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maingh0st · 8 months ago

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The hate Taryn gets is way too exaggerated and disproportionate. It’s just straight up misogyny at this point, in my opinion. The fandom needs to get over it.

I could literally write a treatise about Taryn-hate at this point lmao. I’m going to share some thoughts (this actually got quite long), but I want to include a big ole disclaimer: at the end of the day, everybody gets to engage in fandom in the ways they want. everyone is free to love or hate whichever characters they want, for the reasons that feel valid and real to them. that being said, the treatment of Taryn specifically is really troubling and bizarre to me.

I think it’s worth pointing out that when we say Taryn-hate seems misogynistic, that means a lot more than just “people who hate Taryn hate her because she’s a girl.” in my opinion, fandom misogyny toward her often gets couched in broader terms. some examples of what I mean by this are:

(1) Taryn does things that are bad and I don’t like that - uhhhh okay. everybody in these books does shitty things, so let’s think about why specifically the actions of Taryn (a 17-18 year old girl being manipulated by multiple men in her life) fall into the category of unredeemable for you. the reason we might point to this being misogynistic is because it’s a double standard that doesn’t apply to other characters—we’re willing to forgive Cardan his cruelty, or centuries-old Madoc for the trauma he's inflicted and his ongoing need for bloodshed, but Taryn is just a stupid, evil girl for trying to secure her place in Elfhame through the levers of power that are available to her. she can never be forgiven nor redeemed no matter how loyal she is to Jude moving forward. why is that? what sin of hers are so particularly evil to warrant this response? and we have to answer these questions in the context of Elfhame & its moral code, not in the context of our own world.

(2) I could never see myself acting in the way Taryn does and therefore I don’t like her - okay? I can never see myself acting like Madoc, or even like Vivi (don’t get me started on Vivi & the fact that she gets passes Taryn never does), but that doesn’t mean I can’t have empathy for them. I understand that we experience the books through Jude’s perspective, so we’re automatically more prone to rooting for her—and to be clear, I love Jude! but fiction challenges us to experience the world through other perspectives, and it’s my opinion that Taryn acts in a way that is completely consistent and understandable with her experience of Elfhame. “I’m not like you,” she tells Jude. “I want to belong here. Defying them makes everything worse. You never asked me before you went against Prince Cardan—you didn’t care what it brought down on either of our heads.”

while Jude’s defiance is held up as girlboss behavior (by me, too! I love a “get worse” arc), Taryn’s more traditionally feminine approach to finding her place in Elfhame is reviled (@slightlyrebelliouswriter23 has a great post on the fawn response to trauma & on passivity). more on this point below.

(3) Taryn isn’t a “girl’s girl” - I am begging fandom to think critically about why Taryn betrays Jude & what that says not just about Elfhame, but about our world. these girls live in a world that affords them little power and agency. we meet them on the cusp of adulthood, and they’re both hyper-aware that they need to secure their place in Elfhame. Jude refers to knighthood as “earning” her place and is uninterested in marriage, but Taryn seems aware that she’s more likely to secure her place through the latter option (and also expresses the fear that Jude is going to leave her behind). it’s an oversimplification, but a useful one for the sake of this conversation, to point out that Jude chooses a more traditionally masculine approach, while Taryn chooses a more traditionally feminine one.

the tragedy is that this world—and particularly the men in their lives—pit them against one another. Locke offers Taryn the thing she wants most, requires a vow of her secrecy, and then begins flirting with Jude (and that's not even to mention him being a gancanagh!). at a point in her story where Madoc and Oriana are the only family who are still around for Taryn, Madoc capitalizes on Taryn’s ignorance (and also her awareness that she's never been the favorite daughter) & uses her to betray Jude. I almost never see these complexities brought up in conversations about Taryn, which is just gross to me, and echoes the ways that patriarchal power structures pit women against each other in the real world.

I’ve seen people argue that while Jude’s approach is also flawed, she at least doesn’t betray Taryn. and like… kind of? she certainly doesn’t betray Taryn as directly as Taryn betrays her—but some of that just strikes me as dumb luck. consider what might’ve happened if Dain hadn’t died at the end of book one. what lengths might he have asked Jude to go to in order to prove her loyalty to him? or if we rewind even further—it’s honestly just dumb luck that someone didn’t harm or kill Taryn (Valerian, for example, could've chosen the wrong window). Jude’s antagonism of Cardan & his friends had a direct effect on Taryn’s life, and even though Taryn begged her to stop, she bullheadedly charged on. the difference is that Jude’s risky decisions ultimately work out for her, while Taryn has to face the consequences of hers not panning out the way she wanted them to.

this isn't exhaustive, and there’s so much more I could say, but this is already so long. so in conclusion, the reason all this matters to me personally is twofold:

at its best, fiction teaches us empathy. part of why I love tfota is because it takes characters & dynamics that are really messy & helps you, the reader, understand where everyone is coming from & why. the fact that we love Madoc is a testament to fiction’s ability to do this. so why is a teenage girl treated like the true villain of this story? what about her makes us incapable of empathy? why, in the mind of the fandom, is she not allowed forgiveness (or even just a chance at redemption) for the harm she's caused, while other characters are? I see people stanning Nicasia, who actively tortured Jude (over a boy, no less!!) ffs

fandom misogyny reflects our world. why are people eager to forgive toxic male love interests, yet hold the bar impossibly high for girls? why is there such a narrow set of choices & behaviors that we consider acceptable for female characters? Holly wrote a story about two young women carving out places for themselves in a world hostile to them, hurting each other in the process, and ultimately deciding to forgive, love, and root for one another—and fandom has taken that complex narrative and pitted them against one another, upholding one as the girlboss who can do no wrong while treating the other as scum. misogyny thrives on women treating each other like the problem, so if this is our attitude toward a fictional story where we’re afforded direct looks into characters’ thoughts, how much worse are we going to be in the real world, faced with real, imperfect women?

