#is the shrimp a metaphor for win's love

[lethargarian]

Bonus -

[mageofmindfr]

Maid of heart? And can a maid of heart put her splinterself into toys, plushies and any inanimate object?

I don't usually delve into the theoretical powers one would have during a game session unless it's relevant to personality things or is just something I haven't seen mentioned anywhere... but I can definitely try?

We're starting with personality analysis though, I'm still a mage of mind after all.

SO! Starting with the class, maids are a creation class. I believe I've mentioned that before briefly, but now I get to expand that. So, maids are a class that can make more of their aspect out of thin air, pretty much. Aradia seems to be so far the only player we meet that I can think of that therefore uses her classpect in a creative way; when dog-Jack attacks their session right before they win, she stalls him, giving her session... more time. Porrim puzzles me because I can't understand so much of the alpha trolls' session so bear in mind if her actions in their session completely contradict me it's because I actually really dislike most of the alpha trolls and therefore skipped most of their dialogue, apologies in advance.

So, what are maids actually like, then, as a creation class and as people?

Well, for one, maids are pretty goal-oriented people, but in a rather big-picture way. They want an ideal life for themselves and everyone around them, if they can swing it, and aren't afraid to fight for it if that's what it takes; however, in pursuit of a picture where there's nothing apparently wrong, they miss details. They're idealistic enough to think some problems are "less important" for the moment, and can be returned to when everything is "fixed" so to say. It's hard to get a maid to leave the theoretical perfect world behind, because they really want to make just that much of a change; and I'm not saying it's impossible, but Rome wasn't built in a day and the world can't be fixed by one person. I hear a lot of people say sylphs are healers, but it's actually the maids that want to change everything for the better.

Maids aren't afraid to take action, but also tend to turn a blind eye to problems they don't know how to fix. Procrastinators at heart, they want the change to be immediate and are intimidated by lengthy processes; but they're definitely determined. With people at their side telling them to keep going, a maid on a mission can make waves. They're people of very distinct opinions who voice said opinions to anyone willing to listen. They talk with a passion about the change they want to see and can be charismatic about it. Like sylphs, they're great friends to the people around them, but they also tend to be polarizing; you either love hanging out with a maid, or you can't be in the same room as them. And the maid won't change for you, because if their loud exclamations at the world are too much for you, whether you disagree or are simply intimidated by the maid's pure fiery passion for the topic... well, the maid probably wouldn't much like having you around, either.

So, maids are an acquired taste, and are fierce and passionate and very loud about their opinions. What about that aspect, then?

I'll be honest, last time I wrote anything for the heart aspect was my second post here and I was too nervous and tired to go the whole way and write the many paragraphs heart players deserve, so, here we go.

Heart is an aspect that regards the self first and foremost. It's about having a sense of self and experiencing emotions to the fullest. They're usually very emotionally intelligent people (Dirk Strider notwithstanding, but he's a prince so I suppose that makes sense enough) and should be willing enough to listen and give advice if they sense something is wrong. I think the heart-bound are very animated people; they're bright and tend to gesture wildly, and people notice when they're not in the room. Heart players are also very sensitive, and their emotional range is so wide I almost made a shrimp colors metaphor. They're really unique people and would probably wear that adjective with pride; they likely wear a lot of adjectives with pride, actually.

Heart players are explorers, they like to see and experience the world, but they also like to explore their own selves. They're not very good when it comes to understanding other people's thought process, and can thus be a bit awkward to converse with for the first time, but they are anything but shy about it. Heart players can be considered very impulsive, mostly because their emotions can sometimes overcome their logic; even those of them who pride themselves for being incredibly logical can sometimes let the world in too deep and interfere and get hurt, the moment something becomes personal.

Heart players are entirely the center of their own world, but not anyone else's; to their knowledge, everyone's center is themselves, and it kind of makes sense. You are made by the things you like and the people you know, and not those of any other person. They expect people around them to be just as driven towards self-achievement and understanding, which makes their first impressions be either intimidating or standoffish, depending on the mood and whether they expected to meet a new person or not; they just want to get to know you, and are surprised when you hesitate and not know some obscure thing about yourself that they know about themselves, like your favorite movie studio or dog breed or whether or not you like an obscure music genre. Obviously when such questions arise you have to explore both yourself and the world around you and form such views, who doesn't? (I'll tell you who, it's people who aren't heart players, that's who). As such, they're also very decisive people, who form an opinion and hold onto it like it's their defining characteristic; because every characteristic is defining to a heart player, and all those traits can only make up one person who cares so deeply about things like the name of a childhood plush or how many teaspoons of sugar you put in their tea, and that knowledge can make heart players very detail-oriented, in the way where they want to know everything about you that you'd be willing to tell them- it also makes them great at understanding interpersonal relationships between any two people; because this person is a cat person, while this other person actually does have a favorite dog breed, so they're going to have disagreements in a work scenario but be good friends if they aren't (I'm very much extrapolating; I'm no heart player, I could be completely wrong and hyper dog fans can entirely get along with cat people, who am I to know?)

... So, now that we've done both class and aspect justice, let's see how well they combine, yes?

Well, let's start with things the class and aspect have in common, the things most likely to be describing a maid of heart; they'd be a passionate person, who cares a lot about the world around them, but they might also get scared off if they don't know how to help a friend in need. They're idealistic yet charming in their awkward and sincere conversations with their peers. A maid of heart is true to who they are as a person and isn't afraid to yell it from the rooftops, which can be either mesmerizing or terrifying, depending on who you are. They're creative thinkers and explorers who aren't afraid to try something new and try to make everything better, though they might find troubles that would make picking themselves up harder once they fall, which makes them also dependent on the unspoken support of the people dear to them, as they are very in tune with both their own emotions and those of the people around them. A maid of heart with a good support system is unafraid of challenges and is energetic to meet new people. Find your true friends who let themselves feel to the fullest around you, and you will thrive.

... Now, that the analysis is all over, I do want to try my hand at theorizing about the powers a maid of heart might have, so, let's give this a shot after the cut;

Here's an obligatory disclaimer because the fun thing with classpect powers is that, depending on how you interpret your aspect and how creatively you think of it, your game powers can be incredibly diverse, and this is just my take on the powers of a maid of heart; if you have a different interpretation and can justify it well enough, who am I to say it won't work?

Well, as I've said in the personality analysis, maids are creators; they make more of their aspect where there is none. Heart players have a strong sense of self, which can result in splintering and making multiple versions of oneself, and are also in-tune with the emotions of themselves and the people around them. So, a maid of heart can make... more of themselves? I'm imagining either Aradia-bot style duplicates or some version of time-shenanigans, or maybe they're just actually multiple different people in a trench coat, what do I know. Alternatively, a maid of heart can intensify emotions, or bring new emotions to a person; imagine you're angry and suddenly that anger is being overshadowed by overwhelming love for your enemy, that would be a possible power for a maid of heart.

To answer the question of whether a maid of heart can put their splinterselves into dolls, I imagine not? Taking a preexisting thing and inserting part of your soul into it feels more aspect-manipulation-class, like knights or witches, than an aspect-creation-class, like the maid. However, you might be able to make more of yourself inside the dolls to begin with, or make the dolls when you make more of yourself automatically.

Again, this is entirely my personal interpretation of how those powers should work; the only things limiting your powers are your imagination and your interpretation of your classpect.

Hope this helps! ^^"

[diduthinkihadforgotten]

cicada song

i sit on my back porch and pretend like the sun is setting. i smoke my cigarettes and pot and i think about you. the sky does not stare back, or ask me why im looking. it’s easier to talk up, i think.

she texts me that she misses me, and in turn i text you the same. it’s hard not to pull back when we don’t know when we’ll see each other next. i know that. i don’t blame you.

when we break the silence, that thin layer of cellophane between the previous day and today, i talk about card games. comics. i don’t tell you that i had a dream where i made you breakfast in bed. it feels good for a moment, and i know that tonight i’ll be texting you from their floor. wishing you were a few inches away rather than 20 miles.

our walkie talkies don’t work that far out. i can’t stand on my roof and hear your voice crackle through the static. i want to blame the heat. the oppressive humidity, summertime sadness, and cicada song that comes with it.

we don’t actually get cicadas where we live. too far west, i think. we have these big, ugly crickets that stay underground and do the same thing as cicadas do. they live their whole lives there and come up when it’s time for their performance. you’ll only ever find them dying on the concrete. singing their songs. i’d love to say something poetic there.

cicadas are a far better metaphor.

i think about the exact distance from where i stand to your house. where you are at any given time. at the lake, we were 4 feet apart when you fought with her over who was my real best friend. i didn’t settle the tie. i had brought the bottle, so i made some stupid gesture with it, and downed 3 shots in one sitting.

i think you know the answer, though.

i think that you know me more intimately than i have ever intentionally allowed another person. for whatever reason you just know how my brain works. what makes it tick, my dreams and aspirations.

i remember when we were sitting at the edge of my property, at a kid sized picnic table before summer started. before this started. we saw his name etched into the table, and you pulled out a knife and challenged me to a game of tic tac toe. you let me win.

we drank whiskey from a thermos like teenagers, we talked about the sunk cost fallacy. you laughed at all my stupid jokes, and i knew you weren’t faking. we became best friends over a conversation about shrimp.

he told me afterwards, that i wasn’t allowed to see you. that you were just trying to get in my pants. i wish it had been that simple. i think he does, too.

there was one week in may where you stayed at my house for 6 days in a row.

i still think, somewhere, 600 years from now, everything fits. like my hand in yours, us, together like puzzle pieces. we’re us again and everything is better this time. maybe i’m actually the villain in that one. we are not relegated to “just friends” for an eternity, although we both know that label hardly fits now.

i’m convinced that there, and then, the violence isn’t necessary. we just get to be us, no pressure to do or be anything else.

see you there, babe.

[radiojamming]

This a weird prompt but would you write jonmichael? Asking solely because I want to read Elias and the archives staff dealing with that

good-ish AU where sasha’s still sasha and everyone’s cool with stuff, i guess? :DDD

- - -

The door-that-wasn’t-there-a-minute-ago slams open against the wall, shaking the shelves and knocking one cheap vase to the floor in a small explosion of sad porcelain shards and accumulated dust. Martin lets out a high-pitched, “Jesus Christ!” in surprise as much as raw shock when Jon Sims himself staggers out the door like a teenager doing the walk of shame. Granted, he’s bleeding from his hairline and one sleeve of his sweater appears to just be missing, but he looks more sheepish than injured.

