#block tales player but like four times (oc's)

[yuqsdug]

GUESS WHO MADE ANOTHER COMIC!

This was been in the works since the 13th of December and it isn't even good =P

Don't worry griefer, the party had the same reaction to Player too.

The background was done today

SECRET THIRD PANEL THAT WILL NEVER BE FINISHED JUMPSCARE

[jumpingflyingsidekick]

At What Cost : Part 2

Kia ora, this took so long. I’m not even sure if it’s what I wanted but it’s what I have. I’m deeply invested in this one.

A Kageyama fanfic with thought provoking one-shots about his rise through his volleyball career with a partner. Second one-shot kind of thing. Remember to picture YOUR OC as Shurui.  

I don’t own, just a fanfic.

Name: At what cost

Part one: What do you love more

                                                           X

Walking along side

Volleyball was the center of his attention and she knew that.

Leaving Miyagi district was hard for them. But in the grand scheme of things it was necessary, they needed to move. And although Kageyama didn’t make a lot of money, he made enough to provide for them both and a beautiful tidy home.

It is small but a modest house they shared. Shurui had been careful in the selection. In the summer it warmed her skin the sun, it peaked through the kitchen window in the morning onto the table. And disappeared in the afternoon behind the large apartment block set three levels high, blocking the sun. However, it was winter, she poured Kageyama another tea, he responded by picking it up instantly with eyes focused on his laptop.

He pushed his chair in and gathered his gear, “we’ll be finished late afternoon, want me to pick something up?”

“No, I have everything.”

He kissed her forehead sweetly and left for the day. The National Team practiced religiously six days a week three times a day. It was a struggle, but they spent time where possible.

She smiled as the envelope fluttered away when it sent. She often sent him sweet text messages throughout the day, and he would reply when able which was usually during water breaks.

A puff of hot air escaped when he smiled, ‘I love you.’ He shivered, the morning frost was cold, he tugged the scarf higher to stop the snowflakes hitting. Another smile as he tucked the phone away and remembered a time when they’d been shy to express their feelings.

He thought back to the moment he blurted his confession.

Kageyama high from a win jumped the barrier and ran straight to her. He pulled her into an embrace and kissed her passionately, and the crowd roared. “I love you,” he screamed, a grin spread wide. So, he said it first.

And during winter, for her, time moved slowly. The days were long when she spent them alone. On many occasions they argued about her reasoning for getting a job. Kageyama would scoff each time because the thought of it offended him. He was stubborn. Every time the subject would be raised, he would revert to a child and she would smile sweetly and nod agreeing with him once more. Though a job would fill in the time she would tell herself constantly.

So, Shurui would turn her attention to books in the quiet mornings. It would not do her mind well if left to nothing, she had been accepted into one of the most prestigious law schools. She paused briefly. The thought of the letter caused a stir in her heart, as quickly as it came it left. Contempt, with the decision she made. She had to be.

This caused a sudden urge of need to be useful. She could at least use the background knowledge of accounting and business from high school even if it wasn’t paid work. A lovely thought struck her, maybe charity would be a viable option she placed the book down. Rejuvenated with possibilities she obtained the laptop and accessed the files from the cloud.

‘Revision,’ she thought and smiled widely.

                                                         X

She eyed the sliver card puzzled, “What is this?”

“It’s a start and not much,” he flushed, embarrassed maybe, “but what’s mine is yours. It’s a credit card, you have access to my account.”

“Oh, how thoughtful,” she paused, her moment for freedom perhaps, “Kageyama I am capable of paying my own way and if...”

Brows pressed into a frown he retorted, “Don’t do that.” Eyes stern with resolve, they stopped her. She took a small breath, again smiled, and nodded.

                                                       X

The restaurant was noisy and bustling with activity a rating of 5 stars on google review from most. A small but intimate set up, tables literally one metre from each other and the waiters moved through the patrons as they lifted the plates and beverages above their heads, smiling.

The big hand on the clock hit six. An hour had past and every 15 minutes she would get a refill of water. ‘No messages,’ her inbox glowed.  When the waiter approached this time she politely motioned no and collected her things.

Once outside she dialled a number only to be met with the engaged sound. A nice night for a walk, she thought. She fixed the buttons on the beige jacket to the top and made her way home only a couple blocks away. She almost pressed in the second earpiece when a shout caught her attention.

“Shurui!”

Confused at first, her eyes scanned the area until she heard the heavy pants behind her, Kageyama.

Out of breath he stood tall and placed his hands on his hip exhausted, “Sorry….” A couple more pants, “did some extra sets and lost track of the time, are you still hungry?”

Again, she smiled politely and nodded.

                                                           X

It surprised her when her mother came to visit. Shurui ran to the nearest store to purchase the exact tea her mother loved, blackberry. Not a favourite in the household but for her mother she would go the exact mile.

The tea set used was bought from a dainty opportunity shop, a collectable the teller said. It wasn’t the fact it was a collectable that caught attention it was the amazing tale of two lovers etched in a beautiful blue design that did it. She poured their third tea.

“Where is he?” her mother questioned.

Shurui took a short sip, “training. He is an Olympian, mother. Volleyball is the centre of his attention.”

“I know.”

The tone used didn’t sit well with Shurui, it made her flitch at the implication, but not enough to show. She placed her tea down, gathered her thoughts and smiled at her mother. Who dressed in all her glory, hair pinned high, lips red as a red delicious apple and eyes judgemental. She sipped her tea.

“Mother,” Shurui breathed, “Tobio Kageyama works hard for this family…” her mother cocked a brow, taken by her daughter’s sudden boldness. “And if that means he needs to spend most of his time at the arena…”

“Is that where he is, and you know for sure?”

