#Western wear vests

[kayvsdoodles]

tragically i don't have time to do full art for the yeehaw challenge so instead. doodles 🤠

day 1: ✨gather the posse ✨

#is this comics? is this mcu? FALSE it is a secret THIRD thing: a western #also uhhhhh cowboys. are frequently secretly fond of each other. tony #yeehawgust #CLINT GETS A MOUSTACHE BC I AM UNKIND TO HIM <3 #also tony & steve definitely have matching red bandanas however he needed the blue somewhere and i didnt want 2 colour the vest #so here we are #also in the secret western avengers that lives in my head. thor is still a norse god hes just also wearing a poncho. 4 the bit

[localvoidcat]

i wish i wasnt artblocked i want to draw the superhero au cast SO BAD

#aougugugh..... #sarah adam and jonah all have logos on their hoodies i think they just have more variation in their outfits #cesar's a sweater vest with a jacket over it kinda guy. i think mark still wears the hoodies #hmmm... ruths costume. its very western inspired #her color scheme is warm hues of burnt orange and brown and gold and all that #shes got a cowboy hat. of course she does. i love her #tmc superhero au

[glennmillerorchestra]

I GOT CALLED ALT THIS MORNING WHILE I WAS DRESSED LIKE DEBBIE HARRY WHAT IF I EXPLODED THINGS WITH MY MIND

#i am wearing black croppedish tank top white 70s leather vest 60s wrangler cutoffs knee high western style black boots 80s studded belt #it’s HOT and i want to look like a rocker and yet some girl tells her friend when i walk into redacted volunteer job ‘this attracts all the #alt people’ 🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬 #wait i mean it’s hot outside lmao

[leathercowboybikerpunk]

Leatherbearman in cowboy gear

#western wear #cowboy fantasy #cowboy gear #denim vest #hairy chest

[kingsandbastardz]

So for basically my whole life I'd grown up with and was resigned to accept that the chinese concept of formal/nice clothing of my and the previous generation has been western clothes. So at any awards ceremonies or performances, entertainers would show up mostly in western suits/dresses and maaaaaybe you'll spot the occasional cheongsam if they're going for a Wong Fei Hong vibe. Which, you know, kinda sucks if you have any concept of western cultural imperialism in asia.

So when the hanfu revivalist movement started, I was waiting to see when it would enter the mainstream -- my hope was for fashion designers to integrate traditional/dynastic elements into their work and make it common place enough that I can buy this shit online for ME. Because I WANT.

Though some of the designs can be a bit hit or miss, I am LOVING what various stars and entertainers are wearing out and about now.

Anyway - here's a collection of Xiao Shunyao's modern hanfu inspired/hybridized stage outfits from the last couple years. For his MLC performances, his stylists seem to be borrowing inspiration from his Di Feisheng and possibly other character costume silhouettes.

I'd been seeing a few comments about how his outfits play with gender - and some of his outfits do! But I think the interesting thing to discuss is from which standard is he playing with gender? Because from a western perspective, the things he does with his western suit tops, belting on top of the jacket for a tightly cinched waist, and the addition of a trailing skirt = femme. But if you're talking from a hanfu-hybridized pov, that's just a modern take on hanfu and having any of those elements is not inherently femme and would often read masc to me.

So these things aren't necessarily gendered because they exist traditionally in chinese men's clothing or costume designs (ie video games, comics, historical fiction illustrations and film, etc, so therefore in the modern lexicon of masculine/acceptable for men):

presence or lack of a skirt

silky, velvety, gauzy or sparkly material choice, esp in formal or stage clothing

short or long length of skirt

embroidery

flowers/floral/bird designs

folding fans

certain styles of makeup

beading, gold, tassels, jewels

non-chunky jewelry

headbands

widely flowing silhouettes

What XSY's stylists are doing with some western clothing items are interesting. I'm convinced there have been one or two western jacket tops made of thinner material that they're folding over the front, and belting down instead of buttoning (which then matches with his other outfits that are designed specifically to do this). Then they're adding a skirt, cloak or bracer element to it.

The western portions often bring a military minimalist feel which they balance with a more gauzy material in the skirt or cloak portions.

Things I think are playing with gender:

row 1 - image 1: red di feisheng-inspired outfit

The lace-up girdle is there to match the bracers in both material and style. And it's positioned to be similar to the heavy belt that Di Feisheng wears. HOWEVER. That style of girdle/corset-like clothing item can't be divorced from the modern idea of sexy leather corsets. So imo, this waist piece on that outfit was a choice. Especially when paired with his allergic-to-collars-higher-than-his-sternum necklines. And if you take into context how masculine yet female coded his character is in the drama, the whole look evokes that.

row 2, image 1: black western suit with belt on top, hat, cloak, black boots and not-visible but also a black tassel fringe skirt

Hat and cloak moves the intention of the outfit from western toward a more Asian slant, because alone, it looks like a western black suit with western heeled boots, cinched waist with a lady's belt (seated photoshoot) and western style tassel skirt. The suit top consists of a vest and a shrug-like sleeve portion that appears masculine at first glance. But take the shrug and pair it with the tassel skirt (I can't find the red carpet photos but here is a better view of the skirt when seated), and I think you got a look that's both intentionally edging toward the femme in a western sense but also confusing matters by hiding within the parameters of both western and chinese traditional male styling.

row 2 - image 2 : white asymetrical western jacket styled in a front fold-over style, gauze skirt, trailing pearl embellishments

The more traditional leaning version of this is the white outfit in row 3 that he wears to the Hi6 Hello Saturday variety show -- the skirt portion on that outfit is one I'd consider non-gendered. Row 1, images 2 and 3 are examples of masculine/neutral uses of gauze that plays with flow of form but isn't inherently femme. This stage outfit is very western-appearing masculine suiting, until you hit the skirt which is giving me long ballerina tie-on skirt with the additional swan/mermaid pearl strings. Imo, another example of deliberately using traditional masculine styling but switching it up with the combination of material choice and make that is feminine.

row 2, image 3: black space military boots, black suiting, black -silver ombre sequin trailing skirt and white gauzy shawl with black floral design

The over all design is going for a masculine military-feel. (think this outfit for shen langhun) But instead of a thicker military cloak, it's replaced with a woman's gauze shawl and a skirt that trails behind him very much like the back of a woman's formal fish-tail gown when he moves around. If you take into context Wang Herun's outfit is a white-silver sequined dress cut in a way to also give a space-military-queen vibe, imo they both coordinated their outfits to balance out with both femme and masc qualities.

Thoughts? I'm curious what others think about this.

While I wait for the CNY photoshoot for XSY's red and black look, here's him with his stage collaborators with a nice range of skirt lengths, period influences and material choices. The woman in the center is the one with the most military-fighter design out of the bunch. The dudes are all in variations of formal-wear-with-good-kicking-boots (and lots of crotch space).

#xiao shunyao #mysterious lotus casebook cast #my royal ramblings #fashion #chinese fashion #gendered fashion in cultural context

[liveontelevision]

YeeHaw | Lucifer x Reader

FUCK IT WHY NOT

This is a short little thing based off of @bat-boness drawing, requested by @nayomi247 , that also inspired TWO OTHER COWBOY FICS by @nayomi247 and @heart-of-the-morningstar

This community is fucking hilarious and amazing. Check out their stuff next ✌️

CW - suggestive, not super smutty, just Lucifer bein a silly Lil guy.

---

"It's a date!" You struggled to hide your excitement after being asked to accompany the king of Hell on a little trip to the park. That's how he worded it, but you could tell by his fidgeting hands and inconsistent eye contact his true intentions were more romantic.

You were a sterotypical maiden type from western times, your southern drawl still slightly present even after death. You had been in Hell awhile, but the idea of redemption interested you enough to check out the Hazbin facilities. After staying at the hotel for a few months, you became pretty friendly with Lucifer. He left you a nervous wreck at first, his title much more intimidating than his physical appearance. So, it didn't take long for you to realize how much of a sweetheart he was. In contrast, the more time you spent with him, the more anxious he was becoming. God, he was cute.

Admittedly, you had a few encounters already, where things seemed to become heated without either of you really calling attention to it. Some drunken interactions lead to lips locking, and after that, he couldn't even meet your eyes without coming up with some poor joke or excuse to break the tension. The jokes weren't really that funny, but when he followed them with a little eyebrow wiggle and a toothy smirk, you couldn't prevent the smile hitting your face.

It was only a matter of time before he finally decided to make some kind of offical move, even if it was just a "walk in the park." You didn't realize how excited you were until you stood in your room struggling to decide on what to wear, overthinking every little detail. That didn't last long, you decided on a cropped turtle neck and suade vest, with some comfortable shorts, acknowledging the unusually warm day, even for Hell's standards. Appearing at your door as you swung it open, Lucifer startled you into stumbling backward. He may be a little nervous around you, but his instincts were fast, pulling you close by your waist with just one arm around you. You really weren't in danger of falling, but you didn't mind his efforts.

You took the chance to lean forward and press a quick peck onto his forehead before gently pulling out of his grip. "Why, thank you, your highness~," you said in a jokingly formal tone. Still speechless by the suddenly intimate interaction, you took his hand and led him towards the lobby. Only a few steps in, he finally snapped out of his fog. "Oh, no! Wait! This way, dear. Come with me." You turned around at his words as he took both your hands and led you backward into a portal that you didn't realize had materialized until just then.

Looking around the new location, you take in the beautiful park that surrounded the two of you. It was still stained with the dark ruby lights coming from the skies of Hell, but even with that, you could tell how lush the greenery was. Finally having the upper hand with you in a state of shock, Lucifer continued to lead you through the forested area. He let out a little tadaa - opening his arms to present a little field, littered with dandelions. A classic red gingham blanket was sprawled neatly across the grass, a little basket placed in the center. "Ahh, how romantic~ This is great, Luci." You sent a little smile to him, but your pure joy and the nickname you previously gave him while flirting with him when you were both intoxicated sent a little shiver up his spine. He offered his hand to you, helping you comfortably sit onto the blanket. The basket held an assortment of charcuterie, little sandwiches and delicate treats, and a bottle of wine that you could argue was too large for just two demons.

