#a little about me ig im not interesting

[codacheetah]

The start of the Loop segment of the Siffrin & friends twitter QNA, and the message that flipped Loop's answers from silly to dodgy and blatantly upset.

Loopchat from speaking to Loop 20+ times.

Certified Loop dysphoria post

[dangans-ur-ronpas]

Chapter 24

why did this chapter kick my ass?? damn!!!

SEE HERE FOR GENERAL WARNINGS AND FIC SUMMARY

Some pre-chapter notes:

soz for the unexpected delay i was moving + starting a new job + lost my grip on byakuya's slippery psyche

playing with my own headcanons for hiro and his backstory actually. bc. well. the original just is not very good at all now is it

tyyy @digitaldollsworld as always!!

Content warning tags: blood, mention of razor (not in intentional self-harm context), minor injury, nausea, panic attack, toxic obsessive stalker Toko, insecurity, mentions of self-starving

< previous - from start - next >

Byakuya drops his straight razor, and it splashes into the basin of his sink. Followed by a few droplets, hot and ruby-bright as it tracks down his jaw, vanishing almost instantly upon contact with the water.

For a moment, he doesn’t move, frozen, one hand still half-raised to his face, still curved in that loose grip. Then he braces his hands against the porcelain edge, knuckles tensing as he tries to keep them from shaking. The cut on his jaw stings, still slowly welling blood; his razor, silver and distorted, warbles in and out of sight with the water’s ripples, his eyes struggling to track its shape. He makes no move to fish it out of the water.

This was his second attempt at shaving. The evidence of his first attempt still throbs on the opposite cheek, near his ear. Despite moving glacially slow, other hand pulling the skin as taut and still as he could manage, the hard edge of the sink digging into his hip as he leaned as close to the mirror as he could, it was still proving to be a fruitless effort. The elegant blade that his mother’s family had gifted him, that he had been using since he became heir, was now simply too large and awkward for him to use. A task that should have been easy after all of Pennyworth’s guidance was now fraught with pointless danger.

…Maybe it’s not worth the trouble, he thinks, numbly. But the hollow, shattered defeatism that comes with the thought is so unfamiliar that it makes him grit his teeth, and then reach slowly into the tepid water to pull the razor out. His stubble was patchy already, especially near his jawline, and any more delay would almost certainly warrant someone commenting on it - maybe Hagakure, who couldn’t seem to keep anything to himself, or Celeste, who would delight in pointing it out while masking it as polite concern - but, at the rate he was going, he was going to draw more attention with a bloodied face.

His fingers scrape the basin, searching at a glacial pace until the edge of his thumbnail taps against the handle. He draws it out gingerly, shakes off the stray droplets, then wipes the blade with a silk cloth. Drying it carefully, meticulously - as Pennyworth had taught him, ‘it’s as good as useless if it rusts’ - before folding it and replacing it in the cupboard behind his mirror. He dries his face with the towel hanging around his neck, ignoring the way the Turkish cotton scraped against raw skin.

I could always just try again later, he reasoned with himself. Not so much as a surrender as it was a tactical retreat; and the results were bound to be better when he was calmer, more composed. He could still do it - he just needed some time.

And as for anyone who might notice it…

…Well. It wasn’t like he was spending much time around anyone else these days anyways.

—

Even if he wasn’t trying to seek out anyone else’s company, he couldn’t help but take note of their own routines, how they settled into their lives after feeling the world shake around them. 

It doesn’t surprise him that Celeste and Yamada have continued on as if nothing had happened at all. Celeste still maintains her airy simulacrum of a mysterious princess, occasionally inviting Byakuya to tea or dinner or a game of Othello, which he declines each time. Yamada, when he wasn’t offering himself up to be bullied and ordered around by her, would be in the newly-opened art room, and Byakuya could occasionally pass by to hear sounds of shuffling paper and the scrape of pens, and the harrowed, heavy breathing of a man possessed.

Ogami and Asahina are similar, returning to their athletic routine, though clearly more affected by the deaths of their classmates. They were attached at the hip before, but now Byakuya never saw one without the other, always in each other’s company, often holding hands - if Ishimaru were here, he might have decried it, ‘No PDA in the hallways!’ in that annoyingly shrill, school-bell voice - once, Byakuya had even overheard the two of them occupying the bathhouse together, when he had passed by with the intention of checking on Alter Ego’s laptop.

(He’d left quickly when he realized what they were doing, leaving the locker unchecked, his face hot and uncomfortable. It was all well and fine for them to cope how they pleased, but couldn’t they have some more decorum about occupying a public space? He was almost beginning to miss Ishimaru.)

…Speaking of Ishimaru. Even Mondo had found something to occupy his time with, these days.

It seemed that after that night with Alter Ego, something had shaken loose inside him, and he was an entirely new person. In some ways, he was even more troublesome than when he was depressed and languishing; loud, piercing, and always appearing when he was least expected, or at least it felt that way to Byakuya. Somehow materializing nearby, demanding to know what you were doing, why you weren’t adhering to some vague, obscure rule that he might’ve made up on the spot. An overgrown hall monitor that acted like every little infraction could mean life or death.

(It was all in the name of protecting the AI, but it was also getting on everyone’s nerves, and it almost made Byakuya regret ever involving himself in the biker’s business in the first place.)

Makoto and Kirigiri were doing whatever it was they were doing. Byakuya rarely saw them, and when he did, he never made any attempt to speak to either of them. It didn’t make much of a difference from his previous dynamic with Kirigiri, but with Makoto, it was almost like a repeat of what had happened just after the first trial. But this time, Makoto never made any attempt to approach him.

Which was perfectly fine by him. Regardless of Makoto’s intentions, his betrayal was unforgivable. There was no reason to associate with him any longer.

And lastly, there was Hagakure.

It’s not clear if the self-proclaimed clairvoyant had given up on Mondo, given the overnight change in personality (at the very least, there was no more need for a suicide watch anytime soon), but he seems to have latched on to Byakuya, for no clear reason. Frequently calling out to him whenever they crossed paths, dogging in his steps like a very determined stray. Chattering incessantly, even when Byakuya refused to deign any of his ridiculous stories with a response, often trying to herd him into the cafeteria so they could “lunch together, bond, maybe share a cup of joe? Even rich guys like joe, right?”

“...Did you mean ‘coffee’,” Byakuya replies in a flat, deadpan tone that was more resigned than irritated, during what must be the dozenth time that Hagakure had intercepted him, and maybe the third time he conceded to the other man’s insistence; if only because Hagakure had been particularly persistent recently, and would probably end up following him and broadcasting to Fukawa or Monokuma or anyone else exactly where Byakuya was seeking refuge, when not in his room.

(Not to mention that he was a little hungry himself, though he could only imagine the kind of common swill someone like Hagakure might consider coffee.)

“Hey man, to-MAY-toes, po-TAY-toes, right?” Hagakure just shrugs, and half-guides, half-pushes Byakuya by the shoulders into the cafeteria.

It’s midday. The place is empty, with even Celeste missing from her favored spot at her table. Hagakure shuffles him into the kitchen, tells him to wash his hands, and then-

-shoves two things at him. One, round, pale brown and still damp, with a slight papery texture beneath the moisture. The other, a piece of smooth, green plastic shaped like a ‘T’, with something silvery running parallel to the top. He skates his thumb lightly over it, and finds the edge of it sharp; a tiny blade.

“Whoa, careful! Don’t hurt yourself!” Hagakure tugs the tool back out of his hand, inspecting his fingers. “Like, come on. I even gave you the vegetable peeler, this is easy mode.”

“...What?”

Hagakure doesn’t explain right away, instead occupied with rolling up his sleeves, tying the brambled mass of his hair back with a strip of white. Arranged on the kitchen counter is a selection of tools, a colorful assortment of vegetables, and a hunk of something dark and pink, occupying the cutting board. There’s already a pot on the stove, and Byakuya watches Hagakure’s hand fiddle with some dark, invisible button across the top of the oven, and a telltale blue flame clicks to life. “We’re making gumbo! And you’re my assistant for the day.” He announces, with the same cadence of a cooking show host. He’s beaming, as if he hadn’t just said something utterly, completely insane.

