#Some bits are a little simplistic and I apologize for that

[absolutebl]

I Cannot Reach You - Kimi ni wa Todokanai REVIEWED

This image perfectly captures how I feel about this show. You ready? I wasn't.

I Cannot Reach You

AKA I Can't Reach You AKA Kimi ni wa Todokanai

Japan 2023 - 8 eps 20 ea approx 2.5 hours

Themes, main tropes & archetypes: friends to lovers, tsundere/sunshine, self acceptance, self worth, high school BL, live action yaoi, soft romance, kindness

Rating? 10/10

Yeah, it happened again in 2023.

Adapted from a manga.

The moment I finished binging this show I was thinking about writing about it and re-watching it. This is a sure sign that I adored a piece of media. 

This is a wonderful BL.

Truly well executed, with smooth filming and lovely acting, both of a simplistic style that felt slightly more Korean than it did Japanese. It reminded me a little bit of Seven Days and a little bit of Takara and Amagi, and since these are my two favorite high school JBLs obviously I was bound to adore ICRY.

But what it reminded me of more than anything was Cherry Blossoms After Winter.

Odd for JBL and KBL to be so closely linked. 

Like CBAW show, ICRY is classic live action yaoi.

Like the MOST classic of CLASSIC.

All the JBL tropes. I mean look at that image above? It's rooftop assignation, kabedon, and a handhold ALL AT ONCE.

There was also multiple runnings of the gays, surprise kisses (one on a bridge), and shoulder leans.

There is even a “seme looses control to desire” scene which leads to dub con. There is an abject apology after but still - you’ve been warned. 

The premise is: smart sporty hot (and hella gay) Yamato has a long standing crush on his silly sunshine sweetheart bestie, Kakeru. Yamato is also stiff, self isolated, shy, and has only ever really managed to get along with Kakeru. I love this kind of pining seme so damn much, it probably biased me. 

Unlike most uke, Kakeru starts to slowly figure out that his best friend is in love with him by ep 2 (let the chaos bisexual identity crisis commence).

So do some of the friends around them.

The story thus revolves around Yamato trying to unsuccessfully suppress his desire, and Kakeru trying to figure out if he can return Yamato‘s affection.

This biggest barrier is actually Kakeru's feelings of inadequacy and unworthiness (when compared to Yamato). But this is tempered by his genuine kindness which forces him into act with integrity around his dear friend's love and strive to fix everything (even himself) to prove worthy of it - whether he can ultimately return it or not.

Kakeru's struggles are pitted against Yamato‘s repressed need that keeps bubbling over and figuratively (sometimes literally) attacking Kakeru with romantic, emotional, and physical intensity. 

Quick pitch:

This classic friends-to-lovers BL is everything Japan does best. Angsty. Emo. Aching. Driven by real thirst. Yamato is deeply in love with his childhood bestie, Kakeru, and has been for ages, unable to hide his ungainly damaging high school need. He wants Kakeru in every way possible and it oozes off of the screen. Kakeru is silly and a little simple, but not frenetic or overly camp about it. He is earnest, and genuinely wants to keep Yamato in his life which means giving a romance (and gayness) a fair chance. We watch him realize his affection and what form it can take in a truly authentic way. This show was impossibly kind to both of its lead characters and I felt almost honored that I got to watch something so lovely and rare play out on my screen.

I’m not gonna lie, I dithered over whether to give this a 10/10 and nearly didn’t. But there is nothing wrong with it AS A BL.

And it's so GOOD to ALL of its characters and they are so good to each other. It's quiet, and because of that and its goodness, it will get overlooked, but I LOVED IT.

It's not one of those that BL outsiders will get and you must like Japan's style to enjoy it. But I'm in it. It's for me.

What am I hung up over? Even the kisses are good.

10/10

I CAN'T RECOMMEND IT HIGHLY ENOUGH

Welcome to a very elite club. I gotta change all my best of lists now.

I am sorry to tell you how difficult this show is to get hold of. It deserves a much wider distribution. As of Nov 2023 I do not know where to legally find it internationally with eng subs. Please check the comments for updates.

It's on Netflix in some countries!

Try to find it, you won't regret it.

(source)

[fisherrprince]

writers block BEGONE wol eats fruit

Ch’ari is awoken to a muffled curse coming from what counts as Dragonhead’s kitchen. 

Well, “awoken” implies he was sleeping beforehand — which he was not. He was, instead, counting every grey fur the past weeks had given him, metaphorically, and sitting in bed counting the stones that make up the walls literally. Two hundred and thirty-odd, he’d lost count due to the “—! …swiving insect…!“ that interrupted him. 

There are only about three voices Ch’ari cares about hearing — the fourth optional voice being the Coerthan scout on Ul’dah’s front — and the string of curses came from the youngest one. Statistically the most likely between his companions, but that doesn’t mean it’s a common occurrence. Especially not at bloody 2:45 in the morning. 

Ch’ari rolls off the bed sideways, wincing as his paws touch the cold stone and shuffling into the slippers he’s fairly certain Haurchefant made himself for the outpost’s overnight visitors, and he makes his way in near-darkness and near-silence towards the kitchen. 

The kitchen itself is much like a dorm room; functional and simplistic and decorated here and there with furs and cloths and left-behind baubles to make the whole thing seem any measure more homey. Anything to ward off the biting cold nothingness of outside, measures for which Ch’ari is incredibly grateful. It makes his thoughts calm. Like how trees do for wind. 

He finds exactly — or almost exactly — what he thought to find in the little side room. Alphinaud stands at the counter wielding a small string of something, the lamp he brought to illuminate his workspace making him look almost comically gaunt. His tail is completely puffed out in shock, shivering as if he’s about to launch himself at the wall. With little ability to see in the dark, but good enough hearing that his copious blanket shuffling should have alerted him to his presence, Ch’ari somehow manages to sneak up on the kid.

“I didn’t think you were one to swear more’n once at a time,” Ch’ari says, as quiet as he can be to mute the echoes that plague Dragonhead in the silence. 

Alphinaud startles — again, if Ch’ari had to guess — and nearly knocks the lamplight off the counter turning to face him. “W- Master Tia! I didn’t mean to wake you!”

“You didn’t, I wasn’t asleep. What’s with the yelp?”

Alphinaud shakes himself and puts his composure back on as best he can. “I— I was merely fetching some of the provisions we were given, and that thing fell directly in front of me,” he huffs, gesturing forcefully (with a knife! He has some dried fruit on a cutting board. Ch’ari is struck with the sudden and very real possibility that Alphinaud does not know how to use a knife) at the wall. Ch’ari squints. A creature that looks a bit like an egg-sized grey yarzon is slowly creeping its way back up to the altogether too-tall ceiling. 

“Eugh. Do you want me to get it?”

There is a long moment where Alphinaud seriously considers the beast’s demise. He eventually looks away from it, his ears drooping. “No,” he sighs. “It was probably an accident. He didn’t mean to fall.” He fixes the lamp and the cutting board, thankfully putting the knife down as well. The mini yarzon continues its slow crawl up into the darkness. “Asides. Those creatures eat buzzard gnats, and I would much rather deal with the occasional fright if it means I do not have to deal with those pests.”

“What a lovely name for a bug,” Ch’ari grimaces. He carefully pads forward a few more inches and watches Alphinaud set the string of fruit (persimmon) back on the cutting board, a bit too hard and a bit too white-knuckled.

He pauses, looking up at Ch’ari’s lingering intrusion. “I am not in danger, or anything. Pray return to bed. I apologize for disturbing you.”

“Would you like me to cut it?” Ch’ari asks, completely ignoring him. 

“I am perfectly capable of cutting fruit.” 

“You are still shaking,” Ch’ari points out. He’s very aware every second word he says further bruises the boy’s pride when the thing has already been battered to shreds, but he’s not about to let some lordling cut himself holding a knife wrong when he clearly hasn’t slept and isn’t holding himself together. 

“I am — I’m just tired. And was not expecting the spider,” Alphinaud protests weakly. 

“You sit,” Ch’ari decides, snatching the fruit and untying the blasted things. “It doesn’t need to be cut anyways.”

Obediently — a new occurrence — Alphinaud turns to sit, and finding no chair, simply sits against the wall on a fur blanket. 

Ch’ari cuts the cold persimmon into pieces. He has a feeling that the lordling won’t take to ripping it apart with his teeth like an animal, like you’re supposed to do.

Probably two of them will do? He chances a look at Alphinaud, who looks like he’s about to become a part of the furs with his same-color cloak. He has darker circles than is strictly necessary, and a dangerous wobble in his eyes that bespeaks having too many other things on his mind at once. Mayhap three, then. 

Ch’ari slides down the wall next to him and offers him his handful of fruit. “Odd time in the morning to get a snack. Couldn’t sleep?”

“No,” Alphinaud whispers. He takes a piece of fruit and stuffs it in his mouth, and rather un-lordly-like keeps talking around it. “I’ve not been able to. It isn’t that it’s cold or, or uncomfortable, I swear, House Fortemps’ hospitality is more than gracious.” The more he speaks, the more he works himself up. “I try and then I just — awaken! With an awful pit in my stomach, and I can’t help but think of — and, not knowing what happened to the Scions or to the Braves who were unaware, if— if any were, if they were all—“ 

His breath hitches. “Oh, Twelve forbid,” he whines, and buries his head completely in his knees. 

“Head up, you’ll dirty the coat, I think.”

Alphinaud’s head slowly pulls out of the fabric, resolutely facing away from him and hiding his face beneath his hair. “I cannot help but perpetuate these thoughts over and over. That it was mine own folly that ruined everything I naively tried to build. And I cannot help but feel-- feel as if, I don’t know. Not sleeping is perhaps punishment for the way I acted, and now they’re…” He breathes shakily, and Ch’ari can see a damp spot forming on his knees that he quickly hides with one hand. 

Ch’ari puts a slice of fruit on it. Alphinaud doesn’t turn to it, but accepts the slice and miserably puts it in his mouth.

“Now I’ve nothing to do but wait and think. I do not know what to make of it. And, and this,” he sniffles, quickly rubbing his face with the heel of his palm. “I know you don’t like me much, so why do you do such things for me now? Is it out of pity?”

Mildly offended, Ch’ari quickly remembers that at one point (out of misplaced frustration, he swears,) he did call the kid pompous and irritating and “a bratling’s role model”, so that’s probably why Alphinaud believes he still doesn’t care for him. He was irritating. But Ch’ari was irritating right back, and then worried and persistent to the point of projecting, so… He taps his claws, then eats another piece of fruit, then adjusts the way he’s sitting, then lets out a big overdramatic sigh. He throws his arms up. “Come here.”

Alphinaud instead makes himself a smaller ball and angles the tips of his ears away in displeasure. Ch’ari, having none of it, scoots directly next to him and drops his chin onto Alphinaud’s head and begins purring as loud as his raspy throat can manage it. 

“-You are vibrating,” Alphinaud says thickly, surprise overriding his distaste at being hugged sideways. 

“It’s purring. Do not call it vibrating.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. Ask Azeyma. Now hush, I am to tell you a story. It’s important and also strictly not to be revealed to the public, got that?” Ch’ari feels Alphinaud nod under his chin. “Good. Eat more persimmon.”

Ch’ari gathers himself, adjusting his position so that the embrace is not so awkward. Alphinaud quietly lets himself be moved, having wholly given up on being embarrassed. He simply nibbles on the fruit, sniffing occasionally. 

“When I was much younger,” Ch’ari starts, hesitantly, “my mother called me her little prince. I do not think she called me this full knowing how I would take it to heart.”

He pauses. “To make a long and rather grating story short, I realize now that I was set up to fail. Not to absolve myself of responsibility, but I… was sheltered. I guess.” He shakes his head, interrupting his purr before plopping right back down. “I was the only male kitten in our tribe. My first nunh loved me enough to spoil me, and I liked him well enough. He made me think I was king, and none of them stopped him. My second thought me to be a threat, and it was then that I was old enough to hate back.

“It was also then that we were old enough to bully each other, as kittens. I’m sure it’s not surprising that no one liked being bossed around much. By a child, no less, while they were already being ordered to tasks with no relief. So my orders were suddenly ignored, while his were obeyed. I saw him. I saw what the family thought of him. No one liked him, but they respected him. And so I, a shirked prince, tried to copy his behavior. 

“The more I vied for attention, the worse it got. And the worse it got, the more I hated. My intentions were not good, not like yours. I wanted respect, and power, and to be the most important, most competent hunter anyone knew, and I wanted this all without working a day for it,” Ch’ari growls. “I wanted love, and I reached for it through arrogance.”

“To be loved is not an ignoble intention to have,” Alphinaud mumbles, still nibbling on persimmon. 

“Kind of you to say, but I believe it was less to be loved and more to be lauded. Or maybe I wasn’t sure at the time what love felt like. Ch’leure — my nunh, Goddess let him burn — I doubt he knew either, and I doubt he’ll ever know, no matter how much he takes advantage of his filched status. 

“Is the purring helping?” Ch’ari interrupts. 

“W— What is it supposed to be doing?”

“I’m unsure. I’ve heard it’s relaxing.”

“It’s.. rumbling, for certain.” Alphinaud has sort of un-balled himself, so Ch’ari counts that as it’s helping. 

“Anyroad. I was ‘encouraged’ to leave the tribe at fourteen. I wouldn’t have stayed longer even if I weren’t threatened by nearly every girl my age, to be honest with you. I was determined to find somewhere I would be respected. So obviously I took to scammers and piracy,” Ch’ari snorts. “The most respected of professions. But I was coveted there! I was small and novel, and great at pinching pockets, and very easy to control by my ego. As long as I followed the leader, I would be welcome, and it was closer to princedom than I ever was before.”

He nabs one of the last persimmon slices and pops it in his mouth, thinking. “I don’t remember too much of why it happened. But one of the companies I was with hatched a plot to plunder hundreds of thousands of Gil, and all we needed to do was murder some four Dunesfolk merchants. I had slain innocent men before. I’m not sure what compelled me to stop. But I couldn’t do it.”

Ch’ari can feel his tail twitching in distress behind him, without his consent. He puts a hand over it. The Scions know -- knew, in the past-present sense, of his track record. He’s certain Alphinaud was either informed or investigated, but killing does tend to put most sensible people off, and he’s taken care not to mention it much. 

“I don’t know. I probably thought that maybe if I spoke up the company would see my reasoning, would apply the faux respect they had for my skills to my character. But, no, I was a disposable seventeen-year-old who ruined their plot and deprived them of their coffers, and I learned that pirates don’t forgive so much as they beat what irks them to the ground.” Ch’ari clears his already-tired throat. “S’where this happened,” he says. “Believe it or not, I used to be a bit of a singer. Not a good one, but I could carry a tune well enough.”

“I’m sorry,” Alphinaud speaks up. He sounds unsure, but genuine, and Ch’ari ends up purring harder. 

“Wouldn’t trade it back. In any case, I hear Nanali — I didn’t introduce her earlier, I should have — Nanali Nali, a completely unrelated lalafell nearby at the time, thank the Twelve. I hear Nanali scared them all off herself on account of yelling real loud and firing a years-old magitek gun into the air. Not sure if I believe her, she’s strong, but not intimidating enough to scare off that many pirates. I also hear she dragged my sorry corpse back to her house on her own, but I don’t believe that either. Dudunobe says he helped, he loves to take credit where there isn’t any.”

“They are…?”

“Farmers. Out past the deserts of Thanalan where you can actually grow something. S’also where you can kill a half-grown cat without being seen by the Brass Blades. Not if Nanali has something to say about it, though, she’s a real nosy piece of work. And Duno’s her closest neighbor, he has a right loud laugh and won’t even let me look at his sheep sideways. He thinks I’ll chase ‘em, and I did once just to piss him off. Rough folks. Very blunt.”

Alphinaud considers his fingers very carefully. The fruit is gone, which leaves his hands to fiddle with themselves. “They sound very dear to you.”

“Aye. I'm certain I wouldn’t be alive without them.”

“… Why tell me this?”

“Because,” Ch’ari hums, feeling his purrs slow to a crawl. “The next few months were miserable. Everything I had thought about the world was wrong in a way that made me culpable, and the avenues through which I thought I had control were naught but fabrications to placate me. Nanali did not treat me like a prince, nor did she treat me like a wet rat, she treated me like the hurt, wretched child I was. And in return, I yelled at her to leave me alone. She was too stubborn to let me be, though, and while I was having a crisis in her home she just kept giving me food. And bed. And kindness, cloaked in anger to get it through my skull before I was able to see it for what it was. Imagine my horror when I realized what was happening,” Ch’ari snorts. “She watched me fall apart, and then helped put the pieces back in the right order just because she wanted to. You know I nearly cried myself to sleep when I got an inn for the first time? Momodi paid for me, because I helped her with the most menial task in the world.” He lets go of his tail, and leans back against the wall, his ears trembling. Alphinaud remains very stiff, attentive but carefully unmoving. 

“It’s not that I pity you. It’s that I don’t think I could bear going through those months again. It is different, yes, but Nanali is malms away, and we could not visit her besides. Tataru, I do not think, has ever experienced such betrayal, and I hope she never does. …And I think Lord Haurchefant is rather too sunshiney at all hours of the day,” Ch’ari muses. Alphinaud huffs a little laugh. 

“He is very enthusiastic.”

“And a morning person,” Ch’ari groans. “I know I’m a sun seeker, but I seek the sun when it has risen, not before it has. It’s East, it’s always East.”

Another half-laugh. Alphinaud smiles rather awkwardly, with his eyes first and then about three-fourths of his mouth, but at least it’s not a put-upon face in his presence.

