#OUTSIDE as in like…. public places such as class and train station and train and bus stop

[catastrxblues]

read more than 50 pages while i was outside today!!!!!!! where’s my trophy

[queers-gambit]

Fine Line

prompt: ( requested ) going after the same silver briefcase, you and Tangerine exchange more than a few blows. pun intended.

pairing: Tangerine x female!assassin!reader

fandom masterlist: Bullet Train

word count: 5.2k+

note: got a little outside my comfort zone with this one, so, hopefully it's not 1000% trash but you've been warned now.

warnings: codename "Peach", basically the request with a FEW tweaks here and there, so, some spoilers, cursing, (shitty) slutty smut [spitting, squirting, mean!Tan, PIV, male receiving oral, degrading behavior, talk of tops and bottoms], Tan is a switch i do not care, is this enemies to lovers? yes. depiction of canon-typical physical violence, blood, injury.

There was a fine line between love and hate.

You love your family, but God Almighty, did you hate their behavior in most public settings. You love homemade cake, but hate the entire baking process, especially the dishes. You love getting your nails done and feeling pampered, but hate sitting still in one place for that amount of time.

And you love getting fucked, but hate dealing with people.

The whole meeting someone, getting to know them, getting to a place of comfort to bring them home. It was a hassle, it was annoying to you; akin to an inconvenience and disruption. You didn't mind Tinder, actually - thinking of it as "Dick on Demand", never really needing the awkward stages of acquaintanceship. You didn't like going out places "to meet people", too busy with your work to truly put forth effort. Plus, your job didn't exactly allow for romantic entanglements to become knots; you had to keep loose and available.

This is what made your job ideal: it was remote, kept you busy, on the move, without the weight of baggage attached to people. Plus, it didn't give time nor room for anyone to become attached to you - something that always made you impossibly uncomfortable. A job such as this made life impossibly lonely, but you operated better this way - without anyone needing you, worrying about you, keeping tabs, being in your business. You liked being on your own, it was just easier. It made sense. There was logic behind it.

Didn't mean you were 100% alone, however. You had "coworkers"... Sorta. You had employers, though you were unsure where exactly they were stationed. You, yourself, resided mostly in London, but operated globally, wherever you were needed - or more like wherever you were sent to. These "coworkers" of yours had similar jobs, and while you hated putting a label on basically anything, in laymen's terms, you were a contract killer. Those you interacted with, typically, were other contract killers - but usually working different jobs.

Rarely were multiples from the same organization sent on the same job, yet it still happened.

On the off chance, you encountered a few individuals that were employed by other organizations; making them rivals instead of coworkers.

You were unsure which this all was yet...

You had been contracted by an invisible, anonymous employer to retrieve a silver briefcase with a train sticker on the handle, your handler encouraging you to get off the bullet train the moment it was in your possession. But there was a problem: you weren't the only one working this case, if the Ladybug twat and Twins was any indication.

When you located the case, you were instantly engaged by the blonde man with thick, black framed glasses; honestly getting the shit kicked out of you.

Currently, you were in possession of the case, but that was sure to change since it had already switched hands multiple times that chaotic night. You had come to a skidding halt, panting heavily, bent over on your knees in a vacant first class train car after escaping (momentarily) from Ladybug. Spitting blood from your mouth, you dialed your handler with shaking fingers; heaving a deep sniffle.

"You still alive?"

"I'll fuckin' choke you myself, Susan, I swear t'God," you groaned, sliding to the ground in exhaustion; wiping the trail of blood from your nose with a grimace.

Susan chuckled, "What's happening, honey girl?"

"Y-You didn't tell me I wasn't the only one workin' this!"

"Well, I heard rumor the Twins might be on the same case, but you usually beat them to the punch, don't you?"

"Yeah, but not this time," you winced.

"I'm sure Tangerine was happy to see you," you could hear her grin.

"Fuck off."

"He's into you, you know."

"The man snapped my tibia, punctured my kidney, and broke my nose - don't think that constitutes as anything romantic."

"Oh, you're into it," she laughed. "And don't act as if he ever walked away, scot free. If I remember correctly, you've shanked him twice?"

"He deserved it," you coughed. "Listen, fuck Tangerine - "

"I know you want to."

"Susan! Fuckin' listen to me!" You snarled. "They're not alone - there's another guy. For fuck's sake, Susan, I just got my arse kicked by a dude with a manbun!"

"Another guy? With a manbun? They're still in style?"

"Oh, my God - does it even mat - YES, they're always in style. Listen, this guy goes by the name Ladybug. Who do we know that uses codenames like that? What org?"

"Hmm," Susan thought aloud.

"What?" You spat blood from your mouth again, licking at the split lip.

"Could be KBS? They use animal codenames on rotation."

"Fuck all," you groaned. "Well, Mr. Ladybug can throw a fuckin' punch. Think he cracked a rib. But you know what? He's handsome. Almost feel bad for knockin' his lights out."

"Where are you?"

You looked around, "Emotionally? Physically?"

"You know what I mean, Peach. Where's the case?"

"With me," you assured, "uh, and I, uh... I'm not 100% where I am, I missed a couple stops fightin' these dumbfucks. Might be four stops from Kyoto? Five?"

"Get off before the end of the line," Susan warned. "At this point, I don't care if you have the case or not."

"Wait... Susan, what's that mean?"

She paused and sighed deeply, "All right, fine, time to get serious. Some intel came in, Peach... And the White Death bought out the train until the end of the line. I actually care about your safety and this just screams danger, so, get off before Kyoto, Peach, my girl. Hear me?"

"I hear you, mamas," you agreed. "I'll get off next... Stop... Oh, you've got t'be joking! Fuck me!"

"Gladly," Tangerine smirked and jokingly reached for his belt with perked brows, standing in the automatic doorway; looking beat to hell, similar to you.

You glared at him and offered your middle finger, his hands dropping as he surveyed the train car.

"Peach?"

"I'll call you back, Susan," you deflected into the phone, quickly hanging up and deflating. "Jesus fuck, look, I'm really not in the mood, Tan. Can we just make this quick? The fuck you want?"

"Do I look like I'm here t'play fuckin' games, Peach?" Tangerine asked, stalking slowly towards where you were slumped in the aisle, mid-train car, while dripping in his own blood.

"Still look like a clown t'me," you quipped. "I'll ask again: the fuck you want, Tangerine?"

"Gonna need that case, sweet peach."

You scoffed. "Seriously? You're after it, too?"

"'Fraid so."

"How many of us are on assignment? For this one fuckin' case?" You snipped, kicking the case a little.

"You look like you've seen the Ladybug fucker, haven't yah, doll?"

"He with you?"

"Fuck no."

"Where's Lemon, then?"

"Few back," He gestured back over his shoulder, pausing when you got to your feet. "C'mon, love, don't do this," He warned, mustache curling as his lip did. There was a deranged look in his eye, something stirring in your gut; seeing the shine of tears never shed, the anger, a high-strung energy filling the space around you.

"I just want off this train, Tan," you begged quietly. "Look, call it whatever you want, but something else is goin' on here - shit ain't right. Be honest, how much more difficult has tonight been? Why have we all been sent after the same briefcase? When it's supposed to just be a fucking grab job?"

Tangerine cocked his head, "Nah, no, we're on delivery."

"What?"

"Yeah, supposed t'deliver this kid and the case t'his father in Kyoto," his brows knit together.

You scolded, "You dumb fuckin' idiot!"

"I beg your pardon, sweetheart?" He leered, stepping another step closer; knotting your stomach.

"You workin' for the White Death?"

"How'd you - "

"Susan got intel, said he bought out the train, Tan. Fuck's really goin' on?"

Tangerine's jaw flexed, sighing through his nose, "Guess cat's out the bag now, innit? Yeah," he sighed, shrugging a bit, "we're doin' this job for him."

"Which means he's gonna kill us at the end of the line - why else ensure there's no other witnesses?" There was a long pause, both staring into each other's eyes without shifting attention. You shrugged and whispered, "You know, we could just jump off the bloody train. Grab Lem, get off the train before Kyoto, just fuckin' go."

"Who gets the case?"

"Where's the kid you've gotta deliver?"

"Dead - murdered, actually."

"Then you're already fucked and your job's done," you shrugged, "so, I keep the case and we all three keep our lives."

Tan sighed through his nose, offering, "You drive a temptin' bargain, love. Always enjoy our li'l run-ins," his hand extended to rest on your waist, freezing time. "But I can't walk away without that case. Lemon's down, he's been drugged, so, trust me, I'm all for just jumpin' ship, but I need the case, darlin'."

"So do I, I have somewhere else to deliver it."

"Then we have ourselves a Mexican Standoff, then, yeah?"

"No, that'd require a third."

"Kinky, but I prefer t'keep things between us, wouldn't you?" He purred against your lips, not quite kissing you as his hand tightened over bruised skin.

"Tan, don't do this," you breathed in the space between you.

"For whatever it's worth, I do usually feel bad after kickin' your arse - though, I'd much rather prefer t'kiss it."

"We can arrange that later," you smiled prettily, surging forward to kiss him fully. It was sweaty, cruel, bloody, and rough - everything you knew Tangerine to be. Yet right when he seemed entranced enough, both his hands caging your hips to his, you bit his lip in time to bring your knee up into his groin.

It sparked your fight, both exchanging blows without hesitation. You could feel your adrenaline propelling you, but it was quickly dwindling as Tangerine seemed renewed and invigorated by your fight. You, however, fought dirty; you had to - you had no other choice. He was physically bigger, stronger, but you were faster, and dare you say it, smarter. You didn't need integrity when defending yourself, easily using Tan's strength against him to add to the collect of bruises, cuts, and blood smears. But he still managed to manhandle you, sending you careening into empty seats and giving you whiplash.

You managed to swing on his back, preventing him from reaching his gun; legs coiling around his arms and flexing your abs to yank backwards. You grunted when you hit an empty bench, his head bouncing between your breasts; holding him hostage for a brief moment before you felt his hands grip your thighs in an innocently provocative way.

The moan from your lungs was unintentional, Tan flipping you both so you were on your stomach; him hovering over your back with a grunt. But there was a familiar feeling pressed into your bottom, head lifting slightly to struggle under Tangerine's grip; his reaction being exactly what you wanted as he pressed further into you.

"Just - fucking stay still!" He barked, trying to pin your hands behind you.

"Oh, you'd like that, huh?" You snapped, still struggling. "Some submissive li'l bitch?"

"Oh, darlin', I love me a top," he growled in your ear, grinding his swelling cock further into your ample arse cheeks, "but only good girls are so lucky. But don't worry," he chuckled, "I usually have cuffs on me for the bad girls, hey?"

"Fuck off, Tan, get off," you grunted, wriggling; grinding your hips up into him to try and dislodge him. He breathed deeper, and your mind played tricks on you because you swore you felt him grind back.

"I quite like this position, though, love."

"Thought you liked a top?"

"Doesn't mean I can't enjoy my own moments, huh? And you seem like you're far too used t'gettin' your way."

"So, which is it, then? You wanna fuck me or get fucked by me?"

"That an earnest question?"

You paused, "If it means I get the case, fuck yeah."

"That's not what it means, doll, but if what Susan says is true..." He nuzzled your neck briefly, lips ghosting your ear, mustache tickling your skin as he finished, "Might not get another chance."

You know he loosened his grip to let your arms snap back under you; groaning in relief. After panting for a moment, you lifted your head again, feeling his cheek brush yours and pausing to relish in the oddly intimate position. "We can always get the fuck off this train? Find a hotel in a nearby city?" You offered. "Can get me all night if you play your cards right."

"Know I can't, sweet peach," he whispered.

"Then why waste more time?" You mused, hissing when his mouth instantly fell to your neck in an open kiss that scraped his teeth into your soft flesh. "Hey - no! No ti-ime," your word hitched when he licked the sensitive skin in-sync with a roll of his hips, thrusting his hardening cock into the crease of your cheeks; making your spine shudder when his teeth scraped again.

"We got a li'l time," he promised. "Enough for a taste? You as sweet as your name, baby? Huh?"

"Tan, oh, my God," you breathed in disbelief when he reared back and manhandled you so he could unlatch the buckle of your belt and start shucking the material from your hips. "What if someone - "

"Shut up," he snapped, freeing your thighs. "Got me too fuckin' worked up t'worry 'bout someone walkin' in, yeah? Both know what's waitin' for us, don't we?"

"The White Death," you felt him yank your pants to your ankles and then shove your shoes off, pants following to the floor. "Fuck's sake!" You yelped when he roughly fingered your slit over your newly exposed panties, hearing his belt buckle jingle.

"Oi, no - "

"Fuck off," you snapped when you turned over suddenly, forcing him to pull back and glare, "I wanna watch - might as well give me a show, right? Since you're 'bouta get us all killed?"

He scoffed, "You're gettin' off the train, darlin', you're not meetin' the White Death tonight."

"Damn straight," you hooked your panties with your thumbs, lifting your hips, yanking the garment down as Tangerine continued to unlatch his belt, peel down his zipper, then pull both his boxers and trousers down in one motion.

"This isn't gonna be soft and sweet, love," he warned, standing over you on the train seat; pumping his cock to full mast while never lifting his eyes from you. "I've wanted you longer than I'll ever admit, I've got some ideas."

Your eyes rolled and fingers skated down your dampening cunt, "You're on a time schedule, maybe shut the fuck up and just fuck me already?"

He scoffed, lowering himself over you and making you gulp in anticipation; hands gravitating to his blackened waist. "You sure got a fuckin' mouth on you, don't'cha? That's all right, doll, I got somethin' for yah." His hand rose to pop a few buttons on your blouse, exposing your bra, asking, "You got a safe word?"

"Tangerine."

"Hmm? What?"

"No, that's my safe word."

"You fuckin' shithead," he hissed over your mouth, lips parting in a silent gasp when his hot cock dropped over your cunt in a tantalizing tease. "Be serious for once, yeah?"

