#Jack and I are kicking around a couple of ideas for couples cosplay

[sheliesshattered]

not me spiraling about what cosplays to make for a con that’s still more than ten months away

[glitterytidalwavedragon]

Putting it Out There (A Biracial Child)

I’ve always wanted to address this, I just never knew where or how to. But, as I write, I see the influences come into play more and more (More so when I am writing my B.B fanfic and the Tourist), so I thought, now is a good time as any and this is the only account and platform I feel safe (maybe because I don’t have 200+ friends or followers here who know me outside of social media). I also feel as if this prospective of life isn’t given much attention or heard. 

I, as some may know cause I had commented as such, am a biracial child. My father is a Caribbean Hispanic male and my mother of German and Italian descent. 

This does not mean I have the best of both worlds. In fact, most of the times I feel alienated. 

Born in the early 90′s, the song “Livin’ La Vida Loca” by Ricky Martin was every where. My mother would tell me that song was about me, now I was 5-6ish. I thought she referred to me liking cats, and trying to go out to perform a crap version of ‘Singing in the Rain’ along with the love for magic. 

No, it wasn’t so innocent. It was straight up because of my skin tone. I looked like the girl the song was describing. I had no idea. Nor did I realize a silent war was raging in my family. 

Growing up was...hard to say the least. It is even harder when you have racism on both sides pointing fingers at each other. On my mother’s side, my aunt and uncle wouldn’t allow me to visit unless it was a holiday to which there was pressure from the family. Out of spite, they would invite my much older siblings father over to cause a fight (The man did not celebrate christmas). Meanwhile my other aunt would tell me over and over again I was Italian. In the end, during these events I would end up alone and not know why. 

Now lets turn to the other side of the family, my father’s. My first words had been Spanish. Yet, I lived with English speaking relatives... guess who stopped speaking Spanish for a long while. When visiting my family on his side, none of of my relatives would address me, only if they had to because my father was not around. These people knew how to speak English, very well even though they had moved from their native island. They just refused to speak to me. This sucked cause where it was 3 people on my mother’s side, it was 16 aunt’s and uncles on my fathers not counting the dozens of cousins I had. So, as the other family events, I ended up alone not knowing why. 

The answer was rather simple but much to complicated for my child self. Both sides of my family was and still is completely racist. My white mother was near exiled for being with a man many would consider black (he considers himself Spanish and oddly doesn’t get the fascination on why his skin matters or makes me worry about him when he is stopped by cops...). I was the ‘mixed’ baby, a simple of her family’s shame. 

My father’s side could not care what color my mother was, only that she was not Spanish. For those who don’t know, Spanish can be an array of color, its cool. But, she was no Spanish, did not speak Spanish and therefore my father was exiled by everyone but his own mother for many years (which is why we ended up in family events, my mama wanted to see her youngest grandchild by her baby boy). This meant being put at the back table, being openly mocked, and never told of big family events like babies or weddings. 

This only lead to more fighting at home and in the end even my own siblings, alienated me. It was a pretty lonely experience. 

This carried on to school and friendships. Elementary was not fun, but I felt the effects more in Jr. and High school. In elementary I was grouped with the other Spanish kids, because starting in late summer I had my Spanish tan on and therefore, I was not white to other white kids. But I did not speak Spanish. At one point I spoke gibberish to just to be able to hang with the Spanish kids at recess. It worked and I still don’t know how. 

In Jr. ahhhh... at one point my family was making good money, which originally, it once took the income of five adults to keep us afloat, now it just took 2. My father and my grandpa (who I will talk about later). We moved to a ‘nicer’ neighborhood. In the early 2000′s that mean, a white neighborhood. Boy, did I stick out. 

Now you might think “But you grew up in NYC, said you were from Brooklyn” well, here is a fun fact. Nothing is more segregated than NYC schools. The north did not do busing like the south did, so white schools stayed mostly white while schools in low income areas stayed mostly black or other minority races. I was a very tan child going into a white neighbor hood to a white school. Lets top it off that I played video games and Yu-Gi-Oh, HA! 

