#might make this a full thing idk

[halorvic]

[fumifooms]

"Marchil? I guess I can see it on Chilchuck’s end, but what about Marcille’s? What makes you think she could develop feelings for him?" I’m glad you asked!

The first thing to note is that she does think highly of him

In the page on the right, literally defending his virtues and literally comparing him to Dalclan. And oh…

She does love a brooding mysterious guy who closes himself to love. But surely, Chilchuck isn’t her type at all, right? He’s not princely or knightly at all. In apperances certainly not, both looks wise and demeanor wise, but then that’s why she seeks to know him on a deeper level, to not only look shallowly.

And hmm. Chilchuck really is quite selfless isn’t he? Always looking out for others, and saving specifically her often, always making sure himself and, staying in or even running towards danger for her sometimes. Modesty is often considered heroic…

And can we talk about that drowning one… You can definitely frame the special attention as him knowing she tends to hesitate or be clumsy, and then his insistance on pulling her out of danger that she’s the healer aka the most important to keep alive, but. From the one who says that he just keeps his ass out of fights and won’t help this is a lot of risk to take, and he does die trying to pull her to safety in the dungeon rabbits chapter. And the drowning bit??? That’s when the dungeon collapses. The only reason they DON’T die of drowning here is that the water then gives way to outside. There was NO hope of pulling her to safety here and resurrections would likely not work either, he truly preferred to die with her than try to survive himself.

Sit your ass back DOWN you are in no state, self-sacrifical hero much damn

And Marcille definitely noticed this imo, after all she loves learning all she can about him, remembering things like how he hates waiting on people too. She pays attention to him and what he does and what he says. This to say that it’s notable, whatever reason for it you may think (though we know by this point at least she was already aware he was an adult though it wasn’t internalized), out of everyone it’s Chilchuck’s bed that she wants to sleep in during the Golden Kingdom stay. He’s safe and comforting to her: dependable, the defining trait in her view of him as is shown by the relationship chart in the Adventurer’s Bible.

^ Lending handkerchiefs is a romance trope btw and handkerchiefs have irl history of being used for courting. Especially in old English literature and plays like Shakespeare’s Othello, and personally I do see a lot of Shakespeare in Dalclan (nobility political drama with some romance). There’s how his cowl is a dearly beloved souvenir from his family too, there’s a lot of aesthetic tropes you can apply to him.

All this to say you can 100% romanticize Chilchuck into a princely noble guy if you try and that’s exactly what Marcille does with the wife roleplay. She doesn’t need much in the first place, she latches onto crumbs and makes aesthetic narratives out of details, give her an inch she’ll take a mile.

But what’s interesting about the shift throughout the arc of her and his relationship is that she starts out idealizing him into a little angel of a kid (shapeshifter), and she ends it idealizing him as a virtuous husband and family man instead.

And what’s doubly interesting is that in the former, she’s actively warping who he is personality and demeanor wise to fit the aesthetic, he doesn’t have that bitter pride of not asking for help and the edges have been smoothened. But what she does during the wife roleplay is something else, she acknowledges the flaws and just… Accepts them, rolls with them. She’s aware of his flaws and implements them into the narrative, but the reason why his wife left doesn’t capitalize on them even, rather Chil is chilblivious and his wife loves him very much still, she’s just testing him after having had a night of feeling out of place at his side.

And this is what separates the idealization vs romanticization, she’s not twisting him into someone else she’s just uplifting what he is and focusing on the good sides.

Marcille: "he has a shitty personality sometimes but if he was my husband I’d still cherish him" "If I were your wife I’d be overjoyed to go out with you and would get myself prettied up while you complain about me taking a long time, your friends would tell me that I’m nice and that’d make me happy, but I’d also be sad because you wouldn’t tell me that you love me enough"

He’s angry and his wife left him, he’s *flawed*, but he’s still worth hyping up, still worth having his own romance story, still has a shot of winning back his beloved. She sees him for what he is, human and real and not a carefully scripted character that fits an aesthetic, and she thinks it’s still worthy of love and admiration and fighting for

And what’s funny too is that you might expect her to cool down on him once she learns more about him but actually she only gets increasingly into his business. You tell her your age and next thing you know you promise to introduce her to your family. Give her an inch she takes a mile. And too the thing is, Senshi is equally mysterious but she doesn’t pester him like at all, asks him ONCE about his succubus and he doesn’t even answer and that’s like… It. With Chilchuck it starts off innocently enough with her wanting to know his age, hometown, the stuff she mentions having asked pre-canon. But it just keeps and keeps going and escalating. Think she’ll be satisfied now knowing you have a wife and kids, maybe she’s disillusioned now? Wrong! She wants to know their names and ages and occupations and hey how did you propose to your wife? Do you think she’ll stop after meeting them? What’s next? What will she want to know next????

She’s… Like it’s not a reach that Marcille is all over him. Like it doesn’t mean it’s romantic but she just is. She is not normal about him idk. Can you not ask him about what tongue technique he used when first kissing his wife, give the man breathing room

Marcille could literally go "if I was Chilchuck’s wife" having deeply pondered and thought out the hypothetical and people would still ask where anyone sees any romantic potential between them. Oh wait

There’s a platonic explanation for everything (almost?) in Dungeon Meshi don’t say I’m saying otherwise, but it’s definitely not like there’s nothing here to read into lol

Going off a bit more under read bc it’s my fave topic

Marcille has a whole theme with the charming prince trope with her idealization and storybook motif and Chil is kinda the "Well someone perfect like that isn’t very realistic and romance is usually more complex and that’s ok and good and flawed people can still be ✨virtuous✨" catalyst

Do you see do you see she starts canon thinking the most romantic thing is a prince charming but her arc in the end has her romanticizing an average, flawed, real and realistic family man, who’s on the poorer side and is on the verge of divorce. And that’s what he needed, too, seeing the positive of himself and the situation instead of focusing on the negative is explicitly what inspires him to hope that he might be able to reconcile with his wife, gives him the courage and self-esteem to shoot his shot.