The question caught Shurui off guard, but she understood the meaning. Her fingernails dug into her knees and briefly she her eyes closed thinking of a response, but none came.

“My love, I know the life of an absent partner. Your father, though I loved him dearly was just like Kageyama. It starts out with late replies and missed calls but eventually.”

“Mother, please,” Shurui motioned with her hand she’d had enough, dismissing her mother’s words. “I have been with him every step of the way. I know him.”

Noting the difference in the younger persons demeanour a change of topic of sorts was in order, “I see and after his performance at the Olympics he will be head hunted. I don’t doubt or pretend to not know that he is an amazing player but at what cost my dear?” The older woman waited for a response or even an inkling of a retort, but it didn’t come, “you are a smart, intelligent woman and what have you done with it? Except follow this boy around for the better half of almost four years.”

Usually Shurui would be able to hold her emotions not often did she feel anger or resentment or express them for that matter. However, the constant belittlement of their relation started to affect her naturally calm nature. A swell gripped hold of her chest, but the smile she gave hid her true feelings of growing anger. An emotion she hadn’t felt in a long time not since early high school.

“I am not following, mother. I am walking along side him there is a difference. I know in doing so that I have placed certain things out of sight and out of mind,” a scowl formed, attention turned to the woman sat opposite. “And I will continue wherever that may lead us because I, mother. Think about others.”

The tea was cold neither of the two drank during the seemingly innocent altercation and neither looked to back down.

“I haven’t seen this side of you for some time. Independent, determined, and stubborn. My qualities I thought you lost.” And with that she conceded, looked to her daughter, and smiled dryly. “I wasn’t always there for matters I shouldn’t bore you with, but you don’t know what your father was genuinely like. Nights alone with a baby wondering when he’d be back or if he’d come back. Constant lies. I hadn’t wanted to leave but at the time I thought it was best.”

“For, who.”

“You.”

A side to the story she hadn’t heard to their divorce, her parents. All other times an excuse or fabrication. This time felt true, honest. It pained her to look at her mother. A proud woman for sure but in this moment, her whole being changed, it felt like regret.

                                                           X

Months after the Olympics their lives changed considerably. It almost hurt to know her mother was right about Kageyama. The young aspiring player was indeed head hunted by multiple teams. Time was mostly spent answering demanding phones calls from managers, declining offers from no-name teams or out-right snorting at offers from companies who would pay copious amounts of money to have him. But it wasn’t about the money for him, he needed the best deal to help him stay on the court the longest. And Shurui tried best to keep her head above the water. She knew this would come.

In in a rare moment, they managed a night together away from outside influence. The house dimly lit helped by romantic candlelight spread carefully through the dining area. All electronic devices turned off, especially his.

Tonight, was a special night he told her. Dawned in a magnificent black dress that spaced and separated her breast evenly. The cup line hung low to reveal a tasteful and respectable amount of cleavage and flared down beautifully from under that point and sat above the knees. She would be lying if she did not say she was embarrassed. But Kageyama bought the dress, especially.

The look of bewilderment he gave every time their eyes met was worth it. He appeared shocked by her beauty and would avert his gaze somewhere else for a second only to find their way back.

“You look, breath taking.”

She smiled sweetly and blushed. She cooked the meals in all her magnificence. Kageyama’s heart skipped watching her. A kind woman that thought of others before herself who made sure everyone else was cared for. Kami knew, he was blessed with this creature, gods he knew he was blessed.

After dessert which was a homemade sharp lemon tart pie and vanilla ice cream, they talked about everything but volleyball which surprised her because it was a known fact that her partner loved to talk about it, always. He was being polite and courteous wanting to know the ins and out of the day she had, and she deeply appreciated it. But it was late, he had meetings in the morning. Meetings about their future.

“I should get this all cleaned up.”

Before she could rise Kageyama gripped her hand, “Wait.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled a black box. Kageyama’s hand shook as he rested in on top of the table. An overwhelming nervousness, the thought of a decline had him sweating profusely. He gulped to help moisten the dryness in his mouth. With two hands he opened the box and eyed her with anxiety.

“Will you… Will you marry me?” Forgetting he had to be on a knee he quickly fell to the ground almost losing the grip on the box. He stared up and fidgeted with his tie and nervously smoothed his tuxedo.

She giggled at his abruptness and beamed a smile, “yes, Tobio. I will.”

On his knee Kageyama, ‘yes,’ himself just like he would after an epic score. The ring a simple thing with a gorgeous opal gem slipped perfectly into place. They both stood and enjoyed a deep passionate kiss. He pressed his forehead to hers and whispered, “thank kami. I will do everything in my power to make you happy.”

“You already have.”

They stayed in each other’s company not wanting the moment to end.

[3one3]

The Sequel - 840

Privacy Policy

André Schürrle, Juan Mata, other Chelsea/BVB players, and random awesome OC’s (okay they’re less random now but they’re still pretty awesome)

original epic tale

all chapters of The Sequel

I miss boyfriend. I miss how he pats my butt all the time, and drags me into spontaneous aggressive hugs, and likes to be spontaneously hugged back. I miss that he’s so much bigger than me. He’s such a good chair. I miss how dumb he is, and how smart he is. I miss how he always smells like laundry. I wish he were here. One and a half more days.

Christina and her Quixtep were untouchable when they were both “on”, and they were “on” in Cannes for the premier spectacle of the weekend. Their first round looked like a warm up, and their jump-off was blistering. The crowd enjoyed it, the horse reveled in their atmosphere, and the rider admired his ability to perform and his ability to soak up adoration. He got a lot of more personal love after the prize-giving, plus apples. Christina was still with him when the hangover from the emotional high began. It was coming sooner all the time. The highs didn’t last as long as they used to. It was normal when the adrenalin and endorphins receded to feel a sort of low set in. It always happened. It was just worse that night, for some reason. So Dirk got a lot of clingy hugs when he finally got to return to his stall and get started on a big pile of hay. His person wanted to keep petting him, and running her fingers through his mane and forelock, and giving him nose kisses. Anyone who provided a major high for her got that love. It had been mostly Juan for days. He was the one she couldn’t leave, or stop touching and kissing.

