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#I did really want the lighting to be the highlight - no pun intended - since you mentioned it specifically lol

geekgirles · 3 years

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Mirrors

Disclaimer: This was originally going to be much longer (and it is very long already) but since I might have overdone it, I will be cutting it in two. The second part will feature the similarities and differences between Marinette and Kagami and some final thoughts.

Part 2

Kagami’s name means ‘mirror’ in Japanese, and according to Thomas Astruc, that’s not a coincidence. Indeed, she’s supposed to be a reflection of the main characters. This trait is best seen through her role as an alternative love interest for Adrien, but she is also a reflection of Marinette’s own character; more specifically, her own relationship with Adrien.

However, the way Kagami works as a mirror changes from one character to the other. For Adrien, she’s a direct parallel to many of the traits that make him who he is, only that she adds more nuance to them. For Marinette, despite their many similarities, they are also opposites.

In this analysis I will reflect (pun not-intended) on the way Kagami works as Adrien’s mirror, how she does the same for Marinette, and the way that affects her relationship with both of them.

Adrien and Kagami:

As Adrien’s alternative love interest over Ladybug, it is to be expected that Kagami would have enough things in common with him for Adrien to be able to relate to her and see her as something other than a friend.

And this is one of the reasons why Adrien has considered Kagami as his girlfriend and not Marinette; her proximity to his own situation.

Kagami’s introductory episode, Riposte, already focused a lot of its attention in highlighting how similar the two are. Aside from sharing a common interest in fencing (which allows them later on to spend time together outside of school or business-related occasions), Riposte already showed enough of Kagami’s background to make us understand why Adrien would bond with her. Their respective parents are both strict, expect nothing but the best from their kids’ performance in everything they do and, most importantly, they’re both very absent in their lives while simultaneously being present in every aspect of them.

We all know how Gabriel controls every single aspect of Adrien’s life while never spending time with his son at the same time, but Tomoe is just as controlling and overprotective. In Ikari Gozen she considered her daughter having friends should be at the bottom of her priority list, even hinting some trust issues with the sole idea.

And, despite that, in Riposte Kagami was all alone in the car, calling her mother to let her know that she had failed, but not showing any signs of expecting any sort of comfort from her. After all, she said it herself:

“There's no such thing as a second chance in my family.”

Another parallel between Adrien and Kagami is precisely the fact that Tomoe relies on someone else to look after her daughter, just like Gabriel tends to shove his responsibilities with Adrien onto Nathalie and Gorizilla. Except that in Tomoe’s case it’s even worse; she entrusts her daughter to Tatsu, an artificial intelligence, not a human being.

Of course, the similarities between them don’t end there. Adrien and Kagami are pretty much birds of a feather in the sense that both of them are very inexperienced with socialising. They’re both lonely, rich kids with a difficult home life who just want to be able to do things most kids their age do.

That’s why Adrien connected so well with Kagami; they’re on the same boat.

As I said earlier, Kagami acts as a mirror to Adrien, not only because of the similarities that have already been discussed, but also because her personality is very much like Adrien’s, except she either takes things to the extreme, or isn’t as similar to Adrien as she should.

Facing their parents:

Believe it or not, when it comes to calling out their parents for their behaviour, Adrien is more willing to face his father than Kagami her mother.

Ever since his mother disappeared, Adrien’s been trying to be there for his father. Pretty much everything he does that isn’t related to his friends or his life as Chat Noir he does it for Gabriel. He studies Chinese, goes to photoshoots, fences, plays the piano, and any other extracurricular activity I might have forgotten about because he thinks that’s what will make his father happy. Deep down, Adrien knows it’s unfair that he’s forced to live like that, he just sucks it up because he knows his father’s hurting and wants to alleviate that burden.

But whenever Gabriel’s behaviour becomes too unreasonable for even Adrien to excuse, he’s always ready to rebel against him in some way. In Origins he tried and succeeded in going to school instead of staying at home like his father wished. In Santa Claws he ran away from home because of Gabriel’s cold and distant attitude despite being the first Christmas without Emilie for the both of them. In Simon Says, as Chat Noir, he called his father out on his stubbornness and refusal to get help despite being an akuma’s main target. And in Feast he showed his disappointment and disapproval of the way Gabriel brushed Nathalie’s condition off.

And he did all that on his own, either for himself or for the sake of others.

Kagami, on the other hand, still relies on others to face her mother. In Ikari Gozen, despite going against her mother’s wishes, it wasn’t until Marinette had the guts to try and stand up to Tomoe that Kagami managed to put her foot down in her request to spend some time with her new friend. And unlike Adrien as Chat Noir in Simon Says where, despite having some help from the confidence his secret identity gives him, he confronted his father on his behaviour, Ryuuko confronted Ikari Gozen, not Tomoe. In other words, she stood her ground against an exaggeration of her mother’s flaws, not against her mother’s true self.

Moving on:

While the show has shown Adrien having difficulties letting go of Ladybug, the main difference between him and Kagami is that he has at least considered it. Since Frozer, Kagami has shown she will fight for Adrien until the very end.

In fact, of the four teens romantically involved with each other, Kagami is the only one who hasn’t expressed any sort of conformity with the idea of her love interest not choosing her in the end. Even Marinette and Adrien, despite hurting immensely, had considered letting go of their respective crushes and pursuing somebody else when it looked like they were getting nowhere.

In Frozer, despite acting nonchalant about it, Kagami was very clear to Adrien: “The day you realize you've got the wrong target, I'll be here.”

With that she makes it very obvious that she’s willing to wait for Adrien, no matter how long it takes him to realise his feelings for her. That’s Kagami’s approach: she prefers to wait before accepting defeat.

In a way, this makes her a foil to Luka as well.

Ever since Frozer, Luka has shown he will support Marinette if she chooses to go after Adrien instead of him in the end, whereas Kagami, while never outright declaring she won’t be there for Adrien if he weren’t to choose her, she never really hinted she would move on from him if he did, either.

The best example of this would, in a way, be what she said as Oni-Chan: “He's the only one who's worthy of me! And the only one I will ever love!”

If I’m being perfectly honest, this sentence doesn’t do Kagami’s character and her feelings for Adrien justice. The way it was written, it just makes her look unreasonable and like a yandere. And you might say it’s because she was akumatised. And you would be right, if it weren’t because Luka’s confession to Marinette also doubled as a declaration of protection and wasn’t painted in nowhere near the same negative light.

But back to the point.

Summing up, the kind of trouble Adrien has moving on he inherited from his father (in a, thankfully, less worrisome way), Kagami has too, but hers seems to be more severe. And there’s a high chance this will play an important role in Lies, or at least in season 4...

Making friends:

Now, as stated above, this is one of the points they have the most in common but also have the most differences in; their issues with socialising.

What makes the two of them so similar is that they’re both kids who’ve been sheltered their whole life, kids who long to have some friends of their own, and who, as a result, struggle greatly with reading social cues.

However, their respective personalities are what really makes the difference.

Adrien is kind, honest, and approachable, both on a superficial and deep level. Kagami, on the other hand, is all those things, but once you get to know her; at first glance she might seem cold, honest to the point of brutality, and difficult to connect with.

Unlike Lila, who got the class’ attention for her supposed life and high status, these two really are the children of influential people, and yet that’s not why the class appreciates Adrien, or even pretends to get along with Kagami for what it could give them. They’re not that shallow.

The class likes Adrien because he’s a cinnamon roll. And, judging by the girls’ reactions to Kagami in both Frozer and Desperada, they aren’t close to her because they only know her on a superficial, non-flattering level.

They’ve both been sheltered and yet, Adrien manages to connect with others better. While Kagami had to rely on an app to try and get along with Marinette, with rather awkward results. And, let’s not forget, it wasn’t until Marinette got to see Kagami was just like Adrien at the beginning that she realised that she’d misjudged her and actively tried to be her friend.

And now the three of them are close friends! (Leaving shipping drama aside…)

The main difference between the two is that, at first sight, Adrien is more approachable than Kagami.

Recklessness:

As the series progressed, we’ve seen little by little how these two tend to be reckless at times. Especially when handling their miraculouses.

Now, it is true that Marinette has made her fair share of mistakes as well because she was impulsive, but most of the time that flaw shone through as Marinette, not Ladybug. Whereas Adrien and Kagami appeared to be far more composed as their civilian selves (because they have to be due to their parents’ strictness) than their superhero selves.

When they both received their miraculouses they both made the same mistake: they transformed before learning everything they needed to in order to be effective users. In Adrien’s case, he didn’t listen to Plagg when he was about to tell him about the Cataclysm’s time limit. And in Kagami’s she transformed just as Longg was about to tell her about Ladybug’s plan.

As a result, Chat Noir wasted his power when facing off against Stone Heart, and Ryuuko allowed Ikari Gozen to capture Chat Noir.

Moreover, in both cases they viewed their newfound powers as a chance to escape their parents and their lifestyles, both literally and figuratively. Therefore, judging by these similarities as well as the others we have already discussed, I’m going to dub this impulsiveness they display as superheroes as the “Sheltered Rich Kid Syndrome.”

Even so, there is a difference between the two: Kagami was actually more reckless than Adrien when she first transformed.

In Origins, Chat Noir acted on his own not because he wanted to, but because Ladybug was still doubting herself to be of assistance. But, the moment she stepped in and took charge of the situation, Chat followed her plans without hesitation.

Kagami, on the other hand, fuelled by her own issues with her mother, her impulsiveness, and her newfound liberty, insisted on taking on Ikari Gozen by herself without a plan or even Ladybug and Chat Noir’s assistance (despite them being the seasoned heroes of Paris). And this decision lacked forethought because 1) she had no experience fighting akumas, 2) despite her experience fighting her mother, Kagami always loses (and that is when Tomoe has no superpowers), and 3) she obviously had no strategy.

It wasn’t until she ultimately failed and made things more complicated for the heroes that she realised her mistake.

In other words, while both Adrien and Kagami use their alter egos as an escape from their proverbial prisons, Adrien takes his responsibilities as Chat Noir and his loyalty to Ladybug more seriously than Kagami.

Honesty:

I did say earlier that Adrien and Kagami are both honest people. Even so, saying they’re at the same level of honesty would be a lie.

Adrien’s sincerity is what warmed Marinette up to him, just like it did for Kagami, but he’s nowhere near as honest as Kagami.

As @miraculouslycool and @flightfoot pointed out not long ago, Lila is actually what Adrien would have turned into if it weren’t for his redeeming qualities and the use he gives to his abilities. Because both are kids who have learned to be sneaky in order to get what they want. Adrien can’t afford to have his father finding out about the things he hides from him because it would lead to disastrous consequences, like when he pulled him out of school over the grimoire.

True, Adrien chooses to be honest, kind to others, and the best person he can possibly be. Major kudos for that. But he’s still not above lying or using relatively underhanded tactics to get the results he wants. The best example being his lie to Théo about being an item with Ladybug just to get him to back off.

In a way, that could be a reason why he’s so disgusted by Lila’s behaviour. Unlike him, she doesn’t use her lies and manipulation as a last resort, she uses them with everyone regardless of her interactions with them and the consequences of her actions just because she can.

But I’m getting off topic.

As stated above, Adrien chooses to be honest, but is perfectly capable of being sly and sneaky. He knows how to operate in the shadows.

Kagami doesn’t.

And that is probably because in her case not being honest is what can get her in serious trouble, let alone if she misbehaves or not. So, fear of the consequences tied with a natural disdain for lies have made Kagami to be honest to a fault.

And this wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing if it weren’t for the fact that she’s so honest, she becomes brutally honest; coming off as rude to others. To put it simply, Kagami doesn’t know how to sugarcoat things, for one reason or another. Which is why her assessment on Marinette’s personality based on her deduction of her blood type and a single question about her favourite season can be seen as rude or impolite. And it is perfectly fine to see it like that! After all, that is the conclusion many of us would arrive at if we were in Marinette’s situation and had no context on why the other person is acting like that.

Honestly, if I’d been in Marinette’s shoes, I would’ve been like, “Joke’s on you. I’m type A.”

Basically, while Adrien is used to working in the shadows, Kagami is forthright and prefers to face things head on, and both are mindsets and strategies with strengths and weaknesses.

The rings:

Now this is another delicious parallel between the two, just like Marinette and Luka both have earrings.

As we’ve been saying all along, Adrien and Kagami both have a lot on their plate. They have many responsibilities that can become a burden in the long run, especially when we keep in mind that they are still children. Just like Marinette is exhausted from having to be level-headed and responsible in so many scenarios.

However, the rings Adrien and Kagami wear are both parallels and opposites from one another. They both represent some kind of responsibility at their core, but the effects of said responsibility vary.

In Adrien’s case, he wields the black cat miraculous. Needless to say, this ties him with the duties that come from being Chat Noir and having the power of destruction by his side. A power that, as seen in Miraculer and the New York Special, can be disastrous if handled poorly. And yet, his miraculous actually represents the best part of his life, because it gives him freedom. Being Chat Noir has allowed him to be himself, without the restraint from his father’s presence. It gave him the chance to meet Ladybug who, aside from being the girl he loves, is also his best friend. The miraculous has just… given him a chance to live.

Adrien’s ring is his saving grace.

On the contrary, Kagami’s ring represents the kind of duties she’s far more familiar with. Her ring ties her to her family.

That ring is a constant reminder of the pressure she’s under, of her family’s expectations, of the person she’s been raised to believe she should be. Which is symbolised by her family’s kanji being engraved on the ring.

As seen in Riposte, when Kagami loses any kind of challenge she’s supposed to have been prepared for, she believes she has let her family down.

Kagami’s ring is the lock of her golden cage.

Stay tuned for Part 2!

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happylittledrabbles · 3 years

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When Tomorrow Starts Without Me

Fandom: Haikyuu!!

Pairing: Koutarou Bokuto x Keiji Akaashi

Rating: M (non-graphic smut, cursing)

Warning(s): Major character death

Genre: Angst

AO3

—

"When tomorrow starts without me, and I’m not here to see; if the sun should rise and find your eyes; all filled with tears for me."

He first noticed it when they were on vacation. And there's no changing the diagnosis.

He first noticed it while they were on vacation.

Bokuto’s hands are cold as they slide up his husband’s torso; spending all day out in the frigid, Icelandic air clearly left its footprint on their skin. That is how they ended up in this position in the first place: Bokuto had not-so-subtly suggested they should do this to “warm up,” and Akaashi didn’t have the courage to deny him. Losing his calm demeanor, Akaashi gave into the neediness in his body and the puppy-dog look his husband had mastered whenever he wanted something.

“They’re still cold,” Akaashi mumbles, tilting his neck to the side to give Bokuto’s lips more room to roam. He flinches as they go further and further down into more sensitive territory until the cold is too much to bear. “Ugh—stop, I’ll do it. I’m warmer.”

He pushes the bigger man off him, his eyebrows furrowing as he uses more force than usual. Has Bokuto been putting on weight? He looks the same…

He rolls on top of his husband, seating himself comfortably in his lap. Akaashi’s thighs frame Bokuto’s hips in a way that makes Bokuto shiver, and it brings a satisfied smile onto the dark-haired man’s face.

“Whatever will get those pants off,” Bokuto comments with a smirk, lifting an arm and bringing Akaashi in for a kiss by the back of the neck. Their lips pull away with a smack as Akaashi busies himself with removing both their shirts. Bokuto’s eyelids are heavy, his breath coming out as puffs as he gazes at the beautiful Greek god of a man on top of him. “You’re right, you are warmer.”

They are just beginning to move together when Akaashi’s arms, holding him up as his hands fisted the bedsheets, suddenly give out, his muscles feeling like Jell-O.

“Feels that good?” Bokuto asks with that dastardly grin of his, but Akaashi isn’t having it. He tries to push himself back up, his arms trembling with the immense effort he is putting in until they give out once again, leaving him frustrated. He would roll his eyes affectionately at Bokuto’s insinuations, but he is genuinely perplexed. He isn’t even close to finishing—they had only started two minutes ago, for Pete’s sake. He has yet to start feeling good, so…?

“I’ll take over from here,” Bokuto eventually says after watching Akaashi struggle for a few moments. He finds the sight of his husband huffing and blowing the locks of hair out of his face exasperatingly as he adjusts himself incredibly amusing, but it’s hindering their time together. He rolls Akaashi gently onto his back effortlessly; meanwhile, Akaashi’s arms are still trembling mysteriously. What the hell? Thoughts of frustration overtake the thoughts of lust in Akaashi’s mind, wondering when his husband got so much stronger than him. Had it been because he hasn’t gone to the gym in a while? It must be that.

Bokuto gladly continues their lovemaking session despite Akaashi’s difficulties, and Akaashi finally gets to that ‘eyes rolling from pleasure and not annoyance at his imprudent husband’ point. But that moment of sudden weakness stays in the back of his mind, only resurfacing in that post-sex clarity.

He swings his legs over the side of the bed, scratching his lower back as he ambles over to the bathroom to clean himself up and pee. He’s washing his hands when he smells smoke.

“I thought I told you to stop smoking,” Akaashi admonishes as he stomps back into the room. He swipes his boxers from the floor and slips them back on to protect some of his modesty. He’s at Bokuto’s bedside before the other can even open his mouth to retort, grabbing the cigarette and putting it out on the decorative ashtray on the nightstand, tossing the cigarette and tipping the ashes from the tray into the trash. While Akaashi’s constantly worrying about his cholesterol and blood pressure levels, taking vitamins and supplements galore, Bokuto freely does whatever he wants. As long as he’s performing at his best for volleyball, that’s all that matters in his eyes. And it’s working out for him: he’s completely and utterly healthy. Akaashi’s thankful if not envious of such healthy genes.

“Blame it on Coach Ukai,” Bokuto replies, grinning widely at his fussy partner. “It’s his fault for putting me onto cancer sticks.”

“At least try not to do it in an Airbnb, please. We could get fined.” He flicks Bokuto on the forehead as he climbs back into bed and cuddles up to his side. Iceland is gorgeous but damn, is it freezing.

“I mean, I’m pretty sure we’re not supposed to fuck in an Airbnb, but we did that anyway,” Bokuto teases, causing Akaashi to immediately turn over and give him the cold shoulder—no pun intended. He barks out a laugh and rolls over, rubbing Akaashi’s arm and placing butterfly kisses on the soft skin of his back. He feels that it’s stopped trembling, but he notices how limp it is by his side. He’s never seen this reaction in Akaashi before. Did he do something different this time…? “Aw, c’mon, babe, don’t be like that. You very clearly liked it.”

He pauses, stroking Akaashi’s arm absentmindedly as his mind hops on the train of thought.

“What was that about, anyway? Does fucking in an Airbnb excite you that much? I’ve never seen you like that.” He grins and pulls Akaashi closer to his chest, his breath leaving the shell of Akaashi’s ear pink. “It was sexy as hell.”

However, Bokuto’s horniness is not reciprocated. All Akaashi can think about is the heavy pit that buried itself in his stomach in that moment, and he reaches forward to grab a pillow. He doesn’t exactly need it—he could just turn over and use Bokuto as his body pillow. But it’s almost as if he wants to test his muscles, see if they had come out of their Jell-O state. He hates Jell-O.

Perhaps it really did feel that good. But…his stomach hadn’t been flipping or filled with butterflies then as it usually did when they had sex—it had sunk.

…

Bright and early, the two men are back to their worldly adventures. They tour local villages, eat local food, and chat with the local people until the sky is an ombre of purple and navy blue.

“There’s supposed to be an aurora tonight, according to the locals,” Akaashi says as he figures out a map he got from a gift shop, trying to find their next stop.

“Oh, it was the bakery guy who said that, right?” Bokuto asks, peering over Akaashi’s shoulder to try and help with the navigation. However, he knows he would only make Akaashi more frustrated since Akaashi likes figuring everything out by himself. “He said we have to go to this point.”

He takes a chance at helping and saddles up next to Akaashi, pointing to a particularly tall lookout point. “Think you can climb that?”

“Just because you work out every day doesn’t make me a weakling in comparison,” Akaashi counters. He bites the cap off the marker and circles the lookout point’s name, the paper crinkling underneath his hand. As if to prove how strong and capable he is, his bicep bulges as he marks the lookout point, and Bokuto very obviously stares. He’s always loved Akaashi’s body, how muscular yet lean it is. He has curves in all the right places and strong where it matters. His body is nothing short of beautiful, a marble sculpture made by Michelangelo.

Akaashi places the cap back on and tosses a smug look over his shoulder, saying, “Remember how I constantly had to pick you up whenever you’d get depressed over a missed hit? Carrying a hundred-kilo man isn’t an easy feat.”

“Seventy-eight kilos, thank you very much!” Bokuto corrects instantly, grabbing Akaashi by the wrist and dragging him to their rental car. “Fine, then let’s see your skills. We have to be there in two hours.”

The drive is full of punk and hard rock songs, all at Akaashi’s request. Bokuto tries to compromise with just one pop song in the queue of AC/DC and Green Day, but because of his sly comments throughout the trip, this is his punishment.

“Turn here,” Akaashi says over the blaring of “Readymade” by Ado, pointing to the upcoming sign. The tires squeal as they try to compensate for the horrible Fast and Furious move Bokuto does as he turns, righting as they reach the fairly full parking lot for the lookout point. Akaashi would have cussed Bokuto out if not for a steady mix of yellow and green lights highlighting both their faces and all the cars in the parking lot, the metal reflecting the light and causing everywhere to be flooded in a mock bokeh.

He cannot get out of the car fast enough, slamming the door closed and getting a head start on the hike. He trips a few times since his eyes are transfixed on the lights, his hand reaching out for Bokuto, who had since caught up to him and helps him steady himself. He’s panting by the time they reach the tallest point, revealing a crowd of people and, most beautiful of all, a lake that looked as if it was made out of glass. The sky and the water join into one, doubling the number of lights and showcasing a waterfall of colors.

He jogs over to where everybody is seated, their chins craned up in unison as they watch with awe the lights dancing in the sky. It’s like watching a ballet, each part of the sky following its own storyline and choreography. Akaashi stumbles from the vertigo of looking up too fast, Bokuto hot on his heels and ready to catch him until he rights himself.

“Be careful,” he warns as he unfolds their blanket and sets it on the knee-high grass, wading into it and sitting down. He pats the fabric, trying to get Akaashi’s attention. “Come here.”

Akaashi blinks as if he has snapped out of a trance, stumbling forward and into Bokuto’s arms. His head is foggy, the lights flashing in his vision every time he closes his eyes.

“They’re so beautiful,” he whispers, craning his neck up again now that he is on solid ground.

“Yeah,” Bokuto replies as he leans his head on his husband’s shoulder. “Beautiful.”

But Bokuto isn’t looking at the lights.

Their rings glimmer underneath the aurora, the gold morphing into all different shades thanks to the rippling of the colors above them. It really is like looking at the ocean, the sound of the waves being replaced with soft murmurs in Icelandic and the ambient breeze twisting through the tree branches. Akaashi almost stops breathing since his breaths come out an opaque white, obscuring the lights from his vision.

…

When tomorrow starts without me And I’m not here to see If the sun should rise and find your eyes All filled with tears for me.

…

Bokuto is nearly asleep once the lights finally fade out. They had gotten lucky—this aurora lasted nearly an hour. And Akaashi didn’t break eye contact for that entire hour. He was in love, his lips upturned into the faintest smile.

When the lights melt into the black night, he pats Bokuto on the cheek to wake him up and stands up, beginning to fold the blanket with the other still on it.

“Hey, hey, what’s the rush?” Bokuto exclaims, followed by a deep yawn as he rolls off the blanket and into the grass.

“I want to leave before both of us fall asleep.” One hour of keeping his eyes wide open with barely any blinking leaves Akaashi’s eyelids fatigued, and they are hanging low as he neatly folds the blanket in his lap and starts toward the car.

“Babe, I’m fine,” Bokuto replies, followed yet again by a yawn. They share a look, and he gives in. “Okay, okay, I’m getting in the car.”

They’re driving down the slope, both their eyelids heavy, drunk on sleep.

“Turn here?” Bokuto asks, beginning to slow down as he turns to his husband, who is fast asleep. “Hey, wake up, navigator.” He shakes Akaashi’s thigh before moving up to his shoulder. “Akaashi, hey—”

He’s paralyzed by the red lights that flood his vision, and his foot flies to the brake too slowly.

…

“We see accidents like that all the time on that slope,” the doctor says disapprovingly, shaking her head as she flips through the paperwork on the clipboard. “They should start putting streetlights there.”

“But then the lights wouldn’t be as pretty,” Bokuto protests, his arm shaking in its sling.

The doctor gives him a stern once-over before going back to her paperwork. “Tell that to the claim you’ll have to settle with the rental car agency. I’ll release you both in a couple of hours. For now, please rest.” She turns to Akaashi, who is sitting in the chair next to Bokuto’s bed with a pack of ice to the bump on his forehead. “Can you start filling these out, please?”

Akaashi nods and takes the offered pen, but as he puts it to the paper, his hand begins trembling uncontrollably. It isn’t violent, but it’s noticeable enough to make him stop trying to write and stare at his hand for a second. He looks up at the doctor, who is also staring at his hand.

“Hm.” She meets Akaashi’s puzzled gaze with a sympathetic smile. “Must be an after-effect of the accident. Don’t worry too much.”

She begins to walk out of the room but stops in the doorway, looking over her shoulder at Akaashi. “If that persists, I would check with your physician back home.”

She nods a goodbye before leaving the room, escaping just in time for Bokuto to wail about having to contact the rental car company and pay for the damages. But Akaashi isn’t listening. He usually ignores Bokuto when he gets like this, but now it’s for a different reason. He’s back to staring at his hand, willing the trembling to go away. It eventually does, and he proceeds to sign the papers, but that pit in his stomach never leaves. It only expands.

…

It’s Akaashi’s 36th birthday three days after the accident, and he’s celebrating it by helping Bokuto wrap his arm in plastic wrap in order to go to The Blue Lagoon. It has been thirty minutes, and Bokuto is yet to be satisfied by the amount of wrapping.

“What if it gets wet?” he whines. “I don’t want to interrupt the healing process. I have a game to play in two weeks!”

“Have you told your coach yet?” Akaashi asks pointedly, to which Bokuto grumbles something in response. “That’s what I thought. You’re not going to play for a while. Probably eight weeks.”

“Eight weeks?!” Bokuto shouts, causing everybody within a twenty-foot radius to turn their heads to the Japanese man so clearly in despair.

“You should’ve just stopped the car on the side of the road,” Akaashi replies, immediately regretting his words. This would only start a fight. And it does.

“If you could’ve just woken up,” Bokuto retorts heatedly, snatching his wrist back to do the wrapping job himself. “There wasn’t anywhere to pull over, anyway. We would’ve been the ones rear-ended if I stopped.”

“Okay, well—” Akaashi stops himself, his hands dropping to his lap as he turns his head to gaze out into the picturesque lagoon. He knew this argument would happen eventually. He swings his eyes back to Bokuto, who has put his finishing touches on the wrapping. “Can we not fight on my birthday?”

Bokuto huffs. “We aren’t fighting,” he explains but pauses, realizing he’s only furthering the argument. He purses his lips and nods, standing up from the beach chair and adjusting his swim trunks. They can’t go naked like in the bathhouses at home, so the rough fabric feels strange on his skin, especially when he submerges himself in the warm, milky blue water. He sighs, keeping his wrist elevated as he uses his other hands to splash the water in his face, running his fingers through his hair. He looks over his shoulder, watching as Akaashi busies himself with taking off his shirt, revealing his toned body that still had healing hickeys from a few nights ago. His muscles flex as he spreads sunscreen on his skin, causing Bokuto to roll his eyes and grin affectionately. Akaashi, forever concerned about skin cancer.

“Come on, babe. I’m waiting for you.”

Akaashi’s heart hurt a little from the fight, but it warms at the expectant look on his partner’s face. He nods and puts the sunscreen down, dipping his toes in the water before stepping into the pool and involuntarily letting out a long sigh of relief. All his muscles relax, and not in the strange way they did before, as if they were Jell-O. No, now they relax as if they’re softened butter, melting into his body. He rests his arms up on the edge, letting his head hang back like a ragdoll.

“Better?” Bokuto asks.

“Better.”

…

They stay nearly the entire day at the lagoon, switching between being inside the lagoon and the various spas and restaurants around the pool. Bokuto treats Akaashi to a couple’s massage until he gets kicked out of the room by his husband for groaning too loud and for making too many weird comments. He stays in the bar until Akaashi sits next to him, looking completely refreshed, his skin practically glowing in the soft haze of the sunset provided by the large bay windows.

“You look relaxed,” he comments. He hesitates to touch Akaashi, feeling as if he needs to wash his hands beforehand, but finally rests his hand on his bare shoulder. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were pregnant.”

“Yet again, mood ruined,” Akaashi replies, except it comes out as a joke rather than an admonishment. He leans on the bar and asks for a beer. “I don’t want to go back home.”

“Why not?” Bokuto asks, cocking his head. “We have to get back to Emiko. She’s waiting for us.”

It’s hard to believe that Bokuto isn’t related to their dog, Emiko, because he looks exactly like a dog at that moment, his still-drying hair flopping over like ears and his bushy eyebrows raising up his forehead quizzically.

