yurishippingolympics | YURI SHIPPING OLYMPICS 2024

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bonus round

YURI SHIPPING OLYMPICS 2024 - BONUS ROUND 7

For this round, we want to see prompts that are based on settings or locations! For your prompts, please provide a location or setting. It can be as specific or as abstract as you want, and can be in any medium you prefer!

POINTS - BONUS ROUNDS
For prompts: 10 points each (maximum of 150 prompt points per team per round)
For fills:
First 4 fills by any member of your team: 100 points each
Fills 5-10: 50 points each
Fills 11-20: 40 points each
Fills 21-50: 30 points each
Fills 51+: 25 points each

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Day 1: Cinder is slowly driving me insane. I do not think I am irritating enough to drive anyone insane, although Weiss may disagree. We have not found anything edible yet.

Update: we have found edible plants on the cliffs to the north. Team RWBY are going to go scavenging on one of the adjacent islands for wildlife. Jaune has gone with them. I think he does not want to be present when Cinder and I inevitably kill each other.

Day 2: Team RWBY have found a small travelling band of bipedal mice. They appear to speak Common, as well as a variety of Faunus dialects from the south of the continent. It’s possible that they have come into contact with other people from Remnant before. Ruby has befriended an ambassador from their colony. They are going to act as a guide for us, apparently.

Cinder broke first. She now will not talk to or look at me. I have no idea as to what I have done wrong, but Weiss informs me that my ‘self-sacrificial tendencies make me frustrating to interact with sometimes’. I don’t know what I said.

We have yet to encounter Neo, or any of the other individuals who fell. If anyone is to find this log of events, I can only apologise for our failure.

Day 3: Team RWBY have determined that we should cross to the nearest adjacent island, and use that to chart a path across to the mainland. According to Little (the mouse ambassador/guide), there is a mainland with a way out of this dimension, but it is difficult to access and will take a lot of time to reach. I have no idea how a mouse knows this, but I have learned not to ask.

The children have stopped turning to myself and Cinder for advice. I cannot say I am displeased with this development. I dislike being the sensible adult in a room full of trained Hunters who have proven to be capable of handling themselves. I just hope Weiss doesn’t think too badly of me.

She says she is glad that Cinder and I appear to be getting along now, but she still hasn’t spoken to me. I think she’s worried I may discover what happened between her and Weiss at Haven, since I’ve spoken about how the two of them seem to trust each other quite a lot before, but to be honest, I’ve known for a while. I’ve had logs of Weiss’s hospital visits for a while. Is that creepy? I hope not. I didn’t want to come across as too overbearing, so I stayed out of her way.

Day 4: Adjacent island successfully reached. We are going to travel as far as we can today in hopes of reaching the mainland within the week. Cinder has successfully fashioned a method of transporting the other five across the ocean; it involves both of our flying abilities, but it could be effective and save us a lot of time.

Unfortunately, she’s rather attractive when she’s explaining things.

Update: third island reached.

Update: fourth island reached. The mainland is within view. Little says this area is called ‘The Constellation Isles’, and that they and their colony usually burrow under the ocean floor to access the food here. That strikes me as being rather insane, but I really can’t judge.

Day 5: The initial mode of transportation we used failed at the last hurdle, so Cinder and I are taking turns flying each individual in our group across the remaining stretch of sea. This works out rather well; it means we won’t have to talk to each other or exist in the same space for the whole day. I really don’t know what I’ve done wrong. I miss talking to her.

Day 6: Rest day. We are now on the mainland. Cinder put her bedroll next to mine last night, and I have no idea why.

“How are you not more upset,” says Light.

L glances over. “About what?”

“This is the third room we’ve been in that’s just a pool in the middle of nowhere!”

“Mm,” L says, unperturbedly. (She is perturbed. L does not like to be in any place without knowing more about the place than it does about her, and she suspects these rooms aren’t on any map. But at least Light’s distress is amusing.) “It’s a good thing I’m barefoot.”

“No it’s not! What if some — bacteria was down there?”

“Your concern is gratifying,” L says, taking another step along the metal railing. “I’m touched, Light-chan. We work so well together.”

“Fuck you,” Light says. She’s skirting around the edges of the pool, because she’s a square. “Look, I’m serious, I don’t want you killed by falling into a pool.”

The railing wobbles. L does not. “If I was going to contract foot disease from bacteria, I would have done so at age five.” And you say that because you want to kill me personally, Kira.

Light makes a disgusted face. “Why did I ask.”

“Only the heavens know,” L says dryly.

She tilts her face up to look at the ceiling. Truthfully, she would rather there were ants or dead flies or some organism here. But it seems there isn’t a single living thing in these rooms other than herself and Light.

Could Light have done this deliberately?

L sneaks another look at her. Light is currently shaking invisible water droplets off her dress shoes with a look as grim as the Reaper.

No, she decides. Light is almost certainly a supernatural serial killer who has a body count of six thousand people and counting, but she was not the reason they ended up here.

“You’re staring at me again,” Light says, without looking up. “Cut it out.”

