#can you tell me why I am suddenly getting notifications that are just random tweets and replies from other people I do not follow

[statementlou]

.

[softomi]

now accepting boyfriend applications.

based on my fic idea: you’ve just become newly single, in a drunken fit, you posted a status indicating you’re accepting applications for your next boyfriend. Oddly, three boys take you up on that; sending in their most professional resumes for the position. It seems there’s some fierce competitors. 

next up: literature

It hurt, why wouldn’t it hurt. Your boyfriend of almost two years dumped you over text message with no warning and his reason? He just wasn’t feeling it anymore, what the fuck. Well, twenty phone calls, a hundred text messages sent to him, and a pretty nasty voicemail. The moment you realized just how crazy you were being was when you began pounding on his door at almost ten at night. His neighbors poking their head out to stare, and it really smacked you in the face how stupid you were being.

So you threw caution into the wind. it’s a Wednesday night, your first class tomorrow didn’t start until noon and you’re literature teacher was more of a lecturer so she probably won’t notice if you’re hung over. If anything, you could always ask the guy next to you for the notes.

Thus, you decide to throw back shots to your heart’s desire, sitting in the middle of your tiny studio apartment, on your bed to scream and cry at the romance movie. Love is dead. You groan loudly when your neighbor knocks against the wall, trying to tell you to promptly shut the fuck up.

Halfway through the movie, your mind is already swaying. Your throat stings just momentarily and you sip your cheap wine in hope it’ll dull the shots you had taken previously. When the male protagonist kisses the beautiful female of his dreams, you promptly chug the rest of the wine in your glass. Upset at their love, you wrap your lips around the tip of the wine bottle, drinking straight from it.

“I can find someone better.” You’ve reached a different point in your post break up sadness, you were mixed with anger, sadness, and an overall feeling of I’ll find someone with a better dick.

It’s never a good decision to post on social media while drunk, but it’s a great decision right now. You were going to post a ‘newly single’ status. Just to be nice and not spam everyone, you think you’ll just post it to your private account for your five friends to see. You’ve clearly neglected that step when you press post and it uploads to your public twitter account.

The urge to hurl takes priority over the sudden notifications on your phone. Your hair disheveled as you’re trying to hold onto the toilet, hold onto your hair, and throw up at the same time. The romance film comes to an end once you’ve fully emptied your stomach. You shove all the things off your bed, food falling onto the floor, empty bottle of wine rolled under your bed, remote lost somewhere. You fall asleep despite your cell phone going off.

The alarm jolts you, it causes you to scream, your palm slapping the snooze button and you aggressively pull the wire so that it comes out of the socket. Your head is throbbing and your cell phone is ringing at the same time. Annoyed, your hand stretches along the bed trying to find your cell. When you come emptyhanded, you sit up. Your hand steading the pulsing of your brain and you spot your phone ringing and vibrating on the ground.

“What?” You spit out, not bothering to look at the contact as you try to block out the sun.

“What do you mean what?” The voice snaps at you, “You post about boyfriend applications all of a sudden, did you guys break up?”

Of course he would be the one calling you, the person who loves gossip more than you do, “Tooru, can you like shut up for a second.” Your brain is dying and he’s over here trying to get the latest dish on your love life, “He dumped me okay.”

“That asshole.” He gasps, “Do you want me to come over?”

You look at the time on your cell briefly, “No. I have class all day. If you’re free later?”

“Of course!”

The phone call ends and rather than getting ready for the class you have in an hour, you’re checking your notifications. You have about twenty missed calls from Oikawa, another thirty text messages from him, he even left a voicemail; god he must have been desperate. Facebook is bland, you spent most of your time on Instagram deleting the photos of your now ex, and rarely do you ever get Twitter notifications. Oddly, you have fifteen notifications; all coming from your public account.

haha, boyfriend applications are official open. only taking serious apps lol

“No.” You sit up.

It wasn’t your post that freaked you out, it wasn’t that somehow it ended up on your public account, no you could delete it and pretend as if no one saw it but people saw it.

Is she serious?

If she is, I’m down.

What does serious applications mean?

Three comments, five likes, and four retweets.

And three unread messages.

Your finger rushes to delete the tweet before it can be retweeted even more by random classmates. All was good now. Your finger presses onto the message icon, you’re confronted with the icons of three of your classmates.

The most recent is from Miya Atsumu, a terrible flirt in your biology class. He chose the seat next to you in lab when his friends ditched him and hoarded their own table. He spun around in his chair, shooting you a cheeky grin when you briefly looked at him.

His first sentence was, “Hey you’re cute.”

And yours was, “I have a boyfriend.”.

You skip over his message upon spotting his use of sweetheart in the preview.

The next icon is of the guy in your intro to business class, Kuroo Tetsuro. The first time you saw him was outside of the classroom, you two ended up accidentally reaching the doors at the same time. He lets you go in first and the both of you chose the seats farthest from the board, and closest to the door. Despite his bed hair that made him look like he was going to sleep the entire class, he was a rather studious guy; chill but smart, he was a business major after all.

“Did you understand anything he was saying?” You murmur to him as you grab your bag.

“Of course!” He states, “I don’t look at twitter on my laptop when he’s lecturing.” Ah, he caught you.

Your eyes briefly scan the preview, he’s saying something about a resume and you think he’s talking about the homework assignment. You’re about to click on his first when the last catches your eye.

It’s from Akaashi Keiji. On the first day of class, you were late due to waiting in line for coffee. You awkwardly opened the door to the classroom, everyone turning to stare, and you lower your head, choosing a random seat that now you’re stuck with for the rest of the semester because that’s just how college works. The professor goes over the syllabus and suddenly announces that the person sitting to your right will be your revision partner for the semester.

“Hey.” You stop him and for a brief minute you feel your heart skip a beat because he was absolutely pretty, “Sorry, I’m Y/n. Since we’re going to be partners, do you want to exchange info?”.

“Uh. Sure. I’m Akaashi Keiji.”

“I’m going to be late for my business class. Do you have twitter?” You were never a fan of giving your phone number out. Before he can answer, you’re scribbling your username onto a piece of paper, placing it on his desk before running out to catch your next class.

His message is brief: Did you get my email?

You click his message first; it must have been urgent if he messaged and emailed you. There’s nothing else to his message, his previous one dates almost a week before his current one, telling you that he finished reading the book you recommended and that he enjoyed it.

The screen is pulled up with your finger, alternating apps to your personal email. The subject of his email simply reads Application.

Curiously, you click the attachment he’s sent with no body text. Your jaw dropped, hand placed over your open mouth and a small scream emitting.

“Is he fucking serious?”

His name is displayed at the top, along with his birthday, star sign, zodiac sign, age, even the pronouns he uses. There’s a short sentence under it. I am submitting an application for the position of Boyfriend. You’re internally screaming, blinking fast hoping that this was a joke but his ‘application’ reads like a resume. It lists his education from middle school to his current, his previous jobs, his skills, and his own personal goals for the future.

Your blushing profusely, you want to pull your hair, scream, even throw your phone but you shove down the feelings that want to have you die of embarrassment. You don’t have the energy to sadly explain to him that you were drunk and weren’t serious; ugh and you’re going to have to continue seeing him for the rest of the semester.

You revert back to twitter; your heart suddenly drops when you think about Kuroo’s message. Quickly, you pull up the messages, clicking his and suddenly you want dig yourself a grave because he’s sent a link to a pdf and it’s simply titled Resume. He probably used a resume template and never changed the title.

And sure enough, it’s a fucking professional resume declaring the certain skills he has to be your boyfriend. In fact, like the professional business major he is, he includes a letter of intent; indicating his reasons of interest for the position. It details the little quirks he finds cute about you. You want to break your phone in half with how red in the face you feel.

As you exit his message, you’re slowly praying that Atsumu’s message is just a random flirty comment that he occasionally likes to throw you once in a while or perhaps you’re hoping that he fell in a ditch and you won’t have to work with him for the rest of the semester since he almost blew up the lab station last time.

Nope, it’s a link to a google document. Oddly, you click it. Your heart has sunk to the pit of the earth because when you open the document, you see his fucking name in the upper right corner indicating he’s still on the stupid document.

Fuck fuck fuck. You’re running away from the document, aggressively leaving the page but it doesn’t help that when you end up back at your twitter messages, you can see the three dots, telling you he’s typing.

Morning sweetheart hope you enjoy the app

He sends it with a flirty wink and you stare at it for five full minutes. Curiosity gets the best of you and you click back onto his link, he’s no longer on the same document and you sigh safely. For someone who’s barely passing biology, his document was rather professionally detailed. Damn, he’s on the school’s volleyball team? Weirdly the page cuts off halfway, you continue to scroll until the next title page boldly states: Bedroom skills.

It didn’t help that you were scrolling a little too fast and caught sight of an image showing off his toned upper body. There goes his professionalism.

Your phone suddenly blares low battery, your screen turns black and now your anxiety is through the roof. You jump on your bed, trying to plug in your phone and you’ve just now realized that it is thirty minutes until your first class starts and it is literature. You’re scrambling to find your laptop, you trip on the bag of chips from last night, awkwardly trying to stand as you reach for your school bag.

“Shit!” You scream. You suddenly remember letting your stupid ex-boyfriend borrow your laptop.

You fall to the floor, fingers pulling your hair as you suddenly think about the deep shit your in. First, your boyfriend dumped you, now you randomly have three guys who sent you applications to be your next boyfriend and you’re still going to have to see them for the rest of the semester if you reject them. Lastly, you’re going to have to go to your ex’s place to get your laptop after having made a scene yesterday, and your phone is dead so you can’t cry to Oikawa about the deep shit you’re in.

[sherlollydramoine]

Welcome to the Tumblr-Dome Bitch! Pt 2

Warnings: Language, anonymous fake Tumblr death threats, some hilarity, and idk.. Just enjoy!

So here is part two. I hope you all enjoy because this was way too fun to write.

Word Count: 1823 (I really should have just written this as a fic, but I was feeling lazy and I’m tired) this part two. I’m going to have to write a third part to this and it’s going to be funny and hopefully we’ll get on to some sexy times in part three

(PART ONE)

You wake up several hours later and the first thing you did was check your phone. Unsure if you dreamt or hallucinated last night. Did Rami Malek really come to your apartment, find your smutty fanfiction and then get addicted to Tumblr while sitting on your couch?

Checking your Tumblr notifications you see you had several messages from Rami’s blog ItsMeRami.

ItsMeRami sent a post.“Wow people are so creative. I’ve never said or done shit like that in my life.” 

“I just got six messages from people asking if my blog was the real Rami. I said ‘as if’. I’m cackling.” 

ItsMeRami sent a post “Holy hell that was kinda hot, I think we should try something like that. Or maybe you aren’t into the possibility of calling me Daddy?” 

“ItsMeRami sent a post. “What in the actual fuck is this weird shit?!” 

It’sMeRami sent a post. “This is.. I have no words.” 

“This Peen blog is fucking hilarious. I might have to specifically start wearing no underwear all the time, and whenever cameras are about start thrusting my hips.” 

“Wow. I never realized just how visible my dick is when I don’t wear underwear.” 

“Omg Free-Rami’s blog is hilarious. Some of these people on here are crazy but I love her sarcastic responses.” 

“I hope you don’t mind. Since we follow each other now I started looking at some of your other blogs you follow… wow. Just wow.”

 ItsMeRami sent a post. “This is pretty interesting, maybe I should role play as Snafu for you, that could be fun. You seem to like a lot of posts about Snafu. This piece was interesting. Maybe we should find a train and… “ 

ItsMeRami sent a post. “I’m.. what the fuck.. You warned me about this place being a hellsite, maybe I should quit while I’m ahead. This is too much.” 

“I hope to God we’re still on for later because I want to try some of this stuff with you. By the way, I really loved the pieces you wrote. The question is do you want it quick and dirty or slow and sensual? Maybe both? We could do both right? Shit, I need to get off of here for a while and actually go to sleep. This is why I don’t do social media dammit, and damn you woman, what did you do?” 

“Hope you are getting some good sleep. Good night..er morning.. I’ll message you in a few hours. XOXO”

Finally having read through a majority of the messages you type a response. “Your responses to this place of Tumblr hell are the best things the internet could ever offer. I just woke up and I can’t stop laughing. I will look at all the individual posts later. You can always deactivate your blog later if you don’t want to keep it. Noone will fault you for that. As for tonight.. Bring it however you want, Daddy..or Sir.. or Rami.. whatever you want to be called. It’s alright. We can figure it out when you get here. What time were you thinking? I can make or order us some food and we can chill for a while.”

Your phone alert lets you know that there is another notification, thinking it was from Rami you picked it up. It wasn’t though it was from your friend @free-rami 

“Hey girl, have you seen this new blog ItsMeRami?” 

You almost choke. 

“No. Why?” 

“There is a rumor going around that given the title that maybe Rami is really on Tumblr.” 

“I highly doubt that, it’s probably just someone trying to stir some shit or something.I thought Rami doesn’t do social media? Though Tumblr is fairly anonymous so if he were to pick any platform to actively use this is the best one do so undercover.” 

“Yeah that’s what I thought but some of the stuff that’s been posted on there is interesting. It’s almost written as if it really is him or someone who knows him.”

 “I’m about to shower, but I will def check it out when I get out”.

“Cool, let me know what you think. I’m curious….”

“Will do, though it most likely is just some crazy fan or something.”

“Probably. People on here are crazy as hell sometimes.”

You finished your shower and ended up checking out the ItsMeRami blog. What you found had you laughing your ass off. For someone not very savvy on social media, Rami sure took to Tumblr quickly. 