He IS a prince figure instead that now it’s not about idealizing the grand and overt it’s about romanticizing the small things in real life!! About finding joy and beauty in things that seem normal or mundane and uplifting them to make the world feel kinder!!!!

He’s the devoted virtuous man that she wantsss not the storybook prince that’s unrealistic and could crumble like a script at any time. He’s the perfect example of a flawed realistic but virtuous & devoted & loving man. Far from a prince charming, but not fully detached from it either. Something worth fighting for despite the flawed cracks. Like literally, flawed romance being worth fighting for is literally the finale of Chilchuck and Marcille’s arc on the matter, where their separate arcs and issues intersect at the most crucial moment.

Marcille is important to Chil’s arc not only because of her optimism, but also because of her interest and knowledge in romance & matters of the heart, and that’s what he needs to both open his heart up to hope and to try to reconcile with his wife, like idk sounds gay

Their arc together is literally learning to 1) see each other for how they are and not undermining their qualities capacities etc etc while still not leaving flaws unchecked either and 2) opening up to people. Marcille LITERALLY makes Chil open his heart up to hope like idk man. What do you want from me. He’s literally the guy helping her through deconstructing novels and fantasy and rose tinted glasses and like. Deconstructing the prince charming figure into something more real but still romantically beautiful like KUI KUI STOOOOP STOP I’M ALREADY HOOKED I’M ALREADY-

 Ok fine that’s me reading into the tropes too much forgive me for being storybook brained but like. Speaking his heart out to a lone woman on a balcony, Romeo and Juliette shit, asking if she, too, doesn’t want to meet his family, madly blushing. And like she’s learned with Chilchuck it’s all in the little things, all the implications he cannot speak aloud. She does reciprocate, does blush madly back, and the first thing she does is shower him in flowers and jewelry and what in her heart is coded as romantic gifts

A lady, stashed away in a high tower by her lonesome, waiting for someone to call out to her from below… Romeo courting type shit with an offer, a heartfelt spiel, implicit confession from underneath her balcony. Offering him flowers because he succeeded in calling out to her heart…….. And they have to climb to her too…. Crazy

Doesn’t it sound like a proposal. One that’s both so storybook-like and not, contrastedly real and grounded, all about the implications rather than in your face grand gestures, "Don’t you want to meet my family?". They literally have an arc about the topic of romance and this is the climax/pinnacle of it like god?? This is @ the woman who said "Chilchuck is a shy/bashful man so I know he wouldn’t tell me he loves me, but…" btw

To quote a friend, truly the shiny secret unlockable dating sim capture target : THE DUNGEON LORD BIT WAS SO FUNNY BECAUSE HE KNEW SHE'D TAKE IT HOOK LINE AND SINKER HES THE ONE WHO GOT HER TO TURN AROUND COMPLETELY SHES LIKE. WIDE EYED FLAG RAISED???? FLAG RAISED WITH CHILCHUCK 👀👀👀‼️👀👀‼️👀

And the way that this is the culmination of their arc together… Like people are not ready for the ‘Chil calling out to dunlord Marcille on the balcony has Romeo and Juliette romance novels imagery’ take. Or the ‘their arc is about growing to see beauty even in the non-idealized, in the flawed and in the real’ take which makes it so so perfect if she were to lower her ideal from a charming elven prince to a virtuous halfling man (which she does end up romanticizing)

So there, you got to witness in real time what happens when I think about marchil for longer than 2 minutes, there are so many layers it’s a deranged rabbithole. I saw the necronomicon of subtext and it’s driving me to madness with forbidden knowledge that no one else sees

……. Like what if I told you she implicitly picked Chilchuck over a "unrealistic prince charming who’s actually disingenuous" much earlier in the story already. If she was given the choice to think through going with a guy that seems perfect and chivalrous like her succubus she’d pick Chilchuck over the other actually. If I sound insane rn tune in for my full analysis on them coming this month hopefully thank youu. Interwoven arcs of fantasy vs reality and idealization vs pessimism I love youuu

So now you know the general thesis of my planned analysis about the importance of the prince charming figure in Marcille and Chilchuck’s arc, where she romanticizes things to a sometimes worrying degree or idealize people into something easy and digestible and poetic (like Chil being a kid, and then him being a virtuous ✨✨✨husband), and how she needs to value aesthetics less and actual acts and facts more, be more grounded (like seeing people for what they are flaws and all, and accepting that people need money and not pulling through on principles of honor or unity shouldn’t get Namari shamed) and a part of that is accepting that Chilchuck is BOTH flawed and virtuous, a loving husband that still has shitty moods and fumbled his marriage so bad etc etc. So it’s like, her image of perfect prince charming that will whisk you away on an ethereal romance -> realistic flawed middle aged dad with personality issues and a failing marriage but he still is worthy of love and having his cute grand romance story and his happy ending. Ik I keep repeating the same point through this but I need it to be burned into everyone’s brains it has its grip on me I can’t do this. They are so special……

[daily-odile]

Odile patting Molly Epithet Erased on the head, you know why

have two bc i care them

[jet-teeth]

Specifically relating to my latest post, but in general also: I feel like my attention span has gotten so bad these days in terms of actually finishing anything, to the point that the deflection/procrastination-projects get as silly as "builds a whole-ass 3D model instead of finishing the goddamn drawing because that's somehow easier than dealing with the perfectionism demon hovering over my shoulder when I draw these days"

(I think this why I'm trying to chase looser styles/play around with traditional media here and there again, since anything too precise starts to activate the Overthink Demon. I guess what I post is "oops! All sketches" anyway, but a lot of things still get overworked. Probably should start using timers again or something idk) Rarely do I actually "finish" models as well, which is generally why I don't post any (they are almost always studies/character reference models) but let's see if I can get around to making some Printable Little Guys this year, since frankly I find 3D a more comfortable medium to work in than outright painting/doing rendered-out stuff

