#Stop punishing me for trying to be productive in new areas of my life

[pirefyrelight]

It really sucks for me, an introvert, to have a nosy, retired, talkative neighbor who just absolutely can not allow me, a young introverted autistic woman, to do yard work in the peace and quiet of xer own racing mind without coming over and offering unsolicited advice about everything under the sun, and even proselytizing at one point.

Guy. Go away. Stop providing reinforcement for all my anxieties about being perceived in public.

Today I was almost done with the project I was working on, and it started sprinkling rain. I figured since I had maybe 15 more minutes including cleanup I'd just ignore the rain unless it actually started pouring, in favor of just finishing.

Well he comes home, calls something from across the way about sugar melting in the rain, I decide to take the most charitable read from that and decide he doesn't think I'm an idiot who had just spent the last 5 minutes completely unaware of the rain, and say something like "ha ha, yeah." You know, bare minimum to not outright rudely ignore him.

He stands by his truck for a second and calls out something about if I stay out any longer I'll be playing in the mud. Once again, as if I had no natural warnings about the rain. Or it being his business at all what comforts or goals I prioritize. I tell him I'm almost done, as if I need to justify what I do with my own property to him.

He says one final thing about the storm proper being a few blocks away and moving in, and finally goes inside. Of course he comes out again to ask if I want him to bring his leaf blower over, as if that will help distribute the dirt I dug up evenly across my lawn more effectively than the rake I pulled out and also just kicking it around.

I know he's being ~nice~, I know he's being neighborly and what I'm sure he believes is polite. But I am a gen z woman and he is a boomer man, and every interaction that he initiates before I initiate even a single one increases the inherent creep factor at an exponential rate. I want to be able to get things done outside or walk to work without being ensnared in a two hour conversation.

Hes trying to help me identify the plants in my garden, explaining perennials vs annuals and I just am not at the stage where I'm trying to figure that out right now ya know? He said something about the milkweeds, "it is a weed, you know."

Oh thanks. I didn't know that. What with the word Weed being in the name.

I tell him I knew about that one, that they're good for the butterflies, I'll take care of the ones that are in non optimal spots, stop touching my plants,

oh speaking of ambushing me on my way to work- the balls on this man to essentially harass me for hours the previous night, to see me walking in the morning looking straight ahead, with-a-purpose quickness that comes with cutting it close already to be on time, with A Massive Chef Knife Handle Sticking Out Of My Purse, and decides it's a good idea to stop me again for chit chat, I just can't even.

Hes still alive, unfortunately. Also unfortunately I guess I'm going to have to take a slight detour if I want to avoid him when I'm on a time crunch. The unfortunate comes from the fact this detour would take me along a bright, loud, busy road when I would generally rather take the shorter, tree shaded, side road to work instead.

I could just tell him to fuck off (not with those exact words ofc) but I'm worried about creating Friction ad since he's a talker and gossiper I don't know what kind of issues down the line would be caused by rebuffing him completely. But maybe that's my anxiety talking idk.

[lenteur]

random thoughts about tell me that you love me, episode eight

(the rest is under the cut because i'm worried about your eyes having to read ALL OF THAT and this post might contain spoilers)

I have a love hate relationship with the scenery in kdramas because I want to live there but I can't 💔

The more I learn about jin woo, the more I feel for him. He had to adapt to the school because no one knew sign language. It's unfair and I wish the school offered him some help but alas, he grew up in an area where not a lot of things could be done to help him.

It's cute how jo han wants to make things right with mo eun after his reaction to the dating news. Proves that he's a great friend (even though he wishes he was more to her)

The four leaf clover thing is cute beyond words. It's incredible how the only people jin woo gave them to are his best friend and his lover 💖

Where can I hire a jung mo dam to cook all my dishes? If anyone knows please hit me up ;)

Jo han not wanting mo eun to come to his house is so me. I am torn and too awkward to say anything lol

This drama is filled with nosy people. First mo dam seeing his sister with jin woo, then mo eun eavesdropping on ji yu and now jin woo's student catching his teacher with his girlfriend. Girl, I would have fit right in. I know it's bad but sometimes I can't help being nosy like that lol

The aquarium scene is so beautiful, there are hearts in my eyes 😍

Jin woo slowly but surely involving mo eun in his daily life, that's character development. It's so sweet to see him open up little by little to her.

It's sad to see sometimes the only option for bullied kids is to let out all their anger and frustration at once by using violence. We don't know much about tae ho (I think that's his name?) and if he tried telling people (teachers or other adults) about the other kids bullying him but it feels like there's no escape for him. And resorting to violence was his last option because he can't take it anymore. And the bully has the nerve to say "The one who's hit sleeps better at night".

It's heartbreaking to see the kid trying to end it all by using a brick against his bully. Shows how much violence he went through. What's even more heartbreaking is him being able to raise his voice at other people but being almost defenseless when it comes to his bully. The mental toll and control a bully has over their victim is unimaginable. Tae ho raised his voice at jin woo because the latter didn't help him the other time, not knowing jin woo is deaf. But it shows how desperate victims are. They're searching for a helping hand, no matter who it is because the weight of it all is too much for one person. I wish the bullying would stop and the bully to be punished accordingly. They want to scream and ask for help but most of the time, it's either of two things: the victim can't because they know there will be repercussions or their cry for help falls on deaf ears (pun unintended).

On a completely unrelated note, seeing and hearing people write on paper is so relaxing to me. I could fall asleep to it.

Take this from someone who never wears makeup but I find it funny when in a drama, they show someone putting on makeup because it seems like there is no difference. I don't know how to explain it but it looks like there's no product on the palette/conceler/blush things and it's just for show. I shouldn't have written about this because the lack of skills and vocabulary is obvious 💔

Mo eun and jin woo are facing the first obstacles in their blooming relationship. Jin woo because he can sense mo eun's family and friends are a bit iffy about him. Mo eun because she fears she won't be able to communicate as fluently as seo kyung can with jin woo. I hope they face all hurdles together and find a solution together.

I'm happy that mo eun and jin woo are friends with so hee and her husband (what's wrong with me today? I can't remember anyone's name) so they can see that despite it all, love triumphs and they live a happy life together

I like that she reassures him she's feeling comfortable in their relationship.

Ji yu is such a great friend, defending her friend and letting the parents know her boyfriend is a good person. Thank you for being the best of friend ji yu.

THE KISS!!! don't mind me i'm going crazy haha

It was a cute episode. I liked it.

For those reasons, I'm giving it a 9/10

[jessicafurseth]

Reading List, First Summer Flush edition.

"I need to be alone for certain periods of time or I violate my own rhythm." - Lee Krasner

Image: @80svintagepulps

*

"Our online spaces are not ecosystems, though tech firms love that word. They’re plantations; highly concentrated and controlled environments, closer kin to the industrial farming of the cattle feedlot or battery chicken farms that madden the creatures trapped within. We all know this. We see it each time we reach for our phones. But what most people have missed is how this concentration reaches deep into the internet’s infrastructure — the pipes and protocols, cables and networks, search engines and browsers. These structures determine how we build and use the internet, now and in the future." We Need To Rewild The Internet [Maria Farrell, Robin Berjon, Noema]

"I [now] see what I wanted the therapist to tell me. I wanted permission. I wanted to be told I could stop trying. I wanted her to tell me I had done everything I could — that we had indeed put in the work and shouldn’t feel ashamed for throwing in the towel." [Scaachi Koul, The Cut]

The new science of death [Alex Blasdel, The Guardian]

In praise of the dumbphone revolution [Kyle Chayka, The New Yorker]

“Tech is not supposed to be a master tool to colonize every aspect of our being. We need to reevaluate how it serves us.” The New Luddites are taking on AI [Brian Merchant, The Atlantic]

"Brand smells" and the people that make them [Aimee Levitt, The Guardian]

It's almost impossible to find actually interesting writing about polyamory - this is a rare exception [Brandy Jensen, The Yale Review]

"You probably have less effect on your kids than you think, with one major exception: Your love will make them happy." [Arthur Brooks, The Atlantic]

101 ways to make and maintain friendships [Madeleine Dore]

"Is what’s wrong with me what’s wrong with everyone else?" My anxiety[Lauren Oyler, The New Yorker]

"In my mind, dropping a ball or doing less invited intolerable risk. I worried that if I said no to a project, no one would ever want to work with me again, or if I stopped, I’d never be able to start again. But as OCD took up more and more of me, these actions and how I rationalized them became less and less clear, like if I didn’t read something 50 times, I’d be punished somehow, by something terrible happening in another area of my life. But because these behaviors came across as productive, pressure to just keep going mounted. Maybe this is just how ambition felt, I thought to myself. Maybe overworking is what I was good at, and what I was supposed to do." Could I Still Be Ambitious Without My OCD? [Rainesford Stauffer, The Cut]

"I am rattling my cage, grasping at the bars of my own constraints - my own slow motion - and trying to break my way out. There is so, so much to do in this life, so many ideas, so many ways I could help. I feel like I do so little. I am so slow. I get slower with age. My capacity does not match my desire." The Roaring [Katherine May]

Pie chart for bodies [@sophielucidojohnson on Instagram]

Pond life on Hampstead Heath in 1963 [The Guardian]

[velvetporcelain]

sad-istic 💋

You know I punish myself for having this ungrateful episodes of manic sadness and bleak perception. They fill me with no color. They are silent black and white films, where you were mustering in your seat, sitting there thinking “what if they could talk?” With big dreamy eyes while you imagine yourself living a life something along these astronomical margins and lines. Yes, I punish myself for not being alive while alive but someone tell me what the fuck is “alive?” Who defines it. And who decided all the words and definitions in the fucking dictionary? It doesn’t matter because words have been massively murdered in the last few centuries. I read enough Kafka, Path and Poe to know that language has fucking died and we are speaking in “new speak” - a reference from George Orwell’s book 1984, at least with every generation. Culture is changing and changing and changing. The margins continue to get bigger in some areas while it takes away from others.

I asked myself this morning- “ I wonder what the world would be like if women were to rule all of those centuries?” A lot fucking different. I would bet my reincarnation on it. We wouldn’t need to invite all democratic leaders from around the world to see the army we built, parading the streets for four hours straight. Yeah that’s some man shit.

I found myself trying to look straight today. No crooked thinking. No real need redirect today. Feeling sorry for myself looks very much like standing with my arms wide open and letting it all hit me like some power force wind. Bitter emotions eat me alive literally. But if this is what happiness looks like, then today I am happy. Because happiness is gonna look the way I say it looks. No one determines what makes me happy but me. Fuck being nice. I will kindly counteroffer with my actually happiness from now on. Redirecting that person instead of me. Using my words beautifully. Let it not turn into something decaying inside of me.

At the end of the day I’m just a spoiled little girl rich with emotion, and I hate when I feel poor, but I have mistaken peace for poverty. I never lose my value when I feel “poor,” I know that now, but sometimes I forget it in the moment. There is something so present about sadness. It keeps you in this fully aware stage of present moment. I never stop to think about what I’m feeling when I am happy, excited, eager, willing. Never! I just FEEL IT. sadness? Nah that really gets you standing at attention. Guarding yourself. Pacing back and forth in your mind until the day is gone and the street light becomes an indicator that you’re still in the same fucking position. I laugh now, but it’s incredibly intimate experience with yourself. The most intimacy you can have really. That’s why people don’t know the difference between romantic and intimate. Intimate is feeling, romantic is doing. People want to feel one another much deeper than the flesh. They want the insides of themselves to touch. People want to open the vast void of nothingness they spend so much time in hoping to god that you like it just as much as they do.

Difficult? Well, yes, humans are weak, I will always resort to this answer. It has been indirectly taught as a weakness because it never really got us anywhere productive or profitable in society. Do you see? I’m so happy I have all my energy to give to me. That also makes me happy. Are we writing these things down? Are we feeling these things? Something easy for us to gain?

I’m ready to stay in my lane. I’m ready to move in pure love and pure trust. I will be intimate with me. I will open myself to the plethora of beauty that surrounds me DAILY. I will touch the colors and let them fill my body with wonder. I will restore sad places with love. I will restore conditions with unconditional affection.

Today I feel like such an unconventional woman. I am way more woman than I think. I am way more woman than I thought. I am a woman who can challenge a man where I see fit. I am a woman who can hear a man where I see fit. I am a woman who respects and admires the differences between men and women.

The world needs more open women.

I love you mon coeur, you’re such a good listener *pats head* I love when you look at mommy like that, sucha good little void ✨😍😘💭

-x

[vergess]

@autismserenity​ said: Your tags are the most American thing I’ve ever read, we are truly so screwed here   

May I interest you in a more complete, and more excruciating, explanation of what I spent the last 18 months doing?

It is, I need to emphasize, fucking nasty. Don’t feel obligated, especiallly if you’ve already had A Day(tm).

There’s a lot of disease, a lot of worker abuse including sexual and racial abuse, a fine portion of letting people die for not being white enough for real medical care, all leading to homelessness.

For NDA reasons, because my former employer was just as vile as any tech company has ever been, I cannot be super specific about who I worked for. However, I can say that we handled the records and patient contact for all COVID testing for several states, as well as 2 of the 5 largest metros in the US, and several dozen smaller ones ranging from the approximate population of San Francisco, down to little towns, as well as the testing for several public school systems and at least two government agencies that I am not at liberty to disclose.

I tell you this for a sense of scale. When I say shit like, “my boss was more than happy to let thousands or hundreds of thousands die” I am not exagerrating for effect. We handled hundreds of thousands of tests a week.

Again, I need to emphasize, government agencies. Ones you would know if I named them. Ones everyone in the country knows.

And we were in charge of getting their test results from the already over swamped labs back to the patients, who often were not allowed to quarantine while awaiting results.

The fastest we got our turnaround time to on any consistent basis was about 30 hours. Often it ballooned well into weeks.

There were a number of factors for this, but the big one was always understaffing.

The staff we did have were treated like trash. One of the big selling points of this company is how “trans friendly” it is to work there. That is a lie. Every trans employee on payroll had their dead name displayed to all other staff, and until I personally changed the system setup on my arrival, patient facing trans people’s dead names were displayed to patients.

Remember that thing about “hundreds of thousands of tests a week”?

I was able to change the way patient-facing names were displayed. I was not allowed or able to alter the way internal systems displayed trans people’s names. But I was assured that it’s fine, because once you get a legal name change, you’ll be given new system accounts with your new name!

Your old accounts with your dead name would still be displayed and associated with the new ones though.

This is the “trans friendly” working environment. We were allowed to be out of the closet, as long as we were willing to put up with that. And any attempts to get it altered were the result of those nasty little transgender ingrates not being thankful enough.

Meaning that by asking to use our own fucking names we were already in the disciplinary shitter.

Another big selling point is the ~racial diversity~. The CEO was a man of colour, and so were like four other people on staff!! Wow!!!!!!!

This, too, was laughable.

Once numbers started coming in about the care gap for COVID between English and Spanish speakers, and our Southwestern US service area began to have a separate and brutal backlog just of Spanish speaking patients, my employer encouraged me to interview potential hires who speak spanish.

Fair enough! We all wanted to do our part to help close the already massive mortality gap.

So, I found candidates, did interviews, hired them, trained them, etc. But I don’t speak Spanish. As a result, I appointed 2 assistant managers who do speak Spanish to assist me in managing, you know, like the job name.

So when my super contacted them directly, completely skipping me on the chain of command, and told them to stop all of our Spanish speakers from translating helpful simple messages to send to patients, and instead start translating medical and legal documents, they very reasonably assumed I was in the know and went ahead with it.

TO BE CLEAR, that could have ended my life, theirs, basically everyone involved. Everyone in the company would have been completely fucked. At that point, my subordinates, the people for whom I am wholly responsible, were doing everything from practicing medicine without licenses, to encouraging spanish speaking patients to enter contracts that no one on the fucking executive tier could even read.

The moment I found that out, I and the A.M.s immediately started trying to get actual medical translation services to do our documents. We collected them in a neat folder. We queried translation services. We got quotes. We contacted my super and the CEO, about this over and over again for months. In the late autumn, we received approval for one of the translation services.

The CEO decided at the last minute that having people with no medical or legal training draft medical and legal forms was fine and good actually, and refused to sign the contract or send the documents for translation.

The excuse I received was that the COVID emergency HIPAA relaxations would protect us.

That’s not how that works.

Throughout all of this, Spanish speaking employees were told to either keep doing medical and legal translation work, or lose their jobs.

Oh, did I mention everyone was working between 30 and 80 hours a week, and all of us were marked as “contractors” so the employer could tax evade? Don’t worry, we filed complaints with the labour bureau.

So the entire department was let go, and “rehired” as temps through a temp agency, which because it was a temp agency could keep them marked as contractors regardless of the facts.

This change was presented to all of us, myself included, as the company getting a new accountant to handle payroll.

So if you’re keeping score, we’ve covered racism, queerphobia, medical negligence, fraud, and a frankly uncountable number of deaths.

Let’s talk about the sheer negligence towards employees ourselves. If you’ve worked in near-death medical care before, or any number of emergency services really, you know that the standard benefit suite includes either a dedicated therapist for your staff, or access to peer support groups with other emergency and medical servants through your employer’s benefits program.

Do you know what our mental health benefits were for this company?

The CEO got on a fucking zoom call with us all one (1) time, and said that if we were feeling suicidal or traumatized by the work, to talk to him about it, and he would be our therapist.

Do you know how many people per fucking day we had to contact only to be told they had already died because our understaffing delays killed them? He doesn’t. He never listened when we told him.

But let me put the cherry on the “Oh baby, you can talk to me, oooh” sundae.

Anyone who “looked” or “sounded” female, regardless of actual or assigned gender, was subject to constant flirtations and slimy, overly personal compliments about our appearances. Fortunately, at 3 levels removed from the CEO (Executives > Department heads > Managers > Employees), most of the people under my management had relatively little contact with him.

I was not nearly so lucky.

The CEO of this company has a watersports (urination) fetish. I know this, because he told me so and attempted to get me to join him in it. I have no idea how many other people in the company he did this to. I mean, what the fuck was I supposed to do, risk losing my job to find out? I have a fucking family to support, people.

Not that it mattered.

Eventually, all of these abuses became too much for my subordinates. Productivity fell off a cliff. Delays were getting worse and worse. In a medical emergency like this, delays=deaths.

So, like a fucking idiot, when the department heads reached out to me to ask what they could do to improve productivity, I shot down their frankly insulting suggestion of raffling a $20 amazon gift card to patient facing employees, and instead suggested a very simple, “enroll us with a peer support group, every single person in this department has PTSD from working in this pandemic.”

They were confused by my assertion of PTSD. I was asked to compile a document of complaints, concerns, and weaknesses in our patient facing services.

I and the A.M.s did so. It was roughly 40 pages long, with each page given a known problem, the reasons why it was a problem, and some potential solutions that might inspire further solutions or be able to be implemented. We submitted it. There was no response.

A week passed.

I had been working 80 hour weeks for most of a year. I hadn’t even been able to take weekends. I took my first sick day, in a company with “unlimited vacation days.”

I received a call at 3PM.

I had been fired for “differences in communitcation.” If you’ve ever seen that “Problem Women of Color in the workplace” chart? Yeah.

So had most of my department, including every transgender member of the department, and several of our extremely limited in supply Spanish speakers, who were presumed to be “on my side.”

Some of them, I barely even knew beyond the formalities of the job, and they were punished anyway.

I lost my insurance, and as a result I lost access to my medications.

But the real problem? I lost my house. And not due to lack of payment.

I lost my house, because when I got the job we waited 6 months for stability’s sake, and then readied to move out of the area. I got a mortgage on the basis of my employer’s written guarantee to the bank that I would continue to be employed for the next year at a minimum.

With the mortgage approval in hand, we entered a sales contract on our existing home.

We got and accepted an offer just days before I was fired. To keep our house meant paying a 25,000 dollar broken contract fine. We didn’t have that. We had a 10% down payment for a modest fucking place in a cheaper area, which is less than half that.

But without a job, my mortgage approval was also voided, meaning we couldn’t buy a house either.

All of a sudden, we were homeless during the plague, because my employer wrote and signed a letter to a bank guaranteeing my future employ, and then changed his mind when too many people died due to his own negligence.

Oh yeah, one last thing: the job paid less than Pandemic unemployment Assistance.

...After that, well, it’s homelessness until just last month. I... if you’ve never been homeless it’s.

It blurs. Everything is happening constantly, except for all the ways in which you are endlessly, mind breakingly bored. Bored, overloaded, and always uncomfortable.

Obviously my health would have declined regardless. Malnutrition, stress, everything.

But I was also unmedicated.

It was hell. I was in hell. I don’t know if I can recover from it, to be honest.

I bounced back from being homeless as a child. Children are as resilient as they are stupid, and the monstrosity of homelessness was little more than a vaguely remembered loathing and a panicky fear that it would ever happen again.

A child who is dying is worthy of sympathy, even if it is meaningless coos from passers by. If they have family, they may be able to rely on them too.

An adult with the indignity to die homeless and crippled, according to the average passer by, is worthy only of disgust and perhaps even punishment for being such a worthless waste.

My reward for nearly killing myself in a desperate bid to help stem the tide of COVID was the destruction of not only my life, not only my entire family’s lives, but the lives of every single family of every single employee who worked with me.

And you know what’s worse?

Each one of us still did more to limit the lethal impact of COVID than the entire united states government.

It breaks something in you, going through that.

It makes you realize that hope is a fool’s game.

But, I have ever been a fool, and so, I continue to play.

[fandom-thingies]

My Complicated Feelings Toward JK Rowling

I think everyone who’s read Harry Potter and likes to talk has written something like this by now. It makes sense, right? She wrote possibly the most influential book series to come out in the last century. For me and many others, those books are an unforgettable part of our childhoods, and it hurts for the person who took us on such a journey of magic and wonder to be so unmagical herself.

So, here’s my take.

I think the thing I hate most about JK Rowling is how close she came to greatness.

There’s a reason her books became so popular, after all. For all her faults, (and there are many) she’s an amazing writer.

Every one of her characters feel like they could walk off of the page at any time and into your life. 

Dudley Dursley with his absorption of how his parents treat Harry and how his friends treat him, with his slow growth throughout the books into a person beyond who he was raised to be.

