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one-boring-person · 3 years

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Can You Do Me A Favour?

Barney Ross (The Expendables) x reader

Warnings: injury, drinking, sexual content implied, mentions of violence, swearing

Context: the reader is a member of the Expendables and has a crush on Barney. After a job, the two have some time together.

A/N: as promised, here is some Expendables stuff! I hope anyone who reads this will enjoy it! (Just a heads up: I have more Rambo and Escape Plan stuff coming, and most likely some more TLB content, too.)

Masterlist

(I'm also going to tag @yuhhhhhhhhhhhhhh in this, because they expressed interest in Expendables stuff earlier😊💛)

The cold water is pleasant on my heated skin as I cup my hands under the steady stream flowing from the tap, splashing it into my face when a suitable pool has formed in the space. A gasp escapes me from the stark contrast in temperatures, using my fingers to rub slightly at my skin, trying to work out the headache that has set in, only to hiss when I accidentally press into one of the new scars on the side of my face. Pulling back, I repeat my action, doing my best to distract myself from the plaguing thoughts in my head, still disgusted at myself for having them.

But even now, as I massage the contours of my face, I can't get the images of my boss out of my head. Not the sight of him taking out a ring of attackers using his revolver and sharpshooting skills, not the way his exposed arm muscles flexed with each movement, not the determined look on his rugged face and certainly not the fierce eye contact he made with me when he turned around again. At the mere memory of this, a flush of heat goes through me, eyes squeezing shut to force myself to blank them out, not quite realising that his stare is branded into my subconscious. Biting my lip, I shake my head, forcing down the picture of his muscular body and large hands on my body as he dragged me from the collapsing building, not five hours ago.

Growling, I reach over and grab hold of the beer bottle nearby, glancing at my haggard features in the mirror before taking a deep drink, wincing at the stale flavour, having had the drink for far too long. I can see the tension in my body, each muscle tight and uncomfortable, my posture ramrod straight and clearly wrong, my eyes clouded with exhaustion and what I can only assume is loneliness.

As soon as I'd gotten in from the last job, I'd headed straight into the bathroom, grabbing a beer from the fridge as I went, needing to clear my head. Nothing I did could help, my head always circling back to that one person. Frustrated, I slam the bottle on the counter top, wincing when it shatters from the force, a particularly sharp shard slicing into my palm.

Damn him. Damn Barney Ross for getting into my head.

I clean up my hand, just bandaging it up when my phone buzzes, the screen lighting up. Frowning, I look over at it, confused. Nobody calls me. Nobody, except my boss.

Picking up the phone, I groan to myself as I realise it is, in fact, Barney. For a second, I debate letting it go to voicemail, before I finally give in, accepting the call and placing the phone to my ear.

"Sir?" I greet him politely, wondering what he needs.

"How many times have I told you not to call me "sir"?" Barney's gravelly voice sounds through the phone, a low chuckle evident in his tone. I have to ignore the effect his voice has on me, the sound giving me butterflies in my stomach.

"Sorry, sir- ah, shit." I sigh at my own habit, "You alright?"

"Yeah, guess so. Just lonely. Figured you might be, too." He admits, tone going soft as he speaks.

"Bold of you to assume that." I tease, but continue, "Though you are, as always, right."

"Should tell Christmas that, might listen to you." The veteran laughs again, the joke drawing a similar reaction from me.

"We all know he listens to no one but himself." I quip back, still waiting for him to tell me why exactly he called.

"True, true." Barney's grin is almost audible, my mind instantly bringing up an image of that particular expression into my head, much to my chagrin, "You got any plans for tonight?"

Surprised, I take a second to reply, unsure of where this is going.

"No, it's too late. Ain't really got many friends outside work, anyway." I inform him, going out of the bathroom and into the lounge.

"Fancy coming over? I've got a couple of beers that need drinking, and the hangar is pretty lonely this time of night."

His offer stumps me for a moment, though I am quick to recover, my mouth working before my mind can catch up.

"Yeah sure. I'll be over in twenty."

"Great. See you then." He hangs up, leaving me wondering why the hell I accepted that, knowing how much I spend too much time thinking about him (in totally inappropriate ways considering he's my boss) anyway.

Annoyed at myself, I steel myself before going and grabbing a coat, pulling on that and my boots as I leave the flat, taking my motorcycle keys with me. I lock my door behind me, leaving the apartment block quickly, glad to have the fresh air on my face as I make my way over to my motorbike. Looking on it fondly, I climb on and kick out the stand, easily getting it revved up, the vibrating engine beneath me a pleasant feeling.

Thankfully, the roads are mostly clear this time of night, cutting the twenty minute drive short by five minutes as I go at speed through the nearly deserted outer city. The hangar is usually a pain in the ass to get to, the traffic in the roads leading up to it almost always horrific, so I am only too happy to be able to go much faster now that there's not many other drivers around. With the wind rushing around me, I find that my head clears a little, my attention on navigating the roads rather than the thoughts of my boss doing things to me I'm sure he'd find grotesque in nature.

I arrive quickly, pulling into the hangar slowly, knowing Barney is most likely in the plane, as he usually is. Stopping the bike, I put it in park before climbing off, hanging my helmet on the handlebars as I do so, taking the keys with me as I walk over to the old plane. Nearing the aircraft, I frown a little at the sight of the new bullet holes riddling the side of it, unaware that we'd taken so much damage earlier in the day. Sighing, I go inside, ducking in through the small door, only now hearing the music playing from the stereo in the cockpit.

"It's gonna need a new lick of paint." I call out to Barney, who I can see sat in his seat, the muscular man turning to look at me as he hears me.

"It's been a long time coming, so I'm not complaining." He replies, grinning at me as I walk into the cockpit, dropping into Christmas' usual seat, trying to ignore the butterflies in my stomach from his stare on me again. As I enter, he rakes his eyes over my body, subtly taking my every curve in from where he is.

"Fair enough." I shrug, leaning back slightly, having missed his look, "Got a beer?"

"Yeah, here." Barney hands me a bottle, opening it for me as he does so.

"Cheers." I thank him, taking a deep drink from it as he chuckles lowly, voice sending a bolt of heat through me.

"You're starting to sound like Lee." He remarks, sipping his own bottle with a smirk.

"Should I take that as a compliment? Or an insult?"

"Up to you." He looks over at me.

"Eh, I'll take compliment. You two get along like an old married couple, after all. Must mean something if you're comparing me to him." I decide, teasing him.

Barney laughs at my comment, lifting his bottle.

"I can agree with that." He hums, staring out of the front window.

For a couple of moments, we sit in companionable silence, drinking our beers, Barney eventually lighting a cigar. Taking a deep inhale, he offers it to me, which I decline, choosing to finish my drink instead.

"What do you usually do after a job?" Barney suddenly asks, glancing back at me.

Surprised, I think over the question for a second.

"Nothing, really. I get myself cleaned up, have a drink, then get some sleep. I don't do much else with my life." I tell him, knowing how pathetic I sound.

"What, you haven't got anyone you can hang out with?" He questions, seemingly confused.

"No. As I said before, I don't really have any friends outside work."

"Really? No boyfriend? Girlfriend?"

I shake my head, grimacing at the turn in conversation, just missing the slight darkening in his eyes as he looks me over once more.

"Huh. That surprises me."

Lifting an eyebrow, I look across at him.

"Why?"

He shrugs, making eye contact with me.

"Well, you seem like the person who wouldn't struggle to make friends. You're kind, funny, pretty. You know how to behave in the right situations, you're a good friend to have." He clarifies, seemingly unaware of the impact his words have on me, my heart throbbing as I listen to him, longing building up in me again.

"You think so?" I ask, not quite believing him.

"Yeah, I do." He frowns, looking over at me, "Why, don't you?"

I don't reply, knowing my answer well. He doesn't push it, observing me carefully, his gaze making me blush furiously.

"What'd you do to your hand?" The veteran suddenly asks, gesturing to my bandaged appendage.

"Hm? Oh, I just cut it on some glass back home." I inform him, flexing my hand a little, only to wince at the sharp spike of pain.

Wordlessly, Barney reaches across and takes my hand in his, his touch setting off sparks through me despite the gentle nature of it. Pulling my arm closer to him, he runs his fingers lightly over my skin, the rough calluses rubbing over the palm of my hand, each stroke making it harder for me to fight off the rising need within me. Being this close to him, able to smell him in nearly every surface around me, feeling his hand on mine has sparked the feelings I've been suppressing as long as I've worked with him.

Awkwardly, I pull away, swallowing tightly, trying to suppress the urges I'm suddenly feeling, needing to get myself together again. He doesn't stop me, his dark eyes regarding me quietly, observant as always as he seemingly considers something, his gaze sliding over me once more. After a moment, he puts out his cigar, leaning back in his seat.

"Mind doing me a favour?" The muscular man cocks his head at me, a small smirk playing at his lips.

"Er, sure? What do you need?" I agree hesitantly, knowing that expression means only one thing: he's got something up his sleeve.

"Check that control panel up there, would you? It's been giving me trouble for weeks." Barney's eyes are glittering now in the dim light, clearly up to something.

"What, now?" I frown, confused by the instruction.

"If you wouldn't mind."

Lifting an eyebrow, I place my beer down and get to my feet, awkwardly reaching up to check the panel, which just so happens to be right above his head. I try to keep my body from leaning across him too much, but this is made difficult when I realise that the particular problem lies in the switches even further over. As I go to flick them, a pair of hands takes hold of my waist, suddenly yanking me down towards the chair.

Yelping in surprise, I feel my eyes widen as Barney pulls me down onto his lap, hands tight on my hips, pressing my back flush against his chest. His nose instantly finds my neck, the older man nudging at my skin until I tilt my head to give him access, goosebumps spreading across my skin as I try to process what the hell is happening, my brain short-circuiting with every one of his breaths. They fan out over the sensitive area, my own hitching in my throat as his scruff scratches over my skin, his lips not quite touching me yet, though I can feel their every movement.

I try to get back up, unwillingly, only for him to loop one of his arms around my front and slip his hand under my shirt, flattening his palm on my stomach to hold me against him.

"I'm not blind, you know, (Y/n). I've seen the way you look at me, the way you behave differently when you're with me. You're not as subtle as you hope." Barney practically purrs into my skin, his smirk obvious against my neck, sending shivers down my spine as I try not to groan.

"I- I don't know what you're talking about, sir." I manage out, not quite catching the sound of anticipation that escapes me when he suddenly presses his lips against my ear, whispering into it.

"Really? I think you know very well what I'm talking about." He grins to himself, the hand on my stomach running down to ghost over the waistband of my jeans, my body tensing in his grip, "Want me to demonstrate for you?

#the expendables #The expendables imagine #Barney Ross #Barney Ross x reader #Barney Ross imagine #Sylvester Stallone

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perhaps-in-anotherdream · 3 years

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..."STAR-CROSSED LOVERS"??? YES.

Thank you so much @cheri-translates for translating Victor's SAND AND SEA DATE. You're an angel. 🥺🥺🥺

Now I'm gonna start blabbering since I've many feels about this date LOL~ 🙃

⚠️Warning: There are some spoilers regarding Victor storyline from the main story chapters that haven't been released in EN yet.

🌹

From "I won't save you a second time" [CH 1] to "I don’t need you to save me a second time." [The date in discussion]-- LOL as hilarious as this is, the irony.💯

Ngl this date felt like, the writers thinking since, under the context of the theme, the physical pain of time travel & crossing countless of dimensions & timelines is not possible-- let's just nearly kill him by spilling blood & dehydration but still we gotta nearly kill this man cause he wants to be in love.🙃

Idk why I'm getting so emotional LOL but there are so many call-backs I can remember on top of my head right now--

[The lines & moments from the date are indented & in bold letters.]

MC: "Victor, I’m helping you look for a water source. Let go!"

🌹 The sad broken cup scene from [CH 18-16], MC urging Victor to let go & him stubbornly refusing, until she gives in.

MC sacrificing herself to revive the river, part of it is to save Victor- other part of it is also for the greater good of the people in the city.

🌹 [CH 18-18] MC's monologue- "This time, put everything on my shoulder & let me be your hero one last time."

& sacrificing herself for the peace of the world even though it only made more chaos.

Victor releasing the hand that supported him at the edge & deciding to sacrifice himself with her. & the vow- "No matter what awaits you, I’ll be with you."

MC's monologue: "It turns out that no matter what the ending is, he’s willing to be with me."

[CH 18-28] Victor deciding to use the sundial watch one last time despite knowing that'd kill him for sure & might lead the world to perish as well. Dummy & Selfish in that moment. His final vow before MC disappeared, "No matter where you are, I'll always find you."

[CH 19-6 Dream World Victor route]

MC: "What if this really is a dream. Then what?"

Victor: "Then I'll turn it into reality."

[CH 25 phone call- In the Hospital]

"No matter what you are facing in other space-times...Wait for me."

[CH 36-10, after Victor returns from his 10K years time travel]

Victor: I thought you are never going to be afraid again?

His warm breath moistens my eyes. I inhale through my sore nose. Resisting the urge to bury my face in his chest, I look up, staring straight into his eyes-

MC: I will never be afraid again. Because you really came back. Victor is standing here before me like a treasure once lost and now found. What do I have to be afraid of?

Victor is stunned for a moment. The corners of his lips loosens a bit, while the contours of his face softened a lot. He raises his hand to wipe the wetness from the corner of my eyes.

Victor: It seems that this dummy has grown up a lot during this period. Listen carefully, I will never return to a world where you are not.

[CH 37 PV line]

"Whatever choice you make, I'll always be here."

[CH 37 karma by-line]

"I will accompany you on the road leading to the future."--

Basically the eternal insistence of him having an internal MC GPS tracker LOL ALWAYS being by her side.

Kidnapping incident.

🌹...[CH 30-7 to 30-10] Agio Street underground gambling den mission- wants to say a hello.🙋‍♀️

Abandoning the honor & glory of leading a comfortable life as a feudal lord to restore the river & to find the fateful couple, probably hoping to find his love too, but won't admit cause even if it's AU, he be like- "I'm still Victor" LOL

[CH 11 karma by-line]

"I won't let go of you & the world."

The physically-mentally painful exhausting wait & time travelling of 10K years, walking through endless dimensions & timelines, only to start from the very beginning every single time- hoping to find a way to save the world & protect the girl-- wants to say a hello too 🙋‍♀️

MC's monologue: Still, I want to have one more look at Victor… before leaving.

🌹 This specifically reminded me of a [CH 37-5 Victor split route] monologue from MC--

"It didn't matter what was waiting for me. I would face it with my head held high. Even so, I still wanted one last second...just one second. Let me call his name one more time...let me take a good look at him...just one last time..."

Victor: In that case, stay here. Stay by my side.

🌹 He has said the same sentence in different ways under various circumstances but one I can remember right now,

[CH 24-12 Black Cabin reunion]-- "But right now...Just stay by my side."

MC noting down how she always finds herself in his arms whenever she's fainting or getting in trouble. How Victor has been quietly taking care of her & protecting her. How the person before her walks in steady steps with forceful heartbeats.

When she was in her most depressing state [CH 18], he was there like the steady pillar of support, helping her in every way he could. He was pretty much the glue that kept her in one piece.

Again, in winter world, he stood by her side even as a stranger.

Not just these two incident, throughout the entire game, especially in the latter part of the story, they work together like partners, she learns to trust him with pretty much everything & they work through everything they can together.

Those few mentions in the date-- could be referred to how Victor has always been the constant source of warmth, encouragement, strength, support, protection in her life. No matter what world or when, he never really changes. He is still the same man. & His constant state IS choosing MC every single time.

Victor lies on the sand quietly, and it’s as though everything has returned to the beginning when we first met.

🌹 Indication towards how their storyline ALWAYS goes back to square one or comes in a full circle-- from Victor saving her from the car crash as a kid [& this being repeated many times afterwards, even in winter world], to the lightning incident [MC jumping in front of Victor both as a child & an adult], to both being in coma for week, staying in the hospital & taking care the entire time [MC in CH 11, Victor in CH 32], to stabbing each other countless times. [CH 18, CH 36-- & every other times Victor has seen those incidents happening before his eyes while time traveling.] *que tears*

🌹▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️🌹

I could possibly make a full blown essay which I already kinda have out of some other specific call-backs I can remember right now. Specifically the theme of the date being star-crossed lovers-

Legend tells of two lovers. Because of the pressures of their nations, they could not be together, and decided to drown themselves in a river for love.

Because of this, the River Goddess was enraged, and she cursed the land nourished by the river which was under her control. Since that day, the Socya River gradually dried up.

The Goddess left an exhortation-when the fateful couple reappears on this land, the river will be surge once again...

& This perfectly echoes the canon theme of Victor x MC storyline--

🌹 As in, Victor being someone who, objectively speaking, seemingly has everything & yet sacrificing practically everything--

[giving up over-seas university offers, staying in the city instead of moving abroad even though his business could be expanded more, relentless search of 17 years, appointing private detective for 6 years, building up Souvenir etc.]

--- to find MC & then in the mission of keeping her safe, even at the cost of his own existence. Trying everything beyond his limits to prevent the destined deaths of MC he has foreseen- from happening & it being doomed to no end every single time.

🌹 Every single time he had to give up the ONE thing he wanted to protect the most or wanted the most.

🌹 Both of them being so willing to put each other in the front line just to give each other happiness.

🌹 Another running theme of their storyline-- both of them keep losing each other countless times & then find each other again.

• Victor losing MC as a kid, finding her as an adult. Victor nearly losing her in CH 10.

• MC losing Victor due to the time rift in CH 14 & finding a way to contact each other through the sundial watch.

• Victor losing MC in CH 18 first-hand. MC leaving Victor behind in CH 19- dream world.

