#but this would not leave my brain due to how mad i am at liberals

[ikeagunpla]

im gonna attempt to engage in good faith with the idea of voting for the "lesser evil" here.

the idea that drives this impulse to vote for the democratic candidate is mostly that however bad said candidate is, the republican one is going to be worse and more dangerous. on a face value i can see where that argument comes from, the rhetoric from the republican party is explicitly reactionary, riling up their base with racist, transphobic, homophobic, and all other sorts of bigotry. and im sure this will translate to dangerous legislation being passed to protect bigots and push vulnerable groups further into dangerous situations.

the main thing that makes this argument invalid to me is that the democratic party has proved time and time again that their purported concern about these causes is purely aesthetic. they only claim to want to protect these vulnerable groups to get more votes out of them. a lot of the harm done to these communities in the past decade has either NOT been rolled back by the current democratic government, or has happened under them while they show no desire to stop any of it. during the last election cycle in the USA there were claims from liberals that "we were going to push biden left". this has clearly not happened. and if anything the biden administration seems to be falling more to the right with each passing day.

and that's like. my main point with this. biden has explicitly said he doesnt believe his bad poll numbers (not gonna link it im lazy just google it) amidst a significant movement against a genocide that he is funding. the left (or the "left" as liberals refer to, aka a mishmash of anything from liberal progressives to actual marxists) is only ever brought up by the democrats in a scolding tone, swearing that if they lose it's somehow The Left's fault. they have no interest in moving left and in fact seem to always do the exact opposite.

so voting for the lesser evil here means putting up with whatever atrocity the democratic government commits, seeing them do next to nothing to protect the people they claim to care about, even while things happen under their government that directly threaten these groups, only in the name of "ok but the other guy is worse tho". think for a second. if they continue drifting to the right and continue winning, are they gonna suddenly start pandering to the left? or are they going to take these wins as proof that their strategy of moving right is working. that they dont have to do anything to protect vulnerable groups. that they can go overseas and bomb whoever they want. that they dont have to care about whose rights are infringed upon.

TL;DR, the democratic party's on a rightward shift and they have no incentive to change, and voting for them again is not going to give them this incentive, its going to make them think their strategy of moving right is working. if they wanted to do anything to protect the rights of poc, the lgbtq+ community, or any other minority group, they wouldnt be sitting on their asses and letting their opponents spread misinformation and violent rhetoric.

[mycouchpullsoutbutidont]

Need to write all this down because I just stared into space for a solid 30 min just dreaming about this scenario / potential fanart comic that I could draw of Ben x Devi (I’ve been obsessing over them for the past couple of days and it’s probably due to me not having good dick since god knows forever)

(Draft)

So the comic will start off with Devi being sort of upset and horny, reminiscing about her interaction with Paxton - maybe a really hot makeout sesh and they’re about to have sex - except last minute, Devi gets cold feet and it’s sexually frustrating for Paxton. So Devi is hella embarrassed and mad at herself for pulling back. She tries to initiate again, but Paxton is just like, “forget it, you’re not ready,” and Devi is like “no, I want it.” And Paxton pauses, looks at her, and shakes his head like “no, you’re not. It’s okay. I don’t want you to feel pressured to do something you’re not ready for.” Which Devi feels insulted by and is terribly sorry. Paxton just smiles and kisses her on the forehead and is like, “I think I should drop you off. It’s getting late.”

End daydream. Devi reels in secondhand embarrassment and is mad at herself for stopping. She vows not to do that again and, of course, in typical Devi fashion, she thinks to herself, “well, if we end up having sex the next time we makeout, I better do my due diligence and research into how to properly have sex.”

And what other way to learn about something than to study up on it?

She begins thinking about how she could do her research. She’s studied anatomy before and knows the basics - the testicles, the glans, urethra, sperm, prostate, yadda yadda. And she’s taken health class and sexual education on how to put on condoms (on bananas- nonetheless - San Fernando valley had pretty liberal sex ed).

But she’s never seen what sex looked like. Never heard it. Never smelled it. Never experienced it from afar or visually.

That’s when she thought of it - porn.

She goes to her room, opens up her laptop, and googles “porn.” Search results pop up, and she catches glimpse of some of the keywords.

“Perky oiled brunette shoves two cocks in both holes”

“Slut sucks slobbers on big veiny dick”

“Curvy sexy ebony rides and squirts before getting facial”

The ache in her groin gnawed even more and—did she just twitch down there? With her blood rushing to her cheeks and between her legs with each horny, perverted word that her eyes came across, her fingers tremble and her body - her breasts - feels like it’s tingling, aching and needing to be roughly handled.

Nervous and horny, she clicks on the first one: porn hub.

She enters a site of orange and black - a pop up window asks if she’s 18 or older. She hesitates, feeling dirty and corrupt. She clicks on enter.

Squares of images lined in a grid populate, organized by category. She skims the words - “Anal”, “BBW,”“Cumshot,” “Compilations”—the list went on and on.

One of the categories catches her eye: “Desi.”

It was both laughable and eye-opening to see that category. A category just for Indian women? She was both amazed and flattered, and for just a brief moment, she wondered if her ancestors could see her.

Her father, she thinks.

Oh god, why is she thinking of him all of a sudden.

Ashamed, she shakes her head, exits out of the window, and closes her laptop. A cool chill runs down her spine, calming her excitement, chilling the pulsating heat that had pooled between her legs. She’s embarrassed for thinking of her dead father and for even thinking of looking up porn. She’s ashamed and pushes her laptop away, now doubly frustrated at herself and for still being sexually pent up. She gets up to grab water in the kitchen, hoping the ice cold water will help temper her aching need.

The doorbell rings.

Devi’s ears perk, and she furrows her brows. Who could this be, she thinks, as she ran down the stairs, walking to the door to peep through the hole.

She gasps, “oh crap.”

It’s Ben!

“Shoot, I forgot!”

Ben was supposed to come over to work on a history project with her - and have dinner, she remembers, since she told her mom and her mom insisted.

“Ah, yes Ben! I remember that boy with the massive pimple on his face who cried in my office!” Devi smirks at Nalini’s comment but then remembers, dammit, why did her mom also want him for dinner?

She opens the door, deepens her frown, a blush creeping on her face as she locks her brown eyes with light blue ones.

“Sup, loser,” Ben says, and Devi almost loses her blush except he smirks, a twinkle in his eye, and a slightly lifted brow. Devi’s eyes trail down over his shirt which clings to his pecs and biceps, and she feels the blush coming back.

And then she notices his strong arms and hair and veins—

“Fuck you,” she says, rolling her eyes, quickly turning her back against him so he doesn’t see her blush harder.

Jeez, what’s wrong with her today? Devi thought (as well as Ben). Why was she so god damn horny?

“What’s your problem, David?” Ben asks. He looks around Devi’s living room. “Where’s your mom?”

Devi shrugs. “Probably at work with her coworkers. Mom’s trying to bring more fun and benefits to motivate them, she claims.”

“Ah, that explains it.” Ben is a little relieved since Devi’s mom was a tough one to please. But, he knew that Nalini had a soft spot for him. (Or, at least he had a 95% confidence level in that thought).

“Actually, kanna, I’m just finish up cooking dinner here with Kamala,” Nalini chimed.

Ben and Devi snapped their heads towards the direction of the kitchen where Nalini and Kamala were cleaning up.

“And if you had helped me like you should have done, you’d know that I was busy cooking up aloo gobi dosas before leaving for my work event later tonight.”

Ben sniffed deeply, the aroma of ghee and asafetida and cumin wafting in the air. How did Devi not notice her mom was cooking with the delicious smells dancing in her home?

“S-sorry mom, I forgot. I just have been feeling a bit out of it today,” Devi replies sheepishly. “Kind of feel hot.” Which was true. Something was terribly wrong with her today for some reason. It felt like there was this growing ache down in her groin that needed to be filled, and with each step she took, every friction against her clit would send shivers of pleasure all over her body.

Before Ben could react, Nalini immediately runs to Devi’s side and places the back of her hand on Devi’s forehead.

“Hm,” Nalini scrunches her brows. “I don’t feel a fever, but you do have a slight blush. Devi, if you’re feeling sick, please don’t get us all sick and go to your room. You should’ve told us and Ben earl—“

“I’m not sick!” Devi blurts, shaking her head. Nalini is taken aback.

“I- I guess,” Devi lowers her voice, trying to come up with an excuse for why she was dickstracted—er, distracted.

“I feel burnt out from studying for AP physics and AP calculus this week,” Devi lies.

“Amateur,” Ben scoffs, smirking. He looks at Devi who snaps to look, looking both mad and flustered, her cheeks tinted slightly redder than normal. It was enough to wipe the smirk off his face. Was she okay?

“I’m not letting you show me up, you jerk!”

Yeah, she was okay, he thought.

“Devi!” Nalini’s jaw fell and she looked like she was about to chew Devi’s face off which terrified Ben.

“N-no, sorry Ms Vishwakumar, that was totally my fault and uncalled for,” Ben cuts in. He looks at Devi who still looks mad at him (but less so, maybe a bit of relief).

“Would it be all right if we study first and then eat dinner?” Ben asks, not sure whether to direct the question to Nalini or Devi first.

“Dinner will get cold,” Nalini warns. “But, I must leave now, so you two can do what you will and whatever regarding dinner.” As she runs towards the door and grabs the keys, Nalini whips her head back and stares daggers at Devi.

“Devi, behave please,” she says through gritted teeth before shutting the door.

Devi sighs in relief and turns to Ben.

“So,” she says, heading towards the stairs. “Let’s get moving. We don’t have much time before dinner gets cold and it’s bedtime.”

Ben nods, walking behind under her. He looks up - damn she has a nice ass - curvy and round. He notices she is wearing a pretty short skirt, and—was that…

Ben blinks twice in disbelief, looking away before looking again. It was no doubt what it was—sticky wet lubricant-like liquid. Running down her inner thigh. Or maybe that’s sweat, he told himself.

Ben blushes. Wow, he felt like such a pervert for staring up her skirt. That and they were going up to her room. To study. Yeah.

(But damn her butt, her curves)

As they enter her room, Ben immediately plops down on the floor, opens his bag quickly, pulls out his AP European history book and notebook, and opening them and flipping through pages (nervously?) and quietly.

“Dude, you’ve been eerily silent this entire time,” Devi torts, and she can’t blame him, can’t blame how nerve wracking it was to have your chiseled (wait shut up Devi) arch nemesis in her room - supposedly a safe haven - to study. Come to think of it, why did she let him in her room? She began to regret her decision, especially when she realized that her nervousness was also turning into heated excitement, her breasts were tingling with desire and even her clit—

“You said you wanted to hurry, so here I am, focused, David,” Ben snaps. He ignores the fact that she’s not wearing a bra and that her tank top isn’t enough to hide her hardened nipples.

(Her cleavage looked so inviting, he dare not stare too long at her tits)

“Actually, for once, you didn’t use your brain and suggest we work downstairs and eat dinner simultaneously instead,” Devi retorted. “Let me just grab my laptop and we can go back downstairs to study and eat dinner at the same time.”

“Don’t put the blame on me for your lack of brain usage,” Ben snapped back, rolling his eyes.

Devi throws a stuffed animal at his head, and he barely dodges it.

“Asshole,” she mutters as she gets on her knees and reaches over her mattress and duvet, grabbing her Macbook.

That’s when Ben saw her soaking wet panties.

Heat rushed from his head to his other head, his cock jumping.

Holy fuck, he thought, is she doing this on purpose? Why did she have to put her ass up like that? Was this intentional? This was a little too cliche, he thought, and porn-like. Girl wearing no bra and apparently soaking wet invites horny boy over to her room and puts her ass in the air while in bed?

“Uh, yeah, yep, sure, that’s probably a better idea,” Ben stammers, trying to ignore his growing boner and grabbing his books. “Lemme just stuff—“

(Those boobs)

“—these boo….ooks. Books. In my bag.” He pushes the last book in his backpack and zips it up.

Oh dear god, did she notice his almost Freudian slip?

He glances over at her, and she’s got a raised brow. “Uh, okay, weirdo, did you just almost say boobs?” Devi says.

“What, no?” Ben says. “You weird pervert.”

“Don’t lie! I saw you staring at my boobs! You’re the pervert!”

“What kind of crap are you projecting onto me for? I’m innocent!”

“You’re like the least innocent person I know!”

“That’s definitely not true,” Ben scoffs. “And even if it was, it’s better than being an Unfuckable Nerd.”

That did it. That was the straw on the camel’s back. Devi was enraged, insulted, and sexually frustrated. Ben had dug into a deep insecurity of hers, a wound that she desperately wanted to heal and prove herself out of. For all her life, she had never felt desirable, never had a boy flirt with her or ask her out or even given her attention. When Ben first called her an “Unfuckable Nerd,” she didn’t show how painful the sting of his insult was to her lonely heart. She did not want to be the forever nerdy virgin who was seen as sexually undesirable and —god forbid—ugly.

(Was that why Paxton pushed her away, she thought briefly?)

“Shut up!” she yells before chucking her laptop at him. She misses by a meter (thank god her eye hand coordination was god awful), but she’s not sure if she was even intending on hitting him with the laptop. Still, the moment the laptop flew out of her hands and onto her carpeted floor (with a nice thud), Ben knew he had made a huge mistake. And so did Devi (though she dare not be the first one to admit that she was wrong).

Except she was really wrong this time.

“Devi!” Ben exclaimed. “I’m—“

“Oh fuck Ben, I’m—“

“So sorry.”

Both Ben and Devi apologized simultaneously, with heavy regret and a tint of fear in their voices.

“N-no, I crossed the line, Devi,” Ben said. “It’s really…misogynistic and objectifying of me to call you Unfuckable.”

Because you’re quite the opposite, he thought.

Devi acknowledged internally the apology, but it still stung painfully in her heart. She wanted to let him know that it still hurt.

(Especially hearing that term from him).

Still, she knew she was also incredibly at fault for almost injurying Ben.

“I’m also sorry, I really…really should’ve not thrown my laptop at you. I could’ve injured you really badly.” Devi dropped down to her knees, getting down to Ben’s level since he was still on the floor, a bit shaken by her throwing her laptop at him.

“I guess I deserved it,” he said. He looked over at the laptop on the ground.

“But if you did break it, don’t expect me to pay for a new one,” he said with a smirk.

Devi rolled her eyes. “I’m not your sugar baby; I wasn’t expecting you to pay for a new one.” She crawls towards her MacBook (Ben consciously looking away since she’s on her knees again) and opens it, praying to herself that it was still functioning.

She tapped on her keyboard multiple times.

Blank screen.

“Oh fuck,” she whispered. She kept tapping on the keys of the keyboard.

No response.

“Crap!” Devi hissed. “Oh no, no no no!” She was sort of panicking. “I knew this would happen.”

“So why did you throw the laptop then?” Ben slyly asked.

“Not. Helpful. Ben.”

Ben scoots closer to Devi, wraps his arm around her—

Devi is shocked, his graze making her melt into his touch, sending the pent up frustration and heat back to her ache and pussy—

But, Ben was only merely reaching around to press down on her laptop’s button for a couple of seconds before the lock screen shone back on.

Oh, Devi thought, a feeling of defeat and disappointment settling in her chest. He wasn’t hugging her.

But, hey her laptop’s alive.

“Oh thank god,” she says, breathing a sigh of relief before turning to him - wow he’s somehow pretty close to her face and body and oof, his proximity sets a fire across her entire body —

“Consider yourself lucky. Looks like you don’t have to buy me a new laptop,” she says, smirking.

Ben scoffs.

“In your dreams, David.”

Oddly enough, Ben’s arm is still wrapped around her, his presence warm and enveloping. Devi is tempted to lean into it but knows better (especially not now when she has been hot and bothered all day).

