#also fuck the poster due Thursday

[hwahawt]

Fuckkkkk

[in-death-we-fall]

Parallel Lives

Kerrang 923, September 28 2002

In Slipknot, Joey Jordison gets to rage. In the Murderdolls, he gets to rock. In both bands, he shits in public…

Words: Ian Winwood Photos: Roxy Erickson

Never let it be said that the Murderdolls lack the capacity to surprise. It’s Thursday night, the penultimate date of their sold-out tour of British clubs, and the band were due onstage 10 minutes ago. Getting a band like this to do anything on time is like turning an oil tanker around, so they’re running late. Which means that the 500 people packed inside Bristol’s Fleece club are just going to have to wait.

Joey Jordison, on the other hand, cannot wait. Opting to change from ugly-men-without-make-up to ugly-men-with-make-up not in the venue’s intimate and inaccessible dressing room, but in their tour bus, the Murderdolls have, for the past 45 minutes, been saying “Excuse me” and “Could you pass the hairspray/lipstick” and getting dressed into stage clothes that have seen less washing powder than the Turin Shroud. It’s like playing Twister with Max Factor.

And it could be worse. Joey Jordison – five feet not very many inches tall, even in ridiculous stage boots – needs to ‘go to the toilet’, and he needs to do this in the ‘I’d leave that for 10 minutes if I were you’ sense of the term. Which is unfortunate, considering that ‘No solids shall be deposited in the tour bus toilet’ is appropriately Rule Number Two in the rock ‘n’ roll code of the road, second only to ‘Do not blow the bus driver’s brains out with a .45 Magnum as he’s hurtling down the motorway at 120 miles per hour’. For Jordison, looking quietly concerned, this is a problem. Think, think, think: what to do?

Joey Jordison decides to resolve his predicament by performing a bowel movement on the pavement, in the street.

You did read that correctly.

“Man, I just took a shit in the street,” he says, almost skipping with joy and pride.

Perhaps to celebrate such a commendable achievement, one of the Murderdolls – and, let’s be honest, aside from Joey Jordison, they all look the same – decides to smash a pint glass. The jar arcs through the air, hitting the cobbled floor with a smash that is, strangely, as satisfying as it is entirely redundant. Then another glass takes flight. Then another, then another. There isn’t much whooping and there isn’t much hollering, but there is plenty of debris.

We’re standing outside a pub, next door to the Fleece. The landlady leans out of the doorway.

“Could you stop that please?” she asks.

“Go back inside lady,” says vocalist Wednesday 13, winner of this week’s stupid name competition. “Go back inside and no-one will get hurt.”

Five minutes ago Wednesday was giving serious consideration to urinating on a Puddle Of Mudd fly poster. He decided not to because the band, as people, are “cool”.

The Murderdolls are now walking toward the stage door.

“Hey, you know about American football right?” asks Eric Griffin, the bass player. Eric has missed a part of the tour after his father died, but now he’s back. “Well in American football this is called a drop-kick.”

Eric throws a pint glass from his hand and tries to kick it. The glass spins from his boot and smashes six inches away.

He adds: “Although it’s not a very good drop-kick.”

Inside the venue, the crowd have heard the intro tape and are starting to cheer. Outside, the band are going inside.

Please welcome, from the United States of Stupidity, The Murderdolls.

The Murderdolls have a song called ‘I Like (sic) To Say Fuck’, which is just as well, because they say fuck all the time; they also have a song called ‘Let’s Fuck’ which is not just as well, if you’re the one in line, because they’re all as ugly as fuck.

Onstage at the Fleece, the band say the word so many times that if they were to keep a swearbox they could, at the end of the tour, purchase a country. So it’s, “Here’s a fucking song for you, Bristol,” and “Are you tired of hearing all the fucking shit on the radio, Bristol?”.

In case, heaven forbid, you get bored of the word “fuck”, The Murderdolls do spice it up and throw it around with the odd “motherfucker” as well. They’re inventive like that.

They’re also, on a night like this, at the very core of their element. When the album, ‘Beyond The Valley Of The Murderdolls’, is boiled down and fried up in a hateful hall before 500 loving people, you’re seeing this band as they were intended to be seen. It’s here that you can view the parts of the Murderdolls that are A Good Thing, such as the schlock-punk shtick that recalls bands such as the Misfits and the Necros. This is also the place to see the parts of the Murderdolls that are A Bad Thing, such as them revisiting the era of hairspray and shiny guitars that epitomised the glam-metal years.

The Murderdolls will try to guess a woman’s cup size by feeling her breasts. It’s worth asking: what is the point of the Murderdolls?

“Just to have some fun,” says Joey Jordison. The guitarist – for this group at least – sits in the upstairs lounge of his band’s tour bus. Adjacent to him is Wednesday. Before the tape recorder is switched on, a request is made that the whole band are questioned, but Joey, quietly, won’t allow it. Make of this what you will.

“I get all my angry shit out with Slipknot, so this is something else that I can do. And I have fun doing it. We may not be the most serious band in the world, but that doesn’t really matter. That doesn’t mean that this can’t mean something to me just the same.”

For a band that aren’t serious, by the way, Joey Jordison chose to meet this question in serious tones, and with some immediacy – ready with an answer, almost leaping in with his response.

Would you like your audience to be serious about liking you?

“Yeah, I suppose I would.”

Joey Jordison didn’t actually make an appearance today until 8pm, fearing that he’d contracted a fever after standing in the cole – straight after his band’s set – in Manchester for three hours signing CDs and body parts for his fans. Later in Bristol it would seem that this is no more than a chill, but his earlier absence means that his bandmates have to endure the mind-shrivelling tedium that is the afternoon before a show without him.

Wednesday and guitarist Acey Slade are upstairs in the Fleece’s dressing room, talking small and killing time. Wednesday is attempting to fit brown plastic holsters to his trousers, in which he can hold the blue plastic pistols that will spurt water into the crowd later tonight. Slade – the funniest and most impressive member of the band – is looking through photographs taken in Germany. He says the word “cool” a lot. Wednesday has a bastardised image of Colonel Sanders on the back of his jacket. Kentucky Fried Chicken is his favourite food, he says, with the humorous delivery of a serious sentiment. Although if he lived in England he would open a chain of fast food franchises called Kentucky Fried Fish And Chips.

Wednesday is from Louisiana (sic). Acey is from Pennsylvania.

But you’re based in Los Angeles, right?

“Fuck no,” says Wednesday.

I thought that’s where you all lived.

“We don’t really have a base,” says Slade.

Is that because you’re not a proper band?

“Fuck you,” says Wednesday.

The Murderdolls take this well. The Murderdolls, fittingly, know how to smile.

This is Joey Jordison’s band. He laughs and jokes along throughout the evening – and his humour and tolerance of a piss-taking journalist is more impressive than many – but, in subtle moments, his demeanour betrays a seriousness and focus that is hardly disguised. He is acutely aware of how he wishes to be portrayed although, strangely, he appears more concerned with visuals than words. He applies his make-up on three separate occasions for the photographs that partner this piece. The last time he has to do this, at 1am, he doesn’t appear overly thrilled. He has a quiet word with Roxy Erickson about what she can and can’t shoot (admirably, she opts not to fall in with the conspiracy).

In conversation, conversely, Jordison is almost slanderously unguarded. He wants to make it clear than our own Josh Sindell, in his review of the Murderdolls’ set at the Whisky A Go-Go, was wrong to say that Kerry King left early out of disdain, but rather had to leave for LAX airport. Then he says that while the other eight members of Slipknot were furious with K! Dep Ed Jason Arnopp for the things he wrote in his Slipknot book, this was only because they knew that what he wrote was “true”. He’ll also tell you about how he fucked-up his voice by mixing two different batches of cocaine together earlier in the tour. And how, on the road with Slipknot in America, he walked in to the Clown’s dressing room and emptied his bowels right into the rubbish bin. Right there in the room.

Why on Earth did you do that?

“Because he was fucking with me.”

Is there tension in Slipknot?

“No.”

But then he’ll say this. And he’ll say it with some joy and no disguise.

“We had more people at our gig (in Los Angeles) than Stone Sour did.”

Yeah, but Stone Sour are selling more records in America than you are.

Joey Jordison nods his head and curls his mouth into the thinnest, and cruellest, of smiles. Quietly he says, “At the moment”.

Are you sure there’s no tension in Slipknot?

“Yes.”

In the pub next door to the Fleece, there is something approaching mutiny. It’s 11:50pm, and the Murderdolls left the stage a quarter of an hour ago. Four men in their 40s are arguing about the merits – or otherwise – of the band. They all went to the show, but only half of them enjoyed it. You’ve got to move with the times, say the defenders. They weren’t even playing their instruments, say the detractors.

Listening to this is the landlord. He manages to be friendly despite glowing incandescent with fury. It was his glasses that were smashed by the band, and it was his wife who Wednesday instructed to go back inside so that “nobody would get hurt”.

The landlord also thinks the Murderdolls are the worst band ever to have performed next door. So furious he was with the incident, he confronted the Murderdolls’ tour manager and, threatening to summon the law, elicited an apology and £50 in compensation without hesitation or complaint.

Rock ‘n’ roll.

Just round the corner, the Murderdolls are milling in the street, signing autographs for the 200 people who have braved the chill and missed the last bus to talk to them. They will stay there for two hours. Then they will board the bus and, knowing nothing of the furore left behind them, sleep in their bunks and wake in another town. And there the Murderdolls will emerge to laugh and bullshit their way through another day.

[jadeile-writes]

Fanfic Progress Update 157

It's Saturday, so you get updated on the fic writing. Happy Holidays, btw; over here we celebrate it tomorrow rather than on 25th, so I'm almost free from this hassle. Stay tuned for a sneak-peek for A Sign that you're important at the bottom of this post!

Current WIPs:

A Sign that you're important (previously named I'm Signing in the Drain)

Fandom: Sonic the Hedgehog, movieverse

Summary: One month upon his assigment as Doctor Robotnik's assitant, Agent Stone is told to learn sign language. He doesn't know why, and isn't suicidal enough to ask, so he simply rolls with it. Turns out, it's not just a whimsy of the eccentric doctor, even though that doesn't stop the doctor from utilizing it like one.

Progress: The first chapter was posted on 21st of December. The second chapter will be posted on 28th of December aka next Thursday. Chapter 3 is finished. Chapter 4 has been started. This fic will most likely have five chapters, maybe six if I get epilogue-happy or smth.

Let's hope I can get an adequate amount of writing for this one done despite the Christmas hassle, cause I really don't want to panic-write the last two chapters on the week of posting them. ...I say, like I don't have three weeks to write chapter 4 at this point. But listen, I'm also making eyes at a next idea I have in a little list of ideas, like juggling two fics isn't enough. Tho in my defense, Lab Life is quietly writing itself in the background and doesn't count, especially if I can manage to queue up another fic after this one (I'd really prefer if Lab Life was fully written before I post any of it, because then I'd have lots of time to get started on the sequel while it keeps the readers fed). I'm gonna be so fucked when Hazbin Hotel airs and I might end up double-fandoming :D

-----

Life at the laboratory (previously known as SBLF, which, btw, was actually just short of StoBotnik LongFic, lol)

Fandom: Sonic the Hedgehog, movieverse

Summary (temporary):

Wanted: a yesman who is capable of operating an espresso machine, has at least a higher IQ than your average amoeba, and is willing to put work before having a personal life, or indeed a life, period. The extra in your pathetic paycheck is good, but the strain in your psyche will make up for the positives. Forfeit your basic human rights and apply today if this sounds like you. 

Maybe it said something about Agent Stone - and probably not good things - that the poster in the cafeteria's pin board piqued his interest more than any of his official assignments had for a good long while. 

Dr. Robotnik, huh?

Progress: This one will be part one of a two-parter longfic, the first part probably... 10-ish chapters? It's a bit hard to estimate at this point, so the number is subject to change - will probably end up increased tbh. My weekly writing hour (as in, a specific hour when I sit down and write, no excuses [other than not being home]) is devoted to this fic.

I have the first four chapters completely written now. Chapter 5 is halfway done. I also have two halfway written chapters that don't yet know their exact placement within the fic (they're scenes that will be slotted in to wherever they feel natural, once we get Stone settled in.)

-----  

Other WIPs I’m not currently working on but intend to get back to Someday™:

PoE Drabbles (Pillars of Eternity)

DC Drabbles (Justice League)

Diaphanous Relations (Forgotten Realms, R.A. Salvatore’s books)

Rolling with it (Zelda: BotW)

Hah, our afterlife is the most hilarious bushwa, dearest! (Hazbin Hotel)

-----

That’s it for the WIPs! Here’s the promised sneak-peek into A Sign that you're important (Note: the text may end up slightly different in the fic itself due to more editing happening before publishing). Enjoy!

As far as meetings went, Stone was usually patient and attentive. This time, however, he was certainly in agreement with the doctor that this particular meeting was honestly boring and pointless, and it wasn’t just Robotnik’s “hating meetings” -thing. The only reason the two of them had to be attending at all was because Robotnik had a presentation of his own to add to the collection that was happening right then, which meant that nothing the other people said was actually relevant to their jobs or worth listening to – they were just waiting for their turn. There was nothing interesting going on, and it was made worse by the people presenting their points doing it in the least interesting way they could and droning on and on and on about their projects.

Stone was, quite frankly, contemplating the merits of pretending to get a phone call and leaving the room to take it and then simply not coming back after. The only reason he didn’t was because the doctor would murder him for leaving him to suffer alone. The torture that came first would make this bore of a gathering seem like a cakewalk in comparison, and then end with his mother grieving for her dead son. It was probably better for his career prospects to stay. Or he could take the window instead, this was the seventh floor, it’d be a swift end and he’d avoid the torture part…

His morbid ways of self-amusement were interrupted when the doctor – sitting on his right – suddenly moved. More precisely, his hands un-steepled themselves from the table and started forming words.

-----

That’s it this time. See you next Saturday!

Links:

My AO3   My FFnet   My Ko-fi    Radiohusk Discord Server

[tirednapentity]

SO I'm still actively procrasrinating my German project (a whole ass poster) that is due on THURSDAY and I also might have a math exam TOMORROW (I haven't understood a single thing in math ever since the start of tge school year) and also I haven't gone to English classes in a week (I'm doing good in English by still that's a Bad Look™) and also I'm pretty sure we're also writing a chem exam ALSO ON THURSDAY (i don't understand the subject there either) so yeah. I am So Massively Fucked,

[yinses]

college au! headcanons

gojo satoru, geto suguru & nanami kento

rqst: college au for nanami, geto and gojo?

a/n: so i divided it into three categories to help keep my head straight. honestly almost straight kicked gojo out of college bc i couldn’t decide on a major for him. the jjk discord server is heaven sent for my sanity. ty everyone again 🌺

last time i should have to post these. hoping everything is fine now. 

gojo satoru

MAJOR

—he starts off undecided for a long time. the fact that he’s on scholarship allows him to be more flexible with his classes given that he’s not responsible for costs. he grew up with expectations from his family but university is suppose to be his opportunity to spread his own wings and grow from his experiences.

—so he tries a bit of everything- sciences, music and social studies- anything to prompt a spark. (took a business class once and made a point to sit next to nanami everyday just to annoy him) by his second year he’s getting as frustrated as his counselor because if he doesn’t decide soon he’ll be a potential 5th year senior.

—he’s overthinking it but gojo wants to invest in what he believes will make the most significant impact to his ability. his counselor takes those crumbs and runs with it.

—he gets steered towards political science and actually excels at it (that advisor gets a raise). surprises most of the class with his analytical skills because they thought he was just a pretty boy- surprise he’s beautiful and smart.

—develops a vested interest in governmental policies. might run for president one day idk. brings donuts to his early am class. doesn’t share.

SOCIAL

—he’s not the jock per say, but as the star athlete of the basketball team, the school likes to take advantage of his image to draw in sponsors.

—his face is plastered all over the auditorium whether they’re in season or not. sometimes it’s not even to promote basketball, gojo is pretty and they’re not afraid to use it. which also makes him one of the most recognizable faces on campus.

—due to his student athlete contract, he’s not allowed to sign autographs freely in the event they’re attempted to be sold as quick cash. but yikes, he can barely walk to class without someone stopping him for a picture. to the best of his ability he tries to laugh it off, poster boy image and all, but it gets pretty fucking old and annoying quickly. especially when it makes him late for his next lesson and the instructor shows no sympathy.

—his height didn’t only help him get into basketball, but its also convenient when it comes to shouldering politely through the student masses. his golden rule is don’t make eye contact. the busier the crowds the easier it is for him to pretend like he could’t possibly have heard them.

—gojo doesnt scout fraternities, fraternities scout him. but he’s not interested in the slightest. as an athlete he already gets into any social circle he wants without the additional effort. that and he doesnt think he could tolerate an alpha male trying to exert his dominance without barking back.

—loves to show up to parties but always arrives late enough to the point where they don’t think he’s coming. it helps him slip in when he wants too. he’s a connoisseur of all alcohol varieties and a master of beer bong. he’s not necessarily the life of the party but his presence is kind of hard to miss.

RELATIONSHIPS

—he gets too much attention to date casually. most potential suitors are in it more for the benefits they receive than him anyway. he’s got enough on his plate with career indecisiveness and games to try to pursue anything serious before third year.

—he’s not completely celibate though. he tries to keep the same partners as long as he can. not only to keep himself clean and safe but because he often goes into an agreement to keep it casual. sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. either way he gets coined as a ‘heartbreaker’ before the end of his freshman year. frankly the rumors obscure most of the truth and give him more freedom. people always expect that he’s with someone even when he’s not, which helps keep his invasive teammates off his back.

—gojo can easily graduate without securing something tangible but there is still a window for potential.

—you’re both his consistent classmate and occasional friends with benefits. its the former title that keeps bringing him back around. he cant exactly avoid you without subjecting himself to 8am classes. it helps that the sex is good too.

—he can text you an offer to study together for the next test and roll over after an hour and wreck you for the rest of the week. its hard to tell who gets addicted first but he does appreciate the way your skin looks when youre wearing his marks.

geto suguru

MAJOR

—he’s a STEM kid, particularly interested in bio-genetics to improve overall health. he believes that simply becoming a physician just keeps the issue at bay and his goal is to eradicate the problem at its source.

—since high school he’s been cataloging different programs across the country before deciding what he wanted and putting all his efforts into it. so it’s no surprise when he gets in.

—geto doesn’t need counselors but they’re required so he listens to them prattle on about using university as an opportunity to explore. this man came in with more college credits than most sophomores, he knows what he wants.

—always on-time to class and never misses an assignment. also that kid who goes above and beyond, even on the simple stuff. he rarely gets teased about it, not even behind his back. geto straight up scares some people even when he’s smiling.

—not afraid to correct teachers when they’re wrong. in fact he lives for it.

—he’s the one who graduated early and starts his master’s program before most of his age group declare their own majors.

SOCIAL

—he tends to frequent the same circles- handpicking his acquaintances out of class rosters, clubs and honor lists. he’s less in it for the friendship and more so to scout for potential research partners.

—met gojo in one of his science electives and literally carried him through the class. they somehow end up friends but only really hang out at each other’s places- bunch of chill movie nights and pizza.

—there is no interest in fraternities, but he does join university funded clubs that allow him to further his research. they give him unique access to labs, take him on trips to different conventions and have an alumni list a kilometer long for future collaborations.

—the man does not party but he will occasionally slip into quieter bars to ease some of his frustrations. he actually enjoys karaoke thursdays , not to sing for himself but the drunken antics of others bring him some amusement.

—smokes weed occasionally, but only his own product. it helps him relaxand fan out the stress. he never sells it but sometimes gojo nicks some of his stash. given that he gets drug tested often, geto doesn’t know how the athlete never gets caught.

RELATIONSHIPS

—not interested in seeking out relationships in the slightest. the man has a plan and he’s already married to it.

—he’s not completely immune to sexual advances though and occasionally splurges but none of the friends with benefits crap. he’ll hit it once and stay celibate for the rest of the year easily.

—you might be able to squeeze in as his fellow lab partner. remain invested in the work and not him and he’ll start noticing the little details of your company- the way you subtle perfume lingers on his lab coat hours after you’ve adorned for the day, how he knows you have to keep your hair up for safety precautions but he thinks about running his fingers through it daily and your mind, damn, he wonders what else you can come up with when he has you laid out on his sheets.

—if he’s interested, geto won’t hesitate to broach the topic. he’ll ask you out for coffee and when you try to bring up research he’ll be upfront about his attraction. ultimately if you start dating the two of you are an absolute unit- not that you weren’t before.

—you’re the one variable he didn’t plan for but he’s glad to have added you to the equation.

nanami kento

MAJOR

—he was made for the business world, brought by a CEO who raised him to inherit the company. administration major marketing minor.

—takes initiative in all his classes and is often coined as group leader for projects. mostly keeps to himself  and only speaks up when prompted or disagrees with something.

—he takes the earliest sessions possible because it means less people more often than not. doesn’t really care if its in the front, middle or back but always sits near the edge.

—doesn’t really want to but it looks good on his resume so he joins the marketing team where they present mock business plans for competitions. they win a lot. nanami honestly doesn’t care. but again it looks good.

—it only took him a brief summer internship to learn that he found nothing satisfying about board meetings and macro management.

—he decides to invest in law school to handle the company from a legal standpoint instead.

SOCIAL

— sort of like geto, only wants to make friends on a need be basis.

—he would rather keep to himself but knows the benefits of socializing so he interacts with his frequent classmates when he can- through study groups or car pooling to seminars.

—he does join a fraternity, its the same one his father did (and uncles, cousins, whatnot. its a generational thing). its geared towards bettering future leaders. they focus building resumes, charity events and run the organization like a proper business. nanami gets elected president by his third year and runs two terms.

—the only parties he attends are networking events- full of wine and fancy horderves. wine is plentiful but he’s always nursing a scotch on top of his headache. if one more person squeezes their stocks into a conversation he’s going to personally take down the whole market

—zero interest in college party life. spends some of his downtime at the campus theater watching old time movies and classic plays.

—he’s the coffee shop hoe. he wakes up early sometimes just to sit by the window and read some casual literature. has his own thermo that gives him free refills to cart to class. do not talk to this man before he’s had his caffeine.

RELATIONSHIP

—he probably has a high school sweetheart that he’s still clinging too, whether on the same campus or long distance. it helps him because he can’t really see himself pursuing a relationship while focusing on school.

