#i just use tags to voice my thoughts and feelings

[thealexandriaarchives]

Dune Fandom, We Need to Be Hornier About Fluids

There's something wrong when we don't sexualize how much Feyd-Rautha canonically drools like a broken spigot the second he looks excited, and look, we all got distracted with the arranged marriages, the omegaverse, the gender swap fics, the Bene Gesserit Voice kink, the nonstop breeding kink fic, the 'in another life I would have been your wife' soulmate fics. I get it.

But if ever there was a fandom designed almost solely for the purpose of fetishizing the hell out of every variation of the Wet & Messy tags, along with the sacrilegious guilt inherent to Arrakis over wasting water? It's Dune.

Drool. Sweat. Cry. Piss. Cum. Bleed.

There are 1001 prompts from 'so filthy it's profane' to genuinely kind of heartwarming but I want it to get the intensive fanfiction attention.

How do we treat some of our most common forms of humiliation in a world where spitting on the floor in front of someone is a show of greatest respect? Is boot-polishing for someone as a submissive with your tongue an honor or a shameful act because it wastes the water? What are the ramifications of Bukkake on Arrakis?

Imagine someone who has internalized Fremen values and beliefs with an Omorashi kink. Maybe they don't even know they have one, they've used a stillsuit for so long, but suddenly they're exposed, and full, and all they can do is just close their eyes and chant to themselves 'Don't Let It Out' as a litany.

Awaken Dacryphilia kinksters. A literal miracle is documented in the book about the first time Lisan al'Gaib wept and gave water to dead. Villeneuve takes this and makes it into a perverted dream that Muad'Dib steals from the heart of a Southern tribal elder.

Not feeling the PWP stuff? That's fair, we're all still one or three really good fics away from being a little too into something.

How about Hurt/Comfort and Whump fics? I haven't seen any really good severe dehydration scenarios, we need a couple. Stillsuits & Stilltents fail, or are damaged in battle. The old 'drink of my flesh so you may live'. Let's get dirty with Dirty Water. Or honestly, it seems like you can survive at least temporarily with only one canister of it taken.

In general just so many opportunities for bloodplay. But if you wanna stay tamer with it (though Feyd-Rautha's pets at least are canon cannibals) how about the fact that a Crisknife drawn cannot be sheathed without being blooded. This was shown but not stated in the 2021 Dune, so drawing one must be a thoughtful and measured act as you slice your own palm and spill your own water if you put it away in peace.

I speak now with the voice of the Lisan al'Gaib the ghost of Frank Herbert on ZERO authority and call upon all the Dune fandom to get HORNIER about being WET.

[screamingcrows]

Change of Pace - Dottore x reader

Note: Same reader as Tomorrow and all that. Approximately three weeks after 'Tomorrow'. "Fuck it all" *softens your Dottore*. I need this man to kiss my hand or I will murder someone. Keep this out of character ai bots or I'm sending you all Taenia solium eggs

Tags: fem reader, reader from Fontaine, burnout, overworked, soft, very mild gore (mentions taking brain samples), comfort, fluff, they're both bad at this

MINORS, AGELESS, BLANK BLOGS DNI

Your samples were long past saving by now. How long had you been staring at the plate containing the biopsies, twenty minutes? The light was burning through your vision, making everything swim in your mind. But it was needed for the fixation in the next step. If you ever made it that far.

Hours of work, wasted because of your own inability. The clatter caused by your head hitting the table echoed ruthlessly while you fought off images of a dismayed Dottore. One thing was anger, disappointment was another matter entirely.

Maybe doing tissue analysis of your own brain would've been more valuable, at least then someone might figure out what was wrong with it.

A hand wrapped around yours, gently prying open your fingers before taking the scissors away. Sight was unnecessary to discern the owner as only a single other warm body frequented this section. Your eyes remained shut, now empty hand feeling along the table for its previous quarry.

If nothing else, dead samples could still be used verify that the technicalities worked, even if the data would be misleading.

"You're barely lucid, in which case I'd prefer if this waited until tomorrow. You're supposed to be handling raimei angel extracts later in the protocol, and stunning yourself would be unfortunate," Dottore was clearly trying, voice so uncharacteristically gentle it felt all manners of wrong.

It only made you sigh in desperation, how hard he was trying compared to you, his dedication unwavering regardless of the objective he put forward.

"I'm fine, I just need a moment. You wanted the initial assessment this week," your voice was muffled enough that it would hopefully hide the exhaustion.

The low chuckle he let out caused a shiver to run down your spine. It was something he'd done more as of late, a pleasant change of pace since the talk. You could almost see the charming smile that would no doubt accompany it, the glittering light in eyes you'd been fortunate enough to glimpse once.

There was no time to open your eyes and check, a warm palm coming to rest on the back your head. The light tremble in his hands made your chest tighten so long as you imagined it to be caused by worry instead of damage.

"You've been staring at nothing for an hour, hardly the best use of your time, and certainly not an indication of someone who is 'fine'."

An hour? Oh, the samples were beyond salvageable if that was true. Everything would've died in the wells by now. A pit dug itself out in your heart, tearing at what had otherwise reluctantly been dedicated to the harbinger. Thoughts of disaster were many, magnitude rivaling divine intervention according to what little remained awake of your consciousness.

Dottore was tugging at your wrist, hand swallowing yours with ease. For being a scholar, his hands spoke of a much different past than others bearing the same title. Another question that would at other times stoke the embers of your curiosity.