“...What.”

It’s hard to make out, but he swears Hagakure rolls his eyes at him. Which would be infuriating enough to comment on, if he wasn’t also holding out the aforementioned vegetable peeler out, handle first, towards him. “Gumbo. It’s kinda like, curry I guess? But it’s a lot more soupy.” Apparently not put off by Byakuya’s unresponsiveness, he pushes the peeler into his slack hand. “I mean, I guess I’m not surprised you haven’t tried it. It’s not Japanese, or like…fancy, rich guy food.”

That snaps him out of it. “What,” He repeats, emphatically, with feeling. “Do you think you’re doing?”

“Um, like I said, making gumbo-”

“No, I mean-” Byakuya waves the objects in his hands, and feels only a little ridiculous in doing so. “I’m not- using these.”

Hagakure winces at that. “...No offense, Toga, but, uh…” He hesitates. “It’s…not exactly a good idea to give you a knife right now, you feel me?”

Byakuya can imagine his eyes tracing down his face, to the still-pink line on his jaw from this morning, and feels his face grow even warmer, with nothing to do with the open-flame stove not a meter away from him. “That. Is. Not. The. Point.” He hisses, emphasizing each word. “And - don’t call me that - you said we were here to get coffee.”

He spits these words like they’re poisonous, and Hagakure is still for a moment. He thinks that he’s managed to get his point across, but:

“Aww, Togster…you really did wanna get coffee with me?” Hagakure sounds genuinely touched, one hand pressed to his chest. Byakuya was about two seconds from throwing the stupid root vegetable in his hand against Hagakure’s equally stupid head. “We can have coffee after we make food. Besides, aren’t you sick of the meals we’ve been doing recently? Like I’m not a picky guy, but ramen and bread every day for the past few days is getting kinda…bleh, y’know?”

The worst part of this was that Byakuya agreed with him on that front. Even with his newfound habit of only eating when there was no one else around, or when Alter Ego threatened to stop reading for him until he took a meal, the selection was paltry to begin with and had only grown more unappealing with time.

“Your job is easy,” Hagakure continues, and grabs something hanging off the handle of a nearby oven, and drops it over his face, obscuring his vision for a moment. He jerks backwards in alarm as it settles to hang around his neck, only to realize that it’s an apron - a pale, mint-green thing that’s one size too small, with some still-visible stains splattered across it, and Hagakure had somehow gotten behind him and tied the thing in place already  - “You just gotta peel the potatoes, and I just gotta cut everything up. The roux’s already done, so all we gotta do is dump the ingredients in and let it do its thing.”

Byakuya is still reeling a little from being forced (though, there wasn’t much he could’ve done in protest, with both his hands occupied) into an apron. The things in his hands are so unfamiliar to him that they may as well be OOPart pieces in the making.

Besides him, Hagakure was whistling away, chopping meat with the silver blur of a large kitchen knife. Completely oblivious to anything around him; and Byakuya realized, he could leave right now if he wanted, and it wasn’t like the fortune-teller, of all people, could stop him.

He’s about to do just that when the other man looks up, knife stilling. “Something wrong?” He asks, with a tilt of his head. And before Byakuya could explain that, yes, there was something very wrong with this entire situation: “D’you need help?”

“No.” He says automatically, and immediately kicks himself for it.

“Oh, then-?”

“I don’t-” Byakuya says at the same time, and frowns sharply at the interruption. “I. Don’t do this sort of…thing.” It comes out a lot less assertive than he would like, and sounds a lot more pathetic than he means it to be.

“Oh. Well, yeah, I figured.” Hagakure shrugs, as he scoops up the mess of pink on the cutting board with the edge of his knife and drops it into a metal bowl. It lands with a loud, wet slap, and the bowl rings as it shakes against the counter. “No time to learn like the present though, right?”

Byakuya feels his eye twitch. In some ways, talking to Hagakure was more frustrating than negotiating with most white-collar businessmen, and more akin to arguing against a very enthusiastic wall. “I’m not supposed to do this kind of thing,” He tries again. “I’ve never had to prepare my own food in my life.”

It echoes what he told Makoto, that night he dragged Byakuya to the kitchen to prepare him a meal. But this time, it feels much less like a boast, and more like an admission. Like he couldn’t even do this much.

If Hagakure noticed the grimace passing over his face, he made no comment. Instead, he plucks the items out of Byakuya’s hands. “No time to learn like the present, my man.” He twirls the peeler between his fingers, and it spins, a foggy green circle. “It’s like a pattern, you pull the peeler down, turn it again, and repeat.” He demonstrates, hands moving quickly, with practiced ease. “Don’t worry if you miss anything. We don’t need it to be super clean, we just need most of the skin off.”

And he offers the peeler back to Byakuya, a gleam of white teeth on his face. Deceptively kind, poisonously pleasant. “Think you can handle that?”

Byakuya shoves his hand away, his patience thinning to a thread. “Take the hint,” He snaps, reaching behind himself to try and undo the knot. “I’m not doing this.”

“What? But it’s easy!”

“I don’t care,” He yanks at the ties, feels them come no closer to being loosened, and feels his face reddening with frustration, humiliation. He needs to leave, now. “I’m leaving.”

“Aw, Toga, come on-”

Byakuya reaches for the knife, left abandoned on the cutting board, and there’s a clatter as Hagakure backs himself against the ovens. “O-okay, okay, sure! Sure, jesus, okay!”

Byakuya rolls his eyes at the overreaction, already tuning him out, then starts awkwardly maneuvering the knife to try and cut the apron off. Arms twisting awkwardly to catch the bladed edge against the side of the knot. It’s not easy - he could swear, the blade seemed sharp enough when Hagakure was using it to dice meat, but now it slides clumsily against the twisted cotton, dull as a stone -

“Jesus,” Hagakure says again, but less panicked now that it was clear his life was under no immediate threat. “Okay, you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“I am not-”

“You totally are, man. Just - don’t slash me, please, and hold still -”

Hagakure gives him a wide, cautious berth, as if still worried he would suddenly turn into some violent, knife-swinging killer, edging until he’s out of Byakuya’s peripheral and standing behind him. A slight tug around his midsection later, and the apron is flapping loosely against his stomach.

To show his thanks, Byakuya sets the knife down before he pulls off the apron, not so much as handing it over as simply dropping it in the other boy’s direction.

He makes to leave, but Hagakure stops him - or tries to, throwing one hand out while scrambling to catch the apron with the other - “Wait, wait,” He still sounds jovial, but there’s a thin edge of nervousness to it now, residual after the earlier scare. “Listen, you don’t hafta help if you don’t want to, but like…can you just hang out? Here?”

“...You want me to stay. In the kitchen.” Where it was overly warm with a pot of water building into a steady boil, heavy with the smell of various condiments and spices, and pervaded by a general stickiness on the tile. “Why?”

“U-um, well…”

Byakuya sighs. He’s wasted too much time already. The coffee he was promised earlier was looking like a lost cause, and frankly, he wasn’t interested in eating anything anymore either. It would feel too much like accepting undue pity, somehow.

Apparently sensing his impatience, Hagakure finally blurts out: “Because-! I’m, um, scared! To be alone! So…”

Byakuya only stares. Even with his hair tied back, the shape of Hagakure’s head is still a round, dark splotch, albeit smaller than usual. And it bobs up and down like a dandelion as he ducks his head, hands clasped in an exaggerated plea. “Please, man, I literally can’t ask anyone else,” He begs. “Mondo’s all psyched-out and freaky serious now, Hifumi and Celeste were weirdos to begin with, and I’m sick of third-wheeling for Hina-chi and Saka-chi! And there’s no way I’m hanging out with Toko!”

