#particularly keeping it even between the two unless i gave them both a pov in each chapter

[flythesail]

No I have not started writing the George/Tristan fic

Yes I am still outlining

[angelanimedesaray]

Through the Looking Glass Chapter 11:  Winter Snow

AN:  Yaaassss This is one of those chapters that has been in my head since I started writing the series.  Finallyyyyyyyy we’re here.

Also consider this the point that they’re not kids anymore.  They’ll be full blown adults next chapter.  Still teenagers here, but they won’t be in the next chapter.

Characters:  Levi, Reader, Mentions of Varioud BG Characters

Pairing:  (Eventual) Levi x Reader

Warnings:  Language, Mentions of Bullying, Depression, Bit of a Breakdown, Angst

Word Count:  12296.....Holy Shnikies, is that a new record for me with Tumblr fics? I think it is... O.o

<----Previous Chapter    Masterlist    Next Chapter---->

Gif Found HERE

*Levi’s POV*

When she had shown him the little booklet of information about college, he hadn’t at the time realized just how big of a part that was going to play in her life--not so soon, at least.

It was nothing that happened right away, and not something that he noticed as soon as it started to happen.  For a while, everything continued as it always had.  He would show up in her world and be granted a brief reprieve from his life, with her pulling him deeper and deeper into the wonders her world had to offer, showing and teaching him new things.  When she turned fifteen and was able to drive a car--he finally had a name for those damn horseless carriages--she took the time to try and teach him how to drive those death machines as well.  It was rocky at first, with her focusing on how this button and this position and this pedal did such and such, starting with simply getting the car going and moving it back and forth, teaching him about basic signs, driving on certain terrains and in certain weather…

It ended up being an entire process, and it took more than a few days where they saw each other to teach him how to safely drive a car--and even then, she only taught him to use an automatic.  Apparently there was another kind of car that operated differently, but she said he shouldn't worry about learning to drive the other one unless she ended up getting one of those different cars.

It had been much easier learning the emergency phone number in her world, the number to call if there was ever trouble and they needed help.  Three numbers and press the green phone button, it didn't get much easier than that.

Of course, he also kept learning other things.  He liked to peruse the books in her house, particularly the ones about the history of her world, or the nature and what it looked like beyond what he saw with her.  Sometimes that was what he did while he waited for her to finish her schoolwork.  Other times, he practiced what she'd been showing him on the piano.  He wasn't as good at it as she was, but he also didn't have a piano to practice on in his world--not unless he drew all the keys in the dirt and pretended he heard the sounds of the keys while he practiced the patterns and positions.

Even though he'd practice by himself while he waited for her to finish the homework beyond his understanding, he preferred when she would help him practice.  He liked having her sit so close beside him, hands over or under his to show him the keys…

She also liked to take him places.  Especially after she got that car.  If they had the time and it wasn't too late in the day, she would drive them to another town to see a new park.  Once she'd gone bowling--and they'd both sucked until he finally got the hang of it.  She taught him pool after getting grumpy over Levi getting the hang of bowling and pulling ahead of her in three or four games.  Pool she'd been fairly good at, as had Levi once he got used to using the pool stick instead of a knife--he had wicked aim and accuracy, which helped him significantly in that game.

She liked to bring him places to try foods from different cultures with her, or to walk through bookstores and help her choose new fantasy or sci-fi or supernatural stories to read.  She’d even buy him any books that caught his eye so that he could read them when he visited, though he usually checked with her that they were non-fiction, first, so he could still learn something about the world she came from in the process.

While all this autonomy started to appear, and they were able to do and see more things, she was also...changing.

She was always so eager to get out of the house when she saw him, looking relieved and happy for an excuse.  When she thought he wasn't looking, she seemed tired.  There were circles under her eyes, a slight slump to her shoulders, and the few times Levi drove the car instead of her, if he glanced over at her he could catch her with her eyes closed, like she was trying to rest a little in the brief silence between them.  A few times, she'd fallen asleep on him, though Levi never said anything about it, even when she woke up embarrassed.  The most she would get would be a soft 'Tch' before he went back to whatever he'd been doing to entertain himself while she rested.  Considering how eagerly she always threw herself into their time together, she had to be exhausted if she was falling asleep during it.

And he didn't mind it at all when she fell asleep on him.  For those few minutes, it felt like he got to be the one to take care of her for once, something he didn't get to do nearly as much as he would like to.  She took care of him so much and in so many ways, he doubted he'd ever be able to catch up and return the favor to its fullest extent.  Plus, he soon found out why she always seemed so exhausted.  It turned out she was stressed and spread thin.

It was something he had to piece together slowly from things she said or papers he found.  She was always so focused on making the most out of his visits, that she never said a word about how tired she was, or the things that were stressing her out.  She wanted him to take his mind off his life, to not worry, so she tried not to mention anything that would make him worry about her.

But he paid attention when she talked to him.  She was going to school five days of the week, yes, but she was also working two jobs, as well as some babysitting on the side when the opportunity presented itself.  Her mother had apparently remarried, and was expecting another child soon, so she was trying to help more around the house with things her mother couldn't do due to her pregnancy.  She was putting in all the work required to stay at the top of her class, namely the very top, which would be called a valedictorian.  She was also keeping up with her interests, helping her mother with an out of home bakery business, keeping up with her piano practice, and she did something called skating that she felt gave her some exercise but also relaxed her.  She was also in one or two school activities that took her time, and once they reached a certain age, college came back into play, and she started applying to be let in and to be awarded money to go while keeping up with everything else.  He didn't know how she managed to find the energy to drag him all over creation and keep him discovering new things.

Every now and then she let slip that she wanted to leave the town she felt trapped in, and the people in it, and he could see the desperation in her eyes to do just that.  The stressors he could understand her wanting to leave, but the people...it took a few more hints for him to figure that part out.

Less of a hint.  He had to get her at the right moment, when she finally opened up to him about the part that worried her the most.

He'd appeared in one of his favorite ways--quietly, when he'd simply been walking down the street--and had suddenly been the private audience to the soft piano music being played in the darkened living room.

The happiness he felt to be here again, and to be hearing her music as well, was muffled when he noted the overall tone in the room.

The music was sad, melancholy, depressing, and there wasn't any light in the room to illuminate her or the piano, the curtains on the windows pulled closed, the lights kept off. He approached from behind quietly, a small frown on his face as he came up to inquire what was wrong.

Along the way, his foot crunched a paper, the sound unheard by Y/N because she was focused on the piano and what she was playing, not the rest of the room.  He picked it up to look at it closer, realizing it was part of a stack of papers that looked like those applications she'd been filling out so many of recently.

It wasn't one of the applications, but rather a note--a letter--attached to the top and addressed to her parents.  It was from one of her teachers, and it went on to talk about how the school she wanted to go to had a very low acceptance rate, was very far away and wouldn't have certain financial aid available for her, and how it was a very expensive school.  How she 'shouldn't plan on going to the one school alone, because it was unlikely for her to get in, and even less likely for her to pay for it' and needed to apply for more scholarships and to other schools, yet she refused to apply to more than two schools, and refused to apply for some of the scholarships.

Probably not the only thing bothering her that had her playing in the dark, but it was a good hint.

After putting the paper back into the stack, he stepped a little closer, finally making his presence known by commenting on the mood in the air she'd created.

"So doom and gloom--I'm supposed to be the depressing one," Levi quipped in a flat tone and she whipped around in surprise, banging her knee on the piano in the process and turning back around to clutch at her knee and hiss.

The pain, however, was an excuse to try and hide what he'd already seen.  Tears, freshly falling down her cheeks, and not from hitting her knees.

Levi’s usual closed off demeanor shifted, and he quickly came over to sit beside her on the bench.  She turned her head away from him to hide the tears as she tried to--unsuccessfully--wipe them away without him noticing.

The problem was that as soon as he was sitting beside her, he realized he didn't know what to say--either to get her to talk about it or to comfort her.  He simply sat there awkwardly in silence with her facing off to the side and him facing the piano, both of them unable to talk for some reason.

Hesitantly, unsure if it was the right move but knowing at least it would be something, Levi let his fingers find their way to the right place on the piano, and started to play one of the newer and more difficult pieces she’d taught him recently.  It was melancholy--most of the ones she taught him had a bittersweet edge to it, or at least a part of the song that felt that way--but it felt fitting for the moment, and he thought perhaps the song would prompt her to do something in return.  Maybe she’d play with him.  Maybe she’d start to talk.  That was up to her.

Levi quietly played out the song, focused on hitting the right chords, making sure his arm brushed against hers every now and then in the process when he reached for keys closer to where she was sitting as a way of having some contact with her.  She was silent at first, just listening to him play the song before, about halfway through, she finally reached out with one of her hands to play half the song.  Levi felt a little relief to be getting a response from her, and he let his hand slide over hers as she played half the song for him, feeling her fingers moving below his, able to feel the slight shake in them even though she seemed to be playing the notes steadily.

They continued like that for a while, before Levi started to worry that she might try to use the piano as a distraction rather than an opening to start talking.  As they neared the end of the song, he finally spoke up, cutting right to the heart of the matter.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, fingers still moving over the keys.  She shook her head, keeping her face turned away from him so he couldn’t see her expression.

“It’s nothing.”

“Bullshit.”

“It really is.  It’s stupid, and it doesn’t matter in the long run, anyway.”

“If that was true, you wouldn’t have been crying.”

She sighed, hitting one of the notes with more force than necessary and letting her hand drop away from the piano just short of the end of the song.  Levi stopped playing as well, sitting quietly on the bench and gazing patiently at her back as he waited for her to start speaking.

“It’s just...everything going on, you know?  I mean, I took it all on myself, I really shouldn’t complain, and I wouldn’t, but it gets so much...harder when...Gah...I hate people…”

Her voice shook, and she sniffled rather loudly, rubbing her left eye with her palm.  Suddenly, Levi realized that besides the one time he’d helped her find her home when she’d run away...he didn’t think he’d seen her cry so openly around him.  He reached out to gently touch her shoulder, and a shudder seemed to go through her at the contact, and she turned on the piano bench so that she could face him, burying her face in his chest as a small, hiccupped sob escaping her as she curled up against him.  He was taken aback for a moment, but after feeling his heart ache and feeling how she was clutching at the fabric of his shirt, he gently draped an arm around her shoulders, letting his other hand gently touch her shoulder in a loose hug.

“Are people picking on you again?” Levi asked, digging for information to try and figure out what was wrong so he could figure out how to properly help her.  She gave a bitter laugh at his question, a sound that seemed strange coming from her.

“I think I’d prefer getting beaten up like back then to this bullshit,” she said bitterly, and Levi’s eyebrows raised.  He was pretty sure that was the first time he’d heard her swear, too.  “No, I...I’ve always kinda been an outcast, at school...which I guess I got used to it...somewhat...but it’s gotten really hard this year.  I’ve been working my ass of, and...and it just gets that much harder when you’re constantly hearing people call you lazy, and then you come home to hear the exact same thing as if you’re not spending every hour trying so hard...and then every time you accomplish something, everyone’s back there talking about how it's not going to matter anyway.”

She adopted a voice clearly meant to mimic everyone else, a bitter and cutting edge to her tone even with how her voice was muffled in his chest.  “Like you’re actually going to get accepted by any colleges or scholarships, you never get anything in on time, you’re always being told to get things in or they’ll be late, always turning it in last minute, you’re so lazy you never get anything done or doing what you’re supposed to be doing, like you’ll have enough scholarships or meet the deadlines for the places you want to go.  Oh, you got accepted by that college?  Well it’s not like you’ll ever be able to actually pay for it.  Oh, well if you do go to this college you want, you’ll just crash and burn anyway--you’re so straight laced I bet you’re that kid that goes crazy with freedom in college and drops out.  You’ve never had a boyfriend or had that many friends, you’re totally going to be that crazy cat lady with forty cats and no friends.  You can’t afford to go out for an hour, you have to stay home and get all these applications done, plus your homework, and don’t forget stuff for bible study every morning, and your practices, and yearbook, and everything else under the damn sun you’re not allowed to mess up in cause you have to be the perfect child that’s the first to go to college, you have to get the perfect cushy, high paying job, perfect grades, perfect activities, don’t get snippy with me if you’re feeling stressed it’s all your fault because you’re being lazy and not doing the work like you’re supposed to, you keep screwing around.  You’re tired?  Same thing applies--you don’t know tired, you’re just lazy and you can’t manage your time.  If you’re feeling so stretched thin, then you should just drop something.  But not this, or that, I don’t care if you don’t think this helps, don’t drop it either.  Oh, you’re not actually allowed to drop anything, just make it all work.”

Her grip tightened on him as she spoke, and he wasn’t sure if the trembling in her body was from sobs or rage with how bitter her voice seemed to sound despite the wobble from tears or the occasional hiccup of a sob.  He didn’t interrupt with any of his thoughts, he simply let her rant and rave to him, let her vent, because clearly she needed to.

“I know it shouldn’t matter.  I shouldn’t care about what they have to say.  It's the same people who make sure anything I like is uncool schoolwide as soon as they know I like it, who thought it would be so...fucking funny to make me go to homecoming with the kid who treated me like a disease and wouldn’t even touch my arm the whole time, the same kid who told me to go kill myself in class and people just fucking laughed and the teacher didn’t even blink even though she was sitting right there.  I shouldn’t give a damn about what they have to say, but after so long of hearing it, no matter how thick of a skin I think I’ve built up it still...it still gets to me, and I’m just...I’m just so tired…”

She sagged against him, like some of the fight left her after she finished speaking, curling up in his arms like a baby rabbit seeking shelter, like there was a fox right outside the burrow waiting to devour it and it knew it couldn’t run from it.  Levi had stiffened at the mention of the kid who’d told her to kill herself, his expression darkening as he got a better perspective of what her life was like at school, something he now realized he’d never heard about the social side of, only ever her schoolwork and the subjects she studied.  Never the people.

Now he knew why.  He just wished she would have said something sooner.  Did she really think that just because she wasn’t getting beat up that it wasn’t still a real problem?  If it was getting this bad…

She stayed slumped in his arms for several long moments, Levi gently rubbing her back to try and soothe her as he waited for her to regain her composure, feeling like she still had more to say and not wanting to interrupt her while he quietly absorbed information.  Then, abruptly, she sucked in a long breath and pulled away, arm rubbing angrily at her eyes with a fierce frown on her face.

“It’s still nothing, though,” she said as she got to her feet to start an aggravated pace, and Levi was just about to argue that yes, it was, after that long rant that had driven her to cursing and tears, but she was still talking, and she had a determined venom in her voice as she spoke.  “It’s nothing, because I’m not going to let it turn into something.  I don’t care if its spite driving me right now, but I swear I’m going to prove every last one of them wrong and--and--and break out of the fucking cage everyone keeps trying to put me in.  Even my mom.  I love her, but she’s just as bad, always demanding I be so fucking perfect and do what she wants instead of what I want.  But even she’s trying to pin me down, she keeps pushing for me to go to these colleges nearby, or to stay in the area, or to settle for something else even though what I want to do...yeah, its difficult, it's a high bar, and it’s going to take me really far away, but it’s my life, it’s my choice.  And I’m going to prove every last fucking one of them wrong and get the hell out of here and make something of myself.”

She finished with a huff, having worked herself up in her rant, turning to look at him with slightly flushed cheeks, looking expectantly at him for some kind of reply now that she was finished and he’d been silent for so long.  It wasn’t like he had the words to say, though--he wasn’t good at words, and she’d just dumped a lot of information on him.

“All those bad words.  I think I’m a shitty influence on you.”

She was taken aback for a moment, staring at him for a second before she snorted in surprise, the tension slowly draining from her shoulders and the faintest smile coming across her face.  She approached the bench once more, sitting beside him with the blush coloring her cheeks and her hands locked tightly together.

“You’re the only real friend I’ve had, no matter where I’ve gone.  You’ve always been here for me.  I don’t think I tell you enough that I’m really thankful to have you.  I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t.”

Her words were softly spoken, and she stayed close to him the entire time, even if her embarrassment didn’t allow her to look him in the eyes.  And to hear her say it aloud to him...it settled doubts he might have had that he wouldn’t have voiced otherwise, helped put some of the restlessness inside him at ease.

Levi looked at the piano in front of him, grasping the handles for the key lid and lowering it over the piano keys.  “You’ll make it,” he said with affirmed certainty.  “You’re tougher than you think.  You’ve made it this far, haven’t you?  What’s a little further?”

He looked over at her to catch her smiling warmly at him, a twinkle in her eyes, and he felt his heart soften in the face of that expression.  Once the key lid was in place, he gently touched her shoulder to give her a playful shove like she tended to do for him.

“You need a break.  I’m here.  What should we do?”

She heaved a sigh, looking away for a moment and chewing on her lip as she considered what was possibly an endless list of possibilities.  “It’s gonna start getting colder soon...so it should be something we won’t be able to do once winter settles in...I think it’ll be clear skies tonight…”  She turned to face him, that sparkle in her eyes again and a smile on her face.  “I know what we’re going to do.  Come on, we’ve got a bit of a drive to make first,” she said excitedly, getting up off the bench and heading to the front door, where she picked up what Levi knew to be her car keys.

Levi got up to follow her, wondering to himself where they were going now, and how far of a drive it would be.  What in-town activity would they be carrying out today?

They got into her car, Levi looking up to see the night sky as he opened the passenger side door and got inside, Y/N already starting up the car before he even shut the door and driving the car out of town and into open country.  They drove in silence for several minutes, Levi sneaking peaks at Y/N the entire time, mulling over the stress she was under and her confession in the other room.

