#it's a little long too whoops

[valsilverhand-archive]

Tidbits or How Johnny Met Mona.

TW for mentions of sucidial thoughts, hard drugs, and alcohol use.

Johnny meets Mona while drunk out of his fucking mind after Alt's death. He can hardly remember her name, let alone her face, but he sure as shit woke up on her couch later in the day. She's cleaning his beard of vomit with a grimace on her face.

He's been grieving in the only way he knows how: get as fucked up as possible. Alcohol, drugs, random hook ups.

So this is... different. Really confusing. He's not naked, this chick isn't naked. Her hot pink hair is slipped back into a messy bun and mismatched eyes are narrowed in concentration.

Usually he'd punch whoever decided to touch him but he's still kind of drunk. He can't speak just yet either - too stunned at how gentle this random woman was being with him.

Her hands are soft and the so is the cloth she was using on his face. The water is warm, the soap smells of coconut. It's nice.

He fucking hates it.

Right now his mind is a slew of personal insults.

Of pain.

( He thought about ending it last night. But that's not Johnny fucking Silverhand. He doesn't take the pussy way out on anything. He goes in and he goes in hard, with fists or gun blazing. Plus Alt would be pissed if he went out that way. Right? )

Johnny keeps waiting for Alt to call, to text, to just show up at his door in his shitty little apartment. But she hasn't. She won't again. He knows she won't but god fucking damn it had she been the one beacon of light in his little world of hatred.

His vision comes back from the past to the present again.

She's pretty. Beautiful, even. There's a... motherly way about her that he couldn't quite grasp. The way the dim purple lighting in this place frames her figure it nice. She's kind of thick. Big tits tucked away behind an old shirt, old demin shorts.

It takes her a moment before she realizes he's awake.

"There you are," she hums softly - a whisper really. "Hope you don't mind me cleaning you up, choomba. You threw up on yourself while you slept so... yeah."

Breathing through his nose, he finally takes hold of her wrist, and shoves it away in that usual angry way he's so well known for. He only catches a glimpse of amusement.

"Who the fuck- who the fuck said you could touch me, woman," he sneers, pulling himself up onto his ass, rubbing at his wet beard. She rolls her eyes, "No one did, but I wasn't gonna let you wake up to being covered in vomit. So you're welcome, grumpy ass."

There's just a grunt in return as he leaned back. The couch he sat on was old. Comfortable. Felt like he could just melt into the overused cushions and pass out again. But- he couldn't do that here. Nah. Needed to get the fuck outta here as quick as possible.

But...

"Anyway before you ask - no, we didn't do shit. I couldn't get an answer from you so uh... I just brought you home. To my home," she rolls her hand as she gets up off the floor finally to bring the bucket to the sink... in the kitchen that was right next to the couch.

So she lived in a studio. Huh.

"Might of been a stupid idea but your friends bounced and I know how to take care of myself."

Slumped at this point, he rubs at his head, trying to get some sense into him. Fuck.

He owed her now, huh?

"... thanks," he finally muttered.

( Also how rare was it that a groupy (was she a groupy?) gave a fuck about you? And didn't try to be weird with you? Real rare these days. People were fucking nuts these days. )

He hears her click her tongue before heading to the door. Briefly the light blinds him uncomfortably, but it doesn't last long. She comes back with a bag of cheap smelling food.

"Got us breakfast."

She grabs out whatever she ordered for herself before setting the bag besides him.

"You can eat it whenever you think you can stomach it. Just a few breakfast sandwiches to help sober you up."

After awhile, he just grabs the water bottle that was inside of the bag to sip at.

"... what's your name?," he finally asks after he's gone through half of the bottle. Taking out a sandwich he finally squints over at her.

She's eating some hashbrown bites with a happy little wiggle.

Fuck that's cute.

"Mona."

"Johnny."

"You totally owe me for this later."

"Whatever," he grunts as he starts to eat.

He really fucking does but for now... he needs to get sober enough to leave. Maybe he can go back to being a fucked up piece of shit elsewhere instead of having a random being so kind to him.

Johnny starts to eat his breakfast sandwich. Bacon and egg. A classic.

"So uh...," she starts again, "Listen. I get where you're at.... uhm. Won't press you for what happen but just know... if you decide you need some just because company. I can text you my deets."

Looking over at her, the man can't comprehend someone just being nice to be nice. NC doesn't breed people like that.

But maybe he'd found that one rare little diamond by chance.

Or maybe he's stupid to actually mull over the idea of a friend in a stranger who was cleaning him up from his own sick.

After awhile of eating in silence he throws the trash from his sandwiches carelessly onto her floor before patting himself down. Okay. Didn't steal anything. Looking to the small coffee table, he notices his glasses. One frame was popped out and somehow split in two.

Fuck.