Akaashi chuckles and sips at the foam, licking it off his top lip. “This place brings me some kind of…peace. I want to live here one day. Or at least come back.”

“We’re definitely coming back,” Bokuto replies with an emphatic nod. “I couldn’t get enough of looking at your face as you watched the aurora. It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

“The aurora?”

Bokuto turns his head to see Akaashi staring back at him with a thin white foam mustache on his top lip after taking another sip, clearly unaware of how endearing he looks.

He smiles softly. “Yeah. The aurora.”

…

“So, you say you’re having tremors?”

Akaashi never thought he would muster up the courage to go to the doctor. But he finally does after about a month, and as he’s sitting in the uncomfortable chair, his hands gripping the arms, he regrets he ever came.

“Y…es,” he replies haltingly. “It’s probably nothing, but the doctor in Iceland said I should get it checked out, and it’s just been so strange. I have probably just been overworking myself at the gym. I’m not twenty anymore, ha. Actually, I think I should just go—”

“Keiji, please sit down.” Akaashi does as he is told and watches his doctor pull out a forearm exerciser and sets it on the table. “If you can.”

Akaashi raises a brow but shrugs and reaches forward. He grabs the forearm exerciser and uses it as usual before putting it back on the table.

The doctor watches on silently, a finger on his top lip as his eyebrows furrow together. He puts the forearm exerciser back in his desk drawer and clasps his hands together. “You seem fine. I’ll just take some urine and blood samples from you to rule some things out. If you notice anything else, please give me a call.”

After peeing in a cup and giving up some of his blood, he practically glides out of the office. It seems as if there’s nothing wrong with him, which is exactly the diagnosis he was expecting. He had been over-exaggerating, and the doctor back in Iceland was definitely correct: his trembling hand had been a result of the near concussion he received. He drives back home and greets Bokuto with a grand smooch on the lips and musses up Emiko’s floppy ears before going into the kitchen and cooking them a beautiful three-course meal. He’s happily eating, but Bokuto finds it harder to eat. Not because of the cast on his wrist, but because of something else.

Akaashi is being a lot messier than usual. Dropping food back into the bowl, getting sauce on his face. He’s probably still excited, Bokuto thinks, but the ramen going down his esophagus turns into a pit that buries itself in his stomach, and he can’t shake the feeling. No matter how much Akaashi kisses him or hugs him or cuddles up by his side as they watch a movie, he still can’t smile to his full potential.

…

I wish so much you wouldn’t cry The way you did today While thinking of the many things We did not get to say.

…

It’s a few days later when Akaashi’s joyous mood crumbles. Doctors only call after tests when something is wrong. And sure enough, while in the middle of working on his computer, Akaashi’s phone rumbles on the desk with his doctor’s name lit up on the screen.

He’s once again sitting in the uncomfortable chair, his hands gripping the arms much tighter than before. He’s doing the breathing technique his therapist taught him for his anxiety, but it only makes him want to pass out.

“Your blood tests came back alright. No HIV, hepatitis, your vitamin B12 levels are good, and no cancer from what I can—.”

“Oh, my God.” Akaashi exhales out all the anxiety in his chest, nearly doubling over from the weight taken off his chest. He looks back up at his doctor and grins. “That means I can go, right? I’ll get going—"

The doctor holds up a hand to get Akaashi to be quiet. “These blood and urine tests are only to rule out diseases. But I wouldn’t have called you into the office if I hadn’t found something.” His doctor takes a sharp breath as he shuffles his papers around as if he got a paper cut. “Your CK levels are abnormally high.”

Something in Akaashi drops. His stomach? His heart? All he knows is that he’s heavy like a bag of rocks, and he feels strapped to the chair.

“What…is that?” he asks, his chest so tight, he’s afraid he’s going to have a heart attack. No better place to have it than in front of a doctor, though.

“Creatine kinase. It’s an enzyme that’s released into the blood when there’s some muscle damage. It’s released when you’re either having or had a heart attack—”

“Dr. Hirose, I think I’m having a heart attack.”

“No, you’re not, Keiji,” his doctor says with a look of pity on his face. It makes Akaashi’s panic heighten. Pity? “Or when you do a lot of strenuous exercises—”

“That’s what I said! It’s because I’ve been exercising—”

“Keiji,” his doctor breathes forcefully, giving the dark-haired man a stern look. “Or it’s a sign of a degenerative muscle disease. I’m going to schedule you for an MRI in two weeks. If it really is because of strenuous exercise, then nothing will show up. I just want to make sure there aren’t any tumors or pressure on your spinal cord.” His doctor scribbles something down on the notepad in front of him and crosses something out on his clipboard. “In the meantime, lay off the weights and rest at home.”

“O…kay.” Akaashi leaves, hope still bright in his chest. He goes through all the workouts he’s been doing over the past few months, and he nods his head to himself as he confirms that he has overexerted himself a few times. Now he has permission to just laze around at home instead of pushing himself to go to the gym. Doctor’s orders.

A week passes with nothing of note. Bokuto finally gets his cast taken off, brandishing his newly healed wrist like a trophy. Akaashi claps, unamused, but can’t help the smile that forms when Bokuto kisses him until his breath is taken away, using that wrist to grip the small of his back and press their fronts together.

“You still need to do physical therapy,” Akaashi reminds him, but Bokuto rolls his eyes and thanks the doctor before pulling his husband out of the clinic and into the car.

“That can wait,” Bokuto says, pulling Akaashi in by his tie and almost knocking his glasses off by the sheer force of his kiss. “Now let’s celebrate.”

Ever since that vacation, Akaashi hadn’t tried to go on top. He’s been scared that the same thing would happen, and it’d be on his mind the entire week. He had just gotten cleared by his doctor—the last thing he needs is for his arms to go weak.

After scolding Bokuto for smoking and after cleaning himself up, he walks to the kitchen and opens the fridge. He flinches at a pain in his ass, evidence left behind of Bokuto taking ‘celebrating’ to a whole new level. It isn’t as if he hadn’t enjoyed it, but damn, the aftermath was painful.

He grabs the filter pitcher and lifts it up, and the second he does, his right arm gives out. He watches helplessly as the pitcher cracks on the edge of the fridge and freefalls onto the floor, the top coming off and spilling four liters’ worth of water all over the kitchen. Not to mention the giant crack in the plastic. If they tried to fill the pitcher to full capacity next time, it’d surely split open.

Akaashi doesn’t even notice when Bokuto skids into the kitchen or when he yells at Emiko to stop drinking the water. He doesn’t notice when Bokuto grabs the roll of paper towels and begins to mop up the water or his husband’s arms around him, whispering explanations or jokes or whatever nonsense he says to cheer him up. He only snaps out of it when he feels Bokuto’s finger on his cheek, lifting a tear from his skin.

He turns around in Bokuto’s arms, looking up at him, his bottom lip quivering. “I’m not okay, Koutarou.”

Bokuto wishes he could deny it. He so desperately wishes he could say ‘no, babe, you’re overreacting.’ To see that relieved smile on his face like he had on when he came home from the clinic. But he can’t. Because he knows that Akaashi isn’t okay.

“Let’s go back to bed, babe. I’ll get you some water. Go rest,” he says softly, ushering Akaashi away from the distressing scene and bending back over to dry the rest of the floorboards. But he can’t help it when he wets the hardwood further with his own tears.

…

Bokuto skips physical therapy to go with Akaashi to the hospital despite the latter’s many attempts to go alone. Akaashi had managed to convince Bokuto the previous times that he was just going in for a routine checkup, but now Bokuto’s not falling for it.

“The MRI is painless,” the doctor explains, beginning to help Akaashi sit down, but he waves away any help.

“I can walk, thank you.” Ever since the incident in the kitchen, Akaashi has grown more defensive of everything he does. If Bokuto asks if he needs any help, Akaashi fires back with ‘do I look like I need help?’ or ‘I’m not helpless.’ He has always been snarky, but his current demeanor is callous, uncaring. There’s no love in his sarcastic remarks, just hurt.

He lays down on the bed, shifting around until the doctor tells him to stop. It’s quick, and, like his doctor said, painless, and he’s out in less than five minutes.

“The results will be out in two days,” his doctor warns after coming out of the small glass room adjacent to the machine. “If you get a call from me, that doesn’t automatically mean bad news.”

“Okay.” Akaashi hasn’t mentioned the pitcher incident to his doctor. He knows it’s the stupidest thing he can do. But if he doesn’t mention it, treats it as yet another injury sustained from overworking himself, then maybe it doesn’t exist. And it doesn’t, not on paper.

The next few days pass by like molasses. Akaashi doesn’t get any work done, and each time his phone rings, he nearly passes out. When he finally does get the call, he actually does pass out, and Bokuto has to pick up the phone for him while trying to wake him up.

“Doc? Hey, it’s Koutarou.”

“Oh, Koutarou. If you could pass along to Akaashi that the MRI is all clear, that would be great.”

As if on cue, Akaashi wakes up and snatches the phone out of Bokuto’s hand, holding it up to his ear. “What, Dr. Hirose?”

“I said that your MRI is all clear. No tumor, nothing messing up your discs. There’s nothing wrong with your brain or spinal cord.”

Akaashi is out again like a light.

When he comes to, he’s in bed, the covers up to his chin. He sits up groggily and wipes his eyes, turning to see a bowl of mochi on the nightstand, nearly melted.

“Bokuto?” he calls, his voice hoarse. He reaches over and brings the bowl into his lap, nibbling on a mochi. Despite the mochi being cold, he’s warm. He can only picture Bokuto picking him up and tucking him in before making his famous mochi. It’s one of the only things he knows how to make, and he knows exactly when to make it.

Bokuto pads into the room, followed closely behind by Emiko. The two are twins, Akaashi swears. Emiko hops up onto the bed and nuzzles Akaashi’s arm before collapsing onto his thighs, laying her head down with a grunt.

"Hey, you feeling better?” Bokuto asks, walking over and sitting down cautiously at the foot of the bed as if Akaashi’s made out of glass. “I made you mochi to celebrate the clean bill of health.”

Akaashi smiles and nods, scarfing down another piece of mochi. “Thank you,” he says, his voice muffled by the sticky rice dough. The sight is enough to make Bokuto laugh and scoot closer, wiping a bit of ice cream from the corner of Akaashi’s lips and lick it off his finger.

“I’m going back to practice tomorrow,” he continues. “My physical therapist says I’m good to go. So we’re both doing awesome.”

Akaashi grins and leans forward, pulling Bokuto in for a kiss, burying his fingers in the white-gray hair. They continue to eat mochi together, making small talk and eventually watching a movie together, but Akaashi still isn’t fully happy. When Bokuto falls asleep, he gets up to put the bowl in the sink. Before he can finish the trip, he drops the bowl onto the carpet. The thud is muffled, Bokuto too deep in sleep to wake up. But Akaashi, who was drowsy before, is now fully awake. He looks to his right arm, his hand trembling and his forearm cramping up. He simply bends down and picks up the bowl with his left arm, puts it in the sink, and silently slips underneath the covers. He snuggles up next to Bokuto, much closer than usual, resting his head on his chest.

“Mm, Keiji,” Bokuto mumbles, more asleep than awake. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he replies a little too quickly. He grips Bokuto’s tank top in a fist, savoring the warmth of his husband’s skin against his cheek. “Just want to be close to you.”

“Mm,” is all that Bokuto replies before draping an arm lazily over Akaashi’s waist, burying his nose in the other’s dark hair.

Akaashi closes his eyes, but he doesn’t think he sleeps at all.

…

It’s a pretty normal month, but Akaashi’s knees are roughed up with all the tripping and tumbles he’s taken. He doesn’t tell Bokuto or his doctor, and he thanks God it’s nearing autumn so that he has an excuse to wear long pants. They bought a new pitcher, but Bokuto can’t help but notice Akaashi never gets near it. It’s particularly difficult to keep a straight face and not notice when Akaashi’s spoon trembles as he spoons sugar into his coffee or when food has made its home on his face whenever they eat. He needs to receive an Oscar for his acting abilities because every time he’s left alone, he can’t help but bury his face in his hands and pray.

It’s another month before Bokuto sits Akaashi down and stares hardheartedly at him.

“You need to go to the doctor.”

Akaashi, who already knew what the conversation would be about due to Bokuto’s seriousness when he sat him down, crosses his arms and shakes his head. “No. Why? There’s nothing wrong with me.”

“Really, Keiji?” Bokuto using his actual name means serious business. “You think I don’t realize you dropping everything? All the stains on your shirt? How you can’t even fucking talk sometimes?”

“Hey. Don’t…curse,” Akaashi says, and, as if his body wants to prove a point, his words slur together.

Bokuto slams the table, sending both Akaashi and Emiko’s heads snapping upwards at the loud bang.

“It hurts me, too. You think you’re the only one suffering, but you’re being so goddamn selfish. Because it hurts seeing you like this and not do anything about it. Listen, I’ve been trying to ignore it, too, hoping it’ll just go away. But it’s getting worse, Keiji, whatever this is. And I’m not going to stand by while you kill yourself.”

Bokuto’s eyes well with tears, and it only takes his husband getting emotional—which only happens in a sports-related context—to get Akaashi to pick up the phone and call his doctor.

“Muscle weakness and slurring speech?” his doctor asks, pausing to ponder something. “Come in tomorrow. I’ll get an EMG appointment set up for you.”

The two men look at each other, and Akaashi stands up and walks to the bedroom with Emiko, slamming the door closed. Bokuto takes that as a sign that he’s sleeping on the couch.

…

“This will cause a bit of discomfort,” the neurologist says gently before conducting the test. Akaashi shifts in his chair each time the instrument sends small electrical shocks in his wrist and frowns when the needle is inserted in his arm.

“Move this way…and that way…perfect.” The neurologist is studying the screen, and Akaashi is studying the neurologist. He’s studying her facial expressions, the way she moves, anything that will give him an indication of the meaning behind the squiggles onscreen. Bokuto squeezes his shoulder even though the neurologist told him not to touch him, planting a butterfly kiss on the shell of his ear. Finally, after over half of an hour of uncomfortable tests, Akaashi is instructed to go to his doctor’s office.

“I’ll send the results over to your doctor now,” the neurologist says. Yet again, there’s that look of pity. The pit in Akaashi’s stomach expands until he feels bloated and barely able to walk to his doctor’s office. He uses Bokuto’s hand for balance, but he finds that his right arm can barely sustain his weight anymore.

“Your EMG test is abnormal,” his doctor says lightly, but just the word ‘abnormal’ is a shot to the face.

“What does that mean, doc?” Bokuto asks, seeing that all of Akaashi’s mental strength was zapped out from the tests.

“It means that the EMG showed electrical activity even when your muscles were in a resting position,” the doctor replies, setting down the paperwork on the desk and resting his chin on his clasped hands, his eyes flicking between the two men. “You have a degenerative muscle disease. This is consistent with your CK levels, which show muscle damage. I want to do a few more tests, but from what I can see, you might have amyotrophic lateral sclerosis.”

“What the fuck is that?” Bokuto shouts, practically jumping out of the chair and snapping his fingers in front of the doctor’s face. “Japanese, please!”

“Koutarou, stop,” Akaashi pleads, tugging on Bokuto’s sleeve, and even if he didn’t have degenerating muscles, he wouldn’t have been able to stop Bokuto in the state he’s in now.

“ALS,” the doctor clarifies, and both men freeze into place like statues. “Motor neuron disease, Lou Gehrig’s disease—there are many names. I’m not saying you have it for certain, but all the evidence points to it. Your accident back in Iceland certainly didn’t help. Now, I want to discuss treatment—”

Akaashi grabs the nearest trashcan and vomits into it, and no matter how much he throws up, the pit in his stomach stays, growing ever bigger.

…

I know how much you love me As much as I love you Each time that you think of me I know you will miss me, too.

…

It seems coincidental, but the second Akaashi receives the diagnosis from both his primary doctor and a second opinion from a neurologist, his symptoms worsen tenfold. He can’t drink coffee anymore, having burned himself too many times from spilling hot coffee all over himself. He’s going to physical therapy every day, taking a handful of pills every day, going to an ALS clinic every day. He works whenever he can. He tries to go to every one of Bokuto’s games. Climbing up the bleachers is rough, and he tries to arrive before the teams come out of the locker rooms so Bokuto doesn’t see him like this. He attempts to write posters—keyword: attempts. His handwriting comes out more like a scrawl, his fingers failing him and letting the pen slip through multiple times. They said this would happen back at the clinic. Loss of fine motor control. It’s one thing to hear it, it’s another thing to experience it.

If somebody didn’t know better, they’d think a child wrote the poster board. But instead of a child holding the poster and cheering on their father, it’s Akaashi, pointing at Bokuto when he jogs onto the court with as much of a fist as he can hold. Bokuto grins when he sees his husband, but his face visibly falls when his eyes drop to the poster. He misses the first shot, saved just in time by their outside hitter. He turns back to the game, but his mind is elsewhere. His mind is on his husband, who had just been given a death sentence, and he’s watching it all unfold.

Because that’s what it is: a death sentence. Stephen Hawking gave hope to everybody with ALS, as they say every day at the clinic and physical therapy, but he knows the statistics. He studied them until he fell asleep at the kitchen table: only about 20% of people live five or ten years after diagnosis, a far cry from Hawking’s 55 years. Hawking’s survival rate is as much of an enigma as the black holes he studied.

Akaashi knows all the statistics by heart. Memorization and Stephen Hawking won’t change the fact that he will die far too young.

He cries and laughs all the time. It’s not even because he’s sad or seeing something particularly funny; it just happens. In the rare moments where he’s particularly entrenched in his work or watching a titillating movie with Bokuto and can forget about his life, he’s interrupted by a bout of laughter or gobs of tears, and he has to excuse himself to go to the bathroom, dragging his now-limp foot along with him.

Bokuto accused Akaashi of being selfish for not seeking out a diagnosis, but now the guilt has fallen onto him. He’s more selfish than Akaashi is, pitying himself for having a sick spouse. He feels guilt every single time he cries because he needs to be strong for Akaashi. He needs to be the one supporting his husband. He needs to try and get his mind off the stress. He needs put on a brave smile when he’s faced with Akaashi’s worsening symptoms. But he can’t help but suffer for Akaashi, absorb all the pain he’s feeling every time he can’t speak or struggles to lift a fork. Sure, it doesn’t hurt physically, but it tortures the mind. It must be torture to count down the days until your muscles lose all functionality and you’re left limp in a wheelchair, on oxygen until your diaphragm or heart give out because they, too, are muscles. Bokuto has a list of all of Akaashi’s symptoms, and his Internet history is full of experimental treatments, made up of both Western and Eastern medicine. They try acupuncture, chiropractic, essential oils, anything.

“Hey, I found this tea that might boost your CK levels—”

“Koutarou,” Akaashi breathes. His chest must be acting up again. “Enough. No more of that.”

When Akaashi doesn’t feel the symptoms as intensely, he tries to initiate sex with Bokuto every chance he gets. If I don’t do it now, when’s the next time I’ll have the strength to? he reasons to himself every time. Bokuto accepts, of course—not necessarily because he’s constantly horny (he used to be, not so much now), but because he has the same reasoning as Akaashi. He doesn’t mind being ravished at nearly every moment of the day if it means he’ll still have the hickeys to remind him of their intimacy together on the days Akaashi is too weak.

“I want to try being on top again,” Akaashi purrs in Bokuto ear one day, feeling particularly invigorated after a good physical therapy session. Perhaps all those pills he’s been taking are kicking in. Perhaps he’s getting better.

“Are you sure?” Bokuto asks, breathless. He’s never had to work this hard during sex before, and even though missing practice may have something to do with his lost endurance, he doubts it.

Akaashi nods, watching Bokuto flop onto his back before sitting up and tossing a leg over and beside Bokuto’s hip. Even though he had just been laying there and having Bokuto do all the work, he’s already breathless from that one move, his arms cramping up as he leans them on Bokuto’s chest. Flashbacks of their time in Iceland spot his vision. If only he had known back then that he had this disgusting disease…

He shakes that out of his head. He needs to focus on the now. And now, Bokuto was staring up at him with worry, his hands lifting up to Akaashi’s hips to provide him stability. He needs to wipe that worry off his face, and the only way to do that—

“Shit.” And he’s crying uncontrollably again. His arms give out, and he face-plants onto Bokuto’s chest, his left leg useless by Bokuto’s side while the other cramps up. “I can’t—”

He tries to push himself up, shifting his hips backward to try and continue, but the mood was gone. “Just give me a second—”

“Keiji.”

“Hold on, let me just—”

“Keiji.”

“One second! God, y-you act like I can’t do—ugh, did you go soft?”

“KEIJI.”

Akaashi’s head snaps up, his hand stopping its stroking to see Bokuto sitting upright, staring him down. “…What?”

“Stop.” Bokuto’s crying. “Just stop.”

“What, why? If you had just given me a second—”

“It’s not exactly sexy watching you struggle to hold yourself up because your muscles are degenerating.” Bokuto gasps at what he just said, his hand flying up to his mouth much too late. Akaashi just stares at him, his mouth in a small ‘o’. All Akaashi does is slowly sit up straight—as straight as he can—and stare directly into Bokuto’s eyes.

“If you hadn’t gotten into that fucking accident,” Akaashi grumbles, wrestling one of the sheets and wrapping it around himself as he uses all the spite in his body to get off Bokuto without falling over. Luckily, his muscles participate, and he’s off the bed, stumbling to the bathroom.

“Oh, you’re bringing that shit up again?” Bokuto exclaims, lifting his hand up in a show of exasperation. “Don’t tell me you’re blaming your stupid disease on me because I couldn’t wake you up.”

Akaashi whips around and stares daggers into his husband, his lips pulled into a scowl. “You heard Dr. Hirose. It certainly didn’t help.”

“I didn’t help? You know what isn’t helpful? Seeing my husband slowly die in front of me, knowing that the person I love more than anything in this goddamned unfair world is leaving me alone, and there’s nothing I can do about it except watch. To think that I contributed—to have you tell me I made this worse as if I’m the one who’s killing you—to know that no matter what fucking home remedy we try or expert we see, we can’t change anything!” He sniffs. “So it doesn’t matter how it fucking happened, it happened.”

SLAM!

The sound of the bathroom door echoes throughout the apartment, and Emiko scuttles out of the room in fear. Bokuto follows not long after because he knows he’s not welcome there, but also because he can’t stand the sound of Akaashi crying anymore. His sobs are quiet and muffled, no doubt trying to hide them, but he’s doing a terrible job. Bokuto doesn’t do that good of a job either.

He’s sleeping on the couch again. This time, Emiko sleeps with him, snoring away on the loveseat next to the couch.

He tries to sleep, but it’s as if something is blocking his ability to. He sits up with a prophetic realization.

This is so fucking stupid. We don’t have time for this.

They don’t have time for arguments. They don’t have time for pettiness. They don’t have time for anything, really, least of all this.

He tosses the thin blanket off his body, standing up and striding over to the door. His hand is almost on the knob before it turns and the door opens, revealing a disheveled Akaashi with a bright red nose and bloodshot eyes.

“I’m—”

“Sorry.”

Akaashi moves first, diving into Bokuto’s arms and hiding his face in the crook of his neck. Bokuto moves cautiously before giving in and wrapping his arms tightly around Akaashi’s frail form. He really does feel like porcelain compared to the built and fit man he was before. He loved Akaashi’s muscles. He’d have to learn to love his bones eventually as well.

…

I promise no tomorrow For today will always last And since each day’s the exact same way There is no longing for the past.

…

Akaashi’s parents come to stay with their dying son, and it’s morbidly silent. Usually, it’d be a joyous time, full of large meals, traveling, and laughing. But Akaashi’s mother can’t stop fussing over her son’s crutches, telling him he should get a walker, and Akaashi says he’d rather die earlier than he already is than use a walker that’s made for old people.

Finally, Akaashi’s father suggests they all take a walk in the park to brighten their spirits. Bokuto, who has taken the season off to stay with Akaashi—against his wishes, but a dead man’s wishes don’t mean much—agrees wholeheartedly. He puts on a wide smile, and even though it’s mostly false, it gets the rest of the family smiling and hopeful as well.

The cobblestones are a little rough to walk with crutches, but Akaashi manages. His forearms are still relatively strong compared to his legs, which degenerated far faster than his arms, even though the latter started to go first. The forearm holders in the crutches are uncomfortable, but Bokuto ordered padding, which should be coming in a few days.

Something to look forward to.

He doesn’t notice Bokuto giving the evil eye to anybody whose eyes linger on the strange man with crutches for too long, puffing up his chest intimidatingly until nobody has the courage to look in Akaashi’s direction.

“It’s a nice day,” Akaashi remarks as he stops in front of the pond. He smiles and giggles softly at the ducks waddling along the bank, hopping into the green water and fluffing up their feathers. A duck followed by an orderly line of yellow ducklings waddles past, stopping by to pick at the grass. “Hey, look, Mom, a mama duck.”

He lifts his arm to point, but the crutch goes along with his arm, leaving him destabilized. Luckily, his father is on his other side, and he holds him up without making too much of a big deal, keeping his face front.

“Oh, will you look at that,” Akaashi’s mother coos, getting out a bag of seeds from her purse along with her phone. “Koutarou, be a dear and take a picture of us with the mama duck, please.”

Akaashi’s smile fades. He knows his mother only used the mother duck as an excuse to take as many pictures as she can with her dying son before he’s six feet under or ashes. He’s yet to figure out which route to take. She had been taking pictures the entire trip. He has to remember to go through her phone and delete all the ugly pictures of himself before she prints them out to use at his funeral.

“For sure, Mama Akaashi,” Bokuto says, taking the offered phone and holding up the phone, waiting for Akaashi to turn around. “C’mon, Keiji, lemme see that pretty smile.”

Akaashi smiles, tries to think of the mama duck to get his smile to look halfway real, but when Bokuto shows them the photo, it looks horribly forced. He looks awful, anyway. A smile can’t save the way his body’s contorted with the crutches, how skinny he’s gotten, how sunken his face has grown. Eating has become more and more difficult. The movement of eating used to be the only problem, but now it’s swallowing. He’s mainly eating soups now, and he didn’t even have to tell Bokuto because Bokuto always knows before he does what he’s feeling. The perks of being together for nineteen years.

He turns back to the pond in search of the mama duck, but she had disappeared in the time they took the photo. Akaashi’s face falls, his hand clutching the plastic bag of seeds. A bit of pollen tickles his nose, and he sneezes into his elbow.

“Oh, Keiji!”

His head snaps to his mother, whose hand had flown up to her mouth to suppress her gasp. “What’s wrong, Mom?”

He follows her line of sight down to the crotch of his pants, which had darkened and become wet.

He had peed himself. Slightly, but enough to make him never want to step outside ever again.

The warmth on his legs hadn’t been the sun after all—it had been his bladder leaking from the force of the sneeze, with its host none the wiser.

He had read about the loss of bladder control as a symptom since the bladder is surrounded by muscles, and the bitch of the disease targets those. But he never expected that to happen to him. Bladder incontinence only happens to older victims. Urge incontinence, however, doesn’t have as small of an age range when it comes to ALS.

Only now, standing in wet underwear, does he realize how these diseases are sanitized. The movies he watched of HIV, ALS, cancer…none of them show how disgusting they actually are.

“Get me home,” Akaashi whispers, his eyes welling with hot tears of humiliation. Sweat prickles on his hairline and the back of his neck, a panic attack in the works. Every single pair of eyes is on him. Everybody’s staring, laughing, pointing. Everybody’s full of pity. Oh, poor thing, he can’t help it. He’s never been more embarrassed.

Humiliated, humiliated, humiliated…

“Come, Keiji,” his mother murmurs, leading him to the public bathroom. “Let’s go to the bathroom while your father and Koutarou pull up the car.”

Nobody questions the old woman as she enters the men’s bathroom, mostly because of the man in crutches who reeks of urine next to her. She takes him into the biggest stall and sits him on the toilet, beginning to undo his belt until he stops her weakly.

“Please,” he says, his breathing heavy. “Let me have a little dignity left.”

He has a few months left until he needs a 24/7 nurse to transfer him to the toilet and wipe his ass. He will postpone that until the last minute.

She waits outside while Akaashi cleans himself up. She listens for any sign of struggle and nearly jumps with surprise when the door opens, revealing her son, who smells a little better. The pee is already beginning to dry down.

“Let’s get you in the shower,” she says when they get home. Bokuto places a hand on her forearm, signaling for him to take over, and attempts to wrap an arm around Akaashi’s waist, only to be rejected when Akaashi dodges and nearly trips over his crutches.

Bokuto frowns but proposes, “Come on, let’s take a shower together.”

“Don’t get near me,” Akaashi says as he ambles over to the bathroom. “I’m disgusting.”

Bokuto laughs and shakes his head. “Akaashi, babe, I’ve had to clean up your vomit three days in a row before, both from food poisoning and booze. You literally brush your teeth while I’m shitting in the same bathroom. A little pee doesn’t hurt. Don’t act like a princess—”

“Please, leave me alone,” Akaashi begs, throwing his crutches on the floor of their bedroom and using the doorknob as support as he steps inside and closes the door. Bokuto knocks on the door and tries the doorknob, but it’s locked.

“Keiji,” he mumbles, hoping his quiet voice carries through the door. “Open the door.”