She types her password in her Lock Screen, hits enter, and gasps in horror as she realized that she didn’t properly close out her browser full of porn -

(which is now blasting moans of cam girls fucking the selves with sex toys all thanks to livejasmin)

“Oh shit!” Devi immediately slams her screen shut again.

But it was too late.

Ben’s brows shoot up, eyes widening and jaw dropping in guffaw. A laugh of disbelief escapes from his throat.

“Holy crap! And you called ME the pervert?” Ben laughs. “Who’s the pervert now?”

But damn, wow, he’s turned on.

He tightens his arm around Devi in a proper hug now, pressing her closer to him, and leans in, an inch from her ear, whispering —

“You’re a dirty girl”—

Before pressing his lips on hers.

[cno-inbminor]

ipsum exitio (pt. 1)

a/n: for reasons explained here, this fic will be released in 2 parts! i want to thank everyone again who’s expressed an interest in this, and i hope that it lives up to some expectation. this fic is really big on introspection and includes a lot of arguably necessary exposition.

but more importantly, i want to thank @/a-kaashi (raenah) for being a huge support and my beta for this piece. she’s put in so much effort and thoughts into helping me make this into what it is now, and i can’t thank her enough.

plot: self-destruction is in the calm before the storm, in the eye of a hurricane. but when the forces are right, the winds are rapid enough, the catalysts send you hurling, you find yourself leaving a monstrous and disastrous path in your wake.

characters: ushijima wakatoshi, semi eita, iwaizumi hajime (in pt. 2), and male oc, w/fem!reader possessing vagina/uterus/uterine-system (other oc’s also included)

wc: 16.5k

genre/warnings: (+18) slice of life, angst, descriptions and moments of high anxiety, explicit smut (in pt. 2) (w/slight degradation, size kink, spanking, etc.) & virginity loss, alcohol consumption, talks about virginity and sex toys, slow burn, pining, implied bisexual reader

pt. 2

A breeze flows in through the open window of your apartment, softly caressing your face as you lean against the sill on your elbows. You drink in the view of Tokyo at night like a fine wine sliding down your throat, attuning to all your senses. With tear ducts dry and dust caked along the rims of your eyes, they shut in defeat, the semblance of a white flag splayed on the back of your eyelids. Cars honk in the distance and your legs struggle to support your weight. The scent of sulfur from the earlier downpour teases at your nostrils, causing your nose to scrunch a bit as you openly take in the scenery before you again.

A nearby billboard flashes bright, mechanically cycling through advertisements and never resting. The LED lights paint a picture that you are all too acquainted with, even more so with the man in the frame. Your body is plunged into a lake of bitter nostalgia as your heart wrenches painfully. Instead of fighting against the resistance of the water and gravity, you succumb to the anchor dragging you down, knowing that eventually, the waves will recede, and you will return to shore again.

Inhale. Count. Exhale.

Breathe.

--

11 years ago

Shiratorizawa is and always has been a battle ground. It was a miracle that you even made it there, quite honestly. The pressure and the overwhelming suffocation of competition filled your lungs and lodged in your airway the day you moved into the dorms and attended orientation. Everyone seemed so tense, so on edge, clutching their folders and packets like lifelines while absorbing all information possible. A stray few seemed more at ease and relaxed, but to you at the time, that immediately sounded the alarms – to seemingly thrive in this environment from the very beginning could only be the marks of a dangerous but powerful person.

What became a source of comfort was the realization that everyone else felt equally as anxious as you, terrified of the hidden lions camouflaged in the masses. And each year, students crippled under the stress and high expectations – if you had to make an estimate, at least 83% of the student body would experience a breakdown during the time of final exams. But in the midst of all this academic madness, this debilitating drive to do more and reach beyond the sky, everyone found refuge in the school’s sports teams. Be it basketball, swimming, diving, volleyball, tennis – chances were someone in the top 5 of their respective sport within the prefecture would be at Shiratorizawa, and nothing proved more freeing than screaming your lungs out for the prides of your school.

Interestingly enough, you had found that liberation in the volleyball team, being able to turn off your brain with a switch and focus on something that had nothing to do with the filled pages of incomplete to-do lists in your agenda. Air batons in hand, water bottle by your side for the inevitable dry throat, you hollered and chanted with everyone else in the stands and watched the opponents surrender at the feet of none other than Ushijima Wakatoshi.

A force to be reckoned with, a skill that was so beautifully and adeptly honed, you understood very early on the massive admiration for the boy. Even only at 16, Wakatoshi had the physique of a grown man, the severity of his complexion intimidating everyone within 100 meters of him. The terrifying force of his spike and devilish spin resulting from being dominant in his left hand left the crowds in awe. It was evident that the coach used this to the team’s advantage, and suddenly, you felt the burning desire to be on the floor. You wanted to sit on the bench, to see his movement from the side and within an envious proximity – no worry for stray balls, only the chance to witness something so athletically beautiful and magnificent.

And even though you were crushed under a mountain of assignments and projects, as well as a whole slew of mini-projects you had given yourself to make your life harder, you were determined to add this on your list. The lack of self-control in pursuing your desires was going to kill you in the future, but this was not the day. So you dove in towards the trenches, filled out an application, gave all the reasons why having you as a manager would be more help than harm, and suddenly, you were standing on the side of the court next to coolers of water bottles.

You didn’t bother hiding your adoration for Wakatoshi, always having had a bit of a soft heart for the strong, silent type. He was a boy of few words, and each one seemed carefully chosen yet also charmingly candid. Most, except for his teammates, were relatively terrified to talk to him, but he was always polite and thanked you for your hard work. Perhaps it was your constant vulnerable state induced by stress that made you more likely to develop your first real crush on someone, to search for a refuge of sorts. Wakatoshi always seemed to have his life together, and it became painfully obvious to the others that you had developed affections for the school ace. Satori teased you endlessly, going as far as scheduling a poor attempt at an intervention to get a confession out of you. Whether it had been out of pity or a relentless amount of pressure from peers (read: Satori, again), Wakatoshi, by the grace of something powerful, accepted your feelings. Nevertheless, he was very clear in pointing out that this wouldn’t be like any other relationship.

“When not in class, I am most likely at volleyball practice. I do not subject myself to public displays of affection.”

“I understand.”

“I will also likely not have time for dates. I am sure you are aware of this with our heavy course load.”

“Of course.”

“But I will try my best to reciprocate some of your feelings. I have no experience in this, as you might know, but all I ask is for your support.”

“That’s without question.”

“Very well then. Are you sure you want to continue with this?” He inquired, his eyes boring straight into yours to search for the answer.

Little did you know that your affirmation had signed a warrant for your soul, a revelation that would only unearth just thirteen months later.

-

Being in a relationship with Wakatoshi was easy. There was no need for all the overthinking of whether your actions would annoy him or not; or drive him away from you. If he had qualms about how you were acting, he wouldn’t bother with beating around the bush and instead tell you very directly, though gently as well. In the beginning, it was much easier to be quiet around him than to speak; the theme of your relationship would simply be ‘comfortable silence’.

He eventually became more relaxed around you with time, sometimes even voicing his worries and slight frustrations after practice while helping you clean up. Wakatoshi greatly appreciated how you were always ready to listen to him, despite the tremble in your muscles and dark eye bags from fatigue. You even joined him on his morning runs sometimes despite the fact you could only survive a small leg of it, turning back towards the campus when not even a fifth of his distance in. With advice from Satori, he had asked for more details about your day and your life in general, his brain filling in the gaps of the mental picture he had of you.

What once was a mere outline, roughly penciled-in of nothing more than your physique, the more he learned, the more colors he painted in. To him, you were shades of navy and gray with dashes of gold, emerald, midnight black, magenta, and rouge. The final picture was nothing close to artistic, but it lent to his understanding of your overall personality: unwillingly scattered, pained, anxious, yet determined and compassionate to a fault.

Procrastination was your best friend, you had told him one evening on a newly established weekly stroll, especially when it came to large assignments. You weren’t an organized planner – instead, you would let ideas stew and boil in your head, only mental images of the process and final result there until you couldn’t wait any longer to pen it down. Then you would pull nights of just three to five hours of sleep, running on caffeine and pure drive. What was even more frustrating was that you would find trouble for yourself, avoiding assignments by coming up with new unrelated projects that most definitely did not need to be on your priority list.

For example, if you had a presentation due in a week to discuss the 5 main themes of Great Expectations in front of your class, you’d first let all scenarios of it play out in your head. Then when it became too much, you’d go off and do something for the volleyball club that wasn’t on top of the agenda or complete a question set for the Math Olympiads club you were in as well. Considering those were more positive, productive digressions, other times you would pick up another book to read and feel the need to finish, download a new game on your phone, or scour the internet for cooking videos on the best ways to make hayashi rice.

What amazed (and somewhat alarmed) Wakatoshi was that you would pull it all together in the end. Not only were you balancing academics and extracurriculars, you were bearing the weight of your friends’ worries and stress on your shoulders with the biggest smile you could muster, casting aside most of your well-being to make room for theirs, as well as this relationship with him. Projects were still completed, assignments still mostly unflawed turned in, management of their team still in top shape, and being almost a perfect partner suited for his taste. All were held in stride, even if it was obvious to him that after major assignments were completed, you were either smiling less, saying fewer words, or stuck in your head more often. And he knew, as you had expressed one time out of exhaustion and beaten defenses, you were worried that you still weren’t good enough.

So the cycle continued. In waves and a whirlpool, Wakatoshi watched you unravel and tighten, unravel and tighten, unravel and tighten, desperate to prove that you had a place in this academy just as much as anyone else. Time and time again, you had voiced your worries and doubt, and every time, he assured you that yes, you were worthy of your place here. You knew the boy never lied to comfort others, and he knew that you knew this. He began to grow displeased with your mental reservations, finally determining one March evening of your second year that he could no longer continue this relationship with you.

Satori, of course, had protested vehemently. (“You can’t just break up with her like that, it’s cruel!”). Wakatoshi failed to understand the social implications, ignoring the advice from his friend as he prepared for the routine, weekly stroll with you. When he slipped his sneakers on, his muscles remembered to grab his spare jacket as you were prone to feel chilly on these nights. It wasn’t until the end of the stroll when your nose was slightly tinged red at the tip and your figure engulfed in his jacket, did he hesitate at the intersection between the boys’ and girls’ dorms, and Wakatoshi being the blunt human he is, voiced his thoughts.

“I think it would be good to end this relationship,” he stated with no warning, yet felt a twinge of guilt when your face fell and froze into a subtle state of shock. He let you process his words, patiently waiting for your response.

Inhale. Exhale. Deep breaths. But not too deep. Don’t freak him out. How do you stop freaking yourself out? Oxygen. Lungs.

Inhale. Exhale.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, training your eyes to look straight into his right shoulder, tracing the logo of the ICS foot. Hell knows you’re not tall enough to see past it. “Have I been asking for too much of your time?”

“No.”

“…Have I been too clingy?”

“No.”

“Then…what’s the reason?” You shakily asked, tears of confusion beginning to prick at the corners of your eyes.

“…you’ve spread yourself too thin.”

This time, it was only appropriate to look at him straight on. As always, there was no hesitation evident in them, his direct truth bleeding through his retinas. It must have been words that he had decided on long ago to describe your mental state.

“Please elaborate,” you softly demanded, subconsciously hugging your arms at the biceps.

“You’re doing too much. You think you can do it all, but you’re simply unable to. It’s okay, but I think this relationship is one more thing on your plate that you don’t need.”

But you heard it. You branded the image of his words in your brain and read between the lines, running on overdrive as the darkness rapidly ate at you. It was easy for the demons to sneak in with dubious tones, repeating the phrase that you had been fighting so hard to keep buried inside—

You’re not good enough.

Perhaps you had become a burden to Wakatoshi. You had turned into the thorn in his side, something he no longer wanted to tolerate and keep in his life. Perhaps it was expected, you bitterly thought while shrugging off his jacket. The bite of the cold night teethed and gnawed at your skin, but the pain was almost welcomed now. He took the fabric without a word, only feeling slightly guilty at the sight of stray tears gradually streaking down your cheeks.

“Okay,” you sniffled, arms wrapped around yourself again for some vague sense of protection. “That’s fine, I get it. You have Nationals and the Youth team as well – it’s mainly best for you to end this.”

“(Y/n) –”

“It’s really okay, Wakatoshi. I appreciate you being straightforward with me. I’ll see you at practice,” you quickly interjected and turned to trek back towards the dorm, sending a quick but lifeless wave behind you. The shards of whatever was left of your soul trailed behind you like scattered stars on the concrete. Even when your roommate and friend brought your disheveled figure into her arms, they did little to ward off the parasitic spectres in your mind.

You spent most of that night tossing and turning, unable to fall asleep despite the exhaustion weighing down on your eyelids. Your thoughts refused to cease for just one second in its brutal beatdown on your heart, having played back every moment you possibly messed up on from the day Wakatoshi accepted your feelings to the time of separation. The questions began to plague the blood in your veins, your heart thrashing erratically and causing a cold sweat to break over your skin. Gentle, warning waves of nausea churned through your stomach as the anxiety effectuated into its more menacing, ghastly manifestation. You felt your breaths quicken out of panic and screwed your eyes shut – what did you do cope before? What could ground you behind the rails before you fell over the edge and into the folds of a dark ocean?

Deep breaths. Count. Breathe. Exhale. Start from 100.

Inhale.

Count.

Exhale.

Repeat.

You fell asleep before you hit 20.

-

You stayed on as the manager despite every ounce of your heart demanding you to quit and run, pettily attempting to prove Ushijima wrong. Satori directed empathetic glances your way multiple times for a few days, but you never wavered. There was no time to feel sorry for yourself or accept pity from others, especially as Nationals was right around the corner. Getting away from campus excited you and as much as the trip was about volleyball, the boys looked forward to spending a few days in the capital.

But the championship fell short, and soon, the third year began.

Your roommate was understandably concerned. On top of more rigorous classes and upcoming college entrance exams, you balanced your manager position, math club, an online job tutoring English, and yearbook duties. It was an absolute miracle that you found enough hours in the day to be on top of everything, and you were proud. This not only meant that you didn’t just peak in middle school, but it also meant that you could do all these things and still turn out great. At the end of the day, a sense of pride overwhelmed you more than anything – this had to be your way of defeating your anxieties: occupy yourself until there was no time to think about them.

The months rolled by. Your cycle continued. Shiratorizawa fell to their knees in front of Karasuno. You got into The University of Tokyo. Graduation proceeded without a hitch.

To your naïve, broken soul, the stars seemed to have aligned and the puzzle pieces were fitting. But to those around you, they could only watch as you fell deeper into the massive hole you dug on your own, dirt smudged on your cheeks and hands blistered from the wooden handle of the shovel. You were going to snap again one day, and it would be more painful than the first.

University soon gave you an adequate understanding of what exactly your personality had unfortunately become: self-destructive. At the time, you had only thought it appropriate to disregard your own health for those you loved (and there were quite a few of them) while balancing academics. That fault was one you had long come to terms with: that you gave away too much of yourself. Someone needed to rant at 1AM? Your phone ringer was always on at full volume (unless you were, of course, in class). Someone needed a ride to the airport? You were there, jokingly asking them to bring you back a snack from their travels as thanks. Someone needed to crash at your place for a day or two to get away from a shitty ex? Extra blankets and sheets, as well as an air mattress from home, were all prepared in the cupboard at your apartment.

As demanding as Shiratorizawa was, Todai stressed you out on another level, especially with your business major and computer science minor. On several occasions, Ushijima’s words had rung loud and clear, echoing in the chambers of your mind. “You’ve spread yourself too thin,” his baritone voice plagued you at the most inopportune times of the day (read: when you were attempting to balance, again, too many things).

And as much as you enjoyed the companionships of your friends, both old and new, you began to achingly yearn for a more intimate relationship that would allow you to collapse into comforting arms, especially on days that endlessly dragged you on your feet. The fact that it was only freshman year made your head spin, but nothing could truly deter you from your deepest desires.

