#incidentally i tried to have a look in their supposed tag(s)

[thatmightyheart]

developed a sudden and urgent fancy for royhavocai

#and promptly feverishly filled three silly little canvases about it #fullmetal alchemist #fullmetal alchemist brotherhood #roy mustang #riza hawkeye #jean havoc #royhavocai #jeanroyai #(??) #havoroyai #(??????) #havocai #royai #royhavoc #fma #fmab #long post // #incidentally i tried to have a look in their supposed tag(s) #let's just say.. i guess this one goes out to all of you [waving my hands like a dj to a sandy stretch of empty space] #i did leaf through the fma artbook i bought recently (really nice btw) and u know they're together a lot. arakawa likes them too. #my little designer brainpet is not completely unsupported. they're sooo standing next to each other and stuff

[aeide-thea]

This is a gentle request for any Geraskier fics you want to rec, because the number of them in the tag is a bit overwhelming but I KNOW there are gems in there 👀

i’m pretty sure i’ve reblogged things in the past! but it’s true that i haven’t done that in any systematic way, so—let’s see. under the cut are 20-ish recs alphabetized by author, which seemed like a good way of avoiding having to make any hierarchical declarations:

o, empathy by almostnectarine/@nectarine-pit: bodyswap! i forgot how much i loved this fic. geralt and jaskier walk a mile in each other’s shoes, and learn to appreciate each other better; this is keenly observed and thought-through, and frequently extremely funny. a thoroughgoing delight.

Jaskier pulled a face and swiveled the straps such that both swords almost fell from their scabbards at once, ruining the moment. “Geralt,” he said, “this leather itches. You’ve lived five lifetimes—” “Not that old,” said Geralt, in protest, and then, considering: “Maybe three.” “—and you never once thought, hm— oh, I see why you do that all the time, it is quite fun, isn’t it— hm, maybe I’ll add a little padding?!” His mimicry of Geralt’s tone was very good, although perhaps it was cheating, when the voice was already the same.

public displays of affection by autoschediastic/@bluesoaring: geralt and jaskier go to a sex party! (not to be confused with the other fic by sospes in which geralt and jaskier go to a sex party, which is also excellent.) if that wasn’t enough of a sell, well, you confuse me, but—the flavor of the power dynamic here is a little complex and unusual in a way i enjoyed, plus frankly the description of geralt stripped down for this party is really, uh. really A Lot. i admit to being biased in favor of sex party stories in general but this one is definitely a keeper.

to you always, also by autoschediastic/@bluesoaring: in which geralt is a demanding, insatiable bottom. ...honestly, this fic has significantly more emotional weight to it than that description might suggest, but i still stand by it. also the initial setup is just really funny to me, because jaskier getting hilariously outraged by geralt’s sheer infuriating geralt-ness is, like, my fave flavor of jaskier. (that’s a lie, every flavor of jaskier is my favorite flavor of jaskier, but i do really delight in this one.)

@blossomsinthemist’s mixing memory and desire series (wip) is basically my favorite thing ever, like, just truly perfectly crafted to please me personally. it’s h/c, and just astonishingly luxuriant and languorous and lovely—or, okay, let me actually just quote a comment i left on an early chapter:

this is just so exquisitely tender and molasses-lovely-sweet so far, my god the glimpses we get dimly through geralt’s hazy bemused perception of what jaskier’s feeling are so heart-clenchingly poignant—and then of course the glimpses of what geralt himself is feeling for jaskier without understanding it, this stunned rapt gratitude for everything jaskier is doing but also everything jaskier is, the lovely gentle sturdy solicitous gift he is & keeps making of himself to geralt, who would probably call it undeserved except that of course we can see precisely what in geralt has tugged this tenderness from jaskier, this terrible aching wounded gallantry that’s so astonished to meet with respite…

the meet death sitting (wip) series by @bomberqueen17 is my other favorite thing—much plottier than the previous, with a much wider cast of characters, and while i’m ultimately in it for the geralt/jaskier and therefore being strung along in exquisite agony while all sorts of plot things get in the way of any real resolution of that, it’s honestly worth it; what you lose in immediate gratification you gain in, like, a sense that this story inhabits a real, full world, with real events that aren’t just arranged to suit our heroes’ convenience. if i could only get you to read two things it would be this series and the previous one: between them they have my heart. anyway i guess i may as well quote myself again:

it’s the rich realistic interweaving of things that’s so remarkable here, how the absolute throat-thickening aches run abruptly up against the entirely mundane and all of it has to be coped with, because that’s life, and this story has life within it, in a realer way than probably anything else in the fandom, maybe anything else i’ve read in a long time. and of course a large part of me is so, so desperate for geralt and jaskier to finally come back together, with enough time and space to settle into a mutual secure tenderness instead of the current wordless, longing, poised-always-to-spring-away-like-deer-in-a-forest situation; but the story is coaxing me into a more adult patience, an appreciation for the smaller quieter incidental pleasures that aren’t the one subsuming great love, and then also teaching me to live with the wounds one inevitably acquired along the way, the pull and ache of those that makes the whole thing real, not a shining fantasy but a homely pie with a rich satisfying filling, savory and bolstering.

my body bruises at your touch by @brawlite: jaskier gets tied up by geralt as bait for the monster of the week, and discovers he likes it quite a bit. smut (and then aftercare) ensues.

demand an encore (wip) by emamel/@theaceace: jaskier is a witcher of the viper school, or used to be. he doesn’t remember it, but geralt does.

it’s been a while since i read this, but the way the layers slowly start fitting together is really satisfying: all the joy of what i think the kids call ‘identity porn,’ with the twist that here, it’s geralt who knows both identities, and jaskier who’s still in ignorance. ugh, i want chapter 3 now.

musica universalis by flirtygaybrit is bookverse and clearly so—it’s not romantic, but there’s a particular ambiguous flavor of solicitous tenderness that elevates this ‘friendly drunken hookup’ scenario to something memorable for me.

of cherries and dandelions by heyriel: in which a still-virginal jaskier bites off more than he can chew, and tries to disguise it until he can’t anymore. as i said to the author:

this is lovely and realistic in its navigation of, like, trying to Be Cool and the ways that can sometimes get you in trouble as a young sexplorer—geralt is so good to jaskier here and i’m having feelings about it!

also geralt uses a dildo on jaskier, which was not a thing i’d known i wanted before reading this, but it turns out i’m very decidedly here for it! i haven’t seen a ton of sex toys in geraskier fic and this story makes me wish there were more.

gentle-sharp and strange by lisztful has some excellent touch-starved pining geralt, also a performatively public bath scene with very satisfactory sexual tension, also an Ancient Tradition which is maybe the thing i remember most about this fic.

i know that you would want it (if i could sink my teeth into you) by objectlesson is... look, there’s an actual emotional arc to this story, but really what i always remember about it is that it’s got the most overwhelmingly visceral rimming scene i’ve maybe ever read? it’s a lot, it’s a gift, go read it.

@pasdecoeur has several stories that are very funny with some very piercingly erotic moments! briefly sketched in some ways and more pining than porny but no less effective for it.

benefits by @shastafirecracker is a pwp story in which jaskier is first surprised to find geralt wants him to top, and then determined to give geralt the best dicking he’s ever had. jaskier’s inner dialogue in this one is really fun; geralt’s exterior dialogue is true to the show in that it’s minimal but nonetheless includes a bad pun. :)

even a small love by shecrows/@leighway is like. you think you know how things are going to go, and then jaskier balks and it abruptly swerves sideways and develops a whole plot, and then comes back around to where it started, but deeper and better. don’t you love how you can summarize a fic without saying anything meaningful or even helpful about it? anyway: read this one.

snowmelt by silklace/@silkcoeur is a/b/o and somehow both extremely hilarious and extremely hot in full measure. the banter is a fucking delight but so are the tension/sex/feelings.

It wasn’t until they were well on the road away from town that it really hit him, though possibly he should have been paying attention to the way the backs of his knees had started sweating the minute he’d seen Geralt walking towards him outside of Yennefer’s manor, or to the way his throat had gone hot and dry despite the taste of sweetness still on the back of his teeth from the wine skin he’d pilfered from her pantry on his way out. In his defense, he’d still been recovering from spending the prior evening steadfastly spitting his insides up onto his outsides. Also, he tended to always get a little sweaty around Geralt, a fact they were both apparently extremely united in assiduously pretending was not happening.

the sevenfold path by star_flaming/@europeansdomusicalsbetter: in which jaskier is demonstrably extremely well educated, and geralt has feelings about it. (i also have feelings about it, but mine are in my pants.)

you are in my blood by @suzukiblu​: au where jaskier is a bruxa. this alters his character significantly—hard to be too skittish about bloodletting when you’re a vampire!—but the story’s so engaging you probably won’t care? plus, uh, hot. :)

Jaskier’s just debating how much trouble he’s actually in when Geralt, marvelously, talks them out of it. After that, well... Jaskier still wants to eat him very badly, but he supposes it’d be a bit ungrateful of him. Geralt isn’t very impressed with the song he writes for him, unfortunately—which, rude—but doesn’t try to run off and leave him either, so.. Well, Jaskier’s a bit smitten. A delicious-smelling witcher who can talk his way out of being murdered is very impressive. And he always has wanted a pet.

taran (@iamtaran)’s manhandling without plot series has no sex but lots of violent, compellingly visceral hijinks and i like to think of it as preslash. three times geralt hauls jaskier out of trouble.

Jaskier is flat on his back with his chemise rucked up to his armpits, salve burning on his bruised ribs, breathing hard; he is drunk, but not nearly as drunk as he was when he threw that first punch; Geralt is stupidly strong and has him pinned beneath one hand and the sheer girth of his own hips, looking grumpy and short on patience, and under everything—the aromatic menthol and chamomile smell of the salve, the aching of his cheek and lip, the relief of seeing Geralt just as upright and uninjured as he had been when he left, Jaskier is… He had thought he was furious. He still is, somewhat. Like… like a seed is a flower. It was, at first, before it became something else. And given enough time it might become such again. It is what it is in the meantime, however. Fury. Seeds.

last but not least, @toyhto​ has a bunch of fics that crack me the fuck up: geralt is unbelievably oblivious to his own emotions even as he acts on them, and it’s just—it’s so, so funny. also sometimes quite sweet, and sometimes quite painful! there’s a particular air of, i don’t know, almost see-spot-run impenetrability to the writing here that lends itself perfectly to the thing the stories are doing, where geralt is just operating totally on a surface level and, like, feelings are moving in the deep but he can’t quite see them...

...and that’s all for now! more to come later, maybe; but this seems like plenty for a first pass, and anyway i’m blurbed out.

#the witcher #geraskier #fic #recs

[freshouttaparsnips]

Reader is having a bad... life. Slim helps the only way he can.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

a comm fic for @sheewolf85 cause she’s been having a rough time <3333

tags: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Reader is not gendered, Reader is unnamed, Anxiety, Panic Attacks, Disabled Reader, Fat Reader, Short Reader, Good Boyfriend Slim, Reader is a weeb, Slim is a Weeb

read it on Ao3

or read it below!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You’ll find a real job one day, don’t worry about it.”

That’s what you’d heard the majority of your life, living with family and being around friends that didn’t really understand that you just… weren’t able to keep up with “real jobs”.

You had a bevvy of both emotional and physical issues, none of which were extremely terrible on their own (not that the neurotypicals would understand even if they were), but all together they made one hell of a horrid cocktail of hardship. Even if “other people” had it worse than you, you still struggled enough that actually working a regular, 9-5 job just wasn’t in the cards.

What you really wanted to do was write. It was your passion, your reason for living and creating. Yeah some of your “content” was on the darker side of the spectrum, but nothing about that made it any less fun to post what you’d written online just to see if anyone was going to get emotional because you’d nearly killed a main character off.

Which was, incidentally, how you met Papyrus.

He was into the same anime as you, which was how he found your fics in the first place. He loved the same characters, had some of the same ships (though the man had some wacky crack ships you wouldn’t even touch.)

To be completely honest, once the two of you had started talking over chat websites, you’d mostly hit it off about as perfect as it could have gone. The two of you just sorta… worked. He would commission you to write his ships you’d actually consider, and tipped crazy amounts for what he said were “masterpieces of literature”. You always told him off for it, but no matter how much you pleaded, he’d never let you give any of it back.

Once you realized that he lived no more than two hours from you, he mentioned a park you knew about and the two of you decided to meet up. For real.

It put butterflies in your stomach, thinking about meeting someone that had felt like nothing less than your soul mate for the past year. You knew he was a monster, that he was tall and had a deep, but kind voice. You’d done enough voice chats to know that he was a smoker, seeing as how he’d have a cig out after work when you usually chatted up.

He knew you were human, obviously with the questions you’d ask him about being a monster. He knew you weren’t that keen on your physical appearance, but not exactly what you looked like, and he knew that you were a little on the short side.

But as you walked into the clearing you’d agreed on, catching sight of a lanky skeleton monster standing at the end of the path, a bouquet of flowers in his hands, you almost didn’t believe it.

Not until he caught sight of you, wary hope in his eyes as he called out your name.

“Papyrus?” You answered, and a sparkle of real happiness lit in his eyelights as he all but jogged up to you, flowers forgotten at his side as he looked you up and down.

You were doing the same, noting that he looked… about how you figured he’d look. What from being from a Fellgrounds, the edgy nature of his outfit wasn’t that surprising. A dark purple sweater covered by a deep brown jacket, a crimson collar around his neck and a gold tooth replacing one of his canines. What was surprising was the cute bangle of a bracelet he was wearing around his wrist, the exact one you’d shipped him not 3 months before. On it were two charms, ones that were supposed to be a ship of his, but that he said reminded him of the two of you.

“I can’t believe this…” He murmured, smiling down at you, and you couldn’t help the tears that welled up in your eyes.

“Are those flowers for anyone special, mister skele man?” you teased, Papyrus chuckling as he held them up for you.

“Naw, just some fan I met online. I think we’re headed somewhere special, though.”

Blinking back the wet tears, you gently took them, sniffing once before gesturing with your cane down the short path. “Shall we then?”

And it went from there.

You’d eventually moved in together, when Papyrus found out about your money issues. He made bank, he claimed, so it made sense. Neither of you really thought about your relationship outside of the natural way you got together; cuddling on the slightly too small couch, making meals together as you bumped corners and laughed as you stepped on each other’s toes.

No, it was completely easy, loving Papyrus.

Which was why you had to wonder why it was so hard to love yourself.

You’d been getting a few not so great comments on a few of your last depression-fueled chapters, asking why you’d gone so down hill in your quality, and a few even asking if you’d copied a much more popular writer in fandom. It made your eyes sting with heat, reading them over and over until the words were burned into your mind.

It did nothing to help the low you were in, your body aching fiercely as you tried so hard to get out of bed that morning… only to fail miserably as you hoisted yourself onto your side into a more comfortable position.

Papyrus was out getting groceries, one of his self given chores, leaving you to make a sort of meal plan for the rest of the week based on what he was getting. He’d left you a list and everything, sitting on the kitchen counter downstairs, utterly ignored as you sighed heavily into your pillow.

You weren’t going to cry, not about this. Not whenever you were supposed to have thick skin as a writer. Criticism made you better, not worse, but… if that was the case, why did it hurt so much?

You had to wonder if there wasn’t just something extremely wrong with you. Surely there was, no one else would be crying because someone on the internet said something mean.

You didn’t deserve this life. Didn’t deserve living with your soulmate, didn’t deserve living in your own house with any food you could want at your beck and call, didn’t deserve Papyrus .

Blinking back the tears as they came, you choked on a sob as you thought about it. Papyrus didn’t deserve to be saddled with you, didn’t deserve your fat, ugly, lazy ass sleeping in his bed and eating his food while you did next to nothing to pay the bills.

You didn’t hear the front door open downstairs, didn’t hear Papyrus call your name and hurry up the stairs as he worriedly called for you again.

But as soon as you saw him come through the door, magic searching desperately for you, you sat up.

“I’m s-sorry, I-I’m sorr-ry, I’m-” you said over and over, sobbing ugly tears as Papyrus stepped forward instantly, silent as he gathered you up into his arms, holding you tightly to his chest. You kept saying them, apologies over and over for things you couldn’t name but knew he’d understand, he always understood.

Once you’d calmed down enough to feel shame, having to be coddled like a child by your boyfriend, Papyrus finally spoke.

“What are you sorry for?”

It was the worst question he could have possibly asked, but you owed him an answer. “Being a-a hor-rible partner.”

He shook his head, nuzzling into your hair in the way that never failed to make you melt.

“No, there’s no reason to apologize for that. Anything else?”

You stared off into space, befuddled. “For… for taking up your space?”

Papyrus grunted. “Nope. No reason for that either. Got a better one?”

Now you were squinting at the wall, brows furrowed. “I don’t know, for being a burden on you? I don’t pay any bills, I barely have enough to help with food and get my meds, I can’t help clean every day, I really need a bath and I’m sure I stink but you’re holding me anyways because I’m a big baby- ”

You stopped, taking in a deep breath, letting it out slowly as Papyrus’ grip around you loosened, just enough for him to stare down at you. The love in his eyes, the pure adoration nearly made you take another breath.

“Babe, I’m still not hearing any legitimate reasons for you to be sorry. You help with what you’re able, and because you got shit luck, that’s not a lot by healthy terms, but guess what?” He leaned down, kissing you lightly on the nose. “I don’t care about all that.”

You stared hard up at him. “You don’t?”

“Nope!” He answered brightly, before snuggling down with you on the bed. “Cause I got the best luck when I found you.”

Your mouth was open, eyes wide as you started crying again, only this time Papyrus was there to wipe away the tears, gently holding you as you kissed him.

#fresh writes #undertale #papyrus/reader #swapfell papyrus/reader #fluff #hurt/comfort #anxiety #panic attacks #self deprecation #but Slim is a good bf no worries

[paradise-of-guilty-pleasures]

Shattered Reflections {7}

[Helsa RP- Fanfic]

Fandom: Frozen

Genre: Post-Frozen/ Canon Divergence

- Hurt/Comfort, Drama, Romance

Pairing(s): Hans/Elsa, Kristoff/Anna

Previous Chapter: 6. Most Memorable

A/N:

Chapter 6  ⇑ ⇑ ⇑ didn’t really show up in the tags cause of the links, so I suggest you go read that first if you haven’t yet, because chapter 6-8 are all direct continuations and you don’t wanna miss out on the Helsa goodness.

7. Consequential Confidante

Hans was right, she had to stop blaming herself for everything, sometimes bad things just happen.

Correct the past in the present, not in the past we can't access. Those words stuck out to Elsa, they were a wise way of thinking about life. Focus on changing what can still be changed. She aspired to start taking those words to heart herself.

Elsa felt the shift in his hand holding hers, getting lost in her thoughts had almost made her forget she was holding it. She briefly glanced down at their hands before giving another firm squeeze.

She met his gaze accompanied by a reassuring smile. " Yes, you are doing a pretty good job correcting," she assured with a slight nod of her head.

Hans looked relieved, but he still couldn't ask for forgiveness, feeling he had not yet earned it. He just held her hand in supportive and appreciative silence for a moment.

"I just wish advice was as easy to take as it is to give. Perhaps if I listened to it, I could have avoided a lot of problems in life. But then, life wouldn't have led me here, I suppose. Perhaps it was worth it."

It was strange that he could say that, with the skin nearly flayed from his back and turned into ropy scar tissue, bandages still covering his torso, a criminal in a foreign country.

But, from his perspective: He was an undeserving wretch holding the hand of the Ice Queen of Arendelle, who could have killed him as easily as looked at him. He had survived what he was not meant to survive on multiple occasions, and now he was in a spare room of a castle, holding the Queen's hand as if they were friends, or perhaps something else.

Not to say he could do that without guilt. No, he felt the guilt every day, each as strong as the last. But she didn't need to know that. She didn't need to know how he would have sooner hanged than hear what Anna thought of him to his face, or how he thought every day about how things could or should have been different.

Perhaps it was implied in what he said: He was very bad at following his own advice.

"Life doesn't always give you want, I know that for certain, but if you're lucky it gives you what you need."

Elsa had once believed she was bound to continue living as a recluse in her own castle. The gates would be forever closed  after the coronation and everything would return to ‘normal’, because some things never change. Yet, life had a different plan.

Hans, his proposal and Anna's persistence had unknowingly become the catalyst that incidentally revealed Elsa's secret, which in turn started a chain reaction. Unfortunately the end results were Hans' treason.

Even though Elsa would never really remember all that transpired during the coronation incident fondly, she was still grateful of the doors it opened just for happening. She reconnected with her sister, finally let go, and found her freedom. It had also made other things possible that might not have happened otherwise, like Anna meeting Kristoff, the creation of Olaf, and finally; reopening the gates of Arendelle.

But just because things with Hans ended tragically during the coronation, didn’t mean they would have been better off without him, because if it weren't for him helping set off the reaction, some things might have never changed.

Elsa believed some things happened for a reason. Did she believe in destiny? Not exactly. She didn't see fate as something set in stone, but more like something that gave you opportunities, and how you use them is up to you.

"Very true." He agreed softly. He watched her as she got lost in thought, and he felt something. He wasn't sure what. Some degree of peace? Loyalty? Admiration seemed closest at the moment. He admired her beauty and her strength, her softness and her wisdom. Wisdom didn't always mean knowing everything, but accepting knowledge when it came.

"Shall I tell another story? Or have you other questions for me, Your Majesty?" He asked after a long moment, both seemingly lost in their own separate thoughts.

His questions brought her out of her thoughts. Listening to another story would be nice, she really enjoyed those a lot. Yet, there were still many unanswered questions.

