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selfetishizing · 3 years ago

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a dream in charmeuse

loid forger/yor briar, anya forger & yor briar | T

mutual pining, romantic tension, date night, character study, femininity

A girl in waiting finally in motion.

Chapter 1/2 | AO3 | Next Chapter

Yor was seventeen when she bought her first tube of red lipstick.

It was an import from Hugaria—something she knew that she must have as a girl on the cusp of woman. The lipstick was a sleek black tube accented with a gold thorny pattern at the clasp. When you opened it, twisted the bottom, it sprouted just like the roses that twined around the iron fences of her family’s cottage. It smelled sweet like crushed childhood and slid like magnets across lips.

It was made for her.

The first time she laid eyes on it was on the cover of a fashion magazine that sold sex tips in bright yellow serif. A model, hair coiffed and blonde and perfect, posed on a leather tufted chaise, teasing hints of her sharp collarbones in her black mermaid dress. She leaned on a satin-gloved arm and weaned off of a pipe, clouds wrapping around her like a fluffy mink stole. Everything about her seemed to be dusted in pink and sparkle. Admiration or envy—Yor wasn't sure.

What initially caught Yor’s eye wasn’t the sugar-wisps of her hair, the lights of her eyes, or the scandal of her ivory-white skin. It was the bold maraschino pout of her lips shaped almost like a heart. To Yor, whose mind had—at that point—been filled only with ribbons and shrapnel and nursery rhymes, this introduced a fascinating new world within her reach. Suddenly, the thought of pointed manicures and high heels, fancy perfume bottles and diamond clutches entered her mind. She thought of the model: someone so far removed from her double-life, someone she ought to learn. She thought of her mother: someone she ought to become.

The rest comes in snapshots. Yor tucked the magazine under her arm as stood up from the settee she was sitting on. Carefully she traipsed around the maze of felled bodies at the tips of her toes, mumbling meek apologies whenever she accidentally stepped on brand-named watch faces or ruby-suffocated knuckles. She made her way to the gold-finished mirror by the exit and smiled to herself. With a finger, she swiped the blood off of her cheek and applied it to her chapped lips, popping her mouth once, twice. She held her blade between her pointer and middle fingers and took an imaginary puff, imitating that dream in charmeuse.

Sighing disappointedly, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. The shade was much too deep for her liking.

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Yor had become what she sought out to be. She had all that seventeen-going-on-eighteen wanted: Yuri’s safety and education; glossy boots with red bottoms; her tailored dress; glitzy golds. The luxe weight dangling from her ears, the cool swish of silken fabric, the expensive clack of her heels—This was enough.

But times have changed. Just when Yor she had covergirl culture down to a tee, another dimension opened to her. Femininity took on motherhood, matrimony.

Yor liked to think that motherhood was something that came naturally to her. She had been a sister, best friend, a parent to Yuri. There wouldn’t be any surprises when it came with Anya— shocking surprises, at least. Raising a girl, after all, is a bit different from raising a boy. Instead of thick almanacs from secondhand stores and expensive stationery, it was toy pistols and plastic tiaras. No longer did she have to quiz herself on the insect facts presented to her at the wake of dawn. Spending time with a child now meant window shopping and living-room sparring matches, plush-toy tea parties and impromptu spy missions.

While she taught Anya uppercuts and tried-and-true platitudes, Anya taught her new graces, old normals. Whenever she had a day off, they’d skip down the city plaza hand-in-hand in matching attire with Bond in tow, following footprints of mommy-daughter dates she had long ago: sunny brunches on cobblestoned-cafés; the tangy smell of brightly colored nail lacquer; boutique windows and their opulent ensembles. They’d catch their reflection in the outline of mannequins, imaginations short-lived at the mere glance of a four-digit price tag. Days like these would always end with shopping bags filled with accessories and toys at her elbows, Anya and Bond sound asleep in her arms. Later, when they’re all gathered at the dining table, Loid would ask about their adventures and they’d just glance at each other and laugh— a secret between girls. As if a boy would understand!

Parenting, she had come to learn, was a beating, breathing legacy. A child is a culmination of your best and worst traits, the clipped wings of old hopes and dreams, and premonitions of a better future. Within the walls of the Forger household, a girl materialized through jelly makeup kits with too much glitter, refrigerator frescos held up with dental appointment magnets, Bondman paraphernalia, and peanut shells. When Yor looks at Anya’s doorframe and the marker tick-marks made there every so-and-so months, she feels a displaced pride swell within her.

Yor knows that this happiness is fleeting. Once Anya finds her red tube of lipstick, comfort will turn to ache—a yearning that even time won’t go away. Yor will have fulfilled her purpose. Anya will fondly look back on their time together like a photo album framed with pressed pansies when all has been said and done. The shadows will fully embrace Yor, remind her who she is.

In the end, she will always be those bits and pieces. She will be those bodies—fathers, mothers, husbands, wives, sons, daughters—she had taken from this world. She will be those web of lies. She will be the one to suffer, always her.

To be a woman was to be a martyr. It was only a matter of sin catching up; a matter of accepting them.

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Loid had asked her out again. Like the many times before, it was in the quiet violet-stained gaps of night between bedroom doors and veiled longings, guises hung and racked. Like the many times before, Yor still found a way to be flustered.

“They opened a new restaurant down on Sixth Street.” His voice, hushed and deep, tickled like clematis tendrils at her ears. They wound around neck, around the shell of her ear, in her hair, cradling her face gently. She tried to make her stare less obvious. “We should go. Just the two of us.”

