#this is super late oops

[gravityskittles]

Chapter 13: Family Matters

Stan watched Ford’s fingers tap across the tabletop. He could feel the fresh start to a migraine begin to dig in behind his eyes. Half blurred images kept surfacing and then disappearing before he had the chance to really focus on them. At this point he was almost certain he had ended up in that diner at least two more times during the years before Gravity Falls. He groaned slightly as another half remembered moment, this one involving a figure he couldn’t make out with the glint of a switchblade held in their hand, flickered into his consciousness for a moment before fading away again.

Ford looked up sharply from his journal.

“Stanley, we don’t have to finish going over this if it’s hurting you.”

Stan shook his head, “I’m fine Poindexter. Jus’ worried about the kids.”

He could feel that Ford wanted to argue. He could see it in the way his posture straightened, in the way his fingers stilled their blurred movement on the tabletop and the way his other hand tightened on the pen it was holding. He took a breath and Stan sighed.

Then both of them snapped around towards the doorway of the kitchen. Stan’s hands were moving towards his pockets for his knuckle dusters before he had even registered what the problem was, and a movement in the corner of his eye told him Ford’s blaster was primed and ready. Then Fiddleford zoomed into the kitchen, Pacifica right behind him, and screeched to a halt.

“Where’s the fire boys?” He looked cautious but not upset with them. Stan paused in the act of pulling out his brass knuckles and instead just shoved his hands further into his jacket pockets, trying to look nonchalant as he settled himself back into his chair. He watched as Ford sheepishly lowered his blaster and sank back into his own seat, fingers beginning to card through his hair anxiously.

Pacifica, who had ducked down behind Fiddleford’s chair as soon as she had registered what was happening, cautiously peered over his shoulder at them.

“Sorry kid,” Stan said gruffly, kicking Ford under the table, “just been a bit jumpy lately.”

Ford grimaced and mumbled out his own apology before tucking his blaster away again.

Fiddleford stared at them both for a minute then shook his head, mumbling something that sounded an awful lot like “what am I going to do with you two” before pulling further into the room and holding out his hand for a stack of papers that Pacifica was shuffling nervously.

After Stan had left Cassie’s diner, he had practically run all the way back home. He had given Ford the shorthand of events over the phone as he ran. Ford had then sent Pacifica and Fiddleford away to figure out where Deadwood was and what danger it might present to the younger twins. When Stan had arrived home Ford had made him go over the entire story twice, including the memory, in as much detail as he could remember. Stan had been surprised that Ford had believed him so quickly. Not about the diner or Cassie obviously, there was very little that surprised either of them anymore when it came to weirdness or anomalies. No, Stan had been surprised with how readily Ford had accepted that Stan trusted Cassie so implicitly. He had been prepared for an argument, prepared for Ford to tell him they couldn’t trust someone like that. Instead, Ford had just nodded and written down her warning in his journal. He had even asked Stan to repeat it several times to ensure he had gotten the wording right. It really said a lot about how much the two of them had grown over the past few years. 

He knew that Ford probably only trusted her because she had saved Stan’s life in the past, but it really meant a lot that Ford had trusted him—hell that Ford had trusted his memory—enough to gamble the kids’ lives on. To be honest, it scared him a little. But he knew he was right on this one, and the expression on Fiddleford’s face cemented that for him.

“Well, I’d say Deadwood is certainly a good bet. Accordin’ to the twin’s current travels Pacifica here worked out a trajectory for where they’d be headin’ next. Seems like they should be passin’ through Deadwood sometime in the next few days.” He carefully spread out the paper he had taken from Pacifica onto the table.

It was a map of the US with a series of hand drawn lines on it that seemed to depict the twin’s cross-country journey. It had various photos from traffic cams taped to it along with small sketches of items presumably purchased via Mabel’s credit card.

“Pacifica, did you make this?”

She started fidgeting with the end of her braid and stared down at the floor. “Um well, Candy helped Mr. Mcgucket print out all the traffic cam photos, and Grenda has been keeping track of the credit card purchases but um...”

“Yep! She made it! She’s spent the last few days working on it and she spent this morning comparing different routes to Gravity Falls figurin’ out what their fastest route would be.”

Fiddleford gave her a soft pat on the shoulder, shoving her forward towards the map.

“She did a right good job of it too.”

Pacifica’s face flushed. “I’ve been scrapbooking stuff of Waddles for Mabel. I had some extra material laying around that’s all.”