Just as he makes the last step over the threshold-that-shouldn’t-be, Martin sees a vague person-ish shape wobble in the mysterious beyond. And it is, in fact, wobbling, like a bobblehead or one of those playground toys shaped like horses that waver on oversized springs until they fling some unfortunate child headfirst into sand. Extended metaphor it may be, but the wobbly thing gives a high, wavering giggle before cooing, “Don’t forget this, love!” in a voice tiered in multiple pitches like an eldritch wedding cake. Jon turns just in time for an arm-that-shouldn’t-be-that-long-oh-my-god-what-the-fuck to come shooting out of the door, an iPhone clutched pinched between its enormous fingers. Martin might be hallucinating, but he thinks the razor-sharp fingernails are lacquered in sparkly purple nail varnish. 

He doesn’t have much time to dwell on it before Jon gingerly takes the phone with a mumbled, “Thanks,” and the hand recedes back into the hellish landscape beyond the door.

“Of course!” garbles the wobbly thing. Then, with a range of voices topped off with an impressive soprano flourish as light as meringue, it yodels, “Call me!”

As abruptly and shockingly as the door appeared, it disappears with a sharp crack, causing the shelves to slam back into place with a small cataract of old books falling into the pile of broken ceramic.

Jon and Martin stand in the stuffy office, each caught in the awkward position of how the hell do you talk about that? 

Finally, Jon gives Martin the most soul-deep, weary look before quietly beseeching, “Please don’t tell anyone.”

All Martin can do is nod before Jon shuffles out to the hallway

- - -

Sasha sees him at the flower stall again. 

Through the warped windowpane, she watches him scoop up a great, garish bouquet representing nearly every spectrum in the visible rainbow, and some colours that might not exist save for the eyes of the mantis shrimp. When she gets to ground level and sees him semi-properly, he’s just a blond man in a beanie, carefully regarding a sorry bunch of daffodils held together by what looks like clingfilm cinched shut with twine. Rather than being all spooky and mysterious, Sasha thinks he’s actually deliberating. There’s a pinch in his brow as he lowers the daffodils in favor of prodding the drooping lower lid of a sorry little orchid suffering in London’s less-than-tropical climes.

Sasha kind of feels… sorry for him?

Granted, he’s a monster with terrifying monster hands and monster tendencies and apparently a taste for caffeine, but he really looks caught on what to get. That in mind, she does remember that he bought lilies the last time he was around. Maybe that was less of a coincidence and this Michael creature really does like flowers; or he may have some fellow monster friend that he deems worthy of buying flowers for. Honestly, Sasha doesn’t want to think of what kind of friends Michael keeps.

Against her better judgement and sense of self-preservation, Sasha walks across the street to where Michael forlornly weighs his options. He looks up at her approach, and the first impression she gets is that his eyes are more like spinning tops prone to rotate anti-clockwise. She blinks and sees stationary blue eyes regarding her with confusion, and then… relief?

Huh.

“Sah-shah Jaaayymeeesss!” he almost sings, lifting up the dying daffodils like a salute. “What a pleasure to see your radiant face again!”

“Michael,” she replies, a little colder than she intends. Last time they met, there were far more meaty hands and worms involved, and she’d rather get to work unscathed.

If he thinks the reply is chilly, he makes no sign of it. Instead, he flops the tortured flowers around in his terrible hands. “Actually, I was hoping to see one of you lovely little Institute-dwellers around. I think I gave Martin a bit of a fright laaaaast time!”

Sasha frowns, but can definitely picture Martin having to be peeled off the ceiling after a Michael encounter. “Oh,” is all she says.

Michael goes on, gleefully undaunted. “You see, you and I have a mutual acquaintance! And I think he’s in need of a little—” He gives the daffodils a vigorous shake. “—cheering up these days! But I just don’t know what he’d like! Silly me for not being obseeeeervant!”

“I… A mutual acquaintance?”

“Yeeeessss! Your lovely boss!”

“Elias?”

Michael laughs. Well, more like he laughs in a way that sounds like he laughed ten minutes ago and ten minutes into the future, and then layered the sounds over one another like phyllo dough in a hellish baklava. It’s impossible, but Sasha hears it all the same. “Noooo!” he giggles. “Not in a million endless cycles of time or those dimensions yet unperceiveeeeeed!”

Sasha won’t even start on that statement, except that it isn’t Elias, which means it has to be— 

Oh. Jesus.

Grubby, curmudgeonly, insomniac Jesus.

“Jon?” she gasps.

Michael laughs again, louder and higher so that a glass breaks somewhere in the distance. “Yeeeesssss! Poor Jonathan, always working so hard in that dismal cave you call an archive. I offered him office space that would appeal more to a sense of aestheticism, but he… Oh, what did he say? He thought it was a little heavy on the—” And here he speaks in an exact mimic of Jon’s dry voice when he says: “Impossible, improbable, and honest to God, Michael, my brain would shatter into a thousand pieces if I looked at that painting for another minute.” Michael dissolves into a fit of giggles before saying, “It’s just a lost Hieronymus Bosch painting, honestly.”

So Michael McMeatyhands is buying flowers for Jonathan Sims. Sasha’s having a hell of a time wrapping her head around that particular fact. 

The infernal giggling stops and Michael seems to circle (spiral?) back to his previous predicament. Dying daffodils or suffering orchids?

For a lack of anything more to say, Sasha wordlessly points to a bouquet of slightly more enthusiastic-looking daisies, bobbing peacefully in a tin pail of water. “Those,” is all she can manage to say. 

Michael looks thrilled. He actually hums some impossible tune (in full SATB with orchestral arrangement, all localised in his throat) as he puts the daffodils back, scoops up the daisies, and drops four quid into the stall owner’s hands with a wet, meaty thwap that the owner doesn’t seem to hear. Then, Michael swivels back toward Sasha and grins with the corners of his lips somehow curling up near his eyes like a particularly twisty Cheshire Cat.

“Thank you, Miss James!” he says. “You’re a lifesaver!”

“You’re… welcome? I think?”

But Michael’s already walking away, taking steps in a gait that doesn’t seem to match the rhythm of the rest of his body, like two halves of entirely different people drunkenly attempting synchronicity. Sasha half-expects his legs to walk away from his torso.

Toward Jon. 

She sighs and rubs a hand over her face before heading in the direction of the Underground station.

- - -

The boss is dating someone. This, Tim is absolutely sure of. He’s watched Jon like a hawk for a week now, carefully comparing his moods in the morning with how early he left work the night before. Long work nights equal really bad mood. Long not work nights equal better mood with less shouting and calling people morons under his breath. This is good.

This is very good.

Tim is pleased with his enviable knowledge. Whoever somehow won the heart of the boss must be a pretty special person, or at least someone with an endless well of patience. Or maybe they’re Jon’s opposite? Either way, Tim’s got a hankering to send them a box of chocolate as a thank you for chilling the boss out and making him more tolerable to work with. 

He tries to picture who this mystery person is, as Jon’s definitely not the type of person to take his personal life to work with him, inasmuch as he likes to take work home. Tim pictures someone easygoing, like a Margaritaville type. They balance Jon’s stick-up-assery out, maybe giving him massages over the back of the couch while Jon watches dry documentaries about the actual speed of drying paint. In his mind’s eye, Tim gives this person a hideously neon Hawaiian shirt and sunglasses, but a winning smile that melts Jon’s ice-locked heart and makes it so he can’t help but smile back.

Tim likes them, whoever they are.

And when he gives Jon a little wink after dropping off a follow-up report, says, “Had a good night?” in a way more than a tiny bit suggestive, he only relishes a teensy bit in how dark Jon’s cheek become and how he ducks his head down. He mumbles something before actually thanking Tim for the report.

Yeah, this is awesome. Tim owes Jon’s mystery partner a thank you card and maybe a cake. 

- - -

“Eliaaaaas.”

“Michael.”

Staring. Lots of staring. Cold, unflinching irises to a set of psychedelic, rotating disco balls set in a grinning face. Behind Michael, blue and purple streaks like the top of a wildberry Pop-Tart flash about and dance madly as Michael gives him the strangest of staredowns. Occasionally, his head appears to flip upside-down a few times on his swirly straw of a neck, and half of his teeth try to glitch through his lips in a way that Elias thinks of as an attempt at a sneer.

Finally, Elias sighs and calmly folds his hands on the top of his desk, ignoring the waves of tangible static pouring out onto the floor and possibly leaving a stain on the carpet. That’s going to be difficult to explain to the janitorial staff. “We may have to set some ground rules,” he says.

“I’ll bring him home by eleven,” Michael cackles in reply.

Elias narrows his eyes just as he feels Beholding roll its great omnipresent gaze in irritation.

“I mean to say that you’re not to interfere in Institute business any further than you are right now,” Elias retorts. “I should completely ban all Spiral-related statements on grounds of personal involvement.”

Michael grins. His smile rises up to his forehead like a crescent moon before rolling down the side of his face and hooking back up into the empty space where a normal mouth should be. “I can make this weirder. I can spiral any statement in this place. Every little word can bend in and around on itself like a pipe cleaner.”

Elias glares. “You won’t.”

“You can’t stop me!” Michael sings. “But I’ll keep courting your Archivist nice and proper as long as I’d like, or he’d like.”

“If this is an attempt to draw him into the Spiral’s influence—”

When Michael laughs this time, it seems to be drawn from every laugh that was ever laughed in the history of the muscular and diaphragmatic spasms that caused them. It’s so charged, so loud and explosive that Elias nearly winces at it. And when it’s over, there’s a vacuum of sound in its wake, so it takes a full minute for Elias to hear anything properly again.

Then, Michael taps his horrible fingers on Elias’ desk, eliciting a sharp tak-tak-tak-tak-tak that repeats in on itself fifty times over. “Not everything is about influence,” Michael hisses through too many teeth. “Not every attempt on a person is to draw them in and mark them, unlike what you do. Maybe sometimes, one of us can authentically like one of them. Is that too hard for you to understand, Man-of-the-Eye?”

Beholding tries to truly See Michael, but something about the Spiral’s nature twists the image. 

“No,” Michael goes on, followed by another round of tak-tak-tak-tak-tak. “I rather like the Archivist. And he likes me. Aaaand if you try to get in the way of us, I will peeeeerrrrsonallyyyyy claw your precious little eyes out of your sockets. Understand?”