Did he want you to stand? Begrudgingly, your body attempted to follow where he lifted your arm. At the feeling of warm lips pressed to your wrist your eyes flew open in disbelief. The visage was the closest to divinity you'd ever gaze upon, in this fact alone were you without doubt. From where you were, the light behind him formed a halo, illuminating his tousled hair. His eyes were closed in silent devotion for but a moment.

Without the beaked mask, he was a completely different man. The large burn that covered a quarter of his face drew your attention first, but it was the crinkles around his eyes that made him look so painfully human.

"You are in no condition to work, this can bear to wait a day or two," his voice remained steady, the only thing you could safely cling to, too lost in committing to memory what he showed of himself.

"Are you certain, Dottore? If I just… ninety minutes of rest, a full cycle should be enough and then I can start over. We still have-"

"We still have plenty of time, dear. I told you, this isn't my most pressing project, so working you to the brink of destruction would be folly."

And that was enough to pacify you. The fact that he'd used a term of endearment, however questionable the choice, kept you smiling through the familiar corridors of the Palace, tucked securely under his arm and away from view. Under any other circumstance, this would've felt humiliating, but for today there was no fight left, only a dull yearning that had tears prickling your eyes.

It never became more than dozing off against him on a couch in his chambers. But that was enough, the heat from his body and his low mumbling while he read from a book soothed your frayed nerves.

[thedeathlysallows]

Is It Over Now? (13)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Aemma Velaryon; Aegon Targaryen x Aemma Velaryon

Summary: My hand was the one you reached for

Warnings: canon typical Targaryen incest. Stockholm Syndrome, infidelity, manipulative Aegon, discussion of character death. Smut, fingering, using murder as dirty talk, hand job, public sex.

Aemma's coin has finally flipped, but where will it land? Greatness or madness?

Tag list: @callsignwidow

You aren't sure how or when it happened, but it's as though something inside you snapped, slowly but surely shifted your love and loyalty from your mother to Aegon. All your plans, all the playing pretend melted away until it became your reality. When did that happen? When did you become so pathetic? Was it the abject horror of seeing Aemond loving another woman in Harrenhal? Or were you always this weak?

"You seem deep in thought." Aegon looks down at you, head tilted slightly so that the rubies of the Conqueror's crown glitter in the sunlight.

"I suppose," you respond dully.

He hums in annoyance before looking away abruptly. You aren't sure why he insists on walking with you through the gardens, but it was the one reprieve he allowed after your escape. You're kept under a smothering watch at all times now except for when Aegon fetches you for your daily walk. He never lets you go with guards. It has to be him, and you just don't understand it.

Annoyance rises in you, bitter and dark. "I don't understand!"

"What don't you understand?"

Lots of things. You don't understand lots of things, but you don't want to discuss the complicated relationship between the two of you, so you say, "You told Aemond to seduce the witch. Why? Why would you do that?"

Aegon tosses his head back and laughs. "Is that what the bastard told you? And he says I'm the degenerate one."

"Aegon, this isn't the time for jokes. I want the truth." You turn to him fully and he's struck suddenly by the fire in your eyes. It's been so long since he's seen it he thought you'd given up your spark completely.

But of course not.

Of course your fire is still there because his is still there.

Aegon still burns every second of every day for you. The two of you are the last flickering twin flames of Old Valeyria, meant to merge together and raze down everything standing in its way. He loves you, desires you, needs you more than Aemond possibly could.

"You want the truth, my little dragon?" He steps closer to you, following as you move away from him. "I'll give you the truth, but I want you to remember that it was I to do so... not Aemond."

You suck in a deep breath, overwhelmed by Aegon's presence crowding you against a tree. Rough bark bites into your exposed back and arms. Suddenly, the gauzy dress you chose this morning doesn't feel like it covers enough.

"Aemond would never lie to me," you eventually say.

"I see. Is that why he blamed me? All I told him was to keep the witch loyal to us. I don't give a single fuck about her happiness or comfort... but Aemond does, doesn't he?" Aegon traces his thumb across your bottom lip before continuing.

"Let me guess: he told you not to worry and that she could never compare. I've told Helaena the same about my whores. I suppose, in a round about way, it's the truth. She's kinder than them, more of a proper lady. She deserves better."

You want to strike out at Aegon, your palm itches for it, but you stay still. He pets you so gently, running his hands over your body in a comforting way that brings tears to your eyes. You want to ask him why he doesn't give her better if she deserves it, but you already know the answer.

You.

Aegon has spent years pining over you, spiraling when you were taken away like some sort of toy. He's a spoiled brat. You love him anyway... but you love Aemond as well.

"Is love enough?" Your voice comes out as barely a whisper.

"Enough for what?"

"Anything." For Aemond to be loyal, but you don't say it out loud.

Aegon knows what you want to say, but won't say. He knows you better than anyone. Maybe even better than you know yourself. "Love is enough for us if you'll allow it."

Your lips curl up in a wry smile. "You're being awfully sweet today, Your Majesty."

"Maybe it's because I see where my brother is failing and I decided I need to take this chance."

"Failing on your orders."

"Not my orders. I never told him to fuck her, but we both know that's what he's doing." Aegon presses his lips to yours, hot and persistent. "Don't you want revenge, little dragon?"

Yes.

Yes, you do want revenge.

You want blood and revenge and for this foreign anger inside you to end.

Aegon's lips trail from your lips to the column of your neck, teeth sinking into your skin every so often while his hands grip your waist. He grinds into you and you feel the delicious drag of his hard cock between your thighs. "I have plenty of information from the witch. So much that her life means nothing to me now. You could kill her if you wanted."