There was a knotty question in particular that was eating away at her, it was probably best not to ask, for she may regret asking it for she not might like the answer, yet curiosity seemed to get the best of her.

So, against her better judgement, she dared to ask anyway.

" So, what did you really think of Anna?"

Hans thought about his response a bit.

"She's a sweet girl, a little naive, but that's not her fault. She's cute and endearing, and she needs someone who can listen to her and make sure she feels listened to. She's determined, too-- and has a right hook that could compete with my brothers." He laughed and touched his jaw, remembering that punch.

"She punched me off the boat." He laughed a little at that memory. "She's determined and wants to be taken seriously, she's impatient and excitable. If she weren't a princess I would advise she go spend some time exploring. If she got a little training and world-wise, she would be a fine pirate, I would wager." That was as much a joke as anything.

"Or are you asking my feelings for her? I consider her a good princess, and someone I wish I hadn't had to disappoint so thoroughly. I'd sooner she never see me again, if at all humanly possible."

His insight on her sister was reassuring, she was pleased that he spoke highly of her.

She wasn't exactly sure what she had been inquiring about herself, his real thoughts, feelings or maybe she just wanted to find an opening to tell him Anna was all right, after everything that happened.

" Anna was lucky to have found Kristoff then, he's a great listener."  She smiled thinking of the gentle mountain man and how much he loved her sister.

" She truly is a free spirit, and had she been a pirate she would surely have wrought some havoc," she lightly laughed.

Elsa paused and her face began to grimace.

"I wish not to disappoint her myself... I forbade her from going to see you in the dungeon afraid of what she might do..." she was worried about Anna's well-being as well as Hans' come they cross paths." I have yet to inform her you are no longer there...and I'm afraid of upsetting her."

Hans listened, and smiled a bit. "Kristoff... the big mountain man, I assume? He seemed honest. Don't think I heard two words from him, but that's the impression I got." He shrugged.

"Thank you for that. It's not the violence I fear, anything she can do to me I'll bear without a word, but it's the disappointment and anger that hurts. I don't get to feel bad about it, though. I did this to myself. Maybe I was wrong, maybe everything would have turned out fine without my being a villain, I can't know. But it was so much easier to be a villain at the time and let her be angry with me, than for 'true love's kiss' not to work and for her to be disappointed in me, or worse, herself. Maybe that makes me a coward. It wouldn't be the first time I took the coward's route." He looked down at his hands, pulling his from hers to fold them in his lap. No, He didn't feel he deserved forgiveness of any stripe.

Elsa nodded to confirm his inquiry about Kristoff.

Elsa had once again forgotten their hands were intertwined until he retracted his hand from hers, letting the warmth that once surrounded it dissipate.

She drew back her hand balling it up against her chest. Elsa pursed her lips and they both sat silently for a moment.

She took in a breath as she opened her mouth to speak.

" Anna's frozen heart will always be my fault." Even if it was by accident, and Anna had easily forgiven her, she couldn't yet forgive herself, it was a guilt that continued to consume her, she had almost killed her sister, yet again.

" I'm sorry you felt caught between a rock and a hard place, and thought you were forced to choose the lesser of two evils," she apologized, for the circumstances. " Don't get me wrong, I don't condone your actions, but I do understand them."

"But, I don't believe a 'true love's kiss' would have saved Anna regardless if you actually loved her, I don't think true love works like that," she rationalized. "I don't know much about love myself, but I believe true love is unconditional and requires time. It isn't something that just happens between two strangers overnight, like in fairy tales, I’m afraid that’s just misinterpreting infatuation, and not actually true love." She briefly paused. She would have mentioned the only unconditional love she happening overnight would be parental love, that love between parents and their newborn child, but refrained herself from doing so, realizing that not everyone is lucky enough to have parents that felt that way.

"I believe what really ended up saving Anna was...her own selflessness." Elsa's voice grew softer. "She gave up her chance of saving herself...in order to save... me." There was a slight trembling in her tone. "Her sacrifice was the act of true love... she saved herself by saving me..." She paused as she tried to gulp down the lump that had grown in her throat. Talking about Anna's Frozen Heart on the fjord was hard on Elsa, she was getting teary-eyed. She took a deep breath,to keep herself from crying. "I love Anna with all my heart...but I feel my love is selfish compared to hers," Elsa thought of how Anna had never given up on her, even after the countless times Elsa had pushed her out and shut the door in her face. Elsa didn't think she was strong enough to endure that same pain Anna had without giving up hope.

" I can't think of any other way...we would all be here today...had you...had things not..." She clenched her fist tighter and inhaled again.

" We can never know for sure...how things would have played out differently. But, like you yourself said in the throne room, and I also believe, it was a rather-- miraculous outcome, to say the least."

"If you think yourself a coward, that makes me one as well. Had I stayed rather than run away, everything could have been prevented."

She spiraled into blaming herself for everything again, it was a habit that was hard to break.

Elsa hadn't noticed she had chilled the room as she spoke.

Hans watched her devolve into self-hate and near tears with a look of sympathy. She was clearly so deeply upset-- and in front of a prisoner.

No, he couldn't still be a prisoner. Prisoners did not see the Queen cry. Whatever he was, things had changed. He wasn't sure why. His focus was elsewhere.

He took her cold hands in his and knelt in front of her on the floor, to warm her.

"Hey, hush now." He cooed softly, familiar words from long ago, ones she wouldn't know the way he did. He reached up to pet her hair.

"Stop this thought, you're killing yourself slowly, and one day you'll think like this and make the last decision you'll ever make, forgetting all the people around you who would never be the same. Your sister, your servants, your people, your guards, Kristoff, your snow-creations, myself. There must be a hundred names you know, faces you remember, people who would shed a thousand tears if they knew what pains drove you here. Don't make my mistakes. I made that decision once, someone else stopped me, and I saw the cost of thinking this way for everyone else.  Stop feeding your hate, even if it's hate for yourself, even if it's disguised as sorrow. You have made mistakes, had accidents, but you were never a treasoner. You never raised a sword to another intending to kill. You are a wondrous person and if you keep thinking the way you are, I fear we all may one day find that wondrous person missing from our lives forever. I know too many who would never bear that thought."

He spoke quietly, almost in a rush, but always with genuine-seeming care and concern, her hands clasped in his, on one knee on the cold stone without sign of discomfort, looking up at her.

He was alluding to some uncomfortable things. Whether she understood them, he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

Elsa's hands tightly clasped to his with a slight tremble. She looked down at him with her blue eyes welled up with tears.

The return of his warmth was comforting. His cooing and tender touches had momentarily soothed her. She'd continued to fight back the tears, but to no avail, his words failed to console her heavy heart and she began to weep.

Elsa understood what he was implying, and recognized what decision he had intended to take, before being stopped by someone. The easy way out, the thought that briefly crossed her own mind up at the North Mountain, of the world better off without her. It hurt her heart to hear, he had impelled to take such an action. She wondered what had provoked him to do so, and dreaded to think it might have been his remorse.

"I-I would never...I love...Anna... Arendelle... too much to ever... make them suffer because of me again." She murmured, with a sniffle.

Her whole body began to quiver.

"But I can't help, but feel guilty... the mistakes I made shouldn't be brushed off as if they were nothing or pretend they never happened... just because I am Queen... they were fatal mistakes...I may not be deemed a treasoner...but...people almost lost their lives...one of being...my own sister and all because of...me.

"...And yet Anna keeps telling me... 'It's alright'...because I didn't mean to..but is it really all right?..Does my intention really matter?..A life lost is a lost life... and it would have been...blood on my hands... no matter what.

"I know... love is the key...to my ability...but deep down... I'm still afraid... if I... if I...accidentally lose control again...I could actually end up...killing someone...with-without a second thought."

Tears rolled down her cheeks.

She was letting out the hidden darkness that kept eating away at her heart, thoughts that often kept her up at night, to a man that almost killed her himself, nonetheless. Why? Why did she feel compelled to pour her heart out this man? Why not confide in Anna? Her sweet sister who deeply loved her. Or maybe Kristoff? Who was wise and always willing to listen. Why did it have to be him? Why Hans?..Why?

Maybe, because out of everyone, he was the only one that could truly understand her.

Hans was surprised she would weep in front of him. It was heartbreaking, truly. But, he could see something had shifted between them. He was something more than a prisoner, though still something less than a person. Still, so were the fey, and they seemed to have sway here.

"Hey, shh, shh, it's alright." He cooed, dimly remembering the same gentleness from his father, as he reached up to brush away her tears with warm hands.

"You're trapped in an awful paradox. To be responsible you have fears, but every fear makes your powers tremble to fix it like a dog after a stick. What can you do? Stop viewing this as fear, that's the dark side, that part that blocks out the sun and gives the ice room to grow. It's your love of others that recedes the shadows and melts the ice. It's the love of your sister, your people, your kingdom that makes you so concerned for them. There will not be blood on your hands, you are too kind, for your ice to let anyone truly die. I have seen that for myself." She, he had heard, was in the room while the doctor fixed his back. She had seen the damage and the scars, infections and blood. She stood by and assisted through it all. That was not the work of a killer.

"Sit with me, you should have a shoulder to cry on, and for all my injury, my shoulders are fine." He joked a little, to encourage her to move to sit on his bed with him, that he could hold her and let her cry.

Was it proper, for a queen and her prisoner? No. None of it was. But he recognized that something was different.

'They'll never see me cry!'

Elsa had once told herself. And yet look at her now, sitting here sobbing like a child. She'd failed to conceal and not feel yet again.

Was it improper for a queen to let herself cave in and weep ( especially in front of a man she'd ruled her prisoner)? By all means, yes. Ill-advised? Most certainly. Starting to lament it? Without a doubt. But, had it been a mistake? That was something that was yet to be determined.

She nodded at his offer, shifting her body to sit next to his (once he sat), with little to no reluctance. She was already weeping, it could be no worse to allow herself some solace.

Elsa slightly leaned her head upon his shoulder. One hand grasping at his shirt.

"I'm sorry," she muttered under her breath.

Hans pulled Elsa closer so she could rest against his chest. In truth, it was not his shoulder he felt she needed, but the rest of him. To be held and recognize another human being close to her, recognizing her pain.

"You never need to apologize to me. You did nothing to me that I didn't do to myself." He assured gently. It had been his choices, his responses that got him where he was. He stroked her hair and held her as if they had always been friends, or perhaps as something else.

"Cry all you like, I'll not tell a soul. Sometimes it's all we can do to stay sane. And when you're done, I'll make a fool of myself to brighten your spirits, make you laugh."

Even weeping, she was beautiful. It was a heart-rending scene, and in a way, he was glad he was a prisoner there. It was easier, he suspected, to give secrets to a man who could have none of his own. To someone who would speak to no-one. By rights, Arendelle, and Isles law, he was hers to command, and he had no problems with that. He wondered if she fully recognized that.

Elsa's body naturally tensed up at the shift, though she didn't not resist Hans pulling her closer. His embrace was warm, much like that of the blankets she would often nestle herself in, when she sought comfort from Anna and a cup of cocoa.

She did not try to force her tears to stop, fearing it might cause her to sob even harder than just allowing them to flow. Even if she hated feeling so vulnerable crying, it did seem to be easing her aching heart.

His gentle hair stroking was soothing. For the longest time she heard nothing but the sounds of her own whimpering. Her ear was pressed up against his chest, she tried to focus her attention on Hans' respiration, his breath was calm and steady compared to hers, she slowly tried to make hers replicate his. She closed her eyes and listened more attentively to hear his heart, it's beat soft and it's rhythm calming.

After staying like that for a while, her tears had stopped flowing and she felt she had calmed down significantly.

She slowly shifted, bringing up her hands pushing her palms against face brushing away the remnants of her tears. She looked up at Hans as she sat up.

"Thank you, " Elsa whispered, followed by a sniffle.

"Of course." Hans assured, watching her with softness in his eyes. "Did I tell you about the depth of symbolism, in a man of the Isles surrendering his sword? It is to a noble similar to giving up a crown. My loyalties are yours." Maybe he shouldn't have said it, but he thought that perhaps it might distract her from her woes. He reached up to help dry her eyes, affectionate and caring. He had some fondness for her, even if he really shouldn't have.

Elsa's heart skipped a beat and felt her face flushing. She wasn't sure if it was brought about by: the softness green eyes, the weight of his words or maybe their proximity was finally sinking in, all three together were a bit overwhelming.

"Uh-I wasn't aware of that." she said, shaking her head. "You only told me was that the surrender sword belonged to me now and you couldn't have another unless gifted back by Arendelle, I believe." Elsa tried her best to keep eye-contact but her blue eyes kept dancing back and forth trying to escape his gaze.

"Yes, it goes a little deeper than that. It's a willing lack of defense. What's more, Nobody held a knife to my throat or threatened my family. I came willingly and gave you my sword, my loyalties are yours and your command is mine to take. Even if I were to receive lands, unless a sword is gifted to me first, they would traditionally fall to you instead. Of course, whether or not that works in practice is another question, it's a medieval tradition in this modern age. But I like to hold to our sword traditions. A prisoner, of course, has no rights to weapons or lands to begin with. But I'd have given over my sword anyway. Else, why bother getting a facsimile made? It was only a symbolic fill-in, there's no purpose to that for a prisoner who didn't come willingly. Hm, all this to say, I can have my uses. If that use is to be a confidant, then that's my use. I certainly won't judge you for your tears, one of us should be able to have them." He reached up a hand to brush his thumb below her eye, as if to wipe away any remnants of tears she may have had. He did have some fondness for her. Maybe he shouldn't have, but he did.

Maybe in a way he always had.

Hans was supposed to be her prisoner, but he definitely wasn't one anymore, she didn't know what he was to her now, exactly. A friend perhaps? Not quite, but he most certainly seemed to have become an incidental confidant. She no longer saw him as a prisoner, that’s for sure, something prevented her from seeing him as such, his humanity perhaps or maybe something else. Whatever it was Elsa was just now starting realizing she might have gotten herself in too deep.

Hans' thumb brushing against her skin made her whole face tingle. Her face felt unbearably warm, either from the heat coming off his skin or from the flush growing warmer, most likely both. She didn't understand why a simple touch had made her reaction in such a way, when she had been far closer to him mere moments ago.

"Thank you," she replied to his words, not knowing how else to respond, being slightly flustered.

Hans hesitated a moment there, though to what end was anyone's guess.

"Cold will reduce the evidence of tears, I daresay you have that handled. I imagine you've been here a fraction too long for the guards' liking. Luckily, nobody asks us questions."

He drew back from her, distancing and giving her reasons and advice, as if he was something to hide, as well as her and her tears. In his life, tears were forbidden. He hadn't had them since his childhood, at least not that he would admit. It was much more becoming on women.

When Hans began retracting himself from Elsa (and even if her face was burning because of his proximity), there was a force within her wishing he wouldn't, like the resistance of pulling two magnets apart. She had grown accustomed to his warmness, in every sense of the word, and did not wish to lose it. He was absolutely right though. Elsa might overstayed her welcome, she had just broken down in tears in front of him after all, something that should absolutely not be happening, especially between a queen and her supposed prisoner. Even if she knew he was right, there was a part of her that didn't wish to leave yet.

"You're right, I really should go...but if I leave now, my breath might still give me away." Elsa stated. "Even with no questions asked they might still assume."

Though it was true that she still had a slight puffing to her breath that she could not yet control, it might have been more of Elsa giving herself an excuse to let herself stay, if only a tad bit longer.

Sure the guards could assume she'd been crying, but they could be assuming far worse then her shedding tears, yet that didn't really cross her mind.

Hans smiled a little in spite of himself.

"Her Majesty is right again." He admitted, amused.

"Shall I tell another amusing story then? Perhaps loudly so the guards might be entertained? We could make a game of it, see if we can make them laugh through the wall. I was never very good at Improvisation, but I might try nonetheless if it would make you laugh. Or worse, I'll try puns and jokes. I have a good many musical ones." He did like to play games and tell stories. Despite the sadness of his life, he enjoyed it when everyone was having a good time. That was the only time he liked to be noticed.

#Helsa #Iceburns #Hans x Elsa #Frozen #Frozen FanFiction #Shattered Reflections

[ganymedesclock]

What do you think the difference(s) between Kuron and Shiro are/were? Idk if you've discussed it before, but it'd be cool to see your take on it.

So my two cents honestly haven’t changed much since where they started in s3e5 when Ryou first showed up. (And I’m obstinate about not calling him Kuron- that’s not who he is that’s what Haggar did to him.)

That is to say: Shiro and Ryou are identical people. The one thing Josh Keaton says in his depiction of Ryou is that Ryou is a little shorter-tempered and impatient, and that’s not a difference of character.

Ryou is effectively just an exact duplicate of Shiro who was retraumatized where he felt safe and has a long, growing fear that he can’t trust his own thoughts and feelings. We’ve got abundant evidence before the switch from Shiro to Ryou that getting snappy and belligerent is Shiro’s stress response. 

S2e10 is one example, and it’s not because Slav is supposed to be abnormally annoying- remember, we don’t see anybody else lose their cool with Slav anywhere near the magnitude Shiro does. Other people can be at worst a little flustered or exasperated with Slav being overly intrusive in his curiosity, finicky or doing things that don’t make that much sense from the outside perspective (hitting the teludav with a rock) but both Lance and Pidge completely gape at Shiro when he loses it on Slav in s2e11.

And we’ve seen Shiro plenty pushy about his way before. For most of s2 he was bashing ahead on working with the Blade of Marmora and repeatedly pushing Allura on the subject whether or not she was comfortable. The only reason Shiro didn’t then take the route he did in s5e4 was because Allura caved and agreed to meet Ulaz and then his organization. If she’d refused either in s2e3 or s2e8, I would bet good money that just like in s5e4, Shiro would eventually walk out of the conversation and some time later, the Black Lion would conveniently go missing.

Shiro is characterized through the virtues of the Black Paladin as being a force of personality. Part of that is charisma, but here’s the thing about a natural leader- they’re a “natural leader” when you agree with them. When you don’t, they’re horribly bossy and stubborn.

If you’re a person who naturally and quickly takes charge of situations, that’s who you are. You don’t somehow become automatically patient and understanding in the face of setbacks when, from your perspective, there’s an obvious solution right there that just needs people to listen to you like usual and do what you tell them and it’ll help everyone.

This is not to say Shiro’s a bad or unsympathetic person- or even that he consistently lacks patience! But Shiro’s patience and empathy has to fight that Black Paladin strength of will and calculating mind- there’s a reason he focuses so much on the importance of patience and remind both himself and others that people aren’t obligated to follow if they don’t need to.

There’s a reason Shiro takes people like Lubos and Zarkon who abuse their followers’ trust and reverence for personal gain, so incredibly personally. Because if he chose to just give in, become impatient and forceful, that’s a person he could become. It isn’t, because that’s consistently how he chooses not to be.

For my intents and purposes, I consider Shiro and Ryou as interchangeable people. I don’t believe we witnessed anything that would really fundamentally set one as separate from the other. You have to remember that Ryou had Shiro’s memories- all of them- and plenty of time to dwell on those memories. Ryou, also, like Shiro, is a Black Paladin in that exact same vein, which means he’d spend a lot of time thinking very hard and poking at those memories.

If there was an inconsistency in Ryou’s personality to Shiro’s, if there was something other than “Ryou is snappier on account of being under greater stress and to a greater degree than his predecessor, afraid of himself” thumping away under the hood, Ryou would notice. He would see the inconsistency in the memories that he thought were his own, he’d come to the alarming conclusion that he can’t understand why his past self made the decisions he did.

Ryou doesn’t notice- and neither does anyone else around him, including Keith, who knew Shiro for years. The only time Ryou confesses he doesn’t feel like himself, he’s obviously not talking about the normal “oddity” of being a duplicate of Shiro that he’s been used to for months now. He’s talking about the negative symptoms of Haggar’s power over him.

It’s also worth noting that during the same span of time, the few times we see disembodied Shiro and Ryou reacting to similar stimuli, they mirror each other. In s5e3, Shiro tries to warn Lance- Lance brings it up to Ryou, not realizing the distinction, and Ryou’s response is not to blow it off or dismiss it, but confess that something strange happened and he’s not certain. And Ryou gives Lance his own S.O.S. in s5e6 afterwards, with very similar tonality.

Furthermore, we have to remember that the only reason Shiro appeared to Lance at all was because Ryou functionally acted as his accomplice and set him up- it was Ryou that socketed the Black Bayard which “boosted” Shiro’s wayward spirit strong enough to let him try to communicate with Lance. Which, that in particular is interesting to me, because it would seem to imply on a soul level, Shiro and Ryou are the same person.

After all, Ryou became a paladin in s4e1. Black chose to trust him. And we have to consider in s5e3, Lance socketing the Red Bayard didn’t boost Keith into the astral plane. So the bayards don’t boost their “true” original wielder- they boost their current holder.

At the time of s5e3, that current holder was Ryou. Logically, Ryou should have appeared in the astral field.

He didn’t. Original Shiro did.

The one time Ryou’s essence was projected into the Black Lion, it didn’t manifest separately from Shiro, but rather, amplified and strengthened Shiro himself.

The kicker here? The only way you can tell Ryou and Shiro apart in their paladin armor is by looking at their hair. Unlike when Shiro talks to Keith in s6e6, where his head is clearly visible... the Shiro we see in s5e3 has his head obscured.

Yes, original Shiro takes credit for it- he says that he was trying to warn Lance that he’d been switched out. But I don’t think he was exactly alone.

Because again- logically since Lance was projected into the field by the red bayard but not Keith, and Allura being able to enter the field by the blue bayard- Ryou should be here. And Ryou, recalling, says that everything “went black” when he socketed the bayard, which would sure imply he went somewhere.

