#2) u don’t get a medal for wanting to fuck me before or after this like I’m Hot.

[a1kane]

i hate cis people i really do

[bill-weasley]

thoughts on the finale.

this is long and very rambly and i think i’m still trying to catch my breath.

first, let’s go into the pros.  - sam being cap for the entire ep. i didn’t think we were going to get that, but we did.

- bucky being such a good partner to sam and heart eyes over sam. me too, buck. me too.

- the suit was incredible, everything i wanted. there’s some mishaps but i’ll get to that.

now the cons, there’s a lot of cons. get ready.

- there wasn’t enough time. like the ep was only 41 mins long?? are you shitting me? it felt so so so so so so so so rushed, their script was all over the place and nothing felt natural. it was like there was an episode that was missing before this one?? like where is that episode. this episode should’ve been a 2 hr long episode going in depth on what’s actually going on. this is just -- terrible pacing. i feel like this entire episode’s script was put together by a toddler. im sorry. that’s how i feel.

- not enough sam. idk. does anyone else feel like there wasn’t enough sam? there were so many other characters involved that i don’t feel satisfied? i feel like we saw five mins of sam as captain america and getting some action and we’re supposed to somehow be satisfied after that wait? i’m sorry, but i’m left wanting?? idk if that’s a good thing. you could’ve left us feeling at peace but i felt like there wasn’t enough. there needed to be more. i needed more sam. i needed more captain america giving orders, captain america leading, i needed sam wilson kicking some fucking ass. his scenes were all brilliant, but i needed MORE.

- isaiah. now, im so happy he has his own corner in the smithsonian, but lemme tell u something, it ain’t enough. he needs more?? money?? apologies, medals, a thousand fucking reprinted history books with his name on it so he’s never forgotten again. public apologies from the government. and a whole lot of money for all the damage and abuse they inflicted on him. no isaiah deserved the fucking world as his oyster?? im sorry, yall know i love tony, but iron man gets worshipped and -- isaiah gets his own corner in the smithsonian and we’re supposed to be happy? fuck that. no. 

- they teased us with sarah/bucky and didn’t even give us a hint of that in the last ep. i know that’s not a real critique, but i really wanted something. give us breadcrumbs pls

- why the FUCK did john walker get a fucking redemption arc?? ew you wasted so much time on him. time i will never get back?? i want to scrub my eyes. why why why did he need to take up screentime from SAM?? why??? i don’t wanna see him.

okay those are my thoughts, this ep was only my favorite because sam wore the suit. that’s it. there’s nothing in this episode that’s worthwhile besides sam. idc. im sorry. :shrugemoji:

[hey-hamlet]

BNHA AU Ideas : Darker Stains

Also on AO3 

TL;DR: 

Being a villain might run in Izuku's family, but that doesn't mean he needs to be the same type of villain as his dad. After all, the world doesn't need another All for One.

But I could do with another Stain.

AKA: Izuku, stubbornly follows Stain around until the guy warms up to him, all while he slowly poisons his gen ed class against the concept of heroes. Iida is stuck in the middle of all of this and finding himself begrudgingly agreeing with the kid who seems too sweet to be a villain.

Basically, deku is stain's apprentice

Ok less apprentice, more like "kid he cant get rid of"

izuku has afo and is sensei's kid and its kinda been his mission to get stain onside, but he just kinda started staning stain

so he said "love u dad but can i just like, follow this guy" and his dad said "you know what, its good to broaden your villainous horizons" So he makes a deal w stain: the heroes don't have to die, but izuku will take their quirks from them

in this AU izuku can "borrow" a quirk pretty quickly but needs a solid minute of contact to fully take it

izuku goes to ua, hes a gen. ed. student! he's there to get connections/blackmail but he only shows up around 3 days a week because of "family matters" but he’s holding great grades so they haven’t pushed too hard about his attendance. the only quirk izuku is listed as having is minor telekinesis, its all he uses in school but he gets pretty far in the sports festival, all the way to the tournament but has to forfeit his match because he needs to do something

(it was against bakugo. he honestly could have fought it but bakugo would be way angrier not being allowed to fight him so he left a little early)

so bakugo has always been kinda,,, scared of izuku. he lives w his dad, his mum lives in europe or something, bakugo isn't sure (afo told her it'd be safer for her to leave the country because all might vs him would be dangerous. She agreed but asked that he A, look after izuku and B, she be allowed to give her quirk to him as a gift to keep him safe. its izukus favorite quirk) and izuku has always let off a creepy aura. he had a "weak" quirk but did a lot of unexplained things, was too smart etc and his dad was creepy as all hell

bakugo would never admit it, but he was kinda glad he didnt have to fight izuku

Iida doesn’t get the call from his mum until later so he gets his medal and everything.

turns out? tensei was stopped by the hero killers, they don't "kill" people but they do kill heroes, tensei fought, lost and lost his quirk

so everything happens as in canon up till hosu (mirio has ofa) so izuku knows iida a little, was on his team with todoroki (replaced kami, his quirk was great for grabbing headbands). He actually picked iida's team because he wanted to know more about him before they took on ingenium

he wasnt 100% onboard with the removal of ingenium because he wasn't all that bad but he wasn't perfect for stains ideology because he was pretty profit-focused, had no other heroes on team but loads of sidekicks who make lower rates than heroes and give his agency a funding boost and was from a Hero Family so it wasn't super likely he wanted to be a hero just to save people

but he was a nice guy and put his life on the line for people so izuku thought he was pretty ok but stain was sticking to his guns and izuku didn't want the guy dead,,, so he said sure. so, izuku kinda,,, knows iida is going to come after stain. he saw all the people who put in internship forms, he saw where iida put down and put 2 and 2 together. but, thing is? he really likes iida! every time he's met iida the guy has been super nice to him, if a little uptight. during the cavalry battle he even took a hit for izuku he didn’t need to and izuku liked that so he’s trying to steer stain away from where he knows iida is probably going to end up because fuck endeavour and he's in Hosu

(plus izuku wants that sweet sweet fire quirk because he's not allowed to take dabi's)

also: relevant but only just, izuku has a really cutesy villain costume and isn't linked to the hero killer (like, think bunny poncho)

so izuku is wandering around, trying to work out how to lure endeavour into a dark alley and not having much luck because the nomu are L o u d and he ends up getting pushed to the ground and trampled in a person stampede

which he's a little salty about! but, iida, a knight in shining armour, stops his search for the hero killer to help izuku up and ask if hes ok and izuku blushes despite himself because even tho hes trying to steal the number 2 heroes quirk hes a big fan of heroes and iida? pushing all the heroic buttons

so yada yada, stain ends up taking native because endeavour wasnt leaving the crowds and izuku goes over to take the quirk for him and iida shows up

He steps between izuku and stain (assuming stain ment to hurt izuku) and says hes going to get revenge for his brother

and stain just fucking,,, sighs because he can see izuku's blush from here and the kid is all starry eyed over baby ingenium but like, the kid is vengeance-y and that’s not great for a hero, so he thinks the least he can do is rough him up a bit to teach him what a hero should be doing, because he’s trying to make a point more than anything he doesn’t use his quirk yet and tries to explain his point to iida

izuku is sitting off to the side with native and just watching this go down (he,,, may also be stealing native's quirk,, because fuck that guy but thats not the point)

anyway, iida is losing, and pretty badly too because the kid is angry and alone. izuku has finished taking native's quirk, who still hasn’t realized because hes stupid so he hauls iida over his shoulder from where hes a little concussed on the ground and runs off with him, leaving stain to sigh because what has his life come to

izuku talks to iida about stains ideas while patching him up, admitting that he thinks iida's brother was actually a pretty good hero and that stains a little strict. iida cant help but understand stains way of thinking, even though hes mad at himself about it. he tries to ask izuku what he was doing but he just gets shushed

izuku kinda dumps iida on todoroki and runs

(todoroki swears there was something familiar about the rabbit costumed kid)

so, izuku like comes up to iida during school, says he heard ab. stain and that it was really impressive that he did all that yadda yadda, and then leaves, 20 minutes later todoroki sees iida trying to flex his arms and grimacing. iida admits his arms are a little sore but its nbd

during hero training iida collapses a little and ochako runs over, hes trying not to scream because his arms hurt so bad.

he heads to recovery girl and hes? ok? but now also got engines where his brother did? and todoroki and ochako are so lost. todoroki turns to iida and says "i know this is off topic, but didnt your involvement with stain get suppressed from the media?" and iida freezes

iida trying to find this gen ed student but he doesnt really remember izukus name. hes just "green boy w minor telekinesis who knew too much"

i want izuku ducking behind his bestie shinso to hide from the big bad hero student. shinso is ready to throw down for izuku honestly. izuku confided in shinso ab. his villainous quirk and shinso is honestly shaping up to be his righthand man. together they'll show the world what heroes should really be, by tearing the system to shreds

iida is trying to find "green boy". short skinny green boy who hides behind his tall angry friend and is only on campus like, half the week. 

needless to say iida is having some trouble

so iida, honestly losing faith in heroics (in this au, todoroki told iida about the quirk marriage) goes looking for stain

iida: “where is izuku”

everyone in gen ed: 💪🏽👁👄👁👊🏽

iida, now in tears: “what are you  say i ng”

basically in this au izuku has managed to poison the gen ed. kids against heroics. some of them cant stand their teachers anymore, none of them want to transfer, they fake gag when they see the heroics students and some of them have even dropped out but no one suspects izuku because the kid loves heroes!!!

mic is his homeroom teacher

ooooOOOH TRAITOR MIC TOO

so mic is also the traitor

but hes like,, stupidly in love with aizawa and izuku kinda loves eraserhead so izuku makes his dad promise to not hurt 1a/aizawa so in this au? aizawa doesn't get smashed by the nomu. aizawa was trapped by stains quirk so the guy has tr a u m a but he's not in pain. afo is honestly trying to kill allmight but izuku likes all might so they fight about it but like, a soft fight? and it's disturbing even shigiraki because you should not be lightly bickering over the life of a man

shigaraki s in the corner tears in his eyes because izuku just gave afo permission to “lightly maim him” like goddamn kid what’s wrong with u

stain runs into iida and he's like "god please i dont wanna fight you again the boss' kid will cry" and iida is like ",,, so tell me about izuku" and stain fucking glares at him w such intensity iida is both 1, sure he's correct 2, scared for his life

so stain calls kurogiri and throws iida into the bar and izuku jumps like, 6 feet in the air like a cat and is clinging to the roof but he calms the fuck down and iida is so shook that the only thing he can think to say is ",,, we are too young to be in a bar"

and izuku busts a gut and hes like, crying laughing "you're right we are way too young, why don't we go to another room?" dabi wolf whistles, then has to dodge izuku's now flying milkshake iida n izuku just chat! n iida is a little creeped? because izuku is charismatic and charming and iida agrees with him 100% but he shouldn’t be? he should be nervous or angry or at least a little confused but hes just so charming and bubbly its a little odd. honestly, all the stuff izuku pointed out? iida starts to see how bakugo can get away with acting like an ass but shinso can’t even look at someone wrong without getting set upon

iida is making massive leaps in his training because his quirk has doubled in strength! but, it feels like hes stolen something from his brother

but thats not possible, right? you cant give and take quirks.

of course not

...

right?

iida starts wondering what midoriya's quirk really is, exactly. he never named it. just said "i can use telekinesis on light stuff" but, he hung around villains and seemed to be respected by them, without any visible training, weapons or strength

and shinso, when prompted, said he empathised with midoriya, which iida thought was an odd word choice?

anyway, iida doesnt feel great during hero training. all might's villain costume feels almost offensive? and the profiling aizawa has them do feels wrong, like making assumptions based off the quirk, not the person. it just feels gross and wrong and he's starting to feel really conflicted. because stain hurt people. izuku hurt people.

but he agrees with them

[what-is-your-plan-today]

Guilty As Charged

One Shot for @thatfanficstuff​ ‘s Band New U challenge.

My Prompt was “Lawyer AU”

Pairing- Bucky Barnes X (sort of…) Reader Insert. This is my first Reader Insert so hopefully it works out as well as my OFC seems to have done.

Warnings- Bad language words. **my knowledge on US law is limited so humour me**

“We find the defendant not guilty”

You let out a sigh and rub at your temple. Looking over at your colleague, Sam, you shake your head in utter disbelief.

“Y/N this wasn’t your fault…” he begins in a low voice but you simply sigh again and shrug.

“I was sure they’d see through his lies” you glance over to your right where the defence team, headed up by James Buchanan Barnes of Barnes & Rogers Law are shaking hands. Barnes’ face is arranged in the usual smug look that you want to slap right off it. His partner, Steve glances over at you and gives you a genuine, sympathetic smile. He is always the most courteous out of the two.

“He fucking did it Y/N” Sam’s voice is almost a growl “I know he did.”

“Well in the eyes of the law he didn’t…” you state, standing up “Come on, let’s get out of here before he starts…”

You hastily shuffle your papers back into their respective files and pack your briefcase up. Picking up your jacket, you shrug it on, smooth down your pencil skirt and make to leave the courtroom before Barnes can pipe up with his usual smart ass quips. But you’re not quite fast enough. “Commiserations Miss Y/LN, can’t win ‘em all…” the familiar Brooklyn drawl hits your ears “mind you, winning some would be a start.” “Buck…” Steve sighs “c'mon pal…”

You grit your teeth. You know you shouldn’t rise to it, but you just can’t help it. The man is an utter jack ass. Spinning to face him you shoot him your best contemptuous glare, the one you always reserve for those people you really cannot stand, and look at him like he is something you’ve just trodden in.

“You know Barnes, there is such a thing as being gracious in victory as well as defeat…” “Defeat” he asked, looking at Steve with a puzzled expression on his face “no, not sure what that is…” “Eat shit” you mumble before turning to Sam who is stood behind you, watching the exchange. You nod to him and the two of you continue up the aisle towards the exit. The victim’s family are congregated outside and all at once the start barraging you with questions.

“How did that happen?”

“What do they mean the confession was under duress…?”

“You said it was a cert he would go down…”

“What about a private prosecution…”

You sigh and turn to look at them, you’re exhausted. “I’m sorry… ” you shake your head “that new evidence that his attorney submitted… it was just threw too much of a doubt into the juries mind…” you hold your hand up to gently silence them “if you’re serious about a private prosecution then I can meet you next week to discuss…” You and Sam head back to your office, dump the files and then decide there’s only one thing for it. Alcohol and lots of it. 

“Hey Y/N, hey Sam.” Clint, the bar tender greets you “I hear it wasn’t a great day in court for you…” You look up and he is pointing to the TV behind the bar. It’s on a news channel showing a report from outside the court earlier that afternoon which isn’t surprising. The case had thrown up huge public interest ever since the body of the teenage girl has been found in the alleyway in Queens. The defendant confessed but new evidence had been submitted that afternoon featuring a recording that the defence had gotten their hands on as proof the confession was taken under duress. Being totally honest, you have to admit that it didn’t sound great, the officer did seem to be leaning heavily on the defendant but the other evidence was, no, IS overwhelming. But all it needed was that little shred of doubt and the jury couldn’t convict. And now thanks to Barnes and Rogers, specifically Barnes, in your mind a dangerous killer is walking free. As you stare at the screen you see Barnes with the defendant, all smiles and Steve at his side. Barnes greets the press with a raised hand. “Clint turn it over man…” Sam almost pleads and Clint shouts you both a sympathetic look before he points the remote at the TV and flicks it over to a mundane afternoon game show. You order 2 beers, and then settle at the bar on one of the tall chairs, crossing your bare, heeled legs as you and Sam begin to dissect the case. You can’t help it, you always do this, analyse where you went wrong or right. The pair of you get that enthralled in your discussions, that before you know it’s an hour later and you’re 4 beers deep… and Sam is getting a phone call from his wife, Natasha. “I gotta go boss…” he says apologetically “it’s the kids dance recital at 7 and if I miss this one Nat’s gonna hang me out to dry!.” You wave his explanation off “It’s fine, go Sam. Oh, and take the morning tomorrow…that case has had us working all hours and I don’t intend on being there till lunch… Clint, gimme a bourbon please?” “Don’t let Barnes get to you” Sam says “you know what he is like” “Smug, arrogant and annoyingly self-righteous.” You nod “got it.” Sam smiles and drops a kiss to your cheek. “See you later” Clint slides the glass of bourbon over to you and you smile before pulling out your phone to check a few emails, social media… you’re just reading through an article you found on Twitter about a Billionaire who owns a Technology company in Malibu who has designed some kind of metal suit that allows him to fly (because that’s gonna end well) when a familiar voice breaks your concentration. “Can I buy you a drink?” You roll your eyes and look up at Bucky Barnes as he leans effortlessly on the bar, still in his suit, although he has dispensed of his tie and opened his top button. This is another thing you hate about him. He is utterly gorgeous. Like GQ cover gorgeous, especially in his sharp suits and silk ties…and he fucking knows it too. “Depends.” You say, throwing back the remainder of your bourbon “Does it come with a side helping of irritating smugness?” He chuckles “I’m off duty Doll so no.”

Doll.

“In that case I’ll have another Monkey Shoulder.” You say, picking the good stuff instead of the house brand, and you slide your empty glass back to Clint. “Take it you’re not driving home?” Barnes asks, eyes running over your bare legs. “Well if I do I’m sure you can get me off any charges…” you reply sharply, shooting him a look that makes it clear you caught him eyeing you up. And it isn’t the first time either. That’s another reason you clash so much in the courtroom. Sexual tension. Fucking jerk. He barks a laugh “You’re really not happy with me are you?” “Not particularly.” You say, thanking Clint as he slides the glass to you, with a small wink. It’s a double you notice. That should set Barnes back a bit. The man in question takes his beer and after a pull he looks directly at you. “Come work for me.” He says and you groan, not this again. “I’m a district attorney ” you roll your eyes. “Not a defence attorney. I told you that last time you asked. And the time before…and the time before that…” “I’m nothing if not persistent.” He winks, turning in his stool so he is facing you. “Besides, I can teach you the ways of the dark side…” “You’d love that wouldn’t you?” You snort. “Oh Sweetheart you have no idea.” He leans forward slightly, his elbow on the bar and this time he is blatantly staring at the flash of skin that shows above the buttons on your blouse. “My face is up here, ass hole.” With a smirk he raises his steel grey eyes and they lock onto you. Despite yourself you feel your breath hitch slightly. Dammed him and his sex appeal. “Where you always this insufferable?” You eventually tear your gaze away and pick up your drink, glancing up at the TV as an excuse not to look at him. “Ah come on Y/N, don’t be like that…” he says, reaching out to squeeze the hand that is resting on the back of the tall chair you’re sat in. “We could make a great team…” You raise an eyebrow and look at him. “Professionally” he adds, his eyes not leaving yours as he takes another large drink of his beer, as you pull your hand away from under his. “I’d kill you within 5 minutes of us being in the same office…” you glare at him as you take another sip from your drink. He chuckles and eyes you again “to be fair I’m not sure Stevie would be able to function with a beautiful dame such as yourself in close proximity…he still clusters around any woman that isn’t his Peggy” “That’s because Steve is a happily married man.” You look at him. “So am I.” He shoots back. Ah yes, Mrs Barnes… “Your wife deserves a medal. She must have the patience of a fucking saint to put up with you.” You say into your glass. “I have other hidden qualities which mean she’s prepared to overlook my slightly less favourable personality traits…” he quips and you look back to see that lopsided grin on his face that flips your stomach. Behave Y/N. “They must be very hidden.” You muse, and he lets out a bark of a laugh. “You’re killing me Doll…” “Good.” You drain your glass. The liquid burns your throat and you can feel the effects of the alcohol from the last few hours as your brain starts to hum. You look at Barnes who is watching you, his eyes are shining with all the cheekiness and suggestiveness of a teenage boy and you know you need to leave before you do something stupid- like snogging his dumb, handsome face off in the middle of the bar. “I think it’s time I got going.” You say simply, standing up. Barnes nods, draining his bottle “Yeah I should be going too. Wife to see to, you know how it is…” You stand and he does the same, and you realise he is holding up your jacket, ready for you to slide your arms into. Narrowing your eyes slightly at his sudden chivalry, with a small smile you turn and shrug it on. His hands drop to your shoulders and he spins you round gently and smiles with those perfect teeth and it lights up his beautiful face, his eyes crinkling in the corners. “Lead the way Mrs Barnes…” he says, dropping a soft kiss to your lips. “You know it’s a good job I love you” you smile, sliding your arms up round his neck. “Although right now I’m struggling to remember why I do.“  “Well, when we get home I’ll just have to show you some of those hidden qualities to jog your memory…” You bite your lip slightly at the dark flash of desire that flits across his eyes and you lean up to brush your lips across his stubbled jawline. “Unanimous verdict…” your voice drops slightly as you pull back and he smirks again “Guilty as charged” You bid Clint good bye, link your hand into your husbands and he walks you outside into the brisk wind and his arm pulls you close, his lips press a soft kiss to your temple. Yeah, James Buchanan Barnes Defence Attorney might be smug, arrogant and annoyingly self-righteous in the courtroom, but outside it he’s simply your Bucky.

Tags

@thatfanficstuff​

@djeniiscorner​

@the-omni-princess​

@jtargaryen18 @navispalace @chuuulip

[bae-roman]

Can you do Fluff # 2, 5 & 7 for Roman and Bunny

“I missed you so much.” − 15 roman to Bunny

“OH you’re jealous!” − 5

“Have you always been this beautiful?”−4

“Nobody’s seen you in days.” − 11

“Why are you lying to me?” − 4

“If you don’t hug me right now I think I might fall apart.” −17

“Are you hurt?”“No”“Then why are there bruises all over your face?” − 16

“I’ve never told you that before.” − 8

“Forget it, you’re a fucking asshole.” − 6

“Is there a reason you’re blushing like that?” −2

“Please just kiss me already.” −7

“Go with me?” ���As long as you hold my hand.” −1

sad HC with a happy ending 

Happy HC

Roman and Bunny in an argument

General Roman angst

Roman being shitty

Hey guyssssss

So, I WROTE A THING

We got fluff,we got angst, we got some happy shit, we got some sad shit,we got roman being an asshole and Roman being sweet AND because I love you all so so dearly, we even got a lil bit of S M U T.

I was not lying when I said I combined a shit ton of prompts in an attempt to clear out my inbox, so please indulge with me under the cut.

As always, feel free to like, reblog, comment and/or send me asks about it

*Since there were SO many requests included in this, I posted all the asks at the end of the post!

All of this would happen closer to the beginning of their relationship, before they actually began a full on relationship.

Roman was still coping with the fact that he had actual caring feelings for someone and his way of dealing with it was occasionally going AWOL for a bit. He would basically ignore her and pretend she didn’t exist until he realized he was being an idiot and shouldn’t push away the best thing in his life. Since this was at the beginning, before he was actually her boyfriend, she was more tolerant of this type of behaviour. She could tell through the way that he asked her out the first time, that he wasn’t the best at feelings and emotions. She really liked him though, so she put her pride to the side and was beyond understanding  while he figured his own shit out.

Anyways, on a night out together, after one of Roman’s MIA weeks, they sat in a restaurant catching up. Roman was well aware he needed to tread carefully to keep her. He had done this multiple times at this point and knew that if he continued with the way he was acting, Bunny’s patience would soon run out.

Roman loved flirting with Bunny, especially in the early days of their relationship. She would get so obviously flustered and he found it quite the ego boost (not that he needed one). Tonight they were speaking so suggestively that at one point, he couldn’t help but notice just how red her cheeks were. He looked her up and down smugly, “Is there a reason you’re blushing like that?” Bunny took a sip of  wine and tilted her head, “Is there a reason you’re staring at me like that?” she asked, only slightly uncomfortable by Roman’s intense and unwavering ogling. “No…” he shook his head, “It’s just”, he leaned in closer to her, “have you always been this beautiful?” She raised her brow and took another sip, “you’re really laying it on thick, aren’t you?” she teased. Roman smirked, “What can I say? I just missed you so much” Bunny snorted and rolled her eyes at him.

The rest of dinner went just like that. Roman showering her in only half sarcastic compliments in an attempt to smooth things over between them and Bunny not fully buying his game but allowing him to continue just because she missed this, and him.

As they were leaving dinner, Roman told her he had a surprise for her. Despite Bunny’s many attempts to get him to tell her what it was, he kept his mouth shut, refusing to give her as much as a hint. After a bit, Roman pulled up to the parking lot of a carnival. The same carnival where they got stuck that night. Bunny looked a him curiously and he just grinned , “Remember when we listed all the places we haven−”

But before he could finish what he was saying, Bunny groaned loudly and interrupted him.

“Oh god, please not the list again. Seriously Roman, when has this list ever worked out for us? Every time some shit happens and−” “But you cum, don’t you?”

As much as she didn’t want to agree, the boy had a point.

The list, for your information, was something they came up with when they were stuck in the ferris wheel. One of the ways they kept themselves entertained for those 2 hours was making a list of other places they never had sex in. It was a pretty achievable list Roman thought, so he made a point to cross a couple off. The problem was that every single time they tried to accomplish anything off it, things never ran smoothly; like the cornfield where they ended up scarring a child for life and almost getting charged with public indecency or on top of the old water tower where Roman thrust into her so hard that the safety pole got loose and they almost fell to their deaths or in the pond in the forest where they saw a bear − they didn’t have much luck with the list okay, but Roman was persistent and next on their list? A haunted house.

Bunny gave him a slightly irritated look before finally agreeing and getting out of the car, “Fine. But I’m only agreeing to this because I haven’t been dicked down in 8 days and I think I’ll lose my mind if I don’t get some soon.”

Roman chuckled but then, as her words sunk in and he stopped in his tracks,  “8 days? I haven’t seen you in 2 weeks”

Bunny mentally cursed herself. When Roman ghosted her again, she got annoyed but after 6 days with no messages, calls or anything? She was straight up pissed. Now, Bunny was never one to sit and mope about a boy or let one consume her whole life so while Roman was handling all of his issues, Bunny went on as she normally would. And then, when she needed a fuck and Roman was still not talking to her? She found someone else.

Was he as hot as Roman?

No.

Was he as good as Roman?

No.

Did she feel the way she felt with Roman when she was with him?

Also no, but he was there and good enough for a hook up so she did it.

Her and Roman weren’t in a relationship and thus had never talked about being exclusive. She didn’t feel guilty about what she did and it wasn’t a secret, but it also wasn’t something she planned on telling the guy she actually liked −  intentionally at least.

“Right, 2 weeks. That’s what I meant.” Bunny hoped that Roman would accept her lie and that they could just move foreword with their plans, but of course that didn’t happen.

“Bullshit”.

“No it’s not”

“Why are you lying to me? I’m not your fucking boyfriend. You can fuck whomever you want.”

Ouch, Bunny thought to herself.

“Fine, I fucked someone else ok?”

Roman bit the inside of his cheek and nodded, “So what, was he some other stranger you met at a club and fucked in an alley? Or did you fuck another billionaire so he’d take you to expensive dinners and trips too?” His words dripped with venom despite his casual tone.

“No, dickhe−”

“ −You make them use a condom when they fuck you? Or do you let them cum in you too?”

“ Yeah, that’s my thing, actually. I find rich guys at clubs, seduce them and then try to get knocked up. That’s been my game plan the entire time. Sorry I didn’t tell you before, I wanted it to be a surprise.” Bunny pushed her stomach out and wrapped her arms around it like an expectant mother would. She turned to face roman and in a mocking voice said, “I’m due in 6 months, it’s yours.”

“Fuck you.”

“Why do you care so much? You said it yourself, you’re not my boyfriend so why does it matter to you who I fuck? − Oh shit, you’re jealous, aren’t you?”

Roman laughed humourlessly at her accusation, “ Jealous? Is that a joke? You’re nothing more to me than some kinky slut who lets me fuck her on demand. If your pussy wasn’t so tight and you required more than a lousy dinner to put out, I would’ve left you on the street like every other whore and never looked back” he spat.

Bunny saw red.

“You’re pathetic, you know that? You pretend to be this big man but you’re really just a fucking teenager so terrified that everyone’s going to leave you, you can’t even admit your feelings. You act so nice on dates and trips and we have such a good time but then whenever shit gets too real you run away with your dick tucked between your legs. You’re such a fucking coward. I can’t believe I wasted so much of my time letting you figure your shit out, you − You know what? Forget it, you’re a fucking asshole. I’m over you and all of your baggage. I’d tell you not to call me, but we both know you’ve already got a gold medal in pretending I don’t exist” Bunny ranted loudly while marching away from him.

The fairgrounds were much too far from home for her to walk, but she didn’t care. She was so sick of his shit and would walk 1000 miles just to prove a point. Her plan, realistically was to call an uber once she was out of sight but Roman didn’t need to know that. Bunny wanted him to physically see her walk out of his life and hoped he marvelled at her ass for the rest of his lonely miserable existence, knowing what he gave up.

Bunny cared for Roman, she really did but the fact that he had the nerve to say such nasty things to her, especially when she did nothing wrong. She wanted to scream at him more. She wanted to yell at the top of her lungs that she was guilty of nothing. He’d ghosted her, once again. She hadn’t seen of heard from him in days. He pretended she didn’t exist, what was she supposed to do? Wait by her phone until he decided to stop being an ass? He wasted space and she gave it to him, he needed to grow up. She stopped herself though, knowing that anything she’d say would fall on deaf ears. Whatever small part of him cared about her clearly didn’t outweigh his disrespect for her and she was finally done.

Although dramatically storming off went well in her head, Bunny forgot about one very important factor − her shoes. Her beautiful expensive shoes that made her ass look fantastic but were insanely uncomfortable and hard to walk in, especially on loose gravel. So, when Bunny took off she was fine for a minute before slipping and falling flat on her face then rolling down into the ditch.

While Roman was beyond pissed at her and didn’t want to give any indication that he cared, her fall looked pretty bad so begrudgingly, he went to check on her.

“Are you hurt?” he called over as he approached her

“No. Not like you actually give a fuck” she grumbled,  mumbling the last part to herself, getting up and dusting herself off.

“Then why are there bruises all over your face?”

“They aren’t bruises, they’re rocks” Bunny stated matter of factly, brushing them off her face. Not wanting to cause any further harm to her ego, she tried to continue her dramatic exit only to cry out in pain as she took a step. Of course she managed to  fuck up her ankle, she thought to herself.

Hearing her yelp, Roman instinctively rushed to her side and tried to support her but she pushed him away.

“I’m fine. I don’t need your help, just go”

“I’m not leaving you like this, you can’t even walk …. the last thing I need is for you to get murdered because I left you here all alone, the press would have a field day and I don’t need any more bad PR.” Roman quickly added the last part to save himself from showing his genuine concern over her safety and wellbeing.

Bunny rolled her eyes and imitated him before pushing him away again, trying − and failing − once more to carry on with her journey home.

“Look, let me at least take you to the first aid tent, ok? Then I’ll leave forever and they’ll give you some ice for your ankle and you can do whatever you want.”

The last thing a Bunny wanted to do was spend a single second more with Roman but she knew how stubborn he was and her ankle really did hurt.

“Fine.”

With that, Roman scooped Bunny up into his arms and headed towards the tent.

The walk was awkward and silent. They had both just screamed horrible things to each other and decided to never speak again yet here they were.

When they finally arrived at the first aid tent , they observed that it was just one man by himself. He stood up when he saw Bunny and Roman coming up to him and led them inside the tent, instructing them to tell him what had happened.

Roman had initially intended to drop Bunny off and then leave right away, but there was something about the way the guy − Jordan, according to his name tag − was leering at Bunny that made even Roman feel uncomfortable, so he decided to stick around.

Bunny was too busy focusing on her ankle and didn’t even realize the way Jordan was treating her. To be fair, Bunny was slightly intoxicated and always had trouble realizing when someone was checking her out or making a move. She was always afraid of becoming one of those girls who thought any time anyone spoke to her, it was just because they wanted to get with her. She ended up overcompensating for this so much that it was rare she noticed when someone was actually flirting with her. Bunny knew she was attractive, of course, she just wasn’t snobby about it.

Jordan had her sit on one of the portable gurneys and brought her an ice pack. Despite Roman’s gut instinct, Jordan seemed fine, until he put his hands on Bunny’s shoulders. This act also clued Bunny in on Jordan’s intentions.

“So, does anything else hurt?” He asked, giving her shoulders a light rub.

Just as Bunny was going to threaten to break Jordan’s arms if he didn’t get them off of her, Roman stood up and walked closer. “It’s her ankle that’s fucked up, not her shoulder so I suggest you take your grimy hands off of them.” “hey man”, Jordan raised his arms, “ I’m just making sure she’s okay, head injuries can be sneaky. We wouldn’t want you to have a concussion now, would we?” He asked, placing his hands back on her and giving her shoulders a squeeze and letting his fingers fall much lower than appropriate.

Bunny jerked away from his touch, “Get the fuck off of me, creep.”

Roman grabbed the guy by the collar and held him off the ground, “Apologize to the lady and get the fuck out or I will break every bone in your perverted little body” he growled.

Jordan stuttered out an apology and speed walked back outside.

Roman looked Bunny over, “You okay?”

She nodded, “Yeah, thanks.”

It was quiet for a while until she spoke up again, You didn’t have to do that,you know. I could’ve handled it.”

“I know.”

Bunny nodded again carefully.

Once again, they were surrounded by an awkward silence.

