#look i had a shitty week i didn’t need to hear my pixel love saying he could be falling for a new girl he’s known for five seconds

[willkimurashat]

NO.

#look i had a shitty week i didn’t need to hear my pixel love saying he could be falling for a new girl he’s known for five seconds #I’m literally so sad there’s a lump in my throat #FUCK OFF #litg #love island the game #litg s6 #litg double trouble #litg jamal #litg chloe

[unbridgeabledistances]

okayyy so i had something heavier/hurt-comforty in the works as a gapfiller about mickey processing (bc we all need that!!!) but this fluffy little 3+1 about ian and mickey singing to each other happened instead— i hope u enjoy💞

a 3+1 of 3 times ian sang to mickey, and one time mickey sang to ian (to give context to the absolutely wild 11x09 serenade)

also the biggest shoutout to @southside-forever’s 80s gallavich playlist which has SO many bops and inspired bits of this😌

--

1.

Mickey didn’t really know when it all started— Ian was always fucking humming these days, always whistling or singing some tune under his breath when he came out of the shower. He was more buoyant recently, lighter— the security gig was going well, and these days it felt like something looming and heavy had lifted, releasing the crooked hunch out of Ian’s shoulders that had taken root the sour morning weeks before as he shoveled Fruit Loops and Jameson into his mouth. Since then, it felt like he and Ian were finally on the same goddamn page for once— like they had a purpose, like they were moving forward.

Or at least, moving forward on the weekdays— but today was a slow, lazy Saturday, and Mickey was still laying in bed in a tank top and boxers, sweaty and entangled in the crumpled sheets, laying back with his head on the pillow and playing some overly-gory sharpshooter game on his phone. He’d been trying to beat this fucking level a million times, but his thumb couldn’t move quickly enough at the pivotal moment when he had to shoot a bunch of enemy forces— he’d been at the game for a good half hour, since when Ian had sleepily stumbled off of the mattress sporting a full bedhead to go take a shower, and Mickey was starting to get a tinny, sharp headache from staring at his phone screen for too long. He was just starting to consider getting up, to peel off his sweaty tank top and head downstairs to grab some coffee— when Ian came into the room from his shower, a fraying towel wrapped around his lower half and his torso slick with excess water droplets. Mickey flickered his eyes up from his game for a moment, taking an… appreciative glance, and then quickly focused his attention back on his pixelated mission as Ian stood in front of the dresser in the cramped bedroom, and started to rustle through the drawers for a t-shirt.

Mickey maneuvered his buff video game avatar through a minefield, biting his lip in concentration— when his sharp focus was suddenly infiltrated by Ian, singing under his breath in an airy tone.

“Ooooooh we’re halfway there.”

Mickey gritted his teeth slightly and tried to pour all his attention into the pivotal moment of the level, but half of his mind was being pulled to listen to Ian’s gravelly voice, continuing to softly murmur to himself in a tone that was ridiculously off-key.

“She says we’ve gotta hoooold on, to what we’ve got—”

Mickey’s phone screen flickered. GAME OVER.

Mickey wanted to throw his phone at the fucking wall. He inhaled, then pressed “Start Game” again, one last time— and again, his focus was disrupted by Ian, singing under his breath as he pulled on his jeans and gently pattered his hands in a rhythm on the top of the dresser— which was endearing and sappy as fuck, sure, but it was not helping Mickey with the task at hand. Mickey puffed out a sharp, frustrated breath, keeping his eyes on his phone screen.

“The fuck are you singing for right now?”

Ian suddenly gave a sheepish smile over his shoulder as he rifled through their sock drawer, like he’d been caught in the middle of doing something wrong.

“Don’t know. Song was just stuck in my head I guess.”

Mickey glared at Ian, pressing his thumb to the screen to pause his game. “Cut that shit out.”

Ian rolled his eyes fondly, sitting on the edge of the mattress to pull on his socks. “You should be thanking me for serenading you with your fucking eighties dad music. I could be singing Carly Rae Jepson right now, or some other pop bullshit that you hate.”

Mickey felt an involuntary, amused smirk split onto his face, and he tried to turn it into a scowl. Fucking adorable motherfucker.

“Okay, tough guy. If anything you should be thanking me for cleansing your ears from the techno garbage that you used to listen to.”

Ian gave a soft smile, shoulders turning fully towards Mickey now that he’d finished pulling on his socks— and then he turned and clambered into the bed, hovering above Mickey and causing Mickey’s fingers to go slack around his phone case. Mickey could smell the warm, freshly-showered scent of him, all cheap bar soap and Old Spice deodorant, and felt the soft press of his t-shirt through Mickey’s thin tank top— an overly worn t-shirt, one of Mickey’s, that stretched just a little too tight over Ian’s torso.

Ian looked down at Mickey, fucking beaming for some reason, his eyes light. He swooped down, pressing a soft, quick kiss above Mickey’s eyebrow. And then—

“Take my haaaand, we’ll make it I sweeear”

Mickey felt an involuntary, uncomfortable chuckle bubble up out of his ribcage. Was Ian fucking… singing? To him? It definitely seemed like it. And as much as he didn’t want it to, because this was fucking sappy and ridiculous and… well, gay— Mickey couldn’t help the fact that his husband leaning over him, breathily singing the tune of one of their goddamn wedding songs in his husky tone-deaf voice, made Mickey’s blood run a little bit hotter; which was bullshit, because absolutely nothing about this should be hot, and it was probably the most disgustingly married thing that Mickey could think of— but apparently everything about Ian, every dorky and fucking god-awful cringey thing that he did, was a turn-on, or at least according to Mickey’s thudding heartbeat and sweaty palms right now.

Ian’s face was still hovering centimeters above his, his eyebrows raised triumphantly and sporting a sappy fucking grin, like he knew how affected Mickey was by this, no matter how much Mickey grumbled and complained and tried to hide it.

Mickey rolled his eyes. “You’re fucking soft, Gallagher.”

Ian just leaned down again, kissing up the slope of Mickey’s neck and biting at his earlobe—and, okay, maybe Mickey could get behind Ian’s singing after all.

 2.

Ian’s singing was starting to get fucking ridiculous— and as much as it made something deep inside Mickey feel a light pang of relief, to see Ian being his old bubbly self again in the rhythms of routine and held by the safety net of financial stability because of the security gig that made the air between them less stale, it also meant that they were also around each other pretty much 24/7, and Ian’s serenades were starting to get relentless.

While they pretty much had a common ground in liking nostalgic 80s music, they would still inevitably argue about what music to play in the ambulance every morning— and whatever shitty album they eventually chose to put on, whether it was Ian’s pop garbage of Mickey’s mellower 80s tunes, Ian’s brain would apparently absorb all the songs like a fucking sponge and he’d start singing them all day long—in the kitchen, in the shower, even when they were just laying in bed on their phones and Ian would constantly hum absentmindedly.

Today they were driving to some bougie dispensary in Glencoe, near a bunch of ridiculous mansions on the very outskirts of the city, and it was Ian’s turn to pick the music— Mickey usually elected one of the well-loved CDs that he’d jammed into the glove compartment as they were refurbishing the ambulance, CDs that he’d kept since he was a kid when he piled them high in the corner of his grimy room next to a half-broken boombox— but as much as they were Mickey’s comfort CDs, Ian could only listen to Bon Jovi so many times before he started to slander 80s music as a collective genre.

“Can we just listen to something by someone who isn’t older than us, just this once?”

“Easy for you to say, Gallagher. At least the music that I like has fucking words.”

When it was Ian’s turn to pick the music, he usually picked more modern stuff with heavy beats and a thrumming bass (though more often than not he also appeased Mickey’s tastes with some “80s throwback” playlist he’d found on Spotify that he’d noticed Mickey would bob his head along to)—but on longer drives, like this one, it was easy to butt heads about the soundtrack. Ian had allowed Mickey to play through one of his Queen CDs that morning, and then Ian had put on some whiny indie bullshit from a playlist on his phone for the other half of the drive— now they were heading home after a long day, with the stereo turned low to a local radio station.

They’d settled into a comfortable silence, as they often did at the end of the day when their energy faded— Ian had stopped pattering his hands on the steering wheel like he usually did when he was amped up and buzzing with energy in the mornings, and Mickey could tell they were both ready to collapse onto the couch the second they set foot in the door.

Mickey blew out a deflated breath and reached to turn up the radio, tuning in to some middle-aged host with a cheery voice chattering about the heat wave in Chicago that upcoming weekend—and then the airwaves went silent, and there was the overdramatic sound of a slamming door and a gospel choir.

Ian’s ears nearly fucking perked up at the sound as the opening chords began.

“Life is a mystery… Everyone must stand alone…”

Ian immediately raised his voice to join in, the tired slouch leaving his shoulders.

“I hear you call my naaaame”

He turned to Mickey and pointed overdramatically, causing Mickey to shove his arm away but unable to quell the overly fond grin that he knew was blooming on his face.

“And it feels like… home.”

The beat dropped, rolling into the chorus, and Ian energetically drummed his hands against the steering wheel once more.

“C’mon, Mick!” Ian laughed, throwing his head back dramatically as he sang while still trying to keep his eyes on the road.

“When you call my name, it’s like a little prayer, I’m down on my knees, I wanna take you there.” Ian’s pitchiness clashed with the melody, but he was too focused on singing and bopping side to side in this seat to really care.

Mickey rolled his eyes, his lips still turned upwards at the corners while he watched his absolute dork of a husband jamming to Madonna. “Isn’t this song about giving someone a blowjob or some shit?”

Ian gave an easygoing laugh. “Technically, yes. And it’s also definitionally a gay anthem, which means you have to sing with me.”

Mickey scoffed and flipped Ian off. “Fuck off.”

Ian raised a playful eyebrow, and continued to sing with relentless eye contact:

“It’s like a dreeeeam, no end and no beginning”

Mickey felt heat rise into his cheeks against his will. No fucking way was he going to sing a Madonna song about a blowjob stone-cold sober at 2pm on a Tuesday while driving home from work with his fucking husband—which, wow, that was probably the gayest sentence that had ever crossed Mickey’s mind in his 26 years of existence (which was definitely saying a lot).

This wasn’t ever a place Mickey thought he’d be in— sitting beside Ian so comfortably, singing fucking songs while they drove home from their daily commute; getting to soak up all the warmth, all the brightness that had always radiated out of Ian so intensely that it nearly blinded him, a warmth that he’d always wanted to lean in closer to even when they were just scrawny kids in a shitty neighborhood still figuring everything out.

Maybe, just maybe— it was okay to lean in a little more.

By the time the chorus rolled around the third time, Mickey was begrudgingly humming along, like he usually did whenever the songs that Ian was singing on and endless loop got stuck in his own head and popped up while he was brushing his teeth or making toast for breakfast— by the time the final rhythmic chorus faded to silence on the radio waves, Mickey glanced over at Ian, singing at the top of his lungs, face slightly flushed and grinning ear to ear.

“Just like a prayer, your voice can take me there.”

3.

Ian and Mickey were walking down the moonlit sidewalk, veering back home after an evening at Lip’s— the night had honestly been weirdly enjoyable, which was definitely a welcome reprieve from all of Lip and Debbie’s intense back-and-forths about the house over the past few weeks. Tami and Lip had needed to go over to Brad and Cami’s for some bullshit crisis management about the stolen bikes, and Ian had readily agreed to watch Freddie— which meant that whether he liked it or not, Mickey had spent his Friday evening at Lip’s half-packed apartment watching Ian coo over a one-year-old, which was… not a totally unwelcome sight.

Trying to keep his shit together, Mickey had snapped a picture to send to the Gallagher family group chat, and everyone had immediately given them shit about being so eager to babysit and get their hands on a toddler like a couple of baby-crazed newlyweds—which had caused Mickey to start overzealously complaining in the groupchat to compensate while Ian occupied Freddie. Kev had noticed the texts and swung by Lip and Tami’s house after closing the Alibi to keep the two of them company, bringing by a pack of beers—and now he and Ian were warm and happily buzzed, relieved of their babysitting duties and walking the chilly city streets back towards the Gallagher house.

Halfway through the walk Ian had interlaced their fingers, and now their arms were swinging slightly as they turned the final corner to walk down the last stretch of pavement towards the chain-link fence—when suddenly, Ian stopped cold a few houses away from the Gallagher front porch. He looked down at Mickey, raising their entangled hands and pressing a kiss to the inside of Mickey’s wrist.

Mickey raised an eyebrow in confusion, and Ian just looked back at him—his cheeks glowing pink from the few beers, his eyes light and unguarded under the streetlamps.

“This spot reminded me of something.”

Mickey rolled his eyes. Of fucking course it did. Ian was a sappy motherfucker on the best of days, but with a couple of beers in him he was practically uncontrollable.

“What?”

All of a sudden Ian let go of his hand, punching into the air dramatically.

“Cause love is a battlefiiiield”

Mickey laughed, feeling warm hot blood rush to his cheeks in delight—and fuck, he loved his husband so goddamn much. And just this once, mostly because of the own alcohol running thick in his bloodstream, Mickey made the lurching decision to join in, stepping closer towards Ian and raising his hands equally as dramatically.

“No promises, no demands”

“Woooooah”

Ian had practically doubled over with laughter, tears welling in the corner of his eyes—and Mickey let himself get lost in it, the warm feeling buzzing through his body, of love and joy and fuck knows what else, getting to sing on a fucking street corner with his husband a decade after everything had gone so gut-wrenchingly wrong, leaving him bleeding on this same pavement.

They stumbled over their own feet up the stairs, fumbling out of their clothes and collapsing into bed—and later, just as Mickey was on the brink of fading into unconsciousness, Ian mumbled the same refrain into the crook of Mickey’s neck in a sleepy voice, like the song was still stuck in his head and he just couldn’t help it.

“Love is a battlefield.”

4.

It was late— it was one of those slow, tender nights when the past was hanging heavy over them, laying pressed together in bed as thin streams of moonlight poured in through the blinds, pressing whispers into each other’s skin about all of the hurt and the doubt that had been seeped up and healed with time.

Ian was sprawled back on the bed and Mickey was laying with his head resting on his chest, feeling his ribcage expand and contract each time he took a breath. They’d absorbed so much the past few weeks— the sick, twisted blows of a loss that felt all the more jagged and painful because of how muddled the grief for Terry was—but after a few days had passed they’d found a place to settle, in the comforting press of the silence in their bedroom.

Mickey was mindlessly playing with Ian’s fingers, listening to his steady breathing—and without thinking, he ran a finger over the cool silver of Ian’s wedding band, letting out a breathy chuckle.

“I still can’t believe we’re married sometimes, man.”

Mickey could feel Ian’s lips curve upward into a smile from where his mouth was pressed against the top of Mickey’s head.

“Yeah, me either.”

And Mickey felt something bubbling, something welling— and he didn’t ever fucking sing, not unless Ian made him, but Ian was always fucking dropping song lines into sappy moments like this.

So he took a breath, and, half-singing but mostly talking, in a way that sounded almost mocking if it wasn’t so soft around the edges, he let out into the dark silence of the room:

“At last….”

He wasn’t even singing, not really—he was just sort of… saying the words in a singsongy way, but he knew that Ian could tell what he was doing, what he was trying to do. He was trying to be as fucking sweet and soft and pliant as Ian was, as Ian always was in moments like this, in a way that sometimes made Mickey feel brittle and hard in comparison. This time, Mickey wanted to breathe out the love he had for him into this moment, the love that made his ribcage feel like it was going to fucking burst— a love that he felt erupting outwards when Ian had played this song for him for the first time a few weeks before the wedding, and had asked with a shy smile, “D’you think it’d be okay if you walked down the aisle to this song?”

Ian’s chest shook with laughter, and he carded a hand through Mickey’s hair. And then, in his gentle, sleep-soft voice, in a breathy tone that tickled the shell of Mickey’s ear:

“My looove has come along”

Mickey rolled his eyes fondly, just to prove something to himself, even though he knew Ian couldn’t see him—and then he reached a hand upward and leaned back, drawing Ian’s chin forward to press his lips to his for a brief, lingering moment.

Mickey settled back against Ian’s chest again, and felt Ian press a kiss to the top of his head. He smiled contentedly, closing his heavy eyelids.

Maybe being a couple of sappy motherfuckers wasn’t so bad.

#i wrote this so fast bc it is midterms szn and i am a busy bee! but simply needed to get this out of my brain #i love y’all and hope u enjoy the softness!! #also @ the anon asked me for more drunk happy husbands here u go<3 #gallavich #gallavich fic #shameless #shameless fic #ian x mickey #ixm #ian and mickey #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #gallavich fanfiction

[floralseokjin]

;cyber sex (m)

FIRST LOVE, LAST LOVE

⟨gif credit⟩

You want to partake in some “cyber” sex...

pairing; jeon jungkook x reader  genre/warnings;  smut, fluff, skype sex, or as oc puts it, cybersex, sex toy usage (here 😘) words; 3,038

more﹆chapter index

“Are your parents in bed?” 

On the screen, Jungkook looked a little on edge, jittery almost. Like he was doing something illegal. 

“My dad is. Mom’s downstairs catching up on soap operas.” 

He still looked a little unsure. “How was your day?” 

You shifted on your bed, crossing your legs, your laptop jumped slightly, pixelated Jungkook bouncing around for a second. Internet at your parents’ house had always been shitty but he still made a bunch of cute pixels. 

“I’d love to small talk, Jungkook, I really would, but I woke up wanting sex and have been horny ever since.” 

You were expecting him to log on all eager and possibly already halfway to naked, but he’d appeared in sweats, back against the headboard of your shared bed, legs stretched out where laptop you was placed on his thighs. 

You watched him hesitate and grew annoyed. “What happened to being up for this?” 

This afternoon he’d been eager, possibly even cocky when you’d texted him over lunch. Your mom gossiping in your ear about her co-worker’s so called affair while you passively listened and arranged sex plans with your boyfriend...

There had been a time you were too embarrassed to even think about masturbating in your family home, but like Jungkook kept saying, you were a grown ass woman now, not still in high school or even in college. Those days had long past you by. You were a hot blooded female with needs. Needs for your super hot, super sweet boyfriend. There was really no need to be ashamed. You were going to participate in some cyber sex, no matter how much Jungkook laughed at your awkward phrasing. 

[You: 01:34pm]  Are you busy tonight? 

[JK: 01:36pm]  if eating cheetos in bed by 8 is busy then yes 

[You: 01:37pm]  Don’t you dare bitch 

[JK: 01:37pm]  why do you want to know if im busy? 

[You: 01:38pm]  cybersex 2300 hours 

[JK: 01:38pm]  Cybersex 😭😭 no one calls it that weirdo  but see you there my morning wood misses yoir ass 

Here right now, Jungkook made a noise, arguing with you. “I am up for this. It’s just your parents...” 

You rolled your eyes. He was a grown ass man and he was afraid of your parents. More so your dad. He’d taken a while to warm up to Jungkook—you blame the tattoos. But that was years ago when you’d first started dating. Your dad liked Jungkook now. Honest. 

“My dad’s asleep. I can hear him snoring,” you commented, giggling. 

Jungkook groaned. Way to ruin the mood, he was probably thinking. “That doesn’t help.” 

“Come ooonnn,” you whined, leaning into the screen. You knew your robe was dipping in the middle, already tied deliberately lose. He had a great view of your cleavage, however muted because of the shitty lamp lighting. “I miss youuuu.” 

Jungkook scoffed quietly. “And you’re making it worse. I wanna touch you for real.” He was speaking low, pouting really, but you caught his hand that slid across the front of his sweatpants. Was that some inconspicuous rubbing you’d spotted? Naughty. 

You leant back again and tried not to grin in triumph. Jungkook 0, your tits 1 once again. 

He carried on his rant. “I want you in this bed. In this house. I can’t wait 4 more days!” 

Diddums. He was a child, you swore. “Should’ve come with me then.” 

He was rubbing his crotch again, you didn’t think he realised he was doing it. “You know that’s only reserved for a Christmas every two years.” 

Yeah, like you said, he was terrified of your father. It was probably why he hadn’t proposed yet, too scared to ask for your dad’s blessing. Not that you would say that to his face. And not like you wanted to get married anytime soon, it was just only natural to think of those things. You had been together for years after all. 

You didn’t reply, instead shifting on the bed once more to spread your legs a little. You hiked one up, robe falling open to reveal the triangle of skin between your legs. You meant business.