He would have beat the shit out of a few people by now if he was there, but he never showed up when she was in school, always after.  He was never around when she needed him around, which meant that it was something she had to deal with on her own.

It was like he’d said, though.  She was stronger than she thought.  He’d seen the determination and the fire in her eyes before.  She would make it through.  And she would reach her goals.  Even if she had to get herself through on spite right now.

He still wanted to get his hands on that one individual in particular…but she hadn’t even given him a name.

Y/N suddenly took a turn onto a dirt road that went so far into a wheat field, turning off her lights--which immediately caught Levi’s attention--before she brought the car to a stop and shut all the lights off, reaching into the back to grab a blanket before she opened the door.

“We’re actually not supposed to be here--it’s private property--but we should be fine so long as we’re gone before dawn,” she said with a spark of rebellion in her eyes.

Good.  It sounded like she needed to break some rules and get outside some of the restrictions around her for a while.

Getting out of the car, Levi spoke up in a low voice, looking around at the field around him and noting that the hay didn’t reach high enough to cover the car.  There was a corn field behind them that would have been high enough to cover the car, but for some reason they’d parked here.  “What are we doing out here?”

Y/N got on the hood of her car carefully, scooting back until she could lean back to lie on the windshield with her legs stretched out in front of her.  She gestured for him to come up onto the hood instead of responding, waiting until he’d crawled up with a sigh before she threw the blanket over both of them.

As soon as he leaned back, he understood why they were here.  Leaning back on the hood of her car, he had a clear, unobstructed view of the night sky.  Where the corn would have reached high enough it could have obstructed the view somewhat, the wheat was low enough it didn’t creep into his line of sight for the sky.  It was just pure...open sky.  And out here, where there were no lights from town, just nature, the stars shone brilliantly in stunning detail, the only light that could have ‘affected’ the view being the moonlight itself.  But it was still a dazzling display above him, and all around there was the soft rustle of wind through the wheat fields, crickets, the occasional howl from coyotes in the distance--just nature, fresh air, the sky laid out endlessly in front of them…

Y/N shifted onto her side, curling up next to him with a comfortable sigh.  “I know you live underground so...I figured it’s about time we went stargazing.  I’m surprised we haven’t yet.”

Levi turned his head enough to look at her, noting that she was looking at him far more than the stars, probably gauging his reaction.  For her, this was something she saw quite frequently, so maybe his reaction to it was more interesting to her.  Still, knowing she’d chosen this because she knew about where he lived, how it wasn’t an everyday sight for him, how this was a sight that was denied to him…

Much like earlier, he put his arm around her instead of choosing to respond with words, pulling her a little closer to him as a way to show her his gratitude, that this did, in fact, mean something to him, and he appreciated her gesture.  She seemed to understand, that blush returning to her cheeks as she buried her face in his chest and pulled the blanket tighter around them as if that could hide her reaction and make it seem like she was just getting warm.

Knowing she drove them out here so they could see the stars, that her idea of an escape was to show him something that he rarely got to have and to sit in silence with him for however long they wanted to…

He cared about her.  Deeply.  That had never been in question.  From the moment she’d built that safe place for him--an image called to mind as he looked up at the stars unobstructed much like he had once looked up at them from the nest she’d created for him through the window of the tiny wooden playhouse--he had a soft spot in his heart for her.  And over the years, she just burrowed deeper and deeper, that flickering flame growing stronger, the warmth getting more intense.  She made him happy--made him feel like he belonged, even if he flickered in and out of the world.  Even though he didn’t get to stay, he was still so grateful to have a chance to be part of her life, to know her, to spend time with her.  She was a safe place for him, a place where he didn’t have to keep his guard up, where he could relax and just...be.  All these things he felt for her, and one thing that had held him back recently had been a concern that she might not feel the same way.

Now, lying side by side and looking up at the stars, knowing she’d done it for him and that this moment between them was what she considered an escape from her problems, that he might be as much of her escape as she was his...it gave him the sense that maybe, just maybe, she might care for him, too.

He didn’t say anything, though, not yet.  Right now, he just wanted to enjoy this as long as it lasted, with her in his arms lying next to him--eventually falling asleep, which he didn’t disrupt considering he now knew how much she needed it--gazing up at the stars in relative silence.

Sometime after she fell asleep, Levi looked down at her, the arm that had been wrapped around her all this time moving just slightly so his hand could reach into her hair, giving it a few soft, gentle strokes.

“Stay with me...I don’t want this to end…” he murmured softly for only him to hear, the stars and moon his only witness as he breathed her in for a moment before lying back down to gaze up at the sky, for once grateful to his insomnia to allow him to stay awake and simply bask in the simplistic beauty of the moment.

*Reader’s POV*

At long last, Levi finally blipped into your world during winter, when there was snow on the ground.  You had been waiting years to be able to show him snow for the first time, to get to see his first experience with snow, share it with him…

As soon as you saw him appear in your room, you immediately dropped the pen you were using to write neatly on your scholarship applications and leapt to your feet, grinning widely at him and not even giving him a chance to orient himself in your world before you had your arm hooked around his and you were leading him down the stairs to the front door, where you started throwing winter clothes at him.

"Oh my God you're actually here, your timing is perfect cause right now--well, just put it all on, I don't want to spoil the surprise!" You squealed excitedly, yanking on a hat, gloves, a coat, simply draping the scarf loosely over your neck without wrapping it.  You tried to jump in and help Levi get dressed as well so he would move faster, but that only made him grumpy.

"I've got it--I can dress myself, I don't need you to do it for me," he grumbled, shrugging on the flannel coat you'd grabbed for him.  It was actually one of your stepfather's many coats, and it utterly dwarfed Levi...considering your stepfather was in the six foot range in height, and Levi…

Well, at least he would be well covered and warm.

Once Levi was well bundled and looking at you with a mixture of impatience and expectancy, you happily flung open the door, about to bound outside before you reminded yourself it was slick outside and you needed to watch your step.  You checked yourself, stepping around the icy spots outside your door and hanging back to shut the door so Levi could just focus on the experience.

It was snowing outside.  Not only that, but it had been snowing for the past few days, and there was a white blanket over the world at least a foot deep, with icicles hanging from the roof edge and ice patches hidden under the snow making the pathways treacherous.

Levi paused on the porch once he could see what the outside world looked like, with you sliding discreetly behind him to shut the door before too much heat got out of the house, quietly creeping around to his other side to watch him as he walked with slightly widened eyes to the edge of the covered porch, looking at the icicles and reaching out to touch one gingerly, head peeking out from the cover of the porch to look up at the white flurries falling from the sky.  His breath fogged in front of him, making him pull back for a second before he looked over at you, watching him excitedly on the porch.

"Snow," he said simply, and you nodded at him exuberantly.  You reached out to take his hand, stepping out into the snow and noting how high up to his legs he sank into the snow as he followed behind.  You didn't keep a hold of his hand, only grasping it long enough to get him to follow before letting go and allowing him to comfortably walk beside you.

"There's so many things to do and see--its cold, and I honestly hate the cold, but staying warm shouldn't be too much of a problem," you said with a glint in your eyes.  You knew the perfect place for sledding, knew somewhere the snow was particularly thick that would serve well for snowmen and snow forts and snowball fights.  Maybe it was little kid stuff, but Levi needed the chance to cut loose and be a kid, especially since he never had the snow experience when he was actually a little kid.  You might have to spend a bit of money, but you were fine with that, too, your purse slung firmly over your shoulders.  You could get a good sled at a nearby store, you could afford some coffee to warm back up and restore some energy after some time outside, and, you had some money for your thoughts on a grand finale for the night.

You'd been scheming this day ever since realizing Levi hadn't seen snow yet, and you were praying he was going to be able to stay for all of it.

"Watch your step--there's ice hidden under the snow on the sidewalks because it's been so cold, so just...be mindful," you warned him, walking with arms out at your side and methodically placed footsteps for a few moments.  "I always hate walking in fresh snow--everything looks so clean and pure and pretty that I feel like I'm ruining a beautiful snapshot of nature.  Though, we kinda have to walk in it to get where we're going," you said with a guilty note in your voice.

"Couldn't we just take your car?" Levi asked, and you noticed his gaze was now roving over the unblemished patches of snow around you, how it really did seem like a thick and pure blanket fallen over the world.

"Well, this is the more fun, scenic route.  Plus it's kinda dangerous to drive in weather like this before they've cleared the roads, especially with the ice underneath.

You could see that his cheeks and his nose were already starting to turn red, and that he'd mimicked how you had your scarf on.  Not wanting him to catch a cold--especially because you knew proper medicine was more of a luxury where he lived--you reached over and wrapped the scarf around his face, causing him to pause and give you a blank stare.  You coughed, hoping your blush could be passed off as a result of the cold like him.

"Besides, I want to show you this place in the forest.  One of my favorite things about when it's cold and snowy like this is what it sometimes does to the plants," you said as if you hadn't just wrapped the scarf around his face, continuing forwards and trudging through the snow in the direction of the nearby park that had the forest trail.

"Why do I feel like you've got this whole thing planned out?"

"Because I do.  I've been waiting for you to show up on a snow day for what feels like forever.  I can think of six things I want to try and fit into this one day--six!" You shrugged, as if it was still the most casual thing in the world, attempting to adopt his usual indifferent attitude to tease him a bit.  "Course, three things we can do at the park alone, so, no big deal," you said with a sniff, flashing him a mischievous smile a heartbeat later.

"And those things are…?"

"Well, we're gonna look at something.  Then we're gonna build something.  And then we're gonna do something."

Levi snorted.  "So informative."

"What? I was more specific:  looking, building, doing," you said with a pout before you pointed up at the park just ahead of you.  "Besides, we're practically here."

The park itself wasn't the pristine picture the rest of the snowy fields seemed to be--there were remnants of snow sculptures and forts, a few shakily made snowmen, footprints all over the place and snow splattered along the side of equipment.  The two of you trudged past that, though, and into the forest that was far less disturbed.  No one wanted to be hiking in this weather, except you two crazy teenagers, apparently.

Levi’s fingers brushed against a bush, and looking back you could see that some of the branches and leaves were encapsulated in ice.

"Almost, but I'm looking for something specific," you said cryptically.  There was this one tree at a fork in the forest path that you knew would look gorgeous trapped in ice like that, so you were keeping hush hush about it, leading the two of you deeper into the woods like you were the villain in a child's fairytale.

The crunch of snow and the blowing of the wind was the only sound, the icy air cutting at your lungs and making your breathing a little heavier than normal as you trudged uphill, frustrated to hear that Levi didn't seem to be struggling behind you.  You didn't understand how, but he appeared to be unbothered by the physical strain, at least for now.

After several minutes of hiking where Levi admired the wintery scenery around the two of you and you navigating, you finally came to your tree.

It was a weeping willow, placed by human hands at the fork in the path for aesthetic scenery purposes.  But right now, with the ice covering every branch and leaf in perfect, unclouded clarity like it had been entrapped in glass, branches swaying just slightly in the breeze…

It looked gorgeous.

"My favorite thing about winter isn't all the activities--its how the ice freezes over the trees.  I think it's beautiful," you said pensively, your hand cupping beneath some of the willow strands and letting the iced over, draped branches slip through your fingers.  "It's like they're frozen in time…"

Levi stood a few feet back, hands in his pockets, breath puffing steadily in front of him as he looked up at the magnificent tree that was 'frozen in time,' his gaze returning to you in time to see you disappearing behind a thick curtain of the iced over branches and leaves.  While he couldn't see you, you crouched down and tried to make a snowball as fast as you could, catching a glimpse of him moving to join you under the tree, which caused you to giggle and take a step or two back, your hastily made snowball hidden behind your back.

As soon as he stepped into the shelter of the tree, you practically slapped the snowball into his neck with the close range you were at, acting before you could doubt yourself, shrieking maniacally as your dipped your hand into the snow for another one, heart pounding at what you'd just initiated.

"What the f--"

"SNOWBALL FIGHT!" you shrieked, tossing another one at him that splattered harmlessly against his side.  You attempted to flee, trying to scoop up more snow as you darted out from under the willow, whipping around to see Levi already had one in his hand.  You flung instinctively, the shot sailing harmlessly over his shoulder and causing you to shriek again as he tossed his at you in retaliation, the snowball hitting squarely in the center of your chest.

"You brat!"

"I got you, admit it!  Take tha--shit!"

"Like this is a fight you can win!"

"I missed again?  Wait, fuck, no, stop, I'm a terrible shot--ack!"

"You asked for it!"

"I've made a terrible mistake, have mercy--EEK!"

"HAH!"

"I surrender, uncle, uncle, I give, stop!"

The snowball fight had quickly turned into a snowball execution, Levi pelting you with snowballs with that ridiculous speed and wicked aim of his while your shots kept going wide and missing him while you tried in vain to run from him, ending with you laughing and shrieking, hunched over and taking a few more snowballs before Levi finally stopped.  You peeked your head up warily...and he crushed one last snowball atop your head, making you do a cold shiver dance as snow slipped down inside your shirt.

"There...I think that's a lesson learned," Levi was saying smugly, watching you do the cold dance with a smirk on his face.  He looked flushed though--you doubted from exertion, most likely from the cold.

"How about we do something less competitive--like make a snowman?  At least one?  And then we can go sledding.  We can take a break after that, I know a coffee shot that should still be open."

"As long as you don't make any more sad excuses at that snowball assault," Levi teased you, and you pouted, which only made him chuckle.

He was smiling and laughing, though.  And seeing snow for the first time.  This day was already a win for you. Now you just needed to try and get to the end of your list of what you wanted to try with him before he went back.  Who knew if the snow would still be here when he came back again?

The snowman building and the sledding didn't last as long as you might have thought they would.  The snowman you two made by the willow tree was more of a monument to the fact the two of you had been there, complete with you wrapping your scarf around the snowman's 'neck' as a finishing touch, since it wasn't doing much in the way of warming you up draped loosely around your neck like that.

The sledding had been fun at first, trying desperately to guide the inflatable inner tube you'd bought at the nearest store down a steep hill before trudging all the way back up got tiring fast for you.  The final straw, though, had come when you made a ramp from the snow, managed to hit it on your way down, and then promptly fell off the inner tube midair, causing you and Levi to go flying in different directions through the air with no soft landings.  You were dazed after that, and Levi declared it the end of the sledding part of the day, demanding you move on to the next thing.  Besides, it was getting dark, so you were running out of time to do what you wanted to.

Little did he know…

After your annihilation with the sled, you'd guided Levi towards a coffee shop while nursing an ache in your head and shoulders where you'd slammed your body against the ground, still a little dazed.  You were both flushed from the cold and tired at this point, so the burst of warm air was extremely refreshing.

Levi looked around the little shop with a critical eye while you stomped snow off at the entrance mat, rubbing your hands together for added warmth.  "You haven't had coffee before, have you?"

"Never heard of it."

You gasped dramatically.  "You don't have coffee where you're from?  Oh the humanity!"  He rolled his eyes at your antics, and you walked forward towards the counter.  "Well, it's a hot drink, kind of like hot chocolate or tea...but also much different.  Its good for waking up or staying warm, and it can be made in all sorts of different ways.  In fact, what kind of stuff do you usually drink?  Besides water?"

Levi shrugged.  "Tea."

"Any kind of tea in particular?  Herbal, black, white, green, fruit?  Do you add lemon, or sugar, or milk, or anything like that?"

Levi looked away, like something you'd said bothered him, though you couldn't pinpoint what.  "Plain.  I drink my tea plain.  I do prefer black tea, when I can get it."

"Okay, black tea...strong, bold, dark, maybe with a bit of a nutty taste or malty...I know espresso is a different beast, but you might want something with more espresso...maybe a nut flavoring to help balance out the bitter without getting too sweet...You're not big on sweet things, right?"

Levi shook his head.  "I don't get many sweet things where I live."

You nodded, chewing your lip.  "Okay, so...toffee nut might be too sweet, so...either a hazelnut latte with an extra shot of espresso, or a hazelnut americano."

"What's the difference?"

"One is made with milk, the other with hot water.  I mean, maybe if you were more used to coffee I'd say go with the americano, cause there's not many other flavors to block out the overpowering taste of the espresso, but the latte I feel like has more that balances it all out."

"I didn't realize picking a damn drink was such a project."

"Like you don't fuss over your tea with the leaves and water temperature and extra flavorings."

"...Tch."

"But also the americano might be closer to tea--"

"Just get me the damn latte and be done with it," he groaned, cutting you off before you could spiral further in these circles.

"Fine, fine, go find a table for us and I'll get the coffees," you said in a semi defensive voice that had the hint of a laugh at the end with how exasperated he sounded.  He wandered off towards the back to a two person table by the window, taking the seat with his back against the wall so he could see the whole room and you as you went to the counter, ordering his hazelnut latte and your own coffee, as well as two fresh rolls.  You waited patiently for your order, which didn't take too long because there weren't many people out and about right now in this weather--plus, this was officially dark enough the streetlights were turning on.

Taking the seat across from him, you placed the latte in front of him and reached into the little bag you brought with you, breaking apart the two rolls and holding one out to him.  “Here--I figured something to actually eat would be good, too,” you said cheerfully.

For some reason, Levi hesitated for a brief second, fingers hovering over the roll before starting to retract, eyes a little unfocused before he took the roll from you.  Strange, why that was a thing, but you brushed it off in favor of drinking from your cup of chosen coffee, cupping both hands around the cup to help you warm up.

“We can warm up in here for a while before heading back outside.  It’s only going to get colder as night settles in.”