You shrugged, "How's about 'pineapple', or is that one of your buddies names?"

"Pineapple it is," he grumbled, descending to your lips in a searing kiss that stole your breath and made your nails curl into his flesh. But a whimper emitted when he pulled back suddenly, standing over you, and moving towards your head. "Open," he demanded, holding his cockhead at your lips. "Don't give me shit about time, you need t'learn. Open your mouth."

You obediently opened your lips and Tan wasted no time in thrusting himself into your mouth; not too deep, not too rough, but enough to make you inhale sharply and readjust your position. Your one hand pumped what couldn't fit in your mouth, the other holding his thigh for balance; choking from the awkward position, but it made Tan smirk.

"That's it, see? Not so hard," he mocked. "Just gotta keep your mouth busy." You whimpered, cradling his balls; giving a playful squeeze that made him moan lightly. "Fuck, you look so pretty like this," he reached for your cheek and jaw, gently moving his hips - making you pause yourself to let him move. "Oh, fuck, that's - fuck," he seethed, "just let me do whatever I want t'you, won't you? Take a li'l more, good, good, just breathe," he guided, mouth opening in shock when he watched more of himself disappear in your mouth. "Oh, Jesus - you're such a dirty fuckin' girl, look at yah - so eager, willing," he nearly choked when he hit the back of your throat. "Shit - baby, don't," he paused to grunt, hunching over slightly and holding himself up on the back cushion of the train's seating. "Don't hurt yourself," he whimpered, your jaw opening just a fraction more, throat constricting when his cockhead slid against your uvula.

"Oh, my God," he praised, testing the waters and trying to thrust - but your gagging and choking made him pull back. "Okay, okay, too much, sorry, love. Oh, shit," he gasped when you didn't let him pull out all the way, still sucking him as if you were getting paid for it. "Yeah? 'S like that? Oh, you Godsend angel. Gonna be good fa' me? Huh? Keep quiet?" He asked gruffly, making you swallow around him; earning a hiss. "You're fuckin' dangerous, aren't you?" He scoffed, "Too bad I won't get t'take my time, innit? Fuck."

You hummed as he retracted his hips fully. His eyes caught yours as he spread your saliva around his swollen member, hearing you mumble, "Can still get off with me."

He sighed, "Isn't that easy, doll," as he lowered himself back onto the bench over you. "There's more at stake - "

"I know," you nodded, guiding his forehead to yours as you pet his cheeks; the cut he earned smearing against your skin. "Just an offer, ain't it? Just thought if yah did come, could actually have yah in my mouth - like I want." You both paused, you telling him in a whisper, "Can choke me with your cock - hmm?"

He groaned, nuzzling your nose once before kissing you swiftly, deeply. His tongue swept against yours, tasting himself briefly; rubbing his warm cock into your inner thigh as he swallowed your moans of budding pleasure. So caught up in the way he made you feel, you squeaked when his hand suddenly rose and clasped around your throat, eyes popping open as your own hands dropped to his waist in shock.

"Choke me with your dick, Tan," you reminded.

"This works, though, still shuts you up."

"You're so fuckin' bold for this," you accused, gasping when his hand tightened.

"Then maybe shut the fuck up, girl, Goddamn," he seethed, biting your bottom lip, reopening the split, tightening his hand another degree. "You're gonna be a good fuckin' girl, aren't you? Huh? Think you can manage that? Know you got a problem with authority, doll, but you're gonna do as you're told, aren't yah?"

You glared but didn't answer.

"Yeah, that's real good," he mused when you had no words. "Now open your fuckin' mouth again."

When you did, he dribbled a line of spit onto your tongue, squeezing his hand around your throat and jaw when he wanted you to swallow. His smirk was something sinister and devious, peaking down to then paw your blouse the rest of the way open and tug your bra down until your breasts were exposed.

"Fuckin' knew you had great tits," he grit while gripping, twisting, tweaking your breast meat and nipple; not letting go of your throat to ensure your silence. "Not good for much else, huh? Are you?" He sneered, "Only sent on a grab job, weren't you? But look at you now, so fuckin' ready for me, so needy, excited, all distracted, desperate for my cock - aren't you? Answer me right fuckin' now," he growled.

"Yes," you croaked, gyrating your hips up into his; feeling his bare cock drag over your cunt and salivating.

"Good," he spoke to himself, shoving your hips back down as one hand rose to hold his cheek to keep yourself grounded. He chuckled to himself, "Just pathetic, innit? The way you crave me? Dumb fuckin' girl, can't even focus on a simple mission, can she? Huh? Can you?"

"No," you whimpered, "need more. Please, please."

"Shut up, I got you," he rolled his eyes, "but you don't really deserve it, do you?"

"I do, I swear - "

"Told you to shut the fuck up, though, yeah? Can't even do a simple task, got your head all stupid, do I? 'S good t'know, if we survive this."

You glared, seeing his grin widen before he was descending onto you again. You licked through the seam of his lips, being granted access; exploring the other's mouth in feverish motions that made your head spin and cunt contract. He still toyed with your tit, then abandoning the ministration to scale down your bodies to where you needed him most while your hand slid into his hair to grip his bloody scalp. You were so close to begging, yet you'd never give a man the satisfaction... Yet if Tangerine requested you to beg, beg you shall.

"That's my girl," he praised when he pet swiftly up your slit; gathering your slick in a single motion to spread around your clit. "Yeah, there's my girl, look at yah," he laughed over your mouth, "already so fuckin' dumb and I ain't even touch yah yet."

You whined a little, his hand readjusting his grip.

"Oh, fuckin' fine, you greedy bitch," he rolled his eyes, sinking a single digit into your heat; earning a high-pitched moan of relief. Tangerine laughed again, "Yeah? So desperate that just me fuckin' finger gets you like that?"

You tapped his wrist when he held a little too tight, him instantly loosening his grip around your throat. He rewarded you with a few pumps of his finger before adding a second, grinning when you had enough airflow to moan loud and clear.

"You make such pretty noises," he praised, "stupid, but pretty noises. Lemme hear you - that's all I wanna hear, not your fuckin' words, princess. Huh? Can you do that for me?"

You nodded, ready to cry from the anticipation he built in your body. With your bottom lip between your teeth, you let yourself clench around his digits, moaning when he massaged that spongy good spot of your inner walls.

"Wait - Tan - wait, wait," you begged and released his waist to reach for his wrist while he grinned.

"Aht," he let go of your neck to lay across your hips to keep hold, "stay there, be a good girl. Lemme see you - c'mon, love, get there for me," he pumped harder, faster, a small sweat coating your skin. The sounds were obscure and messy, sloppy and frantic, wet and pornographic; his breathing deep and huffy while yours was high-pitched. "So fuckin' pretty like this, under me like this. There's a good girl, yeah, chase that feelin', 's all right, don't run from me."

"Tan-Tangerine, shit, please," you babbled, unsure of yourself. "I-I don't - I don't - oh, fuck!"

"Let it happen," he encouraged, leering over you; only briefly aware of his cock leaking precum on your thigh. "Let that feeling take you, there's a good girl, you're right there - good fuckin' girl," Tan broke his mean streak to praise you briefly, feeling the familiar flutter. "Open, hey, hey, eyes on me, princess," he waited until your half-lidded eyes met his, watching him nod, "open your mouth." You were so blissed out, you didn't think, just doing so and accepting more of his spit. He grinned at you when your eyes rolled back, encouraging, "Go for it, pretty girl, fuckin' soak me, don't hold back - c'mon, wanna fuckin' feel you, need t'fuckin' feel you cum - ohh-hoo, yes, yes, yes," he chanted when you squealed, squirmed, and released a stream of squirt that splattered over you both.

But that wasn't all.

Tangerine was mesmerized, never relenting his efforts and before you had time to recover, he was forcing another wave of cum from your core. His thick body held yours in place, desperately squirming to try and get away from the overwhelming feeling; but he had you and wouldn't let go. "One more, one more, one more," Tan panted, hovering over you as his bulging bicep kept hammering into you without relent. He kissed you messily, "One more, baby, c'mon, I know you got it in you."

"I can't," you sobbed, trying to squirm away under him.

"You can, doll, you're right there, I fuckin' feel you - such a good girl, c'mon," he encouraged, offering a few messy kisses to your lips while you wantonly moaned without control. "One more, just for me, c'mon, baby, you can do it - just fa' me - there she is, yes, oh, fuck, yes, yes, yes," he laughed when you, for a third time, came in his hand and over his crotch.

"FUCK!" You yelped when he used the messy slick of your orgasm to line himself up and plunge directly into you. "Oh, shit - just - a minute, baby, hang on - fuck," you panted, holding his hips tightly with your legs spread. Slowly, you let them fall around his own as you relaxed.

"Got you, baby, 'M right here, take yah time," he whispered, flattening his tongue up your neck as he adjusted himself between your legs.

Half a minute later, you gave him permission to move - and it was the beginning of the end. You were sensitive, tight, gripping Tangerine to a new degree he hadn't felt before; his head spinning and mind short circuiting. You were nearly constrictive, webs of your stickiness coating him as he moved stiffly for the first few thrusts. As you loosened up under him, he gained momentum; your hands directing his face back to yours as you clung desperately to his hulking form.

He kissed you like it was the last thing he'd do (and maybe it was), holding your hips so he could drill into you easier; lifting one hand to pet your throat before gripping it, like before. The other then drifted to hike your leg up his hip, the new angle making him shudder lightly. "I'm there, love," he grunted, looking concentrated and borderline in pain, "right fuckin' there - ah shit, you feel so fuckin' good."

"Yes, yes, don't stop, Tan, please," you moaned, locating your clit to apply pressure and rub in harsh little circles.

"Ah, my greedy girl," he chuckled, "three wasn't enough?"

"Wanna cum with you," you whimpered, gasping into his mouth as you were overly sensitive and careened off your cliff. Your orgasm triggered Tangerine's, who plunged completely into you and held still while his balls contracted; mouths left gaping open against the other. In complete bliss, you shared a laugh of disbelief with sweaty foreheads pressed together - both forgetting reality for a bit.

At the moment Tan opened him mouth to confess something to you, Lemon decided to stumble in through the automatic door, yelling, "Bruv! Oi! Where you at!?"

"GET OUT!" Tangerine roared, barely visible over the top of the benches.

"The fuck you doin', mate?"

You latched your legs around Tan, keeping his cock planted snuggly inside you; rocking upward to hold onto his neck and spy his brother over the back of the seating. "Hi, Lem!" You chirped.

"Peach? Oh, fuck me!" He laughed. "Or - fuck you, ammirite?"

"Give us a minute, honey, would you, please?"

"Only a minute?" He laughed again. "'Cause that's all you need, right, Tan?"

"Fuck off, Lemon," Tangerine snapped. "We got the case, we're gettin' the fuck off at the next stop - just - fuck off a minute."

Lemon shrugged, "You make the plans, mate."

"Be out inna bit, love, thank you," you smiled prettily at Lemon, who finally nodded, held his hands up in defense and backed out of the train car. "Well," you mused when Tangerine leaned back into the seat but kept a firm grip on your hips, "that was only mildly embarrassing."

"He's seen me in worse positions," Tan shrugged, blinking when he realized how that sounded, exactly. "Not like that - no, just, I mean, as my bruva, you know, he's seen - you know what?" He sighed. "Don't fuckin' matter."

"So," you smirked, grinding your hips over his public hair, "you're taking my advice? Gettin' off the train?"

"I knew you were greedy, but this naughty, too?" He groaned, slapping his hands to your hips and guiding your motions. "Just filled you, love, and you want more?"

"That an issue?" You smirked, feeling him swell in you again.

"Not a bit," he smirked.

"Answer me," you demanded. "You seriously gettin' off?"

"Why the fuck not? The kid's dead and whatever's in the case should cover however pissed off this makes the bosses, right? Though..." He trailed off when one of your hands reached around to give a gentle tug on his balls.

"Keep goin'," you whispered with a growing smirk, hips swirling.

"Though," he cleared his throat, "don't think we've ever not finished a job before."

"This is different," you promised.

He gulped harshly, encouraging your motions; stretching up to squeeze both breasts and making you falter slightly into him. "All three of us are gonna get off, yeah?" He whispered, bringing you in closer as your hips began to rise and fall with steady tempo. "Got somewhere fa us t'go?"

"I'll get it arranged," you promised swiftly, arms coiling around his neck to hold yourself in position as you increased your speed. "But we're giving my employer the case."

"Fine with me," he nodded, "just wanna stay alive at this point." You chuckled with him, raising up to keep riding him; his eyes glancing over your shoulder and stiffening. "Uh, love? H-Hang on, hang on," his arms encased you suddenly, making you stop all ministrations.

"W-What's wrong? You okay?"

"Where's the fucking case?"

Your waist twisted to snap your torso around, peering over at the empty benches you had once sat in front of. Your blood was left behind... But the silver briefcase with a train sticker on the handle was missing.

"FOR FUCK'S SAKE!"

Six train cars up, Ladybug shuddered and told Maria, "Christ, they were at it like rabbits. And, hey, like, is it cool to be mean during sex now? 'Cause he was kinda mean, but she seemed into it, so... That's cool, I guess?"

"Some people like that," Maria eased.

"Do you?"

"You don't want that answer. Do you have the case?"

"For now," he sighed. "How much you wanna bet they haven't noticed, yet? Bet they're still goin' at it..."

"You sound jealous."

"They're both very attractive people... Hm, you know, maybe I am a little jealous."

"Of which one?"

"Not entirely sure yet."

requesting rules and masterlist

Bullet Train masterlist

[ryololart]

Tex's Backstory and Meeting Simon for the First Time

Warnings (all listed here)

Summary: Her childhood roughly and meeting simon

The border from Mexico to The United States is 1,951 miles long running from the Gulf to California. The main point of crossing lies at Ciudad Juarez and El Paso. It is the busiest border with over 300 million people crossing each year. With only three public ports of entry, 650 million dollars a day of goods have to travel through each day. 

