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antwine69 · 4 years

Note

Beej X male reader who works in a funeral home 🥺😳

Holy moly this is such a cute concept 🥺🥺💞

Male!Reader

⚠️Warnings: Mentions of death, Beej being generally raunchy and kinda insentitive, mentions/of dead bodies, side-character death! ⚠️

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It had all started on an unusually cold day in Spring. You were in the Funeral Home, a morbid part-time job that you had to take just to get through the day. Though, it had its own "Dark Academia aesthetic" to it, so it wasn't a bad. Plus, you got more and more desensitized to death every day!

You waved goodbye to the family that had just come in here to arrange some things for their dead "Pop-Pop", as the kid they brought in had called him. Poor thing, it couldn't have been more than five years old. It probably didn't have much of a grasp of what had happened to "Pop-Pop". She didn't know he was dead, lying in the back, in a cold casket so they could bring him out in a car tomorrow, and stick him in the ground. You sat down in your swivel chair behind the counter, spinning slightly in it. The shop was quiet, nothing but the wind swooshing by outside and the constant ticking of the clock could be heard echoing through the establishment.

You sighed, deciding to go to the back to see if Margaret, your co-worker who was probably older than most of the bodies here, had left anything for you before she left. She usually did that, because she would always look at you and say "Young man! You need to get some meat on those bones! Let Nana Margie fix you up something!" You weren't even that thin. She was a delight, though. Her husband had passed away some time ago, and she came into this establishment crying, and came out with a job there. She was sort of everybody's grandmother. The thought that she might not have much time left made her so giving, you thought you might never meet a more generous person in your life.

You went into the employee kitchen, seeing a plate of cookies wrapped in plastic wrap, with a bright green sticky note on it.

"For you, Young Man! It's Friday! Enjoy yourself :)

-Nana

Ps. Could you check the rat trap in the back, my old knees don't seem to wanna listen when I wanna crouch down there! Thank you, darling <3"

You laughed a little, opening the plastic wrap and taking a cookie. You also pocketed the note, a tendency you had picked up after a while, so that one day you could make a scrap book for her. She deserved to know she was loved.

You took a bite of the cookie as you went to the back, or "The hall of Death" as you had so dearly nicknamed it. It was where you took the recently deads that were going to be transported to a grave the very next day. You nodded to them as you went along, jokingly addressing them by name. ``Mr. Gale. Mrs. Potts. Mr. Jones.`` You chuckled and crouched down once you got to the back of the room, checking the rat trap. No rats. Margaret's vision was the same, so you couldn't exactly blame her. ``Oh well, Margie, you can never be too sure.`` you said to yourself, giving a chuckle. You stood, about to turn around, when a little jingle sounded throughout the room. A chill ran down your spine as you realised what made the sound. There were bells tied to each of the dead person's feet. They were there to ensure that the dead people were actually dead, and jingled when the dead person moved. It was one of the sounds you would never want to hear in one of these establishments. Fuck.

You turned around, hearing a louder, almost insistent jingle. Mr. Liren in the middle of the room. You swallowed and carefully walked over, spotting a card on Mr. Liren's leg. The bell was jingling like crazy now, but the body wasn't moving. What the hell was going on? You carefully picked up the card, flipping it around. The backside was striped, and was clearly drawn very hastily in sharpie. The moment you stopped to examine the back, the room filled up with jingles. Every bell in the room gave off a symphony of disjointed jingles and some even fell off of the string. You flipped it back to the other side, seeing the text. A shabby drawing of what looked like a beetle, a glass of liquid, and an x3. ``Beetle... Water times three? What the fuck?`` the bells all crashed to the ground and seemingly jumped up and down on their own, jingling and clicking on the ground.

You scrambled your brain, fear getting to you. The water was coloured in. ``Beetle Soda?`` more aggressive jingling. ``fuck... Uh... Beetle.. Juice?`` the bells started jumping up and down rhythmically. 1,2,3. 1,2,3. You swallowed and took a breath. Whatever this was, it wanted you to say this phrase three times. What were you supposed to do? This couldn't just be some prank. It was way too... real. What would this entity do if you didn't oblige? You closed your eyes, clutching the card. ``Beetlejuice.... Beetlejuice.... Beetlejuice.`` The bells stopped. It was quiet. It seemed like the world had just froze. You opened your eyes, looking around. Nothing. Mabye this was a prank. ``What a load of bullsh-`` you were about to swear to yourself or go on a rant or something but it was cut short by the appearance of green smoke at your feet. Yikes.

Slowly, the blanket over Mr. Liren started rising. Somebody was there, and it wasn't Mr. Liren. The room was now almost hidden in thick, green smoke, and the blanket was floating about half a metre above Mr. Liren, clearly with a person under it. All you could do was stare and back up, backing into one of the other dead body tables, slipping on a bell and nearly falling. A cackle tore through the room and the sheet was thrown off and onto the floor in a flash of green light.

``Awe Yeah, Baby! The B-Man's back!`` a raspy voice shrieked, and the smoke parted as a man floated down toward you, grinning. ``Oh, Babes! You really do know how to keep a demon waiting! You're obedient, though, I like my men like that.`` he gave a wink, putting a finger under your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. The demon was wearing a torn, old, black and white striped suit, his hair was an electric green and he looked as though, if he was standing, he'd be just a little taller than you. He must have noticed your confused and lightly flustered look, because he pulled back, letting his eyes rake over you very unsubtly.

``I see you're still confused... Don't worry, Sexy! I'll inform you!`` He yelled, snapping. A ghostly whistle was heard, and somewhere you could hear music that sounded like it should be best suited on a Haunted American Footbal Game. ``Ready! Alright! Let's rock! Hey! Don't look away! This demon's here to make your day! You need a friend? I'm here to help! I'm the B to the Double-E- J - F - Q - And Jesus, I cannot spell.`` he.... Was singing. To you. A weird demon guy was singing and dancing along to spooky Cheerleader music. As if on cue, Cheerleaders ran into the room, flailing their pompoms in your face. You coughed and pushed them away, their grinning faces sending you right back to high school. ``Hi! He's by your side! He-`` before they could do their weird cheer thing, you yelled. A yell you didn't think you had in you. ``Stop! Stop, please..`` the music dragged to a halt, and the cheerleaders looked at you, quite upset. You muttered a "sorry" and they walked off. The demon lowered himself to the floor, huffing.

``Can you please just tell me who you are? Without singing? Please?`` You asked, still trying to calm your nerves. The demon groaned, giving a toddler like stomp. ``Fine! You already said my name, you should know it! I'm a demon, and you summoned me, just like I wanted and now I'm tied to you and whatever.`` he replied, floating up and laying back in the air, crossing his legs and folding his arms behind his head. You already said his name? ``Wait... Beetlejuice! Your name is Beet-``

Beetlejuice audibly squeaked, rushing down and slamming a hand over your mouth. ``Don't say it! Ever! Bad things will happen!`` he yelled, keeping his hand on your mouth. He smelled like earth and rain that had just hit the warm summer pavement. There was also a distinct scent of dust and mold as he continued to invade your personal space. You frantically nodded and he slowly took his hand away.

``Wait, you're bound to me? What does that mean?`` you asked, moving away from him and picking up the Mr. Liren's sheet, gently putting it over him again. ``Well, it means only you can un-summon me! Duh. This is like, basic demon facts. Is this your first time working with a demon or something?`` he replied, a chuckle running through his voice. You shot him a glare, and he let out an "oh." floating down to the floor.

You sighed, looking at the time. It was closing time. ``We'll deal with this at home.`` you said, walking out of the back room, the striped demon shooting after you like an excited puppy. ``Oh man! You're takin' me home? At least take me on a date first! Ahaha!`` he said, laughing loudly. You just ignored him, turning off all the lights in the shop and putting on your jacket.

``C'mon demon, you have some explaining to do.``

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I couldn't help myself but write some headcannons, I just really love this concept a lot! Here they are!

•Beej loves that you work with the dead, and always asks you questions about dead people and is actually pretty vile to some of them

•You often have to tell him that he can't go around pretending to tickle dead people or try to "scare them awake".

•You have to tell him this way too often.

•He often greets people you can't see, and if actually remarkably respectful to them while you're around. He doesn't try to do anything as long as you glare at him, and he just bows slightly to the air and sometimes says things like "Follow the book" or "Draw a door."

•You like to think he's talking to the spirits of the dead people.

•One day you actually get confirmation on this, as, right after Margaret passes away, he comes to you and gives you some papers. His hair is streaked with blue and it's clear he's been crying. There are tear drop marks on the paper, but you can still see just fine what it is. In Beetlejuice's shabby handwriting, there is a recipe. "Nana Margie's cookies (For young men who need to grow)" and "Nana Margie's Chicken Soup (For young men who are sick)" You look at him and get nothing but a sniffle and a "She wanted you to have that. So she could help you grow." You've never hugged anybody so hard in your life. Those recipes are framed and hang in your kitchen. They're used more than you ever thought they would be.

•Slowly, you warm up to Beej. He's a gross, insensitive rat man. But he's your rat man.

Okay it's over now- I just thought this was really cute- So cute that I might make a part 2?? 👀👀

Mabye-

Alright! That's it for this time! Take care of yourself and remember to wash your hands! See y'all Spooky Cheerleaders in the Neitherworld! Peace out!

PS. Sorry for the horrid song lyrics, the regular ones didn't fit the situation, but I still wanted the gag there, so I had to improvise :')

#beetlejuice x reader #beetlejuice #x reader #x male!reader #x male reader #beetlejuice the broadway musical #beetlejuice the musical #fluff #beetlejuice fluff

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masterweaverx · 5 years

Text

Me: “I should probably be writing so I don’t get so desperate at the last minute that--”

My brain: “The El Goonish Shive characters as students of Beacon academy MAKE IT HAPPEN GO GO GO!”

Me: “FINE. I’ll draw notes, but I’m not necessarily doing the story!”

So anyway here’s some notes for a story I’m not necessarily doing.

Team SPET (Spectral), led by Grace

Grace Sciuridae:

Faunus, Vale origin. Squirrel tail, “antennae” forelocks, and clawed fingernails/toenails (not actual claws, she just let them grow out.

Emblem: An acorn, generally worn as a pin on her sleeve.

Outfit is a loose long-sleeved shirt in green, black pants, bandoleer belt with a sheathe for her weapon and pouches, and no shoes/gloves.

Beacon uniform adjustments: no shoes, and she doesn’t wear the neck ribbon thing, but otherwise standard girl’s outfit.

Semblance: Extensorary. Grace can extend her aura to feel anything in the area, manipulate objects, or simulate flight.

Weapon: Shade Tail. A zweihander that splits into two bladed whips. Possible Dust effects.

Backstory: Kidnapped as a child by Damien, who in this universe is an absolutely insane faunus-supremacist that thinks he can control the Grimm, Grace lived several unkind years in the forests of Vale before managing to escape and arriving at Beacon academy. Ozpin let her in as a student mostly to provide her the protection of paperwork, since from what she’s describing Damien might be tied to the Bigger Secret of the world. She becomes partners with Tedd during initiation. Her upbringing does leave her mostly the same as EGS prime canon, ignorance of all social norms included, but she has an especial dislike of the creatures of Grimm due to Damien’s madness. Also she doesn’t get racism. Period.

Susan Pompoms:

Human, Argus origin. Appears mostly the same as EGS canon, with exception of single blonde side-braid.

Emblem: Venus symbol, used as a belt buckle.

Outfit is a dark blue longcoat has straps on the back, through which backpack straps are run to hold onto her Big Box O’ Stuff. Wears blue pants held up by belt and going into calf-high boots, black leotard, and black three-finger half gloves. Shoulder armor and a metal backbrace.

Beacon uniform adjustments: Boy’s uniform instead of girl’s, but otherwise standard.

Semblance: Portation. Susan can mark any container as hers and teleport whatever's in it to herself and back.

Weapon: Morrígna. A warhammer that can split into a sword and mallet. The mallet can morph into a one-handed gun.

Backstory: The early parts of the backstory would remain basically the same, but she doesn’t meet Nanase until Beacon and has only a passing familiarity with Sarah as ‘Oh yeah, her family comes to Argus sometimes.’ But she would have a friendship/rivalry with Pyrrha, which might lead to some interesting interactions with Jaune. She winds up partnered with Elliot during initiation. And, upon realizing how completely unaware of social norms sheltered Grace is, would be very vocal about certain people not abusing her.

Elliot Dunkel:

Human, Mantle origin. Literally looks the same as canon, because why break a good look?

Emblem: An oval with some abstract lines, seen as a symbol on his shirt.

Outfit is a White cape and black crop-top, black pants and white shoes, belts in an x-shape over his belly with pouches for carrying things.

Beacon uniform adjustments: he does not wear the white undershirt. That’s it. The jacket’s buttoned up, but he doesn’t wear the undershirt.

Semblance: Soul Fury. Elliot can draw on the negativity of others, such as pain and fear, in order to increase his own physical attack strength. He has trained this to a degree that he is capable of jumping to intense heights.

Weapons: Honor and Justice. Arm-mounted bladed tonfas, capable of shooting grappling hooks from the wrist to either drag himself to a location or to bring a foe to him. Used to be part of the Four Ideals, but leg-mounted equivalents went to Ellen.

Backstory: Saved Tedd from some bullies during one of his visits to Mantle, became close friends. Otherwise standard backstory. Some people might note his childhood doesn’t mention his twin sister, and he’ll say there was a whole money-legality thing until recently. Anybody with a truth-sensing semblance will know he’s lying. The truth, however, is Very Classified. Like seriously you don’t know how classified it is.

Tedd Verres:

Human, Atlas origin. Left half of his hair is the original ‘long hair’, right half is the new ‘pixie cut’.

Emblem: A circle with three lines extending from it, which is placed on his equipment.

Outfit is a light blue longcoat with internal pockets (and everyone is going to comment on that since none of the other characters have pockets), light blue pants, black shirt and boots. Also some purple armor around his chest that is slightly rounded and matching greaves on his legs.

Beacon uniform adjustments: wears the girl’s outfit, but with a tie.

Semblance: Copyscan. Tedd can identify other people's semblances with some observation, and make limited-use copies of them with physical contact.

Weapon: Convergence. A gauntlet with an extendable shield, which also stores copies of semblances. Ted also has an energy pistol called Expedience.

Backstory: Tedd’s dad still works for a coverup agency, but now it’s the RWBY-canon ‘Keep Magic and the existence of Salem an utter secret’ cover-up agency. Tedd was brought into this against his father’s wishes when General Ironwood realized the potency of his semblance, but this also gave him access to a few classified doohickies such as this fused universe’s version of the Dewitchery Diamond. Going to Beacon is meant as a ‘field test’ of Tedd as an agent, at least according to Ironwood, but there’s also his dad wanting him to have friends that aren’t involved in all the top secret drama. Also yes, he does have a copy of Ellen’s gender change spell in Convergence which she willingly refreshes for him, and he will sometimes spend time as a girl. (Possible connection to May Marigold down the line?)

Team STNE (Stone), led by Sarah

Sarah Brown:

Human, Mistral origin. The only real difference is that her hairband now sports fancy curls and flanges and also it’s made of bronze as a sort of informal helmet.

Emblem: a double-sided question mark which is engraved into her arm guards.

Outfit is a pink knee-length dress, belt with four pouches radially aligned. Armored boots, greaves, and with her shoulders, all bronze.

Beacon uniform adjustments: none, but she still wears her headgear.

