#gray background art b upon ya

[4filen0tfound4]

Lmk stuff I haven't posted here yet :3

[soranihimawari]

day 1: shenanigans

foxes den shenanigan (1)

summary: snippets into the slice of life of being one of the few young women who interact with the inarizaki volleyball club. every member is all tough on the outside until they meet kira, yn: the one who had been neighbors with the miya twins all her life. her best friend, nakiri-chan, is convinced at least once in their life all three of them (osamu, kira, and atsumu) had loved each other. this mini series is a going to be a little reflective, a little dramatic, and overall deals with themes of growing up to learn the difference of love. 

genre: slice of life/ angsty-teen love/ rated pg-15+ for language and juxtopostional humour. 

<< |master list| >>

-------[Inarazaki High School, 11:47 a.m.]-------

“you can’t be serious,” my best friend’s voice of disbelief tells me. we were on lunch break when we decided to head to the vending machines by the gym. there were various students talking amongst themselves buzzing with excitement for the annual art festival. 

“oh, but i am,” i said. i took a deep breath when i gripped her shoulders. upon my exhale i nodded.

“b-but your class representative said your homeroom was putting together a maid cafe all because she found out you know how to bake?”

“i blame the last bake sale my cooking club did to raise funds for a new mixer. all the members of the boys’ volleyball team bought a bag of my ‘cosmic star’ cookies.“

“i see. well, it can’t be all that bad, right? if you’re going to be the one coming up with the menu and the baked treats, you don’t really have to wear the maid outfit.”

i hum in response when i place my bill into the machine. the vending machine rumbles before dropping my can of mango nectar. once she buys her drink, she and i head back to our class on the third floor; before we separate, she wishes me luck with coming up with the menu.

“so, what did you have in mind kira-chan?”

“macaroons and maybe tarts. i don’t know what kind yet though. i’ll see ya after classes are over so we can walk home together. later nakiri-san!”

***

the day of the festival approached even faster than you had thought. after many attempts at making various macaroon flavors and tart ideas that paired well with the boba-styled drinks being served, me and the other bakery/cafe volunteers were ready for business. the other students in your class were divided between servers and baristas. the girls and boys who were selected as the maids and butlers were thankfully the only ones that had to wear the full garb. since it was the day before the festival, i decided to do a sampling of the sweets i chose to make for the servers and baristas so they can help our prospective customers tomorrow with describing the menu items. my fellow classmates, the team of five standing next to me (our bakers team consisted of six), were able to try out their own treats and thanked me for showing them how to make the treats. aside from macaroons and cookies, we collectively added two parfait flavors: one was strawberry themed for our school colors and the other was themed around sunset colors.

before the meeting was adjourned, i breathed a sigh of relief upon hearing the news from our class rep up until she mentioned something about the bakery staff wearing cat ears and other nicknacks of cafe worker approved jewelry. when i got home that evening, i screamed into my pillow to relieve some excess stress over the maid cafe. 

i immediately called my neighbor and although i wasn’t expecting him to answer the phone, i felt relief wash over me when i heard his normal greeting on the other end:

“miya residence and no, atsumu isn’t the better twin.”

i chuckled at his statement. after years of living next door to them, i can only say that miya osamu was right (also, he was the first person to express the same level of joy in cooking for others). he immediately cleared his throat when he heard me laugh.

“ahem. oh, hey kira-san. what’s up?”

i am not surprised i heard a short lived scuffle in the background as well as atsumums “ack!” in the background followed by a soft thud that only chucking a pillow could have made.

“osamu? it’s me. say, do you still have the cat ear hair clips from last halloween?”