Molly Weasley with her overbearing mother henning, sometimes harmful but oh so clearly coming from a place of love, and her complete willingness to adopt any child that stands still long enough for her to do so. (Except Fleur)

Narcissa Malfoy with her belief in the horrible things she’s doing, without that stopping her from being entirely willing to do anything for her child.

Sirius Black with his tendency to unintentionally echo the sentiments he was raised with, and the tragedy of him losing his chance to ever truly grow as a person after being thrown in Azkaban for twelve years and then dying so soon after, and his complete, unconditional love for Harry.

I could write essays on any of them, and my point is that while JK’s treatment of certain issues and characters makes me want to hate Harry Potter, her characterization itself is both consistent and magnificently human.

Her world, too, is beautiful.

I first read Harry Potter before I turned eleven, and I was one of many across the nation who awaited my letter with eager anticipation. 

Can you blame me? The world she created filled so many children with wonder, made so many of us want so badly for magic to be real, to be ours- 

It was beautiful, and I hate her for what she could have been.

She had this fully realized system of prejudice that canonically created genocidal maniacs and put them in power every two generations or so, and she had this very realistic way of writing horribly flawed people that pronounces them as people without exonerating them for the awful things she’d have them do, and I can’t help feeling like “the horrors of war”, as well as she wrote it, wasn’t the story her world deserved.

But that’s a big idea to tackle, and I think it will be tackled best if I start small. I’ve spoken now of the beauty of her world, of her characters. Now I’ll speak of what marrs it.

Like I said, I want to start small.

So, let’s talk about the house elves.

TL;DR? Hermione was right. They’re indoctrinated from birth into believing the only thing they’re good for is housework, as well as being raised to abhor any elf who chooses to do otherwise. It’s a neat little self perpetuating system that bears absolutely no similarity in ideology to the mythology JK built it off of, and as such loses the aspect of choice that’s so significant to brownies.

Add to that the socially acceptable abuse, and you’ve got something that looks far more similar to slavery than it does little fairies who come to clean your home and get mad if pay them because they’re doing it as a favor.

And that’s why it’s so concerning, when JK brushes Hermione’s campaigning off in canon so casually.

It’s honestly hard to say when I started to be leery of JK Rowling, except that it was several years before the TERF scandal occurred. I think this was probably one of the earlier areas, though.

The first time I remember wondering if Harry Potter’s greatnesses were in spite of her intentions, rather than because of them, though, wasn’t the house elves.

It was, rather, a different contentious issue in the fandom, and one I’ve always fallen quite firmly to one side of, as someone who’s been bullied myself.

The first time I remember being suspicious of JK’s beliefs was when I realized she didn’t write Snape with the intent for him to be a villain.

Snape is not a person anyone in the fandom seems to be able to agree on. Some see him as a flat, cartoony villain, while some see him as a tortured soul who only did all those terrible things because he was hurting inside, don’t you see? 

Personally, I drew the line at him being a child’s boggart, as well as the time he attempted to kill Neville’s toad, Trevor, because seriously; what the fuck.

It had always been my belief that while him being obsessed with loving Lily motivated him to work on the side of good, it was more like Narcissa’s willingness to betray her cause for her son than anything else, being a sympathetic trait without absolving his cruelty.

Then I realized that a bunch of people (likely including JK) view Narcissa similarly to how they view Snape, seeing both as people who do bad but are good, rather than people who do good but are bad, and I honestly don’t know what to say to y’all.

You know having good traits doesn’t make a person good, right? Being capable of affection doesn’t absolve people of cruelty or make it your responsibility to forgive them and try to get them to change, it just tells them that they can do bad things without being punished for it. 

Do you guys need an abuse hotline? 

Anyway, that’s when I stopped liking JK, since I’ve been bullied myself and seeing her treat such a horrible bully as a good person kinda soured me on her. I’m not mad at her for letting her bullies grow and change- I love Draco’s and Dudley’s character arcs. I’m just mad at her because unlike those two, Snape is an adult and she kinda wrote it like forgiving him was an expectation of Harry, rather than a personal choice (and not an easy one either! Forgiving bullies is hard and it’s not always healthy!)

I’m getting off topic, but I genuinely believe that discussing this kind of thing is important, so I’m leaving that in.

Getting back to what this is actually about, I’m the kind of person who sees potential in things, often before I see the work itself, (it’s why I write fanfiction) and Harry Potter has so much potential it hurts, because so much of it is just wasted.

I said, earlier, that “the horrors of war” wasn’t the story best suited to this world, and I stand by that.

The first reason I believe that is because I don’t think that the black and white morality this kind of narrative often creates was well suited to JK’s writing style. JK has a tendency to put her characters in boxes of “good” or “bad” and as someone who doesn’t really believe in inherent goodness or evil, this will always feel unrealistic to me.

Because in the end, it’s JK’s minor villains, the ones not directly involved with Voldemort’s war, that really shine.

My favorite villains in the series were Umbridge, the Dursleys, Draco Malfoy, and Cornelius Fudge, because they were the villains who felt real, who felt like flawed people making flawed decisions because we’re all fundamentally products of our environment-

These are the villains who stuck with me, who I still want to take and shake because they were the kind of cruelty we’ve all faced.

Voldemort, as the main villain of the story, would have been more powerful if he’d been an amplified version of these people. In fact, the story would have been better in general if Fudge or Dumbledore had been the villain, because the problem with Voldemort is that unlike the good villains in this story, who feel real because we’ve all met people like them, Voldemort is and will always be larger than life.

A genocidal maniac is a villain few of us have faced societally, and one none of us have faced directly.

Also, rather than being a worse version of Umbridge or Fudge, Voldemort is more akin to a worse version of Snape. He’s a tortured soul who does bad things because bad things were done to him, rather than being cruel through his choices, his own agency.

That’s the first reason why “the horrors of war” wasn’t the best choice of a narrative for this world.

The second is that I don’t think JK sees anything wrong with her muggle hating characters.

She clearly thinks killing muggles is wrong, of course. She’s not that bad.

But, well, the muggle characters in Harry Potter are consistently kind of awful.

First there’s the Dursleys, selfish, entitled, egotistical, and cruel to anyone different from them. Then there’s Snape’s muggle father, who was horribly abusive, as well as cruel to anything different from him.

Then there’s the muggle prime minister, who despite being an important figure, is left completely out of the loop for anything concerning wizards, pretty much only used when the ministry needs the muggle news to say or do a certain thing, like when Sirius Black was declared a criminal.

There’s also the family at the quidditch world cup, of whom who only meet the patriarch, a somewhat stupid man who remarks uncomprehendingly on the oddness of wizards trying to assimilate into muggle society, a man who is canonically obliviated ten times a day.

And that’s it, that’s all the muggle characters I can remember. Aside from the Dursleys, none of them are given more than a page or so of screentime, and none of them do anything significant.

No, wait, I did actually forget two.

Hermione’s parents, who are obliviated and sent to Australia when the war starts, because the only thing they could ever do in a war is be victims.

Muggles in Harry Potter are consistently stupid, ineffectual, and cruel to anyone different from them.

Out of the entire massive cast of Harry Potter, there are few enough muggles that I can list them all off the top of my head without googling and the only muggle in the story ever given the all important chance to be kind is Dudley Dursley, who is taken out of the story the moment he stops being an awful person.

I’m sure you see the problem.

The issue with Harry Potter is that JK acts like the problem is solved when muggles are no longer being actively persecuted, when in reality that’s only the beginning of solving the prejudice that plagues her world.

Voldemort is frequently called “wizard Hitler” and I think that’s more accurate than people realize, because as with Hitler, people easily see the problem with Voldemort committing genocide, and they’re fine with working to stop that, but the moment they’re asked to examine their own biases, their own small cruelties and exclusions, the ten thousand cuts they’ve inflicted with their own hands…

The moment people are asked to examine themselves, to look close at the mirror and point to what allowed someone like Voldemort to gain a following in the first place, they turn away and go back to turning a blind eye to the fact that if you don’t address the societal issues that made him gain a following in the first place, there’ll just be another when it’s been a few years and people have forgotten.

In the end, Grindlewald is wizard Hitler. Voldemort and the death eaters are wizard neo nazis.

I’m not Jewish, though, so I’ll let them be the ones to expand further upon this, as many have.

My point here is that JK’s story would have been more powerful if it had been about addressing the issues that underpin the death eaters, rather than killing their leader and acting as if that’ll solve anything.

JK Rowling is antisemetic, racist, and a TERF, among other things, and while I’m glad it shows in her work as little as it does, it does show, and I’m not going to cover that in this because a thousand other people have covered it better than I ever could.

Suffice to say, I’m nonbinary, and I’m glad I was disillusioned with her before I knew she was prejudiced directly against me, because loving her before she said the things she said and did the things she did would have hurt.

The fact that her world shows so clearly the consequences of her beliefs, even in the context of a prejudice that doesn’t exist in our own world…

I guess she’s always been too good a writer for her own good, in the end.

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Genji Heavy Industries (Part 4) Elevators

I had a lot of fun with this. I hope you enjoy it.

Ahead of you was the low, narrow passage, no windows as far as the eye could see. Ventilation fans are spinning slowly behind grates. The walls are spray painted a heavy rusty red. Walking directions are written in white paint that you couldn't read. This was the Inner district, a place that felt mildly suffocating, with an element of unease in the air. Caesar walked in front with a Desert Eagle in each hand, fully focused on the possible danger at any time. Chu Zihang held a sword at the rear, you and Lu Mingfei walked between the two, passing one white light after another. The institute felt mysterious here, like an infinitely extended maze that secretly held a minotaur.

You fall into step with Caesar, matching him stride for stride. It was known as “Wolf Walking”. When traveling through snow, you used the foot falls of another as a pathway. Not only did this ease the exertion of trudging through the snow yourself, it also created a minimal disturbance in the snow. It concealed the numbers of the people following through the area. Even though you were one of dozens of children, the actual population at the port was hidden this way. You would see a single trail of footprints where dozens of children had passed.

In this case, even if someone could hear your footsteps, they would think that there were three men in this passageway. Your presence wouldn’t be noticed until it was too late.

You crossed the walkway without incident. There was nothing odd at the end of the walkway, just an elevator, and, surprisingly there were no special security measures in the inner area, probably because the Hydra thought it was impossible to invade the inner area. So they didn't add a cumbersome access control system here. The elevator door opens right up and lets you inside.

"Boss, which floor should we go to?" Lu Mingfei looked at the densely packed floor buttons.

You take Chu Zihang’s advice and bite your tongue. There was no need to ask any questions. Caesar would figure things out. Your job was just to do what he told you. But Lu Mingfei thought with his mouth. Every thought bubble was, for him, a speech bubble. It was like trying to perform a covert operation with a large tropical parrot. You just wanted to turn around, shoot it into a cloud of feathers and move on. But Caesar was far more generous and patient, not paying it much mind, and scolding you for doing so.

On reflection, your impatient attitude was a product of your upbringing. You were brutal because the environment and the people around you were brutal. There was no need to viciously swear at Mingfei and punish him. You did it on impulse because that was how it was always done. Once again, Caesar was showing you another way to be.

Every time you worked with him in dangerous situations that goodness was like light to penetrate the dark, but now your mind dove elsewhere, back into the memory of his opening the door wearing nearly nothing. You feel the heat rise to your face involuntarily. You blink rapidly to clear your head, mentally swearing at yourself for your lack of focus and glancing around to make sure that no one saw.

A new problem emerged. This skyscraper had more than fifty floors. Some were garage floors. Some were equipment floors. Others were mezzanine floors, half floors that didn't need to be named by numbers. Typically, in a modern high-rise, an elevator can only reach certain parts of the building. The ground level general office elevator would not reach Hydra level. A cargo elevator would not need to access every floor, only the floors where the cargo needed to go.  But the elevator in the inner district can lead to the majority of floors. It was all accessible.

"Wow! Didn't think about it." Caesar frowned.

And just like that, the light was switched off. What did he mean he didn’t think about which floor in a one hundred floor highrise was going to be the right one?! 

“Truth be told, I didn’t think that it was absolutely necessary to go straight to Kaguya tonight. I just wanted to feel my way in and see how it went. If it weren’t for that submarine, I would have gone back, but it blocked our path.”

Your mental rifle now swung from the ‘Tropical Parrot’ to put Captain Underpants in the crosshairs!

"So, brother, do you have the structural diagram of this building?" Lu Mingfei asked Chu Zihang. 

Chu Zihang shook his head: "Do you think there will be such information on the Internet? Even if there is, the information of the inner district will not be included in it." 

God.

You hang your head, your hair falling over your eyes to shroud your face in shadow.

You feel a soft pat on your shoulder and look up again. Chu Zihang, stoic, was taking a page from Caesar’s book and trying to comfort you. You needed it. It took everything in you not to fall into his arms, have him offer you champagne, and give you permission to cry if you’re sad!

They had actually walked all the way to the inner district, but now their minds were blank. The last time they came as VIPs. There were uniformed high-heeled secretaries to guide them, and they were quick to press the floor button. You were so overwhelmed by the amazing things around you that you never thought to pay attention to which floor you were on, having never been in such a magnificent highrise in your life.

You let out a soft breath of air. “Permission to speak sir?”

Caesar gives you an odd look. “Oh… right. No one’s around so it’s okay to talk.”

You look up at him. “Such a large pumping station requires adequate ventilation, not only for the staff inside but to avoid creating vacuums that might collapse the pipes. Now that we’re inside we see a lot of ventilation fans. Those vents are likely part of a larger network. You can use your Speech Spirit to follow the noise of the guards in the Iron Dome Temple and get back out.”

Caesar beamed at you. “Excellent observation, MC. I’ll keep that in mind. But since we’ve made it this far, it would be a shame to go back now. Why not go straight to the source of the issue? The most important floor must be the top floor! Let’s go to the top and take a look!"

What? Wasn’t he just now talking about wanting to go back? He looked dumbfounded and confused but his mind was actually running a mile per second and he’d arrived at the conclusion of, ‘Screw it, let’s go.’ before you could collect your thoughts. If you had been faster on the uptake, perhaps you could have slipped the suggestion in, but now his mind was locked in place and it was impossible to change it.

"Damn, the most important floor is also the most heavily guarded, right? I say go to the 12th floor first! I remember that the 12th floor seems to be the floor with all those phone operators. Even if they recognize us, once we pull out our guns, the girls will be scared! We still have time to escape!" Lu Mingfei hurriedly objected, "Right, brother?”

Both you and Mingfei turn and look desperately at Chu Zihang. Perhaps if you had his backing you would be able to avoid going along with Caesar’s harebrained decision.

"The operator room is located on the 14th floor, you are remembering wrongly." Chu Zihang said, expressionless, "but I agree with Caesar's idea. Since we don't know which floor to start from, might as well go straight to the yellow dragon!"

Now you just want to kill all of them.

“You want to go back home right, MC?” Chu Zihang glanced down at you again.

“My home is gone.” You grumble bitterly, crossing your arms.

"Hey hey hey hey! Listen to me! Listen to me! Although the top floor is important, Hydra would not use a top tier place as a machine room, right? The main purpose of our visit is to blow up the core of Kaguya, right?" Lu Mingfei hurriedly made up excuses not to go there, flapping his arms in desperate parrot-like gestures while you watched, sullen. "First, the main quest then the side quests, right? Let's blow up the Kaguya computer system first, and then go to the top floor to sweep, okay?"

You drop your arms in impatience. “Just stop talking, Mingfei. We can’t see the top floor if we blow up the computer, d-  ” You barely manage to avoid ending that sentence with ‘dumbass’, because the elevator cut you off with ‘ding!’ And you suddenly feel a strange vertigo as the elevator stops! It was rising up and you were all too busy arguing to notice!

Lu Mingfei freezes, his face going pale. You, Caesar and Chu Zihang, however, put your hands on your guns and as one form a wall between the door and Mingfei Lu.

You’re on the 21st floor but you have no idea what it was and there was no guide on the side of the elevator to tell you. But the elevator rose because someone called it. So someone had to be on the other side of the door! Your eyes sweep upward to the ceiling. You might be able to find an escape through those tiles, but more likely you would be shot trying.

The door opened. A woman appeared, looking like a secretary and wearing a white shirt and A-line skirt. She was in such a hurry to get in that she ran into Caesar chest to chest. They are both tense for a moment, like tigers who caught each other unawares. The secretary slowly looked up, and Caesar, a head taller than her, coldly stared at her. 

This was not a young girl, but a mature woman of nearly 30 years. Though she had a hot, curvy body, with a beautiful face, you recognized the cold in those eyes. This wasn’t the first time you’d seen her. She was Nanami Sakurai and was one of the important people of Hydra. You met her briefly on your tour and introduction to the Japan Branch. You quickly lower your eyes, but she was already face to face with Caesar. Caesar had his dark makeup on and was dressed differently, but he was still himself and he was hard to forget.

At this moment, her eyes were sweeping Caesar from bottom to top, her gaze sharp as a knife, as if she wanted to cut Caesar apart inch by inch. You wished you had a telepathic link to Caesar’s brain to tell him to move! Your fundamental understanding of cruel leadership instinctively clued you in to her expectation. She expected him to know what to do. If people like her ever had to tell you what to do, then they would make sure they wouldn’t have to repeat themselves ever again!

Sakurai Nanami's eyes were suddenly murderous! 

"Bakayarou!” A loud slap hit Caesar's face. 

Caesar froze. A clear palm mark quickly appeared on his face despite the make up. 

You remembered being slapped like this. You had been carrying a stack of dishes. You couldn’t have been more than seven or eight years old. You stepped in something wet and the plates fell to the concrete floor and broke, every single one. You still remember the eyes of the nurse who was bearing down on you while you stood rooted to the spot. They were cold and completely black, like a shark’s. She took your wrist in her hand and slapped you so hard that your vision flashed white and your whole head went numb.

She slapped you like you had wanted to slap Lu Mingfei back at the entrance of Genji Heavy Industries.

She screamed at you the way Sakurai Nanami was screaming now. It was all in Japanese and you couldn’t understand the exact words, but the exact words didn’t matter. You grabbed Caesar’s hand and pulled him out of the elevator.

You get several steps away before Caesar digs his heels in. “Hey, stop, stop…” He whispers.

Several Executive Board officers running to and fro, each carrying boxes of documents. The floor was divided by rows of large bookshelves that went up to the roof on which stood bound files covered with plain white leather cases. Except for Sakurai Nanami, who was in a white uniform dress, everyone on this floor was wearing a very similar dress to yours, and everyone was doing their own job. Some were responsible for boxing up the documents on the shelves, others were counting and filling out spreadsheets, and the moving team was responsible for carrying the sealed boxes of documents to the freight elevator; only a few people were not involved in this intense and orderly move. They patrolled around with their hands on the handles of their guns, and it was obvious that the value of these documents was extraordinary. 

“Quick, act natural and not like a scared rabbit!” Caesar hissed, shoving you forward.

You snap into form and grab a box. Your hands are trembling. You couldn’t remember the last time you were scared like this. Usually, when faced with danger, you went ice cold or got angry. However, when faced with Nanami Sakurai you felt the terror of being seven years old again. 

You take a breath and school yourself to stay calm. Your hair and eyes were dark and you wouldn’t stand out here at all. It was fine.

You were fine.

You imitated the people in front of you as you put the file box in front of the elevator. Someone was responsible for recording and checking the number on the file box, then the box was covered by a black cloth and sent into the elevator. 

The person in charge of taking notes waved a pencil in his hand and the people behind him paused, the Executive Board officer who remained in the elevator nodded and said "HAI", and the elevator took him with the stacked boxes up the elevator shaft.

All the entry and exit routes were guarded by Board officers. With the vast amount of paperwork here, you couldn’t stay here to wait too long or you would be discovered. 

"They are counting. Each time the elevator is loaded with fifty boxes of documents, the person who moves the last box in is responsible for escorting the documents upstairs, and the fiftieth person who moves the boxes in can leave." Chu Zihang whispered as he passed. 

The Japanese Hydra are very organized.  Each time the number of boxes of documents transported in the elevator reached fifty boxes, the fiftieth porter naturally acted as an escort. All this was, was the efficient division of labor, as precise as an automated machine. It was no wonder you were familiar with it immediately without even understanding the language. You realize that -- from your penchant towards violence, to your immediate and rigid obedience to leadership -- you probably would fit in more with Hydra then you would with Cassell Academy.

It makes you wonder how Chu Zihang got in with the Academy to be able to notice something like this so quickly. His degree of precision is just like yours. He also seemed to agree with you more often than not about deadly force. You look at him and observe that he’s controlling the speed of his work. You need to position yourselves to make sure that each of you is the fiftieth person on the elevator each time. And you need to do this three times in a row. Even if you do it perfectly, because each elevator takes ten minutes to fill, it will take you thirty minutes to get out.

Unfortunately, perfection is not Lu Mingfei’s strong suit. It wasn’t even in his vocabulary. Without a glance or word, both you and Chu Zihang tacitly agree that Mingfei should get on the elevator first for the best result.

But you’re overruled just as fast.

Caesar passes you. “I’m first. Chu Zihang, you’re second, MC, third, Mingfei last.”

Every expletive you’ve ever learned in your entire life passes through your mind in a flash.

“Boss!” Mingfei squeaked. “Haven’t you heard of women and children first?!”

“If anyone’s going to be caught here, it’s going to be me.”

You then notice. The enclosed space was hot. Caesar was starting to sweat, and once he started sweating his make up would be really noticeable.

"Since this building was built, this is the first time the police department has issued a search warrant for us, right? What are they looking for?" A familiar voice suddenly sounded behind Caesar's head. 

Caesar's body shook slightly, and the Director of the Executive Board, Gen Chisei, the leader of the entire Hydra Clan, the man that Caesar had made a statement of friendship with - only for him to leave Caesar to die at the bottom of the Japanese Trench - was standing behind him! 

Chu Zihang keenly perceived the killing aura, not Gen Chisei's killing aura but Caesar's. The muscles on the side of Caesar's face involuntarily pulled tight, revealing the sharp lines of light skin. 

He is not afraid ...... he is angry! 

