#typetober

[skinnywalker]

Can you write Immortal Male Reader x Eleven from Stranger Things for Typetober?

Of course!

[alkhale]

change the channel (Ko-Fi Request) Kenma Kozume/Camgirl!Omega!Reader

hello! Id love a kenma x reader fic (maybe a/b/o) ?? Also, thank you so so much for writing so many amazing fanfics :) every time I read a new chapter from any of your stories, it makes my day <3 

OFC COURSE YOU CAN!!!! And thank you so much for your support and for your donation! AND THANK YOU!! I know this one is long overdue, but I hope you enjoy!

I’m also killing two birds with this one, it’s substituting for Typetober Day 16: back and forth (using change the channel instead)

title: change the channel

pairing: Kenma Kozume/Omega!Reader

rating: T/very slight M

summary:

Kenma taps his phone again, right back at your picture. He stares at you with wide, piercing eyes, leaning across the table and quickly saying, reverent and eager—

“I want to buy your game from you.”

Today, sitting here beside you in your bag, are fully equipped items to try and protect you from the creepy, deranged, rich stranger you’d been about to meet. Today, you were fully expecting to unleash a fury building up inside of you over an injustice you can’t tackle on your own in your society on some poor, unsuspecting alpha—

Here, sitting in front of you, is a self-claimed internet game streamer, who wants to buy your… special edition… game?

“You want…” you say, slowly, making sure you don’t have this wrong, “...my game?”

He nods.

You open your mouth. It closes. You open it again, raise a finger, and then press your lips together, staring at him.

“I’m sorry,” you say finally. “What?”

link to AO3 for easier reading: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27446191

Omegachion has signed on!

The monitor screen flickers to life. 

An empty room appears. A plush, pink cushioned desk chair is in view. Along the cream, soft colored walls are a series of posters that usual garner less attention. A bookshelf is tucked to the side, complete with a set of potted plants hanging in clean pots—clearly loved. Within the stack of books sits shelves stuffed full with what looks to be discs and an assortment of other items.

The website's main frame appears—SecondGlanceStreaming.com. The design is sleek and black—clean and unassuming. A password is prompted, followed by a series of typed keys and then a click.

On the side of the screen a chatroom appears, coupled with a monitored security system in place established by the website. A cherry icon pops to life. Once the chatroom opens, the entire website flickers with light.

Omegalovers has signed on.

Rockyroadncream has signed on.

Omegasarekings has signed on.

Cumqueen324 has signed on.

Mrknottt has signed on.

Msbyjackalboi23 has signed on.

Openwideandsmile has signed on.

Sunnydayandnight has signed on.

Marshmellowtime has signed on.

Thecoolestalpha has signed on.

Bettagetbeta has signed on.

KingKodzuken has signed on.

Kodzu00 has signed on.

The chatrooms explodes with messages. A series of greetings are quickly issued by long-time fans and watchers of the streams, asking how your day was and how you’re feeling. A few more perverse, slimy messages are mixed in-between, demanding for the crude and obscene. A few others snipe back, telling the users to get their hands out of their pants while a series of other users greet each other instead, talking about the excitement over tonight's stream.

You hang back a bit, one arm crossed under your chest, puffed up with the fleecy soft fabric of your jacket while the other hand holds a jelly drink, sipping it in silence. You watch the chatroom explode, quickly gaining more and more users as others signed on to your stream. You check the time on your phone, sighing before you finish off your drink and toss it into the trash can.

You place the fuzzy bunny mask over your eyes, checking how you look in the mirror. You swipe your mouth with your thumb, applying your lip gloss and then smiling cutely at your reflection.

“Alright,” you say. “The goal tonight is 7,000 cherries… you got this!”

You clap your hands over your face and beam. Showtime.

You slide into the monitor’s view, the webcam flickering to life. The chat comes back with more force, messages spamming into the box and a series of cherries already floating into the screen. You beam, laughing as you wave to your viewers and blow them all kisses. “Hello! Hello everyone! I love to see so many of you are so punctual… Needy omegas like me… we love reliable people, you know?”

You hold back a snicker as the chat increases with your words. People shooting messages back at you as you let out a cute giggle. Tonight’s outfit is nothing but a cotton candy pink fleece zip-up that falls to the top of your thighs, also exposing your bare, smooth collarbones. It’s a special occasion, so you’re going the extra mile.

“How are we all doing tonight?” you ask sweetly, holding your chin up with your hands as you watch the chatroom, skimming over the responses. “Aw, Bettagetbeta, I’m sorry to hear that! I hope things get better for you… do you need a hug?”

Cherry icons pop up over your screen. 50. 30. 10. You smile, opening your arms to the camera. “There! I’ll make all your problems go away, okay?”

You bat your eyes under the mask, showing them your bare wrists and giving them a little rub with your thumbs. “You can scent me if you’d like… would that make you feel better?”

Bettagetbeta has gifted you 30 cherries!

Bigboialpha has gifted you 350 cherries!

“Bigboialpha!” you squeak, covering your mouth with your hands. “That’s too sweet of you! Did you want to scent me that badly?”

Your chatroom shakes from the force of scrambled messages. You smile, shyly running a finger up and down the slightly swollen scent glands of your wrist. You’ve timed this just right—and just as you thought, your viewers notice too, instantly spamming the boxes with more fervent messages, begging to scent you, begging to be with you, wrap you up in their smells—

(God, you make me want to vomit.)

“If you’re extra good,” you say sweetly, “you could… maybe even…”

You tease show off more of your bare shoulder, showing a pink bra strap. You slightly expose the side of your neck, bringing your fingers up dangerously close to your most sensitive scent glands. Cherry icons flash across the screen and you hold back an excited grin, feet tapping anxiously underneath your desk.

There’s a new flurry of disgusting messages, of big, handsome alphas promising to do all kinds of things to you if you’d let them. You roll your eyes under your mask, holding back curling your lip in disgust as they prattle on about how they’d take care of you, make you feel so, so good and—

“All right, all right, that’s enough teasing, right?” you say. “Everyone, thank you so much for signing on again tonight! If you’re new to my streams, welcome! We’re so happy to have you. I’m lucky to have you. It’s a special night tonight, you know why?”

Gonna come for us on screen?

Face reveal! Face reveal!

Omegachion i would do anything for u

Pls let me touch u

Take off ur jacket

Stfu and let her talk u horn dogs

Fking disgusting dont ruin the stream

Open ur legs, baby girl

“Because!” you say, throwing your arms into the air. You spin once in your chair, showing off the room and stopping right in front of the screen again. “I just got it in the mail today…”

You bring up the sleek red box that’d been waiting to the side of your desk. You beam, showing it off to your viewers. “Tadah! Do you know what this is? It’s a gift from our generous website hosts—a gift for reaching the Gold Status on streaming! Everyone, thank you so much! I couldn’t have done this without you!”

The chatroom pops with congratulations. There’s some demanding comments, ordering for a consolation prize. You skim through them all, smiling a bit at the paragraphs of kind words and thanks. They’re the viewers you wish you could treat with a little more care, give them something a little more for all they do.

“Want to see what the gift was?” you ask. You pop open the lid and show off the gift—a dark red, leather collar coupled with a golden dog tag. It’s a stylish thing, slim fitted and clearly of great quality, there’s a thickened edge to the leather, coupled with a lock and key.

It’s an omega collar.

You smile through your teeth. The stench of the perfume from the box makes you want to wretch, but you hold it for the camera as your viewers beg you to put it on. “Oh, I don’t know… should I?”

You play with it, showing it off to them against the column of your neck. They’re feverish and desperate. 

“I don’t deserve something this nice,” you say, shaking your head.

Tease

Don’t cover up that beautiful neck

Dont blueball us

I only want to see u in my collar

“That’s right,” you say innocently. “I don’t want to cover up what belongs to you guys…” you show off your neck to them again, touching with your fingertips your own bonding gland, unmarked and bare. The chatroom is almost unrecognizable, going off into a feeding frenzy.

You turn back to the screen, smiling.

(You’re like babies.)

You drop the box out of view of the camera into your trashcan, kicking it under the table with more force than necessary. You ought to burn the fucking thing but leather probably doesn’t burn well. 

I can’t believe I’m already at 4,000 cherries. You feel excitement replace the disgust, toes curling against your hardwood floor. You got this, amp it up a little bit.

“Since I couldn’t have made it this far without all of you,” you say, touching a hand to your chest and playing with your zipper. “I wanted to do something special—not just this stream! But a nice little event, how does that sound?”

You click your mouse, opening up a new box and icon for your viewers. “Can everyone see the royalty program alright? Yeah? Perfect! If you look, you’ll see the cute little banner we had set up and everything.”

You hold up your phone, smiling beside it. “For these set prices, I’ll be doing a series of special events, just for all of you guys for all the support you’ve given me!”

You point.

“50 cherries and you get a sweet text with a picture from me,” you say. “Each picture will be different, and none of them alike! Keep it between us though, okay? Hehe, I mean it! For 100 cherries, I’ll do a one minute call and for 300 cherries, a three minute call, just with you! For 500, we’ll do a private web-chat session and finally, the big one…”

You smile, “For 1,500 cherries, I’ll be doing a special, in-person meet and greet! How does that sound?”

The reactions are instantaneous.

Cherries already start popping up all over your screen, users filling out the roles and eagerly thanking you for everything while others spit at the prices. You ignore those comments, secretly marking certain users to be blocked. You know the last one is outrageous, how could it not be? Did they think you’d want to meet with any of them? You’d discussed this with several other streamers and they’d all done similar things—this deterred creeps and kept you safe. Usually no one ended up doing the meet and greet. It was too expensive. 

It was foolproof.

I can’t wait to hear your voice

Will it be nudes

I want nudes

Thank you so much for doing this!

“I should be the one thanking you guys!” you squeal. Your eyes dart to the corner of your screen, watching the cherries roll in. Your heartbeat accelerates and you do the quick math in your head. “Oh my goodness! Sitwhereveryoulike, thank you so much for the Cherries! And you too, theprettiestalpha! Thank you!”

As it should be. You grin at the screen, prattling on with sweet words and thanks. You teasingly unzip a little more of your jacket, greedily watching the cherries pop-up all over the screen, trying to make conversation where you can and—

A single chat bubble pops up in the corner. You almost miss the question, but you’re almost certain your eyes don’t betray you. If you hadn’t seen the title so many times, you would’ve blown right past it.

(But you’re a true fan, down to your core, you could never miss a mention of—)

Is your username based on Water Emblem?

“Hello, Kodzu00!” you say quickly, trying to stifle your surprise. “Yes, it is! You must be new to the streams.”

You gesture behind you, smiling shyly at the poster of Varth on the back of your wall. “I’m actually a bit of a fan! I know the series is old and everyone’s excited for the new reboots, but I grew up with the old one.”

Ah, stop right there, don’t keep talking about it. You’re going to lose viewers! Your fingers fly back to your zipper, teasingly dragging it down another inch. You could talk about Water Emblem for hours, but you can’t—this is a stream after all. “Bigboialpha! I guess we’ll be having that private webchat after all… mhm! I’m looking forward to it—huh? What I’ll be wearing? Well…”

You cutely run your fingers up and down the column of your neck, bringing their attention back to your scent glands. “Would you… pick for me?”

You almost gag at the comment suggestions. You watch more cherries roll in—shit, another 500? I might make my goal after all! No, you would make your goal. You have to. The sooner you rake in the dough from these streams, the sooner you could—

For the meet and greet, would it be in person?

You blink, startled by the question. You quickly glance back to the username. Kudzu00 again? “Uh, yes! Yes, it would be~ I’d pick a nice location for us and we’d meet. Wouldn’t that be nice everyone?”

For how long?

Who even is this lol

Damn big bucks

Show us the tits already

Pls sit on my face

Your outfit is so cute today!

You swallow nervously. Calm down. What are you even freaking out for? No one in their right mind was ever going to drop that much money to meet with some stranger from the internet—no one.

“Fifteen minutes,” you say cheerfully, keeping one eye on the chat. Have I seen this user before? “There’s a lot we could do—ah, I mean talk about in fifteen minutes, right?”

Kodzu00 is typing…

The chat bubble disappears. You eye it for a few more seconds before shrugging your shoulders. Shake it off. You needed to keep this celebration stream going. You slyly bring your bare knees up and watch the chat go a little more wild, quick questions being shot about whether or not you’re wearing anything under that jacket. You keep the conversations going, sweetly asking the users about what they’d like to do, what kind of pictures and if—

A bright icon flashes on your screen. You glance over.

Kodzu00 has gifted you 3,000 cherries!

You freeze.

On your monitor the chat continues to fire off. A few people notice the notification. You blink, once, twice, before taking a second glance at the numbers.

3,000.

3,000 cherries?

3,000….

The calculation is quick in your head. You’re terribly good with money, sadly. The final statement minus the small deduction for processing appears in your mind’s eye and you balk.

HOLY FUCK.

Lol i think u broke her

God damn

Congratulations, Omegachion!

“K-K-Kodzu00!” you say, head spinning. “Thank you so much! Oh—oh my goodness! Thank you so much for your donation!” What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck— “I can’t believe you’d be so generous! Thank you so much! I’m so excited to meet you! Our first meet and greet!”

WHAT THE FUCK?

You quickly try to hold your composure, continuing with the stream. Calm down. Calm down. Calm down. Finish the show! You laugh, trying not to look at the history of the notification and focusing on your show instead. You thank every piece of good sense inside you for using a mask, hiding the sweat rolling down your face as you teasingly stand up for your audience, bending down a bit.

“Now, how about we end the night with a little… cuddle, hmm?” you say shakily, unzipping your jacket the rest of the way to show off the lacy, soft pink color of your bra. The chat bubbles pop up by the dozens, but you never see even a lick of Kodzu00 again. What the hell? “C’mon, you know how badly I wish you were here to scent me… wrap me up in that smell of yours…”

(Give them what they all want.)

What feels like hours finally passes in a span of minutes and you quickly say goodbye to your watchers, blowing them a kiss and zipping your jacket backup as you finally sign off. You sit there, staring at the screen of your loading page, dumbfounded.

Limply, your finger finds its way to your mouse. You give it a click.

The final total for your earnings tonight appears in a tacky, almost shady colored box. You stare at it in silence.

9,750 Cherries.

Nine…. Nine thousand…

Almost 1,000,000 yen? 