He doesn’t mention Makoto or Kirigiri. Which, Byakuya assumes, makes sense, so he doesn’t bother to ask about it. “How do I know you aren’t trying to kill me,” He says instead, deadpan. 

Hagakure snorts. “Have you seen me?” And then immediately winces. “I mean - shit, sorry - but seriously, I’m pissing my pants every time Monokuma shows up. And at every crime scene, and every trial. You really think I could get over myself to off someone?”

“None of Monokuma’s motives struck a chord with you?”

“Well - I’d be lying if the first one didn’t make me nervous,” He nods. “But I divined how my parents were doing a bunch of times, and they were always alright, so that didn’t worry me too much. And the thing about secrets; well, mine is that I’m actually on the run from this yakuza boss I accidentally pissed off. I owe him a debt of eight million yen.”

Byakuya is certain he doesn’t miss the way Hagakure glances at him then, based on the way his ponytail twitches as his head turns imperceptibly. He decides to ignore the obvious bait, and moves on: “Fine, then. Then what’s your reasoning that I won’t try to kill you?”

“Oh.” Hagakure pauses. “...I didn’t, uh…think about that.”

Right. Byakuya can’t find it in him to be surprised about that either, though some bruised-up part of his pride does rail against the implication that he wasn’t dangerous. Like being blind meant he was harmless, helpless, defanged - he struggles against the implication, but only sickens himself more with the truth of it.

“I mean…do you want to kill me?”

Byakuya snorts. “I want to leave,” He leans back against the counter, feeling the hard, smooth edge of the marble dig against his back. “Obviously, I’m not crazy enough to spend the rest of my life here, waiting to kill or be killed.” He pauses. “And…I’ve been looking into possible causes for my…circumstance, and it’s looking more and more like it would require the work of a trained doctor, using specific equipment to resolve. Which this place,” He gestures around him. “Isn’t exactly equipped to handle.”

The other boy scratches his head. “Um, yeah. I mean I know that much. We all wanna get out and all, but like…do you want to kill someone to make that happen?”

Not in the slightest. He probably held responsibility for the deaths of multiple people at this point, but he had never had to kill them himself, nor witness the moment of their end. Dirtying his hands with someone else’s blood never appealed to him, and it was far more sophisticated to orchestrate someone else handling the messy work.

But his answer must show on his face, because Hagakure nods, satisfied. “Well, there you go! Also, I ran a divination on whether one of us would die today, and it’s not in the cards or the stars or divine intention, so we’re good!” He claps his hands. “Anyways. If you don’t wanna help, that’s all totally cool. All you gotta do is stick around.”

“You can’t be serious.” He scoffs. But he was getting sick of the earlier conversation - sick of talking about himself, sick of thinking about himself - so he stays where he is, crossing his arms as Hagakure busies himself with the ingredients. “How do your divinations even work, anyways?”

“What, you interested?” Hagakure flashes another white smile, and even through the haze Byakuya gets the impression that it’s a salesman grin. He could practically hear the cartoonish chime of a register. “My current going rate’s ten-million yen a reading, but for you I’ll throw in a buddy’s discount of twenty-percent!”

Byakuya gives him the most unimpressed look he can manage. “I’m not interested in wasting money on frivolities.”

“It’s not frivol-anything, man. They’re a hundred-percent legit! …Thirty-three-percent of the time,” He amends, sheepishly, at Byakuya’s withering stare. “But when they’re real, they’re real! With a hundred-percent accuracy!”

As he talks, his hands blur, moving with practiced ease. The small pile of potatoes changing from brown to pale yellow, to small, misshapen chunks, the green stalks of celery disintegrating under a knife, sharp-smelling and darkening the wood beneath it with its moisture. There’s a steady, fluid grace to it, and Byakuya watches on, feeling a sense of deja vu - faintly envious, partly entranced - the last he felt this way, he recalls, was being a child and watching his mother work in her studio, hewing faces out of stone.

He hasn’t thought about that memory in years, and he clicks his tongue sharply, irritated. Hagakure jumps at the sound. “M-maybe it’s more like a ninety-eight percent accuracy?” The fortune-teller tries, hurriedly. “Uh, it depends on how clearly I can convey it, I mean. Like how good the client is with understanding me…dialect differences and all that, though my English is pretty solid-”

“Why fortune-telling, anyways?” He cuts off Hagakure’s rambling. “I can’t imagine it’s an inherited position. You don’t seem the type to be taking up someone else’s legacy.”

“Oh! Well…” He turns to the pot, scrapes a bowl of brown slurry into its bubbling contents. “It was my dad who got me into it - not that he was a fortune teller or anything - but he knew stories about fortune tellers and priestesses and stuff, from where he grew up. It was pretty interesting, and I guess that’s what got me started.” He stirs, sniffs, tosses a handful of green shapes into the mix. “He actually bought me my first crystal ball, though it was just a cheap souvenir thing. I couldn’t’ve been older than, like, six or something.” He laughs. “Wow, I haven’t thought about this stuff in forever.”

“Am I dredging up bad memories?” Byakuya drawls, and Hagakure shakes his head.

“Nah, just old ones. But I got super into it; started begging my Ma to read me divination textbooks for bedtime, she thought I was going crazy. Dad just said it was normal for little kids to be a little crazy about something they like, though.” He shrugs. Another sniff, a sprinkle of red seasoning. “He was the first person I did an accurate divination for, actually. Like a real divination, not just for pretend.”

He goes quiet for a moment, wooden spoon scraping against the inside of the pot. Byakuya frowns. “And what did you ‘see’?” He asks, though only about half as sarcastic as he intended.

“Saw him in the hospital. And then leaving.” He replies simply. He turns, and scoops up the chopped ingredients in his hands, tossing them in with a hiss. “It was clear as day in that little glass ball, like I was watching a TV screen, except also kinda…I don’t know, wiggly? Like a dream. But I got shook up so bad I dropped it and broke the damn thing, and the next day my Dad went to the doctor for a check-up, and they shipped him to the hospital right after. Some genetic, hereditary thing, they wouldn’t even tell me what it was. I think Ma thought it’d freak me out if I knew, but I was just more freaked out not knowing.”

He reaches blindly behind him, searching hand patting at the counter, the cutting board. Byakuya hesitates, then grabs the bowl of chopped meat and passes it over. Its contents splash into the pot. “Thanks. Anyways, the weirdest thing was that I wasn’t, like, scared he was gonna die, or anything. For some reason I knew he was gonna make it, but I was more worried that he was gonna…hurt? Get even worse?” He pauses. “I kept on doing divinations afterwards with a tarot card set, just to see how he was doing, and each time it told me he was gonna be fine.”

His voice sounds a little thick, indistinct. Byakuya was beginning to regret bringing up this topic; he would hate it if he was suddenly expected to have to comfort a grown man. But instead of bursting into tears, Hagakure leans to the side, tucks his face into his elbow, and sneezes, gunshot loud. “Phew! Jeez, the paprika.” He sniffs, and Byakuya’s unease turns back into a comfortable sort of annoyance. “Anyways. Where was I…?”

“...Your father.” He hesitates for a moment. “When he passed away.”

“When he-?” Hagakure turns fully away from the pot to stare at him, mouth open, before breaking into a laugh. Doubling over so and wheezing like he just got punched. “Dude! No way, are you- did you really think that?!”

“What? Am I wrong?” Byakuya feels his face heating red again, with nothing to do with the steam. “Shut up. The way you were talking about it, you were acting like he kicked the bucket,” He snaps, and Hagakure stifles another laugh. “It’s the logical progression of things. You saw him get sick and die, and then-”

“No, no, dude, I said I saw him in the hospital, and then leave - oh, yeah, I guess I can see how you’d think that now.” He stands up straight again, swiping a hand across his face. “Oh man. No, I meant ‘leave’ as in literally leaving, like at an airport? He got better and swung back around, but got a job offer overseas right after, so he never really came back to settle permanently in Japan.” He turns back to the pot, turning the heat down low. “He sends postcards for me all the time, and he and Ma vacation together every year around the holidays.”