“I am… new at being kind,” Ch’ari admits, looking back at the elezen. “And I am an old hand at learning things the hard way. But as much as I can prevent it, I would have you less of a horrible mess than I was. Which means cutting dried persimmons at balls in the morning, sure.” 

“...Oh,” Alphinaud says, and turns away again, conspicuously rubbing his nose on his knees in lieu of having a handkerchief. “Thank you.”

“It’ll never be a problem.” That sentence broke him when he heard it first. Alphinaud seems to be attempting to regain his posture, failing twice before shaking his head and whiskers. 

“Now. As I’m sure Lord Haurchefant will be awake and cheerful soon,” -- Alphinaud snorts -- “we should attempt to catch some sleep. Without waking Tataru, I should hope.”

[ecargmura]

The Yuzuki Family's Four Sons Episode 4 Review - Hayato Deserves The World

Man, this episode really hit the feels. I shed some tears during the second half of the episode. Having Hayato as the last of the brothers to have a spotlight episode really shows off how and why he is the best character of the show. Saving the best for last really does factor here.

Hayato goes to his high school reunion, but gets looked down upon by his former schoolmates and classmates once he mentions how hard his life has been raising his three younger brothers. After overhearing some girls gossiping about how he’s like an auntie, his emotional stress gets the best of him as he leaves the party. Fortunately, he is able to voice out his concerns towards his neighbor, Saki Kirishima who happens to be Kojiro’s daughter and Uta and Waka’s mother. As she is a single mom of two, she is able to give her wisdom, which helps Hayato feel better.

First off, the people at the reunion suck. They made me a bit frustrated. I know that they’re still young as they’re in their early twenties, but looking down on Hayato for raising his brothers shouldn’t be a thing. Those floozies were just gold-digging, so I’m grateful they flew away before Hayato grew an interest in them; they’d totally send his brothers away if he were to get married to one of them. I hated how none of them come to Hayato’s defense, even that Miyan guy. I think what Hayato is doing is an amazing feat that no one else can do. He has a job, but also takes care of his three young brothers who are all sweet and kind. It’s hard to raise one kid, but three? Everyone really is missing out on Hayato’s greatness. Man, I felt so bad when those girls were gossiping about him and calling him an auntie.

During his little “mama party” with Saki, he tells her why he is so dedicated to his brothers. It all stems from how he didn’t have much growing up due to his mother constantly working and his father being a nameless author. Only once his father sold something well that his life got better and that the money was able to let them live in the nice house they currently live in and what allowed his parents to have three more kids before their passing. Once Mikoto and Minato were born, the dining table started having elaborate menus compared to his simplistic meals from before. He once said to his baby brothers “It must be nice having a feast every day.” After dinner, his mother held his hands and apologized for not being able to do the same for him back then. Man, that hurt so much. While his mother’s way of raising Mikoto and Minato isn’t right, I do not think she’s a bad mother at all. Sure, she was a bit biased towards Minato, but she still cared a lot about Hayato and in turn, the eldest respected her a lot with how much she sacrificed so much to provide for him during his younger days. That was the reason why he chose to shoulder all of the responsibilities after their passing. He loved and respected his mother and that was why he wanted to honor her. Damn, Hayato is THE brother and THE son.

I love how important the Kirishima family is to the Yuzuki family. Like how Kojiro is Gakuto’s best friend and how Uta is Minato’s bestie, Saki is like Hayato’s confidant in a way. They both raise kids, so they both know how hard it is at times. In fact, I’m really glad that Saki was there to console Hayato and tell him how amazing he is for his dedication. Her wisdom was amazing, seriously. She never once belittles Hayato. She even compliments him on being able to make bentos so good that Uta wants her to make them. I wonder what happened with her husband since it seems that she’s raising her kids on her own with her father Kojiro. Did he die? Did they get divorced? I do wonder if the Kirishima family will get some spotlight in the future episode.

The last part of the episode was really emotional. His brothers celebrate his birthday. Just this scene alone shows the fruit of Hayato’s hard work. Mikoto, Minato and Gakuto are very sweet and respect Hayato a lot. It takes a lot of hard work and dedication for that to happen. It would’ve been disastrous but also easier if all three were unruly or rambunctious, but they’re not. Since Mikoto’s currently thirteen and his birthday is in April and Hayato’s 24th birthday was in this episode, this means Mikoto and Hayato are actually 11 years apart. That would mean during Mikoto’s flashback from Episode 2, Mikoto was 5 and Hayato was 16. Man, the whole birthday scene got me into tears because it shows how much Hayato loves his brothers even after all the emotional stress and negative thoughts he had prior.

Now that all four brothers had their time in the spotlight, where will this show head towards? I’m worried about whether there’d be a possible imbalance between the brothers’ spotlights going forth, but since this show is so adorable, I don’t mind. I’d like to see more of these brothers doing cute things together. In all honesty, I’m excited to see what the rest of the episodes will be about. What are your thoughts about this episode?

[chattercap]

Monthly Update (April 2024)

Hello everyone, it's Chattercap!

I apologize for the slightly late April devlog, but I was in a bit of a daze after the MindMindMind release! Wow, March went by in a flash for me! Let's get down to it!

I released not one, but TWO games this month! (If you missed them, you can find the links in my pinned!)

Kanau

I spent the first part of the month programming and ironing out the Kanau release. I added mini CGs to my VN framework and also added the ability to rename your save files. After that, it was full steam ahead with actually implementing everything - all of the art, BGM, SFX, VA, and GUI, including updating the gallery. I also set up the itch page and put together some social media announcements. Since the content warnings were pretty stark with this one, I also added a trigger warning screen. After that, I had the game beta tested, and it was released by the 8th!

After that I…took a few days break, haha! (I should have gotten straight to work on MMM, but alas, I always enter some kind of trance right after a game release!)

MindMindMind

For the first part of the month, I was mainly scripting as I needed to get the script done for the VAs as quickly as possible. MMM was my QUICKEST script to date, as I finished 20k words in less than 10 days, wow! (I think that the relatively simplistic prose, with a heavy emphasis on dialogue, helped a lot.) During that time I also reviewed the MMM voice acting auditions and made my selections; in addition, I made the promo artwork and reached out to someone for background photos.

After I was out of my post Kanau-release trance, I immediately started work on the sprites! Kalei's sprite was easy to finish, although Geist's sprite took a bit of time (I kept messing up his face…). I also finished all of the backgrounds and then started work on the CGs; I managed to finish one CG per day! While I was doing that, I also cleaned and adjusted the VA samples. On the final week of the month, I animated all of the art and then basically did the same things for MMM that I did for Kanau - adding all of the art, sound, and GUI, making the itch page, updating the gallery. I also put together a walkthrough and implemented name and pronoun selection. I managed to get MMM ready for beta-testing by the 25th, and I spent the rest of the time prepping VA announcements and putting together the artbook! MMM was released on the 29th!

Other

With new game releases comes a myriad of little tasks! I submitted both Kanau and MMM to IMDB and updated my carrd, Tumblr, Twitter, and patreon. I also added MMM to Steam! (It's here! You can wishlist it if you want; I'll probably upload it there fairly soon.)

And then…after MindMindMind I entered my post-game release coma again. I think I did a few things (started sketching the Hanasu cover art and an updated art for Actala, started a commission for an updated Actala logo, and continued writing the Hanasu script, but I'll be honest I've been in a bit of a daze…)

I'm really blown away with the reception that MMM has received, and I'm happy that so many people have played and enjoyed it; I'll upload a postmortem sometime soon, haha!

What's on the docket for next month?

Amare Jam is going on this month, and I hope to finish The Deepwater Witch for it! There are only a few CGs (and some optional mini CGs) to do, so I think I can! In addition, I want to finish the Hanasu script this month. After TDW is finished, I'll be working on Actala - doing updated backgrounds, sprites, and CGs. I want to work on both a Hanasu release and an updated Actala demo for a summer-ish timeframe (whether I can get both done for Otome Jam remains to be seen…)

If you want to hear from me more often, I also post frequently on my Patreon with sketches, writing snippets, sneak peeks, high resolution art, and weekly devlogs.

Thank you to anyone who took the time to read; your support means the world to me! I'll see you next month!

Chattercap

[mh-dreamscape]

Monster High Amphitrite!!

Mother of Posea Reef

Trying something a little new and decided to design a Monster High parent! I know it says that Posea is only the daughter of Poseidon and doesn’t include a mother, but this concept is just “what if Amphitrite was the mom?” This is my first time making a reference sheet, so I apologize if it isn’t as flushed out as some of the ones you’ve seen - I’m still getting the hang of it!

In case it’s hard to read the “Concept Information”:

- Amphitrite has been sculpted and written with a crab claw on her forehead and a net in her hair

- Lower dress design is based on the bottom of an aquatic mammal and stingray

- Gave her a more simplistic design as that's what many of her statues and paintings depict

- Posea gets her skin color and tail mainly from her

- Tail is inspired by seaweed under the waves (see inspiration collage)

- Had idea for her back in February 2024 but didn't like how the first dress concept came out

- Earrings are tridents wrapped in sea foam / bubbles

Let me know what you think or if you have another monster parent in mind! Maybe I’ll try to make it a bit of a series

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Adam B. Coleman

Published: Feb 24, 2023

Leftists hurl rocks at America, claiming it is an irredeemably racist nation. But what happens when they discover they live in a glass house, and are as much a part of that messy, flawed history? 

Activist, communist and former fugitive Angela Davis was shocked to learn she is a Mayflower descendent on Tuesday’s “Finding Your Roots” episode. 

Now 79, Davis was the latest to appear on the PBS show where celebrities and public figures learn about their ancestry. 

Near the episode’s end, after discussing multiple members of her family, the former Black Panther learned she’s descended from William Brewster, one of the 101 people who came to the colonies in 1620 aboard the Mayflower. 

“No, I can’t believe this,” Davis replied, laughing. “No, my ancestors did not come here on the Mayflower.” 

She continued to protest while Gates confirmed the findings, then responded, “Oof. That’s a little bit too much to deal with right now.” 

“Would you ever in your wildest dreams think that you may have been descended from the people who laid the foundation of this country?” he asked. 

“Never, never, never, never, never,” she said. 

Our villainous selves 

Activists like Angela Davis have spent their entire careers excoriating America’s ancestors for their supposed participation in or benefiting from a system of white supremacy since the first Europeans landed here — and now Davis has realized she descends, at least partly, from those very villains. 

As horrified as Davis may be at finding out this information about her lineage, she shouldn’t be. Even if she were right about her interpretation of “old America,” she has nothing to do with it and she has nothing to be ashamed of. The sins of the father shouldn’t be paid by the son; likewise, we shouldn’t judge Davis’ grandchildren for having a commie as a grandmother. 

Leftists have a hard time understanding that we shouldn’t encourage people to behave like the communist regime in North Korea, which punishes all descendants with imprisonment for up to three generations for a single action of someone who happens to be in their bloodline whom they may never have met. 

America’s glass house 

History is complex because people are complex. We should stop being overly critical and simplistic about the behavior of our ancestors, who were people of their time, by comparing it to our present-day norms and social expectations. 

As clean as we think our hands are, in a couple of generations, our descendants could easily look back and shake their heads at some of the barbarism we think is completely normal and remains legal. 

Just because we know how to utilize far more advanced gadgets than our predecessors doesn’t mean that we are any less humanly flawed than them. 

Rather than constantly litigating and debating the past, why don’t we continue to build a better country together? 

You’re not supposed to throw rocks while living in a glass house because you’re not the only one who has access to rocks, and the motivation for vengeance gives people herculean strength as well. 

But in this case, you shouldn’t throw rocks because you may accidentally damage your own window. 

==

Angela Davis has plenty to apologize for. But it's all her own doing; none of it has anything to do with her ancestors.

Inherited guilt is immoral, whether it's religionists or activists attempting to impose it.

[deusvervemakesgames]

Project RBH Devlog 0020

You know, this game has a lot of bullets in it. Like, a lot. And explosions. And those rings of bullets. What I’m saying is, there’s a lot of things that can hurt you moving across the entire screen at once and that’s only going to get worse as development continues. The player has zero defensive options besides physically moving, and no way to recover health except for a single powerup based on random chance.

So I added in a way to dodge.

(For some reason, this GIF is bigger than any of my other ones so I had to tweak it a bit for Tumblr to handle. As such it looks better on my Patreon. Apologies for the inconvenience)

Dodging itself is actually pretty simple: it takes the direction you’re currently moving and moves you that direction at four times your base movement speed. The trick is making sure that you’re invincible while doing this action. Luckily, the easiest way to implement the dodge input solved this issue for me. I turned the player code into a state machine.

A state machine is very straightforward, really. Instead of having all of the player movement and damage handling and attacking code in the player object itself, I turned that all into a function that the player object calls. The dodge input switches over to a different function instead, the one that makes you go fast. Doing this also means that the player movement controls and attack code stop working during the dodge. More importantly, so does the code that makes the player take damage. End result is a functional dodge action.

The particle effect is a little trickier. It’s not technically a particle system that GameMaker has built into the engine, much like the damage numbers that I discussed in the previous DevLog. It’s an object that I repeatedly create during the dodge action. The object itself decreases in opacity, fading away quickly and deleting itself once it’s entirely invisible. The color also shifts over time, rapidly changing from that reddish-purple to a sky blue as it fades. While the code itself was simple enough, the specific numbers that I needed in order to achieve the effect that I wanted took some trial and error.

Oh and then I found another game breaking bug that I wasn’t aware of, because my work is never finished. You might recall the status effects that I added a while back? It turns out that if an enemy has multiple status effects applied to them, when one of those statuses runs out, the game crashes. It turns out the fix for this was as easy as a single line of code once I realized what the problem was. The For loop that runs to make the effects of each status work sets its size by how many status effects currently apply to the enemy. This number, the ‘length’ of the array, is never changed, even if the actual length of the array does. As a result, when a status runs out, the For loop attempts to run code that no longer exists and freaks out. So all I had to do was reset the ‘length’ variable within the For loop and the problem was resolved.

I’ve still got so much ahead of me, and I’m not totally sure what I want to tackle next. I need way more powerups, but to get more powerups I need to expand the current placeholder powerup section system so that it can display the description of each upgrade. I also need a few more status effects. I’m pretty sure there’s a bug in the code that limits how many times any given upgrade appears, and I need to make sure that’s resetting correctly when the player dies. The enemies spawn in pretty much every room with no regards for the player. There’s nothing to find in the dungeon except the exit. And the enemy AI is about as simplistic as it’s possible to be.

Ah well. My work is never finished.

Until next Devlog!

-DeusVerve

Special thanks to my Tier 3 Patrons, Haelerin and Christos Kempf!

Support me on Patreon to get Early Access to builds!

[jujumin-translates]

Event | 5th Anniversary: The Way Back Home | Chapter 5 - Summer Planet Story

*Contains spoilers for Act 12 - eternal moment*

Misumi: Waah, there’s so many people in the audience!

Izumi: Seems like a lot of people are excited to see the STARS origin story.

Kumon: Hehe, I’m a little nervous, but I’m also super excited to show them all the adventures of Del and the others!

Yuki: This time, we get to show off even more of STARS than in the main story, so we get to put them in lots of different scenarios.

Muku: I hope the audience is just as excited as we are about it.

Kazunari: Yeah, yeah! Let’s get everyone just a little bit more crazy about STARS than they were when they came in!

Tenma: Alright, guys, huddle up.

Tenma: If we all work together, we can hunt down any treasure in the universe.

Tenma: Let’s aim for the shining treasure! Summer Troupe, fight!

Summer Troupe: Yeah!

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

*Buzzer sounds*

Izumi: (Two years before Leo met ANIMS…)

Leo: “The last time we went there, the ruins on L4 were quite the jackpot.”

Trill: “The interior of them was also pretty interesting.”

Leo: “Still, all the arrow traps there were a pain.”

Trill: “Your reaction back then was the best, Leo.”

Leo: “Stop laughing, it wasn’t that funny.”

Link: “Good work. Getting that bread?”

Leo: “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Link: “It’s a phrase from N28. I learned it the other day.”

Trill: “Little by little.”

Link: “Trill gets me.”

Leo: “How’d you understand that?”

Trill: “Someone from N28 taught me it.”

Link: “You guys have been pretty active lately. Been hearing some rumors about you.

Leo: “Really? Have we also become that famous?”

Link: “Yeah, as the reckless idiot duo.”

Trill: “That’s not really a compliment.”

Leo: “By the way, what are you doing out here? We don’t have anything for you to appraise right now.”

Link: “Actually, I have an opportunity with a big payout for you guys. You interested?”

Leo: “You using the prospect of getting paid to convince us isn’t that unusual, yet somehow I’m a little scared.”

Link: “You ever hear of F23?”

Trill: “Yeah, the dictatorship, right? The planet where outsiders are forbidden from entering or leaving?”

Link: “I heard that they just discovered the tomb of the first emperor of the Knox empire there.”

Link: “They’re recruiting foreigners because the inside investigation is too much for the domestic experts alone. Sounds interesting, right?”

Leo: “So you’re saying we can get into F23?”

Leo: “Also isn’t the collapse of the Knox empire a mystery despite how advanced it was?”

Leo: “So relics from that era are hardly ever found on the market.”

Trill: “How could we possibly not be interested in such unique and mysterious ruins on a planet chock full of mysteries?”

Leo: “We have no reason to refuse.”

Trill: “We accept!”

Link: “I was hoping you’d say that.”

