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suzukiblu · 2 years ago

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Expanded version of Tim's next scene in the Core Four poly-pocket soulmate AU, with a read-more for length.

The adorability of Pockets as a concept y'all can thank @bucky-boychik-barnes for.

Tim's Pocket refuses to wear a mask, which is an issue. He doesn't want to wear the tiny wire-rimmed glasses either, or even change out of his weird straps-and-belts version of the Superman suit into . . . literally anything else, at this point. Tim would take anything else. They've given him options, but he's refused them all. He won't take off the costume.

Also he won't stop flying around the cave like a bat out of hell, and it's seriously annoying.

"Have you successfully selected a name for your Pocket, Master Tim?" Alfred inquires as he pours everyone tea at the table while Bruce is staring assessingly at Tim's Pocket, including four little Pocket-sized cups' worth–one for Bruce's Cat ("Kitty" to the tabloids), one each for Dick's Red and Star, and one for Tim's . . . whoever.

Alfred doesn't have a Pocket of his own. Tim's always felt too awkward to ask about it.

And Jason never got a Pocket at all.

"No, not yet," Tim says, because the whole no-mask/yes-cape issue has been a lot more immediately concerning than naming him. He can't take a Pocket Superman home to his dad. Pocket Clark Kent is going to be bad enough.

Assuming Tim's Pocket ever puts the stupid glasses on, anyway.

"You should get on that," Dick advises as he picks up his teacup with an appreciative nod of thanks to Alfred and takes a sip. "Red got really mad at me when I didn't name her right away. I mean, like, naming Pockets is so . . . outsider, you know? And kinda gilly, too. But that's how Babs grew up, obviously, and I don't know how they did it on Krypton, but Uncle Clark was raised by gadje too, so . . ."

Tim understood absolutely none of that, but just nods like he did and makes a note to go do some research later.

"Sure," he says, just hoping he can convince his Pocket to ditch the damn cape sooner than later. Red wheels her tiny wheelchair over to the Pockets' nicely-set little tea table and ignores Star floating down to land in the seat across from her. They don't usually get along very well, which is a little weird to see in Pockets who didn't come from people who are, like, on the literal opposite ends of the ethical spectrum, especially ones that belong to the same person, but they both settle in all the same. Cat does an artful flip off of Bruce's caped shoulder down to the table and then strolls over to join them. Tim's Pocket looks curious, but stays hovering in the air just over his shoulder.

Is his Pocket, like, antisocial or something? Is that a concern? Usually Pockets group up really easily, from what Tim knows. Not that he's ever had one before, and admittedly his parents' had always mostly ignored each other, but . . . normally they do, right?

Cat chirps impatiently and makes a beckoning gesture at Tim's Pocket, but he, very weirdly, sort of floats backwards and almost . . . hides behind Tim's head. Just for a moment, but . . .

Weird, Tim thinks. Weird, and not very Superman-like. Pockets are usually a bit more emotionally honest than the people they come from, but Superman's met Cat as many times as Bruce has met Laney, so why would a Pocket that came from him ever hesitate to go over to her?

Star chirps too, holding out her arms and starting to glow with intensely bright solar radiation that would only be an encouraging gesture to a Kryptonian, Tim is sure. It does the job, though, and his Pocket pauses for just a moment longer, then goes to the visible effort to put on a bright grin and darts over to land beside her. She immediately starts chattering at him in Pocket-talk and he chatters back easily, and Tim then has to witness his own damn Pocket start undeniably flirting with one of Dick's Pockets.

He has never been more mortified in his life, he thinks right up until his Pocket turns his head and starts flirting with Cat.

Tim disassociates a little. Like. Just a bit.

Or a lot.

"Hm," Bruce says while Tim is busy dying of mortification, his eyes narrowing assessingly. Star is happily flirting back at Tim's Pocket, to Tim's absolute horror, but worse, Cat is actually humoring him.

Tim has died and this is hell. There's no other explanation whatsoever for this.

Cat reaches over and scritches his Pocket behind the ears. He looks startled, then visibly zones out for a moment, and then leans into the contact and purrs. Cat chirps approvingly, Star laughs, and Red snorts, but fondly.

Tim is definitely, definitely in hell right now. Oh god. What is happening right now and why is it happening to him?

"Well, he's got aspirations, I'll give him that," Dick says wryly as he leans back in his chair. "Though I don't think Lois Lane would appreciate them."

"It's not Superman," Bruce states matter-of-factly. Tim and Dick both blink; Tim's Pocket immediately scowls.

"You sure, B?" Dick asks skeptically. "He looks just like him. And he literally showed up wearing the El crest."

"I knew Smallville," Bruce says, ignoring Tim's stubbornly glowering Pocket. "He was nothing like this Pocket. And Superman is undeniably dead. Believe me. We checked."

Of course Bruce checked, Tim thinks. They know so little about Kryptonian physiology, after all, and even less about how Kryptonian physiology works under a yellow sun. It's not as if Earth is spoiling for other Kryptonians.

And Clark Kent was Bruce's friend.

So of course he checked.

"It is true that Mr. Smallville did have a markedly different personality from the one our new young Master Pocket seems to," Alfred says, delicately setting a tiny tray of tiny Pocket-sized treats on their tea table. Tim has no idea how Alfred even makes cookies that small, but he does it. "I don't think I ever once saw him in any semblance of Superman's costume at all, in fact."

Tim's Pocket looks briefly puzzled, and then very worried. Tim isn't sure what to think about that, but it makes him feel a little useless. He doesn't know how to take that worried look off his Pocket's face, but he feels like he should be able to do something about it all the same.

He tells himself–soon. Once he knows him a little better. He'll be able to do it then.

Or he hopes he will, anyway.

Star and Cat get Tim's Pocket to sit down at the table and scoot their chairs in to pin him between them, which seems to help more than Tim was going to be able to figure out how to. At least, his Pocket looks a bit less anxious about the conversation now.

He's still shooting Bruce sullen little glowers, admittedly, but one step at a time.

"Maybe your Pocket's just really work-focused, Robin," Dick observes wryly, and Tim's Pocket immediately laser-focuses in on him and jumps back to his feet so fast he knocks over his chair and nearly Star and Cat and the tiny tea table too.

"Rob!" he shouts excitedly, definitely not in Pocket-talk, and Tim blinks down at him in bewilderment, trying to figure out if he just hallucinated hearing that or not. That was–that was so fast for a Pocket to have picked up their first non-Pocket word. Most Pockets don't even care to learn more than a handful of those, and certainly not so quickly. And Tim's not an expert on Pockets, obviously, but . . .

"Hm," Bruce says.

"You probably do need to name him pretty soon, if he's already latched onto your name this quick," Dick says, leaning forward a little bit to peer a little closer at Tim's Pocket. Tim's Pocket ignores him to grin delightedly up at Tim, which Tim feels very weird about. No one ignores Nightwing for him. Ever.

He guesses if anyone would, it'd be his Pocket, but still.

"That's not technically my name," he reminds Dick. Dick had it first, after all, and Jason had it too. Tim just . . .

He didn't even inherit it, really. It's not like Jason deliberately left it to him or anything. He doesn't even know what Jason would think of a Robin like him.

His Pocket scowls again.

"Rob!" he insists loudly, flying up into Tim's face so fast he nearly smacks into it. "Rob! Rob!"

"Tim," Tim corrects, although obviously his Pocket isn't going to pick up two words on his first day of existing, it's just–

". . . Tim?" his Pocket repeats uncertainly, his brow furrowing as he stares much too intently at Tim.

Tim has absolutely no excuse for how red his face turns.

"Hm," Bruce says again.

#tim drake #kon el #batfamily #timkon #the whole fic is Core Four polyam but this bit is Timkon so that's what we're tagging for lol #dc robin #superboy #wip: a pocketful of kons

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trappedinafantasy37 · 11 months ago

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🔥

"I wanna make Minthara nice!" "I wanna make Minthara good!" "I wanna make Minthara less evil!". Shut up. Seriously. Shut the hell up. Making the bad guy good is sooooo cliche and overdone at this point. Plus, Minthara is as great as she is because she is evil and is selectively nice to the ones she likes.

Baldur's Gate 3 is all about subverting expectations. So let's subvert expectations shall we. We shouldn't be talking about making the evil guys better. We should be talking about making the good guys worse. I want to make Wyll and Karlach evil. I'm gonna ramble a little bit...

The potential for a corruption plot is literally built into Wyll's storyline with him having a literal devil on his shoulders the whole time. I mean, we can kinda get a glimpse of how that corruption would work in Act 1 when it comes to Wyll facing Karlach. Not to mention, Wyll being the son of the Grand Duke and having his father and city turn their backs on him after sacrificing his soul to save everyone would also present a perfect opportunity for Wyll to just say "fuck 'em". But can you just imagine the story potential of Grand Duke Wyll Ravengard who is still pacted with Mizora? The absolute utter nightmare that would bring cause then the Hells would have control of Baldur's Gate?

The only real way to even play a corrupt Wyll is to do his origin. But it would be so much more fascinating to BE one of the influences in his corruption. This would also make his decision to break the pact so much more impactful and it would be HIS choice. Now I have always firmly held the belief that when it comes to his pact, it is always up to the player because Wyll will always make the same choice and he will always choose his father. So, it has to be the players choice if you want some different outcome. Wyll choosing his father may end up having him sell his soul to Zariel for eternity, but it doesn't corrupt him or change it. But, what if it did? What if we had the ability to have a negative impact on Wyll and this choice would be him making a choice of his soul in whether or not he wants to be a good man or to listen to the corrupting voices around him. Because, to his core, Wyll is a good man. But that good nature can be overpowered by the influences around him. If anything, this scene could play out similarly to how it does for Shadowheart and the Nightsong.

And Karlach, oh Karlach. I love my fiery ball of sunshine. But I find it so odd that someone who spent every single day for 10 years fighting a war isn't the least bit hardened by it. No anxiety, no PTSD, no paranoia, no trust issues. It's actually amazing that Karlach comes out as nice as she is from the Blood War, but is a missed opportunity. As refreshing as it is, I do find it strange that she comes out so trusting of people and having so much faith in others. If Karlach was a little bit more mistrusting and a little bit more paranoid, it would be an easy little thing to leverage into making her worse.

A lot of Karlachs story kinda reminds me of the main plot of Cyberpunk 2077 where you have a character who has a literal ticking time bomb within them. But I specifically wanna draw the parallels between Karlachs engine and the cybernetic enhancements. In Cyberpunk, there is this condition called "cyberpsychosis" in which someone just fucking snaps and goes bonkers and starts killing everything around them for no reason. There is no known reason as to why it happens and the only common element amongst all cyberpsychoes is that they have at least 1 cybernetic enhancement. There also is no way to prevent it from happening, no way to predict that it will happen, and no cure for cyberpsychosis. With Karlachs heart and a lot of her cardio vascular system having been replaced by an infernal engine, I feel like this would also serve great potential for internal corruption and have a fantasy version of "cyberpsychosis". Infernal magic is constantly coursing through her and she is literally on fire all the time. This should definitely have an impact on her. And the only way to prevent her from going full "cyberpsycho" is to do the upgrades with Dammon. Your decision at the grove and/or Last Light would have an impact on Karlachs future sanity.

She would be a ticking time bomb in more ways than one and it would be inevitable. Either she dies cause her enhancement gives out, or she loses her damn mind and you're forced to put her down. This is what would make her ending so much more tragic. It's already hard enough watching her burn on the pier. It would absolutely shatter my damn heart to have to put her down cause the engine corrupted her mind. The Avernus ending is damn near identical to the Sun ending in Cyberpunk 2077 as you have found a temporary way to halt the affliction, but no known way to cure it. Just the hope that there might be a cure.

How many times do we have to watch evil characters become better? Does that not get boring? Stop focusing on making evil companions better. Focus on making good companions worse. It's a hell of a lot more interesting but also adds a lot more nuance to their characters and makes them feel more alive. Especially when in all these cases, none of them are born evil or want to be evil, but are made evil by their circumstances. Being evil is easy, but being good is hard. Good is also what is expected of us. And I find it much more compelling to watch a good character fight the temptation of evilness, than to watch an evil character find annoyance in being good.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #wyll #wyll ravengard #karlach #karlach cliffgate #minthara #minthara baenre #this is my unpopular opinion and i'm sure it'll upset some people #not a lot of people are fond of evil characters and probably don't want to see their faves become corrupted #if you wanna discuss let's discuss #if you wanna brainstorm with me let's brainstorm #but if you're just gonna spew hatred for any of these characters #or talk about how they need to die #or how you kill them in every run #then it is best that you do not speak as that is not constructive to any conversation

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delta-lethonomia · 6 months ago

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Tried to narrow it to a few and was not successful: 8, 10, 13, 16, 17

8. see last post!

9. worst part of fanon

Hmm. This is actually pretty difficult, I feel like I'm only exposed to such a curated selection of fanon these days I completely miss all the wild takes. I will say that I don't think Astarion would necessarily do that much embroidery/sewing after the events of the game. I got the impression that a lot of it was because he needed to look attractive and put together, lacked the resources to acquire new things, and embroidering dumb things on his underwear was the only amount of bodily autonomy he could flex. He can't exactly dye his hair, cut it, or steal any jewelry without it getting stolen by the other spawn: he literally only has the clothes on his back, and they need to be kept in good condition if he wants any degree of success enticing higher class/presumably less violent and more attractive people back to Cazador.

If anything, I think post-bg3 he'd splurge and get himself nice things, holding onto fraying clothing for far too long but not repairing it. He can buy things now - but the urge to hoard it would still exist, while patching it might strike too close to old habits. He'd pick up the thread and think of something, but wouldn't be able to bring himself to embroider anything for himself. A partner though, yes, but not himself.

There's no need for a stamp across his ass if no one's going to see it anymore.

13. worst blorbofication

the bestest babygirl Astarion. Seriously. What the fuck. We've got Snape levels of delusion about this bitch. He's been "draco in leather pants'd" enough that it's flipped around entirely, because Astarion does actually wear leather pants, so instead he's heteronormative fantasy #142 where he's loving husband material, ready to have adorable dhampir babies and sweetly make love under the blankets of their 3-bedroom house with white picket fence while assuring tav/durge that's 100% ready to have missionary sex again with deep eye contact where maybe one of them gets to come, because it's fine, we don't need sex for emotional intimacy. ????