• CH 24 Black Cabin reunion & CH 27 OG timeline reunion

• MC nearly losing Victor in CH 32, due to him going to coma

• MC losing Victor in CH 34 due to Victor going on the time-travel journey of 10K years

• Final reunion in CH 36 [Then we have the journey to S2. But that's a whole new discussion.]

🌹So...both of them being able to truly be with each other is actually-- defying fate & writing their own destiny. *SOBS*

🌹I wanna end my blabbering with two precious moments from [CH 36- Victor split route] that echoes this theme even more.

MC: "I've always chased after your silhouette and I was never afraid. Because I know you'll always be there waiting for me. Victor, if you really disappear... I will be with you, and we will both be forgotten by the world."

MC's monologue: "Victor, once we have crossed countless dimensions and futures, and returned to each other’s embrace. If everything has to disappear with time, as dust into the wind... Then, I'm glad that we have our final promise."

[She's referring to the promise she made of being forgotten by the world to be with him & the promise Victor made earlier to never leave her again.]

#classic tragic love story at it's finest #yEs #mlqc victor #mldd victor #mr love victor #mlqc li zeyan #victor #li zeyan #mlqc zen #mlqc #mr love queen's choice #mlqc spoilers #mlqc cn

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iclaimedtobethebetterbard · 3 years

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stars in the sk(eyes)

Fandom: Sanders Sides Characters: Logan, Virgil, Roman, Remus, Janus, Patton Rating: Teen & up Relationships: Analogical, background Intrualiceit Warnings: Language, food, like 1 line that’s maybe suggestive but also said half-jokingly Word count: 5592

Read on AO3!

My writing masterpost

Starlight Universe masterpost

analogical week 2021 start - previous - here - next - masterpost

Summary: Logan has always loved stars. Virgil has always loved music. Maybe they can put those together with a little help from some friends.

Notes: Day 2 of Analogical Week 2021! @analogicalweek Takes place in my Starlight Universe, does not need context to read. Patton, Janus, and Remus are all nonbinary folks who use he/they pronouns and masculine terms in this universe (but in the flashback scene, Janus is only using they/them); Roman, Logan, and Virgil are all men who use he/him. (I know absolutely nothing about music or concerts or anything, so please don't roast me too hard for any inaccuracies, lol.)

They were only opening the concert; the real attraction was a band from out of town with a midsize following, making a stop on their tour. Not that Virgil was complaining to have landed this gig. It would be the biggest performance his band—the band he, Janus, and the twins had formed a few years ago—had given, by a lot. And that was exciting. Sure, Virgil had absolutely spent hours stressing over how big it was, but he knew how to manage his anxiety, especially when it came to performances, and the anxiety didn’t stop the excitement.

“You’re going to do wonderfully,” Logan had told him earlier that day as he’d been getting dressed, passing his fingerless leather gloves and then holding his jacket for him to slide into. He’d spoken it with a simple, unassuming confidence, as if it were a given fact. It had been more comforting than Virgil thought Logan knew.

With the memory of his husband’s words carefully nestled against his heart, and the jacket Logan had helped him paint rainbow stripes on sitting on his shoulders, Virgil found it easier to let go of the anxiety. Some lingering tension remained as he paced backstage, running through lyrics in his head and triple checking that everyone knew the schedule, but it wasn’t as bad as usual. Most of it, if he was being honest with himself, wasn’t even about the performance—it was about the surprise the band had put together, the surprise Virgil had had to bite his tongue a couple of times to keep himself from thoughtlessly mentioning it to Logan, even though the surprise had been almost entirely his own idea and the others were just helping. But he’d successfully kept the secret, and now Logan was out in the audience, and Virgil was backstage, and there would be no more chances to spoil it.

But Logan was out in the audience, and Virgil was backstage, and the final round of jitters was setting in. And when Logan wasn’t there, Virgil’s jitters took the form of pestering the hell out of everyone in the room, to make sure everything was perfect.

He checked all the instruments, giving Janus’s keyboard a once-over without touching because he knew better by this point. Remus’s drumset was already on the stage—he was drumming with his fingers on the end of the fallout table in the corner—so there was nothing to do about that. Roman was actively tuning his guitar, so Virgil left that alone too and instead checked his bass, just in case it had gotten out of tune in the last thirty seconds.

All of the instruments were fine, great, even, and Remus and Roman were undeniably being productive; Janus, who’d been on their phone in the corner, had stepped out for just a moment, probably to get a drink of water or something.

Things were in order. Which was good. Great, even. But it gave Virgil nothing to do with his restless energy.

“Are we ready?” he asked, jiggling his leg and tracing the pattern of his fishnet tights through one of the large rips in his jeans.

Roman looked up. “Yes,” he said shortly. Roman’s nerves tended to take the form of a very short temper, which didn’t mix well with Virgil’s perfectionism.

“Yeah,” Remus agreed, running a hand through his dark green curls and straightening his denim jacket.

“We all know the order things go in?” Virgil followed up after a minute of tense silence.

“Mmhm,” Remus said easily. Remus, and Remus alone, somehow always managed to remain at ease and unbothered no matter what. Virgil didn’t know how they did it.

Virgil took stock of everyone’s outfits. He himself was wearing fishnet leggings that went all the way up past his waist. Over them he had ripped black skinny jean, and a black crop top splattered with white paint. On top of that, he wore his black denim jacket, which matched the ones the other three were wearing. Virgil’s had the rainbow pride flag painted on the front, all down the lapel area; the rest of the jacket was covered in patches. He checked his makeup, examining the black eyeshadow and lipstick in his phone’s camera; it looked fine. Perfect, even.

Roman was the neatest of the group, made to stand out as the lead singer. He wore the same high-heeled doc martens as the other three, but in white where theirs were all black. He had a tight white longsleeve shirt made of a shimmery material and a matching pair of white pants, and the black jacket contrasting nicely against it all. Roman’s jacket had the aromantic pride flag where Virgil had the rainbow, and the rest of his jacket was painted with red roses all at the ends of long, intricate, thorny stems. His eyeliner was sharp enough to cut, and his curly hair was piled up atop a black headband wrapped around his forehead like a crown.

Janus still wasn’t back, but he’d been on the neater end too, to counter Virgil and especially Remus’s scruffiness. Their outfit was sleek and all black save for a thin white belt around their waist. A black hat with a broad round brim framed their face like a dark halo. His jacket had nonbinary and pan stripes on the front, and thin white squiggly lines running up and down like warped pinstripes everywhere else. (Virgil knew where on the jacket one line ended in a tiny snake head, and where one trailed off into a tail, but you wouldn’t notice unless you knew to look.) They were wearing black lipstick to match Virgil, and winged eyeliner to match Roman, and contour that emphasized the sharpness of his cheekbones; definitely the heaviest makeup of the group.

Remus, sitting in the corner and making noises to themself, was a sharp contrast to his boyfriend Janus’s sleek elegance. His black jeans, splattered with white paint to match Virgil’s crop top, were ripped almost to shreds, open nearly entirely from mid-thigh down to his ankles, with only a few clinging strands of fabric keeping them anywhere in the realm of being pants. The tee they wore—black again, with his own name painted on it in large white letters—was also ripped full of holes, these ones much more deliberate; he’d slashed it carefully with an exacto knife, kneeling on the ground and focusing with their tongue stuck out slightly, until it was exactly how he wanted it and you could catch glimpses of their top surgery scars when they moved. His makeup consisted of dramatic green and black eyeshadow, and his jacket had the trans and polyamorous flags on it—he and Janus, who had nearly identical collections of pride flags between them, had split two and two which color schemes they wanted to use. The rest of Remus’s jacket consisted of a few jagged holes and some incredibly detailed paintings of green tentacles.

The instruments were fine. The costumes were fine. The makeup was fine. What else did that leave for Virgil to fret over as the final minutes ticked away?

“How about the blocking?” Virgil said. “We can go over it again if anyone—”

“I promise we know, Virge,” Roman snapped.

“Come on, kiddo, you know he’s just trying to help!” piped up Patton, Janus and Remus’s other boyfriend, who was suddenly somehow present and sitting in Janus’s lap, his pastel outfit completely out of place amidst the varying edgy styles everyone else in the room was sporting.

“How did you get back here?” Roman and Virgil demanded in unison. Virgil hadn’t even noticed Janus was back, let alone that he’d brought Patton, who was supposed to be in the audience with Logan until the performance was over.

“Oops,” Janus said, not sounding even a tiny bit remorseful as they played with Patton’s dark curls.

“Did you leave Logan alone?” Virgil demanded of Patton, hands on his hips.

“Only for a minute! He’s getting snacks, anyway,” Patton said, wrapping his arms around Janus’s neck. “We both know where our seats are, he’ll be fine.”

“You already have a partner backstage, stop being greedy,” Roman scolded Janus. “Patton, you know we need to focus right now, can you please not distract my horny bandmates until after the show?”

“You sound like Virgil, with all that worrywarting,” Remus commented, snickering.

“Take that back this instant!” Roman demanded as Virgil gave Remus double birds.

Remus only guffawed, looking incredibly amused.

“Seriously, though, uh, Patton, with all the love in my heart: get out,” Virgil said.

Patton wrinkled his nose, but pressed a warm smack of a kiss to Janus’s cheek and hopped to his feet.

“Do I get a kiss?” Remus asked, reaching his arms out hopefully.

“Makeup—” Roman began warningly.

“I haven’t got any on my mouth!” Remus said triumphantly. “Suck it, Jan.”

Janus smiled wryly, fingers rising to but not quite touching their black lipstick that Patton had avoided so carefully. “The prices I pay for beauty.”

Patton giggled, crossing to Remus, clasping both his hands, and leaning down to kiss him sweetly.

“Great, you’re very very cute together but now is not the time, Patton get out and stop distracting your boyfriends,” Roman said, shooing Patton towards the door.

Remus raised an eyebrow. “High strung much?”

“Not all of us possess your—your stupid coolheadedness powers, Remus!” Roman snapped.

Patton paused in the doorway and pointed at Roman, getting out his dad voice. “Hey. Be nice.” The finger moved to Virgil. “Be nice.” His eyes flicked to Remus, then Janus, and his voice shifted to a different tone, half flirty and half joking. “You two be good boys.”

“Oh my god oh my god oh my god, I said to stop being horny!” Roman shrieked, chasing a giggling Patton out of the room and down the hall. He returned moments later, Patton-less and fixing at his hair to make sure it wasn’t too messy. “We had better not have any more alloromantic bullshit from any of you until after the show is over!” he announced. “Okay?” He didn’t sound quite as annoyed as before.

“Homophobia,” Remus accused teasingly.

But instead of snapping back, Roman giggled. “Oh, shut up.”

The twins began joking back and forth, Janus making the occasional amused interjection. Evidently Patton’s intrusion into the room, although technically unhelpful, had done wonders to break the tension, and Virgil reminded himself to thank Patton later.

Virgil’s phone buzzed with a text from Logan.

Logan: Patton found me, don’t worry. Logan: How are you doing?

Virgil: hahahahahaaaa i don’t wanna think abt it

Logan began typing, then the little bubble went away; a second later, the phone began to ring, Logan’s caller ID plain to see.

“Hi, babe,” Virgil greeted.

“Hello, dear. Would you like to walk me through your plan for the performance, to reassure yourself?”

Virgil let out a small sigh of relief. “Yes, please.”

“I am listening,” Logan assured him.

Virgil took a deep breath and launched into a detailed itinerary, knowing that Logan didn’t mind if he got a little too technical in his terminology because Logan was listening for Virgil’s sake.

“And then that’s about it,” Virgil wound down, carefully leaving off the final item from his explanation. It wouldn’t do to spoil the surprise now. “Oh, looks like we’re getting ready now, gotta go.”

“I love you,” Logan said quickly. “You’re going to do a wonderful job.”

Virgil let out a short laugh. “Thanks, L. Love you too.” He hung up, set his phone down on the table, and picked up his bass.

“You ready?” Roman asked, nudging Virgil with his elbow, as the group finally headed towards the stage.

Virgil sucked in a long breath. “Yeah. I think so. Are you?”

“Oh, you know it!” Roman grinned, a spring in his step. He paused after a second and glanced back to Virgil. “Sorry for being so wound up earlier.”

“It happens.” Virgil shrugged. “Right back at you.”

Roman nodded and put a hand on Virgil’s shoulder. “Hey. He’s going to love it. Just wait and see.”

Virgil looked away, half smiling. “I sure hope so.”

“He will, I know it!” Roman insisted as they climbed the steps onto the stage and emerged into what could practically have been the eye of a hurricane, for all the noise and light that surrounded the stage.

The sky above was fully dark; bright lights everywhere in the area contrasted against it. There was a decent crowd. The venue seemed almost full, as a matter of fact. The observation added a thrill of adrenaline to compliment the goosebumps from the chilly breeze across Virgil’s bare midriff.

Roman stepped forward and spread his arms wide right as the spotlights came up. “Hey, folks, thank you for being with us here tonight!” he said, his smile gleaming in the bright lights and his voice booming in the speakers. “We have some great hits lined up for you tonight! Let’s get it started, huh?”

Virgil waited a few seconds for the cheer of the crowd to peak. Janus began the melody on the keyboard; Virgil came in with his bass at exactly the same second Roman began to sing, and Remus picked up the beat on the drums on cue.

Virgil was quickly able to get lost in the music, all his focus on playing and providing backup vocals, leaving him with no more brain space for his anxiety. This was his favorite thing about music: its ability to keep him in the moment.

They played three songs. Two covers that always went over really well, and one song that the twins had written together about family that always left Roman just a little teary. Normally that would be their closing song.

But tonight was a little bit different.

Roman took a step back, nodding at Virgil; the pair of them traded places onstage, putting Virgil front and center.

“So,” Virgil said, the mic on his cheek picking up his words, “we were thinking we’d let you all be the first to hear our new song. Uh, I wrote this one. And normally Roman does our singing, because—well, you’ve heard his voice. But this song is kind of special. I wrote it for my husband. So. We thought I’d perform it tonight.”

As Janus began playing the melody, Virgil searched the front row of the crowd, squinting against the lights, until he found Logan, sitting next to Patton and gazing up at Virgil with shining eyes. “Lo, I love you so much, babe. More than every star you’ve ever shown me.” He took a deep breath and began to sing.

***

10 years earlier

Unknown Number: Hello. This is Janus. Logan’s roommate

Virgil: how’d u get this number?

Janus: I broke into Logan’s phone after you started dating and saved you to my contacts just in case

[read 3:43pm}

[3:46pm]

Virgil: i Virgil: wtf dude

Janus: Your boyfriend has been moping in his room all day, can you please come fix it? Janus: Roman is starting to mope too for no good reason, but he’s doing it in the living room and at this point it is starting to affect my quality of life

Virgil: yk i literally could not care less abt that part u asshole <3 Virgil: i’ll be over in 15 Virgil: is he ok?

Janus: He won’t talk to me, I don’t know what happened

Virgil: i’ll be over in 10

It was normally a 12-minute walk from the dorm Virgil was an RA in to Logan’s apartment just off campus, but Virgil could walk fast when he was anxious or alone, and in this case he was both. Even taking the time to grab a jacket, he still made it to the building in nine minutes flat.

Janus let Virgil into the apartment almost the second he knocked, relief plain to see on their face.

“You see?” Janus said over their shoulder in a scolding tone. “I had to resort to outside measures to deal with your bullshit.”

“It’s not bullshit,” Roman whined from where he was slumped on the couch, scrolling aimlessly through Netflix on the TV.

“Oh? And what’s this?” Janus demanded, hands on their hips. They dramatically pushed the button to open the microwave door, revealing a limp burrito wrapped in a damp paper towel.

“Lunch,” Roman mumbled defensively.

“You hate microwave food, and it’s four in the afternoon!” Janus snapped.

“I am in a creative slump, Jan! Have some sympathy!”

“No! Get your whiny ass off the couch and stop ruining my afternoon!”

Virgil took a deep breath and pointedly walked in between the pair of them down the hall towards Logan’s room. Roman and Janus’s still-bickering voices faded into the background.

“Hey.” Virgil knocked on the door, which had a piece of printer paper taped to it with Logan’s name written on it in blue sharpie and a couple of stars, both scribbles and stickers, scattered around it. He waited, and when there was no reply, he added, “Are you okay, Lo?”

“I’m fine,” Logan said, in a voice that had obviously been crying.

“Can I come in?” Virgil asked.

“Okay.”

Virgil pushed open the door and stepped into the dim room, closing it behind him. The blinds were closed, and Logan was curled up under a mound of blankets.

“Hey, baby,” Virgil murmured, kicking off his shoes and climbing to sit on the bed beside Logan and stroke his hair. “What’s wrong?”

Logan made a muffled noise of misery into the mattress.

“What?” Virgil said after a moment.

Logan rolled over. “Teacher didn’t like my essay.”

Virgil chewed on the inside of his lip for a moment. “Okay, I promise I’m not making fun of you, but you do know that that is possibly the most stereotypically you thing you have ever said to me, right?”

Logan let out a little huff that was not quite a laugh. “I guess.” He was silent for a moment as Virgil continued to stroke his hair. “And I know it’s stupid. I still got a B+ and my overall grade in the class is fine and I know I’m a good writer and everything. But it sucks. I was really proud of it.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Virgil said, choosing to ignore the squirm in his gut that always happened when grades came up. It was so easy to compare or to worry about others comparing and then to worry about others getting upset over comparisons and—he dragged himself back to the present, forcibly setting the issue aside. “You’re allowed to feel upset,” he told Logan. “About anything that upsets you. Even if you wouldn’t choose it.”

Logan didn’t respond, but after a minute his hand snaked out from under the covers and grasped Virgil’s.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” Virgil asked, struck with the idea.

“Huh?”

“A walk. Get out of your head for a little bit and hang out. We can talk if you want, or just be together.”

Roman’s voice grew particularly loud outside, and Virgil picked out a teary, petulant, “I hate you!”

“Plus it’ll get you away from that energy,” he added wryly.