It was a little depressing for the rider that when the low set in after the high, the person she wanted to pet and kiss was André. It seemed like all of her low moments were bound together almost singularly by her desire to find comfort in her husband, even when he seemed capable only of providing the opposite. Her Spanish friend took a stroll down the walkway toward the end of their row of boat slips to speak on the phone with Taylor, who was having some kind of personal issue and wanted her ex to help her feel better. Christina didn’t mind that at all. In fact, she needed a few minutes away from him. He really upset her with that kiss at the table before the Grand Prix. If he wanted to use the sketchy photo as an excuse to stop hiding their relationship, then she needed to have a conversation about it first, and it needed to involve the third member of their situation. She knew it wasn’t the most egregious betrayal. It wasn’t like he stuck his tongue down her throat and then stood on a chair and told everyone in the riders’ tent that they were sleeping together, so she couldn’t be too outraged. Her plan for him was just a level conversation in which she would let him know what he did wasn’t okay. He was always on her case about just communicating her feelings anyway. But in the meantime, while he was out of her immediate vicinity, she let a bucket of ice soothe the pain in her right ankle and let thoughts about her husband soothe the mega-high hangover. Lucky was helping too. He sat in her lap and closed and opened his eyes slowly and repeatedly for her in that cute and sleepy way only a tiny dog can do. Spencer was down at the end of the sofa by her left foot.

“I miss you. Don’t be late on Monday,” Christina wrote to her boy in Miami. They’d already talked since her win. His congratulations were offered, and he said he hoped she could do the same again in Monaco when he’d be there to celebrate with her. Dirk wouldn’t be there though, so it wouldn’t be the same. That bummed her out just a bit.

“I’ll be with you by lunch, unless there’s a runway traffic jam at the private terminal in Nice, which is entirely possible,” the BVB man reminded her. He was flying commercial from Miami to Milan overnight, and then using their regular charter from there. The private jet would drop him and Lukas in Nice and then deliver his parents home to Germany.

“If you can’t land on time you have to parachute down with Lukas.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Someone sent me a picture of me and Juan kissing the other night. I don’t know who. There was no message. And he says to ignore it. So I’m worried, and I miss you, and I have that sad thing that happens after the champagne :(((“ his wife wrote back. Juan wasn’t the only one always beseeching her to speak her mind and communicate better. He wanted open communication too. She had to tell him about the picture, not wait to do it in person because she didn’t want to ruin his night, or because she didn’t feel like dealing with it when she was already kind of upset.

“Kissing where? You have to be more careful than that,” he told her, his text conveying in its lack of excessive punctuation or emojis that he wasn’t that angry. Christina half expected the phone to ring, not buzz once for a text, so that flatness surprised her. I know it’s just a few words, but it sounds like he’s annoyed at my careless but not pissed off. Is that possible, she wondered.

“On the boat. It was late and there was no one around and it was like 2 seconds. Do you want me to send it to you? I think it was taken from another boat.”

“No.”

“Should I ask Tim to try to do something about it?”

“I don’t know. I think it looks worse if we try to stop it. It makes me look like an idiot. Were you wearing clothes at least?”

“Of course. It wasn’t like some passionate thing, babe. And I’m sorry. I HAVE been careful.” It’s just Juanin who wants to be all careless now.

“If you ignore it then maybe whoever took it won’t think it’s worth selling. It could have been anyone, not necessarily a pro.”

“That’s what Juan said.”

“Great”

“I really am sorry.”

“I know. It’s ok.”

Both Toy Fox Terriers’ heads lifted together at the sound of someone crossing the gangway. They were down on the floor and waiting at the baby gate blocking the couple of stairs on the left side by the time Juan stepped over it, and they followed him back into the covered sitting area. He managed to sit before they could hop onto the couch and take up the last bit of space at their human’s feet.

“Feel better?” the Spaniard asked, presumably about her ankle and not her emotional state. He rubbed her other leg with his whole palm.

“Did you have to give me that very boyfriend-girlfriend kiss in front of everyone when I dropped your shrimp?”

“Have you been saving that up all these hours?” he laughed. Christina just nodded, her face blank. “You looked so upset. I haven’t seen you that way in a long time. You’ve been nothing but happy since we got here. I didn’t want to see again,” Juan shrugged.

“Come on. We were literally just talking about that picture, and about people finding out. You’re trying to tell me you forgot the rules a minute later?”

“Friends kiss each other on the cheek, Chris. Don’t be silly. Why are you making a big deal?”

“Because it was clearly more than that,” the rider argued, frustrated. “And you called me “angel”. You don’t call me that in front of other people.”

“So what! Those are people you spend half your life with. You’re this worried about them hearing the name “angel”? Why do you care so much?” Juan argued back, evidently growing rather angry. Seeing him truly upset was always rare for her. It was kind of alarming, and made her feel funny, like when her dad yelled at her. She also felt like he was trying to impose a double standard.

“You care what everybody thinks too! You have a wonderful reputation in a world of idiots and bad guys because you’re careful and smart. You wouldn’t even let me kiss you hidden behind a car door in a dark corner of a parking garage. You don’t hug or kiss or touch your girlfriends in public, like, ever. You don’t even hold hands. Can you please not try to lecture me on caring too much about what other people think? You don’t have the good reputation you do because you’re simply the most upstanding and infallible guy there ever was. You’re just too smart and vigilant to get caught being anything less than that.”