Astarion absolutely can be kind in a bitchy, understated way, but every time I see a thing where he's too nice I want to write a scene where he does something horrible or picks a fight. Let👏 him 👏 murder 👏

16. you can't understand why so many people like this thing (characterization, trope, headcanon, etc)

ok already answered BUT HAVE ANOTHER! (Actually have 2!) I don't like "Sweet, supportive Astarion" characterizations. I think no matter the trauma, his is always going to be worse, and even if he doesn't say it he's definitely thinking it. I don't think he'd be actively sweet, more… deliberately not being an asshole, at best. Crying about your mum dying? He'll let you cry on his shoulder, give a sentence of comfort, then change the conversation. Very stiff upper lip - "Must be talk about this?"

Wait ok I just thought of the actual controversial take. I don't get the obsession with putting Astarion in dresses. He's beautiful, yes, but there are a lot of handsome men in fiction, but Astarion especially get put into dresses a lot. Is it because of the wavemother robes??? Did that unlock something in people??? Is it because he comes across as gay sometimes, so therefor let's put him in women's clothing, because crossdressing stereotypes? Putting any man in a dress is subversive, I get that, I just don't get what about Astarion makes people so feral for it. Skimpy clothing, yes, but the heels and dresses. why.

It makes me think of nail polish on men these days. I get the impression it's a certain flavor of liberal man who wears nail polish as a subversive act, trying to show that feminine things aren't lesser, that they're not ashamed of wearing them, but Astarion's absolutely a rather conservative character politically. Like… babygirl's voting Tory/Republican, if he's voting at all. Sorry.

Maybe I'm thinking too deeply about this lol. But for real - he's a very masculine-coded character. He cries once, and that's an overwhelming cathartic release after centuries of pain. He's assertive in sex scenes. Even though he sounds like he's close to tears sometimes, he pushes past emotional things very quickly, is driven by a need for freedom, to provide for the player and be powerful enough for the both of them, to keep them safe, has a drive for power that's frightening, and will throw down if it comes down to it. He threatens you if you tell him no about sharing the tadpoles, even after sleeping together. His shoulders are much broader than you think. He's very, very masculine, both in body and values, he just also happens to be a flirt and has had trauma and submission beaten into him. In elf terms, he's the chaddest chad to ever chad.

He would also fold one leg over the other at the knee while sitting on a stool that gives stereotypical "gay" vibes, but I can also see him manspreading all over the place. But I just don't see fanart of Astarion manspreading with a prominent bulge the same way I see dress fanart everywhere. I feel like I just don't get the appeal enough to unpick this!

17. there should be more of this type of fic/art

Crushing Ascended Astarion into the dirt. I'm so, so glad Larian added that option to take control of him after becoming the Absolute - he doesn't see it coming at all, and it's so good. I just want to see AA as far away from power as possible, struggling with himself, and maybe regretting the Ascension and all that he lost. I don't think AA is completely hopeless - he's still Astarion, just dumber, more arrogant, more scared and out of touch with himself, with all those emotional walls snapped back into place all the harder - but that just makes me want to crack him like an egg.

Oh, or fics/art where Tav/Durge left him instead of becoming his spawn. He lets them leave, but I don't think he ever gets over it, and it's his last little shred of goodness/arrogance/self-pity that prevents him from taking them back forcefully. Pieces Still Stuck in Your Teeth by howlsmovinglibrary is obviously the best example of this and can't be topped, but I want more cakes!!! Not of "darkly seductive vampire lord Astarion seducing an old flame back to his side" cake, but of "disaster AA embarrasses himself by becoming more pathetic over an obsession he just can't shake." The higher they rise, the harder they fall.

He just wants to be loved unquestionably despite thinking of himself as a proven monster and therefore unlovable

#astarion #ask delta #choose violence ask game #ascended astarion #delta.txt

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ophelliate · 2 years ago

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okay so, my actual thoughts on the movie (i'll be mentioning massive spoilers at random so be warned)

i appreciate that the movie really put focus on all four boys as a collective instead of focusing on a select character, though it did feel like we only got a lick of them individually (though i'm sure that the show will make up for that)

the fight scenes???? bro i was grinning ear to ear every time the team was in action

the music was also super pleasant and gave in to the urban nightlife completely

i feel so dumb/unlucky that i had the chance to watch ferris bueller's day off yesterday and just decided not to, so to see it in the movie felt like my own personal slap in the face

actually the amount of references in the movie was about as much as i expected and a lot more at the same time, but it still felt fairly natural

attack on titan being the source of the boys' plan for the final fight is wild though, and its nice to see donnie's input be taken seriously in that regard

donnie's interesting now thinking about it, since i don't think there's any instance where he's considered a tech genius, he really is just a fandom kid and a lot of his ideas/skillsets are based around the content he consumes (the tism is strong here when i'm describing it)

also i know the boys were taught their ninja skills via home-video instructions, but how much do they actually know about their weapons??? donnie and the rest of them literally refer to his bo staff as a stick and not anything else

that might also explain why raph's sais are seemingly sharp, because none of them know that's even a defense weapon and is supposed to be dull

actually wait how did they even get their weapons?? why were there ninja weapons just chilling in the sewers– oh this could be a lore thing. ohoho this is a secret lore thing

oh yeah the milking joke was 100% seth rogan's idea i will not believe anything otherwise like what the fuck was that

i also need to know how the mutants age. odd question i know but they were all fetuses in tubes at the start of the movie and were raised by superfly for fifteen years, but they all seem to be different ages? it could be from their animal years but the turtles age like humans so wouldn't it be something similar? i'm definitely overthinking this but would love some input

speaking of the villains tho– the final fight?? where THE BOYS' SHELLS GOT CRUSHED??? i audibly gasped in the theaters how the hell did they walk that off

i just know fics are gonna be touching on that because the entire sequence was insane they'reonly14yearoldninjaturtles–

let them have physical therapy i beg, their bones are so fucked

i also need to rewatched this movie specifically because there was a background character with a skull t-shirt and my delusions are telling me it might be casey jones

overall i'm shaking

#mutant mayhem #tmnt #tmnt mutant mayhem #mutant mayhem spoilers

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destiel-wings · 2 years ago

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Aliens have visited earth. It's going well, but they're interested in talking to some every day people, instead of just diplomats. You are randomly selected to come hang out with some chill aliens. No rules on attire/anything.

What are you wearing to the meeting?

Please this is amazing 😂

I'm seriously considering having a custom-made oversized deep grey/blackish t-shirt with the destiel meme printed on it:

I might wear black tights or leggins under it and a pair of ankle boots.

I think that would spark a pretty nice icebreaker and conversation, and it would help me spread the Word of Destiel to the aliens, so that they'd be famous in space too, though the galaxy.

Now that i think about it, I may even bring some extra destiel meme t-shirts for the aliens, as a gift and souvenir:

I think I would spend some time explaining to the aliens about the story of Dean and Cas, and I can see myself showing them my favorite fanvids on YouTube.

I can see the aliens being invested in the conversation. Some of them might actually cry watching the confession scene. They may even get upset.

What if they move war to the Earth just to avenge Dean Winchester???

Wait--WHAT HAVE I DONE

#answered asks #anon answered #asks #thanks for the ask!#i laughed so much at this question and also while answering it #asks open #ask stuff #ask me stuff #ask me questions #send asks #send me asks #destiel meme #aliens #thank you anon

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omegaremix · 5 months ago

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Consumer Electronics / Alberich / Yellow Tears / Copley Metal @ Saint Vitus, N.Y.C.; December 7, 2015.

“Consumer Electronics will be the next act I will buy tickets for should they come to New York City” I exclaimed in September. It was checked off by Philip Best, and five weeks later there it was. Consumer Electronics declared a show in New York City. There it was. I called it. I got what I asked for, so now go get it or else.

I took the train to Woodside, then its’ “7″ subway to the “G” to Greenpoint and Manhattan Avenues, walked a few blocks to arrive at Saint Vitus which has to be the most raw, tasteful, and bad-ass venue dressed in black. As soon as I verified my ticket, I wasted no time to walk through the bar to the floor where Copley Metal, dressed very nice and neat, was performing right in front of the audience at their level.Ten minutes later Copley Metal ended to pack up to give way to Hospital Production’s Alberich, who offered us a thirty-minute slow-burn of maelstrom noise set. Alberich sat very calm and collective in much control, later on shaking a microphone for more effects and adding in voice samples. He stood up adding more force to his combat noise, shaking the microphone more vigorously before giving it lyrics when some Gaye Advert look-a-like in a leather jacket bowling-pinned her way to the front of the crowd, giving free unsolicited hugs to a select few other bystanders. Alberich shuts it off for good before getting a very respectable round of applause from the crowd.

Yellow Tears then arrived. Their set-up consisted of Korgs, Yamahas, two guitars, knobs, a toilet seat placed on a custodial bucket, and two “splash zone” banners draped from their tables. If there was a joker card thrown into the set, then they would be it. Their performance went in a different direction from what other people would assume in any given noise show. Ridiculous. No one knew who they were before this, so any expectations of seriousness and maturity flew right out the window. Yellow Tears played the audience as equal as they were playful themselves as they pulled every card from their very versatile deck.

What other act would repeatedly scream “What Is Frank?” as a still of vocalist Frank Ludovico constantly zooms in and out? Psychedelic backing films on screen that could make Tim And Eric blush and reconsider themselves, plus a film loop of Disney’s Cinderella shower scene as Ludovico literally lightly sweeps the stage and then proceeds to sit down on the makeshift toilet seat bucket, exasperating light sighs of relief while the whole audience continued their what-the-fuck moment with Yellow Tears. During their entire set, they went from many different styles of music while seeming to perform as if they were a skit comedy show in succession. At first, I thought they were playing with a random bag of tricks to the tune or game of “do you get it?”, but since the audience had been there and seen various cartoon, kid show, or skit culture references before, they did get it. And they weren’t finished: Yellow Tears’ set turned a participation act into a sales pitch. Only Ludovico has the steel to take two audience members up on stage to sell them ten-dollar coffee mugs with free cups of coffee during their set, and they fucking bought it.

Finally the moment all of us have been waiting for: Philip Best and wife Sara Ruth Best shortly took the stage to set up shop, fine-tuning everything before starting. Consumer Electronics still continues where Whitehouse left off with all the controversy, uneasy subject matter, deprivation, and grit that the former was all about, while Whitehouse became William Bennett’s Cut Hands, a tribal-electronic project of his. Whitehouse truly made me think of how they got away with everything they done, how their lyrics were pieced, how the noise not like the others came to be, and what to make of their output. Over the last few years, I was so interested in Whitehouse that I followed their respective future projects and took what they offered in terms of thoughts, commentary, or even recommendations. With the Best’s Consumer Electronics project, the philosophy still continues.

Best greeted us “cunts”, as he always does. We cheered because we know it comes from Mr. Best. Best charged his accusation finger calling for all of us to “Come Clean”. Throughout the show, he shared with us all of his raw material: cut up, photocopied, stitched, glued, and wrinkled for all of us to see. He even walked over to show us lyrics to “Elite Gymnastics”. The references: various questionable obscenity, controversy, Anne Frank’s smiling portrait, Alice Elizabeth, Baby’s Gang, present for all to witness. Best licked the pages and rub it against his crotch. Later on he threw those same pages on the floor, once knocking over a drink from the stage to the floor. He licked his fingers in such an uneasy, disgusting gesture. His fists shaking, screaming in his usual rage, sometimes inciting the crowd. With Best walking and his usual blood going, he walked back and forth to two microphone stands, trading tirades from one to another. All the while, the tall, slender, and beautiful Sarah Best did controller duties and even took to screaming for a few songs including “Murder Your Masters” and “Co-Opted By Cunts”, made with repetitive, sweeping, crunchy beats courtesy of sometimes-member Russell Haswell, who unfortunately was not part of the show’s festivities. But we were treated to “Affirmation”, “Colour Climax”, “Estuary English”, “Knives Cut”, and more from the last four Consumer Electronic’s records (2007-2015). They ended their show with the horrific and terrifyingly real “Black Cotton Wool”, a abrasive shred of bone-shivering abusive screaming and grinding noise before Best motioned to have Sarah shut it down, declaring to visit us again very soon.

Two beer cans (Pabst Blue Ribbon, the prized beer of hipsters) were thrown in their direction. A cute shaven skinhead girl was dancing happily. One heckler was screaming at the couple to “get back to work” with other pointless one-liners as well. One fan who was leaning on the speakers took a very heavy whiff of an ether his lady friend offered him and twitched uncontrollably for about five minutes. When he finally came down to Earth, he screamed at Best to “fuck me, Daddy”. Best replies: “You wish.” We all burst in laughter. During some songs, the meat of the crowd suddenly whipped itself in a frenzy. As those songs came into play, the crowd got very into it and bobbed to the pulsations of the Bests’ driven beats. One person stage-dived into the crowd while others participated into a vicious mosh on the floor. And that’s why it’s called power (violence) electronics, as times haven’t changed. The Best’s made it all happen. It was everything I expected to be and I’m very happy to have seen The Bests / Consumer Electronics in action as I wanted to.

Which now leaves me to one more act on my current bucket list which is the other half of what was Whitehouse: William Bennett’s Cut Hands. I had the chance to see him along with Pharmakon and Godflesh but passed it up, and another on very short notice this year with only a week to have a ticket but scheduling disallowed it. Just like seeing Consumer Electronics and the other noise show earlier this year in New York City, I need to see Cut Hands for an excuse to go to the city again to keep my music quotient and style points up.

#Consumer Electronics #Sarah Froelich #Philip Best #Whitehouse #Alberich #Kris Lapke #noise #industrial #NYC #New York City #BK #Brooklyn #personal #omega #music #playlists #mixtapes

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the-east-art · 1 year ago

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Fantail Pigeons and Mourning Doves - Part 4 (END)

There are five pigeons bobbing their heads back and forth, prowling the lot for forgotten chips. Pigeons are generally considered a nuisance. Back at the seminary Uncle Boaz would actively harass them away from the feeders they left out for the birds. They don’t contribute birdsong and they’re ugly. That’s what Uncle Boaz would say, at least. Mel liked pigeons plumage, the way that they glimmered iridescendantly in light, like oil. You would almost think that pigeons had adapted to live at the gas station pumps with that kind of matching coloring.

At the hospital there had been a public use phone, and Mel had used that to call Fatima and explain what had happened. His urgency to get Wren to a hospital had been overshadowed by his horror at the idea of leaving the bloody mess for his coworker to find. Wren hadn’t seemed to care about waiting for Mel to quickly clean up, sitting in Mels’, head leaned back and focusing on his breathing.

