#i came to save a draft of a drawing to post tonight then saw this ask

[natsumiheart]

I look at a lot of stuff on Pinterest and one of people's reasons on why Oumasai is toxic is because Kokichi made Shuichi want to kill himself? Something tells me this is wrong but I'm not sure what proves it wrong. (I mean they also point out that Kokichi mocks Shuichi for mourning Kaede-) I'm asking about this because its been eating at me and trying to prove that it isn't toxic.

Hooo boy this is gonna be long so buckle up! I’m sorry I couldn’t make this shorter I just really go all ace attorney mode when it comes to this type of stuff.

Sorry if there are any mistakes or some parts are too confusing my internet might go soon so I can’t proofread and edit anymore!

I think what they’re referring to is how Shuichi got really depressed after discovering that the world had ended, but how can it be Kokichi’s fault? He literally wasn’t the mastermind, he didn’t make all that stuff up. Heck, he was the first one to even see that motive and on his own it was way worse to deal with. His behaviour was so out of line that Kaito got fed up with him and punched him for the nonsense he was saying.

The motive was supposed to make everyone fall to despair, it’s purpose was legit what happened to Miu where she NEEDED to go out to help out the world before everyone was gone. The motive was MEANT to be seen to make the game “More interesting” but Kokichi didn’t let the others see it until he finally convinced them that he’s the mastermind. If he didn’t the Mastermind would find a way to show it to them in a different way and there’s no knowing what could happen, and if he showed it to them himself they’re bound to believe what he’s saying considering the fact it’s obvious he already knew about this. He took that motive to basically make everyone give up on trying escape by killing each other, since as the mastermind he said “The game’s over now! There’s no point.” to prevent another murder from happening. AND IT WORKED, for a long while no murder took place but of course the actual mastermind couldn’t just sit idly and let the game be “boring” (Which was Kokichi’s goal) So they made a flashback light that Maki ended up seeing and calling the others to see, and the flashback light made everyone including Maki believe that Kokichi was a remnant of despair. They wanted to get rid of Kokichi for messing with the game and taking over their position, and this was their way to do it.

So, after all that, if others see that KOKICHI was the reason Shuichi wanted to give up for a second there. Then I really don’t know what to say. Shuichi has went through so much already because of the killing game and Kokichi’s attempt to stop the killing game is not the reason he wanted to give up. It was because he lost a lot his friends and because the world was most probably all gone. At that point he had nowhere to go back to and everything he has worked so hard for was for nothing because there’s nothing left. Kokichi didn’t do anything to Shuichi for him to be the sole reason he suddenly wanted to die. His depression got the best of him after being all alone with his thoughts for a couple of days, not eating or moving just sleeping the entire time. If anyone is at fault it’s the mastermind for making up such a cruel lie that even made Gonta commit murder to “save” the others.

And for the mocking him about Kaede’s death part (Which is literally one line after Shuichi removed his hat) Kokichi at that point had witnessed that the killing game was real and it was going to get him eventually. He wasn’t alright either and he had already started to make everyone hate him, acting more hostile and annoying so they all stay away (since anyone who groups up everyone or brings them hope will end up like Kaede did) He didn’t want to be the next Kaede or Rantaro. It started with that line but in the end he cut off all ties he had (if he had any) in chapter 4 so that they have no doubt that he is only full of malice and that he is indeed the mastermind.

“But how do you know that he has been devising that plan since back then?” Remember the “horse a” message? the first letters were added to it right before the next morning after the first trial where Shuichi entered the dining room without his hat. If you don’t believe me, here’s a paragraph from well written wiki!

Sometime between the end of the first trial and the morning of the next day, Kokichi would begin to devise of a plan to get everyone to think that he was the mastermind of this killing game, willing to be seen as evil for the sake of ending this madness. To begin this plan, he would leave a subtle message in the courtyard "Horse A", which he would later fill in with more letters as the killing game continued.

And here’s the source if you wanna check for yourself: Click here!

If it wasn’t already obvious, Kokichi is a LIAR. And his biggest lie of being the mastermind started after he saw the deaths of Rantaro and Kaede. That first chapter affected Kokichi a lot, he lied and lied to hide it but he was shaken up by the sudden death of Rantaro and was devastated by Kaede’s death. Though all he could say at her last moments is that she wasn’t boring. Because he knew, if he was truthful? Eyes would be on him immediately and he would be in danger.

Kokichi did his best to be the person he would hate the most, he lies so much yet says he hates liars, then says that’s a lie. Making everyone confused as to what the hell is right or wrong in what he’s saying. But he couldn’t keep up his facade forever especially when he was starting to get interested and even attached to Shuichi. In one completely optional scene in chapter 3 he legit says that he doesn’t want Rantaro to be the one who gets resurrected (Though he probably was more interested in him because he obviously knew more than he let on in chapter 1. Asking everyone about the Ultimate Hunt when no one else remembered it until they say the flashback lights, his fight with Hoshi, and how he was so sure that he WILL end the killing game. Kokichi even had his effigy in his room because he saw it as a clue or evidence that can help later, he needed to know what he was hiding and what his talent was.) and despite all that when Shuichi asks why he doesn’t want Rantaro to be the one, he says “Because you’d rather have Kaede back.” Of course he writes it off as a lie, but then right after that he SHOWS Shuichi his interest in Rantaro saying he might be working for the mastermind. The exact lines are:

Kokichi: “What if Rantaro was working for the mastermind? Bringing him to life might be a bad idea.” 

(Trying to make Shuichi believe that he really did lie there about his reason why he didn’t want Rantaro to come back by making him believe that THIS was the real reason. I don’t know exactly if he entertained the idea or not, but he most probably did not believe Rantaro to be the mastermind here. He might have even made up that killing game anime he was talking about. Its’ real for us but might not be for them.)

Shuichi: “N-no that’s idiotic! Rantaro couldn’t have been working for the mastermind...:

“But is it really impossible? We only knew Rantaro for a short time. He did seem as though he was kind of used to the killing game”

The “used to” in that sentence was highlighted. THIS was Kokichi’s intention, to make Shuichi realise that Rantaro knew more than he let on. Which reinforces Kokichi’s interest in him. But Shuichi fell for Kokichi’s trap earlier and didn’t notice at all that he slipped the fact Rantaro would give more information.

It’s confusing I know, Kokichi’s thing is mind games after all. But what I’m trying to say is that for Kokichi’s goal to figure out this killing game and how to end it Rantaro would be most ideal to bring back but he just wanted to tell Shuichi that he’d rather have Kaede instead just so he’s happy. The evidence for that is how even after he says its a lie he lowkey shows Shuichi he’s more interested in Rantaro instead. It reminds me of those scenes where he says “WAAAHH I THOUGHT YOUD KNOW I HATE COFFEE” then right after he’s like “I’m tired of all that crying can I have a cup of coffee please.” Or “I actually can’t taste anything!” then “anyway my faves are spice and sugar!”

Kokichi did say something insensitive when he said “Is it cause Kaede died or whatever?” but it didn’t bother Shuichi at all he just brushed it off since he saw how he acted in the trial earlier. It wasn’t a surprise to him. Kaede’s death affected Kokichi too, and that line doesn’t match up with what he said about bringing Kaede back.

You never know what’s the truth and what’s a lie with Kokichi, everything he says contradicts each other. So how is it that all these people who hate Kokichi and call him toxic take his worst lines or moments as the truth when the context of his entire character and motive says otherwise. When he had to crush Shuichi the most so he believes that he is full of malice without a single doubt. To make him believe he was really the mastermind immediately, so he doesn’t go all detective on him like he usually does.

Kokichi’s actions were terrible yes but they were LIES he did it for a purpose that’s what makes him a grey character when in a KILLING GAME. It’s shown in salmon team that under normal circumstances the two would get along and Shuichi would want to learn more about Kokichi and his true self.

TLDR; Leave these children be, they were in a killing game. No ship is toxic unless it’s shown that person was terrible / messed up from the start and would hurt whoever they’re with. Those users just obviously don’t like Kokichi and hate seeing him with anyone XD and it’s obvious with how they blame him over a motive Monokuma/ the Mastermind has created and straight up ignoring the intentions behind his actions.

Now without evidence and stuff, truly speaking from my heart from here with full on bias XD

I get hating a character or a ship but oh my god can you not spread misinformation for others to feel obligated to agree? Toxic is such a strong word and I hate how people keep associating it with every ship they dislike. Making others feel bad for what comforts them! If Saiouma was so toxic how come it makes so many people happy? How come it makes people literally calm down,  stop crying, and feel warm. Saiouma is one of the most adorable and realistic ships out there... Don’t ruin it for everyone else just because you don’t agree with how we feel. Just say you’re not a fan and move on!

Anyway don’t worry your ship is very valid! You can continue supporting them without feeling any guilt and if anyone calls it toxic they can see me so I break their kneecaps.

[paigelts05]

Fear [Mike Schmidt, FNAF 1]

https://www.deviantart.com/paigelts05/art/Fear-Mike-Schmidt-FNAF-1-886753637

Published: Jul 25, 2021

Renegade File Server Location: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23843413

The inspiration had been lost with my drafts, but I believe it came about when I was watching an art YouTuber who was talking about a tutorial, and I think I was playing DBD or IDV at the time. But that inspired me to do this drawing of Mike Schmidt. I wanted it to have the vibe of one of the more typical FNAF 1 fanarts. Honestly, I think the sketch looks better than the finished product, but in a way, I feel I saved it with the shading. I feel that I got the general vibe that I wanted, that being a scared Mike holding his torch up, and when I looked over at it as I was rewriting one of sixteen drafts I lost, I realised how much I actually love this drawing. The day before I posted it, I decided to write a very short story to go with it because inspiration hit me like a truck as I was playing phasmo with my uni mates. =°•.🌹 Story 🌹.•°= °*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•🌹•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*° Fear. That is all Mike had known for the past few years; fear with the occasional happy memories scattered between. Fear of feeling useless when he was recovering. Fearing that his friend was dead. Fearing that he himself would die. The fear overwhelmed him at the worst of times and usually had him frozen to the spot if he were alone, and tonight, he was alone; it wasn't as if you could count the animatronics as company - impolite company at best though. The only defence he had against the animatronics was a pair of doors that hemmoraged power, a set of cameras with far to many of blind spots, and something he had brought in from home: a torch - his last line of defence against the creatures that lurked in the dark halls of Freddy's. The posters on the wall had changed to that of crying children, but that didn't scare him; what scared him was the being that caused the posters to change. He knew that the worst of the animatronics had decided to stalk him tonight. The animatronics were incredibly agressive, but over the years it had become apparent that they less wanted him dead and more wanted him out of the way. But to get him out of the way, they had to hurt him in order to force him off the night shift, and many of thier methods involved death. He didn't want to die: not when he was this close to finding the final peices of the puzzle that was known as Fazbear Entertainment. He was so close he could feel it. He knew that the animatronics usually didn't see reason; Chica and Bonnie seemed to have a knack for causing pain, Foxy and Freddy would need to be given a good reason not to hurt him, but Golden Freddy? Golden Freddy was the worst of all; he'd set the scene, slowly drive people insane, and then when his victim was weakest, he would strike. Sometimes, that ghost would get another animatronic to attack on his behalf,  and on other occasions, he would see fit to give his victim an audience himself. Mike was this ghosts victim and knew that the sadistic spectre would show itself before the night was up. It had simply become a matter of evading the others, and when. Shining his torch into the coridoor, he saw something all too familiar, and he clasped his hand over his mouth in fear to muffle a useless scream. °*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•🌹•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°

[subasekabang]

One Blank Concrete Wall, Primed

Title: One Blank Concrete Wall, Primed Rating: T/PG-13 for swearing and bloodless violence Word Count: 13,700 Pairings/Characters: No ships/Genfic. Neku, Joshua, Hanekoma as main characters. Appearances by most everyone else from TWEWY including Beat, Rhyme, Shiki, the reapers Warnings: brief mentions of past trauma/death (some of the Reapers discuss why they died), angelic/eldritch body horror (no blood or gore), imprisonment Summary: Neku’s in college now, and other than passing through Shibuya’s subway station to get to other parts of the city, he doesn’t really stop by much anymore. But when he gets a serious case of artist’s block before a gallery show, he decided to go back to his old stomping grounds to get inspired. Partner: @soundofez​ and @songsummoner​ Author’s Note: This was a fun, super weird piece. I also did some art for it on top of my partner’s work; all the art from me and my partners will appear in the correct parts of the fic on my AO3 link, which will go up Oct. 2. I’ll link in reply to this post with it when that’s up so you can see some really weird stuff (my own art is included below, though!!). Special thanks to Fez for designing college-age Neku’s clothes.

Also, Neku fights (and apologizes to) a building.

Enjoy!

XXX

Neku sighed. Squinting, he rolled up the blinds on his studio apartment a little, taking in the view. One window, the Skytree. The other, he could glimpse the top part of Sensouji’s pagoda. Asakusa was no Shibuya, but it had lots of car free pathways, quirky art stalls, and lots of tourists to draw. And it was a heck of a lot cheaper than living in Ueno.

He could walk to campus in about half an hour on a good day or take the subway just one stop to Tokyo University of the Arts on a bad one. It was convenient and, while a touristy area, surprisingly quiet.

Too quiet today, though. Neku fired up his tablet, pinging his friends. They always called everyone in a big group chat, though there was no obligation to answer.

“Sup, Phones?” Beat grinned into the camera, a giggle heard in the background.

���Beat, are you ever going to actually use his name?”

“I am though!” Best objected. “Neku’s tag is a pair of headphones. It’s practically his name at this point.”

“You’re not going to win on a technicality,” Rhyme chirped, turning the camera so she was in frame. “We’re between takes, anyway. What’s up, Neku?”

“Shit, did I interrupt a shoot?” Neku hovered over the hang-up button.

“I just said we were on break!” Rhyme reiterated, flailing her hands in front of her. “But Beat is shooting with your deck!”

His friend, who had only grown more muscular with the past five years, hefted up his skateboard, showing off the art of a flying squirrel on the undercarriage. “It’s still the sickest one I’ve got. You’d better have another one in the wings when it gets decommissaried, yo!”

“Decommissioned.”

“Whatever.”

“It’s not whatever, Beat,” another voice popped in, the newcomer’s eyebrow quirked in a hint of static as the visual flickered on.

“Sup, Shiki!” Beat said, waving wildly.

“Meet me for drinks when you’re done shooting? I can hop on the subway. It’s only a stop.”

“How’d you know where we are?”

“Beat, you always skate in Ikebukuro,” Shiki said matter-of-factly. “And I’m at school, so I’m only a stop away from you.”

“Oh. Right. Sometimes I wish we kept our mind reading powers,” Beat said with a pout.

“Noooooo thank you,” Shiki said with a grin. “Anyway, what’s all this about? I’ve got ten minutes ‘til my Fashion Sales class.”

Neku scratched the back of his neck, looking sheepishly at the camera. “I… er. Kinda needed some advice. I’ve got a gallery class where my one assignment is supposed to take the whole semester and I’m a bit stuck. I need to hand my draft proposition in by the end of next week.”

“What’s the topic?” Rhyme asked.

“That’s the thing. The art—even the medium—is up to me. Every fine art track has to take this thing. So, it doesn’t need to be painting, but I have to secure a space and create a work to match it. Like, get permission to paint a building, or something like that. Private or public property, just no vandalism. Street paste or yarn bombing is OK in public spaces. Basically, as long as it’s non-destructive; otherwise we need permission from the owner.”

“So, you need to scout out a place and make something that compliments it?” Rhyme asked.

“Yeah. And we can work together if we want. I don’t know my classmates well enough to know if our styles clash though.”

“Sounds tough.”

“That’s why it’s my whole assignment.”

Beat frowned. “I’ve got a good sponsorship going with Wild Boar. Could see if you could tag one of their shops.”

“Maybe,” Neku said. “But I want to step out of my comfort zone a little if I can. It’s a good backup.”

Shiki bit her lip. “Maybe you just need a little inspiration.”

“Little is an understatement.”

“What about that tag mural in Shibuya? Would that be fair game?”

The chat went silent. That wall in question was public property. It was absolutely not game—not for this assignment at least.

“Why?” Neku almost whispered, hoarse. “Why’d you even bring it up?”

“Because it’s been five years, Neku, and you haven’t gone back. CAT did what you’ve been assigned; he was a street artist who also did all these kinds of hired art too.”

“Hanekoma’s gone,” Neku reminded her. “I stopped trying. The shop was destroyed. If he ever came back, he’s not in Shibuya.”

“Then… ignore my bad idea,” Shiki said, not meeting eyes with the camera. “Sorry I brought it up.”

“No! No,” Neku reassured her, forcefully, then quiet, as if he were a deflating balloon. “Sorry if I snapped.”

“You didn’t snap,” Rhyme offered, before changing the subject. “I’ll think on it though; there’s gotta be some struggling coffee shop that could use some art, or something. Anyway… we need to get back to work, now.”

“And I have class. Neku, let’s chat tonight, after dinner? I can swing by your place. We can go get conveyor belt sushi over by Nakamise.”

“That… sounds pretty good, actually. Yeah. Let’s.”

“Later, alligator!” Rhyme said, chipper.

“Yeah! Later!” Shiki added.

“Let’s bounce!” Beat snuck in as Rhyme ended the call.

Neku was left alone to his thoughts.

Shibuya.

He and his friends romped through the city almost every weekend after they were all brought back—at least at first. Eventually exams took over for Shiki and Neku, both hell-bent on getting in Bunka Fashion College and Tokyo Arts respectively. Beat slowly got more and more skate sponsorships with Rhyme as his videographer, making her new dream to shoot the world’s best skater: her brother.

Neku closed his eyes, imagining the gleaming, ad-drenched skyscrapers, a far cry from the view from his apartment window.

Maybe.

Maybe it was time to finally go back; maybe Shiki wasn’t wrong. It was his old stomping grounds, his old home. And it was only a few hundred yens’ ride away.

Neku pinched his forearm once to ground himself, grabbed his wallet and a scarf (courtesy of Shiki’s weaving class, in a sturdy textured purple crepe) and headed out the door.

Xxx

Neku’s palm touched plaster and concrete. Slowly, he slid his hand along the wall, breathing out an exhale. Even in his high school years, when his friends would regularly bum around Shibuya after school and on weekends, he avoided the mural. It wasn’t that he stopped liking it; just… He felt he didn’t need it anymore. He had plenty of CAT’s art to keep him company, from the pins in his pocket to the billboards throughout the city.

Maybe he was young and naïve back then, but looking at the faded piece, partially obscured by other, less impressive tags… well, it didn’t seem very impressive anymore.

“‘Course it isn’t, you brain-dead binomial,” a familiar voice sneered from behind him. Neku whipped around to see Sho Minamimoto, cat whiskers and all, grinning with fanged teeth.

Sho put up his hands as a peace offering, sensing Neku’s hackles rising. “I’m not attacking the living; don’t get your panties in a bunch. I’d really rather not get divided by zero. Again.”

Neku relaxed his shoulders a little but said nothing.

“You’re a leaky faucet, you single-digit integer,” Sho explained, as he pointed to a vending machine, sending a pair of CC Lemon bottles flying out of it and at the two of them. He leaned against the mural, back to it, sliding down to sit and sighing with his drink. “I miss CAT, too, you know. Been the square-root of 25 years since anyone’s seen a new piece of his. Some of the reapers actually thought it might’ve been you.”

Neku laughed, wiping tears from his eyes. “Me?” he asked, plopping down next to his former enemy, accepting the citrus-flavored peace offering. “I was fifteen. And CAT had been active way before I was born.”

“Thought it was a title, you dumb fractal. Like Pope or Emperor.”

“Expert street artists are called Kings and Queens, you know.”

“And dead ones are Angels,” Sho added with a sage nod. “Trying to one-up a Reaper on art is like trying to find the cube root of i.”

Neku stared down at his soft drink, thinking of Hanekoma. The title suited him in more ways than one, thanks to a little packet he’d found in Mr. H’s shop back when he and Beat snuck in to see if there was anything they could save. Since Hanekoma was CAT, there had been a pretty strong likelihood some of his art was still in the ruined café, but sadly there wasn’t any evidence in there at all. Neku saw faded marks where canvases and an easel had once been stacked in a curious empty back room; someone had beaten them to clearing it out.

Sho pulled Neku out of his thoughts eventually, after one intrepid skater ate pavement attempting to grind the Cyco Records railing.

“What’s eating you, pain-in-my-vector? Well, former.”

“You don’t hold a grudge?” Neku asked curiously.

“It’s a long afterlife. Grudges are useless.”

The two sat in silence for a while, watching the skaters try their new decks outside the Wild Boar at the midpoint of the T section.

“You gonna ask me why I’m here?”

“I know why you’re here,” Sho replied testily, tapping his temple. “Was waiting to see if you’d give me the proof out of your mouth.”

“Right. Mind reading.”

“I can’t see every piece of the equation; that’s not how it works and you know it. But I can solve for x and fill in the blanks.”

Neku sighed. “What can you see?”

“That you’re stuck on a hard problem and you’ve been staring at your homework too long.”