[vivi-the-sky-kid]

Sowing the Seeds (of Love), Chapter 1

Aka the Resh/OC Fix-It Fic Nobody Asked for but I'm Inflicting on All of You Anyways as Punishment for Kai's Your Hubris

The King has always been a mysterious figure in the annals of the Sky Kingdom's history, generating both awe and fear within the hearts of the sky spirits. Few can claim to have met them in person; certainly not Tav, a researcher of light creatures for the Vault of Knowledge. But when they discover their research may be used to harm the very creatures they know and love, Tav knows they cannot allow this to happen.

Somehow, they must change the King's mind. If that means throwing butterflies at their royal face, then so be it.

-<◇>-

Warnings: Will be added to each chapter when necessary, but there's not gonna be anything graphic in this (do send me an ask if you think there's something I should warn about tho)

Rating: T (just to be on the safe side)

Pairing(s): Resh/OC

Tag(s): Enemies to Lovers, Fake Dating, Canon Divergence, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies

Additional Tag(s): Resh and Alef are twins, Resh and Tav are both nonbinary, Resh uses he/they, Tav uses she/they, Resh is demiromantic and pansexual, Tav is biromantic and demisexual, no beta we die like moths in eden

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12

-<◇>-

Chapter 1

Word Count: 2,477

Warning(s): None

-<◇>-

Fury powered her strides as Tav marched towards the elevator leading to Elder Lamed's level of the Vault. What they had overheard... it was unthinkable! Outrageous! And they intended to let Lamed know exactly that! She couldn't let her research be used like this. Not to harm the very creatures they had spent their life studying.

Onwards and upwards she went, a lone figure on the elevator. Scholars sorting memory cubes and acolytes tending to the spiritual residue of the Kingdom's history flew past her vision. Finally, the elevator came to a stop, its power diamond moving to rest over the Elder statues, and Tav mustered their psychokinetic powers to fly the short distance to the grassy island. That had been a trick the mantas had helped her master; if not for them, she would still struggle to get around Vault's upper levels like before. They took a breath to steady themself, adjusted the prairie lily clipped to their hair, and moved forward.

As they crested the structure bearing the Elder statues, Tav looked around. She could see no sign of Elder Lamed, which meant, more likely than not, the Elder had withdrawn into their private domain. There was nothing for it but to light the altar candles, sit before their statue, and pray.

Their legs had started to fall asleep when they finally felt the brush against their mind that meant Lamed had heard their prayer, and was ready to listen. She relaxed and let the Elder pull their consciousness into that dreamy world. When they next opened their eyes, they knelt in the same spot, although the elevator diamond was now gone, casting the area in comfortable shadows. In the statue's place stood Lamed, gazing down at her with an unreadable look.

“Ah, so you are the one who prayed. Tav, was it? Head of the light creature research effort?”

“That's correct, Elder Lamed. I've come to you regarding a decision involving my research.”

“Is that so?” Their eyes flickered beneath the mask, before they dipped their head. “Very well. Speak.”

Tav jumped to their feet, hands clenching the fabric of their robe. “Elder Lamed, I cannot permit my research to be used to develop these 'dark weapons' R&D is proposing! Light creatures are beautiful, wonderful creatures that share a great deal in common with us. They are intelligent, gentle, and loving beings. To turn them into weapons is... is... is out of the question!”

The Elder's eyes had grown wide at her outburst, but soon closed as they pressed a hand to their forehead. “Really, Tav, you're being unreasonable. R&D has already gained permission from the King to go forth with this project. Are you saying you doubt His Majesty's judgment regarding the good of the kingdom?”

“Yes!”

Silence filled the domain. Sweat began running down Tav's back as a great pressure weighed down on them. When they almost gave in and knelt once more, it lifted, and Lamed turned away.

“I expect your research to be turned in to the Vault at the appropriate deadline. Is that understood?”

Tav was silent.

“I said, is that understood, Tav?”

“...It is, Elder Lamed.”

“Good. You are dismissed.”

With that, their vision swam, and they closed their eyes to ward off the nausea. Upon opening them, she found herself back at the summit, the power diamond shining coldly overhead. They looked up at the statue and sighed.

Resolve filled them once more, and they stood and walked back to the elevator. Lamed may not have listened, but there was one more person she could try to convince. All reports of the King had them as a kind and benevolent ruler who listened to the people, yet these latest projects said otherwise. Which was the truth, and which was a lie? There was only one way to find out.

Tav swallowed the lump of fear in her throat. This was no time to get cold feet. The light creatures were counting on them.

First things first, however. She needed to keep her research out of the wrong hands.

-<◇>-

Another day, another round of paperwork. Resh sighed inwardly as he dipped his manta quill into the inkwell to sign the latest report from the Golden Land's biggest sunsteel refinery. Production was holding steady due to the shipment of light from Daylight Prairie, and they would likely have enough in reserve for the little project Vault R&D had recently proposed.

A soft call from the doorway caught their attention, and they lifted their head. One of the guards—a new recruit, if their nervous demeanor was any indication—was standing there somewhat awkwardly, but snapped to attention once his gaze was upon them.

Yes, definitely new. That salute was just a little bit too sloppy to be one of the older members.

“What is it?” he said, fixing his gaze on them.

They stiffened. “Y-Your Majesty, there is... a researcher from the Vault demanding to speak with you. They refuse to leave otherwise.”

“Return them to the Vault. We have no time for a meeting, let alone with some unknown researcher,” they replied, returning to their paperwork.

“What do they want?” said a new voice, chiming up from the door leading further into the royal quarters.

Resh blinked and slowly turned towards it. Watching the exchange was their twin, Alef, still dressed in the formal wear of the golden mask, yellow-painted pizaine, and midnight-blue cloak they used for being the public face of the King. They must have returned a short time ago from their trip to the Valley.

“Your Majesty, they have requested you withdraw your support for the Dark Matter Bioweapon project.”

“Have they, now?” Resh shook his head. “Unfortunately, it is too late. The proposal has been signed and delivered to the Vault. To withdraw it now would be equivalent to saying We have made a mistake.”

They let the implications of that statement hang in the air like a sword above the guard's head. With a stammered response of, “Of course, Your Majesty,” they left, and soon only Alef and Resh remained in the office. The latter ignored the former's pointed look, turning back to the stack of paperwork that had yet to be completed with another sigh.

“You've been doing that a lot lately. Perhaps you should take a break.”

Resh shot them a glare out of the corner of his eye, but did not stop his work. Only when they had signed a petition to expand the Valley of Triumph, a tally of candle production in the Isle of Dawn, and a request for more light shipments to the Hidden Forest, did they gesture with their free hand to the desk's contents.

“As you can see, Alef, I am kept busy with the affairs of the kingdom. I am King, after all. My guidance is needed to ensure the kingdom's prosperity.” He dipped the quill into the inkwell once more and grabbed another piece of paper—this time, a request from the Valley to provide them with more boats, as some had broken recently.

“I cannot rest until I have dealt with these matters” —and they said this last bit under their breath— “even if they are incredibly dull.”

Alef hummed and moved closer, cloak swishing softly around his body. They picked up one of the papers in the discarded stack, scanned it, and then looked to Resh. “Surely you can rest from these for a short time? All work and no play makes one a dull star.”

“How rich, coming from the one who only concerns themself with attending celebrations and avoiding any work here,” they replied.

Alef narrowed his eyes, then shook his head and shrugged.

“You want me to do some work here? Very well.” They went up to the switch next to the desk, which would summon a guard when activated (not that Resh had ever used it), and called forth their inner flame in one hand to light it. Soon enough, the same guard from before came to the office. They gave the salute again, a little more firmly this time.

“You called, Your Majesty?”

“Is the researcher still here?”

“Y-Yes, Your Majesty. I was on my way to relay your wishes when you summoned me back.”

“I have decided to grant them an audience. Please have them escorted to the throne room.”

“Oh, uh...” They cleared their throat. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”

“What are you doing?” Resh said, eyeing their sibling with suspicion.

“Work. You said you were too busy to meet with them, didn't you? Well, it just so happens that I am remarkably free. As your dear elder sibling, it is the least I can do for you, Resh.”

With that, they glided from the office before Resh could stop them, leaving him standing with his hand grasping at air.

They sighed.

-<◇>-

The throne room was easily the largest chamber of the Palace, with a throne built to match—a deliberate choice on Resh's part, during its construction all those years ago. Looking the part was half the battle, and what better way to show your kingliness than by being five times the size of Elder Tsadi, he had said. Which Alef now was, having shifted in size to full height as they approached the throne room. The guards at the entrance snapped to attention, and he nodded in greeting as he passed through.

Near the far wall was the diminutive figure of the researcher, their head craned back to take in the full view of the mural displayed there. Two guards flanked them, ensuring they didn't go anywhere they weren't supposed to be. Alef cleared their throat, the sound echoing to every nook and cranny due to the chamber's acoustics, and every person in the room jumped. The guards soon lined up and stood at attention, and the rogue researcher turned to look at him as he took his place on the throne. One guard said something quietly to them, and the researcher nodded, brushed out their robe, and walked forward beside the guards.

“So this is the spirit who requested an audience with Us?” Alef intoned, glancing down at the guard who escorted them, and they nodded timidly. His eyes returned to the spirit, noting that, even with the crest typical of the Vault's senior members, they barely surpassed most of the guards in height. Despite this huge difference in size between them and himself, they barely trembled.

How interesting.

“We permit you to speak, spirit.”

They bowed in acknowledgment, and upon straightening, called out, “Your Majesty, I must urge you to reconsider this Dark Matter Bioweapon project! Light creatures are our friends. They do not deserve to be treated like mere tools, to be used up and cast aside!”

Alef tilted their head to the side thoughtfully, taking their chin between their thumb and index finger.

“...What is your name, star?”

“My name is Tav, Your Majesty. Head of the Vault's research into light creatures.”

“I see.” They leaned forward, casting their shadow over Tav. “Tell Us, Tav. This project is intended to better the kingdom's future. If light creatures are our friends, do they not owe this kingdom their aid, in whatever form we require?”

Tav stepped forward, their hands balling up at their sides.

“There must be a better way than this! Whatever future that project holds is worse than one where we treat the light creatures as our allies. I know it! Please, Your Majesty, let me show you.”

How very interesting.

And exactly what they needed.

Alef steepled their fingers before them, resting their elbows on the armrests of the throne. A sly grin formed on his face. Though it was hidden by their mask, Tav seemed to sense its presence, because they took an involuntary step back.

“We have an offer for you, Tav.”

At the same time, they called out to their sibling and requested their presence in the throne room.

-<◇>-

Resh sighed as they walked.

At one point, the magnificent tapestries and luminous murals decorating the walls of the throne room had brought him such joy. But that had been many, many years ago—too many to count. Now they were just another feature of the brilliant, intricate, boringthrone room, easily ignored in favor of dealing with the unwelcome researcher currently standing before the throne. The reason they had been called away from their work by their sibling.

“Ah, there you are,” Alef said from their spot on the throne. They turned back to the spirit. “Resh is Our Will, you see. They are the one who approved the project. Now, We will send a message to the Vault requesting that they do not proceed with the project until We permit. You have until then to persuade Resh of the truth of your words.”

...What?

The two of them turned, and Resh winced when he realized he had spoken aloud.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty. I was just wondering what this task you have given me is.”

“Ah, of course. You see, Resh, Tav here would like to show Us that light creatures should not be used in the Dark Matter Bioweapon project. However, We have our duties to contend with, and so cannot leave the Palace for such a matter. You, on the other hand, are Our Will, and so We have decided that you shall go in Our stead.”

Even from this distance, and even with the mask hiding their face, Resh could feel the gleeful smugness radiating from Alef like heat from a flame. Their most venomous thoughts, directed like psychic arrows at their twin, only increased the smugness, and so, narrowing their eyes, they bowed courteously to the researcher—Tav, was it?

“As you wish, Your Majesty. When shall we be departing?”

“I assume Tav here needs some time to prepare their case. We shall permit them a day to do so. On the morrow, you shall follow after them to...?”

“Oh, uh, Daylight Prairie, Your Majesty.”

“Daylight Prairie. I can see why you chose to do your research there.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Tav said, bowing deeply before leaving with their escorts.

When they were gone, Resh unleashed the full force of their glare at Alef, folding their arms before their chest.

“What are you plotting?”

“Why, nothing! Simply giving you the rest you deserve,” they said, rising from the throne. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I do believe there is paperwork with my name on it. Don't be late for the boat tomorrow, Resh. It would reflect poorly on Us.”

With that, they waved and left, shrinking back down to a more manageable size as they went. Resh watched them go, scowling and boring holes into the back of their head.

Then he sighed and returned to the royal quarters to rest and prepare appropriate clothing for this farce.

Alef would pay for this.

-<◇>-

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12

[the-moon-prince]

The Last Of us~Kurapika x Reader ~Chapter II

AN: Hi my lovely fellows!

I offer you the second chapter of my story! This time I made sure to be more careful with the edition!

I wish you a pleasant read, and I hope you’ll enjoy the new chapter of my story. (Third coming soon!) (Chapter I)

Paring: Kurapika Kurta x GN! Reader

Word count: 2 655

TW: None!

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

"Kurapika''- then they looked up to him-"I know I'm putting my life on the line. Yet, what I'm about to do is an act of desperation wholly motivated by my concluding. Are you... are you somehow related to the scarlet eyes?" their eyes still avoiding his, with a serious and plain expression on their face. It was sure they weren't joking. Kurapika immediately tensed up and put himself on guard. "I'm sheepish to inquire like this in your private life. But I have my reasons to suppose you are, if you say yes to me, I will believe you. If not, please let me know and we can pretend this dialogue never happened." Kurapika was naturally full of inquiries about this whole story. But continuing with this conversation could lead him to information. Even solve his doubts about (Y/n), that character who puzzled him so greatly. "I am," he answered after some seconds of reflection. (Y/n) nodded in agreement to him and kept stuttering "I have a... I have an offer for a pair of scarlet eyes."- the tone of their voice was worried, and still (Y/n) remained serious. At that moment, they were convinced of being on the right path.-"Please, don't misunderstand me. I am not a flesh collector. I am convinced that these kinds of people are the most repugnant vermin. And I despise them"- These last two sentences were said with particular disgust on (Y/n)'s voice-"I'm certain you're questioning yourself <<Why are they communicating this to me? How do they have this sort of knowledge?>> I-I beg you... let me explain myself. Even if I'm not a flesh collector, I'm after precise body parts and I seek to reclaim them. As a Doctor, It's quite easy to persuade dealers about my supposed appreciation for that kind of item. Furthermore, I'm telling you this because I want to be... believe the scarlet eyes are going to be in a better place with... with you than on a display rack. Seeing body parts being treated like mere dirty material articles... just objects someone can just appropriate... just possess gives rise to my sadness and fury.- as they spoke, (Y/n)'s voice trembled and stuttered and their hands tightened into fists. Even if their face stayed stoic, their voice and hands reflected all the anguish felt. Letting out a heavy suspire- If you're angry and distrust me, I concede. These are delicate subjects and I apologize for my sudden harshness, but I was obligated to clear my uncertainties. It was a part that, for my integrity and morals, I could not ignore. I am deeply grateful to you for letting me telling you this." (Y/n) finally finished and looked down their feet again. Waiting for some kind of response, and feeling ready to endure any kind of repercussion their early action could lead them to. Kurapika knew the person in front of him had not just nothing to win doing this, but they could also get murdered. Not solely by him. Plus, he recognized the sense of anger towards the flesh collectors. Only getting his suspicions bigger. "Your explanation seems coherent. I will believe you. Further, the information highly interests me. I'll collaborate with you."  The voice tone in Kurapika was not an angry one, despite what (Y/n) had anticipated. Rather a gentle feel flooded Kurapika's soul, feeling less alone in the cause he devoted his life. 

In return (Y/n) offered Kurapika their usual tender smile and looked up at him again. With the difference that in their eyes they had a look of closeness and muttered a "Thank you" to follow the conversation- "I have the details of the transaction, but I would prefer to deliver them to you in a more secure area. I invite you for tea if you accept." 

~

A proposition to which Kurapika agreed. To anew prove their reliability, (Y/n) offered to drive Kurapika to their address, a delicate move as that sort of information was notably frail and placed (Y/n) in a state of vulnerability. (Y/n)'s residence was just a small home with limited decoration. On their salon, beside the basic furniture thus consisted of a canapé, two individual loveseats, a carpet and a coffee counter in the center; the only remarkable things in all the place were a fairly small grand piano -second hand probably- and an exhibit shelf with tiny animal figurines in different situations: like two wolves and a cat drinking tea, or a crowd of distinct critters dancing. "A quite childish set to exhibit" was the thought Kurapika had. (Y/n) brew some tea and placed some biscuits on the coffee table. "To gain the scarlet eyes, the merchant convoked me this Thursday at 9:15 p.m. on a private store in the edge of the town. I have to present personally with my hunter license to confirm my identity, also the granted price for the pair of scarlet eyes would be 2 million Jennys. I'm more than willing to pay the fee." (Y/n) affirmed while taking a sip of tea. "As I suppose, you're familiar with the security protocol to access black market stores. What kind of strategy have you in mind if something turns out wrong? Those buying are always dangerous."-Kurapika questioned inclining in front, resting his elbows on his knees. Logically, (Y/n) had a plan conceived for these circumstances. -"In these situations, I take an offensive position. Regarding my nen, I'm a specialist. I'm able to conjure two ribbons, each one with different properties. The first one "Misericordiae'' has enhancement effects and is meant to protect. It concentrates great quantities of aura and grants the band high strength and healing skills. The other ribbon "Divina Poena '' has transmutation traits, it obtains the ability and sharpness of a metallic blade and is aimed to punish. Although, to obtain my I made vows and have several limitations. I can't kill with "Misericordiae", and exclusively use "Divina Poena" against people who have committed atrocities. Plus on my actual form, I can't use both simultaneously. My plan consists of physically containing the opponent with "Misericordiae '' and knock them down, to subsequently use it to shield us and escape. In extreme cases, it could kill them, although I fancy avoiding it."- (Y/n) rigorously explained. It was obvious they previously initiated contact with flesh sellers, and their cleverness was confirmed once more by Kurapika. 

"The plan is plausible and efficient. With that already determined, I will accompany you in the transaction and present myself as your bodyguard."- with that proclamation the project was complete and ready to be performed. (Y/n) provided Kurapika with a folder full of documents informing about the seller and the location. The seller ended up being a notable collector and dealer of singular and luxurious objects in the underworld. They both accorded to meet outside a coffee shop Thursday at 8:30 p.m., and (Y/n) will transport them to the establishment.

~

The said day finally arrived. the plan was thus executed. (Y/n) was very punctual when picking up Kurapika, dressed in their usual good taste, always with some variety of embroidery herbaceous detail. It was not difficult to believe that he was a wealthy fan of human members. Kurapika sat next to (Y/n) in the passenger seat. For most of the trip, no word was said. They were both troubled. Just one exception; before getting out of the car, (Y/n) smiled at Kurapika and said as an encouragement "We are going to procure the scarlet eyes!". Even if their expression seemed the same, the contrast was subtle, and Kurapika recognizes the support in their action. Once through security, they both reached a vast room full of cristal showcases. These exhibiting an enormous amount of costly merchandise. The salesman was waiting for them, and they politely presented each other and engaged in a little courtesy prattle.

 Once (Y / n) confirmed their identity with their hunter license, the man led them to a private room, which he locked, to present the product. The man showed them the scarlet eyes, which were real, proving that it was not a scam. Kurapika and (Y/n) did their best to maintain the facade they came with. To conclude with that all (Y/n) pulled the money cash out of their bag and presented it to the seller. 

"Oh, no no no, child, 2 million Jennys was the first offer I gave you. But now you seem so firm to buy the scarlet eyes I raise the price to 4 million Jennys. They are very precious and rare, you know?"-the man took on a condescending tone, clearly taking advantage of the situation to play dirty. Kurapika couldn't help but feel his blood boil like lava. He was so tired of treating scumbags who treated the Kurta clan like lower living beings. He wasn't alone in this anger. "Misericordiae!" was the thing both men heard before (Y/n) conjured their nen. A white ribbon enveloped the hunter's left hand like jewelry. The ribbon gripped the seller's limbs, torso, and head, lifting him using the roof rafters as pulleys. The ribbons were tightening their grip as the man's face turned into a scared expression, and (Y/n) stopped smiling to return to a solemn expression. At the same time, Kurapika took an attacking position, ready to battle if required. "Do not try to fool us. We tried to do everything pacifically, and yet your actions are unfair. I have more than sufficient reasons to end someone who obtains a profit with human misery. So, you're going to give us the eyes, and we will calmly leave, without anyone getting injured." (Y/n) calmly replied, despite their irritation. 

"Fine, I'll accept the two million! Let me down now." the disgusting man tried to persuade, but (Y/n) wasn't satisfied with the answer "No. You broke the arrangement. You can't go backward now." (Y/n) firmly declared to directly give the pair of scarlet eyes to Kurapika and head to the door, finally realizing the man before getting out of the room. They proceeded to quickly exit the establishment. Already out, (Y/n) dissipated their nen, cleaned the tiny flow of blood that came out of their mouth, and both got inside the car.

~

After the obnoxious experience and once in the car (Y/n) angrily grunted, not leaving their annoyed plain appearance and driven to return into Yorknew. The car stayed silent for a moment, giving each of the passengers' space and calm to dissipate their tension. In the end, despite the trick the man wanted to impose on them, Kurapika retrieved the eyes. Both feeling a bit better (Y/n) mumbled, still bitter "How awful. I despise these kinds of personages, just hideous rubbish. They're as stupid as a broomstick!"- Kurapika couldn't help but let out a tiny chuckle in front of the original expression. (Y/n) turned to see Kurapika, making a small squeak of surprise- "Why are you laughing?" 

The uncommissioned of the person next to him only caused Kurapika more amusement. "Your expression is quite unique!" the blonde man replied. (Y/n) in what appears to be a sudden blow of consciousness also laughed. To playfully add with their smile back "I might have mistranslated my expression. "Why is a broomstick stupid tho? What's the reasoning?" -Kurapika joked again.