So that was it. Byakuya feels an irrational surge of exasperation, as if all his previous pity had just been wasted. “What does he even do? Your father?”

“He teaches quantum mechanics.” At Byakuya’s stunned expression, he snorts. “What, I’m not kidding! He test-runs all his lectures and speeches and stuff to me, and now I know way more about that stuff than I think most people ever need to!”

‘Prove it’ is on the tip of Byakuya’s tongue, but he holds back. He probably would never recover if Hagakure did somehow manage it and make him look like a fool. Hagakure stirs the pot in silence for a moment longer, before asking: “What about you?”

“What?”

“Your parents.” A shot of cold immediately runs down his spine. “Like, I know your dad’s a big rich unmarried bachelor hotshot, but what about your mom? Ah- ” Hagakure presses hand to his mouth. “She…is she, like…?”

“She’s not dead, if that’s what you’re trying to ask.” He replies, stiffly. “We’re estranged.”

“O-oh. Um. I’m sorry?”

“It’s fine.” He pauses, looks down at the tile floor. It was a mutual disavowment, around the time he made the decision to try for Togami heir. She was relieved to be rid of him, he was sure, and he was glad to be out of her house full of stone statues and hollow eyes. “I haven’t been in contact with her for several years. We’re as good as strangers.”

He really should just leave it at that. There’s no reason to elaborate any further, nor does he want to; he glares down at his feet, trying to count the tiles, and watches as the dark lines dividing them squiggle and disappear the moment he loses focus. And finds his mouth moving against his will. “My mother is Genevieve Delasol.”

“Cool.” A pause. “Wait, what!?”

Byakuya scowls and looks away as Hagakure turns back to him. “Like, the Delasol?! World-famous artist lady? With the sculptures? Miss Modern Michelangelo?!”

“Don’t call her that.” She had always hated that stupid nickname that the press forced on her, and so did he, though not for her benefit. It was a tasteless, and frankly disrespectful moniker. “But yes. Her.”

“Dude…” There’s awe in his voice, as if it were something impressive. “That’s crazy.”

“It’s not. She birthed me like any other human.”

“Still! Like, they talked about her in my elementary school art class. Her stuff is so-” He splays his fingers near his head, puffs his cheeks to mimic the sound of an explosion. “Like, I remember seeing pictures of her stuff for the first time, and it freaked me out. One of the older kids in the neighborhood told me she was freezing people into rock, that’s how real her stuff looks.”

“She’s a good artist, but she was an awful mother.” Byakuya says flatly, immediately draining the rest of Hagakure’s enthusiasm. “We’re not continuing his conversation.”

“Right, right. Um. Sorry.” He taps his fingers against the spoon, ladles some of it into a little dish to taste. “Okay, um. Could you pass me some dishes? From that cabinet in front of you - to the left - yeah, thanks.”

The concoction he scoops into the shallow dishes Byakuya hands him is…unappealing. At least visually - a muddy brown sludge that glops thickly off of his ladle - but it smells good, spicy and warm. One of the bowls is passed back, and there’s a conflict of sensation as Byakuya tries to decide if he’s hungry enough to risk it, something that he couldn’t even clearly oversee the process of making.

“You’re surprisingly well-versed in the kitchen.”

“Yeah, well. I get into hot water a lot when my fortunes don’t work out, especially with my, uh…higher class clients, so I had to get used to taking care of myself. Didn’t wanna bother my parents with it, ya know?” He flicks off the stove, covers the pot, and reaches to the right for the rice cooker. Opens it with a sharp smack to the lid. “Like, I don’t think I’ve seen my dad face-to-face in…it feels like two years. Maybe longer.”

He holds out his hand. Byakuya passes over his bowl, and he plops some rice into the center of it, before handing it back.

“I can’t finish this much.”

“Sure you can, you’re a growing guy.” There’s the roll of a drawer being pulled open, then a clatter before a spoon is being dropped into his bowl as well. “You better eat all of it, by the way. Every grain of rice has seven gods, so you gotta eat them all so you don’t get cursed.”

“...What kind of saying is that?”

“Dunno, but my Ma used to say it all the time. Come on, let’s go into the caf-”

He halts suddenly, halfway to the door. Byakuya nearly runs into his back, and just barely keeps from spilling his bowl. “What-”

“Um. Hold on.” The previous casualness of his voice is gone, and there’s a hard thread of unease running through it again. “Uh…wait out here for a moment, okay?”

“Why-”

“Dude, please. Just for a moment.” He sets his bowl down on the counter. “I’ll be right back.”

And then he’s out the door before Byakuya can make any protest, leaving him alone in the kitchen, now uncomfortably quiet without the soft hiss of the stove. He stands there, stunned, feeling a little bit stung - no, irked - at the sudden dismissal.

He wasn’t about to take orders from Hagakure, regardless of whatever weird pseudo-symbiotic-relationship the other boy thought they had going on. He walks towards the door, moving to elbow it open-

“I’m telling you, just leave him alone.”

He freezes, ducking his head down. Hagakure’s voice is high and scratchy with nervousness, but firm despite that. “For the last time-”

“I-I-I-” Someone else stutters. The voice is familiar, and Byakuya feels his gut drop in recognition. The last he heard it, it was seething with malice, spit like venom at his feet. “I j-just wanna l-look at him…”

Hagakure lets out a long-suffering sigh, indicating that this wasn’t the first time he’s had to deal with this. “Seven hells, Toko, I really don’t get you,” He grumbles. “You said you hated him, right? I mean, you said so at the trial, and you did…all that.” He coughs. “He wasn’t interested to begin with, and there’s really no way to turn it around after that.”

“I-It was t-to prove that we’re th-the same!” Fukawa shrieks, trigger-sudden and indignant. There’s a sharp thump as she stomps her foot, hard enough to rattle some nearby furniture. “If I d-didn’t do that, he w-would’ve never a-accepted what h-happened to him!”

Byakuya frowns at that, and sets the bowl aside in favor of sinking into a half-crouch, ear pressing up against the door, beneath the tiny window. What was she talking about? Not accepting my own condition? Don’t I know myself better than anyone else?

“That’s not up to you to decide,” Hagakure starts.

“I-It’s not up t-to you to p-protect him either!” She spits back. “Y-you’ve been keeping him a-away from me recently, wh-what’s with you? D-did you have some k-kind of awakening, or something?!”

“Hey, I’ll have you know that my type is none of your business - and anyways, ain’t it logical to wanna keep away from you?” He grumbles, then yelps. “C-calm down-! I just mean - you know, you…you don’t exactly give off warm and fuzzy feelings about hanging out with people!”

Toko barks a laugh, shrill and mirthless. “Wh-which makes him perfect for me,” And Byakuya feels disgust roll down his back. “I-I know I’m m-miserable, a-and unfriendly and unloveable,”

“Hey,” Hagakure says, a little more gently than before.

“B-but s-so is he! H-he’s just b-better at hiding it, p-pretending to be a, a perfect, white-horse prince,” She spits the words vehemently. “I-if he was p-perfect, th-then maybe, I c-could just be s-satisfied with - with being n-near him, with b-being used…”

She trails off. Byakuya fights the urge to physically cringe at the mere suggestion, instead gritting his teeth, nails scratching lightly against the door’s tacky surface. “B-but, he’s not perfect. S-so, that means I c-can reach him - i-it’s possible for someone l-like m-me to actually be with him,” She giggles, and the sound is far too childishly delighted to suit her mouth, and far too chilling to have innocent intentions behind it. “I-I dragged him off his p-pedestal, s-so now I can actually touch him.”

It’s vile, listening to her. The sound feels like a filth that clings to him, sliding into his ears, contaminating him from the inside out. Poisoning him, paralyzing him.

He’s only vaguely aware of his body sliding down lower, unable to maintain the awkward pose, curled over and unable to brace himself properly against the swinging door. He sinks into a squat, ears straining.