Semblance: Lookout. Sarah can instantly take in details about her environment to a highly detailed degree, with a range that extends the more aura she pours into it. While she can examine things that might be hidden, i.e. the inside of a closed book, she cannot change anything.

Weapon: Zauberei. Spear/staff that can shift into a rifle and split into a pistol and dagger. It sort of looks like a giant paintbrush?

Backstory: An ordinary Mistral combat student who went up against Pyrrha Nikos and Susan during some combat tournaments and got a case of starry eyes for both of them. Upon hearing they were going to Beacon, she decided to go too because why not? What she doesn’t realize is that she’s going to be put in charge of a team of Secrets and Drama. She winds up partnered with Justin during initiation.

Justin Tolkiberry:

Human, Vale origin. Aside from a very fancy set of earrings in one ear, he looks about the same as his canon counterpart.

Emblem: Abstract fire, which is displayed prominantly on the back of his gi.

Outfit is an open orange gi with lots of red fire patterns and buckled belts around the ankles, thighs, biceps, and forearms. Also sandles. And he does have a belt around the pants with a few pouches.

Beacon uniform adjustments: Wears sandles instead of shoes.

Semblance: Not known, exactly. Justin knows he can ignore damage sometimes, but the details are unclear.

Weapon: Dashing Delver. A rectangle-headed shovel that turns into a tower shield/sled.

Backstory: Basically the same as canon Justin, except that because Remnant is more accepting of LGBT+ people overall he wasn’t bullied and was just very irritated at Mellissa. Also Elliot and Nanase were on entirely different continents so there’s that. He’ll be the snarky rational one when everything about his team is revealed.

Nanase Kitsune:

Faunus, Menagerie origin. Has naturally dual-colored hair to match her naturally dual-colored fox ears.

Emblem: A heart-shaped fox head thing she wears on her shirt.

Outfit is a black jacket, yellow croptop with emblem in red, red skirt with yellow trim, red armbands, black shoes, and a pouch belt that hangs off one hip instead of being used as a belt.

Beacon Uniform Adjustment: She keeps her armbands.

Semblance: Fairy Companion. Nanase can summon fairy companions to herself or anyone she has an emotional connection with. These fairies run off her subconscious unless she deliberately controls them, and can be used to communicate, scout, or detonate as weapons. Their size is controllable, ranging from ‘hold in one hand’ to ‘outright as big as Nanase herself’, though they always appear to be wearing what Nanase is at time of summoning. Larger fairies take proportionally more aura to summon.

Weapon: Faewind. A backpack with four cable-attached fairy wings. Each wing is a bladed arm/leg shield with inbuilt nozzles that serve either as short-range blasters or a jetpack when retracted.

Backstory: The Kitsunes are a very important family in Menagerie, with a lot of political clout, and Nanase is expected to reflect that as her mother sends her to Beacon in order to indirectly represent Menagerie at the Vytal tournament. Nanase, however, is using this first chance to not have to be a Perfect Icon to actually search for her own identity. She becomes partners with Ellen during initiation, and picks up on how Ellen is really not comfortable talking about her own past. There’s a slow gradual growth of trust going on, and Nanase slowly comes to realize she might love this girl.

Ellen Dunkel:

Human(ish), Mantle origin. Looks the same as canon because of course she does.

Emblem: A rectangular mirror with a suspiciously familiar diamond shape in the center, painted on her shirt.

Outfit: Where Elliot wears a cape, Ellen wears an open coat. But otherwise it’s basically the same, if adjusted for female.

Beacon Uniform adjustments: She doesn’t wear the socks. That’s it. She wears the shoes but not the socks.

Semblance: Shift Beam. Ellen is capable of generating a beam of light from her palm. If the target has no active aura, it is impacted with a degree of force relative to the amount of aura input. If a target does have aura, the beam can cause temporary physical alteration; Ellen is still learning the ins and outs of this, but she can usually make other bodies more like hers (i.e. physically female). This is noted to be unusual, since no other known semblance outright shapeshifts people. Consequently, she tries to avoid using it in ways where this can be observed.

Weapon: Courage and Virtue. Leg tonfas. Complete with jump-jets. Used to be Elliot's.

Backstory: Officially she’s just the long-lost twin of Elliot’s who recently got back out of the foster care system. Unofficially, the dewitchery diamond exists in this fused universe and Ellen has to keep her origin a secret because if Salem heard about her hooooo boy! The original plan was for her, Elliot, and Tedd to all be on the same team so they could protect each other but she wound up partnering with Nanase and then on a seperate team and now Ellen is conflicted between explaining her origins to her partner and not wanting people to freak out. But she does slowly start to explain her various quirks, as people (especially Nanase) start to notice stuff about her.

The Plot:

I dunno, team SPET and STNE interact with teams RWBY and JNPR and get involved in the world-spanning conspiracy? My brain is saying this is enough for now.

#RWBY #El Goonish Shive #fanfic idea #Fanfic notes #Grace Sciuridae #Tedd Verres #Susan Pompoms #Elliot Dunkel #Ellen Dunkel #Justin Tolkiberry #Sarah Brown #Nanase Kitsune #Yeah the outfits could probably use a little work

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walls-to-the-ball · 4 years

Text

Muscle Panic

By Robin Alex McDonald

Queer theorist Jennifer Doyle suggests that “thinking about sports is like thinking about a novel that has five dimensions. It can be hard to pin down your object. The sport text has watery boundaries: Is it the event? The competition? The broadcast? The arena, fan culture? Training? The match report?”[1] Similarly, thinking about Hazel Meyer’s Muscle Panic is like trying to pin down an immeasurable imagining, one that shape-shifts from idea to archive, from archive to installation, from installation to performance, from performance to print. Each adaptation of Muscle Panic offers new constellations of sport history ephemera, locker room curiosa, and affective objects that reveal the oft-repressed queer and feminist sensibilities of sport cultures: “Sport Dyke” locker labels, a multi-gallon thermos of Lez Hulk Sweat, net-less and bare basketball rims, photographs of women athletes whose tenacity is palpable even on cardstock, a shiny silver whistle around which countless lips have closed. Doyle claims that the athlete’s sense of self is “fluid, changeable, contingent,” but Muscle Panic expands on this to show that the material cultures that constitute the athlete’s world are fluid, too.[2] Their archives take on new shapes and new forms, depending on where and how they are being housed (a gym locker, a storage room, a hall of fame, a gallery) and what their caretaker deems meaningful.

Past iterations of Muscle Panic crescendoed in multi-participant performances that relished the rigor of athletic rituals and the sweet idiosyncrasies of women and queer people occupying space together. In them, Meyer and her team of performers donned handmade jerseys, stretched one another’s bodies, passed basketballs back and forth (and back and forth, and back and forth) between them, inhaled the odour of their own and each others’ armpits, tied their long hair back into sport-ready ponytails, double-knotted each other’s shoelaces. Within the homosocial world of sport, in which teams are segregated by sex and the existence of queer touches, looks, and desires are actively denied, these types of interactions are mostly dismissed as teammate comradery or game-time rituals. In the constructed world of Muscle Panic’s performance, however, these interactions both educe and exceed the intimacies of sex – sweaty touches, heavy breathing, furtive eye contact, giggly asides – and thus speak aloud what Heidi Eng has called the “silences underlying and permeating discourses of normality” within the world of sport.[3]

Named after the sociological concept of moral panic, a fear of something dangerous and threatening to “discourses of normality” as well as the status quo of the social order, Muscle Panic uses touch and sweat to terrorize the gender binary and its attendant presumption of heterosexuality on which most sports rely. Now, in a world where touching, sweating, and breathing together have become dangerous in altogether new ways, Meyer has been tasked with translating the collaborative and spontaneous spirit of performance into another, safer format. For the 2020 version of Muscle Panic, Meyer has solicited five women and/or non-binary athletes to create a collaborative print project that draws from the codes and aesthetics of instructional exercise posters. Such a poster project recalls elementary school gymnasium décor, but it also recalls the safer sex cartoons and information pamphlets created during the AIDS crisis of the 1980s by organizations like the Gay Men’s Health Crisis and the National Coalition of Gay Sexually Transmitted Disease Services, wherein communities disproportionately affected by the epidemic sought to communicate information and care using their own languages and signs. Renowned art historian and political activist Douglas Crimp discussed these instructional comics in his 1987 essay, “How to Have Promiscuity in an Epidemic,” where he referred to community-created materials as “precisely the sort of safe sex education material that has proven to work.”[4] While there are obvious differences between teaching someone how to properly put on a condom and instructing them how to perform the perfect jump shot, there are similarities as well: a flicking motion of the wrist, the need to be gentle yet shrewd, the importance of practice and the risks that sloppiness carries. Both tasks demand focused attention on the body and are usually done in the presence of another body. And if the instructional posters of the 1980s helped gay men to have promiscuity in an epidemic, perhaps this instructional poster can teach its audiences how to create new intimacies in a pandemic by reminding us that the queer desires that exist in sport – the desire to touch, to be playful, to work together in new ways – have not gone away.

Meyer has stated that Muscle Panic is about the need for women’s bodies, queer bodies, and sick bodies to “take up space” on the field, on the court, in the locker rooms, and in the gallery.[5] Now, in the absence of these bodies, we instead have Muscle Panic’s stuff: scaffolding that stands strong like skeletons, pompoms that caress like fingers, the pebbled texture of basketballs like our craggy skin. If, as queer affect scholar Ann Cvetkovich suggests, “objects are meaningful as expressions of desire,”[6] we might think of the objects that make up Muscle Panic as “testimon[ies] to social relations” between an imagined team of women, femmes, queers, crips, and others whose bodies and identities have been, and continue to be, marginalized within sport cultures.[7] Like that stink of sweat that cannot be evicted from a gametime jersey, these relations endure – their affects linger, their politics persist.

Robin Alex McDonald (they/them) is an independent curator, writer, and academic currently living and working as an uninvited guest on Robinson-Huron Treaty territory, the traditional territory of the Anishnaabeg people and specifically, the Nipissing First Nation. Robin works as a part-time faculty member in the Fine and Visual Arts department at Nipissing University in North Bay, an instructor in the Visual and Critical Studies program at OCAD University in Tkaronto/Toronto, and a PhD Candidate in the Cultural Studies Program at Queen’s University in Katarokwi/Kingston, Ontario. Their academic and arts writing has been published in such journals and magazines as Literature and Medicine, Queer Studies in Media and Popular Culture, n.paradoxa, Syphon, nomorepotlucks, Spiffy Moves, and Guts Canadian Feminist Magazine (with Elly Clarke, Amanda Turner-Pohan, and Michelle Ty). To view more of their work, please visit www.robinalexmcdonald.com

[1] Jennifer Doyle, “Introduction: Dirt Off Her Shoulders,” GLQ 19, no. 4 (2013): 423.

[2] Ibid., 426.

[3] Michel Foucault as cited in Heidi Eng, “Queer Athletes and Queering in Sport,” in ed. Jayne Caudwell, Sport, Sexualities and Queer/Theory (Taylor and Francis Group, 2006),

[4] Douglas Crimp, “How to Have Promiscuity in an Epidemic,” October 43 (Winter 1987): 264.

[5] Hazel Meyer, interview for the MacLaren Art Centre, August 2015.

[6] Ann Cvetkovich, “Photographing Objects as Queer Archival Practice,” in eds. Elspeth Brown and Thy Phu, Feeling Photography (Durham: Duke University Press, 2014), 275.

[7] Ann Cvetkovich, “Personal Effects: The Material Archive of Gertrude Stein and Alice B. Toklas’s Domestic Life,” NoMorePotlucks 25 (Winter 2013), no page numbers.

#robinalexmcdonald #musclepanic

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sign-from-god-complex · 6 years

Note

can i Please get (a waffle) some content of sides wearing something they normally wouldn't? like logan being comfy or something related? -autism goblin

while I cannot help you on your waffle quest, but I can absolutely help with the rest. I’ve decided to go with a queerplatonic human au, cause that fits this scene the best to me. honestly?? it’s times like this I really wish I could draw.

imagine it’s a rainy weekend day. none of them have to go into work or do anything too exciting; Virgil made toasted sandwiches for an early lunch, they have a heater running and they’ve just been lazing about in their pyjamas all day, reading, watching tv, going on social media, whatever their heart desires.

Logan is in an oversized t-shirt, a grey one that’s big enough that it’s falling off of one shoulder. it’s decorated with stars and has “I need some space” written on it. Patton got it for him and he got so excited when he saw it that he bought it even though they didn’t have the right size. he’s also wearing black sweatpants that probably weren’t his to begin with since they’re a little short, but it’s been a long time since the four of them had worried about that.

he’s reading on the couch, facing the side with his legs thrown over the arm and his back resting against Patton’s side. it’s not the most comfortable position but Roman came around and sleepily dropped a blanket on each of them after he woke up, so that makes it better.

Patton’s in a nightie–not a “sexy” one, one that just looks like if a big t-shirt was stretched all the way down to your knees. it’s light blue with a big pale pink heart right in the middle and from where he’s sitting on the couch–knees pulled up to his chest–he’ll kind of absentmindedly pull it over the top of his legs so that the nightie is covering his whole body. he also has on fuzzy white socks with the little pompoms attached via string (though one fell off and he hasn’t had the time to reattach it yet).

Patton doesn’t have a blanket, as his was commandeered by Virgil on the floor almost immediately (Logan fought for his, so he managed to keep it) but he does have Logan pressed up against him, so that provides him with some warmth.

Roman’s taken up Virgil’s usual spot in the armchair, blanket draped over his legs which are curled up underneath him. he’s wearing one of Patton’s sweatshirts, a big white one with little cat faces all over it and red plaid pyjama pants. the others happen to know for a fact that that isn’t what Roman went to sleep in last night, but if Roman wanted to put on Patton’s jumper to be cozy, they weren’t gonna call him out on it, it’s not like they hadn’t done the same thing at one point or another.

despite them not having eaten barely an hour ago, Roman is munching on a packet of vegetable chips. he’s scrolling through social media, occasionally glancing over to the TV show Patton was watching, not paying a lot of attention to either of them.

Virgil is lying on the floor beneath the TV, covered in blankets, in a onesie, right next to the heater. there’s a reason he wears a hoodie all the time–Virgil really hates being cold. the onesie, to Patton’s mild discontent, isn’t an animal one, but instead is dark purple and decorated in little black bats and crescent moons. Roman had once called it, “the pyjamas for the soft child who’s pretending to be edgy” and Virgil had retaliated a few days later by eating the cookies he’d been saving.

he’s solving a puzzle down on the floor, taking a break every so often to test his theory as to whether Logan can solve the newspaper crossword without even looking at it. he’s been stumped a couple of times, and there was even an instance where Roman knew the answer and Logan hadn’t (pop culture was not his strong suit), but Virgil was having fun with it anyway.

the pitter patter of rain hitting the roof of the house melds with the sound of the tv, creating some kind of symphony of a lazy afternoon. they’re sleepy and cozy and completely content.

Deceit bonus:

Deceit is still asleep on the couch on the other side of Patton, the cold weather making him drowsy. Roman covered him almost entirely in a blanket, to the point where all that can be seen of him is the top of his head where Patton is gently playing with his hair.

#sanders sides #lamp #queerplatonic lamp #patton sanders #virgil sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #deceit sanders #ask lo #autism goblin #Anonymous #timezones are kicking my ass now #screw daylight savings purely because it means I have less awake hours in common with all the people who actually interact with my stuff #so rude

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vankoya · 7 years

Text

Saviour of the Good Days.

➢ A Christmas drabble series based on this list!

Genre | Sense8 AU.