A favorite thing of his, is apparently to go search for fan photos and reblog with random commentary about ‘I don’t remember this’ or ‘You look so happy’ or ‘What the hell is that guy wearing?’ or ‘Who the hell does this guy think he is?”

You are apparently going to have to have another conversation with him about the meaning of anonymous. Damn his inbox and message box must be full.

It wasn’t until you started to find his fanfiction reblogs that his comments really became hilarious.

``I don’t think I’ve ever ripped someone's shirt off with my teeth, but maybe I’ll have to try it. Any volunteers?@yourTUMBLRurl’ 

‘Why is she calling me Daddy? I’m not her father. That would be really inappropriate.’

‘Yeah sex on a beach is a no-go for me. Have you ever done that? Sand gets everywhere, including places you don’t want it to.’

‘My eyes are beautiful, aren't they? But I’ll never tell exactly what color they are, I like reading about other’s hilarious descriptions of them.’

‘Holy shit, you wrote about a character you guys haven’t even met yet?! That’s so cool, and maybe, just maybe, your characterization of this… Detective Cutie Pants is almost spot on.’

‘Wow. Benjamin fanfiction. This is.. That’s some old stuff right there!’

‘You all really love Snafu don’t you? He was a fun guy to play. I’m glad you all think he’s sexy.’

‘I’m not gay, but this is beautifully pornographic’

‘Wow that was quite a read. Personally, I’ve never actually had a threesome but it sounds quite exciting, and exhausting.’

‘This is just perfection. The setting, the writing, except those leather pants did not come off that quickly or easily.’

``I'm pretty sure my homie Elliot probably wasn’t as bold as he is here, but very creative fresh take on things. I’m going to pass this along to Sam to see what his thoughts on this are.’

Deciding to message your friend @free-rami back, all you had to say was “Whoever this is I highly suspect is just trying to do an impersonation. I mean isn’t his username for this the same as that email from the Rami Undercover Online piece from the end of the summer? Honestly, I just think it’s someone trying to rile people up.”

“I think you’re right, it’s just weird. Why would someone do this?”

Likes, attention, followers? Who knows? I’m pretty sure that it’s fake. There is no real information in the profile so it’s hard to tell, I think. No telling with the loons that are out there.”

“Did you notice that they reblogged nearly your entire masterlist?”

“Yeah I woke up to a ton of notifications. I’m going to send them a message and see if I can get to the bottom of this.”

“Let me know how it goes.”

“Will do! :)”

You message Rami again and hope that he will see it under the millions of messages that he may likely be receiving now.

“WTF!!! I thought you wanted to remain anon? Seriously? Those comments were fucking gold though but you’ve got the whole internet in a tizzy now! I’m sure this shit has already been tweeted, facebooked, snapchatted, or instagrammed. CALL ME WHEN YOU CAN AT 555-730-0054”

He messages back with “I’m not really sure what’s going on here but I have a ton of notifications and messages, I barely saw yours. Thankfully you are the only person I follow so I figured out how to message you that way. I see your other message now. I’m going to call in a second but yeah… I might have actually gone too far on some of those comments.”

He obviously hit send and then immediately called you because your phone started vibrating in your hand.

“Hey you!” 

“Hey you too! Sooooo.. What the hell did I do last night?”

“Started a fan frenzy, a shit storm, a kerfuffle, chaos. I’m on my laptop right now and I’m watching my notifications go off like crazy all of a sudden. I’m thinking that people may have figured out that I’m the only one that you follow, and they may suspect that it’s me doing this. Hold on, let me pull some asks.”

Your ask box suddenly had 596 asks. 

“Are you pretending to be Rami?” “How do you know Rami?” “Are you Rami?” “Wtf is going on?” “Are you Rami’s girlfriend?” “Eat shit and die bitch.” “You know Rami and you didn’t tell us?” “I think you are a slut. You should probably go slit your wrists.” “THIS IS INSANITY! RAMI JOINED TUMBLR AND RANDOMLY FOLLOWED YOU? WHY YOU? MY BLOG HAS BETTER CONTENT!” 

You just let out a deep sigh as you talked to Rami for a little bit longer. He agreed to come over later and you’d make him dinner. You read some of the anon messages that you started to receive and he just kept apologizing.

You told him your plan and he agreed that hopefully it would work, but you were unsure if people were willing to take the bait.

The post you made said this:

I, yourTUMBLRurl, swear that I am not the individual going around and impersonating Rami Malek on Tumblr (ItsMeRami). I do not condone that behavior, but I think that it’s also best that at this time to withhold any speculation about who this individual may be. If it really is Rami Malek then let him make that known when and if he chooses to do so. 

You then hit your inbox and deleted the hundreds of asks that you’d received mostly anonymously some full of hate and others just curious.

Okay, I had to break this up again (PART THREE)

@the-real-ramimalekpeen @mrhoemazzello @xmxisxforxmaybe @txmel @spacedustmazzello @ramimedley @hissom1933

[jawnjendes]

the fog will clear up | shawn mendes

chapter 13/?, university au, shawn x goth oc

AN: sry its short and definitely a filler im sry its boring but it helps build up stuff thatll happen next ok ok im sry

*let me know if u wanna be added/removed from the taglist

masterlist | playlist

Annalise woke with a start. She was wide awake immediately. There was no room for sleepily rolling around the sheets, her eyes weren't heavy like always. She didn't know what dying and coming back to life felt like, but she was pretty sure it felt something like that. She had a weird urge to go for a jog.

Staring at the ceiling, Annalise reached towards the nightstand next to her, intending to grab her phone. Her hand touched the bottle, and she picked it up anyway, reading the prescription label.

Annalise Flores SERTRALINE 50MG TABLET Brand name: Zoloft

"You don't waste anytime, huh?" she murmured before setting it back down. Then, she grabbed her phone and checked the time.

8:47am. A new fucking record. Annalise rolled out of bed, unable to stay still.

In the 2 hours she had to kill before work, she tidied up the dorm, ate a decent breakfast, took a shower, and got started on the course work she had to make up. The energy levels were through the roof, she had never been so on edge and productive at the same time. Why wasn't she put on sertraline sooner? Sure, she felt hyperaware and borderline anxious, but that was apart of the process of getting on a new antidepressant. She was getting things done this way. Sure, she jumped when the lock on the door jiggled, but she was up and running anyway!

If she wasn't, she wouldn't have seen Stella entering the dorm. She was surprised to see Annalise on the couch, looking like a deer in headlights.

"Oh… I thought you were asleep. I'll, uh, I'll come back."

"No, wait!" Annalise sounded a little too frantic, but it did stop Stella from leaving. "Uh, come sit down! Please!"

Stella narrowed her eyes slightly as she went to the couch. At least she was willing to listen.

"I, uh, I'm sorry," Annalise began, rubbing the back of her neck. "I'm sorry for what I said. A stupid guy isn't the only good in my life. I have you. You matter to me, and I'm sorry for making you feel like you don't." She really couldn't stop herself from rambling. "I miss you. I miss seeing you here between classes, and I miss your optimism because a bitch could use some of that. And, and I'm sorry for the negativity I've brought in here. I'm working on it now, I swear. Just… come back. Come home… because bro, you're my wife, dude."

It could have been funny, but there was nothing funny about the way she said it. Her eyes were wide and pleading, and she was rubbing her hands together. Stella merely blinked her hazel eyes, nearly overwhelmed by that string of words.

"Look at you, expressing your emotions," she said after a while. "I can see why you hold it back."

Annalise nodded rapidly. "It's my first day on a new medication. Got me all sorts of hyped up, but I'll mellow out in a couple of weeks. And I'm taking therapy seriously again!"

Stella was surprised. "Oh, I see. Well… I've missed you too. Bro…"

"Bro?"

"I'll come home too. Camila's bed is too small for the two of us."

"Bro…"

"I know. I have to update you on all that."

"Br-"

"Okay!" Stella broke out a smile and stood up. "Dame un abrazo, puta."

That was much easier than Annalise had anticipated. She stood up and hugged her best friend, relieved. Stella wasn't one to hold a grudge, nor was she as stubborn as her roommate. It was another person to cross off the list.

~

Shawn had social media mainly to get his music out there. Yes, he interacted with his friends on Snapchat, and some fans on Twitter. Most of the time, Shawn just tweeted when he had new music coming out. He didn't check any of his social media very often, not even to stalk Ann's accounts because she was rarely on her's. He didn't even have his notifications on, purely to keep himself from the possibility of getting too attached to the opinions of random strangers online.

That was why he woke up that morning to a number of texts from Camila.

"SHAAWWNWNN"

"SHAWN IM LKTERSLLY BALD RN"

"CHEKC UR TWITTER RIGHT NOW!!!!!!"

"YOIR FOLLOWERS!!! AAHSKSKSK"

"SKSKSK SHAWNMM IM SCRAMING"

So to Twitter he went. Shawn rubbed sleep out of his eye as he went to his profile. He had around 10k to begin with, that he built up on his own over the last couple of years. He nearly dropped his phone on his face as he read the new number.

50.2k

"What… the fuck?" he breathed out as he sat up in his bed. He scrolled through the list, making sure this wasn't a series of spam bots.

His mentions were just as wild, and it explained the sudden blow up.

@hollaestor: @shawnmendes hiii bella told me to follow you

@samxriv: @shawnmendes i am free to hang out on tuesday to hang out when i am free

@gisellenjh: @shawnmendes bella sent me here and im glad she did! loving your music!

And there were plenty more like that. There were so many tweets, Shawn couldn't even get through all of them. It was making his head spin. There was only one Bella he knew about too… He just couldn't spell her last name. Thankfully, her handle was just @bellasanti, and it was the first one to pop up when he typed it in the search bar.

Right under Bella Santiago's name and the blue checkmark were the two little words: Follows you. Shawn refreshed the page ten times before it sank in. This YouTuber, who has over 2 million followers, somehow found Shawn's music… and she liked it. She liked it enough to tweet about it… 3 days ago.

@bellasanti: underrated spotify artists: @shawnmendes. give him a listen. send him some love. truly talented guy💖

Shawn had only overheard Bella's videos when Ann was watching them in the other room. He never really watched any of her content. But he wanted to pass out at the fact that she took the time to listen to his music and tweet about him. He wanted to jump on the bed. He wanted to call-

He texted Camila back. "Wtf why did no one tell me sooner?? This is so crazy!!!!!"

"We thought you knew and you were keeping it from us!! LMAO congrats rockstar!"

He couldn't believe it. His follower count was rising. He was getting emails from Spotify saying his songs were being added to many different playlists.

@shawnmendes: @bellasanti wow thank you so much! Love you bella❤

He deleted the last bit before tweeting it. Holy shit. Shawn lied back down on the mattress, completely breathless.

How does someone like Bella Santiago find Shawn out in cyberspace? What Spotify rabbit hole did she go down that led her to him? How many of his songs did she listen to? How many songs did she save to her library? How many of those playlist emails were from her? Shawn had so many questions.

~

There were two things Annalise noticed when she was out on the courtyard after Biology. The first thing was a table on the side of the walkway, with a handmade banner hanging off the front. It read in big letters: Shawn Mendes: Live at The Cameron House. Brian, Alessia. and Camila were all sat on the same side at this table, talking to a student who was interested in the little display.

"The lounge called back," Annalise muttered to herself.

The other thing Annalise noticed was Patrick sitting under a tree nearby, reading a book. She went to him first.

The last time she had spoken to Patrick was when they cut up flowers together. He was never one to explicitly state when something has upset him, and he has seen Annalise in a depressive episode before. Annalise knew him well. Patrick kept his distance because he didn't like the negativity around her, and he couldn't afford any more of it himself.

"Hey," she greeted.

His blue eyes tore away from his book to meet her gaze. "'Sup?"

"Trying to be less fucked in the head," she told him.

Patrick nodded in approval. "Cool."

That was all that was needed for the two of them. Content, Annalise turned and went for the table. A small line had formed when she wasn't looking, so she waited behind the last person. However, with three people running the thing, Annalise got to the front fairly quick.

"Oh, she actually showed up," Brian chimed, amused.

"Meaning?" Annalise asked.

"Thought you were too pissed at Shawn to care about his show, that's all."

She swallowed the pit of annoyance, discovering that even more people knew about that. Brian is his friend, though, of course he'd know.

"Selling tickets or something?" Annalise turned her attention to the two girls.

"Yeah! Ten dollars a piece!" Alessia explained.

"Cool, I'll take one."

Just as she opened the flap on her book bag, Camila spoke up.

"Wait. I'm pretty sure Shawn said he wanted to buy you your ticket himself."

Annalise rolled her eyes. "Well, he's not here and I can do things for myself." She pulled out her wallet and paid her own goddamn ticket.

Camila breathed out a laugh. "Are you ever gonna let him do anything nice for you?"

None of your fucking business.

A new thought occurred to Annalise. "Why are tickets being sold for this show? Aren't his gigs usually free?"

"There's more production going into this one," Brian told her. "The lounge gave him the option to make it a ticketed event, and we need to make back what we already put into it. So now, it won't be a performance, it'll be Shawn's performance."

Shawn already knew how to make an audience his bitch, but…

"Alright then." Annalise shrugged and then accepted her ticket and receipt from Alessia.

The ticket alone was already quite extravagant. There were little red roses designed around the edges. This boy really loved his fucking flowers.

"I'm guessing rose petals will fall from the ceiling or something?" she guessed with a chuckle.

"I was given strict orders to not spoil anything," Brian told her, folding his arms.

The two had a mini staredown until Annalise shrugged again. "Whatever."

Then, Camila piped up again, suddenly excited. "Ooh, Ann did you hear? Bella Santiago followed Shawn on Twitter!"

