#private swimming coaches near me

[arienotari]

Drowning

Summary: When your worst fear becomes a reality and all you have on the other side is a brown eyed boy.

Pairing: Wally Clark x Reader

Warnings: Death, Drowning, Bullying

Edit: I am terrible at editing, and I tried my best so I'm sorry if you find any mistakes. This is my first full story I am releasing out into the world.

Word Count: 3330

I’ve never liked swimming.

People say it makes them feel free, but I felt anything but free. Every chance I got I avoided water at all costs. It's suffocating. Something about floating in a body of endless water and possibilities always made my skin crawl. One major problem that contributes to my fear is the fact that I can’t swim. I don’t blame anyone for this setback because I've never asked how to or showed interest. My inability to swim didn’t become a problem for me until my senior year of high school. I’ve gotten out of swimming class every year up until now and I had no choice but to take it. I tried to tell the swimming coach and counselors privately that I couldn’t take the class. All they said was I could stay in the shallow end. That I’ll be fine. I believed them. 

Word spread quickly throughout my class that I couldn’t swim once they started noticing I wouldn’t leave the 4ft mark. I didn’t really care, all I cared about was getting through the year. I was never really popular which didn’t matter much to me but being in this class never made it more obvious how much I hated it here. I felt eyes on me at all times which only made being in the water worse. 

It was March 12, 2015. Only a couple months left of school and then I’d be off to NYU living my dream of being a writer. First I had to get through 4th period swim class of course. I walked into the girls changing room preparing for the next 50 minutes of anxiety as I put my swimsuit on. I folded my dark blue jeans, my gray sweater, and a white tank top with lace on the trim that I wore under the sweater. Making my way to the pool I started putting my hair up in place of a hair cap I seem to have forgotten. Staring at the water I can see the bottom but it doesn’t stop the feeling of wanting to crawl up from my throat. Half the girls were already in the water preparing for a game of volleyball. Step by step down the ladder my hands begin to shake and my mouth becomes dry like I just ate pancakes. I make my way to the back to avoid any confrontation or any chance of being involved in the game. The one thing good about this class is it has a perfect view of the sky. I always get lost staring out at it wondering who’s also looking back. It makes me forget the situation I’m in and my environment. That's until a ball lands in front of me and about 15 girls are looking back at me waiting for my next move. I pick it up with my now calmer hands from before and spike it. Thankfully I made it over to the other side and the girls immediately turned back to the game. Not without some dirty looks but quite frankly I don’t really care. I watch as Mrs. Withers gets a call which seems to be serious as she tells us that she needs to step outside and when the bell rings to just go ahead. It’s only 10 minutes later when the shower bell rings and I feel the crushing weight lift off my shoulders. The other girls split based on which ladder they are closest to heading to the locker room and I help one of the girls get the volleyballs together. Making my way back to solid ground I rush to put the balls away not wanting to be one of the last to leave. I grab a towel on the rack near the other end of the pool as I make my way back seeing the last of everyone leaving. At least that’s what I thought until I heard someone behind me scream “Wait up” before running past me tripping me in the process. Losing my balance I watch as the one who screamed leaves the room leaving me alone. I hit the water with a loud splash waiting to hit the bottom to kick back up only to never feel my feet hit the concrete. I try to reach for the surface but everything I try seems to pull me down further. I panic, feeling my lungs on fire from filling with water. I tried to scream but no one could hear me and no one ever would. Everything was starting to go black and everything was becoming numb. All I could think about was how much I would miss out on. Finally, everything goes dark and I feel like I’m floating but I’m not, I’m being pulled up. I grab onto whoever’s pulling me up as if my life depended on it. Once I reach the surface my lungs fill with air as I begin to cough unbearably with my eyes screwed shut. I feel myself being hoisted up on the ground and out of the water. I’m pulled into the person who saved me as I am unable to move from exhaustion. When the person holds my face to center it I finally open my eyes as I am met with wide brown ones. 

“Are you okay”, he’s breathing heavily as I study him blocking out his yell to someone to bring his jacket. 

I feel a warm weight on my shoulders seeing its a blue and white letterman jacket out of the corner of my eye. 

“Thank you for saving me” I give him a weak smile but all I get in return is an expression filled with nothing but sorrow and guilt. 

Still seated on the floor I hear a horrified scream from beside me causing me to whip my head towards the chaos. Suddenly time stops and everything goes silent as I choked out a sob watching as a student and Mrs. Withers pull my body out of the water. The whole class comes to watch as they try to resuscitate me but nothing is happening. I feel the stranger push my head into his chest and I begin to cry harder than before. He repeats “I know’s” and “I’m sorry’s” as my world comes crashing down on me. 

Hours later we are still in the same position my hair and clothes dry now along with a tear-dried face. It’s dark outside with only the poolside fluorescent lights to illuminate our two figures. I begin to shiver more and more as the stranger who pulled me out of the water rubs my back and arms. 

“We need to get up, you're getting too cold” he whispers, pulling his body to get a better look at me. 

I lift myself up getting a better look at him as well as I memorize his long structured face, beauty marks, and brown eyes. After a minute I nod and try to stand up realizing that I’m still exhausted, the position not helping adding to the pain. He helps me steady myself and fully extend as he holds my hands making sure I’m okay. 

“You should take a shower and change into your regular clothes, I’ll probably do the same and I will explain everything once we're done. Okay?”, he says softly with an uneasy half-smile waiting for my response.

“Okay,” I whisper back at him not wanting to raise my voice feeling it’ll be too much to handle. 

His smile fills out more as he nods and begins to turn away to do the same tasks as me. I begin to turn away as well before I realize I never got the guy's name who pulled me out of the pool and stayed with me for hours. 

“What’s your name?,” I said, grabbing his arm to stop him from walking away. 

He looks down at my hand holding his arm which makes me see I’m still holding onto him causing me to let go. 

“Wally, Wally Clark”, he said with a wide smile that made me feel alive again for just a split second. 

After warming up from the shower I changed into my clothes from before that were neatly folded. As I begin to walk out of the locker room I get a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I look back at the girl staring at me feeling disconnected from who she was or what she could’ve been. I take a heavy breath before opening the door to leave and face the reality of my situation. Stepping into the hall, the school looked unnatural to me with the lights off. I look over and see a less wet and cold Wally approach me with the same smile as before. 

“How was the shower? Do you feel better?”, he asked one right after the other. 

“The shower was good and I’m doing the best I can with the fact that I am already dead,” I said, peering up at him only noticing now how tall he really is. 

“I know it's hard and I’m sorry it happened this way but I will try to explain everything the best I can.”, he said, extending his elbow out for me to take it as we began to walk further down the halls.

And Just like he said Wally kept his word and explained everything to me that he could. Like how we’ll never be able to leave school grounds unless we pass on. He also showed me all the other kids stuck here just like us and told me how some passed. As well as the weird support group that the kids attend in the gym. Even though he’d joke he never sugar-coated anything, which I couldn't help but appreciate. I won’t lie, the first couple of weeks were rough. I was plagued by the memory of what happened as well as the thoughts of the future I’ll never get. It definitely didn’t help that everyone at school was mentioning it and not in a sorrowful way. During those few weeks, Wally helped a lot with trying to be a distraction so I wouldn’t focus on others. I guess one of the perks of being dead is being able to duplicate belongings so I was able to get my phone and journal. I found the perfect spot on the football field to just listen to music and lie down. I’d close my eyes and imagine what life could’ve been but I knew I couldn’t do that forever, so I started to write more. It was easier to put my wishes and fantasies on pages without having to dwell on them. I usually kept my writing to myself so around 7:30 every day I’d go to my little bubble of solitude on the field and write. It was May now so the sun would start to set around 8 giving me enough light and a view. 

“What are you writing?'' I suddenly hear Wally's voice right next to my ear. 

“Jesus Christ Wally you scared me to death”, I said, jumping in reaction to the sudden deep voice, placing my hand on my heart and dropping my journal. 

“I mean it's a little too late for that someone must’ve beat me to it.”, he said smiling at me as he sat down next to me grabbing my journal to open it. 

I glare at him and snatch my journal back. 

“What too soon?”, he said with a stupid grin trying to get my journal back.

“Just a little,” I said, scrunching my nose. 

“No but seriously what are you writing? You come out here every day and write in that little journal.” He said leaning back on his arms a bit more to get my full face into view. 

I try to hide the blush that has crept up on my face when I realize that he’s been watching me come out here. After a moment I brush my hair out of my face and am met with those famous brown eyes. I take a deep breath before explaining to him my reasons. 

“I don’t want to stay stuck in the living because all it’ll do is bring harm. All I thought about for the past couple of months was what I’ll miss but I never stopped and processed my death. I’ve been hurting for all the things I couldn’t change and it caused me to push anything away, even you. So I thought why not write my wishes and wants down so they don’t stay on my mind. At least this way I can close the journal.” I said with a tiny smile looking up at him as he was staring back intently listening. 

“Before I died I wanted to be a writer and I had my whole life planned out, I was going to attend—“ 

“NYU, I know,” he said, finishing my sentence before I could. 

I watch as Wally sits up straighter and scooches closer to me before tilting his head. I can tell he’s trying to figure out what to say because he’s fidgeting with his necklace. I wait for him because there’s no point in rushing, I have all the time in the world. 

“I’ve been watching you for a long time,” he says with a breath held in waiting for my response. 

One of my eyebrows lifts as I tilt my head in response to the slightly weird statement. 

“Oh god, that came out creepier than I meant it to. What I meant to say was even when you were alive I knew who you were.” He said laying back fully down in the grass. 

I watched as he covered his eyes with his hands with a frustrated grunt like he was trying to revert into a hole. 

“What do you mean?”, I said moving towards his laid position to where I’m now bent over leaning towards him leaving my crisscross position to now on my knees. 

I grab his hands that are covering his eyes and pull them down to his chest as I hold them to keep him from covering his eyes again. How he’s looking at me I can tell he’s debating with himself. I wait and listen before I watch as he closes his eyes. 

“The first time I saw you was during your freshman year in the library. I was looking for something to watch for group movie night. I had Rhonda yelling at me in one ear and Charlie telling me something in the other. I was getting a little annoyed but then I looked between the bookshelves and there you were.” He takes a pause to look at me and I squeeze his hand in return to continue. 

“You were tucked into the corner where the bookshelves meet, where no one could see you. In your hands was The Devil’s Highway by Luis Alberto Urrea. I watched as you cried the further you got into the book. After that day I came back to the library every day to see you. I even started picking up some of the books you read, but I couldn't finish half of them though.” He said with a small smile on his face and in his voice.  

He sat up which caused him to become closer to me while he took my hands instead of me holding his. He was looking at the grass for a minute while rubbing his thumbs over my knuckles. When he looked up I could see that he was tearing up making my heart ache. 

“I knew you had anxiety when it came to swim class because you couldn’t swim so I’d go to try and help. Even though you couldn’t see or feel me, I was always there.” He said lifting his hand up to tuck a loose strand of my hair that fell. 

His hand stayed in place as he cupped my cheek and I went to ask why he was tearing up because of this before he spoke. 

“I watched you die. I was there and I couldn’t do anything until it was too late, that’s why I was there. I had to watch you struggle knowing I couldn’t grab you or even scream for help.” He said with his voice croaking with the struggle of what he’s had to go through. 