The railing wobbles again. L decides it’s not worth the risk of using her feet; despite her training they’re still not quite as dexterous as her hands. She flips upside down and starts handstanding her way across instead. “You are a suspect in a murder investigation.”

“You’re still on that,” Light says, exasperated. Her fingers twitch. Her writing hand, L notices. “We caught Higuchi yesterday. Can’t we just agree to be friends?”

“We were always friends,” L says, as she does an elegant flip and lands on the other side of the pool. Ha! L 1, Kira 0. “I’m only stating the facts.”

“Right.” Light looks like she wants to say more, but instead speeds up, shoes squeaking on the tile.

L considers forging into the next room without her, but pauses instead, tapping her fingers on the wall. She knocks on every tile, starting from her feet to as tall as she can reach. They all sound equally solid.

“Nothing?”

L whirls around. There is Light standing right in front of her. L hadn’t even noticed she’d made it across.

She really has to stop letting her guard down, she thinks. She’s gotten soft.

“Nothing,” L says, straightening into her usual hunch.

Light drags a hand across her face. “Damn it.”

It would not be as easy as Light probably thinks it would be to take L in a fight. L hasn’t trained in martial arts for years for nothing. Still, being trapped in an extradimensional space with a miasma of creeping horror exuding from every corner with your worst enemy isn’t pleasant. It would be very easy for Light to drown her right in this room, in fact, and make her own way out of this space to claim that Ryuzaki died trying to get us both out, isn’t it tragic? It’s not like there are any witnesses here.

But it wouldn’t be in keeping with their game. Light has had ample opportunities to poison her and has taken none of them.

Is that it? Is it the Death Note or nothing?

Light’s fingers twitch again. “C’mon, Ryuzaki. Let’s get going.”

“Let’s,” L agrees.

“Kiyomi? Where are you taking me?”

“Shut up,” Kiyomi says. Her blood is running hot and her brain is television static and she needs to punch Misa, she needs to kill her, she needs —

Misa gasps in feigned shock. “You don’t mean…? Oh Kiyo, it’s not even noon yet!”

“Shut up.” She digs her nails into Misa’s wrist for good measure — not hard enough to break skin, just barely enough to hurt. Misa gasps again, ragged around the edges; a liquid surge of triumph soars through Kiyomi’s nerves.

“What did I do this time, Vice Principal Takada?” Misa asks. Even without turning to look Kiyomi can see her batting her eyes.

“You,” Kiyomi grits out, “questioned my authority in front of an entire grade of students. And their parents.”

“It’s not like I rigged that microphone on purpose!”

“Yes you did.”

“Yes I did,” Misa says, and laughs. “But c’mon, that’s nothing. Remember that time with the noodles—”

Finally! The teachers’ lounge is clear, thank god. Kiyomi swipes her ID card too fast and has to hold it to the sensor for five long, agonizing seconds before it beeps and she shoves the glass door open.

“Wow, you’re in a hurry,” Misa remarks, a little breathless.

Kiyomi doesn’t know why she does this. It’s not like she likes Misa. Kiyomi’s well aware she’s bisexual, but Misa isn’t anywhere near her type. Misa is stupid and petty and annoying and arrogant and — and exactly like the women Kiyomi has spent so much time trying to prove herself as different from. As better than. And Misa just swings in and ruins everything so easily with that sharp smile on her face.

They’ve been doing this for two school terms now. Kiyomi has several regrets, and also none at all.

The supply closet is, thank the gods, unlocked.

“Two taps for out?” Kiyomi whispers.

“Same as always,” Misa answers, and grins.

Kiyomi fumbles the lock shut in record time before shoving Misa against the wall, and when she kisses her in the darkness Misa’s groan is electric.

Haori plucks out the final manga.

She wishes she had room for one more — her eye is especially drawn to The Guy She Was Interested in Wasn't a Guy at All — but she already has two armfuls of books, and besides, she’s limited herself to only investigating classic yuri for now. She can branch out later, but it’s important to get a good understanding of the fundamentals.

She stands decisively and is about to make her way over to the counter, when —

“Haori-sama?”

Oh. Oh god.

“Susato-chan!”

There she is — Susato’s near the American superhero comics section, eyes wide in shock, holding a single volume of Spiderman along with a previously acquired copy of Moriarty the Patriot. Haori attempts to wave before she remembers how many mangas she has on her. One slips to the floor. It’s Revolutionary Girl Utena, because of course it is.

Susato’s eyes go down to the book. Then back up to Haori. “I wasn’t aware you liked comics, Haori-sama,” she says, and starts making her way over.

“Oh! No! I mean, yes! I mean — I thought I should branch out a little more,” Haori says, almost gesturing with her hands before stopping herself again. “Into some other romance genres.”

Susato tilts her head, amused. “Sick of dashing gentlemen?”

“Never!” Haori says vehemently. “Just, um…”

Susato waits patiently until it becomes clear Haori isn’t going to finish the sentence. “Is something wrong?”

Haori attempts to hide behind one of the stacks of mangas she’s holding. She suspects Susato sees her blush anyway. “…more kinds of gentlemen,” she mumbles.

