingers at the edge of every thought, the way silence stretches differently now. he should be working. he should be listening. instead, he’s counting the minutes since your last message and wondering when everything got so… fragile.

warnings: namjoon is in trouble, yearning, period talk, soft tender love & care, period sex, namjoon feasts but it’s post bath so there’s a brief intermission of aunt flow, mentions of violence, yandere joonie doing his thing

word count: 3,884

Namjoon sat in his penthouse office, a wall of glass behind him showcasing the Seoul skyline at dusk, but his eyes weren’t on the view. One hand rested on the polished surface of his desk, fingertips drumming rhythmically, while the other scrolled lazily through the tabs on his monitor.

Across from him, a member of his international acquisitions team stood nervously clicking through a pitch deck projected on the massive screen. Namjoon nodded occasionally, sharp mind catching every key point, every missed opportunity, every flaw in the man’s confidence—but only half of his attention was on the presentation.

The other half was on the live feed of your computer camera.

The hidden camera nestled in your office’s minimalist décor gave him a clear view of you—his favorite view. You were bathed in soft golden light from the window behind your desk, shoulders slightly hunched in concentration, typing at a steady pace. There was a small crease between your brows, the one you always got when deep in thought, and Namjoon’s lips curved with fondness.

He barely heard his employee drone on about market volatility and merger potential in South America. He was too busy reminiscing. The way your legs had wrapped around him in the pool under the Bali moonlight. How you’d asked him if he wanted pets. Kids. A wife. You.

His heart clenched. God, he missed you.

You shifted in your seat, then stood and walked off screen. Namjoon’s eyes lingered on the now empty office feed before he returned his attention to the presentation.

“…with this joint venture, we anticipate a thirty five percent increase in—”

Then you were back.

Only this time, your entire posture was different.

Namjoon’s breath caught.

You weren’t working. You were frozen at your desk, staring at your monitor, mouth slightly parted. Your eyes narrowed, then widened. You rubbed your temples. Pressed your fingers to your lips. Shook your head. Every flicker of emotion painted across your face had his stomach twisting in confusion and dread.

He was already reaching for his phone when the first message came through.

Mrs. Kim [8:11 PM] You manipulative asshole.

His blood ran cold.

Then another.

Mrs. Kim [8:12 PM] How dare you make me look like an idiot. I trusted you. I trusted you Namjoon!

The messages poured in—each one more furious than the last, your fury vibrating through the screen. Namjoon muted the conference call with a click, not bothering to excuse himself as he dialed you immediately.

You picked up on the first ring.

“What the fuck, Namjoon.”

Your voice was sharp and shaking, and Namjoon’s jaw tensed. “Baby, calm down—tell me what’s going on.”

“Don’t ‘baby’ me, fuck you!” You were seething, voice hoarse with emotion. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out? That you could just pull strings and I’d never know?”

Namjoon closed his eyes briefly, leaning back in his chair. He inhaled through his nose and exhaled slowly. “Tell me what you heard.”

You laughed bitterly. “One of the execs was talking to a coworker in the break room, he thought I was still out. He said I only got the job because I’m fucking some fancy rich investor, and that you pushed my application through while he was busting his ass for a promotion to this position for years.”

Namjoon’s eyes snapped open.

He didn’t say a word. Just opened a secure tab, typed in the internal directory of your company’s Singapore division, and found the executive’s name in moments. His credentials. His security clearance. The HR history. All of it.

He clicked once. Flagged it for performance review. Then again. Submitted a silent directive to MONOLITH’s regional director.

The man would be jobless by the end of the day.

“Did you?” you asked, quieter now. “Did you…?”

Namjoon shifted forward, elbows on his desk. “I submitted a letter of recommendation,” he said carefully. “Along with your resume. That’s it. Everything else, you earned. You’re brilliant, and they saw that. The rest was just a door I held open.”

You were quiet.

“I wanted you to have options,” he added, more gently. “You’d been talking about relocating. Starting fresh. I didn’t buy you anything—I just made sure they actually looked at you.”

You didn’t respond. But he heard your breathing. Uneven. Hurt.

“I would never humiliate you,” he continued, voice low and steady. “And if anyone ever says otherwise, they’re gone. Simple as that.”

“So I’m a charity case now?” you asked bitterly.

“No,” he snapped, more forceful than intended. “You’re mine, and I love you. And I take care of what’s mine.”

You fell silent again. And that quiet twisted something inside him. Something ugly and desperate.

Then finally, you spoke. “I… have a deadline. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Wait—”

But the call clicked off before he could stop you.

Namjoon stared at the black screen for a long moment. Then leaned back in his chair, dark eyes fixed on the muted conference room where his team was still presenting as if nothing had happened.

As if the center of his universe hadn’t just slipped a little further out of his orbit.

The love of his life was hurt.

And Namjoon would do whatever it took to bring you back to him.

—

It had been twelve days, fourteen hours, and thirty seven minutes since you last called him.

Namjoon knew. He counted.

You hadn’t exactly frozen him out, but the distance between you had stretched like a rubber band drawn too tight—taut, uncomfortable, threatening to snap. Your texts were short. Your calls, nonexistent.

The few times you had responded to his check ins, it was with polite indifference, your usual warmth buried beneath layers of quiet resentment.

He tried, God, he tried, to give you space.

But when it came to you, Namjoon was not a patient man.

Not when you were upset. Not when you were hurting. Not when you were out of reach, leaving him to pace the length of his penthouse like a caged animal while you pretended like he didn’t exist.

He was on his jet by sunrise.

By noon, he was standing in the entryway of your condo, letting himself in with the access code you’d given him nearly two years ago. The place was quiet. No music, no television. Just the hum of the A/C and the distant sound of rain tapping against the windows.

“Baby?”

No response.

He toed off his shoes and moved through the space quickly, his heart thumping with dread, the worst case scenarios clawing at the edges of his mind. But when he found you, sprawled on your bed in a tangled mess of blankets, a soft groan was all it took to replace panic with guilt.

You looked miserable.

Your arm was thrown over your face, your brows drawn together in pain. A heating pad was clutched against your stomach, and a mostly empty bottle of painkillers sat abandoned on your nightstand.

Namjoon’s chest tightened.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, running a hand down his face.

He hadn’t checked the tracker.

The one thing that always kept him ahead of the curve—your synced period app—was buried beneath dozens of other notifications on his phone. If he’d looked, even once in the last few days, he would’ve seen the red dots. Would’ve made sure you had your favorite dark chocolate and plushest socks and that masseuse you liked who did womb specific reflexology.

Instead, he was here too late—again.

You groaned softly as he approached, only realizing he was there when the mattress dipped beside you.

Your eyes blinked open slowly. “Joon…?”

“I’m sorry.” His hand brushed your forehead, pushing back strands of hair. “I should’ve been here. I should’ve known.”

You tried to sit up, but he gently pressed a hand to your shoulder. “No, don’t move. Just let me take care of you.”

Without waiting for protest, he pulled out his phone and fired off a series of commands to his assistant:

– Organic ginger tea

– Tiger balm

– That oversized plush shark you liked to squeeze

– A new set of silk pajamas

– Three of your favorite desserts from that tucked away café only locals knew about

He placed the phone down and turned back to you, his expression softened by concern. “Are you nauseous?”

You nodded weakly.

“Okay.” He leaned down and kissed your forehead. Then your cheek. Then your temple. “I’ll take care of everything.”

He slipped out of the room and returned a few minutes later with a warm compress, a fresh glass of water, and a cold cloth to soothe your flushed face. He adjusted the heating pad, pressed the compress to your back, and murmured gentle words while you whimpered through another wave of pain.

Namjoon crawled into bed behind you, carefully pulling you into his chest. His arms cocooned you, fingers moving in slow circles over your belly while his lips left quiet apologies along your shoulder.

“I’m sorry I upset you,” he whispered, voice low and sincere. “I wasn’t trying to make you feel small. I just… I wanted to make sure the world saw what I already knew about you.”

You sighed into his chest, curling into him like you always did when your body felt too heavy to hold alone.

“I’m not upset anymore,” you said softly. “Not really.”

“But you were.” His voice dropped with guilt. “And I crossed a line.”

There was a long pause.

“I just want to prove myself,” you finally whispered. “I want to know I earned it. I don’t want people looking at me like I fucked my way to the top.”

“You didn’t,” he said firmly.

“I know. But I need to feel it. Can you understand that?”

Namjoon’s lips grazed the crown of your head. “Of course I can.”

And in a way, he did. He admired your ambition—your pride. It was one of the first things he’d fallen for. But what he didn’t say, what he couldn’t say, was that he would never stop intervening on your behalf. He’d just have to get better at hiding it.

If the world refused to treat you like the queen you were, then he’d be the invisible hand behind your throne, ensuring they had no choice.

“I’ll behave,” he murmured, nuzzling against your hair. “Promise.”

Even if it was a lie.

You smiled faintly, half asleep now as your body finally began to relax.

And Namjoon just held you tighter, the smell of your shampoo in his lungs and your heartbeat against his own.

—

Namjoon’s eyes flicked from the glowing screen of his laptop to the massage table at the far end of your living room. The low hum of instrumental music filled the room, underscored by the soft sounds of your masseuse working through the tension in your body. You were lying face down in a thin robe, your cheek pillowed against folded arms, your body glistening with oil.

