yurishippingolympics | YURI SHIPPING OLYMPICS 2024

On the roof of a skyscraper, the construction of which nearly didn't happen due to a blood-soaked real estate dispute (the repercussions of which are still felt to this day).

at an arcade, pachinko parlor, or casino!

feeding the deer in nara, japan!

At a desk in a room that's always too hot or cold, at a computer where you're starting to lose your soul

Light wakes up in the middle of the night.

She never used to do this before. Before the Kira investigation, before her imprisonment, before L. She’s pretty sure she’d been staying up later than usual in the last few weeks preceding solitary confinement, but she doesn’t even remember what she was doing with that time.

…Being Kira?

No, Light reminds herself. No. She can’t buy into L’s insane conspiracy theories. Light Yagami is not Kira, because Light Yagami is a good person. Light Yagami is a good son.

Well, no. She’d been wrong about that, about the son part, and now her father can barely look her in the eye.

But it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. Light will catch Kira, and then Dad will be proud of her again.

She’s a good person. She has to be.

“Light-chan?”

Light freezes. Then she very gingerly lies back down. The handcuff chain does not clink.

“I know you’re awake, Light-chan,” L says. Light glances over, can’t help it, and is met with the sight of L hunched over typing at her computer terminal. The bluish glow of the screen makes L look a little like a ghost, like if Light reached for her, her hand would pass straight through. “You’re breathing differently.”

“That’s kind of creepy, Ryuzaki.”

“I’m not wrong,” L counters.

“What are you doing?” Light asks, vision focusing as her eyes adjust. Now she can see the strands of L’s hair spiking away from her head. “It can’t be the Kira case.”

“I’m just playing 2048.”

“No you’re not.” Light can clearly see blocks of condensed text moving on L’s screen. “Is that — a different case? How many investigations are you in?”

“Not enough,” L says. “Why do you want to know?”

“I don’t. I’m making conversation.” God, why does L have to make normal interactions so difficult? “What’s it about?”

“Copycat murders,” L says. She stretches, cracking her neck to one side and then the other. Light watches the fabric of L’s T-shirt bunch around her shoulders. “And the perpetrator could not more clearly be the wife of the person their department suspects.” She makes a gesture that reads, can’t believe I’m helping these fucking idiots. (Light has gotten very good at reading L’s gestures.) “I’m correcting them.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you helping?”

“That’s a strange question to ask, Light-chan,” L says, and finally, finally turns around to look at her. Light, caught in her spotlight gaze, sits up at attention without even really meaning to. “Don’t the good guys always win?”

“You put me in a cell for fifty days and then made my father pretend to shoot me.”

“I don’t see your point.”

“I’m just saying, Ryuzaki,” Light says, trying to sound as casual as she can. It’s a more difficult task when she’s sleep-deprived. “I don’t think most people would class you as a good guy.”

L shrugs. “I get the job done. Would you consider yourself a ‘good guy,’ Light-chan?”

Light opens her mouth, then closes it.

The obvious answer is yes, but claiming that without a shred of hesitation would imply moral superiority, which L would take to mean she’s Kira (never mind the fact that obviously Light is morally superior to L, she hasn’t manipulated anyone into going on suicide missions for one thing); but saying no would amount to a confession that she’s a villain, which she isn’t. Because Light Yagami is a good s— a good person.

She has to be. She has to.

“I think we’re all just trying as hard as we can at the end of the day,” Light answers. Her heart is somewhere in her throat. “I’ve definitely messed up really badly once or twice, but what matters is that we keep trying to be good, right?”

L stares at her.

What? What did Light say wrong? That was a perfect answer, wasn’t it?

Why does L look — disappointed?

“I see,” L says at last. “Light-chan is an optimist.”

“Of course,” Light says. “I wouldn’t still be working on this case otherwise.”

L nods to herself.

“Go back to sleep, Light-chan,” she says, turning back to the screen. “Don’t let me keep you.”

…

“Okay,” Light mumbles, lying back down. She curls herself in the direction of L. The image of her, a dark silhouette against a blue-white square, lingers even after Light closes her eyes.