A car came up to pump 3 and the five pigeons skittered to the other end of the lot, away from small children that may come out of the car and give chase, but close enough to watch the cars’ family like it was a spectator sport, hoping for a scrap. The car rolled down the windows, the designated responsible adult got to work filling the tank, and the cavalry descended upon the store.

Fatima had been understanding and passed on the information to his three other coworkers. According to Fatima - who from what little Mel had gleamed has dabbled in any job you can think of - blood is a biohazard that needs to be cleaned up to a specific degree, which she would double check when she arrive at the store. An hour early to her shift. Mel desperately for once wished he had formed any kind of a connection with his coworkers, something that could justify how nicely she was treating him. It was… kind. And it made his heart feel heavy.

Three children burst into the store, followed by an adult. She tells them they each have 2 missions: one being to use the bathroom, the other to select a snack. They take the instructions very seriously, bouncing on their feet with excitement. The woman begins to mill around the store, looking with mild interest at the shelves and waiting for the children to finish their business, purse and wallet handy.

Mel had to drive back to the gas station with Wren. The hour distance from town, for the first time, feeling something like a curse. If there had been a way for Mel to drive both their cars down originally, he would have. Wren was too tired to fill the air with small talk, and Mel didn’t have the emotional capacity for it. He spent an hour wondering if the doctors had unstitched his amateur stitches and the idea that what he had put so much effort and concentration into sewing those little lines into another man only for them to be unpicked… it made him feel a funny sort of way. An emotion that was not easy to unspool. In the nothingness of 3am, Mel didn’t care to put the effort into untangling the snaggle. When Mel asked if the doctors had cleared Wren to drive, he had just waved the idea off with one of his hands. That had been that.

The children emerge out of the bathrooms and begin to circle the store noisily, arguing over the pros and cons of seemingly every single snack within the store. Mel tries to watch their interactions, appreciate the ways that the smallest child displays its’ frustrations with larger gestures than the older sibling. Children are easier to read, not learning subtlety yet. Yet, as Mel looked on at the scene before him, it morphed. The light from the windows dimmed, the people disappeared, and in the theatre that was his brain, Mel saw Wren staggering across the store. In his minds eye the few drops of blood that had slipped through his compressed hand were exaggerated, staining the cheap tile floor a permanent red in large streaks.

Mel rings the small family up as a new car parks. As two more set up next to pumps. As pigeons bob their heads. The day flows slowly through the cracks, dripping from day to night to Mel driving home in darkness alone with the his head playing games that Wren is in the passenger seat.

oOo

When Wren reappears, dusty green car easing into the lot and parking gingerly into a space, Mel digs resolves to ignore him. To treat him just like any customer. Wren doesn’t even give him a chance.

“Melchior!” He enters the store like a hurricane, eyes bright and face illuminated with enthusiasm. It’s almost like he’s purposefully trying to shatter the previous image of himself that repeatedly walks through the store like a ghost - tense and quiet. This time, Wren walks in so full of life that it fills the room around him like Uncle Haniels’ cologne.

Mel grips his detached anger tightly with both hands, somewhat literally as they dig into surplus of fabric that make up his jacket sleeves. There are three other people in the store right now. Two at pumps, four cars parked. It’s busy, not exactly the time to chat.

“Wren.” Mel nods at the man and watches half of the muscles in Wrens’ smiling face go slack for half a second. In that fraction of a moment Wren must rally himself, and the expression appears with a reinforced gusto.

“How are you doing? Are you okay?” Wren looks Mel up and down, like Mel was the one that had to get sewed up my an amateur two weeks ago. Mel chews on his lips and on the thought in tandem - two weeks ago. 15 days, technically.

“I’m fine.” He clips out. Wren laughs and adjusts him ballcap.

“Your voice says otherwise.” Oh haha, Wren can read tone and facial expressions and body language easily. Mel doesn’t even know what Wren gleans from his answer, because Mel doesn’t know if its true or not. One of Wrens hands - calloused and scarred - rubs at his face, and he seems to sober up from the enthusiasm a bit. The muscles in his face relax a little more, but do not sag down into neutrality. “Look, Melchior, I needed to take a bit. To heal. I really shouldn’t have driven home in the first place. I’m sorry it took me so long to come back.”

The words shock Mel. He mentally rewinds the tape and plays it again. Have you ever heard something said out loud, and then realized once the words are gone there is no proof that what you heard had actually existed? Sounds don’t leave evidence in the air. Mel wonders if Wren said anything at all, for a moment. It seems more likely, somehow, that he had projected this entire interaction (a lie to himself, his projections were always such a thin layer over reality that they could never be mistaken as real) than that Wren was just… being honest with him.

“I…” Mel swishes the words around his mouth. The lonely ‘I’ could vanish into nothingness in the air, never having existed, if Wren wasn’t looking at him so intently. Behind Wren, a customer is shifting around nervously, holding two family bags of chips and a six pack of beers. “I think we can talk later.”

Wrens’ face crashes, and adrenaline pumps through Mels’ veins unbidden. Shit shit shit. He pounds his fist into his leg three time to accentuate each thought. He said something wrong. This is not the reaction he had anticipated to his words. But was it the words that were wrong, or the tone?

“Sorry, yeah, you’re at work. I, uh, I’m sure I’ve already put your job enough at risk huh?” Wren scratches the back of his head, and his face shifts into a new expression. He starts to make a motion to leave, and something in Mels’ head clicks into place.

“I get off my shift at 5.” Mel clarifies. “Come back then.” Wrens’ face clears up, bursts back into the expression he makes the most often, the once Mel actually knows. A smile.

“I’ll be here.”

oOo

There isn’t really anywhere for them to go, not when the empty desert stretches for miles in either direction. The gas station is a waypoint, not a destination. So Wren and Mel sit down on the bench in front of the window. Mel counts cars.

“I’ve been thinking.” Wren is, of course, the one to break the silence. Mel feels like an intrepid explorer in uncharted territory, except the uncharted territory is the concept of hanging out with a person that isn’t family when he isn’t actively at work. Mel tilts his head sideways and looks at Wren, waits for Wren to decide what he’s going to say, he thinks that somethigns Wren just starts sentences without planning where he’s going with them. “20 stitches. Did you space them out just so you could get an even number?”

Mels’ face is heating up traitorously.

“It- I- The number-” Wren lets out a boisterous laugh and leans back on the bench comfortably. It soothes Mels’ embarrassment, despite the fact that had it been Zeph doing that it would have riled him up more.

“The hospital kept them in, thank god. Imagine if they had done an awkward number, like 37.” He leans his head back and complains to the sky and the gas stations tin roof. “That would not have helped my moral healing up.”

Mel almost lets out a small laugh at that. Almost. It gets caught halfway in his throat, like it doesn’t know what to do with the sound. Wren laughs too.

“I really appreciate what you did for me, back there. I’m really sorry, I wasn’t thinking when I got here. I just needed somewhere safe and well lit to take care of myself. Not a lot of options, clear out here.” Wren sighs and adjusts how he’s sitting. Now that they’re outside, the sun shining and reflecting off the window, Mels’ jacket is stifling. He shrugs it off and places it in his lap, where he can knead his fingers into the fabric.

“Do you actually do handyman stuff?” Mels’ been wondering for a while now. Another bark of laughter - Wren seems to be made up of smiles and laughs and the twinkle that lights up in his eyes - the color of freshly tilled earth.

“My, uh, hobby doesn’t pay, so yeah, I do. And yeah, it really does take me all over the area.”

“Are you going to tell me your hobby?” Wren clicks his tongue at the question, purses his lips.

“I kind of want to, which is weird. I usually don’t give a shit, but I mean, you definitely helped me out of a shitty situation there. But you’re really better off not knowing.”

A decade ago Mel stands flush against a wall, not daring to breath, and listens to a conversation between a handful of his aunts and uncles. Discussing Melchior. He recalls hearing Uncle Boaz insist that ‘His mother told us to never reveal the truth to the boy’ and Aunt Esther following it with ‘Melchior is better off not knowing.’

Mel is turning the words over in his mind, thinking. Wren must find some kind of meaning or message in his silence a he pushes himself to talk more.

“The stuff I deal with… I mean it’s not good stuff. It’s pretty freaky, sometimes. Obviously it gets me hurt.” Wren pats his knee. “Don’t want other people getting hurt.” He rises to his feet, fumbling a bit with something in his pocket. How Wren can still be wearing his signature jacket, Mel doesn’t know. Must be sweating like a pig under the layers. “I have some work down east, for a bit. Probably be stuck on that side of the mountains for a few weeks, but I - well -” He pulls his fist out of his pocket and holds it out to Mel, wrist bent slightly. Mel obediently cups his palms under the fist, understanding the gesture. When Wren opens his fist a grumbled piece of paper falls into Mels’ open hands. “My number, just in case you wanna keep in touch. Or something like that.”

oOo

Mel buys a phone. He doesn’t have a lot of fluid money - the paychecks he gets are pretty much just enough to cover the cost of rent, gas, and the cheapest food he can find. In the back of his head he knows that the income of two people would make this all easier, but back then running had seemed like the only choice. Mel thinks that the phone is very fancy - the front face of it has a square screen, below which are the standard buttons for a phone much like the landline at the Seminary. It had a hidden keyboard that could be slid out, which was easier and faster to type with.

It was difficult to describe it accurately through text, and three weeks later when Wren returned to the stations side of the mountains and swung by he had taken one look at it and laughed for a solid minute.

“I think my grandpa has that exact phone.” Wrens’ knuckles are red and raw. He holds the phone in his hand like it is an ancient artifact, marveling at the ‘shk’ and tactile feel of the keyboard. It’s Mel’s favorite part - while he’s at work he finds himself opening and closing the keyboard as he stares out the window and counts the cars.

Wren leaves Mel large blocks of texts at a time. He talks through the problems with the house he’s currenlty working on - Mel never really understands exactly what Wren is talking about when he does that but enjoys reading it nevertheless. Wren talks about types of electrical currents and types of water heaters. Other times Wren discusses the most inane topics - what’s the best kind of apple, why he hates Douglas Pear trees, the pros and cons of Hawaiian pizza. Wren isn’t rude when Mel doesn’t seems to know what he’s talking about, just seems excited to share. Leaves new paragraphs about apple textures and about invasive plant species.

Wren must know there’s something wrong with Mel. About the way he doesn’t know anything about pop culture or commonalities of the world. If he wonders, he never asks, and it’s a relief.

Mel is a lamppost, figuratively, stuck in one place. He is a cactus out on the desert, unmoving. Wren takes jobs all over the state and neighboring ones, and once or twice even beyond that, but he always seems to end up passing through Mels’ ‘neck of the woods’ and staying for a day. Chatting at the register becomes talking on the bench outside becomes Wren meeting up with Mel in town on one of his days off and exposing him to the world of a pizza buffet. The next time they text Mel is able to give his own informed opinion on Hawaiian pizza.

He isn’t sure why Wren puts in the effort to constantly return here.

A darker part of Mel, hidden inside of himself, starts to develop a theory.

Perhaps the answer is something that Mel would be better off not knowing.

“You got a new jacket.” Mel remarks as Wren takes a seat on the booth opposite of him. The town Mel stays in is small, and yet every time Wren drops by he seems to have found a new cafe or restaurant for them to try.

“Winter isn’t the time for that threadbare thing.” Wrens’ eyes rove around Mels’ figure. “I see you’re still floating the church boy look.” Mel looks down at himself. A short sleeve shirt buttoned up to the collar - he may need to start pulling out the long sleeves soon - tucked into a pair of slacks, worn with his scuffed loafers. The oversized red jacket. Mel shrugs in response and fiddles with the little jelly packets that sit complementary at the table. Whoever was here previously mixed up the piles so Mel lays them out on the table and sorts them. Wren looks at the jellies and wrinkles his nose.

“Apple jelly? I don’t know if I’ve ever heard of that. Isn’t grape kind of the standard?” Wren invents a topic to gnaw on, like a dog with a bone.

“Grape jelly is new to me.” Mel says, stacking the four different options into piles. Strawberry, Apple, Grape, and Raspberry. 4, 6, 2, and 3. His brain begins to consider possible patterns. Wren doesn’t seem surprised by the insight.

“It’s kind of the archetypical jelly. Peanut butter and grape jelly sandwiches are what I ate for pretty much every lunch elementary school.” Wren comments. “My sister would get fancy with her lunches at shit - my parents never packed us lunches - but I’d do the bare minimum.” Mel hums in acknowledgement at the anecdote and Wren watches at Mel starts to make a pyramid of the jellies, apples on the bottom row. “What kind of jelly did you usually have back where you grew up.”

‘Back where you grew up’ was the very versatile phrase that Wren used to encapsulate all of Mels’ backstory. He obviously knew that Mel didn’t have the typical Americana suburbia middle class upbringing, and rather than pry into the details, he asked questions about jelly.

“We didn’t have jelly.” Mel said. “We had jam.”

“There’s a difference?” Wren asks. Mels’ head titls to the side and looks at Wren. He wonders if Wren genuinely didn’t know - he;s fairly certain that sometimes Wren would fake ignorance for the sake of letting Mel talk more. Whether this was a common behavior for people outside the Seminary or just a Wren thing, Mel has yet to determine.

“Jelly doesn’t have the…” Mel frowned, trying to find the right words. “Jelly is smooth and uniform.” That felt a bit better. “Jam has the viscera of the fruit.” Wren wrinkled his nose at Mels’ word choice. “The seeds and skin and pulp.”

“Viscera makes it sound way nastier.”

“Apples were usually dehydrated, and grapes were made into juices and wines. Usually our jams were made out of our peaches. They get extremely soft when ripe and therefore are well suited for jam making. Berries too, but there’s a larger required haul of berries for jam. Our ratio of peach jam to berry jam always highly favored peach.”

“You know, I don’t know if I’ve ever heard of peach jam. Is it any good?”

The waitress returns with waters and takes their orders as the conversations continues to spill out easily between them. Wrens’ topic today is about his sister - she lives up in Oregon where the rains are plenty. She does the same job that Wren does up there, handiwork across the east coast and even over into Montana. Occasionally there’ll be a job up in Idaho that’s just far enough and close enough for both of them to meet and tackle it. Mel does not ask if the job is fixing pipes or Wrens’ hobby that leaves him with bruises and black eyes.

Wren picks at the cranberry chicken sandwich and looks out the window. The parking lot has 9 cars currently parked. Someone is rolling up the drive through line. Wrens’ commentary rolls over him, a background as Wren sees himself outside. There are no pigeons here, instead three starlings hop around the lot.