anyways, in conclusion: you're entitled to dislike taryn, but if you feel such vitriol toward her that you're literally making hate posts (or commenting under fanart of her!! holy shit), I invite you to interrogate where that hate actually comes from. fin.

#if you want to argue with me that’s fine - I just ask that you’re respectful #one critique i do have is that holly didn't allow jude & taryn to have a good convo in qon #taryn didn't have the full picture until pretty late in the narrative #and i think allowing them to hash things out would've really helped with a lot of fandom's shitty behavior towards taryn #because instead what we get is her repeatedly *acting* in ways that support jude #like she's pretty ride or die for all of qon #and i read that pretty redemptively #but it's not explicitly stated/talked through #so #ask tag #anon #will anyone read all of this?? we shall see #long post #tfota #the folk of the air #taryn duarte #tarynposting #jude duarte #taryn discourse #taryn hate #fandom misogyny #tcp #the cruel prince #twk #the wicked king #tqon #the queen of nothing

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sprout-gt · 7 months ago

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In Plain Sight - Chapter One

here it is folks! the start of the journey. i have had so much fun drafting this chapter, and hope you enjoy reading it!

Word count: 3958

CW: Adult language

Myth knew the route, he understood it.

This well practiced tread was practically second nature to him. Gently palming the wall to feel for the familiar symbols long ago scratched into the soft wood within the walls, the borrower shuffled forward assuredly.

The cramped, pressing space between walls he so often navigated provided a keen sense of belonging. He could probably find his way through most routes with his eyes closed. Hell, without the soft glow of a lit match or belt lamp he might as well be blindfolded. He could barely see an inch in front of him. And yet, each footfall was placed with complete certainty.

The dark did not disquiet him, nor was it ever a challenge. Darkness was safe, shielding.The inability to make out anything in front of you was a blessing. It meant that you were also hidden from sight. Visibility meant guaranteed danger, staying out of sight meant safety. It was a simple principle.

Myth raced through the corridors carved throughout the walls, relying only on the long ingrained paths etched into his memory to guide him forward. However, instead of the nearly blasé confidence that he usually assumed on runs, Myth navigated the tight corridors of the walls with an air of quiet desperation.

The stockade had been raided last week. It was still unclear what caused it, provisions and supplies being there one moment and gone within the next routine inventory hours later. The wards had been diligently dealing with rats for ages now, but it was extremely unusual for any to get that far within the borrower’s well-guarded territory. There had been no sightings of any intruding borrowers or suggestion of foul play. And yet, the once cramped shelves of their stockade were now nearly empty.

No matter the reason, the sudden, sharp decrease in supply and encroaching panic of the community over rationing what was left meant that expeditions beyond the walls were assigned with a concerning frequency. Some younger borrowers had assumed this was their chance to prove themselves and were clambering to volunteer themselves, but Myth was quick to shut that idea down. The hefty responsibility to train new runners fell to him as the main, and he had neither the time nor patience to do so now.

With his sister unable to assist on any runs, the brunt of the recent work was delegated to him. He felt like he hardly had a chance to breathe between runs before Dasha was assigning him another. Sure, there were others that would occasionally accompany him, but Myth by far had the most experience. Myth was always happier to work alone anyway. No chance to get slowed down that way. No unnecessary risks.

This was his fifth run of the week, and as he dashed through the empty spaces in the walls, he could feel the fatigue begin to set in as a dull ache within his muscles. His legs protested against the long distances he traveled, his arms stung with every inch scaled upwards. He shoved down the increasing tiredness that ebbed through him, and kept moving. He could sleep when the community was secure.

He had felt Kara’s knifepoint jealousy as he was assigned yet another run this morning, and he had to bite back a comment about loving to switch places with her. Sitting safely within the walls while recovering from a minor injury sounded far preferable to these relentless assignments.

There was a small, inextricable twinge of tired envy within him towards all of the safe, manageable roles delegated to the others as he threw himself outside of the walls again and again. Not that he would ever admit that to anyone.

Despite the constant string of complaints he has let ramble in his thoughts, he understood the severity of the situation, and knew he had a role in fixing it.

As his hand brushed a carved crescent shaped divot in the wood, he stilled. This was it. Myth knocked against the wall twice for good luck, a small practice he had started on his first few runs that had long since become habit. Taking a long and weary breath in, Myth pulled down his bottle-cap mask and stepped beyond the cherished security of the walls.

Myth utterly hated being in the open. Open meant visible, exposed, and there was always limited directionality for quick-needed escapes. The weaving route he used opened from a crack in the aging tile work into a vast kitchen area. Although it did not provide nearly enough cover as some of the other route entrances closer to the floors, it was optimal for gathering quickly, since it was positioned right next to containers of both non-perishable and fresh food. Supply runs would rarely ever pass through the kitchen, but provisions would rarely be found through the safer, less open route entrances.