“What is your point? What are you trying to get me to say?” The Chelsea man sat back against the arm cushion of the blue and white striped sofa and looked thoroughly over the discussion. His patience was historically short whenever she managed to get him on the defensive and he couldn’t pivot back to the front foot. He differed from André in that. If he couldn’t turn the tables, he refused to continue engaging. It infuriated the debate champ in Christina.

“The truth about why you did it,” she shot back defiantly. “Do you not want to keep us quiet anymore? Are you okay with people knowing, or having bits and pieces to put together? I’m not trying to make an issue. I just want the truth. You’ve tried two different answers already and neither sounds that genuine. And if you do want to let people figure it out, why? Do you think it’ll make it harder to maintain and then I’ll leave Schü? Or you get to feel like I’m more yours if everybody knows? Just help me understand your thinking. That’s all I want.” Infuriated or not, the night’s big winner had matured over her year of marital discontent. Her thirst for wins in arguments shrunk. The thirst for understanding stood out more. Getting answers was more important than getting vindication and feeling right. She’d learned that being right didn’t always mean her circumstances changed for the better.

“I don’t know,” Juan said, lips pursed and hands up and out at his sides. One of the dogs thought he was offering him a treat, and licked at his empty fingers. “I didn’t make a comprehensive strategy in the half-second between when you looked devastated about everyone laughing at you for spilling my dinner on the floor and when I opened my mouth to try to make you feel better. I just did it. Maybe it happened because we’ve been together almost constantly for four days and it’s easy to be comfortable.” His attitude was very “what do you want me to do about it” and “it just happened”.

“Okay.” He’s not lying, Christina concluded. I know when he lies to me, or tactically avoids telling the whole truth. I can believe he just slipped. It’s just...odd timing, she sighed inside, watching his blues in the bright light from the bulbs in the ceiling, or the floor of the fly bridge as it were. Being outside on the boat at night was the rider’s favorite part of having Lilly XO. It reminded her of one of those inside/outside rooms in a Spanish or Italian villa that she’d always wanted and had security questions about. There was something relaxing about it, and vacation-like. It was hard to imagine how the crew onboard saw the boat as their workplace, and their temporary home, rather than their holiday venue. It just didn’t seem possible to stand there and not feel the same. And she wanted to get back to full holiday mode- full calm- and away from the newfound tension with her best friend.

“I’m sorry if I upset you,” that friend conceded.

“I’m not upset. I was just...I didn’t want you to have made a unilateral decision to change our...privacy policy.”

“I wouldn’t do that.”

“Okay. Can you hand me the towel?” She opened and closed her hand in the general direction of the fluffy white towel waiting for her on the coffee table, which was actually twice as far from Juan as from her. He got it for her anyway, and held it open to “catch” her frozen foot when she withdrew it from the mop bucket full of ice. It was late, but with nothing on her agenda on Sunday and a lingering buzz- not necessarily a good one- from the big class of the night, she wasn’t anxious to get into bed.  Georgina’s number-two responded to the intercom call for snacks. The other English girl supplied pretzels and Coke with lemon. Christina found an old Billy Wilder comedy film about a May-December romance between Audrey Hepburn and Gary Cooper on the classic movie channel. Juan found a comfortable way to use her thigh as a pillow and took up 90% of the couch opposite the TV for himself, leaving just enough room for her to sit with her feet on the leather top of the coffee table and her pretzels on the flat arm beside her. That arrangement was okay with her because she didn’t necessarily feel like snuggling. She missed André. He was who she wanted to snuggle with during the funny movie, even though the German wouldn’t have appreciated the humor as much as his old teammate did, and even though she had every intention of sleeping in the arms of that teammate. A small measure of distance was required. They really had been together almost nonstop for days, and that wasn’t the same as being together all the time right before Christina moved to Germany. They at least separated to go to work and do their training then. And she was still feeling just off enough about the kiss and the ensuring difficult conversation that she wasn’t keen to get cuddly right away. He gave her until bedtime to decompress without a lot of talking.

“Are you going to be upset with me all day tomorrow too?” he asked her after she spent an inordinate amount of time in her bathroom and then walked back and forth around the bed to the “his” bathroom three times instead of just getting into bed next to him.

“I’m not upset with you now. I was brushing my teeth and washing my face and moisturizing and clipping my finger nails and-“

“Okay.”

“I’ll be done in a second. I just need my lip balm.” The rider pointed in the direction of her vanity, and her expression was innocent enough to sell her words. They were pretty honest. She wasn’t upset with him. She just had lingering upset about the situation. A minute later, after liberally coating her lips in vanilla and lemon Lush balm and switching off the overhead lights, she crawled across half the bed in a wife beater and lacy panties to give Juan a pleasant smooch on the cheek, as a show of good faith. “Just us tomorrow. And those guys.” Christina nodded at the dogs whose matching round shapes were identifiable under the comforter alongside Juan’s legs.

“I’m looking forward to actually sailing on the sailboat!”

“It’s kind of amazing,” she smiled as she folded her legs up under her. “And we finally get to get in the water. It’ll be like being on a boat instead of a floating hotel room. And I can sunbathe naked.” Her eyebrows blinked comically at the sleepy player and he leaned over for a smooch of his own, on her shiny, sticky lips.

“You taste like dessert.”

“Want seconds?”

He nodded and they moved together equally for a third, longer kiss. They exchanged angles halfway, switching the tilt of their heads, and making it a true co-effort. Christina felt a delicate hand wrap around her left bicep at the same time she pushed hers flat against the Spanish star’s chest. There was no need for a mental break from one another any longer. The two-hour movie-watching window was enough. Disagreements or tensions between them always seemed to go that way. They didn’t last. Only major mistakes made a serious impact. There was some kind of relief inherent for Christina in knowing that she wouldn’t be put off long. It made it easy not to stew over whatever put her off in the first place, and to actually use the quiet between them to relax and forget. That never happened with André. The Schürrles always worked out their problems too, and she knew that as well, but she was also aware that the process could be ugly and drawn out, and consuming.

