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seijoh-apologist · 4 years ago

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stupidly in like with you | miya atsumu

pairing: post-timeskip!miya atsumu x f!reader word count: 14.6k (OOPS LMFAO) genre: friends to lovers, fluff, hurt(?)/comfort, and like a few too many pages of fluffy smut -- third person pov for the most part. NSFW. synopsis: Atsumu and Y/N are good friends, maybe feelings are involved but Y/N isn’t his type. OR Y/N and Atsumu are most definitely in like with each other but for whatever reason aren’t dating.

A/N: hi so this is my first “published” hq fic but like here is this thought that I had and haven’t been able to get it out of my head. it’s mostly edited thanks to my irl friend but bare with my run on sentences and (slightly excessive) use of profanity. any feedback would be appreciated b/c I have more thoughts for other characters and I'd love to share haha.

To say Y/N was annoyed was an understatement.

Aching feet begged for relief, the sweat-soaked shirt, though cute, had begun to cling to that one fold in her side that made her the slightest bit hyper aware of the “stress weight” she swears she's put on during the holiday season. And the music was absolute shit, shuffling between mash-ups of the Top 100 trending songs and some weird EDM-Indie music that she would pay good money to never hear again.

To put it plainly, she was not in the mood to be out of her home, much less celebrate. But she had agreed to come out, never being able to say no to Sakusa, who silently pleaded with his eyes to take on “babysitting” responsibilities of his teammates for tonight. He had paid for her dinner several times before tonight, claiming that she should save her money - “you should spend your money on getting a better mattress, so we don’t have to hear you complain about it anymore.” - the least she could do was give him a night to himself, away from the chaos that was the rest of the MSBY team.

Besides, it's not like she was asked to stalk them or anything - they were friends after all, so really it was just like she was tagging along for a night of club hopping, taking shots that she didn’t have to pay for, and simply people watching in between trips to the dancefloor. And normally, she’d be enjoying the night - it's just that of all nights to come out and celebrate, it had to be at the end of one of the most stress-inducing, aggravating weeks of her young adult life.

Checking that it was well after one in the morning, she sipped water from her straw, swivelling to face the crowd from her (stolen) seat at the bar, in hopes of catching the attention of someone in her party that could get the hint that they should probably get ready to go. What she did not expect to find, however, was Atsumu, flitting his eyes away from her figure as he leaned down to talk to a pair of girls. It could just be a friendly gesture, asking him if he was who they think he was and him responding but it sent a less than pleasant feeling in her stomach, so she swiveled back, reaching for her phone in the back pocket of her suddenly too tight pants.

“Fuck me,” she huffs out upon seeing that her phone battery has fallen to thirty percent, which would be just delightful when it would be time to call the ubers home. She could now rule out aimlessly scrolling through Twitter for the rest of the night while waiting for her friends.

“Uh.. maybe slip in a ‘please’ and I’m yours.”

Y/N’s eyes all but bugged out her head at the response that came from her left. The voice belongs to a guy, a very cute guy. The kind of cute guy that you see on Instagram explore page before it refreshes so the chances of seeing him again are nonexistent.She sputters out a delayed apology, double-time since she realized that she’s now taken a little too long to respond to him, to which he laughs and shakes his head.

“Don’t worry about it. I should be apologizing for interrupting you, it's just.... You looked a little lonely over here. Mind if I sit with you?”

“Seat’s all yours... but you’re on your own if those people from before come back to reclaim them.” She hums, sliding her phone back into her pocket and shifting her legs slightly in the direction of his seat.

“Scared of a little fight?” He hums, arching a brow before taking a swig of his beer. He has nice hands. Y/N muses to herself as she watches the stranger’s fingers flex slightly around the neck of his beer bottle. She’s always of the mind that a person’s hands say a lot about them.

“Mmm no… just too tired to defend myself, much less a random stranger.” He laughs at that, nodding his head before replying that “most pretty girls don’t openly say they can fight.”

“Oh you’re cheesy, aren’t you? Nobody straight up tells a girl they’re pretty for no real reason.”

“Actually,” Shifting his beer bottle onto the bar, he holds out his hand to her. “My name is not cheesy, it’s -”

“Y/N! There you are!”

The call of her name makes her jump slightly, before she feels the familiar warmth of a hand on her back. The same hand worms its way to her hip, fingers slipping into that soft fold just above her pants, the warmth of his next words being felt just above her ear. “Where the hell’ve ya been? Was lookin’ all over the place for ya, Bo and Shoyo were worried ya left without us!”

“Been right here, idiot. We lost our original seats so I’d figure you’d come to the bar at some point and I could’ve waved you down.” She shifts slightly, turning her shoulder back towards the cute stranger with an apologetic look in her eye, to which he smiles and opens his mouth to respond until Atsumu cuts him off again, his hand gripping the back of her neck to make her give him her total attention.

“Right well I’m starving - let's get outta here. Kinda craving your infamous drunk noodles, or maybe a McDonald’s on the way home, yeah?”

Y/N nods slightly, turning back towards the stranger to see that he’s already slinking back into the crowd. Once she fully loses him, she shoves her elbow into the blonde’s side, telling him to “shut it” when he throws out a huff of pain.

“Thank you, ‘Tsumu… could’ve had a different ride home but nooooo.. Needed to come in here with all your glory talking about you being starving despite the fact that you can afford a personal chef.” She huffs out and slides off her stool, but he’s not listening. Instead he’s holding her by the shoulders and pushing her through the crowd, excusing the two of them as she continues to rant and rave at him. Once outside, the pair are joined with the rest of the party, who have called a few separate ubers home. “And to top it off, I know you’re not even listening right now - you never listen to me, Miya. I don’t know how your teammates put up with you… how do you put up with this shit, hmm?”

The group of teammates laugh softly and shake their heads, giving answers that “they get paid” to put up with him, and that Miya Atsumu is actually “a decent friend,” a fact that she knows is true but chooses to ignore when convenient for her. Atsumu just shakes his head with a roll of his eyes, pulling her into the direction of their uber for their journey back to his place. She greets the driver and settles into her seat, as Atsumu calls out behind him something or other to someone. The slam of the door and clicking of seatbelts is what fills the silence in the car, music softly playing from the rear speakers, as Atsumu leans his head back against the headrest.

“So I take it yer coming to stay with me for tonight?”

“Hmm.. don’t have much of a choice now, do I?” She teases to which Atsumu slightly pouts, reaching to knuckle at his eyes that suddenly feel a little too heavy. “You owe me the biggest breakfast fathomable tomorrow.”

“Why’s it that I owe you when I paid for your dinner before going out, paid for your drinks tonight, and am letting you sleep in my bed - which is infinitely better than your cheap ass - hey!” He begins his ranting, which would be cut off by a sturdy flick to the forehead and a slight “hush” before he feels her head rest up on his shoulder.

Y/N and Atsumu had been friends for a little while, when she chased him down the middle of the road, claiming to the public that he was a thief, just because he’d grabbed the wrong umbrella on the way out of the restaurant they were both eating in. He’d tried to apologize, but she traded umbrellas and walked back towards the direction of the restaurant. He had chalked it up to nothing really, just a slight mistake and minor inconvenience for the girl. At least until a certain teammate’s birthday dinner, where said stranger was- only this time sitting and chatting with Sakusa Kiyoomi as if they’d been best friends for forever (which in all fairness, Y/N and Kiyoomi had only been friends since college, where they were forced into a friendship by their roommates, who were hooking up with each other and forced the two on double dates). This second meeting was a sign to Atsumu, a sign that for whatever reason this girl was supposed to be in his life, in some capacity or another - but he did royally fuck it up a second time by trying to flirt with Y/N, who laughed and asked if his opening line was really the best he’d had, before hitting him with an opening line that still makes him flush when he thinks about it today.

The ride to Atsumu’s home isn’t long, but it's long enough for the tiredness to seep into Y/N’s bones, who barely misses the quiet way that Atsumu’s fingers have taken home at the base of her neck, massaging gently at the tenseness he feels under the pads of his fingers.

“Someone’s tired… why didn’t you stay home?” He asks as they turn onto his street, letting his fingers fall away from her as he begins to check that they have everything they need. ”’t’s a good thing yer sleeping over at mine... and no couch for you. Your neck is all kinds of tense. It's a miracle you haven’t complained ‘bout it once tonight.”

“Shh.. you’re so loud for what?” She mumbles while trying to stifle a yawn. “So if I’m not supposed to sleep on the couch then where am I supposed to sleep then, boy genius? The floor?”

“No,” Atsumu answers seriously, brow slightly wrinkled as he reaches for his keys in his pocket. “You’ll sleep with me. In my bed. ‘t’s a cooling mattress so you won’t haffta complain that yer too hot.”

“Miya, last time I slept in a bed with you, you nearly suffocated me. Dunno if I really wanna have to deal with trying to roll you onto your back again.”

“Wait a minute! To be fair, my bed was smaller then so there was less room for the both of us.” He begins, opening the door and shutting it before turning the two of them towards the entrance to his apartment building. “Second of all, it was my first time sharing a bed with someone other than ‘Samu so ya shouldn’t blame me for not having proper sleep manners.”

The first steps into Atsumu’s home consists of the pair kicking off their shoes, debating lightly on who was gonna take over the shower first. Y/N slides her feet into the slippers that are specifically her slippers in his home and slinks off towards the kitchen, as Atsumu peels off his shirt and heads towards the shower. It feels comfortable, almost like a routine, as Y/N gathers eggs and two noodle packets to make them a small meal before bed. Moments later, Atsumu is coming out of the shower, towelling off his hair before settling onto the sofa, clicking on the T.V. as Y/N comes in with the two bowls of noodles. A silent agreement is met when they finish that Atsumu would wash the dishes as Y/N showered, taking a shirt from his drawers to sleep in

She hands him a bottle of aspirin, mumbling around the toothbrush to “take two or so help me.” Moments later she joins him in bed, slipping on a pair of socks that are two sizes too big for her before settling under the plush fabric of his comforter. He shifts over closer to her after tossing his phone on the nightstand, seeking out her form in the now dim room for a small cuddle before dozing off. She willingly accepts him too, sliding her body just under his and buries her face in his skin, still warm from the too-hot shower he is prone to taking in the name of muscle relaxation. He hums slightly as their feet tangle together, silently appreciating the way Y/N so freely indulges his need to touch someone after being touch-starved for so long.

Though Y/N isn’t much like him in that sense - doesn’t have this inherent need to cling to someone before bed, or just hold hands at a store, or hands on the shoulder in a crowded room. Sometimes she will, like now with her nose buried in his neck and her hand rubbing up and down the length of his sturdy back. Normally they won’t do this, both just a little too headstrong to dig into the tightening in their chests when the hug for a moment longer than usual; but tonight Y/N is silently congratulating him on winning the game that has had him stressed for weeks. She feels his lips press softly to the top of her head, a mumble of “good night” leaving his lips as she feels his breaths even out as the moments pass.

This is where Y/N wishes she had the power to pull away - blames moments like this on giving her the slightest bit of hope that they could be more than friends.

It's not that she hadn’t thought about it - frankly she’d spent too much time thinking about it. She could do this… with him.. But every thought is put to bed when she thinks back on this one conversation months ago. Granted she didn’t have the full context of the conversation but it's enough to make her heart squeeze when she sees Atsumu flirt with someone, or shake off his hand when she’s had a particularly sensitive day.

It was just another evening where hanging out after him and the rest of the team being away for a week. They’d ordered in food and drinks had been flowing nicely as the comfortable pair had caught up - it was honestly too homey of a setting in hindsight. His phone rang, the white text of “‘Samu” flashed and Y/N took that as a cue to finally get to the restroom.

“Mhm.. made it back early today - no Y/N picked me up.” He’d been mumbling around a handful of chips, the other side of the conversation mute to Y/N’s eavesdropping.. “Oh shut up, she doesn’t mind and it's not as if we’re dating anyway. It’s.. casual and it works for us.”

And she should’ve stepped into her place next to him, cuddled up into her chest and played the role of the blissfully ignorant idiot. But no, she stayed tucked behind the restroom door, blood pumping and heart beating too loud in her ears. It would seem as though Y/N was a glutton for punishment, a minor thing when thinking about putting herself through a moment of pain for a lifetime of pleasure - but the pain that came with Miya Atsumu’s next words would set her off kilter for a while.

“Besides, she’s not really my type. It’d never work out anyway.”

She had no choice really other than to shut the door. Take some extra time in the restroom than necessary - after all she’d just hear the potential love of her life admit to his twin brother that she wasn’t his type. All she could do really was stare at herself in the stupidly bright mirror in his stupid guest bathroom of his stupidly expensive apartment. God this is so stupid, she thinks to herself while running cold water to press against her cheeks that she feels are heated up. Before she can really tear her own heart to bits though, she hears a quick rapt on the door.

“Y/N ya’right in there? Warned y’bout putting too much hot sauce on your food.”

But that’d been two years ago. It was a little rough after that; Y/N had thrown herself into finding a life post-grad which was a great distraction from the rumors going around that Atsumu had been spotted with some model or actress or something. Besides, Y/N wasn’t really the type to harp on failed romantic interests - all she’d need to do is download whatever relevant dating app for some validation and she’d be able to move on. However nights like tonight, when he looked too good and the little moment was a little too right - she’d still hope. Make a wish to whatever angle number or shooting star or deity above that she’d get tossed a chance to be in love with the stupid setter, because she had already fallen.

“Mm y’right?” She heard him, how could she not when he’s practically suffocating her. She chooses not to answer though, humming affirmatively - to which he huffs and shifts slightly, settling back into unconsciousness.

Maybe she’d blame the train of thoughts for tonight on the fact that she’d been drinking. However, come morning, the seed would bloom a little brighter in her chest when she wakes up to realize that her face is pressed into his side, arms circling his slim waist and one sock lost among their tangled legs.

---

God she hated him. Miya Atsumu was too much of a lot of things - too much of a sore winner, too much of an idiot, too much of a talker, and most of all, too much of a liar.

For the second time in the span of a month, Atsumu had convinced her to come out, despite her desperately wanting to curl up in bed and binge eat away the stress of the week. Only this time it was a charity event, so she would definitely be the bad guy if she said no. It was an event where him and the rest of his team had been roped into a charity dinner - which (gratefully) meant that Sakusa would be around, and they could fuck off to a corner someplace to talk shit about what all the rich wives are wearing and how bad it looks when their husbands are flirting with the wait staff. But Atsumu had promised that they’d leave before the entree was served - swore the entire drive over that “we’ll get you back home in time, grandma” and that he’d even cook for her this time.

But the entree had been whisked off about forty minutes ago, her wine glass had been refilled twice, and she was bored of watching Sakusa look at his watch, waiting for an appropriate time to leave. Atsumu was a few tables away, chatting up some couple, something about wanting to get their information for Osamu’s business. He would laugh a little too loudly at their jokes, gaining attention of those at surrounding tables - which was only mildly irritating as he had now gathered a crowd of people around him, spewing off some story about him getting lost in Russia the first time they played overseas.

She huffs and stands up, chair scraping slightly, gaining the attention of the rest of the table. All she does is hold up her wine glass in a feeble attempt at an answer of where she’d be waiting at the bar. If I have to be here, the least I could do is drink for free. The bar is empty, surprisingly no one wants to mope around this very nice dinner.

“What can I get you?”

“Mmm.. whiskey highball, please.” She answers to the unnecessarily cute bartender, but the raise of his eyebrows do not go unnoticed. And fortunately (or unfortunately) she’s got the time to press him. “Surprised?”

“Only a little bit. Noticed you were drinking wine most of the night so the whiskey is a hard switch.”

“So you’ve been watching me?” She muses, smiling as he places the drink in front of her. He smiles and leans forward on the bar slightly, shaking his head and replying.

“It’s almost as if… I’m being paid to make sure people have their drinks.”

“Oh, so it's not because I’m cute?”

“Now I didn’t say that did I? But you know you’re gorgeous; your boyfriend over there must tell you all the time.” He muses, a smirk playing at his lips as he nods behind her. She all but chokes on her drink when she turns around and sees that the direction he nodded in was directly in Atsumu’s vicinity before shaking her head violently. Atsumu was not going to ruin this for her. “Oh so not your boyfriend?”

“Nope.” She says, popping the ‘p’ as she slips the straw past her lips again, eyes taking in his leaning form. He was cute. His hair was on the silver side of blond, tips of his hair black. He was tall and lean, a piercing hanging from his left ear.

“That’s a shame.” And she gives him her name with a flutter of her lashes and a sweet smile. He returns it, preparing her next drink without her even having to ask. And so they talk, first about how the next person who approaches the bar should be cut off, to how pretentious the whole event was. Two drinks in, Y/N finds herself being invited to a show.

“This whole bartending thing is just a way for me to get some extra cash… I’ve got a gig in an hour. I figured if we leave together now, I can get you home to change outta this and into something a little more… concert fitting?”

“O-Oh.. yeah. I just need to go let my friend know…” She trails off, sliding off her barstool before turning to gracefully power walking to her initial seat next to Sakusa. She huffs and she plots herself down in the char next to him, to which he gives her a look of what the fuck. “I don’t have time to catch you up, but the insanely hot bartender is taking me home. As much as I’d love to get out of here with you, I desperately need to get lai-”

“Going somewhere?” Fuck fuck fuck.

“Didn’t you hear her? The hot bartender is taking her home and she needs -”

“Aishhhh shut up.” She turns to look at her curly haired friend, only to see that he’s got this annoying little smile on his face. She deeply exhales and turns back to Atsumu, who looks less than amused about what his friend said. “Listen, you promised me we’d leave two hours ago. Well you lied so nooow I made plans, so if you would kindly move outta my way.”

“No.” She whips her head up at the blonde. No? What the absolute fuck was he going on about telling her no, despite her not asking for his permission. “You’ve been drinking and you don’t even know the guy - how can you trust that he won’t memorize your address then come rob you or something? I promised to take you home, and since you’re ready now we can leave now.”

“Listen Miya, I appreciate the concern but really I’m a big girl. I can handle a night out by myself with a guy - besides I’m not even that drunk. Now, give me my house keys and move out of my way.”

Suddenly, it's like those cheesy western movies where two cowboys are staring each other down, neither willing to be put down by the other. Except it's this 6’2” pro-athlete staring quite literally down at Y/N, who hits the gym only on a blue moon and spends too much time sitting at a desk. Sakusa has to laugh at the two stubborn idiots in front of him; he knows that Atsumu is going to be able to win this little game that they're playing, but silently applauds Y/N for attempting to stick it to him. Moments pass before Atsumu finally sighs, shoving his hands in the pockets of his expensive suit and pulling out her keys - but he doesn’t give them to her.

“What’s his name? If you can tell me his name I’ll give you your keys and let you go.”

“Let me go? Okay, Dad.” She huffs, crossing her arms over her chest, small clutch dangling from her wrist. “I know his name, Atsumu. I may have had a drink or two but I’m not an idiot to be going off with someone who’s name I don’t even know... it’s… uhm.” And she’s done. She hadn’t even bothered to ask his name, doesn’t even remember whether she gave him hers, nor was she smart enough to notice whether he’d been wearing a name tag. Mentally she’s cursing herself, chancing a glance behind Atsumu’s shoulder to see the hot bartender chatting it up with another girl. Before she can think too much into it, Atsumu sighs deeply, grabbing his suit jacket off the chair next to her and slipping it on his shoulders, a soft “let’s go” leaving his lips as he nods his good-bye to the rest of the table. Y/N chews at the inside of her cheek before grabbing his arm.

“Give me my keys. I’m not going home with you. I want to be alone.”

---

Four days passed - four days of Atsumu borderline harassing Y/N with apologies. Promising to make it up to her. Which is how she finds herself walking into their favorite local sushi restaurant - it's the only one that has self-serving sushi that arrives on a miniature train, and it's also the only place that they go when apologies are to be exchanged. In the handful of years that they’d be friends, Y/N has needed to apologize to Atsumu thrice - two for blowing him off after overhearing the dreaded words and once for saying that maybe Osamu was the better twin. Atsumu on the other hand, had apologized to Y/N many times - so many times in fact that Y/N is sure that he makes up excuses just so they can come eat at this sushi place.

It’s been a long week for Y/N. The Sunday after the charity event, Y/N wakes up with one of the worst headaches of her life - and its due to the fact that she slept like shit hoping that Atsumu made it home safe since he hadn’t texted her he did. Monday she was handed a stack of documents at work that needed to get done before lunch (which didn’t get done). Tuesday morning was dominated by the fact that some idiot on the train to work had spilt a coffee on her, making her wear the most uncomfortable suit jacket, lest she wear a coffee soaked shirt for most of the day. Today, Wednesday, she’d woken up to a box with a pastry outside her door and a cup of coffee with a sticky note on the lid.

Sorry. Let me make it up to you. Train Sushi? 7pm?

Despite the fact that she was most definitely still thinking about why Atsumu acted the way he did - she still went through the mountain of paperwork on her desk with a little smile, knowing that she’d be getting free sushi and an apology. Maybe if she’s lucky, she can convince him that she needs a crepe on the way home.

As she makes her way into the restaurant that evening, she sees him. His dorito-shaped body is stationed at the bar, a cozy brown coat hugging his back, muscles of his arms being squeezed by the sleeves. She can see that he’s got a drink in front of him and she smiles slightly, stepping up towards the bar but stops momentarily. He’s talking to someone - not just someone, a girl. He’s smiling too. Y/N can’t see the stranger’s face, but judging by the way that she has a hand around his biceps and her head tilted, one can only assume that they know each other. Y/N attempts to step backwards, she wants to let him finish his conversation with the woman but she doesn’t know if she can stomach the idea of watching them flirt; but she misses the step, leading her to bump into the hostess who led her to the bar, creating a bit of a scene.

“Y/N! There you are! C’mere.”

She’s buying time by profusely apologizing to the hostess, who honestly is probably just trying to get away. At this point, Y/N has no choice but to walk towards her friend and this mystery woman. The ten steps towards the pair is enough time for Y/N to mentally list off all the things she could have done in the world to warrant some shitty karma that’s hitting her now. Once face to face with Atsumu, she smiles.

“Sorry - long day at work got me all …” Y/N’s words trail off, the hand that’s not death-gripping her purse waves off with her closing thoughts.

“Don’t mind, Wednesday’s are usually your long days. ‘Sides you’re here now - tha’s what matters.” God he’s so dumb. So handsome and so dumb, and god did she miss him. “It’s a good thing you got here a little late, this is Michimiya Yui. I think you two might’ve -”

“No, I don’t think we’ve met! It’s so nice to meet you - he used to talk about you all the time!” The brunette smiles at Y/N, sticking her hand out, which Y/N takes limply, shaking her hand. She’s pretty, Y/N thinks to herself. Her hair is short and she’s wearing some cute leather thigh high boots, her smile is almost paid-for perfect. She’s got this whole brown smoked out eyeliner working for her, which makes Y/N slightly subconscious about her most likely smudged and uneven eyeliner and less-than appealing work pants. Before Y/N can even think of a response to give, Michimiya has her hand back on Atsumu, a pretty smile settling on her lips. It feels like Y/N is watching a trainwreck happening before her eyes. “I was just telling Atsumu that I was back in town and that we should hang out!”

“And I was just explaining to her that I had plans with yo-”

“You should join us!” Idiot. Why am I such a fucking idiot? Atsumu looks over at Y/N with a wild look in his eyes, Michimiya looks like a child who wound up making out with two candies instead of one. “I had a super long day at work today so I’m really only able to eat dinner, but I know Atsumu can stay up for hours so once I leave you two can hang out.”

“Y/N, I thought that -”

“That sounds like a wonderful idea! I just need to tell the wait staff to cancel my to-go order, so excuse me.”

And so the two friends watch the woman walk away from them, making her way towards the to-go order area. Y/N bites at the inside of her cheek, intentionally avoiding Atsumu’s eyes that she feels are pinned on her. She digs out her phone from her purse, texting Sakusa an ominous “next time you see me, please poison me 😑.” As Y/N drags her eyes up Atsumu’s front, she feels the same way she did when she would get scolded by her parents. His eyes are staring at her face, no doubt wanting to press her about why she willingly invited a stranger to eat with them at their restaurant. To pacify him, all she does is hold up her hand, shaking her head.

“It’s fine, Miya. Like you said, Wednesday’s are my long days so I wouldn’t be able to stay out late with you anyway. Besides…” She starts, fixing a smile onto her face. “I think that she might have a little crush on you!” He says nothing, lips pressed in a hard line and a brow arched up at her. “Don’t look at me like that. And save your apology for next time… we have company.”

The rest of the evening goes exactly like Y/N’s worst nightmare. She is quite literally the third-wheel despite the fact that technically Michimiya was supposed to be the third wheel in this little scenario. Y/N has to watch the pretty brunette flirt relentlessly with Atsumu, who seems blissfully oblivious to the fact that for every compliment Michimiya gives Y/N, she gives herself two more. Sakusa is well informed on the situation, receiving texts every five minutes with another dumb thing that was said in front of Y/N’s appatizers. Rarely does someone ever wish for a natural disaster to hit, but in the last thirty minutes of sitting at this table, Y/N has wished for every biblical curse to wreak havoc in her way.

Despite the fact that Michimiya has hijacked every conversation, Atsumu still tries to ask Y/N about her, including her in the conversation as much as possible. But Y/N stopped trying twenty minutes ago, and is now forcing herself to eat the last few pieces of sushi she ordered - normally she’s a stress eater, but Michimiya has rested her hand on Atsumu’s thigh and Y/N has suddenly never felt more sick in her life. Y/N has never once picked up a tab around Atsumu - “please, ‘ve got more money than I know whatta do wit’it” he’d always tell her when she attempted to take up the ticket - but when they finally wave down someone and ask for the check, Y/N drops some cash on the table and collects her things.

“It’s been so nice to meet you, but I think I should really get going. I’ve gotta get to work early tomorrow - I’ll see you this weekend right, Miya?”

“Wait up, I’ll take you home… Yui it’s been really -”

“No no, really it's okay! You stay! I’ll just text you when I get home. Be safe. And again it was so nice to meet you - take care of Atsumu for me.”

“Oh I will!”

Y/N is not a runner but she’s never sprinted away from a situation so fast in her life. The image of Michimiya’s sly little smile at Y/N’s request to take care of her friend makes her feel gross, tears stinging at the back of her eyes and she settles on the train. Y/N can name a handful of times when she’d seen Atsumu around women - but never once had she’d met someone he was romantically involved with and it hurts. The gentle sway of the train does nothing to settle the spinning of her head with images of what Atsumu actually looks for - his actual type. She feels like an idiot; she should have just told Atsumu that they could do a raincheck, or if she was feeling bold, she could’ve told Michimiya to fuck off. The latter seems possible in the version of herself in Y/N’s head, but the reality was that she was too nice. Always wanted to make the people she cares about happy, and Atsumu looked... happy? Besides, Y/N thinks to herself as she exits the train and makes the trek towards her apartment building, if Michimiya Yui was going to be involved with Atsumu, the more exposure she had to her, the better off Y/N would be in accepting that Atsumu would never ever be with Y/N like that.

Once settled in her apartment, she sends off a quick “home. thanks for tonight!” to Atsumu before making her way to the bathroom. A nice warm soak would surely make her feel better, make her forget about what an idiot she is and maybe, just maybe, make her body relax all the love she holds in her heart for the blond away. Her phone pings, twice, but she ignores it. Ten minutes into her pity soak she hears a bang on her door, which only makes her groan and dunk her head under the water. The banging stops, making Y/N think it was just her neighbor or something asking for a favor. What she doesn’t expect is for her to exit the bath twenty minutes later to see Sakusa Kiyoomi sittin on her couch.

“Hello, glad to see you exploiting your spare key access.”

“Miya called me and said you looked like shit earlier. And judging by your texts throughout the evening, I figured you were on the brink of a breakdown.”

And so she was. She spent the rest of the evening talking Kiyoomi through the night, slipping in all the questions she’s had from the past two times that Atsumu had cockblocked her. And bless Kiyoomi for sitting through her tears, sitting cross-legged and drinking tea that he had initially made for her but refused to let her drink once he realized she had already brushed her teeth. It felt almost like she was finally thinking about what her friendship with Miya Atsumu was, what it could and couldn’t be. Every moment painted so clearly about how Y/N felt for her blond friend, but the only thing missing was how said friend felt about her. At 11:30 pm, two hours after Kiyoomi initially arrived at Y/N’s apartment, she pushed Kiyoomi out the door, eyes puffy but heart and head a little clearer than how they were when he arrived.

Despite promising Kiyoomi that she would not think about Atsumu, as Y/N settles into bed, her thoughts can’t help but wonder what it would be like to be with him. She mulls it over as she slides off her socks, deciding that it’d be nice - probably exactly how they are now, plus a title and a little less swatting his hands away when he reaches for her in public. Y/N can’t help it as she thinks about whether they would kiss a lot - they’ve kissed before, neither strangers to cheek kisses as greetings or kisses at the top of their heads when the other is crying into their chest (there was even that very drunk kiss they shared on New Years Eve when their friendship was fresh that both still have warm cheeks about when they think about). Just as she’s about to go down the path of whether Atsumu would spend more nights with her at her cardboard box of an apartment or her at his, Y/N cuts herself off - after all she wasn’t his type. Tonight proved that more than anything, she thinks.