Izumi: (The pacing of Summer Troupe’s performance is really good. The audience members were all drawn into the story right from the start.)

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Trill: “Huh, so this is what F23 is like. Nice and simplistic~.”

Soldier: “My apologies, but you’re not allowed to venture in alone.”

Link: “Okay, okay.”

Leo: “They’re pretty thorough. So we’re really not allowed to do anything other than investigate the archaeological sites, huh.”

Link: “Is there something they don’t want us to know about?”

Aquila: “They don’t want the people from here finding out about what goes on outside of this planet. They don’t want people to try and flee.”

Leo: “And you are?”

Del: “Ah! Doctor!”

Orion: “It’s been a while.”

Aquila: “I didn’t know you’d be coming.”

Trill: “Doctor?”

Aquila: “I’m Aquila.”

Link: “You don’t look like a treasure hunter.”

Aquila: “I’m an expert in mathematics. I’m studying cryptanalysis.”

Leo: “Ah, so that kinda doctor.”

Trill: “So you’re one of the experts they’ve gathered.”

Del: “Those two are the treasure hunters, Leo and Trill. And that one there is Link, their appraiser.”

Leo: “You know your stuff.”

Del: “I’ve been in this business for a long time.”

Link: “You don’t really look the part though.”

Orion: “I’m the locksmith, Orion. This is Del. We’ve worked with the Doctor before.”

Leo: “So are there really doors here that are gonna need a locksmith and cryptanalyst to get open?”

Trill: “Can’t have it be too easy.”

Del: “The traps in there are said to be pretty bad, so you’re probably going to need the help of two hunters to get through them.”

Leo: “Same goes for you. Glad to be working with you.”

Aquila: “However, I’m not so certain I agree with the ethics of disturbing a tomb.”

Link: “You’re only mentioning that now? Why’d you even come then?”

Del: “When the Doctor hears about difficult ciphers, he can’t help himself. He’s crazy about them.”

Orion: “Same goes for you, Del.”

Trill: “Guess we’re all in this together.”

Soldier: “Everyone, please come this way to board the bus.”

Izumi: (The six of them discuss their experiences with searching for treasure while boarding the bus headed for the ruins.)

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Trill: “We’re finally here.”

Leo: “Too bad we don’t get any free time beforehand though.”

Link: “Well, you’re still allowed to wander around the ruins freely, right?”

Soldier: “For the sake of efficiency, we have a schedule set for your exploration of the ruins.”

Leo: “We’re fourth in line.”

Trill: “We have to wait!?”

Orion: “Strict as always.”

Del: “Ugh, when is it going to be our turn to go in?”

Hunter: “GYAHH!!”

Aquila: “What was with that scream just now…?”

Leo: “It sounded close.”

Trill: “Maybe it was someone from the domestic exploration team we heard about.”

Link: “Figured that much.”

Leo: “Seems like this is gonna be interesting, huh, Trill.”

Trill: “Can’t wait.”

Izumi: (Eventually, it becomes time for Leo and the others to explore.)

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Trill: “Leo, on your right.”

Leo: “Got it.”

*Arrow fires*

Trill: “Guess that’s what that guy from earlier got caught up in.”

Leo: “Such a simple thing, but it’s still pretty ingenious in the way it’s hidden.”

*Arrow fires*

Leo: “--Tch.”

Trill: “Ah, my bad, that one’s on me.”

Leo: “Hey, that coulda killed me.”

Trill: “But it didn’t.”

Leo: “Not the point.”

*Arrow fires*

Trill: “Uwhoa.”

Leo: “My bad, that one was my fault.”

Trill: “Hey!”

Link: “Will you two quit screwing around?”

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Leo: “I don’t see any way to open this door.”

Link: “Maybe because no one else ever got this far.”

Leo: “The hell is with this cipher?”

Trill: “Hmm, I’ve never seen a key like this before.”

Leo: “Well, I’ve got no clue what to do with it. Guess we gotta turn to the experts.”

Trill: “That’s probably the fastest way. But the number of people left on the team is decreasing quickly due to injuries. So hopefully there’s someone left.”

Izumi: (Leo and the others turn back to get help from Aquila, Orion, and Del, who are fortunately uninjured…)

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Aquila: “Hmm… I see. Interesting. Very interesting…”

Leo: “So, to get around something like this, we need to… Doctor?”

Del: “It’s impossible to get any sort of response from him when he’s like this.”

Orion: “This key is pretty interesting too. It looks like the keys from the Arca Ruins.”

Del: “Well, I’m kinda curious about this protrusion here. It looks like there’s another layer to it or something.”

Link: “The pattern is also similar to the ones at the Arca Ruins, so maybe they’re connected somehow.”

Aquila: “They were similar in terms of age and prosperity. There must be some records of royalty from the Arca Empire marrying into this one somewhere.”

Link: “Huh, you sure know your stuff, Doctor. Wait, when’d you get back?”

Aquila: “I solved it.”

Leo: “That was quick!”

Del: “We were just waiting on you. Now, to put this code in…”

*Lock clicks*

Orion: “Looks like that did the trick.”

Leo: “Great, let’s try and open it.”

Orion: “Hmm, I feel like it should’ve been harder than this.”

Trill: “Well, let’s just give it a go and if it doesn’t work, we can give it a little more thought.”

Leo: “Let’s open it up.”

*Door moves*

Del: “...It moved.”

Leo: “Guess we’ll head in. The rest of you should hang back, just to be safe.”

Aquila: “There is a chance a trap could still be waiting to be triggered, you’d best proceed with caution.”

Trill: “But we’ll never know what’s in there if we don’t go.”

Leo: “And there’s no other way in but through here.”

Trill: “Well then, leave it to us. We’ll open it.”

Leo: “--Trill! On your left!”

*Arrow fires*

Trill: “Uwhoa.”

*Arrow fires*

Leo: “--Gh.”

Trill: “Leo, are you okay?”

Leo: “It’s just a scratch. And it doesn’t seem like it was poisonous either, so I should be fine.”

Trill: “Good.”

Orion: “I’m sorry, I must’ve made a mistake in unlocking it.”

Del: “It should’ve been perfect.”

Aquila: “I’m certain there were no mistakes in my calculations.”

Link: “This lock here looks like it might be a fake.”

Trill: “So then where’s the real one?”

Leo: “No clue.”

Link: “Hey, this one kinda caught my attention. It looks like the only one here that’s from a different era.”

Link: “See, this one uses a royal crest from an era that’s even older than the Knox Empire.”

Leo: “That’s gotta be significant.”

Aquila: “You know, there is a theory that the first emperor of the Knox Empire was born from an indigenous group and had the blood of an ancient royal family.”

Del: “Let me look at that for a sec.”

Orion: “Ah, could this be…”

Del: “There’s no mistaking it. It’s the key to the door. You’re up, Doctor.”

Aquila: “Given that I couldn’t realize the one from earlier was a fake, I’m guessing the real one is going to be quite more formidable.”

Del: “Don’t worry about it. We all understand how tedious it must be.”

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

*Lock clicks*

Del: “There we go, it’s open.”

Leo: “We must’ve gotten it this time.”

Orion: “It was a lot more elaborate than the one from before, but I’m sure I got it right.”

Trill: “You ready, Leo?”

Leo: “You bet.”

Trill: “Let’s open it up.”

*Door opens*

Leo: “...Alright. Sounds like we got it. Let’s go.”

Izumi: (The group manages to disarm the traps, one after another, making use of their respective knowledge and areas of expertise.)

Izumi: (The serious yet curious expressions everyone is making are great. It makes the audience feel like they’re along for the adventure.)

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Trill: “This must be it.”

Leo: “Finally, we’re in the presence of the king.”

Orion: “--So shiny.”

Del: “It’s a mountain of treasure!”

Aquila: “Hmm… No wonder why people wanted to discover his tomb.”

Link: “It was definitely worth the effort.”

Soldier: “Thank you for your hard work. You can rest now.”

Leo: “Hah?”

Soldier: “There are cars and ships available. Please leave at your soonest convenience. We will transfer you your rewards at a later date.”

Leo: “Eh, wait--.”

Trill: “We’ve come all this way and now we’re just saying goodbye!?”

Aquila: “It still comes across as quite blunt even though I expected as much.”

Leo: “We really can’t explore even a little more?”

Orion: “I can’t believe they don’t even let us rest for a bit.”

Link: “Well, I guess sometimes rumors turn out to be true.”

Del: “How’s that even fair!?”

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Del: “Having a celebration on the ship for such a small thing feels kind of pointless.”

Link: “All that gold, gone in an instant.”

Orion: “Ah, the reward has been transferred.”

Trill: “The payoff isn’t bad, but it’s still not as good as seeing that mountain of treasure.”

Leo: “You can say that again.”

Trill: “Huh, is this for real?”

Leo: “This was about the only thing I managed to grab.”

Aquila: “Incredible.”

Trill: “Way to go, Leo!”

Leo: “Got one for each of us, in case you were wondering.”

Link: “Are you for real?”

Del: “That’s surprisingly generous of you.”

Orion: “Thank you.”

Aquila: “I’ll take this one.”

Leo: “You guys were a real help this time. I don’t think I would’ve made it back without you.”

Aquila: “Likewise. It was quite an interesting experience.”

Orion: “I had a lot of fun.”

Leo: “And that’s why I was wondering if you guys would be interested in forming a team with us?”

Trill: “Ah, I was thinking the same thing. After all, there’s a limit to what only two people can pull off.”

Link: “I’m not opposed to the idea.”

Orion: “We’ve been wanting some friends we could trust to work with.”

Del: “I’m in.”

Aquila: “I’m looking forward to discussing it further.”

Del: “What’s with that kind of answer? Just give your honest yes already.”

Aquila: “I have my reasons.”

Orion: “Come on, join us, Doctor. This might be a good way to find all kinds of interesting ciphers.”

Aquila: “I suppose so.”

Leo: “It’s been decided. And our team name will be… STARS.”

Trill: “You just looked out the window to come up with that one, didn’t you?”

Link: “Way too simple.”

Orion: “Well, I don’t mind it.”

Leo: “Well then, to our successful tomb expedition and the formation of STARS.”

Trill: “Cheers!”

Izumi: (A lively spin-off performance full of laughs and adventurous spirit that is so uniquely Summer Troupe…)

Izumi: (I’m glad that the audience got to enjoy more of the charm of STARS that we weren’t able to show in the main story of the space performance!)

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

*Applause*

Yuki: Thanks.

Muku: Thank you so much!

Misumi: Thanks~!

Kazunari: Thanksies!

Kumon: Thanks so much!

Tenma: Thank you for coming!

[ ⇠ Previous Part ] • [ Next Part ⇢ ]

[antialiasis]

Chess - Original London/1990 US Tour

So I have accidentally consumed two more versions of Chess.

On Sunday I decided to give the actual original London production a go, which is indeed more or less the same as Chess in Concert but with various little differences. The pacing is even worse, bless it (I didn’t actually have the patience to watch the video for the entire thing so I had it playing in the background while drawing and swapped to it when the interesting bits were going on), but it was neat to see how it was originally staged (from what I can make out of the blurry blobs of this 80s bootleg), I definitely feel a lot better commenting on the London version knowing exactly what that originally entailed, and the differences were interesting.

In particular, there are little dialogue bits in Sydney that are actually straight from original London but were elided in Chess in Concert, for example. It’s also considerably clearer about the status of the chess matches, though I don’t really like that it presents the outcomes of the chess matches in a bit of an overly simplistic way, as if their chess performance is just a perfectly deterministic function of their relationship with Florence (I think Freddie won every game until “Mountain Duet” and Anatoly won every game after it, or something about as contrived, where Chess in Concert had a more realistic sequence of matches). And just after “Talking Chess” Freddie admits he only ever made the wrong moves with Florence, which I kind of like as part of the sense of Freddie genuinely getting over himself and growing up a bit, even if it put “Pity the Child” too early.

I was going to sort of have that as a little note at the top of the post I was writing with final overall Chess thoughts and leave it at that. But then today, when I was going to go finish that post and post it and move on with my life, I accidentally wound up also watching the 1990 US tour, which I had seen a few posts about and which a couple of people had mentioned in the notes on my other posts. This one’s Broadway-based, so I was kind of expecting it to be more or less like Long Beach, in the way that original London was more or less Chess in Concert - the same story but some insignificant tweaks or cuts or additions to how it’s told. But no, turns out this is yet another vastly different version that just kind of completely rewrites most of it. Here I thought I’d experienced the four major strains of Chess so I could start commenting on it as a whole, but apparently nope. I am left with a deep sense of paranoia that absolutely any production I do not watch is liable to be a counterexample to any statement I might make about Chess in general. Tim Rice, why have you cursed me so.

Where Long Beach actually successfully sold the romance and made it kind of cute, this one managed to have the absolute worst Florence/Anatoly romance, hands down. In the Long Beach version, Florence and Anatoly have some banter before “Terrace Duet” where they’re both laughing and enjoying themselves; in the tour version, instead of that, Anatoly tells her he has no intention of apologizing and arranged this meeting just so he could get to know her, she’s pissed about it, he snaps at her, she goes out to the terrace and starts to sing the song, and after the bit about how the meeting doesn’t matter anymore he approaches her, she tries to move away, and he just grabs her and kisses her anyway? And then when Freddie arrives Florence tells him she’s so sorry and it’s all her fault, and Anatoly calls her at the hotel, and she tells him not to call again so he physically comes to see her instead and just generally will not take no for an answer? I had seen this Anatoly given the nickname ‘Creepatoly’ but I assumed that just meant the actor’s performance came across as a bit unfortunately creepy, whereas he has actually just been entirely rewritten to be a total creep. Please throw this entire man in the garbage.

As a result, instead of being indifferent to the romance, here I just find it deeply enraging that Florence wants anything to do with him at all and am rooting for her to kick him in the nuts, but instead I have to watch her singing all the same love songs no matter how little sense they make, and I hate it. (Here, rather than helping Anatoly defect, Florence is about to fly home when Anatoly just follows her and insists that while she thought they had no future he can’t see a future without her (so obviously she should just give in, I guess?), and then somehow she launches into “Heaven Help My Heart”?! Including the line about how she never planned on “doing all this for the love of a man”, when she has literally done nothing to facilitate this, only repeatedly told Anatoly to please leave her alone? God. Who wrote this version and why did they think this made any sense at all.)

Meanwhile, this version does cut Freddie’s misogyny verse… but it doesn’t replace it with anything, and as a result it feels very much like something is missing: him kind of briefly snapping at her in a way that’s honestly less bad than some of his previous remarks still has her react as if he just crossed some whole new line. It made perfect sense the misogynistic rant finally gave Florence the nerve to leave, but not really as much so here. I’m definitely not opposed to cutting the misogyny verse, it makes sense for Freddie’s particular issues and all but it is super yikes and I’m surprised cutting it isn’t more common when every production makes cuts and rewrites to other stuff left and right, but you do kind of need its role in the scene served by something. Have him yell something more vicious about her relationship with Anatoly there or something, you know? (I also don’t think I’d have cut the “I should have guessed, woman / that if pressed, woman / you’re on nobody’s side but your own” bit, personally, since that sets up his issues a little while staying within more regular asshole territory and I like the callback to “Nobody’s Side”, but that’s just me.)

Also, here Freddie straight-up cheated at chess – he staged the walkout so the game would be suspended and he’d have more time to figure out how to force a draw in a situation where he was down some material. Any Freddie who cares about chess would never.

In this one, nobody ever suggests Florence’s father might be alive, despite slightly more setup about her father being a famous chess player who wrote a book that inspired Anatoly. Florence and Anatoly plan to ditch the final match and elope so they can live together somewhere; however, when Anatoly goes to inform Freddie about this and congratulate him on keeping his title, Freddie tells him not to, that he doesn't want to win the title by default and Anatoly won’t be able to live with himself if he quits and Florence must have put him up to this, and when Anatoly refuses Freddie taunts him, saying he’s just scared he’ll lose. It’s almost sort of a little bit like “Talking Chess” but not really; no because I love chess, no Freddie having gotten over anything. (This is one of the versions that put the full “Pity the Child” just after “Florence Quits”, so that’s not something that just happened, either.)

And then Anatoly does show up for the match (but still late, as in all these Broadway-derived endings). Florence isn’t lyrically involved in “Endgame” at all; Svetlana berates him as he plays and he just responds with the original “Nothing you have said is revelation…” verse rather than the Sydney/Long Beach bit about thinking of Florence and her father and not wanting to betray them (of course, given her father is just plain dead here, that wouldn’t have made sense as is), and then he says he’s found out his only obligation, to chess… right before he apparently throws the match anyway, talking about how I cannot go on hurting all the people who have trusted me. This is a bit strange because as far as I could recall, in this version nobody had actually asked him to lose the match! I guess what he’s trying to accomplish by losing is to stop the Soviet government threatening his family, but I’m pretty sure Molokov at some point literally stated that they don’t care if he wins or loses, they just want him home? All in all I’m not quite sure what the point of doing that was once he had shown up, other than to obligatorily have the Broadway outcome. Afterwards, Anatoly tells Florence that he realized he didn’t know who he would be in her life and that he ultimately is a chess player, which I guess is fair, but then why not win the match? How was he betraying anyone any less by losing than by winning? Mayyyybe he didn’t actually throw the match and just made a genuine mistake there as he was thinking about how he can’t go on hurting people? I don’t know.