“And by problem you mean—”

“I can’t tell—just some big project is eating you up. At least it’s not Higashizawa. That hectopascal can eat a man whole. I’ve seen it.” Minamimoto slung back his drink. “So, what’s eating you?”

“I mean, other than you being alive again?” Neku asked, eyebrow raised.

“Still dead as I was last you saw me.”

“Last I saw you, you were crushed under a vending machine.”

“Eh, I’ve had worse days.” Minamimoto shrugged. “That infinite asshole of a Composer fixed me back up and sent me right back to work. Now stop stalling, you obtuse angle. Out with it.”

“Artist’s block,” Neku admitted sheepishly. “I’ve got a big project coming up and I just can’t think of the right thing to do.”

Sho laughed, his head flung back and whole body shaking with the action. “Artist’s block, you dithering digit. You don’t think we Reapers never deal with that shit? At least for you, it’s not fatal.”

“F-fatal?” Neku asked, almost dropping his bottle.

“We run on Imagination,” Sho said, chucking his emptied-out drink with force, sending it flying halfway down the alley into a recycling bin attached to a vending machine. “No Imagination, no power. No power long enough and poof, divide by zero. Crunch. Drop a vending machine on me? I’ll walk it off. Go too long without making something…”

Sho went uncharacteristically quiet, running his fingers through a hole in his jeans.

“So, what do you do when you’re stuck?” Neku finally asked.

“I raid the trash. Something always finds its way to me.” Sho pulled a loose thread and threw it to the wind. “I don’t just mean the garbage; I mean the rest of us. Talkin’ it out’s helped. I used to think I didn’t need anybody else. But then I got subtracted out so many times by you ‘n Prisspants, well. Don’t want to admit it but dividing up the work’s helped solve the harder equations.”

Neku smiled, offering a hand. “I can leave you my number if you ever want to talk shop.”

Sho blinked twice, confused. “You’d… help me? I was an irrational digit.”

“So? I was an asshole teenager. I pass through often enough. It’s not much trouble, especially if you’re feeding me,” Neku admitted, shaking his now empty bottle. “You try keeping on weight on a college art student’s budget.”

“Yeah, all right,” Sho said, standing up, swiping Neku’s empty bottle to shove in one of his myriad pockets. “A balanced equation—I dig it. I’m using this in my next piece,” he added, tapping the bottle with a hollow thud. “Thanks… Neku.”

Before Neku had a chance to even realize it was the first time Sho called him by name, the Reaper had vanished back to the Underground, out of Neku’s reach.

Xxx

Neku stood at the mural a few minutes longer, rolling the plastic bottle cap in his fingers. If Sho was alive, well, less dead, then Joshua was still haunting Shibuya from somewhere—Hanekoma, too.

So why was the mural so worn out? Had Mr. H run out of new inspiration himself? Neku sighed, no more ready to tackle the assignment as he hoofed it back to the station, tossing the bottle-cap into the recycling as he passed.

The CC Lemon Sho had expertly pitched was mysteriously absent from the top of the pile.

“If Sho went dumpster diving to make recycled friendship bracelets, I think I’ll actually bust a rib laughing,” Neku muttered to himself.

“Honestly? I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Neku whipped his head around to see a Reaper in a basic hoodie. A faceless grunt, one of at least tens, if not hundreds, patrolling the city. No visible wings, so at least Neku could remind himself he hadn’t gone sliding into the UG. Just another Reaper coming up to the RG for air. Or to pester him.

Or both.

“Do I know you?” Neku asked, eyeing the teenage-looking apparition in oversized clothing.

The boy huffed. “The Reaper Review remembers you.”

Neku laughed and relaxed a little. “At least you’re not the Reaper who made me show up in all Mus Rattus to break their barrier. Or the other one who made me get them a chili dog.���

“When you’re a minor officer, you’re allowed to send Players on wild goose chases,” the Reaper said with a shrug. “I’m just happy I was allowed to block mine with trivia. I hate fighting.”

“You and me both,” Neku grumbled.

The reaper tipped his hood back slightly, enough to show Neku his ethereal looking eyes. “I overheard you had artist’s block. Er, sorry. Didn’t mean to pry. It’s the worst.”

“Great. Is my mind safe from any of you?” Neku groaned, though it wasn’t in anger. He couldn’t complain. Hearing the livings’ thoughts just happened when you were dead.

“Actually, I was guarding the mural and overheard your chat with the Lieutenant.”

“Oof. Minamimoto got a demotion?”

“He seems happier in the field, anyway,” the Reaper replied with a shrug. “More time for his sculptures and harassing players.”

Neku looked at the Reaper curiously. “Sho mentioned you all do art. Have to keep your Imagination up.”

“That’s… not entirely true. I mean yeah, gotta keep the creative juices going or we stop existing. But it doesn’t have to be through art. Cooking, dance, whatever goes. When I’m stuck, I usually learn from another Reaper. Gives me some perspective.”

Neku’s smile widened. “You’re right, you know. I need to broaden my horizons. What do you do?”

“Me? Uh… I design puzzles. The player traps and stuff.”

“Ugh,” Neku groaned.

“You paint, right? I remember seeing some of your tags under the Miyashita Park underpass a few years ago. You’re pretty good. Maybe… try heading over near Shibu-Q? The Reapers that dance usually practice that way—sidewalk is wide enough. Loosen up with some life drawing or something.”

Neku smiled. “I have to do an installation project, but you know what? That’s not a terrible idea. Thanks.” He looked to the corner where Shibu-Q stood and then back at his nameless friend, but the Reaper was already gone.

Xxx

Neku didn’t know what he was expecting to find outside Shibu-Q, but a pair of Harrier Reapers doing acrobatic dancing was not it. Neku smirked as he watched the reaper woman with electric purple lipstick—Uzuki, if he remembered correctly—pirouetting before using her friend as a vaulting block to spin up and over his back.

The two continued their routine, the man—Kariya, Neku remembered after a few embarrassed moments of mental fumbling—seeming lazy and unmoving but carefully and precisely supporting his partner’s flashy moves. The two continued for another ten minutes or so, then each held out a hat for change.

Neku patted himself down for his wallet before dumping three 500-yen coins in Uzuki’s hat as it passed around. She glared at him a moment, then pushed the coins back in his face.

“Not taking money from you,” she snipped. “I already owe you enough. Shoo.”

Kariya looked over his shoulder at Neku, momentarily confused. After all, the two of them hadn’t aged a day while Neku was now a lanky, slightly scruffy young adult. Realization crossed the Reaper’s features slowly, eventually tugging his mouth into a half grin. Kariya offered Neku a backwards half-salute and went back to waving his hat around for change.

Eventually the crowd dispersed. Kariya loped over to Neku and Uzuki, clapping Neku on the shoulder. “Hey, kiddo. You’re as tall as I am now. Good on you. How’s life treating you?”

Neku couldn’t help but laugh at the double meaning behind the words. “Busy. College.”

“You know, I wondered when I would stop seeing you run around the RG so much over here.”

“Never mind me,” Neku said, sloughing off Kariya’s friendly gesture and looking at the two of them. “How are you holding up?”

“How do you think?” Uzuki spat. “There weren’t many powerful Reapers left after that mess—at least for a while. So, some ass went and got themselves promoted to Conductor.”

Kariya looked down at his feet, blush going all the way across his face. “It’s not like I asked for it; I wasn’t given a choice. At least I negotiated that I could do things my way. Uzuki’s my GM.”

Neku frowned. “So… then you know the Composer.”

Kariya’s eyes went uncharacteristically fierce. “That’s on a need to know basis and—”

“Read my mind then,” Neku countered. “There’s something I do need to know.”

Neku closed his eyes and thought of Joshua. What he really wanted was to talk to Mr. Hanekoma, but the only way he was going to be able to do that would be going to Joshua first.

Kariya whistled low. “Okay. Fine. Kid, come here a sec.”

“Kariya, come on. Why are you even telling this kid anything? He’s alive. And—”

“He knows about Josh, Uzuki, I’m not giving him anything new. Just… maybe pointing him in the right direction.”

Uzuki pushed a loose strand of burgundy hair from her eyes. “Fiiiiine, whatever. You’re the boss.”

“You’ve seen him?” Neku asked quietly.

“’Course I have. He’s my boss,” Kariya said with a sigh. “Though he only comes to speak if he feels like it. I’ve caught him sulking over past the Miyashita Park underpass though. No clue why. Out there is just a bunch of sporting goods stores and Josh and physical activity mix like oil and vinegar. Hope that helps. What do you need him for, anyway? You’re alive.”

“It’s not him I’m even looking for,” Neku admitted. “I want him to tell me what happened to an old friend.”

Kariya relaxed a bit. “If said old friend has anything to do with the UG, might as well ask me.”

“I’m looking for CAT.”

Kariya frowned, scratching the back of his head in contemplation. “CAT was a Reaper? He— or she, I guess— stopped doing anything new after I became Conductor. Yeah. You’d have to speak to Josh. That’s before my time and below my pay grade.”

“Thanks anyway, Kariya,” Neku said, genuinely appreciative. “It’s better than nothing.”

“Anytime. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

Neku closed his eyes a moment, sighing quietly. “Hope so too,” he muttered, opening them to an empty sidewalk.

Xxx

Neku headed eastbound towards Cat Street, passing Stride on the left. Gone were the Tin Pin banners, long since replaced with whatever new plastic toy battling fad that had taken hold of the local kids.

“You know, I heard a commotion from some of the older guard that a carrot was running around Udagawa.”

Neku had whiplash. Poised behind him with a cigarette loosely held in between his middle and ring finger was a face Neku couldn’t believe he was seeing.

“Seven?” Neku asked incredulously. He reached out his hand for the bleach-blonde, swaggering musician’s to find it cold as ice. Neku frowned. “Smoking kills, you know.”

777 played with the cigarette between his fingers. “How d’you think I died?” He gave a cocky grin. “Actually, I fell off a roof rigging an abandoned warehouse party. This is why you do safety checks. Tenho still gives me grief about it.”

Neku smiled weakly. “That bites.”

“The dust? Oof. Yeah. But hey, all three of us went down at once. The party scattered and when we showed up to play a new set a few weeks later nobody realized we weren’t exactly alive. They probably thought we broke a bone or two at worst and hid to lick our wounds—not cracked our skulls on the sidewalk.” Neku winced. “Er, sorry, Orange. Didn’t mean to dredge up anything bad on your end. Just odd, seeing you back.”

“Looking for someone,” Neku admitted. “The owner of the café that used to be on Cat Street.”

“Hanekoma? Stopped in there for coffee sometimes. Bit odd. His shop didn’t have the Player decal, yet he definitely served stiffs. Reapers as customers is one thing—we can go to the RG—but… hell. What do I know?”

Neku flocked his eyes up and down the street. Not that it mattered; Reapers could be in the UG right next to him and he wouldn’t know. “Yeah, he could see the dead.”

“ESPer or something?” Seven asked, blowing out a smoke ring that looked like a bat. Now he was just showing off.

“Something like that.”

“Well, fat lot that did him. Shop’s been MIA ever since I got recommissioned—maybe earlier. All I remember is, I had a double shot espresso there the night before that gig you helped me with, got blown up like two weeks later, and when I’m back to my good old dead self, the shop looks like it got exploded too. What the hell went on in this city that week?”

“War,” Neku said grimly.

“And you won, didn’t you?” Seven elbowed him in the shoulder. “You’d be one of my types now if you hadn’t.”

“Yeah, I did,” Neku said, throat dry. “Thanks for the chat.”

“You come to our next gig, you hear? You’ve gotta be old enough to drink now. VIP for you ‘n the cute chick you were with. Or, uh, anyone else. Don’t know if asking her would be awkward. She made it out, didn’t she? Please say yes.”

Neku smiled. “She did, and we’re still friends. I’ll ask. She won’t look like how you’re expecting though.”

“Neither do you, not-so-short stack. Now get outta here. I’m gonna finish my drag and get back to setup before Beej screams me out. Later.” Seven snapped his fingers and the cigarette exploded in a puff of blue fiery smoke. “Open invite, Orange, just tell the bouncer ‘golden bat’ at the door.”

Xxx

Neku inhaled. He knew past here was Cadoi, then Miyashita.

Then Cat Street.

Neku passed a small spot under the park underpass where Beat and Rhyme’s flowers had once been placed, leaving behind a tiny finger skateboard. Beat would probably punch him; Rhyme would find it hilarious. He did it to honor his once dead friend. Some kid would probably see it, and abscond with it, and play with it till it broke. Beat’s skateboard, in the hands of some kid passing by—it was fitting.

Neku let his memory walk him the rest of the way to WildKat. It stood as it had since the incident: a broken front window, a door barely hanging on its hinges. How it remained like this almost half a decade without developer intervention was shocking, honestly. Or maybe not, if divine intervention was involved.

Neku inhaled and took a step forward.

Again.

Again.

He carefully swung the door, afraid the whole thing would come off the frame in his hands. It squeaked something awful but hung by a thread.

The inside was worse. Neku should have brought one of his paint masks with him. The place was a fire trap of chipped plaster, dust, and mold. An old safe in the back corner was open on its hinges. The only things that looked clean were the sink, two sealed jars of whole coffee beans, and a single drip carafe, the rest of the row shattered beyond recognition.

Neku’s sketchbook and a mechanical pencil set still sat atop the dust-crusted counter. He’d left them there when he and Beat had returned— the only time Neku stepped foot in the shop when he was alive—to check on the shop.

To check on its owner.

Leaving the sketchbook behind seemed fitting. It was half full of random crap, and half empty, nothing but open promises in the end.

Maybe Neku didn’t need Hanekoma, or CAT, or the old shop. Carefully, he made his way around a splintered bar stool, sidestepped a broken glass pitcher, and hauled himself up on the only stool left in sittable condition.

Reverently, he opened the book. He almost laughed at his fifteen-year-old self’s sketches. The first three pages were ideas for tags around the city. He actually cringed at one.

Then a page of Shiki—a quick sketch, half likely from stolen glances and half from memory, because it was her as herself on the left, and as Eri on the right.

Ideas for Beat’s skateboards.

Architecture sketches

An entire six pages of circles and cubes, shaded with hatching or a blending stump.

Neku turned to the next page.

In handwriting that wasn’t his, scrawled in large block print…

TURN AROUND, DEAR.

Xxx

Neku screamed. It wasn’t one of fear, but frustration. “You slimy, little—” he shrieked, as he spun around in the stool expecting to see a smarmy, fifteen-year-old-looking blonde, if the agelessness of the other UG residents was anything to go by.

Instead, a softly frowning man in his mid-thirties stood behind him.

With blonde fly-away hair.

And strange purple eyes.

And a blue-purple button down with white accents and charcoal slacks.

Neku bit his lower lip, holding back a fury he hadn’t had in years.

“You.”

“I come in peace,” Joshua offered, hands up defensively, glowing slightly. “I wrote that years ago. Now I kind of regret it.” Neku relaxed a little. Joshua would be dramatic enough to do that and scare him when he entered the shop, wouldn’t he?

“Only kind of, though,” Joshua added, pulling a broken chair from the rubble, fixing it with a shake and sitting down beside Neku. “It’s still Imprinted. I’m not in the RG. The note left a bit of me in it. You see it, you see me, too.”

“You been tailing me all day, too?”

“I felt you in the city, but no. Only when I got a text about it.”

Kariya. Of course.

“Your conductor rat me out?”

“He did say you were looking for me. So, might have imprinted on you a bit to push you here.”

“You could have come and—”

“—said hello? No, actually, I can’t. I’m on probation. Can’t enter the RG for a decade. Not the biggest deal for me, mind, but… humans don’t live near as long as things like I do. I needed you to come to me. Glad that thing still works.” He tapped the notebook, his hand clipping through a page or two like he wasn’t all there.

Neku exhaled. “I trust you, you know. Still don’t forgive you, but I do trust you.”

“I know. I appreciate you said it aloud, but I know.”

“You look better when your clothes actually fit.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment or an insult?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve gotten better at keeping up with me,” Joshua said with a bit of a grin.

“You’ve slowed down in your age, you old fart.”

“Old? Fart?” Joshua pouted, and where there had been a well-put-together adult sat a petulant teenager in the same attire, now oversized to the point of baggy. He looked as the Reapers did—unaged.

“At least now you fit in with the rest of your underlings,” Neku huffed.

Joshua frowned. “I wish I did, honestly.” Quietly, he stared off, past Neku to the empty kitchen.

“Miss him too?”

“More than you,” Joshua shot back.

“Didn’t have many friends?”

“Comes with the job.”

Neku rolled a pencil between his fingers. He’d caught the proverbial tail and didn’t know what to do with it. Joshua was here and clearly knew just as much as Neku did about his former idol’s whereabouts. They sat in silence as Joshua’s likely million-yen watch ticked away.

“Well?”

“Well what?” Neku replied flatly.

“You’re no fun, Neku,” Joshua needled. “Fine. Look, Sanae liked you, more than just the fact that you were my Proxy. Hell, I’m surprised he helped you at all, knowing what you represented in my Game. You were the bad guy.”

Joshua slunk in the only-until-recently broken bar seat, kicking at a shattered tile with an awfully expensive sneaker. When he couldn’t quite reach, his form shifted back to that of an adult, flinging the chipped tile aside like a petulant child. “Neku, I need you.”

“Like you needed me to destroy Shibuya.”

Joshua exhaled, wisps of golden hair fluttering as he stared at anything but Neku. “I’ve been trying to find Hanekoma for years. Every moment I’m not here keeping the city together, I’m traveling to find him. You wouldn’t understand, but I need you to get a lock on him.”

“You’re dimension hopping.”

Joshua sat straight up, his too-long legs hitting the café bar as he did so. “Fuck,” he hissed, rubbing at his knee. “Too tall for my own good. But how? How could you even know that?”

Neku pointed to the safe at the back corner of the café, still just as ajar as he left it when he found the key pin with Beat back in the game. “Mr. H. left me a book of notes: on the game, on angels, all of it.” Neku scrolled through his phone. “I used to keep it on me, thinking it would help me somehow, someday. Eventually, I just scanned it all.”

“Gimme,” Joshua demanded, and the phone was in his hands. Neku watched in awe at the Composer’s speed reading. “I know he kept notes for the Angels, but this wasn’t for them—it was for you. Where’s the real deal?”

“My apartment.”

“Address. Specific location. I’m talking ‘fourth floor, third bedroom, under the red futon next to my stack of- ‘”

Neku cut him off quickly, rattling off his exact address and where he hid the book. Joshua held out a free hand, and in a moment, it materialized with the softest of thunks, pages fluttering in Joshua’s fingertips. “Be glad I’m on good terms with the Composer of Taito Ward,” Joshua admonished, pointing with the small hand-bound journal. “Otherwise I would have sent you home to go get it yourself.”

“What, are you going to track down Hanekoma with this?”

“No, of course not,” Joshua snorted, standing upright, shaking himself once to completely dissipate any plaster shavings or broken chips from his clothing.

“You are.”

Xxx

Neku watched in awe as Joshua’s back bloomed with light, a pair of massive swan-like silver-white wings settling on his back, iridescent with hints of lavender as he shook them loose. Before Neku could think, Hanekoma’s journal was thrust into his hands, and Joshua had him in a position he’d later call The Little Spoon of Death. With a jerk backwards, the two fell through and landed precisely where they’d been before, except the shop was in clean, working order, jazz playing on the radio, and a familiar voice humming tunelessly along with the guitar.

“Heya, Josh. Back so soon?”

Neku blinked and almost cried when he saw the man behind the counter. “H-Hanekoma?!? Mr. H?”

“One of,” Hanekoma said with a shrug. “Not the one you’re looking for though.”

Neku tried to surge forward to give the man (angel?) a hug but was held firmly in place by Joshua’s murderous grip around his waist. “Let go,” Neku whined through gritted teeth.

“Not a good idea, Boss,” Hanekoma chided. “You don’t want to get stuck in the wrong place.”

Neku let himself slacken. “I can get stuck?”

“Sure as the rain ruining my day,” Hanekoma agreed. “When you’re in the right place, you’ll know.”

“Can you help?”

“Can I? Sure. Will I? No. He’s a hellion. You’re never going to find him anyway.”

“Isn’t he another you?”

“You wouldn’t say the same thing if you met you from this world,” Joshua said, exasperated. “I wonder why the book sent us here.”

“This is where you hid after Minamimoto tried to erase you, isn’t it?” Neku asked. He flipped through the journal. “He hid somewhere high to wait for you. Because he thought this Hanekoma would turn him into the Angel Police or something.”

“I did,” Hanekoma said proudly. “Can’t have me ruining my good name.”

“Fuck off,” Neku spat at the barista. “You’re not Hanekoma.”

“I’m the part of Hanekoma that actually follows our rules.”

Joshua squeezed Neku tighter. “Hold on and keep thinking of that.”

“What—whyyyyyyyyyy?!” Neku screamed as sound escaped him. The whole universe lurched underneath as Joshua resumed pinging around between alternate realities, barely stopping to breathe.

“Focus!” Joshua ordered him through the din of dizzying WildKat cafes, Shibuya skylines, and for a brief moment, possibly the cold depths of space.

