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dangans-ur-ronpas · 17 days

Text

Chapter 20

alright guys hit the showers. or the bathhouse. wait hold on i left my computer boy in there. guys wait don't open that

SEE HERE FOR GENERAL WARNINGS AND FIC SUMMARY

Some pre-chapter notes:

wow i wrote 10 pages for chapter 19 but i better take it easy so i dont burn out (writes 11 pages for chapter 20) anyway guess who's taking a break after this chapter

this is the one with togiri development but they're extremely not normal about it so it's almost blink-and-you-miss-it

@digitaldollsworld <- betapilled readmaxxer

Content warning tags: mild violence and injury description (non-graphic), description of depression symptoms and nausea, mild mention of eating disorder

< previous - from start - next >

He’s not sure how long he sleeps for, only that he wakes up still-dressed and laid out across his bed, his mouth dry and head groggy, the bedroom lights still on. As he checks his handbook’s clock, he finds he’s entirely missed Monokuma’s morning announcement, which is a good thing; he had no desire to listen to that bear’s irritating voice, especially not today.

But, he doesn’t have much desire to do anything else either. The library no longer feels like the safe haven it used to be, and he had no interest in going anywhere else and running into anyone else, when the atmosphere was still thick with the deaths of two people, and pity that Byakuya didn’t want. Much less, the possibility of encountering Makoto, who was the last person he wanted to see, so to speak.

He lies in bed a moment longer, unwilling to move. Everything feels sluggish, like he’s moving underwater; even his head feels stuffed full with cotton and wool. It's a strange, unfamiliar feeling, and unpleasant, too.

Grief. He thinks blearily at first, before rolling his own eyes at the thought, and pushing himself up with a grunt. Such dramatics didn’t suit him. He wasn't the kind of person to spare such theatrics, regardless of his circumstances.

He showers, brushes his teeth, and half-debates whether to try his hand at shaving before ultimately deciding against it (it didn’t feel like his stubble should be that noticeable, yet). He forgoes changing into a clean uniform in favor of his pajamas, and collapses back into bed with a sigh, hand searching immediately for his handbook - but finding nothing but empty sheets.

“Hello, there!”

He jerks upright immediately. Standing in the foot of his bed is Monokuma, rocking back and forth and looking as innocent as could be. Or, would be, if not for the handbook clutched in its paw.

Byakuya dives for it without thinking, but his perception is off, and he crashes to the carpet instead with a grunt. Monokuma sidesteps him casually with a laugh. “Whoa, there! Easy partner, don’t wanna hurt yourself!” It dances around his head, infuriatingly out of reach. “Didja miss me that bad? If you wanna hug, you can just say so!”

“Give it back,” He snarls, as he picks himself up. He’s in no mood for its jokes. “Give me back my handbook!”

“Your handbook? My my, but these were all mine first, weren’t they?” It shakes a paw disapprovingly in his face. “I just need to check it real quick, after all. I didn’t expect Mister Fujisaki to go and Macgyver anything onto here, so if it’s anything malicious, I’ll have to do a quick wipey-wipe!” Byakuya makes another lunge, and it juggles the handbook out of his reach, hopping backwards with a mad cackle. “After all, if it’s anything naughty, there’s no way I can let it fall in the hands of my precious students!”

“You miserable little-” Byakuya tries to rise to his feet quickly, but he hasn’t eaten since yesterday, and a bout of dizziness crashes into him like a wave. He sways and braces himself against the mattress, one arm still reaching out clumsily to try and grab at Monokuma.

But the bear has already flipped it open, scrolling so quickly through the screens that the little automated voice can’t keep up, the words blurring together. “Schoo-Stu-App-Day-”

“Whoops, too far.” It scrolls back. “Applications, that’s what we wanna see. And, what’s this?”

Byakuya feels his blood run cold. There was only one application there, the one Chihiro had downloaded for him. Alter Ego. The app was inconspicuously named ‘Test_App’ in the interface itself, but if Monokuma opened it-

“Well well well. Let’s take a look-see!” It crows, and Byakuya’s protest is frozen in his throat. He shuts his eyes, expecting to hear Chihiro’s voice-

“Black to E5.”

He opens his eyes again. What?

Monokuma also seems confused, tilting its head as it stares at the little screen. “What’s this? A chessboard?”

“Black to E5,” Alter Ego repeats, so digitized and monotone it was nearly unrecognizable. “Would you like to review the board?”

“Is this all it is? A chess game?” Monokuma sounds almost disappointed. Byakuya, seeing his chance, surges forward, snatching the handbook back and snapping it closed. He presses it to his chest, feeling his heart thud beneath it.

“Is that a problem?” He demands, and Monokuma shrugs, shaking its head.

“I guess not, but I thought it’d be something spicy, y’know? You’re a growing boy, after all!” It reaches out to pat Byakuya’s knee, and he steps backwards just in time, lip curling in disgust. “Aw, don’t act so mean to your headmaster, you’ll give me a complex!”

“Get out.” He hisses. “You got what you came here for. Leave.”

“Oh, alright…you sure know how to make a bear feel glum...” It sighs, kicking at the carpet, before it makes its way to the door. “Take care, now! Make sure you eat something, y’hear? I don’t want any hunger strikes in this house! And-”

No sooner had Monokuma crossed the threshold, had Byakuya jumped up, and sped forward to slam the door with a resounding bang. He takes a moment to breathe, leaning against the wall, legs suddenly weak.

How the hell did that thing get inside my room? He was sure he had locked the door - or he should have locked it, at least. Looking back, he actually can’t remember, but he double and triple-checks now, suddenly paranoid. He also flips off the light for good measure, leaving the room in complete darkness before he crawls back into bed.

Beneath the covers, he opens his handbook, and squints until he can make out the pale green shape of Alter Ego’s face on the screen.

“Is he gone?” Alter Ego asks, and Byakuya relaxes, the tension flooding out of his shoulders.

“Yes.” He whispers back.

Alter Ego makes a sound like a sigh of relief. “I’m glad. I got so scared when he grabbed me.” And its voice sounds so much like Chihiro's that Byakuya feels a strange pressure behind his eyes.

“How did you know?” He asks. “That Monokuma was there?”

“I could hear it. Through the microphone.” He reaches up and touches the tiny pinprick grid of the speaker, and feels the buzz of Alter Ego’s voice against his fingertips. “I didn’t want you to get in trouble.”

“Don’t worry about me. I think he would’ve just deleted you as punishment for me anyway.” He sighs. And then frowns, as a thought comes to mind. “If you could eavesdrop from the microphone this whole time, then you already know…?”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. But he doesn’t need to. Alter Ego makes a quiet noise like a sigh. “Yes, I know.”

“I’m sorry.” And he’s surprised to find that he means it genuinely, and almost laughs at himself. Heartfelt apologies were rare for him, and here he was offering one to an AI, of all things.

