#LOT sao paulo 3

[daisiesonafield-blog]

A worker at the stadium shared their experience meeting Harry, and how he said his name was "HARRY EDWRAD" - Dec 14 2022 (x)

[thestylesindependent]

HarryStyles: Love on Tour. São Paulo III. December, 2022.

[narryffdreaming]

just bc it's been a year and four months and i miss him 🥺🫶🏻

[laughingharrys-blog]

Hot 🥵

7 seconds and I’ll never be the same

[idesofrevolution]

The Journey of Dr. Santana Fabrega

There's nothing quite like your bro slobberin' over your sweaty feet while tokin' on a hookah. Let me just tell you- everybody's happy. I'm stoked to be stoned and minty fresh, and he's happy to taste my ripe size 12's. Who isn't the happiest? The folks. Sure, I dropped out of college, sure I started focusing one hundred percent on my art, sure I have a parade of guys out of my little basement lair... but I never got why they had to be such fuckin' buzzkills.

Ever since they joined that church when I was at uni, my parents have been sucked into the Evangelical cult. Not the whole lifting your hands up to Jesus & speaking in tongues sort of church, by the way. Man, they're out there with picket signs at sex clinics, bannin' books at the high school, all that crazy fuckin' Christian Nation bullshit. They're my parents, so I love 'em and whatever. But fuck, those psychos really fucked 'em up. So now, their crusade is "curing" me of my gayness. Didn't really matter that I'm pan, they don't really know the difference. They don't really care about the difference, though. Not straight, not right.

So when they caught me the other day with Sam cleanin' my dick in the basement, it was World War 3. Man, a Nuclear Bomb would have less energy than my mom's hysterical shrieking. It's Florida, so it's nothing the neighbors haven't heard before. But, shit. I thought my eardrums were gonna pop. They stomped off upstairs, bein' all 'we are going to talk about this later, Santiago.' So, I let Sammy finish up, I pulled on some shorts and I went upstairs to face the fire while he snuck out the basement window. Fuck, I wished I were him.

The 'family meeting' went about as well as you'd expect. Threats of burning in hell for all eternity, demands that I find the Lord, etc. Apparently he doesn't like a lot of things about me: my weed, my tattoos, my sexuality, my piercings, my hair for some reason? I don't know man, I just tuned out after a while. What I did catch, though, they were sending me to substance abuse counseling. Couldn't help but laugh, and that sent dad through the fuckin' roof.

"Doctor Fabrega is going to teach you some manners, young man. Make you a Godly man, like you should be." Yada yada yada. He should have known better than to give me the doc's name. After the ass reaming, I made my way back downstairs to the computer. It took five minutes of research to find this Doctor Fabrega. Turns out he's a Christian Therapist, but that wasn't what was most interesting. Down in his specializations, buried beneath substance abuse & cognitive behavioral therapy was a word that caught my eye: licensed Hypnotherapist.

I knew exactly what kind of bullshit they were tryin' to pull on me. But when I was enrolled at U Miami, my major was Psychology. Not only that, but I still happened to have access to the university library. Oops.

I texted Sammy, knowing I was gonna be up all night doing research, and that my dick would need some appropriate attention under the desk. I was gonna show this motherfucker just how sick it really is to be like me.

---

The waiting room was bullshit. Cold white walls, bright wood floors... It looked straight out of an IKEA ad. I'd already been there for like 20 minutes past my appointment time, giving me just enough time to scroll through the last chapter on my phone. I hear the receptionist call out my name, and I head toward the office. Just as bullshit as the waiting room. It's like the guy wants to live in a psych ward- no color anywhere. At least get a blacklight or something.

"Santiago Rivera. Welcome, I'm Dr. Fabrega." The guy was hot as fuck, not gonna lie. Looked like he was straight out of Sao Paulo- even with the fancy suit you can't hide muscle like that. "Please, sit. It's so good to meet you." His voice was so weird. Speaking every word with like, perfect diction. You know those AI voices that talk that way? That's what it was like, as if he were trying so hard to hide an accent underneath.

"Just call me Santi, doc." I plopped down on the leather chair, might have put my feet up on his coffee table (don't recall), and he just looked at me like he was looking in a microscope. No idea what the deal was. He walked over to the couch and sat down with my file and started to drone on.

"Alright, Santi, it says here that your parents are pretty concerned about your behavior lately. You're 23 years old and a college dropout, you take illicit drugs, you have no job, and you're having unnatural thoughts. That's quite the list, bud." He was so fuckin smug, that sort of punchable glibness that only comes from a particular kind of self righteousness. Like Jesus himself came down and kissed them.

"So, first off. I did drop out of college, because I couldn't afford it. Second, I sure the fuck do smoke green because it's a) fun, and b) prescribed to me by my real doctor. Third, I do have a job. I do graphic design and graffiti art and I pay my own bills with it. And last off, yup: I fucked him." He sat there, somehow shocked that I told him how it was right off the bat. I'm not playing his little game, and that made him angry.

"I see. So you have no remorse for any of this? I believe your parents are very right to be concerned about where your life is headed."

"Fascinating, considering I'm moving out at the end of the month and they won't need to deal with my life. So. You married?" He was thrown off by that, just as I'd hoped. Right out of the blue. Knocks them off kilter for a second. An easy question to answer, so they usually do.

"Uh, well, no I'm not married. Is that your concern in all this?" Man, I couldn't help but laugh. He's trying to be sarcastic?

"Where did ya go to school for... whatever this is." This made him close my file, he even put it on the table and crossed his arms.

"I went to Liberty University, top of my class in their Doctor of Psychology program. You, it seems didn't make it that far, so you might not know what 'this' is." Oooh, he's big mad. I thought, let's push it. I did what most of my guys love, but would piss him off, I kicked off the Vans. Made sure I wore my skating shoes that day, the super ripe ones with the same damp socks. When they came off, those puppies let their presence be known.

"Sounds boring. Boring then, boring now. I got accepted into the Art Institute in Savannah, so I'll be headed that way soon. Be legit soon, then you wouldn't have anything to say. How's your sex life?" He thought he was so tough, not flinching at the musk, nor my question. But I knew both hit him right where I wanted. The question to make him mad, the stink to get him hot.

"Santiago, I think we should continue with our session. You can put your shoes back on and we can try some exercises to help you think a bit more clearly." I crossed my ankles, wriggling my toes a bit.

"I think they need some air. Are you gonna try and hypnotize me now? Or is that the last ditch effort when everything else fails?" He leaned back in his seat, the grimace growing stronger. "That stuff is not that hard to master. A couple days really and you got it down."

"Is that so?" He ground his teeth as he spat out his words. "It seems you know all there is to know, then." Time to hit it home.

"You know what, let's put money on it, doc. Hundred bucks says I can put you under." I got him, his eyebrow shifted just enough for me to see.

"This isn't a casino, Santiago. I don't bet money on client's health." I couldn't help but smirk. He left an opening I couldn't pass up.

"Aight, no money then. If I put you under, I get the bragging rights. If I don't, I'll play your stupid games. Win-win for you, nothing to lose but your dignity." Hook, line and sinker; he leaned in, grabbing the remote on the table next to him. He tapped a button, and the shades started to come down.

"Well then, Mr. Rivera. I wish you luck."

The room got dark. Really fuckin' dark. Fabrega hit another button on the remote, and a cool blue washed over the room. Gotta say, tight LED system. I kicked my shoes off the table, and scooted my chair forward. Showtime.