Elias doesn’t have time to make a reply. Michael is gone in a gunpowder-bright flash of light and a shock of sound. If there was a door, it’s gone. So he sits alone in his office, staring at the space where the Spiral was, and he feels something terribly empty and terribly familiar.

- - -

Jon picks their next date and opts for something as normal as the last one was strange. He chooses a walk at St James Park, eating ice cream and admiring the pelicans while Michael regales him with some bizarre story that sounds more like a backwards recitation of the Jabberwocky poem. He pauses in between stanzas to eat more of his pistachio ice cream with a delighted gusto before he presses on in gibberish.

Something about it makes Jon feel oddly warm and content, even as the early spring wind chills him.

Their last date was to Annwn, which Jon had originally suspected was in Wales. He was half-right; it was Wales as much as it was also the traditional world of the afterlife in ancient Welsh rites. It was rather lovely and Jon thinks very highly of their honey cakes, although he suspects he probably wasn’t supposed to eat them. 

But Michael looks just as pleased to be in this park as he was to be in ancient Welsh paradise. His Jabberwockish story comes to an end and he finishes the rest of his cone before throwing the little paper ring into a nearby litter bin. Then, he stretches his arms out to the side and sighs in contentment. “Just bonny, as they say!” he cheers before reaching down and taking Jon’s free hand in his. It’s got a mind-boggling weight and an odd texture, while appearing to be a normal hand. At first, it gave Jon such an acute sense of discomfort that he found himself involuntarily withdrawing. Now, it’s just another aspect of Michael that he’s learned to like.

Love, maybe. He hasn’t thought on that overmuch.

Yet here they are, holding hands like all the other couples in the park. It’s so simple, so normal. Jon’s life has been so ridiculous lately that the fact he’s holding a Spiral avatar’s nigh-impossible hand on a date in a park is just… maybe the most normal thing that’s happened so far. Michael’s not trying to kill him or throttle his mind to the point of madness.

They’re happy.

Jon’s happy.  

He smiles, and so does Michael. Yes, Michael’s smile is making an attempt to summit his head like Everest before flickering back into place like he remembers where he is, but he does smile and it’s perfectly authentic. 

It could be weirder, and for once, that thought delights Jon.

[highwindhq]

FLEURENTIAAAA! I really wanted to contribute to Fleurentia week, but life happened. So here’s a repost of a story I first shared around the holidays. I just love the tension between these two <3 

Thank you @fleurentia-week for organizing! I’ve loved all the content. 

Heat Rising:  Ignis is resigned to spend Astral's Eve alone in a restaurant, until a mysterious man is seated next to him. Ravus, it turns out, is just what Ignis needed to get into the holiday spirit.

It wasn’t unusual for Ignis to be eating alone in a restaurant. It wasn’t a lonely occasion for him either—no, he quite enjoyed the subdued moment, focusing on the flavors of his dish rather than attempting deeper conversation with his rather raucous group of friends.

He would eat alone often on his nights off, starting with an appetizer and a drink at one of his favorite spots, followed by a main course, and ending with dessert from the hole-in-the-wall bakery he discovered a few years back. He might even drop into a bar playing live music for a brandy or two (straight, of course) before heading home to his modest Insomnia apartment.

But this was different. This was Astral’s Eve, and he was all alone. He told himself it was fine as he sipped his wine and nibbled on his shrimp ceviche appetizer, but the restaurant full of families and couples bothered him in an unusual way.

King Regis had insisted on making an effort and taking Noctis on a father-son trip for Astral’s Eve. Ignis was invited, of course, but he opted to stay behind. As a 20-year-old man, it felt an awful lot like he’d be a third wheel. Gladio invited him and Prompto over to spend the evening with his extended family, and Ignis had briefly considered it, but ultimately decided he’d rather be in his own company than strain through a thousand empty conversations with Gladio’s aunts, uncles, and cousins.

So here he was, staring at the empty chair across from him at the small table for two. There was no need to get poetic, he told himself. Just eat your shrimp ceviche and drink your wine.

As he was about to take a sip, a man getting seated next to him knocked his elbow, sending drops of wine flying.

“Apologies,” the man said absently, taking a seat beside him.

The restaurant was small, this corner particularly so, but Ignis was still irritated. This was his good white shirt.

“A glass of soda, if you will,” he said to the hostess, dabbing at the wine on his collar. Soda always did the trick.

“Of course, sir.”

He waited for the man next to him to apologize again or offer to get it dry cleaned—it was his own damn fault, after all—but the man opened up the menu and sighed. He was tall, with shoulder-length, silvery-blonde hair that was tangled in a few spots, and an angular face. He wore a tailored white suit with a dove grey shirt underneath. He managed to look both immaculate and beyond caring at the same time.

Ignis stared daggers at him as the hostess returned with the soda. He dabbed the napkin and made a show of cleaning the wine from his shirt, but the man remained focused on the menu.

“Ah, good. I seem to have gotten most of the wine off,” Ignis declared loudly. The man made no reaction.

“Lucky you, you shan’t be having to pay my dry cleaning bill,” Ignis added dryly. Still nothing.

Ignis cleared his throat and went back to his ceviche. He was trying to pick a fight and he knew it—a habit he developed when he was irritated by unrelated things that he wasn’t ready to discuss.

He sipped his wine and noticed that the second set of plates and cutlery had been cleared from the man’s table, implying that he wasn’t expecting a guest either. At least Ignis wasn’t the only one dining alone on Astral’s Eve.

“Is the ceviche any good?”

Ignis looked over at the man, who was still engrossed in the menu. He was certain it was him who had spoken.

“Pardon me?”

“The ceviche,” the man repeated, only now looking up with pale gray eyes. “Is it any good?”

“Uh, yes. It’s very fresh.”

Ignis felt unnerved at the paleness of the man’s eyes. They were just a little too intense.

“Thank you,” the man replied curtly, returning to the menu.

Ignis took another sip of wine. He considered whether he should ignore this stranger. It was only irritating him.

“Dining alone tonight?” Ignis asked, and immediately cursed himself for opening his mouth again.

“Yes.”

“As am I.”

“How pleasant.”

Well, that was quite rude, Ignis thought.

“I presume you are wondering why I am dining alone on Astral’s Ever?” the man continued.

“It’s not a common sight, being a family holiday and all,” Ignis said.

“You’re also by yourself.”

“My family is otherwise occupied.”

“Sounds like a swell family then,” the man said.

“I assure you, this was my preferred choice,” Ignis said, though he wasn’t exactly convincing himself either.

“No doubt. I find myself stuck in Insomnia on business.”

“I see. What it is that you do?”

The man paused, and Ignis was fairly certain he wasn’t about to get an honest answer.

“I’m a social worker,” the man replied, his voice softening. “Ravus.”

He held out his hand and Ignis shook it. He looked at Ravus’s eyes again, and they didn’t seem so frightening now—no, they seemed inviting even.

“Ignis.”

For the first time that night, Ignis was feeling better about having come here alone.

—

Ignis was sweating. He was wet everywhere, in places he didn’t dare consider. His muscles were tense and he couldn’t stop myself from moving, hips swaying almost of their own accord. Damn, the music in this underground club was good.

He didn’t know how they even got here. He thought he knew Insomnia like the back of his hand, and yet Ravus lead him down alleyways he never dared enter, only to find a whole other world had been existing here this whole time—one where dancing away the societal pressures of Astral’s Eve was a perfectly viable option.

He could just about make out Ravus in the strobe lights, the changing colors reflecting off his silvery hair. The suit jacket was gone, the upper buttons of the dove grey shirt undone as Ravus ran his hands back through his hair. Maybe it was the lighting or the many drinks they’ve downed, but Ignis found him undeniably attractive in that moment.

Ravus eyed Ignis and smirked at him. Then, as the lights turned up at the start of a new song, he busted out a move. It was a challenge, and Ignis was ready. He countered the move with an even flashier one, earning a scowl from Ravus, who then one-upped him once again.

They continued back and forth, the two men dropping move after move. A crowd started watching and whooping after each turn, until it intensified so much that Ignis and Ravus were standing face to face in their dance off, panting hard. The crowd seemingly melted into the background as tense eyes bore into each other.

The moment was lasting long—too long—but Ignis was snapped out of it as Ravus grabbed him by the waist, pulling him in alarmingly close to his crotch, and then pushing him away with flair as Ravus danced his final and most impressive move. The crowd erupted.

Ignis laughed and clapped in Ravus’s direction; he won this fair and square.

As the crowd resumed their dancing, Ravus took Ignis by the arm, guiding him off the dance floor and toward an exit. They stepped outside into the cold, a welcome change.

“That was fun, but I need some air,” Ravus said.

“A good call. I was certainly overheating in there,” Ignis said.

“I can’t believe you’ve lived here all your life and you’ve never been to Ifrit’s Den.”

“It’s not the type of place I usually seek out.”

“Sounds like you don’t have enough fun.”

“That’s probably true. But I like it that way. I prefer to remain focused.”

“Except tonight, apparently.”

“You’re a rather bad influence.”

“You flatter me.”

Ravus pulled a pack of cigarettes out from his pant pocket. There was only one left.

“Share?” he asked.

“I don’t smoke,” Ignis said.

“You do tonight.”

Ignis watched Ravus’s lips purse on the cigarette as he lit it. He took it without question when Ravus offered it to him and drew a puff. He half expected to start coughing, but it felt pleasant instead, the smoke traveling down his throat. He exhaled, feeling lightheaded, and gave the cigarette back to Ravus.

“So, what happens next?” Ignis asked.

Ravus allowed the slyest of smiles.

“Well… the night is young, is it not?”

—

Ignis was backed up against a wall, and it wasn’t a metaphorical one. He was bombarded by the onslaught of senses—smooth lips, strong hands, a heady scent mixed in with the familiar smell of his apartment—and it was only intensified by how drunk he was. And he was loving it.

Ravus pushed into him, kissing him with, what, passion? No, more like hunger. This was anything but making love. Ravus kept Ignis’s hands up above his head, pressing him firmly against the wall. He was winning this, just like the dance off, but Ignis didn’t like to lose twice.

When Ravus paused to give Ignis an evil little smile, Ignis twisted out from his grasp, pivoting around and pushing the taller man against the wall instead. He went back in for a kiss, and at first he thought Ravus might resist, but he seemed to sink a little lower under Ignis’s grip.

“Yes, take charge, boy,” Ravus whispered mockingly.