My eyebrows furrowed as I watched the walls I built up crumble down with one look at him. I never knew he’d been holding in something like this for so long. If I had known I would’ve never tried to shut him out. I was scared of what had happened and how my life had ended but I never thought about him. He was always there and whenever I needed help he was right by my side. I moved from my position pulling him into a soul-crushing hug. It took him a second to respond to the sudden gesture but after a couple seconds, I felt his arms wrap around me.

“Wally my death wasn’t your fault, I need you to know that.”, I softly spoke while hugging him harder, feeling him return it. 

We continued hugging for what felt like years but could never be enough for me to be satisfied. One of my arms is coming up from under his arm grappling his shoulder while the other is around his waist. His arms are wrapped around my waist and I can feel his hands rubbing small circles on my back. Looking up from being tucked away in his shoulder I notice the sun is beginning to set. I begin to pull away and when I make eye contact with him again he’s only a mere few inches away from my face. I raise my hand to brush his hair away from his face as it has flattened from the hug. My hand slips down as it trails from the side of his head to where it now rests on his neck. He’s staring at me the whole time while I do this and when I look up to meet his eyes my heart quickens. Well, I imagined it quickened. There’s something about those brown eyes I’ve grown fond of that makes me feel alive again. His eyes flash down to my lips and back up to my eyes like he’s silently pleading. I give into his wants that now become a need for me and all I can do is nod. His hand comes up to my face pulling me towards him as our lips meet. The kiss felt like everything in my little life led up to this moment. Nothing else seemed to matter to me but the boy in front of me right now who just confessed that he’d been watching me for years. Wally’s the one to pull away first. I slowly opened my eyes to look at him wanting to capture this moment forever. He tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear before cupping my cheek and giving me a quick peck. I can’t restrain my gleaming smile as he pulls away for the second time. 

“Well I’m glad we got that cleared up”, he laughed as he spoke. 

I glared at him while punching him in the arm causing him to fall back but not before dragging me down with him. I land on his chest relaxing in his touch like it’s something I've been craving but have been deprived of. We lay in comfortable silence as I felt Wally rub circles with his thumb on my hip. 

“I’m glad it was you who found me. I don't know what I would’ve done” I said, being the first one to disturb the still air. 

“I am too,” Wally said into my hair as he kissed the top of my head. 

We lay there all night even when the stadium lights came on we just talked about everything and anything. Maybe the afterlife won’t completely suck. 

[madnessformunson]

Double Daddy Part 8

Warnings: teen pregnancy, cursing

Note: I love the beginning of this but hate how I ended it, oh well. Hope you all enjoy!

You held up the fake baby bump, looking Chrissy straight in the eyes. “You were faking it this whole time? Why? Why the hell would you do that”

“God y/n you fucking have it all. Family and friends. I just wanted one person to care about me, I just wanted Eddie. Why couldn’t you let me have him? Why did you have to get pregnant!” Chrissy yelled at you, coming to take the pillow out of your hands.

You yanked it back, but she didn’t let go pulling it even harder back.

As the two of you played tug of war with it you yelled, “you have to tell Eddie he deserves to know”

She shakes her head, “no fucking way, he is all I have!” Just at that moment the bump ripped in half. Lumps of cotton flew as you covered your mouth with your hand.

Chrissy was clearly in a state of panic, mumbling to herself. She had to go out for the pep rally and it would be really obvious that she no longer had a bump.

Her eyes darted around the room searching, then she landed on a small yellow and green balloon arch near the exit of the lock room. She yanked a green balloon off and stuffed it under her sweater. She went over to the mirror, adjusted the balloon and flipped her hair as she walked out. You just stood there in disbelief at what you just witnessed. The longer you sat with it, the anger grew inside of you. You rushed out of the locker room into the gym.

The rally hasn’t started yet but the bleachers were getting filled. Steve notices you walk in extremely red, he could tell you were pissed. He was sitting with the swim team since he was the new assistant coach but quickly got up to follow you.

You walk over to Chrissy, who is sitting next to Eddie, pulling her up by her arm as she yells ow.

“You are such a fucking lair, Chrissy!” You scream as you feel arms pulling you back. Steve had his arms around your waist trying to make sure there was distance between you and Chrissy.

Chrissy screamed back, “keep your fucking mouth shut!” As she went to hit you, Eddie then placed his arms around her waist. Teachers started noticing the fight and made their way to break it up but before it got too far there was a loud pop. Green pieces of balloon were visible at Chrissy’s feet and everyone went silent as they now noticed her swollen belly gone.

“What the fuck Chrissy?” Eddie said as he figured out what had happened.

“I-I can explain” Chrissy stuttered.

“You-you faked it?” Eddie took a step back.

“I’m sorry Eddie, it wasn’t ever supposed to go this far, I just- I just needed a friend” tears started to form in Chrissy’s eyes.

“What kind of person pretends to be pregnant?” Eddie said as he ran out of the gym.

“I should go find him” you said, turning to face Steve. But just about that time principal Higgins appears.

“Y/N Hopper! I can’t believe it, another fight coming from you? I thought you had finally calmed down.”

“I didn’t-“ you started but she cut you off quickly “come on to my office now, I’ll go call your father”

You wanted to protest but you knew it was no use.

“You as well Miss Cunningham” Principal Higgins said as she led you both to the office.

Chrissy went first so you said outside the office in your familiar chair. It would be a lie to say you haven’t been in this spot .. more than often. You have always been one to speak your mind and maybe you could have handled the situation better, more privately. But you couldn’t help it, it was so messed up what she did. You sat there worried about Eddie, wondering where he ran off to. You figured he was sitting at the old bench in the woods, probably smoking more than he should. You both frequently went there together when you were closer. Now he just felt like more of a stranger.

As you zoned out about Eddie, you hear a familiar jiggling of keys and a sigh. You look up reluctantly to see your father standing there, his arms crossed and he was definitely not in the best of moods. Before he could open his mouth to speak, the principal came out to call you into her office.

You sat down at the chair as your dad followed closely behind you sitting in the one next to you. Chrissy was seated next to her mother, Chrissy’s eyes were glassy and red as if she had been crying for hours.

“Well I assume everyone knows why we are here today, it seems the girls almost got into a physical altercation before the school's pep rally.”

You could feel your dad's eyes burning a hole into the back of your head and you didn’t make any eye contact with the principal.

“Since this isn’t the first time this has happened we need to-“ she was cut off my Chrissy’s mom, “we would like to press charges actually”

Your jaw dropped.

“Oh wow that seems a little extreme don’t you agree? Maybe the girls should just talk out their issues, yeah? Do some detention or something” your dad tried to defend you, but still glaring in your direction which you continue to ignore.

“My poor little Chrissy has been bullied by y/n all year long, and she did get physically violent with her once this year. I cannot allow this to continue”

Principle Higgins just nodded her head which annoyed the crap out of you. You knew you should stay quiet, just allow the adults to speak but you couldn’t, “that’s a whole lot of shit!” You threw your hands up in the air.

“Y/N!” Your dad responded and you rolled your eyes, “well it’s fucking true dad! She was saying she was pregnant with Eddie’s baby when she wasn’t!”

Chrissy’s eyes grew wide.

“Wait a second Eddie was sleeping with her too?” Your dad's jaw dropped as you grew red. You had specifically avoided that small detail to your dad.

“Well turns out this seems to be more of a Um… family matter? I’m going to give both girls detention for the rest of the week. And y/n honey, I think you really should learn to keep your temper at bay. Hawkins is a small town and your … condition isn’t helping your reputation any. You wouldn’t want people to think you are anymore reckless” she said as she stood up to open the door.

“Excuse me?” Your father said

“I don’t mean any harm from it Jim, I just want the best for y/n” she replied with the fakest of smiles.

“Well why don’t you leave that to me hm?” He said as he gestures for you to walk out the door with him. Chrissy and her mom not far behind.

Once you get into his truck he lets out a long sigh and you slightly wince, knowing the argument that was ahead of you.

But he never said anything.

“Um I’m gonna go find Eddie if that's ok” you whispered.

“Oh no, no way are you going anywhere near him anymore”

“What the hell, dad he is the father of my baby I can’t just ignore him,” you said, throwing your hands up.

“You can and you will y/n, I’m serious. You are not to be anywhere around him”

[stargazer-sims]

The Art of Redemption

(part 2)

previous // next // story index

__________

Despite blatantly violating the posted speed limit, Beth-Anne feels as if the drive between her house and Nikolai’s is taking far too long. She’s terrified of what she might find when she gets there, and her mind is flooded with worst-case scenarios like an unending reel of nightmares playing in her anxious brain. She questions everything; her decision not to stay on the phone with him, the extra minute she’d taken to text Stan, each tiny action or choice she’d made since hearing his voice tonight.

Anything could have happened in the last several minutes. Anything.

You have to calm down, she orders herself. You aren’t going to be of any use to him like this.

The problem is, she isn’t confident that she knows how to calm herself. She’s faced a lot of loss in her life and she’s never coped particularly well with it. Losing someone she loved had nearly sent her over the edge before, and the recollection of that makes the thought of losing Nikolai even more unbearable.

What would Stan tell her to do in these circumstances?

Think of something positive. A good memory. A time when you were hopeful and happy.

Yes, that’s it. She's had many happy, hopeful times over the past ten years. Being able to come back to the figure skating world after believing that part of her life was over, working side-by-side with her friend and former coach, getting to know Nikolai and watching him grow as a person and flourish as an athlete; all of that camaraderie, love and support has sustained her and taught her how to find hope and happiness within herself.

Everything will be okay. It has to be.

She remembers the day she first met Nikolai Pavlenko. It was on a Thursday in late July. School was out for the summer and most skating lessons and group classes were on a pause as well. Only the serious athletes were still at the rink when everybody else was at the park or the beach.

Beth-Anne herself had been spending as much time as possible at the beach. As a physical education teacher at an all-girls private school, she was largely free during July and August, and she preferred to spend the time outdoors, hiking, swimming, puttering around in her garden or working on her tan. Although she still skated at her local community centre for fun and exercise, going to the rink in July wasn't anywhere near the top of her to-do list.

So, when she'd received a call from Stan, asking if she'd come and join him at a practice session for a couple of his students, she was intrigued. Slightly suspicious, naturally, but certainly intrigued.

"Why would you want me to do that?" she asked.

"I have a very unique problem," Stan told her. "I have two potential champions on my hands. Absolutely top-tier talent."

"And?"

"I can't manage them both, can I? I thought you might like to meet them. Maybe pick one."

"Pick one? For what?"

"To coach," Stan said, his tone implying he shouldn't have had to point that out.

"I have a job, Stan."

"This Thursday at ten o'clock. Be there," he said. "Or not. It's up to you. I personally feel like it's a golden opportunity for you, but—"

She hung up on him.

But, she went to the rink that Thursday anyway.

If anyone asked her, she wouldn't have been able to describe her feelings when she stepped through the doors of the arena where she used to train. It was strange, coming back to a place she hadn't been to in over four years. It felt familiar, like coming home, yet at the same time she got the sense things had changed enough that she really couldn't call this her place any more.

She made her way to the rink area, where she found Stan out on the ice with two of his students. Stan was fifty, with a lot more salt in his salt-and-pepper hair than he'd had when Beth-Anne was first introduced to him.

How long ago had that been? Beth-Anne had been seventeen when Stan took her on as a student. Had they really known each other for fourteen years at that point?