I think, without realizing it, original Shiro temporarily absorbed Ryou in that scene. Lance wasn’t just talking to the disembodied s1-s2 Shiro.

This would give us a precedent for s6e7 and what seems to have happened with white-haired Shiro, and, thus, my thesis of this entire post:

Ryou and Shiro, on a soul level, are so similar that they can merge into a single cohesive person without even realizing the difference. 

This is why I don’t tag Ryou as his own character, incidentally- and something that kept me away from clone theory for a long time, because while I was ambivalent to the idea that it wasn’t the same Shiro, I deeply detested the angle which was commonly taken with it- where people acted as if traits Shiro’s consistently exhibited all along are somehow wildly different in Ryou when they’re. not, really.

TL;DR in my honest opinion, Ryou is just a version of Shiro under very specific stresses that make him slightly snappier and this is the only functional difference.

#voltron legendary defender #vld #Shiro #readmore #Anonymous

[subasekabang]

Death of the Author

Author: Leasspell Dael Rating: T Word Count: ~11,500 Pairings/Characters: Pre-Neku/Minamimoto; Neku, Minamimoto, Rhyme, Beat, Shiki, Joshua, Hanekoma Warnings: Canon-Typical Discussion of Death, Depression, Swearing/Profanity

Summary: The Game is over, Neku and his new friends are alive, and Shibuya is still kicking. Trauma doesn't fade that quickly though and Neku struggles to process everything he went through--everything he learned. No matter how much he hangs out with his friends and tries to enjoy his new life, there's a darkness inside him he's desperate to hide.

Found-object art starts cropping up all over Shibuya, and Neku's pretty sure he's seen Minamimoto out of the corner of his eyes in the crowds. With Joshua and Mr. Hanekoma MIA, this might be Neku's one chance to get closure.

The question: is Neku willing to risk a meeting with the Reaper to settle old ghosts?

Neku keeps going back.

To Hachiko. The Scramble Crossing. Ten-Four. CAT's mural.

He keeps going back, and Neku doesn't know why. It's not just the incidental travels when he's going about Shibuya with his friends; he wanders at night when he can't sleep--

no timer no blankness no missing-time

--when he's alone and has no goals besides the passing of time.

He keeps going back.

He keeps seeing ghosts.

Not real ghosts; not Reapers or Players or Noise. Just--

777's collar spinning to a stop on the ground flowers under an overpass a small café littered with broken glass

--memories and nightmares; the souvenirs of a game he never asked to play.

Sometimes Neku visits the landmarks with purpose. Hachiko to meet up with Shiki, Beat, and Rhyme. CAT's mural in Udagawa to talk at Joshua. Shops where he's built relationships with the employees. Each visit part of his efforts to reconcile the Shibuya of his past with the Shibuya of the Game with the Shibuya he now lives in.

Some days he backslides; puts on his headphones and shuts out the world. He's not a saint, and change is hard. Some days Neku lives so thoroughly in the present, he can forget when he was alone; can forget when every day was a shot of adrenaline that never stopped.

Some days he checks his phone incessantly for a mission that will never appear and scratches at his hand to soothe an itch from a timer that will never count down to zero.

Given all of this bullshit scrambling his brains as he tries to survive one day after the other, Neku thinks he can be forgiven for thinking Sho Minamimoto was a figment of his imagination.

The truth started with a bullet.

Fucking Joshua.

CRACK his backside meets the asphalt it feels like there's cotton in his ears somehow he still hears...

"Blew it..."

"Ew; that's tacky."

"I think it's kinda creative. A commentary on our consumerist society; both judging and part-of..."

Neku looked up from where Beat was showing him a skateboard trick. In theory Rhyme was showing Shiki the same thing, but it sounded like they'd gotten distracted.

Across the plaza, sat a heap of junk. Not the towering monstrosities that Pi-Face had left littered around the UG in Neku's second week, but a person-shaped sculpture of found objects, wagging a scolding finger at the viewer.

It was similar enough to make the blood drain from Neku's face though. Beat just scowled.

"Maybe," Shiki conceded, face still twisted in a grimace. Looking over to the boys, mouth opened to say something--ask them for backup maybe--she came to a complete stop. Her eyes widened a fraction, before she glanced over her shoulder at the abomination.

Face hardening, Shiki scooped up her board in one arm and looped arms with Rhyme using her other, dragging them both over to Neku and Beat.

"Let's bounce; Towa Records has a sale on today I didn't want to miss."

Neku wasn't sure why he always went to CAT's mural in Udagawa whenever he wanted to talk to Joshua. He'd tried visiting the sewer access to the Composer's lair, but in the RG it was nothing but a storm drain. It didn't feel like anything special, except that his memories told him otherwise.

The Cat Café remained closed, though its insides were pristine when viewed through the window.

Minamimoto's rampage had occurred in the UG after all.

With the café closed, Neku had no way to contact Mr. Hanekoma; no way to reach out to Josh. Their numbers were no longer in his phone.

So he'd wandered over to Udagawa, crossing through alleys until he found CAT's last mural.

The paint was already beginning to peel--CAT had always made his murals transitory, but usually something new would crop up before the old one disappeared--but Neku still found comfort in it. He ran his hand along the wall, chips of paint flicking off with his progress, taking in the details that had yet to fade. Living in the moment.

Until his hand hit a pit in the concrete.

Jarred back into reality, Neku looked at the imperfection in the wall and felt his blood run cold.

It was a bullet-hole.

Suddenly, Neku was back in the moment of his death as Joshua loomed above him, gun pointed straight at Neku's heart--

--except, that didn't make sense.

Whipping around, Neku saw the spot where he had lain all those weeks ago. It was meters away. Wandering over, there was a matching bullet hole in the asphalt.

Returning to the wall, he ran his hand lightly over the imperfection.

"So where did you come from, then?" Joshua had only needed one bullet to take Neku out.

Then again, they hadn't been alone in the alley that day.

I blew it...

And Neku wasn't the only one who was shot.

Beat was fretting.

In any other circumstance, Neku would probably take the opportunity to tease his friend mercilessly. Beat took such pride in his 'tough man' attitude, that the mother-henning was a little adorable.

But it was about Rhyme, and for their group that would probably always make such teasing too soon.

Specifically, it was about Rhyme's ambitions. Or lack-thereof.

"But she has all of her memories back, right?" Shiki asked quietly.

Snorting, Beat crossed his arms defensively across his chest, kicking at a pebble as they wandered by A-East. "She knows things I forgot 'bout. She's still as smart--as skilled--as she's always been.

"Just... she's not doin' anything with it anymore. Tags along with me more often than not."

Unlike Shiki and Neku whose friends-groups pre-Game had been, respectively, small and non-existent, Beat had a large group of connections he spent time with, and Rhyme had had her own. While Beat had made the effort to reconnect with his other friends, Rhyme hadn't.

Apparently, she hadn't been doing much of anything.

Today was a rare day where she was separated from Beat's side by a group project she was doing for school, and Beat had wasted no time bringing his concerns to them.

"It just don't make no sense! Rhyme always had a million million things she was lookin' to do. Didn't have time for it all. We'd havta plan times to skateboard together just to make sure we had time to do it! Did... Did something go wrong?"

When they were brought back, Beat meant. When Rhyme was restored.

"She's been through an ordeal, Beat. We all have. And she's the youngest of all of us," Shiki was explaining gently, her hand lightly placed on Beat's forearm where the boy was clutching his hat in frustration. "If she's a bit clingy for a while, that's to be expected."

Neku followed along behind them, silently thinking that Shiki was wrong.

Well, not that Shiki was wrong. Shiki was absolutely right.

But Beat was too.

Neku feared that Rhyme wasn't going to get better, like Shiki was claiming would happen with time.

"I really admire how he has a goal and is giving his all to reach it! I wish I had something like that..."

"Rhyme was always the one with dreams and ambitions. I just said that thing about being the best skater so she'd stop looking so lost..."

"You fool! Her memories weren't her entry fee-- They were yours!"

Rhyme didn't get her entry fee back. Neku got his memories and Shiki back, Shiki her appearance, and Beat got Rhyme's memories. They were all brought back to life, but only Rhyme's fee had been kept.

Why? Because even though she was brought back, she had lost?

"Your entry fee has already been collected."

And what did that mean for Neku, who won every Game except for the last?

Still, Neku didn't know anything for sure. No point is upsetting Beat more than he was.

10-4 had one of Pi-face's statues sitting in front of it.

Shiki made a face as she dragged a snarling Beat into the shopping centre. Beat needed 'something nice' to wear to an interview for a part-time job and had made the mistake of mentioning this in Shiki's hearing. Neku kept strategically silent to prevent her focus from shifting onto him. Rhyme was giggling over their antics, which was always a win.

The statue caught Rhyme's attention, so Neku paused with her, grimacing slightly at it.

The core of it had once been a shopping cart--maybe two of them--but the wires had been beaten and reworked into a vaguely human shape. The framework was then papered-over with shopping bags from all the different stores in the centre.

It was trash and an eyesore, but at least it wasn't a literal heap of garbage like they had been in the UG.

"We are what we consume..." Rhyme murmured, her outstretched hand gliding over the contours of the shape, never quite touching. Hovering over an oddly placed wheel sticking out from a shoulder, she finally made contact, sending the wheel spinning before stepping back to observe it as a whole. "Do we move society, or does society move us?"

Neku looked at the statue, and just saw trash. "You really get all of that from this?"

Despite Beat's concerns about her ambition, Rhyme didn't seem unhappy. In fact, she turned to Neku with a beaming smile. "Oh yes! The artist has put so much passion into their work. They must have a lot of drive to be making so many in such a short amount of time!"

Plenty of time when you're dead, Neku supposed. "Sounds like you're a fan."

A blush dusted her cheeks, but Rhyme didn't look down or ashamed of her enthusiasm. Instead, she elbowed Neku in the ribs, a teasing grin twitching her lips. "Kinda like how you feel about CAT, right?"

CAT...

Mr. Hanekoma...

CAT's artwork was a major inspiration for Neku. Even back when he was too self-absorbed to actualize the message, he'd felt it:

Seize The Day.

During the Games, Mr. Hanekoma had been Neku's rock, the one person he trusted to lay out the rules and show him how to navigate the challenges.

Until the last week.

Why had Mr. Hanekoma been helping Pi-face? If he was helping Minamimoto, why was he there when Josh shot him the second time?

Why had he looked so gleeful?

To say Neku's feelings about CAT were complicated was an understatement.

Much like his feelings for Joshua.

"Yeah," he confirmed to Rhyme, not wanting to voice his thoughts out loud. "CAT's a big inspiration for me. Do you think you'd want to do something like these... things?"

The world went quiet.

Rhyme's eyes widened before she hunched in slightly, darting her eyes over to the Consumerist Nightmare that had so caught her attention. The blush on her cheeks deepened.

"Do... do you think I could?" she asked, a tremor in her voice Neku didn't think he'd ever heard from her before.

Oh god, do something better

Choose something more meaningful

Why would you want to

Neku squashed all of the negative thoughts. It didn't matter what he thought.

"Of course," he told her, slinging an arm around her shoulders in a half-hug. "Draft your brother into helping with any heavy-lifting, though, y'hear?"

Beat would complain vociferously over the next few weeks about Rhyme collecting trash and junk, but underneath it all Neku and Shiki could hear his relief. She was no longer aimlessly following him around, often co-opting his assistance even if he'd had other plans.

Rhyme had a dream again. And that was worth everything to Beat.

It gave Neku hope that whatever had been stolen from him was something he could gain back.

Now he just needed to figure out whatever that was.

It was fragile.

Sitting in the middle of the back-alley with CAT's last mural was another one of Minamimoto's things.

A ceramic bowl, attached to a collection of glass bottles wired together in a mass that was leaned against a squashed bean-bag chair, more bottles chained together on each side to create four sprawled limbs.

And to add insult to injury, it was all topped with a mop-head that had been dyed orange, with a set of earphones over the top of that.

Walking into the alley to see this perverse caricature of himself in the worst moment of his life...

The world stopped.

No chirping birds or humming cicadas. No traffic or conversation from the street.

Everything became that... that... Abomination!

Neku's blood rushed in his ears, and he clenched his fists at his sides, knuckles white. His palm itched. He couldn't catch his breath.

On the ground was a chunk of concrete. Neku didn't remember picking it up. Neku did remember throwing it.

Shattering glass sounds nothing like the crack of a gunshot, but somehow the two became linked in Neku's mind. The rock went straight through the "torso" and somehow Neku had just become complicit in his own death.

Blood spread out from his corpse and all Neku could see was Joshua's smirk and Hanekoma's mirth, and why were they taking joy in this? Wasn't it enough that he couldn't do what had to be done?

"For fuck's sake."

The Composer's throne room faded away, and Neku was back in the gritty reality of the back-alleys of Udagawa. Shattered glass was at his feet, and red liquid spilled from the broken bottles.

From the smell of it, it was paint.

And standing at it's head, a bundle of cloth under one arm, was the Grim Heaper himself, scowling at Neku as if he were the scum beneath his feet.

"You've completely screwed up the order of operations here, yoctogram. Breaking the glass was supposed to happen after it was clothed." He tossed the bundle to the side in frustration. "Do you have any idea how much your petty vandalism has upset my precisely calculated schedule? Just... just scram. I've got numbers to crunch."

And then Minamimoto crouched down, poking at the thing's torso, checking to see what was salvageable from his little arts-and-crafts project.

Never mind that the real thing was standing right in front of him. Neku was dismissed as if he were nothing.

Sometimes Neku felt like he was nothing.

(Sometimes that was a relief, not having the weight of Shibuya's fate on his shoulders, and sometimes it made him mad, because he was a person and he mattered.)

Neku stalked past Minamimoto, kicked the head off the 'statue' (which also shattered and leaked red paint against the back wall of one of the businesses backing on the alley), reached the mural and laid his palms against it trying to ground himself.

He was alive. He wasn't on a timer. He wasn't in the Game. Shiki was safe. Rhyme and Beat were safe. Shibuya was safe.

Kitaniji was an asshole. Joshua was an asshole. Hanekoma was an asshole. Fucking Minamimoto was an asshole.

"Woah woah woah there, kid!"

A hand around his wrist, and a jerk as Neku's arm's momentum halted. Neku stared blankly at the wall, at the flecks of paint slowly detaching and falling to the ground or blown away by the wind.

He fist pulsed with his heartbeat, and now there really was blood. When had he started punching the wall?

"Got some anger issues there, I see. You done dividing by zero?"

Neku jerked his wrist out of Minamimoto's grasp with a snarl before twisting to put his back to the wall and sliding down, bloody hand cradled to his chest, head buried in his knees.

"Fuck off."

The last thing Neku expected was for Pi-face to sit down next to him, looking uncertain.

"Not exactly a safe neighborhood, kid. Why don'tcha go home already?"

"Fuck you."

"Yes," Neku could hear the eye-roll. "We've established your masterful proficiency with our language. Chop, chop. Time's a wasting. Go home. Fix up your hand. Stop your delinquent ways. Yada yada yada."

But Neku didn't budge. Just closed his eyes and let tears he didn't even realize he'd been suppressing finally flow. They were silent, and pulsed with the same beat he could feel in his injured hand.

Proof he was alive.

"You really don't recognize me, do you? Did Joshua mind-wipe you or something?" Neku's voice was thick with his tears and muffled by his knees, but somehow still understandable.

And Neku knew it was understandable because Minamimoto, who hadn't been moving much anyway, suddenly went completely still.

The was a heavy silence. Then...

"Are you telling me," and Minamimoto's voice was dripping with dark menace, "That the Composer actually brought you and your little friends back and didn't erase your memories?"

So Minamimoto did recognize him.

"Why did you think your little re-enactment pissed me off so much?" Neku finally raised his head from his knees to make sure Minamimoto got the full brunt of his sardonic expression.

What he got in return was a shifty, uncomfortable look and arms crossed defensively across the reaper's chest.

"Always a chance there was a hidden remainder. I figured the Composer would've included a compulsion to stay away from here along with the memory suppression so it's not like I ever expected you to see it. Barely anyone ever comes back here. I wasn't really expecting anyone to see it."

Then what was the point?

Muttering something under his breath, Minamimoto got up and retrieved the bundle of cloth--clothes--that he'd tossed aside earlier before returning back to Neku's side, sitting down with a little 'oof'. Neku watched him lazily, cheek pressed against his knees. Anger still simmered within him, but he wasn't sure he still had the energy to do anything about it.

"Why did you get to live when people like 777, Nao-Nao, and Sota didn't?"

Minamimoto didn't so much as twitch, just grabbed the shirt from the center of the bundle and started tearing a strip off of it.

"Gimme your hand."

Neku didn't budge.

Rolling his eyes, Minamimoto reached into the cavern of Neku's hunched body and gently grabbed his wrist again, drawing it out from where it had been sheltered against Neku's chest.

The pain was beginning to hit, spots all over his hand stinging as they were exposed to the air. Without a word, Minamimoto began wrapping Neku's hand in the makeshift bandage. For someone whose very existence filled Neku with a rush of adrenaline, flood of anger, and inappropriate grief, his hands were surprisingly gentle as he tied the cloth off in a small knot.

"Seriously, clean and disinfect when you get home. Don't want to kick it over an easily preventable infection now, do we?"

"You could have destroyed Shibuya with those Taboo Noise... Of all the people Josh could have brought back, why did it have to be you?" Neku's voice was thready with exhaustion and grief and pain. Nothing made sense since Joshua shot him.

A sneer was the last thing Neku expected in response, though, not after his non-response earlier. Minamimoto stood up, brushing off his pants from sitting on the ground.

Half-turned to walk away, Pi-face stopped and looked back at Neku.

"If you think possibly destroying Shibuya was a point against me in that fight, you forgot which side you were playing for."

Then he shoved his hands in his pockets and walked away.

Neku did wind up with a slight infection in his hand from where he'd smashed his knuckles against the wall over and over again. Luckily, it cleared up without needing to go to the doctor, but it drew attention from his parents.

"Maybe you'd like to get into some kind of martial arts? Learn how to throw a punch properly?" Mom asked him.

"We might want to consider making an appointment with a therapist for him..." Mama murmured quietly to Mom when she thought he couldn't hear.

Nothing came of either suggestion, but it reminded him that his parents cared. Even if they didn't know what had happened to him during those three weeks he was missing.

Then again, these days Neku wasn't even sure if he knew what happened during those three weeks.

He hadn't been fighting for anything except for his life and then Shiki's life. He wasn't part of Joshua and Minamimoto's pissing contest.

He wasn't.

Of course, that didn't mean he hadn't been affected by it.

And Joshua had gotten his final chuckle at Neku's expense.

"WHAT THE HELL?!"

Neku just wanted to be done already. He'd played this Game. He'd played it three fucking times. He'd chosen his soul over a guaranteed victory. He'd trusted that little fucker, no matter how often it turned out he'd completely screwed Neku over. Neku wasn't even allowed to play this game any more. Was this his punishment? To play the Game over and over until the Noise finally finally erased him?

Except people didn't walk by unseeing, ignorant of Neku's pain in their midst. Of his confusion.

People jumped away from him in shock at his yell. People looked at him--in concern, in irritation, in fear.

People touched him.

An arm around his shoulders guiding him out of traffic before the lights changed when he just stood there, gaping. Hands on his face, tilting his head back as paramedics checked his pupil dilation after an ambulance was called because he'd curled up into a little ball and wouldn't stop shaking.

Hands strapping him onto a gurney for the ride to the hospital.

He was checked over by concerned medical professionals.

No sign of head trauma. No concussion. Did you take something, kid? No sign of drugs. No signs of abuse or injuries of any kind.

Police officers with questions. What's your name son? Do you have any ID? No. He'd left it at home when he'd sulked out of the house... three weeks ago? Longer? Do you know your parents' numbers?

And finally, finally, Mom and Mama had swept in and grabbed onto him and cried and cried and cried. They were so relieved. Do you know how worried we've been? Where have you been? Are you okay? Don't scare us like this!

For the first time in three weeks he'd felt safe. They could scare away the monsters from under his bed and lurking in the closet. They would guard his sleep.

And that's what Neku did at that point. Just dropped off into an exhausted slumber, with no reaction but a few tired tears escaping his eyes.

When he'd woken up, he'd gotten the gist of what had happened in his absence.

The police had dismissed his parents' concerns, classifying him as a runaway. He'd turn up eventually, they said. (And he had.) Mom and Mama had been plastering the neighbourhood with missing posters, and with each day that passed they feared that they'd be finding a body instead of their son healthy and whole.

(Neku never told them how often he slipped away to Shibuya, so much that it felt like his real home, not the quiet suburb they lived in. Neku had to scour newspapers to discover that his body had been labeled a John Doe and his... death... was still an open investigation. Neku might have a pauper's grave out there somewhere. He's afraid to go looking.)

Neku apologizes over and over for running off that morning, for forgetting his wallet and phone, for taking so long to come home.

He claims he got overwhelmed and then got lost in his own head. Tells them about haunting the streets of Shibuya (figuratively). About making friends who helped him get to the point where he could reach out for help; helped him be ready to come home.

They went as family to therapy for a few sessions, but Neku refused to get into any details about his three weeks away. He just wanted to put it behind him, he claimed.

Neku knew telling the truth would just make things worse. So he kept his silence. Even among Shiki, Beat, and Rhyme they didn't talk about the Game much. So all of Neku's feelings about it were kept buried deep inside, a festering wound he didn't even realize he had.

Until he met Minamimoto in that alley.

It turned out found-object sculpting wasn't Rhyme's niche.

"She says she just doesn't feel it," Beat groused to Neku where they were watching Shiki teach Rhyme about different types of fabrics. "Decided she wants to give quilting a try."