“No.”

“Keiji,” he repeats.

“I’m not letting you bathe me or wipe my ass. I’d rather slip and crack my head open in the shower before letting you do that.”

“Keiji,” he repeats for the third and last time. “You remember what Kuroo said? He was a terrible officiant, but he said some good things.”

The other side is silent.

“In sickness and in health. ‘Til death do us part. I’m here for the long game. I’m not leaving you.”

He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Remember what I said in my vows?”

Again, silence.

He clears his throat. “Keiji Akaashi, I will love you until we’re two wrinkly old and ugly grandpas. I will love you, even if we both lose our hair and all our teeth. I will love you, even if we forget each other. Because I will remember you the next day, and I’ll fall in love with you all over again.”

Bokuto feels the light spring breeze on his face, almost as if he’s back at their wedding venue. He feels the ancient cobblestones underneath his feet, smells the cherry blossoms surrounding them, tastes the red velvet cake on his tongue when Akaashi smashed it in his face. Nothing has changed. Except they’re not going to be wrinkly old men.

“Really puts everything into perspective, huh? A little piss and shit won’t ever change my vows,” he ends, rapping the door yet again with the back of his knuckles. “Come on, Keiji. Open up and lemme see you naked. That always makes me feel better, at least.”

The lock tumbles and the door slowly creaks open to reveal Akaashi in his boxers. He clearly wasted no time taking off the soiled clothing.

“I needed to take a shower anyway,” Bokuto says with a shrug, stepping inside and closing the door. He strips down to his boxers before walking over and turning on the shower, but as he’s walking back, he feels just how healthy his muscles are. He used to never think about his muscles, except maybe when they were sore from the gym or how to make them bigger to impress Akaashi. Now he feels horrible every time he exists next to Akaashi, almost as if he was mocking his disease or bragging about how healthy he is.

“You know what will cheer you up?” Bokuto asks, ignoring the guilt blooming in his chest. He drops his hand to pinch Akaashi’s rear, causing the man to explode into a red blush.

“Koutarou! My parents are here!” Akaashi whispers harshly, swatting Bokuto’s hand away. “Besides…I won’t be able to…s-support myself.”

“I’ll do all that, baby,” Bokuto drawls flirtatiously, wrapping his arm around Akaashi’s lower back for support and using his other hand to push down both their boxers.

“Koutarou, stop,” Akaashi pleads, the corners of his eyes leaking tears. “I’m…I feel so ugly. I smell.”

“That’s what the shower is for.” Bokuto grins before leading his husband over to the shower, carefully helping him in, shielding Akaashi from the water with his back as he checks to see if the temperature’s good. Once he approves, he moves to let the water drizzle over Akaashi’s pale frame. Akaashi uses the support bar Bokuto installed a couple of days ago for balance as he steps forward into the water, closing his eyes as he feels the stickiness between his legs wash away. He lets out a sigh at Bokuto’s hands on his skin, the smell of fresh cucumber drifting from the lather on his shoulders.

“Turn around,” Bokuto commands, and Akaashi obeys, his eyes still closed. However, they fly open when he feels his body lifting up and the cold wall of the shower pressed against his back. His hand shoots out to grip the support bar, glaring at Bokuto.

“Could’ve warned me,” he grumbles, letting out a gasp when Bokuto ignores his complaint and dives straight into his neck to leave marks. “Not there! My parents will see them!”

“It’s turtleneck weather,” Bokuto replies easily.

Akaashi nearly succumbs to Bokuto’s seducing until he remembers something. “What if I shit on your dick?”

Bokuto tosses his head back and laughs, causing Akaashi to laugh along nervously.

“That’s what the shower is for,” he repeats without a second thought, going back to his seducing. His hand overlaps Akaashi’s on the support bar, squeezing it as both of them forget the trauma of today and melt into each other’s bodies. The sex is a form of amnesia because as Bokuto sets down a thoroughly fatigued Akaashi on the counter to get them both towels, Akaashi can’t for the life of him place why he was sad earlier that day.

He, thankfully, didn’t shit on Bokuto’s dick. And—Bokuto’s right—it’s chilly that night. It gives Akaashi the perfect excuse to cuddle up on the couch in a turtleneck, concealing the evidence of their spontaneous lust in the shower. The night is full of hot chocolate with marshmallows and caramel drizzle, just like Akaashi likes it, cheesy rom-coms he and his mother adore, and playing around with Emiko that he forgets that he’ll die in a few months or years. He talks and talks and talks until his vocal cords are sore the next day. Tonight, he isn’t Keiji Akaashi with ALS. He isn’t Keiji Akaashi who can barely form a sentence anymore. He isn’t Keiji Akaashi who will die before he reaches middle age. He’s just Keiji Akaashi.

…

The sense of normalcy continues for the rest of the year. His symptoms seem to have plateaued, and thankfully, he doesn’t have any more run-ins with urge incontinence. Bokuto attributes the slowing progression to his daily physical therapy sessions, and he finally feels comfortable enough to go to practices again and leave Akaashi to his work. Typing is difficult, and it takes him three times as long to edit a page of a manga, but it feels nice to be of use. To not be completely inept and earn his own keep. He always hated being doted on, but he’d have to get used to the idea soon enough.

Akaashi’s parents go home a month after their arrival once they see their son’s condition stabilizing, making him promise to call them every day and tell them updates. He struggles to muster up the courage to call their closest friends to break the news because he knows that the second he says the words ‘I have ALS,’ they’d be knocking down the door. And that’s exactly what happens.

“Why the actual hell didn’t you tell us the second you got the diagnosis?!” Kuroo shouts, causing Kenma to smack the back of his head and apologize for his partner.

“The man’s sick, Tetsurou. Don’t scream.”

Akaashi appreciates the gesture since Kuroo’s voice is much too loud for their little apartment, but he also doesn’t want to be labeled as ‘sick.’ He’s already had enough of being treated like porcelain from Bokuto; he doesn’t want his friends to do the same.

“Kuroo, calm down,” Bokuto warns, but he was in the same position Kuroo not too long ago. When Akaashi refused to go to the doctor and admit he had a problem. He can’t blame the frustration. “He’s doing fine. The crutches are working out well, and his motor skills are good enough to type and write. He’s improving.”

The initial shock of the diagnosis undoubtedly made every single symptom seem worse and did nothing to slow the progression. It racked Akaashi’s body like cancer, and he wishes he did have cancer because then he might have a shot of surviving and living a normal life. Cancer seems like a blessing compared to the curse his body harbors.

“Well,” Kenma starts with a sympathetic smile. He picks up a controller from the coffee table and sits down next to Akaashi, handing it to him and picking up a controller for himself. “Ready for me to kick your ass in Mario Kart?”

Akaashi laughs. Genuinely. Not caused by those random bursts of laughter or crying he gets. He was so worried about getting treated as if he’s breakable that the comment caught him off-guard—of course Kenma would beat him. Not only because he’s a savant at anything video game-related, but because Akaashi literally has almost zero motor skills left. And Kenma knows this very well. They ate together. Kenma watched Bokuto help wipe Akaashi’s mouth and cut up a bit of the tougher side of the steak. He winced every time Akaashi dropped his fork, the clatter causing the conversation to come to an abrupt stop. And yet, he still proposes to beat him in a game that is all about motor control. Because Keiji is still Keiji. And he deserves to play a game of Mario Kart.

Kenma, of course, wins. Bokuto promises to avenge Akaashi’s honor, but he, too, loses his honor when he’s defeated horribly by the video game developer. Kuroo is the only one who puts up a good fight before ultimately losing as well from all the practice the two do on a daily basis. Kuroo and Bokuto busy themselves playing another round while Kenma helps Akaashi stand up, and the two walk over to the small patio in the kitchen.

“Have you been smoking?” Kenma asks, motioning to the ashtray populated by a few cigarettes as he sits down. Akaashi sits down across from him, his hand absentmindedly stroking Emiko.

“No, that’s Bokuto’s,” he replies with a disappointed shake of the head. “I’m trying to get him to stop. But even if they…were mine, it wouldn’t matter. I’m going to die anyway.”

Kenma stiffens. He can sense the distaste dripping from Akaashi’s tone like acid. He knows Akaashi would never wish sickness on Bokuto, least of all lung cancer. But Kenma can tell how frustratingly ironic it is that Bokuto, whose diet consisted of the most sugary and fatty foods before Akaashi stepped in, who smokes nearly every day, is the perfectly healthy one. He’s healthy, not the one who meditates and does yoga and cooks homemade, healthy meals every day. Even Kenma has a frown of consternation, irritated at how unfair the world can be.

He needs to ask. He needs to be able to brace himself for when the time comes. “How long do you think you have?”

Something Akaashi always appreciated from Kenma is that he never beats around the bush.

“The way I’m going, Dr. Hirose says three years. I’ll hopefully make it to my 40th birthday,” he explains, staring down at his hands. “I’ll probably n-need…a wheelchair in a year. And a 24/7 nurse a few months after that.”

He’s planned out the whole timeline in his head. He finds that expecting changes in his body is a lot less shock-inducing than just waiting for them to happen.

“I won’t be able to talk soon. Sometimes I d…on’t want to talk anymore. My vo…voice is starting to sound so ugly.” He thought he didn’t have any more tears to shed, but he finds himself choking back tears, his eyes red-rimmed.

He was trying to speak as much as possible before his voice eventually gives out, but he was never talkative to begin with, so it all comes off as fake. As a desperate attempt to redeem himself, say all the things he never got to say his entire life. He compliments Bokuto every day. Tells him how amazing of a job he’s doing. Bokuto is, of course, pleased to receive the compliments, but they’re soured when he realizes why he’s receiving them in the first place.

He baby talks Emiko, even though he only ever spoke to her like an adult human. Baby talking allows him to showcase more of his vocal range, which is getting smaller and smaller each month. But after a while, he goes days without uttering more than ten sentences. What’s the point if he’s going to lose his voice anyway?

Kenma reaches forward and grips Akaashi’s hand in his before letting go, gazing into the sunset splashing rays across the horizon. “You should make a bucket list.”

Akaashi lets out a sigh. Finally, somebody who doesn’t bring up Stephen fucking Hawking. Somebody who’s realistic, who offers solutions instead of false hope. He’s going to die whether he likes it or not—he needs to stop pitying himself.

“A bucket list isn’t a half-bad idea,” Akaashi says, stroking his chin pensively. He needs to shave, but last time he tried, he nicked himself so many times that he looked like he had a beard of toilet paper. “I don’t even know where I’d go. It’d be so expensive, too.”

“Are you going to use that money when you’re dead?” Kenma asks. “You have a savings account, right?”

Akaashi nods.

“Problem solved.” Kenma smiles and gets out a small leather-bound notebook, handing it to his friend. “I brought this for you. For your bucket list.”

Akaashi’s looking down at the notebook, but when he looks back up, Kenma’s crying. He’s never seen Kenma cry before.

“Go live life, Akaashi. Live the life people who live eighty years will never have.”

…

First, it’s the Alps in Switzerland for New Year’s. Akaashi’s strapped to Bokuto’s chest as they ski down a hill made for children, but Akaashi can’t wipe the smile off his face even if he tries. He’s laughing, begging Bokuto to go again. Bokuto agrees, but he’s wary of anything and everything now with Akaashi’s declining health. His bones have started to rise underneath his skin, and the dark circles under his eyes are growing ever darker. The common flu could have him bedridden for a week.

Bokuto still has hope that Akaashi will live for years and years. His stabilizing condition only further cements that hope, and if he doesn’t pay too much close attention, he completely forgets about Akaashi’s condition. They say that people who get it early in life live longer…

Akaashi can’t drink with his medications—and even though his motto is now “I’ll die anyway,” he’d much rather complete his Switzerland trip before offing himself. So he’s left to take care of Bokuto, who gets much too drunk off eggnog, and Akaashi loves it. He loves being the one fussing over somebody else. He loves being the stronger one, the caretaker. And now, he finally has a reason to take care of Bokuto and drag him to the bed.

“Keiiijii!” Bokuto sings at the top of his lungs, reaching his arms up as the bedroom spins around him. “Keiji Akaashi, I loooove youuu!”

“I love you, too,” Akaashi murmurs with a chuckle, balancing his crutches against the wall and flopping onto the bed.

“Please don’t leave me.”

Well, that’s quite a change in mood. Akaashi laughs and quirks a brow at Bokuto, whose arms had since dropped to his chest and his eyes closed.

“I’m not leaving—”

“I don’t want you to leave me,” Bokuto slurs. His hands fly up to cover his eyes. “Why…why couldn’t it have been me? God, it’s all my fault. If we hadn’t gotten into…that crash. Of all people…why you? Live forever and forever for me. Please don’t leave me, Keiji, please…”

He continues blabbering until snores overtake his sobs, but Akaashi stays silent. Bokuto says it hurts him to see his husband’s decline, but it also hurts him to see Bokuto suffering so much. Perhaps if he died earlier rather than later, Bokuto wouldn’t be hurting as much. He’d have more time to get over him and fall in love again, preferably with somebody without a terminal disease.

He crosses off “go skiing” and “go to Switzerland” in his notebook and smiles as he goes to sleep.

…

Second, it’s Brazil. They coincidentally run into Hinata playing volleyball with his Brazilian friends on Copacabana Beach, but his expression doesn’t change when his eyes drop to Akaashi’s crutches. He just grins even wider and holds up the volleyball in his arms for Akaashi.

“Wanna play a set?”

He gets on Bokuto’s shoulders and misses nearly all the blocks and hits. It’s less about his condition and more so the fact that he was a setter and hadn’t played professionally in nearly fifteen years, but that doesn’t discourage him. He accepts Hinata’s ‘another game?’ proposition until Bokuto puts a stop to it, afraid he’s overworking himself.

Bokuto gets drunk, yet again, off too many caipirinhas, and Akaashi, yet again, has to take care of him. But he doesn’t complain once. As Bokuto sleeps, he gets out his leather-bound notebook as crosses both “meet up with Hinata one more time” and “go to Brazil” off his list. Slowly and surely, his list is being whittled down. It’s bittersweet: he feels accomplished whenever he crosses something off the list, but that just means he’s growing ever closer to his expiration date.

…

Third, it’s Italy. It’s been nearly a year since he was first diagnosed and add on two months for when he first started noticing symptoms. They’re celebrating Akaashi’s 37th birthday in a fancy seaside restaurant, the salty breeze making both their faces glow. They’re in their own little world, ignoring the other customers who either stare at them or ask to be moved to another table.

Bokuto now has to feed him nearly everything, spooning minestrone soup and twirling pasta onto a fork before putting it into his husband’s mouth. He fixes Akaashi’s bib, which has “what’s cookin,’ good lookin’” embellished across it, per Bokuto’s suggestion.

“This…is goo…d-d,” Akaashi says with a giggle, accidentally spitting out a bit of soup that dribbles down his chin.

“I know, right?” Bokuto’s heart aches at the sight, but he forces his acting skills to their maximum as he lifts a napkin up to clean Akaashi up. “We’re coming to Italy every…er, we should come back.”

He keeps catching himself saying presumptuous things that only make Akaashi draw back inside himself. Things like “I can’t wait to do this every day with you,” or “we need to come back here in three years” because, frankly, three years is a stretch.

“I wan…t the c-calamari,” Akaashi continues, seemingly not noticing Bokuto’s slip-up.

“Okay, we’ll have the calamari next. But save me some, okay? Your eye is bigger than your stomach,” Bokuto recites in a motherly voice, making Akaashi laugh again.

“Okay,” Akaashi replies, his eyes sparkling.

Bokuto hesitates to leave to go to the grocery store to pick up ingredients for dinner, but Akaashi practically pushes him out the door with the little strength he still had. They’d have to switch to a wheelchair soon.

“I’ll be fine,” Akaashi promises in his now-unnaturally low voice. “I’ll be…on the couch.”

Bokuto bites the inside of his cheek before relenting, bidding goodbye and practically sprinting to the grocery store. When he comes back, his arms carrying a bag full of fruit and pasta, he shouts Akaashi’s name. No response.

“Akaashi?”

He hears a groan, and he can’t drop the groceries fast enough before running in the direction of the sound, coming across Akaashi on the floor in the bathroom, his pants halfway hiked up his legs.

“I h-had to p…ee,” Akaashi sobs into the terracotta tile, and Bokuto bunches him up in his arms, and he finds that his husband’s body feels much too similar to the bag of groceries. Dead weight. He weeps in Bokuto’s arms for a few more moments, and Bokuto’s about to get up before Akaashi lets out a choked wail.

“I don’t want to die!” he shrieks, almost intelligibly with how fast he gets it out in order to not slur his words together. He hits Bokuto’s forearms as hard as he can, which Bokuto barely notices with how light the taps are. He shakes his head, gobs of ugly fat tears and snot trailing down his face. He’s unraveling; all the fear and dread in his body bubbling to the surface like boiling water. The water runs down the sides of the pot, stoking the fire even more until everything eventually burns down into embers. That’s what’s left of Akaashi now. Embers.

“I d…on’t want to die. I’m s-sca…red. I don’t wan…t-t to die…I don’t…”

Akaashi thought dying was what he wanted. But the second he was alone in the dark bathroom, hopelessly and utterly alone and lying on the cold floor, he realizes that death is the furthest thing he wants. He’s scared. He’s been putting off his true emotions for too long. He’s always been terrified.

He dissolves back into quiet tears, hanging his head low over Bokuto’s forearm. For a while, all Bokuto can do is stare, biting his bottom lip until it bleeds in order to keep a stoic face for his husband. But he’s crumbling, too.

“Oh, Keiji,” Bokuto coaxes into Akaashi’s hair, stroking the locks and cradling him like a newborn baby. For every smile Akaashi gives, he weeps five times. The ratio used to be backwards. He wonders how much bigger the disparity in the ratio will grow.

Bokuto doesn’t leave him alone for longer than five minutes after that.

…

They can only do one more trip before Akaashi needs to be transferred to a wheelchair, according to Dr. Hirose.

“There are many comfortable and intelligent varieties,” he says, but nothing makes Akaashi want to die more than the thought of no longer being able to move on his own.

They end up in England, where they meet up with Oikawa and Iwaizumi.

“Yikes, you look horrible, Akaashi,” Oikawa says with a grimace, motioning to Akaashi’s outfit and bib. “Just because Bokuto has to dress you now doesn’t mean he should get to pick out your outfits. Cargo shorts, really?”

Akaashi laughs and turns to Bokuto, shaking his head. “You h-hear…d the man. I…ge-t-t to choose.”

Bokuto rolls his eyes and glares daggers into Oikawa’s soul as he takes out a tissue to clean up the drool in the corner of Akaashi’s mouth. “I picked out this outfit with a lot of love. I think it shows off his model legs. Doesn’t it, Iwa?”

But Iwaizumi isn’t taking the news as easily as Oikawa. He’s still visibly processing how quickly his friend’s health went downhill, and his hands are fisting the sides of his jeans.

“Um, yeah,” Iwaizumi replies after nearly choking on the lump in his throat. “Maybe a vest would be tasteful.”

Akaashi taps Bokuto on the chest, which would have been a slap back in the old days. He raises his eyebrows in a ‘you hear that?’ motion, finding body language is a lot easier and less awkward for the other person in the conversation than attempting to speak. He ignores Iwaizumi’s reaction—he understands it. He’s gotten enough of those reactions to just laugh it off. But the lingering stares and pitiful glances still hurt.

When they get back to their hotel, Akaashi crosses off “go to England” and “see Oikawa and Iwa one last time” in his journal. Bokuto helps him brush his teeth, holding up a cup of water for him to rinse and spit into and wipes the toothpaste foam off his face.

“Look at those pearly whites,” Bokuto says, grinning in a way that bares all his teeth, and Akaashi copies as much as he can with his limited range of facial muscles. They dissolve into laughter, and Bokuto sits his husband on the foot of the bed and places a pajama set on the bed. “Alright, now because of stupid Oikawa, I have to get your approval on everything you wear because I have ‘horrible fashion taste’ or whatever. So, what do you think?”

Akaashi is silent, and Bokuto meets his gaze and sees his cheeks are dusted with pink.

“Koutarou…” Even with his slurred and irregular voice, his name still sounds like pure gold on his tongue. Akaashi blinks slowly, tipping his chin back and lifting his arms up haltingly until his hands find support by clinging to Bokuto’s face. “Ma…ke love to…to me.”

Bokuto’s eyes widen, and he fights the urge to step back in surprise and tear Akaashi’s hands off his face. He closes his eyes and covers Akaashi’s hands with his own, detaching them from his cheeks and bringing them back down to his lap.

“I can’t do that, Keiji,” Bokuto whispers.

“Why not?” Akaashi asks, his lips pulling into a frown. “Am I…too ugly?”

His face is so skinny. His eyes bulge out of their sockets, his eyelashes even longer than they were before. His lips are chapped, and there’s a growing sore in the corner of his mouth. Bokuto can see the blue-green veins running underneath his skin, feel the spots he missed when he helped him shave this morning.

But he couldn’t be more beautiful.

“Never,” Bokuto breathes, squatting down to be eye-level with his Greek god. “I’m just scared I’ll hurt you.”

“You won’t,” Akaashi continues. “I can take it.” When he still sees hesitation in Bokuto’s eyes, he practically begs, “One last time…pl…ease. Hawking still…fu-ucked while in…h-his wheel…wheelchair.”

Bokuto laughs, and Akaashi can see the last glint of reluctance turn into amusement.

“You’re not even in a wheelchair yet,” Bokuto says, and Akaashi nods eagerly. He sighs, the phrase ‘one last time’ echoing in his head. It really will be the last time they make love. Because even though Stephen Hawking was still a womanizer in his wheelchair, Bokuto doesn’t think he’ll have it in him.

He undresses Akaashi slowly, unbuttoning his Hawaiian shirt, letting Akaashi fumble with the last few buttons. He tries to take back as much of his autonomy whenever he can, and Bokuto gladly allows him.

Akaashi watches as Bokuto stands back up and pulls his shirt over his head, letting it drop onto the floor, and leans over to press kisses onto his abs. He runs his fingertips over the muscles, both in admiration and in jealousy. He remembers when he used to have ab muscles like these, how much Bokuto loved touching them. He looks down at his own torso, wincing at the sight of his ribs slicing his skin.

He smiles as Bokuto carries him up the bed, laying him down delicately like a baby. He whimpers at the warmth on the crook of his neck, his shoulders hiking up and his body racking with pleasure. He hasn’t felt so beautiful, so worthy of love, in so long, and it’s all thanks to Bokuto’s soft caresses.

“Are you okay?” Bokuto asks, and Akaashi has a feeling that question will be recurring throughout this session.

He gazes down at his husband, who has reached his happy trail, and nods. He gathers up all his energy to say, “I’ve never felt…better.”

It’s slow and tender, both because Bokuto is afraid he’ll break Akaashi and because it’s their last time together. He wants it to last forever. He wants to imprint every touch, every sound, every taste into his brain. He wants Akaashi tattooed on his body, wants any evidence that he was here, that he was loved, that he was strong until the very end.

He guides Akaashi’s arms to cling onto his back, holding up his bony legs as he locks lips with a particularly noisy Akaashi.

“The whole hotel can probably hear you,” he jokes, and Akaashi needs to catch his breath before responding.

“Good,” he finally replies, using the last of his strength to push Bokuto down into a deep kiss.

Akaashi’s tattooed on his body alright. After Akaashi falls sound asleep directly after finishing, Bokuto cleans him up and dresses him in the pajamas in case it gets chilly during the night. He pulls the covers up to his chin and kisses his forehead, brushing a few locks of sweaty hair out of his face. He smiles and heads to the bathroom, immediately spotting the hickeys Akaashi must have left on him while he was fumbling around with the pillows to make sure he was completely comfortable. He turns around to see scratch marks all over his upper back. He needs to stifle his laughter in fear of waking Akaashi, but it’s more than endearing to see how his husband marked him up. He needs to stop himself from going to the nearest tattoo artist and getting the scratches tattooed immediately.

He slips back into bed, and Akaashi responds by turning over and flopping his limbs over Bokuto’s torso. He smiles and wraps his arms around the love of his life and dreams of him with gray hair, wrinkles, and sunspots. All of which are considered to be the worst things to happen while aging, but what he wouldn’t give to see all three on Akaashi. That would mean he lived long enough to gain them.

…

Akaashi hates the wheelchair. It gets him places faster, yeah, and it’s very high-tech, but at what cost? He can barely move around the apartment without bumping into something and knocking it onto the floor. Bokuto rarely ever leaves the apartment anymore, so he’s always there to help, but Akaashi is still stubborn about doing everything himself. He asks Bokuto to buy him a grabber tool, but when his forearm strength eventually dies out, he has to swallow his pride and call Bokuto into the room to pick up the fallen bowl of cereal.

He celebrates his 38th birthday in their apartment, Emiko on his lap and in the process of trying to steal a slice of cake. She, unlike her owner, loves the wheelchair. It means a seat plus access to human food when he’s in a good mood.

“Mom, Mom, you’re…miss…ssing it,” Akaashi drawls, waving sloppily at the phone Bokuto’s holding up to FaceTime his parents. “I’m gon…na blow it-t out.”

“Go and blow it out, honey!” his mother encourages over the speaker. “Koutarou, did you use sparklers? You better not have, or so help me I’m flying over there—”

“You wound me, mother-in-law,” Bokuto exclaims dramatically, his hand flying up to his chest as if he has just been shot. “Hath you no trust in me?”

“Not after you did that on my birthday,” Akaashi’s mother retorts, giving him the evil eye. “Now flip the camera back to my baby boy!”

“He’s always had a pair of lungs on him, haven’t you, my boy?” his father shouts, and Akaashi laughs weakly.

Almost as if to disprove his father’s words, his lungs fail him in the middle of blowing out the candles. The flames pop right back up mockingly, stronger than ever. Akaashi attempts again but only manages to blow out a few.

“I bought the strong kind, I think,” Bokuto mumbles, trying desperately to make the situation better and to cover up the sound of Akaashi’s painful wheezing. He leans over to prepare to blow the rest out. “Let me just—”

“I want to do it!” It’s rare when Akaashi gets out a full sentence nowadays, which makes his faint shout even more potent. “I want…to do-o it.”

Bokuto steps back slowly, nodding encouragingly and lifting his hand up. “Okay. Go ahead, Keiji.”

Akaashi straightens himself as much as he can in his chair, leaning close to the cake and inhaling for a good few seconds before exhaling it all, leaving himself lightheaded, and with one candle still dancing tauntingly in his face. He slumps back in his chair, thoroughly exhausted, and feebly lifts a hand up to signal Bokuto to go ahead and blow the last one out. Bokuto obeys, and they both say quick goodbyes to his parents before cutting the cake silently.

“I’m…sorry,” Akaashi speaks up after a while, his mouth full of red velvet cake.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Bokuto instructs, wiping up the creamy mess around Akaashi’s mouth. He pauses, letting out a sigh. “You have nothing to apologize for. You’re frustrated.”

Akaashi stays silent, slowly and methodically chewing his food ever since he had a choking scare a week ago. He swallows, but he doesn’t open his mouth for more. Bokuto raises a forkful of cake, but when he sees Akaashi’s mouth closed, he sets it down and slips his hands into his husband’s, his thumb running over the bony joints.

“Have you thought about joining a support group?” he asks. Akaashi scoffs, and he can see that he’s thinking all sorts of nasty things that he’d yell at Bokuto, but he doesn’t have the energy to bicker anymore. Fighting with each other is now a privilege since by the time Akaashi gets out a comeback, they’ve both had enough time to cool down and think about their actions.

“I know you don’t like the idea,” Bokuto says, speaking Akaashi’s thoughts to life. “I know you think it’s stupid, that it’s only for pussies.”

“I…would…n’t put it-t li…ke that.”

Bokuto chuckles and shrugs. “Something like that, then. But maybe if you vent to them, you’ll feel better. You won’t have to bottle everything up inside.”

Akaashi ponders it for a moment before opening his mouth again for more cake, and he thinks about it for the better part of the night while he watches Bokuto perform magic card tricks that he learned on YouTube in lieu of going to volleyball. In the morning, he gives Bokuto the go-ahead to find a group. He doesn’t really have any other reason to get out of the house. He can’t travel, and their small neighborhood barely has any wheelchair accessibility. When Bokuto finds one and signs him up for the following afternoon, he can’t deny that he’s excited to go.

“Hello, Mr. Akaashi, I’m Fumi Sugita,” the woman greets, and he lets out a sigh of relief that she doesn’t put her hands on her knees to talk to him like a child. But he supposes it’s because she’s literally the leader of an ALS group—she most likely knows how to talk to people in wheelchairs.

“Call him Keiji,” Bokuto says for him, and Akaashi confirms with a nod. He’d have to switch to communicating with the computer installed on his wheelchair, and even though the voice isn’t as robotic as the older models have it, it still isn’t his voice. Who is he kidding, his own voice isn’t even his own voice anymore. But he still hasn’t set it up yet.

“Alright, Keiji, let’s get started. Mr. Bokuto—”

“Koutarou.”

“Koutarou, please wait in the living room or come back by 3:15.”

