âInumaki Toge.â
Toge isnât sure if itâs a question or a statement. To be honest, he didnât think Okkotsu even knew his name. They share a few mutual friends, but have never spent time together.
Toge raises an eyebrow as he signs a response. âThatâs certainly the name the guy in my bed was screaming last night.â
Recognition dawns briefly on Okkotsuâs face before it scrunches up in offended disgust. Thatâs interesting, does Okkotsu know sign? He assumed he would get the usual confusion.
âI didnât need to know that,â Okkotsu grumbles, annoyed. âYou missed Psych this morning and you havenât responded to my email. We have a group project and weâve been paired up. Itâs due in three weeks. I need your phone number so we can plan and collaborate.â
OR
Frat Boy Toge and Nerd Yuuta get paired up for a group project.
---
inuokko | E | 24k
college au, enemies to lovers, virgin yuuta
Written (and posted very late) for Day 1 of Inuokko / Ottoge Week: College / University
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I'm sure that this has been said here before, but it seems like too many authors believe that a character's sexual orientation will completely control their sexual behaviour.
Sexual behaviour can be informed by, but is not at all constrained by sexual orientation.
People are born with their sexual orientation, but for better or for worse (often worse no lies, in relationships bad decisions are often made), human beings (outside, perhaps, of certain pathologies) have the ability to control their sexual behaviour
Human beings have sex for lots of different reasons, and more often than not, it has nothing to do with who they may feel sexual attraction for.
This is going to sound horrible to some young and idealistic folks, but there has never been a single time I had sex because I was sexually attracted to a person. Maybe that played a part of it, but there was always a more defining reason. I loved them, I was lonely, I wanted to prove something, I was bored, I was curious etc. There are so many other things that formed my decision. And that's okay with me.
Straight people sometimes have gay sex, gay people can have straight sex, asexual people can have sex. For whatever reason they want, whenever. There are really no holds barred.
So it's weird when people in fandom are like "he/she would never do ____ because they are gay/straight/ace/whatever!!!!" about characters.
Those characters can do whatever the fic author wants them to. It helps if they write plausible reasons and as in character as possible (just imho), but really, even in real life, reasons can be pretty flimsy and often foolish.
I've had Resident Evil 9 for all of like five days and I've already got like 800 words of post-plagas Leon fic in my doc this shit is like crack cocaine
If you're still doing prompts, could you do one for zedaph? I'd like to know what he's seeing in that one fic you wrote where everyone's basically seeing their worst nightmare. But if that's too spoilery anything with his death stuff would be awesome!! (like what does he see? What do regular people rank as if the more off hermits set off his death sense, how does his death sense work with players when they have respawn?) I think your concept for him is very cool.
Zedaph is alive.
Of course he is. Heâs a human being. A human being who likes to dress up in costumes and wants to implant horns into his skull, but a human being nevertheless. And humans are always alive.
The undead arenât human. Anymore, that is. Toast isnât bread, even though it comes from the same bag; itâs the same with the undead. Chuck it in, watch them die, press the lever, and up they pop- defiled corpses with ill-gotten souls wrenched from the hands of the reapers who were snoozing on the job.
When Zedaph looks at Cleo, he sees her in all her glory, yes- a resplendent woman, violently railing against the natural order. But he also sees the shadow she casts; a long trailing stain on the ground she walks. Starlight sparkles in her wake; the spurned stars of the afterlife she crassly cast aside.
Zed wouldnât dream of reaping her. The longer that black stain grows, the greater pride he takes- he wants to see how long itâll get. For science.
Mumbo is different. Sickly and lost, itâs obvious that the decay is fresh. Or at least, fresh relative to Cleo. It burns to look at him, to see the ashen face and the gaunt cheeks, to see the obvious symptoms everyone else so blatantly misses. Even Mumbo himself, looking at his reflection in a gold-backed mirror, obliviously convincing himself that silver just doesnât like him.
Zedaph wouldnât dream of reaping Mumbo. Not now. Not ever.
But the black stain on the ground grows as he walks, indelible footprints worn into the soil that will never, ever wash out.