"She what?" Annalise stupidly replied.

Camila practically squealed. "She gave him a shoutout too! He's blowing up on Spotify! Isn't that awesome?"

Annalise wanted to say something, but her brain wasn't quite caught up yet. So she just walked away.

The other three students watched her leave. Needless to say, they were confused.

"Is she ever gonna be happy for him?" Alessia wondered.

"I think she was excited?" Camila said tilting her head.

"I can't believe Shawn is going through all this trouble for that," Brian said with a scoff.

"I can still hear you!" Annalise called over her shoulder as she kept walking.

All three of them went red in the face, embarrassed. Brian would have made a comment about her being a vampire with supersonic hearing, but he didn't want to be called out again.

_______

taglist: @normalcyisoverrated-beyou  @ilsolee @mendesromano @1-800-khalid-mendussy @kitykatnumber @strangerliaa @iloveshawnieboi @goldenmndes @shawnvvmendes @shawnsunflower @shawmndes @ruinhoney @someoneunimportantxx @calyumthomas @yourdeflightfullyleft @havethetimeeofyourlifee @wronglanemendes @chillingbythesea @softmendesss @mutuallynotmutual

[gifsbysimplysonia]

End of Day Sh!t post - July 30, 2019

I love the fact I can be looking up ONE obsession (a quote about Bucky Barnes’ “inherent goodness”) to try and find the source, only to have ANOTHER obsession stare me in the face

Hi A7X. Hope while you’re busy hockin’ your wares and highlighting fans on your IG story every 30 seconds so that I get a notification and it’s NOT band content (but of course I don’t turn them off cuz what if I miss a certain cute stupid face?) ... you’re relaxing and enjoying the time off! *waves* 

Out of absolutely NOWHERE, I took a look at the prompt list for a Writing Challenge that’s popped up on my dash a few times. I didn’t want to commit to participating because I still haven’t finished my Dare fic for @valkyrieofsmut that was due LAST NOVEMBER because I am a failure of a human and apparently too afraid to write smut with Thick Bucky? I hate myself. 

BUT, for some reason yesterday, when I clicked to see what prompts/scenarios were left on the list, something sent my mind spinning and I ended up writing a Steve Rogers drabble. I was enjoying myself when I wrote it but then I had a couple of people read it and besides the fact I couldn’t come up with a good ending, I think I just hate it now lol. I was telling my NorCal bestie, what an awful thing, to be my friend AND have to be my editor cuz I’m forever needing coddling and reassurance AS A WRITER on top of needing it as just, like, a whiny person *smh*

These are the docs I have saved in Google as of now

And this isn’t even counting the EXTREMELY LONG ideas/prompts/beginnings of something Note I have in an app on my phone cuz that is also chock full of stuff that randomly hits me so I have to hurry up and open the app on my phone so I don’t lose it. What’s SUPER hilarious is me going back to that file and being like, “Oh wow, that’s a good idea. I wish someone else would write it cuz I know I can’t” lol *headdesk* 

It does feel good to create again, though. Kevin Smith tweeted something the other day that hit my heart cuz it described how I feel about writing

The feeling after I actually FINISH a story is SO AMAZING! I feel SO GOOD about the fact that I could take something that started as an INKLING and bring it through to a conclusion. But as you can see *gestures wildly around me*, my track record of finishing vs. not finishing is PA-THE-TIC :( I don’t know how I can start super excited about an idea, get started on it, and then get STUCK. And the longer I get stuck? The more convinced I become that I should just trash everything immediately and set it on fire. I DON’T because I also happen to be a packrat lol so what IF I do get inspiration some random day in the future? 

And that sh!t ACTUALLY  happened cuz I found a fic from like 2010 in my email drafts and suddenly took the 3 paragraphs I had and took it all the way through to a conclusion and I was like ............ WTF?!? WHERE DID THAT COME FROM?!?! So, I know I’m CAPABLE but that almost makes it WORSE cuz then it’s like ... well then, why can’t I just make this happen for EVERY one of these ideas? 

Siiiiiiiiiiiiigh. I wish there was a way to jump start the creative mind. 

Since I haven’t done a writing challenge before, I’ve been informed I can go ahead and post it whenever I want, just tag it properly/as it was requested. I’m terrified tho. Like, I tell other authors/writers to write for themselves and to be able to feel fulfilled on their own. But when it comes down to it, if I don’t receive SOME validation for something I’ve written? My heart BREAKS, man. And Marvel was the WRONG DAMN FANDOM to try and start writing for after a decade plus hiatus cuz there are SUCH HIGH QUALITY WRITERS! I feel intimidated ALL THE TIME and like a dummy for even TRYING to participate and think I’m in their league? Which I don’t, but it’s like ... I dunno. I’ve also come across fics that aren’t high quality but have ALL THE NOTES so I don’t think I understand how it really works with fic.

If my bestie likes it and anyone else I trick into reading it likes it...I need to get into a mindset of “That’s enough.” So how do I trick my own stubborn mind? LOL

Ugh, I’m such a mess. If you somehow made it to the end of this, you’re awesome and I’m sorry I stole those minutes of your life away

but I thank you for taking an interest and I’m wishing you love and light!

PS Tomorrow Red Sea Diving Resort premieres on Netflix and I could totally watch it at work but I feel TOO GUILTY about lusting after Evans in a movie that’s about a serious religious / political issue and is based on a true story >.< I don’t know how my own mind works, I swear. 

[bananonymity]

Based on this au

-

“So,” said Ludwig, “you’d like to drop Music Theory.”

Student Advisor Ludwig Beilschmidt’s office was orderly, clean, and devoid of distraction. It was a wonder how it hadn’t driven anyone mad yet. Emil found it calming to a point; it made him somewhat nostalgic for his comfort zone of Icelandic minimalism, except for the lack of spacious windows.

Emil nodded.

“Not your liking?” said Ludwig.

“It wasn’t bad,” Emil said. He had no real complaint against the course. The first day of class, Professor Edelstein spent the entire hour and fifteen minutes teaching the students how to find the cheapest textbooks on Amazon. “But I already know music theory.”

“So you’d like to challenge yourself,” Ludwig said.

“I guess,” Emil said.

Ludwig nodded with approval, missing or ignoring the glum note to Emil’s tone. The real reason that he wanted to drop out was in fact the very opposite; the moment he stepped into the music building, he felt such oppressive intimidation that he actually texted his older brother for comfort, which went something like this:

LUKAS: How are you liking your classes?

EMIL: [thumbs down emoji]

It was a risky move, because goodness knew if this amount of unprecedented emotional vulnerability would worry Lukas. Emil regretted the raw honesty immediately afterward, but by then it was too late.

“That’s one of the great things about university,” said Ludwig. “It gives you avenues to study subjects you wouldn’t have thought of before. Now, dropping this course would mean you need to take up another course to fulfill the minimum amount of credits to be a full time student in this semester. Have you thought of what you would like to add?”

“Not exactly,” Emil said, staring at the corner of Ludwig’s screen where about seven new email notifications from frantic students at the edge of add-drop period scrambled to change their majors.

“Well, I can tell you that you still have some gen eds that you would have to fulfill,” said Ludwig. “One social studies and one art course. That would be good to take care of while you are still a first year.”

“Mm,” Emil said.

“And if you’re up for a challenge, or have interest in specific topics, there are certainly some classes in the one thousand level that have extra space.”

“Mm.”

“Or since you’re already quite ahead in your credits, you can explore a topic for your own enrichment.”

“Mm.”

Ludwig gave Emil a look of pleading exasperation. Emil fixed his gaze stubbornly on the window.

“What is your preference?” Ludwig said.

Emil pursed his lips. He knew that it was harder on Ludwig than on him to deal with his unhelpful indecision, but it did not give him any clearer opinion on what he ought to do. Maybe he should have bitten the bullet and stayed in Professor Roderich’s class. Maybe he should have thought of this before the semester started. Maybe he should have never applied to a university so far from home. Maybe he should have never graduated high school, in general.

“I guess finish my gen ed courses,” Emil said.

Ludwig nodded with enthusiasm for the both of them.

“So, an art course and a social studies course,” said Ludwig. “We have several art courses that are available for you here. Let’s see…”

Ludwig pulled up all the available courses for the semester that would fulfill an art credit. The array of choices made Emil’s eyes blur.

“How about Intro to Film?” said Ludwig. “That would cover your art credit, and also give you an extra English credit if you’re looking into pursuing a certificate.”

“A certificate?” Emil said. “What for?”

“Certification for Digital Media, if that interests you,” Ludwig said.

Emil sputtered.

“I don’t even know what my major is!” he said. “What’s a certificate going to do for me?”

“You don’t have to take it for a certificate,” Ludwig said quickly as Emil buried his face in his hands. “I just meant that it was a nice way to kill two birds with one stone if--”

“But I don’t want to kill birds,” Emil said. “I don’t even know what birds to kill. What kind of person am I if I went around killing random birds just because society tells me that’s how to get a job?”

He slumped back into his seat, letting out a huff of distress. He supposed that he needn’t yell about it, but he had to affirm himself that he made a solid point. Ludwig, in the meantime, only rubbed his brow wearily.

“No certification then,” said Ludwig. “But if we just look at art credits, would that interest you?”

“What is the class like?” Emil said.

“Well...”

“Class, I want you to write this down. Soviet cinema banks on violently killing off every character that has a face on screen. You can quote me on that, I have a doctorate.”

Leon Wang, Emil’s roommate, scribbled this down on his notebook, if only because he knew it would make a solid tweet later on. Professor Alfred F. Jones paced about the front of the room, whizzing through his PowerPoint presentation faster than any of the students could actually take notes.

“Battleship Potemkin? Dead,” said Alfred. “Strike? Dead. A five-second example of the Kuleshov effect? Dead baby. Basically, if you want to make a Soviet montage, kill a bunch of farmers from different camera angles.”

“Professor Jones?” One student raised their hand in the back.

“Call me Alfred,” Alfred said, flashing a dazzling grin. “What’s up?”

“Can you go back to the last slide with all the notes?” they said.

“Fine, but you all gotta catch up faster than that,” Alfred said.

He backspaced on the PowerPoint, skipping through the past fifteen or so slides that he had flew through in half a minute until he reached the slide of haphazard bullet points.

“So, to recap,” said Alfred. “Soviet montage wasn’t necessarily trying to break the rules of cinema. Leave that to the French in the sixties, God help them. But Eisenstein and Kuleshov in particular wanted to use editing differently, to create a synergetic meaning through editing shots together that, by itself, wouldn’t communicate that. Sort of like how on Instagram, you can either build a collage or just have multiple photos in a post, and the effect of it is different depending on how you arrange it, right?”

“What?” said Leon.

“So there you go,” Alfred said. Leon sighed and wrote Instagram = Soviet montage (?) in his notebooks, and hoped that Alfred upload the slides onto Blackboard later today.

“But here’s the wild thing,” said Alfred. “Soviet montage outlived the USSR. Stalin is dead! But even in the play-it-safe boon of Hollywood, we still use those seemingly weird and non-linear montage editing for our movies. Take Arrival. Has anyone here not seen Arrival?”

Several hands went up in the air. Alfred threw a dry erase board marker on the floor.

“Too bad! Spoilers alert,” he said. “The reason why you go into the movie thinking that it is being told in a linear manner, and that Amy Adams’ daughter dies in the beginning of the story, is through the Kuleshov effect. You see her in the beginning of the movie watching her daughter die, and then the scene cuts to her going to work. And you--the audience, you think she looks so sad and distant and uninterested in the news about these octopus aliens because of the recent death of her daughter. But actually you only think that because the two scenes are put back to back. Her face was really just neutral, but because of editing you think they are related, when it is actually a flash forward--or flashback. Dead baby!”

Leon nodded fervently, writing with a little more vigor in his notebook. Maybe Alfred actually did know what he was talking about. He made sense, which was more than he could ask for in a college course. This course made him feel excitable, to relish the honor and merit of his favorite medium, handing back to it the dignity it deserved.

“Or like in this one episode of Lizzie McGuire,” said Alfred.

Leon blanked immediately.

“There is this one scene I remember,” Alfred said, his eyes widening with nostalgia. “I don’t remember the characters’ names at all, or the plot, or if this was even an episode of Lizzie McGuire, but I’m kind of certain that it was on the TV when I was about ten years old. Anyway, there was a scene where this boy, no idea who he was, maybe he was like, Hilary Duff’s little brother or something? Anyway, he had a dirty nose and his mom was like, you got a dirty nose and when and licked a napkin or something to clean it off, and then it would suddenly cut to an unrelated, non-narrative shot of a lion licking her cub’s face, and then cut back to the mom wiping the dirt off her kid’s face. The lion has nothing to do with the story, but it was edited in there to make a more symbolic comparison, to emphasize the overbearing nature of the mother. Disney Channel was flexing its Soviet montage, baby!”

Alfred sped through several tens other PowerPoint slides that looked like they held vital information. Leon leaned over to the student sitting next to him.

“What the hell is Lizzie McGuire?” he whispered.

“All right, fifteen minute break commences now,” Alfred said, closing his laptop while students desperately scribbled the last of the bullet points with their aching hands. “Second half of class, we’ll get right into the film. Unfortunately, if you graduate from this school with a film degree and not know what the Odessa steps are, you aren’t going to make it out alive in Hollywood or wherever the hell you guys want to go. So we’re going to have to watch some Eisenstein. I’m so sorry, everyone.”

