#my dad is a manager at *insert big tech company here* so he works with a fair amount of recently out of college computer science majors

[queer-reader-07]

the worst thing about me being a Gen Z with a Gen X father is that i routinely use Gen Z slang & internet lingo around him to the point that he's able to accurately parse what it all means. AND THEN HE GOES AND USES IT AT WORK TO IMPRESS HIS TWENTY SOMETHING COWORKERS

[kazdoesntknow]

sorry for the stickers and lines in the latter image of leo, it’s the original one from before i got my sketchbook.

i ended up changing leo’s face. his right eye is burned, as well as his shoulder, and he’s blind in his right eye.

he wears goggles now- lightly based off of steampunk goggles. they read thermals, as well as zoom in and out. he’s also the only turtle who still has their mystic weapon- april still has hers.

leo’s really been through things. at his current age of twenty-one, he’s the leader of the team. though at sixteen, when he and his brothers went to fight draxum and most of the foot clan, he realized they were being overrun and he surrendered as a distraction so his brothers would be able to escape. he ended up being tortured over the next two years, as well as experimented on, but he eventually escaped and returned home, where he’s now planning on how to take his world back from the yokai, establish equality, and throw big mama and draxum away for their crimes, seeing as those two released shredder and made sure everyone else was shoved underground as the yokai had been.

he’s quieter now, and less quick to joke, and matured a lot faster than he should have. but somewhere in that heart of his, he’s still the same leon. he’s just struggling with how to express it.

he has a lot of mental disorders due to everything that has happened.

again, sorry for the stickers and stuff. that’ll go for just about everyone else,,,,

so this is raph. probably not the best drawn, i’ll redraw him soon, i promise that much. but anyway, as you can see, he’s got a few scars, and where leo has teal eyes, raph has green. ( aka i wanted to give them eye colors, and here they are. ) he’s twenty two, and during leo’s two years away, he’d begun to think leo was dead. but he blames himself fully for leo’s disappearance, and regrets not being the one to think of surrendering first. he doesn’t have his mystic weapon, though he does use his sais. once leo returned, he passed leadership onto him, because leo was the one who showed leadership and protected them all.

raph’s still his cuddly self, though his fear of being alone has gotten stronger, and he usually sleeps in mikey’s room to avoid waking up with panic attacks. he also has a strong fear of abandonment, and is terrified his brothers will leave or get kidnapped again.

also heavily blames himself for splinter’s death, even though he wasn’t fighting shredder with miko and casey.

stickers, yada yada. you get the gist.

anyway! this is the baby, mikey. i liked the addition of a bandana, so i threw it on him. he’s the youngest at age 20. upon leo disappearing, he chose to neglect the new way of life and pretend that nothing’s changed. upon leo’s return, though, he wasn’t quite sure what to do. he couldn’t seem to comfort leo. but mikey tried his best anyway.

during leo’s time in captivity, mikey was constantly with raph, bonding more heavily with his elder brother, due to donnie being more in his lab to deal with his own problems. mikey still loves to paint, and he simply wishes he could see sunlight again. he often plays video games with raph and does quite a bit of art- the lair is covered in his art, whether it be on canvases or walls. he chats about everything he wants to do.

he probably took draxum’s betrayal the hardest, seeing as he was the one the most supportive of draxum’s redemption. he wanted his two dads, and now, sadly, he has none.

and this is donatello, the last, but definitely not the least, of the turtles.

he fully blames himself for the abduction of his twin. fighting draxum was also very difficult for him, because his battle shell was torn apart ( again ) and he was carried home due to the wounds on his face and on his shell. he ends up cutting off his right arm for what he claims to be self improvement, though there is an underlying truth no one’s managed to dig out yet. he woud have cut off his other upon leo’s return, but leo had stopped him from doing that.

still a tech guy, he tends to isolate himself in his lab, save for whenever miko decides she wants to waltz in there like she owns the place. he doesn’t find her much of a bother because she’s usually pretty quiet. he’s still sarcastic and sassy, but he is very angry and defensive, and forgets to eat and sleep. he, though he would never admit it, probably missed leo the most because of their twin bond.

he has pilot goggles now, which is pretty neat, i think. they’re modified by the mystic crystals, though, so they work the same as his old ones did.

this is casey jones, age 22. living,,, somewhat his best life.