“This is one of those six things you wanted to do, right?  Get coffee?” Levi asked, hands on the cup he had yet to drink from, allowing it to warm up his bare fingers.  Actually, looking at the window you could see some spots on the window where condensation had been wiped away on the inside, along the edge of the frost that was creeping along the outside of the window.  Had he been tracing the ice while he waited for you?

“It is, yeah.”

“It’s going to be dark, then, by the time we get to the sixth thing.  Was that intentional?”

You nodded.  “There’ll be far less people there if we go later when it’s dark out.  Plus, I think it’ll be prettier.”

“Are you going to tell me what the last thing is?”

“Nope.  You’ll have to wait and see.”

Levi scowled, finally taking a sip from the coffee you’d chosen for him.  He made a face at the first taste, and for a moment, you were worried he wasn’t going to like it and would set it right back down.  He took another sip, though, and he wasn’t neglecting the cup.  He didn’t seem to think it was the best thing in the world, but at least he was drinking it.

He was probably going to stick to tea, though, based on that expression.

“Well, what do you think so far?” you asked him after the two of you sat in silence for several minutes, nursing your coffees and letting yourselves warm up while you nibbled on your respective bread rolls.

“About the snow?”  When you didn’t correct him, he looked back outside the window.  It was still snowing, but much lighter than it had been before--like light flurries, or something out of a Christmas movie.  The snowflakes that hit the window evaporated almost instantly, revealing it had turned into the kind of snow that didn’t stick.  “It’s nice.”

You gave a pleased smile and took another sip from your cup, glad that so far your little endeavor to make snow and winter a positive experience for him had worked, despite the little hiccups along the way like falling off the sled and coffee apparently not being his thing.  At least he’d been willing to give it a try, though.

For the most part, the two of you sat in companionable silence, Levi asking the occasional question about the piano and what you were learning or pieces he was learning, and even giving you a tentative question about how the whole college thing was panning out.  It was still stressful, and as you’d said before, your...situation, or rather the people around you, were only making it so much harder for you and really getting under your skin about it all.  But Levi’s words from last time were something you were clinging to in order to help you push through these last few months before you would graduate high school and you could finally get out of here.

Just another one of the many reasons you were glad to have him in your life.  You wished he could stay with you, that you could keep him here.  His life in his world didn’t sound pleasant at all, and you knew he’d already been through some dark things.  Maybe if he was here, he could have a better life, things would be easier for him.

And...and maybe he’d choose to spend it with you.

You were blushing at the thought, and you panicked slightly when you remembered you weren’t outside, you were warm inside, and there was no biting cold to blame on the flush in your cheeks.  Finishing the cup of coffee with a rather painful swallow, you started gathering up your things, glancing out the window to see the sun had fully set and darkness had taken over the sky.

“We should probably get going.  Yeah, night might be the better time to go, but if we wait too long you might blip back, or they might close, so…” you said quickly, getting to your feet and tucking hair into your hat as a way to hide the fact that you were rubbing your cheeks in a weird hope that it would make the flush go away, or maybe give you an excuse.  Levi was still giving you an odd look, though, his eyebrows raised, but he got up without commenting on the blush.

Aw jeez, what if he saw, though?  He was so damn observant.  And what if he already knew?  What if he already knew that you’d been sneaking glances of him the past year or so that he’d come to visit you?  What if he knew you were starting to look for excuses to reach out and touch him, even for a moment?  What if he knew that part of the reason you buried your face in his chest whenever you two hugged or were curled close together--whether it was on the hood of a car or on the couch watching a show--was to hide the furious burn in your cheeks, and to let you simply breathe him in for a few moments?  What if he knew that the times that he tended to blip through into your world was when you wanted nothing more than to be around him, when you desperately wanted a friend and needed someone there to be a steady presence to help you get back on your feet, or provide a comfort that didn’t feel invasive or demanding on how you should bounce back or how you should be feeling.  What if he knew your heart had started skipping a beat when he looked at you like that with those sharp steel blue eyes, his hair falling in his face…

Ah, snap out of it, stop stop stop!  You’re friends!  Who knows if he even thinks of you that way, just...uhg, this isn’t about you, this is about him, this is his first snow, just...just focus on that right now, you can puzzle over your feelings after he’s left alone in bed throwing out your frustrated complaints about how you don’t know how to talk to people you like into your pillow like you usually do.  Later.  After this.  Focus, the night’s almost over, and he probably won’t be here much longer today, anyway.

Having given yourself a mental berating over the direction of your thoughts, you focused back on the present with a quick huff, straightening up and leading the charge back out into the cold snow, Levi walking leisurely at your side as usual.  It was a longer walk than any you’d done so far, and you were taking him in a direction that you hadn’t taken him before.  He wasn’t around a lot in the winter time, obviously, so he didn’t get to see this little hobby of yours.  Well, maybe not even a hobby, more like a winter pastime.  You were far from a professional or enthusiast.  It was just something you liked to do on occasion when it was cold, and you were hoping that it was something that he would find enjoyable as well.

It was a simple setup, one that matched the smaller town you were in, with a regular clear plastic half-wall lining the edge, plain Christmas lights crisscrossing over the walled off area several feet into the air and anchored to the poles along the outside, or to the small booth that served as the entrance fee area and the place to get rental skates, if there were enough.  Benches lined the outside of the wall, places for spectators to watch or people to put on their ice skates, and the small outdoor ice rink itself was well lit, the ice appearing to glitter between the starlight, Christmas lights, and the lightly falling snow.

There were a few people, but since it was getting dark and the weather was getting colder--it was already below freezing--most people had left or were in the process of leaving as you went to the booth, paying the entrance fee for two teenagers and getting your shoe size, then having an awkward few moments where you got to try and figure out what shoe size Levi was before you finally managed to get a pair that looked like it would fit him, passing his ice skates to him even though you still hadn’t given him an explanation about what you were doing.

You sat down together on a bench near one of the entrances to the rink, and Levi followed suit when you started taking off your shoes and putting the ice skates on in turn.

“Considering you’ve been stupidly good at anything like this so far, I sort of expect you to get the hang of this fairly quickly, but...this is called ice skating,” you explained in a low tone so no one would hear you explaining what this was to him.  “It’s all about balance and such--balance on the blades on your feet, center of balance, that kind of thing.  It might take a bit to get used to, but once you do, you’ll be skating along in no time.  It's something I like to do in the winter, and I thought you might enjoy it, too.”

You finished strapping the skates on, getting to your feet and taking a few careful steps since you were still on concrete until you were standing in front of Levi, holding your hands out for him to take.  “Here--just focus on standing and getting used to balancing on the blades, first,” you told him, pulling him up to his feet and letting him stand in front of you for a few moments, holding tightly to his hands as he wobbled slightly, feet moving from side to side experimentally, picking up one foot and attempting to keep his balance on the other, simply feeling it out for a few seconds while you held him securely in place.

His hands are warm...rough and calloused...but warm...

After he seemed to get his balance, you walked backwards to bring Levi forwards into the ice rink, making sure he kept his balance despite the awkward steps until you reached the smooth ice that the skates were meant for.  The slicing sound of the skate blade against the ice felt right to your ears, and you gave Levi a moment to adjust to the terrain, shifting so that you were standing beside him on the ice instead of in front of him, holding one of his hands.

The remaining skating group seemed to decide they didn’t want to risk crashing into the new skater in the small rink and left, meaning it was just the two of you in the rink as you taught Levi how to push off with the blades, how to turn, how to stop without face planting into the ice.  It was much faster than most people learned, but it was still slower than you expected.  He just seemed to be a natural at so many things, it was almost weird watching him have to progress through figuring out how to ice skate.

Then again, you were teaching him piano, as well, so it wasn’t entirely something new.  Maybe it was just the fact he always seemed to be magically gifted when it came to anything physical or something that had to do with aim, accuracy, speed…

With just the two of you, the rink was pretty quiet.  There were your voices, of course, with you encouraging him and explaining what you showed him on how to do this or that on the skates, how to speed up and slow down, how to do a hard and sudden stop (again, without face planting).  Levi occasionally made a few quips or grumbles, though none of it was mean spirited.  He seemed focused on what you were showing him, and he was learning it fairly quickly.  You might even dare to say he was having fun.

The other sounds were the slicing of your skates against the ice, and the music playing over loudspeakers on the poles for patrons to skate to if they wanted to.  The man running the booth wasn’t even paying attention to the two of you, he was watching tv on a tiny screen you could barely see through the window in the booth, meaning that for now, it was just the two of you, despite the normally public setting.

Once Levi had his balance and he was able to skate on his own, namely in a circle, considering you hadn’t taught him any tricks yet since you were rather focused on...just skate, you let his hand go, albeit reluctantly.  Still, it would allow him to get comfortable in the skates and skate on his own without leaning on you like a crutch--and the entire thing would be much more enjoyable for him if he could do it on his own without your help.

Once you were no longer teaching him the basics, you took off to go at your normal speed, skating fairly quickly around the rink, getting the feel for being in the skates again--figure skates, mind you.  You liked trying to pull off tricks, and you liked trying to time them to the music.  You weren’t an Olympic figure skater, but you could do some basic tricks.  Not only was it something that you liked doing and that gave you a degree of accomplishment, but it was also a moment to let yourself shine and show off a bit around Levi.

Closing your eyes, you simply felt the movement, the feel of the breeze created by your movement against your face, gravity acting on your body as you leaned this way or that for a turn.  You listened to the music, getting a feel for the beat and the pace before you started adjusting to try and match the music.  When the beat dropped, you attempted a leap and spin--just a quick one, landing a little shakily because it had been a while since you’d done this, but still sticking the landing for the most part.  Smiling slightly to yourself, you did it again with the next beat drop, the landing going much smoother.  You did a few simple movements as well as a few balancing attempts--skating on one foot was a little tricky and required quite a bit of balance, but you could do it--not that you let your foot go too far off the ground--you weren’t trying to form two right angles with your legs and upper body, you had a slight fear of losing your balance forward and causing a bad accident trying to pull that off.  It was simple leg up stuff that you tried.  And as long as you were paying attention, eyes open and alert to your surroundings, you could skate backwards, too--which you did.  It was at that point that you turned to see Levi watching you while you were skating, an intensity in his expression you hadn’t been expecting.  You blushed slightly to catch him staring at you, then gave him a smile, a wave, and you turned back around to do a nonchalant figure eight down the center, cutting across to the other side, doing a little spin before you came to skate beside him.

“So, what do you think?” you asked him warmly, skating casually beside him for the time being, staying on the inside so you were the one making the tighter turns.

“Think you could show me some of those tricks?” he asked, eyes down and directed towards your skates.  You chuckled, lifting one of your legs just slightly off the ice and unsurprised to find him mirroring your movements.  He was a little wobbly at first, just like when he’d stood up, but he quickly evened out, and he even was able to lean into the turns without crashing.  “I’d say wait for the harder ones like leaping spins until you’re a bit more experienced with the skates.  Maybe just stick to movements and patterns.  Lifting a leg, figure eights, skating backwards, that kind of thing.”

“What, you think that little of me?”

You snorted.  “On the contrary, you have a gift for learning these kinds of things.  I’m actually pretty envious how easily everything seems to come to you.”

“Not everything,” he mumbled, and you thought you saw his cheeks were flushed again.  Though maybe it was the cold.  It was far below freezing at this point, and the two of you were skating around, that freezing air blowing on your exposed skin in an almost cutting manner.  You hadn’t really noticed that much, though.  “Skating backwards shouldn’t be too hard, right?”

While you had expected him to try it, you hadn’t expected him to try it right at that very moment as he was skating beside you.  His hand suddenly grasped your arm, and he did a hard turn like he’d seen you do a few times for your tricks, coming to a slightly wobbly stop--not a full stop, you were both still moving--directly in front of you, one of his feet planted between your legs and the other on the outside.  He was, for the moment, skating backwards.

“It’s gonna be inverted, remember?  So instead of leaning--”

“I know,” he said with a huff, glancing behind him and leaning in a mirror of the direction you moved to turn with the curve of the small rink, his grip on your arm tightening slightly and his gaze down at your feet to make sure you two didn’t get tangled up in one another.

You went around the rink like this once...twice...eventually he stopped looking at the turns behind him or the skates below, his grip on your arm going lower...lower...closer to your hand...his eyes focused solely on you as you strangely enough took over guiding the two of you in nonchalant circles around the rink, feeling that gaze of his making your cheeks burn until, after a turn into the longer stretch of ice, you turned to look at him and ask what he was staring at.

He kissed you.

There was no warning.  You hardly had time to turn your head to face him before his lips were against yours.  His lips were cold because of the weather, maybe a little dry as well, but just like his hands, despite the rough and cold outer appearance, it was...soft.  Hesitant, even, like he might pull away at the first sign of discomfort.  You sucked in a sharp breath in surprise, feeling yourself lean into him, start to put more weight on him as you kissed him back just as hesitantly.

You were both frozen like that for a few moments, cold lips pressed together, timid and unsure about what to do, neither of you having done this before and knowing what came next.  But despite the freezing temperature and dry lips, it was still warm--or, it caused a warm feeling in your chest, a nervous and overeager squirm in your belly as your mind started to work again and all these thoughts started to crash down on you, realization of what this meant, what it could mean, that this was your first kiss, that Levi was kissing you, holding you a little closer to him.  After that initial freeze, you both tried to keep going, the inexperience showing but neither of you wanting to pull away.  If anything, you leaned into him a bit more, lips moving against his in the way you thought they were supposed to, his attempting to follow in kind.  As if to help guide both of you, his hand reached up to brush his knuckles carefully against your cheek, your head tilting slightly to the side in a reaction to the touch.

He felt warm.  He felt comfortable.  He felt inviting--like you belonged here, right here with him, stumbling through figuring out what came next, with him holding tight to you to help keep you steady when you started to shake, and you there to return the favor.

Your heart was pounding in your ears, and you felt breathless, felt your knees start to shake, the skates wobbling beneath you as Levi started to pull away, just as gently as he came in for the kiss.  Your eyes, squeezed shut a few moments ago as if that could help freeze the moment in time like the branches on the willow, started to open.

The presence you were leaning into in front of you suddenly disappeared, and with the amount of weight you’d been putting forward, you lost your balance, falling hard onto the ice with a skidding slide, palms burning against the cold ice as you pushed up onto your elbows, looking around in bewilderment.

And then you just...stayed there.  Just sat there.  Completely alone in the skating rink.  No one around to so much as witness what had happened, or confirmed it was real.

No Levi.

Just you.

Alone.

Alone on the ice before you could even release the breath you’d been holding.

*Levi’s POV*

Levi opened his eyes not to the chilling air and the bright lights both from the stairs and the strings of lights above, not to Y/N’s face aglow in that light, that blush in her cheeks that she’d kept trying to brush off as the cold despite her lingering touches, no lightly falling snow that left wet drops like dew on her cheeks, nose, and forehead.  He was alone in the silence of the Underground, lying stretched out on a couch with an arm behind his head under a pillow, staring up at the dark ceiling of his current place of residence.

He closed his eyes tightly, trying to will himself back to that moment, feeling a bubbling anger rising in his chest.  Nothing was happening.  He couldn’t smell the fresh air, couldn’t hear the faint music, couldn’t feel her hand against his arm or her lips against his, couldn’t feel the unsteady weight of having those blades under his feet.  He held his breath, eyes shut as tight as he could, trying so damn hard to get back there.

But nothing changed.  Even though there was nowhere he wanted to be more right now.

Levi opened his eyes slightly, peering at the ceiling without really seeing it, hand stretching out in front of him like he was reaching out to that mental image of the girl running ahead of him, just out of reach even as he stretched, tried to grab onto her even as she slipped through his fingers like smoke, far out of his reach.

Levi’s outstretched hand turned into a fist, and he slammed it against the wall the couch was pushed up against, hearing something crack.  “Shit!”

It had been so perfect.  He’d been watching her the whole time, watching her move so gracefully and freely, so confident and just so...so...beautiful.  And she didn’t seem to even realize that was how he saw her.  Didn’t seem to realize just how much she was worth to him.  He couldn’t help himself--he hadn’t even realized what he was doing until his lips were on hers.  But it had still felt so right in that moment, in that single, fleeting, perfect moment.

And now he was right back here.  All over again.  He didn’t even get the chance to open his eyes and see her reaction, and it pissed him off.  Now he had to wait, and he hated the thought.  Anger and frustration bubbled right to the surface as he got up off the couch, unable to sit still as he got to his feet with a dark, sulking look on his face at how robbed he felt right now.

Though there was also a tiny part of him that was scared because he hadn’t been able to see her reaction.  Especially now that he’d just disappeared on her.

He didn’t know how long he could wait--he knew he’d have to, but it had to come eventually.  He’d go back soon, surely, and he could see her then, he could try to figure out what that kiss was to her when he went back, what it meant for them.  Even if part of him was nervous to know how she was going to take it, even if he had no idea what this meant for them, fuck, he had to know, and he couldn’t stand to wait another hour!

What Levi didn’t know at the time...was that it would be years before he ever saw her again.

Next Chapter---->

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Levi Tags:  @clary-quinn  @humanitys-hottestsoldier  @whalerus @sunny-flo @thirstyforsometea @hauntedhousecat @peaches-and-clouds

Through The Looking Glass Tags:  @artist-bby @kaz2y5-pie @tartheyes @super-peace-fangirl @huntersbunker @nefelimalfoy @soft-levi-girl-blog @honeygivemeachainsaw @regalillegal @sugas-daddy7 @cathyannecookie @chaoticshepardplaid @roayaloveslife @sanrioclit @wvnderfvllyalvne @sparkling-gayyyy @do-not-feed-sugar​

[supernaturaldesires]

A Descent Into Insanity - Chapter Three

Based on request by @sweetpotato-97

Could ask for a fic of Yandere Dean with a reader who sees him as a best friend and a form of brother for them, of course in the beginning Dean was not a yandere but he changed with the passage of time?