“What’re you doing?” He practically stuttered, sitting up straighter against the headboard.

“I’m not wearing any underwear.” 

“I can see that.” 

You began to rub the pad of your index finger across your clit. Sensitivity shocking your body and you fought with yourself not to snap your legs closed. You softened the impact, slowly circling before slipping down your folds and collecting the moisture to drag back up to your clit. Agonisingly slow now because you wanted to tease the hell out of your boyfriend. Despite the near darkness, he had eyes like a hawk. “You’re wet already.” Maybe he could see it glistening through the camera. Or maybe he was just starting his descent…

“Like I said, I’ve been horny since this morning.” You ever so slightly dipped the tip of your finger inside yourself. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d played with yourself like this in front of him. It was fun. Especially because he was hanging onto each movement like his life depended on it. 

“Jungkook,” you nudged. 

“Mm?” It was just one sound, too far gone now. 

You murmured the next part, voice low and heavy, laced with a desperateness you’d felt all day. “Get your dick out.”

He didn’t argue. You let yourself grin in victory, ogling him as pushed a hand into his sweatpants and pulled out that thick, hot cock you’d been fantasising about since 7am. 

He ran his fist along it, definitely not lazily. Tugging at the head, his thumb rubbed the drops of precum across his slit. You clenched and pulsed down below. Unfair move. Your image of him was grainy and unlit but he looked just as hot as he always did. Maybe it was time to unveil your secret weapon... 

“Goodnight, love.” 

You jumped immediately at the sound of your mom’s voice, hand jerking away from between your legs. You’d been so distracted you hadn’t even heard her coming up the stairs. 

Your took a quick breath and tried to sound normal, praying you could keep your voice level. “Goodnight mom!” You succeeded, but only just you were sure of it. 

You heard the click of the bathroom door and turned your attention back to Jungkook, eyes wide. His were too. “Jesus christ,” he muttered, sounding annoyed. “This was a dumb idea.” He was sat forward, dick back in his pants, tops of his cheeks rosy, either from the jerking off or the near close call. Probably both. 

You tried to refrain from giggling but failed. “She wasn’t going to just barge in here.” 

Both waiting a few seconds, it wasn’t long before your mom exited the bathroom and shut the door to her bedroom. You untied your robe, relaxing into the bed instantly. You weren’t losing this moment. 

Jungkook groaned slightly, eyes apprehensively raking over your practically naked body. “This is so wrong.” 

“Relax, we’re alone,” you insisted. “Just remember to be quiet.” You’d use your earphones but you’d forgotten them, remembering as soon as you’d boarded the plane. 

“I’m alone.” He corrected, now sounding sorry for himself. Jeez, it was as if you weren’t spread out like a human buffet. “I miss you. Can’t you come home right now?”

Jungkook did not do well at being alone at all. It was cute. You smiled at him softly, running your hand down your stomach and between your legs. “But I wanna cum right nowww.” 

“Fine.” His stare hardened, watching the way you rubbed at the bundle of nerves. “You cum and then come home. Then I fuck you. Properly. None of this Skype shit.” 

You laughed, genuinely amused. He was such a baby. You watched him lift his t-shirt over his head. Taking initiative, you liked that. His hair fell in his eyes and he shook it away. He’d finally had a haircut a few weeks ago, but it grows fast, which was possibly a good thing because you really, really missed that long hair of his. 

Your eyes fell down to his chest and across his shoulders. He had a few tattoos that decorated his torso, amongst other places, but they mainly covered his arms. Speaking of which you clenched and pulsed again, just imagining those arms wrapped around you, squeezing you tight, hands pinning you to the bed... Shit. You really wanted to fuck him for real. 

You splayed around against the bedsheets, arching your back a little and Jungkook raised an eyebrow. “Take your robe off. Keep your bra on.” He sounded demanding, it wasn’t intentional, lost to the urge right now as usual, but you loved it when he ordered you about, even more so when he didn’t realise he was doing it. 

You quickly got to it, snapping at your bra straps as you lied back down, propped up by your elbows. “Is this actually sexy?” You’d done this a handful of times but that was back in college. Now older, it seemed more daunting. 

“Of course it is, babe,” Jungkook reassured. On cue he got his cock out again. He was still hard. 

You watched him rake his hand along himself a few times and then grinned. “I have something.” 

He raised an eyebrow again, curious but also clueless, and watched you pull something out from under the sheets. A glittery, rubbery thing that made his eyes light up. 

“You brought a dildo to your parents’ house?” He asked after a split second of silence. You nodded, biting down on your lip, holding the specimen up to the screen. He caught the look on your face and chuckled. “You planned this?” He sounded impressed. 

“Thought it would be fun.” You tried to sound casual but maybe you were a little nervous? Embarrassed? There was no need to be. You’d had a sexual fantasy and had acted on it... Jungkook was just as into it. Hm, maybe it was the being naked over cam that was making you feel so jittery? 

Jungkook eyed Miss Jessica Rabbit and laughed again. “Only you would arrange a visit to your parents’ place just so we could participate in some ‘cybersex’.” 

Joking aside, he was eager to begin. You could tell by the look in his eyes and by the way he’d straightened his back, leaning in closer for a better look. You didn’t feel nervy anymore. You were back in the zone. 

“Cybersex sounds cool, I don’t know why you find it so funny.” 

Jungkook rolled his eyes affectionately. “You’re adorable, that’s why I find it so funny.” 

“Lameee.” You sang. But now you were running the head of the vibrator along your slit, spreading your legs in the process.

Jungkook watched you carefully, still stroking his dick with leisure. “I’m surprised you didn’t get caught at security with that thing.” He was making casual conversation but his voice sounded strained. He kept having to swallow. “Hiding a giant vibrator in your clothing.” 

“Can you imagine?” You’d die of embarrassment right there on the spot. 

“I‘d come bail you out, don’t worry.” 

You giggled at his silliness. Who was going to tell him you couldn’t get arrested for carrying a vibrator in your luggage? 

However, soon the mood for small talk was over, only distracting at this point. Or maybe what was distracting was now the vibrator beginning to stretch out your insides. It was a little uncomfortable at first, maybe you were just too well aware your parents were a few feet away, or maybe you were just out of practice when it came to fucking yourself. 

Jungkook helped though, whispering encouragements and giving you useful tips, which only made you wetter; so yes, a huge help. It wasn’t long before you got a rhythm going, not long before your breathing quickened and you were trying really hard not to moan out loud. 

Jungkook matched your movements, now jerking himself off with vigour. You watched one another, fully at ease and lost in your own little world. 

“This is so unfairrr,” he grunted soon enough, burning a hole between your legs. His newly sworn enemy, Miss Jessica Rabbit. “I want my dick inside you, not some phoney.” 

You moaned quietly, agreeing of course. Nothing felt as good as Jungkook inside you. Nothing ever had. You clicked a button on the toy and the first level of vibrations started. 

You lifted your head a little, trying to gauge the sound. “Is that too loud?” 

He shook his head. “I think you’re good. Fuck.” He cursed because you were now grinding up against the ears of the bunny, vibrations against your clit sending you all gooey and warm. “Go faster.” 

You listened, the length of the vibrator now slipping in fully as your insides finally loosened up, no longer tense. You rolled to your side a little and like that you found your g-spot. Pleasure began to burst behind your eyes and you almost forgot Jungkook was there because now you’d remembered how to use this damn thing and there was no going back. 

You clicked another button, powering up the shaft as the pearls inside the rubber began to rotate. You bit down on your lip, desperate not to make a sound and you cursed yourself. Why did you think this was a good idea? Pleasure screamed at you but you must keep quiet. 

“Babe... Baby,” Jungkook was trying to get your attention. “Baby, get on your back again. I wanna see.” 

You slowly listened, knowing you had been restricting his view and try to fuck yourself on your back. You planted your feet on the bed, kicking the laptop to the centre in the process and hoped now that he had a good view. 

Whatever he saw, he liked, moaning maybe a little bit too loudly. You’d turn the volume down if you could move, but you can’t, too paralysed with pleasure. “This is so fucking hot.” He was legit growling, it sent a fire through your veins. 

He watched you buck your hips into the vibrator over and over again, struggling a little to keep thrusting the shaft inside of you, but you think he found that hot. You were close. You knew it. Lips spread apart, your clit was swollen and greedy for pleasure, sensitive to the titillating vibrations and your walls squeezed and began to spasm around the thick rubber, the rotating sensation you felt making you tremble all over. Your wrist hurt but it was a good kind of pain, burning, making you work hard for your release. 

“Wish you were here to fuck me better, baby,” you purred, because despite how amazing this felt Jungkook could make you feel a pleasure ten times greater. “Does your hand feel good?“

You couldn’t see him, flat on your back, eyes shut, face directed at the ceiling, but you could hear the sound of skin on skin. His palm raking up and down the rock hard flesh of his cock. 

“Don’t rub it in,” he chided, voice low. Ha. Because that was exactly what he was doing. Luckily you were too out of breath to drop a shit pun. 

Your lower half suddenly spasmed and you stifled a cry. You couldn’t hold on any longer. “Shit,” you gasped. “I forgot how strong this thing was.” 

“Yeah? I’ll cum if you cum.” 

That’s all you needed to hear. It wasn’t even five seconds later before you were coming. Like an explosion, thigh and vagina muscles clenching, toes curling into the sheets and your chest heaving, sweat beading at your hairline. Miraculously you managed to stay silent. Albeit your breathing. You ceased movement immediately, removing the pressure against your clit before turning the vibrations off. The shaft was still rotating inside you, nerves twitching in your thigh before you ended those too and slid the vibrator out with a silent pop. You threw it to your side. Your whole body tingled but you urged yourself to come to, to open your eyes and lean up on your elbows. Jungkook still needed to cum and you wanted to watch. Just like he watched you. 

“Good, baby?” He asked. His eyes were black, breathing shallow. His fist still tugged at his dick, desperate now. 

“Mm hm,” you nodded, feeling a little chilly now the thrill had worn off. 

Jungkook grunted a command. “Spread your legs a little. I’m close.” You listened without question, giving him what he wanted. 

You watched the veins protrude from his forearms, some painted black with the ink of his tattoos. The hand not wrapped around his cock cupped his balls ever so slightly, tugging on them a little before he tensed and groaned. The first spurt of cum shot out and landed on his stomach, then another, it slipped into the lines of his abs. The third load slowed and he tugged his fingers tight across the tip, over and over again, draining each drop. It thickened in the air and slid down his length, getting on his fingers too. You observed all this greedily. What a sight to behold. 

A couple of tissues later for him and your robe tied back around your body, you were both grinning and giggling like a pair of idiots together, still on a high. 

“We need to incorporate that into the real deal more,” Jungkook said, referring to the vibrator now stood on your bedside table. “Let me be in charge.” 

“It’s got to make its way back home first,” you joked. 

You had climbed into bed by now, welcoming the warmth and annoyingly your eyes started to feel heavy. 

“You tired?” Jungkook noticed straight away. 

“I can stay up a little longer,” you insisted, wanting to chat with him before you fell asleep. A text or a phone call just wasn’t the same, and even though it’s only been a few days, you missed him like crazy. “What did you eat for dinner?” You asked, making small talk. 

He raised both eyebrows, eyes wide. “Do you really want me to answer that?” 

No, probably not. You knew the answer already. 

It was always a ramen diet for Jungkook when you were away...  

Written 2020. Please refrain from posting my work elsewhere. No translations allowed. © floralseokjin 2020

#jungkook smut #bts smut #jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic #floralseokjin:writings #fic:flll

[anothers-trash-my-treasure]

Bittersweet ~ Chapter Eight

If I was naming chapters, this one would be titled “Near or Far” and that’s all I’m gonna say. 

Last official chapter, an epilogue will be on its way and honestly, I might write a few side chapters sometime too because I just love this story so much. Enjoy!

Pairing: Merriell Shelton/Reader (femme)

Warning: swearing, some angst and long-distance troubles but mostly just fluff

Word count: 4000

Tag List: @ahkmenrami1205 @itsme690 @xoa-lex @ramibaby @r-ahh-mi @xmxisxforxmaybe @sherlollydramoine @txml @moon-stars-soul @ramimedley @sassystrawberryk 

*he’s so pretty i wanna cry*

~

Long-distance is hard.

God, it’s the fucking worst. 

In some ways, it was very much the same from normal. I wake up, eat breakfast, go to my classes. I spend all day on campus, reading and studying only to leave for my job. I’d waitress all night, grab something to eat at the end of a shift, go home, watch a few episodes of Friends (even though I’ve seen it a thousand times) and head off to bed before repeating it all over again. 

But then, on the other hand, it was so different.

Because I’d wake up to the standard Mornin’ Beautiful, have a good day. I’d spend all day looking at my phone and laughing at the constant stream of goofy snapchats, annoying everyone around me in the otherwise silent part of the library. I’d get a phone call at 10 o’clock sharp every night as I made way back to my apartment that would switch over to a facetime as soon as I was settled on the couch, Netflix on the TV and the love of my life’s face stretched across my computer screen, pixelated and laggy due to crappy wifi. 

And every minute spent communicating in any way possible was simultaneously wonderful and heartbreaking. The technology of the present day made it so easy to hear his voice and to see him. But it was the worst thing in the world when I couldn’t come home from a long day and cuddle up with him on the couch or wake up with his arms around me. Technology couldn’t replicate touch. And it fucking sucked.

Someday’s we were both too busy to even get more than a few texts out to each other throughout the week. He was so busy at work and University kept me on my toes at all times. I was constantly writing essays, studying content or writing notes for 40-page readings that half the time the professor didn’t even attempt to cover. 

We tried to be patient with each other. I knew he was working double shifts, they were short-staffed at the lumber yard and he was always talking about taking a week off to come visit me once he had enough saved up. He knew I was just as busy. But sometimes we just got agitated, so fed up with how hard it was to be away from each other that we had to lash if we wanted to keep our rule of total and utter honesty. 

But we always worked things out in the end. Even if presently things were a little tense. 

“Hey baby,” his voice rang through my headphones as I made my way to my next class.

“Hi Mer,” I replied, no doubt looking like an idiot as I smiled to no one.

“Whatcha doin?” He asked, his voice resembling that of a bored child. I knew he had the day off today, they were few and far between. Usually, they landed on a weekend, when we could spend the whole day on facetime, syncing up movies to watch together and enjoying what company we could get out of a computer screen.

“I am currently rushing to my Marketing class,” I say smiling politely at someone who holds the door for me, “which I am currently late for because I lost track of time in the library trying to finish an essay for my next class.”

He whistles lowly, “Busy girl.” he comments and I can hear a familiar tone in his voice. It’s lower than usual, huskier and warm around the edges. Any other time it’d send a rush of heat through me and I’d be finding the nearest private bathroom to indulge in a bit of phone sex but today I was simply too busy.

“Merriell-” I start to warn but he barrels through, completely ignoring me.

“So what'dya say? Wanna be a few more minutes late an’ be a little bad with me?” his tone is teasing, breathy and light.

“You know I can’t.” I huff at him, “The midterm for this class is next week, I really don’t have time to get you off right now.” I wince a little at the tone of my voice, but as I near my class I can’t find it in myself to feel guilty about being short with him.

“Babe,” he whines, “C’mon we haven’t done anything in like a week, I’m dyin’.”

“You’re not.” I deadpan, “Mer, I’m really sorry. I’ll try to make some time this weekend but midterms are coming up and-”

“I know, I know.” he sighs, “You gotta study.” 

It’s silent as I stand outside my classroom, not wanting to leave things with this kind of tension but knowing if I don’t head into lecture I will surely pay the consequences.

“I’m sorry,” I say softly, “I gotta go, I love you.”

“Near or far baby.” he replies and despite the tension I know he’s got a smile on his face 

~

The rest of the week carries out more or less the same way. He calls and I’m busy, we hang up and I’m left feeling guilty. But University is demanding and it won’t let me stray away long enough to talk to him for more than ten minutes at a time. I try to compromise, face timing him while I study at home, thinking that just having his presence, even if he sits there silently while I do my thing, will be enough to tie him over until midterms are over. But that doesn’t prove to work well either. 

“-Gene and I went out the other day and I swear to god, the poor kid got rejected by every girl in the bar. Not that I’m surprised, y’know Gene, he neva’ did have much game an-” 

“Mer,” I sigh exasperated, putting my pen down on the table with an audible thump, “Y’know I love to hear these stories but it’s really distracting and I need to run through this chapter again.” My eyes linger on the pixelated version of his face on my screen, it doesn’t do him any justice. The shitty camera quality of our laptops do nothing to catch the true colour of his eyes or the texture of his hair and Jesus christ I miss him. 

“So ya jus’ want me to sit here silently?” he asks, a twinge of annoyance to his voice.

“I mean it’s what you’d be doing if you were here,” I point out, “Look, I just thought that doing this could at least try to mimic us being together since I don’t really have time to do the usual talkative shit.” I rub my temples, feeling a strain just behind my eyes that comes with studying for ongoing seven hours.

“Baby, I know you’re busy. I get it, but Jesus Christ I feel like-” he breaks off with a sigh, looking away from the screen for a second, “This is the most I’ve talked to you in the past two weeks.” 

I shake my head lightly, looking around at the mess of papers, textbooks and cue cards that litter my kitchen table, “I don’t know what you want from me right now, Merriell, I’m trying my best.” I insist, running my hands through my greasy, tangled hair.

“I know ya are,” he says, voice rising slightly as his frustrations surface, “I know you’re trying, it’s just I fucking hate this.” 

“Hate what Mer?” I question, feeling irritation bubble up inside of me, “Hate that I can’t devote all my time and energy to talking to you?” I’m about to go on, having a list of things to say but he’s having none of my shit tonight.

“Don’t start with that shit,” he glares at me through the screen, “You know I don’t expect that.”

“Well then stop fucking acting like it,” I exclaim, laughing a bit but there’s no humour in it. 

“Y/n,” he sighs, running a hand over his face tiredly, “Fuck, why’s this gotta be so fucking hard.” he groans, eyes running over his screen, no doubt taking in my appearance.

My finger lifts from the table, running over the projection of his face on my screen. My heart longs to feel the warmth of his skin under my fingertips, I can hardly remember the feeling of his strong jaw, of the light stubble that builds there after a few days of not shaving. My hands itch to run through his hair, to feel the texture of the curls that are somehow soft and coarse all at once. The worst part of long-distance, I conclude, is not being able to touch. 

“I just miss ya so much,” He says softly, and even through the pixels, I can see his eyes soften with sadness.

“I know Mer,” I say compassionately, “I miss you too.” 

We sit silently for another few moments, I push away the nagging at the back of my head that screams at me to study, not wanting to risk upsetting him more.

“Maybe I can come visit soon,” he wonders out loud, clicking and typing loudly at his laptop and I know he’s checking his bank statements, “It’s a little tight right now but I wouldn’t starve by any means an’ ‘Gene owes me money anyway I could use for rent-”

“Merriell, no.” I say sadly because as much as I want him to come up, I don’t want him going broke because of it, “We talked about this, you only come up if you can afford to do it without putting yourself in debt.” He opens his mouth to argue so I speak to cut him off, “You’d tell me the same thing.”

He sighs, burying his head in hands. I can see his shoulders are tense, frustration running through every muscle of his body. He takes another minute or two before he looks back up at the screen.

“Yeah, okay.” he says quietly, “I’ll let ya study.”

“You don’t have to go,” I point out weakly, “I know it’s hard for you to be quiet but I’m sure if you made an effort...” it’s a poor attempt at a joke but it gets his lips twitching into a weak smile nonetheless.

“Nah, can’t have my smart girl failing her classes,” He pauses, “Then I couldn’t tease ‘Gene about how fuckin’ stupid he is.” 

I huff out a laugh, “Go easy on the poor guy.”

“Never” he replies easily with a cheeky smirk. 

I shake my head in amusement, the humour replacing the tension that crossed over us if only for a few moments, it’s welcomed. 

“I love you, Mer,” I say softly, “You know that right?” 

It feels important that he knows it, that he believes it. Lately, every conversation we’ve had has ended in apologies and I hate that. I hate that we fight so often, I hate that I have to be so far away from him all the time and I fucking hate, even the possibility, that he could think that I don’t love him. 

He smiles softly, sadly, “I know baby,” he assures me, “I love you too.” 