“...Um, ew.” Hagakure mutters succinctly. “Okay, first of all, no you can’t. Pretty sure Monokuma would have some problems about that, he’s all gung-ho about decency and stuff. Second, Toga’s still not gonna be into you. You blew that chance when you, uh…”

“When I w-what? S-strung up Chihiro?” She snorts. “H-he would’ve done the s-same if h-he was a-actually as perfect as h-he said.”

The contamination sinks deeper, claws curling cruelly into his chest. I would have never, He thinks through the tinny, lightheaded hum in his skull, but there’s a sickening sense of dread that twists in his stomach as he realizes he can’t even be sure of that. He might have. He would’ve had no use for Chihiro if he wasn’t blind, he would have barely even hesitated if the opportunity was there - to defile someone else’s corpse for nothing more than his own self-righteousness.

He’s probably had this realization already, but it’s revolting to hear it come from Fukawa. He should go out there, tell her to shut up, to leave him be-

“-a-and anyways, y-you still didn’t t-tell me why y-you’re so obsessed with p-protecting him.” She’s still saying, distantly, and it feels as if the door is suddenly several times thicker than it was previously, muffling the sound dramatically. “Y-you don’t have a-anything in c-common, I don’t s-see why you’d want t-to be near him, u-unless…y-you’re doing it for someone else, aren’t y-you?”

Hagakure doesn’t respond. Makes no sound to confirm or deny it. Byakuya waits, ringing intensifying, disease festering into his lungs. It was getting hard to breathe. His pulse thrums in his ears, too loud to think, not nearly loud enough to drown their voices out.

“I s-saw you with Makoto,” She continues, and the confirmation of Byakuya’s suspicion does nothing to make him feel better. “He- he asked you t-to do this, right? To protect him, h-how nice,” She snarls, disgusted. “L-looking out for his p-precious boyfriend, when he won’t d-do it himself-”

“That’s…that’s not it,” Hagakure protests, but he doesn’t sound convincing, voice so hesitant and soft that Byakuya barely catches it. “Mako-chi’s just…busy, right now-”

“Y-yeah, too busy trying to g-get out of here so Byakuya c-can get fixed, so he can s-stop f-feeling guilty - h-he doesn’t want to have to look at him, b-but he can’t help s-sticking his nose in anyways, he’s s-so sweet it makes me sick.” Byakuya legs shake, cramping, but he forces himself still, keeps his ear flattened to the door despite the nausea building in his gut, the light-headedness in his temples - “B-but it’s too much work t-to comfort him or drag him a-around, s-so he has to get s-someone to do it, right?”

He wouldn’t, is Byakuya’s immediate thought, but it’s weak, even in his own head. Makoto hasn’t sought him out all since that night in the bathhouse because Byakuya had requested it; had demanded that he leave him alone with as much vitriol and firmness as he could muster, and as with so many other things, Makoto had obeyed. But while Fukawa’s words are acerbic and biting, they’re also painfully, terribly logical.

He wonders now, how he must have looked to the others. Slowly falling apart, barely eating, rarely showing his face. So utterly different from how he tried to portray himself at first, an ill-fitted facsimile of how he used to be, how he should be; it’s no wonder Makoto would go behind his back to take care of him. Between disobeying him again and trying to keep him alive, the choice must have been easy.

The fact that that choice had to be made at all, however, made Byakuya want to…

There’s a thud as his legs finally give out, his knees smashing against the tile, but he hardly notices. Not while the sickness spreads, a physical decay in his torso eating away at him, swift and insatiable. He’s not hungry anymore, but he feels emptier than he’s ever been. 

The door swings open suddenly, bumping against his shoulder, and he sways, unsteady. Hands reach out, catching him before he can fall over.

“Whoa, hey,” Hagakure sounds muffled, underwater. He hooks his hands beneath Byakuya’s arms, trying to pull him upright, and only then does Byakuya realize that he’s not really breathing. Probably hasn’t been for the past few minutes. “Toga- I mean- you okay?” 

Of course not, he wants to snap, but talking would mean opening his mouth, and that would mean breaking down into tears like a petulant infant, so he clamps his mouth shut and tries to get as much oxygen as he can through his nose. Slow, stuttered, wheezing breaths, teeth sinking into raw, just-healing skin and breaking it bloody all over again. He leans away from Hagakure’s grip as much as possible and tries to brace himself against the wall, shaky hands against the cool bumps of the tile. Trying to count them, one by one.

“I,” He manages to grit out when he was marginally more calm, ignoring Hagakure’s worried clucking. His voice quavers, and he swallows hard around the shrapnel lodged in his throat. “I’m going to go.”

“Dude, come on-”

He lurches forward, clumsily dodging Hagakure’s attempts to support him, and walks as steadily as he can out of the kitchen. The moment he crosses the open space of the cafeteria and into the hallway, he breaks into a sprint for his room. As far away from prying eyes as he can manage.

__

(When he opens his door later that night, he finds a plastic container and a spoon sitting by the threshold, its contents long cold.)

(He eats it anyways and scrapes it clean, and leaves it sitting empty outside of his door again.)

< previous - from start - next >

[jils-things]

to love someone is to heal someone

[telesodalite]

Sort of a ramble, sort of me just writing my thoughts out while I'm stuck with writer's block, but I keep thinking about how Fulcrum was in stasis for roughly 3 million years??

Like, that's a long time, even for Cybertronians. Not a really long time, not an entire lifespan. But still, it's a large chunk of a normal lifespan just gone. Poof.

One second you're crawling across the pockmarked terrain of an alien planet, surrounded by the sound of gunfire, and the shouting and screaming before and after each earth shuddering impact of another k-con hitting the ground. And then it's quiet. You're not there anymore. You're drifting somewhere between not alive and just asleep. Preserved somewhere in the background of a doomed body, ignored by time and space, still here, but also not.

And then there's sound. Not gunfire. Not shouting or screaming. Not the sounds that'll haunt you till your dying days, your own death sentence pounding in your head. No. Just voices, talking, standing out against a silent, dead world. Wondering. Joking. Bickering. Familiar. Just, not familiar to you. And you're awake. Pulled back from the nothingness you've been frozen in, consciousness tugged forwards with the yank of a fuel pump and the nearness of life.

These two moments are roughly 3 million years apart, but only minutes, maybe even seconds, to him. From a hectic harrowing battlefield, to an old silent graveyard in one blink.

How long did it take to really sink in? I mean, he seems to just roll with it. He doesn't seem particularly bothered. But like, what happened outside of what we see? How did he really feel?

Also, his body aged without him. While his mind preserved itself, freezing him as he was right then, his body was left to weather Clemency for all those years. No wonder it crumbled to dust when he jumped off the world sweeper. It's probably a miracle of some kind that it didn't just fall apart each time someone leaned on him.

And even after they rebuild him, give him a better, newer body. His spark, it's casing, all the irreplaceable core bits that make up their inner bodies, it aged in the time without him. Does he feel it? Does it make his body even more foreign to him?

Then he's also a technician with information that's 3 million years out of date. Lucky him that the scavengers probably weren't working with top of the line material. But still it's gotta be weird when faced with anything brand new, because a lot can change and progress in 3 million years, and now some of the knowledge he once prided himself in is obsolete.

Besides those things, his view of the galaxy, of the war, of their kind, of other kinds, is one of the few things actually pointed out when it comes to him being stuck in the past. So, how often were his old views challenged? Facts of life he held close proved to no longer true? There's 3 million years worth of new science, new beliefs, new words, new terms, new views.

And sure, some of it can be familiar, because they're an ever evolving kind, and they have patterns, core beliefs, repeating behaviors, but a lot of it's gonna be unfamiliar at the same time, because it's 3 million years worth of catch up, it's not like missing last week's trend.

In a way, it makes him a living relic of a bygone era for Decepticons. It would've been really interesting to have had that explored a little more.