You should have realized that this would only result in isolation with nothing but wooden walls, a balcony, and a shattered heart to keep you company.

-

7 years ago

“I agree,” Sayuri, a senior and close friend from the art department, affirmed when you expressed this romantic aspiration to her over ramen at a nearby izakaya one September night of your sophomore year. “Everyone’s so obsessed with their careers these days, you included,” she jabbed and pointed stained bamboo chopsticks at you, causing your shoulders to flinch and hunch back in some shame. “Buy some alcohol, give yourself some free nights. The only times I see you doing something not related to school is when I drag you out on weekend shoots with me.”

Sayuri was an expressive girl who took the world in stride and captured the streets of Tokyo with her camera like no other. The two of you had met in an interest organization meeting, instantly bonding over similar pastimes and your two personalities just clicked. She somehow embodied everything you weren’t, and you deeply loved her. More often than not, Sayuri was the one to keep you from completely losing yourself, absolutely refusing to let you become a mindless soul stuck in a business suit and wedged between the crowds in a subway, needlessly calculating away to gain more greed and wealth. “You’re too good for that,” she once told you when you had unexpectedly showed up at her door, drenched from the rain and your own tears caused by a string of unfortunate events.

(“You’re at your best when you’re a little more free, a little more relaxed, you know?”)

“But your weekend shoots are fun!”

“Which is exactly why you should do more other fun stuff!” Sayuri exclaimed before she took a sip from her bottle of ramune. “You know what? Tonight. We’re gonna download Tinder and tapple. You’re a hot commodity, and there’s gotta be some decent guy who’s down for a few casual dates. Hell, you might even have a better chance at finding another girl who can treat you right.”

“You’re not wrong,” you sighed. “Some men can be such pigs sometimes.”

“A-fucking-men.”

Sayuri rarely ever went back on her word, and much to your chagrin, you found yourself curled up next to her on her cream faux-leather couch. Her arm slung over your shoulders as she helped you pick out your best photos, including a shot she had taken of you when she begged you to be her subject on one of her shoots. “My professor needs me to practice portrait shots, please please please help me out here?” She had implored a couple weeks ago, and because you could never say no, you had grumbled your agreement before putting on a nicer outfit and some light makeup. You weren’t going to lie – those were some of the best pictures of you by far, and made you look much more attractive than you ever thought or felt.

A bio was set, photos strategically ordered, and you were tossed into the world of online dating.

“This is a really bad idea,” you groaned ten minutes later as Sayuri swiped through the profiles showing up in your pool. “I haven’t even slept with anyone before.”

“Oh honey, I bet half of these men only ever got their dick wet once and came in two minutes flat. They think they’re impressing someone but they’re only fooling themselves,” Sayuri scoffed and then grimaced at a man’s daringly shirtless mirror selfie. “This poor guy needs to eat more; I can see his ribcage! You don’t need someone who doesn’t appreciate food.”

“What if he’s got an eating disorder?” You seriously speculated, heart going out to the possibility of that.

“Well now you make me feel bad after swiping left on him and – oh hey! You got a match!”

“What? Who the hell did you swipe right on?!” You screeched; chin craned to get a good look at the person on your phone.

“Calm down, you don’t need to worry! I have impeccable taste in men! Hey, don’t give me that look,” she cried out when she saw the questioning raise of one of your eyebrows. “Look, he was cute, had a safe bio, and he goes to Tokyo Tech! So he’s a smartypants like you! Guy must’ve been swiping around too for there to be a match this early.”

“So he’s just desperate and I got swiped right on for passing his minimum standards? Am I supposed to feel like I should be given an award?” You scowled.

“Just wait for him to message first. Keep it light and breezy, we’ll see if he’s suspicious later,” Sayuri waved off, continuing with her search for your perfect, laid-back date.

“But seriously, I’m worried some guy is gonna start expecting sex from me,” you huffed, leaning back to lay your head on her shoulder. Instinctively, she rested her own on top of yours.

“You’re really worried, huh?”

“Makes me a little anxious, yeah,” you admitted, fingers fiddling with a stray thread on the sleeve of your old Shiratorizawa jacket.

“Tell me about it.”

“Well...I’m not waiting until marriage or anything. I’m not putting my virginity on a pedestal or anything, I just kinda want to get it over with, you know? I know your first time probably isn’t all flowers and rainbows, but I figured that I’d at least want to lose it to someone I trust.”

“So you’ve thought about this quite a bit then?”

“Have for a while, if I’m honest.”

“Name them.”

“But—”

“Names, (y/n). I gotta make sure they’re good enough for you.”

“They’re decent, I promise. I mean, I just know they’d never hurt me or throw me to the curb after it happens.”

“You do realize that’s the bare minimum, right?”

“Do you want names or not?”

“Okay okay, go.”

You exhaled as blood rushed to your cheeks. To say their names out loud made it much more embarrassing, especially since there was a high chance they never thought about you sexually before.

“Semi Eita, Daichi Sawamura, and…Ushijima Wakatoshi,” you mumbled the last name, knowing Sayuri’s less-than-positive feelings for the guy. She knew the entire history of your relationship with him, not that it involved a whole ton, but she was just overly protective of you.

“Ushijima Wakatoshi?? Are you fucking kidding me?!”

“Did you not hear the other two?” You squealed, swatting her with a sleeve that you had retracted your arm into.

“Okay, fine, but tell me about them.”

“Promise not to laugh?”

“Can’t.”

“Ugh, okay look. Eita is...he’s a nice guy. He seems a little rough around the edges, but he was always soft with me. Never gave me a hard time until he got replaced with another starting setter our third year, but he knew it was for the better of the team, as much as he didn’t like it. And even though his competitive streak got the best of him sometimes, he just...I don’t know. He’s dependable in his own way, stuck with me after the break-up and would check in on me from time to time. We still keep in touch a little.”

“Find me a picture of him, then tell me about the other guy.”

“Sure,” you agreed, tapping and swiping through your phone, mainly scrolling through years and years of photos you had kept. “Daichi-san is...well, he’s like if Wakatoshi was more emotionally available.”

“(Y/n), anyone is more emotionally available than Ushijima.”

“He softened up towards the end of our third year, okay? Cut him some slack, please. Anyways,” you cut Sayuri off. “I met Daichi-san our third year briefly during the Spring Qualifiers for Nationals. Extremely nice guy, mature, seemed pretty dependable being the captain of a team with some rowdy underclassmen at the time,” you lightly laughed at the memories.

“You’re really into the dependable type, aren’t you? Reliable? Takes care of you? Can relieve your stress at the end of a long day? Do you have a da—” Sayuri insinuated suggestively, wiggling her eyebrows until you finally interrupted her.

“Hey, there’s no kink-shaming in this friendship!”

“I’m just teasing, babe. Go on about Mr. Dependable” she giggled, causing you to roll your eyes as you continued.

“I saw him a bit more when I picked up a part-time job at a local convenience store for a couple months, only because I quit my online tutoring job. It was just before graduation, but he visited a few times. Seemed like it was closer to his house than the one he usually stopped at by his school. It was never busy, and he’d stick around to chat.”

“Oh my god, he was into you!”

“What? No! Like I said, he’s honestly just really, really nice. Did you know he’d buy his teammates buns every once in a while?”

“Oh, for the love of God, you had a crush on him, too!”

“Fine, just a tiny one!” You quickly admitted while batting away Sayuri’s excitable swats on your thigh. “But I was worried he was just some rebound crush, and he was staying in Miyagi while I was preparing to move here, so it’s not like anything would’ve happened. He was funny, too, and always asked about my well-being even though he didn’t really know me. Honestly, he was too good for me,” you said quietly and seemingly deflated.

“Nobody’s ever too good for you,” Sayuri comforted and pulled you into her arms. “I don’t care how perfect they are. If anything, you’re too good for them.”

“You hype me up too much,” you smiled sadly, holding onto her intertwined limbs. “I just...he didn’t deserve to get pulled into my mess. And it’s not just him – nobody deserves to. The last thing I want to do is hurt someone because I couldn’t get my shit together.”

“...even if you get hurt yourself?” Sayuri murmured.

Your silent, solemn answer spoke volumes. Life had turned you into somewhat of a martyr, someone absolutely terrified of inconveniencing others, yet relentless in your support for the important individuals around you.

“One day,” Sayuri started gently. “You’re gonna find a guy who loves and cherishes you to no end. You’re gonna get a taste of the love that you give to others, and he’ll never let you go. He’ll stick with you through everything, and you’ll realize that you do deserve that kind of love. It’s inevitable, really only a matter of time. And maybe he’ll show up when you least expect it. Just don’t give up yet, okay?”

“...okay,” you mumbled, tightening your grip momentarily as a tacit gesture of gratitude. “Sayuri, if we’re 30, single, and same-sex marriage gets legalized in Japan, can we get married?”

“Sweetie, we don’t have to do it in Japan, might as well just move to the U.S. and get married there. So yeah, sounds like a plan,” Sayuri agreed, half-joking.

And she knew you meant it, too.

-

6.5 years ago

You (jokingly) blamed Sayuri completely for anything that happened on Tinder afterwards.

Many casual conversations turned fruitless, never getting to the level of comfort that you felt you wanted to meet someone face-to-face. The search became more of a pastime than anything, and it became the same old, boring procedure. Reintroducing yourself and your interests for what seemed like the twentieth time existed like an unwanted pill you had to swallow every day, a habit done with a sense of boredom and banality. Sayuri called you picky, and perhaps you were looking too much into it. But you were allowed to have standards, right?

About half a year after your first night with Tinder, you found a person that you felt somewhat okay with. Ito Tsugumi was a junior at the Tokyo Medical and Dental University living in the undergraduate campus. He seemed respectable, understanding, and never made fun of your own interests and likes. The guy completely understood that this was casual, but he still wanted to meet you at least once, take you out for coffee or something and see where it goes from there. And that was perfectly fine with you.

March weather meant it was still pretty chilly in Japan and living by the ocean didn’t exactly help. You were glad that this was just a coffee date, because not only did it mean you could indulge in a nice cup of hot chocolate, but you also didn’t have to worry too much about how nice you looked because all of that could be sacrificed in the name of warmth. If Tsugumi was going to judge you based on your outfit designed for comfort, he wouldn’t be worth your time anyways.

Anxiety coaxed you into arriving at the designated café ten minutes early, shakily paying with your card and almost dropping it en route to the cashier’s hands. You spotted an empty two-seater along the back wall, but not right by the glass window where the frost would most likely creep through. Positioned in a seat so you’d have a decent view of the entrance, you sent a frantic text to Sayuri for moral support because your nerves were absolutely frying at the moment, to which she sent you a Sailor Moon GIF of Usagi throttling Minako before a message that read, “you’re a cute piece of ass and he knows it. flaunt it babe!” Rouge flooded your cheeks out of the embarrassment that was now mixing with the butterflies in your stomach, and luckily you fought it down when the door rang open.

If you had to be honest, Tsugumi looked more handsome in person than in his pictures, and that screamed danger to you. He only had to look around the café once before spotting you and quickly made his way to your table with a smile. While part of you had registered it as a bit of a Cheshire grin, you immediately dismissed it as a product of your paranoia. This was just a meeting with something warm to drink, right? There was no rule stating that a relationship had to come out of this. If he ever gave off a warning sign, all you had to do was run and never speak to him again. Easy.

You stood from your seat, almost entirely putting your weight on the table when your legs momentarily refused to cooperate with you. The grin on his face held firm as you bowed to each other in greeting and you couldn’t help but have a small one of your own. Were you flattered that he arrived five minutes ahead of the original meeting time? Perhaps just a little, but maybe you were sweating the small details too much.

“Have you already ordered? I can get us something,” he offered. Just as you were about to let him know that you already bought a drink, one of the baristas showed up with a large mug of hot chocolate and set it down with a table napkin. You quickly bowed and thanked them before turning back to Tsugumi sheepishly, gesturing awkwardly towards the white porcelain cup.

“It’s really nice of you to offer though,” you tried to appease. “We’re all broke university students anyways, I wasn’t going to make you buy me a drink.”

“I would’ve been more than happy to,” he replied warmly, a sense of adoration in his eyes that seemed far too intimate for just a first meeting. Nevertheless, his gaze made you avert your own to trace the swirls in your drink. “I’ll be right back,” he continued before leaving to order. Good, this gave you a few necessary moments to gather your bearings.

You needed to calm the fuck down. This wasn’t your first rodeo, though Sayuri would vehemently disagree. “Weekly walks around your high school campus don’t count as dates, (y/n),” she quipped in the past, giving up when you, for the thousandth time, defended Wakatoshi and his actions. And you had been very attracted to him as well, so what was so nerve-wracking about this now? Your relationship with Wakatoshi had held far more implications if things ever ended badly, with the same social circles and everything. Ito Tsugumi was merely a dot outside of most of your realms and possessed very little power over the important things in your life. Your focus needed to be on something else for the time-being, like the smell of ground beans with sweet traces of freshly baked pastries, or the faint coffeehouse music playing through the speakers, or the pots of devil’s ivy hanging from the ceiling. Just anything besides wondering if you had stray hairs out of place, or if your makeup wasn’t blended correctly, if your nails looked asymmetrical—

You had put on your best “I’m doing great!” face once Tsugumi was returning to his seat opposite of you. At first, nothing was said and the both of you could only laugh at the awkward shift in air. But when you spotted a faint shade of scarlet on his cheeks, you felt that you could let out a breath of relief because perhaps, you weren’t the only one feeling a little nervous.

-

Tsugumi was a wonderful conversationalist and an appreciator of comfortable silence. He seemed just as nice as he was in his messages, and when you went on occasional ramblings of something you felt passionate about, he listened attentively and always asked the right questions at the appropriate times. Even when you profusely apologized for talking too much the first time, he only gave you a blinding smile with his head tilted cutely before saying, “It’s okay, I like listening to you talk.”

And your heart was nearly set aflame.

Two hours easily passed the both of you by, with you discovering much more about him: He wanted to be a dermatologist, had lived in Tokyo his whole life, doted excessively on his mother who owned a little bakery near his house, had a good bond with his older brother who was working to be a pilot, was aware of the fact that he came off as a douchebag sometimes, admitted to some said stereotypical douchebag behaviors, and owned a cute little bobtail cat named Renji. Tsugumi eagerly asked for another chance to meet with you, promising that he would buy your drink no matter what. Is it allowed that someone even dares to match your view of perfection? Is he flying too close to the burning star?

You learned a few weeks later that you should have never given him the chance.

And what was absolutely infuriating was that you should’ve noticed it sooner. The sun he was reaching so highly for was not to become the perfectly flawed man, but attempting to attain something out of greed and selfish desires. He was abandoning any apathy for the people he drew into his sticky web as long as they helped him build his wings, and you fell for it.

(“I like you a lot, you know? You’re probably one of the nicest girls I’ve ever met.”

“With your history of partners, that’s not possible,” you laughed softly. “You probably met way more nicer girls, just never got the time to get to know them.”

“I’m serious, though. I think I’m pretty lucky meeting you.”

“…thank you.” But you couldn’t bring yourself to believe him.)

With Ushijima, perhaps you had jumped in too quickly; so with Tsugumi, you made sure to maintain a healthy distance at all times. You were determined to take this slow and learn from your previous mistakes, and while that could have saved you a whole world of hurt, it wasn’t enough. Tsugumi wove you into his life by joining you on study dates, always doing his best to meet you at your university library instead of his, bringing you small snacks you had mentioned liking once or twice, calling you frequently when you were both free to check up on you and ask how your day was, and even dragging you along to meet his mother at her bakery. By that time, only three weeks had passed, and you had become (rightfully) concerned.