Bokuto nods and places a kiss on the corner of Akaashi’s lips. Kisses are rare now since Bokuto’s so busy keeping house and taking care of Akaashi’s needs. Plus, there’s always something smeared across his lips or a painful sore from too much accumulating drool that it’s flat-out unpleasant to kiss him. But Bokuto got him pristine for the group session, and he didn’t even nick him while shaving. He’s getting better at it.

“Be nice,” Bokuto whispers, and Akaashi rolls his eyes and waves him off.

“Everybody, this is Keiji,” Fumi introduces to a room filled with people in varying stages of ALS. A chorus of slurred and robotic greetings follow her introduction, and Akaashi awkwardly waves as he maneuvers his chair with the joystick into the circle.

“We were just talking about fun things you can do in a wheelchair,” Fumi continues, motioning to a woman in a similar model wheelchair to him. “Do you want to show your trick off, Haruko?”

The woman nods eagerly and sticks her tongue out for concentration as she fiddles with her joystick, the chair moving backward, then forwards, then spins in the blink of an eye. Another woman shows off her trick: typing 80085 into her computer, which proceeds to read it out as “boobies.”

That earns a chuckle from Akaashi. Perhaps this isn’t too bad.

After the third session, Akaashi has grown quite close to Haruko, especially after she gladly showed him how to do her spinning wheelchair trick.

“My…hus…band thought-t it wa…s cool,” he says, and Haruko laughs. Akaashi had to tell Bokuto to stop making him do the trick over and over, but it was reluctant since he hadn’t seen that look of pride and excitement on the man’s face in a long while. Bokuto makes him promise to learn more tricks to show him, and he goes so far as to take videos to send to their friends and family. Kuroo replies with That’s dope, Akaashi! Parkour! and that makes both men crack up laughing.

Kuroko looks at her computer, waiting for the eye-tracking technology to start up, and flicks her eyes around the screen.

“I’m glad he liked it,” the robotic female voice replies. “How long do you have left?”

It’s a common question among the group. It’s never a sure answer since everybody still prays they have Hawking’s luck, but there’s usually an empty space when it gets near the time a person says they have left.

“A…year,” Akaashi says, and he suddenly has the urge to just use the computer to have a semi-normal conversation again. He’ll ask Bokuto to set it up tonight. “But…I wan…t to m-make it to-o my 40th…birthd-day.”

“That’s a short time,” Haruko says, her previous smile down turning into a frown. “I mean, I have shorter, but it’s more real hearing it out loud. Have you decided what you’re going to do?”

Akaashi nods, and that’s the end of the conversation until he can get the computer booted up and figures out how to use it.

After the fourth session, Akaashi approaches Haruko with a brand-new set of communication, and he proves it by picking up on their conversation left from yesterday. “I have decided what I’m going to do.” The voice is, of course, robotic, and Bokuto tried to call Kenma for help on how to fix it, but Kenma’s advice only made it sound creepier. But it’s worth it to carry a conversation and not hear how awful his voice sounds. He tried to use his voice until it gave out, but it became impossible. He had to swallow his pride, and it worked out. He can now hold a regular-ish conversation.

“And what’s that?” she asks, a look of intrigue on her face.

“I want to be cremated and buried under a cherry blossom tree I loved as a kid,” Akaashi replies, a sense of tranquility washing over him. The thought of dying always used to scare him before he was diagnosed, as it does to everybody. But now, he can’t think of anything more peaceful. “I used to read books underneath it, and I fell in love under it for the first time.”

His mind wanders to that one picnic in the humid spring weather. How reluctant their touches were because they were both in love but were too scared to admit it. How the sun lit up Bokuto’s face just in time for him to confess, highlighting the deep blush on his face as he picked up a cherry blossom from the blanket, tucking it behind Akaashi’s ear. How Bokuto smiled and laughed out of pure relief once Akaashi confirmed his feelings as well. How they cuddled, savoring each other’s touches before they had to leave for university. How the light filtered in between the branches of the cherry blossom tree until the horizon swallowed it. How he wishes he could go back to that memory one last time.

“I want to be cremated, too,” Haruko says, breaking Akaashi out of his thoughts. “But tossed in the ocean to be fish food.”

They both laugh, but Haruko interrupts the moment by asking, “Have you told your husband yet?”

Akaashi shakes his head, letting it droop forward in a show of embarrassment. “He still thinks I’m going to be the next Stephen Hawking. Sometimes I get mad at him because he gave us all false hope.”

“I wouldn’t want to live that long like this anyway,” Haruko retorts. “I’m tired. I’ve made my peace. My family has made their peace. I just want to close my eyes and open them in Heaven. Or Hell. I’m not jinxing anything.”

Akaashi stays silent, and the two cease their conversation when Fumi comes by to feed them a few pieces of fruit while both their caretakers come to pick them up. When she leaves to tend to the other people, Haruko turns back to Akaashi.

“’When tomorrow starts without me, and I’m not here to see; if the sun should rise and find your eyes; all filled with tears for me’,” she recites, and Akaashi cocks his head in confusion. “It’s my favorite poem now. I’ve always loved poetry, but this one resonates with me. You should look the rest up.” A man walks into their peripheral vision, a grand smile on his face when he spots Haruko.

“Come on, babe, I made soba! Let’s go before it gets cold,” he says, and Haruko grins and starts her wheelchair toward him. She spins around and lifts her eyebrows in a sign of goodbye, and Akaashi tips his chin in acknowledgment.

Bokuto isn’t too far behind Haruko’s boyfriend, nearly doubling over with how out-of-breath he is. “Sorry, honey, there was a ragin’ line at the grocery store. I had to elbow a middle-aged woman out of the way for a box of crackers.”

Akaashi laughs, and Bokuto laughs with him. He tells him all about his day at the grocery store, the never-ending tale lasting all the way back home. And while Akaashi usually loves listening to Bokuto’s intriguing tales, he finds his mind wandering to the poem Haruko quoted. When Bokuto is washing the dishes, he tries to look up the first lines of the poem as quickly as he can, and when he finds it, he reads it over and over until he can recite it by heart.

When Bokuto lifts him out of his wheelchair and into bed, draping the blanket over him, Akaashi clears his throat. Bokuto slips into bed and listens attentively, brushing the hair out of Akaashi’s eyes.

“I w-want…to be crem…cremated,” Akaashi says. He pushes on, even though he feels Bokuto stiffen next to him, the mattress sagging under the added weight. “Un…der the cher…ry bloss…som tree.”

Bokuto wants to argue. He wants to scream and yell and repeat over and over that Akaashi’s not dying, he’s not going to die anytime soon until it becomes true. But he knows better. He’s been to group sessions of his own—partners of those with ALS—and knows that denial is the first stage of the grieving process. But all this knowledge doesn’t make the air in the room any less heavy whenever the morbid subject is brought up.

He’s about to reply to Akaashi when he continues. “’When…tomo-rrow start…s…without me…’” He recites the lines Haruko told him today, slowly but surely, until he’s panting with exertion. Usually, he’d be crying whenever the subject of dying is brought up, but just like Haruko, he’s made his peace with the idea. He used to be terrified of the idea of death, but now, he’s expecting it like a visit from an old friend. It’s comforting to know that their suffering will be over soon. He wants Bokuto to be happy. He can see how stressed he is, how he’s been losing weight alongside the actually diseased person. He’s grown paler, and his smile carries the weight of an eighty-year-old man’s. He’s tired. They’re both tired.

Bokuto, however, doesn’t take it as well. He hates seeing how accepting Akaashi has grown over the idea of death. Fight a little harder, he wants to shout. Fight like you mean it. Fight like you want to live.

But Akaashi has no more fight in him left to give. He can no longer make fists with his hands. He can’t move his legs at all. He’s lost almost all his facial muscles. ALS is the grand champion of this fight, and Akaashi isn’t getting up from the floor.

“What’s the rest?” Bokuto asks, but by the time he’s finished wiping away his own tears, Akaashi is asleep.

…

Sleeping next to Akaashi is nearly impossible now. His wheezing is loud and sharp, the sound a constant sheer whistle in Bokuto’s ear. When they get him an oxygen machine, it isn’t much different. The tank makes clicking noises every time he inhales like a clock, ticking down the time until it goes silent, meaning Akaashi took his last breath.

Akaashi snores up a storm, which he supposes is payback for all the times he complained about Bokuto’s snoring. But Bokuto can’t risk moving to the couch and missing Akaashi’s last breath. Akaashi had chosen to have Do Not Attempt Resuscitation status, even though every single bone in Bokuto’s body screamed at him to stop the notary from signing off on the papers. He wanted to claim that Akaashi wasn’t mentally fit enough to have given permission, but he knew that Akaashi would never forgive him if he did that. The official paper framed above Akaashi’s nightstand mocks him every day, jeering at him, saying, “The love of your life will die, and you legally can’t do anything about it.”

Dr. Hirose tells Akaashi he should finish putting all his final touches on his will, but Akaashi hasn’t even started it. Yes, he’s accepted that he’s going to die—it’s another thing to put it on paper.

Akaashi spends his 39th birthday in a musty office, trying to think of everything he owns that will eventually go to Bokuto. Bokuto waits outside the office as he speaks with the drafter about his will. He covers his ears since he can still hear the muffled robotic voice from Akaashi’s wheelchair. If he hums a song loud enough and squeezes his eyes tight, he almost forgets where he is.

Each week, Akaashi recites one more stanza from the poem. Bokuto has to suppress the urge to just look it up and read until the end, wanting to hear it from Akaashi’s mouth. Each week, Akaashi gets sicker and sicker, his mouth nearly freezing up multiple times through his recitations. He chokes on a noodle during lunch one day, and the near-death experience knocks him out for a few weeks, having to skip multiple group sessions. When he shows up again, people nearly drop their food out of pure shock. Akaashi had left an empty space in the group, and nobody questions an empty space. They just move closer together, as if covering up that the space was ever there.

But Akaashi notices Haruko isn’t at the group session. When he asks Fumi, she just purses her lips and shakes her head: the universal sign of ‘they passed away.’ He wonders if she’s in Heaven or Hell. He wonders if he’ll meet her wherever she is and hear her real voice.

Akaashi isn’t too far away from dying either. He’s filled out the paperwork. He’s made funeral arrangements. He’s contacted the cremation place. He’s said all that he needs to all his friends and family. All there is to do now…is wait.

“Koutarou,” Akaashi says one day as Bokuto’s giving him a sponge bath. He remembers a time where he said he’d rather slip and die in the shower than let Bokuto bathe him, hire a nurse, fight tooth and nail to the very end. He never expected he’d be so tired by the end. He thought he’d go out with a bang. But it’s quicksand instead: slow, inescapable, and exhausting.

“Yes, Keiji?” Bokuto asks, his breath hitching in his throat. He tries not to cry around Akaashi anymore. When Akaashi’s absentmindedly watching a game show on TV, he feigns needing to go to the bathroom and instead locks himself inside and sobs into the sleeve of his shirt. He wishes he could one day wake up and be the one with ALS, for Akaashi is the last person on Earth deserving of such hell. He feels so helpless—none of his kisses or hugs or feeble attempts at jokes are enough to save Akaashi. He’s going to die, and there’s nothing Bokuto can do about it except watch his soulmate slip through his fingers like watching Akaashi lobbing a perfect set his way, and no matter what he does, Bokuto’s hand goes straight through the ball. The ball falls pitifully on their side of the net—match set point. The point is irreversible. There’s no way to get it back. There’s no way to win the game. They can reflect on the things they did wrong in hindsight all they want—“we should’ve done this,” “we could’ve done this better”—but there’s nothing they can do to change the game. They lost. Both of them.

“I want to go to Iceland again,” Akaashi says. “That’s my final wish.”

The words ‘final wish’ is a gut punch, and Bokuto has to take a few seconds to reel from nausea swirling in his stomach. He squeezes the sponge in his hands until all moisture dissipates from it, his nails digging into the foam. He tries not to splash the computer as he wets the sponge again.

“Dr. Hirose won’t let that happen,” Bokuto replies, returning to lightly wiping Akaashi’s skin.

“He can’t deny a dying man a final wish,” Akaashi defends. “You can’t deny me my final wish.”

Bam. Straight to the heart. Akaashi always knew exactly what would get Bokuto’s blood pressure through the roof. Because that’s exactly what Bokuto is trying to do. If they do go to Iceland, Akaashi will either die onboard the plane, in Iceland, or on the plane back. He’s not surviving the trip. He will die there. And Bokuto will be left cold and alone.

“Okay,” Bokuto relents, bowing his head so Akaashi can’t see the tears pricking his eyes. “I’ll book it tomorrow.”

…

The arrangements with the airline take longer than Bokuto ever thought since the subject matter is a dying man. He shouts one too many times into the receiver that Akaashi doesn’t have that many days left, and even after repeating and emphasizing that point, it’s as if his brain blocks that fact. It substitutes it instead for the idea that they’re simply going on another vacation, and the two of them are coming back together, not with one in a body bag.

He doesn’t let any of the flight attendants touch Akaashi or his wheelchair. He’s the one who folds up the wheelchair. He’s the one who lifts Akaashi into the first-class seat. He’s the one who touches him because any touch could be his last before his husband turns cold.

“Comfortable?” Bokuto asks, buckling both their seatbelts. “I’ve never been in first class before.”

Akaashi nods, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the headrest. However, his eyes flutter open when Bokuto snaps his fingers in front of him, shaking his head.

“No, we’re watching Despicable Me 2. No sleeping on my watch.” Partly because he wants to watch their comfort movie together one last time, and partly because the mere sight of Akaashi’s eyes being closed gives him indescribable amounts of anxiety.

Akaashi rolls his eyes, which is one of the few things from his past he can still do now, and leans his head against Bokuto’s shoulders as they start the movie. Akaashi wheezes for a laugh since they couldn’t bring his oxygen tanks on board (it isn’t as if he’s going to need them for much longer, anyhow), and Bokuto senses the other passengers shifting uncomfortably in their seats. He couldn’t care less. He’s embarrassed for the other passengers, shifting away from a dying man. Pathetic.

He’s evidently fallen into the anger stage of the grieving process.

When they get to the hotel, the first thing Bokuto asks is when the northern lights will appear. The woman says possibly in two days. He bites his lip and looks down at Akaashi, who blinks slowly to reassure him that everything is alright. He’ll hang on for a little while longer.

They lay in bed those two days, Bokuto listening to Akaashi’s breaths and Akaashi savoring the warmth and fullness of Bokuto’s torso in his arms.

“Are you scared?” Bokuto asks, his voice cracking in the middle.

Akaashi holds up two fingers, meaning ‘no.’

“Will you miss me?”

He holds up one finger, meaning ‘yes.’

“Are you happy?”

One finger.

“Do you regret anything?”

One finger.

Bokuto reaches for his phone and opens the notes app for Akaashi to type. He does it so slowly, Bokuto nearly forgets what question he asked.

“Making you sad. Making you worry.”

“Oh, Keiji,” Bokuto whispers, setting down his phone and hugging Akaashi close, resting his chin on his oily hair. “You’ve only ever made me happy. And annoyed when you’d steal my secret stash of Oreos.”

A sharp breath comes from Akaashi, signaling a laugh.

“It’s the thought of you being gone that makes me sad. You never made me sad. I’m just worried about myself.” Bokuto chokes back a sob. “I don’t know what I’ll do when you’re gone.”

They fall into silence again, until Bokuto asks one last question.

“What’s the end to the poem?”

He looks down, and Akaashi’s sound asleep on his chest. He slowly and steadily picks up his phone and takes a picture. Akaashi looks…normal in the photo. He looks peaceful. He doesn’t look tired at all. He looks ready.

They arrive at the same lookout point where they had that transformative crash. It seems only natural to end where everything started. Bokuto sets out a blanket and sits down on it and next to Akaashi’s wheelchair, leaning his head against Akaashi’s forearm.

“Are you excited?”

One finger.

“Me, too.”

Before long, the light show starts. Akaashi gasps, but it isn’t one of those ‘searching for breath’ gasps. It’s one of amazement, his eyes widening as the colors dance across the sky, resuming the previous ballet dance they saw three years ago. His eyes, which had since gone dull many years ago, shine like he’s a child. They shine like mirrors, reflecting the aurora in their blue irises. He wants to tell Bokuto to look.

But Bokuto, once again, isn’t looking at the lights.

“Keiji,” he starts, the lights illuminating the wet film over his eyes. “What’s the end of the poem?”

Akaashi’s head lolls to the side to meet Bokuto’s gaze, the corner of his lip twitching into a smile.

Flashes of their life together, all culminating to this moment, streak across the sky in the form of the aurora. White for Fukuroudani’s volleyball uniform, where they first met and became the closest of friends. Green for the pistachio mochi Bokuto always made when Akaashi was sick. Purple for the color of the petunias at their wedding reception. Yellow for Emiko’s collar. Pink for the cherry blossom tree where they confessed their feelings for each other, where he realized his setter was the love of his life. Blue for Akaashi’s eyes. Black for the ink used to sign Akaashi’s will.

Instead of saying the end, the computer recites the poem from the beginning.

When tomorrow starts without me And I’m not here to see If the sun should rise and find your eyes All filled with tears for me.

Akaashi wheezes painfully.

I wish so much you wouldn’t cry The way you did today While thinking of the many things We did not get to say.

Akaashi’s eyes close. I know how much you love me As much as I love you Each time that you think of me I know you will miss me, too.

Akaashi’s hand on the joystick goes limp.

I promise no tomorrow For today will always last And since each day’s the exact same way There is no longing for the past.

Akaashi’s head drops.

So when tomorrow starts without me Do not think we’re apart For every time you think of me Remember I’m right here in your heart.

Akaashi dies before the computer finishes the poem.

He dies 301 days before his 40th birthday. He dies under the northern lights that he first fell in love with more than three years ago. And a part of Bokuto dies with him.

…

Akaashi’s father digs the hole underneath the tree and watches as his mother tips her son into the earth. The ashes land in a neat pile. Fitting. Everything Akaashi ever did was neat and tidy.

His mother breaks down before she can fill the hole. Emiko rushes to her side, their whimpers resonating together.

His father helps his wife out of the way, and Bokuto takes over. He takes one last look at what remains of Akaashi before scooping the earth into his hands and tipping it over, scooping and patting until the hole is filled. He doesn’t realize he’s crying until the dirt underneath him darkens. He nearly collapses on top of the hole before Kuroo catches him by the shoulders. But even Kuroo can’t stop the tears. The two men sob into each other’s shoulders until they have no more tears left to cry.

“Petunias were his favorite,” his mother says. She hands Bokuto a bouquet to lay down. He complies, his body on autopilot.

He sits next to the pile of dirt, even when everybody else has left. They all bid him goodbye, kissing him on the cheek, giving him hugs. But he doesn’t register any of it. He just keeps his hand on top of the pile of dirt, hoping that Akaashi is sitting right next to him, his hand on top of his.

Akaashi gives him everything he owns, minus his money. His money is reserved for his parents—to provide them medical care for when they get old because they’re afforded that luxury—for his favorite nonprofits, and the biggest sum is split among various ALS foundations. Bokuto is left with his wheelchair, his crutches, his medications, his too-smart computer, his photos, and most bittersweetly of all, his memory. His body shape etched into their mattress. His scent—eucalyptus and black tea—that bursts out whenever he opens his closet. He’s everywhere and anywhere Bokuto goes. But he can’t bring himself to leave the apartment.

He buries Emiko next to Akaashi underneath the old cherry blossom tree. It’s bare-bones by now, having shed all its leaves and flowers in the autumn. They say Emiko’s death was from grief, but she was growing old as well. It seems as if everybody’s leaving him. What did he do to deserve this? To see all his loved ones turn into ash?

He enters the depressed state of his grieving process. He’s often too tired to eat the food his neighbors and friends bring him. He stopped smoking, which is what Akaashi would’ve wanted, but it’s less so about making Akaashi happy as it is he can’t even lift an arm up to grab the carton and put a cigarette up to his mouth. He just stares at the other side of the bed, his hand resting on the indent left by Akaashi’s body, wishing for his love to fill it once more.

When he finally gains the courage to get up and clean out Akaashi’s closet, a note falls out of one of his jackets when Bokuto tosses them into a pile on the bed. He picks it up and opens it. Inside is a horrible scrawl, barely decipherable. But Bokuto knows the poem all too well to need to decipher it.

When tomorrow starts without me…

The poem has haunted his every waking moment. He never really listened to Akaashi tell the poem. Mostly because it was too difficult to follow along with how little he could speak by the end, but also because he was too focused on savoring every little moment with him, ingraining it into his head. But as he sits down on the floor and stares at the poem, he now has the time—all the time in the world; wretched, wretched time—to read it in its entirety.

Each day is difficult. But with each day, he gets out of bed quicker and quicker. He eats bigger portions and more frequently. He brushes his teeth. He goes to the volleyball courts to say hello to his former teammates. When he spikes a ball, he instinctively turns his head next to him to seek out his setter. But with each day, he eventually stops looking. But Akaashi isn’t gone. He’s in his husband’s heart, just like the poem says. Akaashi’s body is no more, the ashes gone to feed the nature around him. But his spirit is more than alive. It thrives.

Every time he passes by the tree, he swears the tree grows a few more flowers. And every time he visits the aurora on his annual trip to Iceland, he swears there’s one more flash of light than usual in the sky.

#haikyū!!#haikyuu!!#angst #heavy angst #chronic illness #bokuaka #haikyuu bokuaka #akaashi #keiji akaashi #haikyuu koutarou #koutarou bokuto #bokuto #haikyu #haikyu fanfiction #fanfiction #haikyuu #hq angst #hq

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p-artsypants · 3 years

Text

The Ghost of Smokey Joe (7)

Till Then

Adrien Agreste was acting bizarre. Stilted body language, plastic smile, and he seemed to have forgotten how close they were. Before she can get the truth out of him, Marinette finds herself as the sole heir to the Gabriel brand and the mansion, following the murder-suicide of both Adrien and Gabriel Agreste. The mystery continues as Tikki explains that Adrien was Chat Noir...but if Adrien is six feet under, why is Chat Noir still running around?

Well, it’s spooky season! You know what that means? OH BOY SPOOKFEST!!!

FF.net | Ao3

This investigation was not going well.

First of all, she hadn’t attended the funeral. Perhaps she should have, to keep up appearances, but she couldn’t stomach sitting through the service while knowing there were no bodies in the caskets.

It was wrong.

She gave poor excuses to Alya and Nino, and skipped it. Maybe if she had gone, she could have learned more, but she couldn’t. She just couldn’t stand it.

Later that evening, Ladybug made a visit to the cemetery where the family crypt was. She allowed Tikki to do the actual investigating. She phased into the dirt of the freshly buried, unmarked grave, and concurred, it was the same coffin from before, with only sandbags inside.

Gabriel’s too, over at the crypt.

“Not much else to glean from this place,” Tikki said sadly. “Where to next?”

“Actually,” Marinette wondered. “I have a hunch. Could you check Emilie’s casket too? She’s been dead for a while, so I apologize if what you see is…awful.”

“I’ve seen worse. I’ll take a look!”

Marinette waited anxiously, biting into her thumb nail. She really hoped she was wrong. Really really hoped.

Tikki reappeared, her brow furrowed in concern. “You’re hunch was right. Emilie’s is just sandbags too.”

She groaned, dread bleeding into her bones. “Damn it.”

“Maybe they’re all together?”

“At this point, I don’t know if I should even hope for that. Emilie has been gone for years. Wherever she is…I doubt we’ll ever find her, let alone Adrien and Plagg.”

“We’re not giving up though, right?”

“Of course not!”

Marinette knew she had a chance of answers at the funeral home. The director knew more than he was letting on, but she had asked too many questions as Marinette, and going in to interrogate him as Ladybug would probably put her identity in jeopardy. She’d have to think on that one, and try to find a way around it.

Now for the ‘basement’.

Till then, my darling, please wait for me

Till then, no matter when it will be

Someday I know I'll be back again

Please wait till then

Since Felix had confirmed that the Mansion didn’t have a basement, she assumed the office building did. Nowhere else did Gabriel or Adrien spend a significant amount of time.

While the workers were still on their vacation, she went in. There was still a secretary, though she was dressed in casual clothes, and the doors were closed to the public.

“Hi Miss Dupain-Cheng. Working today?”

“Um, something like that. Organizing some stuff.”

“Alright, well, let me know if you need anything. I’m just here to tell clients that we’re off for a while.”

Marinette smiled. “Thank you. Um...perhaps, do you know if there’s a basement?”

“Basement? Uh...there might be one. I’m not sure. The main elevator doesn’t go there.”

“Alright. I’ll look around then,” she smiled patiently and bid the woman adieu.

The building was unsettling without anyone in it. Half the lights were turned down, and the only sounds were the hum of the air conditioning and her footsteps echoing in the dim hallways.

Several years ago, when she had first started, she was given a tour. A tour that seemed so unimportant then, she was scraping for now. There was a back staircase, in case of fire. That much she could remember.

The big iron door slammed shut behind her as she entered the stairs. There was a door with an Exit sign over it, the outside world on the other side. A set of stairs went up and around, to every floor above.

But there was one more door. Labelled with a big ‘SS’ for ‘Sous-sol’.

‘Basement’, in French.

“Tikki! I found it!” She said to her purse.

“Great job! Let’s get to the bottom of things!”

Marinette screwed up her lips. “Pun intended?”

“In memory of Chat Noir, yes.”

“That is what he would have said, isn’t it? God, I miss him so much.” But she decided not to mourn her best friend in the dank, spider-infested stairwell.

Of course, the door was locked.

“Nothing is ever simple, is it? I wonder who would have the key. Janitor? Maybe Gabriel has a set in his old office.”

“Aren��t you forgetting your ultimate skeleton key?” Tikki asked.

“...um, yes, apparently.”

Tikki flew from the purse, and phased through the door handle. It clicked a moment later, and the handle turned.

“Wow, you’re convenient. Remind me to ask for favors in breaking and entering more often.”

“Anything for you, Marinette!”

She felt along the wall, found a lightswitch, and turned it on. Deep below, a few scant lights flickered to life.

And in the columns of flickering light stood silhouetted figures. Still, waiting.

Marinette held her breath, afraid she had been caught.

“Tikki…” She readied herself to transform the moment they moved. She was still in the dark, they wouldn’t have seen her.

Seconds ticked on. They stood, never flinching, never so much as breathing.

“Oh my god, they’re mannequins,” she breathed. “I mean, duh but holy shit that was terrifying.”

She descended the stairs, one at a time, still being quiet, and keeping her eyes glued to the forms.

They didn’t move, because they were plastic, and as she drew closer to them, she realized how fake they were.

They weren’t even good mannequins. The paint was chipping and the proportions looked odd.

“These go in shop windows, right?” Asked Tikki. “I’ve seen a few from your purse.”

“That’s right. These look really old. I’m surprised they haven’t been recycled.”

“Is this what Adrien wanted you to see?”

“I doubt it. What would mannequins have to do with anything?”

Tikki shrugged too, and looked around.

It was the worst three hours of her life.

But because Adrien had used what was presumably his dying words to tell her to look here, she scoped that place out thoroughly. She named all the mannequins, to try to take the edge off. It didn’t really help, but it made ‘James’ the eerily realistic mannequin that stood in the shadows a little more friendly instead of a murderer in waiting.

There was nothing there except old clothes, rejected materials, and a whole lot of new friends that Marinette never wanted to see again.

As Marinette pushed aside the 9th box filled with 70’s paisley shirts, she sighed. “I think...I think I’m looking in the wrong place.”

“I agree,” Tikki said, her antenna drooping. “I think we should have found something by now, right?”

“I couldn’t even find any inspiration down here.”

In the corner of her eye, she saw something, and turned quickly.

“What?” Said Tikki wearily, already knowing what was wrong.

“Another freaking mannequin! I swear they’re moving when I’m not looking at them!”

“They can’t do that.”

“I know that, but my eyes are tired and my heart is on the edge, and coffee isn’t working on my brain anymore!”

“I think we should leave then. Maybe try looking at the mansion again. Maybe there’s a basement that Felix didn’t know about.”

At that moment, her phone chirped with a message from Nathalie.

Please don’t forget, tomorrow, despite it being Saturday, your presence is required at the Agreste Manor. Gabriel’s Last Will and Testament will be reviewed, and you have been named. Since Mr. Agreste is so famous, we have asked all beneficiaries to attend. Sunday, you have off.

“Well, looks like I have an excuse to go back to the mansion after all. Probably should get in there and explore quickly. I have no idea what’s going to happen to it in the wake of...well, you know.”

“Someone is probably going to inherit it. Probably Felix now. He seemed rather friendly at the funeral. He might let you snoop.”

“Friendly?”

“More than usual, at least. But who knows how long that will last.”

“If I have to show my cards to investigate, I will. If Ladybug has to break in, I will. I’m not going down in silence.”

Our dreams will live though we are apart

Our love I know we'll keep in our hearts

Till then, when all the world will be free

Please wait for me

True to form, she arrived the next day at the mansion.

As she came into the parlor, where many people were gathered, Felix caught her eye. He jerked his head, gesturing for her to come sit by him.

As she sat, she looked at the others gathered. She recognized Nathalie, of course, Amelie and Felix, and Mayor Bourgeois. There were a few other people she didn’t know. One she had seen at the company, but she couldn’t remember his name right now.