"Alright, Santana, I want you to just take deep breaths." He squirmed at my use of his first name, one last dig before I brain fucked him. He took his deep breaths one at a time, slowly getting deeper and deeper. "As I count down from one to ten, each number will bring you closer and closer to relaxation. Picture a long tunnel, at the end, a bright white light. With every number, you take a step forward to the light, do you understand?"

He nodded, it was an induction I'd made up this morning. I started from 10, telling him his first step he could feel the tingling relaxation in the tips of his fingers, slowly crawling up his hands and forearms. 9. Another step, the tingling creeps up his big muscly arms and shoulders. 8. One more step, the tingling is pushing up his neck and throat, reaching his tongue and teeth. 7. The tingling bursts into his head, a paradoxical rush of relaxation, a fog of dissonance washes over his brain as thoughts collide and crash about. 6. The tingling washes down his spine, flowing through his nerves into every part of his body. His body feels electric, a painless jolt running throughout him. I watched as he tensed up, his big muscles contracting and bunching him up. It was working.

We get to 5, starting at the crown of his head, the volts decrease, turning lugubrious and liquified like molasses sloshing about in his head. 4. The light is so close he can feel the heat, but his body is cooled as the syrupy fluid flows down over him like a waterfall, pooling in his big feet as it fills every crevice. 3. It feels as if he's trudging through mud toward the light, his legs feeling wobbly and gelatinous. 2. So close, his whole body feels like a massless blob, inching toward the final drop into the cavernous light. 1. He crawls toward the ledge, plummeting down into the endless void of bright white light. There, he will sit as I have a little bit of fun.

"Alright, Santana. Can you hear me in there?" Fabrega nods, expressionless. Fuck, that was maybe a 80/20 chance I was gonna fuck this shit up so bad. But I guess God really is on my side here. "Whenever I ask a question, you will answer truthfully. Whatever I say you will incorporate into your life. Now, Santana, what do you do when you're not at work?" His lips moved slowly and replied in monotone.

"I go to the gym, I go to the golf course, I hire my date, and I go home." Ooooh shit. He's giving my friends on the corners a decent living, good for him. Hardly a Godly thing to do. Either way, it was a perfect place to start.

"You love going to the gym, don't you, Santana?" He nodded. "You love gettin' all sweaty don't you?" His head began to shake, his expression furrowing a bit in disgust. "No, Santana. You love getting all sweaty. The feeling of those cool droplets on your hot muscles during a hard workout? Doesn't it feel good?" He pauses, before reluctantly nodding. Ahh I love gettin my fingers in his brain, never ceases to please. "You love that funk that comes off your sweat, Santana. You love sniffin your pits, your big feet, your balls... That musk means you're workin' hard. Keeping in shape. Staying virile. Isn't that right?" He nodded, squirming in the chair. I watched his body try to reject the instructions, try to rebel, but just one repetition had his back to stillness.

"You don't even like golf, do you?" He nodded, I didn't even need to manipulate him. "You much prefer hitting the beach, don't you? Seein' all the guys and gals starin' at your glorious bod... You love it, don't you?" He nodded, the side of his lip curling ever so slightly. "You love bringing out the speedo, letting the goods hang low, letting the buns bulge... you know they all wanna see it anyway..." He nodded again, it was like taking candy from a baby. The guy had the mental fortitude of a frog.

"You like fucking, too. You can have any girl or guy on the street with a single wink." He nodded, and I couldn't help but watch as his groin started to bulge. "Yeah, boy. You love taking that horse cock and plowing it into some ass... plowing it into some pussy... fucking their pretty little mouths..." Drool started to drip from the corner of his lip, and a little wet spot quickly appeared on his pants. "You're a freak, aren't you, Santana? You like fuckin' in the car, in the sauna, at the gym, under the desk... gushing gallons into them while you shove your sneaker on their face." He was moaning, slowly grinding against the open air. Can't lie, I was gropin' myself a bit just watching him.

"Now, Santana. I'm going to bring you back to your office, but when I do, you are going to be super laid back and chill with Santi during your sessions. If he says the word 'sniff' you will return to this space, return to an open mind, just as we have done here today. Do you understand?" He nodded one final time before I began his emergence. Counting back from one to ten, I watched as he slowly came back to the real world, and with one snap, he blinked his eyes and wiped his brow.

"Well, doc. I got the bragging rights." Fabrega pinched the bridge of his nose, as if he had a headache. Time to see if it had all paid off.

"Uhh... yeah... Santi. You got me there..." Perfect. He pulled his hand away from his nose, clicking the shades back up to their little hole. It didn't take long until he saw the wet patch on his bulbous package. He chuckled under his breath. "You'll have to excuse the mess, Santi... I have hyperspermia, so sometimes it all just flows out." Hot- and totally unprofessional. Just how I like 'em. I leaned back in my chair, smirkin' the whole way.

"Damn, doc. Firehose down there. Gonna have to show me sometime." He smirked and waved me off.

"I don't fraternize with clients, Santi. Oh, look at the time. I'm late for my 5:30. Alright, I'll see you next week." He stood up, extending his hand, his whole demeanor entirely changed. I slipped my Vans back on, spitting on my hand before gripping his. He shuddered a bit, sure. But we were gonna get real close, real quick.

---

The next few days flew by. My folks were so excited to see that I was looking forward to seeing Dr. Fabrega, and I loved knowing what they didn't. I was excited to see if Dr. Fabrega was gonna be Santana. So when I finally got back in for my appointment, I didn't need to wait long at all. Only five minutes and the door swung open, the receptionist completely flustered. The anticipation was killing me. She sat down behind her computer with tunnel vision and I walked into the office.

At first, I thought it was empty. He wasn't sitting at his desk, on the couch... but as I heard huffing from the balcony, I knew where to find him. I walked up to the sliding glass door, and turned outside to see one hell of a sight.

It was Santana. Nothing on but his whitie-tighties and his damp socks doing pushups on the bench. Fuck, those muscles were glistening in the light, his underwear with damp patches on his ass and bulge. His clothes sat in a pile near his head: jeans, a Miami Heat jersey, some sick dunks I wanted to steal... far from the stuffy suit he had on just the week before. He finally noticed me, and smiled.

"Santi! Hey! Just finishing up my lunch workout. Thought I'd get a session in today on the balcony. Damn, the fresh air is good for exercise!" I smirked. It was night and day. So far, gone was the bible thumping hypocrite, and here was what was underneath. If anything I was doing him a service.

"Shit, Santana! You're looking prime today. You gonna funk out our session today, or?" I punched him in the shoulder, and he giggled like a kid.

"It's eau naturale, my friend. Natural water. That's what it smells like." He slipped on his jeans and his big fuckin' sneakers, tossing the jersey over his head while we walked in. He trailed some deliciously ripe musk, and I couldn't help but savor a bit of it. We plopped down on our seats, and just started shootin' shit. I bitched about the parents, he bitched about his receptionist, I told him about Sammy suckin' my dick clean, and he told me about the threesome with a gym bro and his girlfriend. He was coming along beautifully. Though, I thought to myself, how's about a round two?

"Dude, by the way, those kicks are fuckin' tight." I pointed to the dunks, which he smugly kicked up onto the coffee table, showing them off.

"Thanks, man. They're the lifting shoes. My work boots, heh." I reached out, grabbing ahold of his foot, and yanked it off. He chuckled like a fuckin' idiot while I looked at 'em. Size 13, nice and big- and the smell wafting out of there... Fuck, man.