“Yes!” you screech, grabbing your head with your hands as you fly up from your chair. You kick the stupid, plush pink thing aside. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

This is insane! You almost want to cry in disbelief. This is—this is it! This is what I needed! I’m so close! I’m so close! You know the other streams won’t rake in nearly as much, but this is the final push you needed—if you kept up this kind of participation for another few months, your fees would be nothing! You’d be able to even afford a little extra and get something nice, replace your bathtub and treat yourself to an expensive dinner and all thanks to this stupid job and—

The grand, generous donation of Kodzu00—

You freeze. Your pure, unrestrained elation plummets. Reality clocks you sideways in the face and you slap yourself for being so dumb—how could I even forget? Your eyes dart back to the screen and you pull up the donation history, staring in dark silence at the simple, blaring donation of cherries, already transferred to your account and not even pending and—

Your joy is quickly replaced with something much more dire. You gape at the amount. The award title beside it appears. You stare.

And stare.

A thirty minute meet and greet.

You’d be meeting in person with this person for at least half and hour and—

What the hell?

You power off your screens, flying to your room and kicking the streaming room door shut behind you. You lunge for your bed, scrambling for your laptop, covered in Water Emblem stickers. You pop it open, quickly pulling up your admin account for the streaming sight and accessing your private passwords. You pull up the user history for all your past streams, typing in the username Kodzu00—

Nothing?

You stare at the blank history. The only entry is tonight’s stream. The very first time this user has ever showed up.

Alarm bells start ringing in your head. You pull up your emergency tab, a self-made list of all your red-flag boxes to check in cases like this for your safety. You click on Kodzu00’s account, searching through their profile.

MADE THIS MORNING? You gape in disbelief, staring at the entirely blank profile. It’s even void of an icon for a profile pic. The account was literally made today, just for this stream, and this god damn stranger just gifted you basically 300,000 yen—

This is insane! All your alarm bells nearly fall off their stands. You search for any kind of information, scrambling and double-checking your banned users lists for any potential matches. Was it some creep trying to meet you from before? A stalker? Were they under a different name and made the separate account just to do this to you so they wouldn’t get caught? What’s their deal?

(What’s your selling point for this whole thing?)

You pause, fingers halting over your keyboard.

You’ve had rich donations before. Users with too much time and money on their hands—users you’re gladly willing to take from in the pursuit of a better life for yourself. Your crowd ranges anyway; from nervous, shy little dorks to kind, quiet people looking for company to disgusting, wretched lechers and stupid alphas who like nothing more than little, docile omegas to rub their garbage scent over—

You stare at Kodzu00’s user profile, feeling something bitter and dark and ugly bubble up in the pits of your stomach.

Any person, male or female, who’d be willing to drop that much money to meet with a streamer like you, notorious for what you do, for what you market—can’t be a good person by any means.

They only want one thing.

You grind your teeth, knowing you’ve got no choice but to reap what you sowed. This was the path to quick cash you chose, so you can’t back down now. You’ll just have to do everything in your power to make sure you remain successful.

You close your laptop screen, ripping your stupid mask off your face and tossing it to the side.

You weren’t backing down.

--- (change the channel) ----

You started streaming in high school.

The middle of your last year, to be exact.

It started off simple enough, to be honest. Nothing eventful, nothing worth writing biographies or harrowing documentaries off of. It was another story amidst the thousands in Tokyo’s Metropolitan streets.

By all legal health records and means, you are an omega.

(What does that mean?)

Within Tokyo’s urban and suburban streets, it means a collection of different ideals and social norms. It means nothing to plenty, it means everything to others—to your youthful eyes growing up, it’d just meant you were a little different from some of your other peers, but not isolated, no, never isolated—there were other omegas, after all, despite the smaller population.

You get along with people fine. You make friends fine, have a few crushes, get average enough grades and have a particular fondness for social media—you just live your life on top of having to deal with certain physiological functions others around you may not experience the same.

You think by all means until your last year of high school, that it really does mean nothing. Society is so modern now, people don’t even blink, right? There’s none of those second gender stereotypes or outrageous cult worships—you’re just another person trying to live their life to the fullest.

“A doctor? Are you sure that’s what you want to do?”

You smiled at your teacher in the faculty office. See? Normal—

You stopped.

“See, that’s a great dream,” the teacher said, pointing to your paper. He tapped it, scratching his rough stubble. “But it’s not very realistic with your current standing, you know?”

“You mean my grades? I can work extra hard. They’ve been more than above passing, and what really matters is the entrance exams and testing—”

“Not just that,” he said. He pulled up your student file. He gave you a second look, up and down, and he seemed to find pity in your hopefully confused expression. “Listen, (L/n), here’s the thing—a doctor… is a pretty important position, you know? Very important.”

You nodded like you didn’t already know that. Like you hadn’t been spending the last years of your educational life aspiring toward that goal, that dream.

“They need to be physically… available,” your teacher said. “They have to work outrageous shift hours, they have to work hard on top of that, and then they have to take special medication to regulate their pheromones if they need to, and then the schooling on top of all that is hard work.”

You waited for your teacher to explain why any of those things was supposed to get in the way of your one and only dream of saving lives.

“I’ll make this easy for you to understand, kid,” you teacher said. He taps his nametag, pointing to his little alpha symbol.

“Omegas just don’t become doctors.”

Your dainty, prettily crafted world of normalcy and mundane content shattered around you in one violent, screeching halt.

You smiled at your teacher, nails digging painfully into your thighs.

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s just not a typical job preference,” your teacher said. “Look, you’re not the only one, I promise. There are a few omega doctors, sure, we need them anyway to make things easier or make sense of stuff alpha based doctors or betas might not understand, but the demand isn’t high and the placement is extremely competitive. Trust me, kid. I know.”

You kind of wanted to spit at your teacher that no, this pot-bellied, alpha gym teacher couldn’t possibly know more than you do about trying to break into the medical industry as an omega. But the thing is—what are the statistics? You hardly see any. Every website you’d researched thus far has always been welcoming, nowhere on their platforms or pamphlets saying anything about omegas being doctors or not and—

You froze.

“Everyone is welcome!” the videos all said. “Everyone is encouraged to try!”

“This is the real truth,” your teacher said. “They’ll all tell you you can do it because they’re not allowed to discriminate or turn anyone away. They’ll let you do whatever you want, but when it really comes down to the acceptances or not? You’ll just get turned away and you’ll have wasted all that time for nothing.

“Omegas aren’t considered suitable candidates for doctors,” your teacher said. “That market tends to go to betas, believe it or not. A nice little mediator.”

Your teacher tossed your career planning forms onto a stack of dozens. You stared at it, smiling continuously with your fingers digging harder into your thighs. He sighed, waving a hand.

“You should shoot for a hospital receptionist,” your teacher said. “It’s the next best thing, right? Or you could teach biology at a school instead. You might even be able to get by as a school nurse—”

“I’m going to apply to medical school.”

Your teacher stopped, looking at you.

You smiled back at him.

(Being an omega was supposed to stop you?)

What a load of shit.

“I don’t really care about anything else,” you said. “I’ve wanted to become a doctor my whole life. If people say I can’t do it because of something they can’t even see, then I’m still going to do it. They can’t stop me.”

Your teacher stared at you for a few minutes. He leaned back in his chair, considering his next words before he finally said—

“You got the money?”

You stopped.

Your family is pitifully lower middle class. Your parents make enough to pay the bills, afford a vacation every now and then, and just get by fair enough without being too stressed—but small issues, like your own medical costs for heat suppressants or a flat tire can easily set your family back several paychecks.

No, you don’t have money for medical school. You’d already known that looking at all the pamphlets. But there were scholarships and stipends and loans—

“If you want to waste your time with this pipe dream, it’s not my job to stop you,” he said, pointing to your career form. “It’s not really ethical either, so don’t come back and file any lawsuits against me. But your medical schools don’t offer many scholarships, and the ones they do aren’t going to go to that one, average ranking omega they’d rather not even have to worry about.”

Your teacher shrugged.

“Go ahead and be a doctor, kid, but you’re going to need money to do it.”

(This is the reality. People are not equal. Being an omega means—)

Means what?

-- ---- (change the channel) ----

You remember laying in your bed that night, scrolling mindlessly through random social media outlets. You’d spent the last several hours searching extensively for any and all scholarships you might even remotely be able to apply for, but none of them seemed willing to help an omega into their waiting hospital wings—your best bet was going to be taking out a loan. Several. That’s on top of cram school costs, textbooks, entrance fees and whether or not I can pass the exam—

No, you would. You had too. You weren’t about to let some stupid, invisible consensus a group of people somewhere or another had decided on stop you.

“Thank you again for the generous donations! You guys are too good to me!”

You’d paused, staring at your bright screen. One of the streamers you followed from time to time—he was an omega, cute and docile and in all honesty, probably the picture perfect cookie cutter definition of one. He always posted great tips on fashion or about cute cafes he enjoyed, and always seemed to be proud of the fact that he was an omega despite how cringingly he played into the stereotypes—

You glanced at his caption, freezing in disbelief.

Designer bags littered his floor. He showed off his pretty watch, batting his lashes at the camera, talking about how the donations from last night’s stream helped him live a good, cushiony life, making him feel like he was being taken care of even without an alpha by his side.

You’d stalked his account almost religiously for the next few weeks, watching his streams, watching the way he… flaunted his nature as an omega. Your parents had always told you you were fine the way you were, but being an omega had never been something to be proud of—you’d just preferred to act like a beta more than anything else. What was the point? To some extent, your teacher was right, there were no benefits to being an omega except—

“Thank you again for all your donations!”

You pulled up your laptop, searching extensively for every little obscure article you could find on the nature of streaming services. You’d never taken social media outlets that seriously, always looked at influencers and vloggers with a grain of salt—you were aspiring to be a full-time heart surgeon after all, but if there was actually something...reasonable behind the way all these people would act, proudly showing off the fact that they were omegas in exchange for something monetary…

(Did people enjoy this?)

Yeah you can make money from it, lol.

You stared at the internet thread, blinking in disbelief.

One user amongst thousands in the thread had responded to your question.

Ppl always keep saying that omegas are this and that. Society likes to paint a pretty picture of what we call equality. Ads and those videos u watch in school and stuff, they all tell u you can be whatever u want to be if u try, but that’s not rlly the truth. The only thing they were honest about was that you’d have to work hard for what you want in life.

You scrolled down.

You have to do the research on ur own and find respectable sites. I can give u recommendations, but u have to kind of get yourself prepared for what you’re signing up for too. Everyone likes to go on television and talk about how all three genders are the same, but we’re not. It’s not even just whether ur female or male anymore, everyone always finds something to pick at, don’t they?

U might get hate for it but whatever, those people who sit on a nicer chair than you and don’t pay your bills don’t get to criticize you for what you want to do and how u do it.

They always tell us we can’t do things because we’re omegas. That we have to be a certain way because we’re omegas and we’re only good for one thing.

So just give them what they want.

And suck them dry.

You remember clearly, that night, pulling up the user’s account and shooting them the message that would change your life.

What sites do you recommend for beginners?

Youcanruletheworld is typing…

----- (change the channel) -----

You triple check all your items, rearranging them on your bed in front of you.

Your outfit is cute, matching your streamer personality but remaining modest enough to keep you protected from unwanted attention. You’ll be wearing a face mask on top of it, just for the extra mile too. You’d already reached out to this Kodzu00 and sent them the notification for where to meet and when, and what you’d look like so they’d be able to find you. Wisely, as always, you picked a neutral location—an extremely popular cafe two hours away from your house just to be safe.

Safety alarm—check. Pepper spray, check. Pheromone repellent, check. Emergency contact button, check. Location synced devices and emergency heat suppressant pills on top of—

You stare at the last item. It comes special with the standard emergency omega safety kit—you almost spit at the name—it’s a quick, easy attachable lock-on collar to protect your bonding glands in the case of an unruly and disgusting attack.

You want to call it ridiculous.

(Behind your eyes you see the comments scrolling over the glowing screen. You see the leering words and the lecherous promises and the disgusting sentences that rattle your brain and make you stand a minute longer in the shower, fingernails digging into your skin—)

You don’t say anything, zipping the bag closed and taking all your items with you.

---- (change the channel) -----

Thirty minutes, it’s just thirty minutes, you can do this. You aggressively slurp on your straw, furiously dogging the cafe patrons with your eyes, keeping them narrowed and peeled for anyone who ought to fit the bill over what you were expecting to meet today. Thirty minutes.

The black iced coffee with an added two shots isn’t doing anything to calm your nerves, but it’s doing everything you need to keep yourself pumped and ready to go at a moment’s notice. The cafe is busy, just as always, with people swarming left and right, in and out—this creep won’t be able to do any of their normal creep tendencies in a place like this.

You bite your straw, tapping your feet under the table.

Alright, Kodzu00, do your worst. I’m leaving here after the thirty and I’m taking the cash with me—

“Excuse me,” you stop, mouth hovering and open over your near chewed through straw, “are you… uh… Omegachion?”

Hearing your streamer username in real life makes you both want to gag and sigh in happiness. The username was arguably the only way for you to feel remotely sane logging into the streaming service every time for your scheduled program because Water Emblem got you through anything, including all the cram sessions to get into medical school.

Your eyes swing rapidly to your right, moving your head so fast you take your straw with you. 

Ice coffee drips onto the table.

The young man standing in front of you is… is, truthfully, not what you expected. Okay, sure, weirdos on the internet come in all shapes and sizes, but to your own bias, you’ve crafted a bit of a face for the specific types of users who flood your streams. He narrowly passes even an inch of those ideas, with the slightly messy hair, the baggy clothes that look like all he does is stay in front of his computer all day and the dark lines under his eyes, but other than that—

He’s a lean young man, from what you can barely tell, underneath the baggy black sweatshirts and the sleek black joggers, lined in white with a logo you don’t recognize. There’s a dark cap on top of his head as well, and he’s sporting a simple black face mask, just like you—the most color the damn guy has is the bleached blonde tips still growing out past his roots, spilling a bit past his shoulders while the rest is gathered back into a bun.

In an instant you quickly size him up—the guy’s probably only a few inches taller than you and he can’t be that much older or younger, somewhere probably around your age.

You pluck out your straw. He squints faintly at you, holding his phone, glancing back at his screen and then back to you and shifting, albeit uncertainly. He looks like he’d rather be anywhere else but here right now.

“You’re,” you start, “uh, you’re Kodzu00?”

“Yes,” he says. “That’s… me.”

You stare.

He stares right back.

(His golden eyes are almost like slits, you realize, a bit stunned, they drip gold and heather.)

He has pretty eyes.

“It’s,” he says, awkward, not sounding friendly at all, “...nice to meet you…”

And then reality comes back, this time with a spinning roundhouse right to your face.