He doesn't say a word as he stands up. Could go on a tangent about how fucking stupid she is for letting a stranger in her home. Could turn around and show her why it was a mistake to offer anything nice to him.

But instead he's too fucking fucked to think properly. Grabbing his glasses despite them being broken, he shoves them into his pocket and bounces.

He can fainly hear her call out to him to 'stay safe'.

It's only when he's in a cab on the way home that he feels something crinkle in his front pocket. When he doesn't find money, he thinks about tossing it, but instead a moment of curiosity makes him open it up.

855-XXX-XXXX. - Mona Txt me if you need anything :)) You don't need to struggle alone choomba!!

Fuck.

He just might in the future if he doesn't do anything more stupid than he has in just this week.

[ethosiab]

secret santa gift for @galaxyinacup !! merry christmas dude!!

plus some more sketches from when i was figuring out where i wanted to go w this, since i thought they turned out nice

[mstormcloud]

Gay little hedgehog and chamelon

[sickosdotjpg]

honestly think one of the hottest things a person can do is sneeze into the cowl/collar of a turtleneck sweater or similar

[wigglebox]

Suptober [Extended] - Day 22 || OOTD/Outfit of the Day

[twoheadedtulip]

Some fanart I did for my own fic! Not all that proud of how it came out (i.e. Charon's wonky ass oar lmao), but honestly not too perturbed :D (also click for better quality if you want!!)

Anyway the fic in question is linked under the cut if anyone's interested :]

Important to note that it has some nsft (very suggestive) elements! (Which is why it is under the cut in the first place, so please be wary, and don't interact if you're a minor!)

From Hip to Thigh

Ongoing/Mature/5,623 words

Dreams/Suggestive Themes/Insecurity/Charon POV

Summary:

His second dream was not like the first. All of it becoming more and more like how Hermes described the phenomenon.

A mash of colors and experience.

Of visual and sound.

He thinks he must have seen Hypnos and Thanatos in this dream, maybe his mother too. Shapes of what they might look like. Incomprehensible figures.

And there was something glowing among the mess. Something so familiar, drawing Charon to it, calling for him in that siren-like voice.

But before he could reach and touch it, the glow dissipated, and he would wake to the underworld around him.

or

Charon dreams continuously for the first time in a long time. Hermes seems to make an appearance in a number of them.

[mousetrappa-fr]

he eep.

[lapdogchase]

disabled queer pride flag edits !!

gilbert baker pride + progress pride / gay + lesbian / pan + bi / trans + genderqueer / genderfluid, agender / bigender + nonbinary / aromantic + asexual / polyamorous + aroace / queer chevron + intersex

[sharkaroni]

It's day four of Serirei week 2024 and in today's chapter, Serizawa truly has a terrible thursday.

For the prompt reunion/cursed, Reigen gets a visit from the past, and Serizawa has to watch awkwardly. A tasty amouse-bouche for jealousy fans. Enjoy!

[the-insouciant-scientist]

what are hyakinthos's thoughts on the boatman and the slow boat in general?

Ooh, taking a quick sidestep from the rest of the ask game asks to answer this real quick! Short answer: a little complicated but generally friendly! Long answer: Gotta give some backstory first, bear with me. I have been thinking so much about belief systems vs established canon. Canon says that every human who dies regardless of belief (there may be nuance I'm forgetting but I'm in full speed infodump mode rn so that's a problem for future me) goes to the Far Shore. I say that's... kinda bleak? Also I'm just not a fan of stories where there is only One Real Belief and the rest are played off as silly distraction or whatever, but I digress.

A lot of his everything is based around the idea that both belief and proper death/burial care are important to get people to the afterlife they're meant to be in. Ritual makes all the difference between going to the Far Shore vs the Fields of Asphodel, for example.

His Boatman is Charon, or at least accepts the name. Hyakinthos has a working relationship with him and has probably taken up the oars at least a few times, especially for people who need the extra care in getting to where they need to be.

There's respect there, but there's also a certain... I'm not sure I have the words for it. The idea that death in the Neath is uncertain in so many ways (whether it'll stick that time, whether the person will make it to their afterlife or if they'll slip between the cracks and end up in the wrong place, etc) can be... discomfiting, to him. So while he does hold the boatman in high regard, there's always some little uncertainty there.

(Every so often, by their standards at least, Hyakinthos will bring him a very old obol. The Boatman will always refuse it. This is a ritual of its own. They'll sit for a while and talk anyways, and then part ways afterwards a little lighter.)

[azol-otl]

DVD commentary about half footJason. He's such a little guy but God I love him.

Anything, brujay/royjay/jaydick, please tell me more about his relationships.

Ahhh Jaysun (half-foot Jason) my incredibly unwell little guy. For those who don't know, I have two fics about a dcu and dungeon meshi fusion (shameless self plug). There's a lot of words so...whoops lol.