—he’s been with you long enough that you understand his ambitions and won’t feel bested by them. the two of you have a system- starting the day off with sweet ‘good morning’ texts before class and ending the day with long conversations as you digest the last 12 hours.

—nanami is independent but he is thankful to have you to rely on when classes start to overwhelm him. the two of try to escape briefly for the weekend when you can. often going to near by reservations just to get off campus

—other times the two of you will cuddle close on your dorm bed, his long fingers combing through your hair while he reads over some notes for class.

—sometimes you have to be the one to tell him to take a break and to enjoy life while he can. even if that means dragging him the events and concerts hosted on campus. he resists at first but you can see the tension ebbing away as the night comes to a close.

—the two of you start living together in your senior year just because you can. he insists on buying a house. not only because he can afford it because it can be rented out after graduation. always the business man.

[doitforthecringe]

Ok.... Time to talk about this.

This shit recently dropped and its confirmed to be the final season of Castlevania. Which is SAD. And in NO WAY HELPS Trevor's chances of getting out of this. However there are somethings we can get out of the trailer... But not much however i also want to point out to a Deadline article that heard rumors of a new cast of characters being used for a new castlevania series....

Symphony of the Night anyone?

Or....

The OG Castlevania???!

Honestly. The possibilities are endless for this universe.

However keep in mind these are rumors!!! And not confirmed in the slightest.

But also keep in mind just because one show says that it has a last season doesn't mean there's not going to be a spin off series featuring the same universe

So in a way Netflix can finish this season and do another animated series based on other games and use those as different series.

Now back to the trailor

It is time!!! For

Analysis

First up!!!

Trevor and Sypha are going back to Targoviste! Didnt think they'd go back there in the series. But that might explain the green stuff that they were shown behind in those teaser screenshots? Maybe they were in a forest on their way to the probably abandoned place. Or maybe its a safe haven for Carmilla's global conquest plans. Who knows?

Next up! Our boy

Alucard is now confirmed to be right in the middle of Transylvania! (Quite appropriate if i do say so myself) which means all of you science nerds can now properly figure out how long it would take for Taka and Sumi to go from Japan to where Alucard was at. But it seems that he is also in a region called Danesti. Which im not sure where it is in real life but i assume its real due to other towns in this world have real world equivalents. But here he is asking for help. Most likely help from Carmilla and that's probably where he gets the shield seen in the promo poster dropped yesterday i don't know but its an adamant possibility.

And from the looks of the quote shown here it seems that he maybe consulting a church... Maybe Italy perhaps? Or maybe somewhere else.. We arent given any specifics beyond what is on the map.

Also sorry for the bad screenshots a blood stain that looks like the logo keeps bleeding into the map.... And it makes shit hard to see.... Someone should really patch that wound up before it dies.

But in all seriousness

This is Styria with Carmilla and her greedy little gob talkimg about taking everything. And tbh i dont think Striga will like that. Considering on how she was talking about how containing Styria to Braila would be hard. Perhaps her ambition is getting too big... Something tells me maybe some things on her side will turn on her.... Maybe Lenore?? Who knows.

And finally we got a confirmed release date!!! May the 13th lets fucking go!!

FUCK ITS A THURSDAY!!!! We were so close!!!! AAAAAHHHH!!

Anyway

That is it for now! I hope you enjoy this analysis

I'll see you around!

[alkhale]

Shoot the Ball Pt.2 (Ushijima Wakatoshi x Reader) Ko-fi request

Hi. Could I get a ushiwaka trying to hopelessly flirt with a clueless OC? I requested Shoot the Ball and I am in love with what you did (and basically everything else you wrote and will write) thanks!!! ❤️❤️❤️

Aaaaa I love your writing!! Would it be possible to get a part two of the Shoot the Ball (Ushijima x Reader) fic?? That story is so fucking adorable and Id love to see more of Ushijima and the readers relationship (maybe throw in a confession or something in there)?

It’s here on AO3 if that makes for easier reading too! More to come!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24551512/chapters/59287438

Shoot the Ball Pt. 2

“Um, senpai, are you alright?”

You laughed, almost a bit haughtily. “Alright? Of course I’m alright, what are you talking about?”

You hardly looked up from your kneeling position on the wooden boards of the humble kyudo hall, bow laid across your lap as you worked on tightening the new string. It wasn’t the best time to readjust to a new one, given your still aching wrist, but you couldn’t have your old one breaking on you with the first round of tournaments coming up.

The hall itself was in impeccable condition, thanks to the hard efforts of yourself and your team. The lot of you spend hours toiling to make sure the grass is cut, the range is kept clean, and the hall itself shines in case you receive curious faculty visits or sponsors otherwise. Shiratorizawa Academy may be a wealthy one, but not all the wealth was concentrated kindly to each part of the school. It was up to you, the captain, and your members to keep the hall shining as though it were just as good—especially because it was —so new visitors would only continue to be impressed.

But instead of shooting rounds like your younger members should be doing, a small huddle of the closer second and first years were shooting you worried glances. You were the only third year still spear-heading the entire campaign since the rest had left for studies or quit beforehand. Your vice-captain was a second year and close confidant and currently running around campus like a fool because you sent her on an errand so you could get more practice in before she chased you out.

“(L/n)-san you’re good at kyudo, so of course you’d stay. We just did it for fun.”

You can be good at it and have fun. You thought tirelessly, remembering watching the third years leave the hall, standing alone in the waning sunlight across wooden floorboards. You’re just giving up.

It wasn’t as though you were born gifted. They can joke you were born with a bow in your hand, but it was pure luck that your mother turned the television on to that channel that day, showcasing the national kyudo archery performance at the Imperial Palace in Tokyo. It was luck that you fell in love with that sound and the way the bow bent and the arrow flew.

And it was hard work to follow through with the luck that brought you here.

They all told you you only had one thing on the brain—kyudo, and they also said it’d probably be the end of you. Even your parents had been dropping light hints as of late that perhaps you should finally peel off the sport and bunker down for your studies. “What about college? Kyudo might not get you there, you know.”

“Are you going to do it forever?”

What else were you going to do? Die? Of course you were going to do kyudo forever. If it didn’t get you into college then you just wouldn’t go.

There was nothing you loved more than this sight, this bow, this.

Nothing.

N-o-t-h-i-n-g.

Your juniors shot each other more nervous looks. One brave young first year who you secretly planned to have join the five-team shoot finally took a step forward, hesitantly pointing to your lap.

“Senpai,” she said nervously, “...your string is…”

“Impeccable,” you said simply, holding up your bow like a sword, a sharp glint in your eye. “Now get back to the range. I’m shooting rounds right after you guys before—”

“You put it on… wrong…”

You calmly stared at your junior for several seconds, the other archers looking frightful behind her. You glanced down to your bow, staring at where your string was, sure enough, notched to absolutely nothing instead of the other end.

You felt a vein throb on the side of your head, cheeks flushing as you did the only reasonable thing and blamed the one person who had shoulders big enough to shoulder the brunt of all your problems.

Ushijima!

----- ----  -----

Shiratorizawa Nurse’s Office, One Week Ago

“You watch kyudo ?” you spluttered, scrambling off the floor and grabbing your stool in disbelief. Ushijima considered you with a cool sort of calm, staring almost blankly back at you.

He stared at your sprawled form on the ground and offered a hand. You slapped it away but it barely moved. The stupid tree of a teenager.

You watch my kyudo?

“Yes,” Ushijima said. You almost jumped, realizing what you’d thought. He set his hands back onto his lap, returning to his solid posture. “My grandmother was well-acquainted with a friend who performed for the national ceremonial procedures. We often have the kyudo channel on within my household.”

Each sentence leaving Ushijima’s lip with frightening ease was punching holes into your gut. His grandma was pals with someone who shot for the national ceremonies? He watches kyudo? He knew what a kaichu was and —

“It is a graceful sport,” Ushijima continued, meeting your gaze evenly. “I have long admired the poise. I watched your debut on the national stage when they broadcasted your first-year tournament. You performed admirably.”

Your brain short circuited, snapping like a bowstring. Ushijima, merciless, continued matter-of-factly, “They also had a small segment on your performance in the prefectural collegates. It is a shame there isn’t talk of scouting, but it does not seem kyudo works the same way our volleyball season does. My grandmother is familiar with your accomplishments and noticed we attend the same academy.”

Huh?

Huh?

HUH?

“I hope you perform well this season as well—”

“Wait one second!” you blurted, flying across the stool and slapping a hand over his mouth. “Wait one damn second!”

Ushijima seemed only mildly surprised that your hand was now plastered over his lips. He blinked once, calmly back at you and you pointed aggressively at him with your other hand, nearly towering over him except even when he was sitting, he seemed to match your height.

“....are you trying to mess with me?” you said suspiciously, eyes narrowed. Ushijima blinked once more, calm. “You’re—you’re just some star volleyball player! And you’re a high schooler! It doesn’t even make any sense! How do you know about all of that, huh? No one even watches that channel on their own unless they’re real—”

You stopped yourself. You blinked rapidly. Real… fans… no, no, no, there’s no way! Ushijima Wakatoshi could not be a kyudo buff—volleyball and kyudo were about on the farthest ends of the spectrum as you could get! It didn’t make any sense.

This strangely nonchalant, weird classmate of yours was supposed to be nothing more than some poster-boy with tried and true skills in volleyball who stole the spotlight from the other sports at Shiratorizawa Academy, who was nice enough to pick up your flyers and greet you in the morning and say hello in that low, rumbling way of his when you spotted him and he made eye contact with you—

I don’t get this guy! You felt a vein throb on the side of your head, tempting to fist the collar of his uniform and really show him what for—all due to your unjust frustration—if this hard-to-read volleyball jock was just messing around—but, well, Ushijima didn’t really seem like the type for that either.

You blinked stupidly at Ushijima when his hand calmly came up, holding your wrist and lowering your hand down so he could speak. “I watch.”

He seemed to think for a moment before continuing, as though answering a question asked by the teacher, “You’re on channel KNJ most Thursday nights. Some Sunday mornings. I often record the broadcasts when there seems to be something notable.”

You felt something stab through your entire being, ripping into your existence on this universe, turning the world around you upside on your head.

Mr. All-Youth-Japan tuned into broadcasts that featured your kyudo accomplishments and—

“I watch,” Ushijima repeated, never breaking contact with your gaze. His large fingers circled easily around your wrist, holding them loosely against the calloused heat of his palm. “As I said, I am a fan of your archery.”

Something incoherent left your lips. A croak of some sorts. Ushijima’s brows furrowed slightly. “Yes?”

“L-Let me get this straight,” you said shakily. “My… my archery… you watch it?”

“Yes,” Ushijima said.

“You… like it?”

“Quite,” Ushijima said.

The faint smell of salonpas tickled your nose. The light hint of sweat and fabric softener. Up close, you suddenly realized that Ushijima had more complex eyes than you thought, hinting a little bit of gold. Lighter than his hair. He smells different from what I’d expect too.

Wait, what the hell were you expecting in the first place?

Ushijima frowned briefly, eyes suddenly leaving your face and turning to your wrist. He considered where his fingers touched your skin, feverishly warm. His thumb lightly pressed the inside of your wrist and he turned his gaze back to you. “(L/n)-san, is your wrist swollen—”

“W-Well, it only makes sense, I guess!” you said loudly, yanking your hand entirely out of his grasp and tossing them both into the air. Ushijima looked up at you with furrowed brows as you laughed, nervous and sweating bullets with your fingers waggling. “ The Ushijima Wakatoshi? A fan of my archery? Hah! Haha… hah! Of course you’d be! Y-You have good taste! I’ll give you that, Ushijima-san! I’ll give you that! But that doesn’t mean anything else in the grand scheme of all this—y-you’re still nothing but a competitor for the sponsorships of this school!”

Ushijima apparead mildly confused, brows furrowed in a touch of a heavy set over his normally stern features. “Sponsorship?”

“That’s right!” you blurted, pointing right at his face. Your eyes were spinning, head twisting in circles. “All anyone cares about is your stupid volleyball!” Ushijima’s frown deepened. “Your team gets the spotlight even though we’ve got plenty of great achievements—you’re flattery won’t get you anywhere! My club is still going to come out on top and all anyone’s going to be talking about is kyudo and—and more kyudo!”

“Volleyball isn’t stupid,” Ushijima said calmly. “But I did not realize that others in our student body were not watching kyudo—”

“I’m going to go shoot right now!” you declared, almost delirious as you hurriedly grabbed your bag. Ushijima stood up from his stool, looking after you. “G-Gotta get those results—bye!”

Before Ushijima could say anything otherwise, you were sprinting out the door, nearly tripping over your feet and covering your face in your hands as you still tried to process the fact that Ushijima Wakatoshi was your first and probably only fan.

You probably fainted somewhere in the kyudo hall. This had to be a dream. A weird, warped dream caused by delirious induced hallucinations of Ushijima’s volleyball posters.

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

Sadly, it hadn’t been a dream. The entire interaction a week ago had been very, very real, and it’d annoyingly been on your mind since. You tried furiously to dispel all thoughts of it with waves of your arrows and aggressive scrubbing of the floors, but to no avail.

“I watch.”

Ushijima of all people? You couldn’t wrap your head around it. Him? Kyudo? That muscle head?

But… if he knew so much about it and even recorded broadcasts… then he really did have great taste. Kyudo was an amazing sport. Anyone willing to give it the attention it deserved was worth a good tick or two in your book. Not only that, but he complimented your archery—

No, no, forget it! You furiously shoved your things into your bag, wrapping up your bow and unstringing it as you slung everything over your shoulder. Several bags hung off your back and shoulders as well, stuffed with targets you needed to take home and repaint for tomorrow’s practice. You were the last one in the kyudo hall, sending all your juniors home to rest. Who cares if he watches your archery? Just a month ago he was some stranger on a poster!

You nodded to yourself, satisfied with your roundabout answers. Yeah, stop worrying about him. What are the odds we’ll run into each other again, anyway? Only on posters. You and Ushijima Wakatoshi were still a decent world apart, even with the recent amount of run-ins. Who was to say they wouldn’t stop tomorrow?

You nodded again, kicking the door open with your foot and struggling to pull all your bags out along with your bow, strapped neatly to your back. You huffed, shaking free like a wet dog and hobbling down the corner of the hall to begin the long trek back to the dorms. Just focus on kyudo, (Y/n). Kyudo’s all that matters anyway, not volleyball players the size of oak trees and —

“Good evening, (L/n)-san.”

AND WHY THE HELL IS HE HERE TOO?

You gaped in disbelief, pale as a sheet with your arms bulging over the top of your bags, looking like a pack mule in the middle of the road.

Ushijima Wakatoshi calmly gazed back at you, expression neutral. His volleyball bag, neatly printed with the school’s logo was slung over his shoulder. He wore the deep purple track jacket over a black t-shirt and volleyball shorts—a young athlete clearly fresh out of practice.

And now here he was, standing in front of the kyudo hall, looking at you.

Ushijima raised one big hand in greeting, staring at you. The evening glow cast a nice little warm light around his broad shoulders and hair, turning it soft.

HAH?

You almost dropped your bags in shock, blinking rapidly. You rubbed one of your eyes, blinking again and squinting in disbelief at Ushijima right in front of you. He brought his hand back down, calmly facing you.

“Um,” you said intelligently. “...take this however you want, but… what are you doing here?”

Ushijima’s eyes swept once over the amount of bags bulging out from under your arms, taking particular interest in examining the tall, towering form of your unstrung bow rising high above your head. He turned his eyes calmly back to you.

“I was waiting for you.”

Oh, right. You thought. That makes perfect sense. For some reason, Ushijima Wakatoshi is waiting for me outside the kyudo hall.

HAAAH?

“Is there… a reason why?” you asked tentatively, keeping your eyes on him as you shifted side to side like an uncertain crab.

Ushijima answered, without missing a beat, “I wanted to talk with you.”

You almost dropped all your bags. Almost. “Uh… about…?”

Ushijima seemed to consider your words for a moment longer this time. He faced you with an ungodly amount of calm, reminding you more of a statue for some kind of demi-god than a human with his towering frame and golden glow against the sunset. “Whatever it is that you might want to talk about.”

What the heck is that supposed to mean? “What the heck is that supposed to mean?” you asked, outright confused. Ushijima’s brows furrowed slightly. “And, hold on, correct me if I’m wrong or something, but you weren’t… waiting for me… right?”

(Y/n), are you an idiot? Of course this guy wasn’t waiting for you. Why would he be waiting for you —

“No,” Ushijima said. You sighed in relief. “Practice ended fifteen minutes ago. It was not much of a wait.”

You dropped all your bags to the floor, except your bow, sturdy against your back. Ushijima’s eyes turned down to the mess at your feet.

You stood like a cardboard cut out in the middle of the road, frozen in disbelief. But why?

“Do you need help?” Ushijima asked, stepping closer. You jumped back into action quickly scrambling for the bags. “You were heading back to the dorms, correct?”

“S-So what if I was?” you snapped, trying to precariously balance all your bags again. Ushijima waited, watching you struggle. You defensively added, “I-I have a system! You surprised me so I just have to get them stacked in the right order again!”

“I see,” Ushijima said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to surprise you.”

What the hell is this guy’s problem? You thought in horrified confusion, grabbing at your bags and huffing. What does he want from me? Is this some new type of bullying?

“Why are you carrying so many bags?” Ushijima asked. In any other manner, it would’ve sounded completely different, but his voice was calm, as though stating fact. You’re mouth opened and closed like a fish, still trying to wrap your head around this strange interaction.

“B-Because I have to repaint the targets!” you snapped. You struggled to fit them all back on your arms, scowling. “They were chipping yesterday so—”

In one sweeping motion, Ushijima’s hand closed over several of the bag handles, lifting the bulky materials up into the air. You blinked rapidly in disbelief, hands still hanging in the air, holding nothing but your own bow on your back while Ushijima calmly held onto your targets.

“I’ll carry them,” he said simply, gazing down at you with those impassive, unreadable eyes. The sunset made them a little warmer, but only because of the sunset. “What part of the dorms do you stay in?”

You gaped at Ushijima like a fish. He waited patiently for your answer, standing beside you and holding all your bags like they were nothing.

“I-I don’t need your help, you jerk!”

Ushijima had the nerve to look confused. “It’s more efficient this way.”

“Are you trying to pick a fight?”

“Are you on the west or east side?”

“West—I-I’m talking to you, you tree trunk! Put those down! I’ll carry them myself!”

“I do not see why you would choose a less efficient manner to—”

“You want to get beat up?”

“No, that was not my intention. Have I done something to upset you?”

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

But the problem didn’t stop there.

Every evening after practice, Ushijima waits, without fail, outside the kyudo hall. You’re always the last one to leave, and it seems for some ungodly reason, the timing of the end of his own practices mesh perfectly with yours.

You can’t even begin to wrap your head around it, staring in disbelief day after day as Ushijima appears, again and again, waiting for you outside to walk you back to the dorms. He offered to take your bag for you, asking dutifully each time even though you always turned him down since it’s just your bow and backpack and Ushijima just nods and continues, speaking every other bout of silence.

You tried to figure out why, but all he does is answer, in his stupid, impassive Ushijima-way, “I wanted to talk to you.”

Talk? With you? What the hell was that even supposed to mean? What kind of game was this guy playing? It didn’t make any sense! Each day you set out to figure out how to stop this nonsense, but each afternoon, Ushijima brought up several other topics of conversation that made you pause, pushing it off another day and then another.

And then you just… sort of resigned yourself to this strangeness.

Is it because he’s my fan? You rubbed your chin in thought, frowning at your shoes while Ushijima walked in content silence beside you. A few students shot the two of you curious glances, but you just furrowed your brows, automatically following Ushijima as he navigated you two outside a crowd of track runners and moved to the other side of the walkway with you in thoughtful tow. Is that it? I mean, I’m flattered, but this is still weird.

He talked to you about all kinds of things too—kyudo, mainly. Ushijima was a weird person to hold conversations with, seemingly blunt and forward with his intentions, but an absolute enigma at the same time. He would ask without fail how your practice went, your intentions for the upcoming preliminaries, how the competition looked, how your kyudo was going, your team—

And, yeah, maybe you would answer because it was kyudo and you loved talking about kyudo—but that was the only reason why. The only one. If someone was asking about kyudo, you’d always answer without fail.

“Well, what about volleyball?” you snapped one day, the two of you standing in the middle of the pathway, still a good few minutes away from the dorms. Ushijima turned to you, fixing you with his entire attention like always. “You’re some kind of crazy volleyball nut, right? Why aren’t you talking about it?”

“...I was under the impression you were not interested in volleyball,” Ushijma said. Did the jerk sound pleased? No way , Ushijima Wakatoshi was practically limited to two emotions. Ushijima one and two.

“I think volleyball is fine!” you said. “It’s a great sport. It’s not as great as kyudo, but it’s fine. Isn’t it your whole life? Stop talking about mine, you creep. What about yours?”

You looked up at him when Ushijima didn’t say anything. The quiet expression on his impassive face made you pause, staring at him with curiously round eyes as a third Ushijima seemed to finally appear and he started, almost… warmly , to talk about it—volleyball, him.

“Yes,” Ushijima said. “I like volleyball.”

Well, he really did seem to know his stuff about kyudo.

So… maybe Ushijima Wakatoshi wasn’t too bad after all. I mean, if he’s my fan… you should do your duty then, right? Your personal vendetta against Ushijima had mostly stemmed from the unjust bias in publicity, but it wasn’t really his fault… But only because he’s my fan… yeah. It’d be mean to turn away someone genuinely interested in talking about kyudo.

You figured you could put up with this. Just for a bit longer.

Maybe. Just a bit.

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

At the crack of dawn one weekend, you looked up from tying your running shoes, spotting a familiar, hulking figure only a few feet away. Steam billowed past his lips, making him look just as much of a monster as he did that one morning almost several months ago now from the club meeting.

Dedicated. You blew hot air into your freezing hands, shivering at the morning chill. Guess he really isn’t a nationally ranked player for nothing.

“Ushijima!”

His arms moved neatly at his sides, stride even, form impeccable. Ushijima’s eyes swung across the school courtyard and landed on your lone form by the benches. You couldn’t make out the shift in his expression from where you stood, but instead of waving in response like you expected, he veered off his running track across the pathway and made his way to you.

“Good morning,” Ushijima said, hardly sounding winded. This guy, I swear. You lifted a hand again in greeting, stuffing your freezing fingers back into your pockets. He stopped beside you, radiating warmth and thrumming with a low, even pulse of energy. You almost wanted to put your hands on him just to warm them up.