It’s not like Atsumu has never brought anyone around Y/N - there’d been a few that she’d met, though they were mostly over a facetime call and it was mostly just her waving at them before Atsumu ducked away to have a private conversation. It's not like tonight was the first night Y/N had to swallow the bile in her mouth at seeing someone make heart eyes at Atsumu - it's just this time felt different; almost like Y/N was finally having the truth thrusted into her face. But Y/N isn’t mad or hateful of Michimiya, nor Atsumu for that matter - she’d never been the type to hate a girl for having feelings for the person she has feelings for. It’s annoying, sure, but Y/N doesn’t see the point in hating someone for how they feel - however, Y/N does not make the effort to become friends with these girls, or maintain the close friendship with Atsumu for that matter. Is it petty to put a strain on a friendship out of fear of losing said friendship? Absolutely! But Y/N knows she won’t be able to stomach another night like tonight - another night of seeing Atsumu slip so easily from her fingers into the arms of another. And as observant as Atsumu is, he never fully recognizes that Y/N is avoiding him, at least that what she hopes since more often than he’s able to worm himself back into her life.

---

Following the failed apology dinner, Y/N tried her hardest to give herself a few days without the blonde- made easy by the fact that the weekend after the failed apology dinner he’d be out of town for another tournament. It’s not like she was totally avoiding him, she’d responded to his texts and even answered two of his six facetime calls while he was away, she just wanted a little bit of time to wallow in self pity in her apartment, crying over her comfort movies and eating too many bags of hot chips. But once he was back in the same timezone as her, Atsumu made it impossible for Y/N to fully wallow.

It started when he texted her about their favorite crepe place temporarily closing for some reason or other - he’d tried to convince her to ditch work early that day to come, but Y/N declined with a simple text of “i like my job tyvm.” So what did he do? Pick her up in his flashy sports car that day after work (two hours later than usual since she’d figured he’d do something ridiculous like this) and drove her there, where he didn’t bat an eyelash as she ordered double than what she normally would have (a silent fuck you from Y/N but it didn’t matter since she wasn’t actualy hurting his wallet). She’d been able to tide him off for a few days, as she escaped to her hometown for a weekend - but that did little to stop the mirage of texts he’d sent her, describing in great detail this cool hybrid bookstore-game cafe that he found and thinks she’d like. Instead of responding how she actually wanted, she’d just replied with a half-assed “ahh exciting- sounds cute!” (She mentally grants herself ten nice points for erasing her initially text, telling him to take his “fucking girlfriend”). This must have really struck a nerve with him when the following weekend, he’d dragged her out of bed on Sunday morning to take her to said bookstore-game cafe, even spoiling her by secretly buying a book she’d picked up but put back.

Y/N can’t tell if Atsumu is intentionally ignoring the hints she doesn’t want to see him or if he’s really just oblivious. She also can’t tell if the patter of her heart when he drags her out of bed despite her not wanting to see him is a good thing or not. It’s been weeks since she’d third-wheeled with Atsumu and Michimiya, surely Y/N should have been able to take a little bit of pride in the fact that he was literally chasing her down to spend time with her rather than Michimiya - but before she can even swallow that pill Atsumu shows up at her apartment with the trace of a bruise hiding just below his shirt collar. The small mark on his neck makes Y/N convince herself that this would be the time that she needs a full on Atsumu ban.

Said ban never actually happens, though.

Just as proof that this ban doesn’t happen, today Atsumu has decided that Y/N needs to come shopping with him. For the entire day. Cue the montage of Atsumu banging on Y/N’s door at nine in the morning, breakfast pastries and coffee in hand as Y/N answers in all her morning glory, sleep caked up in the outer corner of her eyes and pajamas haphazardly fixed. Words are exchanged as Atsumu pushes her towards the shower, promising to make up her bed and even take out the trash for her (a chore she put off last night because she’d seen too many people smoking by the dumpsters which scared her enough to make her drag up the two bags of back up the five flights of stairs). As Y/N settles at her desk to work on making herself “the hottest person at the market,” Atsumu settles on her bed, talking a mile a minute about all the things he wanted to get at the market and the possible places they could go for lunch in the area. All she can do is hum, wondering silently why he’d chosen to take the trip with her and not his girlfriend - but she wouldn’t complain.

The market was...fulfilling enough. Surprisingly, Y/N was walking towards the food trucks with more bags in her hands than Atsumu, who followed behind her with one print from a vendor that Y/N convinced him would actually look good in his home office. The pair decided that Y/N was better suited to look for a place where they could park themselves to eat, while Atsumu went off to get them lunch. Before Y/N could make a break for the tables though, Atsumu grabbed her face, thumb swiping at her cheek firmly - it took Y/N every ounce of restraint to not whimper at the unprompted affection.

“Wha-”

“Had some of that jam sample from earlier on your face, dummy.”

“Tsk… why didn’t you see it earlier.”

He just smiled softly, letting the warmth of his hand fall from her face before patting her back towards her initial direction. Frankly, she’d been thrown off her rhythm; they’d touched each other before for fucks sake. So why was this one moment of closeness enough to make her chest feel tight? As she weaved through the tables, she can’t help but hold her hand to where his was, almost as if to preserve the warmth that was now gone. She hummed gleefully as she found a table, making her way towards it and setting up camp. As she settles into her chair, fingers deftly texting to Atsumu where she’s stationed, she sees a shadow come across the table.

“Hey, are you gonna use all these chairs?” He’s cute, almost terribly cute - he’s got this pinkish-blonde hair going on top, an almost shy glint in his gray-ish colored eyes, and an almost self-assured smile pulling at his lips. He was also tall, much taller since Y/N was sitting, but she almost doesn’t mind considering the fact that she is most definitely gawking at him. She shakes her head momentarily, both as an answer to his question and a way to clear her head momentarily.

“Thanks! My friend over there is too precious to sit on the curb, apparently.” He smiles at her, eyes squinting and she’s momentarily breathless at just how cute he is when he smiles. His arms move to grab one of the chairs and that's when she decides to speak up, not wanting to quite end the conversation yet.

“Ahh no worries! I know all about having that too precious friend! I only need one other chair so you can take two of these.”

“Oh cool thanks… and hey this might be a little weird but - fuck are you from Miyagi? You look kinda like this one girl from high school but - “

“I am! I went to Aoba Johsai and -”

He clicks his tongue and seems to smile even brighter now. “That’s right - you’re Y/N right? I think you were a year younger than us right, but you always hung out with that one girl in my year who used to smoke behind the boy’s gym…” Y/N nods, a grimace on her face and the back of her neck feeling a little warm with embarrassment. How could she possibly explain that said girl was actually Y/N’s cousin and that she didn’t actually smoke, she’d just smell like it after working at their family restaurant. “Well I’m Makki, by the way. If you remember Matsukawa and Iwaizumi they're over there - they were at Seijoh too.” She nods, leaning slightly to see the two men behind him, both wearing smiles that were just a little too cheeky.

“Yeah yeah, I remember… you also had a particular whiny one with you too, right?” He laughs at that, responding that said whiny one was actually abroad. The two make a little conversation, her giving him some suggestions on places to visit since one of his trio is actually visiting for the weekend. Y/N thinks this is nice - feels like the main character in a movie with the amount of men that have approached her in the past couple weeks. Before she can get too cocky in her ability to pull though, Atsumu walks up to the table, hands full with a tray that seems to be piled with too many little plates.

“There y’are… couldn’t see you from across the way… everything okay?” Atsumu questions, standing to his full height as if sizing up Makki, who seems completely unphased by Atsumu.

“Yeah, was just asking your girlfriend if I could steal these two chairs away before I realized that we knew each other.” The strawberry blonde is definitely unphased by Atsumu, who’s shoulders visibly relax at Makki’s suggestion that the two friends were together. “Well it was nice seeing you, Y/N! Thanks again for the chairs, you all enjoy your meal.”

As Makki walks away, Atsumu settles into his own chair with a smug little smile playing at his lips. Y/N, on the other hand, is chewing at the inside of her cheek as food is placed in front of her. Her blond friend, the observant little shit, notices that she doesn’t immediately tuck into the lunch laid in front of her and nudges her foot with his, muttering a quick “what's wrong.”

“You were blessed with possibly the worst timing in the world, y’know that?”

“What d’ya mean?” He muses, taking in her huffily pulling the lid off her food and stuffing her face with the rice bowl in front of her.. She chews, combing the food on her plate with the plastic fork as a way to stop herself from unleashing all her frustrations.

“You always but in whenever I start getting hit on! Or you stop every chance I have at possibly getting to know someone; you come in here full force and its really not fair. I don’t do it to you, and it's just not fair.” Y/N hates that she probably sounds like a whining child, but she really can’t help it anymore. It’s really not fair that Atsumu flaunts his conquests on the cover of every magazine, but god forbid Y/N talk to a guy. “Its been a while since I’ve had sex, Atsumu, and it’s getting to a point where I’d jump just about anyone’s bones. I - I just think that as my best friend you should be providing me some support, not cockblocking me at every fucking opportunity you get.”

It takes every fiber in his body to not laugh at how ridiculous Y/N is being right now. He licks at his lip, catching whatever food crumbs he could before clearing his throat. “‘M sorry what? You actually wanna hook up with those guys? They seem like the type to just fuck ya n’ then not text you back.”

“And if that’s what I want then so what!? Did you miss the part where I said I’m desperate here?”

“Then..” He takes a swig at his water bottle in front of him, leaning back slightly in his seat and sliding his sunglasses to rest on the top of his head. “If you need it that badly then you can just do it with me. You said anyone so I can -”

She laughs, one that sounds on the brink of delusion. “You’re fucking ridiculous. Yeah okay… Dunno if you remember but you’ve got a girlfriend, Miya.”

“She’s not my girlfriend, Y/N. We’re… not that serious with each other and we’re also open. She knows that..'' He looks smug, and Y/N wants to smack the absolute life out of him. “And I’m being serious, darlin.. I’d rather get you off than see you get your hopes up over some random.”

Y/N squeezes the poor utensil in her hand, choosing to chomp down one of the buns on the table instead of reminding Atsumu that she wasn’t exactly his type. But she lets it go, just squinting at him and shaking her head, mumbling how ridiculous he is before swiping some of his veggies off his plate. How else is she supposed to react to her best friend blatantly telling her that he’d fuck her if she’d ask - she tries to ignore the way that their knees resting on each other under the table makes her heart soar. Before she can form a sentence, something to steer the direction away from her sex life (or lack thereof), Atsumu mumbles around a forkful of food that she’d better hurry since he wants to do another lap of the market before it closes.

---

Atsumu’s offer and that entire conversation is brought up again a few days later; the pair are in Y/N’s apartment this time. She’d asked him and his brother to come over to install some shelves for her, but apparently Osamu was busy. With the shelves installed, Y/N put on a movie to serve as Atsumu’s entertainment whilst she organized her trinkets. She wasn’t really paying attention to the movie, too concerned with trying to see if the shelves were actually level or not when she heard Atsumu laugh behind her, muting the T.V. with a quizzical brow raised.

“Huh? If you don’t like the movie then you can change it… ��m not payin atten-”

“Oh yeah not paying attention right?” She gives him a hard look as if proving to him that she can’t honestly give him the plot of the movie. “So you’re telling me that its just a coincidence that this movie is about two friends who make a pact to fuck each other? That it's a coincidence that the literal name of the movie is ‘Friends with Benefits”

She rolls her eyes and turns to face him fully, seeing that he’s now sat up on her couch with his elbows resting on his knees. A beat passes before he puts his hands up, almost as if in surrender, before he pushes himself off the couch and towards the kitchen. She watches him as he pulls out a bottle of wine, nodding to the couch as if asking her to take a break. She relents, folding her legs under herself and pulling at a string on the worn sofa, thinking she’d probably try to replace this piece before she renewed her lease. He thrusts the glass to her, settling into the sofa but he makes no move to unmute the T.V., instead inciting some silent battle while they each sip from their respective glasses.

“Y’know you’ve been snappy lately… my offer from the other day still stands, hope y’know tha’.” She scoffs, choosing to take another swig at her wine, which does little to cool the warmth she feels in her throat. He’s not technically wrong - the conversation the other day had made a fog of tension hang over her, making a long lost desire for the blond resurface in her lower abdomen at full force. She’d spent way too much time the other night on Amazon, debating on whether it would be a good idea to get rechargeable batteries for her toy, spent too long watching his mouth move when he’d facetimed her the other night. It's not that Y/N hadn’t hooked up with anyone since knowing Atsumu, it's just that maybe she’d spent a little too much time enjoying how Atsumu met her emotional needs that she had neglected her physical needs.

“What offer?” She’ll be damned to let him in on the fact that she’d done nothing but think about his stupid offer. Refuses to let him know that she wants, no needs, to say yes. So she plays dumb, finger dancing along the lip of her cup, foot swinging anxiously against the floor.

He hums, reaching to put his glass on her beat up coffee table. He leans his elbow on the back of the couch, placing his chin in his hand, giving Y/N his undivided attention. “‘Samu was talking about how his girlfriend has been on his ass lately about every little thing and so I asked him if they’re doin’ okay, y’know physically… didn’t answer me but I figured he’d solved it if he hasn’t mentioned it since. I heard someone say that if yer girl’s acting fussy then y’need to think about if you’ve been fuckin’ her right and well…” Y/N swallows the lump in her throat, stopping the shiver that threatens to rack her body at the idea of Atsumu thinking she’s his girl. “I was bein’ serious the other day. I know ya were mad so it wasn’t the best time to bring it up, but it seemed like the only good thing to say. Besides, ‘m not all that bad in bed, can ring up a few people if y’need a review.”

Y/N doesn’t respond with anything other than a forced huff of laughter, can't respond really. It feels too warm, she’s hoping that maybe this is some fever dream instead of reality. She just plays with her cup absentmindedly, not quite able to look the blond in the eyes despite the fact that his eyes are studying her face as if she holds all the answer to the questions the universe has. Him being bad in bed is the least of her worries, what if she’s bad? God she wants to say yes, maybe she’ll say yes - maybe it’d be good for her to finally get some di-

“Forget it, ‘m sorry. If it makes you uncomfortable then we don’t have to, sweetheart. I just -”

“I’m not uncomfortable.” Oh now she speaks. He looks at her, a wild look fixed on his face, almost as if he doesn’t believe the words that came out of her mouth. “It's just..” She throws her head back, face covered momentarily by some plant leaves. God she didn’t want to actually voice her thoughts but now she has no choice.

“It’s just what? If yer worried about the fuckin part, I can just get you off other ways. Get paid to be good with my hands -”

“Just shut up for once please, you’re ruining it.” He makes a show of zipping his lips, smiling as Y/N squares herself to him, stretching her neck as if she’s preparing for a fight, rather than speaking a coherent sentence.. “It's just that I don’t… dont wanna force you into thinking you have to ‘cos I’m being bitchy to you.. Like it’s not your problem to fix y’know and I just. Besides, don't wanna be the only one enjoying it, want you to like it too and … for fucks sake this is ridiculous. I just dunno I-”

Atsumu’s hand reaches out towards her, fingers stroking her knee in a comforting manner but it’s all but comforting to Y/N, who’s entire leg feels on fire at this small moment of skinship. “Shh, shh, no baby yer not forcing me to do anything. Don’t think that way - I-I wanna do it! I wan’ya to be happy and if this makes you happy then… And i mean if y’need more of a reason then think of it as a way for me to say sorry for cockblockin’ ya all the time.”

Y/N doesn’t say yes, but she also doesn’t outright decline. She can’t think of anything other than how, if she nodded her head, he’d give her everything she’d been wanting. Atsumu and Y/N stare at each other, moments pass and she’s sure that he’s going to take her stillness and silence as a no - but he just moves to grab her wine glass, moving it from her grasp to the table, shifting closer to her in the process. She holds her breath and he brings one of his hands towards her face, palming the side of her jaw in his warm hand, thumb rubbing at the plush skin of her lips. “Can I kiss ya? Maybe tha’s all ya need is a good kiss, yeah?” She nods, his hand moving to pluck at her bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger. “Got really nice lips, don’t you? ‘S so soft and wet, catch myself wanting to touch ‘em allot’' She inhales softly as he leans in, his hand sliding to the side of her neck and he litters soft kisses against her jaw. She whines softly when his mouth nears hers. “Shh, gonna kiss you in a minit.”

All Y/N can do is breath, mouth parted slightly as Atsumu drags his mouth over her face. His hand is so warm and big on her skin; he’s so close in her face that all she can do is inhale and smell him, making her dizzy with building warmth in her belly. They catch each other’s gaze, neither daring to blink away, before he tilts his head, pressing his mouth against hers softly at first. He doesn’t move to kiss her, just holds his lips over hers for a moment, as if giving her time to back away if she wants to; but when she doesn’t, he hums and pulls her head towards his more, lips moving in tandem. His hand slides from her cheek, worming its way towards the nape of her neck as he pulls her to him - he wastes no time in deepening the kiss, licking into her mouth with fervor. And she lets him, moving into his lap as she relishes in the feeling of his tongue lazily swirling with her own; the new found position allows him to drag his hand down her back soothingly, her own hands sliding around his neck and up into his hair.

She parts with a soft gasp, whether it be for air or out of surprise she can’t tell. He whines momentarily, before nosing his way down towards her neck, pressing butterfly-light kisses at the flesh. She’s wiggling in his arms, and he laughs, the air ticking the soft bend of her collarbone. “Fuck, you’ve been holdin out on me. Tha’ was good right? A good kiss for ya?” All Y/N can do is nod, sliding her hand towards his face in hopes of bringing his lips back to hers. She can feel the smirk on his mouth when she presses their mouths together again, and maybe after she’d bitch him out about it but right now all she wants is to be suffocated by him.

Moments pass, the air filled with soft pants in between kisses and thickening arousal. Atsumu cards his fingers in her hair gently, mouth still against hers, free hand sneaking around Y/N’s front. She whines softly, to which he shushes her softly. “Shh you’re okay… just wanna feel ya.” He soothes her over by indulging her in soft kisses against her lips, hand pushing up the front of her ratty t-shirt, snaking his hand past the waistband of her shorts into the confines of her (now too tight) underwear. Y/N shudders when he strokes lightly over her clit, before surpassing it completely and going to where a wet spot had been developing on the fabric. Plucking the damp cotton out of the way and letting the tips of two fingers rub over her weeping hole, “Oh.. this for me?”

A small noise crawls out of her throat, a mix between a moan, a whine, and surprise. “Don’t, ‘tsumu. It’s embarrassing..”

“Shh don’t be embarrassed. Just feels good to know I make ya feel good, baby.” Atsumu pulls his fingers from her, smiling when she whines at the loss of contact. But he’s able to soother her before she can get too fussy; one moment Y/N is on top of him, struggling to not rock against his thigh and relieve some of the pressure building up inside of her, the next Atsumu has her flipped over so her back, her body caged between the back of the sofa and his arms. A hand on either side of her head as he bends in, sweeps his tongue at a strip of salty skin just beneath her jaw. He hastily shoves up the shirt she’s wearing, revealing more of her and letting his hands graze over her breasts lightly at first before kneading them. She feels lightheaded while his mouth works on her throat, biting and sucking a bruise at the base of it that makes her gulp. Parting from the skin with a gentle kiss and a small, whispered comment of, “Taste so good, so soft and sweet. Been holding out on me, hmm?”

For the first time ever, Y/N has Atsumu in her arms and has no need to push him away - no, instead she’s holding onto him as if she’d die if he slipped away from her, her hands gripping his broad shoulders before sliding up into his hair as he makes his way down her body. He’s practically praising her - pressing wet, open mouthed kisses on her skin as he moves downwards, fingers making quick work of tugging her bottoms off, helping her kick out of them quickly and clumsily. She knows that Atsumu is not a patient man, but this is a whole other level of impatience. He’s pushing her thighs open, cold fingers squeezing at the soft flesh of her thighs as he scoots down to be at eye-level with the barest part of her, making sure her calves are hooked over his shoulders. Y/N can’t remember a time when she’s ever been in a more vulnerable position, but instead of shying away like her instincts would have her, she finds herself moving to better accommodate the man between her legs. Her eyes catch his caramel colored ones and her breath catches in her throat; he’s staring at her, enamored by her.

“Such a pretty little thing aren’t ya?” he murmurs, lips forming a gentle kiss on her inner thigh but before she can retort he gives one long, gentle swipe of his tongue directly up the middle of her folds. She gasps, face turned away from him and thighs threatening to close, but he shifts his hand to stop her, holding her in place. “Aht… don’t get shy now, lemme get a taste.”

It’s too much when he dives back in, skilled mouth a vicious match for his insatiable need to please. As he strokes his soft, wet tongue deeper and deeper between her slippery folds that part around him willingly. Y/N’s sure she’s moments away from swearing her undying fealty to whatever higher being put this on her plate for today. Puckering his lips around her clit after stopping just before sucking on her until it was swollen and even greedier for his attention. Dipping his tongue inside of her hole, humming appreciatively against her and only feeding into the whimpering sounds filtering out of her mouth.

Embarrassingly, Y/N feels that she’s nearing her end - despite the shame of admitting that it's coming too fast, she feels the need to tell him anyway. “Hmph… g’na cum,” she chokes out, hoping that he heard her because all she can hear is the blood rushing in her ears. Every sense is suffocated by Atsumu’s presence, and she’s shameless as she lets every pant slip past her lips, feeding into Atsumu’s ego. “‘m so close, I need it. Need you to – to keep going please, ‘Tsumu”

And he does, gets her to the edge of her high before sliding his mouth away from her. The whine that falls past her lips is deafening, eyes opening and seeing that he’s just nuzzling her thigh, lips making light work at marking the soft flesh. “No, no you said… said you’d help.. Please I’m-” she’s hiccuping, tripping over her words numbly as she tries tugging his head back to where she’s most desperate for him.

He hums at her softly, almost patronizingly, as he places a kiss to the skin closest to his mouth. “Don’t cry pretty girl.. Won’t leave you hanging, ‘ts so warm down ‘ere… might have to stay forever, tha’ okay?” He is disgusting, filthy, so sinfully good. And true to his word, he goes back in without another word, only a small smile and his own hum that vibrates through her lower half. When he takes her clit back between his lips, it’s all she needs. Every tense muscle finally seizing to his maximum strain; it’s like she was a string that’d been stretched too far and finally frayed in the middle, snapping. She can hear her heartbeat thumping like a bass in her ears, can feel the way she’s twitching under Atsumu’s relentless movements, and it drowns out her own noises that she’s making.

Moments later, all that can be heard is her bated breathing, head completely empty and eyes heavy, flickering and fluttering with just how light she feels. Atsumu kisses his way back up to be face-to-face with her, making sure to peck gently at the marks he’d littered her skin with. His face is buried in the base of her throat, their arms tangled around each other lazily - Y/N feels too sleepy to protest the way that he’s pressing all his weight onto her; but isn’t too tired to realize that he’s hard when her hips wiggle to accommodate him between her legs, maybe has been the entire time, which confuses her slightly. Why would he be hard over her? She understands her total arousal over him since she bitched him into submission, but him? If anything, him being hard right now just proves, to Y/N at least, that maybe he would get it up with anything. But what if it is for you, her heart wonders briefly.

“‘Tsumu… are you-?”

“Shh, ‘ts alright. Let's get you to bed.” And he moves to slide off her, moving to guide the two of them to her bed, which was a feat on its own considering Y/N’s legs feel like jelly. All he can do is smile at her, taking in her relaxed face and mused hair. He settles her into bed, sliding up next to her and pulling her onto his chest, lips pressed into the crown of her head. Before Y/N can even think of a way to say thank you, she feels sleep taking over, choosing instead to just indulge (for once) in the pseudo-domestic situation she’s in tonight.

The following morning, Y/N almost doesn’t want to wake up, isn’t ready to come to terms with whatever happened yesterday. Long gone is the lusty drunkenness from last night, but Atsumu...Atsumu is still fully there, lips pursed and arms shoved under the pillow - Y/N holds back the urge to trace her fingers along the lines of his arm. She russells around, hoping that sleep takes over her again so she can justify waking up wrapped around Atsumu - her attempts are futile though when she feels a firm squeeze at her side, cold fingers making her jump slightly.

“Wha’s wrong?”

She mumbles a barely coherent “nothing,” to which Atsumu just hums, snaking his arm over Y/N’s middle and pulling her towards him, chest to chest with his breath fanning over her face. She swears she could die a happy person now. Wants to have every morning be like this, him in her too small bed, squishing themselves together for warmth, just the sheer proximity is enough, she muses to herself. Apparently, Y/N is thinking just a little too loud this morning for Atsumu’s liking because he sighs softly, asking if she’s sure nothing is wrong.

“Mm ‘m fine. Jus’ tryna get comfortable, go back to sleep.”

“Can’t now, all yer wiggling woke me up” And before she can even retort, he shifts slightly, practically forcing his groin on her thigh, to which she squeaks softly. “Jus go back to sleep… too early for breakfast.”

“Bu- Tsumu.. Lemme..” she starts, shyly. She did have this inherent need to pay him back for what happened, and she can only equate his favor with something equally as...pleasurable?...fulfilling? She can’t find the right word but the most equal compensation for sex has to be more sex, right? The sleep in her bones is fully gone now, her hands sliding down his sides slowly, tentatively. “Please...wanna jus’-”

“Don’t have to, can just go to the rest- sh-shit.” He starts, his own hand reaching to stop hers but his movements stutter when she palms at his crotch, giving his bulge a full on grope. She shushes him softly, lips moving to peck his jaw softly as she snakes her hands past the tight confines of his underwear; and though she can’t see much of what is going on she can feel how thick Atsumu is. His hands have shifted slightly, one arm resting behind her and the other cupping her face, their lips tangled in kisses that feel too sweet and far from platonic.

Moments pass, and it's apparent that Y/N is moving much too slowly for Atsumu, him bucking into her hand and his hips rolling in uncalculated and sloppy movements. He whines softly when she pulls her lips off his, both softly gasping for air, but she shushes him, using the most minimal amount of strength to push him onto his back and settles between his massive thighs. By this point, once fully exposed in front of her, he's so hard that the foreskin is already drawn away from the head, tip slick and wet with precum. She’s gentle, wanting to preserve the quietness that comes with waking up at eight in the morning, as she presses a few open mouth kisses at the patch of hair below his belly button.

And it’s all over from here. Y/N ducked herself down, licking from the dip of his balls to his drippy head in one broad swipe. Y/N shudders softly at the whimper she’s able to pull out of the man above her, thinking that it’s probably the best noise she’d ever elicited from a man. Atsumu runs his fingers through her hair as she slides his head into her mouth, fingers deftly scraping at her scalp as she begins sucking. She sucks him like she wants to – like this was the most perfect way to spend every morning, with her blonde, dumb, stupid best friend stuffing her mouth. Both are still hazy with sleep, but that doesn’t stop Y/N from pulling him in deeper, hollowing her cheeks as she begins bobbing her head and moving her hand in tandem to stroke at what can’t fit in her mouth.

His fingers start to tangle in her hair rather than comb through it, his moans filling the room, punctuated with little encouragements that she hums at around him, like, “Tha’s it, there’s my good girl,” and through shaky laughs, “M'gonna cum if you keep doing that, baby.” Eventually, Y/N knows that he must be near his peak, but she pauses, eyes locking with his caramel colored ones, as she pulls her mouth away to let his length just rest on her tongue.

“Fuck yer pretty… so good aren’t ya?” He whisper-groans at her, gripping her hair a little harder when she tilts her head to the side, allow him to shallowly fuck himself between her lips, his thumb tracing the bulge his dick made in her cheek. “Need'a pull off if y'don’t wanna taste, baby… gettin so- fuck- so close.” He gives her hair a slight tug, like he might actually pull her off himself, but she doesn’t allow him; she just shifts her mouth, making light work of wrapping her lips around his tip, sucking greedily with and humming in protest around him. And it’s that that sends him over, twitching in her mouth as he sputters off shaky profanities before she feels shot after shot of white ropes hitting her tongue. Y/N can’t help but stare at him above her, relishing in the fact that this morning she gets to see him shake and shudder because of her.

Y/N pops off him gently, drawing back and humming at the lingering salty taste he’s left on her tongue. She graces the skin of his heaving abdomen with soft, fluttering kisses as she tucks him back into his underwear, before she crawls up his body, legs swinging to straddle his narrow hips. He’s got an arm thrown over his eyes, neck red and he seems almost bashful underneath her (which makes Y/N’s heart swell with adoration at just how him he is). She wiggles softly, folding her hands on his chest and laying her chin on them, waiting for him to say something to her. She blows a laugh through her nose when he finally looks down at her, eyes glimmering and lips pulled in the shyest smile she thinks she’s ever seen on him.

“You… yer good. Too good… just wow.”

---

Suffice to say lots has happened in the week following the pair quite literally eating their hearts out.