"At least you'll get some warm blankets out of it," Neku said dutifully. In truth, he thought it was great that Shiki was getting a chance to share her passion with someone new. Shiki and Eri were working on restoring trust between each other after the miscommunication that had sent Shiki careening into Shibuya's streets, but it was complicated by Shiki's guilt over stealing her friend's persona during the Game. Which Eri didn't--and couldn't--know about. Things were still awkward between them.

"Don't see why she couldn't have figured it out before I hadta drag garbage all around town..." Arms crossed over his chest in indignation, Beat slumped against the wall emphasize his disgruntlement. Neku suppressed his amusement, simply nodding as-if in agreement. It was Neku's job to be appropriately supportive. Not an asshole. Besides, Beat didn't really mind.

"At least we know for sure now she doesn't want to be the next Grim Heaper."

Right. Minamimoto.

There were still a scattering of scabs on his hand, healing slowed by the infection he'd gotten from not disinfecting his cuts right away. Neku rubbed them absently, remembering the strangely gentle way Minamimoto had held his hand while wrapping it.

"Beat... What were we fighting for?" Beat's grumbling went silent. Across the store, Neku could still hear Rhyme and Shiki chatting excitedly, unaffected by the bombshell that Neku had just dropped. The line he had just crossed.

They didn't talk about the Game. Not really. Not directly.

They didn't talk about the Game, but they might recommend a store or store-clerk. Might talk about a shortcut, or a piece of Shibuya trivia. They'd never ask one another where they had learned about these things. Shibuya was precious to them, but the Game was to be left behind and forgotten.

They were supposed to be moving on.

"To live--for Rhyme; for Shiki."

That's right. That's what Neku had always thought. Beat knew it, had sounded sure about it. Why was Neku suddenly full of doubts?

"If you think possibly destroying Shibuya was a point against me in that fight, you forgot which side you were playing for."

Neku hesitated before speaking. It was probably just Pi-face playing mind games. Like leaving them to hang all week. Or that fucking statue of his.

But.

"...Was that all? Are we sure there wasn't something else?"

Darting his eyes over to check on the girls and seeing they were undisturbed, Beat grabbed Neku by the elbow and dragged him outside.

"The hell's going on with you? What else would we have been fighting for? Isn't the right to live enough?"

Jerking his arm out of Beat's grip, Neku scrubbed his hands through his hair. "Shut up. I know. It's just... How did we fit into that fucking bet?"

Now Beat looked at him as if he were crazy. "What bet? What's goin' on, Neku?"

Neku began to pace back and forth on the street in front of the shop. "What do you remember about the last day, Beat? After you snapped Shiki out of the brain-washing and caught up to me."

Because beyond his perplexing question about Neku's own role in the Game, Minamimoto had said something else interesting that Neku had merely dismissed at the time: that the Composer should have erased their memories. Neku had thought that was just Joshua being his usual contrary and dismissive self; but what if he had tampered with their memories? What if the reason they didn't talk about the Game was because they were compelled not to?

Brow furrowing, Beat scratched at the peach fuzz on his chin absently as he thought back. "Well, there weren't much time to see anything before Shades snatched us all up as part of his 'final boss' routine. We stomped him, then me an' Rhyme were waking up in the hospital, at the end of our 'recovery' from the accident. Was downright eerie how there wuz paperwork and everything from a long-ass stay we didn't even really do... Had cards from classmates and bunches of flowers..." Beat shuddered.

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

They'd arrived after Josh's grand entrance and had Josh's gloating and final showdown erased.

At least they don't have to remember me getting shot...

"But you remember how messed up the Game was when we were playing, right? All the rules the Reapers were breaking?"

Lips thinning, Beat nodded and said nothing else.

"And didn't you think it was weird how you never got to see the Composer while you were a Reaper yourself?"

A gusty sigh. "Neku, I was small fry. 'Sides, Shades seemed to be running the show, if you ask me. Not sure how much work the Composer actually does."

"Kitaniji was running the Game. The Composer wanted to erase the Game and start over, or something, so Kitaniji made a bet with him--with Shibuya as the stakes. Without the Composer around, the rules started breaking down," a realization came to Neku, "Just as the fucker wanted to begin with. Argh." Another anxious scrub of Neku's hands through his hair. "If Kitaniji erased us, he won and got to keep Shibuya as it is. If the Composer won, he'd erase everything."

"Shit."

"Yeah."

Beat slumped back against the wall. Through the store window, Neku could see the girls paying for their purchases at the register.

"So we'd've lost no matter what? Live and Shibuya dies. Die and Shibuya lives." Now Beat was scratching his head through his hat. "Wait a second, though. We're here, and Shibuya's here. How'd that happen?"

Through a mad man's twisted whims. Except Neku had just realized a flaw in his explanation to Beat; a memory brought back to the surface merely by talking about the event. Kitaniji didn't have to kill all of them--that was just the most efficient way to make sure he eliminated the Composer's

Proxy.

Neku. Neku was the only one who'd needed to die.

Or...

"I blew it...

...Not die in the first place.

Beat was trying to get his attention, trying to get the rest of the explanation, but Neku was lost in his own head.

More and more memories were pouring back. Minamimoto came to the alley that day trying to shoot the Composer in his weakened form--or so Josh claimed. Joshua also claimed that he would destroy Shibuya if Neku didn't shoot him and take his place. But Neku was supposed to trust his partner and he had and Shibuya had lived; they all had lived--even Rhyme who had legitimately lost but had been Neku's saving grace in the end...

Back it up. Minamimoto had shot at the Composer and had done so in the UG. Was it because Joshua truly was weaker there? Or Minamimoto just thought he was weaker there then proved wrong when Josh stopped the bullets. Or...

Or had he only decided to take the shot as Joshua lined up his own?

Rush of footsteps Neku turns Joshua running straight for him Gun rising Bullet flies past Neku's cheek Neku collapses "I blew it..." Looks behind Minamimoto with an arm graze Second gun raised Six shots A raised hand Tinkle as they hit the ground Minamimoto runs away Joshua takes aim at Neku supine on the ground and...

Josh had waited until the last minute to choose his proxy; Neku had checked the dates. He'd been 'missing' for three weeks and two days. One day to die; one day to be found; 21 days to play. Or perhaps there had been another proxy for the first week who had failed and Neku was the replacement.

If Josh had failed to provide a proxy, that was one less week where he had an opportunity to win. One less chance for Shibuya being destroyed.

Minamimoto had taken a huge risk when he'd summoned the Taboo Noise, but he might have thought it was worth it if it stopped the Composer from playing with all of their lives.

But why was Hanekoma playing both sides? None of this made any--

"NEKU!!"

"Gwaaah~"

"How the hell is Shibuya still here if we are too?"

Maybe it was selfish, but Neku didn't want to correct Beat that it was actually just Neku who had been the problem. Neku didn't want to be in this alone. Didn't want to reveal the final game where Neku had taken a leap of faith, uncertain if there was anything below to catch him if he was wrong.

So he shrugged. "Whims of a madman is my guess. Maybe the Composer changed his mind."

The girls came out then, and the subject was dropped.

If I'd killed Shiki and then been erased myself, Shibuya wouldn't have been in danger...

It was a dark thought, but Neku was in a dark mood. Mama had wanted them to go on a family trip to Hokkaido during summer break, but Neku had protested the idea of leaving all of his friends behind. He'd only just made them, after all.

"It's only for a couple of weeks, Neku," she'd informed him crossly after he'd objected yet again to the idea. "They'll still be here when you get back."

But would they? He was pretty sure they wouldn't purposefully abandon him, but Neku was painfully aware of how fickle life itself could be. None of them had planned on dying, but it had happened without their consent all the same.

He'd stormed out of the house without a word--though not before grabbing his wallet with his ID in it on the way out--and begun stalking the streets of Shibuya. His headphones were jammed over his ears and he was barely taking in his surroundings at all.

Neku was unprepared for a sudden presence grabbing his arm and the disorientation as sound from the world around him crashed back in.

"--KU!! Are you okay?"

Oh. It was Rhyme; Rhyme who had grabbed his arm with one hand and then used her other to dislodge his 'phones.

Working his mouth, Neku tried to force out some kind of appeasement to clear the worry on her face, but no sound emerged except a strangled whimper which only caused her brow to crease further.

Rhyme released his arm in favour of grabbing Neku's hand instead and Neku held on with a death-grip. They were near the underpass where she and Beat had had their original accident. He didn't want her to get hurt. She'd been hurt enough.

small creature light and fragile stronger than him and beat combined last ally when konishi attacked comforting weight on neku's left shoulder

But whenever they needed to cross an intersection, Rhyme would bring them both to a stop and hold his hand a little tighter while they waited for the light to change.

I wonder if she has nightmares about Beat running into traffic, like Beat has nightmares about her following him there...

Despite any issues she might have, Rhyme moved with purpose, getting him out of the streets where his inattention could do him harm.

"Welcome to Sunshine!"

So they ordered burgers and sat down to eat in silence. As they ate, Neku moved from appreciative of the silence to antsy about it. The world was beginning to encroach in on him again and he wasn't sure if he was ready for it yet.

"My parents want to go away for break."

Rhyme's eyes lit up. "That's great! Where are you going?" She looked at the dark cloud over his face. "Or... is it not great?"

He'd been planning to just mutter a vague complaint to minimize her worry, but somehow all of the poison he'd been hiding inside came pouring out. His irrational fears that something would happen to them--or Shibuya--if he left; the fact that he felt like his parents had always pushed him to make friends and were now tearing him away from them; that he feared if he left now he'd never get the answers he needed about what had really happened during the Game--that some invisible tether between himself and the district would be severed forever.

Rhyme let him spew it all out without a word or interruption, and when he was done she was smiling sadly.

"I get why you're so concerned, Neku," and Neku nodded while taking a vicious bite out of the burger he'd been neglecting during his rant. "But everything you're feeling right now about being separated from us? Your parents are feeling about the time you were missing for them." Neku choked and nearly swallowed his tongue. "All they want is a chance to reconnect with you, without all of the distractions of a place they probably see as having stolen you from them."

Guilt. Guiltguiltguiltguiltguilt.

Why hadn't he seen that? There was a part of him that was bitter that Mom and Mama hadn't realized he was dead--even before Josh's resurrection voodoo--and he hadn't even considered that thinking he was missing might have been just as bad from their perspective. Fuck, he was a self-absorbed ass...

"So I should shut up and go on the trip to appease them," he muttered, trying to ignore the flush crawling up his cheeks.

Surprisingly, Rhyme giggled at this and took a noisy slurp from her cola before explaining.

"No, Neku. You should shut up and go on the trip so you can enjoy yourself with them," she explained.

Oh. Yeah. Uncomfortable shift. That could be a possibility. He guessed.

"Want to hear about my day so you can put off processing?"

"Please." Surely she could understand him while his forehead was pressed to the table. She was young. She didn't listen to loud music. Surely her hearing was excellent.

And it was. Rhyme regaled him with her mundane errands picking up more fabric for the quilt she was working on, dropping off lunch for Beat at his part-time job, browsing the new music selections at Towa Records, and it was great until she started in on Minamimoto.

"Some of my classmates think the artist is going to be the next CAT, since CAT sightings have disappeared, but I'm not so sure. I mean, I love the sculptures, but CAT's works always came with a certain joie de vivre, y'know?" And of course Neku nodded along at that, CAT fan that he was. "I just get a sense of contained anger from most of these pieces--an obsession with the worst of us all instead of the best. Don't get me wrong they're powerful, and I love them, but I'm not sure they have what it takes to match CAT."

Neku could get behind all of that. Minamimoto was an angry bastard and he wasn't afraid to let everyone know they were beneath him, while Hanekoma was about lifting people up. He could hardly believe that anyone would even consider them on the same level. He didn't even get what Rhyme saw in the junk heaps.

"Although..."

That sounded ominous.

"I found a new sculpture today while I was wandering, and it's different from the rest. Did you want to see it?"

shattered glass splattered blood paint

No way. Minamimoto wouldn't have re-made it, would he?

With a sense of trepidation, Neku agreed.

The closer they got to the back alley in Udagawa, the more nervous Neku became. If he was right there, there was no way she wasn't going to notice the resemblance between the sculpture and himself. Then he'd have to admit that he'd died there, and since there was no vehicular access he'd have to admit he'd been murdered there, and the fact that someone else was recreating the scene means he'd have to admit that Minamimoto was there when Neku'd died, but wasn't the one who killed Neku (since he didn't want to crush the source of her new dreams)...

It was a mess.

"Beat told me you showed him a CAT mural back here when you were partners, so I wanted to take a look since people were comparing the sculptor to CAT, but the mural's pretty faded now, I guess you've probably seen that yourself, but there was actually a sculpture hidden back there too! I was so surprised, I wonder why they both chose the same isolated location?" She gasped and started slapping Neku's arm. "Oh! Oh! Do you think the sculptor might actually be CAT? Maybe something happened to disillusion them and they changed media to express that new outlook? But, the statues don't really have any of CAT's stylings, and you'd think it would be hard to disguise all of them..."

She babbled on and on excitedly as they walked, somehow not noticing how tense Neku was getting as they approached.

If Neku didn't already know that Pi-face was the artist she admired--not CAT--and hadn't been dreading what he'd see when they reached the mural, he would have enjoyed trading theories with her. It was the kind of nerdery that had gotten him ostracized from his peers before the Game.

Right now it was all he could do to just let her babble away as a white-noise background-track to his panic.

Sure enough, when they entered the alley Neku immediately spotted one of Minamimoto's monstrosities.

But it wasn't the one he'd smashed those weeks ago. This one was new.

This one wasn't Neku.

The wobbliness in his knees was hidden from Rhyme by her disengaging from his arm to run over to the sculpture.

The Neku-statue had been made from fragile glass; this one was all barbed-wire and pigeon feathers. This one was Minamimoto.

Not the arrogant Game Master or dismissive Taboo Noise-hybrid--no, this was Minamimoto at his most vulnerable.

I blew it...

Kneeling, one arm clutching the other--a single feather smeared with red paint to symbolize the trail of blood down Minamimoto's injured arm. An L-shaped block of wood held in the hand of the injured arm, ready to be transferred to the whole arm at any moment. A black cap over a red bandanna on the top of the 'head'; torso and legs wrapped in black fabric. The head angled not to look ahead, but at the ground in an attempt to hide the pain...

"It looks like the sculptor spilled their paint back that way--" where Neku had smashed his own likeness and relived the worst moment in his life, two sets of foot prints walking to the mural from the spill, and there is still paint in the grooves of Neku's sneakers, "--but there's something about this work that feels different from all of the others. It's not angry or mocking. It seems, I don't know... Private."

"Vulnerable," Neku contributes, remembering how it felt to see himself laid bare. "Lonely." Because when had Minamimoto ever had someone with him? Even his 'collaboration' with Mr. Hanekoma seemed half-based on threats of violence, and who knows which side the barista was really on? In a world where partnerships were the ultimate rule of law, Minamimoto had been fighting alone.

Approaching the statue and standing next to Rhyme, Neku let his fingers trail lightly against the bloody feather. "But still angry. Just... a simmering anger, not quite ready to boil over yet."

For the first time since her excitement over the statue had taken over her in Sunshine, Rhyme really seemed to see him again. "Neku... are you--"

Okay he was sure she would say, but she never did. Someone else spoke over her.

Spoke. Yelled.

"Hey! Get away from that you brats! Last thing I need is yoctograms like you ruining--" Then Minamimoto got a closer look. "Oh. It's you again. Well, scram. Go trash someone else's hard work."

Rhyme squeaked. It was a very familiar squeak. It was Shiki's squeak upon meeting Eiji Ouji.

(It was Neku's squeak upon discovering Mr. Hanekoma was CAT.)

Neku sighed, extremely put-upon. But Rhyme was his friend and, even if Minamimoto didn't know it, he'd done her a great service.

"Rhyme, this is Sho Minamimoto, the Grim Heaper. He was Game Master during the Second Week. Minamimoto, this is Raimu Daisukenojo--"

"Call me Rhyme!" (Much squeakier than her usual introduction.)

"--she was a Player during my first week."

Minamimoto squinted at her. "Weren't you smaller and pink and Noise-food?"

Well then. Minamimoto wasn't going to need red paint for his statue any more because Neku was going to smear him over the pavement!

Rhyme winced a bit but nodded shyly--shyly! Rhyme!--with a quiet "Yeah."

Before Neku could enact his violence, Minamimoto surprised them both by holding out a hand to fist-bump. "Good job keeping your sense of identity intact. Most Noise lose that within hours. You must've held out over two weeks."

Perking up a little, Rhyme grinned at the compliment while completing the fist-bump. "Well, I can't take all the credit. Mr. Hanekoma found me and Beat kept me by his side. I couldn't have done it without them."

Minamimoto scoffed before moving to fiddle with the back of the sculpture, attaching the metal appendages he'd brought with him. With the rattling the crushed soda cans made from where they were wired together, it was surprising they hadn't heard him coming.

"Look, Hanekoma coalescing you so quickly, and your brother carrying you around, should have bought you an extra day, maybe two. You did the real heavy lifting. Nevermind the fact that the Iron Maiden had you in her claws for a week before you came back. Don't sell yourself short, kid."

And Rhyme was just glowing under the praise, cheeks bright red as she looked down at the ground, a shy smile curving her lips. Was it really that her dreams hadn't been restored? Or was it her self-confidence that she could do them had been crushed after being knocked out of the Game so quickly? Was there a difference?

Neku stepped back as the two talked, Minamimoto explaining the technical details of what he was doing--the materials, how he attached the different parts to each other, the safety precautions when handling things with sharp edges like the crushed cans and barbed wire. And eventually he even managed to coax Rhyme into talking about her quilting project. Naturally he was most interested in the shapes and angles she was choosing to relay her message.

They talked and Neku wandered. He kicked the bullet hole in the pavement, scuffed his feet against the dried red paint and shiny glass-dust on the ground, ran his hands over the flaking paint of CAT's mural, and let his fingers explore the hole from a bullet that hadn't been aimed at him.

Just like with the Neku-statue, Minamimoto had placed his own statue in the same area of the alley where he'd been shot by Joshua. By wandering to the second bullet hole, Neku was now standing behind the statue.

Minamimoto had been busy while Neku had been wandering. The metal appendages were mostly attached by now, with only some extra supports currently being added by Minamimoto around the 'torso'. That meant Neku had a clear view of the additions.

They were wings--six of them--flared out and menacing. Without them, the statue had looked vulnerable, but now Neku could tell that from the front it would be much more menacing--a leashed threat. Injured, but not yet defeated.

Giving a quiet snort, Neku admitted that was pretty accurate.

Upon closer inspection, there were little notes attached to the wings on vertical hanging slips of paper. Each held a complicated looking math equation. Quietly, while Minamimoto was distracted talking to Rhyme, Neku took pictures of each one to look at later.

"What does it mean?"

A question asked innocently enough, but Neku froze from where he was coming around the statue to join them, looking to Minamimoto with panicked eyes.

The statue was more about the Reaper than Neku himself, but surely any explanation would require an explanation of the setting, and this wasn't something he particularly wanted to share.

There was a brief glance Neku's way, before Minamimoto started shaking his head. "You ever hear of 'death of the author'?" Rhyme shook her head, confusion written across her face. "It's the idea that when you create something, you have a set definition of what it means and as long as it's in your head that's all it means. But once you unleash it into the world, everyone who interacts with it will interpret it their own way, and that will probably be different from your own interpretation. It's not wrong, just because it's not what you envisioned, 'cause the minute you put it out there--changed it from private to public--your own interpretation as the sole interpretation dies; it's just one of many now."

Understanding dawned on Rhyme's face while Neku tried to keep his sigh of relief inaudible. "So you don't share your interpretation because you don't want it to influence mine?"

Minamimoto grinned and ruffled Rhyme's hair affectionately. "That's right. Not all creators do that; some want their meaning to be known. Hell, some want their meaning to be the only meaning. But I don't care what others think. I do this to exorcise my own demons. If people find their own meaning in that, good for them. Not my problem."

Rhyme was staring at Minamimoto with pure adoration on her face, and Neku sighed with defeat.

"Gimme your phone."

Well. Gob-smacked was a good look for Pi-face.

"What for?"

Neku rolled his eyes. "So I can program in my number. The group of us tend to meet up at least once a week. You should join us. Talk to people who know the Game but aren't in the Game."

Slowly, Minamimoto reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, then tossed it to Neku who caught it without blinking. Minamimoto squinted at him suspiciously as Neku opened the man's contacts to input his information.

"This is great! I'll have the inside track to where all of your new sculptures are!"

Minamimoto's attention switched back to Rhyme. "I mean, I guess? Why would you want to though?"

Neku snickered to himself as Rhyme treated Minamimoto to a tirade about the social value of his own sculptures--basically indoctrinating him in the meaning she derived from his works.

While the Reaper was distracted, Neku paged up through the contacts and sent out a quick text to "BOSS".

TEXT ME, YOU ASSHOLE!! You have my number. -NS

Then he tossed the phone back to Minamimoto, deriving great satisfaction when the other fumbled the catch a little.

It was the little things in life.

Josh didn't text him.

Shiki had volunteered to keep Neku company while he packed for his family's trip, but Neku had the feeling he was going to regret accepting when he saw the shark-like grin on her face as she lounged on his bed.

"Sooooooo..."

Neku rolled his eyes and ignored her, sorting through the shirts he wanted to bring.

"Rhyme tells me you have a boyfriend."

For a moment everything froze. Then Neku relaxed and kept sorting.

"Rhyme told you no such thing because she's not a dirty rotten liar who enjoys torturing me."

A page turned in the magazine Shiki was reading--or at least pretending to be reading--but Neku knew she was focused entirely on him, determined to squeeze every last detail out.

