#this took FAR too long to write

[dribs-and-drabbles]

@respectthepetty I was going to send you an ask but once I realised I was going to be maxing out the number of screenshots allowed I figured I should keep this to my own post.

Because...I want to scream *bites knuckles* talk calmly to you about the colours in City of Stars, which I started watching last weekend...because I know you wrote briefly about them after ep 1 a few weeks ago. Back then you weren't sure if there was colour-coding but that it looked like there was a light/dark dynamic going on with Krom and Fuengnakhon and that you'd "be here each week figuring it out"...

And after 4 episodes, I'm presuming you're still quietly keeping an eye on the show...because I KNOW you would shout about it once you felt sure what was going on...but Pet! I can't wait! Because I can see what you were seeing, it does look like there's a light/dark theme

It really does!

And at the end of ep 3 Fuengnakhon's bestie and manager, Kodit and Sand, wear both light and dark as Kodit reveals Fuengnakhon's feelings for Krom, whilst both Fuengnakhon and Krom are wearing a blend of both -> grey.

BUT, before getting there, during ep 2 it seemed like there was a lot of green and purple going on 👀

A LOT

And I was going to come running to you after I had watched ep 2 but I thought I should watch ep 3 first just in case it was more of an episode theme...BUT ep 3 ALSO had a lot of green and purple

A LOT

So I went back to the beginning and properly looked and I'm left wondering if Fuengnakhon is purple (lilac-aubergine hues)

And if Krom is green (mint-jade-olive hues)

(The phones Pet! The phones don't lie, we know that!)

So maybe the light/dark is representational of the strength of their feelings...because Fuengnakhon knew of, and liked, Krom even before they met, which means Fuengnakhon wearing dark green at the end of ep 1 makes sense

And Krom quickly developed feelings soon after their meeting

until he loudly confessed (to his bestie, Two) under the purple umbrellas, and after which his blue top also looked purple

And the green and purple are also shared by the people in their lives. Krom's mum and employee have his green whilst Fuengnakhon's managers have his purple. And Krom's dad had both their colours the night they first met (similar to how Fuengnakhon has both their colours on their second day together)

But going back to the end of ep 3, and with the light/dark/grey, I started to doubt myself...BUT the trailer for ep 4 (which I forewent watching in favour of writing this) is showing the green and purple continuing! Krom in purple again!

And also when he asks when he became Fuengnakhon's...

(how about when you WORE FUENGNAKHON'S COLOUR?!)

And Fuengnakhon's grey shirt looks like it's minty green in the light of Krom's room, the minty green that Krom will also wear...

So, please, Pet, tell me what you've been seeing! Because I really hope you've been seeing the same thing!

(As a slight aside, I've also noticed pink and blue...but I think that's the fandom support of Fuengnakhon...but it could also be connected to the hues of Fuengnakhon and Krom's colours...)

Anyway... Pet, I'll be waiting when you're ready to offer your thoughts! 💛

[plusultraetc]

I ended up having way too many unfinished fics to choose from for Shinsou's birthday, none of which were ao3-ready, so have this extra long snippet of my beloved ice cream shop au that I've spent way too much time on for a fic that might never actually get posted 😭

(the context here is that Shinsou & Kaminari are trying to get erasermic together, but Kaminari didn't know he was trying to set his teacher up with the music store guy bc he's only heard about him from Shinsou)

[eastontheomlette]

Yeah so you know when you're hyperfixated on a show so hard that every time you see something even slightly related your hands turn into impromptu windmills, your chest hurts and you feel like you're about to explode if you don't jump around, and then when you interact with the fandom or watch the show you have to stop every 30 seconds because you're dry sobbing and can't breathe?

Because I may or may not have gotten sucked into Lockwood and Co, and omg their dynamic and the way they love each other but the sarcasm at the same time and the CONSTANT LOCKLYE, like seriously people my nan moves faster, and dear GOD the possibility for ANGST and atsujdehasjHgHahCghacFshshdgdshandHh-

Netflix I have never hated you more, my ghost will not rest easy till this show gets the other two seasons at least PLEASE!!!!! :')

[zer0pm]

Imagine Luis casually claiming that he’s a better shot than you. Not going to take that lying down, you challenge him in the shooting range.

“You certainly know your way around a gun, my friend.”

A short subconscious grunt was given as an acknowledgement, you were too engrossed in cleaning your firearm to fully engage him.

The Spanish man continues with a pensive nod, “One can see that you’ve taken many shots, as well as many lives. You’re a force to be reckoned with for certain.”

“Thanks, Luis.” you reply with nary a hint of interest in the conversation. Was there a point to all of this praise, you wondered but did not want to ask aloud, minding your own business.

“It’s such a shame really,” Luis shrugs, leaning against one of the wooden barrels beside you. He then comments nonchalantly, “Your accuracy leaves much to be desired. Even I could do better.”

The room suddenly falls into silence. Tension hangs by a dainty pin threatening to drop. You were no longer tinkering with your weapon. Leon and Ashley, who were having their own friendly chat on the side, stopped talking to stare at you two intently. Even the Merchant, who possesses a socially animated personality, went completely quiet. The mysterious man who possesses questionably limitless contraband leans far over his table to observe the interaction between you and the cheeky Spaniard with great interest. Or rather, he was interested to see your reaction. The stillness drags on. Then finally, you rise up from your seat. A stony expression hardened on your face as you share eye contact with the dark-haired man beside you.

“Shooting range. Now.”

The elevator ride was just as tense, only the two of you were aboard inside. Leon and Ashley stayed behind for reasons undisclosed, but if you had to take a guess, they didn’t want to see the potential feud between you and Luis escalate in a cramped, underground space. Speaking of Luis. The instigator of this game stood on the opposite side of the shaft from you. He had an infuriatingly smug grin on his lips and a confident, carefree air emanating from his relaxed posture.

Normally, Luis presented himself as an amiable and charming man with a witty sense of humor that bordered on teasing depending on the context provided to him amidst conversation. You haven’t interacted with him as much as Leon or Ashley, too focused on survival to even consider forging any meaningful bonds. The few instances that you have engaged him, the man left a good enough impression for you to tolerate his presence. If you were to truly be honest with yourself, however, you were drawn to him. He had that sort of magnetic personality that you secretly could not get enough of. Your heart flutters whenever he focuses his attention solely on you, whether it be a seductive remark or a teasing joke, he made you forget for a moment of the difficulties you were facing. But you didn’t have it in you to reciprocate out of fear of growing attached what with certain death looming over you all constantly. So instead, you cherished those moments in silence, stealing glances his way every once in awhile when you thought he wasn’t looking.

Unfortunately, this time you’re looking at him for an entirely different reason. Daggers in your eyes pointed straight at the Spaniard. You’ve saved this man against from numerous plaga encounters. He knows what you are capable of. And for him to say that? The nerve.

Luis catches you glaring at him and he shamelessly winks back at you. You scoff and return your attention to your gloved hands, trying not to let this man dig under your skin further than he already has.

The elevators descent comes to a halt and you exit as soon as the doors ping open with Luis following not too far behind. The Merchant was already down at the range even though he was up on the ground level when you took the shaft. At this point, you never questioned the masked man or how he works. Some mysteries are better left unsolved. The real mystery here, however, is Luis’ sudden (and uncalled for) bout of disrespect for your combative skills. He thoughtlessly casted your abilities into doubt in front of your peers and in such a casual manner no less. What else could you do to restore your pride but challenge him and bring him down a peg?

