#if I don’t agree with what some artist/celebrity says

[persephoneflouwers]

Anons ✨

[silentscrying]

🎸 out of my mind ! 💿 track two: kowalski, status report

guitarist!ino x drummer!reader

summary: it's the annual battle of the bands at the fix, your college campus's iconic live music bar, and this year you're taking the stage as the drummer for indie rock group cursed technique. you know the competition is strong, but no part of you is ready for lead singer and guitarist takuma ino. you lock eyes at the edge of the stage, and something starts—something that might make you feel alive even more than the beat of the drums.

warnings: language, alcohol, mentions of drugs/drug dealing, toge bullying, unbearably cute dogs. || sfw. 9k words.

"I SHOULDN'T CUSS in this, right?"

It’s the day before the other four artists premiere their sets at Battle of the Bands, and you haven’t been home since six in the morning. You’re running on caffeine and spite and the pursuit of the story, parked on a high stool across the bar from the one and only Ieiri Shoko.

Toge leans on the counter beside you, opting to stand. He’s agreed to pay for the next snack run in return for you letting him be your partner. You both know you’re going to end up doing most of the writing, but you don’t really mind. Toge would if you asked him to, but you love this kind of thing in a way he just doesn’t. Plus, he’s better with a camera than you, and he’s taking photos tomorrow night.

You laugh, pulling out your phone to record. “You can say whatever you want as long as it’s honest. Be candid.”

“You might regret saying that!” Gojo calls from the back, and Shoko silences him with a glare.

“Are you coming or not?”

Gojo grins and finishes up whatever he’s putting away in the storage room, then strides out and leans his elbows on the counter.

“Do you mind if I record?” You point to the open voice memo app. “Makes it easier to quote you correctly.” You also just hate running interviews when you’re scribbling hand-written notes the whole time. You’d much rather have a genuine conversation and worry about the details later.

Shoko waves a hand airily. “No problem.”

“Absolutely,” Gojo says. “You can probably sell that for thousands.”

You set the phone on the counter, next to one of the tiny pumpkins scattered across it in celebration of the beginning of October. You and Toge bounce back and forth as you run through the standard start-of-interview checklist, having them spell out their names, getting their ages, hometowns, degrees, all that jazz. And then you launch into the stuff you really care about.

“So, you opened The Fix about ten years ago now, correct?”

Shoko nods. “Yeah, a little over two years after we graduated.”

You look at Gojo, whose eyes are even more alarmingly blue in the daylight. “And you were hired right away?”

“Utahime first, then me,” he nods. “Best for last, y’know.”

Shoko snorts. “We knew each other in school. I just took pity on him.” She smirks as Gojo’s jaw drops. “You can quote that.”

“Right, so all of you were friends in college. And you came together to start this place—what was the idea behind it?” Toge chimes in. “You said you studied nursing, Shoko?”

And you sit and listen as Shoko explains. Back in college, she was at the top of her class. By graduation, she’d been accepted to basically all the best med schools. She had her pick. She could do whatever she wanted. But she realized that what she wanted wasn’t that at all.

The medical field is brutal, she tells you. It’s all late nights and emotional burnout. People yelling at you, misplaced anger when you give them the bad news. Getting attached to people only to watch them waste away.

“I needed to get out before I got too far in. Maybe it was selfish,” she admits. “But I wasn’t cut out for it. I have so much admiration for medical professionals, but I couldn’t be one of them. A few clinicals and I was already feeling the consequences of giving too much of myself and getting nothing back.” She shrugs. “So I named it The Fix, as some kind of homage to the medical background. And I figured I’d just make sure it’s safe.”

Something sits heavy in her gaze as she stares at something behind you, middle distance, like she’s remembering.

“Why a college bar?” you ask, nudging the phone across the counter to pick up her voice better. “I mean, the extra security, thinking about underage drinking, dealing with a bunch of broke university kids. You could’ve just as easily opened a different bar in a more lucrative area. What was the appeal?”

She smiles crookedly. “Appeal. Well. My senior year, I was working in the local ER. And I saw… god. So many kids came in there needing their stomachs pumped, or kids who’d done laced drugs, gotten roofied, harassed, it was�� I mean, it was a city university club scene. They weren’t safe. And I just felt like I needed to give them that. I couldn’t stay there as a nurse or a doctor. But I could do this.” She shrugs. “Sorry. That was probably way too much.”

“No,” you say quickly, smiling at her. “That was—that’s what we came here for. Shoko, that’s amazing. And it’s not selfish, taking care of yourself. You’re still here taking care of others.”

You don’t know Gojo well. Most of your stories about him come secondhand from Nobara, who knows him through Megumi. She paints the picture of a flamboyant, obnoxious bartender who’s more like a weird uncle to her than anything. From what you’ve seen of him at The Fix, you know this to be mostly accurate—he’s rarely serious, always taking flack from the students and giving it right back, ragging on Utahime, begging Shoko to play his playlist instead of Geto’s and knowing she’ll never cave. But now, as he listens intently to Shoko, you think you’re seeing another side of him.

There’s something troubled on his face as she speaks, like he wishes he could reach into the past and help. Like he regrets it.

The bar’s not the only thing that has a different side in the daylight.

“She’s right,” Gojo tells Shoko. It’s not much, but she looks up at him a bit surprised, something in her expression softening. A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, not quite there but not quite not. “You’ve got a pretty big heart under all that RBF.” Shoko rolls her eyes, the moment over.

“What about you?” You turn to Gojo, nudging the phone his way. “Why a college bar?”

Shoko turns toward him, leaning a hip against the bar, just as curious as you are. “I think kids deserve to be kids,” he shrugs. “And if I—if we—can create a space where it’s actually safe for them to do that, it feels important.” His gaze shifts from you and Toge to the empty bar, the stage and floor and high-top tables that tomorrow will be full of music and laughter and students knowing they’re allowed to let loose here.

“There aren’t a lot of places out there that are exclusively for students,” he continues. “It’s this weird phase, college, where you’re figuring out who you are, trying to take risks without losing too much. It’s a lot. And you look at the crime rates, date rape drugs, theft, DUIs, in the city, and it’s just—this place gives them the room to learn and grow and mess around and have a good time without the danger of the… I don’t know. The outside world. Does that make sense?”

He drums his fingers on the countertop, then seems to abruptly remember the recording and stops. “I think it’s just… well, no one’s allowed to take youth away from young people. So that’s why I’m here.”

You wonder what Gojo was like in school. He majored in gender studies, which you’re pretty sure is what Todo is at least minoring in, too—you’re not sure how it’s applicable to anything, but Nobara says he likes to pull his diploma out from behind the bar and say he’s an expert in women. It seems a far cry from this rare, more subdued version of Gojo you’re seeing right now. You’d guess he’s grown quite a bit in the time he’s been here. And Shoko’s been here to witness it.

He’s not a business owner, like Shoko or Geto. And according to Nobara, he definitely doesn’t need this gig to make a living. He’s here because he wants to be.

“These last few years have been nice, in particular,” he offers. “Just ‘cause some of us have kids going here. I mean, you know the Fushiguros. Suguru’s got the twins. And I know Ino’s not Nanami’s kid, but they’re tight.”

“Wait, what?” Nanami is the bar’s primary security guy, a bouncer who never lets a fake ID fool him. He’s part of the reason this place is so safe. Toge spins to look at you as you blurt out the question, caught off guard. “Uh, sorry. I just didn’t—I didn’t know they knew each other.”

Shoko studies you with tired, intelligent eyes, and you can’t help but feel the tables have been entirely flipped. You’re the one being interrogated, wordlessly, by the woman across the counter. You feel like every thought in your head is scrawled across your face for her to read.

“Yeah,” Gojo says, unaffected. “Ino looks up to him a lot, I think. Even though he’s an old man who reads the newspaper for fun.” He snorts. “He’s a good guy, though. And Ino’s a good kid.” He finally clocks the way Shoko’s looking at you and cocks his head, appraising.

Thankfully, Toge cuts in with another question. “So, we’ll be around tomorrow for the bands and to take some photos and observe,” he explains, glancing at you to make sure he’s got the information right. “Will Geto be around?” You’d wanted both owners’ perspectives, and now that Gojo’s reminded you of the twins, you’re even more curious.

“Yeah, Suguru and Utahime will be here tomorrow night,” Shoko says. “And Nanami. Geto would totally be down to talk to you some other time, too, when it’s a bit quieter.”

“Amazing,” you say, pulling the phone back toward you. You’ll need details, follow-ups, but you need to process this first, write some things down while they’re fresh in your mind. ‘Thank you so much for this. We appreciate it.”

“Anytime, kid,” Shoko says, waving you off. “See you tomorrow.”

As you turn off the recording, Gojo and Toge have already devolved into conversation about the bands and predictions about tomorrow night. A few posters are scattered across a low table near the door, and you pick one up, smiling at the blocky lettering advertising Black Flash. There are posters advertising all of the artists, and they look amazing, straight out of one of the alt rock venues in the wider city.

“They’re sick, right?” Gojo calls, nodding to the posters. “I gotta hang those up, actually. Thanks for the reminder.”

You wave goodbye to Shoko and Gojo and lead the way out, Toge just behind you.

“Man,” he says, and you brace yourself, recognizing his teasing tone for what it is. “They said Ino’s name and you look like scared Bambi or some shit.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, elbowing him.

He holds his hands up. “I’m just living in pursuit of the truth! Like Kusakabe would want.”

“Is your camera battery charged for tomorrow?” you say in a blatant attempt at a topic change.

“Who do you think I am?”

“Toge Inumaki, chronically irresponsible student and—”

“Okay, sorry I asked, holy shit.” He sticks his tongue out at you. Then he hesitates, frowning, and then he’s pulling out his phone and calling someone in his favorites list before you can see who it is. “Hey,” he greets. “What? No, she didn’t kick me out. Hey. Hey.” You snicker and Toge glares at you, pressing the phone closer to his ear. “Yutaaa,” he whines. “Do you know where my camera battery is?”

—

Even when you’re not the one on stage, you live for Fridays at The Fix. Tonight you’re doing double duty—because of the dual elimination at the end of the round, all of the competing artists are here. It’s not a requirement, but you want to see what you’re up against, and the sentiment seems to have carried. You and Toge are also in reporting mode for your project story.

The band on stage right now is… well, you can’t say new wave metal is really your thing, but it’s definitely theirs, and the audience is loving it. The Cull, you write in your notes. Look up names.

You couldn’t make out the lyrics if your life depended on it. It’s three guys and a girl, vaguely familiar, but you’re fairly certain they’re seniors and absolutely certain they’re baked right now.

“God, this is loud.” Yuta winces, turning to face you, and then his eyes flicker to something over your shoulder. You divert your attention from the stage and just catch the brief commotion in your periphery. Nanami has a kid by the elbow, and he’s escorting him out the side door, expressionless. The kid’s obviously drunk out of his mind, tripping over himself, shouting something that Nanami doesn’t bother to respond to.

Maki follows your gaze and wrinkles her nose up in distaste.

“Who’s that?”

“My cousin,” she says flatly. You glance quizzically at Megumi, who is definitely standing five feet away and not being escorted out of the bar.

“Dude, how much family do you have at this school?”

She sighs. “Just Mai and Megumi and him. Naoya. He’s a piece of shit.”

“Clearly,” Toge says. “He broke the M theme. No respect for the family alliteration.” Maki kicks him in the shin.

“One last round for The Cull!” Panda calls from the stage, and your ears slowly, very gradually stop ringing with the raging new wave music. The stage techs get to work behind Panda as he introduces the next group.

“Up next, making their debut, we’ve got a sophomore girl pop trio. Give it up for MOTION CAPTURE!”

There’s a big cheer from the bar, and you turn to see Geto grinning. Three girls take the stage, the blonde one grabbing the mic and adding, “All caps!” The girl beside her is very obviously her twin sister, though her hair is straight and dark while the blonde’s is tugged into pigtails. Light and dark. The girl on keys has a long, black bubble braid that she pushes out of the way as she settles in to play.

The blonde plugs in her electric and calls out, “Alright, I’m Nanako.” She tests out a chord, the sound reverberating, filling the bar all the way up to its high ceilings. “That’s Mimiko, that’s Remi, and we’re just here to have a good time.”

“Hey,” a voice says behind you, and you jump. You turn to find Takuma holding two drinks, offering one to you.

“Oh! Aw, thanks, you didn’t have to do that. How much do I owe you?”

He rolls his eyes. “Nothing.”

“Takuma—”

“Nothing,” he reiterates. “Anyway, The Cull. Thoughts?”

You take the drink and try it while you think on your answer—it’s the same thing Nobara got you last week. How did he know?

“I didn’t really understand any of the lyrics,” you admit, shrugging. “They weren’t bad. Not really my genre. Do you know them?”

Takuma shakes his head. “I had a gen ed once with that Rin kid, but I don’t know the other ones. These girls aren’t bad, though.” He’s right—they’ve launched into an Olivia Rodrigo cover that’s actually decent. They could work on their voice control, but they’re young and fun and having a good time and working the crowd, and that’s what it’s all about, isn’t it?

You sing along, alternating between your drink and exchanging quips with Toge and talking with Takuma. You like this new balance between your band and his, the easy camaraderie.

When the girls wrap up their set, you whoop and cheer and Kirara shamelessly watches Hakari move things off the stage, arms bare in his cut-off tank.

“You’re subtle,” Takuma tells her, and she tugs his beanie down over his face.

“Hey!”

You grab his drink before he can spill it and grin as he yanks his hat off and readjusts it. His hair is a fluffy mess underneath, and it’s kind of endearing.

When the girl pop trio is done, two guys take the stage, one in white and one in black. They’re clearly related, dark hair and pale skin and piercing eyes, and Panda introduces them as the Kamos. You don’t know if they’re brothers or cousins or what. But they’re good—they sing a few alt rock covers, play guitar.

“Damn,” Nobara sighs, a little longingly, her gaze settling on Choso as he takes over the chorus. “They’re…”

Beside her, Yuji wrinkles his nose. “Dude. That’s my half-brother.”

Nobara hums noncommittally. “And?”

He groans, tipping his head back and staring at the exposed beams of the ceiling, run through with colored lights. “Why does this always happen?”

Toge is taking more photos of them than is strictly necessary, considering your story is about the bar and not the band, but you let him have this. Scattered throughout the crowd are more kids with cameras, freshmen from the entry-level reporting classes with big underage stamps on the backs of their hands. Somebody mistook Toge for one of them earlier, and Maki hasn’t let it go all night.

You jot down atmospheric notes on your phone, little things that’ll help set the scene for your project lede, keeping an eye on the bar as much as you can. Geto has jumped in at the bar, which he usually does when the place gets busy, and Gojo is terrorizing Utahime again.

“How’d your interview go?” Takuma asks, nodding at your notes. It shouldn’t faze you so much that he remembers what you told him about your story, but you can’t help the little kick of your heart in your chest at the reminder.

“Good! Really good.” And then you catch sight of Nanami, back at the door after calling a cab for Maki’s asshat cousin. “Actually, Gojo mentioned you.”

Takuma’s brows shoot up. “Gojo? Why?”

Nanami has always seemed incredibly reserved, stony and silent in a way Takuma has never been. You don’t want to pry, but you’re also curious about the relationship between them, how they met, what they are to each other. The journalist in you wants to know.

And then there’s the part of you that just wants to know Takuma.

“Well, he was talking about the twins and the Fushiguros, and he kind of mentioned something about you knowing Nanami?” You try to sound casual, jerking your chin toward the door where Nanami is posted, like a tall, blond guard dog.

“Oh,” he says, surprised, but he shrugs, not seeming too alarmed by the question. “Yeah, I’ve known Nanami for… a long time. He’s kind of a mentor. He’s the reason I met Fushiguro in the first place, actually, ‘cause of him knowing Gojo.”

You’re considering asking how exactly they did meet when the Kamos wrap up, Nobara staring up at them dreamily, and the stage clears out for the final artist.

Whatever questions you had are thrown out the window, because you know who this is. Everyone knows who this is.

Fifth-year student and resident SoundCloud rapper, Ryomen Sukuna. Or D!SH0NORED1, according to the posters.

“Oh, here we go,” Megumi groans.

Despite his reputation on campus, you don’t know anyone who’s actually close to Sukuna, except Uruame. You mostly know that he deals at the skate park and that he’s clean about it.

And that his raps are truly, genuinely horrible.

He lets Panda give a stilted introduction and launches into a verse, mic too close to his mouth, making hand gestures or stepping to the beat of his backing track. His tattoos are even more stark and bold under the stage lights.

“My blood type’s B, your type is me, my zodiac Caprisun, it might be controversial but you’re still lookin’ at me, son!”

“Oh, sweet Jesus,” Kirara mutters. “I’m gonna bleach my eardrums.”

“Caprisun?” Nobara whispers. “Oh, dude.”

You might be a terrible person for thinking it, but watching this guy’s performance makes you feel infinitely better about your odds of advancing in the tournament.

His final song is a new one he introduces as Frosted Flexin’, and Maki looks like she’s about ready to keel over dead.

“Frosted flexin’, I'm the cereal king, pourin' oat milk in the mix, yeah, I'm doin' my thing,” Sukuna spits in his low voice, swaggering up to the front of the stage. You are trying so hard not to lose it.