“Something outside?” Wren is angling his head out the window too, now, trying to figure out what has Mels’ attention. Mel flushes.

“No.” A pause. “Starlings. And some cars.” Wren nods and does not pry. It takes Wren longer to eat that Mel, because he runs his mouth so much and has to remember to take pauses between his thoughts to snag a bite or two. Mel used to do this kind of thing, with some of his siblings, at the Seminary. Eat and listen, be in good company and good food. Then Raguel and Zephaniah and Astrophel and all the lot turned 12 and left him behind. Started to be trained and do research in the portion of the library that Mel wasn’t allowed in, have conversations that would halt whenever they realized Mel was in earshot.

Mel got used to sitting alone, looking out the window, watching, or otherwise gazing up at the stained glass.

Wren talked about his sisters’ current girlfriend. Mel smiles and turns his gaze back inside to watch the movements of Wrens’ facial muscles as he recounts a story, hands moving animatedly.

oOo

“How was the shift?” Crickets somewhere in the desert called out as if to give their opinions to the question. The night has cold nip to it, and it colors Wrens’ cheeks and ears red.

“The same.” Mel shoves his hands into his pockets, surveys the lot. The only cars are the expected three, all parked. He still lacked the words to describe that his shifts were not boring - though they seldom created the elaborate stories that Wren would share from his own work.

“Usually I find the venues.” Wren commented. 3 am. The gas station as always had become what was left of the entire world. Wren smiled at Mel, and Mel sucked in a deep breath of the cold air, allowing it to fill his lungs. It felt sharp.

“Follow me.” With confident steps Mel crossed the parking lot, Wren falling into rhythm beside him.

“It’s within walking distance?” Mel nodded. “I’ll be honest, I almost thought your ‘favorite spot’ was going to be letting me stand behind the counter.” Wren smiled as he said the words as they passed the stations pumps, and Mel let out a small puff of air, the lightest version of a laugh.

“I think it was a safe assumption. I’m not really known for exploring.” Mel admitted. The pair approached the edge of the parking lot, the edge of the ring of light, the edge of the world. Mel hesitated for a moment, as he always did. And then took a step into the darkness of primordial space.

In the safety of the dark, of things not yet created or born, Mel felt an recklessness begin to burn in his chest. Impulsively Mel grabbed Wrens’ hand and began to run.

They crossed the lonely two lanes of middle-of-nowhere highway to the plot of land that sat opposite the gas station. It was empty - dirt and squat shrubs - and Mel ran the disappointingly small distance it took for his lungs to begin to object to the movement and then stopped all at once. Wren did not let go of his hand even as the Mel jerked to a standstill. He tilted his head up to the sky. There was no moon tonight, and the blood pumping through his body and his head made the view even more dizzying and dazzling.

“Oh.” Wrens’ voice, singing through the darkness.

“Yeah.” Mel, breathless.

They stood there for a moment, several moments, out where time had no meaning where the world did not exist yet in the dark of the night, and looked at the stars. Out here, far enough away from any proper towns, a distance from the lights of the gas station, they were beautiful diamond scattered across navy velvet. Candles pitched into the air. Lightning bugs held in a perfect formation.

For eight solid breaths, each one marked by a puff of condensation from Mel’s mouth, the two of them just stand there and look up in awe. At breath nine Wren leaves for the parking lot, and at breath 15 he returns with two camping chairs.

“I got the job here before I got my apartment.” Mel could sit out here for hours, looking at the stars, and not say a word. But he doesn’t want to. “I stole his car and drove until I realized that there was nothing I could do without some source of income. So I stopped here and begged for a job.”

“Ran away from your family.” A statement from Wren, steady and unjudgemental.

“It’s more complicated than that.”

“You don’t have to tell me, Melchior.” Wren always uses his full name. Mel never corrects him. Wren never demands more than Mel is willing to give. In the darkness of the unreal world that is night beyond the gas station lot, Mel wants to give it all.

“I grew up away from civilization. A farm - they called it the Seminary - in the middle of nowhere. Somewhere out east. I had…” Mel lets out a puff of air, and looks at the stars. “...a couple dozen siblings. And more aunts and uncles. Sometimes if one of my siblings got old enough and I wasn’t close enough to them, they’d kinda become more like an aunt or uncle.”

“That’s…” Wren cleared his throat. “...a big family.” Wren has talked at length about his family - just him and his sister, really. Their parents lived up in Canada somewhere, moved when they got old enough.

“My dad was never in the picture, and my mom died when I was a baby. Living at the Seminary we were off the grid, and when you got old enough, you were trained.” Mel left a gap of air, for Wren to ask:

“Trained for what?”

“I never found out. I was kept out of the loop. Did the chores and some of the text translations.”

“I know this is your family, Melchior, but that,” Wren took off his hat and pushed at his hair for a moment. “...I mean maybe it isn’t my place but this sounds like a cult.”

“I’ve started to think it was.” Mel traced patterns in the stars with his eyes.

Quiet settles between them for a moment. Curiosity wafts off Wren, and Mel can feel his eyes returning time and time again to his face.

“If you were there for your entire life, and you weren’t allowed to leave, why are you here?” Wren finally asks, when can’t stand it any longer and gives in. Mel knew he would.

“Somthing happened, I’m not sure what. I remember,” Mel closes his eyes and the images flash behind his eyelids. “...I remember gunshots. And screams, and blood. My brother, Raguel, came for me, grabbed me by my wrist, and took me away. Got me out of there.” He takes a deep, steadying breath. “Through anything that stood in our way.”

“Anything?”

Mel mulls the words over in his mouth, trying to decide if he is really going to say this. Really going to expose this out into the world. The world that is just him and Wren. It feels like confessional, under the blanket of stars. It feels like something he needs to say, before what he think is coming happens.

“I watched Raguel kill. Zephaniah. One of my other brothers. Took a knife and stabbed him, slit his throat. The knife was already bloody when he grabbed me, so I, he must have. You know. And the only one I saw was Zeph. But he got me out - took one of the only cars the Seminary had and got me out of there. Whatever was going down, I was probably a sitting duck.”

“He took us to a motel and told me about his plans to keep me safe. That he was gonna get a job, protect me. Tell me the truth. But I was a afraid of him. Every time I looked at Raguel I thought of how quickly he had killed Zeph, how easily.” Mels’ voice is shaking, as if saying this is physically exhausting. It feels like it is. He can’t stop the words that come out now, like he’s expelling a poison from his body. Mel wants someone to know this before it ends. “I stole his car and I ran away. Until I ended up here.”

“Melchior…” Mel didn’t need to look, didn’t need to decipher any of that from facial expressions and body language.

Pity.

oOo

The end of Mels’ world, the crashing in of the darkness beyond the gas station, comes in mid November. Almost exactly a year after the night he ran away. Mel had felt it approaching him for month, like a persistence hunter. He thinks that he had known it’s approach since that first time he had talked to Wren. This was poetic, symmetrical. Mel was glad it was almost exactly a year.

His apartment is a mess, objects tossed around. Not that he had that many possessions in the first place. It’s a little insulting that it happens when he was previously sleeping, just wearing his boxers. An unnatural chill fills the air, and it makes his breath visible like it had been a month ago when he had talked to Wren under the stars. A supernatural force pushes him up against the wall, and he can feel the bruises forming on his arms.

The vague image of a human appears in the middle of the room, empty eyes and a decaying skull and the copper scent of blood. If Mel squints he can see Zephs’ jawline, maybe.

“Fuck off!” The door to the apartment is kicked open and Wren emerges into the room. He wields a firepit stoker and swings it through the ghost without hesitation. The image scatters, and Mel drops to the floor as the force against him disappears. Wren is at his side before he can even slump against the wall. His hands are where the specters had been, slightly misaligned from it’s handprints.

“Melchior, Mel, are you okay?” He doesn’t quite register the question, looks at the place where the ghost had been.

“I knew it.” The words are vindicating to say. “You hunt monsters.” Wren freezes.

“I, this is,” Wren is taught for a moment, and then his shoulders slump. “Yeah.”

“You’re hunting me.” Mel follows up. Wrens’ facial muscles move drastically at his assertion.

“No I’m - Melchior I’m sorry. I thought I took care of this ghost but it hopped from me to you when I swung by last week. That’s all.��

“You know about me.” Mel insists. Wren isn’t understanding that it’s okay, what Mel knows.

“Is this about… about your family?” Mel shakes his head so violently it might fall off his shoulders. It might in a second anyway.

“No I’m - Wren it’s okay I know I’m not human. I’m wrong.” He explains, looking eagerly at Wren. He knows he knows he knows. “That’s why - I’m not right. I don’t think things right. Why they kept me separate. Maybe even why Raguel killed Zeph.” Mel tilts his head up. “You hunt monsters, you must have known from the start. That’s why you keep hanging out with me, so that you can figure out what I am and kill me. I’m ready.” Maybe the eye contact is scaring him off. Mel closes his eyes.

All Wren has is the poker, but he must know how to use it. Hopefully he can make it fast. Maybe he has some concealed weapons. Those could help. They were protecting him, at the Seminary. And out here he is so tired of trying so hard to be human.

The poker clatters to the floor.

Mel opens his eyes just in time to see Wren raise both of his hands, cradling Mel’s face.

“Mel…” He shakes his head and his voice hitches. When Wren looks back at Mel there are tears in his eyes. “...Yeah Mel, I hunt monsters, but you aren’t one. You had a shitty upbringing, and you’re - hell I mean I doubt it was a thing where you grew up but you’re probably autistic or have ocd or something - but you’re human Mel.” Wren sighs and runs a hand through Mels’ hair. Fuck. When was the last time someone did that? Raguel, when Mel had been pretending to sleep, before he stole the car.

“I hang out with you because I like you, Mel.”

“I’m not…” Mel slumps forward, rests his forehead against Wrens’ shoulder. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” Wren murmurs into Mels’ curly hair. “I’m sure.”

Mel sits like that for a while, to the rising and falling of Wrens’ chest. He feels more than hears when the breath hitches, preparing to speak.

“I gotta - that ghost is going to come back if I don’t take care of it.” Wren shits and Mel leans back against the wall. Wren scans Mels’ face, seems to find something there. “Come on.” He rises to his feet, and a gentle hand on Mels’ arm assists him in following suit. “You can tag along. I think we need to talk.”

oOo

Even the desert gets it snow, even if it waits to come until early January. The gas station has a new kind of quiet so soon after the holidays. Late December was marked with a flurry of travelers, but now that the fesitivies have passed everyone seems content to stay home for the foreseeable weeks. The people that stop by the gas station are mostly truck drivers.

And Wren.

Mel feels strange to be standing in the new year. He had thought - no - he had known that he would die before January. That the thing that he had felt breathing down his neck his entire life, this dread that had swallowed him, would finally reach him before then. And it did. Only to appear and reveal that it was just himself. Just Mel.

Wren talks him through a lot of it - survivors guilt, abuse, ptsd, anxiety. A laundry list of reasons why he probably had felt that way. In February he’s going to help Mel find a therapist.

Ghost are real. And werewolves and witches and everything that goes bump in the night. Mel can’t find it in himself to be surprised. It just makes sense. It must have been what the Seminary had trained to do, and were sent out take care of. Kept it a secret from Mel, because of his dying mothers request. Learning monsters are real is easy to take in stride, realizing that he isn’t one is something Mel is still trying to figure out how to deal with.

Wrens’ green car putters up the station and parks. 2 cars parked - 3, Mel adjusts his count as a beat up red truck slides into view, turning off the highway to the station and ignoring the pumps.

Barely even looking, Wren snags a pack of gum and slams it on the counter, paired with a five dollar bill.

“Play me my favorite song?” He beseeches, and with a smile Mel rings it up, letting the register fly open and call out it’s hedgehog chime. Mel still has to remind himself to lower his head, to lot look up at some unreachable thing constantly, but it’s getting easier.

“How was the hunt?” Mel asks, absentmindedly flapping the oversized sleeves of his sweatshirt back and forth.

“Pffft, a bitch.” Wren says, hands already moving in a flurry. “You ever try to find an unmarked grave in the snow?”

“I had to help break the ice on the irrigation canals a couple winters.”

“Fucking miserable.” Wren agrees. “But luckily I had some help on this one.” He breaks eye contact with Mel when he says that, and Mel tilts his head to the side. Odd, unlike Wren.

“It’s a long way for your sister to come.” Mel states. Wren nods and pushes his hand around on his stubble.

“They, uh, he, well-”

“Mel.”

The door chimes in tune with the sound of a new voice - of a familiar voice - and Mel looks past Wren to the door of the gas station. The voice is easy to identify, but the figure that stands before him takes longer to match with the image in his head.

Raguel looks different. His hair has been grown out from the Seminarys’ standard cut into the beginning of dreads, and he wears a sweater instead of the button ups, and glasses, and he has a bit of a beard growing. Cargo pants and thick hiking boots and he’s filled out more and its Raguel.

“I’m gonna go fill up my tank.” And Wren leaves the two of them, facing each other without any words to say.

Raguel sighs, something sad and something soft, and smiles. He’s already crying.

“Mel.” He repeats, and opens his arms wide. Mel runs out from behind the counter into the arms of the brother he ran away from.

“Are you mad?” Mel asks voice hoarse, and Raguel kisses the top of his head.

“I’m just happy you’re okay.” Raguel holds his out and scans him up and down, smiles. Raguel never used to smile like that at the Seminary. “I was wondering where my jacket went.” Mel coughs out a wet laugh.

It’s the middle of winter, but it feels like the new cycle of life is already beginning.

#fantail pigeons and mourning doves #the east writes #short story #short stories

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tarmac-rat · 7 months ago

Note

Regarding the recent post, I'd love to hear 1 and 24 Your answers are savage, I like it ☺

1. the character everyone gets wrong

I'm gonna put a twist on this answer because there is one character MOMENT that everyone gets wrong; taking the option to be nice to Kerry in Love Like Fire. There is absolutely no way that Johnny Silverhand, ten years in the anti-corpo hatred gutter after watching Alt die and ten seconds away from boarding a helicopter to commit an act of terrorism, would have the mental wherewithal to be anything but a monumental dick to Kerry in that moment. I firmly believe he would never tell Kerry to go do his own thing and that he was proud of him, and I always feel like I'm in the minority on that opinion. Johnny's entire character in the 2023 arc is that he's such a huge, irredeemable dick to everyone he ever cares about-- I never select the option to be nice to Kerry (despite how much his kicked-puppy face pains me) because it just doesn't feel in character at that point in Johnny's life.