They were meticulous in scheduling runs, and midday seemed to be consistent in human vacancy. Night may provide more cover of darkness, but it was nearly guaranteed the humans would be roaming for hours, morning the same. What in the wall's name they were doing in that time was beyond Myth, but he spent very little time caring about the erratic behavior of humans- just staying out of their line of sight.

Myth cautiously stepped onto the smooth surface of the marble countertop, after ensuring the room was empty. Glancing around his surroundings, he huffed with agitation as he scoped the area and immediately noted that the humans hadn’t yet replenished their own supplies, meaning he was left to scrounge in their diminished scraps. Again. Myth ran a tired hand through his hair as he weighed his limited options.

What this really meant was that this run was a whole bunch of expended energy and time with very little return. Myth knew that any borrower worth their salt would never return empty handed from a run, no matter how barren the surroundings may be. That would signal your inadequacy, and highly disrespect Dasha’s authority. And so, Myth trudged forward.

Upon the vast counter was a nearly empty fruit bowl that towered over him, and a plastic container holding the crumbled remains of some unidentified dessert. Chewing on his lip, Myth glanced back and forth between them, as if his contemplation would magically spawn more provisions to bring back. An unfortunately unsuccessful strategy. Myth stepped towards the tall bowl, craning his neck up to the lip as he unhooked his makeshift grapple off his belt. Giving it a few swings to pick up momentum, he confidently arced the hook towards the lip.

Catching his hook on the glass bowl, Myth gave a careful tug to ensure the twine affixed to the thin metal could be pulled taught. The hook held, although the slight creak of the rope while being pulled concerned him slightly. He would probably have to replace it when he got back.

Ensuring it was secure, he began to ascend, wincing at the dull pain that bloomed through his upper body as he tugged his weight upwards. He pushed himself up to sit on the lip of the bowl, resulting in a sharper stab of fatigue buried in his arms. Removing the twisted metal hook, Myth reverses the grip, before belaying down to the flat bottom of the bowl and surveying his options.

There were a few discarded grapes, the skins of which had turned slightly brown and started to sag with overripeness, along with their now empty stems. Myth rolled his eyes and approached. He crouched down on his haunches and observed a few grapes that were still perfectly usable.

Humans always seemed to disregard any amount of food that was past its absolute prime quality. The rejection of slightly worsened food was an unbelievable privilege to Myth. One that he had never been extended. Through his many assignments, he had learned that there was very little past the walls unworthy of using. They would need to ration these out within the next day or two, but that was still substantial. He scooped the fruit into his pack.

Once he had made his way back over the wall of the bowl and dropped down onto the counter with a huff, Myth approached the plastic container. It wasn’t much, a few crumbs and larger chunks of some kind of cake. Not very nutritious,but he had never been in the position to be picky.

He wedged one tip of his hook between the layers of plastic so he had room to force them apart with a resonant pop. Myth winced at the sound, knowing full well he was alone but unable to shake the feeling he was about to be found hunched over and shoveling pieces of dessert into his pack. He moved faster, beginning to have that uncanny, unshakable feeling of being watched creep into him.

Once Myth had filled his pack with as much as he feasibly could, he slammed the layers of plastic together, having to push down hard to click them back together. He quickly turned on his heel and hurried back to the insignificant split in the even tile lining the countertop.

Pressing his bag through the opening with a push, Myth shoved himself in as well, leaning his back against the rigid wall next to the crack in order to catch his breath. As soon as he was past the barrier separating the gigantic scale of human spaces and tucked back into the security of the walls, his mind eased considerably.

The borrower shouldered his now full pack, and turned down the long path back to the community, breathing easier under the cover of sheltered darkness.

Others have said to him, during the common practice of recounting harrowing tales under the soft glow of wick-light, that the thrill of doing runs made them worth the risk, the adrenaline of close calls the best part of being assigned runs. Myth had nodded along in placid agreement, although he could not agree less.

The thing Myth really loved about doing runs was the blissful solitude that traversing the routes provided. Simply, the silence of being in between the borrowing world and the human one.

Borrowing life was as hectic as it was interconnected. Everyone was pressed so close, you didn’t have the space to breathe. In the heart of the walls, there was hardly any moment to reflect or exist in solitude. Here, slipping between the winding corridors, Myth was allowed to savor the isolation, if only for a short time.

It was in these prized moments that Myth allowed his mind to wander past routine, past assignments and roles and into the abstract. He bounded between worries and excitements, potentials and anticipations. It passed the time deliciously. Gave him a needed distraction as he traversed the darkness.

But as he approached the central chamber of the walls, Myth could hear the stark silence of the route slowly be ebbed away with the present, bustling sounds of the community, the darkness slowly fading as he approached. His time with the personal came to a close, making way for the needs of his community. Myth entered the central chamber, exiting the cramped route entrance into the spacious room dotted with other entrances to routes, as well as corridors snaking further into community territory. .

Tess, drowsily resting her head on her hand, snapped up immediately when she spotted Myth approaching, and waved him over as he walked in. He understood her excitement. Inventory was a slow and monotonous assignment.