That'd make it... twenty-four years to the present day. Nearly a quarter-century. God damn.

She recalls observing Stan and his students for a few minutes before announcing her presence. Stan looked healthy and fit, and she was glad to see he still put his skates on and went out there with the kids instead of coaching from behind the boards.

Both students were teenagers. The girl was clad in a form-fitting turquoise top and black athletic pants, and had a long rust-coloured braid secured on the end with a wide turquoise elastic. She was tall and lanky and moved as if she couldn't wait to unleash her power. The boy had a smudge of a moustache, and out of control hair that Beth-Anne guessed he'd allowed to grow a bit too much to compensate for his lack of success in growing facial hair. He was wearing the ubiquitous close-fitting black athletic pants and a baggy forest green sweatshirt with the tongue-in-cheek slogan 'I heart this shirt' emblazoned on it in bold white lettering.

Beth-Anne almost lost it when the boy called out, "Hey, Uncle Stan! Check out what I learned from a video!"

"Don't you dare—" Stan began.

But it was too late. He was already skating backwards, and with the momentum he'd built up, he leapt off the ice and into a heart-stopping back flip. He landed on his feet, arms spread wide and face alight with a rascal's grin.

The girl let out a whoop. "I knew you could do it, Nik!"

"Nikolai Pavlenko, don't you ever do that again!" Stan yelled.

Both Nikolai and the girl were laughing so hard that they fell to the ice in their mirth. They grabbed each other's hands and did a little cheer.

Beth-Anne didn't need to see Stan's face to tell that he was torn between being exasperated and being entertained. She could see it in his body language. These two were most certainly a handful, but she knew he loved them nevertheless.

Seeing her opportunity, Beth-Anne said, "I guess I'm not interrupting anything important."

Stan turned at the sound of her voice. He gave her a little wave and started skating in her direction. "Beth-Anne, you made it. Great!"

"I wanted to see what all the fuss was about," she said.

"Well, I guess you're getting an eyeful." He glanced over his shoulder quickly as he stepped off the ice to join her. "You two, get up. Practice what we were working on yesterday, and no more dumb shit, please."

"That means you, Nik," said the girl, and her companion rolled on the ice, taken over by another laughing fit.

"Nikolai!" Stan shouted.

"Sorry, coach," said the teenager. He rubbed briskly at his face with his palms and took an audible breath before scrambling to his feet. "Practice what we worked on yesterday. Got it."

Stan sighed. "I'm telling you, Beth. These two are going to be the goddamned end of me."

"I can tell you really care for them," Beth-Anne said.

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean they're not a massive pain in my ass," he said. "Especially that one." He jabbed a thumb into the air, pointing behind himself at Nikolai.

"That one," Beth-Anne echoed, gesturing at the young man in the green sweater. "Tell me about him."

"Nikolai Pavlenko," Stan said, pronouncing the name in a way she was certain no non-Slavic language speaker could do. "Seventeen years old. Had his debut in the senior division two years ago, and was honestly pretty unremarkable. But, I think that had more to do with inexperience and poor coaching than lack of talent. He came here from Ontario last year, and placed fourth at Skate Canada with me."

"You saw something his last coach didn't?"

"Obviously," Stan said.

"And the girl? She's the one who came from the UK specifically to train with you, right?"

"Vivienne Holmes. Yeah, she's my girl," he said. "We call her Ginger."

"Because of her hair?"

"No, because she's full of it. Full of ginger, I mean. That kid is like the Energizer Bunny and she's cheeky as hell, especially when she's with Nikolai."

"Sounds like the perfect match to me."

"Only if you think two troublemakers are better than one," Stan scoffed. "Anyway, Ginger's going to be sixteen in a couple of months, and she's having her senior debut this season. I need to separate those two so she can focus. I'll be damned if she flops in her first year at senior level just because she was too busy joking around with her buddy to concentrate on skating."

"So, you didn't actually ask me here to pick one of them, did you?" Beth-Anne said. "You want me to coach Nikolai."

Stan smiled at her. "You saw right through me."

"Wily bastard. How did you know I'd even come?"

"Because you can never say no to me." Stan held up a hand. "Now, shh... just watch. There goes your new boy. He's about to fly."

Beth-Anne found she couldn't take her eyes off Nikolai, momentarily stunned into silence as she watched him perform a flawless quadruple toe loop. His form was excellent and he made the difficult jump look almost effortless.

"Well done, Nikolai! Very nice!" Stan called to him. "Way to impress your new coach!"

Beth-Anne let out the breath she hadn't even realized she'd been holding. "Holy shit, Stan."

"I taught him that," Stan told her, clearly pleased. "It's his first quad, and he just started doing it around the end of May, beginning of June. You should've seen the disaster it was when he first tried it this spring."

"He's only seventeen?"

"Hmm," Stan hummed in affirmation. "He'll be eighteen in December. He's got amazing potential and I can see him going all the way to the top some day, but I really don't think I'm the right coach to get him there."

"Why not?" she asked. "You coached me to gold once."

Stan looked amused. "You practically coached yourself. I was just along for the ride."

"That's not true. You were always—"

"Look," Stan said. "Nikolai is special. He and Ginger both are. They could be world champions, but you know working toward that takes a big commitment of time and effort. With all my other students, I can commit to one or the other of them, not both, and Nikolai is... Well, he's a charmer and he knows how to get what he wants, whether it's good for him or not."

"You mean, he walks all over you."

"With his skates on," Stan said. "Got the metaphorical blade marks on my back to prove it."

Beth-Anne laughed. "So, it's like that. You want to foist your problem child onto me."

"Foist? Is that even a word?"

"Learn fuckin’ English, Stan."

He snorted in his effort not to laugh, but soon turned serious again. "Nikolai needs a firm hand. A coach who's going to love him and let him have fun, but also who's gonna keep him focused and isn't going to put up with his usual shit."

"And you think that person is me?"

"I do."

"Are you forgetting that I've never coached before? You say this kid's got enough potential to possibly be a world champion, and you'd let him risk all that on a green coach?"

"You're not green. You teach P.E. for fuck's sake, and don't you coach volleyball and run the dance club at your school?"

"That's not figure skating. It doesn't count."

"Like hell it doesn't," Stan insisted. "You've got experience working with teenagers, and you sure as hell know about figure skating. Just put the two together, and you'll kick ass as a skating coach. Plus, I saw that article in the paper. The kids love you, and clearly the board of directors of your school does, too. I mean, they don't give out Teacher of the Year awards to just anybody, do they?"

"No, but... I don't know about the whole coaching thing," she said. "I never thought about doing that."

"Tell me something. Do you like being a teacher?"

"Yeah. I like working with the kids, but..."

"I knew there was gonna be a 'but'. Go on."

She sighed. "How the fuck can you possibly know me so well?"

"I'm waiting for the part that comes after the 'but', Beth-Anne," Stan prompted.

"Fine," she said. "I guess you know I still skate."

"Yeah," he said. "I know."

"I wasn't ready to give up competing. I still dream about it."

"Do you?"

"I really do love teaching. I'm proud of the girls when they win a volleyball game too, but it doesn't actually mean anything, you know? Some of those girls might go on to play volleyball at university, but none of them are going to make it their career. It's just something to distract them from math and English and history."

"Right," said Stan. "What I'm hearing is that you're feeling unfulfilled."

"I wouldn't say unfulfilled," she countered. "Just... maybe not as fulfilled as I wish I was."

Stan gazed at her for a second or two. "You want to know what watching your kid win a medal feels like? A kid you've trained with day in and day out, who you literally think of as yours because you see them more than their parents do?" He placed a hand on her shoulder. "You talk about fulfillment and doing something that means something. That's it, right there."

"I don't know..."

"At least meet Nikolai, yeah? Maybe skate with him for a little bit? If he likes you and he agrees to it, then come and join us at practice for the rest of the summer. Call it a trial run to see if it's gonna work for you."

"Okay," she said. "But no promises."

"You don't have to commit to anything right this second," Stan assured her. "Just try it out, and if you do decide it's what you want, I'll be here to help you. I promised you a long time ago that I'd always be there for you, didn't I? You're not gonna be in this alone."

And she hadn't been. Stan had been there every step of the way to help her and give her advice when she needed it, to keep her on track when she got discouraged, and to remind her that she and Nikolai were doing amazing things together. "Your Nikolai is going all the way," he'd say. "I can see it."

My Nikolai, she thinks now. When did that happen?

She'd liked Nikolai from the moment she met him, and it'd only taken her a week to make up her mind to resign from her teaching job and become his coach. She adored his personality and was enchanted by his big blue eyes and devil-may-care grin, but most of all she was inspired by his passion for skating.

Stan hadn't been wrong. Nikolai was a charmer and a troublemaker, and yes he did require an application of verbal discipline from time to time, but he was bright and genuine and had the greatest capacity for love that she'd ever seen in a person of his age, His obvious joy on the ice filled Beth-Anne's heart with a kind of reflected happiness that she hadn't felt in a very long time, and she knew she wanted to keep that sentiment alive, for herself as well as for him.

There must've been a definitive point at which she'd started thinking of him as hers, when she'd ceased to be just his coach and somehow became more like a bonus mother to him. His real mother, Elena, is a good woman and Beth-Anne doesn't doubt that she loves Nikolai and his sister Natalya very much, but as long as Beth-Anne has known Elena and Mikhail Pavlenko, she's always had the impression that they were emotionally unavailable for their kids.

From the start, she knew sweet, sensitive Nikolai required someone who’d try to understand all his feelings without judging him for them. For him, skating was more than just a technical sport. The rink was a canvas on which he painted his innermost thoughts. He poured out his soul onto the ice, and she stood by his side, cherishing him and the artistry of his emotions, hearing the things he couldn’t say with words alone.

In his own way, he'd done the same for her, offering his faith in her and his love for her as priceless gifts. God knows, she'd been desperate for someone to believe in her back then. Without doubt or judgment, Nikolai became that someone. He never saw her as a failure or a has-been. He'd opened up his heart and mind to her and let her guide him toward what would become their shared dream. Together, they found a connection beyond words, where the rink became an almost sacred place.

The first time he won gold in a competition with her as his coach and they placed that medal around his neck, Beth-Anne felt as if they were giving her an award too. She'd never been so proud of another person's accomplishments in her whole life. Even her own lone gold medal from long ago hadn't felt as good as that, and she could hardly wait to thank Stan and tell him he was right.

After the medal ceremony, Nikolai came down from the podium to find her at the edge of the crowd. He was practically bouncing, and the smile on his face could've lit up an entire room. He threw himself into her arms with a jubilant exclamation of, "Beth-Anne, we did it!"

She hugged him tight. "You did it, sweetheart. It was all you."

"No." He shook his head, causing his floppy brown hair to brush against her chin and cheek. "We did it. I couldn't have got here alone. I couldn't do any of it without you, and I'd never want to."

"I'll be with you as long as you want me to be," she said.

He leaned close and whispered. "Forever, okay?"

"Okay," she said, and deep inside she knew she meant it. She never wanted to leave him, not ever. Even when his competing days were over and they'd both moved on to other things, she hoped she could still be his friend, his confidante or mentor. The truth was, he'd saved her. He'd given meaning and purpose to her life when she felt it had none. He brought her back to the sport she loves, and she’ll always be grateful for that. She doesn’t consider it a sacrifice to do whatever she can to repay him for offering her that precious second chance.