“Come to the beach house after Monaco,” Juan willed her after he licked the transferred Lush product off his lips and while she unfolded herself and started tucking herself in.

“That’s the only week I get to go home,” she pointed out with an almost-laugh meant to hide her very real anxiety about when she would get to be alone with him again, her denial of which was also very real. There were 9 days between the end of the Tour event in Monaco and the horse inspection in Cascais. The entire Schürrle and Coletti clans would be there for that. The following week was a Nations Cup in Sweden, and then Christina needed to be in Aachen for 7 days. The jumping team for the Olympics would be named on the first day, and the horses nominated would depart for Tokyo a few days after the event concluded.

“Do half with me and half at home.”

“I don’t know, babe. Ask me again in next week. I have a hard enough time planning my next day and you’re asking about two weeks from now.”

“Your next day is going to be a nice morning sleeping in, some breakfast, sailing, swimming, jet skiing, tanning, more eating, book reading, probably napping, more swimming, laziness on the sofa, a shower, a nice dinner, relaxing under the stars, and then love with me back here in the bed.” The Spaniard waited for her to get settled on her side and then felt around under the satin comforter to find her hand, just to play with it. “That’s what it says in your diary. I read it.”

“Ohhh, I see,” she nodded, opening up her fingers for his. “What does it say in there for the rest of tonight?”

“Anal sex with Juanin.”

“I’m pretty sure it doesn’t say that.”

“Just “pretty” sure? So you’re saying there’s a chance?” The more arched of his two brows lifted with hope and feigned anticipation.

“There is more of a chance that I’ll spontaneously turn into a dolphin,” Christina assured. It felt good to her to be able to completely move past what happened earlier. It was so easy. It was so different. I don’t know if I want to sleep now or make him talk more, she realized while she watched his slightly sun-reddened face on the other extra-large gray pillow. The lamps on this boat make for some very flattering lighting. His freckles look so cute. He looks like one of those preppy guys I grew up with after they spent a week at Martha’s Vineyard, on Daddy’s boat, but without the douchey smirk.

“How drunk do I have to get you to convince you?”

“I would literally have to be unconscious.”

“How much wine is there on the boat?”

“Juanin!”

“Can we go to sleep now?”

“Yeah but you need to kill the lamps. I’m not moving.”

The player switched off the small glass art deco lamp under the large boxy shade on his right first, and then leaned obnoxiously over his sort-of-girlfriend’s head to turn off the matching one on her side. She attempted to deliberately get herself stuck under his t-shirt so that she could blow on his stomach or otherwise be annoying, but she wasn’t that fast. The best she could do was close her arms around his waist like a vice and refuse to let go. All it took for Juan to get free was a reminder that he recently had surgery in the general area she was clinging onto. It got her to let go immediately and then apologize profusely for not using her head. He laughed and teased her for falling for it. He also accused her of making up excuses to keep him awake longer. Christina denied the allegation of course but she wasn’t entirely sure she wasn’t in fact doing that. She enjoyed his near undivided attention for days, and then she didn’t want it for a little while because of what he did at the table in the riders’ tent, and then she was right back to not wanting to give it up. Even when beyond tired, his company was just good. She could have done with a little more pointless pillow conversation.

“Sweet dreams,” she said when she nevertheless conceded to bedtime and got her goodnight kiss.

[mvalleefootball-blog]

Super Bowl Preview Extravaganza

By Michael Vallee

BostonFootballBlog@yahoo.com

Super Bowl LI:  New England Patriots vs Atlanta Falcons

OK, so it’s not the sexiest opponent the NFC could muster for the final game of the 2016 season.  The Falcons franchise conjures up memories of the Patriots opposition in Super Bowl XXXVIII, the Carolina Panthers, another AFC South franchise with minimal history and zero titles.  While the Falcons have been around significantly longer than the Panthers they haven’t exactly accomplished much in that time, appearing in just one Super Bowl, an embarrassing blowout at the hands of the Denver Broncos in Super Bowl XXXIII.  

Despite the lack of buzz, this matchup has the potential for some serious on-field fireworks with both teams led by quarterbacks most likely to finish first and second in the MVP voting.  Vegas agrees, setting the under/over at a Super Bowl record 58.5.  And though New England holds a significant edge in the unofficial category of franchise cache, both teams enter the Super Bowl white hot, each coming off back-to-back playoff blowouts.  On paper this could be a good one.  Both teams are almost mirror images of each other:  Solid running games, dominant passing attacks, talented but unheralded defenses and defensive oriented head coaches with rising star coordinators running the show on offense.

The similarities end there.  The Patriots hail from New England, a hot bed of professional sports where people follow the four local pro teams like a religion.  The Falcons are from Atlanta, where the relevance of pro sports ranks somewhere between NASCAR and the latest episode of American Ninja Warrior.  Culture in Boston might consist of a night at the Pops, followed by cocktails in the Back Bay.  Culture in Atlanta is a 2-for-1 wings special at Hooters topped off with drinks in the champagne room at The Cheetah.  Boston’s roots are embedded deep in American history.  Atlanta is one of these southern cities that looks like it could have been built 20 years ago.  Boston has snow and sarcasm.  Atlanta has smoldering humidity and southern charm.

