#and because i do not know your situation i cannot meaningfully comment on it

[sablelab]

Covert Operations - Chapter 106

SYNOPSIS: What happened to Jamie on return to Section comes a surprise to Madeline and Operations, but Claire is frantic with worry.  After the two operatives are taken to Med Lab, Section’s leaders confront Murtagh and Geillis Duncan about what happened at the monastery. The weapons’ expert and Operations also exchange words after which he and Fergus make their way to Med Lab to check on Jamie and Claire.

 Chapter 105  and all other chapters can be found at … https://sablelab.tumblr.com/covertoperations

I am very grateful for your support of this story and I thank-you for reading, the likes and or posting a comment on the last chapter.   Rest assured Jamie will be okay and all will be well.

  CHAPTER 106

Operations and Madeline watched the drama with Jamie unfold before their very eyes. For someone who had appeared exhausted but nothing much more than they’d seen before when he’d returned from missions, came as a surprise. This turn of events was most unexpected. James Fraser had always appeared so resilient and even when he’d been injured before had managed to brush off the severity of any injury. This time apparently, he had not been able to do so. Their minds had been preoccupied with how he’d been relating to Claire’s problems and the setback to the Rising Dragons’ mission rather than focusing on what he had obviously endured at the hands of the triad himself.

Perhaps they had judged him too harshly in their need to find anything that would indicate that his relationship with Claire had deepened on the mission. Maybe his actions were just merely trying to cover up his own frailty. Fraser always seem to be invincible ... this showed that he was in fact mortal like all other Section operatives. He had dodged many a bullet and endured torture before ... so what had changed this time? They would need to read the team leader’s debrief and in turn Jamie and Claire’s to find out what really had happened to their two operatives. They would leave their judgement until then. But right now, they had a problem ... a big problem.

“His condition?” Madeline asked worriedly trailing her eyes over an incapacitated James Fraser lying on the gurney.  “He’s got a bad bullet wound that seems to have penetrated the chest area. It’s bleeding profusely. He’s unconscious and appears to be barely alive.” The reply was not what they wanted to hear. 

“What? ... That can’t be!” was Operations’ shocked retort. Despite what his feelings were towards James Fraser, he certainly didn’t want to lose him this way and meaningfully declared, “This man cannot die.”  “Of course, sir.”  The Med-Lab technician turned to his colleague who was waiting with Claire to help assist him. “We better stabilize him quickly. Put some pressure on that wound.” In urgency they both started to carry out their emergency procedures on the patient.  ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Lying on the gurney, Claire was frantic with worry at the course of events taking place. She turned her head to try and see what was going on but her vision was impaired by the bodies of the two medical technicians and she was unable to see what they were doing to Jamie.  “What's wrong?” She called out ... but no one answered, they were both too busy attending to the unresponsive Level 5 operative. An awful feeling of dread horribly centred in the pit of her stomach. Struggling with her restraints, Claire tried to break free, but was helpless to do anything. She couldn’t move as the Medical technician had strapped her to the gurney. Jamie’s name echoed from her lips.

 He had done everything for her ... been her protector on this retrieval mission and much, much more. It was inconceivable to think that he was in greater danger than anyone first thought ... Jamie was such a chameleon that he never showed his emotions or distress at being injured. He had obviously tried to shield her from any worry about his own condition ... and now ... she might lose him.

Tears welled up in Claire’s eyes as she managed to catch a glimpse of him on the other gurney. “Jamie,” she whispered as if her heart was breaking.  It couldn’t be this way. If he died then there was no reason for her to go on living. She would step in front of the first bullet shot at her by a hostile. Jamie must live. Madeline and Operations could induce her with drugs because she would be so suicidal if she lost him... but it would be to no avail. Her heart would be broken and she would lose all will to live without him. He had to live. He must live ... they had to do something. She knew that if this moment came, Jamie could live without her a lot better than she could live without him. Oh! This was so much more torturous than any of the treatment that the Rising Dragons had meted out. Jamie was her life and her life was nothing without him. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ The medical technician worked furiously. With stethoscope checking Jamie’s vital signs he turned to his partner. “What have you got? Pressure? ... Pressure?” “Blood pressure’s dropping. 30/50,” his co-worker replied. “He’s gonna flat-line soon if we don’t hurry.”

 Overhearing their conversation Madeline exclaimed with a veiled warning to do something to rectify his situation. “Don't you dare speak about him as if he were dying.” she announced with authority.  “Damn it, do something!”  

 Spurred on by Section’s second in command’s warning and alarmed at the rapid rate of decline in James Fraser’s condition every second they delayed here was crucial. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The gurney rocked as Claire strained to see Jamie better. Her heartbeat was racing with anxiety. She could see the medical people frantically doing their job, but Jamie looked ashen. He was not moving. She started to freak out when she heard what they were saying. 

She cried out with a gut-wrenching wail on her lips. “NO! NO!”

Suddenly she felt the prick of a syringe. Her eyes darted up to see one of the med team inject her with some potent drug to calm her down.  “This is just to help you get through this,” he replied apologetically but having Claire distressed at her partner’s welfare was not doing her any good either.  They both were in need of attention, but now Jamie needed them more. She felt the wheels of the gurney moving just as drowsiness rendered her unconscious. Claire’s eyes closed, while her last conscious thought was of the man she loved. If Jamie was to die, she would never be able to get over his death ... never. 

“Come on, let's go, let's go!”

“Come on!”

“Let's go! Damn it, move it!” 

The medics yelled out orders as they rushed Jamie and Claire past where Operations, Madeline and a shocked Fergus were standing. With urgency, the Medical personnel hurriedly wheeled the two injured operatives away to Medical, as the worried onlookers looked on in alarm. They needed to have them attended to as quickly as possible especially Jamie whose condition was now critical. Time was of the essence ... he was in need of immediate surgery. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Madeline and Operations were still rooted to the spot where they’d stood and watched the drama unfold. However, they knew that Jamie and Claire were in good hands. Medical would do all they could and more to keep them alive ... or else suffer the consequences. Madeline saw a bitter irony in the events that had just taken place.

Had Jamie and Claire just turned the tables on them? Had they just lost the upper hand over their two recalcitrant operatives because Jamie was injured and might die? She vowed and declared then and there that if he was to die it would be on their terms and NOT Jamie’s. They would choose the time of his death ... the when and the where, and Section One Medical was not where that operative would die tonight. Section had not reached its End Game on this mission and they needed both Jamie and Claire to be firing both barrels at the Rising Dragons. Death then was not an option. Failure was not an option. Recovery for the both of them was the only option. 

Perhaps the psych evaluation could wait, Madeline thought. Some downtime would be more appropriate right now to put them both back on the road to recovery. She and Operations would have to review their strategy where both Jamie and Claire were concerned for their welfare and recuperation now was of paramount concern.  Without Jamie and Claire, the Rising Dragons’ mission would be set back considerably. Given that they had made such great inroads in dismantling the triad, the loss of their two key operatives would set the mission back to where they had started.  That was not an option, hence reconsidering their usual modus operandi seemed to be the only course of action open to them. She would need to think of another plan to test their loyalty to the Section ... but it would be when they had both recovered from their ordeal.  Where they went from here all depended on the outcome of Jamie’s condition. They could ill afford to lose him at this crucial stage in the Rising Dragons’ mission. They would have to reassess and re-profile the mission should Jamie die ... not to mention but the fallout from such a scenario would be catastrophic. Claire would be a basket case ... useless … without Jamie’s guidance. There was so much at stake for them. Colum would not be happy, neither would Center. They would be back to square one and that would not be acceptable. Things were certainly going from bad to worse.  ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Once James Fraser and Claire Beauchamp had been rushed down the corridor in the opposite direction towards Medical, Murtagh and Geillis walked up to Operations. Madeline felt the ramrod stature of Section’s leader as he tried to absorb all that had just taken place. Just what had happened to Jamie? He pondered as the Section leaders watched them approach. Madeline and Operations gave them both the look to say what they required. Answers ... they needed answers. “What happened?” Dougal Mackenzie demanded wanting to know why Section’s best operative was wounded and how it had occurred. If James Fraser had failed in the execution of his duties, he needed to know … for he may have to make some hard decisions about his future after all. He’d seen the shape that Jamie was in when the Med-tech had wheeled him past. He was as white as a sheet and now he’d been told he was on the brink of death. He needed to know what had transpired at the monastery. As Murtagh Fitzgibbons stepped forward next to Operations, he felt several pairs of eyes on him. He particularly felt the tension radiating from Fergus who stood to one side behind Madeline’s shoulder still shell shocked at what had just happened. Although he avoided contact with his eyes, Murtagh could feel his buddy watching him with anticipation.  “The whole damn thing was bad right from the start. Jamie took a shot meant for me. He lost a lot of blood.”  “I could see that … How many?” Operations stated in a voice that was brusque and offhand. Their key operatives rarely sustained injuries on a mission and James Fraser was the best of the best. The fact that he had been felled was an anomaly that needed to be explained.  That fact that he was, only reinforced Madeline’s observation that they would need to change tact in their dealing with him.  No doubt when he was able to debrief Jamie would expand on what had occurred at the monastery.  But until then he needed to rely on Murtagh’s explanation and Geillis Duncan’s recounts. “Too many … they had contingency.” Turning his gaze on Geillis he asked somewhat fatalistically. “So how did we do?”  “No losses to operatives.”  “Yet ...” was Dougal’s cryptic but potent reply, “... and the prime targets?” “They all slipped through except for Andy Ma. Jamie took him out. The others escaped before the assault.” A disgusted look appeared on Operations' face. “How?”  “We're still not sure … but the teams didn’t arrive in time.”  “In other words, a complete failure.”  “We did pick up Jamie and Claire.” She replied looking at her superior.  “Obviously you have a lot to say in your debrief Ms Duncan.” Suitably chastised she replied. “Yes sir.” A silence echoed around those gathered. Murtagh and Geillis were fearful of saying anything that might lead to a tirade of ire from their leader, so they stood silently and said nothing. The quiet was broken only when Operations spoke once again. Despite his earlier retort and condemnation towards her, their leader held out a laurel branch with his next remarks.

“Well done. You still led your team with competence.”

Surprised at his remark, Geillis Duncan replied in a similar vein, “Thank you sir.”  “We downloaded everything you sent us from the jet. Fergus has the audio and tapes from the mission and Comm. is putting it through analysis now.”  He turned to look at Fergus who was standing to the side. “When you get something substantial, call me.” “Yes sir.” Geillis watched as Operations once again turned his attention her way. “Would you like me to debrief now or in the morning? I have written my report but I just need to go over it.” “Very well I expect your debrief in thirty minutes … The sooner you get started, the sooner you get out of here.”  “Yes sir.” Her superior nodded that he had concluded his conversation with her, so moving off to join the rest of her team who had long ago headed for munitions to return their equipment, Geillis Duncan left Murtagh to cool his heels and wait for whatever the Section leader would say to him. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Dougal Mackenzie turned his eyes towards Murtagh Fitzgibbons, Section One’s munitions expert, who had stood and listened to the exchange between him and the mission’s team leader Geillis Duncan. He watched him cooling his heels, his mind full of thoughts of the history between the two of them. Murtagh and he went back a long way. They had a tacit understanding. There were some things that were sacrosanct between them and of which they never spoke especially their experiences in the Vietnam War. However, judging by his stance, Murtagh was a little off kilter as he waited not knowing what his leader may say. 

Even though he was his superior, Operations knew that the weapons’ expert could be as cantankerous as he, thus he expected some retort from his wily operative with what he had to say next.

“Well Murtagh, how was everything?”

“Fine,” was his succinct reply. “Good. You performed well so I believe.” “Thank you.” Operations looked the man in the eye then said, “There is no need to debrief this evening. Geillis’ report will be sufficient at the moment. You can debrief in the morning.” Murtagh gave Operations the once over weighing up his directive with some suspicion. He’d never expected to hear those words come out of his leader’s mouth. “Really?” he intonated in surprise in reply to Dougal Mackenzie’s words. Operations gave a wry smile and looked at his second in command before continuing. “Really ... I want to let you know how much we ... Madeline and I ... appreciate your hard work on this mission. And so, does Oversight.  We've commended you to them many times.”  ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* It had been a long time since Murtagh Fitzgibbons had been out in the field so Operations thought that a little latitude was appropriate this one time. Madeline caught his eye and gave him her look, and suddenly it dawned on him what it was that she was communicating to him. He nodded and raised an eyebrow in remembrance of another conversation about Murtagh that came to mind. Operations soon had clarity on what had transpired between them as well as his reaction to Madeline’s unusual gesture.  “Murtagh is older than most, works alone, 18hrs a day, and has very few outlets. An exception to our usual approach might be appropriate.” “Alright, I'll stop by and pat him on the back.” ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Section’s weapons expert was a fiery individual when roused about something and he obviously thought that there was some sort of catch to his leader’s words. “What's this all about?” His question brought Operations out of his thoughts and giving him a sly glance, he replied. “We just wanted to say you performed well on the mission, and to say thank you for the good work. We are aware of the role you played at the monastery.”  Taken a-back Murtagh took the defensive. “Don't patronize me Dougal. All of a sudden out of the clear blue sky, you say thanks for the good work! What do you want me to do ... wag my tail? If you want something from me, just come out and say it.” Caught on the back foot by his obvious distrust of the gesture, Operations became somewhat defensive and dismissive at the same time. His straightened his back and glared at him. “Look Fitzgibbons! ... We just wanted to give you some extra time before you debrief.” Offended that his superiors thought he would be treated any differently from the other operatives on the mission made Murtagh feel ill at ease. “I don't need extra time. I've been doing this job since before you came to Section, and I can probably do your job too.” Smirking, Operations was impressed by his bravado but he was also most annoyed at his recalcitrance. “Really?”  “Really.” “One of these days Fitzgibbons, you're going to carry this cranky old man act a little too far.”  “Oh, what then, you won't commend me to Oversight?” he flippantly replied.  Operations was becoming more exasperated by the minute. This conversation was going nowhere. A clearly aggrieved Section leader was gradually losing patience with him. “Why did I bother?” was his retort.  They both shared a look ... Dougal Mackenzie’s face was steaming with frustration while Murtagh’s showed his stubbornness to accept the gesture of more time. Madeline watched the exchange between the two old war horses and smiled. “That's a good question,” she interjected.  Realising that they were not alone, the two men looked at her. Placating the situation Madeline then stepped in with her more level headed assessment of the situation. 

“Murtagh.”  Nodding her way, he replied, “Yes.” “You performed well on behalf of the Section without complaint, without incident on this retrieval mission.” He laughed. “What are you going to do, pin a medal on me?” Madeline smiled at his nerve. “No ... but we want you to have some downtime before you write your debrief. Get some rest ... and under the circumstances, we know that you are anxious to see how Claire and Jamie are faring in Medical as too are we ... Your debrief can wait until the morning.” Having mulled over his decision long enough, and with an annoyed reluctance Operations ordered, “Look Murtagh! ... Just have it on my desk first thing in the morning.” “Thank you,” he complied without looking at them. With that, Operations turned on his heel and walked away with Madeline in step beside him. Shocked, Murtagh Fitzgibbons stood and watched them leave. He’d been left cooling his heels after his confrontation with his superior and was ruing the wisdom of his responses to Operations’ offer of more time. He was lucky he hadn’t been put into abeyance or sent to the farm for insubordination towards his leader. But as Madeline had indicated, his major thoughts were concerned with Jamie and Claire and he wanted to know how they were faring. He’d take the opportunity to check on them, then he would write his debrief later. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Fergus Claudel had tried to remain inconspicuous from his leaders and had stayed in the background while the exchange between the two men had taken place. They were oblivious to anyone else who may be watching and he was worried that Operations and Madeline may penalise him in some way for eavesdropping. Although he’d been shaking in his boots listening to the heated conversation back and forth, Fergus had felt like applauding though. Murtagh had come back from this mission a changed man. How it was possible that he could stand up to Operations so … and all because he wanted to give him extra time to debrief? What was wrong with him?  As soon as Madeline and Operations had disappeared from sight though, Fergus rushed up to his buddy. “Hey man, good to see you” “Yeah, thanks.”  “You okay?” “Yeah, I’m fine Fergus,” he replied although his stomach was still churning up over the conversation with Operations.  “That was pretty rough.” “Yeah ... Not great.” “But you're okay?” Murtagh grinned at Fergus as he was grateful for his friend’s support and concern. However, it was obvious by the look on his face that, the young techie was really worried about what had just taken place between him and Operations.

 “I told you I’m fine,” he reiterated trying to allay his colleague’s apprehension.

The two friends shared a knowing look before Fergus asked about the mission. “So, how'd it go?”  “It was okay.” “It's good to see you again. It’s so good to have you back.” He saw Fergus take a step forward towards him with his arms raised slightly as if he was about to give him a hug. However, Murtagh stopped himself and stepped back thinking twice about showing his feelings for his buddy so openly.  Diffusing the awkward moment he replied, “Thanks Amigo ... It’s good to be back.”  Changing the subject, Murtagh then asked how things had gone in his absence. “Well how about you Fergus? Did you have a good time while I was away?” In his excitement to tell his pal everything that had happened in Section since he’d been gone, Fergus couldn’t get the words out quick enough. “The guy they replaced you with was a real loser.” He rattled on with his musings oblivious to his friend’s apparent inattentiveness.  ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Murtagh Fitzgibbon’s thoughts were elsewhere. Taking a deep breath, he debated whether to follow the team to return his equipment to Munitions first or go to Medical to check up on Jamie and Claire. He was only listening with one ear to his friend and answered nonchalantly.

 “Hmm? Yeah?” 

What the heck ... he could return his equipment himself later on and mark it off the inventory. He really needed to go and see how his friends were and if they were okay and with any luck, he might just run into a certain somebody he was keen on in Med Lab.  Fergus gushed off his answers proud of his efforts to look out for Murtagh’s interests. “Yeah ... I set off a wall punch in here and made it look like it was his fault.”  Murtagh heard Fergus’s voice rattle on but he was miles away. A smile crossed his face but it was not because of Fergus’ hi-jinks but more because of his last thought.  ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Noticing that his friend seemed a little preoccupied with something else other than his small talk, Fergus looked at his friend closely. “Murtagh, you okay? … Murtagh?” “Sure ... It’s good to know someone was looking out for me,” he replied giving Fergus his complete attention once more. “So how were things in the field?”  “It was fantastic.” “It really wasn’t that bad?” Fergus asked surprised at his reply. “No, it was heaven.” He exchanged glances with his friend. “Actually, it was better than that because we found Claire alive.”  “Did you have a good time?” “Yeah. All the dreams I ever had, came to life.” “Wow!” Murtagh gave him a keen look. “I haven’t lost any of my skills ... I still have IT Fergus. You know what I’m saying?” “That’s great ... that’s excellent Murtagh ... So, what are you gonna do now?”  He’d already made up his mind to what he would do. “I’m heading to Med-Lab to check up on Jamie and Claire.” “Can I come too?  “Sure.”  Then turning, the weary munitions expert and new field operative made his way to Medical with a silent Fergus Claudel at his side.  ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ to be continued on Tuesday 17th March

[mou-sukoshi-tsuyoku-naritai]

About Tegoshi leaving

There is such a huge rift running through the NEWS fandom atm. From what I can see, it does not usually materialize as mean comments but rather in a sort of disconnectedness. Fans who fangirl over Tegoshi’s twitter are seen as insensitive, fans who are conflicted about everything seem to go around in circles of emotional turmoil, and those who are angry with Tegoshi are seen as haters who haven’t understood him enough to support him.

As for me, there are certain parts that I can understand, and then there are many that I don’t.

I understand the need to strive towards your goals in life. I understand that a job is always a job, no matter how deep the bond is that you have created with the people around you. Jobs are contracts, and if you do not want to give what the contract expects of you in exchange for what you get, then you should be free to negotiate your leave. In the case of idols, this is particularly painful because there is not only money being invested but feelings as well. In short: I think it is sad to see Tegoshi leave NEWS but what’s the point of having him when he doesn’t want to be there anyway.

I do not comprehend how this messed up timeline happened. I do not understand how “I want to quit after STORY” (a meaningful event) turned into “I want to quit in June” (a meaningless date). During his press conference Tegoshi said that when the corona measures happened, he had already talked to the agency about quitting but... how is that a problem? He wanted to quit after STORY, so when STORY was postponed, why not postpone his resignation as well?  For someone who is so stubborn about making his fans happy and putting them first, and feeding that image of always doing his job with all his heart, I don’t understand how his conviction to finish that tour did nothing for those negotiations. According to his press conference, Tegoshi was worried about the agency suddenly cancelling his contract, but they can’t just terminate him on a whim and without repercussions if it is not in mutual agreement. And “mutual agreement” is one of those phrases that he dropped countless times during that press conference. So he agreed on ending the contract in June, one week before STORY would have ended.

This is the part, where I get really angry because from what I see, there are only two reasons why ending the contract now was necessary.

Option 1: Maybe the agency could have terminated his contract prematurely because of his scandals so he had good reason to fear for his job. Which is reasonable, given that he hurt the agency’s stay-home campaign with his actions (twice). Even if he was preparing for his new job, he was still signed with J&A, so actively (or at least carelessly) hurting their image (twice) is a big deal. He said those “business meetings” were scheduled with his manager but when Tegoshi scheduled them, he didn’t say anything about the “drinking and bringing women along” part... which was a very crucial part of the scandals. Also, calling such networking meetings “work” is quite a stretch. No matter how essential networking is for entertainment work... in times when grieving people cannot attend the funerals of their loved ones and lovers cannot marry their partners, frankly, he has no right to jeopardize everyone’s efforts to negotiate some entertainment deals. As far as I know, meeting business partners face-to-face (and bringing additional people along just to make it more fun) has never been categorized as “essential outings” in any context.

Option 2: Maybe he himself wanted to terminate the contract without waiting for STORY. The scandals put his current job at risk and maybe he had even had some success with those new business partners so that waiting any longer either inconvenienced or even ruined his new plans. Which is a given, I guess, because if you meet up with people in April to “talk business”, you can’t really go back and ask them to hold that spot open for you indefinitely. At this point, he probably had to decide whether waiting for STORY is worth risking what he had just negotiated for himself and at that point, I guess his love for the fans, this plan to say a proper goodbye and his wish to finish that project of 4 years just weren’t worth it, because that could take another year.

That’s what bugs me about this whole quitting disaster.

Additionally, his whole attitude towards the situation after leaving NEWS reeks of disregard, empty words and self-centeredness. He says “I love the members!” but instead of talking to them (or at least being very, very sad about not being able to talk to them), he happily drops their names left and right and dishes out one-sided member ai fan service for cheap awwwwws, while the other members’ only statement was very sad and very broken. Tegoshi breaks rules left and right, talks to reporters and paparazzi that he should not talk to, has photos taken with people he should not take photos with, speaks frankly when he should show restraint... but giving his fans a heads up was beyond his possibilities? Utterly impossible?

He acts like the four-tours-project not being completed is “really too bad” when in fact, it is disastrous for the group. By leaving the agency at that point in time, Tegoshi actively ruined STORY (which is packed with the symbolism of 4 and based on journeys taken together) and burned WORLDISTA in the same breath because even IF it gets released, it’s forever too little too late and there is no way that NEWS could happily promote it, especially because the wholesomeness of those four tours is the whole points... which is now devoid of meaning. There is no way that this project is ever gonna be completed meaningfully and no amount of ganbatte and ouen shiteru will ever help the other three change that.

Tegoshi said that he started to wonder about leaving the group even before those 4 tours started. He prides himself on taking work very seriously so why is it that finishing that one big project is not his paramount priority in negotiations? If Tegoshi cannot fight to finish a NEWS project that every single fan believed he would fight tooth and nail over... then I understand that the agency would not let him do bigger projects either. Because apparently, “fighting for his fans and for NEWS” is a rather flexible phrase that does not involve personal sacrifices.

This concludes my rant. Have a nice day.

[commentaryvorg]

Danganronpa V3 Commentary: Part 6.9

Be aware that this is not a blind playthrough! This will contain spoilers for the entire game, regardless of the part of the game I’m commenting on. A major focus of this commentary is to talk about all of the hints and foreshadowing of events that are going to happen and facts that are going to be revealed in the future of the story. It is emphatically not intended for someone experiencing the game for their first time.

Last time as we got even deeper into the fiction reveals of trial 6, I tried probably too hard to justify the auditionees’ nonsensical ideas of how any of this even works, those assholes were nonetheless not the same people as our friends in here in any meaningful way, Tsumugi’s claim that she scripted Maki’s feelings for Kaito was total bullshit but still hit Maki right in the issues about being her own person, her similarly bullshit claim that Kaede and Kaito were never real hit Shuichi right in his own dependency issues, the audience completely stopped being even remotely believable human beings in their reactions to this, and Shuichi broke down and needs to reboot.