The words poured down around her ankles and caught the frill hem of her nightgown. Shyly, she watched them rise—let the warmth pool up at her waist until she was wading in the silvery smooth of Loid’s rapt voice. Yor held her breath as the tides got higher; she pressed her back against her door, nails scratching against wood, holding on for dear life. Something undid within her and she closed her eyes, waiting for the frayed ends to tug and reveal itself. They never did.

Just the two of us.

Two of us, Yor and Yuri.

Two of us, Thorn Princess and Yor Briar.

Two of us, Briar and Forger—husband and wife, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish.

“Yor?” He drew in close, moving those prickly brambles out of his way to meet her again. Loid was so close that she could feel the ghosts of his hands reaching out to touch her, pull her to safety. Ready, able, Yor held onto her courage and looked at him. Milk moonlight carved his body sharp, settled in the ridges of his collarbones, the subtle dip of his lip, down the slope of his nose. His eyes came alive at twilight, cold and reptile, spiraling her into hypnosis. When they met Yor’s, electricity.

Her, painter of blood. Him, a rush. The routes in which it traveled, those spindly roads and branched forks that mapped all over her body, incandesced with such a deep, glowing red that it felt near-death, near-hell— heaven. Every fiber thrummed and caught flame and all she could do was endure like a witch at the pyre, letting it consume her. For him, she burned. She repented.

A keen silence overtook them, halved by a shaky sigh. Loid’s fingertips brushed against her wrist, faint as a tap from a Painted Lady’s wing. Almost immediately, he pulled back, putting the hand behind his neck like a thorn had stabbed it, like her fire licked his skin.

“That was abrupt of me,” he whispered.

It sounded almost like regret. Yor could have cried; there was a part of her that craved Loid’s concern, a shared madness. Instead, she bit her lip and nursed his lingering touch, pressing it down until it was as permanent as a scar.

“No need to give me an answer at this hour. We don’t even have to go tomorrow night if you’re not feeling up for it.” Loid tucked his nose into his shoulder, stepping back into the confines of his body. “It’s just been a few weeks since the last time—not that I’m counting! Long enough to raise suspicion, that’s all.”

“Then it’s settled. I’ll come home early tomorrow to get ready,” she said. Even she was surprised by her own composure. “Anya picked out the loveliest dress out for me the other day.”

Yor wasn’t quite sure why she had brought that up. It took her a moment to process and dissect her own mindset. Once she had examined it under scopes and centrifuged it in test tubes, it was clear. A sudden wildness possessed her. Her throat hung on a single vowel despite the many things racing through her mind. By the look on his face, she was sure that he had picked up on the implication as soon as it left her mouth. Nothing could stop the embarrassed tears from gathering at her waterline.

“I’m looking forward to seeing it.” When he smiled, he shone. One was all it took to starve the entire room of its crepuscular shadows. She wanted so much to bathe in that light, to forget her own insecurities. How generous of a man he was, Yor mused, to turn misspoken words to compliments. “It’s a date, then.”

“Date.” It tasted sweet on her tongue. She supped the word of all its nectar. “A date.”

Loid nodded. “Right.”

Yor, amusingly serious, pumped her fists. “R-Right!”

Chuckling, Loid bade her goodnight: “Sweet dreams, Yor.” It was one of those rare laughs that was pushed out with a single breath—one imbued with so much life , the kind that kissed the swells of your cheek. She sang a similar tune.

The particles in the air collided and bursted like supernovae, stardust falling on all of his edges. As he turned away to his quarters, they trailed behind him, tails of comets shooting down at her feet. Yor clasped her hands together and made three wishes: one for Yuri, one for Anya, one for Loid. All for happiness. One for true love.

With the closing click of Loid’s door, Yor slunk down against her’s and gasped for air. The twinkles, winking stars, his smile would not leave her. She slept amidst birthing planets.

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The dress that hung on her wardrobe glistened like a jewel. It was an emerald cocktail gown, a shiny viscose cool to the touch. Off-shoulder trim. Waist cinched with a neat bow. A neckline that plunged to dangerous levels—levels flesh was meant to pour into.

In short, it was gorgeous: an ambition that needed fulfillment, fulfillment that Yor convinced herself she could never achieve.

“How about this one instead?” Yor asked, presenting a comic-reading, lolly-sucking Anya with a safer option: a houndstooth skirt suit set. It blanketed inadequacies, hugged curves with mindfulness and familiarity.

Anya, lounging in front of the TV, looked up from her copy of Spy Wars to inspect Yor with narrowed eyes. Within a second, she rolled back onto her belly and began kicking her legs as she was doing before without a care in the world, a care for her own mother.

“W-Well?” Yor twirled around slowly, hands pointed out.

Anya grunted and chomped hard on her sucker. “S’alright, I guess.” Even the sugar rush could not animate her. What was it about kids and breaking their parents’ hearts so nonchalantly?

“You don’t like it.”

“Anya likes the green one!”

“I know you do. It’s just that Mama’s… Mama’s a little…”

It was never a problem before. The seemingly meaningless details about herself, the lines and bends, nicks and cuts, never crossed her mind. Yet, whenever she’s with Loid, they’re all she ever thinks about. Didn’t her chest jut out a little too much in that dress? Aren’t her muscles a bit too hard and toned? Her shoulders too squared? And her palms, so coarse and calloused… There was not a soft thing about her. She was all rough, marred, imperfected—nothing like the girls in the papers or films. Yor glanced down at herself and met only disappointment.

“Mama’s the prettiest girl in the whole entire oo-nee-verse!”