“Sukuna being an oat milk truther wasn’t on my bingo card,” Toge says.

“Got the swag of a squirrel and the brain of a dove, call me trash, but you're still showin' me love.”

“Thoughts on the amount of swag a given squirrel possesses?” you ask Takuma. He laughs, loud and bright, and then seems to very seriously consider the question.

“I don’t know if campus squirrels have swag. They live in luxury. They probably eat better than we do,” he says. You can’t argue that—you did once see a squirrel outside your sociology class run by with a full bagel in its mouth. “The wilderness squirrels, though, I think they got a scrappy kind of swag. Like, I wouldn’t cross them.”

You nod sagely. “I want them on my team in the apocalypse.”

He nudges you with a shoulder. “Am I on your team?”

You glance at him, make a show of looking him up and down. Maybe you’re imagining it, but you think he’s blushing a little. “I don’t know. How fast can you climb a tree?”

Sukuna is nearing the end of his song, now, saying, “Off-tune, out of sync, yeah, I know it's a sin, but you'll play it back twice 'cause I still might win.”

He actually, physically drops the mic and Hakari swoops in and catches it, clearing his throat and saying into it, “Yep, friendly reminder that equipment’s expensive! Everyone give our last artist of the night a hand, yeah?”

There’s scattered applause and more than a few confused faces as Sukuna lopes off stage, and Panda hops back up to explain the voting system for anyone who wasn’t here last week. “QR codes to the Google form are posted around the bar,” he says.

Out of all eight artists, the bottom two will be eliminated. You’re nervous. But voting was open last week too. You can’t vote as a member of the band, and it’s all done through school Google accounts to avoid double votes or the link getting sent out to non-students.

“Open until tomorrow morning,” Panda reminds the audience. “Results and second round schedules will be posted on the Instagram at some point tomorrow! That’s it for this Friday at The Fix. Have a great night, folks. Get home safe.”

Gojo whoops dramatically from the bar, and Panda gives him a weird look before getting off stage.

Your friends start heading toward the door, and you grab Toge and excuse yourself to catch Geto at the bar. Gojo sees you first. “The newsies!” he calls.

“Like the musical?” you say in lieu of a greeting. “Banger soundtrack.”

“I could dance on newspapers,” Toge says.

“Geto!” The Fix’s other owner smiles at you, soft and genuine. Part of his dark hair is pulled back and the rest hangs loose over his shoulders, a stark contrast to Gojo—like the Kamos, you think, or like Nanako and Mimiko. Light and dark. “We were wondering if you’d be down to set up a time to talk. Has Gojo told you about our story at all?”

Geto smiles, drying a glass and leaning against the bar. “He told me he’s gonna be the front page of every paper in the city, which I assume is a horrid exaggeration,” he says. Gojo looks affronted. “Shoko mentioned you’re doing a feature for class, though. I’d be happy to.”

“We have our Monday night class time open for field reporting the week after this one,” Toge offers. “Will you be around?”

“I will indeed. Utahime, too, if you want to speak to both of us. And Gojo won’t be here, which might be beneficial for you.”

“Suguru,” Gojo gasps, pretending to stagger back. “You wound me.”

“Mhm,” he says, unaffected. “What time works best for you two?”

You set up a time to interview Geto and Utahime, then say goodbye to him and Gojo and run to catch up to your friends. It’s a nice night, and since you didn’t have to deal with instruments, you all decided to walk.

“How goes the… journalisming? Journaling?” Takuma asks when you fall into step beside him.

“Good, all good. Reporting is maybe a better word, but valiant effort.”

“I like journalisming. Can you just submit words to the official dictionary? I’m gonna do it.”

“No,” Toge says, and you blink. He shrugs. “What? I tried once. But the only submission form I could find was for the Bureau of Linguistical Reality and it wasn’t like, a legitimate dictionary form. There’s all these requirements, it’s horrible.”

“What word did you try to submit?” you ask warily, not sure if you actually want to know.

“Some things,” Toge says solemnly, “are better kept secret.”

The night is hazy, only small rays of moonlight piercing through the cloud cover, and you make your way through the campus roads guided only by the streetlamps and Maki’s reliable sense of direction.

Part of you wants to ask Takuma to come over, or Yuji to insist the band come over to his place again, just so you can keep talking. But you have work to do, things to write and transcribe, lists of follow-up questions to make, and that’s only your workload for this one class. You still have exams this week, and you need to study now so you can balance it with rehearsals. Assuming you actually advanced to round two, that is.

And part of you worries you might be taking this too fast, too. You don’t typically integrate people into your life so quickly. You like spending time with Takuma and Kirara and Yuji and even Megumi, though he’s pretty quiet. You just don’t want to jump in too far too fast.

At your place, you say your goodbyes and head up to your room to get some work done. Toge uploads his photos and puts them in your project folder on Drive. And you spend the night doing what you do best, aside from drumming—writing.

Youth for the young: JU alumni run safest live music bar in city limits

You don’t even notice the time until it’s past one in the morning, and you’re nearly asleep at your desk. The dark has crept across your room, the only source of light the desk lamp and your laptop screen. Finally, you push the computer shut and flick off the light, flopping into your bed. A few missed messages pop up when you hold your phone up, wincing at the bright screen.

takuma: just letting you know i made the treacherous journey home safely takuma: many miles of hardship takuma: thought i was gonna die halfway there

You smirk and type out a reply.

you: did kirara have to save you takuma: i resent that takuma: (yes) takuma: wait why are you up it’s so late you: journalisming you: why are YOU up takuma: travel adrenaline takuma: (coding project due monday that i just started) you: TAKUMA

The next text to come through is a voice note, and you can’t help smiling as you hit play and his voice fills the open air of your bedroom.

“Okay, in my defense, I thought it was due next Monday. Which maybe isn’t my defense because it means I just can’t read due dates, or maybe I just can’t read, but I thought I had a lot more time and then one of my classmates texted me asking for help on this block of code and I told him I hadn’t started and he was like oh my god, Ino, it’s due in three days, and I was like no it’s not, we have so much time—turns out we don’t have so much time, so I’m over here staring at my screen until the vessels in my eyes pop—”

He yawns, and it makes you yawn too, despite the screen separating you. “Sorry, agh. Anyway, I have to write this program that uses some kind of randomized generator…”

You find your eyelids fighting gravity, exhaustion washing over you as he explains the project and all the reasons he’s not that worried about getting it done by Monday because actually he’s on a roll and it turns out the code isn’t that different from a similar project he did last year so he can just lift the main blocks over and wow, he’s tired, and you stifle a laugh as the voice memo comes to an end and he says, “Okay, gosh, I should go to bed. You should go to bed. Stop journalisming, Skip, get some sleep. G’night.”

You grin, plugging your phone in and sending him a voice memo of your own.

“I’m done journalisming. Still haven’t written that story on you, though. Night, Takuma.”

The last thing you see before you fall asleep is his reaction to your text. It’s a thumbs up, but after a few seconds, it disappears, replaced with a heart.

—

“I’m gonna die,” Nobara groans.

You’ve been checking Instagram every hour on the hour for the bracket results, but to no avail. The five of you are sprawled out in the living room, a Fleetwood Mac record spinning in the corner, cups of coffee and tea and scattered remnants of breakfast dotting the table and the floor and the windowsill.

You have post notifications on for the Battle of the Bands Instagram page, but you check anyway, as if you somehow missed it.

“Okay,” Maki says. “Cut it out. No phones.”

“Maki,” Toge groans. “How do we live with the suspense?”

“Go around and give a rundown of your week?” Yuta suggests.

“Aw, highs and lows, it’s like elementary school,” Nobara says happily. “I’ll go first! High: annoying slacker guy in my marketing class got a shit grade on the group project and the rest of us got As. Low: Skipper won’t give me Ino lore.”

“Lore,” you mimic. “I don’t have any lore. We’ve known each other for like, two weeks.”

“That’s enough time for lore,” she insists. “What’s your high? Ino?”

“Okay, jeez,” you say. “Maybe it’s that Toge and I had a really good first interview for our project story.”

Toge blinks at you.

“Fine, maybe it’s Takuma.”

Nobara grins in a way you can only describe as malicious. “Okay,” you say, pointing at her. “Low: whatever that is.” She sticks her tongue out at you.

“My low is Skipper bullying me in class,” Toge says. “And my high is she said she’d be my partner, so I’m not gonna fail.”

Yuta nods sagely. “Maki?”

“Uhh,” she says eloquently. “My parents won’t stop pestering me about fall break. But I aced a test on Thursday in anthro, so there’s that.”

“You’re not going home, right?” you ask. She shakes her head resolutely. Maki doesn’t go home unless she absolutely has to—one thing she and Mai actually have in common.

All of your phones go off at once, a mix of buzzes and beeps and Apple watchfaces lighting up, and Nobara screams. “I can’t look!” she cries. “Someone tell me!”

You click on the notification and pull up the post, heart racing.

The first slide is a generic Battle of the Bands announcement with the cool ass graphics you’ve been seeing on the posters. Whoever designs those needs a raise. The second image is the bracket for next Friday, with the first knockout round of three—only one group will move on to the finals. “Who is it?” Nobara asks anxiously, pacing the room. “Oh god, I’m gonna die.”

“Shibuya Incident,” you read off, unable to keep the smile from your face. “Angel.” Nobara groans overdramatically. “And the Kamos.”

You swipe to the next screen, heart in your throat. OCTOBER 18, it reads. THE CULL. CURSED TECHNIQUE. BLACK FLASH.

“Oh my god!” you scream. “Oh my god, we made it!”

Toge yanks you to your feet and starts hopping around the living room, and Nobara shrieks with joy as you pull her into the celebration. Even Maki and Yuta are sporting wide smiles as they watch the three of you bounce around like kids on a sugar rush.

“What, no Sukuna?” Maki teases when you’ve calmed down. Toge clears his throat and does his best impression, going as far as to make his pants sag a little around his waist.

“Frosted flexin’, I’m the cereal king, pourin’… uh, duh nuh nuh, something doin’ my thing,” he says in a deep voice. “Uh… squirrel? Somethin’ fuego, that’s Spanish, uhhh…”

“Oh my god, let me look it up,” Nobara cackles, pulling up SoundCloud. “It’s I’m the king of bad decisions, got a throne made of Legos, took a bite of my mic and said these bars are fuego.”

Yuta physically winces. “Does he really sag his pants like that?”

Toge shrugs. “It felt right in the moment.”

“Wait, who’s the other one eliminated, then?” you ask, running through the bands in your head. Yours, Takuma’s, Black Flash, the Kamos…

“Motion Capture,” Maki says.

“No, it’s all caps. You have to shout it. MOTION CAPTURE!” Toge hollers. Nobara snorts.

You aren’t entirely surprised, but you have a feeling the girls aren’t too put out about it. They’re young, too—they’ll have their time to shine eventually.

You grin, flopping back onto the couch. “Okay, rehearsal when? Tonight?”

“Yeah, I have to go to a friend’s to figure some stuff out for a project, but I’ll be back at like… five?” Yuta says.

“Oh, fuck, I gotta go too!” Nobara says, darting toward the stairs.

“Group project?” Maki asks.

“Shopping! I gotta pick Miwa up in like, ten minutes!”

Maki rolls her eyes fondly. Yuta stands up and grabs his bag, heading toward the entryway, and the rest of you gravitate instinctually to the kitchen. Nobara is out the door moments later with a wave and a shout, and Toge grins.

“What,” Maki deadpans, not a question.

“I printed memes to hide on her Polaroid wall. Be right back.”

You snort, turning your attention to the window to watch Nobara cruise down the block. The view of her sleek, small car is interrupted by Yuta’s jungle of plants.

“I hope they’re not too cold,” he says, frowning as he tugs a jacket on over his white hoodie. “Do they look okay to you?”

“Yeah,” you say, pointing to the one in the white, ovular pot. “Especially this one, it’s getting so big! What’s his name, Snorlax?” Yuta had a phase where he named at least six plants in a row after Pokèmon.

“No, that one’s Rika, after that TV show,” Maki corrects, not looking up. Yuta blinks, looks between her and the plant, whose vines have started to creep up the window. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips. Both of your eyes on her have her looking up from her phone, expression flat and unaffected. “What?”

“Yeah,” he says slowly. “I didn’t know… anyone paid attention.”

Maki shrugs. “You talk to them out loud.”

“Yeah, I guess I do.” Yuta laughs and waves one last time before he walks out, closing the door behind him. You count to five in your head and then whirl on Maki, entirely unable to keep the shit-eating grin off your face.

“Kowalski, status report.”

She blinks at you. “What?”

“I said—”

“No, I know, just—on what? What happened?”

You groan, dragging the heels of your hands down your face. “Maki. Please.” You gesture wildly between her and the door, wondering if she’s genuinely this oblivious or if she’s just as good a liar as Mai. “Are you—did we not just witness the same interaction? Jesus, Maki, put the boy out of his misery!”

Seeing Maki frazzled is not a common occurrence. The most agitated you ever see her is talking about her family or trading passive aggressive jabs with Mai. This is an entirely new sort of disarray—she’s flustered.

“I—what?! I can’t do that! And he’s not miserable. He’s that nice to everyone.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands with your elbows on the counter. “Maki! He likes you. And your face is telling me you like him back.”

She scoffs, turning her head down and crossing her arms defensively. “I’m not messing things up by dating my bandmate. We live together, Skip, he’s my best friend, if things got messy—”

You hold up a hand. “First of all, offensive. I’m your best friend. Second of all, I hear no denial. Also, it won’t get messy. You are the two most mature people in this house and you know how to separate personal from practical. If anything, it’s gonna kill the vibes of the band and the house if you just keep stewing in the sexual tension.”

“Oh my god,” Maki groans. “There. Is. No. Sexual. Tension.”

“There’s always sexual tension,” Toge announces, walking in and jumping up onto the countertop, legs swinging. He looks between the two of you innocently. “What are we talking about?”

“You might be of some help, actually,” you say, turning to Toge with your hands clasped.

“Uh, actually? Not oh, Toge, you’re always so helpful, thank god you live with me and keep my life interesting—”

“Nevermind.”

“No, pleeease,” Toge insists, sticking out his lower lip. “What?” His gaze shifts to Maki, who’s blushing a furious red. His mouth turns into a small O. “This is about Yuta?”

You didn’t think she could get any more scarlet, but here she is.

“Does everyone think that?” she groans, throwing her head back in exasperation.

Toge shrugs. “I thought we were all just quietly skirting around it until you both snapped.”

“Nobara doesn’t skirt around anything,” Maki says.

“Well, there’s no way she doesn’t know,” you point out. “Maybe she just respects both of you enough to leave it alone.”

“Hah!” Toge snorts, poking you in the ribs. “That means she doesn’t respect you. She wants the Ino lore.”

“I’m gonna tell Nobara about the memes.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

Abruptly, you realize you never got around to Yuta for highs and lows, what with the chaos of the brackets dropping. “Ah, guys,” you say. “We missed Yuta.” You pull up the house group chat.

you: YUTA DROP YOUR HIGH AND LOW IN THE CHAT you: YOU ARE NOT FORGOTTEN freak no. 1: yes you are utah: haha aw that’s nice utah disliked a message from freak no. 1 utah: uhh low is maybe that toge keeps leaving memes all over our room. like i keep finding them tucked in my notebooks and everything freak no. 1: SLANDER freak no. 1: LIBEL you: not the same thing freak no. 1: SHUT UP utah: high is someone remembers the names of my plants!! :) nobara: Sorry, using voice text while I drive. Who knows the names of your plants? You and God? utah: maki! :)

“Okay, well, respond,” Toge says, poking Maki in the side. She glares at him and likes Yuta’s message.

“Guys,” she says exasperatedly. “What the hell am I supposed to do? Does he know?”

And you’re not sure, honestly. You don’t know that Yuta is even aware of his own feelings, let alone aware that Maki reciprocates them. You shrug helplessly. “How about… ask?”

“Jesus,” Maki says.

“Not him, Yuta.”

Maki socks Toge in the shoulder and levels him with a disdainful look. “You are the bane of my existence.”

“And the object of all your desires,” Toge proclaims in a horrendous Bridgerton accent. He made you watch all of it with him in two days. Maki refused.

Now, she just shoves him, and he squeals as he falls off the kitchen counter.

“Children,” you sigh. “Do you need to be separated?”

“Yes!”

—

“Why is this so hard?” You stand with your feet planted on Takuma’s skateboard, which is confoundingly, entirely different than balancing atop your longboard. “Oh my god.” You lurch forward as the board rolls a bit to the left, unable to stifle the squeal that comes out of your mouth.

Takuma stops it with one foot.

“Your center of balance is lower on a longboard,” he laughs. “Like, here.” His hands wrap around your waist and you tense under his grip, and he immediately freezes, jerking his arms back. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t—”

“No! No, it’s okay,” you blurt, sheepish. “I just wasn’t expecting it, I—here.” You try to fight the blush furiously rising in your cheeks as you take his wrists in both hands, putting them back where they were. You clear your throat, suddenly too warm. “Um. Okay, so—do you turn the same way?”

“Pretty much. You just lean,” Takuma says, and you shift your weight to your heels, letting him steady you. “It’s a bit harsher than you would on a longboard, though. Unless you want me to send you right into kickturns?” His tone is teasing and you pretend to consider, tapping a finger against your chin.