As she drifts off to sleep, it occurs to her that L never bothered answering her question.

We keep trying to be good.

Right?

Heaven

Hell

Purgatory

Having a dramatic conversation and/or fight on the shoreline.

Ship: Amy Yuuzuki/Yayoi Ulshade
Canon: Zyuden Sentai Kyoryuger
Words: 1728

----------

The rain provides no comfort as it penetrates through the layers of Amy’s clothes.

Icy wind shoves past her, turning raindrops into blades slashing at her face. Any water that has made cloth its refuge, on the other hand, has latched on fast; the dysfunctional waltz her skin and wet clothing stumble through drop through degrees on top of degrees in temperature. Her clothing clings to her skin, slippery and unstable — on the edge of frost altogether.

But if the rain has permeated through her entire being, then how must the other girl on the shoreline fare?

It’s no surprise that Yayoi has come to the sea; the home of Plezuon’s organic ancestors welcome all those who fight alongside it. But the sand is not as forgiving; it coats Yayoi’s shoes, refusing to fall at the assault the rain gives it.

And yet, Yayoi walks, farther and farther from Amy. Her trembling hands form fists, and her face refuses to turn to Amy; waterfalls run down from her hair and onto her back, but regardless, she continues through the rain.

It’s madness. This conversation could have been had in a nicer, warmer place. But because Yayoi had chosen to march here to line the sea, the rain — and perhaps, the sea — have found new victims to claim.

Sand squelches under Amy’s soaked shoes, and cold nips at exposed skin. But, worst of all, the wind rubs Amy’s throat raw as she shouts, loud as possible.

May the wind, the rain, and the sea give her one blessing; over its tempestuous orchestra, may her voice pass through and reach Yayoi.

“Yayoi, let’s go back! It’s raining way too much, you’re going to catch a cold. Can we please talk this out inside?”

Yayoi’s pace only increases at Amy’s call. So Amy’s words can reach her — what a relief. But how Yayoi can harness the power of Hermes when the world insists on slowing them down, Amy has no idea. Or, perhaps, it’s only Amy facing the music; has the sea decided to be kind, and ask the sky to lighten up only around its friend?

Wait. Scratch that. Why?! Even an idiot could sense Yayoi’s staggering steps, or the tremors through her body. The outdoors’s hissy fit affects her, too; why has she chosen to be outside?!

What could even warrant choosing suffering, when relieving options lay themselves on a platter?

“Seriously, what’s going on?!” Amy exclaims.

“You wouldn’t know!” Yayoi cries, “Just go back by yourself! Leave me alone! I want to be alone!”

“But what’s wrong with you?! You can be alone inside, just-”

“I want to be out here!”

It makes no sense!

And there the sea goes, washing through her shoes; Amy hisses at the touch of saltwater on her frozen feet. But she can’t stop now; the rain’s onslaught grows heavier. If Amy is unable to keep her current pace, or even speed up, she might just lose Yayoi to nature’s whims entirely.

Sand is excellent at slowing a person down; one must burrow half their feet within its clutches, and allow it to seep through any blockades they wear to protect from it. It provides no rapport, like soil or concrete. Amy never liked fighting in it, anyway.

She yells, “But why?! Why out here?!”

“I just want to think!” Yayoi responds even louder.

“In the rain?! Yayoi, it’s freezing out here! What do you even have to think about out here?! Is it that serious?!”

“Yes! Now leave me be!”

Fulfilling her request might as well be tying the gallows’ knot herself. But why would she even bother with such an insane wish? Amy can leave her alone — just not out here!

Frustration crawls up her neck; the heat from within that it ignites might as well cause steam surrounded by the biting air. The hammer may strike, as many times as it wants, but this nail refuses to budge.

And it’ll rise up, and up, and up, until she blows her top off entirely!

“What even is it?!” she shrieks, cracks rampant in her voice, “Are you planning something?! Do you need to talk to someone?! Or is it-”

And suddenly, her mind is whisked away.