"Well, consider it. A broomstick is useless without the brush. It doesn't do anything relevant. Plus the brush doesn't need a stick; the small hand brooms are the evidence. No one needs the broomstick!"

"I suppose you're right."-Kurapika smiled at the silly (Y/n) gave him.

"May I propose you some tea?" (Y/n) continued, to which Kurapika gladly agreed. He was in a nice mood after all. A nice mood in a long time.

~

That was the second time, of many, Kurapika went to (Y/n)'s home. The tea was served along with some sweets on the coffee table in the sitting room. Each one sat in front of the other. At some point, Kurapika interrogated "How did you know I held some connection to the scarlet eyes?".

(Y/n) Slowly shrugged and looked away. "I saw you during Neon's discourse about her collection."- they answered with their tiny smile - "I recognize that expression and feeling of frustration and sorrow. The sentiment is familiar to... to me as well...".

At that moment, Kurapika decided to execute a move that would dissipate his suspicions about (Y/n). "Thank you for your service. You proved yourself as someone reliably, (Y/n). I consider you deserving of an account and promise the scarlet eyes are in good hands."-(Y/n) swiftly looked up to him-  "I'm a survivor of the massacre of the Kurta. The eyes belong to the members of my clan. My people's eyes turn red whenever we feel intense emotions. My confreres were slaughtered and had their eyes stolen."-anger and pain were present in each of his words-"  I seek to retrieve the scarlet eyes from the sickening scum who rob them and carry out my revenge on the ones who brutally destroyed my clan. They were innocent... they didn't deserve to be annihilated."-Kurapika's voice quivered as his companion stayed quiet, hearing carefully.-"The Spiders killed... unjustly my people. I pretend to make them pay. Additionally, I discerned, despite your vigilance, you are highly protective of your eyes." Kurapika finally voiced. (Y/n) slowly got up and sat next to him. "Kurapika... Although, indeed, my eyes are also capable to change; I am not a Kurta. I'm profoundly remorseful if I gave you that hypothesis."-their tone was sad -"Yet I'm also really alike; my people got killed as well for a part of their body. I am an Unilium, or vulgarly known as beast people... please do, do not misunderstand me, I can change my appearance... Even if I can change it, my current form is the real, it's part of me. They killed us for our fur. I survived only because I lived elsewhere than the rest. And I.. I'm also the last one..."

It would be a lie if I'd said Kurapika's hopes of having another Kurta alive didn't crush. He felt foolish, similar to if he wanted to cry. "Kurapika, let me join you." was a response he didn't expect.

"I believe in your cause. What the spiders did will not stay unpunished." -(Y/n) gently spoke to him, as he looked at them. For the first time, they looked Kurapika directly in the eyes. Their (eye color) catlike eyes were wet. And his words were full of support and determination to help. - "How many are there, similar to us? How many have suffered because of them? And how many more will there not be? We begged for help, but no one protected us. Let's protect those who are similar to us. We don't deserve to suffer, none of us did. We will not be giving them the pleasure of giving up. We will not be giving them the pleasure of leaving unpunished.

May evil pay for its crimes." Kurapika felt held for the first time in a very long time. Probably since the Yorknew incident. How much suffering was released at that instant? So much so that he gave up and hugged the person next to him who was caring for him. (Y/n) flinched at the contact. Just before he could cut the embrace, Kurapika felt a pair of trembling and timid arms enveloping him. It reminded him of the hugs that Pairo used to give him.

"I'll be frank, I don't believe in fate. But, random happenings in life culminated in the survival of both of us. We are the last ones. Let's make it worthwhile. The Spiders will pay."

[alia-turin]

It has been a WHOLE minute since I have mentioned Caranthir so here is a fic for yall. I have alot of ideas about young Caranthir, his relationship with Avallac’h, him joining the red riders etc.

@house-of-inspiration you asked for Caranthir joining the red riders, where as I said I was just writing it, so I hope you enjoy. 

Fic Name: The Last Straw  Fandom: The Witcher (Aen Elle) Characters: Eredin, Caranthir, Avallac’h, Imlerith  Pairing: none Warning: Angst, mention of rape (no one is actually raped, just a mention) AO3: Click  Summary:  A very young Caranthir discovers how he actually came about and that a lot of what he thought about his life has been a lie. After he confronts Avallac'h he takes a decision that will change his life.

Avallac’h was somewhere again, to see the king or on one of these trips to the Aen Seidhe world where he never took him even if Caranthir loved going to other worlds. He was bored out of his mind, already had read every book he wanted to read, tried every spell that Avallac’h had forbidden him to try...

There was a place that had been off limits for him and he had always been curious about. It was a room, the door always closed and locked with magic. He had tried opening when he was very young, probably ten or so, but the door didn’t move. He had also tried different spells through time, every few years when he learned a spell that might help, he would wait for Avallac’h to be away and he would try, but nothing had happened. This door had become an obsession of his, at some point he didn’t even care what was behind it, although he did wonder why the Sage was so secretive. It had become a test of his skills, somehow he felt that if he opened that door, he would prove he was better than Avallac’h.

Caranthir knew today was his day to open the door. He had learned a new spell and found some other useful tricks. For all he knew behind that door could be just a collection of these drawings Avallac’h always did of naked women. His curiosity was just eating him and he also couldn’t admit to himself that there was a spell he couldn’t crack.

Caranthir placed his hand on the wooden door and cast the spell. He was surprised when he felt it unlock, he really didn’t expect it. Almost fearfully he walked inside. If Avallac’h had locked the door so well, what was stopping him for putting traps inside? He couldn’t however sense any traps, at least not magic, and he slowly walked inside. He wondered what the Sage would do to him if he figured out Caranthir had been here. He had been punished few times as child and he did not have fond memories of it, but he wasn’t a child anymore and he could certainly stand his ground.

The room he was in was...a study of a sort. There were bookshelves, a desk, chair, glass vials, papers all over the place. He looked first through the books, not all of them were magic. There was anatomy and history, but not history of the Aen Elle, it was history of families, genealogy and alchemy.

He sat behind the desk and the first thing that caught his attention was a journal with his name on it. Caranthir opened without even thinking if that was wise or not. He started reading and the more he read the sicker he felt. Page by page there was his whole life, the way he learned magic, the way he used magic, manipulating time, using space, travelling...he had to toss it away half way because he just couldn’t read any more. He grabbed another journal, there were scraps of paper inside, old paper, some of it damaged. It had notes on Navigators, Auberon looking for travel to different realms, experiments on…

“What are you doing here?” Avallac’h was standing at the door.

“Making sense of my life.” Carathir grabbed the journal with his name and opened it on a random page. “You have never been good with words, but reading that makes me sound a bit like an...experiment.”

Avallac’h didn’t answer and that was more of a response than words would have been.

“All my life I was trying to figure out what was wrong with me.” Caranthir looked around the study, books, herbs, glasses and other tools. “All my life, I knew you were not my father, but I wished you were. I was just stupid child and I didn’t know better. Here it was little old me, a child without his parents, the scars on my face and body and the great Sage Avallac’h was teaching me. Me of all elves out there.”

“Caranthir…” Avallac’h started, but he did not give him a chance to finish.

“You can explain, I’m sure. Go on. Try to make it believable.” he taunted his teacher.

“When we lost Lara…” Avallac’h stopped for a second, even mentioning her name was still painful for him. “We lost the Elder Blood power. I needed to find a way to fix that....we couldn’t leave this world anymore, not without being ‘lucky’ and stumbling on a portal and that took time. I started working on how to fix things...came to the idea of what became the Dearg Ruadhri Navigators. But it wasn’t good enough. None of them was good enough, the portals were not stable and accidents happened.”

He read some of that in the notes, about the Navigators and how it was difficult for most of them to keep it going. No one was ever as strong as the Elder blood no matter how many Navigators they tested. Most of them couldn’t even pass the trails created by Eredin.

“Where do I come in all that?” he asked after Avallac’h did not volunteer any more information.

“You...were supposed to be a Navigator.” Avallac’h finally said. Supposed? All his life he had wanted nothing more than to join the Red Riders, what did ‘supposed’ mean? “You were my most successful...subject.” Caranthir grinded his teeth when he heard that word. But he was a subject wasn’t he? He was a product of an experiment that is usually called subject. “I knew you have power since...I believed that having the ability to travel again will save us, but I saw what Eredin is doing and Auberon is going weaker. That is whyI never brought you to Tin na Lia or even introduced you to Eredin.”

“How did you do it? I read the notes, you picked families with potential, did my parents know?” he read the notes in detail, the herbs, the magic, the other material added...at some point he had felt sick imagining some woman, his mother, being strapped to a table and pumped with all that. The notes did not specify how exactly it happened, but he had imagination. Maybe his parents did hate him, his mother for sure if Avallac’h used her as a test tube.

“They did.” Avallac’h admitted.

“Did they dump me at your door or you took me away.” Caranthir was not sure what he wanted to hear. Probably both would hurt just in a different way. When Avallac’h did not respond, one way or another, he knew they had just left him. All his life he believed that his parents gave him to the great Sage Avallac’h so he can learn to be Sage as well. Was even anything in his life real? He never thought much of his parents, but now he knew for sure they hated him. “Come on how did you do it? Was my mother forced? That’s why she left me, she didn’t want anything to do with me? The little abomination.”

“She was not raped, if that is your question.” Avallac’h answer was very measured and controlled, again what he didn’t say meant more than what he actually said. Caranthir thought himself stupid for not seeing that sooner. The Sage had always been like that. Half answers. Half truth. But he never lied, did he? He just said what was convenient and whatever was going to inconvenience him, was left out. He always thought he was smart but he missed that. Maybe he wasn’t as sharp as he thought he was.

“I read a book once.” Carathir got from the chair, Avallac’h following him with his foxy eyes. “It was about this mage, he really wanted to create life out of nothing. Necromancy really as he collected corpses and built them into one powerful being. The thing was ugly and grotesque, but it was powerful.” Caranthir started laughing, hysterical, he just couldn’t stop himself. “You know what I thought when I read the book? That this is sick! Robbing all these corpses and just the ugliness.” he ran a finger through the scar on the right side of his face, it was starting just above the ear and then running down to his jawline and slipping onto his neck. “I guess you didn’t build me from corpses, necromancy is not your thing, I know. I’m the ugly, grotesque and powerful monster, am I not?”

His laughing gave way to anger, he could blow this place to pieces, everything, maybe even have a go at Avallac’h. He opened a portal behind himself.

“Caranthir, wait!” Avallac’h’s shout became just a distant echo as he stepped through the portal.

He was in the mountains overseeing Tir na Lia, snow was covering everything around. He had found this place with Avallac’h years ago when the Sage had taken him to explore the nearby area. Caranthir must have been...sixteen or seventeen at that time, still a child. He had been absolutely fascinated by snow, the purity of everything, but also the destructive force of the cold. He remembered thinking if he could be something he wanted to be that. The winter storm that just covers the earth and hides everything. He felt the need to destroy something, hurt something more than he was hiring right now, his mood gave way to magic and a powerful storm wrapped the mountains.

Caranthir waved with hand and all the old fires and candles in the ruins lit. He sat on the cold floor looking at the storm outside. He wondered how long can he keep it going...hours, probably days if he really tried.

All his life has been a lie, but he could not even blame Avallac’h for that. The man was secretive and Caranthir never asked questions. He knew there was something strange about his life, how he had no friends, how he was never allowed to do things others did. He remembered once telling Avallac’h he wanted to be one of the Red Riders, he must have been seven or eight. The Sage just told him that will never happen. Caranthir had taken that as lack of ability on his end and he had found motivation in it. Since then he has been looking for opportunities to watch the Red Riders, whenever Avallac’h will take him to the castle. He remembered seeing Eredin for the first time, dressed in armor, on his horse...regal.

Avallac’h was going to hide all that from him. He was meant to be one of them. He was meant to be with Eredin and the rest.

He was created with a purpose, Avallac’h never cared about him beyond that purpose. Looking back at his childhood memories it all made sense. Avallac’h had spent a lot of time training him, teaching him, showing him how to control his powers, but he had never disclosed anything to him. The man was secretive, but this secrecy had gone out of hand. Caranthir had been a child then and he didn’t understand so he had made the stories he believed. He wasn’t a child anymore, he was almost a grown man.

He spent the night awake thinking, he let the storm run its course as well, his mood had moved from anger to depression and regret. His life was ahead of him, he wasn’t even hundred years old. He could do...anything. Avallac’h couldn’t stop him, from what Caranthir knew he might be more powerful than the Sage.

In the morning he found Eredin in the countriyard with Imlerith, training. He watched them for a while, not wanting to interrupt. Eredin was like...wind. The sword was moving as if it was part of him. Imlerith was...brute force. Caranthir never understood how that could be helpful, the man was massive and that made him significantly slower than Eredin, but at the same his mace was leaving holes in the ground every time he aimed at the Red Rider’s leader.

“Somehow I suspected I might find you here.” Avallac’h came to him, but Caranthir ignored him. It wasn’t the first time he watched Eredin and Imlerith go at each other, he liked watching them dreaming one day he might join them.

“My lord!” Caranthir jumped from the wall he was standing at and ran at Eredin.

“What?” the leader of the Red Riders turned toward him, expression absolutely bored.

“I want to take the trails.” Caranthir had to control himself not to shout that as he was so excited about it.

“Are you even allowed to drink?” Imlerith asked laughing.

“Caranthir, no!” Avallac’h jumped in.

“Do whatever.” Eredin didn’t even look at him when he said that but Carathir didn’t care. He was used to everyone’s attitude. He had always been Avallac’h shadow, the kid that was hiding his face and never talked much. They all treated him as if he was invisible, but he knew he was better, not because of what he saw in the study, but he knew his power.

“Eredin, he is too young, he cannot!” Avallac’h sounded concerned but Caranthir just smiled. Everyone was underestimating him, but was going to end today.

“Is he your slave?” Eredin looked at the Sage with interest. “If he is not your slave, he can do whatever he wants. Also didn’t you tell Auberon some time ago that he is your best...experiment.” the man’s grin was cutting through his lips. “Your Golden Child. If he is that good, he will live. If he isn’t…” the man just shrugged in apathy. Two portals opened in front of Eredin and he looked at Caranthir. “Come on. Off you go. You need to find your way back to the other portal.”

He didn’t hesitate for a second, he didn’t look at Eredin or Avallac’h, he just went through the portal not even sure what he would find there.

Imlerith leaned on his mace watching at the portals with curiosity. The last idiot who tried the trails came back, his whole body burned, he died maybe a few minutes later. The one before that never came back, given that the kid was probably half of their age, he was not holding his breath.

More enterianting was the staring match between Avallac’h and Eredin. The Sage was not an emotional man neither was Eredin so that was a bit like two statues looking at each other with hate.

“Calm down, Avallac’h, he is just a lab rat, I’m sure you can find some poor woman to breed and do whatever nasty experiments you were doing on her.” Eredin grinned knowing that was going to throw the Sage off the rail. Imlerith made a step back, whatever magic these two were going to use, he was not going to be in the way.

Before Avallac’h could answer the kid showed back from the portal...in one piece if it was not for a wound on his shoulder. Imlerith was impressed, but most importantly Eredin looked impressed as well.

“Interesting.” the leader of the Red Riders said and looked at his general, Imlerith couldn’t hide the smile on his lips. “How old exactly are you?”

“Forty three.” the kid didn’t even look tired and his shoulder was bleeding but he was not showing pain. Imlerith had no idea what exactly was in the trails, Eredin and Avallac’h had created them some time ago to ensure the Navigators would be able to manage their work. However, he had seen Navigators return after these trails and nobody had made it as quick as this kid did.

“You will be the youngest Navigator and Red Rider.” Caranthir was smiling at these words, it was a cocky smile, confident, Imlerith knew the feeling every time he won against an enemy and smashed their skull. “Get him patched, get him an armor.”

Imlerith just stared at Eredin, he wasn’t a babysitter, but he was going to obey.

“Come on, kid.” Imlerith nodded at him. “Taking you to the healer.”

“My name is Caranthir.” the Navigator corrected him stubbornly but followed, surprisingly Avallac’h as well.

“Whatever, kid.” Imlerith teased and he saw the anger in the pale blue eyes of Caranthir. He missed having someone to tease and make angry. It wasn’t the same as the rest of the Red Riders because they were all terrified of him and well he was their general. Eredin was their leader so he could give him a hard time only in private. That kid had to grow some tough skin and Imlerith knew exactly how to help him.

[arcaneranger]

Final Thoughts - 2019 Long Shows

Dear Lord. This is where all the good shows went.

2019 was absolutely awful on a season-by-season basis (except for Summer, anyway), but that’s mostly because most of the best shows ran longer than what has become the industry norm of a single season. And indeed, heading into the new decade, we seem to be seeing a major renaissance for two- or split-cour shows, given the massive success seen by shows like My Hero Academia, Food Wars, and Haikyuu!!..particularly in comparison to the new perpetual-runners Black Clover (which, despite running for over two straight years now, is still not the most popular show of Fall 2017 by viewer count on MAL, and sits at a ‘meh’ 7.2), and even worse, Boruto: Naruto Next Generations, which is faring even worse on both counts even though it premiered two whole seasons earlier and the fact that it is the sequel to Naruto.

As a reminder of my rules, the shows on this list may or may not have premiered in 2019, but they finished airing this year. The split-cour rule (stating that I judge any show that “finishes” and then premieres a “new season” within six months) didn’t come into play for any 2018 shows, but it will for Ascendance of a Bookworm and Food Wars this year, at the very least.

With that being said! 25 shows running longer than thirteen episodes finished airing this year after being simulcast, and of those…

I skipped 6:

Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure Part V: Golden Wind, Fairy Tail Final Series, A Certain Magical Index III, Ace Attorney Season 2 and Cardfight Vanguard (2018) because I either dropped or have not finished their previous (also long-running) seasons.

Yu-Gi-Oh VRAINS because the simulcast started late and also it was bad.

I Dropped 8:

Worst Long Show of 2019: The Rising of the Shield Hero

It’s always fun to see that a show you hated from its first episode only gets more and more distasteful afterwards, but it’s less fun when a service you have to promote because they’re the legal option is forced to shove it down your throat because they had a hand in making it and it became a massive hit that your friends don’t see any issue with because the author wrote a story that justifies its hero’s patronage of the slave industry. This is my punishment for watching the whole first season of The Asterisk War before I knew better.

YU-NO: A girl who chants love at the bound of this world

A confusing mess from the word go, this ill-fated adaptation of a visual novel from the nineties seems like it was mostly made to cash in on the popularity of the Science Adventure series, but failed to present itself in a way that made an ounce of sense or looked remotely interesting.

Fairy Gone

Am I really the only one that saw potential here? I mean yes, it ended up a boring slog that didn’t care to move its plot in a meaningful direction, but the first episode was at least cool. I guess Izetta: The Last Witch should have taught me better.

We Never Learn

I know that I’m in the minority in terms of the male demographic for shows like this, but honestly, how are bland harem shows still this easy to market? A copy-pasted protagonist with copy-pasted waifus drag down what could be an interesting setup for a story. 

Karakuri Circus

The first episode of this one had me excited, the second and third left me bored to tears and wondering if it would continue to look uglier by the minute. I haven’t seen a three-cour show look this janky since Knight in the Area.

Radiant

Having heard good things about this show from my cohorts, I do feel bad for saying I’ll probably never return to Radiant, but when you have a show that’s notably written by a European author...and it turns out to be a frustratingly standard shounen affair with middling production values, well, you can see my earlier annoyance with Cannon Busters.

Ensemble Stars

This one still gets to me. It almost looked like a male-idol show I would finally be able to get behind, what with its rebellious attitude and oddball setting...that is, until the setting got to be too unbelievable and the show began drowning its audience in side-characters because they had to squeeze every husbando from the mobile game into the story, and it all began to resemble UtaPri a little too much...but without the production value.

Boogiepop and Others

This was a hard drop, honestly. I spent a lot of time trying to figure out how I felt four episodes in, before concluding that I was bored and not particularly invested, two things that should never describe the experience of watching a Madhouse show. The fact that this was the project responsible for ruining One Punch Man only made it worse. There’s a slow burn, and then there’s walking away without turning the stove on.

And I Finished 11 (holy crap that’s like three hundred episodes just on their own).

That Time I Was Reincarnated as a Slime (5/10 & 1/10)

I’ll be honest, I had forgotten just how livid I was with the ending (and especially the sad excuse of a recap episode) of Slimesekai, and reading back through my write-up of it, it’s certainly coming back to me. While this year had bigger demons to fight (Shield Hero), the bad taste that Slime left me with hasn’t really faded, and the wasted premise bugs me to this day.

Hinomaru Sumo (7/10)

What Hinomaru lacked in production value, it happily made up for in good execution and earnest heart. I can’t believe this came from the same studio as Conception, Try Knights and 7Seeds, but if they can only get out one good show a year, I’m glad that we got one bringing attention to a sport that many will joke about but few understand, respect and appreciate.

Kono Oto Tomare (7/10)

Speaking of giving love to traditional Japanese culture, here’s a decent-if-unoriginal show about a local high school koto club down on their luck, and the troubled teens coming together under a scrappy protagonist to bring it back to life. Kono Oto Tomare doesn’t have much that you haven’t seen before, but a decently-executed club drama with Your Lie In April-inspired musical performances is more than enough to keep me interested, and since Forest of Piano kinda crashed and burned under the weight of its own self-importance this year, it was nice to have an alternative.

MIX: Meisei Story (8/10)

It’s hard to judge MIX next to the other shows on this list because it’s almost too old-school for its own good, revelling in an eighties storytelling style that didn’t end up jiving with a wide audience this year. But at the same time, its fun character dynamics (and a very good dub from Funimation, despite them saying they’d never touch sports anime again) were very entertaining to watch, even if it didn’t focus as much on the sport it was supposedly about as much as I’d have liked.

Demon Slayer: Kimetsu no Yaiba (8/10)

I fully admit that I’m very salty about the fact that this won Show of the Decade in Funimation’s poll while it was still on and I thought there were hundreds of more deserving shows, but I can’t deny that Demon Slayer was a very enjoyable experience, albeit one that I had notable problems with. That’s not gonna stop me from getting mad when it sweeps the Anime Awards in a few weeks, though.