“I didn’t know you ran on the weekends too,” you said. “You don’t go home?”

“I visit when needed,” Ushijima said evenly. “My household isn’t far from campus. It’s easier to stay in the dorms.”

“Oh, I see,” you shuffled on your feet, shifting your hands inside your pockets. “Uh, sorry to disturb you. Just wanted to say hey.”

“You didn’t disturb me,” Ushijima said.

Give me something to work with after you say stuff like that! You grimaced, somewhat used to this sort of flat-ended conversation by now. You rubbed the back of your neck, Ushijima still waiting in silence beside you, seemingly content to just stare at the pathway, steam lightly slipping past his mouth when he exhaled.

“...you, uh,” you started awkwardly. “Want to run together?”

Ushijima’s dark eyes turned toward you. You shrugged, waving a hand. “If I can’t keep up, just keep going. I’m not looking to mess with your training regime or anything.”

“You’ll be able to keep up.”

You stopped, looking at Ushijima with round eyes. He gazed evenly back at you as you searched for a hint of mockery or some kind of tease, but his expression was dutifully earnest.

“...okay,” you mumbled. “...Let’s go then.”

The two of you broke off back into a jog, slowly finding your pace together, arms and legs moving in unison.

The run warmed you up faster than you expected.

You and Ushijima never once broke pace with each other.

---- --- ----

“Tendou-senpai, who is that with Ushijima-senpai?”

Tendou hummed, swinging his legs back and forth as he stretched lazily out across the court. In a few minutes he’d shape up before Coach could lecture him about his terrible form. Shirabu was stretching out beside him, eyes turned toward the double-door opening of the gym where they were letting a bit of a breeze come through. Goshiki looked up at Shirabu when he mentioned Ushijima, quickly peeking his head around too.

Sure enough, outside the double doors stood a completely rare sight to behold. Ushijima Wakatoshi himself cut several minutes close to the beginning of practice to stand outside and speak with someone.

You.

Goshiki frowned in confusion, barely catching a glimpse of you blocked by Ushijima’s hulking figure. His head was turned downwards, speaking with you. A massive, clothed staff seemed to come up from behind your back, however, rising even over Ushijima’s head. “Who’s that?”

“That’s Kyu-chan~” Tendou hummed. “Our dear captain’s new little friend!”

“Kyu-chan?” Goshiki repeated loudly. “Who is that? Is she close to Ushijima-senpai?”

“...she’s the captain of the kyudo club,” Shirabu said, blinking in recognition. “I see her passing out flyers to the lower grades. She and Ushijima-senpai are friends? Are they classmates?”

“Something like that,” Tendou said. “Waka-kun is a bit of a fan.”

“Of kyudo?” Shirabu looked over in mild surprise. “I didn’t think Ushijima-senpai could look at any other sport beside volleyball.”

“Well, something like that too?” Tendou touched a finger to his chin, feigning ignorance. “It’s more like he became a fan of the sport as a result!”

“Of what?” Shirabu continued, raising a critical brow.

“Kyudo?” Goshiki said. “What’s that?”

Shirabu rolled his eyes, looking done with the wing spiker’s nonsense. Goshiki gaped in disbelief, quickly turning to Tendou who’d rolled over onto his stomach, watching the sight of you and Ushijima in amusement, as though it were some kind of television soap opera.

You said something to Ushijima, shoving a plastic bag his way. He took it calmly with one hand, holding it tightly at his side as he said something else to you. Tendou watched a dumb sort of laugh touch your lips and you shook your head, waving to Ushijima over your shoulder as you headed off to your own practice.

Ushijima watched you go, waiting there until you disappeared from sight. He held the bag at his side, waiting a second longer before he turned back toward the gym.

“Ah,” Tendou said, “young love.”

Shirabu’s grip on his ankle slipped and Goshiki choked, the two of them looking at Tendou in almost disbelieving horror. “ What? ”

---- ----  ----

"Ushijima-san brings the game to a match point now with that finishing serve. His powerful strikes are yet to be received by the opposing team. His statistics are still on the rise and he might just be able to finish the set with another service ace, bringing it up for — ”

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to admit it. Maybe a couple months ago you wouldn’t have wanted to admit it, because it would have left an unfairly foul taste on your mouth, reminding you again that there was perfectly good reason for Ushijima and his team to be receiving the kind of publicity and acclaim they did.

But now… well, sure, Ushijima wasn’t a bad guy at all. You might even say you were sort of acquaintances now. Maybe friends. To an extent. He was a bit awkward, blunt, and sometimes hard to talk too if you didn’t figure out the nuances in his rather simple and earnest approach—that still rubbed you the wrong way from time to time but what was life without some disputes—but the evidence was glaringly obvious.

Ushijima Wakatoshi worked hard. Terribly, frighteningly so, in the same way that you could understand with every new ache of your wrist and pull of your bow, straining to push and push and rise higher and higher. You noticed it in his runs, in his practices, and now, even sneaking a quick watch of a few of his highlights online, which lead to an endless spiral of watching several more taped games of his performances.

He dedicated himself to volleyball the same way you did to kyudo. You were both hopeless causes for these things you were willing to give your all too.

You replayed the last point again, watching huddled up on the bench as you waited for the lunch bell to ring. You’d had to tape up your wrist today, finally giving in to Ushijima’s persistent, dull-tone nagging. You’d go easier on practice too, just this once, since he seemed to adamant about it. Just this once.

“Many will be disappointed if you can’t shoot.”

I mean, I can’t let my fans down, right? Heheheh...

The announcer started speaking in your ear and you followed Ushijima across the court, watching him toss the ball up for that killer serve again. I know how it ends but I still get anxious watching this.

“(L/n)-san.”

You let out an inhuman screech, phone flying into the air as your limbs spazzed out. Ushijima blinked once, calmly catching your phone before it hit the unforgiving floor and holding it in his grip as he waited for you to calm down. You wheezed, slapping your chest to make sure your heart was still in it, cheeks flushed red as you gaped at Ushijima in disbelief. “U-Ushijima! You scared me! Say something next time!”

“I did,” Ushijima said, only mildly confused. “I said your name.”

“Louder!”

“I see,” Ushijima said. He grabbed your dangling earbuds and paused, turning your phone screen over.

His own face looked back at him, impassive and collected.

You slapped your phone out of his hand, letting it hit the floor with a clack. Ushijima blinked once at it and then looked back at you. You heaved, cheeks flushed a bright red as you stuttered, practically shouting, “It’s not what it looks like!”

Ushijima bent down to pick up your phone.

You quickly scooped it and shoved it into your pocket, completely frazzled. Ushijima considered the now empty spot in his hand before looking back at you, completely unfazed.

“We were seeded for Inter-High this year,” Ushijima said calmly. “Next month we’ll play. Would you like to come then?”

“Who said I wanted to watch your stinking game?” you snapped, cheeks till bright red as you practically hissed at the towering young man. Ushijima’s face remained almost expressionless, almost, but he simply waited for more words to come out of you, as they always did. “When is it? In a month? Maybe I’ll come! Maybe!”

“I look forward to seeing you there,” Ushijima said. He glanced back down to his hands before looking over at your bow strapped to your back. “Your beginning preliminaries don’t allow for outside spectators.”

Stop saying it like you mean you’ll come if it were different! You waved Ushijima off. “Yeah, yeah, but we’re making it past prelims so you can come to the official tournament.”

“You’re confident,” Ushijima said.

“Of course I am! What do you think I’ve been doing all this time?”

Ushijima’s hands shifted to his sides. He gazed down at you, expression almost light. No, no, no, you’re just imagining things. “I look forward to watching you then.”

“Check your calendar first,” you muttered. “You don’t even know if you’ll be able to come.”

“I will attend, if it is alright with you.”

This guy is really something else! You ran a quick hand through your hair, fighting back the furious flush of pride that threatened to overtake your features. Ushijima started saying something else, calmly talking about how he felt your form improved lately, but he had yet to see so for himself. You can’t help but think about how he’d opened the gym doors for you, allowing you to take a peek into their harrowing, rigorous volleyball practice schedule simply because you were a bit curious and—

You’re not sure what possessed you next.

“You can come if you want,” you said suddenly. “To practice today.”

Ushijima paused, looking back to you. You finally met his gaze, rubbing the back of your neck. “Since you like it so much, right? Kyudo. I can… you can try it, if you want. Just this once.”

(Y/n) I think you’ve completely lost your mind, maybe you really are practicing too hard after all and —

“If it is not a hindrance to your performance,” Ushijima said. “I will come.”

You scoffed, scuffing your foot along the floor. “What, you think I’m gonna choke?”

“No,” Ushijima said.

“You know, would it kill you to give me something to work with for once—”

“If you intend to watch more matches, please watch our match against Itachiyama,” Ushijima said, after a pause.. “It was where I received my ranking. My performance is… better, during that match.”

“Please stop talking.”

--- ---  ---- ----

A round of terrified gasps and gargles from your fellow club members was about the best warning you got that Ushijima had finally made his appearance at your kyudo hall, right as rain, bright and early like he promised.

The poor first year who’d been the one to open the door looks downright terrified, face pale at Ushijima’s towering figure now blocking the doorway into the entrance hall. He gazed down at her, the top half of his face nearly obscured until he lowered his head slightly in a fearsome bow.

“Good morning. I’m sorry to intrude.”

She gaped, staring in disbelief at his appearance while the other girls had all turned and then made equally disbelieved faces, eyes round and popping out of their heads.

“H-Hey, (Y/n)!” your vice captain hissed. “I might be going crazy, but isn’t that Ushijima standing at our door? What’s the boy’s volleyball team captain doing here?”

“Are they trying to run us out?” one girl gasped. “So they can expand the gym?”

“They’ve come for our kyudo hall!”

“Captain, please do something!”

You know, maybe a few months ago you would’ve thought exactly the same. You sighed in amusement, crossing your arms over your hakama as you exited the shooting range and set your bow down against the wall. Who would’ve thought?

“It’s fine guys,” you said, waving to your club members who gaped at you. “I invited him over. Ushijima wanted to see how a kyudo practice went. I promised I’d help him shoot one round.”

“Captain—”

“Invited—”

“Ushijima-senpai—”

You walked over to Ushijima, looking up at him with your hands on your hips. He seemed to take in your formal kyudo attire with particular care, reaching up to his chest and setting his hand down on his black shirt and shorts, his volleyball jersey hanging over his shoulders. “Is the attire required?”

“Not this time,” you said with a grin. “We probably don’t have a uniform that fits you anyways. Come on in.”

The girls around you continued to gape in disbelief. Ushijima bowed to them once more, politely taking off his shoes and bending down to make it into the hall without hitting his head. He rose to his full height below the arching wooden beams, calmly taking his jacket off as well and slinging it over his arm as he followed behind you, trudging like a massive shadow.

You secretly took note of his mannerisms in the hall, curious about whether or not you’d need to correct him for this or that. To your disturbed surprise, Ushijima found himself at perfect ease in the completely formal setting, properly shifting to the side to stay out of the presentation range and moving in even, clear steps across the floor.

He looked to you, waiting for your next instructions. It was almost cute, like a giant, big dog.

Almost.

“We’ll match you with a bow and show you the practice movements,” you said cheerfully, getting a little pumped up about teaching someone for the first time in awhile. Not to mention a total newbie to the sport who was a god in his own—truly a bit satisfying for your ego. “Then we shoot, just a bit.”

Ushijima nodded, his expression settled into one of ease. You stopped just short of grabbing the unstrung bows, blinking in surprise.

Did he just smile?

---- ----  ---  ----

“I can’t believe I’m seeing this with my own eyes.”

“I know! It’s the Ushijima-senpai. I thought he was some kind of scary giant!”

“I heard he’s cold to everyone else! He glares at anyone who comes close!”

“Did you hear? Apparently he comes from a super wealthy, really well-off family! And he’s gifted! He’ll go pro for sure!”

“Why’s he here with senpai then?”

The first and second year girls all shared looks, frowning at each other before they peered around the corner of the sliding doors into the shooting range.

The height difference was pitifully apparent when you stood beside Ushijima, hands on your hips as you loudly and carefully instructed him on what he’d need to know to make sure he didn’t hurt himself. The obvious pride and ego in your stance seemed to make up for any height difference though, as Ushijima patiently craned his head down and listened to you, holding the bow and arrow in his hands.

You eagerly touched your own bow, showing him in exaggerated motions the stances, shuffling backwards to show him how you knelt and then stood, coming to stand in shooting position. Ushijima listened to all of this with obvious attentiveness, following your every motion and nodding, asking a quiet question once or twice.

Your juniors made eyes at each other, nervously peering around the corner.

“Is this something she’s doing to show kyudo is worth attention?”

“Is it a fight? Do you think he challenged her to a fight or something?”

“But if it’s senpai, wouldn’t she be the one challenging him to a fight? She’s been so worried lately about new members…”

Your vice captain observed the two of you in silence, arms crossed over her chest. She carefully considered Ushijima’s attentive stare, the quiet and swift way he moved to follow your motions, coming always to stand beside you unless you shooed him back to make another demonstration. Her eyes finally tracked back to Ushijima’s bag hanging in a small visitor cubby, neatly folded bags of energy drinks and protein bars with two boxes of cut fruit—one wrapped and the other one not.

“Can you believe who I ran into trying to get that drink you told me to get? That jerk all over our school!”

The drinks sitting in Ushijima’s bag were the ones she’d told you about all those months ago.

“I think,” she said. “It’s going to be okay… probably.”

Your juniors gaped in disbelief. Your vice captain shrugged.

“The nice thing about archery is that it doesn’t really matter if you shoot right or left!” you said amiably, growing more and more excited as you showed Ushijima the correct position for a left-handed archer. “Not like volleyball, right? The ball goes a totally different way. Arrows always fly straight if you shoot it right.”

Ushijima’s hand flexed against the bow. He gazed down at you. “You noticed.”

“Well, duh , who couldn’t tell what hand you’re hitting with? Anyway, you’re lucky I can actually shoot crazy good with both, here, this part gets easier.”

You stood right beside Ushijima, hardly even coming up to his shoulder. His eyes were focused on the top of your head for a moment, gazing at the crown of your hair before his eyes shifted to your hands, small and calloused as they reached for his and you molded yourself against him. Your eyes were shining as you guided his hands against the bow, showing Ushijima how to pull the string. You pressed your fingers into the crook of his elbow, squeezing to draw him back and lightly touching the small of his back to straighten him out.

He could feel the whisper of your heart against him, the light pulse like the flutter of the net after a strike into its side, shaking its hold.

“There,” you said softly, pulling back with a grin. Ushijima’s gaze turned over his shoulder to look down at you, properly taking in the way your hair framed your cheeks, how your eyes brightened, more and more, as though being here could make you invincible.

The way I feel on the court.

“Now if you just pull and release like I taught you,” you said gently, touching his wrist one more time and then mimicking the action with your own arms, copying his left-handed stance. “You’ll be golden!”

Ushijima carefully considered his form, focusing intently on the arrow and the target that seemed an entire court away. It was reassuring, in that sense. It wasn’t hard to envision the power he’d need to send a ball that far. The arrow and bow in his hands were rather different, fragile yet stiff when he pulled, bending and bending but not breaking.

“Don’t hold back,” you said right by his side. Ushijima’s eyes met yours over the bow and he took in fully then, the sight of your eyes, burning. “We can handle more than you think.”

Ah.

Ushijima never took his eyes off you, firing off the arrow, shooting straight into nothingness.

Your eyes quickly shot to where it landed. You laughed, shaking your head at where the arrow hand landed, just a few inches from the target into the sand. “Hey! That’s actually not bad for a first time—guess even you can’t get it on the first shot though, right?”

The grin on your face was flooded with pride, cheeky as you laughed, turning back to him and picking up your bow. Ushijima followed the curve of your lips, disappearing into a smile, the crinkle of your eyes. “Here, here, one more time! I want to see the Ushijima Wakatoshi give kyudo another shot, or even a dozen more!”

You raised your bow, grabbing your waiting arrow as you went through the foot motions and stopped. “Maybe you can get a little good—then I’ll gloat to the whole world that a nationally ranked volleyball player learned kyudo from me , right?”

“That seems unnecessary,” Ushijima said, watching your arms, your hands, your body coil like a practiced, well-oiled machine.

“Publicity!” you said. “Help me out here, would you? Kyudo isn’t as loved as volleyball, you know. Look, watch how a pro does it.”

He felt something stir in his gut at your words, lurching.

You copied his stance and turned your gaze forward. Ushijima looked behind him when he sensed a sudden hush fall over the hall, your juniors watching in rapt attention as you pulled your arrow back and adjusted your entire stance.

Your eyes zeroed in on the target. You exhaled.

The light in your eyes never seemed more fierce.

With a resounding clap the arrow shot out from your fingers, as though guided by the wind. Your hair blew out from your face, coiling backwards. It slammed dead-center into the target.

Ushijima felt again, the stir, quick and fervent in his gut. His grip on the borrowed bow tightened as you gazed at the arrow, smoothly holding your bow at your side and then you turned to him. The memory of the television flickered through his head, the garbled, clear words growing louder as he faced you and your eyes focused on him, bright.

“Maybe we could make an archer out of you just yet,” you laughed, rubbing your chin as you observed Ushijima’s own charm as he held the bow. “In our uniform you’d really look like you belonged here. You’ve got the poise for it.”

“...but?” Ushijima said, sensing the continuing hang of your words.

“But,” you agreed, propping your chin up as you nodded to yourself. “Yeah… you really do look better on a volleyball court, you know?”

Twang! Twang!

He’d always thought they were a bit similar—that sharp, satisfying sound that always left your bow when you shot and the sound of his hand connecting with the ball, sending it just right through the air.

Ushijima let the stir in the pit of his stomach flood his chest, calmly seeping down to the tips of his fingers as he gazed at you.

“Let’s give it one more go. Next time you can show me how to spike if it won’t rip my arm off—”

“(L/n)-san,” Ushijima said, his voice like a low rumble. Your juniors flinched at the back of the hall and you simply hummed in response, looking back at him. “Thank you.”

“...you’re welcome,” you said amiably, laughing a bit. “If you like it so much, you can come when you’re not busy—”

“I like you, (L/n)-san.”

Your juniors froze. Your vice-captain’s eyes bulged from her head. You blinked, grinning at Ushijima.

“Yeah, I know, you dork. You’re my first and biggest fan! Were you just blown away about seeing my shooting in person?”

“Yes,” Ushijima said. He properly turned to face you, eyes heavy, expression set. You suddenly felt a suspicious chill curling up your spine, forcing you to blink at him with wide, confused eyes. “I like watching you shoot the best.”

Ah, see! Nothing to be worried about. What was I even thinking in the first place? Your juniors sighed in relief behind you. “I know! I really am the—”

“But you,” Ushijima said, completely and utterly calm, voice clear as water, “are what I like the best as well.”

For once, you committed one of the gravest sins—your bow clattered to the floor. Your face turned pale in disbelief, color slowly starting to color it back in soft red as it came up from your neck and to your face. The entire kyudo hall went silent at Ushijima’s words, resounding like an echo.

“Uh… yeah, I mean… um… what’s that supposed to… mean?”

Ushijima continued, without missing a beat, merciless—

“I like you,” Ushijima said. A heartbeat longer and he added, calmly, “I want to be with you.”

Thud!

“S-S-Senpai’s collapsed! Someone call a teacher, we’re being attacked!”

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

Two Years Ago

Ushijima Household

“Wakatoshi, I believe this young lady attends your academy as well.”

Ushijima calmly looked up from the steaming cup of tea placed carefully in front of him. The usual quietness, the faint stuffiness that resided within his grandmother’s studies and quarters was still prevalent to this day as he joined her for her afternoon tea. The attendants had already been dismissed, waiting outside the hall to bring in lunch once his grandmother was ready.

His legs itched to shift in their resigned position, a sensation he was training himself to forget. These were small, trivial things he had no business entertaining. Once he stepped onto the court, it would mean nothing.

The large television set was fixed to a low but clear volume. Across the screen, an array of young people were being presented in an orderly fashion across a kyudo hall. His grandmother was always watching their segments, but the time slot had changed to coincide with their afternoon tea.

She talked less about his future during these moments now, since the kyudo channel shifted time. He felt, in a childish, small corner of his heart, grateful for that.

“Do you intend to play volleyball beyond your studies, Wakatoshi? There’s more beyond the sport for you within our family.”

His mother had already informed him to consider saying the correct words to placate his grandmother. Ushijima did not know what those words could be. Not if they involved anything other than volleyball.

His left hand twitched over the top of his lap. Ushijima faintly followed the announcer’s words, trying to find what it was his grandmother had meant— there.

A fierce young girl glared hard at the expanse in front of her. Her hakama clung tightly to her body, hair pulled back and out of her face. He wasn’t familiar with her, not personally, but he had a vague sense he might have passed her on more than one occasion after practice—the kyudo hall on campus was close to the volleyball gym.

It was a final shoot off, according to the commentator. His grandmother watched with rapt attention, quietly commenting that she was fond of this girl from Shiratorizawa— she shoots like she means it. He’d never heard his grandmother speak in such a manner over any kind of sport.

Ushijima watched the screen with newfound interest, a touch critical. Kyudo was a quiet sport, not the kind that received acclaim the way volleyball did. He’d never once considered himself partaking in it though he harbored no ill will.

“There,” his grandmother said. “Watch this now, Wakatoshi.”

Ushijima watched you through the screen, your stern, serious face matching that of your competitors as they set up their shot. Their arrow fired, hitting the mark barely off from the center sphere, it seemed it was practically center. The commentator announced what this meant in the shift of points and that you would have to score consecutive kaichus once more to take the entire competition back. Full marks. You had to hit dead center to make up for your team’s single miss.

You moved, elegant and poised. He could understand why his grandmother liked you. You matched all her tastes.

His left hand curled, tighter against his lap.

And then you smiled.

Ushijima felt the world slow, silence flooding across the screen.

Your arrows fired off—again, again, and again. Each time you greeted the shooting range with a smile and left it with a frown, as though the parting, only seconds long, was already too much for your heart to bear. Your opponent remained unfazed, serious, but you smiled each shot, hitting dead center, dead center, bullseye.

The commentator’s voice was flooding with rapt emotion, though they tried to stay impartial. Everyone’s eyes were on you, a second commentator a touch critical over your confidence, hinting arrogance in your grin.

No. Ushijima wanted to correct, almost immediately, entirely entranced. Not arrogance. Not baseless confidence.

You loved it. Kyudo. Shooting—

Every last bit of it.