After a moment, they let go of each other, and Nikolai took a step back. Then, he did the most extraordinary thing. He lifted the ribbon of his medal from around his own neck and placed it around hers instead.

"For you," he said. "Keep it."

She touched the cool metal disc. "Nik, I can't keep your medal. You earned it."

"You helped me earn it." He offered her that mischievous grin of his. "Besides, I'm going to win lots of them in the future, so I'll have plenty. You should have this one. You know, to keep yours company, because two together are always happier than just one alone."

To this day, she doesn't know if he realized the allusion he'd created. She is happier with him, with Stan, with her two up-and-coming junior skaters Brett and Mariah, and all her non-competitive students from her group classes.

Almost no one is better off alone. That was a lesson she had to learn, and she's thankful the ones who taught it to her were Stanislav Kovac and Nikolai Pavlenko.

She took Nikolai's medal home from that competition, and she hung it on the wall of her den, next to her own gold medal. Over the years, the display has grown with coaching awards, as well as photographs, newspaper clippings and framed magazine articles all featuring the successes of her students. The collection always expands outward, with the two gold medals eternally at the centre.

Wait... this is Nikolai's street!

Her truck's tires shriek as she takes the corner way too fast. Fortunately, the pavement isn't wet and nothing goes awry. She can't believe she’d distracted herself so successfully that she had nearly missed turning in the right place. She swears aloud, exhaling a string of foul language that'd doubtless make a dockyard worker blush.

Nikolai's house is the only one on the street with a light on inside. She parks her truck at the curb and sprints across the yard and up the front steps. Her heart hammers against the inside of her chest.

When she tries the door, she discovers it's unlocked. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she eases it open and steps inside. The air in the house is damp and cold as if there's a window open somewhere, allowing the chill February night to impose itself like an unwanted houseguest.

She doesn't have to look far to find Nikolai. He's sitting on the floor no more than two meters from the doorway, head down, staring at some undiscernible spot on the polished hardwood floor. It seems he'd done exactly as she instructed. He unlocked the door for her, and then did nothing else until she arrived.

She experiences a little pang of heartache as she takes in the situation. Nikolai is wearing the same red gym shorts and loose grey t-shirt he'd been wearing when she'd last seen him in person three days ago, and his overabundance of chocolate brown hair is dishevelled and stringy. His right knee — the injured one — is badly swollen, and she doesn't see his crutches anywhere. She knows his leg hadn't looked that bad the last time she was here, and she wonders what might've happened.

She says his name softly, and he looks up. His face is tear-streaked, and the edges of his eyes are red as if he's been rubbing at them.

"I'm cold," he says.

She shuts the door quickly. A thousand questions tumble through her head, but she rejects them all as either inane or inappropriate. At last, she settles on, "Where's Anya?" Somehow, she stops just short of adding 'What the hell did she do to you?' or 'Why the fuck would she leave you like this?'

Nikolai shakes his head. "I don't know. I... I'm alone."

"Sweetheart, no," Beth-Anne closes the distance between them in two long strides and then drops to the floor beside him. She takes him in her arms, and he instantly collapses against her, weeping. He's shivering. She thinks she should try to get him into warmer clothes, but first she has to make sure he's going to be okay. She strokes his back, just as she'd done a few weeks ago in Taiwan, like she's probably done a hundred other times. "I'm here. It's all right. You're safe, and you're not alone. I said I'd always be here for you, remember? I promise, you never have to be alone."

[msbyomimi]

masterlist - prev chapter - next chapter

Chapter 2

pairing: kageyama x hinata

Cw: Angst, depictions of unhealthy coping habits

wc: 1,511 

notes: Another chapter for everyone <3 things be heating up

After that awkward night, Kageyama couldn’t seem to focus properly. Ushijima hung up shortly after Kageyama’s outburst. A tense blanket of uncertainty draped over his shoulders as he went to bed that night. The thoughts swimming around in his head circulated around one common theme, Hinata. From the minute he opened his eyes, alarm blaring off as specks of sunlight sprinkled through the blinds at 5 AM. To the grueling volleyball practice and training throughout his day, which left him stumbling through the door to his apartment near delirious from exhaustion. 

Kageyama couldn’t shake the undeniable urge to pick up his phone buried in his pocket and open Instagram again. Just to catch another glimpse of the familiar orange hair, amber eyes, and mesmerizing aura that Hinata held. Kageyama has looked at that damn picture one too many times, every slope, crevice, and detail burned into his memory. Leaving him with the vague sense that he knows what Hinata’s experienced this past year. Simply allowing himself to peek into the life Shoyo lived without him. Only to feel the pit in his stomach grow deeper seeing Shoyo content, dare he say it even, happier without him.  

This vicious cycle spiraled onwards for another week, slowly draining Kageyama more and more until he finally reached the tipping point. Practices were getting tougher, his body seeming to suddenly feel as if everything were heavier. The weight of restless nights stacking up against him, threatening to tip the scale and have everything he’s worked so hard for come crumbling down. 

“You want me to take a day off?” The words left his tongue foreign and viscerally. Kageyama didn’t take days off, he’d never needed to. His drive and focus had kept him burning onwards every single day with the single motivation of getting to continue to play volleyball. 

Coach Banjou Suzaku merely crossed his arms, a deep sigh leaving him. Kageyama had arrived at practice that morning, same as any other day for the stoic setter. Except this time before he got to change into his practice clothes, coach Suzaku was waiting outside the locker room doors, arms crossed and a tense look washing over the man’s features. “Ah there you are Kageyama. Come follow me.” 

Suzaku curtly directed, turning and swiftly leading the young player. Confused, Kageyama was left with the only option but to follow behind his coach, pondering what on earth this could be about. Worry slowly ate away at Kageyama’s resolve until the two of them stopped outside a door with the name plate reading ‘Office’ in big bold letters. Suzaku ushered Kageyama inside, closing the door behind the two of them and sitting down in his chair with a hefty sigh. 

“You look like you’re really thinking something through there.” Suzaku jested, easing the tension as best he could as Kageyama finally took a seat in front of his mahogany desk. “Sir what is this about?” Kageyama could barely recognize his own voice that left him. It sounded so weak, drained, exhausted.

Suzaku was quick to try and smooth over Kageyama’s unusual behavior. “Don’t go worrying your head off. I simply wanted this to be a private matter between you and me.” Leaning back in his chair, Suzaku wistfully looked over the trophies that garnished his office space. There were plenty of 1st place trophies from various tournaments of differing sizes and caliber. Framed photos were strung up on the walls of the room, showing the Schweiden Adlers at different points in time, some of the players Kageyama didn’t even recognize. There was one photo right near where Kageyama sat, it was the newest addition to Suzaku’s office. Within this photo were Hoshiumi, Ushijima, Romero, Sokolov, Heiwajima, Hirugami, and Kageyama. 

A strange sensation washed over Kageyama as he peered at the framed placard photograph on the wall. The snapshot of Kageyama from a year ago stared back at him, leaving the setter’s hands sweaty. He quickly brushed his palms across the black sweatpants he was wearing, desperate to soothe his thoughts somehow. There was something off about that picture, he could hardly recognize himself when he looked at it. It was as if he were looking at some random stranger, not himself. 

“I always loved that team photo we took.” A hearty chuckle left Suzaku as he reminisced. The picture was taken the first day all the players met, a cast of characters certainly within the team. The photo showed all 7 players along with Suzaku himself, the only one wearing the proudest grin. Ushijima and Kageyama both had their signature smiles stretching across their face, however menacing they appear. Hoshiumi stood giving a proud smirk along with the rest of the team. 

“Ya know I need my players all to be in their best shape.” Suzaku spoke up once again, snapping Kageyama out of his thoughts. “You’re an amazing setter. There’s no doubt about that.” Suzaku turned his chair to face Kageyama, arms leaning on the table and hands folded under his chin as he spoke. He held an aura of seriousness that was not lost on Kageyama, he was speaking from his experience as a coach and what would be best for the team. 

“Which is exactly why I brought you here. I’m asking you as a coach to take a couple days off.” He locked eyes with Kageyama, gauging his reaction to the words he knew would be hard for the setter to hear. Kageyama’s whole body tensed, clearly not prepared to hear that request. 

“You want me to take a day off?”

“No. I want you to take a couple days off.” Suzaku was quick to throw his witty reply. He felt bad for Kageyama, the lesson he was trying to teach wasn’t an easy one. He was once in the same position, being young and steadfast in whatever goals were in his sights. Not stopping for anything. Even when the weight of the world would feel unbearable.

“Listen Kageyama, you’re clearly going through something. You haven’t been to any of the team retreats this month, you leave first after every practice, and your focus is so dialed in to just volleyball.” A silence filled the room as the words were left hanging in the air. Suzaku gave Kageyama a sympathetic look, the latter only stared down at his lap, body tense and black hair covering his face. 

“Some coaches would love to have a player like that. No funny business, simply playing volleyball in pique form all the time. However…” There was a hefty pause, Sukzau looking Kageyama directly in the eyes, voice firm as he spoke.  

“You can’t use volleyball to escape your problems.”

The words hit Kageyama like a punch to the gut, hands grabbing onto the fabric of his sweatpants, gripping it deep in thought. Was he doing that? Who cares if he was playing volleyball to let off some steam? It’s not like he’s running away, no he’s simply doing what he loves. He was still performing well - 

“You’re going to push yourself too far and never find proper ways to work through those difficult emotions. That is why, as your coach, I’m instructing you to feel better. Take a couple days off until you feel like you’ll have fun playing volleyball again. ” 

Kageyama’s thoughts were spiraling, an ache starting to form along his temple. What would he do without volleyball? He could just go practice on his own time? Kageyama simply couldn't fathom not being able to go through with his carefully crafted schedule he’d formed over the past year.

Why? 

Why?

Why?

“Yes sir.” The words left Kageyama’s lips hallowly, his eyes were hazy with uncertainty. Suzaku stood, giving Kageyama a fatherly pat on the back, smiling softly. He knew better than anyone that Kageyama would have a hard time wrapping his head around this complex issue. But Suzaku cared too much about Kageyama’s overall well being, the last thing he wanted was for Kageyama to start burying those painful feelings. This would be better in the long run.

Which is exactly how Kageyama found himself in his current predicament. Laying down sprawled across his bed, a day having passed since the encounter in the coach’s office. Kageyama spent his first day off waking up early at 5AM, eating his favorite oatmeal, and going for a morning run. Exactly what he’d do any other day. The only difference being that after he was done running, standing sweaty in the middle of his living room, his phone buzzed. 

Annoyed at who could be bothering him this early in the morning, he fished his phone out of his gym shorts. Reading the new notification the ravenette’s eyebrows shot up, jaw clenching instinctually as he cast a sour expression down to the phone in his hands. No way. There could be no possible way this was real. His grip tightened on his phone as his heart pounded. 

One message from Hinata Shoyo: “I’m going to try out for MSBY division 1. I’ll be in Japan if you want to meet up”

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[nityarawal]

11/4/2023

Favorite Prototype

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[adrianvarelablog]

Track: ABU DHABI BLUES

The oil economy will only disappear when it goes bankrupt: when we are prepared to subsist without its advantages.