“THERE IS NOTHING TO FOCUS ON YOU DAFT ZOMBIE!” Neku shouted back, feeling his insides out and outsides in before the two bounced off a massive plate of glass and went rolling out to nowhere. Joshua pulled his wings around them, breaking the fall as they bounced a few times to the sounds of shattering glass.

They stilled. Neku could hear his own breathing and feel his heart jumping in his chest. Disquietingly, Joshua had neither breath nor a heartbeat, his torso flat against Neku’s back without any noticeable sign of life. Neku quietly filed that part under “disgusting, do not remind” and wiggled a little to loosen Joshua’s grip on his midsection.

“Hang on,” Joshua hissed out. “Easy does it.”

“That was easy?”

“You should see hard,” Joshua said, smirking as he raised an eyebrow. “And it might surprise you but… I think we’re here.”

Joshua rocked on the shoulders of his wings, pushing them both upright and parting a crack for them to see from.

The world consisted of a single, stained-glass building in a shattered-glass sky. The ground crunched with hardened paint beneath them.

“Somewhere high, following the rules… and nothing to focus on. Neku, sometimes, only sometimes, am I reminded of your genius.”

“I am in elbow-to-face range,” Neku reminded him.

“Yes, dear, and you’d best stay that way unless you want to swallow glass,” Joshua pointed out. “I’m too concerned about flying through that with a passenger, let alone someone alive, so we’re going to walk in tandem to the entrance and pray there’s no tricks along the way.”

Neku wanted to argue he wasn’t much for prayer but being cocooned in angel wings wasn’t doing him any favors in that department.

“Well at least I’m getting the inspiration I was looking for,” Neku muttered as he marveled through the tiniest of openings in between Joshua’s feathers. They both shuddered as pellets of colored glass dogged them like rain, Neku grimacing with each step.

“I think that is this world’s rain,” Joshua said aloud. “What? You’re thinking too loud. Either shut up or I’ll nitpick your thoughts. Last you want to do is swallow glass talking out loud, anyway.”

They walked in silence for what felt like eternity, roughly matching steps so their wing-cocoon tank didn’t topple. Peppered by the shards of rain, Neku was slowly getting a better view of the world outside his feathered umbrella.

The tower reminded him of Pork City, though it stretched upwards through molten clouds that burned red hot like liquid glass being worked at a forge. The whole thing was stained glass of infinite color—giant, angular panes crossed and reinforced by black, wrought iron-like supports, with sharp points sticking out at odd angles from the structure. 

“I think so too,” Joshua agreed with Neku’s wandering thoughts. “That’s Pork City, all right—made from Reaper wings. It looks like a gorgeous prison. A prison all the same, though,” he added, sighing.

Soon enough, the entrance loomed overhead, its maw of black webbing haphazardly stuffed with angular pastel glass. The tinkle of the rain bounced off the overhang as Joshua ever-so-slowly folded his wings behind him.

“I think you’re safe, for now,” he said, with the authoritativeness betraying his true age. “I promise, I’m not going to let you die here—you’re still holding Sanae’s book.”

“Because that’s all you care about,” Neku grumbled, to Joshua’s pout. “Oh, come off. I’m going to make up for all the teasing you did to me. Now let’s hope there’s an elevator in there or you’ll be flying us up the stairs.”

Xxx

“Lights are on; nobody’s home,” Joshua said, looking around as the two shuffled inside. “Okay, I’m letting go.”

“You’re what!” Neku shrieked, breathing heavy as Joshua smirked, unhooking his hands from around Neku’s waist. “Didn’t that other Hanekoma say it was a bad idea?”

“Oh, it’s a cataclysmically terrible idea. You’ll be trapped here forever now.”

“Joshua��I—you’re pulling my leg, aren’t you?”

“I mean, of course. I’m an ass, but nobody’s that heartless.”

“You murdered me. Twice.”

“I also brought you back to life, so no complaints,” Joshua snipped back. “Now, what have we here?”

Neku sighed, reminded of exactly how aggravating the little god could be. He looked around the entry foyer. The walls inside the building were a blinding white, almost piercing in their contrast to the stained glass on the outer walls of the monstrous tower. “I think this thing is alive,” Neku muttered.

“It’s not,” Joshua said, almost too quickly. “Or, rather, it’s as alive as Sanae or I am.”

“So it’s, what, an angel?”

Joshua kneeled down to touch the floor, a soft white abalone with a pearlescent sheen. “Yes. And we just entered the mouth.” Neku shuddered. “Oh, it’s not really that big a deal, Neku,” Joshua said, standing up and tsk-ing him with a finger. “This building is no more going to digest you than a wooden one; though I’m sure you’ve seen trees grow around and consume cars and houses.”

“Not helping,” Neku grumbled. “Hey, I’m not sure if it’s the retina damage, but are the walls bleeding paint?”

Joshua tucked his massive wings up high on his back, where they still trailed behind him like a couture dress, and shimmy-hopped over to the interior wall. “Oh, it’s probably retina damage,” he said cheerily, “you’re looking at pure light after all. But you’re not wrong.” Joshua swiped his hand along the wall, coming off it with a smear of mustard yellow acrylic paint. He blew on it, drying it immediately, and peeled it off like a face mask. “Must be the elevator hidden in the wall and… here we go.”

With a squelching sound like wrenching a tooth out of its socket—Neku wondering with a shudder that if that actually was a tooth—Joshua dislodged the panel, revealing a plush, red-velvet-lined elevator speckled with flecks of paint.

“If that’s a tongue, I’m out of here,” Neku complained.

“It’s not a tongue,” Josh said with a suspicious grin, stuffing himself inside with his wings still exposed. Neku shuffled and squeezed in, a massive feather poking him in the backside. The doors closed. “It’s the esophagus, Neku.”

Xxx

“Can’t you put those away?” Neku asked, after what felt like an eternity of being smothered by a giant chicken.

Joshua sighed, looking more serious than Neku was ever used to. “Yes, but I won’t.”

Neku expected him to elaborate, but Joshua merely went silent, hands out and open and feathers fluffed up.

Quickly, Neku understood why. It started quietly, a ping and a plop and a hiss, and became louder and more intense with each passing second. A few moments later, Neku was positive he wasn’t hearing things; it sounded like rain pouring from a gutter except… the rain was a stream of fire-engine red and the gutter was the walls of the elevator. The liquid pooled in the velvet flooring like blood matting the fur on a wounded, furry animal.

“Neku, move in before I make you.”

He didn’t need to be told twice as Joshua threw his wings up around them again, reaching a hand out of the fluffy shield to pull the emergency stop on the elevator panel. Neku didn’t even realize how fast they’d been ascending until they screeched to a halt.

“The walls are bleeding.”

“Paint,” Joshua replied. “It’s just paint.”

“You also said the building was an angel,” Neku reminded him testily. “What’s to say that this isn’t—”

“Angel blood melts like acid,” Joshua replied flatly. Neku didn’t know if he were telling the truth or not, but the soles of his shoes, now caked in it, weren’t dissolving.

Joshua pulled him close, wrapping his left arm around his shoulders and left wing over that like a shield. Neku couldn’t see anything but white, but he felt a jolt of exertion and heard Joshua swear low.

“Neku, dear, stay close and don’t scream.”

In the time it took him to blink, the Joshua that Neku was familiar with vanished. Every pore of the elevator was leaking paint in gushes now; thankfully blues and greens and hot pinks, to put Neku slightly more at ease, balanced evenly with the remainder of the free space taken up by living, swirling paint.

Noise.

One giant one.

It was silent and snake-like, and it dug its claws into the elevator door, wrenching it open without a sound save the rushing air.

The elevator had stopped between two floors, and the Noise slipped out the bottom to slide down to the floor below.

Move, it demanded of him. Drowning in paint doesn’t belong in your obituary.

Neku more or less knew the beast had been Joshua, but the voice in his head finally cemented it.

“I’ll break my legs.”

“I’ll catch you.”

Neku didn’t even register the response said aloud, slipping down the paint-soaked velvet and landing in a nest of color-streaked feathers.

“See?”

“I’m drenched,” Neku grumped, and then realized he wasn’t. His and Joshua’s clothes were pristine again, though the wild streaks of paint still covered Neku’s arms and Joshua’s feathers.

“Not getting rid of it all. I don’t know if the building is trying to attack us and I’d rather we still smell like it.”

“You think?” Neku asked sarcastically. He looked around the room. Paint had pooled in oil-slick puddles on the floor and was leaking out cracks in the walls. Neku heard dripping from overhead, looking up to see globs of color slowly plopping from the ceiling. The acrylic paint’s own drying-to-plastic properties were likely the only thing preventing a flood of multicolored rain on them.

Carefully, Neku hot-footed around the deepest puddles and made his way to the stained glass on the perimeter.

“We are really high up,” he breathed out, looking at the world below.

Joshua fluttered, and landed gracefully next to him. “We are. Care not to break the glass.”

“I’m not that—”

“—without me,” Joshua continued, barreling for the window, grabbing Neku as he shattered an entire pane.

For a moment, time stood still, not that it mattered much in this place to begin with. The triangular pastel shards exploded out with them on the side of the building and Neku swore he heard it scream. The shards from the broken window floated around them, glittering against the glass rain pelting them from above. Joshua pulled Neku in tighter, wings curled.

“Duck.” That was Neku’s only warning as Joshua opened his wings to propel them up against the pellets of crystalline rain before hurling himself sideways, crashing into another exterior wall.

“Human bodies are too frail,” Joshua tsk’ed at him once they finished rolling in a 20 centimeters deep pool of paint. With a hand wave, Neku found himself as clean as he could be, and free of scratches.

Paint sluiced down from their entry hole, likely streaking the outside of the building as the room began to drain. Neku shook the stars from his eyes as Joshua flicked his fingers across his button-down shirt, sending the liquid colors away as he did so.

His wings were still streaked with neon.

The room had no stairs, no elevator shaft, from what Neku could see. It was just glass around the outside and a concrete floor and ceiling. Scattered about the room were pillars and flat concrete pieces, some wall-to-ceiling, but most about half height—like an art gallery.

The entire room, save the glass, was completely covered in art.

Graffiti.

Classical.

Renaissance.

Ukiyo-e

Cubist.

It was one step short of being an eyesore. And as the paint drained out, pouring down the exterior side of the building, Neku could see the floor, too, covered with incredible works of art. He felt almost embarrassed when he moved his foot, leaving behind a hot-pink footprint on impressionist lilies.

“They’re just copies,” Joshua said sternly, looking around. “Technically precise, but nothing original except in how it’s all mashed together.”

Neku nodded. “I just stepped in Monet.”

“Well, a good copy. Poor Sanae. Stay on your guard, Neku; he’s up here somewhere. And he’s probably not going to look like what you’re used to.”

“Like how you were a dragon?” Neku asked.

“His street art handle isn’t CAT for nothing.”

“I’m assuming it’s not a housecat, then,” Neku hissed back, suddenly concerned. Both of them winced on hearing a howl.

Quiet, Joshua ordered inside his head. And stay behind me.

Neku nodded and the two wove their way through the gallery, following the sound of growls and irritated hisses. Joshua slowly peeled around a corner, motioning for Neku to follow.

A great graffiti-winged panther that Neku could only assume was Mr. Hanekoma glared back through acid-paint eyes.

Xxx

Joshua shoved Neku roughly aside, striding confidently to the massive graffiti beast.

“Hello, old friend,” Joshua said, tired and aged himself.

The creature screamed. The concrete half-wall Neku had been cowering behind exploded into fragments of color and shrapnel.

The beast froze, sniffed. It took one step, then another, leaning its gargantuan head over the broken divider to look down at Neku.

Neku had never been terrified before. Even in the Game, he’d had periods when he was scared, adrenaline coursing through him like the drug it was. But this abject fear to witness a man he trusted—who he might even consider a friend—be reduced to a mindless abomination drooling tempera paint overhead was sobering.

The beast opened its maw wide. Joshua jumped to his side in a flash, throwing up a wing to protect him.

Hanekoma tilted his head a little, reminiscent of a puppy. “Ne….ku?”

Xxx

Neku and Joshua watched over the next…however long it took. Hanekoma paced, occasionally knocking over a bucket of paint or, in one case, slamming into one of the concrete half-wall dividers with his flank as his graffiti form jittered and convulsed.

He’s coming back around, Joshua hissed in Neku’s head. At this point, we just need to wait.

Neku nodded. Joshua still held a wing up and an iron grip on the other’s arm and waist, but it was with good reason. Hanekoma screamed again, rupturing the concrete and Neku’s eardrums. For a few moments, Neku saw nothing but static, before the searing pain faded.

“—Sanae, Sanae, come back to us,” Joshua pleaded in croaking whispers as Neku’s hearing returned. “Please. Your attacks are only hurting him, see? I just had to completely repair his eardrums.”

The cat-beast howled again, knocking Neku utterly unconscious this time.

Xxx

Neku came to on the floor of the gallery, slowly taking stock of the room around him through hazy peripheral vision. Most of the dividers were at least punched through, if not entirely destroyed. A cold hand covered most of his forward vision, however.

“Neku, can you hear me?” Hanekoma’s gruff voice was twanged with concern.

“He should; I fixed his eardrums twice in one eternity,” Joshua grumped.

“Mister….H?” Neku croaked.

“J, make him some water.”

Slowly, a sturdy arm pulled Neku to sitting, leaning his body back into something warm, but lacking breath and a pulse. It was too broad to be Joshua, confirmed when the other hand slipped away to take an offered bowl of water.

Hanekoma was in human form again. Human-ish, at least.

“Drink, kiddo.”

“I’m twenty,” Neku protested before coughing up a little blood, realizing that was the first full sentence out of his mouth to the former barista.

“Hey, all humans are kids to me,” Hanekoma laughed. “J, he needs his throat patched up too.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Joshua whined, leaning forward to place three fingers against Neku’s neck. Immediately, Neku felt a wave of calm wash over, and his throat felt clear. “Now drink, before I whip you up an IV. I can patch you up, but I’m not magically refilling you with lost fluids. I don’t have the brainspace right now for that.”

Neku slowly downed the water, leaning heavily into Hanekoma. “I don’t have the brainspace to brain for at least a week.”

“I don’t think any of us do,” Hanekoma added. “I’m not even sure how I’m back to any kind of sanity as it is.”

Joshua rolled his eyes and refilled the water bowl with a gesture. “Enough of you was sane enough to be worried.”

“You brought a living human as bait, J! Of course I was worried.”

“It worked.”

“That doesn’t make it—” Hanekoma hissed, squeezing Neku’s shoulders a little too hard.

“I missed you,” Neku cut in. “It looked like all of Shibuya did, even though they never knew who you were.”

“Of course they knew,” Hanekoma said gently. “I was the local barista, ready with a good cup ‘o joe. I was the artist that painted the town red.”

“All the Reapers I spoke to had nothing but praise for you,” Neku continued. “I ran all over the city today finding that out.”

Neku felt the single loud thump of a heartbeat from the ethereal body keeping him upright. “Really now?”

“None of them knew you had a connection to the game either,” Neku continued, getting a second wind. “They just praised CAT’s art and WildKat’s coffee.”

“Hmph.”

“Won’t you come back, Sanae?” Joshua asked, a pleading smile on his lips. “It’s been too long.”

“I wish I could, J.”

“What do you mean you wish? You’re an Angel, for Someone’s sake!”

“Er, about that,” Hanekoma said, scratching the back of his head. “I’m… well. I’m not not an angel, I guess. But this is my punishment.”

“You’re definitely under supervision,” Joshua said testily. “Your warden was more annoying than anything else.”

“I take offense to that,” Hanekoma’s voice reverberated through all three of them.

Joshua nearly growled. “You know, you could have skipped the theatrics. If you wanted us gone, you could have Erased us, or just booted us out.”

Neku blinked the last of the daze away. “Hold on. I’m missing something here.”

“Remember how we passed a million billion WildKats and Sanaes and Shibuyas trying to find this place?” Joshua grumbled. “And how Sanae knew what we were doing? Angels have a singular hive mind. Mostly. I’m not actually an Angel, mind you—sort of just a hatchling, an infant. But he’s a real-deal Higher Plane beastie.”

Neku frowned, putting up a finger, lost in thought. Hanekoma went to speak, only for Joshua to shush him.

“Neku’s smart enough to put the pieces together. Give him a moment.”

“I gave him at least a concussion, if not brain damage, J.”

“Which I fixed.”

“The building.” Neku’s face sharpened into a frown.

Joshua and Hanekoma turned their heads to Neku, now sitting upright unassisted as he bopped his finger to his own internal music, slotting what he knew in place. “You said the building was an angel. This building, this whole thing, is this dimension’s Mr. H. All of the other yous are mad at you, aren’t they?”

Hanekoma nodded, exhaling a sigh. “I’m… sort of still an angel. But they cut me off from the Hive and took my inspiration. I can’t leave until I have them back.”

“I’m going to have a word with Management.” Joshua hoisted himself off the shrapnel-pocked floor, stomping a foot. “Elevator, if you please.”

“J, you’re crazy.”

“Aware. So?”

The three heard a ding as a concrete cube rose from the floor, the elevator with it. It opened with a smooth motion, the door already fixed but the interior still caked in paint.

“Am I the hostage negotiator, or can all of us go?” Joshua asked the elevator, irritated, arms crossed and wing-feathers fluffed in annoyance. In response, the elevator ballooned sideways, expanding the interior to accommodate three adults and one massive pair of wings.

“All right,” Joshua sighed out. “Everybody in.”

Xxx

The elevator hummed pleasantly and dinged, opening back up to the pearly-white entryway. The large front doors—triangular shards of crisscrossing stained glass—were blocked off by an aggressive black chain and padlock. A gleaming solid front desk sat at the entryway with a bored Hanekoma flipping lazily through a completely blank magazine. He shot them a grin; Neku noticed he was missing a tooth.

“Ah, hello. Thanks for giving me one heck of a sore throat, J.”

“Can it. I’m busting him out,” Joshua snapped, straight to the point.

Hanekoma put down the magazine, all high-gloss and solid-white pages. “Oh? How?”

Joshua pointed at the door, the chain and lock melting like acid under his gaze. “The front door, how else? Unless you want a few more teeth popped out.”

“That isn’t what I meant, J,” Hanekoma-behind-the-counter said simply. “Your me isn’t an angel right now. You take him out of here and he’s a mortal. I give him a few decades, tops. Stay and he’ll pay his price eventually; won’t you, you sorry excuse for a me?”

Joshua’s Sanae wrung his hands. “I’ll head back up. I did say you didn’t need to come for me, J.”

“If you leave before your sentence is up… you’re mortal?” Joshua asked, his voice cracking a little.

“Yeah, sorry Boss. I’ll take the long way ‘round.”

Neku frowned, scratching at some dried paint on his cheek. “Hang on. What is his sentence exactly? Josh, you said yours was being banned from the RG, but nothing stopped you from letting me see the UG.”

Joshua broke out into a nasty grin. “Ohhhhhhhh Neku, dear. I need to have you get brain damage more often.”

“No,” Neku interjected flatly.

“Aw, it was only a temporary inconvenience. Anyway, Sanae—either of you—what is his exact punishment from the Higher Plane? I want the full contract.”

The glass world’s Sanae slid him the blank magazine. “They were pretty thorough.”

Xxx

When Neku turned his back on the front desk, a couch, two chairs, and a coffee table, all in different shades of blinding alabaster, existed under the overhang just to the side of the entryway. The tinkle of stained-glass-shard rain peppered the overhang roof and a rainbow of garish light streaked in between the storm clouds outside. Joshua lifted his wings, draped them over the back of the sofa, and got to reading.

The only sounds were the tinkling of the rain, Joshua’s ever-ticking watch, and the occasional turn of a page.

Neku tapped his fingers on his jeans. “Can I do anything?”

“No,” muttered Joshua, half in thought flipping through the plain pages.

“Haven’t you done enough?” asked the bored warden, slouching at his desk.

“I could… clean the elevator,” Neku offered, trying to figure out something to do. He was definitely caught in some sort of celestial war, played out in miniature. Everything was over his head right now as he looked sideways to the glass-world Hanekoma. He looked the same as all the others—rolled-up button down, slacks, waistcoat, watch, sandals, sunglasses, messy hair—though he did seem a bit more… shiny, like light was reflecting off of him. Neku didn’t want to consider what it meant for him to both be standing at the front counter as well as being the entire building.

“You’d do that?” the glass angel questioned, confused.

“Why wouldn’t I? I’m just standing here. And it’s partially my fault that happened. More so if it’s hurting you.”

“Angels aren’t people, Neku,” he replied, handing him a bucket of soapy water from nowhere. “We don’t feel pain.”

“You’re clearly in pain,” Neku shot back in a whisper after Joshua rustled the magazine loudly, clearing his throat in a way reminding Neku to not disturb him. “Let me help.”

“Help, huh?” The glass Hanekoma smiled, the missing tooth returning to its space after a moment of static. “That’s a new thought.”

“Nobody’s ever helped you before?” Neku asked, concerned, as the elevator dinged and opened. He walked to it, both Sanaes following. One handed the other another bucket, then made one for himself. The three went inside and Neku took to the floor, carefully washing down the carpeting. The door slid closed and the three worked in silence.