Fire Force (8/10)

I was very afraid that David Productions wouldn’t be able to match the energy of Studio Bones’ adaptation of Ohkubo’s previous work, Soul Eater, but I was happy to be proven wrong. Even if the last few episodes contained a bit too much infodumping, it was all sandwiched between jaw-dropping fight scenes that proved that the people who make Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure can still handle the reins of a more traditional action show.

Fruits Basket 1st Season (8/10)

I know that my score for this one is a bit lower than others, but I think that Fruits Basket did pretty well in its first season, considering that it was largely spent setting up future storylines and adapting the part of the manga we’d all seen before, but with much higher production value. I’ve been familiar with this part of the story for over a decade, and the scene with Tohru and Kyo (you know the one) still made me cry. Now, we get the real plot going.

Dr Stone (9/10)

A great start to a totally new spin on shounen, Dr Stone gives me hope for survival in the post-Shokugeki world in which we’ll soon live, as a show that wears its research on its sleeve. A complex plot weaving interesting characters in and out of a narrative surrounding a philosophical battle where both sides actually do have fair points (even if one of them is going about it in a pretty cruel manner). More please.

Vinland Saga (9/10)

Once again, a great start to what will hopefully be years of quality storytelling, Vinland Saga made it seem like it was dragging in the middle only to reveal just what its slow burn had been leading up to, with twist-heavy storytelling and a fantastic cast to match the high visual quality of its brutal battles.

Run With the Wind (9/10)

It’s not often that Production I.G. gets to make a complete, fully-realized show anymore, and this one was a glorious reminder of the potential of the studio in the TV space, and a great rebound for the director of Joker Game. It’s gorgeous to look at, the cast is wonderful, and the story is both realistic and idealistic in a satisfying balance. It’s a miserable process to get to the finish line in real life, but sitting back and watching this was nothing but a treat. At least, until a minor fumble at the end.

Best Long Show of 2019: Dororo (9/10)

Speaking of complete stories, Tezuka Productions and MAPPA teamed up for a breathtaking adaptation of an underappreciated Tezuka classic that expands upon the story in exactly the right way to create a thrilling, savage, beautiful masterpiece that focuses a laser-sharp eye into the relationship between two characters in their journey to, literally and figuratively, become complete people. Also, that opening was killer.

And that’s it! That’s the fun list. Next comes the painful one. Stay tuned for the trash heap.

[trying-write-fanfics]

Shouji Mezo X Reader Remember part 47

“I’m like this class’ cheerleader. You break them down, I set them up, they pass yet another exam!” She sang. 

“Is there someone you’re particularly fond of?” Aizawa asked. He had Shouji in mind, but figured he would tip toe. 

“Want me to paint your nails and play truth or dare next?” She teased him. “Yes, I do have someone I’m fond of.”

“Are they the reason for your good mood?” He asked her. 

He was worried she was using them as a mask. 

“It’s honestly everything staying the same. I was hurt that my parents didn’t come for me at the hospital, but I’m glad that my life isn’t going to go through another change.” Y/n explained.

Aizawa sighed. He was also a failure to her too, though she now lacked the grudge, he still felt awful he couldn’t protect his students or the girl he used excessive force on. It all worked out in the end, but how long till that luck runs out? And what about Y/n? Has she been emotionally stunted? Will this experience at U.A ruin her future as a productive adult? Her parents are to blame too, it’s not all of UA’s shortcomings that amounted to a mentally scared teenager.

“To think this was your equivalent to prison.” He breathed. “Your school grades are good, so I can only trust that you’re telling the truth.”

“Oh Aizawa, if you make a cage comfortable enough, the bird will work to stay inside it.”

Something was up, and she was warning him.

Back at the dorms, Kirishima was sitting on the couch waiting for an ad to end so he could watch the actual video he wanted. Y/n walked into the common area after her talk with Aizawa. She heard the ad for the firework show and found herself behind the redhead.

“I don’t think I’m supposed to let you look at my phone,” Kirishima said.

“You can’t be a goody-two-shoes all the time. Sometimes being manly is about breaking the rules. Where was the location for that?” She asked him.

“A park in the next town over...I don’t think Aizawa would let you go if its at night time.” Kirishima said.

“Oh, a girl can dream!” She sighed dramatically.

“You really like fireworks?” He asked her.

“It’s a family tradition that we get together and see them. I can say this year it’s not happening.” She then remembered the last time she spoke with her dad he promised her, and then took it right back.

“Maybe we can get some little ones and do them off the roof,” Kirishima suggested.

“Oh, chivalrous red riot!  Grand idea, a splendid idea. Perhaps after you guys ace your license exams.”

Tokoyami overheard the conversation and decided to use it to his advantage for his friend. He went to the gym to find Shouji working out. One thing Shouji opened up about to him and not Y/n was that he felt he wasn’t doing enough for Y/n. She knew his dreams, and his strengths for those dreams, she was always complimenting him and just being the girlfriend experience he never had which was better than he imagined. He didn’t know her dreams, and neither did she. But he had to make up for something, something special. Yeah he kissed her and showed his face, it was a big gesture, but he felt he didn’t amount the proper affections. He sure as hell wasn’t going to buy her anything, her room was the opposite of his.

“She really likes fireworks,” Tokoyami told him. “Kirishima and she are planning to get some small ones to celebrate after the license exams.”

“Why were they talking about fireworks?” Shouji asked.

“There was an ad.”

So the two of them both had plans. Shouji wanted to plan something before the exams and Y/n had a plan for after the exams. Two surprises because they just wanted to show each other how much they matter in their lives.

The day of the exam grew closer and closer. Shouji slept in Y/n’s room more and more. She would try to be the big spoon, but ultimately, Shouji just wanted to wrap her up in a spider bear hug. She could call him a talented hugger and shower him with more praise. She would play with his hair and whisper him stories as his exhausted eyes would close for slumber. Since Y/n wasn’t an actual student of UA or had to take attendance, Shouji would wake up before her. Her sleeping form always delighted him, that someone resembling an angel really wanted him. His reality was a dream, though he didn’t dream of love before this. He would leave her form, but always tuck the blanket around her to ensure she wouldn’t miss his heat too much.

Tonight was the night that Shouji was going to dazzle his love. He bought little sparklers and bottle rockets for them to light. Not only that but also some (favorite snack) because he may not know Y/n’s dreams, but knew what she liked to eat at least. However, it was still noon and they were still in class. Y/n cleaned the board as Present Mic talked. It all changed when the phone rang.

“Seems like you have a phone call, Y/n” Present Mic said. “I trust you won’t run off, not because you’re on crutches,” he told her.

And like that Y/n left and didn’t return to class. Present Mic wasn’t worried because her tracker showed she just went to the dorms. After class, Shouji found Y/n in her room with all the lights off. She laid in her bed, facing the wall. Tissues littered the floor.

“Hey…” Shouji started as he opened the door.

Y/n looked over. Her eyes were puffy from crying. Her cheeks were stained with tears. She quickly rubbed them trying a last-ditch effort to hide the evidence.

“Whats up…” Her voice shook as she tried to sound normal.

“Class let out, just thought I would stop by….” He tried to sound casual.

“Its been that long...huh…” Oh yeah, she didn’t have a phone to check the time.

“Who called?”

She sucked in some air and broke again. Shouji rushed to her bedside, took out some tissues to bring to her face, and placed his hand on her back. To think tonight was going to be a happy night.

“The police station…” she sobbed.

Was she leaving? Did something happen to her case? Was she going to jail? Was there more on that flame guy? Did her old group snitch on her and now she is convicted of more cases which would lead to a harsher punishment? Was she leaving???

“Y/n…”

“My brother he’s…”

Jojo (last name) the youngest son of the (last name) family, and third child. He was the only sibling not present when Y/n went to the hospital. The last time Y/n saw him was after he had a fight with their parents and he pushed Y/n down some stairs. That had been a long time ago already. Turns out Y/n’s other two siblings thought it would be best to find him to reconnect the siblings because now more than ever, they released how disconnected they were and a majority did not want that to happen? So they tried finding their brother and hopefully to give Y/n a complete sibling reunion. Their quest went to the police after phone calls, PI’s emails, there was no way of reaching him. So they contacted the police to discover Jojo is missing and hasn’t been seen in a year. Normally it is hard to tell if an adult is missing or packed up their life to start a new one. Jojo did have a motive to leave his life, but it seemed there were no leads on the man. They called Y/n asking if she knew anything, where was the last she saw him and told her she and her parents could be the last known people to have seen him. Sure there was other who saw him, but his known connections don’t know where he is.

After hearing what happened, Shouji was a little lost. There were no cuddles, or kisses, or hugs that would bring him back. He knew Y/n probably had complicated feelings towards her brother, her last memory he treated her badly, but she didn’t think that would be her last one. All he could do was clean up her face and listen to her sobs. She didn’t leave her room for the rest of the night. Shouji did give her the snacks he got her but kept the fireworks in his empty closet. Tonight was not the night for that.

 Y/n fell into a depression pit but would try to hide it. She would cheer for everyone, but didn’t have the same energy. She couldn’t keep up with it. Aizawa knew she was struggling, so in secret, he took her to the pet store to cuddle some cats. A kind gesture, but not one to ease the pain. Y/n was still on crutches, but it seemed that her body wasn’t healing itself. If it was a tough day, she may have only lasted in class for an hour and a half at most. Even Bakugo didn’t try fighting her. He was too focused on the exam.

[kareofbears]

blinding lights, chapter 3/4

Their height gap is a wide one, but in no way is Sumire going to let Akechi keep looking down on her. “It became my business the minute we wanted the same thing: to fix this reality.“

—

Akechi and Sumire have to traverse through the events of the third semester without Akira (or rather, against him).

read on ao3 or under the cut!

——

On a technical standpoint, rain doesn’t bother Akechi.

Whenever it rains, no matter if it was just a drizzle or a downpour, people scramble to the nearest overhang, praying that they don’t get drenched. Such a trivial thing to get panicked by, he thought. City rain like this was hardly something to fear, yet it remains a constant in societal culture—water starts falling from the sky and people stop whatever they’re doing to duck for cover.

And since Akechi had long since accepted to reform himself into the mold of society rather than the other way around, here he was, in the middle of Kichijoji, shoulders pressed back against the building of Darts & Billboards, waiting for the rain to tire itself out.

Out of all the habits he’s practiced and perfected from his days of deceit, it’s strange that hiding out from rainfall is one of the few that he still can’t shake, inconsequential as it was. He had learned that mimicking what can be considered societal norms and exercised it in everyday life can at least trick most people that he, Akechi Goro, can be lumped in with the norms and be heightened to excellence later on. People hid from droplets and because the path of normalcy is what he wanted, he decided that he’ll hide with them.

It took him a long time to narrow down why it bothered him. Why, for some reason, it had pissed him off that idiots would commit to such an insignificant action. It’s because when people run for cover, when they prioritize the act of hiding over everything else, they’re essentially allowing the rain—this overall harmless entity—to prevent them from reaching their destination. Fools let their decisions be dictated by the weather, wasting their time waiting it out, letting themselves be dictated beyond their control.

It’s a product of the collective unconscious; rather than pushing past the drizzle to reach their destination, or continue living their life as it were before the storm clouds rolled in, the masses decided that the better decision was to cease all movements because it would be easier. When it rains, society comes at a standstill.

“D’you always just stand in the middle of the promenade lookin’ pissed, or am I just lucky?”

Akechi blinks and turns his head to see a patch of bright, blond hair with an even brighter grin. His purple hood was pulled up, but it’s too short that it does little to block out the downpour.

Sakamoto Ryuji stands in front of him, completely drenched and unbothered.

“I’d hardly call it luck, so much as a coincidence.” Flicking his eyes downward, Ryuji adjusts the heavy looking plastic bags hanging off of his wrists. “And you?”

“Doing some grocery shopping for my ma. She’s been real busy at work, so…” he shrugs.

It really was a strange coincidence that he shows up like this, unprompted. The universe, if it ever was sentient, had never thrown him a bone. However, for Ryuji to show up, it almost seems like a waste to let it go.

If he’s been wanting to see Sakamoto up close, this is as good as it’s gonna get.

“How do you feel about joining me in some people-watching?” Akechi asks.

Ryuji’s eyes light up. “Sure! These bags are getting heavy anyway, could use a break.” He dodges a stream of water flowing cleanly from the gutter and joins Akechi underneath the overhang. Whether he can sense Akechi’s discomfort or perhaps it’s a feeling residing from the real reality, Ryuji had kept a gap of about a meter between the two.

“I hope I didn’t take you away from any pressing matters, Sakamoto.”

“Nah,” he gently sets down his bags before turning to give Akechi his full attention. “Don’t got much waiting for me back home with my ma at work, but can’t stay for too long,” he nods his head down to his bags. “She’d kick my ass if I let the milk go bad.”

Ryuji laughs, shoulders shaking. “But y’know, I see you hangin’ with ‘Kira sometimes, and any friend of that bastard is a friend of mine. And, uh, speaking of…” With an expression of guilt and reluctance so tremulous that Akechi can only compare it to a child getting caught with their hand in a cookie jar. “That’s kinda what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Yes, technically he’s an unforgivable hypocrite for advising Sumire against speaking to Ryuji, but that won’t stop him from getting the information he needs. (It never has.)

After all, there must be something special about Sakamoto in order to have Kurusu Akira wrapped around his finger.

“Oh?” he responds.

“Yeah, it, uh, might be a bit awkward so I’ll do my best to be straight about it,” Ryuji looks embarrassed, but determined. “I know the feeling of not wanting to say something, to have it weigh you down and shit. Basically, what I’m tryna say is: you don’t just gotta rely on Akira!”

Akechi’s eyes widen. It should’ve been impossible. How did he figure out about Akira and the other reality when he hasn’t even been snapped out of it—

“You looked super stressed back in New Year’s and I get that you’d rather talk to Akira, but he’s a busy guy. And I know we aren’t close, but if you want to vent, or just, I dunno, get some ramen together?” he shrugs and throws a smile in Akechi’s direction. “I’m here for you.”

Akechi’s face is carefully blank. He’s wrong, because of course Sakamoto didn’t figure it out. (Has he ever figured anything out?)

He had done extensive research on the Thieves the second he got a whiff of who they might be, and that was especially the case for the initial members of the group. Sakamoto Ryuji, a second-year in the now infamous Shujin Academy. Formerly the star of the track team, his leg was snapped beyond repair by Kamoshida, the Thieves’ initial target. While he had always possessed a temper, it had grown exponentially when the teacher had faced no charges and he was shunned by the rest of the school. It’s like the Boy Who Cried Wolf—except there had undoubtedly been a wolf, and the boy ended up with a lifetime’s worth of permanent damage.

At first, he had chalked up Ryuji’s temper as yet another weakness—Akechi had learned firsthand just how fast the hand of authority strikes if one were to place a toe out of line. It’s how he decided to perfect the weapon of deceit. Akechi learned from his mistakes, to the point that his heart had split itself into two people he could become: Loki as his true self, and Robin Hood as who he needs to be.

Even Akira had understood the hubris of exposing himself, had felt the same punishment that Akechi was subjected to (ironically by the same person). In a world where a mask can be the difference between life and death, Akechi and Akira had decided to be its executioner rather than the one subjected to the sharp end of the guillotine.

By the nature of these rules, Ryuji should have been beheaded. And he was.

But instead of learning his lesson the way Akechi and Akira had, he had been rejuvenated. Instead of bending to the will of authority, he let that pressure mold him into something tougher, let the anger inside him fester and grow.

It had made sense, in hindsight, why Ryuji had treated him the way he did (it’s not like Akechi had the best intentions). So seeing him like this, where he never found out Akechi’s true personality, allowed him to see Ryuji in his natural state.

A feeling surges within Akechi, so foreign that it takes him slightly too long just to name it. All around him, deep in his gut, spread all the way to the tips of his fingers and his toes is wave after wave of…

“I’m done here,” Akechi says.

Discomfort.

“Huh?” Ryuji cocks his head. “Uh, was that weird of me to say? My bad, Ann’s always said I had a big, fat mouth. Sorry, yeah we aren’t close and stuff. Just thought it’d be nice—”

Akechi holds back a click of his tongue and, with a little effort, morphs his expression into one of false platitudes and plasticity. A slight quirk in his lips (not too high or it’ll scare them), tilt his head at a certain angle, and raise his voice an octave to indicate an apology. “Sorry to leave so suddenly. Thank you for your time.”

The rain had stopped sometime during their conversation and he hates that the universe seemed like it had taken pity on him.

Ryuji says something to him, but Akechi refuses to listen to another word—he doesn’t need to. He got what he wanted. All it took was one conversation for Akechi to know exactly what Akira sees in him.

That incessant authenticity and kindness shouldn’t exist in a world like this. It shouldn’t have existed in an angry boy like him.

Akechi tries (and fails) to look like he isn’t running away.

It was only when he was in bed later that night that he realized he didn’t find out what Ryuji’s wish was. Given the way he said Akira’s name though, Akechi didn’t have to think too hard.

—

AG: The biggest gray area in this has to be with Niijima Makoto YS: wow. I didn’t think you’d be straight-forward with your relationship with her. thank you for your honesty. YS: you both must have a difficult history with one another :( AG: What are you talking about? AG: I’m saying I don’t know where to find her. YS: ah. i see. YS: haha how about we just pretend that never happened?

They checked Shujin Academy (closed for winter break), Aoyama Itchome (for good measure), and finally the bookstore in Central Street (the smell of books is so lovely) before Akechi began to lose his temper.

“It wouldn’t be a huge surprise if we just found her in the middle of Tokyo University impersonating a research assistant as some sad excuse to feel some adrenaline for the first time in her life,” he says as they walk down the escalator, prepared to hop on the train and try somewhere else.

Sumire frowns. “Being studious doesn’t make someone boring.”

“Of course it doesn’t. Kurusu is at the top of his class and a huge public nuisance. No, Niijima’s absolutely underneath the sole of academics and government propaganda from her father since day one.”

“You don’t like her?”

“I don’t like anyone,” he replies. “Especially not someone so tied with practicing law like she plans to.”

They round the corner. “You can talk to her about that yourself.”

Standing by the overpriced-looking smoothie bar is Niijima Makoto, accompanied by a beautiful older woman who looks like she can melt down a rusted car with a single glare.

“I would think that Sae-san would quite actually murder me if I were to bring that up.”

“You know the other woman?”

“It would be rude not to know my co-workers after all,” says Akechi. “That’s prosecutor Niijima Sae—Makoto’s sister as well as one of the Thieves’ targets from the past.”

Sumire ponders over the odds for a second. “Did she happen to have a casino as a Palace?”

He pauses. “Yes. As a matter of fact, she did.”

“Amazing! What luck!” she beams. “May I try and guess what their wish may be?”

“Is this nothing but a game to you?” he says immediately, before stopping himself. “…One guess.”

Brows scrunching together, she leans towards him, shoulders sagged as if she was carrying a secret so heavy that it physically weighed her down. Poker chips, alcohol bottles, and slot machines… “Did Makoto-senpai wish for Sae-san’s gambling addiction to go away?”

Akechi stares at her. “Who was it again that taught you how Palaces work?”

“Morgana-senpai.”

“If that’s the case, I’m simply over the moon that he didn’t join us on our mission.” They walk towards the Niijimas, who were still chatting amicably with one another. “Their father passed when they were young; it left their family jaded, it was traumatizing, et cetera, I’m sure you get the gist.”

“Wait, I really don’t—”

“Akechi? What a coincidence!”

The sisters greeted them with kind eyes and soft smiles, and Sumire has to accept that she’s out of her league for this one—the student council president may have been a common name around school, but it hardly ever came with more information other than how good her grades were, as well as the potential ‘narc’ comment. But despite what Akechi thinks, no Phantom Thief could possibly be on the side of the police; they’ve all had enough firsthand experience with that particular institution to see just how often the system has failed them.

Akechi nods. “It truly is,” he says, as if they hadn’t spent half the day walking around Tokyo scrounging for them. “This is Yoshizawa Sumire, Sae-san.”

“Pleasure to meet you!”

“Likewise,” Sae says.

“I have to admit, I’m quite surprised to see you here,” Akechi says. “Did we interrupt you both?”

“Not at all. We were just doing some grocery shopping for dinner tonight. Our father’s been having a craving for teriyaki,” she answers. “Why so surprised, Akechi?”

“Nothing in particular,” he says, and Sumire can feel his smugness radiating from where she’s standing. Well, he is a detective, so she’s not too shocked. “It’s simply refreshing to see you spending time with your family, despite being as busy as you are.” With a tilt of his head, he turns to Makoto. “I haven’t heard about your father for a long time.”

Makoto recoils a little, and winces. “My…father? No, wait, dad’s been gone for…It doesn’t make any sense…:

Sumire nearly startles when Makoto suddenly straightens up, gaze clouded. Akechi clicks his tongue.

“Sorry,” she says, a bit dizzily, already taking a step back. “Sae and I need to make it to the grocery store before it closes.”

Sumire waves half-heartedly and sighs when they’re gone. “Niijima-senpai perhaps had the most graceful escape so far,” she comments.

Pulling back his sleeve, Akechi peers at his watch. “It’s two pm. She could’ve done better,” he scoffs. “It’s a shame. I had high hopes for her to be the first one. She’s the only one in that circus who had more than one brain cell and isn’t named Kurusu.”

“…May I ask you something?”

“You’re already asking a question, just ask it.”

Sumire rocks back and forth on her heels. “Why do you call him that?”

“Because that’s his name?”

“Last name,” she corrects. “Why not call him by his first name?”

“What kind of question is that? Is this a test? A trial to prove that I’m willing to be honest?” Sumire stays silent. “Alright then, if it’ll help you sleep at night. I can’t possibly fathom how you still haven’t figured out that he and I aren’t as buddy-buddy as you think.”

“Well, yes, I know that but—”

“And you?”

Her heart rate skyrockets. “What about me?”

“You call him by his surname as well, even topped off with a ‘senpai’ at the end,” Akechi raises a brow. “Why not on a first name basis?”

