#private label athletic wear

[marathon-203]

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[frankrsilva]

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[fitness-clothing]

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[activewearmanufacturer]

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[missroy33]

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[coxblogs]

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[therahulseoblog]

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[kapoor91]

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[fashiontouse]

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[marathonclothes]

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[tojisun]

hockey player simon pt 03 // part of this plot // mlist

i swear it was just supposed to be a drabble w no plot

jo heaves a sigh the moment you slide in front of her, and you would have been insulted if it wasn't for the gentle smile she gives right after. still, she's staring at you with that teasing tilt of her lips and her eyes narrowed in humour, one that you're not privy to.

"what?" you finally bite out, fiddling with your iced coffee, feeling self-conscious.

you fleet your eyes to yourself and, yeah, sure you're wearing the same pants as yesterday’s but c'mon? you didn't get to go back to your place after, well...

at least you didn't repeat your top, and is instead wearing a sweater you've stolen from simon's closet. cashmere, cream and soft, and the material comfortable, if not a little bit loose in the arms that droop past your fingers.

you thought you at least looked like those typical college students in the movies—effortlessly chic in a boyfriend sweater, if not a little haggard because who is not when in university?

she finally chuckles, the thrum of her voice easing up the frown that tugged your brows together. “don’t sweat it, superstar. it’s just that i’m still not used to seeing you be a sugar baby.”

you choke mid-sip, her words devouring you like an angry tide. you feel your eyes water in protest, the feeling burning as you sputter.

“i’m not–!”

“you’re not what?” tim asks, sliding into the seat beside yours.

you grumble, wagging a finger as you wipe your stained chin with your other hand. jo snorts and fills him in, chuckling all the while as she gestures at your sweater because she knows it couldn’t possibly have been yours.

tim’s smile turns cheeky, teasing, and he wiggles his brows at you.

“shut up, oh my god,” you whine, rolling your eyes at them, almost shyly, and you feel your cheeks warming. “i’m not– simon’s not my–”

“oh c’mon, babe,” jo says, playfully throwing her mechanical pencil at you. you huff before chucking it back at her, giggling to yourself when it bounces off her arm and rolls into the floor.

tim picks it up for her.

“he buys you expensive things—” her eyes flit to the new promise ring that you’re wearing. you unconsciously hide it behind your palm. “and pays for your tuition which i’m so, so jealous of.”

“doesn’t he fly you around too? in a private jet or something?” tim pipes up, shamelessly snagging away your iced coffee now that you’re too preoccupied to drink it.

“he doesn’t!”

twin brows quirk up in silent judgement.

“…he buys us first class tickets, not, like, a whole jet.”

see? they seemed to say with the way they cock their heads to the side.

you sniff. “it’s for work,” you mumble, remembering the first time simon flew you for his games.

“i mean, for him, maybe. but you? tell me what business do you have in winnipeg?” tim chirps and you almost want to jump him just to make him shut up.

“sugar baby,” jo finishes, singing. “but i mean, who can blame him, huh?” she grins, her voice dipping into a faux southern accent. “i’d spoil you too, sugar.”

“oh, you flirt,” you trill, taking the opening she offers to change the topic.

tim takes the bait and whines about how jo doesn’t do all those things for him, but jo is unmoved, eyeing you knowingly, but thankfully drops it too.

it’s just—

there’s a whole stigma to athlete’s girlfriends. for god’s sake, they even have a whole label—puck bunny—which is honestly just a dig made up by really shitty men who burn with jealousy . and you know that, but—

you can’t help but wonder if some, not all, of simon’s love for you is because of what you do to him. of what you give him in return. especially since he’s so busy all the time, either flying during the season and is rarely home, or packed with training and other physical regimen during the offseason.

so you wonder if this—flying you with him on the days the official WAGs are not being flown by the franchise, bringing you to vacation spots on the other side of the ocean, buying you everything you used to only dream of ever having—was his way of paying you back for your support and patience and care and love.

tim knocks his shoulder with yours, worry now lining his boyishly charming face.

“y’alright?”

“of course.” you lick your lips. “so did you ever get a copy of the lab sheet from rayan?”