“Not me, no,” the glass one admitted. “Not most of us. Angels don’t interact with your kind, or they really aren’t supposed to. I think some of us are jealous of the us from your world.” Another beat of silence. “I know I am.”

“Then why don’t you leave?” Neku asked.

“The other mes would make me a traitor, same as that one.” He jabbed his thumb at his duplicate. “In all honesty, I think it’s better than wasting away with only our own thoughts for company. All of us know it too—only that one said the quiet part out loud. There’s a small and finite number of angels, but an infinite number of each of us. One broken hive is a massive blow to the higher plane—kind of contradictory when you realize we run on Imagination. Think about it for five seconds and—”

“It doesn’t make sense,” Neku cut in, satisfied with the state of the floor, moving on to an aggressive teal spot on the wall. “If you run on Imagination but you’re made up as a ton of fragments that all have to think alike, any dissent and your own self turns on you. Seems a bit counterintuitive to have it that way.”

“The only possible outcome is to break apart from within,” Hanekoma agreed, but Neku wasn’t sure which one of them said it. Inside the elevator, the glass one didn’t have the odd shine he’d had in the foyer. At this point, he wasn’t sure it mattered.

Xxx

Neku and both Hanekoma exited the elevator, Joshua still pouring over the magazine. “They really did try and close every possible loophole,” he muttered. “I can’t see a way out… shy of killing you,” he added, looking up at the two angels. “And now I can’t even tell you apart.”

One of them smiled. “Neku just opened one up for you.”

“Oh?”

“Clause 16b.2.”

“Yes, ‘should the warden be unfit for service, Hanekoma is to serve the remainder of the sentence under a new warden.’ I was going to kill you and claim myself warden.”

“There’s no way the Higher Power would allow that. He’d just be transferred,” the other one said. Joshua raised an eyebrow to the first one—his Hanekoma. He slid his eyes between the two of them and the glass one scratched the back of his neck.

“Sit. I’ll get us something to drink.”

Neku shrugged and practically threw himself into one of the chairs, sighing as he sank into it. It was soft and warm and the light pinging of the rain overhead was lulling him to sleep.

“Stay awake,” Hanekoma ordered, pinching his elbow. “You started going see-through when you passed out last time—it’s what jolted me to consciousness. You aren’t coming all this way just for me to see you fade to nothing, Neku.”

Neku jolted upright, just as a steaming cup of coffee was placed in his hands. “I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen,” the glass Hanekoma said, determined. A third settee appeared between the other two; their captor-slash-host sat in it, placing a tray of coffee, tea, and snacks on the table between them. “And anyway, I’m unfit to be Hanekoma’s warden now. The Higher Plane may come for me soon. Though, soon here could be eons off. I know my time doesn’t run at the same pace as most of the other dimensions; that’s why I was picked to watch him. Joshua, they would never accept you under probation, but… Neku—you seem to be a favorite of upper management. Transferring to you shouldn’t be a problem. Hand him the contract, J.”

Neku blinked a bit of the daze from his eyes, downing the beverage. It felt like more than mere coffee, a solid glass of liquid courage, emboldening him.

Joshua hesitated, but passed the blank, glossy magazine sideways to Neku. He then stared down at the tray of offered snacks and carefully picked out a chessboard cookie, frowning at it, before biting the head off the knight’s horse.

Words swirled on the paper in Neku’s peripheral vision before he could see them straight off. “Can I get a translation?” he asked meekly, looking at the mess of block print before him.

“Did I not write it in Japanese?” Glass-Hanekoma asked.

“That’s not what I meant,” Neku sulked. “I can’t read lawyer.”

Joshua craned his neck sideways. “It’s a transferal of ownership contract. Standard language, except… hm. Neku, would you want to be an angel?”

Neku scrunched up his face. “Seeing what you deal with? No. I have enough trouble with artist’s block as it is. I’d rather it not be fatal.”

“Take out paragraphs eight and twenty, then.”

“Wait, this would have…”

“Made you one of us, yeah,” Joshua cut Neku off. “It does mean that if Hanekoma didn’t finish his sentence before you died, he would be mortal; so some sort of transferal clause needs to be added.”

Hanekoma snatched up the magazine, flicking it. “Consider it done. Sign and get out of here before I’m taken away too.” He grinned slyly. “Maybe I can keep the domino chain going. Wouldn’t the upper management just love that?”

Neku flicked his eyes to Joshua. “I still trust you, Josh. How’s it look?”

“We can take him with us. You’re his warden ‘til you die or his sentence is done, then you can renegotiate angelhood if you want.”

“But… what is his sentence?” Neku asked, looking between the now indistinguishable Hanekoma.

“I have to re-earn my Imagination: the human way.”

“No magic?”

“Some magic. About as much as Josh has. Which is a lot compared to you. Very little compared to before. And none at all when I’m not near my warden… though I’m not sure how near near is.”

“Don’t worry about that,” the second Hanekoma said, squeezing the first’s shoulder. “I’ve given you a little extra juice on your way. I’m sure they’ll take mine from me anyway. It’s enough to manifest your wings again, at least. Now get out of here, before there’s bigger problems. All of us is already tattling.”

“Bunch of assholes,” Hanekoma hissed under his breath.

“We both were, too. Well, me at least. Think you were always the black sheep. Now, sign and get.”

Joshua plucked a pen from nowhere, handing it to Neku who turned to the angelic twins. “You trust me?”

“With your life,” both Hanekoma said with a nod.

Neku signed with a flick of his wrist, the pull of slumber taking him again. He could barely hear Hanekoma and Joshua shout something as they hauled him upright at the torso.

With a jerk that felt like someone had tied a rope around his waist and then yanked on it from behind, Neku blinked his eyes open to Hanekoma’s shop, as destroyed as it was when they’d left it. He gasped for breath, completely winded and woozy, the world spinning around him until he succumbed, sliding out of Hanekoma and Joshua’s shared grip to bounce on the cracked tile floor.

Xxx

Hanekoma frowned, flapping feathered wings he forgot he’d missed. “J, you know you can’t throw yourself around the mortals—not like that. Not even to someone like him.” Carefully, Hanekoma pulled Neku out of the rubble, flinging his body over a shoulder. “Be glad he’s just passed out. If he stayed a moment longer in that dimension, he would have been gone. You could have killed him or worse.”

“But I didn’t,” Joshua insisted. “I needed him.”

“Did he know the risks?” Hanekoma asked roughly, finally free to yell at his former boss-and-ward without Neku overhearing. “He didn’t. You never told him.”

“You said in your notes that I’d be a strain on him. He had to know what that meant.”

“There’s a difference in knowing what your toned-down presence would do over a week versus what the full force of your power would do to him in a few hours,” Hanekoma chided. “He may have known the former, but you certainly didn’t tell him the latter.”

“What’s your point?” Joshua asked, watching Hanekoma shift Neku’s unconscious form into a more comfortable carry.

“My point is, stop breaking things, J. Stop treating everything like a broken bone that’s healing the wrong way. Not everything has to be shattered even more to fix it.”

“You were imprisoned by the Angels! All for trying to protect this city!” Joshua protested.

“I would have finished my sentence eventually,” Sanae countered in a calm and even tone. “I may have been in that place for eons, but it was—what? Three years here, maybe?”

“Five,” Joshua whimpered with a pout.

Hanekoma’s eyes flicked up and down Joshua, seemingly searching for something. “I’m putting Neku down in a room and warding it. He needs to recoup.”

Hanekoma turned on his heel to the shop backrooms, leaving Joshua standing confused in the mound of rubble.

Xxx

Whatever Hanekoma was doing, he was taking his sweet time. But Joshua heeded the barista’s words and waited, rolling his shoulders and slowly ratcheting his own wings back into the ether. Bored, he made himself a broom from Imagination and began idly sweeping up the chipped plaster and shattered tile. Eventually, Hanekoma returned to the shop portion of the building, eyeing Joshua.

“Physical labor? That’s a first.”

“I… I feel,” Joshua said, stopping to roll the broom handle in his fingertips. “I feel responsible.”

Hanekoma lowered his shades, peering over them. “Responsible. Who are you and what have you done with J?”

“I grew up, Sanae. Someone had to. You weren’t here. I have a new Conductor and Producer now.”

“What, so I’m outta a job?”

“I’m not kicking you out,” Joshua said, almost pleading. “You just don’t have any obligations. Other than your sentence, I guess.”

“With Neku as my warden,” Hanekoma sighed out. “You didn’t need to plan a jailbreak, J. You’ve waited longer than five years for things before. It’s hardly an eye-blink to people like us.”

Joshua slunk to the floor, defeated and boneless as he slid down the broom handle. A small cloud of debris puffed up around him as he went.

“Drama queen,” Hanekoma tsk’ed as he joined his former colleague on the floor, nesting his wings around himself. “I can’t say this isn’t nice though. Missed ya, J. Being honest, I don’t remember much at all from that place, anyway. Could’ve been a long time there before I became myself again without your little stunt.”

Joshua didn’t answer.

They sat in silence a few moments, then Hanekoma choked back a cry as his coworker—his friend—grabbed him from behind, wrapping his arms around him just under his wings. Hanekoma flapped them in surprise as Joshua buried his head in the down.

Angel and Reaper wings were their Soul; one didn’t just touch them—not without explicit permission. To touch someone’s wings meant someone else could feel what they did. Feel their joy, their disgust, their pain, or all at once.

Hanekoma didn’t pull away. He could hear—just barely, but it was there—Joshua sobbing silently into his back. Joshua was, for the first time in his so-called-life, showing Hanekoma a vulnerability he didn’t know the other even possessed. Slowly, the barista relaxed both sets of shoulders, taking on more and more of Joshua’s weight until his Composer was literally leaning on him as much as metaphorically.

Seconds ticked away from Joshua’s Pegasso crystal-quartz watch, which turned to minutes, then a solid half hour. Slowly, Hanekoma felt the weight lift.

“You let me,” Joshua said, a bit hoarse, patting the down where wing phased through clothes.

“You needed it, J. Pain shared is pain halved. I was happy to listen.”

“You didn’t want to be saved,” Joshua said sharply. “Forgive me for feeling like you were ungrateful. But… you weren’t. You were protecting me from the angels and a sentence like yours. You were a fall guy.”

“Yes,” Hanekoma said slowly. “I didn’t want you to suffer, too. Not being visible to the RG is hardly a penalty compared to what I have.”

“Pain shared is pain halved,” Joshua threw back at him, wiping snot off his face. If he’d been in his teenage form, he would have looked like just another kid. But Joshua was an ugly crier, and as an adult, he just looked silly—more so with a few errant feathers from Hanekoma’s back stuck to his dripping snot and hair.

“Wash up—the backroom sink works,” Hanekoma insisted, flapping his wings a few times to get rid of any other loose feathers. “I need to do some tidying, anyway.”

Joshua reverently ran his fingers through the shoulder of Hanekoma’s left wing. “Clean the shop all you want; you know all about me and dirt. But leave this part to me.”

Xxx

“I kinda expected more, Sanae.” Joshua leaned in the doorframe, pristine as her always presented himself to the public.

“I’m not exactly going to waste my magic, Boss.” Hanekoma went back to wiping down the countertops with a wet rag. The only change Joshua could see was all the broken furniture piled in a corner, with the floor debris in an equally uncoordinated pile.

“The human way?” Joshua asked with a smirk.

“If I’m not your Producer, I need a little art project to keep me busy.”

“Wouldn’t really call fixing a coffee shop art,” Joshua scoffed.

“It’s not not art, though,” Hanekoma countered, flinging the wet rag on a shoulder and smiling at the dented, but still functional, kettle on the burner, whistling away. “Tea?”

“Mm,” Joshua hummed with a nod. “Also, Neku’s phone was ringing nonstop.” He pulled his own from a pocket. “Oh. It’s past ten PM. Someone’s probably been wondering what happened to him. Least it’s still the same day we left.” Joshua cracked a small smile. “Gone for a week and the mortals think you’re dead or something.”

Hanekoma threw the rag square in Joshua’s face, storming past him to go retrieve the offending cell phone.

Xxx

Hanekoma sat on one of the two useable stools, Joshua behind him on the other, sipping tea from one hand while using the other to pull out stuck feathers. The barista unlocked Neku’s phone, scrolling through twenty missed calls. “Shiki. That’s a name I haven’t heard in a while.”

“You planning to call?”

“I should. Neku’s probably going to need a day or more to recuperate. And then you’re going to call his mother and let her know he’s sick with a fever.”

“Can’t. RG people can’t perceive me for another few years, remember? Phone calls included.” He grinned toothily. “You’ll just have to clean up the mess for me.”

Hanekoma sighed, stretching out his wings a little so Joshua could pull out all the powder down stuck from his eons of not taking care of himself, and pressed a familiar name in the missed calls history. “Hello? Shiki?”

“Oh my god, is this the police? Where’s Neku?”

“Shiki,” Hanekoma smiled a little, glad for a familiar voice. “It’s… Hanekoma Sanae—the café shop owner on Cat Street.”

Hanekoma waited patiently as Shiki processed what that meant. “If Neku is dead, I’m wringing a long line of necks. Joshua’s first; something tells me this is his fault.”

Joshua laughed hard enough to slam forward into the angel’s back; Sanae shot him a glare. “Neku is alive, but he’s taken a massive hit of Imagination. He’s probably going to sleep a day or two.”

“But he’s alive.”

“Alive and in no pain, with no injury. Mortals just can’t handle being around a city Composer too long.” Hanekoma glared over his shoulder at a snickering young-looking man in a lilac button down.

“I’m coming over there,” Shiki insisted. “And Joshua better be ready to take a knee to the balls.”

“Unfortunately, you won’t be able to see or hear him, but hang on,” Hanekoma said, pushing back on the deadweight behind him with his wings. “I’m putting you on speaker. Feel free to yell at him—I already have.”

Hanekoma clicked to speakerphone, maximizing the volume and holding the phone out behind him.

“Go ahead, Shiki. He can hear you.”

Shiki took in a deep breath, expelling a gasp of colorfully laced expletives so pointed Joshua’s hair began to catch fire. The moment she was out of breath, she slammed the end-call button with enough force that Joshua’s wings twitched, even within their aether.

“Josh, you’d better be out of my shop before she gets here or you’re going to be in deep shit.”

“I didn’t realize someone who played the Game before could deal that much splash damage,” Joshua complained, patting out the embers on the edges of his loose curls.

“You were human once yourself, J. Now bolt before she sets all of you on fire.”

“Good night to you too,” Joshua grumped, crossing his arms as he slid off the seat, leaving Hanekoma’s wings in a worse looking state than when he’d started. He saluted awkwardly to the sighing barista, disappearing out into the night.

Xxx

“How are you holding up, kiddo?”

Neku rubbed the crust out of his eyes. “What year is it?”

“Same one you were in before this mess.” Hanekoma smiled. “You slept away three days, though. I impersonated you on the phone to your mom and college—hope that’s alright.”

“So it’s…”

“Monday night. Six PM. Josh’s going to stay away from you for a while.”

“That why I feel like shit?”

“Mhmm. You want me to bring you in some food?”

“Bathroom,” Neku complained.

“Think mine still works.”

“You think?”

“Neku, I’m not human. I’ve never needed it.”

Xxx

“So now what?” Neku bit into his burger; nothing Hanekoma made, but then again, his kitchen was mostly still in shambles.

“I guess I rebuild. Maybe I take some art classes at community college.”

“Then I’m helping.”

“No, you’re-”

Neku glared up from his dinner. “That’s not up for debate. I’m your prison warden, remember? I help and in return, you let me paint in here.”

Hanekoma laughed. “You don’t even need to ask permission for that.”

“Oh, so I can tag every wall, floor, and ceiling in this bombed out husk of a deserted island?”

The barista frowned, leaning forward on the counter. “That didn’t get me any closer to having any inspiration, you know.”

“And I think that’s a lie,” Neku replied, crossing his arms. “Josh didn’t see it either. Maybe the individual components were copies, but that space you made in that other place was like nothing I’d ever seen before. Incredible doesn’t even begin to describe it. Nothing we do is truly unique anyway; we’re always working off the backs of those who came before us. It’s what voice we add to that conversation that makes our art what it is and… I should really be following my own advice. Hang on. I’m making a few calls, and you’re not stopping me.”

Neku pulled out his phone and rolled through his contacts list. “Hey, Sho. I’ve got a destroyed café here ripe for a giant-ass chandelier. You in?”

“Neku,” the other end of the line sounded annoyed. “I don’t do electrical.”

“So? You do the sculpture; I’ll get someone else to wire.”

“It’s going to be made of trash.”

“Why do you think I called your ass? Take notes; here’s the address.”

Xxx

“I haven’t done heavy lifting in… forever,” Hanekoma said, wiping actual sweat off his brow. It was a weird feeling, being sort-of human, but he couldn’t say he didn’t like it. The past six weeks had been a whirlwind with Neku in charge, directing a steady stream of ethereal beings— self included— into a massive renovation of his shop. The place was an explosion of color and life, an irony in real time to contrast the lack of both on the owner.

“Quit complaining,” Uzuki demanded, hauling the other end of the new bar counter. “If I can get Kariya to lift your tables in, you can help with your own damn high-top.”

“The one you danced on,” Hanekoma said with a grin, looking down at the hot purple and neon orange footprints crisscrossing the acrylic-sealed bar counter. The two had tangoed across a plank, then encased it for eternity in enough two-stage resin that it would never fade—Neku was particularly proud of that collaboration. Uzuki pushed the shop door with her shoulder, so both of them could bring the counter inside.

“—and you don’t need to hold that ladder, Neku.”

“I don’t want you falling,” Neku snapped back, looking up at the Reaper wiring in the shop’s new light fixture. It looked like a vending machine had exploded on the ceiling, and Hanekoma loved it.

“Neku, I can fly,” Triple Seven replied, waving a pair of wire strippers. He was flapping his wings to show those off as well, not that Neku could see them from the RG.

“My masterpiece can’t,” Sho grumbled from the corner, looking on in a mix of horror and awe as Seven worked his stage rigging magic to get the recycled-bottle chandelier hooked into the building’s wiring.

“Look, it’s way easier for me to do this if I’m not trying to balance,” Seven sighed out. “Sho, get up here and hold it in place, so I can finish. Neku, go help do something that doesn’t involve a ceiling or frying yourself on open electricals.”

Sho sighed, stood up, and vanished back into the UG, flapping up to hold the sculpture as Seven jumped off the ladder. Neku winced, unable to see either of them.

“If you can hear me, I’m going to check on Shiki and her friends making chair cushions.” Sho rattled the ladder with his foot, and Neku smiled. “Hey, Mr. H, your shop’s haunted.”

“I’d be more worried if it wasn’t.”

Xxx

“So?” Hanekoma slid a ceramic cup down the acrylic to Neku. “Get your grade back yet?”

“Semester ends in January, Mr. H; it’s gonna be a while yet. How about your magic?”

“While this helped, no. It’ll be a while yet for me too. Can’t complain about the décor, though.”

Hanekoma and Neku grinned, taking in the space. Except for one section of wall painted with chalkboard paint for patrons to go wild doodling on, every square inch of the shop was covered in art altogether dizzying and explosively contrast in design.

“Opens tomorrow, right? My teacher is coming around again to see it.”

“Soft open today though.”

“Sign said closed,” Neku pointed out with his teaspoon.

“Maybe for the living.”

“Ah, a few reapers pass by?” Neku asked with a smile. “Hey, make a bet with you.”

“What?”

“How many days the shop’s open before a paying customer draws a dick on your wall.”

“Zero.”

Neku looked sideways as a handful of change bounced across the counter, Sho coming into view. He downed his already half-drunk coffee and loped to the chalkboard to vandalize it. Neku flicked his eyes at the empty tables and chairs, a massive grin breaking out on his face as every single one was filled in with a Reaper, raising glasses in toast.

“We all needed someplace to stay,” Hanekoma said on the room’s behalf. “Thanks for giving us a home. It’s still pretty broken and lopsided, but I promise we’ll keep the lights on.”

“Mr. H, this was already your home.”

He shook his head. “No, Neku. It was only a shop.”

“If its home, does that mean the drinks are free?” A few reapers turned to the furthest corner of the room—Joshua grinned, sitting backwards in his chair.

“J, what did I say about coming ‘round when Neku’s here?” Hanekoma scolded.

“…Don’t?”

“Short bursts only, lest you want to clean up the exploding brains on the wall.”

Neku shrugged. “It’ll probably add to the ambiance.”

[thatsaweirdwaytospellundead]

Winter Troupe’s 7th Play: Hotel Compass 3/ 4

In a certain region, in a certain town lies Hotel Compass.

Established over one hundred years ago, the hotel sits far from popular tourist destinations and even the nearest train station. Unfortunately with its poor location, competing hotels have quickly snatched up many potential guests and this once grand hotel has begun to fall into disrepair.

The hotel has also been short staffed for quite some time, forcing the owner, Owari, and manager, Tsuzuki, to perform the majority of the maintenance and upkeep of the hotel. They spend each day tending to the needs of their few, but always eccentric guests.

Characters

Note: The theme of this play is “compass” with all the characters have direction-based names. I have included the character’s names in Kanji along with the double-meaning.