This is the guy who just dropped money to come and meet you here today.

This guy.

You stare at him in disbelief.

Kodzu00 stands there in front of you, looking as though he wished he could melt right through the floor and disappear. He slowly starts to make his way into the chair opposite of you, pulling it out and taking a seat, setting his phone down beside him like it’s a lifeline and—

Your eyes bulge at the sight of his watch. You know how much that watch costs.

Your alarm bells start firing off again. For a brief moment, unease colors your scent, lightly flooding the area until you instantly reel it back in. Kodzu00 glances up at you for a second but you keep your face calm and friendly, quickly slipping back into your streamer personality, your best mask and first line of defense against whatever the hell this weirdo wants with you and time is ticking—

Before you can even utter a single word, Kodzu00 pulls down his mask.

(He’s… well, he’s not bad looking either, in a… weird kind of way.)

“Look, I need to clear the air first and get this on the table,” he says it a bit quickly, despite the low, almost uncaring inclination to his tone. You blink at him. The tips of his ears are staining pink beneath the fading streaks of blonde and he continues, “I’m not here for your streams.”

You blink.

You stare at him, dumbfounded and hopelessly confused.

“I’ve never even seen them before until last night,” he says just as quickly, looking embarrassed to even utter those words. “Let’s get that straight, okay? So I’m not… here for… that.”

That.

“That?” you say like a robot.

He looks more and more uncomfortable, but he presses on, whispering quickly over the table, “Yeah. I’m not here for… that. So… you can… uh… just be normal, I guess.”

You stare at Kodzu00, the man who’s just payed off nearly the last of your student loans in debt, who’s only here in front of you today because he got in touch with you through one of those very streams which very much markets that, which is meant to appeal to all the what-nots who just want to see an omega bat her eyelashes and act like an omega, to feel comforted or have their egos stroked and—

“I don’t watch any streams like that,” he adds for good measure. “I don’t. One of my viewers reached out to me because… well… because they watched your streams and noticed something and mentioned it to me, so I wanted to check it out myself.”

Oh my god. You sit there in the middle of the bustling cafe. Am I about to die? This is it, isn’t it. Kodzu00 is actually some kind of crazy internet stalker or person and you’re about to get stabbed right across the cafe table and this will be the end, you’ll never even get to save anyone’s life or help anyone and their bad hearts or do anything beyond your stupid streams and that’s all you’ll be remembered for.

“Kodzu00 is just a name I made for that night,” he says quickly. “Online I run a gaming channel under the user Kodzuken—you can just call me Kenma though. Kenma Kozume.”

“Uh,” you say. “Kucina. You can call me Kucina.” You are not giving your real name out to this stranger who can potentially threaten your entire standing in your medical career and out you for the unethical nature of how you’ve been procuring money to pay your school fees—

Kenma briefly pauses, eyes flickering up to you. He looks a bit pleased with your choice of alias but quickly glances back to his phone. You feel, strangely, a little… a little happy too.

Wait, wait, wait. No, this guy is a weirdo and don’t forget that he’s a complete stranger online claiming to be a game streamer and—

“The only reason I’m here today is for this,” he says, pulling out his phone. You instantly grow wary, inching back a bit from the table. There’s a bit of excitement finally creeping into his otherwise mundane voice, and it’s giving you the spooks. Kenma taps, quickly navigating his screen before he pulls up one blurred, pixelated image and turns his screen to show it to you.

“Why is this a screenshot of my room?” you say roughly, narrowing your eyes at him. You point to the screen shot of your streaming room and your face caught mid-speech, making you look dumb. “What are you trying to—”

“It’s not that,” he says, sounding a bit stressed out by this whole ordeal. He looks visibly uncomfortable with the image of you, only in your bright pink bra and you raise an eyebrow at him, suspicious as he zooms in and quickly moves the screen to—

“This,” he says, fervent, almost reverent actually, “is what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Carefully, still suspicious, you lean over the table and look closer at his phone screen. You follow his finger, quickly recognizing your bookshelf, your posters, and then right beside Kenma’s fingertip is—

You blink.

You know exactly what he’s pointing to.

You also know exactly what it looks like in perfect detail despite the blurry picture. It’s a large box, big enough to hold against your chest, sleek white and blue, with silver lettering line in a kind of glowing, aqua teal—the cover art for the product had been top of the line, complete with an engraved metal clasp that opened up to reveal an entire, glossy artbook, coupled with a cd of the game’s soundtrack and also—

“Water Emblem’s Special Anniversary Edition?”

“Yes!” he almost shouts. You jump. Kenma quickly gestures to his screen, to your room and your game and points at it with fervor. His eyes are actually shiny, you stare at him, a little in awe. “Do you know what this is?”

“Of course I do!” you say, offended. “I own the game. It’s Water Emblem: Light Dragon! Personally my favorite game in the entire franchise and the game that really got the series into the world market—it’s part of what started its entire cult following. This is the special edition that came out years ago, wow, I can’t believe it’s been so long! I remember waiting in line for it and—”

“That’s exactly it!” Kenma says, throwing his hands up into hair, grabbing it beneath his cap. You blink at him, getting a little excited. “This game—this particular edition re-launched for one night of sales only in the creator’s hometown and here in Tokyo! It came with a companion edition and most people were only able to get one or the other because it was sold on opposite ends of Japan!”

“Yeah!” you say. “I know! I stayed with relatives in the summer and timed it out so I could grab it! They only sold so little copies… that was the best night of my life, I couldn’t believe it, even though the game didn’t seem to do that well at first until later…”

“Because no one respected the greatness of the game back then,” Kenma says bitterly. You nod. “Now everyone knows but the rest of the editions have all either been trashed or are kept by collectors somewhere else, I’ve been searching for years for a copy that was at least still playable, even without the extra goods—”

“But the goods are the best part!” you shout in disbelief. Kenma looks at you like your crazy. “The art book, the soundtrack, the interview with the creator—they all play their part in bringing the game to life!”

“This is what I wanted to discuss with you,” Kenma says seriously, lacing his fingers nervously together and staring you down across the table. You suddenly feel uneasy, unnerved by the piercing, golden gaze.

“You own what might very well be one of the last, in-tact, best kept qualities of this edition in Japan,” Kenma says. “When this edition and its counterpart launched, the second issue, the black one—it came with a playable DLC code that can only be activated when you have its partner code and it unlocks an entirely new, almost never played secret storyline that’s supposed to reveal another part of the story—”

“I heard about that,” you say in disbelief. “But I thought it was just an online rumour because no one ever proved it or could figure out the code…”

“Because no one could figure it out,” Kenma says, getting the loudest you’ve heard him since. You stare at him with wide, round eyes. “But recently because of the work I’ve been doing, I was able to meet with the creator—”

“YOU MET WITH THE CREATOR OF—”

Kenma furiously motions for you to shush. You clasp your hands over your mouth, watching him with round, adoring eyes, sparkling in disbelief. This guy right here in front of you got to meet your hero—the envy and awe collide altogether, rumbling up and—

(Your heart starts to do something a little funny in your chest.)

Who even is this guy?

“He gave me a hint and I was able to find the code in the other edition,” Kenma says, quickly pushing his phone to you to show a picture and you blink, eyes shiny. “Which I currently own because I was able to secure one when it came out in Tokyo. But your edition is the last part I need to unlock the unplayable path.”

This guy… you lean back in your chair, unable to stop the excited tap of your feet. This guy—he loves Water Emblem. He’s crazy for it! I don’t know anyone except people online who like it this much and he’s…

“That’s why,” Kenma coughs suddenly, becoming smaller in his seat. You stare at him with a raised brow. “I needed… to get in touch… with you.”

You blink, remembering the whole reason the two of you were even meeting in the first place.

Your cheeks grow hot, bright red in a flash of rare embarrassment. Kenma’s ears are just as red, but he pretends it’s not even happening, continuing on.

“Why didn’t you just… message me,” you squeak out, feeling more and more mortified that this man has literally paid you thousands just to be here and… it’s not even… a scam. It’s about your favorite thing ever. Water Emblem! “Instead of… my streams…”

“That was the only way I knew how to contact you,” Kenma says, looking a bit defensive. “I told you, I’ve never seen your streams before. One of my viewers told me and you keep everything private, so this felt like my only chance.”

You open your mouth, feeling more and more uncomfortable but Kenma sweeps in, “Keep the money. It… works out better this way anyway.”

You stare at him in confusion.

Kenma taps his phone again, right back at your picture. He stares at you with wide, piercing eyes, leaning across the table and quickly saying, reverent and eager—

“I want to buy your game from you.”

Today, sitting here beside you in your bag, are fully equipped items to try and protect you from the creepy, deranged, rich stranger you’d been about to meet. Today, you were fully expecting to unleash a fury building up inside of you over an injustice you can’t tackle on your own in your society on some poor, unsuspecting alpha—

Here, sitting in front of you, is a self-claimed internet game streamer, who wants to buy your… special edition… game?

“You want…” you say, slowly, making sure you don’t have this wrong, “...my game?”

He nods.

You open your mouth. It closes. You open it again, raise a finger, and then press your lips together, staring at him.

“I’m sorry,” you say finally. “What?”

“This might be my only chance ever to play the game,” Kenma continues, pulling up another tab and clicking away at his phone. He tucks a strand of blonde behind his ear and the action is almost endearing to you until the reality of his words slowly starts to creep into the forefront. “I’ve never found another edition like yours, and it seems like it’s in perfect condition too. I’d be willing to buy it at complete full, current market price—”

“Market price?” you say in disbelief. “How much is my game going for?”

Kenma looks at you in blatant disbelief. You raise a critical brow at him.

Wordlessly he turns his phone back over to you and you glance down—

You almost fall out of your chair. Kenma doesn’t look impressed, hunkering back down and taking his phone as you spin, head swirling at the numbers and figures, math flying around in your head at the sudden realization that all that money could literally be yours, that the game you love so much is worth that much, that all that money, all that money you’ve been trying so desperately to scrape for could just—just fall into your lap—

You could pay off all your loans with that kind of money. You could… you could stop streaming with that kind of money, finally wash your hands of it and get back on track and hardly have to worry as you work toward the job of your dreams and… 

“I want to buy your game.”

Your heart quiets. The fancy dreams stop. You sit there in the chair, head buzzing with the reality of what he’s asking of you.

He wants to buy your game.

Your game.

And you think then, about a moment far away from this one. About a time when the books and papers crowding around you made you feel like drowning, about lonely summers and arguments bouncing off the rooms around you, and a time where there was nothing else but that loading screen and that game to take you away from all of it…

(The game that you’ve kept all these years, loved all these years, because it…)

“I’d be willing to pay whatever works best for you,” Kenma continues, the excitement is low in his quiet voice and his eyes sparkle as he shows you his phone. “I can even pay upfront in cash, have a fund drawn up or—”

“I’m really sorry.”

It’s the first time in a long time you’ve ever felt the need to apologize to anyone. Not when the whole world has been treating you like the sorry sack for so long.

Kenma glances up. His expression is calm, unreadable, but you get the feeling he can see right through you so you stare at the tabletop instead.

“I don’t know…” you start. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to sell that game to you.”

(He doesn’t seem like a bad guy.)

Anyone that talks about Water Emblem with as much love in his voice as he does can’t be, not at all by your books. His methods of getting to you here today might’ve been outrageous and roundabout, but you’re not really doing things the normal way either, so who are you to judge?

But that game…

You risk a glance up. You stop, staring in surprise when Kenma doesn’t look the slightest bit outraged or tense or anything. He looks just a bit disappointed, but the only thing you really see is understanding and something like a bit of grudging envy, a warmth in his gaze you don’t think is particularly meant for you but still comes through regardless.

“I was,” Kenma admits, a bit quiet. “Worried that would be the case.”

“Do you want,” you start quickly. Kenma looks at you. “Do you want to, uh, see it, at least? Take a look… see if it’s even in the condition you want?”

(You just… you can’t sell it, but you don’t want this conversation to end. It’s been so long since you’ve talked with anyone about this game, it’s felt so long since you talked to anyone in general and…)

Maybe, just maybe.

(You feel a little desperate.)

“Uh,” Kenma says, awkward. “Is that… fine?”

“Well, sure!” you say, hoping you don’t sound too eager. “Of course it isn’t a problem! I mean, I know we just met, but you seem pretty legit and I can just check you out later—plus, I’m perfectly capable of handling myself, even against an—”

You stop, sniffing the air. Kenma doesn’t look bothered, but he rubs the back of his neck.

And you realize, suddenly, you haven’t smelled a single damn thing because Kenma Kozume is—

A beta.

(Oh.)

---- (change the channel) ----

The entire way back to your apartment, Kodzu00, or as you now know him, Kenma Kozume, complains.

He does it quietly, but he still complains.

“We could just take a taxi,” Kenma says, quiet and unhappy when you start making your way toward the train station. “I can pay for it…”

“It’s easy to remember an address but tough to remember a bunch of stations and stops,” you say, ignoring his offer. Kenma follows, unhappy but he still follows. It’s kind of cute.

He walks with a bit of a hunch, you notice. Like he’s doing everything he can to remain out of everyone’s vision, but he watches, careful and observant because he avoids people before they have the chance to bump into him, glancing this way and that and picking things out with particular ease.

Kenma doesn’t look very confident, but he’s comfortable. You stand there beside him on the train, calmly holding onto the railing while he taps away at his phone beside you, sighing every now and then. He’s different, you realize, very different, from what you’ve become accustomed to when it comes to the kinds of people you let surround you for the sake of money.

You almost want to say it’s because he’s a beta, but you feel that’s a disservice in all its entirety. Maybe Kenma will turn out to be a snob of some kind. The guy’s strangely loaded.

You sneak searches on your phone, paling at the articles about him that come up, about stocks and investments and companies and you realize in seconds, this guy is completely and utterly the real deal.

But despite everything, Kenma still does as you ask. He lets you lead as you navigate the string of trains to get back home, doesn’t ask any questions, only comments on the occasional thing, and the entire affair is two hours, but he doesn’t even blink.

Either he really, really wants this game, you think, or he’s just weird.

Quiet, weird, but fairly quaint, and you’re a little alarmed by how much you… like that.

(You’re a weird guy.)

A rude, burly man makes a pass at you on the last train home, breathing down your neck and letting his greasy fingers try to slide against yours on the same railing handle. Kenma makes a face, eyes narrowed into slits in disgust and he quickly looks at you, blinking at your unbothered, nonchalant expression.