The patter of her small feet like drums of summer rain. The innocent tug on her skirt. Her gleaming, all-knowing eyes—bright, flickering—reflecting the depths of her soul, crystal. Yor saw facets of herself—girls she once was, girls she dreamt of becoming. They all stacked up on each other, afterimages superimposed to create Ego. She is an ethereal being, God and woman at once, living inside her, inside Anya. She called out Yor’s name, casted a spell. It made Yor believe, if even for a moment, that Anya’s words were true.

Kneeling down, she held Anya’s face in her palms, caressing her cheek with a thumb. “You, sweetling. You’re the prettiest.”

Anya grinned around the pulpy stick of her lollipop. “You’re second prettiest then!” Excitedly, she threw her arms around Yor, stood on tippy-toes, and whispered loudly in her ear: “Papa thinks so too.”

Yor flared red. “Does he now?”

“Yee-up!”

She hummed and gathered Anya into her arms, nurturing both girl and goddess.

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“My earliest memories are of my mother’s vanity. I’d watch her put on makeup or just sit, listening, just like you are now. Sometimes, it’d be stories from long ago that she’d speak into committed memory—stories about when she was young or in love. Other times, it would be things outside the door of her boudoir: fancy parties with laughter and jazz music and long glasses clinking, drinks fizzy with bubbles; sighs after a long day of work; silence.

“The silent days were always the best days, I think. That meant my mother was not home and I could play with all of her cosmetics. She had fancy bottles of perfume all lined up against her mirror from fullest to emptiest, and black tubes of lipstick arranged in the color of the rainbow.”

Yor’s vanity is curiously sparse compared to the scenes from girlhood. There laid her Hugarian crimson, inconspicuous against a smattering of fountain pens, loose change, and balled-up receipts. Having her own daughter there with her made it feel like a sacred ritual between past and present had been broken. Devoid of any character, any personality, and presence, it was as if no one sat there in the morning to brush knots out their hair or in the evening to powder themselves before midnight trysts. She left no mark of existence.

“My favorite thing to do was take the caps off the tubes and hold them in my fist, smelling each of them like flowers of a bouquet. I loved red best. Naturally, it was the one I’d always try on.”

Anya stared at Yor— May I?— in the mirror, somehow finding her one defining trait— a needle in a haystack. Yor nods, handing her her beloved lipstick. Anya eagerly pulled the top off, floral fragrance and possibility shooting up like a plume in her face.

“Ah! A rose! A rose!” exclaimed Anya, standing on the vanity stool to level with Yor’s face. Yor angled her head down and pouted her lips, letting Anya paint it for her. She popped her mouth, once, twice, inspecting the wobbly red circle in the mirror. Yor colored within the lines with a finger and rouged the apples of her cheeks with the excess, rouged Anya’s cheeks, her lips.

She didn’t wince at her reflection; instead, she had sought out traces of her mother’s features with faint longing. Fleetingly, she wondered if her mother had looked her best when she died. Did she care to prime her face that day? Curl her hair into rollers the night before? Surely, she had looked the beautiful woman Yor had always remembered to be. Death couldn't take the woman out of her. Yor wouldn't allow it to.

“My mother never let me wear makeup. It was always look, never touch. ‘A woman’s blade is not meant for a child,’ she’d say. ‘Beauty is for battle. It’s all we girls have in this world.’ And so I’ve lived my whole life with the idea that beauty was a weapon not to be pointed at others.” Anya’s hair was soft, so translucent that when sunlight seeped through it, it seemed to glow. Absently, Yor let it cascade into the spaces of her fingers. “But I learned something, Anya.”

“Huh?”

��Beauty can be sharp and tough, sure, but it can also be soft.”

“Soft as Bond’s fur?”

“Soft as Bond’s fur.” Both girls giggled, looking down at the snoring moat of white snuggling at their toes.

“I look at you in the morning, in your pajamas or in your uniform; at night cozied up with Bond as you murmur in your sleep, and it makes me smile. I look at your Papa; I look at his hands and the burns there as he’s dicing vegetables; I look at him and the wrinkles between his brows as he counts coupons or folds laundry, and my heart flutters. I look at you two together and it makes me glad… Glad that I could be a part of it. That I could truly understand what it means to be beautiful.”

Anya is still growing, muddying her soles in the garden of youth. She will have her whole life to freely navigate the meaning of womanhood through its love and its losses. It is a comfort to know she will have all of that time, those experiences that Yor never got to have because youth had always meant carnage and rigor mortis.

The zig-zagged lace connecting spies, whistleblowers, sympathizers, and benefactors tied and knotted the suffocating corset that shaped Thorn Princess—the phantom femme fatale with an apathetic sense of justice. Murder for world peace. How ironic.

Often, she pondered who she would have been if her parents hadn't passed so suddenly, so tragically. What would femininity mean then? What righteous path would she have walked? The wildest possibilities ran with blushed heels in her mind, kicking up grass blades and soil. Whatever she does in those universes and realities, she hopes that she is as content as she is now. She prayed that those paths, no matter how difficult, no matter how meandering and obfuscating, always lead to Anya and Loid.

To kindness. Always kindness.

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“I’m home!”

Yor had mentally prepared to hear those two words for the better part of an hour before his arrival. Now that Loid was finally here, the palpitations she had tried to keep under control since last night returned tenfold. Her chest pounded with the force of split atoms. She was sure he could feel it reverb from her chambers all the way to the living room.

“Mama! Mama! He’s home! He’s home!” repeated Anya elatedly, jumping up and down on Yor’s bed. Having played dress-up right before Loid’s arrival, Anya was in high spirits. In a plastic tiara and tulle dress of her own, Anya did what all five-year-olds did best and boasted. Anya boasted loud, she boasted proud. She scrambled to her dear father, bouncy and utterly pink, leaving golden shimmer in her wake. Bond followed her trail with a wagging tail, feet skittering like typekeys against the floor. “Look Papa! Me an’ Bond’re fairies! I yank tooths at night. Bond’s got wings!”