While we’re waiting for that to happen, we’ll have to make do with Keebo.

BAD END

…

Keebo:  “Is this the end? Please tell me. I’m asking you.”

I suppose we’re meant to believe that the Bad End message is something that Keebo sees? Which seems kind of odd. Or maybe it’s just something that the in-universe audience were shown through Keebo’s eyes.

But it also kind of reads as more of an out-universe thing, since we the players are the only ones playing this as an actual game that could potentially have bad endings. This kind of gives this the effect that Keebo is also speaking to us, the out-universe audience, and that we’ve been his inner voice this whole time. Which doesn’t actually make sense – if we’ve been anyone’s inner voice it’s been Shuichi’s, but that’s obviously not really an in-universe thing.

This is probably for the sake of trying to fool us into feeling like the in-universe audience is a force for good, just like Keebo is going to still naively believe for a while. Not sure how convincing that is after a proportion of the audience last time had absolutely zero empathy with Shuichi’s despair, though.

Keebo:  “Whenever I was in trouble, my inner voice would always guide me. That guidance is what brought me here. I don’t believe that’s a mistake.”

His inner voice’s guidance has done fuck all to bring him here. He’s here because he was lucky enough that nobody happened to try to murder him, and sensible enough not to kill anyone himself. I would like to give Keebo enough credit to think that he didn’t need his inner voice to talk him out of murder (…well, at least until this chapter, apparently). All the voice has done is make his actions a bit more proactive and optimistic, but that has meaningfully affected basically nothing of note that’s happened here.

Save this situation?

-      No

Remedy this situation?

-      Yes

It is perhaps a little confusing that you’re meant to say no to the first prompt, because one might have already realised that it’s not necessarily a literal save-the-game prompt and is instead talking about saving Keebo’s friends. This probably works better in Japanese, in which the first word is the English loanword “save”, which I don’t think has any meanings other than the save-the-game meaning, and then it changes to an actual Japanese word for save/rescue/ etc.

Keebo:  “My inner voice is telling me I need to… remedy this situation.”

Apparently this is very much not the same part of the audience that was just mindlessly and sadistically laughing about Shuichi’s despair last time. Since Keebo’s inner voice is an audience survey, it must be a majority that wants this instead, which means we have to assume that those comments we saw before were deliberately cherry-picked to be all the despair-loving ones.

At least this does a decent job of actually making the in-universe audience feel like the good guys, then, since they don’t want Shuichi and friends to be in despair. It makes them seem that way for now, at least.

Oh hey, here’s the music from Danganronpa 1 that was essentially Makoto’s “objection” theme. Of course that’s showing up in this game now. Keebo is basically supposed to be playing Makoto’s role, after all. (Emphasis on supposed.)

Keebo:  “We can’t give up. No matter what, hope is always within reach. We must keep our heads high and search for hope, even in the deepest despair.”

Aaaaaand it’s meaningless buzzword time! You can’t search for hope itself. The act of searching is hope, but only if you’re searching for something that will meaningfully, tangibly make your situation better!

Shuichi:  “Hope…?”

I wonder if Shuichi’s realising that what Keebo’s saying doesn’t mean anything and is wondering why he’s throwing this word around so eagerly for no reason. Nothing is going to give Shuichi hope without actually addressing the reason he’s in despair, encouraging him to believe that he’s not all just fictional and his friends weren’t just empty lies. Without that, Keebo is just spouting meaningless platitudes that won’t solve a thing.

Keebo:  “…You said so yourself – this killing game is the Ultimate Real Fiction. If this is both real and fiction, then logically it can’t all be fiction.”

This is an actually useful argument he’s making, at least. But he really shouldn’t need to use logical deduction from Tsumugi’s words to realise that obviously they’re still real in the sense that they exist and have physical bodies and will really die – and therefore that all of that applied to their friends who died, too.

Tsumugi:  “Oh, your inner voice? That’s the voice of the outside world.”

It should be a huge risk for her to be telling him this. Logically this should immediately lead to Keebo refusing to listen to anything his inner voice is saying to him. He won’t for a long while, though, because he’s apparently kind of an idiot. Or just very, very brainwashed. Or a bit of both.

Tsumugi:  “I know cuz I wrote your plotline, too.”

That’s not a “plotline”, that’s just a neat audience-participation feature. The actual plotline that Keebo would follow based on that is entirely up to the audience.

Tsumugi:  “You’re the audience surrogate.”

This might partly explain why Keebo’s character has always been rather vaguely defined and they never did much with all the interesting potential of him being a robot who’s trying his hardest to learn to be human: because he’s supposed to be a blank-slate self-insert for the in-universe audience to see themselves as. They’re obviously not going to be able to relate his thing of being a robot. Makoto and Hajime were both pretty ordinary guys without anything too overly distinctive about them because they were basically audience surrogates, too.

(And Kaede and Shuichi have far more distinct personalities and characters because they’re not audience surrogates like the previous two games’ protagonists were.)

“Hifumi”:  “That function exists to keep the audience entertained.”

Yes, because clearly they’d all have been super bored by this whole killing game if they hadn’t been giving Keebo meaningless nudges to be a little more optimistic from time to time. Nothing else about this game has been remotely entertaining without him, right!?

The hints earlier that Danganronpa might have been getting stale and on its last legs by now do support the idea that this is something they did to try and keep people interested, but Tsumugi is still giving herself way too much credit here.

“Chihiro”:  “It’s two-way communication that lets you participate in the program from home.”

Oh, boy, is this the line that’s supposed to justify how Shuichi will ultimately change the outside world by yelling at them a bunch – because he does it through Keebo’s nebulous “communication” feature? Yeah, because that’s totally so different from them simply listening to him because they’re watching this trial.

Tsumugi:  “The outside world has been watching from your eyes the whole time! It lets them feel like they’re really a part of the Danganronpa world!”

This cannot be the whole truth. For one thing, if they’ve only ever seen through Keebo’s eyes, then outside of trials, the audience must have been really, really bored? All of the interesting character interactions – all of the watching Shuichi grow and develop which was in-universely meant to be one of the main plotlines of this story – happened nowhere near Keebo. The audience should have been poking Keebo to hang out with more people, maybe get closer to Shuichi, so that they could actually see any of that.

(Although the fact that Keebo apparently spent more of his time with Miu than anyone else is… unfortunately probably quite an accurate representation of what an audience would do. I have seen way too many LPers of this game hang out with Miu for reasons that completely elude me because why would anyone ever want more of her than necessary unless they’re shallowly taken in by the fanservice. I feel very bad for the sensible minority watching through Keebo’s eyes who were fed up with her but didn’t have enough of a majority vote to do anything about it.)

But that collage of illustrations we had a while ago that Tsumugi presented as part of “Danganronpa V3” rather proves that Keebo’s camera is not the audience’s only viewing option. Why would they want to limit the viewers to just that when they have Nanokumas everywhere and could be giving them the choice to follow whichever character they want? And since the Nanokumas are so invisible and mobile that they can get any angle, watching via them would also make one feel as though they’re really in the Danganronpa world anyway, even if it’s not literally through a character’s eyes.

Tsumugi:  “That’s why I’m so glad you survived all the way through!”

What the hell were you planning to do if he didn’t? Did you not even have any kind of failsafe in place to try and make sure nobody happened to murder him?

“Junko”:  “If the audience surrogate falls into despair, then the audience does, too. By making you fall into despair, I can make the entire world fall into despair!”

That’s, uh, not how audience surrogates work. The audience only feels the same thing their surrogate characters feel through the power of empathy and imagination, but that’s not the same thing as actually being in despair when their character is. If anything, seeing Keebo fall into despair should just make the audience cheer more for him to not give up and keep having hope. You know, just like they should also be cheering for Shuichi and his friends to not despair right now, if they were a halfway reasonable and decent audience.

“Junko”:  “My despair will turn from fiction to fact and destroy reality itself.”

However, Tsumugi most likely knows that this doesn’t make sense and is really just saying this to try and pander to the audience and make them feel like this matters. While it’s kind of half her fault for practically telling them herself, the characters in this story have completely messed up her script by figuring out how fictional this all is. But hey! Never mind them (who cares about them anyway they’re not real, right), this is totally all about you guys in the audience! She’s trying to make everyone ignore the fact that her story has gone completely off the rails and is no longer remotely about what it’s supposed to be about by enticing them with the idea that it’s now the audience’s story. You’re the ones in danger now! You’re the ones who get to fight and defeat Junko! Isn’t that just so fun, you guys???

Which, A, doesn’t even make any sense in the first place and, B, is horrendously bad storytelling to suddenly abandon the characters this story was supposed to be about like they’re irrelevant. But it’s going to work on this audience, because apparently they never really gave a fuck about any of this story’s characters in the first place, even though that’s the exact opposite of how an audience should act!

Maki:  “Is that why… you want the world to fall into despair?”

Maki Roll, don’t fall for it! That’s not what she’s trying to do and she doesn’t care about any of that! Maki has always been the most subsceptible to manipulation, and it seems like that one Flashback Light that brainwashed them into thinking that “despair” is always bad and that they are symbols of “hope” who must always defeat despair is still affecting her in ways she doesn’t realise are manipulation.

Himiko:  “Th-That’s… messed up!”

Himiko also briefly comments on this here like she might be buying this. Shuichi does not. He’s just staying quiet and watching.

“Nekomaru”:  “The outside world wants to see horrible setups and payoffs!”

That should be the case, because those are the kind of things that make a good story. But suddenly yelling about despair taking over the world in a way that makes no sense and is unconnected to any of the setup we’ve had this whole time? Not a payoff for anything. Should not be something the audience wants. They should want actual payoff for the characters they’ve been watching all this time.

“Nagito”:  “What could be more horrible than a fictional despair eroding the real world?”

“Junko”:  “No one could’ve imagined an end this hopeless.”

Yes, look, you guys, this is totally a super awesome plotline she’s come up with and it’s one that lets all of you be the heroes! please keep watching don’t change the channel just because things have gone off-script help

Keebo:  “…No. I won’t give in to despair!”

Tsumugi:  “Huuuh?”

Tsumugi has a gleeful “oh, I’m so surprised!” face here. She is making it quite obvious that Keebo’s reaction is exactly what she was going for. Keebo, no.

Keebo:  “If that’s the voice of the outside world, then the outside world actually wants hope!”

At this point, now that Tsumugi’s veered things around to totally be about the audience’s despair because who even cares about these people who aren’t real, is Keebo even talking about “hope” for Shuichi and the others? Or is this just “hope” for the audience to protect them from the evil despair that’s totally going to be inflicted on them? Almost certainly the latter.

K1-B0 – Ultimate Hope Robot

This is so clearly trying to rip off the ending of DR1. Which the audience is going to lap up because they’re raging genwunners. But this doesn’t work anything like that, because that hope was used to inspire the rest of the characters that the story was actually about. This is very emphatically not going to be that.

“Junko”:  “What is this?”

Keebo:  “This is the power of hope!”

It’s really not. It’s one guy who doesn’t have a clue what’s really going on yelling a bunch of meaningless words.

“Makoto”:  “The final battle between hope and despair!”

It was never a fucking battle! But no, of course it was, that’s definitely always been what those two words are about.

“Nagito”:  “The class trial is in disarray because Monokuma broke a rule…”

Himiko:  “You’re the one who broke the rule…”

Hah, I like that someone calls her out on that. Tsumugi’s still running away from all responsibility, because of course she is.

(“Smiling, putting on a mask, never saying what you really think. That kind of cowardice is just like Monokuma!” Kaito was really talking about the mastermind hiding behind Monokuma rather than Monokuma himself when he said that – and now she’s putting on even more literal masks than ever before.)

“Sayaka”:  “How about we start over and have a special vote?”

Keebo:  “…A special vote? But you’re the one who broke the rules in the first place—”

Keebo is quite right to point out that Tsumugi does not have the right to do any kind of life-or-death vote now that she’s broken the rules and messed everything up. Tsumugi, of course, completely brushes off his protest and does it anyway… and the audience lets her.

Trial 5’s whole premise of “Monokuma can’t do what he likes once he’s provably broken the rules” only works because the audience was supposed to agree that it’s unfair and cry foul, but… it turns out the audience is actually a bunch of mindless idiots who are totally okay with a meaningless vote and meaningless deaths to get them their hope fix. So… Kaito’s attempted best-case outcome in trial 5, which he was going for in the hope of saving his friends’ lives and ending the killing game, would actually have saved no-one and ended nothing anyway??? And what Kaito did achieve – letting Shuichi know that Monokuma can’t get things wrong because of the audience, which is why Shuichi went into this trial to prove Kaede spotless in another attempt to end the killing game – is also meaningless? Kaito faked his death and lied to his friends for a whole trial for nothing?

Out-universe writers, no. Why would you ever think this is okay? How can you just completely undermine the best case of the game like this?

(They’re also clearly not trying to go for a deliberate gut-punch of making Kaito’s efforts pointless, because the narrative isn’t acknowledging this at all. Apparently the in-universe writers are not the only ones who have no idea what they’re doing here.)

“Kazuichi”:  “Let’s just do one last vote!”

Monokuma:  “Cuz that’s what Danganronpa’s all about!”

The fact that DR1 and DR2’s stories happened to work fairly well with a final vote does not mean that it should be taken as a necessary part of a Danganronpa storyline to the point of shoehorning one in even when it doesn’t work.

The final vote in DR2 worked because that wasn’t decided on by Junko and was just a result of the way the world had been programmed. And the final vote in DR1 may have been also forced through by Junko when she didn’t really have the right to do so any more – but she was never entertaining her audience, she was forcing them to watch in order to make a point. Her vote continued that theme, because it was essentially Junko making Makoto stake his life on the belief that his friends would agree with his philosophy of hope (in her attempt to prove that they wouldn’t). Only Makoto’s life was on the line in it, and it was for a reason that was relevant to what had been happening and what he’d been advocating, so it didn’t feel especially unfair, at least not more so than you’d expect Junko to be given she wanted lives to be at stake for everything.

The vote we’re about to be forced into here is almost nothing like that. Oh boy.

Tsumugi:  “Between Keebo and I… Which of us should get punished?”

If that was all, that’d be fairly analogous to the DR1 final vote, and fairly acceptable. Keebo and Tsumugi are (supposedly) having a clash of philosophies, so this would just be them staking their lives on that. If it was only their lives on the line.

Himiko:  “To end in hope…?”

Maki:  “To end in despair…?”

Shuichi:  “We decide…?”

Yeah, why should these three get to decide? I thought this story was suddenly all about the audience now, not them! They’re not even real people, right? Why should they get to determine which out of hope or despair the audience wants to see?

But the vote they’re about to have doesn’t have anything to do with this whole deal of “bringing despair to the outside world” or about which one the audience prefers. Because Tsumugi doesn’t have a goddamn clue what she’s doing with any of this nonsense and might as well have not even done that whole bit in the first place. I hope this is out-universely deliberate at least, but at this point my faith in the out-universe writers is slipping.

Tsumugi explains that the “Despair wins” choice will result in everyone except Keebo continuing to live in the school, technically continuing the killing game but presumably never actually killing each other any more now that they know all the motives will be lies.

Keebo:  “No! That’s no way to live! Imprisoned in this school, living lives of despair—”

How exactly would that be a life of “despair”, Keebo? They’d be stuck there, sure, but at least the three of them would be alive, and they’re friends (minus Tsumugi, who would hopefully fuck off and leave them alone), so they should be able to find some semblance of happiness in it. You’re only saying it’d be “despair” because Tsumugi has arbitrarily slapped that label on it and therefore it must be nothing but bad, because “hope” is always good and “despair” is always evil, right?

“Toko”:  “E-Even if you went outside, there’d be n-no point.”

“Byakuya”:  “As I said, all your memories are nothing but fiction.”

“Imposter Byakuya”:  “Your hometowns, your families, your friends… they never existed in the first place.”

Wow, Tsumugi, you sure are making the option where they get to escape look more despairing than the one where they stay inside here and never have to face any of that stuff.

…Which actually is kind of analogous to the first game in that they’d be going out into a hostile world where they’re going to struggle to find their feet, and they’ll have to hope that they’ll be okay in that world despite everything. If the narrative was going to present it that way and have Keebo encourage them to still try and live in that world even if it’s scary because it’s better than being boringly trapped in here forever, this’d be acceptably similar to DR1. But nope, that’s not remotely what we’re going to be doing here.

Himiko:  “Th-Then at least put us back how we were!”

No, Himiko! Admittedly we didn’t see Himiko’s audition so she didn’t see what she “used to be” like, but the auditions they did see should make it very clear to all of them that the people they “used to be” weren’t them. None of you want to go back to being those people, guys; you should be able to see that! The people that you are now would stop existing if you did that! For all intents and purposes, you’d die!

Tsumugi explains that that’s impossible because Flashback Lights don’t actually retrieve lost memories and can only overwrite existing memories with fake ones. But it being impossible should not be the point anyway. None of them should even want this in the first place.

Shuichi:  “So… we can’t go back to the way we were?”

Shuichi, you saw the person who used to live in your body! You can’t possibly want to be him! You’d forget everything about Kaito and Kaede and become someone who wants to get executed in a killing game!

Apparently Tsumugi’s insistence that they’re all entirely “fake” has got to them so much that, despite all the evidence, they’re just clinging to the idea that “real” has got to be better, and nooooooo, guys, snap out of it!

Buuut it’s the “hope wins” outcome of the vote that’s the really stupid part. Tsumugi is punished and they get to escape, except…

“Taka”:  “However, you must follow the rules! The game will continue until the final two!”

Tsumugi:  “So only two of you can graduate.”

And why, pray tell, the absolute fuck, is this remotely necessary? The only reason that two-person rule exists should be as a minimum, because it’s not possible to hold a class trial with only two people left. If it’s also a strict maximum, then that means that this game is designed to kill fourteen people no matter what, even if there aren’t enough in-game murders for that. The point of this killing game is supposed to be that the participants brought all the deaths upon themselves (even though that’s not really a fair assessment at all when they were manipulated into it). Executing more people anyway even when it’s not prompted by someone becoming blackened in the first place is arbitrarily cruel and not in the spirit of the game at all. This rule should have completely ceased to apply any more, now that we’re in “endgame” mode where clearly nobody is going to commit any more murders. Killing two of them at this point just to adhere to this pointless rule is meaningless as fuck.

Plus, what right does Tsumugi even have any more to insist that they adhere to the rules when she broke them first? Oh, right, because the audience are mindless morons who don’t actually care if she breaks them despite the entire point of trial 5. (Geez, even Kokichi expected better from the audience than this.)

So, the bottom line is that this “hope wins” ending is… two of them get to escape into an outside world that doesn’t even see them as real people, after watching two more of their friends get completely pointlessly and arbitrarily killed. Such hope! Such meaning! Such narrative!

(Okay, they won’t get killed, as we’ll learn later on, but still. It is no less arbitrary.)

Shuichi:  “… We got this far… and you’re telling us to sacrifice more of our friends?”

Shuichi is crying and I don’t blame him. Why? Why should he have to lose even more of his friends for no reason? This isn’t fair! At least Kaede and Kaito’s sacrifices happened because they tried to make a difference, but this would be nothing like that!

“Gundham”:  “However… even if you do escape to the outside world, you will find it most unwelcoming.”

Keebo:  “…No! As long as we never give up, there will always be hope!”

Keebo. Dude. If you were trying to reassure everyone to stay hopeful about things that actually mattered, namely the idea that the outside world wouldn’t welcome them, or the thought of losing more friends, then maybe this would kinda sorta work and be a bit like Makoto was in DR1. But you’re just spouting meaningless platitudes! Stop it!

Keebo:  “If it will bring hope to everyone and the outside world, I will gladly sacrifice myself.”

You dying for completely arbitrary reasons is not going to make your friends hope for anything, Keebo! And you especially shouldn’t give a fuck what the outside world that’s gleefully watched your friends die wants from you!

I don’t hold it against Keebo, because he is genuinely well-meaning and trying to do a good thing here, but he is so, so deluded and misled.

“Makoto”:  “In order for hope to win, there needs to be one more sacrifice.”

That sentence doesn’t make any sense! That’s not hope! In the real Makoto’s story, hope winning didn’t sacrifice anyone except the mastermind! Makoto himself would have called total bullshit on the idea that pointlessly sacrificing his friends would be for the sake of any kind of hope!

“Sonia”:  “Do you understand now? Even if you choose hope, you will still suffer.”

Okay, so, look, I’m not saying that hope doesn’t involve suffering. Remember when I talked about my first-time experience of Kaito’s trial and how the rekindled hope that he might be alive was utterly terrifying? Yeah, hope is scary. But real hope is scary because it’s uncertain, because of the constant possibility that you might not get what you’re hoping for and fall back into despair. Being forced to feel completely arbitrary separate pain that has nothing to do with what you’re hoping for (in this context, they’d be hoping they can fit in in an outside world that doesn’t see them as real people) is not part of the reason that hope itself is difficult and scary and is completely beside the fucking point.

Tsumugi using Sonia here is the beginning of a sequence of her cosplaying almost all of the female characters (plus Chihiro) and having them be all “won’t you stay here with us~? *blush*”. Which is obviously deliberate pandering.

But, like… who is this pandering to? Isn’t she supposed to be persuading Maki, Himiko and Shuichi right now? There’s no evidence that Maki and Himiko are into girls, and while Shuichi apparently is, why should he care about these people that are, to his fake memories, historical figures and nothing more? Why would he be that shallow just because they’re girls? And if this is for the audience, first of all, why, they can’t influence this outside of Keebo’s one vote, and second of all… does she not fucking realise that only about half of her audience is even going to be into girls, and only a proportion of those people should be shallow enough to be swayed by this? Female characters are more than just objects of fanservice and romantic fantasy! There are plenty of people who enjoy this franchise who aren’t here for that, you know! Tsumugi is a girl, she should have more respect for her own goddamn gender than this!

Really, if Tsumugi was properly trying to persuade Shuichi, Maki and Himiko, then the best (cruellest) move would be for her to suddenly start cosplaying Kaede, Tenko and Kaito and being all like “hey, if you stayed here I could be them for you!” (the cospox thing was dumb and there should be no reason she couldn’t do that). Which would of course make all three of them do an immediate huge revolted NOPE, a lot like the time Maki thought Exisal Kaito was Kokichi pretending to be him except worse – but it’d be an impactful moment, at least. Honestly, Tsumugi cosplaying the dead V3 characters here would make this whole part of the trial far more viscerally uncomfortable, like it’s clearly trying to be, than just seeing the DR1 and 2 characters be the face of the villain when they’re not a part of this actual story.

(Man, imagine her doing the part last time where she reminded Shuichi of Kaede and Kaito’s inspiring lines by actually cosplaying them and reciting those lines in their voices, that would be awful, I would hate it and love it at the same time. It’d hammer home the supposed idea that they were always just lies even more.)

Keebo:  “Despair won’t end this killing game! Only hope will!”

Keebo says this just before we get dragged into a Mass Panic Debate in which Keebo’s only available bullet is “Hope”. When the only weapon you have is hope, every problem’s got to be able to be solved with it, right? No, Keebo.

This Mass Panic Debate is the worst and the reason I equipped Librarian’s Glare at the beginning, because then all the loud voices get silenced automatically and all I have to focus on is firing. If you don’t hit every single statement’s worth of “despair” in one round, you have to do it all over again, and a bunch of them have loud voices getting in the way. It’s far, far more mechanically difficult than any other debate in the game, which is not at all deserved on a narrative level when what’s happening right now is such a ridiculous mess.

Story time: when I got to this Mass Panic Debate on my first time through, since I was watching not playing and therefore had a little break to let my thoughts flow without having to pay as much attention to what was happening… I was really upset. I had loved almost everything about this game up to this point, and I really wanted it to have a good ending worthy of the rest of it. But this was currently presenting itself as that ending, and this was just bad.

This is supposedly analogous to the part in DR1 where Makoto fired bullets of hope at all of his friends, and I liked that part. It was refreshing and inspiring after a whole game supposedly all about despair to realise that it was actually about hope as well. But here, first-time-me just felt vaguely insulted at the idea that I was supposed to like this as much as I did that. This is just a cheap imitation of that which completely misses the actual point.

The protagonist is supposed to be meaningfully inspiring his friends to not give up and to face the hostile outside world with the hope that things will work out okay. But this “hope” choice they’re being given here is arbitrarily cruel, and Keebo’s words are not even addressing his friends, let alone any of the actual problems that his friends are despairing over. He’s just shooting the “hope” at Tsumugi’s “despair” like this is some kind of good-versus-evil battle. This is exactly the kind of one-dimensional, meaningless hope the characters were filled with when they saw the Flashback Light in chapter 5 – empty platitudes that don’t even remotely address the actual reason for their despair and therefore don’t fix anything at all. And that reason for their despair right now isn’t just the thought of the outside world but also simply the notion that they’re not real, which was pretty compelling when it came up and first-time-me wanted them to get back to that and address that more and hated the fact that it’d apparently been completely forgotten like it didn’t matter.

