Hi this is my little intro for me and my selfships :3
This blog and my art fight account are SFW!
For more info about my self inserts, look at my posts tagged with "self insert info". Tomura only art (reblogs and non-yume specific art) is tagged with "the wife tm", Wanderer's is "lil bug", and Lilia's specific tag is "medley menace".
Selfship tags are:
Tomura -> "hands and legs"
Wanderer -> "coldporcelain"
Lilia -> "midnightmusic"
Im a sharing selfshipper! And i love getting questions about my ships or my self inserts and also hearing about yours if you also selfship with anyone from BNHA, Genshin or Twisted Wonderland <3
I also selfship with Chitose Amano from My Dress Up Darling, but im extremely private about it and heavily nonsharing, so i dont post about it on here really. If i ever mention it, then the post will have "strawberryseason" as a tag.
Answered asked will be tagged with "inbox", and if the ask or my answer mentions smth about my selfship it will also have "rambling"
I want to add that I have read some fic that I felt were bad but they had something about them - story, theme, a specific moment, etc. - that was so interesting or chewy that I think about it to this day, even years later.
So what if you're not someone's next great author? You could also haunt their dreams and nightmares simultaneously, and be the ghost in their daydreams. Don't ever give them peace.
“You know, they say moles are where your past life’s lover kissed you most often,” the robotic voice rang out from Sal’s phone as they took a seat at the bar. Tomura snorted, moving to down the last of his drink and sliding the glass over to Kurogiri to clean behind the bar. He turned on the barstool, facing Sal, and propped his chin up with his arm on the table.
“Really now?” Tomura’s raspy voice was dripping with sarcasm but the small uptick of the corners of his dry lips betrayed his true emotions. Sal hummed wordlessly. “Do you really believe in that kinda crap?”
Sal scrunched their face in thought for a moment before ultimately tilting their head and shrugging their shoulders in a noncommittal ‘I don’t know’, then picking up their phone again to begin typing their next sentence. Tomura watched them patiently, shifting one of his feet from the metal footrest under his own seat to Sal’s and starting to very lightly spin their stool as he waited. After a minute, the robotic voice sounded again. “I’m not sure. Maybe. It’s a nice thought,” as the voice spoke, Sal gained a mischievous expression. “There’s definitely one positive thing about it if it’s real.”
Tomura lifted his chin off his fist, tilting his head in curiosity. “Yeah? And what’s that?”
Sal didn’t have to type their next phrase, having already had it loaded up in their text to speech app, they simply sat the phone down and pressed for the response to sound off. “At least your past life’s lover had amazing taste.”
Tomura had barely enough time to make a small sound of questioning before Sal leaned over and delivered a kiss right to his mole just under his lip. Tomura blinked, face flushing with heat as affection swelled thickly in his chest.
Sal pulled back just slightly to take a quick peek at Tomura’s expression and giggle soundlessly before tagging the mole with another quick peck. And then to the one under his right eye. And the little cluster of two under the left. And the one below his brow bone. And finally back to press a third kiss to the first mole again.
The dirt is cold and wet. Uneven ground needed to be crossed to make your way to the simple headstone, modest in size and shape. Simple. Distant from the others. Far off from the paved path and fenced-in square of the rest of the cemetery. Squirreled away from everyone else.
The stone was just as cold as the ground. Just as bare as the grass, devoid of flowers, of candles, of offerings. Brandishing the lonely name of a lonely child.
Tenko Shimura.
The engraving was wrong. The name was wrong. Tenko Shimura wasn’t buried in this dirt. It wasn’t Tenko’s ashes and dust that laid in the ground. In the end, Tenko wasn’t his name, not the one he chose to be, the one his friends knew him by, the one his friends loved him by. Tenko was the name of an ideal. An unobtainable ghost.
Tenko was good. Redeemable. Worth mourning.
They had never seen that in Tomura. Tomura was never good, created evil. His death wasn’t mourned by them, it was celebrated. They didn’t feel the pressure in their chests like it’s going to cave in, the weight in their limbs like moving corpses, the tear in their souls like they will never be whole again.
Bile fills the living ghost’s mouth at the name etched into the smooth stone.
It’s not Tenko in the dirt.
And after hours pass, the stone still stands there, lonely and desolate. But it’s no longer bare, dandelions leaving a small flash of vibrant yellow at the base.
(i think this is my favourite saltomu art work yet..)