His scent wafts over you, thick and uninviting. Alpha. You rub your nose, inhaling your own familiar scent. Kenma looks more and more uncomfortable, shifting from foot to foot, starting to lean your way and scanning for open seats when you calmly turn to the man directly behind you, meeting him dead in the eye.

“Get,” you say calmly, digging your fingernails into his skin, threatening to draw blood—the man stiffens, he pales, surprised, startled by your confrontation— “The fuck away from me before I scream.”

He scurries back, shouldering past people in seconds. A few people shoot him disgusted looks, glancing your way in pity—but you ignore all of them too. They didn’t care seconds ago when they knew what he was doing, if you hadn’t done anything, they wouldn’t have either.

That’s just how it goes.

“Sorry,” you say, even though you probably shouldn’t. You look at Kenma, lips curling a bit. “I was expecting to meet a guy like that today instead of you. I think all that pent up anger and anxiety needed to go somewhere.”

Kenma opens his mouth, closes it, stays quiet for what feels like minutes and then he starts up again.

“You don’t really act the same way you do on your streams, do you?”

“Of course not,” you say. “If I acted like that in real life—no offense to anyone who does though—I’d probably lose my shit.”

Kenma sniffs. He doesn’t say anything after that, and you quaintly let your shoulder brush against his ever other jostle of the train.

(It’s been awhile since you’ve been around anyone. It feels nice.)

---- (change the channel) -----

Kenma balks for a bit at the front door of your apartment, but you quickly usher him inside, kicking your shoes off into the entryway and flying inside. He toes off his own shoes, eyes scanning briefly around the entryway, around your home—it’s neat, he realizes, even if he wasn’t sure what to expect. You keep it clean enough, but there’s bits and pieces where your life slips through, making it feel lived in. You keep plants in the corner, healthy and well but you’ve got a few dishes still sitting in the sink.

He guesses he wasn’t really sure what he was expecting to begin with. 

Kenma pauses for a second, rubbing his nose. He looks uncomfortable, eyes flickering around your apartment and back to you, but you’re already steps ahead of him, too excited to pass a chance like this up.

“It’s in my streaming room,” you say, “come on.”

Kenma follows warily behind you.

You almost kick the door to your room open in your haste, unable to stop the ecstatic beating of your heart as you scramble toward the back. Kenma pauses a minute, sniffing the air again. He glances behind him, back toward where your bedroom is left ajar and then to your streaming room. He looks a bit thoughtful for a moment, but quietly keeps it to himself, slipping inside and lightly closing the door politely after him.

(He’s not one to snoop, but he’s here, it’s not like he can’t look.)

Kenma tries very, very carefully not to consider the fact that he had seen you on that screen only a few nights before, and tries even harder not to remember what you’d been doing and how you’d look. He hyper focuses instead on the stand-out merch that becomes very, very clear to him.

He’s almost amazed your users haven’t said anything more about this—maybe it’s because of your camera angle.

Poster after poster of Water Emblem decorates the entire side of your wall. Kenma finds himself instantly drifting up to it, spotting your shelf in record time. He scans the collection of game titles, eyes growing brighter and brighter as he ghosts a finger over the well-kept discs and the old games…

“You play a lot,” Kenma says, quiet, glancing your way.

“I used to be a bit of a shut-in because I had to study,” you say, squatting down beside your other shelf and moving a few books aside. He finds himself watching the way you tuck your hair behind your ear and smile. “They were great breaks for me and helped keep me company. I’m not as social as people think, so it’s nice.”

Kenma considers your words. He looks at you, trying to reconcile the image he’d had of you from your stream with what he’d been witnessing all day today—how different it all was.

(If he’s honest, he’d been expecting to deal with someone different.)

“Do you do PC games too?” he asks. What are you doing?

“I’m not as familiar with them compared to console games,” you admit. “After exams I might try though. Got any to recommend?”

Kenma does. Plenty. He could go on but he doesn’t even know where to start, turning from your games to try to look at you again and think about how strange this entire meeting is, how different from what he’d been expecting. It reminds him of his meeting with Hinata, sudden and vibrant and impossible to categorize, left—

Pleasantly surprised.

“What happened to your chair?”

“What, the pink one?” you glance over your shoulder, noticing where Kenma’s looking toward your streaming station. “I shove it into the closet when I’m not using it. Sometimes the color hurts my eyes.”

Kenma looks at you like you’re crazy.

“...You keep two chairs?”

“Well, the chair’s mostly for looks anyway,” you say. “Some people like that kind of simple stuff. It’s a nice contrast, you know? Sweet and spicy, I guess? My boss said something like that. My ratings are good so I don’t complain.”

Kenma considers your words. He looks at your station, almost engulfed with stacks and stacks of what he can easily recognize as textbooks. Biology, medical tech, chemistry—all of it nearly crushing the fuzzy bunny mask you’d been wearing on the stream.

Kenma takes it all into his head and he looks again at your small back.

“...Do you even like your job?”

“It’s not my job,” you say. “My job is studying and working at the athletics complex to try to help figure out ways to help people stay in shape, take care of themselves and be better. This is just… part-time.”

You pause, staring at your shelves. It feels weird to be saying this outloud, but it’s nice too. It’s refreshing. You think you can take advantage of it anyway, what if you never even meet this guy again? You hardly know him, he probably doesn’t care.

“And I guess,” you say, a bit quieter. “Sometimes it’s kind of rewarding… sometimes people are nice, you know?”

Kenma says nothing, watching your back. You rub your neck and then finally beam, pulling free the reason for all of this.

You cradle the box in your hands. It’s weighty. You run your fingers over it and stand up, turning proudly to Kenma, beaming from ear to ear and—

You almost jump back in surprise, near squeaking. Your ears almost flash red in embarrassment at how close Kenma is all of a sudden, sneaking up right behind you with shiny, adoring eyes as he stares at the box in your hands, looking at it in awe and disbelief.

“Can I see it?” he asks reverently.

Your heart swells in happiness and you eagerly nod, handing it over to him.

Kenma receives the gift with care. He runs his fingers over it, carefully, as though afraid to even leave a single print behind before he pops the metal engraved latch and opens it up.

You and Kenma sigh together in unison, swooning at the sight.

“It’s amazing,” Kenma says.

“I know.”

“I can’t believe I’m seeing it in person.”

“I know!”

“You took great care of it.”

“I—” you flush at the praise, wilting a bit. “I-uh, thanks…”

“Can I see you play it?” Kenma says suddenly, looking almost desperate. You freeze. He looks up at you, expression completely different from his near lifeless one. His face is vibrant and full of excitement, thrumming just under the surface of his nonchalance. “The loading screen even? I—I have to see what it looks like logged in and—”

“I...actually can’t,” you say quietly, embarrassed. Kenma looks confused.

“I… I sold the console for it,” you say, feeling more and more guilty to finally have to admit one of your biggest regrets. Kenma pauses, expression quieting as he looks at you. You stare at the floor, trying not to look at the computer and web camera sitting in the corner. “I needed to buy some stuff… so I had to sell it in. I still kept a lot of the games, thinking I’d buy another one when I got the chance…”

You ruffle the back of your head, trying to quell the stifling scent of embarrassment that tries to escape you. You rub your wrists. Kenma’s eyes are briefly drawn to the action before he looks at you, still holding your game. You bow your head a little. “Um, if you want though, you can take it to your place and see—it absolutely will still work. I can just, take something to make sure you don’t run off or I can just—”

“Do you want to come over and use mine?”

You pause, looking at Kenma, dumbfounded.

Kenma stares right back at you. You can’t read a single inch of his face.

“We can use my place,” Kenma says, calm, unbothered. Your eyes grow round. “I really… really want to see the game in action… it’ll probably be more fun to see you play it anyway first.”

“Is that,” you start, uncharacteristically shy. “...okay?”

Kenma wordlessly nods.

(Your heart does something a little funny. You just write it off as an exaggeration. You’re such a sad sack.)

“Um!” Kenma looks up. You flush, hating how embarrassed you feel, hating how much of your bravado is missing, but you almost stutter out, “I-It’s (L/n) by the way… (L/n) (Y/n)...”

“... okay,” Kenma says. “It’s nice to meet you, (L/n).”

--- (change the chanel) ---

“You know, Kenma,” Kuroo said once, leaning back on the train ride home as Kenma tapped away at the buttons on his console. “For all you say and stuff, you’re pretty good at putting all the pieces together, aren’t you?”

--- (change the chanel) ---

One month.

Non-stop, several days a week, for hours on end—that’s how long the two of you play the game together.

You nearly miss streams, spend hours at Kenma’s house, laughing when you come to find him half-asleep in his sheets, barely rolling out to come greet you and instead just buzzing you in. You think it’s insane—how quickly this… this thing builds. You think you ought to be dreaming, but you don’t really want it to end.

(You’ve gone too long without anyone to laugh like this with.)

 You pull late-nighters that are terrible for your complexion, eat take-out like you’re cramming for exams all over again, laughing while Kenma quietly watches and scrolling through Water Emblem merchandise and fan bases and—

You spend time with him. With Kenma. You spend hours and days and what feels like endless forever and fun. It’s so sickeningly amazing you almost don’t believe it’s real. Sometimes you two argue, getting into heated spats over calls on how to move your characters, critiquing each other’s moves and then laughing when the other fails, sometimes it’s outright cheers from you while Kenma nods in satisfaction when you clear another mission and proceed forward and—

You haven’t even been alive that long, but compared to everything else, it almost feels like the best moment of your life.

“I did an entire episode on why moving this character is better than the rest,” Kenma mutters one day beside you. “I’m telling you, we need to deploy them. They’re wasted as an adjutant.”

You pause beside Kenma, blinking at his massive screen. You stare at your hands, and then you look at Kenma, blinking again in realization.

And in all this sudden time you’ve spent with him, you realize you’ve never seen one of his streams.

--- (change the chanel) ---

“Uh, hey everyone, thanks for stopping by again.”

You snort. Kenma doesn’t look the slightest bit at ease, his small face-view camera appearing in the corner of your screen as the old stream starts. It’s only of his earliest ones, the one where he replayed Water Emblem for his channel.

“I like this game a lot… it’s the one I always wanted to do a stream for… so I hope you enjoy it too.”

Is that it, dude? You laugh, shaking your head and kicking your legs out as Kenma gets the loading screen started and adjusts his chair. His camera shakes a bit and everything about the video attests to its age and its novelty. It makes you smile. He must’ve come a long way from these videos to the freaking multi-millionaire he was now.

(He worked hard.)

At first the show starts off rather quiet, maybe a bit awkward. Kenma hardly talks, quietly playing through the beginning sequences of the game and only commenting once or twice on the music or graphics. It’s kind of nice, peaceful, just watching someone go through the familiar motions until the real first part of the game starts and then—

“I never get tired of this part.”

You pause at his voice, glancing to the corner of the screen. Kenma’s eyes glow. He smiles, low, small and quiet, and he leans so far forward, almost out of his seat as he starts to play, quietly talking, describing the things he’s doing, the parts of the game he’s in love with and—

You roll over onto your side, watching the stream. Everytime Kenma mutters something under his breath you laugh, when he flubs you grimace, when he succeeds—you cheer, kicking your heels into the air. It’s really like playing the game all over again—even if the comments say he hardly shows any emotion, you can see it.

Kenma Kozume loves this game.

He loves what he does.

The thought makes you pause, staring quietly at the screen.

The dark corner of your room looks a little bigger. The quietness is a little louder. You lay there in your bed, watching Kenma thank everyone for watching with a sigh, giving the game a second glance, like he’s thinking of playing more even though he said he’d stop and—

Your alarm nearly startles you out of bed. You quickly glance over, shooting up in realization.

“My stream,” you murmur, dropping your phone and hurrying to your video room. “Gotta do… my stream…”

Your eyes glance back to your phone. You stare at the dark screen.

“Do you even like what you do?”

You shake your head, closing the door behind you.

--- (change the chanel) ---

“Thanks again everyone for coming! Your favorite omega is going to be lonely without you~”

The screen clicks, turning off.

You sit there in your plush, bright pink chair. Your open jacket hangs on either side of you, revealing your bikini for the beach theme you were going with today. The video room is near silent, save for the soft, quiet hum of your computer running while your monitor blinks, turning to a save screen.

Your game sits in your lap, carefully cradled by your hands. Off to the side is a thorough stack of medical textbooks you still owe money on. You were planning on studying for your test tomorrow after the stream tonight.

You run your fingers over the amazing edges of the collector’s box. You thumb every part of it, retracing the familiar memories, even the small little dent in the corner when you dropped it the first night you got it and almost cried.

You hold it there in your hands. It feels so, so warm, even though you think that shouldn’t really be possible.

There, in the darkness of your video room you sit. Quiet in the near-silence, head lowered, gently running your fingers over it, again and again.

Kenma’s lulling voice is the only thing you hear, playing over his stream, and you shut your eyes, bringing your knees and the box up to your chest. It jabs your ribs, sits uncomfortable, but you don’t really care.

“Do you even like what you do?”

(What I’m doing now, at least… yeah, I do. I really do.)

--- (change the chanel) ---

(L/n) is typing...

Hey, can we talk? 

It’s nothing important, let’s just meet up for dinner if you’re free!

Is that fine?

Kenma is typing...

Yes.

Location sent.

Let’s go here. I’ll make reservations.

Okay! :)

(Y/n) is typing…

(Y/n) stopped typing.

--- (change the chanel) ---

The place Kenma picks is some ridiculously nice looking Japanese Restaurant. It’s dimly lit and elegant and fancier than anything you’re used to, and you’re not really sure why he picks it until he orders for both of you and then the wagyu comes out and you know.

Seeing the steak, knowing you’ll get a good meal—it kind of makes this whole thing a lot easier.

Kenma sits comfortably on the floor right across from you. It’s a small, private room he’s rented out for the both of you. He’s dressed in the usual—baggy sweatshirts and athletic but comfortable joggers, and his hair is pulled back a little more neatly tonight as he pours tea for you and then for himself.

“This smells so good,” you say, mouth watering as you pick up the smooth, fancy wooden chopsticks. “Mind if I start?”

“Go ahead,” Kenma says. He leans back, picking up his spoon to dig into his own soup first. “What did you want to talk about?”

“The game,” you say around a mouthful of wagyu. It melts like butter on your tongue. “I’m going to give it to you.”

Kenma freezes, looking up at you in shock. His spoon clutters back into his bowl.

“What?” Kenma says.

“I’ve thought about it,” you say. “You were right. I don’t even have the console to play it anymore. It kinda just sits, collecting dust. It’s not fair when that game is literally everything.”

Your hands still a bit. You stare at the sizzling hot plate.

