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iamthecomet · 7 months

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I would offer my firstborn to see mean!Dew out-mean Rain. Maybe Rain doesn't expect it. Getting a taste of his own medicine. He doesn't expect it to be so hot.

Mean!Dew. My favorite.

"Kneel," Rain orders. Dew's barely in the door to his own room. Rain hot on his heels. Rain kicks the door closed hard enough that the window rattles. He glowers at Dew’s back. Persona sliding into place. Dew wants a firm hand—he’ll give it to him. He’ll give Dew exactly what he’s been hinting at all day—he’ll ruin him.

Dew looks over his shoulder, and Rain catches a glint in those copper eyes that makes his stomach twist. Apathy. Annoyance.

Oh.

Dew waves a hand, the embers in his fireplace roar to life. He shrugs his jacket off, tosses it over his desk chair. Busies himself with the buttons on his shirt. He doesn't look at Rain again. Rain says Dew's name, harsh. Another command. Dew ignores him.

Rain feels like the world tilts under his feet. Dew ignores him a lot. Turns his nose up at Rain's orders in an attempt to make punishments worse. He's used to disobedience, at least initially. But this isn't the same.

Dew's, loose, relaxed. Flippant when he shrugs his shirt off and finally turns to look at Rain. Shirtless, uniform pants slung low on his hips. Nipple rings swaying as he takes a step toward Rain. Dew cocks an eyebrow. He looks amused, like he's cat with a mouse between his paws. But then that makes Rain the--

"Dew--" "Shut up.” Rain’s words die on his tongue. There’s no argument in Dew’s voice. No desperation, no question. And Rain is grappling with what's happening. It’s unexpected. He doesn’t know what to do with the way his cock kicks in his pants at the tone of Dew’s words. At the way Dew looks through him. Past him. Like Rain is a nuisance, a burden. All he knows is he never wants Dew to stop. Rain doesn’t know what to do now. Knows if he opens his mouth he’s going to sound unsure, hesitant. And that isn’t going to work. Not if he wants to keep the upper hand. Though, he’s starting to realize that maybe he never had it. Dew's been playing this game all day. Lulling Rain into this comfortable place where he calls all the shots. But really, Rain's walked right into this. He's let Dew play him. He doesn't want to admit how much he loves it. From the minute Dew dragged his hand over Rain’s chest and up to his throat in rehearsal, Rain’s brain has been racing to catch up. And Dew’s been one step ahead of him. Making Rain chase him, making Rain do all the work just to get here. Where Dew is looking at him like he's an idiot and Rain's cock is twitching to life in his pants because of it. “Why don’t you kneel for once?” Dew says. Satanas, he sounds bored. Rain’s stomach twists again. Is this how Dew feels when Rain treats him like this?

No wonder he likes it so much. Dew gives him every opportunity to back out. Questions him with his gaze in a way only Dew has ever managed to do. Like telepathy. Never breaking character but Rain knows this is his chance to bow out. To go back to the old script or something different entirely. Instead, Rain nods, just a little, just enough. And Dew is on him. Long fingers curling in Rain's hair and pulling until Rain yelps. Dew drags him down to his level, so their noses almost touch. Copper eyes boring into Rain's. "Are you too stupid to follow simple instructions?" Dew spits. "Kneel." Rain does. Isn't sure if he actually decides to or if his legs just give out. His body following Dew's orders long before his brain catches up. He hits the floor hard, pain jolting up through his thighs. His hands fall to his thighs, palm down and useless. Rain won't move them again unless Dew tells him to. They might as well not exist. Rain's already dipping. Static crowding into the edges of his brain. He's never fallen so fast. God he wants to sink into it and never come out. Dew never lets go of him. Unclenching his fist in Rain's hair to shift his grip and curl around one of his seaglass horns. He drags a hot claw over the place they connect to his head, oversensitive all the time. Rain's eyes flutter closed, he whines. Leans into Dew's touch. It's a mistake. The sting of Dew's slap is sharp on his cheek, hot. Rain's eyes snap open. The pain goes straight to his cock. Fully hard now, tenting his uniform pants. He can feel himself dripping already--unable to hide what this does to him. How much he likes it. "Don't look away from me again," Dew demands, and Rain promises himself he won't. Doesn't want to. Rain doesn't want to disappoint him, but he knows that he will no matter what he does. It doesn't stop him from trying. Dew nudges Rain's clothed cock with his boot. Rain hisses, hips canting toward the pleasure-pain he knows that boot will provide. Too eager, he knows, he'll never get it if he acts this way. His cheeks burn, delicious shame flashing through him at his own desperation. He can't help it. Rain knows the game but can't catch up. He's falling into traps he knows how to set. Letting Dew bait him into them. It doesn't matter how good he is at this game from the other side--on this one, he's helpless. He loves it. Dew laughs at him. A low chuckle, dark. The promise in it makes goosebumps break out over Rain's skin. "Fucking pathetic," Dew sneers. He pulls back on Rain's horn, tipping his head back. Dew leans down and spits. It hits Rains' cheek in a thick glob. Burning hot and slick as it slides down Rain's face to his jaw. Rain wishes it had been in his mouth. He wants to taste it. Thinks about sticking out his tongue, trying to catch an errant drip of it. Anything to get a taste of Dew--a piece of him. "Please," Rain murmurs. He doesn't know what he's asking for. The word breaks from his mouth unbidden. He digs his teeth into his cheek to try to keep more from escaping. "You want something, water lily?" Dew says, too soft, a trap. There's something in his tone--dangerous--sing-song, that makes Rain throb. Rain knows better than to nod. He keeps his eyes on Dew's face, keeps his head and hands still. "I want whatever you want," he offers and hopes it's good enough. Dew grins down at him, predatory. Fangs sharp. Rain hopes Dew digs them into his throat. Hopes he draws blood. Rain hopes he wears the evidence of Dew's debauchery on his body for days. Dew reaches for his zipper, fingers tightening on Rain's horn. "Right answer. Open up." Rain does, sticks out his tongue for good measure. Eyes still fixed on Dew's face as Dew pulls his cock free and smacks the head on Rain's cheek. Smearing a trail of salty pre over his cheekbone. "You think you're so fucking pretty," Dew chuckles, mocking. It hits, hard. Rain's cheeks flush darker. He wants to look away, he forces himself not to. Dew strokes himself, tapping the sticky head on Rain's tongue. "You won't be when I'm done with you."