The gentle chime of the bell on the bakery doors had quietly alerted the matriarch of the Ito family of a customer’s arrival, and though her face had visibly brightened at the presence of her younger son, hesitation quickly crossed her eyes as they landed on you and the intertwined hands. Minute facial reactions could speak volumes, so you took that glance to heart as something to healthily ponder over, knowing that there must be some reason for it. His mother was nothing but polite, even gifting you an almond croissant when Tsugumi mentioned it was one of your favorite pastries. You desperately tried to pay, almost embarrassed that you were given something for free, but she wouldn’t have it and Tsugumi had to drag you out before you snuck too much change into the tip jar. But after you had bowed and had begun to wave goodbye, another emotion formed on her face and nearly caused you to stumble.

(Minutes later, you had placed it as pity.)

It all came to sense when Sayuri frantically called you the next night, strumming up every possible curse against “stupid, greedy swine in the form of men”, Tsugumi’s name laced between the syllables slipping off her tongue. You had immediately shut your notebook closed, trying to calm her down, “Hey, whoa, slow down Sayuri, what the hell are you talking about?”

“Holy fuck, (y/n), he’s got a fucking girlfriend!”

Three things crossed your brain then. 1) You were glad that you had maintained the walls around your heart, 2) Tsugumi was cheating on his girlfriend, and 3) you were unexpectedly not surprised that something like this had come up. Your dating life had started with a streak of bad luck, and you were pretty convinced that it would strike again, no matter what.

But that hadn’t stopped you from feeling your heart drop to your feet, simultaneously also feeling the breath get knocked out from your chest. Completely speechless, you spent a few seconds processing Sayuri’s words and quickly after, the anger began to simmer through your veins. In fact, you weren’t exactly angry that he had strung you along (due to your guarded, paranoid detachment) – you were more furious at the fact that he was probably cheating on some lovely girl, and even if she wasn’t lovely, nobody deserved to be cheated on. Not even a snake like Tsugumi.

You sighed. “Well, how’d you find out?”

“You said the fucker didn’t have social media? Well I decided to snoop because who doesn’t have social media these days—” “Plenty of people don’t, Sayuri.” “Well, with his looks and his past – again, it’s not a problem that he’s slept around, he can do whatever the hell he wants for all I care AND as long as he doesn’t have double standards – but I figured there had to be something out there. I found an old Twitter account, then found what I thought was his ex-girlfriend’s account but it’s actually his girlfriend’s account, and it turns out, he’s got a newer Twitter account he actually keeps up with. He thinks he might be slick, but the idiot didn’t even put his profile on private.”

You held the phone between your shoulder and ear as Sayuri spelled out the girlfriend’s Twitter handle to you, your fingers simultaneously typing it into your web browser. Another handle is listed in her cutesy bio, saying that she belonged to the owner of this other profile, and when you open it in another tab, Tsugumi’s face stares straight back at you. Sayuri was right – he had done a pretty shit job at hiding this. A cursory look through his tweets and hers, everything you needed to know was there.

She was a first year at a university in Kyoto who spoke highly of Tsugumi, tweeting photos of them two and tagging him quite often, and her friends all supported their relationship. It made you feel sick to your stomach that you had been spending time with a cheater, one who was throwing away a three-year relationship.

“Are you okay, (y/n)?” Sayuri asked through the speaker. You didn’t realize that you had been quiet for the last few minutes, so wrapped up in your thoughts.

“I need to talk to him,” you said quietly as your heart began to race. Confrontations were not your forte, no matter how much your business classes tried to prepare you to be a stronger speaker. It should be easy, like ripping off a Band-aid, yet the idea of calling Tsugumi up and telling him that you had to stop seeing each other wracked your nerves like an earthquake.

“Easy. Call him and tell him to go fuck himself, then hang up and block his number. He doesn’t deserve any more of your time.”

“I know, but…you know I’m not good at this kind of stuff. And I’ve never had to have this conversation with anyone before…”

“(Y/n). You used to manage a whole team of teenage athletes, and I know there were a ton of times when you had to put your foot down and get them in line. Treat this snake like one of them, get it through his head that he should burn in hell—” “Sayuri!” “—and then avoid him for the rest of your life.”

You sighed again and massaged your temples. That’s right, you could be firm, and with Tsugumi who you hadn’t been that close to, it should be easy to just let him know that the act was up. Yeah, you could do this.

“Do you want to keep me on the call?” Sayuri asked, her anger finally simmering down.

“No, it’s okay, I can handle this. But thank you though.”

“Yeah of course,” she replied softly, compassionately. “Are you okay though?”

“Well…maybe it hasn’t fully hit me yet, but it’s frustrating.”

“You can be angry, you know.”

“I’m not angry, I just…” you hesitated, searching for the right words to better describe your feelings. But without control, your throat began to close and choke, salty tears clouding your vision. You desperately tried to hold back the first sob with a hand over your mouth, panic striking your heart at the sudden rush of despair, but Sayuri quickly caught on.

“(Y/n)...” Sayuri cooed, her tone sympathetic and soft.

“No, if—if I’m angry,” you hiccupped, wiping your spilled tears away messily. “That means I cared, even though I told myself I shouldn’t have,” your voice cracked and heaved another sob as your heart took the final twist of the knife. Everything that you had tried doing to prevent the painful effects of possible disappointment were coming to crash down on you, and all for nothing. Sayuri held silent and let you cry out your anguish – she knew better than anyone that you just needed these moments of catharsis, to let all your emotions out before you would try to think logically again.

“God, I’m such a fucking idiot,” you blubbered after a couple of minutes, standing to retrieve a tissue from the kitchen.

“You’re not, really. You give people the benefit of the doubt and try to see the best in them. Usually that’s not bad, but…an asshole decided to come along and take advantage of it. Don’t beat yourself up, okay?”

“I’ll try but…fuck, it’s so embarrassing to think about it now. All the signs were probably there, right? And I just believed everything he told me,” you sniffled, setting your phone down with the speaker on as you blew your nose.

“I’ll be there in the next hour or so,” she stated resolutely, and you could hear her moving around her apartment.

“Sayuri, you don’t—”

“Don’t be silly, (y/n). It’s not a good time to be alone now, okay? You want me to pick anything up from that convenience store by the station?”

You had let out another mucus-y sniffle, eyes roaming over the cabinet door of where your snacks were. “…can you see if they’ve got a bag of that flower plum candy I like? If not, a bag of nori-shio chips, please.”

“Of course. Hang in there, okay? Don’t call or text him until I’m there.”

“Got it. Thank you so much.”

“You don’t need to thank me, (y/n). And look…,” Sayuri trailed off and your ears caught onto her shutting and locking a door. “It’s okay to ask for help, you know? Especially if it’s me, so don’t forget that.”

“But—”

“I know you’d do the same thing for me, right?”

“Of course.”

“Then there’s no problem. I’ll be there as soon as possible, will keep you updated. Love you!”

“Love you too, Sayuri. Be safe.”

Click.

Two hours later, with an opened bag of candy in the cabinet and an empty bag of chips in the trash can, sleep came to you and Sayuri in your bed, and you had never felt luckier.

-

Based on Tsugumi’s calling habits, you weren’t surprised that your phone rang on the dining table sometime around 10AM, the screen lit up with a picture you had taken of him at the library on one of your study dates. It amazed you for a second how easily your emotions could be flipped around, that this specific set of colored pixels had once brought you a tiny amount of fondness and only now twisted your face in extreme discomfort. Last night, you and Sayuri had run through all possible scenarios of why Tsugumi decided two-timing was something to engage in, including his possible thought process behind getting you involved in his life so quickly. At the end of it, two things were 99% certain: you were going to let him explain, and you were not going to give him a second chance.

“It’s like ripping off the Band-aid,” Sara had echoed your previous analogy when talking about your worries and hesitations in the confrontation again last night. “The quicker you get it over with, the better.”

“But it’s the ripping-off that’s the worst part, not what comes after. Tsugumi isn’t one to give candid, quick explanations either. He’ll probably try to get me to forgive him, which only prolongs the inevitable. So it’s…a slow rip, not the kind where you can bite your tongue and yank it off as fast as you can – and it’s more painful that way, too.”

“You’ve got a point,” Sayuri had huffed. “If anything, I’ll be here for moral support.”

She casted you a quick look over her shoulders from the sink where she graciously offered to wash the dishes from breakfast, and your pursed lips gave the tacit confirmation that it was none other than Tsugumi on the phone. One quick sigh later, you swiped the green pick-up button, activated the speaker, and answered, “Hello?”

“G’morning, (y/n)! How are you? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” you replied softly, wanting to stay calm and collected. “How are you?”

“I’m good, I was just a little worried since you said you were tired so early last night. It’s not like you to sleep before 11PM. Did anything happen?”

You discretely scoffed to yourself, hoping that Tsugumi hadn’t caught it. Sayuri rolled her eyes in such a dramatic fashion that you almost burst out laughing.

“Nothing much, I just had a really long day and felt kinda tired.”

“Well, I feel better now hearing that you’re okay. I’m glad you weren’t sick or anything. Did you get a good sleep last night then?”

“It was good, yeah.” But no thanks to you.

“Well, if you’re up for it, you wanna go out today? It’s the weekend and I have some free time before I need to start studying for our next round of exams. Did you want to check out that bookstore on the other side of the city? Or the Ghibli museum over in Mitaka?

“Ito-san, can you do something for me?”

“…sure, what is it?”

You quickly took a deep breath. This was it; this was the start of the discerption.

“Can you tell me why you’re cheating on your girlfriend of three years who clearly has no idea of what you’re up to?”

The chilling silence that resonated throughout the apartment sent shivers down your spine. Sayuri had long finished up washing and drying, and the only sound that was registering was the chirping of birds outside your window. Even then, it was faint at best, and you briefly wondered if Tsugumi had just hung up on you. But an electric rustle and a static sigh convinced you otherwise, and Sayuri’s expression morphed into one that simply signaled, “Get ready for the bullshit.”

“…so you found out then?”

“You didn’t exactly try very hard to hide it,” you quipped while crossing your arms.

“I know, I just…when did you find out? And how?”

“Last night, and how doesn’t matter.”

“But—”

“Why are you doing this? I know social media usually isn’t much to base personality on, but she seems pretty nice and definitely doesn’t deserve to have a boyfriend who’s been sleeping with other girls for the majority of the last eighteen months.”

“You don’t know anything!” He quickly defended himself, but not elaborating any further. “It’s just really complicated…and she’s not what she seems.”

“Okay, so let’s say she isn’t. If it’s been so bad dating her…why haven’t you broken up?”

“We never…got around to it, I guess?” His voice came out sheepish. At least the guy felt some shame in his actions.

“You’re ridiculous. Did you really think you were going to get away with this forever? Like what if I hadn’t found out?” You almost seemed desperate to know the workings of his conscience, simply because no matter what his explanation was, it would most definitely confound you. Were you being too simple-minded?

“I swear I was going to break up with her! I really wanted to – you made me want to finally talk to her and just end things –” This time, you made sure Tsugumi heard your scoff of disbelief. “—and I promise, it was going to end eventually, and I was going to seriously ask you out. I know you don’t believe me, but I’m serious.”

“Ito-san…if you did break up with her, would you have told me about it later on?”

“…no, I wouldn’t have.”

At the end of the day, his honest and unfortunate answer resolved all your doubts.

“I figured as much. At least you were honest with me about it and didn’t bother lying to say you would have.”

“I’m really sorry, I really didn’t mean to hurt you this much. You’re such a nice girl, (y/n), seriously. I’m so sorry and I don’t…deserve a second chance, but could we still be friends?”

“You didn’t hurt me,” you snapped at him. “I was more worried about how much you’re hurting your girlfriend.”

“…oh.”

“Yeah, and while you probably caught on that my self-esteem isn’t exactly the highest, I know that I don’t deserve to be lied to and strung along for the ride or for whatever game you’re playing yourself against.”

“That wasn’t what I—”

“You know what? Fuck being your friend, too,” you bit out, your anger getting the best of you again. “Nobody likes being friends with liars, and I’m not about to change that for myself, much less change that for you. Maybe in like, 40 years when we’ve all moved on with our lives and you’ve become a better person, but if you’re asking to be my friend now after everything you’ve done, that’s a firm no.”

“But please—”

“You need to fix this shit. Do you realize that I met your mom? And I could see it in her eyes – she knew exactly what you were doing, right? She knew you were still dating someone else, but you wanted me to see her for some sick, twisted reason. I’m telling you; I could see it in her face, and you know what it said? She pitied me, Ito-san. I’m sure she’s a nice person, but I bet 10 to 1 that the croissant she gave me was out of guilt, because clearly, I had no idea what was happening. You can’t tell me that I’m wrong, can you?”

“Oh god,” he muttered, and you almost hadn’t heard him with the blood boiling in your ears. “Yeah, she was actually really pissed. Lectured me for a whole hour over the phone that night, told me she didn’t raise me to be a cheater and stuff.”

“Well, I’m not going to repeat it. But whatever else she probably said, I agree with her. Get your shit together, honestly. It’ll do you some good,” you stated resolutely.

“We really can’t be friends?”

“No. But…look, if you’re in some sort of really toxic relationship with this girl, you can tell me, okay?” You ignored the incredulous look on Sayuri’s face, taciturnly promising that you’ll explain yourself after the call when she starts making large X’s with her forearms and mouthing, “Hang up!!”

“I’m not saying it’s okay to be friends – I’m just saying that if you’re struggling with something and need someone to talk to, you can…talk to me. But only if I’m your last resort. I know you have other good friends, so you can’t use this as an excuse to try and get close with me again. It’s not gonna work.”

“…Mom was right, you know? You really are too good for me, too nice.”

“I don’t know about that, but maybe she’s onto something. Don’t make me regret it.”

“I won’t. Thank you, and again, I’m really sorry. I’m so sorry, (y/n). You didn’t deserve this.”

“Your apology’s accepted, but you’re not forgiven. Remember what I said: do what you can to fix it now before it all comes crashing down on you.”

“Okay. Then this is goodbye?”

“More of an extremely prolonged ‘see you later’, Ito-san. Take care of yourself.”

“You too. Bye then – I’m sorry.”

“Bye, Ito-san.”

And before the boy received another second to delay the inevitable, you somewhat aggressively tapped on the bright red hang up button. Immediately, your shoulders slumped and fell back into your seat, a breath escaping your lungs as if you had been underwater for the entire duration of the call. Your eyes focused on the chipped paint of your ceiling, vision blurring as you begin to think back on the phone call. Was there anything you could have done differently? Had you been too soft on Tsugumi by giving him permission to contact you as a last resort?

“Yes, you pulled a ludicrous move, if that’s what you’re asking yourself,” Sayuri commented, her own arms crossed in front of her chest. Sometimes, she knew you a little too well.

“I was just trying to be nice,” you half-groaned and half-whined, bending back forward to bury your head in your hands.

“Well, what’s done is done, you can’t take it back now,” Sayuri said defeatedly, coming towards you to pull you into a hug. “If he’s smart and can take a hint, he’ll stay away.”

You returned her embrace as best as you could. The Band-aid was off now, wound exposed to the open air, but you knew it would eventually heal. The only remnants of it would exist as faint memories, the pain fleeting at best.

“I think we should tell the girlfriend,” you suggested to Sayuri. Tsugumi would probably end up extremely furious with you, but not only did you owe him utterly nothing, he never said you couldn’t say anything to her either. So with Sayuri’s Twitter account, an elaborate explanation, a link to a folder on Google Drive with screenshots of your text conversations both on and off Tinder (the ones that you’d have to be in a deep state of denial to think were untrue or simply taken out of context), you completed the task that no person would ever want to accomplish in their lives. As heart-wrenching and torturous it would inevitably be, Tsugumi’s girlfriend deserved the truth and the ability to take matters into her own hands. Had your positions been switched, you would’ve liked for her to do the same.  

Hours later in the living room, you made the executive decision to delete your profile and uninstall Tinder from your phone. While Tsugumi might have been an odd, terrible, slightly harrowing experience in trying to start a relationship with someone, perhaps you weren’t ready for one either. You needed to wait until you were more confident, bolder, and had things locked down in your future. For now, any efforts toward desiring and developing a serious romantic relationship would be redirected to your academics and career. That stability had to come first in advance of your emotional needs.