While other students went to use the restroom, or checked their text messages on their phones, Leon flipped through the syllabus for this course once more. He was hopeful that they would watch a John Woo film in this course, which did not seem like a far cry from what Alfred would assign. Apparently, one of their midterms would include writing a paper applying an advanced film theory to Die Hard.

“Come on, kids!” Alfred said. “You’ve got fifteen minutes to stretch your legs. This is a four-hour course, you’ve got all the time to sit around. Don’t you know that sitting is the new smoking?”

He promptly took a bite from a box of Chick-Fil-A strips waiting for him on the podium.

(tbc?)

[lankydoodlelukey]

the soul tattoo - season 1 recap

Previously on The Soul Tattoo…

If one day you woke up with a random tattoo on your body, you were destined to meet your soulmate soon. So when (Y/N) finally gets her soul tattoo, she’s in for a shock when she finds out who her soulmate is.

masterlist 

(Your POV)

I’ve heard a million stories about it. Stories of people receiving “the mark.” Many called it “the soul tattoo.” But story has it, that if one day you woke up with a random tattoo on your body, you were destined to meet your soulmate soon. 

I was in the shower when I got mine. On my chest was a treble clef and the initials of my soulmate: LRH.

(Luke’s POV)

I was on stage when I got mine.

We were reaching the chorus when a felt a sharp pain in my chest. It felt like someone was repeatedly stabbing me in the heart. I stopped where I was, my face scrunching up in pain. The fans in the pit noticed and started screaming my name. Michael and Calum helped me up and hurried me backstage.

As the boys sat me down, my breathing started to even out. I ripped my shirt open to see where the pain was coming from, but I already had an inkling about it. I looked down at my chest and I saw it. My face broke out into a smile.

“Oh, balls. Luke got his soul tattoo.” Michael whispered.

The news about my soul tattoo spread pretty fast. I decided to confirm it, so I took my phone out and opened up twitter. “I got my soul tattoo tonight! I can’t wait to meet my soulmate xx” I attached a picture of what my soul tattoo looked like - a treble clef with my soulmates initials in cursive right underneath it. I hoped that maybe my soulmate would see my tweet and contact me soon. The anticipation was killing me.

---

(Your POV)

There on Luke’s chest was his soul tattoo, an identical match to the one on my chest. Except under his soul tattoo were my initials. I quickly looked down at my soul tattoo.

“LRH,” I mumbled. “Luke Robert Hemmings.” My mind was reeling. Was this too good to be true?

“This is so crazy. Holy shit. Luke Hemmings is your soulmate, Y/N.”

---

(Luke’s POV)

I opened the door and there she was. Everything about her was perfect. The second my eyes laid upon her, I knew she was beautiful. She was just standing there on the doorstep, looking so... perfect.

---

(Your POV)

My phone buzzed from my jacket pocket. I took out my phone and checked the notification. It was a Twitter notification from Luke. Suddenly, I felt my heart shattering into a million pieces. 

“Just found my soulmate! I couldn’t be happier :-) everyone meet my girl!”

The girl in the photo wasn’t me.

---

I sat there, looking at (Y/F/N). She was right. She always was. "But even if I were to tell him the truth, what makes you think he’ll listen to me? He’ll just think I’m faking it just to get his attention now! And what if fake soulmate tries to fight me and say I’m lying?”

(Y/F/N) sighs. “It’s a risk you’re gonna have to take, love.”

---

“Oh my god, I’m- !” I tried to say I was sorry, but as I looked up at who I bumped into, my mouth dropped in shock. 

“Michael?!” I exclaimed. He had his hands on my shoulders, trying to steady me from falling over.  

“Yes! Hi, sorry to bump into you, I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going. I’m trying to find the bathroom."

(Mikey’s POV)

Her name was (Y/N) and she was absolutely perfect in every single way I imagined my soulmate would be. She was quirky and funny and easy-going. 

“Okay, okay. How about this, I give you my number, and we can hang out afterwards. Just you and me. You’re from around here right?" I asked.

She looked up at me, a mischievous glimmer in her eyes. "Yeah, I am!" 

(Your POV)

And now hours after the concert, I find myself exploring the night life of Los Angeles with Michael.

“It’s actually so pretty out here,” Mikey whispered. I looked up at him, a shocked look on my face. 

“Really? You think so?" 

"Yeah! The lights are all lit up, people aimlessly walking the streets, not very many cars honking. It’s almost peaceful,” he mused. 

“Hmm, I guess you’re right. But with all the smog in the air, you can’t even see the stars from here,” I huffed. Mikey lightly nudged me. 

“Then take me to see the stars,” he whispered. I looked up to face him and I saw a glint in his eyes. I wasn’t sure if it was just a reflection of the moon, or if it was a glint of excitement. But he was smiling at me with his huge goofy grin, and in that moment, I couldn’t say no. 

---

Mikey’s face broke out into his signature wide grin, and I quickly looked away, trying not to get caught staring.

“What?” He mused.

“Nothing!” I squeaked. I stared back up at the stars, trying not to give myself away. There was something about Mikey. Something I couldn’t place. He was a great guy, and I loved spending time with him - almost to the point that I might actually… like him.

I was in a very big dilemma. I had my soulmate already and it wasn’t Mikey. But what was I supposed to do? Luke looked so happy with his “soulmate.”

---

(Luke’s POV)

“But babe, I thought we had lunch plans!” She whined. I rolled my eyes. Lately my soulmate has been so whiny. I don’t know how or what changed, but everyday something about her just didn’t seem right. Everyday, something came up that just further proved that the universe may have messed up my soulmate match. Lately she’s just been getting on my nerves. I looked down at the floor and found her dress. I tossed it at her. It landed right in front of her and she frowned.

“What’s this for?” She questioned.

“Go home. I have to go to work today. I’m sorry,” I said and I walked into my bathroom before she could say anything. 

---

I was so confused. Here standing in front of me was possibly the most beautiful woman I have ever met. Even more beautiful than my soulmate. She was walking in the building carrying a bag of food when I spotted her on my way out. Seeing this girl, looking so beautiful without even trying, I was so confused. Something was pulling me towards her and before I knew it, I was walking towards her.

(Your POV)

He was totally checking me out. I can’t believe it. The time I finally meet Luke, my fucking soulmate, of course I looked like absolute shit. Barely no make-up on, my hair an absolute mess, and I was wearing an old band shirt. How fucking embarrassing.

Luke smiled. “This may sound a little cliche, but there’s something about you that I can’t really place. There’s just a really big part of me that wants to get to know you. So let’s hang out sometime, yeah? Plus, I really dig your shirt!”

Before I could even think about what I was saying, I blurted out, “’There’s something about me that you want to get to know?’ I’m sorry, but don’t you already have a soulmate?”

---

“But I fucked it up. I don’t know why I said it. But the next thing I knew, he was out the door before I could stop him and tell him who I was,” I whispered.

“I want to be happy (Y/F/N). I told myself that if I want to be happy, then I gotta do everything in my power to make myself happy. I said I wanted to start doing things for myself.

"So yeah. I’m tired of waiting. It’s time to move on – with Michael.” I said, finally feeling justified and happy.

(Luke’s POV)

“You don’t get it, Mike. This girl I met, she - she took my breath away. It was like some invisible force was pulling me towards her. She was absolutely perfect in every way,” I whispered. Mike sat up immediately and looked at me.  

“Wait a minute. This doesn’t make sense though. I thought you had already met your soulmate? Why are you getting feelings for another girl?" 

"Dude, I don’t know,” I said in an exasperated sigh. "Whatever, forget about it. I’ll probably never see her again. Hey wait, aren’t you supposed to going out with that girl, (Y/N)? The one you haven’t shut up about?” I said with a smirk. Michael threw a pillow at me. 

“Shut up, mate! Something personal came up and she had to cancel. But we’re hanging out tomorrow. I’m going to take her to lunch and then bring her here to meet you guys!” He said with excitement. I smiled. 

“Good you for, man. I’m happy for you,” I said.

(Your POV)

It had been about a month and a half since I got my soul tattoo and exactly three weeks since Michael and I started dating. It was amazing to say the least. He was perfect in every single way. He was there for me whenever I needed him and I was there for him. We worked in complete harmony together, always laughing and goofing off, but being serious and intimate at the same time.

(Luke’s POV)

It was (Y/N) all along. The girl Michael wouldn’t shut up about. The fucking odds that the beautiful girl I meet, is actually the girl Mike has been seeing. At first, I was confused. What a coincidence that she happened to have met both of us on two separate occasions. But suddenly I was angry. Jealously ran through my veins when I first saw her and Mikey together.

But we were to leave for tour soon and hopefully this would all be over…

[starryeyed-char]

On Camera

Or that one time Lance decided to live-stream when he really should’ve been resting. The (established) klance YouTuber AU that no one asked for, but you’re all getting. Domestic klance sharing an apartment is my jam, and throwing a little angst in there is a bonus.

I’m actually really happy with this, and if people like it I might do an actual long AU thing with this setting, so feedback is appreciated! For now though, just a one-shot. This is also proof that the best writing for me happens at 3 AM… oops. I hope you enjoy!!

Psst @taylor-tut this is that thing I not-so-discreetly mentioned in my tags, have a wonderful day.

Lance McClain was a rulebreaker in every way, except for one thing. He believed it was always necessary to have a routine, and never stray from it. If asked, he’d inform you that a steady routine was the foundation for a steady life.

Showering every morning, brushing his teeth every night, thinking of a cheesy one-liner for Keith each day without fail, the list went on. Little things.

One of his many routines was to live-stream, always on Sundays. Because who did anything besides sit at home, definitely not with a hangover, on Sunday?

New videos went up on Wednesdays, but the carefully edited ones on YouTube and his live-streams were very different. Many fans even preferred seeing him live, mainly because he couldn’t stop himself from making bad jokes, and was usually too lazy to straighten his bedhead.

And they would always ask him to go bother Keith in the next room, which Lance more often than not was obliged to do.

So when he woke up late one Sunday with a killer headache and a stuffy nose, Lance wasn’t about to let it get in the way of his routine.

He discovered a note from Keith on the kitchen table that said he’d be out running errands, and Lance lamented that he hadn’t been awake to tell Keith to get soup. After shooting him a quick text, the only response Lance got was “You don’t even like soup.”

Lance chuckled softly, which quickly led to a series of wet coughs. Clearing his throat, he began to set up his camera, wrapped himself up in blankets, and started the stream.

“Hey guys,” he said with a small wave, and winced at how raspy his voice sounded. He sniffled, and edged the off-screen box of tissues closer to him.

The chat was quickly flooded with “HELLO”’s and “LANCE!”’s. By now, all the fans knew when he went live. Lance was, however, surprised to see several inquiries about his health.

There were quite a few “Are you okay”’s, and even some “You seem sick”’s, with one of Lance’s personal favorites being “You look like shit.”

He read off the last comment with a short laugh. “Thanks, KeiththeKutie05.” Then, as an afterthought, he added, “Nice name.”

After a short pause of him continuing to scan the chat, he spoke again. “I’m fine though, just got a cold or something. Nothing could stop me from live-streaming!”

As the viewers seemed satisfied with this response, Lance wasn’t surprised to see the usual repetition of “Where’s Keith?” in the chat. He sighed.

“Mullet Boy is running errands,” Lance told them, rolling his eyes for effect. “Probably going out to buy a new pair of fingerless gloves.”

Keith and Lance had been sharing an apartment for some time now, and the Internet was very invested in their relationship, or so it seemed. Keith was annoyed by the whole thing at first, but Lance found it entertaining that his fans seemed to like Keith better than him. Lance could, admittedly, relate.

Eventually, the accidental publicity that came with dating a YouTuber inspired Lance to make a collab channel for them, though Keith never got his own. He insisted that he was too awkward to film anything by himself, which Lance secretly found adorable.

Numerous people began telling Lance to prank Keith when he came back, to which Lance grinned. Playing tricks on Keith during live-streams had become somewhat of a tradition in and of itself. “Maybe I will,” Lance tapped his chin thoughtfully. “You guys got any ideas?”

Lance read through some of the responses but saw nothing particularly appealing, then perked up at someone asking when he’d do a video with Hunk again.

“Actually, I got some good news for you guys,” Lance declared, sneezing into his elbow before continuing. “Hunk and I are going to be playing videogames on Pidge’s channel sometime next week, and Hunk has both of us coming over to his and Shay’s for a baking video. I haven’t decided what we should do for my part yet. Maybe a Q & A?”

Once again, Lance’s eyes scanned through the suggestions until his eyes snagged on one he liked. “Cards Against Humanity, huh? With YouTube’s shitty new rules it could get demonetized, but I do love that game, so why not? I’m positive Pidge owns it, and I can tell them to bring it over. Maybe I can even convince Keith to play with us.”

Lance couldn’t help but smile at the enthusiastic response that got.

“I think I’m going to get myself some more coffee,” Lance decided, looking down at the empty mug resting on a coaster. “Last night Keith made me watch this really scary movie, so I naturally had trouble falling asleep. Gotta have coffee to keep myself functioning. Do you guys prefer coffee or tea? Keith and I are both coffee people, but he likes his black. No sugar or anything, disgusting if you ask me.”

Lance almost regretted this comment as a war of opinions on black coffee slowly took over his computer screen.

“Well, anyway, I’m gonna go to the kitchen real quick. I’d bring my laptop but… I’d probably spill coffee on it, and we can’t have that.”

Lance stood, and was about to start towards the next room when his vision abruptly blurred and refocused. He knew immediately something was wrong.

His legs felt like jelly, and the room seemed to spin as he took a single step forward. Had he only been fine when he was sitting? Lance had half the mind to sit right back down, but his brain was growing muddled, and direction simply didn’t make sense.