Pairing | Jung Hoseok / Feminine Reader.

Conspectus | Even the worst days can have some good in them. That good, always, arrives as the same person. The one that your entire body and soul is inexplicably entwined with.

It has been a very, very bad day.

Indeed, it has been one of those days where you wake up and have an overwhelming feeling that you should most definitely not leave your bed, because nothing good will come from it. And although you eventually roll yourself to the edge of your mattress and lethargically drag your limbs into an upward position; although you think it can’t be that bad, just get on with it; the whole world unforgivingly crumbles to shit around you, and you get caught in the rockslide.

It was a case of one bad thing after another. A pile of small inconveniences that built and built, slowly becoming more unstable with every new weight added to the mountain. First, there was realising that you forgot to buy a new jar of coffee granules yesterday afternoon, and so you could not make yourself a cup of liquid adrenaline the instant you awoke. Then, there was knocking a half-full glass of water over important documents during your nine-to-five at the office. Later, there was your card declining when you tried to purchase a Christmas gift for your best friend, and the sudden flash of remembrance that rent money came out at midday and, to make it worse, you still do not get paid for another three days.

Now, your car has broken down on the side of the road in the middle of a small snowstorm, which is terribly classic because you abso-fucking-lutely despise snow in general. This right here is the breaking point; the collapse; the crush of your body beneath the weight of all the shitty things that have occurred today. This right here is the cherry on top of the shit cake of shitty shit things, and like a flooding riverbed, your barriers break down and you sob the frustrations out.

“What the hell,” you furiously whisper through a sniffle, forehead resting against the steering wheel of your car as snow pelts down on the town outside. “What’s up the world’s ass today? Is it ‘poke fun at ___’ day?”

“Want me to fight the world for you?”

The voice, while more familiar than the back of your own hand, nonetheless makes you jolt in your seat with a short squeal. Some sensates say that you never get used to it. Having a group of people in your head who share all of your senses, your skills, and can mentally materialise right beside you, although their real bodies remain to be separated from you by thousands of miles. Others express that it takes time. Rather than living as individual people, you learn to be a cluster of minds that coexist all at once, and the intermingling of your lives becomes as natural as before you became connected by the souls.

You are at the midway point of the spectrum.

“Depends,” you say, voice still a little choked with your emotional outburst. “Will fighting the world revive the documents I spent hours working on, only to ruin them completely with my damn elbow colliding with an misfortunately placed glass of water?”

He makes a contemplative sound. “Maybe not. But watching the world get punched in the face by my fists might make you smile, at least.”

At that, there is a watery curl of your lips, and you lean against the headrest of your seat, tilting to the side to face him. Jung Hoseok, who you have mentally, physically, and emotionally been connected with for little beyond a year now, is already watching you with an adoring smile. A South Korean mechanic from a city called Gwangju, who towers over you in height with messily styled hair the colour of the night sky at its darkest; juxtaposed by his bright, sunshine-like features; doused in gold. Even the dreary weather cannot suck the honey from his skin. He remains to attain a soft, pleasant glow that you swear brightens every time his mouth shapes itself into a waning moon, shimmering like sunlight on a calm ocean.

Perhaps, the visible radiance is just your imagination. Then again, you cannot necessarily trust anything you see in your head, these days.

“There it is,” he coos. The thick, fur-lined leather jacket that he wears gives a muffled squeak when he reaches over the gear stick to pat your thigh. Although he is all in your mind, the touch feels as real as ever; sets warmth aflame in your cheeks. “Now that seeing your pretty smile has been ticked off my to-do list, what’s happened here? The car has broken down?”

You wipe at the silvery tracks on your face with your mittens, inwardly hoping you do not look as much of a wreck as you feel. “Something like that. There was a bang, and by the time I pulled it off the road, it had completely stopped.” Hoseok goes to open his mouth, but you swiftly cut him off, already able to see the question he is going to ask by the playful twinkle of his eye. “And no, I haven’t run out of gas. I still have half a tank left, smart ass.”

Hoseok chuckles, directing his gaze out the windshield where the road is being painted white. “Well, my next best guess is that you’ve popped a tyre.” He twists so he can face the backseat, eyeing your spare black parka. “I’ll need your help. Can we use that to keep ourselves shielded in this mini storm? Wait, do you even have a spare tyre?”

“Yes, and yes,” you confirm, already pulling the parka into your lap. “The jack should be in the trunk, too…” Your voice trails off when you take in Hoseok’s attire of the leather jacket, combat boots, blue jeans, and a thin sweater. Most certainly not suited for snow, nonetheless a snowstorm. “Are you sure you won’t be cold?”

“I’m not literally here,” he reminds you with a smirk, unlocking the passenger door. “As long as you’re warm, I’m warm too. I’m feeling what your senses are feeling, right now.”

At that, your feeble heart stutters, and you avidly attempt to not focus on the thought of him feeling something a lot less innocent than the cold weather. “R-Right. Okay. Let’s get to it, then.”

The pair of you stumble into the already calming storm, heading straight for the trunk. Hoseok pulls out the spare tyre and the jack, while you remain huddled close to him with the parka pulled around your bodies in a feeble defence against the assaulting white. It is rather fascinating to observe him changing the tyre; the concentrated, determined frown of his features; the deft movements of his bare hands as they skilfully work. Under his breath, he mutters to himself, as if vocally making his way through the steps. His tousled fringe falls in his eyes, and he keeps having to blow it back with short, slightly irritated huffs. You know that you are ogling like an idiot, but you cannot help it when everything he does is just so… insanely attractive.

Hoseok seems to catch onto this by the time he has completed the job, and you are darting your eyes away from his face where they had been embarrassingly burning holes for the past ten minutes. He notices how closely you are crouched beside him; the parka-shield surrounding the two of you in a cosy cocoon only serving to force your body-warmth to share the space. Around your huddled figures, the storm has completely relaxed into peaceful snowing. Out the corner of your eye, you can see the way his expression softens, melting like butter.

“T-Thanks. For this. I really appreciate it, Hoseok,” you mumble in a pathetic attempt to cover up your ridiculously intense staring. When you go to drop the parka away, no longer a necessity, he softly catches your elbow, halting the action. You pray to every deity that he believes your watery gaze is due to the icy weather.

“No need to thank me, I’m happy to help,” Hoseok says gently, squeezing your elbow. The warmth of your face ignites into that of a pot reaching boiling point. His own cheeks light up in a rosy flush, and you wonder if that is your own senses reacting with his own, or if they are solely his, making him blush completely by themselves. “If it makes you happy, I’m happy.”

There, you realise how near his face is to your own. There, you think that you could move forwards three inches, and you would be able to kiss him. There, Hoseok seems to understand the same idea that is running its dangerous course through your mind, because he slowly, incrementally, leans, and leans, and leans–

A car door slamming shocks you out of your intoxicated daze. You physically fall backwards from your crouch, collapsing into the snow with a surprised shriek. Almost immediately afterward, a flustered, middle-aged women wearing a pink beanie with a giant pompom on top is offering her hand to you.

Hoseok is nowhere to be seen.

“Oh my goodness! I’m so sorry for frightening you, darling!” She says in a high voice as she helps you back to your feet. “I saw you all by your lonesome on the side of the road, and couldn’t help but worry. Did you pop a tyre? Oh- Wow! You changed that all by yourself? How impressive of...”

The woman continues to ramble on, but your attention has been snagged elsewhere. Still stunned from the almost that was finally about to occur; that was yanked away from you at the last second, like teasing a dog with a bone. And then, suddenly, all you can focus on is a familiar hand gingerly curling around your wrist.

A pair of silky, warm lips pressing to your cheek.

“Merry Christmas, ___,” Hoseok murmurs into your ear, planting another soft peck on the lobe, drawing fire in its wake. “I hope your day gets better.”

“... Gee, I remember when my husband nearly drove us into oncoming traffic when I– Honey, are you okay? You look like you’ve just seen Big Foot!”

Note | Sensates are a ‘cluster’ of human beings who are mentally and emotionally linked, able to sense and communicate with each other, as well as share their knowledge, language and skills. Please watch the show. It is phenomenal.

#hoseok x reader #hoseok fluff #bts x reader #bts fluff #hobi fluff #jung hoseok #lights in the pines #vankoya #this one was a mess but it's okay #and I know christmas is over #but I had written 3/4 of this #and couldn't wait until bloody next year to post it

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maketakunai · 7 years

Text

Toumyu Mihotose 4/23 Live Viewing Report and Stage Summary

Hello! I watched the new Toumyu, Mihotose no Komoriuta, once live and once at the live viewing, and now I have a nice(?) report about it to share with you!

Warnings:

-ALL the spoilers -Very tl;dr, it’s almost 6k long lmao -Written very unseriously and in Asuka-language -Tsuntsun for Kuri-chan -Many editorializing comments -I was writing this while watching the LV and I forgot some parts -Ishikari (Ishikirimaru/Nikkari) contents www -Otokomichi is JUSTICE

Notes:

-Nikkari Aoe = Araki = Nikkaraki, etc - “Nikkari is the best sword” directly translates to “there was a fight scene and Nikkari was really cool in it.” But also he’s the best sword -Ookurikara = Kuri, Kara, etc. -Sengo Muramasa = Sengo, Senbon, etc. -Kebiishi = KBC = a big bad guy -bug = Matsudaira (Tokugawa) Nobuyasu, Ieyasu’s son -Links to historical figures’ Wiki pages tossed in where relevant but I’m no expert on Sengoku Period/Tokugawa family history myself, so, yeah.

The show starts with Ishikiri drawing lovely pictures at the sword house. He shows Kuri but Kuri doesn't like it. Even though it's very nice! He explains that he's writing the story of their adventure, and Kuri asks him to show it to him when he's done. Ishi's like are you interested :)? and he's like NO I DON'T MAKE FRIENDS ok

Ishi decides to start with a cool flashback to when Sengo-chan came home from the sword bakery, pink lights flash all around. Ota Motohiro must be stopped. Stop him. A strange song plays. Tonbon says OH NO you're here and Senbon is like “Hey! Let's get naked!” and poms his pompom. Spicy.

Tenbu 11 Mikawa - Nikkari and Kuri coming back from expedition, suddenly bad guys are attacking the people! It turns out that these people just so happen to be the Tokugawa family vassals, like, Honda Tadakatsu and all them! But unfortunately they all get murdered by the retrograde army. Regrettable.

A guy carrying a bb gets stabbed, a lot, then just as he's about to kick it the swords show up and he passes the bb off to Araki wwwwwww My favorite line in the entire show: “この子はどうすればいいのかな”Just in this really soft and 8D;;; smiley nervous voice “Um, Ookurikara? What :T do you think I should do with this kid :T?” wwwwwww “DONT TALK TO ME”

Back at the sword house, Ishikiri's talking to the boss, they say it's going to be intense! Ishikiri wants him to leave it to him. The sword boss also says there's a high chance of “them” showing up and to be careful!! D: nuooo...

Meanwhile, Tonbon introduces Senbon to Mononon, he mysteriously manages to refrain from hitting on him for possibly the only time in this musical. Or, possibly before he can, they get called in to see the sword boss.

They go see him with Ishikiri, he gives them their mission to find the kids that have been attacked in the middle of expeditions and save them and figure out what's going on.

These four sing a song about going out to battle, it's kinda good. Monoyon's tights are intense.

Nikkari is the best sword

Kuri tells him to go alone, it'll be easier to protect the bug that way, but bad guys show up and Araki's like “sorry, I'd love to, but it looks like we are tied together by destiny~~~~~” They fight some bad guys, when suddenly who shows up but a hot pink sword! Senbon Muramasa shows up to uchigatan some randos. “instead of an introduction, how about we take our clothes off?” “Hahahaha what”

Mononon visits next to bring luck to all the swords

Tonbon storms in a while later to spear some guys.

Finally slow sleepy Ishikiri, so chill, the chillest of all swords, shows up, and destroys like twenty guys in a single attack because he is an ootachi. The best sword

at some point during this scene Nikkari ducked off the top left hand side of the stage to drop off the baby, a little while later a bad guy kinda wandered over there and suddenly Nikkari sword plunged out of the darkness and assassinated him, it was so cool, Nikkari is the best sword

So!!! Finally the six swords are together and we can sing! The most important song!

TOUKEN RANBU TSUYOKU TSUYOKU KITAESHI HAGANE IMA

Here he is, it's Mr. KBC. He looks like Darth Vader, I was very scared to see him ahahahah. It was ok in the LV but when I watched it live I kept getting really scared every time they said something about KBC or when he showed up ;;;;;

Nikkaraki explains the situation about everyone dying, bb starts crying, Ishi takes it and cheers it up for a bit, it cries again, Monoyon discovers! This bug is Tokugawa Ieyasu. Monoyon cuddles it and talks about how it's his treasure. His most precious bug. I feel like there was just a lot of laughter in this scene for whatever reason. Well. Nikkaraki and Ishi and Senbon are all in one place. Of course there's going to be a lot of casual hahahas and huhuhus flying out of any given conversation.

Lullaby one sung by Monoyon Sada-chan to lull the baby Ieyasu to sleeps. This nen nen nen nen nen kororin song will be repeated many times throughout this musical so please be prepared. Well. The title of this silly musical is “the lullaby of 300 years” so what else can we expect! It would be stranger if there wasn't a lullaby being sung a bunch!

Swords are trying to figure out what they should do now that all the Tokus are dead, obviously history cannot continue on its usual track if the kid who is going to grow up to unify the country is suddenly an orphan and has lost like 95% of his army/family/etc. thingy. Just then Ishi has an idea so crazy it just might work! What if, to keep history on course and ensure that those bad Retrograders will not show up and ruin everything again... we become the Tokugawa retainers....

He sings a song to gently persuade the other swords to his way of thinking. Koko ni kibou ga aru, a bug~ we can't let anything happen to this bug~

Yes, so, we will become the erased retainers, hahahaa, I will be Hattori Hanzo :|b we will make history happen just as it did before! But, Senbon thinks he is an evil Muramasa Demon Sword cursed to bring misfortune so he will go away, Kuri is not interested in anything but stabbing dudes so he will go away too, oh no. Meanwhile Nikkaraki will become Sakai Tadatsugu, a nice advising fellow. Monoyon will become Torii Mototada, a very reliable and loyal retainer! Famously, in the end, he sacrificed his life when he and 2k troops managed to hold off 40k of Ishida Mitsunari's forces long enough to let Ieyasu's forces regroup in time for the battle of Sekigahara. Perfect for a Monoyon! Tonbon is supposed to be the Honda Tadakatsu replacement (his former owner) but he has no faith in such a thing.

Little cute Nikkari was shocked to learn the warmth of a bb ;n; He and Ishi have a little private chat about the past. “Before, I asked you why I couldn't become a holy sword, and you said it was probably because I cut down a child, even if it was a ghost... I never thought I would be able to understand the warmth of a child, but holding this bug in my arms, I think I'm starting to understand what you meant...” “Well, you may have cut down a ghost child before, but this time, the child you have saved will become a god. I'd say that's pretty holy.” “A-ah... really ;;o;;/ ;n;” is I think the gist of the conversation they have here, tbh I'm a little fuzzy on the details but what is important here is that they laughed softly together and gave each other a lot of soft meaningful looks.