he met the turtles when he was fifteen, while he was out being a bit,,, crazy on the streets and doing his vigilante thing. he’s played hockey since middle school, and absolutely loves it. he’s learned hand to hand combat, and at school, he’s close friends with april o’neil. though at first, he had no idea she knew about the turtles until she went to introduce him to them, and... well, it just hit him. he was like “hey, i know those guys!”

he went with miko and splinter to help in stopping the shredder, and feels pretty sad about splinter dying, so he does the usual thing: vigilante shit. he fights off yokai who are harming humans or mutants, with the help of april and mayehm. he has hockey sticks, golf clubs, and baseball bats.

overall, casey’s a fun guy to hang out with. currently, he’s working on building up a resistance group to fight back, with leo’s strict instruction. in previous years, he was doing it on his own accord.

APRIL O’NEIL! age 21.

she’s pretty neat. has a scar on her chin that actually isn’t from fighting- her and casey were fucking around on the skateboard ramp in the lair and she fell and,,, chin scar. her jacket is immortal. her glasses are broke, though, and she had to tape them together, but she’s not too mad about it. in fact, she’s not too mad about anything.

she fought big mama with lavi, and though they lost, they managed to escape, and april still has her mystic bat. she snatched that up real fast when she bolted. she ended up forced underground, and she hangs out with her mom sometimes, and tries to hang out with casey vigilanting, and occassionally bugs donnie in his lab, or tries to help lavi pull the family back together- not to much avail.

she’s smart, and funny, and sassy. she’s the same as she was when she was younger, but she’s also gotten to be more independent and strong. she’s very confident, and though she’s been through a lot, she has a firm belief that they’ll win soon enough.

this is hizashi mikoto, an oc.

she’s a small. age 21. she’s formerly a business CEO, despite her young age, and graduated from MIT at the age of 15. she was raised in japan until she was twelve years old, and upon the death of her father and sister, she ended up moving to america with her mom. when she turned fifteen, her mom ended up dying as well to a foot clan attack. her relationship with her mom wasn’t the best- her ninja mother was fascinated with science, especially mutations, and inserted tiny bits of chameleon dna into her daughter through spars with swords. miko’s now partially chameleon. she met the boys by literally falling in on them. chasing down a few criminals vigilanting, she ended up falling into their lair and spraining their wrist when she was fourteen years old.

she fought the shredder with casey and splinter, and heavily blames herself for splinter’s death. she’s in love with technology and science, having of built a company off a computer chip she developed when she was twelve years old. so her favorite spot in the lair is in donnie’s lab. but she also likes to spar, and write on occassion, and is sometimes found watching tv with mikey.

this is lavi, the last oc.

gunslinger. she was born in watertown, new york, where her mother had abandoned her before her father found her and her little brothers in their home, but spent most of her life in maine, until conflict caused her to move away from her family and live with her mémé ( great grandmother ) up in new york. wanting to be a police detective and invest her time in chasing down cases at the age of fourteen, she ran around in a deep search for something to do, something to solve, and one of those days, she found leo. and literally just peppered him with questions about where she could go to find some cases to solve. and then they started being friends because “finding cases” turned into “spa day in the hidden city.”

after leo’s disappearance, she ended up searching for the turtle with donnie. the two were relentless in their searching, but two years later, they ended up finding him because he had broken himself out. she tries her best to comfort him as she had the rest of the turtles and their friends.

often passes out in a pile of pillows. leo usually throws a fluffy blanket over her.

but yeah! those are the main characters,,,, lemme know what you think!

[bloodlily16]

My Kirby Spielberg AU, aka ‘Kid Scifi Adventure in the Woods’ AU

Rambly Kirby (Right Back At Ya!) AU based off of me seeing a picture of human Fumu and Bun with an alien Kirby and immediately going nuts like the AU gremlin that I am in my heart of hearts.

Fumu and Bun live in Cappy Town, a town famous for being a place where basically nothing interesting happens. Imagine Mayberry except in the 21st century.

Fumu’s probably the smartest person in school, including her teachers, so she has a lot of hobbies and spends most of her time editing wikipedia articles and reading research papers and big books because learning is awesome! She does not have many friends, despite the fact that her dad is the mayor and is loaded. her parents try to connect with her, but Ebrum’s busy a lot of the time and Like is nice but isn’t sure how to connect with her daughter.

Bun, meanwhile, is a ragamuffin who kind of hates school and reading but he hangs out with Fumu because she lets him use his telescope and lends him books about really cool gross stuff. He still teases her for being a gigantic nerd, and is really pretty social and has a lot of friends who sometimes pester Fumu into playing with them because they’re bored.