After they have their goodbye and Anatoly leaves, Molokov offers Florence a seat on a plane and an apartment in Moscow to just stay there as Anatoly’s mistress, which she refuses (“Would this make me Anatoly’s mistress, or the mistress of the Soviet Union?”). Then Walter arrives and explains the whole political plot to Florence (we’ve seen basically none of that at all before this point), in which the Soviets made some kind of vague handwaved concession in return for the West making Anatoly’s life miserable until he returned. That is, the plot twist is that everything about Anatoly’s difficulties, including the guy telling him his nephew was injured (which was a lie), was orchestrated by the US government, not the Soviet one. Then Walter tells her Freddie’s waiting outside in a limo for her – he needs her inspiration! – and Walter took the liberty of packing her luggage for her. She angrily tells him to bring her luggage back and get out of her sight… and then sings “Someone Else’s Story”, which is actually a choice I kind of like? Florence wishing she could have warned herself to leave Anatoly? Not all of the lyrics make total sense for that context but I can get behind it, especially with this fucking Anatoly.

All in all, Freddie is somehow the most sympathetic character in this version, but mostly because everyone else is either terrible or inexplicably in love with Anatoly, who is terrible. I can’t say I was a big fan; I think it makes some decent structural choices here and there like the placement of “Someone Else’s Story”, I kind of appreciate having some vague hint of “Talking Chess” in there even if this Freddie doesn’t care about chess, but Creepatoly just made me deeply annoyed with pretty much every song that had Anatoly or Florence in it, which is most of the songs.

(Or, wait. One of the other Russians, who gets like five lines, is Nikolai, who is just a wholesome chess nerd who wants to play against Anatoly and get Freddie’s autograph. He is the most sympathetic character. He cares about chess!)

Am I going to have to watch original Broadway too just to make sure it doesn’t do something totally different that my adaptation nerdery brain needs to know about? And the 1990 UK tour, which in the masterlist of bootlegs is said to be a “Mostly London-based script with elements from Sydney and Broadway”? The 1989 Swedish narrated concert of the concept album? I don’t know. Chess is going to be the death of me.

[kenobihater]

my star wars opinions and a lengthy explanation of my dislike for die-hard jedi apologists

if you don't agree with these, that's okay! you can follow, but don't expect me to change any of my views bc i've held these stances for years at this point.

my main opinions: the sith are worse than the jedi, order 66 was bad, the republic sucked shit but was better than the empire for a while, the separatists had the right to secede from the corruption of the republic in theory but in execution they were both 1) brutal and 2) sith-infested and therefore worse than the republic, mando clones is a fun headcanon, the children of the watch aren't a cult at least up to s3 (haven't watched it bc the s2 finale pissed me off), and anakin was ultimately responsible for his own fall but his actions didn't occur in a vacuum and were due in some small part to an absence of open communication on all fronts, a lack of support, and the jedi allowing palpatine to spend time around him as a child (and the council asking anakin to spy on him).

finally, i dislike hardline jedi apologists for reasons i will explain under the cut, and despite me being a mandalorian enthusiast (save for the kryzes and new mandalorians), i enjoy the jedi as well and totally reject the jedi-fan-vs-mando-fan false dichotomy. i'm going into a lot of detail below bc this is the most widely held belief i don't vibe with in the fandom. feel free to ignore the following if you don't want to hear my ramblings on the jedi!

so my personal stance on the jedi apologism thing is that i disagree, but i can see where they're coming from bc that used to be me. around the time of my blog's creation in 2020, i was mutuals with ppl who held those beliefs. i agreed almost entirely with them and followed basically all of the BNF blogs that i've now either blocked or been blocked by as of writing this.

anyway, the more i interacted with the apologists, the more i found myself disagreeing with some of their opinions as time passed. i found them brushing aside criticisms that i thought deserved to be addressed e.g. the jedi's involvement in the GAR and the ensuing exploitation of the clones. then after mando s1 came out, i started getting into legends mando content and enjoyed their particular flavor of moral complexity a bit more, partially due to the fact that there's very little mando apologism and black-and-white takes on them in comparison to the overwhelming amount of jedi apologists, which i had already started to view as overly simplistic.

that said, obi-wan is my absolute favorite character, and that held true even after i started having gripes with the apologism crowd. i like cal kestis a lot too, as well as ahsoka. i loved these characters who were good individuals and also jedi, and so i felt that the order had to be wholly good to create such people. but the order was chained to the corrupt senate, which was the beating, rotten heart of the republic. they inacted its will, got sucked into its war despite holding peace as a main principle of their belief system, commanded an army of clones viewed as no more than property by both the kaminoans and the republic, and then gave into political pressure to expel ahsoka from the order after she was framed for the bombing.

all of these actions are hypocritical at best and horrifying at worst. the jedi undoubtedly fucked up in canon, without even taking legends into account. they were founded on noble ideals and did a lot of good in the universe, but they were dragged down by the republic and ultimately destroyed because palpatine recognized their weakness was being tied to the republic and he made it even worse through his political machinations. they did not deserve order 66, and order 66 wasn't necessary to restore balance, but they weren't faultless paragons of virtue with no control over the universe or the republic, either. they had enough clout to fix some of their mistakes or at least attempt to atone for them, but they ignored these options and continued upholding the republic's immoral status quo.

individual jedi could be good, they could be great, even! that said, they were often constrained not by their code, but by the fact that they had become bound to the senate and in a bad spot politically with the public. they were quite literally between a rock and a hard place, but being in a tough situation doesn't absolve them of their culpability.

in conclusion, the jedi were flawed to a degree, and anyone who doesn't believe that probably won't like my blog. thank you for coming to my ted talk ❤️

[johntayjinf]

they're talking about the console wars

p.s. it's been ages since i've done any traditional coloring, so i apologize for the shoddy coloring work here lol, i'm mainly just a silly chiptune artist and visual art's just a hobby that i have little time for nowadays

Both Famiko (on the left) and Mega (on the right) have some extent of hate for the console wars, but they often discuss it and talk about why it's stupid, and crack jokes with each other quite often. They have a tremendous amount of respect for each other despite being pit against as "competitors" for their respective companies.

One particular of note is the contrast between both designs, Famiko and Mega, which was one thing that I had in mind designing Famiko, but I didn't expect it to turn out this well.

My design direction for both Famiko and Mega were that I base their designs mainly off of the console and controller's appearances. Any add-ons or references could be implemented in their designs if possible. Since I'm more of a Sega guy, Mega has more effort put into references and little tidbits than Famiko does.

Mega was designed first by me about a year ago. He looks like he's seen better days, and is a bit out of fashion, especially with the leather jacket and jeans (not visible in the picture). He has a circular face, which is taken from the round base area of a Mega Drive Model 1 where you insert a cartridge. His color accents and jester hat also look kinda random and unecessary. He also looks a little clunky and chunky.

I gave him the '90s look' that fit surprisingly well with the vibe of an actual Sega Mega Drive, which was partially inspired by the fact of how Sega Genesis advertisements were presented in North America, and partially inspired off of that one Sonic 1 origin story featuring a wife and her pilot husband, who owned an aviator's jacket with Sonic and his iconic emblem to the back of it, and Sonic The Hedgehog was a major part of the Mega Drive (or well, the Genesis)'s fame.

Famiko was a design that I came up with just two days ago, and got a hefty amount of love everywhere, it seems.

Famiko has a much more sleeker, more modern looking yet modest design; not overdone but not too simplistic either. She wears a long sleeved polo with both sleeves rolled upwards, black pants and snazzy sneakers (again not visible in the picture). I gave her weird magnetic floating hands because I ran out of ideas. She mostly has the same charming traits of the appearance of a Super Famicom.

As far as I'm aware, a lot of Japanese Super Famicom(-related) advertisements are more down-to-earth and have less bombastic presentation, so I made her look as such. Hell, she looks like she could even advertise a Super Famicom game to you. She looks a little more modern since the Super Famicom was built a little later after the Sega Mega Drive released, so Nintendo had reference material and could improve upon the design (and hardware, though the Super Famicom was indeed less powerful than the Mega Drive) before release. Famiko's outfit is loosely based off of Mariya Takeuchi on her infamous single's cover art, Plastic Love.

[juniperleafdelivery]

I truly don't think you deserved the aggression you received in regards to the Stanley contest, and I do apologize on behalf of all that. It was just supposed to be for the sake of fun and stay as a silly game after all, and it was clear you were also just trying to have some lighthearted fun.

However, I did just want to swing by and shed a bit of light on the other side of the competition and the lashback that stemmed from it, not to excuse any insults thrown around or actions taken, but to convey that this didn't really come from a place of pettiness or any particular desire to make you feel bad, at least as far as I can tell. To paint the scene, your admittedly simplistic cat Stanley design was put up against an alternative, interpretation of the same canon source; a fat, transfemme character of color, which obviously deviates from the canon quite a bit, and was recently put under fire for such on the op's blog outside of the contest. All that, and it seemed for a minute that said rendition was losing to your cat Stanley, which struck more than a few chords. Hopefully you can see what I'm getting at, not to throw around accusations, but those being traits that often get needlessly discriminated against, especially in regards to redesigns of canon characters, it appeared as though others were willing to vote for any other design that wasn't those things, even if they visibly varied in dedication.

Of course, that's not your fault. This isn't in any way said to fault you and I truly do hate that you had to face that negative outcry directly as though it was, or even be ridiculed for what's a very innocent design and concept made for the sake of fun. This message was just to reach out and speak on behalf of the other side's dilemma so it didn't seem so black and white and red all over. Hopefully I've been able to convey that and you understand a little bit. Regardless, I sincerely hope this whole mess doesn't dissuade you any and you can still go and have your fun past this. You seem like a very nice person and it's clear that your design comes from a place of love just the same, so I hope that much you can still enjoy.

May your week improve past all this!

* Hey, anon, first of all, thank you so much for taking the time to send this ask. I admit that I didn't stop to consider the other side of the competition, and it's really wonderful of you to come in and try to explain what may have happened.

* After some thought, I do realize that those people's comments weren't meant as a personal insult to me. They wanted the other design to win, and I understand that sentiment. And while I was a little offended by the criticism my Stanley received, I don't deny that he's very simple. I mean, I designed him that way for a reason — simple designs are easier for me to draw, and just what I like.

* But I had no idea that the other design was attacked for deviating from canon. Having to deal with that kind of stuff is terrible, and I'm really sorry that it happened to them. I see why the possibility of my cat beating their design purely because of prejudice stirred up some emotions.

* I'm not sure how much of this makes sense. If you understand none of it, then that's alright. Just please know this: I bear no ill will towards those who think my design is low effort. While I personally don't think that, I can see why others may say that.

* Again, thank you anon for this ask. I still love my little cat Stanley, and The Stanley Parable. And I hope everyone reading this has an awesome week :)

[sansloii]

"Why not let yourself have a break? No point in letting yourself get frustrated about it, right?" Though at the same time, Lerato couldn't exactly blame Dakota. The entire situation that she'd recounted to him sounded absolutely ridiculous-- he knew that he wouldn't have been able to deal with it nearly as well as she was. One hand reached out to take hers, lifting it so that he could pull her into a little spin. Drawing the smaller woman into a simple dance with a smile. "Maybe you should take a minute to blow off a bit of steam? You'll be able to think more clearly afterwards, I'm willing to bet." (For Dakota week! ;u;)

As soon as Lerato speaks, Dakota is looking at him — a slow blink taking her gaze from one of the few windows near her desk to the ancient with a slow, still very annoyed blink. Her irritation was not meant for him ( it was never meant for him ) but it isn't like she could just… turn it off and break into some sort of smile at the drop of a hat. It eases up, for sure, but lingering traces of her displeasure tug at the corners of her mouth and keep her brows knit together as she puts more of her weight on her desk.

…He's right, though.

She shouldn't be letting something that, hours from now, would be nothing more than a passing thought to her. The entire situation — from the disrespect, to the justification, to the downplaying, and eventual apology — was nothing that she hasn't dealt with before but… today it exposed a small nerve. Maybe it was lack of sleep or something akin to that but where she would've just “taken it in stride”, she just… didn't. A small voice in the back of her head saw reason in her reaction — told her that it was okay if she dwelled on it a little more. However, doing so served her no purpose aside from fueling her irritation…

When the ancient reaches out to take her hand and pull him to her, she allows it— pushing off the desk as well. Her arm lifts in his hold and she, without question, turns a couple moments after he prompts her to spin. Dakota's expression turns mildly reluctant ( lips pursed in a pout, a soft huff of an exhale quick to leave her ) but she's all too ready to be drawn into the simplistic dance he begins to lead her through.

“…Maybe …Maybe I should.” she agrees, falling into step with him. “…I don't have any productive ways of blowing off steam at the moment… so I'll need your help with that.”

“Perhaps you can teach me something new today?”

@soulsxng

[unicornbeck]

I don’t know. I think David played it as Crowley realizing his feelings for Aziraphale for the first time, but I prefer the idea that he was just shocked at how obvious Nina thought it was. She straight-up assumed their feelings for each other.

I used to think Crowley fell in love at “I gave it away,” and that he realized what his feelings were some time after that. Now, I’m pretty sure the scene on the Wall of Eden was where Crowley first noticed Aziraphale. (Because I’m pretty sure our angel had a crush on angel Crowley Before the Beginning, though Crowley’s passion for his nebulae meant he didn’t pay much attention to that back then.)

Oddly, I no longer think Aziraphale’s entirely clueless; I think he’s had a much longer sense of unease about Heaven than Crowley did. It’s just that Aziraphale arrived at the conclusion that _he himself _was the problem and has spent his entire existence trying to make up for his own unworthiness, trying and almost succeeding at living up to the ridiculously unrealistic standards of Heaven.

Meanwhile, Crowley arrived at the opposite conclusion, namely, that Heaven was wrong about some things, and that he had suggestions to fix them.

I think when Crowley Fell, he was forced to start over, and he’s pretty self-made. He has a strong conscience and follows it rather than any orders from Above or Below. But I do think the loss of God’s love did a number on his self-worth. He ‘knows’ he’s unforgivable, and I think he’s had to internalize that in order to survive Hell.

Crowley was testing Aziraphale in the Companion to Owls minisode, trying to decide if his lonely little team of one could possibly admit another. I think he honestly didn’t know if it was safe to include the angel in his subversion.

When Aziraphale thinks he’s going to Hell for helping Crowley, at first Crowley laughs— not to be mean, but because he’s impressed with Aziraphale and finds the notion that he could ever be cast down absolutely ludicrous. (There’s a little bit of mocking in there, too, because of how wildly simplistic Aziraphale’s worldview is, but it’s not mean.)

I think the oysters in Rome is probably when Crowley realizes what he feels for his angel. He had a horrible day and Aziraphale cheers him up.

I don’t think Aziraphale’s interest ever stopped, but I do think he wasn’t sure, after Crowley Fell, if he really was the same person. Over the years, Aziraphale grew to trust that Crowley’s inherent goodness really hadn’t been changed in any meaningful way. All of the ‘get thee behind me, foul fiend’ stuff was really just a cover.

In 1941, I think he finally realizes that his feelings never went away, that, in fact, they’re stronger than ever, especially with having lived on Earth for 6000 years, picking up all sorts of human habits and feelings (human love, human free will).

Aziraphale hasn’t entirely been able to shake off Heaven’s ideas though. I think he’s probably left a lot of their generalizations about demons unexamined, so that he doesn’t really consider whether Crowley could possibly be in love with him.

Crowley, meanwhile, worries about his angel Falling, mostly I think because he knows how upset the idea makes Aziraphale. Crowley doesn’t dare ask for anything from Aziraphale, because ‘it’s not his place’ to do so, unforgivable as he is. He wants to maintain his angel’s beautiful innocence, protect him from unpleasant truths (like Gabriel’s cruel quip before the Hellfire sentence was carried out). He tries never to be a nuisance (deliberately leaving Aziraphale ignorant of his homelessness because he wouldn’t want to be a burden). He initially refuses to help Gabriel but returns and grovels with the apology dance so that he can protect Aziraphale, once he gets wind of the danger. He comes running whenever the angel calls, and even loans him the Bentley, though it clearly pains him to do so. He is especially careful not to sell any books.

Crowley seems desperate not to be anything that Aziraphale wouldn’t like. He seems like someone who is so used to accepting scraps that he can’t imagine asking for more, asking for what he really wants. He’s clinging to the status quo because he thinks it’s the best that the likes of him could ever hope for. He seems depressed.

Aziraphale seems to believe that things between them are the best they’ve ever been; I think that his assertion that they co-own the bookshop and the Bentley shows a profound disconnect between what he perceives of their relationship and what Crowley thinks about it. He seems plucky and pleased, reaches out to touch Crowley often. Makes overtures and assumptions, and Crowley goes along because he doesn’t want to do anything to rock the boat. Aziraphale even goes so far as to be willing to give up some of his priceless collectible books or other items in order to facilitate the ball, and I truly think he does so because he wants the chance to dance with Crowley.

I don’t think Crowley even realizes all of this stuff; I think he is perplexed by it, but doesn’t assume it’s because of him.

I wish they’d spent the night together in 1941, but they’re both so repressed (for completely different reasons) that I’m honestly not sure it was ever even possible.

If they had sex that night in 1941, (and let’s face it, Aziraphale was practically offering Crowley a blowie in the car leaving the church) but Crowley didn’t realize that he was in love with Aziraphale, that would leave him feeling disgusting for having used and sullied Aziraphale.

His realization that he’s in love with Aziraphale changes his perspective on that night. I’m not exactly wedded to the idea that Crowley only realizes he’s in love after his talk with Nina. The realization that people see them as a genuinely possible couple could work there as his realization as well.