After some lovely conversations, and half a bottle of wine gone, you began going into detail about some more embarrassing topics. "I didn't have friends as a kid, honestly." You pulled your knees in towards your chest, taking a quick swig of your wine. " I spent all my time keeping up the stables and riding my horse, actually. and i used to dress all western - a little hat and handkerchief - I wore my boots everyday, too. God, I was such a dork." He quickly shook his head in response. "Absolutely not! That's adorable!" You choked on the current sip you were taking, simply surprised by the little compliment.

He awkwardly cleared his throat and quickly spoke to clear the silence. "B-Believe it or not, I've never actually ridden a horse." You let out a little scoff, almost in disbelief. "Aren't you like 10,000 years old?" The sin of pride took over almost immediately, Lucifer reacting with a subtle eye twitch. Gaging his reaction, you decided to have fun with it. " You wouldn't be able to handle it anyway. Old man." Your words were rude, but the smile on your face and the action of you leaning towards him made his cheeks flush. Also inching towards your face, he hovered just over your lips. "Oh, yeah? Challenged accepted." He spoke smoothly, snapping his fingers and cruelly pulling away too soon. A horse, or whatever demonic creation that can closely be considered a horse, appeared on the nearby pathway. Was he serious? With a little twirl, he somehow managed to change his clothing into a stereotypical western get up. Oh, he was plastered.

This was amazing. You stood up and quietly walked over to the creature, easily vaulting yourself over the saddle. You held out your hand, reaching for Lucifer. "Fine! Get up here, then. I'll show ya how it's done." Your confidence alone was enough to get him riled up. With a throaty chuckle, he ignored your hand and sat up behind you with just as much ease. "I'll stop whenever you want to, ya know, in case you can't handle it." You patronized him, wiggling your hips a bit to settle into the seat more. "Please, I can handle anything, darlin'." He wiggled his eyebrows at you, a familiar sight that made you smile before you turned to face forward. Your shorts had slid up to reveal the softest part of your thighs, and your back arched to give yourself a tighter grasp. He gulped at the view he had, pulling his newfound bandana that was tied around his neck to get any kind of air to hit his heated skin.

You began with a steady trot, actually using this opportunity to take in your surroundings. You wondered if he found this place or created it just for you. Gradually speeding up, you felt his arms snake around your waist. He pressed his chest to your back, holding his head up by placing his chin on your shoulder. "This all you got, darlin'? I thought you did this all the time. Where's the speed? The showmanship??" He teased, immitating you with an exaggerated southern drawl. You rolled your eyes, hitting your head against his as a little punishment. What a thespian.  "Fine! Better hold on tight, baby~" You teased him with another intimate pet name. His already flushed face somehow managed to turn even redder.

You snapped the reign, making the creature reel back on its back legs. The sudden shift forced him to place his hands firmly on your waist and pull your bottom flush to his groin. He let out a little pathetic noise under his breath as you set the speed to a brisk ride. The natural movements created an obvious friction to his member, his hands clawing into your hips that he was holding for stability at first. The loose fabric of your shorts were balled up in his fists as he struggled to keep himself sitting straight. His grip for stability turned into him attempting to keep you as close as possible. He rested his head back on your shoulder, his heavy panting hitting your shoulder blade. "Too much? You just gotta tell me to stop and i'll - " He let out a breathy moan towards your ear, some quiet words falling from his lips, " D-Don't.. don't stop..."

This went on for a few more minutes, your autopilot from the familiar hobby allowing you to truly enjoy Lucifer's little mewls. It felt like hours, it was barely five minutes, before you realized you were approaching the hotel. Considering you didn't know exactly where the little picnic date had started, you were confused by the familiar building. You slowed to a stop, turning back to face your mess of a cowboy. He panted heavily, his hands shaking, but still holding tightly onto your hips. He slowly blinked, finally meeting your eyes. "So? Enjoy the ride, darlin'?" You teased, returning his exaggerated western drawl he was teasing you with previously.

The demonic horse slowly faded into the ground, allowing the two of you to steadily come to a standing position. His head fell, his hands propping up his body by tightly holding his knees, still attempting to steady his breath. "T-That was cruel.. you knew.. hah - you knew what you were doing..!" His words fumbled out between breaths. You took a hold of his chin and lifted his head up to face you. "What do you mean? It was just a quick stroll, I thought you said you could handle anything, Luci." Your voice dripped with a condescending innonence as your lips stopped inches away from his. You finally closed the gap with a heavy kiss onto his lips once his breath seemed more relaxed. Immediately moving into his mouth with your tongue, gripping the hair on his neck and pressing your chest into his.

He melted into your touch, gripping onto your waist in a desperate attempt to keep himself standing. After pulling away, you took his hat and placed it on your own head. He snapped out of it, if anything, still a bit wobbly in the knees. "Now, let's get you out of this ridiculous get up. Hmm?" It took him a moment to process your words, but he stood straight and snapped his fingers almost immediately following your statement. "After you, sweetheart!" His excitement completely overtook his nerves, and he gestured into the portal, his bedroom clearly on the other side. You walked in, gesturing him in with your index finger and pulling the hat rim just above your half lidded eyes with your free hand. He let out a sultry chuckle, untying his bandana as he followed you in. Flinging the scarf off his neck, he shut the portal, leaving the poor accessory to fall onto the now silent fields below.

---

@bat-boness masterpiece of cowboy Luci

@nayomi247 sexy lil fic and @heart-of-the-morningstar steamy yummy fic

!Taglist!

( @vififofum @thornwolfy235 @tinywolfiegirl @chipper-chip @bat-boness @misfitgirlwrites @nayomi247 @lonelynmisunderstood )

#hazbin hotel #hazbin #lucifer hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fandom #lucifer hazbin #lucifer morningstar #lucifer magne #hazbin art #hazbin hotel art #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin smut #lucifer x you #lucifer morningstar x you #hazbin lucifer x reader #lucifer x reader smut #lucifer x reader #lucifer smut

[hurglewurm]

@excalibros i've been watching all of firefly/serenity and the ragtag team found family on a spaceship... that's food. i love space western. gave some of em earrings bc i do what i want

[id: an illustration of a five-character line up from merlin in the firefly universe: morgana, gwen, arthur, merlin, and gwaine. morgana is roughly based on river, wearing a green dress with a short leather vest and cowboy boots. gwen is taking kaylee's role, wearing a lavender top and grimy orange coveralls tied at the waist. arthur is wearing mal's outfit: red shirt, big boots, and suspenders, with several belts. merlin is wearing a red scarf and blue shirt with a brown vest and fingerless gloves. gwaine is roughly dressed like jayne, in a grey shirt with brown camo pants, as well as shoulder holsters, thigh holsters, and two belts. end id.]

#bbc merlin #my art #firefly #firefly au #merlin firefly #merlin fanart #morgana pendragon #guinevere pendragon #arthur pendragon #merlin #gwaine #merthur #morgwen #merlin au

[sanctus-ingenium]

a pair of phocids gathering the seed pods of a medicinal plant in the vast freshwater sea. one stirs up the dark substrate with their tail, breaking up the mat of pods, and the other gathers them in a carrying bag

this scene takes place in the waters of the spire, the most densely populated settlement on siren. on the left is kemi-amv, a surgeon from the coastal communities of the eastern continent. they wear a woven stem vest which protects their skin from desiccation in the sun, because their job mostly takes place overwater. right is huar!a, a pelagic villager from the western continent, who like many pelagic people does not leave the water and doesn't need protection from the sun (aside from on their head, where they cultivate shielding plants)

phocids are humans, not aliens or any type of fantasy creature. check the linked post above for some more bg info

#i've fucked around with this for long enough [WIP was posted on ko-fi like a month ago] so here u go. guys who are seals #setting: siren

[pendwelling]

Venetiaan vs. Riester fashion🌷

(ft. model Yeseo and Cédric's imagination~)

Additional notes! :D

Venetiaan fashion:

Inspired by 16th-century Western aristocratic clothing (as confirmed by Sookym). Supporting that, both Losna and Werner have been shown wearing furs and robes!

Round cheongsam-like collars

Wide and flowy sleeves/arms/silhouette

Buttons are distinct from Riester's

Riester fashion:

19th?-century inspired

Suits, vests, button-ups! Neckties are in style since the collars permits it, unlike Venetiaan's high and round collars

Typically slim silhouettes for men (with the exception of cloaks and tailcoats)

(Honestly I just think of it as the typical RoFan webtoon visual fashion LMFAO)

This is just my interpretation haha, it's sorta what I gathered from the info given by Sookym in both in-novel and their notes! Distinct fashion/culture between Venetiaan and Riester has always been interesting to me, especially since Jesse (and Johann) have been noted to switch clothing styles once they become more concretely affiliated with the Riester Empire. (I tried giving Jesse more colourful/darker attires for his Venetiaan wardrobe like in my references pics, but his palette works best with whites/light colours so I couldn't bring myself to do it wkdhdkdksk)

When we first meet Johann, he is distinctly from Venetiaan, wearning its clothing and even greeting Jesse, the prince from said country, as "Your Highness" (which is what people from Riester call Cédric) rather than "prince-nim" (which is what they call Jesse, and what Jesse calls Cédric), displaying his nationality and the royal family whom he serves. He only begins dressing like a citizen of the Empire once he pledges his life and abilities to serve Empress Frédérique and become one of her people!