Kill her?

"H-have you ever killed anyone?" The idea makes you nervous, but it's hard to concentrate on those nerves when Aegon's hands are slowly bunching your dress around your waist.

"Yes. Would you like to hear about it?" He nips at your ear, chuckling darkly when you yelp. Two of his fingers circle your clit before dipping into your cunt and he moans when he finds you absolutely soaking wet.

You nod, letting out a little whimper. "Yes... please..."

"Mmm, good girl." Aegon pumps his fingers in and out of you at a punishing pace. "It's better than any drunken high, any fuck... it's... ah, fuck, yes..."

Aegon's head falls to your shoulder when your hand slips inside his trousers to stroke his length. You wrap a leg around his waist, silently begging him to go deeper.

"Oh, fuck," he breathes against your skin. "Such a good little whore for me. D'you like this? Like me fucking you in public?"

You do. You really, really do.

"Say it," he demands, wrapping a hand around your throat. "Say how much you like it."

"Aegon... please... I love it."

"Say you love me."

You nod. "I love you!"

Aegon's grin is almost terrifying when he says, "I want to watch you kill Alys Rivers."

The pleasure that had been building in the pit of your stomach crests and washes over the rest of you, leaving you to spasm around Aegon's thick fingers. He kisses you all over as he reaches his own orgasm, spilling into your hand.

"Good girl," Aegon whispers into your hair. "Fuck, you're so good for me. We need to remind Aemond how good you are, yeah?"

That's all you really want, you think to yourself. You just want to be good for the people who love you. That's all you ever wanted.

[writingforstraykids]

Heyyy! Hope you're doing great :)

Can I request a birthday special of how husband Chan treats the female reader on her bday? Like totally spoiling her hehe :)

Thank you! Have a great day!

Pairing: Chan x fem!reader

Word Count: 737

Warnings/Tags: fluff, birthday date, husband!chan

A/N: Happy birthday, love. I hope you like the little something I came up with🤭🖤

The morning sun hadn’t even broken the horizon when you felt a gentle nudge. Your eyes fluttered open, still heavy with sleep, and you turned to see Chan, your husband, with a smile that could outshine the dawn itself.

“Happy birthday, baby,” Chan whispered, his voice soft as silk. The room was still dim, but there was a flicker of excitement in his eyes that told you he had something special planned. You stretched, a content smile playing on your lips, and leaned in for a morning kiss, which he returned with a warmth that filled your heart with joy.

As you sat up, you noticed that Chan had laid out a beautiful outfit for you: a soft, flowing dress paired with your favorite accessories. It was your birthday, after all, and he seemed keen on making it unforgettable. 

“Get dressed at your pace,” Chan said, his hands clasped behind his back, trying to hide his eagerness. “I’ve got quite the day planned for us.”

After a long shower, you dressed and joined Chan downstairs, where the aroma of breakfast filled the air. The table was set for two, adorned with fresh flowers and your favorite dishes: pancakes topped with a generous amount of berries and maple syrup, freshly squeezed orange juice, and a delicate omelet filled with herbs and cheese. It was a feast for the senses.

“Everything looks amazing,” you said, taking your seat. Chan beamed with pride as he poured you a cup of coffee just the way you liked it.

Breakfast was a delightful affair, filled with laughter and plans for the day. Once you were both finished, Chan took your hand and led you outside. A black limousine waited at the curb, its chauffeur holding the door open. Your eyes widened in surprise.

“A limo, Chan?” you asked, a giggle escaping your lips.

“Only the best for my wife,” he replied, helping you into the car.

The first stop was a luxurious spa. You were treated to a couple’s massage that melted away any lingering stress, leaving you both relaxed. The scent of lavender and the sound of soothing music followed you as you continued to a manicure and pedicure, chatting about everything and nothing at all.

Lunch was at a quaint little restaurant by the sea. You ate outside, the salty sea breeze mingling with the aroma of the seafood platter you both shared. Chan raised a toast to you, his eyes twinkling with love and affection. “To my beautiful wife, may this year bring you as much joy as you’ve brought into my life.”

The afternoon was spent walking hand in hand along the beach, shoes in hand, sand between your toes. Chan had always known how much you loved the ocean, and the peaceful sound of the waves was the perfect soundtrack to your perfect day.

As the sun began to set, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, Chan led you to a secluded part of the beach where a blanket and a picnic basket awaited. You watched the sunset together, the world seeming to stand still around you, the moment filled with nothing but beauty.

But the surprises weren’t over yet. As twilight turned to night, you noticed little sparks of light on the sand leading away from your picnic spot. Chan nodded for you to follow the trail, which led to a small clearing where a projector was set up. “I thought we could end the day with an outdoor movie under the stars,” he said, his grin infectious.

You snuggled together under a blanket as your favorite movie played, the stars twinkling above you. It felt like the universe was celebrating with you, each star a testament to the love and care Chan had put into making this birthday the best you’d ever had.

As the credits rolled and you leaned against Chan, feeling the steady beat of his heart, you knew that this day would be etched in your memory forever—not just because of the grand gestures, but because it was a day spent with the one you loved most, celebrating not just your birth, but the life you shared together.

“I love you, Chan,” you murmured, your voice soft with emotion.

“I love you more, Y/nnie,” he replied, his voice equally tender. 