“Welcome, strangers!” The Merchant greets you both jovially once the two of you reached him. “Today, we will be playing a new game. A game of skill and finesse, your patience and speed. Just like any other, really- but with a twist! A competition between two fine patrons of the gunslinging arts!”

“No competition,” you quickly corrected with crossed arms and a deadpan tone. “Just putting someone in their rightful place.”

Luis, who took his spot beside you, merely maintained his easygoing demeanor, not at all bothered by your attitude with him.

“Ooh! Let me guess, is it beneath you? That can be easily arranged. No contest needed.” He chimes in suggestively.

An annoyed grunt escapes your throat, you pinch the bridge of your nose to lessen the irritation bubbling inside. “Get on with it, Merch. Please.”

“That’s the spirit!” the mysterious vendor claps. “Let’s establish the ground rules, then. Firearm of choice?”

The Spaniard waves his hand to you. “You decide, I insist.”

“Such a gentleman,” you roll your eyes. “Pistols. Figured this is fair since you’re only barely capable of handling one type of weapon.”

The dark-haired man pouts exaggeratedly, “Such harsh words for a squire.”

The Merchant ignores him, nodding at your choice, “Pistols it is. Game conditions?”

“Doesn’t matter to me.” Boredom dripping from your lips, “You figure this out, Serra.”

“So confident, my friend. Very well. Let’s see…” Luis grabs his chin between his fingers, appearing to ponder heavily before lifting one ringed finger.

“Quick fire. One shot per target. Every target will be timed for five seconds. Every rest period in between will last just as long. A penalty will apply for each missed shot. Victor is decided when penalties can no longer be given to either player. Or one admits defeat. Naturally, I’ll decide what these penalties shall be. It’ll be a surprise, just to make things fun.”

Your brow lifts at these terms. With how he delivered them without a single stutter, one would think that he thought about this considerably. They were unusual too and you could not help the gnawing sense of undeniable intrigue and due wariness from showing upon your face. The last part stood out to you as the most interesting of the rules. What sort of penalties were going to be delivered? What does this man have up his sleeve?

The Merchant laughs boisterously in agreement, evidently deeming the terms to be acceptable for the little competition. He turns his head towards you once more. “Any contest?”

With a shake of your head, you confirm with cold confidence, “None. I won’t miss.”

Luis’ grin doesn’t falter at your words. If anything, it only grew wider.

The masked man continues, “And the prize?”

“Ha, easy.” Deadly eyes shoot at Luis with threatening intensity, “You eat your words and…” A pointed finger gestures towards his upper body.

“The jacket is mine.”

A gasp leaves Luis’ throat, genuine surprise glints in his widened eyes. “You’d really strip a knight from his armor?”

It was no secret that the man loved to keep appearances, his jacket being the main focal point to represent his sense of style as well as serving to draw wandering eyes towards the rest of his form. Taking it from him would be a considerable hit to his confidence and it was not at all because you were curious to see how the white button shirt underneath fitted his body.

The memory of defined muscle sneaks into the forefront of your traitorous mind. You once spotted a distinctive scar peeking beneath the fabric and asked about it. Luis, always taking the extra mile, pulled open his jacket and shirt to not only put the colored scar in full display, but the rest of his chiseled upper torso as well. You had to rip your eyes away at the time to hide the blush that was burning quickly on your cheeks, disguising it with a scoff of disgust. Ever since then, however, you couldn’t get the tantalizing sight out of your thoughts.

With a furious shake of your head, you give him an indifferent, level response, “Take it or leave it.”

After a thoughtful moment, the man sighs in consensus. “Alright then. But if I win- you must admit that I’m the better marksman.”

You waited a moment before blinking, “That’s it?”

“Eso es todo, my friend.” Luis nods, “A simple prize, no?”

Without further ado, the competition went underway. After setting aside a pair of handguns and enough ammo to take down an entire country, the Merchant strides out of the range. He also disclosed that the target mechanisms have already been set to Luis’ specific conditions with increased difficulty as the game goes on. Not only this, but the targets are color coordinated to match your respective gun handles. Yours are blue; Luis’, red. Again, you didn’t question how the Merchant achieved this feat in such an impossibly short amount of time.

“Range is set to go. Shooting a target that isn’t yours, missing a target, or taking no shot at all will count as a penalty,” the masked man advised. “Press the button to begin… and have lots of fun, strangers. Ehehehe!” His characteristic cackling echoes off the walls even as the elevator doors closed. Now, it was just you and Luis.

The clicks of a gun cocking brings you back to the present. “Prepárate, my friend.” Luis’ voice is laced with determination as he spoke to you. “It’s game time!”

Without warning, a swift hand slams the button and the first target quickly pops into view. Blue. Frantically, you take aim and fire. Although you weren’t in a readied stance, the bullet pierces through the blue-striped pirate cutout nearly at the edge. The timer nearly hits the last second. A close call.

You whip your head at the Spaniard in exacerbation. “That was dirty!”

His face dons a playful look. “Why so angry, my friend? You were successful, no?”

Your glare sends him running. The timer resets and a red target appears. Compared to you, Luis seemed prepared as he takes his shot and hits the target with ease.

Timer resets, blue. Timer resets, red. It went on like this for a few rounds. The cutouts popped up in random spots at close range only to be shot back down immediately. It was too easy. You use a rest period to reload before the timer resets once more and a red pirate whooshes into view. This one was placed much farther than the rest and was surrounded by multiple sailor cutouts. When the Merchant said that the difficulty would increase over time, you didn’t consider that he would turn the notch by this much. Luis would have to fire at an angle to hit the target and avoid the other obstacles while also being agile enough to hit it before the countdown.

A grimace curves down upon Luis’ lips, he jumps to a spot and lifts the pistol quickly. Ready, aim, fire!

He misses, lead hitting the back of the range with a resonating sound.

A snort almost escapes you and you couldn’t help but taunt him. “What? Feelin’ the heat already, Luis?”

Luis looks at you with the same unwavering smile. “Just warming up, actually. Don’t you worry.”

The man pulls his rings off his fingers and sets them atop the wooden counter. The two of you then switched places and a thought comes to mind. What is his penalty? There’s nothing else on the range that would identify as a scoring system. Perhaps an even harder target to hit? That seems rather punishing. You couldn’t ponder over this any further as your turn came up.

Timer resets. Blue target glides in, sailor cutouts surrounding them as well. This time, however, the angle was easy to spot and you didn’t have to move from your spot to take the shot. It falls back with a satisfying ping upon hit.

“Nice one!” Luis praises. It was genuine, devoid of his characteristic witty drawl. You couldn’t help but mutter a low thanks. Switching spots again, the competition continues. The man manages to find his groove once more and the both of you fell into a good rhythm between shots.

You will not lie, this was kind of fun. Luis truly was a decent shot and seeing him like this, focused and different from his usual suave demeanor that he exhibits like a tattoo on his sleeve, grows within you a newfound form of respect and admiration. He was pulling you to him all over again and he wasn’t even trying.

Timer resets. Red target. More sailors. And they’re all moving! Luis didn’t have the time to follow the pattern of all of their movements and fires blindly. He hits a sailor and mutters a half-hearted curse before proceeding to remove his shoes and socks.