“You are incredibly tense, miss,” the masseuse said gently, kneading a knot in your lower back. “It’s not ideal during menstruation. Can worsen the cramps.”

Namjoon’s jaw tightened. His fingers paused on his keyboard, guilt blooming deep in his chest.

Of course you were tense. He’d caused it.

You hadn’t said it outright, but he knew—he felt it in the way you stiffened under his hand when he reached for you at night, in the clipped texts, the way your laughter never quite reached your eyes lately. His meddling in your career, his inability to relinquish control, had woven a subtle web of resentment in the space between you.

But if he’d been the cause of your discomfort, then he would damn well be the cure. By the time your massage ended, Namjoon had already made the arrangements.

A private chef was en route, preparing your favorite dishes from a list Namjoon had compiled over months—salmon glazed in miso butter, caramelized root vegetables, freshly baked sourdough, a cucumber salad dressed in sesame oil and vinegar. He’d even remembered the tiny garnish of edible flowers you once said looked too pretty to eat.

In the bathroom, he set the tub to fill at the perfect temperature, drizzled rose and lavender oils into the water, and scattered flower petals until it looked like something pulled from a magazine spread. Candles flickered on every surface, and soft jazz played from the built in speaker system.

When you walked in after your massage, wrapped in a fresh robe and blinking sleepily, your eyes widened at the scene—and Namjoon smiled, just a little.

“Dinner first,” he murmured, wrapping an arm around your waist and pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Then the bath.”

You leaned into him, your features soft, sleepy, grateful. He noticed how your fingers curled around the hem of his sleeve, how your body instinctively gravitated toward his again.

It was a start.

Dinner was quiet and warm, just the two of you seated across from each other at the table by the windows. The rain continued to fall softly outside, blurring the city lights in watercolor streaks. You moaned your way through every bite of your meal, and Namjoon couldn’t stop smiling.

But the real moment came when dessert was served.

You gasped as the chef placed a covered dish before you, lifting the lid to reveal perfectly ripe strawberries dipped in your favorite dark chocolate, each one topped with a delicate sprinkle of sea salt and crushed almonds.

“Joon,” you whispered, hand pressed to your chest. “You remembered…”

“I always do.”

Afterwards, he guided you into the bathroom, undressing you slowly beneath the soft candlelight. The bath steamed gently, the petals floating like delicate whispers across the surface. When you slipped into the water with a sigh, Namjoon followed, reclining behind you and pulling your back flush to his chest.

You lay there, eyes half lidded, the curve of your smile teasing.

“I should get mad at you more often,” you murmured, your voice laced with lazy amusement. “You go all out.”

Namjoon huffed a quiet laugh against your temple. “You think this is because you’re mad at me?”

He let his hands drift—up your arms, over your waist, cupping the fullness of your breasts with worship that made your breath hitch. His thumbs teased at your nipples beneath the water, drawing soft circles until they stiffened under his touch.

You squirmed, but he only pulled you closer, his mouth finding the slope of your throat. “You shouldn’t tease me, baby. Not when you look this good.”

“I’m on my period,” you murmured, halfhearted as your hips rolled against him instinctively. “It’s gross—”

“Don’t. How many times have we had this discussion?” His voice dropped, a command softened by affection. “You think blood scares me?”

His hand slid between your thighs, fingers stroking the swollen, sensitive bundle of nerves that had you gasping before you could argue.

“I’m a grown man.” he murmured against your skin. “Besides… you forget I know your body better than anyone.”

He teased you, slow and gentle at first, coaxing your body into the kind of pleasure that melted cramps into nothingness. His fingers moved with precision, his lips never leaving your skin, whispering praise into the curve of your ear.

“That’s it. Let go for me, baby.”

And you did, trembling in his arms as your orgasm rippled through you, head thrown back against his shoulder, mouth parted in a silent cry.

Namjoon kissed your temple as you came down, then lifted you slightly, adjusting your body in the water.

“Think you can take more?”

You nodded, breathless.

He helped you ease down onto his cock, guiding you slowly, giving you time to adjust. The stretch, the depth—it had you clawing at his shoulders almost immediately.

He let you ride him at your pace, his hands resting low on your hips, thumbs pressing into the softness just above your thighs. The water sloshed gently around you, rose petals clinging to your skin like afterthoughts.

“You’re so fucking perfect like this,” he groaned, watching you through heavy lidded eyes. “So full. So warm.”

When your hands covered your stomach self conscious of the bloat, he stopped you.

“Don’t hide,” he growled. “You know how sexy you look all fucked out on my cock?”

You moaned, cheeks burning.

“I like you softer, rounded. I’d put a baby in you right now if you let me,” he breathed against your ear. “I’d fill you up every night until you started showing. You’d look so beautiful carrying my child…”

You gasped, stunned, momentarily speechless.

“Joon…”

“I’d never let you lift a finger,” he went on, his rhythm quickening as he took over the movement, bouncing you on his cock with increasing fervor. “You’d stay home in my bed while I take care of everything. All you’d have to do is let me love you.”

You moaned again, dazed from the fantasy and the feeling of him stretching you wide, hitting deep.

“You’re trying to get me pregnant,” you panted, half laughing.

“Not yet, my love. I just like practicing.” He teased with a dark smirk.

You buried your face in his neck, overwhelmed. “You’re insane.”

“Only for you.”

You tightened around him then, and he groaned deep in his chest, fucking you harder until the water threatened to spill over the edges of the tub. The steam clung to your skin, the scent of rose and heat and sex hanging heavy in the air.

When the water went cold, he finally pulled you off, both of you panting, spent and soaked.

But Namjoon wasn’t done.

He dried you off with care, rubbed your skin down in warm body oil, and laid a thick towel on the bed before gently laying you back against it.

He kissed his way down your body, licked between your thighs with slow, sinful strokes until you were begging, until you forgot your name, until the only word on your lips was his.

He made love to you again—soft, slow, deep—grinding into you until your toes curled and tears pricked your eyes from the sheer intensity.

And when you finally fell asleep in his arms, breath warm against his chest, Namjoon stared at the ceiling for a long time, hand stroking your back, mind already dreaming of the family you’d someday let him give you.

—

Rain whispered against the floor to ceiling windows, soft and rhythmic like the ticking of a very expensive clock.

The city beyond was drenched in a golden blue haze, skyscrapers glinting through the downpour like blinking stars. Namjoon stood in the dimly lit living room, shirtless and barefoot, a tumbler of whiskey resting in one hand as he stared into the storm. His other hand held his phone to his ear, his voice a low hum of authority.

“I want to be clear,” he said evenly, eyes tracking the rainfall. “Every trace of the footage—gone. Not buried. Gone.”

“Yes, sir,” the man on the other end replied. “We’ve already pulled every data node from the club’s CCTV system. Nothing exists, not even in the backups. The servers have been scrubbed clean.”

“And the men?”

A pause. “Located in Bali. The local team handled it per your directive. They won’t be an issue again.”

Namjoon exhaled slowly, his jaw tight with the memory of your face the night those bastards had touched you. Of the fury that ripped through him when he pulled you into his arms and smelled the fear on your skin. The men hadn’t realized who they were dealing with then.

They did now.

“Good,” Namjoon murmured, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “Anything else I need to know?”

Before the man could respond, he heard the soft padding of bare feet behind him. A sleepy voice yawned from the kitchen doorway.

“Where’d the rest of those strawberries go…”

Namjoon turned just as you stumbled into the kitchen, wearing one of his oversized shirts, the hem brushing the tops of your thighs. Your hair was tousled, eyes still half lidded with sleep. You rubbed one eye with the back of your hand, your other already searching the counter for the tray.

He ended the call with swift precision. “I’ll call you back,” he said, voice quiet but clipped, then hung up and slipped the phone into his pocket.

You hadn’t noticed him yet, your fingers reaching for the fridge handle.

He padded over silently, his smile softening as he watched you sway a little, eyes still adjusting to the light. When he was close enough to touch you, he placed a hand gently on your lower back.

You startled, gasping softly as you whipped around.

“Jesus, Joon—” you laughed, smacking his bare chest lightly. “You scared me.”

He chuckled, wrapping his arm around your waist to pull you against him. “Didn’t mean to. Couldn’t sleep.”

“Neither could I.” You leaned against the island, finally spotting the last chocolate covered strawberry and popping it into your mouth. “Got up to satisfy my craving.”

Namjoon’s eyes lingered on your lips, glossed with chocolate and sleep. He fought the urge to kiss it from your mouth right then and there.

“What were you doing out here?” you asked, still licking a bit of chocolate off your thumb.

“I was on the phone,” he said smoothly. “Making plans.”

You tilted your head, eyes narrowing curiously. “Plans?”

“For my move to Singapore,” he said casually, fingers grazing your hips. “I miss you too damn much to keep doing this plane hopping, timezone bullshit. I want to sleep beside you every night.”

Your expression softened with something warm and surprised.

But then you smiled—small, sleepy, sweet.

“I…actually applied for a transfer,” you murmured, reaching for his hand. “Back to Seoul.”