For a second the screen blurred. Ushijima saw the other end of the court, the ball connecting with his palm, his own lips barely turning up into a near breathless smile, almost fierce—

He wanted to play.

“Good,” his grandmother said. “She will advance next year. If she participated in the individual tournaments, I’m sure she’d do much better. She keeps playing for a team, such a shame.”

“(L/n)-san, it seems as though you were born for the sport!” his eyes quickly turned back to the screen. In an instant the crowd had cleared and you stood, calmly holding your bow as a commentator got your final words on the march. “You’re a true prodigy. What words do you have for any aspiring archers?”

(L/n). Ushijima thought. (L/n) (Y/n). A prodigy? He could imagine so, with the beautiful way you shot. It was as though you were made for the bow.

“I’m not a prodigy,” your voice cut, shooting straight through Ushijima and forcing his complete and utter attention back onto you. “Don’t get me wrong, I think plenty of people are born for this. Maybe you could say I was, if that’s how you want to see it. At the end of the day it’s work though, lots and lots and lots of it.”

You faced the screen, eyes shining, boring straight through Ushijima, as though speaking solely to him, even though you possibly couldn’t be.

“It’s luck,” you said, “I’m lucky nothing’s happened to keep me from being here. I’m lucky my parents haven’t tried to make me stop. Yet, at least. I just got lucky. Kyudo found me. It’s all luck.”

“Ushijima, why do you think we get to stand on this court? People like us?”

Because we’re—

Ushijima felt his chest tighten. His pulse raced, hard against his skin. The itch to move, to run, to play flooded through his entire body. He felt it all, simply by looking at you—the urge to play volleyball a hundred, a thousand times.

“There’s unrest that youths your age will have to focus more on studies instead of pursuing kyudo as a profession. Many find that as a sport, it does not hold up to — ”

“No way,” you said, looking offended. “I’m doing kyudo until I die.”

Ushijima imagined it then, his ball shooting across the court like an arrow, his spike sailing through the air, the same way your arrow pierced the target.

“Now, Wakatoshi,” his grandmother began. “I hear your career forms are going about next year. What exactly will you be writing on yours?”

“...volleyball,” Ushijima said, clear, resounding. His grandmother raised one fine brow, but he faced her, poised, polite, unyielding.

“I will continue playing volleyball.”

He’d remember your name. He’d remember you. If possible, he’d thank you as well. You both attended the same school—a chance would surely come.

For the record:

- The kyudo club ended up getting their funding, enough to see them through for several more years. You came to Ushijima (your boyfriend of one month) sobbing buckets over it and pawing at his jacket while he calmly rubbed your back and congratulated you. The donation was an anonymous one from a rather prestigious family familiar with the school.

- You come to the rest of Ushijima's games, your team makes it through prelims and he gets to watch you through the finals for your prefecture and has plans to go watch you at nationals.

(Spoilers for the latest chapters of the manga, proceed with caution or just end it here if you don't want to see the last headcanon!)

- Romero comments about the cool archery that Ushijima watches in his down time in the locker room. Hoshiumi and Kageyama mumble in surprise that someone like Ushijima could be interested in anything other than volleyball. Ushijima admits it was a very important person he became a fan of first before the sport. "I admired the athlete and then found myself watching."

"Wow, that's unexpected," Hoshiumi took a seat beside Ushijima on the bench. Romero continued to watch over his shoulder, clearly intrigued by the Japanese form of archery style. "Is this woman a pro?"

"Yes," Ushijima said, showing them the screen. Kageyama glanced over, catching the hint of pride in Ushijima's normally settled tone. "She's the best in Japan. She will be at the next Olympics for archery as well, even though she prefers this."

"I've never really watched archery," Kageyama said, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

"I've grown to admire it," Ushijima said. "I'm mostly a fan of the athlete."

"Who is she?" Hoshiumi said, squinting at the screen to look for a name. A wide, bright grin came over your lips and you thrusted your bow into the air. "What's her-"

"She's my girlfriend," Ushijima said calmly, without missing a beat.

Kageyama blinked, looking stunned. Hoshiumi's eyes bulged out of his head. They both looked at each other, jaws dropping.

"She's beautiful!" Romero laughed, clapping Ushijima over the shoulder. "Wakatoshi! Congratualtions! When's the wedding?"

Ushijima looked mildly bothered by the topic. "She says we're still too... young. I don't entirely agree."

"I get you! I get you! Some advice from a married man, you have to reel them in and..."

- You sneezed before the final round, shaking your head with a frown.

(Hope you enjoyed!)

[emerald-amidst-gold]

Just need to vent

I’m sitting here with a slowly growing headache, and I realized something: 

You know you’re pretty passionate about something when you get shamed for it.

So, for some context: I was at work, and sometimes, between waves of workload there’s a lull in the activity. So, technically, we aren’t supposed to play on our phones, but my workplace doesn’t monitor that shit, even though they post posters all over the place with ‘workplace regulations’. (They also post ‘motivational’ posters that make me grimace because hypocritical~)

But, basically, it was one of those free moments, and I opened up Google docs on my phone to re-read one of my chapters. During my breaks or my lunch, I’ll revise and edit things if a better thought pops in my head. I’ll also just whip out my phone to jot something down. Dialogue, character ideas, maybe a short story concept because I tend to forget them and I don’t want to, but I always go right back to my work after.

However, Thursday was a really slow day, and I found myself playing on my phone a lot more than usual because why not? So, there was another person working in my area with me, and they came over to talk to me (because nothing to do, right?) which is fine, I can communicate with people, I just don’t usually. They came over, saw me continuously glancing at my phone to type, and they were like, 

‘What are you doing?’

Okay, that’s a valid question, right? No harm, no foul. 

I go, ‘Writing. I like to write stories about characters I’ve created and have them interact with ones from video games.’ Pretty straightforward, right?

They go, ‘Can I see?’ 

Oh, wow! I thought. Someone outside of the internet is interested? Cool! 

So, I turn my phone around, a smile on my face and scroll through the chapter I was working on. Obviously, I was a little self conscious (I used to be like that when I drew a lot, too.), and so I said, ‘I’m not sure if you’ve even heard of Dragon Age, but it’s what I usually write about. A lot. But you can read some if you want.’ 

Here I am, thinking someone was somewhat curious of my interests, and what do they do? They watch me scroll, barely even glance at anything I’ve written, and go, 

‘Is this all that you do? Just write? The amount of chapters you have concerns me.’ 

I’m sorry? I’m sorry? I’m sorry?! Is suddenly having an interest a crime?! Now, I might be blowing this out of the water, and being sensitive, but let me be clear, I am sensitive. To tones of voice, certain expressions, seemingly harmless words; I’m just sensitive and it’s something I constantly have to work at correcting. But let me tell you, I immediately closed my phone, chuckled nervously, and just shrugged. 

I felt shame, and I shouldn’t have. I enjoy writing. I enjoy sharing it with people, and hearing what they like and dislike about it. And as someone who finds it incredibly difficult to latch onto things with passion due to depression and anxiety, writing makes me happy, excited. It’s literally a type of anti-depressant for me.

It makes me feel something, for God’s sake! And to be shamed for that, intentionally or unintentionally, is just ridiculous. I did eventually look at the person and go, ‘So? I like it. It’s fun. Just like you think shooting guns is fun.’

And of COURSE, they go, ‘Yeah, but shooting would be more fun.’ 

Okay, yes, for you! I, personally, do not like guns. They scare me. They’re loud. I don’t do well with loud noises. I’m a methodical person, I like to think, to analyze, to interpret, and use those traits to be creative. I don’t find enjoyment in things like shooting, working out, or stuff that involves just raw aspects. Those types of activities make my blood pressure rise and my anxiety spike. Writing, drawing, reading, and just being analytical (researching lore, making theories, learning a new bit of information) is what calms me. 

Different people, different things. That’s what makes the world colorful and inviting. If we all enjoyed the same things, this world would be boring as fuck. As such, no one should be shamed or made to feel shame because they like something you don’t understand, or isn’t your cup of tea. Just respect people. That’s all. 

Thanks for coming to my ted talk! (and my venting hour lol)

And also! This is a message for those who feel shame for the things they enjoy! Don’t you dare let the fire burn out, you hear? There’s always someone waiting for your next creation! Remember that.

[celestialflamesme]

| KARMA AND CRAZY MIDGETS | A Venai One-shot Modern AU | Fairy Tail Next Generation |

Ships: Raidyn Dreyar x Venetia Redfox

Dedicated to @primaverafrog @luna-chan00 @biorckstudios18 @animaration-fts @cxndy-stxrs (Lol, I can't believe that no-paragraph breaks worked😂 I fooled Tumblr, y'all!😎😆)

You'd think having a town overtaken by the mafia would make people more apprehensive, if anything. But if Magnolians were anything, they were huge (and he simply could not stress this enough) idiots.

Raidyn prided himself in not partaking in anything Fairy-esque which was more than what he could say about some of his colleagues (Yes, they named themselves Fairy 'Tail' of all things! How no one in this town even got the spelling right was beyond him....)

"Did you hear about Fullbuster and that Fernandez chick? They're together now!" Some red head he'd forgotten the name of (What! It was too late to ask her now!) stage-whispered.

"Who? Storm?"

The entire cafe burst into laughter. "Like Storm would even look at a girl that's not Nashi."

Point proven. They!! were!! on!! first!! name!! basis!! (He bet no one in this room even knew his last name, let alone first. Not that it mattered. He liked slinking in the shadows, although it was practically impossible with his snow-white hair)

Geez, did these people have no lives? They were talking about delinquents for Pete's sake! And ones that sure loved messing up the town in their infamous brawls. But did the people care? Nooooo.

Ugh, one more year and he'd be out of this whacked up place. Wiping a tabletop, he forced a smile on his face and pretended to be interested in the topic.

"Cass, I'll have a black and a burger with fries," a voice interrupted. A voice he was very familiar with.

Did he happen to mention that the most annoying one of them all had made this her hangout spot?

At 5'1, you'd think Venetia Redfox would be the least intimidating person ever. But with crimson red eyes and a Devil-may-care attitude that made up for it, no one dared mess with her. She also caused 75% of the fights in town and had a smirk straight out of a Wattpad Bad-boy fanfic.

Boy, did he hate her.

"You're gonna chip it off with that grip, Blondie."

Oh my god, she did not just-

Raidyn shot her a glare and strode to the back of the register, faintly registering a chuckle (Who the hell did she think she was?) before picking up another order.

Little Miss Redfox however sat at a corner table and continued doing whatever the hell she usually did every Tuesday and Friday for 3 hours in a row (he should know, he was there glaring at her at closing time).

But the kicker this time was, at that moment, her phone rang. You have never really seen your world end right before your eyes if you haven't seen a 5 foot psychotic looking delinquent decked in leather that drove in a motorcycle there by the way (How does one willingly ride on a metallic death-trap like that?!) mumble the words 'Cha cha real smooth' and pick up a call with the most deadpan look ever.

Raidyn almost cried. Almost.

"Are you kidding me? Do it yourself! I swear to God, you always do this shit, Dragneel!" She got up from her seat and walked out, just like she looooved doing smack dab in the middle of her classes back at Magnolia High.

Good riddance.

........

He jinxed it. Karma was such a bitch.

Though no sort of karmic revenge could explain the shit he had to go through that week.

First off, he had 4 assignments due in by the end of the week. And turns out that was the exact week his dear red-head colleague decided would the perfect time for a vacation (It's the middle of September, where in hell's name was she planning to go to?)

Guess who had double shifts now?

This clown.

Ugh. Talk about chivalry and all that loyalty shit.

And yes, of course his car had to break down, and the local bus had to change it's schedule, which left him with his last resort: walking 4 and a quarter miles to school (Oh, he found that out the hard way all right) to college. Nashi and the Fullbuster kid (He sure loved walking around shirtless a little too much) decided to brawl (again) and bam, his locker got caught in the crossfire.

In fact things were so overly shitty that he became skeptical come Thursday when the day seemed relatively normal.

"You've been scowling all week, Dreyar. Anything the matter?"

Raidyn snapped out of his reverie and groaned. "Dad, why not just call me by my name like any normal person would?"

"Because that doesn't build-"

"CHARACTER!! WE GET IT!" His mom, Mirajane mimicked with a scowl. "Well, we're just going to get two Happy meals and then we're off, honey!"

He faintly registered Hunter snickering in the background (How immature. Raidyn wasn't one to get embarrassed by his parents. Plus, none of it would ever compare to the Disco Fiasco of 2001. How else do you think he got his car? Sweet, sweet guilt-tripping....)

The day buzzed past but his suspicions only intensified tenfold. (Call him a pessimist, he didn't care) And like a bull in a China shop, a tiny midget Redfox (the one and only) strut in.

Now, he was behind the counter at that moment handling the red-head (he really ought to learn her name someday) so he didn't notice 5 feet of brute strength that climbed up behind him and dragged him (poor, unsuspecting him) into the supply closet.

Oh no, he was not kidding. The supply closet. Of all the places the perpetrator could've-

The lights flickered on and he screeched (What? Any human would!) at the red irises staring determinedly into his own non-red eyes. (Seriously, were those even real?) Raidyn wasn't scared of no judgement, what did scare him (maybe not that much, now that he knew who those belonged to) was Satan's minion and her RED AS FUCK EYES! LIKE SERIOUSLY-

Clearing his throat and trying to salvage some faux dignity after that dramatic display, he grunted, "Touch me one more time and you're-"

"Yeah, yeah I get it, big guy. Look, I need a favour."

Venetia Redfox crossed her arms and stood threateningly in front of the entrance.

Who was she kidding? "Nope," he muttered and swerved right around her and made his way to the counter. (Pipsqueak. She really should've seen that coming.)

And right as he turned right towards the display case, he found her leaning against it with her shoulder, looking bored. "Yes. And now."

How the- PPHIGXUTDUTZUT- HOW DID SHE JUST-

"Parkour." She deadpanned.

Raidyn gave Venetia a long, long look and sighed, striding towards her. Her smirk widened in anticipation as-

He picked her up like a sack of potatoes and tossed her over his shoulder.

"WHAT THE- THIS IS HARASSMENT!!"

"Technically, you cornered me first," he stated matter-of-factly and dropped her on her feet (she looked like a hissy kitten, hmm.) Then proceeding to close the doors at her, he picked up a poster of her (he kept posters of all of them for a day like this. Ah, foreboding luck. He could feel it.) and pinned it onto the front door.

BANNED: VENETIA REDFOX

(Was he even allowed to do that, you might ask, but bah, who cares? Rabid girls are a nationwide threat.)

.................

As he wrapped up and prepared to leave, Raidyn had a niggling feeling he forgot something very, very crucial. Uh-

A body collided onto his own and climbed (I kid you not) him (THE FUCK KIND OF ANIMALS DID MAGNOLIA OWN?) before a tiny, rough hand muffled him. Oh no.

"Yoph kiphing mmph!" Raidyn groaned.

"I need you to teach me how to solve a Rubix Cube."

What. Excuse Raidyn for not knowing, but was Rubix cube some mafia codeword for mafia stuff? Stealing a car, fighting goons, skipping classes or drug dealing? Raidyn Dreyar had a long jail-free life ahead of him, mind you.

BUT SERIOUSLY, SOLVE A RUBIX CUBE?! HOW FRICKING RANDOM WAS THAT?! WHO EVEN TOLD HER HE KNEW HOW TO SOLVE ONE? WHAT WAS WRONG WITH THIS GODFORSAKEN TOWN?!!!

(Some might say he really had to stop reading those novels his mom bought. Some might be right. Whatever.)

Back to the topic on hand, he mumbled inaudibly. Her cropped hair tickled the sides of his face as she squinted at him, "What?"

Was she kidding right now? He pointed at her hand covering his mouth and her eyes widened as she let out a nervous laugh. (Geez, talk about stupid.)

He took in a deep breath and shook her off him. She stood there patiently (As patiently as a Redfox could, anyway.) as he straightened his shirt.

"First things first, NO!" And he stalked away.

He registered a groan from behind him and quickened his pace. However, the midget in question managed to propel herself at break-neck speeds and no joke, TACKLED him.

"PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE-"

"GET OFF ME, YOU PSYCHOTIC-"

Karma was such a bitch.

Macao, the guard standing by the parking lot, huffed, "They don't pay me enough for this."

...............

The only reason he was doing this was because she offered to fix up his car. (How did she even know it wasn't starting?) Also because it had been a while since he brushed up on his Rubix skills. Also because he wanted to get rid of the midget before she followed him home. (He figured his mom and dad would ENJOY her presence and replace him with her. He had crazy parents.)

Everyday she'd make sure to meet him (mostly by cornering him in the hallways) and in exchange for these classes, she'd work on his car at the weekend.

The first time she came over to his house (to work on his car, but he didn't know that) was rather embarrassing because he kinda sorta thought she was a burglar and locked his garage, yelling at the top of his lungs. His dad, Laxus came out with a taser (Dad sure loved his tasers.) Of course, when he finally opened the garage doors, he was met with an unimpressed look from the Redfox in question. (God, he was such a drama queen.)

The midget had a lot of trouble twisting her hands at the beginning of her sessions and he loved teasing her about her 'butter fingers' every time she accidentally flung the cube across the room or out the window in one rare occasion.

You know, she was kind of fun to have around.

"And that's the algorithm! You're all done!" He cheered, glad to have this behind him.

"Geez, you don't have to sound that excited to get rid of me." Venetia teased.

"What? No....." He feigned innocence.

"D'aww, admit it, you enjoyed my company."

"Please, more like I was scared for my life." He mumbled. She snorted.

"Catch you later, alligator."

Did she just- "NO WAY, JOŚE!" (That was lame even for him. Gosh dang it, she was laughing at him....)

Fricking Redfox.

......................

That weekend, Raidyn thought he deserved a good ol' evening out with his friends/colleagues (technically it was the manager that suggested it and he tagged along for the heck of it. He wasn't much of a social person, per se.)

He guessed Karma was still on a streak when Venetia Redfox entered the very same place they'd chosen for karaoke night and sat herself on one of the tables in front of them. And proceeded to order nothing.

The raven-head didn't even have her notebook (that always made her look disarmingly tiny) or her phone. Oh well, she must've been waiting for someone.

As the hours passed, he found himself exceedingly irritated for no reason.

"Who in their right mind would stand up The Venetia Redfox?" His colleagues whispered (rather loudly, according to him) and she just tapped her fingers away, oblivious to it all.

Fine, whatever.

"Sup." He towered over her and greeted, moving to take a seat next to her.

She blinked at him.

Okay, you couldn't exactly judge him. She was a regular and tipped good and people were being annoying about her and oh, her tapping was distracting and he had a massive headache coming. That's all. Simple as that.

"Don't you have better shit to do?" Red irises stared at him impassively.

"What are you doing here by yourself?" He asked coolly.

"Well, Nashi was supposed to-"

"I'M HERE! I'M HERE! I'M-" Both tilted their heads just in time to see Nashi ram into the glass doors. The now groaning pinkette was sprawled on her butt in front of the entrance. "Fricking doors."

"That's her." Venetia deadpanned. Raidyn shook his head sympathetically.

"Heyo Ven! Heh, kinda lost track of time beating Frostbite at Mario Kart," her doe eyes scanned him. "Raidyn! I didn't know you guys were friends!" She grinned.

Raidyn gave her a two-finger salute in greeting.

Nashi's eyes suddenly widened in realisation. "YOU'RE TEACHING HER THE RUBIX?!"

"Uh..."

"Yup." Venetia smirked. "He's a great teach. His parents have taken me in as their own."

"WAIT! WHEN DID THAT HAPPEN?! HOW WAS I NOT AWARE OF THIS?!"

"Just like that, Blondie. What can I say? It's the charm," She grinned at his bewildered face.

"You guys are all ready for the challenge then?" Nashi wiggled, now nervous, "Ven, I didn't mean to drag you into this, but Clint was-"

"It's cool, dumbass." Venetia shrugged. "Ain't your fault that they're dipshits."

At his confused look, Nashi clarified, "People like picking on us just because we're Fairies and held to the same standards as our parents. This frat dude decided he had to prove he was smarter than the Fairies and decided to pick a Rubix cube challenge of all things." She rolled her eyes. "Bet he taught he was real original thinking that one up."

"Bet he did." Storm scoffed. (Wait, what?)

"WHERE DID YOU COME FROM?"

"From- the front door?" Storm scratched his head in genuine confusion. (As if Raidyn was the weird one that sneaked up behind people like a stalker!)

Nashi facepalmed. "Why the heck are you here, Frostbite?"

"Just like that."

"Gosh, you're so annoying."

"Wanna say that to my face, Flamebrains?!" Storm yelled. (Oh, not again....)

"Guys, please don't...." Raidyn said, but both didn't seem to be paying attention to him.

"I SAID YOU'RE ANNOYING! FIGHT ME!" She threw a punch at him and before he knew it both were throwing napkin holders and vases at each other.

Venetia seemed to be enjoying the show, and pulled him to the back of the room, "This might take a while," she stated. "Wanna grab a milkshake?"

Well, he was kind of craving one. "Why not?"

..................

Today was the day of Venetia's challenge and Raidyn found himself nervous.

"You sure they won't wreck the place?" He grumbled for the umpteenth time.

Venetia groaned. "Do you have no faith in my abilities, Dreyar?"

"Nope. None whatsoever."

She raised an eyebrow, "Shame on you, then. I wouldn't let a good friend lose his job on my behalf. Dally ho, now!" She cheered.

He blinked at her, giving her a small reluctant smile. "Kick ass, Ven."

She tilted her head toward him and gave him a grin that knocked the breath out of him. "Thanks, Raidyn."

Shit. When did- when did she get so pretty?

"Look who we have here. You sure you're in the right place, Redfox?" A voice condescended. The owner of the voice was a grimy looking kid that looked like one of those middle-school spelling-bee losers that bragged about it whenever they met someone new.

"Clint." Venetia deadpanned.

Raidyn broke out into a fit of laughter, making 'Clint' (What kind of sad name was that?) glare at him. (Oh please, Little Clint was totally quaking in his boots! Why'd he even bother coming?)

"Let's begin then! Pick a shuffler." Clint drawled.

Venetia picked Nashi while Clint, after a moment of deliberation, picked one of his gang-mates (What did they call it? The Math club?)

"You may begin."

Both Nashi and the grimy dude shuffled for the better of 15 seconds. Clint just scoffed and clicked like a pretentious know-it-all, making comments like, "You're making it easier by shuffling harder, you know. Make it tougher for me, Nashi dear."