Living near the border as a child was an experience to say the least, I saw the horror stories that showed up on the news. From drug deals, children separated from their parents that were jsut  trying to seek asylum, and cartels warring with border control. I saw too much blood as a kid. I knew the familiar sinking of red into the sand and how it smelled when it got hot in the sun. I watched as politicians came and went, claiming they cared and then locked people in cages like animals. I resented the government just as much as I needed them because the stories of deals gone south were just as true as the military coming to build the walls .They told you never  pick up hitchhikers, or stop for a lone car, that’ll be the last thing you ever do. Gunpowder was a familiar smell on Route 90. 

Some of my best friends growing up were immigrants from south of the border, they taught me Spanish, and told me their stories. Carlos was from El Largo, he and his brother were running from the Cartel their father was a part of. He lived down the street in a shack that had been empty for years. They broke in and fixed it up enough to not look suspicious. I had taught him how to replace shingles on a roof and how to put bars over the windows to keep kids from throwing rocks through them. However, his brother sold coke from over the border to make ends meet when he couldn’t get a job. He didn’t speak enough English and skin was too dark. They both died in a train accident when the rival cartel came and blew it up. We lit candles and left flowers at their door. Maia’s family were from Guatemala seeking a better life for her and her five siblings. They walked the entire way only to be made to sleep outside the fence for a half a year while their papers were being processed. Her little sister Nina died from heat stroke that summer. I remember the look on their mother’s face when she got into Sanderson. I had brought the lunch to my brother’s group at the Border Patrol Station where they all huddled together, cups of water in their hands they clung to like they had never seen it before. Outliving your child was one of the worst things to happen to a parent, and the gruesome way little Nina went out made me want to throw up. The desert isn’t kind to those who are fragile and yet she made it, but the government is what failed them. Liana and Marcus were two kids in my class whose family were deported and the two were left behind. They would sleep in the church pews and beg on the streets for money. Those two often stayed at my house when Mason and Papa weren’t home. They were my best friend’s growing up. Liana with her witty attitude and ability to stand up to anyone, and Marcus would throw fists to protect the other Mexican kids in town. They were stronger than I was, always had more grit even when they had nothing to lose. They kept each other going, and some days they kept me going too. 

I grew up in the small, poverty-stricken town of Sanderson, Texas with a population of a little over 600. We have one clinic, a train station, a gas station, a courthouse, two places to eat, a corner store, a library, a highschool, a cemetery, a disgusting motel, and a bizarre museum. It was the classic small town in the middle of nowhere, but at the same time in just the right place for trouble. There was one major place in town, the US Border Patrol Station where people came and went frequently. We were right on the train line coming from El Paso that brought everyone here. It was how the town made the little money we had. Asylum seekers spending what small amounts they had only to get stuck and have to stay for a while. Each week a few families would get off the train and walk the mile out to the UBPS. A few stores and businesses would hire the immigrants but they were unfairly underpaid and coerced into doing the jobs no one else wanted. 

My oldest brother, Mason, was a guard for the UBPS. I wish I could say he was a good man, but he wasn’t. He did things I don’t know if I can even stomach speaking of. Just hearing the door creak open, the shuffle of hard military boots on the weak floorboards, and the disgusting sound of his chirpy voice would make me climb out my bedroom window. I’d rather sleep in the truck bed in the heat of the summer than sleep in the same house as him. He often brought women home from the border only to kick them out on their own the next day. Mason wasn’t even handsome, he just offered that he would help them get on their feet if they paid with their bodies. Sometimes they were single mothers of families desperate for help. He wasn’t gentle either, I often saw them struggling to leave. heading back to the UBPS in the early dawn, covered with bruises. He often would make bets with his other guard friends on whether a kid would cry when they were separated from their parents. Often those kids were taken and never seen again. Trafficking ran rampant during these times. He killed some of them, the ones without papers, the people no one would remember. He would leave what drugs he had that day on their bodies to be found by the dogs. 

Mason is why I can’t stand dogs. He had this mutt, Cargo, vicious thing. He would often neglect him, push him to anger, and reactivity. I felt for him, he was just a dog, a loyal pup who wanted to be loved. Although none of us could get close enough for that without teeth in our arms. He nearly took my finger once. His barking would lead to my hands over my ears, and he often made me sprint inside to avoid him. Ethan and I had to keep him out back because he tried to bite Lucas.

 Mason was very ill, mentally. My friends would avoid him when they came over, hell I avoided him. He was awful to my other brothers and I. When he died in the early 2000s I didn’t flinch, god, I cried in relief. We all took a shot that night, in celebration of that war being fought and won. 

I think my father was the main reason Mason ended up like that. Papa was a cruel man, an alcoholic addicted to cocaine. However, that seemed to be the trend in the Thomas household. I knew he was home by the smell of the burnt rubber and chemicals. When he couldn’t hold a job, which was most of the time, he was doing various odd jobs. He never brought home enough cash to keep us going, especially with the bills from the clinic. He hit us frequently, put a hole in my door more than once, crashed the family’s only car, gave my brothers and I drugs to get us to leave him alone. He was never a father, just a man who abused us and slept on our couch. 

I used to keep my hair short back then, so he couldn’t grab it. Although Mama hated it. She always said she wished I’d kept it long, she only had one baby girl and didn’t need another man in the house. After that I let it grow back out and kept it stuffed up in a cap. She was my world, the only person in my life I was certain I would always love, someone that would never hurt me. Until she got ill. Mama suffered from various forms of mental illness but the worst was her postpartum depression after Lucas was born. I tried not to blame her, I knew how hard it was to live with my father. Hell she married him and had four kids. I did what I could to forgive her knowing it wasn’t her fault, but I was eight when she tried to kill our baby brother and then herself. Left him in the running bathtub while holding my father’s shotgun under her chin. I got him out of the tub while Mason pried the gun out of her hands. 

She faced the worst violence from my father. We all knew it and tried our best to keep him off her. The police had come and taken him away several times but once he got out he just did it again. There was nowhere to go, we had no money, no savings. All of it was spent on drugs. When she died I was thirteen. All the abuse my father had done to her slowly became pushed on to the kids. He had beaten us and screamed at us before, but it was because we weren’t meeting some of his unreasonable expectations. Now it was violence just to be violent. I watched Mason beat the living snot out of him several times and I myself got him on the ground during a few fights we had. Everyone knew my father in the town, knew what he was doing, but it was the 90s, you kept your mouth shut and kept going. What were you to do? Call child services? They would have just laughed into the receiver and hung up the phone.

We lived on 1st street, the farthest one north in town. We took our bikes everywhere because our truck was always broken. I guess that was where I learned I was good with my hands. That house was where I learned that anything could be done with a little bit of physical pushing. I fixed our fallen-through floorboards, collapsed roof, and holes in the walls. I was the one who pulled out and shot the rattlesnake who managed to get into the pipes. I got the truck working when we needed to rush Ethan to the hospital when Father almost beat him to death after he flushed his drugs. I fought Mason when he would bring girls home and force himself on them. I pulled the dog off of Marcus when he tried to jump over the fence to escape the cops. I changed every single one of Lucas’s diapers. I buried Mama with my own money I earned at the hardware store working hours upon hours to get us out of debt. 

Not everything in that house brought me misery however. It’s where my Mama raised me to be a good daughter, her daughter. It’s where we threw Liana and Marcus a birthday party for the first time ever. It’s where Ethan and I raised Lucas to be a good man, who would end the cycle with his own family. It’s where my team stayed when our base was overrun with a cartel and we needed safety. It’s the home I carved it into and goddamn I will die with the blood rotted into the wood. It was where I grew up, for better or worse, I am here now. 

I joined the military as soon as I was old enough. I was promised 20k, 10k before bootcamp and 10k after. The Air Force had set up a base in Val Verde Park just west of Ciudad Acuna. It was called Laughlin Air Force Base. It was two hours from my house and I needed to get away for awhile, find a little peace. When they cut my hair to my shoulders I buried the ends next to my mother. I buried her little girl I was so I could become the woman I was now. I hope she’d be proud of the soldier I have become, because it was in her honor and her sacrifice. She paid the dues and I will carry out the call. The oldest daughter of a broken family’s oath. 

The Air Force stripped me down to my skin and rebuilt me with armor in the fashion of strength, resilience, intelligence, grit, and confidence. It wasn’t that I was lacking these things, but they brought them out as weapons to attack not defend. It was so much different then the guards I grew up with. Their slimy attitudes and total lack of regard for human life. There were the good ones, the one who did it because they genuinely wanted to help, but those are the ones who died quickly. Mercy is a virtue. It is a spark that can be snuffed with a gust of wind just a little too powerful. The only way to feed that into a flame is to fuel it with those who surround you. If they’re the same scumbags who raped, killed, and maimed kids for fun they ain’t gonna be no help to you. 

I was a part of the 47th Maintenance Directorate. I worked on equipment and facilities worth more than the entirety of Sanderson. We worked on Jayhawks, Texan IIs, Talons, and more. I was in the T-38 Aircraft Maintenance Division, mostly focusing on crash recovery. I spent most of my days fixing broken aircraft, assisting in landing, and coordinating movements. Other times it was me, my truck, a radio, and a sandwich sitting in the desert looking for a downed aircraft. It was a good job until the cartels started targeting the base in the late 90s. Those days I had a rifle added to the list. We often fought for ground in the small town and found ourselves doing what we could to defend. One day we had to flee due to a bomb threat and my team and I huddled in my house back in Sanderson when we had nowhere else to go. Lucas loved it, got to hang out with all these cool military men. They taught him some games and songs we learned in bootcamp. Got him to do some exercises and called him “their little man”.

My team were some of the best people I had ever met in my twenty-eight years of life. There were forty of us in the directorate, but only six in my division. Martinez, Cruz, Halcón, Dino, Vaho, and I. Officially my name is Sergeant Master Evangeline Mae Thomas. My initials spell out EMT which no one could stop laughing over as I am the last person to have that as a job occupation. I fix machines, not people. I once couldn’t get a tourniquet on a dummy and the name stuck for a while. 

I fit in there. The barracks became my second home with people I trusted. Martinez was the oldest of seven, had a family to feed and parents to retire. He joined like me, at 18, and rose up through the ranks to get the higher pay grades. I don’t think I had ever seen him slack a day in my life. Cruz and Dino are two twins from over the border, who joined the military to get citizenship. The two are hardwired for trouble but taught me everything I knew about being a technician, just don’t leave an open can around them. Halcón was the best pilot I have met. It was like the console was in his mind and he could control it with his thoughts. He safely would fly damaged and out of control planes back to base after issues being found mid-flight. Not a single thing shook that man. Vaho was our rookie, tough guy from Louisiana. He earned the name Vaho after flying on little-to-no gas without checking with any of us. A little hostile around the edges but give him a cig and he’ll soften like a kitten. 

Papa died in 2003, was drunk and drove into a powerline on Route 90. Took them a few days to find him and his body was already being picked to shreds by the crows. Fitting end for a man plucked the strength of all the people who surrounded him. We didn’t even bury him, let the police do what they wanted. He didn’t deserve to be buried next to my mother and her grave by the spiny star foxtail flowers she loved so much. Mason died the year after, shot in a border crossing gone wrong. His men brought me his gun and I told them to keep it. His funeral was a party, not celebrating his life, celebrating his leaving of us and the destruction he caused. Ethan and I looked at each for the first time with peace in our eyes. 

Ethan was the family member I was closest with. Two years younger than me we grew up as my family’s backbone. We were the two who looked the most alike too, with our straw blonde hair, hazel eyes, and tanned skin from working in the sun. We raised Lucas ourselves when my mother couldn’t and my father wouldn’t. Mason contributed a little bit with the money to keep our house but otherwise he was blowing the paychecks on pleasure. I got a job during my school years to try to provide something. The local hardware store needed someone to do the busy work and labor the owners were too old to do now. Twelve year old me would take the four dollars an hour they were willing to give me. Ethan spent his time making sure Lucas was taken care of in only ways he could. He was the one pulling Mason and my father apart and I was covering Lucas’s eyes in the corner. We had to kick the two of them out many times and when we couldn’t, I stood on the pegs of Ethan’s bike, with Lucas on my back, down to the church. 

My family never were faithfully religious. Sure we went to church for service, but so did every other family in Texas. I think my mother was the only one of us to have any faith in the higher power. I often heard my mother begging God to help her when she thought she was alone in a room. The church wasn’t a sacred place to us, it was somewhere to get away from the horror. Sit in the pews and listen to the priest preach things we know he didn’t mean. He was in my living room doing a line with my father after church on Sundays. He also was notably horrible to the Mexican kids in my town. Liana and Marcus had to hide when they slept there because he would chase them out with a cross. Calling them “dirty mutts”. He never bothered learning Spanish either so when my town started calling him “El hombre que se Cago en Dios” he had no idea we were saying “the man who shits on god.” My town is what it feels like to say the word “blasphemy”, dry and drawn-out. 