Logan drew in a breath and sat up. “Alright. Let’s do it.” He pulled out a denim jacket while Virgil put his shoes back on and retied the laces. They made their way out of the apartment, hand in hand.

Roman was on his feet now, releasing an angry tirade at Janus, hands clenched into fists and sounding on the verge of crying, the TV remote cast on the floor beside him. Janus was sitting on the kitchen counter with arms crossed and an intimidating glare on their face.

“Hey!” Virgil snapped, and Roman cut off abruptly. “Eat some food,” Virgil told him on a hunch. Sure, Roman could be a little immature at times, but this was on a whole different level, and a lack of food seemed like the simplest culprit.

Virgil looked over at Janus, to make it clear that they weren’t off the hook either. “We’re going out. You two better make up before we get back. Clear?”

“You can’t tell us what to do—” Roman began stubbornly.

“Janus literally called me in to fix all your problems, so yeah. I can. Also open your windows, it’s gloomy as fuck in here.” Virgil opened the door and held it for Logan, tossing one last glare over his shoulder at Roman, who looked dumbstruck, and Janus, who avoided eye contact.

Logan was quiet as the two of them walked down the stairs and exited the apartment building, hands in his pockets (one still clasping Virgil’s) and eyes on the toes of his slip-on shoes.

“Wanna talk?” Virgil asked.

Logan tilted his head to the side for a moment, his thinking face slipping over his features, and then shook his head.

Virgil nodded. “Okay.” He fished in his pocket for his earbuds and plugged them in. “Let me know if that changes, okay?” He received a small nod and turned on his go-to playlist—a 12-and-a-half-hour-long composition of all his favorite emo songs that he could loop without having to put any thought in.

The two of them wandered through the streets, hand in hand, music blaring in Virgil’s ears and Logan’s fingers soft and warm against his. They made their way towards downtown; their university was in a small city, and it was pretty walkable.

As they walked, weaving around and across different blocks, occasionally stopping to peek into particularly interesting shop windows, the tension in Logan’s shoulders slowly began to relax and his gaze migrated from the toes of his shoes upwards to take in the surrounding scenery. Virgil felt himself relaxing in turn. The subdued, almost sullen look on Logan’s face was beginning to shift back to his typical bright-eyed curiosity, which meant that while maybe not all was right with the world, a whole lot was right with the world.

As the sky began to darken, Logan’s pace quickened with sudden purpose—but he didn’t lead Virgil in the direction of the apartment. Instead, he headed in almost the exact opposite direction. Virgil was lost for a moment as to where they were going, until the park in the center of downtown came into view. Ah. That explained it. He was kind of glad; he didn’t feel ready for the quiet time they were spending together to be over.

A scent caught his attention as they entered the park, and he tugged gently at Logan’s arm, nodding towards the mediterranean food truck. A small smile answered him, and a nod, and the pair of them made their way over. They both ordered gyros—Virgil chicken, and Logan, who was trying out vegetarian food, falafel.

Fifteen minutes later, seated side by side on a park bench and finishing the last of their sandwiches, Logan cleared his throat. “Thank you.”

Virgil bumped his shoulder against his boyfriend’s. “Of course, babe.”

“I am feeling… better,” Logan said cautiously, as if he were testing out the words in his mouth to see if they felt true.

Virgil nodded. “Better is good.”

Logan nodded, eyes moving to the sky, which was now almost fully dark except for a streak of orange sunset leftover on the horizon. The stars were out, at least the brightest ones that could be seen even past the floodlights placed every so often across the park.

“You like space, and shit, right?” Virgil said, scooting closer to Logan and dragging his arm to wrap around Virgil as he rested his head on Logan’s shoulder. It was a bit of a rhetorical question, since he knew Logan had an astronomy minor and was the vice president of the astronomy club and had gone on no less than three eager rambles about space in the last month alone, but one could always do with a conversation opener.

Logan blinked and looked down at him. “I do.” You know this, his tone said, a little puzzled at the question.

“What star is that?” Virgil pointed at a particularly bright one, although he wasn’t paying nearly as much attention to the star as he was to Logan’s face.

Sure enough, Logan brightened, his eyes more interesting than any star. “Oh! That’s not a star at all—it’s actually Mercury!”

“Really?” Virgil asked, grinning and scooting closer.

Logan wrapped his arm a little more tightly around Virgil’s shoulders with an answering smile. “Yes, and it’s actually very fascinating…” And just like that, he was off, words spilling out of his mouth at a breakneck pace, gesturing eagerly with his free hand to emphasize his points.

Virgil listened, doing his best to follow along and asking a few questions whenever Logan started to wind down, but mostly just happy to watch his boyfriend’s lips as he excitedly infodumped, and his eyes, too, alight with delight, the frustration of the disappointing grade all but forgotten as he held Virgil and told him stories about the night sky.

It was nearly ten at night by the time they made their way back to Logan’s apartment, chatting back and forth in quiet voices and giggling. Logan broke off as he opened the door and got a look inside; he glanced over his shoulder at Virgil and put a finger to his lips.

Virgil hushed and followed him in, then saw what the need for quiet was: Janus and Roman were asleep on the sofa, Roman sprawled on his stomach on top of Janus with his limbs everywhere and his face buried in Janus’s chest, Janus with their arms wrapped around him and a throw pillow propping their head up and a worn copy of Crime and Punishment flopped over from where it had clearly been propped up on Roman’s back.

“Precious,” Virgil commented softly as Logan picked up the book, tucked a bookmark off the coffee table into it, and set it down with the tender care he seemed to reserve exclusively for books and Virgil.

Logan smiled. “They are, rather.” He looked down at his roommates. “Sometimes I wonder why I picked the two most dramatic people I know to live with.”

“Sometimes like this afternoon?” Virgil said with a chuckle.

Logan snorted. “Maybe. But then they do things like this, and I remember why I like them.”

Virgil noticed something on the tiny kitchen table. “Or this?” He pointed.

Logan came over to examine what Virgil had found. “Oh,” he breathed, a smile spreading across his face.

A plate of cookies sat on the table, together with a hastily handmade card.

“Sorry :( ❤️” it read in large, expressive cursive, and beneath it in smaller, neater handwriting, “I actually didn’t do anything wrong, but these are for you and I did the dishes, also you’re welcome for the date night.”

Logan laughed quietly, taking a cookie and offering the plate to Virgil, who accepted one cookie—they looked to be snickerdoodles. “Yes. Things exactly like this,” he said. He took a bite of the cookie and raised his eyebrows. “Not bad.”

Virgil grinned and leaned over to kiss him. “Not bad at all,” he agreed, pulling away.

“I literally gave you your own cookie,” Logan whispered, clearly trying not to laugh.

“Yeah, but it tastes better this way.” Virgil winked, mainly for Logan’s reaction—he pressed a hand to his mouth, stifling an amused smile that was still visible in his eyes. “I should go,” Virgil added, glancing at the time. It was Sunday tomorrow, so he didn’t need to worry about how late he was up, but he disliked walking home at night.

Logan nodded, taking another cookie and pressing it into his hand. “Text me when you get home?”

“I always do,” Virgil said, accepting the cookie and a goodnight kiss that still tasted just faintly of cinnamon and sugar.

And he did just that; he always felt a little awkward simply texting “I made it home,” or the like, so he usually tried to come up with interesting questions to send to Logan instead. Tonight, it was:

Virgil: hey Virgil: if u could pick one Thing u always wanted to do Virgil: and get a guarantee that u’d get a chance to do that thing no matter what Virgil: what would u pick?

Logan: Fascinating question! I would like the opportunity to name a star. Logan: I don’t imagine it will ever happen in real life, but I’ve always thought it would be… cool, for lack of a better word.

Virgil: ghfdkjghksdhj i will never be over ur love for space Virgil: u have a Brand and u stick to it

Logan: Well, a brand is important in life. :-) Logan: What about you? What would you pick?

Virgil: i think it’d be neat to be in a band Virgil: idk Virgil: like i don’t wanna be super famous or anything but like Virgil: being in a band would be neat Virgil: yk?

***

Ten years later, Virgil sang the last lines of his song looking right at his husband. “And I don’t even need to look to the skies/Because all of the stars are in your eyes.”

The noise around him didn’t fade away like in the movies; to the contrary, the cheering was so loud it was almost hard to focus. But Logan’s face was absolutely alight—Virgil couldn’t be sure at this distance, but he thought Logan might even be tearing up—and he was looking at Virgil like he was his whole world. Even with the bright lights and overwhelming sounds all around, it was easy to focus on Logan in the midst of it all, Logan pressing a hand to his mouth but smiling too wide for anything to hide it, Logan leaning into the side-hug that Patton—oh, and there was Patton, right beside him—was offering, but never taking his eyes off Virgil. Logan looked so happy, even though Virgil knew concerts weren’t really his favorite type of event, and Virgil was hit right in the chest with a renewed realization that Logan was Virgil’s whole world and damn, Virgil wanted to make sure everyone knew it.

But their time onstage was up, and the next few minutes were a bustle of packing equipment away and cleaning up the space they’d been allotted backstage, and it all went by in a bit of a blur, helped along by the remnants of Virgil’s performance mindset and slight overstimulation—though that was getting better now that he was offstage.

Virgil took a quick break, when the bulk of the urgent work was done, to just stand in the empty restroom and breathe for a moment, the noise of the other band who were now onstage thudding in the background so quietly he could hardly hear it. When he’d fully composed himself, feeling much calmer, he took a deep breath and headed back out.

On his way out, he ran into Roman, pushing a dolly with a box on it. “Oh, good, there you are,” he greeted Virgil. “Can you—oh, for crying out loud,” he broke off, looking ahead.

Following his gaze, Virgil snickered as he saw Remus, leaning against the wall with their hands clasped behind his head, grinning down at Patton, who was leaned forward, bracketing Remus with his arms, looking up at him and speaking, although Virgil couldn’t hear him from here.

“We still have work to do,” Roman said under his breath, but the exasperated gaze he leveled at the pair was altogether far too fond to have much real bite.

Virgil’s mind was on other matters; if Patton was here, that meant—

“Lolo!” Patton’s voice called brightly; he’d seen Roman and Virgil and stepped back from Remus, waving happily at the pair of them. “Virgil’s here!”

At the sound of Patton’s voice, Janus emerged from the room, a little further down the hall, that had served as the headquarters for the band. He bent to give the tiny man a kiss, then turned to Remus for another kiss.

Logan popped his head out just a moment behind Janus. “Virgil?” He brightened when he saw Virgil’s face, and stepped fully out into the hall. He hadn’t changed from his work outfit, still wearing a button down with the sleeves rolled up, a tie, and a pair of jeans, and a smile that he looked like he couldn’t wipe off his face.

He was still the handsomest man Virgil had ever seen.

Virgil looked to Roman. “Permission to get back on my alloromantic bullshit, captain?” he asked teasingly.

Roman rolled his eyes and swatted Virgil’s shoulder. “Go be cute,” he said benignly.

Virgil took off down the hallway to Logan, not quite running; Logan took a few steps to meet him, and Virgil caught him in a hug so eager he actually lifted the taller man off his feet for just a second.

Logan, half-laughing with surprise, grasped Virgil’s shoulders for balance as he regained his feet. “You wrote me a song?”

“Did you like it?” Virgil asked, holding him tightly.

“Virgil, I—” Logan seized Virgil’s face in his hands and kissed him.

Virgil wrapped his arms more firmly around his husband, kissing him back exuberantly and swaying slightly back and forth.

“It’s perfect,” Logan told him, breaking away only just far enough to speak. “You’re perfect.”

Virgil grinned, reaching up to run his fingers through Logan’s neat hair. “Careful, you’ll spoil me.”

“I don’t think I could ever do that,” Logan told him seriously. “It’s not spoiling if you deserve it.”

And really, what was Virgil supposed to do about that except kiss his husband again?

56 notes · View notes

gb-fics · 3 years

Text

Dressed in Confidence

Fanfiction:

Kiryuuin Shou x Kyan Yutaka (Golden Bomber)

Note: So, you might have seen the self-cover Shou shared yesterday and it inspired me to write a fic right away. For the context: The character originally performing the song has a magic suit that makes him confident and popular with women. Please, don’t question how it works, we’ll just pretend a suit can magically change Shou’s appearance and personality in this fic ^-^ Also, if you haven’t seen the video, please check it out, because he is gorgeous in it and maybe it will make the story seem a little less random ... https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lgzL_Ccmr1Y

„Just go over and talk to her already”, Yutaka urged quietly.

He didn’t know whom of the girls Shou had set his eyes on, but the glances he kept sneaking at the group of women opposite to their booth at the bar were more than obvious. Yutaka had waited to speak up until Jun and Kenji had went over to the counter to secure new drinks for themselves though. Shou was naturally self-conscious and Yutaka hadn’t meant to make him uncomfortable in front of the others. But his silent longing was becoming hard to bear.

“I can’t just do that”, Shou protested. Obviously, he knew what Yutaka was talking about immediately. He didn’t even seem surprised that Yutaka had noticed. “I’m not some kind of gigolo.”

Yutaka frowned. Although he was pretty good at seeing Shou through, he sometimes didn’t understand his reasoning anyway.

“Chatting up girls in bars and being a gigolo are two totally different things.”

Next to him Shou squirmed on the bench seat.

“I just don’t have that kind of confidence”, he whined.

“You are handsome, famous and you have money. Women have every reason to be interested in you. So, pull yourself together.”

Yutaka had lost count of how often he had given Shou similar pep talks already.

“I’m not”, Shou said right away. He cleared his throat. “I mean, I’m famous. And I do have money. But I’m not handsome.”

It was difficult to come up with the right reply to that. Yutaka never found the right words to talk about Shou’s looks.

“You should let them decide for themselves”, he pointed out.

Shou shifted his weight again. He reached down to check for the bag he kept on the floor between his legs. He had kept checking for it all evening, as if he was scared it might suddenly disappear.

“Please, if I go over there, I won’t even be able to look them in the eyes.” Shou winced.

Yutaka hoped that Jun and Kenji would hurry. The conversation was starting to make him uneasy. He didn’t know how to cheer Shou up without praising him, and he didn’t know how to praise him without making him uncomfortable. Being Shou’s friend could be difficult.

“What’s in the bag anyway?”, he changed the topic. Not the best solution, but at least a way to distract Shou from his self-pity.

“Ah, I wrote Party wo Tomenaide for that franchise, remember? They’re currently working on this magic suit and they gave me a prototype when I recorded the video for the self-cover. It’s supposed to make you cool and confident and popular with women.”

“And you brought it to the bar?” Yutaka hadn’t meant to let disdain sneak into his voice, but Shou pulled up his shoulders instinctively as if he wanted to shield himself from potential judgement.

“Just in case”, he said defensively. “We sometimes end up talking to women, when we’re in a group and I thought it might be a good chance to try it out. See if it even works. In case there is ever something I’ll need a lot of confidence for.”

Yutaka felt soothed to think Shou had only eyed the women as test objects to sate his curiosity about the suit and that he had not fallen in love from across the room. His tendencies in that regard were sometimes worrisome.

“Well then, give it a try”, he suggested. He had heard about the suit but hadn’t known Shou actually owned a prototype. He was curious, if it would work. Shou’s confidence could surely use an occasional boost and it would be great to no longer be the one responsible for it.

“If you insist”, Shou mumbled, but he was already fumbling with his bag. It was obvious he had only waited for some sort of permission.

He pulled out a suit coat and inhaled soundly before he got up. For a moment, he just stood there with the piece of clothing in his hands indecisively. Then he slipped it on in a surprisingly smooth motion.

All Yutaka did was blink and the next second, a completely changed person stood in front of him. Shou’s traditional Tamiya shirt had miraculously transformed into a silky, black suit. It even came with matching dress shoes. But it wasn’t just that. His hair had changed, too. It was styled in perfect shape and showed green streaks that made his look seem edgy and interesting. He was even wearing makeup that differed his usual style. A bright yellow flower stuck in his buttonhole.

Shou had transformed into someone so conventionally attractive, he might indeed start working at a host club.

Absent-mindedly he straightened his suit coat and turned towards the group of women.

He looked dazzling, but almost like a stranger.

Yutaka was surprised that he hesitated for so long before approaching the women anyway. He followed him with his eyes, curious how this would turn out.

Shou’s posture seemed straighter than usually as he walked through the room, yet he still managed to look awkward. He looked like a person who was arguing with himself about every step.

Finally, he stopped right behind a cute girl with bangs. Yutaka should have been able to guess it was her whom Shou had been watching. He would have chatted up her more light-haired friend, but when it came to Shou, she was just his type.

The girl didn’t notice him, though.

Shou just stood for a moment, although her friends had already noticed him. Seemingly, Shou had no idea how to draw attention to himself. He hesitated for far too long, before he reached out and tapped the girl on the shoulder. She flinched, which caused Shou to jolt in return and the whole situation was so awkward to watch, that Yutaka winced under his breath. The good looks and the confidence to approach women had done nothing for Shou’s coolness.

The girl turned around and even from across the room, Yutaka could tell that she seemed startled at Shou’s appearance. Her expression wasn’t annoyed but spoke of pleasant surprise. If a girl looked at you like that at first sight, it was very difficult to blow it.

Even from across the room Yutaka could tell that Shou would blow it.

Instead of looking at the girl while talking, he kept his eyes on the ground and his posture shifted, making it seem as if he wanted to curl back up into himself. He looked exactly as miserable and self-conscious talking to women as he had as a teenager. Everything about his body language radiated insecurity.

Yutaka sighed.

The woman shook her head. Instead of taking it with dignity, Shou managed to look even more miserable. Knowing him, Yutaka assumed he was probably blushing. He still didn’t make eye-contact.

After a very painful minute, Shou turned around and shuffled back to their table. He no longer seemed confident at all. His outward handsomeness remained, but it didn’t match with the way he carried himself at all.