[bunnyboy-juice]

spent the first hour and change at work deleting some old files and am having a grand ol time laughing at myself for not realizing i was a lesbian sooner

[schemelin]

every now and then i experience brief moments of self-awareness telling me to make major changes to the fusionsprunt story

[nejackdaw]

Okay I haven't talked about Judas OR the Judas album in a while so I'm going to share this analysis I finally placed and I'm losing my mind about

In the song Field of Blood (song 5,) the chorus ends with a line I've never quite been able to find a suitable conclusion about. Right. (Putting my rambling under a read more, the screenshots make this long)

Oh, okay, "what is my god," he's having a crisis of faith. Why is God so cruel as to order Jesus be killed (reminder that the album is a mix of biblical and Gnostic canon, where Jesus asked Judas to be the one to betray him.)

WRONG

If we move two tracks ahead in the album to Death is Just a Kiss Away, right before the last chorus we have these lines:

Which is insane! Because this part is actually saying "you have two gods, God and Jesus" (sun and moon, as I'll get to) "and no matter which you choose" (obeying the kill command or refusing to kill Jesus) "you're going to piss everyone off"! Okay now I know, "but where did you get sun and moon/God and Jesus" and HERE I TELL YOU:

Jesus is CONSTANTLY referred to with constellation imagery! (There's a whole song about it!) The Gospel of Judas includes the quotes (from Jesus) "Judas, your star has led you astray" and "the star that leads the way is your star." The album takes this and RUNS with it. Makes Jesus Judas's guiding star. There is SO MUCH night/star symbolism going on here, mostly in Constellation, but also from A World Where we Belong:

SO BASICALLY: considering that Jesus is heavily referred to with night sky imagery and they're literally both referred to as "two moons aligned," it isn't unreasonable to conclude that the line from Just a Kiss Away is in fact talking about God/Jesus. WHICH MEANS

When Judas is about to hang himself and he pleadingly asks "what is my god?"

HE DOESN'T KNOW IF IT'S GOD OR JESUS BECAUSE HE'S FUCKING IN LOVE WITH HIM APNDOANSOANS HE OBEYED GOD BECAUSE HE'S GOD BUT HE'S KILLING HIMSELF OVER JESUS. I HAVE MANY OTHER LINES ABOUT THIS (DEVOTION TO JESUS, NOT GOD) BUT THAT'S A DIFFERENT TOPIC

[zroqravity]

She should stop making out with her brother and suck my blood instead I think

[francy-sketches]

If I'd actually posted all my pjo art when I made it instead of hoarding it like a little goblin for no apparent reason today I might have been known as the octavian guy instead of the joffrey guy...scary thought...

[fiendishartist2]

guilty of your innocence– mp100

“It’s very nice to finally meet you, Ms. Serizawa!”

The man on her doorstep was holding out a very sweaty hand. When she took it, she was treated to the clammiest handshake she had ever experienced.

Her boy– lovely, sweet, naive Katsuya– was smiling at her, eyes wide and imploring. Despite the grin pulling at his lips, his hands were shaking where they were clasped in front of his chest. Poor Katsuya looked like he was on the brink of collapse. The nervous tilt of his eyebrows were screaming at her to accept the man.

She didn’t know whether to spare his feelings or tell the truth.

Katsuya had called her earlier in the day, asking if she was free for a visit after work. For her son, she would always be free, she told him– but she accepted anyway. Despite their previously strained relationship, Katsuya was one of her favourite people. She loved when he swung by her residential area, coming for lunch or dinner whenever he made time in his busy schedule.

He told her he had a surprise for her– someone he wanted her to meet. She was ecstatic, of course; still overwhelmingly proud of her son for getting out into the world. And now, he was meeting people and making friends! She baked snacks with vigour, fueled by the need to impress whoever their guest would be.

Now she wished she hadn’t broken her back over those little cakes.

The man Katsuya presented her with was incredibly underwhelming– if not downright concerning. He spoke with a certain degree of smarminess, like he was trying to sell her something. His smile glinted– sharp and intelligent, but much too disarming. The man’s arms pinwheeled around as he spoke at a mile a minute; the lack of self-awareness was another red-flag raised with the others. Adding to his persona, the man’s hair was an unnatural shade of blond, the colour of box bleach done in the middle of the night in a cramped bathroom. On his strung-out frame, he wore an oversized– yet puzzlingly too-small– suit. It crinkled, thin fabric bunching up around his waist and shoulders. The pant legs didn’t quite reach his ankles, revealing unprofessional magenta socks. He was trying to distract her with his big, showy smiles and empty niceties– and she was already suspicious.

With narrowed eyes, she sized him up. She instilled as much distrust into her glare as her 5’3” stature could manage. Judging by the beads of sweat gathering under his bangs, the man was rightfully intimidated.

Katsuya led them into the house, passing by his mother to plant the man in her living room. He left him alone with a squeeze of his shoulder. The man looked like he was trying desperately to not throw up on her carpet. He smiled around his clear nausea– she wanted to laugh at the way his face was nearly green, like a cartoon character, but alarms were going off in her ears. She didn't like this disingenuous man who had swept up her Katsuya at all.

As Katsuya puttered around the kitchen, collecting mugs and tea bags as he set water boiling in the kettle with his powers, she sat on the armchair opposite the man, cornering him.

She levelled him with another icy look, crossing her arms. The man straightened, steeling himself like he was getting ready for an argument.

"Who are you?" She asked bluntly. He barely faltered, crossing his legs and leaning in. He still had that sickly-sweet customer service smile plastered on his face.

"Reigen Arataka," he stopped, like he was about to continue that sentence, but decided against it at the last minute. Pink dusted his cheeks and he cleared his throat, "I'm Katsuya's… business partner. It's nice to meet you Ms…?" He reiterated. She didn't return the sentiment.

She hummed, brushing him off, "And how do you know my son?"

Clanging sounded from the kitchen, causing her to startle– Katsuya must have dropped something. Concern flashed across Reigen's face as he peered into the kitchen, eyebrows drawn in a look that conveyed worry where she expected fear. It had been a long time since the sound of something hitting the floor in her home was cause for light concern instead of anxiety. Reigen relaxed when a bright "I'm okay!" floated in from the kitchen.

"Well, that's actually a funny story," he started, uncrossing and crossing his legs again the opposite way. It was like he couldn't stop moving, "Katsuya and I actually met at his old uh– 'job'."

Her heart stopped beating.

The last time a man in a suit with a fake smile and hollow words took her Katsuya, she lost him for three years. To hear that they met through the abusive man her son had just barely escaped from was a punch to the gut.

Already, Reigen was trying to explain himself. His hands flailed around like restless hummingbirds and if she hadn't been lost in her own fear and anger, she would want to bat them away.

"Not- I mean, it was after his old boss was arrested and- and I am not part of Claw or anything like that-!" He swiped a sweaty hand across his sweaty face, laughing shrilly, "You see, my kids– well, they're not really my kids but- but anyways!"

Was Katsuya in a bad place again?

It seemed like he was getting better– he had his own apartment that he paid for with his own money. She thought he had a real job, since he earned a consistent wage and spoke highly of his new boss– even quite affectionately at times. Katsuya went to school, he had friends; he was finally experiencing the world in a way she never thought possible. Nothing like the closed off, frightened boy she had known his whole life.

But, had he just been passed from one controlling force to another? Did she fail to see her son was struggling again?

Katsuya returned from the kitchen. His bubbly presence cut off Reigen's flustered ramblings, attention drawn solely to him. In his hands, Katsuya carried two steaming mugs of tea; behind him, a third cup bobbed lazily in the air, suspended in a shimmering cloud of magenta and black. She tried not to stare at the obvious and carefree display of psychic powers– but after so many years of it being just a depressing background hum in her home, it was still surprising to see it expressed so openly.

He handed them each a mug, sitting next to Reigen and letting his own settle gracefully into his cupped hands.

"Watch out, it's still hot," he murmured, earning an unimpressed pout from Reigen. Katsuya giggled into his tea and she nearly choked on her own– it had to have been years since she heard him sound so happy.