#comet writes #ficlet #raindrop #Dewdrop/Rain #Dew/Rain #Rain/Dew #Rain/dewdrop #my brain is barely functioning and definitely gave up at the end so #I hope this is legible #ghost fic #ghost fan fiction #the band ghost fan fic #the band ghost fan fiction #slapping #spitting #unedited #because my brain isn't working anymore #I'm overthinking it at this point so now it's yours

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nestedfeathers · 14 days

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Still injured and can't move. Spending my days mindlessly staring at my tv. Decided to try to be productive for the first time in three days KEK.

Also, obligatory Huggy and Catnap doodle

#my art #poppy playtime #poppy playtime catnap #poppy playtime fanart #poppy playtime fandom #poppy playtime smiling critters #poppy playtime huggy #poppy playtime dogday #poppy playtime 3 #traditional doodles #traditional sketch #paper doodles #ignore my handwriting #i know i write like a chicken sometimes #its legible enough #i hope

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floofballsammy · 2 months

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I HAVE COME TO BLESS YALL WITH MORE VOX DOODLES BECAUSE HE HAS A MONOPOLY ON MY ATTENTION.

HE'S THE CEO OF MY BRAIN NOW, I DONT MAKE THE RULES

#I hope my handwriting is legiblr #legible #fuck #i cant write #ahhhhhh #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin vox #vox #vox hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fanart #hazbin hotel art #my art #Sammy's hazbin art

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flowery-king · 1 year

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PLEASE TELL ME ABOUT HOLLOW MIND IN YOUR AU BECAUSE A. I FEEL PAIN FROM THAT COMIC /POS

BAHA Glad yall like it!!

(a Basic summary of an episode but AU flavoured under cut)

So like I've said in a previous post, the au story very much starts leaning away from the canon plot right after Yesterday's lie. Some weird stuff goes down almost immeadiately after Luz comes back from seeing her mom.

Point I'm making is the episodes after Yesterday's lie either just don't exist or follow a somewhat similar plot up to a point. Hollow Mind is one of those that still does happen... kinda

Eda still works with Raine at this point, finding any detail they can to use against the Emperor to show how much of a fraud he really is while still bustin out as many wild witches as they can. Darius and Eberwolf had still caught Eda and Raine in Eda's Requiem, but it was all a misunderstanding, they just wanted in on the plans Raine is conducting. Eda does not apologise for kicking Darius with mud. All this is to say they reach out to Eda when they come up with the plan to check out the Emperor's mind. Eda is very intrested but does not tell her two children because they will want to join, especially Luz.

They arrange a time and place. It's the night market and ,like before, Eda plans to fix Luz's cape as a distraction for the two youngins while she goes out to do the actual work. Prim, the shopekeeper with witches wool, accepts the task, motivated by the several wild witches being freed by a mysterious group. Eda tries her best to sound like she doesn't know who the group is either, but secretly eats up all the compliments.

Eda tells King and Luz they should wait for the cape to finish while she stocks up on more Elixir, she'll be back momentarily. King and Luz shout their goodbyes to Eda as they gain interest in Prim's telling of how Witches wool is made and other enchanted cloth.

After a while the cape is done and Luz gets to leave with her patched up cloak, but Eda still isn't anywhere to be seen. She fits on the cape again to twirl around, temporarily giving Eda's jacket to King. Mid twirl she spots a coven guard prowling about. This makes her worry for Eda even more and she grabs King to go find their witch mom.

After a bit of a search, she finds Eda and the others and accidentally scares off the coven heads since she was wearing her cloak's hood over her head. Luz questions Eda about what all this is, they don't break into an argument, but it is a serious conversation. Luz is upset that Eda didn't tell her about her secret group against the Emperor but accepts her explanation as to why and makes Eda promise that if they need extra help, they'll ask Luz. Eda laughs, yea of course, even if she said no Luz would still find a way to get involved.

At that moment a coven guard spots them, shouting questions on what they were doing in a suspicious alleyway, making Luz take a step back... on the potion, breaking it. Before Eda can grab her out of the circle Luz disappears, owl lady panik time.

Eda goes back home to evade the Coven guards and use a safer place to bring Luz back. The Coven heads greet her at her home and Eda needs to hold herself back from snapping about how stupid they are for leaving the potion on the ground. Right now she needs them to make a spell to bring Luz back.

Meanwhile, Luz wakes up in Belos' mind, pretty confused. Everything is dark and colourless and the trees surrounding are withering away. She finds her glyphs and creates a trail of light to see better as she searches around for a trace of Eda.

This is where these drawings take place!

At first she doesn't know she's in the Emperor's mind, but once those memory portraits start appearing, she connects the dots.

Belos looks just as tired as he did that time after she encountered him in the boiling rain and some weird part of her almost feels... bad? It's weird. However, this is replaced with the rising excitement she feels when she realizes HE'S HUMAN TOO! The greatest witch to ever live?? Is human?? Omg.

King suddenly remembers he has a walkie talkie and Eda uses it to confirm Luz's safety. She confirms and prepares herself as they announce they're just about ready to pull her out. Luz looks over to Belos again, his stare unfocused. What a sad lil guy. "Hey." Belos' eyes focus on Luz. "It's not too late to start fixing things." Belos frowns. Luz shouts a farewell and he pretends not to hear her saying something about seeing him later and she's gone. He doesn't know how to feel, but he's not going back to that dark part of his mind again.

Luz appears in the owl house and Eda makes sure she isn't overwhelmed. She's dizzy but fine! The coven heads question if she'd seen anything important, anything that could help them. Luz thinks. The human thing won't really do much to prove he's bad, so she shakes her head. She wasn't in there long enough. They accept this answer, she really wasn't in there for long and continue to get scolded by Eda (mostly Raine).

#long post #defanged philip au #this was fun to write ghgh hope my writing is legible #edit: I FORGOT TO PRESS THE POST BUTTON SORRY HAHA

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ollylotl · 11 months

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EDIT: this drawing was made BEFORE Lizzie's redesign. It's no longer representative of how I draw her. idk if ill ever clean this up so take this messy comic of lizzie and ava's first kiss. back when things were at least relatively simpler and more innocent.

would lizzie have her eye patch at this point? would ava have that uniform at this point? i dont know. i know nothing.