“W-we aren’t that close!” she exclaims. “That’s reserved for people who’s close to him, like a good friend, or a girlf—boyfr—partner. We just… aren’t that.”

“Strange, isn’t it?” Akechi says. “We aren’t even on a first name basis with him, yet here we are; fresh from New Year’s, running around Tokyo for his friends who should be doing this instead.”

(Sumire very nearly says it, what’s been on her mind since Maruki’s Palace. But as it stands, she doesn’t want to ruin the foundation—very unstable, can most definitely blow away with a strong gust of wind, but a foundation nonetheless—that she and Akechi reluctantly built.)

“Yes, it really is strange.”

—

AG: Are you particularly close with Okumura? YS: unfortunately not, no. i’ve heard about what happened to her father, though. Perhaps her wish is related to his passing. AG: …Yes, I believe it is. I would think that the two of them would look at ways of expanding the Big Bang business. So basically, Tokyo Hotspots. YS: kichijoji? that place is always bustling YS: not to mention, i’d love for them to open up there. their milkshakes are incredible ( ◜‿◝ )♡ AG: Good call. We’ll try there first then. AG: At any rate, it will be a very quick confrontation with her.

“So I’ve been thinking—”

“A dangerous pastime, but go on.”

Sumire huffs without heat as they traverse Kichijoji—busy even in this time of year, though in no small part because of the shrine nearby. “We’ve been doing this…” What are they doing? “Saving our known reality business for nearly a week now. It hasn’t been going the best.”

Neither of them need a reminder that their victory ratio is currently at a strong zero to six. “So maybe we need to change it up a bit! I thought up a strategy last night that I think we should implement today,” she beams up at him.

Akechi’s gaze can wither flowers. “Do you need me to explain how idiotic that sounds?”

“Oh, come on Akechi! We need all the help we can get, especially since we only have two left. Plus, you haven’t even heard the strategy. Would you like to hear it?”

She doesn’t wait for his response before eagerly pushing through. “I understand and accept that you’re a bit ruthless, which is great! Well, great if that’s who you are. And since you called me a goody two shoes that one time, I figured we can go with that.” Sumire steps in front of Akechi and raises her hands to the sky, chin tilted upwards. “We can do the ‘good guy, bad guy’ strategy! That’s what we’ve been doing anyway. It can be like Zootopia.”

A silence stretches out—Sumire’s grin unfaltering and Akechi’s perfectly blank.

Then, “What the fuck is a Zootopia?

“Did you not watch that movie? It was pretty big.”

“Do I look like someone who’d watch a documentary on the animal kingdom?” His eyes zero in on something. “Lucky us, we found them.”

Okumura Haru stands with whom Sumire can only assume is her father. The speak amicably with each other, adoration radiating off of them as they point and gesture at the various businesses around the promenade.

“Don’t forget the strategy,” she whispers.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he responds sarcastically.

A feeling of optimism blossoms in Sumire’s chest as they approach the Okumuras. Maybe it’s the nice weather, or it’s another opportunity to finally achieve their goal of gaining one of Akira’s allies. Mostly though, she chalks it up as relief that even though it’s far from perfect, Akechi’s finally starting to let down the drawbridge, bit by bit.

And that’s when Haru decides to look in their direction.

Instead of the initial small talk, the breadcrumbs that hint towards their other reality, instead of gently edging them to the truth, Haru had completely bypassed all of that. A feeling of deja vu tugs strangely at Sumire as she takes in her expression—the usual confusion and pained tightening of the brows, but this time, a raw, unquestionable fury morphs onto her features.

It’s a near-perfect replica of Futaba’s expression.

After a few seconds, Haru says something to her father, and they leave, leaving Akechi and Sumire mid-stride in the middle of the promenade.

Another silence reigns over them, heavy and suffocating despite the bustle of Kichijoji.

“We didn’t even need to talk to her,” Akechi says. “An efficient failure.” The silence stretches on. “You have something to say..”

Sumire shoots him a dark look. “Alley,” she says, voice uncharacteristically low. “It might upset the families if we speak rudely in front of them.”

She leads them to the backstreets, where most stores are closed until the nightlife crowd rolls in. It was empty, and only the metal shutters and stray plastic bags strewn about the pavement were present to hear them.

“Of course I have something to say,” Sumire says, fists clenched tightly at her sides. “You promised back at Leblanc. You said that you won’t withhold information from me anymore, for the sake of the mission.”

She points behind her in the direction of where the Okumura’s left. “Despite what you may like to believe, I’m not an idiot who won’t notice something as obvious as Okumura-senpai running away the second she sees you. She didn’t even speak to us before she ran, which is considerably worse than Sakura-chan.” Sumire’s eyes narrow. “What are you still hiding from me?”

Throughout her speech, Akechi didn’t even blink. “Has it occurred to you that I simply lied when I made that pesky promise to you, or are you still the same person who fell right into Maruki’s waiting hands last spring?”

Sumire recoils as if she’d been hit. “Don’t bring that up, it has nothing to do with this—”

“Doesn’t it?” his voice is cold. “Isn’t the reason why you’re so desperate for me to be open with you is that you have some sort of trust issues?”

“That’s not it.”

“Finally we’re getting somewhere,” Akechi’s red eyes seem to be glowing despite the darkness in the shadowed alley. With a sickening feeling, she realizes he’s enjoying this. “Let me take a guess. You’re doing this out of the goodness of your heart, an overflowing kindness that you have to act on and spread across the globe. And, if you’re simply good and lucky enough, maybe, just maybe, your beloved ‘Kurusu-senpai’ will look away from his little group long enough to see how sweet and kind you are—”

“Shut up,” she cuts him off. Her voice is slow and deliberate. “You want to know what I’m doing this for? It’s because I’m sick and tired of these hellish lies.”

Akechi stays quiet as she continues, struggling to speak while her eyes blazed with fury. “I basically just found out that I’m not who I thought I was for the past ten months. Do you know what that feels like? It’s like if someone kidnapped me, shoved me in the back of a van, blindfolded. Maruki, bless his soul, forced me to believe whatever garbage he thought was best for me. It makes me sick to think that I fell for that reality, never once did I question it.”

She clenches her jaw. “You know what I want, Akechi? It’s not the philanthropy you’re so obsessed with, or senpai’s affection. What I want is my kidnapper to fail. I want him to regret what he did to me, to stop what he’s doing to everyone else. Even if his intentions were good, I am not going to let him get away with this,” Sumire looks directly into Akechi’s eyes. “And you are not going to be the one to slow me down.”

Chest heaving, she realizes she’s breathless. After a brief pause, Akechi speaks.

“Our motivations aren’t too far off from one another,” his voice is strangely cool, as if his fury and long since dissipated from the surface and had manifested into something sharp and dangerous. “You said you’re tired of the lies? Of being used like some kind of puppet, a test subject? Of having the rug pulled from you just because someone fucking felt like it? Good. But our similarities stop there.”

He leans back against the metal gate of a closed bar. “At the root of it, you want to stop Maruki so that he doesn’t push his beliefs to anyone else. Whether you like it or not, your motivation is accidental philanthropy. I could not give less of a shit about Maruki, or Tokyo, or even the rest of this damned world. I just want to be able to live in a reality where I get to choose what I want to do.”

“So let me help you!” she exclaims, frustrated. “Some detective, you are—keeping secrets isn’t going to help this situation.”

“You still don’t get it, do you? I tried to make this as easy to understand as possible, but I guess I just have to make it obvious.” Akechi straightens up and from the smirk resting on his mouth and the way his brow is lifted, condescension is simply dripping from him. Sumire refuses to recoil. “I don’t care if you want to help me. I am a selfish person who does what he wants. I’m willing to tear down anyone in my path, use anyone in my way, if it means that I get what I want.”

“Maybe you are!” Sumire says. “A selfish person, I mean.”

Akechi blinks, and throws his head back, loud laughter echoing through the alley. “‘Maybe I am?’” He laughs again, nearly doubling over. When he sobers up a bit, she has to force herself not to flinch. It’s as if something had unhinged in Akechi and she’s seeing the result of that—his eyes are twinkling as his smirk stretches even further over his face; an edged grin. “Do you need an example, Yoshizawa? Proof? Citation for what I’ve done just so you can understand? Look forward to it, since you’ll learn at long last why Sakura and Okumura took one look at me and fled.”

Bending over slightly so that he’s eye-level with Sumire, he announces: “I killed Sakura Futaba’s mother and Okumura Haru’s father. I am a murderer.”

“So am I.”

Akechi stops breathing, blinking as he processes what Sumire just said. She only looks back through narrowed eyes, daring him to say something.

When he doesn’t, she relaxes a bit. “Are you in the mood for darts? Since we finished with Okumura-senpai much earlier than expected, we have some time. And besides,” Sumire brushes her bangs out of her eyes. “There’s more to discuss, and I’m not really feeling this alley anymore.”

—

“It’s different. You must know that it’s different.”

Sumire waits until she gets their darts from behind the counter. “I know.”

Darts & Billiards was never particularly full, but it was never empty either. There were a few groups, pairs, and serious soloists that filled the entire room with indecipherable chatter and the loud clack of eight-balls colliding with one another. Anything that Akechi and Sumire might talk about thankfully gets shrouded by the white noise.

“Any preferences?” she says, waving around the dart in her hands.

“701,” he says immediately. “Anything lower is child’s play.”

Sumire nods as she inputs the settings. “Kurusu-senpai said something before he went with Dr. Maruki,” she began. “He said that he was doing this for his friends—the Thieves, myself,” she glances back. “And in his words, ‘especially you.’”

“And what of it?” Akechi asks.

“I believe that Kurusu-senpai knows of your past, knows your struggles and whatever you’ve gone through. I can only guess what you’ve had to endure, and how it led you to what you did to their parents.” Sumire offers him his set of darts. “May I go first?”

Akechi nods and she takes her stance—despite everything, she’s a little nervous playing darts with someone who actually plays to win.

Sumire throws it as best she can when Akechi speaks. “Does it justify it, then? If my life was difficult enough, would you give me a pass for killing innocent people?”

“No,” she casts another dart. “It doesn’t. Nothing really justifies that.” Pinching her last dart between her fingers, she fiddles as she thinks. “But I accidentally killed my sister over my incompetence in gymnastics.”

“But that’s the difference,” Akechi waves his hand. “It wasn’t an accident that they died by my hands. I had planned it, plotted it, and accomplished it. What you did wasn’t deliberate; it was a spur of the moment decision to run into traffic.”

Sumire hurls her final dart a little harder than usual. “I didn’t say that you should be forgiven, Akechi! I mean, I still don’t forgive myself. But even if it is different, I can at least understand your sentiments a fraction better than anyone else can. Do I think that it’s fine that two people who’re the same age as us lost their parents? Of course not. It makes me ill just thinking about it.”

She walks to the board and gingerly plucks off her darts. “But if I tried to pretend that I don’t understand what you’ve done—that isn’t right, either.”

He has a thoughtful expression on his face, his darts rolling between his fingers similar to how people fidget with loose change; Sumire hadn’t even known it was possible to do that. “Interesting.”

Stepping up to the mat, Akechi tilts his body sideways, obviously practiced in the game. His expression doesn’t change when it lands on a triple twenty.

“Do you regret it?”

His hand is steady as he throws—another triple twenty. “The murders? It depends.”

“On?”

“Do I regret being caught, used, and humiliated by losers who I thought were beneath me? Yes. Do I regret ending the lives of many?” casting his third dart, it lands so close to the others that they wobble in unison. “No. Not really.”

Sumire’s next round was a silent one, Akechi’s confession playing on repeat in her mind. He had simply said it with no hesitation; his tenor hadn’t changed, posture didn’t shift. The words that flowed out of him had no emotion whatsoever—they were clinical, like a doctor stating the facts to a terminal patient.

The ongoing background noise paid no mind to their silence, stuck in its blissful ignorance despite the pair’s topics. If there’s one guarantee in this world, it’s that it’s extremely likely that no one will listen just as the conversation is getting important.

Akechi’s on his second turn when he says, “You took well to the fact that I’ve killed in cold blood.”

“I knew that you were hiding something,” she says. “It’s because of how you act. You were a little cruel back in the Palace, and while it’s no excuse, people who have…” she scratches her head. “A hardened heart usually has a nasty past, and what Kurusu-senpai said only confirmed it.”

No matter how many times he does it, Sumire still gets impressed by his casual triple twenty.

Swapping places with him, she closes one eye as she ponders over her strategy. “But despite the fact that you’re a ruthless sort of person—” her dart sails forward and sticks to the board. “I’m willing to look past it if it means we can change reality.” Sumire cocks her head at him. “Can you?”

Akechi stays silent as Sumire launches another dart—one more and they can win it. “Selfish is what we call ourselves, right?” she says. “That we’re only in it for yourselves, regardless of what happens to everyone else. If we work together and it raises the odds of getting what we want, doesn’t that still play into the fact that we’re acting for our own benefit?”

She lines herself up for the last point, and takes a deep breath. “What did you call it? Accidental philanthropy?” she throws her dart and watches as it curves beautifully—only for it to miss her mark by quarter-inch. “Oh no!”

“Accidental philanthropy…” he muses, indifferent to their loss. “That doesn’t sound half-bad.”

Sumire raises her eyebrows, skeptical. “Really?”

“I know that my past actions may have dictated our failure to some extent. That was my fault,” Akechi crosses his arms. “I won’t let it happen again.”

Maybe she was too forgiving, or too trusting, or maybe it’s the closest she’ll get as an apology out of Akechi, but she finds herself nodding. “That’s all I wanted.”

He moves to put on his coat. “Was it to your satisfaction?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve wanted to talk even before we discovered Maruki’s schemes,” he shoves his arms through his coat sleeves. “Are you satisfied”

“Pretty much,” Sumire nods. “I understand you much better than before, at least.”

Collecting his darts, he heads to the register. “Why do you want to understand?”

“…Because I’m curious. You changed so abruptly, I didn’t even know who you were anymore—not that I did to begin with. Not to mention, the people Kurusu-senpai knows are always interesting, and you’re definitely not an exception.”

Akechi turns, and from the doubt on his features, he doesn’t take the bait.

“Fine. That wasn’t a lie, though. I just…” she hesitates, and decides to throw caution to the wind. “I want to get to know my teammate better.”

Anything could’ve happened in that beat of silence, much to the ignorance of the loitering patrons.

“See,” he replies. “Now that I can believe. And here I thought I was the only one who needed to practice honesty more.”

He walks back to register. “I’ll handle the bill. Call it a repaying of debts, in a way.”

“For what?”

“That’s what teammates do, don’t they?”

Sumire feels herself smile widely. It had only taken about six days, their entire reality shifting, and a busted game of darts, but it finally feels like she and Akechi are fighting the same battle.

—

AG: If it all goes to plan, we should’ve at least been able to convince one of them AG: As much as it truly pains me to say it, putting our faith in them is our best chance at success. AG: Worse comes to worst, there’s a reason why we’re making him the last one to convince. He’s our trump card. YS: you mean sakamoto-senpai? AG: Ugh, don’t make me say it.

According to Akechi’s knowledge of Ryuji’s whereabouts (as unhappy as he was to recite it), there are two places that he frequents—the arcade in Shibuya or loitering around Shujin.

The arcade was full of random teens and pre-teens, all deeply invested in games that Sumire had never taken up but Akechi was apparently knowledgeable in (“Good practice,” he had replied when she asked, and she opted not to pry any further).

The two had hopped back on the train to Aoyama-Itchome, forced to stand as life resumes back to normalcy post-holidays. Despite the tight fit of the car, Akechi had placed a good amount of space between them—whether it’s for his sake or hers, she can appreciate the gesture.

The morning was a strange one. Ever since their darts game and impromptu heart-to-heart, the atmosphere between them had shifted. It’s still a few miles off from being friendly, but it’s easier now; there’s an unspoken understanding between them, a common goal that drives them forward.

Still, it would’ve been nice if they had gotten their act together prior to meeting with their last Phantom Thief.

“By the way,” Akechi says, and Sumire’s eyes flicker up at him in interest. They had been silent since they stepped on the train. “In the acknowledgement of…team spirit,” his lips curled, unable to keep the mocking out of his words at such a ridiculous concept. “I should let you know that I’ve spoken to Sakamoto.”

“Oh.” She can’t seem to muster up any shock. “When? Did you plan it?”

“A few days ago, and no, it was by chance,” his eyes narrowed. “Did you speak to Sakamoto?”

“Not on purpose!” Sumire defends, shifting her sweaty grip on the plastic handle. “He just happened to be there.”

“He seems to have a knack for that,” Akechi says, and Sumire doesn’t comment on the strange quality of his voice—bitterness? “Well? Anything worth repeating?”

“Uh…” she racks her brain. Somehow, she doesn’t think that Ryuji’s blow by blow of the new shounen manga was what Akechi’s looking for. “Nothing in particular. Oh! He spoke quite a bit about Kurusu-senpai, but that’s not too surprising, considering his wish and all.” ‘Quite a bit’ might be a bit of an understatement.

He squints at her. “Whose wish?”

“Kurusu-senpai’s? Obviously Sakamoto-senpai would still be affected since he’s directly tied Kurusu-senpai’s wish.”

His stare doesn’t relent. “Why on earth would Kurusu’s wish still be affecting Sakamoto? He already broke free of the fake reality, meaning that Sakamoto isn’t affected by Kurusu’s wish,” says Akechi. “The idiot has his own wish. Did you not know?”

Sumire would describe herself as a person with a decent amount of pride, but an obvious fact like that has heat rushing to her cheeks. She ignores him and instead asks, “Did you figure out his real wish?”

“On a technicality, no. Though I have a rather strong hunch on what it is, based on my interaction with him,” he cringes a bit when the train rocks someone into him. “It’s likely that his wish may be the exact as Kurusu’s.”

“As in…” she blinks. “He wished to be with senpai?”

“It’s possible. Disgusting, how desperate they are to bring something to fruition that could easily be done without the Metaverse.” And he adds, “Your conclusion wasn’t too far off.”

“Wow,” as articulate as it was, it was really all she could say about his observation. It sounds like an impossibility; having two people wish for each other, like some cheesy rom-com but with way more monsters and magic. Yet it makes sense—the way Ryuji spoke of Akira like he put up the moon, with a feeling of undeniable admiration and respect sandwiched between friendly jabs at him. It sounds like an impossibility, she realizes, because it probably is one. It would take something as insane as the Metaverse to create something as equally improbable as their level of requited love.

The speaker overhead announces their station and they both exit with no small amount of polite shoving.

It’s a short walk from Aoyama to the school, a route familiar enough to Sumire that she can probably traverse it with her eyes closed.

“Do you know where in Shujin he might be?” Akechi asks, and belatedly she realizes she hasn’t given him any indication for where to go. Not that it was a problem—for someone who doesn’t go here, he seems to know the path just as well as she does. “Is the school even open?”

“It should be fine,” Sumire says. “The grounds, maybe? Actually, the track is probably our best shot, since he goes for a run pretty often.”

A beat passes.

“How often?” he asks slowly.

“Um—” she spots a familiar patch of bleached hair. “Look, there he is! It looks like he’s talking to…is that the track team?”

Akechi hums. “Is it, now?”

“Pipe down, dumbass!” Even half a block down, Ryuji’s voice rings loud and clear. “I’m only tryin’ my best so you guys don’t laugh me—oh, no effin’ way. Yoshizawa! Akechi! Sorry, gimme a sec,” he calls back to the others as he half-jogs towards them.

“I knew it,” Akechi mutters.

“Huh?” she asks.

“His leg. He isn’t limping.”

Sumire’s brow creases. She’s about to ask Akechi to clarify when it dawns on her:

Kamoshida had explained to her (in full, descriptive, unhesitating detail) about the delinquent students that roamed the walls of Shujin, there was one in particular he had a special hatred for—Sakamoto Ryuji. Rumors had done little to reveal the truth of his declaration, but a single conversation with Ryuji had cleared away any possibility that he was the type for unnecessary violence.

However, there is one truth that came from every lie that was spread about him; his leg has been damaged to the point where professional running is no longer a possibility.

Ryuji approaches them, smiling and limp-free.

Which means—

“What’s up?” he asks. Just like when Sumire saw him before, Ryuji is donned in the standard school P.E track pants (red and white and cuffed at the bottom). It didn’t mean much to her then. “Whatcha doin’ here, Akechi? You transferring schools, or something?”

In all of ten seconds, Ryuji had proved them wrong without even knowing it.

“I was here to pick up a few books from the library when I bumped into him,” she lies for the both of them. “And you, senpai?”

Ryuji takes a step back, shocked. “Damn! You’re makin’ the rest of us look bad. Nah, the track guys just forced me to hangout with them to celebrate.”

“Celebrate?”

“Yeah, uh,” sneakers scuffing the concrete, Ryuji turns a light shade of pink when he admits, “The school might’ve let slip that there’s some colleges that might be scouting after me after my last meet.”

Even Akechi looked a little impressed. “That’s no small feat.”

“That’s incredible, senpai!” Sumire cries, unable to hold herself back. “That’s—that’s huge! Bigger than huge, it’s being scouted! Do you know how cool that is? Of course you do, you’re the one who got scouted!”

She throws both her hands up to the sky and Ryuji slaps them, the pleasant echo resounds through the alley and leaves them both shaking out their palms.

“Thanks,” Ryuji grins. “But don’t get too excited. It ain’t confirmed or anything,” he tries to keep the elation out of his voice and fails miserably. “I’m just so dang happy cause that means things’ll be easier for my mom down the line, y’know?”

It’s like a slap to the face, a jolt that sends her crash landing back to reality. Because she isn’t here to congratulate Ryuji for his success—she’s here to take that away from him. Not for the first time, she wonders if they should be doing this.

Then she recalls the painful but relieving feeling of getting her own memories back. Yoshizawa Sumire back. She recalls the boy beside her who’d do quite literally anything to get rid of this reality. She recalls a busy street, blood pooling on the concrete.

Sumire focuses. If not for herself, or for Akechi, then she’d focus for Kasumi.

“I’m happy for you,” she says, meaning every word. “How did Kurusu-senpai react?”

“Oh, that guy? I haven’t told him yet, so let’s keep it between us, y’know what I’m sayin’?” Ryuji goes for a wink, though it’s definitely closer to a blink.