“About what I said before, I should have - well I mean it was partially true and you did kind of deserve it,  but…”, she shook her head. “…I should have said it nicer.”

Roman snorted, “are you seriously apologizing to me right now?”

“Well it’s not really an apology but I guess”

He looked at her incredulously, “I should be apologizing to you. You were right. About everything. I have no right to be jealous and I do push people away and I’m sorry for what I said. It was fucked up and I didn’t mean it and I… I’m an asshole but I’m sorry. I.. I’m new to all of this” he rambled, running a hand through his now disheveled hair.

“I’ve never actually liked a girl before − not like this, not like I like you and I− I’m a really shit guy Bunny and you deserve better. But every time I try to to the right thing and leave you alone, I just can’t stay away. It’s like I’m addicted to you or some shit and−” “Shut up!” Bunny yelled, surprising even her self.

Roman just looked at her.

“You are a dick, and we definitely need to have a proper discussion about all of this later but right now… please, just kiss me already.”

Roman obeyed and kissed her passionately.

Bunny pulled away and grabbed his chin in her palm, looking straight into his eyes she said, “If you ever pull any shit like that again, I’m done Roman, I swear. I will stay out of your life forever and no amount of gifts or apologies will ever bring me back, got it?”

Roman nodded.

The two of them repositioned themselves on the gurney so that she was sitting in-between his legs, leaning on his broad chest, still icing her ankle.

They talked about little things, but mostly they took comfort in each other’s presence, both thankful that things ended up the way they did. After a while, Bunny again broke the silence,

“Roman?”

“hmm?”

“You ever have sex in a first aid tent?”

“No.”

“Me neither.”

That was all the invitation Roman needed. Making sure the coast was clear, he hiked Bunny’s dress up, ready to slip his fingers into her pretty panties that she always wore but to his pleasant surprise, she wasn’t wearing any.

He moaned at the sight of her while Bunny sucked gently on his neck and collar.

Roman ran his fingers up and down her folds, teasing her entrance before tapping her lips. She opened her mouth obediently, sucking his long fingers clean. Roman removed his fingers from her mouth slowly and entered them inside her other opening.

Bunny let out a hiss, throwing her head back into Roman’s chest.

He only got to tease her for a little before she pushed his hands away and scooted down the bed. She turned around and grabbed his belt, taking it off easily she yawned down his briefs and took his whole length into her mouth. She bobbed her head up and down until he was nice and hard, occasionally sucking on his balls and licking the tip of his member.

Roman reached for bunny and grabbed her by her waist, moving her so that her core was right above his member. She gripped his cock and ran it between her folds a few times, getting it and herself wetter before finally sinking down on it.

Bunny took his full length into her and continued to ride him, the pair finding each other’s lips as they fucked.

Although it may have started out sweet, the tone quickly changed as Roman grabbed a fistful of Bunny’s hair and pulled.

“That guy ever fuck you as good as I do?”

“No daddy” Bunny moaned out

“That’s what I thought. You’ve been a bad girl, haven’t you”

Bunny moaned and Roman grabbed at her hair again, harder this time, “Haven’t you?” he repeated sternly.

“So bad.”

“That’s what I thought. You know what bad girl’s get, don’t you Bunny?”

She nodded and with that, Roman brought his hand down roughly over her left ass cheek.

They continued until they reached their climaxes, first Bunny with Roman following no long after.  

Once they were finished, and Bunny’s ankle was feeling better, Roman turned to her and gave her a soft kiss, “I really did miss you, you know”, he murmured against her plump lips. Bunny nuzzled her nose against his and smiled. “I missed you too.”

“So can we stop talking about feelings and shit now? Because I think I’m going to barf.”

Bunny chucked and tucked a strand a hair behind her ear, “yeah, we can.”

“Thank god. I’m going to check out that haunted house now, go with me?”

“Fine. As long as you hold my hand.”

Roman grimaced but complied with her request anyways, grasping her little hand with his big one

They left the tent, giving Joran nearly identical death glares as they headed towards their original destination.  

The haunted house was more fun than she imagined. Bunny swore she almost saw Roman jump but could never say for sure. After one particularly unexpected ‘monster’ jumped out at them, Roman grabbed onto her arm for a second. Bunny turned to him and laughed, “scared Godfrey?”

“Yeah, terrified. Actually, If you don’t hug me right now I think I just might fall apart” His words dripped with sarcasm but Bunny gripped onto him tighter anyways. She’d almost lost him once tonight and she wasn’t going to let it happen again.

“ Hey Bunny?”

“yeah?”

“Do you think it would be too ambitious of us to cross two things off our list tonight?” he whispered.

“Not at all”

With that, Roman pulled her into an empty room where they could accomplish what he originally intended to do tonight.

[hcazj]

made a cover for my whack af mchanzo nanowrimo 2019 novel. u can find it on ao3 via “finding you in the buckass of nowhere” lmao. prologue under the cut but after this i will be exclusively posting on ao3

PROLOGUE

The sun rises high into the sky, casting shadows on everything residing on the surface. Jesse gives a loud yawn before scratching his scrappy goatee and turning the page on a health textbook he was given by Angela by instruction of his residing commander. He didn’t know how the conversation had started, but during a debriefing on the latest mission in one of the meeting rooms, one of the punks on the Blackwatch team had decided to give Gabriel Reyes a run for his money and ask if he had a soulmate waiting back home. Gabe, of course, had laughed in that guy’s face. He laughed like it was the funniest thing in the entire world.

And just as he was laughing, something miraculous happened. The team was visited by none other than Overwatch’s Strike Commander, who not only served as a face for publicity stunts, but also was the head of operations. And the strike teams, hence the title.

“He better not.” Soldier: 76, better known as Jack Morrison, said as he practically kicked the meeting room door open with his boot. He looked pissed. And also had a stack of papers on him. It looked like someone forgot to get their morning coffee. “He’d have some serious explaining to do.”

There were a couple whispers across the table, a couple agents trying to understand the implications of what had just transpired. Jesse swore he saw some of his teammates starting to sweat. The band of Blackwatch agents saw Gabriel Reyes flash his most charming smile. The rascal could look good when he wanted to.

“Jackie, you’re backie. Not in blackie, though. I’m happy you’re openly talking about this, but didn’t we agree not to tell anyone? Also, hey, dinner at 8 in my room.” And then Gabe winked at Jack. Ew.

Jack sighed, crossing his arms, and not so subtly cueing to the assortment of medals pinned to the lapel of his cornflower blue coat. Subtle. He addressed Gabe. “Remember last night? Well, I’ve decided to become the possessive bastard you always wanted.” He gave an intimidating glance at everyone in the room. “How are you kids doing? I’m sure you’ve met me around. Though you probably didn’t think I’d be so involved with Gabe. Like, probably never expected in a million years that I was his soulmate. But yeah. That’s classified information, not a peep out of this room unless you want your life to being an even more visceral piece of hell.”

Someone gulped in anxiety. Someone sneered in ennui. But if Blackwatch owned anything, it was a pile of troublemakers.

Now, Jesse hadn’t been part of Blackwatch too long, but it never took him that long to make friends. Genji--Jesse’s best friend and second best troublemaker in Blackwatch history--decided it was his turn to say something. (Jesse liked to think of himself as the best troublemaker, but that was an entirely different discussion).

“And how are you going to do that exactly? Your boyfriend already has us running laps across the Mediterranean.” Genji sat proudly with his feet resting on the table, and Jack gave him a look of disgust.

Jack excused the moment of insubordination, and walked right past the table and into the arms of his lover. They shared a quick kiss after a moment of lingering in each others arms, much to the dismay of everyone else in the meeting room. And if Jack was good at anything, it was playing games with new recruits.

“What’s up, marido ? What makes my darling husband so sad?” Gabe said, combing his hair through the tufts of Jack’s pale blond hair. It was thin, very much unlike his own, but he liked to try.

Jack laughed, trying to materialize every ounce of theatrics he had stored in his body for this very moment. “My sweet love, I just don’t know how I’m going to live if you don’t assign your soldiers 50 more pushups each every morning before breakfast. They’re not super soldiers like us, but we must make sure they are raised right. They’re like our kids, to me.” Jack lifted a leg off the floor, like he was swooning for real.

Groaning broke out around the table, and Jesse wasn’t sure if his teammates were groaning at the obviously satirical display of affection, or at the thought of actually being assigned even more pushups every morning.

It was Gabe’s turn to laugh. “Aw, Jack. We’re going to have a conversation later on why you’re so touchy today. Let me kiss you goodbye, though.” He planted another kiss on his husband’s nose before resuming business as per usual. Jack begrudgingly peeled himself off of his husband, but not without greeting their personal pet project. He smacked the stack of autopsies in front of Jesse and gave him a wink, before ruffling through the kid’s hair.

Gabe cleared his throat, as the door shut. Radio silence. He looked at Genji, who was making paper triangle footballs to send flying across the room. Genji looked up at him and discarded the paper football into the recycling bin. Gabe swore, some of the people on this team had the attention span of gnats.

“Ok, amigxs. Before we get into the details of the upcoming mission abroad, Jack was serious about our relationship being confidential. Think of the absolute horror you would cause if the UN caught winding that I’m fucking their Strick Commander. Like, maybe it’s funny. Actually, that’s pretty fucking funny. Can I get a laugh track going here?”

Jesse was the first to start hooting and hollering. A round of applause followed. If Gabe getting laid meant a happy Gabe, who cared, really? Sure, it could cause an international scandal, but Jesse liked to take it a day at a time.

“Thanks, caballero. Ok. It might be the funniest thing ever, but let’s be serious. I don’t want to fire any of you, but if wind caught that I’m soulmates with Jack, that would probably raise some suspicions of nepotism. Now we all know that I’m a very accomplished man, with a great piece of ass too, but it could potentially mean getting the pink slip from the higher higher ups. And all of you would probably also be out of the job, since Blackwatch technically does not exist. Really. So please don’t, if you value your paycheck.

“Alright, anyways. Any questions before we begin reviewing these autopsy reports like a pack of lawyers from a video game?” Gabe asked.

Jesse McCree had a question.

He partially raised his hand like a kid in a classroom, but then put it back down as he was contemplating if he should ask it at all, but then fully raised his hand as he thought ‘fuck it’.

“Hey, son. What’s bothering you? No, I don’t have any Nature Grain bars to feed you right now, please wait until after the meeting,” Gabe said. That aroused another short round of laughter from the people at the meeting.

Jesse chuckled too, because he had actually asked for a Nature Grain before in the middle of a mission. But he had a question to ask, and that was very important. “Hey, so, uhhhhh. I don’t know if this is relevant, or important enough, but what in tarnation’s a soulmate again?”

And Jesse kind of knew too, but only vaguely, like the word ‘esoteric’.

Of course, ‘esoteric’ is a word that is used to describe when something is only understood by a small set of people. Like you could call string theory ‘esoteric’, because who the fuck knows what string theory is? But it comes around often enough that people have heard of string theory, if only by name. You could even consider the word ‘esoteric’ esoteric. That was kind of funny. But Jesse was raised in the pit of the South with a single mother, before he found himself living a life of crime. He reconsidered how esoteric the word ‘soulmates’ was.

Like ‘esoteric’, ‘soulmates’ was not a word that came up when Jesse was robbing trains for a living, nor running from the police after a shooting with an opposing gang, nor in the middle of jewelry heists in the heart of Santa Fe. ‘Soulmates’ wasn’t necessary by any means of the word, that word, necessary. But maybe while he had only heard it a handful of times, with no definition to attach to the word, maybe everyone else had.

He felt like he was the odd duck out, and that was hard to do in a group of mother fucking misfits. Like, come on, Genji was basically a fucking cyborg. Gabe had gone through that freak of a soldier enhancement program that probably fucked with his biology in ways Jesse would never understand. Moira, their resident evil scientist, shot floating orbs out of her hands in the middle of combat. What the fuck was that about? Did she hone the essence of Orbeez for the inspiration behind her primary weapon? Jesse had some real mother fucking questions.

And a lot of the times, he asked them too.

But out of all of the unprofessional and obscure questions he had asked in his life, and even just in his short stay at Blackwatch where he could ask some pretty weird things, he had never asked a question that just about floored so many different people all at once. It’s like, he asked the question about soulmates, and the question took the cake. It took the cake and ran away with the spoon and like, eloped with the dish. And fucked the moon. Jesse didn’t think there was a reason for everyone to look so scandalized, though.

Because questions didn’t take cakes, or run with spoons, or elope, or fuck.

Gabe had a face that betrayed emotions Jesse knew Gabe didn’t show often: remorse. Of course, ‘remorse’ kind of sounded like ‘Morrison’ and that was funny for 2 seconds. But it was downright scary. Jesse was the type of person that was always starting something.

2 days ago, he had snuck into the mess hall at 3:30AM to steal a bag of doritos. Last week, he got captured on a mission and had to be rescued from an abandoned warehouse. Yesterday, he accidentally passed a stink bomb so bad, Gabe started coughing and moved their weekly recap meeting outside. And it was raining, too.

“Kid, did you ever take a health class before dropping out of school?” Gabe asked.

Jesse didn’t know how to answer that. “Well, I know how my body works, thank you. Uh, but t’answer your question…. No. What’s that got t’do with soulmates?”

Gabe scrunched his lips, wondering how he could quickly remedy the situation. This is why they paid him the big bucks. Not the biggest bucks, but more than large enough bucks. “Ok, everyone settle down for a hot second. Jesse, I’m going to comm Angela for a textbook you can read. And you probably need some one-on-one lessons on other stuff--yeah, I know you know what sex is but what about STIs? That’s half the battle. How about taking a break this week and just getting through health class?”

“But boss--”

“Trust me, this is way more important.”

Gabe took out one of his comms, one that only a limited amount of people on base had access too. It was mostly used for emergencies, but other times, was used as a quick way to contact anyone on base.  

“Hey Angela! How are you? It’s Gabriel Reyes. I’m great and so is Jack-o’-Lantern thanks for asking. Do you have a this week to give some health lessons to one of our agents? I know you’re friends with our little Jesse. Great. Yeah? Perfect, please put that textbook on reserve. I’ll send Jesse down soon. Ok. Awesome. Over.” Gabe clipped the comm back into his belt. “Ok, anyone else skip health class?”

The room, for once, was a resounding silence. Moira raised her hand.

“You didn’t take health class, O’deorain? Aren’t you a doctor?” Gabe asked.

“Very funny, commander. I was wondering why you did not just ask me to prepare some lessons and generic information for Jesse, and instead contacted Angela Zeigler.” She brought a hand up to her face, and rested her cheek on her long purple nails that looked like talons.

“Hey, doc. You’re coming with us on this mission. You can help out later if Jesse wants.” Gabe sighs and turns to Jesse. “Alright, cowboy. Sorry to do this to you, and don’t let this go to your head, but I can’t just let you go gallivanting into a foreign country with no knowledge about your own body parts. Trust me. Soulmates isn’t something to mess around with. I know you’re stressed about it. Consider yourself on hourly while you lax away while hitting the books this week, ok?”

Jesse sighed and pulled his cowboy hat off of his head. He was disappointed he wouldn’t be going to Japan, but there would definitely be more opportunities for travel in the future. Filling the cracks in his education wasn’t something that he would have completely expected out of Blackwatch.

In fact, he was still reeling over getting fed 3 square meals a day. Being treated with any semblance or respect. Being valued not because he was probably the greatest sharpshooter of his generation, but for his personality and interests. Though playing old Hollywood flicks on movie night annoyed his teammates to no end, people stuck around and watched with him. And that was more valuable than ransacking a jewelry store.

“You can stick around, but I suggest getting around early since the textbook Angela has for you is several hundreds of pages long.” Gabe grinned, trying to whisk away Jesse’s problems.

Jesse replaced the hat on his head, and yawned as he stretched his arms above his head. “See y’all later, suckeroonies. Y’all hear that? I’m being paid to stay on base this week!”

More laughter from the gallery. Jesse got a few pats on the back. Genji flicked a paper football in his direction, and it smacked Jesse straight in the forehead.

“Text me” Genji said with a salute. Gabriel cleared his throat and held out his hand.

Genji sighed as he was caught red handed, and surrendered his stash of paper footballs. A beat passed, and Gabriel remained focused on Genji. Genji took the paper footballs out of the pockets of his sweatpants and handed those over too.

That Genji.

Jesse snuck out the door as the team started talking about the autopsy reports, and was off to find Angela.

And not to say he wasn’t disappointed at not being able to travel with the rest of the team this time, but he tried to stick to the silver lining: gorging on breadsticks. Sometimes they were stale, but hit those babies with an unearthly and disgusting amount of ranch dressing, and Jesse would eat them like there was no tomorrow. Being paid also wasn’t half bad. And getting his question answered certainly wasn’t that bad.

He walked past the kitchen, one of the larger living rooms, and some of the barracks before taking an elevator up a few floors to the right area. Why wasn’t the med bay in the middle of the building?

Angela “Mercy” Zeigler was one of Overwatch’s doctors. She was at the top of her field at a young age, and a dear friend of Jesse’s. While the two could not have come from more different worlds, they bonded over some obscure things like miniature scented soaps. Besides, Jesse got injured so much on missions, they practically had to become friends. Angela was huge on doctor patient confidentiality, but that didn’t stop her from chewing Jesse out every single time he came back needing a cast.

If taking health classes was urgent enough for Gabe to kick him off of the latest mission, it had to be some level of important. How important could the whole soulmates thing be ? The elevator dinged and he followed the path he knew by heart to Angela’s office. He knocked on her door.

“Come in!” someone called from the other side.

He stepped inside. The examination room was just like he remembered it. White walls, with neat stacks of papers and books sitting in the corners by a computer desk. He was always impressed by how Angela worked, nothing seemed to get by her despite the clear lack of organization she subjected her belongings to. “Angie! Reckon you have a moment to spare for an old cowboy?”

She looked up from the paper she was reading and instinctively scanned the length of his body. “What appears to be the problem, Jesse? Ah. You’re here so early. Health lessons?”

“Correcto-mundo.”

She stifled a laugh and motioned to the examination table. “Feel free to take a seat, I’ll set up one of the projects. I have time to give you a quick lesson today, but otherwise believe you are just going to have to read a textbook and call me with any pertinent questions. We should also have a quick quiz at the end of the week just to see if you have retained any information. Where would you like to start?”

Jesse started swinging his legs back and forth, and took his hat off to get comfortable. This would be the closest he’d ever gotten to college. “What the hell’s a soulmate, Angela?”

“Ah, yes. That is a fun topic. Let us begin.”

And that is how Jesse finds himself reading through what has got to be the densest book he’s ever laid his pretty brown eyes on. Reading this thing is like trying to breath in a chunky soup. There’s just too much going on for it to be possible, but some find a way to make it happen. Not many, but some. The sun, now past noon, has travelled lower into the sky during the course of the afternoon. He sits on a cliff by the Overwatch base in Gibraltar, after thoroughly being lectured this morning by Dr. Zeigler.

Jesse rolls over, book in hand, and takes a moment to look over the cliff he’s been sitting at the whole time. The sea beneath him crashes into the crook of the precipice, leaving sparkling moisture behind to glitter in the sun. Who needed to go to Japan for a mission anyways? He sighed.

He glanced back down at his textbook. Jesse swears he’s never read so much in his life.

The connection between soulmates has not yet been properly explained by the lengths of modern medicine .

Great. Just what Angela said.

However, there is one documented process that occurs between a pair of soulmates. When an individual instigates skin-to-skin contact with their soulmate for the first time, their touch will leave a mark in the shape of the touch. For example, if a person accidentally bumps into their soulmate and the two touch shoulders, the initiator of the touch (IOT for short) will leave a shoulder shaped imprint on the receiver of the touch (ROT for short). Though the receiver may not see the mark form on their skin automatically, they will automatically feel a connection to their soulmate. However, the IOT will not feel anything short of some shoulder discomfort during this exchange.

Individuals in Markwell’s case study report that a forming soulmate connection feels like being “stuck in a movie montage” (Markwell 40). The ROT will automatically reel through a selection of events from the IOT’s life, and thus, gaining a better understanding of their fated person .

Hm.

When someone first receives their soulmate marking, Markwell reports, “it is common to freeze up as the memories are being transferred from person to person” (Markwell 41). In order to seal the bond and make it permanent, the ROT must then instigate skin-to-skin contact with the original IOT. Otherwise, any received soulmate marks will slowly fade over time, though never completely disappear.

Soulmates do not have to be romantic couples. Some opt for friendship, or other types of relationships. However, the majority of soulmates do end up spending the rest of their lives together in some form, due to the depth of their unique connection.

It is possible for soulmates to never meet, because before initial skin-to-skin contact, there are currently no medical tools available that accurately predict the existence of a soulmate connection between two people. The next section is a photo gallery of soulmate marks .

Ok.

Some of these were pretty funny. There’s an image of someone with a neon purple pair of lips, indicating that their first contact with their soulmate was a kiss. It was so embarrassing Jesse laughed. On another page, someone just had an imprint of a dark yellow hand on their shoulder. That looked kind of cool. 

Next page.

Soulmate pairs with an incomplete set of soulmate marks are another story. Individuals that have received a soulmate marking, but whom are unable to reciprocate the marking on their respective soulmate, have a greater chance of developing anxiety or depression. Individuals studied have repeatedly reported feeling listless. This has not yet been thoroughly studied. Psychiatrists predict that this is due to a mixture of reasons.

Scary.

Jesse hoped that this would never happen to him. He hoped to god, the gods, the sky, the flowing rivers and the tall mountains. He hoped this would never happen. But fate had other plans for young Jesse McCree.

[ts-2020-olympics]

EPISODE 2 - “Landen’s Going Home” - Emma

Billy's back! If we lose I am screwed heavily, though I do think there's a chance. Slide puzzles aren't my thing, so hoping for the best out of this.

Kathy, I'm voting for you. Bailey had a good excuse for not doing the challenge, and I haven't heard anything from you, whatsoever. Hate to say it, but your ass is grass, pal. 

i'm gonna be a lazy bitch and do a written confessional this round bc i look too ugly for a video. so, basically after the events that transpired last round, jordan came begging at my feet for my forgiveness after lying to me about the vote. he doesn't realize that i knew what he was doing before the fact thanks to sammy, so i just played along and acted like i didn't know and told him that i understood his perspective and understand him lying to me. but believe me, a bitch never forgets being lied to. like, if he can so easily lie to me this early in the game, how am i supposed to trust him going forward? i guess it doesn't really matter because he's he easy boot if we happen to lose again before a swap. but i think i did a good job of making him feel like i wasn't mad so that he will trust me in the event of a swap or if we lose again he won't vote me. also, i'm pretty confident that both sammy and caeleb consider me their closest ally. they both tell me about their findings in the village so i'm getting two people per round telling me where not to go, so that's super helpful. i could see the three of us going far but i'm sure that the two of them will go for each other eventually, especially if they are both competing to have me be their number one. i'm fine with it tbh. sammy also got a vote block from the village. so now he has an idol that lasts for two more tribals, and a vote block lasting for one more tribal. so definitely think sammy is of more use to me at the moment especially since he has all of these advantages. my tribe won immunity this round which is nice. i'm glad i can just relax and not worry about a tribal. i hope we can keep winning until a swap bc i think all 3 people left on my tribe could be of use to me. also fuck connor, he told everyone at the arena that me and caeleb have a premade, as if we even knew each other before this game. someone is bitter that he couldn't make relationships and was first boot. so im sure that information is spreading around and i should probably worry about that. but oh well, i'm just gonna focus on winning for now! woo go me.

Alright, so here we are, the first loss of the 2020 Tumblr Olympics.   Sure, we may have had the Silver medal bonus for that challenge, but the tribe just isn't suited I guess towards slide puzzles, and plus Bailey was busy so wasn't able to compete like we had hoped.  It's all good though, as I always say that life comes before an online game, so nothing but respect.  Anyways, I formed a three person alliance with Beck & Ben, basically as far as I am aware, us three are the most active on the tribe, and really only ones that talk much on the tribe, so basically they are the only two I really connected with enough to be able to put my trust in, just hopefully this alliance all works out for now.   Then in terms of this vote, I feel it will be Kathy going, as she just doesn't seem all too dedicated towards the game/is a little inactive, and not talking really to anybody, so even though I do like Kathy, just inside this game, at least at this stage of the game, we need tribe strength, and she just isn't going to be putting that through whilst not being as active as others.   Anything can happen though, and there is still the arena yet so who knows, the person voted out of this tribe could end up coming back with a gold medal.

i'm pretty sad that my tribe is going to tribal but at the same time i'm confident i won't be leaving, mostly because 2/5 of our tribe members aren't very active. i also have this alliance with ben and darcy now which seems like a strong trio, so even though we lost immunity it could be a LOT worse. unfortunately the downside is that if we're voting out kathy (which is most likely) she's probably too inactive to do the arena challenge, so we're not gonna get any medals in the arena... but that's alright i suppose, we just have to work hard for the next one. if ben can't participate in the next immunity challenge i feel like our tribe is gonna be in a really tough spot. but i'm praying for the best anyway.

Not gonna lie, slide puzzles are awful for immunity challenges, especially if the RNG is manipulated just right. There's a way to solve them correctly every time, but to do it in the minimal number of moves requires that everything go your way in terms of luck. I'll take the L, but I am not happy. 

i’m honestly so frustrated that emma didn’t even submit but! she’s such a sweetheart that i felt really awful voting to get her out, but that was just a lil. hm. also apparently i’m close to her now? so that was inch resting to hear. thank u billy

Landons going home 

my truth is that i keep forgetting check my skype and i want my teammates to glock me and vote me out 

Even with the gold medal I won, we still somehow end up going to tribal. Tell me, HOW THE FUCK DO WE MANAGE TO DO SOMETHING LITERALLY SO ASTRONOMICAL?! It drives me mad how we had such a big advantage...christ. Anyway, a few things I'm thinking about heading into tribal. A) Everyone voted me last time, so I'm playing this one a little more no holds barred. B) I'm thinking about what's the biggest advantage to me whether the person I vote out comes back or fucks off into 24th place. C) I couldn't care less about how we're doing in challenges at the moment. I want people who'll be loyal to me, and in return people that I can put my faith in. Right now, that's Emma and Emma only. However, she didn't participate in the challenge, so it's a little bit of an awkward situation. I know that Landen, can be an extremely good player UTR heading later into the game, and to be honest I feel like he's a bit shady. So, adios to him. I get Emma and Juls vote, and Jacob if he cares enough, easy done. I'm 99% sure tribal will go my way tonight, here's to hoping the odds are in my favour!

I am now apparently a swing vote somehow someway. Landen or Emma goes. I would prefer to vote out neither of them, but hey, I could end up going to. Were you expecting something better? nah. Five player tribes SUCK. Billy and Landen are battling for control of the tribe. I kindof like that battle to continue. Plus I trust Landen, kindof. If Juls is voting Landen, I vote Landen because there's no point. If Juls votes Em, then I vote Em. If Juls doesn't respond before the vote, uh, we'll see. I think she'd be more likely to vote out Landen, but like idk. EIther way, none of these people are me, and I am a number to anyone involved. Mission success? I just need to challenge beast a little bit more.

Ughhh I don't want to be making this confessional right now. Hardly anything has changed since the last time I went to tribal, in terms of my annoyance with the team. We were SO close to winning, we almost had it, and we could've gotten it if Emma had just SUBMITTED. I actually really like her too so it's really frustrating that she does this but I can't justify keeping her when she just.... didn't submit. Not only that but she never apologized, commented on it, or anything. Like that's just plain disrespectful. So I'm wanting to vote her out. Unfortunately I feel like Juls is way too close with her, their bond is dangerous and Juls probably feels like she has to work with Em because they are some of the only girls in the gay-infested ORG community so they just feel a natural connection from that, and they are similar in other ways as well. I definitely feel like those two being as close as they are will be dangerous to me tonight and I know for a fact my name was going around, too. I heard about that from Jacob and it's not surprising at all they would throw my name out. The danger is they could abuse Billy, and they know it. They're definitely trying to get me voted out, and they're definitely trying to use Billy as a number to do it. Which is absolutely ridiculous since they were the first ones to throw his name out and push for it, but oh well. A snake's a snake, and I'm going to try and chop this one's tail off. Notice I said the tail because Emma is literally useless and does absolutely nothing and she's lucky Juls is tryna carry her through this. I'm pressedt. I definitely know I'm in danger and it's like, whatever. If I go in, I'm fine, I can presumably make my way out of the arena and back to the game where I can wreak havoc and be righteously emotional because taking me, the person who got the best score and has been making the most effort to actually talk to people on this deadbeat fucking tribe, out, in Round 2, is kinda just psychotic. I'm absolutely livid and I just... Ugh, it has not been the best week and this game is just starting off so slow and I hate my tribe SO much like it's literally disgusting. I used to hate the One World Twist and I still do as a concept, but thank GOD for it being in this one because I can only tolerate my tribe thanks to being able to talk to people from the other tribes like Jacob, Sammy, Caeleb, etc. I just want this round to be over with and to stop losing for just a few rounds. whew that's all i have to say fuck emma for throwing this 

So I survived tribal! That's great! I was really hoping it wasn't going to be like a permanent red mark against my record. I obviously had a plan for if I did go into the arena, and I figured I would survive, but I'm really glad I don't have to have that permanent scratch on my Tumblr Survivor Record now, and hopefully that makes the endgame easier to navigate. You have to consider things like the FTC early in seasons like these because of the one World Twist and the Arena twist. Both totally impact whether the jury will vote for you, and so it's important to be thinking far more ahead than one usually thinks in Survivor. I'm honestly SHOCKED that I survived tribal tonight, I was 100% Juls and Billy were voting for me, but I'm really glad it happened. I think this confirmed my loyalty with Billy, but in tribal I did come off passive aggressive and honestly, they can deal with it. I wanted to be slightly entertaining but still try to sound rational and sane in where I was coming from, hopefully I accomplished like that? Like I was just so frustrated that my name was in genuine consideration, from what *I* had heard. Like... why the fuck? I got the highest score in the challenge, offered to do flag and did chant for the other team, Emma did nothing both times, it was obvious she should've been the vote. And I'm really happy all the tribe came around with that. I'm really happy I can appreciate loyalty from the people I've grown to like on this tribe. I think I can count on Jacob as a number, and as far as Juls and Billy go, I love those two man. They are great people and I love talking to them. The only issue I have with this tribe is everyone is quiet and shaky and on such a small tribe, everyone gives indefinite answers and it makes things fucking awkward and paranoia runs rampant as you saw tonight. I'm just happy to be safe, have numbers, and be out of the damn Arena. That being said, this tribe is still too tiny and with a possibly furious Emma coming back to exact revenge (and I know she has a lovely heart and personality so I'm definitely expecting her to win over an army) I want to swap out of here as fast as possible so I can begin building my own path to a glimmering throne. 

He’s not as good at challenges as billy, and I’m close with juls and Jacob so I’m not voting them, and billy is immune And everyone is voting with me in theory except landen Next round I’m hoping we don’t go to tribal lol 

This tribe kindof hates each other. Landen and Billy are distrustful of each other. Emma and Landen are also distrustful. Juls and Landen and Emma and Billy are pairs if we want to go that far. I am good with Emma and Landen, Emma slightly less so now, but I did help her out quite a bit. I'm playing both sides pretty well, let's see how far that'll get me, cause I need to be incredibly careful. Juls is also viewed as a greater swing vote, so if both sides-ing does come back to bite us, it should bite Juls before me. Hopefully Emma comes back.

so round two has been a bit better, i think ive repaired all my relationships on my tribe and even managed to stand out in the challenge so maybe they think theyll need me and keep me around. Long story short i think I have longevity for now, but to be completely honest the longer this twist is in the game where once im voted out i just have to beat somoene in a challenge to get back like, im not overly concerned

Just wanted to ask HOW WERE WE ABLE TO WIN IMMUNITY WHEN WE DIDN'T EVEN GET A MEDAL?!?!?!?!?!? *cackling* Also Connor getting voted out is what he gets for saying in the main chat to vote me out. <3 u Connor <3 

[goldenhour-goldenboy]

hi!! after watching TF i got a Supernatural Dean and Sam vibe from Will and Benny, Will is like Dean and Benny is sam. It mentioned their dad in the movie and icouldn't help imagine him being a military dad, which is how they both got into this job. and Wills line of "I've been supporting him since the day he was born” about benny just reminded me of dean taking care of sam. could u write a fic about Will and bennys childhood and how you think it could have gone with a military dad away a lot! x

Soooo a couple of things 1) i’ve never made it past the third season supernatural and that was years ago so I hope the vibe is still what you wanted :) and 2) I was mainly working from other people’s experience with having a parent or both parents in the army and being in the army in the US is probably a bit different from being in the army in Germany buuuut I still enjoyed this snippet and I hope you do too! :) 

Growing up with their dad in the military (Ben Miller and William Miller, hc)

Both of the Miller boys grow up on strength, physically and emotionally, their parents keen on teaching the boys values and morales that are important to them. 

Their mother, an endless source of love, would always patch up their knees, dry their tears and help them with their homework. She’s the heart of the household, both of the boys inheriting her warmth and care. This is what she taught them, that there is strength in forgiveness and kindness and that every creature on this earth is deserving of love. It is important for her that her sons learn respect and honesty with one another, fairness and to be stronger than what the world might throw at them. 