“I think you have a lot of fun with your streams,” you say, softer. “I think… I think Water Emblem would be well off in your hands. I think… I think it’s what it deserves, you know?”

Kenma is silent, frozen like a statue in front of you. You continue, lightly tracing a thumb over your other wrist, as though in comfort. Moments like this, you do wish for the chance to scent or be scented by someone again—just something familiar, something warm and nice. Your family is miles away and you just...

“I’ve had too much fun playing it again thanks to you,” you say, warm, full of happiness. Yeah, this is what feels right. “And you never once asked for the money from that night back, even though it should’ve just gone into paying for the game… that’s why I want to just give it to you. You’ve already done too much for me, and it’s more than paid for the game.”

“Hold on,” Kenma says. “I—hold on, one second.” He rushes for his phone, fumbling. You shake your head. “No, hold on—”

“I’ve still got my streams to do,” you say with an awkward laugh. “I can’t spend all my time playing video games again. Once exams come up and then—”

“No,” Kenma tries, looking a bit frustrated. He curses at his phone, “Give me a second to explain before you—”

“I’m doing this,” you say resolutely, standing up from your seat. Kenma balks. “There’s nothing you can do to stop me. Besides, I guess I got to meet you. That’s not so bad. Now stop making this weird and let me just do something cool for once in my life—”

“I want you to do a streaming series with me!”

You stop, staring at Kenma. He holds out his phone, showing the screen to you—but your eyes are on him, round and disbelieving and then—

Your entire face flushes bright red, cherry like a tomato.

“Y-Y-You w-w-w-want to d-d-do a s-stream with me—”

“Not one of yours!” Kenma blurts. You blink. He curses, ruffling his hair roughly before he gestures again with more vigor to his phone, “This—just look at this.”

You glance to Kenma’s phone.

“...you’re doing a new stream series,” you say, eyes widening in awe. “It’s going to be on the secret, never played route for Water Emblem—see! That’s perfect! If you’re going to do that, you need my half of the game and—”

“I want to do it with you.”

You freeze, mouth falling open.

“I’ve been thinking about it since you came over to play,” Kenma says, quietly setting his phone down on the table—he takes on the tone that means business, the calm, lulling one he your hear him use on the phone sometimes to make sure deals are delivered and he gets what he wants. “It’d be a great idea, and it’d be… fun. I’ve been letting you play because I wanted to see if the style would be compatible and I think it’ll be more than fine.”

Kenma taps his phone again.

“Of course, you’d be compensated,” he turns it to you, “we’d split the profits 50/50 from each streaming episode. Considering my normal projected view count and ad revenue, you can expect at least this much.”

You look at the numbers.

Your mouth stays open, knees sinking to the floor.

“If you’re willing,” Kenma says quietly, “to take a break from your streams to do this series with me… I think it would be mutually beneficial.”

Can things really, really work out, just like that?

“Besides,” Kenma says, even quieter. You close your mouth, looking at him in disbelief, in awe, in reverence, and he meets your gaze with his golden one.

“The secret route is meant for dual players,” Kenma says. “Water Emblem is known for being a single player, but what makes it special is it needs two for this route… it… it would be a disservice to the story to do it any other way.”

You can’t help it.

Your scent and pheromones you struggle and try so, so hard to always keep under lock and key explode forth, nearly flooding the entire room. Kenma stiffens, going ramrod straight and grabbing onto the top of his pants as your happiness engulfs the two of you. You’re sure it probably alarms everyone in the hall or anywhere near. Your happiness crashes and lulls and your entire face crumples in disbelief—

“Is it really…” you start, like a whisper, “really okay?”

Kenma shifts in his seat. He pulls at the hood of his sweater, opening his mouth before he quickly closes it. He mutely nods, resolute, and you stand up, lunging across the table to grab his hands. Kenma’s face flushes a bright red, his body stiffening in alarm.

“Kenma!” you say. “Kenma! Kenma, you’re a godsend! A guardian angel! My guardian angel! You don’t understand what this means for me—you don’t know what you’re doing for me—”

“(L/n),” Kenma says, he sounds strained. You pause, looking at him with round eyes. “I’m… excited… but I need you…”

Kenma lets out a slow, ragged breath. “Please… tone it down… just a little…”

You tilt your head in confusion. Your eyes drop down, noticing the sweat beading at the corner of Kenma’s temple, at the hard, rigid look in his hazy, warmly golden eyes and…

A soft scent teases your nose. You pause, blinking in disbelief. No way. You’re crazy, right?

“Um, Kenma,” you say, a little nervous. There’s no way, right? “You’re… you’re a… beta, right?”

Even betas could be sensitive to pheromones. You were being too careless right now, you must’ve just been too much and—

Kenma rigidly shakes his head.

You blink, feeling very, very, very small.

“Alpha,” Kenma exhales, holding his hand to his nose, scrunching in on himself while he peers up blearily at you, eyes swimming with something you’ve never seen once in his gaze before. He sticks his wrist out to you. 

“Uh,” you say, hating how nervous you sound. “C-Can… I?”

Kenma wordlessly holds his hand out to you, keeping it in the air. You tentatively step closer for a moment, sniffing lightly. His smell. 

Kenma’s scent is so quiet, it’s no wonder you… you never noticed. It’s become so familiar, always felt so calming and subtle and soothing, but if you look for it the way an omega would, pheromones in tune and acute—you do catch it, just the faint hint of something sharp, the familiar, light tang of alpha and—

You quickly pull back. You open your mouth, close it, open it again, and then close it.

“I’m so sorry—”

“You’re fine,” Kenma says, quick and quiet. You mutely nod, mortified. Kenma motions for you to relax as he stands, grabbing his wallet. “I’m going to take care of the bill. Get… fresh air. I’ll be back—”

“You should let me—”

“You can get the next one,” Kenma says. Something in his words makes you strangely complied to listen, ridiculously docile, and you blink in surprise when you sink back to your knees and Kenma’s eyes seem a little warm, a little—

(Pleased?)

“I’ll be right back.”

“Okay!” you say jovially. Kenma nods, leaving you. You can’t believe it. This is it—this is—

The start of something great.

You hold your head in your hands, unable to contain your happiness.

Oh my god.

You stop, blinking again in realization.

BUT I’VE BEEN SUCH AN IDIOT, HE’S BEEN A—THIS WHOLE TIME—HOW RUDE MUST I HAVE—

You fall back into the cushion, kicking your feet up in disbelief.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid—I better apologize over and over—”

--- (change the chanel) ---

Kenma quietly steps out of the private room, sliding the door shut behind him.

He stands there, silent, basking in the faint afterglow, of the leaking, intoxicating feel of your happiness wrapping thickly around him, clinging to his skin.

Kenma lifts his hand up to his nose. He sniffs, once.

Your scent floods him.

Kenma’s tongue lightly drags up the inside of his wrist. He closes his eyes, briefly catching it—the soft, sweet taste of you against his lips, on his tongue. Kenma waits there, inhaling softly before his eyes slide open, thin, golden slits.

This would be the start of a fairly interesting partnership.

Omegachion has signed off!

Thanks for watching!

[iwriteficsandmore]

Typetober Day 4.

It had to be done. 

It had to be.

But just because it had to didn't mean that it hadn't hurt.

Keigo repeated those same five words over and over as if trying to somehow convince himself that what he did had been the right thing. That leaving you and breaking your heart was the safest route to take. But even though it made sense to his mind, his heart couldn't accept it. 

Ever since meeting you, his feelings developed from mild amusement to quiet admiration for the one person that appeared so different in his eyes. It wasn't long before that admiration turned to a fondness that not even he could comprehend at first. You helped him understand it. And in the process, you came to accept your own feelings as well. It was quite the bizarre play of events. 

Bizarre but certainly not unwanted.

Your relationship started not long after. And it had been paradise. You understood what it meant dating a hero and he loved you for that. Saying you had the patience of a saint were he was concerned was an utter understatement. You two fought, yes, but it was never about anything serious. 

Not until Keigo was ordered to infiltrate the League. He could handle it at first. You understood like always. But then it started escalating. He left home earlier and returned later. He barely talked to you about it, saying it was work that would probably bore you. And you were alright with that for a while. 

Until you weren't after a random kidnapping attempt. One Keigo knew wasn't all that random. 

"She's got a cute face, that angel. Too bad Toga missed."

Dabi's words the day after were like being doused with ice cold water. He always knew that his job could very likely put you in danger, but he was confident enough that he'd be fast enough to save you. Except he wasn't. And if it happened once, it could certainly happen again.

It was the wake up call he needed. And it forced his hand to break up with you. 

That day you weren't so much furious as you were quiet. Like you knew it was coming. The melancholic smile you gave him as you left with haunted him in his sleep still. And the fact that it pained him so much wasn't what killed him. That he regetted it more than he could fathom was. 

And it was while sitting in his condo in the dead of the night amidst the silence while dulling some of the pain with a few drinks that he realized why. 

This--what he felt--it was still love.

And parting with you was the biggest mistake of his life.

[ao3feed-assassin-class]

Running Cobra ~ [Lyrical Typetober Day 2]

Running Cobra ~ [Lyrical Typetober Day 2] by Brain Vs Keyboard

Day 2 of Lyrical Typetober about 2 days late!

The song I'm using is Run Boy Run and I randomly got some inspiration to do some Assassination Classroom stuff so imma do some Assassin!Nagisa Au with a lil bit of Assassin!Karma sprinkled in to ruin any happy ending :)

This actually shouldn't be that triggering but check tags anyway in case knifes of guns trigger you!!!

!!! MAJOR SPOILERS AHEAD !!!

Words: 215, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 2 of Lyrical Typetober

Fandoms: Assassination Classroom

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: Major Character Death

Categories: Other

Characters: Shiota Nagisa, Korosensei, Akabane Karma, Irina Jelavić, Karasuma Tadaomi

Additional Tags: Gun Violence, Knife Violence, Death, Assassination, Assassination Attempt(s), Assassination Classroom Spoilers, Assassin Shiota Nagisa, Assassin Akabane Karma, no beta we die like men, Song Lyrics

Read Here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34279357

[elaizaelric]

Typetober Day 8

Many wishes to have immortality because many, if not all, fear death. What they dont realize....its nothing but a curse. When you have an unending life span you could see alot of things...things that you wished you have never seen. It hurts actually, to see people make the same mistakes over and over and over again and sadly they never learn. Love ones gone before you, and here you are...alone. So tell me....is having immortality worth it? Nothing but an endless cycle, you walk through this earth while things take a turn much more worst than it did in the beginning?

They never realize that there are fates much worse than death... So why wish you could live long when you can live your life as it is and never see the horrors life could show you?

Living my life without it being torn away from me...have made me numb that even pain and suffering has dried up. Oh how I could wish death could take me away from this cruel cruel world, but alas even death can't do anything to this cruel fate of mine.

Amidst these days that are just an endless cycle of encounters and partings...

I lost hope, this world of mine that I'm living will be nothing but black and grey. Can't hear the sounds of living not even a faint whisper. I am nothing but a walking empty husk aimlessly wondering to see who could give me a reason to live this spiteful fate of mine. But no one did.

So here I am standing on a ledge, hoping that in this attempt I could finally be free. A frequent task of mine, and many others, I do ever since I learned that I cannot die. Quirks do have their limitations do they not?

I met him.

Red. So bright, easily seen and you can never miss it out. He came swooping down like an angel, so fast that all you can see were red and gold. Maybe a fallen one...what angel have red wings? Then there he was smiling like an idiot asking if I was okay. I never really answered, busy wallowing in depair for I get to see and live another day in this wretched fate of mine. He becomes worried and I don't care for all I did was walk away and disappear amongst the crowd.

By longing to have light, I was bestowed with warmth...

Hero. That winged man is a hero. I never really cared about heroes and villains. Heroes can't help me, they believe that savings lives doesn't mean taking it away. If only they knew how much I will be greatful if they have taken my life. Villains well...its complicated.

Being a hero have its perks they say it can get you anywhere and have anything you want, well I guess that's true because here he is standing in front of my door. Wish it was a villain they might help more than this hero. I asked him what he was doing here and had the audacity to grin and have told me he was checking up on me to see if I'm still alive. Turns out all of my attempts for freedom, as I liked to call it, were not so secretive after all. Damn it. Then again its not like someone would care, I mean people die every die whats one more?

Its foreign to me, this warmth, it such been a long time since I felt it. Tell me has it always been like this?

He became a constant presence in this dreary life of mine. A pest you can't get rid of easily. He never shut ups, always have something new to tell me every time we saw each other. I never really care, after all this is just another cycle of encounters and partings. You would be gone while I will still be here. Wandering and waiting till death has finally found a way to claim me. He shut ups when I finally told him my quirk. It was unnerving really, I never knew he could be really quiet and have him staring at you like that. He truely lives up to his name, Hawks, with a stare like that.

"My quirk is Immortality and thats just it. Nothing special. Just have the ability to live long and never die. Tried a lot of ways to kill myself but nothing happens. One time I tried to kill myself by poisoning, it was painful that I passed out then the next day I woke up like nothing happened", I said while giving him a lighthearted smile, like I was just taliking about the weather. He keeps quiet and stares at me listening intently like it was the secret to All Mights power. "You should just leave me be you know? Less hassle for both of us. Many will be gone before me and always has been from the beginning. It will never change not ever, believe me I tried all ways that I can but it never works. So its best if you don't waste your time on a cursed person like me and live you life to the fullest, you do have limited time on your life so live with no regrets ok? Take this advice from the person who seen it all."

He never left. He never did no matter what I do or say to him. What a stubborn bastard. He still stayed even though he knew what would happen when the time comes. He even become more insistent on seeing me. How Annoying. Every time he has free time he always goes to me. How irritating. What really had thrown me for a loop is that he keeps on insisting to take pictures together. How baffling. Sadly enough, fighting against his annoying feathers is a lost cause when all you have is your feeble strength. In the end I have no choice but to comply lest I waste more energy than I should.

I'm getting close this is bad. I really had enough of it. I don't get it why he was still here with me, insisting to stay in my presence. You'll just die and leave me anyway why bother. So I attempted to stab my heart with a knife, not the first time I done that. I had enough of this, whatever this is, because it won't last. It never does. NEVER. Live long enough to see that. Unfortunately, like he always does, he caught me and have stopped me. It was the first time we fought and shouted at each other. He was angry, his face so red like his feathers which are bristling. I never saw him angry before.

So I finally have asked him why. Why waste your perfectly good life on a cursed person like me? Why stay? Why? Why? WHY?