“Wow! Did you make them?”

“Yup! Like it?” She could see Loid bending down to touch the jagged construction paper wings stuck onto Bond’s back with tape and Anya swatting his hand away. It eased her nerves.

“That’s very clever of you, Anya. I do.” Yor took one last glance at herself in the mirror, tucking an errant strand of hair away from her face. She had let her hair down. It’d be easy to hide behind a curtain of black if she took any wrong turns tonight. “You look so charming in your costume. I reckon Yor helped you with it?” A pause, and then: “Say, is she ready to go?”

“Mama’s zipper’s stuck.”

Yor audibly shrieked, sensing an empty betrayal. It wasn't that she told Anya not to tell Loid; she just didn’t think it would be a possible point of conversation. The plan was that she’d cover her back with a shawl since Anya could not fully zip the gown up. With the not-so-secret secret out, Yor felt a self-conscious void begin to suck her back in.

No. She would not have it. Not tonight.

Acting accordingly, she snatched her purse and satin wrap from her bed and stepped out of her room, anxiety melting to resolve. She stepped out, sheer stockings sliding as she clumsily slipped into black pumps.

“Welcome home, Loid!” Yor hopped on one foot, fitting the backing with little success. “Sorry for the wait,” she huffed, soon regretting her choice of distraction. She was sure she looked like some strange one-woman balancing act as she stood on a leg, pivoting slightly toward the right as she struggled to fit into the sole.

Somewhere along the way, her torso lurched forward before her feet could land. All the oxygen in her had pushed out, enveloping her entire body as a cushion for the inevitable crash. Yor positioned her hands in front of her face, preparing for impact.

Jonquil stems rattled in their vase. Petals flitted. Negative spaces pieced together, clicked into place. What once was apart overlaid: man and woman, reality and dream.

Everything went white. She resented the way her chest heaved against his, cursed the way they shared the same tempo. It was as if their wavelengths had finally caught up to each other and allowed them this one transient slip. It felt like destiny.

This moment will never come again, she realized. Yor wanted so badly to cultivate that warmth, there, fastened on her waist and splayed out between the undone zip teeth of her gown. Selfishness is measured in seconds. Yor had a handful. She used her time wisely: memorized the spiral patterns of his fingertips over her bare skin, let the sinews unwind and stitch into her flesh until they were seamed into one fabric. Strains of sandalwood wrapped around their ankles and shoulders, built a home out of twisted torsos, latched limbs—a home where she could grow old, spend the rest of her days in. Yor didn’t dare look up at him, as looking would break the rune they were so fortunately afforded.

She didn’t want it to end. Not so soon, at least.

And so she waited for nature to run its course. Anya will reverse the charm with a quip. Loid will untangle from her, make ruin out of daydreams. Yor will act as the flustered maiden despite being ice cold from the loss of Loid on her body. This was routine.

She waited and waited while Loid hissed and smoldered. Any minute now . Static crackled. The radiator whistled. Princess Honey, rescued—tune in next week! Fingers slid. Laughter tunneled up and down the hall. Lips sighed. Steam pipes clunked. Doors slammed. Hearts thump-thumped, thump-thumped. Hands ticked, they held. Yor prayed: Any minute now.

“Yor.” She screwed her eyes shut and gripped the lapels of his suit jacket tight. Yor would be good. She resisted that primal urge to jerk her arm, kick her leg. “Yor?” She would be good.

Yor craned her head upward and peered through a kaleidoscope. One Loid, three Loids, five—every single one of them peering into her, beyond her. Her lips parted as she traced the movement of Loid’s hand on her back, brazenly turning skin into gilt down the bend of her spine. She tried her very hardest not to gasp.

“It’d be best if you turned around,” he started, cool as ever, “so I can zip your dress up.”

The rose pigment was awashed with the frigid splash of reality. The fabric she had been clutching with her claws had crumpled. She smoothed away the creases and apologized, drawing dreaded, familiar distance. She twisted her heel and faced the opposite of Loid, both to compose herself and prepare for it to happen all over again. Her head was ducked down as though she had done something that warranted remorse. Perhaps it was hoping for too much. Expecting.

He swept the raven cape over her shoulder, exposing the rigid and taut muscles that she wanted so desperately to hide. Yor inspected the ceramic flower pot in front of her and followed its patterns away from the apartment, from Loid, from herself.

“I’m afraid your cooking is beginning to show on me,” she whispered, stating any flaws before he could get the chance to. “It’s too delicious.”

The glazed figure shook with mirth. “You flatter me,” said Loid, retracing his path down her backside. A friendly gesture, nothing more. Fronds, butterflies, paisleys. “Even if that were true, I’d still like you just the same.”

The dress closed. Her chest split open, exploded with astrals, bon bons, rainbows, and doily. She inhaled, waited fifteen pulses, exhaled.

Yor found it funny. Here she was—here they were—enacting trifles known to every married couple. This was less than kisses, hugs, laced hands, tangled sheets. And yet, this was the very thing that did Yor in.

Something in the air shifted. A church bell went off in the amphitheater of her mind and Yor knew that there was no coming back. Not after this.

She mourned her mother. If only she had paid better attention. Maybe then she’d know what to do about the dull ache in her chest and the unspoken confessions that plagued her, echoing like hymns in an empty cathedral. Her heart trilled suites of unfettered emotion, ballads of confession, odes to forever.

The doorbell rang. “Ah. Looks like Frankie’s here.”

