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and a barbed wire dress

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Parv rolled her eyes and stopped noodling around on her guitar when Kogie nudged her, pointing at the clock and then going back to whatever it was he had been doing. Sparkles* was still going through his vocal warmups, though, so she totally had time. Kogie could go fuck himself.

She put the guitar down anyways, tugging at her socks before lunging forwards, bending in half across the shitty ass couch to grab her boots. They were really sexy boots. Slightly uncomfortable to wear offstage, but when they were on it didn’t matter in the slightest, so. Parv tugged them on, getting pinching her thumbs like she always did before springing up, smoothing out her skirt and glancing into the mirror, having to take a couple of steps to get a view that wasn’t obstructed by band and beer and instruments.

She was looking hot. Also kinda nervous, but mostly hot.

Still, she hadn’t felt anything like this for months and months, back before they started this tour and back when only their families knew their name. Now they had like, three fans. Life was tough being in a nerdy anime band.

The skirt though. She’d bailed on doing this so many times, so many hurried changes into too-tight jeans, so many times she’d decided to do it next time, next show, for real this time. And so she’d deliberately not brought any jeans or even a pair of shorts, and she was totally going to rock this shit. As soon as she got done pacing the shoddy back room of the shoddy venue. When the hell had she started pacing, what the fuck.

Parv shook herself, drumming her fingers on her (bare!) legs. They were gonna get super big and all the media would love them, love her, have long in depth interviews about how she came to be so awesome (the obvious answer is that she was straight up born cool) and all their millions of adoring fans would wish that they’d been here to see this and talk about how goddamned hot she looked in skirts. And all transphobes would instantly be punched in the face by a minimum of five of her super devoted fans, and it would be awesome.

She really did look hot though, she decided. And like, super punk. And it was also time for them to go on. Oops. They were the first (and only) opener, though, so only like half of the people would’ve showed up. It was all cool.

 

Parv totally owned the show. They sounded better than she’d come to expect from venues like this, and the crowd was filling out and not totally ignoring them. Or at least, she hoped. She had like a literal fuckton of sweat in her eyes, so seeing was pretty much a no-go. (Also, her old roommate could totally fuck off, learning to play in the dark was totally a useful skill. She was going to put that on her next job application. Awesome.)

Seriously though, they were totally on point. Parv felt totally great, tipsy but mostly riding high on energy drinks and the way she kept on choking back giggles in the gaps between songs and when she got close to the front of the stage she could totally make out some of the crowd eying up her legs. Sweet.

They got a decent cheer when they went off and Parv ran around, grinning and giving everyone she could a high five- from Sparkles* to stage guys to kids who had obviously snuck backstage. The buzz was more intense than she was used to, so she downed a beer, tucked her guitar back in its case, and snuck around to dive into the crowd, working her way forwards so she was close to the stage by the time the music started up again.

Parv knew she should be more careful, but man, it felt so good to jump around and get crushed up between walls of bodies and face off with the tall guys who were shorter than she was anyways. Gigs like this were great.

She had another plastic cup of beer in her hand when the lights flicked onto the crowd and the way less sloppy punk band they were touring with thanked all of Area 11 for coming, and Parv held it straight up in the air and totally fistpumped, yelling just a little. Parv was the best, and everybody else deserved to know it. A guy from before nudged her and she totally spilled her beer all over the person in front of her, which was probably why they hit her extra hard when the pit started up again. Awesome.

 

Parv ended up with her guitar piled on top of her in their shitty van that was making loud noises every time they took a left turn, but she still felt awesome. Slightly sick, but still awesome. “You guys are the greatest. We’re the greatest.”

“Thanks, Parv,”

Parv hummed and pressed her face into the seat, digging her knees into the back of Leo’s chair. It was bullshit that she didn’t get shotgun; her legs were way too long for the back. Whatever.

Either way, they had just enough money for a motel room for the four of them, so she’d get to pass out in an actual bed for once, and as much as she complained about having to share with the rest of the guys, she didn’t really mind. She honestly liked how warm it’d get, squished between shoulders and elbows and chests and the way her breathing would fall into rhythm with whoever she was pressed closest to and the way it all just felt right, like she’d found a family in this losery band who hopped between shit venues and always used the right words for her and supported her whether she was brave enough to wear skirts or not.

Everything was pretty much the best, like, ever. Of all time.