And as for Yeseo, he only begins to be dressed by his attendants in the attire of the Empire following his 'resurrection', and we can see more of this sort of shift when he goes from being addressed less as "prince-nim", and more as (마마—) "gungju-nim" (palace lord). There's also him eventually being referred to as the Moon of the Empire, instead of the Moon of the Holy Kingdom 🥹

I'm really fond of the webtoon because if there's one thing it does right, it is absolutely how it captures the lighthearted charm, atmosphere, and vibe of the original novel—though one thing im lowkey sad about is that the visual distinction between Venetiaan and Riester culture via clothing seems to have been lost :') It's a small detail on the surface, but it's actually a pretty significant and symbolic shift when Jesse gradually begins to be dressed less like "Prince Jesse Venetiaan", and more as "Marquis de Sérénité of Riester", the Palace Lord of Juliette :')) But of course, making a webtoon is hard work and I still immensely appreciate the artist's work nonetheless (btw I am eternally grateful for them giving Yeseo an ahoge/hair antenna, it is GENIUS chara design and so so so very cute, i love webtoon jesse so much hahajhsjh)

#when the third wheel strikes back #서브 남주가 파업하면 생기는 일 #twsb #섭남파업 #jesse venetiaan #jung yeseo #cédric riester #cedjess #cedyes #twsb fanart #my art #venetiaan holy kingdom culture #riester empire culture #i love how sookym portrays the cultural differences between the two countries

[neechees]

Hi! You don't have to answer this if you don't want to, that's totally fine! But you talking about Orville Peck's appropriation of indigenous culture with his fashion choices made me realize that I had never considered that there might be some aspects of "cowboy clothes" that white ppl shouldn't wear and that was super wrong of me. Again, you totally don't have to answer this, but I was just wondering what ways a white person could wear "cowboy clothes" in a manner that wasn't disrespectful? Or perhaps, should we not wear them at all? I can't afford T yet, but when I can finally get it I was planning on getting a cowboy outfit to embrace my trans mascness, but if that would be wrong of me I can scrap that plan no problem!

Ehhh again this is actually SUPER HARD to answer because almost everything about cowboy fashion & the cowboy "aesthetics" are lifted directly from Native American fashion and culture, either because a lot of cowboys back in the day were Native American themselves (including Afro-Natives & Indigenous Mexican vaqueros) or they were White & just kinda. stole the look from the Native cowboys due to a number of factors.

If you google "cowboy jewelry" the first thing that comes up is silverwork & belts & turquoise jewelry, which is taken from Navajo metalwork. Fringed leather clothing? Again, many Native tribes did that (& in some tribes the fringes could mean something, its not just for looks), most popularily with vests, jackets, and pants. A lot if the leather jackets were a result of Native women just sewing their clothes the same but in a European styled cut. Compare this "cowboy" look below to a Lakota war shirt: both have hair embellishments dangling from the arms.

Studded belts? Inspired by Cheyenne mirror belts, which often also have metal studs in them & you'll still see Native pow wow dancers have this in their regalia. Floral vests? A lot of the inspiration comes from Plains floral beadwork. Geometric patterns and blankets? Came from Southwest or Mexican Native American blankets & designs, ask any Navajo weaver & they'll tell you the same. Feathers in cowboy hats? Who else is famous for wearing feathers on their heads--? Native Americans. The look is still popular with older Native men.

Hell, if you visit this site that sells Western/cowboy fashion, you'll see a SHITTON of appropriation going on, taking Native imagery & designs, including one taken from Native American ledger art, all on White models.

The appropriation of Native culture and fashion in the cowboy/western sphere is ongoing, and the influence that Native fashion & culture has in Western/cowboy fashion as it is is absolutely MASSIVE. I once said in another post that the cowboy/western aesthetic essentially belongs to Native Americans, Latines (especially Mexicans), and Black people. And the history of White cowboys has been one largely of colonialism, racism, and displacement of Indigenous peoples, and the masculinity associated with White cowboys especially is also steeped into racism & American patriotism (think John Wayne. There's a reason he's an American icon who played cowboys & killing Indians in films.). I think the only thing that isn't influenced from either appropriation or colonization is like, jeans. Even the style of cowboy boots themselves and potentially chaps were influenced from vaqueros.

So if you're White I'm not sure that'd exactly be a good route to take because trying to seperate Indigenous elements from this fashion/look (nevermind the problematic history of White cowboys) is almost impossible. Obviously I can't force you to do anything, but honestly if I were you, I'd try a different direction, because otherwise I think you'll find trying to do this will be very hard.

#anonymous #history

[zareleonis]

"I must play the role that they want me to play": Trans coding and Furina de Fontaine

There are several facts that, when combined, make the character of Focalors/Furina is distinctly transgender in nature. Firstly, Focalors/Furina was born an Oceanid, a species of pure water spirits that is genderless and sexless.

In legends shared by humans regarding their origins, the first Oceanid is called “it/its.” The human author recounting this story says humans have used “she” to Oceanids ever since, more as a matter of course than an expression of gender.

Oceanids are also sexless, as they do not reproduce through any sort of coupling and instead proliferate through abstract means that are little understood by humans. Focalors/Furina, after seeing the lives humans led on land, eventually longed to be human herself. The desire to transform from Oceanid to human is already a solid metaphor for transness in and of itself, but is even more so given that Focalors/Furina as an Oceanid starts as a creature that is genderless and sexless.

The trans coding of Focalors/Furina’s dream to be human only becomes more profound once they become a god and are forced to split themself into two i halves in a bid to save Fontaine. The divine half has to give up her humanity forever, yet continues to long for the humanity she once had down to her very last breath.

The human half, Furina, meanwhile has to hide her humanity and true self for centuries. Forced back in the metaphorical closet in a way that is acutely familiar to any queer person who’s been closeted.

Going beyond the lore that Focalors/Furina was born genderless and sexless and the storyline which serves as a broader metaphor for transness, Furina’s design is distinctly androgynous, so much so that her Japanese voice actor, Minase Inori, shared that when she first saw Furina, she couldn’t tell if the character was meant to be a boy or a girl and found the ambiguity captivating.

Notably the Japanese dub leans into the androgyny angle, both through Minase’s performance and Furina’s use of the personal pronoun “boku.” As a pronoun typically used by young men and boys, when used by a female character can emphasize their eccentricity and gender non-conformity, both key traits of Furina.

Returning to Furina’s design, one of the key design philosophies for her character is contradicting elements to emphasize the contradictory facets of her personality, as explained by Vivi, one of Genshin Impact's Character Concept Artists, in the La Vaguelette behind the scenes video.

One such contradicting element is the mixture of both men’s and women’s clothing that she wears. The lower half/back of her garment features a morning dress with a modified western women’s petticoat-style tail, whereas the upper half is a men’s waistcoat and vest.

Furina’s vest has its buttons on the right, as traditionally found on men’s clothing. This is in contrast with other Fontainian characters such as Wriothesley and Clorinde, whose buttons are placed in accordance with the traditional style for clothing made for their gender.

We see the same sense of contrast in her combat animations, where she does both a masculine style and feminine style bows when performing separate abilities.

Other elements such as Furina’s noticeably flat chest and a haircut which could belong to someone of any gender further evoke a sense of androgyny.

While I'm not trying to prove anything with this or convince anyone Furina is canonically trans beyond that their original species does not have gender in the human sense, I hope that more people can open their hearts to a trans reading of the character. What delights me most about Furina is that no matter the specific interpretation you take—the Oceanid who dreamed she could be a human girl, the human who pretended to be a goddess when really he was nothing of the sort, or someone who's neither or even both—her story and character design resonates deeply. :)

#furina #genshin impact #just my opinions again not trying to “prove” anything #please be nice and just don't interact if you don't like what i have to say

[ellas-journey]

From a thing to wear to an icon of culture 👘

There is this hidden detail in Muzan that when I noticed I could not help but smile. Remember how he said that the thing he hated the most was change? Well coming from someone that had to live in 5 different eras is kinda funny, and it's even funny when you realize that he ended up adopting the Western fashion pretty fast. But that's the twist, if you look at Muzan's vest you come to realize that it's the exact same pattern as the kimono he used to wear. The best part? That was a thing that actually happened in history.

Wanting or not, the clothing that the people used to wear represents the history they lived through. "To look seriously at art objects of the everyday, such as clothes - their discourse and practices, their meaning-bearing forms and their codes of internal and external interpretations - in an essential, and often neglected, component of any study of modern aesthetics." - Slade, 2009 Yofuku [Western Clothing] is a type of clothing that is now common all over Japan, but during a lot of time, it was a type of clothes that only selected few grew up with. The 1st contacts with these types of clothing [even if extremely different from what we now call western clothing] was in the 16th century when the Portuguese arrived in Tanegashima. With them came not only different shapes but also different fabrics. But the “true” introduction to western fashion would only happen with Commodore Matthew Perry, catharsis to the Meiji restoration, where Emperor Meiji would start to dress in a typical western military outfit, and soon after the empress would start to aper in the typical victorian dresses. In the Edo period clothing visually distinguished the social classes. "Certain articles of clothing visibly differentiated people of diverse social classes, and simultaneously distinguished an individual within a specific group. The materials, motifs and construction of military campaign coats, for example, marked their wearers as men belonging to the military class." - Milhaupt, 2014; Samurai ranked on the top, followed by farmers, artisans, and merchants on the bottom. What happen was that most of the times the samurai where poor while the merchants lived in economic success. But samurai had the privilege of using certain types of fabrics and patters, even tho most of the times they could not afford them, and so, the merchants would start to adapt the fabrics and patters they were allowed to were and would end up becoming the patrons of arts and fashion. The trends of fashion would later be documented in ukiyo-e, and not only in the work of art sense, but also in pattern books were people could browse the prevailing styles. After the 1st contacts with the westerners, what would start to happen is that slowly but surely the Japanese would start to integrate the western ways of dressing into their lives. The Japanese started to introduce some of its elements with the kimono, shoes, hats, gloves, glasses, umbrellas, etc. Then in the 19th century a full change would happen starting from the man in the highest classes to the man in the lowest classes. The emperor decided to cut his topknot in 1872 and started to dress in western clothing in official appearances, also changing some of the more cultural habits like eating meat and more wester kind of meals. In the official portraits he appears adorned with a French-style military uniform with ornaments in gold and ostrich feathers. Before this, the emperor was never a public figure, so when pictures of the Meiji Emperor became available, and he started to appear more publicly the nation would have their eyes on him and start to imitate him. Women would, for the longest time still dress in the now classic kimono, that would develop as a symbol of the old and traditional Japan. The idea of the western clothing being associated with a modernized Japan and the Kimono [that literally means “thing to wear”] to a traditional country came from the fact that the emperor would choose to wear western clothes in more formal, international events, and for religious national events would choose the traditional Japanese court dress. The western clothes will end up being a symbol of the modernization of Japan, and the Meiji government would use it as yet another tool of national control. For all the Japanese born after 1945 the western clothes became the norm. Most families would end up transforming their kimonos into western clothing pieces, and the patterns sold for kimonos would double for kimonos and western clothing.