“Luis, what are you doing-”

“No time for any questions. It’s your move.” The man motions you to take your stance and indeed a blue target flies in on the far end. Thankfully it slid about from the ceiling and became an easy shot despite it moving at a fast pace. Your shot lands successfully. As you switch places with Luis again, the gnawing question returns-

What is the penalty?

Luis is the only one that has been missing and nothing seems to have happened. The rounds have gotten harder for certain, but your targets have been set with the same difficulty. How is it shown that he is losing? Again, you didn’t have the time to question it as your turn came up soon enough.

Timer resets, blue target. Shot is fired, it’s a hit.

Timer resets, red target. Shot is fired, it’s a miss.

Luis exhales deeply from his chest. At first, you thought he was frustrated but your ears catch undertones of relief which you could not deduce until you see him unzip his signature jacket and shrug the leather off his shoulders.

“What the hell is this, Luis?”

“Ah this? The penalties for missing. Was it not obvious when I removed my other effects?”

Timer resets, blue target. Nothing.

It dawned on you in full force what this whole game was really all about. You thought it a genuine competition, a battle of egos. However, it became blatantly clear that Luis was shooting on a different range altogether. And he tricked you into playing with him.

You gaped in bewilderment. It was then replaced with embarrassed aggravation. “You’re an idiot. I’m not playing this stupid game. I’m out of here.”

Just as you were about to enter the parlor where the elevator was, Luis speaks up. “You can leave, sure. Pero, you’ll first have to admit that I’m the better marksman.”

Timer resets, red target.

Swiftly you turn back to him, your tone seething with heat. “You’ve missed a few shots while I’ve missed none. What makes you think-”

Bam!

The bullet cleanly hits the moving target from a range that should have required eyes. But the Spaniard was looking at you this whole time, wearing a confident (and infuriating) grin. You were speechless.

“If I remember correctly, you didn’t take the last shot. ¿Sí?”

This man is going to be the end of you one day. But damn was that a good hit. Renewed determination and excitement flows through your body. You take off one glove with your teeth and spit it at the ground before practically shoving the man out of your spot with your now bare hand. You can hear Luis’ cheeky chuckle behind you. Your attitude towards him may have started cold, but it is he who is making you shiver now.

Timer resets, blue target. Shot is fired.

These things were getting harder and harder to hit. Both of you are barely getting along. Luis was doing well enough though. Reduced to just his pants and shirt, he kept up his momentum. You, however, were not faring just as well. Now that you know the real game you were playing, you became undeniably anxious and it showed in your aim. You missed a few shots and had to shed your shoes, socks, remaining glove, and jacket. The only comfort you took from this was that you were relieving yourself from the unbearable heat permeating within the room.

Shot is fired. No hit. Blue target still standing.

Now it was Luis’ turn to taunt. “¿Qué? You missed? Is everything alright, my good friend?”

You ignore him out of spite and tugged at the hem of your top. As you pull the fabric over your head, your ears catch an appreciative whistle nearby. Once your shirt was completely off, you whip your head back to sharply glare at the shameless man who did not hide his appraisal of you. Grey eyes run along the length of your form slowly, lingering upon your newly exposed skin. There was no denying the desire in his eyes. It didn’t leave even as the timer restarted and a red target appeared.

He didn’t take the shot.

It was the perfect opportunity to mock him back, but nothing comes out. In fact, neither of you said anything for the longest time. The only sounds in the range were the pings of the timer and the cardboard targets popping in and out- both effectively ignored and zoned out.

Luis lifts his hands to unbutton his white shirt and throws it atop his jacket. He was bare from his neck down to his waist. Sweat glistened on his well-built chest, the hard muscles of his arms flexing as he stretched. He was probably the hottest thing you’ve ever seen in your life and he was looking straight at you when you finally found the courage to meet his burning stare. The heavy weight of his grey gaze pressed something deep and carnal within your soul.

After what felt like an eternity, the man picks up his jacket from the ground and moves over to one of the sturdy wooden barrels in the room. He leans against it before facing you once again and speaks in an intimately gruff tone.

“Tú ganas. You win.”

Luis stretches out a strong arm, signature jacket in hand. All you did was stare. Looking back and forth between his rugged face and the fine article of clothing he held.

When you didn’t make a move or say anything, he offers again, “Well? Are you going to claim your prize?”

Time marches on, accompanied by silence. Then finally, the floorboard creaks meaningfully under your stride towards him. Luis’ jacket is smacked out of his hand.

It laid forgotten for a long time.

[onemoreattempt]

If elves had texting/social media hcs:

Sophie: Kinda went over this here. horrible about getting back to ppl. Will accidentally leave you on read. Thinks she responded but didn’t. Her social media notifications are through the roof. If you need her urgently, you should probably just call. Very occasional posts. She’s doing her best.

Dex: Usually good at responding to messages, depending on how busy he is and if he’s around the triplets. Fast typist/texter. One of the few helpful ppl on Reddit.

Fitz: fast responder, usually no typos. Rarely uses shortened words or acronyms

Biana: I feel like Biana would cringe internally at misused homonyms/grammar errors, but she’d be nice about it. She types with pretty good grammar, other than the obvious texting things like acronyms, initialisms, and other word shortening things. If the elves typed in English, she’d never use the wrong ‘your’ or ‘there’ and she’s a firm believer in the Oxford comma. She’d also be a Pinterest/Instagram girlie.

Marella: types in all lowercase. knows about everything that’s happening anywhere. has all the social media. Occasionally trolls flat earthers claiming that the earth is actually shaped like a Klein bottle.

Keefe: gif city. Silliest Instagram ever. Fs blurry selfies and pictures of things him with things Sophie brought him from the forbidden cities. Yt haver. Might troll human politicians on twitter without knowing what he’s talking about. Definitely gets in on trolling the flat earthers. Claims the earth is shaped like Schrödinger’s cat (or Uranus, depending on the day).

Maruca: Probably on tiktok. Terrifying to text with if you have any kind of social anxiety and you are not close friends. Very direct texting style. Unnecessarily ends things with periods, and is a slow texter. It reads as pissed off until you get to know her. She’s an absolute riot in friend group chats. Like super funny.

Stina: If a message reads as pissed off it’s bc she is❤️ Absolutely bounces off Maruca in the gc. Stina = a voice memo person?? I also feel like yt and tiktok are her main social media. She doesn’t post on yt, but she does post on TikTok showing the work she does with unicorns. Definitely puts cuter moments on Instagram too. She and Maruca ft while going through their hair care routines.

Linh: I don’t necessarily think she would, but she has the potential to make one of the most aesthetically pleasing Instagram accounts (Linhstagram, if you will). Idk I feel like Linh would be into hiking and posting photos of that, plus her and Tam, or her and Marella. But, honestly, she probably just posts photos of her mercat😭 She also has the vibes of using the little press and hold mini responses a lot (like ❤️👍❓mostly until Tam goes off and Rayni shows up)

Tam: I feel like Tam is a bad or at least scarce texter. Maybe a gc ghost too. Everyone is surprised and excited when he responds in the gc bc he hasn’t done so in 4 months. Dude has no social media. Really only has his phone to communicate with Linh

Jensi: so much love for him, but he definitely has fast typing, lots of typos vibes. Early on in the series, he was very excitable, and the audiobook narrator makes him talk fast, so that makes me think he’d probably speed type his texts and send them without checking for typos first. Gets back to you in a snap🫰. Probably sends a lot of messages in succession when telling a story. May send videos explaining things as well, or voice memos that get off topic very fast.