I hated Cornell, I swore he looked at my mother a little too longingly somedays.  My mother was gorgeous. Her long dark hair, gentle light eyes, soft smile that could make anyone feel a bit lighter in there. step. She was the definition of grace as her name implied. I threw a bottle at Cornell once when he got too close, and sneaked a hand under a table towards her. The other men at the table didn’t blink twice, but I knew it was wrong. I could feel daggers being shot at me from the eyes of the same men whose hands that touched me like that. He hit me pretty hard after that but Mason didn’t like that. Not that he cared whether I was hurt or not, just that Mason and him really hated each other. I don’t know what happened between the two of them but he was always so tense around him. After he hit me Mason took him out back and beat him in an inch of his life. We weren’t allowed to go to church after that. Tore Mama up but I managed to steal a rosary from my teacher at school and left it hanging on her door.  I don’t know how Ethan and I got Lucas out of here. He now lives in Helotes with his girlfriend Carol, and their daughter, Joyanne. I remember when he came home from school telling us he got a girl pregnant. I had grabbed the phone book searching for the planned parenthood clinic up north, ready to spend my last paycheck on gas to get them there. However they were determined to keep it at just seventeen. At this point Mason had died about three months before so we turned his old room into a nursery. Painting the dark walls that smelled like cigarettes white had to be some kind of karma. Carol got kicked out by her very religious parents and ended up living with us. I made sure to take the chainsaw I fixed up from the dump and cut their mailbox off its post at noon that next day. Not too much damage but enough to make my point in broad daylight. We went from a family of six to three to five. They finished their senior year with their newborn and ended up both getting into Texas State University. With the little money they saved up, a loan, and Ethan's and I’s salaries of a year we got them to get out of Sanderson. They are both finishing up their degrees soon and Joy is almost four. She looks just like her mother, dark hair, big golden eyes, freckled cheeks, and a laugh that could make anyone smile. 

Ethan is a teacher at the local high school. He runs the music department and is the music teacher. It doesn’t pay great but that is what I’m for. He always had a knack for music, taking music sheets and history of the classics from the library. Often we would have to pay for them because Papa would rip them up and throw them at us but we made do. It made him happy to have music. I got him a CD player for his sixteenth birthday with some of my signing bonus. Let him pick out a few CD’s after a trip into San Antonio. I always regret not trying harder to let him have a chance at being a kid. We all deserved a childhood and out of all of us, he spent that time fighting for his. We have done what we could do to keep the house up and running, all our bills on time for the first time in almost 20 years. 

Despite our attempts we still succumbed to the Thomas family illness of addiction. My father used drugs to shut up as kids. I had been smoking, drinking, and taking pills since I was barely 8. I hid it better than my siblings did, I didn’t want the two younger boys to see their sister struggling as much as I did. Ethan really had a rough time in his late teens with cocaine as it helped him get through the long days with Lucas and work on his own. However in a small victory we managed to never let Lucas get his hands on anything, Carol and him are clean. Now we do our best to stay away from drugs but it's hard when all you have done for 20 years is numb the pain. There is no therapy, no doctor, no one who can help you in this wild west. I have been on my own since day one and no doctor is gonna fix this. The desert is cruel. It makes you do things you promised you’d never do. The night, the fights, the scrapping up for just another hour of life pushed humans to the limit. Such a place was not made for us and you did the best you could with what you had.

My mother had been taking xanax for years, she did her best to hide it from my father so he wouldn’t steal them but one day I found it and mistook it for painkillers. I have been trying for twelve years to stop but it’s better than weed and alcohol. It gets me out of my head. I’m on a river, floating, watching the birds go over me. There is no noise, no movement, just languid water pushing me in the river. I can sleep, I can think, I can rest. Each thought that awakens just boards a leaf and goes downstream never to be seen again. It’s my way of coping, even if it kills me. 

I took too much when I was 20, Owens, my commander, found me on the floor in my room completely out of it. My eyes wouldn’t focus, couldn’t move the muscles around my mouth to form words, my bones were like jelly. He had to carry me to the med wing because I would just slump over. He tried to put me in rehab after that but I wouldn’t go. He couldn’t send me home either because I was the sole breadwinner at the time and that was a death sentence. Instead he chose to keep a closer eye on me and I got better about hiding it. I tried to stop it but it was hard when it was so beautifully numbing. The world was so cruel and after so many years of blinding white grief I needed to take the edge off.

Liana and Marcus finally managed to get a trailer and live in The Park at the east edge of town. We had found it up north a bit in the middle of nowhere. The thing was run down and beat up. The insides are full of mold and dry rotted wood. All the old plush walls and seats had fallen apart and become deflated. We tore the entire inside out and replaced the wood. I had some extra furniture from the barracks and some we found at the flea market and spiced the inside up a bit.  Liana works for the US Border Patrol Station trying to help kids crossing the border. She gets in contact with families who need to immigrate but are having a problem moving everyone. She’ll work with them to get the kids over and get them a placement until their parents can join them. Marcus joined the Marines right out of high school. He got stationed in the Middle East and I haven’t seen him for awhile. Letters he has sent me says he is well, fighting away from the frontlines. Desert storm has been hard on all of us and I couldn’t imagine being out there. We see each other when we can but life takes you down different paths. Maia moved out of Sanderson not too long ago, headed up to Oklahoma with a boy. I haven’t talked to her in 10 years, as soon as she could get out of Texas she did. I don’t blame her. Texas will eat you up and spit you back out. It’s one big rattlesnake's nest and one wrong step you are dead.

 When I was 19 in bootcamp we had a kid from the north come to train with us. He had never been to Texas. Didn’t understand that it’s not a place, it’s an entity. The desert is not forgiving to those who are foreign. We stumbled across a Western-Diamondback Rattlesnakes nest, I and the others knew to avoid but he stepped right into it. It was like every noise nature that could produce sound, sounded out at once. Cicadas, crickets, birds, coyotes, they all called out to the maker. I watched his blood sink into the desert sand. It poured from his eyes, nose, ears, any hole he could flow out of it. He twitched, calling out for his mom in short grumbles, the whites of his eyes popped out of his sockets as he convulsed. Then he was still, the world was still. Commander carried him back and was the one to call his mom. My heart flinched as it was the same way I cried for my mother when she died. The longing, the need, the love with nowhere to go. This is the land of free, free from tyranny not consequences. Watch your step. 

When I got the call a few mornings ago to head to base because a missing British soldier had crawled across the border, I was bewildered. A man from the north crossed the desert. Not just crossed, but pulling himself across the sand with his scarred hands. I sat in his hospital room in Val Verde Regional Medical Center being told the story he could conjure up to the guards at the gate. I got in contact with the British Embassy to phone his commander, and it turns out Major Vernon was MIA. I just fell down the rabbit hole, learning whatever I could about this man. His name was Simon Riley, 28, from Manchester, England. Oldest brother of two, past jobs included a butcher job for three years, and then 6 years of service joining right after 9/11. He had originally been KIA but after this discovery it was revoked.

He was cut up real good, several long lasting injuries that didn’t heal right. Slowly patching up scars all around his mouth and face, a huge hook-like cut on his chest and just general torture looked. His eyes were bloodshot and the gray in the middle appeared as a soft blue. His skin was ghostly pale for a man who crawled across the Coahuila Desert. He was very weak, and couldn’t stay awake for longer than a few minutes. 

Finally after a few days he woke up. Sitting up in the hospital bed he looks small for someone who is so tall. His face is constantly scanning the room as if someone is going to reach out and get him. He is shell-shocked to his core as if he was prey. However, there was this anger in his eyes when he was awake. It was white and hot, flashing in front of me when our gaze met. For someone who could barely move, his fury could move mountains. I recognized that anger, it’s what got me through eighteen years in that house in Sanderson.

“Well look what the cat dragged in all the way from Mexico,” I say as I push the curtains to his room open. He flinches and pulls at the cuffs keeping him in the bed. A groan escapes his lips as his muscles fight against his quick movements. “Now don’t hurt yourself there lad. Your identification says you are a lieutenant all the way across the Atlantic. Mr. Riley, how you ended up in my neck of the woods, safe to say I don’t want to know. How you crossed that desert in the middle of winter, I don’t want to know. We already contacted the commanding officer above your clearly dead Major Vernon. We will get you home as soon as you heal up a bit. Till then you are my responsibility, Soldier. Name’s Sergeant Master Evangeline Mae Thomas, my boys call me Evan.” 

[bachissidehoe]

you wish

chapter 9 of it's classy, not classic [bachisagi]

Tonight is the night of Bachira’s art symposium, the final symposium of the Tokyo Art Tour. That’s the entire reason Bachira’s been living here. After this, his business in Tokyo finishes and he’ll move away to continue his work. It’s all been building to this, since this will be the final event that Isagi and Bachira will be publicly presenting as a couple. 

The two of them have had plenty of conversations about this night, knowing that they would be “breaking up” shortly after. But now, now that Isagi is looking at himself in the mirror, he’s realizing just how serious tonight will be. Not just for the public perception, but for himself as well. He’s admitted now that he likes Bachira in a different way than just a friend. He fantasized plenty about their relationship being real, but it’s unrealistic. This event is his opportunity to both grasp and let go of these feelings. 

But why can’t Bachira just stay in Tokyo? Does his job really require him to leave? Well, no. Technically, he can be an artist from wherever he wants. But this has always been the plan. Bachira finishes up his tour here, he goes home and lives close to his mother, who is also an artist, and lives out his life the way he wants. Isagi asking him to do something different would be selfish and inconsiderate. Especially after his conversation with him in which he suggested he try to play soccer again, only to be met with the pain he’s kept deep down all this time. Forcing him to live in Tokyo to be faced with the life he wished he had is unfair. 

Isagi sighs, checking himself over from head to toe. He’s learned a lot from Bachira since the last time he had to get dressed up for something, but he still doesn’t look nearly as good as when Bachira was in charge. Still, he’s done his best. He wears a navy blue vest and navy blue dress pants, coupled with a button down black shirt and navy blue bowtie. He pushed his hair back too, showing off his “distinguished” look. All things considered, Isagi looks good. 

He continues to check himself in his phone’s camera all the way to the event, through the train ride, on the short walk from the station to the convention center, as he stands outside, building his confidence to enter. 

And as he does, god damn. This is surely the most high class event Isagi has ever been to. Isagi thought he was enjoying a high class life as an athlete, but that’s nothing compared to the lifestyle one must live to attend an event like this. The entire convention center is decorated in a sparkling gold motif, with chandeliers made of gemstones and guests holding gold napkins underneath their dazzling champagne glasses. Even in Isagi’s most try-hard rich boy outfit, he still looks drastically out of place. 

“Sir, can I have your name please?” 

Isagi turns, shaking his gaze away from the impressive atmosphere to bring his attention to the check-in desk. Even this is gorgeous, with multiple women in matching suits and hairstyles standing behind the high-top rectangular table, dressed in a black silk tablecloth and gold booklets holding the names of the prestigious guests. Isagi imagines even the check-in people went through multiple rounds of hair and makeup before being cleared to act as the faces of the event. 

“Hello, yes. Isagi Yoichi.” Isagi responds, trying his absolute hardest not to sound as anxious and confused as he feels. 

“Oh, of course, Isagi-sama.” The woman nods. “I hardly recognized you outside of a soccer setting.” She chuckles. Even the chuckle is professional. 

But at least she recognizes him. Maybe his standing will give him a leg up in fitting in at this event. 

“You have been registered as Bachira Meguru-sama’s guest. Help yourself to the complimentary champagne and hors d'oeuvres.” The woman hands him a golden lanyard with a metal card engraved with his name. None of those conference-style paper nametags, a literal engraved tag. 

“Thank you very much.” Isagi bows, flashing her a kind smile, grabbing a booklet with descriptions of the different artists, exhibits, and their locations in the conference hall. 

He makes his way inside the event, surrounded by mainly old men and their frighteningly young wives. The art scene is a very different world than soccer. From what Bachira has described, high class art is most often enjoyed by many, but acquired by few. To be as successful of an artist as he is, his work must appeal to the rich and famous, acting as tools to display to the other rich and famous. 

In Isagi’s amateur opinion, this brand of individuals cannot possibly understand the emotional aspects of the art, but then again, Isagi doesn’t quite get it either. 

The first step is likely to get a glass of this high class champagne, as it seems like everyone, no matter what they’re doing, is holding one, taking very small sips of it every once in a while. That shouldn’t be too hard of a task. 

“Isagi!” A voice calls, forcing him to turn from his place in line at the bar. 

“Ah fuck.” Isagi groans under his breath. “Um, Hiro-” He starts, realizing he actually doesn’t recall his full first name or his last name. Come to think of it, maybe he actually never knew. He could have assumed he would be here as someone so high up in the art world, but then again, Isagi was under the impression that he was only here a few weeks ago to stalk Bachira. 

“Good to see you again.” He smiles. It annoys Isagi. “I’m so sorry, I never fully introduced myself the last time we met. It’s Abe Hiroshi.” He reaches out to shake Isagi’s hand.

Obviously, Isagi wants to take his hand and squeeze it until his fingers crack one by one, but he gives him a simple handshake instead. 

“Oh, your first name is Hiroshi, that makes sense.” Isagi says aloud. 

“Hah, yeah. Only the closest to me have ever called me Hiro.” He chuckles, hopping into line next to Isagi. 

That statement nearly makes hot steam start streaming out of Isagi’s ears. The thought of Bachira being the “closest” to this guy makes him want to kick him in the knees. 

“I apologize, Abe-san.” He replies. 

“Don’t worry about it!” He slaps him on the back, a little too playfully for Isagi’s liking. 

“So, um, are you presenting at this event?” Isagi asks through gritted teeth, praying he won’t be expected to hang out with this guy. Or even worse, if this guy wants to spend his time fucking with Bachira at his exhibit. It may turn into a let’s-take-this-outside-moment if that’s the case. 

“No, no. I’m one of the members of the board who put this event on, I’m just doing my rounds throughout the night.” He explains, waving and smiling at some rich looking dudes as they walk by. 

It seems as though Abe Hiroshi is much more important than Isagi had imagined. It was true what Bachira said, that Hiro was the reason why he became a popular artist. That no matter what happened between the two of them, Bachira can’t do anything to bring Hiro to justice for the way he treated him. He’s too powerful. 

“Oh, I see. Wow, that’s impressive.” Isagi replies. And this time he means it. It is quite impressive, even if this guy is wholeheartedly a dickbag. 

Additionally, if Bachira or Isagi were to piss this guy off, it’s possible that he could ruin Bachira’s career. That’s the type of power he has. 