Namjoon froze.

“What?”

“I miss home. Miss my friends. Miss sleeping with you too…” You leaned up and kissed the corner of his mouth. “Almost two years feels long enough.”

For a moment, Namjoon didn’t speak. Just blinked at you, stunned into silence. His heart kicked hard in his chest, fast and almost disbelieving. He hadn’t seen this coming—had been so careful lately not to meddle, not to hover, not to check the backend of your HR files. He hadn’t known.

But fuck if it didn’t light him up from the inside.

“You’re serious?” he asked, voice hushed.

You nodded. “Got the email yesterday. It’s already approved.”

A grin broke across his face like the sunrise. He kissed you, hard and sudden, tasting strawberry and your sleepy smile. And then, before you could say another word, he lifted you with a deep laugh, one hand under your thighs, the other wrapped around your back.

“Joon!” you yelped, giggling into his shoulder. “What are you doing?”

“Showing you how excited I am.”

“I can tell,” you said dryly, arms locked around his neck.

He carried you down the hallway, his bare feet silent against the hardwood floor, your laughter making every nerve in his body light up with need. He kicked the bedroom door shut behind you.

“You’re so obsessed with me,” you teased, quoting Mariah with a cheeky smile. “‘Why you so obsessed with meeee—’”

Namjoon dropped you onto the mattress, hovering over you with eyes dark and hungry.

“Because I am,” he murmured, voice low and deliberate. “And I’m never going to stop.”

five | masterlist | seven

114 notes · View notes

mostlysignssomeportents · 11 months ago

Text

FTC vs surveillance pricing

Support me this summer on the Clarion Write-A-Thon and help raise money for the Clarion Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers' Workshop!

In the mystical cosmology of economics, "prices" are of transcendental significance, the means by which the living market knows and adapts itself, giving rise to "efficient" production and consumption.

At its most basic level, the metaphysics of pricing goes like this: if there is less of something for sale than people want to buy, the seller will raise the price until enough buyers drop out and demand equals supply. If the disappointed would-be buyers are sufficiently vocal about their plight, other sellers will enter the market (bankrolled by investors who sense an opportunity), causing supplies to increase and prices to fall until the system is in "equilibrium" – producing things as cheaply as possible in precisely the right quantities to meet demand. In the parlance of neoclassical economists, prices aren't "set": they are discovered.

In antitrust law, there are many sins, but they often boil down to "price setting." That is, if a company has enough "market power" that they can dictate prices to their customers, they are committing a crime and should be punished. This is such a bedrock of neoclassical economics that it's a tautology "market power" exists where companies can "set prices"; and to "set prices," you need "market power."

Prices are the blood cells of the market, shuttling nutrients (in the form of "information") around the sprawling colony organism composed of all the buyers, sellers, producers, consumers, intermediaries and other actors. Together, the components of this colony organism all act on the information contained in the "price signals" to pursue their own self-interest. Each self-interested action puts more information into the system, triggering more action. Together, price signals and the actions they evince eventually "discover" the price, an abstraction that is yanked out of the immaterial plane of pure ideas and into our grubby, physical world, causing mines to re-open, shipping containers and pipelines to spark to life, factories to retool, trucks to fan out across the nation, retailers to place ads and hoist SALE banners over their premises, and consumers to race to those displays and open their wallets.

When prices are "distorted," all of this comes to naught. During the notorious "socialist calculation debate" of 1920s Austria, right-wing archdukes of religious market fundamentalism, like Von Hayek and Von Mises, trounced their leftist opponents, arguing that the market was the only computational system capable of calculating how much of each thing should be made, where it should be sent, and how much it should be sold for.

Attempts to "plan" the economy – say, by subsidizing industries or limiting prices – may be well-intentioned, but they broke the market's computations and produced haywire swings of both over- and underproduction. Later, the USSR's planned economy did encounter these swings. These were sometimes very grave (famines that killed millions) and sometimes silly (periods when the only goods available in regional shops were forks, say, creating local bubbles in folk art made from forks).

Unplanned markets do this too. Most notoriously, capitalism has produced a vast oversupply of carbon-intensive goods and processes, and a huge undersupply of low-carbon alternatives, bringing the human civilization to the brink of collapse. Not only have capitalism's price signals failed to address this existential crisis to humans, it has also sown the seeds of its own ruin – the market computer's not going to be getting any "price signals" from people as they drown in floods or roast to death on sidewalks that deliver second-degree burns to anyone who touches them:

https://www.fastcompany.com/91151209/extreme-heat-southwest-phoenix-surface-burns-scorching-pavement-sidewalks-pets

For market true believers, these failures are just evidence that regulation is distorting markets, and that the answer is more unregulated markets to infuse the computer with more price signals. When it comes to carbon, the problem is that producers are "producing negative externalities" (that is, polluting and sticking us with the bill). If we can just get them to "internalize" those costs, they will become "economically rational" and switch to low-carbon alternatives.

That's the theory behind the creation and sale of carbon credits. Rather than ordering companies to stop risking civilizational collapse and mass extinction, we can incentivize them to do so by creating markets that reward clean tech and punish dirty practices. The buying and selling of carbon credits is supposed to create price signals reflecting the existential risk to the human race and the only habitable planet known to our species, which the market will then "bring into equilibrium."

Unfortunately, reality has a distinct and unfair leftist bias. Carbon credits are a market for lemons. The carbon credits you buy to "offset" your car or flight are apt to come from a forest that has already burned down, or that had already been put in a perpetual trust as a wildlife preserve and could never be logged:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/03/18/greshams-carbon-law/#papal-indulgences

Carbon credits produce the most perverse outcomes imaginable. For example, much of Tesla's profitability has been derived from the sale of carbon credits to the manufacturers of the dirtiest, most polluting SUVs on Earth; without those Tesla credits, those SUVs would have been too expensive to sell, and would not have existed:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/11/24/no-puedo-pagar-no-pagara/#Rat

What's more, carbon credits aren't part of an "all of the above" strategy that incorporates direct action to prevent our species downfall. These market solutions are incompatible with muscular direct action, and if we do credits, we can't do other stuff that would actually work:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/31/carbon-upsets/#big-tradeoff

Even though price signals have repeatedly proven themselves to be an insufficient mechanism for producing "efficient" or even "survivable," they remain the uppermost spiritual value in the capitalist pantheon. Even through the last 40 years of unrelenting assaults on antitrust and competition law, the one form of corporate power that has remained both formally and practically prohibited is "pricing power."

That's why the DoJ was able to block tech companies and major movie studios from secretly colluding to suppress their employees' wages, and why those employees were able to get huge sums out of their employers:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/High-Tech_Employee_Antitrust_Litigation

It's also why the Big Six (now Big Five) publishers and Apple got into so much trouble for colluding to set a floor on the price of ebooks:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/United_States_v._Apple_(2012)

When it comes to monopoly, even the most Bork-pilled, Manne-poisoned federal judges and agencies have taken a hard line on price-fixing, because "distortions" of prices make the market computer crash.

But despite this horror of price distortions, America's monopolists have found so many ways to manipulate prices. Last month, The American Prospect devoted an entire issue to the many ways that monopolies and cartels have rigged the prices we pay, pushing them higher and higher, even as our wages stagnated and credit became more expensive:

https://prospect.org/pricing

For example, there's the plague of junk fees (AKA "drip pricing," or, if you're competing to be first up against the wall come the revolution, "ancillary revenue"), everything from baggage fees from airlines to resort fees at hotels to the fee your landlord charges if you pay your rent by check, or by card, or in cash:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/07/drip-drip-drip/#drip-off

There's the fake transparency gambit, so beloved of America's hospitals:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/13/a-punch-in-the-guts/#hayek-pilled

The "greedflation" that saw grocery prices skyrocketing, which billionaire grocery plutes blamed on covid stimulus checks, even as they boasted to their shareholders about their pricing power:

https://prospect.org/economy/2024-06-12-war-in-the-aisles/

There's the the tens of billions the banks rake in with usurious interest rates, far in excess of the hikes to the central banks' prime rates (which are, in turn, justified in light of the supposed excesses of covid relief checks):

https://prospect.org/economy/2024-06-11-what-we-owe/

There are the scams that companies like Amazon pull with their user interfaces, tricking you into signing up for subscriptions or upsells, which they grandiosely term "dark patterns," but which are really just open fraud:

https://prospect.org/economy/2024-06-10-one-click-economy/

There are "surge fees," which are supposed to tempt more producers (e.g. Uber drivers) into the market when demand is high, but which are really just an excuse to gouge you – like when Wendy's threatens to surge-price its hamburgers:

https://prospect.org/economy/2024-06-07-urge-to-surge/

And then there's surveillance pricing, the most insidious and profitable way to jack up prices. At its core, surveillance pricing uses nonconsensually harvested private information to inform an algorithm that reprices the things you buy – from lattes to rent – in real-time:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/05/your-price-named/#privacy-first-again

Companies like Plexure – partially owned by McDonald's – boasts that it can use surveillance data to figure out what your payday is and then hike the price of the breakfast sandwich or after-work soda you buy every day.