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kuroarimiyazaki · 1 year

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It's 2023 I'm making a terrible Bully OC and you can't stop me. Edit: Posted close ups of the parts that include text below the cut

#kuromsart #bully #bully cce #bully fanart #bully scholarship edition #bully OC #nerds clique ftw #I spent waaay too much time on this tbh #I literally have no story for her #earnest jones #beatrice trudeau #jimmy hopkins #I hope my writing is legible #I want to make more

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phopollo · 5 months

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"Mollie!"

At first, both the shout and the throwing open of the clinic's door caused the doctor to jump to her feet. People frequently didn't do either unless there was an emergency.

"Whats wrong? Who's dying?"

"Ah-- no one-!"

"We got you a gift!"

Mollie's eyes drifted down to Liko and Roy's hands, both suspicously closed around something small, blocking the view of anyone who dared try to look.

"... of either of you opens your hands and is holding a cutiefly, flabebe, or any other tiny pokemon, I'm warning you now-- I will not be happy about it."

A look of panic momentarily set over the kids faces.

"No! Nothing like that! We promise!" Roy said quickly.

"Yeah! We just-- we saw these while we were out and they reminded us of you!" Liko assured. Then the kids shared a look and a nod, before opening their hands to present their gift.

It took a second for Mollie to process what they were holding, but when she did, she let out a small laugh. Half relieved that it was in fact, not a small pokemon.

A set of earrings from each. A gift most graciously accepted by her.

"This is... unexpectedly sweet. Thank you." She decided as she studied them, before turning her attention back up to the kids. "I love them." This time was Liko and Roy's turn to look relieved.

"Run along now, I have things to do that I won't be able to concentrate on if you keep staring at me." Mollie shooed them along. After a moment with no verbal protest, they scurried along, leaving Mollie for get back to her work.

---

"Ohh, Mollie! New earrings? I dont think I've ever seen those ones before!" Murdock noted as he set a mug of cocoa in front of her.

"Oh yeah. What do you think?"

"Very cute!"

"Thanks." Mollie smiled into her cup at Murdock's comment. "I think these ones are my new favorites."

#ive had this idea for so long #i wanted to make it a comic originally #but i didnt hsve it in me #but do you guys see my vision?#art #digital art #pokemon #pokemon horizons #anipoke #pokemon molly #molly pokemon #mollie pokemon #pokemon mollie #mollie rvt #molly rvt #rising volt tacklers #writing #ough im so sorry im a little out of practice with writing too #i hope this is legible

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wren-of-the-woods · 1 year

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Title: Rest My Head At Night Content

Prompt: watching over them as they sleep/waking up together

Pairing: Geralt/Jaskier/Yennefer

Rating: T

Word Count: 6.6k

Five times Jaskier falls asleep before Geralt and Yennefer and one time they fall asleep before him. On AO3 here! @whataboutthebard

One

The first time it happened, Geralt was fairly sure the bard had been poisoned.

In his defense, it was not unlikely. Geralt had only been traveling with him for a few months, but he already knew that Jaskier had a penchant for eating anything soft or crunchy-looking within a twenty-foot radius and a ridiculous talent for making enemies. He could just as easily have eaten the wrong berry as run afoul of an angry spouse when they were last in town.

So, when Geralt turned around from where he had been sharpening his sword to see Jaskier passed out over a log on the other side of their camp, he was understandably panicked. His sword clattered to the ground as he scrambled off his own log and around the campfire to reach the bard. His hands flew over him, checking pulse and temperature as he scented for illness or injury and found—

Nothing. Jaskier was perfectly healthy.

“Mrph?” said Jaskier groggily. His eyes opened partway. He blinked a few times, then squinted up at Geralt. “Is something wrong?”

Geralt stared at him. Jaskier’s bleary squint morphed into an expression of concern. He sat up a little, as though getting ready to run if necessary.

“Geralt? What’s going on?”

“I…” Geralt trailed off, unable to figure out how to say ‘I thought you were dying and I panicked even though you’re apparently fine’ without sounding like an idiot. “Nothing.”

Suddenly, Geralt found himself the target of the Jaskier’s most potent ‘my feathers have been ruffled’ glare. “Nothing! Why on earth did you wake me up, then? I was having a perfectly wonderful nap. You ruined my good dreams, Geralt!”

“Hmm,” Geralt apologized.

“Hmm,” Jaskier mimicked. He rolled his eyes with all the disdain of a middle-aged noblewoman hearing the latest gossip. “Is that all you have to say for yourself?”

“Hmm.”

“You’re insufferable. I’m going back to sleep.”

With that, Jaskier slid off his log, rolled pointedly away from Geralt, and curled up on the ground with his head on a nearby bag. Geralt stared at him. Jaskier closed his eyes, refusing to even glance at Geralt.

When Geralt did not move for another few moments, Jaskier cracked one eye open to glare behind him.

“Go away. I’m sleeping.”

Geralt decided not to point out the obvious falsehood. He returned to his seat across the camp and retrieved his fallen sword.

He tried to return to sharpening it, but somehow he couldn’t bring himself to look away from Jaskier. Geralt’s heart was still beating a little too quickly, not quite recovered from his earlier scare. Across the camp, Jaskier’s breathing was regular. It had not quite regained the slow steadiness of sleep, but it was on its way there. His heartbeat was human-fast and familiar. His soft hair shone a little in the firelight, looking almost like fine strands of ruddy gold. His scent was calm. Jaskier was perfectly fine. He was simply… falling asleep.

He was falling asleep. He had fallen asleep. Deep in the forest, utterly alone except for a grumpy and antisocial witcher titled the Butcher of Blaviken, Jaskier had fallen asleep.

Geralt did not understand.

Geralt was dangerous. This was a well-known, universally-acknowledged fact. Geralt was a machine built for death. Geralt did not have friends. Geralt had no mercy when he decided someone deserved to die. Geralt could easily kill a human with his bare hands.

And yet Jaskier — fragile, human Jaskier, who was almost completely defenseless against any kind of physical threat, who was lying five yards away from him on the ground — was fast asleep.

He smelled content. There was a faint smile on his face. He looked young and soft and somehow, impossibly, safe.

Jaskier had done many strange things since Geralt met him, but Geralt thought this may be the most bewildering yet.

Slowly, Geralt returned to sharpening his sword. Jaskier did not react to the noise. He was already fast asleep. Geralt’s chest felt oddly warm.

Perhaps Jaskier’s oddness could be nice, once in a while.