And in that moment, nothing else mattered but the two of you together under the vast, starry sky.

do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©️writingforstraykids 2024 -

MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES

Taglist (Please let me know if you want to be added to or removed from the taglist):

@atinyniki @galaxycatdrawz @silverstarburst @aaa-sia @lilmisssona @kthstrawberryshortcake @channieaddict @soullostinspaceandtime @rebecca-johnson-28 @lixie-phoria @kibs-and-bits @xxstrayland @ihrtlix @pheonixfire777 @mellhwang @palindrome969 @michelle4eve @harshaaaaa @rylea08 @heeyboooo @manuosorioh @gisaerlleri @andassortedkpop @lailac13 @bbokari711 @kazuuuaaa @rssamj @wolfyychan @stellasays45 @chrizzztopherbang @ionlyeverwantedtobeyourequal @silentreadersthings @myforevermelody143

[cuteskunkz]

╭──────────.★..─╮

One Night With You

~ Part Two ~

╰─..★.──────────╯

(Mike Schmidt x Reader)

Summary~ After getting your number, Mike takes you out on a date to get to know you better. Read part one here.

Tags~ fluff, Mike is a gentleman aww, surprisingly no smut this time, reader is conflicted on their feelings, character building, Older Mike (Mike is 28 and reader is 20)

Note~ I've had a mean case of writers block lately, apologies for the well overdue update. Shorter fic tbh!!! My attention span is crying for help... This entire thing is pretty much me practicing my dialogue skills. Chapter 3 will definitely have smut, I just really want to build up before we get there ;)

⊱✿⊰

You drive home with Mike on your mind. It's been hard for you to connect with men lately due to your occupation, generalizing them to being horny and emotionally unavailable creatures. Something in you feels... different about Mike though.

As you reach your apartment you take a deep breath, feeling anxious. You walk in, dropping your bags at the door, and pop in the shower hoping to calm yourself down with a little pampering. After an hour of self care you get a call from Mike. You answer after a few rings, hoping to scope out his vibe a bit more before going out to drink with a random guy you just met.

After the 4th ring he speaks nervously, "H-hey! You got home safe?" He stares up at the ceiling, trying his hardest to speak confidently.

"Yeah! I have to say your bar suggestion sounds awfully tempting right now... you're not one of those dudes right? Yknow the 'I get girls drunk to make them more agreeable' type? Cause I swear to god I'll-"

He cuts you off, "I promise.... I just wanna take you out as a treat after the day you had... we don't even have to drink if you don't want to!" He hopes his words provide a bit of comfort to you. He couldn't imagine how tiring it must be to be a woman in the dating world, having to constantly stay vigilant about the dangers men can pose.

You sigh feeling embarrassed for accusing him of such a terrible thing. "I'm down to hang out now if you're not busy or anything! Which bar were you thinking?" You try to hide the excitement in your voice but the butterflies in your stomach are making it very challenging.

"There's this place not too far from me... I could scoop you and drive us down there, yeah?" He throws his head back and bites his lip to fight back the smile creeping up on his face. Mike can't get the mental image of your beauty off of his mind while talking.

You begin to blush from his raspy voice and reply, "Sounds good!! I'll see you soon then!!!"

"Text me your address and I'll be there asap, okay?"

"Yeah of course! I'm sending it now... lemme know when you get it." You text him your address with adrenaline running through body. Your heart feels like it's going to skip a beat from just talking to him.

"Yeah I got it...I'm on my way, I'll call when I'm outside... can't wait to see you..." Mike says, his voice dripping with elation. He hangs up and starts making his way to your house.

You run to your closet and begin picking outfit options, practically tearing it apart. After finally making your mind up, you apply some makeup and spray your most enticing perfume. You stare at yourself in the mirror, making note of the little details and suddenly feel a little confused on your giddiness. You don't know this guy, he could be some murderer on the prowl for a fresh kill for all you know.

The doorbell rings, you shake your mind of all of your anxious thoughts and make your way down to meet him. He greets you with a smile and presents you with a small bouquet of roses.

"I wasn't s-sure If you liked roses, but I wanted to bring you something as a thank you for even considering me" he mumbles, looking down at his feet. it was adorable seeing someone this shy because of you.

"They're very nice Mike... Thank you. I'm gonna go put these in a vase and then we can head out, hm?" After putting the flowers away you run back to the door, "Ready?"

"Extremely." Mike chuckles. He walks you out to his car, opening the passenger door for you. He gets it and connects his phone to play some music. "Hope you like Nirvana...it's like the only thing I listen to, not to sound like some rock elitist or something!"

You giggle and poke his arm, "Nirvana's fine, but I'm gonna have to put you on to something other than dad rock!" you tease. You watch his hands as he steers the car in the direction of the bar. They're callous and strong, his veins becoming more apparent as he gripped the wheel harder during turns. It's embarrassing to admit you got so turned on from staring his hands, Imagining what they would look like wrapped around your waist or better, your throat.

He pulls into a parking spot and pats your leg, "You're so beautiful, you know that?"

You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear and turn away from him to hide your rosy cheeks. "You mean it? Not just saying that to get into my pants Mike?"

"I would never... I definitely mean it, sweetheart"

He opens the door and guides you both into the bar. You hold onto him, arm locked around his bicep. It's a quaint little bar. Dimly lit and cozy, perfect for getting to know each other with the help of a couple shots.

