With Grateful Thanks to Gary Gygax.

Hey. Hey, badficcers. The last thing you want to do to me when I'm reading your fic is to remind me of the much better fics I could be reading instead. Reminding me of how much I enjoyed someone else's stories back when I was a wee fanbeing isn't going to make me feel better-disposed to yours; it'll just make me want to go off and read them again. Sorry, but there it is...

Story Title: Melting Dreams
Perpetrator: Miss Malice
Summary: 'Ken tries to figure out why a routine mission is bothering Aya so much.'

Rating:

The Charges:
An OMGEMOANGSTy Aya does what emo fanfic characters do best and stands around whining. The resulting angst-fest takes up most of the story and completely destroys any chance the story had of developing a plot - still less an original plot. The characterization is poor, there's too much bad fanon, the prose is purple and the relationship is one-sided and phoned-in.

The Case for the Prosecution:

So what's today's fic about? Well, Aya spends the whole thing wangsting about how alone he is in the most florid manner ever and that is the plot. There's nothing happening, no crisis to solve, no sense of rising action - just Aya whining about how miserable he is until Ken inexplicably shows up to hug him better. No word on why Ken even wants to when Aya makes it obvious he's lonely enough to wangst constantly but not so lonely he'd consider talking to Ken, except it's also a shipfic. Yay.

One of the most noticeable things about this fic - aside from the emo and the purple prose, and there'll be more on both of those things later - is the overrealiance on fanon stupid. Once again Ken is not actually clumsy - no he isn't, there is absolutely no canon evidence Ken is even remotely physically awkward and quite a lot suggesting he's exactly the opposite - and having Omi of all people laugh over his sudden descent into pratfalling physical comedy is, oh I don't know, a touch hypocritical of Omi perhaps? It's also a stupid thing to waste 600 words on when Ken's not actually clumsy, Omi's not actually inclined to laugh at his misfortunes, and Youji's not the kind of man to say 'bugger off' and 'blast it' for any reason at all. I've seen a lot of weird takes on Youji in my time, but I've never seen him as Richard Burton in The Longest Day before. I could have lived without it.

Then Ken walks into Aya's room and the Twilight Zone, in that order. Well, I don't know what else to make of a scene where Ken, burdened with Aya's godawful orange sweater and in search of a lost sock (no, really), opens Aya's bedroom door only to find himself sunk in 'duskiness' described - I'm not kidding here - as viscous, thick and gelatinous. So Ken's found out the hard way that Aya sublet his room to a Gelatinous Cube? Because unless he's done that or filled the room with grape jello, I'm at a loss as to what else is meant to be going on here. Apparently it's got something to do with Aya's dreams melting into goop because Angst and making the air thick with Emo, but... I don't know, my ideas make a lot more sense. And that's just sad.

Aya is supposedly so extraneous to requirements that Manx can't even be bothered to include him in mission briefings any more. Stupid, but even stupider is the fact that the only reason Manx even shows up is to impose an entirely arbitrary fifteen-minute time limit on Ken's attempts to locate Aya and his emo, which then gets totally ignored. So... why add it in the first place?

Ficcer? I think your take on Aya has a bit of a self-pity problem. Ken walks into his room (apparently by going through his pet Gelatinous Cube, but we always knew Ken was a bit special like that), and tries to engage him in conversation, so Aya freezes him out because NO I HAVE EMO... then, when Ken gets the hint and leaves, Aya all but goes into a chorus of I'm So Ronery. Um. Aya. Guy right there. All with the trying-to-be-friendly and shit. You cannot chase someone who's trying to be nice to you away then bemoan how lonely you are. That implies Aya just doesn't think being with Ken's good enough. This might work if, as in canon, we got some sense Aya thought he didn't deserve human companionship, that he was deliberately holding himself aloof though he hated having to do so - but he's not. It's just OMG I'M SO EMO AND ALONE fuck off Ken. Over and over again.

Characterization is, in a word, bad. Aya and Ken, the characters the fic is about, are stuck with basic-level bad fanon takes, but it's Youji and Omi the ficcer really struggles with. Youji spends his time lurching between English stereotypes, but Omi... he's unrecognizable. Omi is a petulant brat who sniggers in an extremely un-Omi-like manner over Ken's various misfortunes and needles him for being 'clumsy'. Which he's not. And Omi, once again, is. You'd think a genius would know better than this.