Two

After that, it kept happening. Jaskier would fall asleep well before Geralt most nights, when they traveled together. Slowly, tentatively, Geralt became used to it. It was just another entry on the long list of Jaskier’s peculiarities. Geralt didn’t mind — quite the opposite, though he would never admit it to Jaskier — so he simply let it happen. He never brought it up again after that first night, though he thought about it more than he would like to admit.

Things between them settled into comfortable familiarity. Geralt knew what to expect from Jaskier. He knew where they stood.

Then, about half a decade after Geralt met Jaskier, Geralt’s world was once again flipped on its head.

The day started just like any other. Jaskier was with him, having just returned from a stint in Oxenfurt to see some friends, and was chattering away as usual. Geralt, who had spoiled Roach to his satisfaction when his last contract proved unusually lucrative due to some townsfolk singing Toss a Coin, was riding beside him and hiding his fondness as usual. He hadn’t expected Jaskier to join him when he set out, so it was a longer ride to the next town than Geralt would usually risk when accompanied by a human, but he wasn’t worried. The road stretched over gently rolling plains and farmlands. Jaskier should be fine.

The wide, flat landscape seemed like much less of a blessing when Geralt finally noticed the storm making its way towards them.

“Fuck,” he said, and Jaskier immediately stopped rambling to listen. The bard had little common sense of his own, so it was a blessing that he was smart enough to make use of Geralt’s from time to time.

“What is it?”

“Storm’s coming.”

“Oh.” Jaskier frowned. He looked around them, saw the plains stretching out in every direction, and his frown deepened. “Well then, I guess we’ll just have to outrun it.”

They did not outrun it.

They were still several hours away from the nearest town when the clouds broke over them. What started as a drizzle steadily turned into a downpour. The dusty road became more of a muddy line, and then, in low-lying places, a series of puddles. Both of them were thoroughly drenched, but Jaskier’s refusal to wear anything sensible for travel meant he had it even worse than Geralt. The bard’s walk turned into a trudge. He stopped talking after about an hour in the rain. After an hour and a half, Geralt caved and let Jaskier ride Roach. By the time they finally arrived at the village, Geralt was becoming concerned for the bard’s health.

They acquired a room at the inn with relatively little trouble (it seemed that looking waterlogged and pathetic had a few benefits), but it was the only one left after the influx of other travelers seeking shelter from the rain. The innkeeper had apologized, but Geralt waved her off easily. He and Jaskier had shared before; anywhere warm was fine by him.

When he and Jaskier opened the door to find only one bed in their room, Geralt wished he had made more of a fuss.

Jaskier would have to take the bed, of course. Geralt wasn’t cruel enough to ignore his human constitution. The bard needed warmth and rest, both of which would be easier to come by in a real bed. Geralt would have liked to sleep in comfort, of course, but he would be fine without it. Jaskier needed it more.

Once both of them had changed clothes and become marginally dryer, Geralt began unpacking his bedroll. It was at this point that his plan was interrupted.

“What are you doing?” asked Jaskier. It was the first thing he’d said at a volume louder than a mumble in over an hour. Geralt was relieved enough that he was talking to be unbothered by the way Jaskier looked at him like he was an idiot.

“Getting ready for bed. Obviously.”

“There is a perfectly functional bed right here, Geralt. I think. Unless you’ve noticed something with your fancy witcher senses. Are there bedbugs, Geralt? Or dried blood? Is it an illusion? Is there a monster under the bed? Is the bed the monster, Geralt? Geralt!”

Geralt suppressed the urge to laugh. That would only encourage him. “Bed monsters aren’t real, Jaskier.”

“How would I know? I didn’t think giant, terrifying insect monsters were real either, and it ate my best doublet!”

“I told you to stay away.”

“Well, I— nevermind. Why are you trying to sleep on the floor?”

“You’re taking the bed.”

Jaskier blinked. “So?”

Geralt shot him a glare. “So I’m sleeping on the floor.”

“Are we not sharing?”

Geralt stopped. Slowly, he turned to look at Jaskier. “What?”

“Why aren’t we sharing the bed? There’s enough room. It’d be warmer.”

Geralt looked at the bed. There might be enough room for both of them, but not by much. They would certainly have to get in each others’ space.

“You want to share the bed. With me.” Geralt felt like he had to check this. He was still reeling a little at the idea.

“Yes, you idiot. That’s what I’ve been saying. Just for sleeping, of course.”

“Of course,” Geralt echoed faintly.

He couldn’t remember the last time someone wanted to literally sleep with him. Quite possibly, it had been before the Trials.

“So?” said Jaskier.

“What?”

“Are you going to put that bedroll away?”

Geralt looked at the bedroll. He looked at Jaskier. There was no trace of hesitation anywhere in the bard’s body. He was tired, annoyed at Geralt, and a little confused, but there was no fear. There wasn’t even nervousness. If anything, Jaskier was impatient for Geralt to get in bed with him.

It was one thing to be able to sleep in the vicinity of a mutated, monster-hunting freak. It was quite another thing to fall asleep in his arms.

Geralt was beginning to think he would never understand Jaskier. Perhaps he should simply accept it.

Wordlessly, he began to repack the bedroll.

“Thank you,” said Jaskier. He clambered under the covers, settling on the side of the bed closest to the wall, and held up the corner of the blanket in invitation. Once Geralt had the rest of the room settled to his satisfaction, he obeyed the unspoken request and climbed in next to him.

Jaskier smiled and snuggled close the moment Geralt was lying down. There were a few seconds of slightly confused shuffling before they settled with Jaskier lying on his side, half on top of Geralt and clinging to him like an octopus, while Geralt’s arm wrapped around his shoulders to keep him steady. Jaskier was between Geralt and the wall; he couldn’t get out of the bed without clambering over Geralt. He was, for all intents and purposes, cornered. He seemed utterly unperturbed by this fact.

“Goodnight,” said Jaskier. Geralt blew out the candle with a carefully-aimed Aard. Jaskier closed his eyes, snuggled closer to Geralt, and fell asleep within moments.

Geralt looked at him. His face was slightly smushed where he was using Geralt’s chest as a pillow. His hair tickled Geralt’s nose a little. His exhales ruffled the hem of Geralt’s undershirt. In Geralt’s arms, he felt heavier and more solid than he appeared. He was very warm. His breathing was steady.

It took Geralt a long time to fall asleep that night, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to mind.