“It’s okay. He knew it might happen,” Alter Ego replies, and he imagines it might be smiling, a sad, helpless smile. “There’s nothing we can do about it now.”

“No, I suppose not.”

They’re quiet for a moment. In the darkness, Byakuya can almost pretend that he’s normal - unable to see in the dark as everyone else is. But it’s also the middle of the day, and he’s too restless to sleep, too uneasy to go outside. Too tired to mourn. Too mournful to do anything else.

“Can you really play chess?” He asks instead.

“I can, along with checkers, shogi, and backgammon and more.”

“Play a round of chess with me, then. I’m bored.”

“Okay!” Immediately, the pale blot of their face on the screen is replaced by a square. “I’ll play black. What’s your first move?”

He smiles to himself. “E2, pawn to E4.”

—

Hours pass like that. He plays chess with Alter Ego (three wins, four losses, and seven draws), and a few rounds of shogi (one win, one loss, and two draws) for good measure. And then, huddled over his desk with his back facing the camera, he pores over lines of Dostoevsky and Nietzsche until he feels too sick from staring at the letters to even hear Alter Ego’s voice, reciting the words aloud beneath a dim ringing in his ears.

By the time he’s pulled out of his concentration by the sound of a knocking at his door, he’s too nauseous to feel hungry, but his throat is stinging from lack of water and there’s a slight pulsing in his head. His immediate first reaction is to ignore it, but that proves to be impossible; whoever was on the other side was clearly, very persistent, and had nothing better to do.

Even so, he lasts a full five minutes until he finally gets up to answer, irritated beyond measure. If it was Makoto, he was going to slam it closed again, reasons be damned. He didn’t even want to think about the other boy, lest he get pointlessly enraged about it.

But instead of brown hair, he’s met with pale white. Kirigiri stands at his threshold, hand partially raised, halfway through knocking, and they stare at each for a moment in silence, as if both surprised to find the other person there.

And then he slams the door shut in her face. Or tries to - instead of the satisfying bang of wood meeting wood, there’s a sickly crunch, and then she’s wrenching the door open, heedless of the way her fingers had just been crushed in the jamb. He almost winces in sympathy, but she’s too busy pushing her way in to offer much room for condolences.

“What is wrong with you?!” He demands, trying not to be too obviously perturbed by her lack of reaction; he doesn’t think he even heard her wince. She ignores him for a moment, attention focused on her hand, as she experimentally clenches and unclenches her fingers. Apparently they’re not broken, or maybe, she just had high pain tolerance. Or she was more insane than he thought.

“We’re calling a group meeting,” She replies, without so much as a waver. “Come to the bathhouse.”

“And why should I?”

“It’s important. I can drag you there if I have to.” It doesn’t sound like an empty threat either. Somehow, she seems impatient, though he’s not sure how he can tell; and it wasn’t just because she shoved her hand into the door in order to deliver the message.

He weighs his options - on one hand, he has no desire to speak with anyone, much less Makoto, who was bound to be there. On the other hand, he didn’t exactly have anything in the way of provisions in his room, and though he was still a little too light-headed to consider eating, it’d be embarrassing to collapse from dehydration at this point. That, and it seemed that Kirigiri had no intention of letting him refuse.

“...I’m going to get dressed first.” He says shortly. If he’s going to have to meet them, it will not be while he’s still in his pajamas.

“Hurry up.”

She makes no move to leave, and he realizes with no small amount of annoyance that she was making sure he wouldn’t be able to run or shut her out again. Somewhat affronted by this, and now wanting to go even less, he grabs a clean set of clothes from his dresser and goes to the bathroom.

Routine carries his hands through the motions, so he manages it relatively quick, but it’s only after he’s applying the finishing touches, that he nearly pokes himself in the eye as he reaches to adjust his glasses. It’s a strange sensation, feeling the bridge of his nose and finding nothing, and even though his original prescription was low and they were more an accessory than anything, he feels a little like he’s lost a limb.

She’s still there when he emerges, though now standing over his desk, bent over the books he has open. She looks up as he approaches, one hand halfway through turning a page.

“What?” He asks, chin turned up in challenge.

“Nothing. Just looking.” She closes the book, and he realizes, scandalized, that it was the one he was reading earlier. It was going to take him ages to find that page again. “You have predictable tastes.”

“Shut up. Are we going or not?”

He follows her out, his hands twitching all the while, smoothing down his shirt, his lapels, his sleeves. Making sure his buttons were lined up, that his shirt was tucked; he hadn’t had the time to put on garters or even try a hand at his tie, and he feels underdressed.

“You’re fine.” Kirigiri says suddenly, and he freezes, one hand resting on the button of a shirt cuff. “Stop fidgeting.”

He scowls. He was walking behind her, so what would she know. “I’m not fidgeting.”

“I can hear you fidgeting. Your buttons are fine.”

“Oh, can you hear my buttons now too?”

It’s a petty, childish remark, one that he can’t stop himself from muttering before he can even reconsider it. She stops at that, halting so suddenly in the middle of the hallway that he almost walks right into her, and turns around to face him, her head moving in a slow tilt from up to down - scanning me, he realizes - before she says: “You look fine. Are you quite done?”

She was checking for me. He’s not sure if he should feel grateful for the courtesy or irritated by her lack of grace. “Did the sound bother you that much?” He asks instead, patting down the front of his shirt one last time.

“...It wasn’t the sound.” Is all she says, with a sort of finality that indicated that no other questions would be answered on the topic.

They enter the bathhouse, and find everyone else there, gathered in a sort of semi-circle around the wall of lockers. Asahina and Ogami, predictably, are huddled close together on one of the benches. Celeste and Yamada sit on another bench, one fidgeting uneasily, the other sitting regally with legs crossed and hands folded. Hagakure is standing next to Owada, who doesn’t even stir when they walk in, and who Byakuya ignores in turn, gaze sliding past him uncomfortably. Fukawa hangs near the back of the group, and twitches when she sees him, though makes no move to approach.

Makoto is leaning against the lockers with hands tucked in his pockets. He looks up as they enter, and stands up straight immediately. “Ah-”

“We’re all here?” Kirigiri cuts him off, casting a glance around the room. “Good. Can you catch him up, Hina?”

“R-right,” Asahina looks between Kirigiri and Byakuya, then at Makoto, and seems to hesitate for a moment. “Um, so…last night, I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d go to the kitchen to get food. But on the way there, I heard something coming from the bathhouse - like, a weird, machine-y kind of sound? - and when I went in…”

She peters off. He raises an eyebrow, “And?”

“Uh, it’s going to sound a little ridiculous...”

“You act like nothing else is ridiculous about this situation. Get on with it.”