I sigh, returning my attention back to the textbooks spread across my table. They seem so unimportant right now. The sight of them only reminds me of how terrible of a girlfriend I’ve been lately and the thought of choosing studying over him again makes me sick to my stomach. 

“I’ll let ya go.” he says, snapping me out of my trance.

I don’t want him to go. I want to keep talking to him, I want to listen to his stupid stories about Eugene striking out with the ladies and his day at work and I want him to hit on me like he doesn’t already have me wrapped around his finger. I’m so unbelievably exhausted, school draining every last ounce of energy from me and yet still demanding more. I can feel tears pricking behind my eyes at the thought of being alone in my quiet apartment. 

“Okay.” I croak, taking a shaky breath and looking away from his image before I really lose it. 

“Hey,” he says softly, “You got this baby girl. Just a few more days an’ you’re in the clear.” I nod, chewing a hole in my lip, “we’re gonna get through this, I promise. Near or far, right?” 

I nod again, taking a steadying breath before saying our final goodbyes for the night. I know I’m being stupid, he’ll text me within the hour but that doesn’t the aching in my chest when his face disappears from my screen, replaced with the home screen. 

Midterms could not end fast enough.

~

“Cheers,” Chloe says loudly over the noise of the bar surrounding us, holding a shot high above her head, “to what seems like the longest two weeks of our lives. We did it. Through our blood, sweat, and for some of us,” she sends me a pointed look, “a whole lot of tears. But midterms,” she pauses for dramatic effect, keeping us all in a form of amused suspense, “are over!”

The group hoots and hollers and we drown our shots, barely wincing at the harshness of the alcohol against our throats. It’s early, but a lot of us are already well on our way to being drunk. Spring break has officially begun and that means a whole week of binge drinking and ignoring all our upcoming academic responsibilities. 

“I didn’t cry that much.” I insist for seemingly the thousandth time.

Chloe laughs loudly, “Oh come on, Y/N.” she pushes my shoulder playfully, “There was hardly a day you didn’t call me in tears because you were behind on studying.” 

I pout dramatically, “I was only behind because my idiot boyfriend kept distracting me.” 

“He is an idiot,” she agrees, earning herself a slightly too hard punch to the shoulder on my behalf, “Speaking of,”  she continues, “How are things with you guys?”

I shrug, rubbing at the condensation on my glass, “We’re fine.” I answer, “He keeps insisting we’re fine anyways. Even though all we’ve done lately is fight about how hard this whole long-distance thing is.” I meet her concerned gaze and shrug again, “It’ll be better now that midterms are over I just...miss him. It’s hard.” 

She nods, understanding, “You think you’ll be able to see him soon?” 

“I don’t think so.” I say sadly, “All the money I save goes right back into paying for school. He’s trying to save but I think it’ll be a little while yet.”

Midterms kept me busy enough, that it hadn’t really occurred to me how much longer it could be before I could see my boy again. I was so focused on vocabulary, theories and information that will soon be next to useless, I always had something else to contemplate. But now that it’s all over I’m hit with the unfortunate reality that it could be months before I see him again. And the mere thought of that makes my heartache. 

“God Chloe, I don’t know what I’m gonna do,” I whine, pouting dramatically.

A small, kind of sly smile creeps over her lips and her eyes glimmer with mischief, “Is that so?” 

Her voice sounds teasing and I’m left feeling like I’m the last one in on a joke. I take in the table around me and notice that all my friends are staring at me, giddy with excitement. My brow crumples in confusion and I look back at Chloe, who is practically bursting at the seams, phone pointed and aimed towards me.

“What are you doing?” I question, narrowing my eyes at her.

“Turn around,” she says simply.

I do what she says, turning around in my seat to address the scene behind me and I can’t believe my eyes. Standing in the middle of the bar is an all too familiar figure with unruly curls and sea-green eyes.

The next thing I know, I’ve thrown myself out of the chair and across the bar floor, all but tackling him. His arms wrap tightly around me, we spin and my senses are enveloped in everything that is so undeniably Merriell. I can hear him laughing in my ear, deep and throaty, can feel his arm around my waist, his hand in my hair and his lips on my forehead, mumbling soft words that I can’t hear over the cheering of my friends and drunk bystanders. My fingers clench in his loose-fitting t-shirt desperately, as if I were to let him go he’d disappear. I’m not aware of the tears running down my cheeks until he tilts my head up to gently wipe them away. 

“Baby, why you cryin’?” he teases, kissing the tip of my nose softly.

I let out a wet laugh and shake my head, unable to do anything other than stare up at him admiringly for a moment. I take in a shaky breath, “You’re such an asshole.” it’s said without heat and he beams down at me, placing soft kisses on my lips.  

He maneuvers us back to our table, where he greets Chloe and introduces himself to my friends. I’m faintly aware of everything around me that isn’t him, not quite grasping the fact that this is real, he’s here and not hundreds of miles away in a whole other state. 

“What are you doing here?” I finally ask, my thoughts having settled in my head much in the same way I have settled sideways on his lap, arms wrapped around his neck.

He looks at me with a smile, eyes soft, “Honestly, I jus’ couldn’t wait any longer.”

The group ‘aw’s and I am helpless to do anything but lean in to kiss him. 

The rest of the night we drink, dance and for the first time months, I feel light and happy. Hardly a moment goes by where we’re not touching each other in some way. It had been too long since we’ve felt the warmth of each other’s bodies against one another, his hands on my hips, mine on his chest. It felt so surreal to have him near again. He was just as obnoxious and loud as I remembered him being and I wouldn’t have it any other way. We had pissed off the rest of the bar while dancing. A familiar jazz tune came on and Merriell had tugged me to the dance floor, attempting to teach me a form of swing dancing that I was 99% certain wasn’t even a thing. Chloe had finally managed to get us to leave, but not after he had managed to nearly get us thrown out for public indecency. Totally his fault, he can’t expect to kiss me like that and not expect me to want to jump his bones. 

The memories of last night come filtering back to me, much like the sunlight that finds its way into the room through my curtains. My eyes flutter open and my senses slowly come back to me. The feeling of soft blankets around my body, the warm skin of his chest beneath my cheek, a hand resting limply on my waist and our legs tangled with each other. His chest rises and falls slowly, mouth parted ever so slightly as he sleeps deeply. I shift on my stomach to watch him, taking in every detail I had forgotten over time. The way his fingers twitch restlessly in his sleep, how his muscles clench ever so slightly as I run my fingers across his abdomen. I missed waking up to him like this. He looks at peace and I can’t help but wonder if he sleeps this good when we’re apart. 

He breathes in deeply suddenly, face scrunching against the offending sunlight. His arm tightens around my waist, pulling me impossibly closer as his other hand rubs the sleep away from his face. He hums softly, a sleepy smile spreading across his features as his eyes flutter open and meet mine.

“Mornin’” he murmurs.

I feel a grin split across my face as I admire his handsome features in the morning light, “Good morning.” 

“I missed this.” He sighs, pressing a kiss to my forehead.

I hum in agreement, leaning into his touch, “me too.” 

We stay like that for a while. His arms around me, my fingers dancing across his skin, the room just slightly too warm to be pressed so close but neither of us willing to move away from the other just yet. I don’t know how long he’s staying, how long it’ll be before we see each other again after this and yet I find myself reluctant to bring up the conversation, afraid to shatter the perfect moment we’ve created. 

“Could stay like this forever,” I say instead, softly, a tinge of sadness and longing to my voice. 

He hums softly, a hand coming up to run through my hair, gently brushing away any knots with his fingers, “About that...” 

I pull away, pushing myself up and away from his body to look at him. I feel anxiety begin to bubble in the pit of my stomach at the uncharacteristic bashfulness on his face. 

“What?” I ask softly, searching his face for any clues.

His eyes run over my features silently, lip drawn between his teeth as he debates how to bring up the mysterious subject. 

“I may have done somethin..” he hesitates, “kind of stupid.” 

My mind runs to a million and ten different possibilities, every one worse than the last. My entire body runs tight. But it seems to focus on one possibility in particular and just the thought of it makes me sick to my stomach. I’ve heard too many long-distance relationships gone wrong because of drunken loneliness and one night stands and ‘she’ll never have to know’s and I can practically hear him say it in my haze of overthinking.

I cheated on you.

“I sold my apartment.” 

I blink. My mouth opens and shuts and I’m at a loss for words because I don’t know what this conversation is going to be. I silently chastise myself for jumping to a conclusion so drastic. Confusion swarms me as I take in how absolutely nervous he is.

“Okay,” I say slowly, trying desperately to grasp what the underlying meaning is, “Why?” I ask eventually.

His lips twitch into a bashful smile, looking out the window briefly before crossing his legs and sitting closer to me, taking my hand in his. 

“Well,” he starts, looking back up at me with soft eyes, “Because lately New Orleans’ hasn’t really felt like home.” Something clicks in my brain and I have to force myself to contain my excitement, just in case I’m wrong, “So the stupid thing was selling my place before comin’ here and askin’ you this but..” he trails off and he looks so nervous and absolutely adorable that I have to restrain myself from kissing him silly. 

“What would ya think about us movin’ in togetha’? Here?” 

A small laugh escapes my lips and I can’t hold myself back anymore, practically tackling him back onto the mattress, kissing him passionately. A grin on my part breaks our kiss. 

“I would fucking love that.” 

A slow smile spreads across his lips like he truly can’t believe that I agreed and I’m helpless to do anything other than kiss him again. 

“Thank God,” he sighs into my mouth, “‘Cause I got ‘Gene on standby ready to ship all my shit over here,” he says in between kisses.

My heart sores. Never again will we have to resort to weekly facetime calls just to see each other’s face. Never again will I forget the warmth of his body against mine and never again will I have to face heartbreaking longing that I feel when he’s not with me. 

My hand cups his jaw and rubs my thumb over his cheekbone, “I love you so damn much, Merriell Shelton.” I say hopelessly. 

He beams at me, rubbing our noses together softly and muttering the phrase that, to us, means unconditional love.

“Near or far.”

~

A/N: AND THAT IT!!! Feedback is welcome or seriously if y’all ever wanna just spam my inbox with Snafu love I am totally here for it.

#Merriell Shelton #Merriell Snafu Shelton #merriell shelton x reader #merriell shelton/reader #snafu #Snafu Shelton #snafu x reader #snafu shelton x reader #the pacific #fluff

[venser]

50 questions you’ve never been asked before

tagged by @local-vamp (tysm!!!)

1. What is the color of your hairbrush?: blue

2. Name a food you never eat?: meatloaf

3. Are you typically too warm or too cold?: ok i usually feel too warm but i’m told that i run cold so i’m not sure what that says about me

4. What were you doing 45 minutes ago?: working on the last (and most time consuming) section of this pixel art

5. What is your favorite candy bar?: green tea kitkats

6. Have you ever been to a professional sports event?: yeah

7. What is the last thing you said out loud?: “that’s a human person!” in reference to hearing what grimes named her kid

8. What is your favorite ice cream?: green tea ice cream mochi

9. What was the last thing you had to drink?: loca mocha monster java

10. Do you like your wallet?: yeah but it’s seen so much use i need to get a new one

11. What was the last thing you ate?: tacos

12. Did you buy any new clothes last weekend?: if it weren’t for the fact that i’m currently unemployed due to this pandemic i would’ve gotten this protomen shirt i’ve had my eye on for months

13. The last sporting event you watched?: a baseball game as a part of a school trip that i didn’t pay attention to

14. What is your favorite flavor of popcorn?: either movie theater butter or caramel

15. Who is the last person you sent a text message to?: my mom

16. Ever go camping?: i think my last camping trip was back in the third grade??

17. Do you take vitamins?: lmao no

18. Do you go to church every Sunday?: no

19. Do you have a tan?: if i’m not wearing an extra thiccccc coating of sunscreen during the summer i’ll burn to the point where moving hurts

20. Do you prefer Chinese food or pizza?: pizza

21. Do you drink your soda with a straw?: i try not to

22. What color socks do you usually wear?: white. what does it fuckin matter, nobody can see them

23. Do you ever drive above the speed limit?: i don’t drive :)

24. What terrifies you?: the unknown

25. Look to your left, what do you see?: my cat licking his ass

26. What chore do you hate?: flea med day. it’s the worst day of the month and i know my cat needs it but he’s so fucking strong and if i’m not holding him juuuuust right he’ll buck up and hit me with the back of his head

27. What do you think of when you hear an Australian accent?: steve irwin

28. What’s your favorite soda?: dr pepper

29. Do you go in a fast food place or just hit the drive-thrus?: i would usually go in unless i’m wearing my work uniform bc then i just get nothing but questions about work and i don’t want to talk about work when i’m not at work i do enough of that at work!!!!

30. Who’s the last person you talked to?: my mom

31. Favorite cut of beef?: i don’t really,,,,, eat beef,,,,,,, that much????

32. Last song you listened to?: Light Up the Night by the Protomen

33. Last book you read?: Tom King’s Mister Miracle

34. Favorite day of the week?: man every day’s fuckin,,,,, monday now i don’t even know anymore

35. Can you say the alphabet backwards?: i dont even know what DAY it is how could i possibly say the alphabet backwards

36. How do you like your coffee?: it has to be cold and sweet (i almost exclusively drink mocha frappuccinos and monster javas if i’m going to get coffee)

37. Favorite pair of shoes?: i dont care i literally get the same shoes every year when i need new ones so i don’t have to spend my day at the shoe store

38. The time you normally go to sleep?: i dont wanna answer that

39. The time you normally get up?: or that

40. What do you prefer, sunrise or sunsets?: sunsets bc i’m not grumpy about getting up

41. How many blankets on your bed?: yes

42. Describe your kitchen plates: those corelle plates that are almost indestructible unless you have super shitty luck that day and then they just shatter into a billion itty bitty teeny tiny pieces that you need to pick up before your dear, sweet, dumbass cat comes in and tries to eat them

43. Do you have a favorite alcoholic beverage?: i don’t drink

44. Do you play cards?: i am literally banned from playing cards at game night

45. What color is your car?: i dont drive :)

46. Can you change a tire?: i mean if you give me ten minutes to look up a tutorial then yeah probably

47. Your favorite province?: like canadian? i guess nova scotia??? because thats the only one i can think of from the top of my head???

48. Favorite job you’ve ever had?: i work at a zoo!!! what’s not to love!!!!

49. How did you get your biggest scar?: i don’t think this really counts as a scar but i have a piece of graphite stuck in my thigh that you can still see through my skin

50. What did you do today that made someone else happy?: i got my sister a toolbox as an early mother’s day gift bc all she has is like. a hammer and a handful of allen keys and she was suuuuper excited about it

I’m gonna tag @nghtving @the-imaginative-fox @nightflings @livia-art and anyone else who wants to do this!

#about me tag #don't feel pressured to do this tho!!!

[flowerpowell]

The Boy Next Door (Colt x MC / Logan x MC)

PART THREE

A/N: This chapter... to put it lightly, is a mess. I might have used some constructions that dont exist in English. I don’t even know if the spelling and grammar are okay. I honestly can’t think. I hope this chapter is still readable. I would love to hear you feedback! Also! Next part is coming soooon (I had to break a long chapter!). The characters belong to Pixelberry!

Rating: PG

Word count: 1315

Tagging: @brightpinkpeppercorn @confessionsofabrokegirl @akrenich @lovehugsandcandy @walkerduchess @desiree-0816 @emceesynonymroll @emichelle @hellomynameisdevi @client-327 @liamzigmichael4ever @badchoicesposts @choicesarehard @blackcatkita @pixel-thirsty @donutsgirl36 @drakeismyweakness @maccuswielle @miss-raleigh-carrera ♥

Two weeks had passed since Colt helped Ellie with her panic attack during a thunderstorm.

Two weeks had passed since Colt and Ellie had a conversation longer than two sentences.

Two weeks had passed since Colt spent more than five minutes around Ellie.

He was avoiding her, she noticed that. Anytime they were in the same room, Colt would come up with a lame excuse to go elsewhere.

At first, she was nervous she did something wrong. Scared him off somehow. But then she thought that maybe, maybe, he hated himself for not being a jerk towards her. He wasn’t a naturally nice person, after all.

Today marked two weeks since that happened and Ellie was determined to corner Colt and make him talk. She knew a couple of interrogation techniques thanks to her father and she planned on using them. On Saturday morning, she made sure to wake up before Colt did and made coffee, hoping he’d smell it from upstairs. She pretended she was leaving and loudly closed the door, hiding behind the kitchen door with a key in her hand. If Colt was acting like a child, so was she.

Not even five minutes passed when Colt appeared in the room, looking around as if to see if she was still there, and walked up to his mug already filled with coffee. In one swift motion, Ellie closed the door and locked it. Colt turned to her with his eyes opened wide, spitting his coffee in shock.

“Ellie?”

“We need to talk, Kaneko. Sit.”

“Ellie...?” he was confused by her harsh tone but she only raised her eyebrow and he sat down, a little bit afraid of her.

“What the fu--”

“Shhh! I didn’t give you the right to speak!” She yelled at him and he closed his mouth. She took out a pocket flashlight from her jeans and turned it on, light directed on him, almost blinding him. “WHY WERE YOU AVOIDING ME, KANEKO?”

“Whaaa-- Ellie, stop, I can’t see anything!”

“Well, good!”

“Ellie!!”

“Fine,” she rolled her eyes but turned the light off. “Now talk.”

“I’m not avoiding you!”

“LIEEEEEEEEEES!!!” She yelled and threw water from the glass she prepared earlier in Colt’s face. To say he was surprised was an understatement.

“WHAT THE HELL, ELLIE?” he spit the water out and glared at her.

“This is exactly what I am asking you, Colt! We started talking, you helped me through my panic attack and I thought we could finally be civil towards each other but you start treating me like I was sick and you didn’t want to catch the virus. I don’t understand,” she added quietly, her face falling.

“Geeez, Ellie. Couldn’t you just talk to me like a normal person instead of almost blinding me and throwing water at me?

“Trust me, I tried. And you left the room anytime I wanted to bring this up.”

Colt ran his hand through his hair and locked eyes with Ellie. “I don’t know what to say, Ellie. I wasn’t ignoring you, I’m sorry you felt this way.”

“Then what happened?” she asked, her voice almost breaking. Why am I being so upset about it? Why am I almost crying? Get a grip, Ellie. It’s just Colt.

“Why do you care so much?” his voice was so quiet, almost like a whisper.

“I don’t know,” she whispered back. And it was true. She didn’t know.

Colt streched his hand as if wanting to touch her cheek but he stopped last second. He stood up and cleared his throat. “I wasn’t avoiding you. This is who I am. But I can try this shitty small talk if you really want it. Now, can you please open the door?”

Ellie bit her lip before she said something she would regret later. She opened the door, letting Colt out. He took his jacket and headed out somewhere she didn’t know, again.

