#I hope tumblr sticks around

[mashedpotatosinacup]

Happy posting

[mienar]

close-ups of a commission i did a while back! 🌱

instagram | shop | commission info

[stil-lindigo]

art vs artist 2023

[moonaive]

[hazelpuff]

[aseuki]

Hi all! To celebrate 1k followers (fun number!! Woo!!), I decided to put together a fun little dtciys/raffle! Draw either of my little guys, and who knows, I might end up drawing one of yours!

Rules, details, and more under the cut! 👇

Both Stell and Phemus have references, gijinka references, and their own dedicated tag. Feel free to draw what your heart tells you! Stell: Ref / Gijinka / Tag Phemus: Ref / Gijinka / Tag

There is no floor or cap for skill. If you need to know anything about me, it's that I love promoting the arts! If you were thinking about trying but felt intimidated, consider this your encouragement to give it a shot, I would love to see what you make!

Please keep the content PG-13 at maximum.

Should you choose to participate, please @ me or my art blog in your post so that I may see! 👀

You are welcome to draw one or both of the characters, but raffle entries will be limited to 1 per person.

The raffle winner will be able to request either a halfbody or chibi of their character of choice. (Most Kirby OCs/characters will be eligible as well!)

The deadline to enter for the raffle has been extended to June 23. I will draw and contact the winner on June 24th. This gives a whole month!

Thank you again for all the follows! And I hope you have fun if you decide to give this a shot! ✌

[jamieedlund]

Thesis wips and April sketchdump! ft. Brainrots I have about Callum and Claudia that if I were to explain it will take an entire novel so instead take these haha funny doodles and I promise I'll elaborate one day.

Some modern AU Shenanigans

(there's description in the images for more contexts)

And some more doodles and comic concepts

This one is special because I really like this concept and I wish to finish it one day I mean look how fun this is. it's some concepts for manga/comic covers I just think it would have been super cool if this was a serialized comic and or manga series, and these could be the covers of 2 back-to-back volumes later into the story, representing their unique holds on each other. Of course it's all symbolism cough cough but reading into it such as the way their expressions changed as they're holding the other person's SEVERED HEAD- might be fun too!

[daxdraws]

so, it’s been 5 years. i always intended to return to my art tumblr, and with everyone jumping ship at twitter right now, i figured it’d be a good time to make it official. here are a few recent drawings as proof

[mymarifae]

i'm the birthday millie today

i'm super old now.

[impostorsshow]

I'm actually so obsessed with him it's not even funny if i'm not listening to a TikTok or music directly related to him I can't focus free me free me

This is @/cherubpuppet's OC for a object show [au? pitch? wip show? How do I categorize this] and I've been destroyed by the fact that ruler art is infinitely superior [and 10x longer] and i don't have a good enough grasp on lip gloss's personality to make fanfiction so I am frozen in "want make fanart but fanart takes effort :["

[phynali]

Tumblr tip sheet for twitter refugees

i’ve seen a lot of different advice posts but none that had what i consider all the key advice in one spot, so here we are. long post ahead.

-

1. your dash can be put into reverse chronological order and it is a BETTER experience if you do that

Go to your settings -> Dashboard -> Preference

Turn “Best Stuff First” OFF

2. you can (and likely should!) turn off algorithmic content

Under the same menu. Settings -> Dashboard -> Preferences

There are two algorithms on tumblr.

One is “In your orbit” and I fucking hate it. i want to see the content that I like, not that some random person i follow likes. if i wanted to see that content on my dash, i’d follow the people who put it there.

The other is “based on your likes” and it is hilariously bad because if you like a post for something you don’t normally like or follow (e.g., when I watched a new movie and liked one post about it), you’ll suddenly get a dozen posts about that thing and only that thing.

I keep it on because it’s hilariously bad, but i honestly recommend turning it off. it routinely recommends shit to me that i hate and i have to keep telling it that i am “not interested in this post” for things tagged with my nOTP, but until / unless i filter that ship tag out entirely, i will keep being serviced those

3. filtering / blacklisting is your friend

this is true on every platform, not just tumblr. i’m sure veteran twitter users are well-versed in it, but just as a reminder. you will be expected to filter your own content/dash here on tumblr, and if you complain about seeing something that was properly tagged, you will be rightly mocked as a clown.