24. topic that brings up the most rancid discourse

Bi!Kerry discourse, come on down to the stage!!!!!!!!!!!!

No but seriously, the reason that this is number 1 in my eyes isn't because of the discourse itself, which is frankly barely an argument-- he's bi, it's in the original text, it was confirmed by the TTRPG devs, there's in-game proof, cut scene roll credits-- but because whenever this discourse rears it's head, there's a subset of Tumblr users who decide they suddenly get a free pass to tell others to kill themselves over a fictional man's sexuality. I'm serious when I say this-- if you think you fit this description, shut your computer off for a week, take a good long look at yourself, and then log back in and delete your account.

#sashada-g #aldi speaks

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shiningwonderland · 1 year ago

Text

Syo Kurusu (Repeat)

Translator: Raz (Twitter: agnadance)

Editor: Snail (Twitter: herbert_snail)

March — Turbulent Syncopation

Syo Kurusu: Well, I guess this is it.

Haruka Nanami: Syo-kun, you've improved so much!

Syo Kurusu: Of course! Human beings are meant to advance every single day!

Select the Phrase!

身長も？Their height, too? (+5 Love +0 Music)

Syo Kurusu: Shut up about height!

Haruka Nanami: You're not getting taller?

Syo-kun flinches, his words getting stuck in his throat.

Haruka Nanami: Syo-kun, you've become so much stronger over the past few months that I thought you've grown taller…

Syo Kurusu: Is that what you think? Huh, yeah! Maybe you're onto something!

Haruka Nanami: Yes…

Syo Kurusu: Th-then, I'll go measure myself!

Haruka Nanami: Ah… He left…

If he's going to measure his height, then maybe he went to the nurse's office? There should be a machine that measures height there.

Syo Kurusu: … I'm back.

Haruka Nanami: How was it…?

Syo Kurusu: One millimeter…

Haruka Nanami: You grew taller?

Syo Kurusu: … No, I shrunk… What the hell was that?! Is it broken?!

Haruka Nanami: There, there…

Syo comes in fuming, but he immediately puts himself together and begins practice again.

成績も？Their grades, too? (+10 Love +5 Music)

Syo Kurusu: Ugh… Well, I'm not getting failing grades anymore… I think that's thanks to you, actually. Your notes are well organized, after all.

Syo Kurusu: Also, you're also really good at teaching. If you aren't able to become a professional composer, how about becoming a teacher?

Haruka Nanami: A teacher… at school? That sounds nice…

Syo Kurusu: Hey, hey, don't take that comment too seriously. It's a joke. You're gonna be my composer for life!

Haruka Nanami: Hehehe. Understood! I'll do my best! Let's win the graduation audition!

体重も？Their weight, too? (+0 Love +0 Music)

Syo Kurusu: Yeah, yeah, hot pot really hits the spot this time of year–HEY!

Syo Kurusu: Don't make fun of me! I'm an idol! I can watch my weight, y'know!

Haruka Nanami: I would expect nothing less of you!

Syo Kurusu: Lately, I haven't been having any symptoms either! Thanks to that, I think the surgery will go well. Our final problem is the lyrics…

Haruka Nanami: Huh? Didn't you finish writing them a while back?

Syo Kurusu: … Well, those lyrics do match the rhythm of the song so I can sing them if I have to, but I feel like they're not quite right yet.

Syo Kurusu: What I want to say is that they don't feel complete. I want to put my soul into our song.

Syo Kurusu: The power words have is huge. I feel like the lyrics don't hold a candle to your composition. There's something missing.

Select the Phrase!

テーマを決めてみたら？How about deciding on some themes? (+5 Love +10 Music)

Haruka Nanami: Hyuga-sensei advised us to decide on some themes.

Syo Kurusu: Themes, huh? Hmm, how about "life", "living", "strength", "dreams", "courage", "persistence"... Oh, and something like "Follow me!"

Haruka Nanami: Hahaha, I think that's good, too. I think the best part about you is how strong you are and how you never give up.

言葉を書き連ねてみたら？How about make a list of words? (+5 Love +5 Music)

Haruka Nanami: I heard if you get lost, try to write as many words as possible that pop up into your head into a notebook. It may be good to even try allegories.

Haruka Nanami:You might get something interesting if you try different combinations.

Haruka Nanami:Also, Hyuga-sensei said that it's okay to write words and not full sentences. He said to give musical phrases the utmost consideration.

Haruka Nanami:The words will be put into song, so it's fine if the nuance shows even with one word. I think he also said that the chorus should be really catchy…

Syo Kurusu: I see. That's really helpful. Thanks, Haruka!

情景と心情を・・・Scenes and emotions… (+5 Love +5 Music)

Haruka Nanami: Hyuga-sensei said not only to include emotions, but scenes too.

Haruka Nanami: He said describing something that instantly puts a scene in your head is easy to understand.

Haruka Nanami: If you put emotions into that, it's easy to immerse yourself into the song.

Haruka Nanami: If I remember correctly, something like beginning with a character's actions, or describing the place they're in, then describing the feelings of that character…

Haruka Nanami: That's just one of the methods that I was taught.

Syo Kurusu: Yeah! Just you wait. I'll write lyrics so good that it'll rock your heart.

Haruka Nanami: I'm looking forward to it.

It's the end of school.

Syo-kun and I walk towards the dorms together.

Haruka Nanami: Isn't that…

We see Kaoru-kun peek at us from outside the school gates.

Syo Kurusu: And then Ren said… huh? What's the matter?

Haruka Nanami: … It's nothing. I forgot something back at school, so can we split up here?

Syo Kurusu: That's fine, but why not just go together?

Haruka Nanami: Thanks, but it's okay. I'll see you tomorrow.

Once I confirm Syo-kun has walked out of sight, I run towards Kaoru-kun.

Haruka Nanami: Kaoru-kun!

Kaoru Kurusu: Ah, Nanami-san… Why…? You've got sharp eyes to notice me…

Haruka Nanami: Did you come to see how Syo-kun's doing?

If that's so, then he must've come see him occasionally this entire time in secret.

Kaoru Kurusu: It's because I'm worried about him… but Syo-chan hates how much I worry about him.

Kaoru-kun purses his lips.

Kaoru Kurusu: I want to be by his side to support him always, but he's the one trying to protect me… He's working too hard…

Kaoru Kurusu: You're Syo-chan's girlfriend, right? Are you supporting him properly? Aren't you the one being protected by him instead of the other way around?

He raises his head and looks me in the eye. Ahh, Kaoru-kun truly cares about Syo-kun.

Kaoru Kurusu: I'm sorry for saying this, but you don't seem to be that reliable. You're not being a burden to him, are you?

Haruka Nanami: I'm… doing my best to not hold him back. Nonetheless, Syo-kun sometimes does work himself too hard.

Haruka Nanami: I want to do even better to support him.

Kaoru Kurusu: Are you really supporting him?

He stares at me with a doubtful look in his eyes. I understand, I need to earn his trust.

Haruka Nanami: I'll do my best.

That's all I can say. Compared to Kaoru, who has been with Syo-kun since birth, I am just a stranger to him.

I need to work even harder so he can trust me.

Haruka Nanami: By the way, you two are twins, right? Is your health okay, Kaoru-kun? Your heart doesn't start hurting or anything?

Kaoru Kurusu: I'm fine. I'm completely healthy…

Kaoru Kurusu: I took all of Syo-chan's energy when we were in the womb together. That's why he's so weak…

Haruka Nanami: That's not true…

Kaoru Kurusu: I know that's a completely irrational way of thinking, but that thought has always been stuck in my mind.

He must've felt so guilty for being healthy when Syo-kun has been suffering so much.

That must be why he began thinking like that.

But no matter how hard Kaoru-kun is on himself, that won't make Syo-kun happy…

Kaoru Kurusu: When my friends and I would play in preschool and kindergarten, Syo-chan would be bedridden in the hospital.

Kaoru Kurusu: Syo-chan is energetic now, but he became ill very often when we were kids, and he was almost always in the hospital.

I wish he spoke up more, like say he wanted to go to preschool too, but he would say…

Kaoru-kun bites down on his lip in an attempt to hold back his tears.

Kaoru Kurusu: He would never complain even once. He would sacrifice himself by telling me that I should go out and have fun.

Kaoru Kurusu: He would laugh and say he was fine, putting up a cheerful act.

Haruka Nanami: Yes… Syo-kun always says that, doesn't he? Even when he's in pain…

Kaoru Kurusu: But the truth is, Syo-chan is actually vulnerable.

Kaoru Kurusu: I saw him cry to himself in his hospital bed when I wasn't with him.

Haruka Nanami: …

Kaoru Kurusu: "I want to live." "I want to get better." "I want to play outside with everyone else." He was crying, his voice shaking.

Kaoru Kurusu: The moment he noticed I was standing there, he wiped his tears and acted like nothing happened. He laughed and said he's fine.

Syo-kun has been fighting all by himself this entire time, even when he was a child.

Kaoru Kurusu: I want to protect him, but all he does is protect me instead. I get so sad and frustrated…

Kaoru Kurusu: That's when I thought I'll become a doctor and cure Syo-chan's illness…

Haruka Nanami: Is that so…

Kaoru Kurusu: But I couldn't become one immediately… so every time I saw Syo-chan like that, it was so unbearable that I would cry.

Kaoru Kurusu: All I could do was say sorry to him. Syo-chan is in so much pain, but he would never complain to me.

Kaoru Kurusu: He didn't say anything when he quit playing violin… Instead, he began learning karate…

Haruka Nanami: That's because… Syo-kun wanted to become stronger in his own way…

Kaoru Kurusu: I understand, but… At that time, I thought that he became so desperate that he was just hurting himself.

Kaoru Kurusu: In fact, I still think he's doing that. He's trying to hurry through his life.

Kaoru Kurusu: He's panicking because he thinks he has no time left to live, but… if one were to care for him, he can live even longer.

Kaoru Kurusu: I want him to wait for me… until I become a doctor and become able to cure his sickness…

Kaoru Kurusu: I just want him to wait patiently.

Haruka Nanami: The reason why you're aiming to become a doctor is for Syo-kun, right?

Kaoru Kurusu: Yes… That was the reason at first, but now I want to cure not just Syo-chan but anyone who is suffering from illness.

Kaoru Kurusu: I want to make them happy…

Haruka Nanami: Syo-kun must feel the same way.

Kaoru Kurusu: Huh…?

Haruka Nanami: Syo-kun is aiming to become an idol because he wants everyone to be happy and spread his joy to others.

Kaoru Kurusu: His joy…? Is that why he wants to become an idol?

Haruka Nanami: Yes, Syo-kun and Kaoru-kun's methods are different, but you're both aiming for the same goal.

Kaoru Kurusu: Is that so…? Is that true?

Haruka Nanami: Just like Kaoru-kun wants Syo-kun to be happy and put a smile on his face…

Syo-kun wants Kaoru-kun to be happy, so he's doing his best making his song.

A song that would lift the spirits of anyone who listens to it… that's why I want you to support Syo-kun's goal to be an idol…

Kaoru Kurusu: I…

He whispers to himself then looks down to think.

Kaoru Kurusu: … I'll go back for today. Tell Syo-chan to not overwork himself…

He leaves while clenching his fist.

Haruka Nanami: Yes.

Syo-kun and Kaoru-kun… They care about each other this much, but why are they always at conflict?

Is it because they're too stubborn? I wish they would see eye to eye soon…

Syo Kurusu: So he went back home?

Haruka Nanami: Ah, Syo-kun! Since when…

Syo Kurusu: I came back a while ago because you were acting strange. That guy's a handful.

Haruka Nanami: He's just worried about you, Syo-kun…

Syo Kurusu: I get that, but he needs to think about himself more. He's only ever cared about me even when we were little.

Syo Kurusu: When we were kids, he would cry so much every time I fell ill.

Syo Kurusu: He would say that the reason why I'm not healthy is because he took all my energy when we were in the womb.

Syo Kurusu: Even though that makes no sense, he always apologized to me and beat himself up for it.

Syo Kurusu: I kept telling him there's no relation at all and he's at no fault, but he would never listen.

Syo Kurusu: I just… don't feel comfortable seeing him cry. I decided I'll become better so I would never make him cry.

Syo Kurusu: I made a vow not to ever show that I'm in pain in front of him.

Haruka Nanami: Syo-kun…

But Syo-kun's consideration is the entire reason why Kaoru-kun is hurting inside…

It hurts me to see them care about each other this much and yet not truly understand each other.

Syo Kurusu: When we entered elementary school, I was able to go to school normally and Kaoru and I both began to study violin on our parents' suggestion.

Syo Kurusu: At that time, we were aiming to become pro violinists together.

Syo-kun grins with a nostalgic look on his face.

Syo Kurusu: Even so, I still fell ill sometimes and had to take a day off from school. Every time I did, Kaoru would also take a break and stay by my side.

Syo Kurusu: Although it's not possible to be together all the time, he would do his best to never leave me because he thought that I felt inferior to him.

Syo Kurusu: That's when I met Natsuki and quit violin.

Syo Kurusu: Kaoru incessantly asked me why I quit, but I never gave him an answer. He felt guilty because he was convinced that it was his fault that I quit.

Syo Kurusu: After that, I began practicing karate. I lied to Kaoru that I quit violin because karate looked more interesting.

Syo Kurusu: Kaoru was completely against me doing karate, saying that I should stop because it's dangerous for me…

Syo Kurusu: But I never quit. I trained and trained, and when I got better at karate, my body became more and more resilient.

Syo Kurusu: The doctor was surprised too, saying it was a miracle…

Haruka Nanami: I… always thought that you were powerful even since you were born.

Haruka Nanami: But now I know that's not true. You became strong because you worked hard for it…

Syo Kurusu: Well, the ability to keep trying is a strength on its own. In that sense, you're strong too.

Syo Kurusu: But Kaoru… maybe because he was healthy from the start, or that I was like this, but…

Syo Kurusu: He's fragile… Or maybe sensitive is the better way to word it. Anyway, he would start crying over the smallest things.

Syo Kurusu: I don't want to make him cry… If I told him that I'm planning to undergo surgery, he'll cry for sure…

Select the Phrase!

内緒にしておく？Will you keep it secret? (+0 Love +0 Music)

Syo Kurusu: There's no way I'll do that. I'll tell him soon enough… Will you come with me when that time comes?

Haruka Nanami: … Yes.

言わないの？You won't tell him? (+20 Love +0 Music)

Syo Kurusu: No… I'll tell him with my own words. However…

Syo-kun clasps my hand.