"Damn, dude you never wash your socks? These stink!" I playfully tossed the shoe at him, and just as he started to brush off the comment, I said my magic word. "Sniff it." Like a flipped lightswitch, his expression turned numb, slowly bringing the shoe to his nose and inhaling his own musk. I clapped my hands, rubbing them together: let's do a little more programming.

"Santana, You're a pretty chill guy, you know that?" He nodded. "You smoke, don't you? You know, the good shit?" Deep in his mind, he had to know it was me talking at this point, so I was talking to him like a bro. Establishes trust, ya know? He shook his head no. "Ahh, come on man. You love kickin' back and toking on that reefer after a long workout." Santana chuckled a bit, before nodding, still nose deep in his sneaker. "Yeah, you love smokin' out your bros, your babes... when you're not shootin' tequila!" He full out laughed on that one, nodding along. The sneaker slowly dropped from his hand, and he laid back in his chair.

"How old are you, Santana?"

"28." Shit, he was only a few years older than me. I mean, he looked young. But hell, you wouldn't have known it from the way he acted.

"Where are you from?" "Rio de Janeiro." Interesting. I clocked the accent. I was pretty proud of myself.

"Why do you try so hard to hide it? The way you talk, the way you dress, the way you act... You act like you're from Ohio." Another chuckle, I should have had a Netflix special. "You're gonna embrace that Brazilian pride, bro. Don't hide it for some mayo drinking buzzkills!" He furrowed his brow, nodding intently. This one was for his own fuckin' good. Be proud of that shit! "You should get some ink to really embrace it. Nothin' sexier than a tatted up stud, am I right?" He nodded again, his bulge once more springing to life. I smirked, simply wanting to know a little something somethin'.

"Do you think Santi is hot?" He sat there for a second, before slowly smiling and nodding. I didn't even need to program that one. Aww, big old himbo. "You're not afraid to let him know, are ya? I mean if you tell his crazy fuckin' parents that he's cured... He wouldn't be your patient anymore... Right?" His bulge twitched again, and he smirked devilishly as he nodded. "You like it when he's all up in your brain, don't you? You like it when he gets his dick deep in there and mind fucks you into a chill, laid back stud. Don't ya?" The dampness grew and his breath got heavy. He nodded, drooling down the sides of his cheeks. "Yeah, you wanna let him in completely, don't ya? Make you like him?" Moans grew, and his thrusting in the air quickened pace. "You wanna be best bros with him, don't ya? Bros with benefits... hangin' out, smokin' weed, hittin' the clubs, swappin' spit... swappin' cum... swappin' subs..." He started fuckin' howl. He was beggin' to splurge. "When I tell you, you will cum. And when you do, everything we talked about will be your truth. Now... Cum."

His eyes opened, still moaning loudly. He gripped onto his jeans, pulling down the waistband and underwear, that big old uncut donkey dick flopping out before shooting his load all over himself. Volley after volley. He wasn't kidding about the hyperspermia: maybe four double shots of his spunk sprayed like a geyser into the air. The 8th Natural Wonder of the World. He laid back and chuckled, throwing his arms behind his head.

"Fuck, brother!" The thickest accent flowed of those lips, deliciously thick. "After today, that'll be down your throat, cara." He pointed at me, hopping to his feet and shoving his python back into his pants. "So, I'll write your discharge papers, it'll get the pais off your back. Act the part until you're out, and just go live." Fuck yeah, we high fived, and I ruffled that sweaty mullet of his. "Hey, come over tonight. I got some friends comin' over... if you and Sammy wanna join." He winked and slapped my back. Damn, I did good.

"I'll be there, man! You save me a round so I can show you how to clean this dick." I groped my bulge, smirking as his bit his lip and winked. I've created a monster.

---

"Ei, sexy! Come get a toke before it's gone!" Such a demanding little bitch, I love him. I slipped his filled condom off my cock, the kinky fucker insisted, and I happily complied. If I'm being real, this psycho has taught me things! I flushed it down the toilet, and swung the bathroom door open to see him lounging on his bed, toking away at the blunt I packed.

"Hey you fuckin' hog, don't you smoke it all!" He chuckled dumbly, reaching over to hand me the blunt, taking the opportunity to snatch my wrist and pull me forward into a kiss. Fuck those lips were so good, pressed against mine or around my cock. "Isn't Carrie coming over soon? You gonna be able to get off so quick?" I pushed away, taking my puff.

"Ahh, plenty to go around, eh?" He groped that musky bulge that I had a feeling Sammy would be huffing later. "Ey, bring me my pants. We can go get a shot before she gets here." Heh, the last month or so crashing with him has been fuckin' sick. The folks think I'm rooming with some guy from the church, when really I'm gooning with my therapist every night in his bed. Savannah is letting me take online courses, I'll have my B.A. in a couple of years, and I'm already getting some gallery hits. Santana is gonna be my armcandy for the opening, and I told him to forget his deodorant. Fuck he’s perfect. But a thought had crept in my head the other day. One last program, one final idea planted in his head... Though, at this point, there was no need to put him under. I'd just ask him.

"Hey, so I gotta go to Georgia to finish up some paperwork at the school. It got me thinking... I'm followin' my dream. What about you?" I tossed him his pants and passed the blunt, taking a deep whiff of those ripe dunks before throwing them his way too.

"I could go back to the practice, though I think the bible thumpers would lose their minds, heh."

"Well... What we did for eachother... What if you did it for others?" I slowly got down to my knees, a smirk crawling across my face. "What if you could help those poor... misguided young men change their lives?" I crawled toward him, spreading his legs wide as I tossed his legs over my shoulders. "Wouldn't that be so... so... fun?" I slowly pulled down his musky briefs, releasing his monstrous cock again, the musky hooded beast slapping me on my cheek. "Then, we could have so... many... new.. friends..." I pulled down his slimy hood and wrapped my lips around his tip. I should have known better. His hand grabbed the back of my head, slamming it down onto his spear, my nose buried in his bush as he thrust back and forth into my mouth.

"Unff... Yeah, brother... Oh yeah... That sounds like a good... unhhhhh... good idea." Grunting, slapping, moaning, slurping... it all rang out in his room, until he gushed another thick load down my throat. "You wanna join me?" And in that moment, I smiled. It was the best idea he'd had yet.

[thinkingboute]

masks | harry styles x model!oc

summary: Carolina Saraiva, 20 year old supermodel, has fallen into the dark. looking into the mirror, she hardly recognizes herself. At Vanity Fair's new masquerade ball, she embarrasses herself in front of one of the most famous men of 2014---Harry Styles. Chaos ensues. For many, many years.

part 2 here! and part 3!

warnings: mentions of drugs, disordered eating, vomit, anxiety, claustrophobia, (eventually sexual content but be patient friends)

a/n: I have been writing fics for myself for ages and I had an idea for a little HS series the other night and felt the need to share. Wrote this in one go and did no editing. I never read OC fics. Why am I writing an OC fic?

word count: about 1.5k

Every camera flash seemed brighter and more obnoxious than the last. Lina thought she’d have been used to the visual assault, but she was wrong. 

She’d been wrong a lot lately. 

Vanity Fair’s first ever masquerade ball drummed up quite the ruckus in the few months since it was announced. Of course, her management was thrilled when she received an invitation. At just 20 years old, Carolina Saraiva was a modeling sensation. At 18, she opened the Victoria’s Secret show, walked for Dior and Prada, and graced the cover of British Vogue---soon to be American Vogue, if her team had anything to say about it. She blew up so quickly, it was as if she spawned into superstardom in a mere moment. 