Zedâs made a game of counting them. Seeing where Mumbo and Cleo go. Itâs fascinating, counting the paths. The thousands of footsteps clustered around their beds, crafting tables, furnaces.
And theyâre not alone.
Keralis is on the brink. He dances with his stain, spits on it, laughs at it. Like a child let loose in a marble kitchen with a pack of permanent markers, itâs almost like Keralis knows his stain is there and revels in vandalizing the world around him with it.
He drags it around like a brush loaded with paint- sometimes Zed will find a smiley face sketched into the earth in black, dripping footprints, fading back and forth out of existence. Because Keralis is nothing if not an infuriating fence-rider- his ill-gotten shell trapped on the brink, but the person inside? Heâs alive.
And he will never, ever die.
No matter what Zedaph tries to do.
So the sun sets, and he sleeps, and when it rises again, theyâll be there. The stain sinks deeper into the earth, like an oil slick on fertile farmland. The aura of death radiates from them, his mental Geiger counter screeching at the proximity. His fingers itch to summon his scythe from the broom closet itâs been banished to, reeking of Windex and mop water. To swing it, and finally send the three of them to the great beyond.
And he doesnât.
Because Zedaph is alive.
And what is life if not one long struggle against the reaper?
A harsh draft catches you just as you step through the door to the apartment complex, cutting through your tights and making you curse yourself and the entire concept of vanity as a whole.
Wanting to maintain the facade that you had your life together and werenât a sad dumpster gremlin, you had dressed up to meet a friend for a late lunch. The festive red dress had seemed like a good idea at the time, but the cold ass Indiana winter was quick to correct you.
Not being bothered to change, you head up to Robin and Steveâs apartment for your little get together. None of the shrimp squad, as they would be joining you for New Years, an agreement you all(Nancy) worked out with their parents.
You walked in and, of course, because the universe decided you hadnât had enough, Eddie had brought Cheryl here too. Naturally.
Nancy greets you in a hug, and a drink magically appears in your hand. Oh, no, itâs just from Robin.
You take a swig and try not to cough.
âWow guys, I think someone put some eggnog in this rum.â
âI spiked it,â Steve says.
âAnd so did I,â Robin adds.
You load up a plate with some goodies from the small food spread before sitting down.
The space at the end of the sofa furthest away from the couple is thankfully empty, which you suspect is on purpose for your behalf.
You work your way through the food on your plate while chatting with everyone.
You bring one of the gingerbread cookies up to take a bite, and before you can sink your teeth into it, movement catches your eye from across the room.
Itâs Eddie, trying to get your attention without also catching Nancyâs. He makes a cutting motion across his neck.
âDonât eat that.â
You make a motion back at him. âWhy not?â
He brings his hands to his neck like heâs being choked.
âDry.â
Pouting, you set it back down on your plate.
Call it morbid curiosity, but you hear the cookie calling to you, the last man standing on your otherwise empty plate. How bad can it be?
You look down at the little unassuming gingerbread man and he looks back with his dotted eyes.
Despite the warning, you take a bite out of the cookie anyways.
Dear. God.
Itâs like it had sucked up all the moisture from your mouth at once and evaporated it, leaving you as parched as a mummy. Those things were practically biological weapons.
You pick up your cup to find it woefully empty. Getting up, you go to make your way to the kitchen for milk-water-you didnât care, anything liquid to wash the over baked dry cookie down.
You bump into Steve on the way, his eyes dart upwards, and before you can fully process it, with a perky âOh hey, mistletoeâ Steveâs-
Steveâs kissing you.
Youâre not sure if it's shock or what, but you find yourself assessing the kiss. Itâs not unpleasant, but it does nothing at all for you. It seems to stretch on, but really only lasts for a few seconds. Nothing more than a simple peck.
You can see everyone staring out of your periphery, and youâd never seen so many open mouths in one place outside of a fish tank.
You make an odd little strangled sound, almost actually choking on the dregs of the dusty cookie that linger in your mouth; haunting you like the ghost of Christmas past.
âThese cookies are-Iâm gonna-I need-I need a drink,â you manage, turning on your heel to go to the kitchen and away from the gobsmacked expressions of your friends.
