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kiwibongos · 6 months ago

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warning for ab/se & toxic relationships. and sdr2 spoilers duh

im thinking abt the remnants of despair. cause i hate how it just seemed to be like, "theyre suddenly brainwashed and then they turn evilll and they kill because they dont feel anything" like, i hate that. it feels so underdeveloped. it cant just be despair, it has to be deeper than that, i think it'd take personal angles and link with a lot of their own trauma, leaving them really vulnerable and deranged. so heres my own interpretation and headcanons for some of them

contains mikan, nagito, fuyuhiko, peko, akane, kazuichi, and brief analysis of the rest. keep in mind i havent seen the animes yet lol so this is a basic layer of it, but i just rly wanted to let this out cus i dont see it talked about. storing my brainrot here for later moments.

first of all i feel like the brainwashing would be a very slow process bc junko would definitely just manipulate everyone in her way to get what she wants. and by the time the world was plagued basically, all the remnants clearly had really unhealthy feelings related to junko specifically. they all love her, hate her, or praise her, but its all in very different ways that would be bc of their own personal backstories

we all know how mikan and nagito feel. mikan was constantly hurt by other people before junko herself, itd make sense for her to develop a very unhealthy attachment to her. mikan was extremely vulnerable and controllable, she would do anything for anyone and especially junko, just so no one is mad at her, hence why it got so twisted to the point where she wanted to keep a part of her inside forever. she wanted to be loved so badly, she would take whatever form of it she could. thats why it was so easy for junko to get her under her boot. now nagito has an odd love-hate relationship with junko imo (his mind is so messed up man) even if he praises hope in such a grossly obsessed way, the mf still TOOK her arm. i know he did it because he hated her so much and i guess to take power back, but i feel like because nagito had never really been loved, he wanted to try and feel what it could've been like out of some kind of confused desperation and fondness for her in a way, because his mind has no idea what those feelings truly are or what they mean, as hatred and love often get mixed up in his head and form this horrible amalgamation with whoever he meets, which is clear towards the survivors in the nwp anyway

fuyuhiko put junko's own eye into his own socket, and i feel like his relationship with her while in despair would be familial and extremely unhealthy. he is definitely one of the most fucked up to me. id say by my own headcanons though its heavily implied in his fte dialogues, is his parents are very ab/usive right from the start. fuyuhiko is messed up to all hell, he was constantly struck and under pressure but he had to be strong and perfect because he was the head of his clan, hence like his insane tolerance for pain. he had to make his clan, or more importantly his parents proud, or else he was a failure forever. so he clung onto that and did his best trying to be good enough for basically anyone. and even before despair he was in a really bad stubborn, mean, depressive state, leaving him far more vulnerable and more open to violent, impulsive actions as long as junko was smart enough to get him under her finger. fuyuhiko never knew what true love felt like (platonic or not), and when junko took advantage of all of that and he slowly fell into despair, shit hit the fan. he lost morality and he had come so attached to her to the point where junko was like a mother figure to him. he wanted her to notice him and be proud basically, it was moreso the idea of someone-- anyone-- being proud of him, but junko was his main focus of that by now, given his state. to him she was like the mother he never had, who seemed to be on the same terms with everything he had believed, someone who approved of him, so he wanted to make her proud, even if it was hurting him. fuyuhiko would keep digging himself a hole of desperation and self destruction, seeking more and more pain to test his endurance because it's what she wanted, and that became what he wanted, too, because pain is all he's used to. and because of that, makotos guess was right; he wanted to see her despair. it'd make sense he'd want to take a part of her, to see horrors she had witnessed so he could understand it, so she could be proud of him and part of him forever. he felt like if he did that, he would finally succeed, he'd achieve perfection, and he did. he'd done everything junko wanted him to do, while quenching his own thirst for violence itself, all via his own delusions. that was love to him and it felt real