He’s cracking jokes on Sundays where they are meant to be on their way to church yet they’re late again so they end up at a pancake place because there really is no point in going now. He’s morning runs, the brothers chasing after him until they get tired halfway through and he has to carry them back to the house, getting his own little workout in like that. 

The boys see their parents being in love, dancing around the kitchen, stealing kisses while cooking and even though they are children and that stuff is gross for them the imagine on what a relationship should look like gets imprinted into their minds.

Both of the boys grow up with at least one daily task to fulfill. It is their fathers way of teaching them responsibility and patience and care.

 William and Ben being in charge of the chickens in the backyard seemed like an excellent choice for that. they are in charge of feeding them and taking them out of the gutter and making sure the way to the enclosure is free and available ben learned to take responsibility the hard way, when he forgot to lock the gates one night and the chicken ran away in the cold, never to be seen again. His father, showing little emotions for that other than disappointment just shrugs and tells him to be more careful next time if he wants to avoid that from happening again. 

To the outside world his way of raising the boys may seem a bit extreme, even cold at times but it couldn’t be further from the truth. Their dad is still caring and incredibly invested in the boys, so much that he wants to do everything that they grow up string minded and healthy and independent, thats all that he wants from life and if that’s the way to get them to learn than so be it. most of this comes from his own father, having the family having a long line of history of vets and soldiers. it is a sense of belonging that he walkways felt when talking to his dad and he wants to pass that down to his own sons. and though they are grateful for the many lessons they’ve learned as children, little kids really can’t comprehend the situation as they grow up and are still young, let alone understand the intentions that go with actions.

It gets harder every time their father has to leave again. The boys don’t understand. It’s confusion the first time and some tears, they are trying to be brave and grown up then. The next time there are a lot more tears, more confusion, yelling and clinging until they reach a point where it’s silent tears and not even wanting to hug their dad and say goodbye. This is even worse than the yelling. 

It’s after one too times his father tells him he has to leave the next week, again, that William runs into the office, where his dad stores his belongings and the medals of his dad and pictures taken while he was in service, and pushes everything off the shelves before storming out the house. He doesn’t necessarily smashes anything as much as he just wants it all to be gone, leading to nothing being broken in the end but the gesture defiantly getting across. His dad finds William out on the front porch, the little guy waiting for him to come and confront him about his actions. Part of Will wants to stand tall and take whatever his dad has to say to him with pride and part of him is just utterly scared of the reaction he’s about to receive, anxiously awaiting the yelling his dad must’ve prepared. It leaves him with his chin up but his eyes watering and his lower lip quivering. When his dad just sighs and sits down Will’s nerves start to get the best of him and he breaks down crying because that’s the reaction he had prepared and now that there’s no outburst from his dad he’s completely confused into what he’s supposed to feel. His father can’t even be mad, it is such a clear and big signal from William to act out like that, he has to force down a chuckle. „You’re a brave guy, William Miller.“ His son is still sobbing and while he stops to take in a shaky breath Papa Miller opens one of his arms, not being able to see his son hurt by something he caused. „You need a hug, tough guy?“

William, even though being the older one, has a hard time dealing with the absence of his dad and missing him a lot more than he can handle. There are endless nights spent crying and getting terribly homesick, even though he is home. He grew up knowing what it was like to have a dad around and whenever his dad is gone, he can feel him missing. 

His obsession with numbers started then, counting the days his dad was gone, how many times he has to sleep before he gets to see him. It’s a desperate attempt to make the situation more bearable for him and it barely works.

Benny at the same time grew up seeing his dad from time to time. He’s used to the stories instead of memories and saying goodbye constantly before seeing him again some weeks later. He doesn’t remember his first couple of years as much as Will does, when his dad used to be gone for months at times. His world was much simpler, his questions could be answered with wonders and his mother telling him about how brave his dad is, fighting to come home because he loves his family so much. For Benny, his dad is a hero. Until he is not.

Puberty is hitting him like a ton of bricks and while his brother grew up with a lot of feelings, Benny suddenly gets a lot more input than he can handle. He feels everything, all the time and he truly doesn’t know how to deal with that. His dad being absent only feeds into his confusion, leaving Benny unsatisfied if he is home and missing him when he’s gone. He’s picking fights then, with his mom, his brother and most often his dad when he is actually home. Doors slamming, yelling and heavy footsteps on the stairs are common in those years and Benny loses the connection to his father for quite some time.

With Benny trying to sort himself out, William feels like he’s going through puberty a second time. They’ve moved a couple times by now and while Will comforts himself with books (they wont leave him and he can take them anywhere with him) Ben has gotten in with the wrong kind of people just one too many times. He’s out at night more than he can count, his mother not getting through to him and his brother only finding the wrong words. They’re at each others throats more and more, underestimating their own strength and forgetting that if they hit each other now it can become real dangerous real quick. 

It’s one night where Ben is coming home late. He’s drunk and trying to sneak in, actually bumping into every corner on his way through the house. He doesn’t even make it up the stairs as his brother, woken up by the crashing, comes down to help him. Hushed words lead to snarls lead to yelling, feelings that have been pushed down for too long explode. „What do you think dad would say if he were here? He would beat your ass to next christmas!“ „I don’t care about fucking dad! He can fuck off and die whatever shithole he’s stuck in now!“ They use words that cut deep and it doesn’t take long for them to roll around the hallway, fists hammering and hands closing around each other throats. Neither of them hear their mother shout, desperate for her sons to stop. She screams, she cries, she throws plates to the ground but they don’t hear her so she brings out the gun and fires a warning shot into the ceiling. Now they stop, startled and she sends them to bed before breaking down in the living room, a hole in the ceiling being the literal sign for something terribly going wrong right now. Their father comes home a few weeks later, both boys not interested in seeing him. William, who initially wasn’t even mad, actually understands his brother because he too, feels left behind. The last image their dad has of them is when they were 8 and they have matured a lot by that now. There’s no hug this time, the ceiling being fixed long before the boys learn to deal with their feelings and it takes an even longer time to forgive their dad, because after all it is their dad and they do care for him very much.

It’s a special kind of bond the Miller brothers share between them, their trust grown over years spending together and the thought about one leaving the other actually scaring them. Both of them like to know their loved ones safe and sound, a lot of their caring coming from the time that they didn’t know if their dad was alright. Ben and Will join the military at the same time, both beaming with pride and confidence. This is what they both wanted ever since thinking about their future, side by side and even though William struggles to come to terms with the thought that his baby brother might get hurt, he couldn’t imagine his service without him.

The day they get sworn in is probably the proudest day for the whole family. Their father is beaming with pride looking at his sons and both of them feel like they might explode.

There’s a lot they still haven’t talked about. The past is not an easy thing to untangle and feelings don’t go away like that, Ben and Will slowly understanding their father more and more as they experience violence and war and grief in the same way he did. Now they are the ones who get to see their parents from time to time, the tables being turned in a way they always suspected to happen but not being prepared for the way it actually is. 

It certainly helps to have a father who’ve experienced this kind of mental strain before and who knows what its like to go to war and then come back home. A lot of the adjusting with life back home they actually turned to their father to, family dinners often revolving around their stories and experiences and sometimes just quiet pats on the shoulders, as no words are needed to understand the struggle each one is going through. Not every action can be excused but they are older now and old scars are sometimes just that, old scars.

[love-killed-the-superstar]

femslash february strikes again and i finally updated that one cornirma fic that ive been meaning to get back to for literally an entire year

Title: The Frying Pan Conversation Pairing: Cornelia/Irma Chapter: 2 - funny how we run around Summary: “You're awake...” “Great detective work, Sherlock, want a medal?” “It's too early in the morning for you to be sassing me,” grumbled Cornelia, half-heartedly throwing her phone onto the blankets and scooting closer to Irma. “Good thing you're way too cute for me to be sassing you with intent to kill,” Irma teased, pulling her in closer for a hug. She was overly warm from sleep and Cornelia happily melted into it. Irma's boobs made for an excellent pillow. (Cornelia and Irma spend Christmas with the Hales.)

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13743063/chapters/42144206

Cornelia loved watching Irma sleep. While she usually ran her mouth during the day, when she slept she had some sort of serenity around her, a tranquillity one wouldn't expect from someone who spent half the night tossing and turning, hogging the blankets and drooling all over her pillow. Yet, when morning came and Cornelia returned to wakefulness, Irma was at peace with herself in the land of dreams, hair framing her face like a halo. It took all restraint not to kiss her, but Cornelia had never been a fan of kissing before one had brushed their teeth.

Instead, she continued to watch. It was quiet and dim, the early morning sun casting strange light and shadows throughout the main room where they were set up. Without her family milling around, it felt peaceful. She wondered if this was how it would be all the time, if she and Irma moved in together some day. Sure, it wouldn't be some luxury cabin, but the world would be quiet like this. There would be no eyes on her. The whole room would be theirs to lie in silence and watch each other and feel cosy and secure. While Cornelia did want lavish things for herself someday, when she was older and things like throw pillows and vases mattered greatly in the grand scheme of things, it amazed her how easily she would sacrifice that just to be able to wake up next to Irma each morning and take on the day, regardless of whether they were in a plush king-sized bed or squashed together on a pull-out.

Geez. She really was picturing the rest of her life with Irma, like the hopeless romantic she was.

She rolled over to reach for her phone in the semi-dark. Too early to start messaging the group chat, but she hedged her bets with someone who did have a tendency to be up at this hour.

Will, you awake?

Not three minutes later, she received a reply.

ofc?? no rest for an athlete, corny. how did telling the parents go?

It didn't. Turns out I'm a bit of a coward.

nah it's tough. i only told my mom about being genderfluid a month ago, and i had no idea if she'd even CARE about it

Well, she cares about YOU. And from what you've told me, she's taken it well?

The speech bubble indicating a reply stayed for a while, and Cornelia repositioned herself so that she could watch Irma doze while waiting on Will to get back to her. After a few minutes, her phone finally pinged, and she hastily lowered the volume as Irma stirred slightly.

yeah, turns out dean being our teacher way back in the day finally paid off bc sheffield has diversity training or smth. he sat down w me and my mom and talked over all this stuff she was confused about. and she still doesn't totally get it, but she said she just wants me to be happy. guess that's all i really needed. stuff like if she comes to pride and w/e doesn't matter to me tbh, just knowing she's there for me is enough

Cornelia chewed her lip wistfully. If only it worked out that simply for everybody...

That's great. Really, I'm so happy it all worked out for you. I'm just worried about my parents, I guess. They're not bad people, but sometimes they can be so backwards with things. Really, I just want them to accept that this is a part of me so I can stop lying about a college guy just to keep them from overanalysing the way I am around Irma.

hey i get it! you're both just so darn cute together!

Indeed we are.

They shared some quick, casual conversation (Will, as usual, had some funny story to tell her about life as Taranee's roommate, and Cornelia caught them up on the bullshit that was her and Irma's road trip to the cabin) before Will had to leave to start their morning swim practice.

“Psst. Blondie.”

Cornelia dropped her phone in surprise, catching sight of rich green eyes watching her intently.

“You're awake...”

“Great detective work, Sherlock, want a medal?”

“It's too early in the morning for you to be sassing me,” grumbled Cornelia, half-heartedly throwing her phone onto the blankets and scooting closer to Irma.

“Good thing you're way too cute for me to be sassing you with intent to kill,” Irma teased, pulling her in closer for a hug. She was overly warm from sleep and Cornelia happily melted into it. Irma's boobs made for an excellent pillow.

“You're comfy,” she mumbled.

“Yup, cushy tits run in the family,” Irma remarked, relishing in the way Cornelia shuddered with an implosion of laughter. “You know this is the first time in months we've woken up together?”

“Feels like it too,” Cornelia sighed. “I've missed this. You should really come visit me more often, you know.”

“Oh yeah? I visited you twice last term. It's your turn to visit me just as soon as daddy dearest hands over your fucking prius.”

“Well, no offence, but your college campus is like a 30 minute drive away from Heatherfield,” pointed out Cornelia. “I'd sooner you visit me than risk bumping into Uriah of all people at a house party.”

Irma scoffed. “Thanks a lot! It may not be ivy-league or State U or anything, but there's still a ton of stuff to do! Besides, pretty sure Uriah's at Sheffield Community College, Anna works with his mom.” She paused. “Though, I did run into our dear old chum Nigel at a Halloween party this year.”

“Oh? And how did that go down?”

“How do you think? He followed me around half the night asking about Tara until I finally snapped and was like, 'you missed the boat, honey, our girl is gay as the day is long'. Haven't seen him since. Reckon he dropped out when he heard how swimmingly Taranee's life is going without him.”

“I doubt he flunked out because of a girl he was dumped by five years ago,” Cornelia deadpanned.

“Uh, hello? Our girl is a catch. He's lucky to have even walked the Earth in the same lifetime as her.”

“A bit dramatic, but I get the sentiment.”

Cornelia fell quiet, listening intently to Irma's heartbeat, her breathing.

“D'you think today's gonna be the day?” Irma asked softly.

Cornelia let out a noise, somewhere between laughter and a sigh.

“How do you always know what I'm thinking?”

“Because you have the antithesis of a poker face, darlin'. I've been reading you like a book since I was thirteen.”

She tangled her fingers up in Cornelia's hair, gently combing through, careful to avoid knots.

“I don't know if it'll be today,” sighed Cornelia. “Does it make me a hypocrite? I was so certain I wanted to do it this time.”

“Look. You need to stop putting this pressure on yourself to do everything exactly how you imagined,” Irma said firmly. “You don't have to tell them I'm your girlfriend. You don't even have to tell them you're pan if you aren't ready for it. We can call this off, you can spend the rest of Christmas break not having to worry about their reactions, and we can make out and cuddle and all that good stuff the second we set foot in my house. Would that make you feel better?”

“No?” Cornelia reached up to pull Irma into a proper hug. “I want them to know how happy you make me. I want them to know that I'm happy being myself. But the part where I actually tell them? Opening up like that, it... it's a very emotional process.”

“I know. I know it is. But I promise you, once it's out in the open... never mind their reaction, you will feel worlds better with it off your chest.”

“Ugh, why does my girlfriend have to be so wise?” Cornelia wondered aloud. Irma formed a fist and lightly knocked her on the head.

“If I'm going to be a teacher some day, I gotta be wise. I'm meant to be some sort of inspiring prophet, if your dad's stirring speech at dinner last night was anything to go by.”

“He's a passionate guy,” Cornelia shrugged.

“Sounds like someone else I know.”

A sudden creak from down the hall disrupted them, and they sprung apart, Cornelia sitting upright and reaching for her phone while Irma pretended to go back to sleep. A moment later, Harold's face poked around the door.

“Morning, darling!” he uttered in a stage-whisper, before stepping into the room clad in his robe and slippers. “Does Irma take coffee? I was thinking of brewing a pot to wake your mother up.”

“Only with six million sugars in,” Cornelia said, rolling her eyes fondly. “Don't worry, I'll take over. I know how to make it so she doesn't spit it out.”

Harold laughed, and moved over to start on breakfast as Cornelia set up the coffee maker.

“You two are as thick as thieves.”

Cornelia's hand froze.

“...Well, we're still good friends, but...”

“I drifted apart from my school friends when I went away to college, you know,” Harold mused. “I regret it now. The rift grew so big, and by the time I saw them again they were married, had families... and although we could still talk with ease about these kinds of things, the bond we shared at school – the books we liked to read, the movies we saw together, the pranks we would play on our teachers – all of that was gone. It was something we could look back upon and laugh at, but it's not the same.”

“I didn't know that.”

Harold offered her a kind smile, and reached over to crack some eggs into a bowl, dusting the mixture with pepper.

“Well, I think it's important to keep in touch with those you love. I was actually quite worried when I heard that you were going to your college alone. I know how close you are to the girls you met at Sheffield. I'm... glad that you were able to keep a close bond with them despite the distance.”

Oh, if only he knew how close.

Cornelia set out some cups on the side, hoping her face wasn't burning. If she really was as easy to read as Irma said...

“Well, they're my friends. They're important to me.” She glanced over at him. “Dad, I'm... I'm really happy with my life right now. With the person I am, and the person I'm with.”

Harold stopped whisking, and moved over to pull Cornelia into a tight hug.

“I'm so glad to hear that, darling. I really am.”

They worked in a pleasant silence after that, and when Irma next rolled over, Cornelia was nudging her, cup of overly sweetened coffee in her hand.

“Rise and shine.”

Harold was whistling away as Irma took her first sip, his back to them as he began tossing some bacon and eggs in the pan.

“Mmm. You made it just how I like it.”

“Well, you're picky. If my dad made it you'd choke it down and feel awful the rest of the day,” Cornelia teased. Irma stuck her tongue out.

“Jerk.” After another sip, she added coyly, “I heard the conversation between you two. It was sweet. Are you thinking today might be the day after all?”

“Maybe,” Cornelia said, a flame of confidence ignited in her heart. “He really wants me to be happy, so... maybe when I tell him, he'll understand.”

“Look, Harold Hale might not be leading a revolution, but he's always seemed like a chill guy to me,” Irma said quietly. “If you keep dropping hints, he might figure the rest out on his own.”

“Maybe.”

Cornelia glanced back at her father, still blissfully unaware of their conversation, and she leaned down to press a kiss to Irma's forehead.

“Now, drink up. We have a big day ahead of us.”

…

Breakfast was uneventful, with Lillian dominating the conversation with talk of some dream inspired by a zombie TV show she'd been binge-watching over Christmas break. Irma munched on French toast and bacon and watched in amusement as Harold became disgustingly sweet with Elizabeth, pressing kisses to her head whenever he went to refill drinks, even reaching down to pinch her behind when he was sure his daughters and his oldest's girlfriend weren't looking. Elizabeth swatted his hand away, pretending to be mortified at his brazen display in front of Irma, but the rouge on her cheeks and the affectionate eyeroll told another story. All the while, Cornelia quietly ate and drank, keeping a straight face while prodding Irma's foot playfully with her own under the table.

Oh, Irma could get used to mornings like these.

They took turns showering and dressing, and did the usual routine of wrestling for more mirror space as they brushed their teeth and put on make-up.

“So what's the plan for today?” Irma asked, rubbing some kind of moisturiser into her cheeks. Cornelia leaned in closer and inhaled with a happy sigh. Mango. Irma took the opportunity to turn and press a kiss to the tip of her nose, and Cornelia pulled away with a grin.

“Oh, well now we're all together, today will definitely be a decorating day. I mean, it's Christmas eve tomorrow, so it'd be a little sad if we didn't have the decorations ready by then,” she explained with a shrug, uncapping her mascara beginning to apply it to her upper lashes. “It really shouldn't take too long though. We'll have some time to get away, don't worry. And I think tonight my parents reserved dinner for us at a restaurant in town. I have to warn you, the waiter we had last time was super obnoxious...”

Irma stared at her reflection in the mirror, zoning out of Cornelia's anecdote about the wait staff at said restaurant, before glancing over at her girlfriend. In their teen years, she'd always envied how immaculate Cornelia's appearance was. She'd always seemed flawless somehow, even though Irma knew better and would never ever admit that much. Then, those feelings started to mix with something else, and attraction, jealousy and self-consciousness melted into an ugly soup of insecurity in her psyche. Even now, when she knew better than anyone that Cornelia was smitten with her, doubt crept in, especially in situations like these when they had to stand beside one another and pretend like they belonged in the same league.

“You're beautiful,” she sighed, interrupting Cornelia's spontaneous yelp review. Cornelia's hand jerked at the suddenness of Irma's statement and she hurriedly reached to blot away a clump of mascara stuck to the end of her eyelashes.

“Oh. Well, I do my best, and when it comes to make-up practice always makes perfect, you know.”

“I'm not talking about make-up, though yeah, you should consider dropping out of college and becoming a beauty guru on youtube instead.”

“Well, I think you're gorgeous too,” Cornelia replied with a smile, moving onto her lips. First a layer of balm to soften them, a waiting period of three minutes, and then the application of gloss or lipstick. It was her routine every time, and the waiting drove Irma mad in the mornings they'd spent together over the years. Cornelia's lip balm always smelled so damn good that fighting the temptation to kiss it clean off was a rare torture.

“Have you seen me?” muttered Irma, frowning at her reflection. “Eyebags for days. Messy brows. My lips are chapped to fuck and my skin has been kind of red lately...”

“Every time I see you I want to kiss you all over,” Cornelia said in the kind of factual tone that had Irma raising an eyebrow in disbelief. Still, she didn't protest as Cornelia wound her arms around her, and Irma caught a whiff of coconut lip balm. God damn it, she wanted Corny-kisses so bad. “You still get insecure, huh?”

“Hard not to when my girlfriend could pass for a fucking supermodel.”

“While I'm flattered that you hold me in such high regard, you're a far cry from the disaster you're making yourself out to be,” Cornelia laughed. “Besides, if you're really worrying about stuff, just talk to me, okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” Irma muttered. Cornelia rifled through her make-up bag for a few moments, before bringing out a small bottle.

“Come here, dope. Let me help you.”

“Why pay big bucks for a beautician when you can get one for free in the form of a generous girlfriend?” Irma deadpanned, but a smile tugged at the corner of her lips. Cornelia grinned back and started to apply the liquid to her cheeks and brow with some kind of blender sponge thing shaped like an egg.

“The trick to combating redness and dark circles is to have a good, strong base that neutralises any discolouration in your skin. In your case, green tones kind of cancel out reds, and yellows are good against dark circles, so it just leaves your skin looking healthier, see?”

She switched over quickly to one with a yellower hue, and Irma hummed in agreement, staying put as Cornelia began tending to her eyebags.

“I think I get where you're coming from. Hay Lin calls me up all the time to gush about colour theory, the importance of colour wheels is stuck in my brain for life.”

“Oh, you and Hay Lin call each other all the time? More than me?” Cornelia teased. She put down the sponge and reached back over to her make-up bag, retrieved something that Irma could only describe as the world's tiniest broom, and began to tame Irma's unruly eyebrows. “Don't tell me the two of you are having a sordid affair behind my back.”

“Our torrid love affair is about as real as yours with mystery botanist man,” Irma responded. Without breaking eye contact with Cornelia, she reached over for her own chapstick and began to apply it. Cornelia's tongue poked out slightly in concentration as she smoothed down Irma's brows.

“It's bad enough my parents keep going on about him, don't you start.”

“Well, he is my alter-ego,” Irma pointed out. “Seems a little rude to silence my opinions on him.”

“I hate when you make a good point.”

Cornelia leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Irma's brow, breathing in the smell of her mango moisturiser one more time and sighing deeply. Irma, in a similar moment of pure, unfiltered lesbianism, caught the scent of Cornelia's lip balm and damn went out of her mind. She tilted Cornelia's head down and what transpired for the next few minutes were a combination of kisses, hugs, and several attempts to escape Irma's python-like grip.

“It's lipstick time,” Cornelia complained, a playful glint in her eye as she finally pried Irma's arms off of her waist. “My lips will dry out.”

“Honey, we're both balmed up, if anything, now we have a double coating. You'll be fine.”

“Still, the sooner my make-up is done, the sooner we can get decorating out of the way, and the sooner we can chill out watching crappy holiday movies.”

“The temptation to stay in this bathroom where no one's watching and we can keep kissing forever, though...”

“Aren't we saving 'kissing forever' for the week at your place?” Cornelia asked innocently, perfectly pencilled eyebrows raised.

“No, that's 'sex forever', silly,” Irma said cheerfully, clapping her on the back.

She glanced back at her reflection. While the foundation and tiny grooming hadn't done much besides tidying her reflection up some, her eyes twinkled with something she could only describe as 'the Cornelia effect', and she found her appearance didn't really bug her so much by this point. As they stood side by side, Irma came to the realisation that she and Cornelia really did fit together, but more like a pair of odd socks that compliment each other in all their contrasting glory.

Maybe someone else would call that love.

…

Christmas with the Hales was turning out to be pretty fun.

Irma and Lillian fought bitterly over control of the spotify playlist that morning, while Elizabeth and Cornelia decorated the tree and Harold cheerfully filmed the entire ordeal. Lillian was stubbornly obsessed with the classics, while Irma kept switching them out for lesser appreciated cover versions, partly because rooting for the underdogs was how she rolled, and partly because she got immense glee out of pissing Lillian off (and for that, Cornelia saluted her for her heroism). When Karmilla's edition of 'All I Want For Christmas' came on instead of Mariah Carey, Lillian threatened to throw Irma's phone out of the window, which had Elizabeth swooping in and putting an end to their temporary rivalry.

They called a truce when the parents set out to buy icing and other edible decorations for the Christmas cookies, leaving the girls to prep them for baking. Lillian greased the baking tray while Cornelia mixed eggs and flour and sugar and cinnamon together in a big red bowl. Irma, meanwhile, sat herself on the island and, in compromise with Lillian, put on a playlist of nineties nostalgia, singing along to Re-feel-it and pretending to drum with a pair of wooden spoons against the countertop.

“Funnyyyyy, how we run around,” she belted. “And see what we got, we don't even know what it is we found...”

“And honey, take a look around,” Cornelia chimed in, using the whisk as a microphone. She spun on her heels, her eyes meeting Irma's as she lifted the whisk up to her lips. “By the time we get there we won't even know where it is we're bound!”

The two of them burst out laughing, and Lillian rolled her eyes. “Dorks.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Cornelia sighed dramatically, smirking at Irma before turning back to the mixing bowl and continuing to whisk the mixture. “I forgot we were in your divine presence, Lillian. I hope you can forgive us for entering the realm of uncool nostalgia for two seconds.”

Irma snorted.

“You know, she always gets more sarcastic when you're around, Irma,” Lillian accused.

“Yeah, I rub off on her. I'm a baaaad influence.”

“Is that any way to talk to our renowned guest?” Cornelia chastised. “What would Dad say?”

“He'd probably tell you not to sing into the whisk. You know how many germs you could be putting into the cookies by breathing on the mixture? You've built up an immunity living among students, but have some consideration for those of us who haven't stepped foot in a sweaty student union hall.”

“You're actually mad,” Irma cackled. “What kind of diseases could Cornelia have besides a bad case of the cooties? Unless... Corny, please don't tell me your parents are anti-vaxxers, or I might have to end this friendship for good.”

“Hell no, they're fine. Since when did you become such a germophobe, Lillian?” Cornelia teased.

“I play zombie games,” Lillian responded sagely. “I know how infection spreads.”

“They really don't paint as accurate a picture as you've been led to believe.”

As the mixture began to thicken into a dough, Lillian joined Irma on sitting on the island counter.

“So what's college like?”

“Classes are boring, my roommate sucks, and I'm drowning in student loans. But the parties are fun, and the people are cool when they aren't being pretentious tools.”

Lillian hummed.

“I can't wait until I go to college. Community's one of my favourite shows.”

“Heh, well, Community is an exaggeration for the sake of comedy, but...”

“Cornelia, what's your college like?”

“You saw it when you and Mom and Dad helped me move in,” Cornelia pointed out, distracted as she began to knead the dough.

“Yeah, but it's not the same! Your dorm is nice, sure, but what about the classes? The parties? The boys?”

“Hmm, I don't know about that. Boys aren't my area of expertise.”

“Well that's gay.”

Irma raised her eyebrows.

“Using 'gay' as an insult? Very 2004 of you.”

Lillian rolled her eyes. “Sorry. So you don't have a boyfriend?”

“Nope,” Irma said shortly.

Cornelia began to knead a little harder.

“I bet you know stuff about Cornelia's boyfriend though,” Lillian said to Irma, arms folded. “Why doesn't she talk about him? Is he secretly ugly?”

Irma snorted.

“Ha. I know a thing or two, but he's actually... probably the most handsome person I've ever known. Aside from your sister!” She playfully punched Lillian on the arm, who looked unimpressed by the statement. Cornelia made a strangled sound.

“Lillian, pass me the cookie cutters, please,” she choked.

Lillian raised her eyebrows and hopped off the counter top, retrieving ones shaped like pine trees and angels and bells, handing them to Cornelia.

“Here they are, weirdo. Anyway, you can't blame me for being curious! We had to pry it out of you that you were seeing anyone at all, and you're always so twitchy when we bring him up. Irma, is he a junkie or a biker or something?”

“Nope, just a loser who lies around watching cartoons all day,” Irma responded with a lazy grin.

“So you have a thing in common.”

“Lillian!” Cornelia admonished, slamming a cookie cutter into the dough with enough force to make the other shapes jump. “Also, Irma, I don't appreciate you calling my partner a loser.”

Lillian pulled a face.

“Partner? What are you, old timers?”

“Cowboys,” Irma chimed in.

“Oh, stop teasing me,” Cornelia huffed. “I'm just trying to be more inclusive. The world could do with more of that, you know.”

Lillian shrugged. “Whatever. So you're liberal now?”

“I reckon I've always been, yes.”

“And you, Irma?”

“Socialist, through and through.”

“Of course you are.”

“Just wait until college, Lillian,” Irma chided with a smile, as Cornelia began setting out the Christmas cookies on the tray. “There's a whole wide world out there.”

…

The Italian restaurant Harold took them to that night was fucking fancy, to say the least. The kind of fancy where there were lemon-scented wipes in little packets on every table and complimentary garlic dough balls and everyone was in suits and dresses. The Hales looked like they fit right in, and Irma was some vagrant they'd picked up off of the streets and were treating to dinner in a commendable act of charity.

“I don't even know what half the stuff on this menu is,” Irma hissed to Cornelia as they took their seats.

“It's good food,” Cornelia promised. “They just use posh names to scare people into thinking its worth the money they're paying. Come on, you watch enough Hell's Kitchen to know what filet mignon is.”

Irma ended up ordering something that she was pretty sure was some kind of beef thing, and Cornelia ordered the one pasta dish on the menu that used aubergines instead of pancetta. The wine was decent at least, and Irma found it easier to sneak glances at Cornelia's cleavage in the scoop neck dress she was wearing with the large flower centrepiece obscuring them from her parents. Lillian, while looking the part in a simple white turtle neck dress, was very obviously playing on her phone under the table.

The sweet onion soup starters arrived swiftly, and Irma was dragged back into a light grilling about her teaching degree from Harold, while Elizabeth began to catch Cornelia up with the latest family drama.

“Why, I just think it's so inspiring that you're choosing to act as a beacon for young people, and pave their futures-”

“-And your uncle, of course, is still coming around asking for money, as if your grandparents don't have enough to worry about-”

“-And you know, teaching qualifications open up the whole world to you! You could teach in international schools, or you could teach English in schools where it's a secondary language-”

“-It's not like their health is getting any better, you know! I keep telling him it's time to stand on his own two feet, he's certainly old enough-”

The moment that their waiter came to take the dishes away, Irma hurriedly excused herself.

In the bathroom (one of those spotless white ones with tiny shell-shaped soaps and embossed toilet paper because of course, rich people) Irma took a few moments to collect herself, staring at her reflection in dismay. She'd done her best to look presentable, but she still stuck out like a sore thumb in this kind of environment. Her dress was a little tight since the last time she'd worn it was for graduation, and her choker was crooked. Her bun was already starting to look lopsided, the redness of her cheeks was starting to show through the base Cornelia had applied that morning...

“Why am I not as perfect as the folks out there?” she muttered to herself, eyes narrowing as she glared at her reflection. She reached for one of the shell-shaped hand soaps and began to pick it with the edge of her fingernail. Absently, the faucet turned and water began to gush out, thrumming to the beat of her frustration.

After a few minutes of self-loathing and contemplation, she heard the sound of the door open behind her, and saw a flash of Irish green fabric, before Cornelia came up behind her, a vision of concern. She startled as the small army of water gushing from the faucet turned on her, almost letting out a hiss of steam, before Irma quickly called it off, allowing it to taper down the drain and out of sight.

“Irma, are you okay? My parents thought I should check on you in case the wine didn't agree with you, but...”

“Yeah, it isn't the wine,” Irma sighed. “It's this whole place. I can't fucking believe your dad called this place rustic on the way here.”

“He doesn't know the meaning of the word,” Cornelia agreed with a giggle. She wrapped her arms around Irma, leaning down to rest her chin on her shoulder. “You look amazing tonight.”

“Really?” Irma sighed. “I don't feel it. Or is this a classic 'lying to your girlfriend's face so she doesn't start crying in a stupidly fancy bathroom' tactic?”

“Well, it wouldn't be a great start to the meal.” Cornelia pressed a kiss to her jaw. “But I'm serious. You look great.”

“I'm practically bursting out of this dress. My tits are fighting for freedom. And my hair is coming undone and my stupid face is getting stupid red!”

“Of course it is, you've been drinking,” Cornelia said, rolling her eyes fondly. “And your face is the furthest thing from stupid, so don't even start.”

“I'm past the point of starting, Corny, I'm waist-fucking-deep in it. Look at this damn soap.” She gestured aggressively towards a shrivelled pebble in the basin. “That was shaped like a fucking seashell when I came in here and I picked and picked at it and now it looks like, I don't know, a really tiny golf ball?”

“Wow. Okay, let's take a step back from the soap.” Cornelia spun her around and rested her hands on her shoulders. “Irma, you look wonderful tonight. Seriously, you do, and I hate that going to this stupid dinner has made you so worked up.”

“It's not just the dinner.” Irma frowned up at her so-tall-it-was-unfair girlfriend. “Look at us. I mean, really look. We're like chalk and cheese, except, you're too pretty to be chalk. We're like – I don't know! An oil painting and cheese! I don't belong here eating food so fancy I can't pronounce it with wine I'm too weak to drink and in a dress that's too tiny for my damn good. You might fit into this magazine-spread life where everything is minimalist and perfect and velvet but I just don't. I saw it in the mirror this morning and I saw it in the mirror again just now. Are you honestly okay with that?”