Note: the reader in a way is innocent and does not know that Dean is in love with them.

Pairing: None (yet)

Characters: Dean & Sam

Warnings: none, other than a slightly protective Dean

Word Count: 1,249

"Only problem is, I couldn’t find out how to kill the thing,” you sighed as you finished catching the Winchesters up on your research.

Sam rubbed his face. “I’ll call up a couple of hunters we know,” he suggested. “See if they’ve come across a siren before - someone must’ve.” He grinned at you then. “Good job, Y/N, this is great work!”

You beamed at the younger Winchester, but out of the corner of your eye you noticed a scowl on Dean’s face. When your gaze flicked over to him, he looked away before pushing back from the table. “I’m going to bed,” he grumbled, before stalking out without another word. You exchanged a look with Sam, but honestly he looked exhausted from his day and you didn’t want to bother him about Dean being a miserable git.

“Do you want me to call the others?” You offered, knowing that he wouldn’t agree - and rightly so. Other than the Winchesters, you didn’t really know any other hunters. You knew unless Sam or Dean called them directly, they wouldn’t tell you jack-shit. Hunters weren’t exactly the type to blab to anyone who started asking questions.

Sam gave you a grateful smile. “I’m good, thanks. Go get some rest.”

As you were scoffing down breakfast the next morning, Sam sauntered in with a grin on his face.

“Well that looks like the face of someone who knows how to waste a siren,” you chuckled at him.

“You bet! Check this out,” Sam said as he took a seat at the table and shuffled closer to you, pulling out scraps of notes from his pocket. “Bobby said there are a couple of options with sirens. They’re vulnerable to severe trauma. If you beat the shit out of it enough, it is possible to take one down. But the sure-fire way of wasting one is using a bronze dagger-”

“Well that shouldn’t be too hard,” you said cheerfully. “I’ve got one in my weapons trunk.”

“-Covered in the blood of one of its victims,” Sam finished.

“Ah. Less good.”

“Yeah,” Sam huffed out a tired laugh. “Less good.” 

You shook off the doubt starting to cloud over you and placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “No sweat. Let’s get to Indianapolis at least and we can figure something out.”

“You alright there, care bears?” Dean’s stone-cold voice made you both jump as you both looked up at him in the kitchen doorway. You and Sam shared a brief look of confusion at his comment before returning your gaze to the elder Winchester. Dean’s eyes were fixated on your hand still resting on Sam’s shoulder, which you dropped immediately.

Sam let out a frustrated sigh, pushing away from the table and glaring at his brother. “What’s your problem, Dean?” He snapped. “Why have you been acting so weird these last few days?”

Dean shrugged him off, entering one of his famous silent moods. You really couldn’t be bothered with this right now. “Anyway,” you said loudly. “I’m going to get ready for this hunt. I suggest you both do the same.” You left the kitchen in a huff, and as soon as you left the room you heard hushed bickering between the two brothers.

Just as you were zipping up your duffle bag, you noticed Dean standing in the doorway of your bedroom, leaning against the doorframe. “This is starting to become a habit, you silently appearing in doorways,” you commented over your shoulder. You were still pissed off with his attitude really and didn’t particularly care to look at him.

“I’m sorry.” You froze then, certain you had misheard him. Did Dean Winchester really just apologise to you?

You slowly turned to look at him then, but you were suspicious. “What are you sorry for?” He took a step into the room and for a moment you thought he was going to approach you, but he seemed to reconsider and stopped. 

“I care about you, Y/N,” he said softly, taking you by surprise. “I...I think I love you.”

You scoffed an incredulous laugh. “Okay, haha, very funny. What is this really all about?”

Dean approached you then, standing so close that you could feel his breath on your face. “I just want to keep you safe,” he murmured. “If anything happened to you, I couldn’t live with myself.”

What on earth was going on with him? “It’s a bit early for the drink, isn’t it? Even for you, Dean.” But the reality was you couldn’t smell a whiff of alcohol on his breath. And god knows he was close enough that you would be able to. His eyes held yours, almost like he was trying to communicate with you telepathically. You didn’t even notice his hand slip into his pocket until the cloth was clamped over your nose and mouth, his other hand quickly wrapping round your waist to hold you still.

You immediately bucked and tried to fight him off. “What the fu-” you tried to scream through the cloth but within seconds, everything faded to black.

Dean’s POV

“C’mon Sammy, let’s hit the road,” I said as I hitched my bag over my shoulder.

Sam looked up from his laptop, his eyebrows knotted together in confusion. “Where’s Y/N?”

“She’s not feeling well,” I said. It was only a half-lie. Technically she was passed out on her bed, so she certainly wasn’t ready to go on a hunt.

A disbelieving eyebrow raised on Sam’s face. “Are you sure? She seemed fine half an hour ago. What happened?”

"I dunno man, maybe it’s her time of the month or something,” I muttered. I knew Sam wouldn’t believe me. So when he wordlessly stood up and trudged down the hallway towards her room, I followed closely behind him. He nudged the door to Y/N’s room open and saw her lying under the duvet, just as I’d left her. “See? She’s resting, so I wouldn’t disturb her. You know how moody she gets when she gets woken up.” Sam gave me another suspicious look before silently making his way to the garage, and I followed.

Your POV

When you woke up, you felt groggy. Why were you under your bedsheets fully-clothed? You sat up and rubbed your eyes as the last few moments of your consciousness resurfaced from your memory. The hunt. Dean. The cloth.

“Son of a bitch!” you cussed as you launched yourself out of the bed, stumbling over your own feet a little in your half-drugged state. Using the wall for support until you gained your balance, you headed straight for the garage and, as you expected, the Impala was missing. 

Letting out a frustrated scream, you dug into your pocket for your phone and stabbed the keypad until Dean’s number was dialling. Voicemail. Of course. You tried Sam’s. To your relief, the call was answered.

“Y/N.” It was Dean that had picked up, throwing you off guard for a moment. Only a moment.

“Dean, what the fuck are you doing? You drugged me?”

“We will talk when I get back,” he said coldly. The line went dead. With a frustrated scream, you punched the wardrobe and heard a crack. You drew your fist back and at the sight of the hole, you hoped that was all that made the sound. Then the pain kicked in and you clutched your hand in agony.

That son of a bitch. Just wait until you laid your eyes on him.

<= Chapter Two

Chapter Four =>

Dean tags: @akshi8278​

Divider credit: @firefly-graphics​

[willofhounds]

I need to connect

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23330155

A/N Once again this will be another one-shot.

Warnings: No happy ending. Soulmate au. Aizawa/Izuku pair

"Speaking"

:Thoughts:

Aizawa's POV

Coffee in between hero work and before he was needed at the school was his usual routine. There was one shop in town that made the best roast. It was strong enough to keep him awake most mornings.

Shouta was more exhausted than normal, however. More than one cup was needed to keep him alert.

Heroes from all over the city were called in for a fight. Apparently, the Kings were at it again. Normally heroes didnt interfere with the Kings as they kept to themselves. However, the Red and Blue King were becoming increasingly public with their fights. It seemed almost as if a war between them was on the horizon.

Just before the appearance of quirks, there was a discovery in Germany. Scientists had found a Slate with unrecognizable carvings etched into it. They called it a relic and began to study it.

Germans and the Japanese thought it would create the next level of soldiers for war. Given the state of their world at the time it could have made the difference. If they could only learn how to forcefully activate the relic.

The relic was rightfully dubbed the Slate. By bringing mice as test subjects they found the Slate resonated with certain rats. When they resonated with it the rat would gain heightened intelligence or extra powers. Their powers were marked by a sword above their heads. It would be later named a Sword of Damocles.

Despite the scientists' best efforts, they were unable to get it to resonate with a human. Until a bombing run happened on their facility. More than half of the scientists were killed. Including a young scientist who was the twin sister of the head scientist.

Her brother was saved by the Slate's power and was given the power of the Silver Sword of Damocles. Adolf K. Weissman became the First and Silver King.

After that Japan took it back with them. A young Lieutenant became the Second and Gold King. With Weissman wanting nothing to do with the world any longer he took control over it.

As time passed it was revealed that there were 7 Swords of Damocles. Those who wielded the Swords and the powers that came with them were declared Kings. Kings only answered to themselves and in serious situations the Gold King.

Then came quirks and with the heroes. In the beginning heroes and villains alike fought against the Kings. It wasnt until the Gold King stepped in that peace between heroes and Kings resumed.

As long as innocents weren't injured the Kings would answer only to each other. Clansman had to answer to laws just like normal citizens. Though most ignored that rule. They felt the only ones they answered to were the Kings that commanded them.

Times were changing though. The Gold King was getting old and could no longer keep control over the younger generation. SCEPTER4 led by the Blue King stepped in when things got too dangerous. Or if the Red King was involved.

Heroes were beginning to be needed for rescues more often than before. SCEPTER4 could create shields to protect civilians but the flames of HOMRA were powerful. If the police even though it was HOMRA, SCEPTER4 would be immediately notified.

Heroes couldn't even put out the fire correctly until the Red King left. His mere presence was enough to keep the flames going.

Last night had been no different. Shouta helped rescue trapped civilians while SCEPTER4 tried to suppress HOMRA. At one point it appeared the Red King had lost control over his powers. Even at the first aid site half a mile away, they could feel the heat.

It was well after three am when the two groups dispersed. More than a dozen members of HOMRA were captured and arrested for their part in the destruction. None of them seemed particularly important and that frustrated the underground hero.

As he entered his favorite coffee shop he noted that it was mostly empty. A boy maybe in his late teens or early twenties was ordering at the counter. From the back all he could see was his green hair and that he was wearing a black t-shirt with jeans. The way he held himself spoke of quiet confidence.

The barista said cheerfully, "Its good to see you again, Midoriya. Your usual again today? How is Totsuka doing?"

Midoriya replied equally as cheerful, "I am well. Need Mr. Kusangi, Tatara, and Mr. Mikoto's coffee as well today. Mr. Kusangi was injured last night against the mafia group that's been causing trouble. Then the Blues showed up and only aggravated his injury. So Tatara and I will be running the bar."

There was a widening in the barista's eyes as she exclaimed, "Oh no! Poor Mr. Kusanagi. I know he means a lot to you guys. He's always looking after those of us who can't look after ourselves. Or those of us who are being bullied. Before HOMRA we had no one we could really go to for help. Heroes in this area are too overworked to help with anything like the mafia."

Shouta froze in surprise. HOMRA attacked a mafia group? That was why they were out last night?

That didnt fit their M.O. From what he learned they were a ragtag group who focused on their own needs. Heroes and the police never considered that there might be more behind the fights.

Midoriya answered, "We will always look after those that we can. If anyone else tries to let me or Tatara know. Or you drop by the bar anytime."

"Goodbye, Midoriya. Tell Mr. Kusanagi that we all hope that heals quickly."

Midoriya turned to face Shouta who stayed as relaxed as possible. He couldn't arrest this kid right now. Not only was he likely another small fry. Heroes and police couldn't take in a King or clansman unless they were committing a crime.

He was lucky that his hero clothes could be mistake for civilian clothes. Unless he pulled his goggles out from under his scarf then he wouldn't be seen as a hero.

Midoriya passed by him and because of the small space between Shouta and the door. Their shoulders bumped. Right where the soulmate mark that he had hidden every day since he decided he wanted to be a hero. The younger man didnt even pause as he went through the door.

Another thing that had appeared with quirks and King were soulmates. Most people had a soulmate and when they turned seven their mark appeared on their body. Shouta's was of a black cat with red eyes and a green bunny encircled by a red flame. Connecting the two animals were a white that looked like his capture scarf.

Something itched in the back of his mind. It felt off in a way but for the moment he ignored it. He needed information and this was the best spot to get it. A quick text to Hisashi asked his friend to watch his homeroom class.

With that done he approached the counter. The barista gave him a grin and inquired, "What can I get for you?"

Shouta replied nodding over his shoulder at the door, "Black coffee with two sugars, please. What can you tell me about that boy?"

"Midoriya?" She questioned absent-mindedly, "Honestly not much. I first met him when HOMRA first took him in. Word is that his mother was murdered by a villain. HOMRA took him in when his father abandoned him. Ever since that day he has not left them. Like most members, he is loyal to a fault."

"Do you know his first name?"

She nodded as she replied, "Izuku I believe. Izuku Midoriya."

That was all the information she could give on the teenager. It was enough however that he could start an investigation when he got back to the school.

As he expected both Hizashi and Nemuri cornered him as soon as he returned. They were curious about why he would be late. It wasn't often that he was late beyond a few minutes.

With some well-timed snaps, he was able to get then to back off. He didnt want to get them involved until he was sure about the boy. That would require research.

What he found was alarming. Izuku Midoriya was classified as a missing person but presumed dead. Inko Midoriya had been murdered by an unknown villain in their home when he was just 6 years old. Hisashi Midoriya had taken custody of the child for a short time before he disappeared.

Three months after the murder of his wife Hisashi filed a missing person's report on Izuku. The police searched but there were no signs of the boy. It was as if he disappeared off the face of the earth.

If he was picked up by HOMRA then that would make sense. If Midoriya was part of the fighting then the higher ranking members would protect him until he could protect himself.

Shouta's estimation of his age was right on the mark. Midoriya was 17 almost eighteen now. He had been with HOMRA for over a decade. That would make the bonds thicker than blood. It would also make him one of the first clansmen.

When the mother was murder Mikoto Souh had only been a King for a few months. Would a King mark a child as a clansman was the question. There wasn't enough information to answer it.

In the afternoon he took a nap in preparation for the upcoming evening. He awoken not by his alarm but by his soulmate mark burning like it was on fire. Anger that was not own coursed through his mind.

A moment later his phone went off. An officer said on the other side where explosions could be heard, "Eraserhead! You need to get down to the Southside immediately. Villains have acted HOMRA's base!"

Fuck! Absolutely nothing good could come of this.

Izuku's POV

He ducked behind Mikoto as a blue flamed villain rushed at HOMRA. The heat that his King gave off in response even made members of HOMRA flinch. They were strong and resistant to fire. That did not make them invincible, however.

There wasn't time to hide behind his King. He had a job to do that only he could perform.

Most of the clan were heavy tanks like fighters. There were three who preferred to stay out of the fighting.

One was Anna Kushina. She was the princess of HOMRA. Like Izuku she had been taken in when her family abandoned her. She was born a Strain. Someone who had abilities but they didnt come from a King. She could see the auras of Kings and clansmen. As a second ability given when she became a clansman, she gained a location ability. They thought she had a slight clairvoyance ability but it was hard to tell.

The second was Tatara Totsuka. He was a friend of Mikoto and Izumo before HOMRA was founded. Tatara held the ability to calm the hearts of those around him. In all the years he had known the older man he had never seen him fight. Always using his ability to stop a fight before it truly began.

Finally was Izuku. After his mother was murdered by a villain and his father abandoned him Mikoto took him in. With the help of Izumo and Tatara, he learned what he would in school. Through Mikoto, he learned how to fight.

Unlike the others, Izuku could use his flames in a fight. The difference was that he chose not to. He held the ability of barriers. Drawing runes in blood activated flame barriers. If you did not carry the mark of the Third King then you could not pass through the barrier.

It wasnt a perfect technique. The amount of time it took to create the runes in made him a target. Though he found out if they weren't removed then they could be used multiple times.

There were traps laid all around the bar for just such an event. Still, he had to set extra rune circles. That would make the barriers stronger. It also gave Yata and Rikio time to evacuate the civilians.

As he finished drawing the final rune he sat back on his heels. Blood dripped from his palm onto the ground. To get adequate blood to draw runes with he had to cut open his palm. He activated his red aura cauterizing the wound. Another pink and silver scar appeared on his palm.

Bringing up his wrist he tapped on his watch calling Yata. The younger boy answered, "Yo?"

"Are all the civilians evacuated? The runes are drawn and ready to be activated," he said watching as Izumo's flames struck out at the villains.

The villains were a tag team that he had seen before on the news. One had a size quirk that allowed his body to grow to enormous sizes. The other could shrink whatever they touched. Including organic materials.

It made sense that Izumo was the one fighting him. Izumo used his lighter to attack at long range. He was the strategist of HOMRA.

Yata replied, "All civilians are evacuated. We are ready for a full-on attack. Be ready to raise the barriers. Yata out!"

Izuku shouted disconnecting his phone, "As soon as Yata and Rikio enter the circle I'll activate the barrier! Anyone not suited for this fight fall back and assist the injured civilians!"

"Sir!"

Members of HOMRA sprung into action. The lower members ran towards the villains. They would keep the villains from escaping. The middle-ranked members were leaving the area to assist the civilians.

Two taps to his shoulder signaled that Yata and Rikio were entering the barrier site. A twinge of annoyance went through the back of his mind. It wasn't his own annoyance. This wasnt the time to think about such a thing though. He had to set the barrier.

Izuku put himself on the battle side of the barrier. Cutting open his hand again he placed his bloodied palm on the primary rune circle. A black shadow rushed across the barrier line into the fighting. It was already too late to stop him from activating his aura the circle's flames erupted from them. It formed a barrier of fire.

He shouted above the fighting, "King barrier is set!"

Mikoto only turned to give him a slight nod. Then nonchalantly joined the fight. Even against villains with quirks he never went all out. The only time Izuku ever sees him get serious was against Reisi Munakata.