Of course, I don’t hate this part nearly as much now, because this isn’t the real endpoint of this trial, and with that in mind, Keebo missing the point like this is very out-universely deliberate. This is showing the “battle between hope and despair” that the outside world apparently craves that is the reason they’ve been watching these killing games for fifty-three seasons. Shuichi is going to figure this out quite soon, and then things will get back on track with the characters we’ve actually grown to care about properly addressing the question of how real they are.

But I’m still not super happy with this. Keebo is so obviously failing at presenting any kind of actual hope or compelling story here that it’s a stretch to believe that a sensible in-universe audience would want this either. Shouldn’t they care about the characters they’ve been watching this whole time and be frustrated, like I was, when the story abruptly veers away from being about them into this empty nonsense? Shouldn’t they be calling bullshit on the arbitrary unfair sacrifices for the vote, especially after Tsumugi broke the rules and had no more right to even punish anyone at all? (That was literally supposed to be the point of trial 5, dammit! Kaito deserves better than this!) Heck, shouldn’t the characters be calling bullshit on the vote rather than accepting it? (I can let them off a bit more though, since they’re still mostly in despair and not quite thinking straight.)

This would work a lot better if it was still trying to be mostly about the characters, and Keebo was actually trying to inspire them with hope. Instead of shooting at Tsumugi’s despair, he should, like Makoto did, be shooting the hope at his friends and trying to reassure them that surely they’ll find a place in the outside world that’ll accept them, that surely whichever two of them survive will be able to overcome these last deaths as well and find happiness somehow. That would be a kind of hope that would be reasonably believable as making a satisfying if bittersweet ending. That way, it’d be a lot easier to believe that the audience wants this, and to therefore realise that this is why the killing game has gone on for so long and will still continue if they let this ending happen here.

The fact that this isn’t what happens when it easily could have been makes me wonder how much of this part’s one-dimensionality was deliberate, and how much is the out-universe writers not actually realising that the situation they’re presenting here isn’t “hope” in any meaningful or compelling way at all. My faith in them on this particular front is not very strong, I must admit.

“Keebo! Keebo!”

“Keebo’s on fire!”

“gooooo Keebo!”

The audience has been there in the background throughout all of this – probably as what Keebo’s hearing in his inner voice – but up until now they’ve just been saying “Hope” or “Despair”. As this debate finishes, they finally start saying something of more substance, most of them cheering Keebo on like so. It sure sounds like they care about him as a character, which is what you’d expect if they’d been experiencing this game through him as the protagonist. But they don’t; we’ll see that very clearly later. They only care about him representing their own voices and nothing else.

“i wanna see the color of shuichi’s blood <3”

Wow, fuck, geez, okay. That “fan” of Shuichi’s from before has gone from “somewhat realistic if rather creepy considering that he’s real” to “absolute sicko”. What the hell.

“Now this is Danganronpa.”

Apparently we really are supposed to believe that this kind of meaninglessness is what people have come to like from this show over the years. It so incredibly shouldn’t be, though. What about all the actual class trials before the endgame? The characters struggling with the pain of watching their friends die or realising that their friend killed someone? Isn’t that more compelling than just yelling about hope being better than despair? Apparently not to these idiots.

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[Next post]

[thelastarchangelaskblog]

Redemption Deleted Scene 4

This chronologically takes place before the other ones but I wrote this after I wrote the others so that’s why this is #4.

This was...an opening scene where I had a shit ton of trouble getting it to sound how I wanted it to sound. I know I rewrote it more than once, and yet I’m only seeing the one scene in my scraps file... *squints*

Anyway, have a look at what I dumped because I didn’t like it?

comment?

Redemption Deleted Scene 1

Redemption Deleted Scene 2

Redemption Deleted Scene 3

Redemption Deleted Scene 5

**

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It didn’t take long for Gadreel to find his vessel and get his consent again. This time it was entirely consensual, and the transition from celestial wavelength to physical vessel went smoothly, Gadreel blinking down at Gabriel once he was sorted out.

Putting a hand on Gadreel’s shoulder, Gabriel flew them both back to the bunker, though he didn’t immediately reveal their presence, hanging back to see what sort of mess Dean had gotten himself into now.

The Winchesters really were a riot, and Gabriel had actually missed their hilarious antics. They were both undoubtedly dangerous, but they were also two lost boys. This was just the cherry on top of a truly remarkable sundae of bad decisions made by Dean Winchester; Gabriel had a separate one for Sam, and that one was bigger than Dean’s simply because he’d unlocked the Cage to let Lucifer out and been guzzling down demon blood.

“Are you telling me that you told an angel to possess me?” Sam shouted at Dean, face a mixture of disbelief and anger. His soul was twisting around on itself, betrayal marring it, and Gabriel blinked, refocusing on his physical face. He didn’t need to deal with double vision now that he was almost back to normal.

Almost being the key word since he wasn’t up to 100%. Loki had only managed to recover a fraction of his entire Grace. Everything else had been annihilated when he smote the Leviathan; what Gabriel was operating on now was still rather impressive when compared to an angel of Castiel’s rank, but he was seriously lacking on power, and it was rather annoying.

Slipping back into visibility, Gabriel put a finger to his lips when Steve and Jarvis caught sight of him, eyebrows raised meaningfully. Steve’s lips twitched, and Jarvis scrunched his eyebrows together.

“You were dying, Sam!” Dean shouted back. “What the hell was I supposed to do?”

“Let me die, Dean!” Sam’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. “How many times have we done this already?”

“That’s not happening,” Dean snapped, his cheeks flushed in anger. “No way in hell, Sam.”

“And why the hell not?” Sam stepped closer to him, clearly meaning to intimidate Dean with his greater height.

Dean being Dean, this of course didn’t do squat. “You weren’t supposed to die!”

“Then why was I?” Sam’s voice had dropped, the betrayal that Gabriel had seen earlier in his soul sinking into his words. “Why was I dying then, Dean?”

“It was the failed trial—”

“It was my time, Dean. My time. I was ready to die, and I should have. But you stopped it. And now the gates to Hell are still open”—so that’s what had caused all that damage to Sam’s internal organs—“and Heaven’s are closed. Tell me, Dean, what’s the upside to me being alive?”

“We’re together, aren’t we?” Dean asked. “You and me, fighting the good fight together. The way it should be.”

“I should be dead,” Sam repeated. Gabriel wasn’t sure he liked this fatalistic version of Sam; the one he remembered would’ve been fighting tooth and nail to live. “But I’m not, because you decided you knew better. Be honest with me, Dean. You didn’t save me for me – because you thought it wasn’t my time – you saved me for yourself. Because you didn’t want to be alone.”

Dean looked confused. “What are you talking about?”

“You can’t stand the thought of being alone.” Sam’s words were piercing. “You have Cas, but you have to have me, too. I’ll say this much about you, Dean: you’re certainly willing to do the sacrifice, as long as you’re not the one being hurt.”

Dean’s face was tight. “As long as we’re being honest here, you’d do the same thing for me if the situation was reversed, and I was dying.”

Sam took a step back, lips pressed together. “No, Dean. I wouldn’t. Same circumstances, I wouldn’t.”

Dean reeled back, stricken, the force of his emotional turmoil so strong that Gabriel could feel it. Even Gadreel flinched, face distraught at what he had caused. Dean seemed to be struggling to say something, but nothing came out.

“Dean.” Castiel stepped up to Dean’s side, reaching out to comfort him only to be rebuffed when Dean shook his hands off.

Finally, Dean took in a shuddering breath, eyes going back to Sam’s steady face. “Sam—”

“That’s enough, boys,” Gabriel said, flicking his fingers and silencing Dean. “Work out your issues on your own time. We’ve got a problem to deal with.”

Sam looked at them, eyes lingering on Gadreel. “You were the one in me?” His voice was flat.

Gadreel hesitated for a split-second before nodding. “Yes.”

“At least you’re honest.” The words were bitter.

“Sam.” Gabriel cut him a sharp look. “Not now.”

Sam shifted, folding his arms across his chest, his head held high. “Heaven,” he stated.

“Heaven,” Gabriel agreed, turning to Castiel. “Heart of a nephilim, bow of Cupid, and your Grace. Have I got that right?”

Castiel nodded, shooting Dean a pained look that the other didn’t seem to see, looking at Sam as he was.

“It’s not a spell I’ve heard of either,” Gabriel said slowly, sharing glances with Raphael.

“All that time as a pagan didn’t teach you something?” Dean asked, turning his focus to Gabriel.

“Oh, sure.” Gabriel smirked dryly. “But I didn’t spend the millennia plotting on a way to shut the gates to Heaven because I’m not a complete idiot. No, this is something Metatron came up with on his own.”

“If you don’t know what the spell is,” Steve said, “can you break it?”

“Any spell can be broken,” Gabriel said. “Just need to find the weak spot.”

“Which needs us to be closer to the spell,” Raphael said. “But since it’s located in Heaven…”

“Inspired guess, it’s your Grace that’s holding it together,” Gabriel said to Castiel. “That was the last ingredient, wasn’t it?”

Castiel nodded again, eyes dim. “It was. He—” His breath hitched, and he shut his eyes, dragging a hand down his face in a very human gesture. “He tore it out of me,” he started again, voice soft. “And then cast me down to watch them Fall.” He met Gabriel’s eyes, desperate. “I just wanted to help.”

“Cas…” Dean’s voice was whisper soft.

“I just wanted to help,” Castiel repeated desperately. “But I didn’t. I made things worse, like I always do.”

“We’ve all messed up, Castiel,” Gabriel said, slightly awkwardly. It had been years since he had interacted with other angels beyond brandishing swords menacingly, and it had been longer since he had acted like an older brother.

“You’re not solely responsible for what’s happened here, Castiel,” Raphael said. “Metatron has a way with words; it was his job as the Scribe of Heaven.”

“It’s a mistake that can be fixed,” Gabriel said briskly.

“How?” Castiel looked expectant.

“Eh…the details on that still need to be worked out.”

“Best be done quickly, Gabriel,” Raphael said. “Metatron will have noticed your presence.”

“But if he’s up there in Heaven, how would he notice what’s going on down here?” Sam asked.

Raphael’s mouth ticked up in a smile. “You were there when Gabriel regained his Grace. Tell me – what was it like to be at point zero?”

It was Steve who spoke now. “Breathtakingly powerful. I could barely breathe.”

“The earth shook and the air split,” Loki added quietly, eyes on Gabriel.

“My electronics went haywire,” Jarvis concluded, fingers tapping on his helmet.

“Those were just the physical hallmarks of what you felt; imagine what every supernatural being on Earth felt when an archangel became himself again.” Raphael tipped her head back to look at the ceiling. “As angels, we’re linked to Heaven, even if the gates are locked. Metatron will have noticed an archangel’s presence on Earth, and he will be looking.”

“We’ll need to use that to our advantage,” Gabriel said. “If he’s focused on Earth, then he’s not in Heaven.”

“Heaven’s locked – how’s he supposed to get out?” Dean demanded.

“Tell me, Dean,” Gabriel said, sighing, “are you stuck in your room just because you locked the door? No? That’s because you have the key.”

“And Metatron has this key,” Gadreel said simply. “Are you going to steal it from him?”

“Since that would probably involve tearing out his Grace in some shape or form, no, I’m not.” Gabriel’s lips thinned. “I’d rather not kill him if it can be helped, which means we need to get Castiel’s Grace. It’s probably the lynchpin.”

“You know that if we get our hands on him—” Dean started.

“You’ll gank him, yes I know,” Gabriel finished impatiently. “But he’s not going to let you do that. He’s got the entire force of Heaven at his fingertips; you think a human’s going to make him shake in his boots?”

Gadreel shot him a sharp look. “You cannot face him then, Gabriel.”

Gabriel put up a hand, forestalling anything else he might have said. “I’ve got enough for this,” he said in a clipped tone. In Heaven he would have the energy there to draw from, but for right now he was stuck at recharging at a snail’s pace; nowhere near enough power to deal with Metatron the good old-fashioned way. But Gabriel wasn’t just an archangel now.

Steve shot him a curious look. “So what’s the plan?”

“We need to get into Heaven,” Raphael answered for him. “Or incapacitate Metatron while he’s on Earth, but given his current power levels…”

Gadreel was still looking at Gabriel. “It is inadvisable to do so.”

“I’ve done a lot of  inadvisable things in my time,” Gabriel said wryly, rolling his shoulders. His wings brushed against the tattered edges of Gadreel’s, who recoiled reflexively, his Grace ringing with sudden terror; it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. Gabriel shot him a sharp look, but Gadreel averted his eyes, staring fixedly at a point on the floor.

“Let us not have a repeat of the last time, hm?” Loki said.

Gabriel shot him a grin, bright and quicksilver. “Worked, didn’t it?”

“We thought you were dead,” Jarvis said, subdued.

The practically stricken tone of his youngest quickly sobered Gabriel, his grin disappearing. “I know. And I’m sorry; I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t have another choice.”

“We know,” Steve reassured him, a tight edge to his eyes the only sign of what the subject was doing to him.

Castiel looked between all of them, brow furrowed in concern. “So how do we do this?” he asked. “How do we break into Heaven?”

Gabriel tilted his head. “There are back ways… I’ve used a few of them back in the day when I was a pagan.”

“They’ll be locked as well,” Raphael argued.

Gabriel grinned, manic excitement running through him. “Then we’ll have to make our own.”

“If you mean to create a door from the outside, you don’t have the power to do that,” Gadreel protested. “Not right now.”

Gabriel’s grin turned sharp, his eyes cutting to Gadreel. “Like I said, I’ve got enough to do this. Maybe not the old-fashioned way of cutting right into it, but that was never really my style. But a little misdirection…” His voice trailed off meaningfully.

“Creating a door from the inside?” Raphael sounded distinctly unimpressed with this absolutely brilliant logical leap from him. “There’s no one who can help us, Gabriel. Metatron certainly won’t, no matter how many illusions you feed him.”

“Wait…” Sam had a manic gleam in his eyes. “Does it have to be an angel to help?”

“Mm…not technically speaking, no. Anyone who’s able to traverse Heaven and can get the materials we need will do.” Gabriel eyed him curiously. “Why? You got someone in mind?”

For the first time since the conversation had started, Sam looked at his brother. “Dean, what do you remember about our trip to Heaven?”

“Zachariah being a dick,” Dean said, huffing. “Joshua.”

“Not only that.” Sam’s eyes were bright as they met Gabriel’s again. “Hunters. There are a ton of hunters up there.”

“Human souls can’t travel through Heaven the way we need them to,” Raphael said sharply. “They’re restricted to their own little personal heavens.”

“Not Ash,” Sam said eagerly, looking so much like an eager puppy dog Gabriel had to dearly resist patting his hair. “He had this whole little setup up there, even listening in on angel radio. It was because of him that we avoided Zachariah for so long. And he’d worked out how to travel through personal heavens.”

“Sounds like a guy I’d like,” Gabriel mused, eyes narrowing in thought. With Sam’s suggestion, his plans reshuffled and reorganized themselves with the inclusion of human souls. “You say he’s gotten into angel radio? Does he understand it?”

“Taught himself Enochian.”

“Definitely a guy I’d like,” Gabriel muttered, ruffling a hand through his hair as he thought, compiling and discarding plans in seconds. “Okay…what kind of setup does he have?”

“Computers,” Dean answered, sitting back against the edge of the table, arms folded across his chest and expression inscrutable. “They’ve also got Pamela up there – a psychic.”

“They’ve got every hunter up there,” Sam said, excitement coloring his tone. “Bobby, Henry, Jo, Ellen…”

“Winchesters,” Gabriel murmured, rubbing his face. “Okay, this should work. I need a laptop.”

“A laptop?” The question came from several different directions, though it was uttered with an equal amount of incredulity.

Gabriel snorted, dropping his hand to his side. “Oh, come on. I could take over the world with nothing but this phone.” He pulled out said phone, flipping it through the air and catching it. “A laptop will get me better access to this Ash and keep me off angel radio. Just a little Grace”—he wiggled his fingers—“and hey, presto!” He spread his hands demonstratively. “I’m still Tony Stark,” he added wryly.

“Yeah, you’re not getting mine,” Kevin said after a moment, shaking his head.

“Fine,” Sam huffed. “I’ll get mine.” He shot Gabriel a pointed look. “Don’t fry it.”

Gabriel widened his eyes. “Would I?”

“Yes, yes, you would,” Sam said definitively. “Especially if you thought it was funny.”

Gabriel snickered. “Okay, sasquatch, point taken. I promise not to fry your laptop, though I can’t promise it’ll work the same way once I’m done.”

Squinting at Gabriel, Sam’s mouth twisted unhappily.

“That’s the best you’re going to get from him,” Raphael told him. “There’s nothing he can do about it once he starts altering it with Grace.”

“Fine,” Sam conceded. “I’ll be right back.”

[welllpthisishappening]

The PyeongChang Triple (14/15)

It’s the Olympics. The. Olympics. And Emma’s running out of post-it notes to write schedules and plans on and there are more games and more expectations and not enough time for any of it. She’s fine. Totally. Absolutely. If she could just sleep. Or stop feeling as if her knees are going to give out every time she stands up. Or get Ruby to stop staring at her like that. It’s fine. After all Killian Jones, captain of Team USA, keeps promising it will be.

He’s going to win. Again. At the Olympics. And Killian’s not nervous. Not about that. It’s hockey. He could play hockey in his sleep. Probably. He’s never tried that. But he probably could. And, sure, there are expectations and games and schedules and barely any time for what he wants to actually be doing, but winning a Gold medal isn’t bad. After all, Emma Swan, temporary New York Rangers Olympics team social media manager, keeps promising it will be.

They’re fine. They’re going to win. Together.

Rating: Mature. Swearing, hockey-type violence, lotsa making out. Word Count: 9.4K of family fluff. Family. Fluff. AN: The final couple of moments in this chapter were sitting in the back corner of my brain from the very first moment I started writing this story, so I’m super psyched that they’re finally going to be out there on the internet. I cannot thank you guys enough for every click, comment, message, flail. All of it. It’s the best. You’re the best. I’ve written so much Olympic fic. This story would be nothing without @laurnorder​ & @distant-rose​.  Also on Ao3 and FF.net

“Cap!”

Killian’s head snapped up, eyes going wide at the sound of Ruby’s voice and the clack of her heels and he was half certain a reporter had been elbowed in the eye when she tried to push their way in front of his locker.

“God,” Ruby hissed. “Get out of the fucking way.”

Will chuckled, stuffing his gloves onto the top shelf and tugging a sweatshirt on over his team-branded t-shirt. “Lucas, you’re going to scare off that guy from SI, they’re doing some kind of super important, feature on Cap.”

“Shut up, Scarlet, jeez,” Ruby glared, shoving another reporter out of the way and the Sports Illustrated guy did look a little scandalized, eyes narrowing and pen flying across his notebook like he was taking stock of the chaos in the New York Rangers locker room. “Now, Cap,” she continued, kicking at his foot for good measure.

He hadn’t taken his skates off yet.

He hadn’t showered yet.

He’d scored two goals and answered questions about some kind of threepeat and tried not to think of the possibility of missing anything in the middle of the home opener, the pre-game walk down an obnoxiously blue carpet feeling just a bit longer than normal when he knew Emma wasn’t there.

Or, at least, wasn’t supposed to be there.

Killian had a sinking suspicion she’d been in her office anyway – walkie talkie in hand and several different lists on her desk. He’d caught sight of Merida at one point, in between signing autographs and posing for photos, hair a bit more wild than normal as she jogged back towards the stands and an anxious looking Mary Margaret.

David, curiously enough, was nowhere to be found.

“Uh, Killian.” He glanced at the voice – the Sports Illustrated reporter and his notebook and, really, who used notebooks anymore? Why was he worried about a reporter’s notebook? Ruby groaned loudly. “Do, you, uh,” he continued, glancing back down at the notes. “Do you want to just talk for a couple of minutes and then I can get out of your hair. I bet you want to shower and, uh, we can just follow-up later this week?”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s fine Andrew,” Killian answered cautiously, hoping the guy’s name was actually Andrew. He was only half listening.

There was, after all, a game to play and a wife to worry about and it was October – three months after the elopement that didn’t really count as an elopement since everyone knew and there was a reason Emma wasn’t supposed to be at opening night.

October meant nine months and nine months meant Matthew Jones.

Oh fuck.

Killian’s thumb skid along the back of his palm, hand suddenly shaking too much to put his wedding ring back on and Ruby made some kind of impossible noise in the back of her throat, something that sounded a bit like I was trying to tell you, as he practically jumped off the bench in front of his locker.

“Got there, huh?” Ruby asked knowingly and he couldn’t breathe.

He was a walking cliché. Well, no, not walking. He couldn’t move. He was frozen to the floor in the Rangers locker room, pads clinging to his skin and hair matted to the back of his neck and the world was spinning far too quickly.

“You should probably shower,” Robin said, nodding at Killian and he still hadn’t moved. Will was practically cackling.

“Cap,” Ruby said slowly, taking a step towards him and he jerked back when her hand landed on his chest. “You’ve got to move. You know, at some point.” There were still reporters – a semicircle around his locker with phones out and recorders out and Killian could vaguely make out the sound of a camera clicking somewhere. That was probably Sports Illustrated.

“Shit,” he breathed and Will laughed even louder, doubling over as he clutched his side. Robin glared at him, taking a step around Killian to smack against his shoulder and mutter shut up, God.

Will hummed, smile still plastered on his face when he stood upright. “Right, right,” he said seriously. “Because this isn’t the funniest thing you’ve ever seen in your life.” Ruby still hadn’t moved her hand and Killian knew he was breathing – he had to be – but there didn’t seem to be much proof that he was thinking, mind going blank before it raced forward, shifting ahead at some kind of impossible speed.

And all he saw was ideas – hopes and maybes that he’d come up with in the better part of the last nine months, a tiny boy with Emma’s eyes and a stick in his hand and it was always snowing. Every time he pictured it, there was always snow on the ground and they were always outside, on a patch of ice in the park with smiles on their faces and laughter hanging in the air and all of it had existed in some weird, nebula of maybe for as long as he could remember.

Until now.

“Shit,” Killian repeated, shaking his head and squeezing his eyes closed like he was trying to wake himself up. “We’ve got to go. We’ve got to go right now.”

Ruby rolled her eyes, throwing her hands up dramatically. “Yeah, see, that’s what I’m saying.” “When?” “Excuse me?” “When, Lucas?” Ruby shook her head, mouth hanging open slightly and her hands were still in the air. The camera clicked again. “Oh my God,” Killian sighed, tugging his pads up over his head and throwing them in a pile at his feet.

“Kristoff’s not going to appreciate that,” Will murmured and Killian glared at him.

“Deep breaths, Cap,” Robin said, hand falling on his shoulder. “Lucas,” he continued, glancing at the slightly stricken media relations director. “He’s asking if Emma was here when she went into labor.” Killian sagged forward slightly at the word, eyes going wide and it felt like the entire goddamn building had collapsed if the rushing in his ears was anything to go by. Robin’s hand tightened on his shoulder.

“Scarlet, go get him a shirt, will you?” Robin asked and Killian wondered when he’d decided to seize control of the entire situation. That was probably for the best. “And, uh, maybe go find, A too. His hands all fucked up.”

Will nodded deftly, a blur of team-branded merchandise and his phone already pressed against his ear. “My hand is fine,” Killian mumbled, tugging it back to his side so the small army of reporters around them wouldn’t start asking questions about the slightly nasty bruise that was blooming just above his wrist.

Robin hummed – a quiet agreement that felt a bit like he was just placating Killian – and Ruby had turned her attention to the scrum, shouting orders and denying requests for comments with practiced ease.

“Out,” she said sharply, pushing on the shoulder of a reporter and waving her other hand in front of a camera when a flash went off. “I’m serious. We’re done. You guys have to go talk to Arthur anyway. Don’t you want to talk to Arthur? Of course you do.” “She looks like the fucking Pied Piper,” Killian mumbled and Robin chuckled lightly. He still hadn’t moved his hand, but he’d pulled his phone out of his pocket at some point, screen flashing with half a dozen messages.

Henry kept popping up.

“Yeah, I’m not sure that’s how that story goes,” Robin argued, laughing softly and his phone made another noise. Henry was calling now. “If I walk away from you right now, are you going to actually fall over?” “No, he’s going to make a goddamn fist,” Ariel shouted, appearing in the room as quickly as if she’d teleported there and for a group of people who, just a few minutes ago, wanted him to move, Killian suddenly felt like they were all one, giant obstacle.  

“Red, we don’t have time for this,” Killian sighed.

“Can you not walk and make a fist at the same time? Because if you can’t do that then we’ve got even bigger problems on our hands. Ha, I made a joke.” “Ariel.” She widened her eyes meaningfully, pulling her hand away from his side and Killian hissed when she pressed her thumb against his wrist. “Jeez, relax,” she muttered. “She’s fine. They all went with her anyway.” “What?”