Settings -> Account -> Content You See

you can filter both tags and post content. There’s a completely innocuous post i absolutely hate that does rounds and is never tagged, and i almost unfollowed a mutual for how much i hate that post and them reblogging it so much. but i typed a specific sentence from that post into the “filtered post content” options and BOOM - haven’t seen it since. glorious.

4. content controls are your friend

under the same “Content You See” menu. You are automatically opted OUT of seeing this stuff, so you MUST opt in to see mature content.

you’ll want to determine your own preferences, but i prefer to see all of the mature content types that may be hit with a community label.

5. long posts are (probably) your friend

tumblr cuts posts over a few lines if you have this turned off, and it’s really annoying and really truncates your experience of the website. THIS is itself a long post!

part of the quintessential tumblr experience is being annoyed by the “do you love the color of the sky” post.

seriously, this isn’t twitter. we aren’t here for 280 character bite-sized posts. i 10/10 recommend keeping long posts on.

Settings -> Dashboard -> Interface

6. blog-specific settings

there is also a menu for additional settings (including updating the appearance etc) for each blog you have (your main, and any sideblogs).

this is near the end of your options under Settings -> Blog Settings (click the individual blog to update)

under your blog settings you can...

- enable your custom theme (which you should! this is turned off for new users but personalizing your page is part of the experience)

- decide if you want people to know what posts you’re liking and who you’re following. i do NOT, so these are off. internet privacy is allowed on tumblr, and don’t let anyone bully you into thinking you need to make everything public for their supervision. consume all the problematic content your little gremlin content desires and tell people to fuck off if they take issue with that.

- determine if and how others can interact with your blog!! there some settings about asks, messaging, tipping (if you’re here to make $$), whether people can even SEE your blog, if it’s searchable, etc. tumblr gives power and control back to the users! use that power!

here, you can specifically set your “Ask” preferences to on or off, and to accept or NOT accept asks from anonymous users / logged out users.

if you’re here to interact with friends or just vibe, or don’t reblog a lot of asks games or encourage anon inbox messages, and/or especially if you’re getting harasment and don’t want to deal with shitty users, it is okay to turn off anons, and i ENCOURAGE you to do so.

i keep it on for my fandom sideblogs and off for my main and this makes me happy. do what makes you happy.

7. etiquette and interface

- change your icon so no one thinks you’re a bot

- reblog posts so your account isn’t empty. also, with  algorithmic content turned off by most users, YOU are the algorithm, and interaction on this website is strongly encouraged. making or reblogging posts part of the experience and sort of the whole point

- reblog tagging: individual preferences apply. instead of adding a comment on a reblog, users will often add their thoughts in a tag, if they aren’t specifically looking to engage in a dialogue or add on to the post itself. other users can then decide to copy their tags (often with “prev” for “previous” appended) or even copy/paste them into a comment on their reblog, which is your tags “passing peer review”. people also tag to index posts so their blog is more searchable, and to include trigger warnings and content warnings related to a post. you can also choose to not tag anything. it’s your blog, do what you want.

- tags are how people find new content. if you make a new post and want people to find it, they will be searching the tag related to that content, so tag it accordingly. people can also follow tags and get notifications when new posts are made into that tag.

- do not censor words! this isn’t tiktok or twitter. we say ‘fuck’ and ‘kill’ here. if you write “unalive” or censor swears or triggers, people’s content filters do not work, and you will have undermined their ability to curate their content, moderate their experience, and avoid triggers. don’t do that. just spell out the whole goddamn word, please.

- you can make sideblogs under a single account! this means you have your main, which you interact (like, reply, and follow) from, but which can be used to have a space for all your posts and reblogs on a given topic (fandom, hobby, fixation, whatever). you can also direct message to/from a sideblog and accept asks etc.