Stan leaned forward over the map, hiding his smile. “Well, it looks fantastic kiddo. Seems like your path has them heading right through Deadwood.” He glanced up at Fiddleford. “Find anything interestin’ on the anomaly front, Fidds?”

The man grinned back at him, setting down the rest of the papers he was holding. “As a matter of fact, I did. Not too sure what’s causin’ it or nothin’. It may not be overly helpful, but Deadwood, South Dakota seems to have a suspicious number of wildfires. An’ at times of the year that don’t make a lick of sense.”

Stan winced, remembering the crackling of the flames rising around him as Cassie’s diner had faded away.

“That seems about right then. Ford, any idea of what might be causing that?”

Ford was staring at the map, with a slightly unfocused look in his eyes.

“Ford, you okay?”

He didn’t respond. Stan realized with a jolt that Ford hadn’t responded to anything since Fiddleford came into the room. He glanced up at Fidds. “Well, sounds like we should get packing then if we want to catch them in Deadwood.” He said, carefully pulling on his Mr. Mystery Smile. “We’ll probably wanna leave first thing in the morning.” Fidds caught his eye and nodded subtly, turning and ushering Pacifica back out of the kitchen.

Stan waited, listening to the sound of the wheelchair zooming away back into the depths of the house, before turning to face Ford again.

“Alright, earth to Sixer. What’s going on?”

Ford blinked and then shook his head roughly like he had water in his ears.

“I’m fine Stanley.” He said quietly, and began to busy himself folding up the map and neatening the stack of papers Fiddleford had printed out of the town’s fire history.

“Ford.” Stan ran back through the interaction trying to figure out what had happened. Then Ford stood up from the table, revealing the blaster strapped to his belt, and everything clicked. “You weren’t going to shoot them, Stanford.”

He said it casually, looking carefully at his brother out of the corner of his eye. He watched him stiffen in shock, and then collapse loosely back down onto the chair.

“I could have.” He said flatly.

“Nah. You’re an ask questions first kind of guy. Helps you determine exactly how painful someone’s death should be.” He said it lightly, part of it was a joke after all. But he also knew he wasn't wrong.

Thirty years of being basically hunted for sport through various dimensions had turned Ford into a carefully honed weapon. Stan hadn’t seen it often; Ford did an excellent job of hiding it under nerd glasses and anxiety, but he had seen it. In the last few years there had only been a handful of times, whenever they were backed into a corner with no way out, when something inside the familiar shape of his brother would sharpen and detach into something precise, deadly, and more than a little terrifying to witness. However, Stan would never tell him that. Aside from very specific circumstances, he knew it tore Ford up inside to hurt people, even people who really truly deserved it. The specific circumstances in question were the list of people from Stan’s past which Ford kept in his journal. Stan didn’t know exactly why he kept that list, and he had decided a long time ago that he was never going to ask.

Ford’s expression didn’t change. “I’m dangerous Stanley.”

“Sure you are. ‘Bout as dangerous as me when I haven’t had my coffee in the morning.”

“Stanley, this is serious!”

“I am being serious! C’mon Stanford, be reasonable. I reached for my weapon, same as you did. We’re both a bit jumpy these days. Fiddleford understood. There was no harm done.”

Ford glared at Stan, who was caught off guard by the intensity of his gaze. A clear mix of anger and beneath that a genuine, naked fear.

“Your weapon can’t disintegrate someone’s atomic structure, Stanley.” He took a deep shaky breath. “It doesn’t matter that Fiddleford understood, he shouldn’t have to understand. I scared Pacifica, I pointed a gun at a child Stanley! I could have killed her! I shouldn’t be around children, I’m not safe anymore!”

Stan’s heart lurched. “Ford, I’m not tryna’ downplay what happened. I recognize you coulda’ killed them, but you didn’t, and I know ya weren’t going to.” He sighed as he watched Ford open his mouth to argue. “Ford, we should talk about this later. It’s been a long day, neither of us have actually eaten anything other than coffee since about eight this morning. You go pack, I’ll make dinner.”

Ford stood up and began to walk unsteadily towards the living room, pausing as he went to squeeze Stan’s shoulder firmly. Stan took that to mean that things were as okay as they were going to get right now.

“Ford,” He didn’t turn around, feeling his brother pause, hovering in the doorway, “You’re always going to be safer for Dipper and Mabel than their parents ever were. Just remember that.”