She looked for prophecies in stained glass and listened carefully to its lull.

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The moon appliquéd on the velvet of the night sky, sequins dotting along its expanse. Townhouse lights dwindled as mothers kissed their cherub-cheeked darlings goodnight, soon replaced with orange lamppost glow. For each shop sign that overturned, a bar door opened and tankards clanged jovially to celebrate another day gone.

After hours were for gin and tonics, for rest. Yor and Loid strolled by these vignettes in the evening chill, peering through glass with twinkling eyes at these warm displays of civilization: scraggly cats stretched over faded welcome mats; fresh-faced university students scrawling in leatherbound notebook, cups of tea gone cold; secretaries cooing at sweating beer bottles; an elderly man dipping madeleines in espresso.

Conversation had long past them, but they had each other. Silence cropped verbenas and bellflowers, populating their world of two with wonder and fancy. Loid tucked them behind her ear and made her feel gorgeous in the night.

The first time, Loid gazed at her and she played it off as if something in her direction held his attention. The second time wasn’t so sneaky. Yor had been playing this game too. She’d steal glances and admire the understated makings of Loid in secrecy: the fine white wisp of his eyelashes that flitted the angel kisses dusting his cheekbones; the effortless exhaustion that haloed blue eyes; the fuzz on his upper lip that reminded Yor of the juiciest peach. Parched, she swallowed hard. Loid had caught her, or perhaps she had caught him. They caught each other; lost to captivation.

“Anya… That cheeky girl,” mumbled Loid under his breath, following the pointed tips of his shoes now with furrowed brows. “So that was why.”

“Why what?” she asked, focusing on matching her stride with Loid’s. Left, right. Left, right.

“She kept pestering me about trivial things. Limes. Ferns. Cucumbers. Kiwis.”

“I don’t really follow.”

Cirruses wreathed their heads as the stillness broke. “Green is my favorite color.”

Yor, never knowing when to quit, had the last laugh. A blush stained all of his handsome features and bled onto her. “Believe me when I say I had no idea.” She strayed further and farther away from the garden they tended with accidental brushes and palpable tension. A storm descended in the space between them. A crack of thunder. A split of lightning. Torn leaves twisted in the wind. Raindrops embellished her skin—a cuirass of roped diamonds that shielded the fragile cage of her rattling heart.

“It’s a stunning dress, Yor.” Loid parted the gray clouds and pulled back into the honeyed dregs of a late-summer sun. Yor’s defenses melted under its familiar grasp. “Forgive me. I can’t seem to take my eyes off of you.”

It registered after twenty counts. Then, she flowered with dizzying rapture.

Yor racked her mind to find the right things to say to him—she knew she ought to say something—but the sentences would not form. When she’d open her mouth, bubbles would come ballooning out instead, swallowing her whole. She floated on fortuity, on chance, and tried not to burst either one.

“Thank you.” Yor fisted the skirt of her dress as she lifted higher and higher into the stratosphere. She didn’t mean to be so curt—there were many happy emotions she wanted to express, but she wasn’t as cunning as Loid. Wasn’t as articulate. Affection was conveyed through hands weaving through spun hair, arms wrapped around another, lips on eyelids; was reserved for younger brothers and dear daughters. To do such things with a man seemed almost unfathomable to Yor, but right now, she wanted nothing more than to touch and be touched.

When the stars aligned on the downbeat of their hearts, when their shoulders brushed and when the arc of their arms swung down at a point of convergence, when she heard those bells chime once more, Yor seized the moment. She hooked her pinky to his.

“Just for now. Please,” she whispered shakily with shut eyes. Loid didn’t recoil from her touch. “You can always let go.”

He was quiet; Yor half-expected him to justify the sudden skinship under the pretense of their fake marriage or to untie altogether. Instead, Loid moved to lace their fingers, intertwined. He squeezed. There was such a sincerity in that innocent act that made them gaze into the hazy horizon and hope that they would never reach their destination. It took the rivulets under his skin, the life pulsing in her palm to understand reciprocation—requitals left unsaid.

And so they clung to each other—vagabonds in search of lost girlhoods and abandoned homes.

#my writing #fic #loidyor #twiyor #sxf #spy x family #sxf fics #loid forger #yor briar #anya forger #header is going out by norman rockwell :-)

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thetoffeefox · 2 years ago

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Valorant headcanons Im willing to die on a hill for

Sage smokes the good kush (tell me im wrong I dare you.)

If Kay-o saw The Terminator and/or Robocop hed love them. Any other answer is unacceptable.

Jet and Neon have Mukbang contests.

Out of every agent in the protocol Phoenix is the most terrified of spooky season. Haunted Houses, scary movies, etc will scare the piss out of him. Now of course hes going to play it off and act cool...but fail miserably.

Remember Sage and the weed thing? Skye is her suplier. Gotta be a bit more careful with it though after Brim got a hold of one her pot brownies.

Fade volunteers at shelters to feed, bathe, play with and care for cats.

Breach preforms horrible karaoke rendetions of classic american metal songs.

At some point someone has lost a bet with Yoru and as payment he has made them ask KJ to make an adult toy for them. (She was secretly in on it and took advantage of the fully occupied cafeteria to deliver it to said person)

Said person most likely was one of the following: Jett, Phoenix, Neon, Cypher, Kay-o, or Breach.

Reyna is a makeup guru. Easy breezy covergirl.

What Viper considers fun most of the time appears to be like work to others. (I imagine she is highly interested in insects and fungi given their fluidsand spores can additives to her poisons and toxins.)

During celebrations that involve fireworks Raze is band from lighting them off due to a reckless mishap one year.