But it is funny to notice how despite it all Muzan is the one being presented in western clothing and Ubuyashiki is the one in traditional clothes, always being the contradiction of the other, but also it can also be interpretated as the Ubuyashibi family being "trapped" in the past since in hundred years the corps never killed an upper moon, the history never changed. And Muzan in his ever-changing cycle of his life, in the changing of eras and changing of personas he decided to reuse the only thing he could: his clothes. And just like him, they would adapt through the times.

MILHAUPT, Terry Satsuki. 2014 - Kimono: A Modern History. London: Reaktion Books [Ebook]; SLADE, Toby. 2009 - Japanese Fashion: A cultural History. Oxford, Berg. [Ebook];

#demon slayer #history #demon slayer from history to fantasy #demonslayerfromhistorytofantasy #history research #japanese history #demon slayer history #kimetsu no yaiba #research #demon slayer muzan #muzan kibutsuji #ubuyashiki #kimono

[pseudepigraphon]

Image Description:  Pokémon Legends Arceus art in the style of aged, black and white photographs. The first ‘photo’ depicts Adaman and Irida standing in a western-style office, likely Laventon’s, side by side. Adaman is a tall scruffy man, with his wavy greying hair pulled back, a sapanpe on his brow, and a short beard. He wears a vest over a dark chijiri robe embroidered in white curl-and-geometric designs. Irida is a short woman, her chin-length hair held under a matanpushi, wearing a middle-tone kaparamip robe with swirling designs in white appliques. A tamasay necklace of pearls and beads is looped around her neck.

The second photo shows all of the wardens crowded together inside of a cise. Palina is a tall woman with short chin-length hair curling out from under a matanpushi; she wears a light-appliqued kaparamip robe and has a bead necklace and snow goggles hanging from her neck. She discreetly holds the hand of Iscan, who wears a vest over a dark ruunpe robe with blocky appliques. Mai smiles with her arms crossed; she has a dark chijiri robe layered over another. Sitting on the floor in front of Mai is Sabi -- who has on a dark robe and fur hat and gloves -- and Calaba -- who has beads around her neck and a light-colored attush robe. Next to Mai is Gaeric, who has chosen to go barechested, with his kaparamip wrapped around his waist by his sash. His hair is up in a pompadour, exposing his hoop earrings, and his beard is greying at either end of his chin; he smiles and puts his hands on his hips. Melli stands smiling with a hand laid over his chest; he has a very tall matanpushi but allows his hair to fall to his chest on either side framing his face; he wears a dark ruunpe robe with rectangular and thorny white appliques. Arezu smiles laxly from next to Melli, her hair curling from her matanpushi onto her cheeks. In front of her is Lian in his cowboy hat, his attush robe appliqued with dark thorny swirls, a strap reaching around his chest and a saranip pouch hanging from a shoulder. Resting a hand on Lian’s shoulders is Ingo, who wears a modern western-style dark coat, pants (which are tucked into white gaiters), pokéball  belt, and conductor’s hat over a pale kaparamip. He looks sullenly into the camera, his white muttonchops growing into a full beard. All the adult women have lip and hand tattoos. End ID.

from the archives of professor soham laventon (1831-1902)

#pokemon legends arceus #pokemon #adaman #irida #palina #iscan #mai #sabi #calaba #gaeric #melli #arezu #lian #ingo #i can fix her..... (the historical accuracy of the designs in pla) #edit: made some accuracy tweaks like 2 months after this was initially posted so if the post looks different thats why

[syoddeye]

14. Assign a fashion aesthetic to this character.

because i can't be Normal, here are 11 mini moodboards + blurbs lmao. thank you canva. some of the photos are low res, that's my b.

disclaimer: this is clearly for fun. i don't want to hear about how wrong i am lol.

Price: Maybe this is because the strong visuals from Ursa Major by @the-californicationist is rotting my brain (affectionate), but my favorite dude likes workwear and high quality clothing. I don't think he prioritizes fashion, but at the same time, he puts on Hard Pants whenever he leaves the house because you never know who he might meet! (You. At the store. Where he gets that pesky can of whatever off the top shelf for you.) Need to commission an artist to draw him as Tom Selleck.

Rudy: Inspired by Bayardo. Rudy likes moto style, worn-in/lived-in clothing, and cleans up real nice. I could see him gravitating more color and knit button downs/polo shirts. I didn't include much western/cowboy stuff, but I imagine Alejandro's aesthetic rubbing off on Rudy since they've known each other for decades.

Ghost: To no one's surprise, his favorite color is black. But, he wouldn't wear clothes that draw even more attention. He's already a big fella, I just don't see him trying to stand out on purpose. He favors darker neutrals, layers, regular cloth or paper face masks, and workwear. Pretty plain aesthetic. Just a Guy™.

Kate: "Sy, that's a lot of Gillian Anderson." AND? What about it? Anyway, I think younger!Kate saw If These Walls Could Talk 2 and emulated Amy's (Chloë Sevigny) style for a number of years. I think with her work and maturation of style, her style is more utilitarian/streamlined, but when she dresses up, ooh baby. Some of Maya Erskine's outfits in the new Mr. and Mrs. Smith show also scream Kate to me. Obviously we have a vest outfit here, because if there is one thing lesbians love, it's utility. /jk

Nik: Similar to Price in that he values clothes that can hold up under normal-to-heavy use. Every outfit does have to highlight a chain. My guy is probably sitting on a small mountain of money, too, but the clothes he picks for himself are unlabeled.

Ale: He's a smooth operator 🎶 No, but to me he's like Soap - Alejandro knows he's good-looking. He has the range and the confidence to pull off most anything. I think similar to Rudy, I imagine him leaning more towards moto aesthetics, with more cowboy/western vibes. Not afraid of color. Lest we forget, he owns a ranch, so throw in workwear, too. Tucked in shirts, belt buckles. Another minor point of inspo is Donald Glover from Mr. and Mrs. Smith.

Gaz: It's coincidence two photos contains glasses BUT I think in my dream world, Gaz dresses the way Elliot Knight's stylist dresses him. Which is to say wonderfully. Gaz tends toward neutrals, pieces that are easy to layer, and can fit into more than one look. He's probably somewhat up on fashion and style, not obsessed, but aware of what he looks good in. Not afraid to chat up a sales associate for help.

Soap: He knows he's nice to look at. He knows his arms are drool-worthy. The moment the weather's pleasant enough, he's sleeveless. I also know he probably dgaf about fashion but let's feed my delusions. Streetwear, athleisure - He's got to be able to move freely, feel comfortable, and show off his build.

Farah: Ignore the bags lol. If anything, she's carrying something crossbody and functional. Anyway, Farah's a leader and has been from too young of an age. I think this translates to how she carries herself and what she wears, yeah? I think she aligns with Soap+Gaz+Ale in the Can Wear Anything group. My soft as fuck HC is that Price gave her a few band shirts at some point in time.

Alex: Generally aware of what he looks good in. He relies on his more fashion inclined friends and loved ones to send him ideas or buy him clothes outright because he does not go out of his way to shop. He constantly wears that a single jacket he got One compliment on it six years ago. Like Ghost, he's Just a Guy™. A very handsome one.

Valeria: She's a business woman, right? 👀 Valeria's aesthetic is a mixture of all black everything/glam/utilitarian but make it fashion. In my deepest of dreams, her fashion style is more fluid, and she eats up everything she wears. Again, kind of falling into the idea that confidence makes any style possible on her.

character ask game questions here!

#i made these between meetings on mobile so let's be nice about formatting #sy asks #cod aesthetics #moodboards #john price #rodolfo rudy parra #rudy parra #simon ghost riley #kate laswell #kate laswell cod #cod nikolai #nikolai cod #alejandro vargas #kyle gaz garrick #john soap mactavish #farah karim #alex keller #valeria garza #femalefemur

[vogueman]

Nick Jonas photographed by Bartek Szmigulski for Man About Town Autumn/Winter 2022. Nick wears leather vest Western Costume Co. and leather pants Braydon Alexander

#Nick Jonas #fashion #aesthetic #menswear #style #black and white

[melancholic-hues]

the hectic way of things (take a break)

posted on AO3

fandom - honkai: star rail

rating - general audiences

warning - no warnings apply

category - f/m

pairings - boothill/robin ; robin & sunday ; boothill & robin ; boothill & robin

tags - written before version 2.2 ; alternate universe

word count - 7848 words

chapters - 1/?

-

She is just about done with her makeup, about to move onto her wig, when she hears her balcony door lock get picked. Then comes the distinctive sound of the door sliding open, and the clacking of heels against tiled floors.

“Boothill!” Robin shoots up and runs over as the cyborg opens his arms wide. She crashes into him, her landing against his metal chest softened by the vest he’s wearing, and he twirls her around, his cold, metal hand in her own soft, warm ones. “You came!” she beams, expression genuine and sincere.

“Wouldn’t miss a second of you for the world, darlin’,” he drawls, accent all western and sweet, leaning down to kiss her. “‘sides, I did promise I would come, didn’t I?”

“You did,” she smiles, giving him another peck on the lips. “Through my balcony.”

“Aye, cut me some slack. I at least picked the lock. If it were one of my targets, I would’ve blown the darn thing to pieces,” Boothill grins, his smile sharp and charming and all the reasons why she fell for him in the first place.