Reisi and Mikoto fought like cats and dogs. It was because they were order and chaos in terms of their powers. Blue and red Kings were forever destined to clash. No one could say otherwise.

Izuku stood ready to join the fight when he found an unwelcome sight within the barrier. A man in black sweats with a scarf wrapped around his shoulders stood there. Covering his eyes were a pair of yellow goggles.

It took a moment for Izuku to recognize him. It was the man he bumped into at the coffee shop. Those goggles themselves struck a cord within Izuku. They looked just like the one on his soulmate mark.

His mind was racing. They bumped shoulders in the coffee shop. That was when he started feeling emotions that weren't his. The shoulder that he bumped held his soulmate mark.

The man asked watching the fights as they broke out, "What is going on here?"

Izuku pulled a lighter from his pocket as he said, "Villains attacked our home. Without heed of the civilian's homes that line our streets they attacked. Low and middle-ranking members kept them busy while everyone else evacuated civilians. HOMRA may seem like reckless thugs to you, hero but we care for those who cannot defend themselves. The barrier of fire was only set when everyone was gone."

Eyes widened behind the goggles. Izuku could feel the man's surprise and understanding. Everyone looked down upon HOMRA for being a gang of thugs. The lower-ranked members fit that bill more than the higher-ranked.

Outside of fighting with the Blues HOMRA tended to keep to themselves. It was only when one of their own was threatened that they picked fights.

Izuku was startled by a flash of movement that did not belong to the fighters. Just inside the doorway of the bar stood Anna and Tatara.

What in the twelve hells were they doing outside of the bar? Orders were to stay in King's room.

Mikoto snapped, "Midoriya! Protect Totsuka!"

That had him moving ignoring the possibility that he ran into his soulmate.

:No Blood. No Bone. No Ash,: he chanted within his mind.

The tiny embers that lay just beneath the surface of his skin erupted into flames. He didn't need the cadence for setting barriers. If he wanted to fight then he needed the embers ignited into a true flame.

Rushing to Tatara's side he checked on both he and Anna. They were in good health. Simply watching the fight between the clan and the villains.

The lighter in his hands was just like the one Izumo carried. In fact, most of the middle-ranked members and higher had one. It didnt matter if you smoked or not. The lighters carried the mark of HOMRA engraved into the metal.

They were a right of passage for every clansman. After serving the clan for a year each clansman was given a lighter and a pack of cigarettes carrying the mark. They would forever be a reminder. No matter where you went or if their paths strayed from that of the clan. They would forever be apart of HOMRA.

Izuku used him as a long-range weapon. The metal was strong enough to withstand the flames of his King after all. It would be a waste not to use it when he didnt smoke.

Watching the fight play out was just like the others. Misaki Yata the red-haired vanguard attacked using his skateboard for speed and extra power. Both he and Rikio acted as tanks. They hit hard and blocked attacks meant for the King.

Izumo was watching for any sort of opening to land long distant attacks. The stiffness of his posture spoke of the pain he was in. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't even be in the battle but it was all hands on deck with this attack.

And the King... Mikoto was never one to go with any plan other than his own. The man had heat radiating off of him. Nearby metal object began to distort the closer he got to them. The two villains froze as Mikoto closed in on them.

Above their heads was the Red Sword of Damocles in its glory. Their fires were feeding off of its strength. Fires that were nothing in comparison to the King's.

A rough sounding unfamiliar voice said next to him, "So this is the power of a King. I have not seen this up close like this before."

It was the man from the shop. What was he doing following Izuku?

Izuku responded with a growl, "This is just Mikoto toying with them. Only us clansmen are truly giving it our all. We wish to end this before the Blues decide to make an appearance. Who are you?"

The goggle bearing man replied, "I am the underground hero Eraserhead. I've seen the destruction your people cause. It's hard to believe that you would be attacked without provoking it."

"You're just like everyone else," Izuku bit out scathingly, "You only see what we do in the present second. You don't see past that at why we do what we do. Or at what cost..."

A hand closed around his shoulder cutting Izuku off. A pleasantly warm and calming fire went through him. It calmed his anger at the man in front of him.

Looking back he saw the warm light brown eyes of Tatara staring at him. There was a slight shake of the man's head. Izuku took a deep breath to calm his anger.

Heroes were all the same. They looked down upon the clans. Thought so little of them that they were little more than villains. That wasn't the truth, however.

HOMRA took a lot of the blame for people just having fire quirks. It was easier to write off for the police than spending time actually investigating. They didnt deserve that kind of reputation. HOMRA looked after each other. The eyes were family. Sometimes the only family that they could count on.

Tatata said his eyes turning cold in a way that was rarely seen for the soft-spoken blond, "You should not underestimate a clan's determination. Or let what you see on the outside affect your judgment," then something shifted in his face and the Tatara so lover why the clan returned, "Come by the bar sometime. Find out who we really are and what it means to be HOMRA."

There was that gentleness that showed a scared child that there was still good in this world. With his insistence, Izuku was taken in by HOMRA. He became the youngest clansman of the red clan.

Eraserhead huffed and a flash of annoyance went through Izuku. It wasn't his own. The soulmate bond there was no denying it any longer.

Then suddenly the man leaped forward. Using his scarf he attacked the villain that had strayed to close to them. A quick knee to the face and the villain was out cold. It all happened in an instant. If he had not been watching he would have missed it entirely.

The second one who was already pinned to the ground painfully by the vanguards. Yata had his foot planted in the villain's back. The others had his hands tied so that he couldn't getaway.

Mikoto called out, "Brat, take down the barrier. We will hand these two over tonight," Mikoto bent down to growl at the one they had pinned.

It was too far for Izuku to hear but he had an idea. Most likely a threat for them to never return to the city. While not all of it was HOMRA territory they would know if these two came back. If they did they would not survive the second encounter.

Concentrating on the runes he destroyed the primary rune circle. The barrier fell with it. The flames dissipating almost immediately. The buildings and roads were scorched but without any permanent damage.

Almost as soon as they fell the area was swarmed with police, SCEPTER4, and heroes. Choosing to ignore them he went to check on members of his clan. A handful of lower-ranked members had some broken bones but nothing too serious. Izumo was by far the worst off. He tore his stitches in the fighting. Pale he was barely able to remain standing.

As third in command of the clan Izuku began barking orders. That had the ranks moving and taking the injured inside the bar. The uninjured formed a perimeter in order to keep out unwanted guests.

Mikoto and the higher ranking members faced off with SCEPTER4. They were tired from fighting with the two villains but they would stand their ground.

Eraserhead called out, "Heroes stand down," eyes turned towards the man questioning his order, "HOMRA did not start this fight. They were attacked by these villains. As is their right they protected themselves and subdued them."

Police and heroes alike gave them wary looks and a wide berth. The vanguard released the unconscious villain while Eraserhead put cuffs on his. Mikoto aided Izumo back into the bar followed soon by Tatara and Anna.

Izuku stayed to answer the police and heroes' questions as well as those from SCEPTER4. A small smile crossed his face when he caught Reisi glancing at the bar with carefully concealed worry. Only six people knew this but Reisi and Izumo were soulmates. Their soul marks were of the Red and Blue Swords of Damocles circling in harmony. An action very rarely seen in their time.

As much as he disliked the clan itself he would not deny the man information. If it was him he would hope someone would alert him on the changes of his soulmate.

As the heroes and police began to disperse the civilians returned to their homes. Many called out thanks to Izuku and asked him to wish his clan well.

He approached the Blue King cautiously eyeing the stiffening members of SCEPTER4. Reisi held up his hand to stop them from coming any closer then stepped so that he met Izuku halfway. A flash of jealousy went through Izuku but he quashed it knowing it was not his own.

Izuku said with a small smile, "He overextended himself," there was a furrowing of the King's brow as the only sign of his worry, "Don't worry he will be fine in a few days."

There was a near-silent sigh of relief and tension released from the other's shoulders. In a whisper, Reisi said, "Thank you. Look after him and Souh. Those two are always getting into some trouble."

Then he turned and began barking orders. Slowly even SCEPTER4 began to leave. Then only Izuku and Eraserhead were left. With a glare in the man's direction, Izuku turned to head inside the bar.

[dreadwulf]

gwenspiration

@ofaclassicalmind tagged me for this meme started by @jaimebrienneonline: “Taking the idea from the amazing Gwendoline Christie, we should be promoting ourselves and not acting like our creative endeavors are worthless. In that vein, I challenge everyone to blog their favorite of their own works, art, fic, meta, manip, doll story, whatever it may be. Not someone else’s. 

I feel like I’m already promoting myself way too much, but because I was tagged for it... 

First I want to mention something from my old fandom, Dragon Age: Midnight in a Perfect World and its sequel, Visitations. I mostly shipped a side-companions pairing (Fenris/Isabela) that was not popular and both of these fics, although they are among my favorite things I’ve ever written, to this day have a grand total of 22 kudos each. I don’t think these fics are any worse than what I’m doing now, but I think my style and shipping preferences weren’t a great fit for that fandom. 

I also want to mention the Jaime/Brienne WIP I have shamefully neglected, Terrible Love, which is a Brienne POV book!canon fic that tries to recreate the red tent scene from the show using the book characterizations and after the Lady Stoneheart situation has been resolved. I’m pretty happy with the characterizations for both Jaime and Brienne, and I gave them a pretty intense confrontation where Jaime gives a love confession in a very Jaime way and Brienne does not take it well at. all. It was a little tough to write because there’s a lot of personal stuff in there, particularly when Brienne is having an emotional meltdown. The only reason it stops at chapter 3 is because originally, that was going to be the end of the story. Then once I put up chapter 3 I decided it was too soon to resolve Brienne’s conflict completely, and I would need two more chapters to get her there. And then I started AMFAS and have been writing that ever since. But the standing 3 chapters I actually think are pretty good in themselves. I’ll come back and add more someday. 

For an excerpt I think I pretty much have to put up my massive, 170k word and counting J/B fic A Man for All Seasons, but if I was going to pick out a part, I think I was happiest with Chapter 9: Annhilation. This chapter had several scenes in it that I had been planning since I started the damn thing back in 2017. 

The entire fic is in a lot of ways building to this chapter, but I think you could probably read it on its own, if you wanted to. Jaime has been in Winterfell for months preparing for a Siege by the impending Army of the Dead. Cersei is dead, Tyrion is gone, and Jaime has to start over entirely on his own with no allies while struggling with grief and regret. He’s kept himself pretty much in denial about all the things he’s been through and all the mistakes he’s made, but here he gets hit with absolutely everything at once on one awful day and self-destructs. Brienne, after keeping her distance from him for plot-related reasons, is there to pick him up when he falls. She takes him back to his room and puts him in a bed and essentially takes his confession.

(excerpt behind the cut)

[Jaime] doesn’t know what he’s going to say until he can hear himself saying it. He lets it happen, lets himself float a little way away from his body. It’s like there’s two of him: the one talking to her and another one listening curiously to his own voice saying things he doesn’t know he knows.

“I think I’m falling apart. Something’s terribly wrong with me. I feel ill all of the time and I can’t pay attention to what I’m doing. I look up and I’m somewhere else, or it’s hours later and I’m still in the very same spot and I don’t know what I was doing during all that time. What’s worse is I think it’s been like this all along and I just didn’t notice. Gods, I think years went by like that, very much like that. There were all these things I couldn’t stand to think of, so I just didn’t think of them. I would just be somewhere else inside my head. But now I have to think about those things. I can’t stop thinking about them, unless I stop thinking completely.”

He has to catch his breath. His body has gone slack, arms fallen to his sides. Fortunate that he was already sitting down. There’s more to say and it’s going to hurt, it will be like lancing a wound and letting the poison out. It should be a relief to let it out, but it doesn't feel that way. It feels as though it will keep coming and coming, that perhaps he is all poison, that he is nothing but wounds loosely sewn together and when all of his pain comes out there might be nothing left of him.

Jaime goes on anyway, in a low, dead voice. “My father was right. I spent all those years in King’s Landing as - what did he call it? 'A glorified bodyguard'. Not even that, practically a doorstop. When I was young I had so many dreams and ambitions and so much I wanted to do and somehow I forgot it all. All my dreams of knighthood and once I had it I was just marking time. I didn't think past the next day, the next night, the next morning. I had no plans for the future, no desire but whatever stolen moments I could take with Cersei.  I thought of nothing but what pleasure I could get from her. If I ever wanted anything more it only registered as this vague unhappiness that I blamed on everyone but us. I never asked for more. I didn’t care who we hurt. And now she’s dead, and our children are dead, and it should have been us who died first, they should have outlived us both. Tommen and Marcella anyway. They were good. They were so good. I don’t know who they got it from.”

“Jaime.” Her tone is so gentle that it pains him to hear it. It puts him back in his body where every nerve ending is afire. He is light-headed, his breathing fast and shallow and this is going to be too much, he’s on the verge of going away completely and right in front of Brienne, and he does not want her to see that again. But he’s still talking. He can’t stop.

“I think I’ve wasted my life, Brienne.”

“You’ve mucked it up a fair bit,” she says steadily, not quite letting him off the hook. “But it’s not over yet.”

“I can’t stand it. I keep going away so I can not think about it, but when I come back it’s worse. I’ve done everything wrong. All of this is my fault, all of it. The war. It wouldn’t have happened if not for me. Cersei died because of me. But so did Ned Stark, and Catelyn, and all of the other people who died in the War of the Five Kings. Because of me.”

She is smiling up at him. “You are so incredibly vain,” she says fondly.

That shakes him. “What in the hells do you mean?”

Brienne shakes her head slowly. “I should have known you would jump immediately from total irresponsibility to blaming yourself for absolutely everything. You, all on your own, started a war between five Kings? Did you kill Jon Arryn? Or Baelon Greyjoy? Did you murder Renly with the red god’s magic? Were you at the battle of the trident? Are you to blame for years of misrule? A thousand years of Targaryen history? No single person did all of that. Many people did that together.”

She takes his hand. “You played your part, you and many others. And you are atoning for it. You’re defending Winterfell and the North from an enemy that has nothing to do with you, who stands to annihilate all of Westeros. You’re doing the right thing. You’re becoming the honorable man you were always meant to be. Not because anyone told you to do it or because you expected any reward. Because you wanted to, because it was right.”

Her kindness, as it often does, fills him with a kind of dismay. It’s a mistake. She has mistaken him for someone he's not.

“You don’t understand. I've done terrible things,” he admits, with a sensation like sinking into the floor. “I'm a terrible person.”

“Ramsay Bolton was a terrible person. You aren't nearly his equal. Nor Littlefinger's - and if any single person is responsible for the mess we're in now, he is. As a villain you wouldn't even make the Bloody Mummers.”

Being made fun of, even gently, he does not take kindly to. He shakes his head frowning. “But Tyrion was right. It doesn't matter that I didn’t participate or that I disapproved of the Red Wedding, or Ned's death, or all the things Cersei did. I let it happen. I looked the other way. I never tried to stop them.”

“Neither did he,” she points out, with tender stubbornness. “And you did work against them, in a lot of ways. You sent me after Sansa, when Cersei wanted her dead. You set Tyrion free. I’d wager you’ve done even more than I know about. I would not be surprised to find you've been quietly resisting them your whole life.”

This he has never understood, where she has found this faith she has in him. He must have fooled her somehow, but damned if he can figure out how. He must look bewildered, because she goes on to explain.

“The man who drowned entire houses for power has a son who rejects power at every turn. Imagine that -- Tywin Lannister's son, of all people. Ever since you were a boy, you were dreaming of being a true knight, protecting the weak, and righting wrongs. Where did that come from? That wasn't your father’s idea. Swearing yourself to the Kingsguard definitely wasn’t his idea.”

No, it was Cersei's, he tries to say, but before he can say it, she's rushing ahead.

“Giving up your inheritance and the family name, refusing positions of authority, avoiding responsibility - do you know what that sounds like to me?” She doesn’t wait for his answer. “It sounds very much like a man who desperately doesn't want to be his father.”

That… is something that has never occurred to him. It feels important. But he isn't going to be able to sort through that now. It’s too big, he can’t get his head around it.

“We did awful things. My father did, and Cersei did, and I helped them.”

“You did,” she says steadily.

“The truth is...” he looks at his feet. “I still miss them. I miss all of them.”

His vision blurs, and he has to close his eyes and clench his jaw tightly to keep himself in hand. He has never quite gotten around to grieving for any of his family, not his father nor his three children, not Uncle Kevan and Cousin Lancel who died at Baelor, not for his brother’s betrayal or his terrible defeat at Highgarden and the men he watched burning to death there. He had to be strong for Cersei, her pain had always taken precedence over his. He had no right to mourn or be comforted. And then she was gone too, and he is left utterly alone, untwinned, orphaned, widowed.

After so long repressing his grief he thought it had faded on its own, but he had only concealed it. Now it’s all flooding in at once. Suddenly it just hurts, it hurts beyond his ability to hold it all. It’s just going to crush him.

Then Brienne is putting her arms around him, around his neck, and pulling him close. “Of course you miss them. Of course.”

The only thing bigger and stronger than this agony is Brienne. She is as powerful and steady as a castle wall and she can hold him together. She takes all his weight onto her and holds onto him until he finally relents and puts his head on her shoulder and lets it all go, begins to weep quietly into her neck. All of the losses in the last few years that he has never been able to mourn, he feels them all at once, in a terrible flood of despair and defeat.

He holds on to her tightly, shaking with painful, wrenching sobs. He's having years of emotions all at once. It feels like it will tear him apart. Brienne does not recoil from his tears, not the way Cersei or his father or even Tyrion would. She puts her hand on the back of his head and runs her fingers through his hair and shows no impatience with his weakness.