.

you watch from the front seats as the team wrap up practice tonight, their coach looking pleased at their performance. it was still difficult to follow the game, but the players all look content too despite the sweat and their ragged breathing.

they never did know how to hold back even during a practice.

you say your goodbyes to the other people who came to watch, shooting simon a text that you’ll be waiting for him in the parking lot, and walk out.

the cashmere sweater, thankfully, is enough to fight off the cool air and the gentle breeze while you make your trek to simon’s distinct range rover, all sleek and pure black like he’s got the damn royals for a passenger.

it’s locked so you hover outside, stuffing your hands in the pockets of your pants, and entertained yourself with making puffs of air like you’re ten again. it’s honestly not too bad to be alone, if it weren’t for the sudden swarming of your doubts—the very same ones you thought you already shrugged off before taking the cab to the rink.

fuck.

“hey, love,” simon’s voice pierces through your thoughts and you jump, barely smothering the yelp that almost tore itself from the base of your throat.

you swivel, heart pounding, and simon’s beautiful face creases into one of concern.

“are you–”

“si!” you greet, jogging to him.

he laughs and opens his arms for a hug, one that you excitedly give him. you tuck your cold face in the crook of his neck, breathing him in, taking in the antiseptic scent of rink soap and the faint smell of his shampoo.

his body is so warm against yours, and you can’t help but melt in his hold, body relaxing at the comfort he brings you.

“you ready to go home?” he asks like the insinuation that his home is also yours is not heart-stopping and world-changing.

you nod, unable to trust your voice right now.

there’s something different whenever it’s just you and simon—your thoughts, for once, are quiet and your confidence in yourself peaking like simon is the only place in this world where you can truly be yourself. it’s not just indulgence, nor tolerance, but it’s pure unadulterated acceptance.

and maybe it’s because of that realization, that flipped switch, that in the lull of your conversation with simon, you bring it up.

“did you know? my friends think that you’re my sugar daddy.”

you feel him freeze, body going rigid as your words spill into the space between you two. you continue to hide your face away from, avoiding a serious conversation as regret begins to build, shame licking up from your fingertips to your ears.

stupid, you think to yourself. why the hell did i bring it up? fuck—

then, simon laughs, soft and sputtering, his whole body shaking as he giggles, choked wheezes uncontainable. you tip your head up just enough to catch his eyes, questions filling your tongue, waiting to be spilled, but simon cups your cheek so tenderly before you could doubt anything any more.

“do i need to be one to spoil you rotten?” he asks like he didn’t just shaken the foundations of your doubts.

do i need to be one to spoil you rotten, he said like spoiling you was the norm. like showering you with expensive gifts and booking you expensive flights and helping you with your expensive necessities was something that boyfriends typically do. like your friends are the odd ones for thinking he had to be anything other the man you’re dating to be able to splurge for you.

“no,” you say, dizzy with the weight of your affections.

simon’s smile droops, his eyes clearing. “was that something that honestly worried you?”

“i–”

the humour leaves him, and simon straightens up at seeing the gravity of the turmoil in your heart. his hands fall to your sides, thumbs hooked in the dip of your hips. he leans forward until his nose is brushing against yours.

“you know i love you, right?” simon asks, his voice quaking in desperation.

“yeah,” you sniffle, honest because god you mean it. “yeah, si. i know.”

“okay,” he says after a while, still intensely looking at you like you aren’t surely anything but a blob in his eyes with how close you two are pressed to each other.

then, his lips brush with yours, so faint, you almost missed it. you shudder at the feeling of it—how could a chaste kiss feel so intense?—your lips wobbling as something in your heart bloats.

you feel simon’s lips stretch into a grin from where they’re ghosting above yours, and then he’s kissing you again, this time deeper and longer. you curl your arms around his neck, feeling like you’re being swept off your feet all over again.

because simon is not good with words, truly, but he’s managed to swing an axe to the cornerstone of your self-doubt and made it crumble.

.

“oh god,” jo sobs in your arms, the two of you snuggled up under your sheets. “that was a joke! i promise!”

