I’m sorry for my silence. Life’s been a little too heavy lately. My boyfriend and I broke up, and my health is on a steep decline—there’s talk of new meds, but the side effects might cost me a kidney (or two, lol). I’ve been working without a single day off, and after the hurricane, my roof almost caved in. My landlord isn’t exactly rushing to fix it. On top of that, I’ve relapsed into old habits...Depression’s been a constant and worsening since my last post.
I’ll try to be more active once I get my footing, but here’s some light in the dark—I’m working on a zine! This has been a dream of mine for ages, and it’s finally happening. Just a few more steps until I hand it off to my editor. So keep an eye out for that, if all goes well.
Summary: Y/N is fresh into their role at Niji needs to manage their beloved streamers amidst the company's turmoil. They confide in their cousin Michael, who is there to comfort them during emotional times. As y/n embarks on this new chapter, they wrestle with the uneasy thought that their cherished connection to the streamers might shift in ways they can’t yet foresee.
------ OwO ------
As the final hiring confirmation meeting faded into its close, Riku Tazumi, my new boss, gazed at me with a sincerity that took my breath away. “友達になってくれませんか?” he asked, his voice soft yet heavy with unsaid truths. The words, “Would you like to be friends?” were more than a simple inquiry; they were his way of requesting a raw honesty, an assurance that I wouldn't soften my truths to spare his feelings.
In the midst of NijiSanji's storm of criticism, he needs someone who can pierce through the static and deliver the stark reality of what's best for the talents. Meeting his earnest gaze, I replied with unwavering resolve, “最善を尽くします,” my voice a vessel of hope and determination.
We exchanged our goodbyes and my heartfelt thanks, and as the call ended, a profound weariness settled into my bones. Yet beneath that exhaustion was a bubbling excitement for this new chapter in my career. I couldn’t predict how fans and talents would respond, but I knew one thing for certain—I needed to share this news with someone special.
I moved slowly into our shared living room, where I found a familiar figure slumped on our old gray couch. He fidgeted nervously with his nails, tapping his foot to an unrecognized beat. “Michael, guess what just happened,” I said, trying to maintain a neutral expression, though my excitement fought to escape.
He looked up, bounding off the couch to envelop me in an impossibly tight hug. “You have to guess! You need to guess! You can’t just assume, dude!” His fervor was so palpable I struggled to breathe.
Eventually, he pulled away, his gaze drifting from my face. “I know you too well,” he said, guilt lacing his voice, “I know what you’re thinking and everything you’re going to do, so I’m sure you got the job.”
Tears brimmed and spilled down my cheeks as he stammered, “Oh shit, dude, was I wrong? Fuck…” He scrambled for the half-empty tissue box, grabbing it from the coffee table with a look of sheer panic.
“No, dude, I got it. I’m literally the best person ever—of course, I got the job. I’ll be working as a court jester when my boss’s ideas get weird and dumb, and I’ll protect people and...and...I’m so excited,” I choked out through sobs, overwhelmed by the emotion of it all.
Michael’s eyes softened with understanding as he saw me, his emotional cousin/housemate, unraveling. “Yeah, okay, dude, let’s order Indian food. My treat,” he said, patting my shoulder in a gesture of comfort. We ordered our meal, and as we waited, I continued to spill my excitement.
After our meal, we said our goodnights and retreated to our separate rooms. I sat at my desk, the computer screen still aglow, and opened YouTube. Sonny Brisko was streaming, but a tight knot of unease formed in my stomach. The thought of soon meeting, and inevitably managing, the very streamers I’d admired made my heart sink. I shuddered at the fear that my enjoyment of their content might be forever changed by this new role.
Resolute, I typed “ASMR loud talking sleep” into the search bar, clicking on the ‘watched’ button to sift through my previously viewed videos. As I scrolled, I sought solace in the comforting hum of the ASMR, allowing myself to drift into the soothing familiarity of past favorites. Yet, even as I tried to escape into this sanctuary, a fleeting thought lingered: perhaps these people are even more extraordinary than I ever imagined.
From Andrew Hozier-Byrne’s point of view, he meets Y/N at a speakeasy and is instantly hooked. When Damian Haas shows up, things get awkward as the two men compete for Y/N’s attention. Y/N, however, stays clueless about the weird tension between them.
(it has been a hot minute since I have written a fanfiction...I am so sorry if this sucks)
She slipped into the speakeasy like a whisper, barely disturbing the air yet transforming the room with her mere presence. Her hair, a cascade of midnight and mahogany, framed a face that seemed hewn from moonlight. Though she never sought attention, the room paused, caught in the soft glow of her aura.