Whatever it is that holds Brienne back from the world, keeps her tightly controlled and contained, she’s broken through it now. She’s right here with him, touching him, trying to get through. Because he needs her. That’s what it takes to bring down her walls, it turns out. If he needs her, she will take them down herself.

“You haven’t lost everyone,” she whispers in his ear. “You haven’t. I’m not much but… you have me. You will always have me.”

[may-shepard]

the fine art of positive beta-ing

(This post was inspired by the incredible writers at the 2018 Fic Writers’ Retreat, which has just wrapped, and especially by @shamelessmash and @nautilicious. I love you awesome nerds!)

I have a confession to make: for a long time, I thought I was a writer who could not receive feedback. In an effort to hone my craft, I attended workshops and took classes where critique circles were part of the deal, hoping that some insight that my crit partners offered would help me get better, and better. This, I thought, was what I needed: another flail, in addition to the ones I applied to my work myself.

You know this kind of workshop, and this kind of attitude. Maybe you are holding onto it yourself: good writers are forged in Hell Places where All Mistakes Must Be Pointed Out and Eliminated and If You Can’t Take the Heat Get Out of the Kitchen. I was told that my use of commas was annoying. I was told that my choice of subgenre was untimely. I was red penned into a stupor. 

Despite the fact that I was able to edit myself to the point where I got a few pieces accepted for publication, crit never, ever worked for me. I emerged from these experiences both pissed off and self-flagellating. I couldn’t see through the multiple and often contradictory corrections offered by my fellow critters, or the instructor, when I was taking a course. 

Any piece I exposed to someone else’s crit, I always trunked, totally convinced that the problems with it were intractable, and that there was no point in trying to fix it. Worse yet, I felt like somehow I’d failed as a writer: I couldn’t take the heat. Perhaps it was time for me to exit the kitchen.

After a few failed attempts to find a crit circumstance that worked for me, and a really long bout of writer’s block, I managed to recover myself enough that I could write, by convincing myself that maybe I was just not a crit sort of a writer. I limited myself to troubleshooting my plots with my partner, who is great at reworking plots. As for making my craft better, I decided to go it alone.

Then I met @shamelessmash​, and everything changed, because she changed the way I look at the act of beta reading, and the way I do it.  

Way back when (uh, at 2017’s Fic Writer’s Retreat?), Mash and I were both working on longish projects, and, in part because I had a hand in helping her develop the idea for her lovely Sherlock fic A Case of Identity--The Musical, we agreed to trade beta. 

(I can admit now that I hoped that she would accept beta from me and then like, forget that she’d offered to beta my fic in return.)

When she first asked me to read a chapter of ACOI, she specified that she wanted squee only: just positive feedback on what was working so far. I’d never had anyone ask that before, so I had no idea what was going to happen next. (Spoiler: really great things.) 

At first, I thought, no problem! The fic was in the early stages of development, and we all want a little bit of encouragement along the way. As I read, and I thought, oh, there’s a comma here, a verb that could verb in a verbier way over there, I was tempted to mention it, but then I remembered her request and I refrained. I try, when I can, not to be a shitty friend. I also try not to be a shitty beta, which, hey you guys, means respecting the writer’s right to ask for the kind of feedback they want, and trying your best to offer it. 

At the same time, the part of me that wants to be useful was squirming. How could 100% positive feedback possibly help someone hone their work into something better? 

Boy was I about to find out. You will too, under the cut.

Receiving positive feedback makes you want to keep going. 

Mash, super smart awesome writer that she is, knew that she wanted motivation to carry on forward. She was trying to get as much of the draft done as possible, before she started to post. There is nothing wrong with needing positive feedback in order to keep going. It’s really, really clever to ask for it. Knowing that the premise was working and that what she’d written so far was charming (and it was, so so so charming, holy crap) gave her a boost, and who the fuck doesn’t need that?

Asking for positive feedback only is a good idea, you guys. Try it the next time you ask for help with an early draft of a thing.

The other lessons came when it was time for me to share my stuff with her. See above re: reasons why I really hesitate to let people crit my stuff, but, given who Mash is, I was pretty sure it would be okay.

It was okay. It was more than okay. It was brilliant, amazing, incredible.

If you’ve never had the pleasure of receiving beta from a writer who is really really good at knowing what works in a story, and is willing to yell at you about what’s working in yours, let me tell you, it is a treat and so, so helpful. As I watched Mash go through my google doc on the first couple of chapters of my Sherlock fic The Burning Heart, leaving trails of keysmash and screaming as she went, I not only felt like a goddamn writing genius, but I also was taking substantial notes about where she was doing it. 

Knowing what is working in a story is even more important for a writer than knowing what is not working.

If you know what works, you can play that up, and do more of it. That’s one reason, one very good reason, why telling a writer what you like in their story is a good idea, but there’s an even more important one. 

Telling a writer what works helps them understand their own magic.   

We all know, even if we’ve never been told, that what makes a writer great is not whether or not they can follow the rules for good writing, but rather, whatever it is that is uniquely theirs, that they bring to a story. Good craft, which you can learn, will always, always help you make your story more clear to whoever is reading it. Good story, good magic, the unique ineffable sense of play that makes you want to tell this story in this way at this point in time, that’s what makes people think, whoa wow whoa, this is amazing. It flourishes when it’s praised. When your magic is ignored, like it is when you receive crit that’s 100% focused on your mistakes, it lies down on the floor and refuses to get up again.

This is one major source of writer’s block. Even if you think offering positive feedback is kind of bullshit, I think it’s good, from a writerly karma pov, to avoid doing things that block other writers, especially the ones who’ve asked you for feedback. 

But wait there’s more!

Mash did a lot more than keysmash and scream: she also asked questions when she was particularly excited. 

The questions you, as a reader, are dying to have answered are invaluable writer feedback.

Hey is x going to do y next? (Insert inevitable joke about x being y’s love interest.)

Oh my god what did he mean by that?

How long is it going to be before we find out the answer to the question you laid out in Chapter Three?

These questions let me know where the breadcrumb trail I was trying to leave was effective. Under some circumstances, they let me know when I was waiting too long for a reveal. This alone helped me hone my plot. 

Radio silence helps you see where what you wanted to achieve isn’t coming through.

We all have those places in our writing where we think we’ve really nailed it. When you’re dealing with a beta whose primary mode is positive, and they skim past the moment that you hoped was Big and Significant and Came off Well, you know you have more work to do. As writers we have ideas of what we’re trying to achieve, and we’re all trying to bridge that gap between what’s in our heads (which is potentially AMAZING) and what’s on the page (which inevitably NEEDS WORK). We know that what we’ve done will benefit from polishing. A lukewarm response to a big deal moment is a great indicator that we need to hit it harder or make it more clear. 

The Role of What We Usually Think of When We Think of Crit

What do I think about comments that point out errors or ask thornier questions about what isn’t working? I think they have a place. I think that place is probably less important than most of us think.

It is still definitely helpful, and useful, to let a writer know if you think they’ve made a mistake, or if you think that something could be more clear. If they have an excessive attachment to a particular word or sentence structure, or whatever it may be, it’s fine and helpful and good to note that. 

There are gentler ways of doing this that will be more helpful to most writers. 

Instead of citing a “writing rule,” consider pointing out what the writer has done. 

Never use adverbs they are the devil is easier to take and more useful if you stick to observing what’s on the page: you’ve used twelve adverbs in the last three paragraphs. 

Show don’t tell could become instead of saying he’s sad, what about one sentence describing his internal reaction to finding his former partner’s scarf in the glove box?

If you’re offering crit in order to show off your knowledge of “the rules” and to talk about how you would never break those rules but the writer you’re critting has, your ego has taken over, and you’re probably not going to be super helpful in this moment. 

Teach, don’t overcorrect.

Where a writer makes the same grammar mistake over and over, this is not the time to judge them and point out every single instance of it, unless they’ve asked you for a SPAG edit. It’s the time to recognise that they probably don’t understand semi-colons and link them to a post that explains them, point out one or maybe two wrong uses of semi-colons as you do your crit, and leave it up to the writer to correct it themselves (or not!). 

Believe it or not, people generally like it better when you leave it up to them to take responsibility for their own work, and allow them to decide how much they want to take on board at any given time. If that writer doesn’t want to learn about semi-colons in this exact moment, then that is cool. If you’re not cool with it, perhaps it’s time to examine your excessive attachment to semi-colon evangelism. 

Consider the level of the writer and emphasize the positive anyway

If you’re dealing with a beginner writer who is just figuring shit out, for the love of all that’s sweet and tender, just pick one or two mistakes to work on. Tackle verb tenses or POV this time--leave run on sentences for some future moment, and let them know, in no uncertain terms, what you like about what they’ve done. You could be the difference between shutting a writer down or ensuring that they keep going.

If you’re dealing with an advanced writer, please, please don’t assume that they don’t need positive feedback. Mighty oaks need the sun just as much as seedlings do. I’m by no means super adept at my craft, but I’m not a beginner either, and I always, always learn so fucking much when I see what people respond to in my work, when I understand what resonates with them. 

A note on the proportion of positive to negative comments

There’s an old saw, that I’ve always found to be a bit cynical, about saying something positive before offering something negative in crit. This is a great idea, in theory. In practice, sometimes people following this rule offer comments like this:

This paragraph has some nice description in it, but 

*deep, sucking inhale*

eight sentences follow that go into intimate detail about how many times the writer has used the word feel and how that is not a great idea for these thirteen reasons and also there’s a mistake in the research with reference to the specific century the armor the main character is wearing was most likely to be manufactured and and and and

Okay, I’m hoping you can see why, if this is the only form of positive feedback offered, it might come off as insincere. 

On the other hand, in the context of a crit that lavishes praise on everything good, a genuine observation that a particular paragraph has issues or a particular aspect of the timeline is self-contradictory or the writer flips wantonly between first person and third person, is so much easier to take, and so much more likely to be seen as genuinely helpful. 

When I go into a crit, I usually try to get my energy up and my mindset into a positive space before I do. I try to remember that on the other end of this work of fiction is a human person who, in the act of offering their work up for feedback, is making themselves vulnerable. If I catch myself dryly pointing out errors without saying much positive, I know that it’s either not a good time for me to be offering crit, or I need to slow down a little and enjoy what I’m reading. (In rare cases, it means I’m not the right person to be beta-ing that particular story.) I try to read like a reader, not like a writer. I try to avoid reading like I do when I’m combing my own stuff for infelicitous turns of phrase or bad logic, unless that’s what the writer has requested.

If you yourself are from the Hell Place and believe that You Work Best When You’re Being Punched In the Face and So Should Everyone Else, first, uh, you probably need a hug, but also, try offering positive crit the next time you beta for someone, and see what a difference it makes. If you’ve never received a crit that’s largely positive, consider asking for one, the next time you go to a trusted beta. Ask them to tell you whatever it is that they think is working. (If they refuse, find someone else who is not from the Hell Place.) 

Even if you’re not from the Hell Place, give positive crit a try. We certainly have enough misery in this world. There are many, many reasons to spread some joy, especially where that joy is functional, helpful, and potentially life-changing.

I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised. 

[hcpefulmarshmallow]

V3 Spoilers under cut. Just some stuff that has been on my mind since I played the game. 

Okay, so I haven’t played it as much as the first two, and I really do adore Shuichi as a character. Let me get those two things out first because I don’t want any angry people in my inbox. This isn’t to complain about Shuichi, or that V3 took things in a different direction than the first two games. The third installment in any franchise has a tough job, balancing fan expectations and keeping the spirit of the story alive enough to please people who have been there since the beginning; while also being new and exciting enough as to not feel stale, and maybe even draw in a whole new crowd. I get that. Changing up a series is not, by default, a bad thing, and I don’t want to imply that DR should have stuck with the same old formula. I’m just saying that there was one glaring misuse of the characters that lowkey sucked. And for the purposes of not writing a whole novel, I’ll probably gloss over some big, important stuff in the interests of streamlining. Please don’t be mad. This is just the impression that the game gave me.

(And yeah, I’m talking like UDG didn’t exist. I still haven’t finished that game to be honest. It’s enjoyable in it’s own merits, and I’m loving the familiar faces and all, but at times it just doesn’t feel like Danganronpa. Yeah, I said it. Maybe that’s my own problem, though - the third-person adventure/horror aspect isn’t my style usually, unless the game is something else. But I digress.)

 So, onto our main point, I’m gonna come out and say it: Shuichi was a poor choice for a protagonist. 

 Let’s rewind for a minute to the first two games, shall we? Each cast was likable in their own ways, the different environments gave each story it’s own atmosphere while still retaining that unmistakable Danganronpa feeling. There were things we could rely on as we transitioned from one game to the other, and things we could be surprised by. One thing about DR is that it has the same trio over and over, right up until this game, where the roles are inexplicably changed. (And again, changing things up: not automatically invalid. But this was a large part of the soul of Danganronpa: the ability to feel like your ordinary self has become a part of this world of Ultimates, and the battle between hope and despair. It’s designed to make you a part of the game so you really feel the highs and lows and every little consequence; and nowhere is it as blatant as in this game, see the final trial. That’s why this change was so bizarre.)

 In the first game, it was Makoto, Kyoko and Byakuya. In the second, it was Hajime, Chiaki and Nagito. Respectively, their roles were such:

 Your protagonist and POV character. They were relatable in many ways: feeling out of place in the presence of all this talent to which they felt they couldn’t compare, somewhat naive, always wanting to believe the best of others, never particularly keen to put anyone to death. They weren’t unintelligent by any means, but their self-doubt and desire to keep the group as a group would hold them back from difficult deductions. This would show in different degrees and in different ways in the characters, but it was always very much there. Much like the player: we didn’t want to put our faves to death, but we didn’t have a choice. For the most part, it was the protagonist who kept that human element to an otherwise fantastical environment, full of people who were only borderline believable. They kept the story grounded, presenting it through their respective viewpoints. The game doesn’t have to justify why it has this almost fictional quality to it’s story and characters, because Makoto and Hajime have both observed that it’s almost not real. But then they get close to the other characters and form attachments, and truly become a part of events themselves, and it all feels very real. It’s through this character that our ordinary selves can truly experience a world like the one in Danganronpa. 

 Next, you have the two sidekicks, performing polarizing roles. All very intelligent, often figuring out the case before our protagonist. You have Kyoko and Chiaki: dropping hints, assisting us along the way, serving as a moral compass of sorts. When we feel lost or confused in the class trial, it’s this character who usually helps us find our way to the truth. And you have Byakuya and Nagito, who exist to misdirect us. Forcing us to strive to be better; rather than relying on the work others do. (And yeah, I know all these characters are deeper than that -- I’m just talking about their basic function in relation to the protagonist). This allows the POV character, and by extension us, to navigate the class trials and the moral dilemma they present, not by providing answers, but by providing growth. By the end, out protagonists have gone from feeling overwhelmed and uncertain, to being able to stand up against the mastermind, even if we’ve lost our sidekicks by that point. 

 Now, let’s look at V3′s golden trio. I’ve seen some debate around this but, in terms of this particular dynamic, we’ve got: Kaede, Shuichi and Kokichi. Or at least, that’s who we should have.

 Kokichi is the obvious choice for an antagonistic character who forces us to up our anti a little bit. He’s constantly throwing us for a loop, constantly making things harder, but never sabotaging us to the point where the trial becomes literally impossible. Love him or hate him, he is a very good, complex character with exceptional narrative utility. I don’t think I need to go into depth with this one, because I don’t think anyone would disagree that this is his role. So moving on. 

 As for Shuichi, he does very much fit the description I gave above of the general layout of a Danganronpa protag: that he’s somewhat self-doubting, overwhelmed at the scope of the people he’s been put amongst, gets along with the others for the most part, doesn’t want to doubt his friends, and goes through extraordinary character growth. However, there are a few issues he has that the others do not. For starters: most of his relevant character growth in terms of what Hajime and Makoto went through happens in the first chapter. He learns from Kaede’s death to trust his own deductions and believe in his talent. He still has a lot of self-doubt, and is still very relatable, but from there, most of his story revolves around trusting others and working as a team, rather than his internal conflicts. That seems more in line with Kyoko’s arc of opening up to Makoto and letting the others in on what she learns rather than flying solo all the time; and of Chiaki’s arc of finally being able to tell Hajime the truth of who she is, and wanting to bring everyone together. Again, I’m kind of strawmanning the character here; but even if I’m dead wrong about his motivations (it sucks not being able to screenshot, you forget so much), there’s one more major flaw. His talent. 

 Through the class trials, our POV character goes in with about as much certainty as we have. And we, alongside them, uncover the truth of the case. We’re essentially experiencing the class trial through their eyes, experiencing being the key word here. Shuichi, however, is the smartest and most capable detective in the room, what with being the Ultimate Detective and all. The feeling I got from him wasn’t that I was solving the mystery through him, but rather that he would have all the answers at least a split-second before me, then the game just kind of waits for me to catch up. There was a lot more “I knew it!” and “As I thought!” kind of going on there, rather than “Aha! The answer can only be __!”  