“You could’ve come through the door, you know?” she says, grabbing a light trench coat and leading him over to her vanity, where a blonde wig sat atop a bust. They’re going to an amusement park just to have fun, so she has to wear a disguise. Thankfully, she’s done this before with ease — get a disguise, she means. She hasn’t been to an amusement park in a while.

Boothill trots over, footsteps soft, leaning on the wall, next to her vanity. He says, “didn’t want your freak of a brother to stare at me. Climbin’ through windows are more my style.”

“He’s the one driving us there, so you might as well have given him a proper hello,” Robin hums a light and happy tune, carefully tucking her blue hair under the wig cap. “Don’t stare at me like this, I’m practically bald right now.”

“And I’d still love you all the same,” Boothill reassures, “with hair or no hair.”

Even though it’s meant as a simple and silly sentence, Robin blushes. “Thank you,” she mutters, carefully putting the blonde wig on. She hates using wig glue, and, since this is only for a short while, clips will suffice. While she is snapping the clips together, she looks over at Boothill’s appearance.

It’s not often you get to see a cyborg, especially one who is a Galaxy Ranger and, well, pretty, like Boothill. He looks the same: a worn, black leather jacket and similar-looking pants; a belt full of ammo, his revolver, and a coil of lasso; and, of course, a wide-brimmed cowboy hat.

“Ay, quit staring,” Boothill teases, throwing her a wink.

Robin giggles. “Alright, alright. Aren’t you going to do anything about that belt? Pretty sure you can’t bring that to the amusement park. Which, might I remind you, is in the public. Also, you’re notoriously well-known around here.” 

“Can’t help it if the people recognize this absolute perfection of a face and this machine of a body,” Boothill sighs, popping his hip out, all cold, metal plates. She agrees; his face is absolute perfection, and she would be lying if she said she doesn’t often think about the machine of a body that he has. “I’ll just swallow my gun and bullets.”

“We can keep your stuff in Sunday’s car. Most likely, he’s just going to sit around and work.” Work, work, work. That’s all there is, these days.

There was a time, far before, when her brother wasn’t so caught up in work and professionalism. When he was actually, you know, her brother. When he was just Sunday, not the leader of the Oak Family. Not the head of Penacony. They used to escape their lives all the time when they were younger: she, standing on a box and singing; he, sitting on the ground and being her first and most loyal fan. 

Now, they barely get twenty minutes of face-to-face time with each other a day.

Hopefully, this day trip to the amusement park can change that. Even for a day. She’s willing to give up her entire singing career for a good, solid week with her brother.

“…you alright?” Boothill asks slowly, leaning down to check on her, hands stuffed casually in his pockets. “Robin?”

Robin nods, smoothing out the fabric of her knee-length dress and shrugging on the coat to hide her wings. “I was thinking. Sunday wasn’t always this obsessed with work.” After pausing for a second, she continues, “I’m worried about him, Boothill. What if he’s overworking himself? I feel like he’s a ticking time bomb, just about to blow.” She stares at her reflection in the vanity mirror. The crease in her brows shouldn’t be there. She has to be happy.

“Your brother, ah,” Boothill sucks in air through his sharp teeth, “as much as we don’t like each other, and don’t tell him I said this, but he can handle this. He’s a tough one. Takes more than that to crack him.”

“But everyone has a limit.” Robin takes a deep breath, the tears retreating. She puts on a smile. Her reflection does the same. It’s a practiced expression, one too often used. “What if we take him along? Invite him to go on some rides with us? He’s probably already donning a disguise. Might as well put it to good use instead of wasting it, sitting at a table and creepily watching me.”

Boothill stares at her, incredulous in his target-shaped eyes. “Your brother? In an amusement park, actually going on the rides with us? I’m sorry princess, but the chances of that happenin’ ain’t somethin’ I’d bet my best revolver on.”

She rakes a hand through the wig, smoothing out its strands. “Maybe. I don’t know. I want him to stop working for more than an hour straight in a time when he isn’t sleeping.”

“Well, you sure as hell can try. For goodness sake, you’re his sister. He’ll listen to you more than any of us,” Boothill shrugs, the sunlight from the balcony behind glinting off the metal pieces of his jacket.

Robin looks down at her vanity, various cosmetics spread across the surface, and wrings her hands together. She looks away from Boothill for a moment, her shoulders tensed in worry.

Boothill strides over, his metal hands on Robin’s soft shoulders. She looks at both their reflections in the mirror and thinks, kind of wryly amused, of how different yet how compatible they are. She has never known a day of hard, arduous labor underneath a scorching sun, chasing an elusive target; Boothill has never had anyone to fret, to worry over him, almost to the point of overprotectiveness.

“Hey, now,” Boothill softly coaxes, mechanical voice husky yet calming, “you’re the Robin. You’re magnificent, darlin’. Now, you don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise, ‘cause you ain’t nothing less than wonderful. If you really set your mind to it, I’m sure your brother will understand and do whatever you want. Hell, maybe he’ll even give the head position to someone else if you ask hard enough. Got it?”

Robin’s shoulders drop. They lock eyes in the mirror reflection, and she gives him a genuine smile, her hands holding onto Boothill’s and her wings softly fluttering. There’s something about his words that, even though she’s heard them hundreds of times before from other people, makes her actually believe him. “Got it.”

“Great, now get out there and wow us all, sweetie,” Boothill urges, jutting his chin toward the door. He extends a hand toward Robin.

In moments like these, she finds it all the more lucky that Boothill is here. Underneath that cold, beautiful exterior is a soft, gentle person looking for a purpose. She’s glad he gave her a chance.

Robin takes his hand, and he leads her up, pulling her close. Robin lets out a gasp of surprise, one hand braced on where his collarbone would be and mouth an “o” as he spins her to the door. They stop in front of it, and Boothill bends into a low bow.

“After you,” he says, hat hiding most of his face from view.

Robin opens her door and walks through, Boothill following. “I’m sorry for dumping all of that on you. This is supposed to be a happy day. You didn’t even ask for it,” Robin mumbles, walking down the long hallway, toward the stairways. The expensive statues and paintings that they walk past only further remind her of her duty to be perfect and focus on Penacony and work first and foremost. It fills her with a heavy sense of guilt.

“‘s fine,” Boothill simply says. “You oughta have someone to confide in. No good keepin’ this all for yourself, you know?”

Robin looks at their intertwined hands. She nods.

“Wow. Look at those pretentious brats.” Boothill snickers at the portrait of a former head of the Oak Family. Back straight, wings unfurled and radiating pure power, expression powerful yet patronizing.

Now that she thinks about it… “you’re right,” she agrees. The subject does look quite stuffy and stuck-up. Probably never had enough friends. She laughs. “I’ve never seen it that way before.”

“Now you do.” Robin notes how Boothill’s sharp smile disappears when he looks over the railing of the stairs.

She peeks over the railing to see what caused it, and someone is standing there. 

Sunday.

He has an unpleasant look on his face, one of disgust and disdain. It’s directed at Boothill, right next to Robin and holding her hand, but she can’t help but feel it’s all toward her.

“Good morning, Robin,” Sunday says, eyes pinned on Boothill as they make their way down the stairs. Boothill’s heels clack on the marble, the sound ringing loud and clear, with each step. Sunday’s voice is cold.

“Good morning, brother.” She tries her best to remain upfront and cheerful. Sunday has changed out of his professional clothes, settling into a light blue hoodie and jeans. They still must be designer clothes, because can you imagine Sunday wearing cheap street clothes? But they’re, well, actually casual. She was so sure Sunday had no idea what the term ‘casual’ meant since all she saw him wear were suits. But she’s been proven wrong.

Sunday nods, acknowledging her greeting, but he hasn’t taken his eyes off Boothill, no, not even once. Boothill levels Sunday’s stare, his smile not at all friendly. Robin feels trapped between them, her gaze warrily going from Sunday to her partner. 

She watches Sunday take a deep breath, shoulders rising then falling, then his gaze softens as he finally looks at her. “Well, Robin, are you ready to go? I see you’ve got quite the disguise already.”

Robin is so, so glad for the change of tone. “Shouldn’t we be talking about you? You’re finally out of that suit, for once.” She tries not to let the wistfulness and sadness bleed into her voice. She wishes Sunday (her brother, maybe? Eventually, or is she holding onto an unlikely future?) could dress like this every day.

“Well, I’ll be going to the park with you, so it’s only fitting that I stay undercover. I have upset a lot of people to attend this with you,” Sunday says. “You look beautiful, as always.”

Robin holds onto Boothill’s hand tighter. He squeezes back. ‘Attend’ as in business matters. This is still Sunday, the head of the Oak Family, and not her brother. Never her brother, it seems. “Thank you,” she replies.

Sunday opens the door for her. He lets her walk through, and she pulls Boothill through before Sunday can intentionally close the door after him.

The air outside is warm. Perfect for a trip like this.

“Isn’t the weather wonderful today, Boothill?” Robin asks. She can feel Sunday’s glare on Boothill’s back. She can tell Boothill can feel it too. 

“Yeah, darlin’, it’s wonderful,” Boothill answers, voice and posture stiff. A fancy car — always extravagant, always over the top —is sitting in the driveway, and Sunday takes out a key from his pocket. Unlocks the car.

Boothill reaches forward and pulls open the passenger seat door, tipping his hat low and winking at her. “You first.” He guides her into the car’s back seat like a princess to a carriage, their hands never separating. Sunday must be having several strokes just watching them.

She so desperately wants him to accept her relationship with Boothill and actually see Boothill as a person (cyborg?), not just as barbaric, western scum that’s beneath him. She wants Sunday to listen to her just once, without having to assert his own decisions and feelings into it.

But today is not one to spend wishing for miracles. She’s going to an amusement park! The amusement park in Penacony! Where people go to have fun and relax and forget about their problems for a short while! Robin is desperate for even a minute away from her troubles.