Casting a glance at the large wrist watch face affixed to the far wall, he noted that he returned several minutes later than he expected. He felt a pang of irritation at himself for getting increasingly slower. His legs ached in angry retort. He needed to lie down.

He met the younger borrower in the center of the chamber and unloaded his meager spoils from the run onto the makeshift surface she stood behind. Tess made an obvious face.

“That… isn’t a lot.” Tess stated obviously, casting a dubious glance downward.

“That is what was there.” Myth responded. As if he could control when the humans decided they were tired of their lack of provisions. That would certainly make his life easier.

Tess sighed, and pulled a large scrap of paper from the pile beside her, marking the date and quality of the different food items with a pencil stub, leaving a patch of lead residue on her hand. “I’ll alert Dasha and sort this into inventory. In the meantime, would you please go lie down. You look like you’re about to collapse.”

Myth laughed dryly, “Feel like it too. Thanks for telling me it’s obvious.” A slightly awkward beat passed between the borrowers.

Tess shifted her weight from foot to foot, seeming to consider something weighty before asking, “Are you okay Myth? I mean… with all these assignments…” Her tone was light, quiet, as if asking his opinion was in violation of some kind of rule.

Myth shrugged his empty pack onto his shoulder, and simply stated “Why wouldn’t I be?”, as he promptly turned on his heel, striding away from Tess and her deepinging expression of pity.

Making his way towards the opposite wall, Myth entered the corridor to the community quarters, following the long path down to his and Kara’s space. He could hear conversation loud and quiet past the curtained barriers, but was uninterested in participating in any conversation, save for the one between him and sleep.

Stepping through the curtain of scrap fabric of his quarter, Myth shrugged off his now much lighter pack and tossed his mask to the side of the room, nodding to his sister sitting at the far table. He stretched out as much as his muscles let him, enjoying the aching feeling for a few moments. He figured he should probably greet her before shuffling to his own space.

Myth joined Kara at their makeshift table, slouching down on the cork across from her as she whittled away at her prized spear. Too tired to greet her, he slumped forward, resting his head on his arms and letting out a much needed groan.

“So, did the savior of the community gather a fruitful bounty today?” Kara asked, eyes trained on the edge of the glass she was using to sharpen the stone. The question was tinged with bitterness. Kara wasn’t one for hiding what she meant in any situation.

Myth let out a beleaguered sigh and responded without looking up. “Not enough, but there wasn’t enough to get. Bastards hadn’t replenished yet.” Slumped over like this, he could feel how much his back hurt.

“Sounds like you went all the way out there for nothing. Maybe they should have sent someone else. Would have made the run less lonely anyway.” The edge to her tone was clear. This wasn’t the first time they’ve had this conversation, and Myth knew it wouldn’t be the last. He was getting pretty tired of having it though.

“I was perfectly fine on my own thanks.” Myth responded pointedly.

“I would have gotten back here faster. Have you noticed what time it is?”

Myth scrunched his eyes, annoyed that she knew he would have taken consideration of his increasing slowness. The comment stung slightly.

Myth raised his head and regarded his sister tiredly. “Kara, it’s not my fault that you weren’t careful.” She sucked in a breath.

Myth had noticed that, since she’d been recovering from her hurt ankle, Kara had been diligently attentive to her gear. It was clear to everyone she was desperate to get back out there. Myth really did regret not having her presence. She was skilled and effective on runs. Maybe even more than he was, and they both knew it.

Kara responded with nothing but a punctuated swipe of her knife and a sour frown. He knew he wasn’t being fair, and was about to apologize before she interrupted the silence with, “What even is this, your fourth run this week?”

“Fifth.” Myth responded wearily, sitting up straighter. He really needed to get some rest.

“Of course. Why not? You alone are going to fix this mess for us. Maybe we’ll throw you a party! Get Cade to plan it, he’d drop everything.”

Myth was about to retort how much he would prefer someone else to do his job for him, but considering how bitter Kara was about being stuck within the walls, he bit it back, and took in a slow breath.

“As much as your doubt inspires me, I’m fully capable of handling this.” Myth responded, trying to keep his voice level.

Kara slammed the glass point down with a hard smack against the table’s surface, causing Myth to jolt in surprise. “You’re tired is what you are, and that means you’re getting sloppy. Sooner or later that means you’re going to fuck up. And then where would we be Myth?” Kara regarded him with intensity.

Several moments of tension-singed silence stretched between them.

Myth tried not to escalate anything when he responded, “Dasha knows what she’s doing.”

“Dasha is scared and making stupid decisions. We have plenty of other people wanting to do runs, wanting to help.” Kara retorted with exasperation, crossing her arms tightly.

“Wanting is not the same as being ready.” Myth firmly insisted, not really wanting to push things further but feeling the stubborn urge to defend himself.

Kara scoffed in agitation, but he continued. “I am not going to be responsible for anyone getting hurt or caught. They’re untrained, and they’re agitated. That makes people sloppy.”

“They’re eager, and there’s a difference. You won’t even talk to them Myth! Maybe if you gave some of the people here half a chance you wouldn’t have to risk yourself over and over!”

“I’m doing my job.” Now it was his turn to cross his arms in mild defiance and stare daggers across the table.