“Mm. Maybe later.”

You’ve been at the skate park for a while now, and you’ve only recently ditched your longboard for the skateboard. Takuma brought the extra board you saw hanging on his wall the other day, and he uses it to demonstrate while you practice riding back and forth, getting a hold on your balance. After you feel like you can make it a good distance without pinwheeling your arms, you come to a staggered stop beside him.

A flash of blue-green hair grabs your attention, and you watch a kid in a lightning bolt hoodie slip under the ramps. The park has been pretty deserted today aside from a few guys doing tricks in the pit, a chilly Sunday with the sunlight muted by the clouds.

“Ooh, drug deal in action.” You poke Takuma in the side.

“Ah, probably Sukuna. He deals here all the time.” Sukuna’s business is one of those things everyone’s aware of but nobody talks about. He’s consistent and pretty safe, as far as drug dealers go, but he’ll deny any involvement while smoking a joint if he has to.

“Who’s space buns?”

“Uhh…” Takuma narrows his eyes, and the guy slips out again. “Damn, that was fast. Oh, that’s Hajime. Another senior, I think. They hate each other. Fastest deals I’ve ever seen.”

“I wonder how much of his songwriting is just… while he’s really, really high,” you muse. Swag of a squirrel doesn’t strike you as a particularly levelheaded thought, but hey, it’s certainly memorable.

Takuma leans in and says conspiratorially, “I’m pretty sure I heard him dropping bars here the other day when I was with Yuji.”

You snort and look up at one of the smallest ramps, one you think you could handle without falling on your face, and point to it with a raised brow.

“Oh, moving up in the world?” Takuma kicks his board up and starts walking over, and you do the same. Before you put the board down at the top of the ramp, though, you hold it up to the light, noticing a few short, white hairs caught on the surface.

“Is this… fur?” Maybe there was a cat hiding out somewhere when you were over. Kirara seems like she’d have a cat.

Takuma sighs. “Yeah, the dogs shed like crazy. It gets everywhere. I don’t think I even left that on the ground.”

Your jaw drops, and you stare at him until he looks back at you. “Dogs?”

“What? Yeah, Fushiguro’s—”

“Fushiguro has dogs? Dogs plural? In the house?”

“You didn’t know?”

“No!” you cry. “What? Oh my god! Where were they on Wednesday? How many? What are their names?”

Takuma leans back on the rail next to the ramp, grinning. “I can’t believe you didn’t know. Oh my god. They’re so cute. Tsumiki had them Wednesday, I think. Mandated auntie time. Do you wanna meet ‘em?”

“Do I want to meet them?” you repeat, practically bouncing on the balls of your feet. “Uh, yeah. Are they home? Oh my god. I love dogs.”

“I couldn’t tell,” he deadpans, but he’s smiling still. “Yeah, they’re home. And you can meet them if you go down this ramp without dying.”

“You’re cruel,” you say, situating yourself on the board. “But I will. And then I’ll meet the dogs and become their best friend and they’ll love me more than you and Megumi combined.”

“Confident.” He comes up beside you, checking your stance. The ramp didn’t look steep or long at all from your vantage point across the park, but now that you’re atop the board, it feels suddenly very steep and very long. “You got it. Just don’t panic, keep your stance.” He drops his own board and cruises down the ramp, hardly even trying.

“Okay, go!” he calls from the bottom. “C’mon, Skip, the dogs are waiting.”

“Oh, god,” you murmur, the wind catching your words and whisking them away. You ball your hands into fists and push off, planting your foot back on the board and trying to keep your knees bent, but not too stiff, as you careen down the ramp. Don’t panic, keep your stance. You’re at the bottom in what feels like nanoseconds, and the sudden shift from ramp to flat ground has you stumbling off the board with an embarrassingly high-pitched squeak of alarm.

“Nice!” Takuma laughs as he catches you, the board rolling a few more feet ahead. His arm is wrapped around your front, the other holding you up by the shoulder, and this time you don’t tense under his hands.

“Thanks,” you say a little breathlessly, grinning, the tiny spike of adrenaline making you almost lightheaded. He lets his hands drop when you’re steady on your feet, and part of you mourns the warmth a little. But there are more pressing matters at hand. “So, about those dogs?”

You opt for your longboard on the way back down your street, cruising along beside Takuma, who has his extra board tucked under his arm. You’ve got a lot to do tonight, all the last-minute preparation for another crazy week, but you can and will drop everything to pet a puppy. Or two. Always.

And they’re actual angels. Big, fluffy angels on earth, one white and one black, and they’re all over you the second you open the door.

“Hi!” you say happily, sinking down to their level. The white one immediately tries to burrow into your lap. “Oh, hello! You’re so nice, aren’t you?” You glance up at Takuma. “Where’s Megumi?” You grab the white one’s collar and check the tag—Shiro.

“Shiro thinks she’s a tiny dog,” he says, bending down to ruffle the fur behind her ears. “Uh, Fushiguro’s at the animal clinic. He works there Sundays. And Tuesdays, I think.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah, he’s a vet student. You didn’t know?”

“I did not.” The black one is licking your face, and you giggle and check his tag, too. Kuro. “Hi, Kuro. You’re a good boy, aren’t you?”

“He’s got such a soft spot for animals,” Takuma says as he kicks off his shoes. “You should see when they both try to sleep in his little twin bed. It’s ridiculous.”

“I love them,” you say, burying your face in Kuro’s scruff. “Hi, doggies. You’re awful cute, you know that? Mhm. Yes you are.”

When you finally look up again, Kuro’s cold nose nudging insistently at your palm, Takuma is leaning against the wall, looking down at you with his phone discreetly angled your way. “Takuma!”

He laughs, not bothering to hide it anymore, very clearly taking photos of you with the dogs. “It’s cute!” he insists. “I’ll send them to you. Proof for Fushiguro of your master plan to make them like you more than him.”

“And you,” you remind him.

“Well, I don’t know about that.”

You gesture pointedly to the two dogs, who are all over you and not him. It’ll be a nightmare trying to get all of Shiro’s white fur off your black jacket later, but it’s worth it.

“You’re new,” he says. “New scent. It’s the novelty factor. I am their favorite.”

“You sure? I’m pretty hard to compete with.”

He smiles, looking from you to the photos he took of you and the dogs. “Yeah,” he says. “You are.”

—

The first half of the new week goes by in a rushed routine of classes, homework, and rehearsals, each night ending with you collapsing into bed, new and old lyrics fighting for dominance in the back of your mind. Sticks re-taped and drum heads re-tuned, assignments turned in and drafts edited. Your classes are ramping up as midterms approach, and Yuta bounces between his own work and poking his head into everyone’s rooms, making sure they don’t forget about dinner.

Toge follows through on his snack run promise, and the two of you spend hours on Tuesday afternoon trading two different flavored bags of Doritos back and forth, Toge writing photo captions while you edit your story lede.

Takuma, Hakari, and Kirara have offered to help Cursed Technique record a single on Wednesday night, and the five of you have been drilling the new song you wrote up, down, and sideways.

Finally, Wednesday arrives, and you’re all crammed into the recording studio space, instruments set up and headsets tuned in.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Nobara says to Hakari on the other side of the glass. She taps a finger on the mic in demonstration, and you hear it in your own headphones.

“Great,” he says. “Skipper?”

“Skipper? I hardly know her,” Toge says, earning a harmless smack upside the head from Yuta and a not harmless smack upside the head from Maki.

“I will throw these at you,” you tell him, holding up your sticks. Toge sticks his bottom lip out, pouting.

A snicker from beside you draws your attention back to Takuma, kneeling just beside the throne as he adjusts the kick mic. He has you hit it a few times while Hakari monitors the levels. You feel oddly self-conscious like this, him looking up at you, but then he smiles and it’s not strange at all. It’s stupid how fast he can put you at ease with a look.

“Nice,” he says. “Okay, that should work, yeah, Hakari?”

It’s Kirara who answers, “Yeah, you’re good.”

Takuma stands up, claps his hands together once, and looks at you. “Okay. Kill it, Skip.”

“Yessir.” You salute him with a stick and he makes his way to the other room, closing the door behind him.

“All good?” Yuta asks, glancing at each of you in turn before giving Hakari a thumbs up. It’s strange to be on this side of the glass, to think about your music being played back, to think about it on Spotify, out in the world.

“Next Fix,” Takuma says into the mic, locking eyes with you through the window. “Take one in three, two…”

The song starts out simple. You click your sticks together near the mic, on two and four, while Maki lays down a four-bar loop.

Yuta keeps glancing at Maki while she plays, utterly unaware, and the look on his face is so soft you want to shake Maki by the shoulders until she does something about it.

Nobara’s got her eyes closed with the headset over her ears and her hands around the mic, entirely engrossed in the song.

“It’s comin’ on, comin’ strong, spinnin’ up out of the blue, mmm,” she sings, stretching out the vowels. “And I’m on the ground, bleedin’ out, until my next fix of you, ooh.”

Now you start up with a light rock beat, closed hat and a bit of a dragging buzz on the snare hits. Just as you transition into the beat, Toge comes in with some low chords and Yuta moves down the line in syncopated sixteenths.

Hakari is nodding approvingly and Takuma has a wide grin on his face, and you can’t help smiling back.

“I need it like a lung,” Nobara sings, swaying a bit. “I need it like a light. It’s got me twisted up. I need you here tonight, tonight, tonight, oh, oh, I wanna—”

And this part is your favorite—Nobara sings each two-syllable phrase while you pound on the toms twice, emphasizing it with the kick, and then the backup vocals echo her. Get my (get my) next fix (next fix) of you (of you, of you, of you.)

Kirara pumps her fist in the air twice, in time with the beat, and your bandmates can’t keep the smiles off their faces. You’ve got something here, you really do. This might be your best one yet.

When the song’s over, Nobara whoops and tugs off the headphones, jumping around the cramped studio space with a grin on her face. “That was so cool! Oh my god. Guys, we sound good. We actually sound good.”

“Damn,” Kirara calls. “Okay, girl drummer. Good shit.”

“Not bad for a first run,” Maki admits, adjusting her bass strap over her shoulder. “Do we wanna try recording backups separately at all?”

“Good call.” Takuma nods. “Let’s run that again without the backups and record them over, see what happens.” He’s in full producer mode, flipping switches, colored lights reflecting in his eyes as he and Hakari talk shop away from the mic. He’s good at this, you realize, running sessions like this, making sure things go where they need to go, that everyone’s heard, that things get done. It’s a little bit like watching him skateboard, or seeing him on stage. There’s a confidence to him here, a smooth, easy energy. He’s in his element.

“Alright,” he says after a minute. “Let’s hear that again.”

And you play it again. And again. And again. And you are so in love with this moment, with your band, with a couple rowdy kids on the other side of the window, the rasp in Nobara’s voice and the expression on Yuta’s face and Maki’s obliviousness and Toge’s consistent, head-banging keys, and your drums and your words and the music, and the lyrics feel right to you.

You need this like a lung.

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jjk taglist open: just send me a message!

@shutuppeter @mikikkoo @reactwithjan @theclassbookworm @lilactaro @bisforbuse @risararelywrites @idkidk32

a/n: GUYS. loml @shutuppeter is so downbad for soundcloud rapper sukuna that she's writing fanfic of my fanfic😭 credits for frosted flexin' are all hers LMFAO so go check that out (MDNI for that one though).

yutamaki nation rise. also, i kinda love this fic. there may be spinoffs for other characters in the works...

[ninyard]

Oh my, would you mind writing about the date or truth Kevin interview if you want ? I feel like you would nail it

This is literally so silly and not as dramatic as it could be but I was picturing it a little like this; Kevin, the interviewer, the researcher and his publicist/manager/agent or whatever have already had a conversation about which questions are totally off limits - they can’t ask about the perfect court, or Riko. They can’t ask about the Ravens, and a couple other things. They clear a few that are going to be bait questions - ones he’s not going to answer, but will allow them to ask for viewership and engagement’s sake.

It’s an interviewer Kevin clicks quite well with, not a completely obligatory interview on a long and exhausting press run, but a half-relief of a pit stop in between the other obligations. It’s for a late night talk show, of some sort, one that’s known for showing the funnier side of celebrities because the host is so good at their job. So the rehearsals go fine, the audience fill into their seats, and Kevin is backstage with hair and makeup.

“Did they tell you what’s in the glasses?” He asks, the makeup artist touching him up with some powder on his forehead.

His publicist shakes her head. “Only that they’re gross. How’s your stomach?”

Kevin knows it’s likely he’ll get sick if there’s anything texturally disgusting put in front of him - he can handle most of the typically gross foods, but anything liquidy and unexpectedly chunky and he’s done for.

He gets his time warnings from the different runners and then he’s off to the left of the stage, and the host is introducing him with far too much flattery like he’s a real superstar - “Ladies and Gentlemen, let’s give a warm welcome to the Son of Exy, Kevin Day!”

Kevin steps onto the stage with that shining bright smile and a hand in the air, eyes on the crowd as if he’s waving at anyone in particular. The crowd goes wild.

The initial nterview is mostly boring press stuff - how’s the season? Excited for the future? Heard you got signed back on to the National Team this year, how does that feel? How are the Foxes? Tell us what’s in store for you next.

Then the host introduces the game section, and he’s brought over to a round table with a lazy Susan in the centre and a number of covered dishes along the edge.

“Have you ever played our little game of Truth or Drink before? Because I don’t think you have.” The host smiles as they sit down across from him, cards of questions in their hands.

“If I say I have, does that mean I don’t have to do it?” He looks out towards the audience like they can save him, playing up to the cameras around him. The crowd laugh like he’s the funniest person they’ve ever witnessed. It helps that the floor manager encourages them from the stage floor.

“So here’s how it goes, we spin our little table here and you’ll end up with a drink or a snack in front of you,” The host explains. The audience know there’s more to it than that. “I’ll ask you a question, and you have a choice - you can answer that question, Kevin, or you can have whatever is on that plate in front of you. Got it?”

“Sounds easy to me,” Kevin nods and then purses his lips as if he doesn’t know what he’s signed up for. “Maybe too easy.”

“Definitely too easy,” The host agrees, and spins the table until a dish stops in front of Kevin. “So why don’t you lift up that cover there and tell us what’s in front of you?”

Kevin lifts the chrome covering - it’s a small shot glass of some thick white substance. It looks like mayonnaise, and then he lifts the identifying card to read it; It’s a shot glass full of pure mayo. Easy enough.

“Not a good start,” he holds up the card so the cameras can find it and frowns. “But something tells me it’s not the worst.”

“Who’s to say?” The crowd are prompted to laugh. “So, first question, we know that you were the person who made the decision to sign Neil Josten to the Foxes last year. Did you know who he was when you signed him?”

The crowd ooh at the question and Kevin feels his heart stutter for just a second. Were they supposed to mark Neil as a no-go topic? Did they forget? He laughs instead, and places the cover next to the shot glass.

“No, no, I didn’t.” He shakes his head, and shrugs his shoulders. “Unfortunately it didn’t come up on his background check.” He mocks pulling on his collar like the whole Neil situation is a yikes topic. The words leave his mouth through a false awkward smile and the audience eat it up with laughter and applause.

“Would you have signed him if you knew?” The host asks, and Kevin points a finger at them in mock warning.

“Isn’t that a second question?” The crowd love it. He knows how to work an interview, having fun with an audience that love even the simplest of jokes.

“Okay, okay, playing by the rules, I see,” The host turns the table until another covered dish lands in front of Kevin. “And our next dish is…”

Another shot glass. This time full of cold baked beans. Kevin grimaces as he inspects the glass. “I’m beginning to think this interview was a bad idea...” He laughs.

“Hey, no take backs!” The host flips their stack of cards to a question Kevin knows is one he’s not supposed to answer. Gross, he thinks, but it’s not the worst thing on the table - that, he���s sure of. “Our next question tonight, is one I’m personally interested in…” The host riles up the audiences curiosity. They point to his cheek. “Kevin, what’s the real meaning behind the Queen piece?”

It’s an obvious answer - everyone knows it’s because Riko was the so-called King of Exy, but saying that out loud would just confirm it, and it’d be the first time he’d have said it on record. People have been itching for him to confirm it since he’d had the number covered up, but he’d refused to, in order to avoid the stirring up of unnecessary drama. It was a 75% harmless question, but still good enough to get some speculation and buzz online about the show and Kevin’s interview.

“And if I say it’s my favourite chess piece, can we move on?” Kevin pokes fun at the question with half a grimace, half a smile. The host laughs and covers their face with the cards.

“No, no, we’re looking for the real reason Kevin,” They raise their eyebrows and use the cards to point at the glass in front of him. “Or you can always take a drink.”

Kevin pretends to hesitate before he holds his nose and knocks back half of the shot. The gag he can’t hold back isn’t quite pretend, but he covers his mouth to swallow, before shaking his head. “That’s… disgusting.”

“It’s protein?” The host offers.

“Not enough to be worth it.” He retorts, and the audience laughs again. He washes it down with the glass of water that had been left by his side. He shakes his head again before clearing his throat. “Next one, please.”