"Oh reeeeeally...? So you don't know a super cool street artist with whom you willingly exchanged phone numbers?"

At that, Neku had to snort. He turned around to face Shiki, who dropped all pretense of perusing the magazine and rolled onto her front to stare at him better.

"First of all? Minamimoto is kinda the opposite of 'super-cool'; he's a super-nerd. He likes math and trash."

"So you already know his likes!"

"Secondly," he continued, ignoring her interruption, "There was no number 'exchange'. I gave him my number in case he wanted a group of people in the know about the Reaper's Game to hang out with."

"So forwaaaard, Ne--wait. Reaper's Game? I thought we were the only players to make it out?" She scrunched her face up in thought, wiggling her glasses in the process.

"He's a Reaper."

All of the enthusiasm left her in a moment, alarm replacing it. "A Reaper?"

Dryly, "Did Rhyme leave that part out?"

Archly, "Did Rhyme know?"

Giving up the packing as a lost cause until this conversation was over, Neku gave Shiki his full attention. "Well, I introduced him as the Game Master from my second week, but she was pretty busy mooning over his most recent creation so it's possible she glossed over that part." He shrugged. "Does it matter?"

Incredulity was the overriding statement on Shiki's face when he asked her that. "Does it... does it matter?! Of course it matters! The Reaper's tortured us for fun! You most of all! How can you ask that?!"

For fun? Maybe if you put Josh and Kitaniji's bet on the table, and sure the Reapers tended to take delight in their jobs but...

"He actually... wasn't that bad..." It was strange voicing it out loud. Neku's second week had been the hardest, partnered with someone he didn't trust, a Game Master aiming barbed comments his way (that in retrospect were probably meant for Joshua), Beat attacking him at random, the missing memories of his death, and the increasingly vivid flashbacks to his last moments whenever the three of them were in the same room. But Minamimoto had spent most of that week preparing for Day 7 and taking Joshua out. Most of that week had been spent doing Josh's little errands and being on edge waiting for a mission to come in.

The main trauma Minamimoto had caused Neku was 'killing' Josh, but Josh hadn't been dead at all, and hadn't been who Neku thought Josh was--it was all a confusing mess that Neku tried not to think about these days, especially as Joshua seemed to have no inclination to set the record straight.

"Neku, I don't want to discourage you from making friends, but... He's a Reaper; they're not even human any more.

"But they were, once," Neku whispered, picturing skeletal wings extended from Beat's back. "Players like us who reached the end of the Game, but weren't granted a second life. So they make due with what they have, and erase Players to keep what existence they've managed to retain from fading away. They're just like us--they just want to live."

Shiki bowed her head, dark hair obscuring her face. "And when that lady Reaper told you you could win by erasing me, even though it was against the rules, that was just her trying to survive, right? When our Game Master kept singling me out as an ingredient in his recipe, that was just him being like us?"

Shit.

Sometimes Neku forgets how easy it was not to care about what was happening to him--what he was doing--in that first Game, with no memories to weigh him down. Forgot how horribly he treated Shiki, because she forgave him so easily.

Forgot that he wasn't the only one traumatized by what they experienced.

Neku got up off the floor and joined Shiki on the bed, grabbing her in a hug.

"What we experienced... what you went through in that first Game... It wasn't supposed to be like that. There were other things going on, games within the Game that screwed up all the rules. That's why Mr. Hanekoma was able to save you from me that day--what Pinky did was against the rules. And... and I'm so sorry that I tried to k... kill you. I'm so sorry."

"You didn't know."

"It shouldn't have mattered!"

But Shiki pushed back from where she'd buried her face in his chest and shook her head harder. "Neku, you didn't know. Not just that it was against the rules, but you didn't know what the Game was, or why we were playing. You didn't know who you were or any kind of learned morality. They took all that from you. Mr. Hanekoma didn't just save me, he saved you too. That's why I can't forgive them. They stacked the deck; over and over. I don't know how you can forgive them."

Neku sighed, running his hand through his hair nervously. "I don't know how you can forgive me," he muttered, then waved off her protests--they'd had that argument before. "It's... Look, there's a lot more history between me and the other Reapers just because we were playing against each other so long. Pinky, Lollipop, Def Märch--all of them helped us out when push came to shove and Shibuya was in danger; when things went completely off the rails. And with Minamimoto... he never made it personal like some of the others did--especially to you. He... It wasn't his fault I was dead," not that Neku realized that at the time, "and it wasn't his fault I was playing the Game," that was Joshua--from what Neku knew, most Players had a choice--"and even though the rules said he should have been hunting me down aggressively, he pretty much ignored us 'til the last day when he couldn't any more."

And when the Game was over and done with, something about Neku's involvement had haunted Minamimoto after the fact. There was part of Neku who wanted to know more about the Reaper who valued the lives of the living; who valued Shibuya, just as it was.

"He's... not all bad," much to Neku's own surprise.

Pursing her lips, Shiki crossed her arms defensively across her chest. "I can't promise I'll like him... But I'll give him a chance."

A weight that Neku didn't realize he'd been carrying came off his shoulders. Since when was Minamimoto joining them that important to him? Inviting him had been a spur of the moment decision. And it's not like Minamimoto had texted him yet, anyway. He might never show up.

All the same, he pulled Shiki into another hug--another great benefit of having friends: human contact.

"Thanks Shiki," he breathed into her hair. She relaxed into the hug and squeezed him back.

"Now what's up with all the text books? You're seriously going to work on your math homework while on holiday? Do it on the last day of break like the rest of us plebes!"

Neku laughed at the joke and hoped that it hid his blush. He pointedly didn't think of the photos of the formulas from Minamimoto's statue sitting on his phone.

He didn't unpack the math texts.

(He did wait until the last day of break to do his homework.)

To Neku's surprise, Minamimoto did eventually text him shortly after break was over.

Where u yoctograms meeting? -Sho

It was a start.

It was a disaster.

Minamimoto... didn't play well with others.

Well. Okay. Rhyme thought he was the greatest thing since sliced bread and could usually distract him by chatting about art things. But Beat was always about two seconds from starting a physical fight whenever the Reaper started insulting him... which was also about every two seconds.

Shiki kept shooting Neku these looks, and Neku had to keep avoiding her gaze because nope. Nope nope nope. He did not have a crush on Minamimoto. Just... a weird and complicated history.

(Neku may have worked on those math equations while in Hokkaido, but it's not like he got very far with them. Mom had been concerned about the school assigning work that was too hard until Neku explained that it was for a personal project. Then she'd just been bewildered.)

Most days, Neku served as a mediating force with Rhyme, smoothing out the rough edges in the group.

On the days when he hated Minamimoto for killing Josh and killing Neku himself...

Well, on those days he tended to shove on his 'phones bounce pretty early. On those days even Beat gave Neku concerned looks.

But... despite all the ways that it shouldn't work, Minamimoto began to integrate into the group.

Every now and again, though, there was a reminder that the Reaper wasn't exactly 'one of them'.

"Can't make it," Minamimoto grumbled around a mouthful of ramen as they planned an excursion to the skateboard park for the following week.

"You're dead," Beat rolled his eyes, fist planted in his cheek as he looked mournfully at his own empty bowl. "What could possibly be so important you'd bail?"

Shrugging, Minamimoto slurped up another mouthful of noodles, speaking around them.

"Work."

Shiki startled, her knuckled going white as she gripped her chopsticks. "Work as in...?"

Another shrug.

The rest of the meal passed in uncomfortable silence.

"Seriously? We're waiting for the light like a bunch of grade schoolers? There's nothing coming!"

Neku was making 'abort!' motions behind Rhyme's back, but it was too late, he could already see her tensing.

"We all died in traffic accidents. We've learned the hard way the importance of looking both ways before crossing the road."

Usually when Rhyme talked, it was bubbly and cheerful, especially to Minamimoto. Now it was flat and challenging.

Yet, surprisingly, Minamimoto didn't comment on the change in her demeanour, didn't push this new button he'd found.

Instead, he looked over Rhyme's head and locked eyes with Neku. "All of you, huh?"

Neku turned his head to the side, and refused to catch the Reaper's eyes for the rest of the day.

Today Neku's wandering had brought him back to Udagawa and the alley in which he'd died.

Most days Neku's wandering brought him back here.

This time it had been on purpose, though. Minamimoto had been... persistent about trying to talk to him since the Crosswalk Incident two days ago, and this wasn't the kind of conversation Neku wanted to have in front of the others. So Neku had returned to the alley, and texted Minamimoto to let the Reaper know where he'd be.

The Wounded Angel statue was still sitting there, metal parts showing a lot of rust as time had passed. Meanwhile, CAT's last mural was nearly unrecognizable.

Even Neku's paint 'blood-stain' was almost completely worn away.

Two small holes in the concrete and asphalt could still be seen, if you knew where to look for them.

Neku wasn't looking.

Neku was sitting on the ground again, his back to the wall, head buried in his knees.

He knew Minamimoto had arrived when the Reaper threw himself down to sit beside Neku in a sprawl of limbs.

"Why don't any of them know?"

"Know what?" It was a useless deflection, but just the thought of having this conversation was exhausting.

Irritation crept into Minamimoto's voice. "Not one of them looked shifty or guilty or anything when Noise-girl claimed you all died via vehicular impact. They just looked like it was an accepted fact. Now, I know you didn't get hit by a car. And you know," here there was the muted sound of knuckles rapping against the ground, "You didn't get hit by a car. So what gives? Thought you were into all that sharing and caring crap."

Neku snorted. "We talk about our lives, yeah. But we got all of that talking about our deaths stuff out during the Game. We're trying to move on."

"Uh-huh. I seem to recall you accusing me of killing you at one point. Seems like you might have been a fraction confused about things during the Game."

The elbow to Neku's ribs was completely unnecessary. Neku finally twisted his head to look Minamimoto in the face.

"Josh had more fun stealing my memories before the Game than after. I didn't know what really happened until the end. And even when I thought it was you, we didn't have a lot of time for heart-to-hearts during the last week. Too much to do, not enough time."

"And your friends just assumed you were just like them? Didn't even bother to ask?"

A shrug. "Like I said, we don't really talk about it."

Except Neku was thinking about it now, that moment when he saw Joshua running toward him, gun in hand. The crack of the gun firing. The lack of identity and confusion during the first week. The confusion and desperation of the second. The confusion and desperation and grief of the third.

Only for it all to be just... a game. A stupid bet.

And an entry fee Neku will never get back, because he lost, even if Joshua proved himself trustworthy in the end.

An entry fee Neku doesn't even know.

Neku shudders, burying his face back in his knees.

A tentative arm wraps itself around Neku's shoulders. The surprise of it pulls his head out of his arms again, to see Minamimoto looking up at the sky, idly scratching his cheek with his free hand.

There a slight tinge of red to his cheeks.

Neku's own face heats up, but...

He's so tired. And the human contact is... nice. Especially without the need to explain... everything.

So instead of pulling away, Neku slumps into Minamimoto's body heat, soaking it in, letting it chase away the chills of Neku's own anxiety.

They don't say anything else. Just sit there, side-by-side, with Minamimoto's arm around his shoulders.

(Neku is never going to tell Shiki that she was right; he might have a tiny crush on Minamimoto.)

"I'm surprised Minamimoto didn't harass him into telling the others. It's not like him to take on this touchy-feely stuff himself."

"Now, Sanae, you forget that our dear Sho doesn't play well with others, no matter the progress he's making on his social skills--he's never going to be the type to encourage 'sharing-and-caring' as he put it."

"Sure, Boss, but doing the comforting himself? Didn't really seem his style."

"Tee hee. He really is making progress! But I think it has more to do with the subject in need of comforting than anything else."

An arched eyebrow. "Really? Minamimoto? And our Neku?"

"I nudged their paths into meeting for a reason, after all. During the Game, Neku showed a remarkable ability to draw people together and bring out the best in them--even when he was showing his own worst. The other districts aren't going to keep loaning me their Conductors forever, and Shibuya has few candidates. But one that doesn't play well with others? Well. That needed to be fixed first."

"And it doesn't bother you? I know you had your eye on Neku yourself..."

A pause; a tinge of regret. "I never should have inserted myself into the Game. You yourself reported how our Frequencies interacted to Neku's detriment. If I had waited until he was more stable... Now, there's too high a risk of destabilizing him again. No; our paths have diverged now, and walking back down that path can only lead to ruin."

"So. When are you going to tell the new Conductor about his promotion?"

"...Not quite yet.

The sun was setting and it was getting colder. Even with Minamimoto's body-heat, sitting on the concrete was leeching the warmth from both of them.

With great effort, Neku climbed back to his feet, stretching out the kinks in his muscles from being still for so long.

Looking back, Minamimoto's arm had fallen back to his side, but beyond that he hadn't moved. Just sat there, staring at his own legs.

Neku thought about it for a second, taking into consideration their complicated history, their recent interactions, the understanding they were developing, and the small warm feeling in his chest.

Then he held out his hand to help the Reaper up.

"C'mon, Sho. I'll treat you to a burger."

Head snapping up, eyes wide, Sho tentatively accepted the hand up, before burying any hesitation with his usual smarmy grin.

"Least you could do after making me sit on the ground for hours..."

"Yeah, right," Neku snorted, his own grin beginning to form as he shook off the ghosts that were haunting him, at least for now. "I totally twisted your arm there..."

They walked out of the alley, bickering warmly with each other, and that small warm feeling in Neku's chest burned just that slight bit hotter.

It was a possibility; a Someday. Proof that whatever Josh had taken from him, Neku still had a future.

And hopefully--in some form--Shiki, Beat, Rhyme, and Sho would all be part of that future.

end

Feedback always welcome!

#TWEWY #The World Ends With You #World Ends With You #Subarashiki Kono Sekai #TWEWY Bang 2018

[silverliningslurk]

Finding You (Kendou/Yaoyorozu)

Written for @dailybnha‘s secret santa, so, Happy Christmas, @remade-to-bauagent/@bauagent, hopefully tagging that right! 

Pairing: Itsuka Kendou/Yaoyorozu Momo, background Neito Monoma/Hitoshi Shinsou Rating: Teen Summary: Itsuka has numbers on her wrist, telling her the distance between her and her soulmate. When she finds them, it’s not all plain sailing, but they’ll make it, together. She hopes. 

Also posted here on AO3. 

In a world full of people who brainwashed or manipulated fire or could be half bird, the idea of soulmates wasn’t such a far-fetched one. It hadn’t always been normal – at some point in history, soulmate indicators seemed to be something that had manifested. They appeared in various forms around the world. The Samoan peoples experienced a time pause when soulmates first made contact, although no one could scientifically prove the phenomena happened. Some Inuit tribes had matching tattoos to indicate their connection. It became increasingly rare to have no insignia to imply an indescribable connection with another person.

 Although it didn’t have any strong basis in science – how did one determine a ‘soulmate’? – it was a well-accepted hypothesis. Most people believed, because most people had found, incidentally, that another person with whom they clicked, would in fact comply with whichever soulmate indicator they had.

 Itsuka herself was quite fond of the idea. She often looked at the little digits on her wrist, counting down the distances between the two of them, her and her soulmate.  

It was nearly always a big number, but she didn’t let that bother her. Most of her friends’ numbers were much higher, one even stretching way down his forearm, and refusing to shorten. The lower digits fluctuated almost constantly, and sometimes, Itsuka would stare at her own as she took the train, or drove to her grandmother’s, and watched them grow. She wondered if her soulmate worried about it. She wondered if they worried, particularly when she went to China to visit relatives there; the numbers then were nearly at the crease of her elbow. She’d watched them while she’d taken the boat, slowly ticking up, stretching out in the distance.

 She thought about them, often. There were horror stories, of course, but she liked to be positive.

 Secretly, she hoped it would be a girl.

 Not that she had anything against boys – they made great friends – but she didn’t want to marry one. They were messy, and inconsiderate most of the time. There was something indescribably alluring about girls, she thought; she loved watching them, the way their hair swished in a ponytail, the infinite styles of long hair, the cute faces framed by short hair, the make-up and the subtle hints of cheekbones, the way their eyes went just so when happy and it’s breath-taking, it’s beautiful. She worked hard to emulate even a little of that glamour, and hoped, prayed, that her soulmate would be a girl, a girl who would let her look as much as she wanted. Itsuka didn’t even think it mattered what she actually looked like. She knew her soulmate would be beautiful to her regardless.

 <hr>

 Elementary school and middle school passed by her easily. She made every effort to improve the use of her Quirk in the hopes of getting into UA High School on the hero program, and managed to at least be entered for the entrance exam.

 She did her best not to be discouraged when the distance counter wasn’t very low at the entrance exam. Maybe she wasn’t meant to meet her soulmate yet. Although plenty of people did meet theirs around this age, a good number only met them later on, at college or in their line of work.

 So Itsuka continued on with her dreaming of a nice girl to live out her days with. She passed the entrance exam, and continued her studies. Passed her middle school exams, went through her final winter there and said goodbye to friends. Threw her certificate in one corner of her room and bided her time until the day she arrived for the graduation ceremony.

 She sat in the enormous hall listening to Principal Nezu talk about their responsibilities and potential. It wasn’t the most interesting speech, sounding a little rehearsed; she stretched her arms forwards, itching with the need to just get started, rather than listen. Her sleeve rode up a bit. She looked on instinct.

 The numbers on her wrist were remarkably low. They usually spread a third of the way up her arm, but now…

 Soulmate distance indicators were in their own, arbitrary units, but they had been roughly mapped to real world units, and using that estimate, her soulmate was… in the same room, potentially?

 Itsuka’s eyes lit up. Eagerly she scanned the room, now entirely uninterested in the principal’s chatter. Her gaze caught on every feminine character in there; purple, short hair, messing around on her phone. Was it her? Green, plant-like hair, rapt with attention, good posture. Was it her? Brown hair, blonde, pink, horns, invisible – there were just so many. Itsuka tried to see if anyone was looking around like she was, mentally begged the girl she was connected with to give her a sign, something, anything—

 A blonde took her eye as they turned around; she found herself the subject of a piercing grey-eyed gaze. It was a boy, she would think, although not incredibly masculine. He looked like the kind of person she could get along with. He smiled, somewhat smugly, and turned back to the front, and Itsuka wondered if it was him.

 For the first time in a long time, it hit her that most soulmates were of the opposite gender. It was unlikely to be a girl, no matter how much she wanted it to be.

 Itsuka deflated. Wasn’t that just a depressing thought? Maybe she could find someone else in the same position as her? Or maybe, maybe she was just connected to a boy and that would be that. Maybe she would just have to live with that instead, and set aside dreams of a nice girlfriend to grow old with…

 No, she had no time to mope! She could lead a full and happy life even if she didn’t have a partner, and she would. Her and her soulmate could purely be friends. Maybe it was him, and maybe he’d be nice. She could explain and he would understand, if he turned out to be her soulmate. If he didn’t, maybe there wasn’t quite so much to this soulmate thing as Itsuka liked to think there was.

 <hr>

 The blond, Neito Monoma, turned out not to be her soulmate, but her classmate instead. Itsuka was rather relieved. He was prone to stirring trouble, but Itsuka supposed that keeping him out of any messes was better than getting into her own. She enjoyed his company, enjoyed the sarcastic comments she’d never dare make herself, even if he was at times a little vengeful. He even made her forget, at times.

 But at others, she would watch the numbers. They rarely changed that much now; it was usually one number when she was at home, and one in school. It didn’t take a genius to work out that her soulmate was either in 1-A or 1-C, or perhaps 2-A, B, or C above her, which left her with quite a bit of room for error. The only thing she was sure about was that it was not someone in her class – the numbers were a little too high for that. They would also change occasionally during a lesson, indicating her soulmate was moving. Seeing as Itsuka herself and her class were still, it immediately removed all of them from consideration.

 Slowly, she started to eliminate people. She didn’t have too much time within the school day to go searching for her soulmate, in between trying to keep Monoma out of trouble and keeping her grades and physical ability up. Therefore, it was only at the sports festival she actually started to pull things together.

 In the first round, she found out it had to be another first year, but in the melee, she had no hope of working out who. In the cavalry battle, she worked out it had to be one of the top forty participants, but she didn’t exactly have the luxury of time to work it out.

 She had her suspicions during some of the matches, but she didn’t remember to look at the critical times. There had been movement in the numbers during the latter matches of the first round, but her lack of knowledge of the exact distance they conveyed meant she was unable to exactly pinpoint who it might be. However, it greatly narrowed the pool down, until she had a few candidates: Mei Hatsume, Tenya Iida, Mina Ashido, Yuuga Aoyama, Fumikage Tokoyami, Momo Yaoyorozu, Ochaco Uraraka, and Bakugou Katsuki,

 She was able to narrow it down further once the second round of matches, considering the numbers stopped moving; it left her with Hatsume, Aoyama, Yaoyorozu and Uraraka. In the drama after that, she wasn’t able to remove candidates, although she direly hoped it was either Yaoyorozu or Uraraka – the other two just seemed a little too… flamboyant for her tastes. It would be sad to work it out only to find she didn’t actually get on with her soulmate.

 Only during the internship did she actually get confirmation.

 It was a girl, as she’d always hoped: Yaoyorozu Momo stared back at her, eyes flicking between Itsuka’s face and the numbers on her wrist, which were hovering at three.

 On Itsuka’s other arm, an intricate navy blue six-sided star, where Yaoyorozu had touched her. To match Yaoyorozu’s, on the inside of her shoulder, adjacent to her collarbone.

 “You must be my—” Itsuka started, excitement starting to build.

“May- may I have time to consider this?” Yaoyorozu interrupted, her voice clipped. Her gaze strayed to a corner of the room. Itsuka wondered if she was wrong, but the number on her wrist remained constant, unflinching. Three units away. Her soulmate was three units away, but that could be thousands of metres if she didn’t want to know Itsuka.