***

the festival was in full swing: streamers lined the hallways as the people visiting came to enjoy what our school had to offer. i heard from nakiri that her class voted on doing a paint by numbers mural. other classes in our year were doing their renditions of living portraits and face painting. apparently, my class along with our neighbors across the hall divided up the cafeteria to encompass both a savory restaurant booth along with our class’ maid cafe. 

i was busy with the other members of my team making sure orders were being ran on time while placing the finishing touches for the treats on the tray. even though i was allowed to wear my pistaschio green chef coat, i couldn’t get away with just wearing a macaroon earrings. to push my bangs back, i had a pair of cat ears clipped into my hair. 

“shift change kira-san!” my class rep’s voice said in an exuberant manner. she was in charge of patrolling the hallway trying to gather more guests to come into our side of the cafeteria. business was steady to say the least, but i recalled i had signed up to take over the advertising part once hers was over. 

“ok! can you give me a few minutes? i need to fix my make up real quick.”

elsewhere, the members of the inarizaki volleyball team were seen wandering around campus enjoying the festival. the twins along with suna had long sinced branched off and found nakiri’s class. 

“hey guys! come to paint?” she offered them a sponge brush and a little to-go container. 

“isn’t kira-chan supposed to be with you?” osamu asked perplexed i wasn’t near by.

“yeah, aren’t you two joined at the hip?” his brother chimed in. nakiri rolled her eyes at the blond before shaking her head. 

“oh? you didn’t hear?” nakiri asked slightly taken aback by his question.

right at that moment, nakiri pointed behind the boys toward where i was standing speaking with over festival goers who were looking at the menu for my class’ cafe. i had a smile on my face when the guests mentioned they’d absolutely stopped by for a refreshing treat. when they waved their good bye to me, i was suddenly greeted by a different family who asked what i would recommend for their five year old (while they would opt for teas, their child really wanted something sweet). after asking a few questions (are they allergic to anything? does their child prefer strawberries or oranges? etc), i pointed out our strawberry parfait as a great option for them to all share. 

“i heard one class chose to do a dessert cafe, but i didn’t think it would be a maid cafe,” rintarou stated flatly. he took the paint and the brush from nakiri before stepping inside to paint his section of the mural. on the other hand, the blond twin elbowed his brother. there was a teasing glint in his eyes. 

“kira-san looks really cute, doesn’t she ‘samu?”

nakiri caught on to how pink the gray haired twin’s cheek became when his brother teased him. for the life of him, osamu couldn’t help but wonder why his neighbor called him asking to borrow the cat ear clips the night prior and now it was all making sense. 

“shut it atsumu.”

“hmm,” nakiri hummed. she tapped her index finger on her lips in thought. “my shift is almost over for the hour, so why don’t we all go visit the cafe, yeah?”

***

“oh my god!” 

my class rep burst through the kitchen doors again when my shift was over causing me to almost drop the parfait in my hands. i had successfully placed the dessert on the tray. one of the front of house staff members gripped her shoulders to calm her down a bit. thankfully, none of the ingrients toppled over, but we did lose a cookie straw in the process.

“breathe class rep,” i saidx. i was trying really hard to not laugh at her panicked expresion. “what’s going on?”

“h-hot miya twins outside.” 

that was all i needed to hear before i pinched the bridge of my nose before cursing my best friend and her family nine generations back for slipping out my secret assignment for the festival.

seeing my neighbors through the window of the kitchen swing doors was honestly the last thing i needed today, but of course we couldn’t always win the fortune of the gods. mumbling a quick, ‘the gods are testing me again,’ caused one of the cooks to snicker. to be fair, i could live without the thought of hearing atsumu’s teasing jokes or osamu’s sass, but alas, i did not win fortune’s favor that hour. also, this was the last outfit they’d expect to see me in because half of the volleyball team had tried (keyword:tried) to get me into a maid outfit for y e a r s. that campaign stopped as soon as shinsuke became captain.