“Here you go,” Susato says, her warm lilting voice suddenly very close. Haori almost jumps out of her skin. She pokes her head out and oh, Susato is right there, slotting Haori’s fallen manga into the pile gathered in her arms; Haori gapes at her. “That’s quite a lot of books.”

“It’s necessary for research,” Haori explains.

“Oh?” Susato blinks. “What kind of research?”

Well, after you dressed as a boy the other day, I realized I’ve been in love with you for eleven years and I need to know all the yuri tropes so I can propose to you immediately.

“Well, after you dr—I mean!” Haori is not actually bad at lying, per se. She’s just bad at lying on the spot, and therefore sputters for five seconds while growing steadily redder. “Um. It’s for. A book report!”

“A book report?”

“Yes and I have to start on it right away see you later Susato-chan thanks for the help,” Haori yells before she sprints for the cashier.

“I’m afraid there are no more rooms,” says the old lady at the counter.

“That’s not possible,” Kiyomi argues. She tries her best to be polite to minimum wage workers, but she’s been freezing ever since she accidentally brushed the single wilted potted plant in the corner of the room and it shriveled away from her touch and into the peeling yellow wallpaper, so forgive her. “I booked ahead, I have my reservation receipt right here.”

“Sorry,” the old woman says, and smiles at her. Her teeth are very sharp, Kiyomi notes. Very, very sharp. “I’m — that is, we’re full.”

Kiyomi grits her teeth. She will not let herself be scared away from her rightful place by one slightly creepy elderly woman. “Please, I really don’t have another place to stay,” she says. “I’m sure you could find something.”

“No more rooms,” the old woman says stubbornly.

“I could sleep on the couch in the lobby,” Kiyomi threatens. Let that chase away all the customers. It wouldn’t be a good look for Kiyomi, but it’s not like anyone respectable is coming to this motel.

“What couch?”

Kiyomi turns. The couch is gone.

“It was right there,” she says, pointing in front of the potted plant.

“I’m sorry, dear,” the old woman says. “I’m afraid your mind must be playing tricks on you.”

“No, I swear—”

“Is that who I think it is?” comes a new voice from down the hallway.

Kiyomi stiffens. No. No, please god no…

“Kiyomi-chan!” Misa fucking Amane pokes her head out of her room. “What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?”

“Oh, how lovely!” The old woman claps her hands together. “You two are friends?”

This is somehow the most horrifying thing that has happened all night.

“Yes,” Kiyomi grits out. “We’re on wonderful terms.”

“And I still owe you a meal!” Misa grins at her, leaning against the open doorframe. Her smile is even more like a shark’s than the old woman’s. “I’ve wanted to meet up with you again for ages!”

Kiyomi had actually contemplated asking Misa out again, this is true. She’d lost horribly at their last dinner and she knew it. But the winner asking the loser for a rematch is just bad etiquette.

Then again, she shouldn’t have expected Misa Amane to know anything about etiquette.

“Can we share a room, please?” Misa turns her puppy-dog eyes on the old woman. “Pretty please? We’ll be good quiet girls, right, Kiyo?”

If you don’t get drunk again, Kiyomi kindly does not say. “Yes, of course.”

“Hmmm,” the old woman says. “I suppose I’ll allow it. Friends are so sweet when eaten — I mean, meetin’ together.” She smiles at Kiyomi again; Kiyomi flinches. “Free of charge.”

“Oh, thank you very much!” Kiyomi nods politely.

“Now shoo.”

Before Kiyomi can do so, Misa has already darted out and pulled her into the room with a vice grip on her arm. The door slams shut behind them.

Kiyomi turns in a circle. The ceiling fan is not only broken, but also slanted at an odd angle to the ceiling. There is a pentagram etched on the floor. The bathroom mirror is grimed with mold from unknown sources. And to top it all off, the true horror: there is only one bed.

“Shall we work out sleeping arrangements, Amane-san?”

Misa doesn’t respond.

Kiyomi turns. “Amane-san—?”

Misa pauses in the middle of barricading the door with a chair, a knife between her teeth. “Mmf?” she asks through the knife.

“What,” Kiyomi says slowly, “are you doing.”

Misa finishes shoving the chair under the handle and shifts her knife to her free hand. “Saving our lives? Duh?”

“By trapping me in here with a knife?”

“The knife is for the monsters outside, obviously,” Misa says.

Kiyomi scoffs. “Amane-san, I don’t know what you’ve heard, but this motel—”

“I’ve stabbed three different zombies already,” Misa informs her cheerfully. “Because I’ve been here three nights. And you know what? If you were out there on the couch, you’d be dead five minutes in.”

“…There isn’t a couch.”

“Fucker.” Misa pauses. “Why are you staying here, Kiyomi?”

Kiyomi’s head is spinning. Is this some kind of reality TV show she’s been snatched into? Has Misa finally lost it? What the hell is going on?

Best to play along for now.

“NHN is hosting a get-together event,” Kiyomi says. Truth.

“And this is where you’re staying?”

“Yes,” Kiyomi bites out. “Because I’m the stand-in for the host, who is Miho Sato.”