- if you use tumblr in your browser, there is an add-on called XKIT. this used to be a tumblr user staple and allowed for a lot of functionality that tumblr didn’t used to have. tumblr has since very much upped their game, but it can still be worth using XKIT if you’re regularly in a browser and not on the app. for example, it includes some ad-blocking capabilities. I use “New Xkit” and have a few personalized settings with it.

- posts go around forever on this site and new memes crop up every day, retreat, and then resurge out of the blue randomly. this makes for tumblr-wide in-jokes that circulate for years, like “do you love the color of the sky” and the “color theory children’s hospital” post. if you don’t get these, you can ask and i’m sure tumblr will deliver, but you can also wait around and follow more people and these will turn up eventually.

- your dash is what you make it. your interaction is what you make it. you have control, you are not at the mercy of algorithms and advertisers if you don’t want to be. paying for ad-free browsing is an option. they even give you the option to toggled your ad settings within ad-free browsing. seriously - you. have. the. control.

this is something that we love about tumblr and one of the things that makes it our hellsite (affectionate) instead of our hellsite (derogatory). if you’re finding your experience to be negative but still want to stick around, i encourage you to block accounts or content that makes you unhappy or anxious, to follow the accounts that bring you joy, and to adjust your settings into whatever makes you happiest and least stressed out.

[dangans-ur-ronpas]

Chapter 23

ohhh baby we back in it now

SEE HERE FOR GENERAL WARNINGS AND FIC SUMMARY

Some pre-chapter notes:

byakuya pov finally

bonus headcanon coming into play here: byakuya being Wasian

shoutout @digitaldollsworld for helping me conceptualize byakuya's mom! both of us are Sick about her

Content warning tags: wall-punching, grieving/mourning, unreality (dreaming)

< previous - from start - next >

There’s a woman standing in his office.

Byakuya stands behind the cracked-open doorway, peeking through - though, part of him does rile up with the indignity of having to spy into his own office - at the intruder, standing in front of his desk, back facing the door.

He can’t see her face. But he can see her flax-yellow hair, tied back with a wrinkled, silken scarf that’s probably the most expensive thing she’s wearing. Her cotton jumpsuit is so stained and faded that hardly any of the original blue is still there. Her canvas shoes are discolored with mud.

She would look more out of place, if the shabbiness of her hadn’t seeped into her surroundings. The carpet is splattered with crusted clay, and shards of stone stick out of the plush threads like thorns. The mahogany surface of his desk is creaking and bent under the weight of a large cube of fleshy, white marble, splintering under the lacquer.

As he watches, she lifts her bare hands - ugly, roughened, thickly muscled fingers, nails cracked and filthy - like a conductor before an orchestra. She pauses, head tilted like a bird, thinking, and Byakuya inexplicably finds himself holding his breath; and then, she places her palms against the stone.

The surface of it warps and distends beneath her touch, first like a swollen balloon, and then like clay, twisting and following her hands like a swimming fish. And he watches, fascinated despite himself, as she bends and shapes it, twisting pieces off, smoothing edges down. She pinches out a piece in the middle for a nose, smoothes down a sharp edge for a sloping curve of a cheek, flicks her nail sharply beneath the brow to pull out a crease for an eyelid.

It’s magic. In seemingly no time at all, there on his desk is a bust; the head of a man brought to life, caught in a soft, gentle expression. The sculptor pauses, and steps backwards to take in her work.

There’s something reverent about it, and Byakuya suddenly has the feeling that he’s witnessing something not meant for him to see.

But he creaks the door open slightly more to get a better look, finding it strange how he was more curious than angry, even despite the intrusion. As he approaches, the bust’s eyes suddenly flick towards him, and immediately the serenity is replaced by a solemn, pinched brow, the smile replaced by a severe slash of a frown. And Byaukuya realizes he recognizes this face.

The marble-wrought head of Kijo Togami is sitting on his desk, scowling at him.

“Byakuya?”

He turns to the woman. She’s facing him now, though she has no face to speak of - it is blurred and unfocused, like a distant background character of an impressionist oil painting, the features mere shifting smears against a flat plane - but he knows her. He knows her.