Ramble post, but I'm always interested in the topic of "process" when it comes to art, and how struggles & limitations might actually help an individual find what their strengths really are too (or, just reveal areas that need more work. I DO want to finish a couple of the paintings in my WIP folder, but I also have accepted that it's not gonna be the natural medium for me ever) (I always try to include art in long text posts like this so they aren't as boring. Have a Banana Cat drawing I never uploaded. Also yes the printer HAS been added to my enclosure and it's great fun :> )

[marimbles]

i miss carpisuns sometimes </3

[silentsockfeet]

with the obvious addendum that act 3 isn’t out yet and we can’t form true opinions until the show’s officially done, i’m still really feeling like it could have maybe benefited from a third season. they’re hitting all the right plot points and those moments are full of really intense emotion, but everything in the middle feels so underwhelming in comparison and so much of it still feels rushed to me. idk

[thebirdandhersong]

Lol

[sade-alicious]

i love hate getting obsessed with some form of media bc then i feel like i could watch the characters washing dishes and i wouldnt be bored

[problemswithbooks]

BNHA Ch. 429

So, I guess Toga is dead, and people are losing it.

I get why people liked her--she was actually queer, being pan/bisexual. She was representation for them and that's rare in shonen manga. But here's the thing--she was bad representation at best and insulting at worst. Nor do I think she was made queer because Hori really wanted to represent a queer girl. Himiko was always the author's poorly hidden fetish--she just was. She liked girls as much as boys because Hori wanted to draw a girl touching sexually on another girl. You can see this in how he draws her and Ochako in solo pics together.

I mean, people seem to understand this when it comes to Momo and her outfit being overly sexual or that both Himiko and Hagakure's Quirks either leave them naked or they have to be naked to use them. These are excuses to draw girls in a sexual manner. Himiko being into other girls is the same thing and that's the kindest interpretation.

Given how Himiko acts and her Quirk being heavily coded sexual desire, and therefore her use of it against someone unwilling being sexual assault, it could just being playing into harmful stereotypes of predatory gays.

As a queer person myself I just found Toga insulting. She was designed to be overly sexual and give the male author a female character that he could draw being suggestive with his other female characters. When he did flesh out her character, her backstory was eventually the trope/fear of straight people, that gay people will be so overcome with their lust that they end up sexually assaulting them.

In the end Ochako accepts this part of Toga and says she'll giver her blood forever, but as much as a lot of readers took that that as some deep lesbian confession, for me it really fell flat. Hori never really gave any of the main kids time to actually learn about their villain or show how that changed their minds toward them. Shoto only works because Touya is his brother (even though he admits he barely remembers him). But Ochako goes from not thinking of Toga at all pre-first war, to one thought about her during her speech, to suddenly caring about her so much she--given how Toga's quirk is coded, is willing to essentially fulfill Toga's kink for the rest of their lives.

It's weird and it comes out of nowhere. It's made even stranger because Toga doesn't actually change or show remorse for anything she did, which included personally hunting and murdering people before she joined the LOV. None of the death and destruction she is also partially responsible for is brought up either, something that Ochako was rightfully upset about during the first war when less people and property had been destroyed. Ochako just accepts everything about her suddenly and her past serious crimes are forgotten so they can cuddle and cry.

Am I shocked Toga died--a little. I didn't think Hori would have the guts to kill off a young girl character, especially one that he clearly got a lot of joy drawing in sexy poses. But at the same time, once he killed off Shigaraki and ended Touya's story with his slow death, I'm not surprised he went the same route with Toga.

This isn't Naruto--Hori isn't really kind to characters that do something wrong, especially if they don't try and change. Enji, Bakugo, Hawks, and Aoyama all sort of got punished for what they did. Enji is the worst off, being permanently crippled, missing an arm and burned everywhere. Bakugo's hand is damaged, his heart weaker, plus he feels bad that Izuku lost his Quirk so they can't compete the same way he wanted them to. Aoyama, despite doing way less wrong and even helping his class during the forest raid, still leaves school because he doesn't feel he earned being there yet. Hawks lost his Quirk and even though him running the HPSC could be seen as good for him, Hawks always wanted a break, but now he has one of the most time consuming and stressful jobs out there.

So, if this is what characters who actively did good things and even changed and fought to be better get, what would characters who never changed and never did anything positive for anyone but their friends/themselves get?

Before the last Arc started, when so many people said the LoV were 100% going to be redeemed I had doubts and always thought it wouldn't make sense with how the story presented redemption or treated other non-LoV villains in the past. That if the main LoV did get some happy ending where they were bffs with the main cast it would clash with how other characters had been treated.

That doesn't mean that I think how Shigaraki, Toga, and Touya ended up in the manga was well done. I think their endings fit far better then a last minute redemption would have, but at the same time you can feel how rushed everything has been since the end of the first war arc. Hori was done with this story months if not years ago, yet he was contractually obligated to finish it. Because of that I think he left out as much as possible. As much as I think he's written some pretty obsessive stuff, particularly towards women, I can't really fully blame him cutting corners or the story being shit at the end.

We know Manga authors, particularly those that work with Jump are treated like shit. That they suffer incredibly long hours at times not even getting to go home for days. We've gotten messages for Hori saying he's sick quite a few times. On top of that, weekly story telling is not a great way to tell a cohesive narrative. Ideas probably change week to week or at least month to month and you can't go back and change the last chapter no matter how much you need or want to. Then you remember he also gave a lot of ideas to the people who made the movies, which would also change his plans for how he wanted the main story to go.

The story is bad--it has been for a while, but I think a lot of people put their hopes on their favorite characters getting a happy ending, even when there were signs that probably wasn't going to be the case. I know how much it sucks when a character you love gets a shitty ending (Stain was my fav, but he got an absolute dogshit ending) but at least, knowing what I know about the industry I can't really blame Hori the way I see some other people doing. Criticize it, sure, but saying Hori hates his readers or is horrible writer isn't true. BNHA was popular for a reason--he's great with characters and the beginning of the story had some great pacing. We'll never know, but I wouldn't be surprised if BNHA could have been amazing if Hori had been treated better and the story hadn't needed a chapter every week.