Raidyn had to give it to the pinkette, he would've smacked the teen by now.

"Okay," the referee, Storm cheered, (even though he looked like he was ready to kill Clint) "Timer starts, NOW!"

Both twisted and turned the cube furiously, Venetia sticking her tongue out in concentration while the teen twisted his arms like a man possessed.

"I'M DONE!" Venetia dropped the cube with a thud onto the table. "How's that for a Redfox?"

"E-excuse me? That's insane! It's only been," Clint checked the timer like the sore loser he was, "31 seconds!"

"Too bad," she smirked. (Well shit, that was hot...)

"I demand a rematch!"

Nashi moved to protest, but Venetia silenced her with a hand, "Whatever you say, kid..."

"This time, we swap cubes!" He whined like the little weasel he was.

3 minutes later, the rematch began and Venetia plopped her cube on the table with a glare.

"You think you're smart giving me a faulty cube, don't you?"

"And I'm done!" The weasel had the nerve to say. "I don't know what you're talking about Venetia, I used the same cube and it worked just fine. Maybe it was a stroke of luck on your part the first tim-"

He couldn't finish his tirade because Raidyn took that opportunity to check the cube (He didn't have to though, he believed Venetia enough to know she wouldn't make up excuses.) and yeeted it at his face like he'd been itching to do from the moment he saw the turd.

"YOU IDIOT! I'LL HAVE YOUR HEAD FOR THIS-"

"GET HIM!"

"OH NO, YOU DON'T!" Nashi growled, "I'M ALL FIRED UP NOW!"

Oh dear.

Okay, maybe the fight wouldn't get too big, these were scrawny kids after a-

Yeah, Nashi Dragneel just flipped a table on them.

There goes his job.

"GO, NASHI!" His manager cheered. (Okay, thank God this town was crazy.) "Raidyn! You can take the day off, kid. Have fun!"

Storm chose that moment to enter after his momentary toilet-break. "I WAS GONE FOR 3 MINUTES, WOMAN! WHAT THE HELL?!"

"JOIN US, STRIPPER!"

"WHAT DID YOU CALL ME?!"

"YOU HEARD ME!"

Venetia, unbothered by the chaos behind her, pulled him by the arm, her eyebrows furrowed at him, "Well, I tried. But hey, looks like you still have your job. That's a win, right?" She scratched her neck, laughing.

He sighed, putting caution to the wind. This was Ven after all. "Ice-cream date? My treat for today's win."

A smile erupted on her face, "Only if we take my bike there."

.............

Bonus (That no one asked for):

"Okay, so you have to grip it right. Not too tight. Just enough to nudge it in the right direction." Venetia explained, from where she was seated in front of him on the death tra- bike.

Raidyn nervously laughed, "I've got this in the bag, I don't know what you're worried about." The tilt in his voice gave away his panic, however. She raised an eyebrow.

"Humor me then."

Okay.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

GO!!

"DON'T CLOSE YOUR EYES, YOU IDIOT!!" Venetia screeched. She reached over and took over the handlebars just in time as they nearly crashed into a tree Raidyn was headed for.

He got off the bike and tripped, falling face-first on the ground. Fricking Jelly-legs. "I am never riding that death trap again." Raidyn groaned.

"What the heck?!" Venetia questioned, bewildered. "How'd you even get your driver's ed with such sucky basics?"

"IT'S A DEATH TRAP, THAT'S WHY!!"

"OF COURSE IT'S A DEATH TRAP IF YOU'RE NOT LOOKING WHERE YOU'RE GOING!!!!"

"Fight me Ven, I'm never getting on that thing again!"

"Too bad, I have to drop you back home too." The sneaky devil dared smirk at his plight.

Fricking Karma.

He wouldn't have it any other way, though.

.............

[solarmorrigan]

So, to recap, because I honestly have never had a week so fucking cursed and I want this for posterity:

Monday: -Find out I have a presentation to write, create, and record, due by Sunday -Car battery dies for the second time in less than a week right as I’m trying to leave for work

Tuesday: -Doctor’s appointment in the morning -Call roadside assistance to give my car a jump. They tell me that if I shut the car off now, I’ll need another jump because the battery is pretty much toast -Get the car to the garage, go to work -Shift ends at 9 PM. Do not actually leave until 9:30 because someone is trying to figure out how to pay for a room. This is very stressful for everyone, but mostly for the person trying to pay. -Have to return to work at 11:30 PM to check in some late arrivals -Get my period right before going back to the office -Get a call from aforementioned late arrivals, find out they will be even later than anticipated. Do not get home until 1 AM

Wednesday: -Get up early to go pick up car. New battery, all is well! -Try to leave work on time, get a call from a county 911 operator just as I’m leaving, saying they received a hang-up call. I have not seen or heard anything. I am too fucking exhausted to go check the property (by myself, in the dark), but they say they will be sending an officer just in case. I wait an extra 15 minutes, no one shows up. I still don’t see or hear anything, so I go home

Thursday: -Find out I missed a deadline in submitting proof of documentation for something to do with health insurance. Submit it anyway and pray it goes through -Different doctor’s appointment -Vet appointment. Feverishly attempt to write notecards for presentation while waiting in the car because I can’t go in with my pathetically-mewing cat Due To Covid (unfortunate for me, my cat, and the poor vet tech who had to cart him in) -Realize all the warning lights on my dashboard have turned on. This is due to the battery just having been changed and I know it, but it adds to my stress -Get to work, be informed by manager that the hang-up 911 call I made a note about came from a room down at the end of the hotel in which a couple was having a fight. Both guests had vacated by the time my manager turned up to deal with it (the police never showed up), but there was a lot of drama in trying to get the guy to come get his shit out of the room -Also they were keeping a dog in there, which pissed all over the room because they never let the poor thing out. For two days -Also it turns out the guy has a criminal record that involves things like “terroristic threat” and “assault by suffocation or strangulation.” He is now banned from the property for various reasons

Friday: -Pretty chill day, actually? -Then a guest insists he’s having a hard time understanding me and guilts me into taking off my mask (still behind glass, still standing over six feet away). I somehow feel like this is my fault? I have one hour left until my shift is over and I refuse to crack over this. Continue working on my presentation -Accidentally jab myself with a syringe while attempting to give my cat his evening dose of insulin (cat did get his medication, though) -Finally break down over a post talking about the origin of Goldfish Crackers, for some reason

Saturday: -Decide today is the day I’m going to take the dealership up on the offer to end my lease early and get a different car. They have a very good deal going on and since this week has been hell anyway, I figure I may as well just get it all over with -Get about a block away from the house and realize I have forgotten my mask. Turn around, head back to the house, run in to get my mask -Realize that I’ve already taken my car key off the ring in anticipation of returning it to the dealer, and that the spare key is in the car for the same reason, and that I locked the car out of habit when I went back into the house -Realize that I am locked out of the fucking car -Call the dealership to apologize for being late, call roadside assistance for the third time in a week and a half so they can let me into my car -Still have not submitted presentation, but do spend an hour in mildly dysphoric hell listening to my own voice and unable to pretend that it’s deeper than it actually is while I try to make sure the recording is audible and properly timed

Sunday: -??? -Hasn’t happened yet, but I’m sure I’ll accidentally upload the wrong video for class or something, just wait

[dangerouslysmartslime]

Trying to understand college: My first Academic Development 101 Zoom Meeting

Discussion is going to start, and it’s going to be for Chapters 1 and 7. Academic Development 101… Starting with a check in, so… I didn’t read both parts because it is purely questions that you’d find at a mental hospital, which makes sense but it is a pain. So stop wathcing fucking shows like People Watching and get stuff done.

What is one thing you hope to accomplish this Winter Session

I hope to get used to online classes, unlike my Junior Year of High School, which was quite unpleasant. At the same time I also felt like I was being babysat by the school as there was no on the campus who knew what I was taking. Taking US Government, Trigonometry, English, Environmental, and such but a lack of continual feedback. Just trying to understand things day in and day out and the best thing I could seemingly think to do was to read the material and then look at what other people online thought, and then use both the actual sources and analysis of others. To be a lot better person than that is ideal, however it can be a lot harder than being at a class and there being discussions and then what happens outside of class is review.

There are a lot of folks who are here today, so they’re taking attendance and I feel unsure of what to do. I realize now that the three classes are interconnected, in the fact that they aren’t straight and narrow, they’re pieces that you have to read, go over, then respond with in your ideas. You have two days left before all the assignments are due for the week. A lot of people say they should earn at least a B+ GPA. One must first be stable before they can help themselves. Apparently a lot of people don’t know what to do with themselves, but they spend a great deal of money on education. Where do you take it to and pursue. Improving as a student and being more organized. It’s definitely something that I should work on, as there are Modules 1 and 2 at the same time, and getting it all done is important so you don’t get multiple 0s and fail classes. Just as you ended up getting an 80% in a Quiz just because you didn’t answer the questions quickly and efficiently. Learning better time management as folks can often be procrastinators. Passing, keeping focused, and keeping ahead of assignments.

Transitioning to online classes can be a pain for people. How to apply the tools you have, as there is a difference between getting dressed and being there or being online. And the program they use is something that people get used to. Her name is Stacy Hurley, who’s taught at CCBC Face to Face since 2011, taught Sociology classes in the evening and worked with child protective services for Baltimore City as well as nonprofit and therapy. She is an adjunct, and works with the Howard County. She does dog walking, dog sitting, and tutoring for fun. She likes that she is flexible, and her favorite thing is teaching. She started a post-graduate program, as not only she has a teacher perspective but a student perspective, so she was taking classes as well as teaching. She even asked for extensions, using the tools to keep yourself on track. Any questions? Nope.

Meets Tuesdays and Thursdays, and is a Synchronous class, meeting at those times and you are reading the chapters before class so there can be a good discussion. Know the material, and then review is in Zoom. There are quite a few modules she goes over, and the process is important. The “journey is the point of it” The final point is the “story of me” Where hopefully the class is at a different point in 3 weeks from now. All of the Office 365 applications are used, and there is a way that you can connect the google calendars to the school one. You can add those in there so everything is in one Calendar. Work on understanding everything so you can be organized. You also get a OneDrive to store work, and some people may also use a Google one, and saving it into the OneDrive is important so you can do it on your work computer, or home computer, or a library computer. You can make folders as to organize things by class, then week, then assignment (just as I have already done). I still need to make a To Do List for each week, and getting things done efficiently.

Announcements, and if you need tutoring, then you can arrange them through the virtual tutor. You go to getting Started, a tutorial to get to CCBC Email and Login, then the Keep Learning guide for online resources going from Face to Face, then logging into Blackboard. Going to Blackboard and it’ll bring you up, and if you don’t have it then you have to go to MyCCBC login. For the New Student Orientation there is a video and powerpoint to look at. The information will also be talked about in the next 2 hours (because it’s already been 30min) in the end there was the certificate, which I need to send to Stacy Hurley for Extra Credit.

Students improve and remain in college because of Academic Development 101. Think about Resilience and Grit. It’s not hard stuff, it just takes time and planning to deal with. Schoology is similar, for grades there is All, Graded, Upcoming, and Submitted. How much everything is worth, where you see discussion, assignments, and all of that. When she grades something you will see the grade out of how many points, then a text bubble giving feedback. “Hey you’re missing this, hey I like this, hey you should’ve had this.” And you can submit multiple times, taking her feedback into consideration. Practice your writing and communication.

In general the information hasn’t changed in the newer textbook, but it might be a good idea to buy, and we’re not going to get to all of the chapters. College Policy regarding etiquette for Zoom Classroom. Of course wear clothes. First part of the list, you must read. Student Success Navigators. There isn’t a counselor on campus, but they assist with finding resources like food, housing, applying for benefits, getting mental health help, referring for any of these services. You should be successful and going there is done at any way. Either talking to them or filing a report to need services. Someone contacts you to set up an appointment for what you need. There are disability accommodations, for different mental and physical disabilities depending on if you have a 504, and people don’t tell them why you get accommodations, as it is protected by HIPPA and such. There is also the Student Success Center offering tutoring, and avaliable for tutoring as the class fees pay for it. So use the link. Pay attention to the Academic Calendars, like when you can drop a class and when there are finals. Use proper college English, use proofreading. This is the time to do so. Turn your work in on time. Anything extra that was not assigned will be extra credit. Take advantage of it, as not every class has extra credit. Earn as many points as possible out of 800, so you earn as many as possible, then add the Extra Credit points, then the class grade is that out of 800. Know where everything is by keeping it in one place. Keep it in APA Owl Purdue College Format. It breaks down how to cite. Some courses may use APA, some may use MLA. You will be creating “The Story of Me as a Lifelong Learner” as each assignment builds up to the final project, which will be done using the app SWAY. Given each topic and skill you should be able to build a toolbox. The three words are Grit, Resilience, and

If you want to do the bare minimum, that’s on you, but if you want to do more, then you can. Really it is best to do as much as possible. The biggest Module is Module 4 as there are the most complicated pieces. Career Inventory, a survey that goes along with it, research links to look at careers you’re interested in. Looking at Educational Plan with DegreeWorks attached and information from ARTSYS website to plan Spring classes. I still need to talk to an advisor, so that is rather important. Transferring to another university later. You have to pay attention to each of the pieces. The final project is due February 1st, taking all of the pieces to have a Portfolio,/Presentation/Blog online about you as to finish it. The career piece will be on Animoto. You’re not paying for anything, you’ll just be using the free version. So manage your work and your stress to do what is needed. In person they used to do a career poster. Videos on how to set up Cornell Notes if handwriting. The templates were given for Word. You must write a summary of the chapter to show what you have taken away, it is pretty important. This chapter told me ABC. The notes must be in the format, whether typed or handwritten.

What is ACDV? Academic Development

Helps you be successful in your academics, to identify weaknesses, meant to help you develop good habits in academics, to come up with a strategic plan for yourself. Promoting healthy attitudes, to help sharpen your skills. To help you transition to college, to know where things are on campus and on Blackboard. To help make sure you are choosing the correct career path and educational path, to help you with a work/life balance with a new academic lifestyle, to help you prepare for the future, to help you have an idea of where to go. Getitng to know yourself better, developing academically. Exploring your passions, interests, values, skills, and talents. You can be interested in a great many things but you aren’t skilled in many. But interests can become skill. You can develop new skill based on the interests you already have. What are your values. The jobs that you’re thinking about, what is your motivation. Because if your motivation is purely money, then you could’ve taken a job that costs less to study for. What do you want to accomplish and look at. You don’t want to be a nurse if you don’t like blood or needles. Sure carrying tradition might be nice but it may not be fit for you. Do you want to have a career and not just a job.

What is academic development

To help us know what to do with our lives.

It can be quite difficult as there it can take a third of our lives to become who we want to.

A guide to CCBC and how to perform well in this institution.

What is Student Life is a thread that it has. There is the Community Book Connection as well. A book club, and the newest one is “The Truth about Stories, a Native Narrative” which if you do it, you get extra credit. Campuses are open, and you have to stop, they’ll check temperature and you have to ask questions on whether you’ve been close. The library and bookstore are open to go and get things. It is kind of a ghost town due to the plague, but things are still open. Blackboard has a list of Campus Events, Activities, and Resources she’s talking about. All of the folders are there, and things are due by tomorrow, while for Intro to Human Services my classes are due the day after. It is a pile of things stressing me out and the best thing you can do is to do your best at surviving and making the world a better place. Important things you need to cover, so let’s get done what is needed one thing at a time. Module 1 for ACDV is now due on Friday, and you’d get the rest done by Sunday. On Thursday we’ll talk about Finances, so that will also have to be handled. Filling your mind with sha helps no one, so take it one step at a time, use your peers and teacher. Try first, you will have to deal with things outside of time and sooner or later it will all click. We might not get to everything, so mainly do what is assigned. If it isn’t assigned, then wait until you’re done with assigned work before working on unassigned work or work due far later (following week). 

[rivetgoth]

This is gonna be long, apologies in advance. Just wanted to type something up properly about all of my thoughts now that I'm home and decompressing 🖤

--

Last year, I took a late night flight back to LAX on the Monday after Cold Waves VII. My signed VIP poster was the most valuable possession I could possibly imagine, and I was scared of it getting crushed in my luggage, so I brought it as a carry on. I knew that if I listened to ohGr I would start crying, and I didn’t want to cry in the airport, so I waited, clutching my little rolled up poster that Ogre and Paul Barker and the whole ohGr crew had signed. Ogre had drawn a little heart and written “hugZ and much support Artistically.” I had picked a spot in the very back of the plane, because I thought it would be less crowded, and I was right. I had no one else around me, my row was empty aside from myself. I’ll never forget the feeling of looking out the window as the plane took off and I watched Chicago get smaller and smaller and turn to little specks of light in the night, clutching my poster like it was all I had to live for. I put on Sunnypsyop and cried myself to sleep.

There’s so much I want to say about Cold Waves and I don’t even know how to start, so I guess I can start at the beginning. Last year on September 20th I flew to Chicago for the first time in my life and met up with one of my best friends in the world, Trigger (Sylvan), to see Nivek Ogre, my biggest hero, and meet him for a second time (I was meeting both Trigger AND Ogre for a second time, actually). It was a life changing event for me. For starters, seeing Ogre is always life changing. The love and care and passion and kindness that he puts out into the world makes the whole planet a better place and lights up my life in a way that nothing else ever has. He’s the heart of the industrial scene for me, because it was through him that I got into this music and found this community. When I saw him, not only did he remember me from when we had seen each other before a year earlier, but he encouraged me not to give up on my art, telling me that not only was I talented but that he could see the work I put into what I did and could tell I was improving. He told me not to give up and gave me so many hugs and he drew me a puppy to get tattooed. Ogre was currently nursing a recently-broken jaw but he was in the cheeriest highest spirits, he was as warm and loving as ever and so excited about the tour, and he put on one of the best shows I’ve ever seen. His strength and resilience and passion for his art inspired me so much, and getting to see him alongside Trigger and even be able to tell Ogre that we met each other through our shared love of his work made the whole thing even more special. Over the course of the festival I also got to see the rest of the ohGr crew, Paul Barker, and Jared Louche, who were all incredibly sweet and fantastic. Many of them have been people I’ve had the honor to speak with either online or off various times since then and have served such a crucial place in my life as role models and figureheads of a community that means so much to me.

The whole weekend was incredible. Trigger and I made so many memories that I’ll cherish forever. I still laugh over so many little things. The show was amazing. I don’t know if I could ever envision a lineup cooler than Cocksure, Lead Into Gold, Chemlab, and ohGr back to back. So many heroes, so many legends. I was living in the middle of nowhere at the time and had missed a lot of concerts due to being unable to get to them. I was seeing people like Chris Connelly and Paul Barker for the very first time. I thought I would never see Chemlab, and yet there I was seeing them among so many incredible people who I had looked up to for so long. So many people who had changed my life and saved my life. But everyone was amazing, and I not only got to see other legendary incredible bands like Front Line Assembly (CYBERAKTIF!!), I got to discover new bands I relisten to all the damn time like ACTORS. I felt connected with everyone in the audience and I got to meet a ton of cool people who were so friendly and so accepting of me. Jim Marcus got on stage and gave a talk about how Cold Waves and the industrial community at large is like a family and I really believed it and felt it and knew it was true.

The craziest thing about Cold Waves VII, though, was the fact that I literally moved out of my parents’ house and to Los Angeles the very next day. When I landed in LAX in the middle of the night I didn’t go home – I met my parents at a little motel where they had brought all of my stuff, sitting in boxes in the back of their minivan. I had packed it all up before I left for Chicago. The next morning we moved everything into my dorm room and my parents left, and there I was living in Los Angeles, alone, away from my family for the first time in my life, at age nineteen. I had just been accepted to UCLA late that spring and classes started the Thursday after the festival. It was a huge change and a huge new beginning and I was so scared of what was to come. I was scared of being alone and I didn’t know if I’d be able to survive in LA. I didn’t know if I’d belong, if I’d be able to succeed, if I would be able to fit in anywhere. Cold Waves served as the opening to a whole new chapter of my life and I was able to leave the completely magical world of the Metro and fly to a brand new home and start my life with the knowledge that I had been surrounded just a day before by countless people who understood me and supported me and who felt the same love and passion as I did. The following month I got Ogre’s puppy tattooed, and I began going to local goth clubs and concerts and meeting up with various people and making friends nearby. It was a slow process that’s probably ongoing forever, but I feel like it all traces back to Cold Waves as a catalyst for a reminder that I would never be alone.

This year’s Cold Waves was a weekend I’ll hold onto for the rest of my life. With my venture into the Los Angeles goth scene and the world around it I met another one of my closest best friends, Angel, who’s now also my roommate. Funny enough I owe Ogre to our meeting as well, because our first conversation was about her going to see him. This time, she flew to Chicago with me to meet up with Trigger. Being able to add a third person to our little entourage was so fun and cool. I love both Angel and Trigger so so much and it was so cool to see our little group grow bigger and I felt like there was an instant ability to connect through shared jokes and shared passions and shared understandings. On the night that we got there, after a little bit of initial awkwardness just as we figured out what we were doing and settled into a workable dynamic between the three of us (and found food after a day of accidentally starving ourselves in the way one does when traveling), we ended up staying up until five in the morning doing “Chemlab karaoke” in our hotel room until we received a noise complaint (oops). Then we had to get up less than three hours later so we didn’t miss breakfast, and spent the whole first day of the festival running on about two and a half hours of sleep and weird tasting  hotel bananas. It was an amazing bonding experience and that night alone was some of the most fun I can ever remember having, just being able to hang out with two of my best friends and scream the lyrics to music we loved, so excited for what was to come. I was able to prove that I know EVERY lyric to “Jesus Christ Porno Star” before the noise complaint forced us to shut the hell up.