 Furthermore, Shuichi isn’t terribly proactive. Which is fine, to an extent. The previous POV characters would kind of get thrust into situations too; but once they were there, they were an active part of events. Hajime didn’t want to go feed Nagito, but in doing so, became an active part of what was going on with his story, and learned early on about his manipulation of Mahiru. Makoto didn’t go out investigating Mukuro on his own, but once Kyoko told him about her, he used that information to his advantage, particularly in the Trials. And there were events for which they were active catalysts, too. Not too boring, but not pulling a lot of major strings, either: giving the player a front row seat to the action, letting something amazing play out for their ordinary selves to enjoy, but also making them feel like their actions matter. For Shuichi, he’s dragged into everything he’s involved in, and even then, he’s either just kind of there, present and accounted for while stuff happens; or he’s off on his own, even if someone else is physically present. For instance, when he and Kaito are investigating, Kaito might be there, but Shuichi is doing all the leg work, really. Not saying Kaito is useless, just...saying. And this is totally fine, and consistent with his character. He’s not very social until he gets to know someone well, and he’s definitely more intellectual and emotional than he is a physical being. But again, your protagonist needs to toe that line between being passive enough that stuff can still happen around them, and active enough that the player can engage with that stuff. And again: Shuichi more fits the mold of someone like Chiaki, who is often off on her own, and only intervenes in situations when she absolutely must; or Kyoko, who is also off on her own a lot, and isn’t sociable at all. In terms of free time events and stuff, I have no trouble believing Makoto or Hajime would make an effort to, out-of-the-blue, find and learn more about a fellow classmate; but Shuichi? Not so much. Again: he’s just not a person who is comfortable with other people. Which is all fine and relatable and good for him as a character. But as a POV? Sure he gets close with his little workout gang, but only because Kaito drags him along. Even Kaede spends most of the first chapter just pulling him around everywhere. After a while, all this adds up and makes you feel detached from events: less like you’re playing a game, and more like you’re watching a movie. 

 So we’ve established that, as far as the game goes, Shuichi is a good character but makes a better sidekick archetype than a POV protagonist. So what’s the difference between him and Kaede that makes her a great, Danganronpa-esque protag?

 Well...the opposite of everything I’ve said. 

 For starters, her talent. Thus far, our protagonists’ talents have been generally the least impressive of the group. (Okay, yeah, Hajime was eventually the Ultimate Everything, but we only find that out at the end. He spent all game being the Ultimate Nothing, and therefore had all his relevant character growth before that. By this point, we already experienced the events of the game through him, and have already grown accustomed to the very human, very fallible, Hajime. Tell me he’s Izuru, I’m just as easily gonna see the guy who passed out on the beach but over time became a badass.) Ultimate Pianist is kind of a niche talent, but I don’t think that makes it isolating. For one, like her predecessors, her talent is utterly useless in a trial setting. Unless there were some specific circumstances, knowing how to play piano will not help her find a killer. (Technically Makoto’s luck could have been useful, but I think it’s made pretty clear he and his class passed those trials through hard work, not luck). The most important thing for a protagonist has to be their ability to be relatable by being brave and true and all that Good Stuff, not to be born exceptional. How are you going to pander to a market who is trying to escape their dull lives if all they have to escape to are people who are fundamentally better than them in ways they could never relate to? Anyway can be brave, not anyone can be Sherlock. 

 Because Kaede’s character was built mostly around her traits and not her talent, she’s still easily relatable. She, like us, wants the best for her fellow characters. She’s moralistic, kind, and defiant of the circumstance she’s been thrust into, all things we can aspire to. She’s likeable, but not infallible or unbelievable. She can be bossy at times, her own personal sense of justice perhaps her biggest downfall. This idea of “good/hope MUST triumph over evil/despair” which has been pushed by the game itself, is used as it’s newest protagonist’s flaw, and is a viewpoint that will ultimately be subverted in the final trial.

 Kaede is, overall, more sociable and active. I buy that she spends her free time getting to know other people. She doesn’t always think with her head, and she is the type to stumble into situations by accident, meaning she’s a much more viable candidate to be just lucky enough to wind up in wacky hijinks, and just active enough to really become a part of them. Also, I’m gonna just mention the elephant in the room real quick: it sucks that the only female protagonist out of the main games had to be killed off. I liked the idea of a female protag.

 Okay, I know I said it was a bummer that Shuichi so quickly moved past doubting himself and his own talent much too quickly, especially when the protags we’re used to take most of the game to do that sort of thing. Kaede doesn’t really have much self-doubt, to be honest. She doesn’t struggle with the morality of the situation she’s in: instead, her solution is simplistic and naive: “We just won’t kill. Easy.” This is a polar opposite of our protagonists, but not invalid. Remember: not all changes are bad, and this is the third installment. We expect some shakeups to the formula. 

 This actually could’ve been used really well, if Kaede was given more time. After her idea of “we just won’t play!!1!” is crushed and she’s forced to endure an entire class trial and vote for someone to be executed, this would’ve shattered (or at least, damaged) her pure and perfect world view. She would be forced to look inward, and question her frankly childish sense of right and wrong, which ties in so much better with the eventual themes of the final trial. Rather than seeing only good and evil, she would be forced to confront the moral grey that exists within her, and within all situations. And she would have to do so without losing what makes her fundamentally Kaede - her optimism, her strength, and her trust in others. I’ve seen this done well rarely, but most notably in characters like Penelope Garcia. I truly feel like Danganronpa could’ve pulled this off. 

 “But Jenny! There’s a problem!! You said that it was after the first trial that Shuichi had the development to grow into a great Chiaki/Kyoko archetype, but that only happens through the death of Kaede!!! If she survived, he would still be hiding in her shadow!!”

 I’ve thought of that too. So say, instead, Kaede just comes really close to being killed in the trial. Say, the vote is split 50-50 between her and the real killer. Shuichi is the only one with the key information to sway the final voter/s, but he knows in doing so, he will condemn someone to death. He can do so and save Kaede, or close his eyes and leave it up to chance. In the end, he trusts his talent and uses what he knows to shed light on the truth. He has to come to terms with condemning someone, but he knows that he also saved an innocent person. Once again tying in so well with the final theme of how good and evil and right and wrong aren’t always distinguishable; and giving Shuichi a great character development moment that’s more than just “my girlfriend is dead so now I can grow, I’m so glad the franchise has never played this angle before or it would feel tired and kind of sexist :(”; and giving Kaede a chance to view first-hand that you can be a good person, and walk a grey line. I thought of that in two seconds. Just saying. 

 But anyway, that’s just one long-ass thought from someone who has played this game one and a half times. I want to play it again, and maybe I’ll change my own mind, who knows. But while I’m still of this mindset, I wanted it out there. 

[notesfromnayeshi]

Group Reread: Notes on Chapters 1 - 5

Chapter 1

“The letter wasn’t addressed to John. The return address, however, was his.”

Right off the bat, I’ve got questions. How did Ji know the return address of Kyle and John’s house unless Kyle had informed the Payshmura at some point of his moving in there? Why does this matter? Well, it adds more fuel to my theory that Kahlil was going back and forth between Basawar and Nayeshi.

The underwear catalog. Just saying, they generally don’t ship you a catalog unless you’ve bought something from them. And we know Kyle doesn’t wear underwear. So… John wears “absurdly small briefs” is now canon. Don’t look at me, I go where the clues lead. :D

John says he hasn’t seen Kyle for two weeks: since he ran into him at the bathhouse. But was Kyle in Basawar for two weeks? Or - hear me out - was he just sulking in Gray Space and avoiding an awkward conversation with his roommate about what he was doing at the bath house?

John describes the padlock for Kyle’s room as heavy, iron, and like a prop from a pirate movie. It also supposedly looks like it matches the key from the envelope. That has to have come from Basawar. No one is going to convince me that Kahlil brought a giant padlock with him on first and only trip through the Great Gate. He has to be going back and forth!

Kyle’s soap is still in its wrapper. Again, why? Because he’s using his lifetime supply of istana soap?

Why does Kyle keep his food in a locked cupboard? I think in a later chapter we find out that it’s not actually food in there, but guns and ammunition?

“There was a certain ease to simply not knowing what Kyle was thinking while watching him slink up the stairs, dressed in a heavy black leather coat, carrying lethal-looking knives and a bundle of cloth as long as  a human arm. ”

I’m assuming this is the sword? But where is he taking it?

Chapter 2

“The misty forms of overhanging branches split and scattered as he plunged through them. Trees blew aside in wisps.”

This description of Kahlil’s movement through Gray Space is really cool. I didn’t notice it as much on my last read through, but it helps me visualize how the ushiri’im can move at variable speeds through the Gray Space.

Kahlil kills Ji in this timeline by stabbing her in the neck with his curse blade. I was very tempted to read ahead and check exactly how Fikiri kills her in the alternate timeline. (But, I’ll be good and wait until we get there!) It would be interesting if her two deaths, both by ushiri popping out of Gray Space, happened the same way.

I did not even realize that Ji cursed Kahlil’s wound before she died. That makes sense why it’s so debilitating. I remember thinking that it must have been one hell of a nasty dog bite, but this makes so much more sense.

“The Prayerscars over his eyes seared white-hot lines into his darkness.”

This quote intrigued me. It seems like the prayerscars might actually function to protect the kahlil’s eyes while they travel through the Gate. When Kahlil goes back through the broken gate in a later chapter his eyes get kind of messed up and he no longer has the prayerscars. I’m not sure what to make of this, other than to mention that it piques my interest.

“Kahlil caught the sound of footsteps pacing the kitchen. He easily pictured John, striding through the room, his strong frame almost too tall for the ceiling fan, the breeze from its overhead blades tousling his disorderly blonde hair. Then Kyle remembered him wearing only a white towel, glancing back over his tan, muscular shoulder and catching Kyle’s guilty gaze.”

Well, lookee here! Kahlil referring to himself as Kyle in his own POV chapter. What to make of this? An error? Or perhaps a meaningful clue? Who knows!

Chapter 3

It’s explicitly stated here that John moved into his house a year ago. This tightens the timeline so much! That means that Kyle has to have been there no more than 9 months and possibly less. I think this disappoints me so much because I just want Kyle to get more time to relax and be happy and be with John.

“He supposed that he was almost as bad as Kyle when it came to maintaining his privacy. Maybe that’s why they made such good roommates.”

Aww, John thinks they make good roommates! Considering he spends most of these first chapters dwelling on how weird he finds Kyle, this is interesting.

“It gave him a slightly sordid feeling to stare into his bedroom and contemplate money. He sensed that this wasn’t a resource that decent people ever resorted to considering.”

Should I be taking this that John is considering prostitution as a way to pay his rent? What else could he mean? Why wouldn’t “decent people” resort to selling their furniture?

John’s contemplation of money and how he can scrape together his rent is soo important. We know that John is extremely responsible, thoughtful, and conscientious. But here he finds himself in a tough situation that is completely not his fault and without any support structure to turn to. This is a real-life problem for a lot of young people, and particularly young LGBT+ people. John came out to his parents and they cut him off completely. There are so many real people out there who suffer when they come out to their families or guardians. I love that John is shown here, not immune to any of that. He is a smart, resourceful, thoughtful, responsible, good person and he still struggles with the difficulties of life as a young person who has lost all familial support. This is very real.

And on a lighter note, John wears a bathrobe?

Chapter 4

Ok, if you’ve talked with my about The Rifter all all you probably know that I love this chapter. It might legit be my favorite in the series. It’s right up at the top either way. Kahlil is so perfect here. His observations about Nayeshi put his own life in Basawar into stark relief. His fascination with John is absolutely adorable. I’m not going to spend this entire chapter gushing about Kyle, so let’s just sum it up like this:

Kyle is perfect. He’s an angel and he can do no wrong.

When Laurie calls John “Toffee” Kyle acts like he doesn’t know what that means. But wouldn’t he know? Ravishan heard her call him that in his original vision of the Rifter. Like, it was basically the first thing he ever knew about John?

Is it weird that after months of living together, Kyle has never met John’s friends?

“The conversation reminded Kahlil of talking to the bones. Everything alluded to something else. One word might mean another thing completely. “Sword” could be “a key.” “A key” could be “death.”

I love the allusions to double-entendres and duality in Kyle’s chapters. This quote is particularly cool because Kyle’s sword is a key and the key that is sent to him is the key that opens the Rifter’s death.

Kyle says that the bones spoke in riddles because “their lives depended on deception”. This seems to imply that the oracles are intentionally obscuring info or holding something back.

On John’s public level of physical intimacy: Kahlil notes that in private, John could be very different. I wonder if he means in private with him or with other men that he’s observed John with?

“The ritual interrogation of ordering a breakfast in this world” 

I feel ya Kahlil; I still get stressed out by this. So many follow-up questions!

“In his own world, Kahlil saw such ugly things. He had done such hateful things.”

The use of different tenses here is interesting: “saw” vs “had done”, rather than “had seen” and “had done”. I don’t feel like I know enough about grammar to comment beyond just pointing this out.  :D Also, what hateful things is he referring to, I wonder?

When Laurie is doing her “reading” for Kahlil, we get this quote:

“Suddenly, he felt something brush against him, very softly, almost like a breath of air. An old, musty scent washed over him. Kahlil recognized the smell, even as weak as this was. ”

Wonder what that familiar scent is? It doesn’t sound like the description of the smell of Gray Space.

Kahlil doesn’t remember ever eating in front of John. That seems weird, after they’ve lived together for months!

“He had barely been conscious. His entire body had ached with bruises and cuts. He remembered feeling ravenous and nauseous at the same time.”

This is Kahlil’s memory of the night John gave him the apple. This quote slays me. Where the hell was Kahlil? What happened to him?

“He had staggered through the darkness down the staircase, and John had off-handedly said, “Welcome home” and offered him an apple.”

This is so interesting! John says welcome home after Kahlil comes *down* the staircase, almost like he knows he was away, even though he just came from his room.

“One time John went to Bill’s house, and Bill’s grandma made John stand in the bathtub with a rubber hose tied around his waist,”

Why did I get a weird, kinky vibe from this?

Bill’s description of the bonfire… he was definitely high, right?

Chapter 5

My biggest impression of this chapter is the character dynamic between John, Laurie, and Bill. He is so different from them. It makes me wonder if they had all stayed in Nayeshi what their relationships would have evolved into.

Why do I find John’s driving a manual so hot? Something about shifting gears that really does it for me…

I love the way John is never baited by Laurie and Bill. He’s so calm, and so grounded in who he is. I want a friend like John.

John is so connected with the natural world. I wonder if his sense of isolation and his introversion are actually caused by his connection to the earth? Like, he is so deeply moved by his connection to nature to the point, so much so that he cannot communicate it to anyone else  who doesn’t feel it, and it’s caused him to even stop trying. Interesting that Kyle is also very moved by the natural world of Nayeshi. I think if they’d had more time together they would have bonded over this.

I’m super curious about John’s aversion to the Great Gate stones and to Gray Space. I suspect that both might have to do with how they damage the world of Basawar, which is essentially damaging John himself.

Once they’re in Basawar, John catigates himself and feels super guilty and responsible for turning the key and getting them transported there. But this scene makes it super clear that Laurie and Bill were encouraging him to do it. Not that it’s their fault, but I don’t think John should be so hard on himself.

Aaaaand, that’s it for this week! Ask/DM/reblog/reply with any thoughts on my notes! I’d love to hear what you think. And join in next week (March 19 - 25) for Chapters 6 -10!

[cyriusli]

Prank

God bored the other day and had this idea of... what if! So here’s a small AU where both Zoro and Sanji are chefs. So I made Usopp a waiter and wrote from his PoV. I wasn’t sure if I was gonna share or not, but Shae talked me into it. So, hopefully, enjoy this small, unedited piece of nonsense.

1

Usopp knew what he was doing, he’d worked in restaurants before, but he’d never worked in one that was this big. The Baratie was set in the middle of the city, overlooking the bay and had all sorts of food. The menu was huge, covering all types of cuisine— over one hundred different items and more that rotated in depending on the season— and boosting on how their kitchen had five different specialty chefs.

It hadn’t stopped Usopp from applying to the place, overly excited and worried when he’d been hired. The older man who ran the place was strict and had expected only the best of Usopp, but he hadn’t made him cut his hair, only keep it pulled back, so Usopp was more than happy to accept the terms of the uniform even though he wasn’t one for wearing a vest and tie.

The rest of the waitstaff was pretty awesome, joking and laughing and he instantly clicked with a redhead named Nami, who promised to show him the ropes, but it would cost him. Usopp said he was pretty sure he would be fine and with a shrug Nami had left it, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms as their boss, Chef Zeff, started in on the game plan for the night.

Usopp had the misfortune of starting on a Friday night, the Baratie’s busiest night of the week. Chef Zeff went over the specials, the soups and the wines for the evening and everyone jotted them down in their order books. When he was done, he walked toward the front door to unlock it, the first of numerous tables already waiting outside. “Can’t say I didn’t offer to help,” Nami whispered in his ear, but Usopp pushed her away and went to start his evening.

Things ran smoothly for Usopp until he needed to go back into the kitchen. That was a different world entirely. Usopp knew that it would be, kitchens always were in big places like this, but he hadn’t expected to walk into a battlefield. Pushing through the double doors, he paused, his notebook in his hand as one of the chefs threw a towel across the kitchen at one of the others. It was soaking wet, water dripping across the floor after it as the other chefs dodged out of the way and waited for the resounding smack as it clocked someone in the back of the head. “Zoro,” the blond screamed and half the kitchen burst out laughing, including the man who’d thrown the towel, a guy standing by the sinks with green hair poking out from under a black bandana. “I’m going to kick your ass, you wait!”

“Just trying to cool you off, Sanji, you looked way too hot over there by the stove. I was only trying to help.”

Sanji ran a towel across the back of his neck before bending to pick up the wet towel and throw it into a bucket near a small hand wash sink. “You can help by keeping your shitty ass on your side of the kitchen, we got orders coming in.” Yelling over his shoulder, Sanji washed his hands.