When you expressed this to Sayuri, she gave you a look that seemed somewhat disapproving. Instantly, you began to curl in on yourself, doubt coiling around your heart. “Do you think I’m…overreacting?”

Sayuri shook her head as a small smile graced her complexion. “I can’t dictate how you feel, and if I were in your position, I’d probably be thinking the same thing.” Her eyes softened as she drew up her knees to her chest. “But you know what I said when we first started all this: I don’t want you to give up just yet. What if there’s a really great guy that comes along but you’re still trying to focus on your career? Are you gonna deny yourself and make it a missed opportunity?”

“I don’t know,” you muttered, feeling troubled now. “I guess…he’d have to really be amazing for me to even consider it, you know? But who knows, I’d probably do something reckless and end up hurting myself again.”

Sayuri could tell that your anxiety was beginning to get the best of you, the doubts and insecurity once again plaguing the blood in your veins. This conversation had to be postponed for later – because now, your recovery was of utmost importance.

“You know what you need now that you’ve sworn off men for the next few years?” Sayuri started, her tone unexpectedly filled with mirth and suggestive insinuations. The Cheshire grin spelled trouble to you, and you were becoming afraid at what the answer was. Shakily, you humored her, “What would that be?”

Sayuri denied you an immediate answer as she abruptly bounced up from the floor, scuttling off to your room before returning with your laptop. Her fingers quickly pried it open, excitement rolling off her in bright ripples as she gestured for you to type in your password. As soon as you unlocked the device, she snatched it away and took over the keyboard. You warily eyed the screen as she pulled up an incognito window and typed in the website to Amazon.

“What are you doing??”

“Okay, (y/n), tell me. Do you know why sex toys were invented?”

Immediately, you wanted to melt into the ground. Not out of embarrassment per say, as you’ve had open conversations about sex and related topics with Sayuri multiple times, but if you were going to be truthful, this definitely wasn’t the first time she was trying to get you to buy a sex toy or two for yourself. There was no way you made it almost twenty-one years of life without having masturbated before, and you were okay with just your fingers now (and occasionally, your detachable showerhead).

“They were invented because people want to feel good. Do you know how many people on this earth have dicks and can’t figure out how to use them well, but still think they’re a gift to the world? I bet the majority of them couldn’t definitively tell you where the clit is, and I bet even more still think that girls pee out of their vagina. And you know what? Everyone deserves a partner who will take the time to figure out what makes them feel good, especially those with a vagina. Best way to do that is to find out yourself and see what works for you.”

“But I’m fine with what I do now!”

“Just please trust me on this one, okay?? Get a vibrator at least, please?? If you hate it, I’ll treat you to dinner for a week!”

You waved her off. “You don’t need to do that, but you just need to promise you’ll stop trying to talk me into buying more sex toys.”

“Deal. But I really doubt that’s gonna happen,” she sang, typing in a couple of words into the search bar. “I’ll buy it this time.”

“Hey—”

“Consider it an early birthday present! If you want to pay me back so badly, buy me our next couple rounds of curry don and we’ll call it even.”

“I can’t fight you on this, can I?” You asked dejectedly, accepting defeat and waving a white flag.

“Nope!” Sayuri exclaimed, absolutely no shame whatsoever in her voice. Instead, she sounds entirely elated that you have very little say in this, but in her defense, you weren’t exactly protesting. “Here we go – and we get that sweet, sweet Prime shipping. Yes, I know what you want to say—” Sayuri interjected when you opened your mouth with an objection. “Jeff Bezos is a terrible man who’s providing a good service but should distribute his wealth better, but I’m still on that free student trial? I know I’m already going to hell, but I’ll make up for it in the next life!”

There was never a way to stop Sayuri from doing what she wanted if she had her mind set, and this just happened to be one of them. A few more clicks of the touchpad and taps of the keyboard echoed throughout your apartment before Sayuri shut your laptop closed. You didn’t need to hear her confirmation that the deed was done, given the vicarious excitement stretched across your best friend’s face.

At the end of the day, this was Sayuri’s way of trying to comfort you, reminding you that she always had your best interests at heart. Your heart brimmed to the edge with sentiment and gratitude, causing your own giddy laugh to spill from your lips.

Life seemed to resume its regular routine afterwards, as mundane as it can be for a university student. Sayuri had you tag along on her shoots again, then you would return home to finish up some assignments and get your readings done, the lingering smell of dinner wafting around in the kitchen as you scrubbed a pan clean – truly, the only thing that seemed to be missing was Tsugumi’s incessant phone calls. But you had neither the energy nor the apathy to long for them – and Sayuri was right. If he was smart, he would know better than to ever contact you again.

You hoped for all your sakes that he would learn to rewire his brain and think rationally.

-

Present

It takes you a few seconds to register the rapid knocks against your apartment door, the rapping of knuckles against hardwood reverberating with a sense of urgency. Part of you expected this sooner or later, but you are in no condition to face the person on the other side. The rhythm shifts as the beating of the wood begins to sound more solid, signifying that the visitor is now choosing to lightly bang their fists instead of calloused knuckles.

Please leave, you weakly scream in your mind, eyes screwing shut to combat the oncoming tears. Your figure begins to crumple even more against the rail of your balcony. You can’t see me like this, so please go.

“(Y/n), I know you’re in there,” a deep male’s voice permeates through the wood, though muffled and scratchy. “Please, let me talk to you. I’m sorry, I—” He pauses, a groan of frustration escaping his throat. Your vision refuses to refocus, bleary as you weakly take in your view of Tokyo again. Without a doubt, the man must be ruffling his hair frustratedly, distressed and discouraged.

“I shouldn’t have said that. Please let me in and apologize properly – I owe you that much.”

You owe me nothing, silly. It’s my fault.  

Eyes the shade of the earth in the billboard observe you, and you wonder: if seen in person, would they have stared with pity?

It’s time to stop running away.

So with sluggish steps, you make your way to the only barrier barring you from your fate. The two deadbolts slide back and click in place, echoing louder than ever. Your hand trembles in its path to the doorknob, faintly grasping the chilling metal and turning it until the latch pulls back far enough to let the door open.

And there they were, the eyes that held the key to your undoing, that had watched you crumble and fall, that had looked after you in more ways than you could imagine, peering straight into yours. You know them well, perhaps too well, and your knees nearly buckle at their intensity. It takes every part of your being to stop yourself from slamming the door closed, to hide away and escape destiny.

It seems that irises in the shades of olive will be the banes of your existence.

-

4.5 years ago

It hadn’t taken you much to admit it, but Sayuri was undeniably forgiven for taking the initiative to buy you your first sex toys.

About a year and a half had passed since the whole Tsugumi fiasco without as much as a text from him. The virtual silence made it much easier for you to do as you planned: throw yourself into your academics, prepare yourself for your career, and simply focus on anything else but the gaping yearning for a romantic partner. In the time that flew by you, Sayuri secured her own boyfriend, a charming J1 league soccer player who complemented her well. And even though it was obvious how smitten they were with each other, Sayuri always made an effort to include you in their dinners and hang-outs, so much to the point that you felt a swirling mixture of embarrassment and guilt for how often you were third-wheeling them. You had classmates and other friends to hang out with occasionally, and you weren’t one to always feel the need to be with others. You could handle (and frequently chose) self-isolation to refuel on social reserves – it was abandonment that scared you most.

As per usual for many business majors, you spent a semester overseas to broaden your horizons, basing yourself out of a city in Germany and tagging along with the other exchange students around Europe. New traditions and customs were learned, museums and historical structures explored – though one thing you hadn’t expected to return with was a new portion of your brain designated for the nuances of alcohol. Something that you hadn’t meant to care for in the past now existed as a part of your business identity; you needed to know the different wine glasses, the different brands of whisky, how to choose your drink wisely, which drinks are acceptable depending on the situation. If you wanted people to take you seriously in a world that prevented women from touching the sky, you needed to pocket the things that others would normally take for granted.

Part of you believed you were a better version of your past self at Shiratorizawa – while you were busier than ever, your time management skills had improved. That wasn’t to say that procrastination was no longer your best friend; it had leveled down to just a really good friend. You still possessed many of the bad habits in picking up unnecessary projects right before big assignments were due, putting a little too much on your plate, and working yourself to the bone to get everything done on time. The slight improvement existed in the form of less time spent on them, and you embraced this small progress.

And for many months, life existed on that continuum: Sayuri, friends, family, academics, and career.

That was until you received a seemingly innocuous text from Semi Eita.

A text from Eita was not abnormal in any way – as you had mentioned to Sayuri previously, the two of you had kept in contact over the last few years and remained friends. The text that appeared on your phone on a Tuesday night caused a grin to split your face, and all thoughts of indulging in some “me-time” were instantly discarded as you read his message.

[“I’m planning on visiting Tokyo this weekend and checking out a couple of things for the band. Are you free to hang out?”]

To your surprise, you hadn’t run into many of your classmates from Shiratorizawa, not that you ever tried, perhaps. So that might’ve been on you, but somehow it was much easier to stay in touch with your volleyball boys, despite their shortcomings in reaching for Nationals. You rarely visited Miyagi, and even if you were in the area, it was during New Year’s when everyone would be with their families. Without the heart to pull them away from filial time and duties, updates on your boys came mainly from 4 different group chats and the occasional video calls. Eita asking if you were available to hang out was a chance for a breather that you didn’t realize you needed.

With the adrenaline and exhilaration pumping through your veins, you tapped a response that probably seemed too enthusiastic to be you: too many exclamation marks and too many offers.

[“you caught me at a good time!!! i have a couple of days off before i need to start on my next project. it’d be fun to show you around!! and depending on how long you plan on being here, you’re more than welcome to stay in my apt!!! i’ve got an air mattress and a futon, whichever you’d prefer!!”

“Actually, that’d be really nice. Are you sure it’s not a bother?”

“of course not, semi semi!!”

“I never should’ve told you that you saying that ridiculous nickname isn’t nearly as annoying as when Satori says it 🙃🙃. But if it really doesn’t bother you, I might take you up on that offer then. Going to and coming back from Tokyo in one day is too much, and I was starting to look at cheap inns. This way, we’d have more time to catch up and hang out.”

“honestly, stay as long as you need to!!! like i said, my whole weekend is free :). there’s a cute little place nearby that serves great tekka maki!! i’m also not too shabby at making it either.”

“My favorite food homemade? Satori would be really jealous. And probably Shibaru. I can’t wait to rub it in their faces.”

“i’ll send you the name of the station closest to me, and then i can pick you up!!! actually, just send me your itinerary when you figure it out so i can plan.”

“Once a manager, always a manager. Will do.”

“looking forward to it, semi semi!!”

“Me too.”]

Still riding the high, you keyboard-smashed a text to Sayuri, explaining what had just transpired and how excited you were to see an old friend. At first, she was just as happy for you, until she caught on to who exactly was coming to visit, and immediately sent an “OH SHIT” text, followed by a number of sexually suggestive emojis. She didn’t have to be there to know your cheeks were now thoroughly flushed – in fact, you had been trying to forget the fact that Eita was someone you were trusting your first time to have sex with, and you refused to trip yourself silly to make it possibly happen. Last you remember, Eita had dated a girl for a small period of time, but that was about a year and a half ago and there hadn’t been much word from him about it.

The next few days passed in a blur – as promised, Eita had sent you his general itinerary, and while he was a working man with a band as a side gig, train tickets from Miyagi to Tokyo weren’t exactly cheap. Knowing him, he would attempt to take opportunities to pay you back for your hospitality, and you were going to make sure that this wouldn’t happen. At least, not very often. You made a rough schedule around his own that included lots of down time, if there was somewhere he wanted to go visit himself, time for you to make meals for the both of you, one or two movie nights depending on how long he would stay, and more.

The task was almost overwhelmingly nostalgic, that instead of sitting hunched over at your desk in Tokyo, you were back home in your dorm at Shiratorizawa arranging their schedules in preparation for Nationals. This realization of yours came in the very early Thursday morning, but as you began to recall more and more of your time there, you abruptly stood from your chair and shook your head. Not long after, you burrowed yourself under the sheets, phone playing your sleep-inducing playlist on the nightstand as you desperately willed yourself to rest and retreat to the dream world for at least an hour or two.

Then Friday arrived, and before you knew it, you were standing at the designated train station, bouncing excitedly in the arrivals section. You were excessively tipping your toes to look over the others also waiting. But amongst the incoming crowd, you easily spotted Eita’s signature hair color, the familiar hue of ash blond filling you with adoration, and as soon as he was over the dividers, you couldn’t bother containing yourself and bounded over towards him. With a duffel bag slung on his shoulder, phone in hand, dark skinny jeans, a casual pale blue button-down with the sleeves rolled up[GU1] , his reflexes were quick enough to recognize the human bundle of joy sprinting towards him. Eita’s best memories of you were in your Shiratorizawa uniform, so seeing you in casual streetwear threw him for a loop at first.

The earnest beam on your face could warm the iciest of glaciers, and he easily lost against the facial muscles fighting to form into his own smile. As you deftly dodged the other people in your route to him, his arms seemed to naturally fall open in a gesture that welcomed your inevitable embrace. Eita was pretty sure you squealed before jumping onto him, but his focus had to redirect to his arms so they didn’t drop you.

“Semi Semi!” You happily cried out into his ear over the hustle and bustle, arms tight around his neck as he held you close. He gave you a brief, affectionate squeeze before setting you down, causing your arms to fall. But his hands held onto your shoulders, giving you a quick once over and making his assessment. He always had a soft spot for you back in high school, knowing that it wasn’t easy managing a team of teenage boys who were ridiculously hungry and driven for a common goal. When news got around the team that you and Ushijima had broken up, he always kept an extra eye out for you and worried that you’d continue to work yourself to the bone in university.

But the girl before him seemed different: you seemed brighter, elation and happiness rolling off your body in waves. Your face was a bit thinner than it was four years ago, but perhaps the childhood features had matured over time. Additionally, you were a bit taller, though he still could easily see over your head, and overall, you looked somewhat healthier. He hoped that you were learning to relax a little more and take some more time for yourself, again very much aware of your past self-destructive habits.

Eita said nothing and ruffled your hair playfully, a snicker leaving his lips as you pouted and moved to resolve the new half-made bird’s nest. “Come on,” he chuckled, fishing out his phone to open Snapchat. “I promised Satori a selfie of us the minute I saw you.”

“Well, we can’t have him waiting, can we?” You joked back, hiding half of your figure behind Eita’s free arm and giving your best beam over his shoulder. Eita gave his best half-smirk, half-smile, knowing that Satori would absolutely eat him alive out of jealousy. He took one and let you take a closer peek, but before he could send it with your approval, you reached over and swiped to see what filters could be used. To make it easier, Eita just handed over his phone and watched you add silly stickers, his eyes resuming his assessment of you again. But it didn’t take long until you were handing him back his phone, giggling as he took in your newly formed masterpiece and scoffed while hitting the send button.

“Come on, manager,” he sighed, slinging an arm over your shoulders as the two of you made your way to the exit doors. It took very little effort to drag you with him, not that you were complaining. “What’s the plan?”

“One second!” You exclaimed and tapped through your phone, pulling up the picture of the schedule you’ve made. “Oh, yes! Okay, how heavy is your stuff? Do you mind walking around with it?”

“It’s not much, just clothes and toiletries.”

“Perfect, I was really counting on you being a sufficient packer just like back then. We’re gonna make a detour on the way home – I need to get some groceries for dinner but there’s also this takoyaki stand near there that you just have to try! It’ll change your life, I promise.”

“Can I change my mind and say I want to go home first?” He asked jokingly, but that didn’t stop the narrowing of your eyes.