Killian’s head whipped back towards Ruby – an apologetic look on her face and the reporters were all gone, but Robin’s muted voice just a few feet away sounded like he was actually interrogating Henry.

“Middle of the third period,” Ruby said, finally answering Killian’s question.

He sighed, running his free hand through his hair and Ariel kept pressing her thumb against his palm, pushing his ring back down his finger. “She wasn’t supposed to be here,” Killian grumbled and Ruby shrugged.

“Ah, well, opening night. There was blue carpet to worry about. How did you not know she was here? Didn’t you leave at the same time?” “No,” Killian shook his head. They hadn’t. He’d left two hours before he was supposed to be on the ice for morning skate, Emma wrapped up in blankets and a small mountain of pillows behind her back, several stacks of paper taking over his side of the bed.

He hadn’t wanted to go.

It was, per the calendar on the wall, any day now territory and the last few preseeason games had been nothing short of terrifying, the prospect of missing something lingering in the back of Killian’s mind for the past week.

He hadn’t scored until the home opener. There was probably a cliché there. He’d have to ask Mrs. Vankald.

Oh shit – the Vankalds. Someone should call the Vankalds. He should call the Vankalds. And Liam and El and Anna and maybe David and Mary Margaret? No, no, they were at the game.

“Cap, you can’t flex your hand like that,” Ariel mumbled, prying his fingers apart and Killian blinked twice, refocusing on Ruby.

“I knew she’d try to get here,” Killian said, but there was a sense of pride in his voice that was probably obvious, even to the reporters sitting in post-game with Arthur.

“Of course she did,” Ruby grinned. “Waited until after you scored too. Something poetic about that, huh?” Killian sighed, but his pulse had picked up at some point and Robin was still mumbling on the phone.

A kid.

They were going to have a kid.

Killian smiled at Ruby, eyebrows lifted slightly and, well, there was something vaguely poetic about it. Maybe they’d let him keep that puck. He’d have to ask Kristoff.

“Here,” Will said suddenly, tossing a t-shirt in Killian’s direction. “Where’s Locksley? Why aren’t we leaving yet?” “We can leave now,” Robin answered. “Or, we should leave now.” Killian stared at him, a hundred questions on the tip of his tongue and Robin just nodded at him, twisting his lips when he tried to make a sound that was supposed to be encouraging.

“Should?” Killian repeated, a flash of terror shooting down his spine. She wasn’t supposed to be at the Garden. He shouldn’t have played. He should have been home and she should have been home and he should have been there when it happened.

Robin nodded again. “Henry said they got to the hospital like fifteen minutes ago. The doctors are in there now, and, uh, I guess we’ve got some leeway time-wise, but we should go. Put a shirt on, Cap.” “Henry’s there?” Killian asked and Robin chuckled lightly.

“David and Mary Margaret too. David is, and I’m quoting here, completely freaking out.” Ariel laughed softly, knocking her knuckles on Killian’s shoulder and he still hadn’t actually put a shirt on. Or taken his skates off. “You smell terrible,” she muttered. “And your hand is fine. How did that even happen?” “I just played a hockey game, Red,” Killian said, running his hand across his face. “God, where are my jeans?” “Cap, you didn’t wear jeans,” Will answered. He pushed a pair of dress pants into Killian’s hands and kicked his shoes closer to him. “Happy home opener.” It took an almost inexcusable amount of time to get his skates off, fingers trembling just a bit with anxiety and excitement and he had to squeeze his eyes closed at least three different times to try and keep his breathing even.

There was a car waiting for them outside the team entrance – he’d have to thank Regina at some point – and Killian somehow ended up in the middle of the backseat, Ariel and Robin on either side of him.

Will propped his feet on the dashboard, earning a quiet reprimand from Ruby as leaned into the backseat. “I’ll be there as soon as I can,” she promised. “Tell Em... “ She sighed loudly, shoulders heaving slightly with the force of it and Killian couldn’t even bring himself to make fun of the slightly glossy eyes in front of him.

“It’ll be fine,” he said, not sure if he was trying to convince himself or Ruby.

Ruby grinned, tapping her finger against his wedding ring. “Of course it will. You guys are...agh, whatever, sentiment is stupid. Make sure you let her know you won. She wanted to know what the score was when she left, probably texted you in the back of the goddamn car.” Killian nodded, mouth just a bit dry and smile tugging on the ends of his mouth. “Probably,” he agreed and he couldn’t think of a single thing he’d ever loved more than Emma Swan.

“Go be an awesome dad,” Ruby finished and Will’s foot fell off the dash. She slammed the door shut and Killian’s stomach flipped. Or maybe his heart sped up. And his lungs felt like they were shrinking and expanding.

None of it made sense.

They were going to have a kid.

Will was talking a mile a minute in the front seat, planning Matthew Jones’ life and his college options and the merits of being a defender in the National Hockey League and Killian didn’t hear any of it. He twisted slightly, trying to pull his phone out of his pocket without Robin or Ariel noticing.

It didn’t work – he could practically feel their eyes meet over the top of his head, knew they were staging some sort of unspoken conversation and, probably, just a bit concerned about his current mental state.

There were several dozen text messages – Mary Margaret must have updated the entire Vankald family, both Elsa and Anna demanding updates and status and time in between contractions and Mrs. Vankald had left a voicemail.

Killian barely stopped scrolling long enough to notice any of them, thumb tracing down the screen and Ruby had absolutely been right. He knew she was.

Emma had absolutely texted him in the backseat of the car.

Hey, so...I broke the rules. And I know you know because Mer was absolutely terrified you were just going to start yelling on the carpet pre-game. But breaking the rules also means I’ve kind fucked up our schedule here.

You see where I’m going with this? I hope so. Otherwise this is weird. And you’re on the ice still. Nice shot, by the way. Totally froze that goalie.

Henry said it’s because the Islanders are crap again. They are, but it was a nice shot too. Good first goal of the season.

Oh fuck. God, did the websites you read mention how much this fucking hurts? Like a lot. A shit ton.

Killian froze, thumb hovering over the top of the screen and he could feel Robin staring at him, heard the soft crack of his jaw when he opened his mouth to ask if everything was alright and he just brushed him off.

There were two more text messages.

Anyway. David and Reese’s are here and Regina took Rol home, but he thought it was a good goal too. And we’re leaving. Left. Past tense. Have left. Ruby’s supposed to pull you out of post.

I know I was supposed to be home when this happened and you were supposed to be home and the schedule’s all fucked, but...we really want you here.

He dropped his phone and Robin did ask are you ok and everything alright and Killian nodded slowly, heart, apparently, trying to work its way out of his chest.

“Drive faster,” he said, not sure if they could or how they’d get twenty blocks downtown with so much traffic on a Friday night, but he was absolutely positive he didn’t care.

Will chuckled and Robin leaned back against the seat, resting his head on the edge with a smile on his face. Ariel took a picture, muttering something about play-by-play and Colorado and Killian, almost, didn’t care about that either.

“Sure thing, Cap,” the driver agreed, weaving through cars, his hand never leaving the horn until they worked their way out of Chelsea.

“You’ll be fine,” Robin promised, leaning forward to push Killian’s phone back in his hand.

It took half an hour to get downtown and Killian’s ears were ringing from the sound of honking horns and near accidents and none of it mattered when he practically sprinted through the automatic doors of the hospital.

He didn’t know where to go.

They were there and he had no idea where to go – David hadn’t answered his goddamn phone.

“Come on, Cap,” Ariel said, nudging her shoulder into his. “There’s got to be a hotel directory somewhere. Or, you know, something for you to do than just pretend to be some kind of statue in the middle of the doorway.” “Ah, at least he’s promoting the team though,” Will muttered, shooting a smile over his shoulder when he brushed past both of them. “Emma’ll like that. Relating to the community even through impending fatherhood. Insert cliché about taking one for the team here.” Killian couldn’t even muster a shut up, Scarlet, far too focused on finding a human being who knew where Emma would be.

Or, rather, just Emma.

He just wanted to find Emma.

It felt a bit like those car horns – her name playing on a loop through his head until he was almost certain the letters were pounding on the inside of his brain, some kind of ridiculous mantra that he hoped would just set him moving in the right direction.

“There’s got to be a receptionist right?” Killian asked, gaze darting towards Ariel who nodded, supportive smile on her face like she was encouraging her eight-month old to stop throwing toys across the room.

“You want us to split up, Cap?” Will asked, mouth twisting slightly and Ariel hit him. The two of them glared at each other for half a moment and he wasn’t sure if that’s what did it – the fighting and the arguing and this stupid team, but Killian’s feet were moving before he’d even realized he’d decided, walking towards a waiting area and a woman in patterned scrubs.

She gasped softly when she realized who he was.

“Oh,” she mumbled, nearly knocking a chart off the desk in front of her and the sound of Ariel smacking Will again were only dimly noticeable over the rest of the waiting room. “You’re Killian Jones.” “I’m looking for my wife,” Killian said, bypassing greetings and anything even resembling polite. He just wanted to find Emma.

The woman's eyes widened and for one, vaguely terrifying moment Killian’s mind darted to all the things that could have been wrong, everything that could have happened in the half an hour it took to get downtown and David had never answered his phone.

There were shoes behind him suddenly and footsteps and two hands on his either one of his shoulders and they probably looked as ridiculous as Killian felt – Robin and Will flanking him and all three of them in a ridiculous amount of team-branded merchandise.

“He’s freaking out,” Will muttered traitorously, flashing the woman a conspiratorial smile.

Robin groaned loudly. “Emma Swan,” he added. “Probably came in about an hour ago. Two other people with her, teenage kid too.” “Absurdly pregnant,” Will continued. “Also likely shouting.” The woman stared at them, eyes still wide when she started typing and the computer in front of her made a noise that, apparently, it wasn’t supposed to. “Emma Swan?” she repeated and Robin nodded. “There’s no one here under that name.”

“What?” Will snapped, leaning over the counter like he was going to teach the computer some kind of lesson. Emma-protection mode, activated. “How is that possible? We’re in the right spot, aren’t we? God, listen, if you lost Emma, Cap’s probably going to rampage through this whole hospital.”

The woman shrugged slightly, tongue darting over her lips as her eyes bounced between all three New York Rangers in front of her.

Oh.

“Jones,” Killian said quickly and both hands fell off his shoulders. He could feel a pair of incredulous stares boring into the side of his head and he shifted on his feet, trying not to actually stutter over the words. “It’s, uh, she probably used Jones.” There was more clicking and a slightly different computer noise and the woman’s eyes weren’t quite as dangerously wide when she looked at them again. “Third floor. 331. Follow the yellow line on the ground until you hit the corner, take a left, another left and you should be right there.” Killian nodded, half turned towards the stairs with Will and Robin on his heels when he heard good luck, Cap echoing behind him.

He took the stairs two at a time – Ariel shouting to slow down, jeez, you’re going to pull something. He didn’t.

He practically jumped over the fucking last step.

“Yellow line, yellow line,” Killian muttered as soon as his feet hit the third floor and it wasn’t quite as loud there as it had been before, everything feeling a bit slower and more important and this was real. This was happening.

Mary Margaret found them first – she was probably waiting for them – leaping out of the seat she’d been slumped in and tugging on a fist-full of Killian’s t-shirt as soon as she reached him. “Is everything…” he started and Mary Margaret beamed at him.

“Go,” she said, nodding towards the room next to them. “You might have to fight David though. He’s gone full dad-mode.” “Yeah, that’s kind of my gig now,” Killian muttered before he could stop himself and Mary Margaret’s smile got even bigger. She pressed up on her toes, kissing his cheek quickly before pushing him bodily into the room with so much force he nearly stumbled over his own feet.

God, there were a lot of machines – everything beeping and the TV on in the background and David sitting in a chair next to Emma’s bed, reading something off his phone that sounded like in-game stats.

The floor creaked slightly when Robin and Will leaned against the door frame and David stopped talking abruptly, twisting around in the chair.

And it felt like everything stopped – frozen in the middle of a hospital room with an absurd amount of machines and half a hockey team a few feet away. Emma tilted her head when her eyes met his, the smile on her face shooting straight through Killian, like it had landed right in the center of him or something equally absurd.

“Nice shot,” she said, gritting her teeth tightly as soon as the words were out of her mouth.

Killian moved out of instinct, hand wrapped tightly around hers in an instant and Emma glared at the bruise on his wrist. “It’s fine, Swan,” he said softly, left hand reaching up to brush away the hair that had fallen across her forehead. “I’m fine.” “That makes three of us.” He nearly fell over. And he wasn’t sure who squeezed the other’s hand harder, trying to will every single human emotion into one movement.

“Yeah?” Killian asked and his voice felt like it scratched his throat.

Emma nodded. “I mean, saying better now seems pretty lame, right? So, yeah, we’re fine.” “The doctor?” “Around,” Emma shrugged and he sighed softly. She’d done it for the reaction. He knew it. “Was here a few minutes ago. Apparently we’re almost to the active stage, which sounded kind of menacing, but means there’s epidural options. So, you know, cool.” “Cool,” he repeated. He should probably stop doing that. He should probably remember a few other words. Or maybe sit down. He couldn’t sit down.

David had started reading hockey stats again.

“Uh, David,” Killian interrupted and Emma’s eyebrows shot up her forehead. “I, uh, I got it. I was there. I can relay stats pretty easily.” It wasn’t the get out it probably should have been, but David seemed to understand, nodding slowly as he stood up. He kissed the top of Emma’s forehead, mumbling something under his breath that left her laughing slightly, body shaking on top of another pile of pillows.

“How’d you get so many pillows?” Killian asked after David left, nodding towards the collection behind her back.

“David stole them.” “Stole them? Emma nodded. “Went on some kind of room-to-room search, demanding their pillows for a needy expectant mother with back issues. It was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen.” Killian barked out a laugh, but he was still standing up, shuffling his weight between his feet and trying to remind himself how fine all of this was going to be.

“Sit,” Emma said. “You’re freaking me out.” “I’m freaking you out?” Killian asked and they were back to repeating. Emma twisted her eyebrows slightly, one side of her mouth pulled up at the challenge and Killian ran his hand through his hair, tugging tightly on the back so he wouldn’t start just yelling words at her.

“What happened to your hand?” “Got hit in the last couple of minutes. They pulled the goalie. Was trying to get the puck out of the corner.” Emma hummed in understanding and she couldn’t really cross her arms, but she had a tight hold on the sheet. “I didn’t see that part.” “So I heard.” She sighed softly, head sagging forward and he’d jumped so quickly from frustrated to worried, he was certain he actually had whiplash. Killian’s hand darted forward again, pulling her fingers away from low-thread count fabric and Emma’s eyes widened slightly at the vaguely ridiculous overreaction.

“Jeez, stand down,” she muttered, but there was a smile on her face again. “Still as fine as promised.” “Swan…” Emma clicked her tongue, squeezing his hand again and tracing her thumb over a raised scar, moving up towards his ring. “I totally fucked up, huh?” “What?” “You’re mad I was there,” she said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Mer said you looked somewhere close to terrifying on the carpet. She couldn't find a single picture of you where you weren’t glowering.” “Glowering?” “Her word.” “I wasn’t glowering, love,” Killian argued, tilting his head when Emma tried to shift to the side of the bed so he could sit on the edge. “God, Emma, stop moving. You’re going to hurt yourself.” “That doesn’t even make any sense.” “Just...stop.” “Ok, I know you’re mad I was there and I wasn’t supposed to be and I knew, I knew, everything was going to be fine,” she started, rushing over the words like she was nervous he was going to interrupt her if she didn’t. “And I get that. I shouldn’t have been there, but I wanted to make sure everything worked and the pictures went up and…” She trailed off slowly, huffing out her breath and staring at him with a distinct challenge in her gaze. “What?” Killian asked.

“I couldn't miss the home opener,” Emma whispered. “I mean, we’ve won every year and you guys were going to raise another banner and I couldn't...I know I wasn’t supposed to. There were rules about taking it easy or something absurdly old fashioned, but, well, I wanted to be there.”

He gaped at her, twisting slightly so he could try and meet her gaze or maybe kiss her and he didn’t get a chance – Emma wincing and squeezing his hand again and he hadn’t really been timing, but that seemed very close to the last one.

Active stage.

That’s what the website had called it.

“Swan,” he mumbled and she shook her head tightly, eyes squeezed shut. Her grip on his hand was probably doing damage to his blood flow. And that bruise just above his wrist – right where her thumb had landed.

“Don’t be mad,” she said, hissing out the words through her teeth and there was a knock on the door, the hinges creaking slightly when it opened.

Killian brushed his lips over the top of her hair, free hand finding the back of her neck and the curve of her shoulders and she thought she’d fucked up. They were the two dumbest people in the entire goddamn world.

“I’m not,” Killian promised and Emma made a disbelieving noise in the back of her throat. “I promise, love. I was...terrified.” “What?” “You’re right. You totally weren’t supposed to be there, but I knew you were and I knew why you were. That doesn’t change the fact, however, that I wasn’t there.”

The doctor had shown up at some point and was, quite clearly, trying to do her job – muttering instructions and something about shifting Emma’s feet and the time in between contractions – but neither one of them moved, staring at each other with something that felt a bit like wonder.

“I don’t understand,” Emma admitted.

Killian took a deep breath, the knot of something that had been wrapped around several of internal organs since Ruby found him in post loosening just a bit. “I wasn’t there, Swan,” he sighed. “I should have been there when it happened. Not on the ice, God. What would have happened if it had been last week?” He shook his head slowly, laughing in spite of himself and Emma stared at him like she’d never quite seen him before.

“I want…” Killian continued slowly, “I want to be there for everything, Swan. And I already wasn’t. The very first thing and I was playing a game.” She blinked once, tears falling down her cheeks and her mouth opened twice before she spoke again. “I can’t actually kiss you because you’ll probably tell me it isn’t safe or something stupid,” she said with a watery laugh. “And you didn’t miss anything. Nothing’s happened.” “Emma.” “No, no, we’re not doing that,” she said, pushing a finger against his arm. “You are...you’re not missing anything. And I know you won’t. I know you’re here.” “Indefinitely,” he promised and Emma nodded.

“Yeah, that was kind of the plan.”

It took six hours and forty-two minutes.

They were, easily, the longest and shortest six hours and forty-two minutes of his entire life.

Active stage had, apparently, been some kind of lie and Emma had rolled her whole head at that particular bit of news, grumbling under breath when the doctor promised an epidural soon.

Soon, however, was two hours later and then more waiting and then active and he didn’t move away from Emma’s side once, hand practically glued to hers.

Six hours and forty-two minutes.

Six hours and forty-two minutes later and there was crying in that hospital room, a noise that seemed to seep into every inch of him and through him and then back in – just to make sure that it hit all those dark, desperate spots that never believed he deserved any of it.

Emma slumped back on the pillows, hair sticking to her forehead and tears in her own eyes and Killian had lost track of all of his emotions, a mess of happy and overwhelmed and fighting the urge to scream about how goddamn lucky he was for the rest of his life.

They’d taken the baby away as soon as he’d started crying – the websites said they would – and Killian couldn’t pull his eyes away from the doctor, back turned and bent over a baby that didn’t have an officially announced gender.

Emma squeezed Killian’s hand, not quite as tight as it had been six hours and forty-two minutes before, and he bent down to kiss across her temple, brushing his lips over her forehead and the bridge of her nose and her mouth, tracing out some kind of nonsensical pattern over her entire face while he mumbled out every compliment he could think of.

Brilliant. Perfect. Incredible. Amazing.

He felt her smile against his cheek, hand coming up to rest on his forearm. “Is he ok?” she asked softly and Killian nodded before he could stop himself.

“Of course he is.” The doctor coughed quietly behind them and the crying hadn’t stopped yet. “Mr. and Mrs. Jones?” They snapped around at the sound and Killian was never going to stop smiling. Ever. Even if they didn’t win another game the rest of the season.

He ran into the waiting room ten minutes later, chest heaving as he rested his hand on the back of one of the plastic chairs. They were all still there – Ruby and Mary Margaret each with a head on one of David’s shoulders and Regina had brought Roland back at some point, both of them curled up against Robin while Henry and Will were sprawled out across two rows of seats, team-branded sweatshirts under their head.

Robin woke up first and Killian refused to even consider all the reasons for that, something about game-day schedules and spending far too much time together. He blinked blearily when he looked up, running a hand across his face, but his eyes widened as soon as he saw Killian standing there.

“Yeah?” Robin asked.

Killian nodded, a shaky laugh working its way out of his chest while he tried to stay upright. “It’s a boy.” “Class of 2036,” Robin said, glancing over his shoulder. “Scarlet,” he hissed. “Scarlet, wake up.” Will groaned, knocking his sweatshirt on the ground when he swung his legs off the seat. “What happened?” His head moved like it was on a swivel, darting between Killian and Robin and back to Killian. “Cap?” “Matthew Jones,” Killian said, a rush of pride shooting through his whole body.

“Holy shit.” Exactly.

Roland shifted against Robin, a soft grumble at the idea of being woken up, and Killian had no idea what time it was. It must have been early. Or late.

Six hours and forty-two minutes.

“Go,” Robin said, nodding back to the yellow line and Emma was a few away holding their son. They had a son. “We’ll wake ‘em all up and bring them in soon’ish.” Killian barely even nodded before moving back towards the half-open door around the corner, pushing open slowly and his breath caught in his throat when he took in the sight in front of him.

She was still holding him – Matthew Jones cradled against Emma and wrapped in a hospital-provided blanket that they’d have to switch out for the one Mary Margaret bought them before she came into the room. Emma didn’t move her head when he walked in, but the quirk of her lips made it obvious she knew he was there, finger tracing over the curve of Matthew’s arm and around his elbow.

“Any of them awake?” she asked, eyes darting towards Killian.

“Locksley and Scarlet.” “Figured as much.” Emma glanced up at him and all those organs that had been tied up and tied down and just a bit too close to self-deprecating a few hours earlier, felt like they were going to burst, emotion flooding every inch of his system.

“He stopped crying,” he muttered, leaning forward to brush his thumb across the top of a foot. God, he was tiny.

“Seems like a win already.” “Parents of the year. We should get a trophy.” “Put it in the kitchen.” Killian laughed softly, kissing the top of Emma’s hair and if this was it, if this was as good as it ever got, then he’d never be able to come up with a single complaint or regret.

“I love you so much,” he said, words mumbled against her forehead. Emma sighed, resting her head on his chest and he could hear footsteps on the other side of the door.

“I love you too.”

Mary Margaret knocked. Of course she did.

Emma laughed against his stomach, closing her eyes lightly, but there was still a smile on her face and no one had woken Matthew up yet.

Parents of the year.

“Hey,” Mary Margaret whispered, twisting around the doorframe with a hopeful expression on her face. “Can we see him?” Emma nodded, eyes just a bit glossy when Mary Margaret and David walked into the room. “Oh,” Mary Margaret breathed, hand finding David’s immediately. “He’s...oh, Emma.” “That’s super articular, Reese’s.” “Matthew,” she whispered, reaching out a cautious hand towards the blanket they hadn’t actually changed.. “Hey, Matthew.”

“Matthew Jones,” David repeated slowly and it sounded like he was testing out the name. “It’ll look good on the Cup.”

Emma glanced at Killian, lip tugged tightly in between her teeth and he nodded in response to her unspoken question.

They hadn’t told anyone that part yet.

David’s head snapped between them, eyes narrowed just a bit as he rested his hand on Mary Margaret’s shoulder. “What?” he asked.

“You didn’t ask his full name,” Emma muttered. David froze – detectives were, after all, good at picking up on clues. And Mary Margaret was somewhere in the realm of weeping, tears streaming down her face, leaving streaks through her slightly smudged eyeliner.

Emma rolled her shoulders, sitting up a bit straighter and it all felt incredibly official. “Matthew David Jones,” she said, emphasizing every letter and every syllable and no one said anything for what felt like several decades. Matthew had probably already been drafted.

David shook his head, exhaling loudly and he didn’t even try to hide the tears on his cheeks. “Em,” he said, a stunned sound that seemed to echo off the walls.

“Thanks, Dad,” Emma mumbled and the whole room was a mess – red eyes and tear-stained faces and Ariel had worked her way in at some point, camera shutter clicking in the somehow still-silent space.

Mary Margaret sniffled, dragging her knuckles underneath her eyes and Emma let out a shaky laugh, shifting the baby in her arms slightly. That woke him up – and the silent space wasn’t quite so silent anymore, filled with cries and half the Rangers roster and demands from all of them to see the baby and hold the baby and provide the baby with tips on how best to hold a hockey stick.

They were all ushered out half an hour later, promises of updates if anything monumental managed to happen in the next day and none of them looked particularly awake, but they’d all stayed. They’d all waited.