Maybe I’m not a great detective after all. I should’ve tried harder. I should’ve brought fire. Dang it, Ellie.

~~~~

It was a surprisingly nice Monday and Ellie decided to go back home on foot. The fall was her favorite season so she took a longer route, stopping to admire the nature or to take a photo of colorful leaves to send to Logan. When she turned to take a better picture of a huge tree with the prettiest leaves she’d ever seen she spotted something on the graveyard on the other side of the road. No, not something. Someone. 

Colt.

Curious, Ellie made her way towards him. He was looking at a grave but turned to her when he heard her. She smiled at him but he sighed loudly and turned his attention back to the grave.

“Why are you here?” Ellie asked standing right beside him.

No reply.

“So... Teppei Kaneko?” she asked reading the text on the grave. “He was your father?”

Colt only closed his eyes but didn’t say anything.

“Ohh, he died the year Logan came to Los Angeles after he quit his job!”

Silence.

“It was him who left you the house?”

There was no reply again but finally, Colt cleared his throat.

“It was my mom’s. The house, I mean. But Pop and I never lived there.”

“And what about...?”

“I’ve never seen her. She left me with my father right after I was born, in this house. This is why when I came back, after Pop died, I threw all her things away. I don’t need reminder of a person who didn’t want me in her life.” Colt explained but Ellie was still confused. She tried to make him look at her but his eyes were glued to the grave.

“I’m so sorry. But where did you and your father live?”

“Here and there,” he shrugged. “We didn’t have one place that we called home. I never really had a home. ‘Home’ feels like a strange concept. I don’t want that.”

“I’m sorry,” she repeated. “But at least you had your father, right? You two must have been close!”

He laughed. Shallow, emotionless laugh. “I was never close with anyone. And certainly not with Pop. He tolerated me but I clearly was just a burden to him.”

Without much thinking, Ellie walked up to Colt and wrapped him in a hug. She tried to massage his back as sign she was there for him but he was tense. He inhaled sharply when she touched him.

“What are you doing?”

“Hugging you, obviously. I’m sorry you had to go through this.”

She felt him moving but her grip was firm and she didn’t want to let him go just yet. Being so close to him was nice. Oddly nice. After a while he seemed to have melted into her embrace as well. When they parted, they faces were just inches apart. He locked his eyes with hers and she swallowed hard.

Ellie wasn’t sure what she was doing but she leaned in, it felt natural. He was still staring into her eyes and cleared his throat. “We can’t, Ellie,” he whispered and pushed her away.

“I gotta go. I won’t be coming until tomorrow so order yourself some food or whatever.”

“Colt...”

“I’ve checked the weather and there’s no storm tonight so you’ll be alright,” he said, not even bothering to look back at her, and left her. Again.

#ride or die: a bad boy romance #ride or die: bad boy romance #colt kaneko #choices #colt x mc #colt kaneko x mc #rod colt #rod logan #logan x mc #well...a little #playchoices #choices rod #sorry for mistakes!!! #theres like plently of them

[ndrv3winterexchange]

Gift from Mistropolis to idaate

Hello @idaate!! Your long time question is finally answered… I’m your Secret Santa!! Remember you said you literally just asked for angst??? Big mistake, because you enabled me to write this. Enjoy eating your heart out.

“Ouma, did you do the laundry yet?”

Ouma taps down on the ‘grab’ button on the screen, watching as the virtual claw plunges down into the piles of toys lying inside. Amidst the cluster of normal-rated toy-carrying eggs, the claw establishes a tight grip on the Rare egg. Ouma heaves a big sigh.

“Hey, small dick! Uglyrumi asked you a question!”

“Oh, they are in, somewhere over the rainbow!” Ouma replies without once moving his eyes away from the screen of his phone. The egg has a soft vibration to it as the timer goes down, 13 minutes to 12 minutes to 11 minutes.

Toujou neither sighs nor carries out any action expressing dissatisfaction. Or if she is, Ouma can’t see it, for his eyes remain glued to the slight bouncing motion of the egg. The timer is clocked at 9 minutes now.

“Dickichi, you ever thought of doing anything productive around the house or what?” Iruma shoots Ouma a death glare from across the couch. Unlike Ouma’s small phone, Iruma carries a pretty big laptop on which she is apparently trying to crack a code on.

“Doing anything productive like you talking with Kiibaby twenty-four seven?”

Iruma’s instantly rouge-tinted cheeks give Ouma a chuckle. “Kiibo is our only connection with Team Danganronpa, remember? It’s going to the infirmary ourselves, or asking Kiibo to tell us.”

“Oh, since you are so invested in our fake classmates’ health status, I guess you’re just lazing around instead of being productive too, aren’t you?”

“Say that all you like, Dickichi,” Iruma scrolls through something on the pad, lips tugged downwards and even more impossibly furious. “we all know you are worried for Stupidhara and your worry is oh-so-thinly veiled.”

The egg on the screen is now bouncing up and down, waiting to hatch as soon as Ouma taps on it.

Ouma turns off the phone and throws it across the room.

“Tch, Idiotma, there’s no need to get that pissy now…” Iruma closes the laptop and clutches it tight to her chest. If Kiibo can have an audio outlet in that laptop, he might have protested about the situation. “I mean… It’s not like he won’t—”

“Of course I know that you, stupid bitch! Iruma-chan continues to be as dumb as ever even after the simulation. I’m so sorry for your parents!” Ouma springs up from the couch and retrieves the phone. He turns it on again. Apparently, there are no bugs or other issues, but the egg is already open and the pop-up gone.

“Wow! I got a really shitty toy this time. It looks so ugly that I had to throw my phone away on impulse!” Ouma mashes the phone to Iruma’s cheeks, and Iruma swats him away. Ouma giggles. “Hey! Come to think about it, it looks just as ugly as you!”

“Hey! I’m just pointing out a fact, fucker. At least stop pestering me about it!”

Ouma blanches, eyes turning dull as they focus on Iruma’s. “Then why don’t you fuck off and leave me alone too?”

Then Ouma resumes his toy-hunting back on his couch, and Iruma leaves the room hurriedly.

Ouma opens the collection and looks for the new toy. It is a chessboard with a lazily-painted smile on it.

Ouma throws his phone into the rubbish bin properly this time.

⁕

Iruma stops hogging the laptop to herself and plugs up an audio program to let Kiibo vocalize his thoughts. That’s about the only two good things Iruma have done for everyone so far.

To be fair, Ouma has done none. And never will.

“Hello guys! It’s been such a long time since we have convened!” Kiibo’s floating head, or more precisely-speaking, the pixelated image of it, flies around the screen against a blue backdrop.

Ouma scoops another spoonful of cookie and cream ice cream into his mouth. “Last you have convened with us is with Iruma-chan here though, isn’t it?”

“But this is the first time I can talk to you guys instead of just Iruma-san! It is, after all, rather difficult to establish contact in the first place when they have tight surveillance and can cut me if they… Well, but that’s beside the point!” A task window opens in the corner and starts loading, until it divides into four sections, each a birds-eye-view of a locked, private patient room.

All of the walls contain the bloodless white of a regular plain wall, but you could almost imagine the pink bloodstains the walls would have when you saw the patients’—classmates’—violent struggles against their personally hired caretakers.

(your blood is red, like a real human’s)

“Um, Kiibo, I didn’t tell you to show us… Them?” Iruma closes the window. Ouma swears he can hear a peal of laughter before it closes completely. The kind of maniacal laughter that precedes regretful wails.

Kiibo immediately blanches (as much as a robot’s avatar can). “M—my apologies. It is rather hard to remember everyone’s requests. Even not taking that into accounts… No one would have wanted to see that. I truly am sorry for doing so.”

“Oh Kiibaby, if your so-called apologies drill on and on mushrooms will start growing in my ears before we know anything! How horrible of you to want mushrooms to attach to my body!” To add to the punch of his statement, Ouma starts digging his nails into his ears and gasping out (rather dramatically) at the pain.

“That’s a lie! But please if you keep doing that your ears will… Anyway, let me search up the feeds.” Kiibo opens a different task window that has runs through hundreds of items rapidly. Gradually the list stops scrolling and an arrow appears, pointing at one specific item, underlined in red.

survivor-saiharashuuichi

“Kiibo-san, if you don’t mind me asking, how do we know for sure that this is a live feed and not a version that the Team plugged up in order to fool us? Or a past version and such?” Toujou’s equivocal eyes are not doing any favour for Ouma’s stomach and neither is her finger poised to click down on the ‘confirmation’ button.

“It is. I am very sure of it since my network is no longer connected to them, this is definitely live from where it comes from.”

“Okay… Then.” Toujou presses down on the button.

Ouma reaches for his phone. Before remembering that his phone is now in the rubbish bin. He gets off the sofa and walks towards the bin to retrieve it.

“Hey… It’s okay if you don’t really want to—”

“I don’t know what Mama is talking about! Of course I am!”

Ouma launches his face right into the screen of the laptop, expecting animalistic screams to assault his ears and making them bleed.

Only to be met with silence.

Ouma steps back and takes a real look at the screen.

There Saihara is, still asleep, face still attached to the oxygen mask and arms still having IV drips into them.

(still locked in the glass coffin he doesn’t deserve to be in)

“So. He’s still not awake?” Toujou shoves Ouma aside to look at the screen closer herself. “Didn’t the Team’s medical team said that most survivors only need a few weeks to recover at most? What is the meaning of this?”

“Well, obviously that means they are still full of chickenshit and Dickichi’s precious prince isn’t waking up anytime soon!” Iruma slams down the laptop—as Ouma had guessed, Kiibo did let out a sound of protest—and shoves it back into the carrying bag. “Get on with your stupid lives now bitches! Kiibo will meetcha in, like, two weeks’ time.”

“Iruma-san, do you mean that Kiibo-san can’t talk to us anytime we like? Or is there any other technical reason?”

“Take it as both, Slutjou. Kiibo and I don’t have the whole fucking day even when we are roommates.” Iruma takes up the bag and rushes for the door, disappearing in no time.

Ouma boots up the phone and opens the toy-collecting game.

Toujou moves back to the laundry she was tending to. “Ouma-kun?”

“There there, Mama, I already know what to expect, there’s absolutely no need to console me or anything! I know that’s gonna happen and it’s not like I really care or anything, y’know?” Ouma puts down the phone on the table and gets into the pantry for a bag of chips. He takes the garlic flavour, and Toujou, predictably, frowns in an obviously unsubtle manner.

Getting Toujou to frown in contrast to her in-game ability to disagree while agreeing would have been satisfying, if not for the fact that Toujou no longer possesses the full arsenal of the Super High School Level Maid’s tactful proficiency. Doing so doesn’t warrant much effort at all, but seeing Toujou ticked-off by his own hand carries a deeply rewarding sensation.

“Anyway, Ouma-kun, I hope what you said it’s true. For now, I have to head out for the day. Please don’t eat all of the chips.”

“Most certainly, Toujou-chan!”

Toujou strolls out of the room, out of the house, and out of Ouma’s mind. Ouma brings the bag of chips and phone with him to his bedroom, where he lies down and stuffs himself more while waiting for yet another egg to hatch.

Bits of chips fall down and adorn the floor in a pattern that would most certainly tick both Iruma and Toujou off to no end. Getting bored of the game, Ouma opens up an Internet browser.

He turns off the filter function and opens up a search engine.

It only takes the letter ‘s’ to bring up a menu of pain to him.

saihara shuuichi alive? — saihara shuuichi is actually dead conspiracy — saihara shuuichi cheats — saihara shuuichi hat merch

Ouma chances clicking on one that is just ‘saihara shuuichi” and millions of search results sprout from the ground, like a dodder that just found its prey, where Ouma is the healthy tree that it wraps around with. Is he even healthy in the first place? Backtrack; more like the dying tree that the dodders are dead set to consume to the fullest.

Ouma snickerrs at that thought.

He presses down onto the fan forum he had an account in and looks into the ‘Daily Saihara Shuuichi Love Thread’.

Day 389 – I still really really love Saihara Shuuichi! Have you seen that boy’s smile? It can cure depression! At least it definitely can for me!

Ouma presses his lips into a tight fault line and down the checker-patterned keyboard.

oh u again??? don’t u ever get bored of this???

A reply pops back up immediately.

Why does doing that bother you??? Everyone in the game gets a thread like that! I feel like making one for the protag, in particular, shouldn’t be weird!

Ouma continues the game and advances onto the chessboard upon typing a few more black keys.

it is weird dood. cmon think abt it saihara is the only one still not awake why would u still maintain this thread it’s not like he’ll wake up and suck ur dick lol

The anonymous, non-existent opponent of his stands his ground with his white pieces.

Get back into your own cave you fucking troll!!! And whether or not I treat Saihara as my dearly beloved is not your business lmao are you jealous of what I have with him???

lmao ofc i won’t be interested in whatever imaginary thing u have w/ him!!!! i’m just sad that ur this pathetic

Ouma bites back expletives and curses that would poison even the clearest well of water, forcing himself to breathe and keep calm properly.

The chain of replies suddenly break.

i mean whatev ur thinking they are fake dood!! the thread is lit made 10 days ago i watched u make it and start on day 289!! why the fuck u lyin why u always lyin

As the moderator of the thread, Ouma reserves the right to delete messages when he needs to. Usually, he challenges himself to just dissuade trolls like he had just now, but it looks like even the Internet folks don’t approve of his love, after all.

Ouma deletes all the messages back up to “Day 389” and contents himself that this small space still exists, and whether this exists in the void or not it still brings him small relief.

⁕

“Slutjou, is bringing him out with us really a good idea?” Iruma scrunches up her nose and holds back a sneeze. “I mean, God why the fuck would he wear so much fucking perfume! We have enough camouflage materials that are not stupid like perfumes!”

“Hey, Hyena-chan, you do realize I have ears and can hear you, right?” Ouma circles back to Iruma’s side and fake-pounds onto her chest. Iruma lets out a shrill scream, not unlike that of a fire siren. “Nyaaa, Hyena-chan is so loud and rude to me! Mama, what should I do?”

“Ouma-kun, we shouldn’t be making too much noise out here.” Toujou looks forward with remotely no changes in her expression at all. She almost resembles a bit of her older maid self. “Today we are going to have some kind of fun without the burden of our classmates still on our backs.”

“Clever of you to immediately bring them up, Kill-me-san,” Iruma takes out her phone and scrolls up the searches she has done prior to coming out. “There’s a flea market around the corner. Anyone interested?”

Ouma unwraps the end of his scarf and mock slaps Iruma with them. “Why would you bring it up if you weren’t thinking of going?”

“Your astute observations are duly noted and absolutely with no fuck given on it.” Iruma struggles to swat the heavily perfumed scarf away from her face and soldiers into the sea of faceless people. “I’m heading in myself, see ya fucks later.”

Toujou and Ouma, by contrast, are keeping themselves to the sidewalk, where fewer people amble on. The flea market might have more confections and delicacies anyone could obtain if they so desire, but the sidewalk is the only passageway with a more reasonable amount of flow of people.

“Ouma-kun, is there any particular candy you are eyeing for?”

“Candy? How old am I, Toujou-chan? You think some candies can appease my demons and all that? Hmm?” Ouma opens the doors into the small shopping mall nonchalantly, greeting the somewhat festive interior with a bright smile. In the time Toujou has spent with Ouma, it is already obvious that this is not a genuine smile.

“Then is there anything in particular that you want to get?”

“Hmm, these mistletoes look really torn… Must be old ones just being recycled yet again!”

“Contrary to popular belief, we don’t really have much time to be out for that long—”

“Annnnd that doll just looks so ugly! Why did they even put it out—”

“Ouma.”

Toujou stops walking with a telltale clink onto the ground with her heel. Ouma comes to a halt.

“I know you’re heading for the boutique around the corner and I advise strongly against that idea.”

The silence hangs heavy with a palpable tension, one that is not too disparate to that of when Ouma had first woken up. The faux cheerful background music of the mall drones on and on about the miracle of love.

“It’s just one visit, Toujou. It’s not a big deal.”

(The only other occasion to when Ouma dropped his cutesy honorifics for everyone is when he woke up to a tangle of wires, liquid that he will come to repulse at the very sight of dribbling from his mouth and Toujou appearing in front of him helping him to get up)

“Ouma-kun… Despite everything you believe here, I still get to let you know, you can’t keep holding on forever. You still have a life to live.”

Ouma chuckles. His lips seal in a poisonous excursus. “I know that Toujou-chan, and that is the precise reason for why I’m going to get into that boutique and buy the cutest clothes I can find there!”

Toujou’s shoulders tense, a veneer superimposing her exasperation and anger. It must be anger. Ouma sees it too many times to not know the shape of anger and its shadow behind people’s eyes. He prepares himself as well, small frame coiling into a snake ready to bite and tear.

And that’s why Toujou acquiescing with a respire switches off Ouma’s flight-or-flight mode. “Alright, Ouma. Let’s head to that store and gets you some nice and comfy clothes.”

Ouma resists the urge to dissolve right there and bounces up on his heels. “Yes! Let’s go!”

The store greets the two of them with a nice chime completely deviating from the jingle the mall itself uses. The interior is encased in a candy-like decor that embellishes the soft-colored clothes it contains, in hues of purple and pink mostly. Toujou can understand why Ouma seems to dig the aesthetics.

But instead of settling for the rows of soft dresses and sweaters at the front of the store, Ouma instantly scurries to the leftmost corner of the store, a section that is rather invisible to the eye of a mere passer-by.

Toujou follows Ouma deep into the rabbit hole and finds herself in front of a row of velvety black dresses she had once worn with pride.

“There! Aren’t these clothes just wicked, Toujou-chan?” Ouma all but bounces around and touches every single piece of clothing there. “It’s all the Danganronpa Season 53 merchandise! Or you could say, pieces of our pasts!”

“I know that Ouma-kun, why else do you think I will want to…” Toujou’s thoughts are lost in translation as she too, establishes contact with one of the dresses. She contemplates the fact that no one is yelling for them to stop or offers faux-enthusiastic attempts at selling the products, then surmises that it is best not to come up with theory as to why.

“Hey Toujou-chan, are you gonna buy one of these?”

“I. I don’t think I have brought enough for that.” Toujou takes out her wallet and counts two one-thousand notes. “I only have five hundred dollars.”

Ouma narrows his eyes at Toujou then, something almost resembling joy radiating from him. Aureate, but stilted joy. “That’s up to you then! But for me, I’m going to buy a set myself!”

Ouma takes a set of pre-packed clothes (pre-packed? Huh?) and pays for it, promptly walking towards the fitting room.

Toujou swallows involuntarily. The so-called cozy atmosphere of the store is not helping.

A few minutes later, Ouma emerges,

in Saihara’s detective wear and hat.

“Toujou-chan! Do I look good in my beloved’s clothes?”

Toujou surveys this Ouma. She knows the Ouma in front of her has not changed in the slightest. And yet. And yet.

“You… Do look nice.” Toujou dances with the idea of praising Ouma’s new look and resisting gravitation towards the plan of tearing the clothes off him. The latter is coquettish and Toujou feels liable to capitulate to it, but she stands her ground. “They have a pretty good grasp on how to make the clothes, huh?”

“You think so, Toujou-chan? That I really look good in that?” Ouma ruffles the sleeves and plays with the hat, cavalier but almost with a latent astriction waiting to be released.

Toujou wonders why and gambles with a “yes?”

Ouma’s small frame folds in and releases in a strike.

“Well, it shouldn’t!”

Ouma’s fingers enclose seams along the fabric and apply pressure to them, and after a short respite, the fabric starts tearing into nothing. He rapidly tears off the buttons on the shirt and takes it off, along with the hat and the shorts. Before Toujou can gauge Ouma’s reactions further, the clothes are already semi-torn, pieces of the black fabric falling off and with Ouma turning on a lighter and—

“Ouma! No!”

Toujou wrestles the lighter away from Ouma quick enough, toppling Ouma headfirst onto the ground, into the suffocating clothes instead, and Toujou blows off the lighter.

Ouma lies on the heap, torso completely limb, face unidentifiable from being smashed into the clothes.

“Ouma-kun?”

Silence save for the sound of clothes ruffling and the boutique’s chime.

Then Ouma slowly gets himself back up again.

(Only physically and not metaphorically)

“Toujou-chan, now you’ve ruined my master plan of destroying the store!” Ouma kicks the clothes around, in a manner almost like a child throwing tantrums at the parents for not getting their favorite gifts. Or a circus tiger charging at its cage. “Now what am I supposed to do to look normal and walk out of the store alive and free!”

Toujou watches Ouma burying his face in his hands, tears streaming out from behind the gaps of his fingers. Fake crying. Real crying. That’s not something Toujou is in the position of understanding.

“… Hey, Ouma-kun? How about I buy you other clothes?”

Ouma ceases his kicking movements gradually upon hearing that, and he turns around, peeling his own hands off his face finger by finger. “Really?” He asks in the most thespian manner.

“Of course! I have five hundred on me, we can definitely buy something much nicer.” Toujou takes out the banknotes and flaunts them, and Ouma’s renewed smile solidifies. “Go pick what you want!”

“Yay! I know Mama is always the best and I was never wrong about that!” Ouma all but plucks the notes from Toujou’s fingers and runs off to the opposite side of the boutique.

Even when Ouma walks out afterward in the softest and most warmly-colored skirt and stockings and boots, Toujou knows all too well that the latent tautness of the thread linking his conscience and tenacity is slowly threatening to fracture, and this is one knowledge she is in a position to be sure of.

⁕