Reading time: 5' Notes: travel diary

A concert I once played in one of several oil-economy-based middle-Eastern countries I’ve visited, which here shall remain nameless, involved signing a confidentiality agreement whereby I am to this day not allowed to say where I performed, nor to whom. I saw the faces of the audience and recognised some of them, but neither the hosts nor the foreign guests wished it to be known that they were enjoying themselves cushily together in such a setting.

In order to get to the location, our group was driven in a coach down the motorway for a period of time. The coach then took a turn off the motorway, driving through working oil fields. At some point, the driver stopped, got out of the vehicle, and left us there in the middle of the desert. His authority to drive expired at that marker. Presently another vehicle came toward us from the direction we were driving towards, a new driver stepped into our coach, and we continued our journey further and into the destination complex, where we were greeted by military personnel clutching machine guns, and smiling catering personnel.

Outside this experience, the rest of the tour was streets better than what one usually experiences on tour. Normally tours seem glamorous experiences to the general public, but in reality, are hard graft of travel and work under difficult conditions. They are usually very tough, not just for the players and staff physically, but also for our families back home. But on this occasion, as with all tours I have done to oil-based countries without exception, we stayed at a pleasant holiday resort, the food was sensational, there was a swimming pool and a small private beach, and there was no more travel, as the other concerts were all close by.

Tours to territories such as Europe, Japan, and the USA have nowhere near the level of luxury (I’m including basics such as time and well-being as ‘luxury’ items here) as in the Middle East. The economies of the more regular touring destinations prohibit it. Our group loved staying in this resort, being well-fed, and being given the chance to be rested, all of which contributed to performing to the best of our ability in public and private concerts. No one wants global warming, and the secrecy around that private concert was a bit weird, but hey, everyone agreed, the goodies on that tour were fabulous, right?

Different tours, different oil-based countries. One common denominator is alcohol is either restricted or banned for locals. Not so, apparently. Hotel lobbies were never empty of men, supercars parked outside, who in the middle-Eastern equivalent of a pub crawl, would hop from hotel to hotel getting more and more drunk, diligently and discreetly served by staff.

Other restrictions were interesting. Some of us befriended a band at the local Irish pub. Our query about whether we could bring our instruments to play with them was met with horror by the band and the manager, who explained to us that they could all potentially lose their licenses if unlicensed (for a particular venue) musicians performed even one note.

Extreme as that seemed -Irish pubs welcome this kind of thing the world over- and acknowledging that each country has its own right to its own rules, the incident did make me pay more attention to other limitations: women were legally allowed to drive, yet hardly any did. Women were allowed to work, yet we only came across men working, except occasionally in catering. Women, never alone, were only ever seen in numbers in the shopping malls. These patterns repeated themselves in different places, on different tours.

It has always been very, very difficult, or impossible, to see ‘on the other side’ of the wall erected to ‘welcome’ the foreigner. Like a living Truman Show, I have really wanted to connect with the locals, to see how people live, shop for basic needs, and go to school. But this is totally out of bounds. I must stay in my resort and enjoy the fabulous food, alcohol, pool, and 200 channels on TV, and the obligatory tourist-facing trip to the mosque and market; who be stupid enough to ever wish for anything else when provided these riches? But, I ask myself, ‘where is the real country, the real people’s lives here?’ The society and space are constructed so that these people, these lives, remain perennially hidden, inaccessible, and invisible, becoming almost Morlocks to the Eloi, who are shown only the shop window, hermetically framed by glass and concrete.

This package is for me disturbing. I cannot isolate the fact that the luxuries and comforts enjoyed by myself and my colleagues come from the same source that drives the planet beyond the point of no return for the extinction of some animal and plant species, loss of livelihoods, poverty, and famine that are with no shadow of a doubt to come.

I cannot separate the fact that these societies where liberties are so strongly demarcated by resplendent shopping malls are run by men, men who promulgate an exploitative economy while their women, as fellow human beings their equals in every respect, are not treated as such. Their Western partners, because they’re partners, are equally guilty.

I am reminded of the ‘Tales of the 1,001 Nights’, a poorly written loose collection of stories, but of imagery that still captivates Western imagination, where the thousands-year-old mirage of monetary success equates to success in life and happiness. Criticism of this fallacy is answered with accusations of jealousy; surely the only reason why you think this is not the way to go, is because you have not achieved this level of ‘success’ and riches, which is everyone’s goal even if they don’t wish to admit it! Surely you must be trying to reduce the cognitive dissonance caused by wanting to, and not being, rich?

No. The planet is burning. Literally burning. All over the world, women’s spheres of action, rights, and voices continue to be constrained. Racism is alive and being fuelled further. The economy of continued human and natural resource exploitation isn’t working.

But look at that cool car!

 

The music:

Abu Dhabi Blues is actually a very authentic track. It illustrates perfectly the dichotomy described above.

There is plenty that is also musically and humanly authentic: the 12-bar blues sequence; the evocation of Middle-Eastern ‘otherness’ in a language that Western audiences can understand, without stepping all the way into actually authentic folk music; the fact that the opening improvisation and all violin lines are ‘Take 1’, as I wanted the ‘voice’ be actually true, with its warts-and-all imperfections in the opening improvisation, so that there is at least one thing in all of this which is not glossed over, like the character of ‘the native’ in Aldous Houxley’s ‘Brave New World’.

Aesthetically, the harpsichord seems to add to the cultural confusion but is a deliberate choice, a reflection that fusion does not necessarily have to mean the superficial East-meets-West preservation and interaction of separate boxes. Rather, a richer kind of fusion can be brought about by integrating into this type of crossed paths (blues, faux-Middle Eastern, virtuosic violin playing) an instrument that belongs to an altogether different environment, and in so doing, also referencing an even wider musical world containing Massive Attack’s ‘Teardrop’ and ‘Handbags and Gladrags’ as performed by Stereophonics.

[yoimix]

haikyuu!! as types of best friends.

➼ ft. hinata, sugawara, bokuto, osamu+atsumu.

➼ playlist. talk too much - coin, higher - banks, romanticism - mrs green apple, me and my friends - james vincent mcmorrow

➼ a/n. these have light bff2l undertones hhn i love that trope, pls forgive me. </3 + there’s some timeskip spoilers for atsumu & osamu’s part.

❀ hinata :-

i wish the childhood best friends trope a very good evening.

no one’s better than hinata at making friends, even if you met after he spiked a ball into your face. you’re childhood best friends too !! so imagine being a child and having to pick up this goofball by the scruff, who has the audacity to ask you to play with him after giving you a scratched up forehead and teary eyes from a ball to the face. but, like, you were the one who said yes so it’s on you :-)

sometimes you bicker but it’s ok bc he would literally go to the ends of the earth for you if you asked. no kidding. he hates sitting still anyway so he’ll just gravitate towards where you are like you’re the sun. also gets you taiyaki in the evenings but climbs in through your window instead of using the front door like a normal person. (he has too much energy </3) if you hear someone yelling your name outside your window and ranting about volleyball games, you know who it is.

ok when he makes you mad with his bullheadedness, you'll be complaining with kageyama (who agrees vehemently) and hinata gets pissy bc you get along a little too well when you're throwing insults about him. (he's not jealous, no, of course not.) but.. how long can you stay mad at this sunshine child anyway?? you'll be pretending you never got mad at all within a few hours and go back to joking around.

he gets distracted if you're watching a match sometimes (bokuto somehow got it into his head that he needs to show off in front of you) so you got banned from watching. he overcomes it later on so you can cheer him on in his jersey too <3

gives you ALL his attention when you talk or even complain about your life. he reacts a lot to whatever you have to say so you have to pretend there aren’t people behind you glaring at hinata for having the same decibel sound level as a jet engine.

you have matching keychains you bought at a local fair !!! (you got a pochacco one for hinata but it’s super worn out by now so he keeps it in his wallet instead.) 

he has not won a single multiplayer video game against you (*cough cough* mario kart *cough*) and you don’t even have to be good at it. if you call him a loser, he’ll lose even harder. gets unnecessarily mad at just dance and you have to calm him down.

... you’ve probably kissed bc the two of you (mostly him) were too eager for a first kiss and you got fed up with his pubescent ramblings and ended up kissing him. and then had an early mid-life crisis bc you guys are definitely just friends. (unless.. unless he doesn’t think that way.. surprise surprise 😳) also he's.. kind of bad for make out practice... it’s like kissing a month old puppy.. sorry :/. if you happen to make a lot of offhand comments and tease him about his kissing skills, he WILL turn tomato red and argue in gibberish. only do that in private bc the rest of the world thinks you’re sickeningly cute together >:(

overall, your best friend is a ball of sunshine (who occasionally pisses you off) and your #1 motivation to get out of bed. it's mostly bc he's somehow there to get you out of bed though you've repeatedly told him to not climb in through your window. at least the sun is smiling upon you every day <3

❀ sugawara :-

being best friends with him is such a secure relation !! 

he’s your soft place to fall but also would provide gentle (not so gentle) reminders for your wellbeing (STUDY!!! WATER!!!! BREAKFAST!!). doesn’t get mad when you say you skipped breakfast but gives you this look of disappointment which is 100x more effective. still gets a granola bar for you though. also he literally carries bandaids for u and he’s been doing that since second grade bc you fell off the swing ONCE. you know, just in case. if you’re an accident-prone hazard to society, you’re in luck. 

BEST HUGS especially if you had a rough day and want to sob into his shoulder. if u damage his $85 hoodie tho, he will make u do his laundry and also buy snacks for him. but like he is so soft (his skin is SUPER soft bc he actually follows a skincare routine now) and cuddly like a teddy bear, it's a small price to pay for salvation.

he will hype you up for anything you do !!!! new outfit? offers to be your personal photographer. scored an A+? will treat u to your fav ice-cream. new job? will tell everyone just how proud he is. 

ALWAYS shares the last bite with you and smiles to himself when you eat it so contented. also!!! hanging out at cafes and taking cute pictures is a must <3 even though you’re not dating, you’ll have photos together that make you look a real couple which ensue teasing from daichi and asahi and admiration/jealousy from noya and tanaka. also he gets weirdly protective of you around the team (i’m looking at the moron quartet) and you have to pull the “koushi you’re not my mom” card. it really strikes a chord with him when you say that out loud.

will egg your ex's house with you if you say the word. somehow gets more pissed than you at your ex (if they're a shitty one). it's kind of scary when he's mad too so.... good luck calming him down. he's also really good at sarcastic trash talk so if you happen to meet your ex on the street... send prayers for their self-esteem.

you don't really fight often but if you happen to disagree, he'll go about it in a pretty mature way and talk it out. if you pick a fight on purpose, he'll catch on to it and either tickle you (excessively) or flick your forehead as punishment for trying to rile him up. it’s impossible to prank him!!!!! it’s like he’s got a sixth sense or something so you might as well give up on anything of the sort. 

you said you want to get a dog (or cat) with him in the near future and he somehow equated that to having children. turned bright red and started saying it’s too soon to be thinking of that while you had daichi stop you from smacking some sense into your overly imaginative best friend. (i mean, you do need to live together if you want to raise a pet sooo)

his lockscreen is a picture of the two of you so a lot of people who try to hit on him take the hint quick. he says it’s unintentional but you know he can be terribly scheming at times. if you say something like “why don’t you date me for real, coward” he will malfunction and not be able to look you in the eye. (“don’t joke around, y/n” “what if i’m not” “it kind of feels illegal to date you” “what do you mean?!💢”)

anyway you are one lucky mf if you have sugawara koushi as your best friend even if there are both ups and downs (mostly ups). having someone care for you so blatantly certainly makes the question of romance arise but you’re content with the most loving best friend ever.