The same as before, a spin of the table, and suddenly Kevin is sat in front of some other gross concoction, and a supposedly online-drama inspired question is asked. It’s something he doesn’t mind answering, and so he does. The game moves forward; blended fish guts. The audience grimaces with him. There’s no way he’s drinking that. There’s absolutely no way.

“This is torture,” he holds back a retch and tries not to smell the wafting fishy odour from the awful looking drink. “I think you should be put in prison for this.”

“You wouldn’t be the first,” the host laughs. They line up their cards by tapping them on the table. “Okay, are you ready for this one?”

“Go easy on me,” Kevin turns away from the glass to stop himself from looking at it. “I won’t ever come back.”

“I don’t know…” They tease. “So instead of drinking that delicious drink, Kevin, why don’t you tell us how you really broke your hand?”

The question is out before anyone can stop it. Not that they would’ve been able to, anyway, but he could’ve sworn he’d put that on a list of do-not-asks. But maybe he had been stupid enough to believe that he’d been back in the public eye long enough after all that controversy that they wouldn’t care anymore. He let the crowd drink in the question as his careful-not-to-falter eyes caught his publicist standing off the side of the stage. He watches her turn to a crew member with pure rage on her face.

Kevin hides his head between his legs in an over-dramatic reaction, as the audience continue to go wild for much longer than necessary. He pretends to laugh as he catches his breath and considers if there is any possibly way out of this one. He could lie, maybe, but he doesn’t have anything on the tip of his tongue that would be good enough. It’s only likely to get him in far more trouble than it’s worth, anyway, if such a lie were to start spiralling.

“Fish guts?!” He swallows down his beating heart and exclaims. “That’s the question you ask when I have fish guts in front of me?!”

He’s certain he can see fear flash over the hosts face as they laugh. They know this is an off-limits question, even if they hadn’t been told.

“I’ll go easy on you,” they hold out their hands, and the crowd boo as they’re dying for the answer. “You don’t have to drink the whole thing. Or you can answer the question…” they push.

Kevin looks at the grey pink liquid. This wasn’t in his PR training. But not once does his million dollar smile fall from his lips, not once does his face give anything away. Smile, laugh, give the audience what they want. They love you. Remind them why.

He lifts the glass to smell it. A bad idea, in retrospect, as he’s retching before it’s barely an inch or two off the table. For a moment he half considers telling the truth, but that is never a serious option. He hopes the Moriyama’s can see his dedication, that these are the lines he’s willing to cross to keep their little secret.

“I miss when these shows were boring,” Kevin beats a hand on the table, and the crowd slows down, save for a few still pushing for him to answer the question. “They didn’t have this kind of thing on Larry King.”

He gets a laugh for that one. He tries to lift the glass once more and retches again. The host covers their face again to laugh, but Kevin can see the fear beneath branded card stock.

“Remind me never to come back here again,” The audience erupts as the glass reaches his lips, and as quick as its there, its in the trash bin that the production team has left beside him. He can’t help but vomit up a mixture baked beans, water, and whatever else sat in his stomach. Dedication and loyalty, he reminds himself, as he thinks of the clips that are going to surface online after this one.

The interviewer is quick to wrap up the segment, thanking a now pale Kevin for his appearance, and the call is made that the show is at commercials. On-Air and Mic-Live lights switch off, but Kevin doesn’t let his smile fall until he’s out of view of the crowd who applaud him off the stage well into the ads. He barely comprehends the words his publicist is saying to him as he is handed some flavoured carbonated drink. It doesn’t matter that it’s against his rules of things to drink, he chugs half of the bottle down anyway. It doesn’t do much anyway; He’s sure he’s going to be tasting fish for weeks.

Note, he thinks, pushing open the door for his private dressing room. There’s nobody there, and he heads straight to the toilet to retch again.

Add how I broke my hand to the list of things that interviewers are NOT allowed to ask about.

[irisintheafterglow]

love me from your point of view

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺ now playing: ariana grande - "pov"

summary: you teach sakusa kiyoomi how to love, in spite of the cameras and the gossip.

wc: 8.45k

cw/tags: pro!sakusa x rockstar!reader, fem!reader in mind but no specific pronouns used, strangers to lovers, character study, explicit language, minor injury (blood/glass tw), mentions of drinking and alcohol, angst with happy ending <3

note: this is my contribution for the lovely sel's "and there's something, this feeling" collab to celebrate one year of @seiwas ! this is the longest fic i've written to date because i tried my best to go a character-driven route that i've always admired sel for rather than my usual plot-driven route. i hope you like this and happiest of anniversaries my wonderful sel :))))

likes, reblogs, and replies are appreciated :) check out the rest of sel's event here!

Sakusa Kiyoomi hated cameras. Unfortunately, in his line of work, they were essentially gnats buzzing constantly around his head. They were always trying to make him do something, look here or there, pose with his shoulders angling this way or that. After the commands came the interrogations, nosy reporters sniffing around his private life for something sellable. Then there were the phone cameras and the fans behind them, and they could be a hit or miss depending on if they respected his boundaries. When he was in highschool, he could get away with avoiding socialization; but now, as a striker for one of the most famous teams in the country, socialization was a required skill. 

“I’m happy you agreed to go with us, Sakusa,” Bokuto says for the fifth time since they parked at the venue in the heart of Tokyo. It was a little irritating, the way they kept thanking him for his presence like he’d back out if they didn’t continue expressing their gratitude. He couldn’t leave, even if he wanted to; Atsumu insisted on being the one behind the wheel and the car narrowly avoided a collision after Hinata said he’d missed the exit. “We know you’re still a little grumpy because of the drive, so don’t feel the need to talk to us right now.” 

“Hey, if you wanted to leave so badly, you could just call a car,” Atsumu points out, “but I know you secretly like spending time with us.” Sakusa fixes his teammate with a stare that could be perceived as a grimace, but his friends know him better than that. Sakusa wasn’t angry, he was bored. It was originally Bokuto and Hinata’s idea to see some artist he didn’t listen to in concert, saying that it was ‘a once in a lifetime experience’ and that the artist hadn’t played in the country in over a decade. He was vaguely aware of some songs, mostly because his teammates cranked the speaker volume during conditioning. Still, it wasn’t his ideal Saturday night, especially before a big game. “And, guess what?”

“Holy shit, box seats!” 

“We have our own bathroom!” Bokuto and Hinata’s shouts of excitement drown out the rest of Atsumu’s sentence and the security guards are barely able to open the doors as they tumble into the private section. 

“Yo, Shoyo. Be careful of that railing or you’ll fall into the general audience,” Atsumu warns while Hinata willfully ignores him, staring out over the crowds slowly filing into their seats. “Pretty cool, ain’t it?” Sakusa nods once, approaching the balcony and then deciding against it when he catches the telltale flash of a phone camera. Like clockwork, he and the other Jackals would be on every update page within ten minutes. A small object appears from behind the balcony wall, floating upwards in a thin arc before falling back to the seats below.

“The hell are they doing?”

“Sakusa, fans are trying to give us bracelets,” Bokuto beams, holding up his forearm halfway-covered in colorful beads. “Apparently it’s a tradition with this artist.”

“I don’t like gifts,” Sakusa deadpans, his mouth taut in a frown. “Tell them I can’t take it.”

“Too late,” Atsumu says, snagging a vibrant purple bracelet as it’s tossed upwards. He looks down at the eager fans below and claps, gesturing for them to throw more. “We’re already taking ‘em, so they’re gonna wonder why you’re not taking them too.”

“If they’re real fans, they’ll know I don’t like gifts,” he counters with narrowed eyes. 

“C’mon, Sakusa. Take one, at least,” Hinata says. His shorter teammate carefully pulls one off and slides it onto his wrist. The pattern alternates between yellow and lime green beads, with letter beads in the center spelling ‘NOKMLYDANOEW.’ It looked like Bokuto and Akaashi’s cat stepped on their computer keyboard. “The letters are an acronym for a song, I think. It’s an inside thing with the artist,” Hinata explains, leaning his bracelet-covered arms against the railing and waving to excited fans. 

“I’m gonna see if they have time to meet us backstage. The fans’ll go berserk.” Bokuto’s words make Sakusa’s eye twitch involuntarily. Staying longer than expected of him was a surefire way to make him irritated and they knew that. 

“Yeah, they’re not the only ones who will benefit from a little meet and greet,” Atsumu whispers cryptically and it’s impossible not to see the way he looks Sakusa up and down. 

“The hell is that supposed to mean?” 

“It’s nothing, really. Don’t worry about it, man,” Bokuto reassures him with a pat on the back, but he doesn’t budge. 

“No, I’m interested. What’re you on about, Miya?” 

“Trust us, it’s nothing!”

“Just grab a soju and relax, Sakusa–”

“They’re trying to set you up with the artist!” Sakusa flinches, turning slowly to his teammates that shrink away like vampires in direct sunlight. Hinata looks mortified, his hands slapped over his mouth as if to seal off what was already revealed. Atsumu and Bokuto shrug, giving him guilty smiles and showing their palms to convey their surrender. “That’s…that’s what they were talking about before we picked you up,” Hinata continues sheepishly. 

“This whole thing is a blind date?” He seethes through gritted teeth, the lights of the stadium starting to give him a migraine. “You guys brought me here to set me up?” 

“All we’re trying to do is have you meet someone new,” Atsumu says gently, stepping forward and then abruptly backward when Sakusa looks like he’s about to commit a homicide. “We think it’ll be good for you.” 

“I don’t care about new people. I have work and you idiots to keep me busy,” Sakusa argues, crossing his arms over his chest. The beads on his arm press into his skin and he fights the urge to rip the entire thing off. “Why would I wanna meet some musician I don’t listen to?” 

“Even if you don’t listen to their music,” Bokuto replies without hesitation, “You should read through their lyrics sometime; I think you’ll find a lot of stuff you can relate to. I bet they get just as much bad publicity as we do.” 

“As if,” he scoffs. “I don’t need someone with a purple guitar telling me what I think.” 

—

“You said there were volleyball guys in attendance, right? If they’re still here, I should probably meet them,” you say to your publicist as you step out from the automatic riser that brought you below the stage following the last song of the show. The sound of your platform boots echo on the linoleum in the back halls of the stadium, your exit music faintly audible from above. “Who are they?” 

“There’s four in total, along with some managers and press. They’re on a team called the MSBY Jackals, with an outstanding record in the sport. From what I’ve seen, three of them are pretty nice.” The two of you, along with a handful of security guards, climb into a waiting golf cart. 

“And the other one?” 

“Toss-up. He might not even talk to you.” You take a sip from your water bottle and briefly glance at the photo your publicist has pulled up on her phone. You can guess which one is the quiet one from his face in the photo alone, staring blankly at the camera while his other teammates smile brightly. 

“He looks like he’d kill me in my sleep,” you observe bluntly. “The type of serial killer people make fan accounts about.” 

“In his defense, I don’t think this is his type of crowd,” she shrugs, her attention flicking to the way you stretch your legs in the seat of the small vehicle. “Sore?”

“Beyond belief,” you chuckle, wincing as a small stab of pain shoots through your calf. “I think I might need a little more padding on the soles, if possible. Chunky heels, in all their wonder, were not made for three hour shows.”

“I’ll see what I can do. You focus on turning back on for the players.” 

After a few more minutes of sipping water and stretching out your legs in the backseat of the golf cart, you pull up to the loading dock where the four athletes are waiting. Two of them, one with iced tips and the other with vibrantly orange hair, practically jump in place when you arrive. The grumpy one lingers at the back of the group; the blonde player extends his hand to you as you step out. 

“Thank you so much.” You greet them with a practiced smile and hope your exhaustion isn’t too visible. “Did you enjoy the show?”

“I couldn’t stop screaming the entire time and I think my voice is shot.” 

“You are incredibly talented.” 

“It was wonderful!” 

“Oh, I’m so glad. It’s such a pleasure to meet you all,” you say warmly, truly wanting nothing more than to curl up in bed and sleep for 24 hours straight. Even when his friends chatter your ear off, the curly-haired one at the back doesn’t say anything. The short one with orange hair and the widest smile introduces himself as Hinata Shoyo, excitedly leading you to each of his teammates: loud Bokuto, flirty Atsumu, and reclusive Sakusa. You’re left alone with Sakusa when the other three rush off to find a bathroom, having been too excited to use one during your show. 

“I didn’t take you for the bracelet type, Sakusa,” you comment, clocking the single bracelet on his wrist. “The colors are nice, though. They go with your eyes.” You let some of your facade come down, mostly because you figured you didn’t need to be as energetic around this one compared to the others. 

“Yeah, Shoyo let me have one of his. Didn’t realize you had such a passionate fanbase,” he states and you fight the urge to laugh. “Or such a large one.”

“You didn’t think I had fans, Sakusa?” His eyes widen ever so slightly and the chuckle slips out before you can stop it, his ears turning a shade pinker. 

“Not what I said,” he backtracks, avoiding eye contact. “The show was good,” he continues unexpectedly, and you find yourself appreciating his praise more than you should. It was a triumph, in your mind, every time you won over a new listener, and he was no different. At least he wasn’t one of the guys harassing you in your Instagram messages. 

“I appreciate the compliment,” you say and catch his ears turning even redder. As much as he was trying to seem offputting, you could read him like a book. “You guys are in town for a game?”

“We’re playing not tomorrow night, but the night after. Coach would kill us if he knew we were going out before a big game,” he answers and you nod, gears starting to turn in your brain. It would be a headline tomorrow that the four players came to your show, but it would break the Internet entirely if you attended their game, especially in the middle of a sold-out tour. It was the kind of publicity you needed to drown out the tabloids. 

“My last show of this city is tomorrow night, but I can get away with skipping a rest day. Would it be weird if I came to watch you play?”

“You want to watch me play?” Sakusa echoes. The tiniest little smirk plays on the corner of his lips. Ugh. For all his introvertedness, he still had the ego of a pro athlete. “That’s what you’re saying?”

“I meant you guys. Don’t think I forgot about the players that actually came to talk to me,” you correct quickly. You exhale through your nose and shake your head with a small smile. The enthusiastic conversation behind you tells you that the rest of the team is returning. “Fine. Maybe I do wanna see who you are under all that antisocial attitude.” 

“Have fun with that. I don’t like new people,” he says, testing you. Too bad you were used to men that probably weren’t healthy for you. “There’s no changing that.” Your forehead throbs at his pure audacity, but you manage to keep an unbothered expression. 

“Good thing I love a challenge.” 

—

“I didn’t think they’d actually show up,” he mutters, taking another look at the large screens projecting the image of you in a VIP box. Sakusa didn’t recognize you without your concert makeup and stage outfit until Shoyo practically knocked him over in excitement. Seeing you smiling and catching your eye, even from at the bottom of the court, made his stomach turn in a way he wasn’t used to. 

“I can’t believe we didn’t think of that first,” Bokuto beams, sending a powerful serve that barely cilps the top of the net. Sakusa finds his eyes drifting to your box, his scowl deepening when you blow an exaggerated kiss to his teammate. His next serve he puts more effort into, but when he looks up, you’re not even watching. Not only were you crashing his game, you were distracting his team. “Nice plan, Sakusa! Maybe we can become friends with them and go to each others’ events.” 

“That wasn’t my intention,” he cringes, the idea of spending more time with you making him nauseous. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but the fact that you were making an effort to engage with him and his friends was outlandish. And all because he invited you to a game? Didn’t you have anything better to do?

“You thought inviting them to the game would scare them away, huh?” Atsumu’s watching Sakusa carefully, inspecting his disgruntled expression under a microscope. “Believe it or not, Omi, some people actually want to be around you…despite how difficult you make it sometimes.” 

“I don’t remember asking for your input,” he threatens, but the blonde Miya merely shrugs, impervious to Sakusa’s warnings. “Can we agree to ignore their presence? Focus on the game. It’s your job.” Atsumu and Bokuto share a look, with typical Hinata none the wiser. Whether they knew it or not, your attendance was throwing off Sakusa’s entire concentration. The average spectator wouldn’t notice the change in Sakusa’s behavior; if anything, they would think he was functioning at a higher level than he usually plays. His serves are stronger, his spikes are sharper, and his steps are quicker than any other player on the court. Fans rave on social media about how focused he is in the game, and the reporters scribble in their notebooks the pressing question for the post-game press conference: Why are you playing so well today? 

“I always play that well,” he mutters, his lie drowned out by the lively conversation around the booth in the corner of the restaurant. The Jackals had cinched an easy victory and Bokuto and Hinata dragged you from your box to get dinner with them. Sakusa sits at the edge of the booth, flanked by Atsumu, followed by Bokuto and Hinata. You sit at the other end, laughing at some dumb story being recounted. It made his forehead pound. “You just don’t notice.” 

“Yeah, right,” Atsumu snickers with another sip of beer. “Admit it, something’s pissing you off.” Maybe I do wanna see who you are under all that anti-social attitude. Your words linger in the back of his mind and fire him up again, unknowingly furrowing his eyebrows and incriminating him. “Yep. Knew it.” 

“Shut the hell up, Atsumu.” He hated that his normally-idiotic teammate was on the cusp of exposing the truth, not to mention the fact that he’d downed one too many soju bombs and was feeling pushier than usual. 

“Is it ‘cause they actually listened to you and showed up?”