The real difference, however, lies in the historical context of Super Bowl LI.  New England will be playing in a record ninth Super Bowl, Atlanta, as stated above, in just its second.  Patriots head coach Bill Belichick is on the precipice of coaching immortality as he tries to win an unprecedented 5th Super Bowl championship.  Dan Quinn is just trying to get his foot in history’s door.  Brady is also at destiny’s doorstep as he tries to become the first quarterback ever to win five Super Bowl rings.  Falcons QB Matt Ryan is simply trying to join that exclusive list of quarterbacks that have led their team to football’s summit.  One QB trying to further cement his legacy, another trying to launch his legacy.  These differences lie at the heart of this matchup.  It is the impossible to ignore subplot that will define much of the post game dialogue.  Will the big bad bullies from New England add to their burgeoning trophy case or will the upstarts from Atlanta establish themselves as the new team on the block.  One franchise chasing history, the other chasing relevancy.  

As Bart Scott once shouted, “Can’t wait!”

-”Hey Google, who will win the Super Bowl?”:  Ask the average Patriots fan about this game and they see it playing out in one of two ways:

Scenario One:  New England in a blow out.  The seasoned Patriots are just too much for the inexperienced Falcons who will be overwhelmed by both New England’s talent and football’s brightest spotlight.

Scenario Two:  Ryan and the Falcon’s offense continue to thrive and light up the Patriots largely untested defense but Atlanta has no answers for Brady and New England wins in a shootout.

Both are valid scenarios but it would be a mistake to dismiss the Falcons altogether, so let’s not fall into that trap and instead make an argument for the other side.

The Case for Atlanta:  In this scenario, the secondary targets could be key.  Learning from the hard lessons of his last Super Bowl against New England, Dan Quinn clamps down on Brady favorite Julian Edelman, and forces New England to turn to its less explosive and less reliable second and third options.  The Patriots, with Gronkowski hurt and Edelman neutralized, lack explosiveness and are forced to settle for long, time-consuming drives and red zone field goals.  They still get their points but the Falcons defense is able to keep the number under 30.  On defense, look for New England to limit any impact Julio Jones will have on this game.  Belichick has a long established history of taking away what a team does best, and Jones should be no exception.  But the Patriots linebackers and cornerbacks not named Malcolm Butler, are suspect at best, and this is where Atlanta attacks.  With New England’s D focused on Jones, Ryan has the potential to shred the Patriots with a steady diet of secondary options, Mohamed Sanu, Taylor Gabriel and Devonta Freeman.  The Falcons put up a big number and win the game because Ryan outscores Brady.

-Fool’s Gold:  You’re going to hear a lot about the advantage the #1 defense has over the #1 offense in a Super Bowl.  In the previous seven such matchups the teams with the #1 defense are 6-1…..but don’t be fooled.  For all the progress they’ve made, New England’s #1 defense is not in the same league as the ‘14 Seahawks, the ‘90 Giants or any of the other #1 defenses on that list.  In reality this year’s Patriots D is a lot more like the #1 rated ‘89 Broncos, a talented but overrated defense whose ranking was aided by their schedule.  That Broncos team famously lost Super Bowl XXIV 55-10 to the 49ers in the most lopsided game in Super Bowl history.  Matt Ryan is no Joe Montana and certainly nobody expects that kind of score on Sunday but that Super Bowl should be a cautionary tale for those expecting New England’s #1 D to roll to victory.

-I Bet Scott Hanson Knows This:  Stopping opponents in the red zone could be key on Sunday and the Patriots hold a significant statistical edge in this area.  The Patriots are 7th in red zone defense, allowing opponents in the end zone 50% of the time.  The Falcons are dead last in the NFL, allowing a touchdown 72% of the time.

-Total Package:  A lot is being made of Matt Ryan and the Falcons passing attack but there are two other aspects of their offense that are impressive: running the ball and turnovers.  They are 5th in the NFL in rushing and have only turned the ball over 11 times in 18 games.

-Exception to the Rule:  This has been the definition of a career year for Matt Ryan.  Entering this season his career QB rating was 90.9 and his career yards-per-attempt was 7.2.  In 2016 those numbers were 117.1 and 9.3 respectively.  Last year, Ryan’s first with Kyle Shanahan, he threw for only 21 touchdowns and had 16 interceptions.  This year he threw 38 touchdowns to just 7 interceptions.  If this was baseball and he was a home run hitter can you imagine what the speculation would be.

-Strike Fast, Strike Hard, No Mercy Sir!:  An interesting early chess match will take place Sunday on Atlanta’s opening drive.  Falcons OC Kyle Shanahan must be some kind of wizard at scripting plays.  Atlanta has scored an opening drive touchdown in each of their last eight games and during those eight drives Ryan completed an eye-popping 85% of his passes.  Eight offensive series, particularly long scoring drives, roughly equals the length of a standard NFL game.  Ryan’s stats on those eight scoring drives:  34-40, 374 yards, 5 TDs, 0 INTs, QB Rating: 145.2  

It will be fascinating to see what Belichick does to try and stop this trend.  You know Belichick and DC Matt Patricia are well aware of Atlanta’s early game and success and will make it a priority to prevent that first touchdown.  This could develop into a point of pride for both coaching staffs so don’t be surprised if you see both teams try some new wrinkles on Atlanta’s first possession.  It will also be interesting to see if the Falcon’s reputation for early game success influences Belichick’s decision to defer if he wins the coin toss.  Does Belichick shy away and just give the ball to Brady and try to grab the first score, or does he say, “F You”, give the ball to Atlanta’s strongest unit and dare them to score?

-Vegas, baby, Vegas:  It’s hard to find much of a ground swell for picking Atlanta in this game yet the Patriots were installed as surprisingly low favorites at -3.  And perhaps even more surprising, the line has not moved.  We all know betting action determines the line but with New England such an obvious pick at -3 it makes you wonder if there is something else going on here.  One theory revolves around the popularity of Atlanta Falcons futures bets in the offseason.  Last week we wrote that their odds to win the Super Bowl reached 100 to 1 but I have since learned the number actually went as high as 150 to 1.  Vegas is going to take a beating if Atlanta wins this game and there is speculation that the low line is meant to drive action to the Patriots to hedge the sports book’s losses.  