"So, what were you guys talking about?" Katsuya asked innocently. Reigen winced, turning away and rubbing the back of his neck.

"Just- ah… how we met." He confessed sullenly. In the tense silence, Reigen sipped his tea at an obnoxious volume. He set it down seconds later with a yelp.

Katsuya pursed his lips, carefully avoiding eye contact with his mother.

"Oh."

She cut in with a stern tone, "Katsuya," worry settled just under her words, "I thought you were done with that whole organisation. Are you…" She cleared her throat, but her voice still came out as nothing more than a whisper, "Do you need help, sweetheart?"

Her son looked absolutely stricken.

"Wh- Mama, what do you mean? Of course I'm not part of Claw anymore. I told you, they disbanded," his hands hugged his cup tighter as they started trembling, "A-and… um, I like where I am now."

His free hand wrapped around Reigen's arm, wrinkling the cheap fabric. A blotchy red blush spread across Reigen's entire face– just the sight of it gave her second hand embarrassment. Then her son's words caught up with her.

This is the man her son chose? This annoying, two-faced, car-salesman-esque man? A man who had power over him as his boss– and wasn't that just like his old 'employer'? Wasn't Suzuki just another person with too much control over her Katsuya– her poor son who would flock to anyone who could point him in the direction of normalcy–

Beeping filled the air; her cakes were done in the oven.

She set her mug down harshly. Tea splashed over the edges, staining her nearly spotless coffee table.

Ms. Serizawa stomped into her kitchen, breathing angrily through the tightness in her chest. Her heart spasmed with each intake, sending her head spinning. She propped herself up against the counter.

She balled her fists at her sides; her shoulders hunched as she squeezed her eyes shut. The tightness in her chest spread to her throat.

She failed again. Katsuya was going to be taken away from her again and it would be her fault for not noticing again. What was wrong with her? How could she be such a horrible mother? Was she just that negligent that he felt like he couldn't come to her for help? Was she not reaching out enough? It had to be her– there had to be a reason that her Katsuya kept falling into the hands of so many controlling men– it was a clear pattern and all signs pointed to her failure as a parent.

Soft footsteps shuffled up to her. He held his breath in anticipation, but didn't try to start the conversation.

"Why?" She mumbled, voice strangled. Katsuya sighed, shuffling closer to her side. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted him lift his arm– as if he was going to snake it around her shoulders– and then let it drop as he averted his eyes.

"Is it me?" She asked, again with no explanation, "Am I a bad mother, Katsuya?"

He startled, looking up from his feet to stare at her in disbelief.

"What? Why would you say that, of course you're- what makes you think that?" He stumbled over his words but she could see the genuine worry on his face. She could have laughed at how relieved that made her. Katsuya believed in everyone in his life, despite the ways he had been burned by that same trust. Whether anyone actually deserved that earnest support, though, was something she often doubted.

The green number on the digital display of her oven flashed '0:00' over and over. Every few seconds, it let out a piercing shriek, reminding her that her cakes would be ruined soon if she didn't do something about it. She didn't move turn the oven off.

"I let all of this happen to you and now look!" He tensed, "You're being taken advantage of again-"

"I am not being taken advantage of." The low rumble of his voice made her finally look up at him. Her son's face was set into a disillusioned scowl; eyebrows set low and mouth puckered into a frown.

Some part of her– buried deep down since her son left for Claw– wanted to hide from that angry face. Anger meant powers and powers always meant bad things in her home.

She could never be afraid of her lovely Katsuya, but psychic powers? Her stomach roiled for the first time in a while.

Slowly, his face smoothed back into worry. A wry smile pulled at his lips.

"I'm not as naive as you think I am," he chuckled without any humour, gaze fixed on his hands as he picked at his thumbnail, "Is that what you're worried about?"

She couldn't bring herself answer him. Shame flooded her stomach.

"Reigen is nothing like Suzuki," he continued resolutely. Fondness creased his eyes, "He's helped me become someone I can be proud of. I'm grateful for all of the opportunities he's given me, but…"

Katsuya looked up at her, face sharp with determination.

"But, I'm also helping myself. Reigen is different because– well, because he makes me feel different," she wanted to argue with him, but he steamrolled over her in a way she never would have expected, "I have my own life– I set boundaries and have friends outside of the office. Suzuki…" Katsuya blinked rapidly, face darkening again, "He didn't want me going to school or-or seeing you like I do now. He didn't want me to know anything except what he told me."

"I like when Reigen's proud of me," he admitted, hand finding a perch on his neck as he smiled abashedly, "But I don't need his approval like I needed Suzuki's. I don't need him to make me feel… uhm– feel like I'm worth something."

He stared down at her, eyes glittering with untapped emotion. Hope danced between the gentle tilt of his eyebrows and pooled in the upturned corners of his mouth. All she could do was nod her head in acknowledgement.

He spoke softer now, pressing a light hand on her back, "I can take care of myself now. You don't have to worry so much about me, Mama."

"Yes I do!" She choked out, tears springing to her eyes. He wrapped his arms around her, rubbing her back consolingly.

"Trust me? Please?" He asked, meeker than his grandiose speech, but just as earnest. She shook her head.

"I don't know how to do that…" She admitted into his shoulder, speaking so softly she couldn't be sure he heard her. She didn't know if she wanted him to.

He pulled away and her heart twisted.

"Why not start now?" Another voice joined from the doorway. Reigen waved at her ruefully. Quickly, she dried her damp cheeks on a tea towel.

Katsuya huffed out a content laugh, shaking his head at Reigen's incredibly well-timed (and definitely calculated) entrance. She joined in, a little hysterically, after a while. She shook with the weight of her tumultuous emotions, anchoring herself with a hand on Katsuya's shoulder.

The oven timer beeped again and she jumped out of her skin.

"My cakes!" She shouted, horror wiping away all traces of the sorrow that had made its home in the creases of her face.

Armed with a pair of oven mitts and two men trying to mask their mirth with sympathy, she fished out the mini cakes she spent all afternoon baking.

They were blackened with char.

She ran a hand through her hair, tossing them out swiftly before her guest could get a good look at them. Katsuya rubbed her shoulder, still chucking a little under his breath.

"It's okay, Mama, don't worry about it." He smiled reassuringly.

"Thank you, honey, it's just… I don't have anything else to give you two other than tea."

"Oh!" Reigen dashed out of the room, rustling around the front hall. He came back with a sheepish smile on his face, brandishing a plate of cookies to her.

"They're not perfect, but I wanted to make something for you– and y'know, Teru really needed help with this baking assignment so I thought, why not, right? You don't have to take them, obviously, I made them at like midnight yesterday– and they probably have all kinds of grubby kid germs since Teru couldn't stop tasting the frosting no matter how many times I–"

"God, does this one ever shut up? Give those here." She swiped at her eyes subtly, taking the plate from a dumbstruck Reigen.

Katsuya laughed the hardest she had ever heard him.