Ford hesitated, as though about to say something, but then there was the sound of the front door slamming and when Stan turned to look, Ford was gone.

He sighed and closed his eyes, wincing slightly at the headache that was still steadily growing.

“Why didn’t you tell me, Stan?!” Hissed a familiar voice from the doorway.

He ignored this and instead turned towards the cabinets, rifling through them for various ingredients.

For a moment there was silence and then an explosive yell from behind him and the thunk of something heavy against the kitchen table.

“Don’t ignore me old man!”  

Stan sighed again, it had been a long day, and he really was getting too old for this.

“Wendy,” He replied calmly, turning to face the girl whose hand was still gripping the handle of the axe she had just embedded into his kitchen table. “I’m gonna tell Soos to deduct that from your next paycheck.”

She took a step back, surprised at his nonchalance, and he took the opportunity to shove a bowl, whisk, and eggs into her hands.

“Here, whisk this.”

“What are you doing?!” She yelled at him. Stan winced and feigned tapping irritably on his hearing aid to cover up the actual stab of pain in his head.

“Making pancakes.” He turned away from her to dig around in the spice cabinet for glitter.

“Why?!”

“Because I’m hungry, Ford hasn’t eaten anything all day, and because I know I’ve taught you better ways to manage your anger than attacking my furniture with an axe.” He turned to face her again, this time allowing some annoyance to slip into his voice and leveling her with a stern glare. “Now, whisk.”

She slammed the bowl down and attempted to crack an egg into it. The first one missed the bowl entirely, smashing onto the counter instead in a spray of yolk and shell. The second one split on the edge of the bowl, dribbling in streaks down the side. The last one made it in in one piece, and Stan wordlessly passed her two replacement eggs. He watched as she began to whisk, at first splashing egg over the sides and at several points nearly toppling the entire bowl into the sink. But over time her movement became more controlled, and after a while he handed her the milk and began passing along dry ingredients to mix in as well.

By the time the pan was hot, and the mixture was ready, her breathing was under control again. As Stan was adding in a dash of glitter, she finally spoke, no longer yelling, although he could tell she was still angry. He didn’t blame her for that. He was angry too, he just didn’t have the freedom to show it right now.

“Why didn’t you guys tell me what happened?”

He ladled two pancakes into the pan and turned to face her. She looked good, he realized proudly. He hadn’t seen her since the end of last summer when she had been heading off to her year-long apprenticeship with the National Parks Service. He could see that in her time away she had clearly gained some muscle, and her face was flushed with freckles from how much time she was spending outside. His heart twinged painfully as his eyes rested on Dipper’s beat-up old hat which sat firmly on her head and he looked away again.

“Because we didn’t want to worry you.” He answered truthfully. “Ford and I were hoping to get them back before anyone else had to know what had happened. That way they could tell people what happened in their own time. How did you find out anyway?”

“I ran into Soos at the store earlier today. I’m home for a few weeks before I head back to the Cascades. He asked if I’d seen you and Ford yet, and I asked him what the hell the two of you were doing back here.”

“Damnit.” Stan flipped a pancake angrily, “I told the kid not to tell anyone anything.”

Wendy winced. “He uh-I really didn’t give him much of a choice. Don’t be too hard on him man.”

“Well. Ford and I are heading out tomorrow.” He ladled some more pancakes into the pan and slid the finished ones onto a plate. “We should have the kids back here safely in a few days. Assuming everything goes well.”

“Okay well I’m coming then.”

Ah. He’d been afraid of that.

“No, you aren’t.”

“Why, Stan?!” She threw up her hands in the air, defiant anger on her face once again.

“Because—”

“Because It’s a family thing? Well, I have news for you, man! I’m just as much their family as you are!”

“Because, I’m not having you jeopardize your apprenticeship on the off chance this takes longer than we think it will.” He glanced at her again. “This is something Ford and I have to do. Together. If it was just about it being a family thing, you and Soos would both be coming with us. Besides, even though I know you can handle yourself, I refuse to put more of you kids in danger when I don’t have to. You’ve been through enough.”

She gasped, and Stan grinned at her slyly. “And before you get all excited, if you ever repeat any of that to anyone, I’ll kill ya.” He paused, then laughed quietly. “No one would ever believe you anyway.”

“You’re an old bastard you know that?”

Stan smiled, flipping the pancakes idly. “I should hope so, I’ve worked hard to be one.”