Azuma as Owari (尾張, sounds like “終わり, End”)

Guy as Tsuzuki (津々木, sounds like “続き,Continuation”)

Homare as Higashikawa (東川, East river)

Tasuku as Minami (三波, sounds like “南, South”)

Hisoka as Nishi (西, west)

Tsumugi as Kitami (北見, north view)

Due to the length of this play, I will be posting it in 4 parts.

[ Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 ]

Owari

Hey, is Mr. Minami alright?

He’s been sitting in the same position at that table for a while now.

I think by now its time to lay down the pen for a bit.

Tsuzuki

Really now...

Owari

Mr. Minami.

Is everything alright?

Minami

That’s it...

Yessss....

It’s all coming to me now...

HUH?

What is it?

Owari

Oh, is there anything we can do for you?

Minami

Some coffee please.

Owari

Right away, sir.

Tsuzuki, if you please.

Tsuzuki

It will be ready right away, sir.

Minami

My brush is flying.

My zest for life is overflowing...

I can still write my novel!

Owari

I am glad to hear that.

Minami

Oh, hey Kuroda!

Owari

...?

Minami

I have finished my rough draft, wanna see?

Hello, hello, Kuroda?

I have finished my rough draft so aren’t you gonna come have a look? 

Huh, what? You’re at my house?

Wait, you’re not at the hotel!?

Huh, uh no it’s nothing.

Understood. I’ll email you right away.

Yes, I am alright.

There is no problem at all.

This is going to be my next masterpiece!

Owari

So Mr. Kitami had nothing to do with Mr. Minami after all...

After eavesdropping on Nishi’s story, Minami is suddenly filled with inspiration and begins writing again.

Whilst writing, Minami also feels his will to live flowing back into his body.

Kitami appears and Minami tells him he is finished with his rough draft, however Kitami seems perplexed and simply walks away.

After a phone call with his editor, Kuroda, Minami realises that he had mistaken Kitami for his editor after all.

Owari

Sigh...

Finally some time to catch my breath.

Tsuzuki

Today has sure been eventful.

Owari

I feel like we have had more troubles than we have guests.

Owari: Why does it feel like our hotel is filled with only the most eccentric of guests?

Tsuzuki

Well our hotel is a place for lost travelers to come and rest after all, right?

Owari

Lost travelers, huh?

I feel like I’m the one who’s lost my way.

I’ve been slaving away trying to take care of the hotel that’s been around since my grandfather’s time, but for what?

After my wife and children walked out, I feel as if I have been working my ass off for nothing.

This hotel has been so dead ever since they left.

Does that mean I’ll be the last owner of this hotel?

I should really just quit before it’s too late.

But I don’t think I could bring myself to really do it.

This is the worst.

Well, no use dwelling over it now I guess.

I suppose if things keep going downhill we’ll just have to file for bankruptcy.

Tsuzuki

There are a lot of people that depend on this hotel.

Tsuzuki: If Mr. Minami could get back on his feet, I don’t see a reason why we couldn’t do the same.

Owari

I suppose you’re right.

That evening, Owari takes a moment to catch his breath and take a much needed break. Owari complains that he feels like their hotel has been taken over by only the most eccentric of guests. Tsuzuki tells Owari that their hotel is a place for lost travelers to stay.

Owari confesses to Tsuzuki that he also feels lost. He reveals that his wife and children had all left him some years ago. Owari wonders if he can even continue to keep his grandfather’s hotel open or if he will become the hotel’s last owner. Tsuzuki tells Owari that there are many people that depend on the hotel.

Detective

....

Owari

Welcome.

Detective

We are with the police. Could we have a moment of your time?

Higashikawa

Huh!?

Detective

Have you seen a man who looks like this?

His name is Hashima Ryou.

He is wanted on account of murder.

A man who looked like the suspect was last seen at this hotel.

Owari

Suspected murderer...

I don’t think I have seen anyone that fits that description...

I think I would have remembered if I saw someone with hair like that.

Detective

Some features may look a little different to this image.

Well if you have any leads, please contact us right away.

Owari

Understood.

Higashikawa

By the way...

If they’re looking for someone suspicious maybe that Mr. Kitami has something to do with it.

Owari

Well we just haven’t seen his true face.

.... It does seem suspect.

AH!

Higashikawa

What is it?

Owari

It’s just Mr. Nishi said earlier that one person will disappear from this hotel.

Higashikawa

HUH!?

WHAT’S THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN!?

WAS HE ANNOUNCING HIS PLAN TO MURDER SOMEONE!?

Owari

Maybe...

Tsuzuki

What’s going on?

Higashikawa

Big SOS, Tsuzuki!

We have a murderer amongst us! ALLEGEDLY!

Tsuzuki

A murderer you say....

Higashikawa

And on top of that, someone in this hotel is going to die, probably!!!!

Owari

I think you’re overthinking it.

Higashikawa

We need to see Mr. Kitami’s real face!

I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep tonight if we don’t!

Owari

However...

Higashikawa

The police did tell us to tell them if we had any information. We gotta try at least!

Owari

And what will we do if he is the murderer?

Higashikawa

Then I’ll let Tsuzuki take the wheel!

Kitami

....

Higashikawa

Mr. Kitami!

Kitami

-- 

Owari

Hey, Higashikawa.

Higashikawa

Sorry to bother you, but we just got a visit from the police. We were wondering if you could take off your mask and--

Kitami

-- AH!!!

Tsuzuki

STOP RIGHT THERE!

Higashikawa

But Tsuzuki!

If we don’t see his real face--

Tsuzuki

There is no need for that.

Because, I am the one the police are looking for.

Higashikawa

HUUUUHH!!!?

Tsuzuki

I apologise for causing trouble.

I will now go turn myself in to the police.

Owari

So you’re saying you really are....?

Kitami

....So we meet at last, Hashima.

Owari

HUH?

Tsuzuki

You are--

Kitami

I am the son of Shimoi, the man you killed.

Tsuzuki

That you are...

I can see it in your face.

Higashikawa

I-Is this some sort of plot to avenge his father!?

Owari

RUN, TSUZUKI!

Kitami

Not at all.

Actually I wanted to give my thanks to Hashima....

Owari

Thanks?

Kitami

My father, Shimoi, was truly the most despicable type of human being.

He was known for committing numerous frauds, blackmail, and extortion, he even was violent towards the rest of our family. He was the type of person who was really just asking to be killed.

I felt so relieved when I heard the news of my father’s death.

It felt as if I was finally released from hell.

Tsuzuki

No one deserves to die.

I am no better than him as I am a man who has also attempted to run from his sins.

Kitami

But you are the one who saved my life.

Tsuzuki

---

Kitami

I just wanted to tell you how grateful I am, Hashima.

Just in case anyone staying at this hotel knew who you were, I made sure to wear a mask so as not to draw any further suspicion. I am truly sorry for all the trouble I have caused.

Tsuzuki

No, the secret would have gotten out eventually.

It is not like I could run forever.

The time has come.

It is a good thing we had this chat.

That evening, the police came to look for a suspected criminal. Owari recalled Nishi’s words and wondered if the two are somehow connected and if Nishi really knew a murder would happen.

Naturally, Owari and company first suspect their masked guest, Kitami. However, when they went to try and apprehend him, Tsuzuki makes a startling confession that he is the murderer. Owari and company are left in shock.

Kitami then removes his mask and reveals that he is the son of the man that Tsuzuki had murdered.

Owari and company tell Tsuzuki to run for fear that Kitami had come to avenge his father. To everyone’s surprise, Kitami tells the group about his father’s awful behavior in life and in fact felt relieved upon hearing news of his father’s death.

Kitami continues to explain that he came to the hotel to thank Tsuzuki for his actions. However, to avoid raising suspicion from the police and others at the hotel, Kitami wore a mask.

To be continued.... Read part 4 here!

[a-table-of-fics]

Oddworld, Conar's Ambition, Chapter 2, Draft 1

[[Thanks to Tumblr updating the post length limit, I can finally put the full draft of Chapter 2 in one big post!]]

Slim was silent in line to Slugbite Motel. The chatter was hopefully decent cover; he didn’t need yet more attention after his outburst. If he kept his head down, he’d be fine, and wouldn’t get any more surplus bruises on top of the regular workday bruises.

He heard chatter all around him, gossip from other Slog Huts, Splinterz, and Flub Fuels.

“Management must be pissed, what with -”

“I can’t believe what Skrag did to me! What got into-”

“- hear about FeeCo?”

“We’re gonna be settin’ some electric fences up tomorrow, anyone know about -”

“ – say Abe’s got to Necrum –“

“ -Sligs must be worried if Abe’s getting’ to their place –“

Any talk of Abe was, of course, in whispers. No one believed him to be a terrorist, really, but everyone knew better than to celebrate. Well, everyone but him, apparently, but still. Slig forces were already pretty antsy right now, and there were cameras everywhere. Besides, it was a long day full of more abuse than normal. Everyone was just ready for bed, so to speak. Sure, it was less a bed and more a closet with a dirt floor and next to no elbow room, but it was a place to sleep, nonetheless.

It was almost his turn in the queue. Slim dug in his pouch for his meal ticket. With any luck, he’d get half a Scrabcake with the somewhat edible slop they served here. He presented the ticket to the Slig clerk Jeandis. Jeandis took one look, rolled his eyes from under his visor, and then slammed the counter to his left, deepening the indentation next to the bell. A Mudokon, wearing a light brown cap with deep red stripes and a similarly-colored loincloth, emerged from the back door, carrying a tray of gruel with him.

The tray had no trace of Scrabcakes, sadly, but it did come with a small can of that drink everyone was talking about – Soulstorm Brew. The green can with that nondescript Glukkon’s face on it was an interesting look, at least, and the somewhat sickly Mudokon in those commercials did look exceedingly happy when Director Phleg gave him a crate of the stuff, as if it was sorely-needed medicine. Slim even saw the server longingly stare at the can he had to give him.

“On the house… buddy,” Jeandis said, his line carefully rehearsed. “You saw the commercials; it’s a freebie!”

“Um, okay, thanks.”

Slim took his dinner tray and a plastic spoon over to find a seat that was open; this was no small feat in a Slugbite Motel. Many Mudokons had long since given up on the prospect, instead sitting on the floor against any given wall. He noticed how everyone was given similar cans of Brew, and a lot of the chatter he came across was already shifting from the recent Abe scare to the Oddsend the new drink was.

He walked through the throngs of fellow Scrubs, the smell of Brew filling the air. It was very strange; a tangy aroma that was also somehow familiar. The chatter grew louder and more animated as time went on, and even Slim was feeling a little less tired from the fumes and infectious cheer.

Still, it was a long day, so he still prepared to just sit down and eat. He found a place next to Ben, and dug in. Well, as much as you could dig in with whatever this was. Some said those were fruit chunks mixed in with the goop, some said they were Elum Chubs, but one thing for certain was they were undercooked. It was well known that this was the least of dinner’s concerns, sadly.

Slim took a few shaky scoops, doing his best to forget the words “gag reflex”. He was able to swallow the muck as usual, but he found himself coughing; it felt like he was eating sawdust under the slimy texture!

“Yeah,” Ben said, sympathetically, “Jeandis’ Special really sucks today, doesn’t it?”

“WHO SAID THAT?!” demanded Jeandis, so loud that everyone on the other side of the cafeteria could clearly hear the greenish-yellow Slig. The din died down as a furious head chef stomped over to the wall where the sound came from. There were at least ten cowering Scrubs under his wrathful glare, and they were all pointing grey or green fingers at each other.

“This is more than you deserve, ya miserable Chippunks! You oughta know I could—Eh?”

He was interrupted by frantic whispers from the server Mudokon, who was quick to rush up to his boss. He lowered his fist, slowly, and his face-tentacles sagged.

“…You oughta know…er…I could getcha another can of Brew to…wash it down…?”

Nine out of ten Mudokons were nodding enthusiastically, and the Scrubs at the surrounding tables cheered.

“Shut up and get in line again if you want another round!”

Almost all the Mudokons immediately shot up and sprinted into line. Some of them trembled excitedly while they waited.

Slim had never seen the cafeteria so alive or enthusiastic before. This Soulstorm Brew stuff must have one hell of a kick. If he drank it now, he’d probably be up all night. Best to save this stuff for when he needed it – no need to come to work tired tomorrow.

Besides, if all else failed, he had a bartering tool now.

With this in mind, he tucked the can he had into his pouch. It wouldn’t be the first time he had to sleep with a dry throat; he knew better than to ask Jeandis for anything else to drink.

His body still ached, and it had been a long day on top of that, so while Jeandis was occupied with his sudden fame, Slim quietly ate up the rest of his “meal” and left. With the “first come, first served” policy of getting a room for the night, he was able to get one right by the cafeteria for once. He might even be able to get breakfast tomorrow!

He dug in his pouch for his ID, and a quick scan gave him the room for the night. As the door closed behind him, it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the windowless closet. When he did, he could see all kinds of scratchings on the wall. Short complaints about bosses and a variety of tally marks filled most of it, but there were some other things. There was the occasional crude drawing of a bird, which gave Slim nostalgia over something he never experienced. There were conversations between anonymous Mudokons, about the latest gossip, concerns, and anything else. It was comforting; they watched out for each other and kept each other informed even when they didn’t really know each other.

With his nightly reading done, Slim slumped down to the ground. The dirt here was cool, but nothing he wasn’t used to. With any luck, he wouldn’t wake up to Bolamites crawling over him, but that was a problem for future him. Present him just had to be absorbed by the soft earth, and dream of a better workday, one where Abe saved him from this miserable job and blew up the Slog Hut.

It was all he could do, really.

* * *

It wasn’t even five minutes before he felt a cold breeze, and the light of the hallway made him squeeze his eyes shut more before sitting up. A hand went up to shield his vision, but he was still blinded for a moment while he tried to make out the silhouette. A Slig, for sure, but that hardly narrowed it down. The Pants were pretty basic, being two robotic legs attached to a large ball. However, the giveaway was the mask that obscured this particular guard’s face. It was one of the older visors, like some Sligs still wore, with a single long visor. However, this one covered his scalp, forming an ugly black helmet rather than just a scary red visor. Only Conar had that version, but what was he doing here of all places?

Well, it couldn’t be anything good. Slim shuddered, wondering what he’d have to apologize for to get a manager from work to find him in this motel. But… no beating or gunfire came his way. In fact, Conar looked taken aback. He wasn’t aiming his Blunderbuss anywhere in particular, and his head kept turning either way, as if he wasn’t supposed to be here.

“Well, whaddaya know, Slim,” he said, after a moment. “Funny I’d run into you here…”

Slim blinked, lowering his hands, but remaining where he was.

“So, uh... you wanna get outta shoveling Slog crap?”

Slim opened his mouth to answer, but Conar grabbed his arm, so the Scrub’s confused questions were interrupted by his own yelp.

“Time’s up!” Conar said, hearing the chatter die down in the cafeteria. “We’re leavin’!”

“Oh-okay…”

“And you’re gonna shut yer yap! We ain’t supposed to be doing this, you know!”

With that, the two of them silently beat feet away from the hubbub of the mess hall, kicking up a lot of dirt on their way.

The hall separated into two different ways at the end. Conar knew that to the left was the back door he came from, and was going to drag Slim with him. But Slim had other ideas, nearly pulling Conar out of his Pants as he pulled them both to the right.

Conar adjusted his seat so he could run properly again, then struggled to get out of Slim’s grip.

“What the hell?!” he protested, before realization struck, and he quieted down. “The back way’s the otherhall!”

“Where do you think most’f the Sligs are?” Slim harshly whispered. “Seen at least four Mudokons try that, and they never make it to the parking lot!”

“Oh, and the front door’sgonna be much better? Hah!”

“Dunno,” Slim shrugged. “No one’s tried it.”

Conar was about to say something pretty snippy, but he saw they were close to the lobby. The pair stopped just short, and Conar looked ahead. There wasn’t much to see, past the dozens of bored Mudokons waiting in line to be checked in by a very bored Glukkon receptionist, complete with a very bored Slig there to type the guests’ numbers in.

No one was looking their way, so Conar motioned for Slim to follow, and the two of them walked towards the other exit. They made it about halfway through before the Pud looked up.

“Where do ya think you’re goin?!”

“Ah…” Conar started, before regaining his composure. “Y’see, he was volunteered to work overtime tonight! Just came here to pick ‘im up!”

The Glukkon rose to his full height, which would have been impressive if he had shoulder pads or any non-plaid clothing. His assistant also rose, clicking a pen as violently as one could manage. Both Conar and Slim hunched a little, preparing to put their hands over their heads.

The receptionists walked over, sneering. The Mudokons in the queue muttered, some talking about the scene, others complaining about this new delay between them and dinner.

The Glukkon leaned close, so close Conar could almost read the miniscule nametag.

“We have procedures for this, you know! Guests –“ he said the word like most would say “slurg”, “—are to be signed out before leaving the premises!”

Slim blinked. It was hard to tell if Conar did the same.

“Yeah, er…” Conar said, rubbing his head. “Sorry, sir. I thought you wanted ‘im in line, too.”

“And risk the liability?” the receptionist exclaimed. “No, we have registration protocol for a reason!You security and your..your… unprofessionalism!”

His assistant merely gave Conar a look of resignation before marching back to check the Mudokons in.

“If we were to mix the lines like that, our quotas would go kaput! And this is a fine establishment!”

Conar chose not to bring up the dirt floor or the mold-eaten wallpaper. He was already debating whether or not this endeavor was worth it. Zoning out and wondering about that was far easier than listening to this chump.

“…My brothers and I… investors….”

Conar nodded along, thinking about the future, and the riches that would be in store for him. Maybe he could force Zeb to work for him. Of course, something like that would come after a little bit of begging for mercy. But what to spend the well-earned Moolah on? Maybe he’d get himself a nice, classy suit, with premium Slig Pants, armor, and a nice, big gun with all the works…

“…So, I’d really appreciate it if you’d show some class and go to the other desk!”

“Yes, sir!” Conar nodded, moving over to the empty desk. The Glukkon waddled over to the other side, and started controlling some machinery with his shoes.

“Name?”

“Slim.”

Tap, tap, tap.

“…Not found in our records.”

“Can’t you just add ‘im?”

“We just went over this! There are procedures! It will not be as simple as your mind! I can’t just add a Mudokon who is already in the--”

As Conar prepared to sigh, Slim stepped forward.

“Sorry sir,” he said, putting on his best Gluk-pleasing face (that is, a weak smile politely begging for mercy), “He must not’ve read my ID. Do you need my number?”

The receptionist laughed, looking down at Conar while nodding. He kept chuckling at the absurdity of this Slig’s ineptitude as he worked the pedals, searching for Slim by number. He finally stopped adding to Conar’s humiliation, catching his breath while reading what came onto his black-and-white monitor.

“Right, right, you’re all set to leave. Can’t be too careful this day and age, with all those escapees… Anyway, give him a few corporate-approved smacks to keep him in line, would you?”

Connar nodded, a little too hastily. After a moment to ensure no signature or receipt was needed, he turned and poked Slim with his blunderbuss.

“Alright, get movin’. We’re goin’ to work, now!”

Conar couldn’t believe it; he was expecting a tense escape, maybe an amazing shootout. But no; he was walking through the front door, with a Mudokon openly in tow. He even waved at a couple of the guards on his way out. He looked up at Slim, who kept himself hunched and shivering in a clearly practiced manner. The two of them marched in silence for a while, with Conar occasionally tapping the muzzle of his gun against Slim’s back for effect.

“You’re welcome,” Slim finally said, once they were closer to the Slog Huts again, and well out of earshot.

“What, you expectin’ thanks?” Conar asked, laughing at the audacity. “I was the one bustin’ ya out, y’know!”

Slim gave a smug grin, leaning against the wall as he did so.

“Oh, really? You go out the back with a Mudokon like you wanted, they’d be throwing your lead-filled ass into the recycler faster than you can say—”

He tried making that noise he heard many Sligs shout, but it sounded more like his lungs were playing tug-of-war.

“Yeah, well, you seemed pretty comfy in that filthy closet.”

“Ha, yeah, thanks,” Slim laughed, looking around for a moment. “So uh, why didja get me out of there anyway?”

“Right, yeah,” Conar said, clearing his throat. “So, you’re gonna help me take Zeb down a peg. If that Abe guy can take down RuptureFarms, I figure you can help me get his Moolah and ruin ‘im!”

Slim’s smile faded, and he looked at Conar like the Slig grew legs on the spot.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Nah,” Conar shook his head. “This should be easy; we go in, hold ‘im at gunpoint, and—”

“And just how,” Slim asked, leaning forward until he was face to face with Conar, “do you expect us to ‘go in’? Do you even know where his office is?”

Conar’s smug grin faltered.

“Eh--? I…”

“To say nothin’ about the security he’s probably got! You got the news just like I did; they’re scared. They probably got security tighter than Jeandis’ skull there! Didja think any of this—”

He was cut off by a blunderbuss muzzle under his chin. So it was going to be certain death or immediate death, he saw.

“…G-got it. So, what’s the plan, boss?”