“So,” she asked softly. “Is the lawyer going to read the Will out?”

Felix scoffed. “They don’t do that anymore. We’re just all going to get a copy, and the lawyer will be here if we have questions. Normally, I’m pretty sure they mail it, but I heard that the Will is sealed so they wanted us to get it in person.”

“Sealed?”

“Meaning no one else can read it. Last Wills and Testaments are public records after death. Unless they are sealed.”

“Uh. I didn’t know any of that. This is my first time being in a Will. Well, I think my dad has one, but he’s still alive.”

“Good for you.”

“That is—I mean—I wasn’t trying to—“

“Just shut up, Dupain-Cheng.” He chuckled. “You are so sensitive.”

She just childishly stuck her tongue out at him.

A moment later, Nathalie and a white haired gentleman arrived.

“Hello everyone, thank you for coming. This is Dr. Nathaniel Grey, the Agreste family lawyer and executor of their estate. Now, everyone listed in the Will will receive a copy. Each copy has the same content, but for convenience, I have highlighted your name.” And she started to hand out the packets, calling out names as she did so.

Some of the strangers had the last name ‘Agreste’ so they had to have been related to Gabriel.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

Marinette held out her hand to receive the thick white envelope.

“Oh Felix!” Amelie cooed. “Emilie left you her corvette! She loved that car, I know she’d be proud for you to have it.”

“I’ve seen it. Beautiful classic car. I’m honored.” As much of an ass as he was, Felix sounded genuine in that sentiment.

To not seem too eager, Marinette carefully opened the envelope. As she did, she tried to imagine what he would have left her. A share in the company maybe? Maybe a family sewing machine? Nothing much, surely.

She unfurled the sheet and wow that was a lot of pink.

“What the hell?” Felix gasped, looking over her shoulder. He glanced back at his page, and frowned in confusion. “No offense Marinette, but what the hell?”

“I…I don’t even know…” She glanced over the assets willed to her.

Gabriel left her the mansion.

Up until that moment, she had forgotten she was supposed to be looking for a new place after Nino and Alya got married. She had mentioned it to Gabriel once, off-handed, and he seemed to not really care.

But if he left the house to her, could he have cared more than she thought?

The mansion wasn’t the only thing he left to her, either. He left his share of the company stocks, as well as trusts and bonds. Marinette had become a multi-millionaire.

“What’s the meaning of this, Dr. Grey!?” A woman shouted.

The shout drew all attention to her. She was a rail thin, tall woman, with high cheek bones and blonde-white hair tied up in a bun.

“What seems to be the problem, Madam Laurent?”

“I was left a small fraction of stock and my mother’s ashes, but this—this half breed harlot gets the entire estate!?”

Marinette flinched, feeling guilty and wholly undeserving of Mr. Agreste’s gift.

Thankfully, Nathalie of all people came to her aid. “Miss Dupain-Cheng has been working tirelessly and closely with Gabriel to continue his brand. She’s been named head designer for his company, and everything left to her is to help in that endeavor.”

As she and Felix looked over the list of gifts, she wondered how true that was.

“But I’m his sister!” Said Madam Laurent. “I take precedence over her!”

“Not with a will, you don’t.” Dr. Grey explained. “Children are the only protected heirs in French law. The rest of his estate is his to do with as he pleases.”

Marinette looked back at all the pink highlights. She began to wonder if they served a purpose in distracting everyone from the obvious.

Adrien wasn’t on there. Not once.

Although there are oceans we must cross

And mountains that we must climb

I know every gain must have a loss,

So pray that our loss is nothing but time

He couldn’t be disinherited from the Will, not under French law. And yet he was missing…like the Will had been drawn up with the knowledge that Adrien wouldn’t be alive once it was valid.

Pale and shaking, Marinette turned to look at Felix.

“Don’t let her get to you, Kid,” he nudged her, taking her appearance for still being put off by the woman. “Gabriel’s family has always been lower middle class, before he became famous. She probably just wanted a bunch of money…whereas most of it was my Aunt’s and it was returned to our family. Does that make sense?”

Marinette shook her head, and then whispered. “Adrien isn’t here.”

He gave her a soft smile. “Yeah, I know. He’s gone, Marinette.”

“No!” She shouted, then hushed herself as the others turned to look. “No, I mean…he’s not here.” She pointed at the Will.

Felix grew pale too, and poured over the Will himself. “No way…how…but—maybe it was an assumption. Maybe it was assumed that Adrien was going to inherit half anyway, so he made the Will in case something happened?”

“Dr. Grey,” Marinette stood and walked to him. “How old is this version of the Will?”

Nathalie gave her a sharp look, but didn’t comment.

“Well, a little over a week, actually. Gabriel called me and asked to make some changes.”

“And why isn’t his son in here?” She asked, darkly.

Dr. Grey screwed up his lips. “You know, I don’t know. I told Mr. Agreste what the law was, and he said, ‘just write it up as if Adrien didn’t exist.’ I wonder if he knew what their fate was going to be.”

Marinette tried not to cry. She really did, but she just clenched the document to her chest and sobbed.

“Now now, my dear. Don’t be so blue.”

“Adrien isn’t a murderer! He can’t be!”

“Does it really matter anymore?” The lawyer asked. “The truth of their demise will not be released publicly. Only a handful of people will know. I doubt anyone outside of this room, in fact.” He said it so casually, like nothing was wrong.

“Didn’t you find it suspicious?” She demanded.

“No,” said Dr. Grey. “You would be surprised at how many clients have second versions of Wills without a child in it. Whether it’s because they’re hoping something will happen, or they see their child going down a dangerous road. Or perhaps the child is terminally ill and the parent doubts they will survive longer than them. Regardless of the reason, I choose to not ask questions.”

Marinette wished he had.

Till then, let's dream of what there will be

Till then, we'll call on each memory

Till then, when I will hold you again

Please wait till then

“Now, did you see the conditions?”

“What?” She sniffed.

“Here,” Dr. Grey pointed to an asterisk at the end of the mansion item. “This states that there’s a condition applied, and the condition will be on the backside.”

Marinette wiped her face and turned the paper over.

“Miss Dupain-Cheng must reside within the mansion for ten years. Within that time, she may not redecorate or refurnish any room except for the ‘pink room’. Guests, spouses, and children are welcomed to join her, as long as she is the primary resident. If she is to go on vacation or an extended business trip, the house must be vacant, save for those who would keep it from disrepair. If Miss Dupain-Cheng fails to comply, the house, and all that is in it, must be demolished. It cannot be sold or gifted to anyone until the ten year mark passes.”

Marinette just continued to stare. “I…that’s…really specific.”

“More specific than I suggested, but it’s what Mr. Agreste wanted.”

With a calm expression, but a heart in turmoil, Marinette folded her copy up. “Thank you for your help, Dr. Grey. If you’ll excuse me, I need a minute alone.” She took her copy and quickly walked across the lobby to her office.

There, on her desk, was a vase with a bouquet of roses. She hadn’t been in here since before the funeral, but they looked fresh. No card though.

She set the roses to the side, and unfurled the Will once again, laying it flat on the desktop. She poured over every item, not just Willed to her, but to everyone.

Indeed, there was no sign of Adrien, but also no sign of his property. Did he have his own Will somewhere else?

There was the curious case of Nathalie, who was in the Will, but received only money and trusts. Not an inch of material property, despite her closeness to Gabriel after all these years.

What did she know? What had she seen? Truthfully, Marinette was too afraid to ask.

Tomorrow, she would visit City Hall and get the records of the mansion. Hopefully, there were some blueprints in there, and the hidden basement would be found.

Till then, let's dream of what there will be

Till then, we'll call on each memory

Till then, when I will hold you again

Please wait till then

#miraculous ladybug #ml #fanfiction #the ghost of Smokey Joe #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #adrienette #tikki #identity reveal #murder mystery #spooky

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adventuresofclever · 3 years

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CleverMax: SDCC 2021 Masquerade Entry

Comic-Con@Home Masquerade Entry: Adventures of Clever Costume Title: CleverMax - Mr. Clever as a Borderlands boss Costume Description: Recreation of Mr. Clever from the Doctor Who episode Nightmare in Silver, written by Neil Gaiman, done in the style of the video game, Borderlands. Bio: They/He pronouns

Greetings all!

I realized that I never wrote about how I made my CleverMax mashup cosplay, so when SDCC posted about their At Home masquerade, I figured this was the perfect time to do so! Most of you know that I cosplay exclusively as Mr. Clever from Doctor Who, with the random mash up thrown in here and there. I’ve always wanted to be a Borderlands cosplayer, and the following is how I managed to combine the two together.

As always, enjoy the blog and if there are any questions, please feel free to contact me.

Let’s step into the TARDIS and jump back to October 20, 2009, when the first Borderlands game was released. It was my first foray into FPS (First person shooters) and I was hooked from day one. In 2012 they released Borderlands 2 which is, in my not so humble opinion, the best video game ever created. We got some of the most iconic charcters and storylines in that game. Including the best DLC ever, Bunkers and Badasses. And my second favorite villain of all time – Handsome Jack.

Jack’s sass, sarcasm and charm fits well with Mr. Clever’s personality. And in the pre sequel you get to play a version of him called the Dopplegnager. I mean, this pretty much wrote itself.

Handsome Jack from Borderlands 2 and Mr. Clever from Doctor Who

Borderlands cosplayers have aIways left me in a state of awe and admiration. The style of the game is so unique and seeing it recreated in person is nothing short of incredible. I’ve always wanted to figure out a way to be a Borderlands cosplayer. For the past eight years I have only ever cosplayed as Mr. Clever from Doctor Who. In the summer of 2019 I decided that was the perfect time to try to make this happen before NYCC.

When I initially decided to do this, it was going to be more of a mash up between Handsome Jack and Mr. Clever. I had planned on wearing Jack’s basic outfit, but in Clever’s colors with the a few add ons. Namely the bow tie and the cybernetics.

After much research and drafting, I decided against that. I ended up just turning Mr. Clever into a Borderlands boss. Same basic outfit as Mr. Clever/11th Doctor, but cel shaded and with weapons, cause Borderlands.

I made the accessories, chess set, and obviously the working cyberplanner piece itself for my Nightmare in Silver version of Clever, but I have never tackled anything this ambitious. An entire costume from scratch? Not something I thought I could do. Not knowing how to sew and being visually impaired were both challenges that I had to work around.

I started with looking around my house for various items that I thought I could use. I figured if I messed up, might as well mess up on something I hadn’t spent money on yet! I was going to toss a pair of my old paddock boots as they had some rips in the leather. Ripped leather? How very Pandora. They were the first thing I tackled.

Old paddock boots that I refurbished for the cosplay

This was my first time using leather paint and I have to say I am very pleased with the Angelus brand of leather paint. I have worn these in the rain and through puddles, and they have held up 100%.

After the boots were done, I started on the vest. I had an old black vest lying around the house that was sort of the shape and size I wanted. I don’t have a dress form, so I put it on myself, inside out, and used safety pins to make it the size I needed, then hand sewed around the safety pins. Not ideal, but it works.

I had a spare pair of black jeans, button down light blue shirt and a plain bow tie that I just ended up cel shading.

The only item that I really couldn’t figure out was the purple frock coat. Try as I might, I couldn’t find one to modify. So the coat was actually made by my friend Heather Long. I did alter the length after NYCC.

With the clothes themselves all set, for the most part anyay, it was time to paint. This was my first time trying to recreate the art style of Borderlands, often referred to as cel shading. I have a few “art of Borderlands” style books that I poured over before I sat down to attempt this.

Other than the accessories and anything leather, I used the same materials and techniques for each article of clothing. Instead of describing each seprate piece, I’ll just explain what I did to achieve the overall look.

When you look at a Borderlands character on screen, it can be a bit overwhelming. So many colors, and so many nuances of each color. I did my best to visually sift through all that, and try to establish what I thought was the base color.

Once the base color was determined, I just added blotches, blobs, shading, low lights, highlights and other variations of the base color itself throughout each piece. I recommend keeping your fabric wrinkled and using those wrinkle as guidlenes for where the lines and shading would fall naturally.

Once all of that dried, I then went over different sections of the fabric with white and black lines. To get that crisp, almost comic book looking outline of each piece I used black sharpie, and white fabric pens as well as white fabric paint.

When I sat down to do the coat, I wanted something a little different than just cel shading. During a second playthrough of Tales from the Borderlands, I noticed Rhys and other characters had interesting logos and designs on the back of their jackets. I ended up putting a chessboard pattern on the back as a homage to the chess game between the 11th Doctor and Mr. Clever in the episode.

Great shot of the chess board and my Judd Nelson pose

The materials that I used for all of the clothing items were craft paints that I had around the house. Any brand works, but I prefer Americana paints. I then added an additive that you use to make the paint water proof and used various sized brushes. Dry brushes are also very useful if you have them.

Black sharpies of different sizes and any fabric markers are also very helpful. Heat setting is required to make the paint waterpfoof, so if you mess up before you add sharpies, you can wash the clothes and start over.

A few tips if you decide to undertake cel shading clothing: Until now I hadn’t noticed that there aren’t many thing in Borderlands that are true black. Due to the art style most things that appear black are in reality shades of grey, with a grey base colr. This makes it easier to add the lines, shading, and what not. Looking back, I should have bought GREY clothes. It was a ton of work to make the pants look like they were a mixture of greys. And as a result of so many laers of paint, they are stiff, lost their stretch and feel an entire size smaller! So I would recommend grey fabric as a base for black clothing and buy a size larger.

The pants are so stiff that I think they will stand up on their own

This entire process was way more fun than I thought it would be and I’ve since become addicted to cel shading anything I can. I may or may not have started cel shading my guest room.

After the clothing was finished, I started on some accessories and props. The first being the easiet – a wee little cybermite that I cel shaded. My cosplay of Mr. Clever always has a cybermite on my lapel, so I took one of my older ones and repainted it.

You can’t have a Borderlands character without some sort of weapon, so I painted a nerf gun that looks similar to the one that Clara Oswald holds in the episode.

I have never had to carry a gun for my Mr. Clever cosplay before so weapon checks are sort of new to me. I didn’t want to go through that at NYCC so I came up with a clever, no pun intended, way around it.

I took a photo of each side of the gun. Went to Staples and had them printed on heavy cardstock. Then I cut around the guns, glued them together between a piece of cardboard then added some black electical tape around the edges. Viola. Instant weapons check approved gun that is lightweight, and also acts a fan when it gets hot. It was a huge hit at the con. A few security guards were like “ we have to check your…wait..is that flat?” And they proceeded to play with it. I highly recommend doing this!

Gun and its flat counterpart

I am holding the flat gun in this picture from NYCC

In the actual game, you can equip your characters with mods that give them certain abilities and bonuses. In the Pre-Sequel, you can play as a Dopplganger of Handsome Jack so I searched for some of his mods and found one in purple which seemed perfect. I made the mod with cardboard, covered it in craft foam, modge podge to set, and installed led lights. The first time I wore it I put it on my belt which didn’t work. It kept falling off. I eventually put it on my lapel and wore it like Jack does. Unfortunately, someone glomped on me at a con and broke it, so I recently had to remake it all over again.

No Borderlands costume would be complete without cel shading on yourself. This was a huge challenge for me for a few reasons. One, I’m visually impaired so doing line work like this was challenging. Two, I am highly allergic to so many materials and ingrediants that finding a make up brand that I could wear was a trial and error process that ended up with many break outs and rashes before I found the perfect combination.

I used mostly eye liner pencils and liquid eye liner to achieve the look. The Wet n Wild liquid eye liner lasts forever, and is actually difficult to remove, but that is not a bad thing as it stood up to the heat of a very crowded venue.

As for the cel shading itself, I relied on many refernce photos of various characters in the game. I started with the eyebrows first as that seemed to frame the face nicely and give me a nice mischvieous look. I then just outlined the bones of my face, adding some random lines here and there. It never looks the same way twice, but that’s ok. Playing with different angles, lines, shading etc is half the fun!

The only real challenge were my hands. The make up didn’t last that long on my hands so I had to touch it up throughout the con. I also eventually started to use band aids that I cel sahded to cover up a tattoo on my inner wrist.

Figuring what to do with my hair is an on going process that I still haven’t 100% mastered. I opted to not use a foam wig as I have over heating issues on a cool day let alone trying to wear one if it gets warmer. I have had adverse reactions to craft foam in the past, so I don’t want it touching my skin, and lastly, I think a wig AND a facial prosthetic would be too much for me. So I decided to just cel shade my hair.

This takes forever to do, and I’m still figuring out better techniques every time I wear it.

I have a really great brand of colored gel, called Mofajang which I apply with a baster brush that you would find in the kitchen gadgets aisle. I also use a clean mascara brush to add some finer lines here and there. Set with way more hair spray than I ever used in the 80’s and it becomes fairly waterproof.

I have learned that due to how hard the make up and hair color is to remove, I really need to wear this on the LAST day of a con. I made the mistake of wearing it on day one of Long Island Who one year, and spent hours scrubbing my skin and hair for the next day. Far better to just leave the con with a tad bit of left over cel shading. Which makes it very interesting when you stop at a roadside bathroom on the trip home.

With the entire costume done it was time to work on the actual cyberplanner appliance.

Next time I make a variation of Clever, I will make this FIRST. Making these pieces is the bane of my existence – I love wearing them, hate making them. It’s a long process.

I am allergic to latex, silocone, scuply, most clays, and so many other things that seem to be every cosplayers go-to. When I made my first cyber piece back in late 2013, I spent weeks trying to find a substance that would keep attached to my face all day without causing a rash. Like an alchemist in a fantasy novel, I submerged myself into creating the perfect concoction. It took 22 days to finish the final product.

I admit that I rushed a bit on the Borderlands one. As a result, it doesn’t quite fit as well as my others, and is a bit heavier than I expected. I only added two working lights, instead of the usual four, to hopefully balance the piece out. It lasted through two full days of a con, despite the heat of a crowded venue, but I did end up tweaking it a bit after. Even with the tweaks, it still doesn’t fit as well as I would like. It is too heavy and brings down the entire left side of my face, making it difficult to keep my eye open at times. I really need to sit down and force myself to make a new one.

There are a few more things that I would like to add to this costume eventually. Like a belt of grenades, and maybe another gun. But aside from that, I am incredibly pleased with how this costume turned out. It is by far, my favorite Clever variation that I have done.

I hope this post gives you the inspiration to go off and cel shade something, and possibly even play some Borderlands!

#doctorwho #misterclever #mrclever #nightmareinsilver #cosplay #borderlands cosplay #doctor who cosplay #comic-con #comic-conathome #comic-conathome2021 #comic-conathomemasquerêde #cyberplanner #borderlands

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shoryubug · 4 years

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Standing Up. Chapter 1: Alya

Starting this off with saying, first and foremost; please take it easy on me, this is my first fic since 2004...second; I have read a LOT of Miraculous salt, and honestly I am just really tired of Alya being made into a racist caricature in all saltfics that I read, and I wanted to do something that seemed believable. This is intended to be a oneshot with an open ending, but...it has the potential to become more if people want to see a real resolution. UPDATE: This work will be continued as a 10 part story, and can now also be found on AO3!

When it came to matters of the heart, Marinette Dupain-Cheng was not well versed, after all, she had just begun to learn what it was like to fall in love...and all of the intense feelings that came with it. Being new to the age of fourteen was strange in and of itself, but it had come with a lot of new hormones and feelings to process as a result of those hormones...and right now, she was feeling a lot of heartbreak...but living in a city with an emotional terrorist had given her certain limitations, and thus eradicated the ability for her to have a healthy way to get over the intensity of the heartbreak that she felt...so she turned to new, and very welcome distractions, such as throwing herself entirely into her hobby of designing, and planning out sketches for her future designs.

It wasn’t much, but it was all that she felt comfortable with, it made her feel at ease from the pain of wondering if she had made the right choice when she confronted Hawkmoth at the end...many questions had lingered on her mind, should she have chosen Chloe over Kagami? Chloe was calling out to her...and the choice she had made...was it really pragmatic, or was she thinking with her heart instead of her head? Yes, Kagami had picked up on things rather quickly...but when she pondered it afterward, she couldn’t see anything aside from the mistake she’d made...if she had chosen Chloe, then they wouldn’t have had to face Miracle Queen...but the more she thought about it...facing Miracle Queen was the best possible outcome. She still would have forgotten to change back, due to Mayura’s distraction, and if Miracle Queen hadn’t acted like such a pompous brat, then Hawkmoth definitely would have kept all of the Miraculous for himself...and the more she thought about it like that, the more she felt that she had made the right choice...even if it was for the wrong reasons.

A sigh played on palid pink lips before she picked her pencil up and began to absently sketch out a design that played on the newspaper trope that was seemingly both in and out of fashion. A part of her wished that she could put that kind of design into the fabrics of her choice, to give it a retro-vintage look, but another part of her was certain that anything that tied to the printing press was on it’s way out. Her mind was a blank void for the moment, before she stared at the home screen of her computer. A picture of Adrien Agreste standing there, she still had yet to change it, despite having taken down a lot of the fanfare that had previously adorned her walls. “Looks like I forgot something else…” she mumbled, before she felt a slight brush of wind, and a tap on her cheek.

“Marinette! Don’t be so hard on yourself! Everyone can be forgetful!” Tikki’s charming voice rang out. A smile played on her lips for a brief moment before her soft gaze fluttered back to her computer screen and she began to search online for a picture that she knew existed somewhere, of Ladybug and Chat Noir sitting on a roof, gazing out at the city. She still wasn’t sure who had captured the photo, but it was one of her favorites, just a picture of her and Chat enjoying the moment. No flirting, no puns, no akumas...just patrolling the city in the pursuit of helping the citizens, and taking a pause for themselves afterward.

“You’re right Tikki...but as you know, sometimes it can be really hard not to chastise myself.” Marinette stated, before she finally found the photo and set that as her background. “What do you think of this design by the way?” she asked, motioning down to the paper she was sketching on and tapping on a small section of the paper with the erasure of her pencil, highlighting it for her Kwami partner.

“I think you should make it! It’d look really nice on anyone that wore it, and I know that’s important to you!” Tikki offered as Marinette’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “You really think so? I was just sketching but, if you really think I should!” her voice was full of joy.

“Yeah! I can even help you like when you made the hat!” Tikki offered before Marinette scooped her up with both hands and placed a soft kiss to her Kwami’s forehead.

“Thank you so much Tikki!” Marinette stated before setting the kwami back down on the desk. “Now it’s time I get to work!” she stated while giving off a joking macho pose. Reaching into her pocket she sent out a few texts to Juleka, Luka, and Rose, asking each of them if they wouldn’t mind measuring each other for sizes, so that she could work on a new project, and after about 10 minutes of waiting, all three had sent separate responses with answers to her question, and upon that, she set straight off to work.

The process of making the jackets and shirts was a bit arduous, having to deal with puckered seams a bunch of the time, and becoming ultra friendly with a seam ripper, but after a while, she had finally perfected everything, and it had only taken one day and three afternoons, so for her it was record timing. Excitement filled the air as she sent texts off to Juleka, Rose, and Luka, asking if all three wouldn’t mind meeting her after school so that she could do a fitting for them, to perfect any issues in the clothing, and after that if they wouldn’t mind modeling the clothing out near Canal Saint Martin, so that she could play on the setting with the color tones of the clothing, offering each a box of macarons for their help, and to use the images on her new website. Rose and Juleka had answered with earnest, though Luka had yet to respond, but Marinette wasn’t too concerned, having believed he was just busy with his morning routine.

As she had gone through school, everything was basically the same as usual, aside from the excited glances she kept shooting back at Juleka and Rose, anticipating the afternoon.

“Girl, what’s up today, why do you keep looking back at Juleka and Rose, is something up with Kitty Section? Or is this about a certain boy in blue?” Alya teased before Marinette’s cheeks tinged pink.

“Nothing’s up exactly...I just asked the two of them if they’d model a new outfit for me is all, and I’m really excited to get it all set up on my website!” Marinette practically sang, her heart entirely set upon her work.

“Oh! You know what you need for that then? Adrien and Lila! They can totally help and give you some amazing tips to seem more professional!” Alya volunteered, which made Marinette sigh in irritation.

“I’d really rather they didn’t come.” Marinette stated, which made Alya roll her eyes.

“Look, you have to get over that he’s dating someone already, you can’t just pretend that you’re friends when you’re together but then avoid him for stuff like this that would actually help you!” Alya whisper-stated.

“No Alya, and this isn’t even about that! Besides, I’m fine, and Adrien and I are friends, I’m not pretending anything!” Marinette hissed.

“Then what, is it about your jealousy of Lila? She’s a model now girl, she really could help you!” Alya insisted, which made Marinette roll her eyes. The bell rang just at that moment, which was a godsend to Marinette. If she had to keep up with that conversation, she was going to scream. Scooping up her book-bag she slung it over her shoulder, reached into her pocket, and checked her texts. Finally, the message from Luka that she’d been waiting on!

>>>Yeah sure Marinette that sounds fun, but you really don’t need to bring the macarons, your company is enough of a present.

A smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she walked in a daze down the stairway, she wasn’t exactly in love with Luka, but he really did know how to make her feel light as air...but her mood was brought down the moment that she heard Alya’s loud voice in conversation with Lila and Adrien.

“Yeah! Marinette’s doing it today, just ask her---” Alya was midway through the sentence before Marinette stomped over.

“I already told you that I didn’t want them coming. This is private Alya, I didn’t even invite you so what makes you think that you can invite others on my behalf?!” she snapped.

“Girl like I said you need to get over your jealousy--”

“I’m not jealous! Why do you always have to make this about me being jealous!? What about this seems like jealousy?! I already have my models chosen, and since both Adrien and Lila are GABRIEL’S MUSES it would look bad on me to use either of them, for their help or for their modeling! I already told you I didn’t want them to come, but you came over and invited them anyway! Why won’t you just listen to me?! Do you want another Reflekdoll incident?! You didn’t even apologize to Juleka for that, you just left it all on me, and it wasn’t even my fault!” Marinette huffed, making motions with her hands the entire time, before finally turning her attention to both Adrien and Lila. “Look guys...I’m really sorry this isn’t about either of you, but I just wanted to spend some time concentrating on my own thing today and Alya really had no right to invite either of you. Everything is fitted to those three, and I’m doing final fitting checks for the new designs I made, it’s not even about you two, which Alya would have known if she’d have asked me first, or paid attention to when I said no!” her attention set back to Alya as both Lila and Adrien inched away slowly to get away from the splash zone of what they both perceived to be an obvious fight on the rise.

“Th-that’s fine Marinette! I understand, and I’m sure Lila does too...I’m gonna go meet my bodyguard now!” Adrien stated, before practically sprinting off.

“Marinette I don’t get it, why are you being so stubborn!? Is it really impossible to be friends with him now?” Alya begged. “I mean it’s weird enough having to plan around both of you being in the same place--”

“Nobody asked you to do that Alya! Neither of us should be unincluded! I already said it a few times now, this wasn’t about Adrien or Lila or jealousy, this was about you stomping into my already set plans and trying to take over, like you always do! It isn’t fair! Not to me, not to the people I make these plans with, not to anyone!”

“This really can’t be on me. I mean, there’s obviously something deeper--”

“No! There isn’t! Now would you stop making it a habit of stomping in on my plans and taking over!? Because I really have to go and I don’t want to keep having this conversation with you!” Marinette shot before slapping a hand to her face and huffing. “Look...we should really talk about this later, but right now...I have plans that I intend to follow through on…” and with that, Marinette took leave of the school, of Alya, and away from all of the weird looks she was getting. Her mood was clearly shot, but she wasn’t going to let that ruin the designs that she had spent days pouring her heart and soul into, or the fun she still intended to have with the Rose, Juleka, and Luka.

#alya salt #ml salt fic #ml salt #miraculous ladybug #mlb fanfic #salt fic #ml fic #ml fanfic #ml standing up

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inthedusksynria · 3 years

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until-lune respondeu seu post “@until-lune I’m 99% convinced that Micaiah will be...”A couple of things that I want to say. • If we...

@until-lune

Hello! Again i am using this one form of reply bc its easier for format! If you prefer i change for reply format it let me know!. Putting under read more bc this got long, but i had lots of fun doing it!. I am answering all your replies here!

M!Corrin-wise - I dont think Omega Yato will be his weapon, because the refined version of his OG version (normal M!Corrin in the red pool) already has it. While his art has his normal weapon, his sprite has Omega Yato.

Dawn Yato is definitely a possibility tho! although it would be very odd to give it to him and not make its Twin/Mirror Weapon Dusk Yato to CQ!themed!L!F!Corrin.(but hey its IS)

(something i am so salty off bc i love Dawn and Dusk Yatos ;-; they are so pretty and match so well their promotions... and games... heck!! they both have their route-represent Legendary weapons features incorpored on them and just *clenches fist at the emotional moments*)

Also, A re-colored dragon alt is also a possibility, since L!F!Corn did that.

I dont think skipping the Staff is a certainty because IS has made weird choices before. Leif has an Bow which is a weird choice for him, but, like Corrin, he has a A Rank in bows in his promoted class, and like Corrin he is an “unpopular” Lord. Chrom and Lucina have Bows, when they also had Lances as options by promotion class.