[slusheeduck]

Here’s @lancendydreamer‘s prize for the giveaway contest! She wanted a fic and drawing of alive!Hector and dead!Miguel, so I went completely overboard and wrote a whole sort-of, kind-of Reverse!AU-type story.

(I also took some inspiration from her really neat AU!! You should check it out!!)

Some notes under the cut, as well as the monster fic itself.

NOTES:

Takes place in 1918

This is my first ever attempt at any sort of Reverse!AU, so it’s pretty simplistic. It’s more “fun adventure with a guy and a dead kid” rather than “centuries-old family drama and learning that sometimes your heroes are terrible, terrible people who murder your great-great-grandpa.” Some bits are a little glossed over, so yanno, if anyone else wants to elaborate PLEASE be my guest!

The guitar belongs to Chicharron. This isn’t ever mentioned, I just died when I thought about it and you all need to know.

This was a lot of fun to write, so have some fun reading it!

               “So then maybe���C to an E?” Héctor strummed the line curiously, ignoring the irritated looks from the other passengers of the train car. He grimaced. “Hm. Well, what do you think, amigo?”

               Ernesto let out a long sigh. “My friend, anything you put out will be perfect.” Despite his easy smile, Héctor could hear the strain in his friend’s voice. And, honestly, he couldn’t blame him. It’d been weeks since Héctor had come up with anything halfway decent, and he was practically panicking every time he picked up his songbook. Normally, his head was full of songs—too many to write—but now, whenever he opened up to a blank page, there was just…nothing. No music, no lyrics. His brain was as empty as the page.

               He suspected part of it, at least, was due to the intense schedule Ernesto had for them now that they were a little more than complete unknowns. For nearly a year now, their lives had been travel, sleep, and performing; nearly every other day, they were piled on a train and headed from one end of México to the other. At first, it’d been thrilling—the people, the cities, the music!—but now, Héctor found, there was very little time for actual living, and that was where the songs came from.

               So he’d had the bright idea of going home.

               Ernesto had fought tooth and nail against going back to Santa Cecilia. It was a nothing town, he’d complained, and they’d both outgrown it. But, Héctor argued back, there was the annual talent show on Día de Muertos, and wouldn’t it be something if Santa Cecilia’s two favorite sons came back with a brand new song?  

               That argument didn’t work. What did work was when he mentioned that homecomings made for really great inspiration for songwriting, and if he didn’t get something written soon, they could kiss their dreams of fame goodbye. So here they were on the train, following Héctor’s perfect plan.

               Or, well, it would be if Héctor could actually come up with a song for the show.

               Going off of his C to E idea, he plucked out a simple tune, then groaned. “No, no, no. None of it’s working.”

               Ernesto sent him an unimpressed look. “I understand that you’ve been having trouble with this, Héctor, but maybe you could have come up with something before the train ride? That might have saved you some stress.”

               Héctor shrugged. “I thought I might work well under pressure.”

               “You constantly fall apart under pressure. Remember the show in Morelia?”

               “All right, but that was…”

               “Or that time in the cantina? You know, with the dog?”

               “Now that doesn’t cou—”

               “Or when Marisol asked—”

               “Okay. Okay! I don’t do well under pressure, esta claro!” He huffed as he looked down at the beaten guitar in his hands, then got to his feet. “I need some air. I’ll be back.”

               Ernesto looked up at him. “Be careful. I don’t need you falling off the train before we even get to Santa Cecilia.”

               Héctor gave him a vague wave in acknowledgement as he walked to the back of the car and through the one after it. He sucked in a breath as he opened the door to the back platform, shoes clanging slightly on the metal floor and hair whipping wildly in the wind. He eyed the opening suspiciously—a little rope was the only thing closing it off—and nestled himself against the opposite corner of the railing, squeezing his hip against it to stay steady as he started plucking out the tune he’d been working on.

Come on, come on. Why was nothing coming to him? He was surrounded by inspiration: the people on the train, the towns zipping past, traveling back home—there was absolutely no excuse for him to keep drawing a blank.

He threw his hand off his guitar with an irritated pah before dragging it down his face. Maybe he’d really run dry. Por Dios, wouldn’t that be tragic? Héctor Rivera, barely twenty years old and already with his best days behind him. If that were really the case, he’d be better off—

“Ay!”

               The train hit a bump on the track, and Héctor was practically thrown into the air. His free hand tried to grip the railing, but his fingertips slid off the cold metal. Ah, but he managed to keep upright…until the train hit a sharp curve. He yelped as his feet slid on the metal floor, pitching him toward the opening in the railing.

               He faintly heard the crash of wood on metal as he let go of his guitar, but his brain was purely focused on not falling off the train as he managed to grab a hold of the railing at the last moment. The train straightened out, and Héctor stood up with a high-pitched little laugh. Ave María Purísma, that could have been bad. He let out a breath as he leaned against the railing. Well, hopefully his guitar wasn’t too worse for the…

               Wait.

               Where was his guitar?

               He looked up with wide eyes at the track. It couldn’t have…No no no! He let out a cry of dismay as he saw it just off the tracks, quickly getting smaller as the train pulled ahead. It must have slid out during the turn. Was there an emergency brake or something he could…He yelped and gripped the railing again as they hit another turn.

               And just like that, the guitar was gone.

               He stood very still for a long moment, slack-jawed and knuckles white from gripping the railing so hard. Oh no. No no no no nooo nonono. This was…this was probably the worst possible thing to happen. He stood for a few moments longer, brain fizzling until it finally burst into full-panic mode and he launched himself back into the train car.

               “Ernesto!”

                Ernesto jumped up as Héctor nearly toppled into the seat. “Héctor, are y—”

               “I-I lost my guitar! It fell of the train!”

               “Your…guitar fe—”

               “I know, I know! But…but we can make it work! We can! I just…look, if I could play your guitar and you sing…”

               “And how are we going to pull that off?” Ernesto interrupted sharply, eyes blazing with frustration. “All our songs need two guitars. Dios mio, Héctor, I knew you could be completely tonto sometimes but this? This is—”

               “I know it’s bad! A-a-and I’ll make it right, okay? Just…look, I can change the arrangement and…”

               “With what time?! Santa Cecilia’s the next stop!”

               “What?!”

               Héctor threw himself over Ernesto to look out the window, biting back some words not fit for a crowded train carriage. He knew these houses; Santa Cecilia was less than five minutes away.

               “Mmmmokay! Okayokay, I’ll fix this. I’ll fix this.” Héctor pushed himself back up and grabbed his sombrero from the seat. He jammed it on his head as the train started to slow. “Meet me in the Plaza! I’ll have a guitar soon, I swear!” he called over his shoulder as he headed to the carriage’s door. As the train lurched into the station, he hopped off the steps light as anything and bolted right into Santa Cecilia.

               Ayy, it’d been a long time since he’d been back here, but if he remembered right, the Perez’s should still have a music shop right around…

               Two yelps rang out in the street as Héctor tripped. He pulled himself up, rubbing his cheek, then turned to see what had tripped him. A mostly hairless dog with entirely too much tongue looked up at him balefully. He quickly pat the dog’s head before getting back to his feet.

               “Apologizes, perrito, but I’m in a hurry. I need to find…” He started to turn, then gave a bright grin. “The music store!”

               Oh, God was smiling on him today. He’d pay all the money he had on him if needed; a guitar for the talent show was worth every single peso he had. Which…wasn’t much, but still. He loped up to the entrance, still grinning, and pulled the door open.

               Well, he tried to. It was locked fast.

               He backed away with wide eyes, just now noticing the “Cerrado” sign in the window. Closed? Closed?! Nooo, no no no! It couldn’t be closed!

               He let his head fall back with a groan. Actually, of course it would be closed. It was Día de Muertos, everything would be closed. But…maybe they had just closed? And they would feel very, very terrible for the poor man outside—with no family to go to tonight!—and let him buy a guitar? It was worth a try, at least.

               He rapped his knuckles against the door until they stung, calling out, “Señor Perez! It’s Héctor! I know you’ve missed me! I just need a guitar, I’ll pay anything you’d like for one! I really will this time!”

               He stood there, knocking and calling, for several minutes, but nobody came. He finally banged his head against the door with a groan, not even bothering to catch his sombrero as it fell off his head. This was hopeless. He couldn’t buy a guitar, and he knew musicians too well to even pretend someone would loan him theirs. He was completely out of options.

               He glanced behind him as he heard a bark. There was that dog again, tail wagging and tongue lolling out as he looked up at Héctor. Despite himself, he laughed a bit and shook his head.

               “You know, I don’t think you’re too bright, pélon. Most dogs wouldn’t like the guy that tripped over them.”

               The dog barked again, then became suddenly preoccupied with Héctor’s hat, sniffing it intently.  Héctor laughed.

               “Well, at least you’re willing to—oyé!” he called as the dog picked up his hat and bolted. Héctor sprinted after him. It was bad enough to have to go back to Ernesto without a guitar, but with his charro suit in shambles? Ernesto would kill him for that.

               Héctor kept close to the dog, but Pélon here was awfully slippery. He wound through all of Santa Cecilia, managing to keep just out of Héctor’s reach. Every now and again he’d look back at Héctor, tail wagging, and give a muffled bark. Of course, this was a game to this dumb dog; he didn’t realize Héctor’s livelihood was on the line.

               Finally (and fittingly), they bolted through the cemetery gates, just barely dodging the families starting to trickle in. The dog seemed to get finally tired of the chase, and he just stopped. Héctor barely skidded to a stop before tripping over him again, and he quickly reached forward to snatch the sombrero away, only for Pélon to jump out of the way, hat in mouth and tail wagging furiously. Mierda. He stood up straight, looking around for something, anything, to get him to let go of the hat. Ah, someone had left some chicharrón on this grave. Surely the very nice soul this belonged to wouldn’t mind…

               Oh.

               Oh.

               His eyes widened as he caught sight of it. An absolutely beautiful guitar sparkled up at him, orange light from nearby candles glinting off the white, polished wood. On the headboard, a skull grinned up at him.

               He was saved.

               His hands immediately went toward it, but he stopped himself. This seemed…like maybe not a good idea. After all, if this guitar was left out tonight, that meant it was an offering. And a fairly pricy one at that. But…well, it wasn’t like this person would need it. They were dead! Surely they wouldn’t mind him borrowing it for an hour at most.

               He pressed his lips together hard, peering down at the etching on the gravestone. Unreadable in this light. He swallowed as he looked at the guitar again.

               “Ah…perdóname…but, look, I really need to borrow this guitar,” he whispered. “It’s just for a little bit, just for the talent show. You know, the one in the Plaza? It’s…I’ve had no inspiration lately, but I think this’ll help. I…I really need tonight to go well. And I’ll bring it right back the moment we’re done performing.” He looked away. “Uh, if you knew me when you were alive, I could see why you might not believe me. But I’ll keep my word this time. I will, swear on my life.”

               He gave the grave a hopeful smile, then picked up the guitar. Oh, it was lovely. He ran his hand over the smooth wood, then smiled as he lifted his hand to give an experimental strum. He was stopped, though, by a muffled whine behind him. He turned, then sighed. Ah, right, the dog still had his hat.

                “I’m gonna need that, pélon,” he said, leaning down to grab the sombrero. The dog leapt back, whining again. Nope, still playing apparently. Héctor stood up with a huff, then glanced back down at the grave. Well…the owner didn’t seem to mind him borrowing the guitar…surely they could spare a teeny, tiny bit of their chicharrón.

He broke off a bit of one of the chunks, then whistled. “Hey, perrito! Look!”

               The dog looked up, immediately aware that Héctor was holding food. He dropped the hat, drool already dripping from his mouth, and when Héctor threw it, he scrambled so quickly that he kept falling over himself.  Heh. All things considered, it was a shame to say goodbye to his new friend, but the plaza beckoned. Héctor picked up his sombrero—a little drooly, but otherwise not too worse for the wear—and set it on his head before looking back down at the guitar. He took a breath, then shut his eyes and played a quick rift on it.

Beautiful. Even the wind thought so, gusting over him as the notes faded. He laughed as he opened his eyes. If that wasn’t a sign that borrowing the guitar was a good idea, he didn’t know what w—

               Wait.

               The cemetery seemed…fuller than before. But something was strange about the new arrivals. Héctor squinted at one family, then sucked in a gasp.

He was never particularly good at being religious, but what he saw made him cross himself immediately. He must be crazy. Or dreaming. There was no way the graveyard could be full of…

Skeletons?

               Héctor stared in shock at the dozens of skeletons milling about the cemetery, easy as anything. Most of them seemed to be in their Sunday best, staying close to groups of family members and acting as if this weren’t completely unnatural. Where had they even come from? Why hadn’t he seen them come in?

               Why wasn’t anyone else freaking out?

               As a man walked by, he quickly ran up to him. “Oyé! Do you see them? Is it just me?” The man ignored him. “I’m serious! Don’t you see all the…there are skeletons! Everywhere!” The man didn’t even glance at him. Was he deaf? “Hey, listen to—” Héctor reached forward to grab the man’s arm, only to gape in shock as his hand went right through his arm. He tried to grab at it again, and again, but his hand kept passing through.

               No, nooo, nonono. This couldn’t be happening. He…he must have hit his head hard when he tripped over the dog. He must be having some sort of…trauma-induced nightmare. He couldn’t be invisible.

               As if to prove him wrong, a couple walked right through him. A sick feeling coursed through Héctor at the sensation, and he dropped the guitar as he tried to stay upright. He shook his head as he leaned against a tombstone, breathing hard. This couldn’t be real. It could not be real.

               “Ah, señor? Are you all right?” came a soft voice from behind him.

               Por Dios, finally someone could see him. He swallowed down the last of the nausea as he stood up.

               “I…I don’t know. But I think…” He turned to face the woman who’d spoken…and was met by a concerned-looking skull.

               They both screamed.

               He scrambled back from the woman, crashing into someone behind him. He whirled as he heard the man’s irritated groan as his bones clattered to the ground.

               “Why don’t you watch where—” His skull started to snap, but he gasped as he saw Héctor. “You’re alive!”

               The man’s exclamation turned all the nearby skulls right toward Héctor. He froze in fear as they came closer. As one skeleton reached out toward him, his brain broke out into a full panic, and he bolted away. He kept running, feet sliding in soft dirt but barely managing to keep himself upright, until he found a secluded part of the cemetery and weakly dropped down behind a tombstone. He peeked over it, watching with wide eyes as skeletons made their merry way through the graveyard and picked up spirit versions of the offerings left to them. He dropped back down again.

               Okay.

               Okay.

               This was absolutely the worst thing that had ever happened to him.

               He covered his face, pressing the heel of his hand against his mouth so he could let out a muffled scream. What was he supposed to do?! He didn’t even know how he’d ended up this way, so how could he—

               He cried out in alarm as something wet slid along his cheek. He looked up in terror, only to see the little pélon dog back at his side, tail wagging and grinning as if everything were just fine. Héctor stared at him, then cautiously pat his head. His hand didn’t go through him.

               “So you can still see me, pélon,” he said, voice shaking. “I…what do I do?”

               He didn’t expect the dog to answer, of course. But, when the silly thing sat up straight and looked very pointedly off to the side before getting up…well, it wasn’t like Héctor had any better options but to follow him.

               “Wait up, pélon!” he called as the dog broke into a run. He scrambled after him, barely keeping up, only to nearly trip over him for the third time that night as the dog came to a dead stop. “Stop doing that,” he said, though the words came out more panicked than frustrated. “Look, I need to find a way…to…”

               He trailed off as he looked up in front of them. Instead of a forgotten corner of the graveyard, a huge bridge made of…leaves? Flowers? No, marigolds—stretched out in front of them. Skeletons were walking back and forth across it as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Was…he supposed to cross? Was he dead? No, no, he couldn’t be dead. There must be a better way to…

               He jumped as the dog broke out into a run, heading straight for the bridge.

               “Pélon!” Without thinking, Héctor ran out onto the bridge, only stopping when he realized he was walking on flowers. He slowed, staring down in wonder at the petals holding him up. They…were petals, right? He leaned down to scoop up a handful of them, watching with wide eyes as they fell between his fingers. Despite everything—or, maybe because of it—he let out a little laugh, throwing up the remaining petals. He really was walking on flowers!

               He found the dog rolling around contentedly up ahead. He barked back at Héctor, then jumped up and kept trotting along. He…seemed to know where he was going? More than Héctor did, at least, so it couldn’t hurt to follow him.

               As he walked, he heard a family on his left gasp. Ah, right. He…stuck out. He pulled down the left side of his sombrero with a grimace. There, maybe…

               “Santa Maria!” came a cry on his right.

               With a huff, he pulled down both sides of his hat as he continued along the bridge. There had to be some skeleton over here that knew how to get him back to normal. Of course, that’s assuming that this flower bridge ever…ended…

               His footsteps slowed as bright lights came over the horizon, then stopped and stared, open-mouthed at what laid ahead. At first glance, it looked like a city, but Héctor had never seen anything so…so beautiful. Lights as far as the eye could see! Every color imaginable! Fantastical animals of all sizes, shapes, and colors swooping through the air!

               Well, if this is what happened after you die, maybe staying wouldn’t be so bad.

               He shook his head. No, no. He wasn’t dead. He refused to believe that. And besides, even if he were, Ernesto would find a way to kill him beyond the grave for ditching him. Now if he could just…

               “Ah! Perdóname,” he said as he walked into a skeleton. The skeleton turned, smiling, only to gasp as he saw Héctor’s face. That was…getting less surprising, actually, so he ignored it and peeked around the skeleton. Looked like a line of some kind, maybe a toll or something? Who’d’ve thought you’d have to wait in line after you died? Well, at the very least, he’d be able to talk to someone who knew what was going on.