…

Stan rolled over, looking across the room at the form of Ford on his bed. Dinner had been good., Fiddleford, Pacifica and Wendy had stayed for pancakes, and he had ended up making a second batch when Melody and Soos came over to check in on how everything was going. It had made him proud watching everyone at the table, Fiddleford doing a terrible job of explaining some math homework to Pacifica while Melody and Wendy watched on in amusement, occasionally throwing out helpful suggestions. Soos had been helping him flip pancakes while Stan pretended not to notice him miss on purpose every once in a while, letting the pancake fall to the floor where an eager Waddles sat waiting.

It should have been perfect. Except for the fact that he could feel the hole the twin’s’ absence left in the scene like a burning wound. And of course, the fact that Ford hadn’t appeared at all, instead slipping downstairs after everyone had left to grab a plate of cold pancakes and then vanish into their room again.

Stan had decided to give him space. He had learned over the last few years that Ford wouldn’t talk about things until he was ready. Stan just had to wait for him to be ready. But he didn’t come down while Stan was washing the dishes, or afterwards while he sat alone in the living room watching TV and waiting for the migraine medication he should have taken hours ago, to kick in. When Stan finally had gone up to bed their bags had been neatly packed in the center of the room, and Ford was pretending to be asleep.

He knew Ford wasn’t actually asleep. Spending years sleeping in the same room as each other had made him very good at recognizing Ford’s breathing patterns. It helped to know when his twin was having a nightmare, and when that nightmare was serious enough to warrant shaking Ford awake. It also helped to know when Ford couldn’t actually get back to sleep after a nightmare. He’d always tell Stan he could and pretend to roll over and go back to sleep, but his breathing never evened out quite right, and Stan would lie awake with him, hoping eventually Ford would decide to talk to him about it. Most nights though, Stan would fall asleep before that happened, and wake in the morning to Ford already up and several cups of coffee deep.

Stan had been lying here for an hour now and the itch under his skin was growing worse every passing second. He wanted a cigarette. To be honest what he actually wanted was a good strong drink, but he wasn’t that much of a hypocrite. A cigarette would have to do. He knew if he got up right now Ford would hear him, but he was quickly coming to the conclusion he didn’t actually care. If Ford wanted to stop him, he’d have to talk to him first.

Still, Stan made every effort to get out of bed silently. He knew the creaks in this house by heart and had made his way out of the room and most of the way down the stairs before he heard Ford stir. He ignored the sound, slipping into the kitchen and digging around behind the serving dishes for the pack of cigarettes he knew was still stashed back there. He pulled it out and headed for the porch.

His lighter clicked on at the same moment that the door opened. Ford stepped out carefully, scanning the empty yard, before joining Stan against the railing. Stan continued to light his cigarette and took a long drag off of it, breathing out slowly and watching the smoke swirl up into the cold night air.

The buzzing beneath his skin faded slowly as he took another drag. The smoke settled into his lungs with a warm familiarity and a sharp stab of guilt. He’d promised the kids he had quit. But then again, he had also promised the kids he would keep them safe, and look how well that had gone.

Stan hummed to himself bitterly. Still a fucking failure, even now. Even during what was supposed to be his happy ending.

“Do you want to talk about it, Stan?”

Stan smiled grimly; there it was.

“Nope.” He said gruffly.

“I think maybe we should talk about it.”

“I think we should talk ‘bout a lot of things Poindexter but—” he paused to take a drag, breathing out the smoke as he spoke, “a’ this point I’m not really sure how much good it’s gonna do us.”

“Look, Stanley.” Ford fumbled for a minute searching for what he wanted to say. “If this is about earlier, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply I wasn’t going to help you get Dipper and Mabel. I just. The things I had to do out there Stanley. It changed me in ways I’m still surprised by, and I’m just terrified of hurting you. Any of you.”

Stan just nodded along blankly. They had had this conversation before. The time Ford had blindly attacked him when he had woken him up after a nightmare that had his brother screaming in his sleep, he had had to fight for a week to get Ford to agree to sleep in the cabin again instead of at his desk with a locked door between him and Stan. The trouble was Ford never seemed interested in elaborating on exactly what had set him off, never seemed interested in letting Stan try to fix things.

“The things you had to do?” He said as calmly as he could. He kept staring out at the snow, tamping down the annoyance and anger he could feel starting to bubble up. They couldn’t afford to do this right now.

“I don’t want to talk about it right now, Stanley.”