I received hell. I had legit parents sneer at me, and girls asking me if I had sex because I was Spanish. A 12 year old, got hit on by 15 year olds because they thought my race made me easy. I was 12, all I wanted was to collect cards and play Pokemon on my stupid advance, I had no time for boys unless they were anime. But... someone (more than likely their parents) had set these ideas in their head on how Spanish people, more so girls, acted. 

Then I realized, I really liked all things Gothic. A Spanish Goth.... it pains me to think about it. Everything from poser, to faker, and ‘trying to act white’ was laid on me. I could not wait for Jr. High to end. And when it did, a whole 180 happen. 

I was no longer Spanish. I did not know why, just everyone referred to me as ‘the ONLY white girl’ in the school and that is not a joke. My school, was dubbed the worse in all of Brooklyn and shut down, which I believe it was dubbed that because of the 1% white population... I was the 1 after my second year when the other white kid (who was a boy people asked was my boyfriend) graduated. Now, in high school it wasn’t the kids who gave me hell. It was the teachers. 

In fact, high school led me to meet others who were also feeling alienated. One of which I am very close to, a black man who is Jewish (adopted by a white couple) and gay. He did not where he belonged either. In the mid-00′s to be a black gay man living near the ghetto was dangerous. I can’t count how many times he had to hide who he was so he wouldn’t get shot. Nor could I count how many times my other friend coped with being a biracial black man who loved anime and being goth so much he was bullied for it when we weren’t together (who I ended up dating throughout high school). 

Suddenly being labelled white get me an acceptance I was not expecting. I ended up being popular against my best efforts and people who I did not know knew me. At 15 I did not get what had changed, because no one had told me yet. No, I figured it out at 16, when I was placed in senior English because of my grades. My English teacher told me, I was white, in the worse why I could ever imagine. 

My English teacher, a beautiful black woman who celebrated her African roots, gave an assignment one day. I was one out of five in a class of thirty who did it, because I did it in her class the day before. I played sports, so did half the other kids, I did not have time after school. This did not sit well with her, she was mad, which was an understatement. So, she turned to the class and said

“This is why our people end up in Jail or having babies to early. Because like black people don’t take education seriously.” Then called be out by name and continued “is why she will end up being successful, because white people know the importance of an education.” 

First off, she was very racist towards EVERYONE, second I at 16, who was always called Spanish in school was now labelled white in front of everyone by an adult. I was both confused and terrified as my boyfriend who knew my family cared JACK SHIT about education looked ready to kill her. Luckily, he just walked out of class and waited for me as I was too studded to move. 

I later asked him if he thought I was white, he admitted he did until he saw my father and called me biracial. For the first time in 16 years, I had been called biracial. Went home, did not tell anyone what happened, asked my mother if I was biracial and she said yes. To shorten this up, this was what life felt like, 

At home, I had no race. Neither side welcomed me. 

In school, I was told I was Spanish and had to fake my way in the Spanish group.

Jr High, I am now trying to distance myself from everyone as being Spanish makes me a target. 

High School, I thought being Spanish would be a good thing. Now everyone is telling me I am white. 

I had not idea who or what I was. 

All I ever wanted was to be me. I wanted to understand why my family never got close to me, and I wanted friends who were friends because I was me. 

It was like I was being ripped to pieces. I could be what others wanted or be no one at all. I had no idea what to do. If people at the new school found out I was Spanish, would I become a target again? I was allowed to freely play games, watch anime, and be my gothic self if I were white. But that also meant I could not hang out with my friends who lived in the Ghetto, shouldn’t like rap, R&B, and reggaetón or use the slang I grew up always using. 

To be a Spanish person trying to be white

or 

A white person trying to be black/another minority of color. 