Iruma slurps up the instant noodles she bought from the flea market—Ouma heard that it’s flavored with something rare and unavailable in any other place, but who is he to know that—in an utterly swine-like and ravenous manner. Bits of the soup keep flying out of her mouth and Ouma tamps down the desire to outright beat the noodles out of her. “What are we watching on Christmas’ Eve?”

“That movie I watched back when I was a kid with the train to Santa Claus’ base of operations.” Iruma takes the remote control as she elucidates, the oil stains from the noodles spilling onto the remote control. Ouma recoils in horror. “It’s a fucking timeless classic and the only movie that yours truly can admit is good despite the utter lack of interesting action!”

“I wonder about your definitions of interesting, but I suppose I will keep quiet!” Ouma wrestles the remote control to him and switches the audio to Polish.

“None of us here know Polish!”

“You will understand it in time Iruma-chan! Even a dust-gathering brain like yours are capable of something eventually!”

“Knock it off now, let’s change it back.” Toujou effortlessly takes back the remote control and switches it back to Japanese. Ouma’s pout springs up on his face instantly. “Can’t we have some fun in this night at all!”

“You’re already having fun with those toy trains I gave you earlier, remember?” Iruma puts down the noodles and moves onto the bag of chips, pulling open it with chips flying everywhere and Toujou’s immediate scowl. “Sorry for that, Slutjou!”

“You will be sorry about that soon enough, Iruma-san,” Toujou comminates gently with the promise, then turns her focus back to the television. The hero boy is now standing hesitantly in front of the train conductor, who is quite ready and eager to leave him shall he not get up onto the train himself.

“Is this how you feel every time a boy tries to date you, abortion?”

“Tch, Iruma-chan underestimated my capacity of shame! I would do so much more! Like—”

“Um nope! Nobody here wants to hear about your nonexistent romantic life here.” Iruma grabs the remote and speeds to a different scene. Now the scene has shifted to when hero boy has to get hero girl’s ticket back to prove her innocence and right to board the train.

“And this is Iruma-chan as she hunts for an opportunity to be even more outrageously disgusting! Look at you go!”

“It is not and it sucks as a metaphor so it doesn’t coun—hey give back the chips!” Iruma makes a wild snatch for the bag while Ouma all but shoves every piece directly into his mouth. Iruma screams and gets up onto the table to obtain a better vantage point to grab back at Ouma. Ouma dodges at the last second with a giggle and the table slides off with a squealing Iruma falling onto the floor.

Toujou gets up and pauses the movie, a capitulator in a war that doesn’t involve her. “Do you ever think twice before deciding on an action?”

“Nope!” They singsong synchronously. Toujou sighs in an almost affectionate manner and starts sweeping away the bits of chips on the floor. “When I come back, at least be done with not killing each other, alright?”

“Maybe!” Ouma aims a bit onto Iruma’s face, and Iruma retaliates without missing a beat. They get bored by it quite quickly, however, so soon they settle back onto the sofa with something else for snacks, and into a rare, agreeable silence.

The silence lasts for some time before Iruma speaks up again. “This is my favorite part when I was a child, and it still is. Look at them!” She points at the hero boy who’s bequeathed with the bell from Santa Claus’ sleigh. “This is the kind of magic that you believe in.”

“Magic? Iruma-chan, I thought you aren’t Yumeno-chan! Are you taking over her role?”

“Jeez, Ouma, don’t you ever take anything seriously at all? Is nothing sacred to you?”

Ouma gives that a hard and good thought. Then he shakes his head.

“Tch. But then again, when you have lived through some bullshit like us, I guess it’s pretty hard to think of anything still as sacred, right?” Iruma redirects her attention to the screen, and now the hero boy is boarding the train back to his home when he found out that his bell is missing.

“So. What really happened to you when you found out this movie isn’t a reality?”

Iruma is silent for once. Ouma waits for a response that he knows very well won’t really come. Toujou, on the other hand, is tempted to break the metaphorical ice the question creates when Iruma suddenly bursts into tears.

“I know it isn’t real… Why else would I do something as stupid as joining Dan—” She grabs a tissue instead of finishing her sentence, harsh breaths expelled in snowflakes that taste of sorrow and penitence. Balls of tissue papers ornate the floor. “I have never… Look. Look I know the truth. I have never even watched this wretched movie. It isn’t me, it was the me in Danganronpa.”

The soft music of the credits underscores the roiling emotions of everyone present. Suddenly the movie is a much more preferable alternative to talking.

But an unspoken moxie takes roots in Ouma, and keeping on talking he must. “And is the you from Danganronpa worthless and means nothing to you?”

Iruma wipes her face harder, as if desperately wiping the smirk the SHSL Inventor wears on a daily basis would yield anything good for the situation. “Funny of you to say that, Ouma. Out of all of us, you have absolutely no change. Zero. Nil. Even Toujou over here loses her super capabilities in doing everything and yet you stay being the liar you always have been in the game.”

Iruma’s words aim a precise laceration on the surface of Ouma’s heart, and it bleeds and bleeds and bleeds more lies. “Iruma-chan, you’d be naive if you think all of me is still here with you.”

“Huh?”

“Because… The truth is… I came back with powers unbeknownst to mortals like you!” Ouma springs up onto the table and dives into Iruma with his hands outwards, and Iruma freezes on impulse and amplifies her whimpers. “I now possess the power of controlling your emotions! And I will use this power for evil! Be sad, you imbecilic temptress!”

“Ouma-kun, what even are you talking about at this poi—” Toujou gets up to interfere, but Ouma pauses right there, hands going limp and staring down at Iruma.

“Why do you have to hang onto me like a lifeline? What did I ever do?”

“What, what are you even talking about?” Iruma attempts to slither out of Ouma’s weight, her features increasingly contorted in confusion.

Ouma, on the other hand, gets up voluntarily and walks back to his room upstairs.

⁕

when ouma’s eyes fluttered open to the bleached white wall of the infirmary, paparazzi were surrounding him in every direction.

― ouma kokichi! you finally wake up! share with us how you feel?

ouma’s throat unfettered a few unintelligible notes into their mics, and the doctors on duty circumscribe him, blocking the paparazzi and stopping them from invading his space. ouma attempts again to talk, and it ends with throwing up onto the floor. at least the paparazzi recede at the sight of that.

― hey team danganronpa were you taking proper care with ouma ― is ouma kokichi-san going to be okay after all ― will they be present for the conference?

gradually security guards entered the scene and herded the thirsty news-hunters out of the infirmary, and a few doctors left with hushed instructions to one another. only one person remained after the tide of people abates from the room and ouma’s consciousness.

― alright, i’m here to gauge your necessity for a memory re-transfer.

shirogane, the blue devil herself, was standing over him, clutching a board with a passive look in her eyes. if not for the obvious eyebags she had and her moribund complexion, ouma would doubt that the game has any ramification on her.

― it’s really quite simple. all i need you to do here is to give me some responses to this survey i’m taking that will determine whether or not you want to get back your memories.

― my memories?

― trust me, this will only take a few minutes. question one, are you capable of thinking about the last seconds of your death?

― i do. but what does that have to do with—

― that’s good. question two, can you describe to details your personality during the game?

― tch… merciless, driven, cruel…

― yeah, that’s enough there to go for. question three, if you have the chance to choose…

shirogane finished asking her questions soon enough and promised to get back to him when the team had determined whether he get his memories back or not. before she could take her departure, however, ouma yelled for her to stop.

― wait! did you have your memories back?

― i don’t have any memories beyond being part of danganronpa, but thanks, the concern is touching.

― no i mean like—do you remember what happened in the game? are you, like, coping at all?

shirogane let out a cold chuckle.

― people like me don’t have any need to remember mundane things like that when i have more i need to do up ahead.

that was when ouma realized that he hasn’t been playing by the rules that shirogane established.

― nishishi, perhaps it’s just that shirogane-chan is too inane to understand my question!

― perhaps that is so! i am but a cosplayer, what do i know about the arts of lies?

― so! shirogane-chan, i think you’re doing just fine because you don’t remember anything about yourself just like the idiot you are! you stink as well! but is that a lie?

― i’m really flattered that you think so, ouma-kun! a mere intern like me needs to do so much more in order to advance in this industry, so it’s only natural that i have to give up my whole self for that! it’s just my passions! so, i do think you state something that is and is not a lie! i don’t remember anything, but i also remember everything! that was nice talking to you, but i gotta go now!

ouma struggled to get up before pain shot through his sternum and ribcage, a paroxysm throwing him into begrudging oscitancy. before shirogane truly leave, however, ouma managed to choke out words he intended to say.

― do i have a say in whether i want this or not?

shirogane pauses.

― are you this desperate to go back to your old self? then why did you join the show to begin wi—

― no. i don’t want any of my memories back. keep them or delete them, i don’t care. i don’t want to go back to my past.

shirogane does a double take.

― why not?

― just respect my wishes. let me keep this me intact.

shirogane blanches, but then a borderline cruel smile adorns her face.

― i see what it is! you’re afraid of going out of money and popularity, so you want to literally keep being this cash cow! very respectful wishes! i will pass them on!

then she truly leaves, taking ouma’s uncertain regrets with her.

⁕

Today is not going to be a good Christmas Day, Ouma surmises.

He is still in his pajamas at the current hour of twelve, when he realizes that he does not even feel like getting up or moving his limbs. Maybe he should stay in this bed forever until even his bones wither into dust. At least Iruma and Toujou will have one less person to worry about, if they ever worried about him.

Before this reverie relatively becomes true, however, Iruma barges in. “Ouma? You awake?”

“Yes, I’m awake, Iruma-chan, doesn’t erase the fact that my soul is still deep asleep in somewhere else!” Ouma reluctantly rolls off the bed and grabs his usual wear of sweater, expecting a crude smile and lewd words barraging from her mouth.

Iruma’s face is not painted with a smile. Rather, there is a vacant look with a latent sense of dread. “Follow me downstairs. Now.”

“What, I can’t even go brush my tee—” Ouma yelps as Iruma establishes an iron grip on his wrist, roughly dragging him with her. “We’re going downstairs right this fucking second, you shit.”

Ouma gulps down his renewed vexation and lets himself be dragged down, right into the hall where the television is located. Loud music blares from it, but that is the only precursor to the pivotal moment of this chapter of his short, nugatory life.

“Saihara Shuuichi is awake.”

⁕

They take slots for everyone who wants to visit Saihara, but Iruma and Toujou take the courtesy of visiting together so that one less slot is placed in front of Ouma.

“Iruma-chan, it is unwise of doing that when you definitely have so many raunchy and oh-so-romantic promises you have to make to the protagonist, right? Why don’t you go take back your slot?” Ouma unwraps one of the gift boxes below their Christmas tree and takes out a generic notebook. “Ha! Even though I have spent so much to buy you guys a gold-generating machine, this is how you guys treated me?”

“Ouma-kun, today is Christmas Day, let’s have the decency to be more honest and open.” Toujou chuckles, and Ouma hates that look in her eyes as if she is a mother watching her child grow up and find a partner. “We know you just bought a roomba for me, and a shampoo for Iruma-san. And the notebook has its crucial functions, trust us. We intend for you to take this to when you see Saihara-kun.”

“And then we make drawings and chat like some nine-year-old boys or something? And what makes you guys think I’m going?”

“Why won’t you go? Do you really not miss Stupidhara even once?”

The question pierces more than Ouma’s usual armor, so he pouts and stays quiet.

“That’s what I’m thinking. Now go prepare for a bit, our session should sometime after one thirty, so be sure you’re there at two.”

With that, Ouma is left alone in the house, feeling like the biggest idiot and asshole in the world.

“Tch… This is so fucking annoying.” Ouma takes one more bite of his toast and shoves everything into the fridge for later. Come to think about it, hasn’t it been some time since Toujou feels happy enough to make them breakfast? Is it just the charity spirit of Christmas Day, or is Saihara Shuuichi’s charm truly that powerful?

Ouma wishes he has requested Shirogane to fracture every single neuron in his head that contains memories of Saihara but well, life won’t ever go the way you want, huh?

You went to forget yourself.

I know.

Or at least, that’s what I’m going to assume, even into the graves.

Ouma takes a water bottle, a small gift, and packs them all into his backpack before gorging out on more rubbish instant noodles and gets on his way.

⁕

When he arrived at the hospital, the influx of reporters and more paparazzi has only calmed down for a bit. After all, the whole world is waiting for him to wake up, but that does not ameliorate that fact at all.

When he passed by, though, the distant sense of claustrophobia only becomes much worse.

“We have more private visitors, so we would appreciate it if you could please take your departure until we notify you of further details regarding this.” A doctor, almost laughably identical to the one that had briefly tended to Ouma, waves the reporters away. They persist, so the doctor called for security backup, and they reluctantly disperse.

Ouma lets out a subtle enough sigh that he hopes will not give away his presence, then he crashes right into a stray reporter with a feverish look in their eyes.

“Oh my… What good fortune! Aren’t you Ouma Kokichi?”

Ouma recalls his irritating perfume and scarf and chastises himself mentally on the fact that he didn’t take them. “I am not—”

“There’s no need to hide! You’re safe here with me! I just need one interview done with you, then I’ll leave!” They whip out a pen and notepad in no time. “So. If you don’t mind, I will also record this interview to serve as audio evidence. As a responsible reporter, I will inform you so as to give you a chance to think about whether you want that. So are you okay with that?”

“I am not—”

“Alright! Good to know you are okay with that, Ouma-san, it really means a lot. My first question is, what do you ultimately think about the entire Danganronpa Season 53? Like were they good with all the preparations and character settings and plots?”

“Why aren’t you listening to me I said I don’t want thi—”

“I suppose that as the supreme leader, you must be rather satisfied with it! Let’s move onto the next question then! My next question as to whether or not you have enjoyed your role as a secondary antagonist right after the mastermind? After all, it is in your script to be the main villain other than the mastermind by the virtue of being a Remnant of Despair following Enoshima Junko. So, is the role enjoyable? Anything you found interesting and memorable in particular?”

“I do not find anything memorable or interesting,” my only thought process was that i want to die, Ouma barely bites back the bullets. “the only thing I found interesting is—”

The reporter closes the notepad all of a sudden and turns to look Ouma into the eyes for the first time in this conversation. “I see how it is! I have wrongly judged your disposition. Your focus is more on the romantic side, right! Let me change my questions then.”

“I never even agreed to—”

“Question one then! Is your love towards Saihara Shuuichi written into the script, or merely improvised? Better yet,” The reporter nigh-pushed themself right onto Ouma’s face. “could it be you fall in love with him on-set?”

Every phantom inside of Ouma, threatening to spill out at any given opportunity, has scooped in for the kill. “What the fuck makes you think you can just keep giving me shit like that? Do everyone a favour, shut the fuck up and take your pathetic excuse for a functional being to nowheresville of asshat-land!”

Taken aback by Ouma’s sudden furor, the reporter stutters a few steps back. “Um, I’m, I mean, I don’t mean any harm and I just want a—”

“Like hell you fucking do! Fuck right off and never appear in front of me ever again!”

The look of admiration behind the reporter’s thick spectacles slowly turns into that of belligerence. “Alright. Alright! I see how it is! You fucking attention-seeking kids just want to be all secretive to keep being celebrities, right? Or is it because you think I’m not a good enough reporter to sell you? Guess what, Ouma Kokichi, I’m exactly going to write an article about how bad your behavior is and how much of a threat you are to society! Let’s see who the world believes in!”

“Don’t, don’t you fucking dare—”

“You’d honestly think any desperate reporter running on only one news article every week is not going to dare to do tha—”

“Hey.”

The duo pauses and turns towards the source of the voice, and Ouma wishes he has just dodged into the room rather than doing whatever he had done to lead to this.

Momota himself is staring down the reporter, an uncharacteristically tired look in his eyes.

“Hey. Leave my friend alone, a’ight?”

Friend? Ouma wisely keeps his mouth shut and panics internally as the reporter stands his ground. “Easy for someone like you to say, when you no longer need to worry about a job or anything! I just need to hand in one article! Why is it so hard for you fucking kids to—”

“There,” Momota stuffs a few notes into the reporter’s outstretched hand. “That should be enough for a whole month for you, right?”

“But…” They grind their teeth together and stares daggers once again at Ouma, then huffs and walks off.

“So, here to visit Shuuichi?”

The unprompted question tingles Ouma’s self-preservation instincts, and they are telling him to run out of the hospital and into a place no one will ever find him in. “W—What if I am, does that matter to you in any way?”

“Well, it’s still gonna be some more time before your slot begins, right?” Momota looks up from his watch and gestures towards a bench. “Wanna catch up a bit?”

The trap tightens up Ouma’s entire body and his lungs collapse.

⁕

Or at least that’s what Ouma feels like. His lungs have not collapsed, but if that really had happened and he is spared from talking to anyone other than Momota, he is looking for a way to punch a hole into his chest right this second.

“I’ve heard from Harumaki that you’re rooming with Toujou and Iruma… So how are you guys doing so far? Gotten into any trouble with them?”

For whatever ungodly reasons, Ouma feels a smirk not truly belonging to him consolidates on his face. “They have been living just nicely with me, Momota-chan. I mean, they are now living with a supreme leader without any other bothersome people attached! Under my glorious leadership, there is no way their lives could go awry!”

Momota looks at him with the same tired look he casts at the reporter. “What is the truth, Ouma?”

Ouma strains himself to mollify, to change into a him that is more palatable for everyone involved in the game, but then he remembers he is never intended for entertainment consumption anyway. “What does it bother you how we are doing anyway?”

“Because I care about you guys and Shuuichi would’ve done the same?”

Ouma bites back more bullets deep back inside of him, which would eventually scorch his insides, he is sure. “Fine. We are doing fucking excellent. End of the story.”

Momota heaves something of an agreeable sigh. “That’s good. Harumaki and Amami have been terrific roommates too, and if Himiko’s condition gets better she may live with us as well. Always good to gain more company if you ask me.”

Ouma keeps his mouth shut and waits, staring across into the infirmary room opposite where they are sitting at. Let this silence commence.

Momota, however, did not get the mental memo. “Are you really doing good yourself?”

“Why does that matter to you? And bringing up Saihara-chan again does not count.”

“Well, then I told you already that I do care about you guys, what more excuse can I use?” Momota puts the plastic bag he has been carrying around onto the seat between them. Then he looks down at it and Ouma can tell from the sparks in his eyes that this tribulation is far from over. “Oh, right. Are you developing a habit or anything? I mean, having no jobs must make everything boring after awhile. I personally have started taking care of potted plants. It’s calming, y’know? Just watering plants and getting rid of bugs occasionally.”

“Nice. I heard those plants are very interesting and challenging to take care of. But then again! Nothing is too challenging for the luminary of the stars, right?” Ouma turns around and plops his head on his hand and elbow on the bench, in the most overt way possible. If he has turned around, he bets he could see Momota glaring daggers at him, probably imagining Ouma with his usual smug face. Two o’clock has never been that far away.

Momota’s voice remains surprisingly calm, or surprisingly enervated, Ouma supposes. “Sarcasm and lies like that aren’t exactly going to get you far, Ouma. It’s fine if you want to say that in front of me, but I’m not discounting the fact that people in the outside world are going to hate you for that.”

The fuse burns in an instant. “And what makes you think you’re particularly good for the outside world right now, Momota-chan? Your indistinct persona? Your ability to indulge in some ultimately meaningless habits that yield nothing? The fact that you have remembered everything about your past and you can just go and give everything you’ve earned in Danganronpa up? Just fucking like that?”

“Then have you considered how much you have fucking done and how little you have done for literally anyone yourself!” Ouma flinches from the screech and balls himself up upon the sound of a pot breaking onto the floor. In the periphery of his vision,  a little bit of dirt is visible, along with the shadow of a raised fist. Ouma hugs himself tighter.

Momota freezes in motion, looking dumbfounded and petrified at his own fist. He slowly puts it down to the side, sitting back down on the bench heavily. “Hey? You okay?”

Ouma’s mouth is sealed with self-administered thorns. “No.”

“Fuck. That’s another thing I fucked up here. Look,” Momota reaches across the empty seat between the two of them, and Ouma flinches away further. “that’s understandable. Wait where was I? Oh, right, I was about to, like, apologize for that.”

“Please don’t apologize for a minor fuck-up that you don’t think yourself wrong for.” Ouma’s voice is raspier than he himself thought, like a blade being dragged across a stone. A senseless act of violence.

“This might surprise you, but I do know what I have done is completely unsolicited and—”

