#joshua oo1

[lightswake]

@musrattus

“Begone.”

A wave of light spread out from the winged half-elf, throwing the monsters that had surrounded him in any other direction. The man grew tired of these insects, but was otherwise underwhelmed by their strength. They were mere nuisances.

Still, for some reason he traveled around the remains of the city, exploring the different “wards” and assessing the situation he found himself in. Occasionally he’d intervene in the struggles of others. If he ever helped someone it was always a quick save and then a prompt departure, usually not even sparing words for those that may be gracious. He didn’t need gratitude.

Occasionally, though, he would stop to watch another’s battle, interested in learning what kind of magic the people in this place used.

This was an instance like that. He’d paused his exploration in favor of watching a young white haired boy crushing monsters with debris. He, as well, had wings--though his were made from feathers. Something about him seemed old. Something about him hinted that he had more power than he expressed.

Yggdrasill didn’t particularly care if the other noticed him, either way, he would most assuredly file this information away for future encounters.

[usodanee]

Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them. With how things had been going for him lately, it was hard to tell which category he belonged to. Great was he though, undeniably so. As the new Composer of one of Tokyo’s busiest districts, how could anyone possibly refuse that. Still, he’d only been granted the throne of Shinjuku a few mere couple of days ago. Things were still unstable, the city gradually shifting to fit its new Composer’s desires. Rules had been reapplied and he had a bunch of tiring hours, days, behind him that were filled to the brim with bureaucracy. 

Who would have guessed that godhood came with so much responsibilty and boring requirements? Gradually he’d been losing his interest and spirit, so by demand of his babysitter Producer, he’d gone off to take a break. In reality, Ouma had been whining and protesting, slowing down the entire process until his new co-worker had lost all of his patience. Still, what good was there, yelling at ears who only listened to what they wanted to hear. It took true power to discipline a spoiled brat, especially if said brat unfortunately happened to be your boss. Well, the Composer didn’t think too much of it. It’s not like work would run from him. He could enjoy himself and go back once his spirit had returned in all of its freshness.

And until then, he’d kill time in one of the neighbouring districts. Part of him faintly remembers the request not to leave his own city, especially if the setup process wasn’t done yet, but that voice was one of many others floating around in his head, singing songs of the shops and restaurants in Shibuya he’d grown so fond of. Besides, this district had its very own Composer too, didn’t it? What a fun person they must be, if they were Shibuya’s guardian.  The question was, how to get their attention?

He already stood right next to Hachiko. Once you’ve left the station, it was quite literally the first thing you’d run into. A famous meeting spot, huh? Now, together with his powers…

“Neeee, Shibuya-chan~!”, he yelled from the top of his lungs, loud enough to let all of Shibuya hear. Why lower his frequency if it was much more effective to stay on the same level as the person he was trying to meet up with anyway?  “If you don’t pick me up, I’ll put Hachiko on top of the Government Building and you’ll have to go on a 10 year adventure quest to get him back~!” 

@the-composer

[synesthesiaghxst-blog]

telltale

Remarkable.

One could say his story, was. In a way. But-- no one really knew it, could really tell it, aside from maybe a handful of people. But-- well, never himself. He’s still taking the time to sort it out, to pull it apart, to piece it together once again, before he would even be able to start stringing it into something coherent, and, well, he’s not making very much progress, is he? 

If sitting around and staring at it counts, them, perhaps, but he doubts it. And he lingers a little too long, thumbs the edges of the pieces, and he breaths and feels the air fluttering in his chest and thinks again of that world of timers and partners and games of death, of life, his death and life and whatever that was, that game that happened in between.

His story is many things. But, it isn’t quite over.

Or so he’d like to think. Or so he insists to himself.

Because he can’t quite move on, not yet. It’s-- almost a little surprising, because ‘sentimental’ wasn’t quite something he would’ve called himself: but, to be fair, there were many things he wouldn’t have called himself. At least before. Some things have changed, in that month; others were just plain wrong, as he slowly starts to learn.

(He’d forgotten, but he’s never quite forgiven. What happened with Joshua perhaps didn’t apply for the former, but it wasn’t exactly the first of the latter.)

But life moves on, and so he tries. It’s been months, after all; he’s wished, hoped, maybe even prayed (he felt silly, but that was how it is, he supposes; that was how nearly everything was, now, but his feeble attempts at, well, giving a shit has faded with every single one of his deaths), but-- it’s all been for naught, apparently.

Not that he expected much anything else, but a kid can still be disappointed.

So he stops, but the wish still stays pressed to the back of his heart, quiet, and he feels it thrum in quiet nights, lulls of days, when he’s with the others and feels that there’s a space, missing...

he feels it now, in the flash of curly hair.

He almost thinks he’s imagined it. But-- maybe once upon a time he’d dismiss hope as a silly thing, but now he allows it a moment to burst in nervous anticipation all over his insides, hitch his breath as he finds his heel spinning, his feet tugging him forward, forward, faster--

“J-- Joshua--?”