“Why are you asking me this?” Cornelia asked, the smile gone from her face. “I love you. I love having you in my life. Sure, I like the nice material stuff sometimes, but if you think for one second that I'd put that stuff before you – before us – then the wine has definitely gone to your head.”

Irma huffed. After a beat, she muttered, “Rich people wine is ridiculous.”

“Agreed. Now, listen to me. We're too deep into this relationship to be hitting insecurities over stuff like this, got it? You know I come from money. You wanted to come on this trip with me. Unfortunately, that means seeing the way my family lives up close and personal. I just want you to remember that doesn't define me, or how I feel about you. I want you here. Okay?”

“I hate when you're being reasonable,” Irma groaned. She hugged Cornelia tight.

“Oof. Heh, don't tell me you're drunk already, we have the rest of a dinner to get through.”

“Are you gonna tell your parents tonight?” Irma mumbled into Cornelia's waist.

Cornelia hummed uncertainly. “Maybe. I don't know.”

“Well, remember I still love you. If you don't wanna come out here in this stupid fancy restaurant, no pressure. We'll make it happen some other time.”

“Hey, no need to comfort me, you're the one feeling insecure,” Cornelia teased. Irma lifted her head up to protest, and was met with Cornelia's lips pressing against her forehead.

“Ugh, you're too cute,” whined Irma. “If I weren't wearing heels I would go on my tiptoes and kiss you. And if you weren't wearing heels, we might actually be fucking level for once.”

“Thanks for clarifying that,” Cornelia quipped. “Not to worry, I can accommodate you.”

She leaned down and cupped Irma's cheeks, pulling her into a kiss.

The sound of the bathroom door abruptly shutting ended the sickeningly sweet moment, and they jolted apart. Lillian stood there, wide-eyed.

“Uhhh. Mom told me to come get you two, the main courses are out...” She blinked a few times. “Are you guys... lesbians?”

“Lillian,” Cornelia started, voice strained.

“I'm a lesbian,” Irma said with a shrug and an awkward chuckle.

“So you called me ignorant earlier even though you really are gay?”

“Ignorance is ignorance, sis.”

“Lillian, please don't tell Mom and Dad about this,” Cornelia pleaded. “I'm going to tell them myself, I just haven't had time to yet.”

Lillian folded her arms and huffed.

“I can't believe your mystery guy is just Irma.”

“Oh, ouch?”

Cornelia let go of Irma and approached Lillian.

“I'm serious. Can you please promise me you won't say anything?”

Lillian shrugged.

“I guess. I mean, I don't care about it. Not like they'd believe me anyway.” Seeing Cornelia's pinched expression, she sighed loudly. “All right, no. No, I won't say anything. So you can stop looking at me like that! Now come on, or Mom will be next to find us in here.”

As she pushed open the door to leave, she turned back.

“Also, Irma, you've got lipstick on your face. Hard to play dumb when the evidence is right there on your forehead.”

“When did she become such a smartass?” Irma muttered as Cornelia fished around in her clutch, bringing out a make-up wipe. “Look, don't panic. Lillian might be a pain, but she respects your business. Probably. I mean, I don't know her that well, but it's none of her business right? She knows that.”

“How did she seem to you?” Cornelia asked, chewing her lip. “Uncomfortable? Freaked out? D-Disgusted?”

“None. It was the same kind of grossed out she got when she caught you making out with Peter for the first time, I reckon. It was sibling disgust, not, y'know, her being a phobe.”

“Are you sure?” Cornelia fretted.

“Super sure. Now come on, you heard what she said. Lets go back before your mom drags us back by the ears.”

Irma reached over to squeeze her hand and didn't let go until they were out of the bathroom and in sight of the Hales. Elizabeth turned and shot them a disapproving look, motioning them back over, and Harold's face lit up with a delighted smile.

“I was starting to think the two of you had fallen in!” he joked, as they took their seats. “Is everything all right?”

“Oh, everything's fine,” Cornelia promised, a lie rolling effortlessly from her tongue as Irma stared down at the steak au poivre in front of her. “Irma just smudged her mascara and needed me to come to her rescue.”

“Ah, I see. Surely it shouldn't take that long though?” Elizabeth turned to Lillian. “Were they taking selfies?”

“Oh, they were having a gay old time in there,” Lillian deadpanned.

Cornelia froze. Irma dared to look up from her food to stare daggers at Lillan.

A moment passed, and Harold shrugged.

“Well, I'll never understand it, myself. But the youth of today are always finding beauty in everything! They can make moments last a lifetime! And I'm envious that an entire generation has learned to take pictures from an angle that certainly appear more flattering in post-production...”

As his speech continued, the tension melted away. Elizabeth raised her eyebrows at the two of them, as if to silently chastise them for sending Harold on a spiel about technological advancements, before tucking into her food.

Cornelia swiftly kicked Lillian under the table, but all she got back in response was an impish grin.

…

“Urgh, I'm full to burst.”

A now pyjama-clad Irma flopped face down on the pull-out bed, before rolling onto her side and burping softly into the back of her hand.

“I told warned you against dessert, if you recall,” Cornelia said with a grin, pulling her nightgown over her head.

“Yeah, but they had cheesecake. You know I'm weak for cheesecake, Corny.”

“That I do.” Cornelia lay down beside her. “I was a bundle of nerves the whole night.”

“Aw, come here.” Irma pulled Cornelia close, combing her fingers through her hair. “Lillian was just being a brat, that's all. She's got dirt on you, of course she's gonna poke a little fun. But she wasn't about to out you or anything.”

“I know,” Cornelia groaned. “I know. But she's on thin ice, I'm telling you now!”

“Well, the sooner you get it off your chest, the sooner she'll lose that power over you,” Irma pointed out. She yawned. “I'm pooped. Can you turn the light off? And then come spoon me?”

“Sure, your highness,” teased Cornelia, prying Irma's hands off her waist. As she wandered over to the light switch near the hallway, she caught sight of Lillian leaving the bathroom. The two stood there in silence for a few moments, before Cornelia uttered, “Hi.”

“Hi.” Lillian shifted from one foot to the other awkwardly. “Hey, Cornelia?”

“Yeah?”

“Um. I know I didn't say it at the restaurant, but... I don't like, mind or anything. About you and Irma.”

Relief washed over her.

“You don't?”

“No! And you should stop caring that somebody does, you know? Mom and Dad are whatever. I don't know if they'd care about it. But, it shouldn't matter if we mind or not, that's my point. It's about you and Irma, not about the rest of us. Although, since you're a lesbian now, I wish you had better taste in girls. I've seen her eat peanut butter out of the jar with her fingers,” Lillian pointed out, pulling a face.

Cornelia, stunned by the overload of information, leaned back against the wall.

“With her fingers?”

“Yup. It was our house peanut butter, too!”

Cornelia buried her head in her hands. “Oh my god. If I didn't love her so damn much that would for sure be a deal breaker. Also, I'm not a lesbian.”

“You're not?”

“No. I loved Peter, remember?”

Lillian pouted. “Yeah. I miss him.”

“I know you do, you remind me all the time.” Cornelia squared her shoulders. “Lillian, I'm pansexual.”

Lillian raised an eyebrow. “Pansexual?”

“Yes. Pansexual. I... fancy people regardless of whether they're a guy, a girl, or nonbinary.”

“Nonbinary?”

“The internet is a great place to learn about this stuff, since you're on the track to being an ally now.”

Lillian giggled.

“Yeah, I guess. Well, okay. So you're not gay, you're... what's the short of it? Pan?”

Cornelia nodded wordlessly.

“Okay. Cool. You're pan. And Irma's your girlfriend. And she's a lesbian?”

“Yes. You caught on fast.”

With a shrug, Lillian said simply, “It wasn't that hard to grasp. You're pan, Irma's gay, you're dating. That's that.”

Cornelia's mouth opened and closed a few times. At last, she uttered, “You made that seem really easy.”

“I'm a smart and socially aware kid,” Lillian said proudly, hands on her hips. Her smug expression softened. “And I'm happy you're happy. I was kinda thinking, cause you never mentioned your 'mystery uni boyfriend', that maybe you didn't really like him. I'm glad it's just a mix up.”

Cornelia's heart swelled, and she stepped towards Lillian, hugging her tight.

“You're a good sister.”

“And you're a clingy sister, god!”

They bid goodnight and Cornelia climbed into bed beside Irma, who had her back to her and was softly groaning. She yelped as Cornelia wriggled under the covers.

“Holy crap, Corny, your feet are colder than Mount fucking Thanos!”

“So warm me up.”

“Sorry, you got the wrong guardian for that party trick.”

Cornelia rolled her eyes fondly and reached around to spoon her.

“Geez, you ate too much. Your stomach feels like a rock.”

“Don't bully me, that was rich people food! How many times am I gonna get to eat like that again, huh?”

“If you'd just let me take you fancy places-” Cornelia pointed out.

“You know I hate fancy places!” whined Irma, punctuated by another burp. “Ugh. Just cuddle me to sleep, jerk.”

“Who are you calling a jerk, jerk?”

Cornelia obliged nonetheless, letting her body wrap around Irma's with a familiarity that had adapted over the years; from guardian sleepovers to family vacations to just the two of them drunkenly sprawled out in Cornelia's dorm. And now here they were, fitting together like jigsaw pieces, water and earth.

“Sweet dreams,” Cornelia whispered, pressing a kiss to the back of Irma's neck.

“Keep your lips to yourself, Corny,” mumbled Irma sleepily, snuggling closer all the same.

[trashforhockeyguys]

For The Rest of Time// Auston Matthews

Requested by anon: Can you do one where she’s Mitch’s little sister and is dating/ planning to marry Auston?

A/N: Okay I literally wrote this in like 2 hours because I really loved this request and thought it was adorable, so sorry if it’s all over the place and awful. But anyway, thanks to whoever sent this in to me, I hope you like it, and I hope you start feeling better soon!

There was almost no one that you loved more than your big brother. Mitch, who was two years older than you, was literally your favorite person in the entire world. The two of you were thick as thieves and did practically everything together growing up.

He held your hand as you walked into your first day of school, a tradition that you continued until he left to play hockey elsewhere. He not so secretly stalked you on every date you went on, just to make sure you were being treated right. Mitch also loved to threaten any possible boyfriends, which always made you laugh because Mitch was so scrawny. Not to mention he wasn’t that intimidating with his mullet.

You assumed that Mitch had told his teammates on the Leafs all about his little sister. Since the goof never stopped talking about you when he was away. However, you couldn’t have been more wrong.

“Hey! This is a closed practice!” One of Mitch’s teammates yelled.

“Yeah, I know,” You replied, “But, Mitchy told me I had to wait on his ass.”

The player, that you soon recognized as the great Auston Matthews, huffed. You were honestly a little pissed off at him due to the look he shot you. But if you weren’t mad, you probably would’ve been freaking out. You were talking to, and standing not far away from, Auston fucking Matthews. He hadn’t even made his NHL debut yet and he was already the Wonder Boy of the NHL.

“Hey Marner!” Auston called,” You know this chick?”

You could see Mitch mumble a quick curse and skated over to the open door. He quickly made his way over to where Auston was standing. You almost wanted to laugh. Mitch looked like he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Yeah, that’s my little sister.”

“Fuck man! I didn’t know you had a sister!” Auston all but yelled.

“Wow Bitchell,” You narrowed your eyes, “You didn’t tell them about your favorite person, eh?”

“I’m not going to hear the end of this am I?” Mitch groaned.

“Absolutely not,” You promised,” Now get your ass on the ice, Bitchell. I really don’t want to stay late because you got in trouble.”

“Can you stop calling me that?” He asked.

You looked at him and laughed, very loudly, “Absolutely not. Now GO!”

He tapped Auston’s shoulder and walked back towards the ice. Auston winked before he turned to follow Mitch. That’s how it all started. That stupid wink.

Not long after the season started, you were hanging out in Mitch’s apartment, Auston was there too. Mitch randomly had to go to the store. That left you and Auston awkwardly sitting on the couch together, watching The Mighty Ducks.

You slowly noticed Auston’s hand moving closer to yours. You probably would’ve called him out on it, if you weren’t craving his touch. You wanted to blame it on the fact that you’d just broken up with your boyfriend not long before, and he was Auston Matthews. You could try and blame it on the fact that he was always looking at you, or winking, or smiling. You tried to play it off, after all, you were two years younger than the nineteen-year-old rookie, and you were his teammates little sister.

However, that way of thinking was thrown out the window a few weeks later. You’d been spending more and more time with Mitch, mainly because you knew you’d get to see Auston. The two of you had gotten closer, you texted just about every single day and snapchatted almost nonstop. There was some flirting for sure, but you were still trying to brush it off.

That was, until Auston pulled you away from everyone at dinner one night, and kissed you. You’d been shocked to say the least, but after that it was like full speed ahead. You’d never imagined that you’d ever date an NHL player, much less one as high profile as Auston.

The two of you caught a lot of flack for your relationship too, seeing as you were only sixteen when you started dating. The only major issue of your relationship, was having to tell Mitch about it. But somehow, your big brother was okay with you and Auston.

So, four long years later, you were still happily dating Auston. After graduating high school, you started at U of T and went to every home game. You always had on Auston’s jersey and most days you were in his shirts and sweatpants.

The two of you often drove Mitch crazy, because you were almost always cuddling or holding hands. If you ever kissed in front of your brother, he was almost guaranteed to make some sort of gagging noise. But when you’d look over at your big brother, he’d always have the biggest smile on his face. He knew you were undeniably happy, and that was good enough for him.

Currently, you were at Matt Martian’s wedding. You watched as Matt and Sydney shared their first dance. Auston had his hand on your thigh, which is where it had been since the ceremony ended and the reception had started. You felt Auston squeeze your thigh, causing you to smile.

“I can’t wait to marry you,” He whispered in your ear.

You looked over at him and raised your eyebrows, “Well, that requires you to put a ring on it first, bub.”

“I tried, someone wouldn’t take it,” He reminded you.

You leaned into him, “You know that’s not what happened. I told you that you needed to talk to Mitchy first.”

“I told you I’d talk to him after, I already got your dad on board.”

Auston had proposed to you nearly two weeks ago. You’d said yes of course, with one condition, he had to get Mitch’s approval before you’d actually accept the ring. He knew how important it was for you to have your brother’s approval, especially since Auston was Mitch’s teammate. The last thing you wanted to do was make anything weird or awkward, not when the team had done so well last season.

“I can’t wait to marry you,” Auston whispered in your ear, “ I wanna call you my wife. I can’t wait to start a family with you either.”

“Oh really?”

“Mmm, I want to be able to look up during a game, and know that you’re up there with our kids,” He admitted.

“Oh? More than one?” You questioned.

“I was hoping more than one, if you’d let me,” He shrugged.

The two of you seemed to forget that you were at a wedding, around his entire team. You were in your own little world. Lost in your conversation with Auston. You were practically sitting on his lap at this point. But neither of you cared.

“Oh bub, you know I want a big family,” You grinned,” At least two or three, maybe more depending on how they turn out. We’ll get them all little baby Matthews jerseys. They can run around the rink, and play mini sticks together. They’d probably have the entire team wrapped around their little fingers too.”

“Really?” Auston’s smile was big and bright,” You’ve thought about it.”

“Yeah, I think about it all the damn time, actually,” You said sheepishly.

“You sure you don’t want that ring right now?” He questioned,” Because I have it in my pocket.”

“What the fuck man!” Mitch exclaimed,” You bought an engagement ring for my baby sister, and didn’t even talk to me about it.”

“Mitchy, we were going to talk to you about it-“

“Whatever,” He mumbled, “Excuse me.”

You sighed and stood from your chair, “I’ll be right back.”

You made your way towards the door that Mitch walked out of. You knew he probably wasn’t mad, more like just upset that he hadn’t been told sooner. Mitch was always the first person to know about something going on in your life. This would be one of the first times that you hadn’t told him about something almost as soon as it happened.

“You really love him, huh?” Mitch said once you were out on the patio.

“I wouldn’t still be dating him if I didn’t,” You admitted,” I know you probably aren’t overly thrilled. But I can’t help it, I plan on loving him for the rest of my life.”

He let out a deep breath and shoved his hands in his pockets. He glanced back inside the building, towards where Auston was watching you and your brother, clearly waiting to see what happened.

“He better treat you right,” Mitch finally said, “I’ll kick his ass if he doesn’t.”

“So, you’re okay with this?” You questioned cautiously.

“I’ve always been okay with it, Y/N,” He promised you, “I just want you to be happy, and if Auston makes you happy than who am I to stand in the way.”

You hugged Mitch as tightly as you possibly could. Truthfully, you probably wouldn’t have said yes to Auston if Mitch hadn’t approved. But you also knew there was almost no way that Mitch would say no. He loved Auston, and although he often gave you two shit, he loved how happy Auston made you.

“C’mon, let’s go,” Mitch said nudging you towards the door.

You slid back into your seat and leaned over to kiss Auston. He didn’t have to ask, because he could tell by the unbridled smile on your face. You were grinning so hard it hurt, but you couldn’t stop either. Auston at Mitch, who was smiling just as big as he nodded at Auston.

“I think you have something you want to give her,” Mitch told him.

Auston glanced around the room, almost everyone was dancing now. So, all of this would go unnoticed, which was fine by you. You didn’t want to take away from Matt and Sydney, this was their day after all. But as Auston laughed slightly and reached into his pocket, you couldn’t help but start to tear up.

“Alright, I already gave the big speech once,” He said, flicking open the velvet box, “ Y/N Marner, will you please marry me?”

“Of course, I will,” You nodded, a few tears falling down your cheeks.

Auston seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. You watched through blurry eyes as he slipped the ring on your finger. The medal was cold, but you liked the weight of it on your finger. You admired it for a second before kissing Auston again.

The both of you laughed as Mitch pulled you in for a big group hug. Before you could react, the other Leafs joined in, seemingly understanding what had just happened. Matt pulled you in for an almost bone crushing hug, stating that you were like his daughter, and how proud he was of the woman you’d become.

As the rest of your hockey family gathered around to congratulate you two, you reached for Auston’s hand. He grinned at you and squeezed it. You realized that you wouldn’t want any other life, because all was as it should be. 

[gukyi]

ice prince | jjk

⇒ summary: when, due to inexplicable and total clumsiness, your reliable, talented ice dancing partner of five years breaks his leg right before the largest competition of your life, desperate times call for desperate measures. and for a brief, brief moment, you think that everything might actually end up not-that-shitty, until you find out that the aforementioned desperate measures go by the name of jeon jungkook.

⇒ figure skating!au, enemies to lovers!au

⇒ pairing: jungkook x female reader

⇒ word count: 22k (when will she (i) stop)

⇒ genre: fluff, very minor angst that probably shouldn’t even be listed

⇒ warnings: mentions of bruising + stuff from falling

⇒ a/n: i honestly don’t know what’s wrong with me. one day i’m finishing up a 28k jungkook enemies to lovers fic and suddenly two weeks later i have another 22k jungkook enemies to lovers fic on my hands. tagging @cinnaminsvga​ and @workofteaguk​ as a thanks for the support and my relentless screaming!

⇒ DISCLAIMER: i am not a professional figure skater and this does not accurately represent the lives of professional figure skaters. it’s a fic, for fuck’s sake. don’t take the logistics of it seriously.

check out the post-script drabble here!

It starts with a broken leg.

For someone so skilled at figure skating, so easily able to do leaps and twirls and lifts, Kim Taehyung is one hell of a klutz. He can’t walk without tripping over himself at least once on a good day, so imagine combining that with black ice on the roads from a terrible snowstorm the prior day. It’s the bad kind of snow, too, the kind that turns into slush when it hits the pavement, dirty slush that freezes over in the night to wreak all sorts of havoc.

Kim Taehyung texts you, two months before the biggest competition you’ve ever had in all of your years of ice dancing, and says:

[9:59 PM] rice dancer #1: remember how i was gonna go on that date after practice today?

[10:01 PM] you: o my god yes!!! how did it go!!!

[10:01 PM] rice dancer #1: it went pretty well rice dancer #1: he’s rlly cute and sweet n he wants me to teach him how 2 figure skate

[10:02 PM] you: dam bith look at she go!!! (she is you)

[10:03 PM] rice dancer #1: well,.,. on the way back.,. uh.. rice dancer #1: you know how it’s rly slippery rn

[10:04 PM] you: tae wtf did u do

[10:05 PM] rice dancer #1: i may or may not have slipped on the ice and broken my leg and currently be in the hospital getting a cast

[10:07 PM] you: TAE!!!!!!!!

And that’s the story of how all of your dreams shattered into a billion pieces right in front of your eyes, much like the bones in Taehyung’s leg.

The next day, you skip practice (much to Namjoon and Hoseok’s chagrin, you already know it) to go to the hospital during visitor hours. Taehyung told you he’d only need one day in the hospital before he’d be back on the one foot he’s allowed to use, so you’re making the most out of your visit. You pick up a bouquet of white roses from the local supermarket on your way. Once you register as a guest at the hospital, they bring you to his room, drab cinderblock walls lining the hallways on the way. When the nurse opens his door, you see him happily camped out in the hospital bed, bright orange cast elevated by fifteen pillows as he channel surfs through the hospital’s five different television stations. Taehyung sees you walk in with a murderous look on your face and quickly fumbles to turn off the TV.

“Y/N!” He cheers, though you can easily make out the fear in his eyes. “What… what brings you here?”

“I brought you something,” you say passive-aggressively as you waltz over to him, bouquet hidden behind your back. Taehyung’s face lights up at the notion of the gift, until you pull the flowers into view and hand them to him.

“White roses?” He asks, concerned as he looks down at them. “Don’t these symbolize death?”

“Yeah,” you say, nodding. “Because you’re fucking dead to me, Kim Taehyung!” Storming over, you start beating him with your fist, pounding his shoulders and forehead and chest as he curls into himself, shouting. You take all of your pent-up frustration out on him, not that he doesn’t deserve it.

“Stop! Stop! Y/N! I’m injured! How dare you!” He shouts in between your assaults, hands going up to protect his face from any more damage. You finally release him, standing up and exhaling heavily. You dust off your fingers before your arms cross in front of your chest.

“You deserved that,” you tell him honestly. “You little piece of shit.”

“I’m sorry, alright,” Taehyung says, wincing in pain as he adjusts himself so that he can sit up in his bed and face you properly. “Believe me, this hurts me just as much as it hurts you. And not just physically.”

“God, Taehyung,” you say, sighing deeply as your palms come up to your cheeks. You have no idea what the hell you’re supposed to do now that Taehyung’s incapacitated. Nationals is in two months and Taehyung, your ice dancing partner since you were fourteen, has a broken tibia. “What are we gonna do?” You ask him as you collapse onto his bed.

Taehyung leans over to rub your back. “We’ll be alright, Y/N. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

Everything is not okay. You walk into the ice rink, helping Taehyung hobble around on the crutches he claims are outrageously uncomfortable (even though when offered a wheelchair, he had declined and said he needs to keep being mobile), to some very concerned coaches. Taehyung’s still got a bright smile on his face, one to match his fluorescent orange cast, but it’s obvious that the both of you have had a rough twenty-four hours, and it’s about to get even rougher.

“Look at you guys,” Namjoon says as he walks over, baseball cap on his head and clipboard in his hand. “Such good sports.”

“Hey, Coach,” Taehyung says awkwardly as you walk him over to a nearby bench. “Sorry about the, uh, unexpected turn of events.”

“It’s okay, Taehyung,” Namjoon says, patting his back with the wood of the clipboard. “It’s not your fault.”

Taehyung turns to you with his eyebrows raised, petty look on his face as if to say, “see, at least someone knows that I’m not the one to blame.” You scoff, hitting him lightly in the shoulder. It’s definitely his fault. What a klutz.

“What do we do, Coach?” You ask desperately, turning to Namjoon.

His eyes scan from you, to the rink, to Taehyung’s cast, to his clipboard. “It’s up to you, really.”

“Can we still drop out of the competition?” You ask, eyes wide.

“Drop out?” Taehyung asks, brows knitted together. He shoots up, nearly toppling over on his shattered leg and grabbing your arm for support. You jump at the contact, hands darting out to steady his body so he doesn’t break anything else.

“Yeah, drop out,” you repeat, nodding as you hold onto him. “I don’t wanna do the competition when my partner’s in a cast.”

Taehyung gapes at you like you’ve just suggested you perform your ice dancing program in the Mars polar ice caps. “But you’re so close! Nationals is two months away!” He says, seemingly outraged at the fact that you want to leave the competition despite the fact that his leg is literally wrapped up in plaster.

“Nationals is two months away and you can’t even walk!” You exclaim in return, making a show of the crutches he’s hobbling around on. “I don’t wanna do the damn program without you. You’re my partner.”

“But you could win this year!” Taehyung insists, tugging on your arm in desperation.

You nod. You could win this year. The program that Namjoon and Hoseok have come up with is gold-medal-worthy. And the fact that Taehyung is standing in front of you with a cast on his leg and crutches under his arms makes tears well up in your eyes. It’s like running through a tunnel without the end ever appearing in your view. It’s like climbing a tree and never being able to reach the highest branch. It’s like seeing the finish line within your grasp but never getting there.

“I know, I know,” you say dejectedly, looking down to your feet. “But there’s always next year, when you’re better.”

Taehyung looks scandalized.

“Hoe, don’t do it,” Taehyung says, grasping onto your arm and looking hopelessly into your eyes. It’s easily the most romantic thing that the two of you have ever done together, and you’ve been ice dancing together for five years.

“Hoe, I’m gonna do it,” you say in response, placing your palm atop his. “I don’t want to perform without you.”

“You have been working really hard these past few months to perfect your routine,” Namjoon supplies unhelpfully, his reason getting the better of him. Can’t he just let you mope around about your lost gold medal in peace? “I would easily be able to recruit someone to be your partner in his place.”

“But—” You say, already knowing fully well that you’re eventually going to cave into their requests. The look on Taehyung’s face is too heartbreaking for you to have to keep staring at it, even if competing in Nationals means you won’t do it with him. What will he do without you? What will you do without him? You know each other’s bodies, motions, touches like the backs of your hands, you skate together so effortlessly, as if you were a single person. What will happen when that sense of security is removed? When you skate with someone foreign, a feeling you won’t recognize.

“Seriously, Y/N. You have a real shot at getting gold, and if not, at least being on the podium,” Namjoon continues. “You’ve never been more prepared for something like this.”

“But if I don’t compete, we’ll have more time to prepare for next year?” You suggest, grimacing as you hunch your shoulders. Taehyung, if possible, looks like he’s about to take his hand off of the crutch keeping him in place just to sock you in the side. It’s clear that you’re about to cave in and that any last-ditch efforts to drop out will ultimately fail, but there’s no harm in reaching for the unreachable anyway.

“Y/N,” Taehyung says, frowning. He’s staring at you with that disappointed look on your face, the one he always gives you whenever you make a terrible pun about ice skating or tease him about his love life. “Do it.”

“Why are you so adamant about this?” You ask him, a final attempt to see if you can sway him. “Your leg is broken and you can’t compete. What’s it to you if I do?”

“You’re my best friend, Y/N,” Taehyung says, as if he thinks you need some sort of reminder. You’re not gonna forget the fact that the two of you have been glued at the hip for years now, before you even became ice dancing partners. “You’ve been dreaming for years about getting gold, and it’s right in front of you. I’m not gonna stop you from achieving your goal.”

You look to him, shoulders sinking. You know you’ve lost, you know that Taehyung’s good-hearted nature, Namjoon’s sage words of advice, and your unrelenting desire to win are all keeping you in this competition, even without the one person you couldn’t replace if you tried.

“Fine,” you say, sighing as Taehyung and Namjoon high-five each other. “I’ll stay in the competition, but only because I know you’re gonna be whining about it for the next twelve decades if I don’t.”

Taehyung smiles. “Works for me!”

“I guess I need to go get geared up then, Coach?” You ask, your hand coming down to pat the duffel bag on your shoulder. You come prepared. “Who’s gonna be Tae’s replacement?”

“Go get changed,” Namjoon says, motioning to the locker room across the rink. “I’ll figure something out.”

“You’re gonna kick everyone’s asses, Y/N!” Taehyung calls as you trudge off, already regretting this decision. “Mine included!”

The pale blue door to the locker rooms opens ten minutes later as you walk out, skates and practice clothes on. On the other side of the rink, you see Taehyung and Namjoon talking with an indistinct third person, who you are assuming is going to be your partner for the next two months. You can’t quite make out who it is, but as you walk over, you quickly rack your brain for all of the other ice dancers that might be Namjoon’s choice, though you can’t come up with any that match the person in question.

Slowly, you approach the group, watching as Taehyung laughs to something that said indistinct third person has said. He must be an ice dancer, since regular figure skaters don’t know some of the tricks that ice dancers engage in and pairs skaters are too busy trying to throw themselves around on the ice to pay attention to ice dancing.

And then, he comes into view.

“Y/N!” Taehyung cries as he pulls you into his body, wrapping an arm around you as you’re pressed up against his crutch as it digs uncomfortably into your back. “Namjoon’s got your guy,” he says happily, motioning to him. “This is—”

“Jeon Jungkook?” You ask as your mouth drops open, eyes blinking wildly at the offending figure in front of you.

He’s standing there with his arms crossed in front of his chest, like him having to ice dance is such an inconvenience to the rest of his daily activities. You didn’t even know he could ice dance. For as long as you’ve known him, he’s always been the company’s top male figure skater, so skilled on the ice because his heart is practically made out of it. All of the awards he’s won have gone to his head at this point, and you make an effort every day you are at the rink to not have to interact with him in any way.

“Don’t look so disappointed to see me, Y/N,” Jungkook drawls, making you roll your eyes. This is why you try to avoid him at all costs, and here he is, as your future ice dancing partner. “I’m doing this for you.”

“You’re doing this because Coach is forcing you too, but alright, whatever helps you sleep at night,” you respond, avoiding his gaze.

“I’m willingly giving up my time as a figure skater to help you at Nationals and you don’t even care? Some partner you are,” Jungkook says, scoffing as he turns away from you. He’s tapping his guard-cladded skate on the floor in disinterest, each click slowly rapping away at each rational thought in your brain.

You exhale, turning to stare up at Jungkook with fire in your eyes and rage in your heart, and you storm out of the rink, marching off in anger since you know that any more time spent with him and you’ll probably explode. The biting cold of the winter air has no effect on you as you cool down outside, letting your breathing come to a steady beat as you close your eyes, taking in the breeze.

Of course, out of all of the people in the world, you had to be paired up with Jeon Jungkook. Your luck’s always been rotten. First, Taehyung breaks his leg, second, your replacement partner ends up being the one skater at the company you make conscientious efforts to avoid whenever possible. Sometimes, Life’s funny that way, how she teases you and makes you think that everything is going swimmingly before she dumps a whole bunch of oil into the water. That’s what this is, having to work with Jungkook or kissing your medal goodbye. Oil in the water.

You don’t hear the door open, too consumed in your own thoughts to care, until you feel a hand on your shoulder. Whipping around, you half-expect it to be Jungkook, coming out to give you some snooty remark about giving up before prancing back to his solo activities. But instead, it’s Taehyung.

“You okay?” He asks, a soft hand placed on your shoulder as the other clings onto his crutch for dear life. He’s still getting the hang of using them.

“I’m a little salted,” you say bitingly.

“A little?” Taehyung says skeptically, eyebrows raised as he takes in your vengeful expression. “Dude, you’re practically boiling over with N-A-C-L. You might want to tone that down a bit.”

“I just—ugh!” You cry, kicking the air with your skate and hoping that your guard hasn’t broken from the force. Nothing is going right, it seems, from Taehyung breaking his leg to you being coerced into staying in the competition to finding out that of all people on this godforsaken Earth, you’ve been re-paired up with Jeon Jungkook, Ice Prince. All you can do is resort to physical aggression as you punch and kick the world around you as a big “fuck you” to whatever higher being is up there, fucking with you. “This sucks ass. I wanna drop out again.”

“Y/N, come on,” Taehyung says, soft hand on the small of your back. “You don’t wanna do that.”

“I do,” you say, nodding. Maybe you’re being too impulsive, but right now you and Jungkook can’t even have a conversation without the biting ice breaking through his words, and you don’t necessarily think that’s the best way to build trust for a sport so reliant on teamwork. “I can’t fucking stand him, Tae. I didn’t even know he could ice dance! Since when would anybody want to work with him?”

“That’s it, Y/N,” Taehyung says in his best group therapist voice. He rubs your back to keep the rest of you grounded as your head flies off into outer space. “Get fucking pissed now so you won’t later.”

“Tae, I wanna pull a stereotypical pop-punk band member and drop out,” you whine, clutching onto his arm as you begin to sink down into a sad squat.

Taehyung tugs you up, his strength even with a broken leg as he balances two crutches much heftier than yours. “You don’t really wanna drop out though, do you?” He asks sincerely even though he already knows the answer. “There’s a reason Coach picked Jungkook. It’s because he’s a god on the ice, you know that. With him, you’re guaranteed a medal. Don’t you want that?”

“But is a medal worth all of the suffering he will inevitably put me through? Because if I skin him alive before we can go to Nationals, he’s gonna die and I’m gonna have to deal with the repercussions,” you remind Taehyung.