I had watched as the former got my friend (boyfriend at the time) kicked out of classrooms as he was compared to those involved in columbine shooting from teachers since he was different. Also the hell he received from other boys for cosplaying and playing anime based card games. At one point it was so rough he thought about dropping out and I begged him to stay along with his mother. I was so afraid of going through that again.

So I kept my mouth shut. 

I took on the military standard of ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell”. My father never came to the school because he worked so much so no one knew. Everyday, I just took what my English teacher said to be without any force back. When Obama was voted in, she told me I had no right to celebrate, that my people had JFK and that Obama was for all the minorities to celebrate. I fell into a dark hole of hating myself. My home life was awful and now school I had to pretend to be something I wasn’t comfortable with. I started ditching classes, got into more fights than I would care to admit, did some really shady stuff and began hurting myself. 

The only joy I got was when I busted my ass grades wise and got out of school six months early. I did not have to go to school anymore and I could lock myself away to be no one but myself. It was lonely but I found company in books and my art. Through art I was allowed to be me and no one could take that away. 

When I returned for Graduation I June, did I get the final laugh on that English bitch. My mother and father showed up, she asked if my father was a cab driver helping my mother as she had gone blind. I told her, rather happily, that was my father. She went from joy to sheer disgusts faster than you can blink. For years she kept talking about who ‘mix babies’ never got any where as their fathers were never around. Yet, despite me hardly showing up, I gradated top of my class, never had a baby nor was I ‘loose’ (In fact I feared sex as a teenager), and my mixed couple parents as she lovingly called it, were together. 

She walked away from me and never said a word since. 

But now school was over, college was starting. I still hadn’t figured out who I was. Was I white/Italian or Spanish. In college I learnt no one was going to tell me who I was anymore, nor did they care. At home, it was still a battle of the races. Finally, one of my cousins spoke up and declared I wasn’t Spanish as I knew nothing of the language. At home, my aunt and uncle decided I was Spanish and called me a ‘Spick’ as a joke. I did not take it as one and therefore I was called ‘uptight’. 

My siblings also informed me, if I wanted free college to put down Spanish on everything unless it was the census. Then I should be white. Sometimes I still run into people who think I am one over the other. I had people come up to be speaking Spanish to be highly offended when I tell them I don’t speak the Language well. (I tried learning but it is hard when motivation is not there). 

In recent years, I had someone at work tell me how they met a Spanish person, shockingly where my father works, and then described in detail my father and then tell me they thought he was illegal since he looked the type. All because they thought I was white... proud to say that person got fired for being racist.I did also inform them that was my father to their response was “you’re one of them”. 

It never ends. 

No, the reason why I haven’t been driven insane is because of my late grandpa. My grandpa was a man I adopted to be my grandfather. My biological grandfathers on both sides died long before I was born and the man I adopted was close to the family and acted like a father to my parents. He was a good man and the reason I had a childhood. 

He once went through the same, Italian/Jewish, you wouldn’t think there would be a problem but when he was growing up that equaled Catholic/Jewish, to which he too was either pinned in the middle or rejected by both sides, this is the 1930′s-1940s. He gave me the best piece of advance ever. 

To be myself. 

That if I were myself, then it did not matter. The moment I stopped being who I am, that passing or faking would never tell me who my real friends were. That if he, could love me for who I was, a weird girl who liked boy things and drawing strange looking characters, then anyone else could. Being a stranger to myself would never bring happiness. So, after years of not listening to that, I finally decided to listen to my Grandpa. 

I know who I am, I know the history of my families. They might not like that I am not what they want me to be, but they don’t have to live with me. I have to live with who I am. My friends are my friends because they know who I am, not who they think I should be. 

So for all my biracial brothers, sisters and them’s, be yourself. Don’t try to force yourself into a mold, it isn’t worth it. None of it is worth it. 