Like every bad pricing practice, surveillance pricing has its origins in the aviation industry, which invested early on and heavily in spying on fliers to figure out how much they could each afford for their plane tickets and jacking up prices accordingly. Architects of these systems then went on to found companies like Realpage, a data-brokerage that helps landlords illegally collude to rig rent prices.

Algorithmic middlemen like Realpage and ATPCO – which coordinates price-fixing among the airlines – are what Dan Davies calls "accountability sinks." A cartel sends all its data to a separate third party, which then compares those prices and tells everyone how much to jack them up in order to screw us all:

https://profilebooks.com/work/the-unaccountability-machine/

These price-fixing middlemen are everywhere, and they predate the boom in commercial surveillance. For example, Agri-Stats has been helping meatpackers rig the price of meat for 40 years:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/04/dont-let-your-meat-loaf/#meaty-beaty-big-and-bouncy

But when you add commercial surveillance to algorithmic pricing, you get a hybrid more terrifying than any cocaine-sharks (or, indeed, meth-gators):

https://www.nbcnews.com/news/us-news/tennessee-police-warn-locals-not-flush-drugs-fear-meth-gators-n1030291

Apologists for these meth-gators insist that surveillance pricing's true purpose is to let companies offer discounts. A streaming service can't afford to offer $0.99 subscriptions to the poor because then all the rich people would stop paying $19.99. But with surveillance pricing, every customer gets a different price, titrated to their capacity to pay, and everyone wins.

But that's not how it cashes out in the real world. In the real world, rich people who get ripped off have the wherewithal to shop around, complain effectively to a state AG, or punish companies by taking their business elsewhere. Meanwhile, poor people aren't just cash-poor, they're also time-poor and political influence-poor.

When the dollar store duopoly forces all the mom-and-pop grocers in your town out of business with predatory pricing, and creating food deserts that only they serve, no one cares, because state AGs and politicians don't care about people who shop at dollar stores. Then, the dollar stores can collude with manufacturers to get shrunken "cheater sized" products that sell for a dollar, but cost double or triple the grocery store price by weight or quantity:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/27/walmarts-jackals/#cheater-sizes

Yes, fliers who seem to be flying on business (last-minute purchasers who don't have a Saturday stay) get charged more than people whose purchase makes them seem to be someone flying away for a vacation. But that's only because aviation prices haven't yet fully transitioned to surveillance pricing. If an airline can correctly calculate that you are taking a trip because you're a grad student who must attend a conference in order to secure a job, and if they know precisely how much room you have left on your credit card, they can charge you everything you can afford, to the cent.

Your ability to resist pricing power isn't merely a function of a company's market power – it's also a function of your political power. Poor people may have less to steal, but no one cares when they get robbed:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/07/19/martha-wright-reed/#capitalists-hate-capitalism

So surveillance pricing, supercharged by algorithms, represent a serious threat to "prices," which is the one thing that the econo-religious fundamentalists of the capitalist class value above all else. That makes surveillance pricing low-hanging fruit for regulatory enforcement: a bipartisan crime that has few champions on either side of the aisle.

Cannily, the FTC has just declared war on surveillance pricing, ordering eight key players in the industry (including capitalism's arch-villains, McKinsey and Jpmorgan Chase) to turn over data that can be used to prosecute them for price-fixing within 45 days:

https://www.ftc.gov/news-events/news/press-releases/2024/07/ftc-issues-orders-eight-companies-seeking-information-surveillance-pricing

As American Prospect editor-in-chief David Dayen notes in his article on the order, the FTC is doing what he and his journalistic partners couldn't: forcing these companies to cough up internal data:

https://prospect.org/economy/2024-07-24-ftc-opens-surveillance-pricing-inquiry/

This is important, and not just because of the wriggly critters the FTC will reveal as they use their powers to turn over this rock. Administrative agencies can't just do whatever they want. Long before the agencies were neutered by the Supreme Court, they had strict rules requiring them to gather evidence, solicit comment and counter-comment, and so on, before enacting any rules:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/18/administrative-competence/#i-know-stuff

Doubtless, the Supreme Court's Loper decision (which overturned "Chevron deference" and cut off the agencies' power to take actions that they don't have detailed, specific authorization to take) will embolden the surveillance pricing industry to take the FTC to court on this. It's hard to say whether the courts will find in the FTC's favor. Section 6(b) of the FTC Act clearly lets the FTC compel these disclosures as part of an enforcement action, but they can't start an enforcement action until they have evidence, and through the whole history of the FTC, these kinds of orders have been a common prelude to enforcement.

One thing this has going for it is that it is bipartisan: all five FTC commissioners, including both Republicans (including the Republican who votes against everything) voted in favor of it. Price gouging is the kind of easy-to-grasp corporate crime that everyone hates, irrespective of political tendency.

In the Prospect piece on Ticketmaster's pricing scam, Dayen and Groundwork's Lindsay Owens called this the "Age of Recoupment":

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/03/aoi-aoi-oh/#concentrated-gains-vast-diffused-losses

For 40 years, neoclassical economics' focus on "consumer welfare" meant that companies could cheat and squeeze their workers and suppliers as hard as they wanted, so long as prices didn't go up. But after 40 years, there's nothing more to squeeze out of workers or suppliers, so it's time for the cartels to recoup by turning on us, their customers.

They believe – perhaps correctly – that they have amassed so much market power through mergers and lobbying that they can cross the single bright line in neoliberal economics' theory of antitrust: price-gouging. No matter how sincere the economics profession's worship of prices might be, it still might not trump companies that are too big to fail and thus too big to jail.

The FTC just took an important step in defense of all of our economic wellbeing, and it's a step that even the most right-wing economist should applaud. They're calling the question: "Do you really think that price-distortion is a cardinal sin? If so, you must back our play." Support me this summer on the Clarion Write-A-Thon and help raise money for the Clarion Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers' Workshop!

https://clarionwriteathon.com/members/profile.php?writerid=293388

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/2024/07/24/gouging-the-all-seeing-eye/#i-spy

#pluralistic #gouging #ftc #surveillance pricing #dynamic pricing #efficient market hypothesis brain worms #administrative procedures act #chevron deference #lina khan #price gouging

161 notes · View notes

peachielilthing · 6 months ago

Text

Lore for these little shits .

Clukr and Garnold had lived in the same town all their lives but only met when they had turned 19 .

Clukr was working at a local electronics store when Garnold came in to purchase a few parts for a project . Interest peaked , Clukr inquired what the project Was , and Garnold dismissively claimed he was just building a silly little computer . Clukr , intrigued , proceeded to ask questions , to which Garnold was floored . No one had ever shown such an interest in his projects before .

The two hit it off very well , talking for a little too long as Garnold held up the line to the register . He quietly slipped his number to Clukr as he paid for the parts to his computer and swiftly scrambled out of the place . Clukr shot Garnold a text at his first available moment .

Before he knew it , he was invited over to Garnold's place . Garnold would go over his project with him . He was attempting to build a computer that worked faster and better than the ones on the market . Clukr was heavily intrigued by such an ambitious project that he offered his assistance .

They would spend days in Garnold's room working on the computer , Clukr would come over right when he was let off work , and only end up leaving whenever Garnold's parents dropped in to say it was getting too late for their guest to stick around any longer . Garnold would always quietly fold to the words of his parents and reluctantly see Clukr out .

“My mom and pop , they aren't like me .” Garnold would lament one day , as he was out with Clukr .

“They don't see me for who I am . Not like you do . Hell , you're the first person in this town who's seen past the surface and just . Accepted me .”

Clukr would sigh , digging his hands into his pockets .

“Yeah I was getting the feeling your parents were a little . Ugh . They don't call you by your name and they seem to brush off your projects as a waste of time .”

“They don't like folks like me . And they can't acknowledge that I'm something different from them .” Garnold would sigh . “I'm really glad I ran into ya . . . It's nice having at least one person in town who sees me . Who knows me . Who . . . Cares about me .”

Clukr would lift a hand , taking one of Garnold's into his .

“I'll always care for you , Garnold . I mean that . I . . .” He would clasping Garnold’s hand in both of his and squeeze it tight .

“I love you .”

Garnold's heart would erupt in that moment , as tears began to well up in his eyes , but he smiled the biggest smile he'd ever been granted in his life .

“You . . . You do ?” With a gentle touch his free hand would rise up to hold onto both of Clukr's hands .

“I do .” Clukr would speak softly , leaning in to kiss the dampened cheek of the weeping mouse .

From that day on they were more inseparable than ever before . Though arguments and fights would often erupt amongst Garnold and his parents , he stood firmly in who he was and that he loved Clukr .

Though gradually , Garnold began to fall ill . And the stress of fighting back against his parents seemed to be making the condition worse . Clukr knew he couldn't stay in this place much longer . So he devised a plan .

The two of them would pack up their things and run away together . They were adults , anyhow , it's not like they could really be stopped . Clukr's family , at least , was supportive of the endeavor .

Garnold would leave a letter to his parents before departing in the middle of the night .

“ Dear mom and dad ,

I'm afraid I can't stay in this place any longer . As much as I love you both it breaks my heart to admit that our constant fighting is making my condition worsen by the day . I fear the only way for me to get better is to leave and forge my own life . I won't be alone . I'll have Clukr with me . I know you two weren't very fond of him , but he's kind . He cares about me . And I trust him . That should be enough for you .