Chamber reads better homes and gardens magazines along with vanity fair. Tell me Im wrong. Im right and you know it.

If you guys enjoyed these please like the post and let me know I have plenty more brewing around in my head. If you have any headcanon request please head over to my blog and send me ask!! Hopefully there will be more to come!!

#phoenix valorant #valorant headcanons #valorant #valorant imagines #valorant sage #fade headcanons #sage headcanons #viper valorant #jett valorant #killjoy valorant #killjoy headcanons #neon valorant #neon headcanons #kay-o valorant

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blacknpurplewarpster · 5 years ago

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[IDW Skywarp Headcanon]

More about his awful comments/attitude towards others

I know I’ve written about this before but I cant seem to find it anywhere on my blog. I was rereading the original comic series and thought I’d elaborate a little bit more than what I had previously wrote. I was going to include a snippet from Unicron #2

Skywarp: “Among others. Could you try bumbling into trouble a little closer to the mainland next time? This was decidedly inconvenient.” Helix: “I think he means ‘Glad you guys are okay. Sorry it took so long to reach you.’ Isn’t that right, Skywarp?” Skywarp: “I suppose. I would have been more annoyed if we had come all this way and they were already dead.” Helix: “Do you actually know when you’re being awful?” Skywarp: “Almost always. Fortunately, showing up and being remarkable are more important to being a G.I. Joe than unnecessary human pleasantries.”

Skywarp mentions that he knows when he is being awful with his comments and just overall to others when Helix calls him out on it after just saving part of his team. This team he has been with for a few years and is close to them, even Rock. Going through the comments, he makes snarky ass comments towards Rock and doesn’t give a shit about what his friend thinks either. I’ll come back to Rock in a bit here. Some of his comments towards Rock are rather hilarious in the way Skywarp is portrayed doing them. Not to say Rock deserves his shitty attitude. But later on, they become better and closer friends.

Even though he is no longer a Decepticon, he still puts duty above everything else, even if it means stepping on others toes or hurting others feelings. Thing is, Skywarp doesn’t care. He feels being blunt is better than beating around the bush or sugarcoating things. He will tell others straight up what he feels and doesn’t give a shit about what it might do.

Another example is he even says this to Thundercracker, whom he hasn’t seen in a decade or more.

Thundercracker: “Last time I saw you, you shot me in the face.” Skywarp: “Eh, you deserved it.”

Like jeezus straight to his face. I think it was like the second sentence he said to Thundercracker after not seeing him for YEARS. Like harsh much?

So pretty much no one can hide from this. The one thing I have noticed, his snarky comments seem to back off once there’s a tighter bond between himself and whomever else. This happens once Skywarp has a change of heart once he realized how Rock and himself are a lot more similar than he thought. Rock repeatedly tells Skywarp about being alone but he finally realizes this at one important moment. Rock decides to own up to his mistakes of paralyzing Grand Slam and wants to sacrifice his life to blow up the Fatal Fluffies in hopes to get rid of his guilt but its also a sense of pride from him. Skywarp decides to stay back with Rock and decides to stay even when the detonator goes off--surprise surprise, he saves Rock and their bond grows close.

Here’s some of their conversations between one another just to show you: You can skip all the way down to see my final thoughts.

---------------------------------------------------------------- GI Joe #1: Rock: Hey, uhh, Skywarp… I was wondering… seeing as we’re teammates… you think I could ride back with you? Skywarp: Are you asking me…to open up my cockpit… and allow you to climb inside of me? Rock: Umm.. yes? Skywarp: Jets off Rock: Looks like I’m with you again.

GI Joe #4

Skywarp: “Look at them. Squabbling in the dirt like… like insects! They can’t do anything. They can accomplish nothing… without me!” Rock: “Hey Skywarp… Instead of waiting for transpo, I was thinking that if you don’t mind, maybe we could.. you know.” Skywarp: Squints hard and jets off Rock: “Jerk.”

Gi Joe #5 Skywarp: “Tell me… you geeks got your data…?” Skywarp: “This isn’t working! I’m tired of you insects leaning on me! Why am I the only one— GAAAH!” Covergirl: “Don’t worry, Skywarp…the calvary’s arrived!” Skywarp: “Now you cowards show up, after sending me ahead.” Rock: “Hey now… I offered to ride with you.” Skywarp: “You know my feelings on that.” Skywarp: “Are you even helping at all?!” Rock: “Honestly? Not really. But if you’d let me ride with—ooofh-!” Skywarp: “Gahhh!” Covergirl: “Skywarp! Come in! Do you read us?!” Skywarp: Khhkkthhhkkt Rock: “Skywarp! Are… are you ok?” Skywarp: “kkhkt No…But I will be there once we will that thing. Were you getting emotional, you sentimental insect?” Rock: “What? I was… No…”

GI Joe #6 Skywarp: “Hrmph. I’ll be the judge of that. Crude ugly thing. If this is the best you can do, no wonder you can’t fix me.” Roadblock: “Four Joes. Skywarp counts.”

Rock: Turns into this monster from the Fatal Fluffies Skywarp: “I know what this is really about...” Rock: “Hunh?” Skywarp: “...You’re sad I wouldn’t give you a ride. But don’t worry, you’ll get what you want...When i carry you out in pieces.”

GI Joe #7 Skywarp: Is fighting mega-Rock and knows to be gentle and junk. “You are as arrogant as the rest of them! Even enlarged! even with horns and claws! You are nothing but an insec--Urlkh--!” Is being choked out.

Skywarp: “Hey! You watch your mouth!”