“Everyone has their belongings, yes?” Sunday asks when he slams the driver door, inserting the key into the ignition. Boothill pulls the car door closed behind him, his cowboy hat taken off and leaning against his legs.

“Yes. Is it okay if, uh, Boothill leaves his belt in your car?” Robin asks when they’ve pulled out from the driveway. “We can’t bring it into the amusement park.”

Sunday glances at her. “Why didn’t he leave it home?”

“He’s right here, you can ask him,” Robin suggests. The reflection of Sunday in the rearview mirror’s eyes widens and Boothill stills, next to her. She sits there smiling innocently. These two are going to talk to each other, whether they like it or not. Well, this is the perfect opportunity. She’s trapped them. Either they talk, or they risk leaving Robin upset.

Sunday caves. “Well, erm, Boothill.”

Robin beams in encouragement.

“You can leave your… supplies, uh, in the car,” Sunday hastily finishes.

“Where are your manners, Boothill?” Robin chides softly.

“Thank you, Mister, uhm, Sunday,” Boothill thanks through clenched teeth.

“That wasn’t so difficult, now, was it?” Robin asks.

Sunday looks straight forward, and Boothill looks out the window. “No,” they both say at the same time. Sunday’s look is intense; Boothill looks pained. Robin hides her smile with her free hand — the other is still in Boothill’s grasp, and dear Xipe is he clutching it for dear life.

“There, there,” Robin soothes, tucking a strand of Boothill’s hair — a mix of snow white and charcoal gray — behind his ear, careful not to touch the ammo-shaped earring. She pats his cheek, one of the only remaining parts of his organic body and flesh. His stiff posture loosens by a bit.

“Robin, how are your concert performances?” Sunday interrupts.

“They’re going well! My newest album was well received by my fans and the critics. The next concert isn’t for another two system weeks,” Robin idly comments, yawning. She got up early out of pure excitement for the day, and she’s definitely regretting it.

“Tired?” Sunday glances at her through the rearview mirror.

“A bit,” Robin confirms. “Woke up too early.”

Sunday hums, “take more care of yourself.”

“Pot meets kettle, brother.” She totally doesn’t place a huge emphasis on the last word. “You got me there,” Sunday smiles.

Robin puts her and Boothill’s intertwined hands on his thigh, head leaning on his shoulder. Her eyes are drifting shut. “I can’t wait. How much longer until we get there?”

“Two and a half hours. Enough for you to get some sleep in.” Sunday’s voice is tender, reminding her of a kinder time.

“Okay.” She yawns. “Boothill?”

“Yes?” He moves to make her more comfortable on his metal body.

“Don’t start with Sunday while I’m sleeping, okay? You too, Sunday. Don’t argue with Boothill when I’m sleeping,” she murmurs.

Her eyes drift shut before they can respond.

—

Sunday watches Robin’s shoulders gradually rise and fall, her head on Boothill’s shoulders, through the rearview mirror. Boothill is looking down, quite fondly, at his sister and smiling. Their hands are intertwined, carefully placed on the cyborg’s machine thigh.

Boothill.

He has a million questions about Boothill and Robin. Where does he even start? Just how, oh how, did his sister, sweet and kind, pick up a man as bloodthirsty and crazed as Boothill? They are not compatible, no, not even in the slightest. Galaxy Rangers are dangerous, and Boothill has an enormous bounty on his head, placed by the IPC. Boothill will only ever hurt Robin.

Sunday presses his lips into a tight white line, fuming. Now that Robin’s asleep, the atmosphere changes without her bright, calming presence. He can tell Boothill doesn’t like him, but he’s Robin’s older brother, so that son of a Memory Zone Meme can take his opinion and shove it up his cogs. Aeons, he’d gladly fight Boothill if it isn’t for Robin.

No, no, that’s wrong. He can’t fight Boothill; no, that’d be stooping to his level, and Sunday is way more dignified than a ruthless, rowdy cowboy who makes a living killing others. Having a job that requires killing is never a good sign.

But Robin is an adult. She doesn’t need that much fawning over, right? That’s why Sunday doesn’t forbid her from seeing Boothill. Someone had to keep her company. Sunday can’t anymore.

His grip on the wheel tightens, skin around his knuckles turning white. Work, work, work. That’s all there is, these days. Things in Penacony have calmed, but the rebuilding effort takes so much thinking and the public needs so much reassuring and everyone is so Aeon-damned incompetent that he has to deal with everything himself.

He curses the entire Bloodhound Family, that bartender fraud, the gambler from the IPC, the arrogant doctor, Boothill.

He takes a deep breath. May Xipe and the Harmony help them all. Save him, please.

Boothill combs through Robin’s wig, stupidly smiling. Sunday is so distracted by the action that he realizes the car in front of them has slowed.

He slams the brakes, sending them all leaning forward.

Sunday’s back hits the car seat again, and his next inhales are audible. Boothill lets loose a string of swears. Sunday is saying them in his mind, two totally different things. He does not have anything in common with Boothill except for their care for Robin.

After Boothill has repositioned Robin, who slept through the whole ordeal, on his lap, Sunday snaps: “you kiss my sister with that mouth?” Thinking and actually saying these swears are two completely different things, remember? They have nothing in common!

Boothill’s expression hardens. He doesn’t back down.

“Yeah,” he bites out. “And she seems to like me perfectly fine that way.”

Sunday can’t argue with that. Robin seems content with Boothill, and he’s trying to not think about the last time she was at peace like this with him. It’s all the work piling up, he tells himself. It’s not him.

“You don’t have bad intentions with her?” Sunday asks.

Boothill considers him for a moment, wary in his piercing, target eyes, then looks back down at Robin. “No. Why would I?”

“You’re a Galaxy Ranger. You could easily use her celebrity status to your advantage. Galaxy Rangers are dangerous, you are aware of that, aren’t you?” Sunday states, savoring the moment Boothill’s cold expression wavers. Doubt. He doesn’t even need the Harmony’s powers to sense it.

“I am well aware of what I do,” Boothill responds. But his voice doesn’t have the same confidence and surety as before. Sunday subtly smirks. “And I be darned if I bring much trouble to Robin.”

“Hm? What if you do? How can I trust that you won’t go back on your promise?”

“I may not be as refined and elegant as you, Mister Sunday, but I sure as hell don’t go back on my word.” He’s being sincere. But sincerity alone isn’t enough. There needs to be more control. Sunday knows what it’s like.

“Swear it, then,” Sunday demands, voice calm but threatening. “Surely the best cyborg Galaxy Ranger out there, who hasn’t shot a single stray bullet in his career, doesn’t need to hesitate when doing so? Since you have so much pride in your occupation, surely this is but another trivial matter?” He expertly weaves the Harmony into his words, the gentle hum of its power buzzing in the back of his mind as he taps his gloved fingertips on the wheel.

Boothill’s eyes are full of fury when he declares, “I swear it. On my life.”

“Good. Because I’ll take you apart, piece by piece and cog by damn cog if I have to, if she gets hurt while in your care,” Sunday smiles and totally doesn’t think about all the ways he can take Boothill’s body apart — painfully, preferably. “The Harmony will remember this. Thank you for swearing it on your life.”

Boothill glares at him. He looks away and mutters. Something something Robin’s words.

‘Don’t start with Boothill.’ 

The car falls into silence, the effect of the Harmony wearing off.

A memory resurfaces.

***

They were finally alone one night, when the sun had long dipped below the horizon and the stars were brightly twinkling in the night sky. Both unable to sleep, Sunday finally decided to confront Robin about her relationship with Boothill. 

“I don’t get it. Him, of all people?” Sunday asked, brows creased in worry. “He isn’t threatening you to do anything for him, right?” Fear clawed at his heart at the possibility of his sweet, dear sister being forced into doing anything. No one should have control over her — not even Sunday. He was merely suggesting what she should do as her older brother, which wasn’t ‘control.’ 

Robin gave him a concerned look as if questioning his sanity because, well, who didn’t love a bloodthirsty lunatic–cyborg who travels the universe to chase other targets while simultaneously having a bounty on his head? That was sarcasm. “No, brother, I love him. Truly. It’s of my own accord.” 

“Are you sure? What do you even find in him?” Sunday reached for Robin’s hands. He took them in his own. “I don’t want you to get hurt, you know?” 

Robin squeezed their hands. “I won’t. I can handle myself, and Boothill can protect me if I can’t myself. As for what I find in him…” she blushes, pink coating her cheeks.  

Sunday waits for her response, head tilted, the wings by his head slowly flapping. 

“It’s like, uhm, whenever I see him,” Robin explained, the blush reddening, “I just feel like there are butterflies in my stomach, you know? When your bones melt and suddenly, all you want to do is stare at their face. Boothill has a very pretty face.” Sunday would not refute that. By all definitions, Boothill’s face was physically attractive — physically. It’s whether one was attracted to him that matters. He wanted Robin’s response regarding that. 

“I feel like he understands me,” she had finally said. “He just knows what I want. And he’s giving it to me.” 

Sunday’s eyes widened. “And, uh, what do you want?” Aeons. He might be sick. Was his sister — ?  

Robin seemed to realize what he was thinking too. She quickly shakes her head, and the blush spreads. “No!” she hastily corrected. “No! No. That’s, ugh, Sunday! Mind out of the gutter! No. I want someone who can look past the superstar status of me. I want a break, if you understand what it’s like to take a break.” 

“I take plenty of breaks,” Sunday defended. It was a lie. There was simply not enough time in his hectic schedule to afford the ever-elusive luxury of rest. 

Robin rolled her eyes. “Sure. Anyway, Boothill’s kind and honest. I’m in very good hands, brother. I promise you that.” 

“I just want you to be happy.” Sunday sighed. “I don’t like him.” 

“Well, I do.” Robin’s face was set and determined, an absolute, take-nothing-else gleam in her eye. Something about her willingness to compromise had changed. Sunday wondered when it had, and how he hadn’t noticed. “And I love him, Sunday. 