“Call me ‘boy’ again, and you will regret it,” Ignis growled.

“How so?”

“I’ve got teeth and I know how to use them.”

“Oh boy…”

Ignis bit Ravus’s lower lip hard, and was met with a grunt as Ravus pushed him off. But Ignis was back on him in moments, this time pushing Ravus in the direction of the bedroom.

“I may have had a few too many, but I won’t stand for this treatment,” Ignis said.

“What sort of treatment would you stand for then?”

“The kind where you behave,” Ignis said as he shoved Ravus onto the bed.

“Oh my. I’m afraid that’s never been my strong suit.”

Ravus kicked his leg up and around Ignis’s knees, buckling him to the floor. Ravus jumped on him, straddling Ignis firmly and unbuttoning his shirt. Faint stains of wine were still visible, but long forgotten.

Ignis bucked his hips up in response, already hard and needy. He reach a hand down and ran it over Ravus, feeling his erection.

“If you want this,” Ignis said, “then you’re going to have to be nicer.”

“Is that so?”

Ravus finished unbuttoning Ignis’s shirt and opened it, running his hands up and down his chest.

“I suppose I can make an exception for you,” Ravus continued, admiringly. “You are, after all, quite the specimen.”

“You are too kind.”

Ignis reached up and ripped Ravus’s shirt open, sending buttons flying.

“I, however, am not as kind,” he said.

“This is how you repay me?” Ravus snarled. “This is my favorite shirt.”

“Good.”

Ignis yanked the shirt off Ravus and went in for another kiss. He worked Ravus’s buckle loose and undid his trousers, which prompted Ravus to relinquish his straddle and stand. Pants and underwear came off, and Ravus stood stark naked in front of Ignis.

There was a sobering moment of panic as Ignis looked at Ravus’s tall and exposed form. He had certainly been aware of what he was doing, but he had never expected to be in this situation tonight. Was he about to go through with this fully? A one-night stand? It wasn’t his usual way of doing things, but Ravus looked too damn good in the dim light.

Before he could make up his mind, his body had other plans as he reached up and took Ravus’s cock in his mouth.

Ravus groaned as he let Ignis work on him for a while. But he was hungry for more too, and it wasn’t long until he pulled away from Ignis and leaned down, working on removing Ignis’s clothes. Ignis wiggled out of his pants, feeling the heat rising off his exposed skin. Now naked too, he got up and shoved Ravus onto the bed.

He straddled Ravus by the shoulders, his cock inches away from Ravus’s mouth, and waited. Ravus lay there, immobile.

“Getting a little demanding, aren’t we?” Ravus said.

“Or am I just giving you what you want?” Ignis replied. “What you’ve been eyeing up all night?”

“And here I thought I was doing such a good job of focusing on your eyes.”

“Yes, that’s exactly what you were focusing on when you pulled me in on the dance floor.”

“Guilty.”

Ravus licked the tip of Ignis’s cock, swirling his tongue a few times as he watched Ignis deny a need to beg for more. Ravus then drew him fully into his mouth because, as much as he wanted to keep teasing the younger man, he wanted to taste him too much. He felt him throbbing and took him in deeper.

Ignis closed his eyes and sighed at the relief of it. Needless to say, it had been a while—too long. And this was just so good.

As he thrust into Ravus’s mouth, Ravus’s hands grasped his ass and a finger found its way to his opening. Ignis’s eyes flew open and he immediately jumped off the bed.

“No,” he said.

“No?” Ravus asked curiously.

Ignis opened his bedside drawer and took out a bottle of lube.

“You don’t get to do that to me.”

“Ah,” Ravus said. “I see. You’re more of a giving type.”

“Not always. But tonight I am.”

He wasn’t sure what got into him, but Ignis wanted to do this. He wanted to take Ravus and fuck him hard. Perhaps he was still a bit miffed about the wine after all.

“And if I challenge you?” Ravus said.

“I invite you to try.”

Ignis was already squeezing the lube onto his fingers. He positioned himself between Ravus’s legs and reached under, finding his opening.

“Go on then,” Ignis said. “Challenge me.”

He inserted a finger, and then a second one—probably earlier than he should have, but he didn’t care. He liked seeing Ravus wince.

“I’d be a bit more tender with you, I’ll have you know,” Ravus said.

Ignis pushed in deeper and Ravus bit down on his lip.

“If you want me to be tender, you can just say so.”

He inserted a third finger, but Ravus said nothing, only biting his lip harder.

“I thought so,” Ignis said as he moved his fingers deeper and faster, watching Ravus teetering on that edge of pleasure and pain.

He removed his fingers and crawled over Ravus, readying himself. Ravus’s eyes seemed hell bent on giving nothing away, but Ignis could tell that they were begging him to do it. He made him wait until he could see an impatient muscle twitching above Ravus’s lips, and then, in one confident move, inserted.

Ravus let a telltale breath escape, but Ignis quieted him with a rough kiss. He moved his hips against Ravus, and reached a hand down to his cock. He moved rigorously, working Ravus with a slick hand at the same time. This was enough to send Ravus over the edge, and he came hard and fast, leaving a mess on Ignis’s hand and abdomen.

Ignis was so close now too, sent into a frenzy at the sight of Ravus coming. His mind went blank and all he could think of were the taut muscles underneath him, the scent of their sweaty bodies mixing. He reached the threshold and pulled out, moaning as he came all over Ravus.

Feeling completely spent, Ignis collapsed on his back on the bed. The room was spinning, and he breathed heavily. As he came down from his high, he slowly became aware of the sound of breathing next to him.

Well, shit.

Now what?

Ignis thought about his options. Should he offer for Ravus to stay the night? Does he ask for his number? He felt uncertain all of a sudden, and very exposed.

As if reading his thoughts, Ravus got up off the bed and grabbed some tissues to clean himself off.

“I better get back to my hotel,” he said. “Thank you for interrupting the monotony of my lonesome dinner.”

“The pleasure was all mine,” Ignis replied, watching Ravus as he dressed and hoping he hid the tinge of disappointment in his voice.

Ignis walked Ravus to the door. He still felt in a daze from the entire evening, and the remaining effects of all those drinks weren’t helping.

“Well then,” Ravus said. “I sure hope our paths will cross again.”

“As do I.”

“I would give you my number, but… I don’t believe it’s a good idea. You see, I’m not really a social worker.”

Ignis smiled and nodded.

“I figured as much.”

“Just know, Ignis, that if circumstances were different—”

“I understand.”

He didn’t need to know the details; something told Ignis that he ought to trust Ravus on this.

“Good. Happy Astral’s Eve, Ignis.”

“Happy Astral’s Eve, Ravus.”

Ravus opened the door, but paused and then turned back around. He grabbed Ignis, giving him one last kiss.

This time, it felt different. It was… passionate.

Ravus pulled away and left without a word, pulling the door closed behind him. Ignis stood there a while, dumbfounded. His heart beat fast and he missed the warmth of those lips already.

Then he rubbed his eyes and shook his head and went into the shower. He washed this night from his body and his mind. Tomorrow would be just another day.

In the back of his mind though, he wondered.

[oikagelove]

I feel like Oikawa would think Hinata and Kageyama are together and it would make him mad and he wouldn't even know why. (It's cause he loves kageyama but is in denial) ((could u do a 5+1 for this please))

I got this ask like a year ago but I was really feeling it so… better late than never? i’m so sorry i suck at doing things on time

But yeah, here you go

1.

Tooru’s life is a fucking joke soreally, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that the one weekend he’shome instead of in Tokyo doing assignments for class or practicingwith his new team, he ends up running into Tobio. Tooru considerspretending he didn’t see him but no, there goes that plan as Tobioapproaches him, eyes lighting up.

“Oikawa-san,”he greets, looking disgustingly cute as always.

“Tobio,”he sighs. “How unexpected to run into you.”

“Ilive here,” Tobio says, furrowing his eyebrows, and Tooru isweirdly relieved he hasn’t changed at all when it comes tocompletely missing social cues because, honestly, that’s very Tobioof him. 

(Tooru pointedly avoids thinking about whythat’sa relief and whenexactlyhe started using Tobio’s name as an adjective.)

“Ifyou’re going to ask me to teach you how to serve…” Tooru trailsoff, shaking his head. Tobio’spestering iseerily similar to Ushijima’s youshould’ve come to Shiratorizawa andTooru wonders how many puppies he’s kicked in his past life todeserve this.Must’ve been a lot.

“I’mnot,” Tobio says and Tooru’s interest is piqued. “I was justwondering if you’d be coming to watch the Inter-High.”

What a strange question, Toorumuses.

He will, probably, if nothingelse to see how the new Aoba Johsai team is doing and give them a fewpointers, but to Tobio he says, “Maybe. Why, do you want me tocome watch you play?”

He’s just teasing, of coursehe is, but Tobio, that simpleton, actually nods.

“Karasuno’sstrong, even without the third-years.”

Tooru stares at himhelplessly. It’s hopeless. Tobio’s hopeless. Unfairly adorablebut utterly hopeless.

Beforehe can give any sort of reply though (and what canhesay, really) Tobio’s phone rings. He takes one look at the callerand throws Tooru an apologetic look – or as close to one as he can– before answering.

“Yamayama-kun,are you dead?!”

Tooru can hear the otherperson loud and clear, and Tobio’s eyes narrow.

“Hinata,dumbass, don’t yell!”

Hinata.The other half of the famous duo, Tooru thinks somewhat annoyed. It’snot that he dislikes the shrimp (he doesn’t mind the shrimp, mostof the time). It’s just that the two of them are so goddamnannoying with their ‘unique connection’ and the whole ‘as longas I’m here, you’re invincible’ – honestly, how cheesy anddisgusting is that.

Andsuddenly, with Tobio bickering with the shrimp (like an old marriedcouple, Tooru’s mind supplies rather annoyingly) in the background, a realizationhits him like a train.

The brats are totally dating.

Tooru’s nose scrunches indistaste. How… off-putting.

But it does make sense, nowthat he thinks about it.

All the name calling thatalways lacks bite, the constant teasing and bickering, that’sprobably their way of flirting, those idiots. But Tooru can’tdisregard the trust they have in one another or the factthat they really do bring out the best in each other. So he supposeshe should at least acknowledge that they’re good together.

The thought leaves a bittertaste in his mouth.

“Oikawa-san?”Tobio calls, phone back in his pocket. “I have to go now but…think about it, okay?”

Tooru’s eyebrow quirks up.