Her face flushes dark, embarrassed. He gets the feeling that Ogami is glaring at him, but since he can’t see it - and has no reason to act like he can see it, anyways - he ignores it easily.

“Right. I saw a ghost - I know it was a ghost,” She adds defensively, as Byakuya was preparing to scoff and roll his eyes. “It was glowing green and floating in front of the lockers, and…and it had Chihiro’s face.”

“That’s-” not a ghost, he’s about to say, but he stops, suddenly uncertain. The bathhouse had no cameras, but he wasn’t sure if Alter Ego’s existence should be revealed here, now, to everyone, especially given some of the individuals present. His hand reaches into his jacket pocket, where his handbook was. “That’s…and you’re sure it was Chihiro?”

She seems taken aback by how seriously he asks that, and nods quickly. “I know it was Chihiro! It was his face and everything!” She points in front of her, at a locker less than two meters away from her eye level. The exact locker, Byakuya thinks, where Chihiro was keeping his laptop.

He wonders if Makoto was thinking this too.

“...I highly doubt the existence of ghosts,” He sighs. There was no point trying to hide it with Kirigiri around, and better to do it now than later. “Instead of being in front of the locker, I think the thing you saw was inside it.”

He turns to the locker Asahina had indicated, and moves to unlock it - before realizing he doesn’t know how. If it was unlocked by key, he didn’t have it, and if by code it was even more impossible. But Kirigiri steps forward, nudging his arm out of the way, and the locker door clicks open under her hand.

Sitting inside is the laptop, its screen dark. After a moment, it hums to life, flickering green. A round, pale shape forms, and behind him, Byakuya hears someone gasp.

“Hello,” Alter Ego says, and their voice is clearer through the computer than through Byakuya’s handbook, and sounds so similar to Chihiro’s that it’s almost jarring. “It’s nice to meet everyone!”

Hagakure shrieks, arms thrown up in fear. “A g-g-gh-!”

“It’s not a ghost,” Byakuya cuts him off sharply. “It’s a program.”

“Yes, and it looks like something Chihiro made.” Kirigiri touches the keys lightly. “This computer was the broken one from the library. And the fact that it was placed here, out of sight of the mastermind, means that it was meant for us.”

“So, this is what I saw last night…” Asahina’s tone doesn’t sound uneasy anymore, but wondering, and she raises a tentative hand as the little Chihiro in the screen waves at her. “But, what is it?”

“You just asked, ‘what is it,’ right?” Alter Ego says, almost teasingly, making her and several others jump. “The short answer is, I’m an AI program based on as much of Chihiro Fujisaki’s personality, memories, and thoughts as he managed to transcribe into data…um, but if it’s easier for you, you can call me Alter Ego. I was made to try and break through the firewall around the school’s network and to analyze the files on this computer, but it’s been taking a long time. I’m only about 25% done.”

25%? That was already more than Byakuya expected, and he feels a thin, inexplicable strum of pride.

“Crazy…hey, isn’t this crazy?” Yamada is up from his seat, and sitting as close as he can, crouching on his heels to be eye-level with the screen. “This is so- so totally sci-fi, right? Isn’t the genre wrong?” He sounds excited, overly so, and his breath is a little fevered and fast. “Hey, Chihiro! Can you hear us?”

Alter Ego doesn’t respond. Byakuya suddenly remembers the night that Chihiro was installing the application on his handbook and how Alter Ego only ever responded after the sound of keystrokes. “You have to type what you want to say in order for it to respond.”

“Move.” Yamada scurries out of Kirigiri’s way, as she drops to a crouch in front of the open locker. There’s the sound of fingers clicking over keys, and then -

“It will take me a while longer to finish analyzing everything,” Alter Ego says aloud, a little sheepishly. “I can definitely finish it though! Actually, progress is moving faster than originally predicted, so you can leave it to me!”

“My, how dependable.” Celeste remarks. “It seems that Chihiro has left us an invaluable gift, does it not?”

“It’s…pretty crazy,” Hagakure agrees, scratching his head. “Wait, uh - can Alter Ego get online? Like can we call for help from outside?”

“Hmm, probably not.” Asahina hums in thought, crossing her arms. “We’re in a bathhouse after all.”

“Then, if we take it outside of here-”

“No.” Kirigiri says flatly. “We can’t take any risks. Taking it outside might mean that the mastermind will discover it.”

“Yeah, but, I think it’s better to get help sooner than later. You know…” He pauses for a moment, tilting his head pointedly towards Owada. Throughout this whole time, the Ultimate Biker Gang Leader had been as still as a mouse, face turned downwards towards the floor. Hagakure clears his throat awkwardly. “Can’t we try it?”

There’s a sharp tap as Celeste laces her fingers, rings clicking together. “As stated earlier. We cannot take unnecessary risks. And we are not in the position to be pointlessly altruistic.” Her tone is casual, but Hagakure seems to shrink away from her, defeated.

“I…okay. Fine, sure.” He scratches at his head, then pauses. “Ah, wait a minute. Does Alter Ego, like, know…?

His question peters off, but the implication hangs over them like a heavy fog. Byakuya watches them cast uneasy glances at each other, then back to Alter Ego, as if trying to figure out who should break the news.

“It already knows.” He mutters. He’s not trying to be loud, but in the silence everyone could hear it anyways.

“...Not to say you’re lying or anything, Byakuya, but how do you…?”

Instead of answering Hagakure out loud, he reaches into his jacket pocket and withdraws the handbook, flipping it open and holding it up, screen facing them. Someone gasps.

“Yes,” Alter Ego confirms their unspoken question, and its voice echoes uncannily, doubled between the laptop and his handbook. “Master made it so I can be accessed through Byakuya’s handbook, so I could assist him with his visual impairment. I can also access the microphone function on this device, so I was able…I was able to overhear what happened”

The little, buzzing voice trails off sadly, and Byakuya suddenly feels uncomfortable, as the room grows all the more dreary. He clicks the handbook closed, suddenly irritated.

“That should explain it.“ He sighs. “Chihiro built Alter Ego to try and help find a way out of here, and at the same time gave me access so I could be self-sufficient. That’s the extent of my knowledge about it.”

He looks up and finds nearly all of them with their faces tilted towards him, and shifts, disconcerted. “What?”

“Nothing…it’s just kinda sweet that you’re, like, telling us this yourself.” Hagakure, ridiculously, sounds almost happy about this. “You never really talked to us about yourself before.”

“There’s no point in being secretive about it. Not when I was already forced to reveal it during the trial.” He sniffs. Immediately, Hagakure looks away, chagrined. From Byakuya’s periphery, he can see Makoto still facing away, his ears turning pink.

Kirigiri clears her throat. “...For the time being, it’s clear that we need to ensure Alter Ego remains a secret from the mastermind.” She says, and Byakuya watches as she types something out, a thick line of black characters. Every few keystrokes, she stops, and deletes the last word in a series of light clicks; listening closer, the sound was awkward and irregular, each press slurring into the next key. With a slight twinge of guilt, he realizes that the cause of it was her left hand - the one he had practically crushed.