I will not return . Do not try to find me . I've made my decision and I'm going to live with it .

Sincerely , M̶a̶r̶i̶g̶o̶l̶d̶

Garnold”

They would take a subway to the next town . Garnold falling asleep against Clukr , who made sure to keep him close and warm . Doing his best to stay awake and assure they wouldn't miss their stops .

And finally , they would reach their destination . A new town where they could build the life they wanted .

With Clukr's resume it didn't take him long to find a well paying job , and with their combined savings they were able to get a decent home to live in .

While the better atmosphere did help Garnold in some ways , it was abundantly clear his condition was still worsening , and the doctors couldn't pinpoint the exact issue , and told the two that Garnold's heart was very weak . Clukr decided he would take matters into his own hands .

Between shifts , he would work hard on a suit meant to stabilize Garnold's condition . This way he could buy time to research any possible cures , and Garnold who was currently stuck bedridden , would be able to live life while he did it . Clukr would work diligently at work and at home , taking any promotions he could get even if it meant more hours .

After months of trial and error , and hard tiring work , it was finally ready in time for Garnold's 25th birthday . It was a success , Garnold was able to function just as he did before as long as he had the suit on . And Clukr would keep an eye on Garnold's heart rate with a monitor .

With this massive relief , Clukr would take a small mental breather and use his vacation days to do something enjoyable with Garnold , as well as finally tying the knot . They didn't have a big fancy wedding , they wouldn't really have had anyone to invite , but it was enough for them to be together like this .

Clukr would continue to work hard . Upgrading the suit when he could and moving up in his job with a little help from a business associate (Black) , until he found himself in a leadership position where he could work from home and only step into the office when he really needed to . This gave him more time with Garnold and more time to put into looking for a cure for Garnold's condition .

Finally able to put time into doing projects with Garnold again , the two would eventually go on to build Funbot , and Mr. Fun Computer , treating the two like their own children .

#clukr x garnold #sprunki #sprunki garnold #sprunki clukr #sprunki fanfic #sprunki lore #seepys sprunki lore

56 notes · View notes

commodorez · 1 year ago

Note

If the Commodore 64 is great, where is the Commodore 65?

It sits in the pile with the rest of history's pre-production computers that never made it. It's been awhile since I went on a Commodore 65 rant...

The successor to the C64 is the C128, arguably the pinnacle of 8-bit computers. It has 3 modes: native C128 mode with 2MHz 8502, backwards compatible C64 mode, and CP/M mode using a 4MHz Z80. Dual video output in 40-column mode with sprites plus a second output in 80-column mode. Feature-rich BASIC, built in ROM monitor, numpad, 128K of RAM, and of course a SID chip. For 1985, it was one of the last hurrahs of 8-bit computing that wasn't meant to be a budget/bargain bin option.

For the Amiga was taking center stage at Commodore -- the 16-bit age is here! And its initial market performance wasn't great, they were having a hard time selling its advanced capabilities. The Amiga platform took time to really build up momentum square in the face of the rising dominance of the IBM PC compatible. And the Amiga lost (don't tell the hardcore Amiga fanboys, they're still in denial).

However, before Commodore went bankrupt in '94, someone planned and designed another successor to the C64. It was supposed to be backwards compatible with C64, while also evolving on that lineage, moving to a CSG 4510 R3 at 3.54MHz (a fancy CMOS 6502 variant based on a subprocessor out of an Amiga serial port card). 128K of RAM (again) supposedly expandable to 1MB, 256X more colors, higher resolution, integrated 3½" floppy not unlike the 1581. Bitplane modes, DAT modes, Blitter modes -- all stuff that at one time was a big deal for rapid graphics operations, but nothing that an Amiga couldn't already do (if you're a C65 expert who isn't mad at me yet, feel free to correct me here).

The problem is that nobody wanted this.

Sure, Apple had released the IIgs in 1986, but that had both the backwards compatibility of an Apple II and a 16-bit 65C816 processor -- not some half-baked 6502 on gas station pills. Plus, by the time the C65 was in heavy development it was 1991. Way too late for the rapidly evolving landscape of the consumer computer market. It would be cancelled later that same year.

I realize that Commodore was also still selling the C64 well into 1994 when they closed up shop, but that was more of a desperation measure to keep cash flowing, even if it was way behind the curve by that point (remember, when the C64 was new it was a powerful, affordable machine for 1982). It was free money on an established product that was cheap to make, whereas the C65 would have been this new and expensive machine to produce and sell that would have been obsolete from the first day it hit store shelves. Never mind the dismal state of Commodore's marketing team post-Tramiel.

Internally, the guy working on the C65 was someone off in the corner who didn't work well with others while 3rd generation Amiga development was underway. The other engineers didn't have much faith in the idea.

The C65 has acquired a hype of "the machine that totally would have saved Commodore, guise!!!!1!11!!!111" -- saved nothing. If you want better what-if's from Commodore, you need to look to the C900 series UNIX machine, or the CLCD. Unlike those machines which only have a handful of surviving examples (like 3 or 4 CLCDs?), the C65 had several hundred, possibly as many as 2000 pre-production units made and sent out to software development houses. However many got out there, no software appears to have surfaced, and only a handful of complete examples of a C65 have entered the hands of collectors. Meaning if you have one, it's probably buggy and you have no software to run on it. Thus, what experience are you recapturing? Vaporware?

The myth of the C65 and what could have been persists nonetheless. I'm aware of 3 modern projects that have tried to take the throne from the Commodore 64, doing many things that sound similar to the Commodore 65.

The Foenix Retro Systems F256K:

The 8-Bit Guy's Commander X16

The MEGA65 (not my picture)

The last of which is an incredibly faithful open-source visual copy of the C65, where as the other projects are one-off's by dedicated individuals (and when referring to the X16, I don't mean David Murray as he's not the one doing the major design work).

I don't mean to belittle the effort people have put forth into such complicated projects, it's just not what I would have built. In 2019, I had the opportunity to meet the 8-Bit Guy and see the early X16 prototype. I didn't really see the appeal, and neither did David see the appeal of my homebrew, the Cactus.

Build your own computer, build a replica computer. I encourage you to build what you want, it can be a rewarding experience. Just remember that the C65 was probably never going to dig Commodore out of the financial hole they had dug for themselves.

#commodore #c65 #commodore 65

262 notes · View notes

spacetimewithstuartgary · 6 months ago

Text

Monday SpaceTime 20250113 Series 28 Episode 6

How the Pluto-Charon dwarf planet binary formed

A new study suggests that the formation of Pluto—Charon dwarf planet binary system may parallel that of the Earth-Moon system.

BepiColombo swoops low over the planet Mercury

The BepiColumbo spacecraft has undertaken a close flyby of Mercury swooping down to within 295 kilometres of the Sun scorched planet’s grey crater covered surface.

Taking a look at the year ahead in astronomy

2025 promises to be another big year in astronomy and space sciences with the Sun’s 11 year solar cycle destined to reach its peak at solar max – assuming it hasn’t just happened already.

The Science Report

The World Meteorological Organization has confirmed that 2024 is the warmest year on record.

Study shows people who drink coffee in the morning have a lower risk of dying.

New computer modelling suggests that indoor vertical farming could help future-proof food demands.

Sequencing the genetics of Australia’s marsupial mole.

Skeptics guide to the Hexham Heads

SpaceTime covers the latest news in astronomy & space sciences.

The show is available every Monday, Wednesday and Friday through Apple Podcasts (itunes), Stitcher, Google Podcast, Pocketcasts, SoundCloud, Bitez.com, YouTube, your favourite podcast download provider, and from www.spacetimewithstuartgary.com

SpaceTime is also broadcast through the National Science Foundation on Science Zone Radio and on both i-heart Radio and Tune-In Radio.

SpaceTime daily news blog: http://spacetimewithstuartgary.tumblr.com/

SpaceTime facebook: www.facebook.com/spacetimewithstuartgary

SpaceTime Instagram @spacetimewithstuartgary

SpaceTime twitter feed @stuartgary

SpaceTime YouTube: @SpaceTimewithStuartGary

SpaceTime -- A brief history

SpaceTime is Australia’s most popular and respected astronomy and space science news program – averaging over two million downloads every year. We’re also number five in the United States. The show reports on the latest stories and discoveries making news in astronomy, space flight, and science. SpaceTime features weekly interviews with leading Australian scientists about their research. The show began life in 1995 as ‘StarStuff’ on the Australian Broadcasting Corporation’s (ABC) NewsRadio network. Award winning investigative reporter Stuart Gary created the program during more than fifteen years as NewsRadio’s evening anchor and Science Editor. Gary’s always loved science. He studied astronomy at university and was invited to undertake a PHD in astrophysics, but instead focused on his career in journalism and radio broadcasting. Gary’s radio career stretches back some 34 years including 26 at the ABC. He worked as an announcer and music DJ in commercial radio, before becoming a journalist and eventually joining ABC News and Current Affairs. He was part of the team that set up ABC NewsRadio and became one of its first on air presenters. When asked to put his science background to use, Gary developed StarStuff which he wrote, produced and hosted, consistently achieving 9 per cent of the national Australian radio audience based on the ABC’s Nielsen ratings survey figures for the five major Australian metro markets: Sydney, Melbourne, Brisbane, Adelaide, and Perth. The StarStuff podcast was published on line by ABC Science -- achieving over 1.3 million downloads annually. However, after some 20 years, the show finally wrapped up in December 2015 following ABC funding cuts, and a redirection of available finances to increase sports and horse racing coverage. Rather than continue with the ABC, Gary resigned so that he could keep the show going independently. StarStuff was rebranded as “SpaceTime”, with the first episode being broadcast in February 2016. Over the years, SpaceTime has grown, more than doubling its former ABC audience numbers and expanding to include new segments such as the Science Report -- which provides a wrap of general science news, weekly skeptical science features, special reports looking at the latest computer and technology news, and Skywatch – which provides a monthly guide to the night skies. The show is published three times weekly (every Monday, Wednesday and Friday) and available from the United States National Science Foundation on Science Zone Radio, and through both i-heart Radio and Tune-In Radio.