So the thing about the Dungeon Meshi universe, is that when you put in dc, the subtext involving classism, racism and such that the author's don't think about/unwittingly put in becomes straight text. And in that it can lead to a lot of unfortunate implications becoming very...straight up there. And I'll openly admit that I'm pretty biased against Bruce so it won't be kind to him.

Jaysun (Jay + Sun to fit with the half-foot naming convention), was created when I started looking more into the lore of Dungeon Meshi. With half-foots known as thieves, liars, and shady overall and the general populace not even thinking twice about exploiting them or seeing them as the bottom of the hierarchy, it reads a lot like how dc makes heroes view criminals and poverty (if they aren't infantalizing the poor which is also a thing that the setting does to half-foots). And unlike "demi-humans" they're part of overall mainstream society instead of something separate (and not considered human). Which to me felt like a perfect fit for Jason both as Robin and as an adult because it's a life that Bruce wouldn't even be able to fathom. Alongside that, with a lower life expectancy, Bruce's patronizing attitude (and that of everyone else) is only aggravated and increased towards Jaysun.

Meanwhile Bruce, to me, has to be in a position of privilege and wealth for his whole thing to work. A lot of his flaws and skills comes from that disconnect. And in Dungeon Meshi, the most privileged are Elves and Dwarves. And for Bruce I chose the latter as it fits more in his image of masculinity as well as his focus on technology and combat (and Bruce with magic is just, why are you even using Bruce at that point when his whole shtick is baseline human fighting crime/things way above his weight class). Add into that half-foor culture idolizing (or at least seeing as something to strive for) dwarves and their culture, it just made for a really messy situation when Bruce adopts Jaysun.

But the thing is, Jaysun being adopted at 12 going on 13 is different than Jason being adopted at that age because a half-foot is considered a full adult by age 14 and even then we see people under that age doing things we'd connect to "adulthood" (i.e. Chilchuck was a father of two by the time he was fourteen). It leads to a messy situation where Jaysun already feels and considers himself an adult (which Jason does in the comics as well, and is something Bruce straight up says to Gordon because of Jason's experiences despite the guy barely being a teenager). This leads to a Mia-esque situation where Jaysun falls for Bruce in a romantic and sexual sense since he is, by all accounts, soon an adult (he still dies at the same age)(Mia did have short lived crushes on Ollie and later Connor and Roy and it is something normal that happens to older foster kids. Repeat, this is normal and those feelings later morph into something different in most cases.) This is something that Bruce never even considers about because dwarves aren't adults until they're 40 (which means to Bruce even Dick who is an adult man by tall-men standards, is still a kid and this was a major wedge between them as Bruce simply didn't internalize the differences between them).

It also leads to major imposter syndrome in Jaysun as he sees himself as a replacement for Dick (which Jason also does), but in this case it's one who's even easier to control and treat like a pet. Is he right? Only sorta. Bruce probably doesn't mean to do so, but it's in the same way Senshi and Marcille still haven't understood the way they treat their friends (see: Marcille and Falin).

A load of stuff happens between Jaysun's death and him leaving Gotham for Melini (for reasons I still gotta write about 😅)

For relationships:

Jaysun -> Roy: Roy is probably the person Jaysun trusts the most. Roy, as someone from the Western Continent, has had his fair share of experiences close to Jaysun's involving the perception against him as well as experiences being dropped by loved ones even if they have, for the most part, reconciled. Roy is one of the five (him, Kori, Bizarro, Artemis, Talia) people that knows Jaysun's ability to use magic despite his race's infamous lack of skill and capability with it. He doesn't know the reason WHY, but he knows when to push and when not to. Jaysun and Roy are regulars in dungeon parties that the other leads or are a part of. Jaysun meanwhile is someone who will have to be torn apart from Roy because they both have attachment issues worse than Jaysun's self image, self harm, and fear of abandonment issues (which Roy does share). Most of these will take a lot of work to handle but considering Jaysun's stuck on light to no work for the next few months (the actual canon dungeon meshi story), I have faith in them.