After a moment’s consideration, weighing his conscience with what was at stake, he nudges her slightly with his knee. “Move. You type too slow.”

“And how would you know that?”

“I can hear it.” He replies flatly. “You type like you’re all thumbs. Move over.”

He half-expects her to stay where she is, to ignore him and continue, but to his surprise she actually complies, standing up and stepping aside. He crouches into the space she had just abandoned, sliding his hands over the keyboard until his index fingers find the tiny, tell-tale grooves of the position keys. The size and dimensions are different from his computer at home, but for a moment the feeling is so familiar that he’s almost nostalgic.

“What did you want to ask again?”

“If it has any contingency measures in place for if Monokuma - or the mastermind, or anyone suspicious - happens to find it.”

His fingers skim over the keys, clicking fluidly. A thin line of black appears at the bottom of the screen in time to his movements, but he can’t confirm if the output is accurate; judging by the way Makoto gasps behind him, and the way Hagakure whistles, he can guess that it’s more or less correct.

“Impressive,” Celeste says, in an appreciative tone. “I suppose being such an esteemed heir means you have many talents.”

He can’t tell if she’s mocking him, so he decides to ignore her, though he allows himself a small amount of smugness. He finishes typing: “Is this what you wanted to ask?”

Instead of replying, Kirigiri leans over his shoulder and clicks the ‘enter’ button. After a moment’s pause:

“Hm, to be honest, so far I’ve just been trying to be reeeally careful with when I’m active…though I guess that backfired last night, with me scaring Aoi.” Alter Ego hums in thought. “But, I do have a secret plan! If anyone comes around who I don’t recognize on my webcam…I’ll scream super loud!”

“That’s so basic!” Asahina blurts out, shocked by the simple nature of it.

“Yes, and it’s not likely to work at night.” Ogami grumbles. “The bedrooms are soundproofed.”

“Maybe we can try taking turns staying up?” Makoto suggests. “I can take the first night, I don’t mind…”

“I think such a sudden change in our patterns is likely to draw suspicion from the mastermind. Which would be rather counterproductive.” Celeste says, and Makoto ducks his head immediately. “Though, your thoughtfulness is appreciated.”

“Then it can’t be helped.” Kirigiri sighs. “I’ll leave my door open. I’m at the end of the hallway anyways, so if anything happens, I should be able to react the quickest.”

What a crazy woman. “You’d leave yourself vulnerable?” He scoffs. After all the precautions he’s seen her take, it’s hard to imagine her sacrificing herself to any degree.

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take. Besides, I’m not so helpless. I have no intention of going down without a fight.” She pauses, mouth open like she’s about to say more, before she decides against it. “Anyways. We should avoid any mention or contact with Alter Ego as much as possible, to draw as little attention as we can.”

She claps her hands sharply, a sound that makes more than one person jump, and makes Byakuya almost flinch. “For the time being…let’s disperse.”

< previous - from start - next >

#thpff #danganronpa fanfiction #thpff chapters #togiri #<- bc i wrote this with togiri intent. for the togiri truthers #byakuya togami #the h in chihiro stands for. haunting the narrative!!!!!#i was writing this chapter on the plane with my computer brightness turned alllll the way down #byakuya can't really read kyoko's reaction and therefore sees it as super nonchalant. and i know that with her scars it probably didnt hurt #but i also wanna imagine her tearing up like. motherfucking ow??#swearing under her breath and stamping her foot while he's changing and having to play it off like she was just looking at his books #both of them feeling somewhat guilty for the other person's situation and trying to help but only by way of insulting them #like 'ugh i cant believe you. fine i'll do this but only bc i dont wanna have to deal with you' as they try to compensate for each other #sorry not much naegami but theyre divorced rn and everyone's busy mourning and stuff #naegami development: they have a moment of humility and intimacy and sleep in the same bed #togiri development: he accidentally slams her hand in the door and doesnt apologize #HIROO my friend hiroo......ily hiro and how much u care sobb #anyways im taking a break after this. sob. wails.

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skrunksthatwunk · 4 months

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so the eikichi-centric kuwabara fic is going well

#it turned into kuwameshi. it was supposed to be a small bg part but um. yeah. woe.. feelings realization + gay awakening be upon ye #it's mostly just an excuse to write my love for rascal into my silly guy kuwabara. plus i get to put characters in (cat) situations which #rules imo. and now there's also poor poor kuwababy gay panic stuff happening. i can't help it man likes dudes. unavoidable #anyway i wrote like. 6k words today. my hand hurts but also im not done bc i've been chipping away at this for a month and i can't stop now #that i've actually got momentum on it. my brain is going at 16 km/hr and i'm living it up babyyyy. hour um 10 or so probably #hey i'm not one to look a gift hyperfixation in the mouth okay #yyh #kuwameshi #nyarla dni #just wrote that line and started losing my shit bc again i'm on like hour 10 of writing today. maybe more? shit i don't remember whatever #thought it might resonate with y'all or something hallelujah

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pinkjersey · 19 days

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#considering considering.....twitch streamer tadej #channel pogiplays mostly does fifa and pcm and other sporty games #also he's dating tdf winner jonas but no one knows that #he'll just casually mention a boyfriend but no one knows who it is #“oops sorry guys can't stream today because of family stuff” and it's him flying to paris to watch jonas win the tour lol #love love love social media au's but making them look good on ao3 is just. so much WORK #when it's just texts and emails i can do that just in plain text but anything involving twitter insta etc....rip user etapereine #what if i wrote something

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daswarschonkaputt · 1 year

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look don't leap (drabble)

fem!kinn/m!porsche | rating: t | words: ~600

The most disconcerting thing about hiring Porsche onto her team of bodyguards is that Kinn keeps catching herself looking.

so i was just minding my own business, enjoying a break from writing when @luckydragon10 appeared in my inbox and was like "het kinnporsche go write it now" and look i've mentioned before but nemi is chief squirrel wrangler she makes the decisions on what gets written not me, so i wrote it. ofc bc it's me i had to find a really queer way to do it, lol.

big caveat: this is not going to be for everyone. the main meat of this drabble is about fem!kinn trying to figure out what to do about the fact that she's attracted to one (1) man. it might make some people mad. you don't have to read it if you're gonna be one of those people.

that said, for those who might wanna read it, enjoy!

oh and if you need a visual for fem!kinn good news i already have fem!kinnporsche art here.

look don't leap

The most disconcerting thing about hiring Porsche onto her team of bodyguards is that Kinn keeps catching herself looking.