"So... what's your drink of choice? I'm a tequila guy myself, especially with some salt and a lime"

You think for a second, "Hmmmm... I gotta go with Jager! Tastes like cough syrup a bit but the aftertaste isn't too bad"

"Bet." He walks up to the bar and orders the shots, bringing them back to the booth. "I got you a soda too y'know...in case you need a chaser"

"How thoughtful of you Mikey" you say sarcastically. What, does he think you can't take the shot like a big girl? 

He scoffs at the nickname. "I'm just looking out for you! I nearly died from fucking up a shot dude! It came out of my nose and everything." Mike laughs and rubs his nose as if he's having war flashbacks.

You laugh with him and pick up your glass and clink it on his. "Don't let it happen again!" You both tap your shot glasses on the table before knocking them back and sharing a drink of soda.

After a few minutes of small talk, asking the important questions like favorite colors and such, you start to feel the buzz. 

"Much better this time... my nose will live to see another day... or I guess... sniff another day? I don't fuckin' know anymore" He giggles and stares at you.

"S-something on my face?" you slur. A double shot wouldn't usually get you drunk this fast but you hadn't eaten all day, allowing the liquor to hit you harder than normal.

He shakes his head in defense, "Nah... you're just unbelievably hot." It's very clear the alcohol had made him lose his inhabitations.

"I could say the same about you y'know." you flirt back. "One more shot? Or are you scared it'll pour out of somewhere else?" You couldn't help but to snort and giggle at your own joke.

"Very funny little girl... One more won't hurt."

⊱✿⊰

Not gonna lie...self inserted twice here lmfao (I just turned 20 and JagerMeister is literally the best alcohol on earth).

@honey-eyed-munson this one's for you bbg, I wrote this today because your comment gave me so much inspiration :,)

[nerdraging4point0]

Power Play // Chapter Eight // Hockey-Omens AU

Tropes and tags: RPF:AU hockey player romance, angsty romance, hidden relationship, forbidden relationship, smutty, MF, multiple POV. 

Content Warning: angsty romance, hockey player shenanigans, locker room talk, smutty, aggressive hockey players, PinV, MF relationship, possessive male, protective male.

This work below is fictionalized ideas and stories involving real people but does not directly reflect their thoughts, feelings, or behaviors. Please keep in mind that this is a work of fiction.

Taglist(click to be added): @ladyveronikawrites @poisongirl616 @shilohrosechicken @th0ughts-pr4yers @meliferafaerie @curse-bearing-hips @letmeadoreyoux @transparentwitchnightmare @darling-millicent-aubrey @moranastray @cookiesupplier @concreteemo @collective-heartbreak @littlefoxkota @somebodyels3 @thisbicc @jakeygvf21 @cind6547 @lma1986 @loeytuan98 @xxkittenkissesxx @shaydayhere

As I shuffle from foot to foot, waiting impatiently, the massive sphere looms over me, slowly turning to showcase the etched lettering that reads Universal Studios. The brilliant water show happening just behind me provides a melodic backdrop, but does little to soothe my growing unease. Across the way, crowds of excited guests pour through the front gates, many already wearing silly souvenir hats or clutching stuffed animals they bought. Their joyful shrieks echo from inside the park. But here I remain, alone, checking my phone again for any word from Noah who is now 15 minutes late. It would have been easier to carpool but I was so adamant on it only being casual I thought a car ride together would push the boundaries-what was I thinking?  I crane my neck, scanning the constant stream of park-goers for any sign of them. Meanwhile, just down the palm-tree lined streets, casual shoppers laugh and chat as they drift in and out of kitschy gift shops and overpriced restaurants.

I stand conflicted, torn between listening to the voice in my head urging me to leave and salvage my pride or staying to enjoy the sunny day alone in the park. My mind races, replaying our last conversation where he promised to meet me here, yet now I wait aimlessly for a text explaining his absence. I shift my weight between feet, denim shorts swishing against my bare thighs as I kick at the sidewalk in frustration. Arms crossed, I glance around, taking in the groups laughing together on the grass while I wait solitary by the lot. With a huff, I turn to leave, chucks scuffing the pavement with each reluctant step. I make it only a short distance before pausing, a glimmer of hope making me pivot back. I fish my phone from my pocket, refreshing my notifications despite knowing the empty screen awaiting me. 

Noah: Hey, traffic was terrible. Got our tickets online meet me at the front gates. 

The text came in two minutes ago. When I was standing around contemplating my life choices, I feel like an idiot. Had he seen me stomping away? I take a deep breath walking down the red painted walk to the front gates. I spot him before he spots me, leaning on one shoulder against a palm tree closest to the ticket booth. 

His casual look is simple but it’s making my insides swim and spin in circles. The shorts are a classic neutral that matches anything, hitting just above his knees to show off muscular, tattooed calves. His socks and shoes are bright white, like he just stopped by the store to get them specifically for today. On top stands out a bold red hoodie with the hockey team's logo plastered boldly on the front, impossible to miss in a sea of people. His focus is downwards at his phone, hand absentmindedly brushing over short brown hair, drawing my eyes to the fresh cut he got just this morning. The ends are crisp and clean, neatly trimmed in a way that shapes his head, sharpening his look. 

“Hey,” he says as I close the distance between us looking up at me  from behind his shades, “Sorry traffic was a killer, sometimes I am afraid my old ‘09 car is gonna crap out on the freeway.”

