FF.net and a fic
I am slowly (SLOWLY) taking all my fics from FF.net and editing them and posting them here. I like FF.net but it seems to me that there is NO standard of writting there. Not that I'm bragging about my own works, because I think I'm average, but I do actually use spell check. I mean grammar is one thing (and I do realize that I have major issues with this) but how hard is it to click on spell check. There is no reason for that other than you don't really care about your writting. And if you don't care about your work than why should we? Als I kinda hate the fact that some of the worst fics, ones that completely butcher the fandom, get tons of comments (positive ones) and really amazing fics get barely any recognition. And I hat flamers. With a passion. Fanfiction is precisely that, fiction written by fans. That means it's there interpretation of it and you should respect that. I have read some fics where I have been comfused as to how it fits in with anything related to the original work (some Harry Potter fanfiction has been truely horrendous)but I simply close the window and vow never to read it again. I do not post a comment saying "OMG that sucked you are so wrong. You should burn your writting. i hope you die!!1!1!". If you are going to give negative feedback, give it a manner that is constructive. Anyhooo done with the rant.
Title: A Vile Monster
Fandom: Yami No Matsuie
Rating: PG-15 (Mature themes and lime)
Summery: A look at the psyche of Tsuzuki Asato.
I decided to write this to show the darker side of Tsuzuki’s and Hisoka’s relationship. I noticed that everyone always calls Tsuzuki, well, Tsuzuki and thus came to this conclusion. He doesn’t suffer from split personality or anything like that, but Tsuzuki is the name of the mask that everyone sees. Asato is the real person, the one that suffers, hates, loves, and despairs. All the shallow emotions and behaviors I attribute to the mask. Thus every reference to Tsuzuki through narration shall be addressed to Asato.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He was disgusting.
An abomination, a vile and cursed being, not even human.
He tainted all he touched and marred all he saw. He was a murderer, a monster, a liar, a deceiver, a disease and a manipulator. Of such ability that he could put even Muraki to shame. More recently he had added pedophile and rapist to his ever-growing resume.
He glanced back where his victim lay in a dreamless sleep on his bed; sweat and semen dry on his pale flesh. Sleep such as this, one without nightmares to torment an already tormented soul, was rare for Hisoka. It only came after a night of sin and lust. Hisoka was naïve enough to think that it was love, and pure. That it was his choice.
But Asato knew better.
After all how could an emotionally stunted 16-year-old boy even try to resist someone like Asato, someone with experience that spanned over almost a century? There was no equality in their relationship. Asato was a rapist, for Hisoka was too young and desperate for love to even understand what was going on. It wasn’t consensual, it wasn’t equal and it never would be. And Asato was disgusting for taking advantage of that.
He was fucking a boy, a boy who had no choice really in the matter. He lusted after that underdeveloped body, to see it squirming beneath him. It turned him on to hear the breathy moans of a voice that never quite finished changing. There was no way for Asato to justify his sickness, his disease. He may love the soul within that man-child body with all his being, but that did not change the fact that he has been fucking a child for almost a year now. Raping a child for almost a year. He deserved the worst sort of hell for this and he knew it.
In many ways he was far worse than Muraki, for Muraki had merely raped the boy once and it was a purely physical thing. Asato was using what this poor child had mislabeled as love and manipulated him into his bed. It didn’t matter that Hisoka had iniciated it, that Hisoka always made the first move. He was after all, just a boy.
Asato knew he deserved to be annihilated in the worst way. He deserved incomprehensible and unending pain for tarnishing one so young and so pure. But he was a selfish being; after all didn’t he exist at the expense of others? Hadn’t he always existed in this way?
Asato smiled bitterly at his reflection, at the mask that was there everyday. People often thought he was easy to read, but what they didn’t know was that those emotions the saw (or sensed in Hisoka’s case) were only the ones he chose to let through his shields. He had far better shields than Tatsumi could ever conceive of; after all he knew that Hisoka could sense Tatsumi’s shields while he had no clue about his, not really. He thought he knew, but he only sensed what Asato allowed him to sense. He didn’t even feel these true shields while Asato was desecrating him, he didn’t realize the loathing and disgust Asato felt at each moan, each gasp that he elected from the waif-like body. Thus he didn’t worry about strengthening his shields when he heard soft rustling from the general vicinity of his bed.