“Whythe hurry?”

Tobio seems surprised by hisquestion but otherwise doesn’t react as he shrugs.

“Hinata’slocked himself out of his house. The idiot wants to come over untilhis mom gets back.”

Tooru kind of regrets askingbecause that’s way too annoying for him to deal with right now.

“Havefun then,” he throwsTobio the smile Iwa-chan has dubbed as his ‘fake Trashykawa smile’and Tobio frowns at him. “Remember, don’t do anything I wouldn’tdo, Tobio-chan.”

Once again Tobio looksconfused, Tooru’s teasing flying right over his head.

“Youmean… I shouldn’t teach him to serve?” He snorts and it’s allkinds of adorable. (Tooru really hates himself right now.) “Don’tworry, Oikawa-san, the dumbass can barely serve as it is, it wouldn’tso him any good to try the jump serve.”

Tooru lets out a breathy laughbefore he can stop himself.

“Whateveryou say, Tobio.”

For once Tobio isn’tfrowning and scowling. He’s still cute but in a slightly differentway, and Tooru doesn’t even bother acknowledging that thought.

“Shouldn’tyou be going already?”

He watches as Tobio’s eyeswiden and the scowl returns with full force.

“Right.”He hesitates for a second. “See you around, Oikawa-san.”

Notif I can help it,Tooru thinks but what he ends up saying is, “Yeah.”

Tobioturns around, headed towards his boyfriend, and Tooru is left staringat his back.

Ifthat’s some kind of metaphor,Tooru thinks, itsucks.

2.

Okay so maybe his life reallyis a joke but the thing is, most of the time Tooru himself is the onedelivering the punchline.

“Don’tsay anything, Iwa-chan,” he sighs as Iwaizumi takes a seat in the stands next to him. Down on the court, Karasuno scores anotherpoint.

“Wasn’tgoing to,” Iwa-chan, bless him, says and joins him in watching thegame in silence.

Tobiowas right, Karasuno isgood.

There’sonly one first year on the team - a lanky boy with way too much hair - and he quickly proves why he’s part of the starting lineup as hejoins Glasses in blocking. He reminds Tooru of that redhead fromShiratorizawa with his guess blocking, and he immediately decides hedoesn’t like him. Which, yeah, it’s a little petty but Tooruisn’t really running for a saint anyway.

The defense isn’t the onlything that’s improved though. Karasuno’s offense is brutal.

Toorufinds himself paying even more attention to Tobio and the differenttosses he gives the different spikers. He keeps evolving, just likeTooru always knew he would, and it’s just as fascinating to watchas it is scary. 

Tobio truly is incredible.

“Kageyama’sreally changed, huh” Iwaizumi says and Tooru hums, neither agreeingnor disagreeing. “Karasuno’s good for him.”

Notjust Karasuno, Tooruthinks with a scowl as the shrimp joins Tobio on the court.

It doesn’t take long beforethey do their signature quick and Iwaizumi lets out a short huff.

“Thiswon’t ever stop being weird,” he says and Tooru has to agree.

The shrimp is still jumpingaround, high-fiving his teammates, but when he reaches Tobio, he justgrins at him. It’s all sunshine and rainbows, and then Tobio smilesback and they nod at each other and honestly, in any other scenarioTooru would find it cute.

Now, however, he’s justannoyed. Keep your displays of affection to yourselves, thank youvery much.

He doesn’t realize he’sscowling until Iwaizumi throws him a look.

“Don’ttell me you’re mad Karasuno’s winning?”

It’s a logical assumption tomake but it’s so far from Tooru’s current train of thought thathe almost laughs out loud at the irony.

Insteadhe just waves a hand dismissively.

“Idon’t care if they win, Iwa-chan, I’mnot thatpetty.”

Exceptyeah, he is, and they both know that.

He keeps watching the courtwhere the other team finally manages to score but he can feelIwaizumi’s eyes on him. Then he hears him sigh.

“SometimesI honestly have no idea what you’re thinking,” he admits andTooru snorts.

“It’snothing, Iwa-chan, I promise.” To illustrate his words, he nudgesIwaizumi until he bats his hand away.

“Quitbeing annoying, Trashykawa.”

Tooru laughs, retreating hishand. Messing with Iwa-chan is definitely one of his favoritepastimes.

Karasuno takes their firsttimeout and Tooru uses the opportunity to get a good look on all ofthem. And okay, if his gaze keeps slipping back to Tobio then that’ssimply a coincidence; he’s standing right in Tooru’s line ofsight so it’s only natural Tooru’s eyes stay on him, right?

Then again, maybe he shouldlook away because the shrimp is all over Tobio and that’s justdisgusting.

So maybe, he concedes after amoment, maybe ‘all over Tobio’ is an exaggeration but still. Theshrimp is bouncing around, talking to him excitedly and gesturing sorapidly Tooru has trouble following him but Tobio is just noddingalong. And he probably really does understand him because they’reboth weird like that.

Except with Tobio thatweirdness is cute while with the shrimp it’s plain annoying.

“Stop glaring at Kageyama,for fuck’s sake,” Iwaizumi says, exasperated. Tooru is almostoffended.

“I wasn’t,” he says andhuffs at Iwaizumi’s look. “I mean, I wasn’t glaring at him.”

Iwaizumi looks confused andhonestly, Tooru can relate.

“It’s just…” he trailsoff, sneaking one more glance at the duo. “Look at them, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi follows his gaze andwatches as Tobio nudges the shrimp, pointing at one of theiropponents, before leaning in to whisper something in his ear. Toorulooks at Iwaizumi expectantly.

“Uh,” Iwa-chan rubs theback of his neck. “They seem to be getting along?”

“Exactly,” Tooru nods,arms still crossed. “Isn’t it disgusting?”

Iwaizumi takes one long lookat him, one that’s a bit too inquisitive for Tooru’s liking.

“Oh,” he ends up sayingbefore letting out a short laugh. “You had me worried there for asecond, Shittykawa.”

Now it’s Tooru’s turn tostare.

“What do you mean, oh?”

Iwa-chan looks way too amusedas he shakes his head, “You’ll get it eventually.”

“Just tell me, Iwa-chan,come on.”

“Quiet down, the game’sstarting,” Iwaizumi is saying, looking distinctively smug and Toorujust rolls his eyes. He needs new friends.

3.

It’s another few weeksbefore he sees Tobio again.

“I heard you made it to thenational team,” Tooru remarks as the two of them walk alongsideeach other. “Congratulations.”

A small smile immediatelyappears on Tobio’s lips and oh, Tooru was not prepared for this.He’s accustomed to Tobio’s usual cuteness but now it’s strikeshim that not only that but Tobio is also handsome as hell. Well shit,Tooru thinks. Paint him purple and call him Shiratorizawa.

“Thanks,” Tobio says andTooru can tell he’s trying to hide how proud he is. He rolls hiseyes.

“You were recruited for thenational team, Tobio, you didn’t make cereal or something. You’reallowed to be proud.”

Tobio looks at him from thecorner of his eye, as if trying to judge whether or not he’s beingserious. Tooru just stares at him, expectant, until Tobio caves.

“It’s amazing,” headmits. “Everyone is very talented.”

“You met some them at thetraining camp last year, right?” Tooru prompts and Tobio nods.

“But I have to admit, I wassurprised some of the others I met didn’t make it. They were verygood too.”

Tooru looks up, noting howthere isn’t a single cloud in the sky.

“That’s how it is at thetop,” he says. “The best of the best.”

He can feel Tobio watching him as he speaks and decides that’s enough of that.

“Anyway, how’s theshrimp?”

Tooru, despite the teasingtone, is actually curious. He imagines Tobio making it on thenational team could cause some friction there and hey, if they end up breaking up, well then that’s just how life is. Tooru tries notto hope too much.

“Hinata?” Tobio shrugs.“Fine, I guess. His receives are better.”

Tooru snorts, shaking hishead. Good old Tobio.

“I’m not asking about howhe’s doing at volleyball, Tobio. I’m asking…” Tooru’s nosescrunches briefly, “I’m asking how things are going between youtwo.”

Tobio appears to be confused,whether at Tooru’s unusual curiosity or the question itself, but heshrugs once again.

“We’re okay? I mean, wehaven’t fought in a while so that’s… good.”

“Good,” Tooru echoes.Fucking great, even. He sighs.

A silence descends upon them.Surprisingly, it doesn’t feel uncomfortable.

Tooru looks at the trees theypass as he tries to sort his thoughts. He doesn’t know how heended up taking a walk with Tobio of all people but he doesn’t mindand when did that happen.

He glances at Tobio. Tooru hasto admit he’s not all that bad. In fact, he’s actually prettynice to be around. And yeah, okay, it’s fun to tease him too.

“Oikawa-san. You’re makinga weird expression.”

Yeah, no, he takes that back; Tobio is a brat.

“So rude, Tobio-chan,” hedrawls, watching as Tobio lowers his head in an attempt to hide hissmile. A cute brat, if nothing else. “Say, what are you doing thisSaturday?”

The words are out of his mouthbefore he can help them.

“Er,” Tobio looks assurprised as Tooru feels. “Nothing much I guess. I’ll justpractice and then hang out with Hinata.”

Tooru’s mood soursimmediately. Of course he’d have plans with his boyfriend. Whywouldn’t he. 

That’s what Tooru gets for trying to be nice.

“Well. Forget I saidanything.”

Tobio looks like he wants tosay something himself but apparently decides to stay silent. Tooru isn’tsure if he’s glad or not because this time around the silence issuffocating. 

He can see Tobio fidgeting.

“The, uh, the weather seemsnice,” Tobio mumbles, looking anywhere but at Tooru who blinks athim a couple of times before bursting out laughing.

Tobio’s so damn cute.

“Nevermind,” he frowns andTooru wheezes in an attempt to stop laughing.

“No, no, Tobio-chan, thatwas good,” he says, grinning widely. “Small talk, that’s good.”

Tobio rolls his eyes but helooks amused. Tooru decides that’s a good sign.

“It is very niceweather we’re having,” he nods. “I especially like howthe sun is nowhere to be seen. Fascinating, isn’t it?”

Tobio’s frown melts into apout which is, of course, adorable. Tooru is pretty sure hisvocabulary wasn’t this poor before Tobio.

“Now you’re making fun ofme,” Tobio says and Tooru shakes his head.

“I would never.”

Tobio snorts, elbow softlynudging him, and suddenly Tooru realizes a couple of things.