I dont think popularity certainly incentivizes diversity in weapon usage. because we have had a lot of Weird choices from IS of making a popular character have the same weapon across multiple alts. -> 3H lords, Ike, Eirika and Ephraim had all a repeat of their OG weapons and are far more or just as popular as Micaiah; and even weirder L!F!Corrin, who by CYL and Nintendo magazine poll is more popular then M!Corrin, has the same weapon type than her fallen version (and still lacks a red alt for her emblem AND had an iconic red weapon associated with her promotion of DarkBlood/Nohr Noble (Dusk Yato)). Also fun fact, F!Corrin counterpart to M!Corrin Staff Rank is a Tome Rank. So it would also be possible for her to have had an red tome alt.

conclusion regarding weapons: IS pretty much spins a Wheel and decides what to do. I think its pretty much a case of...whatever the executives woke up on that day wanting.

(that, of course, doesnt make theorizing what weapon they will have any less fun xD)

Honestly the only reason why I am certain it is Micaiah is irrational/a F2P technique. In that if it is not her, it will destroy my will to summon and thus allow me to spend less XD. I have seen people doing it and boy does it works wonders when you arent right.

Going by that (my theory it is Micaiah) I find it unlikely to be Colorless (and thus Staff or colorless tome) only because the other spreads are just That Good^tm.

One of the methods that people used to guess which color the new Leg/Mythic will be is to see which color has a busted spread of colors. And it has been right ever since Edelgard

(The reason for so is that IS seems to have realized that by debutting the hero on a so-so spread, it made people wait for their rerun in order to get them, Bramimond being an example in that his spread was awful (L!Grima) and his rerun spread was godsmacking good (Mila)... pun not intended)

The colorless this time is rather...i wouldnt say weak, because Eir usability is REALLy good and Duma has a nice niche of wrecking people plans(cackles in my AR matches). However, they are fairly outdated in comparation with the other color spreads. So, in the event this leg hero is Micaiah (or Elincia, or Byleth) i dont think they would be colorless because of that.

Oh! Regarding the CYL theory, since the legendaries were introduced in the second year of FEH, I dont consider much broken, since i merely think its always /A/ winner instead of the 1st of each year. Since shuffling of legendaries is possible, (those times when IS changed the calendar lineup), should the Byleths win CYL(which is fairly likely). it would be easy to put them on the next GW. And I also think it will be a theory that will be broken absolutely next year, since I doubt Marianne and Gatekeeper would be viable L!Heroes. I agree with you that is a weak pattern that is likely to be broken.

Counterpoint to Wind F!Byleth -> Blessings not always end up being the element that is most associated with the Character in the main game. Highly Water themed (and midly Fire themed;) Corrin ended up as Wind; Julia, who has Minor blood of fire and was called “Genealogy’s Fire Emblem sword” was Earth; Eliwood, wielding the fire themed Durandal, was Wind. (tbf this is also a counterpoint to Wind Micaiah, since she has more association with Light and maybe Fire(?) than Wind)

Regarding 3H launching with 3H, besides Edelgard, Claude also debuted with no 3H legendary accompanying him. Annete was there, but other than that, no other 3H unit or legendary was on the banner. In fact, the pattern i do see with 3H legendaries is that their first re-run matches with a release of a Mythic in their color spread. (Edelgard -> Hel ; Dimitri -> Seiros).

I want to highlight that i am not saying it wont happen, but that I lean more towards they keeping a space between 3H legendaries release, in order to long term profits, and to not cause burn-out of 3H content. (or at least decrease people complaining about it; They seem to have learned their lesson with the Fates and Tellius spams.)

Finally,I do think that it is possible for Micaiah to be a Staff and for other characters to be released in this month/banner, mostly it is the premises i chose to apply to this theorizing lead me in a contrary direction xD. You show some good points! (I would love a Dawn Yato Corn and a Staff Micaiah ;-;...)

Extra Tangent: I have absolutely no idea what IS(executives) considers the character is associated with Silver Snow like...

For one side, Seteth makes lip service saying the route lord is Rhea; Rhea presents the choice mirror to Edelgard’s in the route split; the ending cutscene focuses on Rhea character development/closure, but, at the same time, she is Sir Not Appearing for 75% of the route and the rest of the time she is benched.

For another side, Byleth was made to be the lord to Edelgard emperor’s and her rival; has several cutscenes showcasing that; is the “lord” of the route in role sense, but, on the other hand, its more associated with Fire (fire emblem).

Honestly at this point i just dont know what FEH is going to do with them. I think IS is going to make one of Byleth Wind as you said and the other Fire, but which one, i have no idea. I could see too an argument for Ground(since i think at the lack of an Light element for Light element character-focused they pick ground sometimes) too, but yeah.

I cant believe the true plot twist of GW is gonna be Rhea being the wind legendary breaking all of our theories xD (/j, but can you imagine how funny it would be?)

#until-lune #text post #typing this out is really fun #formatting was weird tho #will i be able to put a point? will i not? only tumblr knows #I am glad you enjoy it too! :D If you have any memes feel free to send me bc BotV is so memetic and has awesome art! And then turns around #and tugs your heartstrings so hard *i teared up when baby!Og!Mellisa talked to Melissa and discovering Yuri fate as releaving all was so omi #ominious and then Melissa saving Yuri of it was ao djiojoidsjaoiasdj HyPE god i love them and Nine #will i be able to do a paragraph? will i not? will tumblr have a breakdown if i try to take out one point? only tumblr knows #AND YONA YONA DESERVES ALL THE RAISES EVER #syn rambles

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geekns · 3 years

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WandaVision in Color part 2

part 1 - Wanda, Vision, Monica, and Quicksilver

Billy wears dark blue and dark red (rather Dr. Strange really) while Tommy wears a creamy white over green. There is some variation here, as the twins are still growing up...

...but it's obvious that Billy is favored by Vision and Tommy is favored by Wanda. The irony is that their colors are switched in this case, since Wanda is red and Vision is mostly green.

Billy's Halloween costume is very true to his comic book costume though, and while comic Tommy favors green with orange goggles in the comics he seems to spend a lot of time being a mini-Quicksilver now that his uncle has shown up.

Wanda wore red, orange, yellow, and blue-green while she was pregnant. Orange means optimism, emotion, youth, and is uplifting and stimulating. Warmth, spontaneity, and creativity, but superficiality, impatience, and domination. I would say these are all traits that they wanted us to feel towards Wanda in that episode. It's also pretty neat that the stained glass in the house matches her striped top: it further reinforces the idea that she's in control of everything inside the Hex.

With Monica out of the way, it's time for Agnes to shine again. She usually wears black, white, green, purple, and shades of teal/turquoise blue-green.

Purple is a very strong color meaning-wise and has been used sparingly with Agnes. (It seems to be the most common color to see associated with Agatha Harkness.) Purple means spirituality, mystery, royalty, imagination and creativity, inspiration, encouragement, compassion, fantasy, wisdom, sensitivity, vigilance, fragility and immaturity, and arrogance. It is a mix of red and blue.

Teal is welcoming and sympathetic but also private, uneasy, and apprehensive. Turquoise is clarity and stabilizes but also narcissism, stress, and secrecy. Again, very Agnes.

Putting Agnes in green on the sly (during black and white scenes or when it's so dark that the green will just look black) is the biggest confirmation for me that she is one of the villains thus far.

There's no direct evidence that she's associated with Hayward--i'm still not sure what his endgame is other than putting the tech in Vision to use, to what end is uncertain--but she's definitely sus. As much as i love her she is clearly up to no good and seems to have a connection with Vision (which is probably another reason for her to be wearing green). She seems to be handling Wanda, the twins, and Vision rather handily.

Please note that I'm also not trying to say that Vision is evil (the color here, as with the twins, goes directly back to the comics rather than the story that is being told on this show) but that he very clearly chose to seek out help from the wrong people. Everything about his current situation is owed to S.W.O.R.D. (far more than Thanos) and still hangs over him.

The thing that we need to realize here is that this is not Wanda's fault. She had to put Vision back together after what Thanos and S.W.O.R.D. did to him, and he has yet to break free of it (pun intended). The Hex didn't tear him apart, it's keeping his damaged body held together and alive.

The big question:

Did the producers, directors, and costume department mean to highlight these colors? Are they a purposeful inclusion to the show? I think so, partially because the show started out in black and white and tends to be very colorful in later episodes. There isn't much coincidence when it comes to colors and art. Colors don't mean the same exact thing to all people, but they do all influence us psychologically. Being aware of them is part of making good art and they seem to be used to great effect in WandaVision. And while most shows are probably not as intent on expressing things through color in this way, WandaVision has been screaming it at us, possibly because of its comic book roots, but probably not entirely. I think we're in for a big reveal before the end of the season (and here's where it may get spoilery).

I started with the scene where Wanda left the Hex and now we've come full circle (er, hex).

I've already talked about the scene where Wanda drags the deactivated drone out of the Hex and throws it to Hayward's feet but i left a couple of details out that I wanted to save for last. This scene is the most vivid and stark use of the three main colors in WandaVision so far, the three colors that we see at the end of every episode: red, green, and blue.

youtube

These three colors that are associated with the radiation that is transmitting a signal to the world outside the Hex. Red dominates the walls of the Hex but the other two colors are present as well, existing in harmony.

Have I said Hex enough times?

As you probably know, this is a RGB Color Hex, which is how color is expressed in html format. You know, over the internet. Online. Which played a fairly substantial role in how Vision was created. (And possibly how he's been sustained?)

The flipping and flickering images in WandaVision's end credits are the same colors as in the RGB Hex, which is expressed as red, green, and blue. Overlap two colors and you get magenta (the color between pink and purple), yellow, and cyan (the color between blue and green). Overlap all three circles and the colors are mixed together to create white light (this is called additive color). If you remove all three colors you get black.

Wait, where have we seen these colors before? Oh yeah, expressed in all of the costume choices for our show's main characters. And in the scenes surrounding a certain drone strike...

It was a bright, clear day inside the Hex during the drone strike but foggy and fully dark outside. Red dot sights seem to be dominant in most films, they clearly chose to go with green laser sights for the S.W.O.R.D. team (to great effect). These colors were brilliant against the black night. And Monica, in blue, tried to extend an olive branch after Hayward outed himself as a baddy.

Fast forward to the Halloween episode, at the end of which Wanda has probably overextended herself by swallowing up most of the S.W.O.R.D. officers and one-third of our beloved trio. Things are quickly drawing to a close with only a couple episodes to go, and i think things are about to hit the fan.

The implications here are pretty clear, and this is pure speculation, but i think it's safe to say, if all three factions unite we will get light, and a happy ending, and life. If the three remain divided we will get darkness, terror, sadness, and death. No pressure.

References: Google image searches and color-meanings.com

#wandavision #meta #speculation #spoilers #colors #theory

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ayyyden-main · 4 years

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The Height of Romance

Logicality (background prinxiety)

Soulmate au where you can't see your soulmate's favourite colour until you meet them.

Logan, however, can see every colour just fine. So no soulmate for him (unless?)

Word count: ~1000

TW: cursing

(Im so sorry for no cut im on mobile)

------------------------------------------------------------------

Logan had never really been a fan of amusement parks. He just couldn't see the appeal of bright lights, rigged games and waiting in endless lines for rides which often times were adequate at best. And yet that's exactly where Roman had dragged the group this time. Whenever the three of them could get together, they took turns picking what they wanted to do, that way everyone got to do something they loved. This time, however, was a little different. This time, there were four of them.

Logan had only met their new compatriot recently and honestly knew very little about him. But, Roman had made fast friends with the smaller man on his art course, and Logan trusted his judgement when it came to people. Plus, the two of them appeared to get on well, laughing and joking, although Logan couldn't help but sense the awkwardness whenever he had to interact with… he believed his name was Patton? The fact that he was unsure said a lot about how much they had spoken the past couple of hours.

So, here they were. Hanging out. Though, general "hanging out" was not the primary purpose of this trip: Roman was wanting to impress Virgil. Logan found this to be a ridiculous notion considering Virgil was already Roman's boyfriend, not to mention his soulmate. But regardless, he was happy to watch Roman fail yet again at the ring toss.

"You know it's rigged right?" Virgil said, as Roman groaned in frustration after failing for the 5th time in a row.

"I knoowww…" he sulked, petulantly kicking the dirt. He then flopped dramatically over the edge of the booth, tapping his fingers frustratedly on the counter.

…

"Maybe just one more try-"

"Any more and you'll run out of change, " Logan interrupted, stopping Roman before he could reach his wallet.

"Besides, weren't you meant to be saving your money for something?" he prompted.

Roman stared at him blankly for a second before shooting up, a sudden spark in his eyes.

"Of course! How could I ever forget?"

Logan wondered that too, considering it was the reason they came in the first place. Roman had figuratively talked Logan's ear off about the greatness that is amusement parks, the highlight, of course, being the ferris wheel. Something about it being the height of romance?

L - "Pun intended?" R - "No-"

In his excitement, Roman was practically dragging Virgil by the hand towards the line for the ferris wheel. Logan tried to keep up as best he could, Patton dashing slightly ahead of him.

"Hey- Roman- Roman slow down!" Patton called after him as the couple disappeared further into the crowd, leaving him and Logan alone in the bustling park.

Well shit.

"Did you see where they went?" Patton asked, biting his lip. Logan noticed that he appeared to be nervous, hands balling in the bottom of his pastel blue jumper. Logan, being the taller of the two, looked over the crowd to see if he could spot Roman and Virgil, which really shouldn't have been hard considering they had bright red and purple hair respectively.

And yet, he saw nothing. It was like they had disappeared.

"I'm sure we will be able to find them. We know which direction they were headed, as well as their destination," Logan assured, though he oddly found himself feeling nervous at the prospect of being alone with Patton.

Not because there was anything wrong with Patton. He just felt as though Patton was uncomfortable being around him. He had barely met his gaze the entire evening, turning red whenever Logan addressed him. Not to mention they had yet to exchange more than three sentences with each other.

It was evident that the two were hardly compatible, in any platonic or romantic sense. Not that Logan was considering Patton in a romantic sense. It was impossible anyway, seeing as Logan didn't have a soulmate. He could see every colour just fine, unlike Roman who had only been able to see purple upon meeting Virgil. Logan had long since accepted that he wasn't going to have a soulmate and truthfully? It didn't bother him.

What did bother him however was the fact that, now they had reached the ferris wheel, Roman and Virgil were still nowhere to be found. Did they already get on? Logan didn't doubt that Roman may have done so in his eagerness. Which left the pair waiting at the bottom of the ferris wheel, in hope that their friends were actually on it.

…

"So uh… you known Roman long?" Patton said, breaking the awkward silence with arguably more awkward small talk.

"Yes, if I remember correctly, we met when we were eight years old. Though, we didn't truly become friends until middle school. How about you?" Logan asked, immediately regretting it as he realised He Already Knows.

"Ah- um… we met on an art course we do together. So I've only known him for a few months or so." Patton shuffled awkwardly, staring firmly at the ground ahead of him.

And then more unbearably awkward silence.

Eventually, Logan found he had to ask what had been on his mind the whole night.

"Do I make you uncomfortable?" he asked, immediately regretting it as Patton's eyes finally rushed up to meet his. They were a stunning blue, bright and shining up at him, and briefly Logan found himself lost for words.

"No! Of course not I- It's just…" Patton fumbled for words for a minute before mumbling something Logan couldn't quite hear.

"We'resoulmates"

"I'm sorry I didn't quite hear that last part," Logan said.

"We're soulmates," Patton said, more firmly this time though his hands were shaking.

"Oh."

"But… that's impossible," Logan stammered, "I don't have a soulmate. I can see every colour perfectly, how is this possible?"

Patton blinked at him, dumbfounded. "You didn't know???"

"Does it sound like I knew????"

Patton began to laugh, relieved and joyful.

"Logan, I don't have a favourite colour," he laughed. "All this time I thought you just didn't want me as a soulmate but you didn't even know."

Relief washed over Logan. Patton didn't hate him. Far from it. They were… soulmates. Platonic or romantic, it didn't really matter to Logan. He was just so happy. Ecstatic even, and Logan had never been one to feel so strongly so quickly. It was a little overwhelming actually.

"Well… how about we celebrate?" Patton asked once their laughter had died down. He gestured to the ferris wheel behind them.

"Well, I do hear it is the height of romance," Logan chuckled, taking Patton's hand as they went to join the line.

"Pun intended?"

"Pun intended."

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cbspams · 3 years

Text

District 8: Textiles

“Turn.” Felix does with ease, watching with no small amount of awe as the fabric on his body flutters gently. One of the best things about coming from Eight meant that the stylist, Irene, could do whatever she wanted. Any fabric, any silhouette, any embellishments and accents. Because it’s Eight and all the best fabrics come from Eight. Irene had done her job with gusto, dressing Felix beautifully in a tailored suit, made of midnight black velvet with deep blue and purple high lights, silver glinting off the interwoven threads. In essence, Felix looked like Irene had plucked the night sky and draped it on his body. Made him look tall but slim, elegant in a way he would never have been back in Eight. Because this is the Capitol and being beautiful will get you so much farther than you could even know.

His pale blond hair had been fluffed up and then smoothed out, giving the illusion of a star’s birth. Irene had even painstakingly parted and spray dyed a few strands here and there so that under the light shine, his hair would look white with blushes of color underneath, never quite the same when you looked at it. Then she’d decorated his ears with simple silver rings on his right lobe, small and thin. A silver star ear coil on the left side. But really, all that was just to frame his face. That was the bit that would tie it all together.

When Irene had first met him, she had exclaimed that he was perfect. His skin was flawless. But it was his natural freckles that would be the perfect canvas for her starry image of him. She had stuck to light makeup, nothing too dramatic because she wanted his skin to stand out, in its soft glowing glory. A touch of highlighter, a smidge of eyeshadow and a quick gloss on his lips. The real show was how she had glued small gems to his face, on top of some of his real freckles. And then she’d connected the dots with a shimmering eye liner. Holographic, like the rest of him. Made to change and glimmer under the light. Made to look like the twinkle of stars in an artificial sky, since the real one has long since been polluted.

She had debated giving him colored contacts, since they’d make him stand out more but they might make him unrecognizable in the games somehow. In the end, she decided to give him one in his left eye, so it’d be seen but not a main focus. And because it gave him the option of duality. Whoever he wanted to be. After watching him turn, Irene grasps Felix’s hand and presses a kiss to the palm. “For luck,” she says before disappearing down the corridor and leaving him alone with Kibum.

But Felix doesn’t need luck. Not when he looks like the stars fell to earth and birthed a champion themselves.

——————

Just before Felix is called up, when his partner tribute is around halfway done, Kibum grasps his hands and squeezes them once. Stares into his eyes, one a chilling blue grey and the other a warm melting hazel and whispers one last bit of advice: Don’t forget who you are.

As if Felix could ever forget.

He squares up his shoulders, blinks his lashes slowly and then stares out where Park Jinyoung sweeps a hand out and beckons him forward.

“Please welcome, the tribute from Eight: Lee Felix!”

The cameras flash, the lights gleam and the crowds gasps as a delicate celestial being flounces forward, so light on his feet that he really must be a star made of gas. Felix settles himself prettily on the chair opposite Jinyoung, carefully turning his face so that only the soft hazel of his eye can be seen. After a moment, the crowd shuffles into silence and Jinyoung starts to dissect Felix’s entire being.

“Well well! What a stunning outfit you have on today Felix. Truly, how many of us can claim the stars to our skin?”

Felix giggles, the sound ringing clear and true. “Would it be too cliche to say all of you? When I first peered out of the train, I thought surely I’m among angels and fairies and gods.” The crowd titters, pleased. Jinyoung’s smile grows fractionally.

“Well now! You’re on your way to becoming the star you were meant to be, pun intended.” Jinyoung winks as Felix laughs again, forcing his body to relax. “Now dear boy, tell us. A nine in training, not a usual score from your district. Did you cast some kind of magic on our darling Gamekeepers?” Jinyoung lowers his voice for the last part, conspiratorial but only jokingly. Of course there’s no real controversy here.

Felix just winks at the crowd, raising a finger to his lips. “That’s for me to know and you all to find out now isn’t it?”

It’s so easy to melt into this flirtatious, crowd pleasing persona. Felix is the sun, warm and gentle and bright and genuine, something the people of the Capitol adore. Something they want desperately for themselves, hands outstretched to try and take a piece home. Because everyone wants a piece of the star that fosters life. But he’s a tribute and the best they can do is throw money at him to ensure he survives, somehow. So he can keep being their star somehow.

Jinyoung continues, a few back and forth banter questions to allow Felix to butter up the audience more. Time ticks away slowly and it’s time for the final question, usually some kind of wrap up. Felix feels a little high honestly, his head spinning with how much he’s had to giggle and laugh and flirt. He wonders briefly what his parents must think, looking at him.

“Well, this has been a true delight Felix. Is there anything else you’d like to say to the crowd?” Here it is, the defining moment. Will they remember him as Lee Felix, the flirt, the forgettable? Or will they remember him as Lee Felix, the kid who shot across the sky like a burning star, who crash landed on earth and brought the entire world down with him.

——————

Profile

Name: Lee Felix

Age: 17

District: 8

Specialty: Pyrotechnics and explosions

#hunger games event #hg profile

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bunnylouisegrimes · 3 years

Text

Unusual Thanksgiving (NOS4A2 Longish-Drabble Fic)

(A/N: As of writing this, it’s the weekend. I’ve noticed at least every weekend for a few weeks now I post some short little Drabble to help let out my emotions. Here’s another one that’s a little bit longer. With Thanksgiving coming up and my ass having little time to think of something and cook it up (pun intended), I thought I’d take the approach of having whatever come to my mind and writing it out. It’s a unique one, as you don’t usually associate horror and angst alongside the family fluffiness of Thanksgiving, but... here we are! I remember a while back I wrote how Rose’s parents would react to her having a relationship with Charlie, and that was one of my inspirations, alongside how rough things are this year. I’d like to wish you all Happy Thanksgiving ahead of time. Stay safe and enjoy a good ass feast. It’s been tough, and it’s had some highlights, but now’s the time we can all put aside our differences and whatever else bullshit and be thankful about what we do have this year; whether it be supplies or each other, we’ll get through this. 🧡🍂🍁🦃)

(Apologize for no Read More, posting this from mobile, and I found the image randomly, so if you want credit, let me know).

November is a beautiful and calming time of the year, but under certain circumstances, it can be oddly scary. This is most likely due to how dead the world is. There’s usually no snow, and what leaves remain are brown, have decayed from the trees, and collapsed to the ground to crumble and rot. I noticed this when I was younger, and part of me thought November was spookier than Halloween in some cases.

Of course, to me, any time of the year could be scary. Horror doesn’t stop and end at one point; it is an infinite occurrence that follows humanity wherever we go.

From the time I was a little kid, I would find horror in the most obscure of places. Scary movies never bothered me, and in fact, I was always excited when I watched them. What should’ve terrified me brought me nothing but adrenaline and fascination. Instead, odd things scared me, things most people would poke fun at if they saw my reaction to them, things most would shrug off. Call me Freudian, but perhaps my fears, just as yours are, are based in our differing subconscious minds, so there is no true definition of “stupid” horror.

The one thing that I know for certain that’s frightened me since I was younger are bees, wasps, yellow jackets, and hornets. Why these little yellow and black bugs terrify me, I will never truly know the answer as to why. Is it because they’re so small, yet they can hurt you so badly? Is it because of their appearance? I don’t want bees to die out, as I know of their importance, and bumbles don’t bother me because they usually leave you alone (and they’re oddly cute), but any other bee or wasp can stay away from me. I’ve never even been stung by one, yet one buzz or sight of one near me makes my body react instantaneously. I get away as much as I can and even scream sometimes. Not wise to scream or move a lot when you’re in their presence, I know. But when your body reacts the way it does, what are you to do?

When I was a little bit older, I would say roughly 8 or 9 years old, a new type of fear spawned its way into my mind: the fear of shadow people.

I don’t know what it is about those things either that scare me so much. When I first discovered I had this fear, I believe I was watching an episode of Ghost Adventures, and I saw them capture a really clear shadow figure on camera. It chilled me to the bone, and from then on, just the thought of one creeped me out. One particular episode where the crew went to an old, abandoned and haunted Tuberculosis sanitarium got to me because shadow figures were prominent there, and they actually captured two on camera going down a long hallway.

Shadow people, from what I’ve seen online, are very mysterious. They could come from another dimension, they could be demonic; some are harmless, others are harmful, and it’s all dependent on what experience you have with them. Zak Bagans and his crew have come across quite a few demonic ones, and their guests have usually described them as tall, thin, 6-7 foot tall entities that are dark both in physicality and energy. They look like an individual spray painted with pitch black aerosol, and darker than a room if it were void of all light. Sometimes they have red or white eyes, and sometimes they can have differing appearances that are just as terrifying as the blank appearances they often have. They can stand there and look over you while you’re sleeping at night, they can stand in a corner and stare at you, maybe rocking a bit, they could dart down a hallway, hiding from you, they can crawl on the floor, they can crawl on the ceiling... whatever it is they do, it’s all bone chilling to me, and I hate it all with a burning passion. I don’t care even if they were harmless: If I were to ever see one in real life, I would have a heart attack.

That is why I am thankful I’ve only seen them either when I’m paranoid for whatever reason before I go to sleep (but they’re not really there, my mind’s just playing tricks on me), or if I have a nightmare and they’re present. This story will focus on the latter.

*************************************************

Halloween, Charlie’s birthday on November 1st, the Election... it all came and left sooner than expected, and we needed to plan what we were doing about Thanksgiving. I know, a vampire who’s all about Christmas celebrating other holidays. It seems unreal, but I assure you, he has respect for other holidays as well. Christmas just happens to be his favorite and one that brings him and the kids lots of comfort and joy. They say Christmas is a state of mind and is never truly over, so... I suppose Charlie is just a living embodiment of that saying.

With COVID still in full swing, and cases breaking records everyday, people were stocking up on supplies yet again alongside their Turkey Day feasts. We knew we had to hurry up and order stuff the week before Thanksgiving at most.

Living in Gunbarrel, Colorado, away from everyone except for each other and the kids when we spent quite a few days in Christmasland each week, it was relieving to know we weren’t around tons of people. The virus wouldn’t affect Charlie or the kids, but me being the only human, and one with asthma, it would, so it was calming to not have to worry as much as many other folks about exposure. Not to mention, the town was small, and everybody knew everybody. Whenever we did enter town, which took 10 minutes to get to, we would see everyone keeping their distance and respecting each other. It was nice to see our small and (just about) off-the-grid community helping each other during these times.

The only two local stores were an Acme that everyone went to, and the Gunbarrel General Store, owned by a kindly old man who looked like Santa Clause named Sam. Before everyone rushed to Acme, we decided on doing a curbside pickup order, and picking up anything else that was not available at Sam’s, as he was sure to provide lots of Thanksgiving food.

It was going to certainly be an interesting Thanksgiving without my usual family, and not being back home, but I was going to call them on that fateful Thursday and talk to them for a few hours. Charlie and I would have a small dinner together, and we would spend most of the day in Christmasland with our children, dining on delicious food and laughing together. The thought warmed my heart and made me feel better about this Thanksgiving. We would be okay, and everything would be fine, despite my horrible dreams...

For whatever reason, over these past few weeks, my dreams were plagued with shadow people haunting me. No explanation was given, and no explanation would need to be given for it to still occur and damn near break me. Maybe it was some sort of unresolved issue going through the back of my mind, maybe it was fueled by my stresses of being busy lately, but regardless of whatever the issue was, I was haunted by them. The day after Charlie’s birthday, we watched the original Nosferatu together, and I fell asleep near the end, experiencing the first of these dreams.

I was walking down a dark and cold hallway. I was 8 years old again. I don’t know how I knew this, but it was one of those instances where you know a random piece of information in a dream. I was holding two small plastic My Little Pony figurines I got from Happy Meals at that time, a small Twilight Sparkle and Rainbow Dash. I hadn’t seen those toys in years, yet there they were in my hands. When I looked up, a shadow person was standing near the end of the pathway. It stood tall and authoritative, looming over me as if it wanted to grab me and drag me down the corridor straight into Hell, or wherever it came from.

I took off running, and it crawled on all fours after me. I screamed and kept running until I came across a goofy, tall, and lanky figure: Count Orlock, or the actual Nosferatu himself, was standing there. I hid behind him and begged him to protect me. He smiled his stupid smile and looked down at the shadowy behemoth. It seemed to back down a bit once he snarled at it. It backed up behind a corner, peaking at us once before vanishing.

My relief was short lived for only a few moments because Orlock wandered off into the darkness.

“Where are you going? Come back here!” I tried to call after him, but I was cut off by the shadow figure crawling on the ceiling and grabbing me. I gave a scream and found myself awake on the couch, springing to life and hearing the opening music to Downton Abbey greeting me. Charlie had tuned in after the movie. He looked at me with a confused and concerned look. I explained everything to him and he comforted me, laughing at the thought of the original Nosferatu visiting me.