"Your eyes. They were shouting for help, how can I ignore that. You need some one to save you and I can't just ignore that. I'm not saying this as a hero but as a person who saw beyond what you let others see. You may hide behind a lighthearted smile but your eyes tells a different story", he says while holding the knife I attempted to stab my heart with. "For the pictures well... so that you can't forget. You may think that your life may be a curse but it can have a some silver linings in it. Every encounters and partings you had, you will have good memories of it that I wish I'm part of it. So, don't forget me ok?" Then he gave me a melancholic smile while I stood their dumbfounded.

A knife is stuck to my chest, and I leave it as it is for a long long time now. For the moment I pull it out the tears won’t stop overflowing...

I cried. HARD. I thought I have no tears left to cry. Been doing that alot every failed attempt to seek freedom I longingly wish. Now I am numb. All this time I just swallow up my loneliness and pain but here I am crying in his arms enclosed in his wings. Warm. I feel warm. And. It. Feels. Good. I missed feeling this. Living for so long I felt nothing but the cold arms of despair of another failed attempt. Now its nothing but warmth. I love it.

I already lost the place that I’d considered as home...

Keigo. Takami, Keigo. I never knew I could love to say a name over and over again and necer get tired on saying it. I love what it means, it fits perfectly for you. You've become someone special. You have asked me to live with you. Easy to make more memories. Here we are making memories on your high rise and expensive apartment. Typical. You have now become my home. When you're wondering all over the place its really hard to name a place your home. Home is where you can come back to, a place where you are safe and happy. Now, you Keigo are my home. Someone I could go back to even for this short fleeting moment. I know you loved it too, seeing that when you got home you always have that smile on your face after a long day of doing hero work and hearing your soft whisper, I'm home.

You gave me a reason to live.

I'm not naive, I could see how much your work affects you. Being a hero was never easy. Sometimes you must give up some part of you to help the people in need. You told me that you needed to go somewhere and that you'll be gone indefinitely. I understand, I really do. I'm not naive, been living long enough to know certain things. So I asked you to make a promise and that you fulfill it the best you can. You sealed it with a sweet kiss. Told me that you will come back for there are more memories to make, the both of us. That night we gave ourselves to each other, it was a bittersweet moment we had together. I never imagine that I would give myself to someone as special as you. When morning came you were gone, leaving a single red feather on your pillow.

"Promise me that you and I would make more memories. Will take alot of pictures so that when the time comes I have something to look back to. Proudly say, this man gave me a reason to live and gave me hope that this life has a meaning."

Today is the day when heroes confront that villain organization, Liberation something. Is the first thought that comes to me after waking up from a really bad dream. Never really remember what that dream was, only the feeling of BURNING. Something was burning and I felt it all over my back. You see when you have live for a long time death becomes familiar. People all around you dies, they have lived their life while you just walked on to find a way to die. I feel sick, and I dont like it. Keigo, its been so long. You never called or even left a message. I don't like this, at all.

Could I be selfish for just this life time? Just this once. There's a man, a man I have fallen in love with. He is the reason I am living right now, truly living. He shown me the color of life and let me hear its wonderful music. Please let him come back to me. There's alot more memories we hade to make. I beg you...let him come through that door and let me hear him say...I'm home.

My life is an endless cycle of encounters and partings...but he is an encouner that I have made that I am not ready to part with.

(A/N: I'm sorry for this long and nonsense story. Its my first time writing a story.

This is a story inspired by ohbab and memos written by @alkhale

@alkhale forgive me if i have not given it justice.)

[retops]

#H #type #typo #typetober #typography #typism #typefeed #letter #letterism #typelovers #typographic #instatype #icon #design #logo #logotype for your #creative #graphic #art #commercial #work & #business by #Free #Letterheads ✒ https://freeletterheads.blogspot.com/2018/10/blog-post_31.html https://www.instagram.com/p/BpmVAzwghnh/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1kdeecrmg8epj

[alkhale]

Typetober Day 8: encounters and partings

In light of a Memos update coming veeeerrrryyyyy sooooooon (to the reader who asked for an update because today was their birthday, i’m sorry i wasn’t able to make it :( but i promise i’ll make it up to you! hope you had an amazing one <3)

A flurry of bodies rushed past her legs, nearly toppling her over. Hoku wobbled, grabbing the wooden pillar of the shop beside her before she could fall flat on her face. She scowled, whirling around with one hand curled into a fist. “Hey! Stupid brats, watch where you’re going! You could get someone killed!”

“Sorry, lady!” one of the boys hollered, breaking out into a chorus of laughter as they ran. The smallest one tripped, forcing the other two to brake on their heels. They quickly rushed back, hauling him up by his arms and running away with him in tow.

Hoku stopped at the sight, fist loosening in the air. She felt a little quiet all of a sudden, staring at their backs as the three boys laughed, heads tossed high and smiles bright until they disappeared entirely from sight.

“Hoku, you’re too slow!”

“Put more effort into it!”

“We’re gonna leave you behind!”

“My star, is something wrong?”

Hoku’s fingers uncurled from her fist. She dropped her hand back down to her side, staring after the empty space between the crowd. 

No. She thought back, reaching behind her to touch Mau’s hilt before she shook her head, turning toward the shop and stepping inside. “It’s nothing.”

Hoku fixed the tie under her chin. Her hood stayed well in place, hiding the bright white hair she’d tucked away for the sake of a little stealth. The island ought to be fine for now since she was just picking up supplies before her next raid, but she couldn’t be too careful. I have to think ahead. I have to be smart.

There wasn’t anyone else around to do it for her.

C’mon, it’s not like I haven’t done this solo thing before. Hoku shook her head, making her way to the back counter of the shop. Her order from last night should be ready by now, so she’d be in and out without a hitch. It’s nothing new.

But it was a bit new. When you’d had something for so long and were forced to live without it, everything became new.

You know what you’ve got to do.

“I’m here to pick up an order from last night,” Hoku said to the man at the counter. 

His eyes flickered in recognition at the mark around her eye and he nodded, shuffling to the back. There was another man at the counter, waiting for his own order. Hoku stopped a polite distance away from him, folding her hands in front of her and waiting, trying to map out how she’d make it to the next marine base without setting off an entire armada. It’s located at the center of the island, so it’ll be a little harder to make the runaway. Can I really handle just going in and getting what I need without causing a fuss? Not causing a fuss had never really been the Straw Hat Pirate’s motto. 

Hoku ignored the tightness in her stomach in the heavy weight in her chest. You’re just getting sentimental. Suck it up.

She glanced to the side, watching the other man at the counter inspect bottles of ink in an attempt to distract herself. He was pretty well-dressed for this part of town. Maybe from the rick mansions up the hillside? Hoku blinked once, watching the thick, gloppy substance churn inside. Ugh, that’s not going to sit well on paper. It would probably bleed right through. It’d stain the brush too. Terrible quality. Don’t buy it, man. It’s not worth it.

He ran a gloved thumb over the label, seemingly fixated on it. Hoku’s eyes swept along, squinting suspiciously when his gloved fingers rolled a heavy bottle to the side, showing its brand.

“Pokian ink?” Hoku said out loud in disbelief. “That’s supposed to be Pokian ink?”

The man paused, his fingers halting over the bottle. Hoku flinched in realization, cursing herself as he started to turn toward her. She quickly whipped her gaze down, making sure her hood kept her covered from his line of sight. There’d been a flash of wavy blonde from his hair underneath his top hat, the collar of his dark coat folded down over his carvat. Don’t make a scene, you dumbass.

“I’m sorry,” he said. His voice was amiable, nice and pleasant. She’d almost say charming, but Hoku had the displeasure of meeting plenty of people with personalities that didn’t match the nice tone of their voice. “Did you... are you familiar? With ink, I mean.”

Hoku considered keeping her mouth shut and just coming off as some rude weirdo. He probably wouldn’t bother her if she just kept quiet and let it go.

“What do you need it for?” Hoku said. She should stab herself in the foot. She really should. “Just for writing?”

“That would be ideal,” he said, sounding a bit relieved for the conversation. He turned his entire body to her, opening up his body language but Hoku kept her gaze forward, refusing to turn her face. “I... I was looking a bit into ink that might be good for painting, though I’m not very good at it.”

“You should buy paint then, not ink,” Hoku said automatically. He seemed a bit surrpised. “If, I mean, you’re going to paint. You can paint with ink, but they’re different for a reason.”

Hoku pointed a finger to the jar in his hands, not turning once. “That’s not good quality for either. Real Pokian ink doesn’t look like that. It’ll have a smooth, thick texture, depending on what it’s for. It might even seem clear sometimes, pinkish. Usually it can be found in black though, but you can tell through a jar by the way it slides when you turn it. Should move like blood.”

“I see,” he said, sounding a little amazed. Hoku nodded, curt. “I... You’re very knowledgable. Are you well-versed with Pokian crafts?”

“...I know a bit,” Hoku said, giving herself a pat on the back for not saying anything else. “Just trust me on this though.”

“I will then,” he said warmly. Hoku blinked, a bit pleased by his compliance. “Sorry,” he laughed. “Do I seem gullible?”

Yikes. Am I that easy to read? “No,” she said, “I’m glad you trust me.”

“It does seem like someone who wouldn’t know the truth wouldn’t have much to say,” he said, a little sly as he dragged his finger down the ink bottle and set it down. “Do you see fraud like this often?”

“Too much,” Hoku said instantly. She pressed her lips into a tight line at his boyish laugh. “Just... Just know most real Pokian works won’t typically say they are.”

“I’ll remember that,” he said with a small laugh. “Do you have anymore tips?”

“Not really,” Hoku forced herself to say. “If you’ve got a good eye, you’ll find what you’re looking for.”

Hoku tried to stifle her curiosity. “...you a collector of some kind?”

“No, nothing of the sorts,” he said quietly. There was something a bit sad to his tone, a little lost. Hoku raised a brow, turning a tiny bit. “I’m... I’m fond of the culture, I suppose. It... It feels like knowing more will help me find something I’ve lost.”

“...oh, yeah?” Hoku said, turning a tiny bit more. He hummed, soft in response. “What did you lose?”

“...something very important,” he said quietly. Hoku fell silent. “I wasn’t able to... no, I’m going to try to think a little more positively. I’m still looking. I have to keep looking.”

Hoku said nothing, keeping her eyes forward, hoping a bit for his desperate sake he’d find what he was looking for too. Lost something important, huh. 

Her chest ached.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” he said politely, reaching his hand over to catch her attention. Hoku half turned. The man behind the counter was returning with her bag as well. “I... Feel free to say otherwise, but if I were to be looking for someone of Pokian descent—not for bad intentions! More... more for a specific person, do you know what would be the best way to find them?”

Hoku debated the words on her tongue. Half of her had a mind to just grab her bag over the counter and leave. He seems earnest though. His questions were weird and she didn’t like people poking around into Pokian business with unsavory intentions. But is it even my business if it’s just one person he’s looking for? What if it’s an old flame or a friend or maybe even family? Distant? Who knows?

She didn’t really owe him anything either.

“It depends on the person, you never really know unless you’ve got the right information,” Hoku decided. She grabbed her bag across the counter, already sensing his disappointment in waves. From the corner of her eye she saw his shoulders slump, hands falling down in front of him. “But if it’s just one Pokian in particular you’re looking for...”

Hoku lightly tapped the side of her head on the outside of her hood. He paused. “You should look for their coming of age mark. If you remember what it looks like or where they had theirs... you can’t miss them.”

“...I’ll remember that,” he said, sounding a bit more hopeful, a little... a little curious? “I... Thank you, miss.”

“You’re welcome,” Hoku said simply. She threw her bag over her shoulder. “Good luck.”

“Thank you—“

The doors to the shop slammed open, smacking into either wall. The shopkeep fled to the back of the store and Hoku froze, staring at the entrance as three marines searched before their eyes landed on her.

“There she is!”

Son of a bitch! The man beside Hoku froze, growing rigid as he raised one hand. Hoku whipped her head to the side.

She didn’t hesitate, taking off. The marines flooded into the store and the man at the counter turned, his eyes following her in wide surprise as she jumped onto a table and leapt through the window feet first, boots smashing through the glass and flinging herself outside.

The wind ripped her hood back. Paper white hair spilled out, brushing over her face.

He stopped, frozen.

Wait.

Hoku ran, ducking into an alleyway as the marines tried to tail after her. If there’s a few, there’s more. They’re like cockroaches. She clambored onto a roof, ducking as a group ran past. She quickly took out her brush, drawing onto the thatching and pulling the bird free from the wood. Hoku blew across it, mumbling under her breath as it expanded, unfurling its wings with a resounding flap.

“Excuse me!” Hoku whirled around in surprise. The guy from the shop? “Excuse me! Wait! Please, wait a second—”

Hoku’s eyes caught the flash of blue and white uniforms. She shook her head, jumping onto her bird and taking off. It beat its massive wings once, shaking its beak in protest before it took off into the sky, leaving everyone behind.

“Wait, please! Wait! Wait! Please, wait—“

Hoku didn’t look back.

“Hoku?”

Hoku stopped. Her bird continued to fly beneath her, taking them further and further away from the marines. She blinked, mind whirring as she quietly turned behind her, staring in confusion.

“Guess I heard wrong,” she mumbled, shaking her head. “Let’s go.”

Her bird banked beneath her, taking them far, far away.

“There he is! Hack! I found him! Where did you run off to—huh?” Koala’s eyes went wide, hands flying up into the air as she stopped just short of giving her friend a playful shove. “I—oh my goodness, are you okay?”

He sat, slumped over the top of the roof. His hands hung limply in his lap, gloved fingers clinging to a loose leaf of paper he’d tugged hastily out of his breast pocket. He stared out into the sky, looking forlorn and lost.

“What happened?” Koala asked, crouching down beside him. “Are you alright?”

“...I,” he stopped, looking down at the paper in his hands. “I don’t really know.”

Koala frowned, lightly rubbing her hand against his back. He ran his thumb across the carefully inked marking, curved like half a heart and smeared at just the bottom, like someone had bumped into them in the middle of it.

Sabo gently folded it back up, tucking it into his pocket, right beside his heart.

Was it even you?

[alkhale]

Typetober Day 2: warm on a cold night

(pls let this tide u over for now, new update coming soon!)

Hoku pressed her two hands together, rubbing her fingertips hard enough for it to feel raw from the pressure.

Her breath came out near solid in a puff of white cloud, trailing into wisps around her face. The frigid cold blanketing the entire ship was enough to send her running for the hills if there were any hills to begin with. She should’ve stuck to her originally intentions and holed up in the girls’ room with all the blankets she could find.