“Sorry”, Yutaka said. “At least now you know.”

Shou sat down on the bench next to him again. Yutaka noticed that he wasn’t slumping down as usual, though, but sat surprisingly straight. It made him look taller and more self-assured.

“Too bad the suit is not working.”

“Oh, I don’t mind”, Shou said and turned towards him. His voice wasn’t as quiet and gloomy as Yutaka had expected. He spoke smugly. “I’d rather spend my time with you anyway.”

Yutaka eyed him suspiciously. The makeup suited him; his features looked more contoured and his skin smooth. His lips were always wide, but tonight they glistened invitingly. It was still Shou’s face, but the makeup brought out all its good qualities more strongly.

“What?”, he asked.

“Why would I waste my time with these women, when I can spend the night with a pretty guy like you?”, Shou asked. He was meeting Yutaka’s eyes head on. That was rare for him already, but tonight his gaze was challenging rather than stubborn.

Yutaka was so irritated by his unnaturally confident tone, that it took him a moment to realize what was going on.

“Oh, ha ha, very funny”, he said dryly.

“I mean it”, Shou insisted and placed his hand on Yutaka’s shoulder. He often did that, especially when he got tipsy and he had already had a couple of beers tonight, though by no means enough to justify him acting so out of character. His touch right now felt different, however. He wasn’t just seeking out body contact, he was using the gesture as an excuse to lean in, bringing them closer together. Suddenly, Yutaka was very aware of how close Shou was sitting.

“Let me buy you a drink”, he said, before turning around. Shou usually hated calling over the waiter and when they went to a restaurant together, he normally left it to the others. He was too shy and polite to raise his voice at strangers.

Now, he raised his arm and called out loudly: “Excuse me?” to make the young waitress turn around. “A bottle of champagne, please. Your most expensive one.”

The waitress nodded and headed off.

Shou turned back to Yutaka.

“Champagne? The expensive one? What’s gotten into you?”, Yutaka asked, still irritated. Before this, he could have written it off as a joke, but Shou would never waste money just to prank him. “You never order anything high-end.”

He still felt like he was talking to a stranger.

“Nothing but the best for my kitten”, Shou said.

Yutaka chocked.

“What?! What did you just call me?”

“Kitten”, Shou repeated. He sounded hoarse. His eyes trailed down Yutaka’s body and he didn’t try to hide the fact that he was shamelessly checking him out. It made Yutaka feel unexpectedly hot.

“Unless you prefer another pet name?”

And then Shou smiled.

It wasn’t a smug, cocky smile. His smile was warm and genuine and it looked just a little bit insecure as if he worried that he had crossed a line. It made Shou look shy and kind and charming. His teeth weren’t showing, but his lips seemed even wider and absolutely gorgeous and the small dimple on his left cheek didn’t seem as misplaced as usual, but it fit in perfectly with his handsome face. The smile turned him from a stranger into nothing but Shou, but the best version of Shou that he could possibly be. It was Shou the way he would look if he were no longer worried and self-deprecating; still shy but no longer scared.

Yutaka’s knees grew weak. But it wasn’t just his knees. It was his shoulders that suddenly held no tension anymore and his arms, that turned into butter and his whole body felt like it might just melt away when Shou smiled at him like this and called him cute names.

“Uhm”, he said.

“Your champagne”, the waitress interrupted them and Yutaka turned hastily, glad for the interruption that allowed him to clear his head. Something about this suit seemed to be working at least.

The waitress placed a bucket filled with ice on the table, that held a bottle of champagne. Steam was rising from the bottleneck, indicating that it had just been opened. Yutaka hadn’t expected it to be done for them already, but it was probably better that way. They would surely have created a mess otherwise.

The bottle came with four glasses and only their sight made Yutaka realize he had completely forgotten about Jun and Kenji. He wondered what was taking them so long.

“Let me get that for you”, Shou offered, although Yutaka hadn’t moved to fix himself a glass at all.

Shou placed his fingers on Yutaka’s wrist as if he wanted to physically stop him from helping himself. Once again, the gesture wasn’t untypical for Shou. He often touched people while talking to them, but this time, it had a different quality. Usually, his touches were distracted as if he didn’t really notice what his body was doing at all. But right now, he looked down on his hand resting on Yutaka’s bare wrist, and then he looked up, meeting his eyes, as if he wanted to make absolutely sure, that Yutaka became aware of the contact. His touch was fully intentional this time and Yutaka sensed heat creeping up his neck.

The touch lasted just long enough to not feel accidental, then Shou pulled back and reached for the bottle of champagne instead. He closed his long, slender fingers around the bottleneck firmly and took up a glass. His movements were secure and controlled. Yutaka had always admired Shou’s hands, that seemed too elegant and coordinated for someone who moved the way he did. But when it came to his hands, Shou always seemed to know what he was doing.

He poured a glass of champagne without spilling a drop and held it out to Yutaka.

Yutaka thought that with all the things that had changed, Shou’s hands had stayed exactly the same.

He took the glass and Shou held his gaze for a moment. It was Yutaka, who looked away first. Shou was wearing coloured lenses and his eyes were bright and intriguing. He didn’t seem in a hurry as he poured himself a glass as well.

Yutaka watched his movements closely. He could still recognize Shou’s way of moving, but he seemed less stressed and therefore less awkward. The only real difference seemed to be, that he was relaxed for a change and Yutaka wondered, if Shou would always look this sexy, if only he managed to put him at ease more.

Shou placed the bottle back into the bucket and held up his glass to Yutaka while meeting his eyes again.

“To a night full of fun”, he said. He said it like he was thinking of something dirty.

“To a fun night”, Yutaka agreed and clinked his glass to Shou’s. He did his best to make it sound less suggestive.

He emptied half of the glass in large gulps. The champagne made him feel bubbly inside, but he doubted it was because of the alcohol. This version of Shou made him nervous.

“Tastes expensive”, he observed lamely, although he couldn’t tell one champagne from the other.

Shou smiled again and once more, Yutaka thought that his lips looked stunning tonight.

“Oh, you guys ordered champagne!”, Kenji’s voice chimed in unexpectedly.

“When did you change, Shou? Is that the magic suit?”, Jun asked and pulled up his chair to sit down opposite to them.

Although Yutaka had hoped to be rescued from this weird tension, he still felt mad at them for interrupting.

Kenji placed himself on the bench next to Shou.

“He brought the suit to the bar to pick up girls, but it doesn’t work”, Yutaka declared maliciously. He was no longer sure if he was annoyed with Jun and Kenji for showing up, or for staying away for so long, or with Shou for acting so weird in the first place.

Shou patted the bench next to himself.

“Here, Kenji, come closer”, he said.

Kenji shuffled closer.

“Why?”, he asked. It was very much like Kenji to comply first and ask questions later.

Shou raised his hand and ran his forefinger across Kenji’s sharp jawline.

“So I can get a better look at your handsome face.”

Something inside of Yutaka constricted uncomfortably. He didn’t know why he felt so upset, but he couldn’t deny that he felt jealous of Kenji. Since the suit hadn’t worked on the girls, he had assumed it was only him having this effect on Shou.

“Oh god, what’s up with you?”, Jun asked, sounding seriously worried.

Kenji gave an embarrassed sound, but started pouring champagne for him and Jun as well without waiting for an invitation.

“The suit is turning him gay”, Yutaka explained nonchalantly and emptied his own glass.

“What’s turning me gay is sitting here with such cute guys”, Shou said lightly. He didn’t sound embarrassed at all. Rather than joking, he seemed flirting.

“That’s disturbing”, Jun said somewhat too loudly. “Someone get him out of this suit!”

Shou batted his eyelashes before looking right at Jun at the other side of the table.

“Please, Jun”, he said. “If you want to undress me, all you have to do is ask.”

Jun made a startled noise that turned into a mixture between a nervous laugh and a cough.

Yutaka placed his glass on the table too soundly.

Shou turned towards him. He leaned in closely.

“Don’t be jealous, kitten”, he said lowly. “I haven’t forgotten about you.”

Yutaka wondered how Shou had noticed his feelings without even looking at him, when Yutaka had troubles naming them himself. He felt oddly happy when he heard the pet name again. Shou hadn’t used it for Jun and Kenji. Maybe that meant something.

“I’m not jealous”, he lied and reached for the bottle of champagne. “I just need more alcohol, if you’re going to stay like this.”

He poured himself the rest of the champagne until his glass was so full, it nearly overflowed, before he put the empty bottle back onto the table.

Shou pulled the flower from his buttonhole. Up close, Yutaka could tell that it was a yellow rose.

“Here”, Shou said. When his voice was so low and deep, Yutaka’s body turned into butter again. He wondered, if Shou had the same effect on Jun and Kenji while wearing the suit.

“What are you doing? Get that thing out of my face!”

“Take it”, Shou insisted. “This one is only for you. To remind you, that you’re special to me.”

Yutaka hesitated. He wished Shou would sound joking, because a joking Shou was something he knew how to deal with. He still had the feeling that he was getting pranked, but he didn’t know how to avoid it.

He took the rose gingerly and placed it on the table plate demonstratively instead of keeping it in his hands. Shou’s facial expression was impossible to read. Yutaka could not tell, if he had offended him.

“It’s empty already?!”, Kenji complained. He had taken up the champagne bottle and studied it in disbelief.

“I can order another round!”, Shou offered right away and already raised his hand, but luckily, Kenji stopped him.

“It’s fine”, he said quickly. He seemed to be a little uncomfortable around this new version of Shou as well.

“Yes, I think it’s time we all go home”, Jun confirmed.

“No!”, Shou protested. “No, no! This party can’t stop! We have to keep drinking! Let’s celebrate all night.”

“It’s late”, Kenji pointed out.

“And you seem to need rest the most”, Jun agreed.

“You should take off this suit”, Kenji added. He spoke very gently, not like he was soothing Shou, but as if he was seriously worried about him.

“They’re right”, Yutaka said softly. He realized that he was worried about Shou, too. Tonight, he seemed unpredictable and possibly reckless. “Let’s pay the bill and then I’ll take you home.”

Shou turned and looked at him cheekily.

“I see, so you want to continue the party elsewhere.” His tone left no room for wondering what kind of party he had in mind.

“What? No!”

“I’ll take you to a fancy hotel”, Shou suggested and this time, he leaned in so far that Yutaka involuntarily pulled back. “Just give me a chance. If you let me, I’ll make you feel things that no woman has ever made you feel before.”

Yutaka’s neck felt hot again and now his face started to heat as well. He thought of everything that entailed. He thought of feeling Shou inside of him.

“Just let me try”, Shou coaxed, but he no longer sounded flirtatious. He sounded like he was begging. The despair in Shou’s voice scared him. He didn’t know what to do with it.

“Shou”, he said as sternly as possible and grabbed him by the shoulder to push him back. It felt like dealing with someone, who was very, very drunk. “It’s really time you take off that suit and get some sleep.”

Shou pulled back from his touch and wrinkles were showing around the root of his nose. The lines made his face look so characteristically himself, that Yutaka felt almost relieved.

“I don’t want to”, Shou said and finally, he sounded like his stubborn self again. “I don’t want this party to end.” He seemed to be repeating the words like a spell now and gestured towards the table as if he wanted to include everything. “I don’t want this night to end. I want to stay with you all night.” He gestured towards himself. “Like this.”

Yutaka didn’t fully understand what Shou meant, but his emotions seemed so raw and honest, it pained him anyway.

“You can’t, Shou. You are not yourself.”

Shou hung his head.

“I am”, he said. “I am.”

“Hey”, Yutaka said gently and touched his arm. Jun and Kenji stayed out of the conversation like they always did, when Shou turned difficult. It was only ever Yutaka, who managed to soothe him. “You need some rest.”

“Fine”, Shou agreed reluctantly. “But you have to take me. And I’m keeping on the suit.”

“Okay.” Yutaka sighed. He figured they could argue over the details later. He looked up at their bandmates. “Why don’t you guys go pay? We’ll pay you back later. I’ll make sure Shou gets home safely. Maybe the fresh air will help.”

“Alright”, Jun agreed. The fact, that neither of them argued about splitting the bill immediately although it contained the expensive bottle of champagne proved they were all irritated by Shou.

“Come here”, Yutaka said as gently as possible and took Shou’s arm to pull him up from the bench. “Let’s get you home.”

Shou followed without resistance. He picked up his bag, that was now empty and allowed Yutaka to guide him over to the front door of the bar.

It was colder outside, although the temperatures were warm enough that they didn’t need a jacket. The cold air cleared Yutaka’s mind a little, but finally getting some distance to Shou certainly helped as well. Inside the bar, he had started to feel dizzy.

Yutaka pulled out his phone and opened an app.

“I think I’m going to call us a cab, alright? We can’t take the train with you looking like this. Also, you might try to pick up random guys, if we don’t get you home straight away.”

“You’re jealous again”, Shou observed and this time, he sounded gleeful.

“I’m not”, Yutaka muttered and requested a ride before putting the phone back into his pocket.

When he looked up, he realized Shou was standing awfully close again. The suit seemed to be making him taller as well, because Yutaka had to look up to him slightly. Maybe it was just his straight posture in combination with the heel of the dress shoes though.

“Have you heard of personal space before?”, he complained and took a step backwards.

Shou took a step forward immediately. If anything, he was standing even closer than before.

“Sorry, that my handsomeness is making you nervous”, he said with a sleek grin. Yutaka had not thought that to be sentence he would ever hear from Shou unironically.

“Uh”, Yutaka said. He had been meaning to deny it, but Shou’s face was so close now, that he forgot how to say words.

“Shh, kitten”, Shou said quietly. He reached up and cupped Yutaka’s face with both hands. His touch was gentle but very secure. Yutaka could sense how bony and strong his fingers felt. They were surprisingly cool.

He knew that he was supposed to pull back, but he stood frozen, and he felt guilty for that. He knew that Shou was not himself and it was up to him to keep the situation from getting weird. But truth was, that he liked the way Shou touched him and he liked it when he held his gaze for so long and he liked it, when he called him kitten.

“Don’t”, he forced out softly anyway. “You can’t just do something like that in public.”

They were the only ones out on the street, but someone might walk out of the bar any moment. Anyone could see them.

“I don’t care”, Shou said. “I don’t want to worry about who could possibly see us. I’m tired of always worrying. I just want to kiss you.” He paused. “May I?”

Yutaka knew exactly what the answer was supposed to be. Under no circumstances could he allow this to happen, because it was reckless and dumb and moreover immoral.

“Yes”, he whispered.

Shou leaned in and kissed him with astonishing force. His kiss wasn’t hesitant at all. He kissed like he knew what he wanted. His lips were soft and his hold on Yutaka was firm. It made him feel very safe and oddly frail. He parted his lips and allowed Shou to kiss him like no one had ever kissed him in a public space before. Their teeth clicked together and Shou’s nose brushed his cheek and when he pulled back eventually, Yutaka was out of breath.

Shou looked at him and he broke into that sweet, bashful smile again, that looked so much like him, except lighter and happier than Yutaka had ever seen him before.

For a moment, he thought that he might just give in. He considered going back to a hotel with this new version of Shou, who would hold him in his strong arms and whisper sweet nothings into his ear and kiss him full of confidence. Yutaka would grow weak in his arms, because he was handsome and cool and self-assured.

But it wasn’t real.

“Stop it”, he said as gently as possible as Shou moved to lean in once again. “This is no good.”

“We can go somewhere more private”, Shou offered immediately.

Yutaka shook his head.

“It’s this suit. There is something wrong with it. It obviously works on men instead of women. It’s making you weird. You need to take it off.”

“No, no, please”, Shou said and he reached up instinctively, clawing his hand into the lapel of the suit coat as if he was scared Yutaka might try to tear it off. “This suit is not changing me. It’s just making me more confident. It’s … This is me. This is the version of me that’s in my head. It’s who I want to be. All the time. I don’t want to … I can’t let this end. I want to stay this version. I don’t want this party to end.” Vaguely he gestured back to the bar.

“So, you want to be someone, who promiscuously hits on all of his bandmates?” It had been meant as a joke, but it came out bitter. The way Shou had touched Kenji’s face made their kiss just now meaningless – regardless of whenever it was the suit or something Shou repressed violently.

“I want to be someone who is at terms with and open about his sexuality”, Shou blurted out.

Yutaka was pretty sure that the surprised was written all over his face. Before tonight, Shou had never indicated liking men at all.

“I want to be able to joke about it”, Shou said. “I don’t want to hide from the people closest to me. But most importantly, I want to show you how I feel. You’re the person I …”

He finally let go of his suit coat and his arm dropped down by his side as if he no longer had the energy to gesture at all.

“I wanted to try if the suit worked. I thought, if it does, I’d one day wear it to tell you. I wasn’t meaning to do it right away. Things got out of hand. I was scared of this night ending, because … I don’t know what will come afterwards.”

Yutaka licked his lips.

“So, you …?”, he started, but didn’t know how to finish the question.

“Yeah”, Shou confirmed. “I love you. And when I’m wearing this suit … when I’m wearing it, I’m cool and handsome. I’ll keep wearing it. And if you give me a chance, I think I can make you like me a little too. You allowed me to kiss you like this. You are at least somewhat attracted to me in this suit. I can be this version of myself for you. I’ll keep being it.”

Yutaka shook his head slightly.

“What are you going to do?” He wasn’t mocking Shou. He was sad, because Shou sounded so desperate. “Keep wearing the suit in your sleep?”

Shou shrugged and smiled helplessly.

“I hope they’ll design magic pyjamas soon”, he said.

Yutaka looked at Shou and all he saw was a handsome host. He had no idea where the despair in his voice was coming from. It was as if he couldn’t see below the pretty surface at all.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?”, Shou plead. “I confessed to you. Don’t I deserve an answer?”