❀ bokuto :-

you guys are the “two best friends in a room, we might kiss” “yes we will” “what” type of best friends PLS

it doesn’t matter what stage of life you met him, it’ll feel like you’ve been best friends since the beginning of time.

it’s just so easy to make friends with this airhead and by god’s gift, you cannot physically get annoyed at this man. sometimes his friends will complain about him being forgetful or blunt but you’re just there like. yeah. that’s bokuto. love him for it. (you seem to have a lot of patience.)

he probably gets into trouble with authority unwittingly, so save your weekends to sweet talk his way out after accidentally implying the coach has a weak mindset. afterwards, you go get ice cream or something and hang out at the dog park to forget it happened. (the amount of second hand embarrassment bokuto has given you though... you need some hard drugs to forget all of it.) 

you probably make a lot of friends through him in high school/college but at the end of the day, it’s just you and him and sometimes akaashi making sure you guys are alive. if you guys are alone together on a friday night, you’ll still be having fun!! very often, it takes shape as karaoke :-) bokuto thinks he’s really great at rapping for some reason (he’s not) so cue you screaming the lyrics in an attempt to ruin your part of the song equally. also he always sets the key wrong??? although you sing the same songs each time?? sometimes he picks a song neither of you have ever heard and the both of you try to guess the melody. he’s terrible at it but at least he’s funny. there’s not a single song he hasn’t had a voice crack in.

if you go clubbing/partying with him, get prepared to be introduced as the friend of “the guy who did four keg stands in a row before proceeding to do a cartwheel unprompted and somehow not throw up”. is on first name basis with the bartenders/hosts and gets you free drinks. also gets hit on often but is oblivious unless they’re being very straightforward. if he’s not into them... you have to pull the s/o card and save his ass. oh also he barks at anyone that gets near your drink.

will always exaggerate when introducing you to new people. “y/n and i met when i saved them from drowning a terrible death.” “it was the children’s pool and you were the one that was screaming.” “and then y/n didn’t really thank me but it’s not like heroes need thanks to do the right thing.” “kou, i will push you into a pool right now, let’s see how well you swim.” (he learned swimming to impress you so joke’s on you.)

he likes to watch you do stuff at the end of the day, so if you see him go o_o at you doing homework, you can just put your earphones on and focus on your work. even if he’s making.. a strangely.. adorable expression. also LOVES to listen to you talk about your day when he’s tired, he says it helps him sleep better (so expect a lot of nighttime calls). moreover, if you say you had a bad dream, he’ll comfort you with his ridiculously confident tone of voice (unless the dream was about something bad happening to him, then he’ll freak out and you’ll have to comfort him instead </3)

ok one thing that’s annoying about him is that he probably leaves food crumbs over your stuff like laptop, bed sheet, etc. you clean it up but bokuto.. is a bit... distracted to notice the mess he’s making. it’s usually pretty difficult to get him to be more aware, but like your glare is enough to make him at least try to be careful from the next time. (either that or he’s become sensitive to your change in mood/emotions bc you know... you’re best friends after all.)

i’m not gonna lie, he probably catches feelings for you at some point. he wants to, like, keep it lowkey bc akaashi told him to take your feelings into consideration too but?? it’s so hard?? you’re literally so pretty?? everything you say is like music to him??? he reacts reflexively to all the firecracker feelings u give him. he probably says he likes you all the time but you dismiss it with “as a friend right :-)”. there’s no climbing up from that one, sorry bokuto.

to summarize, if a moody golden retriever was your human best friend.exe

❀ miya twins :-

they feel like a set. it would be strange to have one of the twins as a bff and not have the other one around whoops 🤷‍♀️ 

either you and osamu bully atsumu in your free time, or you and atsumu annoy osamu for fun (or both) <3. it’s always a good idea to team up with osamu and prank atsumu for fun btw. (put wasabi in his breakfast pancakes and you’ll get a very pissed off but weirdly cute tsumtsum. you can blame it on osamu if you don’t want to face his wrath.) your alternative is to embarrass osamu in front of strangers with atsumu, have fun with that. (second hand embarrassment also works.)

when you were younger, you pretended to not be able to distinguish the twins bc it would visibly rile atsumu up and then you’d go “ok you’re atsumu”... which would further rile him up. osamu got used to your shenanigans though it ticked him off the first time too LOL. call them the wrong name on purpose and they’ll start a riot; be careful when you’re playing with fire pls.

you guys played a lot of knight and prince/princess/royal when you were a kid and atsumu would always try to make osamu the evil dragon holding you captive. in the end, you were somehow the knight, osamu the prince to be rescued and atsumu the big, bad dragon. (it’s kind of funny in hindsight. your parents have photographs of the three of you fighting like no tomorrow.) also speaking of which, your parents are also friends and have bets on which twin you’ll marry (or if you will at all). it’s tearing your parents’ friendship apart.

these two have DEFINITELY fought over whose jersey number you’re going to wear to the games ( “oi, ‘samu, stop brainwashing my best friend into wearing your stupid double digit number” “you know i’m the best friend, ‘tsumu. they clearly like me better over yer ratty ass.” “what did ya say?!?!? if anything, you’re the one that looks like ratatouille.”) you wore kita's jersey number to games.

imagine sunday picnics with the boys !!! by that, i specifically mean osamu and his perfect bento boxes <3 sometimes the two of you will cook together before your outings while a sulking atsumu stands outside bc you didn’t let him. (let him in, you monsters.) he says he can cook too but the last time the twins’ bickering almost burnt the whole kitchen down. the picnics continue well into adulthood and you get to diss your boss to the twins who will always support your rants. (sometimes atsumu will tell you it’s your fault but you can smack him off. we only need supportive besties here 🙄)

if someone hurts u.... they’re going to need divine intervention to be safe... you have two well-built, physically adept best friends ready to beat the shit out of anyone who deliberately breaks ur heart. 

when the twins get into a physical fight...... oh boy. it kinda pisses you off that they’re spewing profanity at each other and you’re the one getting glares. but at the same time, you don’t really want to step into a fight that has nothing to do with you. people should solve their interpersonal issues on their own. they have never fought over you, this isn’t twilight <3 

but the question did come up once on which twin you like better; it’s not something to seriously fight over though. if you chose osamu, atsumu will complain for six days straight and you’ll start to regret ever answering the question. if you say atsumu, osamu won’t feed you his onigiri anymore for a few days which is just as bad. the safest choice is to say neither bc it will both be funny and you won’t suffer too many consequences. if you say you love the both of them for being your best friends all this time and go all mushy, there’s a slight chance they’ll go soft too. god help you from the bone crushing hug you’re about to receive 🙏

you make sure to not miss any of atsumu’s official games !! sometimes he’ll wave at you and make the reporters give you hell bc he’s a little shit. just push osamu to them and run away if it gets that bad. (he gets free advertising for his shop, he should be grateful.)

osamu is super good at cheering you up!!! whether it’s with food or with pleasant talk, you’ll be feeling much better with a full stomach and a calmer state of mind. as for atsumu, he’s really good at you cheering you up by distracting you. he’ll talk about his team or this new serve he learnt and the world will seem a lot brighter bc he seems so happy about it. whichever twin you go to, it’s win-win. 

in return, the twins take up a good chunk of your time. sometimes atsumu will crash at your place after a game though you’ve told him to not lead the damn reporters here. osamu makes you taste test his experimental onigiri... which are not always good..... no seriously, why’d he put honey and tuna in there ?? but still, your life is ridiculously colorful with them around.

anyway, what can i say except what’s better than one best friend?? two best friends !!!

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[mistabullets]

Did someone say Great Pretender? 👀 How about headcanons for Makoto and Lauren (separately) who needs to pretend to be in a relationship with S/O for a scam. Fake relationships turned into something more. Nsfw or sfw - your choice.

NOTE: uhhh it’s fairly suggestive but cw dubcon (if you squint), mentions of cuck for lulz, not sfw ish

Makoto Edamura

> The thought of pretending to be your boyfriend has him unnerved and flustered at first. While his acting has improved immensely since his first heist, the thought of being intimate just to fool some corrupt CEO has his head swimming. Especially since you, his partner for this particular swindle, just happens to be one of the most attractive people he ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on!

> You can’t help but tease the poor lad, reassuring him that all has to do is follow the script and act natural. The two of you would be presenting yourself in public so it’s not like the two of you would have to do anything further than hand holding and the caressing each other. However, the two of you do practice - you want to appear as a couple who love each other for ages when you’re out for dinner with the CEO and their spouse. So you and Makoto go on “pretend dates”. You coach him to hold initimate eye contact, put him to the test by randomly reaching out for his hands, and see how well he reacts when you go to wipe lingering crumbs near his lips.

> And it seems like these pretend dates pay off well, considering the CEO, their spouse, and everyone else always compliment what a good couple you are. Even Edamame has a few tricks up his sleeves and has seem the mastered the craft of faking relationships with you. He’s even been bold enough to kiss some cream off near your lips (and you gave a playful slap to ass for revenge). Even Laurent and Cynthia point out the two of you have gotten close since! However, Makoto brushes it off, commenting about how he is after all, Japan’s greatest con artist.

> Laurent chuckles and winks, “sureeee Edamame~”

> However, this all comes to a head when the CEO discreetly sends out an invitation... to a swing party.

> While Edamura is adamant about not attending, you force him to consider this - an opportunity to seduce the CEO and gain their trust and secrets. They had made suggestive comments and gave you rather unwanted attention and compliments. It’s a gamble that you’re willing to bet on, despite Makoto’s protest about the risk of putting yourself in danger. After a few days of going back and forth, he ultimately surrenders - while personally, he won’t be participating, he does want to keep an eye on you at all times. And perhaps that can be arrange - after all this swing party might be kink friendly, no?

> The night of the party, you and Makoto dress in your finest clothing. However, your attire leaves little room for the imagination, wanting to impress the CEO. Edamura grabbed a drink to ease his nerves - he followed you and the CEO eagerly led you to a more private area (“don’t mind him, he’s really into this sort stuff, you know?”). The Japanese man watched the way their hands went to linger on your hips, pulling you down on the velvet settee. He observed how your hands fidgeted nervously and how your tongue flicked nervously as you reached for the CEO’s crotch, eyes filled with uncertainty.

> There was a tug on his heart - his fist was painfully clenched at the edge of his seat and his pants felt uncomfortably tight. But not from the scene unfolding before him but rather wondering what it would be like to be under your touch, feeling the softness of your lips, the callouses of your hand against his warm skin, and to explore each other—shit, was he actually jealous? Did Makoto have feelings for you? And he was so willing to let this dirtbag have the pleasure of feeling you—

> Instinctually, he leapt out of his seat, grabbing you before you had the chance to unzip the CEO’s pants and dragging you to a private bedroom. Makoto ignored your angry and confused questioning and the nasally laughter of the CEO (“a cuck that’s easily jealous huh”). When he swung the door open and slammed it closed, he silenced your protest with a hasty and needy kiss. You were stunned, let out a muffled noise of surprise as your brain processed what the hell was going on...

> However, rather than fight back and yell about how Edamame just blew the chances of finding out the corrupt CEO’s weakness, you melted into the kiss, allowing him to push you towards the bed. “Geez, if you had just told me sooner, you dumbass.”