“And you have to pay for it yourself?” Misa stares, then shakes her head. “Bastards.”

With anyone else Kiyomi would’ve defended her company’s decision. Maybe even said she was happy with how it had all turned out. Kiyomi Takada is meant to be above it all.

But Misa — what does she have to lose around Misa?

“Bastards,” Kiyomi agrees.

Misa grins. “Alright, monster of the week should be here in ten.”

“Do you have another knife for me?” Kiyomi asks.

“Better,” Misa says. “I’ve got a gun.”

Kiyo’s good at this, Misa reflects. Like, scarily good at this.

She’s not better than Misa, obviously, hut — it’s interesting, the way she pulls it off. Misa’s good at managing her microexpressions and gestures and breaths, she’s good at playing out every nuance of the role she needs to play, but underneath all that she’s still Misa.

Kiyomi, on the other hand… it’s like she puts on a mask. Pulls a switch somewhere in her head and she becomes a whole different person.

It’s got one flaw though, Misa thinks, a little viciously. Masks can be poked off.

“You look wearily,” she says, pouring every ounce of worry and care that she has into the words.

“No, noble mistress,” Kiyomi answers. As Ferdinand, she has her hair tucked into her hat. “’Tis fresh morning with me when you are by at night.”

Misa swallows. Her — no, Ferdinand’s — eyes are so very gentle, almost worshipful. The real Kiyomi would probably rather cut her hand off than look at Misa that way.

“I do beseech you,” Kiyomi continues, eyes fixed on Misa’s, “chiefly that I might set it in my prayers: what is your name?”

“Miranda,” Misa answers. I gasp here; I lean forward in horror. “O my father, I have broke your hest to say so!”

And — so lightly it looks like an accident — she brushes against Kiyomi’s arm when she gestures.

Kiyomi instantly stiffens and glares.

Misa doesn’t grin. But she does, as subtly as possible, wink.

Got her.

“Admired Miranda,” Kiyomi manages, before she becomes Ferdinand once more. “Indeed the top of admiration, worth what’s dearest to the world…”

Misa’s going to pay for that slip later, but when Kiyomi pauses halfway through her monologue just to shoot her another glare —

Oh, worth it. So worth it.

(“Have you seen the local newspaper’s review, Amane-san?”

“No, why?”

“They say that we… that Ferdinand and Miranda… had, er, ‘insane chemistry.’”

“Oh! Good!”

“…Right. Yes. Good.”)

Pride parade!

A swamp of quicksand!

A corn maze during Halloween!

On a lifeboat!

In an elite skiing resort!

Twenty minutes into the second hour, Cinder announces that she fears she’s losing her mind. Winter is inclined to agree.

Instead of doing something useful with her time — like trying to crack open the hatch at the top so they can both climb out — she’s taken to bouncing the stress ball Whitley got her against the walls above Cinder’s head. It’s not the most productive, but it keeps Cinder from chewing her own fingers off, so it’s something.

Aside from that — the irregular thud of the ball striking metal — there’s no sound. Cinder makes the occasional passing commentary, really, and that’s it. The world has ground to a halt; there’s nothing to do except wait to fall to their deaths or pray the maintenance guy gets his fucking act together and shows up before they kill each other. A shame; Winter thinks she’d have liked to get to know Cinder better before one of them died.

The question, when it comes, startles them both. Cinder tilts her head up from where she’s been keeping it ducked so Winter doesn’t hit it and says, “What were you going to do today?”

“What?”

She gestures around them, avoiding Winter’s gaze. “Before all this. What were you going to do?”

“Oh. Um.” Winter shrugs, glancing away. “Just go home, I suppose. I’ve had a long day.”

“And now it’s even longer,” Cinder says observantly. “Yeah, that sucks. I was supposed to be having dinner with one of my —” she winces, “one of my friends, but she’s probably stuck in the lobby now.”

It’s the calmest Winter has ever seen her. “One of your friends?”

She nods. “Neo. You know her, probably. She — we almost killed each other a little while ago.”

“Ah, so like us.”

Cinder grins. “Oh, exactly like us. Except we actually used to be friends.”

“I was your friend,” Winter says, kicking her shin from across the floor.

Cinder, of course, kicks her shin right back. “Not the point, babe. She’s going to think I’ve ditched her.”

“Well, first she’s going to think there’s a broken elevator, and then she might think you ditched her in the lobby.”

Cinder kicks her shin again. “Maybe she’ll scale the wall outside.”

That would be a sight, Winter thinks; all five feet flat of Neo Politan crawling up the side of their shitty apartment building, specifically to come in through Cinder’s window and spite her. Honestly, were it not fucking freezing outside, she wouldn’t put it past her. Neo has proven herself to be capable of incredible forms of tactical revenge. “So, what will you do when she tries to murder you again?”

Cinder shrugs extravagantly. “Throw her out of my window. It’s seven stories.”

“Oh, someone was killed bad,” Chisato says, and Takina is inclined to agree.