Jaysun -> Dick: So so so so many Bruce issues holy shit. As much as Dick and Jaysun don't want to admit it, both have a load of similar experiences as not being seen as a person with agency caused by being raised by a long lived race when both of them are short lived ones (Dick being a tall-man). This is something that's touched upon with Kabru in Dungeon Meshi, but his foster mother was different beast from Bruce though both have absolutely caused issues in their kids. At the same time Jaysun having been taken in second, resents Dick for having a closer place to Bruce while Jaysun feels like he was more of a pet than a son (both part of the family but not equal in it). Meanwhile Dick dislikes Jaysun's overall demeanor and holds what he did in Gotham against him (which, fair) even if in the end both of them are in the same place (away from Bruce, not thought of completely as people by the man they devoted a large chunk of their lives to (most of his life in Dick's case as at 30 he's reached the halfway point for tall-men), and floundering to find footing despite their supports networks (Dick was part of a dungeoneering group called the Titans which are about as close as you can get to celebrity status for their kind of work). Also unlike Jaysun, Dick hasn't accepted his own attraction to Bruce who despite the over twenty years he's known Dick, has changed little while Dick has become a man grown. They had sex once in the dungeon that was ill-advised and hurt both of them and probably have it a few more times specifically for those reasons until they start seeing one another on more equal terms (if that ever happens). Tldr; the spectre of Bruce haunts them.

[hey-heigo]

Chapter 28

well that's a series wrap on byakuya. thanks for reading everyone. in this final chapter we're gonna flush him down the toilet like a goldfish

SEE HERE FOR GENERAL WARNINGS AND FIC SUMMARY

Some pre-chapter notes:

in case you cant tell i'm a very big fan of that chapter 4 scene where aoi slaps the shit out of byakuya for being a reprehensible human

at what point does 'this might as well happen' not cut it anymore for trauma coping

fellow understander! @digitaldollsworld

Content warning tags: graphic description of vomiting, description of near-drowning symptoms, graphic descriptions of first aid and fatal wound treatment, character death, description of blood/gore, canon-typical violence implied

< previous - from start - next >

They’re cleaning up when the cafeteria doors slam open with a bang, Toko running in with braids whipping wildly, hands clutching something to her chest.

And the first thing she does, as everyone turns to stare at her, is look at Makoto and scream.

“HELP him,” She wails, trembling. “He - the pool, the water-”

Makoto takes a look at what she’s holding in her hands. It’s a key, being held so tightly that it must surely be cutting into her fingers, the keychain jangling. She’s trembling so much that it takes him a moment to read the name, monogrammed in small, neat characters.

And then he’s running, speeding out into the hall, a horrible, dawning feeling of fear clawing at his ankles as he goes.

__

When Byakuya wakes up, it’s to the fading, digital chime of bells, and the taste of coffee and something apple-sour being pressed into his mouth, warm and forcing sweet oxygen down his trachea…

Along with some more water, the pressure forcing a bubble of it down his windpipe, and he flails against the hands on his sternum and face, shoving wildly away to turn over and vomit onto the tile.

Nothing comes up but liquid, disgustingly warm in contrast to the rest of him, tasting vaguely like bile and chlorine. It goes on for a…a while, or maybe just a moment, but it feels like minutes before he finally expels everything that was in him. Leaving him shivering in the aftermath, lying on his side with an aching core of emptiness in his stomach.

For a few moments, he doesn’t move, still coughing slightly with every other breath, mouth foul-tasting and clammy. His skin is damp and cold, freezing through his clothes where he’s pressed against the tile floor, and his chest aches - a twisted sort of blessing, a sign that he was breathing at least - and as it was, everything hurt, his head, his limbs, his ribs. He blinks his eyes open and finds them even more bleary than usual, stinging with water.

“Can you sit up?” Someone asks gently, and there’s a hand at his back ready to support him. He grunts in response and tries to push himself onto his elbows; to minimal success, and in response an arm loops under his shoulders as he nearly lurches over, pulling him into a kneeling position and keeping him steady.

He blinks again, vision clearing somewhat. Purple and white and a strip of viscera-red floating in front of him - Kyoko is kneeling to his right, staring him dead in the face. Standing behind her is Ogami, holding a mass of pale blue. A glance to his opposite side reveals that the one holding him up is Asahina.

A careful, squinting scan reveals that there’s no dark-green shape of Makoto, and Byakuya can’t decide if he’s relieved or bothered by that.

“Here,” Ogami says, and he looks up just in time for something to drop over his shoulders, and he jerks backwards. But it’s only a towel, blue and thick and only a little scratchy, and he clutches it to himself, rubbing his arms to try and work some warmth into them. Ogami passes one to Asahina and Kyoko as well, and they both begin toweling themselves off. 

Only then does Byakuya realize that they must have jumped into the water to save him, and isn’t that a thought. He’s not sure how to feel about it - for the time being, the only thing he could feel was another wave of nausea, as he leans over and retches one more time, chest convulsing painfully, but coming up with nothing.

More humiliatingly, is the hand reassuringly rubbing his back, like he’s a child. Moving stiff and awkward and only slightly warmer than his own skin. “How are you feeling?” Ogami asks as his shoulders stop trembling, and her voice is clinical and calm, and the careful, professional tone of it is almost welcome.

“Lovely,” Byakuya rasps back with a wince, touching his ribs. He turns to glare at Kyoko, who removes her hand. “You know it’s ill-advised to perform mouth-to-mouth CPR if you aren’t trained in it?”