The speakeasy was hidden behind an old bookstore, its creaky door groaning as it opened. A haven for poets and dreamers, it was a place not meant to be found, yet she had a knack for uncovering such sanctuaries—places where smoke curled like poetry and silence held secrets.
Her name was Y/N, though she wore it lightly, as if it might drift away with the night. She was an artist or a poet, or perhaps both, though she never claimed the titles. She simply created, leaving traces of herself in every brushstroke, every verse, every lingering smile. She carried her beauty like a gift for others, even as it made hearts ache.
She settled into her usual spot at the bar—a worn wooden stool where the light was soft and the music seemed a private whisper. Her usual order—a glass of red wine, deep and rich like the verses she penned—was prepared without question by the bartender, a man with knowing eyes who had seen her here before, always alone, always with that distant look.
As she sipped her wine, her gaze fell upon a figure at the piano. Andrew Hozier-Byrne’s fingers danced over the keys with a grace that belied the rough world outside. Tonight, his music was a lullaby for the stars. When he noticed her, his smile radiated more warmth than summer sun. She returned it, her smile soft and unaware of its effect on him.
Andrew had watched her since her first visit, a night creature who seemed to blend with shadows and light. Torn between speaking to her and preserving the spell she cast over the room, he hesitated until tonight, when her open, trusting gaze urged him to act. He finished his piece with a flourish and approached her.
“Do you mind if I join you?” he asked, his voice low and respectful.
Y/N looked up, her eyes meeting his with a softness that made his breath hitch. “Of course,” she replied, her voice a melody he wanted to hear forever.
They spoke, or rather, Andrew spoke while Y/N listened, her head tilted, capturing every word as if it were a treasure. He shared stories of the piano, his solace and voice. She nodded, understanding in her eyes, and responded as though weaving a tale just for him.
“You play like the night sings,” she said, and Andrew’s heart stumbled. “It’s like... you tell a story without words, and it’s the most beautiful thing.”
He smiled shyly, unused to such praise. “And you, Y/N, what story do you tell?”
She looked down at her wine, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “I’m not sure I have a story worth telling,” she said. Andrew longed to tell her otherwise, that she was a story, a poem, a painting deserving to be seen. But before he could speak, the door creaked open again.
Damian Haas entered, his presence as commanding as a storm. Despite his casual attire—a skeleton shirt—his eyes held depths of someone who had seen much yet still found joy. He saw Y/N at the bar, illuminated by dim light, and felt a pull he couldn’t name but knew he needed.
Y/N greeted him with a smile that blossomed like a secret flower. “Damian,” she said, and Andrew felt a sharp pang in his chest.
Andrew smiled crookedly and nodded as Damian took the seat beside Y/N. “Have you two met?” she asked, her voice lively and sweet.
“We were just talking,” Andrew said, his voice deep.
Y/N sipped her wine, seemingly unaware of the tension between the men. “You both have the same kind of soul. Like you’re made of music and stories, and the world is waiting to hear what you’ll say next.”
Andrew and Damian exchanged a glance, an unspoken understanding—or rivalry—passing between them. Y/N remained blissfully unaware, her warmth wrapping around them like a gentle embrace.
They spent the evening talking, laughing, and sharing. Y/N’s affection was light and innocent, yet it sent shivers down their spines. She didn’t notice how they leaned closer or how their gazes lingered on her.
As the night wore on and the speakeasy emptied, Y/N finished her wine with a contented sigh. “I should be going,” she said, her voice tinged with something. “But I’m glad I ran into you both tonight. It’s nice to be around people who understand.”
She stood, slightly unsteady, and both Damian and Andrew reached out to steady her. Their hands brushed, and they froze, acutely aware of each other’s presence.
“Let me walk you home,” Damian offered gently, his eyes meeting Andrew’s with a silent challenge.
Andrew hesitated, then smiled sadly. “Yes, let Damian walk you home,” he said, though his heart ached to be the one by her side.
Y/N looked between them, her smile bright, oblivious to the tension. “Thank you,” she said sincerely. “You’re both so kind, but...”
Damian took her arm, and Andrew watched, his heart heavy. Y/N started walking to the door. “I can get home alone,” she said with a smile, as the door closed behind her. The room sighed, the echoes of their conversation lingering like a song that hadn’t yet ended.
Andrew turned to Damian. “Are you two... together?” he asked, frowning.
Damian met his gaze, sadness and irritation evident. “No,” he said firmly, signaling the bartender for a tab Andrew hadn’t realized he had. Andrew sensed a rivalry forming for Y/N’s affection or attention, and as he daydreamed, he didn’t notice Damian leaving quietly.
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