Kara let out a wild laugh, “Of course you are! You’d probably throw yourself in front of a human if Dasha asked-” The thought made his heart rate spike.

“That is not fucking fair Kara.” Myth’s voice finally raised sharply. He pushed back against the table and scrambled to his feet. He felt agitation cascade through him. Towards Kara, towards Dasha, towards himself. And he was far too tired to do anything about it.

Kara stood in a feverish instant, leaning all her weight on her good ankle and slamming her hands down on the table. “Since when have you given a shit about fair? Nothing about this has been fair!”, waving one arm out wildly.

Myth was about to shout back that she was acting like a child, but turned his head backwards when he realized Kara's eyes snapped to something over his shoulder. Tess was standing in the doorway, pushing back the curtain extremely rigidly, eyes equally apologetic and uncomfortable.

The energy in the room instantly chilled to an awkward coolness. Myth was extremely embarrassed that someone caught one of their regular arguments, and he felt his face get hot as he turned to Tess. Now that the fight had crashed to a stop, Myth felt like he had been zapped of any strength he was still holding on to.

“Hey Tess.” Myth said quietly, looking downward, unwilling to regard either woman due to the growing sense of shame settling into his chest. He knew he wasn’t angry at Kara, and she wasn’t angry with him, not really. The cramped anxiety that had descended upon the community had been slowly escalating their own unpleasant feelings. The closest thing to take them out on was each other. He knew Tess wouldn’t understand this.

“Uh… sorry- I didn’t… I mean… Myth, Dasha wants to see you, like, now. Sorry. I’m gonna-” Myth heard Tess turn and sprint away from the curtained doorway. What a day.

“I better see what she wants.”, even though he most certainly knew what she did. Myth looked towards Kara for her response, but she had sat back down and was now trained on her blade, lips pulled in a tight, straight line. Myth turned away silently.

Presence with Dasha rarely resulted without a delegated assignment, but Myth internally begged to not be handed another run. He knew that his last one was disappointing, but he was so tired.

Myth found her in the provision inventory, a carved out hallway stuffed with ledges and makeshift shelves. Dasha was inspecting one of the grapes he had brought in, holding it up with one hand. Her face was still turned away from him, inscrutable.

He felt a stab of embarrassment at how little he brought back, and desperately wanted to explain himself.

“Dasha, I-”. She held up a hand, and he immediately halted.

“Myth, I know this last week has been difficult. Trust me, know one has felt it harder than I have. But you understand that this amount from a run is unacceptable in our present circumstances.”

His cheeks burned hot. “I’m sorry. This really was the best I could do, the humans hadn’t replenished yet.”

Dasha wearily raked a hand through the length of her hair, and let in a sharp inhale.

“I figured. I’m sorry, that wasn’t fair of me.” Dasha put the fruit down and regarded him sympathetically. “You have been doing so much great work for the community, and I know it has not been easy.” Myth could feel she was priming him for something he didn’t want to hear.

“But I am growing worried that I have been over-relying on your skills. And your sister has been… insistent that I consider alternative runners in her absence,” she took in a breath, “so I am assigning you to train an eligible member to assist you on runs-” His stomach dropped, hard.

“No!” The objection was out before he could stop himself, he quickly tried to recover, “Dasha please, I can do this alone, really.”

Dasha didn’t seem offended by the outburst, her expression almost pitiful. It made him want to scream. Why did nobody trust that he could handle this?

“I’m sure you can, but my mind has been made up. If you got injured after all these runs-” she closed her eyes, “I would never forgive myself.”

“Dasha please-” He knew he sounded pathetic, but he didn’t care.

Dasha firmly interrupted, “You get to choose who it will be, and it's just until Kara recovers and they are trained. I have full faith in you.” She smiled at him warmly, but he could see it was useless to argue.

He briefly thought back to the comment Kara had made during their argument. He knew she was right.

“You’re dismissed, get some rest. Tomorrow, please report who you have chosen and we can work out a plan,” she stepped towards him and placed a gentle hand on his cheek before saying, “Thank you Myth.”

Dasha stepped away and out of the stockade, leaving Myth with a growing thorn of apprehension in his gut. He stood there rigidly for a few moments, before turning and making his way back to his quarters- wishing for his day to just be over already.

Upon returning to his quarters, guilt sat in his stomach like a sharp stone. As he passed by the curtain separating him from Kara’s space, he paused, placing a hand on the wood next to the doorway and leaning his forehead against it..

“I’m sorry.” He spoke to the curtain mutedly.

“I know.” Kara responded from within, equally hushed. And that was it.

Myth turned to finally, finally crash headlong into the escape of sleep, and as he shuffled toward his own sleeping area, he heard Kara mutter something quietly, although he couldn’t quite make it out.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

#g/t #g/t community #giant/tiny #g/t writing #g/t story #In Plain Sight #borrowers #oc: myth #oc: kara #WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO HERE WE GO FOLKS #buckle in lovelies we are in for a ride #also get ready for some long ass chapters #a concise writer i am NOT #hope y'all are ready

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janeway-lover · 3 months ago

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and I hate to make this all about me

but who am I supposed to talk to

and what am I supposed to do

if there's no you?

#yes this is a taylor swift lyric yes I'm a basic white girl yes I'm sad at midnight again #nothing new nothing to see here folks #it's not fair. I was supposed to still be riding the high of getting to see my girlfriend #instead I'm having a breakdown every time I stay up too late or sit still for too long. yay.