Instead of replying to him, she turns to Ogami. “He’s doing fine.”

“Can you stand?” Asahina tugs at his arm. She sounds uncharacteristically serious. “We should go to the nurse’s office. We need to check for signs of secondary drowning.”

“There’s no need-”

“No, this is serious. We have no idea how long you were in there for.” She tugs at him again. “Come on. You can complain while we walk - can you walk?”

Probably, though it wouldn’t be pleasant. He can feel the distinct sting of raw skin on his wrists and ankles, but they didn’t need to know that. He lets Asahina hoist him up, declines Ogami’s offer to support him with a raised hand - “Where’s Makoto?” He asks, before he can stop himself.

There’s a moment’s pause, as the three girls look at each other for a moment. Kyoko must have lost whatever staring contest they were holding, because she sighs. “While we were pulling you up, Hifumi came and told us there was another body discovered.” She explains, balling the towel up in her hands. “Makoto and Hiro went with him to go check it out. It was the best division of labor considering our skill sets.”

Byakuya feels his shoulders slump somewhat beneath the towel. He probably didn’t go willingly. Not considering the previous day’s events. But Byakuya has the feeling she’s trying to reassure him somewhat, and he scowls. “Yes, I doubt he would be more capable of swimming or first aid than the Ultimate Swimmer and a world-renowned athlete.” He snarks. “I should ask why you didn’t go with him, seeing as you were trying to drown me on dry land. Who’s the victim?”

“Other than you? No idea.” She tosses her towel over him, successfully muffling him before he can say anything more. “We haven’t gone to go see yet, the discovery announcement went off just before you gained consciousness. You should go to the nurse’s office to dry off. You’re a mess.”

He drags the towel off his face and throws it back at her, only for her to catch it harmlessly out of the air. “I don’t need you to tell me that.”

“For someone skilled in multiple languages, it seems you never learned how to say ‘thank you.’”

“For someone who needs to brush her teeth, it seems you don’t know basic manners.”

“Oh my god, guys.” Asahina groans. “Can you please not do this now?”

Continuing to argue would be counter-productive, especially now that the adrenaline was wearing off and the full freezing effect of his damp clothes was becoming evident. He lets Asahina guide him out through the girl’s locker room, watches Kyoko and Ogami continue up the stairs as he’s half-supported, half-led downwards. By the time they get to the nurse’s room, he can barely stop his teeth from chattering, as Asahina pushes him to sit on a cot and rifles out some heating packs from a drawer for him before leaving the room.

She returns a few moments later with her arms draped in white and red and gray-green, and tosses something at him. He only barely catches it, fumbling at the same time with the packs clutched in his hands and arms crossed over his chest. A green mass of cotton - composed of two, smaller masses - it takes him a moment of unfolding and shaking them out until he can recognize the full shape of a pair of sweatpants. “A-a tracksuit?”

“There’s a t-shirt and socks in there too, somewhere,” She tosses down a pair of nondescript white shoes on the ground in front of him with a thump. “Toko ran off with your key, and you shouldn’t stay in those clothes any longer than you have to.” She explains, and he clicks his tongue. irritated but wholly unsurprised. “Hurry up and get changed.”

And he probably should. It feels like his dampened clothes are freezing into a shell against his skin, but he doesn’t move. Staring pointedly at Asahina, eyebrow raised, until she notices, and sighs.

“You can pull the curtains, you know,” She gestures at something above his head, and sure enough, there are pale green sheets hanging from a silver track on the ceiling around either end of the bed.

His face heats a bit. “I…hadn’t noticed.” He says through teeth clenched to stop trembling. He’d rarely been in a school’s infirmary, as communal as it was. “I don’t usually try to be injured enough to be in a place like this.”

Asahina doesn’t reply to that, instead walking over and drawing the privacy curtains around him with a rustle of scraping chains. Immediately his surroundings dim, enclosing him, with the only light streaming from above and below the curtain itself. From the sounds of shuffling cloth and the drip of water outside, it seemed that she was changing as well - Byakuya feels that their positions should be reversed, somehow.

Peeling his damp clothes from his skin is…a less than pleasant experience, especially as his fingertips feel too numb to properly undo his buttons. He manages it though, and the change of clothing is nice - surprisingly comfortable, albeit a half-size too big - and he feels warmer already by the time he pulls the curtains open again.

Asahina had changed as he thought, though her tracksuit is a vivid maroon matching her usual jacket, and was folding her clothes into a neat pile on the table. There’s an array of various materials spread on a tray next to her, a roll of bandages and gauze, a tube of ointment. There’s the silver shine of a stethoscope stark around her neck. “Okay, stay seated. I need to check if there’s water in your lungs.”