Look yourself in the mirror and say your name. Say it loud and let everyone know they can not define who you are, and so what if they say you don’t belong, guess what? You do if you want. You belong because YOU say so, because that blood runs in your veins as well as theirs. So you get to make that choice! 

Make that choice of being you! Define yourself to YOUR standards. 

Don’t let anyone take that away. I know I won’t.

So here I see myself! A strange fox who changes coats with the seasons, that loves anime and video games, who plays Yu-Gi-Oh and listens to opera and Metal while can twerk and get low to Daddy Yankee! Who eats sushi and makes a mean chicken cutlet but can also make the best empanda with beans and rice with the rest of them!

And no one can take that from me.

[lumiolivier]

Chapter Eleven:  Face Off

Word Count:  3516

Chapter No. 11/36

Notes:  This is kind of up late and I have my reasons for the (maybe) one person that reads this.  To make a long story short, I wasn’t in a good place in my head today and I was kind of in shambles, so go ahead.  Read away.  Or don’t.  That’s just a suggestion.  Like dry clean only. 

Chapter Ten:  Close the Book

“Mom!  Dad!  I’m home!” I kicked my shoes off at the door and started toward the staircase.  I had a shit ton to do and not a whole lot of time.

 “Hi, baby,” Mom stopped me, “Where are you off to in such a hurry?”

 “I’m going to Julian’s house tonight,” I explained, already done with her, “It’s kind of important.”

 “Why can’t you stay home tonight?” she begged, “The three of us are home at the same time for a change!”

 “She’s got a point, Mimi,” Dad chimed in, “You should stay home tonight.  Where did you say you were going again?”

 “Julian’s,” I told him, “It’s just down the road.”

 “That’s the kid from Monday night, right?” he asked.

 “Yes,” I nodded, really wanting to go upstairs now.

 “What are you two doing that’s so important?” Mom stalled me.

 I wasn’t going to tell her what I was really doing.  She didn’t need to see Julian in that kind of light.  They sure as hell didn’t need to know he was like me.  And she knew some of the bitchy soccer moms.  She definitely didn’t need to tell them about her daughter giving him temporary plastic surgery to keep them off his dick. So, I lied through my teeth, “We’re coming up with a new drink for the café.”

 “That’s great!” Dad praised, “What’s it going to be?”

 “Not sure yet,” I kept covering my tracks, heading upstairs, “I’m sure we’ll figure something out.”

 I couldn’t deal with them right now.  As much as I loved them and I understood they wanted to spend some time together as a family, I could do that tomorrow.  But tonight? I had bigger fish to fry. Tonight, I had to keep Julian from getting jumped in the alley by a bunch of horny, menopausal women.  

 “Mimi,” Mom called up the stairs, “Hold on.”

 “What?” I sat at the top in full on exasperation.  On a time crunch, Mother.  

 “You’ve been gone every night since Sunday,” she pointed out, “I understand it’s a work thing, but do you think you could stay home?”

 “Tomorrow,” I promised, getting her off my back, “I’ll come straight home from work and I’ll stay all night.”

 “Fine,” she allowed, “I guess we can do that.”

 “Fantastic!” I went up to my room and into my bathroom.  Under the sink was a well-organized system of my cosplay makeup.  This is where I kept the good shit.  Let’s see.  A jar of liquid latex…maybe my fake piercings…anything that made Julian unrecognizable.  His face after going back into the kitchen haunted me.  It burned in the back of my mind and anything I could do to make sure that never happened again, I was going to do whatever I could.

 I had a damn nice case to put everything in with drawers and everything.  If I didn’t know any better, I’d think I almost looked professional. An impulse purchase from a year or two ago.  Wishful thinking, really.  I got it for if I were to ever do cons on a big scale like Julian did.  Now, I could finally put it to use.  I had a couple jars of liquid latex, a nude palette, and my fake piercings for good measure.  I always did love a man with a face full of hardware.  