From here, I don’t even know how to start. How do I even begin to talk about the next four nights? For one, everything was perfect in a way that I didn’t know was possible. Absolutely everything went perfectly as planned. Everything worked out. It felt like we had entered a dimension where nothing bad could happen. Quickly discarding our failed attempt at continental breakfast, we got into a daily ritual of waking up, getting ready, loitering at the Starbucks by the Metro for a few hours, and then heading to the venue early enough that we were guaranteed a spot at the front of the theatre every single night (we didn’t do much Chicago sightseeing… we needed to sleep in with how late we were staying up each night, hehe). On the very first night Jared spotted us in line and came over to give us big hugs and say hi!! That was amazing, because we’d been looking forward to hugging Jared all year. And that was one of MANY to come!! We got to be front and center when Curse Mackey came on stage, who we’d been looking forward to since the release of his first solo album earlier this year. The album is completely fantastic as was his performance. Trigger and I had such a blast being able to scream along to every single song. When we yelled out “WE LOVE YOU CURSE MACKEY” he called back “I love you too!”, and he grabbed our hands so many times during the show. And then… fucking CHEMLAB!!!! Easily one of the best shows I’ve ever witnessed. It was so fucking perfect. The absolute chaos of the beach balls, Jared’s grand entrance, Curse’s return to the stage, the music, the paint, the feathers, Jared spitting water at us until we were covered in his spit, and then Adrian Halo, another friend I’ve made in LA who I love, was pulled onto the stage for the finale. And Jared gave Angel the painting he made on stage! I felt like I was going to cry just watching it all. It was so fun, so exciting, so thrilling. I never wanted it to end. After the show we got to meet up with Curse and Jared and they were both so unbelievably nice. It felt like talking to old friends. There was immediate acceptance of us as fans and as people. I can’t thank either of them enough for the kindness they showed. They made me feel like I belonged there and I mattered there and I was apart of something.

…And we WERE apart of something. We got to witness so much greatness. We got to cry in the front of the audience when Severed Heads ended their final song of their final set. We got to experience the raw, primal, intense excitement the moment Paul started blaring classic Ministry tracks from his Min-Dub Soundsystem. Acumen vs 16Volt were so fucking fun and cool and their backing footage at the end absolutely made me cry. Light Asylum was amazing and her return to the stage with Test Dept. (also totally mindblowing and so INDUSTRIAL) was so epic – As was her Leigh Bowery shirt, which was awesome (I love Leigh Bowery!). Every single band stood out and did something interesting, fun, engaging, creative, cool, etc. It felt like I was apart of something real and this community had carved a very real space for itself in the world of music and art. I got to meet in person people who I’ve known online for ages. People I’ve only ever chatted with through Instagram DMs and Facebook comments ran up to me and we immediately hugged and started talking and it was perfectly natural. We clicked immediately because we knew that we were all here for the same things. I got to make new friends while waiting in line or waiting for the show to start in the theatre. It felt like every single day I was making new friends or meeting up with old friends. I finally got to meet Jim Marcus in person and thank them for the times that they’ve been a pivotal role model for me in my life and give them the huge hug they deserve. I have so many memories that I’ll hang onto for the rest of my life.

I worry about being alone a lot in my life. Not necessarily physically alone – If anything, I love a lot of solitude and I’m not always very sociable. I’m definitely more introverted than extroverted typically. But I worry a lot about a more deep-seated loneliness, especially as an artist. I’ve always been drawn to artistic groups in history that functioned as, well, groups. Andy Warhol’s Factory and the New Romantic Blitz Kids have been interests of mine for a long time because I’m so fascinated in the idea of artists being able to form a community and be connected, even when there is a fallout or things don’t always go perfectly. I’ve struggled more than I care to admit with a sensation throughout my life of not belonging or fitting in with anyone anywhere. I’m good enough at putting on a friendly attitude and people tend to like me, it’s not even that I end up a social outcast. It’s internal, an inwards fear that no one will ever be able to understand me and people like me with the same passions as I don’t truly exist. But Cold Waves proves that they do. People “like me” in every type of way really do exist. It was completely amazing to be able to meet so many people, to be able to strike up conversations with just about anyone, to meet up with new friends and old friends and feel connected to so many human beings around me, all from different walks of life, from different parts of the country or even world, with different stories and hopes and dreams, but we all could be connected for that weekend to our shared love of industrial music and our shared love for Jamie Duffy and Chicago and everything that this subculture has built. The musicians themselves accepted us so quickly as apart of their world. We were more than just fans, there was a real exchange of energy and passion between creator and audience happening, a connection between everyone in the Metro.

On the last day of Cold Waves I wore a pig costume, partly because I love PIG and had been looking forward to seeing Raymond live since I saw him tour with Killing Joke the year before, but also partly just because I fucking adore pigs (the animal) and thought it would be fun. It was goofy and I almost didn’t do it because I was worried people would think I was stupid, but I love the idea of dressing up and wearing fun costumes and I wanted Raymond to see! It ended up being the perfect ending to the festival and it tied everything together so well. Everyone loved it. So many people complimented it and took pictures of me or with me. I’ve seen Instagram posts from strangers talking about me, mentioning the “devoted young fan in the pig nose in the front row.” I’ve seen Facebook posts that mention me. It sounds conceited, but it’s not that I care about popularity or attention, honestly – Most of these people will never even know my name. It was just so fun to be able to dress up in a fun way to support music that I love and represent something that means a lot to me and have such a hugely positive reaction, all these people who love it and accept and embrace it. Raymond reaching down to poke my pig nose during the show was the absolute highlight of the night, and one of the big highlights of Cold Waves altogether. I had a stranger come up to me after the show and say, “You know, you were a really important part of the PIG concert!” It totally made my night. I got to meet so many great people that night. I met up with Logan, who’s a total sweetheart and I’m SO glad we had the chance to connect in person after talking online, I also finally talked to another Angel who lives in LA who I had seen around and they were so so so sweet as well. I got to speak to Jim Marcus, as I said before (they’re my dad now), I got to say hi to and hug Paul Barker for the third time, I got to meet Raymond Watts for the first time and tell him about how much I love his work and hug him, I got to chat with all the people I had already met in line and in the front row the past few days for a final time. It felt so connected. I felt so connected to everyone. When Jim gave the talk on stage about our community and how much it matters and how we’re all there for each other, I really started to cry right there at the front of the audience. It’s so true in such a real and profound way that I’ve never felt anywhere else but in the industrial community. I was there hundreds, thousands of miles from my home in California, surrounded by people who were mostly more or less strangers, but I felt so connected to them and so accepted by them and I loved all of them so much and I felt like they loved me.

It’s so sad to leave Cold Waves and be back home. I love LA but there’s nothing like Cold Waves. There’s nothing like being in the Metro surrounded by everyone else like that. I can’t wait to go back. I feel so reinvigorated in my art and my projects, I want to create and I want to bring to life my own passions so that I can share them with others and give back to this community. I wish I had a way to properly thank everyone – All of the unbelievably talented musicians who are all so sweet and so humble and so amazing, all of the people in the audience who chatted with me and befriended me, all of the friends I made there and all of the friends I already had, the security guards, doormen, managers, everyone who helps keep the place together, Darkest Before Dawn, everyone who works tirelessly to put this event together each year. I don’t know where I’d be without it. Thank you so much for the most incredible time, I’m going to try to keep the spirit of Cold Waves alive in my art and creation even now as I settle back into my home. And I can’t wait to be back next year!

[nacrepearl]

This anniversary, I wanted to pay tribute to the show by redrawing my favorite SDCC poster. With a few changes. It’s been 3 years since this poster came out on the internet, but it’s the poster for the first SDCC I experienced in this fandom. Below the cut is me being sentimental because I really love this show and its impact on my life is greater than one would think.

March 26th, 2015. I decide to watch Steven Universe after seeing gifsets of the first Stevenbomb on my dash from lingering members of the people who worked on my previous hyperfixation Attack on Space (A spinoff AU from the parent series Attack on Titan, which my interest in was fading quickly). I opt to watch the episodes that are on demand because they’re easier to access. I watch Alone Together first, Full Disclosure second (actual quote from me, who hadn’t known about SU’s musical nature: “Since when is SU a musical?!”). I then spend the next week or two watching the episodes on demand, then going onto KissCartoon to watch the series in order, in its entirety. (Quote when watching S1E05 Frybo: “I’m glad I’m watching these now before this inevitably becomes my new hyperfixation.” I have second hand embarrassment moments from this episode to this day). My brother decides to watch with me occasionally.

Fast forward to the end of March. I’m caught up with the series (back then only up to Joy Ride, which aired the day I began this journey). My friend Zac and I are now both into the show, and the following week Attack the Light comes out the same day that Say Uncle airs. Say Uncle is the first episode I watch live. I download ATL and finish it within a week. The rest of the weekly episodes (you heard me: weekly) were to follow and I was excited to officially be involved in the fandom. The beginning of April, I found the comics and I got to issue #5, the one where Pearl sucks in a gem-embedded book into her own gem and becomes ill from it. that was the day that I realized Pearl was my favorite character. Hurt/comfort is my way to tell.

I carry on watching the episodes throughout the month, and then after Reformed airs, we are faced with a hiatus. back then, a month and a half was a long time. Then, I got into the Pearl theories. I was all over the so called “nacre theory” right up until the theory had been confirmed in Back to the Barn (I still am, though the term “nacre theory” takes on a whole new meaning that I’m not sure will see the light of day now that we know more about Homeworld). You should have seen me go ham reblogging things about Pearl being lower-class, a lowly technician (ha), a maintenance drone. And all Pearls looked exactly the same back then in the fanart.

May 26th they announced the second Stevenbomb, half the fandom combusted. So did I. Sworn to the Sword happened and I had more fuel for the NT. I woke up that Thursday morning to a gifset of Pearl and Rose’s fusion dance because We Need to Talk leaked and spontaneously combusted right there. Then they announced Week of Sardonyx and our naive selves said “another one?” I went camping that weekend, which was also the weekend of SDCC. I nearly had a heart attack from my over-excitement when I got home that Sunday.

Week of Sardonyx came and went, with even more fuel to the fire for the NT. Cartoon Network does their greatest fuckup of the year by accidentally putting all of the Summer of Steven episode titles a whole year before they air. They changed the release date for the weekly episodes from August 6th to September 10th, and then we were graced by small Peridot on September 24th.

Back to the Barn airs. I die.

Then we go into a very long hiatus until Stevenbomb 4, airing in January 2016. This marks the first epsiodes to be leaked with the traditional screenshots + 2 minute clip. This was our first look at both diamonds + their pearls, and people were reasonably excited. Then we entered what we thought was the longest hiatus in fandom history–and we got the In Too Deep special earlier than expected.

Following the special, they announced the Steven Nuke/Summer of Steven. 4 weeks of episodes every night from mid-July to mid-August. Mr. Greg was the first musical episode and the crew hyped it up so much and yet it still had a huge impact on those watching that night. It was nominated for an Emmy one year later in 2017. We got some of the most intense episodes of the show in that bomb, with Amethyst’s arc, Bismuth holding the first half-hour special, the revelation that Rose supposedly shattered Pink Diamond, and Centipeetle’s corruption being explained further. Following SOS, there were weekly episodes and then another short hiatus, until Gem Harvest’s release in November. A short hiatus and then Three Gems and a Baby aired in early December.

During 2016, I meet two of my best friends through the fandom - @always-make-it-gayer and @hackerperidot. Gale and J have been my friends since that summer and because of this fandom, I’ve been less lonely and have had a blast in the ever growing group chat we have (Reverse Garden of Eden). I love you guys, and of course everyone else in the chat.

Following 3GAAB, in early January 2017, the entirety of Stevenbomb 5 drops on the app. Pictures with the diamonds and the zoo and the famethyst were on the internet in seconds. I had been on holiday break from school, and the night this all dropped was the first school night when the break was over. I stayed up very late, watched the episodes when I woke up for school in the morning, and listened to What’s the Use of Feeling Blue on repeat in the cold, snowy weeks to come. This was also right around the time my mom bought a house and we were ready to move in.

I got another birthday episode–Rocknaldo, airing on February 24th. Could’ve been better. I’m not complaining though. SU was crucial during this time because I was feeling very depressed and closed off due to the move and missing the apartment. The New Crystal Gems was the last episode the apartment got to see, and I promised to show Pearl’s backstory when it eventually aired, but we moved too early for that to happen. I like to imagine it can see my journal entries (you can ask if you want, in short it’s a coping mechanism I developed). Thereafter, we had another hiatus leading up to the sixth Stevenbomb with Aquamarine and Topaz. That bomb ended with the saddest episode in the series, finalizing season 4. Then the Wanted event aired, and we got so much lore content and more hints to the Pink Diamond mystery.

There came the biggest hiatus in the fandom’s history to this day. We were so thirsty for content. It was dry as fuck and the only light in the dark was SDCC with the Lars of the Stars clip (which would then air months later) and the trailer for the first half of season 5′s kickoff bomb.

Gemcation airs, and everyone finally understands Pearl’s quirk with covering her mouth in discussions about the diamonds. We all were getting so antsy at this point to find out what was happening with Pink Diamond and the lore behind the show and by god where is White Diamond?

We get Stranded in January 2018, allowing us to spark the “diamonds get revealed in January” meme with the Pink Diamond face reveal. Of course, this is debunked by Legs From Here To Homeworld in July 2018.

We get more episodes in March, and then are plunged into the final reveal in May with the half hour event, Can’t Go Back and A Single Pale Rose. The fandom collectively freaked out with the revelation that Pearl and Rose were diamond and pearl and faked the shattering in an effort to end the war. The people who survived this saw the Heart of the Crystal Gems arc in July. This was the week that held the Rupphire wedding.

Reunited airs, and I am surrounded by 3 of my best friends ( @asassynerdnamedgabbs, @neroblackcat, and @hackerperidot who had been visiting New York from Australia that week ) so I hold myself back from reacting too much. I cried that night out of sheer joy that my favorite show was the first cartoon to show a lesbian wedding on national TV. Of course, we get the diamonds and then SDCC the following weeks, with Legs From Here to Homeworld. I am at my cousin’s graduation party the day of the panel and my phone is slowly losing battery percentage as I try to keep up with the tweets and posts about what was going on. It was a huge deal.

Now we arrive here. Nothing had been shown at last month’s NYCC which is unusual, but that’s okay. We are still on hiatus, and it is SU’s 5th anniversary of being on the air. I am patiently waiting for the show to come back, and I’ll have more memories to make with this fandom in the months to come.

Happy Anniversary, SU!

[peaches-of-1]

Taehyung- Coffee Shop!AU

Male!Reader x Barista!Taehyung

Mstrlst in Bio!

Taehyung used his index finger to push up his glasses and then gave a small Korean girl her Vegan Vanilla Chai Latte. He had been working here ever since high school to buy video games, but this place ended up becoming his safe space. He loved the smell of the Arabica beans fresh in the morning and the various brews throughout the day.

It had become a place for college students to congregate for study nights. Finals were coming up soon, so they’d have a lot more college aged kids in the upcoming month.

“What’s this?” A young man named Vai asked after ordering. He came around enough to be recognized, but not exactly a regular.

He was referencing to the mug shaped piggy bank with sheets of paper and a pen next to it. Tae explained that the shop was taking suggestions about what they could do to help improve the atmosphere of the coffee shop, especially with the younger crowd.

“Any good suggestions, yet?” The shy boy asked.

“Nah, mostly just menu things that we can’t afford and some stray coins or whatever.”

“Can I write something?”

Taehyung motioned to the container, “Go ahead.”

The foreign YouTuber wrote something and put in into the piggy bank. The next time Taehyung looked at the clock, it was 8:21 at night. He’d be here soon, and so the brown haired young man started preparing his order. Four minutes later, the bell rung and a young man in a purple jacket came in with a group of his friends.

They all set down their backpacks at the seats they chose. Some started unpacking while others began to line up.

“(Y/N)~!” Taehyung’s husky voice called out.

The young man in the purple jacket turned around and smiled. He approached the counter with a smile to get his pre-made order.

He chuckled, “You know you don’t have to do this every time.”

“You’re a loyal customer. It’s my pleasure.”

“There might be a day I order something differently.”

Tae shrugged, “It’s been four months. I highly doubt it.”

The young man huffed, “That just means I’ll surprise you next time.”

He went back to his friends, and Taehyung just sighed. The barista loved the boy in the purple jacket more than words could describe. He had started coming about four months ago to study for an entrance exam or something and had returned every Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday.

The first night, he had asked Taehyung for the best coffee.

“Oh, I don’t drink coffee, but the tea here is really good.”

His chuckle had made the barista’s heart go !!!, “If you don’t drink coffee, why are you working here?”

“Money’s good and I like the atmosphere. The people are mostly nice too. I’d suggest hot chocolate or the butterfly pea tea.”

 By the end of the day, there were about 50 suggestions Taehyung had to go through before closing. The boss wanted to help go through them, but there was no way his most loyal employee was going to let him.

“You need your rest, sir. I’ve got it. I’ll let you know if we have anything interesting when we open tomorrow.”

After going through them, he found that there were mostly usless suggestions or ones that would cost way too much money. There was one that was actually a really good idea, however. Live music. Having a coffeehouse musician was popular nowadays, and there would probably be a lot of untapped talent in the local area.

After suggesting it to the boss later the next day, he thought it was a wonderful idea as well. | Soon enough fliers and posters were hung up in the shop and also around town displaying the time and date of auditions to sing in the coffee shop. They were looking for someone with a gentle and clear voice, hopefully they could play guitar. It wasn’t a requirement since instrumentals could be found online at any time.

The day of auditions came, and Taehyung was annoyed. They were being held at the back of the coffee shop as to not bother the patrons. He didn’t understand why so many people thought screemo or rap would do well when the flier said “gentle and clear”

“Next!” He called as he scratched out yet another name from his list and balled up their application. He grumbled to himself about how people didn’t know how to read nowadays.

The next person that showed up sounded familiar, “Um, hi?”

“Hi. So you’re called the...” He looked up to see the man in the purple jacket and swallowed. “The Pa-bros? Is that correct?”

Both Tae’s crush and the broad-shouldered man next to him nodded. The other man was someone who visited but never dressed so casually. Taehyung sat up straight and asked them to give their real names for him to write down.

“I’m Kim Seokjin.”

“And I’m (Y/N). We’re the Pa-Bros.”

He wrote down both names and then asked to hear what they had. Seokjin began to strum on his guitar and (Y/N) sung out in a pristine and beautiful voice that carried the most human of souls in it. He was singing “Put Your Records On” by Corrine Bailey Rae. It made Taehyung’s heart flutter, and he could’ve sworn he forgot how to breathe until the end of the song.

Everyone in the room let out a breath.

“Wow.” The barista said. “That was amazing. I’ll let you know how you did within the week. Yeah, I’m speechless. Thank you for your time.”

“Thank you.” Both said and bowed. Seokjin packed up his guitar and slung it over his shoulder while the other placed his stool against the wall.

Several patrons of the coffee shop were standing outside the door when the two left. It surprised the two performers, but it also gave the barista more of a reason to hire them. There had been only two other decent auditions the whole day other than (Y/N) and Seokjin.

“So, how’d it go?” The boss asked as he helped to clean up the tables as his brown-haired employee swept the floors.

“It went well. I’ll show you the footage of the top three once we’re done cleaning up.”

The two men sat at a table and watched the performances on Taehyung’s phone in the silent shop. They had all done incredibly well. It was hard for them to choose a favorite and decided to do one final test to see who they could have perform for them. Of course, there was only a certain amout of money that could go towards paying these talents, so they had to be worth it.

Once home, Taehyung sat at his laptop and sent out rejection emails to the 34 people who did not make it. Then you sent emails to the final three: Pa-bros, Mia Kim, and a brother sister trio called Gro Up. The message explained that they would have to do a live performance the upcoming Wednesday to see how well their visitors liked their talents.

It would also show who could handle performing live in front audience. Tae didn’t send the message to them yet since he wanted his boss’s approval to make sure it had everything he wanted in it. Instead, he listened to jazz in the shower and while he microwaved his dinner, humming along to the brassy notes

He really hopped the Pa-Bros made it just so that he could see (Y/N) every other day of the week.

The day came, and Taehyung made sure his uniform was clean and had even fixed his glasses for tonight. He had seen people talking about the coffee shop competition on SNS. Even though it wasn’t marketed like that, he figured that’s what this basically was. A competition to see who got the job.

Wait, fuck! Does that mean it’s gonna be busy today? Tae thought as he picked up his speed to the shop.

The answer was yes. Luckily, the boss had anticipated this and restocked two days earlier even ordering extra for the crowd. The store would be getting more popular after this, huh?

Tae put his stuff into his locker after clocking in and put on his apron. Getting to work was fun as he watched speakers be set up where the stage would be sooner or later. It wouldn’t be that big, just a bit higher than the rest of the store for better viewing. The orders came quickly, but the interest made most people more patient. That was good.

Then the boss said that the two Park Jimins could take over the counter, and he could introduce the acts and work the floor due to his natural charisma. He nodded and went to do just that with nothing prepared.

“Hi, everyone. Glad to have you here.” He said into the taller microphone. “We have three amazing acts for you to watch tonight. The winner will be decided by your applause and will become perminant entertainment for the store!”

A few people clapped, making him smile despite his nerves.

“Anyways, first up is a band of twin sisters and thier little brother. Please welcome to the stage, Gro Up!”

The trio began to sing and play their instruments, but something was off. It quickly came apparent that one of the sisters weren’t feeling well. She darted towards the bathroom to throw up. Her twin followed as the youngest thanked the audince for their attention, but they were going to withdraw from the competition. He scampered off to check on his sisters.

Taehyung was pushed back on stage where he introduced Mia Kim who did well despite the events that literally just happened seconds ago. Then Tae introduced Pa-Bros. Another stool was set up in the space and microphones were placed where the best sound could be heard from each.

Today (Y/N) wore a vest over a checkered dress shirt. The sleeves were rolled up halfway which made him look more handsome than usual. Jin was also dressed nicely, but Taehyung’s eyes were glued to (Y/N) His face was so handsome and he seemed comfortable under the stares of the largest Wednesday afternoon crowd they’d ever had.

“Hi, we’re Pa-Bros, and we’ll be singing ‘I’m Yours’ by Jason Mraz.”

The Barista closed his eyes as he listened to the singer. It felt as if he were transported to an island where it was just the two of them in swim trunks exploring the forest with smiles on their faces. They played in the water until sunset where they made a bonfire and slow danced under the stars. They now sat by the ocean in a blanket with the fire crackling near by.

He laid his head on Tae’s shoulder and smiled at him, “I really love you.”

Taehyung snapped out of his daydream while people applauded and felt his cheeks get warm, but he clapped as well. What kind of daydream was that? He had never let his imagination go that far when thinking about the man, but this time was different. (Y/N) looked at the blushing barista who gave two thumbs up in return.

Then people voted for the two artists. Ten minutes later, they were counted up by the female Jimin who texted Taehyung the winners. Gro Up had apologized and gone home out of embarassment but said they wished Mia and Bros luck since they had both done so well.

“Alright, folks.” He adjusted his glasses as everyone quieted down. “Before I announce the winner, I wanna thank all of you for coming to see the show and ordering while you’re here. It means a lot.” He clapped and smiled.