 Itsuka didn’t want to give her a single moment. Didn’t want to give her any time at all. She wanted Yaoyorozu to be as happy about this as she was, wanted her to feel excited and like she wanted to run off with Itsuka, and spend their life together. Wanted her to accept it immediately. Itsuka had felt ready to meet her soulmate forever, it seemed. Why wasn’t Yaoyorozu the same? Wasn’t she happy? Didn’t everyone love their soulmate unconditionally?

 Itsuka looked down at the floor, blinked hard for a second. When she looked up again, it was all trapped in her mind, and did not show on the outside. She knew it didn’t.

 “Sure,” she offered, even as she wanted to step closer, to persuade her. She couldn’t crowd Yaoyorozu. She could think about it later. Get upset later. Cry later. Right now: “Take as much time as you need.”

 And they just got on with the internship. Yaoyorozu didn’t bring it up again.

 <hr>

 Monoma was the only one Itsuka told. For all his flaws, he could keep secrets. It helped that she said he had a free pass to copy her quirk next time he needed to, provided the reason wasn’t solely to taunt Class 1-A. Monoma, she found out, had a soulmate mark on his foot, and according to his family, he would finally attain colour vision upon first contact. Despite this, he wasn’t fond of the idea of finding them – probably too scared about having someone accept him as he was – and hadn’t tried.

 His lack of enthusiasm about it helped, in an odd way. It made her reiterate the thinking that soulmates weren’t the end of the earth, and she could know Yaoyorozu was her soulmate without any input the other way. Perhaps it was enough just to know. To know that maybe one day Yaoyorozu might seek her out, but if she didn’t, Itsuka could still be just fine. There were other girls in the world that she might just have a chance with.

 Nearing the end of term, and getting used to the idea of a non-soulmate pairing, it came as a surprise to her when she found Yaoyorozu herself striding up to her.

 “Itsuka Kendou.” Yaoyorozu said, faintly out of breath. “I systematically searched the entire school. I touched everyone. Except I realise now I discounted fifty percent of students, since I mistakenly believed soulmates could only be of the opposite gender,” she announced. Itsuka stood there, stunned; they weren’t even alone, a few stragglers from classes strewn around, and some now looking their way. She couldn’t find it in her to care.

 Yaoyorozu stopped about a metre in front of her. Her hands twisted together, betraying her nerves, but her eyes did not stray from Itsuka’s.

 “I’m sorry that it took me so long. I would be honoured if you could accept me as your soulmate.” She bowed for a long moment. Itsuka didn’t know what to say – considering she’d started to discount the link altogether – so she laughed instead, initially, which earned her a puzzled look.

 “Are you kidding? I like you. Of course I want to be your soulmate,” she replied jovially. She was overjoyed, actually, but that might be coming on a bit strong. She’d taken to tracing Yaoyorozu’s mark sometimes, and wondering if it would always stay there, or if Yaoyorozu rejected her, it might fade. Itsuka was elated that she might not have to find out.

 Yaoyorozu blinked. She didn’t seem to have thought such an easy answer possible, perhaps thinking that Itsuka had taken some kind of umbrage with her not immediately embracing the idea. But Itsuka was happy. She didn’t need a soulmate to complete her, but she’d be very glad for the one she had to get along with her.

 “But I…” she started, puzzled. Itsuka grinned, the happiness seeping through to her very bones. Admittedly, she had started to think that maybe Yaoyorozu wouldn’t want to be her soulmate, and to ignore the link forever. She’d started to adapt to that way of thinking. Now that Yaoyorozu did want to be with her, have her in her life, in whatever capacity, set a warm glow in her heart and made her whole body feel light.

 “You’re my soulmate. It would have taken a lot for me to refuse you, y’know?” Itsuka closed her eyes briefly in her huge grin, teeth showing and everything – when she next looked at Yaoyorozu, she was biting her lip, making that face people made when they were desperately trying not to cry. “Aww, no, what’s the problem?” Itsuka asked softly, stepping forwards and peering up at Yaoyorozu.

 “I- it’s nothing! I just—” Her lip wobbled, and Itsuka naturally swooped in to hug her.

 Yaoyorozu flinched for an instant, like maybe she wasn’t used to it (Itsuka would change that if she had any say in the matter) but then pulled her in tightly.

 It was perfect.

 Itsuka practically felt the digits on her wrist flicker to zero, practically felt their marks warm, practically felt their hearts beating together. Yaoyorozu was, she found, very comforting to hug. She was the perfect size to fit in her arms, and despite how Itsuka had hugged a lot of people, Yaoyorozu felt different. She felt perfect.

 Yaoyorozu pressed her face into the crook of Itsuka’s neck, and sniffled. She didn’t seem to want to say anything or explain though, and Itsuka really didn’t mind right now.

 She had a soulmate, and her soulmate wanted her. That was more than enough.

 <hr>

 Between incidents with villains, kidnappings, fights and disasters, they got to be good friends. Itsuka would have Momo over frequently, her mother used to the unexpected visits by now, and consequently always had Momo’s favourite tea in stock. Itsuka had been over to the mansion Momo called home. They’d studied together, trained together, had sleepovers, comforted each other. Itsuka had introduced Momo to movie marathons, Momo had introduced her to a wide variety of teas. They’d had a few minor arguments, but come out of each stronger, and understanding each other better.

 The sum of Itsuka’s knowledge now was that she really, really wanted to be more than friends with Momo.

 The knowledge was not unexpected, but somewhat frightening nonetheless. To find herself daydreaming about kissing Momo, having to stop wayward thoughts upon seeing Momo in her hero costume, wayward dreams more nights than she’d like to admit – none of it was unexpected. But that didn’t make it less scary. Equally, Itsuka had no idea if Momo was merely being friendly with her at any given moment or whether she felt the same, and was trying to convey this.

 Again, Monoma was subjected to her babbling on the subject. He opened himself up to this conversation by admitting that part of the reason he now distanced Class 1-A and taunted them was because he found half of them attractive, and it wasn’t nearly so easily split by gender. Itsuka took this as a clue that perhaps he wouldn’t be off-put by her situation, and indeed he wasn’t. This did lead to him being the unfortunate other end to her meltdowns about what to do.

 Typically, Monoma told her to just say something. Monoma who had found an extra spurt of courage in finding a partner in Hitoshi Shinsou, and would sing their praises to anyone who would listen to him. Monoma did not care whether anyone knew he and Shinsou were together. Shinsou seemed equally unperturbed by any comments thrown their way, although that was how they generally were publically.

 Just to add further fuel to the flame, Shinsou suggested she ought to just say something. Or, they threatened, they might take control of her and tell Momo for her.

 Itsuka stuck her tongue out at them, Monoma curled an arm around Shinsou protectively, and Shinsou merely smirked.

 All told though, Itsuka was not a coward, and if she could face villains and the public, she could face Momo and tell her the truth.

 Her next best opportunity after that point came a few days later, when Momo dropped in with a textbook Itsuka had forgotten she’d asked for.

 She sat Momo down, in the kitchen. She gave her a cup of tea. She sat down herself. And took a breath.

 And:

“Momo, I like you.”

 Said it.

Somehow.

 Momo looked at her, eyes wide.

 “You like me?” she repeated, no inflection in her voice. Itsuka felt herself wither a little, but tried not to let it show.

 “Yeah, I do. I’m just saying, you don’t have to respond or anything, but if you wanna, be my guest, I don’t want to force you or anything…” Itsuka made herself trail off for fear of babbling. Momo’s mouth was a pure, round ‘o’ shape, and Itsuka really wanted to know what it would be like to kiss it. To kiss Momo. To be close in that intimate way she’d started to want so desperately.

 “But I- I’m a girl!” Momo exclaimed, shocked. Itsuka cringed, unable to hide it. She wanted to hide herself, at this point, and was intensely thankful for the rest of her family being out on a shopping trip.

 “I know. Believe me, I know. Should I take that as a no? Kinda sounding like a no to me right now.” Itsuka mumbled, only watching Momo in her peripheral vision, hardly daring to even do that. Momo’s face was the exact image of the shocked emoji, round and round and round.

 It was not quite the face Itsuka wanted, or really had imagined, her making.

 “You can do that? That’s acceptable?” she asked breathlessly. Itsuka narrowed her eyes slightly, confused.

 “I mean, yeah? We’re in the 21st century, aren’t we?”

 Momo took one short moment to take it in, and then threw herself forwards, slamming her hands on the table and nearly crashing into Itsuka with her vigour.

 “So we could date? And kiss? And it wouldn’t be odd?” She questioned. Itsuka couldn’t help but stare directly into her eyes – it was not like she had many other places to look, and Momo just got this intense feel about her sometimes, when she needed to know something, when it was important to her. She drew everything else to her, when she was like this.

 “Uh, well, yes? If any two people are in a mutual relationship, they do that kind of thing, right?” She murmured a little self-consciously. Momo, meanwhile, grinned, her eyes lighting up, the very air around her seeming to go vibrant with apparent glee. Itsuka barely dared hope.

 “Yes! I like you too, Itsuka! I wasn’t aware it was an option, I didn’t think I could ask anybody else, but this solves all my problems! I’m so happy! We could go ice-skating! I can get Mother to book seats at the best restaurant—”

 “Momo, I really wanna kiss you now.” Itsuka interrupted, glee boiling in her veins.

 Momo didn’t even look phased. To say she was enthusiastic was probably an understatement.

 Happily, that made two of them. Itsuka thought, perhaps, that her long held dream might just come true after all.

#dailybnha #dailybnhasecretsanta #yaoyorozu momo #kendou itsuka #yaoyorozu/kendou #kendou/yaoyorozu #My writing #secret santa #bnha #mha #soulmate #soulmarks #soulmate au #distance counters #non binary shinsou hitoshi #monoma appears

[1wellorganizedmind]

Jake Peralta: Stepdad!AU

So this was going to be an actual fic, but, alas, any sort of narrative wouldn't come, so instead allow me to offer a series of (not at all canon-timeline compliant) headcanons about Amy Santiago's tiny daughter taking Jake in as part of the family:

When Amy starts at the Nine-Nine, she is Very Adamant that Jake will never meet Maya, largely because a) He's the worst, and b) Maya doesn't need to see her mother curse out a fellow employee, but mostly c) He's The Worst.

Except she only lasts twelve days, at which point Captain McGinley calls her in on her day off because he's finally realized that his new detective has started and he wants to meet her, even though they have met four (4) times and he's assigned two cases to her and Jake

It's supposed to be a short meeting and she promises a very teary-eyed Maya that she'll be real quick, but she needs to go in without Maya because McGinley looks like he might yell for some reason, Amy can just tell, and Sarge isn't here and Amy barely knows anyone else and Jake offers, basically

Maya is just v. v. teary when Amy blows her a quick kiss before entering McGinley's office

The meeting lasts exactly forty-seven minutes

Amy expects A Disaster when she gets out, or at the very least a very stressed-out Jake trying to pass her daughter off on someone else

But instead Maya is sitting in Jake's lap with two of his superhero figurines gripped between her sweaty little hands, patiently telling a story while Jake writes on a piece of paper next to her

"And then there's a dragon," Maya says breathlessly, and Jake nods along patiently

"Fire-breathing or bearded?" he offers, and Maya really considers it for a moment before deciding on bearded. "Got it, I've jotted that down."

"I thought no one was allowed to touch your dolls?" Amy asks when she gets to them, and she's a little stressed out about this whole situation because Jake is suddenly, like, a kind person? Who's been watching her daughter for forty-seven minutes and counting?

"Uh, obviously this is Red Metal Man and Mr. Star, okay."

It's not. It's Iron Man and Captain America, and Amy can tell because she's not totally out of the loop of the cultural zeitgeit, okay, and she sometimes pays attention to movie posters and has very definitely seen at least two of the superhero movies

"Plus I believe I said no Santiagos, and that was back before I knew there was a cool Santiago in the clan."

Maya, meanwhile, has grabbed a pen off of Jake's desk and is now leaning precariously over said desk and drawing on some of the large blank spaces Jake had left on the paper

And Amy realizes that Jake was writing down Maya's story but made sure there was room so she could draw

Jake grins at her sheepishly, braces Maya with one hand on her back to make sure she doesn't slip, and says, "It's her vision, and she's, like, a really good storyteller."

Amy swoons, but in a low-key, subtle way. Probably.

Anyway, but Jake is also The Worst, so it doesn't matter

After The Incident In Which Amy Santiago Most Definitely Did Not Swoon, they definitely become partners for realsies

Jake doesn't see Maya again until a few months later, when Amy's in a pinch and needs someone to watch her for, like, a half-hour while she runs over to her doctor, but it really gets the ball rolling and all of a sudden Maya only wants Jake to babysit her

And Jake is, like, hella into it. He's still mostly dating around and trying to run off on his own and be a badass, but he's really into this tiny four-year-old with a heavy lisp and too-big glasses who tries to tell him stories about dragons and butterflies and Mr. Star, who all of a sudden plays the lead in every one of her adventures

Also it's a great distraction from buying turntables and he has an excuse to go see kid's movies, on Amy's dime no less

So for years, whenever Amy has a date, she lets Jake know an appropriate number of days (fourteen) in advance, and Jake says yes 100% of the time, and never tells anyone that he very carefully rearranges any conflicts in his schedule so he can hang out with Tiny Santiago

Tiny Santiago likes this nickname approximately 37% of the time, but she really likes it when Jake starts calling her Killer Santiago after one incident in which she's running too fast and knocks him over onto his butt and he almost dies he's laughing so hard

Amy doesn't care for it

And literally every time Amy comes home pre-bedtime, Maya is sitting on the couch with Jake laughing so hard that her face is bright red and flushed, and her shy little stressed-out kiddo just has the best time that Amy doesn't have the heart to try to give Jake a break the next time she has a date

And then post-bedtime, Jake is always sitting on the couch alone, looking exhausted and happy and he always grins sleepily and drags his butt off the couch and makes a million sex tape jokes about her date and refuses to let Amy pay him

And at the precinct, as the years go by, Jake and Amy get more and more comfortable with each other, and Amy tells him about Maya's dad, who's never been in the picture, and she tells him about her plans to be the youngest Captain, "but it's hard, you know, 'cause I can't put in the overtime the rest of you guys can, and I can only keep working on cases after Maya goes to bed, and maybe not everything will work out 100% according to plan and that's fine because it's so worth it, but--"

Jake shuts her up and very specifically tells her that she's the second-best detective in the precinct, "and you'll obviously be Captain before I will, because I'm going to go out as a detective, chained to my desk, and also, like, Captains have so much paperwork."

Anyway so when Jake goes undercover, he can't stop to say goodbye to anyone, and he's had this crazy crush on Amy that's just started to become a thing, and he specifically asks her to tell Maya that he loves her and he's hella excited to show her Die Hard when he gets back and oh, also, he thinks Teddy is great but he likes Amy too, romantic-stylez, okaythanksbye

Amy manages a "You will not show my daughter Die Hard, Jake, she's SEVEN," but it's faint and she's pretty sure Jake didn't hear and there's that swooning thing again

Except he comes back, and it's not like Amy could exactly explain "oh, Jake just went undercover with the mob, I wouldn't worry about it" to her seven-year-old, so she just keeps saying that he's on a work thing and can't call or swing by

Terrible Mistake

When Jake comes back Maya is, like, level three-thousand excited to see him, and screams out loud in the apartment, which, okay, Maya Santiago would never, but here she is, screaming

But she's shy again when she calms down, and she mumbles a lot and basically doesn't laugh at all, even when Jake teases her by calling her Tiny Santiago again

"Killer Santiago?" he tries, and one corner of Maya's mouth twitches up against her will

So after Much Freaking Out by Jake ("She thinks I abandoned her, Amy! I abandoned her to the wolves!" "In this context, am I 'the wolves?'" "Yes, obviously!") he finally settles down and sits Maya down for a Very Serious Talk

The Serious Talk portion of it lasts approximately three minutes, but Jake very clearly states that he was, like Mulan, on an undercover mission and he couldn't call or swing by without revealing that he was Not Who He Said He was, and also that he quite likes her new glasses and would like for her to keep reading him Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, and he remembers that they were on chapter twelve, right, and could she please help him finish?

He is Forgiven, grudgingly, but is v. careful to show up 100% of the time thereafter, including every french horn recital and spelling bee

which are, incidentally, unequivocably the worst, but Maya Santiago is so earnest and excited that it's hard not to be excited too, and proud!Amy is too much for Jake's weak little heart to bear

Because of the whole romantic-stylez thing, Amy tries very hard not to ask Jake to babysit when she's got a date with Teddy, for reasons of trying to be a humane person, but Jake starts begging her to let him babysit on any given night, for reasons of Trying to Make It Up to Maya, and eventually Amy gives in and things go back to normal

Until The Undercover Lovers Operation (title (c) Charles), after which things get both Complicated and also Fun

For their first date, obviously Jake can't babysit Maya so Amy ropes Rosa into doing it (rip both Rosa and Maya), and at least Maya gets to watch Frozen, even though they sit in complete silence for the duration of the movie

Most subsequent dates Maya comes with

After The Marriage (here we are, finally, at the stepdad part of this stepdad!AU), Jake finally moves in with them, and Maya is almost ten years old and going into the fifth grade and Obsessed with dragons

Jake and Amy specifically tag-team helping her with the following projects:

A presentation on the constellation Draco, which was chosen for Harry Potter reasons but also for dragon reasons;

A to-scale model of the coolest volcano Jake knows by name, which is Vesuvius, and which is also probably not to scale;

A book report on Anne of Green Gables;

A movie review of the action-thriller Catch That Kid;

A creative story about Captain America, yes I know it's not Mr. Star, Jake, I'm now almost a preteen, okay?

And multiplication tables, which Maya excels at and Jake largely nods along

Obviously Amy fact-checks the projects before submission, she knows what's up

They build blanket forts once a month, spanning the entire apartment, and camp out inside of it if it's just the three of them, but Jake and Amy also round Maya up to make one on the days she has friends coming over for a sleepover, and Maya Santiago's sleepovers are forever the best sleepovers to be at

Even though Maya's stepdad tries to tell embarrassing jokes every time

At least Amy laughs

A year or so into their marriage, Jake starts learning Spanish in earnest, because Amy's taught Maya her whole life and she's getting nervous that Maya will forget it as she gets older if she doesn't practice

He is Terrible, but he gets individual words at a time and commits to them so whole-heartedly that he eventually manages most of a conversation, so long as he only uses nouns and simple verbs and never, ever pronouns

Amy is not too proud to say she doesn't swoon over that a little, too

But also refuses to try to hold a conversation with him in Spanish, because every part of it, from pronunciation to execution to grammar, is terrible and it physically hurts her being

Jake is suddenly privvy to all sorts of stuff he wasn't before, like the Morning Ritual, wherein Amy packs Maya's lunch, kisses the top of her head, and asks Maya what she's going to do at school

"Be respectful!"

Sometimes this conversation is preceded with a thorough quizzing on Maya's multiplication tables, while Jake still nods along

A year or so after Amy makes Captain she has to miss one recital and is Devastated and implements Code Three, which means that Jake has to pull out her Code Binder so he can figure out that Code Three means "Emergency Shit-Hit-the-Fan Level of Planning: Come On, You Can Do This, Amy," and basically Amy's been preparing for this her whole life, but she just can't make it work

Jake, who, again, has willingly endured these recitals for years now with all of the required embarrassing enthusiasm, pleads with the school until they lend him a video camera from the A/V Club and he gets the whole thing on tape

Amy Santiago loves her phone, but she loves long-lasting, backed-up, physical copies of videos, okay?

Plus this means that Jake can set up a sheet in the living room with a projector he borrowed from the precinct so Amy can see the whole thing like she's there

And Maya cringes in embarrassment the whole time, partially because listening to yourself play is the worst

But mostly because of the loud whooping that drowns out the clapping when she's done

Jake's not the least bit embarrassed

And he washes the sheet the minute they're done

And either because of the washing-the-sheet thing or the video thing (there's no way for him to know), he gets to enthuasiasically make out with his wife on the couch when Maya disappears into her bedroom and it is The Best

Anyway mostly just Maya Santiago is a happy, independent, smart kid, and it's all Amy's doing and Jake gets to witness the whole thing

And then he gets to become a part of it

And he gets make both Santiagos laugh until they cry and make them pancakes on Saturday morning and calm them down when they get anxious and force them to watch Die Hard with him the exact day Maya turns eighteen, he's been so patient, okay

And Maya goes on to write about dragons forever, although she doesn't get to draw a picture on every page anymore

And Jake Peralta and Amy Santiago 100% cry when her first book gets published and Amy proofread the book between captain duties even before it went to the editor and was Very Pleased that there were no typos, and Jake read it with tears in his eyes and his entire review was "Noice. Smort." before he wrapped Maya in a hug

Maya is hella embarrassed by her nerdy parents, basically

In summary, I have a lot of feelings about the Jake we meet in S1 learning to be an Adult and finding a family by hanging with a miniature, dragon-loving Santiago kiddo.

#peraltiago #jake x amy #b99 #jake peralta #amy santiago #i have a whole second set of headcanons about single-mother!amy #but this got hella long already #also im new here #but im a long time b99 lurker #first time b99 poster

[michelles-garden-of-evil]

Episode 15 Review: Diegesis in a Strange Paradise

{ YouTube: 1 | 2 }

{ Synopses: Debby Graham | Bryan Gruszka }

{ Screencaps }

Introducing Vangie’s father, the Conjure Man.

We open to the sound of some funky drums as a mysterious old man in a toga-like garment conducts a religious ritual, swaying his stiff limbs as strange lamps burn on an altar in the background. He lays down exhausted on a straw mat as Vangie enters.