Your face wonât stop burning and you steal away into the bathroom after chugging down a glass of water. You take a washcloth from the closet they keep them in and run cold water over it before slapping it on your face. The cold feels like heaven on your heated cheeks. You arenât sure whether you're embarrassed more by the spectacle in front of your friends, or the fact that Steve Harrington just swindled a kiss from you.
Thereâs a knock on the door and you hear Robin on the other side.
âItâs me, are you decent?â
âMorally, or physically?â
âSmartass,â she says dryly as she opens the door and shuts it behind her.
âI could have been naked,â you mumble from beneath the cold washcloth thatâs already growing warm.
â...you shit naked?â
You lift a corner of the rag enough to give her an unimpressed look.
âYou doing okay?â She asks when you put the rag back in place.
âApart from being sad, your girlfriend trying to murder me with a cookie, and Steve smooching me out of nowhere like a kiss stealing thief? Iâm fantastic.â
âIn Nanceâs defense, I may have distracted her while she was baking and she forgot to set the timer. I have no defense for dingus though. I donât know what the hell that was.â
You start to make a remark, but then you hear yelling coming from the living room.
You raise your head with a start, the rag slipping down off your face.
âWhy are they shouting?â Thereâs an anxious bubble forming in your gut.
âShouting? What shouting?â Robin tries weakly to cover for them, as she can only imagine what-or rather who -theyâre arguing about.
Cover for them all she wants, Eddieâs loud and you would have to be a city block away not to hear him.
You scramble to your feet, squeezing past her and out the door to see what the commotion is.
When you make it there, Eddie almost runs into you as heâs storming out. His mouth opens like heâs about to say something to you, then it clicks shut, the muscle in his jaw flexing. He looks madder than youâd ever seen him, brown eyes dark and stormy. Before you can say anything, heâs continued on his way out. You jump as he slams the door shut.
Turning to Steve, hoping for answers, you do a double take.
He winces and groans as he prods at a split lip.
Eddie had-Eddie had hit him?! Sweet Eddie-which sure he could get mad if provoked, and could be antagonistic if people were assholes-but you had never once seen him physically lash out at someone. It was more in his nature to defend.
Not only had he hit someone, but it had been Steve!
Itâs your turn to do the fish impression now.
âWhat the hell happened?!â You yell, gesturing at him.
Robin hurries to grab paper towels from the kitchen.
âHe said I should have asked you permission first.â At least, that had been part of it, but it was all Steve could currently disclose. âYour knight was defending your honor.â
He takes the towel from Robin and dabs at his lip.
âHeâs not my-ugh.â You look upwards, as if begging some higher being to make sense of what your Christmas was becoming.
Robin turns to Nancy who's nursing her temples, likely about to-or already getting-a headache.
âShould I be sympathetic for him?â Robin asks her.
âNo,â she answers back tursely.
Your thoughts smack around in your head like a rogue bouncy ball, but more than anything youâre worried about Eddie.
Robin gently grabs your arm, pulling you out of your head. âYou go ahead and check on Dingus 2, Iâve got Dingus 1 handled.â
You shoot her a quick thanks and head down to Eddieâs apartment.
Nerves already bad and stomach in knots, you hesitate at his door. What if he isnât alone?
After several minutes, you raise your hand ready to knock, having learned your lesson about barging in before.
"You planning on standing out here all night?â
You jolt, Eddie startling you from where heâs standing in the hall, not at all where you thought he would be.
âWhere-?â
âI was out for a walk. Needed to cool down.â
You blink at him. All he has on over his t-shirt is the flannel button down heâd been wearing all evening, and his cheeks are flushed from the cold. Surely he hadnât gone out in just thatâŠ
He walks over and reaches past you to the door, unlocks it, and holds it open for you.
âLadies first.â
He follows after you, perching on a stool at the small kitchen island, and you sit down across from him. He seems to have calmed from the state you had seen him in earlier, but heâs still tense and canât quit fidgeting with his hands.
"Do you want to talk about the-"
"Nope," he says, cutting you off with a wry smile.
âOkaaaay.â You relent, not wanting to poke the bear.
It strikes you as strange how everyone is tiptoeing around you regarding what happened, but youâre too tired to bother with it.