If anything BNHA has taught me how much a story suffers when authors/artists are treated like crap and forced to work past burnout.

[deoidesign]

Can you make a tutorial on how you world build and make ocs? I can't seem to make any people in my brain, but then when I try to come up with environments jobs, beliefs and little details to slowly come up with someone, I think: well I don't really know how people have influenced the world- it's a weird loop

To be honest, I don't think I can! Writing is an extremely personal process. The way I write is directly related to how I process things, what I find important in stories, years of my own analysis of my and other's writing, etc... The way you write will be unique to you, as well. But I can explain how I personally think of it.

The short answer:

Write. Write anything and everything, it's a tool to explore your ideas. Analyze your own writing, and write more. Then, as you discover which ideas you want to develop, write more to explore them more. You won't know what you want otherwise!

The long answer:

I think this kind of loop is common. It's easy to feel like everything needs to be done "at once," because our job as writers is to make elements logically fit with each other for our readers. But as you've discovered, developing multiple elements simultaneously isn't really possible, or at least is extremely difficult.

Personally, when I think of writing, I break it into three major elements; characters, world, and plot. As much as possible every scene explores one or more of these, and as much as possible these three things tie back into what I personally consider most important: theme.

Everything I do is in service of the themes I want to present. Without them my events feel aimless. It can take a while to discover them, but they're the core of my work. You will have to discover what you feel is the core of yours. Analyzing other media helps with this too.

Concepts in your brain exist in a state of infinite potential. But when you start writing you have to start making choices, which removes potential as you move forward... But you have to move forward anyways. If there's ideas you want to explore later, you can always explore them later.

What this ends up meaning, to answer your question, is that I don't think of my characters as "people in my brain" or my worlds as something people have influenced... Not at their core, at least. They are tools that I use to represent specific ideas. Obviously they're also my blorbos, but mostly they're serving a specific narrative purpose.

So above all else... Write. Write, and discover what you're writing about, and then start over and write with that in mind. Keep doing this. But you have to write!

[eddiemetalheadmunson]

Stranger Things AU: Chrissy is trapped by Vecna in the Upside Down, lost in the darkness until she hears Eddie's song for her echoing through the atmosphere. The fog lifts. She awakens.

[shewhoeatssand]

I want to befriend Kaneki and meet with him and email him forever

[thelegendofstella]

babygirl who i’ve been obsessed with for the past few months <3

[dangans-ur-ronpas]

Chapter 18

are we finally getting somewhere with the trial? please??

SEE HERE FOR GENERAL WARNINGS AND FIC SUMMARY

Some pre-chapter notes:

was tempted to start this chapter with toko waking up and gasping 'i think i like girls!!'

wanted to say that everything would've been resolved way earlier if people were just a little nicer to toko before remembering that aoi was literally doing that and she STILL obsessed over byakuya. can we get this girl to a therapist please

shoutout to @digitaldollsworld for reading this at ass o'clock in the morning while i was still writing it. a real hero tbh

Content warning tags: self-deprecating language, implied self-harm, canon-typical manipulation and language

< previous - from start - next >

There’s a moment of stillness. Someone shouts in alarm, and a few people nearly step away from their stands with intention to help. But just as quickly, the dark figure slumped behind the rail begins to clamber slowly upwards, hands bracing against the balusters as she totters to an upright position.

Slowly, carefully, Toko Fukawa stands up straight, trembling all the while. “I-Is this a trial? W-what’s going o-on?!”

The stammer certainly sounds like Fukawa.“...Toko? That’s really you, right?” Asahina tries tentatively. “Um, are you okay? Are you feeling alright?”

“I…” She looks around, hands fisted tight around her braids, twitching with the same nervous quality of a bird. Her eyes must have landed on Byakuya, and the venomous stare he was giving her, because she squeaks and cowers again. “I-!”

“Chihiro’s body was found today. Approximately twenty minutes after you left the library.” He says coldly, words clipped and harsh. “Kyoko says you were both in the boy’s bathroom before the body discovery alarm. Can you verify this?”

“W-what?!” She stutters. “I-I don’t know w-what’s going on, I n-never know-” She’s shaking violently, as if she’s about to faint again.

“Let’s try a different question.” Kirigiri cuts in. “Toko. What were you doing between 12:30 and 1 o’clock today?”

“Wh- A-are you accusing me of s–something?!”

“No. But everyone else has given testimony on their whereabouts during this time. Yours would help grant us a better understanding of the course of events.” Kirigiri says patiently. Fukawa sways for a moment, thinking carefully, before she answers.

“Th-the library,” She half-mumbles, hands twisting in her braids over and over again, the black coils weaving over her pale fingers like eels. “Um, I w-wanted to talk to B-Byakuya alone, so I w-went to the library, a-and we t-talked for a bit…and then-”

He suddenly realizes what she’s about to say, but it’s too late to stop it. “Then, u-um, he h-hit me…w-with a book.”

He can feel eyes turning towards him, and the air turns disapproving. He scowls back. “She’s left out the part where she tried to blackmail me with the secret that she peeked at the other night.” He explains, and at once Fukawa flushes darkly and begins stammering something out.

“I-! I wasn’t b-blackmailing you!”

“What other word should I have used then? Manipulation? Coercion?” He asks sarcastically, and she shrivels and withers at his words.

“I told you m-my secret too, s-so it’d be fair-”

“You told me you were a serial killer who targets the men you fancied. Forgive me if I wasn’t immediately won over.”

The atmosphere turns a little less hostile at that. “Okay, yeah. If it’s like that I kinda get it.” Hagakure is nodding sagely, as if he understands everything. “But, seriously. You shouldn’t hit girls, man…”

“...Are you really going to do this now?” He just needed this trial to be over, already. The adrenaline of the earlier reveal had worn off, and now he felt sick with anger and exhaustion. “The whole thing barely took ten minutes. I wasn’t interested in dragging it out any longer than I had to.”