“I told you to shut up,” he hisses through gritted teeth. You’re laughing so hard that tears are starting to prickle at the corner of your eyes. It’s the kind of laugh where no noise is actually leaving you and you’re fanning yourself with your hand. Gross. 

“Aww, look at little baby Omi-Omi, finally having a feeling over someone wanting to get to know him,” Atsumu gushes and Sakusa’s ears burn. He threatens his friend with an indescribable death to no avail. “I knew you had a heart under all that coldness!” 

Sakusa’s fist clenches around his glass and he realizes his mistake a split second before there’s a sharp crack! and sudden pain prickles in his palm. “Oh shit, man. I–” His teammate swears under his breath when drops of dark red and amber starts to trickle down Sakusa’s arm, staining the white napkin on his lap. He grinds his teeth down to keep from crying out, the whiskey in his shattered cup burning his raw skin. 

“What happened?” You’re by his side in an instant, your perfume flooding his senses in a way that makes him dizzy. “Jeez, Atsumu. What’d you do?” 

“Why are you blaming me? He’s the one who was holding the cup,” Atsumu says defensively and you shoot him a look. “Fine. I got him riled up and he did,” he gestures to the mess on the table, “that.” 

“Could one of you call your driver please? I think it’s time you three head back to your hotel,” you recommend calmly. 

“What about Sakusa?” Hinata asks as he climbs out from the booth, dragging an apologetic Atsumu and a very buzzed Bokuto toward the door. “He should probably get that checked out.”

“I know. I’ll stay with him,” you reassure him and, after a brief pause of thinking, the short spiker nods and heads for the exit. Sakusa is rigidly still, save for the involuntarily twitching of his injured fingers. “C’mon, let’s go,” you say, gently guiding him out of the booth and grabbing some unused napkins to catch the bleeding. He follows you wordlessly, a million thoughts stewing in his eyes that he refuses to verbalize. He knew he didn’t like you when you tried to read him after your show, but the alcohol in his system was making him despise you. 

You, sitting with him on the way to the nearest hospital. You, carefully looping the elastic bands of his mask over his face before leaving the car. You, politely declining a fan’s attempt to introduce themselves while you’re checking him in at the reception desk. You, listening intently to the doctor as she says that he’ll need stitches in his right hand and that they’ll need to pick every last particle of glass from his palm so that it doesn’t become infected. You, ignoring your vocal coach’s orders for a rest day and staying by his side from 11:00pm to 3:00am when the doctors finally finish his hand. 

He despises you and his pride becomes a gag in his mouth once you drop him off at the Jackals’ hotel, rendering him unable to choke out a simple ‘thank you’ as you continue to treat him with unending kindness. You’ll get hurt if you keep being nice, he thinks to himself, and the way you flinch like you’d been shot tells him he’d spoken his thoughts aloud. He hears you murmur Sleep well, Sakusa, as he shuts the door with his left hand and stalks away, lost in the trenches of his mind. 

—

“But, I’m not sure if it should be the A minor to keep with the chord progression or go to E to create some tension.” Your producer nods at you, his chin resting on his knuckles as you strum your latest song idea on your purple acoustic. It’d been a few days since your late-night trip to the emergency room with Sakusa, and you decided to spend a few hours in the studio before catching your flight to your next tour city. “And when I tried to do it on piano, I just wanted to change the key entirely.” He opens his mouth to speak but is abruptly cut off by three insistent raps on the doorframe of the control room.  

“You have a visitor,” your publicist informs you, peeking her head into the room with a slightly bewildered look in her eyes. “He says it’s urgent.” Your eyebrows dip but you stand anyways, walking through the halls of the recording space until you reach the lobby of the building and stop in your tracks. 

What the hell was he doing here?

“Hey,” Sakusa greets and you blink at him, like he was a figment of your imagination that would disappear if you ignored him. It’s impossible to ignore him, though, considering the outrageously large bundle of flowers cradled in his arm. He follows your eyeline, muttering, “I didn’t know which ones you liked, so I just…bought all of them.”

“I’ll, uh,” your publicist glances at you for a brief moment, giving you an unreadable look before gingerly taking the bouquet from the Olympian in the lobby. “I’ll take these and have them brought to your next hotel, okay?” She dismisses herself, leaving you alone with him. 

“Why are you here?”

“Are you busy right now?” You cross your arms over your chest, annoyed that he replied to your question with a question of his own. Since dropping him off at the team’s hotel, you’d come to peace with his hatred for you even though you’d tried to be nothing but cordial; maybe he could tell that you wanted to be friends for the publicity, you theorized. 

“I’m in a recording studio doing my job, so yeah,” you reply and allow all your suppressed attitude to rear its head. To your surprise, he doesn’t immediately fire back at you. If anything, Sakusa looked uneasy, nothing like the cold confidence you previously saw. “What do you want?”

“Do you have time for lunch?” 

“Oh, now you’re interested in my company,” you scoff, rolling your eyes. In the time following that night at the hospital, you hadn’t received any updates other than an unprompted photo of hungover Atsumu. “Unless you’re ready to apologize for how much of an asshole you’ve been, I don’t wanna hear it.”

“I wanna start over,” he says as you turn your back on him to return to the studio. “One meal,” he proposes, “and if you want nothing to do with me after that, I’ll leave you alone.” You check the wall-mounted clock and make your decision. 

“You get two hours.” 

By the time you sneak through the back of a restaurant and sit down to eat, your stomach is turning itself inside out. You thumb through the menu eagerly, ignoring your present company until water glasses are set out and orders are taken. 

“Look,” you begin, peering at him in the dim light, “I haven’t been completely honest with you.”

“That makes two of us,” he agrees. “You go first.”

“Truth is, I didn’t go to the game to see you, or any of the Jackals, for that matter,” you admit. “I went to get the tabloids off my back and give them a different reason to talk. I didn’t mean to mess up whatever dynamic you guys had going, so for that I am sorry.” You can’t see much of Sakusa’s expression, but you can tell his eyes are on you by the way they shine like a cat’s. It was off-putting, but also drew you in like a black hole. “Is your hand doing okay?”

“It’s better now,” he replies. “Doc’ told me that if we’d left that glass in for longer, it would’ve been more serious.” You nod and take a drink from your water as an excuse not to respond, to see if he would go further. “I, uh,” he swallows thickly, steadying his nerves. “I’m sorry for being avoidant and just being a general asshole. You didn’t deserve that, and I’m…incredibly remorseful.” A puff of air leaves your nostrils in amusement and he can hear you smirk from across the small table. 

“I appreciate the apology, and the apology lunch. Wanna start over without our respective teams breathing down our necks? Friends?” You stick your open hand toward him and he shakes it without hesitation, sealing your deal. “Awesome.” 

“You said ‘tabloids.’ What do they say about you?” Your smile fades and for a moment, he thinks he’s pushed too far too soon. He’s on the brink of apologizing again when you exhale an unsteady breath. 

“The tame ones call me an industry plant,” you explain awkwardly. “The–uh–bolder ones call me a slut.” His nostrils flare and he’s glad there’s no glass in his hand again, otherwise he couldn’t promise it wouldn’t be shattered. “The big drama came from me leaving the producer who’d helped me start my career. The media got the wrong idea, said I’d slept my way into working with him, and left when I’d had my fill.” Sakusa slowly stretches his neck from side to side, willing the sudden tension in his body to relax as he starts to see red. “I hope you can see why I wanted to give them a different reason to talk.” It’s more of a struggle than he expected to keep his voice steady. 

“What actually happened? With the original producer?” You hum in lieu of answering, grateful to catch the approaching servers out of the corner of your eye. 

“I’ll tell you another time,” you dodge, giving him a smile that he can tell is off. “For now, can we eat? I’m so hungry I’m about to eat these silly little herbs in the centerpiece.” 

—

Sakusa stays in Tokyo longer than the rest of his teammates, who depart on the team jet for the next game. He says he wants to do a little more sightseeing, despite having an apartment in the most expensive highrise in the city and knowing the streets like the back of his hand. The truth was, he wasn’t ready to give up the…thing…he’d established with you. He fell into an odd sort of routine: saying goodnight over text, calling you in the morning and telling you what time he’s picking you up, choosing the best places that can shut down for the world’s biggest rockstar on a day’s notice. You were in town for three more days and ended up spending every waking moment of them with Sakusa. 

“You’re really good at dodging the cameras,” you remark over a shared cup of ice cream on your last day, digging your spoon past the numerous toppings you’d insisted on adding. “How do you do it?”

“It helps when I’m not surrounded by the three biggest noisemakers on the planet,” he deadpans and you giggle, a sound he was increasingly becoming fond of the more time he spent with you. “I’m pretty good at laying low. People don’t know where I am unless I want them to know.” 

“Everyone seems to know where I am before even I know,” you frown. “I envy you; I really do.”

“I don’t,” he shrugs.

“Why not?” 

“When you’re trying so hard to avoid people, they tend to stop looking for you. Makes my job easier.” Your lips part in an oh of understanding. “But, I guess you’re here, so either you truly care about my wellbeing or you’re clinically insane.” You burst out laughing, so much so that you snort and have to cover your mouth with a napkin. “My running theory is that it’s a mix of both,” he declares with a rare upturn at the corner of his mouth. 

“Oh, shit,” you mutter once you’ve caught your breath and checked the time on your phone. “I should go. My plane leaves soon and my manager’ll kill me if I’m late. She’s already iffy about me staying in Tokyo this long.”

“What’s your next city?” 

“Madrid. I’m starting the European leg,” you reply while you pack up your things. He stands, walking you to the door of your waiting car. His eyes instinctively scan the surroundings street for cameras, and he subtly positions his body to block you from any passing eyes as you climb into the car. The window makes a humming noise as you roll it down. 

“Have a safe flight.” 

“Don’t be a stranger, yeah? I’ll miss you, even if you don’t want me to.” He memorizes the way the afternoon sunlight catches in your eyes, how each thump of his heartbeat seems louder when you’re near. Something is wrong in my brain, he thinks to himself. Once he’s completely sure your car isn’t being tailed, he dials Atsumu on the drive to the hotel to collect the rest of his things.

“You land already, Miya?” His car purrs beneath his fingertips as he speeds through the busy streets. 

“Safe and sound,” his teammate confirms. “Though jet lag is starting to hit Shoyo and Bo. How were the rest of your dates?” 

“They weren’t dates,” he argues, his hands unconsciously gripping the wheel tighter in indignance. “I was just thanking them for that night.” 

“Yeah, and a bit more than that, I figure.” 

“I don’t even know why I bothered calling you,” he groans.

“Because you want me to say ‘I told you so,’ right? That it was a good idea for me to bring you to that show. You know, a trip to that conveyor belt sushi place will suffice as repayment.”

“In your dreams, Atsumu,” Sakusa deadpans. 

“C’mon, Omi. I know you wouldn’t keep spending time with them if you didn’t feel some kind of tug.” 

“Tug?”

“Like you’re drawn to them,” Atsumu gushes and Sakusa feels like gagging. “Intimately.” Sakusa definitely didn’t think of you that way…right?

“You’re such a pervert.” His disgust is clear, and his speakers blow out with Atsumu’s screams of Not like that! and You don’t even pull enough for me to make fun of! “I’m at the hotel now so I’m gonna hang up. Not sure again why I even bother talking to you.”

“Because I’m your best friend,” Atsumu answers. “See you soon, my sweet Omi~” 

“Remind me to punch you when I touch down.”

—

“How was the show a few nights ago?” 

“Amazing, as always. Almost fell on my ass running around to meet people at the barricade, but thankfully kept my balance,” you chuckle, running the pad of your thumb over the petal of a purple gladiolus. “You can probably see a clip of it on all the fan pages.”

“You think I follow fan pages about you?” 

“What? I follow fan pages about you,” you insist. “User ‘omi-omisbigtits’ has some pretty funny posts of you.” Sakusa groans from the other end of the line.

“That’s the one fan account I have blocked because they post such heinous things,” he recalls. “Did you scroll far enough to see the one where I’m at the zoo and–”

“You’re running away from the peacock, yep,” you finish. Out of the various presents and letters your fans gifted you, you find yourself drawn again and again to the pot of sword lilies. “I screenshotted it and made it your contact photo.”

“I’m never sending you flowers again,” he mutters, but you hear it, snapping your head upwards. 

“These were you?” Your jaw drops so forcefully that it aches. “You’re the mystery flower sender? No one would tell me who sent these!” 

“Because I told them I’d sue if you found out it was me,” he shrugs and you roll your eyes, a grin creeping onto your face. 

“Why’d you want to send them anonymously?” Upon inspecting the color further, you realize where you’ve seen the shade before. 

He’d sent you flowers that matched your favorite guitar. 

“I didn’t wanna distract you before your shows. I was aiming for subtlety.” You blink in disbelief. Sakusa had sent you flowers the night before you started your show run in Paris, knowing you would be at the venue for soundcheck. Maybe he did care about you and your career.

“Well, you failed,” you state, staring at the large bundle of purple taking up half the space on your dressing room’s side table. “This bouquet is the opposite of subtle.”

“Bouquet? I ordered you one stem.”

“No,” you restated. Even though you’d never video called Sakusa before, you switch on your phone’s camera anyway to show him the absolutely gargantuan amount of flowers he mistakenly sent you. “You ordered this.” To your surprise, he turns on his camera as well. His face contorts into such a shocked and puzzled expression that you snort out the water you were sipping, burning your nostrils as tears prickle your eyes. “Stop looking like that, I can’t breathe!”

“What do you mean, ‘stop looking like that?’ I didn’t mean to send you the whole rainforest!” You choke out another uncontrollable laugh, turning the camera to face yourself and setting it in front of your vanity mirror. “Alright, at least you got them.” 

“Yes, and I really appreciate you sending them.” You can tell he’s not used to having his camera on, as he keeps tilting the phone at odd angles and barely showing his face half the time. “What’re you doing right now?”

“Just in bed.” Or a snowstorm, from the looks of it. 

“Why does it look like your poor phone is in a typhoon?” 

“You’re literally so annoying,” he grumbles, reluctantly positioning himself so that he’s sitting against the headboard. With the new point of view, you also notice very quickly that he…is completely shirtless. “Better?”

“Yep, yeah. That’s fine,” you force out, clearing your throat aggressively while the image of his very broad shoulders assault your brain. “Sorry that I didn’t send you flowers for your game.” 

“The guys would give me shit about it if you do, so I’m glad you did not,” he replies. “Though, it does suck not having you around.” 

“This is the closest I’m ever getting to you saying you miss me. I should commemorate it with a plaque.” Sakusa clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes, but you can tell he’s trying not to smile. He must’ve taken a shower recently; his curls look slightly wet and dangle haphazardly across his eyes. You have the sudden urge to run your fingers through it, and then the even more sudden urge to slap yourself for thinking in such a way. 

“What city are you in now? I know you just finished up Dublin.” His voice snaps you out of your daydreaming. 

“Paris,” you manage to reply without too awkward of a pause. “You?”

“Paris.” 

“Huh? I thought your next game was in Brazil,” you ask. His face goes still for a moment and you figure it’s probably frozen from bad service, wherever he is. “Hello?”

“Sorry, you broke up for a second. What were you saying?”

“I was asking why you were in Paris.”

“I’m not in Paris,” he states. “I’m in Seoul.” 

“Isn’t your next game in Brazil?” He pauses for an almost imperceptible amount of time.

“Game schedule got rearranged. We’re in Seoul, then the States, then Brazil.” 

“Oh. I see.” A loud series of knocking on your dressing room door makes you jump. “Ah, I’m sorry. I need to go.” 

“Rockstar duties?”

“You know it,” you yawn, taking one last indulgent look at the exposed muscle on his shoulders. “Hopefully we both get some rest for the coming days.”

“Yep. G’night.” 

—

There was a little bit of lingering guilt on his end after you hang up; the fact that he’d lied to you about his whereabouts didn’t escape him. 

He wasn’t sure what came over him, what sentimental demon temporarily possessed him to take a plane to wherever you were (Paris, not the lie that he gaslit you into believing) and buy a last minute ticket to your show. His emotions and desires were thrown completely off balance; he truly didn’t care if he was up in the nosebleeds if it meant he got to see you. Thankfully, a wealthy couple had bought out an entire area of club seats for their granddaughter’s birthday, but decided last minute that they wanted to fly to Cancun. It made him a little anxious, having all that space to himself, but he figured he could have his guards and team invite family to make it a little less lonely. It didn’t matter how many strangers he needed to meet or how much he had to spend. 

He just wanted to see you. 

He finds himself in a familiar position from the first time he went to one of your shows, rooted under the awning of the expansive lounge area and just out of sight from fans. His arms unconsciously cross over his chest and the beads of the bracelet he’d dug through his luggage to find presses against his skin. But, this time, he isn’t annoyed by the pain; if anything, it reminds him that he’s actually here with you, even if you don’t know it yet. 

I’m pretty good at laying low. People don’t know where I am unless I want them to know. His words echo back to him and he makes his decision, stepping out into the stadium lights and resting his forearms on the railing. 

He wants you to know he’s there. 