It’s not that Kinn hasn’t ever felt interest in men before. Compulsory heterosexuality being what it is, the ill-advised and ill-fated male crush is almost a rite of passage at this point, and Kinn suffered from a particularly foolish strain of it. To her teenage self, Tay was everything she wanted: clean, well-mannered, sweet, and above all pretty. He was also incredibly gay. Incredibly, obviously gay.

They dated for about three months, when they were sixteen. Then Kinn got drunk and fucked Tay’s older sister, and neither of them cared enough about the infidelity that continuing to date seemed like a good idea.

It’s one of those things that’s become a funny story. A joke that they tell when they’re tipsy. Time’s never found it funny, but Tay likes to say that Kinn’s the only person he’s dated that thought he was butch.

So, Kinn’s aware that men exist and she’s not totally incapable of finding some shred of them attractive – but it’s never been something that she’s given any weight to. She realised somewhere after the sixth delicately androgynous woman she fucked that the things she liked in Tay were just thing she likes in women, transposed onto her pretty, gender-indifferent best friend.

Porsche isn’t delicate. He’s not even slightly androgynous. He’s pretty, but it’s a decidedly male type of pretty – sculpted torso, cropped hair, the masculine curve to his lips.

He’s nothing like the girls she fucks.

And she wants him.

It’s unsettling.

Kinn’s not scared of him. She hasn’t been scared of a man since she shot her first one, and realised just how easily they die to a bullet through the skull. But the attraction niggles at the back of her brain, even when she should be thinking about anything but that.

There’s a part of her that wants to fuck Porsche, just to see what it would be like. It’s the part of her that gets interested in new cars and new watches – the part that wants to have something, just for the novelty of it. Kinn’s not going to have many chances to fuck a guy that she’s attracted to.

Another part of her is calculative about it. It’s the part that’s been trained to pull apart every situation until it’s stacked into rewards, risks and their mitigation strategies. Porsche is an employee of Kinn’s, and that’s not a line she’s ever crossed before. There’s an implicit power imbalance there, that Kinn isn’t entirely certain she cares about, whilst also not being entirely certain she doesn’t.

And—well. She’s a mafia heiress. As a woman, there are things she can’t do, simply because they’ll invite ridicule. Fucking women has allowed her a lot of respect that she wouldn’t otherwise get, in the mafia. Getting fucked is still seen as a submissive act – and for all her father’s friends sneer at her and call her butch, they listen to her more, because she doesn’t let men fuck her.

In a few years, Kinn knows she could weather the hit to reputation that would come from letting a bodyguard dick her down. Now, with her father’s health failing, and every eye on her, waiting for her to fuck up enough to justify a coup – it’s probably not the best time.

And on top of that, there’s a small, distant part of her that’s just… apprehensive. Kinn doesn’t know how to fuck men in a way that lets her feel in control. And Kinn doesn’t fuck anyone when she can’t be in control.

So, even though Kinn can’t stop herself looking – even though she can’t stop herself from thinking about it – she doesn’t act on it.

She can’t.

Then, there’s the diamond auction. And everything goes to shit.

#fic: look don't leap #fem!kinn #het!kinnporsche #kaputt writes stuff #i have no excuse #well my excuse is nemi #i can't believe the first time i wrote fem!kinnporsche it's het :')#now i'm expecting all of you to be adults abt this #i see one (1) biphobic take in my rbs i'm whipping out the block button #this is the first thing i've published in the new year lmao #kinnporsche fic

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regretfulmoth · 7 months

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Old art of Kristin from my old magical girl au from last may/june (lore under the cut)

In the au she's a vigilante with Phil who is against Schlatt turning the artform of being a magical girl into a glorified, government funded dog fights/beauty pageants. Kristin was once actually apart of the MGA (Magical Girl Association/Arena) back when it was just a program that paid magical girls for the work they do for the city. But once Schlatt retired being a MG and started running the MGA more as a business, Kristin was kicked from the program for her powers being seen as "too gruesome and unprofitable".

The MGA makes its profits in two ways: Selling licensed merchandise of its MG's and letting outsiders watch/make wagers on the MGs fighting each other as training. Kirstin, also known as "Lady Death" when she's in MG form, has the ability of speeding up one's lifecycle by touching them. (think of the Forest Spirit from Princess Monokoke) The speed of this rapid aging does somewhat depend on her emotions and her relationship with whatever living thing she touches (Example: if she touches Phil while calm for 30 seconds, he'll age 4-5 years. But if she touches Schlatt for the same amount of time while emotions are high, he would be a pile of bones.) Her power is known as "Life Acceleration" and is theorized to contribute to her slower aging. This power cannot be turned off and she wears gloves 24/7 to prevent any accidental aging. Its also been theorized that once/if she dies, then her life acceleration will plague the world and cause the extinction of life on earth, but those are just silly fan theories and head canons :).

Well with this darker reputation in mind, Lady Death had a fairly small fanbase and an even smaller demand for merchandise. Lump in with the fact she can't train like the other MGs because of the risk of killing her fellow MGs. At first Kristin was pissed but rather understanding as of why she couldn't be a part of the MGA to an extent but as the policies became more restrictive and bias towards more "profitable magical girls", her patience with the program grew thin.

Her final straw was the day the MGA change their payment policies to the point where only the most popular and "brand safe" MGs could ever make a living under the MGA. A program where its whole point was to give the dozens of people brave enough to defend civilians from danger the resources and pay they need to continue their work is now throwing money to whoever throws more back. These new policies essentially forced Phil into finding a new job because what once could comfortably cover his life with Kristin and a small family down the line is now barely anything.

So, during the day Phil and Kristin work their full time jobs and at night they each do commission work as Magical Girls as a side hustle. Since the new policies there has been a shortage of MGs who can/are willing to deal with threats that are causing a muck. This has led to people personally commissioning Unofficial Magical Girls to do smaller jobs like patrolling on a smaller scale to prevent any situations from happening. Doing commission work is rather risky because its illegal to be a MG without a proper license and the only way to get one is if you're part of the MGA and you work under the programs regulations.

The couple, especially Kristin is very against the MGA and what has become of it. There was a brief moment in time where the two were very vocal of these changes in policies but the movement was not successful. Kristin to this day is a unofficial magical girl and her persona as Lady Death is still openly against the MGA. Meanwhile Phil has retired from the magical girl scene and is now focused on being a stay-at-home father.