Everyone moved over the deck around her, peals of laughter filling the night, starry air. She tracked Luffy with her eyes, lunging around as Chopper and Usopp chased him with snowballs. Nami and Robin were curved over a freshly snow-brushed table, warm, steaming hot cups of cocoa in their hands as Sanji tended to their every need. Some ways away Zoro was up in the crow’s nest, the faint outline of his swords peeking over the rim.

It’s too cold for a night out. I don’t know why the all wouldn’t want to just stay in. Hoku bitterly eyed her frostbitten fingers. She’d long chugged the hot chocolate Sanji had gifted her and was too stubborn to ask for more. I can’t even draw in this weather. It’s too damn cold.

She should just go inside.

Why don’t you just go inside?

I’m only bad with the cold because I’m from Artopoki. Hoku thought. I just didn’t get the good genes to deal with the snow. I’m part of the majority.

She ran her fingers over each other, stuffing them into her jacket. That’s why I hate the cold.

“Why don’t we go somewhere for Christmas?”

Hoku paused.

“It’s been so long...”

“Just a nice get together...”

“You’ll be all alone again...”

“Just come...”

“Why are you always so busy when you don’t even have a real job--”

“Hokuuuuuuu! What are ya doin’ over here?”

She stared at the top of Luffy’s sandals. It was amazing how this guy couldn’t feel anything, heat or cold. Luffy was just indestructible. 

“Thinking,” Hoku said. Luffy made a face, squatting down in front of her with his arms wrapped over his knees. He stared drawing into a patch of snow beside her. “Go back and play. I’ll die if you toss any snowballs at me.”

“Shishishi, you’re too weak!” Luffy sang. He cocked his head. “You’re not drawing?”

“My hands are too cold,” Hoku said darkly. “Run back, I’m going to go down and just--”

“Hands.”

“Huh?”

Luffy pointedly held out his hands, looking at her with that stupidly open, stupidly unreadable face. The big, wide eyes and the expectancy of a guy who never knew how to take no for a god damn answer. Hoku stared at him, bewildered and confused until she grudgingly tugged her hands out of her pockets and set them on top of Luffy’s.

Hoku nearly shuddered at the warmth. Her eyes snapped down to where Luffy’s fingers slipped through hers, linking their hands together. Goddess, he’s so stupidly warm. Maybe he and Ace really are brothers.

“Shishishi,” Luffy grinned at her, peering up from beneath the rim of his hat. Snow caught on the edges. “Better you big baby?”

Hoku hesitated for a second before she tightened her hands around Luffy’s. Her captain didn’t protest, tightening his hands right back as though it were some sort of competition.

Hoku couldn’t bring the words to her lips. The voices in the back of her head faded away.

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “Better.”

[alkhale]

Typetober Day 7: heads will roll

The back of his hand slapped Mirai’s head sideways.

He grunted, a soft, irritated noise through the disgusting piece of cloth the cursed users had shoved into his mouth. They took precautions this time. It seemed as though people were getting a little to adept at figuring out how to deal with him.

The zipties dug into Mirai’s wrist, rubbing the skin around his hands red and raw. He shuffled his feet a bit on the concrete floor, the dark, dingy lighting of the warehouse doing little aside from masking his captors in a more eerie light. Pain throbbed along the edge of his cheek, a welt growing from the reoccurring abuse. His captors lacked in creativity. The damn idiot couldn’t figure out a different spot to hit and Mirai was going to walk out of this with half his head swollen.

He sighed, aggravated through his nose in annoyance. It’s always like this.

“We’re only going to ask one more time,” the leader of the group said, crouching down beside Mirai’s chair and staring meaningfully up at him. “You’re going to tell us how our coup’ is going to go and you’re going to tell it in perfect, perfect detail so we can get all the kinks worked out, alright?”

The issue in the first place was that Mirai had tried to be helpful. He’d seen their future and it hadn’t been very pretty. He’d been feeling a little nice today, a little in better spirits, and had tried to go a more roundabout way of telling them it wouldn’t end very nicely, so they should change tactics.

They hadn’t taken too kindly to his words—stupid idiots. And had decided instead that Mirai needed to be roughed up a bit before any truth came spilling out his lips.

If there was something Mirai didn’t lie about, it was the future.

Fools.

“We’re going to take the gag out,” he said slowly, articulating his words to make sure Mirai understood. Mirai dully gazed back. “We’re going to ask one more time and—“

The entire half-entryway of the warehouse was blown open, obliterated into pure nothingness, as though ripped from existence itself.

The group of cursed users froze, staring at the decimated wreckage in disbelief. Their expression were stuck between awe-struck and ashen, trying to understand what they’d just witnessed. The warehouse groaned on its foundations, missing an entire half of it’s building. The ground behind Mirai had been ripped to shreds, void of existence as though someone had taken an eraser and dragged it through the earth.

He sat there in his chair, dully staring at the ground and ignoring the mess around him with an even more annoyed sigh.

Why?

Calm, clipped, almost lazy footsteps echoed through the wreckage of the warehouse. A lean, lanky body swayed, hopping over upturned slabs of concrete before he landed nimbly, evenly, just short of right behind Mirai’s chair with a bit of an amused hmmm.

The cursed users turned fully pale at the sight. One collapsed to his knees, legs buckling out from under him.

“I-I-I-It’s—”

Two polished shoes settled down on either side of Mirai’s chair. He ignored the show, keeping his eyes on his lap and his face vexed as long, lightly calloused fingers slowly started to drum up along Mirai’s chair, tapping into his shoulders. Mirai let out a grunt. The amused humming continued, those long fingers sliding up to grip Mirai’s shoulders, squeezing once.

“What’s going on here?” the teen behind Mirai sang, low and full of mischief. “It seems like there’s some fun happening without me...”

“It’s Satoru Gojo!” a man shouted. “Get off your asses and—“

They fell silent, stunned when Gojo calmly held a finger to his lips. He grinned approvingly at their silence, dragging his fingers up from Mirai’s shoulders to his face, prodding along his cheek. Mirai hissed when his fingers skimmed over his bruised face, feeling along without much care and he thrashed a bit in protest. Brat. “Ouch. That’s going to leave a nasty bruise.”

Mirai grunted through the gag.

“What,” Gojo sounded offended, craning his head down. Mirai refused to look at him. “At a loss for words?”

Gojo promptly tugged out the gag from Mirai’s mouth, unhooking the buckle. Mirai spat, working his sore jaw and shaking his head as Gojo let the little piece dangle from his fingers, dropping it onto the ruined floor. “There, that’s better, right?”

“I didn’t ask for your help,” Mirai said.

“I know,” Gojo chirped back. “I’m going to get you back for that later.” Mirai threw him a withering look full of contempt.

Gojo’s fingers grabbed beneath his chin, forcing Mirai to crane his head and look upwards. The dark rim of his shades rested on the bridge of his nose, showing off to the world the shifting, catching glints of transcendent blue gazing right back at him. Gojo forced Mirai’s face to the side, ignoring his indignant, warning hiss and took his time running light fingers over the side of Mirai’s bruising face.

“But first,” Gojo said smoothly. His voice was low and playful, dripping with a dark sort of decadence. The cursed users stilled, frozen in place as Gojo’s eyes slowly rolled back upwards, focusing solely on the lot of them.

Gojo neatly curled two fingers, letting his lips fall into a charming little smile. His free arm snaked itself around Mirai’s head, bringing him back almost into his chest as Gojo leaned over him, eyes glinting, almost frenzied.

“Some heads are gonna roll.”

[alkhale]

Typetober Day 15: been waiting on this my whole life

I’M FINAALLY CATCHING UPPP AHAHAHAHA I WON’T BE FAILING MY OWN CHALLENGE, NO SIR, NOT ME!!!!

Title: been waiting my whole life

Pairing: Atsumu/Hinata, Slight Sakusa/Hinata, Implied Oikawa/Hinata

Summary: 

“Oh,” Hinata says, like it isn’t the most ground-shattering, catastrophically destructive information Atsumu has ever heard. “I never told you guys?”

Hinata turns then, in a full little circle, arms spread wide, showing off his naked chest, grinning from ear to ear. Normally Atsumu would enjoy the little show, but he feels a little broken all of a sudden, unable to process the words slipping sweetly from Hinata’s mouth as he laughs. He even teasingly pulls at the waistband of his shorts, showing a glimpse of equally bare skin.

“I don’t have a soulmate.”

Atsumu's world stops.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27159589/chapters/66329335

[alkhale]

Typetober Day 9: is anyone there? oh, hi.

(this one is just a random scene i was thinking about that the song kind of slid in and fit with for me, not canon to the story/a snippet of something happening, just consider it some bonus, non-canon material!)

Mirai watched the people board the bullet train.

She counted each set of steps. When she lost count she began again. She watched them all, climbing through the door and shuffling past to head inside. Men, women, children, elderly, foreigners, and everything else in between.

She thumbed the ticket between her fingers. She rolled the glossy, pale green paper. Mirai gazed at it, standing on the boarding platform with her back to the shuffling crowds of people in the station behind her. A single bag was slung over her shoulder, filled only with the small things she’d need.

Where are you going to go?

Anywhere.

Why?

This was always how it was.

Is it?

Yes.

She didn’t know anything other than this. Nothing else existed beyond this. It was... a cycle. It was an endless cycle.

Go.

Yes. She needed to move. There was two more minutes to board the train. Where was it heading again? Had she just bought the next available train? South. It was headed south. What should she do there?

What was waiting there?

Nothing ever is.

Mirai gripped the ticket harder. She wished it were glass, cutting into the palm of her skin. She stared at her feet. There was no reason to feel this way. Not again. Not for another set of lifetimes. She knew. She knew. She knew.

Go.

Go.

“Gojo--”

Mirai dropped the tickets as though they burned her. She stared, watching them flutter onto the ground and land there without a sound. Mirai willed herself to bend down and pick them up.

Is anyone there?

Mirai watched her feet move. She felt frozen in place, quiet, forlorn as something sank, sank somewhere far, somewhere empty as she stepped away from the tickets and started to head back to the station. She closed her eyes, shutting them out to the sounds, to the visions, to the colors and everything else.

She wanted to tear her eyes out.

Is anyone there?

Mirai’s fingers reached up. She grabbed the sides of her head. She kept walking. Walking away from the train. Away from where she should be going--

Mirai stopped.

Her eyes opened, slow, as though awakening from a slumber. They were dark, shadowed with doubt and contempt and ill, ill, ill will. Resentment. Resent. Resent. She wanted to hate him.

Gojo Satoru stood directly before her. His expression was unreadable, pinning her down as he stood only a few feet away, people shuffling and moving past his steady, waiting stance. He kept his hands at his sides. Mirai looked to where they’d been curled, ever so slightly. 

“If I didn’t turn just now,” she said, quiet. “Would you have gotten in my way?”

Gojo tipped his head to the side. His blue cut diamonds peered at her over the top of his shades. He answered her with nothing but one shrug.

“I would have derailed the entire train if I needed to.”

“I hate you,” she said.

Gojo reached his hand out. He grabbed her fingers, slowly encircling his own around her wrist so she couldn’t go anywhere else. Without another word he started to walk, glancing back once to her. He pulled her along, refusing to let go.

Mirai said nothing, letting him take her away from the tracks. From the station. From here.

To somewhere.

[alkhale]

Typetober Day 12: locked here for forever

pls don’t kill me, I wanted to do the whole new chapter but i’m not totally done with changing some things up at the end and I’m on a time crunch because i’ve got crap to finish for school and two more essays to vomit out (hahaha, but good thing i can type a lot, right!?! ;-;) please take these meager offerings of the teaser for the next chapter instead

Story: Locked Here for Forever (Blurb of Chapter 3)

Fandom: One Piece, Modern AU, Memos Modern AU

Pairing: Dark!Sabo/Oc/Dark!Ace (Rated NSFW but this blurb is okay)

(locked here for forever)

Hoku cradled the mug of hot tea in her hands, watching the murky red color swirl as steam wafted up. There was a faintly sweet smell to it, noting something different from just apples. Herbal?

Sabo had told her there was already a pot steeped for her if she wanted it, some nice brand from some place she forgot the name of he was starting to like apparently. 

She thumbed the bits of graphite still staining the curve of her hand. She watched it smear under her thumb, graying her skin. It was a familiar look, the same way Hoku liked to feel the hard, chipped and flaky feel of paint still lingering on her skin. A bit of slow music was coming from the stereo behind her, filling the silence for her comfort. Ace’s taste? It seemed they had remotes to control all sorts of different parts of the apartment. Luxury places like this do it differently. She hadn’t seen a single normal light switch since walking through their door.

Hoku sat alone beside the dining table in Ace and Sabo’s luxurious apartment, the sleek, shiny material she didn’t know the name of showing her unreadable expression right back at her. The high ceilings and sheer size of the nicely decorated, well furnished apartment made the feeling feel much more powerful. Sitting here beside this table, Hoku felt a bit small

But she didn’t really know how to admit that she was glad to have a second to herself either. Do I really need it? I’m fine, right? She felt fine. Ace and Sabo had offered to come out and see her off if she had to leave right away, but she’d ushered them on, telling them they could go… clean up and shower or whatever they might need.

She’d wait.

“Wait in the dining room for us then,” Sabo had said, smiling warmly at her, exactly the same way he smiled at her in the cafe.“Or the living room if you want to make yourself comfortable. We’ll be finished in just a bit, alright?”

It’d been a bit hard to keep her eyes focused on him when Hotaru was still in the room as Sabo adjusted his robe, tying it off at his waist. Hoku remembered the surge of uncertainty rising up in her chest as she gently held the drawing between her fingers, not knowing whether or not she should say something to Hotaru or just keep her mouth shut. If this had been a normal shoot or session, she’d have thanked the models and started up small talk if the mood struck, but this wasn’t exactly… a conventional shoot.

Hotaru had been wrapped up in the thick duvet, sitting on the corner of the bed and looking away from them as she scrolled through her phone. The slender curve of her neck, pointedly turned away from the three of them, had pushed Hoku to decide she probably should just keep her mouth shut. But she’s the one who wants this, right? Maybe she wasn’t expecting… no, no, Sabo said she knew I’d be female… she’s probably more comfortable with that… maybe it’s just awkward?

Hoku could understand that. She tried to rationalize it. Of course it’d be a little awkward. This wasn’t exactly an everyday request for a portrait of a beloved pet or family member. Hoku was just working, after all, there wasn’t any reason for them to talk beyond that.