-As for the under/over consider this: 16 of Atlanta’s 18 games this season have gone over.

-Picking Winners:  The Patriots have 30 new players on their roster that did not play in their last Super Bowl TWO YEARS AGO.  That level of turnover and success is astounding and a real testament to the work that Belichick has done as a GM.  And while Belichick’s coaching tree has had very limited success, his GM tree is looking a little stronger with former proteges Thomas Dimitroff and Scott Pioli running the show in Atlanta.  Dimitroff, who is in his ninth year as the Falcon’s GM, deserves the lion’s share of the credit, the fact that Atlanta has 12 rookies on its roster and six starters on defense that are in their first or second year, speaks volumes of the job the former Patriot executive has done.

As for Pioli, he is a bit of a Johnny-come-lately having only been hired as assistant GM in 2014.  Pioli is trying to rebuild his brand after a disastrous stint in Kansas City.  His failures with the Chiefs are outlined well in this old article by ESPN’s Jeffri Chadiha but here’s a taste of the dysfunction:  “Published reports accuse him of lecturing staffers for not picking up candy wrappers in the hallways and chafing at the way assistant coaches park in the team’s lot.”

If any of that is true it’s a bad look for Pioli.

-Life before Tinder:  You can’t talk about a Falcons Super Bowl without talking about the one-man cautionary tale that is Eugene “I wasn’t wrong, but I wasn’t righteous” Robinson.  Robinson, a former safety for the Falcons, is infamous for getting arrested for soliciting a prostitute on the eve of the Falcons/Broncos Super Bowl.  Adding to his infamy was the fact that he received the Bart Starr Award just a few hours before his arrest.  The award is for those “exemplifying outstanding leadership and character on and off the field”.  Ouch.  Also, his wife and kids were staying at a nearby hotel when he was arrested.  He also was burned for an 80-yard touchdown the next day.  Yeah, Eugene had a tough weekend.  Today he works as a radio analyst for the Carolina Panthers and last year addressed the team to tell them how NOT to behave during Super Bowl week.  Hopefully the players didn’t need his prostitution pep talk to know that the night before the biggest professional day of their lives is probably not the best time to offer random women cash for sex.

-Speaking of prostitution and the Super Bowl, S.I. ran an interesting article this week concluding that the big game’s role in driving sex-trafficking may be overstated.

-The Last of the Mohicans:  The Patriots making it to their seventh Super Bowl has unleashed the anti-Boston trolls.  Remember former ESPN personality Rob Parker who was once fired by the four-letter network for calling RG III a “cornball brother”, whatever the hell that means?  He recently appeared on FS 1’s ‘Undisputed’ and went on a Boston-is-racist rant where at one point he declared that Boston is so racist they can’t even admit that Native Americans were not behind the Boston Tea Party.  What?!?  Where the hell did that come from?  Does this dim bulb actually think Bostonians sit around in bars arguing with anybody that dares to exonerate the Native Americans role in the Tea Party?  This guy has to get out more.  I don’t know about you, but when I go out with my friends 99% of what we talk about is sports and girls, with maybe a little politics thrown into the mix.  Not a lot of historical Native American talk.  And is Parker aware that Boston is probably the only city in America with an actual Tea Party museum?  It’s not a good sign when the worst thing you can say about a city’s racism is over 200 years old and complete bullshit.  

In that same appearance he also compared Tom Brady to Lance Armstrong, because systematically manipulating and circumventing the PED testing process for yourself and your entire team and then trying to destroy the lives of anybody that dares to speak the truth is exactly the same as maybe, or maybe not, letting a little air out of a football.

-Brady Wasn’t the only guy Whose Balls were Deflated:  When the media isn’t taking pot shots at Boston expect a lot of Patriots trolling over Deflategate.  SB Nation’s Ryan Van Bibber got an early start with perhaps the worst sports headline ever:  “How to talk to your children about Deflategate”

Because he invoked the children, who have suffered enough, let’s hope his wife got involved in this.

Van Bibber:  Hey honey did you see the headline for my new column?

Wife:  No, what is it?

Van Bibber:  “How to talk to your children about Deflategate”.

Wife:  Your next column should be, “How to talk to your children about having a father that is a namby pamby weirdo”

Van Bibber:  That’s hurtful.

Wife:  I should have married that lawyer I dated in college.

-SB Nation wasn’t the only one to dip their toe into these embarrassing waters.  The Atlanta Journal Constitution ran an article titled, “What to tell your kids about Deflategate?”, committing the dual sin of being both lame and unoriginal.

-Trollin, trollin, trollin:  SB Nation is having a strange month as the above column comes on the heels of the Charlotte Wilder piece declaring that the Patriots, “Have a Trump problem” because a handful of her liberal friends don’t root for the team anymore due to the franchises perceived alignment with the controversial new President.  I’m thinking anyone that stopped cheering for the Patriots during a Super Bowl year because Brady, Belichick and Kraft might or might not have voted for Trump wasn’t much of football fan in the first place.  Just a hunch.

-Politburo: The NFL embarrassed itself this week when it scrubbed all references to Donald Trump and Roger Goodell from official transcripts of Super Bowl week interviews.

-Move on, Nothing to see Here:  Count me as one of the few people that has no interest in the alleged awkward Goodell/Brady moment that could take place if New England wins and Brady is named Super Bowl MVP.  What exactly are people expecting, that Brady will grab the trophy and smash Goodell in the face?  When it comes to public moments Goodell and Brady are two of the most reserved, cautious and image-conscious individuals around so you can expect a boring and uneventful trophy presentation if the exchange does happen.