“Byakuya,” She repeats, the syllables awkward on her tongue. She’s speaking French, and she sounds distant. Muted, underwater. But her voice still has the same, oddly musical quality to it that he remembers, making everything she said sound like a lullaby. “Bijou. Did I not tell you to stay out of my studio?”

Her studio?

“This is my office.” He protests back. He can’t tell if he’s speaking Japanese or not; every word feels clumsy and foreign, like he’s just learned how to talk. “What are you doing here, Mother?”

She just sighs. Shakes her head, her featureless face. There’s no anger in it, no loving exasperation either; just a neutral disapproval of his presence. His unwanted existence in her space. “Bijou,” She says again, and the nickname irritates him. A sweet-sounding endearment that was ultimately empty, a placeholder for her to refer to him by, because his own name was too clumsy to speak with her accent. “When did you become so grown? When will you stop being so cold?”

The stone Kijo Togami is still frowning at him. In this instant, both the man he calls ‘Father’ and the woman who had birthed him - one painfully-detailed stone, the other indistinct flesh - stand before him. One silent and forever displeased, the other sweet but hollow-sounding and entirely uncaring that they shared any blood at all.

“How strange it is, that you look so much like me,” She sighs, raising a hand to his face. He flinches away from it, the sandpaper sharpness of her palms, the filth that stains the creases of her skin, the heat that comes off of it like a kiln. “And yet, you are so much like him.”

—

He wakes up with a gasp, eyes snapping open.

He’s greeted with the pitch darkness of his ceiling, cut through with a thin slash of white from his bathroom light, streaming through the cracked-open door. A reminder he had taken to preparing for himself before he went to bed, that his eyes were still there, and he sighs and presses a palm to his chest as he stares up at it. Feeling his heart pounding beneath his fingertips, then slowing, in time with his breaths.

A dream. He can’t remember the last time he dreamed so vividly, but he had been subjected to some unpleasantly…shocking events the last few days (he won’t call them traumatic, he’s witnessed far worse in his life). The details of the dream are already slipping away as he tries to recall it, like sand between his fingers. It’s hardly important.

He lies in bed a moment longer, trying to see if sleep will come, but even with the adrenaline fading he’s wide-awake. Annoying, but not surprising, considering how he had spent much of the day before napping in short, fitful bursts. He pushes himself upright, reaching under his pillow for his handbook; may as well make use of the time.

The clock on his handbook reads: three AM. His neglected stomach gurgles as he squints at the dim glow of the screen, and he sighs. He hasn’t eaten since Celeste’s little tea party the day before, and he might as well go to the kitchen now. There likely wouldn’t be anyone wandering around to disturb him. And with Ishimaru gone, there was no one left to seriously uphold the nightly curfew; he drags himself out of bed with a grunt, grabbing his bathrobe off the end of his bedpost as he goes.

He’s not expecting the trap that he finds when he opens the door, however. The first step he takes past the threshold is accompanied by a loud, startling crunch, and he jumps backwards, just barely stifling a shriek. He throws his hand against the light switch, digging it into his palm as he flicks in on, and at once the yellow glow streaming from his room illuminates the something round, brown, and somewhat deflated sitting in the hallway.

For a moment, he thinks it's some kind of rodent, dead and trodden under his foot. But closer inspection reveals it to be packaged bread, only slightly crushed in its plastic wrapper. There’s no note, but he can guess who the offering is from.

He sighs, picks it up by the corner, and tosses it behind him towards his trash can as he leaves.

The hallways are dim, and almost silent if not for the dull hum of the school’s inner machinery. The whoosh of air conditioning, the muffled clang of pipes. None of the construction that Hagakure had reported days ago, not even when he strains his ears.

But he does catch the quiet murmur of conversation as he passes the bathhouse, and he pauses, staring at the light that streams from behind the curtain, the quick-flicker of shadows moving from inside.

“It wasn’t your fault!”

He freezes, standing just outside. That was Chihiro’s - no, Alter Ego’s - voice. 

“I know Master wouldn’t resent you.” It continues, earnest and bright. “And based on my data…I don’t think Kiyotaka would blame you either!”