“You’re well-versed in this.”

She shrugs one shoulder as she sits down and rolls over on a stool, carrying the tray like a waiter. “Only kind of.” She says off-handedly. “You know, with being ‘the Ultimate Swimmer’ and all.” She doesn’t sound particularly proud of it for some reason, and doesn’t elaborate further. “I don’t know how to use any of the fancy machine stuff in here, so we’re gonna have to do this the old-fashioned way. Breathe in and out, deeply, when I tell you. And tell me if anything hurts.”

The stethoscope is cold, even through layers of clothing. He sits up straight, feeling strangely quiet. Much like the night before, where he found himself compliant and unopposed to Makoto’s whims. It was easier to follow along what someone told him, than to think.

It must be the shock. He takes another deep breath as Asahina moves the scope to his back.

“Okay. I think you’re good.” She says at last. setting the scope away. “Any pain?”

“Only near my ribs.” He reaches up and touches a particularly tender spot to the right side of his sternum, just above his diaphragm. It had the same sore quality of a bruise. “I think it’s from the CPR, but it doesn’t feel broken, at least.” He pauses. “That probably means you didn’t do it right.”

“Well, sorry for not cracking your bones I guess,” She snaps, sounding entirely unsorry. “I’ll try harder next time, you asshole.”

It takes him a moment to remember his tongue in his mouth. “Excuse me?”

Instead of immediately responding, she tears open a small white square with her teeth, shaking out an alcoholic wipe, the smell of it sharp in his nose. In a quick, easy motion, she grabs one of his hands, pushing up the sleeve of his jacket, and wraps the damp cloth around his wrist, swiping it over the wound with a tight grip on his hand even as he jerks with pain, just barely biting back a hiss as his nerves scream with the burn of it. “You are an asshole. You do know that, right?”

And she releases him, tossing the wipe away. He examines the exposed wound, notes that the skin surrounding it looks redder than before - before she’s pinned his hand again, this time to squeeze a line of white over the red from a thin tube of ointment. Trying to pull free of her is futile, but at least this didn’t burn. “Did I do something to you?” He grits out, grimacing at the uncomfortable greasy feeling as she winds gauze and bandages around his arm.

“I mean. It’s what you didn’t do.” She replies, tone clipped and the least pleasant he’s ever heard it. She reaches for his other hand, and he jerks it away at the last moment.

“Enough circumventing. If you have something to say, just say it.” He retorts. The pain had helped clear his head at least, enough for him to finally feel angry. The sensation of fear and cold had given away, leaving nothing behind by the disgrace at how he had been treated, how he was being treated. As if he had done anything wrong. “Pointless pettiness and guessing games are for people who are too stupid to be clear about what they want.”

He jumps as she throws down the roll of bandages, pushing away from him with a huff. “God, you’re so-! You’re such a dick!” her voice is shrill and furious, and he tries not to flinch, immediately on guard. “I - we just saved your stupid life, and you’re being so stuck up about it - what’s your problem?!”

“I didn’t ask to be dragged around and tossed into a pool,” He snaps back immediately, almost in reflex. He flexes his hands, preparing to bolt if he has to. “I’m so sorry for inconveniencing you with my misfortune, I’ll do my best to drown faster next ti-”

He cuts off as the ointment tube bounces harmlessly off of his head, clattering onto the floor. “Can you cut that out?!” Asahina hisses. She’s standing now, looking down at him with what was probably a thunderously furious look, but it’s hard to tell with the light behind her. The bandages and disinfectant wipes fall from her lap and scatter to the floor. “Look, I get it, okay? I’m sorry that happened to you. I get that you’re having a hard time. But we’re not playing the misery olympics, so can you at least just say ‘thanks’ or not be a total asshole while we’re trying to help?”

She turns fully away as her outburst ends, walking off to stand in front of the counter, back facing him. He sits silently for a moment, stunned, and a little embarrassed, which in itself was somewhat novel. Not utterly humiliated for once, but - her words did have some logic in them, and he chews thoughtfully on the inside of his cheek for a moment. None of them were trained paramedics or professionals, or had any obligation for his life. Nor did he have anything to offer them that would justify their interest in his well-being.

“Well,” He manages after a moment. She has a point, and it would be…wrong, not to acknowledge that much. “I…suppose, yes. That is - I mean - thank you.”

Not the most eloquent he could have been, but he could blame that on the near-death experience. She still doesn’t turn towards him. “I should have - you have a point,” He continues on, clumsily. “It was an…oversight, on my part, not to recognize that. But in my defense, I was a little preoccupied. I’m not exactly used to needing to be rescued.” He smiles to himself, a little bitterly. “Would you believe me if I said I try not to make a habit of near-death experiences?”