She steps neatly around a pool of blood on the floor and pushes into the open restroom stall to look over Chisato’s shoulder, hyper-aware of her own breath on the back of her neck. There isn’t much of a corpse left to look at. “Poor man.”

Chisato hums her agreement. Her hand strays towards the gun at her hip, a nervous reflex of hers from some sort of mission Takina wasn’t told to go on, the kind that lingers with you. She started noticing it a few weeks ago, and she still isn’t sure if she should bother pointing it out or not.

Instead of saying you should probably stop staring at all the blood and gore or step away and I’ll do the necessary identification or what else won’t you tell me? Why are you afraid of me learning about you?, Takina props her head on Chisato’s shoulder and rattles off what she already knows. “Victim was a Japanese man in his early thirties, likely killed by someone in possession of the guns we’re tracking. He was targeted for his wealth and connections. DA think it was someone close to him. His entire household has been locked down. Police haven’t touched the crime scene.”

“Ooh, someone memorised the file,” Chisato teases, but her hand strays away from the gun anyway. “I’ll, um — you check him out, I’ll —”

Takina squares her shoulders. “Stand guard by the door. We don’t know if the killer is still around.”

Chisato blinks at her once, twice, testing her resolve and finding no cracks. “Yeah, okay,” she says, and that’s how it should be, Takina thinks; this is what partners in the field are supposed to do.

Build a Bear Workshop

“Why are you here.”

“Why are you here, Light-chan?” Light can’t see L’s face in the IT box from the stage, but her voice echoes from the surround-sound equipment everywhere. “Rehearsal isn’t until an hour.”

“I got the time wrong,” Light lies. “So I thought I’d get some more practice in the meantime.”

“Really.” Light can hear the eyebrow raise in the sentence. “I’m impressed, Light-chan. I’d say your speech is already perfect.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Light challenges. She feels odd, standing on a lit stage all alone while L watches from the safety of the darkness. But isn’t that how they’ve always been?

“I like to spend my time here,” L says. “The darkness helps me think.”

“Oh.”

There is a brief silence. Light preoccupies herself with checking the microphone settings.

“Well?” L asks. The speakers distort her voice a little.

“Well what?”

“Are you going to practice your speech?”

“Not while you’re just sitting there,” Light retorts.

“You can always pretend I’m not here.”

“No,” Light says. “I can’t.”

It slips from her before she means it to. But it’s true: Light can’t ignore L. It feels physically impossible to escape the weight of that gaze, of L’s black-hole eyes staring into her own, dredging up all of Light’s ugly buried asteroid dust. Light stares up at the black box at the back of the auditorium and wonders if she is being watched back.

She hopes she is. It’s a terrible hope. Please see me.

L clears her throat. “Well, I believe I have solved Light-chan’s problem.”

“What?”

“I’m standing now.”

It takes a bit for the words to process. “Bastard,” Light says. “Get down here.”

The glass door slides open. L emerges from within, a flickering shadow on the edge of reality, and makes her way down to the front row.

“Can I sit now, or is Light-chan going to make me stand the whole time?” she asks.

Light rolls her eyes. “Yes, Ryuzaki, go ahead,” she says.

L sits. Tucks her knees up to her chest and raises her head and watches her, gaze as steady as the ticking of the clock Light can hear from backstage.

Light swallows. She stares back, devours L’s silhouette outlined so beautifully against the stage lights.

This is fair. Equal ground.

“Good morning, everyone,” she begins, still looking L right in the eye. “My name is Light Yagami…”

Ship: Ran Yakumo x Yuuma Toutetsu
so uh, i have a quota to fill.
Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58469875

On the tenth day of being quarantined Misa suggests breaking into the karaoke room.

“Mmrgh,” Kiyomi responds, as any sane person would do at three in the morning.

Thankfully, Misa isn’t sane. “I know you’re awake, Kiyo.”

“Ugh.” Kiyomi sits up. Her normally perfectly groomed hair is sticking away from her like a lioness’s mane; she shakes her head, which doesn’t make it better. Misa grins, impossibly — endeared? No, that can’t be what it is, this is Kiyomi for god’s sake. “No.”

“Why nooot,” Misa whines.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“Witching hour,” Misa says. See, she did learn some things from Akako. “Which means no one will be around to stop us.”

Kiyomi purses her lips.

“Nobody’s watching,” Misa wheedles. “C’mon, Halle and Mochi are so asleep right now! It’s the perfect time for you to be a normal person!”

“A normal person would go back to bed.”

“Okay,” Misa says, and raises her eyebrows at her.

Kiyomi’s eyebrows furrow. The corner of her mouth twitches like it can’t decide whether to smile or frown.

Misa sighs. “Please?”

And Kiyomi stands.

Okay, so maybe Misa got herself into a little bit more trouble than she’d anticipated.

“Jolene,” Kiyomi sings, her voice cracking a little from the falsetto but her eyes locked on Misa’s own, “I’m begging of you please don’t take my man…”

Misa swallows. The ship lurches below them, caught in the perfect storm of COVID quarantine and the actual typhoon outside, but Kiyomi’s gaze stays steady on hers and she leans in far too close when she passes Misa the other microphone, and this is sleep deprivation, this has to be sleep deprivation, there’s no way Misa’s actually considering —

“Your beauty is beyond compare!” Misa scream-sings into the mic, and then — just because she can — drops it back on the table and leans in to use Kiyomi’s instead. “With flaming locks of auburn hair!”