“Can you accept that?” 

***

Can he accept that, huh?

Sunday rests his cheek on his fist, elbow propped against the windowsill with one hand on the wheel. He glances out the window at Penacony’s bustling metropolis, with its towering skyscrapers, bustling streets, and diverse culture brought together from hundreds of different cultures around the universe. The more populated cities have been spared of damage, thank Xipe, so their primary rebuilding focuses are the agricultural and suburban areas affected.

Penacony has always been one of his greatest loves from the start. He will stop at nothing to make sure it is a planet whose name is passed around the universe like a legend, a paradise so far and so unreachable that you can only read of its honor in fairy tales and books.

He’ll just have to figure out a way to deal with Penacony’s ruined reputation among the public and interstellar organizations.

Only if he was better.

His gaze drifts over to Robin and Boothill again. Boothill must be keeping Robin company when Sunday couldn’t, and that was almost always. Well, that settles it. Robin loves Boothill dearly, and Boothill loves her right back, swearing it on his life to protect her. Fine. If that’s what it is, then he’ll have to accept that. However begrudgingly. For Robin’s sake.

Where is the damn SoulGlad when you need it?

—

Boothill drags a hand down his face, cursing this machine body and the eleven bullets he swallowed earlier.

He knows he loves Robin. He knows he’s willing to lay out his life for him. But there was something about swearing his life for her in this Aeonforsaken car and in front of her brother, no less, that he couldn’t help but feel suspicious about. Now, he ain’t the brightest gun in the rack. However, that doesn’t mean he’s gullible and easily manipulated.

Reignbow Arbiter’s piercing arrow shoot through him now. Boothill mouths a swear, upper teeth digging into his lower lip, and glares out the window. Robin is still sound asleep.

Sunday reaches over to turn on the radio, and an upbeat, funky tune fills the car. He turns the volume down, head bopping to the rhythm of the bass drums.

How the hell this man looks so calm after threatening Boothill with dismemberment, he has no damn clue.

Two hours pass, and Boothill is about to dismember himself out of boredom.

Finally, finally, the amusement park comes into view. He recognizes the color and shapes of some of the coaster tracks of the attractions Robin was showing him a few days prior. There’s a ride that shoots its riders up the nearly straight-up track then plummets them right down.

The parking lot is almost empty when they pull through. Robin insisted on getting there a bit before the park opened so they wouldn’t be stuck waiting in lines, but she already brought speed passes for everyone, so does it really matter when they get there since they could just skip the lines?

Boothill gives Robin a slight shake in the shoulder. “Darlin’,” he whispers, adamant not to look up because Sunday will be glaring at him.

Robin’s eyes flutter open.

Boothill smiles. “Mornin’.”

“Morning,” Robin says as he leans back so she can sit up. “Are we there?”

“Right at the gates,” he confirms.

Robin stretches, yawning. “Nice."

Sunday stops the car. “We’re here.”

Boothill opens the door and gets out. He offers a hand to Robin. She takes it and steps out of the car, all celebrity and princess-like.

He produces a bottle of sunscreen from his pocket and squeezes some onto his fingertips. “Look up ‘n close your eyes,” he instructs. Robin does, and he carefully applies the sunscreen over her face, neck, and shoulders. He gives the rest of the bottle to Robin for her to lather the rest on her arms and legs and wipes the rest of the sunscreen on his fingers onto his pants. 

After she’s done with that, he places his hat on her head. 

“To protect you from the sun,” he says when she lifts the brim to peer at him. Robin returns with a smile and they follow Sunday, who has his hood pulled up and a mask on and is probably sweating like crazy. “Oh, and this.” He snaps off his belt and leaves it in the car, but not before opening up a capsule on the right side of his waist and tucking his gun in. He stores some of the bullets in his arm and pops another four in his mouth, leaving one to chew on.

Robin watches him with fascination sparkling in her ocean eyes. Boothill smirks, the sole bullet remaining held between his teeth.

They get into the express lane (Boothill tries not to look too smug at the lines of people waiting in the slow lane or pay much mind to the way they’re gawking at all three of them — what can he say? They’re all gorgeous. Especially Robin and himself) as Sunday checks them in. The attendant, thankfully, does not look too closely at any of them and tells them to place any baggage on the bins to be inspected.

Boothill and Sunday have nothing on them except their phones. Robin drops her purse in the bin as it rolls toward the staff members. It goes through a scan in a large, black box before getting returned to Robin. She thanks the staff and wishes them a nice day, catching up to Boothill a few steps ahead.

They enter the amusement park, some of the rides already opening up and functioning. Robin grabs a map of the park from a nearby directory board and unfolds it. She stops, and Boothill leans over her, chin on her head, to look at the map with her. Sunday is looking at the digital map on the board.

“I want to hit up the mild rides first, then we can progress onto the thrill rides,” Robin informs them, one perfectly manicured nail tracing their would-be path through the park.

“Ain’t nothin’ that looks ‘mild’ about this place ‘sides the kids’ rides,” Boothill grumbles.

Robin laughs, tucking the paper map in her purse. “Are you scared, Boothill?”

“What? No way,” Boothill rolls his eyes. He has nothing to fear here. He swallows the chewed bullet. There’s no way he can use that one after all the bite marks on it.

“Let’s save the grandest ride for last,” Robin looks up and points to the ride that shoots straight up, “the King of the Jungle.”

He snorts. “Corny — freakin’ — name.” He frowns. Right. Someone (he’ll find the bastard and force them to change it back) tinkered with his Synesthesia Beacon, so he can’t say words aloud. ‘Freedom of speech’ his bullets.

Robin covers her mouth with her hand, failing at hiding her smile. “I forgot that your Synesthesia Beacon does that.”

He sighs deeply. “Well, it ain’t fun either.”

“Alright,” she closes the map and tucks it in her purse. “What about Clockie’s Twisted Coaster? It’s right here.”

The coaster in question is, indeed, right in front of them. Penacony’s signature mascot, Clockie, is plastered all over the ride: its face is square and center on the ride’s tracks, the ride name in script next to it, the entire ride’s colors are all ones found on Clockie, and the stupid music blasting out of the speakers is Clockie’s theme song or whatever it’s called. 

The ride itself isn’t very long — the cart, with seats for four people, two on each side, hangs below the track and progresses up, swinging the cart, and drops down a series of curves, rotating the cart 360-degrees. The ride continues like this in an ‘s’ shape but with more exaggerated bends before coming to a stop.

Pretty mild, it seems.

“Let’s go,” Robin says. “Sunday?”

The man shakes his head. “I don’t do roller coasters. Here, let me take your purse.”

Robin is visibly disappointed, but she nods in understanding. She hands her purse over to Sunday, who tosses it over his hood carefully. “Your flash passes,” Sunday continues, taking out two cards from his pocket. He walks over, handing one to Robin. Boothill takes his when Sunday offers it to him, but the man’s gloved hand grips the card tight.

Boothill is so ready for a fight.

It doesn’t come.

Sunday lets go, looks him in the eye, and tells him, “make sure she has fun, okay?”

It takes him by surprise. He blinks, arm still extended and holding the card.

Sunday nods and turns back to Robin, who’s now practically glowing with happiness. “Go. Have fun.”

“I definitely will, brother,” Robin throws her arms around Sunday. “Thank you thank you thank you!” She backs away, takes Boothill’s hand, and tugs him to the flash pass entrance of the ride. Boothill lets himself be dragged along.

—

What? What!

Robin is so excited. Have you seen Sunday? Did you see him hand over the flash pass to Boothill? Do you know how long she’s been wanting Sunday to finally talk to Boothill without being openly hostile?

She’s practically buzzing with relief and joy, her previous disappointment from Sunday’s rejection to joining them on the ride temporarily forgotten, when she and Boothill show their flash passes to the staff and enter through the gates.

“He handed you the card, Boothill!” Robin says, just shy of jumping up and down like a child. “Wow. I can’t believe it.”

Boothill leans down to kiss her on her forehead. “Me neither. Your brother was lookin’ really unwilling. Thought he’d be out for me for at least a while. He probably still will.” He tucks the flash pass into the back pocket of his pants.

When she thinks of Sunday offering an olive branch to Boothill, or the other way around, she thought it’d be in more intimate, private settings. Like the living room in their giant mansion, way too big for just the two (occasionally three, but Boothill sleeps in her bed) of them, or in the kitchen after Robin left to use the bathroom or wherever. Not in public, not when they’re surrounded by innocent bystanders. She’s not complaining. The amusement park works too.

“This ride looks, ah, weird,” Boothill mumbles into her ear.

“Hmm? This one’s a classic,” Robin tells him. “We’re next!”

“I’m gonna regret swallowing those darn bullets,” he grimaces as the attendant opens their gate, directing them to the open cart. Boothill places his hat on the rack they have for loose items, and they get on, Robin on the inside and Boothill on the outside. They can’t hold hands through the safety seats. Well, they technically can, but Robin’s body is primarily flesh and bones so it’d be really uncomfortable for her.

“You got this!” Robin encourages, swinging her legs. The attendant starts the ride, and they move forward.

***

“Holy Aeons and all of Lan’s arrows,” Boothill says, one arm slung around her shoulder and mostly relying on Robin for support (don’t underestimate her strength and endurance — she’s a singer, remember?), “I’m gonna throw up all my bullets.”

“Hey, at least you didn’t scream,” Robin teases, giving Boothill the time to recover and stand on his own.

“Now, I was just sayin’ that ride was too loop-de-loop,” Boothill manages, wincing, “not that it was scary. I ain’t even feelin’ nauseous. It’s, ah, the rattle of these parts, per se. Aeons, what the heck. Everyday I discover somethin’ new ‘bout this helluva body.”

“Mhm,” Robin reassures, waving to Sunday.

“How was the first ride?” Sunday asks her, hands crossed behind his back and posture ever so regal for an amusement park. He must be smiling underneath that mask — his eyes crinkle. He doesn’t ask both of him; no, just Robin. That’s okay. Baby steps, baby steps.