Syo Kurusu: I want you to be by my side when that time comes.

Haruka Nanami: Okay.

言わなきゃダメだよ。You have to tell him. (+10 Love +0 Music)

Syo Kurusu: … I know. Will you encourage me to do it?

Haruka Nanami: …?

Syo Kurusu: If you're by my side, I feel like I can tell him properly.

Haruka Nanami: … I'll stay with you. I'll stay with you as long as you're fine with that.

Syo Kurusu: Thanks.

Next day, Syo-kun calls Kaoru-kun to his room and tells him everything.

The fact that he'll never give up pursuing being an idol, and that he'll undergo surgery to do so.

Kaoru Kurusu: I understand that you're ready for this, but what about me and your girlfriend?

Syo-chan, you're always like this. Even that time when you quit playing violin suddenly… All I can do is worry about you.

Why do you always decide this by yourself? I want you to talk it out with me… Am I really that unreliable?

Syo Kurusu: That's not it…

Kaoru Kurusu: Then don't go. Don't go to a far off place by yourself.

Syo Kurusu: Sorry, but I've already decided.

Kaoru Kurusu: You're going no matter what?

Syo Kurusu: Yeah. When the graduation audition is over, I'm going to the States.

Kaoru Kurusu: What about her? She's your girlfriend. Are you just going to leave her behind?

Syo Kurusu: Yeah, that's how it'll be.

Kaoru Kurusu: That's how it'll be…? That's cruel! Are you serious? You're satisfied with that?

Select the Phrase!

寂しいけど・・・I'll feel lonely, but…. (+15 Love +0 Music)

Haruka Nanami: But… Syo-kun will return no matter what, so…

Syo Kurusu: Haruka… Yeah, I'll come back for sure.

Syo-kun puts his arm around my shoulders and pulls me in.

��くんが決めたことだから。Syo-kun has decided. (+15 Love +10 Music)

Haruka Nanami: I'll do as he says.

Syo Kurusu: Thanks. I knew that you would say that.

Syo-kun and I look at each other and hold each other's hands.

信じてるから。I believe in him. (+25 Love +0 Music)

Haruka Nanami: Syo-kun will come back better than ever.

Kaoru Kurusu: But… there's only a 50% chance of success. If this surgery fails… Anyway, I think it's best for him to stay put.

Syo Kurusu: I can increase my chances with a fighting spirit! Isn't that right?

Haruka Nanami: Yes!

He's passionate and nothing will change if he runs away. I think that's what he's trying to say.

Kaoru Kurusu: I can't believe that. No, if Syo-chan's gone, what should I do with myself?

Haruka Nanami: Believe in him. Your emotions will become strength, and even though they're not visible, your wishes will come true if you gather enough of them.

Syo Kurusu: Yes! That's a great way to put it! It's not impossible!

Syo Kurusu: There's a whole 50% chance! I believe in that 50%! I'll survive for everyone's sake. …No, I want to live for myself…

Kaoru Kurusu: You really believe in each other. I thought I was the one who understood you the most…

Kaoru Kurusu: I always thought that I was the most important person in your life…

Syo Kurusu: …You're my little brother. You're one of my precious family members.

Syo Kurusu: We're twins. We've been together ever since we were born and were raised under the same roof, but we have to walk different paths from now on.

Syo Kurusu: She's my partner… and my girlfriend…

Syo Kurusu: We'll be walking the same path together from now on… She's special.

Syo Kurusu: You're not alone. I believe that you can get your own partner…

Haruka Nanami: … Syo-kun…

Kaoru Kurusu: I… might take your girlfriend while you're gone. Are you okay with that?

Haruka Nanami: Huh? U-Uh…

Syo Kurusu: Try if you can.

Kaoru Kurusu: … You don't get it at all!

He storms out of the room.

Select The Phrase!

行っちゃったね・・・He left… (+0 Love +0 Music)

Syo-kun silently gazes at the door.

わかってもらえるといいね。I hope he'll understand. (+20 Love +0 Music)

Syo Kurusu: Yeah…

Syo-kun… He wants Kaoru-kun to understand him more than anyone else.

あの・・・追いかけた方が・・・Um… will you follow him? (+10 Love +0 Music)

Syo Kurusu: No, it's pointless to do that… I wanted him to understand me though.

I wonder if Kaoru-kun will come to the graduation audition?

I want him to hear Syo-kun's song… I want him to know his resolve.

I have to practice as hard as I can until the very end…

MINI GAME

Ryuya Hyuga: Whether you cry or laugh, you only get one audition for graduation. There are no redos.

The only way to perform the best song on stage is to do steady, constant practice in the shadows. You repeat listening to the same song, perform it, and raise the quality.

Now, try performing your song as if you're on stage. Try to find any faults, crush them, and prepare for the real deal. Got it?!

This is the final lesson. Get your head in the game!

S RANK

Syo Kurusu: You came this far. Hm? What's wrong, don't cry! It's too soon to get emotional. If you're gonna cry, cry when you listen to my singing.

Haruka Nanami: Emotions started welling up inside of me… I'll do my best to hold in the tears…

When I squeeze my eyes shut, Syo-kun pecks me on the forehead.

Haruka Nanami: Syo…kun.

He sees me stop crying from surprise and then makes a satisfied grin.

It's unfair that he's this cool. He's going to leave the country soon, but now I don't want him to leave…

But now that my tears have stopped, I must not cry again.

Syo-kun hasn't talked with Kaoru-kun after that. Now he's preparing to go on stage for the graduation audition.

Once this ends, he'll leave the country to undergo surgery.

I don't want to think of a situation where the surgery fails, but…

This may be the last time I see Syo-kun sing.

I know I shouldn't be thinking that, but I couldn't shake my worry.

Syo Kurusu: It's time for my performance.

Haruka Nanami: Yeah…

Syo Kurusu: Why do you look so gloomy, idiot? You aren't thinking of something ominous, are you?

He pokes me on the forehead.

Haruka Nanami: I'm sorry.

Syo Kurusu: Sheesh…

Syo-kun gently embraces me.

Syo Kurusu: … I was told this a long time ago, but… I was like a light bulb that's about to go out.

Haruka Nanami: Huh…?

Syo Kurusu: That I was shining brightly right before burning out… and I thought that was fine.

I thought that I needed to shine as brightly as possible because I didn't know when I was going to go out, but I wasn't satisfied with just that…

After I met you, I began wanting more.

I want to keep shining by your side… That's why I won't give up on myself or my destiny…

This isn't the end. This is the beginning of my heroic saga!

Haruka Nanami: Syo-kun…

Syo-kun grabs both of my shoulders and looks into my eyes.

Syo Kurusu: Take a good look at how heroic I am!

He kisses me on the forehead.

With a grin, he runs to the stage.

Chapter End

#UtaPri #Syo Kurusu #SyoRepeat #Repeat

11 notes · View notes

m1ckeyb3rry · 7 months ago

Note

Ok merging responses a bit here we go

HELPPP MICROCELEB LMAOAOAOA ok but honestly every time I see someone mention me on your blog and it’s not you (jeirin) I’m like “omg my rise to fame!!” LMAO and OOO I NOTICED the part that currently says “feels like we only go backwards” right?? Actually speaking of I’ve always been kinda curious about how you chose what to put there LOL

EXACTLYY Karasu tries to walk in all manly like “this is boring and dumb I’m too good to be scared” and gets his shit rocked by the entrance staff (bonus points actually if otoya sneaks in during the same round and makes Karasu piss his pants)

NO SERISOULY SUXHEIDJ it’s fr just “mother, older sister” HELLO???? Bachira’s mom is fr the only one who gets named wait I’m actually gonna fact check the age again when I have the book in my hands again jic

That episode really did something to me he looked immaculate thank you 8bit (I’m ngl I think it’s partially because it was also a nagi and Reo episode that they put their 8bitussy into it hopefully we get a very nice Karasu scene soon…)

FRRR need to send fan mail to kaneshiro asking lowk

Latte sweater yuki is so perfect with the muted earthy tones and the cozy vibes goodbye maybe i need to sit around in cafes more

NO SERIOUSLY like what are the odds that that question gets asked??? Its so random lowk like of all questions kaneshiro fr a stalker

Also losing my mind the amount of times i accidentally click on an ad while scrolling and get launched onto a random ass webpage thank you so much tumblr

- Karasu anon

LMAOO whenever someone else mentions me in their posts especially when they don’t tag me (so i get jumpscared while scrolling through my dash) i’m always like 😱 people perceive me?? idk i think i should stop being surprised though considering how much i post about bllk and how many fics i’ve written for it i think people are probably sick of seeing my username in the tags SKDFJHS anyways yeah i get what you mean i kick my feet and giggle a bit too

YES that part!! ngl i just put song titles from my writing playlist there 😭 feels like we only go backwards is one of my favs if you haven’t heard i recommend!!

okok hear me out here…so we have karasu going on a date in a haunted house, otoya and shidou trying to scare him (otoya had to ask shidou for karasu’s schedule since he’s not on pxg anymore and shidou would only give it to him if he got to join in the shenanigans), and then for some reason AIKU AND NIKO are actually working at the haunted house (niko is the ticket seller that scared karasu because of his emo haircut and aiku is one of those actors that blows up on tik tok because everyone’s thirsting after him) truly so chaotic…oaeu creeps into everything i think about like any idea ever can ALWAYS be elevated by the addition of aiku and niko LMAOOOO

i think isagi’s parents were named in an additional time too?? but yeah other than that there’s nothing really given in terms of info about anyone’s families…in my mind karasu’s sister will always be named yayoi though like i doubt we’ll ever get more info about her (even if we get a karasu ln they’ll probably do what the barou ln did and just call her his older sister without an actual name) so in my mind her name is yayoi (bfb effect) now i need to come up with one for chigiri’s sister…hmm…maybe akane (apparently it means deep red?? which would fit with the hair and whatnot [kinda like karasu])

oh 8bit was def putting in the work because of nagi and reo those are two of their favs LMAOOO i think reo’s little sequence was the best animation besides episode one all season KSDJFHDSK but yeahhh yuki absolutely slayed and we love him for that

UGHH I WISH THERE WERE YUKIMIYAS IN THE CAFES BY MY HOUSE all i have is old people i need to move or smth because the selection where i live is dismal i’m fr going to die single if this is what i have to choose from

LITERALLY IT’S SUCH A RANDOM AND SPECIFIC QUESTION i know for a fact kaneshiro is lurking…which of my followers are you king i need to know!! and btw kaneshiro if you’re out there read my post about yukimiya and kunigami and give them proper characterizations 🙏🏻

HELPP omg tumblr has so many ads now it’s so annoying i can hardly go on the app without my music cutting off and stuff it pisses me off fr

also another unrelated thought BUT i saw an edit of karasu’s dub voice and i actually love it omg like he sounds really good?? i was hating on his dub voice last season but the english va really stepped it up this season he sounds amazing (i actually really like all of the new dub voices except otoya’s i think…otoya’s is just eh but it doesn’t fit him esp in some scenes) anyways here’s a little tt dump for you i’m sure you’ll have seen a majority of them but OH WELL you will see them again!! also if i’ve sent any of these previously i’m sorry i forget atp what i have and haven’t sent LMAOO

this is the one with his dub voice i feel like the sass translated really well??? imo he sounds a lot more smug and condescending and a bit arrogant the way he lowkey is but it doesn’t feel like he’s trying too hard if that makes sense (like it’s not that kaiser-esque “ex-fucking-cuse me” “kneel blue lock” grandiose bs it just feels like karasu really does think he’s better than the others but in a casual nonchalant way as he should)

this isn’t an edit but the way he says “go look in a mirror” also kinda has me giggling 😭 like okay karasu whatever you say king anything for you

THIS ALSO ISN’T AN EDIT BUT THE MOST YUKIMIYA VIDEO TO EVER YUKIMIYA (the other two guys are tabieita) THE GUY EVEN LOOKS LIKE HIM IT’S SO PERF

me whenever isagi is on screen instead of nagi karasu barou or yuki fr

THIS EDIT HAS ME FUMING black beauty is MYYYY SONG why did someone edit RIN ITOSHI to it and why is it GOOD 🤬

nagi the most glorious beautiful majestic man ever he is the only one who is allowed to be edited to 99% of ldr songs (karasu barou and yuki are okay too but most of her music doesn’t really fit them imo)

speaking of nagi i need all of his haters to remember that he was the FIRST to gag rin both in terms of soccer and verbally as well as the first to score on the u20s and likely would’ve thrashed bm if he had stayed motivated…sorry not sorry but nobody’s favs are touching MY goat 🔥

okay ngl i may have sent this to you already if so i’m sorry but anyways this is one of my FAV karasu edits specifically because of the clips of his hands LSJFIDJSJ HIS HANDS ARE SO GORGEOUS AMAZING MAGICAL what i wouldn’t do for him to be real and in love with me

this song kinda cracks me up because of an insta post my ex-friend (the fanon shidou one) made as a joke a couple of years ago BUT the edit is reallyyyy good also this kinda music is what fits karasu for edits in MY MIND…to me the most karasu audio to ever karasu is asap rocky’s part in summer bummer by lana del rey (if you couldn’t tell ldr is my favorite artist) if i could edit i’d make one of him to that song too (i actually used to have an editing acct on tik tok but i rarely posted and got scared someone i knew irl would find me so i deleted it HAHA but actually in high school i was the editing queen people used to film clips at assemblies and stuff and send them to me to edit it was crazy)

this song is FR me to karasu LIKE COME HERE TABITO I WANNA BE SAVEDDDD

another miraverse curated edit but this time it’s nagi and barou instead of barou and karasu

i hate that this one is actually really good (tw kaiser)

otoya (idk what else to say it’s just him being cunty LMAAOOA)

i’m sure you’ve seen them considering how many likes they have but the way this artist draws yukimiya especially but also karasu…sigh…hey god it’s me again

UGH he’s so beautiful i love him…okay that’s all from me happy scrolling!!

#answered asks

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dialovers-translations · 2 years ago

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Diabolik Lovers LOST EDEN ー Kino Maniac [01]

ー The scene starts in the Ghouls’ manor

Yui: ( Uu...This place stills reeks just as much as before. It’s a little better when indoors, but I still feel sick... )

( This stench...Apparently it’s supposed to resemble the scent of rotten figs, was it? )

( It’s hard living here, but Kino-kun and the others have done so their whole lives, haven’t they...? )

ー Kino approaches her

Kino: Oh? You look rather pale.

Yui: O-Oh no. It’s nothing...!