The first fan to notice is a girl in purple, slapping her friend furiously until they both are gawking at him. One pair of eyes becomes two, which becomes five, which becomes twenty, until hundreds of phone cameras are pointed at him and snapping photos. The sentimental demon possesses him again and he sticks up an involuntary peace sign, even going so far as to smile to look less bored. They scream for him and he thinks the sentimental demon is Atsumu, because he finds himself imitating his teammate’s movements. His hands clap together and he gestures for fans to toss him bracelets, which become an impossible shower as dozens are thrown at once. By the time the lights dim and news of his presence is trending across the continent, his arms are covered in sleeves of rainbow beads. 

— 

The ache in your feet is immediately replaced by adrenaline when your head of security informs you who came to the show. You don’t bother waiting for the golf cart to bring you to the back of the stadium and take off sprinting, chunky heels and all. They’re calling after you to hold on to let the rest of your team catch up, but you don’t listen. The stadium staff look at you fondly but also have a reasonably startled reaction to you running like you’d escaped from an asylum. 

You round the corner absolutely heaving and his face breaks into a wide smile. You’d never seen him look like that before, never at his games or during any of the time you’d spent together. It was an expression reserved for only you in this moment. You don’t remember if he catches you or if you embrace him first, but soon enough your face is tucked into the crook of his neck, eyes squeezed shut and grinning like a lunatic. His arms are rock solid around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer until you can hear his heartbeat slamming against his ribcage. Neither of you speak for a few minutes because you don’t feel the need to; only when you pull away to hold his face with your hands do you manage to articulate words. 

“You’re here,” you breathe. “You’re actually here.” Recognition blinks onto your face and you suddenly frown, lightheartedly slapping his shoulder, saying, “You lied! Your dumb ass said you were in Seoul!” 

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” he concludes unapologetically. “I did slip up with my story a few times, though.”

“Yeah, you got your own game schedule wrong.” 

“To be fair, some games did get rescheduled, which is why I’m able to be here. Our next game’s in Seoul, which is why I blanked and said that instead,” he explains and you respond with an exasperated eyeroll. “Find it in your heart to forgive me?” 

“I see right through you, Sakusa Kiyoomi. You don’t…uhm…” He comes close enough that you can count his eyelashes and it takes you a few seconds to recompose yourself. “Mmm, you wanna kiss me so bad, it makes you look stupid,” you challenge and hope he doesn’t hear the butterflies going wild in your stomach. 

“Maybe I do,” he smirks and it only makes the situation more sweat-inducing. “I missed you, after all.” Your eyes flutter closed as he leans in but instantly shoot back open, gently pushing him away as he pouts. “What is it?”

“Take me out to dinner, first. If you apologize sufficiently for being a terrible liar, maybe you’ll get a kiss,” you propose and he’s already lacing his fingers in yours. 

“Good thing I love a challenge.” 

— 

In spite of his attempts to ignore the cameras and the footsteps that were always a few feet behind him, there was a pit in his stomach every time Sakusa was in public with you. He couldn’t figure out why he was so irked, but the feeling made it difficult to enjoy how you smiled at him in quiet moments and pointed out things he’d never think to notice before. Most perplexingly, you didn’t seem bothered at all by the cameras. It was like they disappeared as soon as he came into your proximity; you barely spared them a glance in favor of beaming up at him. 

Even though you agreed that there was a feeling more than platonic between you two, he hadn’t mustered up the urge to kiss you properly, opting for your forehead or your hands instead. It didn’t seem to bother you, the way he only reserved showing his affection when you were out of view. But, he slips up the night before you have to part ways, him for his next game and you for your final European date. The dread he’d experienced for days felt like intuition telling him something was inherently wrong, like he was teetering on the edge of a cliff he didn’t know the height of. 

It comes crashing down when the tabloids catch him holding your hand.

“Can you believe this?” You snort, showing Sakusa the headline as he forces down the bile in his throat. “They think you’re my next ‘big catch,’ like you’re a fish or something,” you chuckle obliviously, leaning into him on the living room couch of his hotel suite. He manages a pained mhmm and watches as you continue to scroll through the news site, the photos of him holding your hand and grabbing your waist flying by like a nightmarish film reel. He rubs his palms back and forth over the fabric of his sweats, feeling suddenly feverish from every single point where your body was touching his. Clearing his throat, he swallows thickly and you finally look at him, concern pinching in your eyebrows. Your voice is gentle and you reach up to feel his forehead; he dodges your hand and you carefully hide your disappointment. “Hey, are you feeling okay?”

“We can’t do this.” His heart sinks as you sit up and blink at him, his words registering slowly in your mind. “I can’t…I can’t do this with you,” he sputters out. You exhale a single time and he watches your eyes flick from side to side, your brain running a thousand miles a minute.

“I don’t understand.”

“We need to stop.” You laugh forcefully, like you were commanding your body to feel lighter. 

“If this is a joke, Kiyoomi, it isn’t funny–”

“It’s not a fucking joke; you need to stop being with me,” he snaps and the room falls silent. The only thing he can hear is his heartbeat rushing through his ears, his face hotter than the sun. 

“Why?” Your voice breaks and so does something in him, his jaw clenching unconsciously. 

“You need to stop being nice to me,” he says through gritted teeth, “because I can’t guarantee I’ll be nice back.” This is how it always ends. Push them away before things get messy. This is how it works for Sakusa Kiyoomi. 

“But you have been nice,” you fight back, your grief morphing into unfiltered rage as you stand and scream at him. “You sent me flowers. You bought me dinner. You flew across the world to see my fucking show!” 

“That doesn’t matter. None of it mattered.” His composure wavers momentarily, unreadable emotions flashing across his face. “You can’t be close to me without getting hurt.” He gestures to your phone, the paparazzi image of you two together brighter than a Times Square billboard. 

“Who said it needed to be that way?” 

“Everyone did!” He stands without warning and you flinch backward, stumbling against the coffee table. “People think I’m an asshole, so that’s how I choose to stay. At the very least, I can predict things and prevent people from getting too close. You’re too close.”

“But you’re not an asshole. You’ve shown me that much,” you insist, arguing with his back as he starts to retreat into the master suite. What you say next makes him freeze, trapped in an endless time loop with you. 

Tell me you care for your friends. 

“What?” He’s seething as he turns, meeting your eyes. “What the fuck do you mean, do I–”

“Do you care about your friends?” You repeat, stepping closer to him. His eyes are burning, molten to the core even when you refuse to shrink away. “If Bo, Shoyo, and Atsumu were dying in a fucking fire, would you save them?”

“Of course I would,” he spits indignantly. “What kind of–”

“Then you have the capacity to love, Kiyoomi, as much as you don’t want to admit it.” You’re crying, tears streaming uncontrollably down your cheeks. Why are you crying? He never wanted to make you cry. What did he do to make you cry? 

“Because the last time you loved something, people scorned you.” They told him his passion was suffocating. They told him he was walking a path that one could only walk alone. He’s frozen, his feet left immobile on the hotel carpet. He makes no sound beside shaking exhales and can sense nothing but your voice coming closer.  

“You made it your career to prove that it’s worthy of your love…but you forgot how to love anything else.” Time slows. He doesn’t remember when your face appeared so close to his. He can see a universe behind your eyes and he wants nothing more than to hold you and call you his. His passion was suffocating. It would hurt you. It would burn you. It would–

“I wish you could love yourself as much as I love you.” 

One breath, and then another. 

A crack in an eggshell. A hole in a fortress. 

You are an asteroid completely obliterating the planet he considered himself. 

And when he finally kisses you properly, he understands just how freeing being destroyed could be. 

—

Sakusa Kiyoomi did not like cameras. They were gnats buzzing around his head, calling for him to look this way and that, catching his every reaction to whatever crossed his path. They were broken whispers that floated to his ears, unintelligible conversations that stayed as voices in his head. He did not like cameras, but he found that looking at you was infinitely better than looking at anything else. 

“You doing okay?” Your murmur is the only thing he hears, quieting the rest of the chatter around him. Swaths of dresses and suits brush against his arms and he fights the instinct to shield you from view, despite being sat in the very center of the huge theater. It was the biggest award show of the season, and he’d made a vow with himself that he wouldn’t ruin tonight for you. With your hand in his, as long as he had physical contact with you, it was easier to keep the doubts in his mind at bay. “I’m feeling fine, if that’s what you need to know.” 

“I’m doing okay as long as you’re okay,” he confirms softly, barely sparing a glance at the giant lens a few feet from his face. “I’m here to celebrate you. I won’t let them bother me tonight.” You beam at him, opening your mouth to say something when a commotion comes tumbling down the aisle. “Actually,” he mutters as his three teammates trip over themselves to find their seats in the rest of the row, “Do you think I can have one nasty scowl? I promise I’ll behave otherwise.” 

“Having a rockstar best friend is like, the best thing ever,” Bokuto declares before you can respond to Kiyoomi. 

“I’m so glad Omi finally got his head out of his ass, too,” Atsumu drawls with an unbothered yawn that makes Sakusa’s blood boil. The blonde Miya sibling had been very vocal with the press about playing as the matchmaker, pointedly dodging questions about his own romantic status. “I think I’ll secretly have ‘I told you so’ engraved on the inside of your wedding rings.”

“Over my dead body,” Kiyoomi grumbles and you smile, squeezing his hand once. He squeezes back, pressing a rare public kiss to the side of your head. You shift your body to lean more closely to his and your wrist presses down on something wrapped around his wrist. 

“What’s under your sleeve?”

“Hmm? Oh, this?” He pulls back the freshly ironed fabric to reveal a familiar pattern of green and yellow beads, out of place compared to the rest of his formal attire. “Got it from a concert,” he smirks knowingly. “The show was cool, but I think I’m in love with the artist.”

“Yeah? You never figured out what that acronym stands for, did you?” He shakes his head and you point at each letter bead, explaining, “No one knows me like you do, and no one ever will.” 

“Well, isn’t that fitting?” The lights dim and the orchestra starts to play its signature fanfare, spotlights gliding in aimless directions across the audience. “Thank you for helping me understand.”

“The meaning of the lyric? Of course, I think of you every time I sing it, now,” you smile. 

“No, about what you said that night when we argued.” He feels a familiar blush creeping up his cheeks. “About loving me how you love me.”

“And do you get it now?”

“I do,” he nods, glancing at the colorful bracelet on his wrist and your fingers intertwined with his. “I just needed a little bit of convincing.” Your head settles on his shoulder and he lets you, allowing himself to relax in spite of the sea of cameras surrounding him. 

“Good thing I love a challenge.”

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! commissions and nsfw requests can be sent through my fiverr! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[booksandabeer]

Stucky, Fandom Longevity, and "Primacy Bias"

There’s this post that's been floating around the past few days about how the Stucky fandom in its heyday produced fic and art masterpieces like they were all collectively possessed by an unprecedented spirit of creative insanity. It’s a good, fun post and I agree with the person who wrote it. (not rb'ing because I didn't want to hijack their post with something that's only tangentially related).

It was indeed a magical time and the creative output in both quantity and quality in the two-year period following the release of CA:TWS is—with perhaps a few exceptions—unmatched by anything that I’ve seen before and since. However, going through the notes on that post, I noticed something that left me a little irritated and quite frankly sad since it is in congruence with, and to a certain extent the confirmation of something that I’ve been thinking about a lot lately.

For one thing, there are so many people in the notes expressing sentiments along the lines of “it was such a wonderful time; I wish I could go back; I miss these fics; I want to read these fics again,” etc., etc., you get it. And it feels a little silly pointing this out, but…you can just do that? Almost all of these fics are still right there, waiting for you to be (re)read. Yes, a lot of people left the fandom after The Great Devastation of 2019, but their stories didn’t just disappear. It's not like there is now a big, black hole where the Steve/Bucky tag used to be on AO3. So, if you miss these fics and you want to revisit them—just do it. Chances are the authors will be delighted that people are still finding and enjoying their stories all these years later. And—since apparently this needs saying, too, judging from the notes on that post: A lot of people seem to be very concerned with losing ‘coolness points’ for openly admitting that they still miss the ship and often feel tempted to dip their toes back into the Stucky pool. I don’t know how to tell you this, but if someone tries to shame you for simply enjoying or missing something, they are an asshole. Not to mention that all this is happening on tumble.com—'coolness' doesn't exactly live here. And that is a good thing, to be clear. Fandom is not about being cool. It’s about being as enthusiastic, as silly, as absolutely fucking unhinged about the things you love as you want to be. So, stop caring what other people think and enjoy yourself.

The other thing is that there seems to be a pretty widespread misconception that the Stucky fandom hasn’t produced any good fanworks after 2016.

First, that is patently and demonstrably untrue. There is so much incredibly good fanfiction and fanart still out there. Not as much as back in the day, sure, but it still exists. And more is being posted every day! Even some of the OG Big Names are still around. One of the most beloved Stucky series that started all the way back in 2014 was updated as recently as December of last year. The artist, who I believe the op is referring to as creating ‘baroque’ paintings, posted their latest Stucky art not even two months ago.

Second, I find this “primacy bias” more than just a little insulting to the many hardworking and incredibly talented people who are still putting their blood, sweat, and tears into creating for this community. And it’s one thing if people who have long left the fandom believe or say something like this, but it’s frankly irritating when I see people who are still very much active—and therefore definitely should know better—feed into that same false myth. Yes, it sucks that the Stucky ship isn’t as big as it used to be, but that doesn't mean there isn't any 'fresh talent' to be found anymore. I’m also not saying we shouldn’t still celebrate and recommend older works—I do it all the time! And it sure as hell doesn't mean everyone has to reblog absolutely everything all the time, either. Your blog, your rules.

But maybe we should put a little more focus on the good things, on the creators and the community we have now, especially if we want that community to still exist in another ten years. I mean, imagine you’re a person who’s just gotten into the fandom (because yes, there are indeed still new people discovering Stucky all the time) and one of the first things you’re being told is “eh, nice that you're here, but you’re about 7 years late; the big party is already over.” Does that seem like a fun space to hang out in to you?

So. Let’s all—and I do not exclude myself from this because God knows, I love to complain—spend a little less time mourning the ‘good old days’ that are never coming back anyway, and instead focus our attention on enjoying and appreciating both the incredible treasure chest of an archive we have AND the wealth of high-quality art and fic that is still being created by this wonderful community every single day. With this in mind:

🥳🎊Happy Stucky Week 2023!!! 🎊🥳

*I want to make it very clear that this is a general thing that’s been on my mind lately and that I’m trying to work through here—probably not very coherently. I'm not trying to tell anybody 'how to do fandom' and I’m most definitely not vagueposting about any particular incident, person, or group in this fandom. This isn’t a callout post. It’s an I have a lot of thoughts and feelings about this and I don’t know what else do with them post.

[writtensturn]

in the moment | c.s

PAIRING : chris sturniolo x hispanic!gf

GENRE : fluff?

SUMMARY : chris’s girlfriend is dominican, and at her cousins birthday party, chris wonders off too come back to surprise her.

!WARNINGS! : use of y/n, cursing.

✮⋆˙

y/n was making her way into the backyard of her aunts house, they were celebrating her cousins seventh birthday, and if you knew how hispanic parties work, they last forever. it was around 11pm and she was talking to family slipping a few drinks from under them, she watched as her family and her cousins friends danced around and had fun. her family adored chris, they always said he was a different “type” of white. as her favorite artist, romeo santos came on she held onto chris’s arm singing almost every lyric to him.

“y/n, baby..” chris laughed

“promise you’ll hold me, touch me, love me. way past forever” she sung to her boyfriend across from her

“promise” chris spoke with a huge smile on her face, agreeing to the song that she held so dearly. as y/n turned to watch her family dance and hold on to eachother, it warmed her heart the one time of the year they all looked genuinely happy and got along.

“see how their moving" she pointed to a pair in the crowd, feeling chris nod in agreement.

"we call that bachata, the way the song has the little clicks is when you change. i think its so romantic, its all in the hips." she explained ending her sentence with a shrug. she turned to see chris's eyes on her, feeling his smirk almost instantly. she shook her head and pushed his shoulder

“oh enough christopher” she knew his mind went directly in the gutter with that one

“what? i didn’t do a thing” chris spoke back to her with the same smirk plastered across his lips

“yeah yeah” she sneered turning her head to look at him, her head tightly slightly as she took a moment to admire his features, the way they looked back at her. she felt chris’s hand come up to brush the hair out of her face, pushing it behind her ear and come back down to run his fingertips along her arm.

“i’ll be back” chris said bringing his face closer to hers and pressing his lips against her softly before standing up and walking away, before she could say anything he was already to far for him to hear.

meanwhile

chris moved into her aunts house finding the cousin she was closest with

“hey can you help me out for a sec? it’s for y/n” chris asked

“uhh yeah” jay said back to him with a smile while she stood up, she moved chris to another room.

“i need you to need me how to dance.. um..” chris spoke lost on the word

“bachata?” jay said while raising a brow

“yes!” chris nodded

“ja, okay..” jay let out a laugh towards chris, she took his hands and looked up at him a little awkwardly.

“do you just kinda-.” she moved in twos, popping her hip on the beat that you could hear from outside.

“that’s it?” chris raised his brow

“oh honey..” jay laughed again

“you try.” she challenged, she watched as chris moved with her, the two starting together. she raised her brow impressed on how he was moving, she moved closer in dancing how they would outside.

“i’m shocked” she shook her head at her cousins boyfriend

“what why” chris shook his head back

“you’ve got some spice don’t ya” she scoffed as the two laughed and continued to move together in her room

“what’s her favorite song.. yk like these” chris asked, jay pulled away from him stopped the synced movements between the two.