“Mmmm.” He couldn’t keep the bite out of his words this time.  “You never want to talk about it, Ford. That’s the problem.”

“Well at least I’m not the one blatantly lying to the kids.” Ford growled at him, reaching out and knocking the unfinished cigarette out of his hand into the snow.

The anger flared and Stan spun to face him, a voice in the back of his head chanted frantically that he was going too far, that he was going to push too much, that he was going to break something like he always broke something. But he had ignored the voice and pushed on anyway.

“Goddamit, Ford. You’re not the only one who had to ‘do things’ to get by. You’re not the only one who’s fuckin’ afraid here. An’ I’m not the only one who’s lying.” He shoved the rest of the cigarette carton roughly against Ford’s chest and slipped his hand into his brother’s coat pocket, ripping out the flask he knew was hiding inside. He slammed it down roughly on the railing and hissed “’m goin’ to bed, Ford.”

He knew he had pushed too far, he waited, shoulders tense as he shoved the door open, for the shout that he had been sure would follow. For the inevitable fight. But there was nothing, and when he glanced back, he saw Ford staring blankly out at the sky, flask clutched tightly in one hand.

He slammed the door shut behind him, ignoring the guilt that was slowly filling the space the anger had left behind, and went up to bed.

Sleep was a long time coming that night, and it wasn’t until hours later when he was finally drifting off that he realized Ford had never come back upstairs.

…

The day had been. Awkward.

Stan had driven for most of it. Glancing over at Ford every so often, who alternated between sleeping and scribbling idly in his journal. He played the most obnoxious music he could find, hoping to goad Ford into talking to him but nothing ever came of it. He eventually stopped for gas just shy of Montana and when he came back to the car, holding a perfectly legally obtained bag of jellybeans and a coffee, Ford was sitting patiently in the driver’s seat.

Stan saw this for what it was and handed over his own peace offering in return. Ford had nodded a silent thanks before pulling out of the parking lot. The next few hours had still been silent, but Stan found that the tension he felt had much more to do with Ford’s driving skills, rather than the fight they had had the night before. He knew they would still need to talk about it at some point. He just hoped that for once in his life he could manage it without breaking anything.

It was pitch dark out when Ford finally pulled into a motel parking lot. It certainly wasn’t the seediest place he had stayed—he’s not even sure they made places that seedy anymore—but it did make him feel vaguely uneasy for reasons he couldn’t identify. The motel was one of those travel lodges. With a u-shape of dusty, ground floor rooms, and rusted metal gutters. The half-lit neon sign read The Sobbing Stag Motel, and the vacancy light was flickering on and off in the weak light of the surrounding streetlamps.

Ford came back a few minutes later with a room key and they had started busying themselves with pulling out stuff from the car they would need. Stan pulled the half-eaten bag of jelly beans out of the center console and was just turning to lock the doors of the car when he saw something standing at the edge of the parking lot.

It was almost a horse. The legs were too thin, and as far as he could tell it didn’t appear to have a mane or tail of any kind. It was a pale, almost silvery white, and as it moved it made no sound. Stan watched in horrified fascination as it drew closer to him. Its eyes were blown wide like a jackrabbit’s, flickering with a panicked, hungry sort of fear that he recognized from decades old bathroom mirrors. He could see what looked like every bone in its body. Ribs and spine stark against the taut skin, and he realized with a jolt that it wasn’t breathing.

Stan looked around, wondering distantly if Ford had noticed the creature as well, when he realized that there were more of them. Pale shapes crowding at the edge of the parking lot, each pair of their wide, bloodshot eyes, fixed unblinkingly on him. He looked back at the one in front of him. It was much closer now.

“Hey, uh. Sixer?” He called weakly.

There was no reply. He didn’t dare look away from it again.Stan felt the cool metal of his car against his back and realized he had been unconsciously backing away from the advancing thing. Now, he had nowhere to go. It took another silent step towards him, and he closed his eyes, hoping wildly that when he opened them again the not-horse would be gone. He felt something cold brush across his face, felt the bag of jellybeans slip from his hand—and then, Stan Pines felt nothing at all.

[charlie-artlie]

🐰🪤

[ranmaru-kageyama]

MINIGRAM 61: "Seasonal Sense" Translation

[hajihiko]

Fashion friday Chiaki! I normally wear monochrome only but I really loved this outfit and I totally wanna use it again soon *v*

[stickerscritter]

the kaiba sistersssssssssssss

(poor reference/study of this photo i liked)

[kirby-the-gorb]

[biblically-accurate-dca]

day 18: old art redraw

i redrew this :] and bonbon's actually in it this time !!!!