Ishikari is real

Now a montage of fool swords tryna raise a baby wwwwww narrated by Ishi. I cannot help but notice that we do not get the chance to see any of Ishi's amusing parental blunders, why are you trying to erase history!!!11!11!1 “To absolutely no one's surprise, Monoyon Sada-chan was the single best sword parent, as expected of the little waki who stayed by his side as his treasure~” Monoyon came out with the bug and played peekaboo and stuff with him, making the bug laugh, but suddenly the bug started crying! “Oh no, looks like you pooped a lot, let's get your diaper changed!” says the cheerful waki.

“Mr. Nikkari also surprisingly took to childcare like a sword to stabbing dudes” Araki shoved the baby bucket wwwwww in previous shows he came out with a stroller thing and was pushing it like a normal human but in raku he was just like. Shoving it and letting it roll on its own while he walked behind it wwwww He picked up the bug and then said “You know, i don't hate soft things.... maybe I'll eat you!!!” a good sword parent

“Tonbon seems like he should have his shit together, but perhaps he was the roughest and most disastrous of all of them.” Tonbon came out with the bug strapped to his back and started flailing around his spear. At first the bug liked it but then it Did Not and he panicked and unsuccessfully tried to cheer up and continue spear practice with the crying bug wwwwww

“Senbon and Kuri were protecting us from a bit farther away. Probably. Separately. Probably.” “Hey, Kuri, want to ~~~live with me~~~” “I DON'T MAKE FRIENDS” “But I~~~ extremely~~~ want to become ve-ry good friends with you~~~~”

Time skip!! The Ieyasu bug became a smiley bigger bug of 10 or so, very cute! I want to squish it. Nikkari and Ishi? and Monoyon are talking with the bug. He clearly loves his sword family very much! But, he doesn't know they're swords, of course...! (also it makes you wonder if these kids are supposed to be in disguise or if this bug just grew up like “well my one dad has green hair and my other dad has pink hair and my other other dad is blond with pink tips and my other other other dad has normal-ish brown hair but I have literally never not seen him with anything less than flawless eyeshadow, i'm sure all kids grow up this way” Also??? They have to be doing other things like castle management and raising armies and whatnot, right, so probably the implication is that they're supposed to look like normal randos of the time period bUT ALSO LIKE what if they don't??? what if they are just like. Clearly otherworldly swords and the bug's just like Nothing Is Wrong and so nobody else has the nerve to question it wwwwww) Anyway they have a chat or something and Monoyon's like “Let's sing a song little one! KAA KAA, GEKKO GEKO” and the bug sings it too and it's so precious wwww i love

Senbon and Kuri are visiting to report their status. romanchikku Muramasa Fwamily song? Side note Mokkun worked really hard to imitate Suwabe's weird katakana pronunciation of desu and things, side note 2 how does Suwabe do that? Anyway Tonbon sang a couple bars of a song, then explained to Kuri (who DOESN'T WANT TO KNOW, HE DOESN'T MAKE FRIENDS but Ton's like chill, it might come up in the mission so just let me tell you this ok) that there was a legend that Mr. Muramasa Demon Sword was bad luck to Tokugawa thingies, then Sen sang his song about night and darkness and moon thingies. Clearly he is very worried about this mission!!

Nikkari came out and Senbon got EXTREMELY NERVOUS AND PANICKY. “Sh-SHOULD WE GET NAKED????” “There's no need for that.... right now 8D” standing in silence, Senbon wiggling “HAHA WOULD YOU LOOK AT THE TIME” “it sure is. A time 8D” Nikka tried to give him some advice like “hey it's nice trying new things, like, me raising a bug, who would have thought it but it's p good!” but Sen was too shook to deal wwww (did I miss something, why would Senbon be nervous about Nikkari all of a sudden? Is it just because he walked in while he was showing Emotional Vulnerability through song? Is it because he relies on his aggressive flirting as a means of keeping people away, except for not only does it not bother Nikkari but Nikkari is Extremely Into It and is flirting back and Senbon can't actually deal with that? Did they hook up sometime during the intervening ~10 years but it didn't go so well and now it's awkward? I really just don't know.)

is this a new song or is this the same song still. anyway more singing! Kuri sang too maybe! Cool bug growing up montage with it, the small bug had sword practice with his best boy Monoyon and then spun around and transformed into a cool adult! Probably, exactly like that.

And, his first child was born, a small bug named Nobuyasu (known as “bug” from here on). I don't remember this so much in the LV but in the live show, Ieyasu, like, kept passing the bug to Ishi but then the bug would start crying and so he'd have to take him back. He played with the bug and made silly sounds and it was really cute :)

OK now time for battle again! This is the battle of Okehazama where Ieyasu's ally the Imagawa clan gets rekt by Oda Nobunaga but the Tokugawa turn out totally ok :) Monoyon advisor, when asked about the luck of this battle, told Ieyasu something to this effect, hey! that's spoilers! Senbon flirted with Kurichan outrageously.

So there are these soldier dudes standing around and this little farmer guy called Gohei comes out and he's like wow! A war! My first war! and the soldiers are like “you, a soldier? Give it up, you won't last five seconds :/” They go to beat him up and Gohei's like STAY BACK and they're like OH NO he's got a weapon but then he just pulls out this tiny little sickle wwww They menace him a bit as he flails the sickle around and then who appears suddenly but Kuri Kara-chan!!! Gohei became friends with Kurichan, somehow, somehow. Somehow. Basically he's like “o-OH hey BRO yeah this is my BRO if you mess with me, you mess with my BRO” and Kuri doesn't really do anything lmao just stands there and all the soldier guys are too intimidated by his existence www Eventually they're like “w/e let's go guys :|;;;” only the poor two soldiers that are stuck with Kuri between them and the exit like slowly awkwardly move toward him, then give these incredibly deep respectful bows before dashing away. Gohei runs after them like “that's what you get you NERDS,” and taunts them by shaking his butt in their general direction, only he forgets he still has his sickle in his hand and stabs himself in the ass. Regrettable. Kuri turns to go now that this tomfoolery is over with but Gohei stops him and says “Um, hey... what's... war like?” and. I. Well I forgot what Kuri said in response =u=;; but after that he said something along the lines of “it's no place for someone like you :/” and ran off!

Then we get a battle scene, not so much with swords battling I think? Mostly a lot of human soldiers? But also Ishi is there for sure! At some point the whole scene kind of wobbles and falls into slow motion and Ishi has this small dissociation moment where he's just surrounded by all this horror and bloodshed and violence and he's kind of just slowly turning around taking it all in.... before he turns back to his fight and finishes off his enemy. Poor sweet Ishi ;n;

At the end of the battle the swords meet up again. Kuri's like “hmph ;/ is that all there was to this battle ://” and Ishi is really not having this today so he's like. “Oh 'is this all' huh so the many lives that were lost today mean absolutely nothing to you, all right, if that battle just now wasn't enough for you, that's fine, I have good news for you, DRAW YOUR SWORD I'M GOING TO FIGHT YOU” They have a sword battle where Ishi clearly has the advantage. He kind of pushes Kuri around like “hmm :/ your sword is very light isn't it?” and Kuri is unhappy.

Senbon breaks it up. “exCUSE ME. What are you doing you are NOT ALLOWED TO GET NAKED WITHOUT ME” Ishi's like haha oh you're right! he's Into It too wwwwww

Then Ieyasu finally turns up and he's like oh hey who's this cool guy I've never seen before, he was great in that battle thingy! Hey! Guy! What's your name! Ishi(?), seeing his chance, says “oh 8D Mr. Ieyasu 8D This is of course none other than Sakakibara Yasumasa!” Ieyasu says Wow cool! Hey Mr. Sakakibara, how about you fight with my team, it'll be real nice to have you! And in a surprising moment, the Kuri kneels down and swears allegiance to Ieyasu. Nice

Lullaby 2? Probably. Probably sung by Ieyasu to his bug? That's my heart's impression but I didn't take any actual notes on this. Anyway it grew from a baby into a small bug that can run around!! Again, very cute!!!

The bug ran up to Ishi to show him a nice flower he found! “Do you know what flower this is?” “Hahaha. Yes, it's called aconite. (In Japanese, torikabuto, “bird helmet” www)” and the bug's like “Wow cool!!” and then Ishi's like “By the way it's extremely poisonous hahaha” and the bug got scared and threw it across the stage www. Ishi had him do HaraKiyo and it was very cute www The bug has been watching this war go on and such and he wants to be useful. Ishi(?) tells him “well to be useful you have to work on your swords practice” but he only likes flowers, not swords. He wants to do something useful with flowers! Then Gohei came into the scene and wanted to learn swords from Kuri but he was like Nah. Then Gohei told a sad story about how war took everything from him, his parents got killed in a war and he and his little sister survived but after that they had no food and his sister starved and how now he has to be strong too. Then the bug asked Kuri to teach Gohei as well and Kuri had no choice but to agree to his lord (a very loyal sword? Kinda cute...) and bug and Gohei became friends? And the bug looked at Gohei's hands. “A-ah, this is embarrassing, I'm sorry, my hands are all hard from farming...” Meanwhile poor little Kuri-chan having agreed to this absurd demand is waiting at the corner of the stage. Ishi's like “Ah, is it ok to keep your sword teacher waiting?” and Gohei's like OH NO I'M SUPER GOMEN and ran after the very annoyed Kuri Kara. The bug looked at his own hands as he walked away. “My hands... are very soft...” Perhaps, I get the feeling that Ishi is feeling a bit melancholy here, but maybe that is just because of what is to come...?

Now Ieyasu is allied with the Oda forces and is participating in their battle vs. Azai Nagamasa. Again, Monoyon advisor tells him that luck is on their side...!

Nikkari is the best sword

Tonbon is still deeply uncertain about being a good replacement for his former master, Honda Tadakatsu, which is a problem because this is a battle where Honda played a pivotal role. Monoyon Sada-chan, reliable as all wakis are, thinks of a clever way to make him get it together. “Tonbo! There's someone who's been badmouthing your former master!” he says! Tonbon gets mad! Who is it!! Who is this guy!!! I will FITE HIM!! But Monoyon points to him and says “The one insulting your master.... is you!!” Basically to not believe in himself is insulting to the master who always trusted him as a weapon, maybe? Tbh I forgot what his point actually was OTL Anyway he gives him a pep talk about how he can be the best Honda Tadakatsu if he believes in himself and isn't dumb. Then Ton sings a song about he will become Honda and breaks into the enemy stronghold singlehandedly against like 10000 guys. Cool sword.

After a successfully won battle, we get a scene with Gohei and bug and Kuri, bug has a request! He wants Gohei to teach him how to farm. Gohei says ofc!! but if it's okay, in exchange, he wants bug to teach him how to read. Ofc it's okay!! says the bug, and he doesn't know many yet but he'll do his best to learn new words so he can teach them to him too! then they sword together with Kuri, Ishi sings a song and we get another growing up montage, welcome Ohno Mizuki, thank you for your self.

WHY AM I HERE BY HIS SIDE WHY AM I DOING THIS IS THERE ANOTHER WAY Ishi says and aggressively rips out pages from his notebook. Bless

Suddenly Senbon shows up to a meeting of swords and Ieyasus and declares that he is now Ii Naomasa and he's going to join their team. Please stop your wicked ways. Also like no offense but.... why... what was the buildup to this change of heart......

And Nikkari saw that Ishi was stressin' out and not letting anyone into his heart so he tried to strike up a conversation and help him but he got rejected..... please fall in love............. let him support you in your time of suffering.....

SO HISTORICALLY it turns out that what happened is that this very bug that the swords have raised from childhood will be ordered by Ieyasu to kill himself quite soon...! Not only that, the one who assisted his suicide aka actually killed him was none other than Hattori Hanzo, currently being portrayed by our boy Ishi Kiri Maru. Oh no! Meccha trouble. No wonder the poor little big sword is so sad and doesn't have time for love :/ Probably everyone knew about this except like Kuri bc he doesn't make friends. As the sword who stayed by Ieyasu's side to the end, Monoyon remembers that Ieyasu always regretted this to the end of his life.... and even he isn't quite sure why he had him killed. A nice sad slow rendition of TKRB plays over this scene.

Now we're going to fight something! Cool!

Nikkari is the best sword

Bad guys from the time army thingy come for the first time in a while and they fight them, Senbon is kind of losing his chill but it's fine, also he definitely sat on an enemy uchi or something and spanked him

Swords are defending Ieyasu and bug and Gohei and sending them deeper into the building to hide from the bad guys, but bad guys keep spawning! Eventually all the other swords are distantly located and the only one left is Kuri-chan! He does his best to fight all the guys, alone, just like you wanted, right :? He kind of collapses in exhaustion after he finished off the last one... right? Except OH NO there was one uchi or something left and it ran up to stab Ieyasu! But!! Gohei jumped in front of it and took the hit, giving Karabou enough time to get back to his feet and finish the uchi! Rest in RIP gohei. “That's why I didn't want to be friends :((“ nice live viewing camera work slowly zoomed in on the Kuri's 1 (one) emotion.

Ishi comes out to visit and pray at Gohei's grave. He has a song about “I want to save you, but everything keeps spilling from my fingers. Why do we fight, I don't want to lose any more of the things I'm holding onto....” He fights with Kuri by unspoken mutual agreement and afterwards Ishi tells him his sword has gotten heavier. Nikkaraki comes out and tells him Ishi is praying not just for Go but for all soldiers and things and even enemies and just everything. “why is he fighting then” probably he wants to put an end to all war...

sad Kuri whose feels are now getting in the way of his ability to fight and he's dokidoki artichokey. He goes to give Go's grave a flower except then he doesn't. “Idk what will happen when no more war but.. maybe I want to see it!! And only then will I give you a flower” ok that's fine but what are you going to do with the one you have now tho

and the sad baby bug visits the grave, full of regrets...

NO KBC IS WAITING STOP YOUR EVIL THESE SWORDS ARE DOING THE BEST THEY CAN

Mononon is under attack! From bad Sengo “COME ON NO ESCAPING GET NAKED” “WHY DO I HAVE TO GET NAKED” “BC WHEN YOU LOSE IN PRACTICE FIGHTS YOU HAVE TO GET NAKED” “BUT I WON” “WELL THEN YOU SHOULD BE STRIPPING OUT OF SHEER JOY” suddenly Araki and Sengo gets a little panicked because he's here to foil his nefarious plot. “Haha, sh-shall we all get naked then?” Araki: “Ok but I only get naked after a fight” “o-okay GOOD CHANCE LET'S ALL GET NAKED” Monoyon: “Anyway what's so good about getting naked” “SHALL I SHOW YOU 8D” Ton: DO NOT BE FOOLED BY HIS EVIL WAYS then Kuri came out and Sen almost stole his heart(?) by pretending to be hurt but then he didn't. Then because all four of the great Ieyasu generals were together Sengo made them line up and pose for no reason. Nice

Ishi came in and asked if they were having fun “WE'RE NOT” Araki: “no it's fun we're lining up” “IT'S NOT FUN” “oh, well, that's very nice, suddenly I have to go kill the bug now so bye” nice transition

There's a big argument about “what Ishi are you really going to kill this bug!! He did nothing!! Can you really kill someone who did nothing wrong!!” and Ishi snaps back that it can't be helped! This is how history goes and we have to protect history! He is suffering so much :(((( Nikkari probably makes them let him go. After some discussion the other swords are going to go help him kill him(?) for moral support(??) and everyone's sad especially Monoyon, they tell him it's ok and he doesn't have to come, he should just bring luck to everyone instead of death. He trails sadly after everyone on their death mission anyway.

the bug talks to his father Ieyasu. He wants to be slain because poor Gohei's death traumatized him and because he doesn't have the determination to be in the war anymore. Can't deal. Can't hold a sword anymore. Dad shoves his sword back in his face and screams at him that he has to fight!! He storms off and Ishi comes to take his place, presumably to kill him. Cool bgm of that yurayurara song whose name I don't actually know. The Ishi's sword is half drawn and he is frozen as bug confesses his inability to succeed his father. But then he sings his lullaby and Ishi gets his heart broken. His sword slides slowly back into the sheath. “Hanzo, I have a request of you. Please kill me” <//////3

approximately 2.5 seconds after Ishi decides that he really can't kill the bug after all, the KBC arrives to ruin everyone's day. Thus begins a very difficult and long fight against the single OP enemy D||!! (Also. I have to ask. Is the KBC automatically dispatched without any other info on the situation as soon as a change in history is detected, or like. were there a big panel of KBCs monitoring the silly swords going about like forty years of child-raising like “well yeah technically they’re not supposed to be here doing this, but those other guys already screwed things up and I’M not about to become a surrogate sword parent, let’s just.... leave them alone for now....”)