“I’d also like to give a round of applause to our lovely entertainment. All of you were absolutely stunning tonight and are both winners in my book.” Applause and cheers.

Taehyung continued, “However, in the payroll, there can only be one or the other. We’ve counted up all the votes three times and by two different people. The winner is...” He opened the text message and beamed as he saw the name, “The Pa-Bros!”

The whole coffee shop became an uproar of cheers. The two boys hugged each other and then bowed to Mia who congratulated them. As Taehyung moved to congratulate them as well, (Y/N) pulled the barista in by the collar and kissed him square on the lips.

After the two parted, he said, “Sorry, I just promised myself I would kiss you if I won.”

“Good.” Tae said and kissed back.

A few months passed and the coffee shop was doing better than ever. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, they would have a poetry slam. Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays were when The Pa-Bros--who renamed themselves to Koffee Kings--performed on the new stage.

Taehyung clocked in as usual, humming jazz. He always showed up half an hour earlier to watch his boyfriend (Y/N) perform a couple of songs. By the time he clocked in, it was a five minute intermission. Sometimes when his love was in a really good mood, Tae’s boyfriend would dance with him after giving people their coffees.

He was wearing the purple jacket tonight, “Don’t forget to tip your waiters, especially cuz that one’s my boyfriend! I love you, Tae!”

“Love you too!” The barista replied, blushing with the biggest smile on his face.

Kim Taehyung always liked working here, but he could tell that he would enjoy it even more.

[sunsetinmyvein]

Just Off the Key of Reason - Chapter Twelve - Me and My Plus One

Saturday, 28th of April, 2007 – Chicago, Illinois

This time around, Patrick at least knew why he was being ignored. He couldn’t say he was overly comfortable with the situation but this time he knew what the cause behind it was. At least he was pretty sure he knew what it was; his memory was kind of hazy up until when Joe had interrupted them.  As his head hung over his toilet bowl the following morning, he tried to recall everything to the best of his ability through his pounding headache. It felt like a freight train had pushed its way through his ear canal and left a train of destruction as it pushed from one side of his head to the other, but he could make out some details through the debris. He had sent her a few half-drunken texts shortly after Pete had interrogated him about his opinion on their party planning, and unsurprisingly, they went unanswered. The night had ended not long after that, partially due to Patrick kicking people out one by one in his attempts to find her, and partially due to people actually having to go home. Once everyone had left Patrick found himself moping in his bedroom until the sun started creeping through his curtains the following morning. In the cold light of day, being forced to throw up the contents of his stomach, he was beginning to feel like maybe last night wasn’t his best decision. He should’ve known better. He should have known that it would only leave him feeling worse and wanting even more answers than he had been given. She had told him to forget it, so maybe that’s exactly what he should, would do.

 Thursday, 14th of June, 2007 – Chicago, Illinois

The time gradually ticked by in their time off. Andy had a low key family get-together for his 27th birthday in late May; meanwhile Pete had another raging party in a privately hired club for his 28th in early June to celebrate getting through his 27th year on this Earth that he never felt he’d make it to. Eventually they had to start getting ready to go back on tour. The bus was hired for the month that they would need it and was scheduled to meet them in Washington after their flight. Guitars were packed, drums were neatly slipped into their boxes, and merch was chosen. Mostly that had all been sent earlier so that it could take the longer, and cheaper, way around. Interviews were had, signings were attended, promos were released – anything to make sure that people knew Fall Out Boy were coming. If the first of their two months off had been a break, the second had been intentionally made as busy as possible just to make touring seem easy in comparison. In the process of all this commotion, Patrick had found himself meeting many new people. One of whom took a shine to him, and he took a shine to her. All of a sudden he found himself with a girlfriend. A girlfriend who wanted to come on tour with him. This was unfamiliar territory for him; he’d never properly dated anyone since they started touring regularly. She was one of the people who worked in the studio, so she wouldn’t be coming on the road normally, but he had assured her that she could come along to the first two shows with him. From there she was going to meet a friend in Oregon and they’d drive home together. He was more than happy to let the excitement of the new experience keep his mind occupied.

 The band and immediate crew members had crammed themselves into a row of seats at the airport, waiting patiently – or impatiently in Andy’s case – for their red eye flight to Washington. He sat there bouncing his knee as he watched the clock in the corner of the electronic poster in front of them. The time gradually counted up and up as he anxiously glanced around the waiting area for their missing bassist.

“Where the fuck is he?” He grumbled under his breath.

“He’ll be here, man. He was in that group chat with the flight times, just like the rest of us.” Joe reasoned from under his eye mask. He had decided as soon as they sat down that it was far too late to still be functioning and had opted to take a nap in the waiting room seat. But their drummer’s constant worrying had mostly prevented that from happening.

“It’s five minutes until we board. You’ve not heard anything from him?” His question fell upon deaf ears. Joe was either ignoring him or half asleep already and Patrick was too engrossed in his conversation with his girlfriend to care. He kicked Patrick’s shin across the aisle, earning an ‘ow’ in response as he attempted to rub the pain out of his leg. “Pete? Have you heard from him?” He asked again.

“No, I haven’t spoken to him since the day after my party.” Patrick glared back.

“Well, I’m going to call-” Before he could even punch the numbers into his phone, a familiar, overly loud, laugh filled the mostly empty gates.

“I told you he’d be here.” Joe mumbled.

 “Are you not meant to be my babysitter?” Pete laughed as he dropped his backpack from his shoulder. Patrick felt himself tense at those words, trying to remain interested in his conversation but suddenly finding it very hard to remain focused. “I’m pretty sure you shouldn’t be giving me tips about how to get as drunk as I can on the plane.”

“You said you don’t like flying. If you’re totally wasted, you won’t even remember you did it.” She shrugged as the two of them walked up to join the group. Patrick felt the hairs prickle on the back of his neck. They hadn’t spoken in over two weeks. He had assumed that she wasn’t coming back for the second leg of the tour. The label had never mentioned her staying on for another month.

“I might also try and join the mile high club though.” He chuckled as he nudged her in the ribs.

Joe snorted loudly with a laugh, “Don’t pretend like you haven’t already.”

 Eventually Patrick caved to the nagging feeling in the back of his mind and looked up at her from the waiting room chair. She was rifling through her bag, he assumed for her boarding pass. The conversation he had been having was still droning on in the background of his thoughts. He felt like maybe he should say something about where they left off, but if she hadn’t wanted to talk then, why would she now? He stared at her in a stupefied silence until eventually she looked up from her bag and met his gaze. Her eyes flicked from his to above his head.

“New hat?” She asked with an eyebrow raised.

“Uh, yeah.” He absentmindedly touched the fedora atop his head. “The other one…” He swallowed hard as he tried to force the words out, “it kept getting in the way.” He could’ve sworn he saw a blush creep onto her cheeks, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it because soon enough his girlfriend was grabbing his arm and dragging him to the gate to board their flight.

 Friday, 15th of June, 2007 – Seattle, Washington

The flight was mostly uneventful. To avoid his crippling anxiety of impending doom on a metal death trap, Pete doped himself up on some sleeping pills and in-flight vodka. When he came to he was draped across a couch somewhere. He felt vaguely like he was moving, but he himself wasn’t. Was he in a car? His eyes slowly came into focus and he realised he was facing a small living area. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and sat up, figuring he must have been relocated to the tour bus. A little part of him wondered who had the pleasure of hauling his unconscious ass here, but given the fact that a blanket was draped around his waist and a water bottle sat at his feet, he assumed it was probably Andy. Also he wasn’t entirely sure if anyone else would be able to carry him without assistance. He glanced around the small area at the back of the bus, spying the kitchen through the aisle of bunks and feeling his stomach growl. How long had he been out? Apparently long enough that he felt that familiar sleep induced unsteady feeling settling in his legs.  The bus seemed dark; it must still be early morning. All of the bunks had their curtains pulled shut so he assumed they had left him here while they all went to bed. He ambled through to the kitchen, examining what was in the well-stocked cupboards. This was a hell of a lot fancier than what they had in the past. The appliances were all chrome and shiny, there was a proper benchtop and even an oven cooktop combo. They must have either hired or purchased this bus from new. He absentmindedly wondered how fancy a tour bus kitchen would have to be before he decided they had made it as he refiled through the food supplies. He couldn’t help but snicker with the knowledge that the label had intended for this to last the whole tour. It would last a week at best.

 After much consideration he settled on a packet of pancake mix, it seemed the most practical option and he was excited to use appliances that he’d never had the thrill of using on a moving vehicle before. Would it be easier to flip pancakes with the momentum of the bus? But before his hand could even come into contact with the gas dial, it was rudely slapped away.

“Fucking hell,” He squeaked in surprise as he pulled his hand up to his chest, “don’t sneak up on people like that.”

“You are banned from the gas appliances.” She ordered as she moved in between him and the stove.

“What? Why?” He tried to reach around her to at least retrieve the pancake mix but she wouldn’t budge.

“Because you have a tendency to explode things.” She explained, narrowing her eyes at him. He vaguely remembered fireworks in hotels.

“No, I don’t.” He lied. “But even if I did, how am I going to cook pancakes without a stove?”

“I guess you’ll have fun working that out.” She grinned up at him. They stood there in silence for a few moments, waiting for the other to stand down, until he admitted defeat. He groaned loudly, instead grabbing a bag of chips from the counter and moving to sink back into the couch.

 The two of them decided to watch whatever terrible show was on at five in the morning in the middle of nowhere, killing time until everyone else woke up. She had gotten up early to make sure everything on the bus was working before everyone attempted to use it, at least that way they would be able to accurately tell if Pete did break anything, or if it just came like that. They’d grown a lot closer in the month or so since Patrick’s party. Anyone who was willing to assist with Pete’s antics was someone he considered a friend. He was also beginning to find her company considerably more tolerable than what it had been at the start of their tour. Even despite that every second conversation was her reprimanding him for something. After a few minutes of static silence Pete threw a chip in her vague direction. She looked over at him in confusion.

“How’s things with you and lover boy?” He asked with an eyebrow raised. She rolled her eyes.

“How’s things with you and your girlfriend?” She shot back, voice laced with sarcasm.

“Good, actually.” He nodded. The confused stare he got in response urged him to continue. “We, uh… we didn’t break up this time, we’re going to try the long distance thing.” It was still a concept that didn’t sit well with him, but he figured if Patrick could work it out, then so could he.

“Oh. Well, good for you guys. I hope it goes well.” She smiled back at him, reaching across the table to grab a handful of chips. He pulled the bag away from her as he clicked his tongue.

“Nuh-uh. Answer my question.”

 She let out a heavy sigh. “That should be pretty self-explanatory, Pete. He’s on tour with his girlfriend.” Since coming back onto the tour she was trying her best to ignore the changes that had occurred in their month off. Patrick’s hair had grown out quite a bit, nearly coming down to his shoulders. He also seemed very attached to his new hat, she was yet to see him without it. In addition, and probably the most hard-hitting change, they hadn’t spoken except for their brief exchange in the airport. It was odd going from being attached at the hip to suddenly having a minimum ten metre gap between you at all times.

“That doesn’t mean shit. She goes home after two shows and you’re still here.” He finally offered the bag over to her and allowed her to take a handful.

“They won’t break up just because she goes home. Patrick’s not like you.” She laughed dryly, trying to avoid the slightest amount of hope sitting in the back of her mind that maybe Patrick was like Pete.

“I take offense to that.” He gasped. “But you never know. Crazier things have happened.” He shrugged, stuffing a wad of chips into his mouth.

“Yeah, like you being a bass player in a band when you’re terrible at it.” She grinned.

“You’re sho mean ooday.”  He garbled, spraying chips over the living room table.

[danfanciesphil]

Give Me A Try (New Chapter)

Gay Instagram Model/Bartender Phan AU Part 2 

(Part One)

Also up on Ao3!

The Habenero bar is closed on Sundays, thank God. 

The owner of the establishment is, surprisingly, a devout Catholic that believes in resting on the Sabbath. Dan is not all for this Catholic tradition (ignoring, for now, all the oppression and homophobia) because after Saturday night’s hell shifts, he’s usually in need of some recuperation. 

He wakes up at 2pm on Sunday afternoon on his sofa in a shirt that doesn’t belong to him. His phone is stuck to his cheek, and there are crisp crumbs in his hair. There’s a fug of stale, smoky, sweat in the air, like the smell of the soaked dancefloor of the bar at the end of each night. Belatedly, Dan realises that he’s fallen asleep in what he was wearing when he got back last night, meaning that he’s still soaked in alcohol. 

Grimacing at his own grossness, Dan hauls himself up from the sofa and staggers into the bathroom to shower. It’s only as he peers up at his reflection in the mirror above the sink that he remembers the shirt. At first, it confuses him, as it’s far too nice of a garment to be his. It’s clearly fitted, tailored probably, with a subtly cinched waist, and neat, complex stitching around the hem and sleeves. 

He peers closer at his reflection to read the little label on the pocket. 

Givenchy

Dan jumps backwards, hands held aloft as if he’s about to mark the thing with his grubby paws. He needs to get this thing off him right now, it’s far too expensive to be on his body. How had he let himself fall asleep in this last night? It’s probably all crumpled, he’ll have to get it dry cleaned-

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he scrambles for it, heart pounding as he catches sight again of his snappily dressed reflection. It’s a text from Tyler, the last of several by the looks of things. He swipes to view them.

From: Tyler omg CANNOT believe what happened last night

From: Tyler can we get brunch today?? lots to discuss..

From: Tyler hellooo?? earth to dan?

From: Tyler did u die from overstimulation of the brain after giving ur all time celeb crush ur fREAKING NUMBER

From: Tyler message me when ur awake bitch x

The blood drains from Dan’s face as he reads through the messages, all of which confirm that the events of last night weren’t a dream, and that, yes, Phil Lester did saunter into the bar, flirt with him, and hand over his designer shirt so that Dan wouldn’t have to finish work in a soaked one. 

Not knowing how to respond to Tyler, Dan chooses to just ignore it for now. He places the phone down and begins carefully unbuttoning the shirt, fingers practically trembling when he thinks of how expensive it would be if he were to accidentally rip a button off. As his fingers open the lapels, his mind flashes up a helpful image of Phil doing the exact same in front of him last night, his methodical, pale fingers working to reveal his bare chest inch by inch, right in the middle of the god damn bar. 

Dan’s face flames, and he tries hard to think of something else. Once the shirt is off, he folds it as carefully as he can and places it on the counter beside the sink. He then shucks off his beer-soaked jeans, which do not get anywhere near the same treatment, and jumps into the shower. 

It’s only as the warm, comforting stream of water cascades over him that Dan’s frantic mind relaxes enough to slip back into the memory of the previous evening, and all that transpired. Phil Lester. Right there before him. 

The slow, flirtatious smile spreading across his broad, full lips. The familiar sweep of his jet black hair. The pulse of his glinting blue eyes in the swirl of coloured lights. 

‘I got distracted by the cute bartender, and forgot to order him another one...’

‘I could save you as cute bartender when you text me...’

Cute. Phil had called him cute. Twice.

The water seems scalding hot, suddenly. Dan’s body temperature rises by at least two degrees, he’s sure. He swallows down some saliva, and runs his hands through his wet curls. How on earth had any of this happened? Situations like this are so unlikely that they’re almost never heard of. 

He feels how he imagines Katie Holmes must have felt when Tom Cruise sidled up to her, all flirtatious smiles and pick-up lines, after she’d been staring at his poster for all her childhood, tacked onto her bedroom wall. 

Again, the thick, treacly gaze Phil cast across to him over the bar seeps into Dan’s mind. The memory of it covers Dan's whole body, as if it were pouring out of the shower head, slathering him in its intensity. The amount of time Dan has spent staring into those eyes on his phone screen is insurmountable, but having experienced them in real life, he now knows that he may as well not have bothered. Those eyes will haunt him for the rest of time. 

He feels the familiar scratch of arousal start to drag at his thighs, tingling at the tips of his fingers, so he turns the temperature down, trying to divert it. Now that he’s spoken with Phil, so recently, it would seem odd to jerk off to the thought of him. 

...Not that AmazingPhil is anything like a stranger in Dan’s mental storage of wanking material. 

It’s just as Dan is rinsing the shampoo out of his hair that he remembers the one, tiny hiccup in the exchange with his crush. Phil had stolen Dan’s phone to type in his number, and had seen that Dan had been stalking his Instagram. 

As he freezes, remembering this mortifying scene, the shampoo trickles down into Dan’s eyes, blinding him. 

“Fuck!” Dan shouts, loud enough that he’s sure the neighbours heard. 

*

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Tyler shovels a slice of avocado toast into his mouth. He chews a bit, noisily, then continues speaking with his mouth full. “I trawl the billions of nasty vintage shops in the Laines for a designer shirt, and you get one handed to you for free?! And by a dazzling, incredibly hot model? Hand over your fucking magic lamp, Dan. Some of us need it more than others.”

Dan watches with a slightly downturned mouth as Tyler talks around his mouthful of food. “Err, I think I was due some good luck, actually.”

Tyler looks like he’s about to argue, but then shuts his mouth, staring down at his plate in reluctant acceptance. “Yeah, okay, true. But still. Can I at least touch it?”

Dan shakes his head, drawing the bag containing the shirt closer to his side of the table. He’s taking it to the local dry cleaning company after this, as well as giving the staff there a long, terrifying warning that if they do so much as snag a stitch, there will be hell to pay. 

“No way,” Dan replies. “You’ll nick the thing if I let you too close to it.” 

Tyler sighs. “You know me too well.” He bites his lip, staring longingly at the bag, and sighs again. “So, when is Mister Delavigne retrieving his garment?” 

Dan shrugs, poking at the poached egg on his plate with a fork. He has no idea why he ordered this, he doesn’t really eat eggs. But brunch is such a specific meal, he feels like he needs to order something aesthetically ‘brunch-like’. 

“Wait, you mean you haven’t set up a time to give it back to him yet?” Tyler asks, horrified. 

“It hasn’t even been a day,” Dan says. “Besides, he said he might stop in on Thursday for Bingo-”

“No no no!” Tyler cries, sounding scandalised. “Dan, are you this clueless? The man gave you his number!” 

Dan’s cheeks heat, remembering the incident that occurred during this scenario. “Yeah, to text him about getting the shirt back.”

Tyler rolls his eyes. “No, you nonce, the shirt is irrelevant! It’s an excuse for you to get in touch with him.” 

This time, Dan rolls his eyes. “Don’t be stupid. It’s a fucking designer shirt, he just wants to make sure he’ll get it back.” 

“He was flirting with you!” 

“He’s a flirty guy. Trust me, I know everything about him. I’m like... a big fan.” 

A sigh of pity gusts across the table towards him. Tyler places a hand atop his, and leans forwards. “Dan, listen to me. Text that hunk of delicious, geek-chic muscle, and watch how he responds. I guarantee he will try and flirt more.” 

“I guarantee he will just say he wants his shirt back.” 

Tyler smirks. “You’re on, dumbo.” 

*

It takes Dan two and a half beers to summon the courage to text Phil. He spends Sunday evening scrolling through the photos on the AmazingPhil Instagram page, studying each one in great detail so that he can remember each minute feature of Phil’s perfect, Adonis-like face. 

He’s had the text message screen up for some time, the word ‘Phil’ at the top where he’d saved his number, as if he were just any ‘Phil’, rather than the Amazing Phil that has haunted Dan’s daydreams ever since he first stumbled on a photo of him years prior. 

For maybe the sixth time that night, Dan types out a potential message. 

From: Dan To: Phil Hey, this is Dan from Habeneros bar. I have your shirt. Would you like me to  send it back to you?

He doesn’t send it yet. Instead, he copies the message, and pastes it into his chat with Tyler. The response is practically instantaneous. Dan wonders, not for the first time, if Tyler actually has any semblance of a life outside of the bar. 

From: Tyler To: Dan wtf is that shit????

From: Tyler To: Dan r u trying to turn him off

From: Dan To: Tyler ?? what do u mean

From: Tyler To: Dan u sound like a bot

From: Dan To: Tyler im being polite!!!

From: Tyler To: Dan polite is not going to get you in his pants

Instantly, Dan’s cheeks catch aflame, and he feels his heart squeeze. Even the idea of such a thing is too much for Dan’s poor, wrung out brain to comprehend. He could never, in a billion years, be that lucky. After last night, where one of the most absurd of his sexual fantasies came true - Phil stripping off in front of him in public - he’s sure his luck has run dry. 

From: Dan To: Tyler shut up. tell me what to say then

From: Tyler To: Dan ‘hey sexy, still shirtless? i live nearby if u want some help with that...’

Dan splutters and chokes on his beer. 

From: Dan To: Tyler NO!!

From: Tyler To: Dan fine fine. prude. how about...

Teeth gritted as he wills his heart rate to settle back into a reasonable rhythm, Dan waits for Tyler’s next message. His fingernails tap on the edge of his beer bottle. Trit, trit, trit. 

From: Tyler To: Dan ‘hey! not sure if u remember me but u heroically clothed me in ur Givenchy at a bar on Sat. the lanky bartender covered in blue sugary liquid? i know, i know, super hot.  anyway :’) i have your shirt. you  should swing by the bar again! or i  can send it back. up to you dude!  but bingo nights are off the fuckin chain js. let me know :) x’

Dan reads the message through, only cringing slightly. Honestly, he was sure it would be way worse. It’s actually kind of funny, and weirdly sounds like him. Tyler has clearly been subjected to Dan’s lame sense of humour for far too long. 

Without thinking, Dan drains the rest of his beer, copies the message Tyler gave him, and pastes it into the text box he’s opened with Phil. He presses send before his alcohol laced mind can catch up, wanting to be rid of this conundrum. 

From: Dan To: Tyler ok, sent it. 

From: Tyler To: Dan omg what :O

From: Tyler To: Dan did you really?? :’’’D

From: Tyler To: Dan i thought you’d want to edit it a bit first!! wow ok looool

From: Dan To: Tyler dont say that! you’ll make me anxious

From: Dan To: Tyler besides you made it sound like me its fine

From: Tyler To: Dan uh huh... let me know what he says :’D

From: Dan To: Tyler i fucking hate u

From: Tyler To: Dan xxx

The corner of Dan’s mouth quirks traitorously. His relationship with Tyler is complicated. Never before has he been able to hate someone and love them at the same time. Just as he’s about to pocket the phone again, it buzzes in his hand. He glances at the screen to see that Phil has - oh, God - already texted him back. 

He almost drops the damn thing.