“they’re asking for you to serve them too,” the front of house manager said when he walked into the kitchen shortly thereafter. i was having a good day up until this turn of events, and although it took every fiber of my being to not kill those two, i realized i should handle this in an appropriate manner. i mentioned i’ll handle it relinquishing my duties to my second. 

when i walked outside, i noticed that not only were my twin neighbors outside, they also sent a text to their entire team asking to visit the cafe area. i calmly turn my lips upward in a saccharine smile as i approached their table. it’s the same familiar smile which caused atsumu and osamu’s blood to run cold; they knew i was pissed as soon as i let the spirit of customer service take over my body.

“welcome to the foxes’ den masters,” i greeted them with a bow. “how may i be of service?”

atsumu’s eyes bounced back and forth between me and his brother who seemed to have found the parfaits description very interesting. 

“can i order something off the menu?” atsumu asked in a teasing way. if looks could kill, i’d sent the setter back home with a killer bruise on his shoulder, yet I remember how violence is frowned upon at a festival.

seeing as i did not object to his question when i replied with, “if it is your wish master.”

“can i buy an hour of your time from ya for my dearest younger brother?”

i blinked caught off guard by his forwardness on his twin’s behalf. all of our patrons had ceased speaking to other members of their parties after hearing his proposal. where was a pillow when i needed to scream into one? all color drained from osamu’s face. nakiri looked just as shocked as i was mouthing a ‘sorry’ toward me; she gave me an encouraging smile. (it’s been four years since both of the miya siblings gifted me friendship chocolates on white day as an apology for poking fun at my wacky homemade candies. my parental figure thought it would have been nice to make some for the neighbors’ twins in middle school.) 

my smile disappeared while i pondered my answer to the setter’s eager eyes. to spare both osamu and i further embarrassment, I spoke the first thing that came to my mind:

“if that is what your brother wishes, young master, then he should ask me himself,” i said kindly.

this caught osamu’s attention real quick; his eyes snapped up at me with a curious stare. suna had his phone out obviously documenting the whole thing. i tilt my head to the side and posed my hands under my chin prentending to think before i shrugged.

“he should also know that my shift ends at five-thirty and he should meet me here if he doesn’t mind walking me home. now, if you’ll excuse me, i have to garnish table seven’s parfaits.”

the murmurs of conversations began up again once i bowed and took my leave back into the kitchen. the last thing i heard was nakiri laughing as atsumu exclaimed that they were seated at the table i mentioned and osamu claiming that he’d kill his brother for fourth time that day. 

“i’ll have you know that i could have asked her at any time right?” osamu seethed. “i don’t need you to line up dates for me.”

“yeah, yeah. you hate me, i hate you. we punch each other a little, and then you get to date kira since you’re clearly not going to do anything about this one sided love you think you two have,” atsumu said before resting his chin on his hand. suna caught what atsumu said all on the video he was recording, including nikiri’s stunned face.

“woah, back the fun bus up. seriously?!” she asked. “no wonder kira had been acting a bit more strictly with her recipes lately. look at the little drawings on the menu.”

she was quick to point out the little drawings of the chibi macaroons (“one was blueberry the other was mango orange, a silent reference to you three’s friendship,” she briefly explained) the design team made and colored.

“must be true, look at how red his cheeks are becoming & i don’t think that’s because of anger,” suna replied.

“c‘ mon, let’s go.” atsumu suggests, rising from the table. “i suddenly recall having passed by the boardwalk games section. osamu, you stay here and tell me what i should order.”

—to be continued—

[nowitsdarkfic]

chapter fifteen (subterranean pop)

“You got a kiss for me, it hits me hard; you got a fist for me, you love so hard. My hands on my head, your words are like arrows; my hands on my head, there's permanent damage.” -”Head Injury”, Soundgarden

October 15, 1988. Interstate 5 between Portland, Oregon and Seattle, Washington.

“Hang on, Joe.”

There are no seat belts in Nancy’s car except for the one that goes over my waist there at the base of the seat; in other words, every time she hits the brakes on a patch of traffic or a curve, I have to hold onto the door panel to keep myself from flying forward right into the dashboard. I raise my knees up and slide down into the seat when she goes around a tight corner. It’s only an hour and a half trip up there but it’s going to be quite long from all of the fact I’m holding onto the car for dear life. But on the other hand, the soft rich red interior of her car is pristine and carries with it a faint smell of lilac, and is as silent as a cold, still winter morning following a blizzard.