as for peko she was definitely also treated the same in the kuzuryu family but more dehumanized obviously, so i think she'd feel a similar way; always needing to be good enough, but more specifically protecting the ones she cares about at all costs even if it results in bloodshed. i think she'd be a lot colder, forcing to suppress her feelings since she just has to follow fuyuhiko wherever he goes, and she was pretty much as insane as him as well so anything slid. i know peko doesnt want to be a tool, but she'd definitely succumb to the fact that she has to be one when they're under despair at the same time, and if she was going to be his tool, she has to be like a robot and just do what follows, because she didn't see herself as a person, her chance of being her own human was ripped away

as for akane, she grew up very poor, and didn't live a good life at all either (w/ definitely bad parents) but she always tried her very best taking care of her siblings in the past, despite everything. i think there was a lot of twisted familial love with junko whom she started to see as a sister despite being unrelated, just because of being a caretaker all her life, its just kind of instinct to protect anyone, but that just got mixed up as she fell into despair, and she would only protect junko, while chaotically killing anyone else in her way. she'd fight for her endlessly, she was one of the strongest, at least for a while, im thinkin she found her body and wanted to preserve it as much as possible by the end of everything, she still wanted to take care of her and do everything for her even if she had been too late. and with that, and barely any food in an apocalyptic world, the inevitable happens. akane would fall into a very hurtful spiral of self hate, that her starving was a sacrifice to junko so she could prioritize her first instead of herself, while also it being like a punishment to herself for her own failures and how she was failing to preserve junko

kazuichi always hated himself. he was bullied often, didn’t have a lot of friends going into high school, and he was very desperate for attention, especially from women. he’d be very notably attached to junko which would eventually evolve into romantic feelings, similar to mikan. he craved attention and validation so much, it left him very vulnerable, and kazuichi often grows attached to people who show him a sliver of kindness anyway, so junko would likely personally manipulate him and praise him, and they’d grow close, and he’d develop a very strong attachment towards her that derails into love and lust. and once he was influenced by her under despair, he would do anything for her. so, he’d get his hands on a lot of weapons, and go on mindless killing sprees, causing havoc 24/7 just to please her and keep her memory alive through despair. and deep in his mind, he probably truly thought that junko was his soulmate, that they were destined to be together, and he was fulfilling missions just for her, and in the end, they could be together

extra stuff i guess? as anyone would expect, sonia just became a corrupted leader and took advantage of her power under despair. her kingdom would try to keep her above it, but she’d fall into it somehow anyway, and probably had already been plagued by corrupt/unjust views by junko before, so she’d lead her people to worship junko the same way she does, and anyone who stood against it would be punished severely. mahiru falls into morbid curiosity because of junko and gets worse, given what she does with her camera, also both mikan and gundham would try to stitch junko up a little, and try to keep her from falling apart as long as possible. mikan is more likely to do that for her own twisted romantic purposes, but if gundham gets a hold of her before or after mikan, he would take her blood for himself, and most likely start a cult to worship her, all for like weird satanic purposes involving rituals and stuff. he’d also encourage his members or the other remnants to indulge in certain activities for the sake of praising her. gundham would probably even believe she was some demon from the underworld who granted him powers and chose him to carry on her legacy

also teruteru was just a little hungry. boys gotta eat

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dangans-ur-ronpas · 4 months ago

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Chapter 23

ohhh baby we back in it now

SEE HERE FOR GENERAL WARNINGS AND FIC SUMMARY

Some pre-chapter notes:

byakuya pov finally

bonus headcanon coming into play here: byakuya being Wasian

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

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

< previous - from start - next >

There’s a woman standing in his office.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Byakuya?”

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

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

Her studio?

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

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

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

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

—

He wakes up with a gasp, eyes snapping open.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It wasn’t your fault!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Crash.

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

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

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Byakuya!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I-”

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

“Okay, that’s not-”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, and you’re doing-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then Owada speaks up.

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

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

“Are you going back to your room?”