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hey-heigo · 9 months ago

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Chapter 17

continuation of byakuya's no good very bad worst shit ass day of his life (so far)(!!!)

SEE HERE FOR GENERAL WARNINGS AND FIC SUMMARY

Some pre-chapter notes:

this chapter went a little different from how i originally planned bc I was going to make byakuya much more stupid. but. he needs to fly off the handle several times later so. we can't let loose all at once

to be very fair to makoto he did not want to do that. and yet. here we are

the king of kings!! @digitaldollsworld

Content warning tags: ableist language from various characters, Byakuya's panic spiral, mild self-harm reference

< previous - from start - next >

Time seems to grind to a halt. His breath is still caught in his throat, halfway through a relieved sigh as he had been waiting - expecting - for Makoto to help him. To pull up some vague, hidden piece of evidence to clear him of any suspicion, to cleverly point out some irrefutable proof that had previously lay unseen.

But instead - his heartbeats feel too heavy. His breathing feels too light, deprived of any real oxygen. His head pounds in the same way it did when he was struck earlier, with a dull, pulsing ring that washes out everything around him.

He prided himself, once, on being able to read a person’s intent. To judge just when and why they might choose to abandon him, to cross him, to try and use him for their own intents. For that reason, he supposes, is why this sickly, sticky feeling of dread is so new to him. He’s never known real betrayal before.

His eyes dart around the room, but the others don’t seem to believe Makoto just yet. Even Owada seems taken aback, stock still and quiet. Only Kirigiri seems unsurprised - or maybe, he was only imagining it, the tranquil quality of her silence. As if she were merely observing it all, far out of their reach.

“Seriously??” Syo’s voice is a grating jeer. “You’re telling me this whole time he had no idea what I looked like? No wonder he didn’t fall for me at first sight!”

“I…don’t think that’s the reason why,” Hagakure says, though he seems utterly bewildered. “But, that can’t be right, right? I’ve seen him reading loads of times. And he practically lives in the library, y’know?”

“Yeah, and he can do things just fine for himself.” Asahina says in agreement. “I mean, he does his own laundry and stuff, and he knows this place way better than me at least. I didn’t even know where the A/V room was during the first motive, I just sorta followed him.”

“Yes, this is sort of…” For the first time, Celeste sounds genuinely surprised, her usually unphased demeanor wavering, her accent slipping for a moment. “Ahem. While I did note that he sometimes seemed a bit…eccentric, so to speak, nothing of his actions suggested that he was impaired.”

Their skepticism is a small relief. He nods jerkily, unable to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth to verbalize his agreement. But it’s a small, pathetic movement that goes unnoticed, hardly amounting to anything in this large courtroom.

And their disbelief only goes so far. Ogami speaks up now, for the first time since the trial began, her low voice immediately silencing the whispers.

“I performed a concussion test on him earlier,” She says, gruffly. “As Kyoko had asked me to. He was lucid when answering my questions, and he didn’t seem to exhibit any symptoms that couldn’t be attributed to other reasons.” There’s a slight creak of wood, as she shifts her weight on the stand. “However, I did notice that his pupils were…strange.”

“My- what?” He sputters now, too suddenly, too loudly. He reaches up to touch slightly-trembling fingers to a closed eye, feeling the smooth bump of the cornea twitching beneath the thin skin of his eyelid as if he might be able to identify the damage that way. Why hadn’t she mentioned this earlier? Why bring it up now? “What do you mean, ‘strange’?!”

There’s a slight, panicked edge to his voice that he hopes no one catches, but this was the first time he heard that there could be physical evidence to his affliction. “It was a bit hard to test without the proper tools, but I noticed that they do not react much to changes in light.” Ogami explains. “The shape is also slightly…off. If I had to describe it, I would say that there is…a warping around the edges.”

“And you didn’t think to mention it?!”

“I assumed it was either due to the head injury, or, it was genetic.” There’s an apologetic note to her words. “Given your usual behavior, I…didn’t think it was important.”

Not important. As if she could know what was important here.

“I. Am not. Blind.” He snarls stiffly. “Obviously, I have never taken a close enough look at my own pupils to notice that deformation, but it has never affected my daily life. I am not disabled, nor have I ever been.”

“I find it hard to believe that you have never been aware of it.” Kyoko remarks, tone clipped. “I can’t imagine someone of your status being ignorant of anything concerning your physical health.”

“Then you can rest easy knowing that I am perfectly healthy.” He snaps back, venom flying off his words.

Distantly, he knows that he is digging a pit for himself. That admitting to this would help clear him of any suspicion at all. But he doesn’t care; he would rather die than suffer such indignity. That was what he’s always known, taught by his butler, and then reinforced by all his surroundings afterwards, his siblings, his father - better to perish and let your enemies cry with relief and count themselves lucky, than let them mock you as you dig your own grave.

“You should just admit it already. You are drawing this out to be unnecessarily long, or would you rather doom us all?”

“I don’t see why I should cooperate with someone who has been making mindless accusations at me all this while.”

There’s a tense, snappish tension between him and Kirigiri. A livewire current. A piece of elastic stretched taut. He glares, and to him, her blurred form looks like that of a reared snake.