I’m amazed by the vast stretch of lush greenery on either side of us on the way up to Seattle: upon leaving Portland, I catch glimpses of Mount Hood and then Mount St. Helens off in the distance, both of them surrounded by wispy cold gray clouds: I wish part of those clouds would float over this way and cool things off over here over the highway.

Sometime before reaching the capital city of Olympia, I roll down the window to feel the wind, and it’s still humid and warm outside even if we have moved closer to the ocean. Indian summer, alright.

I push my bangs off of my forehead. I almost inclined to take off my shirt, and in fact, I want to take it off and feel the wind on my chest and on my stomach, but seeing it’s me and Nancy here in the front seat, such a primitive sight can wait.

Mount Rainier rises out from behind a line of tall skinny trees, much to my shock.

“Holy shit,” I blurt out at the very size of the massive cone coated in thick blanket of pure white snow.

“Yeah, Rainier’s big, isn’t she?” Nancy chuckles. In fact, it stays within our view all the way into Olympia and winding our way into Tacoma. The sky is so blue over our heads, and I have never seen it such a way back in New York. I lean forward to check it out better, and then I peek over my shoulder to see Rainier still looming large behind us against the blue sky. I remember the huge eruption down by Mount St. Helens just a few years ago, and I don’t want the big jewel of a city before us to experience the same thing here.

Even from a distance, I can see the Space Needle shooting up from the heart of downtown. So small and nestled down into the earth for a city: it looks smaller than Portland in fact. To our left stands the blue glimmering waters making up the Puget Sound, and past that are two ridges covered in rich green pine trees, and then a row of more snow capped mountains. Nancy and I wind our way through the southern side of Seattle, or Sea-Tac as one sign on the side of the road declares to us. She takes the third exit off of the freeway and we roll down onto the side streets of downtown.

“This kinda reminds me of New York City,��� I remark.

“Not as rough, big, and tough, though,” she adds to it as we pull up to the first stoplight.

“Not at all. It feels a lot... homier, I’d say?”

“Definitely homey here. Here and Portland both.”

She hangs a right and pulls up to a low red brick building with big tinted windows peering out to the street.

“Welcome to the heart of Seattle, Joey,” she says, pressing the button on her key chain and killing the hydrogen engine in front of us. I relax for a moment at the feel of us stopping and I breathe out a sigh of relief. My stomach turns a little bit but sitting there feeling the breeze on my face helps out.

“You okay?” she asks me.

“Yeah... yeah, yeah.” I reach down to unbuckle the seat belt, and climb out to the street to better feel the breeze on my head and my neck. Nancy follows suit on the other side of the car with her purse over her shoulder. I run my fingers through my hair before shutting the door behind me. I round the front of the car, and step onto the sidewalk, and she leads me into the front room which smells of fresh paper and clean carpet. There are three guys and a black girl congregated on the right side of the room: one guy seated in a spindly blue chair, and the other two and the girl around him. They all look like they’re reading something.

“Chris?” Nancy calls out to them. The queasy feeling in my stomach keeps the feeling of butterflies at bay as the guy seated glances up at us.

“This is Joey. He’s a music guy and he wanted to meet you guys.”

He stands to his feet and strides over to us. He’s tall, a little bit taller than me, but he’s got wavy black hair like me and that same default grave expression riddled upon his face. He almost looks like me, albeit a little softer than me and his hair doesn’t stick out every which way like mine does, and he’s got larger eyes. He has on a black sweater underneath a dark green flannel shirt, black jeans, and heavy black boots. He reaches out for my hand.

“Joey,” he says in a soft mild voice, “I’m Chris.” His grip is firm but gentle.