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

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

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

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

“Oh…are you sure? Because-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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#thpff #thpff chapters #another ten page chapter LET'S GOOOO #hope ppl enjoy mommagami she really is so much fun to write. even as a dream specter #wondering how i should post the mommagami side special bc it really is a lot of text for just a tumblr post...#i dont think mondo would get torn up to the same degree as taka over his friend's death. hence the diff reaction to alter ego's method acti #byakuya u say you dont want to get involved but you ended up sticking around to help with mondo's breakdown so what's the truth #poor makoto really out here suffering. hey man do you think maybe you could take a break #congrats to him for sticking up for himself though. the 'shut the fuck up' he threw in there was kinda hard to write around #but it was too good to get rid of #also. gonna be posting later in the day (et for me) on sundays now #danganronpa fanfiction

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liquidstar · 4 months ago

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another request from cohost! my friend asked for traditional inuk hairstyle like qilliqti, which is what i ended up going with! looking up the hairstyles sent me on a sidequest of looking at a bunch of fashion designers with modern takes on traditional clothes, so i also used some of those! so credits for that under the cut vv

jacket- https://www.instagram.com/p/C3QiKIdO0Jp/?img_index=5 jacket 2 (full fashion show with more angles, and a lot of super cool designs, also really cool music)- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yp_eAzDu8xU patch- https://www.bradorfabrics.com/products/inukchic-iron-on-patches-celestial-narwhal hair originally from the film atanarjuat the fast runner, but the specific screenshot is here https://www.pinterest.com/pin/53480314313400875/

#originally i was going to give her specific earrings too but they were covered by her hair so i couldnt get it to look quite right #of course for the hair specifically it was hard to find a reference that didnt link back to avatar somehow #but the pictures themselves are real so thats fine #i honestly dont think i fully did the hairstyle justice because braids are not my strong suit #even though i gave her braids in her regular design too #anyway i also was like if im putting her in modern clothes lets make it the modern au. and im signifying that by having her play geoguesser #its actually openguesser tho bc geoguesser makes you pay now???#i wanted to play a round to use for the screenshot but i wasnt about to pay money for it so i played openguesser instead lol #also i kinda just wanted to play it too. not gonna lie #but yeah i really hope i portrayed everything well esp since im taking direct inspo from real designers #i wanna make sure everything is credited. so many of those designs are gorgeous and you guys should go look #and while i went with a more casual everyday look here i would love to draw her in something more intricate sometime too #so yeah i hope it all came out well enough 👍 and that i did the req justice even if im not great at braids #its good practice right?#finn's art #finn's ocs

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xxplastic-cubexx · 6 days ago

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bro the feminine wiles aren’t even a joke like. im with that anon who thought hellfire gala charles was a woman when they first saw him bc same, that design is insaaaane (/pos). how could u not think that when u see it lmfao. idk whose choice it was to give him a corset but the hourglass figure + female coded jawline combo do not lie. i saw it on pinterest and i was like ohhh don’t lie to me i know an anime girl when i see one- WAIT PROFESSOR X????

and that’s not even to mention movieverse charles ofc. we’ve all seen james mcavoy and his big sparkly kawaii anime eyes, i shouldn’t have to say it. charles xavier is never beating the allegations, i fear

gonna need this ask hung in the louvre i fear

#fave #snap chats #i think you fully had me at 'big sparkly kawaii anime eyes' like TRUE but vjlKJLKVJAKL #i got this ask while i was out getting sushi with my brother and when i say i was near losing it in our lil booth ajvlkeaklj #female coded jawline is INSANE thats just his face 😭😭😭#the hellfire gala outfit does give off like. Space Girl energy though im not gonna even lie. i think its the halo #and corset /who gave him a corset/ like im the last man to criticize another man wearing a corset i promise #but bold decision to do so right in front of my eyeballs #the princessification of charles xavier needs to be studied im so serious when did this start #i really do think its just the cat suit outfits cause when he's got a suit its different #though.. i was gonna lie but even with the beard he still pretty in FoX #and ill be tbh im still mixed on the beard look like for starters youve reminded me he's blonde and i still think thats illegal #and yet .... his beautiful eyes distract me all the same. like whatever you want bbg you can look like a viking if you want #charles xavier having hair is cursed in general bar the movies and because of that i can only imagine him brunette #but he is my problematic wife so ill love him regardless #it'll be very hard to when he has a terrible brad pitt cut in one universe and wears wigs in the other but thats what loves about #anyway hope everyone had a lovely halloween !! i watched all of S1 of xmen evolution with my bro :)#also if i threw together a quick charles costume then you have no proof of that and esp dont ask our sushi waiter mk thanks #ended the night playing a bit of shadow gen .. if i cried a lil no i didnt thats between me and god ....