#science #space #astronomy #physics #news #nasa #astrophysics #esa #spacetimewithstuartgary #starstuff #spacetime

15 notes · View notes

ms-demeanor · 1 year ago

Note

Hello! First, I wanted to say thank you for your post about updating software and such. I really appreciated your perspective as someone with ADHD. The way you described your experiences with software frustration was IDENTICAL to my experience, so your post made a lot of sense to me.

Second, (and I hope my question isn't bothering you lol) would you mind explaining why it's important to update/adopt the new software? Like, why isn't there an option that doesn't involve constantly adopting new things? I understand why they'd need to fix stuff like functional bugs/make it compatible with new tech, but is it really necessary to change the user side of things as well?

Sorry if those are stupid questions or they're A Lot for a tumblr rando to ask, I'd just really like to understand because I think it would make it easier to get myself to adopt new stuff if I understand why it's necessary, and the other folks I know that know about computers don't really seem to understand the experience.

Thank you so much again for sharing your wisdom!!

A huge part of it is changing technologies and changing norms; I brought up Windows 8 in that other post and Win8 is a *great* example of user experience changing to match hardware, just in a situation that was an enormous mismatch with the market.

Win8's much-beloathed tiles came about because Microsoft seemed to be anticipating a massive pivot to tablet PCs in nearly all applications. The welcome screen was designed to be friendly to people who were using handheld touchscreens who could tap through various options, and it was meant to require more scrolling and less use of a keyboard.

But most people who the operating system went out to *didn't* have touchscreen tablets or laptops, they had a desktop computer with a mouse and a keyboard.

When that was released, it was Microsoft attempting to keep up with (or anticipate) market trends - they wanted something that was like "the iPad for Microsoft" so Windows 8 was meant to go with Microsoft Surface tablets.

We spent the first month of Win8's launch making it look like Windows 7 for our customers.

You can see the same thing with the centered taskbar on Windows 11; that's very clearly supposed to mimic the dock on apple computers (only you can't pin it anywhere but the bottom of the screen, which sucks).

Some of the visual changes are just trends and various companies trying to keep up with one another.

With software like Adobe I think it's probably based on customer data. The tool layout and the menu dropdowns are likely based on what people are actually looking for, and change based on what other tools people are using. That's likely true for most programs you use - the menu bar at the top of the screen in Word is populated with the options that people use the most; if a function you used to click on all the time is now buried, there's a possibility that people use it less these days for any number of reasons. (I'm currently being driven mildly insane by Teams moving the "attach file" button under a "more" menu instead of as an icon next to the "send message" button, and what this tells me is either that more users are putting emojis in their messages than attachments, or microsoft WANTS people to put more emojis than messages in their attachments).

But focusing on the operating system, since that's the big one:

The thing about OSs is that you interact with them so frequently that any little change seems massive and you get REALLY frustrated when you have to deal with that, but version-to-version most OSs don't change all that much visually and they also don't get released all that frequently. I've been working with windows machines for twelve years and in that time the only OSs that Microsoft has released were 8, 10, and 11. That's only about one OS every four years, which just is not that many. There was a big visual change in the interface between 7 and 8 (and 8 and 8.1, which is more of a 'panicked backing away' than a full release), but otherwise, realistically, Windows 11 still looks a lot like XP.

The second one is a screenshot of my actual computer. The only change I've made to the display is to pin the taskbar to the left side instead of keeping it centered and to fuck around a bit with the colors in the display customization. I haven't added any plugins or tools to get it to look different.

This is actually a pretty good demonstration of things changing based on user behavior too - XP didn't come with a search field in the task bar or the start menu, but later versions of Windows OSs did, because users had gotten used to searching things more in their phones and browsers, so then they learned to search things on their computers.

There are definitely nefarious reasons that software manufacturers change their interfaces. Microsoft has included ads in home versions of their OS and pushed searches through the Microsoft store since Windows 10, as one example. That's shitty and I think it's worthwhile to find the time to shut that down (and to kill various assistants and background tools and stop a lot of stuff that runs at startup).

But if you didn't have any changes, you wouldn't have any changes. I think it's handy to have a search field in the taskbar. I find "settings" (which is newer than control panel) easier to navigate than "control panel." Some of the stuff that got added over time is *good* from a user perspective - you can see that there's a little stopwatch pinned at the bottom of my screen; that's a tool I use daily that wasn't included in previous versions of the OS. I'm glad it got added, even if I'm kind of bummed that my Windows OS doesn't come with Spider Solitaire anymore.

One thing that's helpful to think about when considering software is that nobody *wants* to make clunky, unusable software. People want their software to run well, with few problems, and they want users to like it so that they don't call corporate and kick up a fuss.

When you see these kinds of changes to the user experience, it often reflects something that *you* may not want, but that is desirable to a *LOT* of other people. The primary example I can think of here is trackpad scrolling direction; at some point it became common for trackpads to scroll in the opposite direction that they used to; now the default direction is the one that feels wrong to me, because I grew up scrolling with a mouse, not a screen. People who grew up scrolling on a screen seem to feel that the new direction is a lot more intuitive, so it's the default. Thankfully, that's a setting that's easy to change, so it's a change that I make every time I come across it, but the change was made for a sensible reason, even if that reason was opaque to me at the time I stumbled across it and continues to irritate me to this day.

I don't know. I don't want to defend Windows all that much here because I fucking hate Microsoft and definitely prefer using Linux when I'm not at work or using programs that I don't have on Linux. But the thing is that you'll see changes with Linux releases as well.

I wouldn't mind finding a tool that made my desktop look 100% like Windows 95, that would be fun. But we'd probably all be really frustrated if there hadn't been any interface improvements changes since MS-DOS (and people have DEFINITELY been complaining about UX changes at least since then).

Like, I talk about this in terms of backward compatibility sometimes. A lot of people are frustrated that their old computers can't run new software well, and that new computers use so many resources. But the flipside of that is that pretty much nobody wants mobile internet to work the way that it did in 2004 or computers to act the way they did in 1984.

Like. People don't think about it much these days but the "windows" of the Windows Operating system represented a massive change to how people interacted with their computers that plenty of people hated and found unintuitive.

(also take some time to think about the little changes that have happened that you've appreciated or maybe didn't even notice. I used to hate the squiggly line under misspelled words but now I see the utility. Predictive text seems like new technology to me but it's really handy for a lot of people. Right clicking is a UX innovation. Sometimes you have to take the centered task bar in exchange for the built-in timer deck; sometimes you have to lose color-coded files in exchange for a right click.)

296 notes · View notes

simp-ly-writes · 11 months ago

Text

The City

─────── · · THE SERIES: PART TWO

PAIRING: Enver Gortash x fem!Reader, Wyll Ravengard x fem!Reader

─ · · SUMMARY: Across the seas you are studying to finally cement yourself as a high lady and 'worthy' of being beside the Duke's son in the publics eye. Yet as time slips through your fingers, and you have had no word from your lover- a face from the past decides to make their presence known once more after going through hell.

─ · · WARNINGS: contract marriage, child abuse, bullying, anxiety attacks flashbacks, overall angst with fluff

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 5,000

─ · · A/N: I have to start making chapters shorter- my computer begs me.

─────── · ·

“Anger, resentment and jealousy doesn't change the heart of others-- it only changes yours.”

Shannon Alder

─────── · ·

When Gortash resurfaced, contract burned to the ground and an echoing voice shattered his mind with great ill intentions. He listened to the life the voices promised, that he realised he wished upon himself and strived to mould it into reality. Taking back to the Lower City and its sewers, his heart felt heavy with memories that the voices dampened with his mission they provided.

He infiltrated the underground network, mingling with Guild, Zhentarim, and Thugs alike. He carefully observed their trade networks and studied their trade secrets as he temporarily acted under their needs before running back off with the information to the now abandoned factories on the shoreline.

Hands running with memory, he used the metal scraps and various stolen powders to craft numerous weapons of destruction. He looked at himself in the gleaming metals, felt the various nicks and bruises across his hands from the work before turning the market on its head. Exporting his work to make numbers, he took hold of the unsuspecting and thrusted them to make his ultimate designs.