“It was wonderful,” she declares, “Boothill wanted to throw up his bullets,” and doesn’t elaborate further. She loops her arm through Boothill’s. “Which rides next?” She tilts her head at Boothill, repeatedly poking at his cheek.

Boothill catches her finger between his teeth, bite gentle. Robin pulls her finger back. “Wherever you go, I’ll follow,” he tells her, eyes twinkling with mirth, tucking an exposed strand of her baby blue hair behind her ear, patting down her wig.

“Okay. Drop of doom next!”

Boothill’s expression drops, like the ride they’re gonna go on next.

***

Robin steps out into the bright sunlight from the darkness of the movie house. It was actually a roller coaster with a whole cinema and, of course, Clockie theme. She turns around, her wig blowing around her in a gentle breeze, and extends a hand toward Boothill, her smile wide on her face.

Boothill shakes his hair, the dual-color strands whipping around his face, and puts on his hat. He takes her hand. “Where do you wanna go next?” he asks, trailing behind her on the steps leading up to ground level. Sunday starts toward them the moment he sees Robin emerge from the exit.

“Can we stop for food?” she announces. All of the walking around and getting on the rides and general cheery atmosphere has her hungry.

“Sure,” Sunday agrees, looking at the map on his phone. “There’s a food court that’s not so far away from here. Follow me.” He starts toward a sunset retro-styled house in the distance, surrounded by palm trees and synth-pop blasting out of its speakers. It reminds her of the sunsets on Punklorde, a planet filled with cyberware and hackers. Isn’t there that one Stellaron Hunter girl from Punklorde?

��The style of that food court reminds me of you,” she comments, “don’t you think?”

“Ehh,” Boothill squints at the design, scrutinizing it, “not really. Run-down saloons and bars and the kind are more my type. But I can see myself hangin’ ‘round ‘ere, poppin’ down to the bar and orderin’ myself some booze. Bet they sell real darn booze too.”

Robin giggles at his accent. “You talk so funny.”

“Oh, really? And how do I talk, princess?” Boothill challenges, one hand on his hip.

“Like this,” Robin clears her throat, voice imitating a low, country drawl, “howdy. Name’s Boothill, darlin’s. I’m the best Ranger out there you can find. One shot from my gun, BAM BAM BAM — ” she mocks a gun with her left hand, shooting it — “and the enemy drops dead in less than a second, you hear me? There ain’t a single stray bullet in my entire career.”

Boothill rolls his eyes. “I do not talk like that.”

“Yes, you do!”

“No, I do not!”

“Yuh uh!”

“Nuh uh!”

“Pfft,” Robin exaggerates her exasperated sigh. “Fine. I suppose you don’t actually talk like that.”

“That’s right,” Boothill nods, a satisfied look on his face.

“What do you want to eat?” Sunday stops. Oh. They’ve already reached the place. She didn’t even notice.

“What’s on the menu?” Robin walks up to the menu boards above the counter, making sure to stay away from the ordering line. Her eyes scan the lines of options, mentally coming up with a list. It’s all junk food, as expected. She’s been craving some junk food anyway. Let’s hope Sunday actually lets her eat those ‘artificial foods injected with junk and bacteria.’

“I want three double cheeseburgers with two sides of fries and a SoulGlad,” Boothill announces.

Robin blinks up at him. “What?”

“Three deluxe double cheeseburgers, two servings of curly fries, and a SoulGlad,” he repeats.

“No, no, I, uh, heard you the first time. Are you sure you want that much?” It’s more than enough for one person; then again, Boothill’s a cyborg.

“I can eat a whole lot more,” Boothill shrugs. “Whadda ‘bout you?”

Robin hums. “I’ll take chicken tenders, a blueberry milkshake, and a pretzel. I hope the pretzels here have salt on them the size of dice.” She pats around for her purse, then remembers Sunday has it and he’s paying. “Sunday! We’re ready to order!”

Sunday gets up from the table he’s sitting at, meeting them at the end of the line“What would you like?”

“Three deluxe double cheeseburgers, chicken tenders, two servings of curly fries, one blueberry milkshake, one SoulGlad, and one pretzel,” Robin recites and looks at Boothill. “I didn’t forget anything, did I?”

Boothill shakes his head. “Naw.”

Sunday nods, the pleasant smile on his face he uses when he’s holding back a scathing remark. Ah, well. “I’ll go pay. You two can wait at the table.”

“Thanks!” Robin hurries over to the table before someone else can take it. It’s one of those metal wire mesh tables with benches attached and an umbrella over, taking on an obnoxious shade of orange the same color as the SoulGlad drinks. Boothill takes off his hat and tosses it on the table, letting out a sigh.

“Ain’t your brother dyin’ from the heat?” Boothill runs a hand through his hair. The weather is fair, not hot, but still warm enough to make you sweat after a few minutes basking under the sun.

Robin stares at Sunday, at the counter and talking to the cashier. “Maybe?”

“Are you sure you don’t want Sunday to go on an attraction with you?”

Robin’s smile wavers. “Well, I’m not going to force him onto anything he doesn’t want to.”

“You should. What’s a man doing, out here in a park, having no fun? Take him on a ride, darlin’. Gotta shake him up a lil’,” Boothill urges.

“After we eat,” Robin says. “I’ll ask again if we can go on Hanu’s Great Escape.”

“When I said to shake him up, I ain’t talking ‘bout takin’ him to one that, but whatever calms your horse.”

Robin beams at him. Hanu’s Great Escape is known for being exhilarating and scary. She wants to go on it with someone. The lines are typically very long, up to nearly an hour of waiting in line, but they have flash passes, and she is determined to bring Sunday on one of those rides at least once today.

“This is, ah, a lot,” Sunday says when he sets down a plastic tray with everything on the tabletop. He sits down opposite to Robin and Boothill, taking his share of the food — just a cup of soda and a sandwich — off the tray and leaving the rest to them. “I think it was somewhere around 200 credits?”

Boothill grabs Robin’s food for her, setting down the box of chicken tenders and fries while ripping open the packaging of a fancy plastic straw, sticking it in the milkshake. He takes his share of the food, unwrapping the aluminum foil of one of the cheeseburgers and flipping off the cap of the SoulGlad bottle.

“I can pay you back,” Robin opens up her phone to her money transferring app. 

Sunday brushes it off. “You don’t have to. We’re family, there’s no ‘owing’ here.”

Sometimes, Robin wants to excuse all of Sunday’s overprotectiveness and his strict rules because of how nice he is to her, the softness in his voice lulling her into a false sense of trust and security. But nice doesn’t mean kind, and Sunday isn’t exactly kind. Perhaps the only person Sunday is truly kind to is Robin, and even that has its occasional exceptions. Sunday is a control freak, more or less and however much she condemns it.

She bites into a chicken tender a bit too harshly, the meat soft and the food warm and her teeth clacking. It isn’t healthy to keep on bringing up sad topics. Today is a happy day, and she will make the most of it by shutting up and having fun. How many times has she said that now?

Boothill bites down on the burger, taking half of it as he chews and swallows. Watching him eat has always intrigued her. How does the food, organic and soft, dissolve in his mechanical insides? How does the food get processed without the chemicals and cells and nerves found in a typical human body?

“You’re starin’ again,” Boothill warmly points out, tapping her on the tip of her nose.

“How does the food work in your body?” Robin has asked this before, and not once has she gotten a coherent response.

“Do you think I’d be a ranger if I knew? ‘Cause boy, does this body need a lot of engineerin’,” Boothill groused, “this thing’s almost more trouble than what it is worth.” He takes a swig of the SoulGlad, orange dribbling out the corner of his mouth. Robin extracted a handkerchief from her purse, on top of Boothill’s hat, and dabbed at it.

“There.” She folded the handkerchief into a neat square, placing it on the table. 

“I’m waterproof, hon. For the most part,” Boothill deadpans.

“Isn’t it cute, though?” Robin counters playfully, leaning in to peck him on his nose.

Sunday, with his mask pulled down, very loudly sips his drink. Third wheeling must be sad.

“Sorry,” Robin apologizes, not really meaning it. She leans away, pressing close to Boothill, knocking their ankles together under the table. She grabs a curly fry from his box, munching on it. This place really loves their salt, huh? They’re in luck since she does too.

“No, that’s alright,” Sunday passive-aggressively says, finishing his sandwich. Boothill moves onto his third cheeseburger.

“Is that all you wanted?” Robin asks, pulling over her box of chicken tenders. Granted, there are only three left, but they can make it work. “We can share this.”

Sunday waves his hands, dismissing her offer. “It’s fine. Save some for yourself.”

“Oh, please, I have Boothill’s shares if I’m really that hungry,” Robin then makes a show out of it, grabbing a handful of Boothill’s curly fries. She likes the fries. Or anything with a copious amount of sodium in it, which, unfortunately, may be every junk food. Boothill shows no sign of objection, he’s almost done with his cheeseburger. It’s honestly kind of impressive.

“That’s fine, but I’m not hungry anymore. You know me. I never had that much of an appetite,” Sunday offhandedly mentions, casting a side-eye at Boothill. Boothill crumples up the aluminum foil of all three cheeseburgers into one giant ball.

“Okay.” Robin takes back the chicken tender, grabbing one and dropping it in Boothill’s box of fries. “For the curly fries,” she explains and moves back to eating her chicken tenders.

Boothill pecks her on the forehead. Robin giggles.

They gradually finish the rest of the food, and Sunday goes to return the tray and throw out their trash. Robin uses this opportunity to ask Boothill whether she should ask Sunday to go on Hanu’s Great Escape with her.

Boothill crunches down on a bullet. Where did he get that from? “Go for it,” he says simply.

“Really?” Robin asks.

Boothill pats her head. “Of course.”

“Okay.” Robin shuts up as Sunday returns to their table. Here goes nothing.

#melancholic-hues #writing-hues #robinhill #robin x boothill #boothill x robin #hsr robin #hsr boothill #hsr sunday