“Please don’t skin him alive, he’s got a hoard of fangirls swarming him and his social media on the daily,” Taehyung says, mildly alarmed especially considering your slightly sarcastic yet also totally serious nature. Sometimes, he can’t tell if you’re joking or not, and that’s kind of the best part. Like right now. “They’ll murder you in an alleyway and I’ll never be able to see your dumbass face again.”

“This is all your fault, you fucker,” you tell him sharply. “If you weren’t such a clumsy little—”

“It was slippery and he was cute, alright? He asked me for my number. That’s important,” Taehyung says in return, staring you down. “Are you saying that you would rather me die than get a love life?”

“I’m not not saying that.”

“He’s not that bad, Y/N,” Taehyung says, sighing. “You can get through the next two months with him no problem.”

“Don’t you dislike him just as much?” You ask, thinking back to a multitude of prior occurrences where Taehyung has voiced his disdain for the self-proclaimed Ice Prince, when you were walking out of practice, watching him on the rink, passing him by at regional competitions. This is why it’s so peculiar to see him encouraging you to follow through with this heinous plan, because it’s not like Taehyung likes Jungkook any more than you do.

Alright, maybe a little more. You don’t know what it is about Jungkook but his entire existence just rubs you the wrong way. Cold, aloof, entitled, and kind of a major asshole.

“He’s not as bad as I once thought he was,” Taehyung says warily, finally realizing that maybe he should be careful of what words he chooses to use in front of you when discussing whatever relationship you share with Jeon Jungkook, for the sake of his own safety if nothing else.

You smack his shoulder, mildly offended. Taehyung gasps, unable to rub his shoulder due to his inexperience with casts and the fact that he will definitely fall on his ass if he removes his hand from the aluminum. “You’re taking his side?”

Taehyung frowns. “I’m taking Coach’s side.”

If there was a way for your eyeballs to roll so far back in your head you would be able to hear them jingling around, loose in your skull, it would have already happened by now. “Don’t get all philosophical on me, Tae. It’s not that deep.”

“But Coach says that—and I agree with him—if you don’t do this, it’ll turn into a lost opportunity. You’re gonna regret this for the rest of your life if you don’t suck it up and do it,” Taehyung says softly, looking at you with delicate eyes.

You sigh, shoulders sinking as you slouch. “But he’s such a dickshit, Taehyung,” you whine, unable to come up with a better excuse for your desire to drop out once more.

“Damn, I don’t even think you’ve called me that,” Taehyung comments mindlessly. “Come on, Y/N,” he says, and he’s starting to get that antsy tone in his voice again, like a child begging their mother for a 25¢ gumball from the machine in the corner of the supermarket. “Please? I wanna see my best friend get a medal.”

He’s wearing you down and you know it, too, but you cross your arms and look away, refusing to give into his pleads.

“Pretty, pretty please? With a hazelnut Pirouette stick because I know how much you hate those candied cherries? For me?”

It’s always Taehyung that wears you down. He could, with enough whining, probably convince you to kill a man. Maybe this is a sign that you should stop being best friends with him, because you turn into putty in his hands every time he opens his mouth and he is a terrible person who abuses that knowledge and utilizes it to his advantage as much as possible.

“You’re a little piece of shit,” you say, but Taehyung knows you well enough to know that that’s code for “I give in, Taehyung you asshole,” and so he cheers.

“Yes!”

“I swear to the lord Jesus Christ and all of his dudebros that when you get out of that cast I’m beating you the fuck up,” you hiss, and Taehyung simply giggles. He knows you’re not serious, as menacing as you can be with glittery purple skate guards on your feet.

If Taehyung didn’t have crutches under his arms and a cast the color of a creamsicle on his leg, he’d probably be happily skipping into the skate rink. Reluctantly, you follow him inside after opening the door for him and spot Ice Prince and your coach chatting by the rink, Jungkook already geared up and ready to go.

“Got her!” Taehyung shouts loudly, causing several heads to turn to him as he meets Namjoon’s eyes with a crinkly grin. He motions to you, and you can tell that the contrast between his enthusiastic expression and your begrudging one must be amusing, if Jungkook trying to disguise his chuckles is anything to go by. “We got her, Coach! She’s in!”

“Shout it louder, would you? I don’t think enough of Antarctica has heard,” you say sarcastically, earning a teasing nose-scrunch from Taehyung in return as the two of you march up.

“Caved in?” Jungkook asks, sly smirk on his face as he looks you up and down, takes in your twitching features and glares back with as much force as you are him. “I suppose I’m not as repulsive as you thought I was.”

You scoff, brushing right by him as you tug off your skate guards and hop on the ice to warm up. If you’re gonna do this, might as well bite the bullet. “Oh, that’s sweet,” you call as you begin to skate figure-eights across the rink. “You think I’m doing this for you.”

Jungkook chuckles to himself, taking your arrival on the ice as something akin to a challenge. He removes his skate guards and joins you, gladly whizzing around on the ice alongside you as the two of you already find yourselves in a competition of sorts. This is precisely why you can’t work with him.

“Babe,” Jungkook says, catching your attention as you slow down ever so slightly—not enough for him to actually notice you paying attention to what words leave his lips—to listen to him. The pet name falls from his mouth with ease and sends shivers down your spine. “I don’t give a shit about whether or not you’re doing this for me, because either way I get another National medal to add to my collection. How many times can you say that about yourself?” Jungkook grins a shit-eating grin, and it makes you want to skate over and sock him in the jaw. “Oh, that’s right, none.”

You’re going to murder Taehyung once he gets out of that cast.

It’s obvious from the getgo that you and Jungkook cannot work together. Namjoon and Hoseok, your gracious and talented choreographer, had held out hope that you would be able to put aside your differences for three hours every day just so he could learn the routine and you could both move on with your lives, but it’s clear that’s not the case. Because the second time the two of you meet on the ice, you are forced to skate around holding hands to get a feel for the other’s touch, and you are stiff and cold the entire time.

Jungkook’s touch is too foreign for your taste. He is too foreign for your taste. He doesn’t feel like Taehyung, lacks his over-moisturized hands and the warmth that radiates from his body. He holds your hand with tension in his body, unnatural and distant. He doesn’t hold it like he’s supposed to, like how boys are supposed to hold girls’ hands, like how ice dancers are supposed to melt into each other’s touch. He holds it because he has to.

It doesn’t take a genius to note that the two of you are talented in your sport. You can both skate flawlessly, gliding around on the ice without clashing blades. It’s not difficult for the two of you to skate in time, in rhythm, but that means nothing if you cannot skate together.

And that is what Namjoon is thinking as he voices his concerns to Hoseok right next to him, as the two of them watch you and Jungkook skate gracefully yet emotionlessly around the rink.

“Should we be worried about them, Hoseok?” Namjoon asks, eyebrows knitted together as he watches the both of you. You’re talking, but it’s strikingly obvious that you’re not enjoying the conversation in front of you. In fact, you both look quite disgruntled in the presence of the other. This does not bode well.

Hoseok heaves, not taking his eyes of the two of you. He looks down at the way the two of you are holding hands, how unrealistic it seems, how contrived it appears, and he sighs. “We might need to be, Joon. There’s no chemistry whatsoever. In fact, it doesn’t look like they like each other very much at all.”

“Shit,” Namjoon says, a hand coming up to rub at his temple. He’s worked tirelessly with you and Jungkook for years to get you into your top spots, and he refuses to see you crumble now just because of an accident. “What are we going to do, Hoseok? We can’t have ice dancing partners that hate each other.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Hoseok says, and Namjoon can practically see the light bulb illuminating above his fading red hair. “We can use that raw emotion.”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to re-choreograph their entire routine,” Namjoon says, eyes pleading.

Hoseok grins, standing a little taller with his hands happily planted on his hips. “I am. But only a little. I need a new song…”

Namjoon watches as Hoseok begins to wander off, pointer finger tapping his chin as he contemplates how he’s going to edit the routine to make it fit the meshing personalities of you and Jungkook. He will admit, the fact that Hoseok has decided to change the program with so little time left before Nationals has him nearly on the floor, but when he looks up and sees you bickering away with Jungkook as you skate laps together, hands glued shut, he supposes it might not be such a bad idea after all.

“Oh my God, I can’t do this.” You sigh in anger, skating away from Jungkook so as to cool down. You reach your hands up to rub at your temples, eyes shut tight as you let your frustration subside. “God, do you even know how to ice dance?”

“Do you?” Jungkook counters, clearly just as exasperated as you.

The very fact that Jungkook is even insinuating that after nearly fourteen years of skating and ten years of ice dancing you still lack the necessary skills to, you know, ice dance, makes you want to remove your skate from your foot and chuck it at his head. You roll your eyes, throwing your hands up to the sky in anguish as you glide up to Namjoon, who looks like he’s having a mid-life crisis.

“Coach, I can’t work with him!” You exclaim. “I can’t! There’s no connection. It’s like working with a robot on ice skates.”

There’s the sound of ice being shredded, and when you whip your head around you see Jungkook coming to a quick halt across the way.

“She’s not much better, you know!” calls Jungkook mindlessly, earning a glare from you before you turn back to face your poor overworked, underpaid coach.

“Do you see what I have to work with?” You ask, motioning to Jungkook as he launches off into some quads and twists, only further proving your point that he is a self-absorbed, entitled dickhead who, if he’s so good at single skating, should just go back to the category he wins in rather than wasting his time with you.

“Calm down, Y/N. Don’t get so worked up about this,” Namjoon says patiently.

“It’s been two weeks since Hoseok showed us the ‘new and improved’ choreography—” You begin, making hand quotes around the words to show your budding distaste for change, “—and we can’t get a single one of the lifts down.”

“At least the two of you can do the twizzles,” Namjoon supplies unhelpfully, always like him to search for the silver lining in this trainwreck of a performance.

“Woohoo,” you deadpan.

“Listen, Y/N, I trust the both of you. I know that the two of you can do great things together. There’s a reason that I selected him to be your ice dancing partner. You’re capable of greatness,” Namjoon insists, only making you roll your eyes further.

“Am I being punished for Taehyung’s clumsiness, Coach? Is that it?” You groan, your head tilting back in vexation. You know Namjoon means well, he really does, but you fail to see where on Earth he thought pairing the two of you up for a national competition would be a good idea.

“You’re not being punished,” Namjoon tells you.

“If you want to win gold for Nationals, don’t you think that maybe you should spend more time practicing and less time shit-talking your partner?” Jungkook’s voice rings out in the echoey ice rink, and it makes you sigh. Turning around, you see him casually executing a catch-foot camel spin, and it makes you want to knock him right off his center of balance and watch him crash into the ice.

“He’s right, Y/N,” Namjoon says as you begrudgingly skate back over to Jungkook, willing yourself to just through the next few hours by his side before you can go home and take a much-needed bubble bath.

Hoseok joins you not much later, happily skating on the ice as he begins to coach you through the choreography. It’s much more technical than you’re used to, aimed at getting you the highest score possible, but it’s also filled with an overwhelming amount of raw emotion, something you tend to shy away from when dealing with programs. Hoseok’s always been known to step out of the box, though, so this really should come as no surprise.

With the feeling of Jungkook’s frozen hands on your waist, Hoseok guides the both of you around the rink.

“Five, six, seven, eight, one, two, up—!”

“Ow! Not there, you dumbass!” You cry when Jungkook pinches you a little too hard, causing you to stumble and fall on your knees. “Jesus H. Christ,” you say, frowning as you get up and dust yourself off.

“You okay, Y/N?” Hoseok asks, reaching out a hand as you skate to warm yourself up again.

“’M fine,” you say, albeit a little bitter.

“Alright, again, same spot,” Hoseok orders as you line up with him again.

Jungkook grips your waist too tightly at this part, the tension causing you to stumble on your next turn, but at least you can move onto the next major part of your routine without any more flubs or cries of indignation.

Almost the entire program does Jungkook touch you in some sort of way, whether it be a hand on your waist, hip, shoulder, fingers interlocked with yours, or holding onto you for a lift. You know that you’ll get used to it eventually, the feeling of his body heat radiating onto yours, but after five years of constant contact with Taehyung, it’s difficult to change course.

Still, he does not purposely attempt to make your routine any more unbearable or difficult out of spite. He can do that with his words, not his actions. At least he’s making a solid effort to get this routine down.

“Seven, eight, lift!” Hoseok says when the two of you are skating with such momentum as you approach the halfway-mark of your free-skate program.

Jungkook pulls you up, just as you had practiced before, and your skate finds purchase in the thick material of his clothing. You are both experienced enough in this skill to not cut right through his clothing (and perhaps his skin as well), a careful hand on your thigh as he holds you up, and you think you might actually be able to stick this landing…

Until, on the way down, his elbow accidentally knocks into your shin, and the two of you collapse in a puddle on the ice.

“Fuck!” He mutters to himself, swearing as he pulls at his limbs that are entangled in yours.

You sit up as well, rubbing your sore arms as you feel the bruises blossoming on your legs.

“Whoa, you guys alright?” Hoseok asks, brows furrowed in concern as he holds a hand out to lift you up. You gladly take it, pulling yourself back onto your feet as you begin to dust off the patches of ice that have gathered on your leggings. “That was some fall. And it wasn’t even the worst lift.”

“I’m fine,” you say bitingly, “we could probably get it, if it weren’t for Jungkook not knowing where to put his hands.”

“Oh yes, pile all of the blame on me, the nationally-ranked figure skater who made a simple mistake that he can fix in an instant,” Jungkook retorts bitterly, adjusting the sleeves of his fleece jacket as he skates off to cool down.

“Uh, if you guys are alright, wanna run that again?”

“I don’t know about his bruised ego, but I’m cool to do it again,” you comment, loud enough so that he hears you even from his position across the rink.

“Do you just have a thing for insulting me?” Jungkook asks. “Because that’s no way to treat the person who’s going to lead you to gold at Nationals,” he tells you pointedly, hands on his hips as the two of you prepare to rehearse the stunt all over again.

“Please,” you scoff, “I’m the reason you’re even going to Nationals for ice dancing.”

“Oh, yeah, your partner breaking his leg is a real achievement to boast about,” Jungkook retorts.

“Don’t fucking talk about Taehyung,” you spit.

“Okay, you guys, cut the chit-chat,” Hoseok says, probably more for his own sake than yours or Jungkook’s. “We’re doing this one more time, from the camel, and then practice is over for the day,” he says warily, skating over to the panel that controls the music and turning it on.

Everything goes much better the second time, the lift being not nearly as tragic as Jungkook carefully places you back down on the ice and you skate into your next trick. You actually don’t think it’s half bad, that is, until you hear the music abruptly stop and Hoseok skate up to you with a disappointed look on his face.

“Wasn’t that good, Hoseok?” You ask, maneuvering your way to the exit of the rink and grabbing your skate guards.

“It was okay,” Hoseok says, sharing a knowing look with Namjoon, who’s been observing the both of you this entire time.

“Just okay?” You ask, confused. “We landed the lift.”

“Just go get changed, Y/N and Jungkook,” Namjoon says, motioning for the two of you to head to the locker rooms. “We’ll talk to you guys about how you can improve your routines afterwards.”

You sigh, grabbing your coat from the bench as you make your way towards the locker rooms.

“This is all your fault, you know,” you say petulantly, eyeing Jungkook as you give his shoulder a rough shove.

“Excuse me? I wasn’t the one spewing out blame for a one mistake,” Jungkook challenges. “One!”

You sigh, deciding that continuing to bicker with Jungkook won’t change the outcome of the conversation you’re about to have with Namjoon and Hoseok anyway, and you head into the locker rooms to get out of your skates and calm yourself down. You can deal with Jungkook later. That is, if you have enough brainpower left to do so.

Namjoon and Hoseok have their Serious Faces on as you emerge from the locker rooms, Jungkook coming out of his at the same time, duffel bag slung over his bare shoulder. You wonder how Jungkook can be walking around in a muscle tee with his biceps on display for the world to ogle at (but not you, ugh!) in the middle of winter, but then again, he is the Ice Prince after all.

“What did you want to talk to us about, Coach?” Jungkook asks, tilting his head in interest as the two of you approach them.

“We were just discussing the trust factor in your program,” Hoseok says.

“What ‘trust factor’?” You say, wary of whatever criticism is to come.

“Y/N, do you trust Jungkook?” Namjoon says, getting straight to the point.

“No.” The answer is as easy as if someone were to ask if you supported cannibalism, or pineapple on pizza.

“Jungkook, do you trust Y/N?”

“Well, since trust is a two-way street, no,” Jungkook says. It’s the first time you think you’ve ever agreed on something.

Hoseok and Namjoon share a knowing look, one you couldn’t decipher even if you tried. Jungkook turns to face you and you shrug, happy to see that there are no hard feelings as related to the fact that neither of you trust each other despite literally being ice dancing partners. You don’t know what Namjoon and Hoseok were expecting when they asked you that question, especially given how openly you’ve voiced your opinions on Jungkook before. Were they hoping for a “yes”?

“That’s exactly the problem,” Hoseok says. “You guys don’t trust each other. What’s an ice dancing routine without trust? You have to rely on each other the entire time.”

“Well, we were able to do some of the routine today,” you point out, electing to ignore the part where the two of you just completely fell on top of each other. “Why would trust be necessary?”

“Your routine is… hmm, how do I say this nicely?” Hoseok begins.

“Emotionless,” Namjoon cuts in. “It’s emotionless. You might as well be animatronics,” he continues. “Trust builds not only the routine but it builds the emotion within it. You guys are very talented skaters but there is no way in hell that you will even get onto the podium without trust, passion, or emotion. The lack of chemistry is what will bring you down, and I know neither of you want to walk away from Nationals without even bronze.”

“How are we supposed to fix that?” You ask, hesitant. You dislike the path that this conversation is leading you on. “You can’t shove five years of experience and progressively-built trust into six weeks.”

“Exactly,” Hoseok says.

“Which is why we’re staging a Trust Intervention for the both of you. You hardly know each other as people, only as skaters, and we need to fix that,” Namjoon declares, blatantly proud of the plan he’s formulated. His confidence has your eyes wide in worry, and when you turn to Jungkook, it’s clear he’s not looking forward to whatever the two of your coaches have in store for you either.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask.

“You guys are going to get to know each other by going out on dates.”

Your jaw drops. Dates?

“And I don’t care how awkward it’s going to be, because you guys are going to do it anyway. You are going to go out on dates to coffee shops and restaurants and other places where you can actively talk with each other, and you are going to learn about each other,” Namjoon orders, and you know you don’t have a choice. Even if you faked it, Namjoon has the eye of a hawk and he’d easily be able to spot the lack of connection the next time you had practice together.

“You’re kidding,” Jungkook says, blinking profusely. He looks like he’s in shock. You can’t imagine you look much different.

Hoseok looks as equally pleased with the proposal as Namjoon. “You guys have more in common than you both might think, you know,” he says. “Before practice in two days, I want to see you out on one date. You could even drop by the coffee shop down the road before practice. I don’t care. But I need to see that you’ve been on one.”

“Wait, wait, Coach,” you say before Namjoon turns to change his focus towards his Little Skaters group that’s slowly filing in for their own practice. “A date? I don’t know how I feel about that.”

“Yeah, me neither,” Jungkook adds.

“They don’t necessarily have to have some sort of romantic connotation, calm down,” Namjoon says. “They’re just outings together. You don’t have to hold hands or kiss or hug, or whatever. Just talk. That’s all I ask of you. You guys are dismissed.”

Before you can get in any more questions, Namjoon and Hoseok are turning away from you, greeting the Little Skaters with their voices light and bright and the total opposite of how they were just speaking to you.

You turn to Jungkook in partial shock and partial disgust, already repelled by the mere thought of having to spend more time with him. You couldn’t think of a worse way to spend your time than this.

“Coffee shop, two hours before practice?” Jungkook asks, expressionless.

You shrug. “Fine. See you there, Jeon,” you spit, marching out of practice with a frown on your face.

You don’t know what Namjoon or Hoseok’s game is, but what you do know, is that if they’re expecting for the two of you to form some sort of bond through these forced dates, then they couldn’t be more wrong.

What kind of bond could be forged between you and Jeon Jungkook? Not even in your nightmares could you imagine putting your trust in his hands.

Two days later, you catch Jungkook in the coffeeshop as he’s waiting at the end of the line to order, staring up the menu above his head and tapping his foot to the beat of the soft pop that plays through the speakers that decorate each corner of the room.

“Ordering without me?” You ask, joining him, with an eyebrow raised. “So gentleman-y.”

“You were taking too long,” Jungkook responds curtly. “I don’t drink coffee anyway, so I wanted to see what this place has.”

“You don’t drink coffee…” you begin, “and we’re in a coffee shop?”

“They have things other than coffee.” Jungkook frowns.

“Alright, whatever you say,” you say distantly, rolling your eyes as the woman in front of you moves to the side to wait for her drink. “Hi, can I get a medium latte, whole milk? And light foam, please.”

The barista nods tapping away at the computer in front of her before motioning to Jungkook.

“Small hot chocolate,” Jungkook says quickly, grabbing his wallet from the back of his pocket.

“I can pay for mine,” you insist, fumbling with the loose bills shoved into your jeans, but Jungkook shakes his head, handing over his card without even giving you so much as a glance. You stand there, at a loss for words as Jungkook casually pays for your obnoxious drink without a second thought.

“This is stupid,” you say mindlessly as you wait for your drinks at the pick-up station. “I don’t know how Coach thinks anything is going to improve if we spend more time together.”

“If Coach really wanted us to loosen up around each other, he should have given us a bottle of vodka and ten minutes,” Jungkook jokes, making you laugh.

“Please,” you scoff, “I bet you have the alcohol tolerance level of a baby goose.”

“Is that supposed to be an insult?”

You roll your eyes, already finding yourselves falling into the distinct rhythm of bicker, bicker, bicker. This is precisely why you knew that whatever plan Namjoon had brewing in his brain wouldn’t work, because if you can’t get past petty insults and snarky comments, how are you supposed to connect with each other?

When you’ve got your drinks, you take refuge in a table by the window of the shop, giving you a glorious view of the angry pedestrians and angrier cars, hooting their way around town. What a sight.

Jungkook sips his drink slowly, savoring each sip. When he’s not drinking, he’s leaning back in his chair, tapping his fingers on the wooden table between you and avoiding your gaze, red scarf wrapped up neatly around his neck and complimenting the red buttons on his peacoat with ease. Without him opening his mouth and ruining the entire vibe of the scenery, he actually looks quite nice. But don’t tell him that.

Meanwhile, you are ungracefully downing your entire medium latte without another shot, craving each gram of caffeine that enters your body. Maybe it is two o’clock in the afternoon, but you are regularly awake until midnight and you also will need all of the energy you can get if you have to deal with a skating Jungkook for the next five hours.

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Excuse me?” You ask, coughing slightly as your coffee goes down the wrong pipe in surprise.

“What’s your favorite color?” Jungkook repeats, dead serious. “Coach said we have to get to know each other. Answer the question.”

You’ve never heard someone sound so stern when asking what your favorite color is.

“Yellow. Yours?” You ask, wiping the foam away from the corner of your lips with your sleeve.

“Red.”

“I probably could have figured that out,” you comment mindlessly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jungkook asks, quirking an eyebrow in offense as he looks at you.

“Look at you, Jeon. You’re covered in red from head to toe. It doesn’t take a genius to guess,” you say, motioning from his scarf down his torso. Even his cheeks are read, burning from the mixture of the heat from the coffee shop and the winter from outside.

“Well,” Jungkook begins, shuffling himself around with his hot chocolate cup held tightly in his hand. “I look good in it.”

“Is that your reasoning?” You ask, appalled.

“Do you deny it?” Jungkook retorts, smirk on his face as he watches your expression change from shocked to accosted. You’d never admit to Jungkook that he actually looks good, sitting in front of you with the bright red wrapped around him complimenting his skin tone, the shade of his eyes. You’d rather keel over and die in this very coffee shop.

“I—” You say, speechless.

“So you don’t?”

“Why do you care what I think about you? I thought you were just in this for the medal,” you counter, reminding Jungkook of his own words with a pointed expression.

“I never said I cared about if you think I’m hot, though it is nice to know that you do,” Jungkook responds.

“I never said that,” you say.

“You didn’t need to,” Jungkook says with a shrug, taking an extended sip of his hot chocolate while you sit there, racking your brain for an equally good, if not better, riposte to his obnoxiously self-centered comments. How have they left your mind empty? You had always thought it impossible for a man to leave you speechless, but clearly, you just hadn’t spoken to Jeon Jungkook yet. “What, no response?” He asks, teasing lilt decorating his words.

“Sorry, too busy thinking of all of the ways I can skin you alive after Nationals,” you say, fist up at at the ready. You reach over to punch him in the shoulder, but Jungkook’s reflexes are much too quick for your liking and he grabs a hold of your wrist before your hand can collide with his coat.

“Don’t get too excited, Y/N,” Jungkook warns, keeping his grip on you tight. “Maybe we’ll do so well at Nationals that you won’t want to kill me anymore. You might even want to keep being my partner, how about that?”

You scoff. “In your dreams, Jeon. You and I both know we wouldn’t be able to stand each other for more than a season at a time, if that.”

“Who knows,” Jungkook says, leaning across the table. The sheer proximity intimidates you, how his face is hovering hardly a finger’s length away from yours. This close, you can make out the golden specks decorating his irises, and the lines on his lips—

Shut up! What are you doing thinking about Jeon Jungkook’s lips?

“Things can change,” Jungkook hums, grinning smugly before getting up from his seat and taking his empty cup with him.

You’re left there, sitting in the dust as the conversation settles around you, unable to process even a single thing that just happened. Jeon Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook’s eyes. Jeon Jungkook’s lips.

Jeon Jungkook’s ego that is roughly the size of Madagascar.

You sigh, exhaling heavily as you gather your belongings and make to leave as well, tossing your empty cup in the bin on the way out.

Things can change, but how much are you willing to let them?

“There’s the happy couple!”

Your tired eyes light up at the sound of a familiar voice, and you turn to see Taehyung happily crutch-ing his way over to you. By now, he’s mastered the art of not falling while requiring the use of crutches, so you don’t have to baby him anymore.

“Tae!” You exclaim, happy to see the one person who is most definitely keeping you grounded during this time of torture.

“How’s it going?” He asks happily, not having been at the rink since the day you found out you’d have to be partnered up with Jeon Jungkook.

You turn to Jungkook, who’s already begun walking off in the direction of the locker with little demonstrated interest in the conversation you are about to have with Taehyung, for whatever reason. Taehyung shrugs at the two of you watch Jungkook trudge off, neither happy nor sad.

“What’s his deal?” Taehyung asks, pointing his crutch in Jungkook’s direction.

“He constantly has a gigantic stick up his ass,” you remark, making Taehyung giggle. “No, I don’t know. I guess he just wants to get to practice.”

“Wow, so dedicated,” Taehyung says, shaking his head. “How are you?”

“I’m okay.”

“How much do you hate Jeon Jungkook?” Taehyung rephrases his question.

“Very much,” you inform him. “Actually, only a lot much, now. It’s getting better,” you tell him regretfully, knowing how much he’s going to rub in your face the fact that he was the one who told you that it wouldn’t actually be that bad.

“See, I told you!” Taehyung exclaims, a “you should have believed me when I said so!” expression on his face. “I knew it wouldn’t actually be that bad. You’re just so fucking overdramatic, always have been,” Taehyung reminds you.

“Want me to give you another broken leg, Taehyung?” You threaten weakly, fist balled up with a teasing smile on your face. Taehyung pretends to wince before laughing alongside you. “God, I can’t wait for you to be able to get on the ice again.”

“Me neither,” Taehyung admits wistfully, watching as some of the other skaters practice gracefully on the rink, less advanced but just as devoted as you, Jungkook, or Taehyung. “I’m getting that itch under my skin. Or maybe it’s just because I can’t scratch this one part of my leg because of this motherfucking cast, and it makes me want to die.”

You chuckle at his comment. Taehyung always has a way of taking devastating situations and laughing about them, making them seem like they’re not really real.

“Have you at least gotten to talk to that guy again?” You ask him, interlocking your fingers with his. It doesn’t feel like Jungkook, with whom you’ve been holding hands with (for totally professional purposes) for the past two-and-a-half weeks. It feels warmer, softer. Like you could die in these hands and he would promise that everything would be alright.

“Oh my God, yes!” Taehyung exclaims happily. “Jimin brought me flowers when I got out of the hospital. And they weren’t death-symbolizing white roses. I think I want to marry him, Y/N. You don’t understand.”

“Way to rub in the fact that I don’t have a love life,” you say, grimacing. “But I’m happy for you! You deserve all of the love and appreciation in the world.”

“Y/N,” Namjoon’s soothing voice interrupts your conversation as he places the cool wood of his clipboard on your back. “Go get changed. Hoseok wants to run through the second half of the program with you and Jungkook today.”

“Alright, Coach,” you say mindlessly, waving Namjoon off as you bid goodbye to Taehyung. “You’re gonna watch us practice, right?”

“Totally! Knock ’em dead, tiger,” Taehyung says, already making his way towards the up-ramp onto the bleachers that give him a view of the entire rink. Hoseok’s beginning to clear out the leftmost rink for you and Jungkook to practice, and you wave to Taehyung as you jog towards the locker room, already wary of what Jungkook’s going to say when you are inevitably late to practice on the ice.

The second half of the program for the free-skate is much more comprehensive than the first. Sure, the first part has the first set of twizzles and the layback curve lift (that Jungkook dropped you during the first time you had rehearsed the stunt), but the second features an overwhelming amount of stationary twirls and two more lifts, both of which are significantly more difficult than the curve.

It’s a good thing Jungkook’s as dedicated as you. If, at gunpoint, you were forced to pick one quality you admire about Jungkook, it’s how devoted he is to the sport, and how he’s willing to do anything to secure the top spot. At least you have one thing in common.

“Five, six, seven, eight, camel!” Hoseok shouts as he skates away from the two of you as you begin the camel spin. Jungkook wraps his heavy hands around you, one on your waist and another on your outstretched leg, and you do the same with him, palm glossing over his stomach as you hold on tight. You’re careful not to press to firmly, mostly out of fear for yourself, because you know fully well that he’s got a decent pack of abs under that fleece jacket he’s wearing. You twirl together, your two bodies slowly becoming one, but it’s such a short period of time that you split almost as quickly as you come together before launching off into the next trick.

Jungkook keeps his hands on your waist for almost the entire second part, wrapped around your waist as you skate around the rink, making all sort of elegant gestures with your hands to the beat of the music.

“Dip!” Hoseok’s voice rings out in the rink as Jungkook, with your hands tightly interlocked, dips you down down to the ice, pulling you in a semicircle before lifting you back up with ease. You spin around to face him, gliding across the ice, attempting to be civil and smile his way, but he offers nothing in return. Asshole.

The first lift comes easily, a combination with you going from Biellmann position on his thigh to a reverse-rotational. You’ve been practicing this for a few days now, not enough for it to be flawless but enough for it to get the job done and for Hoseok to fine tune over the next few weeks as the competition approaches. Jungkook keeps a tight grip on you throughout the entire thing, pressing you tightly to his body as he spins with you in the splits position before gracefully dropping you to the ice. Hoseok claps happily once you’ve landed it, watching with glee as you skate into the next series of twizzles.

It appears that everything’s going swimmingly, and when you are midway through the second half of the routine, the thought flashes across your mind that you might actually be able to work with him on this routine, rather than against him like you have been for so long. It’s a foreign feeling, that thought, and a fleeting one at that.

The final lift before the finale approaches, and you feel Jungkook press his palm firmly on your waist before hoisting you up as you wrap your arm around his neck to hold yourself up. Jungkook spins with ease, watching your body carefully as you dance around him, going from the splits to a horizontal position, the only thing keeping you glued to him his hand around your waist. It’s almost perfect, but when he sets you down you both stumble, skates colliding as you trip over each other and fall to a heap on the rink.

Hoseok cuts the music, skating over to see what went wrong.

“You guys alright?” He asks, concerned look on his face.

Sighing, you stand up shakily, holding onto Hoseok’s arm for support. “Fine.”

“Jungkook?”

“I’m good,” Jungkook says, voice as cold as always.

“What happened there, guys?” Hoseok asks.

“We were just positioned incorrectly, ‘s all,” Jungkook spits quickly, skating around in a quick figure-eight before re-positioning himself so that you can work on the lift again. You dust yourself off and join him, hoping that maybe this time you can get it so you can move onto tweaks.

You don’t.

For the next four times that you attempt the final lift, you end up collapsing in a puddle together, your skates colliding, or Jungkook’s grip on you slipping, or your limbs being connected for a moment too long, something that happens not during the lift but on your way down that causes the fall. You and Jungkook are getting equally infuriated with yourselves and with each other, much to Hoseok’s chagrin.

“Your foot is always too close to mine when you put me down,” you accuse, after Hoseok’s dismissed the both of you from practice. “Move it into more of a 180 position so I have room to move.”

“You aren’t landing in the right spot,” Jungkook counters bitterly. “You need to constantly be aware of my position on the ice so that way you don’t crash into me.”

“Your hand is slipping as you put me down, it throws me off.”

“You’re putting way too much faith in me to do everything correctly, when you aren’t even in the correct form during the last part of the lift.”