“Unsolicited? Momota-chan knows big words like that?” Ouma tries to bring his leader’s charming smile back on his face, but it takes too much of him. And he is so tired.

“You may not see that coming but anyway,” Momota scratches the back of his neck and looks up at the ceiling. Looking anywhere other than Ouma. “it is a completely horrible move on my part, I apologize to you. That being said, I do think my point still stands.”

“What point did you make at all? That I should get a habit like taking care of potted plants like you?”

“Nah. My point is, you have to learn to move on and stop being the you from the game.” Momota pauses the scratching and digs into his pocket, fishing his phone out. He takes one close look at the screen and promptly turns it off. “Like, seriously, I just talked to you like for two seconds and you are already back to your lying ways and being your supreme leader self like no man’s business. It would actually be fair to say that you have not changed even one bit if I have to be absolutely honest. Except being a bit more rightfully rude, I guess. Scratch the rightfully part, more like unnecessarily.”

“For all you know, I’m already incorrigible, or I have already tried too many times to want to try again.” The refutation can be shattered by even the most bullheaded Danganronpa contestant, but Ouma spits it out regardless. “I’m just a washed-up Danganronpa competitor who has lost the spotlight. And of course, I love that. Nothing wrong with it. But of course! That could be just my trademark lies!”

Momota starts looking at Ouma with something almost like sympathy. Sympathy from a bystander who has never fallen and is now looking down at him comfortably from the top. “I guess I have overestimated your ability to change then. Like, I understand being defensive and aggressive, but. You are still not opening up.”

“Let me open up to you right this instant then?” Ouma redirects his blank stare towards Momota and forces his mouth open. “I’m done. I have shrivelled up completely into a poor replica of both versions of my former self. I’m too tired. I don’t want to do anything again, save for daily routines and finally going in to see Saihara-chan. Is that satisfying enough for you?”

“Ouma, look, I know all the wrong I have inflicted on you, but if you keep yourself closed up like that—”

“I’ll be just safe and sound because nobody can hurt me and I can’t hurt anybody. Right?” Ouma gets up abruptly, takes his backpack and finally walks into the patient room.

⁕

Saihara is reading a book when Ouma walks in. The cover is blank save for the title, almost reminiscent of the kind of classics that you will find in an English bookstore. The sentiment does not last, however, as Ouma gets closer and realizes that the title says “Saihara’s ideas”. Whatever that means, it has nothing to do with a classic novel.

“Ouma-kun?” Saihara pokes his head out of the book and stares right at Ouma. Unlike everyone’s gazes, Saihara’s always feels soft but firm, without feeling like a piercing glare. It’s crazy that Saihara could pull that off.

“Hello there, Saihara-chan,” Ouma just remembers that he has brought instant noodles here and is tempted to punch himself. “are you doing any better? Feeling any maggot still drilling into your brain?”

“Ouma-kun, you know technically there couldn’t be anything like that in any of our heads…” Saihara puts down the book entirely and sits up. That must have induced some pains onto him, but he still maintains his smile when he looks back at Ouma. “I’m really glad to see you here. I was starting to think nobody would come here after all.”

“Nobody? How could anyone resist the charms of the great Saihara Shuuichi though?” This comes out much more sarcastic and sincere a question, but Ouma asks it anyway. Saihara merely chuckles in his old good-natured manner. “I don’t exactly mean anyone in particular. I was just worried that you wouldn’t come.”

“… Huh?”

“I know what you want to ask, how you matter and all that.” Saihara scratches the back of his left hand, eyes cast down in this opportune moments. Does Saihara fear to look at him? “I start remembering a lot about my past before joining Danganronpa and realize quite a lot of things, I suppose. And looking back at everything that had happened, I think it’s not unfair to come to the conclusion that you are nowhere near as evil as you like to project yourself as.”

“That’s foolish of you to say, Saihara-chan. Do you have any evidence at all that would point to that?”

“Did you watch the in-universe Chapter Six of the game? Wait. That is a terribly awful thing to say, who would want to do that?” Saihara raises his head back up to look Ouma in the eye, unaverted but still with a note of hesitancy. “We found out all that you’ve done to stop the killing game. We know you’re not pure evil because of that.”

“Heh, that doesn’t matter now though, right?” Ouma takes out the instant noodles from the backpack and places them on Saihara’s lap. “We are supposed to move on and forget all these happened and all that.”

“That is absolutely not true.” Saihara picks up the noodles and places them on the counter next to the bed. In the gentle and serious way he puts them down, Ouma almost feels that Saihara does cherish his ‘gifts’. “We all went through this. Just because all our fates vary from one another doesn’t mean we haven’t been victims of this cruel game in our own ways. It is important for us to connect with one another still, and to find a way to heal ourselves by doing that.”

Good luck dragging me into group therapy then. “So, Saihara-chan, do you intend to start anytime soon? Our great protagonist leading us to a peaceful road to healing seems to make a lot of sense if I have to be honest. Or this could lead to us burning and crashing into nowhere, all these could be a lie.”

“It doesn’t have to start that soon. Whenever we are all ready, I hope I still command some sort of respect for you guys.” Saihara takes up the notebook again and opens to a particular page. Ouma takes that as his cue to leave.

“Oh! Right here.” Saihara gestures for Ouma to come closer to the bedside, eyes still glued to the page for no palpable reason. Ouma obeys, moving his own eyes to look into the notebook.

“What exactly are all these?”

“I used to be a writer before joining the game. At least I think so.” Saihara points to a line near the middle of the left-hand page, but Ouma detains himself from reading in too deep into old Saihara’s utterly unintelligible writing. “This used to be one of my ideas. I figured I could use it someday if I want to be a writer again.”

“So what is it about?”

“It’s about a suicidal kid who hires a biographer to write down the story of their life, so when the day they decided to die they could read this biography and feel how deeply worthless and meaningless their life had been. This progresses as a more hopeful story as it goes, however, and in the end, the kid realizes they are not worthless and feeling like living again.”

Ouma frowns. “Why exactly do you feel the compelling need to tell me that?”

Saihara redirects his innocent gaze at Ouma, a harmless smile with knives hidden tugging his lips into a curve. “I reserve myself to share an idea with everyone who has visited me. I thought that could be a fun way for us to connect instead of going directly into the heavy stuff if that makes sense.”

Ouma nods, his head filling up with nothing but dark waters. “That is nice of you, Saihara-chan. I hope that story didn’t turn out bad.”

Saihara smiles again and Ouma feels the knife plunged into him, twisted and turned. “Of course it didn’t.”

⁕

Ouma takes one bite out of the pizza slice Iruma stuffs him with. The pizza is nearly cold with pieces of pineapple on it, creased with the touch of a human being he still despises. All crimes against humanity, if Ouma can count as a human.

Soon enough, however, the cold pizza becomes too much, and Ouma gives up on munching it and opts to survey the room instead. There’s the fourteen of them here. Shirogane and Akamatsu are out of commission for whatever unknown reasons. Let’s hope their declines to this offer doesn’t sting Saihara in any way. If Saihara’s vaguely detached countenance is anything to go by, it does sting.

Once he is done with a cursory glance, however, the smell of bullets overwhelms him again, the latent tension he feels whenever he is around with anyone is at a full time high again, so Ouma goes back to munching on the pizza to alleviate it.

“I do not see how assembling all of us will assist us in any way, shape or form.” Shinguuji raises his voice slightly louder than the volume of a rusty piano choking out its last notes. “… I mean, by all means, don’t let me be a spoilsport, I should not have spoken, I should—”

“It’s alright, Shinguuji-kun,” Saihara stops sipping his fruit punch. “We are here to check on each other and speak our minds after all. Or if you don’t feel like doing so, that’s up to you.”

Silence occupies the room instantly with a side dollop of tension. And nobody feels that it is their responsibility to defuse it.

Except for the ever immobile Kiibo. “So! Perhaps we can start with how everyone is doing? Do you guys have any sort of routine or just doing anything fun in general?”

“I’m rooming with Hoshi and Angie,” Everyone stares across the table towards Tenko, who fumbles around uncomfortably and is leaning towards Toujou next to her as she seeks more words to fill the gap and farther away from the trembling Shinguuji. “Angie and I tried to find some fun for Hoshi, but he is a hard one to please. We tried volleyball and nearly killed him.”

“‘Tis ain’t no fun for me, but at least they have their own fun, I guess.” Hoshi speaks in the most resigned tone Ouma has ever heard, and yet there is an undeniable smile there and everyone is laughing. Everyone. Except him.

“Angie loves volleyball though! She is no expert in sports, but volleyball is just like ‘don’t let the balloon touch the ground’ as a more intense version, and Angie loves games like those!” Angie bounces around wildly, occasionally tripping herself onto the various baggages Saihara has taken into the house. “You keep your hands lower to the ground and punt the ball when it rushes to your direction!”

“That does sound really fun! Is daily life alright with you guys then?”

“Angie is taking Hoshi to therapy sessions and he’s making good progress to quit smoking! Tenko does her best to look for volunteer week outside, and soon Angie would love to join them as well!”

Ouma observes the minute details of everyone’s countenances. They are all changing every time he lays eyes on them, but not once do they look remotely sad or anything resembling brokenness.

“… Anyone else wanna share? Ouma-kun?”

Kiibo’s robotically cheerful inflection brings Ouma’s consciousness back onto the surface. Now everyone’s faithless eyes rubberneck him.

What do they see? Something they hate? Something they could tolerate?

“Of course I have everything to share, unlike you heathens who have nothing better to do in your life other than wasting out the rest of your lives!” Ouma does a fancy pirouette and musters up the most humane gait he could to get to Saihara. “The supreme leader is not just a rusty title! I do everything with gusto and the moxie only someone like me has!”

“If that’s so, Idiotma, you wanna tell everyone about how courageously you go and collect your toys from the ever-dangerous gacha machine?” Iruma’s cackle precedes what might be the most embarrassing moment in Ouma’s short life; with the click of a remote, the room darkens and a screen lights up, with said gacha game showing up in full view for everyone.

Ouma makes a mental memo to tighten up Iruma’s choker and makes the choker actually do its job in the not-too-distant future.

“Oh, so Kokichi does have some sort of gusto and moxie to collect things like that!” Angie instantly rolls with Iruma’s action, hands clasped together like a worshipper who had first witnessed a miracle done by God. Or in this case, by an all-around horrible person. What’s worst, Angie actually goes up and surveys the toys shown on the screen, and some of the others follow suit.

“You… Iruma-chan! Have you considered that while you have my collection in your grips, I also have your collection of erotica in my grips!” The mask slips comfortably onto Ouma’s chassis. “You really think none of us could see those gross books you have on your table all the time? Too bad, while you were setting my phone up, I studied your gross books and took them away!”

Iruma’s face falls faster than a drop tower going awry with no speed restraint. “Hey! What do you mean I own lewd stupid stuff like that! That’s just a lie of yours, right!”

“I am not! A good boy like me never lies! I have leverage against you now, so I’ll suggest handing my phone back!”

“Never! I cannot just stand here and let you slander my name! Now listen, you little twink—”

“Knock it off, both of you.” Toujou gently pushes both away from one another. It feels almost just like any other day in their household, if not for the uproarious laughter going off in the background like fireworks. His lungs getting just a bit easier to breathe, Ouma smiles. A smile he cannot hide and does not want to hide.

“Tch, Twinkma, here’s your stupid phone back.” Iruma pulls Ouma’s violet-shelled phone and hands it back to him. Ouma immediately opens the game and scrolls through his entire catalog of toys before remembering that toys cannot be sold or deleted in any way, and heaves a sigh of relief.

The fireworks gradually ebb into sparkles, and Saihara takes the lead again. “Hm, so, Ouma-kun, you wanna share anything else? Out of your own volition, of course.”

“As a matter of fact, I do!” Ouma points at Iruma yet again. “Iruma-chan loves baying like a hyena every day before breakfast, and it is really really annoying!”

“Hey! I gave you your phone back already, stop slandering me like that!”

“I’m not lying though, you’d know that, Iruma-chan! Sometimes the baying sounds a bit lower, and I think that means it’s mating season to attract better—”

Iruma slams a hand up to Ouma’s face desperately, but Ouma dodges out of the way before Iruma could get anywhere close. Toujou sighs deeply again upon realizing the two are at their throats once again. “Please. I believe you two have a better mode of interactions. Both of you can do better. Otherwise, either of you would be dead already.”

“Toujou-chan, you did forget to remark on the fact that you, me and Hyena-chan have died before though.”

Angie stops jouncing around. Iruma’s eyes ashen and widen. Everyone puts shocked cups down.

The sights are so much more than a verbal declaration of detestation, so much more deafening.

Even Kiibo needs to take this comment in for a few seconds before he could say anything. “So. Does anyone else want to?…”

“Well, not me.” Iruma pushes herself away from Ouma. “Preferably, I’ll go find a pillow to bay like hyena into. It’s mating season.” With that said, she quickly disappears up the ladders, but everyone could see stray tears spilling from the crevices between her eyes and arm.

Toujou looks back at Ouma, then to the staircase creaking with Iruma’s pounding steps, and quietly excuses herself as well.

“Well,” Ouma chokes back the scalding sobs threatening to erupt inside him (those are not sobs, obviously, they are only crocodile’s tears, you can only cry those tears), and along with those all the lies, lies, lies. “I think it really is best if we can just disappear off the face of this Earth and never come back.”

“You know, if you don’t have anything good and comforting to say, Tenko—I think you should shut it, Ouma.”

“Tenko-chan, you know, your lies are very very easy to detect. You could just say it out loud.”

Tenko’s face flushes up. “Ten—I just don’t think you should say anything more when your brain is empty and can’t find any emotion to stuff in there.”

“That’s fair. I never want to speak to any of you anyway—or is that a lie?” There is a crack in the smile, and Ouma imagines it is not pretty to look at.

“Nah, I bet that isn’t a lie, and I don’t need my magic to know that.” Himiko says, then adds air quote gestures just to drive in the point that she is no longer the magician in Danganronpa.

“It could be just that Yumeno-chan is as dense as ever! Anyway, I think it’s pretty unfair that I have to share more when most of you didn’t say anything at all? Anyone else wanna share and make Saihara-chan and Kiiboy happy?”

Nary a susurrus or shift can be detected, until Maki stands up. “I have enough. I don’t want to do this fake-ass group therapy thing anymore.”

“Oh, so you’re just going to disappoint Saihara-chan like that, Harukawa-chan?”

When Maki looks back at her, the flames in her eyes have long cooled into embers. And yet, Ouma can’t imagine a universe where Maki is not staring at him with murder in her eyes. “I’m just tired of all this. I’m tired of everything any of you try to concoct, and especially you, Ouma. So yeah, I’m going to just leave. Momota, if you try to follow me I’ll beat your pathetic ass up. My bat-swinging skills haven’t gotten that rusty.”

“Tch, Harumaki, can’t you just?…” Momota casts another frustrated look towards Ouma, then follows Maki out of the house. The resounding thud of the closing door kills the suspense altogether and Saihara coughs to clear his throat.

“Well then,” He stands up, his fruit punch forgotten on the table. “let’s meet another time when everyone feels up to it again. Or if they don’t ever want to talk, just meeting up is good enough too, I suppose. Thank you for coming, guys.”

⁕

“I’m glad I get to move in with you guys,” Saihara is unpacking a box of novels, putting them all onto a black bookshelf while Ouma is lying on the bed with his phone. His fingers vacillate between the web browser with the forum tab and the gacha machine game. “it’s always a pleasure to see you guys more instead of moving out on my own. That would be really bad.”

“It can’t be any worse with us, Saihara-chan, I mean I’m here to take care of you! So your decision is absolutely right.” Ouma presses on the browser and watches as hundreds of slandering comments pop up below the thread after he forgot to update for a week. He moves to delete all of them.

“That’s true. I don’t mind moving in with anyone in particular, but Toujou-san is really reliable and Iruma-san does bring this house some joy in her own ways, not to mention Kiibo-kun is mainly with us too.”

Ouma throws down the phone with a pout ready. “Saihara-chan! It’s great to hear that apparently, my presence doesn’t mean anything at all! As the supreme leader, I request you to get out until you recognize my reign, which is the only thing that is holding us all together!”

“Yes, you are absolutely right too, Ouma-kun.” Saihara steps away from the bookshelf and sits down on the bed next to Ouma. Ouma consciously moves a few inches further away. “Having you here feels nice too, especially because…”

“Because…”

Saihara looks out towards the window, seemingly at a loss for words. “To be honest, I can’t really pinpoint a particular reason why I think your company is comforting and something I prefer. But I just do. Having you here really feels nice, almost like home in some ways.”

“That’s flattery you reserve for girls and boys outside of the killing game, Saihara-chan. No such thing as feeling like home with us.”

Saihara lies down. “No such thing as feeling like home with you guys? Ouma-kun, the sixteen of us survived a mutual killing game. I think that’s about as bonding as it gets. Fire-forged friends, if you will.”

“As if! Saihara-chan, you aren’t blind, you can definitely see that everyone currently hates my guts, and Shirogane-chan is still so hated that she has to decline coming today. And let’s not even start with Akamatsu-chan.”

Ouma waits for Saihara’s fuse to burn and snap into a million splinters in the form of libels and tirades and leaving this house forever, but the fuse holds tight with a smile. “I think it’s unfair to assume so simply that they cannot change though, Ouma-kun. We all have more capacity for change in us if we just try. I’m sure someday they will turn around.”

Ouma opens his mouth to argue, only to realize all the words about to slip off his tongue are traitors to his mind and heart. So he shuts it, lies down just a little bit closer to Saihara, feeling up the little warmth he gives off in the close distance.

“Hey, Saihara-chan?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you ever think we can recover from this? Who will we be in the future? The we from the game, or the we from before? Or somebody in-between?”

Saihara tilts his head towards Ouma. “Ouma-kun… Does it matter, really, who we will be right now? There’s no real clear line between who we are. I know this whole memory retrieval procedures still carry fuzzy effects on you, but—”

“Saihara-chan,” Ouma will lose himself after this. “I did not get my old memories back.”

The fuse melts off slowly; so this is what becomes of it instead of the explosive end Ouma predicted. “You don’t. You don’t remember?”

“Yeah, I’m not getting them back, those rusty useless memories. Everyone prefers me as I am now, right? So why bother?” (Now you’re just telling lies for the sake of telling lies) “Why remember the obsolete me?”

Watching that radiance and smile freeze into paralysis is more painful than Ouma has thought, not that he would mind (of course you don’t mind, please keep up the lies we are all thrilled to hear them) “Obsolete? You think your past is obsolete?”

“That’s only a fact here, Saihara-chan.”

“Do you remember all the stories I have told you?”

A part of Ouma nearly switches on. “Stories?”

“All the stories I used to tell you before I gave up on being a writer, do you remember them?”

At that, Saihara starts peddling off congeries after congeries of his story ideas, but Ouma remains static, both his mind and heart and takes in all of them without a second thought, without any input of his own.

Saihara is gradually reduced to tears. “You… Don’t remember anything?”

“Saihara-cha—Saihara,” Ouma gets up and draws himself further away from him, further away from Saihara. “tell me, tell me yourself. Why should I get them back? Because everyone else is? Because this would magically make me more agreeable?” He grits his teeth then, as if that would make these words true. “I’m sorry for making this decision, but there isn’t a version of me that’s agreeable or good for anyone. So this is how I have remained. Better to be what everyone already knows than somebody else entirely.”

“There is a universe where you are agreeable and that’s the you from before.”

“And do you really think I can just abandon everything I have done in the game to be that me again?” Ouma gets up in a fit, looking down at Saihara’s petrified expression. “I can’t. I’m sorry I’m not that me from before or want to be that me anymore, because there’s only the me now. There’s no going back and there’s no returning from.”

Saihara remains silent. Ouma takes that as his cue to exit.

⁕

Ouma is filling up the forms when Shirogane appears in front of him.

“Oh, Ouma-kun? Why are you here?”

“What I am here doesn’t seem to be your business.”

Shirogane narrows her eyes, surveying Ouma in all his checkers-patterned attire glory again. “Perhaps I really have misjudged your disposition. You want your memories back just like everyone else, right? That’s understandable, you aren’t some intern like me who have to go through more and therefore can’t—”

“I’m not here to get back any more memories.” (what have they done for me anyway? what are memories? proof that i exist?) Ouma fills in his name, then moves onto the home address section. It just occurs to him that he doesn’t remember where his “home” really is. “And for the last time, stop pestering me.”

Shirogane fake-pouts (Ouma of all people would recognize that) and walks off mock-casually out of the waiting room.

Ouma’s eyes unintentionally gaze up at the header of the form yet again. Memory Erasure Procedures for Traumatized Participants. It seems hilarious, as if the form indicates that only some participants are traumatized enough to want to forget. As if not all of them are traumatized.