“You’re just saying that so you can throw our schedule off and make me suffer!” You accused when you spotted the devious smirk on his face, the kind he’d put up in the past sometimes when the ball landed just where he wanted it during a pinch serve. “Fuck you,” you cursed but with no malice at all, instead laughing at his antics. “I will leave you here alone right now and you’ll have to find somewhere else to stay for the night. Let’s see how well you do.”

“There’s this really powerful thing now called a cellphone, and it’s got this wonderful little app that can pull up the map of the world. Have you heard of it? It’s called Maps—”

“You’re insufferable,” you said as you shook your head and made a futile attempt to push him away from you. Eita either kept up with part of his exercise regimen or miraculously retained most of the muscle mass he gained in high school because the flesh at his waist refused to give in when you pressed firmly against it. All he had to do was tighten his arm a little bit to get you stuck against his side, and you knew you had lost for now.

“You lie, manager. Admit it, I was your favorite,” he teased.

“Have you always been this cocky? Just because you have a few people screaming your name during a gig doesn’t mean everyone wants you now,” you huffed.

“Doesn’t mean I wasn’t your favorite.”

“You’re wrong – Wakatoshi was my favorite.”

“Even after the breakup?”

“No doubt,” you replied with no hesitation.

“I still think you’re lying.”

“Whatever floats your boat, Eita-kun,” you chuckled, feeling quite comfortable under the hold of his arm. “Walk faster, I need to get the good produce at the store before it’s all snatched away.”

“Hey, I’m the one accommodating your tiny steps.”

“Take that back!”

-

Being with Eita was easy, to say the least. Old friends could fall in line together easily, and there was little to no awkwardness during interactions. He flitted around your apartment like he’d been living there for the past few years, and very few topics were off the table for conversation. You had become more open, a little livelier, he realized. If anything, his previous assumption of your current mental state was getting confirmed over and over by the minute – you were happier, a little more relaxed than how you were during the last year of high school.

As much as Wakatoshi was a good friend, based on Satori’s slip-up of what had happened, he wished you had been let down easier. It was more than a miracle that you hadn’t run away from them, but you were more guarded, putting up nothing more than a gentle, amiable smile most days. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen you genuinely laugh at their antics during practice. Yet you were here now, sitting next to him on your couch and almost full-out cackling at some ridiculous anecdote of his about his roommate freshman year. Maybe your giddiness was amplified by the shot of sake you took just fifteen minutes ago, but that, yet again, didn’t stop him from understanding that things have changed a lot in the last four years.

He likes this current you, somewhat new and improved. More relaxed, more open, more easy-going…this was good.

“So are you still talking to that girl from a couple years ago? What was her name,” you muttered and started snapping your fingers to get the ball rolling in your alcohol-muddled brain. “Oh! Her name was—”

“—Yui?”

“Yes!” You giggled, leaning back against the couch and sipping from your third shot of sake of the night. “I remember she was cute, sad that I never got to properly meet her.”

“It’s okay,” he smiled. “Yui and I were more casual anyways. She ended up moving when she got a new job and we’d be long distance, so we broke things off.”

“When’d that happen?”

“Mmmm, about a year and a half ago?” Eita questioned himself, a little unsure of the exact timeline. “Yeah, sounds about right,” he confirmed and leaned over to the coffee table to pour himself some more sake.

“That’s been a long time then,” you sighed. “Anybody else since?”

“Nope. Things got busy afterwards with the national exams and putting the band together, so I just never really thought about it. But what about you?” Eita asked curiously – had you moved on since your break-up with Wakatoshi?

At first, you hummed to yourself, eyebrows furrowed in a manner that suggested you were struggling to find the right words. But then your face relaxed and morphed into a mix of mischief and embarrassment, small laughs spilling from your lips and he was wondering if he needed to start worrying.

“I did see a guy a couple of years ago,��� you began while staring into your cup, avoiding Eita’s gaze. “You wanna know how I met him?”

“How?”

“I…okay wait, do you promise not to judge me?” You somewhat slurred and held out a pinky as a gesture for him to fulfill a promise. He nodded and linked his pinky with your own, interlocking then twisting so you two could stamp thumbs.

“Good, so the answer to your question is…yes, I met a guy. On Tinder.”

Eita wasn’t expecting that last fragmented sentence to come from you of all people and had been mid-sip during your revelation. It was a miracle that he didn’t spit out the alcohol all over your couch, but he choked and had to pound his chest a couple of times as the sake went straight for his lungs.

“Don’t judge me!” You whined, shoving him from the side as he waved off your accusation. A full pout formed on your face and you looked genuinely upset.

“I’m not judging, I swear,” Eita ensured over haggard coughs. “I just didn’t expect that – I thought you were gonna tell me you met this guy at some random place on campus.”

“Once you know the whole story, you’ll be glad he doesn’t go to my uni,” you scoffed before downing the rest of your cup. Eita watched you wince and fight the pleasant burn down your throat, preparing for the possible train wreck of a story you insinuated.

You laid it all out for him, from the very beginning to when Sayuri first got you to download the app up until the last phone call you had with Tsugumi. Eita listened attentively, grimacing, laughing, and frowning at all the right moments. He watched you struggle to verbalize the anger you had felt, the frustration from even being angry to begin with, and by the time you were done, you were exhausted. You simply stared back at him with a lazy, tipsy smile that contrasted all the defeat in your bones and attempted to hide your efforts in pretending that you had completely moved on. Eita could tell, though, that that was unfortunately not the case. The pain had lingered, and you were never going to forget…or forgive yourself.

He released a heavy sigh, placing his empty cup gently on your coffee table and grabbing yours from your fingers as well. Once both were away from the possibility of being spilt, he reached out a hand to you, wiggling his fingers as a tacit gesture for you to grab them. Whether your fingers had trembled from the excess resentment or some personal effect from the sake, the second your fingers interlocked, your eyes began to water. At this sight, Eita quickly pulled you to him with a strength you had forgotten he possessed, repositioning your bodies until he was leaned against the back cushion with your side cuddled into his frame – your knees bent and feet on the other side of his thighs – and one arm wrapped around your shoulders with a free hand intwined with one of yours in your lap.

Part of him had expected you to completely break down and bawl, but instead you released silent tears, occasionally sniffling and wiping them away with your free hand. He murmured words of encouragement into your hair, just loud enough to not startle you but to remind you that he was there. Eita instantly regretted not keeping in touch more, even if Sayuri kept a close and endearing watch over your well-being. But you were engaging in an old habit of yours, the one where you’d put up a strong front to not give anyone a reason to worry, that you could handle things on your own.  

Maybe he was feeling a bit lonely as well. The alcohol running through both his and your veins certainly wasn’t there to aid in any good decision-making, and the two combined with your own emotions, he wasn’t exactly sure what he was going for when he gazed down at you, waiting for you to look back up at him.

Your eyes were surely bloodshot by this time, and you could feel the tears slowly dry and crust between your eyelashes. Eita’s heavy, pointed scrutiny willed you to look back at him. Even with your slightly blurred vision and sake-addled brain, you failed to miss the way his eyes flickered down to where your lips were. Naturally, you glanced at his own with alarms softly sounding in your brain. This wasn’t a good idea, but you were two slightly lonely adults and if he wanted to…

Perhaps Eita had become a mind-reader over the last four years. Your heart rate skyrocketed as he leaned down at a snail’s pace, leaving you more than ample time to prevent this moment from ever happening. But it was undeniable that part of you wanted this, that at some time during senior year, you had briefly envisioned a few times what it would be like to kiss the setter.

Just once, to feed curiosity’s sake, to unveil the unknown.

Eita’s weakly parted lips were still, frozen when they gently met yours with the slightest bit of pressure. His shaky breaths faintly tickled your skin and you caught the whiffs of sake and something minty, the scent slowly intoxicating you. Something sparked in your veins, a slow tingle crawling up from the base of your spine, and you nearly shivered. A fragment of your brain registered the tightening of his hand in yours, a tacit and telling gesture of, “It’s okay. It’s up to you.”

You could resolve this in the morning.

You took the plunge, lips slowly moving against his to signal your tentative approval. Eita’s lips were as soft as rose petals, so tender against yours that reminded you of the full moon on a clear night sky. At every step, at every change, he soundlessly requested permission, whether it be with a cautious nudge of your nose with his or a squeeze of your fingers, and you granted the shift in angles, the slow repositioning for a position more comfortable. It hadn’t taken long for Eita to lose himself in you, wrapped up in this new, uncharted territory that you guided him through. He was more than satisfied with just kissing you, now hesitantly straddling his figure, at a comfortable, languid pace with his hands cradling your cheeks.

At some point, your hands had traveled to wound behind his neck, fingers lightly grasping the ash blond strands at the nape of his neck. When you subconsciously tightened your grip on them, Eita sharply inhaled, applying more pressure against your lips and causing you to lean back somewhat from the new force. He searched for stability by trailing his hands down to your waist, his hold tender yet unshakeable. Eita wasn’t planning on going any further, not when you weren’t completely sober to make a choice like that, but that didn’t stop him from scattering light kisses on your cheeks and jaw. Clearly, the alcohol had lowered some of his inhibitions, but not enough as his lips lingered over the span of your neck – his desire to mark your skin, to paint it with hickeys and signs of affection, would only unleash something darker inside of him, something that you weren’t quite ready for yet. Your heady breaths echoed in his ears and he felt you shake with temptation, your head subtly lolling to the side to allow him more room as a tacit gesture of consent.

Just one, he berated himself. Just one.

His nose ghosted over the skin from your jaw to your collarbone, catching the faint scent of what he assumed to be a mix of your body wash and natural scent. His senses found it comforting, grounding, and reminded him just how precious you were to him. You weren’t just a random girl at the bar he thought would be temporarily nice to make out with – you were (y/n), the girl who had watched over him and encouraged him during some of his most difficult times with a sport that was once his life, the manager who cared for him and his teammates to be nothing but their best, the person who the boys would unwittingly go to war for if anyone were to bring you trouble.

So he made that known, kissing the joint between your neck and shoulder, and reveled in the breathy gasp that escaped your throat. Little by little, he applied more pressure, preparing you for what he was about to do. His lips softly sucked on the skin, just enough so his teeth could graze it and nibble. Your hands were now fully entangled in the strands of his air, and as they tightened, Eita became more forceful and meaningful. You were entering a faint haze of ecstasy as he worked that one spot, determined to break the capillaries beneath your unmarked flesh and let the inevitable bruising bloom. He knew how beautiful you would look when he was done, and if he had your permission to, what a sight you would be with more littered on the rest of your body.

When he pulled back and deemed his work sufficient, he placed one last kiss on top of it before gazing back at you. Your eyes were half-lidded and hazy, traces of lust pouring into them as you struggled to even your breath. You knew in your bones that Eita was too much of a gentleman to go any further than this, and you were incredibly grateful. If something was going to happen between the two of you, you wanted to make sure that both of you were undoubtedly sober and fully aware of the decisions made.

Eita leaned his forehead against yours, stealing a few chaste kisses and rubbing his nose affectionately against your own. When he felt you were calm, steady, he made sure your legs were wound tight around his waist before standing from the couch with ease, arms holding you securely to his chest. His feet carried the two of you to your bathroom, placing you on the little counter space by your sink before unraveling your limbs from his figure.

Quietly, he handed over your toothbrush and squeezed out a small dollop of toothpaste onto it, repeating the actions with his own. The both of you tiredly brushed your teeth, somewhat thankful for the minty paste that would replace any lingering notions of the sake. But that hadn’t stopped you from staring at each other during the motions, only breaking the silence when foam escaped his lips and you couldn’t help but let out a tiny snicker. To which he only rolled his eyes dramatically, yet quickly held your gaze again as his own was filled with amusement and mirth, much akin to the look he had given you when you picked him up at the station earlier.

Minutes later, you two were tucked in your bed, facing each other in the dark. Eita tentatively searched for one of your hands, weaving them together once he completed this small quest of his. Little needed to be said as your blinks began to take on a slower pace, sometimes staying shut for a second or two before snapping back open. Your grip was loosening in his, but he felt he knew why you kept trying to get a good look at him, why you were unwilling to let sleep overtake you.

“Turn around,” he whispered. Too tired to question or fight back, you did as you were told, waiting with bated breath. Not long after you had done so, you felt the mattress closer to you divot just a bit more as an arm carefully snuck around your waist. You lifted your neck a bit to move your hair towards the side you faced so that Eita’s breathing wouldn’t be quite as obstructed, and he thanked you for the thoughtful action with a chaste press of his lips against your shoulder. The two of you adjusted slightly to ensure the position was equally comfortable.

Eita felt you considerably relax, almost falling back into his hold. His arm around your waist spoke volumes to you and part of him knew, part of him wanted to assure you that—

“I’ll be here in the morning,” he promised.

Because Eita knew that perhaps, you two needed to be reminded that you both weren’t alone, that there were people out there who desired both you and him; that the loneliness was just a blip in the timeline, and that eventually, your needs to be loved and appreciated wholeheartedly would be fulfilled someday by others than each other. You two could be good together, but the circumstances and other factors weren’t perfect. Maybe in another lifetime, Eita thought to himself.

And just as he suspected, that promise was all you needed to peacefully succumb to the dreamworld, with him following soon after.

[harrymoots]

Very Funny.

The house felt anomalous as soon as I walked through the door. It felt empty, like no one was present. Harry hadn’t come home yet, like expected. Not that it was a bad thing though, he always lets me know when he’s going to arrive home late. Like today. It usually has to do with extra touching up on song lyrics or Harry sometimes would not leave a studio until at least one of his songs are done perfectly.

I made my way towards our shared bedroom, heels in one hand and my jacket in the other and sat at the edge of the bed. I dropped my belongings on the floor as they landed beside my feet and leaned back until my back hit the bed. As I laid there staring up at the ceiling, a more dense forlorn feeling overcame the atmosphere around me. The sudden realization that I hadn’t actually seen or heard from Harry since five a.m. this morning. I turned my head to glance at the digital clock that sat on the dresser on the left side of the bed, and saw that it just hit nine in the evening. With a exaggerated sigh, I lay my pounding head back on the bed and shut my eyes to relive the slight pressure it possesses.

~

About an hour later, a earthquake-like slam of a door awoke me from my quick slumber. Had Harry not gotten home yet? The sound of heavy boots stomp louder as it approaches towards the bedroom and soon enough my inamorato is making his way towards me with a lechery look in his eyes. Still laying down I prop myself onto my elbows, squinting my eyes a little due to the rooms brightness. “Hey Ha-“

My words were cut off by Harry’s lips, as he presses them to mine eagerly. He climbs over my body and leans forward so my back once again falls on the bed. With his body pressed closely against mine, Harry starts to move his mouth hard and slowly causing me too perform the same action.

After a while of heated lips pushing and spit swapping, I raise my hands that were once gripping the bottom of Harry’s hoodie towards his face to gently pull away from his desperate affection. As soon as our eyes meet, I noticed the wild glassy hungry look he retains usually only present when we haven’t seen each other is months time. Basically when he’s away on tour or working on a project in different countries. Although, I do love when Harry is this loving towards me, a frown makes its way between my eyebrows. We obviously had kissed each other farewell before we trudged ourselves to work this morning. Maybe he’s had a rough day and needs a little liberation?

“Baby?”, I draw his attention from my moving lips, but I don’t begin to speak until his green dreamy eyes meet my own again. “You okay, hun?”

“Yes..”, he presses a quick peck to my mouth before speaking again. “Just missed you...” Harry dips his head in between my chin and collar bones to start trailing soft damp kisses down my neck. “... so much.”

“Yeah?”, I questioned. Harry hummed in response. The soft smile that adored his face made my heart flutter in ways no one else could. Still gawking at the beauty in front of me, an idea slowly formulated in my head causing a devious smile to appear on my face.

“No.”

“What?”

“That smile.”

“What smile?”

“Whatever you’re thinking up in that bread box-“, BREAD BOX!? “-has to stop.” Did he just call my brain a bread box?