Everyone is being tossed around but our very strong and sturdy ootachi is still standing strong! Ishi fights the KBC singlehandedly and declares his intention of wrecking the KBC even if he breaks in the process, kind of??? implied???? that????? he's getting corrupted or something???? something is very wrong, but then, the bug shows up and gets stabbed trying to save Ishi from KBC. Everyone fights KBC and Ishi yells over his fallen bug!!!!!!!

Then they all fight together, they say lines about getting hurt (awakened?) they all stab the guy and then suddenly light flashes out!!! Very similar to the end of Tenroudenmyu when The Thing happened.

Next, timeskip! to the day of Ieyasu's death. ;n; he is an old man! Monoyon shows up and Ie recognizes him as Mototada, then he sees Nikkaraki, “wow, you came for me too Tsunetsugu!” then everyone! “Wow, everyone! Sorry, I'm the only one who lived such a long life.....”

“I always hated war. Sorry for being such a pitiful and terrible aruji” the monoyon shakes its head nyuaaa “when I first held the bug, the bug who was happy with just a lullaby... I cursed even that small happiness. I wanted to bring war to an end.” gets out of bed “How's that!!! I did it!! I got rid of it!!!” “i wonder if this was for the best.... that it took this much spilled blood to make it here.... Nobuyasu... sorry....” and keeps apologizing over and over. Intention to keep calling for him until the end. Then a cloaked figure shows up, who is it? It is none other than our bug Nobuyasu, but! he has become Gohei!! A humble farmer planting his crops in peace! Nice!!! and the world is beautiful! The Ieyasu is so happy and he falls back into Mononon's arms, softly singing the start of the lullaby until he passes away. Monoyon starts singing with him but stops because he is in tears. Araki advises him to smile :)

They come back! Sen and Ton are arguing about Tokugawa stuff again, then they're going to practice fighting, then Monoyon, a Fool, wants to join and Sen says “Ok, but by the end we might both not be wearing a-ny-thing at all~~~” “W-Well that would be! A problem!” Monoyon runs away chased by the cackling Senbonzakura. Nikkari and Ishi are sitting down looking at Ishi's book, Ishi shows him his nice picture of him! “ehhhh~ so that's how you see me...?” Ishi is shocked www then he shows him Kuri “Ah yeah, I can imagine it perfectly” “right!!” “his face when he sees THAT” wwwwwww heartbroken. Then Nikkari sits next to him and looks at the gloomy Ishi and says “Ishikiri?” “Hmm?” and starts laughing until Ishi laughs back and they both laugh with big smiles on their faces!!!!!!! I love them!!!!!! Laughing is the best in the end!!!! (the cry of my heart)

Ishi writes some more stuff, then realizes he has to go to horse duty, accidentally leaves his book behind. Sneaky Kuri finds it, flips through it until he gets to a certain page, then softly smiles for just a second before he frowns again.

Everyone sings the lullaby song together!!! The full version! the end of the first act!!!! Very nice!!!

Act 2

Starts with weird vines and a haunted house? Why? I don't know. No one knows. Some nice dancing by our ensemble guys.

A cool song. I liked the Nikkari and Ishi kecha part, Ishikari is real. They all had cool black cape thingies and the lining of Senbon's was pink and beautiful. I love it.

“Shall we get naked?” says Senbon and they take off their first layer of clothes. another cool song. Centered by Senbon Muramasa. At the end he does a sexy dance move where Tonbon spins him around and he ends with his leg wrapped around him :) whoa. Muramasa fwamily.

The part where they determine who slacked off the most in today's musical. Tonbon says “I have never once slacked off in my life!!” unfortunately for him at the show I saw live he was chosen www Senbon or someone was like “so much for never slacking off 8D” hahaha. At that show, he said his “近寄らせはせん！ ”(I will not let anyone get closer!) line except he followed it up with “...except for you, Aruji~♥” Thank you................. I love you..........

At senshuuraku, a miracle occurred and the sword chosen to say an embarrassing romanchikku line to the audience was none other than... Both!!!! Ishikirimaru and Nikkari Aoe!!!!!!!!! At the same time!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I lost it tbh I was screaming alone in my house at 9:14 pm. Anyway they went back to back and took turns saying parts of their lines together and Ishi shot the audience to the heart with a bang and Nikkaraki blew a kiss and anyway Ishikari is real, thank you...

Nikka to Kuri: “I'm going to have you accompany me a while longer.” Araki/Zaiki duet. Endless Fighter? That was the primary Englishy bit in the chorus. Some mystery notes in there. Pretty catchy? I don't really have a good ear for songs to start with but this is the only one that I can still remember some of the tune and lyrics to which says something probably! :D;;;

Ishi and Mononon duet. A lot of high notes, I don't know that this was necessary? But it was cute, they're cute. Cute swords.

Tonbon solo, probably the best song(?)? Because y'all spi can SING. He was really cool and cute too :(((!!!! Wonderful!!!!!! Very much he deserved this solo!!!!

Soft and slow song with swords wandering through the audience. Ishi peekaboo'd the live-viewing camera wwww Kuri showed the camera an X because he doesn't make friends, thanks. There was a very important moment in the live viewing where Ishi was singing and Nikkari just kinda stopped and watched him with a really soft look..... Ishikari is real.....

When I watched it live, Kuri was going to walk down our aisle (where a lot of Kuri oshis were waving lights for him) but then he was like EXTREMELY NAH and turned around and went back to where he came from :T Brat. In character but like come on. At least Monoyon hung out at our area for a while and Ishikiri came and harakiyo'd some people, please purify me Ishikirimaru.........

Next they brought out the drums and the human actors and had some flag waving! Cute tokugawas!!!! Cool drums!

Next, everyone takes off their second outfit and we get a song that is not Otokomichi. Like it's a p good song, like, it would be really hype if it was a leadup to Otokomichi, but, it's not Otokomichi, so, what's the point...? why even have a sword musical? Without Otokomichi? Tbh

In Not!Otokomichi their little prop thingy they played with was a small version of one of those jingly shrine bell thingies where there's a lot of bells attached to the one thing? And it had like rainbow strings -u-! Great! Like this maybe vvv

Finally we end with Touken Ranbu (song) drum version and the redressed swords sing a final reprise of it!! Right!! This is how you have to end the swords musical!! I'm lookin' at you Tenrouden!!!

At Japan senshuuraku, they announced a DVD for the live they held at Itsukushima Shrine on Miyajima, only a year after it happened but that's fine. Then they announced a new myu to be happening between November and January of this year, with no further information! That's fine! I didn't want to know what swords were appearing in this one, of course not! It's fine!!!!! Last, they announced Dream Live Swords 2017 for this December, to be held at Budokan and Osaka Castle Hall and Saitama Super Arena!! Holy cannoli!! Big houses for lots of swords!!! Please bring back all the swords for this but ESPECIALLY my Shinsengumi swords :V Please give Kanesan an ever larger audience for his haikus......... thank you.......................

Personal Rating: 7.5/10

I enjoyed it a lot! And I know for many people this was their favorite swords musical this far :O The casting as always was flawless, the only equally perfect casting decision to Araki Hirofumi as Nikkari Aoe that has ever been made is Ogoe Yuuki as Horikawa Kunihiro. And, I was happy to see it live! But, I thought Tenroudenmyu was superior in having bigger emotional moments as well as having overall catchier songs (esp. in part 2 ><). And, there wasn’t really anything in Tenrouden where I was like “ok but why” like there was in Mihotose. Also they took Otokomichi out????? I’m legit really upset about this lol. But, I also think there were some things this one did that improved on previous ones, like trying to share the focus more equally between all six rather than having two kind of leftover swords just hanging out in the background. And it very much feels like they’re trying to take the overall narrative somewhere rather than limiting it to the Swords Angst Over Their Former Masters plot we’ve had before, especially by bringing the KBC in. I’m really looking forward to seeing what they do with the next one...! *____*

Thank you for reading! Please share your thoughts on swords musicals as well! Discussions and dissenting opinions are always welcome *u*

#toumyu #mihotose #long post #spoilers #touken ranbu

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hinatasharem · 7 years

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sweater thieves

For KenHina Week day 3

Kenma would do anything to make Hinata happy, even if that meant moving to Torono Town and leaving Tokyo. So, because Hinata loves Kenma more than anything, he suggests they spend Christmas in Tokyo - and of course he’s going to wear Kenma’s Nekoma hoodie. (It’s a perk.)

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For Shouyo, Kenma would do anything to make him happy. If that meant going out of his comfort zone, for Shouyo, he’d do anything. So, when Shouyo asked him to move in with him in Torono Town, he didn’t even think about it. He packed up and moved almost immediately.

The apartment they found was partially furnished, cheap on the rent and close to Karasuno where Shouyo had a part-time job coaching the team. Kenma found work at an Indie gaming company that was a short train ride away.

It’s winter, they’ve been living together for four months now, when Kenma comes home to find Shouyo asleep under the kotatsu, wearing Kenma’s softest sweater. He’s flushed, a pile of mandarin peels in front of him and the TV is tuned to a volleyball tournament. Kenma strips off his parka and joins Shouyo under the futon. He leans against his boyfriend, the fabric of his sweater soft against his cheek.

Shouyo stirs. “Kenma? Ah, you’re home. Welcome back,” he says, stifling his yawn behind his hand.

Kenma nuzzles the side of Shouyo’s head. “I’m back,” he murmurs. “You stole my sweater.”

He laughs, tilting his head to kiss Kenma. Shouyo tastes like the mandarins he’d eaten. Kenma wraps his arms around Shouyo and they fall to the floor with a thud. Shouyo’s giggling, tangling his fingers in Kenma’s snow-damp hair. Kenma feels the blush burning his cheeks and he buries his face against Shouyo’s neck.

Shouyo’s laughter is infectious, but there’s an ache in Kenma’s chest that’s he’s been repressing for a while now. He’d do anything to keep Shouyo happy… Right?

“Shouyo?” Kenma says against Shouyo’s neck. He tenses briefly, sliding his hands from Kenma’s hair to draw soothing circles on his back.

“We should go to Tokyo for Christmas,” Shouyo says, absently. Kenma tenses for a moment and props himself up on his elbows to get a better look at Shouyo. He’s still smiling, but his eyes have softened, reflecting the emotions flittering across Kenma’s face. Shouyo’s too perfect. Somehow, in six years Kenma has known Shouyo, he always knows what Kenma’s feeling. “I asked a lot of you to come to Torono and you left a lot back in Tokyo. We don’t visit enough – I’m sorry.”

Kenma brushes away the tears that leak from Shouyo’s eyes. “Thank you, Shouyo. You always know what to say.” He smiles. “I love you.”

Kenma’s favourite hundred-watt smile graces Shouyo’s lips and he pulls Kenma down to kiss him relentlessly. “Kenma!!!! I love you!!!!”

Taking the train back to Tokyo for a week is like a slap of nostalgia for Kenma. Back when Shouyo was high school, Kenma would often venture up to Torono to stay with him and the train ride is exactly like he remembered. Well, not quite. This time Shouyo is with him so he’s a lot less lonely and he isn’t missing his boyfriend like crazy.

Shouyo had snagged Kenma’s Nekoma hoodie before they left so of course Kenma dug through their closet to find Shouyo’s Karasuno one. Honestly at this point in their relationship, it really didn’t matter what belonged to who. Shouyo’s snoozing on Kenma’s shoulder, their gloved hands laced and resting on Kenma’s thigh. Kenma’s playing games on his phone.

He receives thirty snapchats from Kuroo after an hour on the train, detailing the crazy drive from Kuroo and Bokuto’s apartment to the train station. Bokuto cannot drive for shit and Kenma prays Kuroo will drive them back. (Seriously, he went 60 in a 20 zone, he is crazy.)

you know we won’t be there for another hour, right? He sends back.

OH SHIT

Kenma chuckles and Shouyo tilts his head to rest his chin on Kenma’s shoulder. Kenma glances at him (he’s adorable right now, by the way, wearing a white hat with a rainbow pompom and his nose is still red from the chill), kisses his nose and asks, “What?”

Shouyo scrunches his face. “What’s so funny? I want to know,” he says. He’s pouting.

Kenma laughs. “Bokuto almost drove into a pole and they got to the station an hour early.”

He tries to fight the smile off his face but it’s impossible. For the rest of the trip, they chat mindlessly (well after Shouyo kissed Kenma breathless) and just enjoy the overall peaceful atmosphere of the train.

Kenma almost feels weightless when they get off the train, somehow, but holding Shouyo’s hand anchors him. Bokuto waves to them over the swarm of people and Kenma weaves them through like a pro.

“Oya, are you two going to be apart at all this week?”

“No,” Kenma and Shouyo answer in unison. They share a small, secret smile.

Bokuto throws his arm around Shouyo. “You two live together and are still going to spend the week together?” He turns to Kuroo. “Bro, is that cute or gross?”

Shouyo makes an indignant, dismayed sound, largely ignored by their larger and older friends. Kuroo’s eyes twinkle. “Definitely cute, but grossly so.”

“Haha bro you are so right.” And with that, (mercifully) Kuroo drives them back to the apartment.

“Kenma, I love you and support you in everything you do, but I have never EVER seen you a shirt with that character on it,” Kuroo says five mornings into their trip when Kenma walks into the kitchen at around seven. His brows knot together in worry. “Is everything okay?”

Kenma pinches the shirt to look at it. It’s Shouyo’s pale blue t-shirt with that unnameable red and overly excited character. Shouyo was wearing it last night. Kenma lets go of the shirt, shrugging. “It’s just Shouyo’s shirt.” So he put on the wrong shirt this morning when he stumbled out of bed (or rather, the futon), oops, oh well.

Kuroo quirks an eyebrow. “Is that so?” Bokuto glances over his shoulder from where he is furiously making pancakes. Kenma gives Kuroo a weird look, pours himself a coffee and makes Shouyo a green tea. Kuroo hides his smirk behind a gulp of coffee.

Just after Kenma is finished making Shouyo’s tea, he whirls into the kitchen, Kenma’s shirt loose around his neck. There’s bright red marks along his neck and collarbone which disappear below his collar. Kuroo chokes a little on his coffee, though he keeps his mouth shut.

He plops down next to Kenma, accepting his tea when Kenma offers it to him. “Ah, thank you, Kenma!” he chirps, leaning over to kiss Kenma’s cheek.

Kenma merely smiles. Bokuto turns around, holding two serving trays stacked higher than Bokuto of pancakes. There is no way. Although, he’s seen Shouyo plow through his fair share of food so between the four of them, the pancakes will all get eaten.