 Then, I remembered the reason we were doing this in the first place.  No matter how ok he looked after we left work, something tells me Julian was still a little shaken from book club.  I had to do something to make him feel better besides fixing his face. A light blue wig hung from the inside of my closet door, giving me a brilliant idea.  Dare I?  I couldn’t bear to see him so freaked.  Maybe this would cheer him up.

 I put my wig on, clipped in my pigtails, attached my headset, and put on a classic.  With a quick change of my outfit and a black hoody to cover up with (it had started cooling off and he didn’t need to see me quite yet), I dragged my makeup case down the stairs and headed for Julian’s.  It’s not every day when a living, breathing embodiment of someone’s waifu shows up on his front doorstep.  It might have been a good idea to give him a heads up, but alas.

 “Hey,” Julian opened his door, “I’m pretty sure we’re past the point of you having to knock anymore.”

 “You ready?” I asked.

 “As ready as I’m going to be.”

 “Alright,” I peeled my hoody off and watched Julian’s jaw drop halfway to China, “What?”

 “Did you Miku for me?” he gasped.

 “I might have,” I smirked, “Why?”

 “Because,” Julian spun me around, “You’re perfect.”

 “Made it all myself,” I boasted, “Except for the wig.  That was a late night on Amazon.”

 “Mimi, it’s flawless,” he still struggled for breath, “If this is what your Miku is, I can’t wait for Sunday.”

 “My Misa isn’t bad either,” I assured as he continued to look over my handiwork, “Believe it or not, this was one of my firsts.”

 “Really?” Julian wowed, “But the stitching is so straight.  The outfit is so perfectly put together.  And this was all with little to no prior experience?”

 “Pretty much,” I nodded, “I had used a sewing machine maybe twice before making Miku.”

 “I see I picked a damn fine partner in this next chapter,” he awed, pulling me against him, “Konbanwa, Miku-chan.”

 “Konbanwa,” I blushed, “We have a mission, Julian.  Remember? You’re cursed with a pretty face?”

 “Yeah,” he let out a heavy sigh, “A cross I must bear.”

 “Poor you,” I chuckled.

 “You saw it got me today!” Julian squeaked, his eyes showing his fear.

 “I know,” I settled him, my guilt setting in, “And that’s what you have me for.”

 “What kind of fun and excitement is in that big, blue case of yours?” he worried, “This isn’t going to be the part where you actually cut my face off, is it?”

 “No,” I promised, “The sharpest thing in that case is the edge of a palette.  You have nothing to worry about.  I can only make it look like I slit your throat.  I can’t actually do it.”

 “Really and truly, though, Mimi,” Julian thanked, “I appreciate you doing this for me.”

 “And if all goes well,” I sat him down and dug around for a decent foundation, “I’ll be back tomorrow morning to do it all again.”

 “In that case,” he got up, “I should probably get us some of this.  I made a stop by the liquor store on the way home because I’m a gentleman and such.”

 “Alright,” I agreed, “I could do a drink.  What’d you get?”

 “Bottle of red,” he ran down his list, “I like some wine once in a while.  Don’t judge me.”

 “No judgment,” I had no room to.  

 “Then, I got some butterscotch flavored vodka,” he went on, “Seemed interesting.  A bottle of UV Blue.”

 “Yep,” I stopped him, “Just give me the UV. Do you have any lemonade, by any chance?”

 “No, I don’t,” Julian shot me down, “But I do have lemon juice and sugar.”

 “Bless you,” I grabbed a reusable water bottle out of Julian’s cabinet and started mixing.  I filled half of it with water and a quarter of it with lemon juice with a few tablespoons of sugar.  After a thorough shaking, I added a couple shots of UV and shook it one more time.

 “You did that like an old pro,” he looked at me in amazement.

 “I wasn’t exactly a good girl in high school,” I admitted, “I had someone that would score for me, but she ended up moving my senior year and I had to quit drinking for a while. This is one of my favorite cocktails.”

 “Any good?” Julian asked.