[wikiangela]

wip wednesday🎄

tagged by @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove

i wasn't gonna post anything but i wrote quite a lot today and need validation lmao (I think I might be about halfway done but who knows, it always gets away from me haha) today some buckley siblings feels, and hopefully soon ill get to the fluffy christmas part haha

prev snippet

___

"(...) I used to make stuff for Maddie, and then when I was older I would save money to buy her something small and mostly symbolic.” he glances at Eddie. There’s a mix of bittersweet nostalgia and sadness on his face. “She made all my Christmases bearable, and after she left-” he stops abruptly and quietly clears his throat. When he speaks again, he doesn’t finish the sentence. Eddie wants to ask, but he figures Buck will share what he’s comfortable sharing, he doesn’t want to push. “But that was the one thing I wanted so badly, more than anything, more than any cool toys or- or anything,” he chuckles again, “and Maddie tried to give it to me, and she got in trouble for it. So after that, I just never asked again.”

“Buck.” Eddie says softly, wishing he could do anything to make it better, to fucking go back in time and give Buck all the Christmases he ever dreamt about.

“But I always wished-” Buck continues, then glances at Eddie nervously. 

“Wished what?” Eddie’s thumb softly swipes along Buck’s neck and jawline, as far as he can reach. He just wants to comfort him somehow, and at the moment this is the only way he knows how, just a comforting touch, being there, listening.

“That one day, when I grew up,” Buck looks down at his lap again, his voice getting even quieter, “I’d have my own family and I’m gonna do matching Christmas sweaters every single year, and take tons of pictures of us all together, and-” he pauses again, and, with a teary laugh, raises his hand to wipe at his eyes. Eddie wants to wrap him in his arms and hold him. (...) “But it doesn’t matter, I don’t-” Buck shakes his head, and leans away from Eddie’s touch. Eddie aches to keep touching him, to reach out and follow, but he respects that clearly that’s not what Buck wants anymore, that’s fine. “I don’t have my own family yet, so it doesn't matter. Let’s just drop it.” he says, tone decisive, face red, eyes glued to the screen again. 

Eddie frowns. What the hell is Buck talking about? He has a family, right here.

___

no pressure tags: @elvensorceress @gaydiaz @diazass @thebravebitch @silentxxsoul @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @arthursdent @911onabc @spagheddiediaz @housewifebuck @rogerzsteven @watchyourbuck @honestlydarkprincess @underwater-ninja-13 @eowon @weewootruck @loserdiaz @evanbegins @steadfastsaturnsrings @ladydorian05 @malewifediaz @pirrusstuff @theotherbuckley @911-on-abc @hoodie-buck @wildlife4life @fortheloveofbuddie @nmcggg @diazpatcher @jesuisici33 @lover-of-mine @giddyupbuck @spotsandsocks @exhuastedpigeon @buckaroosheart @hippolotamus @king-buckley @callmenewbie @jeeyuns @disasterbuckdiaz @monsterrae1 @thewolvesof1998 @jamespearce9-1-1 @daffi-990

[wreckedandpolemic]

morning sex w george!!!! i feel like he would be so so lovely and sweet

first light - george daniel

(mdni) this kicked my fucking ASS and i dont even think its that good sorry!!

warnings: 18+, unprotected sex, cockwarming, very very light somno if you squint, me-typical disgusting love, not even remotely proofread

Slanted sunrays tenderly kiss you awake, eyelids fluttering in the morning light. You stretch and yawn, wriggling comfortably in George’s arms, not shaking the last vestiges of sleep off you yet. He groans in his sleep and you smile to yourself, pressing flush against him so his heated chest warms your back and the hard length of him presses against you. Your name falls from his lips in a sleepy moan, and he rolls his hips slowly and sloppily.

His arms tighten around your waist and he buries his head sweetly in your neck. Familiar heat pools in your belly, softer and gentler this time, like your desire is still half-asleep too. “Are you awake?” you whisper, words rippling in the still air.

 “No,” he mumbles, pressing a wet kiss to your neck.

“Me neither,” you smile, slowly rolling over to face him. “But I had a very sweet dream.”

A dirty grin splits George’s face, and he cups your jaw to kiss you. His lips are warm, like the want growing in you, a marked change from the usual scorching flames that draw you together. “Did you now?” He takes a handful of your ass, squeezing it gently, unconsciously.

You press a soft palm against his clothed dick and he sucks in a sharp breath in response. “I want…” You pause, because what do you want? “Can you take these off? I just want all of you,” you murmur, snapping the elastic of his boxers against his waist. Even that sounds impossibly loud in the still quiet of your room. He obliges and you smile, unable to resist wrapping a hand around his length just to feel his hips jump in response. 

“Minx,” he says, a fond smile playing on his lips. Adoration dances in his sleepy eyes, and he hooks a thumb in the waistband of your panties. You let him drag them down your legs, kicking them off to lay forgotten in the tangle of sheets at the foot of your bed. He trails two fingers through your cunt, and you’re surprised at the dampness there. A moan slips from your lips when he brings his fingers up to his mouth, sucking your arousal off them with a self-satisfied smile.

“Can we… Can you just…” You trail off helplessly, but George understands you. He always does. Gently, he takes hold of your hips and lines himself up with your entrance. The stretch is slow, sweet, melting you into a puddle of bliss that culminates in a moan when he bottoms out. You drape a leg over his waist, the angle sending a delicious wave of pleasure through you. He kisses you, slow and loving, and your eyes slip shut as he rests a hand on your ass.

Tucking your head into his neck, you curl into him, sheets pooling around your bare back. You’re gloriously full, complete, content to just lay on his chest and feel him. Every light twitch of his hips sends a burst of pleasure coiling through you, warm and sweet. The warm fingers of sleep cradle you and you slip into a doze, just barely aware of the throbbing between your legs. 

You have no idea how long you lay there, stretched around him, blanketed by sleepy stillness, but when you open your eyes again the sun has shifted position and the light flooding your room is sharper and brighter. George’s thrusts get more insistent, his nails biting the flesh of your ass as he fucks you. “Couldn’t even wait for me to wake up, huh?” you tease, clenching your cunt around him. He only grins, a dirty, sleazy thing that you stretch up to kiss off his lips.

A quiet, pleading whine escapes you, the pace too much for your soupy mind. “You okay, baby?” he asks, smiling down at you. You look at him imploringly, willing that part of his brain that can read your body so perfectly to latch on. “Yeah,” he says, voice a soothing rumble, “I know, baby. I know what you need,” he promises, and rolls on top of you.

The pressure of his weight against you is glorious, and you wrap your legs around him to draw him impossibly deeper. George fucks you in long, slow, deep thrusts, swallowing your moans with hungry kisses. You cry out when he hits that perfect spot inside of you, electricity fizzing under your skin. “God, fuck, yes!” you moan, writhing against the sheets.

“You’re so beautiful,” he gasps, burying himself to the hilt in you. “So sweet and good for me.” The praise makes your blood sing, head swimming in ecstasy. George kisses at your sweat-slick skin, paying special attention to every inch of your tits he can reach. You press an insistent hand between your legs and rub quick, tight circles into your clit, matching George’s blissful pace. “You wanna cum, baby?” he asks, licking a stripe in the valley between your breasts that makes you shiver.

“Yeah, fuck, yes. Please, George, please,” you babble, drawing in deep lungfuls of sex-thickened air.