“Still, hitting is sort of-” But Hagakure shuts up at the glare Byakuya gives him, and quickly amends. “Never mind. Gender equality. Especially in self-defense. Cool, got it, my bad.”

“So, I suppose it is safe to assume that the source of the blood on your hand, and the book from earlier, was because of this confrontation?” Celeste asks. And, without waiting for an answer: “Then, that would also mean that the reason you were holding that file on Syo was due to what Toko had revealed to you.”

She sounds all too satisfied with herself for reaching that conclusion. “And so, it seems that the most damning evidence that had been implicating you has been disproven. Is that not reassuring?”

“...Don’t patronize me.”

“Why, I wouldn’t dare.” She laughs lightly, a soft sound that perfectly conceals her shrewdness.

“Toko. Please, continue.” Kirigiri says again, and there’s a quiet rustle as Fukawa yanks at her hair, the strands scraping over her fingers.

“A-after he h-hit me, I left…u-um, I went to the bathroom t-to w-wash my face, and when I touched the faucet - I-I mean, I wiped my f-face with my hands earlier, a-and the b-blood…” She trails off and shakes her head, and shoves her face into a fistful of her hair. 

Byakuya suddenly recalls something, something that Fukawa had mentioned during their confrontation in the library in a hurried, muttered tone. “Syo comes out when you see blood.” He remembers aloud, and her incoherent words begin clicking together.

Her pale face immediately darkens to an ugly, blotchy pink. “Yeah, um. I-I’m scared of b-blood, so…a-and when she’s out, I d-don’t have any m-memory of what s-she does.” She cradles her face in her hands, swaying a little like a swooning maiden. “S-so you did remember…” She mumbles, apparently to herself, and he feels his stomach turn with disgust.

It’s not worth wasting the effort on her to think of a response, so he opts to ignore her fawning instead. “So Toko left the library and went to the boy’s bathroom, and fainted after seeing the blood on her hand.” That seems logical enough, but something about this sequence of events bothered him. 

According to Kirigiri, Syo only woke up shortly before the body discovery. If Fukawa went to the bathroom right after leaving the library, why had it taken so long? And that aside, there was something that bothered him about her story. Something that he couldn’t place a finger on.

He’s not the only one who noticed the fallacy. “Excuse me, Toko,” Makoto tries tentatively. “So…that means from around 12:40 to one, you were unconscious?”

“Y-yes? What, do you n-not believe me?” She immediately goes on the defensive, cagey and snappish. “Y-you think I’m l-lying, right? J-just because I’m l-like this, you th-think that e-everything I say is a l-lie-?! Y-you all think I s-strung Chihiro up, I kn-know it!”

“Toko…no one said that.” Asahina has her hands raised, in some attempt to calm her down. “We just want to know what happened.”

She was proving to be an impossible witness. Byakuya raises a hand to press to his temple, feeling his pulse throbbing beneath his fingertips. “Kyoko. Can you verify what Toko has said?” He asks, exasperated, and Kirigiri actually seems to startle a bit, head snapping to look at him.

“...I can’t.” She says, after a pause. “Because she did not enter the bathroom at that time, or else I would have noticed it.”

She remains fixated on him for a moment longer, before turning away. Belatedly, he suddenly realizes this was the second time he’s caught her off guard. The first time was when he pointed out the fact that access to information on Genocider Syo was limited.

He doesn’t have the luxury to dwell on that though. “So, that means that either you, or Toko, is lying about their whereabouts during this time.” He sighs. “For now, we need to identify which one of you both is deceiving us.”

Both are equally suspicious. Kirigiri has been mysterious, even more so than usual, and purposefully vague about her activities. And he didn’t trust Fukawa at all to start with, but she was also clumsy and awkward. It was hard to imagine her being able to plan everything ahead to this degree, from planting the evidence, to staging the actual murder…

“Wait. Something’s not right.” Makoto says suddenly, and his voice is clear and contemplative, his chin tucked over his knuckle. “If Toko fainted before she actually washed her hands, then how come her hands are clean? Remember, when we first met Syo, she showed us that her hands were totally free of blood.”

“I-I-!” She squawks, indignant, but she can’t seem to formulate a reply for a few moments. “M-maybe Syo washed my h-hands or s-something, I don’t know! S-she’s the one that k-kills people, so o-of course she would h-hide her tracks!”

“But, again, the sinks of the boy’s bathroom were all dry.” Makoto points out, and Fukawa sputters some more. “And…”

He pauses, and his head dips for a moment, enough for a shadow to cast over his face. “Toko. How did you know that Chihiro is dead?”

Byakuya figures it out a half-step after him, and silently kicks himself for not picking up on it earlier. And the others pick up on it as well, and the atmosphere turns dark, thick with unease and suspicion. Same as the elevator ride down, but this time, directed at Fukawa.

She’s gaping like a fish. She turns left and right, shuffling slightly. The rails of the stand stand tall and straight like the bars of a cage. “I-that’s-the portraits!” She yelps, and jabs out a pale hand in Byakuya’s direction. “Ch-Chihiro’s portrait, i-it’s crossed out! Th-that means s-she’s dead, so-”

“He’s dead.” Byakuya corrects sharply, and glares so fiercely the confused question that Fukawa was preparing simply vanishes. “But the fact that you weren’t aware of that means that Chihiro never came to speak with you about it. When he already discussed the matter with the rest of us.”

“I-that doesn’t m-mean I k-killed he-him!”

“Maybe that doesn’t implicate you,” Kirigiri concedes. “But earlier, you said ‘strung Chihiro up’. How were you aware of what the crime scene looked like?”

Fukawa squeaks, and smacks her hands to her mouth, as if she can retroactively shove the words back. “Th-that- i-isn’t that like S-Syo’s habits? S-so o-of course I would a-assume-”

“Syo said the crime scene doesn’t match what she does.” Makoto interjects. “All her victims are pinned by her scissors. Like you said, Chihiro was crucified using a cord.”