               “Anything to declare?” he heard the man behind the counter ask the family in front of him, to which they eagerly showed off their offerings. Huh. He watched them walk through after they were signed off, then took off his hat as he walked up to the window.

               “Welcome back! Anything to…” The cheerful guard trailed off as he saw Héctor, who gave him a hopeful smile and a shrug.

               “I…might have a few things to declare.”

               The skeleton stared at him for several seconds. Then, with a shaking hand, he pulled out a radio.

               “Vasquez? I-I’m going to need an escort to the Department of Family Reunions.”

~

               “Well, looks like you’re cursed.”

               “What?!”

               The skeleton on the other side of the desk shrugged as she looked over a ledger. “Well, this isn’t exactly a common occurrence, so I’m only able to go off of previous reports. But generally, the living who wind up on this side of the bridge are cursed, usually by disrespecting the dead.” She raised her browridge as she looked up at Héctor. “Did you happen to disrespect the dead?”

               “No!”

               “You didn’t desecrate any graves?”

               “Dios mio, you think I’m a monster?”

               “Didn’t steal any offerings?”

               “I…” He trailed off, grimacing, then looked back at the skeleton. “Well, I-I asked permission!”

               “Hmm?”

               Héctor squirmed a bit in his seat. “Well, I did for the guitar. And it was just the tiniest bit of chicharrón for Pélon over here.” He gestured down to the dog, still by his side and contentedly gnawing on his own leg. Héctor shook his head. “Look, I’ll go and apologize to whoever that guitar belongs to. Then I can go back, right?”

               “It doesn’t work like that, señor.”

               “What.”

               The skeleton pulled out another ledger, flipping through it with a sigh. “When the living get involved with the dead, it takes a tie between our worlds to send them back.” Héctor stared blankly at her, and she rolled her eyes. “Familia. You need a family member to give you their blessing to go home.” She peered at Héctor curiously. “And you need it soon. As in, tonight soon.”

               “Why?”

               The skeleton nodded down at Héctor’s hand. He frowned, then glanced down and gasped. His pointer finger, as well as the tips of his thumb and middle finger, was turning skeletal. He stared in horror as he twitched it, bones moving as easily as the skeleton’s in front of him.

               “Wh-why…”

               “Living people aren’t meant to be here. If you don’t get uncursed by sunrise, you’re stuck here. And…how old are you, señor?”

               “Seventeen?”

               “Ah. Yes, and if that’s the case, then you’re probably going to be charged with disturbing the peace, defacing of property, and theft.”

               “What?!”

               “Well, you are old enough to…” The skeleton’s sockets widened as Héctor jumped up to his feet and leaned over the desk.

               “You’re telling me that I’m going to die and THEN go to jail for picking up some chicharrón?!”

               The skeleton gave a thin smile. “Well, not if I can help it.” She got to her feet. “The Department of Family Reunions is specially equipped for situations like this. Now, what was your name again?”

               “Héctor Rivera.”

               “Rivera, Rivera…here we go! Now, who do you leave on your ofrenda?”

               “I…” Héctor grimaced. “I don’t leave anyone on the ofrenda.”

               The skeleton’s eyes widened. “What?!” Héctor shrugged helplessly. The skeleton huffed. “All right, then maybe we could go by names.” As Héctor looked away, the skeleton stared at him. “You don’t know anyone’s name?”

               “Hey, if you know an orphanage that keeps family trees for the kids dropped there, I’d be glad to hear it,” Héctor shot back.

               The skeleton pressed a hand to her skull, muttering what sounded like a prayer to herself. After a moment, she looked Héctor dead in the eyes as she reached to the filing cabinet and opened up three extremely full drawers.                

               “You see these? These are all the deceased with the last name Rivera. And, since you haven’t kept track of your ancestors, we’re going to have to go through every one.”

               Héctor gaped. “But…but I only have until sunrise!”

               “Then we’re going to have to start now.”

               Héctor swallowed as she took out a stack of folders. There was no way they’d get through all of these in one night. He looked up at the skeleton, then took a breath before putting on his most charming smile as he leaned forward.

               “Look,” he said, lowering his voice. “I don’t like mentioning this, but I’m actually a very famous mariachi. So…if there’s anyway we could speed up this process, my fans would really like—”

               He trailed off as there was a knock on the door.

               “Come in,” the agent said, then groaned as the door opened. An officer stepped inside, holding onto the arm of a very small skeleton. “Again, Miguel?”

               The skeleton boy gave an embarrassed grin. “Hola, Señora Estevez.”

               “He tried to slip past us at the gate again.”

               “I figured.” The agent pressed her hand to her skull again. “Look, I’m dealing with this very famous living mariachi—” Héctor frowned at the way she said that, though he glanced back as he heard the boy suck in a gasp. His eyes were wide and starry as he stared, and Héctor gave him an awkward little wave back. “—and have to focus on getting him home.” She sighed and added, “Just…keep him here at the station. And keep an eye on him; he’s slippery.”

               The officer nodded, then guided the boy out. Héctor watched them leave, only to jump as the agent dropped another stack of files on her desk.

               “I’m sure you’ve heard that death is the great equalizer, Señor Rivera,” she said dryly. “So, no matter how famous you are, you still have to follow our rules. It’s time to get reading.”

~

                This was hopeless.

               They’d been reading through files for nearly an hour now, and they weren’t even halfway through the first cabinet of Riveras. Héctor pushed away the file, then looked down at his hands. All of his fingers were skeletal now, and the skin of his palms were just starting to disappear. This was taking too long. He huffed, then pushed himself up to his feet and headed to the door.

               “Señor Rivera? Where are you going?” Agent Estevez asked. He quickly turned and gave her a weary smile.

               “Con permiso, I just need to clear my head. I’ll be right back,” he said. She frowned back at him.

               “Be sure not to leave the building, señor,” she said, eyeing him suspiciously. He rolled his eyes.

               “Where would I even go?” he muttered as he exited the door. The dog followed close to him, then caught what was apparently a very nice scent and wandered the opposite direction. He groaned. “Pélon. I could really do without you wandering…” He trailed off as he caught up to the dog, peeking in as he heard two familiar voices through the cracked-open door. Curious, he peeked inside as well.

               “All right, paperwork’s done.” The officer stamped a stack of papers, then sighed as he looked up at the skeleton boy sitting across from him. “Miguel, you need to stop running off like that. There’s a reason you’re at the home.”

               The boy—Miguel, apparently—gave a huff and a shrug.

               “It’s not so bad there,” the officer tried again.

               “Except that I have family. You just won’t help me,” Miguel muttered, sinking down in his seat.

               “Look, if we ever get—I don’t know—face scanners that can tell you who your family is, you’ll be the first to know. But the information you have is too little for us to worth with. It’s safer for you to stay there.”

               Miguel rolled his eyes, huffing as he propped his chin in his hand. He looked up, and his eyes widened as he saw Héctor. Héctor froze up, and for a moment they merely stared at each other.

               “Well, one of the sisters will be here in a little bit to pick you up, so just wait here for a little while longer, okay, niño?”

               “Uh…” Miguel finally broke his gaze from Héctor, glancing down. Héctor looked down as well, sucking in a breath as Pélon started to nudge his head inside with a big, dopey grin. He grit his teeth as he tried to pull the dog away from the door.

               “What is all that—?” the officer started to ask, but looked up in alarm Miguel suddenly threw himself into a coughing fit. “Ay, niño, you okay?”  

               “F-fine…” Miguel peeked up, giving a little nod to tell Héctor to go. Huh, nice kid. With a bit of effort, he managed to drag the dog away from the door and make his way down the hall.

               Now, back to the problem at hand (He grimaced at the accidental pun as he looked down at his skeletal fingers.) At the rate they were going, they wouldn’t even be halfway through all the files by the time sunrise came. And that? That wasn’t good. There had to be another way to break this stupid cu—

               “Are you really a famous mariachi?”

               Héctor jumped at the question, whirling around to see Miguel standing right behind him. He blinked a few times, then smiled.

               “Of course I am. Part of the amazing duo Ernesto y Héctor.” He held out his hand to shake. “I’m the Héctor half.”

               Miguel’s starry expression dimmed a bit, and he frowned slightly. “I haven’t heard of you.”

               “We’re a big deal in the living world. Hundreds of shows a year, tons of fans. But, you know, we’re…we’re just starting out. From what I understand, it’ll take a little while for us to catch on over here.”

               Miguel nodded, then glanced over his shoulder for the guard before he looked up at Héctor with a smile. “Then I think we can help each other,” he whispered.

               “Wha—” Héctor was cut off as Miguel quickly pulled him into a phone booth, shutting the door tightly before fixing his eyes on Héctor’s.

               “They’re not going to be able to help you out there,” he said, nodding toward the door. “I’ve tried for years to find my family, and I’m still sent off to the home every time. It’s all paperwork this and filing that.” Miguel pulled a face, then smiled up at Héctor. “What you need is to actually meet people. And I know a lot of people. At least one of them should know you!”

               Héctor sent him a frown. “Seems like a long shot, kid.”

               Miguel matched his frown, then nodded at Héctor’s hands. “You got any better ideas?”

               Héctor grimaced, then let out a long sigh as he pinched the bridge of his nose. On one hand, he was as good as dead if he stayed here. On the other…how much safer was trusting some random kid who might know where some of his family was?

               Well…anything was better than sitting around and watching himself become a skeleton.

               “Mmmokay. But I’ve got a really tight deadline, chamaco, so…”

               “I can work with that!” Miguel shot him a bright smile, then stood up on his tiptoes to peek out the booth’s window. “Getting out’s gonna be hard, but I’ve managed to sneak out with worse. Okay…vámonos!”

               Miguel grabbed Héctor’s arm and pushed the door open, tugging him out as a large group of skeletons walked past. The dog, who’d been stuck outside the booth whining at them, ran after them, nearly tripping over himself with excitement. Héctor shushed him as they kept close to the group, which only prompted him to bark. The officer that had been holding Miguel bolted around the corner at the noise, and he gasped.

               “Miguel!” Miguel and Héctor turned, wide-eyed, as they heard him. “El Vivo?!”

               Both gave the officer an awkward smile, then Miguel tugged Héctor after him with a whispered, “Run!”

               Héctor did not need to be told twice, and soon enough they were running through the crowded department, dodging families and ducking around officers before they could notice who they were.

               “Was this your plan?” Héctor asked as they rounded a corner and bolted to the door.

               “I didn’t have a plan!”

               “You said you’ve sneaked out with worse!”

               “Well, yeah, when I haven’t had a tall living guy with me!” Miguel tugged Héctor out the door, the dog just barely managing to squeeze out with them. “Here, they’ll lose us in the crowd!”

               They dove into a large group of revelers, sticking close to them. Héctor ducked down a bit, glancing back toward the station and grimacing as a whole group of officers poured out. He tugged his sombrero tighter over his head as they made their way deeper into the plaza. “Not to put any pressure on you, chamaco, but now would be a really good time to have some sort of plan.” He looked up just in time to see Miguel pick a marigold from a nearby planter. “Something besides picking flowers would be good.”

               “Relax. I have…well, I have the first part of a plan.” Miguel tucked the marigold into his pocket, then turned back to look at him with a smile. “We need to take care of that whole being alive thing.”

~

               “You’re really sure you can’t do anything about your ears?”

               “I don’t know how long it’s been since you’ve had ears, but they’re not something you can just make invisible.”

               “Especially not yours.”

               “Hey.”

               “Pff, sorry.” Miguel finished painting a grin on Héctor’s face, then squinted at him appraisingly. “I think you’re good. I mean, your nose is still pretty big, and there’s the whole ear thing, but if no one gets close...”

               They’d found a secluded alleyway to hide out in for the moment, and Miguel, armed with two tins of shoe polish (“The only way the nuns let me out on Dia de Muertos is if they think I’m working.”), had gone to town making Héctor’s face as skeletal as his hands. He tossed the tins aside, and Héctor did his best to hide his ears with his hair as the dog started sniffing at the tins.

“Hey, Pélon, don’t…” Too late. He was already licking at the tin, only to whine and shake his head once he tasted the shoe polish. Miguel laughed, giving the dog’s head a sympathetic rub.

               “Your alebrije’s kinda dumb,” he said, laughing again as the dog started licking his face.

               “You think Pélon here’s an alebrije? Seriously?”

               Miguel wrapped his arms around the dog’s neck. “I mean, he followed you here, right? That sounds like a spirit animal.”

               Héctor shook his head and pulled his sombrero on to keep his hair down. “I think it takes him a while to catch on to things. He’ll probably figure out that he wound up here tomorrow.” He smiled at Miguel’s snort, then leaned forward and looked at the boy seriously. “All right, so…you’re gonna help me out with this whole family thing?”

               “Yep.” Miguel smiled as he pulled out the crumpled marigold in his pocket. “A blessing on one of these, and you’re back home.”

               “Bueno.” Héctor pressed his lips together, arching an eyebrow. “So what’s in it for you?”

               “You’re gonna do the same for me.”

               Héctor blinked, and he laughed before he could stop himself. “You’re funny, chamaco. But seriously, what do you want from me?”

               Miguel puffed out a breath. “I am serious.” At Héctor’s doubtful look, he sighed. “The whole thing with this place is that it runs on memories. The memories of the living are what keep us from fading, and it’s what brings us back home on Día de Muertos. Photos on the ofrenda are what lets us go back over the Marigold Bridge.” He let go of the dog to stick his hands the pockets of his faded red coat. “But it works the opposite way, too. The memories from your life are what they use to get you in the system. If you don’t have that…” He shrugged. “Well, if you’re a kid, you wind up in a home.”

               Héctor’s brows drew together. “You don’t remember your life?”

               Miguel shook his head. “The last thing I remember is waking up here. And when I tried to cross the first time, they told me I didn’t have a photo on an ofrenda. So I have nothing to go on. Well, except for this…” From his pocket, he pulled out an old, worn photo and held it up. Héctor took it and looked over it curiously. It looked like a class photo, with a row of ten boys lined in front of the school house. Miguel tapped on a boy off to the left, one cheek dimpling with a stifled smile.

               “That’s me. See? My hair’s the same, and I have a freckle where I have this mark,” he said, tapping the swirled green circle on his upper jaw, then looked up at Héctor with bright eyes. “And since you’re famous, you can bring this back and get the word out! And then next year I can find my family on Día de Muertos!”    

               Héctor swallowed. Oh. That was…a heavy order. How many people had he and Ernesto played for in the past year? A hundred, maybe two? Definitely not famous enough for Miguel’s plan. He looked down at the photo again, then took a breath.

               “Look, Miguel, I’m not really…” He looked up at Miguel. The boy’s eyes were bright as he looked back at Héctor, every hope of getting back to his family clear on his skull. Héctor pressed his lips together, then carefully folded the photo and tucked it into the pocket of his charro jacket. “I’m not…really sure how this whole ofrenda thing works.” He put on a smile as he leaned forward. “But by the time the next Día de Muertos comes around, all of México will know that a kid named Miguel needs to find his family.”

               “Qué excelente!” Miguel jumped up to his feet with a grin. “Okay, but we’ve gotta move. You don’t have too long before sunrise, and we’ve got a lot of people to talk to.”

~

               For a kid, Miguel had quite a lot of friends in odd places. Granted, he’d apparently been dead for a while (“Twenty…twenty-five years? I think? No, this is my twenty-third Día de Muertos.”), and Héctor had to admit, the kid was charming as anything. They wound their way through what felt like a dozen separate neighborhoods, each with at least one friend of Miguel’s hanging around.

               “This is my friend, Héctor. He doesn’t remember his family either, but he’s a really famous mariachi! Do you remember him?” was asked over and over, but with no results aside from an increasing discomfort whenever Miguel called him famous. (At one point, Miguel suggested that Pélon could probably sniff out Héctor’s family. They spent a few minutes following him, only to have to pull him away from a pan dulce cart. That idea was scrapped pretty quickly.)

               Eventually, they found their way to a huge plaza. Héctor’s eyes widened as he saw what had to have been thousands of people surrounding the stage at the far end, cheering at a very enthusiastic banda group. He let out a quick breath, glancing down at his hands. Fully skeletal now, with his wrist bones just showing beneath his sleeves.

He took a deep breath—he wasn’t panicked, but it was still worrying to be losing so much skin so fast—and set his hand on Miguel’s shoulder before he launched into the square. “This isn’t working,” he said bluntly. “There’s no way we can talk to every single person here before sunrise.”

               “I-I bet if we move really fast, we could…” At Héctor’s disbelieving look, Miguel sighed. “I know,” he admitted.  “But it’s not like we can ask everyone at once!”

               Héctor pressed his lips together, then glanced toward the stage. A smile twitched at his lips.

               “Actually, I think we can.” He looked down at Miguel, giving him a grin. “Just follow my lead, Miguelito, and we’ll both be on our way back home.”

~

               “And it’s mi hermanito’s very first time performing. And we just need the guitar for one song, that’s all!” Héctor gave the skeletal duo he’d approached a hopeful smile; over his shoulder, Miguel copied it.

               “Por favor?” he added. “It won’t be as good as seeing our parents, but it’d really make our night.”

               The duo glanced at each other, then sighed. After a moment, one of them held up his guitar.

               “Be careful with it, muchachos,” he said gruffly. Héctor and Miguel exchanged a grin.