“But it was my fault,” Mondo’s voice is strained and hollow, grieving still. “If I hadn’t left them alone - if I’d tried to just talk to him -”

Byakuya shifts slightly. He doesn’t want to be here, to have to witness Mondo’s continued breakdown. He still hasn’t forgiven the other boy, but having to see him stuck in the depths of misery was…unpleasant. And he’s not so petty to want retribution while the target of his ire was in such a state.

He tiptoes past, giving the bathhouse entrance a wide berth. From inside, he hears more indistinct voices, one low and gravelly from crying, the other electronic and gentle. And then-

“Brother, what are you looking so down for?” This one was new, but chillingly familiar. Loud and overeager and belonging to someone who was supposed to be dead. “You-”

Crash.

The sound of crunching metal. In the quiet of the hallway, it’s as loud as an explosion, and it makes Byakuya jump. Before he can reconsider, he’s sprinting into the bathhouse, throwing aside the curtain.

It takes him a moment to process what he’s seeing. Owada is standing, partly-hunched, one hand punching against the wall of lockers hard enough to warp the thin metal door. Someone is standing beneath him hands raised in self-defense - it takes Byakuya a moment to recognize that it’s Makoto, dressed in the white and dark blue of his pajamas, lacking the signature green of his jacket - and from somewhere behind Makoto, there’s a dim, neon-green glow, and a confused, worried voice.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-!” 

“Don’t do that,” Owada snarls, drowning out Alter Ego’s stuttered apology. The locker door rattles where his fist is pressed into it. “Don’t just- wear his face, don’t you dare-”

“M-Mondo, it didn’t mean to! It was just trying-” Makoto breaks off, apparently noticing Byakuya. “B-Byakuya-?!”

Byakuya was immediately beginning to regret his decision to involve himself in the first place. “What is going on here?” He demands, crossing his arms and glaring imperiously.

Instead of replying, Owada pulls away, withdrawing his hand and retreating to slump over on the bench, despondent and unresponsive once more. Makoto twitches, turning between Owada, then Alter Ego, and back to Byakuya. “Um…”

“It’s not their fault!” Alter Ego pipes up hurriedly, its voice echoing tinnily from inside its locker, and Byakuya could feel a corresponding vibration from the handbook tucked in his shirt pocket. “It seems Mondo wanted to ask me a question, and Makoto was just helping to convey that-”

“I don’t care.” He snaps, and Alter Ego falls silent. “Neither of them are supposed to be here in the first place, and especially not after hours. Are the two of you trying to draw Monokuma’s suspicion? Endanger Alter Ego?” Makoto flinches a bit at that. Owada doesn’t even move. “Don’t you care about getting out of here at all?”

He’s not really expecting a reply, so he’s surprised when Owada speaks up. “ ‘Course not.” He rasps, so low and hollow that it was like he was speaking from the depths of a pit. Or maybe he was the pit, swelling with black-matter misery. “I…don’t care about anything anymore.”

Well. That’s to be expected. But even despite that, he finds himself a bit rattled. He’s been at the receiving end of anger, venom, screaming anguish and even vehement hate at this point. But this emptiness Owada is exhibiting was new; It seems like this school is insistent on teaching me new things, he thinks, and feels his lip curling up with the bitter irony.

“So you’re content to waste away? Throw away that anger that you were so proud of?” He raises a scathing eyebrow. “Go ahead and do that, then. I won’t stop you. But at the very least, spare the rest of us the dramatics of your little episode.”

“Byakuya!”

He twitches a bit, irritated. Makoto’s voice is shrill despite being hushed, and laced with anger; he’s standing stiffly next to Alter Ego’s open locker, hands trembling at his sides.

“What, Makoto.” He snaps, and only belatedly realizes that this was the first time he’s actually spoken to the other boy since the trial; in his irritation, he went and broke his own self-imposed vow of silence against him.

He doesn’t respond immediately, but doesn’t immediately shrink away either at the acidity of Byakuya’s tone. If anything he stands up a little straighter. “It’s only been a day since…you know.” He says, and his words are slow and careful, meticulously chosen. Like he’s in a trial again, trying to soothe skittish tempers - though Byakuya feels the exact opposite of ‘soothed’ by it - “Mondo asked to talk to Alter Ego. I went with him. It got a little heated-”

“A little? Is that what you call this?” He points at the locker next to his head; the one that Mondo had punched, the dent a clear, dark blotch of shadow in the middle of the flat green surface.