“just go there, i got it.” she smiled as the two started to walk out

“you’re good for her you know? you care. it means a lot” jay nodded as they headed outside, chris couldn’t help but smile as the two parted him walking back to find y/n.

“hey baby where’d you go?” she stood up wrapping her arms around his sides, chris shook his head at her attachment holding her against him. he turned his head to see jay nodding at him and hearing the song change, she watched as y/n’s head perked up.

“i love this song so much” she closed her eyes before looking up at him

“dance with me ma?” chris smiled down at her admiring her features, she looked up at him, her expression confused.

“what.” she spoke and as soon as she could get another word out she felt the two moving closer to the center, chris’s arms fell onto her hips and her hands moving around his neck. as the song started picking up she felt the two move in sync holding onto one another, she looked up at him shocked and impressed that he knew how. she never taught him out of embarrassment but now that they were here she didn’t care, her little fantasy of them two dancing together to her favorite song.

“pongo en ti toda mi fe me arrodillo a tu merced y aunque hable nunca me arrepiento” she sung softly looking directly into him, meaning her words.

“what’s that mean” chris furrowed his brows

“you’ll figure it out eventually” she nodded with a smirk

“i love you ma” chris smiled down at her hearing the song end

“i love you too mi amor”

guys someone requested this and im lowk so obsessed with the idea of this, i think its adorable.

[fabiensnamelessworld]

The Dynamic Between Fans and Artists

Hello everyone

Not long ago I was browsing in my playlist and stumbled on Eminem-Stan ft. Dido and I listened to it a few times in a row (still listening to it as I write this blog, ngl). Just as reminder, it basically talks about a fan that is too obsessive and takes his life in the end because he did not receive the attention he was seeking, at least not in time. And it made me think about the dynamic between fans and their favourite artist.

Today we easily see how huge and active some fandoms are, you just have to look at the top artists, for example just take Taylor Swift’s fanbase.

My opinion about it, is that we may see in the future the worsening of this situation. When you look at the past you can see that there were already huge fandoms ins the 80s/90s, and that there were already problems with them. And the situation worsened with time and the close accessibility thanks to social media and network. It made the fans more entitled to “own” their favourite artist. And that raise another question: Do the artists are responsible of their fans? With this question some will respond yes, and one of their arguments is “the artist owes us”, in the sense that the audience made the artist famous. Well, that can make sense, the artist grows thanks to the listeners but it stops there, because the artist isn’t under a contract with the public, the public don’t pay them to do albums/singles and whatsoever, they pay them to see them perform or for their merch but that’s just that. In the end I just agree that they owe us respect and gratefulness. The first goal of an artist is to express himself and not to please someone else.

About the worst part of fanbases, the “stans”, I think it’s not because of the artist. It is just a problem of mental health. We see today that it is a more and more recurrent problem that put in danger the stan himself but also the artist and his entourage and even the other fans. And in this the social network plays big part in it. Nowadays it is easier to contact someone, plus depending on the platform you can see if your message was seen or not. It is easier to track someone too, just look at the people who tack down all the flights of Taylor Swift. In the end we can say the problem is the social network, but no, if you look in the past there are several cases of fans who suffered from Celebrity Obsession Disorder. One of the examples that comes to my mind is the murder of John Lennon. The solution is to be helped by professionals and maybe the artist can help to some extant too, but that is difficult because there are a lot of fans seeking attention. What should do the artist? because it is utopian to believe that the artist responds to all. So, the solution is what? selecting people? but on which criteria? This will ultimately lead to disappointment for some.

In the end my opinion about that dynamic is that artists should continue to make us enjoy what they produce and stay relatively close to us and that fans should support each other and the artist and should try to distance themselves from the situation. We should just enjoy the moment to the fullest.

Thanks for reading and let me know your thoughts about it.

[nothingtherefornow]

Hot take: I don’t think Marinette did anything wrong in Volpina.

1. Lila was sexually harassing Adrien and being WAAAAY too handsy with him when he was visibly not comfortable with.

2. She stole something clearly important from him.

3. Lila’s lies about having a miraculous and being best friends with Ladybug when a magical terrorist is active are not only stupid BUT DANGEROUS.

4. Lila was lying about ladybug so Ladybug did have a right to call her out for it.

Oh Believe me, Lila totaly asked for it, if she just lied about being Ladybug's best friend maybe Marinette would have let that slide, but the liar was taking things too far by pretending to be a miraculous wielder less than a day after meeting Adrien just to impress him.

And if we could argue that maybe Ladybug was harsher than she should have been with Lila in Volpina, and that she reacted too impulsively, I totally see where she was coming from.

What reaction should you expect from somoene whom you're lying about just to leech on their celebrity in order to increase your own popularity ? And on top of that seeing those lies being used to manipulate one you're in love with ? Maybe Marinette should have kept a cold head, but I totally understand that she didn't, at her age I sure wouldn't have. And I think that Lila deserved to be called out on her lies anyway, especially in front of Adrien who was being fooled and taken advantage of by Lila.

Adrien is used to the vagaries of celebrity life, including potential lies and gossip about his person in addition to hysterical fans and his image being constantly publicly used, and therefore he could not understand the legitimate anger of Ladybug who is not used to that kind of celebrity that can be abused by random people for their own interests. That said, I wonder if Adrien would still have dared his quick and short outburst of anger at Ladybug when he saw her "humiliating" Lila, if he had known that in addition to lying to him, the latter had also stolen his father's book.

And on top of that, we're not talking about some harmless liar who just want to impress other people, we're talking about a potential psycopath who was already committing acts of identity fraud, truancy and scaming, and deceiving three innocent women into wrongly thinking of "Lila" as their daugther, while the girl seems to collect false mothers and identities like one collect tee-shirts.

So yeah I definitly can't say that Lila didn't derserved to have her ego taken down a few pegs.

And I don't think that Ladybug never calling Lila out on her lies would have made things better for her. Sure she could have avoided Volpina and maybe heroes days, but the rest ? In Oni-chan Lila targeted Kagami just after learning that the japanese girl was a friend of Adrien from fencing, and in the same episode she saw that Adrien was still infatuated will Ladybug, something she also quickly noticed during Volpina. And being a love rival seems enough to warrant Lila's hatred and hostility.

Remember how Lila went back on her words to let Marinette chose to be with her or against her when Lila saw Adrien chose to sit with Marinette over sitting with her in Chameleon ? After that Lila never let Marinette give her her answer and immediately declared war on her.

On top of that during the following seasons, Marinette no longer really tried to denounce Lila's lies and left the liar alone, and yet that did not prevent Lila from developing this strong hatred and obsession towards Marinette which we had proof of in Perfection . All because Marinette called her on her lies oncea nd is a rival in love for Adrien's heart ? You'll agree that this is a a disproportionate or even irrational reaction, and therefore further demonstrates that Lila is not at all a healthy person in her head, and that whatever the way Ladybug could have handled Lila in Volpina, the con artist would still have become threat sooner or later.

Lila would still have been contacted by Gabriel since the scenario of Oni-chan doesn't need Ladybug calling out on Lila's lies in Volpina to happen. Gabriel would in any case still have encouraged Lila to develop her plan in the Ladybug episode, and from there the events would have remained the same, with or without Ladybug's intervention during Volpina. Lila would still have ended up discovering Monarch's secret identity, and would still have put together her plan to get the butterfly miraculous in the season 5 finale.

Conclusion, Ladybug indeed did nothing wrong during Volpina. Because as Astruc himself confirmed in a recent interview, Lila is a supervillain all the time, with or without superpowers, which means that she was already one when she arrived at Françoise-Dupont for the first time

[dreamingonclds]

Everything Happens For A Reason | LN4

Summary: Sometimes the people that love us hurt us the most but, you can't seem to stay away. After an immense break up, you've become the most passionate in your career. Going from casting to casting, concert to concert, audition to audition, you become one of the most famous artists of your generation. You were done picking up the broken pieces of your heart when somebody comes into your life and you place your heart in someone else's hands again.

Word Count: 968

Pairing: Lando Norris x female! reader ft. Carlos Sainz

Warnings: none

Chapter 2

Previous Chapter

After what felt like the longest 2 weeks Jen and you were finally on the 14 hour flight to Monaco. You could burst with excitement, one of your biggest dreams was to go to a Grand Prix. Now, you were just trying to catch up with the current season. You’re an extremely busy person so the most you could do was check the race standings online. You knew all the current drivers already, following them on instagram and all. But, you had never seen any of the grill the grid videos or any social media content. It’s safe to say you regret not keeping up with it but your love for the sport never faltered.

Jen’s beside you working on her laptop, or so you thought. She suddenly gasps and starts slapping your side causing you to jump

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!” she semi yells causing some people to give you weird looks

“Holy shit Jen you scared the crap out of me” you say as you put your hand to your chest

“Sorry not sorry” she giggles at you as she places her laptop on your lap

“What was that guys name, Lando, the one you “used” to have a crush on” she says as she add air quotes after his name

You nod yes at her waiting for her to continue

“I was watching some interviews and look” she says excitedly as she puts her headphones on you and presses play

The video starts and it’s a QnA of the McLaren boys, each taking turns interviewing each other.

Looking down at his cards and then looking back up at Oscar, “Who is my celebrity crush?” asks Lando

“Oh umm easy, that girl that sings the song that goes “my heart wants what it wants”. She was in this movie I just watched. Whats her name, oh yeah Y/N Y/L/N” Oscar says confidently

“You know me so well” Lando says proudly,  looking from Oscar to the camera

“Oh it’s not like you only ever play her music or have her picture as your background” Oscar laughs and teases Lando

Lando blushes furiously and hides behind his cards, leaning back laughing and nearly tipping over the chair

“See, see, look!” Oscar says pointing at the staff who were also giggling and nodding agreeing with what Oscar just confessed

“You didn’t have to expose me like that man” Lando says once he catches his breath and recollects himself

Looking at the camera Lando says, “I mean can you blame me, look”

He takes his phone out his pocket and shows is proudly to the camera

“If you guys really loved me you would try and bring her to one of the races” Lando suggests to the Mclaren team jokingly

“If you get pole or a win, we’ll see what we can do”, one of the team members says

“Actually!”, Lando and Oscar yell at the same time

“Wait nevermind, I take it back, I’d be a mess around her. Just thinking about it makes me nervous”, he says as he fidgets with his hand and shifts in his chair

…

Now it’s your turn to blush, you don’t even want to turn and look at Jen. Never in a million years would you think your crush would be reciprocated or that any F1 driver would know who you are.

“Jen that video isn’t even that recent, I'm sure that his “crush” has passed”, you say finding it hard to believe

“Are you serious! He has you as his background, on his PHONE! You only do that when you really like someone” she says 

“And you know it!” she says accusingly, pointing her finger at you

You shyly smile and turn to look out the plane window to hide your blushing cheeks

“Ok, you have a point but that video is nearly a year old. I doubt I've even crossed his mind recently. He’s been so focused on his career to even think about me. People move on Jen it’s okay, it’s not that serious. Besides it was just a crush, no actual feelings involved.”, you say disappointedly and surprised you feel that way

“So”, she says giving up on her argument

You both sit in silence for a couple seconds before you hear her move in her seat

“Wait” she says as she has an epiphany

“No offense but, why would they invite you to a race? I mean, I don’t think you’ve ever spoken about F1 publicly”

“No, I know what you mean”, you cut her off, giggling at her honesty

“Unless he still likes you, I mean like you said, that video was nearly a year old. He must still have a crush on you!”, she says excitedly

You finally turn back to look at her

“Oh my god, you have a point. They actually made it happen!”, you say agreeingly

“They fucking made it happen!” she yells making other passengers look at your direction

You both mouth and whisper yell sorry’s towards the people and laugh at Jen’s lack of decorum. After you both calm down you suddenly get butterflies on your stomach.

“Oh god, I’m nervous now, I wasn’t before”, you say worriedly grabbing Jen’s hand

“You have absolutely nothing to worry about, you are literally Y/N Y/L/N. We just have to dress to impress you know. Might catch more than just his eyes.” she says, smiling slyly

“Classic Jen” you tell her as you slap your forehead

“What? This can be the start of something new! I bet it will be” she says confidently turning to look at you

You turn to look out the window once again, smiling at all the possibilities. Wondering if what Jen just said will have any truth to it.

“We’ll see” you finish

[bouquetface]

Hello! I'm loving your celebrity chart observations as I can learn from them for myself and my close ones! Can I ask a request for kpop boy band Riize member Wonbin? He doesn't have confirmed birth time, born at 2 March 2002 in Ulsan, South Korea. Thank you so much 💕

Hi here is a quick analysis but in cas edit is extremely difficult to find accuracy. His moon placement is unknown & Venus Aqua unaspected can be tricky to predict wo knowing house placement.

Wonbin Vedic Chart Analysis

Romantic Relationships:

His Aqua Venus in Purva Bhadrapada shows he’s attracted to someone taboo. And/or his marriage is unconventional. This can show up in many ways. It’s extremely hard to say without birth time. A few potential examples:

Spouse has a taboo style. Spouse is an eccentric personality. Spouse is from a different background. Wedding or married life is non conventional.

She’ll be independent. She will not like being told what to do. She’ll get him to challenge traditional norms and expectations. She may be strongly disliked for her behaviour or style/appearance. This doesn’t even have to be fans - it likely won’t since often people in the industry are super private. Instead it may be his parents, siblings or friends who dislike her. She may catch blame for “controlling” him. This is often the case with this Venus placement BUT wo birth time a lot of important information is lost. It’s impossible to say for sure. He is likely to encounter relationships with controversial women tho.

People in his life can make unfair assumptions about his partner - however, in some cases this isn’t unfair treatment as he may encounter toxic partners.

The spouse is dominating but not aggressive. She does seek control over the relationship. She is likely very social. She could feel strongly about certain causes & issues. She may be more scientific thinking than spiritual/religious. However this could easily change based on house placements, and 7th house & 7th house ruler. It’s nearly impossible to say without birth time.

Personality:

It is very difficult to make accurate predictions without Moon sign’s nakshatra. His Sun nakshatra is Shatabhisha. Pada 4 indicates he’s imaginative and artistic. Pada 4 of this nakshatra is considered the luckiest.

Aries Mars shows he’s willing to make bold moves. He is comfortable for standing up for himself and loved ones. If people do end up disliking his partner, that alone will not change his mind. He is assertive and not easily wavered by other’s opinions.

Synastry:

He would most likely get along with…

Sidereal Venus or Moon Aquarius (15-29 degrees). These placements could conjunct his Sun or Venus. This would indicate strong understanding of one another. The two simply know how one another’s minds work. It makes for a good long-term connection.

Sidereal Venus or Mercury or Moon Capricorn (20-29 degrees). This could conjunct his Mercury placements. This indicates conversation is easy. You are less likely to misunderstand one another. You can easily see the other’s perspective even when you don’t agree with them.

Sidereal Venus or Mercury or Moon Gemini (5-15 degrees). This could conjunct his Jupiter and trine his Sun. This shows an abundance of love and comfort. This placement can be very exciting and joyful. If Mercury is conjunct his Jupiter, the two can have very long and deeper discussions.

Sidereal Venus Aries (0-10 degrees). This would conjunct his Mars. This depending on entire synastry could show a strong pull or push. He could be extremely intrigued. It may potentially opposite his Moon depending on his birth time. In this case, there is some frustration involved with the attraction.

[qsmpzine]

Happy (slightly belated) 1 year anniversary, QSMPblr!

When I first set out to start organizing this zine, I don’t think anyone expected 2024 to go the way it has. (Seriously, how is it only March?) A lot of things have changed drastically since the beginning of the year when I started mapping out this zine, and it’s impossible to know what might come next.

In saying that, one of the things I first established with this zine was that I was going to be transparent.

So to cut to the chase: Chronicles is continuing. Regardless of everything that has happened, I think we can all agree that the eggs are something to celebrate. The egg admins brought so much joy to the server and to the community with their stories, and there’s nothing I could think of to honor them better than a fanzine that celebrates their stories and emphasizes the love and care that these characters have from the community.

While nothing is ever certain, I intend on supporting this project regardless of what happens on the QSMP going forward. This zine is meant to memorialize the past, and it will remain focused on the eggs and the nostalgic memories we all have of the last year.

This zine is dedicated to Lumi and Shade and all of the other admins who poured their souls into these characters and the server itself, and made the QSMP something amazing. While I know some artists and authors have stepped away from the QSMP, I look forward to seeing everyone who wants to contribute to this zine and their ideas for how they want to honor the eggs when our contributor applications open on April 3rd.

This community has been one of the greatest communities I’ve ever had the privilege of being in, and I know that regardless of anything that happens in the future, it will continue to be one of the greatest fandoms.