“Did you just call my brain a bread box?”, I asked accusingly. “What the heck does that even mean? Are you calling me dumb? I can assure you I am not dumb. Who went to college? Exactly. Me. Th-“, I was cut off by Harry’s booming laugh. Face scrunching up and body shaking of laughter, Harry hid his face in my neck as he tried to calm his cackling.

Soon after he was done, Harry raised his head from under my chin and looked at me in the eyes. “I was only kidding, love. I know that devil smile anywhere, what are you thinking about?”

Instead of replying I shoved Harry off of me, landing on his bottom on the bed. Quickly grabbing a pillow next to him, I swung it back over my head chucking it so it landed on top of his head. Harry sits there frozen from my mischievousness as the pillow slowly slips off of him causing his short brown curls to hang over his face. It was my turn to laugh loudly as I bended forward and clutched my stomach.

“You think that’s funny, huh?” Harry breathed out a chuckle steadily getting up from the bed. He began to take slow torturous steps towards me.

“Very funny.” I replied with a smirk on my face. Every single step he took closer, I took a step back.

Taking a glance at the wide open door using my peripheral vision, I bolted towards it. As I began running towards the kitchen, passing the living room, I heard Harry hot on my heels panting behind me.

Rounding the kitchen island, both of us on either side, we stood there breathing heavy and anticipating on who’s going to make the first move. Already thinking ahead, Harry runs around the left of the island reaching to try and grab me but I push away from the counter and start sprinting the other direction before he can catch me.

Maybe this idea wasn’t the best i’ve ever induced. Funny? Yes. Smart? No.

The second I move my right foot in front of me, my left foot decides to relinquish from under me causing it to twist and buckled so I fall face flat on the ground. In the next few moments a sharp stabbing pain moves from the tips of my toes to my now sprained tibia.

Harry is quick to crouch down beside me, still huffing softly due to our wild goose chase not a minute ago. “Oh my god.” He tried to stifle his laughter, unknown to the fact that his girlfriend just twisted her ankle upon falling on the floor. My pained whine filled the room as I tried to push myself off of the ground. Unsuccessfully able to do so, Harry wraps his arms around my torso in attempts to lift me up himself. “Honey? Did you fall too hard?”

“I think I broke my ankle Harry!”, Now fully standing up, all my weight on my right non-injured leg, the pain intensifies more leaving me to groan loudly.

“Wha-“ My statement catching him off guard, almost completely letting go of me before I fall on my face again. “Are you serious?”

“Of course i’m serious! These tears seem fake to you?!” As soon as Harry drags my injured self to a chair nearby, he finally takes notice of the never ending stream on my face. “Oh shit, oh shit! Okay... let’s umm- let’s-“, Harry stumbled on his words, clearly not knowing how to take charge of the situation.

I spoke before he could get another word in. “Maybe we should go to the emergency room?” I took a moment to closely inspect my leg. It felt so much worse than it looked. “It hurts so bad. We need to go now, please.”

Harry rushes out of the room to go turn on the car while I wait for him to return. The second he returns to the kitchen I start to lift myself by pushing off the chair below me, but Harry is quick to wrap his arms around my back and under my calf’s to hoist me up and carry me. He walks, with me in his arms, outside to the car and carefully places me on the passenger side of his vehicle. Getting situated on the drivers seat of the car, Harry starts the twelve mile journey to the hospital.

~

The doctor's office that we were instructed to wait in as the doctors get my x-ray results ready, was cold and very small. I sat on the examination bed, left leg stretched out on top of the surface and my right leg dangling off the edge. My ankle still throbbed painfully, less excruciating than before, under the gauze that was wrapped around it tightly. Harry sat beside me on a different seat. His right leg bouncing as he looked back and forth at my face and my bandaged limb. Fretting over the fact he thinks it’s his fault that we’re here at the hospital.

“Hey,” Harry’s eyes shifted up to meet mine. “Can you like, maybe not stare at my leg like that.” I took a moment to sigh before continuing. “I told you, i’m the one who started messing around. I did this to myself, don’t worry about it. Be glad I didn’t bang my head on the floor and die.”

Harry glared at me as he heard the last sentence while I chuckle at his expression. “Don’t joke like that.”, he pouted, laying his head next to my foot and slowly and carefully starts to caress my leg above my injury. “I’m just a little mad at myself.”

I stood up straighter when he said that. “Why would you be mad at yourself? I told you-“

“Yeah, Yeah. This isn’t my fault, I get it. I just... It’s just every time we horse play or run around the house like idiots, you always get hurt somehow. And I always give in to your little games.”

“Oh, please.” I waved him off as I continued. “You love it when we mess arou-“

Harry cut me off before I could continue my sexual innuendo. “Remember last year, at mums house?” I shifted my eyes upward as I regained memory of that awful day, week actually. “Oooooh”, my face twisting into a look of grimace. “Yeah, that was pretty bad.”

“Pretty bad!?” Harry shrieked leaning back in his chair suddenly. “You convinced my whole family to play tag in the back lawn, slipped on wet concrete trying to tag me, then fell and almost shattered your collar bone completely.”

That game of tag at Harry’s family reunion last year, was the most intense game of tag ever. His family never did physical activities together like I did with mine. They all were so exuberant about the idea when I introduced it to them. Harry obviously being hesitant, knowing I can be a right klutz sometimes. It did end very horribly with me in the emergency room like I am now. “Your family had so much fun though.”

“Yes they did indeed.” Harry leaned forward again, this time laying his head on my thigh that was stretched out on the examination bed. He continued to speak as I ran my fingers through his hair softly. “Also, the last time they’ll have that much fun, because you are banned from any future family events from here on out, young lady.”

“Okay, dad.” I stopped my hand, still moving in his hair. “It’s okay though. Your mother loves me. She’ll invite me instead.” I yelped as I felt Harry sunk his teeth agilely into my inner thigh. I pulled at his hair slightly removing his head from my lap. Before I could scowl at him, there is a knock on the door in front of us and a second later a different lady than before walks in.

~

After reviewing the x-ray scans, Harry breathing out a sigh of relief that I didn’t have yet another broken bone, we picked up my pain killers from the front receptionist and got into the car. Only with a little extra help from the valet guy outside this time, due to the new set of crutches I was instructed to use for the next week and a half or two.

When we pulled up to the driveway and into the garage, Harry got out first and assisted me in getting out of the car. With one crutch on my left side and my boyfriend on the other carrying the second one, he directed me straight towards the living room. I plopped down on the couch with a heavy sigh. This was already going to be an annoying two weeks, I can feel it.

“This is going to be hell.” I say motioning to my leg, propping it carefully on the living room table. The slight throbbing was still present, realizing it will continue like this for the next couple of days I let out a groan.

“Well..”, Harry walks over to come and sit next to me.

“Don’t say it.”

“That’s what you-“

“Stop-“

“That’s what you get.” Harry finished with his playful smirk. I grabbed a throw pillow and jabbed it at his stomach, causing him laugh loudly.

“Let’s see who’s the one laughing when I chase you around and make you fall. Then you’re the one in the emergency room next.” I say as I cross my arms over my chest.

Harry tosses the pillow back to me, letting it fall on my lap. “Oh yeah? Let’s see if you can even catch me.”

Turning to look at him, I narrow my eyes at him and roll my eyes as I reply to his snarky comeback. “Ha. Ha. Very funny.”

~

Any feedback is welcomed! Enjoy! ❤️

[discyours]

What are your thoughts on contrapoints' new video if you've watched it ?

I had actually watched it before I got this ask but I wanted to rewatch it to make sure I had a good answer. Terrible idea, I spent way too much time on this, too much to justify shortening this out so I’ll put a cut out of courtesy to my followers. 

I did actually find myself agreeing with her on a few points, though I didn’t spend much time being excited about that since criticising “TERFs” is hardly a new or rare thing. Starting out the video with a dramatic reading of a Germaine Greer quote was funny in my opinion, but it did set people up for an obvious bias. Some radfems truly are that transphobic and that’s really important to acknowledge, but it’s hardly news to anyone in her audience. I would’ve preferred if she’d engaged with more moderate forms of gender critical feminism, though I can’t say it’s all that much of a surprise that she didn’t do so since the entire basis of her channel is essentially putting on a wig to create a strawman (that’s not to say that the points she argued against were never made by anyone, but she does get to pick and choose which ones she talks about rather than debating a real person).

It’s also quite telling that she only asked past gender critical feminists for their input, not anyone who currently holds those beliefs (though again, can’t say I’m surprised). I did actually like her explanation of gendercrit ideology (”The idea is that gender [femininity, masculinity, gender roles, all that] it’s all a patriarchal construct, and biological sex is the only thing that makes a person a man or a woman.”). It’s fairly rare to see people represent it even somewhat accurately, so props for that.  She then went on to mock questions about trans ideology as being comparable to “the Jewish question”, so,,, that strong start didn’t last long.

She explained that trans people are on the defensive against genuine questions because of the amount of transphobia we have to deal with from the government, the press, and oftentimes our family. It’s the reason we stick together and stick to unambiguous slogans that don’t concede anything (”trans women are women”). Which, cue 10 people unfollowing me, I don’t disagree with. I started this blog to talk about trans issues and at this point I’m about as trans-critical as troons can get, but even I don’t have the energy or desire to engage every single person I come across in their genuine concerns about trans people. The part Natalie leaves out however is that these slogans and chants are often part of an attempt to change legislation, where you don’t get to just state that trans women are women and refuse to discuss it when people don’t blindly accept it. Being on the defensive makes sense, but it’s incompatible with being on the offensive to change laws and social norms.

Moving on to CONCERN ONE: GENDER METAPHYSICS

This is one part where I actually strongly agreed with Natalie (well, as much as could be expected). She explains that sometimes, people use metaphors to explain feelings that are difficult to put into words, and that that’s how she understands the “trapped in the wrong body” language. Thanks to some groups who do mean this literally (thanks transmeds!) I don’t blame radfems for taking those statements seriously and attempting to debunk them, but I’m also really not fond of radfems jumping on just about any attempt to talk about dysphoria. A lot of the time these objections go beyond wanting to debunk something that is assumed to be meant literally, and beyond wanting people to think critically about their dysphoria; it reaches the point of expecting that they’ll simply reason people out of their dysphoria, since being dysphoric (and being trans) just doesn’t make any sense.

She also criticises brain sex theory much in the way that I do, and says she thinks of herself as a woman who used to be a man rather than having always been a woman. I’m too gendercrit to relate or agree completely, but compared to most trans people’s stance on this it’s pretty damn agreeable.

She finishes off this… chapter? With a quote about “living as a woman”, and while I have plenty of thoughts on that it’s elaborated on later on, so let’s move on.

CONCERN TWO: GENDER STEREOTYPES

Natalie explains that her clothes, makeup or voice don’t “make her a woman”, and that no trans woman thinks femininity and womanhood are the same. Rather, they’re using femininity as a cultural language to prompt people to see them “for what they are” (women).  

Obviously the question of what makes someone a woman has yet to be answered here (unless the quote from the last chapter was intended to but that’s pretty circular [go watch the video this is too goddamn long to copy everything]) so I’ll leave the “see us for what we are” be for now. But it’s absolute bullshit that no trans woman equates femininity to womanhood. How many trans women have explained that they knew from a young age because they liked to play with dolls and their mother’s makeup? There have literally been trans women claiming that butch lesbians are closeted trans men, and that an aversion to femininity counts as gender dysphoria. I do agree with her last point, though. I didn’t cut my hair when I came out because I thought that would “make me a man”, I did so because it’d help me pass. A lot of radfems are intentionally obtuse about the existence of cultural signifiers just to paint trans people as delusional gender-worshippers.

I am actually gonna quote her here because I think it’s important;

“I think butch or gender nonconforming cis women sometimes side-eye hyperfeminine trans women because they don’t identify with this version of womanhood at all, and they’ve had to struggle since childhood against a society that’s told them they have to be feminine. And I completely sympathize with that. I think there should be more gender freedom, less coercion less restriction. But also, I’ve had to fight against the same society that told me I should really, really, really, not be *this*. So, I feel like we should be able to form some kind of solidarity here.”

I was ready to be mad at the start of the sentence but I actually agree. I just think that solidarity is lost when trans women refuse to acknowledge that society’s insistence that they don’t be like *that* is about gender roles and hatred of gender nonconformity. There is great potential for solidarity between GNC females and feminine trans women, but trans women reject it because they don’t want to be seen as GNC males or acknowledge that other people do. They want to be treated as normal, feminine women, and not doing so counts as misgendering.

CONCERN THREE: ABOLISH GENDER

Natalie argues that, while potentially a good idea, abolishing gender is a Utopian project (/pipe dream), much like abolishing borders. That denying trans people their gender identity because “abolish gender” is much like denying immigrants citizenship because “abolish borders”. It’s targeting the people who are most vulnerable under the present system, and then leveraging that system against them under the pretense of abolishing it.

I’ll concede that abolishing gender (and frankly, radical feminism as a whole) is fairly idealistic. Most radfem goals are incredibly long term and while that’s a good thing in some ways (I’m quite happy to be with a movement that refuses to accept anything less than complete female liberation, rather than some form of feminism that insists it’s only needed outside the west [”We’re already equal! I can vote! Look at the pants I’m wearing”]), it also leads to quite a lot of abstract academic bullshittery, and unreasonable expectations of ideological purity.

I don’t think it’s reasonable to view individual trans people as personally responsible for accomplishing the very long-term goal of abolishing gender. But radical feminism is not about individualism (which a lot of radfems do seem to forget, to be fair). There are radfems who are supportive of trans people; Andrea Dworkin herself supported transition. Only as a bandaid for a much bigger issue (the existence of gender) but she at least felt that trans people should be allowed this bandaid, should be allowed to reduce their suffering in current society in whichever ways they can. Dworkin’s view on this is far from rare and some radfems are even trans themselves. But to get back to the part about radical feminism not being individualistic; while individual trans people are not necessarily an issue for gender abolition, the wider trans community and its current political ventures most definitely is. The entirety of radical feminism is not going to collapse from a singular tran getting a gendered hairstyle, but replacing laws to refer to gender identity rather than sex can absolutely be devastating in the long term (and in the short term, when you look at the amount of protections that female-bodied people lose as a result), and that’s exactly what the trans community is currently pushing for.

Natalie also criticises the fact that gender critical feminists don’t seem to go after, say, Kim Kardashian for promoting gender roles. That they attack trans women with barely any following rather than people with actual power and influence. And I disagree with that, radfems are definitely highly critical of women like Kim Kardashian. But the way Natalie makes this point exposes part of the issue; nobody is going after Kim Kardashian for wearing a dress because Kim Kardashian never made an active choice to start wearing dresses. She experienced female socialisation no differently than any other woman (or, arguably, far more strongly considering who her parents were), so there’s some sympathy to be extended there. She has more responsibility due to her platform, but it’s no easier for her to break out of gender roles whereas trans people, to some extent, knowingly stepped into another gender role.

CONCERN FOUR: MALE PRIVILEGE

Natalie argues that men don’t treat trans women like their equals. That non-passing trans women are not treated like men, but like monsters, and that “male privilege” is not a good description of that experience.

This is one of those things that’s really hard to argue against because there’s an inherent disagreement about gender. Natalie’s insistence that non passing trans women aren’t treated like men comes from preexisting notions that a man is more than simply an adult human male, which is where I disagree. Non passing trans women are treated like men, but that does not mean that men will treat you like an equal; much like straight men can still treat gay men like shit, white men can still treat black men like shit, etc. “Male privilege” has never been a good descriptor of gay men’s experiences with homophobia either, but that doesn’t mean that they don’t have any. There is more than one axis of oppression.

Moving on, Natalie brings up radfems’ skepticism about the whole notion of “passing”. I’m not going to bother to quote it because the entire part is good, but I do have strong feelings about this.