“I-”

“The time period doesn’t make sense. If we assume that Kyoko is being truthful - why did it take so long for Syo to wake up, in the time between you fainting and Chihiro being found?” Byakuya stares at her icily, and she squirms and shudders beneath his gaze. “You woke up awfully quick just now. For someone accusing us of labeling you a liar, you don’t seem inclined to tell the truth about anything, do you?”

His words drip with vitriol and acid, and Fukawa digs her fingers into her scalp and stamps her foot and screams, a long, strangled noise of frustration and anger. It’s a piercing sound, sharp enough to make Byakuya flinch, and it echoes for a moment up to the high ceiling of the chamber. And then everyone is silent as she catches her breath, hands pulling slowly away from her thoroughly disheveled hair.

“Fine,” She spits, and somehow, her voice is steadier than he’s ever heard it. “I hung up Chihiro. A-and I framed Byakuya for it.”

The confession sounds almost giddy with how breathless she is, but maybe Byakuya was imagining it. After a moment’s pause for people to register what she said, there’s no small amount of shock.

“You- you did?!” Yamada, standing directly next to Fukawa, cows as far away as the stand will let him. “Wha- but you seemed so…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, but the implication of the word ‘harmless’ hangs in the air. “Yes, I did.” She snaps back savagely. “I-it was easy. H-he’s so small, a-and I knew B-Byakuya would be l-looking for s-stuff on Syo…and, t-the extension cord…”

Byakuya suddenly remembers, then. How she had stumbled as she left the library, foot smashing through some box and getting tangled in its contents. And how he hadn’t paid any mind to it, already too preoccupied with his own survival to care.

“How did you manage it without turning into Syo?” Kirigiri asks, and Fukawa’s face twists. It's only as she turns her head, and Byakuya notices the subtle glint of her bared teeth, that he realizes that she’s grinning.

“He had been i-ignoring me f-for so long…I was w-working so hard. T-to be normal and good. S-so he would l-look at me…” It’s not hard to figure out who she was referring to by ‘he’. Byakuya feels eyes on him once more. But his attention is turned to her raised forearm, exposed by the sleeve drooping around her elbow from how her hands are clutching at her scalp, and the strip of white that is almost imperceptible against her already pale skin. “I-I thought if I could - I could g-get over it, I could prove th-that I could be normal, then…”

She trails off, energy quickly depleted. “So, you had been training to not immediately faint at the sight of blood.” Kirigiri concludes, and Fukawa nods once, jerkily.

“Wait, so you did all that just because he ignored you?” Hagakure asks, mouth agape.

“Yes!” She shrieks vehemently, so sharp and sudden that Byakuya nearly jumps. “You don’t get it! None of you g-get it! I-I can stand it i-if he was mean to me, o-or if he h-hated me, but- it’s the worst when h-he acts like I’m n-not even there!”

Her voice breaks, and for a long moment the only sound in the room is her quiet sobs. To some degree - and Byakuya is furious with himself for even thinking this - he understands why she might behave this way. Clearly, she had been abused, and likely neglected, and this manifested into the extreme, self-demeaning, aggressive behavior she displayed now. Her actions had a twisted logic. She herself was pitiable.

But just because he understood, did not mean he had to accept it.

“Well, you have my full attention now.” He says coldly. “Congratulations. Why don’t you try and keep that attention by telling us what we all want to know?”

“Yeah, how about you tell us how Chihiro died?” It takes Byakuya a moment to place that the question came from Owada, who had been mostly quiet for a while now. He’s not blazing with fury anymore, but there’s an edge in his voice now that Byakuya can’t read. “I don’t give a shit about your fucking crush. I want to know how you killed Chihiro.”

Fukawa tilts her head in thought, and the action is somehow reminiscent of Syo. “B-but, I didn’t kill Chihiro?” She says, and she sounds almost innocent. “I-I just found the b-body…I-I think if I d-did kill him th-then Syo w-would have woken up r-right away.”

As if anticipating it, Kirigiri raises her hands, as if trying to stop the rush of questions and shocked exclamations from the others. It’s no use though, as Owada bellows: “Like hell we’re believing that!”

“Guys, the time limit-!” Makoto has to shout above the din. At that, Byakuya glances at the clock hanging over Monokuma’s chair, the flashing red digits initiating a countdown. How long had it been already? How much time was left? There was no way for him to tell. He’d totally forgotten about it. “Just. Toko, can you tell us how you found the body? Please?”

“W-why should I?” Byakuya feels his jaw physically creak with how hard he’s grinding his teeth. It seemed that in the time Fukawa spent unconscious, she had absorbed the worst aspects of Syo’s personality.

“We may all perish if you don’t.” Sakura points out, a low threat in her voice.

“I-I don’t care.”

Byakuya thinks he might scream. “Why?! What else do you have left to lose?” He demands, and his voice rasps slightly, throat sore from how much he’d been talking. “We know what you’ve done already. You’ve already revealed everything about me. What else do you want?!”

And she giggles, a breathless, insane sound. “I-I don’t c-care what happens t-to me,” She sings. “I hate you. I h-hate everyone here. I kn-know I-I’m gonna get t-targeted no matter w-what I do, b-because you all th-think I’m so horrible…so I should h-hit back f-first, right?” She wobbles, hands knotted in her hair again. “B-but I hate you the most. I-I wanted y-you to know how you made me feel, even j-just a little.”

Even without seeing her face, he can sense her malice, thick and unpleasant like the smell of rot. He hasn’t been the target of such blatant contempt in years, and the complete hostility that she radiates makes him feel a little unsteady.

“Fine. We will figure out the details ourselves. You’ve given us enough clues already.” Kirigiri replies coolly. “Unfortunately for you, only one person will be dying after this trial.”

He’s not sure how she can be so confident about that. The pounding in his head is getting worse, and as his eyes slip closed, he finds he’s not even sure where to start with everything; after all this, they were still not any closer to a definite conclusion. All they had done so far was run blindly around each other, getting lured to dead-ends and circles.

Through the low throb of pain in his skull, he can just barely make out the sound of quiet muttering fromMakoto’s direction. If he opened his eyes, he might have seen the other boy tapping his foot, resting his chin in his hand as he thinks. And if he could have seen, he might have noticed how Makoto’s eyes were darting, drawing invisible lines between fixed points in his mind.