[mymelodyheart]

Forget Me Not Chapter 18 ~Infectious Madness~

Through heavy eyes and blurry vision, Willie stared at the door of a room in an abandoned and derelict manor house, hoping and praying Claire and Jamie would not walk through it. He knew it was wishful thinking as he could already see either one of them storming in like some avenging angel, demanding to take his place. On second thought, Jamie would have probably locked Claire somewhere in the hotel before bringing her anywhere near danger. They were both stubborn in their own ways, so much so, that it had frustrated him countless times. 

When Annalise had ordered him at gunpoint to drive to the abandoned manor house, he hadn't been surprised. She knew of the place as she had seen it on the day he had volunteered to take her to the hospital. They had made a pit stop to look at the neglected structure after Willie saw it up for sale in the paper. Although he had his doubts about Annalise ever since she came to Lallybroch, his earlier suspicions of her lying about Claire being taken had made him extra cautious. Willie didn't want to take a risk and gamble Claire's life based on gut feeling. He knew he had to play his cards right as the lass was too perceptive for her own good. 

He remembered the day when they had stopped at Ned Gowans office to deliver her documents, and he had told Annalise that the lawyer will sort out her papers so she can have access to the British healthcare. It wasn't a lie but what she didn't know was that her medical documents were also being checked for their authenticity. When he drove her back to Lallybroch, she had teased him about the way he had looked at Claire to which he had chosen to ignore despite feeling uncomfortable for her insightfulness.

Now sat on the dirty floor with his back up against the pillar, his hands were tightly secured behind the post. Annalise had used an industrial-sized cable tie used in their hotel kitchen, and he presumed she must have found them on his desk while snooping into his laptop. Under normal circumstances, he could have wrestled the gun from her, but the lass was clever. After arriving at the abandoned manor house, she had ordered him to stand by the pillar and to drink the bottled mineral water she threw at him. It must have been laced with some drugs prescribed for her own use, and it incapacitated him just adequately to lose his balance and coordination and make him drunk-like, long enough for her to tie his hands.

Glancing at the small clock Annalise had placed on a table, it had been forty minutes since she made the call to Claire. He wondered if Claire told Jamie or if she would come alone. If she didn't bring Jamie, he could be dead within the space of twenty minutes, leaving Claire to fend for herself.

Shut away in a small room, Willie barely heard the knock. Attempting to stay fully alert, he listened to Annalise's scraping movement on the wooden floor and the creaking of the entrance door opening. When Jamie's voice filtered through, he shook his head to clear the fogginess in his brain, and braced himself against the pillar, ready for any eventuality.

Suddenly, Jamie entered the room with hands in the air and not far behind was Annalise with the gun pointed at his back. Willie strained to see past them, looking for Claire but he didn't see her. Willie presumed Jamie must have left Claire without her knowing or did something to prevent her from coming. Either way, he didn't like seeing his brother there and offering himself a sacrifice. If anything happened to Jamie, Claire would be devastated. He could only hope Claire would stay away.

"Willie, ye alright?" Jamie's face was white as he looked over at his brother for any signs of injuries.

Willie could only manage a nod, saving all his energy for whatever might happen.

Jamie turned towards his ex-girlfriend. "Annalise, I'm here now. Let my brother go. I'll take ye back to France if that is yer wish." Leaving one hand up in the air, his other hand slowly reached for the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out two passports, his and hers. "We can go tonight and leave this all behind. Isn't this what ye want?"

"What about Claire? Where is she?"

"I made a mistake, Annalise. Ye need me, and I'm here to take ye home," Jamie said in a clear voice, but devoid of any emotion. "You don't need Willie. This is between us. And Claire is not coming, so ye can forget about her. Put the gun down now, please."

Willie was relieved to hear that Jamie managed to prevent Claire from getting involved. Although a part of him pained for her knowing any sacrifice on her behalf would destroy Claire, the relief overshadowed the pain.

Annalise tapped the gun against her thigh, considering Jamie's words. "I'll come with you, Jamie, but I need to get rid of him." She jutted her chin in Willie's direction, crazed eyes narrowing. "He tried to separate us, don't you see? It doesn't matter where in the world we go, he won't stop. Your brother is not interested in your happiness at all. Have you seen the way he looks at that English bitch?"

A low growl rumbled from Jamie. "Don't call Claire that," he said in a slow, deliberate tone. "She has been nothing but kind, and it was her idea to send me to France to look after ye. And I still want to do that. Come on, Annalise. Let Willie walk out of here, and we'll both go."

Annalise laughed. "Did you know your brother has a little folder in his desktop disguised as Italian recipes? Within the folder is another folder hiding his dirty little secret. There are pictures of Claire in it and a letter confessing his love for her and..."

"I never sent the letter, and that was from a couple of years ago..." Willie slurred the words out as he interrupted Annalise's rambling. He couldn't look at Jamie in the eye. Surely his wee brother knew that he would never have acted on what he felt for Claire. "It was a draft. I never sent it."

"Shut the fuck up!" she snarled, pointing the gun at him. "You ... you're finally going to get what's coming for you."

"Annalise, no!"

..........

Claire handed several pound notes to the taxi driver the second the vehicle slowed down, a reasonable distance away from the abandoned manor house. Not bothering to wait for her change, she opened the car's door and sprinted through the open field. Claire could see a faint light coming from the window of the derelict building, and just by the side of the road, Jamie's car was carelessly parked. Her heart thumped in her ears, stomach twisted in knots from worry that she had come too late.

When she left the hotel earlier, she had made a last-minute decision to send Geillis a voice message to let her know what was happening before switching her phone to silent. Relieved that Brian, Ellen and Jenny are safe, Claire focused her attention on the two brothers.

As she reached the house, she saw the entrance door was slightly ajar. Slowing her pace and calming her nerves, she slid past the opening, careful not to make any noise. Annalise's angry voice reached her in the front hallway giving Claire an idea someone was alive in there with her. Armed only with an antique pocket knife that belonged to her uncle Lamb, she reached out to the back of her jean pocket to make sure it was still there, hoping she wouldn't have to use it on Annalise. As much as possible, Claire tried not to give in to the waves of dread and worry she felt, knowing if she gave herself time to think, the thoughts would only serve to debilitate her.

Taking a deep breath, she followed the sound of Annalise's voice and pushed open the door that led to a small room. Scanning the scene in one quick swoop, Jamie's taut back was to her, ready to pounce as Annalise pointed the gun towards Willie. As soon as Willie had seen her, he tensed and shook his head, pleading her with his eyes.

Seeing that Willie was in the most danger, she rushed forward and inserted herself between Willie and the gun, ignoring Jamie's whispered expletives muttered under his breath. Immediately, Annalise lowered the weapon, eliciting loud gasps of relief from the brothers. Despite her jealousy towards the French girl, Claire had tried her best to make Annalise feel welcome in Lallybroch. A couple of times she had pastries sent to Annalise and had sent her text messages asking how she was. It must have counted for something, enough that Annalise let go of the trigger even if there was a hint of resentment in her eyes.

"Annalise, please put the gun down. It doesn't need to end this way." Claire was surprised at how her voice sounded steady and firm.

From behind her, she could hear Willie attempting to get on his feet despite his restrained hands. "Claire, please, get out of here, I beg of ye. Now!"

"What the hell are ye doin' Sassenach? Walk out of here now. I'm going with Annalise to take her back to France," Jamie said in a way that Claire would have believed that was his intention if she didn't know him any better.

Shaking her head, her eyes remained on Annalise and the gun. "I'm sorry, but I can't walk out of here. I want to make sure everyone is safe, including Annalise." She hoped Jamie and Willie won't say another word, intending to draw Annalise's attention to her. Extending her hand, she allowed everything except the girl in front of her to fade into nothingness, her measured breaths coming in time with her heartbeat. "Let me help you, Annalise. You are very ill, and you need to rest. Nobody is here to harm you." Claire knew Annalise had liver cirrhosis and understood too, after all the excitement, the fatigue caused by her illness would be enough to weaken her soon. She needed to stall.

Willie continuous shuffle from behind her didn't help her cause, as he was oblivious to Claire's progress. Whatever he had ingested, had dulled his reasoning. "Claire get out of here and walk away."

Annalise took a step sideways and re-aimed the gun at Willie. "He wants me to go to prison, and all I wanted is to be happy and be with Jamie. Is that too much to ask?" Then she aimed the gun back at Claire. "And you, you could have your pick of men, and you had to steal Jamie from me."

"Annalise, let's go and let them be. We'll drive to the airport now, and we could take the next flight to Paris," Jamie interrupted, extending a hand.

Annalise shook her head, muttering to herself, as she redirected the gun back to Willie. "He hates me, he wants me to go to prison. I can't have that, can we now? My family held me as a prisoner before. I'd die first before I go to jail. I'm sorry, Jamie. This is the only way."

Claire turned to look at Willie and her alarmed gaze connected to his. The resignation was etched on his face, as he nodded to her in reassurance. "It's alright, Claire. I've messed this up. This is all my fault."

Turning back around, she found Annalise's finger tightening on the trigger. Without thinking, Claire moved and threw herself in front of Willie to shield him from the oncoming bullet. At the very last second, there was movement behind her as if Jamie had anticipated her move. Using his body, he jumped too to protect her and Willie, his muscular frame spasming at the impact of the gunfire.

Blood rushed to her ears as she felt Jamie's body collapse behind her, both of them falling onto the floor beside Willie. Using all the strength she could muster with her hands, she turned around under his weight to get hold of him. Wrapping her arms around his upper torso to keep him upright, she felt thick moisture gushing over her hands.  Blood!   Oh, no, no, please! This can't be happening.  "Oh, God, Jamie, please." From a distant, she could hear sirens approaching.

"Claire, untie me, please," Willie whispered, his voice trembling in panic.

Straining her head, Claire saw Annalise momentarily distracted by the gun she held in her shaking hand, staring at it in shock. Gently sliding from under the weight of Jamie so as not to aggravate his injury further, she crawled behind the pillar to unfasten the cable-tie on Willie's hand with her pocket knife. Once he was released, she shed her jacket and yanked her sweatshirt off and pressed it against Jamie's wound, while Willie, wobbly on his feet, tackled Annalise to the floor, kicking the gun out of the room.

"Jamie, look at me... stay with me, alright? We're going to get through this." Claire applied more pressure to his wound, as tears streamed down her cheeks.

Blue eyes dulled with pain stared back at her. "Sassenach, this isn't yer fault, ok? I don't want ye to waste yer time blaming yersel'. He winced, his face contorted in pain. "Christ, I love ye so much. Always have."

His words wrenched a sob from her, unaware of the police that stormed into the room and took a shocked Annalise away. "I love you too, Jamie. Don't speak. Just stay awake for me and listen to my voice. Help is on the way."

Based on his expression, Claire knew her face betrayed the deranged agony battering her inside.

"Where's Willie?"

Claire's pulse leapt in panic as Jamie's tensed body slumped, appearing to be on the brink of unconsciousness. Trying her best to keep her sanity intact, she swallowed the dread back, her throat burning like it had been scorched with acid as a shrill whirring sound took resident inside her skull.

"Hey, I'm right here. The ambulance has arrived." Willie gently lifted Jamie's head and placed his jacket underneath.

"Listen to me,  bràthair,"  Jamie wheezed. "Ye'll take care of Claire... promise me that. I need ye to promise me that."

"Don't be daft." Willie choked down the emotion, trying to be brave for all of them. "Ye'll be on yer feet soon to take care of ..."

"Damn it! Promise me!" Jamie gasped, his complexion turning grey by the second.

"I promise."

Jamie nodded his head and then his eyelids slowly drooped, succumbing to the grasps of unconsciousness. "Jamie!" When he didn't respond, excruciating pain ripped through Claire's heart, as she screamed curses to the ceiling, unaware of Willie lifting her off the floor and Geillis trying to get hold of her face. Her arms frantically reached out for Jamie, her feet kicking and body twisting against a sturdy grip that held her when the paramedics placed Jamie's immobile body on the stretcher and wheeled him away.

[florence-is-gay]

53? :) (can be for you OR the mercs)

Question 53: What was the last thing you did before you went to bed last night?

Me: I started a drawing that was in response to someone's post I had saved in my drafts. It's gonna be super rad if I can actually manage to pull it off.

Engineer: Ah, well, I just been doin' the usual. Relaxin' with a beer while scribbling some new design ideas for mah sentry. Doc wanted me to build him this cute birdhouse he saw online. I suppose that's gonna be my project for tonight.

Medic: As per my routine, I vorked on my research and did some calculations. Though I must have become distracted at some point, because I found myself vatching zhe most bizarre videos online. They vere surprisingly entertaining, but zhat is most likely due to my eccentric taste in humor. Oh! I also found zhe most adorable birdhouse online zhat would be absolutely wunderbar for my little Archimedes! Zhe Engineer said he would vork on a blueprint for it tonight. I'm so excited!!

Sniper: I was just hangin' out by my camper. I had myself a little fire going, and I was listening to one of my CD's. I nearly fell asleep right there outside, but then it got a bit too chilly after the flames died down. My partner came to check on me to make sure I was okay. What a sweetheart.

Pyro: I helped start the fire! And Engie Dad read me a story before bed! He always reads the best stories!

Demoman: I was watchin' Ghost Detective while drinkin' me Scrumpy. Got a wee bit too drunk and went on a rant to sum fella who looked just like me. He didn't talk much. Wasn't till this mornin' when I realized I was talkin' to a bloody mirror!

Heavy: I cleaned and polished my weapon. I make sure she is top condition and ready for next battle. This I do every night.

Spy: I found myself bored and irritated with all the constant chitchat after dinner, so I went for a stroll. It was quite uneventful, but I found my darling enjoying a nap by a dying campfire. I didn't want him to catch a cold, so I took him ro bed.

Scout: I was reading the latest edition of THE GREATEST comic series EVER! It's called "The Amazons in Space". It's about these Amazonian women who were kidnapped from Earth and taken prisoner in a galactic space ship, but they break free and take over the ship and it's crew. The thing is, the people who the crew works for has ships EVERYWHERE, kidnapping men and women from any living planet they can find! They use their prisoners like animals. Their goal is to create the ultimate being, so they "breed" the prisoners with the best traits. Some of the prisoners have been there all of their lives and know nothing else. The Amazonians work together to free all the prisoners they can find and defeat the ship's captain. This becomes their main mission, and the space government grants them a planet to house the ex-prisoners until they can find out where their home planets are. But after all this time working together, they Amazonians find out that the leader of their group has been working for--- Oh!! Sorry, no spoilers here! You'll have to read it and find out for yourself!

Soldier: What is all of this horse shit yer talkin about?! Amazonians, ships, SPACE GOVERNMENT?! I knew we could never trust Area 51... IS THAT WHAT THOSE MAGGOTS HAVE BEEN HIDING FROM US?! That's it, we must move out and attack their base! THE WORLD MUST KNOW THE TRUTH!!

Engineer: Woah, hol' up there, sugarbear. He's only talkin' about a book he read. No need to get your boxers in a bunch.

Soldier: Engineer! You know I can't read!

Engineer: Yes, I do...

Soldier: You also know I don't wear underwear!

Engineer: *sighs* Unfortunately...

I hope y'all enjoyed reading this! Apologies to the Anon for taking 5 years to answer.

( I should probably make a schedule for myself but idk)

[madmadmilk]

Return to Sender | Tom Holland x Reader

Pairing: Tom Holland x Yours Truly (You)

Summary: A letter made out of love and loyalty. It’s your choice to press post, send, delete, or save to drafts. The only thing we’ll never know is if he decides to read it or not.

Warnings: cursing, (lowkey highkey) angst, and a fair amount of delusion

Word Count: 1.8K over the character count

-

How to read: First Person POV, so read this as yourself first and foremost. Then read this as his good friend, read this as someone who saw him yesterday, read this as someone you haven’t see in a long time, read this as someone who has nevermet him, read this as someone who has only known him through the lens of social media... read this as someone who has a lot to say but will never send it.

-

Hey Thomas,

I must have written this over a thousand times, and I know it’ll never be just right.I just feel weird calling you Tom over this absurdly long, formal message, and Thomas kinda just looked better to me. And, blah, I know this could never change your mind, or make you see me any differently, but it doesn’t hurt to try, right?

Let’s get the hard part over with.

There’s about three things I’m absolutely positive about. First, you’re amazing. Fucking, brilliant. Second, there’s a part of you–– my wishful thinking, I suppose–– that I know, cares about me or could. And third, hah, I am unconditionally and irrevocably in love with you.

Yeah, I totally just took that from Stephenie Meyer’s Twilight, but you know what?? I gotta pay homage to how fiction and storytelling has always left a significant impression on me. Fluttery stories of love and hope and strength and cute brunettes–– all leads to you.

And I’m joking and rambling now, I know, but it doesn’t make it mean any less.

I love you.

Truthfully, I don’t even know where thatstarted. Was it when I saw you fight impossible odds during a tsunami as a boy? Or when you trained to spin webs and do back-flips and shit. Did I notice this affection through your first appearance in the MCU? The second, or even the third? Did I realize it when I found your instagram, and finally let myself follow? That time when you mistook your hair gel for toothpaste…? Or when I caught your livestream at the Right Time? When you looked right at me, and I let myself believe?

I don’t think I’ll really ever know whenthis started. I only know what I want and wish to happen now.

Through the videos, posts, movies, interviews and experience, I just… I just feel like you’ve always been there for me. You’ve always been someone I could fall back on–– look back on. I open my phone, and you’re right there. Beneath my fingertips, first in my search bar, bright on my lock screen. You’ve always been.

I look for your voice before I sleep, and I imagine the sights and sounds when I see new pictures of you. All I can do afterwards is wish I were there with you.

That’s all I want.

All I want is to leave an impression on you, to have something that lets you remember me. After that, I can let go and rest forever, if I knew I could mean anything to you.

I draw you, write about you, read about you, dedicate a whole blog to you–– and still wonder if it’s too little or too much.

(Side note: does it weird you out? Seriously, let me know and I’ll halt productions.)

Gah, it’s staggering to think that we are worlds away from one another; that we could meet tomorrow and then never again. Or how often I see your face, and never know how often you see mine––

I don’t let myself think of that most days.

You’ve brought me so much peace and happiness just knowing you.

My view is one-sided and biased and rosy. It’s limited, blurry, and lacking. There’s so much I don’t know about you, so much I wantto know about you.

And that’s what keeps this going.

The hope.

Or some shit.

I wonder if you would tell me if you had a girlfriend, or boyfriend, or someone special. I wonder how that would make me feel, or if that could make these feelings stop…. Hah, but I don’t think that would take anything away from me.

You’ll still be you.

You’ll still be that sticky boy who’s kind and generous and cute and funny and good to his family and friends.

You’ll always be that to me.

Not that I’d refuse to believe that someone else completes you or supports you better than I can, but I’ll always have the warmth you’ve given me. They could love you more than me, be closer to you than me, be better than me, and that’s alright.

Because all I want is for you to be happy.

If you are, then so am I.

And that’s love, I suppose.

It’s something selfless, it’s something that’s kind of like a hobby. You enjoy it and you endure it. You build it, you tear it down. You want to share it, but keep it to yourself. And no matter what happens, you learn and grow from it…

Oof.

I do hope you continue to share these things with me. No real pressure, of course. It’s your life to take control of. You deserve your privacy first and foremost, and time away from the public and social media. You deserve the time to recharge and reorient yourself after long trips and interviews and work hours–– we all do.

I just hope you decide to continue to share the snippets of life that you do.

It’s a lovely world to be a part of.

I love that you share so much with your family and friends. I love seeing your cute lil dog and snaps of places you call home. I love seeing how you spend your night out, and the sporadic nature of it all. I love that you can’t use instagram stories for shit. And I love that you continue to try anyway.

That’s something I’ve always really liked about you.

You don’t give up when you can’t do something. You’ll post the same thing twice to get it right. You keep your cool and roll with the jokes. You laugh at yourself when appropriate. You stand up for yourself when things go too far. You try your best while we all are watching. You try even harder even when we’re not.

I really respect that.

And I’ve gone so far off track from what I came here to say, I don’t even know if you’ve bothered to read this far. There’s just a few more things left, I promise.

I just need to say that I’m sorry for being a pest. For lurking so far up your ass and hitting the bottoms of your feeds so much. For applying more pressure than you need. For reading fakey gossip and making bold assumptions. For forgetting that you’re human just like me.

I’ve made these mistakes, and I don’t know how to make them right. I’m still out here learning too––

And what I’ve realized is that to move forward, I have to  step away.

I see your posts and fawn, and then I have to turn and leave. Suppress the urges to tease and make fun, to shout profanities, to post about what I wish I could do to you or you to me.

A well wish is all I can give you.

“Have a nice day,” and “Do your best,” is so fucking vanilla but it’s what I want you to hear from me. Something soft, loving and easy.

Something that will undoubtedly go unnoticed.

And I’m fine with that (most days).

You don’t have to acknowledge me, you don’t have to recognize me.

Because I want you, but I don’t.

I don’t know what would happen if thisbecame real. If you suddenly become realto me in my real life. Real, real, real. It’s seriously unimaginable.

Not because I’m me or anything.

But because you’re you.

I can picture myself beside you, but I doubt you could with me.

That sounds so pathetic but–– I don’t know!

I’ll never know, unless youtell me. Or I tell you and you tell me. Or we end up in one of those fanfiction slow-burn roommate!AUs. Unrealistic, but romantic.