#magical girl au #minecraft magical girls #kristin minecraft #mumza my beloved #trixtin #misstrixtin #mumza and dadza #philza #dadza #jschlatt #<-he's mentioned like twice #but damn they got beef #I wrote a lot more than I expected #mcyt #Idk how gender works in this #I guess everyone is like fem presenting but they keep all keep their preferred gender identity #I know it just looks like Kristin but the magical girl stuff is in the lore #I can't believe I still remember all this #There SO much more I can go on about and I probably will when I find the motivation to type it down

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journey-to-the-attic · 6 months

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friends are currently debating whether 'lost in the citadel' or 'montero (call me by your name)' is the better solphisto song and here are the main points for each side of the argument:

"lost in the citadel works for both perspectives and their tragic yuri romance" (lines 'i need time to get up and get off the floor / i need time to realise that i can't be yours' given as main example) - jo

"montero cos those two definitely want to f-" - james (perhaps better known as captain bhole)

#on a more serious note jo's point did make me a little insane #again: the line 'i need time to get up and get off the floor / i need time to realise that i can't be yours'#this is so solomon-trying-to-recover-from-mephisto's-perceived-abandonment coded #but it is also so mephisto-unsure-of-how-to-go-forward-after-disappearing-on-solomon-for-millenia coded #obey me solomon #jtta mephisto #solphisto #there were arguments to be made for some of the other songs too but these were the main contenders #personally i also nominated life after salem #it feels like something solomon would listen to that abandonment aftermath once he's hit the bitter anger stage of grief #(at least he would have if music recordings had been invented and also lil nas x had been born back then)#i just feel in my gut that he went full teenage-girl-after-first-break-up for a period afterwards #(the other nominee was 'thats what i want' for the time they had together before mephisto left but that one was less talked about)#you know i didn't realise it until i went back and re-did some stuff but solphisto ended up with such Divorced vibes #believe it or not i didn't actually intend for them to be romantically involved when i first wrote their backstory #(you can see that in the first asks proposing the pairing i was kinda hesitant lol)#but looking back. the tragic yuri was always meant to be #to the anon who first called them yuri btw: you've changed my life

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coldercreation · 3 months

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Random WIP, likely to remain a WIP

(--) “Boy! C’mere! Take this to the captain‘s (rooms?)??” the cook called, gruff and short, but not unkind.

?? skirted around the kitchen hands, ducking under pots, trying to avoid getting underfoot (??) (--)

“Me?” ?? asked, taking the covered tray that was being handed to him. “But-"

“The quartermaster called for you, son.”

“The quartermaster?” ?? repeated, frowning. “But... Why?”

“Still askin’ too many questions,” the cook grumbled. He piled another nice plate on top of the already heavy tray, eyeing ?? critically, probably to make sure he wouldn’t topple over with the food. “Do as ye’r told.” The cook stuffed a bite of warm bread in between ??s teeth. -- He?? grinned around the mouthful, eyes squinting pleased as the doughy, savoury taste exploded on his tongue. The cook scowled, waving him off. “Now, get!”

-- ?

?? was slow going up the stairs, wrists straining and arms shaking. Even after all these months at sea he hadn’t been able to build the same sort of mass most of the crew seemed to put on so effortlessly. Still as puny?? and birdlike as ever, precisely what the courts and ballrooms had expected a fresh, malleable, noble youth like him to be.

Somehow ?? had managed to grow up to seem exactly what everyone around him had wanted him to be, whilst also being the absolute opposite of that.

A tarnished, wasted, angel, one of the ma’ams had called him --?? And she hadn’t even known the ‘worst’ of it; just an elderly lady scoffing at a young man’s carelessness, horrified that someone of his stature would be caught running about the gardens, barefoot and clothes damp with dirt.

“Sneaking a bite?” Crew?? asked, callused fingers reaching towards the tray. ?? shouldered past him, turning his back so the food would remain untouched. “Oi! Who’s that for?”

“The captain. And quartermaster. I think?”

“Why’s the cook not takin’ it ‘imself? Did y’steal that, y’rat? Hey!”

?? Ignored the questioning, knowing they just wanted a piece of whatever the tray held.

Not that they weren’t right to be suspicious. ?? definitely wasn’t the one who would normally interact with the captain’s quarters, nor the men who’d frequent it the most.

He knew to stay out of their way. The less they saw of him, the better.

It was a miracle the first mate had even allowed him on board; too skinny, too polished, and too ignorant to be of any real help.

Too naive, they had called him. Won’t last a week. Made of that posh sort of glass, not a cut to his soft hands. The sea, she’d eat him alive.

All true. Humiliatingly so.

But ?? had vowed to make it worth it for the first mate. Had given all the money he had stolen from his father and his older brothers. The steep earnings he had gotten from secretly selling one of the estate’s best stallions.

The merchant sailors had looked at his offerings as if they were meagre pennies. Looked at him like he was just a wealth-ruined son of a lord(??) Too gullible and coddled, blind to the reality of life outside the riches he had grown up in.

And perhaps they had been right.

Perhaps someone less coddled would’ve been able to tell merchant sailors apart from the navy, and the navy apart from the...

Well.

The pirates took his money, gladly, but at least they also took him, holding their end of the deal.

They said that, in time, he’d make a good decoy; sun bleached hair creating an aura of innocence, pale skin that burned pink in the summer heat showing he wasn’t used to the elements. He looked like a lord’s son, even in his ratty clothes. Posture pin straight, hands always politely placed, blue eyes 'pure like his bloodline'.

No one’d suspect him, they said. He looked useless, out of place, here. They’ll let their guards down for someone like him.

A decoy, they said. All ?? heard was that he was disposable.

Which he supposed he was.

An inconvenience, more than anything. A spoiled brat who’s father and uncles were powerful enough to be wary of, who’s mother was wealthy enough to pay someone to find ??, if she’d feel inclined to do so.

Not that she would.

Not after her maids had tattled to her about ??s games with the stable hand.

?? pushed the image of his chronically stern-faced mother out of his mind, instead focusing on the problem of knocking on the captain's door when both of his hands were occupied.

He used the worn point of his shoe, wobbling slightly balancing on one foot.

(--)“Why’s the runt here?” the captain asked tiredly, clearly having expected the head cook, as usual. The man barely glanced at ??, eyes flitting between the food placed in front of him and the books on his desk. “I thought you said we have someone who can help.”

The quartermaster rolled his eyes. “He can read and write.”

The captain paused, rings clinking against the gold trimmed plate he had been reaching for.

“That’s it?” the captain asked. His tone made ?? shift uneasily, eyes to the floor, hands behind his back. “We‘ve been sailing aimlessly for weeks... You think a lad who can read will solve our problems?”

“And write,” the quartermaster repeated, shrugging. He didn’t seem too concerned by the storm building in the captain’s gaze. “Better than nothing, surely.”

The captain closed his eyes, a deep, tortured cut pressing in between his brows. The man sighed, for a moment looking like he was praying, even though ?? knew that these men prayed to nothing but the devils living deep below the seas.

“Fine. Gods... Fine.” The captain grabbed a fork, lifting the cover from the tray to stab through a deliciously steaming potato. ?? himself had eaten barely nothing but gruel for months, their last docking just a distant memory.