 “Here,” I offered him a drink, “I didn’t drink soda, so the lemonade just worked.”

 “Damn, that’s good,” he critiqued, “Could use a little more sugar for my tastes, but aside from that, it’s pretty good.  Five stars.”

 “What can I say?” I shrugged, “I’m a girl of many talents.  Now, make your drink and let’s do this.”

 “Easy with the being demanding, though,” Julian twitched a little, “You being my Miku-chan and giving orders like that…It’s kind of a reoccurring dream of mine…One of those special dreams you keep to yourself.”

 “Goddammit, Julian,” I sighed out, “You could’ve told me it was your reoccurring sex dream and we could’ve moved on from it.”

 “Alright,” he swirled his Jack and Coke around, “I’m fine.  I’m good.  We’ll never talk about it again.”

 “Thank you,” I sat him back down, “Can I start now?”

 “Go ahead,” Julian allowed, “We’re going for something practical, right?  I’m not getting demon horns?”

 “No,” I went back to looking for a foundation color, “I’m not giving you demon horns.  Unless you want some.”

 “As badass as that’d be,” he giggled a little, “No.  I can’t. If I go to my grandma’s house, she’ll start yelling at me in Latin.  And she’s right off the boat from Italy.  I don’t want an exorcism from her.  Nor do I want to give her a heart attack.  I love my grandma.”

 “I’m sure you do,” I got my round brush and ran my first color on his cheek, “Nope.  Too dark.”

 “What?”

 “Foundation color,” I clarified, “It’s too dark.  If I end up using this color, you’d look a tad racist.  At one time, I was quite tan and this color worked for me.  Now, since I hadn’t seen sunlight in at least three years and I’ve been rocking this sweet dungeon tan, it doesn’t work anymore.  If you were to push me over in the snow while I was completely naked, you wouldn’t be able to find me.”

 “So, you’re essentially saving me from blackface?”

 “Yes,” I licked my thumb and got it off.

 “Do what you have to do,” he gave me complete control, “But was that really necessary?”

 “I didn’t feel like getting my makeup remover,” I brushed him off, “That worked just as well. Probably a couple shades lighter. Hold the phone…”

 “What?” Julian asked as I held the back of my hand to his face, “Is this the part where you pimp slap me? Because that would make this night take a really strange turn that I don’t know if you’re ready for or not.”

 “I’m not pimp slapping you,” I was ready to full on beat the shit out of him, but not pimp slap him, “I’m such a fucking idiot.”

 “You’re not,” he assured, “But what was your alleged dumb move?”

 “You and I are the same pasty ass color,” I yelled at myself, “I never would’ve guessed.  To look at us, we don’t look the same shade.”

 “But here we are,” Julian settled, “You and me.  We’re the same in so many other ways.  Why not this, too?”

 “I guess,” I grabbed my usual foundation color and a sponge and got to work, “And you’re sure I have free reign to do whatever?”

 “Anything to keep the cougars away,” he begged, “I completely trust that you won’t totally fuck my face up.”

 “Just a little fucked up?” I suggested.

 “Mimi!”

 “I know, I know,” I giggled, “Don’t worry.  I know what I’m doing.”

 “The mini heart attacks are unappreciated, “Julian took a heavy drink from his glass.

 “I’m sorry,” I apologized, starting with the first layer of liquid latex, “I can’t help myself sometimes.”

 “Can I ask you something?” he tilted his head, giving me better lighting.

 “Shoot,” I blew on his cheek, making the latex dry quicker.

 “How did you learn to do all of this?” Julian wondered.

 “YouTube,” I told, “General boredom.  I taught myself how to do special effects before I started writing fan ficton. I’ve only been doing that for a few years.  I started doing this for just Halloween to scare the shit out of little kids.”

 “Dark.”

 “But fun,” I smiled a bit, “Then, I wanted to get more detailed and it became more of an art form than anything else.”

 “And it evolved into what you’re doing for me,” he guessed.