Repetition is a perfectly valid rhetorical tool but when a character spends a whole paragraph whining about how much he hates Sundays because I Have No Fucking Idea He Just Does it's a bit much. This isn't repetition used occasionally for effect, this is desperate padding. And, speaking of desperate padding, the ficcer's done something I did once or twice as a neophyte in a desperate attempt to justify my digressions into quasi-deep, pseudo-philosophical twaddle - rambled on like an idiot for a few paragraphs about how Sundays are like Death and this is somehow profound, then had the character question his sanity because why was I just wittering on like that? Oh, I don't know... because the ficcer figured it'd look deep but couldn't figure out what the bleeding hell it had to do with anything? To add insult to injury, they don't even convince as Aya's thoughts. These are obviously the maunderings of an adolescent girl trying very, very hard to be deep and profound, and failing very, very hard.

Aya's segments are mired in repetitive purple prosing about his angst and his emo, and you'd better believe it gets extremely tedious to read extremely damn fast. There's really not a lot I can say about this save the obvious - while it's nice to see people attempting descriptive prose this kind of thing really doesn't work anywhere near as well as you seem to think it does, fangirl.

There's then an extremely rushed and pointless dénouement where it turns out that Aya's angsty because for some reason the story never takes the trouble to explain he has to kill a naked blonde American girl - is she a target? A witness? Why is she naked? Why does Aya dump her in a gutter? How did he get the there when last thing we knew she was in bed? Why don't we even get a proper flashback if this is that damn important? - and this has manifested itself as a constant self-centred wangstfest about how lonely he is for some reason with the girl barely even featuring. He goes back to the scene of the crime to whine some more and Ken inexplicably goes after him though Aya's not even been courteous to him up to now. Once Ken pitches up Aya equally inexplicably decides now's the time to sob his emo out on Ken's shoulder and... wait a bloody minute!

You know, I've read something like this before? This is all starting to sound rather like a very clumsy version of Der Gefaltete Zettel by Team Bonet, a story where Aya angsts (a lot more believably) over having to kill a girl who witnessed one of his hits. This one just has awkward Ran/Ken slash and far, far worse prose. It's at least not a straight rip, as in some other fics I've read, but it's certainly very, very similar in terms of central theme and the explanation for Aya's angst - and, like a lot of other dubiously-original fics, it has a marked tendency to under-explain itself, trusting people will just know what it's driving at. The ficcer definitely betrays at least a passing familiarity with Team Bonet's work: there's a tell in one of the later scenes when Aya is mentioned to be drinking acerola juice, something he's mentioned as having a fondness for in one of their other fics, Sein und Mein. Between that and the similarities between this fic and Der Gefaltete Zettel, it's all just a little too coincidental for my liking.

Exposing the Hideousness:

The search continued, since they were his favorite pair of
socks. But all investigating processions came to a halt when, instead he
found an orange sweater. "How'd Aya's sweater get in my laundry?" he
wondered. "Maybe then Aya's got my other sock?"
He grabbed the sweater, stumbled over his pajama pants that were
lying in the middle of the floor and hurried to Aya's room. Rapping
sharply on his door, Ken prayed that Aya was in a good mood. Lately,
he'd been even more quiet and angry and withdrawn, if that was possible.
He had completely isolated himself, saying nothing no matter what the
circumstance. Only his violet eyes betrayed the fact that he was
hurting. They flashed like an angry mirror, crying out with all the
anguish of a lost soul. That was Aya. A lost soul. His eyes fairly
begged for salvation.
Aya didn't answer, which of course was hardly a surprise. He
pushed open the door slowly, sticking his head inside. "Aya-kun? You in
there?"
He opened the door further and stepped inside. The room was very
dark. It was strange, the darkness was. It seemed viscous and thick, as
if shadows had melted. Or...more appropriately, as if dreams had melted.
Aya's dreams. His own dreams. Weiß's dreams. All melted to make this
sticky murkiness. Dreams that had meant nothing.
His eyes adjusted to the gelatinous-like duskiness. He could
make out Aya standing next to the window, watching the snow fall. It was
odd, how little light the whiteness from outside provided the room.
Light was dying. He shuddered.
"Um...Aya-kun?" His hesitant voice seemed unnaturally loud in
the small, dark room.
Aya didn't move, giving no signs of having heard him. Ken
wished he would turn around, wished he would say something. Anything.
Even if it was just to tell him to get lost.
He walked towards him, trying his best not to walk into
anything, babbling all the way. "The snow is really something, huh? I'm
so glad that it snowed today. Omi and I built a snowman this morning.
Looks more like a snow pile, though. We didn't have a carrot for his
nose and I couldn't find any rocks. Not a single bleedin' rock. All the
little kids must have gotten to them first, huh? Maybe you'd want to
help us build one next time? It would be---"
Aya suddenly turned around, and Ken stopped under the flare of
his eyes. They were so vibrant, so vehement against the dark. "Was there
something you wanted, Ken?" he demanded coldly. His eyes narrowed,
pinning him to the spot.
Ken cleared his throat, which had suddenly gone dry. He shuffled
his feet and nervously wiped at his face. "I was just...um...you
know...ah..." he gaze fell upon the orange sweater in his hands. He had
forgotten about that. "I came here to return your sweaterr," he blurted
out, holding I up. "It was in my laundry and..."
He trailed off, seeing that Aya did not look impressed. His face
remained glacial, his eyes cold. Ken quickly laid the sweater down upon
his bed and hurried for the door. He turned once to look back. Aya had
turned back towards the window, not bothering to acknowledge the fact
that he was leaving. Ken left without saying another word.
Aya heard the door shut softly but firmly behind him. One tiny
part of him wished to call Ken back, to apologize to him. He knew that
he had hurt the younger boy. Ken was so soft hearted. He cared too much,
always worrying about him. And he always ended up hurting him.
He wanted to talk to Ken, to let out what he was feeling but he
didn't. Would it really have made a difference? He couldn't anyways.
There was nothing that he could connect to. Only this soul searing
loneliness remained and no one, even Ken, could help him now. The
darkness of his room was suddenly oppressive. He hadn't noticed it
before. Despair seemed to hang on webs of smoky shadows. The sun was
slowly setting, swallowed by the winding snow. Everything hurt. The need
to be free was overwhelming.
He grabbed his coat and stalked out of his room.