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skitskatdacat63 · 8 months ago

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I don't know how I'd ever convey this in art but. Thinking very deeply about how in boy king au, a very crucial part of characterization is that Seb is a wolf in sheep(or lamb more specifically)'s clothing and Fernando is a sheep in wolf's clothing.

Seb is very unassuming, very delicate, seemingly very vulnerable and malleable. But, deep down, he can be very ruthless. It's in the the way he hesitantly declares war, with a spark in his eye and a suppressed smirk. In the way he challenges someone to a card game or a horse race, proclaiming that he's not great, but winning every round and prancing around the room and mentioning it ad infinitum. The way he's able to instantly turn the tide in a debate in one fell swoop. By showing all his cards constantly and letting himself be vulnerable, he's making himself invulnerable. No one would ever consider him to be able to make big moves, so he wins every single time, because no one even thinks to expect it from him.

Fernando on the other hand, is constantly committed to having a looming presence and harsh reputation, but deep down, he's soft. He knows what happens to people when they're vulnerable, and he's not going to let himself be taken advantage of. The way he keeps a brave face when being informed of the marriage proposal, but goes back to his room and cries. The way he proclaims that he was always going to be the rightful ruler of Spain, but confides to Flavio that he never thought there was any real chance of it ever happening. The way he takes himself so seriously in public, but inside feels so giddy whenever he can make someone laugh. Everything to him always feels unstable and ready to crumble at any moment, and he's not willing to contribute to that by letting himself relax.

I think thats why it's very difficult for them to get along at first, because they have completely different approaches to how they carry themselves and make their way through life. Seb is confused at Fernando because he feels that he's very bland and overly serious at first, but truthfully he's not really seeing the actual Fernando. And Fernando finds Seb to be naive and easily taken advantage of, but that's because he's never seen Seb at his most cruel. Seb really loves when he eventually gets to see Fernando being vulnerable, and Fernando really admires and respects Seb when he sees him being serious. I think it just takes a while for them to show the other their full and complete selves, even the parts they can sometimes be ashamed of. There's this very compelling dichotomy in Seb laying out all his cards, but still being very difficult to read, and Fernando keeping his cards to his chest, but his intentions often being easily seen through.

#meanwhile everyone else: what is this weird fucked up mating ritual they are participating in #though i think its very interesting how their motivations differ #seb wants to lull people into a false sense of security(and also really just likes to be his complete unadulterated self)#and fernando is guarding himself because he doesn't want to get hurt #and i think seb convinces Fernando that its okay to be openly soft and yourself :) not eveyrone is out to get you #and fernando teaches seb hey maybe dont invite this obvious assassin to your chambers?????#i think seb also has insecurites but Fernando's are just more easy to explain bcs hes in a much more difficult situation #at the end of the day both of them are putting on facades in some way #(i think seb likes to be himself but also does feel really hurt when people dont think he has the capacity or ability to rule effectively)#(he likes to be kind and playful and doesnt want to obscure that part of himself. but hes aware it can hurt his image unfortunately)#also lol the way i characterize fernando is very historically accurate btw #bcs the spanish court tradition was basically to be above it all and be a lofty unobtainable figure if that makes sense #yknow having just this insane level of confidence and infallible image of yourself as the ruler #the guy seb is based on really bought into that idea but i dont think it really suits seb so yeah #seb I think is very much a unique figure that others have a lot of trouble reading him and his intentions. which is great!#AAAAAHHH MAN FELT REALLY GOOD TO WRITE ALL THAT OUT !!!!!!!!!#i love writing their characterization so fucking much you dont understand #its nice to put it in words like this bcs yknow i dont rly enjoy actual writing. but this i enjoy greatly #hope this is compelling to more than just me hahaha #boy king au #catie.rambling.txt #vettonso

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