Lance’s migraine flared abruptly in intensity, and then suddenly the wood floor was rushing up to meet him. Everything went dark.

Keith glanced at his phone as he moved around to the back of the car, where he’d stored the groceries, and had to repress a fond smile at the Twitter notification on the screen. Lance was, apparently, live-streaming. Keith thought he might actually miss his time-slot for once, but he figured by now he should be used to the Cuban boy’s dedication to routine.

Lance’s channel got some negative feedback from more ‘sophisticated’ YouTubers for being… all over the place. A dedicated beauty guru, or PrinceLotor as his channel was called, had dragged Lance on Twitter on more than one occasion.

Lance was anything but consistent when it came to videos. He did whatever he felt like doing that week, and the fans loved it. Sometimes he played songs on his guitar, sometimes he did prank-calls. He would film Q&A’s, or tell stories about all the interesting stuff that happened in his life— Lance’s bad luck was rather famous. He recommended TV shows, did hauls of what he got for holidays, vlogged on occasion when he went to stores, you name it.

But Lance’s favorite thing to do were collabs.

Hunk, an incredibly smart engineer, had a baking channel as a hobby, and Lance was his favorite assistant.

Pidge was a newer gaming channel, but their obsession with theorizing about the game’s lore while playing and busting other fan theories made them grow in popularity quickly. For two player games, Lance was ideal.

Allura was an extremely popular beauty channel, and Lance let her give him makeovers whenever she wanted to. Shiro could use extra actors in his short films.

And Keith… well, the two of them had a channel together that had no pattern whatsoever, much to Lance’s dislike. Absolutely spontaneous and random, usually doing things by popular fan request, like dancing or karaoke. And uploads were by no means regular.

Keith was surprised at how much he had started to enjoy it. Lance had been telling him he should start an art channel, with animations and speedpaints and the like, and Keith wasn’t… that opposed to the idea. It could be a useful source of income, to help with all the debt he would come into after graduating college. But he’d never tell Lance.

Without thinking too much of it, Keith swiped right across his screen, taking him to Lance’s tweet about the live-stream in order to like it. He was about to close his phone again and begin taking groceries up to their apartment when his eyes snagged on something odd.

Lots of the replies to Lance’s tweet mentioned him, particularly the recent ones, even tagging him in it. Keith couldn’t fathom why they would be talking about him if he wasn’t on the stream, unless Lance was complaining about him live again.

Keith bristled. Lance better not be still annoyed at him for the movie the last night. Signs wasn’t scary at all, and not even a real horror movie! Lance simply stated that 'he didn’t mess with aliens.’

But when he looked at all the mentions, Keith felt his irritation give way to confusion, and then panic.

“KEITH GET TO UR APARTMENT”, “YOU BETTER GO CHECK ON LANCE”, “HOLY SHIT HES COLLAPSED KEITH HURRY YA ASS UP”, and the one that really sent Keith reeling “UH GUYS IS IT JUST ME OR DID WE WITNESS LANCE’S DEATH ON CAMERA?”

Keith slammed the trunk, all groceries forgotten as he sprinted into the apartment building and ran for the stairs. They only lived on the third floor, and he was not about to wait for the slow, crowded elevator.

He fumbled to fit his key in the lock and opened the door to the living room, only to spot the live-streaming set up, with no Lance. Keith rushed forward, but drew up short when he realized that Lance was in fact passed out on the floor in front of the couch.

“Oh my god— Lance!” Keith sank down beside him, turning his boyfriend over. “Lance, are you okay? Can you hear me?”

Lance’s eyes opened slowly, and Keith felt relief flood his system, despite the uncharacteristically pale skin. “K-Keith? Wha… I thought you were shopping?”

“I’m back,” Keith answered shortly, wincing as he pressed a hand onto Lance’s forehead. “Jeez, you’re on fire. Why didn’t you tell me you were this sick?!”

“Are you a fire?” Lance mumbled under his breath, and Keith furrowed his brows in confusion.

“What? No, Lance, I was saying you have a fever.”

“Because you’re hot and I want s'more,” Lance continued, as if he hadn’t heard him at all. Keith was suddenly painfully aware that the live-stream was still going, and that his face was even more flushed than Lance’s, and not because of a fever.

Keith glanced at the computer sitting on the coffee table briefly, noting that most of the chat was full of random keyboard smashing. He smiled apologetically. “At least he’s conscious,” he shrugged, hoisting Lance up off the floor and propping one of his arm’s around Keith’s shoulder. “I’m going to take this idiot to the hospital, he’s way too hot.”

“So you finally admitted it,” Lance’s voice was barely audible, and Keith glanced back down to see him grinning up at Keith tiredly.

“I meant your temperature, dumbass. Next time, tell me when you’re not feeling well.”

And with that, he shut off the stream.

[exocara]

Turntables

or: Viktor Suffers, the fic

ao3 link

Inspiration:  “you’re a celebrity who just broke up and i tweeted you a selfie with the caption “date me” as a joke but you thought i was serious?” au

It happens approximately one week after Yuuri’s disastrous performance in Sochi.

“Oh hey!” Phichit exclaims around the same time a twitter notification shows up on Yuuri’s phone. Yuuri quickly snatches it up. He has notifications set for Viktor’s tweets and only Viktor’s tweets, considering that he’s Viktor Nikiforov and Yuuri can’t help but want to know every single thing about him.

“It’s rare that you see Viktor Nikiforov tweet about his personal life! I almost thought he didn’t have one,” Phichit jokes. It’s true; Viktor usually tweets about skating, and a little about his dog. He’s nothing like Christophe Giacometti, who tweets every day about what he’s eating and the domestic bliss he shares with his husband, and definitely nothing like Phichit who’s, well, Phichit.

Yuuri taps on the notification and Viktor’s tweet shows on his screen.

Viktor Nikiforov @v-nikiforov I wish I could date pretty black haired boys who dance well.

That is… very specific yet incredibly vague all at the same time. Is this really going to be Viktor’s first non-skating tweet in months? Then again, Viktor always did love to surprise. Yuuri wants to know what he has planned up his sleeve, what he’s up to this time.

“Ooh, the candidates are already flooding in!” Phichit says with an amused grin.

“Candidates?” Yuuri asks and Phichit helps Yuuri scroll down to read the replies. Most of them are variants of “date me!” with pictures attached. It’s all very interesting.

“You should send one too!” Phichit says and Yuuri doesn’t even bother answering him. “Look, I’ll send one if you send one. It’ll be fun!”

“I’m not going to talk to Viktor Nikiforov on twitter over some silly joke of his,” Yuuri says.

“It’s just a tweet,” Phichit whines. “It’s like a meme! You like memes, right, Yuuri? Besides, it’s not like Viktor checks through every single reply he gets -- and I don’t blame him, holy shit it’s only been three minutes and there are at least two thousand replies -- so he might not even see your tweet!”

“Phichit,” Yuuri sighs. “We’re skaters, we’re under scrutiny.”

“Look, even Georgi Popovich did it!”

“Fine.” Yuuri kind of wants to try it out anyway, out of some masochistic urge to have his idol ignore him once again, like he had in Sochi. “You had better do the same too, alright? I’m not going into this alone.”

“I will!”

Phichit Chulanont @phichit+chu #dateme but more importantly date my friend @katsukiyuuri

Yuuri Katsuki @katsukiyuuri #dateme :)

“There we go, wasn’t that hard, was it?” Phichit teases. “Great selfie, by the way! Not as great as mine, but I’m proud to call you my disciple.”

Yuuri rolls his eyes. His nerves fade after five minutes pass and there is no answer from anyone -- although there are quite a few likes and retweets and replies on his selfie -- and he is relieved yet disappointed.

What else did he expect from the tweet? Viktor didn’t even know that he was a fellow competitor back in Sochi. There’s no chance that he’ll single out a single tweet in a sea of thousands. Absolutely no chance whatsoever.

-o-

Except he does.

“You look like you’re dying,” Phichit comments. Yuuri hands him his phone. Phichit looks at the screen and gasps.

Viktor Nikiforov @v-nikiforov Shared your Tweet with you.

Viktor Nikiforov: yes please )

“Did, did he reply to you too?” Yuuri asks Phichit. Phichit takes a moment to check his phone.

“Nope. I’m pretty sure you’re the only one who got a reply.” Phichit rests his chin on his hand. “What are you going to reply with?”

“Are you kidding me? Why in the world will I reply?”

“Because it’s only polite, because Viktor is your long-time idol and he’s finally noticed you, because Viktor wants to date you, because you’ve already seen his message and so he knows you’ve read it and you don’t want to deal with the idea of your idol knowing that you ignored him even if that’s what you’re planning on doing,” Phichit listed off. “Pick any one.”

Yuuri slumps and curls into a ball on his bed. His phone is still in his hands and the screen still shows Viktor’s DM.

“This is probably just a joke,” Yuuri says.

“If it’s just a joke, there’s no harm in playing along, right?” Phichit asks. Yuuri hesitates. His phone buzzes.

Viktor Nikiforov: yuuri?

Viktor Nikiforov: yuuri are you there

“Wow, I didn’t peg Viktor to be a triple texter,” Phichit says with a whistle.

“Phichit, what should I say??” Yuuri hisses under his breath, as if Viktor could hear him from Detroit.

Viktor Nikiforov: i can see you blueticking me (

“Tell him the truth?” Phichit suggests.

Yuuri Katsuki: Sorry, I was just wondering how I should respond.

Viktor Nikiforov: oh okay!

Viktor Nikiforov: you don’t have to think so much! you just have to be your normal charming self! )

Yuuri Katsuki: Um.

Yuuri Katsuki: I think you have the wrong person.

“Yuuri! How could he have the wrong person? Your name is on the twitter! And he saw your picture!!”

“He said charming, Phichit. I’m not charming at all!”

Viktor Nikiforov: ?

Viktor Nikiforov: this is yuuri katsuki right?

Viktor Nikiforov: top skater in japan

Viktor Nikiforov: born on 29 nov, from hasetsu, your parents run an ‘onsen’?

Viktor Nikiforov: we met at the sochi gpf!

Viktor Nikiforov: your short program was really good! i loved your step sequences!

“Yuuri, you’re hyperventilating.”

-o-

“Oh, he stopped replying.” Viktor looks down at his phone, at a loss for what to do. “Was it something I said?”

“Don’t ask me,” Yuri shoots back. “I’m still shocked that your idea even worked at all!”

“Oh look!” Viktor’s phone suddenly enters Yuri’s line of sight and Yuri almost crosses his eyes trying to focus on what’s written on the screen. “He’s typing again!”

“Oh my god,” Yuri hears Mila mutter from behind him. “And I thought Georgi was bad.”

-o-

Yuuri Katsuki: Do you often do this?

Viktor Nikiforov: ?

Viktor Nikiforov: do what?

Yuuri Katsuki: Start talking to random people off of twitter.

Ever since that day, Yuuri and Viktor have been exchanging messages on twitter’s DM feature. Like clockwork, Viktor would send a message at approximately eight in the morning -- which is four in the afternoon in St. Petersburg -- telling Yuuri good morning. Yuuri has grown to expect these messages, looking forward to them when he wakes up every morning.

Viktor Nikiforov: only when they’re cute )))

Yuuri still doesn’t know why Viktor has started talking to him, of all people. Is it because Yuuri is a skater Viktor met at the Grand Prix? Or is it just on a whim?

Either way, Yuuri doesn’t expect it to last.

-o-

Viktor Nikiforov: i’m curious, yuuri

Viktor Nikiforov: why don’t you ever message me on my phone?

Viktor Nikiforov: we only talk on twitter

Viktor Nikiforov: do you have whatsapp??

Yuuri doesn’t understand. How is he supposed to message Viktor’s number when he doesn’t even have it?

Yuuri Katsuki: But I don’t have your number?

Is Yuuri supposed to have Viktor’s number?

Viktor Nikiforov: i thought i gave you my number????

Oh god, he is supposed to have Viktor’s number. He can’t believe that he misplaced such a valuable thing.

Yuuri Katsuki: I’m sorry, I must have lost it. I am so, so, so sorry.

Viktor Nikiforov: oh

Viktor Nikiforov: well that explains many things

Viktor Nikiforov: +7 812 XXX-XX-XXX

Viktor Nikiforov: that’s my phone number

Viktor Nikiforov: don’t lose it again )))

Yuuri Katsuki: I won’t!!!

-o-

Once Yuuri gave Viktor his phone number, there was no going back. His conversations with Viktor are interspersed with pictures of Makkachin and calls are added to their daily conversations. Once, Viktor adds him to a group chat of him and his rink mates and Yuuri is treated to a terrifying flood of messages in both Russian and English before he manages to exit the chat.

Viktor tries again the next day and the group chat is, thankfully, milder. It takes a while but Yuuri gets acquainted with Viktor’s rinkmates, the strong-willed Mila Babicheva, the romantic Georgi Popovich, and the prickly Yuri Plisetsky.

Yuuri doesn’t mention the meeting he and Yuri shared in the bathroom, and neither does Yuri.

-o-

“Will you stop messaging Katsuki for one second and actually practice?” Yuri demands. “Yakov looks like he’s going to blow a fuse!”

“But, but Yuuri just woke up! I need to send him his daily picture of Makkachin!” Viktor whines. Yuri nearly lets a snarl rip from his throat as he skates to the edge of the rink to grab his phone.

Yuri Plisetsky: Oi, katsuki!!

Yuri Plisetsky: Stop messaging that PAIN IN THE ASS he’s neglecting training!!!

Yuuri Katsuki: He’s training right now? He told me he was on break!

Yuuri Katsuki: Thank you for telling me.