The room she remembers is much, much warmer than her current surroundings. She wasn’t even supposed to be there; she was supposed to be walking past, fetching something unmemorable for Souji.

But, somehow, it was as if her heartstrings had pulled, begging her mind to stop, just to listen to the soft echoes of Yayoi’s voice beyond.

Yayoi had sounded rather worried — the speed and loudness of her voice had fluctuated rapidly, straining Amy’s ears. Clearly, this wasn’t a topic meant for outsiders to hear. And Amy hadn’t meant to! It was just a mere chance that this happened this way.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen again! This stupid crush… what do I do now?!”

That’s it! That has to be it, right?!

“You like someone, right?” escapes Amy’s mouth, ignoring feeble attempts at stoppage.

At last, Yayoi stops.

She is an ice statue, unmoving; the rain must have been hard at work carving her out through sorrow and secrets. No, not quite; she still shivers from the cold wind. But stopping is perfect, for Amy. She advances forward, making haste-

Only to stop with Yayoi turning around.

Raindrops taint the lenses on her glasses, clouding her eyes from Amy. But the tight-lipped frown is obvious enough; her bottom lip quivers, possibly from both cold and query alike.

“...You heard me?” she asks, voice a mere whisper that barely reaches Amy.

Amy is quick to put her hands together. Some things aren’t meant to be heard, the world had decreed millions of years ago — Amy, by stopping at that door on that fateful day, had broken that decree.

“Sorry!” she squeaks, “I shouldn’t have, but I was walking by when you were talking about it.”

The sea is an onlooker, leaving Amy’s fate entirely in Yayoi’s hands. But it seems Yayoi has opted to not look at Amy altogether; her head tilts ever-slightly to the side, and out into the fog cloaking the horizon.

“...Did you hear who it was?” she asks, tone dangerously low and soft.

No! Amy can’t fail now!

Frustration mixes with an ever-helpless pit forming in her heart, becoming a void that steals away resolve. Oh, she could cry so easily now; what’s stopping her from falling to her knees and letting hot tears leave their marks on the sand?

Judgment is an unfair master, bribed by emotion and impression. To hell with it all; please, won’t Yayoi hear her plea?!

She wails, “No! No, I swear!”

Fatigue leadens her bones, refusing to stop their advent. How it cajoles her to just crumple, and make sand and sea mistress of her fate.

She only barely hears the small “hmph” from Yayoi, and what comes after.

“Good!”

Yayoi’s pivot is much faster this time, and the footprints she leaves in the sand are much deeper. The waves are just short of her, this time, but they crash against Amy’s shins as she gives chase.

Cold, cold, cold- why won’t she stop?! Now, Amy’s really had it; it’s like talking to a brick wall! The puff of steam must be rising against all odds, now; will it rise high enough off her irritation to be mistaken for one of the clouds in the sky?!

She chokes on rain as she opens her mouth this time. Any more attempts, and surely, blood will run down the insides of her throat.

“I don’t get it!” and here she is, leadened step after leadened step, “Did this person do something to you? Why are you so upset over a cru-”

“Don’t you get it, Amy?! It’s you I like!”

The wind goes deathly-still.

Rain continues to pour, but Yayoi’s tracks have now stopped — and Amy’s, in turn. The sea, in the meantime, ripples like always, albeit more taunting this time — look at you, Amy Yuuzuki, you claim to be so close to her and you didn’t even notice?!

Gone is the annoyance in her mind, leaving nothing at all. All that is left is quiet, the rain, and the shoreline.

“...Huh?” her voice quivers.

When Amy had read about love confessions, through pages and pages of shoujo manga, she’d always expected them to be warm and sweet, like walking through meadows and picking strawberries on a summer day. She’d always expected flush on both their cheeks, and giggles as both parties join hands.

Nowhere had she expected her heart to become shattered ice, and for the ocean to laugh at her all the while. Nowhere had she expected tears and rain intermingling, and for voices to claw themselves hoarse with cries.