Drabble (997 word and probably one of the more experimental types):
> Datalog Entry; May 18th, Midspring. 11:42 AM.
Specimen 10K0 has been showing increasingly lethargic behavior over the last few days. Continued observation of his daily actions has been more difficult due to these changes. He seems to be spending the majority of his time within the hollow we’ve determined to be a type of burrow, but will leave to hunt and forage food and water, of which he typically brings back. Luckily, one of the junior researchers was able to quickly hide a discreet trail camera at the entrance to the hollow pointed inwards during one of Specimen 10K0’s absences. Nothing else was disturbed, and Specimen 10K0 did not react to the camera, leading us to believe he could not tell there was anything different.
Viewing of the live feed from the trail camera showed that when Specimen 10K0 comes back from his hunting, he places the foraged food brought back in a small carved out hole covered with large leaves. Hunted game gets dragged into the center of the burrow, next to a large pile of grasses, leaves, fur and feathers. We have identified this pile as a nest. Collected water is kept in a large stone bowl which looks to have been naturally eroded. Specimen 10K0 uses an old metal tin, likely litter from hikers or campers, to collect the water and bring it back.
When within the burrow, Specimen 10K0 will often vocalize. Most vocalizations are a high pitched chirp or squeak, and he will look around after, as if looking for something to respond. Other vocalizations include low clicking noises and very rarely, hissing. He will also occasionally rub his wings together which will make a muted tapping noise, but it is unclear whether the noise is simply a byproduct of the action, or if there is any deeper meaning to it.
Other behaviors within the burrow include a type of movement we have elected to call ‘circling’, where Specimen 10K0 will make a full perimeter check of the nest, to the entrance of the burrow and then back around the nest again, as if looking for something. Refurbishing of the nest also occurs. We try to avoid humanizing Specimen 10K0 as best as we can in our observation of him, but there’s no other way to rationalize the amount of time spent on rearranging the nest components other than just plain fussiness. He gets annoyed with the nest and rearranges it many times, as if he’s never satisfied with it.
He’s intelligent, that much is clear.
> Datalog Entry; May 19th, Midspring. 2:13 PM.
After overnight observation of the live feed, much of Specimen 10K0’s behavior makes more sense. Last night, at 12:58 AM, there was a noticeable change in Specimen 10K0’s behavior, his antennae vibrated against each other and made a sound similar to purring and he moved to finally lay down in the nest, of which then a very small creature made its way on top of Specimen 10K0’s torso and buried itself into the fur there. Specimen 10K0 was noticeably gentle towards the creature, cupping his hand around it and moving slowly. It is difficult to tell on the trail camera but the creature looked to be spider-like in nature, with what appeared to be eight legs, a round abdomen and carapace, but had a longer torso like structure where the chelicerae of a normal tarantula would be. We’ve allowed the lab tech to decide the temporary name for the creature until we make an official one. For now, the creature’s being called “Bitsy”.
Specimen 10K0 treats Bitsy very softly, something we hadn’t seen him do with other animals. He moves around carefully and looks to see where Bitsy is when moving objects around. Specimen 10K0 has also been observed giving small pieces of meat to Bitsy. We are unclear about the nature of this relationship, whether it is symbiotic in nature or if Specimen 10K0 is intelligent enough to view Bitsy as a pet. We plan to continue monitoring Specimen 10K0’s behavior through the trail cam for a few more days before the next field rotation of researchers.
> Datalog Entry; May 23st, Midspring. 5:02 PM.
The nickname “Bitsy” has stuck around even after the official christening of the small spider creature’s tag, S41. Observation of Bitsy has shown that it too is highly intelligent, comparable to Specimen 10K0 at the very least. It is able to use rudimentary tools in the form of twigs, leaves, and acorn caps. We observed Bitsy scooping water out of the basin with an acorn cap and drink from it like a cup. We have also concluded that Specimen 10K0 does not view Bitsy as a pet. The two are some type of bonded pair, likely a mated pair despite the glaring differences in species and size. Specimen 10K0 and Bitsy are able to communicate between each other, as we’ve seen Specimen 10K0 vocalize directly to Bitsy, who will in turn take actions that make Specimen 10K0 pleased, qualified by the antennae purring. There is evidence that Bitsy communicates back via vocalization or other possibly hormonal responses, but either the trail cam is unable to pick up the frequencies or is it hormonal responses of which we cannot quantify without getting closer which would disturb the subject animals.