You both exhale, exasperated from arguing and from practicing and from the bruises blossoming all over your lower body. Bickering will get you absolutely nowhere but it’s all you have.

Before the two of you leave, Namjoon stops the both of you.

“Dinner together before the end of next week. A decent restaurant too, not a McDonald’s. You guys need to build trust, and you won’t be able to do that by arguing,” he orders, much to Taehyung’s confusion as he exits alongside of you, rambling on about Jimin and his flowers.

You and Jungkook meet eyes for a brief second before turning back to Namjoon and nodding.

Winning gold isn’t all sunshine and daisies. Sometimes, it’s bruises and self-torture as well.

Jungkook meets you for dinner at a mildly posh restaurant in the center of town, where the food isn’t necessarily dirt cheap, but it’s also not outrageously overpriced. It’s a quaint place, The Yellow Dandelion, that serves exclusively appetizers that are meant to be shared rather than eaten separately. The aura is soft, like the ending to a fairytale, decorated with Christmas lights and candles lining the shelves on the walls.

Jungkook’s already sitting there when you arrive, face windblown from the biting winter breeze. It’s a thin restaurant, booths extending all the wall along the wall on the right and a little bar to your left, the kitchen hiding in the back. You spot him instantly, see him waiting patiently for you, and ignore the hostess entirely as you rush over to him.

“You look cold,” Jungkook deadpans when he sees you. He’s dressed in a pale blue button-down, tucked into some khakis with his bangs brushed neatly to cover his forehead, dancing along his eyelashes. He looks so much different than when you saw him in the coffeeshop, bundled up in a scarf and jacket with his hair brushed up, or in practice, sweaty and cozy and angry.

“You look warm,” you comment in return, noting the pink decorating his cheeks. Or maybe that’s just the hazy light of the restaurant.

“I already ordered us Cokes, if that’s alright with you,” Jungkook says as you sit down across from him, thankful for the table in between the two of you that allows the both of you to keep your distance. Though, knowing Jungkook, you don’t doubt him possibly leaning over the table to make some snarky and mildly sexual remark to you. You nod, taking a look at the menu. It’s a single list of a bunch of fancy, hipster foods that sound both appealing and revolting at the same time.

“What are you going to order?” You ask him mindlessly, eyeing the bowl of pasta with olives and grapefruit. Namjoon always did say you needed to eat more “healthy” carbs, whatever the fuck that means.

“The spinach and artichoke dip, and the garlic bread. I can’t go to a restaurant and not get garlic bread. It’s sacreligious,” Jungkook says, making you laugh slightly. “What about you?”

“I don’t know, will you let me steal some of your garlic bread?” You ask cheekily, not minding the thought of garlic bread very much at all.

“You’re going to steal some regardless of if I say yes or no, so, no, I don’t mind. Have whatever,” he offers.

“I’m not going to let you fucking pay for me this time, you asshole,” you warn him holding up your wallet as a reminder. “This place isn’t cheap.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Let me pay for what I eat, Jeon. I’m not taking no for an answer,” you declare, leaning back firmly in your seat.

“You’re so stubborn,” Jungkook comments to himself, sighing.

“Do you not like stubborn girls? Oh, what a shame! What will I do if the great Jeon Jungkook doesn’t like stubborn girls? Will I have to change my entire personality just so he’ll like me a bit more?” You plead dramatically, looking up to the sky with your hands clasped together. Jungkook frowns in response to your melodrama, an eyebrow quirked in disapproval. You smile pettily at him.

The waitress comes with your Cokes, and you’re happy to have something to occupy your mouth so you don’t launch off into another series of personal attacks on Jeon Jungkook. She takes your orders before disappearing off into the kitchen, leaving you and Jungkook alone with your thoughts once again.

“What’s your favorite time of day?” Jungkook asks, yet another stiff icebreaker (pun intended).

“Like, morning, afternoon, night? That kind of stuff?” You ask. Jungkook nods. “Midnight. Early morning. When the whole world is quiet and you can finally breathe. You?”

“The sunrise,” Jungkook responds, his answer catching you by surprise. He had always seemed like an afternoon kind of guy, when the sun is high and beams down on him with all its might, when its rays filter in through the windows at the top of the rink and illuminates the path on which he skates. Not the sunrise, the calm before the storm as the sky turns orange, purple, and pink.

“Really?” You ask, intrigued. “What for?”

“The only people who are awake to see it are the people who see as much beauty in it as I do,” Jungkook says softly. “I know you think I’m some cold, self-absorbed asshole who only cares about his medals, but I actually have a heart, you know.”

“Huh,” you say. “Who’d have thought.”

Once the food arrives, you and Jungkook spend the rest of the evening offering up the food on your plates to the other until there’s nothing left but crumbs and butter lining them. It’s a little infuriating, really, constantly being offered the other’s food, but when your stomachs are full and there is no room left for dessert, you find yourself pleased with the variety of dishes you’ve had. The bill has already been paid, and perhaps the two of you could just up and leave without another thought to this not-a-date date, but then—

“Why did you start skating, Jungkook?” You ask, playing with your fork as it taps the plate arrythmically. Jungkook’s been staring down at his food or his lap the entire night, but he finally looks up when you mention his name.

“I was four,” Jungkook begins. “And I was at the rink because my older brother had been invited to a birthday party there, and I had to come with. And I had wandered off while my mother was dealing with my older brother, gone to the senior level rinks. And I saw Kim Seokjin.”

“Kim Seokjin? Seriously?” You ask in shock. Kim Seokjin is only a legend to you and everyone else who attends your skating rink, a man who skates with so much elegance yet so much pizzazz, his talent alone earning him a silver medal at the Olympics.

“Seriously. He was practicing there, and it took my breath away. I had craned my neck and was standing on my tiptoes just to catch a glimpse of him as he leaped across the ice like a fucking swan, and I realized that I wanted to do that too. When he finished, he saw me watching him, and he gave me the brightest wave my four-year-old eyes had ever seen. I’ll never forget,” Jungkook says, shaking his head at the nostalgic memory. “I wanted to be just like him.”

The answer seems so unlike the Jungkook you know now (or at least, the Jungkook you think you know). You had always heard, always assumed that Jungkook began figure skating because someone had dared him to when he was little, and he had taken up the challenge with all of his might. You had always assumed that he skated not just because he enjoyed it, but because he was good at it, and because he knew he would always win.

“What about you?” Jungkook asks. “Why did you start skating?”

“When I was in kindergarten, all of my friends were good at something, be it sports, or school, whatever. They were all good at this one thing and I was just, kinda average. Not great and not terrible, either. But I was five, and I wanted something to be good at, something to be proud of,” you begin to explain. “And so my mom, the lovely person she is, signed me up for all of these different things to see if any of them stuck.”

“And then you found the rink,” Jungkook finishes, a knowing grin on his face.

You nod, repeating his words. “And then I found the rink.”

“Isn’t it weird?” Jungkook asks, twirling his fork between his fingers. You hum to show him that you’re paying attention, despite keeping your eyes trained on your twiddling thumbs. “How even though we hate each other, we have so much in common?”

“Like what?” You ask, not because you’re doubtful, or you’re unsure. You ask because you already know, already know that in more ways than one Jungkook is more than meets the eye, so much more than a first impression, but you refuse to let yourself believe it.

“Like how we both started out because we wanted to be something bigger than ourselves,” Jungkook says. “We don’t like the day. You like late nights, and I like the early mornings, because all we want is a little peace and quiet, a time of reflection and thought.”

His words make you wince, not because they are wrong, but because they are true. Because for as long as it has been, you and Jungkook have always been quite similar. You just wouldn’t allow yourself to admit it.

Jungkook continues. “We like bold colors. They’re statement colors, show off the parts of our personality we wouldn’t otherwise broadcast. We are passionate. And devoted. And determined to succeed.” He’s beginning to stand up, gather his belongings as his words make you shiver.

Jeon Jungkook had always been a beautiful horror story to you. Talented in every way one can be talented at skating, but rude. Aloof. Uptight. Not a heartbreaker, because he didn’t date, but a heartbreaker nonetheless, because he didn’t date. You had never imagined getting so close to him, let alone him becoming your ice dancing partner. They were two separate things, Jeon Jungkook and ice dancing, but now, they are one.

The thought straight terrifies you.

You mimic his actions, picking up your coat and your wallet and standing up across from him as you get ready to leave. Jungkook looks just as soft and hazy as he did at the beginning, fairy lights and candles illuminating his features. He smiles awkwardly at you, and you send him an equally tense grin in return.

He walks you to the door, and you leave the restaurant together only to be greeted with the brisk winter breeze, Jack Frost nipping at your nose and turning his ears a cherry red. It’s clear that he’s going one way and you’re going another, and so he smiles at you.

Maybe Namjoon was right. Maybe a couple hours to get to know each other was really all you needed.

You suddenly feel a lot safer, thinking about tomorrow’s practice, where you and Jungkook will spend the entire time working on the lift. You still have yet to land it perfectly, but you are getting closer. He’s only dropped you about a dozen times at this point. But now—though perhaps it’s just the food talking, the winter weather making your brain go hazy—you think you might actually be able to do it. You might actually begin to feel safe in his arms.

That night, Jeon Jungkook stays up for as long as he possibly can, staring lazily out of his bedroom window to the stars above, catching a glimpse of the moon between the branches of the trees. It is the very early morning when he falls asleep on his windowsill, dreaming of you.

That night, you set fifteen alarms to wake up before the sunrise, managing to get up five minutes ahead of time. You pull on your warmest jacket and rush outside in nothing but slippers, and watch the sky turn from a deep navy to a lilac, to cotton candy pink, to tangerine as the sun slowly creeps over the horizon, thinking of him.

Despite the strangely enjoyable dinner you shared, you and Jungkook cannot land the final lift. It takes all of your willpower to try, yet it is still not enough, and you collapse on the ice in a heap for what is probably the fifteenth time so far, spent only on this one stunt. Hoseok skates over each time and he has no idea what you are doing wrong, no idea how to the fix the mistakes he cannot figure out you’re making.

At least you’ve stopped blaming each other, though you can’t help the side-eyes you send his way each time you pull yourselves up from the ice to try again.

“That’s it!” Namjoon calls from where he stands outside the rink, “I’m staging another Trust Intervention.” He walks up, as close as he can get to the rink without actually stepping foot on it, and motions for you, Jungkook, and Hoseok to skate over to him. When you’re in front of him, he exhales. “We’re gonna do a trust exercise, and it’s going to be a lot of fun and you guys are going to learn how to depend wholeheartedly on the other person.”

“Are we doing trust falls on the ice?” Jungkook asks excitedly, much to your horror. A trust fall on ice skates sounds like nothing short of disaster.

“Not quite,” Namjoon says hesitantly. You and Jungkook share a wary look.

And that’s how you find yourself blindfolded with Jungkook’s bright red scarf and taking tentative steps onto the rink.

The whole premise of whatever fucked-up trust exercise Namjoon has spontaneously made up is that Jungkook, through voice and voice alone, has to guide you through this path that Hoseok has made on the ice, and you’re not allowed to see where you’re going. You’re just supposed to hope for the best and pray that Jungkook does his job the way he’s supposed to you.

“This is such an awful idea, Coach,” you say, worry lacing your words as you slowly stand your ground on the ice. Jungkook is with you in the rink, but he is not allowed to touch you or guide you with any part of his body other than his words.

“I don’t care, you’re doing it anyway!” Namjoon shouts.

“Okay, skate left,” Jungkook begins, and you take a stride left. “Nope! No, not that far left. A little to the right.”

A small step right.”

“Good. Okay, skate forward for two medium-sized glides,” he instructs. With nowhere to look and nowhere to feel, you follow his words carefully, though you aren’t so sure if the term “medium-sized glide” is as universal as Jungkook thinks it it. Regardless, you do as he tells you, and you don’t hear any objections.

It goes on like this for another ten minutes as you make a movement, hear Jungkook shouting at you that you’ve gone too far, or out of bounds, or you’re about to crash into something, and then carefully follow his next direction. You even feel yourself on the verge of falling a few times, even though your hands are outstretched for balance you don’t technically need since you should know how to ice skate with your eyes closed at this point. This is by far the strangest type of trust exercise that you’ve ever had to engage in, but you will admit that it is a lot of fun.

The scarf on your face smells just like him. It’s a strange thing to think, but when you see nothing but a shadowed red and you are relying entirely on Jungkook’s instructions to complete this nonsensical challenge, your mind’s stuck on him.

(It’s been stuck on him since the dinner.)

The scent wafts through the air that surrounds your clouded mind, and you take in his aroma. He smells like the rink, more than anything else, but he also smells like fresh honey, the kind that’s way too expensive for what it’s worth since honey never goes bad anyway. And he smells like movie theater popcorn, the over-buttered kind that reeks of preservatives and calories but you’ll happily binge on anyway. You wonder if Jungkook’s the type to save his popcorn until the actual movie starts, or eat half of the tub during the commercials and advertisements at the beginning.

And when his voice is the only thing that your ears register, smooth like silk, it begins to sound like music to you. When he’s not offending you or sending you a biting remark, it sounds gentle. It sounds like a literal song, voice light and airy and filled with laughter.

Perhaps it’s just because so many of your senses have been stripped from you, that the rest of them are heightened. Perhaps this is the only reason why Jungkook’s scent is so prevalent to your nose, why his voice makes your heart dance along to the rhythm of his words.

There could be no other explanation, right?

You finish the course successfully, and then it’s Jungkook’s turn. Hoseok rearranges the path  as you skate over to Jungkook with a grin on your face, the scarf balled up in your hand. He turns around so that you can blindfold him.

“This is kinky,” Jungkook says jokingly, nearly making you keel over with laughter.

“Don’t get too excited, Jeon,” you tease him, warning tone to your voice. “The rink’s locker rooms are terrible places to jack off.”

“You think I don’t know that already?” Jungkook asks pointedly, making you glad he can’t see the wide-eyed expression written all over your face. With his hand holding tight onto yours, you guide him to the beginning of the course.

“Forward for one big glide,” you instruct, again, unsure of the universality of the phrase “one big glide.” Jungkook follows your guide, and is one bad step from falling out of bounds.

“How’s that?” He calls out.

“Good! Turn right a little bit,” you instruct, even though the path leads left. What Jungkook doesn’t know won’t kill him.

He listens to your words like a fool because he is no better than one, happily turning to face the wall. You have to try absurdly hard not to burst into laughter.

“Okay, good, good,” you say, choking down your giggles. “Straight, keep going, keep going, stop!” Jungkook comes to a halt less than a foot away from the edge of the rink, teetering on crashing into the plastic. You don’t know if you want to be kind or evil.

“Am I on the right path?” Jungkook asks?

“Yeah, yeah,” you insist, muffling your laughter. “Straight a little more—!”

Crash!

Jungkook steps back wildly, falling on his ass as the scarf dislodges itself from above his ears, falling into his lap. You’re keeling over, slapping your thigh obscenely as you cackle, the sight of a poor, innocent, blindfolded Jungkook colliding with the wall under your instruction too good to resist. Jungkook stands up in indignation, pouting.

With the scarf in his hand, he points an accusatory finger your way. “This is why we can’t get the landing, Y/N! This is why!”

You’re still giggling, unable to wipe the smirk off your face even as Jungkook comes closer and closer, menacing and peeved yet on the verge of laughter as well. Once he’s close enough, he chucks his scarf your way out of anger, and you catch it before the two of you both burst into hysterics. Even the cold-hearted, self-proclaimed Ice Prince can’t resist a good practical joke here and there.

“You got me good,” Jungkook admits, shaking his head. “I was gonna do that to you, you know. But I didn’t, because I thought it was too mean,” he says, making you muffle down your giggles once more. “Clearly, I was wrong.”

“You snooze you lose, Jeon,” you say wisely.

Namjoon, with his skates on for the first time in a while, joins the two of you on the ice.

“Alright,” he says, clapping his hands together as Hoseok cleans up the path. “Obviously, that didn’t go as planned. But that’s alright, because it’s nice to see the two of you smiling together. It’s a good kind of change,” he declares, disappointed that his trust exercise failed but happy to see that he’s gotten something out of it anyway. “You guys might actually have a shot at gold if you land that ending, you know? You could do it.”

“Let’s get to it, then?” Jungkook says, taking your hand as you skate towards the middle of the rink.

Despite all efforts to improve, you and Jungkook still can’t get the ending.

Maybe another time.

Taehyung comes and visits another one of your practices a week or so later. He’s got four weeks left until his cast comes off and he can get back onto the ice (with discretion, of course), which means three weeks until Nationals, which in turn means three weeks to get this fucking ending down.

He watches happily as the two of you rehearse over and over, each attempt closer than the last to stick the ending and finish with a bang but not close enough, and you almost always end up falling or stumbling or tripping or all three. But each time you turn to look at him, he’s got this gleeful grin on his face, not the least bit discouraged by the fact that you can’t seem to land this damn trick. At least somebody is out here supporting you, even if you don’t know if you can support yourself.

“Ugh, God,” you say, pulling yourself up after having fallen for the nth time so far over these past five weeks.

“Again?” Jungkook supplies, dusting himself off and ignoring the pain that each fall causes to the bruises decorating his legs and arms.

“Again,” you say, nodding tiredly as you join up with him again.

“Wait, wait, before you guys start,” Namjoon’s voice interrupts the two of you as he skates over, handy dandy clipboard under his arm. “Do you guys still want to do this move?”

“What?” You ask, a single eyebrow quirked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, can you guys still stick with it?” Namjoon asks, genuinely concerned. “Because it’s been five weeks and you haven’t landed it once. I don’t know, I was thinking maybe you guys could come up with an easier lift, one you’ll have less trouble landing. We can’t risk a mistake at Championships.”

“We can do it,” you immediately say, refusing to accept the loser’s way out. This move is your golden ticket to first place. Even if you can’t get it now, you know you’ll be able to later. You swear you will. “I know we can.”

“But you haven’t done it once yet,” Namjoon points out, as if you don’t already know that you’ve never stuck the landing for it. “And Nationals is in three weeks. And I don’t know how much more training you guys will be able to get in before then. If you can’t get it now, who’s to say you’ll be able to get it by then?”

“We can,” you insist. “I swear we can. We’re not going to change up the routine just because we haven’t gotten it yet.” This is your one chance at glory, and you refuse to pass it up.

“Y/N, maybe we should listen to Coach,” Jungkook says hesitantly, following you as you skate back to the ending position, where the lift begins. “If we still haven’t gotten it, maybe we should try a different move—”

“No! We can do it, Coach, I swear. Have some faith in us.” You are persistent, relentless, stubborn. You know Namjoon’s just thinking about what’s best for you and Jungkook and the routine, but you won’t change your mind now. You’ve spent so long trying to do this, and you won’t give up. Hasn’t he noticed? You’re getting closer and closer each time. “Hoseok, hit play.”

Hoseok presses the stereo and the music begins to echo throughout the rink. You and Jungkook skate into the trick, slowly gaining enough speed and momentum so that he can continue to spin while holding you. Step by step, he pulls you into his arms, allows you to stand proudly on his thigh before looping your leg around him to morph into the splits, then hang loosely next to his body as he holds you by nothing but the waist, and then—!

Thud!

Jungkook loses his grip on your waist and the two of you come toppling down once more, his hand behind your head to cushion it from the hard ice. You sigh once more, sitting up together with dejected expressions.

“We can do it,” you insist as Namjoon skates over, saving him the trouble. “I swear, we can.”

“How was practice today?” Taehyung asks, as if he didn’t watch the entire thing, specifically you falling over. And over. And over.

“Fine,” you say gruffly, adjusting your duffel bag so the padding rests on your shoulder. Jungkook had told you that he’d stay back to get in a bit of solo practice, so he’s not walking out at the same time as you.

“You’re really working that reverse-rotational,” Taehyung comments mindlessly, referencing the final lift. “You almost got it.”

“But almost isn’t good enough,” you groan, exhaling heavily. The move will get you down, rest heavily on your already dampened spirits until you can finally execute it perfectly.

“How’s Jungkook?” Taehyung asks, changing the topic.

“I still hate him…” you tell Taehyung tentatively, “but at least he works hard. I think our routine is amazing, save for the part where we mess up at the end and fall into a puddle on the floor.”

“You should do that at Nationals, as part of the routine. People will think you’re mad. It’ll be great,” Taehyung suggests, though you know he’s kidding.

You scoff. “As if.”

“But you and Jungkook, you guys are okay, right?” Taehyung asks hopefully, looking at you with innocent wide eyes.

You turn around before you can exit the skate center, catch a glimpse of Jungkook skating to the beat of the rap music playing lightly through the shitty speakers of the arena. He’s not doing much, just a couple spins here and there, but he is so easily able to move his body in perfect time, capture the essence of the song with his movements. It’s mesmerizing, watching him. You think you might be able to do it forever.

“Yeah,” you say, letting your eyes linger on his figure. “I guess we’re alright.”

Two days before Nationals is the first time that you actually do it without falling, without tripping and flubbing up the rest of your routine and missing the ending pose. Twos days before Nationals, and Namjoon and Hoseok are on the verge of a quarter-life crisis because for weeks on end they’ve watched you try to get the final lift over and over and over, to no avail. They’re almost about to cut it from the routine entirely. But stubbornness has always been one of your most unbearable qualities, and you continue to insist that you can do it.

At this point, Hoseok is just trying to fine-tune any last minute things. Nationals is in two days and if you haven’t fixed it already, there’s no way you’ll be able to fix it before the big day. Now, it’s just him skating around the two of you, telling you to lift your leg higher or don’t forget to dig your toe firmly into the ice or grab onto her waist tighter.

What Hoseok, and Namjoon, and Jungkook, and you, are really worried about? The final lift.

If you haven’t gotten it by now the chances of you getting it at Championships are slim to none, so it’s now or never.

You run the program with ease, the music flowing from the speakers to the ice, up your body and through your bloodstream. You live, sleep, and eat the beat of the song, your heart thumps in time to the rhythm. Thank God you picked a song that you’ll never find yourself getting sick of, or you probably would have pulled a double Vincent Van Gogh by now.

The skills come easily to you now, muscle memory propelling you through the routine without so much as a second thought. Jungkook’s touch is not as foreign as it once was, your hands slowly but surely beginning to feel like they belong interlocked with his, the feeling of his palms finding a constant purchase on your waist no longer unnatural, uncomfortable. He is no Taehyung but he doesn’t need to be, not when this routine wasn’t choreographed for you and Taehyung.

It was made for you and him.

Jeon Jungkook is finally starting to feel less like a replacement and more like a partner. You have spent so much time with him these past eight weeks, more time than with Taehyung (and that’s saying a lot, especially considering the fact that the two of you are best friends), and it’s beginning to feel like he’s been your partner this entire time. That this performance you are about to give in front of thousands of people, professional judges, and live cameras, is one that you’ve been planning for for years instead of weeks. That you have been with Jungkook for years instead of weeks.

You don’t know why, but the feeling that Jungkook is slowly starting to melt into the position you once thought Taehyung had secured forevermore is frightening. It’s telling, too, telling you that you’re getting used to being with Jungkook, that your body no longer finds itself immediately repulsed at his touch. It toys with the thought that maybe, one day, you’ll be working him with permanently. It threatens you with the thought that you won’t want to let him go back to single skating, where he truly outshines every single one of his competitors. That you’ll pray he’ll stay with you, instead.

You easily clear the series of twizzles, spinning around on the ice in perfect synchronization not only with the beat of the music, but with each other. The twizzles are some of the hardest skills to master, especially considering that the placement of your skates has to be perfectly balanced so as to continue propelling yourself forward, and you can do them without batting an eye.

You come together right before the big finale, Jungkook reaching out to grab a hold of your outstretched hand and pulling you close to him. He holds your interlocked hands up high and spins you around as you glide across the ice, gaining momentum for the big lift. He places a hand on your waist and meets your eyes, and his hopeful brown ones mix beautifully with your own right before you jump into the lift.

It’s the curve lift first. Jungkook tugs you up and holds you by the thigh as you stand atop his, careful not to pierce his skin as you balance on him, arms outstretched for show. Then, you loop your legs over his shoulder, around his neck, as he begins to rotate in the opposite direction, beginning the reverse-rotational dismount. Your legs form the splits as he begins to pick up speed, and you swear that even over the heavy thump of the rhythm you can hear his heartbeat racing, hear every pound of the beat.

Or perhaps, that’s your own.

Finally, you loop both legs around him so that he is the only thing holding you close to him, back facing the ice as he holds you by the waist as he continues to rapidly rotate.

It all happens so quickly. The entire lift shouldn’t take more than ten, fifteen seconds maximum. Jungkook spins and he spins and he spins and he does not let go of you, keeps his grip as tight as he can as the two of you meet eyes in the midst of it all, staring at each other with such determination, such fierceness, such intensity. Your faces hover so closely to each other, hardly an inch or two apart, the heat of your exhales fanning out over each other’s skin. You hold your breath as you prepare for the dismount. Jungkook spins you around once more, holding onto your waist as your legs come out to rest underneath you, and you hit the ice with a little skip but nothing more, your toepick catching in the ice just barely as the two of you come to a screeching halt.

You’ve done it. You’ve done it and you haven’t stopped staring into Jungkook’s eyes and he hasn’t let go of your waist and you are both panting, panting, panting.

“I got you,” he promises, breathes into your skin as your foreheads rest against each other’s. It’s not even the ending pose, it’s not even the end of the fucking song, but you’ve landed it and you’ve landed it together and that’s all that matters. That’s what will win you the gold. “I got you, I got you.”

It is intimate. Too intimate for your liking, really. You have never been so close, never felt so much, with Jeon Jungkook. You wonder if he can hear how your heartbeat rings through your ears. You wonder if he can tell that with each touch of his fingertips on your skin, goosebumps pop up and a fire ignites.

You wonder if it’s the same for him, though you doubt it is.

You don’t know how long you stay like that, how long you stare into his eyes until you’re drowning in the chocolate of his irises, the caramel that decorates it. Death by sweetness is not the worst way to go, you decide, when you glance you at his lips, so close to yours. They are so tempting, the way they curve into a smile, but you resist for the sake of professionalism, for the sake of winning.

This is a strictly professional relationship. You are figure skaters, nothing more, nothing less. You are one-time ice dancing partners, nothing more, nothing less.

So then why do you feel like you’re missing something?

Namjoon and Hoseok rush over to you, pulling the four of you into a huge group hug as you celebrate sticking the landing, doing it perfectly.

“I told you!” You cry out, smacking Namjoon in the back. “I told you Coach, I knew we could do it!”

Namjoon nods, conceding. “I should have known that the two of you would have been able to pull it off.”

“You guy did awesome today,” Hoseok says as the four of you skate towards the exist. “Practice dismissed. Nationals in two days!” He says giddily, shooting you a thumbs up as you and Jungkook exit the rink, pulling your skate guards on before heading towards the locker rooms.

“Congrats, you guys,” Namjoon says, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him so elated. “I can’t believe that you’re so close to national fame. You’re gonna kick ass at Nationals, you know that? You’re gonna knock everyone’s socks off, blow their houses down.”

You smile, nothing more than wholly and completely relieved. Even though this is only the first time you’ve landed it, it feels like a weight has been lifted off of your shoulders, like you can finally breathe again.

“Light practice tomorrow, alright? I just wanna see that ending again, just in case I had been imagining it,” Namjoon asks of the two of you, and you nod happily in return. You never thought you’d be so excited to run through the final lift.

On the way back, you try to keep your distance from Jungkook, the mere thought of being any closer to him sending nerves shooting through your brain, sending shivers down your spine. All that you see every time you blink are his wide eyes, staring back at you, searching for something behind the haze.

“You did a good job today,” Jungkook says mindlessly, and oh God, the conversation has resorted back to ice breakers and small talk.

“Thanks,” you say softly. “You too.”

“What did you think of the lift?” He asks, clearly making a desperate attempt for you to just make eye contact with him, but you will yourself to avoid his piercing gaze. You stay silent for a while, the only sound near you the padding of your skate guards against the arena floor.

“It was good,” you comment quickly, gently, nodding your head slightly.

“It was our best one yet,” Jungkook says, continuing. It’s obvious that all he wants is for you to look at him, and you cannot even offer him that. “I’m telling you—” he says, and even though you are listening to him you wonder if he thinks that you aren’t.

You highly doubt that. Jungkook knows you too well to know when you’re not paying attention to him.

“—if we do it like that at Nationals, we’re guaranteed gold, don’t you think?”

You shrug unhelpfully.

He stops, causing you to do the same on instinct. Before you can turn away from him, he grabs onto your wrist, keeps your feet planted firmly on the ground and forces you to look him in the eyes. He looks so desperate like this.

“You just need to trust me, Y/N,” Jungkook says, gazing into your eyes and hopelessly searching for a response that is deeper than words alone. “Do you trust me?”

You’re scared that if you spend too much time looking into his eyes, you’ll drown in them. Without another word, you pull away from him, running into the locker rooms and not coming out until you’re sure he’s gone.

When you were little, just starting out as a junior skater, you would watch the televised championships broadcasted on your little box cable television in your living room, always turning around to tell your mother than one day, you’d be there.

Oh, how the times have changed.

You walk into the rink for practice before the big day, duffel bag resting carefully on your shoulder, and you feel the breath leave your lungs. You had only ever dreamed about being here, about standing on that rink and skating out in a national competition, but now you are here, and you will skate in a national competition, and it feels so surreal and overwhelming and you can feel your heart pounding and your mind racing.

Maybe it’s just the feeling of being here, of being so close to living out your dream, only a few more steps away. Or maybe it’s the feeling of being here with Jungkook, being on the verge of victory with him by your side. Both thoughts terrify you equally, though you find that when you think of Jungkook, instead of your heart racing, it stops.

Outside of practice, the two of you have not spoken since the day you conquered the lift, executed it nearly flawlessly with his hands on your waist and your lips hovering above his. During practice, the two of you hardly speak at all, only a few words exchanged here or there discussing the routine.

It’s strange. Two months ago you were hoping and praying that for rest of your time spent together, you would verbally interact with Jungkook as little as possible, and yet here you are, wishing you could do more than just avoid each other. It’s easy to see that something’s changed but it’s difficult to discern why, to sift through the practices and the programs and fake dates and look for something deeper. Maybe Jungkook really has always been like this, cold, aloof, distant, but after getting to know him so closely, so intimately over the past several weeks, you find that hard to believe anymore.

What should be more concerning to you than whatever peculiar relationship you currently share with Jungkook, you realize, is the fact that ever since your last practice back at your home rink, the scent familiar and warm and the scenery comforting, you have not landed the final lift.

In fact, it’s as if you’ve gone right back to square one, with you and Jungkook inevitably doing something wrong on that last turn, the final rotation before he puts you down and you skate into the finale. There’s something that’s changed, a reason why suddenly you’re not getting a lift you thought you had finally mastered, and not only is it stressing you and Jungkook out, it’s sending major panic waves to your coaches, who look like they are in a constant state of absolute crisis.

“Again,” Hoseok orders from where he leans against the edge of the rink, watching the two of you rehearse the move over and over.

You groan, stretching and cracking the bones at the bottom of your back, the muscles tight from so many contorted positions. You’ve lost track of how many times you’ve repeated it, attempting to land the lift to no avail. Turning your head, you look towards Jungkook, who is already skating back to the starting position with a solemn expression on his face, one of serious concentration and nothing else. He looks so different like this, empty and hollow. The life in his blood has drained out, leaving nothing but dust in its place.

You skate over to him, lining your feet up exactly so you can gain momentum with a couple of loops and diagonals before he is able to maintain the speed throughout the trick. With his hands placed gently on your waist, they no longer feel the way they used to. There’s something missing, something you cannot quite pinpoint, not even as Jungkook pulls you up onto his thigh and the stunt begins.

As per usual, everything goes swimmingly up until the last part, with your back facing the ice, your arms stretched out like an acrobat as he holds onto your waist and nothing else. When he pulls you back up for you to land safely, there is always a stumble, a trip, and then a fall, and the two of you come tumbling down within another second.

Ignoring the looks from the other skaters, the two of you get up and make your way back to Hoseok, who has been rubbing at his temples in worry the entire time. You don’t even want to think about what Namjoon is doing, who told the three of you that he would be going to the bathroom fifteen minutes ago. The poor guy might actually lose his mind.

“Want us to run it again?” Jungkook asks, an eyebrow raised in inquiry. He’s already beginning to turn around to go back to the designated spot.

“No, no,” Hoseok says, shaking his head. “You guys have run it enough. No point in trying any longer.”

“Coach,” you say, expression falling. Is he just giving up on you? Is that what this has come to?

“Really, I know you guys can do it. It’s too late to cut it out of the routine, anyway, so we shouldn’t even bother,” Hoseok insists, hand coming down from his forehead to grip the railing that surrounds the rink. “You’re probably really tired, too. You should get some rest before the competition tomorrow, since you’re gonna be putting all of your effort into it.”

“Coach, what’s wrong?” You ask, scurrying over to the exit to the ice rink, tugging on your skate guards and walking over. You’re only aware that Jungkook is following you because you can hear the distinct click of his guards being attached to his blades.

Hoseok takes a deep breath, exhaling the same way. He sits down on the bench nearby, closing his eyes and tilting his head back. You sit down next to him, concerned. What if you being able to do the trick the entire time was just a fluke? Dumb luck? What if you really cannot do it, and you fall in front of thousands of people and professional judges and live cameras tomorrow, kissing your gold goodbye?