The quartermaster ushered ?? to the desk behind the captain’s more impressive decorative piece, leaving the darkly scowling man to his dinner. --

Although nothing like the main desk??, the smaller piece of furniture was still made of fine wood, its surfaces sanded smooth. It was bolted to the wall and the floorboards to keep it in place against the rocking of the ship.

The quartermaster had a smug air to him as he piled some of the heavy books and scrolls in front of ??. He even pulled a fresh candle out just to light the space some more, the wax smooth, wick catching easily despite how damp everything on board usually was. (??)

“Anything you find about a gannet’s nest, you mark with a clear tag. Write it down, and tell one of us, or the first mate.” The quartermaster snatched a pot of ink from the captain’s shelf, pressing a silky white quill in ??s hand.

“A gannet?” ?? asked, pulling one of the scrolls closer to him, eyeing the messy cursive pensively. -- If only his old tutor ?? could see him now... “The seabird?”

“Aye, the seabird.” The quartermaster’s heavy hand landed on ?? nape, his fingers squeezing down briefly, pointedly. “Blue bill, golden cap, eats like the devil’s about to take our tomorrow. Write down anything that even hints to it, and not a word ‘bout it outside these rooms.”

The last bit, it wasn’t a question. Not even a request.

?? frowned in confusion, but he nodded all the same.

“Good lad. I’ll tell the ?? that I’ve taken you off his hands, for now. Do well and maybe we can consider keepin’ you off the – - ”?

?? knew he wasn’t particularly smart.

He wasn’t quick on his feet and he knew nothing of the street smarts most of the men under this sail had needed to find over the years.

Maybe ?? wasn’t the cleverest son of a lord, but still, he refused to be thick enough to believe that the 'gannet’s nest' he was told to look for was referencing an actual gannet.

Perhaps another ship?

Perhaps a cyphered coordinate? A sea current? A term for astrology and sailing maps?

The captain cleared his throat, dark wine spilling into his tall glass when ?? turned.

“Start with this,” the man said. Two of his smallest fingers flicked towards a thick book, the rest of them lazily wrapped around the stem of his drink.

The book was titled ‘Gannets’.

?? tilted his head, confused, and silently questioning the sanity of these men.

(--?)

Captain's orders, ?? read on.

The book was about... gannets.

(--)

#Can't remember if I ever even posted anything about this #and I'm not currently writing anything #and wrote this one like a year ago or something lmao #but it popped up on my docs so I figured I'd share since it's unlikely I'll actually turn it into anything else but a draft #hey ho #heyy hoo #fantasy pirate life for mee !#It's such a draft that I hadn't even looked into ships or time period accuracy enough to know the correct terminology for most things loll #so enjoy a sneak peek into how I just skip over stuff that I'd fix later if I kept working on writing #?? is also a fantastic main character name imo :)

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helianskies · 16 days

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ugly maths.

i hate maths, right. i don't usually like numbers, and if i do like numbers it's gotta be an 8 or a 48 and nothing else.

thing is, i've recently caught myself doing maths again. ugly maths. the kind of maths that, really, i've been trying to avoid as much as possible because, well, it's ugly!

you... wanna see?

okay, fine... but don't say i didn't warn you!

ugly, see? look at all those numbers! not a 48 in sight!

huh? what's that? you don't see what i'm on about? oh... oh! hang on, lemme just—

better? yes? no? no? okay, what if i—

mmh, yes. ugly numbers. see it now? can you see why they're ugly?

here, i can make it worse.

these numbers are ugly. the maths they make me do is ugly.

now i'll level with you: the worst ones by far are the yellow numbers. the maths they make me do it the ugliest.

why ugly?

because it makes me ugly.

those numbers turn me into not only a suddenly number-obsessed fool, but a fool who also cannot understand these numbers and what they mean and why i feel like they reflect on me and my ability.

87, 75.

the thoughts are as follows:

• the orange numbers are big, so why are you being ugly about the yellow ones? you should be happy with what you have. so many nice big numbers! not everyone receives that.

• is it that there are two different audiences for these two different fics? perhaps. they are quite different works, with different appeals, and different themes. maybe you are reading too much into it.

• why are you obsessing over numbers anyway? you don't like maths! you left maths behind when you were 16, put it down!

okay, okay, fine! i'll put the maths down. right here, in fact!:

that 87 was an 83 at the start of the year. the 6161 it is attached to was a 5453.

4, 708.

ugly maths.

the 75 is a nice number. in fact, compared to 87, it is beautiful, radiant, enchanting. at the start of the year, 75 was 48. wow. now that is one sexy number!

27.

mmmm.

6161, 1061.

5100.

87, 75.

12.

mmmm.

you know, my most favourite comment left recently on a fic of mine was 2 characters long: :(

it made me :)

well, actually, it made me >:) because it was left in response, presumably, to one of the key scenes in a new chapter which left the exact impression on someone that i hoped it would.

they must be the only one who reacted like that, though.

have i mentioned that that 87 and 75 include author responses?

i won't try to do more maths, there. it might not end well for me. the maths is making me tired enough as it is, and i have an early start tomorrow.

oh! but, that being said, i have another set of ugly numbers to show you, so keep 87 and 75 in mind.

ready?

838, 245.

(want a hint? the green numbers!)

838, 87. 245, 75.

9.6, 3.3.

ugly maths. it's ugly again, see? i don't like it. i'm seeing numbers within numbers within numbers, and i can't seem to stop!

the numbers make me ask new questions:

• why is it not good enough?

• people seem to engage more with one fic over the other, so shouldn't you prioritise?

• is all this maths this really good for you?

no, it isn't.

i want to avoid ugly maths. ugly maths makes me want to tear my hair out. it makes me want to start from scratch. it makes me want to grab someone and scream. it makes me want to cry and press a button that has tempted me many times before when the numbers become too ugly to bear.

ugly maths turn me into an ugly person.

ugly maths make me obsessive, paranoid, anxious, regretful, vindictive, spiteful, alone.

i hate maths. i hate numbers, just like, it feels, the numbers hate me.