Still though. Hoku glanced Hotaru’s way, unable to help herself. She doesn’t seem very happy that I’m here.

“Hoku?”

Hoku jumped, turning quickly back to Sabo. He’d smiled back at her, easy and polite as he gestured for her to move toward the other side of the room—on her way to the door. “I suppose we can talk more in a second. Ace and I won’t take long.”

“Unless you want to join!” Ace had shouted from somewhere down the hall with a chortling snicker. Sabo rolled his eyes and Hoku snorted, carefully rolling up the drawing she’d finished and handing it to Sabo.

“Here,” Hoku had handed Sabo the drawing. “We can talk more after. Let me know if she has any questions.”

Sabo has smiled, eyes crinkled at the corners, full of warmth and appreciation. It’d made Hoku suddenly think there wasn’t any reason for her to think of anything else after all.

(She was just helping out.)

A bit of sweat rolled down the side of her neck now. Hoku reached up and rubbed it away, smoothing out a little crick in her neck while she was at it. Her hair was pulled back into that messy ponytail, a few stray strands sticking out. A small bag of her supplies sat beside her on the table top, drawing her attention.

That hadn’t been so bad. She just needed to not think about it. Yeah, that’s just about it, right? To not put much more thought in the aftermath—it was done with now, and it was nothing more than a commissioned job. This was definitely different from anything Hoku had done before, but it was a good chance to experience something new. Step outside her comfort zone a little to find something new about herself. This is nothing but a good opportunity. 

Hoku glanced back to her pencils.

She imagined her hand sliding across the paper to the sound of breathy moans. To the quiet sound of skin sliding against skin. Of—

“Sabo. Sabo, please—”

“We should give her a hand.”

“Did you like that—”

“Do you like it?”

Hoku jumped, knees smashing into the underside of the table. The very same tea almost sloshed out as well had she not moved her hands to try and scoop it back into the cup. She almost screamed, but only managed a startled, wheezing gasp instead. 

Sabo looked horribly apologetic, pressing fingertips to his lips in a wince at her reaction. 

Tea. Hoku’s mind automatically supplied, maybe for her sake. Tea. He’s talking about the tea.

“Good,” Hoku said intelligently. “Tea. Tea good.”

Ace broke out into a guffaw behind Sabo. The other brother quirked a brow at Hoku, looking hopelessly amused. Water dripped down the ends of their tangled locks, rolling across Sabo’s neck and disappearing into the line of his robe.

Hoku offered them a bit of a constipated smile.

Bonus:

“You ever think about getting laid?”

Law stared at his soup as though the liquid had just parted its lips and asked him the question itself.

He stared at it longer, for good measure, making sure he wasn’t seeing things after running an almost 72-hour shift non-stop dealing with both a nasty, unfortunate pile-up and some crazed stalker lashing out at his victim in a near fatal stab wound.

Law slowly turned his head to look at the young woman beside him. Hoku didn’t even blink, calmly moving her spoon through her own soup—she wasn’t much of a soup person, save for a few different dishes, but Hoku was usually always willing to try anything once, and she was even more willing to cave and eat something if it was for the sake of the other person.

She didn’t even look that tired, despite how late into the night it was beginning to be—and sporadic as Hoku’s schedule was, she always tended to get a little tired around this time before ignoring it in favor of work if she had any.

No, wait, aside from that—Hoku had just asked him a question. Not the soup. Hoku.

Law pinched the bridge of his nose for a second, rubbing the tired lines under his eyes before he refocused on her, brows furrowed and lip curling downwards in—in something.

“Do I what?”

Maybe he’d heard wrong.

“Sex,” Hoku said again, changing the vocabulary up a bit. “You ever think about it sometimes?”

Law stared at her for what might have very well been more than ten minutes to his frying, failing brain. He opened his mouth, closed it, jaw setting to the side as he tried to focus on Hoku’s face and make sure he wasn’t seeing double—make sure he hadn’t actually been gassed by one of the new anesthesiologists.

“What?” Law said, because no, it seemed the 72-hour shift had killed a bit of his cognitive process off after all.

Hoku brought the spicy beef broth to her lips, taking a long slurp.

(more to come soon! ty for your patience!)

[alkhale]

Alk’s Ink/Typetober Challenge

HELLO EVERYONE!!! Working on getting some more updates out, ko-fi requests (which have been really fun to work on btw) and getting through asks/messages, thank you all so much for you kind words of support and all your fun talks and everything, love you all!

This year I really wanted to try to do an inktober/typetober or use it as a prompt list to up my writing game a little ‘cause I feel like there’s some room for improvement, but I was surfing through the prompts set up and felt like it couldn’t hurt to have a little fun and make my own!

The list is made up of song lyrics, I’ll try to make a playlist with all the songs listed if anyone’s interested in giving them a listen to get a feel for the vibes :) Please feel free to partake in my prompt list if you’d like dare and share it with us! I hope all of you can get some really good prompts from this or some great bits of writing, and if you like it, just @alkhale​ so I can share it with everyone else or use the #alkinktober or #alktypetober so we can see everyone’s amazing works!

HOPE YOU ALL CAN HAVE SOME FUN WITH IT! HAPPY WRITING/CREATING YOU AMAZING PEOPLE!!!

Playlist for the songs:

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7EJpGXJxzlH9JoEEycJNrZ?si=t-b7mVV-QCSqYVull3U_XQ

[alkhale]

Typetober Day 5: most afraid of (Villain!Deku/Fuyu)

“It’s okay, you don’t have to be afraid you know. We’re not going to kill you.”

Fuyu said nothing. There wasn’t much that could be said with the cloth mouthpiece gagging her mouth and keeping her from doing anything silly like biting her own tongue to draw enough blood to get her out of this situation. She kept her eyes on the floor, refusing to meet his warm, emerald gaze.

Sweat dribbled down the corner of her brow, rolling across her cheek and down to her chin. She kept her breathing even. There was no point in freaking out. She’d spent enough energy thrashing and fighting before the entire entourage finally made their way into the dingy bar room to face her, tied up and gagged to a sleek metal chair.

Her blood bubbled up underneath her skin, pressing the thin thing separating it from the surface. Fuyu glared hard at the floor, hair spilling around her. His clean, polished shoes stood toe-to-toe with her grimy sneakers, bits of dried blood staining the tops.

“You sure about this one?” Dabi said from a barstool, swirling a glass. “Seems like a handful to me.”

“If Izu-kun says so then I believe in him~” Toga chirped, earning a smile from the fluffy haired teen in the center of the bar. “Besides, she’s cute!”

Shigaraki kept silent, leaning back into one of the chairs against the wall of the bar. His chapped, cracked face was almost serene, calmly watching the sight before him with half-lidded eyes, fingers lightly laced together save for his pinkies.

Let them run their shit. Fuyu decided. This fucking cult. Dumbasses. Whatever the hell they want. She didn’t even have anything to offer. What, heal a few wounds, help them if they got shot by a cop or beaten to a pulp by a hero? Nothing beyond that. Dead weight. She’d let them go on and on with their spheal, let him say all his fancy, soothing words and she’d figure a way out of this situation.

Fuyu tried not to think about her gloved hands, her tightly bound wrists and her ankles locked to the chair, anything to keep her from harming herself or drawing blood. She’d have to force it out. She could cut loose and then—

Then what?

Wait till they leave? That had to be her best option. She’d arm herself with a chair or whatever the hell she could find and fight her way out—

“I think you can help me, and I can help you.”

She flinched.

“I don’t like to do things that are useless in my eyes,” he said softly. Fuyu refused to look at him. “I tend to… overthink things, most of the time. It’s a bad habit of mine.”

Toga giggled. He smiled. “So you know then, right? That I didn’t bring you here for no reason.”

Fuyu huffed through the gag. He laughed, a light, soft sound. It betrayed the entire air this guy carried with him. All the way from the rooftop, all the way from those sparse, dangerous meetings and—

“And I think it’s a good start that you’re not very afraid of us,” he continued warmly. Fuyu snapped her head up at that, glaring daggers at him in disbelief. He beamed at the eye contact, expression glimmering in approval. Fuyu felt her stomach twist. “You’re not, aren’t you? I can tell.”

Fuyu heaved through her nose, twisting. Izuku continued to smile, crouching down to look up at her. “I know you, Fuyu.”

She glared at him in disgust. Izuku was deterred, smiling warmly. He reached one gloved hand up and Fuyu jerked away, seething at him through the gag. Izuku kept his hand in the air, letting it hover just above her knee.

“I know you more than you think,” Izuku continued. Here it is. This stupid spheal. They’re crazy. These villains, they’re crazy.

They’re all the same.

“You’re thinking it’s pointless for us to convince you to hear us out, right?” Izuku continued softly. Fuyu glared, keeping her expression vengeful. “That you don’t have anything to offer… you always think so lowly of yourself, don’t you?”

Her stomach wrenched. Fuyu planted her feet firmly against the floor, expression icy. Izuku smiled, warm as the sun, the corners of his eyes crinkling. The real terror was how someone like him could get away with an expression so gentle when it seemed everything about him was anything but.

“But I think you have everything to offer,” Izuku continued. “More than you could ever imagine. Do you know why?”

Fuyu rolled her eyes. Izuku grinned.

His hand gently touched her knee. Fuyu went rigid. Izuku lowered his eyes, stroking his thumb over the outside of her stockings, comfortingly leaving it there, as though to console her. Fuyu huffed, quick, angry breaths that he ignored, continuing in that soft, lulling voice—

“You think you’re too passive,” he said slowly. “For all your roughness, for all those fights you get into… you think you’re not passionate about anything, don’t you? You think you have no drive, and that makes you less than everyone else, lacking ambition, lacking passion… but that’s not true at all, Fuyu.”

Izuku looked up at her, smiling. “I think you just didn’t have the right thing to be passionate about.”

Fuyu jerked her knee away from him. Izuku reached for her bound hand instead, leaving it over hers. She growled, glaring daggers at him.

“Like that piece of shit who calls himself your father, right?”

Fuyu froze.

Everything went quiet. Her heart stilled. The room blurred—tatami and screen doors, the thick smell of blood and the cold kiss of metal and—

Him.

Rage flooded her heart, pooling into every inch of her. Fuyu kept frigid, staring with blazing, frenzied eyes at Izuku’s face. 

Izuku made a small, pleased noise, squeezing her hand. Fuyu’s eyes grew warm, hot, burning as he stared at him.

“You see, we’re not like filth like him,” Izuku said kindly. “I’d very much like to do a few things to scum like that. That’s what we strive for, you know? Getting rid of people like that, tipping the scales, sewing… a bit of chaos in the order of this world. The way people are allowed to get away with their crimes, their ambitions and agendas and…”

Izuku smiled up at her, eyes twinkling. Fuyu breathed raggedly, chest rising and falling. She realized with a start she could see their strings, floating and drifting in their shades of red, frayed or thick or—

“I love the way your eyes look like that,” Izuku said softly. “But see, Fuyu, I think our intentions can align well… men like that, they never get what they deserve, isn’t that right?”

Fuyu tried to think about Aizawa. She tried to think about her grandparents. About anything else that might block out the truth of his words flooding through her system, about the tune he was strumming to a song riling up at her blood, threatening to break through skin and spill all her secrets.

“The system lets them get away,” Izuku whispered, leaning forward, past her, over the chair, and just by her ear. She felt his hair tickle her cheek. “Scot free, without a care in the world… but you know, we can do something about that.”

Fuyu felt the blood bubble up, flamed by rage.

“You can do something about that.”

Izuku turned his head, peeking at her almost childishly from the fluff of his mossy green bangs. Her eyes rigidly turned sideways, glowing a bright, furious ring of red as she returned his warm, approving gaze.

“Because I think you’re mad,” Izuku whispered. “So, so mad, aren’t you?” The black void in her chest opened its maws, threatening to swallow the thin, tiny precipice of peace she’d tried so stupidly to cling to. “You’re angry.”

Izuku reached up and cupped her face, turning it forward as he towered over her now. Fuyu breathed raggedly, muscles coiling, eyes burning and he smiled down at her as though she were the most beautiful masterpiece.

“And you’re not afraid of him,” Izuku said, reaching a hand up and letting her and his string float just above his palm. Visible only from the strain and the ferociousness of her Quirk activating, making it visible for everyone to see. “You’re not afraid at all because…”

Izuku smiled at her, eyes twinkling with mirth. Fuyu’s glowed red in fury, dark and trembling and shining like the prettiest stars he’d ever seen.

“The thing you’re most afraid of,” Izuku purred. “Is yourself, right?”

A knife sliced through the bounds on her hands. Fuyu’s fingers curled instantly into fists, biting into her palm and drawing blood.

“And what you know you can do.”

[alkhale]

Typetober Day 1: refresh the page

I killed two birds with one stone on this one, I hope you guys don’t mind.

Refresh the Page (Hoshiumi Kourai/Reader) Ko-fi request

Summary:

Most people aspire for tastes that never really seem to be the kind to be anything more than… well, nothing particularly out of the ordinary. They like people with spunk, people who aren’t afraid to speak their mind. He likes kind people too, people who are shy and sweet and calm, he can find that perfectly fine in a person. He’s not  particularly picky. Hirugami likes well-natured girls who like animals.

Hoshiumi’s just…

“I don’t know,” Hoshiumi says. Hirugami looks at him. “That was kind of hot.”

Always liked people who spark.

Hirugami drops his creampan sandwich, jaw dropping.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26767111

[alkhale]

Typetober Day 13: a treasure that needs no name

don’t look at the date, i’m not late

double posting for tmmrw to make up for day 14 and day 15 ;-; school and work been kicking my ass

Title: built your walls around me

Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen

Pairing: Fushiguro Megumi/Itadori Yuuji

Summary: “You want to ruin him," Sukuna says.

Maybe Sukuna isn’t wrong about that, Fushiguro thinks in a daze. Itadori’s heart is too heavy and too precious. It’s a burden that shouldn’t be given to anyone else. Because even Itadori himself can’t take care of it, can’t hold onto it for the life of him because he’d rather become the vessel to the most wretched of all curses just to help two people he’s only known for a few months—to help Fushiguro, who he’d only met that night.

(I can keep it. Fushiguro’s hands move. I can hold onto it, if you want.)

Maybe Sukuna’s definition of ruin wasn’t all that wrong from what Fushiguro wanted after all. Maybe that did make him just as wretched.

But if Itadori was still willing to stay beside him, despite knowing that—

Then there was no reason for Fushiguro to let him go.

Or—

Some dreams start to keep Fushiguro up at night, and the cure to stopping them might be closer than he thinks.

Link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27022993/chapters/65970139