Akechi coughs. “Is there a reason you haven’t told him yet? You both are quite…close, after all.”

“He’s been tough to contact the past week,” Ryuji shrugs, and neither of them mention that working with a Palace ruler probably consumes a good chunk of one’s leisure time. “I really wanna surprise him, though! Considering that he supported me more than anyone when it comes to track.”

“That’s kind of him,” says Akechi.

“Well, yeah. Both of us had to deal with Kamoshida toge…ther…” he seemed to listen to what he was saying, and stops abruptly. Any excitement that was on his face is wiped clean. Finally.

“How did you deal with Kamoshida together?” Akechi asks slowly. They had to be careful—this is their last shot.

“It, uh,” he purses his lips. “It was an accident at first, I think. Didn’t mean to.” Eyes sliding shut, he mutters, mostly to himself. “It was raining, I remember that. So why can’t I…?”

The two of them lean forward unconsciously as they gauge Ryuji’s reaction.

“You’ve got this, Sakamoto-senpai,” Sumire prompts gently.

It isn’t too different from watching someone do a math problem and seeing them do one, tiny thing wrong; seeing that tiny mistake being overlooked, even though it’s so obvious to the observer. He is so close, one breath away from—

“Sakamoto!”

Ryuji jerks, eyes flinging open and her heart sinks, irritation blossoming towards this random athlete who unknowingly jeopardized their known reality.

“Uh, yeah!” he calls back, shaking his head as if ridding himself of a bad dream. “Be there in a sec!”

“If that pesky runner is in Mementos, I swear he’ll be dead by tomorrow,” Akechi mummers darkly, because he always takes things too far.

“Sorry, gotta bail,” Ryuji apologizes. He still looks slightly unsettled, a little unnerved. “It was good to see you. We should grab some food sometime!”

“Wait!” Sumire blurts out before he can leave. She scrambles for something to say, finding the thought of their failure unbearable. “If—if you change your mind (or start to remember), we’ll both be in Odaiba tomorrow! At the stadium, to be exact,” she tries for a reassuring smile. “You were there in the summer, remember?”

“If I change my mind…?” he repeats, blinking. “Nah, you guys are wild. I don’t know what you’re talking about, but thanks for the invite. Later!”

He throws double peace signs up before joining his track mates once more, laughing and shoving each other in a way only teenage boys can pull off.

“An outstanding zero to seven loss,” Akechi dictates with a dead voice. “What a team we make. I’m floored.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t notice!” Sumire exclaims, slapping her hand to her forehead. “I literally saw him running, and I didn’t put the pieces together.”

He shakes his head. “How are you focusing on his wish?” Akechi asks, leaning against the stone pillar near him. “It doesn’t matter what his wish is. The point is, we lost. We wasted this week, and we don’t have a choice other than to confront Kurusu alone.”

“You forgot about the whole point of our plan, Akechi. Just because his friends didn’t realize the truth right away, doesn’t mean they won’t.”

“They probably won’t.”

“We’ll just have to see, then. If Kurusu-senpai has one talent, it’s his natural…thing, with people. You get what I mean, right?”

“No.”

“Liar. And hey!” Sumire gives him a pointed look. “You aren’t doing this alone! We’re working together—like two peas in a pod.”

“Yes, I haven’t forgotten our oath of team spirit. But still, that doesn’t change the fact that with the combined powers of Maruki and Kurusu, we’re as good as dead,” he says, and pauses. “Unless Maruki isn’t there.”

Sumire frowns, “Even if we could, I don’t think we should kidnap a doctor.”

“I meant that he might willingly not be there. He’s quite democratic and trusting—I can see that he might leave this in Kurusu’s hands. Don’t be fooled, though. If Kurusu wanted us gone, we probably would be.”

“I can’t imagine that he would ever do something like that.” The idea of Akira using his powers in that way… she doesn’t even want to indulge in the thought.

“He won’t,” Akechi agrees. “He never shoots to kill when it comes to real people,” he sighs. “A weakness on his part.”

“But you’re still saying that we should fight senpai. Fight Kurusu Akira.”

“I’m saying we should beat some sense into him. Convince him like we tried to convince all of his little gremlins, except we succeed this time around,” his face pinches together, as if he had something sour. “It’s not as if we have a choice.”

She hesitates, despite knowing that Akechi’s right. He scoffs at her. “Worried about scratching up the pretty boy? Trust me—we couldn’t finish him off even if we tried.”

It’s a little worrying to see how sure he is that Akira is apparently very difficult to murder. “Fine,” Sumire relents. “But I’m still going to hope for the best with his friends.”

“Then I’ll prepare for the worst, as per usual.”

A water droplet hits Sumire’s cheek, startling her. She looks up to be greeted by dark clouds.

“It’s raining.”

“I suppose we should rest for today, considering what we’re up against.”

“Hold on,” Sumire says, feeling bold. “The Metaverse—I’m still a little unsure about all that but bear with me—is about the strength of the heart and cognition, right?”

“Yes?” he nods at her in a go on manner.

“So, hypothetically, if we got some…cognition strengthening breakfast food together—”

“No.”

“I think it would be beneficial to us!” she says. It really did seem like a good idea when she first thought it up, but she really should’ve expected the resistance that comes with it; Akechi seems to hate the notion of fun. “The way you looked at my plate from back then is still stuck in by brain on loop—”

“That look is called disgust—”

“It would be really fun! Or um, not fun, but advantageous to the strength of our—our Personas?”

She’s grasping at straws, but optimism is one of her better traits. Still, Akechi’s withering glare is proving to be a tough foe. Sumire’s not going to back down, though. Whether she wanted it to happen or not, she finds herself liking his company more and more despite his thorns (many, many thorns).

Sumire couldn’t help but break out into a grin when Akechi speaks, voice void of any emotion:

“I’m picking this time. IHOP is an abomination.”

—

She didn’t think that hole-in-the-wall breakfast cafes existed, and if she did, she most definitely never would’ve guessed that Akechi would be leading her to one.

Laughing out loud at the situation would grant her a death wish through Loki, but it’s impossible not to. The light pastel shades of the cafe are comically paradoxical to Akechi’s eternal conniving expression and tone, yet the employees seem to light up when he enters and even greet him by name.

He orders without even looking at the menu and she decides to get two of whatever he’s getting; partly because she has no idea what to get, mostly out of curiosity.

They seat themselves in one of the frilly booths and once the food arrives, she has to physically stop herself from drooling.The three tall stacks of pancakes were steaming, thick, fluffy, and perfectly golden brown. The neapolitan ice cream was placed precariously on top, slowly melting and all completely drizzled in chocolate and strawberry syrup. Akechi almost looks like he wants to tell her that it physically isn’t possible to fit both stacks inside of her, but she’s already halfway through her first stack by the time he eats a forkful.

Unable to hold back, Sumire brings up his comment from back when they all went to the Kichijoji cafe with Akira.

“Oh, that?” Akechi reaches over to grab the syrup bottle. “I said I didn’t like sweet bread. Sweets are, in and of itself,” he pours an alarming amount of strawberry syrup on his plate. “Not bad.”

The conversation is light—none of the darker topics that were present during their darts game. Sumire hesitatingly asks him what it’s like to work with the police as a detective. She wasn’t expecting a detailed point-by-point explanation about the cops being the most ‘incompetent people who have ever wielded any amount of power, and yes I’m counting Mona in his normal cat form.’

In turn, Akechi seems genuinely interested in Sumire’s athletic career, wondering if her skills help her fight in the Metaverse.

Eventually, they even start talking about more mundane topics; clubs that they might have been participating in (“Gymnastics, obviously” and “Detective work if that counts, but not so much anymore”), what Akechi’s high school is like (“Boring, but I get excused often enough that it makes it bearable”), if they’re on social media much (“Yes! But my smartphone can barely open up any apps” and “I have a phone number and an email—that should be enough”).

Despite Akechi’s ever-present clipped comments, Sumire has to admit that this was all a nice change of pace. She’s having fun, sitting here, eating pancakes and talking. And if his replies were getting less snippy and more talky, maybe he’s feeling the same way.

Even if it’s only for an afternoon, even if they have to fight their counselor who now apparently controls reality, even if they have to fight Kurusu Akira—

It’s nice to just act like two teenagers with a sweet tooth for a day.

—

It’s just as cold as it was a week ago.

They’ve already been transformed into their Metaverse customers, and it’s blessedly warmer near the elevator than it is on the outskirts. None of that matters though; not with them standing in front of Maruki’s Palace once again.

“It has a certain beauty,” Sumire comments. “The Palace.”

“It’s a safety hazard, is what it is. Realistically, these would all crumble like tissue paper without Maruki holding it all up.”

“Still,” the abnormal swirls and teetering light fixtures possess a charm that she finds lovely in it’s own way. “I can admire it for what it is.”

Akechi nods at the elevator, “Let’s get this over with.”

“Wait.”

He stops. “What?”

“Kurusu-senpai gave sort of a battle plan before we went in,” Sumire reminded him. “Do you have one?”

“Hit him harder than he hits you,” Akechi pulls out his serrated steel, reflecting the light of the entrance hall. “Other than that, don’t die, and don’t fall behind.”

All things considered, it isn’t the worst pep talk she’s ever heard.

They start off to the depths of the Palace. The journey to see Akira is different without him present, but it’s as if the shadows are purposefully less aggressive with them—whether it’s because Maruki wants them to get there safely or what, but it lets them traverse through the lab with a fair amount of ease.

An announcement rings through the grand halls. “VIP patients identified. We will now begin the grand tour—please head to the auditorium through the door on your left.”

Definitely Maruki, then.

“How kind of them to politely inform us of their location,” Akechi remarks, and they head further inward.

They pass by what looks like research centres—powerpoints plastered by pie charts and numbers, shadows giving lectures on cognition (which is a strange sight to see), brain scan posters and lab coats strewn about. Sumire imagines that this might be what a university would look like in amidst of organized chaos.

Turning the corner, a double-door awaits them.

“Alright,” Sumire steels herself, hand finding her rapier’s hilt. “I hope senpai’s ready for us.”

“Trust me,” he reaches out to grab the handle. “He will be.”

A hallway meets them when they pass through. A long, white staircase elegantly leads them down and into what looks like a small version of a football stadium—seats filled up with faceless shadows and unlit theatre lights are hung from the beams above. Maybe it’s because this area has an uncanny resemblance to her competition venues, but she feels a tingle run down her spine: the feeling of anticipation.

They walk to the centre of it with caution, footsteps slow yet it resounding out all the same. She glances forward, squinting slightly against the darkness; a set of stairs that lead atop a stage are laid out in front of them, carpeted and plush. Ready for a performance.

Suddenly, all the lights flash on, white fluorescence blaring down on them mercilessly. Sumire and Akechi cringe against the unrelenting assault on their corneas.

“Welcome back.”

On top of the steps stood Akira, cloaked in his black Phantom Thief garb and drenched in blinding lights.

“I’m glad you two seem to be doing good. Honestly, I was a little nervous at first,” he descends the staircase, unhurried, hands stuffed in his pockets. “Looks like I was worried for nothing.”

“Worried? About us?” Akechi levels him with an incredulous look. “We aren’t the ones who are actively advocating the side of brainwashing.”

“I’m advocating the side of my friends being happy again,” he corrects firmly, turning to make eye contact with Sumire. “I want you to look me in the eyes and tell me that they weren’t happy, that they weren’t over the moon with euphoria. If you can tell me that, then I’ll join you in the fight against Maruki.”

Gazing into Akira’s eyes, Sumire opens her mouth, before looking away.

“That’s what I expected,” he shrugs, “It’s nice seeing them happy, right? But I’m not stupid—that won’t stop you two. You’re nearly as stubborn as I am.”

“Senpai,” she pleads. “I don’t want to fight you.”

“Neither do I. But you need to get Maruki to revert reality back to what it was,” Akira adjusts his gloves, and they both tense. “And to get to him, you have to get through me.”

“He’s really not backing down, isn’t he?” she mutters, her heart rate picking up rapidly.

Akechi snarls. “The tide sooner stop washing up before he quits being a fucking idiot.”

“You guys ready?” Akira calls. His tone is light, but there’s an undeniable glint to his eyes, similar to how the edge of a knife reflects light, and spreads his arms out. “Give it all you’ve got.”

Sumire meets Akechi’s eyes, and they nod.

They had a strategy, as loose as it was; there’s strength in numbers, and for once they have the advantage—pin him down, corner him, whatever they can manage, and incapacitate him until he listens to what they have to say. While this plan would certainly be more effective with more people, two should be enough to get the job done.

The air whistles around them as they dart forward, masks burning blue.

“Give him hell, Loki!”

The monochrome trickster bursts from the cinders with its eyes dead set on Akira. He raises a heavy hand and brings down his blade, slamming into the flooring as if it was warm butter, but Akira was already gone—he had hopped away just in time, giving them a cocky little smile.

Akechi snarled and swung again, only for Akira to bend backwards as if he’s in the most crucial game of limbo in recorded history, Laevatein missing him by an inch.

Before he can straighten himself again, Sumire shouts, “Dance, Cendrillon!”

As if the bells of midnight were calling her, a woman of glass and elegance manifests, white cloak blowing back from an unknown wind. A burst of light shoots from her crystal form but Akira had expected it, turning his bend into a backwards roll, not even trying to hide his grin. She’s starting to think that he was lying to her when he said he had no history with gymnastics. Maybe once this is all done, she could introduce him to her coach.

This back and forth continues, black and white and red all clashing together without anyone finding a target at all—that is, if Akira even had a target to begin with.

It’s as maddening as it is impressive to see him dodge and parry every attack; a hop here, a tilt there. It’s almost as if he knows what they were going to do before they even did it. It’s glaringly obvious why, yet it was another simple fact they overlooked—he was their leader, the person who made sure they had two, three, four possible strategies in their back pocket going into every fight. If not to ensure victory, then he does it to make sure that each and every one of them were capable enough to keep themselves safe.

But that just makes it all the more impossible to gain the upper hand.

By the time Akira had traversed nearly half the stadium in his evasion, not a hair out of place and unperturbed, Akechi and Sumire were breathing hard.

“He has,” Sumire gasps between breaths. “No intention of hitting us.”

“Dammit,” he hisses. “He’s turning this into a stamina battle.”

“Did you guys think I’d attack?” Akira frowns. Squinting at Sumire, he rummages through his pockets and tosses something to her. She catches it on instinct and peers down at the bottle of Arginade in her hand.

“It isn’t much, but I don’t want you hurting yourselves over this. I’d, uh, give one to Akechi too, but I think he’d throw it at my head or something.”

“Thank you,” Sumire sets the bottle down gingerly. “But I don’t think I should.”

“Suit yourself.”

“He’s wasting our time,” says Akechi. He points his steel at the corridor behind Akira. “Let’s just move past and find Maruki ourselves.”

She nods and they take a step forward before—

“Come, Black Frost.”

A flash of blue and a split second is all it took for the hallway’s entrance to be completely concealed in thick ice. “If you do that though, we’re gonna have a problem.”

“That wall won’t be enough to stop Cendrillon, senpai.”

“Probably not,” Akira agrees, gloved hand touching an invisible mask. “But a week was a lot of time to mix up some Personas.”

The implication makes Sumire swallow—Akechi wasn’t exaggerating.

“We have to stop him here,” she says quietly. “Even if we got lucky and ran, there’s no way we can reach Dr. Maruki with senpai trying to catch us.

Akechi clicks his tongue. “Unfortunately. We can’t win against him in a battle of stamina, but if we move fast and hit hard enough, we can catch him off guard.” His eyes flicker at Akira watching them speak, posture relaxed. “I’ve never had to reserve energy in a fight much, so this is the best plan with what we have.”

“Got it.”

“Don’t hold back,” Akechi huffs the same time Sumire says, “Don’t kill him.”

And then they sprint forward, rapidly closing in the distance to Akira.

Akechi meets her look before they split off wordlessly, approaching their target from either side.

“Hit him hard, Loki!”

“Aid me, Cendrillon!”

Curse and bless, dark and light come at Akira like a hand of judgement, narrowly escaping by flipping backwards with one hand and throwing out the other. “Let’s go, Yoshitsune.”

And like a scene from a classic Japanese period tale, a swordsman emerges from the embers, dual-wielding Katanas in either hand. WIth an air of divinity, he slices sideways, forcing the two to jerk away.

Perhaps it’s the effect of the Metaverse, its link to cognition, but the use of words became futile beyond the calling of their Personas—she can judge what Akechi had in mind without language just as he can support her in her strikes, where to stand so they don’t get caught in each other’s crossfire.

Sumire pulls out her rapier and swipes at Akira’s torso but it’s too slow; he shifts out of the way and again to dodge Akechi’s bullets like a true Phantom Thief—as elusive and hard to catch as mist.

“You’re pulling your punches, Yoshizawa!” Akechi shouts.

“I’m not trying to kill him!” Cendrillon moves her own weapon impossibly quick, glowing lines appearing midair like a child drawing on paper, and it all bursts in unison—slicing through everything indiscriminately, yet Akira remains untouched.

“Give me some credit,” he calls, coattail swishing stylishly. “I don’t think I’m doing too bad.” Yoshitsune dashes forward, armor glinting and steel sparking as lightning shoots from his katanas, several inches to Sumire’s right. It leaves her hair filled to the brim with static.

Exhausting as their back and forth was, Akira hadn’t once attacked them directly. Even when they roll or sidestep, every movement is accounted for and he adjusts his blows in turn—close enough for them to stagger back from him, but never enough for them to be touched. The message was clear: I’d never hurt you, but there’s no chance in hell I’m letting you win, either.

Still, Sumire wipes her glistening temple as Loki brings down his blade where Akira was and into the ground, the collision forceful enough to make the stage lights above rattle. It’s beginning to be clear that it would be near impossible to maintain Akira’s pin-point accuracy, given his lack of compromise on it. His rolls are getting lethargic, backflips half-assed; whether he knew it or not, he’s beginning to slow down.

And Akechi is starting to get desperate.

Precise swings from before are losing control, wild ones taking place instead.

Akira reaches up once more. “Lend me a hand, Metatron.”

What looks like an archangel crafted during the industrial revolution bursts forth where Yoshitsune once stood, eyes filled with divinity and judgement as he launches a small army of rainbow, psychokinetic spheres around Akechi’s vicinity, but fatigue causes a slight miscalculation—one of the pink orbs barely grazes his brown hair, causing him to flinch back from shock.

It didn’t hurt, it couldn’t have hurt, but it’s the first hit the Akira had landed all day, accidental or otherwise.

A beat passes as they both freeze, and Sumire slows when she sees the expression on Akira’s face, unobstructed by his mask; all the bravado, the cockiness and boldness is gone like it was never there. In its place, a gaunt, horrified look.

“I…” he breathes, unnaturally pale. “Shit, I’m sorry. Here, just…” he starts rummaging through his pockets, hands shaking. “I know I have a bead in here somewhere, just let me—” Akira’s voice cracks. “Dammit, of course I can’t find it when I actually—why can’t I—”

Akechi takes an uneasy step backwards, overexertion threatening to take over. As if it weighs a hundred pounds, he raises an arm, red eyes disturbingly bright and dead-set on Akira.

Sumire feels her breath catch in her throat; she’s in a clear position to see it happen. Akira is still frantically looking through his stuff, an overwhelming guilt seeming to cloud his senses. Akechi, in his state of mind and body, is refusing to see the facts in favor of following his instincts—because even now, he still truly believes that Akira will remain untouched, no matter what.

Because, to Akechi, he is Kurusu Akira.

“Come, Loki!”

“Goro, wait!” Sumire cries.

Time slows down as Loki raises his blade, serrated steel exuding a curse potent enough to bring down any archangel to its knees several times over. And Akira looks up, eyes wide and dilated, but it’s too late to do anything other than take a deep breath and tense himself for the devastating blow—

Footsteps resound behind them, light and fast, and before Sumire can even turn around, a familiar voice yells out:

“I don’t fucking think so.”

Sakamoto Ryuji sprints past her and as Loki brings down his sword, stands directly in front of Akira, arms wide and acting like a barricade between him and the rest of the world.

[thethousandyearwitch]

The Show Must Go On! - A Youtuber AU you didn’t want and didn’t need

Hisoka Morrow, italian Makeup Youtuber, enjoys his life in the comfort and occasional drama of his profession. But nothing brings more drama into his life than the eldest son of the Zoldyck fashion magazine empire.

Meanwhile, aspiring australian Twitch Streamer Gon Freecs forms a special bond to a Speedrunner commonly going by "Kil".

Chapter 3

FF.net link - AO3 link

Illumi woke up to shouting. No matter how often this happened, it would startle him each and every time, and prompted him to jump out of bed and try to locate the source of commotion. After he brushed his hair messily out of his face, he approached the dining room. He leaned against the doorframe, peeking into the large room. His mother was seated in her usual spot at the large table, clutching her hands over her mouth. On the opposite side, Illumis younger brother had pushed his chair away, standing up to gesture and shout wildly at his mother.

“I am not a little kid! No one else gets their ~technology privileges~ revoked! Just admit that you’re too bad of a mother to properly keep me under the control you so badly want!” His voice was already starting to crack under the strain. Illumi thought about interfering, though the curiosity of observing how his mother would try to keep the situation under control won him over.

Kikyo Zoldyck was the perfect matriarch, ruling over the English estate with an iron grip, while her Husband was either in their Japanese estate for business matters, or on ‘hunting trips’ with his father. She always insisted on perfect presentation of herself and her children, Illumi wasn’t sure if he had ever seen her repeat one outfit combination. It was a shame that the medical sunglasses she had to wear at all times ruined the harmony of her outfits almost all times. Because not even the perfect matriarch can avoid medical problems. Thus, Kikyo had to learn how to properly treat her oversensitive eyes, taking most of her eyesight with it. On top of that, her immune system seemed to weaken with each passing day. Illumi, as the eldest child, got to investigate some of her medical records to ensure her safety in case of an emergency. He had learned how to dress her wounds that would re-open frequently, how to apply eyedrops in case she wasn’t able to, and which medication was for which ailment.