“The next Gisele,” her mother said wistfully after seeing her Vogue cover. “I have never been happier.”

Lina, however, had certainly been happier. In fact, she had never been further from happy. Joy was a limited resource in the modeling world; one that had been used up long before she took her first headshots. All that remained was coke, tequila, and passing out in the bathtub. Not that she partook in all those things exactly.

Only two. 

She was sure the cameras would catch her exhaustion, blinding light illuminating her dark circles, hallowed cheeks, and heavy lids.

Is Carolina Saraiva Bringing Back Cocaine Couture?

Model Down: Fresh Face Carolina Saraiva Faceplants on the Way into Vanity Fair’s Latest Party

Coke-alina: Brazilian Bombshell is Strung Out at High Profile Event

She was sure the tabloids would have their think pieces on the health of supermodels and their drug usage by sunrise. She didn’t bother with the coke rumors anymore. It’s not like there wasn’t validity to them, really. Lina wasn’t doing coke, but she was one of the few. 

“To your left, Carolina,” one photographer called out, stirring from her daydream. Lina whipped her head around, hair cascading down her back, and shot the man a wide, dimpled smile. More cheers erupted. For once, Lina was glad for them; they confirmed to her that her mask---the metaphorical one---had yet to slip on the outside. The real one, large and feathered, actually did seem to be sliding down her nose. She charmingly pushed it back up, eliciting laughs from the eager-to-please paps swarming her. 

A strong hand made its way to her mid-back: Darren, her security. She leaned back into it, grateful for the support. He took her small handbag from her without even a glance. She smiled her first genuine smile in a long time. She was prone to losing every bag she carried. With a half-hearted wave behind her, she made her way through the large, iron wrought doors. 

The opulence of celebrity events still floored her, even years into her career. There was a time, so distant in her memory, when she would have slashed, bitten, and crawled through fire to be in this position. Now, she would give anything to leave. 

Where else would she go, then? There were times before that she missed the tranquility of her family’s ranch in Florida, or the warm mornings in their family home in Sao Paulo. 

These days, Lina couldn’t think of anywhere she wanted to be. 

Darren’s hand dropped from her back, causing her to stumble at the loss of support. She surveyed the scene, eager to find a back door or balcony for fresh air. That was one thing New York lacked. 

Instead, her eyes caught a tall figure, adorned in pale pinks and gold jewels, with a dress whose hoop must’ve added at least two feet to her radius. 

Behind that bejeweled mask, the woman’s eyes caught Linas. 

“Oh, my goodness, you lady of the night!” Gigi exclaimed, shuffling as fast as she could through the crowd to grab Lina’s hands. They both looked down to examine her dress. The blackish blue, corseted, tulle ballgown was vintage and, for once, Lina couldn’t remember the designer. The silhouette was historical, remanent of Victorian style pieces. Alongside the dramatic, feathered mask, she was reminiscent of a ghost. She laughed to herself. How fitting.

Mustering up her most genuine smile, she said, “You look like a princess!” Gigi smiled at that. Lina really meant it. Gigi was always happy, it seemed. She was more human than any other girl she’d met in the industry. 

They looked around the room, startled as the chandeliers shut off dramatically. A sort of eerie light filled the room from some other source. It was as if there was a nightclub in the 1800s. 

“It feels like I left 2014 the moment I got here,” Gigi whispered. Lina was inclined to whisper, too, with the atmosphere changing so quickly.

Before she got the chance, deafening bass filled the room, shaking the floor. Gigi waved in apology as she was pulled by faceless hand back into the crowd. Lina could have thrown up right there. Her eyes set on the bar, she pushed her way through the crowd. 

Sweat seemed to fog up the room, humidity surely ruining her freshly blown out hair. Each time she found a pathway through the gyrating bodies, an arm or leg or ass threw itself in her way. The room that seemed endless when she first walked in was no larger than a corridor now. Worse, a coffin. She was panting. Another woman stepped back into her path. Lina threw her hands out towards her, shoving her back into her dance partner who was clearly on another planet. She heard a distant ‘augh’ but could not find it within herself to care. She was having a hard time finding anything within herself. She couldn’t remember the last time she ate something. 

The bar came into view, or really, the crowd the engulfed the bar came into view. She shoved into two men who leaned casually on the counter. A drink appeared in front of her, and she was inclined to take it. 

Turning around to lean her back against the cold marble, Lina closed her eyes. She downed the drink and handed her empty glass to one of the men standing beside her, who slid his hand along her lower back. Saliva filled her mouth. Slapping a hand over pursed lips, she ran towards what looked like a bathroom.

She tried to slam the door open, but barely had the strength to push it open. Her steps were uneven. Her head was in the toilet bowl before she even realized she found a stall. 

After retching for what felt like an hour, Lina attempted to stand, but her ankles gave out under her. Yelling out in frustration, she slapped her hands on the toilet bowl for leverage. 

Hands washed, she leaned on the cool countertop, looking up at herself in the mirror.

Hair frizzed on top, lip gloss everywhere but her lips, darkness beneath her cheekbones that she knew was not from her hour-long stint in the makeup chair---Lina looked in to her eyes, hidden behind the mask, and cried. 

The door shot open behind her, followed by a long sigh, followed again by a yelp. 

Lina’s head shot back. There was a man behind her. Because she was in the men’s bathroom. She was sure she would vomit into the sink.

“Oh---oh my god. I’m so sorry, I could’ve sworn this was the men’s toilet, Niall that absolute fucking bastard.”

Lina’s head whipped back just before bile filled her mouth. 

“Holy shit, are you alright?”

Lina took a deep breath. “I’m perfectly fine, thank you.” She had never sounded less fine in her goddamn life. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…” her hand swiped around the counter for a handbag that wasn’t there. 

Fucking Darren. 

“No, no, why don’t I go, yeah?” the man said, coughing to cover his laugh. “I think you might need…to be here more than me.”

“Nope, nope, I’ll be going,” Lina whined. 

“Actually, why don’t I just grab someone for you. You come here with anyone?”

Lina could not remember Darren’s name at the moment. 

“How much have you had to drink? Or have you…done something else?”

“Are you asking me if I’ve done coke tonight, Harry Styles?”

Lina turned to look at him fully. He wore an all-black suit with satin flower details along the lapels. His mask was simple, matching the detailing of his jacket. Behind it, green eyes above pink-flushed cheeks looked her up and down, stepping back as if to avoid another onslaught of vomit. 

“No. I mean, yeah, sure, if you have, but I don’t mean to assume anyth---”

“No. I have not. Why does everyone think I do coke?”

Harry looked at her once again. 

“I mean---”

“I am not typically puking in men’s restrooms.”

A laugh. “Never said you were, Carolina.”

Oh. 

“You know my name.”

“Hard not to. Can’t escape your face if I fucking tried.”

“You want to escape my face?”

“Never said that either, darling.”

Oh.

“I think maybe I should go.”

Harry’s teasing smile became a grimace of concern. “At least let me get you a cab.”

Lina shook her head, the room shaking with it. “No, no, if you leave, they won’t let you back in.”

“I’m Harry Styles. Sure, they will."

“How presumptuous.”

A shrug. “Just saying.”

Lina swipes, once again, for the handbag that isn’t there. Harry’s eyes widen slightly. “Go find whatever bastard you were moaning about earlier. I’ll be fine.”

“Come on---” But Lina had already pushed passed him. Back into the sea of people. Back into that coffin of a room. 

a/n: please let me know if you want to see more of this!! I will write it anyway but I'm curious lol

part 2 here!!