He could still hear it. Despite the fact that eight hours had
passed. Her shrill screams still rang in his ears. Screams of the dead
now. She looked otherworldly somehow, as she had pleaded for her life.
Those luminous green eyes...haunting him like her cries. He could see
her blood on his sleeve. Bright and thick in the pale florescent light
of the store. A jarring reminder of what he'd taken from her. She would
leave him no peace. They never did. But it wasn't his fault.
The stain grew bigger, spreading over the fabric of his shirt,
leaking from his sleeve onto the floor. Upon his shoes and striking the
bougainvillea leaves littered on the ground. Tainting the cream colored
lithium tiles. Red. Cold red. Everywhere.
"Aya!"
Ken's voice shook him and suddenly he was beside him. "You spilt
water all over the place!"
Aya blinked. A puddle gathering at his feet. No red. Save for the
dark strand resting upon his cheek. He tugged at it.
"Omi how many times do I gotta tell you to put the leaves in the
can?" Ken demanded as he mopped up the water. "It's such a hassle 'cause
I'm the one who always has to clean it up."
"You never clean up anything!" Omi retorted from behind a table
filled with spider plants. "I'm the one who cleans up everything! And
besides, Yohji was the one who made that mess. Don't blame me for
everything just 'cause I'm the youngest!!!"
Aya moved to water the clematises in the corner, away from their
bickering. He could still see her. Strawberry blond hair falling around
her bare shoulders. Pale pink satin sheet covering her breasts. Red lips
pleading. And he hadn't listened. Hadn't cared. Her body was small.
Dainty even. It didn't matter now. It hadn't been hard to fit her into
the gutter. He could still see her. And it didn't matter. Her screams
continued. Eyes so green...
He lurched back from the purple clematis. They were twisting
into cords of desolate green...and now red. The fragile petals were red.
Dripping slowly. Melting like a dream. Dying softly. Everything he
touched. So red. Like saddened ribbons in the night.
"Aya? Are you okay?"
There was nothing left to say. It was silent now. No more
screaming. No more words. And the flowers were melting.
"Aya?"
She had been screaming. Red painted mouth screaming. Quiet at
that moment. She didn't blink. Green eyes that would forever stare
straight ahead. Empty orbs never again to seek. Her burning memory, like
fading ashes. Even if it was just to keep his dreams from melting...he
would remember.
Sharp slap of boots on the shiny floor. Bells above the door
jingling. A gust of wind. Bitterly cold.
"He never says anything. He just leaves without saying a
word. Not one fucking word."


Conclusive Proof Weiss Fangirls Are Stupid:
... doesn't exist, because this is a private archive. I'm actually rather relieved. It's always annoying to see people praising a ripped-off work when a few clicks of a mouse could have them finding the original, and getting something rather better to read for their trouble.