And this is the point of it all, I guess.

I want to tell you, “hey! I love you!” because I have to know what could happen next. Not that I’m expecting anything grandiose. I’m just hoping for a chance that you’ll listen to me and accept the feelings I’m giving you.

I just want you to hear me, so I can get rid of it.

So here, take it! Here it is! Do with my heart what you will!

I’m sick of hiding behind a screen, but too scared to show you my face.

Just take this pretty moment, remember me like this, and let me know what you think in 5-7 business days.

I’ll be waiting like I always have. Never too high on my toes or too relaxed in my bed. Leave it all to chance–– Can you believe I don’thave notifications set up for you?

You don’t own me!

And now that I’ve managed to give you a hard time figuring out what to do with my feelings, I’ll move on to the last part.

Happy Birthday, Tom Holland.

I’m so happy to have seen you grow on-screen and off. I’m incredibly proud of your achievements, and baffled by your impact. Keep fucking growing, dude! This is your time to thrive. All with your bare fucking hands. Fucking wild.

I can’t even compare myself to you––

But anyway, I hope you’ve had a nice day or night or whatever the hell. Please get some good rest tonight and tomorrow night, and all the nights onward. Take time to take care of yourself and brush your teeth.

And thank you for being your being here for me.

I hope you can take my words and turn it into strength and support, no matter how you deem to view it. It’s only to remind you that someone cares, after all.

Yeah, so before I dig myself a deeper hole, I’ll end this letter here. A reply would mean the world to me, and even if you don’t, I wouldn’t hold it against you.

You’re a busy guy, I know.

Thanks, Tom.

You have all my love.

Sincerely,

Yours Truly

-

-

-

-

-

A/N: and that’s it!  really raw and kinda exposing who i am lol. You can make your own assumptions of what happened next. What perspective did you read this in? Did you actually send the letter? Did he reply? (is the reply the title of this fic?) Hahaha, I don’t really know what this is. I just felt like writing a love letter. Please let me know what you think! Did it work? Did it make sense? Thanks for reading :)

Please like, comment, reblog, subscribe and turn on bell notifications!! Haha

Peace out ✌🏼

Madmadmilk

[avegetariancannibal]

“Nor’easter”

[I've had this in my drafts since January 2018 and I just read over it and don't know why I didn't post it. So... here’s some Hannigram snowed-in trope from season 2!]

Will opened the door to let the dogs out and found, to his surprise, Hannibal standing on his porch, covered in snow. The dogs all gave him a friendly sniff before bounding over to the trees.

"I didn't hear you drive up," Will said. He peered out into the darkness. "I... don't see your car."

"Stuck in the snow about half a mile from here," Hannibal said, his voice shaking slightly from the cold. "I tried to call but the storm seems to be playing havoc with my reception."

Will's first instinct was to tell him to take a hike, but he saw a way to use the situation to his advantage. As he'd told Jack, he was a good fisherman. The fish was here, right now, on his doorstep.

"Come on in," Will said, opening the door wider.

As Hannibal hurried in, the dogs followed soon after, shaking snow off their bodies and all over their new guest just as he was taking off his coat.

"Ah---"

Will barely suppressed a laugh as he headed towards the bathroom. "I'll get you some towels."

"Perhaps I could borrow something dry to wear," Hannibal called after him. "I don't think I'll get a ride out of here tonight in this storm."

******

Will dug through the linen closet for a pair of towels, and then through a box of old clothes he'd been meaning to take to the men's shelter in town. Everything smelled a bit stale, but it was all clean. He came up with his college sweatpants and a bright purple cardigan he'd owned for years but never worn because... well, bright purple.

He wondered if he should call Jack and tell him... Tell him what? That he was having a sleepover with Hannibal Lecter? It wasn't as if he didn't trust himself to handle the situation without Jack Crawford's input. Right? He shook his head at himself and went back into the living room.

Hannibal had already stripped out of his wet clothes and looked to be about to move on to his underwear.

"Not shy, I see," Will said, holding out the clothes and towels.

"I didn't think I had reason to be," Hannibal said.

Will snorted. "Not modest, either."

Hannibal blinked at him. "I only meant that I didn't think my state of undress would matter to you one way or the other." Suddenly, his expression turned decidedly sly. "But I can dress elsewhere, if it does matter."

Will's cheeks burned, and he hoped the dimness of the room hid them. "Just... hurry up. I was about to go to sleep when you showed up at my door."

Hannibal glanced around. "Where...?"

"You can have the guest room upstairs," Will said. "I don't have an extra space heater, but you can take a couple of dogs with you. Buster's the warmest one, he's good under the covers, but he can be a bit gassy."

Hannibal's gaze fell upon the dogs, who had shuffled into their beds near the fireplace but who were all keeping a watchful eye on their guest. Buster, having heard his name, wagged his tail.

"Perhaps I'll manage on my own..."

Will rolled his eyes. "Just take a dog or two, Hannibal. You'll freeze half to death."

He clicked his tongue at the dogs and gestured for them to follow Hannibal up the stairs. At first only Buster hopped to his command, but Max grudgingly heaved himself out of bed and went.

Hannibal lingered at the bottom step, arms laden with the borrowed clothes, and appeared to want to say something.

"I'd offer you something to eat," Will said, "but I'm pretty sure all I've got is canned soup."

"Thank you," Hannibal said, tossing a weak smile over his shoulder. "I think I have everything I need."

**********

Will woke to the sound of the floorboards creaking near him. He knew instinctively that Hannibal could have moved in complete silence, so there had to be a reason for making noise.

"What is it?" he sighed.

"Your dogs took their leave of me," Hannibal whispered, the shivering audible in his voice. "I imagine they returned to their own beds as soon as I fell asleep."

Will reached over in the dark and flicked on the lamp. Hannibal stood at his bedside, hair mussed, hugging himself in the cold, and looking better than anyone had a right to in that terrible cardigan. Only one thing was missing.

"I could have sworn I gave you some sweatpants," Will said.

"They were rather snug," Hannibal said.

Will flashed on an image of himself as a 20-year-old, still built like a fawn. "Ah, yeah, I guess I was a scrawny thing when I bought them."

Hannibal reached up to undo the buttons on his borrowed cardigan.

Will sat up. "Whoa. Whoa, what are you doing?"

"Giving this back to you," Hannibal said. "I'm sure my own clothes are dry enough by now, so I can make my way back to my car. Perhaps I'll be able to drive out..."

Will glanced toward the window. The snow was still falling in frenzied swirls as the wind howled like an angry, living thing. The drifts had to be twice as deep as they were when Hannibal showed up.

"You're being ridiculous," Will told him. He held up one corner of his blanket. "Just... just get in and keep to your side, would you?"

"If you're certain---"

"Before I change my mind, you'd better."

He turned off the lamp as Hannibal slid into bed behind him. Even though there was a clear foot between them, Will could feel the weight of him on the mattress and smell the good smell of him. The mustiness of the cardigan couldn't cover it up, the mingled scent of whatever cologne he used and the ozone of the storm that still seemed to linger on him.

"Goodnight, Will," Hannibal said, already sounding drowsy.

"Yeah, ‘night," Will said, though he was sure he'd never fall back asleep now.

*******

He fell so deeply asleep that waking up just felt like moving on to another dream. In this dream, he was wrapped around Hannibal as tightly as a howler monkey clinging to a life-saving branch. His head rested on Hannibal's shoulder and his hand had snaked itself under the ugly cardigan to the warm expanse of belly beneath. Their legs were a tangled mess.

Around the same time he realized it wasn't a dream, he also realized he was jabbing Hannibal's hip with a particularly insistent morning erection. He backed away from Hannibal as quickly as he could.

"Guess I'm not used to sharing the bed with anyone," he mumbled, by way of explaining himself.

"Mm hm." Hannibal lay on his back, fingers laced over his ribs, eyes open and staring up at the ceiling. He didn't look at Will.

Will frowned at him. "Were you awake all night?"

"I thought it the best way to keep to my side," he said. "As you instructed me."

Will's face burned with shame. "I'm sorry---"

"You chose a perfect torture for me," Hannibal went on, still focused on the ceiling. "The smell of you so close, and your warmth drawing nearer and nearer to me as I lay perfectly still---and then to be subjected to the touch of your body."

Now Will was just confused. "Look, I'm sorry I rubbed against you in my sleep. I didn't mean to.”

"Don't continue the farce, Will."

Hannibal sprang up from the bed and went about putting his pants and socks back on.

"Are you leaving? Hannibal, your car is half a mile away and it's still snowing." A thought suddenly occurred to him. "Wait---why is your car half a mile away?"

"I told you.” The hideous cardigan came off and Hannibal's own shirt and coat went back on. “I was driving and it became stuck in the snow."

"I mean why were you driving half a mile from my house," Will said.

Hannibal sniffed. "Feigned ignorance is unbecoming on you."

With that, he hurried out the front door so quickly, he left his shoes and coat behind. Will, still in nothing more than his boxers and undershirt, vaulted outside after him. He stumbled off the porch and fell face-first into soft, deep snow. The sudden cold contact knocked the breath out of him for a moment.

By the time he'd gotten his wits about him again, Hannibal had plowed ahead a good thirty or so feet.

"God dammit, Hannibal! Get back inside before we both freeze to death!"

He moved to climb out of the pit he'd made for himself, but only sank further in. The surrounding snow, disturbed by his efforts, toppled in after him. He was buried up to his shoulders as he sprawled half on his knees and elbows.

Buster was the first one to check on him, barking happily at first as if they were playing a fun game, then with increasing anxiety. Winston and Zoe and the others soon joined him, whimpering or howling their distress. One of the bigger dogs stomped on his back, no doubt in an attempt to save him, but only managed to push him further down, like a pat of butter being pressed into a heap of mashed potatoes. He thought of how the news story of his death would play. Something like "local man once thought to be a cannibalistic murderer was accidentally buried alive by his pack of dogs in what police are calling a hoarding situation gone bad" seemed about right.

He felt the load of dogs lighten and then there was a strong hand on the back of his neck. He was yanked up onto his knees by the collar of his undershirt.

"I'll go back inside," Hannibal said, his tone one of grand concession, "if only to keep you from doing something foolish."

*******

Hannibal made them both mugs of hot cocoa laced with whiskey. Will, wearing a new set of underpants and shirt, sat in the semidark, warming his lips against the hot ceramic of the mug. Hannibal was just as quiet, and seemed not to want to look directly at him.

Will thought back to the last time someone had shown up unannounced on his doorstep in the middle of the night. If he hadn't been plagued by hallucinations---and Alana so plagued by ideals of ethics---he would've gotten laid that night.

"You were on your way to visit me," Will said. "When you got stuck in the snow."

"Nothing as friendly as that," Hannibal said, still not looking at him. "I was only going to drive past to catch a glimpse of you."

"Wow."

"I loathe pity."

Will knew he should shut up He knew it. He was going to fuck up whatever lame fishing expedition he had planned with Jack Crawford because if he didn't shut up, he was going to figure out how he felt about Hannibal and that was going to make his life so much worse.

"I'm not pitying you," Will said, not shutting up. "I'm... genuinely surprised. It's not feigned ignorance, if you were thinking of accusing me of that again."

"So you're merely dense," Hannibal said.

"About this, yeah, I guess," Will laughed. He thought about putting down his mug and sliding into Hannibal's lap, but shook it off. "I don't like the idea of making a move on Alana's boyfriend---and don't protest that you're not. You know what I mean."

Hannibal winced into a smile. Only now did he glance up at Will. "So what would you have me do?"

"Get some sleep," Will said. "Finish your cocoa first or throw it out so the dogs don't get into it."

He downed the rest of his drink in one slightly too-hot gulp, then crawled into bed. He listened to Hannibal fussing about in the kitchen for a bit, the sound oddly comforting. There's a cannibal in your house, he told himself, and you're supposed to be entrapping him not having sleepovers with him. He tried to feel worked up about that, he really did. Maybe the righteous anger would come roaring back at some point, but it felt so far away. Certainly farther away than the warm, good-smelling body now sliding into bed behind him.

"Must I keep to my side this time?" Hannibal asked.

"I suppose not," Will said. "After driving all this way and trudging half a mile through the snow, a few inches doesn't seem like much."

He didn't get a response to that, so Will scooted backwards until his back touched Hannibal's chest. Eventually, he felt Hannibal shift slightly so that they fit smoothly together, like fire logs in a pile settling against one another. He watched the snow battering against the window, so thick that he couldn't see the sky beyond, and fell asleep without one drop of the cold touching him.

-end-

[fratboyvivimatthews]

never apart - auston matthews 

summary: from birth twins auston + y/n have never felt like what it’s been to be apart from each other, and for the rest of their lives they’ll never know the feeling 

warnings: swearing, mentions of sex

word count: [2,959]

“AUSTON STOP” his hand was placed in mine squeezing it tight. His wide eyes pulled away from the stage and down to meet my e/c ones. “Stop being so nervous.” 

Scoffing he looked away from me and back to the stage, “That’s easy for you to say Y/n/n, you’re not the one who’s about to be drafted.” Rolling my eyes at my twin I turned to look at our mother. She was having a conversation with our two sisters, but her eyes stayed glued to Auston and I’s intertwined hands. 

The time was starting to count down now. Two minutes until the pick had to be in, but we already knew. All of us did. My twin brother was about to make history. “Quit looking around,” I then teased leaning over to him. “We all know you’re going to get drafted first overall.” 

Auston’s hand squeezed mine a little harder once again. Looking over at me he shot me a smile, “I’m just taking it all in Y/n/n, you know what that’s like.” My e/c eyes rolled before I looked forward. “Come on, don’t be like that. You said it yourself, I’m gonna get picked first.” 

I whipped my head around to face him again my eyes narrowing in the process, “Aus sometimes you make it really difficult to love you. You’re a cocky little shit you know that?” 

He had now turned his body so he now faced me completely, and I could make out how broad his shoulders looked in his suit. “I’m almost sure you’ve been telling me that since you were born.” In a mere matter of second our mother now turned to scold the two of us. 

“Why is it always you two that bicker? Maybe some time apart from each other will do you two some good,” she started to explain causing Auston and I to share a look. Our mouths were both on the floor, she’s never said anything about us being apart before - in fact she always wanted us together. 

We both looked away from each other to our mother, “You are joking, aren’t you?” I asked before starting to laugh. “We’ve never been apart. You’ve never let us be apart before.” 

Auston nodded his head, “I don’t think I could survive living without Y/n. She’s always been there to push me to be better than what I used to be.” Our mother shook her head at us, a pointed look on her face before she turned away to carry another conversation with our sisters. 

“I’m never gonna leave you, you know that right Y/n/n? This isn’t an ending to us, okay?” As Auston spoke to me I turned my gaze away from him to the stage. The pick was in. In seconds we were going to be able to clap as he went up to clam his new Toronto Maple Leafs jersey. “I could never leave you. You’re my best friend, my twin, and I love you Y/n.” 

I snapped my head back to look at him, before sending an elbow into this rib-cage. “Are you going to ignore the fact that I just said I loved you?” 

“Auston - I,” my voice was cut out by Lou Lamoriell’s, the general manger for the Maple Leafs. 

“For Toronto’s,” Lou was then cut off by the sound of fans booing. I squeezed Aus’ hand, only for him to return the favor. I could feel him kiss my temple, an old tradition of ours when we wanted some luck. “For Toronto’s first pick of the two sixteen national hockey league draft we’re going to have director of personal make that selection, Mark Hunter.” 

Lou backed away from the podium, and Mark stepped forward. From the corner of my eye I watched as Auston had seemed to stop breathing waiting for the pick to be announced. He knew all to well that in a last minute chance they could have decided not to pick him. 

But I knew that, that didn’t happen. 

There is no way they couldn’t have picked him. 

“Toronto’s proud to announce from Zurich Men’s League Switzerland, from US Program Auston Matthews.” My heart had stopped beating, while my brother had started to smile since the first time we walked in. He stood up and hugged our mother first, followed by our younger sisters. Our older sister was after. The spotlight and cameras were on him the whole time. 

He hugged our father and his friends behind us before turning to me. His arms wrapped around my smaller figure holding me close to him. His lips were pressed to the shell of my ear, “Y/n I love you so much more than you know, and I couldn’t have done this without you. You’re my twin sister move to Toronto with me. Please.” 

His whispers and the fact that he was taking the longest moment with me out of all of our family made me have butterflies grow in my stomach. I was so happy for him. I pulled myself out of his arms to look up at him, a full blown smile across my face. “I love you too Aus and you could have made it without me. You just probably wouldn’t be as good. I’ve never been, and never could be more proud of you than I am right now. And of course I’ll more to Toronto with you.” 

Auston’s million dollar smile graced his face, before he pulled me close to him again. A kiss was placed on my temple once more, “You’ve just made me the happiest twin brother ever.” Pulling away from me he had started to make his way to the stage. My parents had pulled me into their embrace, but instead of looking to them I stayed focused on the Arizona native hockey player on the stage. 

Walking across he shook hands with everyone, before struggling to try and pull the jersey over his head. 

I could never be more proud than I was right now. 

I stood in the stands of the Ottawa Senators arena with my parents on either side of me. Auston was lining up for another face off. He had already scored three goals tonight, and was probably looking for the fourth. It was only because in my first high school game I had scored four. Then in his next US Program game, he went out and scored five. 

And that’s just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to how competitive we were. Our mother had already been crying, and I couldn’t stop smiling to save my life this was my twin brother who was older by ten minutes. You could also see that Auston was trying hard to keep the smirk off his face. 

He had one the draw, and now the Leafs were trying to break the puck out of our zone. The people who were getting the job done, was Auston and Will. The pair now had a two-on-one. Will had carried the puck over the blue line before passing it back to Auston, and he put the puck into the back of the net. I jumped from my seat once again, cheering for my brother, and boyfriend. 

The game then dragged on, and we ended up losing in overtime. But it didn’t matter to me as I made my way down to the locker room so I could congratulate my brother. Auston was standing out of the locker room. Turning to look over at me a smile laced his features like he could tell I was coming. 

Will was standing next to my brother a bright smile also covering his face once he saw me. “Auston,” I whispered smiling back at him, before jumping up and wrapping my arms and legs around him. “You’re something else my dear twins brother.” 

I felt as his chest vibrated underneath my body. “It’s only because you scored three in your college debut,” he then went on to tease before setting my small body on the ground. My brother’s bigger frame stayed wrapped around me, and the smell of sweat and washed out Old Spice filled my nostrils. 

“I’m still here guys,” Will’s voice called making me pull away from my brother. Slowly Auston released me from his hold allowing me to walk over to Will and hug him. Kissing his cheek he answered, “That’s better.” 

I rolled my e/c orbs while making eye contact with Auston who was now starting a post-game interview. “And here I thought I had good hands, but damn did Auston prove me wrong. His are so much better.” My smile grew at Will’s words, and as Auston smiled back at me. 

Biting my lip I turned to face Will. “Oh trust me, I know,” I explained looking back at Will’s shiny blue eyes, before looking back to Auston’s big brown ones that had lit up his whole face. Pure joy and happiness had soon taken over his facial features. 

“I know better that anybody.” 

I had walked into the apartment next to Auston, Mitch and Matt Martin in front of us. “Why did you guys ask me to come?” I asked not seeing one person in the room that I knew, other than the three men I came with. 

Auston looked back at me grinning “We’re never apart - plus I wanted to beat you at your own game.” It was my turn to start grinning while I stuck my hand out for him to shake. 

“Oh it’s on Aus; I can’t wait to see you cry when you lose to me.” Dramatically he rolled his eyes before narrowing them on to me. 

“Don’t worry Y/n/n, you’ll be the one crying in the end,” he remarked before we went and started this little ordeal. The video cameras were everywhere, while we started this little game. Before Matt, Mitch, Auston, and I got the chance for us to start the shootout challenge we each had to do an intro. 

For mine, I kept it simple, “Hey I’m Y/n Matthews, and I’m just here to beat Auston.” Mitch was the first to shoot, and had only scored one goal. Auston was next, and had scored on his first one. He fell short and only finished with three out of ten. 

Matt was after, and on his second goal had broken the net. “I bet I beat all of you,” I spoke earning the attention of Mitch. 

“No way will you beat Auston,” Mitch said giving me a look before watching Matt work on his last couple of shots. 

“Well we all know I’ll beat you,” I teased grabbing the stick from Matt and walking to the line. I could hear Auston and Matt both laughing at my comment, while Mitch sat there with his mouth hanging open. 

“For all of your sakes I really hope this unknown girl doesn’t just swoop in and beat all of you.” 

I rolled my eyes before taking a quick wrist shot, making it in the top right corner. “I call this performance the Y/n Matthews, because it’s the one that Auston will never be able to outdo.” 

And just like that I had scored all ten of my shots, meaning I had beaten the three NHL players. 

“I don’t think I could ever be more proud of you,”  Auston recalled as we walked into our apartment. I laughed while closing the door, and shrugging my jacket off. “Seriously Y/n where did you learn how to do that?” 

“Uh, from practicing, and my ability to be better than you helped.” Aus just stood there in the middle of the kitchen shaking his head and laughing at me. I kicked off my converse placing them next to Will’s Nikes that were laying on the shoe rack. “Oh Will’s over by the way.” 