“And this is Matt--” The second guy comes up behind him: he’s tall, too, but with long smooth golden blond hair down to his shoulders. He looks strong and fit, much like one of the Grey brothers.

“Music guy, you said, Nan?” he asks her as he takes my hand: he’s firm but gentle himself.

“I’m a singer and a drummer,” I tell them as Matt tucks his hands into his faded denim pocket.

“Oh, that’s bitchin’, man,” Chris compliments me. “You in a band?”

“Used to be. I got fired.” And he winces at that.

“Oh, man,” Matt feels with me. “What for?”

“No idea. No idea at all. I did drink a little bit but I stopped but I guess that wasn’t enough. I dunno what was going through anyone’s minds when the manager called me.”

“We came here because I thought he reminded me of you, Chris,” Nancy fills in, and he nods his head at me.

“It’s funny. You--kinda do. From the hair and the demeanor in particular. Would you like, uh--” He gestures behind him. “--a drink of water or something?”

“Oh, yes please, I got a little carsick coming here.”

“Yep, that’s Nancy’s driving for ya,” he jokes and she rolls her eyes at him. I follow them over to the other two people when Matt turns back to me.

“I like your accent, by the way. You sound like you’re from back East.”

“Upstate New York.”

“Phew, long way from home!” the girl declares at me.

“That’s what I said to him!” Nancy says with a chuckle. “And Joey, this is Matt’s girlfriend and my best friend, Dominique. Dominique, this is Joey. He’s yet another singing drummer.”

She’s a slim lovely girl with a full head of tight black curls and that light black skin with a light sprinkling of freckles over the bridge of her nose. She tilts her head to the side at the sight of me.

“You look familiar,” she remarks.

“I do?”

“He looks like me,” Chris covers for me, and the other guy bursts out laughing.

“Well, aside from that. I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere, like in a music magazine before... I’m studying to be a journalist.”

“She just got back from New York herself,” Matt explains, putting his arm around her.

“Oh, yeah?” I press my hands to my hips.

“Shadowing under a mentor and at the New York Times, no less,” she continues. “I was immersed in a bunch of music culture so I discovered a lot of music--lot of heavy music in particular--and so... I don’t know if I saw you in a magazine as part of it or what, but yeah. You look... very familiar, like I’ve seen your face.”

“You might recognize my voice,” I point out to her. “But we’re in a recording studio right now, so you know--”

“Yeah, there’s another band in there and we’re just waiting for our time slot to open up,” Chris explains. “You know, add... finishing touches to the production and make sure everything’s squared away and whatnot.”

“Oh, right, right--and who’s this guy?” I nod to the fourth member of their party, another blond haired guy but with a large nose like me and beady little eyes.

“I’m their personal mailman,” he says.

“Oh, I see.” And we can’t help but laugh out loud as he sets down a bunch of things on the chair right before he strides out of there.

“Did Nancy tell you that this is our first album, Joey?” Chris asks me.

“I think she did,” I recall, “pretty exciting, ain’t it?”

“Totally,” Matt replies, his face lighting up. “We just got signed, too--we were signed to Sub Pop and then we switched labels for our new record.”

“Sub Pop,” I say aloud.

They all glance at one another with excited expressions on their faces. Dominique gestures me even closer to the chair and the stack of papers in the seat.

“Our little holy Bible of sorts,” she says, picking up the stack, “I see Bruce sent us the last couple of copies, at least that’s what Mark was telling us a bit ago.

“Yeah, here, Joe--check this out.” Nancy gestures to the stack right as Dominique takes out a thin black booklet from near the bottom. It’s a zine, much like After the Watershed.

The thick front cover of the zine reminded me of scratch art with its cavernous black background and pure white silhouettes in the middle. Up in the top left corner, written in thick capitalized letters was “SUB POP 5″. I open the booklet to find several newspaper clippings bookmarking the pages throughout.

“Incredible,” I mutter under my breath as I pick out one near the front. “Oh, he writes about Metallica right here, wow, badass!”