“Um…” Asahina speaks up, her hand tentatively raised. “If Byakuya’s really blind, can’t we just test it?”

“Excuse me?”

“I-I mean! Not saying that you are blind, or anything,” She says this quickly, carefully, like soothing a spooked horse. “But, we’re not going to get anywhere if you two just keep arguing back and forth, and it’ll be really quick! Like, Sakura, can you hold up a few fingers?” She complies silently, one arm remaining crossed across her chest, the other raised to her side. “How many is she holding up?”

He tries not to squint, but he has no idea. Two? Three? It's nothing more that a blurred, brown shape. “You can’t be serious.” He almost laughs, but the sound he makes is derisive and bitter.

“Y-yes, this is-! Unfair!” Now it’s Yamada, speaking up again. “In case no one else has noticed, Mister Togami is lacking his spectacles! Asking such a thing of him…it’s akin to bullying!”

He’s oddly assertive about this, and Byakuya watches as he pushes his own glasses a little higher. For some reason, being considered something of an equal by Yamada irritates him further. “Shut up.” Who asked for his help.

“Yes, be still please,” Celeste sighs dismissively. “We are playing a game with our lives. This is hardly the time to be discussing moralistic issues.” There’s a slight metallic tap as she raps her silver finger guards against her rings. “But you do make a point. Byakuya does not have his glasses at the moment. It would be difficult to try and confirm anything without them.”

Thank goodness for those with common sense. He doesn’t look to his side, where she was standing, but he swears that he can see her eyes glancing at him, the unnatural red of her pupils bright on her pale face. “Yes,” he agrees, seizing upon it. “And they were broken earlier, thanks to Owada. Nearsightedness runs on my mother’s side, and the former Togami head was farsighted. I will admit that much, is that what you wanted? Kyoko?”

He’s rambling. He’s aware of it. But there are a few nods exchanged, and Asahina scratches at the back of her head awkwardly, as if embarrassed. Kirigiri, however, is still unmoved.

“No. When I say you are blind, I do not mean without your glasses. Or there wouldn’t have been a point in bringing it up in the first place.” Kirigiri shifts her weight slightly, the sway of her stance accompanied by the creak of wood. “Even without your glasses, you cannot do tasks such as reading. I imagine you’ve managed everything else by means of careful practice, but this is the one thing you can’t manage on your own.”

“Hey, Kyoko-” Makoto looks nervous, unsure whether to face him or her. “That-”

“And how do you plan to prove this?” Byakuya snarls. He feels a small flare of triumph, even despite everything, the looming threat of death. “As we found before, I don’t have my glasses. Did you happen to pick those up as well? Did you repair them for me while you were at it?”

Instead of offering a retort, or any sort of reply, she sighs. A soft, tired sound.

“Makoto.” She isn’t facing the other boy, but her tone is firm as she addresses him, and a little exasperated. She doesn’t say anything more, but Makoto seems to understand, and his hands drop to his sides.

“There is a way to prove it.” His voice is quiet. Quiet, and…sad, somehow. Defeated. “Byakuya…please show us your handbook.”

The realization sets in slowly. He’s already been betrayed by Makoto twice now, but still, he finds himself stunned, slack-jawed. This one was the worst by far - not only was he actively helping Kirigiri, he was betraying Chihiro as well, risking revealing everything to that accursed bear. And after all the lengths Byakuya had gone through to protect this secret.

“What are you saying,” He says, and his voice has a humiliating tremor that matches how his hands shake, clutching at the rail. Surely, he’s heard wrong. Surely, Makoto would correct himself, take it back-

“Your handbook. Chihiro, he…he put a program on it that lets you be able to do stuff like tell the time. It also reads stuff aloud. And he did it after the motives got revealed, that night when Celeste saw you guys leaving the bathhouse.” He sounds so somber, so sad and grieving. He won’t meet Byakuya’s eyes. “He did it in exchange for you teaching him how to be strong, and self-confident - which you did, by telling him to go around talking to everyone else today.”

Without really thinking about it, his hand goes to his inner jacket pocket, where his handbook sits. His fingers close around the little device, the hard edges of plastic and metal pressing into the creases of his palm. He feels a little like he’s been shot.

But he doesn’t bring it out. He glares instead, furiously, hatefully, at the boy standing just meters away. He - and Kirigiri too, most likely, Byakuya suspected that Makoto had already revealed everything that that woman - knew perfectly well the importance of Alter Ego, and why it could not, under any circumstances, be revealed. And they knew Byakuya was aware of this too, and they were holding this fact hostage, over his head.

(I could, some sore, beaten part of him thinks with poisonous intent, try and claim responsibility for Chihiro’s murder. I could say that they’re wrong. That I lured Chihiro to the bathhouse with the intent of making him less wary, easier to isolate. That he was so weak and trusting and stupid that killing him was a simple manner. That I mimicked Syo’s modus operandi to throw suspicion off of me.)

The mere thought was shameful, but it was his pride, wounded and bitter, that was seriously considering it, if only for some semblance of control. The barest reassurance that he had any real weight at all in this trial. And all he would need to do is open his mouth and say the words.

But instead, he bites down on his inner cheek, hard enough for blood to trickle out the corner of his mouth, hard enough for the pain to rival the buzzing in his temples. And tightens his grip momentarily, just enough to feel the faint, humming warmth of the handbook against his sweating palm, and exhales slowly.