Seconds later, Viktor’s whine echoes throughout the rink.

“Yuuri says that he’s disappointed in me!” Viktor sobs. Yuri observes as Viktor tries to send Yuuri a few more messages before eventually giving up and seriously going back to practice. In fact, he practices so seriously that when Yakov tells him what to do, Viktor doesn’t complain. He carries out Yakov’s orders, shocking Yakov into silence.

“...Vitya,” Yakov says after practice is done. “Are you dying?”

“Yuuri says that he won’t talk to me unless I listen to my coach and practice,” Viktor sulks. Yakov looks at Yuri with a raised eyebrow.

“He means the Japanese Yuuri, Yuuri Katsuki,” Yuri clarifies and Yakov’s gaze turns contemplative.

“That’s Celestino’s boy, right? He was at the Grand Prix Final and the… banquet.” At this, Yakov’s expression turns a little sour.

“Yes!” Viktor sighs and god, anyone can see he is totally, utterly love-struck. “Yuuri Katsuki! Katsuki Yuuri! Yuuri Kat--”

Yuri throws his phone at Viktor’s face.

-o-

Viktor Nikiforov: yuuri

Viktor Nikiforov: yuuri!!

Viktor Nikiforov: yuuuuuuuuriiiiiii!!!

Yuuri Katsuki: Yes, Viktor?

Yuuri can’t help but smile when he sees Viktor’s messages. His personality clearly shines through them -- whiny, willful, expressive -- and Yuuri loves him for it.

Viktor Nikiforov: i’m super curious

Viktor Nikiforov: what was the theme for your skating in the gpf?

Yuuri’s mood dips a little at the mention of the disastrous Grand Prix Final, but he still answers Viktor.

Yuuri Katsuki: It’s longing. Longing and ambition.

Viktor Nikiforov: that makes sense!

Viktor Nikiforov: when i saw your short program it looked kinda sad

Yuuri covers his face with his hands so he can compose himself and not scream in the middle of a quiet library. He still hasn’t gotten used to the fact that his idol has noticed him and watches his programs.

Viktor Nikiforov: that part’s longing, right?

Yuuri Katsuki: That’s right. The short program is about wanting to reach for something, longing for it, but knowing that you will never be able to have it.

Viktor Nikiforov: your free program’s a lot cheerier

Viktor Nikiforov: well, not exactly

Viktor Nikiforov: but it’s not as sad.

Yuuri smiles.

Yuuri Katsuki: You’re right. My free program is actually the ambition part of my theme. It ties into my short program.

Yuuri Katsuki: It’s about reaching for the thing you want, regardless of impossibility.

What Yuuri doesn’t say is:

‘It’s about me trying to reach for you.’

-o-

Viktor Nikiforov: good morning yuuri!

Yuuri Katsuki: Good afternoon Viktor.

Viktor Nikiforov: where’s my morning kiss, yuuri?

Yuuri Katsuki: It’s afternoon for you, Viktor.

Viktor Nikiforov: ((

Yuuri’s face is carefully wiped off any emotion. Viktor asking for kisses -- even though they’re literally oceans away!! -- is nothing new, despite them always making Yuuri’s heart skip a beat. Yuuri never indulges him, though, despite wanting too.

Yuuri Katsuki: Also, aren’t you supposed to be practicing right now?

Viktor Nikiforov: im on break

Yuuri Katsuki: Should I ask Yuri?

Viktor Nikiforov: ((((((

Viktor Nikiforov: fiiiine

Yuuri Katsuki: I’ll talk to you when you’re really on break.

Yuuri Katsuki: ガンバ! All the best!

Viktor Nikiforov: <3 <3 <3

-o-

Viktor Nikiforov: congrats on getting gold at Japanese Nationals!!!

Yuuri Katsuki: Thank you. You’re largely the reason why I managed to do so well.

Yuuri Katsuki: You’ve always been an inspiration for me. Thank you for being in my life.

Yuuri throws his phone to the side and immediately buries his face in his hands after sending the message. It’s a little bold, especially for him, but he needs to let Viktor know how much he impacted Yuuri’s life.

Yuuri had been in a downwards spiral after the Grand Prix Final but his friendships with Viktor, Viktor’s easy presence, his kind words, his everything, pushed Yuuri to be better. To be someone worthy of being Viktor’s friend. To be worthy of standing next to Viktor.

He would be anything for Viktor, if it meant that Viktor would spend more time with him, if it meant that Viktor’s eyes would be on him.

It scares Yuuri, sometimes, this greed that he feels. He had thought that being able to message Viktor was enough but he always wants more and more with every little bit that Viktor gives him. More time, more messages, more calls.

Yuuri knows he can’t have more, because Viktor belongs to the world. Yuuri knows Viktor belongs to ice skating and he can’t take Viktor away from that. Yuuri knows, he knows.

And yet he still wants.

Yuuri hates himself.

-o-

Viktor Nikiforov spotted with Ice Dancer Yesfir Mihalov! Could love be blooming off the ice?

“Yuuri,” Phichit starts hesitantly. Yuuri gives him a curious look, closing the browser tab on his computer.

“Is something the matter?” Yuuri asks.

“Are you, okay?”

“Of course I am! Why wouldn’t I be?” Yuuri opens a document containing one of his assignments.

“Well, there’s the thing with Viktor and Yesfir…” Yuuri stares at Phichit blankly. “If there’s something bothering you, you can always talk to me, you know that right?”

“Of course I do. Thank you, Phichit.” Yuuri smiles. And then the smile is immediately replaced with a look of utter annoyance, levelled at the document. “Now if you excuse me, this essay isn’t going to write itself.”

“Haha, good luck Yuuri!” Phichit exits the room, satisfied with Yuuri’s answer. Yuuri glares at the screen, concentrating on his essay.

He ignores the ugly jealousy simmering deep in his chest.  Yuuri refuses to be one of those people who monopolized their friend’s time. It’s perfectly okay for Viktor to go out with other people. Viktor Nikiforov isn’t his. There’s no reason for him to feel this way.

Yuuri knows this in his head. If his heart doesn’t, he will just have to make it.

-o-

Yuuri Katsuki: Hey, I’ll be busy these few weeks with school so I won’t be as active in replying messages.

Irrationally, Yuuri hopes that Viktor will figure out that Yuuri is lying. That he isn’t feeling well. That Yuuri’s consumed with dark envy and will reassure him that there’s nothing going on between Viktor and Yesfir.

Viktor Nikiforov: awww )

Viktor Nikiforov: okay. i’ll just be here. waiting for you to return.

Viktor Nikiforov: давай!!!! good luck yuuri!!

Yuuri Katsuki: Thank you.

But of course he doesn’t.

-o-

Viktor still messages him good morning, along with pictures of Makkachin, but the other messages are few and far in between and Yuuri can’t help but feel empty. He knows that he only has himself to blame.

He doesn’t want to let Viktor know about this side of him, this insecurity that literally eats him alive.

He doesn’t want Viktor to see his shortcomings and so he pushes Viktor away.

-o-

Yuuri is woken up by Phichit instead of the alarm clock.

“Phichit, what in the world?” he mutters sleepily. “It’s only six.”

“You need to see this,” Phichit hisses, shoving his phone into Yuuri’s hands. Yuuri squints at the screen and when he manages to discern the words on the screen, he is immediately awake.

-o-

“Good morning, Yuuri!” Viktor chirps.

“Viktor,” Yuuri says quietly.

“How are you this fine day?”

“Viktor,” Yuuri says again. “Why did you tell the press that we’re dating?”

-o-

“I thought you knew that I was going to do it! Isn’t high time that we told the world about this?”

“Stop making decisions on your own!”  

Yuuri doesn’t know how long he hasn’t been talking to Viktor. It might be a few days, a week, a month; whatever it is, it feels like forever.

Yuuri doesn’t know what his life was like before he started talking to Viktor.

“I didn’t even know we were dating!”

“How could you not know? It’s obvious!”

“How can I know when you don’t tell me anything ?!”

Yuuri never expected his relationship with Viktor to last, but he never expected it to end like this.

Then again, Viktor always surprises him.

-o-

Viktor starts sending Yuuri messages.

Yuuri doesn’t answer.

-o-

“Oi, how long are you two going to argue?” Yuri’s voice says from the phone. “Viktor’s currently a miserable excuse for a human being. I know it’s his fault for not talking things through with you but he’s really trying his best to reach out to you right now. A proper relationship can’t work without communication, you know.”

“Well,” Yuuri says bitterly. “Our relationship wasn’t a proper one from the start. Everything’s a joke. I’m just there ‘til Viktor gets bored of me and moves on.” It only makes sense for Yuuri to cut his losses now before he gets in too deep. Before he starts to become unable to live without Viktor.

Yuri is silent for a very long time before

“What.” When he finally speaks, his voice is carefully controlled. Totally flat and devoid of emotion. “What the fuck.” Anger creeps into his voice. “What the absolute fuck are you talking about, Katsuki? You are literally the only person is the history of ever I’ve seen Viktor want to hold onto. He poured his entire heart and soul into you. He wouldn’t shut the fuck up about life and love and you think--” Yuri scoffed. “How can you just throw him away like that? How can you be so fucking selfish?!”

“Me? Selfish?” Yuuri feels indignation spring up at Yuri’s words. He’s not being selfish. Being selfish means holding onto Viktor, means continuing this mess of a relationship with him. “Viktor’s the one that decided to pick a random person out from twitter to date! I didn’t even know I was dating him!”

“You’re the one who posted a tweet with the caption ‘date me’--”

“I didn’t think he’d actually notice me--”

“How could he not notice you!” Yuri shouts. “You’re all he’s ever talked about since the banquet!”

“We didn’t even talk at the banquet!” Yuuri shouts back. Maybe he’d feel guilty about raising his voice to a fourteen year old, but he doesn’t have those qualms now.

Yuri makes a shocked noise. “Ex- fucking- scuse me? You didn’t even talk?”

“I--”

“Now listen here fuckass,” Yuri begins, and then he tells Yuuri exactly what happened at the banquet.

-o-

Viktor wins gold at the European Championships.

-o-

Yuuri Katsuki: Congratulations on the gold.

Viktor Nikiforov: thank you.

-o-

Viktor Nikiforov: hey.

Viktor Nikiforov: let’s end this.

Yuuri breathes in shakily. He had hoped that Viktor would want him around for a longer period of time, but he supposes that he only has himself to blame.

Yuuri Katsuki: Okay.

-o-

Yuri Plisetsky: Oi.

Yuri Plisetsky: Katsuki.

Yuri Plisetsky: If you were anyone else i’d tell you to go die in hell but

Yuri Plisetsky: Whatever, just

Yuri Plisetsky has sent a video.

-o-

It takes a while for Yuuri to work up the courage to look at Yuri’s messages. It takes an even longer time for him to play the video but when he does, he almost drops the phone.

The video quality is absolutely horrid, taken in the dim light of a closed ice rink and with a shaky hand. The location of the shooting is also incredibly bad, as if the person taking the video did not want to be seen by anyone.

However, Yuuri still recognises the silver haired man skating in the video, and he definitely recognises what is being skated.

‘The short program is about wanting to reach for something, longing for it, but knowing that you will never be able to have it.’

-o-

Yuuri has no idea what he’s doing here.

That’s a lie. Yuuri knows exactly why he’s here. The question is, why did he allow Phichit to talk him into it?

Yuuri knows the answer to that question too.

“You need to say something to him,” Phichit tells Yuuri. His eyes are serious, the normally jovial spark in them not present. Yuuri’s head is bowed. He doesn’t want to see Phichit. He doesn’t want to see anyone. He just wants to crawl under his blankets and never talk to another human being for as long as he lives.

“I don’t know what to say,” Yuuri replies in a soft voice.

“Just tell him the truth. Tell him how you feel and the reasons behind your actions. I think he deserves that much, at the very least.”

“He’s in the rink,” Yuri tells him. He had been kind enough to ask his grandfather to bring Yuuri straight from the airport to the rink Viktor normally skated in.

Yuuri hesitates and that gives Yuri enough time to grab him by the collar and pull him down to Yuri’s eye level.

“I’ll give you one chance and one chance only,” Yuri says in a low tone. A fourteen year old should not be this terrifying. “If you screw this up, I’ll make sure you regret your entire life.”

Yuuri gulps and nods. Yuri stares into his eyes for a moment before releasing him, satisfied with whatever he had seen.

“Go.”

Yuuri goes.

-o-

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” Viktor says. Yuuri looks at the ground. He doesn’t dare look Viktor in the eye.

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri tells Viktor. “For everything.”

“Is that all you have to say?”

“I,” Yuuri takes in a deep breath. He has to tell the truth. He has to open up to Viktor, so that Viktor can meet him where he stands. “I am. In love with you. Still.”

Viktor says nothing.

“I’ve always been in love with you but I, I didn’t want you to see my shortcomings so I pushed you away. You seem to think that I’m a good skater, but that’s. That’s not who I am. I’m just a random, replaceable skater with confidence issues and horrible anxiety. I’m possessive and jealous and… And I can’t be who you want me to be. And I didn’t want you to realise that and be disillusioned with who I am. I didn’t want you to leave me so I…” left you first.

“Yuuri.” Yuuri sees Viktor step closer to him. “I’ve said this from the beginning; you just have to be yourself. You just have to be Yuuri Katsuki.”

“But--” Yuuri looks up and the words he wants to say immediately fly out of his head because

“Are you crying?” Yuuri asks.

“Of course I am! The person I love, the person who broke my heart is standing in front of me and the wound is still raw! Of course I’m crying!”