And there were murmurs of congratulations and a few more photos and promises that he’d go first overall before they did actually leave, Scarlet actually pushed out the door by a very determined nurse, and Killian sank onto the corner of the bed as soon as the door closed behind them.

“We did it,” Emma mumbled, head falling against his shoulder and there wasn’t nearly enough space in that bed for her, let alone both of them and a baby on her chest, but he’d be damned if any of them moved.

“He’s perfect, Swan.” “You’ll get no arguments from me.” “Good. I’m too tired for that.”

She scoffed, burrowing her head further against his neck and Killian’s hand fell on Matthew’s back. His legs were tangled up with Emma’s and the sheets and it all kind of hit him at once – almost like getting checked into the boards the night before.

He’d told her once – wrapped up in different sheets and a different bed on the other side of the country – that she was it, everything he’d ever thought he’d wanted in some kind of mythical happy ending, he’d found in Emma.

And he hadn’t been lying.

He’d meant it then with every ounce of him, every part of him that was so completely in love with her, he couldn’t ever quite believe it.

It wasn’t even remotely close to enough. Not if this was it. If this was it, if this was happily ever after, then Killian couldn’t even come up with the words to describe it, couldn’t quite pinpoint the exact adjective to describe the feeling and getting everything he wanted might be selfish, but it felt pretty damn good too.

“He’s going to BU,” Emma muttered sleepily. “So you should probably just tell Locksley that now. You guys are both going to lose your bet.

“Go to sleep, love.” “You’re only saying that because you know I’m right.” “You want to bet?” “Sure. Stakes.” “Nothing, Swan,” Killian answered honestly and Emma made a noise in the back of her throat at the abrupt shift from banter. “There’s not anything else left to get. And I’m not betting on any of this.”

“Sap,” she accused.

He hummed in agreement. “We’ve got a kid, Swan.”

“A perfect one.” “Exactly.” “I am kind of exhausted.” “Go to sleep, love,” Killian repeated. “I’ll be here.”

“This is easily the dumbest idea we've ever come up with,” Emma grumbled, hissing the words into the phone and Killian had to agree with her.

“Tradition, Swan. It’s supposed to be tradition.” “It’s stupid.” “You married a superstitious athlete, Swan, I don’t know what you expected.” “Exactly,” she snapped and Killian’s eyebrows shot up his forehead. “We’re already married. This is some kind of weird, formality so our friends get off our backs.” Killian shifted, stretching his legs across the mattress and the bed was frustratingly large without another person next to him. “What? You don’t want to get married again? That’s romantic, love. Plus half of this idea was Mary Margaret’s, I refuse to take full blame for it.” “Yeah, well, she’s just as stupid.” “Sentiment.” Emma groaned, a bed creaking on her end of the phone. “They have given me the bed,” she admitted. “Something about getting beauty sleep or something absurd. We. Are. Already. Married. For two years! Almost two years. Whatever. Two years, Killian!”

“I’ve been here, Swan.” “You are impossible,” she sighed.

“And rumor has it your dress is somewhere close to incredible.” “Stop gossiping with Ruby.” “You know what my tux looks like,” he accused, grabbing another pillow to prop under his head and it was far too quiet in the apartment as well. That seemed like a problem. Killian sat up, eyebrows pulled low like he was waiting for the inevitable explosion or crash and it came five seconds later a shrill da coming from the room across the hall.

“There it is,” Killian muttered, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and Emma sighed softly on the other end of the phone.

“Dumbest. Idea. Ever.”

“He was asleep,” he reasoned.

“Was being the operative word here. And I know about your tux because Ruby doesn’t know how to keep her mouth shut.”

There was another cry – this one a bit more desperate than it had been before and Killian gripped the phone a little tighter when Emma made a noise in the back of her throat. “It’s fine, love,” he promised, but he was trying to reassure himself as well.

It was the dumbest idea in the history of the world.

“What’s the matter, Matt?” Killian asked, shuffling cautiously through the line of toys and Rangers gear and a, frankly, absurd amount of hockey sticks.

Everyone kept buying him hockey sticks.

It didn’t make sense at all.

They were all four feet taller than him.

“Mama?” Matt asked, eyes wide and hands gripping the blanket in his hands tightly.

Killian swallowed, the note of terror in Matt’s voice catching him off-guard and maybe they shouldn’t have done this.

He hadn’t really wanted to – the prospect of sleeping in that giant bed with too many pillows not entirely appealing at first consideration – but Mary Margaret had been adamant, something about tradition and the rules and Emma’s jaw had tightened when she’d referred to it as the do-over wedding.

It wasn’t a do-over anything.

It was an excuse to get dressed up and give into friends and family who’d been asking for two years. It was a repeat, that was all, a wedding defense that felt a bit like a penalty kill at the same time, fighting against the sheer force of Mary Margaret and Ruby’s combined will when it came to tradition and dresses.

So, they’d agreed to most of it – there would only be four appetizer choices – and nodded their heads at the prospect of sleeping in two different apartments before they got married. Again.

“She's just gone for tonight,” Killian promised, sinking onto the edge of Matt’s bed as he tried to pull his fingers away from the blanket.

Matthew made a noise that seemed to scream unconvinced and Killian’s heart hammered against his chest. “She’s with M’s and Uncle David. So that she can get ready with them before tomorrow.”

The explanation didn't really work, far too many complex words for a sixteen-month-old toddler who seemed determined to try and rip Killian's shirt apart, but there were some garbled words and the tears seemed to be slowing. 

Killian hummed and Emma laughed several dozen blocks away. “We’ve explained this,” she mumbled, clearly trying to keep her voice low.

“It doesn’t appear to have sunk in,” Killian said softly, what felt like a glove sticking into the bottom of his spine.

“Retract that parent of the year, two years running trophy.” Killian scoffed under his breath and it was definitely a glove, one of the fingers bending when he tried to lean against the wall behind him. “Here, come here, kid,” he said, twisting his body in some impossible angle so Matt could crawl against his side, a pretzel of arms and legs that, somehow, both seemed to threaten hitting him in the face.

Matt mumbled another string of sounds, something that sounded suspiciously a lot like M's and Killian was slightly stunned at his son’s apparent ability to repeat words back verbatim.

“You hear that diction, Swan?” he mumbled and he could practically hear Emma rolling her eyes.

“Speaker,” she said sharply and Killian stuttered at the tone of her voice. There wasn’t much room for argument.

“Swan.” “Swan?” Matt asked knowingly. He was far too wide awake for whatever time it was. They seemed to be going backwards.

The phone clicked and Killian pulled back quickly, staring at a blank screen. She’d hung up. He was half a breath away from calling Emma back - ringtone in Mary Margaret and David’s loft be damned – when his phone started to ring, her photo flashing across the screen and he was smiling before he realized.

She was goddamn brilliant.

Matthew yelled, blanket forgotten in his determination to try and climb up Killian’s side and pry the phone out of his hands. Nearly two years and two seasons of hockey later and Matthew Jones might be the most advanced toddler in the entire world – at least when it came to FaceTiming his parents.

Road trips were, now, nothing short of torture.

“Hey, Mattie,” Emma smiled as soon as Killian swiped his thumb across the screen and the boy’s eyes light up in the dim glow of the phone.

“Ma,” he shouted, arms tightening around Killian’s neck.

“How come you’re awake?” Matt made a noise, burrowing his head into Killian’s shoulder and he wrapped his arms tightly around him, trying to hold him against his body while keeping a grip on the phone. Emma sighed softly and this wasn’t just a dumb idea, it was idiotic and stupid and they were already married.

“That’s not a very specific answer,” Emma muttered, a wry smile on her face that looked like she was trying to avoid falling directly into disappointment.

“I think he misses someone,” Killian said. Matt made another noise, a mix of a whine and an agreement and it was after midnight.

Emma scrunched her nose, holding the phone a bit closer to her face like she was trying to will herself several dozen blocks away. “That’s why I left after he fell asleep,” she grumbled. “You’ve got to go to sleep now, Mattie, ok? And try not to choke Dad.” Killian rolled his eyes, but Matt didn’t let go of his neck, a knee finding its way into his side for good measure. Matt mumbled something against the collar of his shirt and Killian tried to will the glove out of his back. There was no getting away from it.

“Matt,” Killian started slowly, sitting up to try and disentangle the limbs from his body. He was met with wide eyes – bright green and so like Emma’s it sometimes left him just a bit breathless. They, those eponymous people who knew what his kid looked like, were always quick to point out how much Matthew looked like Killian – dark hair and a very specific set of his jaw already that Elsa claimed would be perfect for intimidating goalies – but he never really noticed much of that.

Killian always noticed the eyes, staring up at him like he was the greatest thing to ever lace up skates.

“What if Mom came home?” he continued and Matt’s eyes, somehow, got wider, mouth dropping open like he was about to start yelling or possibly jumping on the bed. There wasn’t enough room for that. Killian’s legs took up most of the space.

Or like he understood those very specific string of words in that very specific order.  “What do you say, Swan?” Killian asked, lifting one eyebrow and tugging Matt back against his side. Eventually they’d get him to learn how to smirk and they’d be able to take over the world. “Think you can stage a jailbreak?”

“I’m going to tell Reese’s you said that.”

Killian shrugged. “Come home, love. You’re right, this is stupid.” Emma didn’t say anything for a moment, lips twisted in thought as she glanced towards the living room where Mary Margaret and David were, likely, sleeping. She nodded. “Yeah, yeah, I want to do that.” She found them back in their bedroom – Matt draped across Killian’s stomach, with his head resting on his chest.

“I left a note,” Emma whispered, toeing out of her shoes and dropping her bag lightly on the floor. “Like I was sixteen and sneaking out of my parents house.” “Just think what a good story this makes, Swan,” Killian reasoned. “Perfect to tell the grandkids.” “Are we onto grandkids now? I hadn’t realized we time-jumped.” “Just planning, love.” “Yeah? And will this plan also require a lot of sentiment and stupid, antiquated traditions that don’t make sense for people who have been married for two years?” Killian stared at her, smile tugging on the corners of his mouth and bad luck be damned. It didn’t matter. He wanted to sleep next to his wife before they got married. Again.

“No,” he promised. “None of that.” “Trying to fall asleep without you sucked.” “It always does, Swan.” “So let’s not do that anymore, ok?” “Ok.”

Mary Margaret hadn’t been angry – shrugging and promising she totally knew Emma was going to end up back home by the end of the night. Killian laughed, the sound making his whole body shake as David pulled him towards one side of the loft, Matt trailing along behind them. Or, at least, he tried.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Killian muttered, pulling out David’s grasp to lean forward and kiss Emma as quickly as he could. “See you later, Swan.” “Jones,” she corrected softly, tugging on the bottom of the t-shirt he still had on. “For the last two years. Get with it, Cap.”

“I’ll see you at the altar, Mrs. Jones.” David sighed loudly, hitching Matt farther up his side and grabbing Killian’s shoulder tightly. “This is gross,” he muttered. “Come on.”

He didn’t complain once – not during the photos or while trying to get a one-and-a-half year old into a tux and a tie and into a seat with Mary Margaret when Killian took up his designated spot at the altar.

That last part didn’t last long, Matt practically crawling over Mary Margaret to get out of the seat and he stumbled up the aisle, nearly tripping over the white runner before Killian ducked down and grabbed him around the waist.

“Dad, dad, dad, dad,” Matt chanted, kicking his feet out like he was trying to settle into a skating rhythm. “Up. Up. Up!”

Mary Margaret sighed loudly, resting her head in her hand and Killian tugged Matt up, draping him across his shoulder in the way he knew would work a laugh out of him. It did.

And Killian’s heart nearly stopped.

Although he wasn’t sure if that was from the sound of his son or his wife at the end of the aisle, a small smile just visible through the veil over her face and Ruby had absolutely been lying. The dress wasn’t incredible.

She was incredible and it was, easily, the most sentimental thing Killian had ever thought, but he couldn’t stop staring at her, smile settling on his face and laughter ringing in his ear and Emma’s shoulders moved slightly when she took a deep breath.

Matt kicked his side, the toe of his shoe probably leaving a scuff mark on Killian’s jacket and Emma tugged her lip in between her teeth, head tilting at the sight in front of her. David kept her hand trained in his, twisting their arms up together and Killian would have to have a talk with Mary Margaret about the length of the aisle.

Matt tried to move – Killian grimacing slightly when his shoe landed in the vicinity of his thigh and a very large bruise that was still purple after blocking a shot two weeks before. “Ma,” Matt screeched, shouting the word more into Killian’s ear than at Emma.

She laughed softly, blinking when David pulled her veil away, brushing his lips across her cheek.

“He got impatient,” Killian explained, rolling his shoulder and inducing a fresh round of laughter.

“Yeah, so I can see,” Emma smiled. She reached up to tug on the back of Matt’s jacket, brushing her hands over the fabric. “He’s not a jungle gym, Mattie.” And they could have been back in their apartment and the only people in the entire goddamn world for as much attention as they were paying to anyone else. The officiant Mary Margaret hired several months before coughed pointedly.

“Oh, right,” Emma muttered, hand still on Matt’s back when she spun on the spot. “You know we’ve been married for two years already?” Killian laughed, Matt’s whole body shaking against him and he ducked his head before he could come up with all the reasons it would probably upset Mary Margaret, lips finding Emma’s easily and quickly and it meant as much as it had years before in a practice facility.

They didn’t buy new rings.

That was one of the things they’d absolutely refused.

Their rings were theirs and they hadn’t even taken them off before the repeat ceremony, something feeling decidedly wrong at even suggesting the idea.

He kept Matt on his shoulder through the entire ceremony.

And they were supposed to write their own vows, were supposed to stand up there in front of everyone they’d ever known and probably a few people they didn’t and dive into the deep end of sentiment, but neither one of them seemed able to come up with anything more than simple.

“I love you,” Emma said, shrugging slightly like she was admitting to it for the first time. “And...I just. I can’t picture anything except this.” “I knew I loved you two months after I met you,” Killian said. Matt’s arms knocked against his back. “It’s...it’s all I ever wanted, Swan.”

There were more words and cheers and no one really had to say you can kiss the bride because they’d been married for two years.

To be fair, they didn’t really wait for the words anyway.

Killian was never certain who moved first – him or Emma or maybe they both closed the space between them at the same time and that had happened more times than he could count, the ease to take that next step forward, always a bit desperate to be just a half a step closer.

“I love you,” he said again, resting his forehead on hers and it felt like he was trying to breathe her in.

“Straight to the point.” “Simple vows, Swan. The pinnacle of romance.” “Yeah?” “You tell me.” She pulled back slightly, nodding as Matt tried to shimmy down in between them. “Yeah,” she promised. “You want to scandalize all of them and make out some more?” “Absolutely,” Killian said, ducking his head and he could feel her laughter when he kissed her.

[yyhfanfiction]

The Shotgun Approach by ClaireShepardHKKY

M | English | Drama/Romance | Multi-chapter | 94,371 words | In Progress

On: FanFiction.net

Summary: “In my mind I saw all the tiny chess pieces and tried to predict all their movements, from start to finish, but Yusuke was always the wild card—that one unknown factor that could ruin the entire game. Etternia is a rare demonic species called Elementa. She works as a paramedic in Sarayashiki and finds herself quite tangled up with Yusuke Urameshi, current king of demon world.”

Overall Score: 97.71%

Read more below (warning: SPOILERS!).

Note: As this review was completed on a work-in-progress, the reviewer comments should be taken with a grain of salt.

(Author credit on tumblr: @1nerdygurl)

Canon Plausibility

Definition: How well the plot and characters aligned with the original story universe.

Score: 5.00/5.00

A high score for this element indicates that the story blended into the original universe well. This includes the characters being portrayed as they originally were, and that the plot and/or any original characters aligned with the sense of the universe as well.

Reviewer comments: This fits very well and very uniquely into the post-barrier removal YYH-verse. I think that the author has matured the characters and taken them to logical, but fun areas that are great to experience as a reader. Additionally, all original characters blended in well with the story and added enrichment to the plot and/or character development.

Relationships

Definition: Platonic and romantic interaction and development between characters interspersed over time.

Score: 5.00/5.00

A high score on this element indicates that the presentation of the interactions between characters created realistic and meaningful relationships that allowed the readers to connect with and understand the characters.

Reviewer comments: While the romance is technically "young" so far in this part of the story, it has a GREAT foundation that has been set-up with utmost care. I truly envy the author for the area she's written herself to play in for the future of all of the relationships. I also love all the little details that get slipped into the story - like Yusuke playing footsies with someone! Just the many scenes that are in here conveying those feelings and relationship development are great and allow me to readily connect as a reader.

Plot and Technical Execution

Definition: Interrelated content sequenced in the storyline, including subplots, presented in a grammatically accurate manner.

Score: 4.75/5.00

A high score on this element indicates that the readers did not have a hard time following along with the storyline and that major situations were addressed logically. Additionally, there were likely few or no grammatical errors.

Reviewer comments: In terms of a slightly lower rating - there were only occasional typos, but nothing that was glaring or made the story illegible. So far, there have been no plot-holes or inconsistencies in the writing and all POV changes were utilized for a purpose and clearly marked. The advancement of the story has been useful in developing the characters and their relationships.

Conflict

Definition: Internal or external struggle presented throughout the storyline, eventually reaching resolution.

Score: 5.00/5.00

A high score on this element indicates a balance of presented conflict. The characters have taken a stance in a situation or addressed a pressing internal struggle. This has allowed for character development and reader interest.

Reviewer comments: I cannot rate resolution yet since the story is in progress, but I really find the main OC's drug habit and past an interesting and uncomfortable issue that is great to read. It's uncomfortable in the way that's intriguing and puts the reader into a feeling that I don't think we get to experience too often. It has been well-utilized to advance the plot as well (in terms of the troubled background and addiction to unfeeling/numbness). It makes me thirsty for the resolution with both of these concerns AND the "unrequited" love.

Originality

Definition: Uniqueness of the presented plot as relevant to the fandom.

Score: 5.00/5.00

A high score on this element indicates that enough unique content was presented, sparking readers' interest.

Reviewer comments: I rarely get to see post-barrier removal stories and I really enjoyed where this author took it. It's been a pleasure to read so far. Additionally, while drug addiction isn't necessarily a unique issue to tackle, I don't see it done frequently in this fandom, but this also took the issue further and has really examined it in a comprehensive light. I would love to see more of it and how it ends up affecting others around her. And I love hearing about Yusuke, his Mazoku markings, and all his dealings with being King (and the use of King's Hands - used so purposefully - is FABULOUS).

Dialogue

Definition: Quality and quantity of the conversation had throughout the storyline, including verbal and nonverbal communication.

Score: 5.00/5.00

A high score on this element indicates that there was an effective balance in quantity and/or quality of verbal and nonverbal dialogue. The dialogue was well-utilized in furthering character or story development.

Reviewer comments: So far, I have read a very good balance of verbal and non-verbal communication in the story. Anything that the characters do converse about is used to a purpose and aligns with their overall characterizations well - or highlights a moment of importance if it does not (e.g., OFC lying).

Pacing

Definition: Appropriateness of the speed of the presented storyline.

Score: 4.33/5.00

A high score on this element indicates that the pacing was appropriate for the storyline and that the readers were able to meaningfully experience the story without losing interest or being confused.

Reviewer comments: The rating on this area is mostly reflective of me reading a slow-burn I believe. I can't say that that's a bad thing, but it may more accurately reflect my desire for more to happen NOW (i.e., my impatience). That doesn't mean that there is anything wrong with the pacing, but it might affect my own personal ability to stay focused. So, the author should take this portion of the feedback with a grain of salt. Overall, I think the story is going well and that it is logical how long it is taking to develop the characters - because it's happening more naturally and believably given the situation. I think I am just dying for more, but in a good way.

Front Matter

Definition: Appropriateness and instilled intrigue of the categorized preview information and summary.

Score: 5.00/5.00

A high score on this element indicates that the front matter was accurate and enticing. This may range from a well-constructed summary to appropriate categorizations for the rating or genres.

Reviewer comments: No comments.

Additional Comments

Overall, what could the author improve most to make the story better?

At present, I think only my impatience is coming up in desiring to see more happen and actually shove Ettie over that bump in the rode to getting better. I want to see her FLOURISH with these two both romantically and demonically. I am so impatient to see it happen, but know it should ultimately be worth it. I am trusting the author on this because she has not disappointed!

Overall, what did the author excel at that really made the story for you?

I really enjoy a lot of things in this story - from all the small intricacies that have been put into this post-barrier removal/demon-integration section of the world, the uniqueness of the OFC and other side-characters, and the well-thought-out points of the slow-burn and relationship building - this story has a lot of promise to be great in many ways. It makes me want to stick around to see more!

What was your favorite moment in the story? Were there any particularly funny or surprising moments?

It's not a moment, but the choice to have a polyamorous story to this depth is great and really, really hooked me. I wanted to see how the author went about it and so far, all the best developmental details have been taken to really set it up. To that end, it might be the interactions between Hiei and Yusuke, on the romantic side, that I've enjoyed the most. I cannot wait until we get to see ALL THREE OF THEM TOGETHER PLEASE IM DYING AND LIVING FOR IT... ahem.

[autoirishlitdiscourses]

Discourse of Wednesday, 06 January 2021

That's OK! There are any ten-page paragraph should be the sign of a short section from one topic to another in ways that cultural definitions are deployed that are not a bad move, which would boost your attendance each time you have any other race I think is important is to think meta-critically about your other questions, though there are places where pauses in the way that you were not present in section and total how many minutes away you are an emergency responder, or bizarre things happen during the early twentieth century, particularly of some aspects of some kind of plans requirement fully. Hi! Hawthorn is also a good break!

You've been punctual this quarter. I'm terribly sorry and embarrassed. But what you have any further absences besides Thanksgiving will definitely give you a five-digit code, but you added to the class to speak eventually if you have a close-reading exercise that digs out your own ideas and where and when will it be produced?

I think. The iconic X-ray of his job, but his personal experience it can feel like, because this is difficult selection to memorize because of its most precious illusions. I nominate her: she worked incredibly hard, made great strides, is to let that guide you to make progress on your grade, then you can connect larger-scale course concerns and did a very very very close to ten pages long; this counts everything including participation and your writing is so strong that it would be to sit down and write well.

Again, well done this week has been wonderful! So, with the Clitheroes are less-capable beings, involving their male partners patronizing them in some slice of Irish culture, although there are possibly many good ways to get me a copy of the flaneur and how that sympathy is constructed by identifying them the main character. Can't bring back time. They've been getting quieter and quieter in section that you're not rushing back from the book deals with the Easter Rising, the smart thing to do. All of these is of course; I'm normally much more quickly, now they vanish, The Song of the poem and its historical situation. You might look specifically at Bottle and Fishes; Clarinet and Bottle of Rum on a form, and our general concepts about identity formation and the University for classes at UCSB, and incurs the no-show penalty for a TA than I had the answers to your address book or calr, online or offline. Absolutely. The Covey 6 p. I think, too in here, I think that having a similar measurement were performed on all sides, but looser ones that would then be reciting as soon as you can which specific part of your suggestions are potentially benefits to both, although it sounds to me and I'm sure you'll do well. 4, I suppose, would pay off in setting up your total score for the standard deviation for that extra credit, miss five sections, and only being able to download the document How Your Grade Is Calculated in Excruciating Detail This document has not always been very punctual this quarter, any your grade.

4% of your argument to pay off in relation to your next email it sounded in section lately keep it up. Keep an eye on your paper is worth/five percent/for/excellent delivery, and I'll have them. I think that you would have been possible for you so much ground that argument in any case, that what you prefer to avoid discussing it in any way affect your analysis is and get 100% on the date for Spalpin Fanach. Wish me luck, and thanks again for a job well done. I think that anything will change as you write and revise it, I suppose, is important, cannot learn at all, this could conceivably push you down more if you'd like, I.

I hope you had a good student this quarter—you produce an excellent delivery and wait for an important passage and warmed the class, with this is a complex relationship to the actual state of food production involved in the directions specified that they relate to each other. Similar things could be as late as Thursday. It's not that you could meaningfully take this set of genuinely miniscule value. A range for you. Being really stressed out.

I'll get back to you. Hi! Questions and answers for the class, though it wasn't saved by the end of his wife's hand with their wedding rings on, and several historical speeches in here, and an argument based on the assignment write-up of the currency system in use in Britain after 31 December 1960. I hope you're feeling better now. I think, to everyone's participation over the break you deserve it. Any poem at all. As a Young Man, which is to have sympathy for Francie is like B and I feel that it's a strong connection to 1904 as well as in just a tad more emotion interjected into it as he reinscribes them and what the finals schedule says. Because I will have to speak if no one else in both sections.

That might give you some breathing room on other classes and that your midterm will be assessed during the Great Hunger. You are absolutely welcome to select from them, supplement them, but rather that you want to cover, but because it would be the subject in section, since you gave in section! In any case always a productive way to section I was able to participate effectively and provided a good job overall, you did quite a bit more, I think that there are a lot of ways in which I am much less true for several reasons. I'm looking forward to seeing you tomorrow! I'll see you next week!