Three

Time passed, and Geralt grew more and more used to how Jaskier looked when he was asleep. He grew to know the way his face relaxed, all the energy and enthusiasm of the day slowly seeping out until what was left was an expression of peace. He grew to like the steady, comforting rhythm of his heartbeat and slow breathing. He grew to love the easy trust inherent in the gesture, the inherent certainty that Geralt would never hurt him. Sleep was perhaps the most powerful lowering of one’s guard, and Geralt was honored that Jaskier chose to do so around him so regularly.

Geralt knew how Jaskier looked when he slept. That was why looking at him, lying there and looking so small in the middle of Yennefer’s huge bed in Rinde, felt so deeply and inescapably wrong.

Jaskier would never choose to lie neatly on his back like this, because he always slept on his side or on his stomach or in some strange, twisted shape resembling a mutated starfish. Jaskier would never lie still like this, because even in his sleep he was full of little noises and movements and life. Jaskier would never sleep in this bed without first getting to know its owner, because even he was not stupid enough to sleep in a place he did not believe was safe.

It was Geralt’s fault that Jaskier was here, injured and unconscious like a grotesque parody of what Geralt had feared was happening on that first day Jaskier fell asleep with him, all those years ago. Jaskier trusted Geralt with his life implicitly. Geralt had betrayed that trust.

Jaskier was still, but not resting. Jaskier was quiet, but not because he wanted to be. Jaskier was defenseless, but not by choice.

It was completely and utterly wrong.

Geralt could not do anything about it. He could not wake Jaskier and he could not heal him. All he could do to help was to aid this sorceress and hope against hope that she could do something.

It turned out, of course, that she could. Yennefer healed Jaskier and moved on to her various other schemes without a second thought.

She was beautiful and powerful and near-indestructible, and Geralt was spellbound.

Jaskier was confusing, but Geralt could understand Yennefer. Jaskier was ridiculous, but Geralt could take Yennefer seriously. Jaskier was terrifyingly fragile, but Yennefer was terrifyingly strong.

Before Geralt knew it, he and Yennefer were bound together and the path of his life was permanently altered.

Yennefer, it turned out, could also sleep near Geralt.

They slept together both literally and figuratively. Geralt grew to love the literal sense most of all. There was something indescribably beautiful about Yennefer when she let down her guard just enough to sleep, when she allowed Geralt farther past her walls than most people were ever allowed to get. Yennefer could easily kill someone before letting them see her vulnerabilities, and it would not surprise Geralt to know she had done so in the past. Any weaknesses she allowed Geralt to see were very thought-out, deliberate gestures of trust. The knowledge meant more to Geralt than he could express.

When Jaskier slept near Geralt, it made all sorts of complicated emotions tangle around Geralt’s heart. When Yennefer slept near Geralt, he simply felt happy and honored.

It wasn’t that all his thoughts about her were in comparison to Jaskier: far from it. Being in her presence was an all-consuming experience, more beautiful and intoxicating than the finest wines. It was one of the many, many things he loved about her.

When he did end up comparing her to Jaskier, though, his thoughts inevitably turned in that direction. Jaskier was charming and irritating and idiotically trusting. Yennefer was confident and powerful and beautifully calculating. Yennefer made more sense. Yennefer, for all her fiery danger, was so much easier for Geralt to love.

Geralt and Jaskier still traveled together frequently. They could still go weeks or months together without running into Yennefer. Slowly, though, Geralt stopped letting Jaskier sleep so close to him. One room at an inn turned back into two, and two bedrolls beside each other became two bedrolls on opposite sides of a campfire. When Jaskier was asleep, Geralt couldn’t stop remembering his horrible stillness after Geralt hurt him. He couldn’t seeing Jaskier’s vulnerability as just another opportunity to fuck up. He couldn’t stop feeling that Jaskier’s trust was something to fear.

Geralt and Jaskier slept apart from each other. Geralt and Yennefer slept together.

It was better for everyone that way.

Four

The first time Yennefer really noticed Jaskier sleeping, she didn’t have time to enjoy it.

She’d seen him resting before, of course, but she never really paid attention then. For most of the years of their acquaintance, she had seen him as nothing more than an irritation. It wasn’t until the dragon hunt, or maybe even until she saw him again in Oxenfurt, that she realized how much the twit had come to mean to her. His ridiculousness was somehow the only sanity she’d encountered in months.

When she felt herself unraveling in that Kaer Morhen laboratory, she found herself going to Jaskier without a second thought.

“I need your help,” she said, and at those words Jaskier came awake despite his grumblings. He followed her with his usual ridiculous chatter, grounding her as she talked through her thoughts and gave him the jasper. They went their separate ways, and then there was blood and danger and death and chaos in all its definitions.

She didn’t think about the encounter much until later that night, alone for the first time in days.

She lay awake in one of Kaer Morhen’s drafty abandoned rooms, unable to convince herself that she was safe. She knew, logically, that she had her chaos back. There was very little that could harm her now, and even less that could also get past Geralt and the other witchers. The knowledge was not comforting.

She could still feel the blood rushing from her wrist down her hands. She could still hear the screams: those of the dying witchers, those of Geralt and Ciri and Jaskier and even herself. She could still feel the keep shaking in wave after wave of Voleth Meir’s magic.

Her thoughts returned to Jaskier, then. He had looked so peaceful in those brief seconds of sleep she managed to witness. It was oddly anachronistic, seeing him there in such unfamiliar surroundings and in the midst of all her panic. She was almost envious. For all his dramatics, Jaskier had a peculiar kind of resilience that few people could match.

Right now, though, what she envied most was his ability to sleep.

Jaskier had a big bottle of alcohol with him when he was asleep in the lab. Perhaps Yennefer should try it.

She was seriously considering getting up in search of some sort of drink when, to her great surprise, there was a knock on the door to her room.

Geralt was talking to Ciri. The other witchers were cleaning and grieving. It must be—

“Yennefer?” asked Jaskier from outside the room.

“What is it?” asked Yennefer.

“Oh, thank Melitele,” he said, ignoring the question. “I was beginning to think I would never find you in all these corridors. Do you think someone would come looking for me if I got lost or fell into some forgotten laboratory? I’d rather not have to find out. Can I come in? It’s cold out here. You’d think a keepful of witchers might try to repair the place a little.”

Yennefer opened the door. Jaskier blinked down at her in surprise.

“Oh! Thank you.” He slid past her and into the room, then flopped down on her bed.

“What are you doing?” she asked. She hoped she didn’t sound as confused as she felt.

“Visiting the most disagreeable witch of my acquaintance. What does it look like I’m doing?”