Rock: “I know. That’s why I’m volunteering. I’ve done enough damage more than enough. Let me redeem myself please.” Skywarp: “Sure but you aren’t going alone. Someone needs to defend your position while you set up the bomb.” Rock: “But I.. I threw you into the mole pod. the explosion was..” Skywarp: “Yeah, so another one doesn’t scare me much, besides...as soon as the bombs in place, before you hit the button... I”m getting out of here.”

GI Joe #8 Rock: “Almost read! You gotta jet!” Skywarp: “You’ll be overrun before you can hit it! Besides...It’s an honor to stand by your side. You are a true warrior.” Rock: “No...I’m a Joe. We both are.” Skywarp saves Rock by letting him ride inside of his cockpit in order to get away from the blast.

Gi Joe #9 Rock: “He wouldn’t let me use the radio.” Skywarp: “You haven’t earned the privilege!” Rock: “Whatever. You ready for the blast beat?” Skywarp: “Do we have to call it that?” Skywarp and Rock: “Yoooooooo Joooooooe!” Rock: “Thanks to Skywarp! Hes letting me ride with him!” Skywarp: “Once! Only once!”

GI Joe First Strike #1

Skywarp: “You need to get him his own jet!”

Scarletts Strike Force 1 Rock: Skywarp, I”m serious! Seriously! Doc: You know he’s the only one who can put up with your grouchy metal butt.. Skywarp: I thought you liked-- Doc: Nope Skywarp: .... Fine Rock: Hey! Piggyback ride! Skywarp: Start using that shotgun or I’m doing barrel rolls!

---- This is where Skywarps attitude really changes. -------

Rock: And they were chanting this name...glub? golob..goolub? Hey! Are you even listening to me? Skywarp: Its a boring story about something that didn’t actually happen! Why would I listen to it?! Rock: Because it’s stressing me out, man. It felt...different.. Skywarp: Different from your other dreams? Rock: Yeah dude Skywarp: Different from your Jem dreams? Rock: Come on man.. Skywarp: A holograms fan. You’re not metal. Rock: They have some serious riffs, alright!?

Scarletts Strike Force #2

Skywarp: Can you fix my teleportation? Or are you techgeeks just as worthless as everyone else in the Lemuria? Rock: Dude, I’m standing right here. Hey man can I help? Grand Slam: I’ve got it Rock. You only ruined the bottom half of me. Skywarp: Getting m teleportation fixed is the only reason I threw in with you insects! why havent you fixed it yet? You’ve been trying and failing since the EDC! Grand Slam: Like I told you: We don’t have the tech, or the knowledge. or the materials.

Scarletts Strike Force #3 Skywarp: Yeah. Me. And you’re welcome. Don’t act so shocked. you insects think a giant robot doesn’t know his way around a rudimentary geothermal generator? You’ve been recruited. We’ll rendezvous in DC. You have three minutes to find yourselves a ride before surveillance is back up. Helix: Aren’t you letting people ride inside of you now? Skywarp: Only Rock ‘n Roll!

Unicron #2 The first set of quotes goes right here in events wise.

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

This is the end of their interactions. I know I didn’t show everything but it shows a huge chunk of how you can see how Skywarp is only “nice” to Rock really because in his optics, he isn’t respected by some of the others, especially Grand Slam. So in his mindset, why does he have to be nice if he doesn’t have the respect?

He figures he lost his respect towards Thundercracker (or rather TC lost respect for Skywarp) because of what he’d done to him so he resets back to being an ass. He thinks their history doesn’t matter anymore, so he resorts to just tell him straight-up. Perhaps he was always straight up before their meeting with Starscream and he’s resorting back to his normal or preset attitude/maturity. That all of what has gone on from him shooting TC out of the sky onwards, smacked him so hard it woke him up from this “fantasy.” If that makes sense?? I’m tired and rambling.

Deep down, I truly believe he cares but he isn’t going to show that side. He needs to put duty before anything else because that’s the motto Skywarp lives by. You can see a lot of this change in him throughout the entire series but it really sets out from AHM series onwards. His whole attitude flips and starts to really develop his character and we see this. I have a feeling he didn’t used to be like this but what he’s done in his life has shaped him to act in this way. Perhaps its a way of not letting others get close to him. It might very well be a defense mechanism. Who knows, we truly won’t know canon wise since the series ended.

THANKS FOR BEING HERE FOR MY HEADCANON AND RAMBLE OF THOUGHTS.

#[IDW Skywarp Headcanon]#//beware long af post

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lovemesomesurveys · 5 years ago

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Have you ever had a really bad haircut? I didn’t think so at the time, but looking back at some of my haircuts I’m like...yikes. lol. Did you ever order any clothes from the Alloy catalogue? No. What brand, color, and type is your favorite eyeliner? CoverGirl brand. I only use black. Do you wear eyeliner? When I actually wear makeup, yeah.

Was there ever a time in your life when you couldn’t cry? I mean, yeah. Sometimes the tears just won’t come.

What’s your favorite type of yogurt? Not a fan of yogurt. What posters did you have on your wall as a teenager? The ones from those teeny bop magazines like J14, Tiger Beat, etc. What are your favorite type of calendars? The Alexander Skarsgard one I have. ;) And ones with cute photos of puppies. Do you have a full-length mirror? Yeah. When was the last time you bought stamps? I’ve never bought stamps. Do you have any overdue library books right now? No. I haven’t been to the library in several years. How often do you do laundry? It gets done about once a week. Do you have a piggy bank? No. Do you remember your locker combinations from high school? I didn’t have one. What’s your favorite DIY crafts youtube channel? I don’t watch any DIY YouTube channels. Could you spend hours on pinterest? I hardly ever go on there, honestly. Do you own plaid pants? I have a pair of plaid leggings. Have you ever had to wear a school uniform? The preschool I went to did, lol. What was your high school’s mascot? Nah. What were your high school’s team colors? Who were your best friends in high school? I had a few people I hung out with at school, but I didn’t really have a best friend honestly. Towards the middle of my senior year I did reconnect with a former best friend from middle school; though, and we ended up becoming close again. We were best friends up until about 4 years ago.