“Please, take off the suit”, Yutaka said. He suddenly felt exhausted. He was tired of dealing with this person in front of him. He just wanted to talk to his friend. “I want to give you a proper reply, but I can’t when you are wearing this suit.”

“It makes me better”, Shou insisted.

“This …” Yutaka gestured towards Shou and the green streaks in his hair. “I feel like I’m talking to a stranger. I need to make sure it’s really you.”

Shou looked at him for a long time and Yutaka was convinced he would decline. But then he nodded and slowly took off the suit coat.

He blinked and then Shou was already different.

He was back in his Tamiya shirt, his arms bare and pale and awkwardly holding on to the suit coat. His hair was blonde again and looked uncombed because he had run his hands through it early this evening. His face was flushed and bare and his eyes were tiny, but dark and so much warmer than when he was wearing coloured lenses. He kept his eyes cast down and yet Yutaka had the feeling he was seeing them for the first time tonight. He seemed small, hunched over once again and his head too large for his shoulders, making him look frail and in need of protection.

Yutaka felt a giant wave of affection rushing through him and he had to stop himself from wrapping his arms around Shou.

He had missed him. He had missed him so much more than he had ever expected. And he thought that this awkward little guy with the small eyes and the messy hair was the most beautiful version of a human being possible.

“Hey”, he said quietly.

Shou looked up briefly, but he didn’t manage to hold his gaze for too long, just as it had always been.

“Hey”, he replied.

“Do you …?” Yutaka broke off. For a moment, he considered that Shou might have forgotten about everything that had happened tonight. “Do you still feel the same? Without the suit?”

“Yeah”, Shou confirmed. “The same. Plus, an awful lot of regret for saying it out loud.”

Yutaka chuckled.

“I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable.” Shou looked down onto the suit coat in his hands. His hands still looked the same. “I behaved awful tonight. Sorry for putting you into a position like this. Let’s just forget I ever said anything. In fact, let’s just forget about this entire night.”

Worried lines were showing everywhere on Shou’s face. His face looked all weird and wrinkly. He looked like his old gloomy, over-thinking self again.

“I should probably burn this thing to make sure I never do anything this stupid again.”

“You probably should”, Yutaka agreed.

Shou had looked happier when wearing the suit, more relaxed. Yutaka wanted him to look this happy always, but he knew they’d have to find a different way for that.

“Sorry”, Shou mumbled again.

Yutaka paused for a moment.

“Though, if I’m honest, I’m going to miss you calling me your kitten”, he confessed jokingly.

Shou looked irritated. Yutaka let him suffer for just a few seconds more.

“I’m also going to miss you kissing me”, he added.

Shou looked up and sucked in his lower lip. His teeth were showing visibly. He looked by no means conventionally attractive and Yutaka loved him for that.

“Really?”, Shou asked insecurely.

“Really”, Yutaka assured him without hesitation.

Shou started smiling and it was the same smile as before. The warm one with the cute dimple, that made his lips look gorgeous and that was shy and hesitant, but finally happy without a trace of worry. And Yutaka thought, that they were going to get there and that they wouldn’t need a magic suit for it at all.

“We can always work on that”, Shou said. “Right, kitten?”

#Golden Bomber #Kiryuuin Shou #Kyan Yutaka #kirikyan #fanfiction #fanfic

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eagleferry6 · 3 years

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Revellers of these times may refuel between the cinema and theater properly into the wee hours. Matsuri Setsubun Festival in Tokyo is often to mark the onset of spring. It is a festival that involves throwing roasted soybeans as a sign of repelling demons earlier than spring begins and also to welcome good fortunes to people’s lives and houses. The fortune beans can additionally be eaten for good luck – eat the variety of beans that corresponds to your age. For information on positions and how to apply, please go to our travel careers website. The day is officially marked on fifteenth November however tends to be observed on the closest weekend to avoid kids missing school. The fires can be seen from virtually wherever within the city. For the most effective views, I’d counsel heading to a roof-top restaurant. The celebration which options geisha and tattooed yakuza members attracts two million guests to the area every year. 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Among the resort's hottest baths are the large riverside rotemburo of Takaragawa Onsen and the traditonal, wood indoor baths of secluded Hoshi Onsen. People come to the onsen to loosen up, so friends must be considerate of the environment. Japan Household Holidays & Vacations Lovers of animals and the ocean will get pleasure from Japan’s spectacular aquariums. Since Japan is an island nation, its tradition and history will at all times be tied to the ocean. Also, there’re dangerous people on the market but more terrible are the police, who just stops you for nothing and illegally arrest you. The police can cease you however answering to what they say is by legislation OPTIONAL, however they are saying that it is MANDATORY. Thus, if you plan on spending a number of days in Tokyo and may full the Kyoto/Osaka trip within every week, I’d go with rail passes for sheer convenience. 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In Fukuoka, the Fukuoka Castle Sakura Festival celebrates among 1,000 cherry timber with meals cubicles and picnickers beneath timber in full bloom. Also in early April, greater than 1,500 folks dressed as samurai warriors gather in Kofu, Yamanashi, for a large cosplay honouring the region’s samurai history. This island additionally serves as a venue of art festivals and gatherings, and it hosts loads of museums dedicated to artwork. The structure current on this island is amongst the best issues to see in Japan, most of which was designed by well-known architect, Ando Tadao. It might be a tiny island but it’s totally full of museums and galleries, and in all places you look, you’ll see beautiful views. Spots like Miyako Island, Ishigaki Island, and Yoron Island are a few of the finest diving spots in the area, though all of Japan’s waters are amazing to explore. A traditional Japanese activity is enjoying a bowl of matcha in a traditional tea house accompanied by wagashi, lovely sweets usually created from rice, red beans, and sugar. Overlooking the river you'll find a way to experience a unique Ferris wheel in the building of the large Don Quixote store . It’s the strangest wanting Ferris wheel as it’s built onto the facade of the shop and you experience in a capsule that follows an oval shape up to seventy seven metres high with views of the river and metropolis. In Tokyo you may get a free view from the Tokyo Metropolitan Government Building in Shinjuku or get pleasure from VR rides along with the city skyline at the Sky Circus Sunshine 60 Observation Deck in Ikebukuro. Tokyo Tower is another popular viewpoint and looks like a pink Eiffel Tower.

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cheezritsu · 3 years

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Afterthought (Exit Stage Left) || Akaashi Keiji

Wc: 2.1k

Inspired by this quote that lives rent free in my mind, and by Afterthought by Joji

The scenery that stretches out the window of your train is a blur of orange tinged buildings, the glint of the setting sun catching every window on every skyscraper as you speed through the outer edges of the greater Tokyo Met area. You avert your squinting eyes, choosing to watch your quiet companions. The passengers on your train all sway in a similar manner, like a gif on a constant loop.

Despite this nearly cinematic tableau, there is something missing from this moment—perhaps it’s the fact that you’re on your way back to work after your lunch break and the sun is already setting, but there’s something more bittersweet than an early twilight. Your eyes sweep across the train car, searching the little cracks and crevices as if someone has left clues for this mystery.

But there is nothing out of the ordinary—the salarymen are as shiny-shoed and bored eyed as ever, the junior high girls are still huddled close together and giggling over a phone screen. One of the girls reaches down to pull up her leg warmers, and you think about how long it’s been since your friends wore those. The crest on their uniforms is unfamiliar, yet looking at them feels like a portal to the past.

The feeling in your chest grows exponentially as the train slows to a halt. The girls promptly get off, along with a host of other young, fresh looking passengers. One young man with a college ID on his lanyard walks past you, with something in his arm brushing against you. It makes a crackling sound that garners both of your attention.

“Oh!” He says, turning back to you quickly as the doors start closing. “I’m sorry!” He bows shallowly, and from the motion you catch the bouquet of purple tulips, abundant and bright, tied off with a white ribbon. He doesn’t stay in your sight much longer, running through the doors with the type of urgency only a young person could afford. You frown harder.

Now the train car is full of adults, and the alienation sits like lead in your stomach. You have nowhere else to be but work, yet you feel like you’re forgetting something—a prior engagement? A rendezvous with a friend? A missed call? You check your phone; nothing. A date—?

You remember it now. An entire train stop has come and gone. Your train stop. When you blink out of your stupor you realize you now have to walk blocks—blocks!—to his apartment, with the quickly setting sun making chills creep under a coat not meant for winter. Your fingers are popsicles where they curl around the stems of the bouquet tucked into your arm. Perhaps it’s getting a little too predictable; here you are on a Thursday, in an outfit that’s mostly black, in makeup he’s seen a thousand times. You’re a broken record for sure, but comfort and familiarity were things Akaashi savored more than onigiri.

(Right?)

You like the familiarity too. Walking into his apartment complex gives you a fuzzy warmth, and you barely pay attention as your fingers automatically press the button to his floor. Your reflection in the chrome doors is a haunting type of deja vu that leaves you with a sinking feeling you’re sure isn’t just his janky apartment elevator.

As one foot drags and the other heel clicks against the floor, it feels like you’re marching to a forlorn melody, something non-diegetic that would warn your imaginary audience that something terrible is about to happen, but leaves you clueless. There are layers upon layers of irony that surround the moment you turn the key into Akaashi’s apartment, only to find it dark and near barren.

Tokyo winters are notoriously cruel to apartment complexes. The grey sky matches the towering skyscrapers and colors the world in dismal shadows. Akaashi sits among them, a single desk lamp washing the pages of his newest project in harsh light.

He doesn’t look up when he hears your heels click against his kitchen floor. Silence drapes the room, punctuated only by the furling of pages. It sounds like a library or a study, not like a home with two lovers.

But you like watching him; the intense blue of his eyes as he scans the pages, his white shirt sleeves rolled up to his forearms. He looks handsome and pristine, like a marble statue.

He still looks that way when he finally turns to you, not so much as a smile on his face. “Hey.” He says, like you’re an afterthought.

“Hey,” you say, still possessing the bashfulness of a schoolgirl. You wait patiently for Akaashi like a dutiful kouhai would their senpai. When he does a once over of the flowers in your hand, he sighs.

He closes the magazine then pushes himself up from the desk as if it’s the most difficult task in the world. Akaashi pads over to you, still in his work shoes, and turns your head to look in your eyes.

There is no longer any feverish excitement in his touches. That placid countenance you got a thrill out of breaking never cracked, and it left feeling cold and forgotten. His fingers placed themselves exactly where they were supposed to, robotically so, with little tease, or foreplay, or reverence.

“These are pretty,” he says, and all you do is nod.

You’d heard about loveless marriages before. About people who stay together despite there not being a spark. You didn’t think it’d ever happen to you, for you had enough love for Akaashi to last a lifetime and then some. But here, now, when his lips pressed to your jaw, your neck, your collarbones with precision and no passion, you felt your soul detach from your body and allowed him to continue kissing a corpse.

He never said a word.

And when he did, it’s just: “What are they for?”

And this is where you come out of your comfort zone with him. “They’re for you. It’s a goodbye present.”

‘So that’s what it takes,’ you think as Akaashi’s eyes widen impossibly large. You’d laugh if you didn’t feel so hollow.

“Wh-“ he flounders, pushing the bouquet of purple asters back into your arms. “What are you talking about.”

“I can’t do this anymore, Keiji.”

He spares you the theatrics. Keiji was a literature major; he excels at context clues.

Yet he looks between the flowers and you, like it’s an incomplete puzzle. “What exactly is it you can’t do?”

Akaashi watches as you shuffle back and forth on your heels. Sometimes he can see the person he fell in love with back in high school: your nervous habits have stayed the same. But still, you’ve undeniably grown since then. Aged, like wine; becoming bolder, harder to swallow.

He can’t really be impressed anymore when you look him in the eye and say, “I can’t keep putting you first when I’m second place for you. I can’t be your afterthought anymore.”

“You’re not an afterthought.” It’s the lame reply of someone who can’t think of what else to say. You know it too.

“Ji,” you apply his coveted nickname, and it makes it all the worse. “You’re just keeping me around because you’re used to me.”

Something blooms across his face. It prickles with heat as a protective bubble of anger bursts in his chest. “What’s wrong with me being comfortable with you?”

Your stare goes level, lids dropping so the light in your eyes vanishes. The wings of your eyeliner make you look dangerous, ethereal. He really has always liked the way you looked. Your beauty is no longer subjective to him, it doesn’t steal his breath. It’s just an emotionless fact.

“Being comfortable is something friends are. We can be friends if that’s what you want.”

His brow raises. “Is that what you want?”

You shrug. The nonchalance is what gets him—the action is unhurried, comical, almost, in how lackadaisical you’re making this moment. (Although, he admits to himself that his anger is redirected guilt for not feeling too torn up about this himself.)

“That’s up to you,” is your only reply.

He heel turns, groaning and rubbing his twitching hands down his face. “Y/n what does that mean?” He says, voice finally rising. There’s no longer the thrill of getting him riled up. Only a dull throb where adrenaline should be. “Why are you making this harder than it has to be?”

“I-!” You laugh hollowly, and Akaashi stares at you with pinched brows. “Me? I said I can’t do this anymore. Clean and simple! You’re the one dragging this out when you don’t love me anymore!”

The anger ebbs like receding waves, and its wake is the wreckage he’s been waiting to appear. Akaashi is stunned by your violence, and nothing more.

And perhaps it’s his refusal to do anything about it that makes you turn your head as you swallow down the bitter acceptance he’s spoon fed you. “I mean,” you sniff, not even attempting to salvage anything. “I’ve always loved you more than you love me.”

The crooked smile you give pushes him over the edge.

“That’s not true,” he scolds quickly. “I just don’t show it the way you do.”

“Because you never wanted to.”

(Does it feel like he’s been shot in the chest because it’s true, or because he’s been caught?)

The flowers land on the table unceremoniously, punctuated by your heavy sigh. “So what,” Akaashi says, looking down at you. He never held his height over you condescendingly, but he’s scowling at you now. You give him a look that’s not quite defeated, but definitely not unbothered, waiting for him to finish.

“So you just knew I’d fallen out of love and you stayed with me the whole time? And now you walk in here, dressed up, with..with goodbye flowers? What kind of plan is that?”

“It wasn’t a plan, Ji.” You give a pitiful excuse for a laugh, somewhere between a scoff and a sob. ‘I just...I stayed because I still love you.”

Under his bewildered gaze you deteriorate faster than paper in water, crumbling into soggy remains as you give a wobbly smile. “But I suppose that’s not enough, is it?”

Your middle finger and thumb rub circles into your temple, like this conversation is giving you a headache. In the grey evening light of mid-winter, Akaashi can see a tear twinkle down the contour of your face like a Renaissance painting. And then it hits him all of a sudden that he’s the cause of all your wretched pain, and it winds him like a spin kick to the chest.

“I’m sorry,” he says, but never says what for. It can’t leave his lips (and why should it? You both know what for, why should he make it harder than it has to be?)

You don’t say you accept it. You don’t cry either. You simply scoot the chair back with a grating noise, and to this day, the sound still haunts Akaashi, teleporting him back to this moment, when you walked out the door and never came back.

Akaashi stares at the now unoccupied chair, his eyes lost and something pricking in the corner of his eyes.

“Akaashi.”

No, Akaashi scrunches his brow. Panic bubbles in his chest this isn’t right. You never called for him. Why didn’t you call for him?

“Akaashi,”

You leave his life as simply as stage directions—Y/n: exit stage left. The door stays open, because you’re not petty enough to slam it. Considerate, even when smashing your own heart to pieces.

“Akaaaashi.”

And his.

“Akaashi!”

He blinks once, twice. There are no more flowers, no open door, no dim grey lighting. Just the clean, white tile of Onigiri Miya, still empty during its dedicated lunch break. Orange light spills in and grants the store a golden look. From where he stood after scooting back his chair, Atsumu Miya raises a brow, his concern shadowed by the sun at his back.

“Are you okay?” He passed his hand in front of Akaashi’s face, somewhat teasingly. His handsome smile is small. “Lost ya for a sec.”

Atsumu’s left hand is still gripping the back of his seat. The other occupants of the table are seated, their curious eyes squinted at Akaashi as if they could possibly discern what was going on on the other side of his eyes.

“Sorry,” he finally says, fixing the blond with an apologetic smile. “It’s just,” he looks in the middle of the table, where sticking up from a small glass vase was a single purple kikyo flower, its head hung low and mournfully. He can’t keep his eyes off of it. For someone who’s supposed to be an afterthought, you’re always at the forefront of his mind; like the fraying anxiety of leaving the stove on, or the person one sees from their peripheral vision. If only he’d said all that when it mattered. Then maybe you wouldn’t be—

“It’s nothing. Just a memory.”

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analyzing-the-rebellion-story · 4 years

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The Rebellion Story Analysis Addendum

It’s been four years since I finished the analysis, and a lot of my views have changed! Here are my revised opinions!

In italics is something I said in the analysis.

In plain font is my updated interpretation.

I highly doubt that Kyubey has a biological need for sleep, so I guess that means he’s just been lying there all night. Contemplating.

Another possibility is that he’s communicating telepathically with the other Incubators. After all, what better time would there be to discuss their plans?

Sayaka is a raspberry. Raspberries are soft, but have a strong and distinct flavor. That describes Sayaka pretty well, I think.

Kyoko is an apple. Apples are sweet and wholesome, but their seeds have traces of cyanide. This suits Kyoko well because, while she’s generally nice nowadays, she can be kind of a jerk sometimes.

Homura is a pumpkin. The pumpkin is a delicious and fulfilling produce, but it can be twisted into something frightening (like a Jack-o-Lantern). Considering Homura’s mutation later in the film…

Mami is cheese, a dairy product made from milk. The purpose of milk is to nurture young, and Mami is easily the most nurturing of the girls, so the cheese is referencing her motherly personality.

I wasn’t very serious about these interpretations to begin with, but in hindsight, there are far more straightforward connections between the girls and their respective foods:

1) According to the Madoka Wiki, raspberries are known as “healing fruit” in Japan. I couldn’t find a source for this, but if it’s true, then the connection to Sayaka should be obvious.