“478. Ouma Kokichi. Ouma Kokichi. Please head to room 14 for your appointment .”

Ouma heads in and is promptly faced with a thickly-spectacled nondescript doctor, one that is just like any other in this bloody headquarters of the producers.

“So, before we can proceed with this series of procedures, it is necessary for you to fill in this questionnaire before we can decide if the procedures fit you.”

Ouma takes the questionnaire and reads.

Can you provide a valid reason why you must go through these procedures?

Is there a possibility of abuse? Will you regret this ultimately?

Ouma skims through the entire thing and tears the paper into pieces.

“Hey, that doesn’t fit our pro—”

“I cannot and will not give two flying fucks about your procedures, mister.” Ouma produces more than twenty banknotes out of his pockets and places them right in front of the doctor. “Either you get me into those erasure head gears and finally wipe all these bullshit memories out of me, or I’m just going to leave this wretched place.”

The doctor casts a skeptical look at him, but they don’t argue any further and pockets the cash. “Do you have a preferred time to carry out the procedures?”

⁕

Ouma pockets the confirmation slip and walks back home. Around this time, Toujou would have been finished with her barista job, and Iruma should be somewhere upstairs carrying out whatever weird experiments she had in mind. Saihara could be in any corner of the house.

Ouma opens the door and Saihara pulls him in.

“Wait wh—” Before Ouma can properly process what is happening, Saihara digs deep into his pockets and scoops out the one thing he never wants Saihara to take possession of.

“Are you going to explain this?”

Ouma forcefully puts on his mask. “Oh, that’s just my backbone surgery paper, Saihara-chan may not know but my back has been hurting like—”

“This is your memory erasure surgery papers, right?”

Ouma does a double take. He didn’t use the house’s landline for the appointment. He didn’t use the computer to send any consultation email.

“I know because Kiibo-kun watches you looking for the Team’s hotline and calling them while everyone else’s out.”

“Well, well, well, Saihara-chan has once again become such a good detective, I’m impressed! And—”

“Ouma, be honest with me once.” Saihara takes a broad step towards Ouma, and Ouma instinctually takes a step back closer to the wall. Upon seeing that, Saihara takes a step back. “What were you trying to do?”

“Nothing! I just realized that taking all these memories along with me while I try to dominate the world will only create obstacles, so I’m making a move to—”

“Your real reasons. Not more lies.” Saihara detaches himself from the wall, leaving a convenient opening for Ouma to run. “Please. I trust you. Please.”

“Trust me? Saihara-chan, you trust a liar like me?”

Saihara swallows hard, but his eyes are not filled with uncertainty. In fact, they have definitely softened somewhat. “I trust you no matter what.”

Ouma takes in his surroundings; the dark house obviously not holding Iruma or Toujou, who might be on his side on a good day, and while Saihara did not do anything more, he is still in front of him and demanding an answer, a truth.

wanting to know an answer, a truth.

“… Once upon a time, I didn’t live in this world.”

Ouma expects another accusation of him lying, but Saihara stays silent, the haze of sadness in his eyes clearing a bit.

“Once upon a time, I am not a supreme leader or live in a TV show to entertain everyone.” Ouma continues. “Once upon a time, I was nothing. Then I came to Danganronpa as a villain.

“A villain of lies who challenges everyone and is rightfully punished at every turn for it. But then it turns out I am not the proper villain and then I am easily vanquished and returned to reality.

“I wonder about my purpose… Everyone else is informed the option to become the nothing they used to be, but I abandoned the choice. I was nothing and so the villain inside of me is all that I still have. I cannot lose it.

“The us now… I am surrounded by the everyone that wants to forget this has happened, despite their promises to stay friends with one another. I cannot tolerate that, but I have no power to overturn it. So, I will remain the one crux of remembrance towards this game. By doing that, I must not fear everyone, I must not continue indulging everyone in their routine of forgetting.

“But I failed. Don’t you see? You may argue it is a one-off occurrence… But it is not that simple. I know that in my bones. I know that as clearly as I know everyone carries a burning hatred towards me except you. My existence no longer carries any meaning beyond as an object of hatred for everyone else and a burden for you and Iruma-chan and Toujou-chan and Kiiboy.

“And thus, I must erase myself, and once again return genuine balance to these people. To this whole world.

“There’s no moral to this story,” Ouma sputters out from loose lips, his frisson increasingly violent and frequent. “it’s just my sto―story and I hope I haven’t wasted too much of your time.”

Saihara takes up Ouma’s hand unwarned, gently dragging him to the sofa in the hall. “Does it make the fact that we are still alive any less impressive though?”

“Anyone else being alive is impressive,” except me, Ouma keeps in those words. But his power of will is not any more powerful than the need to speak them out, so Ouma buries his face into his hands, clawing into the delicate skin that barely keeps in every phantom inside his body. “anyone has a chance to walk a path they believe in. That’s a lie of course. W―Were you, you expecting,” the words splinter and disintegrate into dust before they could come out. “some―something,”

Saihara places his right hand on Ouma’s shoulders, then gradually drags Ouma into an embrace. Ouma starts bawling then, hot tears scorching every inch of his skin, threatening to spill and drag tracks onto the ground.

“Ouma… We all have a story, I believe, and yours is no less important than the rest of us. And the story is far from over.” Saihara tentatively pats on Ouma’s head, reaching for a tissue paper and hands it to Ouma.

“Every story has to have dark chapters before a good ending can be reached. The villain gets the hero’s loved ones, someone the hero considered a friend betrays them… But after the hero gets their loved ones back, and the friend sacrifices themself for the hero and is redeemed, the good ending comes. Or a good interlude. That’s nice too.”

“Then,” Ouma starts wiping his eyes, all raw red from crying too much and being rubbed too much. “what is the moral? Sometimes the hero is the villain?”

“There’s no need for a moral to make a story worth reading and hearing, right?” Saihara softly presses a kiss onto Ouma’s forehead. “What it means to the storyteller and the audience differ, and it’s up to us to give meaning. But if you ask me the moral of this particular story,” Saihara, at last, grips Ouma’s right hand tightly. “I think it’s that everyone deserves a second chance and a chance to be happy.”

#saiouma #ndrv3 #kokichi ouma #shuuichi saihara #miu iruma #kirumi toujou #submission

[andystanberg]

Gonna Take Ya (Away From Harm)

Word Count: 2340

Genre: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort

Warnings: crying, parents yelling at their kids, emotionally abusive parents (not sure about this one, but just in case)

Summary:

Dan has a shitty night and Phil makes it better. Set in 2009, sometime before October.

A/N I’ll be getting busier throughout the next few weeks, but I’ll try to keep fics consistent.

Dan tries to pretend like it doesn’t bother him when his parents start making ever so subtly snide comments about his relatives. He doesn’t quite understand why they would – the relatives in question all seem nice enough, but apparently not.

Even so, what his parents are saying shouldn’t affect him like that. Yet it does. Dan knows that it has nothing to do with him but at the same time… He’s all too familiar with the insult-that-could-pass-as-a-joke routine. His family – both immediate and distant – enjoyed talking about him as if he wasn’t there. Dan gets it; he’s lazy, has gotten fired for his own stupidity at all jobs he has ever worked at and to top it all off, he has recently dumped his girlfriend of three years. His parents are under the impression that she dumped him. (He doesn’t say anything, just sits there as they joke about it.)

Most of the time he fades into the background during family events. He understands that he’s a pretty easy target. That doesn’t make it hurt any less though.

Instead of saying anything in defence, like he knows he should, Dan casts his eyes downward and grips his fork tighter. The conversation quickly moves on and he almost forgets it. He almost lets himself believe that nothing else will go wrong tonight.

-

Dan races to his room, fighting the urge to slam his door shut, because he knows it’ll only make things worse. He’s about to cry, he can feel it, but he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t like the fact that he’s going to cry over the stupid shit his family says. He doesn’t like that he’s proving his parents’ “too sensitive” argument they bring up every time he has the audacity to not like being yelled at.

Most of all, he doesn’t like crying. His mum might see, and he knows she’ll come in if she does and tell him to toughen up – obviously more sugar coated – in a soothing voice and he’ll accept. That’s just what he does. So instead of going out and pretending that he’s fine, Dan wraps his blankets around him tighter, furiously wipes his tears that have just started and closes his eyes. He hears his parents having fun and joking around outside, unaware that he’s currently bawling over how much of a disappointment he is to them. He chucks a pillow over his head for good measure.

-

The next thing he knows is that he’s waking up at 1am in uncomfortable jeans and a sweaty shirt.

He immediately shuffles out of them, chucks the offending articles of clothing somewhere in his room and tries to sleep. Surprise, he doesn’t.

After a few more minutes of tossing and turning, Dan gives in and pulls out his laptop from where it is under his bed and turns it on. It’s there in case he steps on it, which he has never done. (It’s actually there because his dad got mad at him for leaving it lying around and yelled at him until he moved it.)

He chews his lip while it takes forever to boot up. Every part of his body is screaming to call Phil, to hear his voice. Dan can’t do that, though. He has a feeling that as soon as Phil asks what’s wrong – and he will – Dan will break down. He can’t have that. Not now, not over his family, not in front of Phil.

The Windows loading thing that Dan never learnt the name over is replaced by his desktop background, which is most certainly not a screenshot of Phil that he captured during one of their Skype sessions. He frowns and weighs the pros and cons of calling as his mouse hovers over the Skype logo. All it takes is the memory of the disaster dinner filling the silent house for him to open it up.

Unsurprisingly, Phil’s offline. It is 1am after all, what did Dan even expect? He doesn’t know why, but this crushes him. It makes everything seem a billion times worse. He just wants to see Phil’s smile, to hear his voice. He just wants Phil to tell him everything will be okay.

Dan’s trying not to sob again. He’s tired and emotional and has no impulse control, so he sends Phil a text via his phone. He chucks the phone away a few seconds later, knowing that there’s no point staring at it and waiting for an answer. He jumps and barely stops a scream when a loud ding rings throughout the room.

(He swears that he didn’t scramble across his room to get his phone and fall off his bed in an ungraceful pile of blankets.)

DAN – 1:12am hey, you up?

PHIL – 1:15am Took a while, but I am now! Are you alright? <3

Dan almost started crying again. Phil picked up on his mood straight away. Okay, maybe texting someone at 1am was a dead giveaway that everything was most certainly not fine, but Dan couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming rush of gratitude to his best friend.

DAN – 1:15am yeah

DAN – 1:15am it’s just, sometimes i can actually convince myself that people care

PHIL – 1:15am I care :(

DAN – 1:16am

i know, i know. i know that people care, but then a night like this happens and i can’t even imagine that anybody would care if i died.

PHIL – 1:18am Dan, answer my calls. Or at least skype me <3

DAN – 1:18am can’t, sorry…

PHIL – 1:19am Why not? What happened? Are you sure you’re okay????

DAN – 1:21am …i swear i’m physically okay

PHIL – 1:21am ?

DAN – 1:21am i’m a sobbing mess right now

PHIL – 1:21am Why? :(

DAN – 1:23am idk, i’m just so upset phil. it’s like nothing i ever do is good enough for them and idk… said that twice oops

DAN – 1:24am also the other reason we can’t skype is because everyone’s asleep and i don’t want to wake them up. my dad would probably barge in and start yelling at me again >_<

PHIL – 1:24am He yelled at you?!

DAN – 1:26am don’t worry i was just being stupid and spilt water everywhere while i was trying to clear the table. i fuckup everything haha

PHIL – 1:26am You’re not stupid! None of that’s your fault and don’t you dare say you’re a fuckup ever again.

DAN – 1:30am i know, i think. get this though – i completely forgot about the mess and putting away the leftovers (literally mostly what my job is lol) and went to my room to cry so he told my brother to tell me to “clean up the mess i made”

DAN – 1:31am like i’m so dumb dad actually had to tell my bro to tell me so i got the message O.o

PHIL – 1:32am Dan…

PHIL – 1:32am Can I please call you? <3

DAN – 1:33am …fine. on skype? no video tho soz <3

Dan switches off his phone with a sigh and looks back at his laptop. It’s an old one and after twenty minutes of being on, it’s whirring dangerously. Dan is pretty sure it’s not supposed to be doing that, but he wants nothing more in the world to see Phil right now, so he dismisses it. This time, when he checks Skype, there’s a green tick next to Phil’s contact. And a new message.

PHIL – 1:40am Am I still able to call?

Dan smiles. He loves the way Phil always makes sure he’s okay with stuff. His sleep-addled brain can’t really form words to express how it feels other than warm, but that’s okay, because he doesn’t need that right now. He needs Phil.

DAN – 1:40am please.

PHIL IS CALLING.

Dan takes a deep breath and rubs his eyes a final time. They’re still wet and he knows they’re red but he doesn’t care that much anymore. He accepts, making sure to turn off the camera.

“Hey, Dan!” Phil’s sleepy but somehow cheery voice chirps as the pixels that are supposed to resemble Phil take up Dan’s screen. Phil doesn’t have his light on, but his face is dimly lit from his own laptop. Dan wishes he could see more than black and grey chunks.

“H-hey,” he croaks out, then clears his throat. He’s so quiet that Dan’s not sure if Phil even heard him. He did.

The pixels move around a bit and suddenly everything is much brighter, making Dan squint. When he fully opens his eyes, he sees Phil frowning worriedly. He also sees the colourful bed sheets Dan has grown accustom to seeing, Phil’s toy lion and the edge of his wardrobe. The familiar scenery relaxes Dan and makes him feel at home.

“You okay?” Phil asks.

Dan knows that there’s no point in lying, because Phil knows him. He nods anyway. Then he realises that he doesn’t have video on and that he’s gotten used to video Skype calls with Phil. Dan sighs, contemplating whether or not to turn video on when he remembers that Phil asked him something.

“What?” Dan says dumbly, before recalling the question. “Oh- yeah, I’m fine.” He says it in such a resigned voice that there’s no way Phil will believe him now.

There’s an uncomfortable silence. Dan watches as Phil moves around on his bed a bit, then open his mouth only to shut it again. Phil does this quite a few times before he finally says anything.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Phil’s voice is gentle. Dan is half-tempted to. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but at the very least, could you turn on your video? Just so I know you’re okay.”

Dan knows that if he does turn on his camera, there’s no way he can tell Phil what happened without breaking down embarrassingly, and as he stated before, he most certainly did not want Phil to witness that.

He agrees and clicks on the camera button, not before messing around with his hair until he decides that nothing can be done about the curly mess on his head at the moment.

It takes a few seconds for his laptop and Skype to process the request. In those few seconds, Dan realises just how shitty he probably looks. He had fallen asleep crying and woken up forty minutes ago, his hair is a mess, his eyes are red and his cheeks are blotchy. He realises with horror that he’s also just in his boxers.

It’s too late for him to back out now because the box with the three, maybe four, pixels that are supposed to represent him is in the corner of the screen, meaning Phil can (kind of) see him.

“Hey,” Dan says lamely, then cringes because he’s already said that.

Phil shuffles closer to the screen. “Hello,” he grins, easing Dan’s nerves slightly. “I can’t really see you that much, can you turn on your light?”

Dan almost slaps himself in the forehead right then and there. Obviously Phil can’t see him. “Right, sorry, I’m such an idiot.” He forces a laugh as he reaches over and flicks the light switch. The bright light floods the room immediately, making Dan blink.

Once he can actually focus on things without seeing spots dance across his vision, he turns back to Phil. Dan notices that he’s being uncharacteristically quiet, like he’s thinking about something. Dan doesn’t push it.

“Sorry about my lack of clothes. I fell asleep in the ones I wore today and felt gross when I woke up. I honestly forgot about it until now,” he rambles.

Phil laughs. “Right,” he grins, winking. Dan blushes.

“So, how was your day?” He cringes at how awkward and forced the question sounds.

“Pretty good. My brother visited and my parents took me and him out to some fancy restaurant. Although, it did end up in us getting kicked out.” Phil laughs again, making Dan crack a smile.

“How’d you manage that?” He asks, incredulous.

“Well, it started with us seeing a goose dish on the menu...” Phil continues his storytelling and soon, Dan forgets why they started the call in the first place.

-

It’s only when Dan starts to yawn do they realise how late/early it is. They had been talking for over three hours. It may not seem like a lot, but considering they had both woken up at one and it being roughly five now, they’re entitled to feel tired.

Phil offers to leave, but something in Dan’s expression convinces him to stay just a little longer.

“You know,” Phil says, out of the blue. Dan’s droopy eyes open slightly, so Phil knows he’s listening. “I’ve been thinking. We’ve known each other for a few months now and you’re like my best friend, so I was wondering if you’d like to come over sometime? I could buy the tickets if you didn’t have the money. You would also be able to escape your parents…” He trails off nervously.

“Mmm,” Dan mumbles, not really conscious enough to comprehend anything. His brain takes a while to process what he just heard, but as soon as it does, he’s suddenly wide awake. “Wait, are you serious?”

Phil nods while his hands fiddle with each other in his lap.

“Yes! That would be the best thing ever, I’d love to come to Manchester!” Dan’s smiling so wide it hurts, but he can’t bring himself to stop.

Phil lets out a relieved sigh. “Thank god. I thought you were going to say no.”

“I’d never,” Dan swears. He’s never been more honest about something in his life.

Phil smiles. “How about we talk about this in the morning? Well, later in the morning. You should get some sleep.”

“So should you.”

“Oh, hush.”

Dan’s the first to fall asleep. Phil admires how peaceful he looks for a few minutes before deciding that he should also go to bed. With a sigh, he ends the call and turns off his laptop, making a mental note to look into tickets to Manchester tomorrow.

A/N Got really emotional last week and started writing this. On a lighter note, I got out of first period halfway in and went to the doctor (dehydration, it was fine) yesterday so that was cool. (Pun not intended.)

#phanfiction #phanfic #phandom #phan #yikes the ending seems forced #whoops #people from school are trying to find my account again #they suck at it #now time for the tags to promote my stuff #fluff #angst #hurt/comfort #crying #emotional abuse #tw; emotional abuse #2009

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11/6/17, 4:00pm - Stories of a Wannabe Playboy Jerky Jerk

BIt’s hard to preface this entry without explaining why I’ve been gone so long.

I like to think that it’s simply because I write less when I’m staying busy and I’m happy with everything that’s going on. So my life must be pretty fantastic right now. But I’ve been kicking myself to get back into the groove of this and idk why I can’t. Maybe I’m too complacent? I know for damn sure it’s because I’ve gotten lazy as fuck. Well not lazy, but as an anime I’m watching called Nichijou puts it “peaceful.” My free days I’m laying around either happily getting an excess amount of sleep or binge watching another anime or visiting with friends. 

I could go back through my finances and my tweets and try to cover what happened day by day the past two months but that’s entirely too excessive and I think why I quit writing. It’s not creative enough? Or maybe just too mundane. But the entire reason I do this is to capture as much of my life as possible so I’ll be able to remember it later so I don’t really see how capturing the mundanity of it is a problem. I’d suppose it’s just another excuse to be lazy and just capture the highlights.

I don’t really know where to begin. Go backwards? Go forwards? 

I quit buying cigarettes again three weeks ago, been bumming them from people at bars, just bought a new pack today to smoke while I sit on the porch and chalk this out I don’t care if it takes hours or not. 

Ok so it’s a monday, I guess the first thing I want to write about is my past three monday+tuesdays. I’ve hung out with manu the past two weeks, drinking and playing the new south park game. Which was delightful and I’m glad me and manu finally beat a game again. On the mondays we’d stay at his place and on the tuesdays he’d come over to my place out here and weilin would hang out with us, we’d drink and play through as long as we could getting sleepy throughout the day hanging out. Tossed a frisbee around and talked a little about how life was going. Binge ate a fuckton of pizza and shit. Beautiful days. As was the monday before that, when weilin and I hung out. I had just gotten destroyed at the Arcadian this year, which was incredibly disappointing, so I wasn’t really feeling good about melee. Instead we went over to downtown greensboro and just walked around the city exploring. It was really fucking nice. Still going to board game nights intermittently, but september I was going to this tournament out in winston-salem instead because I was really trying to prepare hard. Shame that didn’t work out lol. My buddy marklar told me that maybe I put too much pressure on myself but I really feel like I need to hold myself to a higher standard or I’m not going to try to get any better. I’ll just idle in mediocrity. Which is very true I but I also can’t really imagine putting in the commitment to getting better.  My laptop is starting to break, the screen gets really fucked up lately and I have to smack it around to get it to work right. I want to get a real laptop instead of a chromebook so I can start playing games again. Maybe getting on a netplay grind would be how I get good. I don’t know. I don’t really like the thought of spending money though, since I’ve been doing really well at putting most of my income towards repairing my debt. As a checkup on that I still owe Weilin 8.25k, but I’m down to just 7.5k on my car now, which is kinda excellent. I’m in a much better spot than I was a year ago, that’s for sure. I had to buy a new phone and got the pixel, but dad gave me money for that and I’ve been procrastinating sending my old phone in until I can get the pictures off of it. But even that is a symbol of improvement because this is the first time in my life that I’ve been able to have a really New phone. Like new to everyone, not just to me. 