Is it your fault? Are you doing something wrong?

Or is it Jungkook?

You cannot believe you are resorting to pointing fingers and placing blame, just like you had a month ago. You thought you had moved on from that, but the stress is getting to your brain and nerves jitter throughout your body and you don’t know how to stop them. You’ve been shaking for three days straight.

“Nothing,” Hoseok tells you, but you both know he’s lying. “I’m just… understandably worried about tomorrow. You know, because.”

“Is there anything we can do?” You ask.

Hoseok chuckles. “Yeah, land the lift tomorrow.”

You force a smile, looking up to Jungkook as he stands beside the bench, gazing out towards the rink with his arms crossed over his chest. You don’t know if you can muster up the courage to talk to him.

It’s like day one, all over again.

“We’re gonna try our hardest, right Jungkook?” You say, the sound of his name as it leaves your lips snapping him out of his trance. He turns to you with wide eyes, brown and big and beautiful, before shifting his view to Hoseok and nodding.

“We got this, Coach,” he says, that signature cocky lilt peeking in through each syllable. “We’re gonna fucking nail it tomorrow, nobody out there is gonna know what hit them.”

Though Hoseok looks hardly convinced, he cracks a grin nonetheless, getting up with a heave and bidding the two of you good luck, dismissing you from your final practice together.

It feels weird. The thought of this being your final practice before competition, your first and last one together. And then, Taehyung’s leg will have healed and he will be free to skate again, with some caution, of course. And Jungkook will go back to ruling the men’s single skate, collecting medals by the dozen, and he will forget all about the time he got dragged into ice dancing with a girl he barely knew.

You almost don’t want to leave, want to savor the moment for as long as you can before it disintegrates in your hands. Over the past two months, dare you say, Jeon Jungkook has become something of a friend. He has become someone you find yourself blindly trusting, someone you’ll put all of your faith into even if in the end he will steer you wrong. He has become someone you don’t want to forget, but someone you know you should. After all, this is a one time thing. When you return home from competition, with potential gold medals hanging proudly from your necks, you will part ways.

The next day, you will walk in with Taehyung by your side and begin to prep for next season, learning the new skills Namjoon will teach you and mastering the choreography Hoseok will create. And you will spot Jungkook at another rink, skating alone to music playing from his wireless headphones. He will come to a stop at the same time as you, and you will meet eyes and wonder what might have happened if he stayed.

And everything will go back to normal.

You begin to walk from the arena, making your way to the hotel across the street to settle in for the night and prepare for tomorrow. There’s a sheet mask with your name written all over it waiting in the bathroom in your room, and you want nothing more than to sink into a hot bath and cover your face in skincare products.

“See you tomorrow?” Jungkook asks casually once you’ve gotten to the door to your room. His room is just across from yours. His tone is nonchalant, distant. His words feel like an obligation, rather than a choice.

Just like the ice dancing.

You nod, hand on the doorknob as you begin to turn your back to him to head inside. “See you tomorrow.”

You make your way inside, shutting the door behind you quickly and peering through the peephole. Jungkook waits outside his door for a little bit, staring straight at yours for a moment too long before shaking his head slightly and retreating to his room himself. You wonder what he’s thinking, what’s going on in his mind.

Before long, all thoughts of Jungkook are forgotten as you collapse in your bathtub, letting the water wash over you like waves pulling you away from the shore.

Your entire life thus far has been preparing you for this one day, you decide as you stand in the sidelines, watching the other skaters glide gracefully across the ice as warm-ups. You and Jungkook are the last ones to go on for the free skate (having acquired the highest short dance score, thank God), meaning you will in turn be the last ones to warm up for it.

As Jungkook is adjusting the tights wrapped around his legs, Taehyung pulls you aside. He had accompanied your little herd to Nationals, quoting “moral support” as his reasoning for being there. Namjoon and Hoseok are too soft for him to reject him, so here he is.

“Y/N,” Taehyung says, and the serious tone tells you that he’s not about to tell you some lame joke about one of the other figure skaters.

“What?” You ask, glancing up at the digital clock floating along the rim of the seats.

“You haven’t been getting the lift with Jungkook,” Taehyung points out, and you are suddenly reminded that throughout all of the practices you have had so far at Nationals, he’s been watching every single one. Taehyung knows you better than anyone else, like the back of his hand, and he can typically tell when something is going wrong. “Coach Namjoon said you had been getting it a ton back home… what’s happened?”

“Not you,” you say with a groan, tilting your head back in exasperation. It seems that everyone around you is concerned with the lift and nothing else, each word placing another pound of pressure atop your shoulders. “Yes, we haven’t been getting it recently. Why?”

“Because you’ve gotten it before,” Taehyung says, “and I don’t understand what’s changed.”

Neither do you. “Nothing’s changed,” you spit quickly, already regretting how bitter the words sound as they leave your mouth.

“Why are you so stiff?” Taehyung asks, getting progressively more concerned. “You’re never like this before comps.”

You scoff. “I’m not stiff.”

Taehyung tuts. “You’re so stubborn sometimes. Look at you,” he says, motioning down to you. You’re tapping your guarded skate incessantly on the arena floor, your eyebrows are on a constant state of knitted together, and your arms are crossed tightly over your chest, wrists itchy from all of the glitter on your costume. “You’re all tense. Want me to massage you?”

Only Taehyung would offer a massage to you while in a cast, balancing on crutches. “I don’t need a massage, Taehyung.”

“Is it Jungkook?”

His name catches you off guard, as it so often does these days. “What?”

Taehyung leans in closer. “Is he making you feel this way?”

You’re rendered speechless. “I…”

Taehyung looks at you gently, searching in your eyes for an answer he knows you won’t give him outright. “If he’s giving you a hard time, just say something, Y/N.”

“That’s the thing,” you find yourself whispering, so quiet you can barely hear yourself over the thumping of your heart.

“What?” Taehyung asks, thoroughly confused with where you’re going with this.

“I don’t…” You begin hesitantly, hoping and praying that he isn’t listening in. “I don’t know how I feel about him, alright?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I can’t figure it out,” you say, and this might be the most honest you’ve been with yourself in a long while. “I just…”

“Do you like him?” Taehyung asks, finally beginning to connect the dots together in his mind. He’s got a little smile on his face, a knowing one that already tells you everything.

“I don’t know!” You respond, raising your voice out of pure stress. All of these questions are slowly driving you mad. All you want are answers, concrete things to feel and see and touch, but the thought of Jungkook is none of those things, and you find yourself left with nothing but more questions.

“Y/N,” Taehyung says softly. “Seriously, you don’t need to be so scared if you do like him.” He says, reaching out a soothing hand to rest on your upper arm. The touch makes you shiver, but maybe you’ve just been so deprived of human touch recently that everything feels foreign.

“I’m not scared,” you say sharply.

Taehyung frowns. “You look terrified.”

You make absolutely no attempt to mask what is definitely a frightened expression on your face. All you say is, “I’m not scared! I’m just…” you trail off, at a loss for words. “I don’t know what I am, Tae.”

Taehyung beams, seemingly having an answer to every single one of your questions. Maybe this is what he’s been doing these past few weeks he’s spent not skating, falling in love with that guy named Jimin and suddenly becoming the Local Love Expert, guiding you with a hand on your back. “You’re a talented ice dancer who may or may not be in love with her partner but it doesn’t matter because you’re gonna kick ass either way,” he promises proudly.

You crack a smile, perhaps out of desperation, perhaps out of relief.

“Taehyung,” you say, voice pleading. “What do I do…”

Taehyung holds both of your hands in his, looking intently into your eyes with the determination of a man about to go off to war. “You go out there and put all of your trust in Jungkook and give the best damn show of your life, that’s what.”

“Taehyung…”

“If you’re worried about Jungkook, Y/N, don’t be,” he promises softly, and you finally turn your head to Jungkook as he begins to walk towards the ice rink to warm up for your performance. He’s covered in sparkles from head to toe but his eyes glitter the brightest. “Have you even seen him? He treats you like a snowflake. Like one wrong move, and he’ll lose you forever.”

When the time comes for you and Jungkook to close out the show with your program, you find that the nerves in your body have been replaced by an overwhelming sense of dread, instead.

You dread the way he will put his hands on your waist or your cheek or your neck and the way you will melt into his touch, caving into the feeling. You dread the final lift, the one that not only the gold medal, but any medal is riding on. You dread the conclusion to your performance, when the crowd will cheer for a couple that is nothing more than a farce, a one-time deal, and you will pretend that it will be like this forever. You dread the feeling of nervous anticipation at the end, where you will be anxiously waiting for your score. You dread the arrival of tomorrow, when Jungkook will slip between your fingertips before you even get a chance to say goodbye.

Jeon Jungkook can promise you nothing more than what will happen in the next four minutes, whether it be good or bad, and while that sinking feeling in your chest tells you that it isn’t enough, your heart is willing to take it.

You meet up with Jungkook right at the entrance to the rink. He looks at you with a determination in his eyes and spunk in his wild smile, and you think that out of all of the Jungkooks you know, this one is your favorite. He takes your hand in his, holds it securely in his grip with a refusal to let you go, and the two of you skate onto the ice to cheers.

After doing a half a lap each, the two of you join in the center of the rink. You line up in the post Hoseok had instructed you so carefully to do, take in a deep breath, and the music begins.

Muscle memory, at this point, is what keeps your racing heart from thumping right out of your chest. You have rehearsed this routine so many times that it is practically engraved on the inside of your eyelids, embedded in your bloodstream.

Muscle memory is also what keeps you from thinking about Jungkook for too long, from thinking about the way he holds onto you like you’ll fly away if he lets go, the way he refuses to stop staring into your eyes as you glide across the ice like swans. Hoseok had choreographed your new routine with the intention of taking the anger you once felt towards him and turning it into passion. But now, instead of anger is something softer, something more delicate. But Jungkook refuses to give in, the fire igniting in his eyes with every turn he makes, and you realize that passion is what will give you the score. Love is what will give you the medal.

You skate along with ease, feeling the way you melt under his hot touch but doing nothing to stop it, not as he leads you through the first lift to a chorus of applause and hoots from the crowd. When you separate for the first series of twizzles, though you no longer feel his touch, the ghost of his fingertips dance along your skin, sending a lightning bolt to your heart as you spin in synchronization.

You wonder what you must look like to an outsider, right now. What the people watching see. Do they see a pair of ice dancers, shredding up the rink as they attempt to get the gold? Or do they see something more? Do they see the devotion in your eyes, the dedication you have for the sport? Or do they see the way your eyes never leave Jungkook’s, not unless they absolutely must. The way you lean into his touch despite it ruining your perfectly straight form. Can they see that, as well?

With the second lift successfully cleared, you begin to gain a little more confidence. There’s less than a minute left in your routine and you still have the last lift to go, the most comprehensive of them all. But even as the seconds tick down it feels like time stretches out, like you’ve been skating with Jungkook for years and this is just a measly four minutes, but it is so much more than that.

As you approach the final lift, your speed the only thing propelling you into his arms, time stops. It freezes entirely, leaves the two of you zooming forwards as it comes to a halt. Your surroundings seem to blur when he puts his hands on you, pulls you up onto his thigh for the first part of the lift. They turn to white in the second part, and suddenly Jungkook is the only thing you can focus on, the only thing you can think of. All that flashes through your mind as you loop yourself into the final hold is his name, Jungkook, Jungkook, Jungkook. He is the only thing on your mind. He is the only person who has your heart.

And you land, blades falling firmly onto the ice as you spin outwards, not a single stumble in sight.

The crowd suddenly reappears, and around you the setting becomes clear as day. The cheers are deafening but you can hardly hear them, not as you make eye contact with him and he smiles, grins, beams. Just in time with the music, the program ends with the two of you holding each other close, his arms wrapped around your waist and your palms holding his cheeks, foreheads resting against each other.

Perhaps you can make out Namjoon and Hoseok shouting from the sidelines, Taehyung yelling from his spot on the benches nearby, but all you can feel is Jungkook’s hot breath fanning out over your skin, and the warmth of his body as he tugs you in tightly.

Finally, after what feels like a million years too short, you part, nothing but the biggest and brightest smiles breaking out onto your faces. Customary to the tradition, you both bow to the audience, holding each other’s hands as you thank them, turning in each direction so as not to miss a single person.

He lets go of your hand so that you may begin to skate around yourselves, waving to the cheering audience. You skate around each other, getting every part of the arena. You look down into the sidelines and see Namjoon and Hoseok shouting for you, pumping their firsts up in the air. Your vision’s never been the greatest, but is that Namjoon crying?

When you turn back, you see Jungkook skating around as the audience showers the rink in roses and other celebratory flowers. He beams with the light of a thousand suns, and you wonder if you stare at him for too long, if you’ll go blind. And then you decide that even so, falling in love with him isn’t so bad.

After the applause dies down, you and Jungkook skate back to the exit, where Namjoon is happily holding your skate guards as he waits for you. As you step onto the pavement, he pulls you both in for a bone-crushing hug, words muffled from how excited he is.

“You did it!” Hoseok says as he comes bounding over, giving you a high-five that’s definitely going to sting for a while. “I’m so proud of you guys! I knew you wouldn’t let me down!”

You and Jungkook are both equally terrible at responding to compliments, and the feeling of them coming in by the dozen overwhelms you slightly. But, before you can walk over to the platform to receive your scores, you feel someone wrapping their arms around your torso.

“You just fucking murdered everyone!” Taehyung shouts, loud enough for the other couples to hear as they pass by you. “We’re all deceased! All of us!”

You laugh, pulling in Taehyung for the biggest one-legged hug you’ve ever received. When you part, he grins.

“I never thought I’d say this, but I’m so fucking glad I broke my leg,” Taehyung tells you, and the comment both horrifies you and flatters you.

Not a moment after, Namjoon is patting your back and motioning for you to join him and Jungkook on the bench at the platform where you will receive your scores, find out if you’ve won gold. You scurry over, taking a soft seat next to Jungkook as his hands instinctively come to grab onto yours, holding them tight as you look up at the scoreboard.

What happens next is mostly a blur.

You can only catch a quick glimpse of your names, being moved up to first place, before you hear Namjoon shout as he pumps his fist in the air. Suddenly, you feel Jungkook wrapping himself around you, pulling you in for the tightest hug of your life as tears suddenly begin to well up in your eyes. It all feels like it’s happening in slow-motion, like your life is a movie and this is the part where all of the music and dialogue cut out and there is nothing left but slow-motion film.

And then, Jungkook’s palms are on your cheeks and he meets your eyes with his crescent ones, and he kisses you.

In front of thousands of people, on national television, he kisses you. And you’ll be damned if you don’t kiss back. The audience erupts into cheers yet again, but you drown them out with the feeling of his lips on yours. He is warm and bright and wonderful, and his lips are as soft and as sweet as you had hoped. Jungkook kisses you on national television, in front of skaters, judges, audience members, and you feel like the world has stopped but you keep going. You feel like you’re floating off into space, and the stars are beautiful but so is Jungkook.

You part, heavy breaths and heaving chests, before Jungkook tugs you up from where you were seated on the bench so that you can wave once more. Not only are you gold-medalists in a national competition, but you are also lovers.

Though perhaps, you always have been.

(Later, at the medal ceremony, you and Jungkook are standing high on the top of the podium, unable to hold back your smiles. With bouquets in your hands and medals around your necks, you turn to Jungkook and he squeezes your hand tightly in response, and you feel like you can conquer the world.)

On the way back to the hotel room, the adrenaline rush slowly filtering out of your system with each passing second, you glance down to your interlocked hands and wonder aloud: “When did you realize you loved me?”

Jungkook seems caught off guard, pausing in the lobby of your posh hotel as he begins to think. You turn to face him, looking at him with curiosity lacing your features.

“I know,” he says, as if he’s just had a mental contemplation with himself to discern the moment in its entirety. “When we were doing that trust exercise, and you crashed me into the wall.”

“That was when you fell in love with me?” You ask in shock, mouth dropped open.

“Well, no, not really,” Jungkook reasons carefully. “I think I had fallen in love with you a while before then. But then, when I pulled off the scarf and saw you keeling over with laughter, I realized it.”

You hum, nodding at his response as you begin to slowly but surely make your way to the elevators. Ever since the win, it seems that time has just gotten progressively slower, like it’s beginning to cater to all of the lost time you and Jungkook share.

“What about you, hmm? When did you fall in love with me?” He asks cheekily, nudging your arm gently as he pushes the up button on the wall.

“Did I fall in love with you?” You jokingly say, furrowing your brows as you pretend to debate the topic. Jungkook pouts, and his face is just too cute to resist. “I fell in love with you the first time we had gotten on the ice together. Namjoon made us skate laps while holding each other’s hands, and while my mind didn’t initially register it, my heart realized that you were the person I had been waiting for.”

Jungkook grins at your answer, leaning down to nuzzle your nose gently with his own. The elevator door opens beside you, the familiar ding echoing throughout the end of the hallway.  Jungkook smiles, pulling you into compact space and pressing you against the wall as you gasp in surprise. Right as the doors close, he leans in close, his lips dancing over yours.

You lose track of time when you’re with Jungkook. The last thing you can remember is him tugging you out of the elevator once it reached your floor, your collarbones and neck already beginning to blossom with bruises—and not from falling on the ice—and pulling you into his hotel room, shutting the door behind you.

All that’s on your mind, all that is ever on your mind, is Jungkook. The softness of his hair as your fingers entangle themselves in it, tugging on the strands to pull him impossibly closer. The crinkles by his eyes when he smiles as he leans into you, soft pink lips grazing your own, teasing you. The curve of his body, the way you fit so snugly next to it, like two pieces of a puzzle meant to complete each other. He is the final piece of your missing puzzle, the piece you had always thought you’d lost, the one you almost give up on. That is Jungkook in every sense of the word, every electrifying feeling he leaves in a path of fire down your skin.

You kiss. For hours on end, you kiss, unable to get enough of the taste of each other, the feel of your bodies pressed together not in a lustful way, but in a loving way. You sit on his bed for hours and you just kiss, pressing your lips together and refusing to part. He is the air that you breathe.

It’s 2AM when something is finally done.

Namjoon, key card in hand, roughly and abruptly opens the door to his room, knowing fully well what the two of you are doing in there. You part like deer caught in the headlights, jumping back from each other even though it’s only Namjoon, but he’s seen you kiss enough today.

“Alright, out, Y/N,” he orders, much to you and Jungkook’s dismay. He pouts as you stand up, reaching an arm out to touch you a final time. “Stop canoodling.”

“Don’t leave me,” Jungkook begs.

Namjoon rolls his eyes. “You’re gonna see her in like, five hours. Calm down, Jeon,” he says, sighing as you make your way to your own room, still hazy from the high, drunk off of his touch. “You can canoodle whenever. You’re together now, aren’t you?”

Taehyung gets his cast off and by the next day, he’s back on the ice despite all warnings from his doctor to Not Do That. You tell him to listen to his physician and lay off the intense physical exercise for a while, considering the bone just healed, but Taehyung insists otherwise.

He’s not your partner anymore, for ice dancing. Obviously, he is not your partner, not when every day you walk in five minutes late to practice with Jungkook on your arm and a coffee mug in your hand. Your noses are always frostbitten from the cold, and you’re always smiling. Namjoon’s learned to accept it, especially since you’re his best ice dancing duo anyway. Taehyung had walked in the day after Nationals, took one look at the two of you, and happily gave up his position as your partner.

His reasoning? “You finally have a refutable love life, Y/N. I’m not gonna fuck that up.”

He’s a single skater now, and Hoseok says he is doing remarkably well for someone who has spent his entire ice skating career thus far relying on another person to do half of the work.

By now, everyone in the country knows who you are. Besides being the reigning national champions, apparently your relationship is just super adorable to a majority of the population, everyone obsessing over how #relationshipgoals you constantly are as you make too many posts about each other on your Instagrams and spend fifteen minutes during interviews talking about what you love about the other person. It seems, to the public at least, that the two of you simply cannot get enough of each other, and while that’s not necessarily true, it’s pretty obvious how infatuated you are with each other.

But hey, nobody’s complaining.

One question you find yourselves getting a lot, with each TV interview and radio show you do, is how you ended up meeting, especially since Jungkook had previously been a solo skater and you had been working with Taehyung. And each time, Jungkook shares a knowing smile with you, one that makes your heart burst into song, and he says, “Well, it all started with a broken leg…”

⇒ hmu with feedback or just talk to me here!

⇒ check out the post-script drabble here!

[reneeacaseyfl]

If you hate the U.S. women’s soccer team’s World Cup party, you’re a cop – ThinkProgress

On Wednesday morning, Megan Rapinoe, dressed in her “World Champion 2019” shirt, massive red-framed sunglasses, and her now-signature pink hair, was on a float in the ticker-tape parade in New York City, surrounded by teammates, fans, and, because nothing can be perfect, New York mayor Bill DeBlasio. She had been partying for three days straight with her teammates, ever since the moment they won their second consecutive — and fourth overall — World Cup championship in Lyon, France. But the party was far from over.

Her left foot was propped high in the air, putting her left knee about parallel with her shoulder. The World Cup trophy was in her left hand, and resting atop her knee. In her right hand, was a bottle of champagne. She turned to her friend, Ashlyn Harris — a back-up goalkeeper for the U.S. Women’s National Team (USWNT) whose documentation of the group’s post-victory celebration bender will go down in the annals of women’s sports history — and told the whole world through Instagram stories, “I deserve this. I deserve this. Everything.”

To some, this might be considered an off-the-cuff, light-hearted statement. But it was far from that. This was an earth-shattering declaration, a pointed rebuttal to everyone who has ever told women that their worth was tied directly to humility and modesty; a mantra for women everywhere who feel pressured to tone down their happiness to make others more comfortable, to turn down compliments or brush-off accolades. It was the opposite of, “thank you,” and a complete rejection of, “I’m sorry,” a phrase that most women utter, on average, 100 times a day, often to nobody in particular, as they merely move around the world.

It was a motto that summed up the entire World Cup run of the USWNT. Three months before the tournament began, they sued U.S. Soccer for equal pay, taking the fight for equality onto the biggest stage in the sport. Once in France, they smashed record after record and celebrated with abandon at every turn — drawing massive amounts of criticism for being too demonstrative about their happiness. They didn’t apologize; they just kept winning, and sipping tea. And then, when the last whistle blew in Lyon, France, to solidify their 2-0 victory over the Netherlands in the final, they kicked off a globe-trotting, ass-shaking, champagne-soaked, expletive-laden party, which the players — particularly Harris — shared with the public on social media.

Seeing these women cussing and pouring champagne on one another, holding signs asking for beers, unapologetically flaunting their drunken happiness in public — in a display that rivaled the shirtless shenanigans of J.R. Smith when the Cleveland Cavaliers won the NBA championship, or the over-the-top water-fountain antics of Alex Ovechkin when the Washington Capitals won the Stanley Cup Finals last year — wasn’t just entertaining; it was down-right inspiring.

Other elite female athletes acclaimed the champs.

“I’m kind of obsessed with them right now. I just can’t. Like, they’re so dope,” Ariel Atkins, a second-year player for the WNBA’s Washington Mystics, told ThinkProgress. “They’re not trying to flex for the media and trying to be like, all preppy and professional all the time. I mean, they are who they are, And that is professionalism, being exactly who you are and showing people that athletes are humans too.”

Atkins admitted that like the rest of the world, she’s spent a lot of time over the last week watching Harris’s Instagram stories. So has Sophie Cunningham, a rookie for the Phoenix Mercury.

“They are so badass. Having them go out there and being feisty the way they have been, it has been inspiring to me. For them to go out there, to see them having fun, now I want to win a championship so this team can experience that,” Cunningham said.

“They’re not hiding who they are. They are themselves. I think that is so awesome for all women and men to see.”

This all began on Sunday, after the confetti was cannoned and the trophies delivered, when the players got back to the tarp-covered locker room, put on their goggles, turned up the music, and started popping bottles. We got to see what it looked like, in real time, as the weight of the world was lifted off of their shoulders, and the women began to realize what exactly they had accomplished. The early mornings and healthy eating, the skipped parties and long workouts, the time away from family and friends and all the doubts that this team faced when it came to France, it had all been worth it. Heck, the President of the United States had even come after Rapinoe during the tournament, after a clip of her saying, “I’m not going to the fucking White House” went viral, and the team only got stronger after that.

So of course they partied. Alex Morgan twerked. Crystal Dunn chugged beer. Tobin Heath sang, “We are the champions” at the top of her lungs. Harris documented it all, and then turned the camera on herself and said, in instantly-iconic fashion, “You’re fucking welcome for this content, bitch.”

Ashlyn Harris’ instastories are the best thing on the internet rn pic.twitter.com/JLDjftOSpj

— em (@East_From_Eden) July 7, 2019

After the locker-room celebration, the players went to an after-party, where they danced on the bar, took shots, and did a lot more shouting. On Monday, they took a chartered flight back to New York City, and when they landed, they were still singing and dancing and drinking. Tuesday, after waking up early to go to Good Morning America, they had a private roof-top player’s-only pool party, and then took the party to a Yacht in the East River.

Some how, on Wednesday morning, they were still standing and able to participate in the parade, which became about far more than their World Cup victory, and turned into a rally for equality. All along the parade route, fans held signs that read, “Equal Pay.” And the players — who, it must be stressed, were surrounded by the U.S. Soccer officials they are suing during this celebration — actually used their lawsuit as confetti during the parade.

When the players stood in City Hall — still drinking — and waiting to come out on stage for the speech portion of the program, Harris took to Instagram to show copies of the lawsuit in the trees outside, and strewn across the floor of City Hall.

“Our lawsuit is in the fucking trees,” Harris said. Moments later, as Allie Long literally ate the lawsuit, Harris added, “Pay us, bitch.”

Daddy will pay us. He loves his girls.

https://t.co/WuWyb9fnWu

— Ashlyn Harris (@Ashlyn_Harris) July 10, 2019

That afternoon, they got on a cross-country flight, received hair and makeup on the plane, and then took the ESPYs — a sports-centric awards show hosted by ESPN — by storm.

From Sunday morning to Wednesday night, every single thing these women did was about celebrating themselves. It was a flashy, raucous, attention-grabbing, euphoric, and often crude showcase of success. It was revolutionary. It was true equality.

Most of the time, female athletes either lack the time, resources, or platform to hold a celebration like this one — a celebration like we see male athletes have every single time a championship is clinched. Diana Taurasi, a guard for the Phoenix Mercury and the WNBA’s all-time leading scorer, said that because of the year-round demands on female basketball players, they never get the time to celebrate like the USWNT did this week.

“We usually win something, and we never get to celebrate it. We’ve won four [Olympic] gold medals, and the next day, you’re flying back to your WNBA team,” Taurasi said. “It’s like you don’t even get to enjoy winning.”

That’s a big reason why the USWNT’s drunken victory tour meant so much to women everywhere — because most of the time, athletes or not, women aren’t encouraged or even given the time to celebrate their accomplishments.

It’s also why so many pearl-clutchers expressed outrage at the audaciousness of the championship parade. Because the world never gets to see women let loose like this. Under every single social media post about these antics, there are floods of people calling the players classless, arrogant, and embarrassing, and scolding them for not being good enough role models for little girls everywhere. But the best part of the celebration was that is wasn’t about anyone else; this team has worked so hard, not only to be the best at their craft, but to fight for equal pay for the next generation, and to stand up for the rights of women, the LGBTQ community, and minorities. This party was about taking a moment to celebrate themselves. Because, as Rapinoe said, they deserved it.

“I mean, they’re just being themselves. I think that’s all you can do. Just be authentically you. They’re great people, and they’re great athletes,” said Mystics’ All-Star Kristi Toliver, who is friends with Pinoe and Harris. 

“And you know, they’re about the right thing. So if that upsets people, [those people are] probably in the wrong.”

Credit: Source link

The post If you hate the U.S. women’s soccer team’s World Cup party, you’re a cop – ThinkProgress appeared first on WeeklyReviewer.

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[robertlchapa30]

If you hate the U.S. womens soccer teams World Cup party youre a cop ThinkProgress

On Wednesday morning, Megan Rapinoe, dressed in her “World Champion 2019” shirt, massive red-framed sunglasses, and her now-signature pink hair, was on a float in the ticker-tape parade in New York City, surrounded by teammates, fans, and, because nothing can be perfect, New York mayor Bill DeBlasio. She had been partying for three days straight with her teammates, ever since the moment they won their second consecutive — and fourth overall — World Cup championship in Lyon, France. But the party was far from over.

Her left foot was propped high in the air, putting her left knee about parallel with her shoulder. The World Cup trophy was in her left hand, and resting atop her knee. In her right hand, was a bottle of champagne. She turned to her friend, Ashlyn Harris — a back-up goalkeeper for the U.S. Women’s National Team (USWNT) whose documentation of the group’s post-victory celebration bender will go down in the annals of women’s sports history — and told the whole world through Instagram stories, “I deserve this. I deserve this. Everything.”

To some, this might be considered an off-the-cuff, light-hearted statement. But it was far from that. This was an earth-shattering declaration, a pointed rebuttal to everyone who has ever told women that their worth was tied directly to humility and modesty; a mantra for women everywhere who feel pressured to tone down their happiness to make others more comfortable, to turn down compliments or brush-off accolades. It was the opposite of, “thank you,” and a complete rejection of, “I’m sorry,” a phrase that most women utter, on average, 100 times a day, often to nobody in particular, as they merely move around the world.

It was a motto that summed up the entire World Cup run of the USWNT. Three months before the tournament began, they sued U.S. Soccer for equal pay, taking the fight for equality onto the biggest stage in the sport. Once in France, they smashed record after record and celebrated with abandon at every turn — drawing massive amounts of criticism for being too demonstrative about their happiness. They didn’t apologize; they just kept winning, and sipping tea. And then, when the last whistle blew in Lyon, France, to solidify their 2-0 victory over the Netherlands in the final, they kicked off a globe-trotting, ass-shaking, champagne-soaked, expletive-laden party, which the players — particularly Harris — shared with the public on social media.

Seeing these women cussing and pouring champagne on one another, holding signs asking for beers, unapologetically flaunting their drunken happiness in public — in a display that rivaled the shirtless shenanigans of J.R. Smith when the Cleveland Cavaliers won the NBA championship, or the over-the-top water-fountain antics of Alex Ovechkin when the Washington Capitals won the Stanley Cup Finals last year — wasn’t just entertaining; it was down-right inspiring.

Other elite female athletes acclaimed the champs.

“I’m kind of obsessed with them right now. I just can’t. Like, they’re so dope,” Ariel Atkins, a second-year player for the WNBA’s Washington Mystics, told ThinkProgress. “They’re not trying to flex for the media and trying to be like, all preppy and professional all the time. I mean, they are who they are, And that is professionalism, being exactly who you are and showing people that athletes are humans too.”

Atkins admitted that like the rest of the world, she’s spent a lot of time over the last week watching Harris’s Instagram stories. So has Sophie Cunningham, a rookie for the Phoenix Mercury.

“They are so badass. Having them go out there and being feisty the way they have been, it has been inspiring to me. For them to go out there, to see them having fun, now I want to win a championship so this team can experience that,” Cunningham said.

“They’re not hiding who they are. They are themselves. I think that is so awesome for all women and men to see.”

This all began on Sunday, after the confetti was cannoned and the trophies delivered, when the players got back to the tarp-covered locker room, put on their goggles, turned up the music, and started popping bottles. We got to see what it looked like, in real time, as the weight of the world was lifted off of their shoulders, and the women began to realize what exactly they had accomplished. The early mornings and healthy eating, the skipped parties and long workouts, the time away from family and friends and all the doubts that this team faced when it came to France, it had all been worth it. Heck, the President of the United States had even come after Rapinoe during the tournament, after a clip of her saying, “I’m not going to the fucking White House” went viral, and the team only got stronger after that.

So of course they partied. Alex Morgan twerked. Crystal Dunn chugged beer. Tobin Heath sang, “We are the champions” at the top of her lungs. Harris documented it all, and then turned the camera on herself and said, in instantly-iconic fashion, “You’re fucking welcome for this content, bitch.”

Ashlyn Harris’ instastories are the best thing on the internet rn pic.twitter.com/JLDjftOSpj

— em (@East_From_Eden) July 7, 2019

After the locker-room celebration, the players went to an after-party, where they danced on the bar, took shots, and did a lot more shouting. On Monday, they took a chartered flight back to New York City, and when they landed, they were still singing and dancing and drinking. Tuesday, after waking up early to go to Good Morning America, they had a private roof-top player’s-only pool party, and then took the party to a Yacht in the East River.

Some how, on Wednesday morning, they were still standing and able to participate in the parade, which became about far more than their World Cup victory, and turned into a rally for equality. All along the parade route, fans held signs that read, “Equal Pay.” And the players — who, it must be stressed, were surrounded by the U.S. Soccer officials they are suing during this celebration — actually used their lawsuit as confetti during the parade.

When the players stood in City Hall — still drinking — and waiting to come out on stage for the speech portion of the program, Harris took to Instagram to show copies of the lawsuit in the trees outside, and strewn across the floor of City Hall.

“Our lawsuit is in the fucking trees,” Harris said. Moments later, as Allie Long literally ate the lawsuit, Harris added, “Pay us, bitch.”