“That -” Makoto winces slightly. “We weren’t really expecting-”

“No, clearly not. And not thinking either, I imagine.”

“I-”

“I suppose safety and logic took second priority over trying to be helpful, hm? Since that’s all that’s important to you?” He’s not sure where these words are coming from, filled with acid. But it feels good to talk, to spit out every miserable thing that he’s feeling, that he’s felt because of Makoto. “You were so very kind to help me during that trial, after all.”

“Okay, that’s not-”

“That must be why you’re here now, I imagine. Sneaking out at this late hour past Kyoko, just so you could babysit this useless mess.” He sneers. “Did you decide to make Mondo your next pet project, trying to be his little assistant like you were mine?”

“Oh, for-” Makoto takes a deep breath, presses his hands to his eyes. “Can you shut the fuck up?! For one second?”

Whatever else Byakuya was about to say, dissipates like smoke out of his slack-jawed mouth. Even Owada seems to twitch up at this, the only sign of surprise he could give, compared to Byakuya’s shock.

Makoto is quiet for a few seconds, and the only sound is the quiet hum of pipes, and the sound of his breathing, shaky but slow. He pulls his hands away from his face after one more shuddering breath. “Okay. I’m okay now.” He says this part quietly, as if it were more for himself than anyone else. Then:

“It’s not fair,” He addresses Byakuya, and his voice is almost steady. “I’m trying my best, I’m trying to keep us all alive.”

“Yes, and you’re doing-”

“No! Shut up! Just listen!” He snaps, and Byakuya’s teeth click as he shuts his mouth, effectively cutting off the rest of his sarcastic remark. “Right now, the best thing we can do is to survive together. We’re just going to play into the mastermind’s hands if we can’t trust each other. Why doesn’t anyone get that?!”

His voice actually cracks on the last syllable, and he sounds close to hysterics. Byakuya simply stares, dumbfounded for a moment, before:

“...You’re going to say that? After what just happened?” It’s so ridiculous he could almost laugh. Trust? In this school, in this game? After everything that’s happened? “We all trusted Ishimaru. Where did that get us? Where did that get Chihiro?”

No sooner has that name left his mouth, does he try to bite it back. Feeling all at once mortified that he would stoop so low, that he would let himself be pushed to such a level. But it’s too late to take it back - at the sound of those names, Owada jerks again, and Makoto actually takes a step backwards, as if struck - so Byakuya keeps going. “This isn’t some-some fairy tale where everyone can learn to get along by talking about our feelings. None of us have any unity left - if even Ishimaru can snap, then there’s no telling who might strike next.”

“Stop,” Makoto grits out. “Taka - it was an accident. Just a stupid accident.” And that was the worst part, wasn’t it? That none of this was supposed to happen at all; if the coincidences hadn’t lined up terribly, horribly perfectly. “He didn’t mean for Chihiro to die!”

And Chihiro didn’t mean to get killed either. But he manages to swallow that thought, bitter and heavy in his throat. “His intentions didn’t change the outcome.” He says instead, cold and flat and utterly, completely empty.

Silence falls on the room. The lights buzz, the pipes hiss; the old, outdated screen of Alter Ego’s computer hums softly, contemplatively. There’s the muted, metallic thump of the water heater, somewhere inside the wall.

And then Owada speaks up.

“What should I do?” He asks hollowly. He’s looking up now, directly at him. His hair is limp, pompadour undone and falling over his face, obscuring it in streaks of dirty yellow. “I…they’re dead. I couldn’t-” He takes a slow, shuddering breath. “It was my fault. But I don’t know what to do.”

His words are pleading and genuine, as if Byakuya could give a proper answer; he hesitates, still uncertain of what to do with this…empty shell of a punk.

He glances towards Makoto, and then the dim green glow still emanating from the open locker. “Do you care what you do with your life at this point?”

“Byakuya…” Makoto starts warningly, but Owada interrupts him.