"No worries," I say self-consciously, as I begin tugging at the hem of my shorts and shirt in a futile attempt to cover more of the bare skin I had purposely chosen to flaunt just moments before. I'm not sure why I suddenly feel so exposed and vulnerable, wishing I had worn something more modest, but his intense gaze is making me painfully aware of just how little clothing I have on. As if sensing my unease, he reaches for my hand, gently interlacing our fingers together and giving me a reassuring squeeze. With a warm smile, he leads us towards the mobile ticket booth at the park's entrance. I watch as he smoothly pulls up the e-tickets on his phone, which the attendant scans before snapping bright yellow paper wristbands onto each of our wrists. 

"Have fun!" she chirps cheerfully, waving us through the turnstile into the park. Still holding my hand securely, he guides me into the bustling crowd of families and thrill-seekers.

We scatter around the amusement park, darting from ride to ride but never fully committing to more than one at a time. Most of our time is spent waiting in the snaking queues, chattering away about anything and everything to pass the time. We debate our favorite movies - the epic adventures we could watch over and over and the cheesy romcoms we secretly love. We groan about the overhyped blockbusters that left us bored and disappointed. 

The line stretches on endlessly, filled with eager witches and wizards of all ages clad in Hogwarts robes and brandishing imitation wands they had purchased at the souvenir shops. They jostle against each other, craning their necks to see how much longer the wait will be, too caught up in their anticipation to pay heed to personal space. I pull in on myself, trying to avoid the constant bumps and shoves from the overly enthusiastic crowd. Mumbling half-hearted apologies, they repeat the same motions over and over as they surge forward whenever the line moves an inch. Their reckless abandon grates on me, fraying my nerves until I'm overwhelmed by the suffocating press of bodies. Just when I think I can't stand it any longer, I feel Noah's hands encase my shoulders before he pulls me back against his chest. He crosses his arms around me, enveloping my tiny frame within the safe harbor of his embrace. Sheltered there with his chin resting atop my head, the chaotic crowd no longer seems so oppressive. 

The hours fly by in each other's company. I walk slowly as I munch on the Minon Cafe nachos I purchased trying to get a generous amount of cheese, onions and barbeque on one chip. The savory blend of flavors bursts across my tongue with each crunchy bite. Noah stands next to me watching me munch on my food, his lips occasionally curving into a soft smile as he finds amusement in my puffed out chipmunk cheeks struggling to contain the mouthfuls of nachos. I return the expression with my own cheeks puffed out to maximum capacity, my mouth so full of the delicious tex-mex treat that I can barely chew let alone speak. The boys rush up to us without warning, their sneakers scuffing along the pavement. Two gangly teen boys with all the awkward acne and scattered facial hair that comes with puberty stand before us, the shortest one flashing a braces-filled smile as he and his lanky friend try to catch their breath after jogging to catch up with us.

"Hey man," the shorter one greets Noah, a slight lisp detectable as he speaks, "Love the hoodie. We're big Rooks fans." His eyes light up with admiration as they fixate on the sports team logo emblazoned across Noah's chest.

"Oh thanks," Noah replies, his smile broadening as he briefly glances down at the jacket he is wearing despite the intense heat, acting as though he had no idea he was sporting the coveted team merch.

"Whose your favorite player?" the other kid asks eagerly, practically bouncing on his toes. Noah shakes his head and I swear I see a little blush rise in his cheeks, his modest nature taking over. He reaches up and slowly removes the sunglasses from his face. As his identity is revealed, I turn back to look at the boys and see their starstruck expressions morph into sudden realization of who it is they are actually talking to.

The boys ask Noah for photos and autographs. He happily obliges, flashing his pearly white smile for selfies and signing various items. After a few minutes, the boys scamper off, thrilled with their interactions. Noah slides his sunglasses back on and turns to me with a grin stretching ear to ear.

 "You seem to be a popular player," I joke as I toss my trash and brush the chip crumbs from my hands.

 "It's not often I'm stopped without the team around," he admits with a casual shrug. "Puck bunnies usually," he adds. I involuntarily cringe at the mention of that term, memories of my reckless youth flooding back. I was quite the rebel in my teen years, making a string of poor choices with some of the players on my dad's college team. While I was never in it for the money or fame like those so-called "puck bunnies," I'd still made decisions I wasn't proud of, motivated by little more than teenage hormones and lust. 

"You would think," Noah continues, "Being here there would be more popular celebrities to see than me." He shrugs off the comment trying to lighten the mood. I shake off whatever it is that bothers me and force a smile.

 "Maybe they are all hiding," I say pointing to the studio tour ride. Just below the theme park are the studios where they often are filming - it's entirely possible celebrities of all types lurk below us without us knowing. Noah's face brightens at my suggestion and his eyebrows raise behind his sunglasses. His excitement is palpable as he takes my hand and drags me across the park to the escalators, paying the extra toll for the ride. I can't help but grin, caught up in his enthusiasm. We hurry onto the trolley, Noah helping me into the far back seat.

We're squeezed into the very back seat, thighs touching, the tour guide going on about the studio and celebrities we might see roaming around. I'm not even listening. I’m too focused on Noah’s arm draped behind me. His fingers drift lightly over my arm, barely making contact, but it's enough to make my heart race.

As the trolley trundles along through the winds and curves, I turn my head to gaze out the large open sides of the tram, feigning distraction while my mind races. I'm scanning the scenery with unseeing eyes, lost in a vivid daydream. In my fantasy, we sneak away from the crowds flocking through the park and slip into one of its shadowy alcoves, hidden from view. He presses me against the rough brick wall, his strong body pinning mine as his hands roam my curves. Our breaths grow ragged with anticipation and I have to bite my lip to keep from crying out as he drives himself into me, right there out in the open where anyone could happen by. My heart pounds at the illicit thrill even as my inner muscles clench around him. Just then, his deep voice breaks through my scandalous reverie.