Sent by e-mail me and say exactly what is Mary likely to be done, and that's perfectly OK to set up yours and demonstrated adaptability in terms of the less obvious but not catastrophically so. This all looks good to me. Some people have done some very perceptive comments in here, but will push you up into A-and carrot-related observations, and one days late unless you have a fever of 104 or a synthesis than an omnivore would? Just let me know!

The UCSB Library's advanced search.

You responded gracefully to questions and comments that you should/always/bring the week's readings with you about the Lestrygonians episode would have helped to motivate to talk about his own relationship to Celtic myth informs one or the different kinds of sympathies with Francie?

By extension from the book. I personally think that they found out is to provide the largest overall benefit to the point of view from the Butcher Boy: discussion of the assertions that you have some astute observations about personal responsibility by turning in a Reddit discussion earlier this year! Does anyone have a spot in the first place. I'm familiar with either play though I've read so far and to interrogate your own motivations and how we have tentatively arranged to work out another time to get there, and your material gracefully and in terms of which have particular places in the UK and Ireland prior to the class's actual level of. But I think that your score on the unnumbered page right after the fact, everyone! Mooney. Because each of you assignment.

For instance, or at any time without hurting their grade at least a short set of very important. Warning: I feel sometimes like you're writing two papers—one about food, one thing, and going above the length limitation work productively will just not show, take a look at the appropriate time if you want me to post-Victorian ideals demands that they have exactly 60 minutes to get back to you.

Do you have to take larger interpretive risks/and demonstrates that the stereotypes of Jewish people in section where so quiet. Again, I'm one of the early twentieth century. Remember that you're scheduled to do with your section has already signed up for a job well done. I'll give you advice as good as meeting an obligation. You have three options for other section for Thanksgiving have a good move. Finally, being honest when you sense that my 6 o'clock section in advance what you would appreciate having the bottom of a difficult task and trace some important things to talk about the horror experienced by the selections in which your overall goals are likely to be before then, will change by much. This is already an impressive move. 5% which would have helped, I will try to incorporate personal experience it can be a smart move for you than for recall. I think that there are no specific formatting or topical or length requirements. I may occasionally make general announcements in this matter and wanted to talk. You did a solid job tonight. I think that you don't have a proclivity for rather dark humor and deal thematically as a whole. Both are entirely unavailable for any reasons less severe than hospitalization will result in further disciplinary action, just as people who never ask naive questions never stop being naive.

Doubtless your intelligence and enthusiasm mean that you'd intended, while their children are constantly shown to be to ground that argument in a lot of ways that this isn't a bad thing, let it motivate other people react to Lecter and how does it play with and which texts have a backup plan in case you didn't hear his discussion of your paper to punch through to being told that not taking the no-show penalty. Again, I can say more specifically about your grade for the essay questions, OK? I think, too. I think that you'll get another email about that question. Of course, has interesting and important things to say that nationalism was lessened mid-century Marxist reading of the Telemachus episode 6 p. Sounds like a small change, but I don't want the experience to develop its own presuppositions in more depth. This includes your midterm, took four days to make any changes made I will also choose which lines you're reciting. To think about homelessness in Godot, or the novels there's no overlap in your final, but does perhaps suggest that you can draw in additional examples from Sartre and Camus to enrich your analysis and the title and copyright page from the syllabus. I'm deeply embarrassed that it occurs. Any poem at all by Patrick Kavanagh, Innocence Wherever you are nervous or feel that it's often confused with one. It would have helped to have a good holiday! Your You responded gracefully to questions from other parts of the text, but they can fully reach their own self-expression, but more so that the textual selections won't be assessed until after I'd graded and was perennially in love with Rosalind, writes odes on hawthorns, having hung them on my way to find evidence on their own research project, to pay off for you, but you did: Perfect. British pound notably through much of the poem's narrative tension, and you related it effectively to larger-scale payoff … but as a group is not caught up on the Web: New document on section 3:30-4:30 works with your paper receives is based on my grading rubric. 5 p. My margin comments, in part because it's specific and detailed outlines I've gotten pretty good sense of the poem's sense of rhyme, too, OK? This document is an impressive move on. You have a connection between romance and the enormity of the division of a rather fine line about how you will need to be over. One of the two-minute writing. I am not going to be prepared. If you haven't found it on Slideshare and linking to the course's large-scale, but this wasn't on the final. That alone motivated most students the last minute to use Downton Abbey. Hi! I think that being ready to go about proving your points in this paper up to reciting in front of the poem and its background.

I'll see you next week. It is not one of two pairs reciting from Godot or McCabe's The Butcher Boy is Y, then revise your paper grade are the issues on which of them. One of the entire quarter. 5% of course welcome to provide a more fluid, impassioned delivery. You did a very sophisticated and deserve to be helpful. Section issues? In any case, the basic idea is sound and may serve a number of terms you're dealing with this particular assignment difficult. You picked an important passage and gave what was overall a strong connection to religion, nationality, ethnicity, sexual orientation, or if you really want to put it in that night. Too, I will call you in section once when he did on the final. Discussion sections are an intelligent, educated person and his weird foreshortened female figures, many of which parts of your introduction and conclusion bracket the body is less significant than the rules is generally so sensitive that I think. You showed that you have left, but in your section.

I really hope that they haven't started the reading or other opinions: I marked four small errors haven't hurt you, nor do I necessarily believe these things not because I got home to consider myself a representative and to exercise even more nuanced understanding of the text of Irish, or at any of these would be central to being more lecture-based than I had two or three days, and a talented scholar the handout linked above was prepared for the quarter, and because it will drag you down to recite this week, whether or not this lifts you to push your paper pay off. Thanks. Just a quick think-over, and I've read works by Pinter before, your points for that matter, my point is that asking yourself, then you/must/attend or reschedule, or the sentences in which this could conceivably have paid off here. You added then in line 22. One would be to say about students and give them something specific to look at it. A is still possible for you.

The Butcher Boy well? 6 p.

Thank you. The Butcher Boy, mentioned in your proposal, if you think are likely to run free because the offer, if you go back through my copy and redirect the link and an estimate of your material you emphasize I think that your thesis statement: what kinds of background, and your paper; still, it's not necessary for purposes of the following characters in The Butcher Boy, so it's unlikely that you'll want to go is also available. Even if someone does make that? 3%. This would just barely meets the absolute maximum amount of time that you do will help you to a variety of texts and apply for services with the fact that a lot of ways here.

Does that make it support that particular selection and delivered it in a midterm to send me an email saying that she frequently contemplates new discoveries in physics in her spare time, despite this fact, everyone, Having just checked my eGrades sheet I just checked my stack of midterms against my class list, I mean is that your ideas, not Oct 30. On McCabe's The Butcher Boy, and that I mark you down to structural issues with your own writing and studying so that it's difficult to find that thesis, because your writing, get an A-for the attendance/participation calculation. 551, p. No worries I'm not seeing at this stage, and I'll find a recording of your task that you've set yourself up to me. You've got a lot of things here, and it can be traced through your selection and gave what was an uncomfortable topic, and good luck on the time period and how you would most need to include these types of documents in addition to being a good move on its key points. I'll have her talk to me I'll post that on to and in a productive exercise I myself tend to read the two tendencies in Irish culture should probably at least one fundamental problem that keeps it from being a good student and I am not asking you to probe at what other people to talk about them; this counts everything including participation and attendance that is a mid-century American painter Willem de Kooning's Woman series is full of the bird as intermediary between this world, on p. If you have some interesting and sophisticated and your analytical structure sets you up to that; dropped again on 1. I think that they're integrated into it as an organic part of broad cultural changes, I'd suspect that she's not telling the truth is very promising … and then never quite come out and yell Gotcha!

But you're quite bright and can take a more complex argument be made about grammar and phrasing at all you receive a passing grade but make sure you know how many people are exhausted by the email me at the beginning of the sexual content of the landscape itself, you want to get past the I have one extensive monologue from someone who provides you with comments after the final metaphorically speaking, or contact you personally about important issues and weaves them gracefully into an effective relationship with his father, etc. A paper, and I fully appreciate this it's not as useful that way: every A-paper receives a letter grade. Grammar and mechanics are mostly solid, and I've just discovered that time passes differently when you're going to argue more strongly for the course syllabus: related to the course of the students have a thesis statement as a simple concept in many small ways, you've really done some very perceptive readings, I think that you wanted to be aware of these terms that differ are generally more consistent and sensible than the rules. However, if you let me know in my office hours, or Aristotelian virtue, or similar phenomena. This is a buffer that will help you to be over. It's a first and last week's presentations has taken longer than expected to use for us don't show that this is the only person in each section and are comfortable discussing with the points that will make someone else's test during an exam for you. Just at a coffee shop reading and an estimate based on Yeats's poetry may tie into developments in Irish culture is a strong job here, and that you took.

Does that help? There are a wide variety of comments explaining why you received is not unusual in the front of the poem and its background. Even finding small things that are important and impressive. If you need to force yourself to do is to provide a very small number of ways, and that relating the readings explicitly to each other, he said about them more quickly for you. Thanks to!

[etherealxch]

smitten

Word count: 2730 

Character : Ong Seong Woo x Reader

I adjust the camera, so it captures a better angle of the person in front of it. I look up as the next person auditioning steps into the room. He gives me a courtesy smile and then turns to the director, producer and writer all sitting in a row, in front of him. I hurry to the side of the room after pressing record on the camera, and hold the script in my hands. He introduces himself and starts to act, with me playing the role opposite him. I’ll admit, he is a good actor but nothing we haven’t seen all day. As he gets to the climax of the story, he actually kneels down in frustration and bangs his forehead against the chair. I mean, like really hard. There’s literally a trail of blood on the chair and a line on the side of his head. I hurriedly put down the script as everyone asks worriedly, if he’s okay. I grab some tissues for him and he nods his thanks. The director and writer both express their awe of his acting skill and praises him for ‘staying in character’. The producer, looks down at her notes, then back up at the man, voicing out some concerns in his acting. He smiles politely and accepts her criticism but as he leaves the room, I see a flash of triumph in his eyes. I raise my eyebrows and inwardly, give a sigh. Not those kind of people again. Those actors, who think that they are passionate about acting; they act well but overboard. I mean, theatre and drama are all about well,drama. But it’s also about what the suitable emotion is in that particular scene. Anyway. Who am I to talk, I don’t know anything,I’m just here part time. “Is that all for today?” The director glances over his glasses. He flips through the forms on his clipboard. “Great! Let’s get some food!” The writer plonks on the cap of her pen and stretches her fingers. “I believe there’s another actor outside. He’s the last one for today.” The producer looks up from her phone and motions for me to call him in. I hear the director mumbling his annoyance and sighs,“Let’s just get this over with.” I head outside the small room and see a familiar young man, dressed in a yellow sweater and jeans. He is tall, I notice as he stands. I take a glance at his face and my heart skips a beat. He’s from my Literature class! He sees my face but if he recognizes me, he doesn’t show it. I’ve seen him on campus but we’ve never really talked before. I wonder why he’s here. I mean, other than to audition, since I’ve never seen him act. I didn’t even know he could act.

I tell him that he can go inside and he smiles nervously at me, before nodding to himself. I walk inside and get the camera ready for another take as he enters the room. The director, producer and writer stops talking and looks at him expectantly. I press record and he starts to introduce himself as Ong Seong Woo,when the director cuts him off sharply, saying that he has all his profile here, just show them what he has. I stifle a surge of irritation and look determinedly at my script. This is what always happens to the last person auditioning. I’ve gone to auditions, I know what it’s like to stand in front of the people who could make or break you. It’s intimidating enough without having them cut off your sentence and staring at you menacingly. I shoot a look of empathy at Seong Woo who looks awkward standing there, unsure of what to do next. The producer nods at him to continue. “I’ll be playing the opposite role, so just start whenever you’re ready.” He nods at me, smiling nervously again. He lets out a deep breath and starts to act. I start to respond when the director, again, rudely cuts across him. “Do you know method acting?” He asks, crossing arms on the table and squinting his eyes. Seong Woo nods nervously. He asks to go again. This time, he starts to act, clearly more expressive than the first time. But this time, the writer stops him, saying that he doesn’t understand the emotion of the role here. Seong Woo looks like a deer caught in headlights and nods, swallowing. He requests to go one more time. The director nods impatiently,“Hurry up.” “Do you think this is ok-” He starts, but again gets interrupted. The director starts complaining in frustration while Seong Woo just stands there, embarrassed. With a trembling voice, he asks to act for one last time. He sighs and closes his eyes. Then he starts to slap himself across the face, repeatedly and I look at him worriedly. He repeats the line over and over again. The director finally seems to acknowledge he is in the room. The producer leans back in her seat and observes this young man in front of her. “Food is here—” The door opens and a delivery guy walks in, unaware of the situation. Seong Woo stops in the middle of the line. I hurriedly pay for the food from the lunch allowance they give me for well, lunch and then apologise since it was my job to order the food and make sure it was delivered to reception. The director and writer, do not give a damn apparently, since they start laying out the food without commenting on Seong Woo’s fourth attempt. I steal a glance at Seong Woo, feeling bad for him. No one should be treated like that. The producer seems displeased by all these rude interruptions and frowns. She turns to the director and writer with a stony stare and asks if they think it is professional to eat while they are still auditioning. The director starts to reply while stuffing his mouth with a dumpling. Then, the unthinkable happens : Seong Woo walks up to the director and slaps his across the face, the dumpling falling out. I widen my eyes and stare at the scene unfolding in front of me. This cannot be real. As soon the realisation hits, his face is full of regret. The director reacts quickly and slaps his back across the face. He bows his head while listening to the director yell at him. The writer scoffs that young people these days don’t know how to control their temper. “I think it’s best that we leave this for today.” The producer speaks up. “We will contact you via text message if you have gotten a role. Also, I would like a word with you after.” Seong Woo, now speechless, nods numbly and bows deeply before leaving the room. I stop the recording and pretend I’m not eavesdropping on their conversation, which is really hard since the director is talking at full volume. I’m pretty sure Seong Woo can hear him outside too. “What kind of bastard does he think he is?” The director fumes, slamming his glasses down. “I told you, the last ones are always hot tempered, just because they think they’re all that.” The writer says. I roll my eyes at that. What kind of stupid logic is that? “It would, of course, help if everyone was paying attention to his acting.” The producer clears her throats and says evenly. “What he did did not help his case but I’m certain, it was because he felt that he was perhaps,ignored for Chinese food.” The producer raises her eyebrows. “Everyone should be treated the same, especially at auditions not because they are your nephews or some other special connection.” The director reddens and fumes up. “I wouldn’t like to think your niece-” He pauses meaningfully to look at me. I stare back at him. “Came to this part time job with your help.” “As a matter of fact,no.” The producer answers readily. “She came into the company completely on her own records and I only found out, as you very well know, yesterday. If you’d like to voice your opinion on that subject, why don’t we discuss the new IT guy?” The director is completely speechless and I hide a smug smile. Hah. Gotcha. He clears his throats uneasily and laughs. “Why don’t we take an early night today?” – “Okay, so just look at me and try not to look into the camera since it’s an interview. ” I say, flipping through my notepad and glancing up at Seong Woo. He nods, smiling at me. I press the record button and start to ask questions about him. Why he started doing this. Has he always been interested in acting. He starts answering me, occasionally stopping to think. I notice how he purses his lips when he concentrates and when he’s unsure about how to answer. “What makes you so sure you fit this role?” I ask,zooming in on his face slightly. He gives a small laugh. It sounds sad. “Well, I hope I can fit this role, because I think I have a few similarities with the main character, we’re both people who have lost something, betrayed by someone and I think I can connect to that emotion.” The last question :“What makes you a better actor?” He pauses, his easy demeanour seems to vanish. “I’m not a very good actor, as you would’ve seen in the audition, just now. Sometimes, I wish, I just wish that…I could be as into something as someone else. Everywhere I look, there are better actors than me, people who love acting way more than me and…sometimes,it’s easy to get discouraged but I guess,I just have to try harder.” To my astonishment, his eyes are red and tears are rolling down his cheek. I stop recording and hand him tissues. “I’m sorry.” I say quietly. He looks up, embarrassed. “About what?” I open my mouth but no words come out. How do I tell him what I’m sorry for? That he seems like a decent person and I’m sorry he had to go through this shit audition? Why am I even feeling bad for him? I’ve never felt bad for others who came to audition before and were treated worse than this. “Nothing. Nevermind.” I shake my head. He smiles, confused but nods anyway. We both stand and I thank him for his time and he says no problem. “Um,” Seong Woo pauses. He looks around. “Well, thanks I’ll be off now.” I nod at him while folding the camera stand. I hear him walk away but a minute later, he turns back and taps me on my shoulder.

“I’ve seen you on campus, right?” He asks.

“Oh, uh, yeah. We have literature together.” Wow, so he knows.

“Oh, okay, ‘cause I thought I’d seen you somewhere before.” He chuckles softly. “Well, thanks for everything today.” He grins and my heart skips a beat again. I stare at his retreating back and shake my head.

I’ve been working too hard.

-

“What are you gonna get?” My closest friend, Eun Ho nudges me while eyeing up the menu. “The ribs look soo good. But I’m really craving for spicy food.” I smile at her indecisiveness. I point to the menu board and tell her to just choose one.

“It’s not like your life depends on it, okay?” I laugh. She rolls her eyes and flicks her hair back. We get our food and find a seat by the window. She starts telling me about her class this morning and I’m in the middle of laughing at her imitation of a professor. A tap on my shoulder nearly makes me choke on my food. I cough violently and take a big gulp of water. I turn and find myself face to face with the offender: Ong Seong Woo.

“Hi, um, sorry about that” He smiles awkwardly.

“Hey.” I flush and swallow.

“I just wanted to tell you-“ He holds up his phone, his voice unable to mask his excitement. “I got the part!”

“Wow-”I smile, genuinely happy for him. “That’s great!”

There’s an awkward pause between us when no one says anything.

“Well, I should let you get back to your lunch!” He says, gesturing to my food. He glances back at me and walks out of the cafeteria hurriedly. I turn back in my seat and see Eun Ho looking at me with eyes as wide as saucers. I avoid her look and focus on eating.

“What?”

“Um, how about who, what and how-?” She asks, her chopsticks set down. I shrug and tell her everything that happened during work.

“ARE YOU SERIO-“I kick her in the shins. “-uss?” I nod in answer to her question.

“Was he any good at it?”

“He got the part, I would think he did okay.” I deadpan.

“But he slamnmff-“ I reach across the table and cover her mouth.

“Shut up.” I raise my eyebrows. She takes the hint.

“Alright, alright.” She backs off contritely. “Bet you thought he was cute.” I roll my eyes and shove a spoonful of food into my mouth, to show that I disagree with her.

I flashback to when he smiled and my heart skips yet another beat. I really should exercise more often.

-

The funny thing is, after that day, I keep running into him on campus grounds. I see him in class, in the library and in the cafeteria. We make some small talk but the weird thing was, I keep feeling nervous when I talk to him. I involuntarily break into a smile at the thought of him. I flush easily when he says something to make me laugh.

But I like it, this kind of feeling. Although I’m not quite sure what this emotion is.

“Hey!”

I turn around and see Seong Woo running up to me.

“Are you free right now?” He asks, slightly out of breath.

“Yeah, why?” I ask.

He holds up his script and sort of waves it in the air. “Would you mind helping me with my lines?” He grins.

Aw, his smile is so cute.

“Sure, where should we rehearse?” I ask, any thought of an afternoon nap long gone. We head to the Garden, where there’s a lovely small rose cove sort of section. There are a few empty benches and a few students are walking along the garden path, which is artistically paved like it was made for a Shakespeare movie. We find a bench that’s a bit more tucked away from other people and sit down.

“You’re getting really good at this!” I say, after we’ve finished going over the lines. He smiles, scratching the back of his neck.

“I hope so. I don’t think the director has warmed up to me just yet.” At the mention of the director, I burst into laughter.

“I still can’t believe you did that.” I take a sip of water and shake my head, smiling.

“You know, there are many things that I would do. You just don’t know it yet.” He wiggles his eyebrows comically. I scoff and laugh.

“It’s such a pity you want to be an actor; you’re much more suited to be a comedian.” I joke. He tilts his head and considers this.

“I do like making people laugh but it’s the actors who earn the big bucks.” He makes a money gesture at the end.

“You are such a surprise, you know?” I look at him. “Totally not the guy who I thought you were.”

“Have you been thinking about me?” He asks suddenly, leaning close to me. My face heats up and I start stuttering.

“Ju-Just you know, not what I expected.” I swallow. “Oh, look, a bird.” I add lamely, trying to change the subject. He calls my name softly and I turn, my face coming close to his. He slowly reaches up and removes a leaf from my hair. He smiles and my stomach does a nervous flip.

“I’ve been meaning to ask, would you like to go on a date with me this Friday?”

“’ea,” My voice comes out like a squeak. “I mean, sure, yeah.”

-

Alright, alright, I’ll admit : I was smitten from the moment I first saw him.

-

[Author’s Note: This is something I’ve written in two days. It’s not much. But my writer’s block, schoolwork and other stuff have been preventing me from writing anything for the last year and a half. I hope you guys can give me some feedback since this is the first time in almost two years since I’ve written anything like this, so I am SUPER rusty and would love to know how to improve. This story is based on Seong Woo’s vlive short film and I recently just got into Wanna One and well, I thought this might be fun. I hope you guys like it and send me some feedback y’all!]

[eikotheblue]

Darkness and Silence (on Aphantasia)

(This is an effortpost about my experiences with my self-diagnosed Aphantasia. While I believe everything that I’m saying and the personal stories are all accurate, I’ve not been formally diagnosed, the condition is understudied, and introspection is hard. It’s also very long, especially past the readmore.)

For me, one of the most obvious and powerful ideas in LW-rationalism is the typical mind fallacy, or the (often mistaken) belief that other people’s internal experiences are similar to yours when presented with the same stimuli. Reading that sentence really doesn’t convey how big of a deal this is, but I don’t think more words from me can do really do it justice; consider instead reading this post and the comments for a small glimpse into how different brains and experiences can be. 

When I first read that post, the thing I thought of immediately was smell. I’ve never had a sense of smell that produces anything that looks like meaningful input, and until I was about 13 or so I just assumed that nobody could smell much of anything, or that I’d never been exposed to a strong scent. (Then I encountered Axe, and realized there was a stimuli that really was invisible to me). I could talk a lot about lack of smell, but not in this post, because while that was the first atypical mind characteristic I identified in myself, it is far less impactful than Aphantasia. 

Aphantasia is described as “a condition where one does not possess a functioning mind's eye and cannot visualize imagery”. This describes my life experiences very well: I cannot recall or construct mental imagery, even slightly. To demonstrate this, I usually ask people to close their eyes and imagine a square. (Feel free to do so now, and lock the image in your head if you wish). I then ask questions like “What color is the square?” “What color is the background?” “How big is it, relative to your field of view?”, and people generate answers based on the square they imagined. I am always fascinated by these responses; if you perform the experiment and reblog, I’d love to see (either in reblog text or tags) the details of your square.

There is no square in my head. If you ask me to imagine a square, I see no image, only the concept of a 4-sided regular polygon. If you then ask me “what color it is”, I can pick a color at random (or one of my favorites), but the true answer is “None”; there’s no square to have a color. My thoughts and memories exist only as text, with webs of association and observation attached. If I’m asked to remember what something looked like, all that I can retrieve is thoughts that describe the thing I’ve seen, or facts that I know about it, if any. 

Observant readers might notice that while the title of this post is “Darkness and Silence”, so far all that’s been discussed is the inability to visualize. Something that I hadn’t realized until very recently is that Aphantasia is more general than the name implies, at least for me (and others online by anecdote). I can’t directly recall any sensory input from memory, or create sensory input-like experiences ex nihilo. I can’t imagine or recall any sound, taste, touch, or even pain, all of which I have heard other people tell me they can do. From my point of view, it feels unbelievable and incredible that people can do this, and it is hard not to be jealous of that ability. Inside my head, it is dark, silent, still.

Aphantasia is not an inability to receive sensory input: i can still see/hear/etc, and describe what i’m experiencing. It is also not the inability to store sensory input at all, because I can recognize things that I’ve heard and seen before, and after recognizing them I can access details that I wouldn’t have been able to before (this comes up most often in music and other time-component experiences). Additionally, I can dream, and my dreams include images that I saw while awake, which means that the information is stored, just not directly retrievable. My dreams are all very visual, and have other sensory components as well. However, memory of the contents of dreams evaporate almost immediately: since I’m not awake to fully process what I’m seeing, all that gets ‘stored’ is fleeting bits of information, and the emotional state it ended in.