 “Bingo,” I grabbed a different brush, “I’m going to have to do this to myself if we ever decide to do Dramatical Murder together.”

 “Why?” Julian asked.

 “If you’re going to be Koujaku,” I elaborated, “I’m going to be Noiz.”

 “I thought there was something between those two,” he agreed, “There’s a lot of hate and anger.”

 “I’ve always thought they’d have some really wicked hate sex,” I let out a heavy, dreamy sigh, “A girl can dream.”

 “It’s bad enough we’ve talked about my reoccurring sex dream,” Julian teased, “We don’t need to talk about yours, too.”

 “But if I’m going to be Noiz,” I went on, getting back on topic, “I’m not going to commit that much and get all of his piercings.  Mostly because I don’t have a dick to pierce.  That’s where my friend liquid latex comes in.  It becomes like a second skin and I can stick whatever rings I want into that instead of me.”

 “Hold on!” he squeaked, “Hold the phone!  He’s got piercings where?”

 “Yeah,” I nodded, “Three of them.”

 “In his dick?”

“In his dick.”

 “Why?” Julian whined, “Why, in God’s green Earth, would anyone even consider doing something like that? What kind of drugs do you have to be on?”

 “So, you’re saying you’re not pro dick piercing?” I assumed, getting more liquid latex.

 “No!” he put his foot down, “I am not pro dick piercing!  That makes mine hurt just thinking about it!  I don’t care how drunk I am or how full of painkillers I might be, but nothing could ever make me consider piercing my dick.  That doesn’t even sound pleasant.  Imagine having sex with those in!  You’re balls deep and out of nowhere, she’s bleeding and you have to be the one that’s all, ‘Sorry, babe.  My dick ring cut into the sides of your vagina.  My bad!’  No fucking way.  Then, there’s the act of actually getting it done!  What kind of person says yes to giving someone a dick piercing?  What kind of sick, twisted, sadistic mother fucker agrees to that?  No. Not happening.  Not in a million years.”

 “Did you know they make tongue rings that vibrate?” I tried getting the vein in his forehead to go back, “I’m sure they can go where dick rings go.”

 “I just can’t…” Julian gagged, “The pain outweighs the result.  I understand Noiz is a fictional character, but still.  That’s just…That’s wrong.  Even if you put in the vibrating tongue rings.  There are better ways of satisfying whoever you’re getting cuddly with. That is not one of them.  Can we change the subject before I start crying from phantom pain, please?”

 “I bet I could make you feel better,” I assured, switching brushes.

 “Do tell.” At this point, I think Julian was willing to try just about anything.  Aside from piercing his dick.  I’m pretty sure he made it quite clear that was off the table.

 “Sekai de,” I started singing, “Ichiban o hime-sama.  Sou iu atsukai kororo-ete…Yo ne?”

 “No,” Julian stopped me, “Don’t you Miku me.  Don’t you start with the World is Mine.”

 “Aww,” I pouted, “Why not?”

 “Because little lead to the creepy otaku in me coming out,” he confessed, “And you don’t want to see that. I’m talking the asthmatic, breathing over you in the middle of the night, stealing your underpants kind of thing.”

 “You know,” I said, “If you wanted a pair of my underpants, all you had to do was ask.  No need to sneak into my bedroom and watch me sleep.”

 “Seriously?” Julian gave me a look, “It’d be that easy?”

 Because once I get comfortable around someone, I have absolutely no shame, I put my brushes down, reached up my skirt, and shimmied my panties down my legs, spinning them on my finger, “See?  All you had to do was ask.”

 “My God, woman,” his eyes grew wider, “I think I love you.”

 “It’s not like you’re going to force me into anything,” I giggled, “I know better.  You’re not that kind of guy.”

 “How do you know?”

 “Because it damn near happened to you today,” I reminded him, “I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t want me to go through the same thing.  Either that or I’m just really trusting.”