Bokuto’s eyes zero in on the marks Kenma left on Shouyo last night. “Holy shit did you guys fuck on our good futon last night?”

Kenma feigns ignorance and Shouyo’s blush says it all.

“Daaaaaaaamn Kenma!” Kuroo says, grinning. “Just, damn.”

Bokuto scoffs, “I can’t believe it. I can’t even get lucky under my own roof and these two just waltz in here, all happy and couple-y like it’s nobody’s business.” He groans, stuffing a full pancake into his mouth. “It’s not fair,” he complains, sinking against Kuroo’s shoulder.

Kuroo laughs (animal).

Later that afternoon, when Kuroo and Bokuto have long since left for work (after having Kenma and Shouyo swear on Kuroo’s sacred pet rock they wouldn’t sully the futon further), Shouyo is curled against Kenma’s bare chest, hugging him tight like a koala. Kenma sighs, rubbing small circles on the small of Shouyo’s back.

“Do you want to stay longer?” Shouyo murmurs, rolling slightly to smile at Kenma.

Kenma meets Shouyo’s eyes. He had missed Tokyo so much that he was prepared to spend Christmas there. He missed Kuroo (and Bokuto) and seeing his oldest friend after months is truly an indescribable feeling. But…

He shakes his head, kissing Shouyo softly. “No – I’m kinda missing home, anyways.” Shouyo’s smile blinds him.

He may have been born in Tokyo, but his home is back in Torono Town with Shouyo.

#kenhinaweek2017 #kenhina #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #i write sometimes #im so shook I've managed to write TWO prompts for kenhina week #when my insp. has been dead FOREVER #god i love kenhina so much

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get-a-new-lease-on-life · 6 years

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A New Lease on Life - 57: The Parting Glass

Dedicated to Wolf - not only is she an awesome person and a swell friend, she nailed the reader challenge from last chapter. Go you, Hon! :D Also dedicated to Heiferlump Chance, my incredibly fat cat, for always purring no matter what anyone says or does. (...really, she's always purring, she never shuts up. It's unnerving.)

Suggested Listening: Welshly Arms "Legendary," Sum 41 "Crash," Celtic Thunder "The Parting Glass," Collective Soul "Burning Bridges"

57: The Parting Glass

Central Park, November 12th, noon

Somewhere beneath Manhattan, three best friends newly reunited after a long separation quickly retreated to the dojo for privacy. Meanwhile, in Central Park, the scenery was a delightful contrast to the somber mood in the Lair.

An older man – stooped in posture and stocky in build – lounged on a pollen-dusted park bench. Faded patches scattered his threadbare coat and trousers with muted color. Grizzled, frizzy hair the color of dark concrete puffed out from the brim of his old felt hat and his weary eyes were an even drearier grey. The little skin not covered was weathered, tagged and liver-spotted and almost the color of an age-darkened penny. A thick book hung in his ungloved hands, but his eyes were focused far beyond the pages – beyond the reaches of the bench and across to a colorful calamity of joyful noise.

Children of all ages swarmed the playground and its structures, bundled up in puffy coats, mittens, and pompom hats and uncaring of the chill in the air. They were like any other children one might see in any park in the nation – too-loud, over-excitable, needlessly reckless, and entirely perfect.

The stranger's eyes softened. Children were never bothered by his presence; they knew neither race nor class. Of all the times he was judged by others his age and younger, never was one of those 'others' a child…children were, he felt, proof of the inherent goodness in the hearts of humanity. A simple child that lightly draws its breath and feels its life in every limb. What should it know of death?^ He shook his grizzled head as if to forcibly banish the morbid memories. True, those children - his children weren't dead, but with such distance separating them, they might as well be...after all, he was dead to them, and rightly so.

A dismayed squeal split the air, and a heartbeat later, something collided with his shoe. A bit more alert now, the stranger straightened to inspect the cause: a worn, well-loved football in faded green and dirty white wobbled by his foot. A whimsical smile spread on his haggard face as he caught up the toy, silently considering the bearded and derby-clad mascot imprinted on one side.* Shortly afterward, a sheepish little boy about five skipped toward him, all smiles, messy black curls, and gapped teeth. "Sawwy," the little tike professed, sheepishly digging the toe of one tiny sneaker in the mulch underfoot. "Kin I have my bawl back?"~ The stranger arched an eyebrow at the boy, and with a playful grin, drew back his arm.

"Go long." The child excitedly complied and bolted away, then turned to eagerly wait; a chuckle bubbled up in the stranger's throat as he tossed the boy his football as offered. Right before the catch, however, it was intercepted – or, rather, the boy was snatched up by his well-dressed mother and the ball sailed right past, hitting the dirt with a protesting bounce.

"Ricky, come here!" the woman chided her son and carried him away – away from the ball and the stranger who returned it. Despite her feeble attempts at discretion, the stranger easily picked out words amidst her mutterings – 'shouldn't touch—homeless—sick, maybe on drugs—filthy now!' Before, his heart was lightened by the child's innocence and trust, but now it sank in the face of the familiar judgment. These accusations, after all, were ones he was used to; he was, after all, homeless in every sense of the word, though neither sick nor on any drugs. How could he afford to feed an addiction when he couldn't afford to feed himself?

"Bu—Bu' Ma!" the boy whined, squirming on her hip. "My bawl! My brudder gave—"~

"I'll get you another ball," she cut off sternly. "Heaven knows what might be on that one now, you don't need his germs. No, don't look at him, Ricky! If you pay those people any attention, they'll only ask for handouts." Another nasal whine of protest went unnoticed as she turned to fix a scolding glare on the stranger. "I shudder to consider why he's at a playground at all," she remarked more loudly, clearly intent on him overhearing. Please. The pushers in the Bronx could have heard her telling her son he was on drugs, and they'd be just as unimpressed by her calling him a pedophile. "Someone should call the police before he hurts someone."

With a final derisive sniff, she hauled the sniveling boy up to her shoulder mid-tantrum and stalked away to the bus stop. Not understanding what he did wrong, the child settled on his mother's shoulder and watched the stranger plaintively as she carried him away. With a feeble wave goodbye from a chubby mitten-clad hand, the boy and his mother vanished behind a screen of trees.

The stranger turned back to his book, weakly sliding the cover closed and brushing the pad of his thumb across the slick plastic-encased cover. Another day, another search for peace and hope, and another complete stranger casting snap-judgments on him without allowing him a chance for rebuttal. The good people of New York never cared to hear his story—they wouldn't believe he was once a highly educated and well-paid professor at an Ivy League university, nor would they believe he was suffering this undignified lifestyle through no action of his own. Nor, he admitted to himself with a frustrated sigh, would they ever guess he was once of the same beliefs as they were and prone to casting the same snap judgments. It was a shame, really, that correcting those mistakes cost him his life.

Mid-rumination, another came up behind him—a tall, lanky man in his late twenties with messy brown hair and big dark eyes with even bigger round-framed glasses. He was clad in rumpled sage green scrubs with a wrinkled black coat over it and armed with an even more rumpled cloth grocery bag. James Peterson, a resident from a Brooklyn hospital, slumped down on the bench beside the stranger without care, unbothered by his presence. "Hey, Teach," he greeted the older man, digging out a plastic-wrapped sub sandwich and water bottle and passing them over. "What's the news?"

"Hawking's theories are a delight as always, Jimmy," Professor Wilkes replied accepting the offered meal, "but I found nothing in them to support my suppositions. In other news, to my surprise, I'm apparently a vile filthy addict trolling a playground for nefarious purposes." Jimmy snorted, already digging into his own sandwich.

"Baloney," he grinned heedless of the crumbs sticking to his face. "Anyone with eyes would know you're just a grandpa missing his grandkids." Wilkes took the out gratefully and passed the borrowed book to his younger companion; it was, after all, near its due date and the New York Public Library staff weren't too fond of having vagrants borrowing their books. How he missed being able to go out in public without being shamed…

Jimmy sobered, dark eyes fixed on the cover, remembering what he came to share. "I've found another one, Sir," he explained more quietly and with more respect. "A patient at the hospital today – she's been to Limbo, I just know it." He dug out his smartphone and easily pulled up three photos he snapped on the sly: one shot of Amber's file with identifying numbers, one of the visit summary paperwork, and one shot of her face, blurry from being snapped through a glass window at a distance. Wilkes accepted the phone and scanned the images gravely, easily scrolling down the visible portion of the report for details.

"Her name was given as Amber Jean O'Brien," Jimmy continued, "and she's twenty-six years old. When she arrived, she was unresponsive and bleeding out – her skull was crushed inward, BFT compound fracture, little chance for recovery but Doc Lloyd insisted on trying. She went into a-fib and nearly coded on the table but the team managed to pull her back." He met Wilkes' eyes, then, entirely serious. "When she regained consciousness, her skull was healing and her skin unbroken. I took this photo a few hours later when they released her…all that was left was bruising and swelling. She arrived dying, and in a matter of hours, she looked like she'd been healing for weeks, if not months."

Wilkes hemmed in thought, gravely considering the blurry pixelated photo of the undead patient. "I trust you encouraged caution?" he asked under his breath, meeting Jimmy's eyes askance. "We cannot lose her, not like the last one—a blunder of that magnitude mustn't happen, not ever again. These lives are…" He sighed, passing the phone back. "They're too precious…there's too much at stake to risk another loss."

"She won't tell anyone," Jimmy promised running his fingers through his hair, disheveling his already messy locks. "I made sure of it…and I told her I'd be in touch soon." A feeble laugh twisted his lips into a grimace. "Not sure how I'll manage, though—the address on file belongs to an unrelated woman named April O'Neil, and she lives alone. There were no other contacts or names in the file, though Miss O'Neil identified another woman as Miss O'Brien's 'sister.' I can't believe someone as scary as that blonde lady could really be family, though—she spent almost ten minutes screeching at the patient and the rest of the time berating and bullying her. She even hit her a few times." Wilkes gave a knowing grin as he wrapped up the remaining half of his sandwich then shoved it into one deep pocket.

"I don't suppose this blonde lady was tall and thin with blue eyes and disorderly hair?" he asked without asking; Jimmy blinked, stunned. "Did she answer to the name Mercy?"

"Uh…as a matter of fact," Jimmy answered blankly, "yeah, she did. Miss O'Neil referred to her as Mercy and I heard the patient, Miss O'Brien, call her Merse when they left for their vehicle. How'd you know?"

"I've met the young lady before," Wilkes explained without emphasis. "She was homeless for a time, and recalled nothing about herself. She was certain she was someone else entirely, a woman named Mercy Ross, even though I knew her as Donna Mays. I approached her about Limbo but she…" He winced, recalling Mercy's vehement—and obscene—overreaction. "Well, I lost track of her after that. I'm sure if your mystery woman was familiar enough for Miss Ross to feel comfortable striking her, where we find one, we'll find the other. Birds of a feather do, after all, keep company with their own, especially when those birds have endured what those from other worlds endure."

After a brief sip of water, Wilkes moved on. "I'll see what I can dig up on this Amber O'Brien, and I have faith you can manage whatever portions of the search I cannot. I'm sure Miss Baker will be of some help with sufficient incentive, hm?" A violent shudder clattered from Jimmy's shaggy head down to his bony ankles. Danni Baker, after all, terrified him; still, he nodded in reluctant agreement. "If, by some chance, we find her sooner rather than later, let's give the young lady some time to recover before we attempt contact. The last thing we need is to spook her and lose another body."

Jimmy nodded, clearly remembering the same disaster that still flitted behind Professor Wilkes' eyes – haunting green eyes, cold pallid skin, old, dark, coagulated blood… Jimmy physically shook off the image with a barely audible whine; Wilkes easily saw the reason and offered a comforting squeeze of the shoulder. "You've done well, my boy – far better than you would believe, and you are quite capable of whatever task you should set for yourself." He paused, then asked, "Now, what progress have you made in your mission? What have you learned?" Jimmy hesitated, fumbled, then, finally, gave a weak shrug.

"Nothing," he mumbled in defeat. "I've found nothing…I can't figure out the answer. I'm sorry, Teach." Wilkes sobered, contemplating the younger man a moment longer, then hoisted himself up off the bench with a pained grunt.

"If you continue in that manner," he warned, "you'll never succeed. Before you can find the answer, you must first discover the question. Discover the question – ask it – consider it in length – then, and only then, will you find the answer." He clapped a comforting hand on Jimmy's still-slouched shoulder and gave him a crooked smile. "Thank you for the luncheon, Peterson, and happy hunting…the Society is counting on you." Without another word, the shabbily-dressed elder slipped away, venturing into the more remote and dangerous reaches of Central Park the way one can only if they have nothing left to lose.

After all, a life was a petty thing when compared to such a treasure as the knowledge of many lifetimes.

Meanwhile, down in the Lair

Not so long ago, perhaps a whole twenty minutes prior, the Lair was full of laughter and joy. The four brothers and their master returned with Mercy and Amber in tow, all high on elation over the brunette's narrowly avoided second death…and, as the brunette in question grumbled, her avoidance of "finally earnin' that Darwin Award, an' in my pajamas no less." Yeah. She nearly died in her sleep, was brought home in her nightclothes, hauled to the hospital in her nightclothes, and finally, sent home in her nightclothes. Now, not yet having had an opportunity to change, she was still in her nightclothes and pointedly ignoring the blood stains on what was once a comfy nightshirt.

All the festivity was brought to a halt, however, with the appearance of a face familiar to some and foreign to others – Aaron Willis, who slipped through the portal behind Donatello and, despite all odds, arrived in the Lair after the occupants rushed to the hospital. Now the air was quiet and those who breathed it even quieter. Almost immediately after the cursory introductions, Amber, Aaron, and Mercy all retreated into the Dojo to speak in private, heedless that their voices would surely carry without a solid door.

Earlier, Donatello ruminated on the futility of pacing; now he again fell prey to the useless occupation, but this time feeling lost rather than frantic. His listless feet led him in an endless circuit – from the living area to the hallway, from the hallway to the living area, and back again, and at every turn, his eyes shot to the curtain of chipped wooden beads shading the doorway to the Dojo. Beyond that vintage drape, his lover and her two best friends were huddled together, all searching for some way to say the goodbye they were once cheated out of.

Seemingly unaffected by the tense mutterings from the room beyond, Mikey sprawled against the old brick wall separating the Dojo from the living area; he leaned back on one bandaged palm, his right knee bent upward and his left leg folded underneath, and his free arm lazily draped over the upright kneecap. He was calm and unusually quiet and seemed to have not a care in the world, a faint smile at his lips. Veering back toward the living area again, Donnie shot an exasperated glance at Mikey. The three people in the dojo were saying goodbye after a lifetime of being inseparable; how could Mikey not realize how much they must hurt when he was usually the one with the most emotional intelligence? Instead of confronting his younger brother, Donnie spun on his toes and lurched back toward the hall again, senses tuned to the soft murmurings in the dojo.

A harsh, strangled sound split the silence – halfway between a choked sob and a smothered shout. Abandoning his pacing, the genius nearly bolted to the beaded doorway; before he could swipe the curtain aside, a three-fingered hand shot out, latched onto his trousers, and yanked him down onto the floor beside its owner. Mikey returned his silent demand with a solemn shake of the head; he shot a pointed glance at the curtain. Donnie, realizing the point, rubbed his scalp in embarrassment and leaned over to peer through between the strands of beads.

Mercy stood leaning back against the far wall, sourly considering the punching bag with wet eyes that belied her supposed anger. Amber slumped on the padded mat at her feet, her knees drawn and feet tucked. Aaron sprawled limply against her front, eyes buried in her neck, both hands feebly gripping one of hers, and his shoulders and back trembling in a familiar manner. Her eyes were red-rimmed and weak but dry, and she held him close, gently petting his hair and his back.