[winryrockbellwannabe]

AAAARRGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

[skitskatdacat63]

2005 German Grand Prix - Fernando Alonso & Jenson Button(+ Juan Pablo Montoya)(my personal post-race highlights)

+ Bonus Michael Schumacher

[waywardsalt]

im actually going to tear into totk’s dragon’s tears/ memories rn bc i remember feeling distinctly unsatisfied with them when i got all of them so im just going to write some general bullet points about them, about what i dislike or maybe what i do actually like about them, leaving out both master sword scenes and the mummydorf one because i’m here to talk about the stuff in the past not that

- off the bat (i play this game in english btw so all of this is based on the english text and translation i am aware some stuff is slightly different in other languages) im not really a fan of how the descriptions of all of the tears is just a literal description of what happens?? i think my issue with it is that some of the text is a little bit too in depth, as in it just tells you literally everything about the scene. this might be nitpick-y but i personally dont like it

- what’s up with zelda saying ‘but that must mean...!’ at the end of the scene. is it suggesting that she’s made the realization that rauru and sonia are the first king and queen of hyrule? because they literally tell her that like ten seconds before. i guess it’s suggesting she’s realizing she’s in the past but... idk the texts says ‘she’s left startled by a suspicion that she’s heard those names before’ yeah theyre the first king and queen of hyrule?? they tell her that. they tell her their names and that they are the first leaders of hyrule is she just now connecting the dots that she’s in the past? that’s what the next cutscene implies. but all of the surrounding dialogue and the description don’t suggest that that’s what she’s realizing i feel like this was kind of muddled in the translation

- why did sonia elbow rauru he was just standing weird he didnt say anything this isnt a nitpick im just confused. is it because he’s not being very empathetic towards what zelda’s going through? she elbows him and then she goes and talks to zelda why even elbow rauru. ordinarily you elbow someone like that if you mean for them to go do something why elbow someone if you’re going to do the thing you want anyways

- why doesnt zelda offer to help with the purah pad or anything like that. what happened to her sheikah tech fascination from botw. not even as someone actually familiar with the technology who could give mineru some points as to how it works

- what are sonia and zelda doing behind rauru when he shoots that insane fucking beam at the mulduga swarm they’re clearly doing something with their stones but like... are they amplifying rauru’s power somehow?? what do time powers have to do with the beam of light i dont- what were they doing please the text description only mentions him using his powers so are sonia and zelda just... supporting his powers? idk man

- dragon tear #5 is a whole can of worms with its worse-than-oot reenactment of that one scene from oot. why the focus on sonia and her tear btw. i mean yeah she dies to motivate rauru and zelda but like. why not aim for the new girl who probably doesn’t know how to use it as much and is probably more likely to be separate from the king who can shot insane lasers. im really not a fan of this scene for how strongly the game sides with rauru and zelda being passive and judgemental but ganondorf is literally the best part of it there’s a lot of character in just how he picks up his sword and stands up to leave

- putting memories 6 and 7 together just because of how there was just. no fucking care put into the idea of zelda learning to use her time powers. memory 6 zelda talks about wanting to use her time powers and sonia gives her tips on how she could use it and visualize the use of it and then in memory 7 she can just use it perfectly with great control and timing. why even bother talking about her nothing yet understanding how to use it when the very next scene she just uses it like it’s nothing. how much time has passed we get nothing to show us zelda trying to practice this power just. nope. she’s good she can use it perfectly. also more awkward dialogue sonia saying ‘what a picture zelda paints of him’ as she is. looking directly at zelda. change the line to like, ‘what a picture you paint of him’ she is literally looking right at zelda so why would she say it like that

- generally i feel like memory six should have been before 4 and 5 (4 being where she uses some power to... support??? rauru and it being before memory 5 so that there isnt this weird break in between the memories concerning ganondorf.) memory 6 does not have anything to do with memory 4 or 5 so just put it earlier so there isnt a weird shift in focus between the two big ganondorf scenes

- good god they introduce the idea of sonia and zelda being aware of ganondorf using a fake zelda but theres literally nothing about it having been a problem or them having experience or like. anything. they just TELL you that they know and suggest that it’s been like. a thing for a bit??? also obligatory ganondorf’s face model rigging is fucked comment he’s still the best part

- the pacing of these memories is just weird in general, memories 7 and 8 being separate but the same scene is strange when other memories are long as fuck but cover one event each, plus theres clearly barely any passage of time between memories 7 and 8 it almost feels like they were split up to fill space or just because otherwise it’d be... too long? man idk

- ‘queen sonia needs you!’ girl she is DEAD good fucking luck doing anything to help her

- ganondorf’s horse and its armor both look sick as fuck i really wish you got to see more of it outside the memory it appears in

- everything about the original sages honestly sucks. they aren’t characters they’re just walking macguffins. they have no names and are not relevant or mentioned or make any appearance until they are needed by the story. why does the zora sage talk about getting word about the attacked gerudo village in this scene when like. they’ve all met up and have clearly. been together for a bit. when she gives them the news it’s clearly the first they’ve heard of it... but... why would she wait until this moments to give this info unless for the benefit of the player watching the scene. why does the ZORA sage have this news and not... the gerudo sage?? what’s with the masks. they’re all made of zonaite or whatever sure theyre gifts from rauru but like. i hate that it kind of denotes them being subservient and lower than him and the zonai. honestly i really hate this scene in general mostly because of the uncomfortable showing of how rauru absolutely holds power over them and despite them being leaders as well they are expected to be wholly blindly loyal to him. rauru only gives them these stones when he needs their aid and they swear loyalty too him soon after but you also see that sonia and mineru have stones, too, so they’re clearly withholding these things despite it being kind of reasonable for him to give each race their own secret stone as further proof of their pact? there is so much shit to be said about the imperialistic themes or whatever in this fucking story and i really hate it

- i do kinda like how the next scene shows you that the one rock in the corner of that first hidden room in the forgotten temple is sonia’s grave

- zelda’s phrasing and description of how she and link found ganondorf is weird to me ‘he’s still alive’ ‘he lives on’ girl that was a mummy. he was not moving until you got there. he’s undead at best as far as you know. this is def a nitpick but eh. also the reliance on link is a... bit odd when zelda does not actually know that link is safe until she gets the master sword. its fine but still. also her shell-shocked expression after rauru talks about her being in the past for a reason is a bit... it doesn’t fit her emotion it’s kind of similar to the expression she had when sonia was killed

- the memory about the imprisoning war starts with practically the whole story up until now being repeated back to you by mineru with a decent amount of bias on mineru’s part and while it’s fine because of some of the extra stuff you learn but it does a lot more telling rather than showing when it comes to the actual imprisoning war and... idk the whole thing about their ‘fight’ kind of falls flat when you don’t actually see any fighting you just see that the sages have gotten their asses beat. i think it would have been a little interesting if in the god-awful repetitive sage-awakening scenes they had actually showed you the og sages fighting ganondorf instead of just. slow-mo freeze-frames for whatever. once again ganondorf if the best part of the scene

- the rest of the memories are fine idc

i get the feeling that the japanese-to-english translation was either all-around rough or somehow rushed, because some of the phrases in the game as well as some of the dialogue is really awkward and... could have been better. i don’t know how it works but it feels like a lot of it was very literal, direct translation and no one at noa thought that it ought to be tweaked just a little bit

these memories also do a fuck-ton of telling rather than showing and it really is like they don’t really trust you to connect the dots, and some of it does come off like they either didn’t want to make more memories or ran out of time or something. i felt like the memory of ganondorf just summoning his monsters and riding on his cool horse could have been a bit longer to actually show us the forces of hyrule fighting him and having a hard time with it

a lot of the character animations doesn’t have a whole lot of personality to them, ganondorf is the character who had the most distinct and interesting movements. rauru and sonia had their... singular movement (rauru putting a hand to his chin and sonia taking zelda’s hands) and zelda was kind of just... standing around and reacting to stuff, and neither mineru nor any of the other sages had any really interesting animations asides from mineru’s coughing fit in memory 16 (plus her reclining chair that was a nice touch). very few of their movements really express anything about the characters besides some really baseline values or traits.

the ordering of some memories is kind of odd, the excessive flashbacks in memory 17 are a bit much, the telling rather than showing, the sometimes awkward dialogue, a lot of the scenes are characters just... talking at each other, you don’t actually see very much of hyrule in the past or any characters beyond the main four, and it really did nothing to actually get me to care about these characters at all.

tldr i dont like totk’s dragon tears

[worldofgoo]

sorry if ive made this exact post before i love metablogging when i have nothing else to say. funny that i gave myself permission to talk and express myself on my main account yet i continue to basically only talk in my personal blog rambling hole, i think i realized a while back that mostly its just my friends that care about my posts/interact with me so posting where theyre concentrated is i guess more efficient and less embarrassing

[supercantaloupe]

the thing abt grad school is that it's hard and after a year and a half im kind of already ready for it to be done with by now but also idk wtf im gonna do once im out

[indigodawns]

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