( I can’t tell him that I feel nauseous from the smell. )

Kino: Is that so? Tell me if you’re feeling under the weather, okay? I don’t want you suddenly falling ill.

Yui: ...Yeah. So, what is it you need, Kino-kun?

Kino: Aah, why don’t you come eat? Everything’s ready.

Yui: Eeh!?

( I’m not really in the mood to eat now... )

Uhm...Iーー

Kino: What? You won’t say no, will you? You can’t possibly be that selfish, right?

I thought you realized at this point just how valuable food is in this place?

Yui: ( Uu...I can’t refuse when he puts it like that... )

Okay. I’ll eat.

*TIMESKIP*

*Cling*

Kino: Here you go. It’s nothing special, but you don’t deserve much better, do you?

Yui: ...

( Only a piece of stale bread...I know that over here, even that is considered precious food butーー )

Kino-kun...Iーー

Kino: What? You can’t even eat by yourself? Good god, just how much of a child are you?

ー He approaches her

Kino: In that case, I’ll feed you. You better be grateful? Well then, here you goーー

*Rustle*

Yui: Nnーー...!

Kino: Excuse me? Get to eating already. I’m over here doing my best to feed you after all!

*Rustle*

Yui: Uuーー C-Coff, coffーー!

Kino: God, what are you coughing for? Guess it can’t be helped. Here, some water.

*Rustle*

Yui: Uuーー...

( I can’t...drink very well... )

*Splash*

Kino: ...!? Why are you spilling it? Do you understand how scarce water is over here?

Selection

→ I-I’m sorry... (M)

Yui: I-I’m sorry...! Forgive me!

Kino: You can’t get away with everything simply by asking for forgiveness.

Yui: ...

Kino: ...But let me think, I’ll admit that I forced you to drink, so depending on your attitude, I’d consider forgiving you.

Yui: Ehーー?

→ It’s because you tried to force it down my throat (S)

Yui: I mean, if only you hadn’t forced it down my throatーー

Kino: Excuse me? You’re trying to put the blame on me? I can’t believe this.

Yui: I mean, it’s the truth...

Kino: Hahー This seriously sucks. You’ve just sealed your fate.

Yui: Eeh?

Kino: ーー Listen, I’m actually parched as well. But you are the one who spilt the water.

So you should offer something else to quench my thirst.

Yui: And what would that be...?

Kino: Ah, god! How dense can you be!? Your blood, obviously!

Yui: N-No wayーー!

Kino: I’m sure you’ll offer me some if you feel even the slightest bit of regret over wasting the water, right?

Yui: ...O-Okay.

*Rustle rustle*

Kino: ...Come on, use your words. Show me that you feel remorse.

Yui: ...Drink my blood?

Kino: No, wrong. You have to add ‘please’, remember?

Yui: P-Please...drink my blood...

Kino: Ahaha! You always start blushing whenever you beg, don’t you?

I guess that shows you fully realize just how dirty it sounds?

Yui: Whaーー!

Kino: No point in trying to hide it. Your body is honest after all. Nnーー...

ー Kino bites her

Yui: Ahーー...!

Kino: Nn...See? Those ecstatic cries...Phew...Nnh...!

Aah. Delicious. Nice. I suppose I’ll start resorting to your blood as a substitute for water from here on out?

Yui: No way...

Kino: Just so you know, you’re in no position to refuse. Come on, let me have even moreーー Phew, nnh...

ーー TO BE CONTINUED ーー

#diabolik lovers #dialovers #kino #lost eden #diabolik lovers translation #lekinomaniac1

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kyogre-blue · 2 years ago

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SS is done.

The most standout part: I got the Rhea S rank. It was good. I support it, but I wish there was a gen version and also that it was available on VW. My general impression is that VW actually gives you more chances to ask after and worry for Rhea (plus Claude is a rather meh romance option), so it would be great if I could get with her there too.

In general, I wish VW and SS were just one route. Both have some nice small details, but given how similar they are, I feel like you'd get a better experience if they were just combined.

Checking my VW endgame notes, it seems VW gives you info dump about Agartha, which definitely feels missing in SS, and SS gives you a bit more detail about Byleth's deal from Rhea, which adds some nice details on the Rhea relationship front. Seriously, they should have just combined them.

(Hilariously, Catherine's endcard outright contradicts the paired Rhea one. They are incompatible, but I got both. Additionally, Ingrid's card seems to be written for Crimson Flower, since it mentions Galatea being "seized" and Ingrid needing to push strongly to be allowed to govern it, which comes across weirdly as a post-war in the Byleth-led United Kingdom, especially since the other Lions kids I recruited all got their lord positions without any apparent fuss.)

Overall, not much else to say about SS. Final take: SS and VW are really obviously the same route, but even though SS was supposedly written first, VW feels marginally better in its focus and I enjoyed it more. However, the Rhea stuff specifically is good, and I wish I could get it on VW. Yup.

Final save file time: 95:19. Minus the VW playthrough, it's 44:07, so a bit faster. Specifically post-route split, it's 20:16, so it seems like the part that I finished faster was actually just Academy phase, possibly because I just didn't care much for the BE kids.

Liveblogging notes:

Looking closely at the battle selection screen, it seems Shambhala is at the very eastern tip of the Empire. There's a bit of mountain that stretches down from the Throat across Airmid River, and it seems to be there.

Narration calls it a "sprawling underground city."

Thales was kind of a chump!

Ah, I just realized I forgot to check his X description blurbs. They probably weren't too interesting tho.

The Agarthans are super mad about living underground and not having "light." Thales also name drops Agartha in his battle line vs Seteth and in the cutscene afterwards. Aside from their ability description, I think this is probably the first time their proper name is mentioned. But we uh, don't seem to discuss this much?

Small scene with Nemesis's coffin is missing, I think. Well, obviously because he's not the final boss now. iirc the scene immediately after the month change, with everyone freaking out over Rhea is new instead. It's a little weird because iirc VW gives you more opportunities to express concern for her. Here, the Rhea focus feels a bit less supported.

Seteth didn't realize you already knew that Rhea is the Immaculate One (which you did, btw).

Seteth "long ago" lost the power to change form, but "it seems" Rhea has not. My dude, did you not know... He does confirm that he's also a child of the goddess, which Rhea keeps hidden in VW. Flayn is also counted as one of the children of the goddess, even though she's more like a grandchild. It's a general term for dragons.

Seteth and Flayn press Byleth about taking over as the leader of Fodlan in some capacity, now that Rhea's future is uncertain.

We find the Sword and Bow of Zoltan in Shambhala. I was wondering about whether these things existed, since Zoltan is a dude that got namedropped in a small quest item description a while back. I also have an Axe of Zoltan though I can't remember exactly where I picked it up. No spear?

Just noting that you use Arcane Crystals to repair magical weapons like the Bolt Axe, Mythril to repair sacred weapons like Cichol's Spear of Assal, and Umbral Steel for relics. Mythril is also used on forging the rusted weapons that require A+ professor rank. iirc they're legendary weapons from other games or something like that. Smithing Stones are for normal weapons of all rarities.

On VW, this month was about Nemesis appearing and us going to fight him, but here on SS, that doesn't happen, so the explore dialogue is all about Seteth telling us that we should become the new Ruler of Fodlan and us taking the month to think about it. Everyone around the monastery comments on this, how we should think about it carefully, how they believe in us, how they're thinking about the future, etc. It's... hm. I think it's okay, but it really highlights how much Byleth has not been setup for this role At All.

They're a mercenary who became a teacher via nepotism and while we do things in the story that you could probably read as proof of Byleth's ability to lead, they don't really feel that way, especially since Seteth can end up spending half the war refusing what we suggest. Byleth is also just... not a real character. So them becoming the big deal leader is kinda... yeah.

Anyway, I accidentally ended the month early. But whatever.

Before you tell Rhea your "decision," she gives you exposition about how she made you and Sothis's crest stone is in you. She wanted to see Sothis again and thought she could regain everything she had lost.

Sitri was Rhea's 12th attempt. She "grew up" without Sothis's consciousness and fell in love with Jeralt. But when she gave birth, the child was not breathing and she herself was also "in grave danger." Sitri told Rhea to take the crest stone from her and put it into her baby. Otherwise, both would have died.

Byleth is suggested to be able to house Sothis's consciousness because they have both the crest stone and a body born from a parent with Rhea's blood.

Rhea is aware that Sothis gave you her power and disappeared, which means Rhea's dearest wish did not come true, but she's accepting of that. She basically entrusts Fodlan and the future to you.

And she just flips out in the middle of that.

"White Beasts" appear all over the monastery. They are from priests and knights that Rhea shared her blood and "stones" with. Tho given how JP plurals work, it's impossible to tell if Rhea is meant to have one crest stone or several. Demonic Beasts also run in??

Enemies are Frenzied Church Soldiers with minor crests of Seiros, Altered Golems, White Beasts (cardinal that has transformed and gone mad due to the rage of the Immaculate One) with Blest Crest Stone Shards (bestowed by a saint and wielded as a weapon), and the Immaculate One herself. She has a crest stone of Serios, can recover HP when near a White Beast and is described as having been driven to an uncontrollable anger due to the power of the goddess.

This battle was annoying because of the Classic setting. The whole business with Rhea having a private army of people whom she shared blood with is, hm. But I get the feeling this was done purely to explain her battle having the same mechanics as with Nemesis and the 10 Elites. It's... an interesting tidbit that these cardinals and such exist, but kinda weird that the crest of Seiros is actually this common, especially since they can ALL presumably pass it down to their kids, and I would expect Rhea had done this for more than just one generation.

(funny concept: after a thousand years of Rhea just sharing her blood all over, a good three quarters of Fodlan has some Seiros crest blood and it manifests pretty much at random in people all over.)

Anyway, final blow by Flayn.

OK, enough screwing around. tbh I do like Rhea, so there's some emotional resonance in everyone being very worried about her and having little voicelines about how they want to pay back the debts they owe to her, and her sadness and suffering and all that. It's not the worst.

She mistakes Byleth for Sothis when collapsing in the cathedral.

They did make a mistake: Rhea transforms in her dressing gown without the mantle or headpiece, but she changes back in full archbishop regalia.

The post-battle exposition exposition is kinda... ah yes, all nations in Fodlan are gone, but you see the Church is leading people toward a new... nation? How does this work. Sorry, but I don't see a religious government (??) as a good thing.

Rhea says she had a vision of flying free and speaking with Sothis while near death. She's happy she survived... so am I.

Rhea's wish was for peace, but she admits fault in propagating a false history and deceiving the faithful. And she did a bit of forbidden experimentation on the side, obvs. We forgive her tho.

I wish there was a gen way to save her, without the romance. It's such a good coda, honestly, without the marriage.

I wish Byleth was a more concrete character. Not necessarily a super detailed one, but with at least some grounding traits.

Still, Rhea romance scene is pretty good. WAY better than Flayn. Why can't I do this on VW..........

Endings: Ashe takes over Gaspard as the new lord. Galatea was "seized" what the heck, though Ingrid did rule it. Felix still ended up Duke Fraldarius. Sylvain talked his way into peace with Sreng, good on him. Lindhart "escaped the Empire" but went missing. Dorothea fled with her troupe to a secret location. Petra went to Brigit. Caspar fell on a battlefield. Bernadetta because seriously ill and lived as a recluse. Ferdinand returned to his territory but went missing. Catherine became Guardian of Zanado, but why was she shaking up with MY wife in solitude? Because in the ending card with Byleth, Rhea is still archbishop and assists the leader of the new "United Kingdom of Fodlan." Shamir became Robin Hood. Alois became captain of the knights. Seteth became very tolerant lol

#playing fire emblem

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merryfortune · 1 year ago

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Fascinated

Year of the OTP 2023 - December

Title: Fascinated

Ship: Respectfulshipping | Ryoken/Spectre

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! Vrains

Rating: T

Word Count: 3,473

Tags: Alternate Universe - Florist/Tattoo Artist, Attraction at First Sight, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Developing Relationship

The grand opening banner was silken when the sunshine hit it, dyeing the lilac fabric of it pink in the afternoon. It was gorgeous and unmistakable from even across the road at the local tattoo parlour.

He didn’t get a lot of business. None of the good kind, anyway so mostly, Ryoken served the tourists who weren’t too drunk. Besides, attitudes towards body art were beginning to change, which made sense since Den City was at the forefront of imported individualism, electric entertainment, and plenty more modern things.

It wasn’t a steady income but it was enough to allow Ryoken to pay the rent and that was made even easier considering that he slept on the futon in his own attic. So, he had plenty of time to do nothing at all.

Like admire the newly opened florist from across the road.

The shop it was prior had closed up when the ma and pa had decided to retire and move in with their children, or so Ryoken had heard. It had actually been empty from before he had opened up shop with his benignly controversial tattoo parlour.

The glass panes in the window was slick and shiny, well polished and with colourful bushels of seasonally appropriate selections and bouquets dutifully placed in buckets outside in the morning then brought inside in the afternoon. All by a worker that Ryoken had only glimpsed: a quaff of silver hair there, the swing of the straps of a pastel green apron there.

There was some kind of grand opening sale and Mother’s Day was at the end of the week. Ryoken didn’t have a mother in his life so he didn’t really have an excuse to go and poke his nose in. He really wanted to, however. It was such a nice and cosy shop from the outside looking in, so he would like to see what it looked like from the otherside of the threshold which had a jingly bell pinned to it.

But Ryoken needed an excuse to go inside.

And he didn’t really have one.

At least not until Takeru and Yusaku gave him one.

“Dude. Are you seriously pining for that guy from across the street?” Takeru asked, unamused as he rocked to and fro on his bicycle, moving barest centimetres on the pavement whilst Yusaku fussed behind him.

Takeru’s current side hustle was Yusaku’s old one: that was food delivery. He worked at Yusaku’s previous job which was the counter of a hot dog stand. Yusaku had worked there diligently all through high school and its earnings not only put him through high school and university but helped him open up his IT department. Takeru was hoping to bottle some of that magic for his main gig which was helping out at his family’s dojo.

“You’ve never even talked to him.” Takeru pointed out, provoking.

“Yeah, well, I’ll figure it out.” Ryoken said.

He crossed his arms, flustered. He leaned against the threshold of his tattoo parlour, which was next door to Yusaku’s IT department. It also sold an eclectic and curated selection of electronics and computer accessories. Video games, too. It was kind of a nerd’s paradise. Not really Takeru’s scene, unless he was bringing Yusaku home some hot dogs as Cafe Nagi’s were still his favourite. Not just favourite hot dog but favourite anything in the domain of fast food.