Kiyomi startles, but doesn’t jerk away. Instead she — grabs Misa’s hand and wraps it around the microphone. “With ivory skin and eyes of emerald green,” she sings, and brushes ever so slightly against the fringe of Misa’s eyelashes. Misa hasn’t bothered putting in her contacts the past few days; her eyes are the same dark brown she’s always thought was ugly, but the way Kiyomi’s staring — “Your smile is like a breath of spring.”

Misa can’t lose now. She can’t. “Your voice is soft like summer rain,” which is true, fuck, fuck, “and I cannot compete with you, Jolene—”

“He talks about you in his sleep,” Kiyomi interrupts. “And there’s nothing I can do to keep from crying when he says your name—”

“JOLENE!” Misa shouts, and then they’re both screaming it: “Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, I’m begging of you please don’t take my man…”

The staff kick them out at 7 a.m.

The worst part is this: Ema spends so much time in IKEA already, she didn’t even notice a difference until the second day.

It feels deeply unfair, is all she’s saying. If there’s going to be an even more evil version of the store she works in, can’t it limit itself to trapping glimmerous fop performers and the insufferable customers who only come for the meatballs and yell when Ema dares to experiment with the recipe a little?

“I’ve been a model employee!” she yells at the ceiling.

No reply. She almost wishes the fake people monsters would come and kill her already, to put her out of her despair and alcohol withdrawal symptoms, but no such luck.

“Gruugh… Ema?”

Oh. She looks over at the neighboring bedroll guiltily. “Sorry for waking you,” she mutters.

“S’alright.” Maya sits up and stretches, her shirt riding up slightly. Ema tries her best not to look. “I wasn’t sleeping much anyway.”

“Really?”

“Bad dreams,” Maya says, shrugging. “The usual.”

Ema looks at her. Now that her mind’s shifting into forensic scientist mode she’s noticing things, things like Maya’s fingers fidgeting with the cords of her bracelet and the puffiness around her eyes.

“Hey,” she says. “Want a midnight snack?”

“Whuh?” Maya blinks, then rubs her eyes; she instantly looks three times more alert. “Really?”

“No point just lying around hoping to be kidnapped by Morbius.”

“By… by who?”

“Shit. Morpheus?”

Maya still looks about as blank as Ema’s resume is of science jobs.

“No point trying to sleep,” Ema rephrases. “C’mon, I want my damn Snackoos.”

Maya brightens. “You figured out the recipe?”

“Nah,” Ema says. “I’m close though, I swear.” There has to be some way of combining IKEA supplies into her cherished snack food.

“You’ll get there!” Maya grins, and for a second Ema almost forgets she’s the one who’s supposed to be comforting Maya, not the other way around. Her smile lights up the miniature tent they’ve made here in their little town of Exchange. “I can feel it.”

How do you stay so bright all the time?

Ema wonders, but she doesn’t say it aloud. To do that would pretty much be confessing to Maya that without her, Ema might have thrown herself to the wolves weeks ago. Without her Ema’s nothing.

She clears her throat. “And I think we’ve still got some burgers.”

“Hell yes,” Maya says fervently, and so they lift the tent flap and step into —

……

This isn’t IKEA anymore.

The edge of the world is not spectacular.

Kiyomi had been imagining a beautiful ice-swept vista, maybe an ominous volcano bubbling on the side. At the very least she’d expected the water to be clean. But here they are, staring down at a rocky shoreline, upon which an entirely ordinary ocean laps. Kiyomi can see an empty waterbottle drifting in its currents.

“So this is it,” Misa says.

There’s a thread of anxiety in her voice. Kiyomi doesn’t look over, but she does knock Misa’s shoulder with her own briefly and listens as Misa exhales, a little ragged.

“This is it,” Kiyomi agrees.

It’s not fair. It’s not.

“I’ve been told,” Misa says, “that you humans call this the ‘Pacific Ocean.’”

“And I expect you elves call it the Sea of Wonders, is that it?” Kiyomi snips back.

“No,” Misa says. “We call it the Fall.”

Kiyomi swallows.

“You’re sure you couldn’t take me with you?”

“It’s not allowed,” Misa mumbles. “Only elves can make it over the edge. Everyone else just — sails right back to where they started, once they’re noticed by the authorities, and they always are. Old magic or something.”

“I could sneak in,” Kiyomi says. “If you wanted me to. I can be very quiet.”

“There’s one more problem,” Misa says. “You can’t go back.”

“…Oh.”

Kiyomi supposes it makes sense. It’s falling off the edge of the world, after all. Not very likely that someone could come back from that.

“I used to think,” Misa says, staring at the floor, “that of course I’d want my boyfriend to come with me, when I passed on. What’s the point of love if you wouldn’t die for them, right? It was the most romantic thing in the world to me.”