More observation is needed of these two before anything truly definitive can be asserted, but the evidence is certainly there. Today having been the last day for this groups’ observations, we elected to collect a small amount of mottled fur and a few of Specimen 10K0’s shedded wing scales from the environment to further research in the lab when we get back. As the rest of this research team begins packing up to get ready for the next rotation, there’s a bittersweetness to it all. We’ve all grown attached to these two despite our best efforts not to. We hope the next observation team treats them just as well.
A tiny Sal sat quietly on the floor in the back corner of the classroom, curled up with their well loved cat plush. The room was far too loud for them, the other children running about and yelling, fighting fake battles against invisible villains, pretending to be heroes. The noise was too much. The running around was too much. Everything was too much. They sniffled, eyes having fogged with tears as feelings too big for their body bubbled over.
They didn’t want to cry, everyone says crying is for babies, but crying was better than lashing out.
Sal had gotten mad last week when Mikkun got too loud and close when they were playing heroes, and when he wouldn’t stop bumping into them, they had hit him. That outburst earned them quite the scolding from their teacher and a call home to their parents. Sal sniffed harder. They didn’t want to hurt Mikkun but he just wouldn’t stop yelling or touching and they couldn’t stop their arm from striking out. They just didn’t know what was wrong with them. No one seemed to want to tell them what was wrong. But everyone knew something was.
That’s why they sat back today. Because while they wanted to play animal shelter with their kitty stuffie, everyone else wanted to play heroes again. And Miss Takahashi made it very clear that if Sal had another incident, it would have very big consequences.
Taking a breath in, Sal plopped their kitty plush on the floor in front of them. The tears kept welling as they hiccuped through telling the plush that it was at the shelter because it was sick and needed to get better before it could find a home. The plush, Sassy as it was named, stared back blankly. Sal frowned and bit their lip to stop the shaky cry that was about to come out. It’s no fun playing shelter by themself. They wanted someone else to want to play with them. They sat in silence, glaring at the innocent plush on the rug, until a pair of socked feet came into view and Sal looked up to see who it was.
Tenko crouched down in front of them, concern drawn on his adorable, chubby face. “What’s wrong?” Sal just shook their head sadly, unable to articulate what they were feeling. “Do you want to play heroes with us? Mikkun isn’t mad anymore.” Another ‘no’ headshake. “Okay. What are you playing, can I join?” Sal hiccuped before slowly nodding yes.
“I’m playing-” a sniff interrupted them, “animal shelter. If you want to play, you should get an animal too.”
Tenko nodded happily in agreement. “Alright! I’ll be back!” The boy quickly scampered off to go grab a toy. For the few moments he was gone, Sal rubbed their nose, sniveling a little.
As quickly as he left, Tenko had come swiftly back, his carefully chosen toy in his grasp.
Tenko plopped the toy dinosaur, a brontosaurus Sal noted in their head, down on the ground. “There! He can also be in the animal shelter so the kitty won't be lonely.”
Sal giggled, “no he can’t, dinosaurs are extinct! There aren’t any left to be in a shelter.”
Tenko smiled widely at having gotten Sal to stop crying and start laughing instead. “Well,” Tenko huffed playfully, “this one isn’t! And he is in a shelter, so he can stop all the other animals from being alone. He doesn’t like seeing the other animals cry.”
Sal shook their head, still giggling. “Okay,” they rubbed their eyes, “the brontosaurus can be in the shelter.” Tenko tilted his head curiously.
“What’s a brontosaurus?”
“It’s what that dinosaur is! They have long necks and tails,” Sal stated confidently, eyes shining brightly, “they were really really big! I read it in my book.”
Tenko grinned, moving the brontosaurus next to the kitty stuffie and sitting down next to Sal carefully. “You know a lot about dinosaurs, tell me more?”
The Rampage machine actually had someone else playing it. Sal blinked a few times just to make sure. Nope, yup, that’s a real person, and they Are playing Rampage. Huh.
I mean, of course, there had to be someone else who played it at some point. Given that no matter how hard Sal tried, their high score would always get overtaken by the next time they swung by the arcade after their shift in the lab. Like clockwork, they’d show up to waste some time melting their brain with their favourite retro arcade game and wouldn’t you know it, “TMA” right there taking up the shiny top spot of the high score leader board, knocking their own “SAL” down to stupid number two. It was almost as impressive as it was absolutely Infuriating.