“i know,” you say, giggling. “i swear jo, it’s not you, it’s me.”

she looks up at you, eyes shimmering with tears. “are you sure?”

“yeah,” you croon, bumping foreheads with her. “...‘sides, simon’s taking me somewhere to make up for, and i quote, ‘making you doubt how serious i am about you’.”

she sniffs. “…permission to make a joke again?”

you grab your plushie from somewhere behind you and smack her ass with it.

“ow!”

“stop being dramatic—that didn’t hurt.”

[giggles nervously] so uh. 🏃🏻

[marathon-203]

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[maratonclothes]

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[heyftinally]

No, okay, actually I am going to write this rant.

The rupaulification of drag has directly contributed to why Chappell Roan is getting so much backlash for having basic boundaries.

Do y'all realize that one of the original ideas behind drag personas was that people could entirely separate their "real" (out of drag) life from their drag life?

It used to be unsafe to do drag. It used to be illegal. You could very easily be murdered for it, and nobody would even care because it was so stigmatized. Drag personas gave performers the much needed separation and safety between their two worlds. So long as nobody knew that Charles in accounting moonlit as Miss Betty Cocker, his job was safe.

Even in modern live drag you rarely see anything that breaks the immersion. Putting on and taking off drag happens backstage or at home. Performers exclusively go by their stage names while around audience members. Even the ones with social media followings who *do* share their non-drag names will ask fans to call them by their drag name exclusively (Trixie Mattell has said this before - the only people allowed to call her by her birth name are her parents and her lover).

But RuPaul, in seeking to spotlight the often unseen and unknown culture of the drag (and queer) community, simultaneously put queen's non-drag lives in the public eye as well.

Suddenly it's normal (when watching the show) to see Trixie labeled as "Brian" while in confessional. It's normal to see performers in their sweats and no makeup prior to performing. And it's normal for that part of their reality to be broadcast for public consumption.

As a dancer, let me give you a brief look at a show day for me. I'll show up to the show venue 2-3hrs before the show starts, wearing sweats or leggings, hair in a messy bun or ponytail, no makeup, with a bunch of bags.

In that 2-3hrs I'll warm up, do my hair and makeup, get into my first costume, and practice anything I want or need to review. The preparation for this is not inherently glamorous. It's work. It's a large mental load preparing to have an entire room full of people to look at you - especially when they've PAID to do so.

I don't want to be bothered during that prep time by anything that isn't directly to do with the show, because I'm focused on doing what I need to do to put on a good show, the same way any athlete has to "get in the zone" before a game. Would you expect to chat with Simone Biles 10min before she's about to take to the beam? I certainly hope not.

In the same way, RuPaul began televising that preparation process - what used to be relatively private time with friends and colleagues is now as much of a performance as what happens on stage.

So how does this relate to Chappell?

It's the same principle.

"Chappell Roan" is a drag persona. That's not her name at the grocery store, nor is it how she dresses to do so.

In the same way drag used to allow Charles to step into the office and be unknown as Betty, Chappell has attempted to follow in that tradition. And, outside of RuPaul, that's still how drag works. If you go to your local drag scene, you likely will never know who Sexon Thebeache is out of drag. You'll probably never know her name, what she looks like, or what she does for work outside of drag. Because that's how she wants it, and that's what's normal in the culture.

But because Chappell has taken her drag to "RuPaul" levels of publicity and notoriety, people feel entitled to engage with her in the same way RuPaul promotes engaging with the queens on Drag Race.

So when Chappell says "I don't want to take selfies when I'm not in drag", fans take it as a personal attack because there is no longer a respect for that separation of "drag" and "not drag". That line has been blurred on tv and online - where most people engage with most or all of their drag consumption - and thus the line irl has also been blurred.

It's not normal to know every single minute of someone's life. Taylor Swift is just as much at fault, and I could write a whole other rant on that.

It's long past time people take a hard look at their parasocial relationships and start trying to see celebrities as *people* instead of names that sing or act.

Let celebrities have their boundaries. They already get so few in the industry - basic human decency shouldn't be an expected sacrifice just because a lot of people like what you do.

[activewearmanufacturer]

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[missroy33]

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