[ms-skaterat]

Taskmaster Series 17 Episode 3 - Some Impropriety?

[symbiotic-slime]

guys I can’t tell if I’m stupid for not having pieced this together before now but IS THE LAB IN THE VENOM 3 TRAILER AREA 51???

because 1) it’s famous for being the place where the government is supposedly keeping aliens

2) the base totally looks like it’s in the middle of the desert

3) it explains why Eddie and Venom would have ended up in the middle of the desert and also Vegas— if they escaped Area 51, Vegas is like… the closest big city I think. still doesn’t explain why Mrs. Chen would be there but it makes more sense than a Dan/Annie wedding being the reason imo

4) Eddie made a comment in Venom 2 about getting locked away in Area 51. It was probably just trying to capitalize on the Area 51 memes and meant to be a joke but like,,, it would make sense

[shan-bunbun]

-Happy (super late) B-day Hirooo🎂!!-

Yes, I know I'm late but I have reason. I didn't know it's was Hiro B-day on June and having a birthday (y'know some characters doesn't have a B-day).

[a21af]

We never go out of style

[over-the-moom]

"Oh." 😭😭😭

LMAOOO POOR SNORK

[birdricks]

bleeeeehhhhh ^_^

[applestorms]

actually. @moonlarked you wanted someone to talk about near & light as parallels? cuz uh...

ok SO, my big hot take on near is something like this: one of the most common criticisms i see about near is that he is simply too apathetic/bored/uncaring/etc, and that because he is not as emotionally invested as L, his win against light doesn't feel nearly (lol) as satisfying as it could've been. this is a view that often frustrates me, but for a very particular reason— namely, while i think it is somewhat accurate in content, i think it misses a lot of important context (and also misses a lot of the importance of light's character arc, but we'll get to that much later).

one of the most important things to remember about the wammy's kids is that, whether they like it or not, each and every one of them is defined almost entirely through their relationship to L. this is perhaps more obvious in the case of characters like BB and mello, who are very Aware of this shadow being cast upon them and react in very overt, emotional ways (e.g. becoming a literal serial killer out of seemingly pure spite & desire to be noticed, idolizing him but in a very emotionally complicated, kinda detached sorta way, etc), but it is true for Every wammy's kid, purely because of how the house itself functions. these kids are being raised to be L's successor— the greatest (and second greatest, and third greatest) detective on the planet. this is the ultimate goal hanging over every one of their heads, and it places a constant pressure on every kid there.

oftentimes, i think (perhaps both out of story and in it, as well?) people get so caught up in comparing near to L that they forget he also falls under this umbrella— only, for near, his position is slightly different because he actually somewhat succeeds at the task? like, yeah, L never gets the chance to officially call near his successor, but between the fact that he's constantly called the #1 kid at wammy's and that he. literally does actually end up becoming the new L after kira, i think it's always been pretty clear what his path was going to be.

going back to my starting point, this is one of the main ways that near makes a really good parallel to light in my mind, specifically the light that we see right at the start of the series. in both cases, near and pre-DN light, we see a kid who has succeeded at everything they've been handed, and more notably, we see a kid who is bored out of his fucking mind looking at the prospects of what he's got.

in the case of light, this is maybe a little more realistic/easy to understand— light does well in academics, he does well in sports, he does well with people. he is likely to follow in his father's footsteps with something criminal justice/police/law related, but even if he diverges from that path it likely won't be too big of a deal, as he has shown himself to be capable in enough areas that he's likely to succeed no matter what. by all measurable standards, light's doing pretty good at the start of the series. and yet— there is something so distinctly and inherently Bland about his life before he gets the DN. i've said before that light wouldn't call the DN a curse even if he wanted to, but i think in that moment when he's telling ryuk he disagrees w/ his father after visiting him in the hospital, when he says, "I've never once considered finding that notebook and gaining this power a misfortune. In fact, it's made me happier than I've ever been." (ch.22) he's still getting at something real and truthful.

again, going back to my equating of boredom with depression in this series— light's life is pretty good by all measurable standards. he has a family who loves him, presumably more than enough money to get by with a pretty cushy lifestyle, and does well, honestly better than well, in every single system he is presented with. but even so, he's still unhappy. there is something in his soul that has not yet been satisfied. he's bored of the world, bored of his place in it, how easy it all is. what the DN really offers him is a challenge, entertainment— just the same as L, and just the same as ryuk.