“Go on, then, beautiful,” he murmurs into your mouth, smiling against your lips. “Cum for me,” he orders, biting at your neck. The scrape of his teeth on your sensitive skin sends you spinning out, euphoria crashing over you all at once. Liquid heat drips down your spine and you grip George’s shoulders, clinging to him as he fucks you through your orgasm. Your muscles tremble, blood clotted thick with heat and desire.

You come down from your high, cunt fluttering and heartbeat hammering in your throat. The slick, wet sounds of your flesh meeting fill the room, drowning out your quiet, overstimulated whimpers. George thrusts into you one last time, deeper than you thought possible and comes with a cry, cock pulsing deliciously inside of you. Your world blurs, everything dimming down until all you can see is George, glowing brightly above you. He pulls out of you, grinning lazily and rolling off you. You twine your fingers with his, clutching him like a lifeline as your chests rise and fall in tandem.

“I love you,” you murmur, sleepy but forever truthful.

He turns his head to look into your eyes, the adoration in his gaze so pure and evident that your heart melts, dripping against your ribs. “I love you too,” he promises, a broad smile splitting his face. He traces idle patterns on your skin. “Do you want me to run us a bath?”

You nod, stretching luxuriously against the bed. “Sounds amazing,” you mumble, eyes slipping shut as he pads to the bathroom. You hear George humming lightly to himself as the bath runs, then fall into sweet, gentle sleep.

[nicoathogwarts]

The moon's light just managed to reach down deep enough to cast shadows through the glass and into the common room. Nico struggled to keep his eyes open, the gentle scratching of his friends quills on parchment lulling him to sleep.

A single thought kept him from falling into unconsciousness. “I need to get out of here.”

Draco looked up from the textbooks that were splayed around him. “It’s passed curfew, you’ll get detention again.”

“Not like that.” Mr. D called it trauma, Nico called it common sense. “I need to get out of the castle, go somewhere else for awhile."

"Why would you want to do that?"

Nico shrugged "being in one place for too long is boring." The longer he stayed the more monsters would find him, they were waiting outside of Hogwarts boundaries. One set too far into the forbidden forest and he'd be surrounded before he could blink.

Pansy snorted "that's what the Gryffindor's are for, free entertainment. You're the one stupid enough to be friends with them, you should know they have more death wishes then everyone else in the entire school combined."

"Having a death wish doesn't make you special, it barely makes you interesting. My cousin has had a death wish since he was twelve and he's not dead yet. No matter how many times I've tried to kill him." That got a singular snort, as was expected.

Nico's fucked up family tree wasn't all the surprising to the other Slytherins. Mention you've been trying to murder your cousin? Who hasn't tried to kill their cousin? Or who's cousin hadn't tried to kill them? There was still a lot he couldn't say, he was a half blood but not their kind of half blood, his dad was the god of the dead. Voldemort was his half brother and he was on a quest to strip him of his immorality. But he could be a little more truthful with them then with his other friends at Hogwarts.

[domifucker]

Hi! My friend and I are getting into hockey and we’re kind of wondering what the vibe on Max Domi is?? I’m kind of seeing mixed messages about him so we were wondering why you like him so we can figure out what his deal is and if we should try to pay attention to him more on the leafs. Thanks!

hi anon!! just wanna say before i get going that i’m in love with this ask and you by extension for asking, and i’m sorry this took me so long!

now on to the propaganda (this is long i’m not sorry)

i’m obligated to preface this by saying i’m hugely biased as a Leafs fan who grew up in Southern Ontario. my dad has always been a pretty big Tie Domi fan, so liking Max just seemed like a natural continuation of that.

baby Max with Mats Sundin, then-captain of the Leafs. he’s just a little guy,,

born March 2nd, 1995, in Winnipeg, Manitoba, one month before Tie was traded (back) to the Leafs, Max spent his childhood in Mississauga, Ontario, roughly half an hour west of Toronto. at the age of 12, following some health complications at a hockey tournament in Detroit, blood work revealed that Max had type 1 diabetes and celiac disease. 

not the end of the world, clearly, but a pretty significant shock for a kid with aspirations of greatness. of course, he was able to manage it, with time, and when i finally read his book i’ll tell y’all more about it i promise.

these pictures make me emotional,, a couple of Domis, a couple of decades apart,,, except Max looks about 200% cuntier

anyway

scored a hatty in his OHL debut (slay). won consecutive OHL championships with the London Knights in 2012 and 2013 (double slay). selected 12th overall by the Phoenix (now Arizona) Coyotes, and signed a three year ELC (!). won gold with Team Canada at the 2015 WJC, and was named the tournament’s best forward (huge W). traded to the Montréal Canadiens in 2018, to the Columbus Blue Jackets in 2020, to the Carolina Hurricanes (via the Florida Panthers) at the trade deadline of March 31st 2022, to the Chicago Blackhawks in July of 2022, to the Dallas Stars in March 2023, and finally signed as a free agent to our beloved Toronto Maple Leafs on July 2nd 2023. he’s been on seven different NHL teams since he was drafted. 

sadly, as i’ve only been a hockey fan for one calendar year, i cannot provide much insight into his time with NHL teams other than the Leafs. i have ordered and am waiting for his book to come in so i can better rotate him in my mind, but i encourage anyone who knows more about his other teams’ lore to add to this post or send me what you know, so i can share it with the world. (pls i wanna know everything about him ever)

what i can say is that him and Mitch Marner were teammates on the London Knights for two seasons, (13-14 and 14-15), the second of which saw Max as captain and Mitch as an alternate captain. the season after, Mitch was named captain in Max’s stead. seeing them back together on the Leafs brings joy to my little London Knights heart.

now back to him as a Leaf. 

the current Leafs points leaders, as of December 30th, are as follows:

William Nylander - 48P (17G 31A)

Auston Matthews - 44P (29G 15A)

Mitch Marner - 38P (14G 24A)

John Tavares - 31P (11G 20A)

Morgan Rielly - 27P (4G 23A) 

Max Domi - 21P (3G 18A)

the first five of these are pretty much to be expected, but there’s my close good friend Max Domi right there too :) he’s doing his part, and even if he’s not the biggest scorer, assists are just as important and valuable :) if i have to kill y’all with positivity for this i will :) i love him dearly :)

also, he currently sits at 389 career points, and he’s nowhere near done, while Tie Domi earned 245 points in his entire career of 1020 games. nobody can say shit to me about him not living up to his dad’s legacy (Note: Tie also sits at third in NHL history for penalty minutes with 3515, but that’s a stat nobody will ever surpass. ever. the current PIM leader in the NHL is Corey Perry, and he only has 1392.)

and now i’m not about to sit here and pretend i know how to quantify the skills of an NHL player, let alone describe them in great detail. i do not. however, what i do know is that i love watching him play and make plays. in my eyes, he is a good player, and this is the Max Domi Propaganda Blog so if you want something less biased i can’t help you, sorry :’)

this love began in a preseason game against the Habs, on Oct 2nd. his first game as a Leaf in Toronto, he scores a tip-in against his former team, and he shrugs it off like NBD. for those of you who were following me at the time, you know i was not normal about it then and i am not normal about it now. i think about that celly every goddamn day. 

much to my great sorrow, they Leafed this game up and lost in OT 5-4. but either way, this was the moment that definitively kicked off the Rick eastoncowan Domishka era. 

and the only time Max ever seems to get a scoring chance, it’s either on a breakaway or from a spot that would have been absolutely NASTY if it went in. my mans only wants sexy goals, which is a stance i respect immensely. 

his first regular season goal… didn’t give him any points. it was beautiful, and a game winner, but since it happened in a shootout, it didn’t count towards his points totals. personally, i think this is bullshit, but now is neither the time nor the place for me to get into my issues with some of the NHL’s rules. (Nov 10, 2023, Flames @ Leafs)

Domishka bardownski SO winner,,, you were so beautiful and so unappreciated but i will never forget you </3

now.