“No.”

“Then use it to protect Alter Ego.” If Owada has any sort of misgivings or protest about this, Byakuya ignores them. “That’s Chihiro’s last work, after all. It’s the least you can do to guard it.”

“Is…” Owada’s head turns towards the locker, then back. “Is that…okay?”

His hesitation is understandable. Even if Alter Ego was nothing more than a clever program, it did still wear the face of the boy who Owada’s friend inadvertently killed, and whose corpse Owada had tried to conceal. And that wasn’t even considering if Alter Ego would be cooperative in being protected by him, though there wasn’t much it could do about it.

But Alter Ego is the one who speaks up. “I hope we get along well, Mondo!” It chirps, a smile clear on its voice. And Mondo simply stares for a moment, before burying his face in his palms, and begins to cry.

__

“Are you going back to your room?”

He stops, and turns. They’ve left the bathhouse, Mondo departing first after sobbing his eyes out, and Makoto insisting he go rest in his room - though he probably would’ve ended up staying in the bathhouse all night if he could’ve gotten away with it - and Byakuya, having ended up spending an hour more than he wanted to dealing with it all, is tired once more..

“Where else would I be going?” He scoffs. Makoto is standing just in front of the bahthouse curtains, his face entirely concealed by shadow.

“I…” He takes a deep breath, as if steeling himself. “I noticed you didn’t really…eat a proper meal yesterday. I could go make you something?”

It’s tempting, for a moment. Byakuya clenches a hand in his robe, pressed against his stomach to stifle any unwarranted growls. “No.” He says firmly. “I’m going to sleep.”

“Oh…are you sure? Because-”

“Makoto.” He falls silent. “I told you that there’s no need for us to uphold the deal we made. Your assistance is no longer needed.”

“...But, this isn’t because of the deal, I just-”

“I’m not so low that I’d need charity from you.”

He goes quiet again. Quiet and still, and there’s something off-putting about how he looks. Outlined by the yellow lights of the bathhouse but otherwise completely in darkness, his silhouette sharpened without his jacket. “...Is it really that hard, trusting someone?”

For as angry as he’d been in the bathhouse, now he’s more like his usual self. Quieter, and unsure. The one person out of place in this school, designated unremarkable and then made remarkable because of that.

An unremarkable life. No wonder he couldn’t understand.

“You’ve never had to worry about it before,” He says. “I imagine your life is like a sheep’s. Completely oblivious to the danger around you, as long as you stay inside the fence.

“But the world isn’t as kind as you think it is. And people can always be swayed, no matter how much you trust them, or how much you think they trust you.” He’s seen it happen. He’s exploited it himself, even. “At this point, it would be safest to stop associating with anyone. If you had any brains at all, you would do the same.”

Makoto lets out a sigh that’s almost a laugh, though it’s bitter and mirthless. “Kyoko said the same thing,” He mutters, half to himself. “So you won’t feel safe unless you’re alone? Even though there’s only ten of us left?” He shakes his head, and the motion is a little dizzying, the messy shape of his hair blurring into a dark mass. “How many more people need to die for you to feel safe?”

He sounds angry again, but it’s a colder kind of anger. Resentful and resigned. When did you become so cold?

“...I won’t be safe until I’m out of here.” Byakuya replies steadily, though the hand clenched in his robe tightens slightly. “Even if I could keep everyone in my sight, it’s not like it’d be easy to tell if they were holding a weapon.”

Silently, he adds: And thanks to you, they know that as well.

Makoto doesn’t say anything in reply, so Byakuya leaves. Quickly, in case his stomach threatens to grumble again; his hand doesn’t leave his robe until he’s safely inside his room, door locked behind him.

He almost treads on the bread again, stepping on a corner of the packaging and jumping at the sharp, crinkling sound. It takes a little bit of fumbling in the dark until he finds it, squeezing it through the plastic.

He’s tempted, for a moment, his fingers already searching for the serrated edge to tear it open. But the image of Makoto standing at the bathhouse entrance jumps to his mind; still and shrouded in darkness. A strange, statuesque parody of his usual self.