“The place where Chihiro died. And Toko found the body. That’s what we need to figure out,” He says aloud, slowly. “I don’t think Chihiro died on the second floor. There’s no place with enough blood that could justify it, or enough evidence of a clean-up to suggest that it happened there. Even in the hallway where the body was found, the only blood there was against the wall from where Chihiro was crucified. There’s no splatter to match the method of death.”

“Yeah, but there’s no place on the first floor to suggest that Chihiro died there, either.” Asahina points out.

“No, there is one room. There was no blood there, but there was evidence that it was cleaned recently.” Even as he says this, Owada is beginning to gasp, ‘Wait-’, but he continues. “And, it’s somewhere someone got injured recently, so any blood that was missed can be explained away.”

He turns to the pale, silent figure of Kiyotaka Ishimaru, as still and unobtrusive as a ghost. “Taka. Can you please tell us what happened?”

___

Of course, Mondo blocks him before Taka can even respond.

“How dare you.” His voice is a low rumble, and he somehow looks angrier than Makoto has ever seen him. He can practically hear the creak of wood where Mondo was gripping the bannister, knuckles white and bulging. “What the fuck are you trying to pull, Makoto? What the fuck are you trying to say?!”

Makoto swallows, his heart feeling like it’s about to pop out of his chest. He’s seen Mondo both at his most violent moments, and at his kindest ones, his face softening with sympathy as he was listening to Chihiro, the hearty reassurance and gentle clap on the back he had offered to them both. But now Mondo looked like he might actually kill him, and would make it hurt while it happened.

But despite that, he presses on. “I know you said that a trophy fell on Taka’s head, and that’s how you found him. When I went to look at the trophy room, the floor was still wet, and it was clean - like, really clean. And I assumed it was because you went back and cleaned it up after Taka got injured, but looking back, that doesn’t make sense.” He glances briefly at Kyoko, who merely closes her eyes in silent assent. “If your friend had a concussion, wouldn’t you stay by his side?”

Mondo’s face pulls into a snarl, a vein bulging at his temple. “So what if I went back and cleaned it up? Maybe Taka wanted to rest alone. What the hell does that matter?”

“No, I think it does matter. You don’t act like it, but you’re really nice, Mondo. When you were talking with me and Chihiro, and told us about your bro-”

He cuts himself off for a moment, suddenly hesitant. He’s already revealed Byakuya’s secret. He didn’t want to have to reveal Mondo’s as well, even now. He didn’t want to betray anyone else, but-

He already hates me for what I’m doing. He thinks to himself. Whether he reveals Mondo’s secret now or not, he knows that no matter what, he was going to be hated; there was no chance at the friendly ribbing and pleasant exchanges they had in the past. But even despite that, he finds himself unwilling to form the words on his tongue.

He needn’t have bothered though. Kyoko is the one who speaks up in his stead. “There’s no point in hiding the fact that you care deeply for Taka. We all remember the display of friendship the two of you put on the other day after spending weeks at each other’s throats. And as someone who’s familiar with violence, I imagine you’re also familiar with basic first aid; so why would you abandon someone with a head injury to clean up the other room?”

Mondo glares at her furiously, but there’s sweat beading on his forehead now. “You-you meddling bitch, what the fuck are you-?!”

“Please don’t misunderstand. I’m not trying to accuse you of anything.” She sighs. Makoto thinks she looks a little haggard, with dark rings of exhaustion under her eyes, and wonders when the last time she slept was. Despite that, her eyes are still sharp, and meet Mondo’s glower with a cool stare. “But, since we are missing out on Toko’s testimony, I think we should have our last witness speak for himself.”

And before she had even finished her sentence, Taka was opening his mouth.

< previous - from start - next >

[quirkle2]

who wants zombie au writing. don't answer that ur getting it anyway (1.6k words)

His shoes knock against the old flooring of the house, wood creaking under rubber soles that slide over the woodgrain. He drags them a bit, lifts his limbs up no more than he strictly has to, and they lead him to the nearest sittable surface.

The couch is old and dusty and has likely gone untouched for months, much like everything else nowadays, so he watches the thin cloud of dust billow off the cushions largely with disinterest. He collapses into the fabric heavily, feels the whole thing scoot back an inch and hit the wall behind him. The sound echoes, carried by lifeless rooms, while he unceremoniously drops his backpack to the floor by his feet.

The breath he lets out is slow and methodical and born of pent up muscles, aimed at the ceiling where he rests his neck against the back of the couch and relaxes every limb one by one. It’s a process he forces himself through, if only to rid the constant ache beneath his skin.

Slow, sweeping footsteps meander around the room in front of him, and Ritsu angles his gaze down from his craned back position to look at his brother. He wanders, like he so often does—seemingly aimless, but there’s something procedural about it that he’s convinced he just hasn’t figured out yet.

Shigeo’s empty eyes crawl along the hearth of the fireplace, explosions of ash sprayed out across the red brick. His head tilts up to trace his attention around the angular lines of the television, hung on the wall and screen grey with dust. He flits back and forth between the roundness of the bricked mantle and the sharp edges of the screen, like he’s taking notes.

Shigeo paws the television. Four lines of muck are cleared. The zombie blinks, paws at it again with dusty, curious fingers. Ritsu watches him make a mess of the television screen in silence, blinking tiredly.

He almost closes his eyes, but he fights against the urge and moves his fingers down his lap to reach for his bag. His middle hooks around the loop at the top and he lugs it up and into his lap, where he unzips it and peers into the shadowy contents.

Ritsu fishes out the water bottles. He finds the one with the messy R scribbled along the cap in sharpie and takes a big swig of it. It’s warm going down, constantly insulated in a bag of old, sweaty clothes. He feels like he can taste the odor in it, but it clears the grain in his throat from stomping all over dirt roads today, so he’s still grateful.

He holds out the one labeled S to Shigeo. “Thirsty?”