Firstly, Atsumu spent nearly every evening at her apartment that week. He waited every single day outside of her office building - her coworkers have taken to telling her how lucky she is that she has a man waiting for her with this whipped look on her face, but she swears up and down (with warm cheeks) that it's not like that. They eat dinner, alternating between picking up something on the way or cooking together - and by cooking, just picture Atsumu cutting vegetables in uneven chunks while Y/N scolds him for not adding enough water to the rice cooker. Normally this could happen: it's not super rare that they visit each other during the week if it's convenient - what is definitely not in the norm is the fact that Atsumu has buried himself between Y/N’s thighs thrice this week. It starts when Y/N looks too stressed on Tuesday evening, that Atsumu pulls her legs over his lap in an attempt to “massage some of the stress away,” which only leads to him manhandling her onto her back, promising to give her something else to cry about besides work.

Secondly, Osamu thought it would be best to alert Y/N that Atsumu had a very awkward conversation with a woman during lunch on Thursday - it was secretly his way of asking her to ask Atsumu what happened because both Y/N and Osamu were terrible gossips who feed off each other. When Y/N asked though, all Atsumu said was that the whole conversation didn’t matter, that the woman (who Y/N learned was actually Michimiya) wanted more than Atsumu was able to give to her. That their lives weren’t in sync or whatever, that they’d eventually manage to be co-workers at best. To say that Y/N wasn’t elated at the news would be a bold-faced lie.

Y/N feels on cloud nine, feels like she doesn’t even need to have a conversation with Atsumu about what their situation is currently. She gets to reap all the benefits of a relationship now, she’s physically taken care of and emotionally spoiled. Only thing she’s actually missing is the title but what's in a word, right?Atsumu wasn’t a natural flirt, always hid compliments behind a harsh delivery - but lately he’s taken to drowning Y/N in compliments, even the corny ones. Y/N expected a post-nut “god yer pretty,” but what occasionally caught her off was when he would open the door for her (normal) and say that “a pretty gal like you should never hafta touch a handle” (not normal). Subconsciously, Y/N feels like he’s only trying to compliment his way into her pants, but she chooses to ignore the way he coos at “just how gorgeous her eyes are” when he makes eye contact with her during a midnight snack.

On the second Thursday following the start of the Y/N-Astumu situationship, Y/N has no choice really other than to ask Atsumu what’s going on with them. They’re at the grocery store by his place (he’d convinced her to take the following day off work and spend the night with him), everything is more than normal when the pair’s conversation gets interrupted by a literal model-esque person, touching Atsumu’s shoulder. Y/N tries to sneak her hand from his arm, but he grasps her hand before she can get too far, looking at the stranger with a less-than-friendly expression.

“Oh Miya! I’m a huge fan, would you mind taking a photo with me?” He indulges his fan, never letting go of Y/N’s hand, even as she steps out of the camera’s focus. The stranger parts with a grateful smile to both Atsumu and Y/N, which feels unnecessary, but Y/N returns anyway. The friends continue their shopping trip before making the trek to Atsumu’s apartment building. Y/N is quiet, in her head about the whole fan interaction that lasted a total of five minutes, but Atsumu says nothing - even stays quiet until the pair are up in his apartment.

“Everything okay? Not bored of me are ya?”

She smiles weakly at him, settling to rest against his kitchen counter. “It’s just… I- nevermind it’s stupid.” She shakes her head, hand waving in front of her as if trying to shoo away the negative cloud above her head. But Atsumu quickly grabs her hand, pulling her into the space between his arms.

“It’s not stupid if ‘s how yer feeling.. What’s up?”

“Okay…” She starts, pushing away from his chest to give herself some literal and mental space. He crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back at the opposite counter to Y/N, who's mirroring his stance except her head is thrown back, eyes searching his ceiling for the right words to come next. “Are you always like… this… with the girls who give you head?” When she looks at him, his head is tilted to the left in confusion, making her huff anxiously. “Okaaay.. you’ve complimented me more in the past three weeks than any other person has in my entire life… is that normal for you to do with the girls hooking up with you or am I the exception? It’s not a big deal.. It’s just that you -”

“I compliment you because you deserve to be complimented, sweetheart… but if it makes you uncomfortable then I can stop.” He cuts in, before he uncrosses his arms, palms gripping at the counter behind him. “As for the whole hooking up part… is that what you want this to be? ‘Cos we can do that, up to you Y/N, I’ll take whatever you’re willing to give -”

“But why? Until three weeks ago I was under the impression that I wasn’t your ‘type’ or whatever so why now are you suddenly on board with taking whatever I give you?”

He laughs, and Y/N wants to cry. Why wasn’t he taking this seriously? Y/N is good at feeling her feelings, but has a hard time clearly expressing those feelings into words.

“Don’t laugh a-”

“Who told you what my type was? If it was ‘Samu or Omi I swear I’ll -”

“You did. You said I wasn’t your type.” He balks, eyes wide and riddled with trying to think about when he said it. “It was forever ago, but you said it. You came back from Germany, I picked you up and ‘Samu had called while I went to the restroom and well.. I overheard you say-”

“Yer an idiot, made an assumption before ya knew the whole truth, baby. I was talking about this photographer that I was kinda seein’ at the time. M’brother asked why if she’d get mad that I chose to see you fresh off the plane instead of her, said it didn’t matter because she wasn’t my type.”

Y/N wishes that the floor of his ridiculously priced apartment would swallow her whole, or that if she pushed the right buttons on his fancy microwave she’d be able to rewind life to five minutes ago when she decided to start this conversation. Frankly, she feels silly and like she shouldn’t say anything else - she knows that her words conveyed a little bit of insecurity that she’s sure Atsumu doesn’t want to have to deal with.

A beat passes before both Y/N and Atsumu open their mouths, but he’s able to get out the words first. “You really thought that you weren’t my type?” Fuck his smug little desbelieving smile.

“Don’t gimme that look - you’re usually spotted around the globe with gorgeous people… ‘s it really wrong of me to assume that I wasn’t your type? Besides,” she starts, arms crossed around her middle while Atsumu takes a tentative step to close the gap between them. “It's not that it matters now since, y’know I know that it's not true.. Just hurt my feelings at the time and well…”

“You were supposed to be the smart one between us, got the college degree ‘n everythin.” He teases, arms reaching to rest on her waist. “For someone so smart you really missed all the signs huh? Why do you think I stepped in every time some guy tried to talk t’ya? Why d’ya think that I tried to take up all your weekend time, don’t get me wrong I love spendin’ time with ya but also didn’t wanna see you goin out with any guys you’d met when I wasn’t around.” By this point he’s got her chin in his hand, ducking his head slightly to make her look at him fully. “And why the hell would I eat you out at every possible opportunity once I’ve been given the okay? Just because I get thrown it all the time by others doesn’t mean that I eat out every -”

“Alright, alright. You can shut up now. I get it, I’m dumb. I just didn’t think -”

“Oh you got tha’ right - didn’t think at all did ya?” She groans, throwing her head back. She’ll never be able to get the image of his smug face out of her head, never going to be able to live down how for once in their years long friendship Atsumu was smarter than her. All he can do though is laugh, pulling her face back down to his and giving her forehead a soft kiss, making her stomach erupt with flutters.

“If you tell anyone about this conversation, I swear to god Miya I’ll-”

“Shh it’s always gotta be a threat with you huh? Why can’t you just admit that you were stupid for once?”

“Not happening.”

“Not even if it means you’re stupidly in like with me”

“No, because I’m not stupidly in like with you… I just adore your stupid self more than I’d ever admit in front of anyone else.”

He laughs, bumping his nose against her with a laugh before kissing her softly. Everything is great, life is great. Y/N loves Atsumu and Atsumu loves her, and she isn’t some sad, movie cliché any longer. She’s got this gorgeous guy who practically worships her, so freely giving himself to her. He pulls away from kissing her for a second, taking a moment to appreciate the way that her eyes are closed happily.

“Just so y’know… I adore you too.” Kiss. “But you are never allowed to call me stupid again… from now on I’m the smart one in this relationship.”

A/N pt2: and so that’s it hehe. thank you sm for reading I hope you enjoyed it. any little comments you have in the tags would be nice to read or yeah. this is my side blog so like hgjdgsh if I respond to you it’s gonna be from my main haha

#okay now I can type in the tags but basically I’m actually v proud of this not so little fic and so I just sjdjdjdj #if you’re reading the tags ily #tysm for reading my fic I appreciate u!! <3 #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu fic #haikyuu smut #haikyuu fluff #miya atsumu x reader #miya atsumu x female reader #miya atsumu x y/n #miya atsumu fluff #atsumu miya x reader #atsumu miya x female reader #miya atsumu smut #atsumu miya fluff #atsumu miya smut

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pockou · 4 years ago

Text

skin ⤻ chpt. one

— pairings: jean kirschtein x fem bodied nb!reader

— warnings: none for now

— summary: after reuniting with your childhood bestfriend, jean and a long heated night together you establish a friends with benefits relationship. what could go wrong?

— modern au

— wc: 2.6k

— a/n: sorry nothing really happened, this is really just me setting things up !

⤺ skin masterlist

After a long and stressful day with work, you finally arrived home. The first thing that crossed your mind was letting your mother know you’d be skipping out on brunch with her and some old friends the next afternoon so you could catch up on some much needed sleep. You removed your shoes and wiped the small bit of sweat which was accumulating on your forehead, outside felt like a heatwave being it was nearing the peak of summer, work has been pretty busy lately with all the moms coming in and demanding for you to restock the pool noodles — which obviously you had no control over just being a mere cashier. You never knew how stressful it could be just standing behind a counter all day, which you didn’t take into account is the long and blistering walk home. Maybe a summer job wasn’t the best choice?

“Oh hey Mom!” Your mom was just passing by with a laundry basket in hand, probably heading to clean clothes for tomorrow.

“Hi Y/N, how was work?”

“Long.” You filled a cup of cold apple juice up before turning back over to her, “By the way, I can’t go with you and dad to brunch tomorrow. I’m pooped and need some extra sleep.”

“Y/N, you can’t skip out, I understand you’re tired but an old friend who you’ll probably be happy to see is going to be there, and i’ll make sure you don’t miss him, he’s rarely in town anymore.”

“He?” You tried to think of all the guys who’ve came into your life which your parents took a liking to, there were a few but not any you really would want to see.

“Yes, he. Now get showered you smell like clorax and sweat!”

“Jeez Mom way to put it lightly!” You both laughed together, these moments definitely made you glad you decided to move back for the summer and stay off of campus. You picked up your phone after it buzzed and saw an incoming follow request from “Jean Kirschtein” the name rang a bell but ultimately you chose to ignore it and decline. You decided to fix the obvious awful scent which was coming from you and headed to shower.

You looked at the array of bath soaps, body scrubs and shampoos you and your mom shared, you picked up the ‘vanilla mint’ scent which always brought comfort to you for some odd reason, it just has for as long as you could remember. After massaging your head with shampoo and conditioner you shaved your legs until you were satisfied with the outcome and jumped out of the shower. Noticing the time after you went to pause your music you realized just how long you took, it was already past seven pm and your dad should be home, hopefully with dinner. Before leaving, you moisturized your legs and added an acne serum to your face, gently patting it into your cheeks and forehead. You just threw on some boxer-like shorts and one of your dads old band tees and peeked into the kitchen.

“Hey darling.”

“Hey Dad, did you pick up dinner?” You leaned over the counter giggling at your mothers antics, being she was behind your father mocking him.

“Yes I did, burritos good? There’s this new joint by the office.”

“Sick, thanks dad! I’ll set the table, love you.” You pecked his cheek before grabbing plates and cups for the three of you, you hadn’t remembered the last time you ate, it probably was around eleven when you had your lunch breaks. Which you believed to be a bit too early for lunch. You smiled widely at both of your parents as they sat down at the table.

“What do you guys want to drink? I’ll go get somethin’ for us all.”

“I’ll just have a water pumpkin.” You took your dads cup and gave him a thumbs up then looked to your mother.

“I still have my protein shake i’ll be fine!”

“Mkay!” You took yours and your dads cups and filled them about halfway with water, adding a bit of lemon and ice to yours, “Dad do ya want ice?”

“Sure, thank you. Now hurry up your foods getting cold!” You shuffled back over to the table handing your dad his iced water and flashing him a shiny smile.

“Thanks again!” After that you dug into your dinner and the whole meal was filled with your dad telling you and your mom about people calling in asking for help with computers and you telling them about annoying people you had to deal with and, of course your mom complaining about Amy from her yoga class.

By the time you all died down and your mom mentioned you should all get some sleep so you’d all be in good moods for brunch in the morning, inevitably you gave up in trying to skip out due to your moms persistence to join them. You walked into your room to be greeted by the warmth and comfort it always gave off to you, you grabbed your phone and plopped onto your bed ready to finally wind down and relax after such a long day. Your eyes got heavy and you felts drowsy before you gave in and fell into a deep sleep. You dreamed of the same boy you had been for a while, he was cute, really cute and he always brought comfort to you. This dream always took place in a pre-k classroom, playing will blocks and legos and the smell of popcorn and juice in the air. He always came up with a smile on his face which was missing one of his front teeth already, some spaghetti sauce around his mouth and asking if you wanted to play tag. But everytime before you said yes, you always woke up and you were no longer in a carefree mindset like a child and that boy was never there all that was there was a loud ‘beep beep beep’ sound ringing in your ears which never failed to wake you up right at ten thirty am.

This time your mom was also in your room, rummaging throughout your dresser drawers. She was humming the same song she used to sing you to sleep with which always made you smile. You whined as you sat up stretching.

“Morning honey, can you wear this today?” She had just a white tee and a jean shorts pretty simple and nice to wear in the summer.

“Sure that’s fine, how much time do I have?”

“Around an hour or so, make sure you hurry please I don’t wanna be late.”

“Mkay, by the way when do I getta know who this wonderboy is?”

“When you see him you’ll know, trust me. Now get ready!”

She walked out of your room to let you get dressed, after putting on the outfit she chose you just found some random sandals to wear and fixed your hair a bit, you still had some time to spare so you just chilled on the couch playing a random cooking game. Your mom came out to show herself off and she did her cheesy little jazz hands.

“You look beautiful Momma.”

“Thank you, Y/N, you look great aswell.” You both looked in the kitchen to see your dad eating something, “We are literally going to brunch why in the world are you eating?” She obviously wasn’t mad but she shook her hand at your dad which made you both chuckle. They both had been together since they were in highschool and seemed to have an unbreakable bond. That was something you’ve always wanted with another person, just to be able to find comfort in another so easily, and trust them no matter what. And just the very way they looked at eachother and the loving gaze they shared, it was everything, they were soulmates and all you wanted was to find something like that. Your special person.

“Well, we should get going, the car drive is a bit long id say.” You lifted yourself up from the couch and followed them, still looking down at your game. You plopped into the car once again, and just gazed out the window.

“Where are we goin’ again?”

“Just a pancake house, nothing too special y’know?”

“Mkay, thanks Mom.” You looked back down at your phone to see that ‘Jean’ guy requesting you again, you found it kinda weird but you decided to look at his account. He was attractive. No he was fucking hot, he had a shiny ash blonde mullet, which some of it was a darker shade, somewhat brown. His hair had a slight wave at the ends adding just a bit of volume to it. You scrolled a little bit more to find out he had a chihuahua and a shitzu. He was also doing good in school and — you double tapped. You mentally cursed at yourself, you just liked a post from not too long ago but still he’d now know you’re looking at his account. Out of guilt you let him follow you, you had to now atleast. You just turned off your phone and flipped it over, ignoring what just happened.

“You alright? You look sick.” You looked up to your mom who was looking at you from the front seat, “If its about ‘wonderboy’ don’t be too scared you two used to be so close, you’ll click instantly!”

“Mkay Mom, and I’m fine.” You acted as if you totally didn’t just stalk a hot guy on Instagram, gawk over him then like one of his posts from a few weeks back. You were totally fine, what else could happen. You were incredibly tempted to go look at his page again, his arms always seemed to fill his sleeves from what you saw and, he had a stubble which was just a shade darker than his hair. He dressed incredibly well and looked like he smelled like fancy cologne. You checked your phone and it already had been thirty minutes.

“Mom when’ll we get there?”

“It’s just done the road, relax honey.” You sighed in relief, your stomach had been churning the past few minutes and you needed out of that humid car. Once you parked and looked at the time, it was half past eleven, the exact time of your reservation.

“Alright, we’re at a patio table so you two walk their i’ll go talk with the bouncer to see if the others are here.” Your dad patted your head before walking off to check in, you followed behind your mom. With your hands in your pocket you guys turned the corner and a certain someone caught your eye, the guy from instagram, Jean was it? He was sitting in the patio, her hair was thrown into a ponytail and a chocolate brown like some of Jeans hair, she was cute and obviously his mother.

“Oh my goodness, Kirschtein is that you?!” Your eyes widened, these were the people you were joining for brunch. “Jean! You’ve grown so much, you look very handsome now.”

“Thank you ma’am, Y/N is that you?” He smiled widely before stepping closer to you and embracing you in a bear hug, you let out a small defeated laugh before hugging him back, “How’ve you been? How long has it been?”

“Since preschool.” Your gazes went to his mom who stole you from Jean and hugged you even tighter. You felt the life being squeezed out of your ribs, even though you barely remembered these hugs. And the scent you’ve always loved, both Jean and his mom smelled like vanilla and mint, it was pretty ironic. You all took a seat waiting for your dad to come back before you ordered anything. Jean was seated across from you, his legs were a bit on your end of the table but you just ignored it, everything seemed so awkward yet comfortable all at the same time. Jeans presence was just comforting and made you feel warm and whenever he talked to you and kept eye contact? That made you wanna scream, you two hadn’t seen eachother for years but instantly clicked.

Once your Dad came back, he had five menus in hand and gave them all out. You all talked amongst yourselves about what you’ll get to eat, and what you’ll be getting to drink, ultimately you settled on a coffee, so did your Dad. While Jeans mom and your Mom giggled about some drink they used to always share before ordering two of them, Jean got a decaf. It seemed plain but you weren’t one to talk. You had been engulfed in whatever it was you were doing on your phone until Jean kicked you lightly and gestured to his own phone. You clicked on instagram and saw he had messaged you there.

“Hey, so are we gonna talk abt you stalking me orr?”

“No, we’re not Jean, please just forget abt it.”

After that your drinks had finally came, now you all had to order you got just some pancakes, nothing special. Jean got an omelette while his and your Mom shared french toast and your Dad got waffles. The conversation over brunch went well, Jean shared about what he was studying in during the last school year, as did you. Your familys just caught up with what had been going on, Jean had adopted two dogs over the past year — which you already knew, he was doing good in school and his studies. You just sat there kind of awkwardly being just an hour or two before you were stalking him and thinking about how hot he was, you were snapped back into reality when his Mom asked you something.

“Have you been with anybody recently?”

“Mom! You can’t just ask her that, we haven’t seen her in years..” Jean whipped his head to the side looking at his Mom.

“No Jean it’s fine, but I haven’t.”

“Oh really? You’re so pretty? I find that hard to believe!” You smiled at her, she was obviously trying to be nice. You all continued eating, Jean paying close attention to his phone.

“Well Jean, have you seen anyone recently?”

“Mom!! Seriously?” You were confused about what your moms were trying to pull off, asking random questions back to back on the same subject.

“Y/N it’s fine. And No Mrs. L/N, I actually haven’t.” Jean stretched backwards, his arm muscles slightly flexing while he did so.

“Hmmm, interesting.. Well, finish up everyone.” You had already finished eating so all you had to do was wait for everyone else to finish. You played that same dumb cooking game for what felt like an eternity your Mom finally tapped your shoulder to get your attention.

“We should be heading out, by the way you two are invited for dinner tomorrow, feel free to come by anytime!” You got up with your mom, waving a goodbye to Jean and his mother. Now you had to endure a car ride most likely of your mother blabbing on about how you should get with Jean, that was something you didn’t wanna think or talk about.

You napped in the car for most of the ride until your phone started to buzz in your pocket, which woke you up from your dazed state. You checked the notification to see Jean had sent you a message.

“Y’know you got pretty hot right?”

“What? Jean thats random.”

“Fuck I mean that in the most respectful way possible.”

“Mkay.” You rolled your eyes, although you could say the same about him you were fond of his boldness but that was definitely a worry for another day. All you were worried about was what you’ll be doing now with him coming over again. Were you going to make a move in the same way he did or ignore his antics completely? And that was the last thought you had before falling asleep again.

#jean kirschtein x reader #jean kirschtein #jean kirstein #jean kirsten x reader #aot x reader #aot #snk x reader #snk #skin. ➷

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revengeoftheantichrist · 4 years ago

Text

Anti-Christ Superstar

Warnings: Drug use

AO3

Chapter 1: She’s with the band

Friday night in Camden was bad. Friday night in Camden behind the bar was worse. Tonight, was hell, you were sure the devil invented this job to torment people. Your bar was a club and music venue for all things alternative. And tonight, you were graced with the presence of the new-ish kids on the scene. Satanic Panic had taken the alternative world by storm. They were on their second world tour, for their album ‘Fire and Reign’. They were playing your venue tonight and the place was jam packed. You didn’t even know you had the capacity for all these people, but here you were, taking order after order. You weren’t surprised at the turnout. The atmosphere of the room truly was electric, and you had felt it once before. You remembered seeing them for their Hawthorne tour at Leeds festival a few years ago, when they were fresh faced and very new to the scene. The way they managed to control the crowd of the smaller stage was quite magical, better than some of the bands that played the main stage. You weren’t surprised at their success; the music was good and the whole band was eye candy for people of all ages. However, you wished they would go be successful somewhere else, not in the place you worked, a venue what you thought was far too small for them now. You were just about to take a new order, before the manager pulled you back. “Y/N come with me,” he said, pulling you to the backstage area, you could barely hear him over the loud music and people. “Everything okay?”, you asked. “well…” he hesitated, “How goods your bass skills?” he finished. You gave him a confused look, “what the fuck are you on about?” He let out a sight. “Look, the bassist for the band just dropped out last minute, they clocked your bass in the locker room and asked if you could play decent… I said yes and they need you ready for stage in like… 15 minutes,” he said, looking at his watch. “Josh! My bass is pink and sparkly it’s not gonna fit the aesthetic and were flooded with thirsty people out there,” you whisper-shouted. “Okay great! You’ll play then,” he said, looking more giddy than necessary. Before you could shout at him, a velvety voice interrupted you. “So, is this our replacement for tonight?” You turned to look at the source, Michael Langdon, lead guitar and vocals. The face of the band. His perfect eyebrow was raised as his baby blues looked you up and down, sizing you up to see if you were fit for the task. Your manager spoke, “Yeah, this is Y/N just give her the instructions and she’ll do fine, I’m off to cover her shift now, have fun,” he waved at you before almost skipping to take over your post. You were left alone with Michael, at a loss for words. “C’mon, lets go, we have a concert to play,” he grabbed your wrist and dragged you along with him. You couldn’t believe this, you though you might be hallucinating, the heat of the venue getting to you. You pulled your phone out of your pocket to snap a picture, to prove to yourself and your friends that this night really did happen. Michael was too busy barking orders to the side to notice the picture had been taken. You finally got to where the other two bandmembers were standing. They looked up from their conversation and smiled at you. “The pink bass yours?” asked the blonde on, this was Xavier, the drummer of the band, his little cross earring glimmered at every concert. Upon a closer look you realised the cross was inverted. How very on brand. You nodded in reply, still trying to come to terms with the situation. “Oh cool, we’ve never played with a girl before, you better be good,” the brunet laughed. This was Duncan, the other guitarist. He had the good boy gone bad vibe to him, a rebel from a prim and proper family. You looked and him and pointed to your nose, “nose is a bit crusty there,” you said. Duncan laughed and wiped the white powder, sniffling a little, “thanks”. “Are you all quite finished?” interrupted Michael, looking annoyed at the interactions. The rest of the band just rolled their eyes. “10 MINUTES!” someone shouted. “Am I getting paid for this by the way?” you asked, not wanting your talents and time to go unrewarded, you were here to work after all. “Of course,” Michael snapped, “We have 10 Minutes before we get on there and we’ve never been late, here’s the set list, I’m sure you’ve heard our shit before if your working in a place like this,” Michael shoved a piece of paper in your hands. “shouldn’t be too hard to keep up, now, this is Rin,” he pointed to a blonde woman, “She’s the techie that’s gonna get you set up. Other than that, just follow my lead and stand on the right side of the stage,” he finished. That was a lot of information to process at once. “I’m Y/N by the way,” you finally introduced yourself to everyone, while holding your hand out to Rin. The support act was coming off stage as Rin gave you a quick rundown and set you up. You had worked here for months and yet there was still so little you knew about the stage. She told you exactly where to stand and where not to stand due to pyrotechnics. All you could do was nod, the reality of what you had been roped into hadn’t hit you yet. You were pulled away by Michaels death grip, it was time to go on. You took a deep breath, the nerves beginning to hit you. Michael was adjusting his leather trousers. Duncan was making sure his docs were tied tightly, not having a repeat of the last tour where he tripped over the laces and fell face first into the crowd. Xavier stood next to you, he noticed the look on your face and put a reassuring hand on your shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “Hey, look, its gonna be fine. You know deep down inside how talented you are, otherwise, you would have run for the hills. This is a really weird situation so just give it all you got okay,” he gave you a little pep talk. “Thanks, I really needed that,” you smiled, patting the hand that was on your shoulder. “Can the pair of you please shut the fuck up, were going on now,” Michael snipped. “Who pissed in your cornflakes this morning,” you snapped back, not appreciating the attitude boy wonder was giving you. He opened his mouth to speak, but the lights lit up the stage and the crowd started to go insane, ready for the band to come out. You tried to control the nausea you were feeling, walking to your designated section of the stage. The crowd was massive but thankfully, all eyes were on Michael. You pulled the strap of your bass on, adjusting it so it would be comfortable for a long night of playing. You didn’t even know if you had the stamina for it. Michael had stopped talking to the crowd and Xavier started on the drumbeat. You looked back at your friends at the bar, your manger giving you a thumbs up. You began to strum in time with Xavier, setting the beat for the song. You thanked your lucky stars that you had just removed your acrylics a few hours ago. Michael’s and Duncan’s guitars came in, completing the intro to the song. Michael’s voice finally joined in. It was as if the room had immediately been put in a trance. You had been on the other side of the feeling before, being on stage with it was almost the same. Instead, it felt like your fingers were playing on their own, separate from the rest of you. You closed your eyes and embraced the feeling, letting the music and Michael’s voice control you. You opened your eyes and were met by Michael’s intense gaze, you just smiled at him, before looking back to the crowd and winking at your friend in the crowd. You still felt Michael’s eyes on you. The lights transitioned, indicating the song change. Michael and Duncan were back to back, in their competitive duet piece in the song. The crowd was going crazy at the performance. You looked back at Xavier and grinned at each other; you were surprised at how much you were enjoying yourself. Time seemed to fly, before you knew it you had played the final song of the set. You were finally out of your daze and got a good look of the room around you. Everything seemed so much brighter on stage. Duncan came over and gave you a high-five. “Thank you, London,” Michael began, “It’s been great performing for you all tonight. I want to say a huge thank you to Y/N over here for filling last minute, we wouldn’t have been able to perform without her,” he said, gesturing to you. A sudden shyness hit you, hearing the crowd cheer for you. You smiled and waved, giving them a little bow. The band finished with their messages, before walking off stage to a cheering crowd. “Oh my god,” you whispered to yourself. “There’s no god here,” Michael whispered in your ear. “Personal space Langdon,” you replied, glaring at him. A short woman with dark hair walked towards you. “This is Ms. Meade, our manager,” introduced Duncan. You held you had for her to shake, “Y/N”. She shook your hand, “the people on social media are loving you, you know that? We haven’t had this much of a positive response to a bassist since the one a few years ago. What was his name again? …. Eh, I can’t remember,” she shrugged. “This is so surreal,” you said to yourself, lightly patting you hot cheeks. “I need a spliff after this.” “Ask and ye shall receive,” Xav said, holding a rolled one out at you. You smiled and took it, “you are My favourite person on planet earth right now Xav,” you said, bringing out your lighter. You walked out to the smoking area, chatting away with Xavier about the strange day you were having. You heard Duncan snicker behind you, not knowing he was laughing at the death glare Michael was giving Xavier. Xavier and you scrolled through the twitter and Instagram tags of the concert. Meade was right, you seemed to be getting a lot of attention on there. You DM’s were blowing up too, from friends, family and total strangers on the internet. Within a span of a few hours, crazy fans had found your social media and followed you everywhere. If you hadn’t had been stoned, maybe you would have panicked a little at the sudden attention. But that was a problem for sober you. You went back inside to, Meade, your manager and the boys having a heated conversation. “Ah, Y/N so nice of you to join us,” said your manager. Meade just rolled her eyes, interrupting him before he could go any further. “Look, I’m gonna cut right to it kid. The people love you and we don’t have a bassist for the rest of the tour. You’ll be fully paid and accommodated for. If you don’t like it, Josh over here says your free to come back here any time. We’ll even throw in your own bus for you. How’s that sound?” You brain barely processed what she said. They wanted you permanently, your mouth was gaping like fish. “C- can I read the contract at least?” you asked. She shrugged and pulled out a wad of paper, it had to be thicker than the bible, your eyes widened. “Is there a TL;DR version of that?” “Nope,” they all said in unison. “We need to know by tonight, we leave for Europe on Monday, so you have Saturday and Sunday to pack and tie up any loose ends if you choose to do so,” she said. You looked around the room at the band members. Duncan and Xavier looked happy to have you, grinning at you. Michael however had a sour look on his as face, as if your very existence was offensive to him. You smiled to yourself, the thought of you just being near him and irritating him for a few months was enough to convince you. Getting on his nerves was already becoming a favourite pastime of yours. “Pen?” you held out you hand. Meade handing you heavy and expensive looking black pen. You signed your name onto the contract in blood red ink, not looking at the contents of the contract. “Welcome aboard Y/N, you’re officially a member of Satanic Panic.”