“Good,“ says the old man, “you’re just in time.” In the background, the drums continue beating, which makes me wonder: can he hear the drums and, if so, where is the music coming from? If you’ve read my reviews of previous episodes, you’ll know that I like to analyze which elements on this show are diegetic and which are not--which, most of the time, is surprisingly hard to determine.

For those who don’t already know or who want a more in-depth explanation than I’ve previously given, diegesis is a mode of storytelling that shows the actions of a story from the characters’ point of view (the diegetic or intradiegetic level), as opposed to that of an outside narrator (the extradiegetic level). The narrator writes about what the character sees, hears, thinks, and feels, without stylizing it or filtering it through an outside perspective. In literature, this kind of narrative is easy to spot and usually takes either a first-person or third-person limited perspective--or, more rarely, a second-person perspective. A third-person omniscient narrative can be purely diegetic, but only if the narrator doesn’t add their personal opinions or interpretations of the characters to the story.

In theater, film, and TV, determining what elements of a narrative are diegetic is more difficult, because the dramatic arts all rely on extradiegetic storytelling to some degree. The writer(s) and director(s) take on the role of narrator and have to communicate the characters’ experience to the audience in a way that they will understand, often relying on theatrical conventions that aren’t realistic but help them communicate the characters’ thoughts and feelings better.* One example relevant to soap operas like this one is backacting**, which “is to stage a scene so both actors are facing the camera...The idea is that it has the benefit of getting both character’s [sic] faces full on in the shot, so you get the full impact of their acting and/or emoting.” Obviously, most people don’t turn away from the people they’re talking to in real life, and most soap characters probably wouldn’t, either, if they were real people. This makes backacting non-diegetic.

My favorite example of backacting on this show, from Episode 5.

So far under my diegesis tag, I’ve examined Jacques Eloi des Mondes’ vanishing portrait and his ring to determine whether or not those were diegetic. The portrait vanishing is diegetic in the Paperback Library novels based on the show, and we know this because multiple characters reference it. Take, for example, this scene from the first book:

They started to leave the room, but Diana stopped short to stare at the frame where the portrait of Jacques Eloi des Mondes was plainly revealed when she entered the hall. "That's strange," she said, frowning. "I'd have sworn there was a portrait in that frame." A hand took her elbow gently and words were spoken so close to her ear that warm breath touched her earlobe. "But no. It was taken out to be cleaned and will be restored shortly. How attractive you are when you look perplexed, my dear." ***

On the show, however, it’s non-diegetic. No one ever mentions the portrait disappearing and as early as Episode 6, the crew stop removing it when Jacques possesses Jean Paul. Less than two weeks later, his handsome face stays smirking inside the frame whether or not his spirit is inside Jean Paul’s body. When he possesses him, the camera still cuts to the shot of the blank portrait, but the portrait itself is still visible on the set and to the characters. In Episode 12 where Jacques controls Jean Paul for the entire episode, Holly has a short scene where she discusses how much he resembles his descendant, and the portrait is visible--and that’s just one example of many.

The ring, in contrast, is diegetic, which we know because Elizabeth mentions it in Episode 13. It later appears in Episode 68 where Raxl tries to sacrifice it to the Great Serpent. But it also appears for a short time on another character’s hand in Episode 59 before disappearing again, and I’m not sure if that part was intended to be diegetic or merely symbolic of Jacques’ alliance with said character. (I think that, in that instance, it’s supposed to be the latter.)

And now we return to the Conjure Man and the unseen drums in the background of his introduction scene. We know from Episode 12 that Raxl and Quito have tried contacting him through voodoo rituals, which involved (among other things) Quito beating a drum. While I doubt that a hypothetical ordinary human would hear the drums if they were to spy on him, it is possible that he can hear them (either literally or telepathically) thanks to his supernatural powers. If this is true, then the music is diegetic whether or not any other characters could hear it, because at least one character does.

Alternatively, the Conjure Man could have the power to make drums beat on his own, or create music out of thin air like the ghosts in this fun Dark Shadows episode. Kind of a stretch, but it is a fantasy show, and I’m willing to suspend my disbelief in any fantasy elements as long as I think they’re cool. I don’t understand why some other fantasy fans need a pseudo-scientific explanation for fantastic elements in stories; just tell me “this man, who is over 300 years old, has the power to summon drum noises at will” and I’ll gladly accept it, no questions asked. It’s a fantasy story; we don’t need to know the pseudo-physics involved.

Or maybe the music is just regular, incidental, non-diegetic music and I’m just overanalyzing again (which is probably the truth). Whatever. I’d rather spend my free time writing about Strange Paradise than have a social life. ;)

Vangie and the Conjure Man.

Anyway, the Conjure Man tells Vangie that he foresees that he will die soon and therefore she, his sole heir, must become the Conjure Woman. Vangie doesn’t want to, saying “I don’t believe.” However, her father insists that she is best because she “know[s] this modern world” and is “trained for the future when man will wake up to the network of his own mysticism.” (A possible reference to the idea of the Age of Aquarius or the New Age movement in general?) Vangie replies that, although she believes in telepathy and ESP, she does not believe in witchcraft because “its roots are in the past.”

“Where could you find roots, but in the past?” asks the Conjure Man, chewing the scenery. “How can a tree grow without roots? How can you deny your own destiny? Yours is a gift of giving, Vangie. Don’t deny that.”

“I don’t want it!”

“You can’t escape it!” He tries to stand up, but can’t, and tells Vangie the messages or “truths” that he has received. “On Maljardin, the Devil is loose again.” The drums intensify. “Your minister will be sent for. The forces of evil have drawn a battle line between God and the Devil!”

I like this screencap. Taken out of context, it looks like Alison is doing a Raxl impression.

On the cursed isle of Maljardin, Jean Paul and Alison meet in the Great Hall for some recap. Alison repeats her intention to stay, but insists that Jean Paul promise her some things. This pisses off THE DEVIL JACQUES ELOI DES MONDES, who decides to take over and listen to the conditions instead, making Jean Paul look like a fool in the process:

Condition #1: Jean Paul informs Erica’s and her father of Erica’s death.

Jacques’ response:

Trolling Alison by suggesting her father might help with his insane cryonics scheme.

Alison objects, saying that her father knows that cryonics is a pseudoscience. “There’s always a beginning,” Jacques replies, mocking her. “Aren’t you proud that your sister is one of its pioneers?”

This pisses her off, understandably. “I was a fool to stay here,” she remarks. But he just keeps talking, first about how no word of the cryonics experiment must leak out (again) and then about transplants (also again). They discuss a brain transplant experiment involving bird embryos by a Yugoslavian scientist named Pavlovic, which actually happened, but with a low survival rate. Clearly Ian Martin did some research on organ transplants, and one has to wonder if he knew of the failures and deliberately used them to foreshadow problems with Erica’s resurrection.

Condition #2: That he bring a minister to Maljardin to conduct a funeral service for Erica.

Jacques’ response: More denial that Erica is dead, plus this argument:

Insane troll logic: “If a man landed on the moon, that means we have achieved the impossible, which in turn means that nothing is impossible. If nothing is impossible, then Erica can come back to life.”

Alison accuses him of denying God, to which he responds that “He and I aren’t exactly on speaking terms.” (Gotta love Jacques dropping hints about his identity.) Cut back to the Conjure Man:

Any idea what any of this means?

The Conjure Man is busy serving Vangie a nice nutritious plate of word salad as he slowly passes over to the spirit world and YouTube’s automatic captions gleefully obscure the meaning of his words even more. The actual line doesn’t make much more sense than this, speaking of a “conqueror of mist” and other mystical-sounding stuff that is most likely nonsense. And he doesn’t deliver it well, because...well...he’s just not a very good actor.

Jacques: “We are not amused. No...wait...” *snickers* “...Actually, we are.” (Note: He doesn’t actually say this, but he should have.)

Jean Paul recovers and promises to bring Matt to the island, while the Conjure Man continues giving Vangie instructions. He tells her to bring the Knight of Pentacles--which Vangie identifies with Dan Forrest--to Maljardin. I need to remember to write a post analyzing all the Tarot symbolism used sometime in the near future, which I keep putting off doing, but I will say that the description of the card at the randomly-selected Tarot website I linked to does indeed sound like a description of Dan.

At the French Leave Café--otherwise completely deserted save for Quito and the bartender--Jean Paul meets up with Matt. He orders a gin and tonic, which suggests that he was already a heavy drinker before Jacques started quaffing brandy all the time while in his body. (Speaking of which, why do the characters on this show and Dark Shadows just leave decanters of brandy sitting out where anyone can slip poison, drugs, or magical potions in them? I can understand why Roger Collins on DS does it because he doesn’t have a brain, but Jean Paul allegedly has an IQ of 187, so he has no excuse.) During their otherwise rather dull conversation, Jean Paul explains that he retreated to Maljardin six months earlier because he had been stalked by the news media his entire life and wanted some privacy.

He asks Matt to come to Maljardin, which he assumes has to do with Holly and probably gets a little too excited (if you know what I mean) before Jean Paul disappoints him by refusing to tell until he promises to keep the real reason a secret. But Matt insists on knowing beforehand and is shocked when Jean Paul reveals that he wants him to hold a funeral for Erica “until the day she rises again and returns to me.” The Reverend decides to humor him, most likely because sailing to the island means seeing Holly again, and he leaves to pack.

Jean Paul is reminded once again that Jacques is slowly ruining his life. He may sit on the big, fancy wicker throne now, but soon enough, the handsome devil is bound to kick the throne out from under him.

After he’s gone, Vangie shows up and so does Dan, which pisses off Jean Paul. Dan confronts his boss about the signature that he left on those business documents back in Episode 4, and Jean Paul lies and claims that he signed Jacques’ name because he “didn’t like the deal.” Dan expresses his worries about both Alison (his fiancée, in case you have forgotten) and the warnings that Vangie gave him about Jacques’ return, which I think is when Jean Paul must realize that Jacques did something with the letter that Alison wrote to Dan that made Vangie concerned (although I doubt he knows what).

We cut to the Conjure Man chanting a spell about a “mild zephyr [that] shall conquer the mist” and a “cooling breeze.” But the spell is not effective, because look who just arrived at the party:

Jacques: “You’ve overstepped yourself, Dan. Go home; you’re not needed here.” *sips gin and tonic with affectedly bored expression*

Dan demands information about what is happening to Alison. Jacques refuses, saying, “That’s none of your business.”

"I am your business!” Dan shouts. “I thought you were mine."

"You presumed wrong!"

"Then let us end this business relationship.” (I see what you did there, Mr. Martin.) “What about Alison?"

“Alison is also no longer any of your business, either.”

“What do you mean?”

Jacques stands up, as though trying to intimidate him. “Get out of my life. And hers.” And he turns and begins to walk out.

“Take your job,” Dan shouts, “and I’ll take Alison!” Good luck taking her back while she’s Jacques’ prisoner detained guest.

“Don’t be a fool, Dan! You’ve worn out your welcome on Maljardin.” I didn’t know you could wear out your welcome before you even arrived.

“You won’t get rid of me that easily. I’m coming, too!” Quito stops him by holding stiff zombie fingers in his face.

Jacques grinning smugly while Quito keeps Dan from following them.

“It could be your last trip, Dan,” Jacques sneers and leaves Alison’s estranged and far less attractive fiancé behind to rant to Vangie about how he intends to find out WTF Jean Paul is hiding “even if [he has] to blow up his lousy island.” Meanwhile, Vangie reads her Tarot cards and reveals that the King of Coins is endangering Alison’s life.

“But who is he?”

What does this have to do with diegesis, you ask? Well, not much at this point, save that, if Dan could only hear Jacques’ minor-key leitmotif playing in the background right at this moment--that is to say, if the non-diegetic music were only diegetic--he would know exactly whom Vangie means.

Jacques cheerfully tearing up a letter after slicing it open with the world’s biggest letter opener.

Join us again on Friday for the funniest of this week’s bad subtitles, and then again next week for my review of Episode 16.

Coming up: Reverend Matt Dawson’s arrival on Maljardin makes shock-waves and Raxl receives an important message.

Notes

* For more information about diegesis (and where I first learned of the concept), see also Joel Schumacher’s Phantom of the Opera: A Video Essay by Lindsay Ellis. The video deals in part with diegetic vs. non-diegetic songs in musicals and why this doesn’t always translate well to live-action film. The segment on diegesis starts at 5:55.

** The author of the blog post I linked to cites Danny Horn of Dark Shadows Every Day (the direct inspiration for this blog) as their source for the origin of the term “backacting.” I can’t verify that Danny invented the term, but most of the few relevant results I was able to find on Google were from his blog, so it’s likely he did. On a random note, when you search “backacting ‘soap operas,’” one of the suggested searches is “dark shadows cat,” which I absolutely adore.

*** Dorothy Daniels, Strange Paradise (New York: Paperback Library, 1969), 66.

{ <-- Previous: Episode 14   ||    Next: Episode 16 --> }

#strange paradise #gothic soap opera #maljardin arc #week 3 #episode 15 #review #analysis #ian martin #dark shadows #diegesis #insane troll logic #iq of 187 #paperback library #soap opera tropes #tarot

[elizabethrobertajones]

So I saw that gifset of Kripke's commentary on that season 3 episode (I'm a newbie watcher but I started the new season and and slowly working my way through!) and I guess I'm a little confused? Kripke is basically saying "yeah Dean really wants that apple pie life" and when I've been going through and reading people's meta, I've seen a lot of people's opinion (especially season 6 metas) that kind of disagree and that Dean really doesn't want that suburban life. Any opinions? Thanks much :-)

Heya!

https://elizabethrobertajones.tumblr.com/post/162713109665/sensitivehandsomeactionman-eric-kripke-on

Oh! Yeah, I reblogged this with the sense of irony about what Kripke was saying in place that you get from being a long-time watcher or deeply embedded in the meta community :P (I should have a /irony tag I use for the benefit of people knowing I’m thinking deep dark shade at whatever I’m reblogging but you know not in a mean way just in a this goes way deeper than what it looks like to me but maybe I just don’t feel like commenting right now :P)

I can’t remember if I have a Dean x Lisa tag that’s actually well-kept except for cute gifsets but 3x02 and 3x10 probably have a fair amount of discussion about it if you want to dig deeper… But I have literally just watched Dean’s conversation with Rufus in 3x15 which reminds me that this was a season-long arc, and 3x10 was a weird little part of it… 3x02 sets up that Dean has a sort of wistfulness for what he COULD have had, and 3x10 and 3x12 (and all these are Gamble-related episodes) have stuff about Dean yearning - this bit and the conversation with Victor where he makes it blatantly obvious that even with Sam he has a sense that he might want more from life and he is not currently getting it - Victor’s comparison of ex-wives and empty apartments is paralleled to Dean’s feelings. And in 3x15 Rufus warns him that this is what he has to look forward to becoming if he survives. (In 12x14 we had a parallel where Ketch buys his way in the door the same way Dean buys his way in the door with Rufus & scotch, but it was subverted in so many ways, it just seemed like the BMoL had sketchy intel you might be able to buy Dean this way.)

Anyway, by the end of the season the message is quite clear that Dean sort of years for it but can’t have it and in many ways has chosen this life of saving people over it. Though he’s dying for Sam, and never un-wishes that or can even think of it, from about the midpoint of the season he wants to find a way to break the deal but I think a lot of that is driven by not wanting to be a demon rather than wanting to grow old, since becoming a demon will pretty quickly undo all the good work Dean did saving people, he’d have to assume. 3x09 gives him any motivation to fight rather than cheerfully stroll off to Hell because Sam’s alive and that’s all that matters, you know?

I think in the context of season 3 the Lisa stuff was pretty interesting because I think Dean can have a contradictory yearning but Lisa is a ghost of an idea, literally where she fizzles out of the dream in the same way ghosts disappear, and to feel wedded to the hunter lifestyle and in many ways he’s been rejecting it from the start… In 1x08 (Bugs) especially he’s making a point about beeing skeeved out by suburbia and the idea of living SUCH a normal life. In 2x20 we see him as a civilian and he enjoys it for a day or two to hang out with Mary and Sam and Jess, and I’ve written a LOT on the over-lap of Carmen in that episode and Lisa in 6x01 since they’re connected by djinn dreams and I feel like the message is his year with Lisa was emotionally/functionally practically the same to Dean as if he’d been strung up in a warehouse the whole time. (That’s something in my 6x01 tag or 2x20 depending which you feel like scrolling through :P Sorry, I’m kind of in advanced brain bleeh from sitting in a noisy room so you can get surface brain rambling to answer this but no research or links in this state >.>) 

Anyway in 2x20 he unequivocally rejects the civilian life because people died without him doing his job, even though he called Carmen “the One” and everything else seemed fixable or exciting to him, including his relationship with Sam. It was after discovering he’d “un-wished” all their work as hunters he angrily appealed to John about why it was his job, before stomping off to find and kill the djinn, and un-make his wish, assuming at this point it was a wish and not a dream. (I still call it a wish-verse sometimes because of how DEAN analysed it and I find it FASCINATING to look at that way when it comes to these decisions, while I’d just call it the djinn dream when looking at it from another angle). 

I suppose Lisa comes not long after but he goes to see her as part of a farewell tour revisiting the best hookup of his life, and ends up smacked with the potential he’s mission out on of raising a kid and all that - a long-term investment he can’t get involved in for one year (do you feel the knife turning :P) because that’s not fair on them and offers them no long-term stability. He CAN’T make a home when he has a 1 year demon deal weighing on him, so the episode is just there to psychologically torture him. I think he never dreamed of suburbia before Lisa in 3x02 but by 3x10 we can see he took some unexpected emotionally scarring just from being told he CAN’T have something. Because posing the question opens up “what if”s (this incidentally is my entire rationale when you boil it down for why the male siren proves Dean’s bi :P). Dean had a moment to seriously imagine a NICE life where he would be with Lisa and have Ben as a son and it’s impossible for he can even start to have it. And in 3x15 Rufus confirms that even if Dean survives (or comes back from Hell as it turns out), being a crotchety old hunter who only opens his door to people if they show up with nice Scotch is about as much as he can hope to look forward to.

I think that’s a bad message too but it gels more with Dean’s outlook and experiences and I think helps him shut away the feelings he could ever have had more or that he was being unfairly denied, in a combination of personal choices to hunt/seeing the benefits of doing it over a normal life, and pessimism about his lifespan or what they can reasonably expect from their lives. In 5x18 he tells Lisa that when he thinks of himself being happy it’s with her, because of the scarring I mentioned that 3x02 specifically denies him this endgame and leaves an impression of it in his psyche as the Thing Dean Can’t Have, but DOES turn into a nice thought to hold onto as a what if. And Sam tells him to go for it and he does, and by the end of season 6 it’s a “never mention this again or I’ll kill you” situation and Dean doesn’t think about endgame out loud for like 5 more years until season 10, and the question is slooowly reintroduced through hesitant confessions and car conversations and meeting a pair of married hunters at a bar one day, to finally get the idea that while Dean’s unequivocally written off suburbia, wife & kids, there’s other things he could get out of life to make him happy and feel less like Victor or Rufus, dark mirrors of his present and future, like the ghosts of endgame visiting a long-term-relationship Scrooge :P 

But yeah Kripke saying that Dean secretly has a romantic soft spot for the normal life and fluffy romance, personified in this case by Lisa, is really because he’s talking compare and contrast to Sam. He says Sam isn’t interested in Bela that way really, he’s just horny and they know no women really so… that happened. (I side-eye but whatever, different discussion :P) and that’s in contrast to Sam’s supposed sweet and nerdy surface layer, while Dean’s got the macho horndog outer layer so Kripke’s explaining in 1 go performing!Dean (and Sam) and that Sam n Dean are yin and yang to each other (which, again, in Baby, we have that great shot of them in red and blue contrasting colours, sleeping top & tail in the Impala from above that demonstrates this… Can’t tell if you’ve seen season 11 actually or joined in season 12 (oops apologies for those spoilers too, I tried to keep them super vague and if you’ve seen season 12 you sort of know where it led to >.>) but this is what it looked like:

from a meta POV it’s absolutely one of my favourite shots of Sam and Dean in the entire show. Anyway it’s visually demonstrating the same thing Kripke is saying in that commentary. Sam presents one way so they write Dean presenting in the absolute opposite way, and then choose to subvert both presented faces with an image each to absolutely destroy that image and show something deep underneath. From the way he was talking it sounded like they thought the Bela thing first so the Lisa thing might literally just have been a part of it because it was amusing to them to do that with Sam, and the rule is absolutely probably 1st thing in their character bible to always make Sam and Dean at odds with each other even if it’s in some innocent visual/character demonstration.