“I’m, sorry.” Yuuri feels his panic rising. “Is there anything I can do to make you feel better? Like a hug, or a, a kiss, or something?” he babbles, only half aware of what he’s saying.

“You don’t have to do anything, Yuuri. I’ve already told you, I just want you to be yourself, I just want you to stay close to me!” Viktor grabs Yuuri’s hands in his. “Do you want to be with me?”

“I can’t--”

“Do you want to be with me,” Viktor repeats. Yuuri can’t help but look into his eyes.

“...I do.”

“Then have more faith in me, in us, in yourself. ” Viktor brings Yuuri’s hands up to his mouth and kisses them. “I love you, Yuuri. You’ve shown me what I’ve been missing my entire life. I don’t think I can live without you, at this point,” he says with a watery smile.

“Same here,” Yuuri breathes.

“I know you’re not perfect. I’m not perfect either. I’m forgetful, I assume things, I don’t talk to people about plans when I should.” Viktor gives a rueful smile. “And I’m absolutely horrible at picking up other people’s emotions. Knowing all this, do you still want to be with me?”

“Yes, of course!” Yuuri is offended that Viktor would even think otherwise.

“Why?”

“Because I love you!”

“It’s the same for me,” Viktor says. Yuuri is silent.

“It’ll be hard,” Yuuri says after a while.

“I know.”

“I’m a very difficult person to be around.”

“Debatable, but I still want to be by your side.”

“We won’t be able to meet up much, being skaters from different countries.”

“We’ll work it out.”

“I’m a very jealous person.”

“And I’m a very clingy one.”

Yuuri laughs. “Are you, are you really serious about this?” he asks. Viktor nods.

“The most serious I’ve ever been outside of skating.”

“Then… I’ll try my best.”

“That’s all I could ever wish for.”

-o-

“So,” Viktor says after a relatively long hugging session outside the skating rink. “Is the offer still open?”

“Hmm?” Yuuri blinks sleepily. “What offer?”

“You asked if a kiss would make me feel better,” Viktor tells him and Yuuri’s face turns red.

“I… did,” he says carefully. He looks up at Viktor and sees that his eyes are glittering.

“A kiss would definitely make me feel better,” Viktor says and Yuuri laughs, looping an arm around Viktor’s neck to pull him into a kiss.

-o-

At Worlds, a reporter asks Yuuri, “Are the rumors true? Are you and Viktor Nikiforov actually dating?”

Yuuri catches Viktor’s eye from across the hall and waves. Viktor blows him a kiss, making him smile.

“Yes,” Yuuri answers the reporter. “We’re dating.”

[republicstandard]

9 Top Tips For Surviving Twitter As A Right Wing Thought Criminal

Should you decide to enlist in the culture war hosted on the Twitter-dot-com hellscape (where every day is Hamburger Hill), there are some things that you need to learn and apply in order to survive to tweet another day. Welcome to boot camp, you scrubs and noobs.

(function(w,d,s,i){w.ldAdInit=w.ldAdInit||[];w.ldAdInit.push({slot:10817585113717094,size:[0, 0],id:"ld-7788-6480"});if(!d.getElementById(i)){var j=d.createElement(s),p=d.getElementsByTagName(s)[0];j.async=true;j.src="//cdn2.lockerdomecdn.com/_js/ajs.js";j.id=i;p.parentNode.insertBefore(j,p);}})(window,document,"script","ld-ajs");

1. Choose Your Fighter

You, dear-never-ever-before-user of Twitter should take the time to read the Terms of Service. There are a plethora of words and behaviors that can get you booted from the platform and all of them are vaguely explained with the broadest interpretation possible. Once you've read Twitters soul sucking list of obligatory rules that severely limit your speech while protecting it for the people you cross intellectual swords with in the idea war, you are ready to build your player.

As Twitter is becoming pretty censorious, I'm also on: Gab: https://t.co/TrQ2JW4sAI YouTube: https://t.co/1NfMOYwkbF FB: https://t.co/zeAtcHTDcf WT: https://t.co/xs18l5Tpkc pic.twitter.com/EkVtklMN10

— Orwell & Goode 🇨🇱 (@OrwellNGoode) May 14, 2018

The limits are on the far end of infinity. You may choose to be a cute doggo, or perhaps an ms-paint frog or toad, an oft overlooked historical figure, a painting, or a parody of a living or dead celebrity with a morbidly hilarious twist. Your creativity in creating your avatar and name has a moment to really shine here but whatever you do, don't choose your own face and name because some of the people you talk to want to kill you. Or, at least completely ruin your life so that you will do it yourself. This is not an exaggeration. Rest in peace, Andrew.

2. Your first tweet

Oh good. You decided to stick around.

For the love all that is holy do not tweet using the hashtag #MyFirstTweet. It's very tempting, I know, but as it's your very first tweet, everyone you run across will already know it's your very first ever tweet on account of there being no previous tweets preceding it. The new friends that you make today will use this tweet to let their friends know that you have taken the monumental step of becoming a brand new Twitter user; so do make it snappy and full of wit, let your personality shine. For goodness sake understand that the monsters that want you dead use the search feature and the hashtag #MyFirstTweet to hunt down brand new baby right wing accounts to have them aborted. Much like they screech about needing the "freedom" to do to actual humans in the streets, wearing nothing but pink knit double peak hats and their own undercoat of rapist-repellent blubber.

Yeah. I went there. Bring it.

3. Follow carefully

Despite the disgusting urchins that lurk about bandying their rotund degeneracy on #findom, the mountain of actual pedophiles that will try to convince you they are the good guys, and the entirety of #blacktwitter, Twitter is actually a very friendly place and you are bound to make lots of wholesome friends fast; especially if you have never ever been on the platform before, not even once.

Exercise restraint in your tender first few days and resist following back your new friends too quickly as this will result in a “shadowban" or will prompt Big Brother to underhandedly investigate your phone number under the guise of checking to see if you're human, as if robots can't be programmed to use a phone. I suggest just a few follows per hour- keeping it under 100 for the first day. Apparently, according to Ze Bluebird Gestapo, having like minded friends is the same thing as terrorism and you will be gulaged for it. Yes, I'm mixing up Nazi and Communist metaphors in the same sentence. Don't @ me.

4. Personal Security

You need to download and use a VPN. The animals you will run across will pull cute little stunts, like e-drag you into an argument by calling you completely true things as if they are an insult, and acting as if per capita is a flavor of snow cone only people who hate communism can taste. and then drop a link as if they are proving a point, but in reality is an IP address snatcher which is used to find out who and where you are, instead of just answering the question about why 13% of the population commits over 54% of all violent crime.

Next you will want to turn on the double authentication feature, because as soon as you say something true, some cyber-SJW is going to start jaw-jacking from the monumental sugar rush from powdered donuts and 17 cases of orange flavored Mountain Dew and try to hack your account. In the same vein, make certain your email address is hidden and that you aren't using @YourRealEmailAddress as your handle. For your password, use a ridiculous combination of letters and numbers that have no connection to your actual life- which the hideous banshees and their he-minions are trying to end. Am I hammering that point home enough?

Remember to self care today. And be kind. And always punch Nazis.

— Emma Evans (@TrancewithMe) June 28, 2018

Finally, delete the phone number you used to set up your account. You may need it later and it would be sad if it were already occupied.

5. Get a Thesaurus

I've said it before but it bears repeating; get a thesaurus. Contrary to popular belief, you are in fact allowed to talk about objective biological realities, religion, the various systems of government in the world, criticize certain groups of rootless manipulative cabals of wandering tribal people without getting suspended if you follow three simple rules.

Frame and maintain the conversation.

Use uncommon synonyms.

Subtlety can be volatile.

It goes without saying that a debate isn't won until it changes someone's mind. Minds can't be won if the conversation gets deleted. Since mein feind maintains control of the flow of information via control of the media, what you say on twitter could be the final straw that bends the balance of someone's mind to the right. We want that, we need that, especially as the left gets more unhinged.

Understand that the globo-tech complex is happy to assist in the restriction of speech through the creation of algorithms and databases in which words are input and some alert dings off in some rainbow diversity cheeto cheese powder crusted dungeon sticky with sips drips where some slack eyed Gollum pushes the ban button; and you're suddenly on the other side of a suspension. One such word is “retard” and there are many more. Aside from minority reporting, there are particular words and phrases searched just to report wrong-thinking accounts. A small price to pay to cleanse the universe of criticism that may mean people have to self-reflect and experience personal growth and take responsibility for their lives, the horror.

Take what you want to say, leave off the slurs, play around with synonyms and you can take a blatant violation of ToS and turn it into poetic philosophy. If you're intent on low brow trolling, I don't blame you, but I'll miss you when you're gone.

6. Engaging the Enemy

Never engage a hostile. There I said it, my legal obligations have been met. You cannot blame me for what you do with the following entirely hypothetical thought experiment. This article is satire and not for use by anyone, ever. I warned you.

If have attracted a swarm of busy-body detractors through the use of hashtags, do yourself a solid and check their bio and follower count. If their bio contains and reference to #resist just block them, they are there for one purpose and it's to bait you into a violation of ToS. Similarly, if they have 0 or 1 followers it is a sock account of a #resist account. If they have less than 50 followers they have nothing to say, no one likes them anyway, and they just want your attention.

Doxxxing is officially endorsed by Twitter dot comhttps://t.co/aPr8KZAO65

— These tweets are endorsed by this site. (@EndorsedTweets) June 21, 2018

To engage a hostile blue check mark I recommend to avoid placing your extra-spicy tweet on the thread under their tweet. Instead, drop a teaser; then quote tweet the azure-ticked parasite and drop your main show, curtain call, and encore onto your own wall. Most of the people who sit around deriving sexual pleasure from the fantasy of Nazi scalp-hunting haunt the timelines of these verified whine bags, just waiting for you to show up to report your ‘spouts of hate’. Or, as I like to call them, incontrovertible but inconvenient truths.

7. Types of bans and what to do

You are going to get banned at some point. Deal with it.

Shadowban: this is triggered by following too fast, liking too much, retweeting too often, being too active when new, using too many hashtags, using popular hashtags in multiple tweets, and just for the random inconvenience because you're found to be guilty by association. Your options are to take a break, or power through it. There is some theory that these shadowbans are on timers of 1, 3, 5, 12, and 24 hours and that tweeting resets the timer and extends the discomfort. If you have triggered one you will experience a sudden drop in interaction and may think that your friends are ignoring you. They likely just aren't getting your notifications. If you want to check, DM a friend and ask them to tell you if your notifications are coming through. DO NOT use a shadowban checker website, it's believed that these are run by la resistance, and may put your account at risk; or at least in a database to be watched closely. In any case, shadowbans are usually temporary and you'll be back to normal before you know it. It's worth noting that more shadowbanning occurs during certain news cycles like mass casualty events, terror attacks, and when the President does something noteworthy.

Permanent Shadowban: On rare occasions the shadowban never goes away. I don't know what to do about it but if you have some verifiable information regarding this, please contact me or Republic Standard.

12 hour, 24 hour, and 7 day temporary restrictions: Oooh you bad bad boy! Looks like you broke ToS and had to delete some tweets. You should have followed my advice. Tsk tsk. You can DM your mutual followers, participate in DM groups and you can share tweets from the timeline to the DMs, and block accounts. You cannot like, retweet, or share pictures nor can you follow anyone. There's nothing you can do about this; you're stuck like Chuck, whoever he is. There's no use getting your panties in a twist over it though, it's a good time to get to know your friends a little better one on one and perhaps even explore the possibility of meeting in person. It's an isolating online experience but you do have a little time to reflect on what you can do to refine your technique.

Suspension: Sadly, anything after 7 days and you're gone. Finished. Never to be seen from ever again. No coming back from this, George. It's over. Finito. Buh bye. Later gator. Basically dead. Sayonara. Ciao.

Aren't you glad you remembered to delete your phone number?

8. Opsec

I wish I didn't have to go there, but I have to go there. Even if you have a pure, hate-free, friendly account that never runs the risk of crossing ToS, you still aren't out of the frying pan.

Being right wing has painted a big old target on your back and some of the people aiming arrows at you are going to look a lot like friends, and potential lovers.

Infiltration isn't a new tactic. On anonymous Twitter it's not even particularly hard. Despite the fact that most people who try are hilariously bad at it, some aren't. Despite all the accurate memes about the left being dumb and useless, when it comes to operational security the left is a decade ahead of the right. Whether you agree with the ideas of real-world rallies or not, we have to come to the understanding that social media platforms are not secure places to organize such things. Unite the Right organizers just managed to doxx themselves because they could not get this very simple idea into their skulls. If it isn't on a website you control from the code up and you are operating military grade hardware, it's not even remotely close to secret. Stop thinking that it is.

Hey hey hey time to get doxxed by antifa from using discord YEEEEAAAA BOIIIII https://t.co/zZ3kO54Wmg

— Pikawubz (@pikawubz) May 8, 2018

Don't share your photos, too much detail about your location, or too much detail about your life. If you choose to trust someone, make sure it's mutual. As difficult as it is to imagine loyalties do change. Ideological commitment under certain conditions like bribery, threats of doxxing, or a broken heart, can be overcome. Don't forget that this is an ideological war and the stakes are high.