 “A girl like you should be careful,” Julian warned, “Some people may try to take advantage of that overly trusting nature of yours.”

 “But you’re not one of them,” I assured, putting my underwear back on, “Julian, if I was to walk aimlessly across the street, I’d completely trust you to be the one to get me out of any oncoming traffic.  You just come off very trustable.”

 “Wow, Mimi,” he smiled, “I’m honored.”

 “You should be,” I looked his new face over, “I think we’re good.  You want me to throw some fake piercings on, too?”

 “Surprise me.”

 “Fine,” I started poking through the nearly dried liquid latex around his eyebrow, putting two rings in and put a little more on the bridge of his nose, smoothing it out enough to make him still look human, “If you were to actually get a piercing here, it helps clear your sinuses.”

 “Really?” he thought it over, “Not sure if I could pull something like that off, but maybe this would be a good trial run?”

 “Noiz has one,” I swooned, “Then again, Noiz has more piercings than God knows what to do with.”

 “Noiz has piercings in his dick,” Julian cringed, “I lost a little respect for him.  Although, being able to take the pain enough to do it three times, I must admit that is pretty metal.”

 “It is,” I agreed with him, debating whether to spoil a little piece of the anime by telling him Noiz can’t feel pain, “There.  You have two piercings in your right eyebrow and one between them.  Congratulations, Julian.  You have a new face.”

 “I don’t know,” he looked himself over in the mirror, “I’m still kind of hot.  But approachable.  Like the kid you were best friends with throughout grade school, but he moved around seventh grade and you don’t see him again until sophomore year of high school.  His family moves back to town and puberty hit him like a ton of bricks.  But you can still see a little bit of the kid you knew all those years ago.  Only he’s going through a phase with all the piercings.”

 “You see the world in an odd way,” I admitted, “But I can see where you’re coming from.”

 “See?” he popped me in the shoulder, “Do I not?”

 “Yeah, you do.”

 “I’m still a babe,” Julian’s ego grew, “But an approachable babe.”

 “Someone really needs to knock you down a peg or two,” I rolled my eyes.

 “If it can get the soccer moms to get off my dick,” he chuckled darkly, “I’ll take it.”

 “You’re welcome,” I started putting things back where they belonged, “Don’t lose the rings, though. I’m going to need them for when we do Koujaku and Noiz.  And Koujaku doesn’t having any piercings.”

 “Unless he’s got them in his dick, too.”

 “No,” I assured, “Koujaku doesn’t have any hidden special piercings.  I promise.  That’s only a Noiz thing.  Although, Noiz does ask Aoba at one point if he’d ever think about getting a piercing for him.  But I don’t remember if that was a fan art or official canon.  Pretty sure it was official.”

 “Nerd,” Julian gave me a shove.

 “Really?” I gave him a look, “Pot?  Kettle? Says the guy with a pair of katanas on his living room wall?”

 “That’s for home protection!” he defended, “If some asshole decides to break in my house in the middle of the night, then I can yank them off the wall and protect myself.”

 “You’d stab a man with your katanas?”

 “Hell yeah, I would!”

 “Alright, crazy guy,” I closed my case up, “Am I coming back tomorrow morning to do this again?”

 “If it’s not too much trouble.”

 “Not at all,” I promised, “I’ll be here at five o'clock.”

 “I’ll be waiting.”

 I threw my hoody back on and left Julian’s house to take my long, treacherous journey back to my house in the dark.  Dammit.  I really hoped it would’ve still been a little light out by the time I left.  At least he’ll only take about forty-five minutes to make approachably hot.  So we had that going for us.

 But my God.  This guy was a complete dork.  And an absolute whirlwind.  I swear to God, he was like a Tasmanian devil in skinny jeans.  But I was really starting to like him.  I wasn’t sure how much, but maybe we could be that special kind of relationship that I’ve seen in every anime ever.  Maybe I was the Haruhi to his Tamaki…But who knows?