#demari.misc

[mihlen]

Sometimes I think about how my OC Demari is, in some universes, a cis-identifying trans man, and I think it's one of the funniest things about him...

[mihlen]

Niche aspect I enjoy so dearly about Tarou and Demari's relationship is, all the fun emotional bits aside, the juxtaposition of Old Money vs. New Money...

Neither of them have bad taste—they both have rather good taste in their respective categories I would say—but boy is there a difference in outlook that comes with it!

[mihlen]

Drabble Backlog (2025.02.16)

From January's personal "drabble a day" challenge, originally written January 7, 2025. These dailies are unedited and do not represent polished work.

The anti-emetic tastes worse coming up. What's the point of that, Demari thinks viciously to himself. He wipes his mouth with a handkerchief then, dissatisfied, drags his hand across his lips, which go numb against his teeth. "You want it done right, do it yourself," he mutters to his reflection, careful not to wet his sleeves washing his hands. That'll be his next pitch—anti-emetics that don't taste like spoiled fucking wine. He’ll squeeze it in between the Mallow and Diageo accounts. His ringtone echoes off the tiles, and he snatches up his phone. "Yeah?" he says. "Talk to me."

[mihlen]

Daily Excerpt (2024.09.10)

An excerpt from "Wallfuck" (working title). These dailies are unedited and do not represent the final product.

He would wonder how they weren’t all embarrassed at the theatrics of it all, but he already knows that Antin Lang is shameless; the blackmail an orphan kind of shameless; the fuck a kid since he’s fourteen type of shameless, but hey—what the arbiters don’t know won’t hurt Lang. What doesn’t hurt Lang, however, definitely does hurt Demari. The first of Lang’s lackeys shoves into him with spit for lube, and Demari near gags. He feels himself fill too quickly, his muscles burning from the strain. If it weren’t for his magic strengthening his skin, he’s certain he would have torn. He clenches his fist against the wall as he asks,  “You’re keeping your end of the bargain, right?” throat tight to keep his words from jumping at every thrust. Lang’s voice pans from the right to the left. “You mean staying away from that [shapeshifting] soldier with the scars?”  Demari’s heart drops like a stone. He had thought he convinced the man that Pasahol was a nobody. Lang hadn’t known they were a [shapeshifter] before. Pulse beating cold in his throat, Demari tries to speak—chokes, as the thug behind the wall lifts him by the thigh to fuck him harder—and pushes through. He’s used to pain as dull as this. “No. You staying away from anyone I work with. I’m eighteen now. You’re not my sponsor anymore.” […] Suddenly, a hand hooks his chin, stretching it high. Demari grunts against the strain, grabbing at Lang’s fingers. “I’m not your sponsor, but you’re still my assistant,” he says, and even through the blindfold, Demari can picture the older man’s smile all too well, cold in the eyes and cruel in the mouth. “Who else in the compound can handle a witch? Especially one so antisocial.”

 (This excerpt mentions idolkilling’s OC Ankita.)

[mihlen]

Daily Excerpt (2024.09.03)

An excerpt from a prompt fill for an ask about Bug!Demari. These dailies are unedited and do not represent the final product.

“You’re wearing gloves?” “Yes.” “The modified ones?” “Yes.”  “Okay.” He sounds exhausted, his voice half-drifting as though he’s nodding at the wheel. He sits slumped, head in hands, over his workstation, neck shimmering thickly with ichorous sweat. When he sighs, it’s with the weight of his failures bearing down on him like a spotlight, like the public eye. It makes him want to shrivel and die. “Then on my count. Three, two…” His assistant grips the thick raised edge of his chitinous skin, where it’s split along the ecdysial suture of his shoulder blades, and pulls. The squelch is disgusting, and Demari groans openly as the cool air of the lab puffs against his new dermis, still pulsing and raw. Slime sloughs off his body in congealed slabs along with his molt. He doesn’t know how Parilla can bear to look at him.

(This excerpt features idolkilling’s OC Kee.)

[mihlen]

Daily Excerpt (2024.08.21)

An excerpt from “Sibling Rivalry” (working title). These dailies are unedited and do not represent the final product.

Mirac Verrine’s ‘older brother’ was two years younger than him—one ‘Demari Nocenti.’ A scrawny waif of a man, with jewel-tone eyes and a shock of white hair that didn’t so much demand as beg pathetically for attention, an endeavor that had only gotten all the worse once the ungrateful cur left home at 16 and broke their mother’s heart.  Demari didn’t resemble their mother at all. Mirac was another story. Carmen Verrine’s second son resembled her quite strongly, in fact—the same smile, the same eyes, the same ruthlessness belying their charming appearance. Mirac imagined that he must resemble her quite more strongly than he resembled the woman who conceived him, whose face he could no longer remember.  He had heard once that ‘Nocenti’ was an orphan’s name. And, well, if their mother hadn’t even bothered to bestow her name upon him, how much could she really care?

(This excerpt mentions idolkilling's OC Verrine.)