Laurent Thierry

> Upon hearing the heist layout, you’re eyeing Laurent with disbelief. You... and him...?

> Of course, you’re going to bombard him with questions! Why couldn’t it be Abbie or Cynthia? Certainly those two would have made better candidates at pretending to be a prestigious married couple with Laurent than you ever could. Hell, even Edmame would probably be better suited for this! However, the Frenchman tells you to fret not - Abbie and Cynthia are busy with other roles. Plus, Laurent wants you to see this as expanding your horizon. You can’t just go about swindles and only play the side characters. This will be a good heist to show your potential lies in greater things, he says.

> “Besides, I will be your husband so I’ll make sure to take good care of you, mon cheri~” he teases, reaching for your hand to kiss, much to your embarrassment. You sigh, reminding yourself this only a mission and both of you have the same goal in mind; eyes on the prize. Besides, it’s not you don’t think you necessarily can’t handle this, it’s more the fact you find yourself attractive to Laurent. Often times, you replay all those teasing moments, the not-so-subtle flirting, and the times he’s nonchalantly kissed your cheeks and hands. However, you don’t want to mingle your love affair with business. Despite his flirtaous nature, the logical part of your brains reminds you that he’s always like this with everyone. He’s nothing more than a business partner.

> Your interactions with the politician your group has targeted seems to be fairing well. Laurent naturally leads the conversation, helping you two weasel into the the politician’s grace and being introduced to their entourage of close associates. However, you’re always being surprised by some of his bold actions. His bigger hand deliberately placed on your thigh during dinners and being placed on the small of your back while guiding you through the elaborate hallways of a palace. He’s even taken the whole charade far by whispering honey-laced words in your ears - to further fool them or to tease you? You honestly can’t tell anymore!

> Eventually, the two of you are invited to a ballroom dance of sort, where allegedly, the politician is suppose to be meeting their backers. Certainly, you can’t miss out on this opportunity - offer to better ratings, make them desperate, gain more money.

> It proves to be successful but you still gotta linger about in the ballroom while Laurent works out the finer details. You try to best to evade conversation, anxiously waiting for your partner’s return until a certain persistent individual attempts to occupy your time. While you attempt to brush them off as curious and lonely individual, they keep asking more and more questions about your fabricated persona that you simply did not have the answers for. You try to stray further and further away from this creep, telling them you have other business to attend to...

> But they’re catching onto your little plot and observing you from afar; it’s a game of predator and prey. Eventually you leave the ballroom entirely but this person is still pursuing you! Eventually you’re pushed into a corner and forced to further entertain this person, who’s inching further and further into your personal space. You want to run, to tell them to fuck off but you’re not quite sure what this person is capable of. They begin to question who you really are, never quite seeing you before. You gulp, your flight response telling you to run and you do. But then run into someone else—

> You go to apologize, only to realize it’s Laurent! Oh thank heavens! But you can hear that nuisance’s loud footsteps approaching and he’s yelling your name. The Frenchman easily finds a solution to your little predicament, quick to pick up on whatever is going on. With ease, he pushes you against the wall and making sure to hide your smaller figure. Before you can question what exactly he is doing, he shuts you up with a fervent kiss... with tongue! His leg press in between yours, hands roaming your sides. Acting promptly, you loosen up and return his advances.

> Even after you hear the footsteps scurry pass, you don’t want to bring yourself to stop this. It’s Laurent who has to disengage and you’re readying yourself for a barrage of playful jabs only to see the man equally flustered but beaming, a smirk dancing on the edge of his lips. “Beautifully done, mon cheri... may I suggest we celebrate our swindle somewhere perhaps more privately?” He presses his knee against your heat and you let out an embarrassing moan. You glimpse up, skepticism in your eyes but his blue orbs soften. For once, Laurent is serious.

> And you can’t help but eagerly nod.

[whoacanada]

Camp Sweetgum

Pre-Canon Zimbits —  Camp Sweetgum shares lakefront with a private resort and Eric is used to wealthy, entitled people wandering into his camp. He isn’t used to them awkwardly hitting on him.

“Hello?”

Eric looks up from the mess he’s cleaning out of the bottom of a canoe to find a man waving awkwardly a few yards away. The glare from the lake is enough to mask any discerning features, but Eric can make out a thick accent. 

“Hi. One of your campers left this oar near the water polo court?”

“Oh, bless,” Eric sighs, rinsing his hands in the lake to clear any lingering stench. “The little kids are still learning and our new counselors are just as green. Thank you for bringing it back, I hope they didn’t interrupt your morning?”

The man comes into focus and Eric realizes he’s younger than he sounds, the hair on his head floppy and overgrown, softening his sharp features and oddly bright eyes. Eric can’t recall the last time he’d met someone with such light blue eyes, if he ever has; and the realization comes with a flutter low in his stomach. A flutter Eric always tries very hard to ignore when he’s working.

“Oh, no worries,” the man says, smile half-timid. “I saw the kids playing and should have said something before they left it behind.”

He’s older. He’s foreign. He’s cute. Not that Eric needs to think too hard about any of those details.

“So, bleach, eh?”

Eric looks down at the bucket and rag, realizes he hasn’t spoken aloud recently enough for this to be a real conversation and takes steps to amend the problem.

“How else are we supposed to determine what campers get motion sickness?” Eric offers with some measure of levity. “What’s life without a little mess?”

“Are you a counselor?”

“Caught me,” Eric balances the plastic bucket as he steps out of the canoe onto the pier, trying not to stain his shirt when the bleach solution splashes over the edge. “You’re looking at Sweetgum’s Senior Counselor. Why? Looking for a summer job? We need a cook if you’re halfway decent in the kitchen.”

He’s only half joking. Eric doesn’t have the authority to hire anyone, but they do need a new chef, and there’s very little Eric enjoys more than knocking rich guys down a peg.

“No thanks, I’m just on vacation,” the guy points over his shoulder at the resort on the opposite side of the lake, completely missing Eric’s sass. “But I’ll keep that in mind. I’m good with kids, I used to coach bantam hockey.”

“Used to?”

“I’m going back to college this fall,” he shrugs, bending low to rest the oar on the sand. At this angle, Eric can see the man shares the familiar, slightly bowlegged stance of some of his lifer teammates; the good ones who’ve played ice hockey as long as Eric’s known how to walk. “It’s kind of weird, isn’t it?”

It takes a moment for Eric to realize what the guy is talking about, but then he notices the way he’s looking at the bunk buildings behind Eric.

“Oh, you mean how there’s a middle-income summer camp next door to a super secret private resort? Believe me, I know. Half my job is making sure tech billionaires on speedboats don’t mow down my campers in water wings.”

The words are out before Eric has time to think, and the man’s pale cheeks flush pink, which Eric only notices because he’s already so pale. Who spends their summer at a lake resort and doesn’t tan?

“I don’t like speedboats,” the man offers. “I mostly golf with my dad.”

“Well I appreciate you not murdering my kids.”

“You’re welcome.”

They stand in silence for a few moments, Eric waiting for his visitor to do something, anything other than awkwardly hover while Eric’s campers scream and play a short ways away.

“Well, thank you for the oar,” Eric says, opening the door on the end of their conversation so this hottie can escape. “You feel like coming by the snack shack, I’d be happy to reward you with a fun-size candy bar of your choosing.”

“Thanks. I’m conditioning so I can’t.”

Eric’s used to rich kids sneaking across the lake to play pranks and be generally unworthy of any measure of kindness, but this is new. This boy, this hockey player, has accomplished his mission of returning a missing camp item, he’s made small talk, and rejected Eric’s thank you offer outright; and yet, he isn’t leaving.

“Is there anything else you needed?” Eric asks. “You’re welcome to help me clean.”

Pale, blue-eyed hottie actually scuffs his heel into the sand.

“Yes?” Eric prompts gently.

“I just saw a sniper scrubbing puke out of a boat and thought I’d say hello,” he says, looking appropriately horrified the moment the words leave his mouth.

Eric suddenly gets it.

This is not the first time someone’s mistaken him for a girl at a distance, especially when he’s wearing his swim shorts. Figure skating did wonders for his coordination, it also gave him the ass and thighs of a co-ed. One day, a boy will hit on Eric from behind and actually be interested in what’s happening on the front end as well, but that’s a day he’s saving for his college up north, the one with a much healthier gay-straight ratio.

“No stress,” Eric forces. “It’s an easy mistake. You aren’t the first guy to clock me at a thousand yards. Happens all the time.”

Blue-eyes blushes harder and looks away.

“I-I didn’t,” he stammers. “I’m sorry, I should go. Thanks for . . . um, don’t ruin your clothes. The cleaner.”

Eric waves halfheartedly as the man departs, walking quickly to the wooded path before breaking into a sprint the second he thinks Eric can’t see him any longer. When he disappears from sight, Eric adds another tally to a mental checklist labeled ‘sexuality crisis’.

“Stupid boys,” Eric sighs, giving up on appearances as he dumps the remaining contents of the bleach bucket into the canoe.

[when-picnic-remember-snacks]

Chapter 1

This is my newest fic, an AU of The Old Guard with everyone’s favorite immortal husbands! It is so far untitled. In this AU, Joe and Nicky are new teachers at an ///unrealistically/// liberal private boarding school. They live in adjacent apartments in a dorm. Joe teaches history, Nicky teaches Latin and Italian. Over the course of the year, the two grow close and a relationship begins to blossom.

DISCLAIMER: I am not Muslim, but I am doing my absolute best to write Joe as a multi-dimensional, imperfect, complex Muslim character. It is frustrating to me to see Joe’s relationship with his faith cast aside in other fics, and I want to portray him as someone with a real, complex relationship to his religion (without assigning my own narratives to it). Despite my best efforts, there may be times when I fall short, and I am not afraid to edit and revise my work (even after publishing it!). Please bear with me!

The new apartment was small. Really small. Nicky wasn't sure what he expected of an apartment that was nestled in a dorm for high schoolers, but he at least expected it to be clean. There were stains on the walls and carpets, and before he could settle in, he resigned himself to a day of literally scrubbing the remnants of previous occupants from his new home. Starting in the kitchen, he donned yellow rubber gloves to his elbows, grabbed a few rags, a sponge, and a bottle of spray cleaner, and got to work.

After an hour, he was satisfied with the results. The appliances gleamed, and there were no more food stains on the walls. The grout between the tiles was a more respectable grey color, and the whole room smelled of bleach. He leaned against the counter and wiped his sweaty forehead with his elbow, looking down to see that his grey shirt was visibly soaked in sweat. The early-August heat did not pair well with an apartment lacking central air conditioning.

As he moved into the living room, there was a knock on the door leading to the hallway. Cazzo, Nicky thought, hissing through his teeth. He crossed the room and opened the door, realizing one second too late that he was wearing a sweaty, bleach-stained grey t-shirt with old basketball shorts that had a giant rip near the hem. Sexy. He became extra aware of his bizarre, decidedly unattractive outfit when he found himself looking into the soft brown eyes of a very handsome man. He opened his mouth, completely lost for words.

"Hello," said the man in his doorway. His voice was soft and musical, and he had a gentle accent. "I'm Joe, I live right next door and I figured I should come to say hi before you think I'm a bad neighbor." He laughed, and Nicky realized how rude he must seem, staring at this man from his doorway.