(function(w,d,s,i){w.ldAdInit=w.ldAdInit||[];w.ldAdInit.push({slot:10817587730962790,size:[0, 0],id:"ld-5979-7226"});if(!d.getElementById(i)){var j=d.createElement(s),p=d.getElementsByTagName(s)[0];j.async=true;j.src="//cdn2.lockerdomecdn.com/_js/ajs.js";j.id=i;p.parentNode.insertBefore(j,p);}})(window,document,"script","ld-ajs");

9. You are not alone

You've made it this far, and this following section truly is the most important part. You have found a warm community of the brightest minds, kindest hearts and most determined people I have ever known to exist. Yeah, we have our in-fights and squabbles; what family doesn't? Helping one another to discover truths that have been hidden from us, fight for a future we want and need, through tough times, and sharing laughter, anger, fears and frustrations bonds us together. If you are ever in a situation where you feel isolated, reach out. If you feel despondent, reach out. If you are being threatened, reach out. We are here for each other. You never have to be alone again.

Happy tweeting. See you in the trenches.

from Republic Standard | Conservative Thought & Culture Magazine https://ift.tt/2lK24gP via IFTTT

[justaglasscreature]

My Story

Hey Charlotte,

I love what your doing with this community project and I can't pass up the opportunity to take part. I've elected to share what I have to say with you via email because going into this, I have no idea what I'm going to say, but I've promised myself to be completely honest and hold nothing back, and I don't know how personal it's going to get. Maybe I'll share it publicly on Patreon afterwards, or maybe not. Either way, here goes...

I suppose a good place to start would be the story of how I came to find you, who and where I was in the moments before, and just why it is that you and your work have come to mean so much to me. And if it seems like I'm starting to get off topic, forgive me, I promise I'll get to the point eventually.

But I grew up in the church. For my whole life, God and religion and Christianity were always a really big part of my reality, but especially so after I moved to Panama City when I was about to turn 15. And maybe in my tone, when I write and speak about this time, I say it like it's a bad thing, and I don't mean to come across that way. Because I truly loved it. When my father, sister and I moved here while my mother stayed behind to keep her job and maintain an income until we got settled, the three of us made a plan to take two months and try out four different churches in the new town, two weeks apiece, and decide which one to make our home out of. Halfway through the first week of the first church, we all looked at each other and said, "This is it; we've found it." 

And for the next two years, it was our home. I felt that I belonged and I felt a part of something. Something that explained the world around me and made sense out of difficult questions. Something that gave me purpose and meaning, and told me that I was priceless, worth dying for even. During this time, the youth ministry was extremely important to me. The majority of my friends were people that I knew from there, and the youth pastor became almost like a second father to me. I sought his wisdom on issues that troubled my heart and we navigated them together. It was one of the closest relationships I had known until that point.

And then disaster struck.

The youth pastor (who I don't mind calling by name in this context, considering how far removed you are from everyone involved; his name was xxxxxx.) had two young daughters. One was brand new, probably less than a year old, and the other was three. One thing that's important to know is that up until this point, I was very good with children, and everyone knew that. I loved them and they loved me. One of the things that I spent a large portion of my time on in the church was serving in the children's ministry: teaching Bible stories and leading arts and crafts, or even just looking after the young ones in the nursery. xxxxxx's 3 year old daughter and I had somewhat of a relationship. She was a very shy child and had taken almost the entire 2 years to come around, but was beginning to open up and interact and play with me within the last several months. 

On the night of Dec 19, 2014, a Friday, the high school students in the youth were having a Christmas party at the home of one of the families in the church. We had held several events there in the past, and it wasn't uncommon for me to arrive a little early and keep the little ones occupied while the adults set things up to get ready. This night was no exception, and the youth pastor's daughter and I set into our routine of playing with the toy kitchen set that she adored. She'd serve me plastic pizza and cookies, and I'd hide them behind my back when she wasn't looking and I'd go on and on about how yummy it all was. As it happened, the toy kitchen set was back in another room, and it wasn't out of the ordinary for us to go back there to play. No one batted an eye, and xxxxxx would walk back occasionally to be sure that everything was going well. 

On one such occasion, he came back to check on things, saw something that he misinterpreted, and quickly said that it was time to do something else. The rest of the night, he acted normally and all seemed well. Then the next Tuesday, two days before Christmas, my father called me. He said that he had left work early and was on his way to pick me up from the house because he'd received a phone call and I was expected at the Sheriff's office for some questions. Neither of us knew what it was about, but it sounded serious.

When I got there, I was told that xxxxxx had turned in a complaint, and had accused me of making inappropriate advances on this young child. And I'm hesitant to tell people about this because even though nothing came of it legally, and even though I could explain the entire thing, sometimes accusations alone do more to a reputation than uncovering the truth. 

In the coming weeks, a chain of events unfolded, and a number of people handled situations in ways that I would come to hold against them for a period of time during the following years. At the end of it all, it was determined that no legal charges would be pressed, and I was cleared on that front, but it was decided that it would no longer be appropriate for my family to attend or in any way make contact with the church that had become our home.

And what's important about this is timing. Because like I said, I came to xxxxxx about issues that were heavy on my heart, and he was my mentor. And only a couple of weeks before all this started, I had come to him and said that I was questioning my faith as a whole. I had realized that I only believed what I did because I always had, because my parents did, because when I was young it wasn't presented to me as belief, but as fact and I was never given a choice. I told him that I had never independently chosen to accept my beliefs and for the first time in my life, I felt that they weren't my own. And at the time, that frightened me. We had just agreed to meet regularly and to discuss these things from a theistic point of view, and then suddenly he was gone.

At first, this felt like a terrible loss. After a month or two, my family finally found a new church, but I never settled into it. During that time, I continued to question my faith, beginning down a path that would lead be to leave it behind entirely. 

Right about here is where you come in. It was early summer of 2015, some months after these events, and I was still struggling to come to grips. I found myself confused about the world around me, and locked in a hellish fight with anxiety, panic attacks, and a constant state of unease. I had just discovered Spotify and spent most of my time listening to music on it (I still do). I loved to discover new music by going artist by artist, and looking at the "similar artists" page and clicking one after the other after the other until I found myself listening to something completely different from where I started. One day I did this, starting with a favorite band of mine named Sigur Ros. After about an hour and a half, I was listening to an artist named Melissa Horn. I'd always loved listening to music in other languages, that way I could hear a song and have only the emotion come through, leaving me to project my own personal significance onto it. But I'd never heard anyone sing in Swedish. Her voice, though, was so beautiful and so soft and connected so deeply with something within me that I waited two weeks for a used CD to be shipped to me from a young man in China because I couldn't find it anywhere else. 

At the time, I was much more active on Twitter than I am now, and that July, I sent out a tweet, saying something to the effect of  "I don't care if you don't speak Swedish, I don't either, but everyone needs to listen to this album right now." An hour later, a notification appeared, saying that the tweet had been liked by this random person calling herself The Glass Child. I ignored it at first, and that was nearly that. Later in the day, I became curious over who it was, and investigated the twitter account. When I saw "songwriter" in the description, I scoffed and said hmph, I've never heard of you. I opened my trusty Spotify, expecting there to be no such thing as an artist called The Glass Child, and to walk away laughing. I found you though, and that was a turning point in my story. After listening to the first 10 seconds of a couple of songs, quickly browsing through, I put on a pair of headphones to listen more closely, and I pushed play on a little song called Heroes. 

In minutes, I was speechless. In that moment, I felt so small. Here was a boy alone in his grandfather's workshop while the old man was inside napping, tears welling in his eyes at the words of an artist he didn't believe existed moments before. After having spent months asking myself where to turn, what to believe, and who to follow, I stumbled on the first answer that seemed viable. xxxxxx wasn't enough anymore. My father wasn't enough anymore. The shell of a god that I had put to rest was no longer enough. I was being told then and there to follow the heroes, who're telling me to walk on on my own. That as long as I am moving, I'm right on the path I make. That I'm right where I belong. I made my own path, and I followed only those heroes whom I chose to follow. It took me quite some time to find any others, but I immediately had one hero to follow. And it was a brave little soul called the glass child.

In the coming weeks, I found all that I could, just little quotes and excerpts from goodreads or brainyquote from Charlotte Eriksson, while I waited on your first book to arrive in the mail. And I saw someone who had begun to live the life I thought I was crazy for dreaming about. I couldn't tell you how often I thought about, "how easy would it be to just take one bag I can carry on my back, buy a bus ticket and just leave all this bullshit behind?" That was never the answer or the right path for me to take, and I'm glad I stuck it out to see myself come to where I am today, but to finally see someone else not only thinking the same thing, but acting on it, made me finally feel again that I wasn't alone, that I wasn't crazy. 

And since then, it's been an incredible honor to watch you grow along even these most recent couple of years on this journey. Having started with I Must Be Gone as my first Glass Child album, and going back to the previous work, I got the chance to see and hear what I needed at the time; someone who wasn't afraid to ignore the system or the normal way of doing things and become fiercely independent. But through Under Northern Skies, and your writings and chats and vlogs since, to see you turn into someone who's beginning to find peace, beginning to find a home in this world, has become what I've needed over time as well. Over the past two years, watching your growth has facilitated my own. You remind me that not every day is going to be a day when you feel that you're at your best, but that it's all just a part of it and a new opportunity will come. Your voice stills my heart when it's slipping away from me, and your words remind me of where I am. I hope I've shed more light on what I mean when I tell you I'm grateful for you.

But I'd like to address another part of what you've asked us for, because it speaks to me and it's a part of what I have to say that I think others are more likely to be able to relate to. You've asked about what keeps us up at night, and I hate how quickly the answer comes to mind. 

I don't suppose I'm very good at relationships, and though I've been learning that that's okay, it troubles me. And the thoughts that I can't shake when I'm staring at the ceiling are thoughts of a past lover. I've only ever had two of them; one was incidentally at around the same time I discovered you, and the other was about a year ago. Neither relationship lasted nearly as long as I expected. In fact, retrospectively, you could say that they never really got off the ground. But the latter one haunts me.

And again, because you're so far removed from everyone involved, I don't mind telling you her name, if for no other reason than for ease of storytelling. Her name was -------. I suppose from an objective, outside view, there was nothing really noteworthy about our relationship. We went to school together every year since I moved to town, and I think we both admired one another from afar, but never really knew each other well enough for anything to develop. As school ended and graduation approached, we began to speak and probably got far too close, far too quickly. But at the time, I planned to move out of town for college while she planned to stay local. When those plans fell through and I learned that I'd be staying as well, we began to take the idea of a relationship seriously for the first time. 

And from then on, it was the biggest cliche anyone's ever heard. It was cheesy and it was innocent and it was cute. She was out of town vacationing with her family for the summer, but we talked on the phone for hours every night. We didn't want to "officially" become a couple until she got back to town and we were sure we had the same chemistry in person. On our first date, I was an hour and a half late after an unexpectedly long day at work, but she still smiled like the moon when she saw me and my shame, fear and nerves melted instantly. We visited the spot that night where all the local old folks did karaoke and I sang her Frank Sinatra. A week later, our first kiss happened under literal fireworks on Independence Day. If it was fiction, no one would ever read it because it was too fantastic and didn't seem real. 

And just as it started to feel as if things were starting to settle into normal, the rush of something new had given way to a certain steadiness, like we were preparing to last over time, it ended out of the blue. It was her idea at first, and I tell myself now that after talking, it became mutual, but I still don't really know if that's true or not. But if one thing's certain, it was on good terms. She even asked to stay friends at first. I was hesitant because I've heard all the stories and I'd heard that staying friends never works. Eventually, though, I decided to give it a try, and learned firsthand that all the stories are true. 

I'm still not sure what happened, other than that it was my fault. I'm notorious for overthinking, and I let my fears get ahead of me. Ultimately, my fears of being too much of a burden for her to handle in her life became a self fulfilling prophecy, and she asked for some breathing room. That hurt for a longer time than I was comfortable with. And even now, its been twelve and a half months, and I don't think I've gone a day without her crossing my mind. That makes me uncomfortable as well. We've spoken a few times; I found an old book that I knew she'd love and she agreed to meet up so I could give it to her. She runs a crafting business and I've picked up a few orders because her stuff is actually really nice. I got a little tipsy on New Year's and called her when I shouldn't have. And every time, it's gotten a little easier, she's been a little warmer, but I don't think we'll ever be on "speaking terms," regularly again.

And I suppose that I'm left grappling with all the what if's and the possibilities that never came to fruition. Because ultimately, we knew each other for far too short a time for her to still be as big a part of my thoughts as she is now. I don't think either of us were at our best emotionally or mentally, and there just wasn't room for one another. What if I'd spoken to her two years earlier when I first noticed her? What if we were both doing a little better when we met? What if I'd known what to say to navigate through the difficulty and be enough even at the time? I know that these are absurd questions, and that there's nothing I could have done, and that it borders on insulting even to think in that way. But I look back and I feel as though we were just objectively good for one another, even just on a level of compatibility with all external factors aside. I remember resting beside her and being absolutely in awe of the fact that another rising pair of lungs could fill my every need and desire in the world. How the heavy eyelids beside mine could make it so that nothing else mattered, nothing else could touch me. And I suppose that she just set a high bar for love. That everyone I meet from now on, I'll keep comparing to her, that she'll be the gold standard that I missed out on. 

And I hear myself think these thoughts and I read them back as I've put them into words and I recognize that everyone who's lived on this spinning rock before me has felt this way, that this isn't unique, but that doesn't make it any more clear what I should do, where to go from here, or how to break this pattern of my thoughts. I know that I loved her. I believe that she loved me. I know that I remember her fondly. I know that she'll always have a piece of my heart, and I accept that that piece is hers to keep. I just wish that I could reclaim my mind from her. But until I learn to do that, ------- keeps me up at night. This is probably the longest email I've ever sent you and I know you promised to read everything, but gosh I'm making you work at it. The truth is there's loads more I could ramble about for hours, but I think this is a good place to leave it. I hope this is what you were looking for. 

Thanks for being you; love you. D. Roncaglione.