Mere weeks into his developments, various characters of his past both from hell and sewer came back with contracts in hand and meetings to be scheduled as he charmed and dined their offerings to build himself up more. Soon enough, Enver Gortash was making lucrative business as a black market arms dealer, sending a thousand ships full of weapons and bombs to neighbouring wars without a blink towards the headlines and the various zeros that followed.

Using this newfound income, Enver looked to legitimize his business, exploring other avenues and sectors. Combing his way back into the light, his eyes winced at the harsh sunlight casting judgement across his pale skin before shaking hands with misters and misses to dukes and duchesses alike. But with surface level interests came newfound dangers brought into light as many looked to take down the approaching tidal wave of Envers overtaking of the manufacturing scene, especially those connected to the Knights of the Shield as many attempts at his life were made over glasses of wine, the occasional bathhouse, or underground dispute.

He looked for a bodyguard and found himself back in searching the hells like the devil himself did to him. Casting up a contract to a young tiefling named Karlach, she protected the supposed businessman with her life and fiery passion. Often casting jokes to try and catch a sliver of a smile she thought to be imagining, or the slight twitch to his eye. The facade Enver put up was perfected as his signature gilded across multiple pages and shook hands with the upper echelon of society.

It was during one of these events that the whispering wind had caught his breath and taken his life back to an old one he thought to have forgotten long ago. He watched as a striking young woman in an equally lavish gown practically skipped down the cobbled streets, a dashing young man chasing after her, a sword swinging by his waist with every step he took.

Your face caught him standing there in the street as you simply overlooked him and took around a corner. The young man seemingly out of breath gripping his knees as he called out your name that had Enver feeling weak himself. Gripping his hands into fists, Karlach raised a brow- this was the most emotion she had ever seen her boss possess as she quickly looked over the square for a possible association.

“Is everything alright boss?” Karlach asked tentatively, hands beginning to reach around her back to draw a weapon as Enver began to walk forward with large strides without another word. His heart was racing, his eyes begging to cast upon your form again as he wondered if you would remember a boy like him.

His mind then flooded as a foreign weight fell upon his right shoulder, he remembered your head falling against it during the early morning hours after you patched his hand. Next, a memory of you pulling him into the very factory he worked out of now. Sneaking around the various guards and filling your bag full for the next day where you spent all day trying to make his drawings a reality and then you were at school. Him seeing you for the first time, reading with you on the bench behind the church and holding you as the children screamed.

When he looks down the alleyway you went down, he finds it empty- as if you were only a figment of his imagination, a ghost of an older life. He looks down to the ground, confused as he asks the voices in his mind if he had truly lost it only to receive no response. Karlach waits for him, guarding the small space as she silently understands what her boss had seemingly lost but was increasingly distracted by his sudden display of emotion. In the end, she had not readied herself for the onslaught of it as a heavy heart soon turned to anger and ultimately her destruction.

Feeling the after waves of his own enslavement, for catching a glimpse at what could have been you and him. He was taken back to the hells from a portal supported by Helsik and struck a deal with Zariel. The Crown of Karsus for a pivotal role in the new world alongside a new product offered now that he had been working diligently on for many years now, an infernal engine- the test subject? Karlach.

Lost in the need for his pain to be felt, he used it on the only person he was able to call a friend in the past decade they had been working alongside one another as the voices demanded it, only to mute and combine in the sound of one, Use those weak to build yourself stronger.

Who speaks? Enver asks himself as the roaring fires and the woman's screams are left behind as he emerges from the portal once more.

You are to be my Chosen, the voice disregards the question at first, only leaving a lingering presence in the back of his mind as he beds a red-headed lady to gain himself more notoriety in the higher circles. Weapons at their throats, hidden by words as he looked towards politics as he pulled out to finish and hastily takes himself out of the bed as the woman gasped for air, her eyes still closed in bliss before snapping to the sound of the door slamming closed.

Enver walked outside the estate, still adjusting his long coat against his body before entering the dying streets. Walking back towards the factories, the voice revealed themselves to be Bane, the God of Tyranny and Lord of Darkness as the sun fell upon the shores. On his path he looks back to see the hill where he first met you, the marks the woman left across his back still aching as he feels bile run up his throat as he crashes into the side of a building for support.

“Lady Jannath,” he whispers to himself, testing the name for he didn’t care to remember earlier but knowing he is not alone he asks the voice ever present. Will she see me- love me enough to hate me- to lothe me? My actions and desires?

She left you, remember chosen? You were rotting in hell as she was begging for the Duke's boy. Do not forget that you are bettering this world by rebuilding it. We have no need for the girl-

You speak in such absolutes…

As you will learn to force them.

─────── · ·

Enver Gortash would become a common name discussed in every home from within the gate- his popularity overshadowing any dirt to be found in the scraps he did not already erase. Bane led Gortash to acquire more power and influence within the political inner circles surrounding Baldur's Gate as he became referenced to be the future military advisor after his connections in the weapons industry. Driven by his growing ambition with the Crown of Karsus in hand, the knowledge of this artifact set in the hands of another slipped within the underground and underdark as Myrkul and Bhaal also wished to play house with the city.

Cornered one day in his own factory, a blade thrusted in between his ribs by the Chosen of Bhaal and the barking dog of Ketheric Thorm, the Chosen of Myrkul, in his face. He was left with little room but to ensure a favorable alliance with his compliance. Showing the wicked two the power the Crown could offer within ancient Netherese texts they searched to enslave an Elder Brain to support their deities alongside their own personal desires. Splitting the crown within three Netherstones, unleashed sins were planned to swarm the coast.

Sins plagued the man as desire soon overtook. Gortash had people keeping tabs on every moment of your life. He read upon your family's new estate, the friends you networked with, the first apprenticeship you gained under Ravengard to your training with the flaming fists before discussions of you being sent away to learn under foreign education. Rage would be too small of a word to withhold the pure fury that raged through Envers veins.

The little boy within him crying out to see his only friend betrothed to another. A sick jealousy plagued his mind as he kept photos of your graduation, set your favorite flowers by his bedside and had even stolen your couple's portrait of you and Wyll from the Dukes estate. The son's face was ripped apart, leaving you alone on the canvas to shine beautifully with the fresh oil paints. Gortash would find himself sitting in front of you many nights as he told you his wicked plans- as if trying to gauge a reaction from your unmoving character.

He would silently await your answer before looking at the various sculptures surrounding the room that silently judged the lord to be. And in a moment of great weakness, watching from one of the balconies of Wyrms Rock fortress as he temporarily visited as a guest. He watched your ship sail away. You running away, just as he was finally getting everything he ever wanted. In this moment of bitterness, of weakness and hurt pride; he decided to show his strength and took tadpoles to the instigators of it all.

─────── · ·

The cobbler house was quiet on a weekend night. Oil lamps threatened to flicker out as Enver moved effortlessly under their light. Bane praised his forward thinking, of gaining the purest image from highly supportive parents- parents that would never speak down to him, beat him, torment him so horribly. These people would no longer sell him out, cast you aside.

His mother was frozen in a silent scream as Enver gripped the woman by her long brown hair with a fist. He tilted his wrist, applying more tension to her scalp as he presented the wiggling tadpole in front of his mother. Not a smile, tilt of the eyes or breath exited Gortash as he watched the worm wiggly its way in behind her eye. She trashed and groaned, nails digging into her son's wrists as red blood dripped to the floor to show his humanity.

His father laid there still, his insides casted upon the floor as he chanted your name in a silent prayer before Gortash calmly strided his way across the rickety old floors that creaked and groaned under his weight. He dropped his mother to the floor with no further regard, her head slamming against the warm rugs as she laid their limp. Eyes wide, breaths shallow, mind searching for answers to only curse the devil of her own son.

His father made no protests, his fate sealed as the tadpole slithered up his neck. Gortash leaned against the countertop. His long black coat swayed slightly in the cold night air making its way through the lofty space as he watched the insertion take place, watching as both of his parents kissed his boots as he slammed the store door behind him before taking into view your boarded up storefront.

A few books were still visible in between the planks as Envers' heart clenched in his chest. He craved the pain of feeling you- even the loss of you. It was in this pain Gortash first found his path, his deity, and yet he still prayed thankful to having met you. He wished to have you hear everything you made him realise, to have you see the perfect city of people he commanded, and he would command you to stay rather than leave.

─────── · ·

Salty sea air wafted into your senses as you strolled across the white sand coast line. Your head was full of recalling teachings and notes you studied the night before in your dormitory. Looking up at the sun, you still had time before you were to meet with your peers at the Library. You were counting down the days to your final written exam.

Chuckling at yourself, or to the picture of self you keep in your mind. You wonder what home will look like in your return. If the same restaurants you love and remember are still in business. If your few school friends have returned from their studies as well. Some had gone off to Bards College while others chose to study among the druids or with the Society of Brilliance in the Underdark. A shiver runs across your spine at the thought of traversing such lands after you learned of the great diseases that had coated the lands. The text brings a tear to your eyes as you rubbed them in equal tiredness.

Yet nevertheless, you would miss your fellow students, your mentors and coaches. You were one paper away from being a qualified court member and would hold enough dignity to take Wyll’s side- Wyll. Your heart echoed with a few painful aches, you wondered what he would look like now. It had been years since you had seen him as you looked down to your bare left hand, the emptiness of it holding weight as you rubbed at your ring finger, tension only growing with festering fear of what if?