"Hi, I'm Nicky," and he extended his hand to shake. Joe glanced down at it, one eyebrow cocked. Nicky sucked air in through his teeth, cursing himself, then pulled off the yellow rubber gloves. Thankfully, Joe just laughed again and shook Nicky's hand with both of his own. There was an awkward moment where they stood, still holding each other's hands, before Nicky said: "I would invite you in, but it's a mess in here right now and it smells like a swimming pool–"

"Oh, no, I don't want to intrude, please," Joe reassured him. He shoved his hands in his pockets, then, seeming unhappy with that, tucked them behind his back. "I just wanted to introduce myself." He backed up a step, rocking on his heels.

"I'll tell you what, though," said Nicky quickly. "I should be cleaned up by tonight, you should come over for a drink." He bit the inside of his lip, worried that he was coming off too friendly, but Joe smiled. It made Nicky's heart race a little.

"That sounds very nice, I would love to," he said. "I will bring a bottle of wine?"

"Yes, that sounds perfect," said Nicky. "7:00?"

"See you then," Joe waved awkwardly, then turned and walked the few feet to his door. "Bye," he said with a nervous laugh.

"Bye," said Nicky. He pulled the door closed and leaned against it, tilting his head back and blowing air at the ceiling. He looked at the apartment, suddenly panicking. He glanced at his watch. 10:26. Which gave him… seven and a half hours to clean and move into his apartment. "Fuck," he said quietly, then sprang into action.

 6:30 rolled around, and after hours of diligent work, his apartment was presentable. The walls were clean, the carpets de-stained and vacuumed, and he had moved his furniture into place. There still wasn't anything hung on the walls, but he had installed all of his books on his bookshelves. Well, the books that would live in the living room. There were three whole boxes and another set of shelves in his bedroom.

He was still drenched in sweat and he smelled like bleach, so he stripped off his dirty, sweaty clothes and showered. He took a long time shaving his stubble and making sure that his eyebrows were tamed. Then he glanced at his watch, swore, and rushed into his bedroom to put on clothes. It was almost 7:00, and he was running behind schedule. He hurried to the kitchen. He was pulling out wine glasses when he heard a soft knock on the door. He crossed the living room, running his hands through his hair, and opened the door.

Joe was standing there, holding a bottle of red wine. Nicky admired how well his shirt fit, then remembered the situation at hand. "Come in, come in!" he said, stepping aside to let Joe in. He reached to take the bottle of wine from Joe, who handed it over and looked around.

"It's very nice in here," he said generously. His eyes widened when he saw the bookshelf. "May I?" he asked, gesturing towards it.

"Oh, of course, please," said Nicky, setting the wine on the counter. "Do you want anything to eat? I don't have much right now but if you like cheese I have some meat and fruit to go with it."

Joe paused, weighing his next words. "I try my best to keep my food halal, even if I do have a drink from time to time. So the meat… I can't eat it, I don't think." The corner of his mouth twitched, a little embarrassed.

Nicky kicked himself. "That's no problem at all, I have some shrimp in the freezer, maybe shrimp cocktail instead?"

Joe turned to him, smiling. "That sounds lovely. You Italians and your insistence on feeding everyone." At Nicky's questioning look, he laughed a little. "You have a very subtle accent. Only confirmed by the books." He gestured at Nicky’s extensive collection of Italian novels.

Nicky smiled. "You got me. I lived there until I was ten. Most people don't notice," he said, not including how he had tried his best to suppress it when he was a teenager and therefore lost most of it.

"I have an ear for them. Accents, I mean," Joe said simply, turning back to the books. "How many languages do you speak? I saw Italian, Latin, English, what else?"

Nicky felt himself blush a little. "Those are the main three. I know a little Greek, and if you know Italian it's not too hard to pick up Spanish, so I can get by." He paused. "I'm teaching Latin and Italian this year," he said. "I just finished my master's in Italian literature."

"Oh, congratulations to you!" said Joe, tearing himself away from the bookshelves and joining Nicky in the kitchen. "How can I help you?"

"Please, sit, make yourself comfortable. Have a glass of wine," he said, gesturing to the glasses and the corkscrew on the counter.

"You will have one, too," said Joe, deftly opening the bottle and pouring two glasses of wine.

"I can't say no to that," said Nicky, taking the glass.

Joe raised his glass slightly, his eyes trained on Nicky's, and said "To your master's degree! And to our new jobs." Nicky tapped his glass against Joe's, and they drank.

The wine was delicious, tart and full. It was much nicer than anything Nicky would have bought himself. Joe held eye contact with him as he took another sip. Nicky felt his heart squeeze and forced himself to speak. "So, what are you teaching?" He turned to the freezer and pulled out the shrimp, trying to conceal the furious blush creeping up his neck.

"History," said Joe, leaning back against the counter as Nicky grabbed a bowl, dumped shrimp into it, and filled it with water. "They have me down for intro to ancient world and a study of Islam elective." He took another sip of wine.

"Are you coaching anything?" Nicky felt like he couldn't control himself, he just kept spouting off questions. He was terrified of what might happen if he let himself sit in silence with Joe.

"Not much of a sports man," said Joe. "Not playing, anyways. I'm going to proctor after-school art this fall."

"Are you an artist?" Nicky raised his eyebrows and smiled. It made sense to him, that Joe would be an artist. He couldn't put a finger on why, but Joe had a certain warmth to him that made him seem like a painter. Or maybe a potter. "I would love to see your work."

"An amateur," said Joe, blushing a little. "I don't have a lot here, most of it is at my sister's house. Just a couple sketchbooks and a painting or two here." He paused, and Nicky could tell he was a little uncomfortable. So he searched for a way to change the subject.

 His cat, Bruno, made a very opportune entrance. He had spent most of the day curled up on the cat tree in Nicky’s room. Joe's face lit up at the sight.

"Oh my goodness, what a handsome man that is!" he cried, setting down his glass and kneeling. He reached out his hand, and Bruno chirped as he rubbed up against it. Joe scratched under his chin. "What's his name?"

"Bruno," said Nicky, smiling. Bruno was a good judge of character, and Nicky always felt better about someone if they liked cats. Joe had plopped himself down on the tiles with his back against the cabinets, thoroughly entertained by Bruno, who had laid down against Joe's leg and was purring loudly. "He's a great cat."

"I can see," said Joe, grinning up at Nicky. He leaned down and kissed Bruno's forehead, then stood back up. He took another sip of wine. "What a wonderful little cat," he said, watching Bruno trot off towards Nicky's bedroom.

Nicky checked the shrimp, then pulled the cocktail sauce from the fridge. "These are ready, do you want to sit in the living room and eat?" He drained the water from the shrimp and picked up the bowl.

"Yes, please. Could I wash my hands first?" He pointed to the sink.

"Oh, of course," said Nicky.

Joe carefully washed his hands and dried them, then picked up Nicky's wine glass and carried it to the couch.

"Thanks," said Nicky, sitting down a couple of feet from Joe. Joe propped one ankle on his knee and relaxed.

"Where did you go to college?" Joe asked. He kept his eyes carefully trained on Nicky's face as he picked up a shrimp, dipped it in sauce, and popped it into his mouth.

"I did Northeastern for undergrad, and Middlebury for grad school," said Nicky. "You?"

"University of Chicago," said Joe. "I'm going to do some work this year towards my master's at Harvard." He blushed a little, embarrassed, then took another sip of wine.

"That's great!" said Nicky, taking the last sip of his wine. He set the glass down on the coffee table. "Where are you from?"

"Originally?" Joe said, raising his eyebrows. Nicky started to panic.

"Oh, no, jeez, I didn't mean–"

"I'm messing with you," Joe laughed. Nicky relaxed a little. "One immigrant to another? I'm from Morocco. We emigrated to New York when I was thirteen." He took a sip of wine. "And based on your accent, I'm guessing you moved from Italy to… Boston?"

Nicky laughed. "Can't slip anything past you, huh? Yeah, we moved around a little but we were always around Boston. You know, lots of Italian families there. And my family is pretty Catholic, so they liked being around other Catholics."

"Ah," Joe nodded. "Do you see a lot of them? Your family?"

"Not really," said Nicky, looking down. Joe seemed content to leave it alone.

 They sat in silence for a few moments as Joe finished his glass of wine, then stood. "I will go grab the bottle," he said, crossing to the kitchen. Nicky watched his back as he went, watched how he tread softly and how his broad shoulders tapered into a narrow waist. He shook his head a little to clear it. He stared at his hands, clasped in his lap, and tried to calm his breathing. This is not happening right now, he told himself. You just got here. But he had a twisting, hot feeling in the pit of his stomach that was growing every second he spent with Joe. It hadn't even been an hour, and it was threatening to outgrow the limits of his chest and spill out into the world. He felt his cheeks burn with a familiar shame.

When he looked up, Joe had his soft brown eyes fixed on his face. He was a few feet away, holding the bottle of wine. There was a small crease between his eyebrows. "Is everything alright?" Joe said, sitting down and tilting his head to the side. "I hope I did not upset you, asking about your family. I know things can be… Well, things can be complicated." He smiled, and Nicky's stomach gave an uncomfortable lurch.

"No, no, it wasn't you," Nicky sighed, then rubbed a hand over his eyebrows. "I mean, yes, my family is... But I think I'm just tired. Long day," he finished lamely. His heart sank. He barely knew Joe, who was gentle and kind and seemed genuinely interested in being friends, and he was already shutting Joe out. Withdrawing deep into the dark space within him, where he kept all of his most secret feelings tucked away.

"I understand," said Joe, setting the bottle of wine on the coffee table. "Would you like to call it a night? I would not be offended." Nicky looked up and took a deep breath.

A quiet, insecure voice in Nicky's head screamed out for Joe to stay. To stay and look at Nicky with his incredible brown eyes and his gentle concern. To smile and listen to Nicky talk about his family, his life, his intense love for Italian literature. To stay and stay and stay so Nicky didn't feel so terribly cold and alone. But that voice was drowned out by the others, which called for him to shut the door tightly behind Joe and never let him back in. To force the warm feeling growing inside him back down until it died.

"I'm really sorry," said Nicky. "It's just been a long couple of days. I feel so rude inviting you over and then kicking you out after one drink–"

"No, please," said Joe, reaching out and clasping Nicky's shoulder. He smiled gently. "Remember, I just finished moving in myself. I completely understand." He stood, and Nicky looked helplessly up at him. "Nicky, really, don't worry. Actually, here. Come over tomorrow for coffee, at 3:00," he said.

Nicky stood up and tried to hand the bottle of wine back to Joe, but Joe waved him off. "No, no, you keep it. Maybe we can finish it another night," he said, smiling.

"Coffee sounds great," Nicky said, forcing a smile. "Again, I'm really sorry." Guilt was washing over him in waves; guilt about being a bad host, guilt about kicking Joe out, guilt about the rising tide of warmth in his chest that swelled every time Joe spoke. Or looked at him. Or pushed his dark, curly hair back off his forehead.

"Nicky," said Joe. "You don't need to apologize. You were very kind to invite me over tonight. And I will see you tomorrow, for coffee." He crossed to the door. "Goodnight, Nicky." He gave Nicky one last, warm smile.

"Goodnight," Nicky said, and watched Joe walk out the door.

 As soon as the door closed, Nicky collapsed back onto the couch and put his head in his hands.