[pearblossomrain]

personal summary of what might be the most unserious gp i have ever seen aka sao paulo 2024:

(almost needed a whole separate post just for qualis and side note, this sounds a bit like commentary bc i was actually making commentary when watching for my friend)

tldr for qualis; more red flags than an all boys' school, some controversial safety car periods, hamilton out q1, red bulls+sainz out q2, crazy top 5 of norris, russell, tsunoda, ocon and lawson in That Exact Order.

• before the race even STARTED, sainz was starting from the pit lane, albon didn't start the race due to damage from quali, verstappen had a 5 place grid penalty. when you think things are already crazy enough, lance stroll spins out on the formation lap which calls for a second formation lap, and then a third formation lap and aborted start due to lots of confusion (multiple drivers were noted 💀)

(will cut here to save space T-T)

• lights out and away we go....and so does the lead apparently bc russell almost immediately grabbed first from norris?? and he held onto that lead like my grandma holds a grudge; for what seemed like aeons. 😭

• verstappen, hamilton, colapinto and gasly were leaping up the ranks like nobody's business, literally blinked and i missed multiple overtakes from them.

• speaking of verstappen, he goes all the way up from p17 to p6 in like less than 15 laps and there was a super nerve wracking train of tsunoda, ocon, leclerc and verstappen that honestly stressed the hell out of me to watch for all those consecutive laps (i left to get an ice cream and when i came back, even the gaps between had barely changed at all)

• ferrari suddenly decides to pit leclerc incredibly early which i still cannot tell if it was a good idea or not because it started raining heavily and soon everyone except a few of the leading pack went into the pit after a virtual safety car period bc hulkenberg spun out (more on him later trust me), which puts us with a seemingly temporary top 3 of OCON, VERSTAPPEN AND GASLY??? in that order too! 🤡

• first red flag because colapinto collided really heavily into the barriers (man i feel bad for him, this is as close to a home race as it gets for him) and i swear nobody is having a worse day than the williams garage.....my genuine thoughts and prayers to that blue unserious team

• AN ACTUAL BLACK FLAG?!!??? to hulkenberg because apparently when he spun out he had marshals push his car back on track which isn't allowed (but i have to say, unless he made the marshals do it when they didn't want to, it's also a bit on them)....williams racing might have a competitor for most depressed garage after this 😭

• penalties!! so many penalties!! bearman picked up a couple of penalties for collisions and so did piastri which they keep until the end and i'm quite sure there were a couple more but i really could NOT keep up oops. (edit: one more thing! i do feel a little bad for piastri bc he had to sort of give a bit of way for norris at the end when they were stacked tgt only for them to not move up positions at all and with the 10s penalty idk how this will end up being.)

• this red flag period was so unbelievably long (i think all in all it was about 30 min?) that i had time to watch them all go into the pits and get out of their cars, then leave and do some laundry, grab a snack and a drink. 😭 and when i returned, 16 drivers had just requested a restart which in turn led the fia to call for a rolling start

• they finally went back to racing, and so many things happened relatively quickly; norris went wide and russell went past norris to p4, bearman got into the barriers but returns to bring up the rear (NOOO MY SON) and sainz crashed rather badly into the barriers and that was ANOTHER safety car period good god! (they said this is his second time in the barriers which, absolutely Foul, but unfortunately not wrong 😭)

• verstappen (who was honestly having a great day so far from p17 to p2) TOOK A PRETTY BIG LEAD which. oh my god we hadn't seen this in like 100 days or something 😭 and norris goes down to p7?? not sure what happened there tbh i was not looking closely oops again.

• there was a crazy back-and-forth battle going in the midfield bc both vcarbs are in front of perez who, in the commentators' words, "are both fighting for his seat" 💀 and hamilton was also chasing perez (and eventually got the last point) so there was just a lot of scrabbling for points i guess?

• also somewhere in there, i didn't keep track because of so many things happening, alonso spun out and ended up at the back of the pack (i also feel bad for him bc he mentioned back pain and bouncing at the end so sorry grandpa) and yet he did not finish dead last? afterwards he was dead set on finishing the race "for the mechanics", in his own words, which i see as an absolute class act in my opinion. hate him or love him, this makes me have huge respect for him.

• ALPINE. alpine oh my god i (and them. and EVERYONE HONESTLY???) can't believe they held onto a double podium all the way to the end wow i think nobody is happier than that garage and team rn like whole house GLADDD 😭 (p.s. my friend, not sure if she'd like to be tagged, said that the french flag and dutch flag at the podium ceremony were "like y-axis and x-axis" which had me losing it)

• honestly the only thing i am rather sad about is tsunoda finishing p8 after starting p3 but if we are being honest, parts of this race were due to circumstances and perhaps a little bit of additional luck but at least he is in the points and goodbye unlucky streak!! plus it's double vcarb points!

[side notes because this is as long as an entire speech; i did the maths and norris would have to be p1 and verstappen p8 in every single grand prix (not counting the sprint) to win by 1 point and if the maths works out that they're both tied in points, verstappen would still win because he has more grand prix wins even if norris wins all remaining 3 gps]

in conclusion, for a race i predicted would finish at 1:30am my time (it started at 11:30pm here) and hopefully i would get more 5 hours of sleep before work, i will be left with just over 3 hours of sleep now and yet i have ZERO REGRETS BECAUSE HOLY FCK THAT WAS A ROLLERCOASTER. absolutely nothing can top this race for me for the entire season and maybe even last season!!

definitely probably missed quite a few things but this is what i can remember off the top of my head or what was most memorable to me and it is 3am here so pls cut me some slack 🙏

[laughingharrys-blog]

Awww 🥰

Harry thanking the crowd and getting interrupted by a chant of “Harry, I love you” - 14.12

[aikya-kat-44]

Sao Paulo 2024

OMG OMG OMG OCON 2ND PLACE GO ESTIE BESTIE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

While I am not the biggest fan of Max, I have to say that was a mastrclass of a race from him. I mean, 17th to 1st!!?

I'm quite disapointed with how Lewis' race turned out (wtf are mercedes doing. they take 1 step forward with their car.... and 3 steps back. cannot wait for 2025), and the mclarens had a rubbish weekend and lost a lot of ground to Max in a weekend where they should have gained quite a lot of advantage.

Lastly, I FREAKING LOVE wet races in interlagos. That was so chaotic!

[spaghettitigers]