One night Fumu and Bun are stargazing. Again, Fumu likes astronomy and has a telescope, and Bun just thinks seeing stars and planets and stuff is rad as heck. Bun wants to see some meteors, but Fumu tells him there aren’t any showers that night, so he might be out of luck.

Cue a giant shooting star that makes impact in the forest outside of town. Fumu and Bun momentarily freak out, but then decide to go and check it out. It takes them a while to get ready, but once they’re ready they’re gone.

They eventually find the place the meteor crashed, except the whole area’s been taped off, courtesy of Dedede.

Dedede is the richest man in town. He owns some tech company or whatever and provides about half the town’s budget and never lets Ebrum forget it. Bun’s dropped water balloons on his head multiple times. Fumu gives him tips on how to improve his aim. Dr. Escargon (nicknamed Escargoon by Fumu) is his loyal lackey.

They tell Fumu and Bun to leave and to go back home. Fumu and Bun agree… and then sneak in anyway because they neither like nor trust Dedede. They manage to sneak into the crash site, which is covered by a giant tent. When they look inside, they’re shocked to find a giant flying saucer shaped like a star! (Insert ‘Aliens’ meme here.)

They’re then found out by Jack Knight. RIP

Jack Knight’s this mysterious man who no-one knows anything about. He just moved in one day, made what’s basically a military compound ten miles out of town, and proceeded to keep to himself. Common consensus says that he’s probably ex spec ops or something like that and had probably toppled at least one (1) country’s government. He has neither confirmed or denied this statement. He also has a few people ho work for him, including people who’ve lived in town since forever, some people who live nearby, and strangers who moved in specifically to work at the base.

Blade and Sword are worth mentioning. They moved in at the exact same time as Jack Knight, and are extremely tight knit. It was a solid month before they actually started talking to people in town outside of just buying groceries and stuff like that. Since then, they’ve warmed up to the town, and are actually seen out and about a lot more. Getting them to talk about their past is still impossible.

So Jack gives them a dressing down and sends them home. Fumu and Bun proceed to head home, because honestly they’re freaked out about what might happen if they don’t listen to him and go back to the alien stuff. They’re 3/4 of the way home when they hear rustling in the bushes. They investigate, and are scared out of their wits when something round and pink springs out of the bushes.

Cue a tiny, cute baby alien with fangs looking up of them and exclaiming ‘Poyo!’

Fumu and Bun are equal parts scared and shocked, but they reason that this is probably whatever/whoever was in the spaceship. Since they don’t wanna leave the kid alone in the middle of the woods at night, and don’t wanna take him back to the crashsite, they take the kid home.

The next morning, after smuggling food to the alien and realizing that its stomach is a bag of holding, they overhear that some wild animal has been attacking pets and livestock. A lot of animals are going missing. This is weird enough, but Jack Knight and his people are also looking into this. Fumu and Bun worry about what might happen if they get their hands on the alien.

The alien then proceeds to sneak out that night. Fumu and Bun go after him, worried that he’s either eating animals, or that Jack Knight, Blade, and Sword will think he’s eating animals and then do something bad. They find the alien, but not before attracting the attention of Sword, so then they run and try to hide in a ranger station at the edge of the woods, hiding the alien under a bunch of hats and shirts and stuff.

Sword and Blade enter first, making smalltalk with Fumu and Bun, and then asking them what they’re doing out this late with the wild animal prowling around. Fumu and Bun try to deflect all questions, all while hiding a small, pink alien that doesn’t want to be hidden right now.

Enter jack Knight, who hears the ‘poyo’s and sees the moving pile of clothes. He wants to know what’s in said pile.

Fumu and Bun try to stop them, but Sword and Blade hold them back while jack uncovers the alien. The alien stares at Jack. Jack stares at the alien. The alien tilts his head up at Jack and asks him something with the same ‘Poyo poyo’ that he’s been repeating basically non-stop.

“It’s okay, Kirby,” says Jack. He reaches up to his wrist and presses a button on his watch. Suddenly, his human form is gone, and in its place is a squishy, blue alien who looks like the pink one (Did Jack call him Kirby?) except with yellow eyes and bat wings.

Fumu and Bun are understandably shocked by this. Kirby, however, brightens up and glomps Jack with a resounding ‘POYO!’, much to the surprise of everyone. Especially Jack.