“Tsuzuki?” came the muffled sound from the bed as Hisoka awoke only to find that he was alone.
Asato quickly fixed a soft smile in place, one of the ones that Hisoka was convinced were his “true” smile.
Time for the show to begin again.
Title: A Vile Monster
Fandom: Yami No Matsuie
Rating: PG-15 (Mature themes and lime)
Summery: A look at the psyche of Tsuzuki Asato.
I decided to write this to show the darker side of Tsuzuki’s and Hisoka’s relationship. I noticed that everyone always calls Tsuzuki, well, Tsuzuki and thus came to this conclusion. He doesn’t suffer from split personality or anything like that, but Tsuzuki is the name of the mask that everyone sees. Asato is the real person, the one that suffers, hates, loves, and despairs. All the shallow emotions and behaviors I attribute to the mask. Thus every reference to Tsuzuki through narration shall be addressed to Asato.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He was disgusting.
An abomination, a vile and cursed being, not even human.
He tainted all he touched and marred all he saw. He was a murderer, a monster, a liar, a deceiver, a disease and a manipulator. Of such ability that he could put even Muraki to shame. More recently he had added pedophile and rapist to his ever-growing resume.
He glanced back where his victim lay in a dreamless sleep on his bed; sweat and semen dry on his pale flesh. Sleep such as this, one without nightmares to torment an already tormented soul, was rare for Hisoka. It only came after a night of sin and lust. Hisoka was naïve enough to think that it was love, and pure. That it was his choice.
But Asato knew better.
After all how could an emotionally stunted 16-year-old boy even try to resist someone like Asato, someone with experience that spanned over almost a century? There was no equality in their relationship. Asato was a rapist, for Hisoka was too young and desperate for love to even understand what was going on. It wasn’t consensual, it wasn’t equal and it never would be. And Asato was disgusting for taking advantage of that.
He was fucking a boy, a boy who had no choice really in the matter. He lusted after that underdeveloped body, to see it squirming beneath him. It turned him on to hear the breathy moans of a voice that never quite finished changing. There was no way for Asato to justify his sickness, his disease. He may love the soul within that man-child body with all his being, but that did not change the fact that he has been fucking a child for almost a year now. Raping a child for almost a year. He deserved the worst sort of hell for this and he knew it.
In many ways he was far worse than Muraki, for Muraki had merely raped the boy once and it was a purely physical thing. Asato was using what this poor child had mislabeled as love and manipulated him into his bed. It didn’t matter that Hisoka had iniciated it, that Hisoka always made the first move. He was after all, just a boy.
Asato knew he deserved to be annihilated in the worst way. He deserved incomprehensible and unending pain for tarnishing one so young and so pure. But he was a selfish being; after all didn’t he exist at the expense of others? Hadn’t he always existed in this way?
Asato smiled bitterly at his reflection, at the mask that was there everyday. People often thought he was easy to read, but what they didn’t know was that those emotions the saw (or sensed in Hisoka’s case) were only the ones he chose to let through his shields. He had far better shields than Tatsumi could ever conceive of; after all he knew that Hisoka could sense Tatsumi’s shields while he had no clue about his, not really. He thought he knew, but he only sensed what Asato allowed him to sense. He didn’t even feel these true shields while Asato was desecrating him, he didn’t realize the loathing and disgust Asato felt at each moan, each gasp that he elected from the waif-like body. Thus he didn’t worry about strengthening his shields when he heard soft rustling from the general vicinity of his bed.
“Tsuzuki?” came the muffled sound from the bed as Hisoka awoke only to find that he was alone.
Asato quickly fixed a soft smile in place, one of the ones that Hisoka was convinced were his “true” smile.
Time for the show to begin again.