near similarly suffers from this kind of boredom, though it is perhaps less overtly stated than in the case of light, L, and ryuk, and less easy to catch as it is not as realistic/common. again: near basically ends up the winner of wammy's house. he is the one to take the title of L, he's declared the smartest, bestest kid at wammy's, and he gets all the power and privilege that comes with such a title. but still— he's so. fucking. bored. much to the embarrassment of mello, this shit was never really a challenge to him. it's pretty obvious that near isn't really even all that attached to the title of L— don't forget that his first real introduction to the story involves him explicitly saying that he'd be just fine working with mello as essentially co-L successors. and this is a viewpoint that he holds onto until the very end of the series, actually, claiming that he was only able to best light due to mello's sacrifice. near doesn't really give a fuck about the rat race he's been slotted into, though it's perhaps for that exact reason that he ends up winning it anyway, and getting all the responsibility that comes along.

that being said, i think there are still two main differences between light and near:

light fucks up.

near never gets past his boredom.

in the case of this first point, i do not mean to say that near never ever makes any move/judgement that could be considered a mistake— mello killing the entire SPK is the first thing that comes to mind, which i see as blood on near's hands for the same reason that L takes at least some responsibility for lind l. tailor. rather, i mean that near never makes a such a monumental fuck-up that he has to overturn his entire worldview just to account for it in the same way that light does when he accidentally kills two people w/ the DN the first time.

it's like, if you've ever known (or been) the kind of kid who always got perfect grades in school, straights A's for K-12, only to reach college and suddenly bomb their first test and have an existential crisis as their only real achievement in life is crushed into dust, then you know light yagami. only for light, it's on a whole 'nother scale, because not only does he fucking oopsie daisy kill two people, but he kills in such a context that he can mentally manipulate it back into seeming heroic. i hate to say that suffering causes character development because that's terrible advice (it's how you react to terrible circumstances that matters, imho) but to some degree, yeah, having conflicts/hard times in life is just necessary to figure shit out sometimes. near (and L, oh goddd i need to write about L properly sometime) has so many things smoothed over and handed to him, and on top of that, he's a super genius very rarely fucks anything up, at least according to base logic. he doesn't even really consider the morality of anything he's doing until light straight up asks him in a desperate bid to keep talking at the end, it's all just logic and factors to consider.

this all leads to my second point, which is that near never really gets the chance to overcome his boredom in the same way as the others. ryuk at least gets his entertainment for a couple years, and light and L (and mello) get so invested in each other and their game that it literally kills them, but near just kinda. keeps going. he keeps being L, he keeps solving cases, he does the duty he was given and enjoys his toys... and that's it. he lies around, the only one left to live, never even taking credit for the end of KIRA, never gets another haircut, and keeps the title going. what a life, for a kid who dragged a god back down to earth.

sidenote1: toys

am i reading too into things? maybe. near's toys hold a lot of significance throughout the story in more specific ways, most notably the finger puppets he uses at the very end of the story while tracking different people's/kira's actions, though you could probably read some kind of meaning into every toy he has and the ways in which he plays with them. what i want to look at here though is more the general reasoning behind playing with them in the first place— a desire for a childhood he didn't get to have? a love of games more generally? (could track with him seeing the KIRA case, or really all detective work, as just another game.) you could also read into his toys as another source for near's apathy/detachment from reality, literally breaking every notable person around him down into a doll by the end of the story, speaking a lot to how alienated he is from the world (again, very similar to both L and light, there). i don't have much more of a point to make here, just wanted to add this in somewhere since it's one of his most striking visual character traits.

sidenote2: light's arc

going back to my point at the start of this post... light's character arc.

uhh. near winning is a good thing, actually. and i don't just mean that as a moral claim— DN itself as a story isn't really concerned with trying to answer any moral questions about good or evil or the justice system, so it makes sense & is fair to me that it doesn't try all that hard to answer anything along those lines by the very end of the story. what i mean to say here is that near winning is a good thing on the level of the character arc, specifically as an end to light's arc.

i made a post a while back while mid-manga reread talking through some of the reasons why L's death can feel kind of unsatisfying/paint the second half of the story in a less interesting light (hah) for a lot of viewers, with the main point i ended up on being that L wasn't really able to win because he never really had all that clear of a win state in the first place. i still kiiind of agree with this point, though i think there's a lot more i could add to that post... anyways. point is, i bring up that post because it touches on a similar thing to what i want to talk about here: light's character arc being a tragedy.