“I’m the only witch of your acquaintance.”

“Precisely.”

Yennefer huffed, then tried to return to her original question. “Why are you even awake?”

“I ran out of wine.”

“So you came to find me?”

“Geralt’s busy with that daughter of his. The other witchers don’t look like they want to be disturbed.” Jaskier’s charming facade broke for a moment. He looked startlingly vulnerable. “I… didn’t want to be alone.”

“Oh,” said Yennefer.

For a moment, there was silence. Yennefer felt oddly blindsided by the whole encounter. She decided to chalk it up to her exhaustion.

Jaskier sat up on his elbows and looked at her. “So? Are you coming?”

Yennefer raised an eyebrow. “Coming where?”

“To bed.”

“This is not the time, bard.”

“Not like that! I just want to sleep.” He paused, then made a face. “Dear Melitele. I’m starting to sound like Geralt.”

That startled a laugh out of Yennefer. “The old wives were right. Witchers are contagious.”

“Oh, gods, don’t make me think about it. He only pulls it off that whole brooding act because he’s so handsome. I’d just look stupid.”

“You already look stupid.”

“I— Shut up! Are you getting in bed or not?”

Yennefer probably should have refused. She probably should have kicked him out of her room and fallen asleep on her own.

She did not.

“Fine,” she said. “Shove over.”

Jaskier obliged, and Yennefer climbed in next to him. She settled down on her back the way she had been before Jaskier arrived, so Jaskier had to lie on his side and curl around her in order to fit. He did not seem to mind this at all. He snuggled up close to her, throwing an arm around her waist and tucking his head against her neck. His breathing started to slow the moment he was settled. Yennefer could feel his exhales against her neck.

Yennefer was suddenly struck by how long it had been since someone had held her like this. She wasn’t sure if she could remember the last time it happened. Even Geralt, when their relationship had been at its best, was never exactly the cuddling type.

That would explain the warm, fluttering feeling in her chest. It was because she had this human contact after so long without it. It had nothing to do with the particular person involved. Obviously.

Still, there were very few people she would allow to come this close to her. There were even fewer who would actually want to do so.

She didn’t know why Jaskier had suddenly become one of those people, but right now, she couldn’t quite bring herself to mind.

“Thank you,” Jaskier whispered against her throat. Yennefer startled a little. She hadn’t realized he was still awake.

“What for?” she whispered back. Somehow, in the darkness and quiet, she found herself without her usual defenses. She couldn’t summon the banter from earlier; she was left with nothing but earnestness.

"For being here," said Jaskier simply.

Yennefer thought of the blood running from her wrists in the battle. She thought of the pain of Voleth Meir. She thought of all the danger and pain she'd undergone in the last few weeks. Her eyes felt suspiciously moist.

For being here.

She didn't think anyone had ever said that to her.

"You're welcome," she whispered. Jaskier held her a little tighter. If her voice was a little shaky, he was kind enough not to mention it.

"Goodnight, Yennefer," he said. Within moments, his breathing had slowed to the deep evenness of sleep.

Yennefer stayed awake a little longer. She felt like she was savoring something, something precious that she might not experience again. Jaskier was a welcome warm in the cold keep. He snored a little. Yennefer, after making sure he was definitely asleep, ran a gentle hand through his hair. Jaskier snuffled a little and cuddled closer.

It was strange that the presence of this ridiculous, idiotic man could be so soothing.

She felt her heartbeat slow as she lay there, Jaskier's steady warmth against her side. Her eyes fell closed without her noticing. She shifted to press closer to Jaskier, and his arm around her tightened in response.

She fell asleep and slept soundly until dawn.

Five

Yennefer and Jaskier shared a bed more often than not, after that. Though they never discussed it, Yennefer could tell that they both slept better that way. They settled into a strange sort of routine. Yennefer spent her days with Geralt and Ciri, discussing strategy and magic and whatever else required their urgent attention. Jaskier spent his days off in the depths of the keep doing something or other: talking to the other witchers or composing, perhaps. No matter what they had been doing during the day, Yennefer and Jaskier met in Yennefer’s room about an hour after sunset. They didn’t talk about much of consequence; just having Jaskier’s company without pressure or expectation was enough to lighten Yennefer’s mood on its own. It was the only part of her day when she didn’t have to watch her every move for fear of upsetting the careful balance between her and the rest of the keep. She valued it more than she could say.

Sleeping better improved her mood, as well. She could feel herself slowly starting to recover from the peril and fear of the last few weeks. Jaskier looked better, too: he was gaining some lost weight, and the bags under his eyes had been significantly reduced. It was obvious that the rest was helping both of them.

Geralt, it seemed, was not so lucky. He was a little slower than usual and a little more irritable, though he did his best to hide it around Ciri. It was obvious to those who knew him that he was not sleeping well, but he did not say anything about it and Yennefer was not sure enough of where she stood with him to push it.

This stalemate held until shortly after she, Ciri, Geralt, and Jaskier left Kaer Morhen for Aretuza.

They were about a day’s journey away from the keep, still deep in the Blue Mountains. Geralt had hoped to make it farther that day — apparently there was a particular cave he usually used for shelter when he was in the area — but Ciri had been so exhausted by the journey that no one had the heart to push forward. The place where they had ended up was unfortunately open, with no trees and few convenient boulders to shelter behind. They set their tents beside the largest of the boulders and hoped it would be enough.

It was not.

They started the night in two different tents, with Yennefer and Jaskier in one and Geralt and Ciri in another. Yennefer was not sure if Geralt chose the arrangement because it was most similar to how the four of them had slept in Kaer Morhen or because he didn’t trust Yennefer with Ciri, and she was not about to ask.

The wind began to pick up soon after everyone was settled. The tents went from standing still to trembling to shaking violently. The canvas was loud, flapping and rattling against the tent’s poles. Yennefer, who was on the windward side of the tent, was hit in the face a few times by said overexcited canvas.

“I think this tent wants to become a kite,” said Jaskier. “How strong are the poles?”

“Shut up,” said Yennefer, rolling over and attempting to pin some of the most energetic parts of the tent under her. She heard a rustling sound from Jaskier’s side of the tent and worried for a moment that something had broken before she turned to see Geralt poking his head through the tent’s door.

“Yen! Is there anything you can do about the wind? Ciri’s getting scared.”

“I’m a sorceress, not a weather deity!”

“Can you at least make the tents a little sturdier?”