“...Fine. Fine.” He spits, angry, defeated, exhausted. He’s sick of this. He just wants it to be over. “Yes. I’m blind. I have been so since we first woke up in this school. Are you happy now?”

Makoto looks down, his face shadowed by his hair. Kirigiri tilts her head slightly, a motion that’s not quite a nod but more of a bow.

“Wait, so then-” Asahina’s voice, confused and a little hesitant, pipes up. “If you’ve been…y’know, this whole time, but only after we got to this school…does that mean the Mastermind did this to you, somehow?”

“That’s what I would like to know, myself.” He turns to look at Monokuma, and finds the bear lounging across its throne, a bucket of popcorn resting precariously on the armrest. The repugnant toy giggles, and swings itself upright, spilling a handful of white puffs all over.

“Gosh, I wonder?” The thing taps at its chin, voice taking on a wondering tone. “Of course, I want this game to be fair and give you all a level playing field. I believe in equality after all! …Though this has made for so many entertaining developments, so…I figured I’d leave it as is. Besides, you’ve adapted quite well, haven’t you Mister Togami?” It cackles, paws clutching at its belly. “GIven how well you did hiding it from everyone, I think it’s fine if we leave it like this, don’t you think?”

He wants to cross the courtroom and throttle the stupid thing this instant. All he can do is glare murderously, lips twisted into a snarl.

There’s a sharp clap that has most people jumping. The source of the sound is Kirigiri, whose hands are raised, and pressed together. “Let’s move on.” Her voice is firm, with no room for arguing. “All we’ve done so far is clear one person’s innocence. We still need to identify the real killer.”

And that was it. The most disgusting moment of his life, over just like that, ended by her words. He knows that there’s bound to be some kind of punishment in store for those who interrupt trials, but he briefly wonders if he can get his hands around her neck before Monokuma can react.

Owada jerks at Kirigiri’s words, startled out of his own stunned silence. “W-wait,” He sounds panicked now, and of course he would be. His scapegoat is gone. “Then, if it’s not Byakuya, then who…?”

“Let’s consider what we know. Given how it’s not clear where the murder took place, it would have to be someone who had access to cleaning supplies or water, and has no alibi that can be verified when the murder occurred. For the most part, everyone here has an alibi that can be supported by at least one other person, but there are some that do not.” Kirigiri lists these calmly, and Byakuya imagines her cold gaze, flitting between each person in the room. “Mondo. Do you care to explain what you were doing prior to the body’s discovery?”

The effect is immediate. The other boy rears up, instantly furious. “The fuck are you trying to say? That I’m a murderer?!” He thunders. “Like I said earlier, I was taking care of my bro. You know that. Everyone knows that!”

“As you said earlier, Taka is currently compromised. He can’t give a testimony.” She shoots back without hesitation. “Your alibi is flawed.”

“Yeah? Well - well so’s yours!” He sputters. “Like- Syo might’ve been the one to find you in the bathroom, but that was just before Chihiro was found. Toko can’t say that you weren’t there the whole time, a-and even if you were, maybe the bathroom was where Chihiro died anyways!”

Owada may be stupid, but credit where credit was due, he was surprisingly quick to retort and pick at Kirigiri’s excuse. “I could not have cleaned up a murder scene in the bathroom so spotlessly in the time between Chihiro’s last sighting and the body discovery. As Makoto described earlier, the sinks of the bathroom were all dry-”

“There was that sheet, you could’ve used that before smashing Chihiro’s head over it. And there’s water in the toilets, right? And the girl’s bathroom was right next door!”

“...I’ll commend you for recognizing my perseverance. But I did not kill Chihiro.” She shakes her head. “If the only thing that will clear me is secondhand support to my alibi, then the only thing that needs to be done is to ask a witness. Toko?”

And she addresses Syo now, who just cocks her head for a moment, and shrugs. “I keep sayin’ to you guys, it’s lights out up there. There’s no telling when she’ll be back!”

Byakuya has had enough.

“Toko,” He says first, his voice low and hissing. Then, louder, building into a shout: “TOKO. Come out, NOW!”

“I don’t think it works like tha-” Syo’s words are cut off suddenly, and she collapses where she stands, like a puppet with her strings cut.

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#thpff #thpff chapters #danganronpa fanfiction #byakuya togami #byakuya mentally filing for a second naegami divorce #sorry this one took so long.....my frontal lobe. it is soup #combination filing taxes + applying for classes + applying for jobs + etc etc. it'll do it to ya #going to really really really try to get 18 up by sunday but if its delayed do u prommy not to be too mad at me. do you. pls pls pls #i jest tho. thank u to everyone who has been reading thus far i hope you continue to enjoy it or move on to other things #just knowing you were here even if just for a moment even if for the whole ride is enough for me #i hope this chapter is legible i cranked out the last half of it at 2 am on a half bottle of soju #also had to mentally go over everything twice bc ive been listening to His Dark Materials audiobooks and my writing was turning british #byakuya frothing furious angry defeated at the stand while kyoko is just. o<-< are we done yet. can we please talk about the murder #theyre both toxic here and making everyone bear witness to it #alright folks lets take bets now on who you think the killer is!!!

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