She still doesn’t turn back to him, but her shoulders slump as she sighs, a universally recognizable sound of exhaustion. “...Yeah. Right. I…look, I’m sorry too. I’m - everyone - we’re all freaked out, I guess, and I…shouldn’t have freaked out on you, but I take it seriously when I’m trying to help someone, y’know? And I guess I’m just used to it when people have a habit of, like, basic courtesy and stuff.” When she turns back to him her face isn’t nearly half as shadowed. “It’s pretty obvious you got one of the shorter ends of the stick, and I’d be pretty mad if I were in your spot too. I just wish…”

“What? That I’d be nicer?”

“No, I’m pretty sure that’s impossible for you.” She leans down to pick up the scattered medical supplies. “I wish that we had all met differently. If we’d already known each other before this stupid game started, you could trust us more about your…thing, and we wouldn’t be in this situation.”

He could understand why she would wish such a thing. Unhealthy codependency with Sakura aside, he could only imagine how jarring the whole experience of witnessing your murdered peers would have on someone as casual as her. “Statistically speaking, most murders are committed by someone already known to the victim.” He says pointedly. “If we’d all known each other, it would’ve only delayed the inevitable.”

She does an impressively exaggerated eye roll. “I changed my mind. I do wish you’d stop acting like a pompous dick.” And she grabs his other arm, and before he can react he feels his raw nerves being doused in the cold burn of isopropyl, and this time he does yelp and try to retract his hand. But she holds it fast until she’s done, dressing it expertly, and the tightness of the bandaging is almost reassuring, the pressure stymieing the pain. “But, you’re welcome. I’m glad you didn’t die.”

Her voice softens as she says that, and he can tell it’s genuine. Somehow, that throws him off even more than her initial scolding, and he stays silent, wrapping one hand around the newly bandaged area, squeezing it slightly with a contemplative frown.

“I’m gonna do your ankle now. Lift your leg?”

He jerks his foot backwards quickly. “I’ll do it myself.”

__

Once his wounds are fully tended to, they have a brief, heated argument over what should be done next. Aoi wanted him to rest in the nurse’s office until they could get his key back from Fukawa, but he refused outright, on the basis of several points: one, given that the culprit had apparently attempted to kill two people despite Monokuma’s trials only requiring one, it was likely they were out of a rational scope of logic, and he would be safer with the others given that he was a surviving witness. Two, given that he was an important suspect, he should confer his information with the others as soon as possible while it was still fresh in his mind. And three, as long as Fukawa was unaccounted for, he didn’t want to be in any situation where he could potentially be left alone somewhere to be subsequently cornered by her.

He purposefully doesn’t address how Monokuma’s rules forbid killing after an initial body was discovered, or how Aoi could simply just stay with him as a sort of safeguard. But she doesn’t argue, only sighing as she accompanies him towards the third floor, matching his slow, limping pace.

He’s hardly ever been up here, he realizes, as they step into the hallway. He vaguely remembers traversing through here once, but it takes him a moment to place which room is where. As they turn the corner and spy Yamada outside the room at the end of the hall, pale and trembling and sitting next to the dark purple pile of Fukawa’s unconscious form, it still doesn’t click for him that they’re outside of the art room until they actually reach the entrance.

Inside is the dusty, chemical scent of paint, metal, and the earthier smells of clay and old stone. He shudders for a moment, wrinkling his nose. The walls are a riot of color, pictures and paintings plastered and entirely covering up whatever the wallpaper was, pottery and half-finished busts gathering sitting on the shelves.

Aoi gasps audibly. It takes him a moment to realize that the large blot of color on the floor was not from spilled paint, but rather, was the source of the metallic smell that he’d noticed earlier. And it was oozing slowly outwards from the slumped body of Mondo Owada.

He’s hardly recognizable at first, missing his black coat and pompadour. He seems to have noticeably lost weight, in the white button-down shirt that is rolled at the sleeves and stained at the collar with the blood that was streaming from his forehead. Hiro, Kyoko, Sakura and Makoto are kneeling on either side of him, pressing rags to the numerous wounds on his chest - but it was hopeless. His torso was dotted with multiple dark spots, blooming outwards on his shirt like flowers.

Under the din of Hiro’s panicked, anxious muttering, Kyoko’s calm and steady counting, and Sakura’s voice administrating curt instruction, Byakuya can make out Makoto’s voice, chanting a quiet, desperate mantra: “Please don’t die, please don’t die, please don’t die, please-”

And as draws nearer, he can hear a low, rattling gasp coming from the body in front of him. Still breathing, and still alive.

“What happened?!” He demands, hesitant to step any closer. Kyoko just shakes her head and continues to count the seconds, gloved hands pressing fistfuls of white against the gaping injuries, the pool of blood already staining her knees.