“And it’s not anymore?”

“Well, you’re hardly a boyfriend,” Misa says.

“Misa.”

Misa makes a little finger gun and fires it at Kiyomi’s forehead with a bang! Then grins. It’s wan, though, not Misa-like at all. “I don’t know. It’s still beautiful, I guess. But I don’t — want you to die.”

“I’d be with you,” Kiyomi says.

Misa makes a frustrated noise. “Yes, but — I — I’d be taking you away from everything you ever loved, and I. I don’t want that any more. Even if I’m alone.”

“Misa…”

“I like you, Kiyomi,” Misa says. She’s shaking. “I love you, yeah, but love’s easy for me because I’m sick in the head. But it’s not just that, I — I like you. I really, really fucking like you. And I don’t want —”

She trails off, then.

Kiyomi reaches and takes her hand.

“I like you too,” she says.

Misa shudders, then breathes out. “Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, I know.”

They watch the ocean for a while more. The bottle, Kiyomi notices, has drifted ashore. It’s stuck in the sand now.

“Five more years,” Kiyomi says, as gently as she knows how.

Misa nods.

“It’s a lot of time.”

“Yeah,” Misa murmurs. “It is.”

They turn and leave the Fall for another day.

After it is all finished — after a delighted Iris starts to yawn and has to be carried back to the car by a weary Ryuunosuke Naruhodou — after Susato finishes cleaning up the last few pellets of Nerf gun fire wedged between the ancient cobblestone — she turns to Haori.

“Are you alright, Haori-sama?”

“Whuh?” Haori stirs awake, then bolts upright. “Ah! Ryuutarou-san! I’m so sorry! I laced your cheek!”

Susato touches the cut. Truthfully, she’d almost forgot about it with all the adrenaline of the night, but it does sting. “It’s alright,” she says. “You were drunk.”

“That’s no excuse! Here,” and Haori produces an antiseptic wipe from the sleeve of her dress. “I’ll clean the skin around it for you.”

“Ah! No, I can do it myself!” Susato snatches the wipe from an approaching Haori. She’s sure she’s turning red — it’s a good thing Iris isn’t around to see; she wouldn’t want to be accused of flirting again.

“Oh, okay,” Haori says, then produces a bandage. It has a fun picture of a ladybug on it. “Do you want this at least?”

“Um… do you have any without pictures?”

“Oh! Right!” Haori instantly comes up with a box of bandages with a full range of skin tones. “Here you go. Very useful for when, ah, accidents happen.”

Did Susato just hear an ominous Latin choir behind the word accidents? No, that kind of thing only happens in TV shows.

“Thank you,” Susato says, then pauses. “…Why do you have so much medical equipment on you?” Aren’t I supposed to be the doctor? Though a psychological one…

Haori startles, hand flying to her mouth. “Ah! It’s just! Um… a habit!”

“A habit?”

“Yes! From taking care of Yuri for so long. He was always getting into scrapes. Ahaha.”

“Oh,” Susato says, nodding in understanding. Of course, Twilight! How could you forget about scrapes?

She peels the bandage carefully and sticks it to her skin, trying not to wonder how warm Haori’s fingers would be if she’d helped “Ryuutarou” with it. Maybe she would cup Susato’s cheek with one hand. Maybe Susato would have felt — safe.

This is a ridiculous concept, of course. Susato is Twilight, most elite spy of Westalis, conducting a mission of utmost importance, and she’s standing next to the one person who absolutely cannot know anything real about her ever. Not even her name.

“I’m sorry I broke your high heel,” Susato says when the silence begins to hang in the air, like the ivy crawling over the cobblestone walls.

“It’s alright! I have three copies of exactly the same ones!”

Susato nods with approval; she herself owns seven identical versions of her current shirt because nothing else has the right texture. Haori is a woman after her own heart. “That’s a relief to hear.”

“Ryuutarou!” Ryuunosuke’s voice drifts over. Susato darts over and peers through the window — really a chunk of missing wall — to see him waving from ground level. “We should get going!”

Susato extends a hand to Haori and smiles. “Shall we?”

Haori stares at her.

“…Is there something on my face?”

“Um, a bandage,” Haori says. “But I meant to say — you’re such a gentleman.”

“Oh.” Something warm fizzes in her chest. “Thank you.”

Thankfully Haori takes her hand instead of roundhouse kicking her in the face out of embarrassment.

Pairing: Ora/Tsukuyomi (Kamen Rider Zi-O)
Words: 457

-

Once upon a time, Ora had mocked the privileges her classmate got as plain and simple nepotism. So what, she was the principal’s sister? Ora was his favourite student, and it wasn’t like she got first dibs on lunch or a key to the (very much out-of-bounds) rooftop.

Now, given that she’s dating that very same nepo-baby, she thanks god that Swartz is such a suck-up to his little sister. If it weren’t for their parent’s messy divorce, Ora wouldn’t be having rooftop dates with her girlfriend while they wine and dined on the most fresh, delicious (read: relatively mediocre) cafeteria food.