in some ways, and others - arthur/eames

fic 1 of a self-imposed challenge to just write and not think too much on it, following themes. this one's is misunderstanding.

~~~

Eames doesn't remember how he got here.

That's the first thing really. There he is, tied to a chair whose legs stand at the edge of a pool, and the cool metal of a gun pressed to the side of his temple. The ropes on his wrists and chest are frayed slightly, where he feels the ends tickle his pinky. It's nighttime, a waning moon by the light, because his kidnapper may lack imagination but that has never stopped him from attempting flair.

"Arthur, darling,is this all necessary?" he asks, because if he's honest, there's an itch on his brow that's beginning to bother him more than he'd like to admit. 

Arthur clicks the safety off before moving in front of eames' precariously placed chair. His mouth is pursed into a tight, unamused line and while Eames is typically always prepared to wax poetic about Arthur's face, the narrowed eyes at least partially accomplish their mission of intimidation.

He's in a sour mood, Eames thinks, and because he's Eames, he so enjoys moments of little forethought, and says exactly that. He can't help who he is, it's in his blood, his DNA, the very fiber of his being-

"You seem in a terribly sour mood, love."

"Don't call me that," Arthur snaps, and then slower, reeling himself back to the cool and collected mask that Eames despises, "Why did you sell me out to Myers?"

The anger in his voice is subtle (Eames snorts internally at the thought, because none of this is subtle), but he can picture it in the undercurrent of Arthur's skin, slow and venomous. He looks delectable here,(Now is hardly the time to be thinking of his fingers in those chocolate curls, scrapes of teeth on his neck, a heavy hand squeezing the solid line of Arthu's waist - no, Eames is simply cursed to have memories of this). 

"This would go a lot faster if I knew what the bloody hell you're talking about," Eames replies.

The gun pushes closer. "Don't fuck with me Eames, I'm really not in the mood. Only 3 ppl in the world knew about the plan for Armstead Technology and who knew Myers would blow as many knee joints and break as many fingers as necessary to get the files from me, so," Arthur inhales deeply, "I'll ask again and only this once more, why did you do it?"

Eames' head spins as reality sinks in. Arthur believes every word. The tension of his forearm veins is stark in the blue reflected pool light, dancing across the fine hairs. 

"As flattered as I am about the theatrics, you truly didn't need to go so far on my accord. I haven't the faintest clue what you're on about, so when you're ready to have an adult conversation about this, I'll be right here." They're bold words, and he hopes on hope that his nonchalance hides his fear about the situation. 

Eames' head is yanked back by his hair, a sharp hiss escaping between his teeth. "Was the payoff worth it? I was this," Arthur emphasises, "close to being dropped into the Danube, just like this, so you'll excuse my impatience today."

"You think I'm playing? What's wrong with you, Arthur? I never even knew Armsweng, Amsterdam, whatever they are, before this, much less to sell you off to the highest bidder like cattle."

The grip on his hair has thankfully loosened, the tiniest fraction. Arthur's eyes bore into his, searching for the slip up that he's expecting, but Eames can only see fatigue and- a depth of something gone terribly wrong, like Arthur's world has turned itself inside and out. 

For the first time in the evening, Eames catches sight of the healing cut running parallel to Arthur's hairline, how Arthur keeps his gun hand strong but wavering just the tiniest bit, Arthur's microexpression of a wince when he pulled Eames' hair.

Arthur doesn't say anything yet, just staring as Eames examines him. And then: "I saw communiques in your Sao Paulo apartment from Cha. The money was impressive, even by my standards, and the last someone had seen you was Bucharest. I can put two and two together. I really should've known." The inference is left hanging in the air, a live wire.

Eames gapes at him. "I haven't been to Brazil in months. And I'm not stupid enough to grass up one of the best point men out there and piss off no doubt the countless fans of your work. Did my apartment look liveable any way to you? Because I know for a fact that my electricity was out and the plumbing broke ages ago."

His hair is finally released, and he catches the flash of doubt in time. Bingo.

"What did they do to you?"

Arthur's jaw locks, and there's more wounds on the underside of his jaw that Eames can glimpse from this angle. He's somehow sure that what he sees is only a fraction of the damage that's been done. 

"Arthur, I thought our relationship had more depth than that. What would I have to gain by getting rid of you?"

"That's not- you're-" Arthur groans, scraping a hand across his face, gun still held in his hand but thankfully, no longer pressed against his person. "You've always said you'd sell your own mother and her ducklings if the pay was good enough. What is anyone supposed to believe?"

Eames feels relief exhale through him. He's not 100% safe, he knows, not until he's been kicked awake and about 15,000 kilometres away from whatever seedy place Arthur has them camped out in.

A chair that definitely hadn't been there a moment ago is just far enough for Arthur to slump in and stretch his long legs. He looks drained as the day Mal died, a particularly unhappy memory that Eames can always perfectly recollect. Eidetic memories don't always come in handy, to many people's surprise.

"How low you must think of me, sweet." He wants to be shocked, but he knows that his own rumours and the reputation he had developed in the dreamsharing community is his own concoction. He's unsure why it bothers that Arthur thinks of him simply as everyone else. 

"Fuck." Arthur's head is in his hands, and there's the slightest tremble in his hands. Clearly, the man hadn't recovered from whatever treatment had been doled out to him. "Fuck."

Arthur surges up and there's a flash of reflected light before the ropes on Eames' chest are cut loose and he can barely react before Arthur turns the barrel onto himself, a clean shot to the neck.

~~~

By the time Eames figures out a way to kick himself awake, only the faint scent of Arthur's cologne remains. A hastily scribbled note sits on the night stand of the bed.