You wonderdered if the young man you had left was already holding court meetings, dancing with other young beautiful women and orchestrating deals for the city. You pondered if he still enjoyed taking walks around the garden, sneaking off into the lower city for a semblance of normality- or had the new reality already overcome that? Your mind was a storm of wild thoughts and fantasies as you bumped into your fellow students in the halls and stumbled into the library with a shy smile once realizing you were late.

The tables were filled, nearly every seat taken as one of your classmates moved their bag for you to take its place. Books were strewn across the table, empty tea cups littered the jackets of books as you found space to open your notes and started to review while doing your best to shake your thoughts of the beach.

─────── · ·

Darkness soon painted the skies, the room filled with candlelight as you wrote your final sentence and signed off your name. “Are you ready for the closing ball this weekend, (name)?” one of your peers asked as they helped you to pack up your belongings. Taking a pause, your books floating over your bag, you raised an eyebrow in question towards them- a silent ask for them to continue.

“There are spokespeople coming from neighbouring continents to hire us after graduation, surely one of your professors has spoken to you about this?” they continue, eyes growing wide as you shake your head, “No, I have not but I already have work for me back at home.”

“Oh, do not tell me it is with that ‘betrothed’” your peer makes quotations around that final word as they make a big display of looking at your hand. A sad yet knowing look casting over their features. “You must know that without the ring or paper, they are merely words and just that.”

“But I do believe it to be true,” you hold strong, eyes unwavering in their own even as your voice tilts, the lack of Wylls replies to your letters over the past three years eat away at your belief as time progresses.

“I just don’t want you to lose your future, that is all. But please, do speak to at least a couple of employers… you never know what can happen,” they grab your hand with these parting words. You can only offer a small nod before watching them leave the library as you continue to pack up your belongings. Maybe I shall talk to a couple, no harm in conversation… you think to yourself before walking back to your silent dormitory. Doing your best not to wake the other students by the creaky floors or heavy oak doors as sleep soon overcomes you.

─────── · ·

Flowers wine themselves up every bannister and set upon every table as you make your way into the ballroom. Your paper sits safely in one of your crates already making its way back to the mainlands. Suits and Satin has your back feeling cold and missing Wylls warm touch that led you around events like this. A pleasant smile coats your face in a mask as you take a champagne flute and turn to raise it towards your headmaster. Cheers erupted throughout the room as you swallow down the liquid before settling the empty glass back upon the try.

Music breaks the words as you stand at the refreshments table, picking away at the snacks and delicacies that sit in the shapes of animals and famous sculptures. Taking a laugh for yourself, you steal the middle finger off one of the food displays and place it on your plate as you look to find an empty table.

You watch as your classmates talk with their dance partners. A thousand ages and backgrounds fill the room as the spilling of fresh ink catches your intrigue. Your friend appeared to be correct as you watched them leave with a well dressed man towards one of the offices, a paper sealed in their hand as they cast a wide smile before exiting. Exhaling a breath, you pick at your food and observe the floral decorations at your table with false intrigue.

Soon, overwhelming sadness finds your reflection in the various glasses sat atop the table. Wyll had not shown up, you had an understanding that he would not but the hope for a surprise was soon overshadowed by its lack of presence. A sudden hand has you startled as it presents itself in your face. A handsome young man stands before you, his smile a bit crooked by the chip in his left large tooth, yet by the well trimmed golden hair he presents and the tailored clothes across his back- he comes from a good background.

“A dance for the lonely?” he asks, fingers stretching winder as you place your hand in his own and are hoisted up into the life of the party. Various gowns sound like waves crashing against the polished floors. The music comes crashing over every laugh and conversation as you allow your years of practice in the Ravengard ballroom to lead you through the dance.

“Penny for your thought, my lady?” the man asks with a curious tint to his gaze but before you can reply, your partner is being switched as you spin into the arms of another. “The colour suits you,” they simply state. The lack of polish in their voice catches you off guard- the same tones that you worked hard to make your voice forget.

You notice the long black coat they wear near the bottom signs of obvious wear and tear are sound as stitches are coming undone. Their top is hastily buttoned, their shoes dull, and their hair- your breath catches in your throat as you feel them grip your waist tighter. Your cheeks flare up with warmth upon recognition as you rack your brain for a name- Enver Gortash.

They smile, looking down to your lips as you whisper their name. “So you do remember me,” he comments, seemingly to himself as he pulls you away to a large twirl before slamming you back into the privacy of his arms. “Of course I would remember my childhood friend,” you say back. Your head starts to feel heavy from all the memories that flood in as you press your forehead to his shoulder.

You hear the small gasp Enver takes in, feeling the familiar weight of you on his shoulder and he has never felt such comfort. Taking one of his hands from your waist, you feel how his hand hesitates before gently stroking up and down your back. His touch has your shoulders dropping and you would not stop the smile that spreads your cheeks. A laugh of disbelief is shared between the both of you. The music eventually fades as you open your eyes once more, you go to bow, picking up your skirt but he takes your hand and drags you out of the ballroom and into the study wing.

The hall remains empty besides the few staff that run trays to and fro. Your eyes cast upon his broad shoulders and the hair he still has not styled since his youth. His smile is genuine when he turns around and casts you a wink before holding a door for you to enter. You hesitate to turn around until the sound of a click before taking the sight of him in full.

“You look so…” words fail to come to mind, your hands still shaking as tears threaten to spill from your eyes. You struggle to feel everything in this moment as he tilts his head and raises a brow, asking you to continue with a wave of his hand. “...so old.” Your hands grasp your mouth, shock holding you still as you yell internally. His laughter fills the small room as he takes large strides over to you, pulling your hands from your face to hold between his own.

“How you wound me,” he responds, a playful tint to his brown eyes, “and here I thought to find a beautiful and reputable young woman.” You scoff at his words, pulling your hands gently away with a shake of your head. “Alright and like we didn’t steal from half the population of Baldur’s Gate.”

“But look where it has placed you, exactly with my words…” his sentence trails off as he twirls a strand of your hair before looking outwards at the window behind you. You look at the side of his face, taking notice of the tens of scars that litter his jaw and cheeks. Your fingers brush against the raised skin, you feel him twitch away before pulling himself back to your touch, allowing you to observe.

“Where have you been old friend?” you ask quietly, a part of you scared to know an equal part of you burning with curiosity. “Where haven't I been,” he responds coldly before remembering his company and releasing a large sigh. He leans against a desk nearest to him as you watch his movements, holding onto every word he speaks- his voice deep and captivating to your senses beyond belief.

“When you left, my parents soon realized their mistakes. We were struggling and there was only so much a boy could carry those nights and every night the weight increased as I looked for a way out. But when I received one, it was never one I could have begun to imagine. To face such hardships, torments, and then utmost cruelty… it took hold of me in the hells-fire and I burned so much of myself in those years.”

“Enver-” you start to speak, hands looking to comfort as he settles them back at your sides. He refuses to meet your eyes as he turns to observe his shoes. Your heart aches at the sight of that young boy sitting behind you, picking away at the edges of his, or well your books.

“I was put under contract and under lashes. I bled and bruised, I worked for my life and with the lives of others. I put souls onto paper, took notes with their blood and found a way out years later. I thought of you, on the tiled floors. I often pictured your presence, heard your voice, I searched for you in the Lower City upon return- I had never thought you would move so far or remembered you to.”

Tears stream silently down your face, guilt rises with the treats you feasted on earlier. You beat yourself for not thinking to take him with you- for not thinking over one action versus the years you spent together. “Why did you cast me away then? If I had known-”

“No.” His voice is cold, his eyes snapping to you as you feel like that small girl within the trinkets and wires once more. His mother’s voice ringing in your bones as your eyes plead for answers for a forgiveness for what you do not understand but your own humanity. Enver continues, “You got the better family, the better spoils, you deserve the better life. I could not take that from you- even at times a part of me wished I did. Wished that I did not have to suffer alone but then I would be forgetting the old you. The malnourished, the angry and spiteful. I never wanted to forget her as it seems you never have forgotten me.”

“I thought of you too, you were all that consumed my thoughts at every dinner I attended- at every sparring session I went through. Surely if you are here tonight… has there been some semblance of good?”

He stands to full height, picking up your chin as his thumb brushes away your tears. “Good things do not come to men like me, we must chase them against the better judgement of others or else we will never see them. I am what I need to be, I worked for this, worked to see you once again. And here I hope, before I tell you more that you see me the way I do you?”

You drop your head into his hand, your own raising to play with the various gold designs intertwined with his collar. “Of course, you are my dearest friend of all- for all time.” And then hurt flashes in the man's eyes, he drops your head once more, his hand flexing before closing- his legs carrying him towards the exit. Your eyes grow wide, watching as the man departs without another word. Your head spinning for answers, for an explanation to his answers and just as you turn back down the hall. Enver Gortash had vanished and a staff member was placing yet another glass of champagne in your hand as you headed back into the ballroom.

─────── · ·

THE CITY: THE SERIES: PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE ... you are here

44 notes · View notes