Not that she’d ever admit to giving Swartz any props. He has a big enough ego as it is. Alpina probably doesn’t need to know about the whole ‘thinking you were a nepotism hire acceptance’ thing either.

Instead, she just smiles and nods while Alpina rambles about this-and-that. Complaints about Myokouin and Tokiwa, most likely.

“-I mean, seriously? You’d think they were toddlers and not highschoolers! I can’t believe those two sometimes…” Alpina complains, taking a bite out of her melon bread. She chews it methodically, before noticing Ora is staring at her unblinkingly. “Hm? Ora?”

“‘s nothing.” She replies, then thinks better of it. It’s not an answer Alpina will accept laying down. “Just thinking how cute you are, that’s all.”

As expected, Alpina goes red. She’s so bad with compliments.

“H-hey! Not in public!” Alpina says with a hiss. Despite that, she doesn’t really sound angry.

Ora rolls her eyes. “We’re the only ones here; what, you think someone's gonna walk in on us flirting?”

“You were the one flirting.” Alpina corrects, frowning. “Well, not the point. My brother has the key, and so do the rest of the staff! Swartz gave me the key because he believed I wouldn’t ‘fool around’ on the roof.”

“Come on! Your brother totally knows we come up here to make out! He’s probably just glad we aren’t cutting class in the process.”

“Still…”

“What? I can’t call my girlfriend cute? You’re basically depriving me of my basic needs!” Ora exclaims. “Food, water, my cute girlfriend-”

Alpina cuts her off before she can finish, playfully hitting Ora’s shoulder. “Okay, I get it! Ugh, you sound like Sougo when he’s with your brother…”

“Gross? Don’t mention those two in the same sentence as us ever again.”

Alpina laughs at the expression on Ora’s face. “Sorry.”

She doesn’t sound one bit sorry. Ora really wants to kiss that smile off her face.

So she does, regardless of the threat of being walked in on. Shouldn’t have given Alpina the rooftop key if you didn’t want her girlfriend to make good use of the private area, old man. Suck it.

Takina waits thirty-three hours before she gets sick of dodging nurses. It takes very little effort to locate Chisato’s room; she flags down a harried-looking older man, badgers Kurumi until she complies, and stakes out outside Chisato’s ward instead of wandering the halls and losing sleep.

She thinks someone must have spoken to the staff, because no one bothers to move her. There’s a little seat a few metres down the hall that she slumps into, and the Lycoris badge on the shoulder of her uniform prevents people from asking her any questions. It’s not perfect — perfect would involve being allowed into Chisato’s room, but she’d rather not push her luck — but it’s something.

If she focuses, Takina swears she can hear her last words to her before they took her to the hospital pinging around the back of her skull. It gets stronger the closer she gets to the door and the girl in the bed behind it — Swear you’ll be here when I come back? Promise me?, a thread tugging her ever onwards. After a power nap, she gets up and starts pacing past Chisato’s door, just to be close to her.

She doesn’t get to be close to her for a while.

The more she thinks about it, the more Takina gets the impression that Chisato didn’t exactly know where she was going when they pulled the two of them out of the tower. They were both half-conscious at the time, bleeding and tired. Would she hold her to a promise she might not remember?

(It doesn’t matter, Takina decides; she’ll hold herself to it. She took Chisato’s hand in that ambulance and said, I promise you, and that has to count for something.)

In the days following the fallout of the attack, Chisato vanishes. There’s a brief panic, and then Mika and Kurumi announce that they were keeping an eye on plane departures anyway, so the panic morphs into exasperation. She snuck out of the hospital, one assumes, even though Chisato has only ever been capable of being subtle when someone puts a gun in her hand.

“Well, I’ll send you off to get her when we pin her down,” Mika says one morning, and all of them look at Takina at once. She blinks over at him.

“Me?”

He shrugs. “She’s in love with you. Who else would it be?”

“There’s someone following us,” Takina says idly.

“He’s six,” Chisato laughs, pulling her down the corridor. “Come on, I told you this would be fun!”

Takina, who has never been inside a museum in her life, stares at the back of her head as she jogs behind her. “What are we supposed to do?”

“Well, there’s modern history upstairs,” Chisato points to a staircase at the top of the corridor, “and fossils and things to the left, but what I want to show you is in the art gallery. How have you never been to a museum before?”

“Wasn’t any time,” Takina says distractedly. Chisato has started pulling her towards the fossil door, and she’s still not used to the feeling of another hand in her own, guiding her onward. There wasn’t a lot of affectionate hand-grabbing before LycoReco.

“You’re missing out on so much,” Chisato says emphatically. “I can’t believe I get to show you statues.”

“I know all about this museum’s collection of Greek art. I did some preliminary research beforehand,” Takina starts. Chisato gasps loudly.

“Pictures really don’t compare to the real things, Takina. You have to, like, slow down and appreciate the fine detail, and other things Mika says. Look, we’re almost there.”

She pulls her sideways through a different door and weaves the two of them through a gathering crowd of people around a space exhibit. They lose their six-year-old tail somewhere in the mix.

chisato is the tour guide

A cottage in the clouds

neverland

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