 "You hungry?" As I turn back, our noses brush in sudden proximity and instinctively I recoil. But his arm around my shoulders tightens, holding me close so that our lips nearly meet. I swallow hard, nodding my head dropping my  eyes down to stop myself from staring at my own reflection in his black sunglasses. 

“Here or downtown?” His free hand comes between us, his index finger tapping my nose before dropping down to cup my chin and tilt my head up to look at him again. I see myself staring back from his dark sunglasses, the faint sight of his eyes behind them, and I know I'm done for. 

Noah’s POV

“Mmm, fuck, you’re so good to me, aren’t you little fox?”  The subtle music from the shops of studio city provided the backdrop as we found a secluded corner shielded by palm trees and trash bins. My hands gripped her hips tightly, bracing her against the brick wall as I moved rhythmically, struggling to keep my shorts from falling. Her body pressed hard into the wall with each thrust as I hit that sensitive spot inside her, eliciting muffled moans from behind her hand clasped firmly over her mouth. Her nails dug sharply into my shoulder, urging me on as my tempo increased. We were lost in the moment, oblivious to anything but each other and the risky thrill. The distant chatter was drowned out by her gasps of pleasure, spurring me to quicken the pace. 

“Fuck, I’m almost there baby.” I brought her down on my cock she rotates her hips to meet me with each thrust. Fuck. I can't get enough of this girl, she has me absolutely addicted in every way. From the moment I wake up, she is the first thought that crosses my mind. I find myself constantly daydreaming about her throughout the day, picturing her smile, her laugh, the way her nose crinkles when she's focused. I can't go five minutes without needing to touch her, to feel her soft skin under my fingertips. Her presence soothes me, excites me, consumes me. I want to talk to her all the time, hear her voice, her thoughts, her dreams. I've caught myself staring at her apartment balcony, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, longing to see that cute, sleepy look she gets when she's just waking up. I'm not proud to admit it, but I'm utterly infatuated. When we're together, it's electric - the sex is mind blowing, earth shattering, unlike anything I've ever experienced. I can't get enough of her body, the way she feels, tastes, smells. She has me completely intoxicated, addicted, obsessed. 

“fuck me, please.” The rhythmic panting in my ear spurs me on, driving my movements with an intoxicating urgency. Lost in the moment, I'm only dimly aware of footsteps approaching in the distance. But I cannot bring myself to stop, not when we’re so close.

Her skin is flush against mine, damp with perspiration from the sweltering summer air. As our foreheads meet, her face contorts in ecstasy, lips forming a perfect ‘O’ while her eyes roll back. She tightens around me, her body quivering. I wish I could freeze this instant, to imprint the exquisite sight of her unraveling in my mind. I come with one last thrust and we stand there, muscles shaking, breath heaving. 

I catch my breath quickly waiting for her thighs to stop shaking before I am setting her down slowly, shielding her as she steadies on her feet, trying to bend at the waist and lift a shaky leg through her denim shorts. 

Her delicate hand feels light in mine as I gently pull her out to the shopping center, people glance our way and I see her cheeks turn red. People have no idea what we just did, but I do and seeing her shy like this, I find it cute. I spot the burger joint and we slip inside and find a cozy booth by the window. The waiter takes our order - a juicy burger and fries for her, just a cold beer for me. As we wait, she becomes utterly engrossed in the football game blaring on the massive flatscreen above the bar. I watch her eyes light up whenever her team makes a big play. Her enthusiasm is contagious, and I find myself getting drawn into the game too.

In the back of my mind, I can't help thinking about my own team - how in just a couple days I'll be back on the ice with them, immersed in the sweat and adrenaline of competition. Part of me itches to be cleared for practice again, to feel the smooth feeling of the ice beneath my skates, to hear the swish of the net as I sink a perfect shot. But a larger part of me knows I'd rather be right here, in this moment, with her. For now, the game on TV is just background noise. The thing that has my full attention is the way she smiles at me from across our little booth, eyes shining, cheeks still flushed. This is where I'm meant to be.

[elliewithcellie]

Graduation Jitters

summary: You and Steve celebrate passing your final class

wc: 0.6k

warnings/tags: gender neutral reader (but let me know if you notice otherwise), established relationship, mostly fluffy i think, characters are each at least 22 here, no y/n

*********

The digital clock may as well have been analog the way you felt the seconds tick away. Your heart kept in time. Steve took longer than usual to return home from work. Anticipation filled your feet, lifting you from your seated position, now pacing in the living room. There was no use distracting yourself with TV or a book. Your mind raced with the news of your day.

The doorknob shook, pulling your attention from your thoughts. The door opened revealing your boyfriend. His eyes met yours, and a smile lit his face.

“Hi, baby,” he said. He closed the door with his foot, an arm staying behind his back.

“I did it,” you said. “I passed! I’m actually graduating! I’m getting my degree!” You couldn’t contain your excitement, the energy expelling from the balls of your feet as you all but skipped toward him.

Steve put his arm out for a hug. You gladly accepted, nuzzling into his chest. “I’m so proud of you.” He spoke quietly as if his message was only for you to hear. “I knew you could do it. Which is why I got you these.” He pulled his hiding arm around and revealed a bouquet of flowers.

“Steve, you shouldn’t have!” Your voice wobbled, and tears welled up in your eyes. Your sudden burst of emotion surprised both of you. You laughed despite yourself. “Sorry, sorry.”