(This is why I hate Buckleming writing btw - they’ve been increasingly writing Sam and Dean as an utterly unified unit who think and breathe on the same wavelength and it drives me nuts because that is not their dynamic at all no matter how fan favourite “winsync” is (which is of course a totally different thing to do with them working well together meta-textually as actors and in the text as kids raised closely together, and who also have worked together for most of/their entire adult lives so of course they naturally move and talk together sometimes - I can be in sync with my twin and we have core personality overlap but we’re also utterly different people in extremely obvious ways e.g. quiet vs chatty - guess which :P)… In Buckleming’s hands it just means they can use Sam and Dean to alternately deliver exposition in lengthy talking scenes as if they’re one character, and that exposition to Mick in 12x17 when he “Hello boys” them in the Bunker was one of their worst incidents so far >.>)

Anyway, I don’t think that makes the Lisa thing insincere especially as it sounds like 3x10 more than 3x02 actually cemented her as Dean’s imaginary choice of perfect dream girl to fill the space Carmen the El Sol ad lady previously held, when it came to the writing. 3x02 stand alone is good to torment Dean as a “Hahahaha you will never have this” but 3x10 builds on it and shows them being intuitive to the character and things that make sense to write him… And I think from the very start they were aware of the contradiction and that Dean might sort of have a soft spot/dream of the normal apple pie life but that he was also at the same time profoundly aware of all the ways in which he hadn’t chosen it, it wasn’t his life, and there were abundant reasons he wasn’t having it and even in the same core places this dream resides, didn’t want it. If you go deep in my 3x02/2x20/6x01 Lisa x Dean metas (again, sorry, I’ll add tags to this post at least :P) you’ll probably find the post I made collecting my rewatch notes as I discovered this subtextual story through the season, realised where it all came from later, and by the end of the season realised that they knew and had talked themselves out of it being something Dean could have because the subtext took the same route as the actual Dean and Lisa arc in season 6, probably because Gamble helped craft the entire thing in season 3 and then brought Lisa back for season 6 and had a whole season to play the entire thing over again. So I feel like that suggests Dean talked himself out of it too with Rufus and Victor’s help, and fundamentally never changed track even with season 5 & 6′s Lisa stuff, because that closed the book on it so hard we have this parallel to Dean and Rufus in 12x14 and the idea he can have something more with a hunter maybe or ~someone in the life~ is now the subtext under that in the same way Kripke talked about him having this squishy interior to do with Lisa back in season 3.

#Asks #3x02 #3x10 #Dean x Lisa #kripke sed #performing Dean

[suspected-spinozist]

[ooc: It’s @theunitofcaring‘s birthday! With love, always.] 

I almost can’t believe it. Makel Alasi’s writing his memoirs, and I have a friend who works for his publisher, and she managed to get me an advanced copy! I don’t want to leak too much, but this is one of my favorite parts. (Tagging @colorjustice since I know she’s a fan, even if she sometimes has trouble admitting it). 

“I could always write a movie soundtrack. I’ve never done one before, and it seems like it could be fun.”

“You know the difference between a movie and a music video, right?”

“Of course –“

“Because in a movie, the music’s generally supposed to stay in the background.”

“Not the way I write it.” – a matter of public record, incidentally. Just look up my film licensing agreements. “Anitami audiences have taste, Telkam. You can’t seriously believe they’d rather watch you than listen to me.”

“Yeah.”  

There wasn’t really much I could say to that, so I just let him sulk for a couple of minutes. I did apologize, eventually, I’m not heartless.

“It’s fine.” (It obviously wasn’t. What my brother lacks in eloquence, he more than makes up for in emotional volatility).

“No, it’s not. You know how I get when people imply I’m not talented.”

“Yeah. Makel, I’m not you.”

That’s obvious, I’ve heard him sing. “You’re still an artist. Well, in a manner of speaking –“ “What I am is I’m employed, that’s what I am.” He turned away. I think he may even have grunted.

“You’re really not happy, are you?”

“Guess not.”

“I just thought it would be nice to collaborate on a project with my little brother.”

***

We were all so relieved when Telkam told us he was going to be an actor. So, it seemed to come out of nowhere, so – and it’s not easy for me to admit – he’s not even that good. He’d get better. My father is always saying any of us could excel at anything we set our minds to.  Of course, it’s not like he tried especially hard to be the world’s best diplomat.

It was different with Aitim. I mean, when we first started to notice that Aitim wasn’t happy. Dad took it especially hard. He felt like he’d betrayed him; that is, like he’d broken the unspoken contract he’d signed when he bought his first credit that his children wouldn’t feel trapped the way he’d been trapped, and what’s worse, he felt like a failure. Failure makes him get all defensive, it’s not as if he’s had much practice.  Mom just didn’t get it. She sees politics as a kind of applied psychology, and both my parents tend to think of the applied sciences as things other people do after all the really interesting theoretical problems have already been solved. But Aitim had passion, he had ambitions, and he was willing to move metaphorical mountains – or at least sidestep social institutions – to fulfill them. That’s something they both understood.

*** I decided to visit Telkam at work, since I was curious, but mostly to fuck with him. They were shooting on some backlot in the middle of – and I do mean – nowhere, three hours outside of Lina by train, one of those depressing exurbs full of identical row-houses full of identical purples. It’s still mostly apartments out there, but no more than three or four families to a building. They’re all a dingy sort of off-white – the buildings, not the families – with squares of patchy grass and the occasional optimistic swing-set. I’ve heard people move out there for the space, but I can’t imagine they’d need it. I didn’t see any children. Then again, it was school hours.

The lot was easy enough to find. Telkam was wearing something that looked like a couple of old laundry machines wrapped in aluminum foil. (“Astronaut or sentient household appliance?” “Radiation suit, obviously”).  You couldn’t see his face, nor much of the rest of him, which meant either a surprising dedication to realistic radiation safety standards on the part of the producers or just plain stupidity – after all, they certainly aren’t paying him for his acting skills.

(You may think I’m habitually cruel to him – and I am, though not more than any older brother. Don’t misjudge me. The advance on my exclusive memoirs is going straight into a trust fund to pay for his first-born child. What? It’s not as if he’s going to earn one on his own.)    

In any case, I snuck in the back during a take, and watched him flail at a kind of rubbery-looking facsimile of a post-apocalyptic mutant organism for a little while before someone caught sight of me. She was a little yellow with a clipboard, clearly some species of assistant, and I must say she made a valiant effort to squeal in absolute silence. But then an electrician noticed her, and had to nudge his friend, who had to nudge her friend, and – well, have you ever seen a very, very quiet mob starting to assemble itself? Until then I hadn’t either, and it’s an experience Eventually the man with the puppet joined in and they had to stop filming. It took another ten minutes to get Telkam out of the suit.

“Congratulations, asshole. They’re going to lose the whole day, do you have any idea how much that costs?”

“Not as such, no.”

“It’s not a high-budget operation, but there’s still about 200 people working here, and they’ve all got salaries. And equipment, and renting the space –“

“I know I can pay the difference.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Sure it is. Just point me in the direction of your line producer and see what happens.”

“Fuck you.”

Articulate, isn’t he? “How do you feel about abandoning the land of the living laundry machines and taking the rest of the day off?”

“I don’t come and bother you where you work.”

“Not for lack of trying. And we both know that that’s not strictly true.”

“Makel – “

“Remember that time, you would have been, what, one and a half? And I was recording something at home, when suddenly I heard this banging – “

“Makel! Don't talk about that where there are people!” (And so I won’t – but you should really look up the video on MyStream.)

In the end, he did leave for the day, and since I’d given them permission to play my latest single over the opening credits, the director even thanked me. (Thematically, it’s completely inappropriate, but don’t we all make sacrifices for the sake of family?)

“Feel like telling me what that was all about?” – we’d been on the train to Lina for about two hours at this point, but when Telkam feels like sulking – as in all his endeavors – he commits.  

“I haven’t seen you for a while.” Which, for the record, is true.

“You’re not on a secret mission from mom and dad?”

“To, what, make sure you’re still alive. They’re not that neurotic, and they’re definitely not that subtle.”

“Aitim, then. But he probably already has spies.”

“Oh, Telkam. You’re assuming he cares.”

The thing about Telkam is that it’s impossible to guess what’s going to upset him. Most things that would reduce a reasonable person to tears just roll right off him, but he can be surprisingly vulnerable. Especially when it comes to family. So – “They all want you to be happy,” I say eventually. “They love you. For reasons that pass comprehension, admittedly – “

“I know I haven’t been home in a long time.” He hasn’t. I’m not even sure where he’s living right now, in fact, which is why I had go and kidnap him at work – “How’s Kantil?”

“He’s doing well. Math track, says he wants to do something practical. Dad’s hoping he’ll be an engineer, of course, but mom thinks economics. And Kefin’s talking.”

“I thought Kefin was talking months ago.”

“He was, but only in Anitami, and you know dad, that barely counts.” (My father raised all of his children to speak at least six languages – to varying degrees of success – and I’ll have you know that I translate all my own lyrics in four.)

“I’d visit more, but – “

“Yeah.”

“They might ask me how I am.”

***

I remember when Aitim went off to live with our grandfather (you may have heard of him?). I’ll never forget what it was like after he left. I don’t think the house has ever been so quiet, and that’s before or since. I did a lot of singing. My parents worked, somehow, even more than they usually do, and if I hadn’t been there I don’t think they’d have remembered to come home – this was just before Telkam.

The only people who gossip more viciously than blues are green academics (and I know whereof I speak), so if you’ve had the misfortune to move in those rarified circles, don’t believe what they tell you – dad never tried to force him to stay. Once he was sure that it was what Aitim really wanted, he didn’t even try to persuade him. My father doesn’t understand why anyone who could be green would ever choose to be anything else, but he knows what it’s like to be forced to be something you’re not. Yes, it’s an unusual way of looking at caste, and for all I know it may be unique to my family, but I’ve always considered myself the better for it. Patrilineality be damned, I’m green. I know it. You know it, too – would you have picked up this book if you hadn’t heard me sing?

Aitim himself says much the same – not that he won’t deny it if you ask him.  At least he did one night a few months later, at dinner with just grandfather and his wife and the two of us and our cousin Kan, age three seasons, because sometimes even Fen Neli wants to see his grandchildren without having to smooth over some sort of familiar conflict.

“You’re not blue,” I told him between courses. “It doesn’t matter who our grandfather is. In our family we’re green.”

“Poor grandfather! Someone will have to tell him we’ve stopped being related.” This all happened years ago, six or seven at least, and I can’t recall if grandfather laughed, and ruffled Aitim’s hair. I like to think he did. “Besides, I don’t think I’m blue because our father is really blue – it’s just that some people will be more willing to work with me if they think I do, so that’s how I explain to them.”  

“That’s not what dad thinks.”

“Really?”

(Grandfather, not paying attention: “No, Kan, we don’t eat the flatware, yes, yes, that’s the way, or grandmother’s necklace – where did he get that? – Kan”)

“Really. He said so. And he’s so angry he’s not going to let you come home and you’re going to have to go live with Uncle Nolime ‘cause you think he’s so much better than us.”  

It would have been a fairly transparent lie even if you didn’t know our father well, or weren’t Aitim, but he did, and he was, and of course, being Aitim, he smiled. “If that’s so, then I suppose shall live with Uncle Nolime, but I’m afraid I should miss you all terribly.”

“Don’t you miss us now?” I think I mentioned, before, that father felt like he’d somehow betrayed his firstborn son. I was two years old, my big brother had just left for what seemed, at age two, to be forever, and I just felt betrayed.

“I know I’ll come back, Makel. And if I lived with Uncle Nolime, I don't think father and mother would visit me nearly as often.”

“He puts up with Entis” – Entis, thankfully, being too occupied by Kan to notice – “so why’d you do it, then?”

“Do what?”

“Be a blue, if it’s not because of dad.”

“Hmmm. Makel, why do you think we have castes?”

“Historical contingency, right? Societies that had castes hundreds of years ago did better than the ones that didn’t, and now we all have them. Except – well, I’ve always thought, we can’t know if they did better because they had castes, or because they matched particular castes to particular niches, or they just happened to have more resources to begin with, or something else entirely. There must be archeologists who know something about it, but it was so long ago – “

“There were confounding factors.”

“Right, that. And greens really are smarter than other people, even if they weren’t always, and grays really are stronger and faster, and blues are –“ Kan, seated directly across from me, was gnawing on the edge of the table – “well, blues are something, probably, but we don’t go around saying that especially smart people are really greens. Unless they’re dad.”

Aitim nodded. “What they’ll teach you – at least in blue school – is tat heredity obviously isn’t infallible, and sometimes people really might be more productive in different caste than the one they’re born to. But that’s so vanishingly rare – especially compared to the number of people who’d want to switch for more power, or prestige, or cheaper credits, or something else like that – that it’s a waste of resources to try and sort out all the valid claims. So we just don’t allow it.”

“Except for dad.”

“That’s right. And father didn’t get away with what he did because he was talented enough to justify it. He is, of course, but that isn’t why it worked.”  

(I’m going to have to interrupt my brother, here – just for a moment – because most of you don’t know him, and have consequently never heard him speak. I don’t remember his exact words, and I can’t explain how the looks in his eyes, and his gestures, and his tone made them seem so perfectly, irreproachably reasonable. People say I have the magic voice.)

“Father got away with it,” Aitim continued, “because there’s a certain way that people expect greens to act, and part of that – for better or for worse – is that they really don’t think they should have to follow the rules so long as they’re clever enough to get around them. All the things that would have made him a terrible blue – his impulsivity, his single-mindedness, his, ah, – “

“ –complete lack of social skills?”

“Yes, that – they’re not exactly virtues, in a green, but they make him seem more consistent with himself.”

“I don’t think dad cares about that.”

“Really? I think he cares a great deal. And other people care even more.”

“Is that why you want to be a blue? Because it makes you more consistent with yourself?”

“Yes. And no one really thinks that there’s anything ontologically significant about patrilineality or matrilineality, in a mixed-caste marriage. We simply need a way of deciding edge cases – that is, of determining who we should think of as blue. They’ll think of me as blue. That’s what matters.”

Grandfather must have gone upstairs to put cousin Kan to bed, because I can’t imagine he wouldn’t have had something to say to that.

“So it’s all in people’s heads?”

“The most real things usually are. You know –“ Aitim was looking at a framed photograph of our father as a child of one or two, sitting in grandfather’s lap and looking desperately unhappy – “the only thing that could have made the caste system look more arbitrary than letting father switch would have been making him stay. Can you imagine? It would have seemed so cruel, and so stupid –“

“It’s a good thing he left.”

And, after a while – “I think so too.”

I took a few moments to digest that, along with my dessert. “It sounds like you’re saying that it’s fine to ignore your birth caste, as long as you can get enough people to take you seriously.”

“I never said that.”

“You pretty much said –“

“Well, I won’t acknowledge it.” Even then, you see, he was already running for office.

***

“I don’t see why you had to tell me all that.”

We’re getting off the train in Lina, in my neighborhood, which is mostly green, when I start to notice the strange expressions on people’s faces. Of course, Telkam’s hair. Either he’s wearing a wig or he’s bleached it for the part.

“Why do you think the leads in action movies are always gray?”

“What?”

“Your hair, I just noticed – I mean, it would make sense if you were playing an astronaut or a soldier or something, but you’re the last survivor of a nuclear holocaust, it could really be anybody.” “I guess it’s just what people expect.”

“I suppose so.”

“Besides, if action hero were a job, it would definitely be gray.”

It’s a beautiful night, perfectly clear. The city sparkles, forty, fifty, a hundred stories tall, with little cracks of sky shining between the buildings in the hazy, reflective darkness. If you live near the river – and I do – you can see the lights reflected in the water, quavering and sinking and surfacing as the little waves calm, like the stars it’s always just too bright to see.

“I think you have more in common with Aitim than you’d like to admit,” I said.

“Oh?”

“That’s why I told you that story earlier.”

“Aitim’s blue.”

“Only because he wants to be.”

“He dyes his hair. I know he wants us to think it’s naturally coming in teal, but he last time he was home, I saw his roots showing.” A girl with pale jade-colored hair walks by, gives us a funny look, and scurries off. Telkam tosses his hair and blows her a kiss. “You know, I think I just might keep the gray? It suits me.”

#amenta #the really sad thing: this is not the highest context silm fanfic I have ever written #misadventures in arda

[saintedfury]

Time Traveling | Bossville | IC Drabble

Summary: Furia is still struggling with the loss of her lover and a close friend. So far, very little is staving off the weight of her guilt and grief.

a/n: It was totally incidental that Furia ran into the younger version of herself from the Criminals In Bloom thread with @bosselimitchell.

Time Traveling

-1-

There were moments when Furia thought about using the time machine, but she never honestly entertained the idea. It wouldn’t do more than create more problems than it would solve, at least according to Matt and Kinzie.

A time or two she considered taking up Talon’s suggestion and asking Evvie about reaching out to Troy in the afterlife. There might be some temporary relief, but in the end, she knew it would do nothing more than make it harder to move on.

And that’s what she had to do … move on. Easy enough in theory, but it was proving so much harder to do on her own than she remembered.

He’d been such a big part of her life for so long. Longer than even her own mother, she realized after a few moments of thought.

She did the things she thought she was supposed to in an attempt to make it easier. She stripped the suite they shared, turned it into her room rather than their room. She kept herself busy with work and tried to keep herself distracted during her down time. Though now, she spent far less of that in Bossville.

Sometimes she would just cross over the rift and wander—on foot or in a car she appropriated. All in all, her impromptu visits to Bossville were rare. It did not feel as welcoming as it had in the past, nor was it as safe.

And Furia was fully aware, especially after meeting a resurrected Talon, that she was at least one reason why it could be judged thus.

-2-

The purples and lavenders rippled, like a stormy alien sea. She stood in the center of a blank, gray concrete room just watching the motion of the rift for quite some time. She didn’t know how long she stood there before she heard that grating, high-pitched nasal voice.

“Boss,” she called again. Kinzie’s voice held that annoying note of concern that Furia was starting to hate hearing, even if she knew it was justified.

“¿Qué?” she sighed.

“Just checking in on you. You’ve been standing there for like 20 minutes.”

“Síp.”

With a nod and not another word, Furia relieved Kinzie of her concern and stepped through the rift. On the other side, she didn’t linger. The place might have been stripped after she closed the rift, but Matt and CID had since rigged the entire building securely again. So, while she so far refused to rebuild the place wasn’t completely abandoned. Two of CIDs remote units detoured uninvited visitors, but also served to greet friends and acquaintances that might (but hadn’t) come by for a visit. Not that Furia blamed any of them; she didn’t really roll out the welcome mat when she returned.

In part, she didn’t want them tiptoeing like her crew continued to do. She didn’t want pity, no empathy or sympathy. Just wanted them to treat her like normal. But she knew that couldn’t happen. She wasn’t the same.

With a huff, she punched the button near the door and it slowly unlocked and swung open. Once she cleared it, the mechanisms whirred and ground as it closed again. It was the last defense of her rift; she never kept it closed before. Now, with everything empty it was the smartest choice for everyone involved.

She didn’t take the elevator, opting for the stairs, and ducked out the back door. The metal of the heavy door scrapped the door jamb as she shouldered it open. The sound startled someone in the alley.

“Mierda,” a quiet voice muttered before a can tinkled against the asphalt.

If she had to guess the vandal caught mid-tag was a teenager and not just because of the torn jeans and over-sized hoodie. Their reaction and the way they moved just seemed like a kid, plus they left behind their backpack.

Furia toed the can and examined it before giving it a kick. It skittered toward the wall, which drew her gaze upward. It was pretty good. In the white blocked out portion only a few letters were legible—F and U. She shook her head. It didn’t take a mastermind to know what they were likely aiming for.

Her laughter echoed off the brick and asphalt as she crouched near the bag.  She was mainly looking for something to identify the absent artist, but the kid was smart. Nothing more than paint, or so it seemed. Furia upended the bag and more than a dozen cans clattered to the ground. Buried beneath it all was folded and worn composition book.

Flattening it out, Furia reeled when she read the name drawn in a similar script as the letters on the wall.

¡FURIA!

HANDS OFF!

She didn’t understand it. Bossville was a son of a bitch but this wasn’t possible. The boss disregarded the warning on the cover and flipped through the pages. It was a mix of journal and art diary. There were realistic sketches, graffiti-style drawings, and notes.

Where am I? This isn’t Stilwater.

The signs on the bridge are bullshit. It’s like this place is a circle, looping back on itself over and over.

I’m beginning to think I’ll never figure out how to get out of here.

Hate to admit it. That jerk with the accent was right. You can get away with a lot here.

I wonder if they even realize I’m gone.

Furia folded the book again, squeezing it in her hands as she stared at the wall again. Perhaps the little artist wasn’t writing what she thought she’d been. She looked at the cover of the book again, then at the wall.

“I can at least finish it for her,” she said, thinking out loud. It had been more years and she would ever admit since she’d done this. Even so, Furia got to her feet, stuffed the cans back into the bag and grabbed the one she kicked across the alley.

She tried to bolster her own confidence, as she stared at the wall. With the first shaky movements of her hand, she lost herself in the motions that came back to her slowly.

More than an hour later, Furia stepped back and examined her work. After a moment of thoughtful contemplation, laughter spilled out of her. It was horrible. Her laughter continued, with no sign of stopping. She gasped for breath, her side aching.

Horrible was putting it nicely. Furia realized that she wasn’t a writer anymore. “No, you’ve devolved to a toy, Ladrón,” she said, chuckling. Thankfully, the maniacal laughter was dying down.

Eventually, she regained a modicum of control and dropped the last can in the girl’s bag. She ripped a sheet out of her piecebook and wrote her a quick note. Pro tip: Don’t tag under your real name, Princesita. Then she folded the note and slid it and some cash into the book before packing up her bag and leaving it where the teen left it.

If it really was some version of her, she’d be back. Furia knew she wouldn’t let that book go easily; that was likely important to the girl. The paint still being there would be a bonus.

Staring at the butchered tag, Furia considered how for the last hour she hadn’t felt like she was drowning. It was the first time in months that she didn’t feel weighted down. Suddenly, she was desperate to feel that again. It led her to boost a common maroon sedan, the first car she saw when she left the alley.

Then she returned to the building, entering through the front to avoid spooking the young would-be writer. The clear advantage of the building being empty was instantly clear. Furia roped one of the CID units into carrying the crates to the 8th floor for her; then she banished him and ordered Matt’s feed for the floor off.

Alone, she whiled away hours experimenting. It all looked like shit, but it relaxed her more than most of the other diversions she’d tried. Before she left, she splashed white paint over her practice strokes and stowed her paint.

#Time Traveling #Badger Scribbles #IC Drabble