For once, Amber wasn't crying; instead, Aaron was crying and he wasn't hiding it, only forcing himself to stay quiet. Over the four-and-a-half days Donnie spent getting to know Aaron, the genius came to the conclusion the blond was unbelievably strong in spirit for a human. Donnie couldn't even imagine giving up Amber unless she, herself, asked him to; Aaron swallowed his feelings for her, put on as though he wasn't heartbroken over her, and let her go without a word, all because he wanted her to be safe and happy. Now he was driven to tears and clinging to his friend, and Donnie had his answer. Aaron was, indeed, among the strongest in spirit Donatello had ever met. A weaker man might have smothered his feelings and forced himself to 'look tough,' or maybe bawled like a baby, made a scene, and whined about how unfair the situation was. Aaron didn't retreat behind toxic masculinity and deny his feelings and he didn't throw himself over to his heartbreak entirely—he accepted the feelings, he showed them, and he owned them - he only kept his voice down to avoid drawing attention. “Aaron, Mercy, an' I were almost inseparable” Amber told the genius oftentimes before. "Now we're gone—he's lost both'is best friends, forever. He's all alone now." Alone…losing those he cared about most was heartbreaking, but instead of fighting his emotions, he accepted them. What could be stronger than allowing yourself to be vulnerable when so many others couldn't bear to show weakness?**

Choking up, Donnie retreated from the doorway, slouching over beside Mikey in defeat. The younger patted his knee, offering a small wry smile that both bewildered and hurt. "How can you stand this?" he demanded of the younger. "How can you sit there smiling? They're hurting—their whole world is falling apart and it'll never be the same again! What about that deserves a smile?" The sharp censure faded, leaving behind only sorrow.

"The whole thing deserves a smile," Mikey explained quietly, "because it was real." Donnie faltered, eyes wide and watery. "They're hurting because everything they had together, everything they feel for each other, is real, true, and certain; it never hurts to lose something that means nothing to you." The genius looked away, eyes darting back and forth along the floor as though arranging invisible puzzle pieces; to his surprise, the picture he came up with finally matched the box. "All this?" Mikey pointed out with a wide-sweeping gesture and let his other arm drape around his brother's slumped shoulders. "Someday it'll all be behind us—those three will adapt and learn to live their new lives. Sure, Merse an' Sis'll probably always miss Afro-man in there, but someday it won't hurt anymore…they'll be too busy reliving the laughter to remember the tears."

Donnie's eyes drifted from the floor to Mikey's, blending from brown to gold to green in the changing light. "How did you ever get to be so smart?" he asked in all seriousness. Mikey reclaimed his arm and crossed both in an I know I'm awesome pose.

"Didn't I tell ya?" the youngest teased with a toothy grin. "Brains, brawn, and a dazzling personality." Comforted, Donnie let out an amused huff and gave him a teasing shove. Mikey had his qualities, but modesty was not among them.

In the dojo, Aaron's cracking voice broke the tense silence between the three friends. "I—I know ya—can't come back," he rasped into Amber's collarbone. "I jus'—I jus'—" Another choked sob broke through. "It wa'n't s'posed to—to end like this—it was always us—you, me, Ross, us against the world! We—We were s'posed to g-get old together—" A sharp inhale creaked in his lungs. "Jus' the th-three of us—jus' a group'a ol' f-farts—bitchin' each other out—d-drivin' each other c-crazy—r-rasslin' 'til someone broke a-a hip—"~ Despite the admittedly humorous image, no one was laughing. "This—it ain't right! It—We—I—" After several false starts he gave up, his voice too hoarse and his brain too scattered.

"Don't forget racin' motor-chairs~ in Walmart," Amber offered, clearly hoping to make him smile. "Can't skip sittin' on the porch an' wallapin' the lil' wankers trespassin' on our lawns, either—I even had a cane already." No response; the tease fell flat, unsurprisingly. "Wil—" She cut herself off in a sigh. "Aaron."

The sudden silence in the dojo felt deafening; Aaron froze against her shoulder, his still-wet eyes wide at the significance. Amber and Mercy used each other's first names on occasion, but they almost never used Aaron's first name—he was always Willis to them, and to him, they were always O'Brien and Ross or some other teasing insult-name. It was their thing—their little inside joke and their way of showing each other they cared. After all these years, there was no doubt they cared about each other. Now, Amber used his given name to comfort him, but also to remind him of the truth: things would never be the same again, but that didn't necessarily mean they'd be bad. "Aaron…Hon, I know it hurts," she murmured thickly, "I know we never wan'ed this ta happen, but it did, we can't change that. I died in tha' world…I almost died twice…in some ways, death's still permanent.~ I belong here, now, no matter how much we may wish I didn't."

"Y-Yeah," Aaron rasped and sniffed, and extracted himself from her neck to slouch beside her; he was still a bit of a mess, but he was regaining control. "But…but even if you could come home—an'—an' stay there without—" He trailed off and skipped over the end. "You w-wouldn't…be…"

"No," Amber answered his unfinished question with a bittersweet smile and a thickened tongue, "I wouldnae be happy…Ah'd be heartbroken 'cause my heart would a'ways be here…wi' my Dunnie."~ Aaron stilled, his eyes still wet but his jaw set firm. Tentatively, as though participating in a luxury he'd never allowed himself, he lifted a shaky hand, fingers curled, and traced the curve of one salt-stained cheek with his knuckles.

"Amber," he almost whispered as though uttering some sweet pet-name, "you stubborn, psychotic, crazy Scotch nutcase." Pet-name? Definitely. Sweet? Though sour to most, to the trio, it was saccharine. He shook his head with a silent scoff, burying both his hands in his armpits. "I love you, ya delusional woman—I've always loved ya—always…even back when we were kids. I didn't drop slugs down your shirt fer nothin'." Amber's lip quirked at the memory, her cheeks flushing from containing a laugh. The confession, long overdue, was all Aaron to a 'T'—blunt, sarcastic, and halfway between offensive and ridiculous. "Still…it wouldn't be enough…would it?"

"Someday you'd run out'a slugs," she pointed out as Mercy rolled her eyes, pantomiming a gag. The bleak mood over the room was lifting, at least a little. "Someday I might actually put pickles on yer cheeseburger pizza.*** Nothing lasts forever, you know?" He gave a glum nod. "Besides…you waited all these years to tell me—Heck, I spent most'a our childhood thinkin' the sun shined out'a yer arse—"~

"It ain't the sun," Mercy grumbled, "he's naturally fluorescent." Amber snorted.

"Willis' whiteness ain't the point,"# she snickered as the two blondes glared at each other then, without any sort of warning, crossed their eyes and stuck their tongues out at each other in unison. Some things never changed. "You never told me how you felt for a reason, right? Yer not shy, Aaron—ya had a reason for hidin' it, otherwise you'd'a~ told me, just like that, years ago." Aaron sobered, unable to meet Amber's eyes.

"Y-Yeah," he admitted under his breath. "We just…we're not a good fit, ya know? Yer a bookworm, I'm a redneck—you' got culture, I just cuss—yer—yer fuckin' brilliant, ya know?" He scoffed, his lip curling halfway between amusement and derision. "I ain't smart—I'm just a smartass."

"You're not stupid," Amber insisted hauling his eyes back to hers by his scruffy goatee, "an' you're not a total rube. You're strong—you're genuine an' determined—ya know who ya are an' don't try to change that for anyone, ya wear it proud an' slap folks across the face with your sass if they judge you."

"In other words," Mercy offered with a too-innocent smile, "yer a proud redneck in a world full of normal people." Amber shot Mercy a reprimanding glare; the blonde shrugged. "What? It's true." The other rolled her eyes in defeat.

"We digress," she grumbled. "Look, Hon, Merse an' I love ya to bits—" Seeing Mercy's lips part to argue, Amber reached out and poked her on the ankle in warning. "—an' we know ya love us, too, in yer weird little way. It hurts to lose people ya love…no one's ever really ready to lose someone they care about for good, but it's just part of life." She gave him a teasing fist-bump to the shoulder. "Besides, even if I can't ever come home without bitin' the dust, who says you can't visit us?"

Aaron jerked, his eyes darting up to meet Amber's, then flashing to Mercy's, then back again. "You—y'all want me to come see ya?" he parroted back in surprise. "But how—" Mercy pounced on him knuckles-first.

"Let us worry about that, Lightbulb-butt," Mercy teased noogie-ing him relentlessly as he fussed. "I' got the barn, she's got the brew…" She trailed off, eyebrows arching in an open hint. Aaron's nose twitched, but he scrubbed his eyes clean and grinned all the wider.

"I'll bring the barbecue," he finished in a laughing wheeze. Content that the worst was over, Amber exchanged a pointed look with both blondes, and threw her arms open wide, wiggling her fingers in suggestion; when they balked, she latched onto their clothing and yanked them into a group hug. As always, they 'endured, but under extreme duress' and muttered insults at each other over her frizzy hair...at least until something occurred to Mercy. She cringed, craning her neck to get as far away from Amber's shoulder as possible.

"O'Brien?" she grimaced. "Ya know yer shirt's still got blood on it, right? An' now it's covered in Willis' tears an' snot?" Amber yanked her back in with an evil laugh. "Oh, gross!"

"Ross," Aaron grumbled from Amber's other shoulder, his voice muffled by blood-stained fabric, "just friggin' roll with it."

Aaron burst through the beaded doorway with a purpose, startling the two eaves-dropping ninjas by the wall. "Listen here, Nerd," he barked getting right up in Donatello's face without even leaving him room to stand up. He pointed emphatically at the exasperated blonde and unimpressed brunette, never letting up on his scowl. "Ya see those two idjits? They're gonna get 'emselves hurt someday, especially that klutz." Amber huffed. "Yer job's to keep'em from gettin' 'emselves hurt an' to keep that braided blockhead from earnin' 'erself a Darwin Award. Got it?"

Donnie made to protest the insults but Aaron cut him off again, this time, entirely serious. "I can't always be around to protect those two anymore; I'm passin' that buck to you. I'm warnin' ya though, I find out any of ya hurt'em—either of'em—there won't be a world y'all can run to where I won't find ya, an' I'll turn all four'a yer shells into fishponds. Crystal?"

"Really, Willis?" Amber drawled as she latched onto his shoulders and bodily moved him out of Donnie's personal space. "Fishponds? That's the worst you could come up with?"

"Yeah," he groused, "well, I'd say feed yer asses to my cats, but the lil' buggers have gotten picky. They won't even eat pepperoni anymore – well, Ass-Butt will, but it gives'er a real rancid case'a—" Two hands lashed out and slapped over Aaron's mouth to cut him off, the owners respectively cringing and grimacing. Clearly, Donnie realized with a blank stare, the threat was empty but the request was the same: 'take care of my friends even though I couldn't kick your butt if I tried.'

"That's it," Amber warned marching Aaron toward the kitchen, "I'm gettin' a fork, yer done."## Shortly after this, she spoke again. "I'm changin'—All in favor of burnin' these clothes?" The suggestion was favored with a several-voice chorus of ayes from every corner of the Lair.

Over the next hour—after Amber finally got a chance to change out of her blood, tear, and snot-tainted PJs—Amber and Donatello filled in the others with their observations about the days leading up to Amber's near-death. After some consideration, the genius came up with a theory: she might be safe in her world so long as she left before 72 hours was up. Mercy, too, was likely subject to the same rules, as she, too, died in that world. Aaron, having never died in either world, was probably free to come and go as he pleased. Everyone knew the theory would remain just that until it was proven or dis-proven but no one was willing to try it just yet. Likewise, everyone knew the surprisingly comfortable gathering had to be broken up soon, but no one was willing to suggest such.

Thus, long after all the questions were asked and the answers were given, the gathering transitioned into other activities—getting to know one another, watching movies, making dinner, eating it, then yet another movie with even more lounging around. By eight o'clock, a contagious yawn started making the rounds through the three world-hoppers, and Splinter finally put his clawed foot down: the fun was over. Aaron needed to be taken home and Donnie and Amber's luggage needed to be collected from said home. Donatello already missed three nights' patrol and was sure to miss more due to inter-dimensional 'jet lag,' and they weren't sure how much time had passed in Aaron's world without his presence. This, in particular, horrified the blond, who promptly began fretting about his cats, his game system, and his job, in that exact order.

In the end, it was all agreed. Donnie and Amber were ordered to make it an early night. Leo and Splinter vowed to take Aaron home, pack up the couple's belongings, leave word about the developments for Kimber, and return without delay. Mercy made some excuse about 'yard work,' but the validity of that excuse was put into question by her silent conversation with Raphael—a conversation executed with nothing more than facial expressions and discreet gestures.

After seeing and hearing the three friends fall apart in the dojo, earlier, Donnie honestly expected a long, tearful goodbye. Instead, Mercy and Aaron exchanged a shoulder-punch and a couple odd insults that sounded a bit like terms of affection, and both promised to beat the other's ass next time they met. Aaron and Amber, on the other hand, weren't quite so prickly together—she roped him into a hug and they shared a few quiet words the others couldn't quite hear. "Next time," she then promised with a wry smile, "I'll see ya off with a nip'a the good stuff, jus' like ol' times…if'n ya promise not to try milkin' any cows afterward."

When all was said and done, Splinter, Leo, and Aaron were gone, and Mercy and Raphael were off to the Garden, Amber slipped away, seeking quiet. Donnie found her in the dojo staring through the weapon racks lining the far wall. This, of course, worried the genius. She was quiet—too quiet—and despite watery eyes and a croaking voice, she never broke down and cried once in the entire time since they returned to the Lair. When he first met her, she would have been bawling the moment she saw Aaron and would have fallen apart—she would be struggling under memories, seeing images of destruction flashing behind her eyes—the horrors of her previous life would have held her hostage and left her broken long afterward. Now, she was silent, calm, and contemplating the grouping of lesser-used weapons hung along the wall. Was she in shock?

She didn't show any signs of surprise when Donnie came up behind her and gathered her into his arms; she wasn't lost in thought, then. "The worst is over now," he reminded, briefly nuzzling into her hair then tucking her head under his chin. "It'll take some time to adjust, but we'll get through it, I promise." To his surprise and disbelief, she didn't break down—she didn't tremble or latch onto him with every ounce of strength. Instead, she looked up to peck the underside of his jaw then leaned back into his plastron, wrapped her arms around his.

"I know," she answered with a soft smile—a smile that, though hard to believe, didn't seem fake or forced at all. "The world turned on without me, Donnie. I was so sure my family was fallin' apart—that Aaron couldn't handle livin' without me." She gave a self-deprecating laugh. "Some ego, huh? My father was already moving on an' my Ma an' Gran'Da were workin' on it. Aaron was doin' better, too, an' if we hadn't arrived on the anniversary, he prob'ly wouldn't have been so out of sorts." She shrugged, laying her head on his shoulder, content. "Life goes on, even when we feel like it's fallin' down around us. If they can rise above their grief, who's to say I can't rise above my fears?"

"Are you really alright, Honey?" Donatello released her only to turn her to face him and tilt her eyes up to his; she wasn't showing any sign of being upset or hurting, but neither did she seem to be in shock. He cupped her jaw in his hand, brushing the pad of his thumb along her cheekbone – a cheek that would normally be stained with tears. "You're…well, you seem to be…coping with this."