A hiss slips through his teeth when he accidentally brushes over his split knuckle.
âYou should get your ring off in case your hand starts swelling.â
Taking your advice, he goes to pull his ring off and it wonât budge. He tugs more forcefully, cursing as it makes his hand throb, and panic bubbles in his chest. If his finger swole too much with the ring on and he couldnât get circulation-he absolutely canât let anyone cut his ring off. Not this one.
âOh come on, come on, come on, come on.â
You know how much that ring means to him. Itâs the only thing of his motherâs that he has. You can see how upset heâs starting to get, and you jump into action.
Reaching up, you untie a red ribbon from around your neck.
âLet me see it.â
You motion to his hand.
He obeys without question, holding his shaking and slightly battered hand out to you across the island. Handling it gingerly, you slide an end of the ribbon under the band and start wrapping it around his finger, compressing the swollen digit.
You start slowly unraveling it from the bottom, urging the ring upwards along the ribbon. Eddie swallows, trying not to shake more from the soft hold you have on him.
âChrist youâre pretty.â
He hadnât meant to say it, it just slipped out, straight from his brain to his mouth.
âHuh?â You look up at him, then over your left shoulder, then your right.
Eddieâs brows furrow when he realizes youâre looking for someone else to be there, like you canât believe heâs talking to you.
Like you canât believe youâre pretty, as if you arenât the most gorgeous thing heâs ever laid eyes on.
âMe? Oh, ah,â you flush a pretty shade of pink as you splutter over your words. Of course it was you, no one else was in the room. âThank-thank you.â
Thereâs a light metallic clink as the ring finally slides free and taps against the countertop, strung up on the ribbon.
âThere.â You smile brightly, happy to have helped save his precious ring. âHold tight.â
Heading to the bathroom cabinet, you take out the first aid kit you had given him when he first moved in.
Eddie picks up his ring, the ribbon dangling from the silver band. He canât help but wonder what it would look like hanging around your neck.
Or on your finger. But he squashes that down, the thought more of a pipe dream now than it had ever been before. He sets it back down on the counter with a heartfelt sigh.
You return with the kit, reclaiming your seat. Without being told, he holds his hand back out to you.
Grasping it in one hand, you pour peroxide on the busted knuckle with the other. His hand still shakes where itâs held in your own.
You gently blow across his broken skin and, setting the bottle down, you soothe your fingers over the back of his hand in a comforting gesture.
You canât help but be curious as to what happened with his girlfriend, as not nearly enough time passed for him to take her home.
âSo, what happened to Cheryl?â
âShe called a friend to pick her up. IâŠthink itâs safe to say we broke up.â
You should be happy to hear that, but you canât be when he looks upset.
âItâs okay, youâll find someone to love.â Thatâs what friends were supposed to say, right?
Your words lodge themselves beneath his skin. Between you blowing him off and finding you hanging out with Steve and Robin instead, and then the kiss, Eddie could take a hint.
Something sharp and jagged twists in his chest and he has to look away from you. Away from where you sit looking so bright and gorgeous, and like every dream heâs ever had.
âItâs not the loving part thatâs the problem, itâs being loved back.â
He looks so sad and despondent you feel your heart break. It would be the perfect time to say what you so desperately want to, but like they had a million times before, the words lodge themselves in your throat. It wasnât exactly your confession he was looking for.
You give his hand a comforting squeeze and he feels it like a vice around his heart. When you let go, he flexes and contracts it beneath the counter, still feeling the gentle sensation of your hands on his.
The Grinch plays on tv as you pace back and forth in front of your tree. Try as you might, you canât get his words and that awful look on his face out of your head.
You make a choice. A stupid choice, but you canât let it go without doing something about it.
Moving to your closet, one by one, you drag the boxes that hold your sketchbooks out and into your room. In one of the boxes, buried down at the bottom like a dirty secret, were your sketchbooks that were filled with one Eddie Munson. Going through them, you get to work.
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ASK FISH HAS BITTEN THE ASK BAIT!! thank you so much for the ask :D
Minds Remembered is rooted in the worldbuilding. The central dramatic conflict is based on something called the Dreamscapes. These are SAO-style simulations (but with no danger involved), you lay down, get hooked up to a really smart computer, and basically dream about a simulated place, sometimes with simulated people, so called dream-entities.