Max’s first real goal as a Leaf.

for those of you who followed me at the time, you may recall this post:

a post that the Hockey Gods took to heart

and obviously i followed through. what do you think i am, some kind of quitter?

and, again, unfortunately, we Leafed that one up, too. we lost it in OT again, so still no Domi belt pic for Rick :(

now i’m not going to go back and gif all 18 of his assists, because i don’t think y’all care quite that much about Visual Proof of all of them. for your convenience, though, i did go back and track down whose goals he had assisted on, and the results aren’t super surprising IMO

Calle Järnkrok, Nick Robertson (assisted on 5 each)

Matthew Knies (assisted on 4)

William Nylander, Morgan Rielly, Mitch Marner, Timothy Liljegren (assisted on 1 each)

anyway, now for what is quite possibly my favourite game that i didn’t actually get to watch live.

December 16, 2023, Penguins @ Leafs, a decisive 7-0 victory.

it was also a 3 point night for Max, two of which helped to complete Matthew Knies’ Gordie Howe hat trick, the first since Daniel Winnik in 2015. but a goal and an assist are only two parts of it, the third being a fight. a fight which Knies initiated against John Ludvig after he knocked out yet another of Max’s front teeth with his stick. a fight which was Knies’ first ever. i’m still mad i didn’t see this happen live, but i’ve rewatched the game in its entirety twice, and the highlights too many times to count. this game sparked my undying love for the 23-11-16 line, which is a line i still pray keefe will bring back.

and so, we have a goal and a fight, and we have an assist to finish off the hat trick, and none of it would have happened without Max :)

and speaking of fights, Max has had a couple of em himself in his time as a Leaf so far. granted, if you ask hockeyfights dot com, he didn’t win either of them, but that’s not what matters. what matters is that he looked beautiful doing it, whether it was against Ian Cole (VAN) or Sam Bennett (FLA), especially with the fun added bonus of him flexing his full head of hair at Bennett’s bald dome. as an aside, i fucking hate Sam Bennett, so Max trying to fight him was… well it made me feel things. all i’m gonna say.

max’s third goal was also gorgeous. stunning. amazing. another beautiful bardown, the sound of which lives on in my dreams.

this is getting far longer than it really needs to be, so i’ll take a step back and give you my true, honest thoughts.

Max Domi has been a very helpful player for the Leafs since he got here. he obviously has the drive to play here and to play well here, and 21 points is nothing to be ashamed of. you know who else has 21 points as of me writing this? Alex Ovechkin. and now i’m not saying they are players of the same caliber, but Max is 6th on the Leafs in points, and Ovi is tied for first on the Caps. 21 points is still 21 points, no matter where in the standings someone is. Max was born to be a Leaf, and nothing makes me happier than to see him here and thriving on the team he’s loved since he was a kid. he takes shots, blocks shots, defends his boys and is defended right back in turn. 

and i would not be Rick eastoncowan if i didn’t mention that i think he is hot. like stupid hot. especially without his teeth. fuck, the heart wants what the heart wants, and damn if my heart doesn’t want this tiny toothless idiot. 

[ur-ghostgirl]

if pain isnt awful tmr i may tie myself up n attempt to take some stuff ~ wish me no fallin off the bed pls

[jiminy-crickets]

Congrats to Utah for having the first PWHL expansion team <3

[dangans-ur-ronpas]

Chapter 17

continuation of byakuya's no good very bad worst shit ass day of his life (so far)(!!!)

SEE HERE FOR GENERAL WARNINGS AND FIC SUMMARY

Some pre-chapter notes:

this chapter went a little different from how i originally planned bc I was going to make byakuya much more stupid. but. he needs to fly off the handle several times later so. we can't let loose all at once

to be very fair to makoto he did not want to do that. and yet. here we are

the king of kings!! @digitaldollsworld

Content warning tags: ableist language from various characters, Byakuya's panic spiral, mild self-harm reference

< previous - from start - next >

Time seems to grind to a halt. His breath is still caught in his throat, halfway through a relieved sigh as he had been waiting - expecting - for Makoto to help him. To pull up some vague, hidden piece of evidence to clear him of any suspicion, to cleverly point out some irrefutable proof that had previously lay unseen.

But instead - his heartbeats feel too heavy. His breathing feels too light, deprived of any real oxygen. His head pounds in the same way it did when he was struck earlier, with a dull, pulsing ring that washes out everything around him.

He prided himself, once, on being able to read a person’s intent. To judge just when and why they might choose to abandon him, to cross him, to try and use him for their own intents. For that reason, he supposes, is why this sickly, sticky feeling of dread is so new to him. He’s never known real betrayal before.

His eyes dart around the room, but the others don’t seem to believe Makoto just yet. Even Owada seems taken aback, stock still and quiet. Only Kirigiri seems unsurprised - or maybe, he was only imagining it, the tranquil quality of her silence. As if she were merely observing it all, far out of their reach.

“Seriously??” Syo’s voice is a grating jeer. “You’re telling me this whole time he had no idea what I looked like? No wonder he didn’t fall for me at first sight!”

“I…don’t think that’s the reason why,” Hagakure says, though he seems utterly bewildered. “But, that can’t be right, right? I’ve seen him reading loads of times. And he practically lives in the library, y’know?”

“Yeah, and he can do things just fine for himself.” Asahina says in agreement. “I mean, he does his own laundry and stuff, and he knows this place way better than me at least. I didn’t even know where the A/V room was during the first motive, I just sorta followed him.”

“Yes, this is sort of…” For the first time, Celeste sounds genuinely surprised, her usually unphased demeanor wavering, her accent slipping for a moment. “Ahem. While I did note that he sometimes seemed a bit…eccentric, so to speak, nothing of his actions suggested that he was impaired.”

Their skepticism is a small relief. He nods jerkily, unable to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth to verbalize his agreement. But it’s a small, pathetic movement that goes unnoticed, hardly amounting to anything in this large courtroom.

And their disbelief only goes so far. Ogami speaks up now, for the first time since the trial began, her low voice immediately silencing the whispers.

“I performed a concussion test on him earlier,” She says, gruffly. “As Kyoko had asked me to. He was lucid when answering my questions, and he didn’t seem to exhibit any symptoms that couldn’t be attributed to other reasons.” There’s a slight creak of wood, as she shifts her weight on the stand. “However, I did notice that his pupils were…strange.”

“My- what?” He sputters now, too suddenly, too loudly. He reaches up to touch slightly-trembling fingers to a closed eye, feeling the smooth bump of the cornea twitching beneath the thin skin of his eyelid as if he might be able to identify the damage that way. Why hadn’t she mentioned this earlier? Why bring it up now? “What do you mean, ‘strange’?!”

There’s a slight, panicked edge to his voice that he hopes no one catches, but this was the first time he heard that there could be physical evidence to his affliction. “It was a bit hard to test without the proper tools, but I noticed that they do not react much to changes in light.” Ogami explains. “The shape is also slightly…off. If I had to describe it, I would say that there is…a warping around the edges.”