Ryoken liked them too and Yusaku was typically nice enough to order extra for him. Ryoken’s Father was right. There was a lot more money to be made in STEM than in the arts, especially tattooing but oh well. Ryoken had stuck to his guns and look how far it had gotten him.

His own small business, his own flat, and his own pathetic stint as a loverboy as he crushed on the florist from across the road.

It was honestly pathetic how soppy Ryoken was for someone he had only seen a handful of times in the past week. So far it seemed, the florist was enjoying a modest business, one which would always go on as the demand for flowers was far higher than anything else. His business was not only pretty from the premise but pretty in the premises too, stainless pale blue tiles lined the outside walls and the flowers were bouncy and vivacious, too.

All whilst underneath the name of the business captured the imagination: Sunavalon. What did it mean? Ryoken wasn’t sure but it rolled off the tongue, it stood out on paper. It looked handsome in serifed writing on stilts above that grand opening banner.

“Do you even know his name?” Takeru asked.

“No…” Ryoken confessed. Alas, the name Sunavalon was all he knew of the florist. But that was more than enough to cause a crush to blossom from the other side of the asphalt.

“Argh.” Takeru complained.

“Thanks for the lunch, Takeru.” Yusaku piped up. He had finally gone through all the foiled containers and brown paper bags that Takeru was hauling around in his insulated bags.

“You're welcome.” Takeru replied.

“But you should really do something about this whole thing.” yusaku said as he turned his attention to Ryoken, handing him a styrofoam container with his hot dog in it. “Like, surely you can come up with some way to at least introduce yourself. Offer him lunch.”

“I can’t just offer him lunch.” Ryoken said.

“Yeah, we know.” Takeru snickered.

Ryoken glared at Takeru. Money was tight! And Yusaku was a good guy, which was why Ryoken was getting this free shout once a blue moon. Fun fact, blue moons were quite weekly on this little street of littler businesses in this part of Den City.

Ryoken happily accepted his hot dog. Which gave Yusaku the free hand to enjoy his own.

“Brain food. Surely you have some free option of casually introducing yourself since we’re well past the just being neighbourly phase.” Yusaku said. “Like, don’t you have a sketch pad? A camera? Something, anything? Walk in there, say you’ve got a client looking for a quote over the phone on how good you can do flowers, specifically the ones she saw over there.” Yusaku shrugged as he then opened his container and took a bite from his hot dog. “Or something. I don’t really care.”

“That was a sure lotta words for someone who doesn’t care.” Takeru rolled his eyes.

“And totally genius.” Ryoken beamed.

“I’ve been told.” Yusaku smugly replied.

“Anyways, I better get going, I still have plenty more rounds to go and beating the pavement sure beats whatever trainwreck this is.” Takeru complained.

Yusaku laughed at Takeru’s expense. He leaned in and pecked Takeru’s cheek, wishing him good luck on the rest of his rounds. His phone was already blowing up with more orders, more places to go to pick up and even more places to go drop off. Ryoken really didn’t envy him. Even if he was fuming because of him.

Still, Yusaku’s idea was great.

Ryoken scarfed down the rest of his hot dog as he went back inside and Yusaku did the same. Especially since he actually had customers: a little old lady in search of a G-rated video game for her grandson’s birthday. Ryoken, meanwhile, was embarrassingly all too free to ramsack his own business in search of a good old fashioned sketch pad.

He found a good one - with only some of his best portfolio inside, just in case he had to impress - and sharpened one of his trust 2B pencils. After that, he manned up. He was going to find out more about the Sunavalon Florist or so help him as the crush he had may just crush him from the lack of insight into just who he was.

After lunch, and at a totally casual two-thirty-four on the clock, and have careful counting of who was coming and going through the florist’s doors, Ryoken put a back in five minutes sign on his own then meandered over. He wanted to seem interested but not obsessive. Cool and calm and he had a close call just crossing the road.

The toe of his jogger stubbed on a loose piece of gravel but Ryoken hardly stumbled. He recovered just fine. He exhaled and pushed his fringe out of the way as he finally got to the door. He pushed on it and was immediately met with a breath of air conditioning which stood out to him as both freshly installed and perfectly temperate.

“Welcome to Sunavalon.” a voice chimed out out of sync with the tolling of the bells.

Ryoken felt his heart skip a beat. He glanced around the room. This place was simple. Not extravagant but not under-decorated, either. The selections of decor were subtle and straight out of a catalogue for furniture under ten thousand yen and likely the same catalogue was all so congruent with one another. A lounge to the side, a mirror above it, a framed artwork on the other side of the wall. Then all the flowers, of course.

“Hey.” Ryoken said, after he cleared his throat.

The owner of the voice made himself known and was, naturally, the owner of the store. He came from behind the computer, totally swish, likely from Yusaku’s shop, Ryoken was willing to bet, Ryoken could swear he heard a choir of cherubs as his movement was in heavenly slow-mo.

“How may I help you?” he said and he placed his hand, elegant like a pianist’s, over his heart. “I am the proprietor of this florist, my name is Kinoshita Shinbou. You may call me Shinobu.”

Ryoken hazarded a smile. What a handsome name for a handsome man, he looked even better up close and in somewhat fluorescent light than in whatever shafts of sunlight he happened in during his few outings onto the street through the day. He had clay silver hair and amazingly blue eyes, he was somewhat tall and dressed quite prim in a three-piece suit accessorised by a pastel green apron with a small tulip on the chest.

“Yeah, hi, good to meet you,” Ryoken rambled through his words, “I’m Ryoken, I work across the road at the tattoo parlour.”

He figured mentioning his job would be a good way to know off the bat if his delusions of amour would be shattered or not but surprisingly, Shinobu merely smiled politely.

“Good to meet you also,” he said, “I’ve seen you every so often… What brings you in?”

Ryoken felt his words clog up in his throat. And then his mouth. And then he had to imagine Yusaku elbowing him in the ribs just to spit it out but there was just something so splendid about the florist in front of him. As though he were a dryad, one of his flowers rather than a person. He just had that effect on Ryoken.

“I, uh, need to borrow a reference, if you don’t mind.” Ryoken said in the poorest way possible. He could tell because Shinobu quirked a brow in mild confusion. “What I mean is, I’ve got a lady who wants me to tattoo a flower on her and she only wants to follow through on my quote if I can show her some more flowers in my portfolio so if you don’t mind, I’d like to do some sketching here. I won’t take long. Promise.”

Shinobu’s eyes lit up, “I don’t mind at all. Can I see your art?” he asked.

“Yeah, sure, have a look.” Ryoken smiled.

He was really glad he had made the point of choosing his most Instagram perfect aesthetic sketchbook to bring with him. Good quality paper, a funky white, orange, green, and grey geometric pattern on the cover, and some of his best drawings on the inside, too. He smirked as he handed it over and let Shinobu flick through it.

His eyes went wider and wider and bluer and bluer with how impressed he was with Ryoken’s work. He then paused on something towards the middle end of it, before the blank pages unravelled. He looked over it extra lovingly.

“I like this one, I think it's my favourite.” Shinobu said as he handed Ryoken’s sketch book back to him so he could have a look at it and lo and behold.

Shinobu had picked out a sketch to admire and choose as a favourite that totally encapsulated the ethereal vibe he gave off. On this particular page was something which was somewhat of a departure of Ryoken’s usual artworks of edgy doom and gloom, though not entirely. It depicted a Tinkerbell-esque fairy posed upon a dragon’s skull.

“You like this one best?” Ryokan asked to confirm, putting on some faux accent of modesty.

“Yes, I do.” Shinobu said with a smile. “But I agree with your client. Your flowers could use more accuracy so please, feel free to reference to your heart’s content on my shop floor.”

Ryoken felt as though he had been shot through the heart with an arrow. Not just Cupid’s but actual modesty’s too. He more than noticed the criticism that Shinobu had slipped into the conversation.

“Thanks, I appreciate it, any pointers you can give would be great.” Ryoken said.

“Hm… You should be mindful of Fibonacci’s number then, all flowers grow according to it. Assuming they aren’t fascinated.” Shinobu replied.

“Fascinated?” Ryoken echoed, he wasn’t familiar with this term. He blinked.

“Here, let me show you.” Shinobu said, more than excited, especially now he could show off not just his showroom but his passion, too.

Ryoken was enthralled by the delight which came to life in Shinobu’s voice and so, was more than drawn in when Shinobu showed him something from his private, not for sale collection. Ryoken had no idea that there was a whole world of floral body horror he had been previously unaware of until now.

Shinobu held a little, potted plant in his hands: the pot was pretty and ceramic, the succulent that was inside was anything but. It was abnormal and over exaggerated, like one of those doodles Ryoken did where he never lifted the pencil off the paper. This succulent just went on and on and on with all the parts of its plant. It was spiky and colourful.

“Do you like it?” Shinobu asked.

“Yeah, it's really cool.” Ryoken said.

Shinobu smiled as he let Ryoken hold it, too. The ceramic pot was cool on the inside of Ryoken’s palm. Holding it, he was able to see it from different angles and admire it better.

Shinobu watched, humbled, as Ryoken was excited over his fascinated succulent, “That’s from my personal collection but if you like it so much, why don’t you keep it?”

“No way, I couldn’t take it.” Ryoken said, straightening up at the offer as it was like a jolt of electricity to his system.

“I insist.” Shinobu said.

“I have the complete opposite of a green thumb.” Ryoken said. “I can barely keep myself alive on two-minute noodles.”

“Succulents are a good starter plant and, if you like, I can drop in across the road and see how it's going.” Shinobu suggested, and with a bat of his eyelashes no less.

Ryoken felt his heart stop and then, as he processed Shinobu’s flirtation. Then, when he did, his heart restarted and bounded straight into his throat. Ryoken felt his temperature rise as a wonky smile crossed his face from left to right.

“I’d appreciate that.” he managed to utter out.

“I’ll see you when I can.” Shinobu said and as though on cue, the bell to his own store jingled.

He actually had customers. Congratulations to the newcomer to the street. So, Ryoken politely backed out so Shinobu could get back to work. The same of which couldn’t be said about Ryoken. He took down his “back in five minutes” sign and didn’t get any visitors over the course of the rest of the afternoon. Though, he did notice a couple click-ons and click-offs on his website and emptied his spam folder.

All whilst the fascinated succulent in its white-and-blue ceramic pot now sat on his counter, just above his two-monitor computer setup complete with an RGB keyboard and wireless mouse. It looked good there. Ryoken liked it there and the next day, when Shinobu visited, he liked it there, too.

He visited early. Literally one minute after Ryoken flipped his close sign to open. If it weren’t endearing, it would have been freaky. Probably. Seriously, he came in at exactly 10:01.

“Good morning.” Shinobu said.

“Good morning.” Ryoken replied.

He smiled, welcomingly, but was a little bit unsettled by Shinobu’s punctuality. It was a bit too much but worth it very quickly as Shinobu admired the decor of Ryoken’s tattoo parlour. The glowy neon tubing on the walls, the cracks in the tiles, the state of the art equipment and of course: the pot plant on the counter.

Ryoken had, of course, placed it on a throne of honour, on the high counter which protected his two computer screens and cash register. It looked good there. Even if the Greek blue and white pot clashed with his edgier aesthetic that he was trying to theme his parlour around. At least the way it dripped and drooped was vaguely intestine shaped.

“Glad to see the little one settling in.” Shinobu chuckled.

“It’s been getting plenty of compliments.” Ryoken agreed.

He lifted himself slightly out of his red and black gamer chair to peek over the counter. He kept stealing glances at Shinobu but wanted to seem fun and casual, and like he actually had work. And Ryoken did. He was just tidying up some overnight bookings on his calendar, to chase up potential clients, make sure they hadn’t been drunk or similar when booking as these scattered bookings were timestamped for around midnight the night before.

“Glad to hear it.” Shinobu said.

The light chatter went quiet after that. Ryoken wasn’t sure what to say next. They had kind of done most of the small talk available to them. Was it too late to mention the weather? It was just as temperate as normal, maybe going to rain this afternoon… Or should they talk about their work? Ryoken wasn’t sure as he awkwardly tapped on keys on his keyboard. Mostly his back space since he was running out of things to be doing on his computer before it just turned into pretending.

And Shinobu must have sensed that Ryoken was doing that just: pretending to work.

He peered over the counter and looked down at Ryoken and Ryoken was taken aback once more by how pretty the florist was. He had big blue eyes which could have been straight out of one of those creepy porcelain doll’s faces and quaffed silver hair.

Ryoken felt his heart seize with his crush. There was so much that he didn’t know about the proprietor of the Sunavalon Florist, Mister Shinobu Kinoshita and he really wanted to change that. Their eyes met and Ryoken really, truly felt a spark. A mutual one. Shinobu smiled shyly and Ryoken blurted it out.

“Do you want to meet-up during off-work hours sometime?” Ryoken asked. “I know a good cafe around here, with a view of the sea, wanna go there on Sunday?”

“Sunday?” Shinobu echoed, flattered and his face going pink.

Ryoken nodded. His breath felt tight in his chest as his palms sweated. He did it. He really did it. He asked Shinobu on a date.

“This Sunday?” Shinobu prompted to clarify.

“Yes, this Sunday.” Ryoken replied.

“It's Mother’s Day this Sunday, I’m going to be busy all day.” Shinobu laughed. He turned shy, looked away. “And it's a special day for me regardless, I’m afraid I couldn’t anyway…”

“Oh…” Ryoken said.

Well. He learned something new about Shinobu. Mother’s Day was important. He wondered why. Then again, Ryoken felt like a fool for not realising that the florist would be busy all day on Mother's Day, a popular event for bouquets. He was a bigger fool for forgetting, despite the banners and buzz. Ryoken stopped himself from groaning at his own expense and try to refresh his thoughts by licking his lips.

“What about Saturday?” Ryoken suggested.

“This Saturday?” Shinobu echoed, his tone of voice turning playful as he looked at Ryoken once more.

“Yes, this Saturday.” Ryoken smiled.

“I would love to join you for coffee then.” Shinobu demurely replied.

“Then it's a date.” Ryoken said.

“I’ll look forward to it.” Shinobu added.

He reached up and traced his finger around the edge of the pot plant. He avoided the pricks of the succulent and Ryoken noticed. He was going to look forward to their coffee date on Saturday, too. For now, they both had work to do.

#yugioh vrains #vrains #yugioh #respectfulshipping #ryoken kogami #kogami ryoken #spectre (vrains)#year of the otp 2023 #writing tag #fascinated

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