Hiro turns away from the crowd, ensuring his words are being spoken to Isagi and Isagi only. “I know that my relationship with Ru was ruined because of my own actions, I just want to put you at ease that I got a little excited about being with him, and have no intention of doing anything to make him or you uncomfortable moving forward.” 

Even through that entire statement in which Hiro held himself accountable, the only thing Isagi can hear is that nickname. Why would he be allowed to call Bachira something so affectionate? 

“I understand. I appreciate that.” Isagi replies, maintaining his composure through his irrational anger. 

“If you haven’t seen his exhibit yet, you really should. It made me realize that I never really understood him at all.” Hiro scratches the back of his head, turning back to the side to face outward toward the crowd. 

“I will visit it.” Isagi nods, acquiring his glass of champagne. 

Hiro is truly a strange guy, clearly he’s the type of person who’s never been told “no” in his entire life. No wonder he wouldn’t listen to Bachira’s repeated “no’s”. He’s rich, attractive, popular, and has immense power. But still, he could be using that power in a much more harmful way than he is. As hard as it is for Isagi to grasp, it’s likely true that Hiro does care about Bachira and his success on a personal level. 

Isagi can’t help but feel immense rage toward that guy, an incessant need to lock him up somewhere so Bachira never has to look so afraid again. But at least he’s staying out of the way. And now Isagi’s here, he can protect Bachira, he can keep him safe.

Bachira’s exhibit, titled “You Wish”, is located in the center of the event, one of the highlights of the entire symposium, apparently. This publicity stunt between him and Isagi has actually generated enough buzz to put Bachira on the radars of the most prominent art gurus. 

And as soon as Isagi is within range of Bachira’s exhibit, he can see why his talent has captured the attention of so many. There are colors splashed on canvases that reflect off the glittering chandeliers in a way that makes the area look decorated in rainbows. Before Isagi can even see paintings up close, he can feel Bachira’s presence in the atmosphere of the “You Wish” exhibit. 

“Yoichi!” 

Bachira spots him before he even notices, calling and waving in a way that Isagi feels like would get him kicked out of his event if he weren’t the premiere artist. Regardless, Isagi’s cheeks instantly turn a deep shade of pink. 

“I’m so happy to see you.” Bachira tears himself away from the conversation he was having, with clearly very important people, to run toward Isagi, nearly jumping into his arms. 

Isagi nearly falls over from cuteness, Bachira’s never acted this sweet in public with him before. “Hi Bach- Meguru.” He smiles, wrapping his arms around him in a comforting hug. His cologne is intoxicating, traveling through Isagi’s sensory receptors like it’s putting a spell on him. He wonders if Bachira ever felt anything similar toward him. He wears a gold pair of dress pants and a black ribbed sweater, a long gold chain hanging from his neck. He looks much less dressy than the people attending the event, but Isagi imagines he probably dressed like this to stand out as an artist rather than blend in with the crowd. Regardless, he looks good. He always does, though.

As Bachira walks him into the exhibit, the cameras are flashing, the people are calling for him, waving him down, complimenting him. But all Isagi can do is stare in awe, completely taken over by these paintings. As he looks at them, he can’t believe he’s never seen any of Bachira’s works before. 

It’s all so clear, even someone as dense as Isagi understands what’s happening here immediately. Those colors he saw earlier were only from half of the exhibit. The second half. 

The first half of the exhibit is painted in dark colors, blacks, grays, purples, dark blues. The second half is where the brightness is, with reds, blues, yellows, and bright greens. Every single painting here has one overarching theme: soccer. 

Isagi shouldn’t feel so surprised, especially after Bachira confessed how hard it has been watching everyone progress without him. But these paintings bring a new sense of emotion to his world, a look into the true tortured mind of Bachira Meguru. What it’s really like for him to watch others live out his dream. 

The dark side of the exhibit depicts gut wrenching imagery: an arm tangled in a net, eerily similar texture to that of a soccer net, a hypnotic image with the same patterns seen on a soccer ball, a broken, gray trophy filled with grass and mud, a vast, empty field with dark clouds looming above a lone figure, and a large monster-looking shadow branching out from the figure. This is Bachira Meguru’s life after his injury, his heartbroken state of losing what he loved most. 

And the bright side of the exhibit is even more heartbreaking: bright fields with fists raised into the air, a ball breaking through the back of a soccer net, a blast generated from someone powerfully kicking a ball. And the most beautiful painting: a sun shining light down onto a figure with their back toward the viewer, a figure wearing the number 11. In fact, all of these images showcase the number 11 somewhere. Isagi’s number. 

He can’t help but tear up at the realization of what he’s looking at. It’s the way Bachira feels about himself and his dreams versus the way he feels about Isagi living them. He’s tortured, yet he’s so happy for Isagi. Isagi can only imagine his face as he was painting these, as he was moving the brushes through globs of acrylic paint with tears streaming down his cheeks. It’s not fair. Bachira should be out on that field with him. 

“Meguru- I-” Isagi gasps, his breath still floating around the room somewhere without him. Probably with the soul that left his body at the same time his breath was taken away. 

“This one will be receiving the Color Masterpiece Award soon. The most prestigious award here.” Bachira smiles, following Isagi’s gaze to the painting his brain described as the most beautiful one. “I named it “You Wish”, that’s where I got the name for the exhibit.” 

“It’s amazing. You’re amazing.” Isagi finally turns to him, his eyes still wide with what he can only describe as dazzlement. “Is that- is that me?” 

“No way, just some random pro soccer player who happens to mean a lot to me and also wears the number 11.” He chuckles. 

Isagi’s heart drops into his stomach. Who happens to mean a lot to me. “It’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen. You have incredible talent.” 

“Well, let’s hope it sells.” He laughs, turning back to his audience to smile and wave at them.

Artists really are something. Bachira can act as silly and expressive as he wants here; it's viewed as part of the artistic vision. But if a guest would dare to act so jumpy and eccentric, Isagi imagines they would surely be escorted away from the premises. 

Isagi can only stand and continue staring at the paintings, admiring the emotion in every single brush stroke. He stands and stares through the entire award ceremony, watching Bachira shake the hands of so many rich old dudes as a large golden ribbon is placed next to his painting. Cameras flash and people clap respectfully, eager to speak with the artist himself as they admire the gold ribbon next to the painting that is now valued at over 1.5 million yen. 

“Yoichi, get over here!” Bachira calls again, forcing Isagi out of yet another trance to grab him for a picture. 

Isagi smiles, letting out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “You are so cool.” Isagi breathes out as Bachira throws his arm around him.

“Hah!” 

“You painted all this stuff while we’ve been dating?” Isagi asks, ignoring all the shouts from the judges and important people looking to document this award. 

“Yeah, kinda embarrassing huh.” Bachira giggles, playfully sticking his tongue out at Isagi. “My feelings for you are about to make me pretty damn rich though.” 

And in that moment, Isagi can’t help himself. There’s a wave of emotion that crashes over him, from the paintings, to seeing how good Bachira looks, to watching him smile while getting that award, to hearing him basically confess to him right here. The switch flips. He feels it every time he’s on the field, and he felt it that one time he “practice” kissed Bachira. 

He grabs the collar of Bachira’s sweater, crashing their bodies together as he forcefully plants his lips against that cute little tongue poking out at him. Isagi will probably feel the embarrassment from this later, there’s people everywhere, they’re all watching. 

Bachira is completely caught off guard, his eyes remaining wide open for a moment before his body can respond to the fact that Isagi is kissing him like this. His fists clench next to him, his heart rate increasing as he finds himself unable to react. He can only stand there, tasting Isagi’s plump lips in front of the entire crowd. 

Isagi pulls back with a reddened face and a look of cautioned bliss. “I’m sorry about that.” 

Roars of applause, flashing cameras, and “aww’s” come from the large crowd in the exhibit. The people love it, a surprising development in a public display of affection between two guys in Tokyo, Japan. That said, this couple has been populating so many news pages lately, it’s only expected that the old rich men of the art community would be made aware. 

Bachira pulls back flushed as well, but recovers almost instantly. Isagi is jealous of his ability to do that, while he’ll be stuck thinking about this for weeks. “You’re bold, Yoichi.” He smirks. 

“I, uh, you said you have feelings for me and- I just-” Isagi rushes through it, with all these people around. It’s definitely not an ideal place for this conversation, not even close. 

“Couldn’t help yourself?” Bachira maintains his sly smile. 

“Yeah. I couldn’t.” Isagi chokes. 

“We should make the most of that.” 

“What do you mean?” Isagi tilts his head to the side, watching Bachira start to laugh with the guests once again, posing with some other individuals asking for a picture. But Isagi doesn’t understand why Bachira would be focusing on them when he’s right here. Isagi can’t even hear them. 

Bachira turns back around. “Give me a minute, go hang out here and I’ll be there in a few.” He holds out his hand, placing a piece of paper in Isagi’s hand. 

Isagi nods, stepping away to read the paper. It simply has a number on it, B-12. It must be a meeting room for the artists or something, it seems like Bachira must have been handed this paper when he first got here to tell him where to go. 

It doesn’t take long for Isagi to find the room, entering the dark, small, empty space and searching for a lightswitch. After he finds himself unsuccessful, he leans against the door, letting out another long breath. 

Bachira must want to yell at him or scold him for kissing him in front of all those people. If he wants to talk in private, and so immediately, it must be important. 

His heart hasn’t stopped racing either. 

And it races more when he feels the door press against his back, as someone tries to enter. 

“Fuck- sorry-” Isagi moves away, allowing Bachira to open the door and enter the dark room. Even in the dark, Isagi can see the light from those golden eyes of his. 

“Hey.” Bachira chirps, closing the door behind him. 

“Hey, I’m sorry I did that in front of those people, I should have just talked to you and told you more later but I-”

Isagi is quickly cut off as Bachira closes the gap between them, pressing his lips fervently against his. He pulls away just as quickly as he kissed him. 

“What are you-” Isagi squeaks, his confidence suddenly diminishing. 

“Capitalizing on this, hm?” Bachira turns Isagi around, slowly backing him against the door. The light trickles in from underneath the door, giving him just enough to illuminate Bachira’s face.

“What do yo-”

“Shhhh~” Bachira presses a finger to Isagi’s lips. It must be a tactic to strengthen that spell he cast on Isagi earlier with the smell of his cologne. It’s a very effective one. “Do you want to kiss me?” 

Isagi has never seen Bachira like this, not even when they kissed that other time. His smile is devilish, but not in a sassy way. His eyes are dark, but not in a tired way. His voice is raspy, but not in a groggy way.

Isagi can’t do a thing against this form of Bachira Meguru. 

All he can do is gulp and nod slowly. 

That’s all it takes for Bachira to close the gap once again, one arm pressed against the wood of the door, and the other gripping the fabric of Isagi’s button down shirt. Isagi is trapped by his body, but that’s exactly where he wants to be, with Bachira’s legs pressing him harder against the door as he kisses him deeply. 

This isn’t a practice kiss. It’s not a fake kiss. There’s nobody to see it, nobody to report on it, nobody to testify to the realness of their relationship. It’s just the two of them, breathing heavily between smooth, wet kisses. Bachira’s tongue tastes like heaven and his lips feel like a fluffy cloud, Isagi never realized a kiss like this could remove his soul from his body only to reincarnate him with every sleek swipe of Bachira’s perfect tongue. 

Isagi tries to keep his hands balled into fists at his side, willing them not to move on their own, begging that they hold themselves back from what he really wants with this moment. But they don’t listen, those stupid hands. They travel up Bachira’s back, one hand finding its way to tangle in his two-toned scruffy hair while the other finds an entry point onto his bare skin. His hair is so soft, and his skin is so smooth, directly contrasting how his kisses get rougher with every forced breath he takes. 

Isagi finds the lust taking over. Bachira was right, this feeling is different from kissing a girl. It’s better. He can’t imagine a place he’d rather be than right here, in this dark room, with Bachira’s tongue exploring the inside of his mouth. He doesn’t care about the little sounds he keeps letting slip, he doesn’t care that he’s not in charge the way he thought he’d be. 

“Hmm~” Bachira hums against his lips, feeling Isagi’s nails grazing against the skin of his back, his other hand tugging lightly on his soft locks. “I really like that, you know.” He mumbles, his raspy voice digging into Isagi’s mind, into a place that he’s sure to revisit again and again. He sounds so beautiful. 

“Okay.” Isagi breathes, his heart rate increased to potentially dangerous levels as he watches quick breaths escape from Bachira’s slightly parted lips with every movement of Isagi’s fingers tangled in his hair and pressed into his back. 

Bachira doesn’t waste the opportunity to trail his own hands down Isagi’s body, resting briefly on his hips, then trailing just a bit inward, enough to make Isagi wince against his lips. Bachira chuckles, a demonic little giggle. “I love making you squirm.” He admits, pulling Isagi’s bottom lip between his teeth. 

Isagi can only breathe heavier, his vision growing blurry as he tries to process the sensations coursing through his entire body. There’s so much he wants to say, so much he wants Bachira to do. 

Bachira grabs Isagi’s hair, pulling his head to the side so he can whisper in his ear. “Your legs are shaking.” He rasps, his teeth clamping on Isagi’s earlobe as he tastes it with his tongue. 

“I- I know-” Isagi’s voice is shaky too, both of his hands now tugging on Bachira’s hair. 

“Every time I do something you like, you pull harder on my hair, did you know that?” Bachira asks, his hot breath tickling his saliva-coated earlobe. 

“Hmm~ no-” Isagi whines. 

“You should tell me what else you want.” Bachira turns Isagi’s head to face him directly again, that same gorgeous demon smile plastered on his perfect face. “You damn egoist.” 

Isagi can only react, his body doing the work for him as he kisses him again, unable to spend another second apart from his lips. His hands trail down Bachira’s body, moving to make contact with the strong hands that still rest on his waist. 

He grabs his wrist. 

“That’s it~” Bachira coaches. “Put my hand where you want it.” 