1) He may have a small, tiny,almost nonexistent crush on Tobio, who 2) is incredibly adorable andcute and more, and 3) has a boyfriend, which of course leads to 4)Tooru is screwed.

4.

“Iwa-chan, I need help.”

Tooru absentmindedly wondershow many times he’s called Iwaizumi starting with this exact samesentence.

“It’s 2am,” Iwaizumisays groggily. “This better be life or death, Oikawa.”

Tooru groans, “It is.”

There’s a pause on the otherend and he can hear some shuffling. He feels bad about wakingIwaizumi but he’s been thinking about his new revelations forhours and he still can’t wrap his head around it. It’s maddening.

“Okay, I’m listening,”Iwaizumi says, much more awake, in a sort of business-mode that makesTooru chuckle. Then he remembers his life is hell and stopschuckling.

“So,” he starts, wonderingexactly how to say it. Apparently words are not his friend when itcomes to Tobio. “You remember Tobio.”

“I do.”

Iwaizumi is beinguncharacteristically patient with him, for which Tooru’s grateful. 

(That’s a lie, though, Iwa-chan is only impatient when he’smessing around, never when he truly needs him. Iwa-chan is great.)

“Well. I… may have somefeelings for him. That are not hate or envy.”

Iwaizumi sighs, both in reliefand exasperation. “I figured.”

Normally, Tooru would ask howand probably panic about being too obvious. But it’s Iwa-chan andit’s Tobio and really, he just wants to know what the hellhe’s supposed to do right now.

Iwaizumi pauses, thoughtful,when Tooru asks him.

“You could… ask him out?”he suggests as if it’s that easy. Tooru wishes it was.

“He’ll say no,” he saysimmediately, heart clenching uncomfortably. Somehow knowing hedoesn’t even have a chance makes it so much worse.

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” he sighs,resigned. “He’s dating that #10. Hinata. He’ll say no.”

“Oh.” Iwaizumi pauses andTooru can imagine the exact expression he’s wearing. It makes himfeel better, just a little bit but then again, Iwa-chan’s alwayshad a knack for doing that. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. Me too,” Toorusays. “It’s ironic, isn’t it. I was so mean to him in middleschool. And,” he frowns, “high school, I guess.”

He sighs once again becausekarma sucks.

“You definitely weren’tthe best,” Iwaizumi says and Tooru can tell he’s being delicate.“But I don’t think Kageyama holds a grudge.”

Tooru knows he doesn’t. Thatmakes it even worse and wow, look how everything is spiraling down.Honestly, fuck his life.

“I’ll be a better personfrom now on,” he says out loud to lighten the mood, onlyhalf-joking. “I’ll start feeding stray cats. Practically asaint.”

Iwaizumi snorts.

“You wouldn’t last aweek.” Tooru smiles as he plops down on his bed. “But really,will you be fine?”

“Of course.”

There’s a pause.

“We’re watching E.T. thisweekend,” Iwaizumi says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“And eating milk bread?”

“And eating milk bread.”

Tooru laughs, agreeing, and hethinks about how lucky he is to have Iwa-chan. 

He tells him as much.

“Idiot,” Iwa-chan says andTooru can hear the fondness in his voice loud and clear. “Someone’sgotta remind you not to be too hard on yourself. You’re a prettygreat guy, Tooru, you hear me? Don’t let it get you down.”

Tooru swallows. “Yeah.”

“Now get some rest. You needit.”

“Yeah,” Tooru echoes.“Love you, Iwa-chan.”

“You too.”

Maybe his life isn’tentirely shitty.

5.

A week later and Tooru findshimself woken up by loud pounding on his door. Groaning loudly, hemakes his way to the door, pausing just before opening it.

He does not, in fact, wake upflawless. But it’s a Sunday, and it’s– 7am, what the fuck? Okay,no, whoever has the audacity to wake him up at this hour deservesseeing him looking like a mess.

When he does open the door hehas to pinch himself to make sure he’s not dreaming because thereis no way the shrimp is standing on his doorstep. 

Except, he is.

“No,” Tooru says and slamsthe door shut. He turns around with every intention of going back tosleep. He is so not dealing with this right now, whatever thiseven is.

The pounding returns and goodgod, has this kid not heard of a doorbell? Tobio’s taste ishorrible, really, and that’s a small relief at least.

“I won’t go away until youlet me in,” the shrimp calls and proceeds to add, “I think your neighbors are gettingcurious.”

Tooru grits his teeth. Thatbrat.

Tooru is well-liked by hisneighbors, thank you very much, and he’d like to keep it that way.Maybe the shrimp is a little bit smarter than he thought. Whatever.

“Fine,” he says when he opens the door again, crossinghis arms, not intentionally trying to look down on the shrimp buthey. It happens. “Speak.”

The kid is grinning as if he’swon, and Tooru is frowning, as if he’s not.

“Can I come in?”

“I don’t know, can you,”Tooru mumbles but moves aside to let him pass nonetheless.

They end up in the livingroom, the shrimp making himself comfortable on the couch.

“So?” Tooru tilts his headin a way he’s been told looks vaguely threatening. “What do youwant, Shrimpy-chan?”

The kid squints his eyes athim as if evaluating him. After a moment he leans back, all traces ofhis grin gone.

“You’ve been avoidingKageyama.”

Tooru tries not to let hissurprise show.

“So?”

The shrimp narrows his eyesand somehow he looks like a completely different person when he’sserious.

“Listen, I don’t know knowwhat your deal is, but if you’re just acting like this because ofhis feelings then you’re really a shitty person.”

Tooru scowls because honestly,what kind of person comes to rub their own relationship in anotherperson’s face. Even he isn’t that petty.

“I think you better leave,Shrimpy-chan.”

“I won’t,” the shrimp says not even flinching. “Notuntil I figure out why one second you’re flirting with Kageyama andpretending you don’t know him the next.”

Tooru throws him an indignantlook. “What?”

“You’ve been flirting,right?”

Tooru is so flabbergasted that hejust ends up saying, “Yes?”

The shrimp jumps off his couchgesturing animatedly.

“Then why the hell aren’tyou dating him?”

Everything kind of stops forTooru.

“What?”

“If you like him,” theshrimp says slowly, “and he likes you, then why aren’t you twodating?”

Tooru blinks at him whiletrying to comprehend what he just heard.

“You mean… you two aren’tdating?”

He tries to think back on anyparticularly affectionate moment or a confirmation from either one ofthem but his mind draws blank.

“What?” The loud shriekmakes him wince. “Of course not! Why would you even think that!”

Tooru takes a deep breath.

“So I like Tobio,” hestarts slowly, “and Tobio apparently likes me too. And he’s notdating you?” he turns to the shrimp. “He’s not dating anyone?”

The shrimp shakes his head.

“He’s been waiting for youto ask.”

And that’s how Tooru findshimself on the next train to Miyagi, the shrimp – or, okay, Hinata,right next to him.

0.

He intercepts Tobio on hismorning run.

“Oikawa-san,” he exclaims,surprised, but Tooru is so not in the mood for small talk.

He approaches Tobio, slowly,surely, despite his heart beating rapidly in his chest.

“I like you,” he saysstaring right into Tobio’s eyes so that he knows Tooru’s notmessing around. “I like you a lot. And I’d also like to date you.If… that’s okay.”

Tooru’s gaze doesn’tfalter as Tobio blinks his big blue eyes at him (and since when doesTobio have blue eyes and why hasn’t Tooru noticed before just howvery blue they are?).

His heart is beating so fastand so loud but when Tobio smiles at him, nods, the tips of his earsturning a lovely shade of pink, Tooru is pretty sure his heart stopsaltogether.

“I’d like that too,”Tobio says and Tooru lets out a shaky breath.

“Of course you do,” hesays, his whole body relaxing, and takes Tobio’s hand. “I’m acatch.”

Then Tobio is laughing,saying, sure you are, Oikawa-san, and Tooru decides that evenif his life is a fucking joke sometimes, it’s not so bad.

In fact, he thinks later as helistens to Tobio tell him about his latest game, his life is prettygreat.

[whale-wolf]

odd numbers?

1: Top 3 ice cream flavors: Vanilla, chocolate, and cookie Dough 3: Top 3 vacation destinations: Europe, New York, and Japan 5: Top 3 subjects of study/classes to take: English, history, and theatre7: Top 3 music artists: Panic! At the Disco, Coldplay, and Gorillaz9: Top 3 drinks: Root beer, peach tea, and hot tea 11: Top 3 months of the year: October, December, and May13: Top 3 binge perfect tv shows: Doctor Who, How I Met Your Mother, Scrubs15: Top 3 kinds of flower: Rose, sunflower, and violet17: Top 3 OTPs: Niles and Daphne, Ishihime, and Inukag 19: Top 3 characteristics you love about yourself: Creativity, humor, and open mindedness 21: Top 3 ways to exercise/ be active: Swim, walk, and dance23: Top 3 petnames: I don’t really care for petnames25: Top 3 most used websites: Tumblr, Facebook, and Youtube27: Top 3 hashtags you use: other fandoms, doctor who, and disney 29: Top 3 guilty pleasures: 10 Things I Hate About You, Twilight (okay, but I still really dislike it, but it makes me laugh), and the Cirque Du Freak movie (It’s so bad it’s funny). 31: Top 3 things to draw/doodle: People, creatures, swirls33: Top 3 things you’d buy if you gained three million dollars: Private jet, house, and books! 35: Top 3 celebrity crushes: At this point, David Tennant, Neil Patrick Harris, and Jemaine Clement37: Top 3 accents to hear: French, British, and New Zealand (thanks, Jemaine.) 39: Top 3 “Friends” quotes: “WHAT DID I MARRY INTO?!” “OH. MY. GOD!” “JOEY DOESN’T SHARE FOOD!” 41: Top 3 fruits: Blueberries, peaches, and plums43: Top 3 sports teams to watch: Not into sports 45: Top 3 things you hope to accomplish in college: I’ve accomplished a lot. 47: Top 3 people you miss right now: Just friends. 49: Top 3 favorite literary devices: Foreshadowing, Imagery, and Metaphors51: Top 3 physical things you find attractive: Hair, eyes, smile53: Top 3 pets you’ve had/wish to have: Dog, cat, and rabbit55: Top 3 things you want to say to someone in your lifetime: “I love you,” “I do,” and “Yes, I am pretty awesome.” 57: Top 3 cheesy romance movies: Down with Love, 10 Things I Hate About You, and Midnight in Paris59: Top 3 series (book, movie, television): For books, HP, ASOIAF, and CDF. For movies, Batman, HP, and LOTR. For TV, Frasier, Doctor Who, and Regular Show. 61: Top 3 youtubers you’re subscribed to: RosannaPansino, Annika Victoria, and ProzD. 63: Top 3 awards you want to win: Oscar, Golden Globe, Emmy? (If I can write for TV and movies, that’d be awesome) 65: Top 3 cars you dream of owning: Lamborghini, Mercedes, and Porsche67: Top 3 historical figures: Marie Antoinette, Arnold Rothstein, Al Capone69: Top 3 DIYs: Freezer paper stenciled shirts and whichever requires upcycling clothes. 71: Top 3 songs of this month: Carol Brown, Shiny, and Hey Beautiful 73: Top 3 villains: Evil Queen, Loki, and Darth Vader75: Top 3 recipes you want to try: So many, but mostly sweets. 77: Top 3 lucky items: Penny, clover, rainbows. 79: Top 3 things you miss about being a kid: No responsibilities, playing Pokemon with my friends, and swings! 81: Top 3 lies you were told: “Nothing,” “That’s cool,” “I’m fine.” I guess lol 83: Top 3 turn ons: Humor, kindness, and creativity85: Top 3 magazines/news papers/ journals to read: IDK. NY Times? 87: Top 3 spongebob episodes: THE BAND EPISODE. Plankton wins Spongebob in a bet. The Krusty Krab Training video. 89: Top 3 things you’d do differently: Cut out the toxic people early, be more active, and read more. (I read a lot, but there was so many books I didn’t read when I was younger) 91: Top 3 meals you love: Anything with shrimp, pizza, and hamburgers93: Top 3 embarrassing moments: Hitting my head in the pool, telling a bad joke, and falling into a pool after changing clothes 95: Top 3 things to do in the rain: Jump in puddles, run, and sing! 97: Top 3 items you can’t leave the house w/o: Phone, wallet, keys99: Top 3 art mediums: Animation, watercolor, and stop motion 101: Top 3 school memories: Making friends, discovering a passion for English, and being lame103: Top 3 pick up lines: “How you doin?” “HAVE YOU MET TED?” “I’m the Doctor.” 105: Top 3 taylor swift songs: Blank Space, Never Ever Getting Back Together, and Bad Blood

