Dec 14, 2023
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Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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“Not even if I was the last person, ha?” he asked out loud for no reason. “We shall see about that…!” his laugher became hysterical.
The game was far from finished. Oh, so far. Shuichi was a fool if he really thought that cute outburst was enough to stop him! HIM! Ah!
Kokichi was a life cheater, what was a little set back compared to the thrill of the game?
He looked up at the sky and took another long breath. Then, with not a single concern in the world he let himself fall backward.
Ready to start a new game.
Concept: a fic where Akechi is still in the ship when it sinks and instead of dying inside/being forced out into reality, he ends up somewhere in the middle?
Akira sees his “ghost” in Leblanc, or the train station, or the cafe they went on a not-date at once. Places that connected the two of them, and now Akira has to figure out how to pull Akechi out of the inbetween by finding all the other places in the city that connected whoever Goro Akechi really was to reality.
What parts of Akechi are real? The detective prince? The frustrated underling Akira found looking through the box of things Sae had from when they cleared out his desk? The boy that feeds ducks with old ladies? The person who runs his food blog? The part that rides the train to the end of the line so he can sit and watch the ocean for hours? Are they all?
All I’m saying is the idea that Akira saving Akechi by visiting all the places that were important to him and talking to other people who knew him in order to gain a more complete and substantial cognition of him and using that to will him back into reality is very good.
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I am an adult and if I want to post a list of quotes from my favorite cringe fic then I will:
-the fashion-sense of a person under the constant impression that a blizzard is just around the corner -You decide that taking shelter in your room when a guest is over, as though the nuclear fallout from social interaction can only be combated by the safe barrier of your door, is absolutely okay too -You end up having one of those heavy-footed mouth-breather moments when you decide that gravity is amazing and desks are solids masses meant to be tripped and flipped over. You are incredibly acrobatic and aerodynamic when gravity calls for it. -You slide away, swimming across the floor, and damn you could put floor-mermaids to shame if any existed -It is lovely to make your acquaintance. I would stay and chat longer, but my…my–“ you scramble for an excuse. You spot a girl with masses of curls in her hair. "I…left my curling iron on. And. I need to…turn it off. Before my house catches…on fire.” -You stare at the tiny, perfect brown polka dots the manicurist has managed to apply in little seething fits of anger (you think so, anyway) across your nails, and wonder if the clear coat will make it difficult to peel the paint off. -You busy yourself with heart palpitations, and learn the subtle art of escaping under tables. It’s not even learning by now, you’re just a freaking master and man you’ve pulled your way silently through the sea of legs and out into freedom in just under two minutes; a new record. -In the bathroom, you splash water on your face, and then maybe spend a bit of time trying to make the water splatter across your face in slow motion like those face-cleansing lotion commercials. Maybe. You admit nothing. -You try to poke it to see if it hurts, and ow, yes it does, just like every other time you’ve done it. -How nice it felt to tell someone something and not be that cursed heavy-footed mouth-breather. -You shift around and grab the bandages from her loosened grip, trying to find plain ones, but coming to the realization that you only have a choice between little cartoon dogs and glittery flowers. You choose the flowers–only because they have a light blue background to match your barely-there nail polish, thanks! -And you can’t help but think about how nice it feels, to not be so afraid. -“I read it in a book somewhere, a long time ago. I buried the line in my head with a shovel, but rain makes the dirt soft and it fell out on its own.” -“When did you become poetic?"And you don’t really know, just that it’s easy to capture the thoughts swarming in your head right now, like the tingtingting on the roof rattles loose that self-confidence to raise your voice that you never knew you had. "Maybe I’m writer,” you say, and he nods with that funny, tight-lipped smile he gets"
Im going to die
preferred pronouns?
nope!
I derive a lot of enjoyment from people deciding on their own what pronouns to use for me. Go hog wild. he/she/it/they/xe or neopronouns. Doesn’t bother me. I wore a binder for a good chunk of high school and I like keeping my clothes loose fitting and my hair short. I think it’s funny to watch people struggle to decide if I’m a boy or a girl or maybe neither? But whatever end result they come up with doesn’t bother me either way.
I think a lot of people just default to she/her because I use the word lesbian a lot to describe myself, but honestly that word has felt less and less fitting recently. Might switch it up again soon? I identified as bi for a long time. I’ve dated boys and girls and people who were neither, but I haven’t really wanted to date anyone but girls for a couple of years, so I started using lesbian instead? I dunno?
All specific labels feel really disingenuous to me? I like girls for sure, but the jury is out on boys and everyone else. If I only ever date girls for the rest of my life does that make me a lesbian? Maybe? Who knows. I like queer, but that ALSO feels disingenuous because in practice I really am nearly indistinguishable from a lesbian so do I really need a label with that kind of wiggle room? What Is The Truth? Whatever makes me happy, I guess?
Identity is hard and I am just. Bastard. That’s the one universal constant. I eat mud and will knock your water bottle of the counter when you turn away and like to kiss girls.