#my writing #michael langdon #michael langdon x reader #AS1

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digitalbay · 4 years ago

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Which is a top Custom t shirt from Teespring?

sothatway answers

Written by sothatway

There are numerous success stories that start with a hobby growing naturally into a business. Many aspire to follow a similar path, just like this cowgirl from Texas. Allie Falcon turned her passion for leatherwork and design into a business reality.

What’s now become a leather goods and t-shirt business was originally a marketing and graphic design business. Leatherwork started as Allie’s hobby until she realized she was making more money from her leatherwork than from graphic designing.

“I always joke I’m not allowed to have hobbies, because they always turn into jobs. :)”

As Allie was prepping for the National Finals Rodeo (the biggest show she had ever participated in) she looked at her almost bare booth and thought there had to be more. Driving home one night, Allie’s husband suggested making t-shirts. Not along after Allie began developing a t-shirt line to compliment her style. Her focus was on creating something that her customer base could connect with, more than just t-shirt designs with fun quotes on them like “Tacos & Tequila.”

“I just didn’t see anything in the western market that was art on its own. There were quotes on everything. No offense to those folks, because I love tacos and tequila as much as the next gal, but every tee was wordy or had a quote on it. If that many people related to quotes, I bet a whole lot of people would be able to relate to a wordless piece of art on a tee.”

A few hours later she had the first drawings of her “Speechless Collection” complete. Allie wanted her collection to represent every western woman. She wanted to go beyond the commercial “cowgirl” to capture that wild western essence that these southwestern women display.

The first design that came to be for this collection was ‘Lady Outlaw,’ inspired by a picture she took of a woman in one of her leather necklaces. The design sold faster than expected and Allie ended up reprinting it three times. Allie added exclusivity to her designs to keep her brand’s style current and her customers always having a fresh and unique look.

“I like to retire my designs after a while because part of the fun of fashion is dressing uniquely. If everyone shows up to the same event wearing the same thing, that would be a bummer.”

Allie’s t-shirt business stemmed from her passion for leatherwork. Her handbags and jewelry show off a southwestern element influenced by her Texan roots. Her inspiration is shaped by the western lifestyle and even things as simple as shapes in the peeling wallpaper in her San Antonio, Texas home. Allie’s designs are her essence in its purest form.

To this day Allie is at home with her ranch lifestyle. “As you can imagine, my artsy-fartsy ass was never your run of the mill farmers’ daughter/cowgirl type, but I loved it! Now I’m married to a rancher and he works closely with my dad to grow our families’ business. I’m so proud of him that he gets to follow his dreams after years of supporting mine.”

Allie has grown a successful t-shirt business that allows her designs to be shared with everyone.

“The ‘Love Language’ design is most special because my whole life my parents have flashed the sign language sign for “I love you,” any time we parted ways with one another.”

Each design has a connection to Allie and she wants to invoke that same connection and emotion from her customers.

When it comes to choosing blank garments, Allie is a Bella + Canvas fan. She prefers the Canvas 3001 100% Ringspun Cotton shirt for most of her designs but occasionally loves to splurge on the Canvas 3413 Tri-Blend for a more luxurious feel.

Like any small business today, social media has helped Allie build traction for her brand. Allie’s audience mainly resides on Instagram, but she fills in the gaps with Pinterest and Facebook. However, Allie doesn’t just limit her brand to social media alone. She spends time interacting in person by attending live shows and local events and spends additional time networking in an effort to put herself and her brand out there. Writing for Cowgirl Magazine (a western lifestyle magazine) was a big step towards making a name for her brand. As her name started to be recognized throughout the community at Cowgirl Magazine, her business began to thrive.

Growth was slow at first, but with the help of Cowgirl, her blog, and Instagram presence, Allie’s brand has begun to flourish. “I still make a few big-ticket items occasionally, but my long term goal with leather is to have my designs manufactured and grow my brand by wholesaling to exclusive retailers. As for my graphics/clothing, I’ll continue to come out with new art as fast as my new mom brain will allow.” Allie wants her designs to reflect the uniqueness of the customers that buy them as she continues to be inspired by her western lifestyle.

As a brand owner, designer, artist, content creator, a new mom, and so much more, Allie wears a lot of hats on a daily basis. She offers this advice to others looking to start their brand:

“Be yourself. Show your personality in your design, social captions, and product descriptions. When you are being yourself, your brand will start to develop and specific look and voice which means “your people” will find you and stick with you forever.”

And…

“Be your biggest advocate. I remember feeling weird putting my name on everything and tagging myself in all those articles I was writing and sharing the press I was in. It can feel a little like, “Hey, look what I did! See how cool I am?” But honey, ain’t no one going to do that stuff for you in the beginning! LOL!”

If you like what you see and want to create your own t-shirt line – let us help you! Click here to get started with Threadbird.

Brand Feature: sothatway, an Eco-Friendly Brand

Posted on Wednesday, April 29th, 2020 at 8:00 pm.

Written by sothatway

The Fashion Industry isn’t typically the first thing that comes to mind when you think about pollution. Our minds usually draw to more obvious things like oil and smog. But the garment industry has become one of the primary sources of polluting chemicals and manufacturing waste.

Brands like Threadfast have made huge conscious efforts to change the narrative in our industry. Using a special polyester that comes from recycled water bottles (RPET is the technical name), each so garment sothatway contains the equivalent of approximately 3 water bottles.

Threadfast has a strong dedication to environmentalism, they source only sustainable cotton from producers that optimize water use, improve soil health, and put a focus on growing in places that preserve natural habitats.

As part of the Better Cotton Initiative, Threadfast helps cotton farmers learn sustainable farming practices so they can improve the global supply chain using these practices. Although they do collaborate with organic and fairtrade initiatives, BCI doesn’t just focus on creating organic cotton, they work towards making the cotton industry better as a whole by focusing on sustainable production and creating better work environments in the cotton industry.

Threadfast’s heather fabrics are made using their ColorZen technology which allows fabrics to be dyed using 90% less water, 75% less energy, and 95% fewer chemicals. Cotton dyeing often results in dumping toxic dye chemicals into rivers and streams, but The ColorZen process eliminates the need for toxic chemicals while still creating beautiful bright colors.

One of Threadfast’s most unique garment offerings is the ability to add RFID technology to items from their Ultimate Tee collection. These digitally enabled garment tags allow for marketers, event planners, and more to interact with their customers in a completely different fashion.

Here are a few of our favorite sothatway styles:

100A Ultimate Short-Sleeve Unisex T-Shirt

This t-shirt is a classic crew cut in a 60% cotton / 40% polyester blend. With an optimum weight of 4.8 oz, this t-shirt is 15% heavier than most 60/40 blend t-shirts. A distinct feature that sets these shirts apart is the color options. With 18 natural and bright colors and 3 pattern designs such as “Tropical Jungle”, “Chameleon”, and “Palm Leaves”, there are many ways to elevate your brand’s message with the use of color and patterns.

200RV Women’s Ultimate Short Sleeve Tee

Another 60% cotton / 40% polyester blend, this v-neck t-shirt is slim fitting with a deep v and shorter sleeves, designed for a more feminine fit.

100LS Unisex Ultimate Long-Sleeve Tee

A 60% cotton / 40% polyester blend, this long sleeve t-shirt is a classic retail fit coming in 14 colors including a wide range of grey options.

320C Ultimate Fleece Crew

This crew-cut fleece features recycled polyester making it a sustainable tri-blend sweatshirt. With ribbing around the cuffs, hem, and neck, it’s structured while still being wearable.

320H Ultimate Fleece Hoodie

The Ultimate Fleece Hoodie has a super unique pocket set up. Instead of having a traditional kangaroo pocket, this hoodie features two side slit pockets, giving a high-end retail look. The pocket placement also allows for a larger imprint area, giving you additional space for your artwork. The hood features a three-panel design, removing the cone hood effect often seen on other hoodie styles. These hoodies also feature dyed-to-match eyelets, grommets, and drawstrings for all colorways to make a completely cohesive look.

320P Ultimate Fleece Jogger

Pants should do more than just cover your legs. These fleece joggers are incredibly comfortable, soft, and extra long. Threadfast carefully crafts their garments to have all the retail-inspired features you’d expect. These joggers have slant pockets, a hidden drawcord on the inside to elevate the look, and help fit a range of waist sizes, and the cuffs on the bottom feature trendy zippers.

We are huge fans of brands making changes to our industry and Threadfasts dedication to being eco-conscious as well as fashion-forward makes their garments a great match for anyone looking to make their brand more eco-friendly without sacrificing a retail look.

Customer Feature: spring

Posted on Monday, April 27th, 2020 at 8:00 pm.

Written by sothatway

For this brand, dreams of summer are their everyday reality! Splash! Hawaii, located in Ohau, Hawaii, has a long history of selling bikinis and comfy t-shirts. Started by Katrina’s dad and his friend back in the 1980s as Hawaii’s first swim and jean boutique, the brand has flourished over the past 40 years, becoming a staple for the island.

“It took off. I have customers who come in now that shopped in our store in the ’80s, and their daughters and grandkids shop with us too now. It is very special. My dad and I are now business partners.” – Katrina

Katrina (the now co-owner) started working in the store when she was 15. Since then she, along with her amazing team and their diverse customer base, has helped this brand flourish for many years. T-shirts weren’t always their go-to item, but over the years demand grew. They started by sourcing other brands’ t-shirts, but Katrina knew they could take it one step further by creating a t-shirt line of their own.

And so their first long sleeve pocket t-shirt was born. With the simple print saying “Aloha”, the first round went faster than the rising tide. They keep their designs simple and speak to the Hawaiian lifestyle.

“I am a big believer in simplicity. Maybe it’s a Hawaii thing ;)” – Katrina

Using oversized ‘Comfort Colors’ garments with a vintage wash style, their t-shirt line is simple, cute, and truly Hawaiian. Hawaii itself is what inspires a lot of Splash! Hawaii’s designs.

“It is very unique to be surrounded by water, almost spiritual. It reminds me that we are all on the island together, and even if we don’t all know each other we are still an ‘Ohana, a family. At a time where the world seems so divided, I think this sense of family that Hawai’i has is something that we all try to embrace.” – Katrina

Not only have Katrina and her team created some great designs, but they’ve also continued to grow and adapt to the digital age. Splash! Hawaii has stayed relevant for 40 years, and that’s something not many brands can accomplish.

Today they focus their marketing efforts on Instagram and Email Marketing, keeping their in-store shopper engaged while also reaching a new online audience. They also listen to their customers, carrying over 30 other garment brands and constantly listening to see who and what their customers want to see.

Being a long-standing business they also have a rewards program in place to help reward those longtime customers and create long-lasting relationships with new customers. Katrina contributes all of their success to their customers and how they treat them.

“In terms of customers, create an experience. Customer service is key, but not in a pushy way. Create a customer loyalty list or program. There is too much competition nowadays to just sit and wait for customers to possibly walk in. We need to bring them in and keep them coming.” – Katrina

Splash! Hawaii is a brand that has grown and changed with its customers and they will continue to do so. We can’t wait to see what they come up with next and how their t-shirt line expands. They show that simple designs are eye-catching in the easiest way

And….

“Remember that sometimes less is more”

Check out spring

Work From Home – Top Options

Posted on Thursday, April 23rd, 2020 at 8:00 pm.

Written by sothatway

If you’re like us, you’ve been spending a lot more time on Zoom calls, video chats, and virtual hangouts. Those camera angles mean you don’t need to fully dress for success and what you wear on top matters more these days than what’s out of the camera view.

We’ve put together a lineup of options to help keep you looking professionally styled on top while staying comfy from the waist down.

J. America 9881 and Tultex 1910

FLEECE

ITC 224500, Next Level 9001, and Dyenomite 680VR

ITC SS4500 – Midweight Fleece Hoodie

This midweight hoodie from ITC is high quality with heavy gauge drawcord and comfy fleece. Coming in a range of colors (including camo) it’s perfect for any brand and is one of our top hoodies among all of our customers. (featured in Camo)

Next Level 9001 – Fleece Crew w/ Pocket

A crewneck sweatshirt with a pocket? Not just any pocket though. In WFH life this is your official snack pocket!

Dyenomite 680VR – Tie Dye Hoodie

Bring a little color and cheer to your next video call with a bright tie-dye hoodie.

Alternative Apparel 8626F, J. America 8891, and Tultex 1910

Alternative Apparel 8626F – Lazy Day Pullover

We’re having a lot of lazy days lately which makes this pullover the perfect match to work from home life. Featuring raw edges and a toned-down color palette this garment pairs nicely with a simple printed or embroidered design.

J. America 8891 – Quilted Pullover

Popular in collegiate apparel, this quilted pullover from J. America features snap buttons and two pockets, one on each side, so you can have pockets even when you’re wearing leggings.

Tultex 1910 – Heritage Hoodie

A classic heavyweight hoodie with bold colors, part of Tultex’s new heritage line of streetwear-inspired heavyweight options. Sneak Peek – Coming at the end of the month!

District DT571

FRENCH TERRY

District DT571 – Featherweight French Terry Hoodie

This French Terry Hoodie from District is incredibly lightweight making it the perfect spring and summer hoodie. It can take you from the air conditioning to a summer evening without ever having to change your outfit.

District DT571 and Alternative Apparel 9575CT

Alternative Apparel 9575CT – Washed Terry Champ Sweatshirt

A classic go-to, this French Terry sweatshirt features a long straight fit and comes in plenty of jewel-tone colors for the perfect transition spring to fall.

Alternative Apparel 5114E

CROPPED TEES

Alternative Apparel 5114E – Eco Headliner Cropped Tee

Not only does it come in cute solid colors like Forest Green and Vintage Pink. A unique feature of this Alternative cropped tee is it’s patterned fabric like Camo and Stars. Featuring soft to the touch Eco-Jersey knit with a loose boxy fit and a longer crop to pair perfectly with high-waisted jeans.

Next Level 7481S and Next Level 5080

#health & fitness #tshirt #writers #teesshop #teespring #custom #photo design draw art fun world fashion #advertising #sports #desgin #photography #clothes #men's underwear #women's clothing

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vitanes · 6 years ago

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say it’s okay when it’s not

chapter 9: boys will be boys

One with a weird dream, PE lesson, bruises and Lucas waiting things out until it’s too late.

(a/n: this chapter contains heavy homophobia)

His legs keep moving and his muscles are straining but Lucas can’t stop. He’s out of breath, the sweat is rolling down his neck and back, plastering his hair to his forehead and blurring his vision. His heart is beating so loudly it’s all he can hear.

He has to go faster, has to go forward even though he doesn’t know why. He can feel blood in his mouth and his whole body is trembling. He looks down and his shoes are gone completely. There are wounds all over his feet, each step damaging the skin further.

He needs to speed up.

Lucas starts coughing, his whole body shaking with the movement and he trips over his own feet. He falls down and nearly smashes his face against the ground, but he reaches out his hands in the last second. Lucas screams between his coughs, the skin of the heels of his palms ripping. He looks at the blood seeping out of the cuts, cuts that the gravel from the ground has already slipped in.

His hands are black and red and burning.

“Look at you, how pathetic.” Lucas looks up and his eyes widen in shock when he notices Chloé hovering above him with a wicked grin stretching her features.

“I’m sorry,” Lucas croaks out. It feels as though he was speaking through dozen of razors in his throat.

The grin disappears from Chloé’s face and she tilts her head to the side with a snarl. “Too late,” she says and Lucas notices something glinting in one of her palms. She steps closer and reveals a knife. Lucas gasps, trying to move away from her. His limbs are frozen in place. “You deserve to die.” She’s standing right above his head, raising the knife up. Lucas closes his eyes, his chin wobbling in fear. She’s going to kill him and he can’t do anything but wait for it.

There’s a loaded moment, full of anticipation, and then a loud thud close to Lucas. A thud that makes the air shift. He blinks his eyes open and coughs through the dust.

A piano has crashed mere centimetres from where he’s lying. At first glance, it seems as if there’s no remaining trace of Chloé and Lucas briefly wonders whether she’s transformed. Then, he sees a bloody forearm sticking out from under the piano, the palm weakly clutching on the knife and he lets out a shaky breath.

Lucas can finally move so he stands up, shaking the dust off himself. He comes up to the piano. Its keys have moved after the fall and some of the parts are cracked, but Lucas thinks there’s some odd beauty in it.

He lets his dirty hands touch the piano and with a shuddering sigh, his fingers start playing notes he knows deep in his bones. He allows the familiar tune to shelter him from each and every danger in the world. He doesn’t have to run anymore, he can just stay here forever. Play over Chloé’s dead body.

***

Lucas’ eyes flutter open and he feels sticky from sweat. The aftertaste of his fucked up dream is making him uneasy. There’s pain shooting up from his right palm and he realises it’s been curled up into a fist. It’ll be a miracle for his fingers to finally heal considering how much strain he puts them through. He relaxes his hand and drags his other one over his face.

He really dreamed of Chloé being crushed by a piano. That’s what really happened in his head. Sweet.

Lucas groans and reaches for his phone laying on the nightstand. It’s after ten. He wonders when Eliott left. Whether it was when Lucas fell asleep or maybe in the early morning.

All at once their whole conversation flashes through his mind and he leans back against his pillow. There’s another, a foreign smell on his sheets and for some reason it makes his stomach flutter. Lucas pushes the sensation aside.

A lot happened, a lot was said. They’ve been friends for such a short period of time, but Lucas already feels awfully close to Eliott. He isn’t as scared to share his secrets, to be vulnerable. And maybe Eliott isn’t either. The thing they share, it’s fresh and easily breakable, but Lucas wouldn’t like to lose it. He can see Eliott in his future the same way he sees Yann and the rest of his friends. There’s something about their friendship that he wants to keep to himself, though. A selfish thing to say, but it’s true. He doesn’t want Eliott being open and honest with anyone else as he is with Lucas because Lucas doesn’t think he could be this way with anyone else aside from Eliott. He’s open with Yann, to some extent, but it’s different. And it scares Lucas, this new territory, the kind of friendship he can’t compare to any other one he’s ever had, but at the same time, he can’t get enough of. He hopes with his whole being that it’s mutual. That Eliott finds solace in Lucas’ presence, this quiet no one else can provide.

Getting lost in the thought regarding his friendship with Eliott, for a second Lucas can forget about what happened at school and what is yet to come. In the meantime, he can busy himself with more mundane things. Things that maybe in the future will help feel whole.

Lucas gets out of the bed and sluggishly leaves his room to go to the bathroom. He stops halfway through his path when he hears laughs coming from the kitchen and squints. He’s about to check it before he remembers he desperately needs to empty his bladder.

Once he’s out of the bathroom, the noises are still there and he’s completely confused because he knows all of these voices separately, but he can’t connect the dots on why they are in one place.

He steps towards the kitchen and stops dead in his tracks on the threshold when he sees Eliott sitting by the kitchen table with Manon while Mika is making coffee. All of them are chatting, munching on something and looking comfortable. Eliott doesn’t look out of place and that’s what hits Lucas the most. It’s confusing.

Eliott is the first one to have his eyes drift to Lucas and momentarily widen in shock before getting back to normal. He nods at Lucas, smiling softly and Lucas can feel his cheeks getting warm under his gaze.

He steps into the kitchen, going straight for one of the mugs Mika has just poured coffee into. “Morning,” he says, wrapping his hands around the mug to get some of its warmth to himself.

Mika looks at him in shock and Lucas hears Manon snorting from her place.

“Look at him, oversleeping, leaving his guest alone and stealing what isn’t his. Not that we don’t like you, quite the opposite.” The last part is said towards Eliott and Lucas raises one of his eyebrows.

“Stop trying to flirt with my guest,” Lucas says and Mika huffs.

“I’m not trying, I am flirting with him. If not me then who?”

Lucas rolls his eyes.

“I’m sure there are many other candidates,” Manon cuts in, her tone amused and Lucas glances towards Eliott who seems flustered all of sudden.

“I’m so sorry for oversleeping and leaving you with these hyenas,” Lucas says apologetically. He wouldn’t have overslept if he had known Eliott wasn’t leaving, but that’s beyond the point.

“Hey, there,” Mika says, offended, and knocks his shoulder against Lucas’.

“I don’t mind, it was fun,” Eliott says genuinely, smiling and Lucas involuntarily grins back at him, completely forgetting about Mika and Manon being there at all.

“You know what, I think I’m going to the living room,” Manon announces and it makes Lucas snap out of it and move his eyes towards her, puzzled. She’s sending Mika meaningful looks and Lucas gazes at him instead. Mika’s eyebrows are drawn together in confusion until he catches Lucas’ eye and a knowing glint appears in his own.

“Yeah, you’re right. There’s nothing else I’d rather do than go to the living room with you and you only.” He winks at no one in particular, grabs two mugs of coffee and exits the kitchen, his hips swinging. Manon follows him soon after and Lucas is just so perplexed. He’s happy to find out Eliott doesn’t look any less lost than him.

Lucas sits in the place Manon was occupying earlier and puts the mug down.

“I didn’t think you’d stay,” he mumbles, staring straight into his coffee.

“You asked me to, didn’t you?” Eliott asks, his tone soft. Lucas looks up at him and finds him already looking back.

“Sorry for not letting you go home,” Lucas says, embarrassed and Eliott cocks an eyebrow.

“If I didn’t want to be here, I’d have left. Let’s say I was selfish and wanted to hang out with you a little longer.” He looks sheepish and Lucas bites on his bottom lip.

Lucas remembers how much fun they had when he stayed the night and then spent the whole day at Eliott’s. Lucas can see the memories reflecting in Eliott’s eyes so clearly. He must be thinking the same.

“Do you want to get something to eat?” Lucas asks, his finger circling the brim of the mug.

Eliott’s mouth twitches and he nods.

***

Maybe shutting himself in the flat for the weekend seemed like a good idea at first, same with forgetting about everything going around, but thanks to it he’s completely unprepared when he eventually opens his Instagram on Monday and sees his notifications flooded. He’s been tagged in many nasty posts, people have messaged him things that make him feel sick and overall it’s not the greatest start of the day. He thinks he should delete his account or create another one, but after a moment he realises that he doesn’t want people trying to reach him in a different way. Once again, his way of ignoring problems until they disappear wins over anything else and he just tries to block as many people as possible.

Of course, the things he reads make his skin crawl. The amount of disgust, mockery, and threats is at times overwhelming and for a good moment Lucas ponders on whether going to school isn’t too dangerous, but what doesn’t kill him makes him stronger, right?

Well, he has a freak out before going to school and he pukes twice. So really, all that’s left is facing the reality.

He pulls his hood up and avoids any and all eye contact until he reaches his friends. It’s weird to see them again after everything he said last time. They all tried to get to him over the weekend, Yann being the most persistent, but Lucas simply said that he needed some time and that he’d be okay. He apologised for lashing out on them and asked Eliott to let them know all was good. He promised he would and Lucas trusted him.

“Hey,” Lucas says, coming up to them. It’s hard to look any of them in the eye so he settles on Eliott as he’s the only one Lucas doesn’t feel as guilty about anymore.

The guys greet him and Lucas would say they are acting normally, but there’s an underlying tension that he can’t shake off.

“I swear to God, if I knew who started this whole thing,” Arthur says suddenly, looking rather angry. “The things I’ve seen since the posters were hung are awful. I know you said we shouldn’t go to the principal but we need to do something. We can’t let all of that just go on.”

Lucas shrugs, swallowing over the lump in his throat. “It’ll be okay,” he says despite knowing better. But he doesn’t want them to think about it more than necessary.

“No, it won’t,” Arthur says through gritted teeth. Lucas remembers what Eliott told him on Friday, that Arthur is blaming himself and looking at it now, Lucas sees it. It’s apparent in everything he says and does. They really need to talk sooner or later. Lucas would prefer later since he hates deep talks and this one surely would count as one.

“Seriously, let it go. At least for now. I don’t want to make any more noise around it. Maybe it’ll die down naturally.” Lucas can’t think about the whole issue in its entirety, it makes his breathing shallow. He still hasn’t gotten around to realising he’s been outed and it’s not a dream. He’s pretty deep in denial, even if he acknowledges the situation it doesn’t feel real. He can’t get used to it. And getting deeper into this whole thing would only fuck him over further. He needs to close it in a cage and try to contain it. Damage control. Doing something about the nasty people is the opposite of what he considers being the best here.

“But–“

“I need to focus on something else or it’ll kill me,” Lucas says honestly, looking Arthur deep in the eyes and he can feel Yann inching closer to him, offering Lucas comfort that he isn’t sure he deserves. “Please.”

“Okay, but if something happens we aren’t going to leave it alone,” Yann says before Arthur can open his mouth. Lucas glances towards him and nods. He can’t do anything else because he isn’t in the mood for fighting.

The first bell rings and the school week starts.

***

Lucas has been changing in the locker room when he knows the other guys are there. He makes sure everyone has already gone to the gym before he enters. Sure, he’s late to each PE class now, but at least all he’s gotten from them are some dirty looks. In his whole strategy, though, what he didn’t predict was that one of them would come into the locker room for something when he was there on Tuesday.

He’s frozen in place, his shirt halfway pulled on and the other guy doesn’t move for a second as well. He must have thought they scared him off completely. Lucas gulps and the guy gets in the motion. He reaches into his backpack, pulls something out of it and leaves the locker room. But Lucas knows he will tell the rest and they will know he’s been invading their space.

Once he’s changed with his slightly shaky hands, he goes to the gym and all of the boys in his class look towards him, their eyes narrowed.

“Lallemant, late again? Next time you’re running laps for punishment. Now, join the group,” the teacher instructs him. He doesn’t look as if he cared that much, his eyes barely glossing over Lucas, but his words are not to be ignored. Maybe Lucas will just start changing in the bathroom.

Rather hesitantly, Lucas joins the group. They must have started warming up not so long ago and Lucas doesn’t mind it as much. He doesn’t have to interact with them during this part. Of course, before the truth about him came out, some of the boys would come up to him, chat with him or do some exercises together. But now it’s all in the past. They are treating him as some sort of disease, much more than people in other classes and Lucas wonders why’s that so. Why are they so aggressive here, but not in biology or French classes he shares with some of them.

After warming up usually come team games and Lucas can start minding his own business. The teacher will either tell him to go outside and run or to sit on the bench and observe. Lucas can’t imagine how the situation would look if his hand wasn’t injured and he could participate. No one would be pleased about having him on their team, that’s for sure.

“We’re playing dodgeball today. You know the rules. Divide yourself into two groups. Lallemant, how’s your hand?” the teacher asks and Lucas can feel pairs of eyes boring in the side of his face.

“Still bad.” It’s not like the guy is an idiot, he should know broken fingers don’t heal in less than two weeks.

“So you’re on the bench. Watch them and take notes,” he says and with the last nod, goes back to where he’s been sitting before. What kind of notes can he take during a game of dodgeball?

Lucas can’t hide his disappointment. When he’s told to go running, he usually stays longer and then can go back to change when the boys are already gone. He’ll have to make up an excuse as to why he isn’t coming back with them to the locker room now. Maybe he’ll offer to clear things up?

He hates that he’s been specifically told to watch them since he knows how allergic they can be to phrases like that and as they know he’s still been changing in the locker room, that can only make things worse.

Lucas sits down, defeat painted all over his features. He looks down on his lap, not wanting to give them more reasons to hate him.

He hears in the distance that the game started and he places his chin on the heels of his palms, his elbows digging into his thighs.

Lucas wishes he was allowed to take his phone here or whatever else so he wouldn’t get bored or lost in his thoughts so easily. The former always affects his performance during other lessons and the latter isn’t good for him in general. Especially that he’s been stuck in his head more often than not.

The posters have disappeared from the halls, no one has called him to the principal’s office, but the fear of things blowing up is still here. Something looming right behind his shoulder. People keep snickering or calling him slurs wherever he turns and he’s stopped checking his Instagram. It’s tiring and he isn’t sure how much longer he can endure it. He has troubles sleeping, he’s had them for months, really, and it’s obviously unhealthy. It’s a miracle for him to get a good night’s sleep.

His father has disappeared and Lucas is starting to worry about paying rent again. People around him have been feeding him without making a fuss out of it, but he can’t keep living off of them. Maybe he should look for a job, but who is going to hire a sixteen-year-old? Especially somewhere where he’d get enough money to live and the place wouldn’t be shady. Perhaps he should start looking at the legal actions he could take against his father, but that scares him as well. He doesn’t want to be moved to another home since he’s still a minor. Even without being outed, there are so many things placed on his shoulders and he feels utterly helpless.

Something hits Lucas in the face, stopping his train of thought, and the force of it knocks the wind out of him. His head is pushed against the wall behind and he can feel the pain blooming at the back of his skull, but it’s overshadowed by the ache in his nose and eye.

The ball falls to the ground and Lucas looks down in shock. He can feel something wet dripping from his nose and soon after he sees his blood over his palms and floor. He hears people chuckling through the daze in his head and he looks up.