Usopp watched, amazed as the entire kitchen went back to work, acting as if the incident never even happened. A second later a guy with his arms full of folded aprons walked by and noticed Usopp. “Hey, Chef,” he started. “New waiter is here.”

Sanji turned to face Usopp and grinned as he wiped his hands on a clean towel. Reaching out, Sanji kept speaking. “I was told you’d be starting tonight. Chef Sanji, I’m the Head Chef. You must be Usopp, right?”

“Yes,” Usopp took Sanji’s hand, shaking it and clearing his throat. “I just had a question about the special for the evening that hadn’t been gone over in the meeting before opening.”

“Old man’s finally losing it,” Zoro asked as he appeared, pausing on his way to where Usopp had noted the walk-in coolers were.

“Shut up, Marimo,” Sanji hissed at him before turning his attention back to Usopp.

“Hey, was an honest question, Swirly.” Shrugging, Zoro walked away, continuing on his trip to the walk-in.

Sanji answered Usopp’s question and he returned to the dining room where he told his table that yes, in fact, they did have the option to remove the cheese from the special for dietary reasons.

2

Because of the way things were expedited out of the kitchen, Usopp didn’t really have a need to go back into the kitchen unless he was taking dirty dishes there or had a question for the chefs. Still, he quickly learned how things worked in the Baratie kitchen and the biggest one was the rivalry between Sanji and one of the specialty chefs, Zoro. Sanji was the Head Chef and son of the owner, Zeff Baratie. Sanji had been working in the place his entire life, but he had worked for the position he was currently in. He’d learned to cook much younger than that, but once he was fifteen he’d started in the dish room and worked his way up to his current position of running the entire kitchen. Zoro was a sushi chef, spending his apprenticeship in Japan underneath some of the greatest chefs of the country. While he was from the area, growing up here, as soon as he’d been able to get out, he’d run, moving in with his older half sister until he’d finished school and gotten all the appropriate degrees, licenses, plaques and certificates required to work here. One of the prep cooks had told Usopp he’d seen a picture of all his things framed on his wall at home once.

The two chefs seemed to hate one another and it was no surprise to Usopp when he learned that their stations were across the kitchen from one another. After his first introduction to them on his first night, Usopp tried to stay out of the war that seemed to be never ending within the kitchen. He walked in one evening, a tray laden with dishes to Zoro frantic as he roamed the kitchen, moving people and throwing anything he thought he could get away with. Across the open space, standing with arms crossed, stood Sanji, a smug smirk plastered across his face. “What’s going on in here,” Usopp had asked the dish boy, a young kid who also had green hair named Bart.

“Just the war,” he shrugged a shoulder, his frown deepening. “Sanji’s hid Zoro’s good sashimi knife, called a yana-something-or-other. Zoro is pissed.”

“Don’t blame him,” Usopp stacked his dishes, listening to Zoro growl out of frustration behind them. “Hope they don’t waste too much time looking for it, the dining room is starting to fill up.”

“Not worried about it, they are professionals, they always know when to call it quits.” Bart loaded some of Usopp’s dishes onto the dish racks and went back to his work, ignoring Usopp as he finished unloading the tray.

Just as Usopp pushed through the doors back into the dining room, he heard Zoro yell in triumph before cursing out the blond for stealing his yanagiba.

3

“You gotta chose a side.”

“I gotta what?”

Nami placed another set of rolled silverware in the basket and picked up a spoon. “You have to chose a side. You can’t keep playing it neutral, everyone is waiting.”

“What are you talking about?” Usopp had been at the restaurant a few weeks now and had finally settled into how things worked around the Baratie. One thing he never got involved in though was the prank war that constantly raged on in the kitchen. It just wasn’t his style and while Usopp did like a good joke now and then, he didn’t like to mix play with work and he needed this paycheck.

“You’re neutral. Even Chef Zeff is in on this, you have to pick a side.”

“Of course he is, Sanji’s his son.”

“He’s on Team Zoro though.”

Usopp snorted back a laugh. “You have got to be kidding me. Seriously? Chef Zeff is on the team against his own son.”

Nami nodded, dropping another perfectly rolled set of silverware into the basket. “Yup, sure is. Zoro loves it and Sanji hates it. It just adds another layer to the dynamic, ya know.”

“This is unbelievable.”

“What’s unbelievable is that you haven’t decided on a team. Everyone is on a team.”

“What team are you on,” Usopp asked, looking over his shoulder quickly to the kitchen. Even through the doors, you could hear the banging and clanging of a working kitchen beginning to warm up. The doors opened in about an hour and it was Nami and Usopp’s turn to roll silverware for the place settings that would be used all night long.

“Oh, no, that’s not how it works. I can’t tell you. You have to chose on your own. Come on, you’ve been here long enough, you have to like one of them over the other at this point.”

“Well, I don’t really know. I mean, I—”

Usopp broke off as Sanji’s voice flooded out into the dining room as one of the waitstaff pushed open the door. “What the fuck is this? I’m going to kill you, Zoro!”

Both Nami and Usopp turned to the doors as two of the waitstaff, Ace and Sabo, high-fived one another and Zoro’s laughter rang out of the swinging doors. “What happened,” Nami asked as Ace walked by.

“Zoro swapped Sanji’s salt and pepper shakers.”

“So?”

“No, like,” Ace paused, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his dress slacks. “Zoro put pepper in the salt shaker and salt in the pepper shaker.”

Sabo spoke up. “And barely screwed the covers on so Sanji just dumped a ton of pepper into the pot of soup he’s working on.” Nami started laughing as Sabo laughed from where he stood by the bar. “His face was priceless.”

Usopp gave Nami a flat look. “Team Zoro,” he asked, indicating herself, as well as both Sabo and Ace.

“Team Zoro,” she replied.

4

It was a particularly hot day in the area. It was still early Spring, but the temperature was insanely high compared to the normal and everyone was miserable. The waitstaff was complaining of the heat and so was the kitchen staff. Usopp had managed to dodge the bullet on having to chose sides in the war, but it hadn’t made the pranks stop. He was just walking through the double doors, clearing away the dishes from his last table that had just left to see both Zoro and Sanji standing by the large wash sinks. They were standing a little ways away from one another, but it was clear to Usopp that they were, at the least, being friendly with one another. Or they were until Sanji grabbed the spray nose that hung quietly between them and squirted it right in Zoro’s face. Zoro sputtered and Sanji laughed. “Oh, that’s it, Swirly,” Zoro stated and stalked off, brushing past Usopp on his way to the walk-in.

Sanji shrugged, chuckling under his breath to a couple of the other chefs when Zoro came back out of the walk-in with a pitcher of water in his hand. He looked right at Usopp, their eyes meeting. “You tell him, that puts you on his team, you stay quiet, that puts you on my team. Don’t make the wrong choice.”

“Zoro,” Usopp hissed, watching as he walked away, the pitcher gripped tightly in his hand. Walking straight up to Sanji, Zoro didn’t even pause as he dumped the water over Sanji’s head. The man screamed, it had to be so cold, whipping around and pushing Zoro in the chest.

“You absolute asshole,” Sanji yelled at him. “I’m fucking soaked.”

“Calm down, there’s a spare change of—” Usopp didn’t hear the rest as he left the kitchen, unsure of how he’d made any decision in what had just transpired. All he knew was that Zoro and Sanji clearly had it out for one another and he wanted no part in that, no matter what anyone else had to say about it.

5

Usopp figured he’d been working at the Baratie for about six weeks now. He’d been deemed part of Team Zoro after the water incident, but he still never actively partook in any of the pranks that had been going on. He refused to get excited when Zoro pranked Sanji or act defeated when Sanji pranked Zoro. He remained neutral, trying to just come to work, do his job and go home.

The entire staff had been called in early for a meeting that day and Usopp was amazed at how many people actually worked at the Baratie when you piled every one of them in the large dining room. Everyone was being loud and their voices echoed off the high ceilings as laughter, taunts and jeers rang out in the large room. In the middle of it all sat Zoro and Sanji, sitting surrounded by members of their own teams, throwing insults and just picking on one another.

Usopp had been drafted by Nami to help bring out a bunch of small plates to the table and was just pushing through the dining room doors as Chef Zeff stepped through the front door that was being held open by Ace. He was carrying a large white box with balloons held in one hand. “All right, settle down.” He was quiet for a moment as he waited, but no one calmed down or even seemed to notice Zeff standing in the doorway.

Usopp could see his boss finally grow tired and with a roll of his eyes, he took a deep breath. “Roronoa,” he shouted over the crowd and everyone fell silent as both Zoro and Sanji turned toward the door and shouted a combined, “What?”

“Happy Anniversary, boys.” Zeff held the cake out a little more as both Zoro and Sanji stood and moved toward him and it seemed their feud was completely forgotten. Everyone around them cheered and joined in on the congratulations while Usopp stood stunned by the door with his stack of plates in his hands.

“You didn’t,” Sanji started and pushed Zoro in the shoulder, but he was laughing now, almost flirting with Zoro and it was the weirdest thing Usopp had seen in this place to date.

“Didn’t have to,” Zoro replied, wrapping his arm around Sanji’s shoulders and tugging him close. “Dad did it all, I just had to pay for it.”

“What did I say about you calling me ‘dad,’ Zoro?” Zeff grumbled, but his words didn’t really have a lot of bite to them.

“Not to do it at work.” Zoro huffed as Sanji wrapped his arm around his waist before he leaned over to kiss Sanji’s cheek. “Happy Anniversary, Sanji.”

“Happy Anniversary, Zoro.” Sanji pressed a quick peck to Zoro’s lips. “I love you.”

“I love you,” Zoro answered back, flushing red when Ace called out for the two of them to just get a room already.

“Wait,” Usopp shook his head, dropping the plates heavily to the table he was standing by and waved a hand at Zoro and Sanji. “You’re married?”

“I don’t see how this is such a big deal.” Zeff answered, setting the cake down on a different table. “But if it is, we can discuss it in my office while everyone else celebrates out here.”

“What? No, no, it’s not that. It’s just— I thought they hated one another. The pranks, the having to chose sides, all of it. It’s flirting?” Usopp couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Why didn’t anyone say anything? This entire time I have thought Zoro and Sanji actually hated each other.”

Both Zoro and Sanji turned back to look at Usopp, grinning madly at him. “And that’s the best prank,” Zoro started.

“Fucking with the new guy,” Sanji finished. “Who wants cake?”

[charnamefic]

I really need TFP to sweep the rug out from under me.

I don't tend to leave fandoms. I think I'm into Sherlock for life. But I'm also thinking that I'm going to be one of those people who ignores canon after TRF.

I know that many viewers don't take what we're shown at face value. I know that the writers love to be clever and play tricks on their viewers. Still, I think it's important to always consider multiple perspectives and possibilities, so I have been entertaining the idea that we're seeing on screen is intended to be accepted exactly as shown. If that is right, I find the show heartbreaking in ways that have nothing to do with any shipping theories or arguments.

The events we have seen so far in series 4 -- if taken at face value -- have shown that this Sherlock Holmes and John Watson have become bad for each other. It's an interpretation that I'm distressed by, but can't put out of my mind. In full disclosure, I'm posting this partly because I want to be convinced that this interpretation is wrong.

When this show started, I loved the relationship between Sherlock and John. The way I saw it, they made each other's lives exponentially better. I think they each thought the other was amazing and cared for each other deeply. They were always both difficult, messed up, not necessarily good men, but they gave each other what they needed to be better and happier than they could have been.

Back when they were promoting the first series, we were told that John would humanize Sherlock and help him develop a softer side. I'm not sure whether or not this has happened. Yes, we have seen far more sweetness from Sherlock over series 3 and 4, but I believe we have also had a PoV switch. If the first two series were from John's perspective, then what we saw of Sherlock was what he was permitted to see. Perhaps these soft asides have always been there and we simply didn't have a chance to know about them. I think that if our perceptions of Sherlock in S3 and S4 were from John's point of view we would be seeing Sherlock very, very differently. He is still the sort of man who has so little consideration for the pain of others that he'd speak to a pair of grieving parents about their daughter under the conceit that their dead son wasn't important enough to deserve having his gender remembered. He still hurts people who aren't useful to him, or whose hurt may be convenient. I think it's entirely possible that exposure to John hasn't made a significant difference on Sherlock's humanity. I’m really not overly concerned about whether Sherlock has changed. In the end, I’m not sure he needs to. I bring the matter to attention to illustrate that these characters are meant to influence each other, and that sometimes those influences are more clear than others.

Since the Reichenbach fall, Sherlock has had at least two major drug relapses. One after the Watson wedding (which I thought was fair enough in reference to Holmes' drug use in The Sign of the Four) and one in response to Mary's death and John's reaction. Sherlock is miserable -- I believe suicidal -- without John, and I suspect that he's still better with John regardless of any "humanizing" or lack thereof, but I am no longer sure that John is better off with Sherlock.

I think it's reasonable to assume that believing that he had watched Sherlock kill himself all but destroyed John. I say this because of the acting choices made in that and the following scenes, and because John described Mary as the second person who saved his life. Mary was there to pick up the pieces of John after Sherlock fell. She did help him. In the wake of her death, he was left so broken that he started hallucinating her. If we take that at face value, I think it is only reasonable to conclude that he truly, deeply loved her. From what we've seen, the hallucinations would indicate that John grieved her far more intensely than he had Sherlock.

Mary helped John through his grieving process. He grieved for Sherlock, then he began to build a new life with her.

If Sherlock hadn't returned after The Reichenbach Fall, John would have lived in blissful ignorance of his wife's past. If he ever found out, it would likely have been through an event far less traumatizing than having her (temporarily) kill his best friend, which put a certain sort of spin on the information. He never would have felt inadequate in the face of Sherlock preferring her as a mystery-solving companion who was "better" at it than him. Without that trauma and those feelings of inadequacy, I don't believe he would have seriously considered an affair.

It was Sherlock who told Ajay who (Rosamund) Mary Watson was. He may have had information about her old identities on his flash drive, but since this new one was such a good disguise that -- again taking all of this at face value -- even Mycroft Holmes (who kept such close tabs on his little brother's companions that he abducted John immediately and confronted him with his therapist's notes, who had known that Sherlock was coming into extremely close contact with Mary, and who had worked with A.G.R.A. before) couldn't detect that she wasn't who she claimed she was, Ajay (with his fixation on his mysterious decision that she was the "English woman") would likely never have found her. If he had -- as we saw -- she could still take care of herself. It was Sherlock who led Ajay to Mary, and then Mary to her killer. Without Sherlock, Ajay would not have had the information he would need to go after the Watsons. Norbury would never have had any reason to encounter Mary. Mary's past was certainly a problem, but it was Sherlock who made it a dangerous one. John was wrong to blame Sherlock for Mary's death as he did. Sherlock did not force Mary to jump in front of a speeding bullet. Sherlock told John to come to the aquarium and sent Mary a text about curtains. Taking what we saw at face value, Mary's own actions were instrumental in her demise.

Even so, without Sherlock, we have every indication that Mary would still be alive.

Bad things would still have happened. Maybe the underground plot would have succeeded. Maybe Sholto would have died after the Watson wedding. Maybe Magnussen would have still tracked down and blackmailed Mary. Maybe someone else who was also apparently more competent than the man we're told acts as the British government would have. But if we take what the show has given us at face value, Mary could have solved that on her own. She could have shot Magnussen without being interrupted. The only consequences of his death came about because he was murdered in front of others while being filmed. Without Sherlock, he would have died without affecting John at all.

Would the Watsons be bored without regular adrenaline fixes? I think so. I think that would cause conflict. But I think they could raise their daughter happily enough together. Maybe they would need to occasionally go skydiving and participate in particularly intense paintball matches. Maybe activities like that wouldn't be enough. Maybe they'd find something else that would be; they're competent enough. The point is that Rosamund would have a living mother. John wouldn't be a single father passing his daughter off to friends while mourning. John wouldn't be hallucinating his dead wife from grief.

Sherlock came back, and his actions led to unbelievable pain for John. First through John's conception of how Sherlock had treated him (especially if we take the explanation that they told us was correct -- the one we saw given to Anderson -- as true) and then through the discovery that his wife's very identity was a lie. He started out with trust issues. His fears were justified. Betrayal was stacked upon betrayal by the people closest to him. Then the woman he loved died under his hands. I find it horrifying, but not at all inconceivable, that he ended up fucked up enough to do what he did in the morgue. He was entirely responsible for his own actions, no matter what state of mind he was in; I’m simply trying to convey that I found the outcome tragically believable.

If we are meant to interpret Mary the way they are telling us to, as a super competent ex-spy who did bad things but felt regret and wanted more than anything a domestic life with her loving husband and child, then our interpretations of everything else have to account for that. I know that many people in this fandom prefer -- for various reasons -- to interpret her as a villain. Due to the conclusion of this meta, I'll count myself among them. But, unless The Final Problem is going to retcon the last few episodes -- which I suspect is highly unlikely -- then she is the complicated, lovely woman that they have been telling us she is. And she's dead due to her association with Sherlock.

If we take everything we are seeing at face value (and I see why many people don't, but I dwell on it myself) then this John Watson would have been better off if Sherlock Holmes had died in The Reichenbach Fall. That is what I'm finding heartbreaking about this series.

I want this meta to be wrong. I keep reminding myself that no matter what, Thompson is writing The Final Problem and I usually love the way he writes Sherlock and John together. But even so, at this moment, I think BBC’s Sherlock is shaping up to be one of the most depressing Sherlock Holmes adaptations ever. It is what it is, but I know what I don’t want it to be.

Show me this is wrong. Please.