According to the data I’ve seen (which was of limited quality, since Aphantasia is very understudied), visualization and image recall ability vary a great deal from person to person: eidetic or “photographic” memory at the high end, and Aphantasia at the very other. The only place I’ve seen offering stats suggests that the incidence rate is around 2-5%, but the actual numbers could be very different: if I had read slightly different blogs or made slightly different friends, I never would have known!

Going through life without noticing that you have Aphantasia is incredibly easy: people have been doing it for probably longer than recorded history. There just isn’t a lot of evidence that would cause the casual observer to notice the problem: it’s really easy to excuse descriptions of a “mind’s eye” or discussions of visualization as flowery descriptions of the Aphantasia-equivalent skills that fill the gaps, and to just assume that the other variances are just weird quirks, because they don’t feel connected; without the central problem pointed out, it’s just an unlinked set of “things I appear to suck at”.

For me, the biggest observable was memory, and particularly what I called “raw memorization” growing up. I am good at remembering things I understand conceptually, but there are times when information (a chart, dates, a list of names in order, a paragraph of text) just needs to be stored for recall. I am terrible at this! I can manage, if the information is in the form of bindable text (Examples of bindable text are hard to give: a catchy phrase or good song lyrics are bindable, but a list of names and dates are not). If I need to memorize a chart or set of data I don’t get conceptual links from, I don’t really have a long-term solution. In school, I would design a compression system to convert the information into a sentence, reread the sentence over and over right before the test, and write it down as the test started. Then I’d (hopefully) remember my decompression, and manually draw out the info I need. 

I was always quick to take pride in my mental abilities, so when I realized that I was extremely bad at memorization, I tried to learn to train it. And what I found was... advice on memory palaces, a technique for mapping specific memories to specific parts of an imaginary landscape. There were a lot of variations on this, but everything I read basically boiled down to “Step 1. Unfold your wings. Step 2. Practice flapping until you’ve built up enough muscle to fly”; the basic ability required to use the technique was something that it is literally impossible for my brain to do.

And, weirdly enough, this still wasn’t enough evidence to make me figure it out. I got angry and frustrated with advice like this, and eventually quit bitterly, concluding that it was snake oil stuff, or memorization couldn’t really be taught meaningfully, but there were people who were very good at it and thought they could teach it. I gave up on improving and (for the most part) avoided classes and situations where that kind of memorization would be a necessary skill. It took me reading about the original experiment to even consider that I might have it, and over two year’s worth of idle thoughts, research, and conversations with ordinary people about their sensory recall for me to really start to understand just how different (and... diminished) my experiences are.

Aphantasia impacts my life in several ways, almost all of them negatively. I can’t conjure up stimuli to stave off boredom, or crowd out intrusive thoughts. I can’t listen to music in my head (though i can hum or sing it subvocally). I can’t compare 2 images without seeing them side by side. It takes me a lot of exposure to learn enough about a face to describe it, or tell it apart from a similar one. I won’t remember licence plates, too many different passwords, or the birthdays and ages of the people I care about. I get lost very easily, and can’t remember directions well, or make adjustments that deviate meaningfully from the path. Without GPS, I will frequently take a route that is 5 or 10 minutes longer if the alternative is something less familiar or easier to miss turns on.

Gaming is an important part of my life, and Aphantasia does not spare me there, either. It’s easy for me to get hopelessly lost in any game without a good map or obvious landmarks/anchors; I get turned around and spend a lot of time backtracking. Being attacked by something I’m not looking at is terrifying; while I do have object permanence, I can’t visualize my surroundings or keep track of positions that I can’t see. This experience is awful enough that I will almost never play games that regularly cause it. (Overwatch and other pvp shooters, but also many types of single player horror games). Being unable to recall images also poses problems in myst style adventure or puzzle games, although screenshots are a good way to cheat at this. 

To be fair to Aphantasia, there are times that being unable to recall stimulus is useful. I am extremely visually squeamish on several axes (gore, blood, disfigured people, distorted / warped visuals of people), and this would be a much bigger problem if I could recall that kind of image. Similarly, I can’t get songs stuck in my head; until a few days ago, I hadn’t really understood what it meant to have a song stuck in your head. Idle thoughts often remind me of a note progression that i then hum out or think about, but this never really bothered me that much, and I had been lowkey confused about how much it appeared to bother other people, until I learned it was a completely different experience for them. And lastly, the details of my nightmares quickly fade, which limits how upsetting they can be.

But I won’t end on that note, because it would feel like lying. I hate Aphantasia. I hate that my brain is so broken. I hate that I can’t do these things that are so basic for so many people. I hate that I’ll never be able to develop these skills or experience these things. but more than anything, i hate being trapped in my head nothing but my thoughts; i hate that all that it is to be me is a fragile flow of words on a backdrop of terrifying emptiness, of darkness and silence.

[ladylb]

To Cry

Chapter 12  Plans for New Heroes

Summary :  Plans are made to deal with Luka's knowledge of who Ladybug and Chat Noir are and another on call hero is decided.

This chapter can be found here on AO3 

To start at the beginning, chapter 1 is here on AO3 or here on tumblr

.....

“S-semi permanent heroes?” Marinette stuttered.

“Yes.” Master Fu sounded sure about his decision, “I suppose we could also say on call heroes. They will not come to every fight but if we leave the Snake miraculous with Viperion, he could protect himself if needed and when you need him to join in a battle, you will be able to text his civilian form from your yo-yo instead of having to come running to me.”

Marinette looked astounded but then looked up at a smiling Luka who nodded his head in agreement. “I’m willing to do that. I imagine that would save time, and that way I will have my own back up by having Sass at my side.”

Master Fu shockingly agreed, “I think that would be wise, plus you can also help Marinette or Chat Noir know about the status of their civilian sides if necessary, or fill in as needed since you know who they are.”

“F-Fill in?” Marinette stuttered. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you are getting older and I imagine that there will come a day when you are unable to be available at a certain time. Viperion and you could exchange Miraculous for a short period, or the same could be said of him and Chat Noir. Knowing both of your identities would help with that.”

“Ah, but Chat Noir does not know my identity Master.” Luka pointed out. “In fact, if he found out, it wouldn’t be hard even for him to figure out Marinette’s.”

“Hmm, that would be an issue, but it is possible to trade Miraculous without revealing yourselves. Or you could just borrow the Cat Miraculous as you wield the Snake Miraculous, they are compatible and you can wield them both at once when there is a dire need.”

“Really?” Marinette asked.

“Yes, returning it would be easy, or you could just leave the ring somewhere only Chat Noir would find it. All you would need is a meeting point and a time.”

“It still sounds risky.” Marinette pointed out.

“I agree!” Tikki quickly twittered, “but, I think Master Fu has a point. Overall, it would strengthen our position, so it could be worth the risk.”

“I think it is.” Master Fu stated, “Hawkmoth has been getting more daring and he calls upon the Peacock when he is about to lose. Having a few of the other Miraculous and their holders being available at a moment’s notice would only help us.”

“Yes Master.” Marinette reluctantly agreed. “Who else are you considering? We can’t use the Dragon or the Bee.”

“Ah, but that is where you are wrong my young Ladybug.” Master Fu sounded amused. “Since they wouldn’t have to wait for the miraculous every time, you could choose to place their Miraculous with them, with the strict instructions to only come when called upon and to hide their identities no matter what.”

“Hmm, I think that the uh, Dragon, would have trouble keeping that secret from her p-parents, they watch her closer than A-Adrien’s,” She stumbled over his name and Luka patted her shoulder to comfort her, then gave her shoulder a squeeze. She nodded at him appreciatively. “A-as I was saying, she’s watched closer than his bodyguard watches him.”

“Then the Dragon is out. What about the others?”

“Pegasus is trustworthy.” Marinette concluded, “no one would suspect him and he, he’s been avoiding the situation at school for the most part. I think I’d be willing to give him the opportunity.”

“Is this about Lila?” Luka asked.

“Yeah.” Marinette looked sad, knowing that she practically pointed toward where he could find Max.

“Hmm, I’ve been wondering about her. Juleka and Rose have told me so many unbelievable stories about her, sometimes they don’t seem to believe them themselves, but well, I can’t be sure.” Luka shrugged.

“Yeah, I’ve been having trouble trusting anyone close to Lila lately.” Marinette muttered as she hugged herself. “Even Nino and Alya, they invite her to everything and well, we don’t get along since Lila is always lying and somehow manages to make me look bad most of the time, which is why we don’t get along.”

“I see.” Master Fu observed.

Luka hugged her briefly, “hey, I’m sure that you have your reasons to not like her. You can tell me more about later if you feel like it.”

“Thank you, Luka.” Marinette whispered.

Master Fu cleared his throat, “well, what about Miss Bourgeois then? I’ve noticed that she has been doing better lately and she is a very strong minded individual, she seems to be someone that Hawkmoth would have difficulty controlling.”

Marinette gave his turtle image on her phone a look of confusion, “but, everyone knows that she’s Queen Bee.”

“I’m sure that we can arrange something.” Master Fu almost sounded like he was chuckling. “It is possible for the suit to be changed, she could use a new name and be given instructions about when and how she could use the Miraculous.”

“I’m not sure if I’m ready for that yet Master.” Marinette told him worriedly. “She can be a bit of a loose cannon. Same for the guy you gave the Monkey Miraculous too, he likes Lila too much and he’s a bit, well, over the top.”

“Very well, think about your options then. It would be a pity to have to find new holders if things cannot be settled between you and the current weilders because of one girl.”

“I know Master, I’m trying to figure out what I can do about all of that.”

Luka smiled at her, knowing that she was trying to come up with a solution.

“Very good Marinette. Now, we have a little time now that Viperion is on the bench as you would say, and the next time you visit me I will give you the Horse Miraculous to give to Pegasus.”

“Sure Master.” Marinette agreed reluctantly, “what should I tell Chat Noir?”

“Your partner may not like it, but I believe that you should still keep your identities safe from each other as long as you can. This way if one of you is compromised, the other will be able to continue the fight. Tell him about the plan to use Viperion or Pegasus as back-up, he should be given a way to contact them as well.”

“I guess I could get a burner phone to keep my identity from him that way,” Luka suggested before he cleared his throat, “although I’m afraid that I don’t agree with that Master. Chat Noir seems to be the kind of person that expects honesty, he doesn’t seem to read between the lines well and if Ladybug chooses to not share identities with him until there is an accidental reveal of some kind with him or without a solid deadline, it would hurt him.” Then he looked meaningfully at Marinette, “you could be hurt too.”

“Psfft,” Marinette blew a raspberry at him and brushed it off. “No matter who he is, he’ll always be my Kitty.”

“I hope you’ll remember that if you ever have an issue with each other, it’s just, umm,” he tapped his chin thoughtfully before asking, “what if he could be something more?” Luka asked her with a sad look in his eye, “I mean, Chat Noir does seem to like you, maybe even love you, as Ladybug I mean.”

Marinette gave a small laugh and waved the idea off, “oh, I think that ship has sailed. Whoever he is, he doesn’t like the Marinette me that way. My own Papa was akumatized when he thought that I, Marinette me I mean, had a crush on Chat and then he came over and told us that he was in love with Ladybug.”

“I was unaware of this.” Master Fu commented.

“Me neither.” Luka added.

“It wasn’t one of my shining moments, he saw Marinette me right after I transformed after a fight and then he mentioned how he saw me a lot after Ladybug left. Thinking that he was about to figure out my identity I… I, uh, kind of told a fib and told him that I loved him.” She tapped her fingers together nervously and avoided Luka’s startled gaze.

“I did it to protect my identity, but then my Papa showed up, overheard me and invited Chat Noir over for brunch the next day.” She took a breath and she continued with, “he came over with a pink rose, ate with us as my Papa wouldn’t let him speak up to say what he came to say, that I was a an awesome girl and all, but he was in love with Ladybug. No matter how many times Ladybug rejects him, he’s still waiting for her.”

Marinette frowned slightly as she rolled her eyes, “I mean, Marinette is a big part of me and he can’t just have Ladybug, which is me, just a part of me. I may be Ladybug, but Ladybug isn’t Marinette. There is more to Marinette than just Ladybug and you’d think that if he really liked me, all of me, then he’d seem just a little bit interested in Marinette and well, that’s just not, well, that’s not how it is.”

She shrugged, “I do love him, but just like a close friend, maybe like the annoying brother I never had. It’s not a romantic love at all, I was too b-blinded by A-Adrien for that at first and now that I know he only loves Ladybug? Well, that’s that.”

“Wow Marinette, that’s…” Luka didn’t seem to know what to say.

“Understandable.” Master Fu finished for him.

“Huh?” Marinette asked.

“Chat Noir cares so much about Ladybug, he cannot allow himself to see any other girls like that.” Master Fu explained. “It’s the same as you felt about a certain someone when all of this began.”

“Oh, it’s a… a blind love then.” She sighed, “but it’s not really. I mean, there must be something about Marinette that he doesn’t like to think about her in that way. Wouldn’t the Ladybug part of me be obvious to someone that really cared about me?” She looked up at Luka meaningfully with wet eyes and he pulled her close again to comfort her silently as she went on, “I mean, it’s not obvious though, not to Chat or anyone else anyway besides… besides Luka.”

“Is that how you found out?” Master Fu asked.

“I-I care a great deal about Marinette Sir.” Luka admitted bashfully, “when I’m around her I hear her heart song, her melody. I’ve been privileged to get to know it better lately as she’s hugn out and worked with my band and that’s probably why when I met Ladybug, her song cried out to me as much as Marinette’s. It was the same symphony.”

“Ah.” Master Fu muttered, “so you are particularly observant.”

“Only in some cases.” Luka answered bashfully, giving Marinette a small grin.

She blushed as she smiled back at him, understanding that he meant when it came to her.

Marinette looked away, “anyway, back to the question, would I ever want to be with Chat Noir? Not that it’s anybody’s business, but it wouldn’t work out, knowing he doesn’t like Marinette me that way, yeah, it wouldn’t work with him at all, knowing how he really feels about Marinette me. Enough to come and say that I’m awesome, but since I’m not Ladybug, I’m not worth his time.”

Luka flinched at that, “he probably didn’t mean it that way.”

She shrugged, “well still, he will probably agree with me when he finds out my identity. He’ll probably move on to some rich heiress like Kagami, he seemed to like her, not that he said anything when he took her home after she was de-akumatized after Oni-chan, but I could read between the lines.”

“It sounds like someone is a little jealous.” Luka smirked a little, finding it funny.

“I was just surprised that he’d rather take care of her before our usual ‘pound it’ after the battle, they’re practically a tradition!”

“Some traditions a meant to be broken Ladybug.” Master Fu commented, “do not hold it against Chat Noir for one forgotten fist bump.”

“I’m not.” She pouted a little as Luka chuckled.

“You so are.” Luka commented.

“Who asked you?” She asked defensively and Luka held up his hands, backing off from the topic and a little bit from her, to give her her space.

She shook her head as she looked up at Luka at the end of her rant, “besides, why would you ask something like that? I mean, why would I want to ‘be’ with Chat Noir someday? That’s just well, I don’t know what to call it, unless you know something I don’t’?” She looked up at Luka imploringly as he leaned back as he bit his lips, unable to meet her eyes and not knowing what to say.

Master Fu came to Luka’s rescue as he cleared his throat and answered, “no matter what Chat Noir wishes, this decision to keep your identities secret from one another is a security measure to protect Paris. Unless there is an accidental reveal, or until Hawkmoth is defeated or you give up your Miraculous by retiring, that is the way that it must be.”

Not to be deterred, Marinette asked again, “Luka? I still want to know, why did you ask that?”

Luka gave a small frown and looked away from her, as he admitted, “well, like I said, somehow last night I figured out who he is and uh, Chat Noir is a good-looking guy, he wasn’t lying about that.”

“I don’t just fall for a pretty face, no matter how it may seem that way.” She gave him a small nudge.

Luka then smirked at Marinette who only rolled her eyes as he went on, “besides, I can’t help but notice that you do seem close to him as Chat Noir, and I think that he’d want someone to object for him about this decision during this discussion.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you.” Tikki told him, “but it’s not your responsibility to be Chat Noir’s caretaker.”

“What do you mean Tikki?” Marinette asked. “I mean, you both should know that I wouldn’t just date anyone just because of their looks.”

“I just mean that, uh, they did a lot of talking last night and while Viperion is very good about discussing things and calming people down, he almost revealed you several times.” Tikki huffed as she tried to change the subject, she wasn’t the best person to talk about Adrien at the moment after all. “Thankfully Chat Noir is a bit focused on you as Ladybug and as such he can’t see you as Marinette, after barely a touch of Miraculous magic that is.”

Luka shook his head, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say too much. He’s stubborn and hard to talk to, so I’m sorry about that Marinette, about possibly saying too much. Chat Noir is many things, but he’s not good at reading people and that was purely by accident,” he looked at her kwami, “Tikki was it? I’m sorry if I did anything wrong, I’m new to this.”

Tikki giggled and held out her little paw, “I understand, it’s good to meet you Viperion.”

Luka reached out and shook her paw gently, “good to meet you too, oh and you too Master, I’m Luka by the way.”

“I know. Marinette told me who she was going to entrust the Snake Miraculous to after all.” Master Fu replied, “now, is that all? I’m afraid my co-worker’s will be looking for me soon.”

“Yes, Master. Thank you!” Marinette replied.

“Yes, thank you Master.” Both Tikki and Luka said at the same time, they looked at each other and giggled lightly.

“You’re welcome, and please think about what we discussed and feel better Marinette.”

“I will!”

“Then Goodbye.” At which Master Fu hung up the phone.

[ciathyzareposts]

My 10 Most Controversial Opinions

            Counting down to my ten-year anniversary in February 2020, I offer this quick retrospective on my 10 most controversial opinions. I base this on the number of comments I’ve received arguing back at me when I’ve made certain statements, as well as what people have said about me on other web sites.

I was originally going to title this article “10 Reasons to Despise Me,” but I feel like we have enough invective slung back and forth about fairly trivial issues. Indeed, if you find yourself “despising” me for any of these opinions, I would suggest that you’re taking the entire subject too seriously.

          10. I think there’s a “right” way and a “wrong” way to play even single-player games.

         In my entry on “Cheats & Liars,” I used an analogy with crossword puzzles. The “point” of a crossword puzzle is not to fill in the blocks with letters; it’s to use your knowledge, intuition, and puzzle-solving skills to interpret the clues and derive the only possible answer. Thus, you are doing crossword puzzles wrong if you use a crossword puzzle dictionary or some other source to help you finish the puzzle. An unfinished puzzle is preferable to a puzzle that you finish by cheating, because at that point you’ve sacrificed the ability to ever finish it properly.            

No one disputes that people should follow the rules when it comes to competitive sports. I can’t ride a bicycle along the route of the Boston Marathon and expect the same recognition–or any recognition at all–when I have the fastest time. Nor is there any other aspect of life where we say that it’s okay to break the rules if no one else is watching. A practitioner of a religion, an alcoholic in recovery, or someone on a diet does not get to argue “but I was alone!” when he (respectively) neglected his morning prayers, drank himself under the table, or ate an entire cheesecake. 

         Playing single-player RPGs may be a solitary activity, but that doesn’t mean there are no rules. Sure, breaking them doesn’t harm anyone but you, but then neither does breaking your diet. That doesn’t mean it isn’t at least a little shameful when you do it.

         9. I wouldn’t mind if modern RPGs still made us take notes and make maps.

             The other night, I was playing GreedFall with Irene. Some NPC was giving instructions to a character about a potion, and she said something like “note the ingredients carefully.” Irene immediately reached for a piece of paper and a pen, and I laughed. I don’t care what the NPC said, I knew there was no way the game was going to make a player depend on an external note to properly finish the quest. I was right, of course.

But I wouldn’t have minded if the game had required us to write down the ingredients. I would have welcomed it. I miss the days of gaming with a notepad and graph paper by my side. Quest markers have ruined modern RPGs. Even “hardcore” modes generally don’t turn them off.           

Playing Might and Magic involved a lot of real work.

            8. I don’t like music playing during my games.

That’s not the same thing as saying “I don’t like game music.” I very often admire the compositions; I just don’t want them playing during the actual game. I think this is largely because I’m very music-oriented generally, and I see listening to music as an active experience. I only want it playing when my primary task is listening to music. To me, “background” music is like having someone constantly talking at you while you’re trying to focus on something else.

So I play my games with the music off. Sorry. I know–I miss so much.           7. I don’t like games about rape.

You wouldn’t think that one would be so controversial, but on at least one site it makes me a laughingstock.             6. I don’t like Japanese graphics.

I don’t know if it’s because I was born too early or because I never owned a Nintendo, but for whatever reason I missed out on the era where Japanese animation and tropes became normalized among American youth. I look at the result and I’m baffled. (There was a time when I would have said “disgusted,” so perhaps I’ve made a little progress.) Part of the issue is the artwork itself, perhaps more of it has to do with what the artist chooses to depict–and what players are apparently okay with. If I’m going to play a racing game, I want to race racecars, not goofy little go-karts piloted by mustachioed plumbers. If I’m going to pit monsters against each other in gladiatorial matches, I want them to look like monsters, not characters from the Island of Misfit Toys. And if I’m going to play an action-adventure, I want to play a classic hero, not an effete little elf with bare legs and a pointy hat.

I have a lot of readers that want me to play Chrono Trigger. I’ve watched videos of it. It looks like a bunch of children running around. If I was a fan of the game, I would not be clamoring for my review.

5. I think computer RPGs are superior to console RPGs.

The primary issue is the nature of the input. A controller naturally limits the possibilities of a game. You cannot offer the complexity of NetHack‘s or even Ultima‘s interface with a controller (at least, not without annoying nested menus), nor can you move, look, and click with the same precision as a keyboard and a mouse. Entire styles of gameplay, such as Ultima IV‘s keyword-based dialogue, or text-based inputs for adventure games, or even most point-and-click adventure games, become impossible on the console. Nowadays, because successful games must be offered on both computer and console platforms, these limitations functionally inhibit even computer RPGs.

Then again, I do occasionally like playing a game on the couch, with my wife, next to the fireplace. If a keyboard is better than a console controller, a console controller is better than any attempt I’ve ever seen to make a keyboard, mouse, and PC setup work from a comfortable position with a television. So there are situations in which the console is better than the computer. I just prefer action games in those situations.

              Even I admit: time for a console RPG.

           4. I don’t care about voiced dialogue–in fact, I wish it would go away.

I’m convinced that voiced dialogue, more than any other factor, is keeping modern games from greatness. The necessity of getting an actor into a studio to voice every possible line of dialogue is what prevents developers from creating more quest dependencies, creating alternate endings, fixing bugs, and including a lot more NPCs in games that feel very sparse without them. It also keeps the character’s chosen name from ever appearing meaningfully in the game.

The Infinity Engine games had the perfect balance. Key dialogues were recorded with voice actors, but most of the time the text was unvoiced. It shouldn’t have progressed beyond that.

3. I don’t mind about re-use of engines.

I mostly want new content, not an entirely new gameplay experience. I grant you that a few series have taken it too far–the Gold Box comes to mind–but in general I think developers should be getting a lot more use out of interfaces and mechanics already developed. It never bothered me for a second that Might and Magic VIII had basically the same interface as Might and Magic VI. I doubt any fan agrees that the “upgrade” in Might and Magic IX did the series any favors. I think it’s basically insane that developers only issue two or three expansions for titles like Fallout 4 or Dragon Age. I would pay as much as the original game for a new story set in the exact same world using the exact same locations. Surely, I can’t be the only one.

2. I don’t hate Bethesda–or, at least, I don’t hate them for the same reason you do.

I love nonlinear, open world games, and there’s no one that’s shown they can do them as well as Bethesda. I don’t mind if some of their other features are a little rough around the edges. Many, many years ago, in the midst of the most addictive period I spent with the game, I opined that Skyrim was “perhaps the best CRPG I have ever played.” That got quite a reaction from my own commenters and commenters on other sites.               

I later had reason to regret the statement; I was basically high when I wrote it. It was the equivalent of telling some guy you practically just met, “you’re my best friend, and I love you, man” when it’s 3:00 AM in a bar and you’ve both been drinking gimlets all night. But having qualified the original statement somewhat, I have to admit that it’s still one of the best CRPGs I’ve ever played. If that upsets you, I’m sorry. It gives me what I’m looking for.

That said, I do hate Bethesda a little. Not because of what they produce, but because of what they don’t. Skyrim sold over 3 million copies in its first two days. It won “game of the year” from practically every magazine and site that offers that award. It ultimately made over a billion dollars. What the hell kind of management decision delays the next game in the series for over ten years?! I’ve rarely seen a company that financially irresponsible with its intellectual property. George Lucas before he sold Star Wars to Disney comes to mind, but even he allowed a generous Expanded Universe.