There’s no more semblance of reality in Isagi’s entire mind or body, there’s only Bachira. If he were asked where he is right now, what he does for a living, why he’s here, there would be no answers. Only Bachira. Just this moment, just his hand moving toward the exceptionally tight bulge in his pants. 

“You should tell me what to do, Yoichi.” He whispers. “I won’t know unless you tell me.” 

Isagi gasps, feeling Bachira’s hand make contact with his clothed erection. “I- fuck- I want you on your knees.” Isagi manages to moan out, breathing heavily as he looks at Bachira’s lustful gaze. 

“Good boy.” He replies, dropping to his knees without breaking eye contact for even a second. 

With every movement, the sounds of his belt buckle coming undone, everything Bachira does, he feels shivers run down his spine. He can’t fathom the electric shocks lighting up his core as he feels Bachira sliding his pants down his shaky thighs. 

Isagi leans his back against the door, watching breathlessly as Bachira releases his cock from its confinement, golden eyes still trained on Isagi’s blue ones.

“Oh fuck, you are so pretty.” Bachira gasps, his fingers slowly wrapping around Isagi’s fully erect cock. 

“I- I thought- you must have- seen- it before~” Isagi breathlessly watches Bachira trace his fingers up and down his cock, his thumb rubbing over the oozing tip, spreading his precum around his plump, pink head. 

“Not like this, pretty boy.” Bachira chuckles, wrapping one hand around the base, jerking it slowly a few times. “Don’t try to hold it back for me, got it?” He winks, his seductive movements making Isagi feel like he could cum already. 

Bachira’s lips wrap around his tip, squeezing down as he plays with it, letting his tongue soak up the taste of him. Isagi leans harder on the door, praying that his body weight doesn’t break it from the amount of force he’s putting on it. 

Is this feeling what he’s been missing out on? This feeling he was convinced he didn’t need? Because right now, he’s damn sure he’ll never be able to feel anything as good as this. 

Bachira tightens his hand around the base of Isagi’s shaft, stroking it and moving his mouth up and down at the same time. He could do this for days, years if Isagi wanted. Those pretty whimpers escaping from his slightly parted lips are ethereal. 

“I- don’t know how long-” Isagi grunts, his hips thrusting into Bachira’s mouth on their own. The sensation feels like thousands of missiles are exploding inside his body, sending bursts of ecstasy toward every single nerve he has. 

The way Bachira’s tongue moves, the way he licks and sucks at the same time, he is amazing. He’s so damn good at it. For someone acting so dominant, it really seems like Bachira’s quite the giver. He’d rather kneel in front of Isagi’s shaky body than make him do it instead. And Bachira’s not upset with that decision at all, no, he loves doing this. He loves feeling the drool build up in his mouth only to escape from the corners of his lips, he loves how Isagi’s cock tastes, he loves how drops of precum dribble onto his tongue, how his cock twitches with every quick movement. 

Bachira hums in response, the vibrations stimulating Isagi’s cock as he finds his hands making their way back into Bachira’s hair. 

He pulls, harder this time, pushing his cock further into Bachira’s used mouth. There’s something about seeing Bachira like this, on his knees, so gracefully sucking that thick cock, it makes Isagi want to force it further. If he wasn’t so shaky right now, if he wasn’t so stimulated by the intensity of the situation, he’d tell him to suck it harder, he’d hold his head in place and watch the tears fall. But he can’t, he’s so dizzy, so overstimulated, taken over by the sensations Bachira’s making him feel. 

Isagi grips on his hair, moaning as he feels him hurtling toward his edge. “I- Megu-” He whines. 

Bachira holds his position, looking up to meet Isagi’s gaze as he releases, cumming in thick, white ropes down Bachira’s throat. Bachira doesn’t even falter for a moment, taking his thick load with no trouble at all. 

“Ah~” Isagi whines, his mouth open wide as he breathes heavily, the sensations of Bachira’s lips on his cock sending him into overdrive. He could pass out from how hard he came. He could die right here, he would be happy with that. 

“There ya go, better?” Bachira pulls back, looking up at Isagi with an innocent expression, as if he didn’t just swallow his entire load in one gulp. 

“Mhm.” Isagi doesn’t know what else to say, he can really only stare at his fake boyfriend, on the floor in front of him, his tongue freshly coated with his cum. 

“You needed that, I bet.” Bachira stands up, sliding Isagi’s boxers up with him. 

Bzzzzzz. Bzzzzzzzz. 

Bachira’s phone buzzes in his pocket, distracting him from his current task of dressing Isagi for the second time since they’ve known each other. 

“Hello?” Bachira answers.

Isagi stands with his hand covering his mouth, fearful that his loud post-orgasm breaths could get Bachira in trouble. 

“No, I just had to step outside, I’m coming right back.” He chuckles, pausing as the person on the other line speaks. “I know, I know, I can’t stay in one place for too long though. You know that.” Another pause. “Alright! I’m coming, be right there.” He ends the call, looking back toward Isagi. 

“Just in time, I gotta give my speech.” He giggles, back to that cute little playful giggle he always does. 

“A-are- I- really?” Isagi stutters, still in recovery mode. 

“Yeah, what? Is it hot that you gotta come watch me speak after you just came in my mouth?” He pokes his tongue out, taunting him. 

“Uh, uh huh.” Isagi nods, dazed. 

“See ya there, then.” He places a quick kiss to Isagi’s lips, leaving him in that dark room with his dress pants still crumpled around his ankles. 

Isagi somehow put himself back together in time to make it back into the crowd to listen to Bachira’s acceptance speech, but he is confident he didn’t hear a single word. 

[thedisablednaturalist]

Ideas for your KC trip from someone who grew up in that neck of the woods:

Powell gardens is southeast of the city. It’s a really cool place if you can swing the trip (it is outside city limits and idk what your transportation will look like.)

Science city in union station is also fun. Mind you the last time I went I was like. In middle school on a field trip. But also the train station is beautiful and they have all sorts of seasonal exhibits. (also bonus there’s a dive bar behind the train yard called Rythm & Booze. Idk if that’s your speed but if you do go I recommend the cheddar onion smash burger)

In that same vein, Missie B’s is nightclub that’s know for its drag performances. I’ve never been but have heard good things.

Prospero’s bookstore is like one of the coolest places I’ve been. It’s not very accessible but if you have a good spoon day I recommend it.

The Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art is the home of many fond memories of mine and is free admission!

there is a sealife aquarium at crown center. I’ve never been but one of their aquarists did give a talk at my college ecology orientation class.

I hope you have a good time!!! KC holds a special place in my heart, it’s a hotbed for acceptance and organizing (shout out to the KC tenet Union!!!!!) in the area and it’s where I first started to really explore myself as a queer person. I wish you luck!!!

Oh heck yeah thank you for the recommendations! I have to use my own money for personal transport (if i want to go sightseeing or something) but my meals are paid for at least. I'd love to see the gardens or the aquarium! I might also check out the nightclub since I love drag. Do you know how good public transport is? I mostly plan on using uber or lyft but having the option to take a bus or train would be nice. I've heard that Kansas City is known for having really good "wet barbecue" and tex-mex if you have any recommendations regarding those. I'm glad to hear the city is queer friendly (or at least has a queer community), as I was worried about traveling to a red midwestern state. Hopefully I have enough time and spoons to see at least one place.

[ri47]

Forgive me if this is already answered, but what does non-pygmalion/jackal transport look like? What's the state of things there?

as a rule, barring extreme top crusts in the places where most people live (a lot of Kishar is inherently an extreme top crust), personal vehicle ownership is rare. spaceships designed for interplanetary travel aren't all that advanced, outside of the ones containing necromatrix-based daemons to regulate the ship's functions, but those are the kind generally used by civilians. FTL isn't really a thing

on planetary surfaces, most civilian centres use trams and trains to get around. in more rural areas, cars, 'cycles, and trucks aren't unheard of, and the exact nature of ownership there varies. for example, sometimes a community shares one bus or plane for transportation to larger cities. sometimes a family has a car that's a bit of an heirloom. sometimes your father just has a cool motorcycle.

you won't find very many "hovercraft" outside of very specific military applications, although some of the KHU upper class do have things along those lines for avoiding contact with the general public

non-human earth animals past a certain size (read: most things bigger than a cat) aren't really common anymore, but at least one breeding stable of horses is kept by a Kishar lineage, mostly for show. somewhat recently on Irra, there were some efforts to domesticate the predators (ophiotaurs specifically, which are about the size of an aurochs) for transportation usage, but this almost immediately backfired and resulted in yet another grey contractor station becoming nothing more than a stretch of stampeded ruins

planes still exist, with maglaunched spaceplanes being a fairly common way to move human passengers to into orbit for ships that are large enough to render landing impractical. civilian air travel is about what you'd expect, except with more VTOL in locations with built-up infrastructure

moving fortresses are a fixture of surface wars, whether that takes the form of enormous weapons platform aircraft that are designed to never ground or city-sized trains that move without rails. some of these get large enough to necessitate their own internal tram systems

[villagerain]

@steeleidolon --

It is as public as a public venue can be -- more or less. Not precisely the highest class of bars, End of the Line resides in the sliver between the transit station and the corkscrew tunnel vehicle access, and serves grounders who may need to wait for the train until last call as much as it serves Plate-dwellers looking for a taste of the underbelly without the grime of Wall Market.

It may as well be a speakeasy lifted from fifty years ago and deposited three hundred meters above the ground. Nicotine-stained brick and amber lights, wrought iron cup-stools, plush leather benches worn to a patina, a dark hardwood bar, real wood and brass in an age of synthetics, all paint a picture of run-down opulence.

And then there's the karaoke setup. Kunsel descends to whistles, the odd catcall, a tossed-crumpled gil note (with a phone number, it looks like), and then jeers as he cedes the stage and the microphone to an unsteady salaryman who is ruddy-faced and eager for the next song. Must be a regular. It's early yet as these places go and the crowd isn't that large.

Kunsel is mostly out of regs, not that over-knee boots and fitted trousers are terribly uncommon. The hug of long-sleeved mesh and angle-patterned dark fabric draw attention away from the lambent gleam of eyes in the dark. Not to say he did not bring the other half of his uniform--it's within sight in the clear-paneled gun cabinet behind the bar. Swords and coat, right next to someone's shotgun. Maybe the barkeep's. Maybe not.

Playing by the rules and all.

Kunsel helps himself to a perch on a stool right nearby with an air of sprezzatura he may not feel at the eerily familiar face.

"Oof. Why are you looking at me in that tone of voice?" He manages wry as he orders something strong and citrus-forward. Maybe he'll even get to finish it. "Was it that bad?"

A Turk outside of uniform is still a Turk. Balto has eschewed the usual suit jacket and white shirt for a satin, navy blue shirt buttoned up to his collarbone and white slacks, but he is not here without purpose. That delineation between profession and personal does not exist for him anymore. The higher you climb, the older you get, the smaller the view out that window becomes. 

SOLDIER First Class, Kunsel. Newly promoted. Not his usual type, but that hardly matters. 

Balto keeps his head bowed, providing his undivided attention as his companion’s rich baritenor shares space with the warmth from old-fashioned, power hungry incandescents and exposed brickwork walls. 

He's already nursing a drink by the time Kunsel snakes his way back through the rounded tables with their glossy, vinyl black marble finish. The ball of ice in his glass bobs on its amber bed as he sets it down and leans against the bartop on one elbow with his body angled towards Kunsel.

"You could benefit from vocal training." There's something resembling a grin on his face, more in his eyes than the line of his mouth as he meets Kunsel’s gaze over the top of his glasses. "It wasn't bad, objectively speaking."

Good enough to impress the crowd, although the reception of most any performance always improves with a pretty face.  

“I can’t complain anyway.” If not for a direct invitation to attend, he’d be sitting out in the cold on the rooftop right about now, half-asleep with a headset on. Good to know the brutal honesty approach isn’t a total wash. “So, why the change of heart?”

Balto breaks eye contact briefly to glance at the bartender as she slides an eye wateringly bright, orange cocktail across the way.

“Sector Eight Cocktail.” She looks between the two men beneath a fringe of brown bangs, guessing at their association perhaps, before the curiosity drowns somewhere in the need to address the demands of the bar’s other patrons. Attractive in the conventional sense, despite the fake lashes and dramatic winged liner. Balto catches her attention before she can turn away by wiggling his fingers ‘hello.’ 

“Hey pretty miss, I’ll have one too, please.”

[tomthefanboy]

Dream journal 4/24

Dreamed a star wars AU where Order 66 didn't happen the same way. Anakin didn't fall, and he didn't really have a relationship with Palpatine at all. He was still the chosen one and all that but he wasn't part of the sith plot at all. The Clone Wars happen but when Order 66 takes place there's a mass assassination of the generals in the field who are doing combat operations, but the rest of the Jedi "surrender peacefully". Both Anakin and Obi-wan attacked Grievous and killed him in like, a minute and a half, but then were politely arrested by the clones when they returned to the shuttle.

Yoda and Mace and the surviving counsel members have had their connection to the Force so fogged by the Sith magic that they're not sure WHAT happened with the Jedi who supposedly "betrayed the Republic". All remaining Jedi are escorted back to Coruscant and barred from leaving the planet until the trials of the Seperatist high command are concluded. At which point their intel and testimony will be used to uncover the specifics of the "Jedi Treason". The dream starts several days into this "parole" period where public opinion has turned against the Jedi. The temple has a clone garrison monitoring their comings and goings, but the surviving Jedi are still allowed to move about the planet (and aren't, you know, being gunned down on sight).

That's just the AU. My actual dream is under the cut, but the important bit was how weird a "soft" Order 66 would be. This dream felt like I was watching an episode of the Clone Wars. The POV moved like a camera and not like I was physically there. Everyone was animated in the same style and voiced by the Clone Wars cast. It was also very coherent for a dream. No weird nonsensical transitions or people vanishing. that's one of the reasons it felt worth journaling!