The dreams afterward were more terrifying than the first. One dream featured a shadow person staring over me as I slept, another featured one standing in the corner of the room twisting and contorting its head violently. The third had a shadow figure hunched over near a window within an abandoned building. I was walking through the woods in another nightmare when a whole group of them were peaking at me through the trees. I ran down another hallway and one was behind me. I was in an unknown house and down the hall near the steps, one was charging towards me. Each time, I would wake up and feel unsettled. Charlie would comfort me, but it was always hard to fall back asleep, for I feared I’d be terrorized by the evil onyx creatures wanting nothing more than to consume me in their shadowy force and make my soul rot.

Despite all of my terror and the tiredness that accompanied my days, the focus for today would have to be Thanksgiving dinner.

“My mom mailed me the recipe to her sweet potatoes last week, and let me tell you, they are actually sweet and delicious,” I told Charlie. “So you can put down all the ingredients for that. We already got turkey, stuffing, and mashed potatoes written down... Oh! Green bean casserole, put that down... and we need apple and pumpkin pie. We already have whip cream and gravy in the fridge, and cider is in the cabinet. I think that’s everything.”

Charlie nodded and wrote these things down. Once he was done, he looked over the list and showed me.

“Yup, that’s everything! Alright, let’s look up to see what Acme has.”

As I pulled up the site on my phone, he spoke up.

“Rosie, are you bothered by not seeing your family? If so, we can visit them on Thanksgiving Day or I could go the extra mile and bring them here if you’d like.”

I sighed and rubbed my temple. “I’m alright, baby. I know they’ll be alright too. Things seem to be... okay between us, even if we did get into arguments since last we spoke in person.”

He looked down and felt guilty.

“Hey, don’t you feel guilty,” I reassured him. “It’s their fault, not yours. They see you in whatever light they want to, but I know who you really are, and I love you. I don’t care what they say or think about you, hence why I’m sticking by you and left with you to come here.”

He nodded and pulled me close to him, resting his chin on my head. “I admit, my darling, I am constantly bothered by this thought that I have destroyed the relationship you have with your family.”

“Like I said, they’re the ones that can’t accept that you and I truly love each other. I’ve been patient and offered them every chance to accept you. I’ve explained and talked to them, but they don’t want to listen to my reasoning. I don’t know what else to do.”

He kissed me on the cheek and said, “I’m glad that you at least still talk to each other.”

“Me too. At least we have that... but let’s not worry about that. We got food to focus on.”

We ordered everything that we could (the only things not available until the week of Thanksgiving were the two pies, but we knew Sam would have them). When the time came, we loaded into the Wraith and the trunk was packed with our dinner. We stopped by the General Store and Sam happily gave “Father Christmas” (as Charlie was known as) the pies. Since it was still light out, we decided to go for a drive to enjoy the autumn weather. As I mentioned before, November is usually dead and brown, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t peaceful and calm. We observed the soothing and cold weather as Fleetwood Mac and The Doors sang along on the old radio.

While gazing at the brown leaves and bare trees rocking their branches above us, I drifted off to sleep without even thinking about it. Stevie Nicks and Jim Morrison’s voices melted into oblivion as I found myself walking through a tranquil forest of dead trees. Cold, I wrapped my arms around myself until I felt a bit warmer, and I saw a grove of orange trees. It was as if I teleported back in time to October, and the trees were still alive with vibrant color.

I ran over to them, taken aback by their beauty. The leaves that were on the ground were still orange, and I tossed them up into the air with childish carelessness. At last! For once, I was having a good dream!

However, that enjoyment would be cut short when I looked into the distance in between the trees. The world and my joy winded down like a dying record player.

From somewhere beyond the misty horizon, a pair of white eyes were watching me.

Dread hit me and I ran away. The trees began to rot again, and the orange faded into brown. The sunlight morphed into fog, and the warmth dissipated from my body. I fell to the ground, tripping over my own clumsy feet.

Now I was somewhere entirely different. I was in a dark, unfamiliar bedroom. I couldn’t move except for my eyes, like I was suffering from sleep paralysis. I looked up to see the shadow figure that was hiding behind the trees. Its white eyes were dimmer than before, and its solid black body cast lighter shadows behind it. I tried to scream, but I could only choke out vocalizations as it covered my mouth.

It lifted its ice cold hand from my mouth and pointed to the left. My eyes glanced in that direction and a scream broke from my throat.

A pointy eared demon with beady eyes, a close together face, and a sickening smile was on top of my chest. Its body was too dark to make out any notable features, but it was lighter than the shadow next to me. The pressure on top of me crushed the life from my lungs. It continued to smile, as if nothing in the world bothered it at all.

Before my scream ran out of air, it wrapped its cold hands around my neck and tightened to the point it was strangling me. The rest of my scream died out, my eye sight was fading until it was only a pinhole...

Air rushed into my lungs as I jolted into a conscience state once again. My eyes darted rapidly and my body clung to the leather seat of the Wraith. We were no longer driving, and instead parked in the garage. A wave of nausea flooded my head and stomach, and I pressed my hand to my eyes. My mind finally registered Charlie’s soft voice.

“Rose! My sweet Rose! Whatever is the matter?”

“I... Jesus Christ... I... had another nightmare... this was... Good God, how else could I describe it?!”

While we gathered the groceries into the house, I detailed my horrifying dream to him. He was immensely disturbed and decided enough was enough.

“I know you believe in ghosts and demons and the sort,” said he, “and I know such things exist, since I’ve seen spirits and souls before. Because of this, you and I can pray before you go to sleep tonight. Unlike other vampires, holy things do not bother me, unless I were to drink or touch holy salt or holy water, in which case I would feel some discomfort thanks to the darker side of my being. I have an old angel doll that my daughters used to play with and hold whenever they felt uncomfortable or scared. That could help you too. I will hypnotize you and make you have sweet dreams. If any dark entity is going to mess with you, I will protect you. I don’t think you have an attachment, but these dreams are certainly unusual.”

I agreed to all of this. That night, we said a prayer together, I snuggled with the angel doll, and he hypnotized me to sleep. I had a dream I couldn’t remember, but it was certainly the most peaceful I had in a while, and it was even better then the beginning of that nightmare I had that evening.

A sense of purity filled my heart, and I knew nothing dark would ever hurt me or anyone I loved, as whatever God that may be out there as my witness.

*************************************************

Thanksgiving arrived at an unbelievably fast rate. No other bad dreams tormented me, and I couldn’t have felt more happy. Charlie and I worked together to prep dinner. When I finished making sure the turkey was good and putting it in the oven, Charlie presented me with a package.

“It’s from your home,” he observed.

I opened it up at the dining room table and I couldn’t believe my eyes.

It was the Twilight Sparkle and Rainbow Dash figurines from my childhood. Underneath them, was a heartfelt letter from my family, detailing how they had recently found these toys and thought of me. They missed me, and they even apologized for all of their harsh words against me and Charlie. They gave it some thought, and they came to the conclusion that as long as I was happy and in love, and as long as Charlie truly loved me and treated me well, then all was perfectly fine. They wished us a very happy Thanksgiving from 2 hours ahead and many miles away.

Tears fell from my cheeks. I was crying of joy for more than the obvious reason being that my family and I were rekindling together.

I realized now why I had such horrible dreams. It was either my worries and fears of my family not being together haunting me, or maybe even some dark force, but Twily and Dashie here weren’t random parts of that first dream at all; they served as symbolism. They represented hope and familial innocence long lost, now brought back to light. Maybe they sent a message out in the universe to my family that Charlie was a good man. That could also be why Orlock was protecting me in that same dream, but him leaving symbolized my family keeping Charlie away from me, therefore causing bad things to happen to me. And perhaps when Charlie helped me and cleansed all darkness (regardless of it being real or not), those ponies knew ahead of time he was going to do that, and reassured my family he was always going to protect me. It sounded bizarre, but it was the best reasoning I could come up with to explain these odd coincidences.

I immediately called my family afterwards and told them everything. They were chilled themselves because my mother had a dream the night before about Charlie bringing forth bouts of light to protect me from a wave of darkness, and she thought it was her brain processing her acceptance of him, but now that my story was told, it made things even clearer.

We concluded talking by coming up with a date to have dinner together and to see each other again back home. We exchanged I love yous and Happy Thanksgivings, and I hung up feeling thankful. As Charlie and I ate a bit of dinner, as we went to Christmasland, and as we ate lots of food with our children, warmth and light abundant, I was grateful that I had the family I did, the boyfriend and children that I did, and the light that still shined in the universe, even on the most darkest of days. This year has been hard, but gratitude for all the good, hope, and love, even when we’re distant figuratively, literally, or both, makes this holiday season a brighter one.

#nos4a2 charlie #nos4a2 fanfic #nos4a2 fanfiction #nos4a2 #charlie manx #charles manx

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notthatiwilleverwriteit · 4 years

Note

Do you think Xixi might be quoiromantic?

Good afternoon, dear anon-san!

Oh boy, you sure asked a tricky one. First of all, as much as I adore Zhanyi, I feel like it’s not my area of “expertise”. At least not in the same way I think Tianshan is. So, I can’t guarantee what I have to say about them is necessarily that deep. I might miss some relevant aspects of their relationship regarding this matter than people who are better versed in Zhanyi.

Secondly, prior to your question, I had no idea what “quoiromantic” meant. Never heard of it, so I had to do some Googling. And I’m still not sure if I fully get it. So, I apologize in advance if I mess something up because of that.

But it’s exciting to answer a Zhanyi question for a change! I shall take this as a challenge and try my best!

I’m going to start this with what I found about quoiromantic and how I understood it. So, people who don’t know either don’t have to go searching and everyone can better understand the standpoints I’m coming from if they can see the definition/features I’m basing my answer on.

What is quoiromantic? (According to X and my 10-minutes Google search)

Also known as WTFromantic

Belongs under the aromantic spectrum

Don’t quite understand their romantic orientation

Can’t tell the difference between platonic and romantic attraction

Unsure if they experience romantic attraction or not

Unable to understand or define romantic attraction

Disidentifies with the concept of romantic attraction, as a social construct or as not applicable to themself

Struggles to find another term that fits them

Experiences above may vary according to an individual and not all of them might be included. So basically, based on this I see quoiromantic as someone who can’t distinguish romantic feelings from platonic, is thus unsure if what they’re feeling is romantic or platonic, and doesn’t perhaps feel the need for the term “romantic” feelings or doesn’t think it fits them.

“Do you think Xixi might be quoiromantic?”

I’m going to start my answer with the same kind of disclaimer than I did in my answer about He Tian and bisexuality. No matter what my answer is it’s not meant as any kind of authority that should dictate anyone else’s interpretation and deem them right or wrong. This is just how I see this matter, and you are free to make your own interpretations. Since Zhan Zheng Xi’s sexual orientation hasn’t been fully disclosed by canon, I don’t see why one interpretation should be more superior than another. People are free to agree or disagree with me on this.

End of disclaimer!

After searching what quoiromantic means, I went through the whole comic and tried to comb ZZX’s character through the perspective of the definition. I didn’t get much but there was one moment that caught my eye. When Xiao Hui asked ZZX did he like anyone and ZZX’s answer was somewhat vague (ch. 258):

I think those panels were the closest I came to see ZZX’s character having some quoiromantic features. (I took the liberty of highlighting them in the list above.) First of all, he seems to want to avoid defining his feelings for JY; whether he doesn’t feel the need for it or isn’t comfortable with/ready for it. XH asked if ZZX liked or disliked anyone, and his answer gives me a hint that whatever he feels for JY can’t be defined along those two opposite ends of the spectrum. It could also be taken as ZZX saying that even if he had feelings for JY, they’re different from the kind of romantic feelings XH is talking about.

Secondly, ZZX and JY’s childhood friendship is brought up. It seems ZZX can’t really draw a clear line between him caring about JY as his almost lifelong best friend and as someone who has romantic feelings for him. Not having JY in his life isn’t an option for ZZX. It’s basically based on their very close friendship but at some point, that feeling mixes with and morphs into romantic love. The foundation is still the same, though.

In that light, I could see ZZX as a quoiromantic.

However, my final answer is a tentative no. As a whole, I wouldn’t personally interpret ZZX as a quoiromantic. The way I see it, ZZX is not so much “unable to”, “unsure about” or “disidentifying” as he is currently just in the middle of the biggest life-changing discovery about himself. Not only has he found out that his best friend has romantic feelings for him but also that (most probably even to his own surprise) it seems to be mutual. So yeah, he’s going to be confused and unsure for quite a while without it necessarily meaning he’s typically like that when it comes to love.

I agree that it’s probably impossible for ZZX to distinguish platonic and romantic feelings for JY from each other but I see that more as a result of them being best friends for most of their lives. From a fictional perspective, Zhanyi reminds me of those stories about “true love” and “soulmates”. Those kinds of relationships defy the definitions of mere romantic love, they go way deeper. However, I think that’s different from being unable to tell platonic and romantic feelings apart. (As a personal side note, I have fallen in love with my best friend twice in my life. With both of them, it started as a friendship but ended up being the most intense crushes I’ve ever experienced. However, I couldn’t really tell where my platonic friendship ended and romantic feelings started because it’s damn difficult in those cases. But I knew I definitely was feeling both.)

Also, it’s important to take into account the cultural and social context of the situation when ZZX said those things to XH. Admitting you might be in love with someone of the same gender is hard for most people, not to mention for a teenage boy having such feelings for the first time in his life. Avoid giving a straight (pun not intended) answer would be quite natural, I would say.

This was a very interesting and challenging question. It definitely gave me a lot to think about and offered a new perspective to ZZX and Zhanyi. I also learned something new. Thank you, dear anon-san!

#Zhan zheng xi #zhanyi #Jian Yi #19 days #answered ask

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maximelebled · 4 years

Text

My quick review of the ASUS XG27UQ monitor (4K, HDR, 120Hz)

I originally wanted to tweet this series of bullet points out but it was getting way too long, so here goes! I got this to replace a PG278Q, which was starting to develop odd white stains, and never had good color reproduction in the first place (TN film drawbacks, very low gamma resulting in excessively bright shadows, under-saturated shadows, etc.)

The hardware aesthetic is alright! The bezels may feel a bit large to some people, but I don’t mind them at all. If you’re a fan of the no-bezel look, you’ll probably hate it. There is a glowing logo on the back that you can customize (Static Cyan is my recommendation), but it isn’t bright enough to be used as bias lighting, which would’ve been nice.

The built-in stand is decent; it comes with a tacky and distracting light projection feature at the bottom. It felt quite stable, though I don’t care about it because it got instantly replaced by an Ergotron LX arm. (I have two now, I really recommend them in spite of their price.)

The coating is a little grainy and this is noticeable on pure colors! You can kinda see the texture come through, a bit more than I’d like. Not a huge deal though.

The rest of the review will be under the cut.

The default color preset (”racing mode”), which the monitor is calibrated against, is very vivid and saturated. It looks great! But it’s inherently inaccurate, which bothers me, so I don’t like it. It looks like as if sRGB got stretched into the expanded gamut of the monitor.

sRGB “emulation” looks very similar to my Dell U2717D, whose sRGB mode is factory-calibrated. However, the XG27UQ’s sRGB mode has lower gamma (brighter shadows), so while the colors are accurate, the gamma is not. It feels 1.8-ish. Unless you were in a bright room, it would be inappropriate for work that needs to have accurate shadows. This mode also locks other controls, so it’s not the most useful, but the brightness is set well on it, so it is usable!

The “User Mode” settings use the calibrated racing mode as a starting point, which is a big relief. So it’s possible to tweak the color temperature and the saturation from there! I checked pure white against my Dell monitor and my smartphone (S9+) and tried to reach a reasonable 3-way compromise between them, knowing that the Dell is most likely the most accurate, and that Samsung also allegedly calibrates their high-end smartphones well. My configuration ended up being R:90/G:95/B:100 + SAT:42. This matches the saturation of the U2717D sRGB mode fairly closely. You also get to choose between 1.8, 2.2, and 2.5 gamma too, which is not too granular, but great to have. It kinda feels like my ideal match is between 2.2 and 2.5, but 2.2 is fine.

The color gamma according to lagom.nl looked fine, but I had to open the picture in Paint, otherwise it was DPI-scaled in the browser, and that messed with the way it works!! (That website is an amazing resource for quick monitor checks.)

Colors are however somewhat inaccurate in this mode. It’s easy to see by comparing the tweaked User Mode vs. sRGB emulation. There are some rather sizeable hue shifts in certain cases. I believe part of this is caused by the saturation tweak not operating properly.

Here’s a photo of what the Photoshop color picker looks like when Saturation is set to 0 on the monitor, vs. what a proper grayscale conversion should be. It’s definitely not using the right coefficients.

So in practice, when using the Racing & User modes, compared to the U2717D sRGB, here’s a few examples of what I see:

Reds are colder (towards the purple side) & oversaturated

Bright yellow (255,215,90) is undersaturated

Bright green (120,200,130) is undersaturated

Dark green (0,105,60) is fine

Magenta (220,13,128) is oversaturated

Dark reds & brown (150,20,20 to 90,15,10) is oversaturated

Cyan (0,180,240) is fine

Pink (230,115,170) is fine

Some shades of bright saturated blue (58,48,220) have the biggest shifts.

The TF2 skin tone becomes slightly desaturated and a bit colder

It’s not inaccurate to the point of being distracting, and you always have the sRGB mode (with flawed gamma?) to check things with, but it’s definitely not ideal, and some of these shifts go far enough that I wouldn’t recommend this monitor for color work that needs to be very accurate.

I’ve went back and forth, User vs sRGB, several times, on my most recent work (True Sight 2019 sequences). I’ve found the differences were acceptable for the most part; they bothered me the most during the Chronosphere sequence, in which the hazy sunset atmosphere turned a bit into to a rose gold tint, which wasn’t unpleasant at all — and looked quite pretty! — but it wasn’t what I did.

I’m coming from the point of view of a “prosumer” who cares about color accuracy, but who ultimately recognizes that this quest is impossible in the face of so many devices out there being inaccurate or misconfigured one way or the other. In the end, my position is more pragmatic, and I feel that you gotta be able to see how your stuff’s gonna look on the devices where it’ll actually be watched. So while I’ve done color grading on a decent-enough sRGB-calibrated monitor, I’ve always checked it against the inaccurate PG278Q, and I’ve done a little bit of compromising to keep my color work looking alright even once gamma shifted. And so, now, I’ll also be getting to see what my colors look like on a monitor that doesn’t quite restrain itself to sRGB gamut properly.

Well, at least, all of that stuff is out of the box, but...

TFTCentral (one of the most trustworthy monitor review websites, in my opinion) has found suspiciously similar shifts. But after calbration, their unit passed with flying colors (pun intended), so if you really care about this sort of stuff and happen to have a colorimeter... you should give it a try!

I hope one day we’ll be able to load and apply an ICC/ICM profile computer-wide, instead of only being able to load a simple gamma curve on the GPU with third-party tools like DisplayCAL. Even if it had to squeeze the gamut a bit...

Also, there are dynamic dimming / auto contrast ratio features which could potentially be useful in limited scenarios if you don’t care about color accuracy and want to maximize brightness. I believe they are forced on for HDR. But you will probably not care at all.

IPS glow is not very present on my unit; less than on my U2717D. However, when it starts to show up (more than a 30°-ish angle away), it shows up more. UPDATED: after some more time with the monitor, I wanna say that, in fact, IPS glow isit's slightly stronger, and shows up sooner (as in, from broader angles). It requires me to sit a greater distance from the monitor in order to not have it show up and impede dark scenes. It is worse than on my U2717D.

Backlight bleed, on the other hand, is there, and a little bit noticeable. On my unit, there’s a little bit of blue-ish bleed on the lower left corner, and some dark-grey-orange bleed for a good third of the upper-left. However, in practice, and to my eyes, it doesn’t bother me, even when I look for it. It ain’t perfect, but I’ve definitely seen worse, especially from ASUS. The photo above was taken at 100% brightness, and I’ve tried to make it just a tad brighter than what my eyes see, so hopefully it’s a decent sample.

Dead pixels: on my unit, I have 5 stuck dead green subpixels overall. There are 4 in a diamond pattern somewhat down and right to the center of the screen, and another one, a bit to the right of that spot. All of them kinda “shimmer” a little bit, in the sense that they become stronger or weaker based on my angle of view. They’re a bummer but I haven’t found them to be a hindrance. Took me a few days to even notice them for the first time, after all.

HDR is just about meaningless and uses some global dimming techniques, as well as stuff that feels like... you know that Intel HD driver feature that brightens the content on the screen, while lowering the panel backlight power in tandem, to save power, but it kinda flattens (and sometimes clips) highlights? It kinda looks like that sometimes. Without local dimming, HDR is just about meaningless.

Unfortunately, the really nice HDR support in computer monitors is still looking like it’s going to be at the very least a year out, and even longer for sub-1000 price ranges. (I was holding out for the PG27UQX at first, but it still has no word on availability, a whole year after being announced, and will probably cost over two grand, so no thanks.)

G-Sync (variable refresh rate) support is... not there yet?! The latest driver does not recognize the monitor as being compatible with the feature. And it turns out that the product page says that G-Sync support is currently being applied for. Huh. I thought they had special chips in those monitors solely for the feature, but it’s possible this one does it another way? (The same way that Freesync monitors do it?)

DSC (Display Stream Compression) enables 4K 120Hz to work through a single DisplayPort cable, without chroma subsampling. And it’s working for me, which came as a surprise, as I was under the impression this feature required a 2000-series Turing GPUs. (I have a 1080 Ti.) I was wrong about this, it’s 144 Hz that requires DSC. And I don’t have it on this Pascal card. But I don’t really care since I prefer to run this monitor at 120 Hz, as it’s a multiple of the 60 Hz monitor next to it.

Windows DPI scaling support is okay now. Apps that are DPI-aware, and the vast majority of them are now, scale back and forth between 150% and 100% really well as they get dragged between the monitors! The only program I’ve had issues with is good old Winamp, which acted as if it was 100% on the XG27UQ... and shrinked down on another monitor. So I asked it to override DPI scaling behaviour (”scaling performed by: application”), which keeps the player skin at 100% on every monitor, but any call to system fonts and UI (Bento skin’s playlist + Settings panel) are still at 150%. So I had to set the playlist font size to 7 for it to look OK on the non-scaled monitor!

A few apps misbehave in interesting ways; TeamSpeak, for example, seen above, scales everything back from 150% to 100%, and there is no blurriness, but the “larger layout” (spacing, etc.) sticks.

Games look great with 4K in 27 inches. Well, I’ve only really tried Dota 2 so far, but man does it get sharp, especially with the game’s FXAA disabled. It was already a toss-up at 1440p, but at 4K I would argue you might as well keep it disabled. However, going from 2560x1440 to 3840x2160 requires some serious horsepower. It may look like a +50% upgrade in pixels, but it’s actually a +125% increase! (3.68 to 8.29 million pixels.) For a 1080 Ti, maxed-out Dota 2 at 1440p 120hz is really trivial, but once you go to 4K, not anymore... you could always lower resolution scale though! (Not an elegant solution if you like to use sharpening filters though, looking at you RDR2.)

Overall, the XG27UQ is a good monitor, and I’m satisfied with my purchase, although slightly disappointed by the strong IPS glow and the few dead subpixels. 7/10

#xg27uq #review #monitors

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bangtan-dreamland · 4 years

Text

morning (the sunlight reveals your divinity, and i am merely your worshiper)

Pairing: kth x reader

Word Count: 1374

Warnings: a very brief and small allusion to nsfw stuff!!

Genre: fluff, established relationship!au

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•

Sunlight spills over the room, bathing everything in a soft, resplendent glow. From the window you two shut close last night, creeping in onto the plush carpet that you both loved, to the nightstand where some of your clothes lay from last night's tryst. It touches upon each like a lover's kiss, warm and soft.

Like Midas' Touch, you muse. It may be too early for your mind to think straight, but you think that that is a suitable follow up. In the light of the morning, everything looks as if it's been turned golden, and when you turn your head to the side, you know that it is a very apt description.

After all, you have the greatest treasure yet by your side.

Taehyung in the morning is a sight that you don't doubt many would be willing to pay fortunes to see. Messy locks tumbling down his forehead, landing the tips at the brow of his eyebrows, the ends tickling his eyes. Soft lips that seem to be so kissable even in his sleep, plump and easy to bite into. Cheekbones that are dusted with a natural shade of pink, flush, ones you know would redden like roses whenever he got embarrassed, or... you chuckle to yourself at the thought.

Looking at him now, you fight down the urge to shower him in affection until he woke up. Still, you hold back and let your mind wander, taking in instead how the morning light makes him look holy.

It covers over his form gently, highlighting certain parts of his face. Were it anyone else, you'd see their features turned harsh, lines sharp, transforming them into someone unapproachable. But with Taehyung it is different. The sunlight does turns his features sharp, making him seem less human and more otherwordly. But instead of keeping you at a distance, it holds you close. There is an ethereal aura around him. It is as if the warm glow to his skin is proof that the sun only comes up to announce his divinity to the world, and if anyone were to tell you then and there that Taehyung is an god descended unto the earth, you'd fully believe them without a second thought. The scene before you is comparable even to the most famous renaissance works, one that you would zealously engrave into your mind- your love the muse, and you the taken, smitten, devoted, artist.

When you shift from your position, something soft brushes against your chin. You glance down to see blankets that cover you both up to your necks. It's not surprising, considering how cold winter nights could be. Your activities last night may have made the two of you warm and sweaty, but now that the chill of the night has passed the blankets are bunched up around you two. You let out a soft laugh, knowing that since you had been in a deep sleep last night, it must have been Taehyung who woke up in the middle of the night, cold and shivering, then covering the two of you with blankets.

The thought of it is amusing, but it also (pun intended) warms your heart, and you press a soft kiss to the edge of his lips. You know that if you planted one straight on, he'd definitely wake up, and you wanted to savor the sight of him sleeping a little while longer.

Yet, it seems as if even in his sleep Taehyung craves your touch. Eyes opening blearily, head leaning forward to chase your kiss. Hands make their way to your waist, pulling you closer to him until the two of you are flush against each other, and you wrap your arms around him.

"Good morning, Taehyung," you whisper softly, unwilling to break the moment.

Your name rolls off his tongue, a greeting and a declaration of love in one. The utter fondness and adoration with which he utters your name will never fail to make you blush. How is it that he treats you as if you are a goddess, when he is the one more fitting to be worshiped? Not for the first time, you compare Taehyung to a god, and you the ardent believer, ready to kneel at a moment's notice, at a drop of his word.

As if he senses your thoughts, he kisses you. Gently, at first, slow, as if to savor the taste of last night's activities on you. You'd complain about you having morning breath- but you want to kiss him too much to break away for even a moment, and you know Taehyung feels the same, if the way he starts to deepen the kiss indicates anything. His tongue lazily explores the inside of your mouth, leaving no space untouched, before becoming more intense. The hands on your waist start to wander up and down your body, gentle caresses turning firm, patting and pinching and gripping you- and when his fingers brush against your core, you release a breathy moan, one that he swallows as he continues to kiss you.

Still, the need for air soon prompts you two to break the kiss. Taehyung stays close, his forehead pressed to yours, signature boxy grin on his face.

"Good morning, love. How are you feeling?" His worry for you makes you giggle. The way Taehyung holds your happiness and safety so high a concern is something that always makes you feel loved, and it always makes you want to smother him in your love, to return to him the way that he makes you feel.

"I feel okay. Thank you for last night," you reply happily. Taehyung places another kiss on your forehead, and you snuggle into his chest.”You spoil me too much, really. I don’t even know what I did to deserve being pampered like you did to me last night,” you absentmindedly add.

Taehyung lets out a sharp sound of disapproval. “Do I need a reason to treat the love of my life like the princess she is?” His reply is swift, as if the words doesn’t even have to be carefully thought of and is instead laid out bare, like his heart. You elect to keep quiet in the wake of his response, instead placing your ear against his chest. You let the warmth (from the sunlight creeping in, from the way Taehyung’s body keeps close to you- almost every body part touching, from the way his words make you feel) overtake you not just in your body, but also in your heart. I love you, you want to tell him. You’re overtaken by a sudden surge of love yet again, for the man beside you. However, before you can act on it, Taehyung suddenly makes a noise of surprise.

"We didn’t eat at all last night, did we? Since we ended up falling asleep after making love the whole night long,” he suddenly says, his tone in sudden realization. “You must be hungry. Wait here, I’ll get you some food, okay? We can have breakfast in bed." Taehyung then starts to slip away from you, the warmth of his touch leaving trails of heat across your body, and you look up at him with a pout. He pauses, an eyebrow raised in inquisition.

You immediately shake your head, unwilling to see him leave already. "No, stay," you murmur. "All that can wait later."

"Are you sure?" He asks, and you nod your head. "Alright." This time, you don't have to look at him to know there's a smile forming on his face. "A few more rounds of cuddles then."

"Not cuddles either," you hum, before pulling him back close and into another kiss. You can't help smiling as well when he lets out a blissful sigh, and when you pull away, you look adoringly at him. "Let me return the favor for last night. I want to make you feel good too."

And as Taehyung's features cloud over with lust (and love, your mind whispers, love that mirrors your own, the look in his eyes holding only you), his pupils dilating, cheeks reddening, the sunlight casts him beatific, a golden treasure that you know is only yours.

Yes, mornings with Taehyung were one that you dearly treasured.