I'm sorry.

~~~~~~

(Years later, Arthur and Eames will come back together for the Fischer job, where Eames will confront Arthur about all the favours he's called to pull Eames from every pickle Eames found himself in, self inflicted or otherwise. He'll catch Arthur at a weak moment and convince him for a drink when they land in LA, high on life and success and the sweet sound of his bank account filling up and by some miracle, Arthur will agree with only three attempts of flirtation versus his regular arsenal of five. 

Arthur will flush so pretty in the yellow lighting of the dive bar, and apologise again about four times before Eames puts a hand over his. Arthur will pull away like he's been stung but it doesn't stop the blush or the way he turns away to gulp more beer with the smallest smile.

They'll go to bed together, and lie naked and touching, as Eames caresses each scar from all those years ago. He'll kiss each raised bump and feel this odd pull from his chest when he watches Arthur shiver each time. And slowly, he'll understand why Arthur couldn't do anything more to Eames that day, when Eames knows that had it been anyone else in that dream, they would've never seen him coming.)

[leclerced]

hey cait <3 wanted to check up on you. how are you feeling? my dms are always open if you want to talk -

🩰 (fairly certain you know who I am?)

hiii!! im dealing with it. bitten my nails down to the beds for the first time in over a year though so not too great i suppose. i feel like i’m lucky to say i have lots of friends and fam that are also pro harris so we’re all commiserating together. honestly it’s kinda weird but max’s win is getting me through this?? i kept being upset td but i was listening to the red flags podcast ep on the sao paulo gp and hearing them gush about how good he did was really bringing up my mood. it also helped that i was super fucking busy today and could barely think. i just keep thinking “max fourth wdc 2024” instead of “trump president 2024” and im scraping by.

also i think i know who u are but im not 100% sure tbh! i try not to recognize my anons bc idk if u guys would want me to. i dont really send many asks to ppl but i would prob cry if someone was like “hey ur my _ anon right??” out of embarrassment or flattery idk. so i try not to.

[daisiesonafield-blog]

Sunset at the final show of Love On Tour LATAM in Sao Paulo - Dec 14 2022 (x)

[thestylesindependent]

Late Night Talking ft. Koffee, Love on Tour: São Paulo 3 via keepsdriving

[thathomestar]

max payne 3 beaten again, after not playing it for over a decade

the general gameplay is still as good as i remember, guns feel good to shoot and the way the enemies flop over when you shoot them is satisfying, definitely the high point of the game.

but christ the writing in the game sucks compared to the max payne 1 and 2. dan houser you hack fraud, you couldn't write a character properly even if they gave you their autobiography. max's character is a bastardization of what he was in the previous games, and it's only gotten worse with time. they make him a complete buffoon in this game, bumbling around not thinking, not questioning anything, not piecing things together until the final like, two levels in the game.

and don't get me started on his dialog, goddamn. the game is full of moments that make me say "he wouldn't fucking say that". saying shit such as "like baghdad with g-strings". really? would max fucking payne really say that, dan houser? and there's almost no breathing room for the player in this regard either. if you're taking your time looking around the level for ammo, painkillers, or collectables, max will constantly narrate to himself to go to the next area. shut up! let me explore a little bit! "these doors lead to where i want to go" yeah no shit i'm in a hallway! i know that! you know that! everyone knows! you don't need to tell me every ten seconds! christ!

but there's also smaller details i like quite a lot. you can periodically find this other american ex-cop during your adventures in sao paulo, and his life is the antithesis to max's life: a full career cop, loving wife, two kids in college, doing humanitarian work, etc, and you this sense of bitterness that's really well done. there's also this tombstone for vinnie gognitti and they really didn't have to do him this dirty lol.

also, the soundtrack is phenomenal. the impetus to replaying max payne 3 mostly came from the fact that i'm getting into HEALTH and they did the music for this game. this was my first exposure to them and listening to the track Tears during that final airport shootout was like a third eye opening moment, it honestly kind of made up for a lot of the shortcomings of the game. the ending was pretty nice as well, where max finally gets over his baggage and lives for himself. the journey to get there wasn't ideal but it's the ending he deserves.

[no1frogfan]

Endings and beginnings, part 2

Tsukishima Kei x gn reader

Series synopsis: By all accounts, you’re happy. Five years out of college, your freelance art career is finally picking up and you’re able live comfortably between projects by bartending on the weekends. You’re surrounded by long-time friends and things are starting to get serious with your boyfriend. The cracks begin to form in the life you’re building when you hear from a mutual friend that Tsukishima is getting divorced. Tsukishima Kei, a person you used to consider one of your best friends, but whom you’ve spoken to only a handful of times since high school. You reach out to him for the first time in almost a decade, offering support to a friend you were once close to. As you gradually help him heal from his marriage, your old crush on him begins to resurface.

Chapter word count: ~2.2k

Chapter tags & warnings: alcohol, mentions of pregnancy, Tsukishima has a lot of negativity, discussion of divorce and emotionally abusive relationship

Note: The dialogue and organization for this chapter were so challenging to figure out. Hope it reads ok

Series masterlist < part 1 | part 3 >

2. March

Your attention is drawn to him the second you walk through the doors. He has the same standoffish demeanor that you remember from high school, the lightly furrowed brow, a frown perpetually tugging at his lips. Backlit by the lights behind the bar, Tsukishima’s hair could almost be mistaken for a messy halo.

“You ok?” Makoto looks at you with concern.

“Hmm?” You whip around to face him. “Oh, I’m fine babe. They’ve just really turned up the heat in here.”

“Yea, it’s practically a sauna. Why don’t I take your coat for you?”

You shimmy your jacket off and hand it over, thanking your boyfriend as he heads to the coat check.

The room feels both cozy and spacious, with a low ceiling and a large, open layout. The bar top curves all the way around the back of the room, and elegant, origami-inspired chandeliers hang low, giving off a dim and inviting glow.

Many friendly faces are engrossed in conversation around you, seated in small groups on plush, velvet couches or perched on padded bar stools. It’s been months since you’ve seen some of them. It’s understandable on their part, considering they have busy careers or are professional athletes. As for you, your schedule isn’t necessarily packed on a daily basis, but between juggling your projects on weekdays and bartending on weekends, it still feels like you haven’t been able to catch a breath.

You find the man of the evening, Kiyoomi, whose lovely wife organized this whole celebration - buying out the venue for the night and inviting all his friends. Despite his famously reserved personality, the soft smile on his face seems to indicate he’s having a good time tonight.

“Happy birthday Sakusa-kun!” You greet him as you and Makoto join the circle of well-wishers around them.

After thanking you, Kiyoomi continues recounting his recent trip to Paris with the rest of the Olympic team for 2 weeks of special training. Unfortunately, his wife had to stay in Tokyo to manage the new publicity campaign the Jackals are preparing to launch. When more people approach to greet Kiyoomi, you and Makoto take the opportunity to slip away and join another group of friends, chatting, joking, reminiscing, catching up. You both congratulate Daichi, who was promoted to fire lieutenant, and Shoyo, who just celebrated half a year with Asas Sao Paulo. You also toast to the Tanakas who are expecting another child in a few months. Kiyoko seems fairly relaxed about this pregnancy (their third!), but Ryuu is as nervous as a first-time father. Makoto sets about distracting Ryuu from his new baby anxieties, asking about the nitty-gritty of their preparations, about baby clothes, and doctor’s appointments, and juggling everything around two active toddlers.

You start to tune out the baby talk as you scan the room. You find him sitting in the same spot. Yamaguchi seems intent on keeping him occupied, mouth moving a mile a minute as Tsukishima perches at the bar facing slightly away from his best friend. Excusing yourself from Makoto and the Tanakas, you head over.

“Hey you two.”

Tsukishima’s eyes flit to you. He nods briefly in greeting before turning away again.

Yamaguchi, meanwhile, breaks out in a huge smile and pulls you in for a hug. “Hey! Good to see you, it’s been months!”

“Yea, it’s been ages!”

You’re all silent for a moment until you test the waters with a hesitant, “Sooo…how are you guys doing?”

Yamaguchi looks expectantly at Tsukishima. You do too, examining him closely for the first time in…3? 4? years. He’s still unmistakably him. Still gangly, impossibly long legs splayed out beneath him and lanky arms draped over the bar top. He’s grown into his body. His chest and shoulders fill out his button-down nicely, the sleeves tightening around his biceps every time he brings his glass to his lips. He’s slouching at the moment, which you don’t remember him doing much of in high school, but you’re sure he would strike an imposing figure if he pulled himself up to his full height.