He throws the bread across the room and climbs back into bed.

< previous - from start - next >

[mienar]

sunrays and quiet moments

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[clerichs-xi]

This is long overdue, but here is the ref sheet for Klaus Lierstark! He's the main character of my personal passion project where he's a monster hunter who, due to specific circumstances, lost 10 years of his memory and is working with a demon to get them back. The two of them travel through the mortal realm and through different planes later on, solving different dilemmas and unearthing the greater plots at play in their world. they also discover more about themselves and each other along the way!

Hopefully now that i'm on summer break i can start posting more official stuff for this project of mine!! im so excited to finally have more time in my life to write more for Klaus and his world! i hope you enjoy reading thru it twirls hair stick around if you wanna see his boyfriend's demon patron's ref sheet in about a month hehe

Transcript for the written information on the sheet, expansions on said info, and closeup on details under the cut:

Klaus Lierstark (next to his basic outfit is his height: 6'6 or 200cm)

Human, White and Chinese

46 years old

Lives in the mountains as a monster hunter

10 years ago made a pact with a patron for magic

Recently lost those 10 years of memories

Made a new deal with demon patron that if Klaus acts as [the demon patron's] bodyguard, his patron will endeavour to help Klaus recover his memories

Now traverses the mortal realm with his demon patron, but starts developing feelings beyond the parameters of their agreement

✧ ABILITIES ✧

Enhanced strength and speed

Swift healing

message reception from patron (any distance and interplanar but only one way; Klaus can only receive messages from his patron, not send any)

Limited spellcasting (still in the midst of learning)

Proficiency with virtually all melee weapons

✧ LIKES ✧

Warm, thick clothing

Home cooking; doing it and eating it

Outdoor activities (eg fishing, hunting, hiking)

heavy/strong tasting food and drink

✧ DISLIKES ✧

Complex social situations (eg parties, negotiations; just any event where people's motives aren't immediately obvious and every word matters)

manipulative people/social situations (eg talking to someone who purposely misconstrues what you say to prove a point)

really humid and hot climates

Being idle in the same place/indoors for too long

✧ FUN FACTS ✧

Really high resting body temperature; feels like a furnace 90% of the time (really prone to overheating as a result, even in the mountains)

lactose intolerant

greatly enjoys romantic poetry and stories

most normal guy in the whole story (im not joking thats why hes the protagonist of the story because he's so normal)

Closeup on details:

(i will figure out how to do an image id for the ref sheets hopefully soon! theres so much text here already weeps)

[goldkirk]

When did the latest 1,000 of you follow me??? good lord hi and welcome, I should maybe pay attention to my notifications and activity page more 😭

[deus-and-the-machina]

ffxiv garlemald discourse is so funny because people will go "ugh people just cant stand it when things aren't black and white" and then you look at how the empire are portrayed in stormblood and shadowbringers and its like hm. that seems like a pretty intense and accurate display of violent imperialism to me! Wow I wonder why people in this day and age may find it hard to feel sympathy for them or even hate them on principal. god its such a mystery.

the games like 50/50 to me on how it tackles these themes because I actually like the garlemald arc in EW, I think it has a lot of horrific and powerful scenes depicting how self destructive fascist propaganda and beliefs are, but I also think it doesn't go far enough on some fronts. the garleans' xenophobia is most notably and obstacle to getting them to accept the contingent's help, which is what they're there to do,

but there's never an admission of harm from any garleans on the uuuuuuuuh massive amount of war crimes the nations around them are still suffering from they're just kind of like "we misjudged you...but you actually wanted to help us all along" like yeah thats great now can we get you all some deprogramming because you keep talking about returning to your prime and glory days and I think we need to unpack some stuff you really SHOULDNT return to. im not even really talking about EW proper but the patches where things are a bit more chilled out and people are recovering.

It feels like they wanted to have their critique of imperialism and also have things end with the beauty of human connection and reaching out and these things just don't mesh well because hey a lot of your modern day audience is not gonna like having to treat people yelling xenophobic things at the cast and your character with kid gloves after you showed them hours and hours of the awful things these people's beliefs have done. especially in the present day hoo boy.