“And you didn’t think to mention it?!”

“I assumed it was either due to the head injury, or, it was genetic.” There’s an apologetic note to her words. “Given your usual behavior, I…didn’t think it was important.”

Not important. As if she could know what was important here.

“I. Am not. Blind.” He snarls stiffly. “Obviously, I have never taken a close enough look at my own pupils to notice that deformation, but it has never affected my daily life. I am not disabled, nor have I ever been.”

“I find it hard to believe that you have never been aware of it.” Kyoko remarks, tone clipped. “I can’t imagine someone of your status being ignorant of anything concerning your physical health.”

“Then you can rest easy knowing that I am perfectly healthy.” He snaps back, venom flying off his words.

Distantly, he knows that he is digging a pit for himself. That admitting to this would help clear him of any suspicion at all. But he doesn’t care; he would rather die than suffer such indignity. That was what he’s always known, taught by his butler, and then reinforced by all his surroundings afterwards, his siblings, his father - better to perish and let your enemies cry with relief and count themselves lucky, than let them mock you as you dig your own grave.

“You should just admit it already. You are drawing this out to be unnecessarily long, or would you rather doom us all?”

“I don’t see why I should cooperate with someone who has been making mindless accusations at me all this while.”

There’s a tense, snappish tension between him and Kirigiri. A livewire current. A piece of elastic stretched taut. He glares, and to him, her blurred form looks like that of a reared snake.

“Um…” Asahina speaks up, her hand tentatively raised. “If Byakuya’s really blind, can’t we just test it?”

“Excuse me?”

“I-I mean! Not saying that you are blind, or anything,” She says this quickly, carefully, like soothing a spooked horse. “But, we’re not going to get anywhere if you two just keep arguing back and forth, and it’ll be really quick! Like, Sakura, can you hold up a few fingers?” She complies silently, one arm remaining crossed across her chest, the other raised to her side. “How many is she holding up?”

He tries not to squint, but he has no idea. Two? Three? It's nothing more that a blurred, brown shape. “You can’t be serious.” He almost laughs, but the sound he makes is derisive and bitter.

“Y-yes, this is-! Unfair!” Now it’s Yamada, speaking up again. “In case no one else has noticed, Mister Togami is lacking his spectacles! Asking such a thing of him…it’s akin to bullying!”

He’s oddly assertive about this, and Byakuya watches as he pushes his own glasses a little higher. For some reason, being considered something of an equal by Yamada irritates him further. “Shut up.” Who asked for his help.

“Yes, be still please,” Celeste sighs dismissively. “We are playing a game with our lives. This is hardly the time to be discussing moralistic issues.” There’s a slight metallic tap as she raps her silver finger guards against her rings. “But you do make a point. Byakuya does not have his glasses at the moment. It would be difficult to try and confirm anything without them.”

Thank goodness for those with common sense. He doesn’t look to his side, where she was standing, but he swears that he can see her eyes glancing at him, the unnatural red of her pupils bright on her pale face. “Yes,” he agrees, seizing upon it. “And they were broken earlier, thanks to Owada. Nearsightedness runs on my mother’s side, and the former Togami head was farsighted. I will admit that much, is that what you wanted? Kyoko?”

He’s rambling. He’s aware of it. But there are a few nods exchanged, and Asahina scratches at the back of her head awkwardly, as if embarrassed. Kirigiri, however, is still unmoved.

“No. When I say you are blind, I do not mean without your glasses. Or there wouldn’t have been a point in bringing it up in the first place.” Kirigiri shifts her weight slightly, the sway of her stance accompanied by the creak of wood. “Even without your glasses, you cannot do tasks such as reading. I imagine you’ve managed everything else by means of careful practice, but this is the one thing you can’t manage on your own.”

“Hey, Kyoko-” Makoto looks nervous, unsure whether to face him or her. “That-”

“And how do you plan to prove this?” Byakuya snarls. He feels a small flare of triumph, even despite everything, the looming threat of death. “As we found before, I don’t have my glasses. Did you happen to pick those up as well? Did you repair them for me while you were at it?”

Instead of offering a retort, or any sort of reply, she sighs. A soft, tired sound.

“Makoto.” She isn’t facing the other boy, but her tone is firm as she addresses him, and a little exasperated. She doesn’t say anything more, but Makoto seems to understand, and his hands drop to his sides.

“There is a way to prove it.” His voice is quiet. Quiet, and…sad, somehow. Defeated. “Byakuya…please show us your handbook.”

The realization sets in slowly. He’s already been betrayed by Makoto twice now, but still, he finds himself stunned, slack-jawed. This one was the worst by far - not only was he actively helping Kirigiri, he was betraying Chihiro as well, risking revealing everything to that accursed bear. And after all the lengths Byakuya had gone through to protect this secret.

“What are you saying,” He says, and his voice has a humiliating tremor that matches how his hands shake, clutching at the rail. Surely, he’s heard wrong. Surely, Makoto would correct himself, take it back-

“Your handbook. Chihiro, he…he put a program on it that lets you be able to do stuff like tell the time. It also reads stuff aloud. And he did it after the motives got revealed, that night when Celeste saw you guys leaving the bathhouse.” He sounds so somber, so sad and grieving. He won’t meet Byakuya’s eyes. “He did it in exchange for you teaching him how to be strong, and self-confident - which you did, by telling him to go around talking to everyone else today.”

Without really thinking about it, his hand goes to his inner jacket pocket, where his handbook sits. His fingers close around the little device, the hard edges of plastic and metal pressing into the creases of his palm. He feels a little like he’s been shot.

But he doesn’t bring it out. He glares instead, furiously, hatefully, at the boy standing just meters away. He - and Kirigiri too, most likely, Byakuya suspected that Makoto had already revealed everything that that woman - knew perfectly well the importance of Alter Ego, and why it could not, under any circumstances, be revealed. And they knew Byakuya was aware of this too, and they were holding this fact hostage, over his head.

(I could, some sore, beaten part of him thinks with poisonous intent, try and claim responsibility for Chihiro’s murder. I could say that they’re wrong. That I lured Chihiro to the bathhouse with the intent of making him less wary, easier to isolate. That he was so weak and trusting and stupid that killing him was a simple manner. That I mimicked Syo’s modus operandi to throw suspicion off of me.)

The mere thought was shameful, but it was his pride, wounded and bitter, that was seriously considering it, if only for some semblance of control. The barest reassurance that he had any real weight at all in this trial. And all he would need to do is open his mouth and say the words.

But instead, he bites down on his inner cheek, hard enough for blood to trickle out the corner of his mouth, hard enough for the pain to rival the buzzing in his temples. And tightens his grip momentarily, just enough to feel the faint, humming warmth of the handbook against his sweating palm, and exhales slowly.

“...Fine. Fine.” He spits, angry, defeated, exhausted. He’s sick of this. He just wants it to be over. “Yes. I’m blind. I have been so since we first woke up in this school. Are you happy now?”

Makoto looks down, his face shadowed by his hair. Kirigiri tilts her head slightly, a motion that’s not quite a nod but more of a bow.

“Wait, so then-” Asahina’s voice, confused and a little hesitant, pipes up. “If you’ve been…y’know, this whole time, but only after we got to this school…does that mean the Mastermind did this to you, somehow?”

“That’s what I would like to know, myself.” He turns to look at Monokuma, and finds the bear lounging across its throne, a bucket of popcorn resting precariously on the armrest. The repugnant toy giggles, and swings itself upright, spilling a handful of white puffs all over.