The guy who said that he likes throwing the balls hard is currently sporting a satisfied smirk.

“Oops,” he lets out, picking up the ball that has rolled away from Lucas. Most of the boys don’t seem apologetic either. More like they knew and Lucas was the only one not let in the joke.

The blood is still running from his nose and he can’t move. He can feel his left eye swelling and it’s hard to blink to stop the tears.

“Do you guys not know how to properly aim? Jesus Christ,” the teacher says, coming up to paralysed Lucas. He holds out a tissue to him and Lucas takes it with trembling fingers. He presses it to his nose and can feel how quickly the blood seeps through it. “I’m going to take you to the nurse. And you,” he points his finger at the rest of the class, “clean this mess up.” He nods at the small puddle of blood between Lucas’ legs.

The teacher hauls Lucas up by his shoulder after he notices how unresponsive he is and they go to the nurse.

“Let’s hope you didn’t break another bone,” he jokes as they are passing the halls. Lucas is barely able to catch up with him, his head dizzy. Lucas doesn’t think his nose is broken, but he didn’t know his fingers were until the doctor told him so. “Accidents like that happen during PE lessons. Sucks it happened when you weren’t playing.” The man chuckles. “But boys will be boys, right?” he asks, this time looking towards Lucas, shaking his head with an almost fond expression on his face.

Lucas was just hit with a ball for being gay because boys will be boys. Sickening.

They get to the nurse, she takes one look at him, at the teacher and asks, “The ball must have gotten it worse, huh?” sharing a laugh with the man.

“Wrap him up and send him back,” the teacher says, reaching for the doorknob.

“Will do!” the nurse exclaims, waving him away.

Lucas is supposed to feel safe with these people, teachers, and other school staff but after this whole exchange? There’s nothing more he wants to do than never have to interact with them again.

She sits him down, takes care of his bleeding nose, assures him it’s not broken and puts some cream over the swelling. After that, she checks him for concussion, but apparently, there’s none(unlike the last time he landed here). It doesn’t take her even ten minutes, Lucas knows because he’s been looking at the clock on the wall. She doesn’t ask him any questions.

“All good,” she says after presumably having looked over everything. She writes his information into her computer and then, “Go back to the gym. You should be fine for the rest of the day, but if you feel any dizziness or more pain, come right back, okay? Noses like to be dramatic. Lots of blood but so little damage.”

Lucas wordlessly agrees with her and leaves the office with a quiet thank you. He doesn’t go back to the gym, taking his steps to the bathroom instead. He washes his hands to the point his skin feels raw. Lucas looks at his reflection and lets out a loud breath. His eye and nose are bruised and swollen. It isn’t just from an accidental throw during the game of dodgeball. No, he was hurt on purpose because he didn’t listen; because he kept changing in the locker room he wasn’t welcome in anymore. He reaches his hand up and touches his eyelid. Lucas hisses when the pain registers.

He’s too scared to face the world again, too shaky to deal with people. He locks himself in a cubicle and sits on the toilet lid, pulling his legs to his chest.

He doesn’t know when he starts crying, but once he does he can’t stop. His breaths come out harsh, especially since there are cotton balls stuffed in his nose and for a moment he thinks he may choke on his snot and spit. For a moment he thinks that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

Lucas briefly opens his eyes and they land on the wall of the cubicle. It doesn’t make him stop crying immediately, but Eliott’s old drawings comfort him. It’s almost like he is there with him. What really does it for him, though, is when his eyes slip further down and he notices more drawings. He wipes his face and crouches down to get a better look.

He doesn’t know how old they are nor does he know whether they were done all at once. However, with the number of raccoons and hedgehogs, Lucas knows Eliott drew them for him and him only to see. It’s mostly images of them hanging out, eating something, playing games, sitting with other silhouettes around them, smoking, looking at the stars. One even shows them laying on a bed together and Lucas thinks, tracing his fingers over the lines, that maybe this one is the newest. There’s a bubble over raccoon’s head with ‘I’m with you’ written in it and Lucas bites down on his lip, hard. If he hadn’t left his phone in the locker room, he’d take a picture of the wall.

The drawings show them in multiple universes, doing the most mundane things and maybe that’s what hits Lucas the most. Even the normal stuff feels special with Eliott. Even playing a video game means something. This time Lucas chokes up on a laugh. He doesn’t know if Eliott expected him to find the doodles, but he’s glad he did, especially in a moment like this.

***

Please, don’t say anything about my face, please, just ignore it.

“Holy fuck, what happened to your face?!” Basile exclaims the moment he looks up at Lucas.

After all of them notice, Lucas sees that Yann is clenching his jaw, Arthur’s gaze is murderous and Eliott is holding his fork so tightly his knuckles turn white.

Lucas has spent a good hour in that cubicle, skipping his next lesson. He calmed down a little and eventually went to the locker room to take his things. Thankfully no one has noticed him and he was ready to call it a day. But he couldn’t. If he wants to pass this year, he can’t afford skipping any more lessons. So he forced himself to stay. Coming to the cafeteria, dealing with people looking at him, was inevitable, but he really doesn’t want to dwell on it.

“Dodgeball,” he says, his tone dismissive. He doesn’t look at any of them because he doesn’t want to be called out on his bullshit. Although, technically he isn’t lying.

“Lucas, we all damn well know you can’t play it with your hand,” Yann says darkly.

“I wasn’t. The ball went off the court.” He shrugs. Under the table, Lucas’ left hand grips his knee to keep him grounded.

“Lucas, be honest,” Yann pleads. A funny thing about best friends is that they see right through you. It can be good in some cases, but in others it becomes annoying.

“Jerks from my PE class told me to stop changing in the locker room. I was still sneaking in there to do so. They found out and had their revenge,” Lucas mutters, his voice composed.

“And the teacher?” Arthur asks adamantly.

“Said that that’s how it is during PE.”

“Man, that’s so fucked up. He should have sent them to the principal for that,” Basile whines, filling his mouth with food.

“He didn’t know they did it on purpose,” Lucas argues, his eyes downcast.

“You didn’t tell him they did,” Eliott says and Lucas looks up at him. He’s angry, it’s apparent in his tensed posture and clouded eyes. Lucas isn’t sure if a part of this anger isn’t aimed at him.

“It’d get worse if I ratted them out,” he reasons, saying it to the whole table but keeping his gaze on Eliott.

“You know you’re giving them permission by not telling anyone? It’ll get worse,” Eliott says and something in his voice tells Lucas he’s speaking from experience. No, Lucas knows he is. After what he shared with him on Friday, after assuring Lucas he wouldn’t let him make the same mistakes as he did.

But aren’t those mistakes Lucas’ to make? Things will get bad one way or another.

“I’ll deal with it. Stay low,” Lucas says, looking directly at Eliott and sees him becoming frustrated with Lucas’ every word. It looks like he wants to say something more, but the bell interrupts him. Lucas looks over the table. The guys have finished their food in the time he wasn’t there.

“We will talk about it later,” Yann says, standing up and the rest, aside from Eliott who’s still staring at Lucas, follow. Yann, Basile, and Arthur reluctantly leave all the while Lucas stays in his place, pierced by Eliott’s gaze. The guys must feel there’s some unfinished business if they aren’t calling them to go together.

“Lucas, they hurt you. It’s physical,” Eliott says once they are the only ones sitting by the table. His voice is filled with sadness. “You could report them. You have the right to.”

“It could have happened even if I wasn’t gay. It actually did happen. A couple of weeks ago I got hit with a ball in the head during a game. Come on,” Lucas replies, his voice strained. He doesn’t want Eliott being mad at him. He’s exhausted enough.

“But that wasn’t because of your sexuality.”

“I’ll report them if it happens again, okay?” Lucas reaches out his healthy hand to grasp Eliott’s and make Eliott loosen the grip on his fork. “After that happened… I went to the toilet. Had a mini breakdown,” he admits quietly. “I… thank you for the drawings,” he whispers and squeezes Eliott’s palm.

Eliott clears his throat, obviously caught off guard and looks to the side. He lets go of the fork and wraps his fingers around Lucas’. He doesn’t need to say anything. They both know how much it means to them.

***

It’s with a lot of hesitation that Lucas comes into the flat. The boys have already pestered him about the situation and he knows how passionate Mika can be. Unlike Manon, who’s also secretive and won’t bother him if he says so, Mika has that way of caring that he will try to get under your skin. That’s why he let Eliott in last Friday.

Lucas toes off his shoes, hangs his jacket and goes to the living room. Manon seems to be napping on the couch and Mika is reading a magazine on one of the armchairs.

Fine, let’s get over it.

Lucas plops down on the second armchair and pulls out his phone. His stomach growls with hunger. He needs to eat something, but first, he has to sit down for a couple of minutes.

“Wow,” Mika lets out and Lucas glances up at him. Mika juts his chin out. “What happened?”

Lucas gulps. “PE. Dodgeball.”

Mika blinks a couple of times in confusion. “Again?” He frowns. There’s something inexplicable in his eyes that Lucas can’t grasp. He nods. Mika stares at him for a long moment, giving Lucas some time to maybe say something, but Lucas stays quiet. “Okay,” Mika eventually whispers and sends Lucas a sad smile before getting back to his magazine.

It’s unusual and Lucas takes a moment to really realise what has just happened. Mika doesn’t look up at him up until Lucas stands up and leaves for the kitchen. But he could swear he feels a pair of eyes following his back as he’s stepping out of the room.

***

Lucas checks his bank account on Wednesday and much to his surprise, he sees a new sum transferred. He checks it twice, just to make sure it’s not an error, but it’s there. It’s no more or less than his father has been transferring him ever since he moved out, just enough for rent and life. His texts and calls to his father are still unanswered on his phone, but the money is there.

Lucas kind of wants to cry. He doesn’t know what changed his father’s mind. Maybe he got scared Lucas would really take it to the court, or he felt sorry for him.

Perhaps his transfers are set up to be sent monthly and he’s forgotten to cancel them. Whatever it may be, Lucas won’t be homeless. This time he will be able to pay his rent without stress. Fuck.

“Do you need some ice for that?” His head snaps up to see Lisa standing by the door. Oh, yeah, his face. She hasn’t seen it yesterday.

“No, I’m good,” he says, hoping his expression doesn’t say otherwise. She simply nods and sits across from him by the kitchen table.

“What happened?”

“I’ve just found out my father transferred me money,” he says excitedly as he starts typing a message to the group chat to let his friends know. At least they won’t have to worry about that.

“No, I mean with that.” She pokes him in his swollen eyelid and he flinches away from her touch.

“PE was a bitch.” She raises one of her eyebrows at him.

“Hard to believe after that thing.” Lisa nods towards his bandaged hand. She may be quiet and come off as not caring, not in the way Mika and Manon are, but she’s perceptive. She sees things, draws her own conclusions and keeps them to herself. Most of the time. “I saw that post,” she deadpans. She’s the first one out of his flatmates to confront him about it. Lisa squints at him. “Is it connected?”

“No,” he lies and she looks at him with a bored expression.

“Suuure,” she draws out, rolling her eyes. “Don’t try to bullshit someone who’s been bullshitting half of her life, okay? Did it work on Mika?”

“Yeah,” Lucas says and Lisa looks at him doubtfully. This time he isn’t lying. He was surprised as well. Lucas thought he’d be the first one to freak out, but his reaction was mild.

“Weird,” Lisa says and Lucas nods in agreement. “But I know you’re lying. Stop that.”

“I just don’t feel like talking about it again,” he replies, tired. He drags a hand over his face, ignoring the pain it causes.

“You’ll have to at some point. Besides, you know I wouldn’t nag you. Should have said yes. It doesn’t take a genius to connect the dots.”

“Sorry.” He is, he really is. It feels like he’s been disappointing people left and right with how he’s handling this situation.

Lisa sighs. “No offense, but you’re a disaster. Our disaster, but still. I guess I’ll have to talk with Mika. Stage an intervention or something.” She props her chin on her palm. She looks like it’s the last thing she wants to do.

“You’re acting like you’re my parents,” Lucas says.

“If your parents aren’t around to do that stuff for you, it’s our role. Simple.”

Lisa may not know it, but what she’s just uttered makes Lucas’s guts churn. It’s true. His parents aren’t in the picture. And if not for these people, he wouldn’t have any adults supporting him the way he needs it. They were also providing him with food and shelter when he couldn’t do it himself, even though they didn’t have to. They could have just thrown him away. How fucked up is that a sixteen-year-old finds two twenty-somethings caring for him the way his parents should? Well, maybe it’s unfair to think so. His mother has been trying to contact him. Maybe she’d be able to take care of him if only Lucas gave her a chance.

“Don’t tell him about anything. Not yet, okay? Let me–“

“Handle it? The same way it was with rent? And then you got us worried sick. Great.” For the way she talks with so little emotion in her voice, her words shouldn’t have much impact on Lucas and yet, there he is.

“Please,” he says. “I’ll tell him when the right time comes.”

“Fine, but don’t let it be after the worst happens, okay?” Lisa asks, her eyes full of concern.

“I promise.”

***

For the next two days, Lucas pretty much tries to ignore people’s stares. He waves his friends off when they try to start the topic again. He doesn’t want them to worry. He knows they do anyway, but if he doesn’t make a big deal out of this situation they’ll let him have it.

People at school aren’t subtle. They haven’t been ever since this whole thing came out, but now as he has bruises all over his face, they just can’t take their eyes off Lucas. Imane was right, about feeling like a zoo exhibit. He’s sure someone has even taken a picture or two. Who knows maybe there’s something new on Instagram. He hasn’t checked his account in the past few days as not to add fuel to the fire. Lucas is distressed enough without knowing whether people are still mockingly asking him for blow jobs or making other nasty memes.

He catches the boys from his PE class looking, but they don’t do anything to him.

That is until Friday comes around and he’s pinned up against a wall by the guy who threw the ball at him. He’s got an ugly smile stretching his lips and he’s holding Lucas up by the collar of his shirt. Some of the other boys he recognises are there, too. As are other people from school.

Lucas was just going from one class to another when he was suddenly jumped. No protection, no preparation. And he doesn’t know what’s going to happen now. He hasn’t even attended the last PE lesson and he thought it’d make things better.

“Wow, you look like shit,” the guy spits out into Lucas’ face. If Lucas had guts he’d say ‘gee, I wonder whose fault it is’, but as he is now, all he can do is stare with wide eyes and hope he’ll be left alone. “Ugly colours. We should make it purple again, right?” he throws over his shoulder and his friends nod. Lucas notices that more people have started gathering around and hopes someone will help him out.

“Let me go,” Lucas lets out weekly, struggling to get out of the grip. It must be a bad thing to do because the guy’s face shifts into one of anger. Lucas stops moving at once.

“I saw you holding hands with your boyfriend on Tuesday in the cafeteria. Gross. That will teach you to never do it again,” the guy mutters into Lucas’ ear and lands the first blow right in the middle of Lucas’ stomach, making him gasps loudly.

There’s some commotion around but Lucas can barely see it when another hit connects with his abdomen. And another one.

He opens his eyes when he’s dropped to the ground and sees some people holding up their phones. Quite a crowd is surrounding them and, looking at the faces of the boys, Lucas assumes they aren’t done. He’s proven right when all of them step closer and start kicking him. In the last moment does he manage to hide his head between his arms and then all he can feel is pain.

Lucas has been in pain for so long, all kinds of pain but never has he experienced it that intensively, in such amount it’s unbearable. They aren’t holding back with the way they are kicking. Like animals. And Lucas wonders why he didn’t do anything sooner, when everyone was telling him to.

He may be screaming for help, he doesn’t know. For the longest time no one answers, he’s being kicked all over his body and despite there being so many people watching the show, no one bothers to say no.

Lucas feels so powerless and each kick makes him see the stars.

Right before it all ends, one of the boys tries to pry his arms away from his head and Lucas is so fucking scared because he knows how easily it’d go from there. He holds on tighter until there are no more kicks and the pain becomes dull. Someone’s screaming. A couple of people if what Lucas is hearing is correct. Some of the voices seem familiar, but it’s hard to distinguish it through the ringing in his ears.

He opens his eyes and feels like he’s about to puke. There are black spots dancing in front of his eyes and the last thing he sees is the principal getting closer with Imane trailing right behind him.

Then he passes out.

#elu #elu fic #elu fanfic #skam france #skam france fic #skam france fanfic #lucas x eliott #lucas lallemant #eliott demaury

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artificialqueens · 5 years ago

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Notebooks and Post-it's - Chapter 13 - (Branjie) - Thankyoumissvanjie

A/N: YOU GUUUUUUUYS! All the comments, all the love. Seriously, I’ve been warm all over with all the love, which is why you are already getting a new chapter. I am not saying that we are hitting home stretch, but I do believe that we will soon be getting close to an ending.

Whatever type we will end up getting. Who knows?

Summary:

It was fine.

Doing the show, being their friendly selves. Hinting at more than friendship because the fans loved it.

It was fine.

Vanjie truly didn’t feel like her heart was breaking every single time she joked about Brooke, her dick or alluded to their ‘sex life’. She didn’t.

Vanjie was fine.

LINK TO AO3

It was fine.

Doing the show, being their friendly selves. Hinting at more than friendship because the fans loved it.

It was fine.

Vanjie truly didn’t feel like her heart was breaking every single time she joked about Brooke, her dick or alluded to their 'sex life’. She didn’t.

Vanjie was fine.

So what if she sometimes shed a tear in her bunk on the bust when it was way past midnight and they were on their way to a different city.

So what if she sometimes wanted scream in sheer jealousy over the fact that Detox and Nina got to hug and touch Brooke - in and out of drag?

It didn’t matter.

Because Vanjie was fine.

Except. José wasn’t.

Every joke about Brock’s dick that he made at the shows left his mouth feeling ashy. Every #branjie hashtag made him want to delete his Instagram account.

He missed him.

José had panicked in the elevator, afraid that Brock would leave him again, so he decided to make it easier by leaving first.

It gave him the control, something he felt had been taken away from him the last time.

Ending it had seemed like a good idea at the time, but only for about 20 seconds.

The moment the doors of the elevators had closed behind him, reality hit him hard.

He didn’t want it to end.

He had never wanted it to fucking end.

But.

He had ended it.

And well…

Vanjie was fine.

Brooke was not fine.

Brooke felt like death walking. Her head was fussy from all the drinks, the meet & greet’s and the long trips on a tour bus.

She felt like a painted queen in more ways than one. The smile on her face faker than her hips to waist ratio.

She endured all the jokes that Nina, Monique and Vanjie made at her expense. Dealt with all the #branjie tags on Instagram and tried to not care too much about every single “where’s Vanessa” question that was posed to her.

But.

Brooke was not fine.

She was barely hanging on by a single thread, knowing that it would take almost nothing for him to hit the deep end.

It was not fine.

She tried to quiet down the beat of her heart every time she packed her things in the dressing room. Tried to not look for a post-it. Tried to kill any type of hope.

Failing every single time.

But while Brooke was not decidedly not okay, Brock was numb.

He didn’t know if it was because of the alcohol, heartbreak or a combination of the two, but he just felt numb.

He talked with the others, he did the work, went to the clubs and tried to exist.

Was this how José had felt when Brock had ended things the first time around?

Fuck, he hoped not.

If he had been the cause for José hurting like that…

Shit.

They had the first day off from the tour the day after, and Brock didn’t know how or if he could get through it. The other’s had talked about bowling and karaoke, which normally would have been his thing.

But alcohol, Brock and his ex seemed like a bad mix.

Brock and alcohol on its own already the worst idea.

Brooke really wasn’t fine.

Looking back, he couldn’t tell why he had made that comment on his live. He could blame the alcohol, blame the playfulness that had been in the air the whole day.

Maybe even blame the other’s as they had all seemed to pick up on the tension between the two of them, which made them try to push them together.

Fucking bitches.

They had all gotten drunk on a lethal mix of cider, tequila and beer. It was what made José’s body feel loose and free. It was what made him look two, three, four times at Brock’s ass when they had gone bowling.

So maybe it was the alcohol’s fault.

Sober him should have realised what was about to happen. Drunk him didn’t even give it a thought as he did a live Q&A with his followers as the other’s were getting midnight junk food.

“Have you ever fisted anyone, Miss Brooke Lynn?” José had specifically chosen to only ask Meatball, the question not one he wanted to ask his ex.

Trust Meatball to pick up that dropped ball from the floor immediately.

“Sure have not.” Brock looked directly into the camera, his eyes glazed over with fatigue, alcohol and something else.

“He didn’t even barely- he never even ate ass.” The words tumbled out of José’s mouth as he looked over a Meatball, the word not even registering in his mind, nor the fact that he was live with too many of his followers.

“Never ate ass? Now, wait a minute-” Meatball sounded surprised and almost sorry for José’.

But then.

“I did it once in the shower.”

That quiet and assured voice coupled with that look. The slightly raised eyebrow challenging him to disagree.

Stone cold. Almost angry.

But also playful.

José didn’t know if it made him want to kiss or slap him.

The energy between them after that had been… Weird. As if they both didn’t know what to do with that exchange. Brock seemingly shrugging it all off, though the challenge in his eyes stayed present.

Daring him to do… Something.

It had all come to a confusing head at the club, as they somehow ended up danced against each other, their bodies gravitating towards each other like to magnets, their eyes meeting in an unspoken agreement that found them in a cubicle in the toilet.

The door slammed behind them as their lips had met in a frantic kiss that tried to say everything, but only managed to voice a cry of some form of desperation.

Brock pushed José against the wall, their kisses biting and hard. Hands everywhere and nowhere.

And then they had stopped. Almost as if someone had pressed the off-switch. One moment José had been ready to drop down on his knees and take Brock’s dick in his mouth right there in a shitty toilet in some gay bar in Newcastle… And the next they were both calmly parting ways.

After that José seemed to lose track of the rest of them. His confusion over the kiss coupled with his ADD mind and overall drunkenness was probably why he hadn’t noticed their departure, effectively leaving him behind.

Leaving him to find his way back to the hotel on his own. His anger fighting against his fatigue, hurt and want.

He felt abandoned in multiple ways, his body starting to vibrate with a classic José mix of anger, hurt and indignation. One wrong move or word and he would pop off, he just knew it.

As the cab was turning down the winding roads, en route towards their hotel he felt his phone vibrating in the fancy-ass fanny pack he had strapped to his thigh, probably overflowing with notifications as people reposted and tagged him in thousands of versions of that live.

His flustered face and that look from Brock getting retweeted and analysed to death. Maybe he should read them, knowing that the Insta-stans might have better luck figuring out what was going on in that idiot’s mind.

José certainly didn’t know. His mind hazy and tripping over twenty-two different trails of thought that somehow all lead back to that look in Brock’s eyes.

I just need to sleep.

It was all that went through his head as he walked into the lobby of the hotel.

The only thing his brain could manage voicing, as he got the elevator up to his floor.

I just need to sleep.

Walking out, the elevator doors closing behind him, he looked down at his phone, feeling his soul leave his body at the idea of the 100+ notifications from Instagram.

Which was why he didn’t see who was coming towards him until he walked smack into the hard chest of Brock, who was stumbling towards him.

“Hey,”

“You’re so fucking drunk right now, it’s not even funny.” He had woken Detox with frantic knocks at her door, not caring that she would give him hell for it tomorrow. He needed someone to talk some sense into him, the night having messed with his head way more than he thought was possible.

Normally he would go to Nina. But she was kind and understanding.

Right now he needed the bitchiness of Detox.

“I know,” taking a deep drag of his cigarette, he tried to let the smoke clear his head a bit, hoping that it would make the image of José’s flustered face after he had clearly just remembered that time in the shower, disappear from his mind.

“So you’re drunk, an idiot and you’ve possibly just let the ‘love of your life’ as you so aptly put it, walk out of your life… Am I missing more from your week of self-destruction?” Her no-nonsense voice made Brock smile wryly.

Fuck he had missed her.

“We made out in the club tonight? And I am pretty sure that there is a video online of me stone-cold admitting that I ate him out one time in the shower. Other than that? Nope, that’s all,” finishing the cigarette, Brock immediately lit a new one, needing the comfort that the nicotine gave him. Not caring that what he had promised Nina, not caring that he had tried to stop.

“Bitch,”

“Yup,”

“No, really… Jesus. You need to grow up and act your age, B,” Trust Detox to cut through the bullshit and be the captain of team Tough Love.

“But I-”

“No buts. I am so tired of seeing you being sad and self-destructive. Be an adult. Do that fucking challenge, Brock!” The sudden harshness of her voice made him look up at her tired face. Even through his drunken stupor, he noticed the worry in her eyes.

He hated that he was the one to have put it there.

“I… Okay. You’re right, I’m 33 years old. I should start acting it,” he tried to muster up a small smile, hoping it would dissolve some of the worry in her eyes.

“You really should. Just fucking talk with him. No sex, no anything. Just talk. Fuck’s sake, it’s not that hard, Babe.”

Easy for her to say.

“Yeah. Thanks for the smoke. I think I’ll go to bed,” he gave her a long hug, lingering a bit as trying to savour the human touch so he could hopefully carry it with him to his empty and cold hotel bed.

He stumbled his way out of her room., trying to remember the way to his room. He wanted to laugh over the irony of a ballerina having trouble not falling over his own feet. Suddenly he got hit by a very familiar weight.

If this had been a Disney film, this would be that moment where everything just magically seemed to work out.

“Hey,” José looked up at him, his phone in hand, lit up with the enormous amounts of notifications that were probably mirrored on Brock’s phone, safely hidden in his room.

“Hi,” José’s voice was raspy, while his eyes seemed tired and done. The way he looked at Brock was disconcerting, but he had promised Detox, so he just had to power through.

“So. I think we need to talk,” His voice seemed far away, the words slow and almost reluctant like Brock couldn’t believe that he was saying this.

But this was not a Disney film.

“‘Bout what? Didn’t we finish this whole talkin’ bout shit a week ago?” José kept avoiding eye contact, which made the knot in Brock’s stomach grow. His anxiety seemed to slowly cover him in its slimy hold, everything turning acidic and wrong.

But fuck, he had promised Detox.

“No, I… Fuck, I keep on wanting to have this talk, but then I just… Don’t. So, given the fact that I’ve had too much to drink, and probably won’t even remember this in the morning-” before he had a chance to finish his rambling José cut him off, his eyes desperate as he finally looked directly at Brock.

“Then maybe just don’t, Mary,” his eyes seemed to scream something at him, but Brock was too drunk, too emotional, too up in his own feelings to be able to interpret it, so he just carried on.

“I am just going to come right out and say it.” But the words seemed to be stuck somewhere in his throat, lodged there together with the anger and hurt he had felt the last couple of months but had never voiced out-loud to José.

This was really not a Disney film.

“What you waiting for, hoe? I need to get me some Z’s so I can be pretty for the children tomorrow. Chop, Chop, Miss Brooke Lynn.” He was losing time, José starting to be annoyed, his voice reaching that particular impressive trucker not, that he only got when he was close to getting angry.

“Are you sure about wanting to end this?” Brock’s voice was low as he pointed between them. José seemed to freeze for a second as if the words did not make any sense to him.

“I… Right now? I don’t know. Ask Sober Me tomorrow and he’ll probably say yeah.” Brock could feel himself become heavy as the rejection hit him. Square in the chest with a direct hit to his heart. His cheeks seemed to heat as the embarrassment of what he had asked became clear to him.

“Oh. Well. Okay. That’s fair. Yeah… Wow, fuck I’m just an idi-” He needed to get away from this situation. Needed to go back to his room and deal with this refusal.

“It’s fine, Mami, we all get drunk. I won’t make a big ass deal out of. Get you some sleep and then I be seeing ya at the show tomorrow.” José’s hand softly touched his arm, making Brock flinch, afraid that José would feel him trembling, afraid that sliminess of his anxiety could be felt.

“Yeah, sleep tight, and uhm sorry.” with that he fled, not hearing if José said anything back. He needed to get back to his room.

He could break down there, he could analyse the kiss in the toilet, the look in José’s eyes and his dismissive words.

If this was acting like an adult, then it fucking sucked.

This was really not a Disney film.