Now these dream-entities can be made by someone uploading their mind into the very smart computer - it takes a snapshot of a brain and then simulates that.
Jen, a very sad and angry teenager used this feature to have an argument with themselves. It ended badly, and then, the dreamscape was supposed to be deleted.
It wasn't.
So, more than five years later, the simulation got reloaded. The Jen who existed in there, now calling themselves Echo, was recruited to an illicit mission to explore a very forbidden place; they were given very few instructions, and also more importantly, a cyborg body.
They ran off to look for the real Jen, with vague feelings of hatred and envy but no plan. They eventually chilled out when Jen showed them some actual kindness and understanding.
Virgil was frozen. He was always cold anyways, but tonight, it was bad enough that he woke up in the middle of the night. Of course, it would help if Roman wasnât such a fucking blanket hog.
He could very easily nuzzle into Romanâs side, to try to slip under the blanket that he had stolen completely from him or to capture some of the warmth that poured from him in waves. But being only half awake, he decided that it would be a better idea to simply yank on the blanket.
He pulled too hard and stole the blanket entirely from Roman. Smiling in triumph, he nestled into the warmth of the comforter, breathing in the scent of his boyfriend, and he felt his eyes start to slip shut after only a minute.
Roman woke up, whining sleepily, and grabbed for the blanket again, tugging on it.
âIf you steal the blankets, I am going to put my cold feet on you, princey,â Virgil warned, his voice deep and gravelly from sleep.
âYou stole them from me,â Roman whined, tugging more insistently at them.
Virgil rolled his eyes, chuckling, and lifted the blanket wordlessly. Making a noise of happy surprise, Roman wrapped his arms around Virgilâs waist, laying his head on his chest, and Virgil lowered the blanket over him.
Finally warm, it was only minutes before Virgil was able to sleep.
A/N HI! I wanted to explore drarry so here you go:
Harry ran his hands through his messy hair, Hermione was going to kill him. She had told him to finish reviewing these documents last week, but lately, he had been distracted.
It was definitely not because of Draco Malfoy.
He glanced over at the Auror who sat across him: Draco Malfoy. He seemed to be in a similar predicament as him. Harry raked his eyes over him, his no longer gelled hair was falling over his face and into his eyes, the blonde was resting his bored face on his hands as he wrote.
"Potter?" Draco's voice pulled him out of his thoughts. "Hmm?" He reached for the water resting on the table trying to make it seem like he hadn't been checking the other man out "I-I uh have two VIP tickets to the weird sisters' shindig on Sunday, you wanna come with me?" Harry spit his water out, was he trying to ask him out, or was he just overthinking this? "Yeah" He tried to keep the excitement from his voice, he really did.
"Great!" Draco exclaimed cheering up instantly. Harry simply nodded.
Two days later
"Did he ask me out or am I just crazy?" harry groaned, pacing nervously. "How 'bout you go to the gig and see how it goes?" Ron offered. "And you could get dressed, he's picking you up, isn't he?" Hermione suggested with a smile.
Twenty minutes later he was at his date? Harry wasn't really sure. Draco himself was rather fidgety. The concert was amazing and as it went on, Harry found himself relaxing more and more.
"Harry by the time this is over, it'll be pretty late, would you like to grab some dinner afterward?" Draco asked over the loud music. "I know a nice diner which is fifteen minutes from here," Harry answered.
Draco was right, by the time the concert was over, it was almost 10. So, the two walked down to the diner with smiles on their faces. The muggle waitress recognized harry immediately and said "Hullo harry! What can I get for you and your date?" "He's not my- "Harry began turning redder than a tomato but Malfoy cut him off "What are your recommendations for a first date?" The waitress smiled and left promptly.
The blonde turned to look at his date, who was turning a shade of red that could give the Weasley family's hair a run for its money. "Look Harry, I've fancied you for a long time and didn't know how to ask you out so I did this. I hope you're not mad," Draco explained, pretending to fix his collar. Harry squealed.