Illumi recognized the exhaustion that was quickly overtaking his mother, the way her face had been drained of all colour, and her entire body seemed to shake under the tension. He was about to intervene before her conditioned worsened, when she spoke up again, “I just want to do what is best for you! It will be good for you to have a break from all that bad energy the computer gives you.”

“The only bad energy I get is from this fucking family!”

The swear echoed through the large room, and for a few seconds there was only silence as a mother confronted the reality of her precious son having entered yet another teenage rebellion. Illumi observed his mothers face closely, as he thought again about whether he should intervene or let her tend to her motherly duties herself.

It took a couple more seconds for Kikyo to stand up, straighten herself, and raise her voice, unshaking, unwavering. “You are going to your room this instance, young man. I will have your brother remove your computer from your room in half an hour.” Consequent, how surprising.

The young Zoldyck kicked against a table leg, before running out of Illumis field of view. The last thing he heard was “I am going to drink a hundred Energy drinks and puke on everything you love!”

With a sigh Kikyo sat back down in her chair and rested her face gently in the palms of her hands. Illumi took this silence as the best opportunity to enter the room and approached his mother's side.

"Mother, good morning."

"Oh, Illumi, what am I going to do?" She wailed again, as if this argument was the greatest tragedy to befall the family.

"He was such a good little boy just a few years ago. Now he swears, and yells, and that same twinkle of rage in his eyes, just like his father."

He is also my father, Illumi thought, though that minor detail didn't seem important to the conversation.

"I will take away his personal Computer after getting dressed."

"Illumi, you are such a good child for your mom, never disappoint her, alright?" She took his hand and pressed it firmly. The young man shuddered at the contact, it was so easy to forget how cold and thin her hands were, as if the bones and tendons could snap under any more pressure. He rested his free hand on top of hers, reassuring, comforting, he thought, having seen people do that in movies and shows. Real comfort and contact were of course a rarity in the Zoldyck family. After Killuas birth, Kikyo would pour all her overbearing love onto him, only to have it be rejected, repeating the process with slightly more success after Kallutos birth. The children would tolerate each other, though interaction was kept to the bare minimum. And though Illumi was sure that his parents were in love, at least to the extent that he understood what that meant, he could not recall the last time he witnessed them exchange any form of endearment.

"Of course, mother." With that, he broke the contact, and returned to his room. He traded his pyjamas for comfortable black slacks, and a loose white button down with light green roll-tabs. The eldest Zoldyck child took his time brushing his well-groomed black hair, fixed his collar, and gave himself a last look down in the mirror.

As he walked down the long hallway of the second floor of the mansion, he could already hear the loud music his younger brother was angrily blasting, considering if it were worth it to go back and grab earplugs.  Their mother was right, Killuas tantrums had picked up the last couple of years, and it only seemed to have gotten worse. Show dogs with bad temper get temporary Hormone chips implanted, he thought, I wonder if there is an equivalent for humans.

The door to Killuas room wore its signs of anger and emotions through patched-up holes and sloppy paint cover-ups. Illumi turned the doorknob, though he already expected it to be locked.

“Killu, open the door.”

The music turned louder, and Illumi scrunched his nose in frustration. “Killu.”

“Piss off!” The young boys voice strained against the loud music, barely reaching over the aggressive lyrics of a middle-aged man complaining about his life and whatever he deemed wrong with it.

Enough with the polite formalities, Illumi thought as he fumbled in his pockets for the master key he had been entrusted with a couple years prior. Effortlessly the lock clicked open, and the knob turned once more… But the door did not budge.

Another turn of the knob, push of the door, with just slightly more force, and a small gap formed for just a second.

“Are you leaning against the door?” In fact, Killua forced his entire weight against the door. Illumi might have thought it was a cute attempt, if it hadn’t been directly intervening with his goals. So, he gave a more hearted push, which forced the door to open wider before it snapped shut again.

“Just leave me alone!”

“I will leave you alone once I have confiscated your Computer. This is your last chance to behave and let me in.”

“I’m going to set all your ugly new fabric on fire!”

Illumi sighed in frustration, before he pushed harder against the door in a swift motion, forcing it open despite Killuas best efforts to push against it. Quickly the young boy jumped in front of his computer, arms spread as a last-ditch barrier. Illumi approached slowly, his head tilted slightly to the side. “Killu, you misbehaved and now you have to accept the consequences. This is going to be a good lesson for you, you can spend your time being more productive.”

Killua straightened his back and returned his older brothers emotionless stare. “You don’t know what’s good for me! No one here does!”

“You don’t know what’s good for yourself either, you are a child. In a couple of years, when you lead the company, you’ll be very thankful to me for this.” Without much of an effort, he shoved his younger brother aside, and started to unplug the computers various wires. Almost immediately after he had been pushed away, Killua started grabbing and punching at his brother’s hands and arms in a vain effort to stop him. “Illumi, please, don’t!” His voice started to crack and break under the pressure it has already been under the entire morning. “Can you just for once not do whatever the hell mom tells you to do, and actually help me? Please?”

Illumi lifted the tower of the computer and straightened his back, facing his brother again. A surprisingly gentle smiled creeped up his lips.

“Killu, I am helping you. And your future. And the future of the Zoldyck family.” He started to turn to the door and leave, though not before he could hear Killua scream out in frustration,

“I hate you, you fucking lap-dog!”

But of course, Illumi knew that wasn’t true. Killua couldn’t hate him. They were brothers, and there is nothing that could sever a bond like that. Even after Killua had already set fire to his brother’s fabric stock before. Even though the times he would tell him he hates him started to outweigh the times he said he loved him. Even now, Illumi having taken away something that seemed so absurdly important to Killua, he was sure his little brother could never truly despise him.

As is with everything that the children weren't supposed to have, the Computer tower got locked away inside Silva Zoldycks study. Illumi couldn't place the feeling, but something felt off about no longer having this rule apply to him, not only because there was never any reason to punish him this way, but also because he had access to this otherwise off-limits area.

Fucking Lap-dog.

The grandfather clock in the entrance hall of the mansion struck 9 am. Technically he was still on schedule, Illumi didn't want to risk any more distractions that could make him late. He grabbed the neatly packed black suitcase and leather bag from his room, double checking if he had packed all of his samples, extra fabrics, and the likes, before returning to the dining room.

Kikyo had restored her makeup from any flaws the earlier breakdown had caused. She idly reviewed articles that third-party journalists had send in, in the hopes that they might make it into the next issue of the highly appraised fashion magazine. Her protective black eyewear had been gently pushed down the slope of her nose, revealing the stinging red, bloodshot eyes underneath.

“Mother, I am leaving for the airport shortly.” He kept his voice low while he slowly approached her side. Kikyo discarded the article she was holding into one of the neat piles she had made, presumably one pile for rejected articles, one for second review, before she faced her son.

“How long are you going to be away for, again?” It almost sounded accusatory.

“About four to five days, depending on the flight availability, and if I can make new clients after the show.”

“Try to make it four days, I need you back here to handle some interviews for the September Issue.”

Illumi hated being on a tight schedule. Though he was good at working under pressure, he still did not like it. “Can’t Milluki tr- “

“Milluki is extremely busy editing, Illumi. You shouldn’t try to push your work onto your brother like that, just because you want to have a longer vacation.”

It’s not a vacation, it’s a reveal of a personal collection that I earn my own money with and make independent clients at and that I worked day and night on and also-

“I will do my best to be home as soon as possible, mother.”

“Good. Try to represent our family well at the show.” And with that, Kikyo picked another article from the large stack, seemingly satisfied with the parting conversation.

Illumi grabbed his bags and made his way towards the entrance hall. A chauffeur already stood ready to drive him to the airport, and from a glance to the clock he knew his schedule was still intact. In his head he marked off his to-do list, double and triple checking if he had gotten everything he needed. Tickets, wallet, samples, customary gi- where is it? Hastily he started rummaging through the leather bag.

“Looking for something?” Killua appeared in the doorway behind him, carelessly throwing a small plastic package from one hand to the other. “Since when do you like red liquorice?”

Illumi scanned the package, relieved when he spotted the red ribbon still neatly tied around it. “It’s not for me.”

“You’re buying candy for your clown-friend?” Killua scoffed.

“He’s not my friend, and not a clown.” Illumi tilted his head as he blankly stared Killua down. “Can you give that back to me now? It is just a customary gift.”

“If you give me my computer back, you’ll get the clowns candy back.”

The air turned cool as Illumi slowly approached his younger brother, head tilting from one side to the other, his voice kept low.

“Killu, you are not in the position to propose trades like that.” He rested a hand on his brothers’ shoulder, leaned down to whisper easily in his ear. “I did you a favour by not reminding mother of your phone. Don’t make me regret being kind to you.”

And as he felt his brother freeze under his touch, he grabbed the candy with ease, and turned back around.

“I’ll see you in a couple of days, Killu. Study good.”

 -------------------------------------------------------------

 Hisoka lounged on his fainting couch, the midday sun coated his living room in a comfortable orange shine through his white balcony drapes. The temptation of a nap settled sweetly on his eyelids, still worn out from another night spent editing and releasing a new video. The pressure of trying to stay on schedule during a fashion week wasn’t necessarily something Hisoka looked forward to, so he only hoped that this new drama video would keep his fans at bay for a couple of days, something about a doll-maker channel who seemed to have a god complex.

Just as he was about to give into the warm comfort of sleep, the vibration of his phone pulled him back.

" Bellisimo <3: Will arrive in about 10 minutes. "

"Hisoka: Yes, your majesty! "

Now wide awake, the artist stretched his tired limbs, and pulled himself from the couch. Once he had made his way to the kitchen, preparations for his friend’s arrival had to be made. Out from the fridge he took a small, colourful box, tied shut at the handle with an elegant black ribbon. Not room temperature, but not cold out of the fridge either. Neatly, he placed a white porcelain plate and a cake fork on the kitchen island. The last step, of course, was to boil water and wait.

Waiting wasn't one of Hisokas specialties though. He paced around the apartment like a mad animal in a zoo, only stopping once in a while to re-arrange knickknacks on shelves and desks. The anticipation tingled in his fingertips.

The sound of a car coming to a hold. Hisoka grabbed the bag of black tea and dropped it in the water.

The snap of multiple car doors. He slowly poured the fresh tea into a clean white cup and placed it next to the plate.

 Ding ♪

 There was no need to even ask who it was over the intercom, all he needed to do was activate the buzzer for the main door and linger at the apartment door for just a couple more seconds. He listened to the footsteps ascending the stairs. Only one pair; how rude to make your Chauffeur wait.

 Knock Knock

Hisoka swung the door enthusiastically open, the excitement to see the other almost too much to handle.

Blank, dark eyes greeted him. Illumis hair was, as usual, combed to a silky perfection. Hisoka was just a couple of centimetres taller than him, but he still felt an urge to tower over the other, to hunt him into a corner like small prey.

But instead he stepped aside, gave the other one enough room to enter the apartment. This last test of patience had become practiced, but never seemed to get easier. He wanted to greet and touch and release the tension tugging at all his muscles and nerves-

But not before Illumi has settled in. That was the rule.

So, he waited and watched as the other one dropped a leather brief case next to the kitchen island, and seated himself in front of the table set. Gracefully Illumi lifted the cup of tea to his lips, and he took a small sip, eyes closed and composed.

Full of expectation Hisoka leaned closer towards his visitor, who in turned tilted his head ever so slightly to the side, opening the dark void to his eyes once more.

"Acceptable."

Immediately Hisoka lunged forward and wrapped his arms around Illumi. "It's so nice to have you back, darling! Is the flavour alright? I bought it from a store in Florence and they promised it would be up to British taste."

"It is tolerable- Hisoka let go before I burn your face with this." Illumi struggled his way out of the embrace and pulled the wrinkles out of his shirt. "But next time you will have to let the tea sit longer in the water before serving, so that the flavour can fully develop."

“The day I make the perfect tea for you, I deserve a wild celebration.” The makeup artist waved his hand in a celebratory gesture and took a seat next to his friend-who-doesn’t-call-him-friend. “You hungry?”

Illumi bend over the table and tugged at the ribbon that kept the colourful box at the centre of the table closed. The folds of the box came undone to reveal a beautiful chocolate roll cake, with white-chocolate flower décor neatly placed on top. Hisoka held out a knife for him to take, and the treat was cut into in one smooth motion. A last test of approval.

Hisoka watched closely as Illumi took the first bite. The way his eyes closed as soon as the fork came to his lips. The almost-unnoticeable roll of his head in consideration. How he bopped his fork up and down. Everything about Illumi Zoldyck screamed grace and life and anticipation for every passing second. And in this moment, he was all his.

“It’s very good.”

“I would have made cake myself, but I didn’t feel like poisoning you, my dear.”

“Appreciated. I have a gift for you, as thanks for your hospitality.” Illumi bend down and grabbed his leather bag. While he shuffled around in it, Hisoka lured over his shoulder, with the smile of an excited child on Christmas morning. “Continue breathing down my neck and you won’t get anything.”

Not wanting to risk missing out on the oh-so-rare show of affection Illumi promised, he leaned back. “Do you want me to pretend to be coy and not want your gift, or can I just greedily rip it from your hands?”

The black-haired man turned around, and presented a small plastic package, tied shut with a red ribbon. It took less than a second to recognize what it was.

“Just take it. You mentioned once that you like it, and you’ve significantly improved at being a host for these meetings.”

Hisoka took the present from the others hands, far more gentle than necessary, and he snickered. “This is the strangest friendship I’ve been a part of.”

“We are not friends.” Ouch.

“This is the strangest... partnership?”

Illumi rolled his eyes, “If you want to call it that. But if you tag me in a video again as your ‘partner’ again, you’ll never see me again. I don’t need more congratulatory-slash-death-threat letters.”

“Fair enough!” Hisoka jumped off his chair and circled around the other one. “But mentioning videos, how about we start recording for our collab? I am practically dying to finally try on my new suit.”

Illumi sighed, brushed some stray hairs behind his ear, and dug through his leather bag again, only this time to retrieve a neatly folded, string-tied package. “Id suggest wearing a plain black shirt under the jacket.”

Hisoka grinned, “What about- “

“You are going to wear a shirt under it.” Ouch, too fast.

Without another word, he took the clothes from Illumi, and disappeared into his bedroom. As he ripped at the neat packaging, he tried to think of a snarky way to make fun of this overly neat way to transport clothing. But all those thoughts vanished when he actually held the clothes in his hands, gentle fingertips that ran over firm fabric and neat seams. The pictures in the email didn’t give this piece the justice it deserved. The different coloured card-suits didn’t stand out too harshly against the white jeans fabric but were defined enough to be recognized for what they are.

And once he pulled the fabric on his body, corrected the collar of the jacket, and stretched a bit to get a feel… He was mesmerized. The mirror fixed to his closet door couldn’t even capture the feeling in his chest that threatened to punch out his sternum.

Hisoka practically sprinted back into the open kitchen and struck rapid poses. “Do I look as good as how I feel, darling?”

“I told you to wear a shirt, maggot.”  

[dilrajwilhide1995]

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[diarrheaofthekeyboard]

Confluence of Updates

7.26.2020

Writing on Writing

In addition to weekly therapy since November, I have been watching School of Life videos on YouTube. The latest video I watched helped confirm for me that I’m on the right path. I’m never going to eliminate my Inner Critic or ever feel completely comfortable with myself. I think if I did, that would be something extra-human. Neither are realistic goals. This particular video’s intent was to get people to write a journal. In a nutshell, you can’t keep it all in. Give yourself a daily mental outlet where you can release your thoughts and you’ll have less mental anguish. Well, here we are! Glad I’m on the right path. 

This may be the reason Sunday nights have recently become the most difficult for me. Brain won’t turn off, but it’s because I haven’t had what I’m trying to turn into my daily routine of walking in the morning and writing at night. The out I’m giving myself is this is all new and it takes some growing pains to get it right. 

Writing on Walking

I try not to spend money these days but any new venture is going to have some startup costs. My sneakers should be good for another month or so if I stick with it. I’ve been keeping my mask in my pocket, but that makes it difficult to pull it out when I actually see people, so I bought some neck gaiters I can pull up to be a mask. But the two big things were new headphones and shirts. 

The headphones are a big deal because of “the thud of footsteps”. As you may have figured out by now, I actually listen to music. It’s not just a beat or a background to keep me going. I’m actually interested in hearing it, reacting to it emotionally, having my own internal dialog about it, and just plain enjoying it. I can’t do that while walking because I hear the thud of my own footsteps with my headphones on. Happens with my Amazon Basics on-ear headphones, which are actually super awesome Monoprice headphones, and it also happens with my Sony earbuds I bought for phone calls. Turns out the Amazon ones are on-ear, closed back. And with the way earbuds have been redesigned, they create a closed back type effect. 

So I made an educated guess and took a chance on some KOSS open air, on ear headphones. Remember the shitty headphones that came with your Walkman? Those were open air, on ear headphones. Those are the ones I used to listen to Megadeth at top volume on in the back seat of my parents’ car so I didn’t have to listen to their shitty lite-fm radio. I found some good ones from KOSS that won’t make my ears hurt after listening to them for 30 minutes and they arrived today. Put them on, took three steps, no thud. Yeah, you can hear the music if you really get close to me. But it’s not like I’m crammed onto a subway around here. Monday will be the real test but so far it seems like $30 in Amazon points well spent. 

Now you may ask yourself, “why are new shirts a big deal?” I think it’s about self worth and there’s a bunch going on here. 

To this point, I’ve been wearing whatever t-shirt I want to walk. And there’s certainly nothing wrong with them. But they’re yer basic men’s printed band shirt or otherwise printed shirt. So they trend kinda heavy and not too comfortable. But you’ll be able to wear them through armageddon. Some of them are 10 to 20 years old. So there’s a lot of personal history and/or bullshit associated with them. Not only because of whatever is printed on them that I obviously liked. But also because of where/when I’ve worn them and how they’ve been associated with certain places. I don’t want to get rid of them or necessarily stop wearing them. But I do kinda just want to put them in a box at the bottom of my closet and start over. 

Then there’s the deserving part. I have more than enough varying degrees of uncomfortable shirts, I should just wear them and be done with it. I’m not good enough for new shirts. Especially some new shirts that are obviously designed for workouts and sports. I’m about 40 pounds overweight. I need to lose half that weight first and really get into a routine before I’m approaching good enough for new shirts. Otherwise, I’m just some pudgy poser. 

And I’ve been listening to this bullshit from my internal dialog for the past month, as I have been walking around my neighborhood. Well, we’re almost at the end of the month and I’m still going. And as I’m putting them in the cart and buying them, a 14 year old memory trying to get me to stop pops up. 

From ‘05 to ‘08 I played guitar in an off-off-off Broadway production of Oedipus. We actually did all three plays during that time. And the best way I can describe the production is “What would happen if George Orwell wrote Oedipus, and it played out on American Idol?” In 2006, we played for a week at the Fringe Festival in Brisbane, Australia. My anxiety nearly fucked me on getting a passport, but I was able to get over that. What really fucked me was the NYC blackout of that year, which hit my area for an extended period of time. 

One of the wonderful things about NYC is the laundromats have drop off service and will do your laundry for you. So I dropped off my laundry a few days before I was going to leave for Australia. Well, the fucking blackout took out the laundromat, with my clothes still inside. So I left for Australia with my guitar equipment and an empty suitcase. For some reason, I had insisted I wanted to fly JetBlue from NYC to LA, which meant I needed to take a cab to LAX. This turned into a blessing in disguise because the driver agreed to stop at Target while I ran around the store and bought whatever I thought might look ok. 

The black shirt I bought to wear onstage was an activewear shirt. It was kinda stretchy, but I figured it would hang loose. And of course it didn’t and we’re about to get onstage and I look like a fucking Ring Ding shoved into a muscle shirt. Everyone in the entire cast laughed at me. Finally, the drummer was nice enough to change shirts with me and he wore it. Later on that trip, he gave me the worst purple nurple ever. So this is what’s going through my mind in fucking Costco, and why I didn’t deserve new shirts. But I bought them anyway as a fuck you to that memory. 

And you know what? I took them out of the package and they smelled like chemicals. So I washed them and the neck gaiters and left them out to dry. Then I changed into one of the shirts to play pickleball with my kid yesterday afternoon. AND IT WAS PERFECTLY FINE. Yeah, I’m probably dumb for buying black shirts and I should have bought the white ones. But that’s toxic “oh black looks harder than white” for you/all band shirts are black/get ripped in a year and wear them onstage too. 

To top it off, we went to the pool this afternoon and after I showered, I put on one of my regular t-shirts. And it kinda felt constricting. I can’t wear the black shirts everywhere because they’ll smell like BO in 30 seconds. But I’m going to wear them a lot, and not be embarrassed about them. It’s ok to be comfortable. 

Whither, Music. 

Unsurprisingly, Bernstein’s lectures have led me to bite off more than I can chew. I haven’t been walking on weekends, so I haven’t been listening to him. But I did find a bunch of books I’ve either read too many times or not read enough, and pulled them out. They are:

Aaron Copland - What to Listen for in Music

Howard Goodall - The Story of Music

Glenn Kurtz - Practicing

Philip Toshio Sudo - Zen Guitar

Pat Pattison - Writing Better Lyrics

I haven’t really read anything other than news for a long time. Or I buy books, read some, and never finish them. This is obviously detrimental to my mental health. So like with walking and with writing, I’m going with what interests me. I’m not trying to be busy all the time, but I definitely want to keep from punishing myself like I have done historically. 

I started on Copland’s book last night. I read 25 pages, and that was only the Forward and Preface. So tonight I’m looking to get into at least the first chapter. 

I’ve also been watching some other YouTube videos, particularly “Now Hear This” which is a PBS show about classical music, and another series I found about “how to listen to classical music” from a channel called Inside the Score. Last night I got my Ford Prefect on, and listened to Beethoven’s 5th. Today, I’m listening to Holst’s “The Planets”, which of course is the Leonard Bernstein version. I gotta say, these new headphones sound pretty good. 

Lastly, I’m waiting on the book to Bernstein’s Harvard Lectures, which I will pick out every last piece he talks about, find it on Apple Music, and create a giant playlist. I hope the runners on the American River trail like classical music. They’re gonna hear a lot of it in passing.