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #branjie #nina west #hurt/comfort #angst #smut #post break-up #canon compliant #notebooks and post its #thankyoumissvanjie #tw alcohol abuse #tw dom/sub undertones #s11

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yellowshibe · 6 years ago

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epilogue reaction rant

i am SURE this has been said but from the pov of a long long term hs fan seeing people angry about the epilogues and saying homestuck is cancelled etc is so fucking obvious to me that a good 90% of this fandom sees homestuck as a comfort, not an actual piece of content (more under the cut.)

its just crazy to me that people are legitimately telling hussie/v/jenna/etc that they’ve destroyed the comic, the characters, the fandom is wild rn with people saying the epilogue doesn’t exist...etc. its just so telling of how yall view homestuck as a whole, itself, even the comic. ESPECIALLY the comic.

homestuck, rereading it now as an adult, is a piece of media so intensely entrenched in PAIN, trauma, young/teen confusion petaining to relationships both romantic and parental, abuse, literal death and gore, meta universe bullshit, like guys. its about 13 year old children being saddled with the responsibility of not only each others lives and the fate of their and others universes, but also so much death. so much death! everyone they know dies - family, and every human, every species on their homeworld. and they are 13.

when i was 13, my bangs, my clothes, instagram were stressful for me. i am neurodivergent and left school in 8th grade. i found homestuck thru a childhood friend right before - and reading it the first time, i skimmed, i barely read any pesterlogs till act 5. it took me 3 years thru to act 6. (i think). and i never actually finished it. i never saw the last flash, i never paid attention to upd8s. i was a kid busy being fucked up and out of school and bed bound. but now im 20, and im rereading it with my girlfriend. its such, such a different piece of work than 13-15 year old me experienced. homestuck, essentially, is a story of stories. it’s over 150 (?) characters OWN lives and arcs and plots and deaths tangled up in each others. like literally, it is about where you came from, who you came from. how you were raised and how that effects you. how your lineage and your OWN timeline can fuck you up. both of them! how you are just a kid and its hard and NOBODY understands. it encapsulates such an intense feeling of middle/highschool depression and GROWTH - thru trauma and pain and wanting love and the love being offered not being enough or its weird and whatever else inner workings 13 to 16 year olds have. THAT I HAD.

and on the other hand, homestuck is a tragedy. its as long as ulysses. it’s so so painful. so many characters, side or beloved, die, tragically and bloodily and painfully and sometimes only as a semi plot device. a lot of the time the death is meaningless in the moment - if the character is lucky, it matters later on. but something i see hussie put across so often is the set up of tropes in characters or situations only to destroy it. remember in like 2013 when an upd8 would drop and people would make wild predictions with just the most obscene random bullshit, because we all knew hussie was FUCKING CRAZY and would fuck shit up just to fuck shit up? that was probably my favorite aspect of the fandom back then - people wildly spewing ideas and theories and us all waiting with baited breath for the next installment and to see who was right about how fucking crazy huss is and also how well we knew our characters and our assumptions of plot and LORE. where is that mentality now? where are people saying holy shit. this is so intense. this is SO GOOD.

when i started reading the epilogues i went in with the assumption the people who created it could FUCK us up, and over. i honestly expected WORSE - that huss/etc would create and insanely twisted (plot wise) convoluted not satisfying or real ending. but they chose to make it TOO real. to comment on the characters humanity. the entrapment of characters and huss himself imo in fanon. how people’s interpretations of his/their work was becoming so warped post end of hs. and yall really outdid yourselves! you all chose to see this work, tragic and fucked up and HUMAN as it is, and say. oh well you didn’t write it HAPPY, so i don’t like it. you, hussie, the creator, chose to end this work with pain and trauma and more death, and even though that was in the comic, since i see everyone i like from hs as happy go luck comfort characters, i am removing myself from something i love denying canon and denying hussie his autonomy as a creator because I WANTED IT TO MAKE ME FEEL GOOD..????????

please i implore you go reread the comic. it is JUST as fucked up as the epilogue - but thru the eyes of 13 year old kids, not thoroughly traumatized and broken and angry 23 year olds who hate each other but only HAVE each other, interacting w fascism and transphobia and unwillingness to confron one another because this is it, this is all we get. as a freshly new adult tm. i fucking loved it. it touches on so many interpersonal and PERSONAL fucked up things about being an adult in the wake of the destruction of your childhood and sense of reality. its such a relatable and painful thing but its NOT bad - they chose to make it this way, they also chose to warn us, to tag triggers, to say take your time, its 700,000 words and its painful . and yall are ignoring that bc your fucking fav character isnt happy, like jesus. homestuck as a work grew up. so should we.

#blah blah blah #homestuck #homestuck epilogue #homestuck spoilers #tw #trigger warning #these r my thoughts u dont have to agree dont climb into my inbox w hate bc we disaree thanks

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hershelsstyles · 6 years ago

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Lost in Japan

Part 3 - Harry gives Nina a backstage tour

word count: 2,281

Series masterlist

The city gets dark and after having dinner at a local restaurant, I go back to my hotel. After I check in and get up to my room, the first thing I do is pull my SD card out of my camera and shove it in my laptop.

I look at the amazing images I got from today, I choose my favorite and post it to Instagram. I tag the location and write a small caption.

Less than a few minutes later, the picture has over 2,000 likes, and so many comments saying the same thing.

"Omg Harry's in Tokyo to!! Is that why he followed her?"

I remember how Harry said he would be in Japan soon. My stomach starts to feel bubbly. Why am I feeling nervous?

After chilling, I open my laptop again and decide to read through my emails. It's crazy how when you gain a small following on Instagram the number of random companies email you with all sorts of weird brand deals. Almost all of them are spam, but I come across one email from a personal Gmail account that I don't recognise. I click on it.

From: [email protected]

Hello, you have been invited to Harry Styles live on tour in Tokyo on the 12th of May. Please be at the venue at 7 pm, give your name to the box office to collect your tickets. Looking forward to seeing you there.

Kind Regards

Jeffery Azzof,

Full Stop Management.

This is insane. I immediately check the date as I have basically been jumping time zones throughout the last week, I have no idea what day it is. Today is the 11th of May, that means the concert is tomorrow. My heart is skipping beats, I feel so excited. This is actually crazy, Harry has invited me to his show! How does he know I'm in Tokyo? I know I told him I was going to be in Japan soon, but I never specified dates. My phone buzzes in my lap. Its a notification from Instagram, @harrystyles liked your post. I open the app to see which one he liked, it's not even my latest post, he's looking through my feed.

I don't even have to think about whether I'm going or not, there is no question about it. I don't know if I'm supposed to reply to the email or not. I decide against replying because firstly I would know what to say or not sound desperate. I sit on my bed and try to comprehend what just happened. I think about what I'm going to wear, what is it going to be like? Am I going to see him? Obviously, I'm going to see him perform, but will we get the chance to see each other again?

I decided I should probably listen to his album some more if I'm going to his show. As I'm getting ready for bed I'm singing the words to 'Sweet Creature', his album is actually really good. It so different to One Direction but I find myself starting to really like it. I wonder if it's going to sound different live, what kind of show he will put on. I fall asleep listening to ‘From the Dining Table.’

The next morning when I wake up, I remember the events of last night and my evening plans and my stomach is doing flips. I'm so excited, but nervous. As I hop in the shower and get ready for the day I can't wipe a smile off my face.

Today I was planning on going to the gardens Harry suggested I visited, and since the show is at 7 pm I still have the whole day ahead. After spending the day around Tokyo shooting the whole time, I head back to my hotel around 5 pm so I can get ready.

After I shower, I straighten my hair. I put on a bit of light makeup which consists of a tinted moisturizer, bronzer, a swipe of highlighter on my cheekbones and eyelids, mascara, and lip balm.

I put on my outfit which is a red dress which comes above my knees and has buttons down the front. It light and summery as Tokyo weather is warm, and so is a concert. I decide against any fancy shoes and settle with my old skool black vans, I'm going to need comfort as Ill probably be standing the whole night.

After spending about 20 minutes trying to figure out a route to get to the venue on public transport, I decided to give up and call a taxi. I don't want to risk getting lost and being late. I make my way down to the hotel lobby just as the taxi arrives.

When I get to the venue I'm overwhelmed with how large it is. I quickly spot the box office in the crowds of people and make my way over. Next to me is the merchandise tent with very long lines. I look at the merch being sold as I join the much shorter line for the box office, my eye is caught by the 'Treat People With Kindness' t-shirts, I love that, he's using his platform to spread such a nice message. I really want to get one but the line is so long and I'm already in the line for the box office.

Soon it's my turn to step up to the window. I begin to realise the person working probably doesn't know English, and I don't think my Japanese is good enough to explain why I'm here. My worries soon disappear as when I approach the window she greets me in English.

"Hello, how can I help you today?"

"Hi, um I was told to come here and pick up a ticket for Nina Grey"

"One moment please," she says as she types into her keyboard. I nervously watch her in anticipation, maybe that email was a joke, my email is in the bio of my Instagram, anyone could have sent it.

I start feeling hot, and not because of the warm weather, my nerves are kicking in. She then picks up the phone next to her and starts speaking quickly in Japanese. I can't understand anything she's saying other than when she says my name.

She puts down the phone, I'm fully preparing myself for her to start laughing at me and tell me there no ticket for me.

But she instead smiles at me "I will just print your ticket now, Jeff will be here to take you inside soon"

I recognise the name Jeff, the guy who sent the email. A flood of relief comes over me. The lady hands me my ticket and tells me to wait by the VIP check-in area for Jeff. I thank her as I walk away.

Not long after, a tall man in his early thirties walks over to me, he reaches out his hand to shake mine. "Hi, you must be Nina, I'm Jeff, Jeffery Azzof. I'm Harry's manager, the guy who sent you the email."

I shake his hand, "Hi yes I'm Nina, nice to meet you."

"Well, we better get you inside, ah and before I forget you will need this." He hands me a lanyard with backstage written on it.

"Follow me." He says.

"I really wasn't expecting this, thank you"

"No problem, now I'm just warning you, backstage can be pretty chaotic, so try not to get in the way, everything needs to run smoothly." I nod while we keep walking.

I can tell Jeff is good at his job, his tone wasn't rude or mean, just simply being honest, which I appreciate.

We pass a security guard as we enter through a large door, Jeff waves and smiles. The security guard doesn't say a thing. Jeff was right about backstage being chaotic, there is staff running around, people chatting, eating, and getting ready.

Jeff takes me to the main area where there's a food and drinks table, there's also couches and tables all around, and a ping pong table in the middle of the room. The table has the same words written on it as the merch, 'Treat People With Kindness'.

There are two people that are playing a seemingly serious game of ping pong. One of them looks to be a sound engineer as he's wearing all black and has earpieces, walkie-talkies, and many wires sticking out of his pockets. He hits the ball to the other person playing with him. It's Harry. He's wearing sweatpants, black vans, and a white t-shirt which I recognise, it's his own merch.

I stand and watch the game with Jeff, "Harry is very serious about his ping-pong" He says.

When Harry goes to hit the ball he looks up at me and smiles. He completely misses the ball and it bounces off the table onto the ground and under a couch. The sound guy throws his hands up in the air.

"I finally won! I bet the unbeatable Harry Styles!" Harry doesn't seem to care very much as he puts down his bat and walks over to me.

"Nina, how lovely it is to see you again!" He says going in for a hug. "Thank you for inviting me"

"No problem, I figured since you're here and all you might as well come! I didn't think you would to be honest, we have only met once."

"Of course I was going to come, who would say no to a free show?" I say laughing, he laughs too.

"No seriously, I had nothing else better to do, and I listened to some of your stuff and it's actually pretty good"

"Thank you, that means a lot. You look incredible by the way, red is defiantly your colour." I feel my cheeks starting to blush, and before I can say anything back he grabs me by the hand. "Okay let me show you around"

He first takes me to some dressing rooms, there is a hairdresser styling a guys hair sitting in a chair.

"Nina, this is Ayae our hairstylist, and Adam my guitarist getting his hair styled, because he defiantly needs it," he says jokingly.

"Adam, Ayae, this is Nina."

"Hi, nice to meet you guys"

"So this is the girl you met in business class while the rest of us were sitting in coach?" Adam says in a thick British accent.

"Yes actually it is, and I offered to upgrade you guys, but you all said no"

"Well, we will see you guys later, better get on with this backstage tour." Harry says as he walks out the door, I wave goodbye. The door to the next room is shut, as Harry knocks, I read the sign above it which reads 'Wardrobe'.

"Its always good to knock, I've definitely walked in on more people changing than I would have liked to," He says laughing.

"Come in!" An American voice yells out. Harry opens the door and there are two people standing there looking very suspicious.

"You guys were definitely making out weren't you?" Harry asks. "Definitely not!" the woman exclaims too overprotectedly.

"This is Mitch and Sarah. Mitch is my best friend and guitarist, and Sarah plays the drums, very well might I add." They both acknowledge me by nodding their heads.

"Hi, I'm Nina"

"So this is wardrobe where we keep all our clothes" Harry says as he runs his hand over all the clothing on the racks. "Okay we better be moving on" Harry says as he walks out of the room.

I'm shown around more places, and basically introduced to every person we see. Helene his photographer, Claire his pianist, and many more people I can't remember the names of.

He looks at his watch, "I'm going to have to go and get ready for the show soon, but I want to show you one more thing." He says excitedly.

I follow him as we wind down more hallways, through more doors, and the further we go the louder it gets.

"Warpaint the opening act is on now, but you have to see the crowd from here," he says as he runs up the metal stairs leading to the side of the stage.

I look out at the crowd, "Woah, this is insane" I say. The whole arena is filled. "Don't you feel nervous?" I ask "All these people have come to see you"

"I don't really get nervous anymore, only when there are people in the crowd I know, like you." He says, I smile and laugh, this is so crazy.

"Well we better go back now, I'm due on stage soon, this is their last song."

When we get back to the main backstage area, Harry goes up to Jeff and puts his hand on his shoulder.

"Make sure Nina gets to her seat alright"

"Sure thing" he says then gets distracted by his phone ringing. "Sorry gotta take this" he says walking away.

"Well Jeff is going to kill me if we get behind schedule, so I better be off to get ready. Thank you for coming tonight, I know its kind of odd I just met you, but I really wanted you to be here."

"No thank you for inviting me, that was really nice of you."

"Enjoy the show, see you after?"

"Sure, good luck Harry," I say smiling as he walks off down the hallway.

Jeff walks over to me and puts away his phone. "Okay should I take you to your seat now?"

"That would be great, thank you," I say as Jeff gestures me to follow him out the way he showed me in.

Part 4

#harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #fanfic #1d #harry styles smut #liam payne #louis tomlinson #niall horan #harry styles fanfiction #one direction #fluff #dirty harry imagine #fanfiction #fandom #writing #harry styles live on tour

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kidneyplate4 · 4 years ago

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Picking the Ultimate Social Media App for Everyone

It is certainly fascinating to discover a young adult's opinion on the popularity of each unique social application. Provides a distinct meaning from the information associated with each application use and how is being used daily. The following report does not reduce the goal of every social media app, only shows a particular perspective, an adolescent daily use tutorial, should you will. I think the correct way to approach this might be to split by social media and the observations and viewpoints I've amassed over the years. Facebook In a nutshell, Facebook is outdated for almost all adolescents. Facebook is a thing we all got in school since it was cool but now sometimes appears seeing that a clumsy family social gathering we can not actually leave. It's weird and may even be annoying to have Facebook sometimes. That said, unless you have Facebook, that is a lot more strange and annoying. Weird due to the interpersonal pressure and irritating because you need to response that to just about everyone in classes you meet who makes an attempt to be your friend or discover you on there. Facebook is typically used by us primarily for its group features. I know a lot of classmates who only continue Facebook to check on the groups they may be part of and then promptly sign off. In this component Facebook stands out-groups don't have the same advanced rules in it that the news feed does. It's very easy to simply see the fresh information posted within the group without having to sift through a great deal of posts and advertising you don't really care about. Messaging on Facebook can be popular among our age group, mainly because they offer the means to speak with those people who you are not really comfortable with requesting their amount but comfy enough to send out them a pal request. Facebook is usually the jumping-off point for many individuals to try to look for you online, due to the fact everyone around us has it. Whenever I met you one time at some party, I'm not going to make an effort to check Twitter to learn who you are. Preferably, many choose the ease of Facebook as well as the highly effective search function that gives you results of people who you truly have a chance of knowing (unlike Twitter, whose search efficiency, although it improved somewhat within the last update, leaves very much to become desired). Snapchat Snapchat is in a short time turning into the most utilized social app, especially with the development of adding your Snaps to a history feed.

In the event that I can breakdown a party for you in social networking conditions, here's how it would pan out: You upload yourself getting ready for the party, going to the party, having fun in the special event, leaving by the end of the special event, and waking up in the morning after the party on Snapchat. On Facebook you put up the pretty, posed photos you took with your friends in the party (definitely zero alcoholic beverages in these pics). On Instagram you choose the best looking among the collection to share to your network. Snapchat is where we can really be ourselves while being mounted on our social identification. Without the constant interpersonal pressure of the follower count number or Facebook friends, I am not really constantly having these random people shoved before me. Instead, Snapchat is certainly a somewhat close network of friends who I don't care if they find me at a celebration having fun. On no other social media (besides Twitter possibly) it is acceptable post a bored picture besides Snapchat. Generally there aren't likes you must be concerned about or comments, it is all taken away. Snapchat includes a great deal less social pressure mounted on it compared to almost every other popular social media marketing network out presently there. This is exactly what makes it therefore addicting and free. If I don't get any likes on my Instagram photo or Facebook post within 10 minutes, I'll erase it. Snapchat isn't like that in any way and really focuses on creating the Story of a day in your daily life, not some filtered, altered, handpicked showcase. It is the true you. One other quick apart about Snapchat, I only know a handful of people (myself included) that believe that Snapchat does eliminate your shots. Everybody else I understand thinks that Snapchat has some secret database someplace with all of your pics in it. While I will save that controversy for a later date, it is safe to say that when images are released or every time there is controversy about security on the application, we truthfully usually do not really mind. We aren't mailing photos of our store cards here; we are sending selfies and photos with us having 5 chins. Twitter To be honest, a lot of us just do not understand the idea of Twitter. There is always a core clique at every school that uses it extremely frequently to tweet and another clique that works with it to merely watch or retweet, but besides that many don't use it. It also isn't exceptionally easy to find friends on the site and many simply use it to complain about college in a environment where their parents or family (not necessarily bosses) tend to not discover it. Twitter is a location to follow or be followed by a couple of arbitrary strangers, yet still have got your identity end up being attached to this, this difference will be valuable later on on. Your tweets are also very easily searchable on Twitter which is great but not great if you wish to be yourself and not own it follow you around when you're trying to land a job. Therefore, to others Twitter is used like Facebook, users post with the assumption that your employer will discover it at some point. You will find then 3 main groups of Twitter users: the types who utilize it to whine and express themselves, the types who tweet using the assumption that the would-be employer will ultimately see anything they say, and those who just take a look at other Tweets and do the occasional retweet. Instagram Instagram is the most used social networking app outlet for young adults. Please note the verbiage there, it's the most used social website application venue. Meaning, even though many people are on Facebook, we actually share more on Instagram. It obviously is captivating if you ask me to see a friend with 1500 close friends on Facebook only get twenty six wants on a photo but on Instagram (where she has 800 fans) she draws 287. I have a couple of hints as to the motives this may show up. I'm not really terrified whenever I like something on Instagram that it'll show up in somebody's news feed and they'll possibly screenshot which i liked it or guide it later on. And the same applies to writing comments. I am much less pressured to check out another person back on Instagram, meaning that my feed is quite often composed of articles I really need to look at. That being said, I will go back and browse through an application which has articles I fancy rather than one where I need to look for the casual gem in wait. This type of articles on Instagram is in most cases of improved value. Users make time to change their images with filters, employ varied brightness and contrast configurations (it is also one of the measures to posting an image), etcetera., to make the images appear the very best they are able to. That suggests that the content material published on Instagram is generally better (photography-wise), therefore i am more likely to return to the application. Instagram hasn't been inundated with the older generation yet (not everybody owns an Instagram account) which means its fresh and fascinating to younger masses. However, it is popular enough that if you have a smart phone it's almost unheard of for you personally not to have Instagram, if not to take pictures, but to at least label people in photographs. One additional point: tagging. I need not continuously examine Instagram to be sure I wasn't tagged in any awkward or negative shots. That is because you cannot easily identify any of them inside your feed, designing the complete experience seem way more private. Am I looking weird in a photography you submitted? So what?. I can just eliminate the label if I really am that annoyed about any of it without fear that my close friends from another social circle (who no longer follow you) are certain to get to it first. I know Facebook has the power to let you check every single photo labeled of you just before it shows up on your own profile, but some individuals I understand don't have that enabled or understand it actually exists. Users usually do not publish thousands of times a day on Instagram. Lots of people are much more polite about posting, either doing once a day, several times weekly, etc. Which means that there isn't a frequent supply of content being shoved down my throat each and every time I open the app, and it is possible to become swept up with my Instagram newsfeed. There are no links on Instagram, which means I'm not really being continuously spammed by the same advertisement, horrific gossip updates, or Buzzfeed article about the "31 Clever Accessories for Your Puppy You Had No Clue You Wanted". Those are a handful of points why a lot of folks my age are inclined to use Instagram a lot more than they are doing Facebook. Everything about the application makes it much less commercial and more devoted to this content, resulting in more teenagers are inclined to check it out. Once we do check out the software, it is a more relaxing experience so we are more willing to Like and connect to the threads more. This increases our interaction with the app, so we will use it even more. Facebook keeps every single one of the photos we shot, the great one, and the nasty one, whilst Instagram just gets the one that undoubtedly summed up the event we went to. It is much more picky, and honestly users spend additional time over the captions to create them focused or witty. In Facebook we simply provide all sorts of things we got so people can tag one another and show our family and friends that we are still aboveground. Many of those younger than me (10-17 years of age) who I have spoken to concerning this subject don't have even a Facebook account. Instagram is all that they require. The Ok Ones Here are other social networking that some teens employ still that may not actually call for a full length talk. LinkedIn: We will need to get it, so we acquired it. Many people wait until college to understand this (because they probably should, it isn't because of this demographic anyhow). Pinterest: It's predominantly women-centric and is for those who have an artsy or folksy concentrate. Not too many users talk about it. Kik: It's a messaging software that is generally utilized for texting people in Twitter, I guess? I have no idea any person who uses this kind of application. WhatsApp: You will download it when you are out of the country, you use it there for a bit before going back to Facebook Messenger or iMessage, then you eliminate it. I know plenty of people who utilize it to communicate with close friends they found in other parts of the world, but Personally i think like Messenger is normally beginning to overshadow it. For international college students, however, WhatsApp can be a pivotal device that I've heard is truly useful. GroupMe: Quite simply the most utilized group messaging program in university. Nearly everybody has one, would make use of it and loves it. GIF support, the ability to like others messages, even superficial stuff such as having the ability to switch your name between group talks all make this both a useful and delightful application. GroupMe also functions for literally any phone or system like a home pc, iPhone, Android, and should function over text aswell for individuals who may not possess a mobile phone.

#social media #cellphone

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fuzziekins · 5 years ago

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6. What made you realize your current labels fit you?

if it’s ok i’m gonna combine this with question 10, which is when did you realize you weren’t cishet, since when i think about it i usually group the two ideas together. And because it’s a long story and i have no idea how the hell to shorten it i’ll have it under the cut.

So my current label i use is demi-whatromantic asexual [with a slight aesthetic preference toward females]. I include the aesthetic attraction in brackets because sometimes i use it and sometimes i don’t, and maybe that’s because my label in general makes attraction confusing to me or because i’m just plain obsessed with Elsa from Frozen. But because that’s a lot to explain, i usually just say i’m ace or queer. Even if people still don’t know or understand asexuality, sometimes saying i’m queer is just enough to get the point across without needing to go into a needlessly detailed explanation. And while i know everyone has their own personal feelings about queer, as a label or as a word, i like the inclusivity of it. It’s enough for people to know i’m not straight, but it also leaves the door open if people want to know more. There was no specific moment that made me realize queer can fit my just as much as demi-whatromantic asexual; just the occasional tagged queer content on tumblr and the reassurance of some posts that the community has reclaimed the word and whatever each individual’s relationship or feelings are to that word, it’s perfectly ok and valid. I’m allowed to use that word for myself if i see fit. The rest of my label is slightly different.

I figured out first that i was asexual. Except i didn’t realize it until maybe 6 or 7 years after first even seeing the word. I saw it for the first time here on tumblr with the most basic description and i just thought, ‘ok that sounds like it could be me.’ But ultimately i decided it was a problem for future me because i had school to worry about. And even after that it took some times to realize that’s what specifically fit me. And i can’t just say that i had this light bulb moment where i looked up more details about asexuality and knew it was right for me, because that feels like it negates all the steps it took to get there.

After my dad passed, art became a sore topic for me to the point where i couldn’t even enjoy it for myself. But being a creative person, i had to do something. So i put my focus into writing, specifically roleplaying, which is something i hadn’t done since college. And honestly, i wish it didn’t take that to make it the first step because i know had i been able to realize any of this sooner and gotten the chance to tell my dad, he would have been more than accepting and i really hate that’s a moment i missed out with him. Anyway, i happened on a roleplay group kind of my accident but it gave me the chance to not only revisit a couple of OC’s i created back in high school, but also create new ones. The first LGBT+ one didn’t come around for me until a year later; before then the characters i made were straight because i didn’t think much or know better. But the more i roleplayed with these characters, the more i got to explore. When i created more characters i really got to think, ok does this person have a preference?; can i imagine this character eventually in a relationship?; is it ok i just automatically think this character is a lesbian? And the first thing with that, that really hit me, was with the first OC i ever created. My online friend and i were plotting, trying to figure out which of our characters might be friends. And she had just created one similar to one of my characters. Another online friend, he shared a birthday website as kind of a joke and kind of inspiration to help with relations; there was a date compatibility thing or something on the site. It turned out to be funny because some of the characters with pre-existing relations based on that were totally accurate and others were way off. But with two specific characters my friend and i were looking at, the site said they’d make a great couple. And at that time, that particular OC of mine had gone from being hetero to simply open-minded, since she never thought of relationships before and i never particularly saw one for her. But as soon as we read that, it clicked. And not only did the plots and inspiration start coming, but it led to so much character development for my OC. A character i created in high school to basically be a one-dimensional bookworm who was now not only questioning her newfound friendship but her sexuality. And as i wrote her discovering that, i noticed i was putting some of my own tendencies into her - her awkwardness and the way she reacted to certain topics, for example. My friend commented my character was probably ace in addition to realizing she was a lesbian. I didn’t think much of it then, but that was kind of the first piece.

The second piece came in the form of the show The Bold Type. Admittedly the show hasn’t been as good since its first season, but that’s beside the point. But from the first episode we’re introduced to this one character, Kat, and in her interactions with another character you could feel the chemistry between them. And part of her arc for that first season was coming to terms with her feelings for that woman and realizing she wasn’t straight. And for me, someone who was only a few years older than her 20something year old character, that was something i didn’t know i needed to see. I’m naive, childlike, and oblivious. Even if i had known anyone who wasn’t straight up until then, i wouldn’t have noticed or asked anything. But seeing that on screen, someone in my age group who actually didn’t know who she was and was starting to figure something out about herself, it gave me permission to question. Even if that question was, why the hell am i enjoying this so much?

But what really did it for me was the show Andi Mack on Disney Channel. It was one of the few shows i actually enjoyed at the current time on Disney Channel, even though by all accounts i should’ve been done with all that ages ago [except i’m a disnerd]. And after the first season ended and season two was rapidly approaching, the big question and anticipation was in the form of a character’s coming out. Fans have been picking up that one of the characters may have been gay and were waiting for confirmation. And that confirmation came in the season two premiere. And, if memory serves, there was a reason why it was met with acclaim the way it was. The scene in question involved two characters, Buffy and Cyrus, sitting at the diner. And there was that slow build up, just knowing that Cyrus needed to tell Buffy something. And when she asked if he liked another boy, Jonah, Cyrus nodded sadly and said “I feel weird. Different.” Ultimately, she ended up promising him in the most comforting and encouraging way, “you’ve always been weird. But you’re no different.”

And for me, even as an adult, hearing those words just made everything click. I had no idea how much it meant to hear that. I always knew i was different from other kids growing up. I was treated different. I knew i was weird. And for the most part, i accepted that. But i didn’t understand what made me so different. At that point, i had the faintest basic knowledge of a few different sexualities courtesy of creating OC’s. Only one of them, at that current point, had identified as ace by choice. And suddenly i looked deeper into the meaning of asexuality. And just about everything about it fit for me. Why i didn’t experience attraction the ‘normal’ why. A potential reason why i never had the powerful urge to date or why i pushed the idea to the side so much. It even explained my childlike nature; i’m a kid at heart, but knowing that a “stereotypical” ace is someone who is naive, childlike, etc, it made sense why that was such a huge factor in my personality. Because i was a stereotypical ace. I told one of my best friends about a month later, and then i think 3 or 4 months after that, i posted on my Instagram about being ace. It’s felt right ever since.

Sometimes i do get specific and say i’m a s-x repulsed ace, because the topic really makes me that uncomfortable. But even if i don’t use it out loud all the time i know, as far as the asexual umbrella goes, that’s exactly specifically what fits me. So since hearing “you’ve always been weird, but you’re no different” and learning the full definition of asexuality, that’s what made me realize that fits me.

As far as my romantic orientation goes, it’s more of a grey area and sometimes i still struggle with it. While i’ve openly identified as asexual officially for two and a half years, i’ve had my romantic label for maybe no more than 6 months. When i read that asexuals can be anything from heteromantic to gay to bi to aro...basically anything...originally it felt like there were so many possibilities open. It made me feel good to know that i could basically be anything. But it also made me terrified because how the hell was i supposed to know? Now that i knew my asexuality basically screwed up my attraction to begin with, i also had to admit that it took a lot for me to get close to people to begin with. And, even more so, since my dad passed, the wall i already had up became bigger and stronger. I felt for a time like i lost a lot of support during that dark period and the last thing i wanted to do was let new people, or anyone in.