“Gosh, I wonder?” The thing taps at its chin, voice taking on a wondering tone. “Of course, I want this game to be fair and give you all a level playing field. I believe in equality after all! …Though this has made for so many entertaining developments, so…I figured I’d leave it as is. Besides, you’ve adapted quite well, haven’t you Mister Togami?” It cackles, paws clutching at its belly. “GIven how well you did hiding it from everyone, I think it’s fine if we leave it like this, don’t you think?”

He wants to cross the courtroom and throttle the stupid thing this instant. All he can do is glare murderously, lips twisted into a snarl.

There’s a sharp clap that has most people jumping. The source of the sound is Kirigiri, whose hands are raised, and pressed together. “Let’s move on.” Her voice is firm, with no room for arguing. “All we’ve done so far is clear one person’s innocence. We still need to identify the real killer.”

And that was it. The most disgusting moment of his life, over just like that, ended by her words. He knows that there’s bound to be some kind of punishment in store for those who interrupt trials, but he briefly wonders if he can get his hands around her neck before Monokuma can react.

Owada jerks at Kirigiri’s words, startled out of his own stunned silence. “W-wait,” He sounds panicked now, and of course he would be. His scapegoat is gone. “Then, if it’s not Byakuya, then who…?”

“Let’s consider what we know. Given how it’s not clear where the murder took place, it would have to be someone who had access to cleaning supplies or water, and has no alibi that can be verified when the murder occurred. For the most part, everyone here has an alibi that can be supported by at least one other person, but there are some that do not.” Kirigiri lists these calmly, and Byakuya imagines her cold gaze, flitting between each person in the room. “Mondo. Do you care to explain what you were doing prior to the body’s discovery?”

The effect is immediate. The other boy rears up, instantly furious. “The fuck are you trying to say? That I’m a murderer?!” He thunders. “Like I said earlier, I was taking care of my bro. You know that. Everyone knows that!”

“As you said earlier, Taka is currently compromised. He can’t give a testimony.” She shoots back without hesitation. “Your alibi is flawed.”

“Yeah? Well - well so’s yours!” He sputters. “Like- Syo might’ve been the one to find you in the bathroom, but that was just before Chihiro was found. Toko can’t say that you weren’t there the whole time, a-and even if you were, maybe the bathroom was where Chihiro died anyways!”

Owada may be stupid, but credit where credit was due, he was surprisingly quick to retort and pick at Kirigiri’s excuse. “I could not have cleaned up a murder scene in the bathroom so spotlessly in the time between Chihiro’s last sighting and the body discovery. As Makoto described earlier, the sinks of the bathroom were all dry-”

“There was that sheet, you could’ve used that before smashing Chihiro’s head over it. And there’s water in the toilets, right? And the girl’s bathroom was right next door!”

“...I’ll commend you for recognizing my perseverance. But I did not kill Chihiro.” She shakes her head. “If the only thing that will clear me is secondhand support to my alibi, then the only thing that needs to be done is to ask a witness. Toko?”

And she addresses Syo now, who just cocks her head for a moment, and shrugs. “I keep sayin’ to you guys, it’s lights out up there. There’s no telling when she’ll be back!”

Byakuya has had enough.

“Toko,” He says first, his voice low and hissing. Then, louder, building into a shout: “TOKO. Come out, NOW!”

“I don’t think it works like tha-” Syo’s words are cut off suddenly, and she collapses where she stands, like a puppet with her strings cut.

< previous - from start - next >

[sonelise]

Different anon! I'll dub myself 💖 anon

I headcanon that Elise's bed is super fluffy and comfortable with super nice blankets and pillows and stuff! When Sonic initially sits on the bed, he's surprised by how floofy it is and kinda sinks into the bed a bit lol, but after a while he gets used to and finds it extremely comfortable. Sometime's he'll take naps on Elise's bed while she does important paperwork, he'll basically wrap himself up in a bunch of fluffy blankets and pillows. Other times, Sonic and Elise will take naps together ^^

omg.... that is so sweet, that is such a cute headcanon omg, anon....🥺🥺 this is a prompt you just sent me and i want to write this skdnfkf THIS IS SO CUTE

[maingh0st]

A question did you plot your Taryn X ghost fic aka outline it or just wrote it and let the story come to you?

I'm a methodological pantser (thanks ellen brock for helping me realize my writing process is not crazy ✨) so I started with a very loose idea of: (1) where I wanted the characters to start, (2) where I wanted them to end, and (3) big developments that needed to happen along the way. all the little details came together in the process of writing, revising, re-outlining, restructuring, then rewriting. that might sound wild haha but it's just how my brain works—so yes I had a plan, but my outline was very bare bones to begin with & became more fleshed out as I wrote!

[fruitageoforanges]

new chapter of my lucemond fic! what was supposed to be a slightly horny offcut decided it wanted to be a chapter of its own, with an ill-advised rendezvous; luke's radical de-stressing tactics; antics from our favourite idiots' childhoods, and the first inklings of a dragon acquisition scheme.

[oneluckygoose]

O'Knutzy Week Day 4

AHHHH DAY 4 MY FAVORITE OF EVERYTHING, ALL OF THESE FICS ARE SO GOOD Y'ALL!!!! [Again, this is a scheduled post and was written in June :')]

Credits to the writer, the myth, the LEGEND, @lumosinlove for all of these lovely characters and to @oknutzy-week-2024 for just being wonderful, (I'm sure they are, I don't actually know them, I've put them through enough at this point with the hell it is to schedule these things, and they haven't yelled at me yet, so I take that as a win)

Part two of my racing fic When We Can't Pretend (the name will probably make more sense now, poetic title and all) is out officially now, congrats to everyone who didn't read it yesterday as well. To all those who did, how'd ya like it? As with all Harvard Era FinLo, things are good and happy until they really aren't, this is the "really aren't" part, fair warning. ANYWAY, enjoy!

Summary: Finn confronts Logan about what happened in the car a few hours earlier and he gets his soul crushed.

Characters: Finn O'Hara, Logan Tremblay, Percy Lastname

Warnings: Cursing, Pain, Mentions of Past Injury, and emotional damage

Word Count: 2,096 (Preview of 238 under cut)

“Now explain to me again about this ‘natural talent?’” Percy questioned as they all settled at a table. They had decided to go to the nearby country club for dinner: it was large, doubled as a weird rich hangout, but it was supposed to have some good food, with a nice eating area. “I told you, not natural,” Finn retorted, rolling his eyes, “My grandparents lived next to a track up in Maine. Me and Alex would race all the time when we were up there for the summers.” Focus, focus, focus, Finn’s mind screamed at him as Percy kept talking. God, Finn couldn’t stop thinking about Logan, his mouth, his hands, the fire in his lips. It didn’t help that Logan was now pressed up against him in the tight booth. A waitress came up to get their drinks, and soon the conversation moved on from the racing. Finn could feel Logan beside him, reaching his hands up constantly to mess with his hat. It drove Finn wild, but he kept his eyes anywhere but Logan. He couldn’t look. Something, something, simmered inside of him; he couldn't name what, though. It got stronger every time Logan elbowed him, or threw his hand around his shoulder, or simply acted like everything was normal. Like Finn couldn’t still feel Logan’s hand in his hair and his teeth and tongue. It hurt, this game of pretend they were both playing.