Jack then explains that he and Kirby are the same species, and that they know each other. Aliens are, in fact, real, and a lot of them have camouflage technology that allows them to live among humans. A lot of them live in Cappy Town. Jack’s here with Blade and Sword because Dedede’s company’s tech looks a lot like alien tech, and Jack suspects he’s been getting it from out in space and wants to make sure he’s not going to end up dangerous.

Fumu wonders if the monster attacking animals was an alien too. Cue an UNHOLY SCREECH.

They all run outside to see a giant octopus monster eating a deer whole. Blade, Sword, and Jack (who calls himself Metaknight) attack it, but swords are useless against it. Then, Metaknight gets an idea. He gives Kirby some fire to eat. Kirby then proceeds to eat said fire, and transforms into Fire Kirby, and then he burns the monster to a crisp. The others are happy the monster’s dead.

Later, Dedede learns about the monster being dead, and worries about what ‘He’ will think about that.

I’m totally going to do some art and stuff for this later but TBH I like the story idea so much I just wanna get it out there. 

[ohmama2012]

My Eulogy for Dad

This is the eulogy I read for my dad at his memorial service on April 28, 2019 at the Riverside Memorial Chapel in NYC. He passed away on April 2. I have revised a few things to correct typos and reflect what I actually said in the room, to the best of my recollection. I wrote this with a desire to let everyone in the room know who he was as a father, a side of him only I had the luck to know. It was my good friend Christopher Piatt, the only person I shared my draft with, who noticed the “stage manager” through line and advised me to add a few more theater anecdotes. I am indebted to him for the line about dad being a consummate stage manager at the center of our lives -- not just because it made a good line in the speech, but because it’s true and it helped me to see that. - Ali, 5/3/19 

According to family legend, one of my father's earliest memories of me, and one of his latest memories of his father, was the look of abject horror on my grandfather's face as I tangoed around the living room as a toddler, singing “I’d be Surprisingly Good For You” from Evita. In the song, little Eva propositions Juan Peron with something more than just a “frantic tumble and a shy goodbye.”

I grew up with the theater. And not just because I'll always think of my dad singing “Bobby Bubby Bobby” as he pulled out Company album on vinyl to place on the turntable.

I should add that’s rare form -- my dad didn’t much like singing along to the many musicals he so adored. He did sing me “Doh a Dear” as a lullabye, and I sang it to him repeatedly in his final days, but by and large he would say: “Lyrics are your mother’s department."

They made such a good theater pair. He designed the shows, she remembered the names and dates, and they both equally treasured the adventures. Their love of musicals shone through in their parenting. My mother likes to say that if Patti LuPone had had better diction, a young Alison Weiss would have never picked up the Evita libretto and learned to read.

If I learned my ABC’s from Evita, I learned my LBJs, IRTs, and LSDs -- and several latin words -- from the other great musical that I forever associate with my father. He got his start on Broadway stage managing Hair. He was not a hippie, but he was a great enabler, calling cues in a haze of pre-show puffs and taking the show on the road through the USA amidst a backdrop of the Vietnam era. He taught me so much history through his stories about working on Hair. 

But beyond the love of theater by association, my dad gave me the unique privilege of growing up as the child of a designer. As a baby, I crinkled canary paper at his drafting table. As a tot, I cut out collages from Rosco gel samples. As a kid, I made origami from extra Playbill inserts, hanging out in the box seats of a Broadway house during tech week.

He taught me a true love of New York. Once he sent me a postcard from LA, on which he wrote 3 words: “Sun & Sprouts!!!” He taught me that a city is the only place where you can just walk and run into people.

Once I ran into him on the street In New York, randomly, on 11th Avenue in midtown, on a summer day, as I walked south and he walked north. I was in my 20s and, naturally, upset about something. I saw him and hugged him and started to cry, and he took me out for lunch and told me everything I needed to know to feel better. He'd been coming from some theater-related errand or meeting. He used to walk everywhere. He would probably have walked all the way home to 83rd street had it not been for our meeting. And he walked FAST.

My dad liked to relax, but he had no patience for dilly-dallying. Always on a mission, he would run like lightening for a train that he could easily catch walking, leave 6 hours early for a flight, dash through the streets of a city on vacation rather than waste time strolling. Once, on the streets of Amsterdam on vacation, we repeatedly asked him to please slow down. There was no rush. The 75th time we nagged him with this request he snapped, "If I were walking any slower I'd be walking backwards on my hands!"