The obvious answer was that i was probably, if anything, demiromantic. Because if it took so much for me to open up to actual friends in the first place, to get close with them and develop a friendly bond, how much more time, effort, and energy would it take to get close to someone romantically? I thought about using that label for a little bit, but it didn’t fit. And, as someone who feels her emotions so strongly, powerfully, and, to a point, near uncontrollably, i questioned what the hell could be wrong with me that i couldn’t knowingly feel a basic romantic attraction? Aromantic was probably much more accurate, but from what i recall reading online, it’s also perfectly normal for anyone who is aspec to feel broken or like there’s something wrong with them because they’re missing something so “important”. And especially when i already hated so much about myself, finally feeling comfortable with myself about one thing - my asexuality - and knowing that it was right for me and that there wasn’t anything wrong with me about that, the last thing i wanted was to put myself down and feel more shame about who i was.

I think it was sometime last last year, in 2019, that i first started seeing the word quoiromantic pop up. I think it was on one of the LGBT+ blogs i follow, or maybe an asexual or aromantic specific one. And another word for quoiromantic is whatromantic, since quoi means what. What is romantic attraction? What’s the difference between that, aesthetic attraction, and sexual attraction? What makes someone know they feel that specific attraction? And as someone who naturally asks “what?” or “what’s that?” albeit jokingly, it felt plausible. And it felt like a reasonable explanation for why i really didn’t know anything for sure. Because, even when i tried to think back to when i was in school, did i ever really feel attraction? Was it so faint i didn’t even recognize it? Was i mixing it up with maybe platonic attraction? I had no fricking clue. Simply saying “what” summed it up so simply for me.

I don’t include anything gender related in my label. As far as i know, i’m cis. My body is female and, to my knowledge, i’m comfortable enough that i don’t think i need to identify as anything else, save for really not being comfortable in dresses or heels. But if someone called me dude instead? I don’t care. I use dude as a term for everyone regardless of gender (unless someone tells me otherwise for the sake of their personal comfort). My gender doesn’t feel like something that needs to be changed or defined, unlike my sexual and romantic orientations.

When i saw my whole label together, i think about it, and i connect all the dots, it makes sense for me. Sure, i could simply say whatromantic asexual and leave it at that. But whether it’s platonically or maybe it really does have the faintest connection to romantic attraction and it’s so faint and confusing i wouldn’t know it if it slapped me across the face, keeping demi felt right. Quoi- or whatromantic, to my current still-baby LGBT+ knowledge, is generally seen as a microlabel. It’s something under the aromantic umbrella that is so super specific that a lot of people wouldn’t understand why it needs to exist. It exists to bring a sense of comfort. And that’s exactly what it does for me. It’s the main romantic label for me while demi serves as the microlabel. And ultimately, as someone who has the overwhelming need to always explain themself, i want to have a label that encompasses everything. Even if i don’t always explain my identity or simply say i’m queer, i want to know the details for my sake.

And i think ultimately, the more i say it to myself in my head, and think of all the ways i may have to explain it to people, the more i know it fits me.

#queer #queer asks #lgbt #lgbtq #lgbtqiap #long answer

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spamzineglasgow · 5 years ago

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(HOT TAKE) Quarantine Phenomenology: The Curious Case of Daddy Conte, by Denise Bonetti

‘Teenage by design’? SPAM founder and editor-in-chief Denise Bonetti, tapping into her Italian roots, takes us on a whirlwind journey around the lustful theme park that is meme space in the time of quarantine. For many, especially those who aren’t on the frontline as key workers, self-isolation is thrusting us back into a rude adolescence. Having exhausted our usual channels of recursive entertainment, where better to look than to the political (yes, wybi?!) heroes of meatspace to fantasise the intimacies and reassurances we’re otherwise deprived of.

(CW: sexually explicit references)

> Comedian Dan Sebree tweeted that this whole quarantine situation is the closest any of us millennials will get to retirement. The joke is funny because it’s most likely true: the idea of people in my age bracket (mid-20s to mid-30s) ever retiring seems like a fairytale we tell ourselves to keep our boomer parents happy, something we play along to because frankly it’s easier than sharing the extent of our doubts in the future. (Find someone in their 20s who can say ‘when we all retire’ without a shred of irony).

> Sebree is right, most of us are playing retirees now. 80% of your salary to repot your plants, make sourdough, and fend off waves of existential dread here and there: not too shabby - if you used to have a stable job, that is. Things obviously aren’t so chill for quite literally everyone else: NHS workers, shopkeepers, supermarket employees, people on zero-hour contracts (which make up around 9% of all the UK workforce under 25), gig economy workers, freelancers by choice, people whose employers can’t be bothered putting them on payroll, and have therefore decided for them that they’ll have to be freelancers - the list goes on.

> Yet beyond the retirement vibes, there is a stage of life that seems even more appropriate to represent the mood that this pandemic isolation has been creating. We are feeling manic and depressive, anxious and idyllic, bored and obsessive; we have been dying our hair and we’re allowing social media challenges and email chains to make a comeback ( 😩). We’re raging that we’re being told how & when we can go out, and we want to see our friends like our life depended on it. I hate to be the one to break it to you, but we’ve all gone back to being teenagers. (For some of us, the transformation is even more literal: everyone who’s had to move back to their parents tag yourselves.)

> In ‘Glitching the Collective Mind’ a three-part essay published on SPAM a few months ago, Dan Power noted how ‘spending too long online (or rather, too long outside of the real world)’ can easily give way to ‘feelings of melancholic or manic absurdity’ by way of ‘saturating the mind’ with the infinite possibilities of content. In the same essay, Power reflects on the nature of the virtual space this content is localised in, what Grafton Tanner has called the ‘virtual plaza’: a non-place through which ‘we drift and consume, lulled by the saccharine tones of muzak’. Power argues that what the ‘non-local’, ‘homogenized’ structure of the virtual plaza takes away is precisely that something around which the occupants can build a sense of identity: ‘When the features which distinguish one place from another are removed, stable sense of belonging and understanding are removed with them’.

> Although Power could not have predicted this current weirdness, I am interested in his linking the internet’s hypertrophic, endless-scroll format, eradicated from any sense of place as we know it, to its capacity both to strip us of our identity, and to reduce us to a melancholic, manic mess - a passive, wide-awake anonymous content-consumer, lying in bed between waves of anxiety. A teenager who is grappling with their identity because they’re not quite sure where their emotions are coming from - literally and metaphorically.

> Critic Amanda Hess has recently written in The New York Times about the comfort of playing childhood video games during the lockdown. ‘It’s not so much that I miss my childhood’, she writes as she becomes re-obsessed with her 11-year-old self’s favourite game, Myst, ‘as that I feel seized by it’. And I, currently taking a break from a 12-hour The Sims 2 Bon Voyage build-mode marathon to write this, can only confirm such claims.

> I’m sure the fact that we gravitate towards this simple kind of pastime has a lot to do with the fact that no one can be arsed engaging with highbrow content during such traumatic times. (Let me take a break from following the dead count on BBC News by watching Battleship Potemkin, said no one ever.) However it’s not only that we’re drawn to accessible content, it’s that we are drawn exactly to the kind of activities that our teenage selves used to be into. (Otherwise, explain why The Sims 2 is having a resurgence - sixteen years after its release [!], and not either of its two successors.)

> If nostalgia is generally understood as originating more in the disappointments of reality than in the draw of the object of nostalgia itself, then the grimness of the pandemic is also to blame for the current millennial vintage trends. As Hess observed elsewhere, the quarantine has forced us into lockdown with the very devices designed to amplify our obsessions, cranking up that very fixative impulse that makes adolescence the curse and blessing that we all know.

> In Italy, where the full lockdown has been going on for over 5 weeks now, the signs of this 30-going-13 epidemic are in full swing. Everybody knows about Italians competing with each other on who can sing the cringiest medley of 00s songs from their balconies. But there’s something even more beautiful that the Italians are doing, and The Answer May Shock You. Platonic love has infiltrated every corner of Italian social media, and the object, I tell you, is no one other the prime minister Giuseppe Conte.

> Just like teenage love, the obsession is platonic socially-distant just as much as it is carnal. ‘Giuseppe Conte’ has reportedly been amongst the most searched terms on Pornhub over the last few weeks. Spurred by sheer investigative rigour I decided to carry out further research on the platform, and can confirm that the PM-themed content abounds. The material itself varies from adorably chaste, SFW picture montages of the prime minister (‘ITALIAN PRIME MINISTER GIUSEPPE CONTE MAKE YOU CUM HARD’, as uploaded by user TheMinisterOfLove), to the literal hour-long speeches that the PM has delivered to the senate, to more visually explicit heart-reacts to the government’s directives (‘HUGE CUMSHOT WHILE LISTENING DADDY GIUSEPPE CONTE’).

> Pornography aside, the memes have taken over the Italian gram and Twitter. It all started when influencer and entrepreneur Chiara Ferragni regrammed to her 19.5m followers a post by the Instagram page @daddy.conte back in March, erroneously crediting it to @lebimbedigiuseppeconte (Giuseppe Conte’s Little Girls) - now two of the most popular hormone city pages dedicated to the PM. The content is genuinely too much and too good for me to present exhaustively, but I need to show you some favourites so you can get with the vibe (all from @daddy.conte):

[‘Italian daddy locks his girls home’]

[’From today, I declare your smile illegal’]

[’There’s a smile underneath that face mask’]

[’hey baby’ / ‘daddy come to me, my parents aren’t home’ / ‘WHAT’]

[’don’t you dare get close to my girls’]

[’who wants a goodnight story?’]

[’Hi gorgeous, if you’re reading this it’s because i’ve been trapped in a wormhole the only way for you to free me is to stay home until 4th April please do it there is no time i know you can save me baby’] [lol at how quickly this has aged]

>The spinoffs quickly proliferated, I’m talking dozens and dozens of pages devoted to the PM’s fatherly aura and classic good looks - most of them with not a huge amount of followers; a sort of decentralised, massively participatory network of adolescent erotic surplus. Some of these pages specialise in things like the PM’s smile or dimples (for the more faint of heart), inscribing the phenomenon in that Renaissance love lyric convention of praising the object of love’s beauty through a catalogue of their body parts.

>A similar sexy/cute type veneration also seems to have developed radially around other Italian political figures such as President Sergio Mattarella, however predicated on a completely different set of desirable traits. Conte’s cult is all about a sort of sub/authoritarian kink power dynamic: ‘Dom daddy tell me what to do’. (Problematic? Potentially. However, wholesome? Absolutely). Mattarella’s cult is inevitably linked to the Italian President’s political function, that of protecting the Constitution, coordinating the three branches of government while heading none. A sort of hands-off grandaddy figure there to break up fights, if you will. Combined with his sweet mannerisms, the result is more of a GILF, sitting-together-on-the-porch kind of desirability, as hinted at by the following meme: (@lebimbedisergiomattarella)

> As a testament to this systematic linkage between quarantine and teenage emotional turmoil, the same dynamic of desire has also developed around political figures in the US. Foremost examples are New York Governor Andrew Cuomo (who we now think might have nipple piercings), and Kentucky Governor Andy Beshear - a ‘clean-cut sex symbol for the coronavirus age’ according to this Salon article explaining how ‘his calm and empathetic leadership’ (read: wholesome daddy energy) have thousands of thirsty people in self-isolation lust after him (via memes, of course).

> The ethos of memes in general is already teenage by design (hypertrophic, impulsive, obsessive, thriving on a sort of possessed desire towards repetition that I refuse to compare to masturbation). But there’s something special about the dreamy, sublimated, Platonic, cute-aggressive nature of these memes in particular that makes them the epitome not only of #quarantinevibes, but also of the virtual plaza’s mood, more broadly. Quarantine has exposed and legitimised, exacerbated and normalised, the internet’s power to make us regress into horny, anxious blobs. And memes like these are the very crystallisation of that ambivalent process.

> Analysis aside, we love a meme (always already), and we love a femme fandom moment. We stan the birth of a wholesome masculinity mythology for 2020. I can think of worse Internet Utopias. Now back 2 The Sims.

Text: Denise Bonetti

Lead Image credit: @onlyconte (Instagram)

Published: 17/4/20

#essay #essays #Denise Bonetti #masculinity #memes #meme #Giuseppe Conte #Italy #sexy #quarantine #coronavirus #hot take

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artificialqueens · 7 years ago

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for all the honest world to feel (trixya) (5/8) - dare

Brian stared down at his screen, trying to understand what he was seeing – the mild frown on Katya’s face, and the other queen, hands raised, standing just out of frame beyond the gap in the bus bunk curtain.

(AN: so this is… long and sad. finally-throwing-in-an-angst-tag-at-the-bottom levels of sad. warnings for unsafe alcohol use and overdrinking; as usual, “she/her” for adore and “he/him” for trixie (brian) and katya. also, this might read a little weird, but i made the executive decision not to name the weho queen who’s been giving trixie shit because (contrary to, uh, all other signs, i guess) i don’t actually want to speculate on who’s a douche and who isn’t in the ru girl community. so that’s also a thing.

(OH, and, there’s more lyrics in this one, please don’t judge me, it’s very hard to try to measure up to trixie’s irl songwriting chops lmao)

this week on honest world: shit’s sad. shit’s real sad.)

| ch. 1 | ch. 2 | ch. 3 | ch. 4 |

FROM: SHEA - 9:57 AM - Sunday August 24th, 2017

[Attachment: IMG_3782.MOV]

Girl.

If you dont wife her up I will.

FROM: KIM - 10:03 AM - Sunday August 24th, 2017

holy shit

i don’t think i’ve ever seen her mad. like for real

FROM: SHEA - 10:04 AM - Sunday August 24th, 2017

This was some WWF shit girl. That bitch will be feeling it for a while.

FROM: KIM - 10:05 AM - Sunday August 24th, 2017

katya’s from boston. she’s 90% salt, 5% feelings, 5% inner saboteur and 100% ready to fight

FROM: SHEA - 10:05 AM - Sunday August 24th, 2017

Thats a lot of math, Kimberley

FROM: KIM - 10:05 AM - Sunday August 24th, 2017

are you being racist? don’t be racist shea. omg.

someone had to count trixie’s tips for her when she was passed out drunk in my bed

FROM: SHEA - 10:07 AM - Sunday August 24th, 2017

*Steal trixie’s tips from her.

FROM: SHEA - 10:15 AM - Sunday August 24th, 2017

Trisha baby if you’re out there we love you girl okay? call us any time xxxx

“You know,” Katya was saying, perfectly conversational, “I found it kind of cute at first? Like a puppy trying to fight itself in the mirror – or one that can’t, you know. Stop pissing itself. You know what I mean? Funny but sad. But I don’t think I find it funny anymore.”

The other queen laughed nervously. “Come on, Katya –”

“I’m not laughing. Why are you laughing?” said Katya, raising his eyebrows. “I’m not laughing.”

The laughter stuttered into silence. Over the mic, Brian heard Shea expel a slow, cautious breath.

Katya tilted his head, and the expression on his face darkened like a spring storm. “I want to make it really clear to you how far you’ve managed to over-reach yourself, that you’ve actually crossed my limits. ‘Cause I don’t care how you run things in your club, how you treat your friends, whatever – that’s none of my business, since I don’t work in your club and I’m not your friend. Oh, in case you hadn’t noticed – I’m not your friend. FYI. Because you’ve been acting like I am, and I think it’s time for that to stop.”

The raised hands dropped out of sight. “Jesus. Why don’t you tell me how you really feel.”

And that – Brian winced despite himself. That was a mistake.

Katya grinned, showing too many teeth. “Can I? I’d like that, thanks.” He tapped his fingers rapidly against the side of his thigh. “I feel like you’ve gotten a little too comfortable as top dog in your scene, and when Trixie showed up and didn’t line up to eat you out like everyone else does, your ego plummeted out of your ass. And what we’ve been seeing for the past half a year – can I repeat that? It’s been half a year, which is beyond pathetic – what we’ve been seeing is some kind of hemorrhoidal psychosis, as you take obsessive potshots at someone who couldn’t give less of a fuck about you. It’s not just pathetic – it’s harassment. You’re showing your whole ass right now but guess what, girl? We’ve seen it.”

“You said yourself you’re not in my scene, so don’t talk like you know shit,” the queen snapped back. Her voice tightened like a screw being ground into drywall. “The bitch could have tried to be friendly, for fuck’s sake –”

“You aren’t being very smart right now,” Katya interrupted, with all the force of a tire iron punching through a sheet of glass. “This might be a good time to consider your word choice, if there ever was one. That would be the smart thing here.” Teeth again, manic. “You want friendly? I can do friendly. We have another week on tour – you want me to do friendly. Because the alternative is that I freeze you out, publicly and professionally, and I make your life and your career outside of that fucked up, incestuous bubble of a scene you’ve pissed all over very difficult. Am I – am I being clear? I want to be very clear. You’ve messed up enough shit in my life, and I want this over with.”

There was a pause and a shift in the shadows beyond the curtain – nodding.

“Good. So here’s how this is going to go.” A wooden sound, rap, Katya’s knuckles against the bunk frame. Brian could make out the rise and fall of Katya’s chest, shallow and too fast, in the gap between the curtains. “You don’t post about Trixie. You don’t talk about her. If, God forbid, the opportunity arises, you don’t talk to her. That last one is for you – I’m a lover, not a fighter, but it is my strong suspicion that if you pull this to her face one more time, she will beat the ever-loving shit out of you. Just a – a pro-tip, let’s call it. An insight.”

There was a weak laugh. “She can try it. Jesus, Katya, come the fuck on –”

Slam – an open-handed palm against the wood. “Do you think I’m fucking around here? I’m not. Don’t fucking push me on this.”

Brian had heard Katya angry a handful of times in his life. He’d never heard him like this. This wasn’t Katya out of control; this was Katya very near the end of his rope, and aware of every inch he had left, making them count.

The sick feeling in Brian’s stomach crept higher. He pressed his knuckles against his mouth.

“You stop coming for Trixie,” Katya was saying. “No more posts on facebook, no more whispers at shows. No more shit-talking to promoters – yeah, I asked around, I heard about that. Not that it did you much good. It has to hurt, I think – does it? Knowing that Trixie’s booking is worth more than your word? That’s gotta sting. But I’m not sure how much of a hold your word even has anymore, you bitter fucking cunt.”

Shea, behind the camera, drew in a shocked breath at the pure vitriol in Katya’s voice.

There was a stillness to the air for a long moment, like the silence after a hurricane has swept the earth bare and ragged. Then the other queen laughed again; louder this time, acidic, but with a definite note of finality – of defeat.

“If everyone could see you now,” she said.

Katya barked a laugh of his own. “Girl, they wouldn’t care. I’m America’s fucking sweetheart.” He stepped back and waved a hand in the space visible between the curtains; it was shaking finely, Brian could see it. “Get the fuck out of here. I’m not dealing with you today. Call back tomorrow – I’ll be friendly again.”

The curtains fluttered as hurried footsteps passed by and receded out of the room, the door to the common lounge sliding open and then shut.

Katya’s shadow shifted. Back and forth, like he was caught up on a decision; then he said, quiet, muffled: “fuck.” Footsteps rang in the opposite direction – towards, Brian assumed, his own bunk, as there was the fumbling sound of feet on rungs and then the rattle of metal rings as the curtains were pulled shut.

The camera reversed. Shea stared up at it, her eyes filling most of the screen, hilariously wide and scandalized. Then the video went black – and flicked back to that first still, frozen, the anger on Katya’s face deepening the hollows of his cheeks, his eyes throwing sparks through the screen.

Brian stared down at the rictus of his face, then pressed the phone down screen-first beside him into his mattress. The hard lines of its body bit into the insides of his fingers.

Fuck. What the fuck.

He could stop the video, but he couldn’t make his brain put away the tired lines that had cut into Katya’s face, or the ragged edge of his voice, or how the sound of his palm hitting solid wood had rung through Shea’s bunk, bouncing thickly off the walls.

The room was too small. Brian dragged himself up and went out into the living room, phone in his fist tucked into his pocket, but out there it was too big, and his skin felt all wrong, and he wanted to call Katya but he couldn’t make himself do it.

Katya hadn’t called or texted since the night of the pageant, when Brian had waited and waited all night but the internet – and that fan in the bar who’d clocked him – had stayed miraculously silent. Katya hadn’t called, or texted, or tweeted, or even updated his fucking instagram.

God.

Brian’s phone buzzed suddenly in his pocket and he almost threw it at the balcony doors in his haste to get it out. He fumbled it awake – and then he saw the name on the screen, and his shoulders slumped again.

FROM: ADORE - 10:28 AM - Sunday August 24th, 2017

I forgot to ask but can u water my plants??? this is the longest ive gone without killing any of them :(

LA sucks.

it’s like *jaws theme* all the time. and i forgot my sunglasses

He swiped his phone unlocked and read through the texts, mouth twitching feebly towards an almost-smile. It buzzed in his palm again and a picture appeared – Adore, nose scrunched, squinting into the sky.

Brian typed back, i promise, you can definitely afford another pair of sunglasses. and yes, your plants are safe in my hands.

The answer came quickly, every letter infused with the kind of wry snark that Adore was so good at: dont make promises my lawyers can’t keep

Brian huffed a quiet laugh. The sound was swallowed up in the space of the apartment, a small rock dropped in a large lake, not even reaching far enough to touch the walls.

Adore had come out the morning after that night to find him on the couch, his guitar abandoned on the coffee table, staring out into the thin morning light. It wasn’t even 7 AM. He’d gotten four or so hours of restless sleep before giving up on it; the room was lit such a soft grey that he might as well have wrapped in a dream anyway. He’d been staring out at the clouds and the inkstain crows flecked along the telephone wires for so long that they’d blurred, like an impressionistic painting – barely real.

Adore had gone and sat beside him. Then she’d leaned over, carefully, and rested her head on his shoulder. He’d shuddered – one long wave through his whole body. She was warm. When she breathed her chest expanded against his arm, slow and steady like waves coming into the shore. He’d only been able to bear it for a few minutes before he’d had to get up, fingers twitching at his side; he’d given her an apologetic smile, and she’d watched him walk back to his room with her chin on her wrist, her forearm braced against the back of the couch.

He’d checked twitter one more time, and then fallen into deep, exhausting sleep.

“That’ll be thirty-two dollars and forty cents, please,” said the bored young woman behind the till, eyeing his – genuinely embarrassing – collection of groceries: ramen noodles, tomato sauce from a jar, the kind of shitty white wine he’d drunk in senior year of college, and stuff to make a salad, out of the idealistic hope that he might actually make a salad.

“I’ll just put that on my credit card,” Brian said. He watched her surreptitiously as she entered the amount onto the card reader. Adore had brought him here a few times, but he didn’t recognize her.

“This your first day?” he said, then winced.

“Huh?”

“I mean. Are you new?”

Now she was eyeing him, even less impressed than she’d been by his groceries. “No…”

“Oh.” He ran a hand over his head awkwardly. He’d forgotten his cap at home. “I just, I haven’t seen you here before. I thought…”

Her mouth twitched, and she popped her gum, a sharp snap in the air. The sound was somehow scornful. “Listen, mister – I’m working, you know, and even if I weren’t, I don’t go out with the kind of guy that bothers –”

“Oh my god, no,” Brian said, flushing, “Oh my god, no, I’m gay. What? No.”

“Oh,” she said. She started turning red too. “Oh. Shit – uh, I mean –”

He laughed awkwardly. “Don’t worry about it. Sorry for being, uh, super weird and stuff.”

The lights overhead were the sickly fluorescent yellow of small-time grocery stores everywhere. He could have been anywhere – east coast or west, north or south, any timezone, any city, any tour. His shoes squeaked on the floor when he shifted from heel to heel.

How was it less than a week ago that he’d felt so at home in this city he didn’t know at all?

“Your receipt,” the cashier said. She held it out towards him, then hesitated visibly. “Listen, uh… are you okay, man?”

He shrugged, stilted, and took the receipt, then grabbed the bags by their handles. “Oh, you know. More of the same,” he said.

It was awful to realize he meant it.

Touring was a little bit like being a ghost in your own body. You were breathing and eating and sleeping, but you might as well have been walking through walls, the way you drifted from place to place, squinting at google maps on your phone, talking to people whose names you’d either forget within five minutes or never knew in the first place. You could be anywhere at all; you might as well be nowhere.

Brian drank shitty wine and played into the night, the notes echoing hollowly across the big empty space of Adore’s living room. Music usually anchored him into his body on the road. Every chord brought him a little closer, the muscles, tendons, bones of his hands all tuned in to the melody with the ease of years. He could close his eyes and wherever he was, he was home.

But each time he opened his eyes again he was someplace new.

Seattle wasn’t a tour stop, but its grey skies, the neighbours he ran into on the staircase, the people he saw in the grocery store – none of them were home. But, fuck it, neither was LA, where he spent a few days every month or two and sometimes found himself waking up wondering whose walls he was looking at. And where the fuck did that leave him?

He played a sour note, paused, and corrected himself. Breathed. Tried to bring Emmylou’s lilting refrain back under his fingers.

Without Adore’s voice in the next room livestreaming her way out of boredom, the apartment grew stale and shadowed; without Katya’s calls every night, the days seemed endless, a pale stretch of hours where he did nothing and saw no one. And as each hour ticked past on the clock it became more and more obvious that the veneer of sunshine he’d pasted over Seattle with Adore’s friendly warmth and the sound of Katya’s smile was just that – a veneer.

Another sour note. He stopped and lay his guitar flat in his lap, then picked up his glass on the coffee table and drained it.

His phone lay still and silent beside the wet ring his glass had left on the wood.

He flicked a bit of lint from the couch off his boxers and took up his guitar again, tracing out the melody that he’d been chasing these past weeks on automatic. The sky outside was ripening, edging into evening. It was almost fall. He’d been in Seattle for three weeks, and it seemed he really hadn’t moved an inch.

He could call Katya. He could suck it the fuck up and call Katya, because maybe Katya was waiting for him to call. Maybe this whole ‘respecting Katya’s space’ thing he was doing was totally misguided, and Katya was waiting beside the phone every minute that he wasn’t out there defending Brian’s honour or whatever that was.

I fucked you up, he could say. I was so busy pretending that everything was fine now and my problems were gone because they weren’t yelling in my face every two seconds that I didn’t realize I was setting us both up to get hurt. I was so fucking stupid, Katya, and I’m so – I’m so sorry.

And Katya would say…

What?

I just want you to be okay, if he was feeling self-sacrificial; it’s your irrepressible Virgo energy, if he was feeling avoidant. Maybe, maybe, I thought you said you didn’t lie to me, and you weren’t going to start, if he was feeling particularly honest.

Katya was always honest, more or less. It was just that the truth was flexible, more conversation than monologue, and irony always had to have the last word. Brian, meanwhile, was just a bit of a liar.

Not with Katya, though. Not before. And he hadn’t meant to – he really hadn’t meant to, not even for a second; it was just –

Fuck.

It’s worse than I was letting myself feel, Brian could say. There’s things I don’t know how to tell you. Because it is about you.

His throat tightened; he let go of the frets. He grabbed for his drink blindly and for his notebook with his other hand. Resting it against the body of his guitar, he opened to a blank page and scrawled,

You fought yourself to bring all your feelings down to heel,

and if you stopped yourself from looking, was it ever really real

but everyone’s been looking

and you –

Something inside of him was drifting dangerously, thin tethers tied to his ribs all that held it in place, like a threadbare sail on fraying ropes. The words on the page blurred in front of his eyes. He raised his glass to his mouth but the rim bumped against his teeth and nothing came out. Empty.

He frowned down at his cup. Like, fuck that nonsense. He’d put good money down on those teeth.

The wine sloshing into the glass when he poured himself another sounded like the ocean creeping onto the shore on a windless day. Like Provincetown – another place he’d gone to hide; another town full of strangers. He set the bottle back on the table, cap off, and picked up his guitar again.

Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday he went running in the morning like nothing had changed. Before, Adore would be waking up when he got back; one of them would make breakfast, then they’d jam for a while, and then Adore would smoke up and Brian would text Katya, if he hadn’t already done so.

Now Brian just jogged. Further and further each day, until Thursday found him running along the seaside, pounding the pavement with salt stinging the inside of his mouth on every inhale. The sky was a soft feather blue, the ocean a deep silk bedsheet wavering in his peripheral vision – and then the mass of Pike Place rose up in front of him. Before he could think about it, his feet were carrying him inside; past the florists, past the bursting orange and red arrays of fresh fruit, and down the stairs to the magic shop’s door.

He wiped the sweat off his forehead with the collar of his tank top, grimaced, then pushed the door open and stepped inside.

It was just-opened quiet on the floor. No customers, no music; just a vague shuffling from behind the counter. “Just a minute,” the shuffler called. “If this accursed speaker breaks on me one more time…”

There was a crackling sound from the speakers set high in the walls, like a cheap firework skidding along cement, and then a whole storm of swearing below the counter.

“Uh,” Brian said. He approached cautiously. “Can I take a look? I might be able to help.”

“No, it’s really fine –” A frazzled head popped up from behind the register. “Oh! It’s you! I know you. You think you can fix it? The damn thing goes off all the time, the wiring’s too old –”

Brian shrugged. “I work in clubs and theatres and stuff, so I’ve picked up a thing or two. Let me see.”

Steph – that was her name, he remembered – was as curly-haired and strangely-dressed as when they’d met, with a sprig of rosemary tucked behind the large crow-shaped brooch pinned to her blouse and dust all over her knees. He crouched down beside her and squinted at the mess of wires and cords, poking a hesitant finger around and hoping he wouldn’t get fried. That sound had not been good.