Her argument about gas station attendants and plumbers is completely on point, and I fucking hate it when people try to argue that anyone who reads trans people as their desired sex is simply being polite. It’s genuinely fucking impossible that everyone we run into has been indoctrinated into politically correct gender ideology, and the nerve a lot of radfems have to insist that our genuine life experiences are worthless next to their opinion is downright insulting.

Passing is, in fact, subjective. With my shift in perspective since becoming gender critical, my perception of trans people has changed too. People I used to believe passed flawlessly are now quite noticeably trans to me, but that’s not to say that that’s a result of “breaking free from trans ideology”. Relying on gender roles to identify people’s sex is in fact the cultural norm, and only actively attempting to view things differently (or spending large amounts of time around GNC people) changes that.

CONCERN FIVE: MALE SOCIALISATION

Natalie starts off by acknowledging that she has no idea what it’s like to be catcalled as a nine year old girl, or what that does to a child’s psyche. It did not start happening to her until she was an adult, when she knew what she was getting into and was ready for it. I just want to mention that separately because I just about cried when she said this. Sexual harassment at a young age is one thing I see trans women consistently failing to acknowledge, and an end has just come to the years of frustration I have suffered as the result of this argument going completely unaddressed.

She goes on to argue that socialisation does not stop at childhood; that it is a lifelong process. One example she gave is that her appearance is commented on far more now that she’s transitioned, and that that’s been something she’s had to get used to. I actually think that’s a good point and one that should be considered more, but I’m uncomfortable with the implication she brings when talking about resocialisation, as if childhood socialisation can be erased/redone entirely (which I don’t believe it can).

Then there’s the “trans women don’t experience socialisation the way cis men do” argument. Let me quote this and see if you can spot anything wrong;

“But also, trans women often don’t experience the socialisation the way cis men do. Many trans women are feminine and queer before they transition, and have always experienced a kind of femmephobia that is rooted in misogyny.”

The implication that feminine/queer equates to trans is really harmful, and once again she’s arguing from a different concept of what a man actually is. Not to mention that “femmephobia” is only a thing against men, as women are expected to be feminine.

“Some trans women also identified as women years before transitioning, and internalised society’s messaging about women more than society’s messaging about men. Now that’s still not the same as living in society as a girl from birth, but it’s also pretty different from the socialisation of most cis men.”

Interestingly enough, I initially wrote down “masculine cis men” rather than “most cis men” because that’s what the captions said. I wonder if Natalie realised her unfortunate implication that feminine = trans after uploading her video and decided to change it in the captions, since the words don’t sound all that alike.

She then talks about “stolen valor”, that she suspects that male privilege and male socialisation are such major talking points for gender critical feminists because they feel like it’s an injustice for people to claim their identity without experiencing their oppression. She compares radfems to transmeds; both groups supposedly believe that you need to suffer for your identity to be valid.

Fundamental disagreement about gender is affecting her understanding yet again. Identity-based thinking just can’t be applied to gendercrit ideology at all; the whole point is that gender identity itself is harmful, and that women who consider themselves as such because they are adult human females have extremely different experiences than people who feel that they identify with womanhood regardless of their lack of life experiences actually being female.

[”You didn’t suffer like I’ve suffered! You don’t know what it’s like”] “I’m tempted to strike back by saying that you don’t know what it’s like to occupy an identity so stigmatised that most of the people who are attracted to you in private are too ashamed to admit it in public”

Ever heard of butch lesbians, Natalie?

“You don’t know what it’s like to have a body so non-normative that you’re shut out of whole areas of society”

Cough

CONCERN SIX: REPRODUCTIVE OPPRESSION

I’m getting fucking tired at this point and I hate myself for even writing this long of a reply up until now. Basically, she pulls the good ol’ “not all women experience their womanhood the same way” argument, and then makes a fucking coat hanger abortion joke. I wish I had an in-depth reply to that but I don’t. I honestly don’t have the words to express how angry it makes me that someone who has never even had to deal with even the mere possibility of unwanted pregnancy thinks they have any place to joke about the horrific lengths women were forced to go to as a result of their reproductive oppression.

CONCERN SEVEN: ERASING FEMALE VOCABULARY

Through her assumption that feminism is a mere shield for gender critical radfems to hide their transphobia behind, Natalie is disregarding the actual feminist motivations behind opposing gender-neutral language. I mean, she literally does not even touch on it, she only says that nobody has any issue with individual women referring to themselves as women rather than “menstruators” (or, by her suggestion, “people who menstruate”).

Medical lingo is complicated, and I understand wanting to ensure that trans people do not lose insurance coverage when they change their legal sex. I don’t believe that changing all medical language to be gender neutral is the only possible solution there, but at the end of the day doctors are gonna know the difference between male and female anatomy even if their textbooks talk about “pregnant people”. Medical language is not the issue here, it’s the expectation that this language becomes commonplace everywhere, including in feminist discourse. That’s the point where female vocabulary is erased, and where it becomes impossible for women to discuss the reasons for their oppression. Menstruation and pregnancy are not “gender neutral” issues when it comes to institutional oppression, and we should not treat them as such.

Moving on, let me quote her directly:

“I have no problem with cis feminists discussing or celebrating periods or wearing pussy hats at political marches. […] I totally get why cis feminists would want to celebrate their reproductive anatomy in defiance of a society that routinely shames and subjugates them for it. The problem arises only when menstruation or reproductive anatomy are used to misgender trans men or exclude [women who don’t bleed].”

The assumption wasn’t that every individual trans woman takes issue with women discussing their anatomy, so “I don’t have a problem with it” is not an argument. I mean, you’re obviously free to say it to get people off your back about it, but it does not debunk radfem concerns when there absolutely are trans women who believe it’s “terfy” and “exclusionary” to talk about issues that only affect “cis” women. That last point is a funny one, despite all the inclusive language trans women regularly forget that menstruation is not a cis thing. And that’s an issue Natalie appears to suffer from too, unless this was unfortunate phrasing and we were just meant to assume that trans men talking about periods is not up for discussion. Either way, it’s clear that inclusive language is clunky to everyone, the mistakes that are acceptable to make just depend on which side you’re on.

CONCERN EIGHT: TERF IS A SLUR

Natalie uses an interesting definition of “slur” here: “a pejorative that targets someone’s race, religion, gender, or sexuality”. I say interesting because I can’t find it anywhere. I could find “an insinuation or allegation about someone that is likely to insult them or damage their reputation.”, “an insulting or disparaging remark or innuendo”, “a derogatory or insulting term applied to particular group of people”, but not hers. Presumably because she made it up herself (and haf-assedly at that, did you forget disabled people exist Natalie?) knowing that all of the former definitions would, in fact, consider TERF to be a slur.

Now I’ll be honest, I’m not a fan of the whole “TERF is a slur” thing. I’ve seen someone use that to say “if you call me TERF I can call you tranny”. I don’t think being called a TERF (which I have plenty of experience with) should be considered to be comparable to being called a tranny or a bitch. TERF has become essentially meaningless and is an inaccurate term roughly 95% of the time it’s used, but it is meant to have a meaning (”this person excludes trans people from their feminism”), whereas other slurs don’t tend to have any message aside from “this person belongs to a minority and I want to insult them for it”. I’m not ignorant to the fact that it’s often used as a synonym for “lesbian” though, and that it absolutely is used insultingly and with the intent to ruin a person’s reputation, so I’ll stay in my lane on that.

After comparing “gender critical” to “race realist” and mentioning a general refusal to use these terms as to not legitimise bigotry, Natalie explains that she has very little patience for “TERF requests for linguistic decorum” because of the “maximally hurtful, harmful, and insulting” language that radfems use to talk about trans people (eg, referring to transition-related surgeries as mutilation, and the terms “TIM” and “TIF”).

I have some thoughts on this because, while I fucking hate these terms, Natalie’s disdain for them is hypocritical. She just acknowledged that using certain language legitimises the ideologies behind them, and that’s exactly why “TIM” and “TIF” were born. Referring to trans women as trans women while also insisting that woman means adult human female, something trans women do not fall under, did not work out well for radfems in the past. Conceding linguistic ground merely for the sake of respect essentially meant they’d instantly lose that argument, an argument that is in fact extremely important for feminism. I justify using technically incorrect terms (including pronouns) to refer to trans people because I’m trans myself, I understand what it’s like to be dysphoric and I believe that signaling that level of respect can at times be essential to get people to listen. But this is not an apolitical issue and as much as I despise being referred to as a “TIF”, I can’t blame that term’s existence on hatred.

Natalie concludes her video by being “real” about what the core of the gender critical movement is actually about: transphobia. Visceral disgust and hatred for trans people’s very existence.

And you know, for some people that definitely is the case. But this isn’t where I concede that I’ve been faking trandom to give credibility to my transphobia, or where I break down, admitting that I’ve based my entire political stance on pure self hatred (I mean lord knows I have enough of it, but nah that’s not what happened). The reality is that there are gender critical trans people (including trans women), and I’d dare suggest that we are not the only ones who believe in gender critical ideology for reasons other than transphobia.

In conclusion, this video is just another rebuttal against a strawman of “TERF beliefs” which never even attempts to treat them as genuine, only as ignorance that is easily educated away, or hatred that can’t be argued with regardless. I can’t say I’m disappointed with this video (it’s certainly not lower quality than I’d expect from contrapoints) but I am disappointed with the political climate where this is the furthest any outsider is willing to go to debate against gender critical ideology.

[wadebalke187650-blog]

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[idiottantrum-blog]

Ellipses and You. . .

We need to have a chat, people writing internet comments.

On behalf of many good and decent citizens out there in the world, I would like to take a moment and educate you on a fun little punctuation tool called the ellipsis. Why, you ask? Well to put it simply it's because you're using it so fucking wrong it makes the rest of us want to go to your house and smash your keyboard over your hands until there is nothing left of either but a pulpy soup of letter keys and metacarpals.

The insult to people who weren't raised by jackals that is ellipsis use in internet commenting has gone on long enough. You don't need to put 8 dots after every complaint about millennials you cobble together under an article about avocado toast you didn't actually read, Sharon, you heinous shrew. They are called commas and periods, fucking learn when to use them.

I am not claiming my mastery over the written English language is impeccable, I'm like 80% certain I misused a comma before the name Sharon in a paragraph belittling a hypothetical woman for not using punctuation correctly. However, I do make at least a marginal attempt not to type like I'm slipping in and out of a coma between every sentence and want the reader to experience what that feels like through my use of punctuation. I don't think it's too much to ask that others do the same.

In case you are not familiar with the terminology, an ellipsis looks like this: ". . ." Three dots each separated by a single space. There is a lovely source you can check out here, which explains in what some might describe as excruciating detail exactly what the ellipsis is and how it is used. The TLDR version is as follows:

The ellipses in it's formal use is a punctuation mark that is used to annotate where something has been omitted from a quote. The informal or colloquial use of an ellipsis is the one with which we are going to be concerning ourselves. It is used to indicate when a thought trails off before it is finished, or that there is otherwise some marked pause or hesitation which requires something with more punch than your standard comma provides. It's like the pause for dramatic effect mark.

Here is an example:

"Six ellipses in three sentences is worse than. . . UGH!"

What is it worse than, person being quoted? Hitler? Adult-onset chronic swamp ass? Nickleback? We don't know specifically because of how you appropriately trailed off, leaving your thought incomplete before changing gears, but goddamn if we don't understand the emotion of helpless frustration you are currently feeling over some pigeon-toed jackanapes not knowing how to write like a civilized human.

So! Now that we all understand how to appropriately apply ellipses to our everyday internet commentinglet's look at some examples of people who are single handedly responsible for ruining society for the rest of us.

Let's start with our friend from the beginning of the post, why don't we?

Perfect example of somebody who doesn't know what the fuck he is doing around a keyboard but isn't going to let that stop him from trying to make people feel bad on the internet.

Sir, you wrote four sentences and ended three of them with ellipses. Why? Were you trying to give the reader ample time to recover from each of your fucking burns before continuing on to the next one? Am I supposed to be like "OH FUCK A RON WHITE ONE LINER FROM 2004 THIS GUY JUST SLICED MY FUCKING NIPPLES OFF WITH HIS RAZOR SHARP WIT HOW CAN I EVEN CONTINUE READING. . . Oh, thank God, he's incorporated some convenient dots forcing my brain to take what feels like an inappropriately placed pause while reading his comme-OF FUCK MY WAFFLES JUST AS I WAS RECOVERING FROM THE FIRST ONE HE JUST HIT ME WITH SOME FORREST GODDAMN GUMP SOMEBODY GET A MOP BECAUSE I JUST SPILLED MY GIBBLETS ALL OVER THE FLOOR FROM THE INTENSITY OF THE GUT PUNCHERS THIS GUY IS THROWING OUT ONE AFTER ANOTHER."

The only guess I can take as to why people use ellipses this way is that they think it gives each sentence more gravitas, not understanding that all it does is make the reader think the author is slightly less literate than a fourth grader who only scored in the 20th percentile for not writing like a fucking asshole.

In fact, the only sentence this person DIDN'T end with an ellipsis in the comment above was the last one which is in fact the only one he fucking wrote where it would have made sense! Not only did he select that particular sentence as the only one that somehow didn't need drama dots added to it, he didn't punctuate it at all. There are nine periods in that sentence you corndog, you couldn't have spared one more for the end of your thought?  You've failed me, guy who is apparently mad at a person or group of people he considers stupid. You've failed us all.

Alrighty, you used the correct form of 'their' so credit where credit is due, but I have a lot of problems with this next one. In no particular order:

You shouldn't be allowed to make your profile picture a sweet adorable puppy and then start herniating yourself yelling about fake news and democrats, it's false advertising. I don't like being lulled into a false sense of security by that 10/10 good doggo only to get purple-nurpled by the fact that the comment appearing next to it was written by a butthole.

Demwits is a pretty ok burn, but the fact that they emphasized it demWITS instead of DEMwits the way they should have ruined the wordplay. Like, the part of the word dimwit that you replaced with 'dem' from democrats is where you place the stress when you make the pun, get it together, we're trying to have a society over here.

One of those ellipses has four dots instead of three because apparently they weren't satisfied butchering their comment with the use of poorly placed pauses, they had to be inconsistent about it.

While those are bad enough, I could overlook it all if it weren't for this part:

Let me explain why this is an abomination through use of a visual aid representing exactly what "...LOL..." would look like:

Take heed lest you too should ever be inclined to write . . . LOL . . . in the fucking middle of a thought and come off as if you were kicked in the head by an emu at a petting zoo when you were a child.

I could go on for ages about how abusing ellipses in your internet commenting makes you sound like a half-assed Captain Kirk on a mission to boldly go where no one with at least a sixth grade reading level and any sense of self respect has gone before, but instead I'll leave you with what to me is the most perplexing question I find myself asking in all of this:

Why is it that you see ellipsis abuse used almost exclusively for the purpose of ranting about politics by far right people over 40 years of age?

 I don't know if FOX news has some sort of weird subliminal messaging that makes people misuse punctuation but goddamn if it doesn't seem like 90% of the people I see do this are Gen X/ Baby Boomers typing their little fingers down to stumps, about liberal snowflakes beneath some Tomi Lahren video. Think about it. Have you ever seen this comment?

"The Large Hadron Collider is a marvel of science and technology.............. CERN is really pushing the boundaries of how we understand the universe around us.......who knows what we might learn........... from their research....Higgs Boson.....Amazing"

 I certainly haven't. It seems like it's exclusively some red-in-the-face white person telling libtards to go fuck themselves beneath an article about how they made it legal to shoot endangered baby seals in the mouth because it will somehow help oil corporations oppress Native Americans or something. Always. 

Hopefully we've all learned a little bit about how to use ellipses today and a whole lot about each other. Namely that there are a lot of us out there who are just the worst. Go forth now my children. Go forth and spread the gospel of being slightly less of a trash bag full of used bandaids. Do it for me.

Do it for us all........................................................................................