His dogged sense of time management was matched by his consistent desire to help. He was always reaching out to help with whatever I was doing, whether or not the help was needed. Often in response to this gesture I’d say: "Dad! I've got it!" But he never stopped trying to lift the box, carry the bag, hold the door, adjust the project, or move the stack of papers somewhere better where it wouldn't get lost.

Here is an incomplete list of things my dad taught me, in no particular order, either by example or by a lifetime of consistent reminders or some combination of the two.

Quack like a duck.

Thumb wrestle.

Properly hammer a nail. Use a level. Make pilot holes with an awl. Patch and sand walls.

See a need, fill a need.

The golden rule.

Warm tones make the colors around them look cool. Cool tones make the colors around them look warm.

Snakes are not smart.

You know rice is done when you see little craters appear on the top.

Never feign disinterest.

Never feign interest.

Put something on your feet.

You cannot be warm without a hat.

When driving on a curvy road at night, save time by changing lanes so as to stay on the inside of the curve. He called this: "Using Pi."

France had no problem letting Hitler take all the Jews.

You should be able to go all the way up Amsterdam Avenue without stopping if you just slow down and drive with the green lights.* There is nothing like a good stage manager.

This last one rings so true. He valued efficiency -- CALM efficiency, even in the midst of chaos and absurdity. (And I certainly gave him my share of chaos!)

He loved anybody who was good at their job, no matter the job. He valued confidence and imagination. He blended the science of getting things done well with the art of, well, the things he got done. He got art done. He made his living making art, and he worked his butt off and gave me a great life and I sometimes need to stop and smack myself to remember how brave that was.

My dad was brave, he did great things, and through it all it could be said that mother and I had in my father a consummate stage manager at the center of our world.  

But back to quacking like a duck. This was his signature sound effect and it's what sealed his status as the family duck. I feel like it's my obligation to demonstrate his quack. [Quack]  Fortunately for his grandchildren, when Aphasia took much of his speech, it never took his quack.

There was another sound effect I'm afraid I cannot replicate and that is his water drop. He tried to teach me. It's the perfectly-time combination of a swift blow out the mouth and a tap on the cheek. It made and echoing "bloop" sound that I can best describe off the top of my head as the VH1 pop-up video sound.

But back to his voice. My dad had a voice that smiled. "Hi Ali, it's your dad," began every voicemail. "Helllo!!!" began every visit. He delivered dry quips, delighted in awful puns, had the sickest sense of humor. He earned the silence of a room any time he paused to choose his next words. He spoke with the perfect grammar of a gentleman, and he greatly preferred storytelling to small talk. As someone who cherished long stretches of focus and reading without distraction, he often spoke in the hoarse, breathy tones of a person who, perhaps, had not spoken out loud in several hours.

One of his most oft-used adjectives later in life was fabulous. "Just fabulous," he'd say, of everything from Derek Jeter to Opera to something cute my kids did. It was this funny, slightly out-of-character word for his generation and it became his highest stamp of approval.

My dad also dropped F-bombs like the best of them. I admit to taking some glee in the fact that he lived to see my then 3-year-old son shout, in front of the entire family at Thanksgiving, "open-da-fucking-door!"

Everyone laughed. I looked at my dad. He looked at me. I said, "I will take the blame for this . . . but we all know where I got it." And Marc smiled sheepishly and nodded.

That look of recognition, of amusement, of understanding -- that sly, conspiratorial grin -- served as my lifelong homing beacon for all that is right and good. Even as his face began to take on the mask of what we can probably attribute to Parkinsonism, that glimmer of the old Marc would come through. He relished being a grandpa, and regaled the kids with quacks and faces and games even when his body was well past its airplane hoisting days, and his voice could no longer sell Sandra Boynton.

During the last birthday party for my kids he would attend, I subjected this frail man who enjoys peace and quiet to an afternoon at Chuck E. Cheese. I believe, at least, he enjoyed the cake.  Frazzled at the end of the party, I stood at the ticket munching machines, which are, as you may know, these kiosks where you have to take your hundreds of loose strips of raffle-style tickets and feed them into a slot to redeem a voucher which you then take to a crowded counter to wait in line to buy plastic crap and candy. Dad likely had no idea about or interest in this nonsense system. At the time, I had asked someone to get him to the car and not worry about clean-up.