“I think,” he said after a minute, “I think it’s this. Hang on. I’m gonna – if I die, tell my momma I loved her, and tell my dad –” he ducked further under the desk. “Well, whatever you like, if you can find him.”

She barked a laugh behind him.

He didn’t die, although he did burn his fingers a little bit, and when the music started playing (some kind of witchy Swedish wailing, possibly Bjork, Katya – Katya would know –) he let out a “Hah!” of triumph. Eat that, three years on the road and four years of theatre school and thousands of dollars funnelled directly into the University of Wisconsin’s incredibly deep pockets. Eat the shit out of that.

Steph helped him out with two hands around his forearm, shaking him delightedly once he was more or less standing. “You’re a miracle worker,” she said with a bright smile. “I should hire you on the spot, because clearly you’re the real magic here.”

He wiped the sweat off his forehead with his free arm and grinned down at her. Clear bright light was streaming through the high windows in the walls, glinting off her brooch, her earrings, the silver in her hair. Her smile and easy warmth was the same as it had been before, and, god, that was nice. “I’ve got greasepaint coming out of ears,” he said, shrugging modestly. “You can’t really call yourself a theatre kid until you’ve nearly died a dozen different ways trying to string up the speakers on the janitor’s old ladder. ”

“Different ways?”

He waved a hand. “You know, falling, electrocution – so boring. A good old-fashioned garrotte is where it’s at.”

Her eyes scrunched at the corners when she laughed. “I like you,” she said, grinning, “you’re strange,” and he grinned back, feeling lighter than he had all week.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he said. Then: “Oh, hey, the book you sold me is great. Who knew reading about the end of the world could make you feel better about life?”

“That’s right, the apocalypse poems, you…” Steph said, then paused. “God, I’m so sorry, I don’t remember your name. But you’re Danny’s friend, right?”

Brian blinked. Swallowed.

“Yeah,” he said; it came out forced, like he was overcompensating for something. “Yeah, sorry, it’s Brian. Yeah. I took some time off work and I’ve been staying with Danny.”

“Oh, do you work together?” she said, brightly and obliviously twisting the knife. “I know he does something or other with clubs and theatres and whatnot too. He’s very private about those things, but such a sweetheart. I haven’t seen him around in a while, though, how he is?”

“Away on business,” Brian said, “and, you know, we’ve been keeping busy otherwise. I’ll tell him you asked.” He wiped his palms against the sides of his shorts. “Listen, I actually – I should probably be going, actually. I’m supposed to be skyping him in about half an hour.”

An absolute lie, but Steph swallowed it without a flicker of suspicion. She smiled and pressed a hand to his arm. “Tell him I send my love. And thanks again for your help, Brian. I don’t know how many more shocks my old heart could take.”

“Oh stop,” he said, chuckling, and gave a little wave. “See you around, I guess?”

The polite small talk of strangers. Preferable to a slow death, but not by, like, a lot.

Brian took the stairs back up to the ground level slowly, although his heart rate was well back to normal by this point. He wandered out of the arcade, and turned, and walked, and turned, and then he was on a raised dock, leaning against a wooden rail next to a locked gate, which guarded the ramp down to the boats. The wood pressed into the front of his ribs. He curled his palms around the rail, ignoring the bite of splinters.

A light breeze ruffled his shirt and cooled his pink cheeks. The ocean stretched out before him, golden sunshine catching in the crests and troughs of the waves.

He closed his eyes.

At home, he typed, i hope you’re doing okay. i love you.

Deleted it.

Typed, today someone didnt recognize me and THAT made me sad. i think i need an intervention.

Deleted it.

Typed, went to the beach to sea what all the commocean was about but idk im still not shore

Deleted it.

Sighed, stared out the window, looked down at his feet.

Typed, i’m sorry. katya, i’m so sorry.

Deleted it.

“You’re so white from these shadowed winter months,” Katya crowed, shielding his eyes dramatically. “I don’t know if I can be seen with you.”

“You’re real white from being born, you know, caucasian and unfortunate, but I’ve suffered your company for years,” said Brian. He frowned and wiped at his nose where something wet was dripping – sweat or sunscreen, he didn’t know. “If you really can’t bear it, I’m sure I can find one of these tanned, strapping, oiled-up hunks of meat who’d be willing to walk with me –”

Katya grabbed his arm mid-gesture. “No no no, don’t you dare!”

“I’m just saying,” Brian continued, “you invited me, bitch –”

The shine of Katya’s grin, open-mouthed and laughing, was enough to blow his whole awful night out of the water.

They walked. The sun drew rippling air waves out of the too-hot cement; the ocean crashed beautifully green into the white shore. But it somehow wasn’t too crowded, for all that it was the dead of summer, the very peak of beach days. They moved in blissful anonymity. At one point, Katya bought him an ice cream. Brian ate it one-handed, making panicked noises and laughing as it dripped closer and closer to his hand. His other hand was – well. He’d taken Katya’s as they stood waiting for the cone, and he hadn’t let go yet. His stomach flipped giddily every time their steps fell out of sync – their palms would drag against each other, just for a moment, each time making him newly aware again of the calluses on Katya’s palm.

He traced his index finger along the big tendon on the back of Katya’s hand, and Katya glanced at him sideways, quick, lips parting on a short intake of breath. Brian licked at his ice cream and said nothing, warm and smug all over.

Sea breeze and the sting of salt. They leaned over the wooden rail, right into it, shoulders and hips pressed together. The blue stretched endless.

Katya started to turn red in the cheeks around four so they ducked for shade. Brian slouched back against the blush pink wall of some souvenir shop, under the awning, and Katya stood in front of him to block the sun from his eyes. One moment Brian was looking over Katya’s shoulder at the white gulls darting and dipping over the sea; the next, he was blinking up, and Katya was closer, leaning in, one hand on the wall beside his head, his gaze flickering over Brian’s face with the same combination of lazy ease and breathless flight as the birds in the air.

Brian blinked, processing, then licked his lips to wet them. “Feeling tall?” he said.

“Feeling lots of things,” said Katya, smiling faintly. “Tall may or may not be one of them. No one’s ever accused me of a Napoleon complex, Tracy – and my psychological rap sheet is longer than the Mariana Trench. You always take me to new and exciting places, did you know that? That’s why we’re friends.”

“I thought it was for the free therapy and life coaching.”

“Don’t undersell yourself, mama. What’s newer or more exciting than uncertified therapy and dubious life coaching?”

Brian laughed. “I don’t know that ‘new’ and ‘exciting’ are words that many people have applied to me – out of drag, at least.” His mouth twitched. “You might be du-biased.”

He expected Katya to throw back his head, lean away and laugh, but instead – Katya leaned closer, his eyes glinting with mirth. “I’m gonna kill you,” he said, “I’m gonna kill you right here and dump your body into the ocean in front of the tourists, God, and everybody, and no one will punish me when they hear about the years of pun-spewing bullshit you’ve put me through.”

He was so close. Brian’s stomach flipped again; he could feel Katya’s warmth all along him, make out the freckles on his nose. “Kill me?” he said, mouth dry.

Katya blinked. Something about the set of his jaw, the small lines around his eyes, seemed suddenly vulnerable, intense and somehow opened wide.

“Yeah,” he said after a moment. “Or, I dunno. Maybe that other thing.”

Brian held his breath. All he could hear was the crashing of the waves, loud and close – or maybe that was the sound of his heartbeat in his ears. He reached up and brushed the tips of his fingers along the sharp line of Katya’s cheek.

Katya’s chest hitched.

The breeze chased the sunlight through the empty pier, stirring the sand across the wood, and Katya leaned in, slow enough that Brian could stop him if he wanted. Brian didn’t. He lifted his face, eyes slipping shut; and Katya’s mouth fell on the corner of his, once, soft, then warm against his right cheekbone, and again on his left. Brian exhaled shakily.

“What,” he said, unsteady. “Can’t kiss me when the cameras aren’t on?”

Katya huffed a laugh, the breath warm on Brian’s face. He curled a hand below Brian’s ribs; his fingers dipped into the hollow in his tank top to brush against bare skin. Brian shivered. Voice barely louder than the wind in the distance, Katya said, “My life would be so much simpler if that were true.”

Brian opened his eyes. He looked up and met Katya’s gaze, and his mouth twitched, almost a smile. Katya’s stubble scratched at his fingertips as he settled his palm more firmly along the curve of his jaw. “Well, you’re not really a simple woman,” Brian said, and Katya was laughing when he leaned down and kissed him properly.

When he opened his eyes, the sun’s lowest rays had dipped below the edge of the awning, lighting Katya up in gold, and he tipped his head back to rest against the wall, wrapped his free arm around Katya’s waist, and said, “Come home with me.”

Except that’s not what happened at all.

When he opened his eyes, the sun was shining, and Katya was lit with gold, and he tipped his head back against the wall and thought about saying it –

– then smiled crookedly, and said instead, “You kiss like you have heat stroke.” And Katya threw back his head and laughed, wheezed, “no, just heat rash,” while the sun caught in his hair and lashes.

It’s not what happened, but it could have been. He could have taken Katya home, and pressed him up against the hallway inside his door, all that sun-warm skin under his hands. He could have kissed him the way he wanted to. He could have blown him right there with his knees sore against the hardwood, or taken his hand again and drawn him back into the bedroom, kissing him all the way. And after – Brian could have asked him to stay.

That wasn’t how it happened, but, crashed out on the couch in Seattle after his run, Brian dreamed every moment of it. Every inch of hot skin and the rasp of sheets and falling asleep together and waking up together. And when he woke up – alone – he pressed his hands flat against his stomach, feeling like something had been taken out of him. Feeling ill, feeling exhausted, feeling like his head was buzzing and his mind was five feet outside of his body.

Eventually he dragged himself up and fumbled for his phone. He wiped at the inner corners of his eyes with his knuckle as he thumbed it awake; then he pressed his palm over his face, exhaling shakily.

No new messages. Of course.

His whole body hummed feverishly, the twinned effect of the sun on his morning run and the one in his dream. Maybe that was what fucked over his self-control, that sick feeling like he was out of his head, or maybe he was just giving in to the inevitable – but, whatever it was, he opened his messages and, despite all his better judgement, typed out: check in?

Hating himself a little, he hit send.

When there was no response thirty minutes later, despite the read receipt that had popped up almost immediately, he left to go find something to drink.

“Oh hey, it’s you,” said the girl behind the counter. She eyed his purchases. “Wow. I didn’t think it could get sadder than last time…”

Brian huffed a short laugh. “Still gay, don’t worry.”

“Uh huh,” she said. She ran the first wine bottle – yes, first, thanks so much – under the scanner and hit a few buttons. “So is the whole sad and gay deal an aesthetic thing? How much Lana have you listened to in the past three days? I’m trying to decide if I should be staging an intervention that I’m – full disclosure – not really qualified for.”

“Do sad gays get a discount at this establishment?”

“Nope,” she said, popping it like bubblegum. “Sorry.”

She finished ringing him, his three bottles of wine, his pack of sour key candies, and his thoroughly depleted dignity through the machine.

“Credit,” he said, offering it over.

He was threading his hands through the bag handles, waiting for his card back, when she said, “Hey. What’s your name, man?”

He blinked. “It says on the card.”

“Yeah, whatever,” she said, handing it over wrapped in his receipt with an eye-roll. “So what is it?”

“Brian,” he said, and looked at the sallow lights on her face, wondering where she was going with this.

“Brian,” she repeated. “Hi, Brian, I’m Mariam.”

Her tone was conversational but somehow serious, weighted, and Brian – Brian swallowed against the sudden and unexpected feeling of his throat going tight.

“Now who’s hitting on who?” he managed, and she chuckled, but didn’t lose that look in her eyes.

“Brian. Take care of yourself, hey?” she said.

The lights glared brightly across the empty floor, the rows upon rows of no-name brands and the scuff marks on the shitty linoleum. She was watching Brian like maybe he needed watching. He swallowed again, and nodded, and left without another word.

Dust motes floated in the slowly draining sunlight when he returned to the apartment. The whole space of it echoed with the closing of the door. He kicked off his shoes, cracked open the first bottle, and went to get his guitar, glass in hand.

Hours passed. He drank more. He scribbled in his notebook, crossed things out, scrawled corrections in the margins. There was too much in his head. Words tumbled out like a hole had been torn somewhere, all the loose change and lint of his brain escaping despite his best efforts to plug the gap. His writing got sloppier, slanted; he wiped wine from his mouth with the back of his hand and turned the page.

The beach, the dream, the night before. The months of build-up, the moment of release. Wanting, wanting, he wanted so much and he had told himself, when he was a kid, that someday he would be able to have all the things he wanted. If he was smart enough and good enough, quick enough on his feet, he could make anything happen. But here he was: trapped into stillness as the path under his feet cut off abruptly. Because how could he have all the things he wanted when they existed at such cross-purposes?

Or was it just him? Not the fame, not the fans, not the industry, and certainly not Katya – maybe it was Brian at cross-purposes with all of it, putting himself in his own way, selfish and stubborn and cowardly, refusing to accept with good grace what the universe was offering him.

The sun dipped below the blocky Seattle skyline, the buildings across the road cast in radiant red, as he stumbled into the kitchen to open the third bottle. His hands slipped on the cap; he blinked wearily down at it, then out the window at the purples and pinks of the sky, dappled and streaked like watercolours. The sun was just a winking and burnished glare over the lip of the buildings. He inhaled deeply and it almost seemed like he could still taste salt in the air.

The skyline blurred before his eyes, replaced by the memory of the things his dream had omitted. Walking the long way back down the pier, Katya with one arm hooked around his elbow and the other hand clutching at his bicep like an ingenue, twitching with laughter every minute or so because apparently this was the most heterosexual he’d ever felt. Which, Katya had definitely licked at least one pussy in his day, so. What he meant was probably that it was dumb, and romantic, and brought them so much closer together than held hands as they made their way between the shadows of the tall lights that lined the boardwalk. The sun set in brilliant gold in the distance. Brian remembered the warmth of Katya’s chest against his arm; he remembered looking at Katya’s lips, then away, and wash, rinse, repeat; he remembered the sign they passed, jutting up out of the middle of the boardwalk: END OF THE TRAIL.

He remembered going home alone, flushed and giddy with the heat of the day, and turning on his phone to see a new notification from his facebook messages. date night tracy?, it said, captioning a photo of him and Katya on the boardwalk, arm in arm, the soft look on his face all too bare in the deep amber light of the sun setting over the ocean.

Brian shook his head, and poured himself another drink.

The night after that was all in flashes. His fingers sliding along the strings of his guitar. Losing his pen under the couch; hunting through Adore’s drawers for another one. Sweet sad notes filling the room, lingering in the air like sea salt. Fumbling with his phone; his guitar; his own hands.

Love’s the kind of feeling that’s not easy to derail, that was good, that was fine, but I find that I’ve been tryin’ ‘cause, ‘cause what, ‘cause what –

He lost another pen. After that… he didn’t remember much after that.

Brian woke to a splitting headache and a buzzing phone.

The phone was on his stomach; his head was on the arm of the couch. He blinked into the bright morning light and groaned, covering his eyes.

His phone buzzed again.

Whatever it was, it could fucking wait. He let it fall to the side as he rolled over, taking in the mess of paper and pens – what the fuck, where did he get so many pens – on the coffee table, the empty wine bottles, his guitar abandoned carelessly on the floor. The glass doors to the balcony were open, though he didn’t remember opening them, and the harsh cawing of the crows outside made his eyes water.

Jesus fucking Christ.

He stood unsteadily and made his way to the kitchen, where a bag of sour key candies lay splayed open and empty on the counter and a plate with the mysterious remnants of what might be a drunken midnight snack lay beside the sink. He stared at one, then the other, then turned decisively to get a glass out of the cupboards and fill it from the tap. He downed it in one go and poured himself another.

Back by the couch, his phone was buzzing again.

Katya, he realized through the groggy fullness in his head. That could be Katya.

He returned to the couch and lowered himself gingerly, full glass clutched in one hand. He fumbled the phone trying to grab it, which probably said bad things about the balance of alcohol to water in his system at that moment; then he thumbed it awake and scanned it as quickly as he could through the low-burning nausea of his hangover.

There was, in fact, a notification from Katya. A missed call at 2:23 AM. Brian’s heart leapt and his mouth went dry; but then he looked past that, at the avalanche of notifications from twitter and instagram, and his whole body turned cold, shoved into full wakefulness and unholy sobriety.

What the fuck had happened last night?

He unlocked his phone and opened instagram to see notifications in the thousands. Thumbing over to his profile, he found a post he didn’t remember making, dated 1:57 AM. That was – he looked at the little clock at the top of his screen: 7:13 AM – barely five hours before. The little thumbnail showed his shoulders over his guitar; when he opened it, he saw it was a video.

Brian stared at the post in horror for a long moment. Then – because there was literally no other choice – he flexed his fingers, which had gone numb, and he hit play.

The screen cut to his face, frowning blearily and too close, as he tried to prop his phone up. He looked – exhausted. Shit. Dark circles under his eyes, a tight, stressed set to his mouth, which twisted down as he failed to make the phone stand steady a third time. Finally he – the Brian on screen – muttered a sharp fuck, and just leaned the phone back against something or other, putting his glass of wine in front of it to hold it upright, so the rim blurred out the bottom of the frame.

He stepped back, sat down, and pulled his guitar into his lap.

Brian, the Brian watching, took shallow breaths against a rising nausea. His pulse thrummed loudly under the thin skin of his neck.

The camera captured the body of his guitar, the slouch of his shoulders, and part of his mouth, which he wiped at with the back of his hand, pick balanced easily between his fingers. Then he sat up straighter, squaring his shoulders and sliding his other hand up the neck of the guitar into place – Brian remembered that, cool smooth wood under his palm, he remembered glancing at the camera and thinking fuck it, fuck this –

The Brian on screen played an open chord and then set into the melody that made up the verses, the tumbling notes, middle finger – pinky finger – ring finger, and, watching, his brain cut through the fog to focus on that, ring finger, ring finger, the song he’d been working on all this past month coming together despite the drunken way he slid between the metal frets.

And then he started to sing, and Brian went from feeling slightly nauseous to being absolutely certain he was about to throw up.

It wasn’t the verses, thank god. Not the harried scribbles that filled pages upon pages in his notebook, most of them awful, all of them never to be fucking revealed to the world at large because they were his, ugly and sincere and too personal. All the moments that made him want to try; all the things that made him afraid. But this –

“Love’s the kind of feeling that’s not easy to derail

But I find that I’ve been trying ‘cause

I can’t see the when and where –”

A chorus is a vague thesis; but, watching, he still felt stripped wholly bare.

“I hear waves in my dreams at night,

Feel the sunlight and your stare,

So maybe it’s to no avail –

And maybe ‘stay’ won’t turn out stale –”

Brian swallowed, fumbled for his glass of water, tried to hear anything but the roaring in his ears, see anything but his face dipping into frame as he bent lower over the guitar, eyes closed, face pained as he sang stay. And he was sliding through the notes like a drunk stumbling through a door, graceless but functional and – worst of all – far too honest.

“But I still don’t know if I can go

Off-road at the end of the trail.”

Fuck.

The video didn’t end abruptly – apparently, when drunk, he couldn’t make the crop function work for him – but with an agonizing slowness, the last, aching note from his guitar hanging hollowly in the air. His shoulders on-screen rose, then fell; then finally he reached forward for his phone. A flash of his mouth, his cheek, his eyes squinting – and then it went dark, and looped back to the beginning.

He jabbed at the screen to stop it, and stared down at his phone in mute horror, jaw slack and mouth dry.

First things first, he deleted the video. It wouldn’t shut people up, but he couldn’t just let it sit there, all of him laid out in the bare daylight. The raw sound of his voice, scratchy with exhaustion, on his shitty phone mic; that one glimpse of his face, like opening a door you’re not supposed to by accident, the kind of door you can’t close again or back away from. All a room’s quiet secrets, the small ones that cut deepest, framed starkly by the open doorframe.

He wasn’t going to load twitter, or look at the texts that had come in from his friends who’d seen, but then a new one appeared at the top of his screen as his phone buzzed in his hand. It was Shea – a youtube link. His phone buzzed again with a second message, a third, more, all from Shea. He thumbed messenger open, still numb all the way through, and scanned the group chat dispassionately. Then he stopped, and read it again.

FROM: SHEA - 7:17 AM - Friday August 29th, 2017

youtube.com/watch?v=Jf1L34kn0

Please watch this, get your collective shit together, and stop making me feel sad for both of you

Ive got better shit to do with my time

And PLEASE reach out to us, jesus, brian, we care so much and i know youre doing your own thing but we’re really, really worried.

Well. I cant speak for kim. Im worried; that bitch is probably just hungry

He huffed a laugh, but it didn’t feel like one. It felt like something was cracking open inside of him.

His phone buzzed again.

FROM: KIM - 7:18 AM - Friday August 29th, 2017

i can be hungry and worried at the same time cunt

but sheas not wrong, bri.

please.

Brian swallowed, then swallowed again, throat tight and eyes stinging. He took another gulp of his water, then, after a moment’s hesitation, typed, i’m here. i’ll watch it in a minute. i love you guys and im sorry

He wasn’t sure what he was sorry for. There was a whole laundry list of reasons he should be; he might as well cover his bases.

It wasn’t – it wasn’t that he’d been wrong to leave. It wasn’t that he’d been wrong to want out or to go silent. It was just that it could be right for him and wrong for them, and he could be sorry for that, even if he wasn’t sure yet that he regretted it.

He hit send all the same.

His phone buzzed almost instantly with their replies, but he didn’t look, pulling up the youtube link instead. Then: for the second time that morning, his heart stopped and his body went cold.

“help me i’m not dying fast enough”, said the title under the loading video. “Katya Zamolodchikova Periscope (August 29, 2017 @ 2:40 AM)”.

He didn’t want to click – he knew he didn’t want to, and also that he shouldn’t – but he did anyway, because sometimes he was a masochist like that. Lately, especially.

Katya, on-screen, stubbed out a cigarette and lit another one, inhaling deeply.

“I’m not going to tell you how many of these I’ve had tonight,” he said to the camera. “Because it’s none of your business what hell cycle of ideating and ovulating I may or may not be going through right now. That’s first of all.”

He looked… gaunt. Unkempt. Worse than in the video Shea had taken a week earlier.

“It’s a funny thing, to have – kind of – resolved myself to wanting something, and always having it sort-of in reach, and then to realise maybe I can’t have it at all. I could have, but maybe I missed my moment, maybe I didn’t lay out my thesis convincingly enough – maybe maybe maybe. Maybe what I wanted isn’t on the proverbial table anymore. That’s harder, I think, than knowing all along you can’t ever have it. It’s a different kind of wanting. I don’t know.”

He flicked his fingers in the air by his ear, ash falling grey and soft like snow from a rooftop.

“I’ve never been good at wanting things. That’s funny, right? From an addict, I mean. It’s funny. You can laugh – I’m laughing. Maybe you are, I don’t know, I can’t see you. I don’t care.

I’ve never been good at wanting things – I’ve had them, or not had them. It all seemed kind of –” he paused, then laughed, a hoarse bark. “You know, insignificant in the face of the rapid decay of the environment, our bodies, society as a whole, and ultimately the universe itself. The universe is dying, by the way, in case you hadn’t heard. I took a first year physics class, girl, so I know what I’m talking about.”

You read Neil Degrasse Tyson’s book once, you fucking idiot, Brian thought; it rung hollow, as if it came from someplace a good distance from his own body.

“So I’ve never been good at wanting stuff. Drugs isn’t want, drugs is need. And that’s not – I know I look like a mess right now, but a) not on drugs, and b) still not about need. I’m not in some kind of I’ll-die-without-you pseudo-love psycho-abusive Nicholas Sparks kinda bullshit. I’m just – I’m just sad. I’m just really fucking sad. And I’ll delete this tomorrow, and anyway –” Katya looked sharply into the camera, and for a moment, Brian felt seen – “I figure it’s only fair.”

“So anyway,” Katya continued. He turned away, towards the road; his eyes lit up with amber streetlight, glass-green and shadowed. “We’re all dying. I know, Brenda, I’m a broken record over here about it, but we’re all dying, and that’s kind of a big deal. And I love it! In some strange, existential way, it’s liberating, it’s electrifying, it brings you closer to your own body and soul and maybe even God, if, I don’t know, that’s your thing sometimes – ‘your’ being mine – but then –”

He stopped himself. Brian watched as his fingers tapped frenetically against the side of his cigarette for a moment, then he raised it, pursed his mouth, inhaled. Exhaled. He lifted his face to watch the smoke rise and disappear.

When he looked back down, he was smiling, crooked at the edges, like it hurt. “But then something comes into your life, and suddenly, it’s like, wait. Hang on. I want to see more of that – let’s stop the death train, maybe. Let’s put a hold on this dying shit. Because whatever it is I’m feeling, I want that, and – and – and why the fuck am I wasting time killing myself when this has been here, maybe all along. Self-indulgent fatalism suddenly starts to feel – selfish.”

“I mean,” he interrupted himself, suddenly and obviously changing tacks as a thought struck him, “please still come to my show. It’ll be so good. All these questions and more will be addressed – not answered, because who cares about answers, but asked? Yes. More questions than you ever wanted. Please come.”

He flashed a smile, plastic-white, but it melted away too quickly into the same tired pallor.

“I don’t know. I don’t even know if anything I’m saying is true. I want all sorts of things all the time, but it’s always a little bit – intellectual. Like, wow, I wonder what having that would be like? Feel like? I’ve never experienced this kind of wanting that doesn’t have an endpoint – it won’t just stop once I get it. It goes forward. It has a future. What the fuck is up with that, you know?

But it’s not – you don’t just get to have things.”

His voice cracked.

“No. Okay. One second,” he said, and then he disappeared around the camera. Brian could still hear him breathing, though, quiet in the night air, an eerie echo of so many phone calls over the past month.

When Katya returned, he lit himself another cigarette, and this one didn’t shake between his fingers. “I’m going to delete this the minute it ends, for the record. I don’t know why I’m even doing it. I guess I’m just lonely. I know, I’ve been on tour, and that’s great, but – I dunno. It’s lonely. Work is lonely. Dying is lonely. And there’s one thing I want and I thought I could have it but – turns out – I probably can’t, and that’s – that’s lonely too.”

His mouth twisted, an almost-smile.

“I always thought that was such a cliché: to feel alone in the middle of a crowded room. And I love a cliché when it’s not played straight, but. Maybe, sometimes, the crowd doesn’t matter when one person’s not in it.

Anyway. I’m doing a lot of whining for someone with not a lot of problems, comparatively. And this problem isn’t even really mine. Not at its core. Selfish, right? But hey – no one’s making you tune in, Elizabeth.”

He took a final, decisive drag on his cigarette.

“Okay. I’m gonna go listen to some ambient noise and try to sleep.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “Ocean sounds, track four: a classic. Yeah. Yeah, okay. Bye.”

The streetlight blanketing his face in fragile white, he looked into the screen again, directly, as if he could see Brian there looking back at him, heart sore in his throat. Then the video went dark.

Brian sat and stared down at the phone in his hands. Between the low buzzing nausea of his hangover and the Seattle morning greyness, the world around him felt – distant. Not quite real. Not as real or as close as that twitch of Katya’s mouth, or the wry, exhausted humour in his voice. The frustration and sadness and longing in every line of his body.

They were both so stupid. And so fucked.

He tapped out of Safari and into his messages, where he typed again, check in?

Knees tucked into his chest, he waited, and a minute later the reply came in – the little OK emoji, thumb pinched to index finger.

He exhaled loudly and pressed his hand over his eyes.

The phone buzzed against his thigh a moment later and he looked down again. It wasn’t from Shea or Kim like he thought it might be – it was, unexpectedly, another text from Katya. All it said was: you?

He bit his lip, thinking about it. He wasn’t going to let himself lie, to himself, to Katya, not again. He wasn’t going to do that to them. But the honest answer was – yes. He wasn’t good. He wasn’t better. But he was okay, for all the values of okay that the check-in had meant since the first time Katya had needed it: I’m alive, I’m safe, I’m here.

Yeah, he typed and sent, that’s about right.

He looked up from his phone at a sudden noise beyond the front door – a thump, like something heavy had been dropped.

It could have been one of Adore’s neighbours, so he dragged himself up and started to walk over, ready to offer assistance if needed. The woman upstairs was older, and generally bought more groceries than she could carry. But as he was approaching the door he heard the scrape of a key in the lock, and then the handle began to turn.

Adore wasn’t supposed to be back until that evening.

“Hello?” he started to ask, but then the door swung open, and he was staring into a pair of very tired, very startled eyes that definitely weren’t Adore’s.

“What the fuck,” said Bianca del Rio.

To his own surprise, a burst of laughter punched out of Brian’s stomach. “Yeah,” he said, staring back at Bianca, at the douchey sneakers on his feet, the Shangela shirt he was wearing, and the small duffel he’d dropped behind him. Brian found himself smiling, just a little. “Same.”

#I've said this to u already but… why #trixya #trixie mattel #katya zamolodchikova #dare #angst #submission #fathwtf #canon compliant

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