Daddy will pay us. He loves his girls.

https://t.co/WuWyb9fnWu

— Ashlyn Harris (@Ashlyn_Harris) July 10, 2019

That afternoon, they got on a cross-country flight, received hair and makeup on the plane, and then took the ESPYs — a sports-centric awards show hosted by ESPN — by storm.

From Sunday morning to Wednesday night, every single thing these women did was about celebrating themselves. It was a flashy, raucous, attention-grabbing, euphoric, and often crude showcase of success. It was revolutionary. It was true equality.

Most of the time, female athletes either lack the time, resources, or platform to hold a celebration like this one — a celebration like we see male athletes have every single time a championship is clinched. Diana Taurasi, a guard for the Phoenix Mercury and the WNBA’s all-time leading scorer, said that because of the year-round demands on female basketball players, they never get the time to celebrate like the USWNT did this week.

“We usually win something, and we never get to celebrate it. We’ve won four [Olympic] gold medals, and the next day, you’re flying back to your WNBA team,” Taurasi said. “It’s like you don’t even get to enjoy winning.”

That’s a big reason why the USWNT’s drunken victory tour meant so much to women everywhere — because most of the time, athletes or not, women aren’t encouraged or even given the time to celebrate their accomplishments.

It’s also why so many pearl-clutchers expressed outrage at the audaciousness of the championship parade. Because the world never gets to see women let loose like this. Under every single social media post about these antics, there are floods of people calling the players classless, arrogant, and embarrassing, and scolding them for not being good enough role models for little girls everywhere. But the best part of the celebration was that is wasn’t about anyone else; this team has worked so hard, not only to be the best at their craft, but to fight for equal pay for the next generation, and to stand up for the rights of women, the LGBTQ community, and minorities. This party was about taking a moment to celebrate themselves. Because, as Rapinoe said, they deserved it.

“I mean, they’re just being themselves. I think that’s all you can do. Just be authentically you. They’re great people, and they’re great athletes,” said Mystics’ All-Star Kristi Toliver, who is friends with Pinoe and Harris. 

“And you know, they’re about the right thing. So if that upsets people, [those people are] probably in the wrong.”

  Credit: Source link

The post If you hate the U.S. women’s soccer team’s World Cup party, you’re a cop – ThinkProgress appeared first on WeeklyReviewer.

from https://weeklyreviewer.com/if-you-hate-the-u-s-womens-soccer-teams-world-cup-party-youre-a-cop-thinkprogress/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=if-you-hate-the-u-s-womens-soccer-teams-world-cup-party-youre-a-cop-thinkprogress

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If you hate the U.S. women’s soccer team’s World Cup party, you’re a cop – ThinkProgress

On Wednesday morning, Megan Rapinoe, dressed in her “World Champion 2019” shirt, massive red-framed sunglasses, and her now-signature pink hair, was on a float in the ticker-tape parade in New York City, surrounded by teammates, fans, and, because nothing can be perfect, New York mayor Bill DeBlasio. She had been partying for three days straight with her teammates, ever since the moment they won their second consecutive — and fourth overall — World Cup championship in Lyon, France. But the party was far from over.

Her left foot was propped high in the air, putting her left knee about parallel with her shoulder. The World Cup trophy was in her left hand, and resting atop her knee. In her right hand, was a bottle of champagne. She turned to her friend, Ashlyn Harris — a back-up goalkeeper for the U.S. Women’s National Team (USWNT) whose documentation of the group’s post-victory celebration bender will go down in the annals of women’s sports history — and told the whole world through Instagram stories, “I deserve this. I deserve this. Everything.”

To some, this might be considered an off-the-cuff, light-hearted statement. But it was far from that. This was an earth-shattering declaration, a pointed rebuttal to everyone who has ever told women that their worth was tied directly to humility and modesty; a mantra for women everywhere who feel pressured to tone down their happiness to make others more comfortable, to turn down compliments or brush-off accolades. It was the opposite of, “thank you,” and a complete rejection of, “I’m sorry,” a phrase that most women utter, on average, 100 times a day, often to nobody in particular, as they merely move around the world.

It was a motto that summed up the entire World Cup run of the USWNT. Three months before the tournament began, they sued U.S. Soccer for equal pay, taking the fight for equality onto the biggest stage in the sport. Once in France, they smashed record after record and celebrated with abandon at every turn — drawing massive amounts of criticism for being too demonstrative about their happiness. They didn’t apologize; they just kept winning, and sipping tea. And then, when the last whistle blew in Lyon, France, to solidify their 2-0 victory over the Netherlands in the final, they kicked off a globe-trotting, ass-shaking, champagne-soaked, expletive-laden party, which the players — particularly Harris — shared with the public on social media.

Seeing these women cussing and pouring champagne on one another, holding signs asking for beers, unapologetically flaunting their drunken happiness in public — in a display that rivaled the shirtless shenanigans of J.R. Smith when the Cleveland Cavaliers won the NBA championship, or the over-the-top water-fountain antics of Alex Ovechkin when the Washington Capitals won the Stanley Cup Finals last year — wasn’t just entertaining; it was down-right inspiring.

Other elite female athletes acclaimed the champs.

“I’m kind of obsessed with them right now. I just can’t. Like, they’re so dope,” Ariel Atkins, a second-year player for the WNBA’s Washington Mystics, told ThinkProgress. “They’re not trying to flex for the media and trying to be like, all preppy and professional all the time. I mean, they are who they are, And that is professionalism, being exactly who you are and showing people that athletes are humans too.”

Atkins admitted that like the rest of the world, she’s spent a lot of time over the last week watching Harris’s Instagram stories. So has Sophie Cunningham, a rookie for the Phoenix Mercury.

“They are so badass. Having them go out there and being feisty the way they have been, it has been inspiring to me. For them to go out there, to see them having fun, now I want to win a championship so this team can experience that,” Cunningham said.

“They’re not hiding who they are. They are themselves. I think that is so awesome for all women and men to see.”

This all began on Sunday, after the confetti was cannoned and the trophies delivered, when the players got back to the tarp-covered locker room, put on their goggles, turned up the music, and started popping bottles. We got to see what it looked like, in real time, as the weight of the world was lifted off of their shoulders, and the women began to realize what exactly they had accomplished. The early mornings and healthy eating, the skipped parties and long workouts, the time away from family and friends and all the doubts that this team faced when it came to France, it had all been worth it. Heck, the President of the United States had even come after Rapinoe during the tournament, after a clip of her saying, “I’m not going to the fucking White House” went viral, and the team only got stronger after that.

So of course they partied. Alex Morgan twerked. Crystal Dunn chugged beer. Tobin Heath sang, “We are the champions” at the top of her lungs. Harris documented it all, and then turned the camera on herself and said, in instantly-iconic fashion, “You’re fucking welcome for this content, bitch.”

Ashlyn Harris’ instastories are the best thing on the internet rn pic.twitter.com/JLDjftOSpj

— em (@East_From_Eden) July 7, 2019

After the locker-room celebration, the players went to an after-party, where they danced on the bar, took shots, and did a lot more shouting. On Monday, they took a chartered flight back to New York City, and when they landed, they were still singing and dancing and drinking. Tuesday, after waking up early to go to Good Morning America, they had a private roof-top player’s-only pool party, and then took the party to a Yacht in the East River.

Some how, on Wednesday morning, they were still standing and able to participate in the parade, which became about far more than their World Cup victory, and turned into a rally for equality. All along the parade route, fans held signs that read, “Equal Pay.” And the players — who, it must be stressed, were surrounded by the U.S. Soccer officials they are suing during this celebration — actually used their lawsuit as confetti during the parade.

When the players stood in City Hall — still drinking — and waiting to come out on stage for the speech portion of the program, Harris took to Instagram to show copies of the lawsuit in the trees outside, and strewn across the floor of City Hall.

“Our lawsuit is in the fucking trees,” Harris said. Moments later, as Allie Long literally ate the lawsuit, Harris added, “Pay us, bitch.”

Daddy will pay us. He loves his girls.

https://t.co/WuWyb9fnWu

— Ashlyn Harris (@Ashlyn_Harris) July 10, 2019

That afternoon, they got on a cross-country flight, received hair and makeup on the plane, and then took the ESPYs — a sports-centric awards show hosted by ESPN — by storm.

From Sunday morning to Wednesday night, every single thing these women did was about celebrating themselves. It was a flashy, raucous, attention-grabbing, euphoric, and often crude showcase of success. It was revolutionary. It was true equality.

Most of the time, female athletes either lack the time, resources, or platform to hold a celebration like this one — a celebration like we see male athletes have every single time a championship is clinched. Diana Taurasi, a guard for the Phoenix Mercury and the WNBA’s all-time leading scorer, said that because of the year-round demands on female basketball players, they never get the time to celebrate like the USWNT did this week.

“We usually win something, and we never get to celebrate it. We’ve won four [Olympic] gold medals, and the next day, you’re flying back to your WNBA team,” Taurasi said. “It’s like you don’t even get to enjoy winning.”

That’s a big reason why the USWNT’s drunken victory tour meant so much to women everywhere — because most of the time, athletes or not, women aren’t encouraged or even given the time to celebrate their accomplishments.

It’s also why so many pearl-clutchers expressed outrage at the audaciousness of the championship parade. Because the world never gets to see women let loose like this. Under every single social media post about these antics, there are floods of people calling the players classless, arrogant, and embarrassing, and scolding them for not being good enough role models for little girls everywhere. But the best part of the celebration was that is wasn’t about anyone else; this team has worked so hard, not only to be the best at their craft, but to fight for equal pay for the next generation, and to stand up for the rights of women, the LGBTQ community, and minorities. This party was about taking a moment to celebrate themselves. Because, as Rapinoe said, they deserved it.

“I mean, they’re just being themselves. I think that’s all you can do. Just be authentically you. They’re great people, and they’re great athletes,” said Mystics’ All-Star Kristi Toliver, who is friends with Pinoe and Harris. 

“And you know, they’re about the right thing. So if that upsets people, [those people are] probably in the wrong.”

Credit: Source link

The post If you hate the U.S. women’s soccer team’s World Cup party, you’re a cop – ThinkProgress appeared first on WeeklyReviewer.

from WeeklyReviewer https://weeklyreviewer.com/if-you-hate-the-u-s-womens-soccer-teams-world-cup-party-youre-a-cop-thinkprogress/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=if-you-hate-the-u-s-womens-soccer-teams-world-cup-party-youre-a-cop-thinkprogress from WeeklyReviewer https://weeklyreviewer.tumblr.com/post/186267054737

[illusmeta]

s7 thoughts, in no particular order (spoilers yes)

1. Bex was right. This season hurt more than s6, if that’s even fucking possible...the last five episodes were just the most painful ride i have ever been on

2. HUNK DEVELOPMENT! IT’S A B O U T FUCKING TIME. I’m just. gaAAAAAAAH. 

2a. ok but WHY MUST HIS FAMILY BE THE ONLY ONE THAT ISN’T SAFE. the scene where keith talked to him was really fuckin sweet but also....just...give hunk his family??? 

2b. that being said we now know hunk’s connection to yellow is comparable to keith’s with black. yup. s3′s hunk not wanting black paladin was foreSHADOWING BICTH and it makes sense bc hunk is literally the team’s stability now soooooo <3 he honestly is the biggest hero of the team, fucking carried the team, deserves the world

2c. and HUNK HOLDING THE TEAM TOGETHER IN EPISODE 6??? i fuckin SCREAMED he deSERVES THE WORLD and i would die for him he’s my fuckin role model 

2d. self-care is making my inner voice HUNK and having him tell me to take care of myself...my crops are FUCKING WATERED

2e. and hunk care...is seeing shay again <3 my loves!!!

3. james griffin turned out to be less of an asshole than he could have been, give him a fucking medal lol but the subtlety of his learning to accept Voltron and specifically keith was pretty sick actually. apart from the heart-wrenching, this season had a great deal of subtlety in character development like that (before s8 or 9 when the stakes go way up of course) and i for one appreciated it 

3a. his team...also awesome. especially the girls, i love them 

4. ok but after that last episode when the whole thing just went silent...I legit thought the showrunners did it. fucking murdered everyone. keith said “it’s been an honor” and my tiny heart just broke. i keep telling myself that the showrunners can’t keep loading on impossible situations with everyone with their backs to the wall and still have it be believable but in that last scene...I believed it. I thought their luck had run out. and these guys...in a lot of ways, it feels like i’ve grown up with this show, from the end of freshman year to now. it felt like i was losing my real friends. and i thought that james’s crew had been brought on to replace them. kudos to the show for making something so incredible, but also...fuck. the adrenaline and tension has literally given me a massive headache and after i write all this down i’m gonna take a realllly long nap

5. I could write an essay on why Admiral Sanda was valid and then write another essay on why she wasn’t, but i could write a fucking thesis on why the showrunners got her arc just right

6. episode six...ohhhh my god. you know how s6 stuck a knife in my heart? well, that episode twisted it, pulled it out, and dragged my innards out with it. 

6a. seriously, think of the psychological horror of that episode. it’s one thing to die in battle, feeling you have a clear purpose and strategy and knowing you died for something. it’s another to die slowly, and painfully, without any sign that your actions ever mattered or that they can ever matter again, without any sign of hope. it’s another to die uncertain and afraid, unsure of what world you’ll leave behind, unsure of the people you’ll leave behind. small wonder everyone wanted to believe they were home. it was the first thing that kept them from going completely insane. they had to believe in it. 

6b. consider: the sheer mental force of will Hunk had to force the team forward and away. Think of just how in-tune with himself he has to be, how brave he has to be, to go against his own heart and his own team and push back and believe in himself. Honestly, Hunk is a miracle. he uses his caution to make him stronger. keith was right to admire him. he really was. 

6c. small bone to pick: i guess keith’s leaving the team has finally been...dealt with? i don’t think it’s finished but i generally think emotional development needs more focus in voltron. That’s what headcanons and fics are for, i guess? after all, it is still a kids show, and i guess the showrunners want to make sure the pacing matches that... 

7. sooooo. ships. we gotta talk about that. Wasn’t super happy with how axca was coded to be a love interest for keith. personally i’m still holding out for them finding out they’re related bc axca just seems like she’s coded to be waaaay older than keith but then again that might just be me. also: allurance maybe confirmed? I do hope that if the showrunners really want this to be endgame, they take some time next season to fully flesh out why allura’s not using lance as a rebound. like...come on. everyone knows he deserves better. 

7a. on the bright side: zethrid and ezor. nice. 

7b. double bright side: hunk and shay. NICe

7c. klance is gonna get all its mileage from episode 4 and the fact that red and black make cool wing boosters, calling it right now, the ship will never fucking sink lol tbh i don’t care that much anymore??? like, the whole show is just coming together so well and i’m happy with whatever??? as long as there’s no toxicity and everyone loves each other i’d be perfectly happy if keith and hunk became a thing 

8. the paladins with their families is just. Nice. 

8a. KEEF GOT A HUG MY BABY IS LOVED 

8b. Hunk’s flashbacks...honestly, he’s even more of a mama’s boy than lance is and he’s just. perfect. 

8c. lance and his sister lmao. veronica knows what’s up 

8d. pidge <3 again with the subtlety of the emotion the showrunners pulled off this season...10/10. everything shows on her face and it’s wonderfully done and alSO COLLEEN HOLT IS SUCH A BADASS. just fucking SNAPPED and gave Sanda the what-for. she’s valid 

8e. but question: where the FUCK IS SHIRO’S FAM I am INSULTED are you just gonna be like, “hey shiro can put his life on hold and pretend like he’s not hurting too? he came back and adam was dead. after all this time, thinking adam would outlive him. that’s harsh and i’m feeling it 

9. can we go back to the atlas? ok. that shit was fuckin relentless 

9a. so much screaming and sciency-mumbo-jumbo i feel like the showrunners were just throwing in random words with ‘o’s and hoping it worked 

9b. and shiro, powering up an entire voltron XL through his arm and his connection to altean magic?? completely implausible. honestly tho? i don’t fucking care. Shiro is magic, friendship and resilience are magic, the paladins’ resolve is basically the only thing holding voltron together at this point, and I DON’T CARE. they’re fucking badasses and they can do what they want. at least the showrunners used the small details, like sendak’s memories and the castle crystal thing. there’s my bar -- using past story details. everything else? whatever, i’m using this fiction to escape reality, not constantly poke holes in it 

10. if i had to pick favorite episodes: 6, 9, 10. maybe 12 and 13 for sheer emotional trauma. 

10a. this might be my favorite season, tbh. i honestly don’t know yet bc i’m still really Shook(TM) but while i can’t say the season made me happy (it actually fucking ripped up my heart and stomped on it), i can say it left a mark. and I think voltron has a future in saving the universe with the earth as its home base. 

10b. ok but allura needs to pull out that quintessence mumbo jumbo and give the lions a fucking UPGRADE WE ALL KNOW THAT’S WHAT HAGGAR’S DOING WITH THE COLONY AND HER WEIRD ROBEAST THINGS and ALLURA HAD THE SAME CRASHCOURSE IN ALCHEMY FROM ORIANDE SO GET ON IT PLS 

11. ngl, the characters in this season? fine. 

and now: a list of girls i thought were cute: 

- Allura (as always)

- Veronica (called it) 

- the girls on the MFE team (Leifsdottir and I forgot the other girl’s name, started with an R i think, either way she’s cute) 

- Ezor (i’m a simple fool)

- Romelle with her hair up is such a Look and I love it 

a list of guys: 

- Keith (as usual) -- seriously, why is his animation always 100000X more expressive and beautiful than everyone else’s?? someone up there loves anime pretty boys and I am NOT COMPLAINING like in episode 5 his faces of fear were just so beautifully and expressively drawn 

- HUNK. 

- james & kinkade (is that how his name is even spelled lmao) 

ANYWAY. i had feelings, thought I’d share

[axelsandwich]

yuzuru hanyu: an exhaustive introduction

YUZURU HANYU IN 8 SECONDS: A SUMMARY 

the weird goat noise crying at the end is yuzu himself basically going ‘nooo no way, no I don’t want this, that was scary, so scaryyy’

THIS IS ALSO YUZURU HANYU IN 13 SECONDS

YUZURU HANYU JUST BEING HIMSELF (PART 2)

choose your fighter

he’s happy a lot

basically the embodiment of the n__n emoji

and cute

the cutest 

ever

loves nature on the rare occasions he goes outside

hitting his coach with a fan

scaring his other coach and then running away

adorable w kids

loves teaching

but also falls down a lot. very cutely.

sometimes in a stupidly beautiful way

factual info you could probably Wikipedia but are too lazy to do so: Yuzuru Hanyu is a Japanese figure skater from Sendai, born 7 December 1994 who competes in the men's singles discipline.

PSA: YUZURU HANYU IS NOT THE MODEL FOR KATSUKI YUURI FROM YURI ON ICE (yuuri katsuki is canonically based on tatsuki machida thank u)

japanese media (esp in sendai) basically filmed him growing up and called him a young prodigy so we’re lucky to get footage of chipmunk-cheeked yuzu with his (flying) mushroom hair 

look at this tiny bean

he was interviewed in ice rink sendai with japan’s other figure skating gold medallist shizuka arakawa. to quote, when asked “can you become a gold medallist too?”, he said “probably”. and then he went and did exactly that.

he would get into fights with his rinkmates, used to ball up skate rink magazine flyers to hit like a baseball and basically had a 5min attention span after which he would get bored

he also remained top 5 in his class academically while competing internationally during high school and does online education at waseda university, which is one of the most prestigious universities in Japan (this kid was away the day God handed out laziness and procrastination I s2g)

he’s studying Human Informatics and Cognitive Sciences (ie. basically a massive maths nerd)

my favourite in-depth and extended interviews with yuzu are his press conferences with the foreign correspondents club in japan, he really lets his intelligence and thoughtfulness shine here in particular:

2014 post-sochi olympics

2018 post-pyeongchang olympics

2018 post-pyeongchang olympics (japanese media)

memelord mc memeface (no, I am serious)

literally can’t control his face

I could go on.........

for a long time

(this is my fave)

the duality of man

10 expressions for the price of one

‘yuzuru will also respond in english’

yuzuru was a victim of the 2011 Japanese earthquake and tsunami and lived in an emergency shelter with his family for about a week. spent the summer afterwards skating 60 different ice shows to raise money for the victims. he lost his home rink because of the earthquake and so would go to the show rinks early to practice ): 

it’s heartbreaking that he’s still very affected by the memories. he’s said he doesn’t take anything for granted and is always grateful to have a rink to skate on, and the impact he had on the survivors had a profound effect on his skating

he mentioned it in his post olympics interview

if you feel like crying really really hard today, watch yuzuru visiting sendai’s disaster affected areas and where he stayed initially in the days after the disaster

he donated all his olympic winnings to helping tohoku recover

the only regular TV appearance he does every year is 24hr TV which is a charity marathon to raise money for various causes, especially for areas affected by natural disaster 

“If it is because I visited them that those who suffered from the disaster can forget about their hardships for even just a moment, to me that would be something very meaningful. Therefore, at that moment, I thought that I wanted to get another Gold medal at the next Olympics.” 

the reason why he’s going for another olympic medal. cry with us

gets on with nobunari oda like a house on fire and carries out shenanigans whenever they meet

nobu and ex-tennis player matsuoka shuzo have been his most zealous and purest hype men since he was sixteen, it’s the cutest thing in the world, they’re regularly worried about him, stunned by him and moved to tears by his performances

here they are reacting to his olympics programs

here’s yuzu thanking shuzo for his support by putting his gold medal around shuzo-san’s neck

has the cutest bromance ever with training mate javier fernandez (eg. when he cried bc he didn’t win but was also super happy for javi, and when he watched javi’s free skate)

gives the best hugs to javi

iconic(TM)

just before the Olympic medal ceremony, yuzuru cried after javi told him this would be his last olympics and saying ‘no I can’t do it without you’ wow I didn’t need my heart or anything today

has the cutest interactions with all skaters including his direct competitors

here’s boyang jin giggling about how he got a hug from ‘the guy who likes Pooh’

nathan chen commenting on yuzu & both of them complimenting each other

dodges media attempts to pit him against shoma uno as bitter rivals bc they are NOT ABOUT THAT LIFE 

olympic gold medallist checking to make sure the olympic silver medallist has his jacket on straight and teaching shoma to wave bc he is actually just a mother

the only person who has the ability to make him lose focus: his forever-idol evgeni plushenko (now in motion) 

probably the only asian boy who willingly opted for a bowl cut 

who he shamelessly cheers on during ice shows

literally not capable of not being extra as fuck

here’s his pre-competition rituals aka. lipsyncing silently at a wall

he does it a lot

where every other male skater is in sensible shirts and pants, you will find yuzu standing there BEDECKED IN SEQUINS AND FEATHERS

he don’t give a fuck about your gender norms

and looks excellent while doing so

here he is, single-handedly destroying toxic masculinity

here he is just generally being Extra, with the rest of the men, bullying junhwan, bullying boyang... speed skating

tbh his milkshake seems to bring all the boys to the yard...seriously. and obviously most of the girls...

famous for his death glare murder face of hyper-competitive intensity

scariest thing is how quickly he can switch it on

there’s literally a collection of photos of yuzu - from when he was a bb to presently - eyeing the gold medal from another podium position like ‘my precious will be mine soon’ (here’s another one)

but also for being the sweetest kid ever 

he is truly SUPER polite wherever he goes

hugging his competitors at the 2018 pyeongchang olympics

staying behind to answer all questions from media at the competition

CRAWLING ON HIS HANDS AND KNEES behind competitor shoma uno so he doesn’t get in the background of shoma’s interview

mr worldwide (he thanked reporters at the Olympics in five languages)

watch him say thank you in korean

JP TV basically had entire TV segments where they were like ‘OBSERVE HIS GOD-LIKE BEHAVIOUR’. It continues to this day

there’s literally a shrine with kanji similar to his name and fans pray for him there

he has three dedicated shrines that his fans make pilgrimmages to - yuzuruha and the two seimei shrines. 

oda nobunari visited one and basically all the ema wishes were for him (yuzuru himself also visited the shrine to pray as well)

helping people repair the rink after competitions

single-handedly keeping the winnie the pooh soft toy industry alive.  

Disney-senpai finally noticed him in 2018

he donates all the toys he gets to local orphanages and charities

gives his fans regular heart attacks

watch him save jumps that shouldn’t have been physically possible

changing program halfway through when he failed a jump to accommodate #emergencyquad and #yolotripleaxel 

casually breaks world records because he was annoyed with himself

casual jump combinations during practices

casually says shit like wanting to jump hithero impossible jumps

jumped new quad when pissed off at the world team trophy It is REALLY IMPORTANT to know that the main reason for fan heart attacks is because he’s dealt with a distressing number of injuries, illnesses and misfortunes in his skating life but has somehow managed to come back and succeed in spite of them

a really scary accident that happened at cup of china 2014 and he decided to skate anyway because he wanted to qualify for the Grand Prix Final (which he then went on to win) and he really should not have been allowed to but he.......did that > <;

he then came back a month later to win the Grand Prix Final for the 2nd year in a row

he then had abdominal pain and surgery right after winning Japanese Nationals in 2014

and after spending a month recuperating, still managed to win a silver medal at worlds 2014

this is why we don’t talk about boston

important to note he skated his iconic chopin/seimei 2015 grand prix final programs WITH THAT INJURY

but then he came back and won the world championships in Helsinki in 2017

he missed almost the entire 2017-2018 olympic season he severely injured his ankle while practising the 4Lz in practice at the NHK Trophy, while recovering from a fever

is making his comeback from injury either at the pyeongchang team event or potentially yolo-ing it and going just for the individual event, we have no idea, we just know heart attacks are imminent

update: he skipped the team event and made his COMEBACK SKATE FROM INJURY after 3 months of no competitions and 1 month of prep at the individual mens event of the pyeongchang olympics.... AND FRIKKIN WON HIS SECOND OLYMPIC GOLD 

he then...injured himself again for the 2018-19 season, went out and skated anyway, won the event and showed up to the victory ceremony on crutches. he made a comeback at the world championships 2019 on painkillers yet again and still managed to get a silver medal

is proficient at disappearing like a ninja and subjecting his fans to radio silence for months on end, usually bc he injured himself ))):

so his fans made him a banner

(he has some ridiculously talented fans tbh)

a helpful guide to stanning yuzu (warning: you may feel Attacked)

did I mention he happens to be pretty good at figure skating? 

he’s broken the world record 16 times and counting (the video is his reaction to the first 11 (most of them are his own records)

he’s the first man in 66yrs since Dick Button to win back-to-back Olympic gold medals in mens figure skating (sochi 2014 and pyeongchang 2018)

I cannot emphasise HOW FRIKKIN #YOLO HIS 2018 OLYMPIC SEASON WAS. this was the medal he wanted his ENTIRE LIFE, which he had literally planned since he was a novice skater and had seriously begun planning since right after he won the gold in Sochi. this plan had to be adjusted due to the truly distressing number of injuries, illnesses and misfortunes he sustained during the last quad (his Olympic athlete profile has PARAGRAPHS dedicated to all his injuries - and note these are only the post-2014 ones). but yuzuru started the 2017-18 olympic season with a plan to basically break all 3 of his WRs at the olympics by recycling his Chopin and Seimei programs but upgrading the layout and introducing a new quad - the 4Lz - which he had been preparing for years. and then this plan was, once again, thrown out the window when he sustained the injury in NHK in early November, which was much more severe than he first thought. he sat out of competition for 3mths despite hoping to return first at Japanese Nationals and then to the Pyeongchang team event, but pulled out of both as well. yuzuru made his comeback from injury debut at the individual men’s event, aka. the BIG DEAL, after marching into the airport like a BOSS. we were told he had only recovered his triple axel 3 weeks ago and his quads 2 weeks ago, but post-Olympics, he’s slowly revealing that it was even more dire than that. he skated the entire Olympics on painkillers that were not working 100% which meant every jump landing hurt.  and he. frikkin. WON. by doing this. and this.  (it was also the 1000th medal in Winter Olympics history because destiny rewards those who are Most Extra)

seimei is arguably one of the greatest masterpieces of skating programs and yuzuru was involved in every step of putting it together

his iconic moves ; _ ; 

edges, have you seen anything more ridiculous

romeo and juliet 1.0 at worlds, less than 1yr after the tsunami disaster and really launched him onto the international stage

sochi olympic short program (the thing that won him the gold lbr)

sub point: his reaction to gold

sub point: his reactions to BOTH HIS GOLD MEDALS

chopin and seimei at Grand Prix Finals 2015/16 

WR for highest short program and total program score and he’s gonna bring them both back and try to surpass them for the Olympic season because he wasn’t already under enough pressure.........

hope and legacy FS at Worlds 2016/17 where he came back from 5th place in the short program to win the free and break his own world record yet again (annotated version)

broke his 12th WR in the first event of the 2017-2018 Olympic season at the ACI Challenger event with a sore knee and downgraded jump layout

hilariously, his coach brian orser was - uncharacteristically - warning everyone that his first skates of the season are like ‘first pancakes’ and to not expect too much from him before the SP

his fans, needless to say, were amused

he did go ahead and die in the free skate the following day though, and finished with his obligatory Canadian silver

Jumped and landed his first 4Lz in competition at the Rostelecom Cup 2017 (watch it clean - it’s a THING OF BEAUTY) and now has landed 4 types of quads in competition (4T, 4S, 4Lo and 4Lz). Has now said that being the first person ever to land the 4A - his childhood dream - is one of his key motivations. 

just go watch all his programs lol

has a majestic jump face. it’s art. literally. 

seemingly endless appetite for getting better and continually challenging himself

his favourite word: kuyashii (ie. frustrated)

one of my favourite interviews of him ever was right after his broke all 3 world records and went over 200 and 300 for the FS and total competition score for the first time at NHK 2015.  “[On losing to Patrick Chan at Skate Canada & the fact he was practising during gala rehearsal where everyone else was chilling] I thought I want to improve, even here right now.  Patrick was nearby and it was a really good motivation.   It’s like, ‘Watch me.'  I will definitely practise all kinds of jumps and I will grow for sure.  I will win the next time for sure, I have been practising with that in mind.”   Then 3 weeks later, at NHK Trophy, he had a different lay-out. Yuzu:  This is not related to Patrick anymore.  I was really fired up this time. Boyang Jin got 95 points in SP, right?  When I saw that score, I thought, wow NO MISTAKES!!  He gave the best of his abilities!  OH YES!!!! Matsu: You didn’t think OH NO!!!  You thought OH YES???? Yuzu:  I thought “It’s here!!!"  Since I was a child, I have never liked winning a competition when others made mistakes.  Everyone skates to their best, but I still come first, above all.  That is what I like. I like pushing myself to the edge—.” (translation cr: yuzusorbet) says volumes about his competitive mentality.

this is also iconic AF. ‘In your mind, what do you mean by wanting to win with a commanding lead?’ yuzuru (no hesitation and immediately): after everyone goes clean, I go clean and win. (matsuoka shuzo’s face is a MOOD)

oh, also he’s had asthma since he was two 

he talks about it here

it was referenced in a movie

he got an asthma attack 2wks before the World Championships in Helsinki 2017 and still went out and Did That

the new york times did a long feature on him and it’s mostly a pretty comprehensive article if you want an overview

has remained at number one in the world standings for the entire olympic cycle since 2013 despite aforementioned heart-attack-inducing injuries and illnesses

sucks at finding suits that fit him. because he needs one imperfection

questionable fashion sense in general (generally remains stuck at ‘japanese teenage boy circa 2005′)

he wears toe socks and has been seen wearing crocs once, ho n e st l y

Good Guy Yuzuru: doesn’t wear fitted suits often because he knows it’ll kill his fans and/or will only do so if he gets paid for it tbh

unless he’s wearing under armour

he can keep wearing under armour

seriously, why isn’t he being sponsored by under armour

why

really obsessed with earphones and has like 50 pairs, many of which are custom-made and cost over $1000. he gets really excited about sound quality & bonds with sound technicians over their headphones. basically it’s the only thing he talks about when interviewers want to know what he likes to do in his spare time

that and play games in his room by himself

he’s hyper-competitive about games too

is this a surprise at this point

he’s basically a shut in when he’s not on the ice rink, in competition or at an ice show. he is not v exciting

he got really obsessed with kendama and now has like 8 of them

can’t dance but has no shame (yeah) (YEAH. you’ve been warned). werq it boi

made his japanese film debut in a bald cap, playing the young lord of Sendai which he SORT OF BASICALLY IS

get you a man that loves you like the entire city of Sendai loves yuzuru

their cheer video for sochi and pyeongchang

as of originally writing this intro post - part of the top six men in figure skating right now. probably possesses the Most Lack of Chill, being world champion, olympic champion and holder of all 3 figure skating records. we’re all drinking heavily this olympic season, not in the least because Olympic season has been a Pretty Big Disaster So Far

BUT HE WON THE GOLD MEDAL AND THE MENS EVENT WAS - FOR THE MOST PART - PRETTY DAMN BRILLIANT, especially given all the disasters that happened this season.......so I recommend watching it all. ; __ ; 

alas Patrick Chan and Javier Fernandez have now retired ;;

he’s also b e a u t i f u l 

um excuse me, rude

VERY RUDE

apparently not interested in sex appeal......... 

‘acting’

want to research more? 

here’s a recommended watchpost

a compilation of interesting interviews by tsukihoshi14

gif cr: balladestorm

in conclusion, thank you for reading and I hope you know more about this special, brilliant boy ( :