He set the flowers down and pulled you even closer, lifting your chin to look up at him. “What’s wrong, baby?”

“Nothing, nothing at all. I’m—I’m just so thankful that you’re here with me.”

“Of course, I’m here. You didn’t think I’d just ditch you after all this time, did you?” He chuckled and wiped your tears from your cheek.

“I guess not. It’s just that…so much has changed. Nothing is how it was when I started. It was so hard, Steve.”

“I know. Which is why I know how much this means to you. I know how hard you’ve worked, even if I haven’t been there for all of it. I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere, ok? So, you better believe that I’ll be right there with your parents cheering you on when they call your name.”

You huffed out a breath you were holding in. “You’re pretty great, you know that?”

“I had a feeling,” he teased. His expression switched from smug to uneasy. “They do know about me, right? It’s one thing to introduce yourself to the parents, but for it to be a surprise—”

“Of course, they do!” you laughed. “You’ll do great. My mom will welcome you with open arms. My dad, well, he’ll do his best. I promise. Just don’t tell them that we live together because they don’t know that yet.” You winced at your own words, waiting for Steve’s response.

Steve’s face contorted to one of horror. “You’re joking, right? You didn’t think that would be necessary information?”

“They can piece it together when they get here.” You shrugged.

“What am I gonna do with you?” Steve asked, fondness painting his voice. He pulled you in for a kiss, feathery and light, but loving, nonetheless. “Oh, gosh, I almost forgot!”

“What is it?”

“Your other gift,” Steve smirked. “I’ll go set up your flowers. Go to my car in the backseat, and you’ll find a little treat.”

Your eyes widened as the smile beneath your nose grew. Without another word, you dashed out to his car. A “Congrats” cake sat in the backseat, and you smiled to yourself. You were so thankful to have such a thoughtful man in your life.

[dangans-ur-ronpas]

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 >

[andi-is-bored]

guys i might be going crazy, i thought i was gonna go completely feral for found heaven like i did with guts, but i don’t think that’s what happening 😭

ok, i’m not saying it’s bad, cause it’s not, it’s conan. it’s really good, but a lot of the songs kind of sound the same?? i just don’t think the synth is doing it for me rn.

AND OK I WILL SAY I LISTEN THE SHIT OUT OF THE SINGLES WHICH IS NOT WHAT I DID WITH SUPERACHE CAUSE I WASNT IN THE FANDOM THEN SO THAT MIGHT BE WHY I THOUGHT IT WAS A LITTLE BORING.

or i’m just dehydrated, or going either, or both.

i’ll probably be obsessed with it by next week, my mood is ever changing :)

[mwolf0epsilon]

"Star Wars isn't dead y'all are just haters" "Disney saved Star Wars" "It's the Woke Agenda that ruined Star Wars"

My mans, Disney single-handedly destroyed the Sequel Trilogy despite the Force Awakens being the gateway to something potentially fantastic; MCU'd the Mandalorian (a story which originally had nothing to do with the Prequel and OG Trilogy aside from sharing a universe and exploring a sect of a completely different culture/ideology); ego-boosted both Filoni and Favreau to the point where their OC Verse is not only canon but openly disregarding the Star Wars Universe Bible/Lore; gave us a snippet of what an extremely misunderstood indigenous culture is actually like (instead of portraying them as the savages one of the white leads mislabeled as animals that deserved to be slaughtered) only to then wipe out the tribe we got to know for no reason other than shock value thus alienating indigenous/poc viewers in the most disrespectful way possible; completely threw away the entire message of TCW (that being a clone does not make you incapable of being your own person who has their own thoughts, ideals, moral compass and overall identity) by making TBB (a show that does have it's strong points in set design, soundtrack orchestration and overall sound design, but is extremely weak on both characterization and storytelling because they either make the meaningful plot points stretch too thin or focus on the wrong character completely) their go to show marketed for kids instead of the actual kids programming that people shit on for being for, surprise, kids; constantly disregards valid critique from their consumers (to the point where infighting in the Fandom has gotten extremely ugly) that people either give up on interacting completely or simply vanish and take all their things with them (because no one seems to understand where these critiques come from, or how being unable to admit your special little show is imperfect is actually not a good thing for both you and others).

This isn't even accounting for the fact the Fandom seems to have doubled in it's overall toxicity since Disney took over. Which is par for the course when a mega corporation takes hold of something that started out extremely political in nature anyway. The Cash Cow machine needs feeding after all...

[avatardoggo]

I HAVE FEELINGS FOR A BOYMAN

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

rereading the worst scene I have ever written in my entire life and why did harrison have to drag lonan so hard here:

The sound of Lonan’s voice is like crashing into a concrete wall.

[todayisafridaynight]

time a flat circle why the hell am i usin the same loafers i bought for one cosplay of my fave antagonist for another fave antagonist

[luminousnotmatter]

Besides your precious friendship, one of the first things that comes to mind when I think of your blog is all your incredible tags 🤭💕🥰

- @bradshawsbaby 💕

My tags are lowkey my Signature Thing™️. After 11 years (wrote 10 at first but as of later this year it’s 11 haha wow🥲😅) on this site I think it’s fair to say that. 🤭🤭🤭🫶🏻😉💕

And your friendship is endlessly precious to me too, Sweet Sarah @bradshawsbaby !! Always and forever. 🥰🫶🏻♥️

color me curious: what’s the first thing that comes to mind when you think of my blog?