2) Kyoko being an apple is probably an allusion to her religious background (think forbidden fruit). This is reinforced by the fact that she stole a bag of apples in the original series.

3) The pumpkin is another one of Homura’s witch symbols, like the newts and owls.

4) Mami is cheese because Bebe eats cheese, and… well…

…Yeah.

This part makes no sense. The figures start crowding around Homura and Kyoko, and don’t leave until Kyoko agrees to keep a lid on things. Homura’s emotions influence the Gemworld, but all she wants is for Kyoko to keep a low profile. This would mean that Homura wants Kyoko to avoid drawing attention to herself, but at the same time is unconsciously willing attention towards Kyoko. What?

The figures surrounding them probably reflect Homura’s fear of causing too much of a disruption. When Kyoko agrees to keep her head down, the fear is assuaged and the figures leave them alone as a result.

The Incubators should’ve spent more time beta testing their memory-altering tech, because it’s proven to be very easy to awaken the girls’ memories of the real world.

Originally I assumed that the Incubators had wiped the girls’ memories so that they wouldn’t catch on to their plan. However, there’s a distinct possibility that it was Homura altering everyone’s memories, which would explain how she recovered her own so readily (and this is supported by the fact that her new world ability is memory manipulation). Kyubey does explicitly state that he wants Madoka to remember her purpose, so unless he thought that her amnesia was some sort of technical failure, I’m gonna place my bets on Homura.

WHAT THE-?!

This... This thing randomly appears behind Mami and displays a walnut, presumably for cracking purposes. I honestly haven't the tiniest clue what this is supposed to represent. Is it symbolic of Mami's dormant memories "cracking open"? Is it foreshadowing Homura's transformation into the Nutcracker Witch? Just... what the heck?!

Since this happens immediately before Bebe is ruled out as the witch, it’s probably just vague foreshadowing without any real symbolism. It could be argued that the uncracked nut represents the unsolved mystery, but since Homulilly is incapable of cracking nuts to begin with, that feels like a stretch.

A rune briefly flashes. It translates into, “you”. As in Homura.

This is supposed to be an answer to the question, “Who is dreaming?” from earlier. I’m sure most of you already knew that, but I feel as though I should’ve pointed it out anyway.

(If you don’t remember this part, it happens right before Homura does her witch test)

The pink spool reappears, only to be kicked away by the Clara Dolls. Not even Madoka’s influence can save Homura from this despair.

Another possibility is that, in her mind, Homura deliberately defied the Law of Cycles (hence the spool getting kicked). It isn’t until Kyubey opens his telepathic mouth that she realizes this isn’t the case.

Shouldn’t Homura’s parents be wondering where she is? Does she even have parents?! I’ve been wondering that since the original series…

I can’t believe it never occurred to me that Homura didn’t invite her own parents into the labyrinth. That’s pretty strong evidence that they’re either dead, or put her up for adoption at a very young age.

Seeing Kyoko at a diner makes me wish there was a spinoff series exploring the personal lives of the girls (preferably with drama-comedy themes). Also, those familiars are giving me chills.

Another thing that flew over my head is that those familiars were sent to kidnap her. Same with Mama, Hitomi and Kyousuke.

Mami summons a train, and unsurprisingly, it has a teacup motif. The deer are kind of random, though…

Since Mami primarily fights with guns, the deer are most likely a reference to trophy hunting.

The runes translate into, “The Eternal Feminine”. This is probably a reference to Faust, a poem that apparently served as an inspiration for Madoka Magica (it’s about a man who trades his soul for unlimited power. Sound familiar?). Here’s a snippet for context:

“Everything that can be perceived is only a symbol; the imperfect, which cannot be realized, here makes itself reality; that which cannot be described, here finally completes itself. It is the eternal feminine, always attracting us to the higher.”

Homura is definitely drawn to “the higher”, though the underlying theme of salvation kind of gets subverted in the end…

While I still agree with this interpretation, I don’t think I did a very good job at describing/contextualizing it. At the end of Faust, the main character’s soul is saved from damnation and guided to Heaven by Gretchen*. This achievement is attributed to the Eternal Feminine, a female essence that draws humans to salvation. This is precisely what Madoka accomplishes at the end of the TV show and is attempting to do with Homura in this very scene.

*The namesake of Madoka’s witch form.

When the explosion the over, the magic forms this symbol. I’m not sure what it’s supposed to be, though? It vaguely resembles the portal to Magical Heaven, but the color effects make it hard to tell. It might also be a wheel, but the contours are very crystal-like.

Don’t know if this was intentional, but the symbol bears a loose resemblance to a dreamcatcher. “Who is dreaming?” is a recurring question throughout the movie, and at this point in time, the world Homura “dreamed” inside her soul gem is becoming a reality. From her perspective, she’s also preventing a “nightmare” by relieving Madoka of her duties and returning everything she sacrificed.

I’m not sure where else they would go, Homu. You didn’t make a new world, you just rebuilt the old one.

She’s probably talking about the Law of Cycles Dimension/Magical Heaven/Land Without Cheese/whatever you want to call it. Homura only took the part of the Law that contained Madoka’s original identity, but since it was the original Madoka that wished for the Law in the first place, her removal caused the entire system to collapse and expel her angels, too. This is why she says that Sayaka and Nagisa “somehow” got dragged along too even though she only wanted Madoka.

In other words, Homura pulled the wrong block from a Jenga stack.

Lastly, I want to point out an observation I made about Demon Homura’s world. When she unravels the Law of Cycles and renders it inaccessible, but also forces the Incubators to shoulder humanity’s curses, the end result is a “middle ground” between the previous two worlds. Think about it: In the first world, Magical Girls are doomed to become witches, while in the second world, they’re ultimately saved by Madoka. In Homura’s world, however, neither of these things can happen, which means she essentially created a world where there is neither salvation nor damnation. I really hope the eventual sequel explores this concept further; it’s very interesting.

Aaaaaaand that wraps it up! I hope you enjoyed this little bonus round as much as I did!

#analysis #madoka magica #the rebellion story #addendum

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borrodell · 3 years

Text

The calling of a technologist

This comment piece was originally published on Zone’s website in 2018 shortly after the Facebook / Cambridge Analytica scandal was revealed. Hopefully you’ll agree its call for responsible technology thinking remains timely.

As someone who’s spent their career helping companies figure out how to leverage technology, I am completely unsurprised by the latest revelations from Facebook and Cambridge Analytica.

Take the political context and the data breach out of the equation for a moment, and all we’re really talking about is a slightly extreme version of the Facebook marketing that modern brands and publishers around the world now employ as standard.

This is a part of the internet that is functioning exactly as designed.

It is a spinning flywheel pushed on ever faster, as platforms use technology to create extraordinary new conveniences (which we all want) in exchange for personal data that can be used for targeted advertising at scale.

Of course I’m willing to tell Google Maps where I am at all times - how else would it know how to give me the quickest directions home? Of course I’m willing to let Amazon put a microphone in my bedroom - how else will I tell it to play music and set my alarm? Of course Apple needs to know the exact contours of my face - how else will it open my phone so quickly?

Of course I’m willing to tell Facebook how I’m going to vote… ah.

We’re now seeing the consequences of this flywheel spinning faster than any group of people can handle.

Distributed trust

Over the past 20 years, according to global surveys like Edelman’s Trust Barometer, the public’s trust in traditional institutions - banks, governments, big brands, even charities - has fallen off a cliff. Instead, we put our trust in the power of technology. We let algorithms, anonymously aggregated reviews, bots and artificial intelligences make our decisions.

Trust expert and researcher Rachel Botsman calls this “distributed trust.” And as of late last year, the technology companies who enable it were rated as the most trusted industry sector in the world. But what happens when they turn out to be as slippery and prone to human failings as the other big institutions we have come to doubt?

In the same week as the Facebook revelations, one of Uber’s driverless, autonomous cars struck and killed a woman crossing the street. Our power to design and roll out new technology will always be faster than our ability to think about and manage the consequences.

Responsible technology

So yes, we absolutely need more regulation. GDPR has some teeth, and so does the UK’s Information Commissioner, Elizabeth Denham. Perhaps we need a Digital Protection Agency with broader powers.

But we also need to find ways to encourage the teams of people who are making and exploiting new technologies – the designers, programmers and strategists – to create things more responsibly. Agencies and their clients must do the same. Signing up publicly to manifestos and oaths like this one for good data practices, would be a worthwhile start.

As technology activist Anil Dash says: “Choices that software developers make about design, technical architecture or business model can have profound impacts on our privacy, security and even civil rights as users.” He also notes that almost no technology education includes ethical training.

For some reason, the digital realm doesn’t seem to carry the same burden of responsibility as the physical, even as the delineation between the two continue to dissolve. Designing a new bridge to carry millions over the sea sounds terrifying to me. But designing a new app that makes it easier to get home in a stranger’s car? That’s a breeze.

There’s an old ceremony for graduating engineers in Canada called “The Ritual of the Calling of an Engineer”. It’s a bit like the Hippocratic oath. You wear an iron ring on your little finger as a constant reminder of your ethical responsibilities while you’re working with your hands. And as Botsman puts it: “The only way to gain trust is to be trustworthy.”

So I invite you to think about the Calling of a Technologist. The decisions and inventions we make today will have long-lasting consequences for society and culture. What are the most responsible things we can create?

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one-boring-person · 4 years

Text

Whose Side Are You On?

The Terminator (1984) reader insert

Warnings: reference to war, reference to death and injury

Context: I had this idea after watching The Terminator again, and now I'm writing another series (because I have a big brain) with a reader insert. I've basically just added another character to the story, and possibly a little extra plot on the sidelines.😅💛💛 I'm really not expecting this to do well, but I guess it's more for my entertainment than anyone else's 😂

It's probably best to mention I've (somehow) only watched the first of the films, so I'm not entirely well versed in terminator lore, so please don't judge me too harshly 😂

Masterlist

"...she's not normal anymore...she'll kill the lot of us..."

▪▪▪

Pain erupts through my body as it crashes harshly down onto the concrete below me, my shoulder jarring as it catches the brunt of my fall, a sharp cry escaping my lips from the force. Blue energy crackles out around me, clearing the area so that I can properly see where I am, the cold air surrounding me quickly as the burning heat dissipates, leaving me shivering on the floor, naked as the day I was born. Drawing myself to my feet, I cast my eyes around once more, only now noticing the odd scenery and weird structures, feeling out of place as I take a hesitant step towards a plastic box, noticing the bits and pieces sticking from the top of it, hoping to find some clothes somewhere.

Carefully, I rummage through it, finding nothing that could pass as clothes except for a ragged sheet, which I tie around myself with the intention of finding something more suitable to replace it. Shivering, I start off down the passage, eyeing the tall structures around me warily, aware of what could be imminent danger at every turn, my eyes flicking nervously around me to navigate. Before we left, we were told to study some maps and pictures, but none of the old "records" we have come close to portraying the sheer height of some of these buildings. As I walk, I suddenly hear a low muttering, a clatter accompanying it.

Ducking behind a corner, I peer around until I locate the source: a tall man in some sort of uniform, which resembles what we were told the "police" wear. In my head, I remember that these "policemen/women" carry around firearms, something which would greatly benefit me at this point.

Silently, I make my way over to the distracted man, getting as close as I can. As I go, I notice a circle of riveted metal a little way away, the shape vaguely resembling a lid, which I reach for, taking it in my hand before smashing it across the back of the man's head, knocking him out cold. Limply, he falls to the floor, body collapsing harshly against the wall to his left, giving me the perfect opportunity to swiftly remove his clothes.

Rolling him over, I take off his shirt and trousers, slipping them over my own body as I quickly use a strip of fabric from the sheet to the the sleeves to my arms and legs, forcing my feet into his boots as I go. Taking his belt, I pull that on and fasten his hand gun under my arm, sliding his coat on over the top to disguise it, but not before trying to tear off the "Police" logo it bears, knowing these clothes are a little conspicuous. Sighing, I straighten and crack my neck, eager to find what I was told is a "phonebox", where I can find a "phonebook".

Unsurprisingly, it takes me a good hour or two to find one, my initial navigation of the streets unsure and uncomfortable, my clothes drawing far too much attention than I'd like, every suspicious face giving me hostile impressions of a lot of people, though I'm well aware that this is probably just my war-trained mind trying to cope and adjust. When I do come across the phonebox, I swiftly flick through the phonebook there, finding the category listed as "C", dragging my finger down the columns until I find what I'm looking for:

Connor, Sarah

Reading and memorizing the addresses listed, I quickly decide to find a car, choosing to find the other soldier that came through with me, my brother Kyle Reese, who insisted he came across time to save this one girl, before going to complete the reason for my existence in this time. Walking across the road, I duck into another alley, locating a rundown Cadillac nearby, which I quickly break into, using my acquired skills to carefully open it, unlocking the vehicle so I can climb inside. Biting my lip, I easily hijack the wires and start the ignition, finding my bearings of the interior of the vehicle as I put it into drive, guiding it carefully onto the road, making sure to follow the same patterns of traffic I can see, my eyes roaming the pavements as I try to suss out where Kyle is, unsure of his initial plans.

Thankfully, we were made to memorize the exact name and appearance of the correct Sarah Connor, so I know where he's likely to start, though I don't know how he'll go about determining our opposition, the other entity that came through the years with us. A shiver wracks my body at the thought, my mind straying back to my time in the clutches of our hated enemy back home, where I spent most of it blacked out and disorientated, only really remembering that i was rescued from the battlefield by a patrol squad, who had me tied up and led back to base in chains. Even after I returned, the memories are blurred and obscure, nothing really making sense until they told me exactly what happened. Absentmindedly, I touch my face, tracing over the ugly scar that runs around the contours of the right of my head, fitting perfectly around the curve of my forehead, grimacing at the memories that accompany the feeling, pushing them aside as quickly as I can, not intending to let myself dwell on that time.

Biting my lip, I focus on guiding the car around the roads, keeping my eyes out for Kyle, though I'm aware that we may well have ended up on entirely opposite sides of the city, meaning there's a lot of ground to cover before I can find him. I drum my fingers on the steering wheel as I drive, my attention briefly drawn to the controls on the panel to my right, a hand reaching out to fiddle with some of the buttons. In doing so, I manage to get a sound out of it, some odd mixture of noises flowing from the speakers, which I guess is what is known as music in this day and age. Back home, the only music we heard was that made by bedraggled ex-fighters or children, sometimes even by other soldiers, and even then it was never more than some raw-throated singing and low beating of whatever object was at hand, but it could help to cheer us all up. This music is a complete contrast, the layers of instruments and notes provoking a sense of enjoyment in me, my head moving in time with the beat as I drive along, distracting me from the thought of the threat I will soon have to face.

I search for a good few hours, before deciding to give it a rest, knowing I'll need sleep to function. Driving until I'm just a little way out of town, I pull over into a copse of trees, parking and leaning back in my seat, switching off the music as I pull out the handgun, cradling it in my lap as I close my eyes, attempting to sleep.

Part Two

#terminator #terminator 1984 #terminator imagine #arnold schwarzenegger #michael biehn #linda hamilton #x reader #reader insert

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dahniwitchoflight · 4 years

Text

Homesquared Chapter 3

So i have seen smidgens of this on tumblr but just havent had time to do anything about it

and jesus christ Callie Jade is so horrifyingly creepy, and you know the things she’s narrating the characters can also hear which is also hilarious, it just reminds me of that comic about how “yeah sure there’s a giant ominous red floating eyeball in your kitchen, constantly staring, constantly judging, but can you be sure that’s a bad thing?”

and then someone tries to talk to it, but it doesn’t answer and the person goes “fine be an asshole i dont give a fuck”

thats exactly the dynamic happening with Callie Jade right now

Grumpy DaveKat is hilarious

and Hey! we finally get to see how people look, I really dig Roxy’s look

“ROXY: dude doesnt "believe" in "substances"”

This line from Roxy makes sense, as a person wholly ensconced in the idea of their own self and always being in control of themselves and their own mind and faculties they would hate anything at all that causes that iron mental grip to slip

That’s probably why Dirk avoided sleep even when his dreamself was awake, even sleeping and dreaming was considered a form of himself losing control over himself that he couldn’t integrate the idea himself and his dreamself were the same person rather than two identical people and also I remember that the Jujupop didn’t affect him either

Later on Dirk in the narrative will say something about his own trauma, but not really go into what it is, but if I had to hazard a guess (and really it’s not much of a guess at this point)

Dirk probably has memories of a version of himself being under the mental influence of another, Lil Cal, LE, Doc Scratch etc what have you, So Narrative Dirk may actually be a version of Dirk who’s not quite yet poisoned into being a version of those 3, but his words also hinted that just because he’s aware of a certain way that he’s acting doesn’t make him more likely to stop it

Like he’s equating that you can be aware of the influence something else is having on you and in the exact ways it is influencing you without being able to stop, the exact thing he is traumatized and afraid of being most likely

So his one driving fear, is he does not want to lose control of his own soul, his own being, his own way of life and existing, to something else, something other. Even though he most likely is fully aware of the things and mannerisms of the other that have slipped into himself? Like he’s probably fully aware of the similarities between himself and those mentioned above, but maybe the thing that he’s hinging on is that instead of those guys poisoning him into being like them, instead perhaps he can convince himself that it’s his own self influencing others to act like himself instead. His influence reaching out and expanding instead of shrinking as he fears it

Anyway, Dave and Kanaya have a cute moment, I really like that

We get a nice shot of them in shadows against a backdrop of stars and Kanaya starts talking about a story Rose would once tell so that’s story is already gonna be dripping in metaphorical potential

“ A Wriggler Story About A Young Prince And The Beloved Flower He Loved And Lost”