Sal stood, watching this person play for a minute, taking in everything they could about him, from the red shoes, to the baggy dark jeans that looked like they were slightly too short for him, the oversized black hoodie that was pulled up over pale blue hair, vibrant red eyes that were narrowed slightly in focus and the odd way he was holding the joystick control with his pinky and ring finger raised away from it. The scar that fell across his right eye and the textured skin around it. The little mole just under his mouth…
…he’s kinda.. cute..
No! Focus! This is the dickwad that keeps fucking up your leaderboard!
The man shifted on his feet as he played, pink tongue quickly making a swipe across the dry bottom lip in focus. A confident huff escaped him as the level continued.
…fuck he’s really cute. And!! Clearly he likes that old game! Something in common!
Hustling up faked courage, Sal saddled up to the side of the machine once the blue haired man completed the level, taking care to not be distracting during the actual gameplay. They crossed their arms in a way they hoped read as suave and laidback regardless of the way their chelicerae twitched with nerves. Just. Play it cool. Easy. This is a normal interaction, normal people do this all the time.
“So,” Sal started, catching the man’s attention, “you’re the one who keeps beating my high score.”
The man tilted his head, looking at Sal, intense red eyes flicking between features of their face and their brightly coloured mandibles. The spike of discomfort from being clocked as a heteromorph festered as he continued to stare, Sal about to say ‘fuck it’ and run off, never to come back to this arcade ever again, never attempt to talk to another person again and become a hermit with 20 tarantulas. But then he.. snirked, snirked! The corners of his lips ticking up unevenly, a small lopsided smile, and a playful glint shown in those red eyes. All the building tension in Sal’s body settled.
“Maybe you should stop making it so easy to beat then,” he snarked, pressing the button to continue to the next level, quickly glancing back at Sal as if checking to make sure his teasing wasn’t taken poorly.
Sal faked a dramatic gasp, pressing a hand to their heart. “Wounded! I worked very hard for those high scores, thank you very much.”
“And they were no problem to crush. Why don’t you watch how a real game pro plays it, maybe you’ll learn something.” He continued to mash the buttons, blowing up an 8-bit helicopter on the screen. Until his eyes widened and darted over, a faint embarrassed flush colouring his cheeks. “That’s- it’s not because you’re a girl. I didn’t mean it like- that,” he rushed out.
“Oh thanks but um.. not. Not a girl. Or a guy.” It was a quiet correction, one that didn’t have the air of teasing from before and one Sal was very hesitant to make. But despite the fear, all the blue haired man did was look back at the game screen and nod casually. As casually as someone who kept getting redder and redder could be at least. Sal relaxed their shoulders, having unintentionally tensed.
“Cool,” his tone was an attempt at being chill. “Cool, yeah.” He took a breath, the colour lessening on his face. Red eyes shot over to glance at Sal again as he continued his button mashing. “I’m a guy.”
Sal smiled gratefully, nodding. “Cool.”
The two stood in the friendly ambiance of the game sounds, buttons and joystick noises as the man, get his name idiot ask his name stop calling him “the man” get his fucking name, locked in on the mini battle happening on the screen.
“I’m Sal. But you probably got that from the scoreboard. You know, the one you keep pushing me down on.”
He laughed. It was raspy like the rest of his voice, but it had a wispy airy sound to it too, like he didn’t truly laugh very often. Sal could feel the stupid cupid’s golden arrow hit them right in the heart.
“Tomura.” He, Tomura, smiled wide, all teeth and still slightly lopsided, pulling at the scar on his lips. “Wanna join in once this level’s over? You can be player 2, it’s more fun with real time competition.”
Hello everynyan! Surprise!!! To celebrate 8 years of derangement with Tomura (and also my birthday in June), everyone is invited to the first annual (but probably not repeating)
ClickGames Ship Week!!!
Starting June first and going until June seventh. Each day I will be posting an art piece and an accompanying drabble of various sizes based on the day’s prompt. I’m not a good writer but I will be using this to practice and also experiment a little bit so don’t throw tomatoes at me!
Anyone is welcome to join in if you wish to (absolutely no pressure at all), just use the day’s prompt and use the tag “clickgamesshipweek”! I encourage asks if you have them for me or Tomura!
If this inspires you to make your own selfship week, @ me in it! I wanna see everyone’s selfships! Who knows, maybe I’ll send in a little sketch for your own ships :3