Yayoi shakes as she turns this time, and Amy’s quick to look at her face. Her teeth grit alongside trembling lips, and her eyebrows knit together, drawing attention to Yayoi’s eyes. Even through the mist on her glasses, her eyes swell with water.

“You! I like you!” Yayoi screams, scratches down her voice, “But there’s no way you’ll ever like me back! And even if you did, now I’ve gone and ruined it!”

She doesn’t hesitate in running away this time, leaving Amy behind, refusing to look at Amy at all — as if the girl she had confessed to was a monster all along.

Amy’s heart lies at the bottom of a pit, crumbled pieces a mere shadow of what they used to be. Maybe, they’ll mix with the sand while her mind takes her for a spin.

What to do now?

The only answer she receives is Yayoi’s figure growing smaller and smaller, long slipping past the grasp of Amy’s outstretched hand.

She gasps, “Yayoi, wait-”

What is she doing, standing still?! The farther Yayoi is, the less questions will be answered; she has to reach her now, for closure. If Amy loses her, her own feelings will never reach Yayoi! The truth will never see the sun, and the shoreline will list this tale as another tragedy.

White-hot tears bubble at her own eyes as Amy breaks into a dash, agony pulsating through her legs. All she can hope is that her broken cries will overpower all those that stand against it, and finally break through to Yayoi’s mind.

“Wait! Please!”

The Skywall (Kamen Rider Build spoilers in the link)

Jareth's labyrinth (Labyrinth)

In line for the port-a-potty

The same location but across the span of multiple years. (Maybe time travel?)

“The sunset over the tundra is beautiful,” Winter says once, “you have to see it,” and so Cinder lets her drag her up onto the roof and watches the sky sink into deeper and deeper blue with the love of her life.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to be looking at,” she admits later, when the darkness has properly set in. Winter is lying on her back next to her, arms folded behind her head. It’s the most peaceful Cinder thinks she’s ever seen her look. She smiles once, small.

“The stars. Haven’t you ever seen the stars, Cinder?”

Cinder turns to look up with her, determined not to think about her face falling when she says, “Too much light pollution.”

That’s partially true. There was also that stretch of three or four years where she didn’t see the sky at all, but she chooses not to mention that.

Something brushes against her knee, Winter’s fingers skimming over the hem of her skirt, as though determined to touch her but afraid to reach out. “I’ll show you, then,” she says, soft, and Cinder has never wanted anything more.

//

The view from the window is incredible. Cinder sits in the shadow of the moon and counts the stars as she waits for Neo to come back, mumbling half-buried recollections of names under her breath. She hasn’t looked for the constellations Winter showed her in a long, long time, not since she was still so weak as to need comforting.

(Their last day together was spent on the highest roof they could find. Winter slipped her hand into Cinder’s — the hand that burned away — and said, “I think I’d like to do this with you forever,” and that was the only time Cinder heard anything close to childlike wonder in her voice.)

The General is enamoured with the stars too, it seems. From what Winter told her, at least. She tries to imagine him — stern, unforgiving General Ironwood — inviting Winter into his office to look at his star maps and finds she can’t quite see it. She never did like him.

//

“They’re calling it a lake now,” Cinder says. Winter curls her fingers around the hook of her prosthetic and tries her best not to picture Atlas as it was.

//

The stars don’t change, though. They lie in the snow together, long past the point where the temperature affects them anymore, and count the constellations. Cinder says she missed it; Cinder says she used to look for the stars Winter liked when she felt desperately, achingly alone. Winter doesn’t say anything at all.

Mosh pit

The Shibuya Scramble crossing!

An abandoned house in the middle of the woods. (Thinking of the mansion from 'Otogirisou')

Atlantis

Dumpster/junkyard

Flying city of Laputa

Backstage of a concert/theatre production

Farmer's market

Somewhere on the map of Worst State Attractions (reference: https://i.redd.it/s4jc6vbvsyl51.png)

Swordfighting in the Denny's parking lot

The construct (Slay the Princess)

In the player's lands (Homestuck)

The arena (The Hunger Games)

YURI SHIPPING OLYMPICS 2024 - BONUS ROUND 7

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