From: Phil To: Dan hey dan! yeah of course i remember you ;D surprisingly i dont strip off in the middle of a bar that often. or  for just anyone ;) omg id forgotten about bingo!! super excited. i’ll be there! what time should i swing by? xx

His hand grows clammy, and he can feel his heart picking up speed. It’s mental that just reading Phil’s words can have him so agitated. He wonders if Phil has already saved his name into his phone. Probably not. Dan’s still a complete stranger, just one that happens to have a very expensive item of his clothing. 

From: Dan To: Phil awesome. you wont be disappointed! bingo starts at 7 on thursdays :) ur  shirt and i will see you there! x

Dan dithers about the kiss. He deletes it and retypes it three times, wondering what sort of message it transforms into when it’s added. In the end, after careful analysis of Phil’s initial message (in which there are not one, but two kisses attached) he decides to leave it on. 

Dan more or less expects that to be the end of the conversation, and he breathes a sigh of relief as the text swoops out of his control, but the sight of the three pulsating dots on the left bottom corner of his screen stop him from closing the text window. 

He waits, heart palpitating, for Phil’s reply. 

From: Phil To: Dan are u feeding her well? i hope ur  taking her for a walk twice a day.  tell her i love and miss her, and will see her soon. xx

Dan snorts with laughter, realising that Phil is referring to the shirt. 

From: Dan To: Phil she just pooped on my carpet :/ buttons everywhere x

From: Phil To: Dan :o so sorry. will be sure to give her no treats when i get her back xx

From: Dan To: Phil what kind of treats does she like? x

From: Phil To: Dan moth balls, tide pods... she’s fussy  :/ xx

Dan’s sniggers into his jumper sleeve, eyes crinkling at Phil’s silly responses. Is this flirting, he wonders? Could Tyler have been right about this? 

From: Phil To: Dan gotta run! im sitting in makeup for a shoot and they just finished  prettifying me :’D see u thurs ;) xx

‘You’re already pretty’ is Dan’s instant thought for a response, but he deletes it as soon as his fingers begin typing the words. He shakes his head at himself, berating his brain for being so gooey and idiotic. 

From: Dan To: Phil cool :) see u! x

Much more appropriate, Dan thinks, then locks his phone. It hits him like a freight train as he sits on the edge of his bed, blank phone in hand, that he just arranged a follow up meeting with AmazingPhil. 

He remains perfectly still, sure that the second he moves, the impact of what he’s just done will send him into a full blown panic attack. He invited Phil to Bingo night of all nights. 

He drops his head into his hands, groaning. As he looks up through the slats between his fingers, he notices the Givenchy shirt, hanging proudly on the door of his wardrobe. 

“This is all your fault,” Dan tells it. It doesn’t respond. 

*

Bingo nights are one of the Habenero bar’s busiest. Tyler first came up with the idea around two years ago, being a self-declared Bingo-hoe, but filled with criticism of Brighton’s few and far between Bingo events. 

“Bingo should be about booze, glitter, and loud, obnoxious screaming,” Tyler used to say. “Brighton needs to up its Bingo game.” 

Finally, after months of pleading to Habenero's owner, Tyler managed to wrangle an opportunity to host an experimental Bingo evening, run on his terms. He spared no expense of the meagre budget he was permitted, and created Brighton's, and maybe the world's, first Gay Rave Bingo Extravaganza. 

There are several rounds to the game. The first is the ‘classic’ round, to get everyone into the swing of things. Players are in teams of up to five, they get a Bingo board between them with a selection of random numbers. Tyler, the charismatic host, hops up on the stage to crack a few jokes and welcome everyone. He then goes back to serve drinks whilst Dan calls out the numbers. 

Teams receive ten points per round if they win, five if they come second, one if they come third. 

The following rounds get a little... messier. There’s a ‘drag race’ round, where new boards are handed out, and photos of the RuPaul’s Drag Race contestants are projected onto a screen. Players must correctly identify the contestants in order to be able to cross them all off on their boards. 

This is followed by Dan’s favourite, the ‘closet smash’ round, where clips of famous ‘gay’ scenes from movies, TV shows, webseries’ or any other kind of media are shown on mute, and players must cross the unheard lines of dialogue off on their board. 

There’s a ‘guess the ballad’ round, where LGBT+ friendly songs are played that must be guessed, and finally one last round of just numbers, this time while everyone is significantly more drunk (drinking a sip or a shot each time a correct answer is guessed is highly encouraged, but not necessarily advised by the bar staff, due to the lawsuit that could ensue) and there are loud, booming Madonna hits playing. 

The team with the most points at the end of the night gets a £50 bar tab, along with a shower of glitter, confetti and applause. The losing team has to forfeit. 

Phil arrives in the nick of time, flanked by one intimidatingly attractive man, and a slightly older straight couple. Dan spots them straight away, and hops down from the stage, pink-cheeked, as Tyler continues welcoming the various patrons that have shown up. 

There is no shortage of teams this evening. Dan sincerely hopes Phil is prepared for what’s about to unfold here, although if he has ever been to a different Bingo night, he probably has a very different idea of what to expect. As Dan approaches, he can see the flicker of surprise that is so often found on first-timers' faces, flickering across Phil's gorgeous features.  

“Hey,” Dan manages, heart already clawing itself up his throat. 

Phil turns to him, a bright smile sweeping across his face at once. “Dan!”

A bright, white flash of electricity shoots down Dan’s spine; hearing his name on Phil’s lips is a little too much to handle, at present. He manages not to swoon on the spot, just. 

“You made it!” 

“Of course!” Phil grins. “How could I resist Bingo night?”

Dan smiles, melting under the pleasant, crackling campfire of Phil's warm greeting. Tonight, Phil is wearing contacts, and his eyes seem even bluer than they had the first time. As he stares into them, Dan thinks he can spot glimmers of gold, of violet, of lime. 

“Not sure this is quite the sort of Bingo night I pictured when you dragged me here, Phil,” the attractive man on Phil’s left says, breaking Dan out of his trance. 

Phil laughs, nodding in agreement. "Me neither. But I'm excited. This is PJ by the way, Dan." Phil jabs a thumb at the man. "And this is my brother, Martyn, and his girlfriend, Cornelia." 

Biting back a stab of jealousy, Dan shakes waves to each of them, ending on PJ, for whom he finds himself needing to bite back a stab of jealousy. How many attractive men does Phil just cart around with him, day to day?

"Oh don't get me wrong, Dan, I'm excited too," PJ says. "Anything glittery brings out the craft-wizard in me."

"Sophie's going to be so pissed that she missed this," Phil says, eyes still sweeping around the gaudily decorated bar. Tyler spares no expense for Bingo nights. Everything is covered in banners, in balloons, in... glitter. Lots and lots of glitter. It's a nightmare to clean up at the end of the night, every time. 

"Not sure it's acceptable to have two straight couples in a gay bar," PJ mutters in response. 

Ah, Dan notes, his jealous monster retracting its claws. PJ is perhaps not as much of a threat as he'd thought. Not that there's anything about Dan which would need threatening. His chances with someone like Phil are laughably non-existent, whether or not Phil's handsome friends are straight. 

"Oh, you're all very welcome," Dan assures PJ. "Bingo is a non-discriminatory sport."

"Sport?" Martyn asks, looking a little more on the concerned side than some of the others.

Dan chuckles. "Yeah, uh, our take on Bingo is a bit more... energetic, than you might be used to."

Phil raises a perfectly arched eyebrow, obviously intrigued. Dan just smiles back enigmatically. “So, do you have a spare table for us?” 

“Hmm, we might,” Dan says, trying with all his might to look nonchalant as he sweeps a vague gaze across the room. 

By no means can Phil know that Dan has spent the last two hours in which he and his co-workers set up being relentlessly teased for insisting on saving the best table for AmazingPhil. He'd gotten to work early, in fact, and reserved Phil the table right near the front, not too close to the speakers, but with a fantastic view of the ball cage and the screen. 

As breezily as he can, Dan leads Phil and his friends to this table, and gets them seated with pens, a Bingo board, and some drinks menus. It’s at this moment that Tyler, who has been buffeting the audience about on the breeze of his easy, clever humour, decides to introduce him. 

“And this yummy little twink over here is Dan,” Tyler says into the mic he’s holding. He gestures down at where Dan hovers, near to Phil’s table. The audience all turn to him, spreading a warm, gradual blush over his cheeks. “Dan will be fondling all your balls this evening, so do please keep an eye on him. Tip him well, ladies. Fellas. Folks in between.”

The audience laugh heartily, including all of Phil's table, so Dan just glares at Tyler, then scurries onto the stage in preparation for the first round. As he draws the first few numbers from the ball cage, Tyler wanders through the tables, taking drinks orders and greeting some regulars. Dan watches him hawkishly as he goes, hardly concentrating as he calls out the numbers. Eventually, Tyler saunters over to Phil's table, which is a frightening thing to behold. Dan stutters as he calls out the number in his hand, too intent on trying to lip-read Tyler's words as he converses with Phil and his friends. 

Whatever Tyler is saying seems to be making Phil laugh, which is hardly a good sign. 

After a minute or so, Tyler moves away, and Dan relaxes into his routine, cracking jokes each time a vaguely sexual number is called out - everyone loses their goddamn shit as usual when he reads out 69 - and things pass without issue. He keeps an eye on Phil's table as subtly as he can, and from what he can make out, the four of them seem to be having a good time. 

It catches Dan off guard when a table near the back shout out "Bingo!", distracted as he is by Phil's presence tonight. He blinks at the winning table for a moment before remembering his duty, and calls them up on stage to check their board. 

"Alright, winner of the first round, table 22!"

"Our team name is actually Cougar Chasers," one glittery young man informs him. 

Dan just smiles awkwardly, not wanting to explain that team names have never been part of the Bingo rules. As the team leave the stage, Dan glances back down towards Phil's table just in time to see Phil mouth "this round?" to PJ. 

He smirks to himself, wondering how the infamous AmazingPhil will cope under the intensity of the next few hours. 

*

Phil does not cope well. 

His team struggles the most by a long way, which is perfectly normal for first time Bingo players at Habenero. They get some points, but only a few, and are often seen scribbling frantically, or having heated discussions amongst themselves, eyes wide, hands gesticulating, stirring the confetti that's gathered on the table. 

Despite his poor performance, however, Phil seems to be enjoying his experience thoroughly. His glasses may be steamed from the dry ice Tyler pumps out in excess, and his clothes and hair might be smothered in an inch of glitter, but he's grinning widely, and is clearly trying his hardest. His forté seems to be the drag race round, for which his team actually manages to place second due to Phil's apparent extensive knowledge of the show. 

He throws the board up in the air when he shouts "Bingo!", but unfortunately it's a fraction of a second too late, and another team snags first place. 

At the end of the final round, it becomes clear to Dan, with a slow sense of dread, that Phil's team has lost. The losing team gets a forfeit, and it's almost always the same thing. Tyler swans over to the stage to announce the winners, and Dan falls back, eyeing Phil's table with a prickling fear. 

"...so big round of applause once more for our winners, everyone!" Tyler shouts once he's announced everyone. The crowd cheer and whistle for the winning teams, who bow theatrically, blowing kisses to the audience. "Bring your sparkly asses up to the bar to claim your £50 worth of drinks. But, come on now folks. I know what you dramatic little hoes are really excited for." Tyler winks and they all laugh, cheering happily. "Our big losers tonight... I am most scintillated to announce, are..." 

Dan bites his lip. 

"Table 34! Otherwise known as our smoking celebrity presence this evening, Instagram's AmazingPhil," Tyler announces. "And friends." 

Phil's eyebrows shoot up in unmistakeable shock. The crowd cheers, bewildering him and the others at the table even further. To Dan's surprise, Phil looks to him, questioningly, as if he's asking Dan to explain. Dan sends him a pitying glance, wondering if there's any way to warn Phil of what's about to happen. It's usually fairly pointless to try and stop Tyler, however. And besides, the idiot is already speaking again. 

"So, I'm sure you all know by now what happens to our losing team each week," Tyler says, grinning down at them all. "Table thirty-four, please kindly follow me to the bar." 

A loud 'whoop' of excitement resounds around the room, and there's a scrape of chairs as people hurry over towards the bar, wanting to secure the best spots for the spectacle about to unfold. Dan reluctantly begins climbing down from the stage as well, at which point he feels someone grab his arm. He turns, surprised to find himself face to face with Phil, and stumbles on his way down. Phil, who still has hold of his arm, manages to stop Dan from landing smack down on the sticky floor, hauling him upright. 

Dan, mortified, stammers out some sort of thank you, much to Phil's amusement. "Don't worry," Phil tells him. "I surprised you, it's my fault. Though I have a feeling I'm not going to be feeling as chivalrous towards you in a few minutes." 

Phil raises an eyebrow at him, still questioning, and Dan just attempts an enigmatic smile. He's so flustered that he's sure it comes off as more of a grimace, but at least he tries. 

"Hey, mate, it's not my fault you suck at Bingo," Dan says, his daring comment scrounged up from a reserve of courage he wasn't aware existed. "The Habenero staff accept no responsibility for you not reading the rules of the event before participating." 

Phil huffs a laugh, and releases him. "Perhaps a certain bartender should have given me a list of these rules before allowing me to sign up?"

Dan throws his hands up in front of him, already backing away from the conversation. "Hey, all the rules are listed on our website. Now, sir, if you would kindly step up to the bar to accept your forfeit."

Just as Dan is about to turn from him and sprint off, Phil steps forwards, penetrating Dan's personal bubble with his intimidating presence. Dan stops breathing instantly, caught in a sudden limbo as the world slows around him, the movements of the crowd crawling to a snail's pace, the pumping music becoming a distorted drawl. Phil leans towards him, a smirk on his lips, which he brings to Dan's ear. 

"Kind of like it when you call me Sir." 

He leans away, and the world falls back into its rhythm, the music blaring, the lights swirling in a cacophony of colour. Dan blinks, or so it seems, and Phil has moved from him, is back with his friends, headed for the bar. Dan lets out the breath he's been holding in a sudden rush, his lungs screaming with relief. He takes a moment to gather himself as best he can, heart palpitating wildly, and shakily makes his way over as well. 

*

"So, Dan, tell me," Phil says, wiping his sodden fringe from his brow. "How is it that whenever I come within ten feet of you, I seem to have an overwhelming urge to remove my shirt?" 

Dan, who is having a great deal of trouble averting his gaze from the miles of smooth, glittery skin covering Phil's bare chest, shrugs, mouth moving without making a noise. Phil is dripping wet, covered in beads of moisture, his damp shirt slung over one shoulder. He looks delicious, like a cold, dewy, fresh apple, just begging Dan to sink his teeth in. Just then, Tyler wanders over, placing two shots down on the bar between Dan and Phil. 

"Don't worry, hot stuff," Tyler tells Phil, winking. "Dan's pretty, but his charms wear off eventually." 

"I doubt that," Phil replies smoothly. Dan splutters, reddening. Phil glances down at the shots Tyler handed over, frowning. "What's this?"

"Thought you deserved a drink after all we put you through this evening," Tyler says. "And I thought Dan might like to join you."

Dan glares at Tyler, who just beams back, happily, before sauntering away. Shyly, Dan turns back to Phil, who has picked up the shot glass between his thumb and forefinger, and is rotating it in the space between them, gazing into the clear liquid. 

"Sorry about him," Dan says, surprised that he's able to force the words out, croaky as they are. "And sorry about... y'know. Everything else." 

Glancing over the rim of the shot glass, Phil grins, eyes crinkling. "Are you kidding? This is the best Bingo night I've ever been to." 

"Even though we sprayed you and your friends with the soda hoses for losing?" 

Phil nods. "Which means you must be an excellent Bingo host." 

"I'm just the guy who reads the numbers," Dan says, dismissive. 

He refuses to take credit for the Bingo nights. They're Tyler's baby, he just helps out. 

"You clearly know your way around the balls," Phil jokes, winking as Dan splutters again. His cheeks feel like they're about to burst into flames, at this point.

"Hah, well..." Dan shifts awkwardly, adjusting his jeans - they have a tendency to slip down his hips without permission. "Good to know I have at least one talent, I guess." 

"So, are you going to drink with me, Dan?" 

Dan hesitates, looking down at the shot Tyler poured for him. The milky yellow colour suggests tequila, perhaps the strongest thing he could have given them. Dan has over an hour left of his shift still, and technically he's not supposed to ingest any alcohol whatsoever during working hours. However, that doesn't mean he never does. Customers buy him drinks all the time, and while he sometimes declines, or pretends to drink them... there have often been instances where he's given into temptation. 

As he stares across the counter at his all time crush, shirtless and dripping from where he'd been sprayed with lemonade and soda water, Dan kind of gets the feeling that this is going to be one of the times where his resistance falls through. 

Not trusting himself to speak, Dan just picks up the shot, and watches in quiet awe as Phil smiles, clinks his own against it, and throws it back, expertly. Caught on the tantalising bob of Phil's stubbled Adam's apple as he swallows the spirit, Dan almost forgets to drink his. He remembers just as Phil's eyes fall back to his, and downs it swiftly. 

Purely to show off, Dan reaches below the bar to grab some lemon wedges, and hands one to Phil, blushing. "Here, it's practically blasphemous to do a tequila shot without a chaser." 

"Well, I'm no stranger to sin," Phil says, but accepts the lemon anyway, grinning. 

Dan bites into his lemon wedge, cursing himself internally when he realises how unattractive his face becomes as he does so. Luckily, Phil just chuckles, and does the same, wincing. "Ugh, that was awful. Tell your friend I said thanks." 

Dan laughs. "I will."

"Well, I'd better get back to my friends," Phil says, scanning the immediate vicinity for them. "Not looking forward to another shirtless walk home though, I must admit. I got some... peculiar reactions from people last time." 

"Sorry about that," Dan says, one hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck. "Oh, wait, what am I saying? I have your shirt from last time, you can wear that." 

"Oh, right," Phil says, laughing to himself. "I completely forgot that's why I came tonight."

"Having too much fun, clearly," Dan jokes, already scooting out from behind the bar. "Come with me, I left it in the staff room." 

Dan weaves through the thinning crowd of people. People tend to leave pretty quickly after Bingo night ends on Thursdays. He and Tyler will probably be able to close early tonight. Dan can feel Phil following behind, as if he's attuned to Phil Lester's movement, tapped into the heat of his body. He feels he'd be able to just sense if Phil was in a room, even if it was packed with people. Phil's presence pours out a specific, viscous aura, clogging Dan's pores, seeping into the workings of his brain and slowing them down, smearing a haze across his sight. 

They reach the door of the staff room, marked 'private', and Dan pushes inside, heading straight for the lockers on the far wall. His skin prickles, sensing that Phil has followed him in here. It only now occurs to Dan how strange this might seem, luring Phil into an empty, secret room under the premise of returning him something. He decidedly does not turn around, instead choosing to fumble with his locker key in the door. 

"I, uh, got it dry cleaned," Dan babbles, drawing the garment out of his locker. It's still on its hanger, as uncreased and pristine as Dan could manage. "I don't know if it was supposed to have any special treatment, but I told them to be extra careful-" 

As Dan turns, he realises that Phil has moved extremely close. Neither of them hit the light switch, so the room remains dark, only lit dimly by the coloured lights pouring in through the ajar door. Dan can hear Phil breathe, can hear the thump of someone's heart - probably his own. He's pretty sure the song playing in the bar outside is Britney's 'Toxic', but he can't be sure. The sound of his own desperate, roiling desire is deafening. 

"Thanks, Dan," Phil says softly, reaching for the shirt. "Wish I could've seen you in it." There's a pause; Dan can hear his own cells fizzing through his body. "Or not in it." 

In that second, Dan is sure he's about to be kissed. Every sign is there: Phil inching closer, leaning in, the flutter of his eyes, as if they're about to fall shut. Dan tries to brace himself for it, to prepare his frantic brain for something so miraculous, so improbably, so utterly wild as being kissed by AmazingPhil-

The door swings open. Blinding, fluorescent light floods the room, and Phil steps backwards, cringing from it. 

"Shit, sorry..." Lara says from the doorway. Her round, pretty face is filled with apologies. "My shift is over, Tyler said I could head home... fuck, did I interrupt-"

"Hey, it's okay," Phil says brightly, sending her a soft, reassuring smile. "Dan was just returning my shirt. I need to head home as well, anyway. Great night, guys! Thanks again for the shirt, Dan!" 

In the next second, he's gone, and Dan, a mess of emotions, is somehow on the floor, back against the lockers, mind utterly blank. He vaguely notes, in the background, Lara jabbering at him, a thousand apologies falling from her lips. 

*

For two agonising days, Dan hears nothing else. Aside from Tyler bringing the topic up every few milliseconds, Dan's life trundles on devoid of AmazingPhil. Even his Instagram is dry. The day after Bingo night, Phil posts an apology note on his Instagram story that reads:

overdid it at Bingo last night (dont laugh) - having a much needed hangover day in bed with sweet potato fries & a Buffy marathon. Posts will resume ASAP! xx

The day after that, Phil posts nothing. It's unusual. Instagram is Phil's job, so he posts at least once a day, normally. Of course, there are exceptions, like when he goes up North to visit his family, or is too busy and forgets. There's far from a regular upload schedule, but AmazingPhil can normally be relied upon to post at least once a day, and often more. 

Then, on Sunday, just as Dan is getting in from his shift at around six in the morning, his phone buzzes. Dan reaches for it as he's peering into his fridge. He's bone tired, but his stomach is not going to let him go straight to sleep. 

He checks his notification, and freezes, under the judgemental eye of the courgettes on the shelf in front of him. 

amazingphil just posted a photo

Dan swipes the screen carefully, his heart in his mouth. How is he going to handle seeing this man, again, after everything that's occurred? He holds his breath, picturing the slow steps Phil made towards him, the gradual descent of his plush, pink mouth, the glimmer in his round, blue eyes...

The photo flashes up, and Dan's stomach twists in shock. His heart plunges to his knees, and he has to cling onto the fridge door for support. The photo is of Phil, and someone else. That someone else is recognisably Charlie Hickory, the man Phil had brought with him the first time they met. 

They're kissing. 

Hey guys! Sorry for the lack of posts, as you can see I've been kind of busy ;) back to normal uploads now, I promise!! xx

As his eyes sting with white hot jealousy, Dan realises just how deeply he's stupidly, ignorantly allowed himself to wade into this swamp of yearning for a guy he could never, in a thousand years, hope to get. 

"Well, I'm a fucking twat," Dan sighs, and slams the fridge door. 

(Part 3!)