Though that’s a story I’m actually familiar with

KANAYA: A Singular Wild Rose He Failed To Cherish When He Had Her

KANAYA: And His Journey Of Discovering What She Meant To Him All Along

KANAYA: Culminating In A New Quest To Find Her And Win Her Back

KANAYA: The Story Comments On The Nature Of Friendship

KANAYA: And Of Course In Turn Love

KANAYA: How Once They Connect There Is No Distance Or Circumstance That Can Seperate Them

KANAYA: How The Worlds In Each Ones Mind Take On Contours Shaped By Their Memories Of The Other

KANAYA: Places And Moments And Orbiting Passersby Becoming More and More Entangled In The Context Of Their Mutual Affections

KANAYA: Such As With A Garden Calling To Mind An Engagement Once Declared There

KANAYA: Or Something To That Fucking Effect

So obviously Dirk and Rose

Dirk has Rose with him, discovers an actual genuine connection with her, likely because he already viewed her as an equal, despite his manipulations of her, and chapter 4 spoilers but he genuinely wants to play a game with her when there really isn’t any reason for it, so he is actually curious to see who comes out on top of it, Him or Her, so Dirk is probably in some way desperate to have an actual equal partner in some way instead of drowning in himself all the time, not surprising. But Rose, obviously, will leave and reject him, likely when the manipulation comes around and is revealed/Kanaya and all them reach her/that part of the story

But then the story tinges onto a romantic nature and is framing Dirk trying to get her back as a romantic quest to save his partner/friend something something love and friendship, “no distance can separate them” yeah that doesn’t sound like obsession with the first person you’ve ever truly seen as an equal/a real person,

yeah “A Garden calling to Mind an engagement once declared there” definitely sounds like the garden of eden/adam and eve paradise fantasy that Dirk has been trying for some reason, to setup on the new planet

Really begs the question for why Dirk cares at all to do all of this? Except we now the answer is already its not the thing itself he cares about, its the value hes putting into the story as something that generates interest in the audience

He doesn’t care about actually making a society or being gods or whatever, he just knows thats what the audience wants to see and cares about so therefore he does it

and the reason he does all of THAT is because is ties into his trauma of his sense of self eroding away becoming a person he’s unfamiliar with

I wonder how he’s going to handle how much he’s going to change in order to fit the role of the story he’s writing when all is said and done

the Dirk at the end of this is going to be very different than the Dirk that started in Homestuck, despite all of his fears and intentions, and that he could not say all of it wasnt his own doing because of the iron control he made sure to have from the very beginning, I honestly think that will be kind of a shock for him if a meeting like that ever one day happened

Specifically for the fact that he seems to be aware of the romantic in nature tropes hes writing himself and Rose into and for now still seems to be avoiding them, not having gone that far, but, well

Maybe this is where we’ll start to see where Doc Scratch’s odd tendencies starting coming from

You know he was always really weird with Rose and Vriska (Maybe because he sees Light players all as extensions of Rose herself?)

Anyway yeah this is def the story metaphor I think we’re going to see in this, but Kanaya doesn’t fully get it, she thinks the story refers to herself and Rose

DAVE: that seems kind of wack for a kids story

KANAYA: Its Possible I Am Projecting Slightly In This Specific Circumstances

KANAYA: It Was Just A Metaphor

KANAYA: But In A Way I Feel As If It Is the Greater Universe Trying To Tell Me Something

KANAYA: It May Simply Stem From My Longing To See Her Again And How Much Is Indicative Of Something More Sinister

Which is cool because it makes this opposing connection between Dirk and Kanaya as opposites, which I like because it solidifies a tiny bit more the idea of Sylph being Passive Create to A Prince’s Active destroy.

Oh yeah, there was a tiny hint of Mind metaphor as well, can’t forget Terezi is with them

KANAYA: How The Worlds In Each Ones Mind Take On Contours Shaped By Their Memories Of The Other

KANAYA: Places And Moments And Orbiting Passersby Becoming More and More Entangled In The Context Of Their Mutual Affections

KANAYA: Such As With A Garden Calling To Mind An Engagement Once Declared There

Basically the idea that your experiences of a person and your memories of them shape who they become as well, the boundary between you and I is controlled by both of us, so each has an effect of the personality Heart of the other through our own decisions and Mind

like the way people tend to mimic those they like and want to be close to, or the way they actively try to distance themselves and what they are like from those they hate

But that at all seems to be more about Mind in general than referring to anything specifically Terezi

though it is exactly that understanding of Mind versus Heart and how one affects the other that could make Dirk realize that in the question of the self he’s only had half the picture the whole time, he’s only had the understanding of Heart and has thus far not been able to understand how Mind plays a role in the sustaining of the self, how what other people do to help you to be you, which is his entire philosophical conundrum

“DAVE: the dude youve spent the last 7 years convincing yourself isnt an egomaniacal anime villain

DAVE: and who isnt actually lying in wait to completely decimate your life and your emotions and shit“

oh, that makes me sad, this is def bringing up some bad trains of thought for Dave ):

“ KARKAT: KANAYA BARELY EVEN TALKS, CALLIOPE WON’T LEAVE THEIR CABIN, JADE JUST FLOATS AROUND LIKE A CREEPY BALLOON THAT’S MOSTLY MADE OF HAIR.

OH RIGHT, I forgot Calliope is actually WITH them on their journey, despite seeming to want absolutely fuck all with Jade Callie, I totally thought she was gonna stay back on Earth C but I guess not!

It’s so odd to see them so terrified of their alternate self like this when they’ve interacted mildly before. I still don’t know what to think of that much, other than they seem to be doing that weird thing that the other kids went through, like how John scribbled clowns on the walls unknown to himself for the longest time due to Gamzee’s unseen mental influence

that’s exactly the type of shit Dirk would be afraid of, so I wonder if that’s what Callie was afraid of as well? Maybe its Jade Callie that’s influencing them this way not Gamzee, to scribble strange things on the walls and not come out, but it’s the same fear of the other regardless manifesting and changing the self.

It is a very oddly non social thing for Our Calliope to do, when the point of different between the two Callie’s was how social Calliope was versus how antisocial Jade Callie is. Worries me ): but at least they’re here I guess

KARKAT: SOMETIMES IT ALMOST FEELS LIKE WHATEVER SLATHERING MONSTROSITY OF A COSMIC HELLBEAST THAT PUT ALL THIS SHIT INTO MOTION...ACTUALLY LIKES ME?

ROXY: fucked up if tru

Karkat is really popular as a character in the fandom lol

and that’s that one, time to get to Chapter 4, which has a lot more juicy exposition

With all the Garden of Eden metaphors though I can’t help but think of the Apple of the Garden of Eden when I think of “story exposition” now

The juicy tantalizing forbidden red fruit that when you bit into it you suddenly understand and know things you did not before and you’re eyes are opened, I wonder if that’s enough to just make Apples a solid Symbol of Light in Homestuck’s context? Most of it’s association with knowledge is external to Homestuck, just referenced symbolically, it’s not actually used in any cirumstances pertaining to knowledge, but more as the metaphor of it being the gate to leave the garden of eden, more like a teleporter, Rapture and Revelation in general rather than just Knowledge itself

aka my new headcanon is that one thing needed to Alchemize a Transportalizer is inexplicably going to be an Apple, if that ever comes up at all

#Homesquared #Homestuck^2 #Dirk Strider #Rose Lalonde #Terezi Pyrope #Apples are the essence of Portal Technology #long post

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officialaquamarine · 4 years

Photo

Ghost Marriage Event Card

R Miette: A Flowergirl Forever

(sprite edit with assets from: LLSIF, FEF, and Twst)

Out of all the outfits Miette had been forced to wear over the years, this one was definitely one of the better ones. Sure, some of the colors clashed a little, but it was cutesy without being overly childish. And it was purple. If only Eliza was in charge of coordinating outfits for her. Perhaps it was the desire to keep the dress pristine that made Miette use the makeup sponge Vil had handed her to dab away her tears, even though she knew she looked like an idiot.

“You don’t have to fix my makeup,” Miette said for what felt like the fortieth time that day.

“You made an attempt. You failed. It’s my job to show you how to properly do it.” Vil replied. Grabbing a chair with his free hand, he sat beside her and placed the huge, rhinestone-studded box on his vanity. “For once, I’m glad a brand sent me every shade of their foundation. You need better makeup.”

“I have good makeup, I just -”

“You just save it for your job, I know. But you need to use it up before it expires.”

“I… I guess.” She looked away from him, glancing at all the foundation bottles in the box.

“... What, no quip that if it costs over five hundred madol, it doesn’t expire?”

Miette just sniffled. Vil sighed and grabbed a packet of makeup wipes.

“Take it off.” She took the wipes and started wiping off the long trails of inky black eyeliner that went down her cheeks. “You must be feeling really bad if you’re not fighting with me.”

“I’m sorry,” she replied instinctively.

“Ugh, stop apologizing. You know I hate it when you apologize for things that aren’t your fault.” He grabbed a bottle and brush and started smearing different shades onto her face. There was a slight pause. “When you shade match for real, where do you test to get the best match?”

“Your chest.”

“Good. You remembered.” A pause. “At least your dress looks good.”

“Eliza’s good at picking outfits.”

“‘Eliza?’ You’re on first-name terms? Okay, this should work,” he muttered to himself. He grabbed a makeup remover wipe and started taking off what he’d put on her.

“Why? Is that a bad thing?” she demanded, eyes narrowing.

“Calm down, Miette. It was just a question.” His own eyes narrowed. He shoved the foundation and the brush into her hands. “Do you remember what I told you about putting foundation on?”

“You need to buff it in with little circles.”

“Good girl.” Miette turned to the huge mirror and started putting foundation on the brush. Vil clicked his tongue and plopped another glass bottle and a sponge in front of her.

“Primer.”

“Right…” Primer’s a scam, she thought, but nonetheless went with it.

“So why were you crying? Don’t you usually relegate your breakdowns to your dorm room? What made you so upset that you broke down in a classroom?” Oh Vil. As if he couldn’t get more blunt. Miette slumped and Vil’s eyes bore holes into her.

“I don’t want anything to do with this. I just want to go back to my dorm room. I don’t want to be a flower girl.” She put down the sponge and grabbed the foundation brush. “I’m too old to be a flower girl. I’m sixteen, not six.”

“But you look adorable in your dress,” he said.

“I don’t care about wearing cute clothes. I don’t want anything to do with weddings.” Vil stood up and started rifling through the huge pile of PR boxes next to his vanity.

“Keep talking,” he said.

“I know Eliza’s not really going to marry Idia and I just feel bad for her. I’m ready to contour.” Vil leaned over, placing a palette in front of her that still had the plastic wrapping on it.

“You can keep this. It’s too dark for me. Why do you feel bad for her? It’s not okay that she came in here and just decided to marry Idia and kidnapped him.”

“Oh no, that’s super bad. I just…” This was getting somewhere sensitive. She fell silent, tearing the packaging open on the contour palette and getting to work. Vil, arms full of more products, sat back down beside her and started putting them all on the vanity.

“Just tell me what’s wrong, Miette. I can’t help you if I don’t know why you’re upset,” he told her.

“It’s hard to talk about…” She started blending her contour, the sponge bouncing against her skin aggressively.

“You’re doing it too hard.” The sponge was snatched out of her hands. He grabbed her shoulders and turned her to face him. He was much more gentle on her face. Vil didn’t look angry, but she could see the traces of exasperation on his face.

“I know I’m going to end up like Eliza, spending my afterlife looking for a partner instead of resting or being reincarnated,” she admitted.

“What?! Why on earth would you think that?”

“I’m never going to be able to get married while I’m alive. My job won’t allow it and even if I found love after I quit, it’s once an idol, always an idol. I can’t subject my partner to the limelight and I don’t want to face the backlash.” Vil remained silent. He put the contour palette down and grabbed what looked like a vintage frosted glass bowl full of blush in the shape of rose petals.

“I know how you feel -”

“No, you don’t -”

“Let me finish. I understand how you feel. You have such a following that any partner you have would be under immediate scrutiny and they’d have to adjust to a very different lifestyle under the public eye. I also worry about that.”

“It’s not the same. You’re an influencer. You’re in charge of your image. You’re marketing yourself as perfection. I’m not in charge of my image. My company markets me as a potential girlfriend. Everyone feels like they own me because my company forces me to keep up that fantasy. If I ever got a partner, it would be a nightmare. Fanboys are terrifying,” she said. Again, Vil was silent, poker-faced while he put on Miette’s makeup.

“I suppose you’re right, it’s different contexts. But our respective partners would still be under the same scrutiny. Close your eyes.” She obeyed and a moment later, something wet was going on her eyelids. “I don’t understand why you’re insisting that I don’t get you or that I can’t help you. Haven’t I helped you before? Ever since you got here, you’ve been acting like a lone wolf.” His words stung.

“I thought you helped me at that photoshoot because you were worried I was going to delay it, not that you cared about me or my feelings,” she admitted.

“Are you kidding me?!” he spat at her. “If I didn’t care about your feelings, I would’ve let you had a breakdown on set. If I didn’t care about you, I would’ve let that designer put you in that skimpy bikini. You were uncomfortable and you’re underaged, of course I threw a fit and made them give you something else to wear.” He scoffed. “I can’t believe you thought me risking my reputation was for my own sake. That makes no sense.”

“I’ve only worked with you a handful of times, Vil. How was I supposed to know?”

“Uh, because it was obvious. I have no idea what I’m supposed to do with you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.” A pause, and then he squeezed her shoulder. “I wouldn’t call us friends either, but I care about you.” Miette swallowed hard, that awful aching feeling that came with tears creeping up her throat. “Do you like natural or unnatural highlighters?”

“Natural,” she croaked out. There was a pause and then a moment later, a brush was gliding across her cheeks.

“I really don’t think you should let some disgusting middle-aged men dictate your life. If you want to get married, you should. Let those idiots burn hundreds of thousands of madol worth of merchandise that they already spent the money on and you got royalties on.” He had a point, but even if she could handle it, would it still be okay to subject her partner to harsh scrutiny? Not to mention no matter her age, marriage most likely meant a death sentence for her career.

And yet…

Vil didn’t have to take her back to his dorm room. He didn’t have to fix her makeup. He didn’t have to try and talk things through with her. But he did. He was trying to make her feel better, to take care of her.

“Thank you, Vil,” she said quietly. She opened her eyes just a smidge. The smallest smile graced his lips.

“I’m done with your eyes, you can open them. I just need to set it.” He shook a canister hard and sprayed it all over her face. “And you’re welcome.” He stood up and Miette followed suit after shoving her gifts into the large pockets of her flower girl dress. Maybe some day she and Vil would be like this again, but she’d be in a bridal gown. His arm rested over her shoulders as they walked to his door. If she knew him better, she would’ve hugged him. “I’m not going to fix your makeup again, so you’re on your own next time.”

“I know.” He squeezed her shoulder.

“Now go show the world how well I did your makeup.” She laughed and leaned into him slightly.

“Okay, can do.” Sure, they weren’t friends, but perhaps this was just the first step of friendship.

#twst oc: miette celeste #vil schoenheit #twisted wonderland #ghost marriage #twisted wonderland oc #miette event #miette fics

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villainousshakespeare · 5 years

Text

Team Bonding

An Avenger!Loki/Reader One Shot

Warnings: drinking, implied smut, silliness

“No,” Loki said, crossing his arms over his breast.

“Please Loki,” you wheedled, batting your eyes at him.

“Absolutely not.”

“For me?” you tried, biting your lip and looking at him entreatingly.

“Stop that at once,” he commanded, taking an involuntary step towards you.

“Stop what?” you asked innocently. “I’m not doing anything.”

“You know exactly what you are doing. You are preying on my affection for you to try and get me participate in a pointless ritual with people I hold in disdain.”

“Is it working?” you asked, an impish grin slipping through your mask of innocence.

“Do you have any idea,” he asked in a growl, slipping an arm around your waist and drawing you against his hard, muscled chest, “what I would do with you tonight were I to stay here rather than waste my time with fools and drunkards?”

As his eyes bored a hole into your soul, you wavered a bit in your resolve to push him into this. The idea of spending the night lost in his embrace, letting him push you to the outer limits of your passions and then beyond, was so enticing that it was suddenly you struggling to resist his beguilement. When he started nibbling a path from your ear down the side of your neck while his hands roamed the contours of your body, you were more than ready to surrender to his plan.

“I suppose there will be other opportunities...”

“That’s my girl,” he grinned, moving to claim your lips.

“Did you convince him?” Thor demanded in his booming, jovial voice, bursting into your rooms without knocking.

Embarrassed at how easily you had succumbed to his temptation, you pulled away from Loki and smiled guiltily at Thor.

“Brother, go away. Now,” Loki snapped, looking at you with hot, hooded eyes.

“I will,” Thor smiled, ignoring Loki’s rudeness, “But I am taking you with me!”

“What?” Loki looked between the two of you. “Pet, have you been conspiring against me with my brother?”

“For your own good, Loki!” Thor grinned, winking at you conspiratorially.

“Hrumph!”

“Loki,” you sighed, stroking his arm while trying to keep from being pulled back into his embrace. “You are working with the team now. In order for this to work, you have to bond with them, at least a little. Going out for a drink after a successful mission is a part of this.”

“It is true, Brother,” Thor nodded sagely. “I gained much more respect for mortals after watching friend Stark drink. It was a truly impressive feat.”

“Please Loki,” you said seriously, looking him in the eye. “We want them to like you, to trust you. Spending some time socializing with you will help them see that you are not all bad.”

“Not all bad?” he echoed, raising and eyebrow.

“You did try to kill most of them,” Thor pointed out.

“This truly matters to you?” Loki asked you with a sigh.

“It does,” you nodded.

“Very well,” he groaned. “I will do it. But you will owe me, darling. I plan on collecting every bit of that when I return.”