               “Por supuesto!” Héctor set Miguel down to take the guitar. “We’ll be back with it as soon as we’re done! Gracias, señores!” He nodded for Miguel to follow him, moving a little quicker as he heard one of the duo say, “Didn’t it look like that guy had a nose?”

               Miguel looked up at Héctor excitedly as they walked to a secluded corner of the backstage area. “So are you going to play your most famous song?” he asked, pulling himself up to sit on a box as Héctor tuned the guitar. “They’ll definitely know who you are if you do that!”

               Héctor just held back a grimace as that sick feeling returned. “Look, chamaco, don’t…don’t be disappointed if we’re not swarmed by fans, okay? I don’t think Ernesto y Héctor…” He froze suddenly, eyes wide. Oh. He didn’t have Ernesto here with him. Dios, when was the last time he performed by himself? Had he ever? He could play, sure, but his best performances came from the way he played off someone else.

“What about Ernesto y Héctor?”

Héctor looked up as Miguel’s question broke through his thoughts, and a wide smile started to spread across his face as a brilliant idea hit him. “I don’t think Ernesto y Héctor will mean much to the people here; I told you we haven’t caught on down here. Miguel y Héctor, though, that’s different.” His grin widened at the shocked look on Miguel’s face as he took off his sombrero. “After all, I did say it was mi hermanito’s very first time performing,” he added as he set the hat on Miguel’s head.

               “What?!” Miguel pushed the hat up to look at Héctor with panicked eyes. Oh. That was…not the reaction he was expecting. “Bu-but I’ve never performed! I don’t even know any songs!”

               Héctor sent him a disbelieving look. “I know for a fact that there are hundreds of dead revolucionarios out there in that plaza alone. You had to have heard at least a corrido or two.” His eyes widened as Miguel shrugged. “You haven’t?”

               “We’re only allowed to sing hymns at the home!”

               “No one’s going to listen if we play a hymn!” Héctor sucked in a breath and shook his head, then looked up at Miguel. He let out the breath he’d been holding and leaned forward. “Think back, chamaco. Are there any songs you can remember?”

               Miguel’s browbone furrowed, and his skull screwed up slightly as he thought. He opened his eyes after a moment, expression soft. “There’s…one I can remember.”

               Héctor grinned. “Allà vamos, Miguelito! If you can sing it for me, I can figure out—”

               “No!”

               Héctor blinked. “No?”

               Miguel drew into himself slightly as he looked down at his knees. “That one’s special. I…it doesn’t feel right to perform it.”

               Héctor looked at the boy for a moment. Well…he could understand that. He certainly had some songs that were too special to perform, even if Ernesto insisted otherwise. He let out a breath, then reached to his inside pocket. There was Miguel’s photo, and just behind it…there. He puffed out a breath as he opened up the notebook. He was still bored with what he’d written, but desperate times called for desperate measures. He grimaced a bit; most had been written for two guitars, but there had to be one…aha!

               “All right, chamaco, it’s time for your first experience as a real músico.” He sat down beside Miguel on the box, holding up the notebook. “Which means we’re gonna learn this song in ten minutes or less.”

               Miguel looked up at Héctor with wide eyes, then took a deep breath and put on his most determined face as he nodded. “Okay.”

               Héctor had prepared for the worst, but Miguel was a surprisingly quick study. His timing was spot-on, and he carried a tune far better than Héctor could. This could actually work. And it was…fun? By their second time running through the song, Miguel was relaxed and already playing off of Héctor like they’d known each other forever. This was going to be perfect.

               Until the stagehand told them that they were up next, and Miguel completely froze up.

               “Hey, Miguelito?” Héctor set a hand on Miguel’s shoulder, prompting a gasp from him before he quickly shook his head.

               “I can’t…I…”

               Héctor’s eyes widened, and he swallowed hard. Okay. Two options here: He could go out alone and hope he did well enough to garner some attention (but not enough for people to realize he wasn’t actually dead).

Or…he could help Miguel out.

               “Don’t talk like that, chamaco, you’re a natural. All you need to do is loosen up.” Héctor grinned at Miguel as he shook out his long limbs. He gave the boy a nod; Miguel gave him a dubious look before shaking out his own limbs with a rattle. “There we go! Now, give me your best grito.”

               “My best grito?”

               “You know, a shout. You’re what, twelve? You definitely know how to yell.” Miguel gave him a shrug. “It’s just like this!” Héctor wasted no time in letting out a whoop that turned several skulls toward them. He ignored them, grinning at Miguel. “Now you!”

               Miguel stared at him, but sucked in a breath and let out…the most pathetic noise Héctor had ever heard. He grimaced.

               “Uh, try again, chamaco.”

               Miguel took another breath and let out an equally strangled noise. Héctor stared, then gave him a thumbs up. Ave María Purísma, at least the kid was cute.

               As if he could hear that thought, Miguel looked even less-reassured than he had pre-grito. Héctor grimaced again, then snapped to get Miguel’s attention. “Hey, Miguel, look at me.” When he did, he gave him a smile. “It’s gonna be fine up there, okay? We’ll just have some fun like we did a few minutes ago.”

               “But your blessing…”

               “Doesn’t matter. Not right now. Right now, we’re músicos, and we’re gonna make sure that every skeleton out there knows that.” He gave him a grin and another thumbs up. “Suena bien?”

               Miguel looked up at him, then took a breath and nodded. Héctor put a hand on his bony shoulder and led them up onto the stage as the emcee called, “And now, Miguel y Héctor!”

               Héctor gave the crowd his biggest grin, then glanced down at Miguel, who looked shell-shocked. The kid still had stage-fright. What did he do? Ernesto would turn on that de la Cruz charm and hide the boy—that’d happened their very first show, after all—but…well, that wasn’t Héctor’s forte. So really, there was only one option.

               Miguel turned in alarm at the loud grito that Héctor let out, but he smiled a bit at his little nod. He took the deepest breath he could, then let out a grito that was just as loud, bouncing off the buildings surrounding the plaza and sending a surprised murmur through the crowd. Héctor took that as his cue to start playing, fingers dancing quickly over the frets, and he looked up with a bright smile as Miguel jumped in like he hadn’t been scared stiff a moment ago.

 “Señoras y señores, buenas tardes, buenas noches

Buenas tardes, buenas noches, señoritas y señores…”

                 Miguel carried the song exceptionally well, dancing around Héctor with a bright grin as he sang. Héctor played back, harmonizing where he could and matching the kid’s energy as he played the hardest he had in a while. Ay, it’d been so long since performing had been a joy instead of a chore; when was the last time he and Ernesto danced around the stage like this?

               All too soon, the song came to an end with a prolonged rift from Héctor and one last grito from Miguel, and they both looked out with wide eyes as the crowd went wild. Héctor was the first to break from the spell, and he gave Miguel a wide grin as he ruffled his hair.

               “What’d I tell you, chamaco? You’re a real músico now.”

               Miguel blinked, then sent him a big grin back. He blinked, then whispered, “Let them know who you are.”

               Ah, right. Héctor nodded, then turned back to the crowd and called out, “Gracias, damas y caballeros! We’re Miguel y Héctor, Santa Cecilia’s two favorite sons!”

               There was another cheer from the crowd, but Héctor caught a strange look on Miguel’s face.

               “Santa Cecilia?” he asked slowly, eyes focused on something very far away. Héctor half-smiled.

               “Sorry to drag you into my hometown, but it was easier than…”

               “No. I-I’ve heard of it. I just…” He looked up in alarm as the emcee ran onstage.

               “Damas y caballeros, we’ve got an emergency alert. Be on the lookout for a living man…”

               And that was their cue to leave. Before the emcee could give so much as a description, Héctor grabbed Miguel’s arm and bolted off the stage quick enough for his sombrero to fly off the boy’s head. The dog, who’d been howling off-stage, eagerly ran after them.

               “Wait, your hat—”

               “They can keep it!”

               “Well, you can’t lead! You don’t know where we—” Miguel gasped. Héctor glanced back at him, then looked up. Several alebrijes flew overhead—but then, they’d been doing that all night. Miguel picked up his pace, jumping ahead of Héctor and dragging him behind. “Come on!”

               “What? They’re just spirit animals, right?”

               “Yeah, but those ones…” Miguel pointed up at the ones above them, which seemed to be very focused on them. “…belong to officers!”

               As if on cue, a massive alebrije that seemed to be a mix of an eagle and a lizard swooped down toward them. Both Miguel and Héctor let out a cry of fright, picking up their pace and sprinting ahead.

               “This way!” Miguel threw himself forward, bringing Héctor down with him into into a dry canal. They tumbled down the side, the dog rolling down with them, and Miguel just barely dragged Héctor up to pull him beneath a bridge. They huddled together beneath it, both breathing hard as they waited for the alebrije to give up. The beak just peaked below the top, clicking curiously.  A large claw reached under; Héctor automatically threw his arm in front of Miguel as they took a step back. But they were too deep underneath. The alebrije let out a frustrated shriek, and, after a few terrifying moments, they finally heard the heavy flap of wings. Héctor lowered his arm, heart still pounding in his chest as he shook slightly.

               “Is that…normal?”

               Miguel let out a breath; he didn’t look quite as frightened as Héctor, but still shaken. “They use them as trackers, sometimes. Normally they’re not that big.” He let out a long breath. “They won’t hurt you.”

               “You didn’t think of saying that first?!”

               “I was focused on not getting dragged back to the station!” Miguel argued back.

               They both huffed and turned away from each other; Héctor’s heart was still hammering. Well. Being angry wouldn’t solve anything. He let out a shaking breath, then turned back to Miguel.

               “You said you knew Santa Cecilia?”

               Miguel glanced back at him, then pressed his lips together. “I…I think someone I know lived there.”

               Héctor’s eyes widened, and he walked up to Miguel with a hopeful smile. “Really? Can we go see them?” His brows creased as Miguel’s expression darkened. “What?”

               Miguel looked away, then took a deep breath. “You swear you’ll find my family when you get home?”

               “Of course, chamaco. I’ll start spreading the word the minute I get back.”

               Miguel swallowed hard, then nodded. “Okay. Follow me.”

~

               “Can you go any faster?”

               “Listen, chamaco, it’s gonna be really hard to get back to the Land of the Living if I die of a broken neck.” Héctor wavered a bit as he made his way down to the next ledge of the bridge. “Besides, I’ve got my second stolen guitar of the night on my back. That’s a big burden to carry.”

               Miguel had led the way through a winding maze of side streets and semi-climbable ledges. Half the time, he let himself fall down a decent way just to gather his bones back easy as anything. Héctor…did not have that luxury, which left him picking his way down some very steep wall reliefs. There was an easier way, Miguel explained on the way, but that’d be crawling with officers and alebrijes looking for a living man and a dead boy. This was the way he took when he wanted to be sneaky.

               It took all off two seconds after Miguel announced they had arrived for Héctor to realize what he was looking at. The stark building with a crucifix on the outside told him exactly where they were.

               “So this is the orphanage you stay at,” he said bluntly, looking it over. Miguel shrugged.

               “I mean, we’re not really orphans. Most of us have parents, they’re just still alive. Or…we can’t remember them. And it’s…” Miguel trailed off as Héctor shook his head.

               “Is it run by nuns?”

               “Well, yeah…”

               “And is it full of kids that no one knows what to do with?”

               “Yes…”

               “Then that’s an orphanage. Believe me, I have experience with that.” Héctor took a breath, adjusting the guitar strap on his shoulder. “So who in here’s from Santa Cecilia?”

               Miguel was suddenly very preoccupied with patting Pélon’s head. Finally, he sucked in a breath. “Sister Maria Rafaela,” he whispered.

               Héctor could feel the blood drain from his face. Oh, no. “S-Sister Maria Rafaela?”

               Miguel’s eyes widened. “You know her?”

               Héctor automatically rubbed his bony knuckles with a grimace. “You don’t forget being on the end of her punishments.”

               Miguel huffed. “Well, maybe if I’m with you, she won’t…”

               “Miguel!”

               They both looked up, and a skeletal nun marched straight toward them. Miguel started to give a smile and a little wave.

               “Hola, Sis—” He yelped as she grabbed his arm tightly, pulling him away before Héctor could stop her and disregarding the dog’s growls.

               “Every year you do this,” she scolded harshly, grip tight enough that Miguel couldn’t wriggle out of it. “And you would think that punishment would be enough to stop you, but you’re a stubborn little…”

               A memory of belts cracking against skin flashed in Héctor’s head, and he quickly stepped forward. “It’s my fault he’s out this year, Sister. I-I just arrived and I wanted to spend the night with my tío.”

               Sister Maria Rafaela looked up and frowned at him. “And who are…” She trailed off as she looked over him; Héctor made sure to keep his face directly facing her as he gave her an awkward smile. “Héctor?!”

               “Hola, Sister. You know, you still look great.”

               Miguel forgotten, Sister Maria Rafaela took a step toward Héctor, who shuffled back. “I knew you’d get yourself into this sort of trouble,” she hissed. “Is your friend here, too?”

               “Oh, no, Ernesto’s…he’s fine. But, ah, listen, Sister, while I’m here…” As Sister Maria Rafaela kept trying to inspect him more closely, Héctor kept skittering away. “…my Tío Miguel brought up the best idea…” He stepped beside Miguel, resting a hand on the boy’s head as they both leaned away. “…and we thought you might know where my family ended up.”

               Sister Maria Rafaela frowned hard at him, then started to reach for Miguel again. Without thinking, Héctor hoisted him up onto his shoulders, out of the nun’s grasp. She huffed.

               “Ungrateful schemers, the both of you,” she said sharply. “I don’t know what you’re planning, but I’m having no part of it.”

               Héctor swallowed. “Sister, please. If you have any idea where…”

               “And how am I supposed to know that?” she asked sharply. “We take care of the children left to us. There are no questions asked!”

      ��        “But Santa Cecilia was so small, you had to—”

               “I don’t know, Héctor,” she said crisply. “Now, give that child back or…” She trailed off, suddenly, eyes fixed on Héctor’s cheek. She took a quick breath, then let it out. “I need to make a call,” she said simply, then turned and went back inside.

               Both Miguel and Héctor blinked at her sudden shift, and Héctor glanced up at Miguel before bringing him down from his shoulders. “Probably too optimistic to think she’s remembered a long-lost relative of mine?”

               “Definitely too opt—” Miguel looked up and gasped, eyes locked right on the same spot Sister Maria Rafaela had been looking. Héctor’s brow creased.

               “What? Are we too late?” he asked, automatically reaching up to touch his cheek. He froze as he felt warm skin instead of shoe polish. But he’d been so careful! How had he…His eyes widened as he caught the long streak of white on Miguel’s knee. Oh. When he’d put Miguel on his shoulders…

               “We need to go.” Miguel’s voice was barely a whisper. “Maybe we can smooth it out? O-or I can try and get more polish and—” He was cut off by Héctor yelping when a bony finger and thumb pinched his ear hard.

               “This is a low I never expected from you,” she hissed at him. “Dragging a poor little boy along in your schemes. You dese—Ay!”

               Héctor’s ear was released, and he just caught Miguel slamming his foot down on Sister Maria Rafaela’s foot.

               “He’s not dragging me along, he’s helping me find my family!” he shouted, then looked up at Héctor. “Come on! If we run, we can still…”

               KA-CRAWWW!

               Both Miguel and Héctor scrambled back at the cry, once again face to face with the alebrije from earlier. Its beak clicked menacingly at them. Héctor glanced up at the bird, then down at Miguel. He sucked in a breath, then pushed Miguel away from him before letting out a loud grito.

               The alebrije’s head shot over to him, slitted pupils widening, and he bolted in the opposite direction. Well, by this point, he was going to die anyway. Might as well let Miguel get away while he could. He was keeping away fairly well, and then…

               Pélon tripped him.

               Héctor tripped and skidded, but before he could pick himself up, strong talons wrapped around his arm. The alebrije gave a triumphant caw before starting to flap away. As if realizing that he’d done wrong, the dog whined before jumping into action. He grabbed a hold of Héctor’s sleeve and tried to tug him back, unaware that he was being lifted up as well. But he was too heavy for the stitching, and before Héctor could grab for him, the sleeves completely ripped off, revealing one fully-skeletal arm and sending Pélon back to the ground, barking worriedly the whole way.

               Héctor tried his best to twist around. Where was Miguel? Had he managed to get away? He caught sight of the red coat, weaving quickly through the abandoned streets below. That was good. The kid would be safe. He’d manage to—

               Héctor’s stomach flipped as the alebrije swooped down, and he cried out as its other claw wrapped around Miguel’s arm. The boy struggled, but it was no use; the alebrije held fast. Miguel went limp, looking up at Héctor with wide eyes as the alebrije swooped and dove its way back to the station. This was it. The sun would be rising soon, and they’d be locked away in the last place they wanted to be. Héctor went limp as well, though he frowned as he caught sight of a dark opening beneath them, with something glinting at the bottom. Was that…water? If it was…

               He looked up at Miguel. “I have a really terrible idea!” he shouted.

               “What?”

               Instead of answering, Héctor sucked in a breath and threw his legs back. His arm twisted painfully, but with a bit of effort, he managed to swing his lower body up enough to slam one of his feet into the alebrije’s soft belly.

               It gave a shriek before automatically dropping the two. Both screamed as they plummeted down. Despite it being Héctor’s idea, he shut his eyes and braced himself. If he was wrong about that pit…well, he was already dying, but this way would be a lot more painful.