It's almost sundown and we see Obi and Anakin and a third Jedi (a woman that is either Depa or Ahsoka, the dream didn't tell me if Ahsoka left the order in this AU) on a grav train. They are escorting a class of younglings on some kind of field trip outside the temple. Obi-wan is in one car and Depa is with Anakin in the other car. (Their kids ran in opposite directions when they boarded the train).

A new Jedi boards the train at a stop and as the train moves he walks up to obi-wan. The first suspicious thing is that Obi-wan doesn't recognize him. the second suspicious thing is that when he comes close enough to get a good look he turns out to be a Jedi version of Doctor Hemlock from Bad Batch. He has the same slimy, gentle voice.

Jedi Hemlock explains that since the war is over the Jedi have no rank in the GAR. Instead, all Jedi who served with clone troopers have to wear a little pin at all times. So that even if they change in to civilian clothes people will still be sure to treat them accordingly. It is literally the same pin that the ex-Imperials in the amnesty program had to wear on The Mandalorian, but it has a little gold shape around it. He talks about how the Jedi all need to cooperate with these new procedures to maintain the peace and not harm the Treason case against the Order.

In the next train car, Anakin watches him suspiciciously as he gives Depa bilaba her pin. Hemlock greets Anakin by name and provides him with a special pin, one that signifies his great accomplishments (he still defeats Dooku and rescues the Chancelor in the AU.). The pin is the same shape as the others, but it has a dangly gem piece on each side. (because of COURSE Anakin is special)

Hemlock gets off the train at the next stop as do all but a couple of passengers. Anakin and Obi-wan both sense that something is up as the train slows down before it reaches the station, making sure that the sun has fully set on this part of Coruscant by the time they pull into the station. They begin gathering the younglings close and giving them instructions on how to calm their mind and focus so that they can keep up with the group and not get separated. Each of them gives a slightly different piece of advice.

It's a good bit of comedy in the comparison. Anakin's advice is basically a repeat of things Obi-wan said to him in the past. Obi-wan's advice is a list of things to avoid doing (which are all things we've seen Anakin do before). Depa is just sort of "with Anakin" all through the next part but we do see her tell her younglings to trust in the Force and keep their senses open to the world around them but not let the world overwhelm them.

When the train pulls in, the remaining half dozen passengers all push their way to the doors between Anakin and Obi-wan and make for the stairs leading down from the center of the platform. to get off the train in time, Anakin and Depa have to go left and Obi-wan has to go right. Just as the train doors begin to close snipers fire on the Anakin and Depa! The two groups begin running along the skyways in opposite directions.

Due to the noise of the grav train leaving the station, Obi-wan's group didn't hear the blaster bolts (they were already moving away so they didn't see them either). Obi-wan adds another item to the list of rules, telling the younglings to be safe around the force fields and never to walk on them because they could be deactived by an enemy. The younglings voice agreement as they scamper along beside him. One of them, an Iktuchiboy says "Yes Master but what enemy?" right before blaster bolts rain down between them.

Both groups are running and Obi-wan and are yelling into their comlinks about where to go to protect the younglings. They agree to leave the square and head for a commerce zone where there's more cover, but they've gotten so separated that they're on two different levels and about a thousand feet apart!

The Jedi deflect bolts with their lightsabers to protect themselves and the younglings as they try to regroup and exit the wide open set of skyways in this neighborhood. Naturally, Obi-wan has to instruct his kids to ignore his last rule and leap onto the canopy force-field of the nearby stair case to cut across and rejoin the other group.

The dream ends with a wide shot of Anakin running on a long skybridge over traffic with Obi-wan on the holo-gradient force-field serving as the skybridge's roof. The younglings trailing behind each of them and Depa keeping pace in the rear, spinning gracefully to deflect the occasional blaster bolt.

[hjellacott]

The importance of public bathrooms and gyms exclusively for women

The reason transgender women and men do not understand the importance public bathrooms have for women, is that they have never grown up as women.

When I was in middle school, female-exclusive bathrooms were a place where I could change from my school uniform to my Taekwondo uniform (I had classes right in the same building and within minutes of finishing school) without any of the boys who bullied me teasing me, trying to see me naked, and making comments about my body that made me uncomfortable. It was a safe space girls have lost in favour of unisex bathrooms.

When I was in high school, female-exclusive bathrooms were the safe place where I found a friend crying her eyes out because of bullying, feeling that at least in the bathroom she'd be left alone, because there were no boys. It was the one sacred, ever-respected rule, of no boys in the girls' bathroom. It was also the place where my mates and I changed from our high school clothes to our Halloween costumes, where my classmates and I changed into costumes and did our hair and make-up for our play (we studied performing arts), and where we all went to touch-up before our graduation party. That bathroom was witness of so many moments of female vulnerability, where a girl just wanted to be alone, away from boys just for a minute, away from their immature teasing, their sexual harassment, their sexual comments, their mockery, their stupidity. That's gone now in favour of unisex bathrooms.

In my adulthood, public female-exclusive bathrooms became places tailored for female necessities (many include tampax, for example), clean spaces (have men heard of that?) of safety. Where if you were uncomfortable with a man, you could run and no way he'd follow. Bear in mind I'm speaking about public bathrooms in universities, in train stations, in shops, in the street, where there are cameras and security right outside that wouldn't allow a man inside until now they're changing into unisex spaces. And inside, there are no cameras and no security, for privacy, so anything can happen. Public bathrooms were for women a sanctuary of complicity and cooperation between women. They'd help with your make-up, they'd give you space to prepare for an incoming job interview, they'd give you a friendly smile when you needed it, or a period pad, or tell you to adjust your clothes if something was wrong, or lend you a tissue if your boyfriend had just left you. They were also a place where mothers could have their little children, knowing they'd be safe while they went to the loo, that no man would hurt them.

A similar thing happens, for example, in public gyms. When I initiated myself into gyms, in adulthood, the memories of the boy school bullies I'd had were still too recent, and I felt severely insecure. I've always looked too thin and too unfit, the kind of woman you'd laugh for daring to lift something heavy. Nobody would suspect that I'm a Taekwondo veteran, and someone who is, as a matter of fact, strong. You'd think athletes would feel naturally comfortable in gyms, but it wasn't for me. I feared men looking at me with mockery, laughing at my attempts to do activities I was new to, and even worse, I feared men looking at me with desire, masturbating or seeing their erections through their clothes, making me insanely uncomfortable and feeling threatened, as it had happened to female friends of mine. So I was super careful choosing my gym. I wanted a female gym, where I was surrounded by people like me who understood my worries and would help me. I wanted to feel we were all in the same boat. I couldn't find a single one.

BUT AT LEAST, I FOUND PUBLIC MIXED-SEX GYMS WITH FEMALE ONLY CHANGING ROOMS, YESS!!!!

And there, it was glorious. To be able to change into my bathing suit with no men looking at me and making comments. In fact, with nobody looking at me and making comments. Sharing tips with women, empathy with women, even shampoo, for our showers were next door. That, now is also gone.

The thing is, women have been threatened by men, sexual assault experiences from men and patriarchy from men, for hundreds of years. We have always seemed to only be there to sexually please men, period. So while men are more individualistic, women have learned to rely on each other, to trust each other only, and innately mistrust men until they prove themselves worthy. This is what men have caused. As a result, us women work in packs. We raise children together after their fathers abandon us, we take care of each other after our husbands go for a younger woman, we are a safe space when men call us names, tease us, mock us, bully us, shame us.

We are a pack, fiercely protective of each other, and it's always been like that. It's why we go together to like, bathrooms and other places where one might be vulnerable - to keep us safe from men. And much like men needed their own spaces to smoke, talk about girls, see girls dancing naked, play sports or whatever the shit they do there, and would be horrified to find their women there, us women, we need our spaces too. To feel safe, to be in community, to be a pack, to do whatever the shit us women do.

[mehulseth]

Sobha Sector 36 Greater Noida | Buy Stylish Flats

Sobha Sector 36 Greater Noida great access to the national highway, major roads, railway station, airport, Noida-Greater Noida Highway and nearby industrial zones. It has nice 3 and 4 BHK apartments in a great area of Greater Noida. People will find it easy to get to important places like schools, hospitals, shopping malls and markets thanks to this project. The land also has new features such as a clubhouse with swimming pool, enough open space for yoga and running and a lot of parking. There are also great playgrounds inside and outside for kids to play on, as well as CCTV cameras, trained security guards and a steady supply of water and energy with backup power.

Location Advantages: Sobha Greater Noida

Where a building is located has a big effect on its value and attraction. This property carefully places important areas so that you can easily get to services and things you need. Because these apartments are close to well-known businesses, schools and medical facilities they can meet the wants of the whole family. The area is a great mix of easy access to cities and quiet country living, making it perfect for working professionals who only need a quick getaway or families

Connectivity:

These flats are very attractive because they are easy to get to. Wide roads, subways and bus networks make it easy for people to get to work. Near major roads and roads Sobha Sector 36 Greater Noida is easy to get to and makes travelling around the city easier. People who do not drive can live easier lives with public transport. Families benefit from places like schools and parks. People who live in cities like these apartments because they are close to important services and features that make life easier and more efficient.

Security:

Buying a house has to do with safety and comfort. They know this and follow strong rules for home protection. This community gate is always being watched. People can be happy with their homes and neighbourhoods. Sobha makes sure its residents are safe by installing fire alarms, intercom systems and entry control in its apartments.

Amenities:

The 3 and 4 BHK homes in Sobha Sector 36 have great features that meet the needs of everyone who lives there. There are modern gyms and swimming pools as well as beautiful parks and running paths. People have the chance to feel pure happiness through it. Clubhouses and parks are places where people can meet each other and feel like they are part of a community.

Conclusion:

People and their families these days enjoy living in great places with good connections, safety and comforts. It gives people attractive, efficient and cheap homes. Every part of life there is better making it a beautiful and safe place for you and your family to grow. Find the perfect place to live at Sobha Sector 36 Flats in Greater Noida and enjoy high-class life

[cprclassesnearme]

CPR Classes Washington DC: Why Learning CPR is a Vital Skill

In Washington DC, a city bustling with activity, knowing how to perform CPR (Cardiopulmonary Resuscitation) can make a life-saving difference. Whether you are a healthcare professional, a concerned family member, or simply want to be prepared for emergencies, taking CPR classes in Washington DC is a critical step to equip yourself with the skills needed to respond effectively in emergency situations.

The Importance of CPR Training in Washington DC

Cardiac emergencies can occur anywhere, from crowded metro stations to office buildings and residential neighborhoods. According to the American Heart Association, over 350,000 cardiac arrests occur outside of hospitals each year in the United States. Immediate CPR can double or even triple the chances of survival. Yet, many people hesitate to act during emergencies due to a lack of training.

CPR classes in Washington DC provide the necessary training and hands-on practice that instill confidence in individuals to take prompt action. These courses go beyond just chest compressions and rescue breaths — they cover essential skills such as recognizing the signs of cardiac arrest, using an automated external defibrillator (AED), and clearing airway obstructions.

Finding the Right CPR Class in Washington DC

There are numerous organizations in Washington DC offering CPR certification courses. Whether you are looking for basic CPR training, BLS (Basic Life Support) for healthcare providers, or advanced courses like ACLS (Advanced Cardiovascular Life Support), you can find options to meet your needs. Look for reputable providers that offer classes approved by the American Heart Association (AHA) or the Red Cross.

Courses typically include:

Adult CPR and AED Training: Learn to perform CPR on adults and how to use an AED.

Child and Infant CPR: Specialized training for handling pediatric emergencies.

Basic Life Support (BLS): Geared towards healthcare providers, covering team dynamics and advanced airway management.

First Aid and CPR Combo Classes: Combine CPR training with basic first aid techniques for a well-rounded skill set.

Benefits of Taking CPR Classes

Preparedness for Emergencies: Having CPR training enables you to respond confidently to emergencies at home, work, or public spaces.

Increased Confidence: Knowing what to do in a crisis situation reduces fear and anxiety, allowing for a more effective response.

Workplace Requirements: Many employers, especially those in healthcare and education, require CPR certification. By taking a CPR class in Washington DC, you can meet these requirements and even improve your employment prospects.

Community Impact: When more people in the community are CPR certified, the likelihood of surviving cardiac emergencies increases. Being part of that network means contributing to a safer Washington DC.

Who Should Take CPR Classes?

CPR classes are suitable for people of all backgrounds and professions. Here are some groups who can benefit from CPR training in Washington DC:

Healthcare Professionals: Nurses, doctors, EMTs, and other healthcare providers need BLS and ACLS certifications.

Teachers and School Staff: With so many children in their care, educators benefit from knowing child and infant CPR.

Fitness Trainers and Coaches: Those working in fitness facilities should be prepared to respond to cardiac emergencies.

Parents and Caregivers: Having CPR knowledge is invaluable for those caring for infants, children, or elderly family members.

General Public: Everyone can benefit from CPR training, as emergencies can happen at any time and place.

Choosing the Best CPR Classes in Washington DC

When choosing a CPR class in Washington DC, consider factors such as class size, format (in-person or hybrid), and the instructor’s experience. Smaller class sizes ensure that you receive personalized attention, while hybrid courses offer the convenience of online learning combined with hands-on practice.

Location: Choose a class location that is convenient for you. Many training centers are located throughout Washington DC, making it easy to find one near your home or workplace.

Certification: Ensure that the course provides a certification card from a recognized organization like the AHA or the Red Cross. These certifications are valid for two years and are often required by employers.

Cost and Scheduling: Prices for CPR classes can vary depending on the type of certification and course duration. Many providers offer flexible scheduling options, including weekend and evening classes, making it easier for busy professionals to attend.

Conclusion

Being equipped with CPR skills can turn an ordinary person into a lifesaver. In Washington DC, taking a CPR class not only prepares you to respond in emergencies but also empowers you to make a positive impact in your community. Whether you are fulfilling a job requirement or seeking to enhance your personal skill set, enrolling in CPR classes in Washington DC is a worthwhile investment in your safety and the well-being of others around you.