The way his eyes raked over you as he promised this set your blood pounding in your ears and your pupils widening with lust. He kissed you deeply, just to show you what you would be missing by sending him away you were sure, and allowed Thor to lead him out the door.

***

It was hours later when loud, painfully off key singing startled you from where you lounged on your sofa. Marking your place in the novel you had been reading to pass the time while you waited for Loki’s return, you scampered across the room and opened the door.

Coming down the hall towards your rooms were the Odinson brothers. Thor, clearly not entirely sober himself, was all but holding Loki up as your personal God sang lustily as he was dragged along by his older brother.

“How did it go?” you asked, smiling at them.

“My woman!” Loki called out, halting his song. “Brother, is she not the most beautiful, sensual, desirable creature you have ever seen?”

You blushed as Loki eyed you lecherously, all but licking his lips.

“She is very lovely,” Thor said solemnly.

“How dare you!” Loki barked, pushing away from his brother to topple towards you, almost knocking you down as looped his arms around your neck. “Stay away from her! She is mine! My woman. Mine, mine, mine!”

“Of course, Brother, I would never seek to take her from you.”

“You could not,” Loki insisted, flopping onto the sofa and pulling down onto his lap. “She is completely devoted to me. Aren’t you, love?”

“Yes Loki,” you smiled at him, fondly. “So? Did you make friends? Did you bond with the team? Shall this become a regular event?”

“Actually,” Thor looked abashed, “I think it might be best if we put a pause on Loki drinking with the team.”

“Oh no,” you groaned. “Was he his usual standoffish self?”

“Not at all,” Thor quickly replied. “He was very engaged.”

“We are engaged!” Loki smiled, picking up your left hand and showing Thor the large emerald ring that decorated your finger. “Mine.”

“Then what happened?” you asked, as Loki began braiding a short section of you hair.

“I was sociable!” Loki assured you. “Just like you asked.”

“He was,” Thor nodded. “He and Barton had a lively game of darts.”

“Did anyone lose an eye?” you queried.

“Not at all!” Loki beamed. “We both hit the bullseye every time! I still won, of course.”

“He cheated,” Thor said flatly.

“You wound me!” Loki placed one hand over his heart.

“How?” you asked.

“Clint hit the bullseye, of course. But every dart he landed Loki split in two. With seidr guided arrows.”

“Prove it,” Loki smirked.

“You had never played the game before,” Thor accused.

“I am amazingly skilled with my hands,” Loki bragged, puffing out his chest. “Just asked my fiancé.”

“Loki, not now,” you scolded, moving his hand from where it was sneaking up the leg of your sleep shorts.

“In any case,” Thor went on quickly, looking away from the scene the two of you were making, “Barton became so frustrated, knowing Loki was cheating but unable to prove it, that he shot an arrow into the dart board.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” you said hopefully.

“He used one of his exploding arrows.”

“BOOM!” Loki shouted, collapsing into giggles.

“Oh dear,” you worried, chewing on your lip. “Was that the worst of it?”

“Well...” Thor tugged at his collar.

“Oh God.”

“Yes love?” Loki asked from where he had fallen backwards.

“You know how Stark is,” Thor said.

“Oh God,” you repeated.

“I’m right here!”

“He was singing the praises of a new scotch he had found. Very tasty drink, in its way...”

“For children,” Loki scoffed.

“So Loki offered him some Asgardian Wine.”

“From my own private collection,” your God put in. “He should have been honored.

“You also gave one to his spider child,” Thor said repressively.

“Loki!” You admonished him. “Peter is a child!”

“You’re all children,” Loki shrugged. “How am I to tell the difference in your ridiculous ages!”

“What did Tony do?”

“Drank both, of course,” Thor supplies the inevitable.

“He enjoyed it!” Loki insisted.

“Until he regurgitated in his armor!”

“Why was he in his armor?” You asked, looking from one to the other. “No, never mind, Tony is not my problem.”

“His conversation with Banner may have been the worst of it,” Thor mused.

“I don’t even want to know,” you groaned.

“I was graciously sharing my expertise!” Loki insisted.

“About?” You asked, dreading the answer.

“Women, love,” he grinned at you, taking your hand and biting your wrist. “What else?”

“He was giving him advice on how to court Natasha,” Thor sighed.

“Oh no,” you groaned.

“With Natasha right there.”

“Oh no.”

“I must admit, I have never heard ‘Hulk smash’ used in quite that context before.”

“Loki!” You took a deep breath as your mind reeled at the implications. “How is he still alive? I would have thought she would have killed him.”

“As if she could!” Loki was mortally offended.

“He stole her knives.”

“I’m stealthy,” Loki obviously was feeling proud of himself.

“At that point I decided it was probably best I get him out of there. For the sake of the furniture if nothing else. Tempers were getting a bit frayed.”

“Well, at least you escaped unscathed,” you sighed, giving Thor a weak smile.

“That’s what you think!” Loki grinned.

“What? What did you do to Thor?” You demanded, finally at your limit.

“Well, I did have those pretty daggers... it would have been a waste not to use them. And I wan’t ready to go yet.”

You stared at Thor in horror and he at last turned around and showed you the slice in his shirt and ths bloody bandage beneath.

“You stabbed you brother?!?”

“Just a little,” was Loki’s excuse. “And no where important.”

“Don’t worry,” Thor assured you. “I’ve had worse. From him in fact.”

“All quite deserves,” Loki insisted.

“Alright,” you shook your head, amused despite yourself. “Obviously you are not ready for socializing yet. Thor, thank you for trying, but I think you are right. Let’s stick to work only for the moment. At least until everyone calms down.”

“You are a wise woman,” Thor nodded owlishly. “And now, if you will excuse me, I will seek my bed.”

“Yes, leave,” Loki ordered him, pointing at the door.

“Loki!” Truly, you didn’t know why you even bothered. “Good night, Thor.”

Closing the door behind the blond god, you turned to find you beloved smiling at you, eyes dark and sly in his handsome face.

“And now, darling,” he purred, all hint of intoxication wipes from his voice, “I believe someone has a debt to repay.”

“You are not drunk!” You stated the obvious.

“On a few measly glasses of wine?” He scoffed. “Hardly.”

“You promised!”

“I said I would go,” he smirked. “I went.”

“They will never invite you again,” you said.

“One can only hope. After all love, think of all the better ways we have to spend our evenings.”

As he began kissing your shoulder as he said this, you found it hard to disagree. Well, you had tried your best. It wasn’t your fault Loki was impossible. He would have to bond with the team in his own way and time.

“Shall we retire pet?” He asked, already dragging you towards the bedroom.

“On one condition,” you giggled.

“And that is?” Loki raised one speaking eyebrow at you.

“You tell me just how you described ‘Hulk smash,’” you laughed.

“I will do you one better than that pet,” he said, tossing you easily over one of his broad shoulders. “I will show you!”

As you shrieked with fake indignation he carriesdyou into the bedroom. Maybe he was right. There were definite benefits to a quite, or even a very loud, night in.

@devilish--doll @thecutestlittlebunbunfairy @caffiend-queen

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toycarousel · 4 years

Note

some advice? Please dont laugh when I say this. I'm transgender, ftm, but I dont like being called transgender, I just want to be called male. But at the same time,I'm african american, and dont want to be an african american male. The very thought scares me to no end and makes me want to not bother with transitioning. My therapist says that my dysmorphia and dysphoria are too conflicting to do anything with, but I dont want to stay as I am. So I'm at an stalemate. Idk what to do next. Advice?

(Disclaimer: I’m not a therapist or any sort of medical professional, so I can only offer my opinions + advice, but if anything feels off to you at all, then totally feel free to ignore it!)

Of course I’m not gonna laugh, Anon, and I don’t get why anyone would -- you’re in a very, very difficult, painful position, and a LOT of therapists aren’t great at figuring out the tentative balance of understanding who a patient is, what a patient needs, what a patient wants, and which steps they need to take with said patient in order to not harm that person... it can definitely take time. If they’re a good fit for you, they’ll become better at understanding that balance (and also doing their proper research) as they get to know you more, and will offer more helpful options if they’re open-minded about trying a variety of angles instead of just sticking to their little therapy scripts, esp when those scripts don’t always apply neatly to every individual.

I’m not trans (and I’m white), so I could be totally off on a bunch of what I’m about to say (plus everyone’s experiences are different regardless), but I have met a few different people who don’t want to refer to themselves -- or be referred to as -- transgender. Though their birth assignment doesn’t align with who they are, which fits the definition of “trans”, the term itself just... doesn’t work for them, specifically, and I think I can understand that. I was born intersex (a person with mixed physical sex characteristics -- many that I didn’t even find out about until much later in life), but I wouldn’t consider that to be a huge part of me, or a defining way to describe my own relationship with gender. For example, I wouldn’t want to be referred to as “that intersex person”, by other people, unless it was genuinely medically relevant in that moment.

So what I’m personally interpreting from what you’ve written here is that you don’t want the bodily aspect of things to be this constant focus of what your experience in life is, regarding gender. Since cisgender (and also many intersex men, tbh) get to be referred to as just men, then you should be able to have that same thing, if it feels right for you, imo. You being what other people would define as “trans” doesn’t make you less of a man regardless, so, ultimately, it’s fair to just want to be referred to as a man, same as all other men.

Wrt to you not wanting to be an African American male due to the terror you feel associated with that specific combo of identities -- well, that sounds incredibly tough for you to be going through, and to try to reconcile! And it’s something I can’t personally imagine (I wish I could help more, so I’ll just offer what I can, but again, if anything sounds off to you, feel free to disregard what I’m saying!)

I can think of a lot of reasons off the top of my head as to why a person would be terrified to be a black man, but the ones that come to mind for me are things like: having to face an increased risk of police brutality, racism, other stereotypes, other ppl’s expectations as to who you should be -- all those types of wide-reaching social reasons. But I also don’t know if those reasons are your specific reasons for being terrified of being an African American male, you know? Like on a personal level. I can take a guess at more specific, internal reasons you might have, but that would be me kinda doing armchair therapy, so I won’t deep-dive there -- however, it’s always a good idea, and appropriate, for you to do some of that intense self-examination, you know? And I’m sure you and your therapist have done a lot of that already, but if you haven’t yet written down your exact reasons for this particular terror, maybe try that out! It’s one of the skills we learn in DBT (and other forms of therapy that I’ve been through).

I’d write out separate pages for each specific thought. For example, one page listing the reasons/thoughts/emotions as to why you don’t feel comfortable with being labelled as trans (the ways in which it doesn’t apply to you, how you feel when someone does apply it, etc). And another sheet listing the reasons/thoughts/emotions as to why being an African American man would terrify you, VS just being African American in general. Again, your reasons for not wanting to be referred to a certain way are totally valid, Anon! These sorts of sheets/journaling exercises are just to help you feel like you have a more solid grasp on where your own emotions are coming from, and to give you something physical to hold onto when you want to explain it in more detail to yourself and your therapist!

A really, really, really helpful sort of worksheet/mindfulness activity to help us figure out what we’re feeling is this one I also learned in DBT (a form of therapy that is just ridiculously helpful for everyone, imo), and may help with writing out the things I mentioned above. These are called behaviour chain analysis worksheets, and are usually used to prevent a behaviour that you want to stop engaging in, but what they also ultimately do is help ppl unravel thoughts, emotions -- your primary emotion is especially important to know, because that’s something you can then target with your therapist. Here’s some info on how to do one: https://www.verywellmind.com/how-to-do-a-chain-analysis-for-problem-behaviors-2797587

And a basic worksheet version (it can rly help to have on-hand, so it can be written down and you can check it out whenever you need to). https://www.dbtselfhelp.com/html/behavior_chain_analysis.html

Like, for example, say you do one of these sheets to figure out the primary emotion behind bodily dysmorphia. Say the behaviour was that you snapped at a friend for making a comment about your body, and you want to know why exactly you snapped at them (what about their comment hurt enough to elicit the reaction), and prevent it in the future. The behaviour chain analysis is a space where you can write down what the behaviour was. In this example it’d be; “Behaviour: Snapped At Friend”, and then you write down the initial feelings you had associated with it, and the thoughts that went with those feelings.

Eventually, for example, say that you thought the reason you snapped at them was anger (which is by definition, a secondary emotion -- secondary emotions aren’t less important than primary emotions, but they’re the emotions that happen after primary emotions, sometimes mere seconds after), but when you look at the thoughts you wrote down that you experienced in the moment you snapped at the friend, and dig a little deeper, say it turned out that the primary emotion (the one that happened before the thoughts, and before the secondary emotions) wasn’t anger, but actually shame.

(I’m not saying yours will be shame btw, I just like using shame as an example, because a lot of my own thoughts and feelings and behaviours and inner conflicts are rooted in shame).

So then that gives you something solid to show yourself, but also to bring to your therapist. Instead of the therapist focusing on only the thoughts and feelings that they’re visibly seeing in you in a session, they now know that you’re struggling with underlying shame, or sorrow, or grief, or disgust, or fear, or whatever the primary emotions end up being for you. Then the therapist can more easily help you through tackling the dysmorphia, and any unwanted behaviours and thoughts + emotions associated with it. And being able to tackle one of the things you’re struggling with in the ask you sent me above means that the dysphoria may start to make more sense for you in the same context as the dysmorphia -- and, hopefully, there will eventually be less of a conflict between the two, or at least they’ll be more understandable, even if they’re entirely separate from each other.

Since you’re not yet sure you want to transition due to these very genuine inner conflicts, then, like, I get why your therapist isn’t going ahead with it, but I also don’t want you to have to stagnate with therapy, or be denied the sense of progress, or with generally getting to know yourself either -- I want you to have the opportunity to live a life that feels right for you, but without the various intense fears associated with that! And I know that it’s fully possible, and will likely just take time, and support, and a willingness to unravel some things that... are probably gonna hurt a lot to unravel. So you should definitely make sure you’re ready to unpack those things and are doing it with a professional you trust; and that you have outside support networks as well (friends, family, whoever is close to you that you can talk to).

Remember that there’s absolutely no time limit on when you can and can’t transition, if you choose to in the future! Plus, there are ways of transitioning that aren’t All The Way, you know? Reversible things you can do (which may have been what you were asking for from the start, ahahaha! My apologies for my wordiness in this response :’)

There are obvs options like binding, packing, etc., that you probably already know about (and know more about than me, tbh). But you can also try other things out too -- there are certain types of makeup techniques/contouring for a more masculine look, more natural forms of altering hormones (if you feel safe doing so, and your doctor suggests any safe options -- definitely research this one thoroughly ahead of time).

A legal change of name can also switch up how you feel a whole lot, if you’re ready/able to do so, (and if not, even just asking ppl to refer to you by a name that you choose, or a variety of different names, depending on whether you’re not sure which one fits yet; it’s always okay to change your mind wrt these things).

Changing your wardrobe drastically can also rly alter how other ppl view and treat you, and I know there are resources online, and many on this site (mainly written by ppl who use the term trans for themselves, but that will hopefully be helpful to you as well), that have clothing swap links, and other suggestions as to more transition-related things you can do to move forward, while also not making any decisions that feel too permanent! Here are some of the links/resources along that vein that I could find:

https://transclothesexchange.tumblr.com/ (clothing exchanges)

https://transguys.com/style/trans-clothing-exchanges (clothing exchanges)

https://thebodyisnotanapology.tumblr.com/post/97564996149/transgender-resources (resources in general, including general body positivity, which could be incredibly helpful during especially dysmorphic and/or dysphoric times!)

https://advicefromabro.tumblr.com/gi (I think this is an older post, but it mentions an app that will allow you to find a gender-neutral or safe bathroom, if that’s currently a concern for you!)

https://transstudiesarchive.tumblr.com/post/168139537672/transgender-resources-masterpost (looks like this one has some resources for African American people as well, among a variety of races)

https://nonbinary-support.tumblr.com/resources (this one has some links regarding name changes and tips for choosing a name, if that’s something that you’re interested in!)

https://transgenderteensurvivalguide.tumblr.com/post/147789231360/makeup-tips-for-ftm-people (some makeup and skincare tips for men!)

(I hope some of these are helpful for you, Anon! I’m sorry that they use language that doesn’t apply to you, it’s just what came up when I researched these tips -- but I think these are resources that could be helpful for anyone in a similar boat, not strictly trans ppl!)

In any case, whatever you do and don’t do, you can always choose who you are and how you represent yourself. There are some physical aspects to a body that cannot be changed, or can only be changed with medical intervention, and some aspects of appearance that will always be there (skin colour, etc), but these things don’t define who you are. I dunno how helpful this will be, but I wanted to also leave you with this; you may have certain body parts, but they aren’t your gender, or the sum of you. People might assign labels like “trans” to you, but that doesn’t make them right, or you wrong. You’re African American, but that’s not the sum of you either. Your race, your gender, these are important aspects of our lives in the sense that they inform our experiences in a lot of ways, but they aren’t Who You Are. “African American male” may be something a doctor writes on a sheet for you someday, or maybe not, but regardless, it says nothing about you as a person:

It doesn’t tell anyone what you love, what you dislike, what makes you happy, your hobbies and interests, what you’re good at, what you want to become good at, your dreams, your goals, your personal achievements, those little things in life that make you smile sometimes, your complexities, your favourite colour, a place you’d love to go, a place you already like to go when you want to be alone, or somewhere or something you want to share with a loved one someday, a movie scene that made you cry, whether or not you’re an animal person/want pets (or already have them), your lifelong habits, embarrassing things you did when you were younger, how deeply and wonderfully you affect the people in your life, stories you may have created, your sense of beauty and style, a song or a poem that speaks to you, your sense of humour... all these things are yours. No matter where you are in life right now, and no matter where you want to be in the future! No one has the right to define you but you -- and no one can take that from you.

Happy New Year, Anon! And best of wishes~!!! : D

#advice asks #race #gender #dysmorphia #dysphoria #therapy talk tw #dbt resources #gender resources #ask to tag #Anonymous

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