But as a big ball of loose Chuck E Cheese tickets fell from my hands to scatter all over the floor, and I stooped down to get them, there was dad's hand, from out of the crowd, with its tremor, struggling to pick up those tickets for me, because it was something he could do.

* * * 

You never expect to stand in the ER watching through the window as they attempt to keep alive the center of your world. But as I watched the doctor who oversaw the action we could not see behind the curtain, the doctor who spoke so calmly yet so intently, saying things like "OK, we have a pulse" . . . "next time let's try this" . . .  "remember, everyone, base-line state is non-verbal" . . . "can we bring down the noise level please" . . .  "OK here's what I want to try on the next one" . . .  "OK, does anybody have any ideas?" . . . as I stood watching this magician preside over what we would later learn was my father dying three times and being brought back to life, I turned to mother and said: "I hope Dad can hear this . . . because he would LOVE this guy."

I pictured my dad sitting at the table back home someday, fully-recovered, saying "that doctor who brought me back to life, he was JUST FABULOUS."

That doctor stage managed his final hours and gave him the gift of a peaceful and dignified goodbye. But it’s a brutally hard goodbye nonetheless.

I miss him exactly as he was in the end -- even had he not gotten "better," I would give anything to sit with him for years on end, to watch the glimmer in his eyes and the strength of his hand around mine stand in for the sound of his voice. But I also miss him as he was before the final years, and so did he.

"Dad, I miss you!" I said to him during one of our last phone calls. He said: "Oh, I miss me too." It wasn't self-pitying. It was witty and it was brave.

[sinkingorswimming]

Mortician Yuuri

(I am told...people want more of this. So here. Piggybacking from http://sinkingorswimming.tumblr.com/post/161417843505/morticianyuuri-and-tech-startup-victor-my-fave)

Yuuri’s day generally begins at six when his alarm goes off and he stumbles out of his bedroom to take his toy poodle out into his backyard to do his business. Vicchan moves kind of slow these days, but the vet assures Yuuri he’s in fine health other than the beginnings of cataracts in his eyes, and Yuuri always sits in the chair by their fire pit while Vicchan sniffs, pees, and wanders.

By the time this is over, his roommate and brother-except-in-blood has begun breakfast, and Yuuri brings Vicchan back inside as he showers and gets dressed. It’d be nice if he could be less formal, but funeral home employees always cater to a certain aesthetic. Besides, he’s a highly trained professional. He’s proud to look the part.

He can tell what kind of day Phichit is in for depending on the breakfast made: primarily web-based clients mean the joke congee they aways keep available. In person therapy sessions that come to Phichit’s in home office, for some reason, require him to carb load. On those days the Belgian waffle maker comes out. When he has a balance between the two or not many sessions in general, he makes Yuuri’s favorite omurice.

Today is a waffle day, Yuuri notes as he smells the batter once he arrives in their kitchen.

Phichit has already made him a plate and he passes him a spray can of Redi-Whip. “Thanks,��� Yuuri replies. He loosens his light blue tie and digs in, Vicchan curling at his feet.

Phichit sits across from him. He’s in a t-shirt that reproduces the original Broadway poster for The King and the Skater, his favorite musical, and a pair of green pants covered in anime-styled hamsters. He keeps three live ones in his office that he lets clients cuddle with as a form of stress relief or stimulation. “Ugh,” Phichit says after a big bite of waffle with orange marmalade. “I have THEM today.”

Yuuri sips his orange juice. He knows who THEM refers to, and stays silent because---

“Honestly, I’ve never in my life dealt with people who are so difficult---”

Ah yes. There he goes.

“Like I keep trying to point out to them that like...a separation might make more sense, because they won’t compromise,” Phichit grouses. “When one person wants polyamory and the other flips out from jealousy, like...cut and run, you know?”

“I don’t,” Yuuri deadpans. “But sure.”

He realizes too late what he’s done. 

Phichit’s gray eyes focus on him like a spotlight. “And you---” he says with a point of his waffle-laden fork. “When are you going to put yourself out there again?”

Yuuri sighs. “When people stop acting like I’m going to fill them with formaldehyde and use them as practice for measuring caskets.”

“I mean, that means you’re making bad choices, to be honest,” Phichit says.

Yuuri grinds his jaw. Why can’t he ever not be a sex therapist and instead just be his friend?

“Turn it off, please,” Yuuri says.

“It is off,” Phichit retorts.