[soft-persephone]

I read ur tags on the video abt drake and Kendrick “not caring about women” in the middle of the rap beef and I totally agree about Kendrick btw. It reminded me of someone i saw on Tik tok who made a video defending Kendrick from the “but he didn’t want r Kelly’s music removed from streaming platforms!” thing and what it turns out it ACTUALLY was about was that Spotify was going to put up a “moral and behavior” policy where they would remove the complete discography of any artist who they found out had a criminal record, which is incredibly discriminatory against all convicted people, no matter what they’re convicted for, and infringes on their 1st amendment rights and just the very human right to make art and have that art be preserved. So it was less about “I love r kelly so much im gonna threaten to take all my music off Spotify if they remove his” and more “this policy is actually infringing on artists’ rights and discriminatory against people with a criminal record.” I’m not saying Kendrick is our feminist messiah but like cmon yall he does not hate women and he’s not just calling out drake for clout

A lot of what Kendrick gets reduced to certain narratives because their are a lot of negative things that come with hip hop, and it does do more harm than good especially in the case with “fake woke” rappers.

I don’t believe in putting celebrities on a pedestal and no person is perfect. Him putting Kodak Black on Mr. Morale did rub me the wrong way. Him dead naming some of his family members rightfully upset some people.

I can’t speak for that, so I won’t because it’s not my place, so I just listen and support those that can.

But all I can really say is, the process of growing and wanting to be better person isn’t pretty. Watching someone unlearn racism fatphobia, transphobia, and etc is never without mistakes.

If we are really advocating for people to be better on all fronts, the response is always anger when we they don’t get it right the first time or show they don’t have a full understanding of it.

What do we really want fork people? We tell them to grow and do better? But if you’ve actually walked someone through that or seen it, why are we getting so mad when they make a mistake along the way.

No it’s not our place to teach them. But if they are making a genuine effort, why not make a quick comment and move on. How does him doing these two things and “fumbling” the narrative for black growth as a man in America by including Kodak black and trying to show him stepping away from transphobia in a more problematic than not way, absolve everything he’s ever done or thinks and do thereafter?

I am not saying these thingsto be derivative. I am asking from a genuine place.

That said, it doesn’t make those things right.

I think he said some quiet parts out loud that he shouldn’t have, but at the end of the day he has to be held accountable. 🤷🏾‍♀️

I don’t think Kendrick has ever said anything in song he doesn’t fully believe. He’s very intentional, that might be the place where people are angry with him because it’s clear these things were done on purpose.

I can’t speak for him as I am just a fan. I may be biased as well, so that may be effecting how I think about this, so I try to be mindful and address that as well.

I try to be responsible and try not to deflect other peoples thoughts, feelings, and opinions on some of these things because they hurt some people and affect more people more than they ever would me and it wouldn’t be right.

But, we don’t know him and we never do, so all we can do is speculate, and some more than others like to choose the worst over any benefit of the doubt because in a man driven world when have they never not have that.

I don’t want to be an enabler to that system.

[romanovthinkver]

Do you have a Twitter/X account?

I'm asking because I'm that anon that agreed with you about wanting scarlett to speak up about palestine, the main reason being that there have been viral tweets saying she's a zionist/supports isnotreal because of the whole sodastream situation, I saw a tweet yesterday where someone LIED and said she didn't want to work with a company because they asked her to boycott isnotreal and she refused, and multiple scarlett stans have said that it isn't true.

Idk I just feel like all of this misinformation could be avoided if she said something. it's really starting to irritate me, I know she's busy but a simple "free palestine" statement would be nice.

hello sweet thank you for this ask. yes i have twitter. to be honest i didn’t know about these things you mentioned, but i went on the app and looked up.

as far as i can see from simply their bios, they’re bot pages and mostly israel supporters so they’re probably trying to catch some likes, bring other people to their side using a powerhouse like scarlett to attract them. and it works, you can see it from the comments. this is why speak up matters, right? no false speculations and no more people supporting a genocide.

it’s fake. it has been confirmed by journalists, some of her big fan-pages and scarlett doesn’t even talk like that so, as you mentioned, it’s a spread of misinformation. i personally tagged one of her fan page and she confirmed herself. however the posts doesn’t have any community notes despite all the posts going viral since days. i can’t explain this to you, but i have a thought.

the acc used a real happened fact, talking about something that happened 10yrs ago. it’s the oxfam (palestine) and sodastream (israel) dispute that involved scarlett personally.

i kindly recommend you to go and read it to have a better opinion on it maybe with some deep digging. i’m gonna link up some resources a friend of mine (that i personally thank) helped me find so you know i’m not lying or distorting the reality. (i know for sure i’m gonna have asks flooded with anons accusing me of being a liar and i don’t have patience for that).

misinformation sometimes is a good thing in these situations, for celebrities. it’s strategic. unload people of their responsibilities because it leads people to defend you, forget the main reason because you’ve been dragged into something you didn’t said.

after you learn about the story maybe you’ll have a clear answer that explains a lot on the silence she’s being holding, on why colin hosted the white house correspondent dinner this year.

what can in say tho it’s that she has become a influent figure in the US politics, with the president, and has been invited to speak there for convincing everyone to vote for the AI law. she has donated for causes, spoke up, i can make a big list on the enormous work she put out there to help people.

you guys have been telling me she isn’t political, she can’t expose herself nor she can’t talk about political issues then explain to me what’s the difference on talking about a genocide and being invited at the US parliament to address a speech. the matter? you say, well both are important matter that requires attention.

as i said in previous answer asks she isn’t gonna lose her job because she’s her own boss. have you seen artists big as her lose their jobs? they gained more.

i have been restless. i contacted all of her big and small fan-pages (both twitter and instagram) to ask them to at least speak up about the genocide if they didn’t want to call her out. nobody answered me. i’ve contacted her publicist, marcel pariseau, who always answers her fans. no answer. i’ve contacted kate foster, the outset team. nothing. everyone has been silent. why?

it’s hard to ask if that’s a few of us against millions of people who think she can’t act. that’s pointless despite trying and take all the people shit that hides behind anonymous.

this isn’t religious or political nor about losing jobs neither being busy. it’s human and if you are silent in front of beheaded babies, burned unborn babies, (taking this floor for calling out all the anti abortion shits) decomposed bodies and starved people; well that goes behind every moral of this world.

as this being said my hopes are always here. what i can say is that speculation and hate aren’t the answers only peace is. so be kind and continue to spread your voice, let's fight for the end of the genocide and liberation of palestine. history will make it course, as always have been, and we'll be proud to tell we have been on the right side.

disclaimer: it’s a 10 years ago thing so we don’t know if the situation or her opinione are changed . maybe it is, maybe it’s not.

the guardian.

csmonitor.

il post. (for my italians followers).

time.

bbc news.

buzzfeed news.

nbclosangeles.

[pommpuriinn]

Joohyung At VMAs

🧷 Joohyung enjoying her time at the VMAs

pink carpet: dress | hair (joohyung dyed it dark brown) | makeup | nails

performance: outfit

꣑୧ Joohyung was pretty nervous before heading to the pink carpet, but taking a shot before going really fixed that

꣑୧ she was a bit confused hearing that they won an award on the carpet and it even showed as they were accepting it. “I’m so surprised! Thank you moas and please look forward to our performance inside.” Joohyung quickly passed the mic back, making Soobin chuckled at her

꣑୧ as they would do little interviews on the carpet the people asking them all the questions would praise Joohyung about her looks making her feel shy and embarrassed. “Woah! Your unreal!”

꣑୧ “The dress, the makeup, and just everything girl!” The members would laugh, but agree with the interviewer.

꣑୧ “I’m so jealous of your significant other.” The girl interviewer teased Joohyung. Joohyung snaked her arm around Beomgyu’s, “he’s my boyfriend.” The interviewer eyes widened, “wait! Really? Oh my god, never mind you guys are perfect together.” Everyone laughed.

꣑୧ Joohyung was getting star struck seeing all the artists she grew up listening to. “I’m so nervous~” she hugged Beomgyu’s arm tighter He wanted to squeeze her seeing her eyes all big watching all the celebrities that are sitting on the other side. “Don’t be.” He pecked her cheek

꣑୧ seeing Olivia Rodrigo performance was definitely one of many highlights of her night plus her getting why the stage was falling apart, since Joohyung is an Olivia fan and listens to her music plus watching the mvs

꣑୧ you know Joohyung doesn’t really like award shows back at home, but American award shows are something else in a good way of course. They’re entertaining and seeing women not scared of showing their bodies and just showing off, Joohyung really enjoyed that and you could tell by the way the camera men zoomed into her smiley face

꣑୧ Joohyung wasn’t really bummed about not winning the kpop award she was just happy being nominated, and she along with the rest show support on skz winning

꣑୧ whenever the camera showed Joohyung’s face the crowd would go wild and it was starting to make Joohyung shy. Many moas after the award show saw that many artists mouthed how pretty and beautiful Joohyung looks (she was freaking out about it on weverse)

꣑୧ moas at the award show was count down and call out for txt which all six heads turn and waved at them sending smiles. It relived them a bit knowing moas are there with them

꣑୧ shakira’s performance was everything to Joohyung she loved ever second of it and moas even caught Joohyung sending hearts to shakira. Surprisingly to many Joohyung grew up to listening to western music along with some Latin music she never really liked Korean music when growing up (ballad music, opera, or even some kpop)

꣑୧ shared small snacks with Taehyun since Joohyung didn’t have a purse of anything she and Taehyun hide little snacks in his pockets. She shared some with Beomgyu and Kai

꣑୧ it was maybe an hour a half into the show, as Joohyung got up to use the restroom and of course she went with one of her female staff members. As Joohyung did want she had to do and got out to wash her hands she felt a presence next to her. She had to do a double take because it was Olivia next to her!

꣑୧ Joohyung wanted to talk to her, but she didn’t know how to start it without it being awkward and weird. “I seen you on the big screen a lot you’re so much prettier in person.” Olivia started the conversation and Joohyung wanted to thank the gods. “Thank you, and I can say the same about you.” Joohyung smiled at her. “I’m a big fan of your music I listened to sour almost everyday when it came out.” Joohyung said, as they both dried their hands. “Oh my gosh! Thank you I appreciate it. Oh! What’s your name before I go.” Olivia asked, as they walked towards the exit door.

꣑୧ “Joohyung, I’m a member of a kpop group called tomorrow x together.” Joohyung shyly introduced herself. “That’s so cool~” Olivia complimented. “Real quick is it ok if we take a picture?” Joohyung couldn’t miss her opportunity. “Of course!” Olivia was sweeter than Joohyung thought, she was so glad about it. The two exchanged numbers and Joohyung honestly doesn’t know how she did it but she DID IT

꣑୧ it was finally time to perform and Joohyung couldn’t wait! She honestly thought she would be more nervous but after seeing all the performances and getting interactions all the nerves went out the window

꣑୧ hearing the cheers and the yells from the audience was everything and more to Joohyung. They all put 1000% into this performance and having Anitta there was just amazing

꣑୧ both Joohyung and Anitta danced in the center with Taehyun and Yeonjun which moas were dying since it was just a sexy moment

꣑୧ also many praise Joohyung for dancing in heels in the performance along with her insane visuals and vocals throughout the song

꣑୧ after the performance everyone was so pumped up after the getting off the stage everyone jumped and cheered

꣑୧ as they cool down back stage Sabrina Carpenter came to say ‘hi’ and it was a quick moment but Joohyung saw how Sabrina ran her hand down Beomgyu’s arm while saying ‘hello’ and getting ready to pose for a picture

꣑୧ Joohyung felt a little jealous even though she didn’t want to be because she couldn’t help that he was handsome and everyone wants him but he is her boyfriend. So made her way in between Beomgyu and Sabrina did a quick pose and turned to Sabrina. “I’m Joohyung and this is Beomgyu mine boyfriend.” Joohyung intertwine their hands together. “Oh my god how cute you two are!” Sabrina even went for a hug.

꣑୧ now Joohyung was feeling foolish for even getting jealous with how sweet Sabrina was being

꣑୧ “aw~ my little noona was getting jealous wasn’t she?” Beomgyu was now lightly gripping her chin and teasing her. “I couldn’t help it.” Joohyung crossed her arm and mumbled. “There’s nothing to worry about noona cause I only want…you.” Beomgyu kissed her more passionately than he should since they’re in public

꣑୧ again the group was announced for another nomination the room filled in cheers it warmed Joohyung’s heart and even though they didn’t win

꣑୧ even though the night was filled with lots of excitement and joy it was finally time to get changed to something more comfortable and eat some good dinner with the birthday boy

[indiaalphawhiskey]

Thank you for your answer to that anon about boundaries... I agree with everything you said. It's really hard sometimes, I was surprised at how hard this new Louis stunt hit me... But it is what it is I guess, and it's not always easy to be a fan of a closeted artist, let alone two... But I know why I'm here... sometimes stepping away is good, and definitely to concentrate on what brings you joy ❤️

I think we forget sometimes that it’s not our responsibility to protect the celebrities we love from reproach or misunderstanding.

People make mistakes and make bad choices and say the wrong things and do things for the sake of their career or their safety or their ambition that we won’t always agree with, but it’s not our job to validate the ethics of those choices, because we can’t. We can’t properly question the goodness or badness of intent (particularly with something as vague as closeting), if we don’t have access to context. And we don’t, and never will, have access to full context, not just in our relationship with celebrities but in any relationship with anyone.

When we love someone, we agree to allow space for their humanity. We agree to be generous in our thoughts of them, not because we choose to be blind, but because we have evidence that they’re worth our faith. And if, in certain circumstances, they cross a line to test that faith, we’re fully within our rights to reevaluate their access to our time and attention.

That’s how relationships go. You can move your goal posts, you can increase your standards, you can rethink a relationship that begins to feel harmful. But you can only do it from your end, based on what you know and how you personally feel.

The point, I guess, is use yourself as the sole barometer for how you feel and get comfortable with the reality that we will probably never be able to concretely justify some of the decisions Harry and Louis have made, just like we will never be able to concretely justify some decisions we’ve personally made. It’s just part of being human and forming human attachments.

The question is not “are they, as people, worthy of my time and attention?”, but rather “Is this where I want to put my energy?”.

Realizing that, at the end of the day, participation in fandom is and always will be a question of “Is this still fun?” is really liberating and I encourage everyone to ask themselves that, constantly, because there’s no other reason to be here, really.

[tempesthorne]

FINALLY, I AM ABLE TO POST MY JOJI RPF ON Archive of Our Own (AO3):

Since I am new to this platform, I didn’t realize that AO3 requires an invitation, which took me a week to obtain.

Here are ways to check out my story, Fleeting Thin Places (Joji 2024)

Archive of Our Own (AO3):

https://archiveofourown.org/works/58466338/chapters/148934908

Wattpad:

https://www.wattpad.com/myworks/374457677-fleeting-thin-places-joji-2024

I started writing again because of George 'Joji' Miller. While he may be my muse, I firmly believe in the saying 'Never meet your heroes.' I remind myself often that he, like other people and celebrities, is merely an inspiration. At the end of the day, it’s best to remain ignorant of the things we don’t truly have the right to know. Otherwise, you'll go nuts.

I wrote this story for Joji fans today, particularly those who came in after his Filthy Frank era and aren’t familiar with Pink Guy or Frank. It’s especially for those around his age (he will be 31 this September 2024; correct me if I’m wrong)

BRIEF SUMMARY OF FLEETING THIN PLACES:

"I wanna make people sad and horny, you know what I mean?" - George "Joji" Miller -- My story might make you sad and perhaps even a little bit horny, because life is nothing more than a series of fleeting moments—an endless transaction of beautiful conflicts, isn't it?

__

fleeting thin places looks at how our choices shape our lives and create different paths we can't all explore. It’s about the struggle to make a relationship work despite different priorities and life goals. While LOOSELY inspired by Joji (this does not represent him in reality), the focus is on two young people in love, dealing with timing and priorities.

The narrative reflects the human experience of giving up something we love for something else, showing the bittersweet side of life’s decisions. The fig tree symbolizes wanting more but knowing we can’t have everything. The story ultimately explores the sacrifices we make, similar to George's choice between a private life and fame

CLARIFICATION ON INSPIRATION AND CHARACTER REPRESENTATION:

I've mentioned this several times throughout my story, usually in the end credits of almost every chapter, but Fleeting Thin Places is loosely inspired by George Miller, specifically the public persona he portrays, his branding as an artist, and his work in the entertainment industry. His love interest, Victoria, is a fictional character, so there's no need to worry about her.

George Milner (yes, Milner in my RPF; I have basically tweaked most facts out there) is a fictional character that is loosely inspired by George Joji Miller, but he’s not meant to be the real person. For me, characters in RPFs are not the actual individuals—they’re inspired by their public personas. Timelines may change, and some harmless facts may be tweaked for their protection. Please keep this HUGE difference in mind.

Ultimately, I wrote this story because Joji inspired me to pursue the things I love.

Here’s a quote from the man himself:

“It was the only and biggest changing point,” says Miller. “Immediately after that, my whole mentality changed. I stopped touching social media. I only cared about what I cared about. Life is short.”

(The Joker, Joji, Notion Online) Miller, G. (2024). The Joker, Joji. https://notion.online/the-joker-joji/

And I wholeheartedly agree. Life is short, so since Joji became an inspiration for me, I decided to write again. I made him my muse with no intention of offending him through this story.

Finally,

I’ve decided to take a break from Tumblr for a while, so this will be my last post here for the time being, and I might not be active for a while. However, if you'd like to chat, have questions or feedback, or just want to say hi or discuss how insanely of a daddy Joji is (Jk!), feel free to email me at:

  tempesthorne24@gmail.com