               The air was knocked out of him the moment he hit the water, bubbling out of his mouth as he tumbled below. He hit the silt below, completely convinced the fall killed him. It was only when he gasped in a lungful of air once he resurfaced that he figured he must not be dead just yet. He coughed several times, then looked around.

               “Hey, chamaco?” he called hoarsely as he paddled to shore. “Miguel!”

               “Héctor?” As Héctor stepped onto the shore, he nearly topped back into the water as Miguel threw his arms around him, bones rattling. He looked down with wide eyes as the boy sniffled.  

               “I’m sorry,” Miguel mumbled against his chest. “I thought it could work. I thought we’d both get home.”

               Héctor let out a breath, setting a hand on Miguel’s head. “Hey, hey, it’s all right, chamaco.”

               “No, it’s not!” Miguel pushed himself back, brown eyes sharp as he looked up at Héctor. “It’s my fault that you can’t go back to your fans and that I won’t ever see Mamá Coco again and—"

               “Who?”

               “Mamá Coco.” Miguel looked away. “She’s…she’s all I remember from before I died. We’d sing together.”

               Héctor’s face softened as he put two and two together. “So the song you didn’t want to sing…?”

               Miguel nodded, his palm quickly scraping against his cheekbone. “It was ours.” He took a quick breath as he sat down at the edge of the water. “I do-don’t even know if she’s alive or dead. But…but if I could just find her, somewhere, I-I know I’d be home.”

               Héctor looked down at Miguel for a long moment, aware, suddenly, of the second stolen guitar still strapped to his back. He pulled it off quietly, then—after making sure it was in one piece—he sank down beside Miguel.

               “Can you play?”

               Miguel peeked up. “What?”

               “Can you play? I didn’t ask earlier.”

               Miguel swallowed. “Just a little bit.”

               “That’s all you need.” He held out the guitar. “A bit of music helps bad situations feel a little better. That’s what I’ve learned, at least.”

               Miguel looked down at the guitar, then up at Héctor. Very carefully, he took the guitar and flipped it around, strumming experimentally at the strings. After a few moments, the strumming settled into a simple tune, with a very soft voice accompanying it.

“Remember me

Though I have to say goodbye

Remember me

Don’t let it make you cry

For even if I’m far away

I hold you in my heart

I sing a secret song to you

each night we are apart

Remember me

Though I have to travel far

Remember me

Each time you hear a sad guitar

Know that I’m with you

The only way that I can be

Until you’re in my arms again

Remember me…”

               Héctor listened raptly as Miguel sang, the quiet tune seeming to fill the whole cenote. His heart lurched, and he tucked his chin against his knees. This poor kid. All he wanted was to get home, and Héctor had him running on a wild goose chase because he hadn’t thought to tell the truth. He looked up as he felt a small weight lean against his side.

               “I’m sorry, Héctor,” Miguel said quietly. “Your fans will pro—”

               “I’m not famous, Miguel.”

               “What?”

               Héctor shut his eyes and let out a breath. “When I said I was famous? That was…it was a lie. I’m just…” His newly-bony shoulders sagged. “I’m just a nobody from Santa Cecilia. That’s it. I’m sorry.”

               He glanced down at Miguel, who stared back at him.

               “So…when you said you’d find my family…”

               “That I meant,” he said firmly. “I…I don’t know how successful I would’ve been. But I would’ve told everyone I met about a great músico named Miguel who needed to find his family.” He rubbed his cheek awkwardly, feeling the barest resistance before bone scraped against bone. Almost sunrise then. He sighed. “Well, when I get out from a century in jail, I’ll spring you from the orphanage.”

               “Really?”

               “Por supuesto.” He managed a small laugh. “I may be a lying, sorry excuse of a mariachi, but Héctor Rivera never lets kids…” He trailed off at the strange look that crossed Miguel’s face. “What?”

               “Rivera…? That’s…my last name,” Miguel said slowly. Héctor blinked.

               “You don’t think…no, it can’t. You know how many Riveras there are here?”

               “You know how many Miguel Riveras there are?” Miguel asked, then shook his head. “It’s probably a coincidence.”

               Héctor nodded. “Has to be, chamaco.” He stood up. “Morning’s almost here, and we’ve got to find our way out of this pit.” He stood up straight, then let out a loud grito that bounced off the walls of the pit. “Someone should’ve heard that. Hey, chamaco, maybe if we both…” He turned to look at Miguel, who pulled something from his pocket. Héctor tilted his head, then smiled a bit at the soggy marigold in his hands.

               “Look, Miguelito, that’s a sweet thought, but there’s no way…”

               “Héctor.” Miguel said his name curiously, and both their eyes widened as the petals lit up. Héctor took a step back.

               “Miguel, I…I can’t leave you here. Besides…” He looked up as he heard a howl. “Ah! Pélon found us!” He grinned as he saw the dog’s goofy face, then automatically froze up as he heard a deafening KA-CRAAAWW!! “And…he has friends.”

               “Then we have to move fast!” Miguel put on a determined face as he held up one of the marigold petals. “Héctor, I give you my blessing to go home.” The marigold petal glowed bright as anything, and Héctor’s heartbeat—which he could feel fading away like the rest of his skin—pounded in his ribs.

               “Chamaco, I don’t want you to be alone again. Just let me—”

               Miguel cut him off with a small smile. “Just remember me, Héctor.” Before Héctor could protest, the petal was pressed against his chest, and he was swept away in a waterfall of glowing orange flowers.

~

               Héctor was sure he was dead.

               There was no other way to account for how awful he felt, facedown in the dirt of the graveyard, as the sun rose slowly in the east. It took a few moments for him to push himself up, too tired and aching to even think about the fact he was missing a sleeve from his charro suit. He blinked for a few moments, then sat up straight. Had he made it in time? Had Miguel been too late? He quickly patted himself down, then let out a loud laugh of joy as he saw normal, non-skeletal hands. He was safe! He was back home!

               And Miguel…was not. And he wouldn’t be until his family could find him.

               “Just remember me.”

               Well, the answer of what he should do next was pretty obvious.

               The beautiful, awful white guitar was still laid out on the grave in front of him. He hesitated, then glanced up at the tombstone.

               “It’s not for me. It’s for my family,” he whispered, reaching out for it. He wrapped his hands around the guitar’s neck, eyes shut, and waited a moment. Then he peeked open his eyes and let out a long sigh of relief when he saw his hands keep the skin on. “Gracias!”

               And just like that—dirty, exhausted, carrying a guitar that wasn’t his—Héctor ran all the way back to the Plaza.

               He knew he needed to go as soon as possible, but his stomach sank as he saw how few people were out this early. Still, maybe he…

               “Dios mio, where have you been?”

               Strong arms gripped Héctor’s shoulders, and he was whirled around to face Ernesto. His friend’s face seemed torn between relief and anger…ah, but that didn’t matter. Miguel needed him. He shook his head.

               “I’ll explain later, it’s a long story. Right now, I need to get to the mira—”

               “You look half-dead! And your charro suit…”

               “I’ll fix it! Later. First I…” He tugged himself away from Ernesto’s grasp and ran straight to the middle of the square. Before Ernesto could stop him, he hopped up onto the mirador, looking out at the square. A few stragglers who’d had too much fun the night before were napping here and there, a few mamas out doing some early morning shopping…he’d missed his chance. No one would hear him.

               Héctor sucked in a breath and stood up straight. Well, he’d make sure he heard them. He’d play and play until everyone in Santa Cecilia listened. He started with a loud rift, the notes carrying through the sleepy plaza. A few of the revelers woke up, and a few of the mamas paused. From the corner of his eye, he could see Ernesto being torn between wanting to pull him down and not wanting to attach himself to the crazed, dirty young man in the center of the plaza.

               The tune slowed, to a simple little strumming; something easily playable for a kid just learning how to play. He swallowed, shutting his eyes as he opened his mouth.

“Remember me

Though I have to say goodbye

Remember me

Don’t let it make you cry…”

               He did his best to keep his voice steady and clear. Someone here had to know what had happened. Someone had to know this song.

               He opened his eyes as he held out the last note, voice wavering as the scene in front of him looked exactly the same. There were a few eyes on him, yes, but nothing that suggested anyone recognized the song. His shoulders sagged, and he swallowed as his fingers stilled on the guitar. He glanced around once more, then, exhaustion and disappointment overwhelming him, he dropped down onto the mirador’s steps.

               It had been a stupid idea. Of course it wouldn’t work. But…he’d hoped…

               “Perdonamé, señor…but where did you hear that song?”

               Héctor looked up wearily, brow furrowing as he met the sharp brown eyes of an older woman, looking at him suspiciously. It couldn’t be…ah, but there’d already been one happy coincidence tonight. Why not try for two?

               “Are you Coco?” he asked softly. Her eyes widened.

               “I…no, I’m not her,” she said, a little breathless. “I’m her daughter, Elena.” Her eyes narrowed. “Look, I don’t know what kind of tonterías this is, but…” She was cut off as Héctor jumped to his feet.

               “Then you know Miguel!”

               Elena went silent, face slackening in shock. She looked away. “How could you know…”

               “He’s my family! Look, it’s…it’s a really, really long story, but…but I have a photo of him! For the ofrenda! And I promised I’d get it to you, so…” He reached into his jacket pocket, ready to pull out the photo. But…nothing was there. “I…I swear, he gave it…I had…” He searched all of his pockets. He didn’t lose it in the fall, right? No, he would have seen it. So then why…

               Oh.

               Oh no, he hadn’t even thought.

               The photo had been a spirit copy.

               Héctor froze in place, eyes stinging. He’d come so close. He’d almost gotten Miguel back home. He gasped in a breath as a hand lightly rested on his arm.

               “You said Miguel was family?” Elena asked gently.

               Héctor nodded mutely. If he so much as opened his mouth, he knew all that would come out would be a frustrated sob. Elena pat his arm, nodding a bit.

               “Then why don’t you come with me, mijo? I think there’s some things that need to be discussed.”

~

               “You know, chamaco, you’re a tough guy to find.”

               A year had passed since Héctor’s jaunt to the Land of the Dead, and surprisingly, not much had changed. He and Ernesto were still touring, of course, a little more known than they’d been a year ago, but nowhere near household names. Now, though, he had no shortage of inspirations for songs. He was scribbling constantly—songs about life, songs about death, songs about family—so the trip back to Santa Cecilia wasn’t for inspiration this time.

               This time, it was for family.

               He’d gotten the whole story of Miguel’s death last year, when Elena had brought him home and grilled him about the song. The schoolhouse just outside of the school had been caught in a landslide years ago during the rainy season; the students and their teacher were killed near-instantly. Elena had taken comfort knowing that Miguel likely had no idea what hit him (which was probably true, Héctor realized with an uncomfortable twist in his stomach, and explained the lack of memory), but even after all this time, the area was still prone to flash floods. A few of the remains had been pulled out, but most were left behind—Miguel’s included.

               But, with a lot of digging, a lot of help, and some frightfully good timing, Héctor Rivera made sure that changed. And so this year, he proudly set a photo—a little dirty and water-damaged, but still clear—on the Rivera family ofrenda. He smiled as he looked at the little boy with one dimple in his cheek.

               “But we got you here, Miguelito,” he said to the photo. “Hopefully you like your new place; Tía Elena said they were able to make room next to Mamá Coco for you. I hope you were able to find her before now—I know the Department’s a mess, but if she’s anything like Tía Elena, she wouldn’t rest until she found you.”

He grinned before pointing to himself. “And speaking of family, you’ve got yourself a new primo. Well. I guess we’ve always been primos, but it’s acknowledged now. Apparently she had no idea my wayward mother—she used some, ah, more colorful language—dropped me off at the orphanage. It was after most of the family packed up shop and moved after the landslide. Too much pain in Santa Cecilia, I guess.”

               He glanced up out the window. “Looks like it’s just about sunset, chamaco. I’ll come visit after the talent show—heh, if I don’t end up stealing another guitar—so I’ll meet you in the graveyard.” He stood up straight, looking over the ofrenda before giving a small smile to the photo again.

               “And before I forget…welcome home, Miguel. Told you I’d get you back.”

[yandere-sins]

oh my gosh I adored that dazai piece! could you write a part 2 with the readers reaction?

Thanks for requesting! Glad you enjoyed the last part (:

»»———————— ♡ ————————««  

♡ You’re not judging his simplistic lifestyle as he leads you into ‘his’ apartment. There is enough lying around to show someone is living there, but not enough to say it’s comfortable. Then again, who are you to be surprised when Dazai has been such a hard-working, single man. He scratches the back of his neck, apologizing that it’s not an amazing location, but at the same time, he welcomes you warmly into his home, and that’s all that matters, right? A gentleman through and through, he takes your coat and hangs it up, shows you around the small home, and taking his time to explain the amenities to you. You wonder why he feels the need to show you everything so thoroughly, but when the sound of a teapot rings out, you immediately forget about it again.

♡ Following his instructions to sit down at the small table, you admire how well-kept the tatami mats are, even though the walls are bare. No photos or art, no unnecessary clutter. “You’re very minimalistic,” you joke and Dazai chuckles, standing in front of two cups of tea as he is preparing them for you two. “I sure hope you can change that in the future,” he hints, winking at you, and you feel butterflies in your stomach as you realize what he’s playing at. Having a future with him surely would be nice, wouldn’t it?

♡ Thanking him for the cup of tea, you eagerly take a sip, burning yourself lightly on the hot glass while tasting the unfamiliar blend of tea he’s serving. Your dates hadn’t been awkward before, but Dazai isn’t talking much this time, and you realize the ticking of the wall clock. Trying to lift the mood, you try complementing the few nice things you find around the room, like the TV and how clean everything is, but you still end up unable to keep up a conversation with him. Worried, you ask if he’s alright, since usually he’s such a big talker, and his expression grows surprised before he smiles, avoiding your question by asking how you like the tea. Admittedly, it’s a bit disappointing that now that he allowed you into such an intimate atmosphere, you two don’t seem to get along as well as you did at first, but you’re not going to tell him, complementing the tea with as many lavish words as you can think of.

♡ “There are some things I haven’t told you about me.” You’re suppressing a yawn as he finally speaks up, his voice low, regretful. Hoping he doesn’t think you’re rude for almost yawning, you reach for his hand, squeezing it reassuringly. No matter what he tells you, you are sure you two can work it out. Dazai smiles briefly at your hand on his, enveloping it with his second one. “I used to be one of the bad kind. The one you don’t want to meet in a dark alley.” Gulping, you nod. Well, everyone makes mistakes, and their past may be less pretty than it seems. “L-Like the Port Mafia!” you try to joke, pressing out a laugh, but Dazai doesn’t laugh with you. So, quickly, you shut your mouth, smiling at him. “It’s okay,” you keep reassuring him, and this time, you are able to turn his sorrowful expression into one of slight relief. “Yeah, just like them. So, how would you like to stay here? I can keep you safe as long as you’re here.”

♡ Drowning the last bit of tea you have, you splutter, coughing as his words surprised you. “O-Oh.” Did he mean staying with him? Or stay here in the apartment? Were you in danger? Why? For how long? “That’s really nice of you, but I have my own home, a-and a job, so...” Retracting your hand from his, Dazai is left with a deep frown as you try to stand up, uncomfortable by how this date is turning out. Sure, you like him, and he’s doing his best to please you, but this was going a bit too fast for your taste. The moment you try to stand up, you are met with a sudden dizziness, making you stagger. Calling out to you, Dazai worriedly rounds the table, catching you from falling, and you apologize profusely. “It’s okay, here.” He unfolds the futon for you, helping you lie down, and you keep apologizing for the inconvenience, but he merely smiles tenderly at you, holding your hand and telling you it’s okay. It’s to be expected. What?

♡ The room becomes uncomfortably quiet as you struggle to focus on anything besides the white noise ringing in your ears. You wish to say something, do something, call for help, but the warmth of Dazai’s hand slowly fades as you close your eyes. Falling into a weird kind of sleep, you are well aware of the lack of dreams you have, and when you finally manage to pull yourself out of the darkness, you wake up in the late evening. Wrists tied to the wall over your head and ankles to the opposite one, you start to panic, unable to understand how this could have happened. You never thought Dazai to be that kind of person, even when he told you about his shady past. Luckily, you don’t have to wait long, as you hear the door open, and you hold your breath for a moment, scared of who could have entered. But by the humming, you realize it’s just Dazai, immediately making some noise to get his attention. “Ah, you’re awake,” he smiled, trotting over with a grocery bag in his hand, and sitting down by your side. “I know it’s a little uncomfortable but bear with it, okay? It’s just until I’m sure you’re safe here. Can’t have you be seen out there, you get it.”

♡ You try desperately to tell him that no, you don’t get it and that he needs to let you go, please. But instead of listening, Dazai merely unpacks dinner, waiting for the moments that you open your mouth to speak so he can feed you, unbothered and with a happy smile every time you take a bite. How could you misjudge a person like that? What even was going on? Growing more agitated and angry, you start swearing and trying to kick at him, but Dazai seems unfazed as he finishes your dinner, appreciating the bites he takes from where you had bitten off from. Until you realize you can’t continue like this, getting the feeling that he’s been through worse than just you throwing a tantrum - how he calls it. And slowly, the quieter you grow, no matter if you are crying, hiccuping and sobbing, pleading with him, he starts telling you about his past. With every detail, your eyes widen, and you grow more desperate to get away, but Dazai never even looks at you, only musing about how lovely the moon is, just like when he killed that other guy with only his hands. Pushing the groceries aside, he lays down on top of you, head buried in your chest and disgusting you with the deep breaths he is taking. “But you,” he mumbles into your shirt. “I can save you.”