Who was your first boyfriend or girlfriend? His name is Derek. Have you ever been to Chicago? No. If yes, what do you like best about it? Have you ever stayed in a hostel? No. Would you rather sleep on the top bunk or bottom bunk? I’d have to choose the bottom bunk. Do you love camping? I’ve never been, but I have zero desire to try it. Doesn’t interest me at all. Would you rather sleep in a tent or under the stars? I wouldn’t go camping. What insects are you afraid of? Um, ALL of them. Have you ever had a secret admirer that left you notes? No. Are you close with your cousins? I used to be with some of them. Not anymore, though. I became distant and withdrawn from everyone. Are you close to any aunts or uncles? One of them. Are you close to your grandparents? I was with my maternal grandparents. I was very close to my grandma, she was my best friend. Sadly, both of them passed away over 10 years ago. My paternal grandparents are fortunately still alive, but I don’t have the same relationship with them as I did with my other grandparents. It’s not a bad one at all, I love them, but we’re just not as close. Who betrayed your trust? People. Who was your first best friend (apart from a sibling)? How about a cousin? ha. What was your favorite thing to do at sleepovers when you were younger? My cousins and I stayed up late watching movies, snacking, and just hanging out. What kind of popcorn is your favorite? Extra buttery with salt. Also, this one theater I go to has this garlic parm seasoning you can add that is delicious. Does your town have a big fountain in it? Yeah. What is your town known for? Nothing good. Do you currently live in the city you grew up in? Yes. What’s one way in which you’re behind the times? I don’t get the appeal of TikTok haha. What’s one way in which you’re still a child? I just still kinda feel like one in some ways. I feel...stunted? I don’t know. What’s one way in which you’re old? I’m 30 years old so that’s one way, ha. Also, I was around for dial-up internet. :O lol. Those days of AOL were horrible. You were kicked off all the time and you couldn’t be on if someone was on the phone. The torture. Do you feel old or young? Or do you feel both at different times? Both at different times. I’m always like, “waaah I’m so old”, but like I said I also feel younger than I am. How old are you? I’ve mentioned this already. Do you know what you want to do for your next birthday? Nope and I don’t care. It’s a long way to go for one, but also it’s just whatever. I don’t get excited about my birthday anymore. If yes, what is it? What is the last new thing you discovered that was really good? I’ve been watching new stuff on Netflix and Hulu lately and catching up on some others. What would be the best surprise you could receive right now? I’d love if we were able to go on like a week long vacay or something, ha. Do you usually forgive when someone hurts your or try to get revenge? I’m not revengeful at all. Were there any subjects in school that were really easy for you? English. If so, what? Dude, you never need to ask me for more information. Look how long all my answers are lol <<< Lol, right? Did you ever skip a grade or get held back a grade? No. What time of day were you born? In the evening. What is the best hairstyle you’ve ever had? Dyeing my hair red. Do you think you look better with dyed hair or natural hair? I much prefer dyed hair, particularly the red. Do you think your look better with curly hair or straight hair? I like when it’s pin straight. Do you have bangs? No. I did for majority of my life, though. I kinda want to get them again. *shrug* Do you think you look better with bangs or without? The bangs hide my fivehead hahah. Do you think you look better with long hair or short? I mean, I look like crap no matter what, but I prefer my long hair. What’s your favorite rock band? I couldn’t possibly choose. When it comes to music, movies, and books I can’t choose a favorite cause so much I like. Who’s your favorite country singer? I like country, but I don’t have a particular favorite, really. Do you ever listen to Celtic music? No. Do you listen to Hillsong? No. Did you try the unicorn frappuccino, and if yes, were you a fan? I didn’t try it. Have you ever won a contest? Yes. Have you ever wanted to be a model, actress, singer, or dancer? In high school I wished I could be on the dance team, ha. I also wish I had any singing ability at all, but alas. When you look at your baby pictures, do you recognize yourself? No. Babies just look like ugly old aliens. I do not think I look like that at all. <<< Hahah aww! I thought I was a cute baby... not sure what happened as I got older, ha. I look back and I don’t see much resemblance to myself. Now I just see a troll. Has your hair color changed since you were a toddler? No, my natural hair is still dark brown. I dye it red, though. Do you wear matching socks? Yes. How many drawers does your dresser have? 3. I need a bigger one. Do you own an American flag shirt? I have one that has the American flag design on some of the shirt. Do you own a British flag shirt? No. Do you have a seashell collection? No. Do you have a rock collection? I do, actually. Do you decorate for Halloween? Yeah. What is your favorite thing to do in the pool? I don’t like getting in the pool. Flamingos or pineapples? Uh not sure what the relation is, but I guess flamingos cause I don’t like pineapples. Cacti or seashells? Seashells. Maple tree or palm tree? Maple tree. Dreamcatcher or wind chimes? Wind chimes. Have you ever taken a picture at the perfect moment? Yeah. Do you have a crush right now? No. What color was your first car? I haven’t had a car. I don’t drive. Was your first car used or new? Do you have a car now? What color(s) eyeshadow do you wear the most? I haven’t worn eyeshadow in such a long time, but when I did I usually went for like brown shades. Sometimes I’d venture out and use different colors.

#personal #text #survey #surveys

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