"I've spent a lot of time not copin', haven't I?" Amber admitted and covered his hand with hers. "I've spent far too long livin' in the past when I should'a~ been enjoyin' the present. Back in my last life, I'd never've~ been so—so mopey—an' I wasn't a crier…in this life, I've been an absolute mess…an' I've been leanin' on you too hard, too." She cringed, ducking her head in shame. "I'm sorry for that…you deserve better an' I can do better—I will do better. I can't go back an' change that, but I can try harder not to let my emotions carry me away. You deserve better an' I'll do what I can to become better." The silence stretched uncomfortably, so she met his eyes again. He seemed stunned—bewildered and pleasantly so.

"You're…you're really alright?" he asked bringing his other hand up to her other cheek; Amber covered that one with her other hand, heedless of how ridiculous they must look, him framing her face and her holding his hands in place. "You're…not afraid? Or hurting?"

"Of course I'm hurtin'," she corrected with a wry smile, "I just said goodbye to the best friend I ever had, outside Mercy, an' I may never see my family again—I'm still sad, I'm just not wallowing in it like I have been. Life went on for them, an' it'll go on for me, too…Aaron an' my family aren't here, but you are...yer worth endurin' all the sorrow an' fear in the world, Dunnie." Donnie's throat visibly clenched, his eyes misting over, and he leaned down to steal her lips. Amber sighed into the kiss, reaching for his neck; that kiss was followed by several more, each slower and more sensual than the last, and she dug her nails into his skin, relishing the soft moan it triggered.

Somewhere between nip and tug, she recalled the moments before she awoke on the operating table—recalled the voice in the Void—and knew she had to tell him. "I've told you about…the Void…haven't I?" she asked haltingly. Donnie nodded, his eyes reluctantly leaving her swollen lips for her eyes.

"I take it you returned?" he asked, and she nodded.

"I dunno how long I was there," she answered, "I only know when I left—that's right before I woke up on the operating table. This time was different, though."

"Different how?"

"The Void…it's…well, it's hard to describe." Amber disentangled herself from his arms, wandered over to the meditation corner and sprawled out on one of the mats. Donnie joined her, listening intently. "It's a world of nothingness. There's no sound, no sight, no sensation of any sort—when yer there, yer nothin', you have no body but you can sense things anyway. The blindin' light an' pitch darkness…the endless ticking an' maddening white noise…the smell of dust an' old books…" 'I'd better not find you in my filing cabinet again for at least fifty years.' Nope. Not dealin' with that just yet. She shook off the memory of the whiny voice and carded her fingers into her hair, digging her nails into her scalp as if to remind herself that she was alive and could feel things again.

"The first time I was there, I was alone," she continued, "but this time, there was another – a voice, mibbe~ the same voice Kimber mentioned. It was sure irritating enough." She shook the thought off and turned a smile to the genius beside her. "I wasn't put here by coincidence…the Voice mentioned lessons—I've learned some already, but I got the feelin' from the conversation that I'm meant to learn more in the future."

"What manner of lessons?" Donnie asked leaning on his bent knees. Amber shrugged.

"The ones they mentioned all pertained to faults from my last life," she explained. "I learned to ask for help an' let myself to be vulnerable—I learned how to accept myself for who I am instead'a hidin' behind nonsense an' tryin' to fit in—I learned that words aren't somethin' to fear an' hold back an' that sharin'em doesn't have to be like pullin' teeth." She shot Donnie a lopsided grin. "The Voice asked if I was gonna give up an' die again, an' I tore it a new one; apparently, now I'm learnin' to forgive myself for mistakes I've made, like givin' up on life so easy last time." He chuckled, pulling her into a sidelong hug and smoothing his palm up and down her side. "I owe it all to you, ya know," she added, her voice soft with emotion. "You're the reason I've made so much progress."

"Nonsense." Amber startled. She leaned away and blinked at him in confusion, but he didn't look upset. "Our trip made me realize something, Braids," he explained with a fond smile. "I've spent all this time trying to 'fix you,' but you never needed fixing. Fixing something implies it was broken to begin with—you're not broken and you never were—you're a little battered but you won't always be that way." Before, Donnie was stunned by the dryness of Amber's eyes; now, they were shimmering with happy tears. "I can't solve your problems for you," he added as she crawled into his lap, then his embrace. "All I can do is support you while you fight your battles," he summed up breathing in the sweet coconut of her hair underneath the astringent scent of the hospital, "and believe in you, no matter what."

Amber's breath hitched against his collarbone; he nuzzled into her hair and rubbed her back, comforted by her closeness. In just under a year, they came a long way—they became friends, fell apart, and grew together again, and now, they could only grow stronger. His unoccupied eyes drifted along the wall before them, sliding from one grouping of weapons to the next before landing on a familiar sight: an old, age-faded pair of wooden tonfa. His nickname was scribbled on the handles of those weapons before age faded the markings, and despite routine cleaning and oiling, he would bet they both still had traces of his blood in the grain. Last he checked, he still had some scars from them; it would only be fitting for them to also still bear traces of the injuries he caused himself with them.

His eyes dropped to Amber's scalp as he considered his intentions. Ask me about Clayton Gregory. The Amber in his dreams was adamant about this—she insisted that when he remembered, he needed to broach the subject—but as of yet, he still held his tongue. Today, he nearly lost Amber all over again—if he spent even an hour more hiking, or if his gamble on moving her despite a head injury hadn't paid off… He shuddered, gathering her even closer. She could have died…the last time he lost her, she still lived, but this time would have been permanent…he couldn't lose her again, not without knowing the truth, not without telling her what she meant to him.

"Amber, there's something I need to ask you." His voice was shaky from nerves—and understandably so—but she should still have heard him. Instead, she said nothing; she just breathed steadily into his neck. "Hon?" No answer. He carefully eased her away, craning his neck to see her, half-afraid her injury was manifesting again. Instead, she slumped with her chin almost to her chest, eyes closed and shoulders drooping. 'Oh man…I knew this would happen,' he thought with a wince. 'She really was in shock—now it's all hit at—'

A quiet snore cut off his train of thought. He blinked. She was…asleep? A quick inspection revealed that her forehead was still healing and the last of the bruising nearly gone; her eyes were shuttered but relaxed and her lips were curled into a small, tired smile. There he was, angsting about his dreams, and she fell asleep on him. 'You nutty woman,' he thought at her with a breathy chuckle, 'you couldn't wait until I dragged you to bed?' Careful not to disturb her, he shifted her to the mat, stood, and lifted her in his arms bridal style to carry her to bed; she nestled into his neck almost immediately, and gave a contented sigh in his ear. This moment, he decided, was sweeter than the coffee she always left him on Saturdays.

With Amber tucked in their bed, he crawled in beside her, gathering her against his plastron. He knew he needed to confront her about the dreams—needed to find out if she really shared those dreams after all—but it could wait another day. They both needed some rest after the day's drama. His mind made up and his heart lighter, Donatello gave his worries over to the night, eagerly awaiting his dreams and even more eagerly, the much-beloved woman who surely waited in them. From his dreams, she beckoned him, her hair still a little pink and her grey-green eyes weary.

"Remember me—I remember you."

UP NEXT: The Moment of Truth

Chapter List

NOTES:

Title from a popularly-covered traditional Scottish folk song. The song is based on the tradition of offering guests a final drink to bolster their spirits on their journey home, and carries undertones of both sadness and tenderness. Amber and Mercy, and Aaron are being separated again, here, permanently if not perpetually, like distant relatives returning home; I feel like the overall tone and mood of the song fits here for that reason, even if the specific lyrics aren't spot-on. My favorite rendition of the song is by Celtic Thunder and it's absolutely haunting. On a personal note, the Chance family has a similar tradition after a big gathering like Christmas or Thanksgiving. Once the last visiting Chance family relative has left and taken their drama with them, Papa Chance, Mama Chance, my hubby Cold, and I all gather in their living room, we all pour ourselves a glass of our chosen poison, and give a toast something along the lines of this: "Yay, they're finally gone!" And with that we all toss back our drinks—Scotch in my case—and we all pass out where we sit.

^ A simple child that lightly draws its breath and feels its life in every limb. What should it know of death? - This verse is from "We are Seven" by William Wordsworth. Despite the morbid tone, the poem was actually somewhere between sober and whimsical, centered around a conversation between the poet and a young girl he met. In the poem he asks how many siblings she has and she answers "we are seven" but upon being prompted to let him meet her siblings she answers that two have left home, two have gone to sea, and two are dead and buried. He protests that if two children died and five live, then she only has four siblings, but in the innocence of childhood she insists no, there are seven of them. This poem has an overtone of childish willfulness and whimsy but is also a reminder that even when our loved ones have left us, they're never really gone.

* Green and white, mascot has a beard and wears a derby hat – Just name-dropping on my favorite college-league football team, the Notre Dame Fighting Irish.

** Crying isn't something to be ashamed of, regardless of your gender. Boys and men feel sorrow like women and girls—having testicles instead of a twat shouldn't revoke your right to cry when you need to. Yes, I'm a feminist.

*** Someday I might actually put pickles on your cheeseburger pizza. – Recall all the times in this story Amber has teased Aaron about this – "Ma brought your favorite but it's got pickles," and "I brought your favorite pizza and it's got pickles!" This is the explanation: Aaron's favorite pizza is cheeseburger, and some people put PICKLES on cheeseburger pizza. He's appalled by this, so naturally, Amber teases him about it…because he, Mercy, and Amber are ALWAYS teasing each other.

# "It ain't the sun—he's naturally fluorescent." "Willis' whiteness ain't the point." – an ongoing joke is how Aaron, who has a habit of running around naked anytime he's home inside OR out, can still be pale as a fish instead of tanned all over. His stated 'whiteness' isn't a reference to race – it's describing his pale skin. Also, recall the scene where Mercy picked Aaron up for Amber's funeral, got an eyeful while he was showering, then described his backside as 'so white it's fluorescent.'

## "I'm gettin' a fork, yer done."– another reference to the phrase "stick a fork in me, I'm done!" Usually the phrase you're done, when used in this manner, means basically "y'all have made a complete ass of yerself, so shut up before your foot's permanently lodged in yer throat!"

The Lair - if it hasn't become clear by this point, I just wanted to get this out here - I am NOT basing the Lair in this story on any single Lair portrayed before. In all series the guys tend to change homes a few times for various reasons, and we can assume that's what happened here - sometime between the end of OotS and the beginning of this story, their former lair was either found or outgrown and they moved on to a new home. Ibeen working on a rough floorplan of this lair (VERY rough) and may eventually post it to this Tumblr once it’s a little more complete.

WORDS

Kin I have my bawl back? – This kid's got a pretty thick northerner's tongue already; since his mother's speech is untainted by it, we can only wonder where it came from. "Can I have my ball back?"

Bu—Bu' Ma! My bawl! My brudder gave— [cut off]– "But Mom, my ball! My brother gave [it to me]!" The implication is that his older brother attends or perhaps attended Notre Dame University, received the ball at a game and gave it to him. Since little brothers generally idolize their older brothers at this age, he's very attached to the ball.

It wa'n't s'posed to—to end like this—it was alwaysus—you, me, Ross, us against the world! We—We were s'posed to g-get old together—Jus' the th-three of us—jus' a group'a ol' f-farts—bitchin' each other out—d-drivin' each other c-crazy—r-rasslin' 'til someone broke a-a hip. – MWT. "It wasn't supposed to end like this—we were always together—it was just you, me, and Mercy against the world! We were supposed to grow old together, just the three of us—we'd be just another group of old farts (basically 'someone who's grown crotchety and aggravating in their old age) complaining at each other, driving each other crazy, horsing around until someone broke a hip…" Basically, Aaron wanted the three of them to stay the same until they died—he and Amber would always be verbally sparring, he and Mercy would always have insult contests and tussle like children, and they'd only be parted by death at a ripe old age of ancient. Needless to say, this wasn't a rational aspiration and he's struggled with the truth.

Racin' motor-chairs in Walmart – This is an aspiration of many young pranksters anticipating their old age – racing wheelchairs in their local nursing home and the little electric scooters in their local Walmart.

Wallapin' the lil' wankers tresspassin' on our lawns – this is MY aspiration for when I'm old instead of just decrepit – waving my cane and shouting "Gi'off ma lawn ya lil' hooligans!" when neighbor kids come around. Wallap/wallop – to hit or strike something, first spelling is Scotch slang, second is regional slang used in the MW US. Lil' wankers – a lovely little insult common to Brit-slang and Scotch slang, basically means the same as calling someone a little fucker, with the difference that wank generally refers to solo-shenanigans rather than traditional two-or-more-people shenanigans.

Wan'ed this ta happen / died in tha' world – "Wanted this to happen" and "died in that world." Scotched relapse.

I wouldnae be happy…Ah'd be heartbroken 'cause my heart would a'ways be here…wi' my Dunnie. – "I wouldn't be happy in that world. I'd be heartbroken because my heart would always be here, with Donnie." Scotched relapse.

Out'a – out of, MWT.

I spent most'a our childhood thinkin' the sun shined out'a yer arse—" – "I spent most of our childhood thinking you were the most amazing person in the world." Compare 'the sun shines out of your ass' to the more polite phrase 'you make the sun rise and set.' MWT.

You'd'a – MWT, you would have.

You' / I' – This has been shown before but I'm not sure I ever noted it. Conjunctions shown with only the first word and apostrophe are pronounced the same as the base word. Thus, you' could be you're, you've, or you'd based on the context and I' could be I've, I'd, or I'm. MWT, also common in some Southern and city dialects.

Ya see those two idjits? They're gonna get'emselves hurt someday, especially that klutz. Yer job's to keep'em from gettin'emselves hurt an' to keep that braided blockhead from earnin' 'erself a Darwin Award. – MWT. "You see those two [idiots]? They're going to get themselves hurt someday, especially that [clumsy person]. Your job is to keep them from getting themselves hurt and to keep that braided blockhead [Amber] from earning herself a Darwin Award." The Darwin Award, often used in connection to Amber, is an unofficial status given in jest to persons who died from incredibly unbelievable acts of stupidity or ignorance, 'thus proving Darwin's theory about the survival of the fittest.' Look up "Darwin Award DOT com," it'll relieve you of all hope for the future of humanity.

I'm warnin' ya…I find out any of ya hurt'em—either of'em…an' I'll turn all four'a yer shells into fishponds. – "I'm warning you, if I find out any of you hurt [Amber or Mercy] I'll rip all four of your shells off and make goldfish ponds out of them." (…because they're a tad too big to make ashtrays out of.) MWT.

Next time, I'll see ya off with a nip'a the good stuff, jus' like ol' times…if'n ya promise not to try milkin' any cows afterward. – Next time you visit, before you leave, I'll share [a couple fingers' worth of quality Scotch] with you first, just like we used to…at least, if you promise not to try milking any cows afterward. MWT with nip from Scots, meaning 'a drink of some alcoholic beverage.' The concept of sharing a drink with a departing guest is a tradition in some countries including parts of Scotland, and the basis for the song "The Parting Glass" and the poem it came from. The second bit, about milking cows, is a jab about Aaron's drunken exploits in Glenville the last time he and Amber visited his mother. (See chapter 2: Death Was Only the Beginning) Simply put, he and his cousin got drunk, they challenged each other to a cow-milking contest, and Aaron—in his inebriation—accidentally tried to milk a bull instead of a cow and got peed on. We can only hope Amber hosed his drunken ass off outside.

Prob'ly – MWT, Probably

Should'a / Instead'a – MWT, Should have, Instead of

I'd never've – MWT, I would never have

Mibbe – maybe, Scots.

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