He refuses to dismiss this chance. 

@virtuoxo

[jooackerman]

♡ OO1

¡Hey bloggers! Soy una estudiante más en este mundo y tuve la oportunidad de usar uno de los computadores para buscar información acerca de la historia de los demonios y sus consecuencias; ¿Alguien entiende de eso? Si es así, comuníquese conmigo porque me he rendido y he cambiado un proyecto por otro. Crearme una de estas cuentas. Iré directo al grano, mi nombre es Jolie Ackerman Hadley, mis padres son Joshua Ackerman y Kayla Hadley, ¿Los conocen? Si no es así yo les puedo decir que son los padres más maravillosos del mundo y a pesar que en algún momento de nuestro camino se separaron, pudieron separar sus diferencias (que supongo que toda pareja tiene después de una ruptura) y nos dieron el amor más incondicional de la vida, porque gracias a ello pudimos crecer en un ambiente sano y llenisimo de amor. Hablo en plural porque mi cumpleaños no es sólo para mi sino que lo comparto con mi hermana gemela, Parker. Ella es la persona más popular del colegio, todas las chicas andan alrededor de ella y tiene un carácter mucho más fuerte que el mío. Por mi parte, prefiero cumplir con las reglas, disfrutar en mi tiempo libre cantando y leyendo, acciones que me han ayudado ser una de las mejores estudiantes porque desde que comencé, me he enfocado por aprender y entender, que aunque no se den cuenta, está enseñanza es mucho más intensa que muchas otras escuelas. Eso me gusta. Actualmente estamos viviendo en Chicago, en un internado para niños con habilidades y nosotros tenemos herencia por parte familiar. A pesar de todo eso con papá siempre tenemos contacto y de hecho, este fin de semana estamos todos juntos. Me alegra porque de verdad que si lo extrañaba. ¡Te amo papá ♡! Este fin de semana lo hemos aprovechado muy bien. Seguiría pero mamá está pidiendo una videollamada y odio dejándola esperando. Peace. ♡ Jolie Ackerman.

[onefiftyhair-blog]

He’s tired.

He’s not sure if this is a dream, whatever this is. An afterlife, perhaps some unconscious world he’s dreamed up in his denial of defeat. Considering how the spirit’s managed to wrangle a mountain-sized vegetable under his control and subsequently drain, defeat, and capture Teruki with relative ease, he’s honestly not sure of what to believe of now.

But he is grateful for the break, whatever it is. He does not mind the rubble; finds an almost sort of solace in it, almost, as it reminds him of home (but it also reminds him of other things, though Teru leaves those thoughts be).

The coffee shop here is peaceful, slow, a bit of a lull but he’ll take whatever he can get, at this point. He denies a salad and orders a coffee, settling in a high table for two by the window and spends more of his time staring at the street instead of drinking his cooling coffee, simply taking sips by the handful of minutes before getting lost in thought.

It’s not too long before someone arrives at the seat before him, and it’s with a note of curiosity Teruki lifts his head, quirks an eyebrow, drinking in the stranger with an intrigued look.

(And— he senses something from him. He knows it. And his nerves jolt a bit on edge, his body goes the slightest bit tense, his eyes narrow in just the bit.)

But Teruki just flashes a sliver of his teeth, tilting his head a bit as he acknowledges the stranger with a small smile.

“Place is a bit crowded today, don’t you think?” And then he laughs, and gestures lazily with the back of his palm. “Oh, but it’s alright, I don’t mind a companion. Take a seat, if you’d like.”

@noworldangel

[aworldbeginning-blog]

This city reminds him of Shibuya, some. It’s as busy, as colorful, with this bizarre rainbow collage of a population,  of people, if not even more so, with all these robots and demons and magicians and dragons and everything in between— nothing Shibuya ever had.

But there’s something about Shibuya this city doesn’t have. Shibuya was more alive; it breathed more. CAT’s bold and wild graffiti dashing across Shibuya’s walls, there was a uniqueness to the city that no other place could even hope to match up to; besides, Shibuya was home. Neku is Shibuya born and raised; he’s really known nothing else.

Either Real or Under.

But there’s Shiki, and Beat, and Rhyme, and everyone else. They were part of Shibuya; part of his world. Their world. In a way, they saved their city, right at his side; perhaps once upon a time, he’d be disgusted at the idea, but here, now, he misses them. All of them.

… even him.

He’s surprised to come across the boy (the Composer, a former partner, his friend) in this city, on the streets, looking the same as… ever. Joshua almost looks like he’s been expecting him, the way he’s standing there with a hand in pocket, elbow danging back lazily, casually— and knowing him… Neku really wouldn’t be surprised. Maybe this wasn’t Shibuya, but what did he know? For all he knew, Joshua was the composer of this place, too.

“Joshua?” he says, finding his own feet stopping just a few steps before the other boy; his surprise is hard to mask, if not impossible. “You’re… here too?”

@noworldangel​