this is more speculation on my part, but i think another part of the reason why people get turned off to DN post-L death is not just the fact that L isn't really a playable character in the game anymore, but the fact that light's character arc takes such a dramatic twist after the timeskip. i talked about this a little bit in my little ramble on light & titles (which a lot of you liked, apparently!! ty for all the lovely comments on there, i love reading what you guys have to say ^w^), but light's character arc in DN is a tragedy to me, full-stop.

tragedies to me are cyclical— revolutionary, if you will. since all stories necessitate some kind of something to take place, a tragedy to me is all about a character beginning in one point, then continually getting hit by Event, after Thing, after Event, only to end up in essentially the exact same place that they started. any character changes or development that seem to happen throughout the story are ultimately nullified by the end— the main subject does not truly grow, does not truly reflect on their actions or traumas, does not move on. two steps forward is two steps back. even ending up in a position worse than they started is sometimes better than a true tragedy, in my mind, as at least then there is some chance they may still reflect or change or grow in the future, leaving the hope that they may still overcome this new circumstance later on. a true tragedy ends in nothing meaningful ever getting the chance to truly change, at least in the case of the main subject of the story.

light's character arc in the first half of the story is an upward, underdog kind of story. yes, light has the power of a shinigami, of a supernatural force that the rest of the world doesn't even know exists— but part of the real appeal of his conflict with L is how powerful L feels in comparison, having the wealth and respect and title to command a world's worth of forces against him. fuck, even taking down naomi misora feels like an incredible hurdle overcome, a teenager managing to charm and yap and flutter his eyelashes out of a shitty situation he was only just lucky enough to stumble across in the first place, to stop someone who could've ruined his entire plan with a few words. killing L was always going to be light's greatest accomplishment when it comes to his rise to godhood, not only because of L's great power but the comparative position of light at the time that he did so— not yet an adult, not even really out of school, perhaps barely out of his parents' house.

in contrast, light's arc for the second half of the story is a downward spiral. we see all of the consequences light has been miraculously avoiding smack into him like meteors in this half, his ever-growing ego torn to shreds as he's yanked back down to earth. and in comparison to the anime, the manga really beats this point into you, dedicating the entire second half of the story to light's fall from grace as he loses his mind and loses his humanity. like, while i do kind of prefer the manga ending to the anime, i have to admit that light's death there is fucking brutal. light goes through pages, chapters, purely dedicated to near tearing him a new asshole, only end the story bloody and delirious and crawling on his knees begging a god of death to fix everything— all just to die the exact same death as everyone else he's killed. i mean, look at these fucking pages (ch.107):

(that last fucking picture of him. clawing at the sky. it always fucking gets to me.)

it hurts to read this shit!! we spend the entire first half of the story watching this dude's rise to glory, the entire time stuck inside of his head, emotionally connecting with him even if we don't really mean to or disagree with his actions or question his morality. watching his fall back down, especially after all of that, is fucking painful— an in no way does near make the process any easier. if anything, his blunt, snarky bitchery, saying all the quiet parts out loud, calling light out for being a terrible replacement L and pointing and laughing at his failures to his face, only shoves more salt in the wound, only proves just how human he has been all this time, how meaningless any of his supposed "rise to power" ever really was. light got his fifteen seconds of fame, sure— but near is armed and ready to make sure that's all he'd ever get, that the name Light Yagami would never even be associated with the position he held for so long. six years was all he got— and it was all he was ever going to get, because light yagami did not do this for humanity, he did it for himself. all near did was collect the debt that L prescribed. he fulfilled his duty as told— nothing more, and nothing less.

i just have to wonder... is this why people hate him? because he has no sympathy for the fall? maybe. i don't know.

either way, i don't think i could ever really hate him. it's a big responsibility, being the only one left behind. but near has always been the one to hold such weights on his shoulders.

[djpotaro]

@porterrobinson: AS OF TODAY I AM OFFICIALLY A 32 YEAR OLD MARRIED FATHER OF 2 CATS WITH AN ALBUM OUT IN 11 DAYS

[forecast0ctopus]

I love how goofy you draw Merlin and Arthur. They're just goofy little boys and I love that for them.

omg sorry i took forever to answer this, thanks so much !!!! they are just silly guys and that is so important to me <3

handing u goofy wips