[londontheatre]

Mae Martin: Dope

Mae Martin possesses an endearing quality that makes her immediately likeable. Toronto-born-and-raised, Martin’s latest show Dope sketches the various obsessions she has experienced throughout her lifetime, from Bette Midler and stand-up comedy as a gawky pre-teen, to narcotics and love in her later years. A fairly hefty topic on paper, granted – but fortunately, Martin’s reserves of charisma, wise-cracks, and self-deprecating embellishments of her gangly teenage self, keep the audience from becoming maudlin.

Martin, now 30, claims to have been feeling ‘flat’ lately, she begins. Her mother (Wendy) puts forward a possible explanation: Martin has no current obsession, which, given Martin’s self-proclaimed addictive personality, means her inner ‘shrimp’ is asleep. The shrimp metaphor crops up repeatedly; Martin skilfully works images such as these into her set to the point where they become amusing shorthand later on. Awakening the shrimp is tantamount to the flood of dopamine in the brain that is experienced as a result of receiving (or thinking about) something pleasurable, she explains, and the continual reference to this dopamine cycle is what gives Martin’s show, at least in part, its name.

Martin is funny, there are no two ways about that. She’s also very good at thinking on her feet. But what is refreshing about Martin’s set is both her honesty, and also her message: we each of us have our obsessions, whether they be food, sex, exercise, or drugs. ‘Did you know we check our smartphones on average over 200 times a day?’ she asks, with genuine incredulity, pointing out the new obsession for millennials and the over 30s alike. As Martin guides us through her own obsessions – and subsequent drug abuse, as a result of hanging out with older people on the comedy circuit and trying to ‘be cool’ – she skilfully manages to strike the all-important balance between humour and gravitas.

Despite her set running slightly over, and thus rushing slightly to get through her material towards the end, Martin clearly enjoys herself stage, wryly highlighting the dopamine ‘buzz’ she gets whenever she receives a big laugh. As a seasoned performer already, Martin certainly has a long career ahead of her, and with such a varied and dark history, she could no doubt draw more material from her past to further illuminate and titillate the audience in equal measure. With Dope, what you see is what you get; Martin amuses and confides, and by the end of the evening, all you really want to do is sit down and re-watch Bette Midler in Hocus Pocus with your new found friend.

Review by Amy Stow

The award-winning stand-up and star of BBC Radio Four’s Mae Martin’s Guide to 21st Century Sexuality presents her debut UK tour. Mae Martin is comedy’s most naturally charismatic young storyteller, fresh from sell-out seasons in Australia, Edinburgh and London.

In her new show Dope, she examines a lifetime of obsessions, fandom and addiction and shines a light on that one weird shrimp we all have in our brains that is happy to pursue short-term pleasure despite long-term consequences.

Age Recommendation: 16+ Running Time: Approx 60mins Mon 18 – Sat 30 Sep 2017, 9.30pm Soho Downstairs http://ift.tt/GDd1na

http://ift.tt/2xwK5BT LondonTheatre1.com

[junker-town]

'Bachelorette' Episode 2 recap: DeMario is caught lying, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar stops by, AND SO MANY GOOD DOGS

Ashton Kutcher and Mila Kunis also make an appearance on the best episode of this show we’ve had in years.

It’s Bachelorette time. If you missed it, here’s last week’s recap of episode 1.

Welcome back, Sports Bachelor Nation. It’s Monday night of Memorial Day, so if you’re sitting on your couch sunburned and very full, please know you’re not alone. Luckily, we’ve got Rachel Lindsay’s search for happily ever after to distract us from the fact that we ate our weight in grilled meats (or vegetables, if you’re into that sort of thing) and drank a few too many beers over the past few days.

Speaking of beers, let’s watch some dudes get drunk and embarrass themselves on television as they try to make Rachel fall head over heels in love with them.

RACHEL’S DOG IS BACK!

We’re at Rachel’s temporary Bachelorette pad, where she’s talking about Her Journey so far. As she says that she’s getting good at being vulnerable, we zoom in on a shot of her dog with a cast on its leg. This seems like a metaphor, but I can’t be sure.

I have a message to the producers:

HELLO PRODUCERS PLEASE TELL US MORE ABOUT RACHEL’S DOG AND EXPLAIN WHY ITS LEG IS IN A CAST THANK YOU.

GROUP DATE ANNOUNCEMENT

In the mansion, the men are wearing henleys — official shirt of the Bachelor franchise. These men all look like the guy on the front of pack of Hanes shirts that you can buy in bulk at Walmart. I can only imagine that house smells like the men’s locker room before a middle school dance, and I sincerely hope Rachel isn’t asthmatic.

Chris “My Personal Trainer Says I’m Very Strong for a Man My Age” Harrison tells the men that A) there will be two group dates and one one-on-one this week and B) that he hopes the men are present for The Right Reasons.

HUSBAND HUNTING

The group date begins and we’re in a field. Rachel is grilling some burgers and shrimp. She throws a football because The Bachelorette is sports, and her spiral is better than many of the dudes’.

The arm of an angel! #TheBachelorette http://pic.twitter.com/KhCJWCrLUD

— The Bachelorette (@BacheloretteABC) May 30, 2017

In an aside to the camera, Blake — the aspiring drummer with a mushroom cut from my fourth grade class in the 90s — says that Lucas (Whaaabooooom Guy) is a garbage person who is NOT there for The Right Reasons. I can already tell that Blake’s made himself the Guy Who Hates Whaaabooooom Guy. Blake will undoubtedly spend most of his one-on-one time with Rachel trashing Lucas and then both Blake and Lucas will go home fairly soon after.

Rachel says that her friends are coming over. Her friends turn out to be Ashton Kutcher and Mila Kunis. It turns out that Ashton and Mila are huge Bachelor fans and called the producers to let them be on the show. I’m not sure if this is true, or if one of them has a contract with ABC and had to appear on this as part of a deal.

Ashton and Mila are funny. Mila is like, “Who here has health insurance?” Health insurance and kind eyes are really all I’m looking for in a man, so I appreciate this.

THE ULTIMATE HUSBAND OBSTACLE COURSE FOR VERY STRONG BOYS

Everyone knows the first thing a man must do when he’s trying to woo a woman is run an obstacle course that includes changing the diaper on a fake baby, running around with a vacuum, unclogging a drain that’s inexplicably clogged in the middle of a field, and buying her flowers.

The men do this. Kenny says he has an advantage because he’s super dad to his ten-year-old daughter, but Whaaabooom Guy wins thanks to what I think was an illegal stiff-arm. Mila calls him “Wazoozoo Guy.”

“I don’t think Rachel’s guy is in this group,” Ashton says, and I agree.

NIGHT DATE AT WHAT LOOKS LIKE A USED FURNITURE STORE

Rachel and her big strong boys go to an arcade bar or a used furniture warehouse (I can’t tell, which doesn’t bode well for the future of the establishment) for the evening portion of their date. Blake is on a tear, because it turns out he knows Lucas (Wazoozoo Guy) from before the show, because Lucas used to date Blake’s roommate. Lucas reads Rachel a poem and Rachel is kind, so she smiles, but the poem is terrible.

Blake is in full-on self destruction mode. He does indeed spend his one-on-one time trashing Lucas to Rachel, but it turns out there’s some back story here: Blake says he lives with Lucas’ ex-girlfriend, that Lucas is a “clown for TV exposure,” and that Lucas wears makeup so he’ll look good on TV.

(PLOT TWIST: The Hollywood Reporter did some digging and found that the two were on a previous reality show together.)

Blake leaves his time with Rachel having only spoken about Lucas. Lucas and Blake then trade dumb insults for a while until Lucas, who is slurring his speech because he’s so drunk, says Blake “is dismissed.” The producers zoom in on a creepy clown face, which feels like another metaphor.

DEAN’S SURPRISING COME-FROM-BEHIND

Dean shocks the world by making Rachel laugh a lot and stirring up what seem like romantic feelings. Rachel tells Dean she truly did like it when he said, “I’m ready to go black and I’m not going back,” but that she wanted to say it first, and he stole her line. Dean, who is 25 and slightly awkward, looks extremely relieved. His hand is on her leg.