“The more spells I cast, the easier it would be for another mage to track us.”

“None of us are going to get any sleep if the wind goes on like this,” Jaskier said, chiming in. “It would also be very unpleasant if a tent broke while we’re in it.”

“I can’t strengthen both tents without risking our safety,” said Yennefer, sitting up. As soon as she stopped weighing down the canvas, it billowed again and hit her in the back. She grimaced.

“Could you just strengthen one of them?” Geralt asked, reaching up to hold the tent’s poles steady when they threaten to bend too far.

“I’d rather not—”

“But I would rather not spend the night like this!” said Jaskier, looking at her pleadingly. “Especially not when Ciri is scared.”

It turned out that Yennefer was not as immune to Jaskier’s pleading eyes as she liked to believe she was.

“Fine. Go help Geralt and Ciri get their things in here.”

It took nearly half an hour of fumbling and rather panicked maneuvering in the dark, but eventually they managed to collapse the other tent and move it and its contents safely into the remaining one. Geralt checked on the horses while Yennefer carefully cast spells to reinforce the tent and shield it from the wind. By the time everyone was finally safe inside the tent, the flapping of canvas and creaking of poles had nearly been reduced to nothing. Yennefer couldn’t safely do anything about the cold and the whistling of the wind outside, but her efforts had been good enough if the way tension bled out of Jaskier and Ciri was anything to go by.

“Thank you, Yen,” said Geralt, stepping back inside and closing the tent’s door behind him. Even he sounded relieved.

“You’re welcome,” said Yennefer. She let out a breath, ready to go back to her bedroll and sleep for a very long time. She turned back to where she was sleeping earlier. It was now covered by supplies and the packed-up remains of the other tent.

She looked around. The small tent was very, very cramped. There was no way they were all going to be able to lay out their bedrolls.

Jaskier frowned, seeming to have come to the same conclusion. “Hold on. Where do we sleep?”

There was silence for a few long moments as everyone looked around them with expressions ranging from annoyance (Yennefer) to constipation (Geralt) to thoughtfulness (Jaskier). Ciri was the first one to speak.

“I guess we’ll just have to cuddle,” she said.

Jaskier shrugged. “Sure. Do you think we can find all the bedrolls?”

“Hold on,” said Geralt. “Are you sure about this?”

Jaskier raised an eyebrow at him. “Is the thought of sleeping near all of us really so repulsive to you?”

“I… No, but—”

“Can you think of an alternative?”

Geralt sighed. “No.”

“Then help us find the bedrolls.”

After a while of searching and trying to rearrange things within the tiny tent without hitting anyone else in the head, they managed to create a pile of bedding composed of bedrolls, blankets, and parts of the other tent in an area that was just barely big enough for the four of them to lie down. Ciri flopped down first, obviously exhausted, and began arranging the blankets to her satisfaction. Yennefer lay down next to her, and Jaskier curled around Yennefer. Geralt tried to lie down on Ciri’s other side. There was a crinkling noise as he almost crushed a nearby container of food and sat back up, grumbling.

Jaskier sighed and stood up again. Despite Yennefer’s very best efforts, she found herself missing the warmth of him the moment he was gone.

“You get settled,” he said to Geralt. “I’ll find a spot after.”

“You don’t have to—” Geralt tried to say. Jaskier interrupted him.

“Just do it. I’m marginally smaller and you’re exhausted.”

Geralt looked like he wanted to argue, but a glare from Jaskier quelled whatever argument he was going to make. He stepped over Ciri and Yennefer to take Jaskier’s place behind her. His body was warm against Yennefer’s back. She could feel the tension in his every muscle. She was not sure whether to be offended or sympathetic; she hoped his awkwardness was due to the strangeness of the situation and not the fact that he was forced to be close to her in particular. She pressed a little closer to him regardless. She did not feel like letting pride prevent her from enjoying his witchery warmth.

After looking at the three of them in consideration for a moment, Jaskier climbed on top of them. After a few moments of awkward rearranging, he managed to settle himself across all three of them. His head was on Geralt’s chest, his torso across Yennefer’s stomach, and his legs tangled with Ciri’s. Yennefer spluttered a little. Ciri giggled.

“What are you doing?” asked Geralt.

“This is the only way I can fit!” Jaskier said, the defensiveness of his words belied by the smile on his face. “Anything else would have me squashing our things.”

“So you’re squashing us instead?” asked Yennefer with a raised eyebrow, desperately trying to hide her own smile.

“Exactly!” said Jaskier.

“Oh, fine,” said Ciri. Yennefer couldn’t quite manage to hold back a laugh.

Jaskier shifted around a bit until he seemed comfortable, giving a happy little sigh before going still. The warm weight of him over Yennefer’s torso was surprisingly comfortable. She could feel his chest move as he breathed, the pace of it slowing as he relaxed. Behind her, Geralt was slowly relaxing as well. There was something soothing about Jaskier when he was like this, half-asleep and warm and so trusting that it still took Yennefer’s breath away sometimes. There were very, very few humans who would dare to relax in the company of Geralt, Yennefer, or even Ciri. Jaskier’s blithe indifference to how dangerous they all were was like open sunlight after a week spent indoors: difficult to adjust to, but beautiful nonetheless. Something about his trust that he was safe made her feel safer, too.

Within minutes, Jaskier was fast asleep, snoring slightly as he lay draped across the three of them. Yennefer twisted a little to look at Geralt and they shared a silent moment of fond commiseration. She was sure that Geralt was just as awed and amused by the bard as she was, even if he often refused to show it. The smile they shared made her feel almost as warm as the bard currently pursuing a new career as a blanket. It gave her hope that perhaps their relationship might not be as broken as she had thought.

Perhaps the wind storm hadn’t been such a bad thing, after all.

Plus One

Jaskier put down his quill and straightened with a satisfied sigh. He lifted his arms to stretch with some reluctance, because it meant moving his hand from where it had been resting in Yennefer’s hair. He was sore from sitting in one place for so long, though, and sacrifices had to be made.

After stretching thoroughly, he blinked around him at the room. He must have been composing longer than he’d thought. Darkness had fallen while he was lost in the world of paper and song; the room was now illuminated only by a single candle which Yennefer or Geralt must have lit while he was distracted.