When the blond doesn’t make a move to answer, Yamaguchi jumps in. “I’ve been good! Yachi too. I think I told you that we moved to the new apartment right?” You nod. “It’s amazing! The location is perfect and there’s so much natural light. We just got a cat too!”

“Wow! It sounds like you two are really getting settled in!” You try to draw Tsukishima into the conversation. “What about you Tsukishima? Have you started at the National Museum yet?”

“Yea, last month.” He gazes around the room aimlessly.

“Oh! Does that mean you’ve already moved down from Sendai?”

“Yup.”

“Some of the Karasuno guys and I helped drive his stuff down and get it all set up,” Yamaguchi chimes in.

“That’s nice of you Tadashi! And how’s the museum so far?”

The smile on your face falters as Tsukishima finally fixes you in his sights. He crosses his arms before snidely responding, “Shall we stop avoiding the elephant in the room?”

You look away, trying to hide from his piercing stare. Next to you, Yamaguchi fiddles with the cuffs of his shirt. Should you pretend not to know about his separation from Natsumi? A quick glance at him pushes that thought out of your head. No, he wants the truth. “I heard,” you sigh, unsure of what else to say.

The three of you freeze in that awkward moment for what feels like an eternity. You almost swear there’s a perverse pleasure on Tsukishima’s face as you and Tadashi steal uneasy looks at each other. He takes a languid gulp of red wine, grimacing as he swallows, letting the discomfort build and build before finally revealing, “The divorce was finalized last month.”

“O- OH.” Yamaguchi looks as surprised as you. “And, uh…how are you feeling Tsukki?”

“Happy? Sad? Angry? Who the fuck knows,” Tsukishima sneers.

“Why not all of them?” Yamaguchi jokes weakly.

Tsukishima lets out a scoff.

“Well, I for one am glad you’re in Tokyo now.” You reply cheerfully. “The three of us can have movie nights and pig out on cake together again.”

The muscles tense in Tsukishima’s neck. “Drop the charade, ok?”

“Sorry, what?”

“This. Whatever this is. Just. Stop.” His fists are clenched now, his tone venomous. “I appreciate you putting me in touch with your friend and all. Really. But you people don’t have to keep doing this whole fake thing where you act like you want to hang out or get coffee or catch up” - each phrase is punctuated by aggressive air quotes - “when we all know you’re just saying it to be polite. I know you can’t actually want to spend time with me because you barely know me anymore.”

You must look dumbfounded because Tsukishima’s expression softens slightly, but he doesn’t move to take back what he said.

“Tsukki-”

“Shut up Yamaguchi,” He flings every word like a dagger. “What’s the point in pretending? It’s not like you’re fooling me. I know I’m hard to get along with, ok? I’ve always been hard to get along with. I’m selfish, I’m mean, I have a shitty personality, and guess what? It’s even shittier now. I know I’m pathetic. I know I’m especially fucking miserable to be around right now. I know, ok? I KNOW.”

The air feels thick. Yamaguchi sits frozen like a deer caught in the headlights, wide eyes flickering between you. Tsukishima’s eyes sear into you. He downs the last of his wine, his knuckles white from gripping the stem of his wine glass so tightly, you’re sure it’ll snap in half any second.

He’s right, kind of. He’s changed a lot in the past 10 years, and your relationship has changed too. You can’t just pick up where you left off. The trust is gone and it doesn’t do either of you any good to pretend otherwise.

You take a step back and hold your hands up, palms facing him. “Tsukishima, I’m sorry I haven’t kept in touch much since we graduated, but I promise I do actually want to hang out again. I can’t speak for everyone, but I’m not pretending, and I’m sure Yamaguchi isn’t either.” Yamaguchi nods vigorously at that. You continue. “I’m genuinely happy for us to have the chance to rebuild our friendship.” You reach out to squeeze his arm softly before dropping your hands back down at your sides.

Tsukishima scrutinizes you before eventually lowering his eyes to the empty wine glass in his hand.

“Me too, Tsukki. Let’s toast to rebuilding,” Yamaguchi suggests, flagging down the bartender.

The three of you clink glasses. Tsukishima unclenches his jaw, though he still appears guarded.

Yamaguchi clears his throat. “Did I mention I got a promotion?”

“Oh wow, congrats!”

Yamaguchi turns to you. “What about you? Any news?”

“Not really, just been busy lately. I started at a new bar and business there is pretty good. I’ve been trying to wrap up a bunch of small projects right now too - got a big one coming up soon and it sounds like the timeline for it will be pretty tight.” You start to tell them about your upcoming postcard project and the atmosphere begins to relax.

Tsukishima goes back to people watching as you and Yamaguchi chatter on either side of him. Slowly, he begins interjecting snarky comments while you two carry on about nothing of importance. It’s surprising how quickly the three of you can nestle back into this familiar dynamic.

“I missed this. The three of us.” Tsukishima jolts you out of your nostalgia. He sounds wistful as he stares at the liquor bottles lined up behind the bar. “I wanted to keep in touch more too, you know. It’s just…Natsumi… she always felt left out when it was the three of us, so I didn’t reach out as much as I wanted to. I’m sorry. And-”

“It’s ok, you don’t have to apologize.”

“-I didn’t want to be a burden either. I realized I needed to learn how to be independent and solve my own problems instead of running to you two for help all the time.”

Emika’s words come back to you. “Did…Natsumi say that?”

Tsukishima looks at you blankly. “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do in a relationship? Work things out with each other?”

“Yes and no… It’s always good to talk to your partner about your feelings and concerns about your relationship, but it’s also important to have other people to talk things out with too. Sometimes it’s just nice to have a place to vent about dumb things, but sometimes you really need an outside opinion, you know?” You prod a little. “I mean…didn’t she talk to her friends about your relationship?”

“Yea, but that’s different.”

You think you can read between the lines. “How is it different?”

“Well, you know what I’m like.” He shifts in his seat. “When we fought, she’d call them to talk and they’d support her, give her advice, help cheer her up… It helped her a lot I think…” Tsukishima trails off.

You see the gears turning in his head and decide not to push any further. “Well, I know we haven’t talked in ages, but I still consider you a friend.” You gesture around the bar. “You’ve got lots of friends here, actually. They were happy to help with the move and I’m sure we’re all happy to support you in other ways too.”

“Even Kageyama,” Yamaguchi laughs. That at least earns an eye roll from Tsukishima.

You open your mouth to hammer home the point, but Makoto walks up at that moment. He waves hello to Yamaguchi and you introduce him to Tsukishima.

“Babe, it’s time to go.”

You bite back a groan. Why did you agree to meet up with his parents tomorrow morning again? You buy yourself a minute by asking Makoto to grab your coat. As he heads off, you state firmly, “It was really good to see you both. Let’s go out soon, just the three of us, ok?” You give them each a small hug and head off after your boyfriend.

As you walk into your apartment, the exhaustion of the evening finally hits you. You sluggishly go through the motions, hanging your jackets up at the door, brushing your teeth, washing your face, and changing into pajamas before climbing into bed together.

Makoto’s arms are warm and comforting as he pulls you back against his chest. “Did you have a good time tonight?”

“Yea,” you yawn. “I’m really happy I got to see everyone. Thanks for coming with me.”

“Of course, I’m glad I got to see everyone too. My parents said they’re looking forward to catching up with us tomorrow.”

“Aww, that’s sweet of them.”

Makoto runs his fingers across your stomach and sighs. “The Tanakas seem really excited about their new baby.”

“Yea, I can’t believe they’re having a third. They make good parents,” you mumble, quickly drifting off.

He hesitates. “I think we’d make good parents too.”

Beside him, you’ve already fallen asleep.

[spice-honey]

15 questions / 15 mutuals.

Tagged by @wednesday-deetz , thanks for the tag bb🖤

1. Are you named after anyone?

-I am not lmao my mom picked my name using numerology. She isn't a hippie, but it was desperate times. Shitty 90s ultrasound showed I was a boy (BDE since womb) so she picked a boy name (Rafael) and that was that. Then surprise! Not a boy! That sent her down a spiral of indecision. It took her too so long to come up with a name for me, she used numerology on the last possible legal day to name me otherwise, the government would have chosen one for her.

2. When was the last time you cried?

-Like, a good cry? Probably December.

3. Do you have kids?

-No. Don't want them, don't like them.

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot?

-obviously

5. What sports do you play/have you played?

-loosely: soccer, rugby. Seriously: cheerleading (high school), roller derby, and pole dancing

6. What’s the first thing you notice about other people?

-their face, followed by voice.

7. What’s your eye colour?

-Hazel

8. Scary movies or happy endings?

-Happy endings. Gone are the day I can handle scary movies

9. Any special talents?

-Not.... really? I can roller skate, and do some cool pole tricks I guess.

10. Where were you born?

-Sao Paulo, Brazil

11. What are your hobbies?

-writing fanfiction, reading, Pathfinder (ttrpg), cooking (is eating a hobby?), hiking

12. Do you have any pets?

-One cat

13. How tall are you?

-5’7

14. Favorite subject in school?

-Math and art

15. Dream job?

-I dont dream of labour but... Something in fashion

tagging (NO PRESSURE): @sp00kybimb0 @sydney-winchester @kinda-stav @kp-and-the-moonlight-band @selinascatnip @str4wberry-goblin @goddessofthebees @alsacien37 @galacticstar @anoptimisticadventurer @annoying-leftist-donkey