I had started to make my way back to my room when I heard Auston groan. My last sentence must have just hit him. “Really? You don’t say Will’s here. I couldn't tell by his shoe on our shoe rack, or the fact that his car keys are on our counter. I better not hear anything - impure coming from your room or so help god I will come in there - even if you're naked, and I will kill him. I swear to go Y/n-” 

Cringing I glared at him, “Come one Auston we aren’t that stupid. We’d go to his apartment if we wanted to have sex. Plus it’s not like I don’t get stuck staying up all hours because of you and all of your girls you bring up here.” Auston’s mouth was on the floor as he glared at me. 

He had started to chase me into my room screaming cruses at me, until I slammed the bedroom door into his face. Leaning my back against it I had gotten to see that Will was lying on my bed mindlessly scrolling through his phone unfazed by the fact that Auston and I had been fighting. 

It was a normal thing for us. 

Phineas and Ferb was playing on my smart TV. Sighing I went to admit defeat before pulling the door open to see Auston hunched over at the kitchen counter. “Aus we’re watching Phineas and Ferb if you wanna join.” 

In a flash he was in my room lying down next to Will. The Swedish hockey player had set his phone down, and let my twin brother lay in his arms so they could cuddle. “Wow, I feel so loved right now.” 

Auston and Will shared a look before staring at me, “We do love you - not.” 

Flicking them off I stomped my way over to the queen sized bed and curled up into a ball on the opposite side of them. “Why do I love either of you?” 

Once again I sat in between my brother and father. Our hands were intertwined resting in Auston’s lap. “I don’t think I’m going to win,” Auston mumbled as the speaker started to announce the rookies that were up for the Calder. 

“Don’t say that Aus,” I started to say giving his hand a light squeeze, “I have a great feeling that you will.” Auston gave me the are-you-kidding-me look. 

“I dunno Y/n/n,” he whispered against my temple before placing a kiss there. “I need a little bit of luck on my side.” Nodding I leaned over and placed a kiss on his cheek for extra luck. 

“And the Calder Memorial Trophy goes too,” my hand squeezed Auston’s a little bit stronger. It seemed like the pause had lasted forever before the envelope was opened. “Auston Matthews.” 

Auston had squeezed my hand kissing my temple before standing up. He hugged our parents, then our sisters and finally me. 

His whole body wrapped around me in a bone crushing hug, “See if it weren’t for you I wouldn’t be here right now.” 

“I told you so,” I sang smiling up at him, “but I’ve never been so proud of you Aus. I love you so much.” 

“You told me that last time,” he whispered smirking down at me while he pulled away from our hug and walked up to the stage. My smile only grew as I watched my brother walk up the stairs to receive his award. 

“Why is it every time something happens for either of those two, they always hug each other the longest, or always congratulate each other the most?” Breyana asked my mother. 

She simply smiled over at me then looked up to Auston, “It’s a twin thing dear, nobody’s going to be able to come in between those two.” She was right nobody was going to come in between me and Auston. 

Auston now stood on the stage accepting his award with a smile on his face. “Thank you, uh, first congrats Zach, Patrik on unbelievable years. I mean you guys are great player’s fun to watch.” 

My gaze snapped over to the other two NHL rookies before looking back to my brother. “Fun to compete against. Um, my family, my parents. Uh, thank you guys just for everything you’ve done for me just to get to this point I wouldn’t be here without you guys. Uh the Toronto Maple Leafs all my teammates, coaches, management, staff for all the help all year long. The city of Toronto, Leafs nation.” 

In the crowd there were uproars of cheers coming from the Maple Leafs fans. “You guys are the best fans in the league. And finally to my twin sister Y/n. Without you in this world I wouldn’t be anywhere, I’d be nothing. You push me to be better than you and to be my best I could possibly be. You’ve been there for me, and now you’re stuck with me for the rest of this crazy ride. So thank you.” 

His big brown eyes locked with my e/c one’s and I could see the tears forming at his waterline, a million dollar smile lighting the rest of his face up. Turning on his feet he followed the people on stage and walked off. 

Later a security guard came and found us, saying that Auston was asking for us. We all followed him, to take pictures with Auston and his award. He motioned for me to join him, which I did; standing next to the trophy we both had giant smiles on our faces. 

We took multiple, and then one with our whole family. Auston was holding me close to him. 

“Never apart,” he whispered into my ear as we sat back down in our seats. He was offering me a fist bump to go along with what he had just said. 

“Never apart,” I answered fist bumping him. 

[queenieschronicles]

Golden Age

Cole Sprouse x Reader

Summary: It’s the Golden Age - 1950s - in a fictional town/city of Twin Oaks with a fictional take on L.A. Your new job as a singer at The Blue Room introduces you to Cole Sprouse - a mysterious, handsome man. You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into now that he’s got his sights set on you.

Word Count: 1420

Warnings: Smoking

A/N: I was just going to dive into this story, but I really wanted the meet cute. I wanted to flesh out the characters as I saw them and wanted them. This is definitely only a rough draft beginning. I thought I’d post it just to give myself a start. I may just change this to the prologue later. Also critiques are welcomed. Hope you enjoy!

“I’ve got this gig down at The Blue Room in two hours.” You looked at your roommate through the mirror of your vanity while applying your favorite ruby lipstick. She held a look of wild excitement. “What are we doing standing here? We better burn some rubber and get there!” She snatched a red dress from the spine of a chair and disappeared.

The two of you met up shortly in the foyer of the two bedroom flat you shared in the city. Lili gawked at you in your stunning black satin lace, off-shoulder gown. You flushed as she grabbed your hands and whisked your forward. “Oh doll, you’re going knock’em dead tonight.”

Lili had been your best friend since childhood. She was a beautiful blond with big baby blues. She radiated like the sun and everyone adored her. You spent most of your life standing beside her, but never in her shadow. You, however, knew the difference between you and Lili. She had everyone doting on her. Every man wanted to love her. Every woman wanted to be her.

Lili was humble though. She accepted her gifts with grace and only wanted to have fun. If you weren’t included, Lili was not having any part of it. You were always grateful that you had Lili, especially when she was there to build up your ego. You were nervous and it probably shown like a beacon. She gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze,” (Y/N), you’re going to blow them away. If your voice wasn’t enough, this get up will surely stun them.”

Lili was the daring one. She was willing to risk life and limb for a thrill. That had always scared both of your parents. You were supposed to ground Lili, but here you were breaking through your shell. The “cozy” town of Twin Oaks would have been flabbergasted. They would have been awestruck that Miss (Y/L/N) was getting up in front of a crowd and singing songs that were best saved for a night in the boudoir.

Shortly thereafter, you were righting shotgun in Lili’s 1953 Buick Roadmaster Skylark. You had momentarily forgotten the knots in your stomach when singing away to “Earth Angel.” The nerves washed over you in waves when the passenger door was being opened by valet. You suddenly wished Harriman – your family’s longtime chauffeur – was there to drive you home.

“Welcome to The Blue Room, madame.”

You gave the doorman a curt nod with an accompanied smile. Lili was as exuberant and lively as always. Her energy flowing through the whole room. They all noticed her. She handed out charming smiles like donations in church on a Sunday. You felt your presence swept under the rug and you didn’t mind.

You found Mr. Calloway – the owner – standing in the corner of the room where his office was securely tucked away. He smiled at you and lowered his whiskey. “Just in time, babe. You’re up right after this bit.” You turned for just a moment to notice the cabaret before he disappeared. You were whisked backstage before you could order a shot.

As the girls trailed backstage passed you, you could hear Mr. Calloway himself speaking to his club members,” Tonight, ladies and gentleman, I have a special treat for you. This little kitten makes all the cats go wild. It is my profound pleasure to introduce you to Miss (Y/L/N).”

The lights came up on you. You could feel your pulse quicken and your knees become shaky like the stilts of an old beach house. Your teeth grazed your lower lip and you gave a smile to the band. So began your rendition of “Lover Man”.

Smoke danced in front of him. A cigarette pursed tightly between his fingers a fuse slowly burning out. He took a long draw of the stick and let the calm overcome him. A slow exhale released a small stream of smoke. He was relatively stoic among his table.

They laughed with their bellies and smiled with their eyes. Amongst these people, he found himself lost in dazzling lights and colorful drinks. The table itself sparkled with crystal glasses and minor spills of amber Armagnac, red wine, and champagne.

“You’re bad news tonight, Cole.”

The raven-haired beauty leaned forward on her elbows. A smirk tugged at her mauve lips as she eyed him. A brunette cat peaked from behind her with a grin holstered on his mug. She was always messing with him. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as his eyes raised to her.

“I made the scene didn’t I, Camila? I’m just not in the mood to be out drinking.”

She took a sip of champagne and studied him for just a moment. Nothing could ever be straightforward with Camila. She was a scrutinizer, but that made her good at getting to the bottom of things. She left it though and turned her attention back to KJ. The man had his arms draped around Camila lightly. Cole watched with a soft smile. He might not have been energetic tonight, but he was always happy to be with friends. He was even happy to sit through another boring act that Mr. Calloway was trying to push.

His interest shifted the moment he heard you. You crooned with such soul that he leaned forward in the seat. He carefully pushed his dark locks out of his face to get a better look at you. The dress hugged your waist and the lace sleeves draped on your arm leaving your soft shoulders exposed.

His teeth slowly grazed his lower lip. His eyes darkening noticeably. Camila rose a curious brow to this and exchanged a glance between the two of you.

The cigarette in his hands fizzled out quickly. The end crumbling like a sandcastle at high tide. You captivated him all the way up to your exit. He excused himself from his party. He wracked his brain for your name but he had grown accustomed to tuning Mr. Calloway out.

He found you downing a glass of scotch.

“That’s quite an act you’ve got there, doll.”

He watched your lips part in momentary awe. You were cute when you were flustered.

“She’s the cat’s meow.”

He moved his gaze toward Lili. She gave him a long glance over, taking her time. She gave Cole a lopsided smile. You could tell she’d had one too many cocktails. Lili shot you a frisky look and moved her attention back to Cole,” Making yourself acquainted with my best friend.” She hiccupped so softly, but you knew it wouldn’t be long until Lili would be gone. You motioned for Larry the doorman to help you with Lili.

It wasn’t long before Lili had hooked arms with Larry and she was telling him all about the night.

You blushed at the perfect stranger,” Sorry, I’ve got to split. I really need to get her home.”

“Ain’t that a bite?” He paused and watched after Lili before piercing you with those blue hues. You stumbled back a bit. He caught you by the hand. Your cheeks burned and you laughed nervously,” What?” You paused confused. “Oh yeah. It was a pleasure meeting you.”

You practically fled. Fled the most handsome man you’d ever met. Your mother would say it was typical of you to run from a suitor. You had to catch up to Larry. The Buick was already pulled up and ready to go. Lili waved out of the passenger side window. You smiled fondly at her. She knew how to save you from an awkward situation – awkward or not.

You felt a hand catch your forearm. “ I didn’t catch your name.” You burned. He must have been hot on your trail. He was incessant. “It’s (Y/N).” You hurried around the car and tucked yourself safely away. He watched from the sidewalk.

As you drove away from the club nearing 2 AM, you watched the man in the suit behind you. A flame flickering over the butt of a brand new cigarette. You breathed in relief. “Men that look like that are never good news.”

You jumped as Lili spoke up,” Cole. Cole Sprouse. He’s the son of some wealthy mogul. Not sure where he’s from. Some say Montana, some say New York. He’s traveled everywhere.”

Cole stared after the Buick, inhaling the smoke into his lungs. In the chilled night air, the smoke danced pirouettes off the end of his cigarette. He must tell Mr. Calloway to have you back.

[mitchbeck]

CANTLON: HUSKIES WIN HOME AND SEASON FINALE 4-3 OVER UMASS

BY: Gerry Cantlon, Howlings HARTFORD, CT - For the UCONN Huskies it was like a “playoff game” as their hockey ended their season with a wild 4-3 win over the number two nationally ranked UMASS Minuteman before a boisterous and exceptionally loud crowd of 5,035 that rocked the XL Center Friday night. UCONN finishes with an overall record of 12-20-2 and 7-15-2 in Hockey East. The Minutemen, the regular season conference champion, finishes their regular season record of 26-8-0 and 18-6-0 in Hockey East. They will host the ninth-ranked University of New Hampshire in the first round of the playoffs next weekend. “Sometimes it takes a bit longer to finds your rhythm and competitiveness. I was reading about that with (coach) Brad Stevens of the Celtics. I feel if the season was a month longer, we would be playing in the Hockey East playoffs for sure.  Overall, I was so happy for our seniors, Miles (Gendron), Max (Kalter), AND Karl (El-Mir) for everything we stand for, to have them graduate, make them better men, and we wanted to compete for trophies. "I was impressed by how they brought this group along very easy. When you have 12 younger guys it can go sideways and be a train wreck. What they did to keep this group competitive the last month of the season, we finished 5-3. I can’t say enough about their leadership. They got a well-deserved win tonight,” remarked head coach Mike Cavanaugh. Beating UMASS, who eliminated them from playoff contention two weeks ago, was icing on the cake for UCONN in a season that saw some successes and some failures. “That was very special for all us seniors. We love it. They're a great team over there. To beat the number two team in the nation was unimaginable two months ago. I’m so proud of everybody how we held together.” senior Max Kalter said with an enormous smile. The game-winning tally came against the third Minuteman goalie of the night for UMASS, Brad Avanaitas. UMASS pulled Avanaitas for the sixth attacker with 1:38 left, but UCONN's team defense held the fort allowing the team to end their season on a winning note. In the final five minutes, the UCONN team defense had two key shot blocks. The first was by Ruslan Iskharov on the goal line and Miles Gendron. Then add in Kale Howarth’s tight checking of the ever-dangerous, Cale Makar, that forced him to dish off the puck. Tomas Vomacka made an amazing lateral save on Brett Boeing’s bid to tie the game kept UMASS at bay and secured a win. “Ruslan made a block. Adam (Karaschik) had a block. Kale's check on Makar forced him to chip it out to the neutral zone. We also did a good job clearing out any rebounds. It was a very good defensive effort,” remarked Cavanaugh. One of the seniors he referenced, Kalter, was pumped about that sequence of play by his team. “That what it takes to win,” Kalter said. “We have gotten better each year here, and over the last month the program has been stepping up every year, and I think this group (2019-20 edition) is going to go far, so there will be more great things for this program.” Kalter hopes to continue to go forward to pro hockey and could likely see him debut in the ECHL in the very near future. For Gendron, taking off his UCONN white home jersey was not going to be easy. His sweater has a "C" stitched on in the upper left corner. It meant more than people could realize on the surface. “It’s really special the guys voted me for this,” said an emotional Gendron. “It just wasn’t handed to me and that means everything. I’m so very proud of these guys. We wanted to be the first group to win a playoff game. We fell short, but tonight this was our playoff game and we won it. "I have faith in this group. They are going to do it next year, and the crowd, that was amazing. To come here and cheer for us when we have nothing to play for…. It makes me realize even more I made the right choice to come here.” The win, coming through a very emotional and entertaining game, showed how UMASS will be such a post-season force. They picked up right where they left off in the second period scoring at 45 seconds in. Mitchell Chaffee took the pass from Mario Ferraro in the left wing corner. He was able to curl away from Ben Freeman, zip across the crease and stuffed his second straight goal (17th) into the net. UMASS head coach Greg Carvel didn’t let his team off the hook. “Congratulations to the UCONN seniors in winning their last game. For my team, it was a very uneven game. We didn’t come out to play in the first, and we finally wanted to play (late in the second). I sat down a few kids who didn’t want to play. We tied it up in the third, but that next shot right after that was a backbreaker. We couldn’t find a way to win the rest of the third. It was very disconcerting to me as a coach that on March 8th we can’t find a way to be excited to play a game.” UCONN answered back 36 seconds after UMASS tallied as Freeman came across the Minuteman blue line. He sent a high wrist shot that went off Filip Lundeberg’s glove and into the net to give the Huskies back. It would be a 4-3 lead that they never relinquished. “They score late in the second with point two seconds to go and score on the first shift in the third, everything was going their way, but we were able to flip the script and get the momentum back and got the victory,” said Cavanaugh. UMASS tried to switch their fortunes by putting Filip Lundberg in the net to start the second period. It didn’t faze the Huskies. UMASS put on strong pressure with three solid scoring chances in the first two minutes as Boening, Maker, and Chaffe was each denied. The Huskies struck for their third goal and a highly unlikely 3-0 lead. Again all three forwards were in on the goal like the Huskies second goal. Kalter sent the puck to an open Jonny Evans on the left wing. He made a gorgeous, blind pitchfork backhanded pass to Iskharov who then fired his sixth goal over Lundberg's glove hand at 8:08. They seemingly had UMASS in a vise grip. UMASS is not number two in the nation by accident. In the final two minutes of the period, the team tallied twice narrowing the gap to one goal. After a ticky-tacky holding call from the ref who was at center ice, Thomas Fryer, the Minutemen’s Hobey Baker candidate, and Makar, a Colorado Avalanche draft pick, displayed why he is so highly regarded. He had a discussion prior to a face-off with Bobby Trivigno. UMASS won the draw and began a perfect cycle. Makar got the puck at the left point and fed Trivigno at the right point. They then switched positions and as he was transitioning, Makar passed the puck to Jacob Pritchard at the right side of the net. The left-handed shooter was left unchecked and wired a pass to Trivigno who came in through the back door on the left side and made a perfect open-blade redirect at 18:48 for his ninth goal and got UMASS on the scoreboard but trailing 3-1. UMASS kept the pressure on UCONN and scored in the waning seconds with Makar again involved, Makar sent a pass to Marc Del Gaizo at the left. With a perfect screen by Chaffee in front on starter Tomas Vomacka, deflected the 55-foot shot past Vomacka with just .02 seconds left in the period to make it a 3-2 game with what could have been a dagger to UCONN’s valiant game long effort. “That is the mark of a good program. No matter what score the score is, and what period it is, we stuck to the game plan and kept competing,” said Cavanaugh. The Huskies struck first against the second best team in the nation as all three forwards on the line touched the puck in the red zone. Brian Rigali made a strong move on the left wing and got around his check. He swung to the right wing side and his shot was stopped by Matt Murray. The puck hit the back of his skate, and the Huskies' Kale Howarth had a crack at it. Then Brian Freeman was able to chip the puck into the net for his sixth goal at 8:24. The Huskies kept pace with the swift-skating Minutemen getting back pressure support and not allowing for second and third chances. “It was a point of emphasis this week that we were back pressuring them and we didn’t give up many odd-man rushes and not slowing them to enter the (offensive) zone uncontested,” Cavanaugh said in speaking of their game plan of trying to lasso the high-end and fast skating UMASS squad that operates so effectively as five-man units. When UMASS broke Vomacka, a Czech freshman who was making his seventh start in the last nine UCONN games, was there to make the save. For Vomacka it was his 14th UCONN game of the season. The Huskies were able to extend their lead to 2-0 before the end of the period. Rigali scored with Iskharov on a shorthanded two-on-one. He was able to settle down a bouncing puck and got around a sliding Del Gaizo and zipped his fifth goal through the five-hole at 17:51. NOTES: Huska's leaving UCONN made him the sixth netminder this year for the Hartford Wolf Pack. Huska was the New York Rangers' 7th round pick (184th overall) in the 2015 NHL draft. He played junior hockey for the Green Bay Gamblers (USHL). Huska played just two games for UCONN over the final six weeks of the season because of Vomacka's hot play. He last played against Providence College on February 26th. His stats for the season are deceiving. Huska posted a 5-13-2 record with a 3.34 GAA and .896 save percentage in 1,202:44 minutes of action. He was playing behind a very young team composed of 12 freshmen. One his highlight starts came against Yale on New Year’s Eve Day where he made 39 saves including a spectacular skate blade save with pads stacked on a two-on-one on the Bulldogs' Mitchell Smith. Huska career includes 69 career games, a 2.90 GAA, a career record 20-38-8 and just under 4,000 minutes played. He also had two career shutouts. A Nashville organizational source told Cantlon’s Corner that neither pair of freshmen Predators draftees, goalie Tomas Vomacka, or center Jacym Kondelik will not be offered pro contracts this spring. “While we like their progress, they have room for a lot of growth,“ remarked the source. They requested anonymity, “Vomack, we like his play very much, however, a goalie always need playing time and Kondelik has to work on his skating and has to get more physical despite being a 6’6 forward. Neither is ready for the AHL right now.” Now that they have Brian Boyle in Nashville, he's the prototype for what they want out of Kondelik. Gendron said he will take a few days to rest and talk with his agent as to what the Ottawa Senators, who drafted him, might want to do. Most likely, the Sens might sign him to an ATO with Belleville  (AHL), “I know the team is in a playoff push, and even if it's just to go to learn and practice with the team, I’m open to what they have to offer.” Since firing head coach Guy Boucher last week, they're still in organizational transition. A note for the new Governor, and his Chief of Staff... When UCONN hockey is home in their regular season and home finale, you should be there not at a Yale-RPI game. The Bulldogs are in the ECACHL playoffs that they could see next week. They should have been at the XL Center with this great crowd. Read the full article