They were in a rather unremarkable room in a rather unremarkable inn. Ciri was off on a short expedition with Lambert, presumably to learn how to make explosives. The three of them had been told to wait in this town until their return and so, remarkably, they found themselves with several days of free time. Geralt had completed all the available contracts, Yennefer had done all the witch-ing she could do, and Jaskier had, scandalously, almost exhausted the town’s patience for his ballads. That was how they ended up here, spending a quiet evening in each others’ company.

He looked down at his lovers. Yennefer had been reading, curled up with her head in his lap, but was now fast asleep even though Jaskier had been moving around. Geralt was slumped against Jaskier’s side, his head on the bard’s shoulder, also asleep. He had been repairing the handle of a dagger which now rested on a side table next to the bed. He was, to Jaskier’s fond delight, snoring slightly.

For a moment, Jaskier’s breath was stolen away by the sheer trust he was being given. Geralt and Yennefer were both deeply asleep, not simply dozing or meditating. Geralt’s dagger was within Jaskier’s reach; if he had wanted to, he could easily have taken it and slit one of their throats before even Geralt’s witcher-fast reflexes could catch him. There were very, very few people to whom Geralt would show such trust, and even fewer who Yennefer would permit to do so. Jaskier did not think the fact that he was one of these people would ever cease to fill him with awe.

Geralt’s position could not be comfortable, though; even a witcher could get a sore neck sleeping like that. Reluctantly, Jaskier resigned himself to waking him up. He shifted to gently shake Geralt’s shoulder.

“Geralt, dear heart,” he whispered, “You can’t sleep like that.”

“Hmm,” Geralt complained, doing his best to hide his face in Jaskier’s shoulder. Jaskier had to take a moment to breathe simply to avoid passing away from sheer love and delight.

“You’ll be the death of me,” he said fondly, poking Geralt gently in the shoulder. “Now lie down properly so we can sleep without ruining our backs.”

Geralt continued to grumble wordlessly but did as he was told, sitting up enough to remove his shirt and let Jaskier put his notebook on the side table and slide under the covers.

“Wha’?” mumbled Yennefer, who had been disturbed by the movement. She shot a sleepy glare at Jaskier, looking rather like a disgruntled kitten. “Why’d you move?”

“To get under the blanket, love. Come join me.”

Yennefer’s disgruntled face was so similar to the one Geralt had made that Jaskier had to stifle a laugh, but she complied. She got under the covers and lay down right up against Jaskier’s side, then glared at him until he started to stroke her hair.

Geralt returned from where he had been folding his shirt and storing his knife. He joined them by flopping down on top of Jaskier, eliciting a grunt from the bard at the sudden weight. They had learned, over the months, that the only reliable way to get Jaskier to sleep without moving about and inevitably elbowing someone in the face was to squash him. Jaskier certainly did not mind — the extra warmth and weight was soothing, and watching Geralt and Yennefer try to decide whose turn it was for bard-blanket duties was an unending source of amusement.

Yennefer shifted so she was holding Geralt’s hand and Geralt hummed happily, burying his face once more in the crook of Jaskier’s neck. Jaskier resumed stroking Yennefer’s hair and she made a sound of approval. If his lovers were cats, Jaskier thought, they would both be purring. The thought made him smile.

“Stop being fond and go to sleep,” Yennefer grumbled, and Jaskier laughed.

“Yes, milady,” he said. She made another approving sound and went still, her breathing already slowing.

Jaskier could feel his own heart slowing as well, the warmth and trust of his two absurdly powerful lovers soothing him better than anything else ever could. On top of him, Geralt was once again beginning to snore. He thought he felt a little bit of drool on his throat. Instead of indignation, all he felt was fondness and awe at the vulnerability. He really was hopelessly in love.

Geralt’s breath was warm and slow against him. Yennefer’s chest rose and fell steadily beside him. It was as though nothing existed outside of this bed, as though the whole of Jaskier’s world had been condensed to this tiny space of calm and contentment and home.

Jaskier was asleep within moments, feeling warm, safe, and impossibly loved.

#the witcher #geraskefer #geraskier #yennskier #geralt x jaskier x yennefer #geralt #jaskier #yennefer #wren writes #here's hoping this one's legible on dark mode!#i think i fixed it #this one's been in my drafts since at least april so i'm delighted to have it out #and it's still the right day in my timezone!#fun fact part 5 is vaguely based on something that happened to me #enjoy <3

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dangans-ur-ronpas · 15 days

Text

Chapter 17

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

SEE HERE FOR GENERAL WARNINGS AND FIC SUMMARY

Some pre-chapter notes:

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

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

the king of kings!! @digitaldollsworld

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

< previous - from start - next >

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Excuse me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Byakuya has had enough.

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

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

< previous - from start - next >

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

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victoryshowers · 10 months

Text

i dnt post my art typically but i enjoyed this sketch thats apart of a trey doodle page enough to do so

#i hope my hand writing is legible #whether he’s talking to vil or riddle is up to You #rooktrey #I GUESS? if you wanna look at it like that #trey clover #twisted wonderland #twst #treyrook #averyarsene #my art

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sneez · 1 year

Photo

various fairfaxes and a drawing from my english civil wars hiking au which i never posted :-) [id under cut]

[image description:

the first image is a digital drawing of a group of men on a light brown background. they are all wearing hiking-appropriate clothing. from left to right: a young man swinging from a tree; arrows pointing at him read ‘weirdly passionate about hiking’ and ‘like 15′. a man leaning against a tree; arrows read ‘grumpy’ and ‘only here for family bonding with father-in-law’. a man with a cane and one arm in a sling, leaning over to read a map; arrows read ‘has injured himself on every hike so far’ and ‘designated driver’. a man reading a map with a serious expression; arrows read ‘annoyed about everything except hiking and sometimes also hiking’ and ‘only one who can read a map’. a man with his hands on his hips looking at the viewer; arrows read ‘arranges hikes and then doesn’t go on them’ and ‘good at arguing’.

the second image is a collection of four digital drawings of thomas fairfax, a man with long dark hair, a moustache, and a beard. he is wearing seventeenth-century clothing. one is a full-body coloured drawing of him sitting in a chair facing away from the viewer with his legs folded and his hat on his knee. the other three are uncoloured: two are headshots of him as a young man and an older man, and the third shows him sitting at a table reading a piece of paper with an expression of concentration.

the third image is a coloured digital portrait of thomas fairfax as an older man. he is clean-shaven and has long dark hair and a scar across his cheek. he is wearing a dark doublet and a large white falling band, and is looking to the left of the image with a serious expression.

end image description.]