#bangtanscenery #kim taehyung x reader #taehyung x reader #mine #my writing #hoo boy here we go

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ithinkthingsaboutstuff · 4 years

Note

what would you want Brainy's new super-suit (if/when he gets one) to look like?

Booty shorts…….

But in all seriousness

i would like a more comic(ish) look, I know there have been a few of tho’s but i’ll explain what i would look for.

now I can’t speak for mistrals and texture, and how difficult they can be to work with (for the most part) so I’ll leave that out.

my favourite Brainy look as to be this beauty

don’t ask me why it just is, (PS. the mullet is just fantastic)

(I like this run so that might be a bias,)

there have been a few variations on this design with short sleeves, smaller belt ect but this is the ‘base’ for tho’s designs and I like all of them.

this next one is my least fav but it dose have white that is under used in Brainy’s wardrobe IMO. (plus the boot swirl)

the animated series had another great design that ref a few old suits but remained its own thing. (plus it also has the three implants on his head thing going)

and here is a three in one bonus panel

so i should get to my point

the page and the screen often have disagreements on what looks pleasing to the eye

but Jesse has proven that he can pull off bright and “demanding” colours in that they really catch the eye and can be distracting

example:

(thanks to @fairyroses )

(side note, what did they do to his hair, it defies gravity, I both love and hate it )

that being said I think an eggplant purple would work for an on screen design

like so

and the boots could be a more dark mustard yellow like so

Hell while i’m here

the CW have already pulled off a purple suit Yellow boot combo

like look at that

practical (for the actor) comic like and doing its own thing.

(side bar: the costume designers, creators and artist don’t get enough credit on these shows IMO)

again material is a bit out of my wheel house,

but I think a smoother look would work best for Brainy,

since Kara, J’onn and Nia (and even Alex) have outfits with lots of (great) Textures, I think Brainy’s would work best with a smoother more ‘one note’ kind of thing. like colourful but not to flashy (pun intended)

like a less is more, kind of deal

so for me the best design would have the following

1) eggplant purple

2) less texture then everyone else’s (but of course needs a few)

3) boot swirl (even if just at the ankles, not needed tho i’m just greedy)

4) i think white would be nice to add as a lining or as a filler colour (as it would match the wig when they show the makeup)

5) Brainiac symbol on the chest a white one maybe? (like where it is on his black t-shirt)

6) a Belt that stands out, (and dose what it dose in the comics because Brainy made it, looking at you Winn, i’m still salty) so I would make it a mix of yellow, white and black (and have the little lights they have in it change colour when its being used, i.e purple for on and blue for off IDK tho)

and of course

7) the legion ring.

anyway I don’t think any of this is in the realm of possibly but its still fun to think about and would be my ideal look anyway. (practical trail and error being involved of course)

but for whatever reason men in purple is not something that is shown often in these types of things (not as an all the time look anyway, Elongated man being an example off the top of my head, he has lots of shirts that are tho, just not the SH suit) but to be fair purple can be a hard one for anyone to pull off if its all over you anyway (purple pants are hard to pull off, I should know, early teen me made some mistakes).

anyway, I think Jesse could pull it off, if they go down that root as unlike as it is. but yeah,

if these hands could draw man,

but if he dose get a new suit i think it will be a darker colour and (hopefully) have some colourful highlights (purple and white maybe?) and at this point i’ll take it.

TL:DR

Purple suit, Yellow boots, Brainiac symbol, Belt,

#brainiac 5 #brainy #querl dox #supergirl #supergirl season 5 #thanks for the question #i'm weirdly passionate about the belt #just i want him in colours #like so badly #let him shine #jesse could pull it off #let him wear purple again cowards #i just #want it so bad #but i think white would be different as a fetcher colour for brainy #its mainly been black over the years #minus the coat #but i think it would work well with the blue make up #and it would be a new direction

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thecomedybureau · 4 years

Text

The 100 Best Things in Comedy We Were Witness to In No Particular Order of 2019

OK, 2019′s officially over and we’ve wrangled our 100 truly favorite things in and around comedy (and it really spans all of comedy) that are not ranked whatsoever. It’s just like the title says and, it’s, as it is every year, quite long, so we won’t waste any more time with this intro.

Oh, in case you forgot and/or curious and/or need a quick refresher, here’s our 2018 list.

1. Rory Scovel Live Without Fear-This documentary follows Rory Scovel and his journey through six nights of completely improvised hour sets. In a single word, it’s inspiring. You see the way Scovel truly connects the audience and keeps it that way through his indelible charm and endless curiosity. The near unbelievable story of the Relapse Theater in Atlanta is also beautifully threaded in the doc as well. The clips of the improvised performances capture the magic that stand-up comedy can be that’s absent from the majority of comedy specials. You should be required to see this whenever and wherever it comes if you have any level of interest in comedy at all.

2. Naomi Ekperigin-From her own stand-up, to her podcast with husband Andy Beckerman, Couples Therapy, and her writing across TV, and everything else she does, Naomi is such an thoroughly commanding, yet delightful presence that we love seeing every time anywhere (and she should already be way bigger of a star already).

3. Cait Raft’s Presentation on “Bradley Cooper’s a Star Is Born Takes Place in an Alternate Reality Where 9/11 Never Happened”-Witnessing the imagination of Cait Raft up close was a privilege for us. This amazing dissection of the zeitgeist left us in stitches and with our mouth agape for how thoroughly it proved its point.

4. Corporate Season 2-The second season of the ultra dark workplace comedy delivered once again on its hysterical nihilistic satire that’s so prescient, yet still so unbelievably funny.

5. Mom-Prov Presents Family Therapy-Improviser Izzy Roland was daring enough to have her mom and her grandmother, both of whom are also in showbiz, to join her on stage for one of the most madcap, fourth wall-breaking, entertaining improv shows we’ve seen all throughout 2019.

6. Jena Friedman-So, this year, Jena delivered yet again with her subtle delivery and calm demeanor that hides her absolutely killer jokes. The follow-up to her Adult Swim special, Soft Focus, upped the ante with an interview of a gun-toting John McAffee and her brilliant Conan set about everyone’s true crime obsession.

7. Brendon Walsh’s Afternoon Delight-This last year, Brendon Walsh let everyone know that he was and still is one of the best at pulling prank calls, which is so much harder now than it was even ten years ago. This live show actually has Brendon place live prank calls in between stand-ups and the ride you go on is absolutely thrilling.

8. Jacqueline Novak’s Get on Your Knees-Novak’s solo show has more than earned its spot as an Off-Broadway show with bringing such an exquisite, almost never before seen comedic sensibility to the topic of blow jobs.

9. #F*ckF*ckJerry-Props to Vulture Senior Editor Megh Wright for sparking the fire to take out the egregious social media accounts of F*ck Jerry that just lifted jokes from comedians all across the Internet without pay or attribution.

10. Lorelei Ramirez-We’ve known distantly about Lorelei Ramirez for so many years, but seeing them up close was a breathtaking experience that had us laughing so hard. Their artistry in comedy that gracefully borders on performance art and even horror is absolutely inspiring.

11. Aaron Urist-Denver’s Aaron Urist is such a killer joke writer and joke teller and has been for years. We just were reminded about that with his burning bush joke during his latest LA trip.

12. Booksmart-Olivia Wilde’s directorial debut was not only a reinvigorated take on movies that specifically hone in on the end of high school, but also had a sincerely hopeful vision of the future generation. We hope that Booksmart finds its way to the top of the coming-of-age comedy films pantheon.

13. Rachel Mac on Lights Out-One of the highlights of Lights Out with David Spade is how unfiltered and raunchy they let comics get during their sets on the show. Rachel Mac took that amount of comedic license and thrived in getting into the nitty gritty about her last teaching job.

14. What We Do In The Shadows-The FX TV adaptation of the seminal Taika Waititi and Jemaine Clement film in 2014 exceedingly succeeds in nailing the comedy of minutia in the world of the undead that also happens to be in a (somewhat) grounded reality.

15. PEN15-Maya Erskine and Anna Konkle’s vision of 2000 and their performances as teens were so spot on that PEN15 would deserve acclaim just for that. However, the heart of this show made its humor stand out in an ever crowded field of coming-of-age comedy.

16. Tiffany Haddish’s Black Mitzvah-A lot has happened for Tiffany Haddish since her last special (she’s a legit A-list celebrity now), but it’s clear that she is still her unapologetically positively, life loving self. This special is evidence of that, especially with her bit about her New Year’s show that she got undeserved flack for.

17. Straw Men-Lindsay Adams, Danny Palumbo, and Sam Wiles (and producer Kimmie Lucas) put on what is our favorite imagining of a comedic debate that we’ve seen thus far. The encouragement to make the most ridiculous, baseless arguments and being transparent about the whole thing is a golden goose of comedy.

18. The ending of Gloria Bell-Well, we can’t very well give away the ending to this English language dramedy remake from Sebastián Lelio that has Julianne Moore shine as bright as she has ever shone before, but just know that we stood out of our seats, applauding what she did to John Turturro right at the end.

19. I Think You Should Leave-Tim Robinson’s unflinchingly absurd sketch series unequivocally has many of the best sketches of 2019. The hot dog costume and Mexican restaurant sketches will have us busting up through, very likely, the next decade.

20. Les Miz and Friends-Bonkers (and we mean that in the best way possible) doesn’t begin to describe how wild this meta and great this puppet and human hybrid take on the theater institution of Les Miserables. The sheer cleverness on every level is awe-inspiring.

21. Dave Ross’ The Only Man Who Has Ever Had Sex-Ross has been a longtime favorite of ours for the contrasting bounciness and darkness of his comedy. His debut album captures this dichotomy perfectly.

22. Nikki Glaser: Bangin’-Nikki Glaser’s first Netflix hour special started off with a bang, pun intended. Her frank, but heartfelt exploration of all facets of sex is so damn funny that Glaser gets away with being as blue as she wants.

23. Super Dating Simulator-This live, interactive version of various Japanese video game dating simulators is one of the more innovative and surprisingly charming things we saw this year. Creator Sam Weller did a bang-up job not only making a video game work as a stage show, but doing so with a very off-beat sub-genre of video games

24. Emmy Blotnick’s Party Nights-Blotnick’s latest album shows Emmy at the peak of her delightful observational powers. The concept of a “Self-Potato” is just priceless.

25. Tammercise!-Folks in comedy are getting all sorts of clever these days to redefine traditional formats and disciplines and push the art form forward. Madeline Wager does this exquisitely with a solo show of a woman unraveling that doubles as legit aerobics class.

26. The Cherry Orchard w/Chad Damiani and Jet Eveleth-Damiani and Eveleth explore a new angle on postmodern clowning by supposedly doing a Chekov play going through dress rehearsal without any of the players knowing what they’re supposed to do. The back and forth between the live direction and the tomfoolery on stage is truly hysterical.

27. Bake Stuff with Lindsay LIVE-It’s about time for a comedic cooking show that actually does teach you a wonderful recipe and also explores and resolves(?) childhood trauma. Lindsay Adams’ Bake Stuff with Lindsay, which we indeed saw live, accomplishes all of that and inspires all those watching to cook through their feelings.

28. Shalewa Sharpe’s So, You Just Out Here?-Shalewa imbues homespun wisdom with marvelously colorful descriptions all throughout this very satisfying album.

29. The Amazing Johnathan Documentary from Ben Berman-The Amazing Johnathan’s life story is pretty captivating as is. The story about Ben Berman trying to tell his story amidst several other people trying to tell his story is absolutely engrossing and is somehow all true.

30. Julio Torres’ HBO special “My Favorite Shapes”-Torres’ special is simultaneously one of the most daring and silly hour specials in recent memory and his elevation of prop comedy to a whole new level is to be commended.

31. The Underculture with James Adomian-James Adomian has been one of comedy podcasts’ most in-demand and bright shining stars. It comes as no surprise that his own podcast that revs up all his characters has some of the best, most dynamic, absurdist interviews in political and pop culture satire.

32. Daniel Van Kirk’s Thanks Diane/Together Tour-Van Kirk’s first, complete hour that he both toured with and released as an album is so impressive with how deftly Dan manages a balance of sincerity and mischief from wire-to-wire.

33. Conan in Greenland-Conan marvelously turns his travel specials series Conan Without Borders on its head by attempting to buy Greenland based off of Trump’s stupid tweets.

34. Mary Beth Barone’s Drag His Ass: A F*ckboy Treatment Program-Mary Beth Barone’s live show exploration into her dating life is illuminating and hilarious throughout, but the actual interview that she does live with a “f*ckboy” is transcendent.

35. Obvious Plant’s Carnival of Toys-Jeff Wysaski AKA Obvious Plant really outdid himself this year in his quest to permeate everyday reality with a satirical twist. He not only made a whole line of custom toy figures that satirize pop culture on so many levels, but opened up a whole pop-up museum for several days to exhibit them in all of their bizarre glory.

36. Sports Without Equipment with Coach Keith Alejo-This Dress Up Gang sketch is one of those ideas that are simple, yet so out-of-left-field. Literally, they take sports without equipment to its funniest conclusion.

37. #Squatmelt-Howard Kremer’s desire to keep the spirit of The Meltdown with Jonah and Kumail alive has evolved into its own very special thing in the form of a DIY stand-up comedy show/walking tour that periodically migrates around LA.

38. Catch-22-Trying to adapt such a monumental literary work like Catch-22 is almost a fool’s errand, but writers Luke Davies and David Michôd do a smash-up job for not only bringing Heller’s immortal words to life, but also sticking the landing for all the darkly absurdly comical moments that run rampant throughout the story.

39. Get Rich Nick-Even if they didn’t have the fantastic banter, riffs, and asides from the very funny duo of Nick Turner and Nick Vatterott, this podcast that explores how to make money real quick is one of the best new podcasts of the whole year. Fortunately, Nick and Nick’s humor runs rampant through every episode and makes Get Rich Nick engrossing and makes you actually laugh out loud.

40. MK Paulsen-The comedy of MK Paulsen can be faster than a bullet, but as satisfyingly silly as a gun that shoots a flag with the word ‘bang’ on it. Every time we see him do stand-up, it’s a fun, rollicking ride that’s equal parts offbeat whimsy, clever wordplay, and an agile sense of timing and play.

41. Father Figurine by Matt Kazman-The dour faces of the family in this dark comedy short play to the highest comedic effect perfectly. A dead patriarch and an apathetic family make for some of the best dry humor in 2019.

42. Funk Shuffle-Danny Cymbal, Dennis Curlett, and Michael Gardner comprise Funk Shuffle, an improv group that manages fly freer and more untethered than almost any other improv group that we’ve ever seen. They make their defiance and experimentation with improv forms really work due to the trio’s unflinchingly playful spirit.

43. Gary Gulman’s The Great Depresh-Gulman, as one of comedy’s premier craftsman, of course, delivers an hour of stellar comedy with this special. He also manages, this time around, to destigmatize depression and, in general, be hopeful. That particular comedy trifecta is such an impressive feat that very few can accomplish.

44. Greener Grass-The scope and ambition of Jocelyn DeBoer and Dawn Luebbe’s directorial debut hints at some really special things to come from them in the future. Their absolutely demented, pastel drenched absurdist vision was a shocking delight through and through.

45. Jenny Slate’s Stage Fright-Slate’s best comedic strength is her unshakeable vulnerability. This hour special lets Jenny present that trait as intimately as she has ever presented it and gives an in-depth look as to where that hilarious vulnerability comes from.

46. Heather Anne Campbell swatting a baby out of someone’s hands in an improv scene-At this point, it should come as no surprise that Heather Anne Campbell is one of our absolute all-time favorite people in comedy and thus, she kind of just ends up making it on this list annually on her own someway, somehow. This year, during a performance of her improv group, Heather and Company, we laughed as hard as we’ve ever laughed at Drew DiFonzo Marks initiating a scene by rocking a baby back and forth and then, Heather insanely swatted it out of his hands and stomped on it. It sounds ludicrous, but trust that Heather made that so unbelievably funny.

47. Adam Cayton-Holland’s Happy Place-Cayton-Holland’s live solo show based on his critically acclaimed book of the same name pulls off oscillating between cleverly wrought and self-aware comedy and some of the most heartbreaking stories you’ll ever hear about his late sister. Holland’s focus and calm make it all miraculously blend together.

48. The Authorized Unauthorized My Favorite Murder Musical-In the world of unauthorized musicals about things that you wouldn’t really think about being adapted into unauthorized musicals (it’s a bigger ever-burgeoning world every month it seems), the staged reading of this My Favorite Murder-inspired musical that we saw was phenomenal. The full stage production to come in 2020 will undoubtedly be something really great.

49. Pedro Gonzalez-Pedro’s jokes are so expertly written and crafted that you forget that he immigrated to America as a teenager from Colombia and learned English as a second language.

50. Garry Starr Performs Everything-UK comedian Garry Starr’s solo show is a genius send-up and celebration of theater as a whole. The physicality and the sheer madness of the whole show are so thoroughly hysterical.

51. Kira Soltanovich-We just want to take a moment to appreciate the agility of the comedy of Kira Soltanovich. Not only does Kira play any room or any show as far as we’ve seen, but her drive is just unstoppable (see ep. of The Honey Dew).

52. Mike Birbiglia’s The New One-Though it seems almost too routine that Birbiglia comes out with a new hour special that garners tons of acclaim for its ornate and complex and, ultimately, very satisfying tapestry of stories, Birbiglia delivers exactly once again with one such solo show/special on fatherhood.

53. Michelle Buteau-We saw Michelle headline just a few months ago at Dynasty Typewriter and were reminded of just how good Buteau is. She combines being heartfelt, having a fun bit of attitude, and an absolute command of the stage in such a beautiful way.

54. Gareth Reynolds’ Riddled with Disease-Many folks know how great Gareth is from his madcap riffing on The Dollop, but Reynolds shows he is fantastic with a sharp, hilarious, yet still fast-and-loose-feeling hour.

55. Sara Schaefer’s LIVE LAUGH LOVE-Sara, above most folks working in comedy today, goes to great lengths to be considerate, inclusive, and vulnerable in her comedy and it’s so, so wonderful because of that. This album is yet another great example of that mix.

56. Sean Patton’s Scuttlebutt-Sean Patton’s latest album is a fantastic note to any and all that Sean is, hands down, one of the best comedians ever to spin a yarn (and also share some damn fine true stories) and deserves way more accolade and attention for that now and going forward.

57. Matt Rogers’ Have You Heard of Christmas?-Rogers had quite a 2019 in putting culture on notice, but his queer and subversive holiday musical extravaganza might be one of the best pieces of holiday themed comedy of all time.

58. The Chris Gethard Show with Robby Hoffman-Not only does Robby Hoffman keep the punk rock, conventions-be-damned spirit of TCGS alive, but she makes it so much her own and lets her hilarious, domineering persona transform the show into another very special, unique round of controlled chaos.

59. The taping of Eddie Pepitone’s latest special-Eddie’s sound and fury and his irreverent stream-of-consciousness-seeming comedy were flawless in this latest hour. Everyone in attendance, including ourselves, were in stitches for the whole taping. Props to director Steven Feinartz for one of our favorite looks of a special that we saw last year (which you’ll all get to see soon in 2020).

60. Eric Dadourian’s closer on Nebraska 2-Dadourian is always all in for the sake of a real bold, imaginative bit and, as such, pulled off one of our favorite closers of the year on his very first full length album.

61. Jessica Kirson: Talking to Myself-Kirson’s hour special on Comedy Central really let Jessica cut loose and let her showcase her stand-up expertise. From the way that Kirson contorts her face to her deep well of voices/characters to razor-sharp quick wit to, of course, her signature asides to herself, Jessica really kills it in this hour.

62. Brody Stevens-Long live the “jock doing performance art” comedy (one of our favorite descriptions of Brody’s comedy by his dear friend Zach Galifianakis) and may he rest in peace. Yeeeees! Enjoy It!

63. Byron Bowers on Colbert-Byron Bowers and his clever, yet sincere, dark, vulnerable comedy put up one of our favorite late night sets this year. From the opening to his frank jokes about his dad make us think that it’s just a little crazy that this is his network TV debut.

64. Desus and Mero on Showtime-With the upgrade of being on Showtime, Desus Nice and The Kid Mero are having the most fun in late night with the freshest voices and format (and they’re able to pull that off with only being twice a week).

65. Fleabag Season 2-creator and star Phoebe Waller-Bridge assuredly has more masterpieces ahead of her, but managing to top herself from one masterpiece season of dark romantic dramedy with another one is something that deserves all the accolades and awards that it has gotten.

66. Kenny DeForest on Corden-Kenny dismantles toxic masculinity so incisively through the whole set that he most certainly earns all the applause breaks he gets the whole way through.

67. Josh Gondelman’s Dancing on a Weeknight-Gondelman is often thought of as one of the best, sweetest people in comedy. This latest album, for all of its being clever and genuine, is proof that he indeed really is that sweet and funny.

68. The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel Season 3-The perennial prestige comedy from Amy Sherman-Palladino earns its keep by having some of the best writing (it’s almost impossible to write jokes that are contextualized for the 50s/60s and make them actually funny for 2019 audiences) and also being one of the most gorgeous looking shows in all of television.

69. Nick Ciarelli and Brad Evans-Whether it be pulling pranks on Twitter, their plethora of hysterical sketches doing an impression of Jack FM on shows around town, or their monthly live sketch character showcase Atlantic City, Nick and Brad are a damn fine comedy duo and have been for quite some time.

70. Caitlin Gill’s Major-It’s quite the magic trick to make an hour of comedy that’s entirely clean and have it being clean not be a thought that you’re thinking about at all when listening or watching it. Caitlin Gill spectacularly does just that with this album as Gill can make all of her earnest rants, imagery, and observations work in any way that she needs to.

71. 97.9 The Rat Race-Ben Roy’s satirical reimagining of a morning radio “zoo crew” is so spot on, then gets real twisted to make this one of the most surprising and rewarding podcasts of 2019.

72. Mike Lane’s Picture Frames-This short film from Lane heightens the idea of remembering those you love after they’ve left this mortal coil to such a ridiculous level every step of the way (and is more and more enjoyably unpredictable the further it goes).

73. Paige Weldon on Corden-Paige’s upbeat self-deprecation is just hard to resist and it makes the best impression in this late night set on The Late Late Show with James Corden.

74. The Righteous Gemstones-Danny McBride’s latest HBO series that darkly and comically dissects the South might be his most ambitious yet, but, of course, he nails it. The constant suspense perpetuated by hysterically tragic characters in the world of televangelists is profound.

75. My Friend Chuck-Comedic erotica author Chuck Tingle (one of the absolutely most unique voices and cadences we’ve heard in awhile) and friend McKenzie Goodwin celebrate their friendship every week for a podcast that’s preposterously funny and, also, more heartwarming than almost anything we’ve heard or seen.

76. Joey Clift’s Telling People You’re Native American When You’re Not Native Is a Lot Like Telling a Bear You’re a Bear When You’re Not a Bear-Clift makes such biting, pun intended, commentary with this short film/PSA that is also so playful that the message about Native identity will undoubtedly stick with you.

77. Megan Gailey’s My Dad Paid For This-Gailey strikes a wonderful balance of charm and attitude and fervent desire to burn down the patriarchy. Such a mix accents her very delightful observations about herself and the world around her in this marvelous debut album.

78. Robin Higgins as Baby Yoda at Tournament of Nerds-Higgins might have made one of the best, first attempts at Baby Yoda cosplay. She also, for what’s supposed to be a roast-style competition between fictional/pop culture characters, perfectly imagined how Baby Yoda would roast someone while maintaining Baby Yoda’s sweetness that has captured the hearts and minds of the Internet.

79. The Man Who Killed Don Quixote-Terry Gilliam went through hell, did a few laps, and came back over several years to get this meta-quixotic tale about reimagining the legendary novel Don Quixote made. The finished film, for us, was worth the wait.

80. Jo Firestone on The Tonight Show-Jo’s sense of play is so pure and present that it’s kind of irresistible. Combined with a perfect amount of self-deprecation, Jo really delivered a terrific set we’ll probably never get tired of.

81. Paul Rudd continues his time honored tradition of playing that one clip of Mac & Me on Conan-Rudd evolves the arc of this long running bit on Conan where, instead of playing a clip of what he’s on Conan to promote, he plays the same exact clip of the universally panned alien comedy Mac & Me. We all know what’s coming and yet, without the benefit of surprise, Rudd’s annoyance of Conan still keeps on being so damn funny.

82. Billy on the Street featuring Reese and Mariah-This year, we were lucky enough to get two instantly classic episodes of Billy on the Street with Reese Witherspoon and Mariah Carey that gave us our fix for our obsession with Billy Eichner yelling at strangers on the streets of NYC.

83. The Dollop England & UK-As Dave Anthony and Gareth Reynolds embarked on an entire England & UK tour of The Dollop, they thought it prudent to do a mini-series specific to Great Britain and did a smashing job making fun of British history. The Cyril the Swan episode is particularly brilliant.

84. Lost Moon Radio-The live musical sketch comedy theater troupe (Lost Moon Radio truly lives up to such a description) marked their 10th anniversary and put on an absolutely fantastic “Summer Block Party” this year that both showed that they still got their ingenious musical sketch comedy chops.

85. Nate Bargatze’s The Tennessee Kid-The calm with which Bargatze pervades all of his comedy is part of what makes it beloved by nearly any and all that see or hear Bargatze’s stand-up. That’s such the case now that Nate gives updates to stories from previous specials on this latest hour.

86. Beth Stelling on Kimmel-Every detail of this set on Jimmy Kimmel Live is pretty stellar. That includes Beth, in general, for her warm demeanor, smile, and cleverness, the Chippendale’s story, Beth’s mom being there in the crowd, and, of course, the surprise guest at the end.

87. Liz Climo’s Please Don’t Eat Me-This illustrated book is just the latest in a long line of uber-adorable and genuinely-funny-for-all-ages books from Climo. Liz seems to have quite the knack for making unlikely animal friendship jokes.

88. John Hodgman’s Medallion Status-Hodgman’s journey through the various statuses of airline privilege/celebrity is a superb serving of existential humor, done up with Hodgman’s painstaking attention to the exactly right details.

89. Jane Curtin’s 2019 New Year’s Resolution “My New Year’s Resolution Is To Make Sure The Republican Party Dies”-Said during a CNN interview with the SNL alum, this was the first thing to make us heartily laugh in 2019.

90. Alex Kavutskiy’s Squirrel-Kavutskiy’s short film dives into the concept of forgiveness unlike we’ve really seen and, as is Kavutskiy’s style, is so darkly spellbinding and so pointedly funny at the same time.

91. Astronomy Club: The Sketch Show-The long running comedy troupe known as Astronomy Club really ran with their chance to do a full-fledged sketch series on Netflix. They’re so endlessly clever on in their sketches, especially when it comes to the subjects of identity and oppression, and pack in so many jokes and sight gags that you’ll definitely want to watch it more than once so you don’t miss anything.

92. Dolemite Is My Name-Eddie Murphy seems poised to make a real return to comedy (and stand-up comedy in particular) and this marvelous biopic of comedian and blaxploitation star Rudy Ray Moore AKA Dolemite is the perfect way to start.

93. Anna Drezen on Corden-Drezen has such a perfect sense of farce and misdirection and puts on a beautiful display of those two things from start to finish in this set on The Late Late Show with James Corden.

94. BUTT’s Yoda themed dating app sketch-This sketch is so prescient of the resurgence of the world’s current (baby) Yoda obsession. Also, while this is so absurd with its deep dive into various Yoda fan art and cosplay, Joe McAdam and Chris Stephens’ take on dating apps is so sharply and deeply funny.

95. Mel Brooks Unwrapped-The never ending bit of attempting a documentary between Mel Brooks and the BBC’s Alan Yentob is yet another display of the true, unquestionable genius of Mel Brooks.

96. 50 First Stephs-The amazing, hysterical Steph Tolev kicked off 2019 with a show where 50 or so of her compatriots and contemporaries did various impressions and characterizations of her. Part roast, part loving tribute, part amazing showcase of the depth of creativity in LA comedy, Tolev’s night for herself was something really special.

97. The Bongo Hour with Sandy Honig and Peter Smith-Honig and Smith brought their wild variety show that featured such wonderful bits, characters, drag, and burlesque to LA and showed, truly, how much better life is when you’re fluid about nearly everything.

98. How Did This Get Played?-Hosts Nick Wiger and Heather Anne Campbell and their take on the “worst and weirdest” video games do their namesake, the beloved How Did This Get Made?, proud. Even if you’re not a gamer, the way they dissect the most bizarre video games ever made along with Heather and Nick’s chemistry is very, very enjoyable.

99. Joe Pera Talks With You Season 2-This second season of Joe Pera’s unique talk-to-the-viewer series is so calming that the comedic twists sneak up in the most delightful way possible. There is a certain beauty to Pera’s show that makes us want to have Joe Pera Talks With You playing on a loop in a contemporary art museum.

100. John Mulaney & The Sack Lunch Bunch-John Mulaney does “it”, yet again. “It” being releasing another hour of comedic brilliance that’s so markedly different than whatever he did before, yet, somehow still stamped with an indelible mark of Mulaney’s comedy of obtuse hyper-specificity.

#top 100 #100 best #best of 2019 #2019 comedy #best sketch #best stand up #best improv #best comedy specials

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