Yuuri rolls his eyes. A black card on the table catches his notice---it’s the super super hot man’s card from Starbucks the day before. He looks at it---Victor Nikiforov (that’s amusing given Vicchan’s name), followed by a mobile number, a corporate email, and an address presumably for his company. 

“I mean---” Yuuri says. “I sort of...this guy.” He passes Phichit the card.

Phichit looks it over. “Hm, bold design choices for a business card. He was sexy, at least? And nice? Clearly there’s some kind of interest.”

Yuuri thinks back to inhumanly blue eyes and silver hair, which given their city could be natural or not. “He’s...pretty. He was friendly. Said if I call him he’ll buy my drink next time.”

Phichit raises an eyebrow. “Call him. Today. Go out with him. Tonight. And then....marriage, kids, old age, and death.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Yuuri says. “He’ll be like all the others.”

Phichit frowns, and his eyes look hurt. “Yuuri, you don’t know until it comes up. Let him decide for himself, okay? Don’t pass on a good thing because of a maybe.”

Yuuri puts the card in the pocket lining his blazer. “Yeah.”

Phichit clears the plates and begins the dishes---since he sets his own hours, Yuuri handles dinner and its clean up most nights as a trade. “Have a good day at work, dear! Don’t be home late!” Phichit tells Yuuri in a weird half-mimickry of Mrs. Cunningham from Happy Days.

“Sure, babe,” Yuuri replies drolly as he grabs his keys and walks to the garage. Phichit primarily drives a Vespa, since their city is well-equipped with public transit, but Yuuri’s black and eggplant hearse takes up most of their single-car space. The license tag reads KATSUKI 4 and he starts the engine.

He does the morning coffee run for his folks and older sister, all of which comprise the Yu-Topia funeral home with him to round it out. When it’s his turn at the Starbucks register, Leo grins at him. “Hey Yuuri! The usual?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Yuuri says with a smile as he puts a five-dollar bill in their tip jar. Leo rings up a grande green tea latte for his mom, a dry cappucino for his dad, a venti Pike Place black for Mari, and the Dragon Frappucino for himself. 

He reaches into his pocket for his cellphone to get his stars on their app when an elegant pale hand bedecked in almost-black red polish rests on his phone and fingers. “It’s on me,” a slightly familiar voice says.

Yuuri jumps and stares wide-eyed at Hot Victor From Yesterday. “Uh---no, no, really, I can’t----”

“You can and will,” Victor chimes in cheerfully. “Hey can you add a Venti Pink Drink to his order? And it’s all one check, I’ll take care of it.”

Leo looks at Yuuri and then back at Victor. “Sure can,” he says with this weird grin that Yuuri thinks might be shit-eating in nature.

“I told you, the next one was one me,” Victor says as he leans close enough to almost kiss. Which Yuuri would like very much thus resulting in him wondering if he can embalm himself. Because definitely he is going to die from this. “I was really hoping to see you again, so I decided not to leave it to chance.”

He inserts his credit card into the chip reader---it’s an Amex Black. 

Actually---everything touching this guy is black. He has on this expensive looking black jacket with velvet lapels that goes to almost his knees, a high-end looking black shirt made of a material that casts a slight sheen, and black trousers that are perfectly tailored. It’s not quite unseasonably too warm for the outfit, but it’s close.

He’s so cheery, though, with his perfect white smile and his obscenely pastel fruit drinks.

“Thank you,” Yuuri manages with a shy smile. “Um...I guess...I owe you.”

“No, not at all,” Victor says. “Hm or...rather...you can repay me at a less hectic time. With...lunch? There’s a nice cafe two blocks from my office that has really good poke bowls.”

Yuuri loves poke bowls. Not as much as katsudon, but he loves them. “Uh---well...sure?”

Victor lights up even more. “Amazing! I usually take my break around one...so come my way then, if you can, or if not we can do it tomorrow---”

They have a wake today, Yuuri knows, but it’s not until four. The rest of his morning is mostly paperwork. It’s Mari’s day to handle the meetings with families of the recently deceased. “Okay. I’ll be there between one and a quarter after.”

Victor grins. “Perfect.” Yuuri grabs his tray, Victor his cup, and they part ways. Yuuri drives to the Yu-Topia Funeral Home as Flo’s Ceremonials sounds through the driver’s area, and he feels oddly happy for the first time in a while.

Maybe Phichit is right and Victor’s different.

@katsukiyuuristrophyhusband