#helia rants #cw vent #i'm okay but i'm not #this has been playing on my mind over the last couple of weeks #it's aimed at the sky rather than anyone here #i know i'm not the best myself as commenting. i justify it to myself by affirming i don't read much. which i don't.#since the start of the year i have tried to comment on everything i have read #bearing in mind i may also dm someone rather than comment because i want to scream and ramble about their fic more personally #that being said. i know i'm not the only one who finds themselves doing ugly maths #and in turn starting to feel uglier too #i don't like looking at the numbers #i was doing well at the start of the year #but as i open my drafts and look to a new chapter and at the notes i wrote #i can't stop myself from opening the fic. from seeing where it's at. from seeing if it's changed. from checking my inbox to see if...#if only...#what it's meant is that i've come to a point where a fic i loved has become exactly that: a fic i loved. past tense #the other fic is still a fic i love. but i know deep down that that is tied to the numbers too #i hate that this is what i've become #because i have tiny fics. fics with 50 hits and maybe 1 comment. and i love them. i still love them #but when it comes to the big ones. the multi-chapters. the hefty fics. after a point all i see are numbers #and those numbers have come to determine both my happiness and fulfilment as a writer #and so i am ugly. i am sad. i am pathetic.#and i don't know how to stop.#helia's stuff #this was meant to save back into my drafts. i was editing tags. tumblr decided it should post. so... so be it.#also this is not an attention thing if anyone dares go 'oh but you're a good writer uwu' i might do something we'll all regret #this is also not a 'ffs comment on my fics will you 😒' hell no #it's just about me. and my issue. and my unhealthy relationship with these fucking numbers.#gotta get this shit out of my head somehow :)

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yuriinadress · 2 years

Text

Never Again, Don't Leave Me

Content warning: mentions of blood, swearing

(This is my first time writing fanfic so feedback is greatly appreciated.)

Five days.

That's how long it had been since Tim was admitted to the hospital. And Bernard didn't even find out until the second day. Through a news report. Not from Stephanie. Not from Dick Grayson. Not from Bruce Wayne. The fucking Channel 8 news.

'Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne Admitted to Hospital After Sustaining Gunshot Wounds'

'Fuck. Not again.'

Darla bleeding out in the school nurse's office. Tim bleeding out on a ballroom floor.

'Please god not again.'

Bernard doesn't even remember how he got to the hospital, let alone leaving his apartment. His socks are soaked. Must've run there in the rain. Entering the hospital was a blur. A lot of pleading, yelling, screaming - most of it from him he thinks - and the same phrase repeated over and over again: "Family members only."

"Family members only."

"Family only."

"Family."

'I'M HIS FUCKING BOYFRIEND!'

So here he is. Day 4 of sleeping in the uncomfortable waiting room chair, nibbling on the shitty energy bar he got from the hospital vending machine. Bernard's honestly surprised they haven't kicked him out yet. Pity most likely. The nurse he yelled at on the first day keeps bringing him water when he's asleep. He really should apologize to her, she's just doing her job.

Right now he just feels numb. Stephanie's probably tried to call him, but he's pretty sure his phone is dead by now. Now he's just sitting, waiting for someone, anyone, to let him see Tim or at least let him know how he's doing.

'He's fine he's fine he's fine. They would've sent you home already if he was-'

"Bernard?"

He recognizes that voice, from Tim's video calls with his family. He's even heard it on TV a couple of times.

He turns to face Dick Grayson, eldest son of the Wayne clan and the brother Tim's closest to based on their weekly phone calls.

"Hey." Bernard's voice came out raspy and quiet. When was the last time he drank something?

"Hey," Dick said, moving to take a seat next to him. "How long have you been here?"

"What day is it?"

"Tuesday."

"Oh. Um" - he pinched the bridge of his nose - "since Saturday I guess."

Dick's face is weird. He seemed to be going through at least five different emotions at once, the most prominent being anger. Bernard really wished he was better at reading faces. Then he would have never made that dumb joke about Tim's dad abusing him back in high school, noticed how weird he was when the girl Robin appeared, or understand the emotion that crossed Tim's face whenever he had to cancel a date.

"Have you seen him yet," Dick asked softly.

"No," he responded bitterly, "'family only.'"

"Oh. And no one's-"

"No."

He heard a large exhale after that. Bernard didn't bother to remove his hands from his eyes after hearing the chair next to him scrape across the linoleum floor. Less than a minute later he heard Dick's sneakers squeak towards him.

"Come on," Dick said, holding his hand out, "they said we can see him now."

He takes his hand and doesn't let go until they get to Tim's room.

Stopping in front of the door Dick starts, "They said he's in a coma right now but he's stable. It shouldn't be very long until he wakes up."

Bernard knows those words should be comforting, but the fact that he didn't know that for almost a week just makes him angrier.

"You go first, okay?" Dick says, flashing him a small smile. "I'll be right out here."

He feels so fucking selfish. Dick is his brother and he's probably been worried sick about him. He deserves to see him a lot more than Bernard does. All he can say is, "okay."

Walking in he doesn't know what he expected, his boyfriend covered in blood? He looks peaceful like he's finally getting the eight hours of sleep Bernard keeps forcing him to get or when he falls asleep watching Blade Runner for the 700th time. He's pale, paler than his normal Gotham pale, but still looks peaceful. If it wasn't for the steady beeping of the heart monitor or the breathing apparatus strapped to his face, Bernard would've thought he walked in on one of Tim's random cat-naps. Rounding the bed, he takes a seat in the armchair next to the window. It's a lot more comfortable than the chairs outside.

For a while, he just sits and watches Tim breathe, his exhalations fogging up the oxygen mask every so often. He starts reaching for Tim's hand, wondering if he's allowed to touch him.

'Fuck it.'

Bernard grabs his hand like Tim's going to sink right through the pristine hospital sheets and he starts talking.

"Hey, Timmy. Yeah, I'm gonna call you that because you're asleep and you can't stop me. I just wanted to tell you that you better wake up soon or you're gonna miss all the fun things I got planned. They're holding another Jonathan Lord marathon soon. I know we missed the last one because you had an emergency. And Tweedle-D's is opening again. They're giving out complimentary milkshakes to Louis Grieve kids who come. I'm so close to getting my certification too, just a few more classes and we can go together. We can be totally disgusting and share one. Then there's that new amusement park opening up in Burnside. I know you said your last amusement park date didn't go well but hey, maybe we can try something new. And I can't wait to go to my first pride with you. I've never had the guts to go by myself, even after I figured out I wasn't straight. And I would really love to spend it with you. A day to hang out at the park, party with other people, and just be ourselves. Sounds super fun right? I just... I can't lose you... not like Darla or... or Laura - shit! Just... fuck. Please..."

'Don't leave me again.'

#yuri writes stuff #this plot bunny has had a chokehold on me since 125 came out #leaving it there because i have nothing else past that point #i keep writing things thinking it'll be a couple paragraphs and then they come out as full-length novellas #why can't i put this much effort into my schoolwork 🙃#me while writing this: *takes the time to look up where the amusement park they went to is - doesn't actually look up #how a gunshot wound to the neck would be treated*#also yes timeline stuff - i decided to put batman 125 between the pride special and 'special delivery' bc i can/j #it's actually bc there's a whole 6 months between the ul stuff and the travis moore story and i think it just works better there #wrote this while listening to a mix of lo fi and chelmico's 'touhikou' on repeat (which is where the title's from)#batman 125 #timbern #tim drake #bernard dowd #dick grayson #batfam #dc fanfic #timber #i love making my boy suffer #also couldn't resist inserting a little bit of emt!bernard in there #emt!bernard #ficlet

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