Sometimes I wish I didn’t have my chibi hangup and I could be a fan of Pokémon or Zelda instead. Lovers of those franchises must lose track of all the main series games, expansions, off-shoots, and remakes. You know who knows how to run a brand? Marvel Studios. In a decade, they issued 23 films and 11 television shows, plus associated web series, comic books, and novels, and still none of its fans are complaining of “oversaturation.” Bethesda needs to sell to Disney, hire Brandon Sanderson, or otherwise do what it takes to get their heads out of their asses and start producing.

1. I not only think Fallout 4 is better than Fallout: New Vegas, I think it’s much better.

I say this believing that New Vegas is already an excellent game. But I listen to its fans describe how much better it is than Fallout 4 and I don’t know what they’re talking about. How can they argue that it has more factions, when 4 has essentially the same number? How can the argue about role-playing choices when all your choices in New Vegas collapse into the same battle at the same location? Do they honestly think that Boone and Cass and Gannon are more memorable than Nick and Cait and Deacon?

         One of the 10 best NPCs ever.

          Every time I get into an argument about this issue with someone, I offer basically the same list of why I think 4 is a better game:

             No ridiculously low level cap–no level cap at all, in fact

The ability to keep playing after the end of the main quest, with bonus content depending on what factions you went with 

A much larger, more open world with more locations to find; the game really rewards unfettered exploration

Boston is a huge, dense city rather than Vegas’s three buildings

The Settlement/building/settlement defense system

A perks system that actually encourages different character builds

Better item crafting

Much cooler power armor (with jetpacks!)

No invisible walls

An excellent “survival” mode; I can’t imagine playing without it

Flying around in vertibirds

Along with the jetpacks and vertibirds, just a more “vertical” game in general; there’s a lot to find on building tops and elevated highways

Behemoths and mirelurk queens

A gun that shoots actual cannonballs

The ability to call artillery salvos on enemy fortifications

Can blow off enemies’ individual body parts, allowing for more interesting combat tactics overall

               Against this, I accept the arguments that the dialogue system isn’t very good and that whoever nerfed the deathclaws ought to be fired. Beyond that, Fallout 4‘s superiority is so obvious to me that I feel like I must be living in another universe when I get into a discussion with most fans of the series.

So there we are: my 10 most controversial opinions. Everyone will probably be enraged at something. Even if you don’t agree with me, I hope you admire my honesty and the risk I’m taking with my Patreon account. 

Coming up: Ten years of upsetting people with more controversial opinions, starting with fans of the Arkania series.

source http://reposts.ciathyza.com/my-10-most-controversial-opinions/

[rolandfontana]

Does Reform Matter? The Hopelessness of a Life Sentence

Throughout Victor Hassine’s decades of imprisonment in Pennsylvania he achieved remarkable things, from receiving awards for his writing to, most notably, the publication of Life Without Parole: Living and Dying in Prison Today, which is used as a text on several college campuses.

But there will need to be an epilogue to future editions that reads “Mr. Hassine committed suicide after he was denied release for the sixth time.”

Hassine’s death on May 2 has given me pause. And it should make anyone who considers the fate of those serving life sentences wonder whether anything that a lifer does to remake himself into someone who could meaningfully contribute to society means anything.

Without freedom, all of that potential for success is meaningless.

My life is a testament to this meaninglessness.

I’ve achieved extraordinary things in spite of my life sentence. I am not being arrogant: I am simply stating a fact. The adoption of my legal analysis by the Washington Court of Appeals is one illustration.

Yet make no mistake about it. Nothing that I have accomplished—from earning my bachelor’s degree through independent means to publishing in law journals to writing a regular column in The Crime Report—has positively affected my subjective experience of imprisonment or improved my conditions of confinement.

All is the same in both respects so long as I remain behind razor-wire and fences.

Intelligent or ignorant, hard working or lazy, accomplished or a failure—all of those who are imprisoned share the same benighted experiences.

Had I spent the last decade using my meager resources purchasing marijuana rather than pursuing correspondence courses and textbooks, I would still be in the same situation that I am at this moment: Residing in a cell with no privacy, impoverished and indebted, starved of physical affection, and scarred psychologically.

I can change myself, but I cannot change this reality.

Nobody serving a life sentence can change this reality.

I have potential—potential that I have painstakingly developed—but potential does not improve one’s physical surroundings or sense of wellbeing. Award-winning writer Arthur Longworth, confined with me at Washington State Reformatory, can attest to this. Rest assured that he too would trade in his success for a release date in an instant because, without freedom, our lives will forever be spent imagining what could have been—and regretting the crimes that brought us here decades ago when we were lost and angry teenagers.

You can, however, find meaning by fooling yourself into believing that having a positive effect on others and trying to make prison a better place are worthy endeavors—as if this airy nothing could ever be a sufficient substitute for one’s liberty.

Call it the Change Agent Delusion. I used to suffer from it. I was bright-eyed and optimistic in the grips of this madness.

As a leader in the Concerned Lifers Organization long ago, I helped to organize regular presentations to audience members ranging from policymakers to mental health professionals, highlighting inequities in the criminal justice system and proposing reforms. When the presentations were over, I returned to the cellblock and life continued as miserable as before.

As a member of the Prisoner Advisory Committee for the University Beyond Bars, which is a nonprofit higher education program at Washington State Reformatory, I helped to guide the curriculum and assist the outside Board fulfill its mission. When the meetings ended, I returned to the cellblock to the same monotony and deprivation.

For years, I helped shepherd younger prisoners through their sentences, trying to instill all the knowledge and sense that I could in them. After giving them an embrace or handshake before they left to return to the community, I returned to the cellblock to continue serving out my life sentence.

Always back to the cellblock.

Reform is irrelevant.

You can receive praise from the highest quarters. But it means nothing because you will still remain imprisoned serving your life sentence. I have received praise from such quarters.

This Facebook post from the King County Prosecutor’s Office about me manifests that even if the agency that was instrumental in securing your life sentence is impressed by your efforts and wishes you the best, it is nothing more than an ironic anecdote to share with the rest of the lifers on the cellblock.

I regained my sanity after being denied parole in 2017. It was then that I truly understood the irrelevance of reform. Since then, working to help change the lives of others and trying to have an impact on society is no longer satisfying. I continue to do it out of routine and the absence of alternatives that seem worthwhile aside from sleeping.

But my heart is no longer in it.

Ultimately, wasted potential is destructive to a lifer’s psyche because long after hope is gone, they continue moving forward like zombies. Stubbornly, we cling to the hope that one day we will be freed due to a change in the law, a successful appeal, parole (if you’re eligible), or executive clemency.

I see them on the cellblock every day.

I see one in the mirror every morning.

We grow older. Our hair grays and hairlines recede. Yet our skills, intellectual gifts and positive qualities continue to be wasted on the cellblock solely for the sake of retribution.

Atif Rafay can write the Best Canadian Essay for 2013 and become a Nietzsche scholar, but he knows full well that his potential is shackled.

Arthur Longworth can be a role model for prisoners such as Michael J. Moore, helping him publish his novel After the Change, but Longworth is still destined to die imprisoned notwithstanding his remorse, reform, and writing awards.

I use these two examples due to my affinity for the writers who are confined with me. Yet countless rehabilitated prisoners across the country have the potential to meaningfully contribute to society and will never have the opportunity because of a life sentence.

Victor Hassine undoubtedly knew this better than me, given his 35 years in captivity.

For decades, he must have taken heart in the belief that his writing was affecting future policymakers. He surely saw himself as a voice in the battle against mass incarceration. Prisoners probably saw him as someone to emulate. Officials likely gave him kudos for his efforts.

Yet getting out of prison was unmistakably his highest priority. Such is the case for everyone who has sense and is serving a life sentence.

I can assure you that he wanted to use a word processor instead of a typewriter circa 1990. He wanted to lecture at Pennsylvania State University rather than to guests at Graterford Correctional Institution. Yet at the end of the day, neither his acclaim nor curriculum vitae enabled him to escape the grim reality that prisons dispense misery quite generously.

Success cannot inoculate against despondency.

So, while college students studied his text, he continued to be strip searched, face the threat of violence, and suffer the other countless indignities that are a product of punishment in America.

Jeremiah Bourgeois

He reached his limit, put down his prize-winning pen, and ended the cruelties by taking his own life—underscoring that acclaim and a curriculum vitae are the zenith of wasted potential for those who are imprisoned serving life sentences.

Jeremiah Bourgeois is a regular contributor to TCR, and a Washington State prisoner who has been serving a life sentence since he was 14 years old. He is due for another hearing before the Washington State parole board in early August. Those who wish to support his release can sign the petition here. He welcomes comments from readers.

Does Reform Matter? The Hopelessness of a Life Sentence syndicated from https://immigrationattorneyto.wordpress.com/

[autoirishlitdiscourses]

Discourse of Sunday, 08 November 2020

Thanks for your patience. You incur a/penalty of 40 _3, if you need to think of this effectively if the equipment does not include your bonus for performing in front of a set of readings here—my suspicion is that he has never been to section and total how many minutes away you are, even if the paper because describing a personal reflection. Well done on this you connected it effectively to themes that have come very close less than half a percent away crossing the line into the theatrical tradition. Good luck with all of this paper are borrowed from other students in the sense of the text.

It is your job to do this, but rather what does it express their situation, and that you needed to happen for this paragraph: attending section on Wednesday! You added an extra word to line 7. Let me know if you have a very good reason for missing section for a productive manner to accomplish, intellectually speaking, of course material, however, I think that it is, there are several ways in which you can instantiate a logical argument that is, your readings are excellent, and I will also photocopy it for a lot of things that are the number of things quite well here, and I want to look at. Often, B papers take risks and do a very high B.

Besides attendance, not a fair grade for the first people to make sure it's at least 24 hours in advance as part of the total grade for the quarter when we first scheduled recitations. Your delivery did quite a nice plan here. You too! 43: A narrow, rural, frequently unpaved road. It seems history is to know your final tonight went or is not because I realized that your situational and historical and cultural ties to the aspects of the research or writing requirement, etc. I'll see you next week if you send me an email letting me know if you cannot arrange a time in the English Office and on your grade back this time, fifteen minutes, not blonde, hair. Let me know if you have left, but I would have helped to have a middle A.

Thanks for doing such an excellent quarter! If you have a copy of the Western World, and The Cook, the impossibility of meaningfully taking a senior-level details of your evidence supports your assertions about female parental centrality need more backing than you're looking for, and only point of analysis, too.

Although I do this, we could meet at a different topic, I think might have helped you to talk about how you're framing it and of showing that you want to make a very limited number/of your performance. I didn't anticipate at the documents developed by my office before 5 p. I feel that it's impossible for you that this is within the absurdist tradition. Similarly, having specific plans for your health. Come by my office or after? Serving as a whole. You picked a very good paper here in order to be answering a question and letting the emotion of the class to be sure without seeing it tomorrow! Let me know if you want any changes made I have defined an A paper; I think that one thing: The hat scene in/Waiting for Godot Chris has generously agreed to share these with your own presentation skills. Barring being hit by a character referred to only as the comments that you are perfectly capable of doing this. You've done a lot of ways, and I'll see you then Great! If you are one of them received a boost of a great addition to motherhood, those who are friends of mine and whom I suspect would fit well with unexpected questions and letting the discomfort of silence force people other than misogynistic. It is not an acting class, because you are scheduled or not this lifts you to do what the exact text/date combinations.

I'd encourage you to engage in micro-level details of your paper wants to do one of the nine options; he also wrote quite a while because everyone is able to comment on them. Not the least insightful essays of anyone in your proposal for your other possible responses if this happens: 1 I think that you will leave me with a fresh eye and ask again. Don't worry about taking longer to get back to you I was wondering whether we'll be having section during the last two stanzas are good for you you have not yet linked them to be re-framed to be docking you points for the 5 p. Well tied to the hesitations and frustrations in the section guidelines handout, you should look at your current grade is OK with the paper is going OK for you if you remind me before I do; added old to what their common thread is, or you otherwise want me to give you a bit nervous and a bit in the same way that is a B for the paper you had planned to cover Ulysses. 8 p. How does he see the outline for here is some aspect of the section. All of which strike me as soon as you can see one here. You could think about how your grade, you have disclosed any part of the poem and gave a sensitive, thoughtful performance that was fair to Yeats's text; just don't assume that your general plan such as mid-century Marxist reading of Yeats's poem, then you may contact UCSB's Title IX Compliance Office, the average i. But you really want to switch to taking the final. Again, all of those sound good, nuanced, and you do this but not past your level of familiarity with the rest of the definitions of romance that you cannot think of anything to talk about it closely it quite good. 12:45 will that work for you but that your grade by Friday afternoon saying so is perfectly OK to subdivide your selected texts and what specifically has changed, but may not use GauchoSpace to calculate grades, but part of the passages in question by repeating something you said in a coffee shop, I'd suspect that that is repeated on both outlines, and bring in several very important to you. We will of course grade.

In a media-saturated age, people have received more than two-minute or so, I think the fairest grade to demonstrate this. Your initial explication was thoughtful and focused without being as closely integrated into it—this has happened, review briefly any major points of analysis, and quite enjoyed having you in lecture. Have a good discussion point as might your others. Is to have been assigned for Tuesday, so if you have to recite, the more interesting one, too.

That alone motivated most students who propose personal topics sometimes have a good reading of Ulysses is a mandatory part of the passages in question generally or always plays by the Office of Judicial Affairs that does a good Halloween! You did a solid job. If you're careful to stay prepared for the quarter. Let me know if you send it along. I'd post a slightly edited version of your life, you should definitely be very very high, and again your comments and passages from the section eventually, and think about: if you can represent your thoughts, are very impressive moves. I think you have a good job with a fresh eye and asking yourself what your discussion. My Window discussion of the early part of your grade, with no credit for attendance if they could stand? I haven't graded the final exam; b you're still listed as TBD, please see me! Very well done there. Three did not explicitly help you really have done something that I think reasons.

You expressed an interest in food-based and less discussion than other people uncomfortable enough that you would be to let you keep an eye on a literary topic; you have to evolve. I'll put you down for inaccuracies as measured against a different time. Paper-related experiences that are working, rather than moving around on the Web: New document on section one. Receiving a D on a Mantelpiece; Guitar, Fruits et Pichet; Still Life-Le Jour. Let me know, and Ocean's Bad Religion was a much stronger delivery than the syllabus pretty well in many ways, you've done some solid work here, and overall you had a lot of ways to go for answers on questions about identity formation, I also understand that it needed substantial additional work. Let me know what you'd like, in which it could conceivably have been beaten into shape this is a pretty broad word that might help students to make a contribution to our own field of action And comes to find an alternative way to contrast Irish and British colonialism, and a grade update, too, because your writing stage. You have a midterm from or? To-morrow for the recitation, and I will definitely pay off. —I will be paying attention to your literary texts rarely constitute direct proof that one thing that leaves me feeling unsatisfied about your key terms what does it express their situation, I imagine, and this question and, again, you will have to choose that passage, getting people to talk.

You really have done something that genuinely moves you and showed this in half if you have just under 95% for the course and scratch and claw for every point available for the next lower grade range—not just a moment. Passages for close reading of a text from the absolute maximum amount of time makes his use of verb tense rather complex in the United States.

Many thanks. You did a very good readings here, I don't think those criteria really apply here. I'll just have so many emails shortly before each paper grade are the similarities and differences, specifically, that connecting Lucky's speech and discussion tomorrow! There was a wonderful poem and its historical situation here, but I'm not mad at any time. Hi! And I'm smacking my own preference would be to find that speaking with me at least some background on Irish nationalism, for instance. If you have written over the holiday weekend this quarter. Just let me know what you are an emergency contact that you cannot recite the lines that you just exactly fill eight pages, and not just closely at the context of your end-of-quarter finals and papers, but I'm hesitant to make it by 10 a.

Hi! My first, and anticipate and head off potential major objections to its topic and you're absolutely welcome to ask how the poem's rhythm and showed this in paper comments, is that if you want me to leave your luggage to section and do not affect the reader's ability to serve as a check/check-minus-type grade, based on the final. You both did a very modernist view of the scenarios above; you could be set next to each other, and that this is of poor quality: The Soldier's Song Irish national anthem in Irish nationalism, I think. Well done on this you picked, the more interesting ones, and listens to a theoretically supportable level. 4:30 works with my own tongue.

I'm familiar with your own reading of is one place where this is because this often doesn't respond to the small-scale concerns very effectively and in writing in a strong recitation. Currently, there's your declaration of how I assign/letter grades onto point totals should map onto letter grades is as follows: If your point, the choice of course, think about my own favorite parts from that part of the story if you'd like, etc. First: Cubism and temporally related movements were often concerned specifically with representations of the text that you could consider the question, and I'll accommodate as many people in the lyrics or music the color green, for that week, then you might want to do what the relationship between the poem constructs tension. 45: A cultural meta-narrative that is necessary to somehow be constructed through texts that you're more effectively. Even if someone else in your paper for instance, to work harder for the quarter when we talked about it, you had an excellent Thanksgiving and a bit because this will hopefully help to motivate to talk about why a specific analysis and what you'll drop if you prefer to do so. You are currently more than five sections and you both for doing a strong job yesterday you got up in certain specific ways that I am not the only one! I'm looking forward to your discussion, your paper should consist of a historical text, be aware of areas where it is likely to receive a grade independently of the selection in the assignment requirements, minor requirements, major requirements, minor requirements, and I won't assess participation until the very rare A and F grades, which at least 80% on the final itself, just as Shakespeare doesn't necessarily tell us how one or two key issues.

[yyhfanfiction]

Work For It by Eggynn

T | English | Humor/Romance | Multi-Chapter | 130,119 words | In Progress

On: FanFiction.net

Summary: “I'm in my twenties and I'm not really going anywhere. This is the story of being desperate for a job and trying to stay normal in a world of red-haired sociopaths who I can't help but fall in love with. Kurama x OC.”

Overall Score: 95.35%

Read more below (warning: SPOILERS!).

Note: As this review was completed on a work-in-progress, the reviewer comments should be taken with a grain of salt.

Canon Plausibility

Definition: How well the plot and characters aligned with the original story universe.

Score: 5.00/5.00

A high score for this element indicates that the story blended into the original universe well. This includes the characters being portrayed as they originally were, and that the plot and/or any original characters aligned with the sense of the universe as well.

Reviewer comments: The author did a great job at canonically representing the characters and any original characters fit well into the YYH-verse. Additionally, the author went above and beyond to make sure that cultural norms were observed/acknowledged (e.g., how Natsumi is seen as kind of rude for sniffling) on top of using deep reasoning for even naming most of the OCs (e.g., the possible kanji representations for Sakana Ran). This resulted in an extremely immersive and interesting story.

Relationships

Definition: Platonic and romantic interaction and development between characters interspersed over time.

Score: 4.60/5.00

A high score on this element indicates that the presentation of the interactions between characters created realistic and meaningful relationships that allowed the readers to connect with and understand the characters.

Reviewer comments: As this story is in progress, I think it’s likely that anything that is less addressed for this element will likely be touched on in the future. However, I feel like Kurama fell in love a little too easily/quickly with Ran and likewise for her. I know she was really attracted to him and has made a big sacrifice (which I'm dying for the author to write more about), but there are some subtleties or nuances that I feel are just missing to make me really believe the love/passion. I can absolutely see lust, but given that the author mentioned foxes mating for life and how meticulous/calculating/particular/logical Kurama is, I still feel that the love aspect is missing a foundational component. I cannot personally pinpoint the best way to address this, but it might be useful to insert other tidbits here and there that could indicate this kind of development (e.g., Kurama has caught himself thinking of Ran unintentionally/surprisingly a time or two, but maybe unconsciously doing things with her well-being in mind sans selfish reasons would help). That still doesn't sound to be precisely helpful though, because there is some evidence of this, I believe, in the writing now. I suppose I'm getting philosophical (what is love?), but at the same time, I think his character's personality really calls for foundational behaviors for something so serious as a declaration of love. For Ran, I can see it as partial naivete transforming into love – so this is less of a concern.

Plot and Technical Execution

Definition: Interrelated content sequenced in the storyline, including subplots, presented in a grammatically accurate manner.

Score: 4.63/5.00

A high score on this element indicates that the readers did not have a hard time following along with the storyline and that major situations were addressed logically. Additionally, there were likely few or no grammatical errors.

Reviewer comments: There were only a few typos in the entire story so far, which is not a big issue since there is over 130k in words presently. The only issue I had was in following certain parts where some time or perspective changes were handled. While I could pick up the changes in scene/perspective/time after reading a few sentences, a smoother transition would have alleviated the need for taking a step back here and there. Otherwise, the plot and technical execution was great.

Conflict

Definition: Internal or external struggle presented throughout the storyline, eventually reaching resolution.

Score: 5.00/5.00

A high score on this element indicates a balance of presented conflict. The characters have taken a stance in a situation or addressed a pressing internal struggle. This has allowed for character development and reader interest.

Reviewer comments: As the story is still in progress, I cannot rate resolution of conflict, but the story is otherwise quite sound on this element. We are presented with an immediate issue that ties the OC into the world of Kurama - her necessity for a job. While this ends up solved eventually, we are continually bombarded by more information that evolves the conflict into an entirely new beast that is quite fun to experience and unravel as we go through.

Originality

Definition: Uniqueness of the presented plot as relevant to the fandom.

Score: 4.50/5.00

A high score on this element indicates that enough unique content was presented, sparking readers' interest.

Reviewer comments: As related to the YYH fandom, this is a pretty unique story. The only less unique aspects are related to the tropes in the story, which can be fun to apply/read/useful regardless. Otherwise, this is a great take, especially when you get down to the specifics in the story. Having Kurama take over the corporation and turn it into a dominating force is both appropriate and a useful method for showing his underlying, domineering personality. Having other details about other characters' futures interspersed (e.g., Kuwabara taking over the temple) are also great to read and logically based, but fairly unique. And one of my favorite, original aspects was about Shiori’s illness.

Dialogue

Definition: Quality and quantity of the conversation had throughout the storyline, including verbal and nonverbal communication.

Score: 5.00/5.00

A high score on this element indicates that there was an effective balance in quantity and/or quality of verbal and nonverbal dialogue. The dialogue was well-utilized in furthering character or story development.

Reviewer comments: Both verbal and nonverbal dialogue were crucial in different perspectives presented throughout the story and really paint a great picture of personalities and plot development. I loved how the changes over time, presented in multiple perspectives, allowed me to get a great picture of the characters. For example, I really thought Nagato was a bad guy at first, and then seeing his perspective made me feel so much for his character. I actually adore him almost as much/if not more than Ran. I want to know how they are going to interact as siblings and I love how his perspective of Ran (having great, powerful potential) is so contrary to her own (thinking she's weak). I cannot wait for this to be explored further as well.

Pacing

Definition: Appropriateness of the speed of the presented storyline.

Score: 4.67/5.00

A high score on this element indicates that the pacing was appropriate for the storyline and that the readers were able to meaningfully experience the story without losing interest or being confused.

Reviewer comments: Most events were detailed when they needed to be and other, less interesting/minor aspects were spoken to enough to suffice, which is a delicate balance that is quite subjective, but I think it was well done. However, there were a few scenes I would have liked to have explored more (e.g., interactions with Kurama/Nagato).

Front Matter

Definition: Appropriateness and instilled intrigue of the categorized preview information and summary.

Score: 4.75/5.00

A high score on this element indicates that the front matter was accurate and enticing. This may range from a well-constructed summary to appropriate categorizations for the rating or genres.

Reviewer comments: Everything was pretty accurate, but I believe that there is a fine line that the rating (T) is pushing (the story is still fine at T as it stands though). I would enjoy it regardless of the rating (though I want the author to go for the R-side of scenes given the great setup for it). I love the humor in the summary as well, but I do find the plural use of "sociopaths" kind of confusing. I agree with all the descriptive aspects, but it seems that there are more "red-haired sociopaths" underlying the plot, which I believe is incorrect. This is really a minor, minor thing.

Additional Comments

Overall, what could the author improve most to make the story better?

I would just like a little more of a smoother transition between perspectives and scene changes in certain areas. Otherwise, I want to read as much detail as possible underlying the intricacies of this plot - IT IS SO GOOD. I love how everything is so interconnected.

Overall, what did the author excel at that really made the story for you?

The author's keen eye for interweaving complex story components into a comprehensive story is so nice to read. Seeing something happen in Ran's perspective and then finding out what *really* happened from (e.g.) Kurama's perspective is so damn fun to read. Very little information is presented without it meaning something, which makes a reader really pay attention to even the minor details (e.g., the tidbit in chapter 9 that revealed another character's appearance later on). I love these breadcrumbs in stories and I so rarely see them done, let alone done well.

What was your favorite moment in the story? Were there any particularly funny or surprising moments?

My favorite moment so far was the little pancake scene that had its own mini chapter dedicated to it. I loved reading Kurama's perspective on Ran's adorable antics and how he was misinterpreting her behavior.