Shigeo looks at him from where he’s crouched down to the floor now, inspecting the soot along the hearth. Unfortunately, he sees handprints in the black already, and when his brother reaches a hand out to take it, his palm is covered in soot.

He lets him have his fun and settles his own bottle back in the mess of tangled clothes and rolls of bandages. Ritsu rakes his fingers through their stock with no real purpose—he knows exactly what’s in here, and none of it is useful.

They’d been searching all day; Ritsu doesn’t really know how far they’d walked, but it had to be a lot of miles. In and out of stores, up and down empty houses, weaving between warehouses—they didn’t really stop for a break. Not when Ritsu can hear Shigeo’s stomach from here and he himself has shaking hands. They can’t afford a break.

Nothing, though. Not a single goddamn thing worth taking. A settlement must have come through here long ago and swept the highway. They’re in the countryside, where houses are spaced out acres from each other and there’s entire cow pastures between properties. And yet every house they’d seen and entered provided nothing.

Ritsu stares into the negative space in his bag where there should be supplies. His stomach cramps and if he smells another whiff of that godawful sweaty, bloody sweatshirt he still carries, he’s going to throw up bile.

He leans away from the open pouch, eyes wandering to his brother who draws… something into the soot of the hearth. His water bottle sits on the floor, abandoned and still unscrewed. Ritsu leans forward with great effort and a grunt, leaning over his bag to grab at the top of it.

It takes him two tries to get Shigeo’s attention, and one more for an answer on where the cap is. It’s then placed in his palm, covered in soot and also saliva. Ritsu swallows down the nausea that rolls up his throat and wipes it off with his frankly already disgusting sleeve, and screws it back on.

He leans back again, succumbing to the urge to let his eyes rest, and he listens to the very subtle swipe of his brother’s hands across brick. There’s birds outside, chirping, and even though it’s still very much a common occurrence, Ritsu cannot help but feel nostalgic about it.

If he ignores the awful hum of silence, and the distinct lack of an electric thrum throughout the walls, and the fact that this is a stranger’s couch and not his, he can almost imagine normalcy. He can almost say this feels like those quiet moments after school, when he settles on the couch and scrolls through his phone in a house that only holds him and his brother because their parents simply aren’t home yet.

He can almost hear the creak of wood from Shigeo walking around his room upstairs. He can almost tap his fingers on the couch cushions to the pattern of his brother making his way down the steps. He can almost hear the fridge opening, and the sound of milk being poured into glass.

Almost. But Ritsu listens to sharp silence instead, and he tries not to think too hard.

He drifts for a while, feels himself truly sink into the couch and let the cushions claim him, and he thinks about nothings because if he doesn’t, then he’ll lose it. He carefully sifts through the nothingness of his mind, through the passing thoughts that have no bearing, and he focuses on that, on the lack of substance. His head is too full of things that have too much substance.

He misses boredom. He tells himself he misses boredom—the complete insubstantiality of it—because if he lets himself think of what he really misses, it’ll drive him insane.

The cushions move, and Ritsu peels his eyes open and lets himself get pulled from liminal mindspace. The cotton in his head recedes, and he blinks, and then he’s swiveling his head to look at his brother who sits in the cushion right next to him.

His hands and the cuffs of his hoodie are smothered in black. Shigeo sits hunched, gaze still wandering even when there’s not much decoration in this house to look at. He studies the off-white walls, the chips in the paint, the holes drilled in where there maybe used to be photos hung.

Ritsu gazes at him quietly, chest instinctively rising and falling to match his brother’s rhythm. He watches the expansion there, under his hoodie, in the subtlety of the folds and the way they warp over the movement. It’s slightly quicker than what he’s used to, but Ritsu knows his brother’s heart rate is much slower. He’s felt it before. He’s listened to it before, with his ear against a chest.

Ritsu’s attention moves to his eyes, and the heavy bags underneath them, and the paleness of his pupils and the ghostlight of him underneath that. He stares into them, looks for stray, familiar thoughts that might enter his head. Looks for old memories that might shine through in the form of recognition when he sees furniture layouts, and candy wrappers, and ads for soda.

Ritsu looks for it all the time, that glint of familiarity. And he finds it, sometimes. And really, he thinks that’s keeping him going more than food ever will.

Shigeo turns his head, and looks at him. Sometimes, when his brother looks at him, there’s not much there. No substance, no anything. And Ritsu finds it a bit evil that he craves silence in his own head, and yet noise in Shigeo’s, and often times it is the other way around.

His brother looks at him now, though, with that comforting recognition. That growth of the pupils, that softening of the hard edges of his face where unknown stressors have gotten to him. Ritsu wonders what zombies get stressed out. He figures it’s the same deal with humans, considering they’re largely alike.

Ritsu wonders if Shigeo knows he’s sick. He wishes he could ask him. He wishes for a lot of things. Silence in his own head is one of them.

Ritsu swivels his head away and stares at the ceiling, if only to force the thoughts to pause. He studies the popcorn ridges above them, traces the peaks with his gaze. It calms him, gives him something to focus on. He looks for patterns in the shadows they make.

Shigeo shifts next to him. And then he shimmies down, settles into the cushions, and plops his head right down on Ritsu’s shoulder.

Static roars in his mind and his heart stammers. Ritsu swallows the lump in his throat but that just makes it bigger, so he clamps his mouth shut and breathes carefully through his nose.

The tears cut through the grime on his face. He plops his own head down against his brother’s, and lives in the noise.

[blairwitchapologist]

omg ok @betterwaytogowouldfindme said Go on Pinterest and type your name + “core” and post the first 9 results ☁️ and for some reason mine is mostly cats but that is fitting!!!

@thoroughfaress @clementineoil @woolysocks @lazyoafs @jesustease @stoneware @jasminefruit @bigthieves + any other mutuals who wanna do this just say i tagged you 🐟 also i’m really sorry if i’m actually not mutuals with anyone i tagged LOL i think of everyone i follow as a mutual in my heart and brain 🐇🤍