“I think,” she begins again, stooping over to better shuffle through it all, “I think anyways, he might have written about you and your old band, too, if I recall correctly. There was just a lot of shit to learn back East when I was there so it more or less feels like a blur to me.”

“That’s the cool thing about him,” Nancy adds, “about Bruce--Bruce Pavitt--and his team over at Subterranean Pop as they were originally called.”

“Yeah, he doesn’t just write about lesser knowns in places like Seattle and Portland or maybe even people like yourself,” Dominique continues, “but all the punkie type peeps across the nation. It’s because of him that Chris and Matt and their band mates Kim and Hiro are here in this studio right now and they’re putting out our first album on Halloween.”

I slip the clipping back into the booklet before taking out another one from near the back.

“What’s that one?” she asks me as I scan it over.

“From... The Rocket.”

“That’s the last entry he did for the newspaper The Rocket. Like he wrote a column called ‘Sub Pop U.S.A.’ for a while--”

“And then ended it because of the record label,” I finish for her.

“Right, right!” 

“And it’s been a rough road for us, though,” Chris pipes up again, “from all the money lost and whatnot...” I think back to when I was with Anthrax and how we were struggling for money ourselves. I also think about the fact I’m struggling myself.

“This is your first album,” I recall. “For real.”

“Yeah, we already made a couple of EPs, but yeah, this is definitely our first real big thing, though.”

“You guys nervous?”

“A little. I think Kim might be because he’s the one who named it kind of as a joke.”

“As a joke?” I chuckle at that.

“Apparently things are more than mediocre for us. They’re... ultramega OK.”

“Reminds me of a sentiment my old band used to say a couple of years ago, and with kind of the same vibe to it. ‘Nice fucking life.’”

“Nice fucking life!” Matt snaps his eyes shut and imitates an air guitar.

“Now, let’s get you a cup of water,” Chris recalls from before. “I assume you’re not hungry.”

“Nah, I just ate a bunch of pancakes before coming here,” I tell him, patting my stomach.

“I say that ‘cause there’s nothing to eat here. And--pancakes courtesy of Nancy, right?”

“Hell yeah.”

“She makes ‘em--well,” he mouths that last word and flashes me a wink and an okay sign.

“I try my best,” she remarks with another eye roll, but this time with a shy smile to accompany it. “He helps me out a lot when the going gets tough.”

“You’re a lucky girl, Nan,” I tell her with a nod. There’s something about Chris, something that reminds me of myself, and not because we have a similar look to us. I think about this for a minute as he ducks into the next room, and Matt and Nancy start talking about something. Dominique strides up to me with a bright look in her eyes and a smile on her face.

“Joey Belladonna, right?” she asks me.

“Yes.”

“Anthrax, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“See, I thought I remember you from somewhere.”

“Was it ‘nice fucking life’ that tipped you off?”

“Yes! Yes, that was it! I heard about you guys all the time when I was back in New York City. Like you guys were the next big metal band to come out of the East Coast next to Overkill and... Nuclear Assault, too. I think--I brought home a copy of you guys’ latest with me to share it with Kim and Matt later on. State of Euphoria.”

“That’s the one.”

Matt and Nancy fall silent right then.

“Hey, who’s this guy?” she notes. I turn around to find Lars striding up to the front door with a flustered look upon his face.

“What’s he doing here?” I wonder aloud, and I meet up with him there on the other side of the room.

“Hey,” I greet him.

“Hey--”

“What’s going on?”

“I have to tell you something,” he states, out of breath.

“Tell me.”

“Apparently... you remember that wormhole I made over in Black Orchid? The one in the top stairwell? The one I opened up to get you and Maya back to your place?”

“Yes.” I pause for a moment. “What about it?”

“I guess every time you make a wormhole, it doesn’t close up all the way.”

“What’re you--”

He chews on his bottom lip. And then I realize what he’s trying to tell me.

“Oh, my God.”