Kenny and Rachel have a nice moment where Kenny tells her about his daughter. Kenny is earnest, sweet, and kind. I think I love Kenny.

Rachel gives Dean — whose name might as well be Blake, he totally looks like a Blake — the First Impression rose and he then makes out with her. Looks like a decent kiss. Better than Bryan’s from last episode at least. Rachel seems pleased.

QUICK ASIDE ABOUT LEE

We cut to Lee, the singer-songwriter du jour, for a moment during the group date. He’s at the mansion, talking shit about the other dudes, and you can tell the producers are setting him up to be The Real Villain (Lucas is The Clown-y Villain). These wily puppeteers producers are brilliant.

PETER’S MAGICAL DOG DATE FROM HEAVEN

Peter gets the one-on-one date. This isn’t shocking, because Rachel seemed so drawn to him last episode. He’s very handsome and knows how to drive, which is always a plus in a partner. He proves he can drive by driving Rachel in a Tesla to a private plane. Tesla must’ve paid out the ass for sponsorship this season because they’ve featured very prominently so far.

On the tarmac, Rachel throws a serious curveball when she says that this date will actually be a two-on-one, because her injured best friend is coming along. I’m like, man, is this going to be another famous person, like Kawhi Leaonard?

AND THEN IT’S HER DOG!!! It’s Rachel’s adorable, hurt, beautiful dog Cooper. The producers must’ve heard me (and the rest of America) as we clamored for more information about this adorable pooch, because here he is.

I am tearing up.

THERE ARE SOOOO MANY GOOD DOGS ON THIS DATE OH MY GOD

Rachel, Peter and Cooper get on a private plane and fly to a dog party at a dog hotel.

This date isn’t fair to the other contestants, because who wouldn’t immediately fall in love with a handsome man who took them to a dog hotel? We still don’t know how Cooper was injured, but we do know that Peter would move to Dallas for Rachel, and that the sparks, they are a flyin’. Peter dances with Cooper in a sea of other humans who are also dancing with their dogs.

Both Peter and Rachel have personalities, which is something new and different for this show. My key takeaway so far is that we all need dogs, and then we need handsome men, and then we need those man to bring all of us to dog parties at dog hotels.

TOOTH DATE

Rachel and Peter go on a delightful evening date where they talk about their matching tooth gaps (never thought I’d find a conversation on dentistry so fascinating, but here we are). Copper gets his own seat.

And then something wonderful happens: Both Rachel and Peter talk about how they went to see therapists after their last relationships fell apart. As an anxious person who believes strongly in therapy, I am highly, highly, highly in favor of getting rid of the stigma that goes along with taking care of mental health issues. Talking about it openly on national television is important, unexpected, and I’m here for it.

Appropriate fireworks for a smitten kitten! #TheBachelorette http://pic.twitter.com/eNRSt1PcIK

— The Bachelorette (@BacheloretteABC) May 30, 2017

Rachel is the best lead in this history of reality TV. Peter is the clear front-runner right now.

BASKETBALL DATE

Rachel and another group of merry men go to play basketball at a school gym. I can’t help but feel like maybe ABC is playing into how many sportswriters watch this show, because there are so many sports this season. There are also good dogs, which are definitely sports.

And then Kareem Abdul-Jabbar shows up to coach basketball.

This is very much sports, too, but it’s also somewhat surprising, because Kareem wrote a nuanced and spot-on op-ed in February about how The Bachelor and Bachelorette have had an abysmal amount of diversity and a serious lack of any real conversation:

“The real crime is the lack of intellectual and appearance diversity, which leaves the contestants as interchangeable as the Mr. Potato Head parts. The lack of racial diversity has already been commented on. If you’re black on The Bachelor or The Bachelorette, you’re usually kept around as a courtesy for a few weeks before being ejected. Those outside the ideal body fat percentage index need not apply. With all eyes firmly fixed on firm buttocks, the criteria for finding love becomes how high a quarter will bounce off rock-hard abs. Will we ever witness a conversation that isn’t so bland and vacuous that words seem to evaporate as soon as they are spoken?”

Maybe ABC listened? At any rate, the network has finally (however horribly and belatedly) made a black woman the Bachelorette. Perhaps Kareem decided he’d give the show a shot at redeeming itself and have some fun with Rachel in the meantime.

"I found it very interesting that he dunked on me today." - Rachel to Kareem. @TheRachLindsay @kaj33 #TheBachelorette http://pic.twitter.com/5RqqgSSg1p

— The Bachelorette (@BacheloretteABC) May 30, 2017

Kareem will not give these guys a chance to redeem themselves at basketball, though, because they don’t deserve one. Lee is terrible. Kareem laughs a lot. Like, at Lee. Not with him. I love this.

EVERYTHING IS FINE

Everything is going great — the guys play a basketball game in front of a packed crowd, which includes the human version of one of those blow-up guys in front of car dealerships:

Rachel and DeMario (who by now has compared himself to Michael Jordan, Tom Brady, LeBron James and Kobe Bryant) have been seriously vibing on this date, and it’s looking like she’s going to give him the Immunity Rose, a.k.a. The Bachelorette’s version of an Epi Pen.

AND THEN NOTHING IS FINE

Uh oh. This woman named Lexi shows up and claims that DeMario is her boyfriend (actually she says, “Karma’s a bitch, isn’t it DeMario?”).

Lexi says she saw DeMario on After the Final Rose at the end of Nick’s season, when DeMario was one of the guys who showed up to meet Rachel before her season started. DeMario pretends not to know Lexi at first, which is a mistake, because Lexi has text messages between the two of them in which DeMario says, “goodnight, babe.”

Nominate this for Act Break of the Year #TheBachelorette http://pic.twitter.com/7xHtRTNo1V

— Mark (@tole_cover) May 30, 2017

Lexi says the texts prove DeMario never ended their relationship before he went on the show, but DeMario says he ended it in person, so there wouldn’t be any texts. Rachel gives DeMario a chance to explain what happened, but he kind of fumbles through it, saying that Lexi is nuts. Lexi swears on her father’s grave and on her two kittens that DeMario is lying. She also calls him a piece of trash. DeMario is like, “I don’t have keys to your apartment!” And then he’s like “Oh, those keys. Yeah, I mailed them back.”

Both of these people are... maybe not the best.

Rachel lays down the law: “I don’t want to be played, I don’t want to be made a joke of, so I’m really going to need you to get the f[bleep] out. I don’t like being f[bleeping] embarrassed.”

"I’m really going to need you to get the f*@% out!” -Rachel#TheBachelorette http://pic.twitter.com/dbXKvlfbQa

— The Bachelorette (@BacheloretteABC) May 30, 2017

She sends DeMario home. Lexi also leaves.

RACHEL LAYS DOWN THE LAW SOME MORE

Rachel goes into the locker room and she’s like DON’T FUCK WITH ME, YOU ASSHOLES.

And by that I mean she graciously and kindly says:

“I pride myself in being real. If any of you have a girlfriend, please just tell me now, because it makes me sick that I sent people home. So with that being said, I’ll see you tonight.”

The guys are like WHAAAAAAT and pretend they can’t believe anyone would ever cheat or do anything bad. One guy, maybe Lee (or another Blake, or another Dean, I don’t know, there are too many) says, “That’s insane to me, how can you be so duplicitous?”

And I’m like, oh yeah, because I’m sure all of you are a bunch of goddamn saints.

NIGHT DATE AFTER THE DEMARIO DISASTER

Rachel tells the camera that “DeMario is a dirty, dirty dog” and that it’s making her “question the other men’s real intentions. I need to look past charm and see them for who they are and recognize their true character.”

"I need to look past the charm and see them for who they are and recognize their true character." -Rachel#TheBachelorette http://pic.twitter.com/F5tVAYpfut

— The Bachelorette (@BacheloretteABC) May 30, 2017

That seems maybe not possible after two weeks of knowing someone, but if anyone can do it, I believe it’s Rachel Lindsay.

The other guys, meanwhile, are still milking the DeMario thing for all its worth. They’re all like I WOULD NEVER HURT YOU OR ANY WOMAN LIKE THAT!

Right. And my uncle’s the Easter Bunny.

Josiah swoops in and acts all protective, which could seem bad, but seems maybe good? I don’t even know anymore. But he’s wearing a great outfit, he’s quite attractive, and he’s very smooth, so I am somewhat taken with him. Rachel seems to be, too, because she gives him the Immunity Rose.

A FEW RANDOM THOUGHTS

Diggy wears Von Miller glasses. I like Diggy, I think.

We have a Diggy and an Iggy, which is confusing.

Alex sings to Rachel in Russian.

Rachel tells Eric that quality time and physical touch are the things that make her feel loved. I love how sex positive she is. Go Rachel. All women should have good sex.

We haven’t seen enough of Anthony!!!!! I want more of Anthony!!

Kisses on live mics are disgusting.

We’re only two episodes in and this entire episode is better than Nick’s whole dumb season.

DEMARIO COMES BACK?!

So Bryan, the one who kissed Rachel first, is a chiropractor. He sets up a massage table at the cocktail party and gives her a massage. Bryan creeps me out, but massages are good, and Rachel seems into him.

Rachel and Iggy are playing a thumb war (sexy!) when DeMario comes back to try to explain himself. The security guy goes to get Chris Harrison, who is probably asleep at his house in L.A.

But Chris eventually shows up, and he’s like... okay, DeMario, I’ll tell Rachel you’re here, but it’s up to her if she wants to talk to you. Chris is doing more this season than he did for all of the past three combined.

Rachel is curious. She goes to talk to DeMario.

Meanwhile, the dudes are like “Wait, is that Chris? He’s not supposed to be here!” And then they realize DeMario is back, and they charge out like an angry mob to go get rid of him.

AND THEN THE EPISODE JUST ENDS

This is the best season of this show I’ve ever seen, and Episode 2 was the best episode. We had drama up the wazoo, promising suitors, and Rachel, who’s smart, funny, and sincere in a not-corny way that makes you actually believe such things as The Right Reasons (or something close to them) exist. I hope she gets her own talk show after this so we can keep watching her conduct the people around her like a symphony. Actually, no, I hope she does whatever the hell she wants to do with the love of her life.

I hated this show after Nick, but now I can’t wait for next week. HOWEVER: if the producers keep doing this stupid cliff-hanger shit, I will call Cooper The Adorable Injured Dog and demand he pull rank to make them stop.