At the sound of his voice, Owada suddenly lurches, surging forward with a spew of blood down his front. Ogami hisses and grabs his shoulder, trying to force him back down; he resists with impressive strength, teetering all his weight on one elbow. Makoto flinches backwards for a moment, faltering.

Owada raises one trembling hand towards him. “A-Alter Ego,” He gasps, blood stark against his teeth, streaming down his chin. “Where - is it safe-?”

Byakuya’s hand flies to his pocket before remembering that his handbook wasn’t there. At the same moment, he wonders if the laptop was still in its locker in the bathhouse, and curses himself for not checking earlier.

He opens his mouth to answer, before glancing at Makoto. Staring back at him with wide eyes, hands still trembling as he continues applying pressure to Owada’s injuries, with a rag so bloodied it was completely soaked through.

“...Yes.” He lies instead. “It’s fine.”

Owada’s arm drops down to his side, the whole of him going limp in an instant, and Sakura has to react quickly to catch him before his head crashes against the floor. The white of his eyes flicker shut. He exhales, a long, quiet sigh.

And the whole of him falls utterly silent.

< previous - from start - next >

[katzirra]

Cory and the glitter story time if you feel inclined?

God so the post is HERE for the aftermath lmao

Unfortunately you cannot see just how bad it was, and how MUCH of it there was because it was like... micro-nano glitter....

This happened NINE YEARS AGO....

@spinejackel is my dear friend Cory, and back when I actually DID my Ask Xigbar blog the round before this last one or whatever?? - I had a whole crew and we all hung out on the reg and had a good time yadda yadda. Got kinda fucked by some falling outs and me realizing I think I'm just a shoddy friend period but ya'know. THROWS SPARKLES IN THE AIR.

But Cory is the Xaldin to my Xigbar, and I had affectionately named him Mamadin and Mother Din. Because that poor bastard would be the parental voice of reasoning nhjgh.

I don't remember what started the SPACE SILK thing but it was like... a birthday or a follower celebration or something? And we just kinda kept doing shit with these massive silk scarves with space design on them and nude drawings and it was a Thing™

So I'm shopping online one day and I come across some space silky scarves one day. BRILLIANT, I think. And I buy one for him, our other friend Dacien who was my Papa Larxy, Dem, and myself. BECAUSE AW WE'LL MATCH, BESTIES~

I keep this a secret, I make cards for them all and start putting care packages together for them all and they are none the wiser amidst the Skype calls, the group hang outs or anything.

Amazing.

Mother's day comes up and I think I'm the funniest bitch in the world. I order Mamadin a fucking WORLD'S OKAYEST MOM mug - the most Xigbar of actions I can do, honestly. PERFECT. So I get to packing all my shit together for each of them and I in my impulsive thoughts see my tiny packets of glitter for a project I never did just... chillin'. I think HAHA wouldn't it be funny to sprinkle some of that in these... like.... what a Xigbar level shit move to do....

So I unfold the scarves, sprinkle some, and refold them and package them up.

EXCEPT MAMADIN. I JUST PUT THE WHOLE PACKET IN THERE AND JUST WAS LIKE 'YEAH. GOOD." nfgjkh

Fast forward to Cory streaming, and my package arrives, and I'm like BRO OPEN IT ON STREAM!" and he's EXCITED njghk and he opens it and is like taking it all out and I'm like BRO BE DRAMATIC GIVE IT A FLUTTER....

I have never been more amused and horrified by the beauty of the chaos that happened from that as a little purple cloud just FLUTTERED DOWN and he was like >:O.......... WHAT THE HELL...

His pictures do it no justice, it was EVERYWHERE. I FELT BAD BUT ALSO LIKE... THIS IS WHEN I'M IN MY 20'S AND THIS WAS CHAOS FUN.

The worst part is I think this is about the time he was starting to plan for moving states out to his dad's so like IT GOT IN THE CLOSET SOMEHOW, IT GOT IN SUPPLIES HE DIDN'T KNOW HOW, I GOT PICTURES MONTHS LATER OF HIM POINTING AT A DOG PAW GOING "DO YOU SEE THAT?" AND IT WAS THIS GLITTER THAT DOG HAD NO WAY OF HAVING ON THEM....

Like this glitter followed him states away...

But I love my Mamadin, and he was a really good sport for that and I would have understood if he never spoke to me again nhgjndghjk but it's a stupid fond memory.

[hassiegfrieddoneanythingwrong]

Day 734: Didn't find anything relating to any members of the polycule during the nodes in the Halloween event, buuuuuuut we did find the next best person!

HER!!!

[gumy-shark]

they invented fictional siblings with complicated and somewhat resentful relationships with each other so that i could project my own complex relationship with my sister onto them 👍

[clementinethetiny]

*gets too close to the microphone and babbles before mic dropping*