For more information on upcoming CPR classes in Washington DC, visit CPR Classes Near Me Washington DC and take the first step towards becoming a certified lifesaver today.

[likeagreencamelliatree]

8.25.24 - Part 2

To enjoy the atmosphere more, I listened to relaxing music with my cellphone headset. While I inhaled the aromatherapy oil in the packaging that I brought.

For a moment I tried to absorb the atmosphere outside. Even though it was only in a mall. At least I could relax outside the house.

I always target things. And currently I target to return to the mosque at 3.30 pm. Because I'm quite bored of waiting too long.

I try to be content with things and feel enough. I learn enough from things.

I learned that even though we are not perfect, we can do our best and be grateful for what we get.

I learned to make targets and be consistent and achieve those targets.

I learned to let go of things and be simple.

After feeling relaxed enough to go back into the mall, I returned to the mosque again to wait for the Asr prayer time.

While resting in the mosque, I had a "shaking" mind and feelings. But I immediately handled it and this time I focused myself on enjoying the atmosphere outside.

I chose to be simple, just enjoy it.

And I realized that I should focus on enjoying the outside atmosphere. This is good for me.

I started to prioritize what is best for me.

The call to prayer sounded; it was time for the Asr prayer. I rushed to do ablution and pray.

After that I prepared myself to go to the sports studio. I went to the station to get on the train then continued using a small public transportation car.

I was confused about which public transportation to choose because they were lined up and all were still empty. Of course, I wanted the one that left faster. After someone got on a public transportation, I thought that would be the one that would leave first.

But, it turned out that after I got on, not long after that person got off. Maybe because the public transportation hadn't left yet.

I was worried that it would take a long time. But never mind, I didn't want to disappoint the driver and I didn't want to burden myself. So I just enjoyed it.

Finally the public transportation left and I arrived soon after. Because this was my first time going to the gym studio, I was a bit worried.

The distance from the public transportation stop to the studio was 1 km. I intended to just walk. But suddenly my google maps had problems.

I was forced to take a motorbike taxi, but it turned out to be not that expensive. I got a discount and only paid 12,000 rupiah (actually 11,000 rupiah but I rounded up 12,000).

After arriving at the gymnastics studio, it turned out that the place was so neat and tidy. But the atmosphere was still quiet. I asked someone there who I thought might be a food seller in front of the studio. And she said that the class had not started and the instructor was not there yet. But I could wait in the waiting room.

Not long after someone came down from above when I was sitting in the waiting room. I asked about my class and I had to pay the gymnastics fee of 50,000 rupiah as per the rate. I paid it and was directed to the sports room.

I took a workout training class. I don't know exactly what it's like and have never taken that class. But I saw a glimpse of it on Instagram. It's like a workout class in general.

While waiting, I charged my cellphone. and now I'm the only one in the room.

For a moment sometimes I think back about life, but I divert it. I remember what makes me comfortable. And don't forget I always remember to enjoy.

And for a moment it rings about what I want. I want to be a travel journalist. And I think, okay if that's what I want to do. Besides, I've done it. I just have to enjoy it.

I had experienced being shocked by the shadow of the new atmosphere in the gym studio. "Can I face it?". But, I remember again that I have to enjoy it.

Indeed, enjoying is the key to life that opens up to the goodness of life.

After waiting for a while, finally all the sports members gathered and the class began.

But in the middle of the session it felt like the activity was not suitable for me. I instead imagined a culinary tour or a fun walk.

It's okay, at least I know what I want. I continued my class until it was finished as best I could. And I didn't forget to do Maghrib prayer in between sessions.

After almost 2 hours, my exercise class was over. I immediately rushed to my next destination, which was a culinary tour not far from the sports studio location.

I took a motorbike taxi to a meatball restaurant. I felt like I was going in the wrong direction when the driver took me. However, it was not in accordance with my departure route earlier. But that ended up making me arrive quickly because there was no traffic jam even though it was a bit far.

[photographynoob]

Week 2: Image Production Assignment

For this week, I decided to go back the train station and explore while taking photos.

The train is how I come to classes as I live in Papakura so I take the very first stop and get off at the very last stop. Therefore, I spend a lot of time on the trains station and inside the train itself on a weekly basis.

This is why I decided to start my exploration here.

I started from outside, looking in to see what kind of shots I could get from this angle.

I managed to take quite a few photos until they told me I was not allowed to take photos without permission or a permit from AT. This was flabbergasting to me as it is public transport after all.

I would have thought it was a public place but apparently it is privately owned by AT so I definitely, absolutely, 100% did not keep secretly taking pictures. These are just the results of what I took before I got told not to.

I tried to take photos with different levels of exposure.

I also tried to get establishing shots of the trains and train station because it was a big part of my relation to Auckland as per the brief, but I was not so politely asked, aka yelled at, to stop so I of course complied and did not still keep secretly taking photos.

This really derailed my plans as I wanted to use the train and transport system in my photos but realistically, I do not think I can get a permit from AT.

This means from week 3 onward I will have to change my approach and tackle the assignment from another angle.

Reflections:

I still do not fully understand what I'm doing as a whole, but incrementally, I am becoming more and more able to implement technical things that I learned in class like exposure and taking into account lighting.

[energiefitness12]

Elevate Your Fitness Journey with the Best Home Use Gym Equipment

As our lives become increasingly busy, finding time to hit the gym can be a challenge. This is where home use gym equipment comes into play, offering a convenient and effective way to stay fit without leaving the comfort of your home. At Energie Fitness, we provide a wide range of high-quality home use gym equipment designed to help you achieve your fitness goals.

Why Choose Home Use Gym Equipment?

1. Convenience and Accessibility: Having gym equipment at home means you can work out whenever it fits into your schedule. No more commuting to the gym or waiting for your turn on the machines. Whether it's early morning or late at night, your home gym is always open.

2. Customized Workouts: With home use gym equipment, you have the freedom to tailor your workouts to suit your needs and preferences. You can focus on specific muscle groups, mix cardio with strength training, and create a routine that keeps you motivated and engaged.

3. Cost-Effective: While the initial investment in home gym equipment may seem significant, it can save you money in the long run. No more monthly gym membership fees, travel expenses, or paying for group classes. Over time, the cost of your equipment pays for itself.

4. Privacy and Comfort: Working out at home provides a level of privacy and comfort that you can't get at a public gym. You can exercise in your own space, at your own pace, and without the distractions or intimidation that sometimes come with a crowded gym.

Must-Have Home Use Gym Equipment

At Energie Fitness, we offer a variety of home use gym equipment to suit different fitness levels and workout preferences. Here are some essentials to consider for your home gym:

1. Treadmills: A treadmill is a versatile piece of equipment that allows you to walk, jog, or run regardless of the weather outside. It’s perfect for cardiovascular workouts and can help you burn calories, improve your endurance, and strengthen your legs.

2. Dumbbells: Dumbbells are essential for strength training. They come in various weights and can be used for a wide range of exercises targeting different muscle groups. Adjustable dumbbells are especially convenient as they save space and allow for easy weight changes.

3. Exercise Bikes: An exercise bike provides an excellent cardio workout, helping to improve your cardiovascular health, burn calories, and tone your legs. They are also low-impact, making them ideal for people with joint issues.

4. Resistance Bands: Resistance bands are versatile, affordable, and portable. They are great for strength training and can be used for various exercises to target different muscle groups. They also come in different resistance levels to suit beginners and advanced users alike.

5. Yoga Mats: A good quality yoga mat is essential for floor exercises, stretching, and yoga practices. It provides cushioning and support, ensuring your comfort during workouts.

6. Multi-Station Home Gyms: For a comprehensive workout, consider investing in a multi-station home gym. These all-in-one systems offer a variety of exercise options, including weight lifting, pull-ups, and leg presses, allowing you to perform a full-body workout with a single piece of equipment.

Tips for Setting Up Your Home Gym

1. Choose the Right Space: Select a space in your home that is dedicated to your workouts. It should be well-ventilated, well-lit, and free from distractions. Whether it's a spare room, garage, or a corner of your living room, make sure it’s a place where you feel comfortable exercising.

2. Plan Your Layout: Consider the types of exercises you’ll be doing and arrange your equipment accordingly. Ensure there’s enough space to move around safely and comfortably. Keep frequently used items within easy reach.

3. Stay Organized: Keeping your home gym organized can help you stay motivated and make your workouts more efficient. Use storage solutions like racks and shelves to keep your equipment tidy and accessible.

4. Invest in Quality Equipment: Quality matters when it comes to gym equipment. Invest in durable, reliable equipment that will last and provide a safe and effective workout experience.

Conclusion

Creating a home gym is a great way to take control of your fitness journey. With the right home use gym equipment, you can enjoy the convenience, flexibility, and privacy of working out at home. Explore the wide range of home gym equipment available at Energie Fitness and start building a fitness routine that fits your lifestyle and goals.

[sceneloc8]

Top Photo & Video Shoot Locations at Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Terminus (CSMT)

The UNESCO World Heritage Site Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Terminus (CSMT), which used to be called Victoria Terminus, is a must-see for people who make content. This amazing piece of architecture makes a beautiful background for many photo and video shoots, such as

Before the wedding: For a truly unforgettable pre-wedding shoot, capture the timeless beauty of CSMT’s Victorian Gothic architecture. With its high arches and small, intricate details, the grand central hall makes for a dramatic and romantic setting.

Photography: CSMT is a great place to take pictures. There are many interesting things to photograph about this station, including the intricate details on the front, the colorful stained glass windows, and the busy atmosphere.

Music videos: CSMT’s dramatic setting can give your music video a touch of grandeur and class. Think of choreographed dance sequences in the grand hall or a soulful ballad played against the historic buildings.

Vlogs: CSMT is a great place to film your next vlog, whether you’re a travel vlogger or a history buff. Share the station’s unique vibe with your viewers and teach them about its long history.

Filming: CSMT has a lot of potential for use in movies. Many movies have been shot at the station, and it can be used for a wide range of types of movies, from historical dramas to action thrillers.

Why Should You Shoot with CSMT?

Background That Is One of a Kind: CSMT has a setting that is not like any other place in Mumbai. The style of the architecture and the historical importance make for a truly captivating atmosphere.

Versatility: The different areas of the station can be used to make a lot of different looks and feelings. CSMT has a lot of different spaces, from the large central hall to the smaller waiting rooms.

Accessibility: Since CSMT is right in the middle of Mumbai, it’s easy to get to by public transit. This makes it a good spot for content creators from both inside and outside of town.

Important Things for Content Creators to Keep in Mind:

Permissions: If you want to film or take pictures at CSMT, you may need to get permission from the railway authorities first. Before you shoot, make sure you do your research and get any permits you need.

Lighting: CSMT can have different amounts of natural light. Be ready to change how your lights are set up based on the location and time of day of your shoot.

Take care of the environment: CSMT is a working train station. Be polite to passengers and staff, and don’t get in the way of the station’s operations.

#preweddingshoot #photography #musicvideo #vlog #filmshooting #contentcreation #mumbai #incredibleindia #sceneloc8 #location scouting

By using SceneLoc8 to find unique and inspiring locations like CSMT, content creators can elevate their projects and bring their creative visions to life.

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[charminglyantiquated]

Helo i see you often mentioning florence here on tumblr, did you live there? I have to move there for work in a few weeks and i was wondering what it's like for foreigners

Hi! I haven't lived in Florence year-round, but before the pandemic, I'd spend winters there, during the off-season of my seasonal job. I love it, it's an incredible city!

I found it pretty easy to navigate as a foreigner, even my first winter there when I didn't speak any Italian beyond basic courtesies. It's a huge tourist destination, and therefore there's a ton of resources for visitors which you can refer to. (I'd definitely recommend Parola Scuola if you are looking for language classes - the professors are wonderful). I found people were generally friendly, neutral at worst, and I was able to find my way around public transit/grocery stores/etc without issue.

Florence is also a relatively small city (you can cross the historical center on foot in about 45 minutes) and a pretty safe one, outside the risk of pick-pocketing. I found that made the move there significantly less overwhelming - it didn't take long to get my bearings and feel comfortable. And the central train station is very well-connected to the rest of the country, making it easy to visit other cities once I was settled.

While you're there, here's a few of my favorite places! Mostly places to eat, because love is in the Good Food and having one or two reliably good places to get a coffee always helps me feel more at home.

La Cite and Biblioteca delle Oblate - One of the things I do miss while in Italy is the kind of cafe culture where you settle in and read/study/work for a while. Both of these library/bar/cafes are lovely places for that, and BdO has a beautiful view of the Duomo.

Da' Vinattieri - If you want to try lampredotto, this has my vote for the best in the city.

Gustapizza - some of the best pizza in the city, and pretty inexpensive; usually really crowded, so consider going on a nice day and eating in the nearby piazza.

Osteria Santo Spirito - Amazing homemade pasta, and affordable; you can order half-portions which are still very generous. Their truffle gnocchi is one of the best meals I have ever had.

I Dolci di Patrizio Cosi - my favorite pastry shop! The woman who is usually behind the counter is very kind. Try a marocchino and any of their pastries.

Street art! Not to sound like a broken record because this is 90% of what I post about Florence, but it has a really incredible community of artists, and genuinely one of my favorite things to do is just go for walks looking for new pieces. Dhai Studio on Via di S. Niccolò has stickers and framed works from some of the otherwise anonymous local artists!

The San'Ambrogio market for food and Piazza Annigoni for antiques/flea market are both a lot of fun to walk around.

On nice days people go to Piazza dei Pitti and sit in the sun.

Night bakeries - you can sometimes pick up hot-from-the-oven pastries before dawn after a long night out, just be quiet and respectful of the people sleeping in the surrounding buildings.

Good luck with the move! I hope it goes smoothly, and that you enjoy the time in Florence!