I think I’ve put on a little weight so I’ve been considering dieting again. Slightly considering. I really don’t care all that much. I went as scott pilgrim for halloween this year, and can compare myself now to how I looked four years ago. My hair even kind of looks the same (I finally cut off all the blonde and so now it’s kinda short brown again, but with a little bit of the yellow kinda dazzling the tips lol). I look a hell of a lot better. I’m getting way more action too lmao, but more on that later. I guess I’m pretty satisfied about who I am right now. Instead of feeling buried and crawling to get out I feel like I’m just jogging on a treadmill. I know I’m not really going anywhere but I’m also sort of making progress I suppose? I haven’t really been doing nearly as much melee this past month, my life is mostly work+going out drinking+anime bingeing and resting. Oh and I’ve consistently gone to karaoke on tuesdays, I’m a regular dive bar attendee lmao. It’s delightfully idle. Quit playing hearthstone and watching hearthstone streams and watching twitch almost completely so those are all good things. I’ll take fucktons of anime over that any day.

Speaking of anime let me write out all these shows I’ve watched.

Seen all the new rick and morty and south park, watched my hero academia, up to date on dragonball super, watching this new show Juni Taisen, watching all the new Shokugeki No Soma week to week, finally watched Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure and now I’ve started the seasons I accidentally skipped, watching Nichijou, watched all of Haikyu, almost restarted kuroko no basket, and I think that’s everything lmao. Watching new Shokugeki No Somas is particularly enjoyable because it reminds me that I’m being more true to myself than I was when I was just idling smoking a fuckton. Like it still embarrasses me when I met up with Kailey the one time and she asked me if I had seen any of the then new season 2 and I hadn’t even heard it came out. “I thought you’d be more excited” still stings a bit, not gonna lie.

But let me take a second to try to list out the most eventful days the past two months to see if I can get this on track and write about the more interesting shit.

1. Brian wedding, 2. date with Taylor, 3. Ashleigh’s Birthday, 4. Tizzlefest Party, 5. Arcadian+afterparty, 6. Lesbian pool bet, 7. Winston Salem Weird group sex night, 8. Maya prehalloween party, 9. Mary Shenanigans+halloween, 10. General becky update, 11. notes of neighbor girl and angie and katie

Ok wow. So I haven’t updated since September 1st huh? 

1. So Brian’s Wedding. Well I didn’t get into the groomsmen so I don’t have a full weekend, just the day of the wedding and that night, but I just had to write how spectacular it was to hang out with Brian Manu Maya Oliver and Christina, as well as Reyad and Alyx and everyone. Getting drunk and stuffing my face with barbecue. Finally burnt through the Jack Daniels bottle I bought for that date with Stephanie like a fucking year ago. Drank more and played some jackbox stuff with people at the groomsman house, played some pool, chatted around a little fire, it was so nice. And even got pangs of nostalgia for Coolidge when I was the last one awake playing Splatoon and manu and christina started having sex so loud I could hear it three rooms away. Fucking classic lmao. Went to Brian’s parents for breakfast the next day. His wife is a sweetie. Then idk I think I went home to watch shitty horror movies with Becky, pretty great.

2. This girl Taylor. The story starts with this smashbros 64 tournament at Boxcar that I went to with my buddy Lex. He’d been talking trash for weeks and I just fucking love that game so we planned on winning the whole thing. Did not go as planned, turns out there’s someone in gboro who Actually plays and he fucking destroyed. But I got third and won a free tshirt! pretty excellent, except that the first time I wore it out I got a grease stain or something on it and it’s sullied already. Fucking rip. But so at this tournament there was another event going on for this deaf group, and so Lex’s gf and her roommate Taylor were there. I’m my normal flirty self when I meet her, and even though I didn’t Think I was hitting on her or anything when she walks away Lex tells me “just to let ya know, she’s actually a lesbian.” and I’m like ah well I wasn’t even really trying but w.e. But I keep chatting with her about movies and such and she’s like overly happy to talk to me and laughs loud at my jokes and shit so I’m kinda picking up on something. I ended up asking for her number before I left for the night, she gave it to me and I commended myself on being the ultimate victor of the evening. Texted lex something like “you Sure she’s not at least bi because I totally just got her number.” Lmfao. Anyway, we were originally talking about having a date going out to bars and doing karaoke or something but instead she just invited me over to her place to chill and drink. Perfect, I think. Not really, lex warns me, it’s probably going to be you and a bunch of dudes and my gf there because their apartment is a chill spot. Oh cool whatever, that’s fine too I think. So that date goes pretty exceptionally well. Her gay friends loved me because I’m bi and I laugh overly loud at their runway shows that they watch, and me and Taylor mostly made fun of them a fuckton for how they sucked at 2k. They all end up going to bed and Taylor’s talking about how everything went so well and how much she wants to go on a second date so I kiss her. And we made out. And I threw her up on the kitchen counter and onto the couch and we’re hardcore making out all over her apartment so I ask to just stay with her but she says no. Second date. I’m just whining like “but you have no idea how much I want to go down on you right now.” But she walks out to my car with me and we’re making out there and I did my stupid ass drunk thing where I start sliding my pants down like I’m a suave piece of shit and she laughs at me and says “you’re probably the type to want to have sex in public” and I’m like “that’s not fair that’s one of my kinks.” hit her with the “i had a vasectomy because I think the onus of birth control shouldn’t be on the woman” and she says something like “how do you know what to say to everything.” She crawls into the front seat of my car and sucks my dick a little, definitely one of the worse ones I’ve had in my life lmfao. I say we should go in the back seat and fool around so we do. It went awkwardly. I think I stuck my finger in her ass while I was going down on her and that probably didn’t help lmfaoooooo. I don’t think either of us got off and I asked her to at least suck me off a little more but she’s just like no. So I giggle and am just like allll righhhht, leaning against my car with my pants off shouting out “so when should I call you for that second date?” she says “like two days” or something. Here’s the catch. When we were making out on the side of my car she tells me that she doesn’t want to do anything because she’d actually never been with a guy before. I was like WOAH that makes so much sense. I don’t really want to push her into doing anything, but then I still went ahead and did all that like a fucking dummy.  I’m on top of the fucking world though, thinking that I have a new special notch in my belt for the lesbian girl who’s into me. I play one of the best tournaments I’ve ever played because I feel like I can’t fucking lose. I said something stupid as fuck in discord like “I think I just turned this 90-10 lesbian girl straight tonight.” But alas, it was not meant to be. She didn’t return my texts a few days later. Wouldn’t answer my calls. I left a voicemail apologizing because I realized she might’ve heard from lex about how I said that (She made me promise to “not do any of that gross guy talk about tonight, please”). But I think now what happened was that she just wasn’t really attracted to me as much as she thought she was because it’s exactly like how when I made out with that guy josh and wasn’t really feeling it like even a little bit the next day. Or maybe I fucked up sticking a finger in her ass. Who knows, really. She won’t tell me lmfao. So that beat me up a little bit. Quick trip back down to earth lol. So it goes. Really I think it’s for the best because I don’t want to be her first because I’ve technically sworn off virgins lmao plus I feel like it would just totally have fucked up her whole perspective of guys if she found out I was also seeing someone else. But I might have dropped becky for her and been committed. She was really fucking cool, I would’ve loved drinking and playing 2k with her a ton. But maybe that’s all silly to even think about too. Relationships are dumb, people are dumb, and I’m the dumbest of them all hahahaha. Anyway she knew I was kind of a hoe, she said something like “you’re probably just used to easy girls.” and instead of confessing that I don’t really get that many girls and being more sensitive about it I said something like “well yknow I don’t really see people as ‘easy,’ because all anybody wants is to have a good time.” and she liked that too. But I just made myself out to be a total playboy jerky jerk lmfao. Def wasn’t the strat but maybe that’s actually who I am a little bit. Just a funny cute hoebag lol.

(5:05pm) 3. On that note, I had a great time at Ashleigh’s birthday party, hosted by the bar she works at, free beer for the night for all her guests. It was fucking sweeet. Just sippin on cheap beer hanging with my bud chris and aaron and ash and playing some beer pong. It was basically just another night out drinking, but I happened to run into my first greensboro hookup Brianna there. I introduced her to my friend chris, he asked how we knew each other and she playfully said oh he’s just a big hoe. So it kinda falls in the theme. Plus I decided that running into past hookups at your regular bar makes you an official townie, so I think I’m super at home in Greensboro now. Kinda wanna hit her up again sometime, but meh. She’s a strangeun. I guess all the girls I hook up with are, really. Strange people are the most interesting? Or maybe I think all people are just strange lol. 

4. Tizzlefest Party Ok so there was this big smash tournament house party, tizzle’s privileged tour 2 and I actually got off work so I could go drink with everyone. Second in dubz, smoked way too much weed and drank too many shots and got bopped in singles but it was hella fun. First time I got sicky drunk in a longgg time, I was like laying out on their brick porch for a long time lmao. (5:45, had to take a break lol) Played some beer pong and flip cup and mostly just hung out and talked to people, idk I got a little rekt and missed out on a lot. Tizzle’s got two 18yo twin sisters and even though me and my buddy rob were joking about having a threesome with them, I felt like more of a big brother status that night and didn’t even hit on them! Lmao you guys I’m not a total hoe bag i promise. It was a great night though, hung out with the one sister and her friend and my buddy flare most of the night. Stayed up til like 6 in the morning smoking and we had some tea and I finally crashed. After I woke up from being like comatose I didn’t really wanna hang and smash I mostly chilled joking around with these girls in their parents bed with like 6 people. Talking about fetishes and how the one can’t have an orgasm even though her bf’s dick is like 10 inches it was a funny night. Missed seeing some tits but like I said I don’t really care. Which is weird. Maybe it’s just because so many other guys were barking up their tree that I didn’t really feel like it? Or maybe 18 just really is too young for me now. Idk idk idk. Oh wait maybe it’s because they both knew me as “the shirtless guy” from my and tizzle’s mm last year llmfaooooooooo. Kinda would’ve shot any attempts to get with them in the foot for sure. Got super out drunk by my buddy rob though. we were supposed to try to go shot for shot and I had 5 before I finished playing in bracket, but when I got off the sticks he already had 21 i was like what in the fuckkkk. he ended up puking a few times and passing out and coming back and ended up with like 32 or some nonsense. Excited for the next one for sure though.

5. Arcadian I don’t really have too much to say about. It was hard to fall asleep after work because I was too excited. showed up pseudo rested and got fucking wobbled by this ICs first round and then lost to this samus I haven’t beaten going 1-2 felt really bad. Drank a whole lot and was shouting about traps and shit while I watched clem body everyone and take the win. Pretty proud of him tbh, it’s nice to see people who I started playing with do well but also really frustrating. Anyway what was great about that night was my raleigh crew actually stayed at my place in gboro for once. We got fucking lit and made tacos, it was wonderful. Then we went to smith street diner in the morning and had a dank ass breakfast, I had this deliccccious pork. God I love pork belly so much that taste is the fucking best. 

6. Ok so there’s this one night I went drinking with Aaron on a wednesday to this bar next to geeksboro. We drink a little and he’s like showing me how to play pool since he’s way better than me but there are these two girls playing next to us. I think I ended up saying hey and we all start talking smack about who would win. They wanna bet money but we don’t wanna take their money so we bet shots. The one is like 40 and she’s all about it, but the other is my age and she says that won’t work for her bc she’s trying to stay sober. On a whim she says alright well if we win we get to peg you in the ass. Instantly I’m like SOLD. First of all because I had confidence in Aaron and myself, but also because getting taken home by two lesbians sounds fucking hilarious. Pegging is gonna be the new eating ass for 2018 i swear. We ended up beating them, Aaron made me hit the 8ball so I saved my own ass, and we made a whole bunch of jokes about how he saved my ass and how I’m pretty clutch when my ass is on the line, good times. The 40 year old chick was fucking crazy though lmao humping me on the pool table and she ended up taking her shirt off, i think she wanted me to go home with them still but passed to go with aaron home to do somethingorother. Ended up giving my number to the other girl, we had had a nice talk on the porch about how I had fucked up with Taylor and about how she was kind of in a semiabusive relationship with that chick and she ended up texting me the next day but I haven’t heard from her since. She lives in Winston maybe I’ll hit her up one day. I just remember her long black hair and tight leather pants lol. Pretty fyne. But just a passing acquaintance.

7. Ok so like 3 weeks ago I don’t have work on a friday night so I’m chilling at home bingeing Haikyu. I decide I don’t really want to go out and if becky hits me up that’s cool because she’s out drinking with her friends. Becky asks me if I’m up to anything at like 1:30 in the morning and I’m like nah you wanna come over, and she passes out lol. So I’m still just hanging out watching anime when I get a message at 3:30 in the fucking morning from this guy I met at one of the winston monday tournaments. He says he’s over at his gf’s place at this all girls college and says her roommate’s looking for some male company. I’m like huwhaaaaaa. He gets her on fb video with me and she basically says “yeah I haven’t really been drinking in a bit, i’m just bored and horny now. So if you make it over here asap you have my explicit permission to fuck the shit out of me.” I’m like holy fucking shit wow. I knew she was gonna be a little chubby but I couldn’t bring myself to pass it up because i’m a fucking hoe and I thought it was hilarious that I was solicited for sex by a stranger at 3:30 in the morning. So I showered off real quick and sped the fuck over there. Weird ass night. They were locked out so his gf has to jump down this pit to get into the building and fucks up her foot, I attend to that medically, drink the last bit of my south carolinian everclear to make this all less weird, and have group sex with them basically. Got my cock stroked by two girls at the same time, we both had sex on this couch, fucked around with her for like a half hour, but I’m not gonna lie I was really struggling to stay hard. Fatties only make me think of work and diseases and stuff now hahahaha. Doesn’t matter, had sex. Now I have her as a booty call if I’m really desperate but not really lookin to do that again tbh.

8. Maya invited me to a halloween party at her place the weekend before halloween, and I tried to ask off work but couldn’t get the day off because my boss had patients scheduled three weeks in advance. I was like damn, but when I asked for my schedule that week it turned out that patient cancelled! So I got to go out to visit Maya and had a sweet night drinking and playing beer pong with manu christina pacos and rianne her roommate. Didn’t get too sloppy but was doing shots all night having a good time, maya showed me her apartment and her room and stuff she’s living in a pretty sweet spot. oh and remet a bunch of maya’s friends who I fucking forgot the names of againnnn dammit. Had a nice little moment chilling with pacos and christina on the couch catching up about stuff, talking about anal and all sorts of sexy weirdness lmao. Poor pacos’s dad though, such a shame about his condition. Lmao Christina and Manu disappeared at one point and pacos was like worried they left him there, so we walk around the house, check their car, check my car, couldn’t find them anywhere. Go back into the party and I’m like “oh my god I have an idea hold on stay here.” did what I would do and walked out the front door and immediately a few steps to the right and sure enough there they were fucking on top of an AC unit hahahaha. Manu was saying her back was scratched to fuck from that thing. Also I can’t remember what it was called but we were drinking this mix of bourbon and like spices that was really delicious.  Most of the girls there were kinda busted so I didn’t really flirt around and didn’t think anything would happen with her roommate, but as the night was winding down and I was helping them clean up a bit she started saying things like “damn I just wanted to fuck tonight.” and asked maya like four times “doesn’t he kinda look like that last guy I was hooking up with?” Made some moves and ended up having sex with her. It was phenomenal sex, too. Yknow that drunk sex where you just power through until you’re like on the brink of collapse because you’ve been fucking for like an hour straight? Holy shit, spent my whole refraction period (which wasn’t too too long) with her on my face. That second nut where you really have to give it your all is my shitttt. Lol trying to get my stuff in the morning was such a problem i couldn’t find shit like had to keep waking her up to find my wallet I hope she isn’t frustrated about that. Took Maya to the airport and jammed out to some My Chemical Romance, was great.

9. So this girl Mary. She’s another regular at my karaoke dive bar, and sept 20 (thanks, twitter) we start chatting a bunch and decide to sing some songs together. It was like the week after I had been jokingly hitting on her married stepsister, maybe I got a good word from her or something. But so I put my arm around her casually at the bar and my buddy zach says something like “if you touch her like that again I’ll fucking kill you.” So I tweeted out fucking challenge accepted hahahaha. So later that night she says like “hey I know this is a little forward or weird but do you want to go out sometime?” and I’m like “of course!” we plan out some picnic with sandwiches and make out a bunch at the bar. Then we’ve been snapchatting a whole lot since but never got around to the date because we’re both busy with whatever, she has a new normie job so our schedules don’t match up much. But on halloween we’re both at the bar, I’m hanging with aaron and ash and chris and the gang, and end up taking her home. She’s making me like a turkey sandwich and I notice her dad dressed like Jerry Garcia on the fridge. The Craziest shit is it turns out that she had the same kind of childhood I did where she went around the country going to dead and phish shows too, she even knew what fucking rainbow gathering was. I was talking about selling crystals in the parking lot and she was like same but grilled cheeses. So fucking weird I like her a lot now lol, even more than when we just talked about cartoons we were watching. And she’s pretty voracious too lol we had sex twice that night and twice in the morning. ANND she’s a squirter. Which is fucking neato. Always nice to know when you’re getting them off hahahaha. Dunno when we’re gonna hang out again but maybe soon? idk I’m not really trying hard at anything these days.

10. So that brings us to Becky. The past two months have been really cool. We hang out like every sunday, watch a bunch of shitty horror movies, binge watched stranger things 2 together, we usually have a bunch of sex. But things have been slightly falling off on the passion side I guess? idk she’s always been a little too passive for me. And I’m not as up for fucking up my sleep schedule to go to j club and learn japanese so idk. Lazy. We went to a cat cafe with her friend this weekend and didn’t hook up for the first time so maybe I’ll let things die off with her. But she also had to talk to her parents about how she’s taking another semester so maybe she was just stressed. I remember like the third time we hung out after we fucked she just says “god, I’ve been looking forward to that all week.” Made my day hahahaha. She’s really cool but we’ve been seeing each other so long it kinda makes me worry about the status of our relationship, but I think hopefully we’re on the same page that we’re still just friends with benefits. Hopefully. Kinda on a don’t ask don’t tell kinda deal with that though I’d rather not talk about feelings since I’m in a unique position of not having them for once. Very strange considering how until now I’ve still been the ‘serially monogamous’ type. But Becky’s cool I like her a lot too. Just definitely wouldn’t be able to commit to her I don’t think.

11. last, my neighbor finally hit me up to hang out. But she did it on a friday night when I had work so that sucks. Glad to know she didn’t just ghost me though. And Angie hit me up in september. I told her that I was kindasorta seeing becky to be courteous and we talk about life a little bit and she said that I’m “one of the good ones.” I like to hold onto compliments like that. I texted her a bit when I was at maya’s party too, she’s kindasorta seeing some guy too, so I’m not gonna try to rekindle anything with her I don’t think. And Katie I don’t really have anything to say about I just figured I’d mention her because she’s liked a fuckton of my tweets and every instagram pic I’ve posted lately even though she has that cute baby boyfriend of hers now. Just interesting.

So those are my playboy wanna be jerky jerk stories. Embraced becoming a regular Scott Pilgrim. Super satisfied about everything in my life, and happy about just about everything. Still lazy as fuck and not doing too much of anything but life is so good right now. Hope I didn’t forget any cool stories and probably could have gone into more detail but this is long as fucking enough.

It’s 6:30 now I’ve spent long enough writing. Til next time lol.