-Mr Integrity:  And can we please stop saying Goodell must hate New England because of how he treated the team during Deflategate.  Deflategate was about two things, jealousy and power.  The owners, enraged about the Patriots allegedly getting off easy for Spygate, pressured Goodell to lower the boom when all the PSI nonsense surfaced.  Fueled by a palpable jealousy, the owners saw an opportunity and pounced.  They ignored all logic and fairness, not to mention damage to the league and its brand, and demanded that Goodell come down hard on New England.  Then, when New England refused to admit wrongdoing and Brady openly defied Goodell, the case became about the power of the commissioner, and as we all know now, that is not something Goodell or the owners take lightly.  So, is Roger Goodell a good commissioner?  No.  Is he a petty, shallow, power-hungry dick that appears incapable of showing human emotion?  Yes.  But he doesn’t hate the Patriots.

-Everybody’s Heard about the Bird:  That said, Patriots fans will always hate Goodell and that hatred manifested itself nicely in this Patriots mural by a professional painting company in Rhode Island. 

-Is There a Lawyer in the House:  Last week I was watching TV and saw a commercial urging NFL players to call the number posted regarding concussion issues.  I imagine Goodell and the owners can’t be too happy about an ad like this running during the ramp up to the Super Bowl.  I talked to a lawyer with a firm that is registering NFL players to be eligible for the one billion concussion settlement that was upheld by an appeals court last April, and he said the deadline for former players to apply for eligibility is August 7th, so you can expect to see more of these ads over the next six months.  Sorry, Roger.

-Houston’s weather at kickoff is supposed to be partly cloudy, in the 70s and with little chance of precipitation.  That’s a fancy way of saying it ain’t gonna rain.  If they don’t open the roof for this Bowl then it’s time to start calling these retractable-roof stadiums what they really are: domes.

-We’re Gonna need a Bigger Boat:  Should Patriots fans be nervous about reports that Belichick’s famously named powerboat, VI Rings, has been donated to a nonprofit sailing center in Rhode Island?  Could the future Hall-of-Fame coach be hinting at retirement?  Unlikely.  Assuming he hasn’t lost his passion for the sea maybe Belichick is simply looking to upgrade from his 24-foot Grady-White speed boat to something bigger.  Perhaps something big enough to accommodate the slightly longer name, VII Rings.

[yuqsdug]

I redesigned the gang. This time, it is more human and more color-coded. Originally I wasn't going to post, but then I put too much effort into this.

The Call: Cruel King card be like ^^^.

If the rest can have their swords, He can have his old man.

Were there other things I should be doing? Probably. Did I want to do this first? Yes. Did this somehow take way longer than intended? Also yes.

Anyway, everyone got new clothes and color-coded. Player's red. Bacon's purple, Acorn's blue, and Skyler's yellow.

Bacon and Acorn's hair got shifted into more pink to fit with their new color pallet, and Acorn specifically to look more like PINKtastic hair / Roblox girl hair.

They also got nicknames. Acorn comes from Acorn hair, also called Bacon girl hair, or some mix-up of those words. And Ann got changed into the nickname and Skyler to the normal name. Named after the bundle they're based on.

The previous designs:

(He kindly refuses the Firebrand)

(Odd. Why would he not want something so wonderful)

[yuqsdug]

White board Doodles of my Block Tales player oc's (plural). Mostly spell tales.

Spell!Skyler. Styled after a barbarian. He would like to Learn the magic of the Venomshank. Takes inspiration after Susie Deltarune.

More under the cut vvvv

Spell!Acorn. Styled after cleric. She wants to learn the magic of the Icedagger, because she heard it can heal. Takes inspiration from white marges from final Fantasy and Telamon (hood is Telamon's good but reverse color palette)

Spell!Bacon. Styled after Necromancer. Wants to learn many call spells. He and his summons have a Thea party at six. No specific inspiration.

General Acorn doodle:

For those who can't read it:

"I won't allow you to continue. I need to go alone."

"Sis... You have to snap out of it!"

[3one3]

The Sequel - 833

Hourglass

André Schürrle, Juan Mata, other Chelsea/BVB players, and random awesome OC’s (okay they’re less random now but they’re still pretty awesome)

original epic tale

all chapters of The Sequel

“Ah, here you are. I’ve been looking all over for you two. What are you doing out here?”

“He’s building a fortress or something and I’m watching.”

“Are you watching him, or the horses?”

“Both I suppose.”

“Don’t leave your phone on the couch and disappear. I couldn’t find you and I thought you got abducted, or you were murdered and hidden in the attic.”

“We don’t have an attic.”

“Fair enough. Heyyy, Mausi. How was your day?”

Lukas ran over to greet his dad and get picked up for a hug and kiss, and Christina kept her seat on the grass. She and the little blonde found a nice spot under a tree behind the house, way in the back, to hang out and look at the horses turned out in those new paddocks. Normally those two were for Jelly Bean, Dezzy, and Goose. Jelly Bean was back in France to compete at another show with Stefanie, Dezzy was turned out with Navarra in the paddock next to Kimi and Optimus since the stallions normally in that one were on their way to Madrid, and the two in the next one over were already inside for the day. Kyle put Dirk and Calvin out together back there in the geldings and mares section so that he could try to fix the two fence boards one of them kicked down the day before. Repairing fences wasn’t exactly his stock in trade, but Tom was already on his way to Spain too and he was done with everything until it was time to bring the horses in for their dinner, so he figured he’d give it a go. First he painted the replacement boards. Christina’s fences were all black.

“I think I’m still in Mama’s doghouse,” André told his son, who he thought looked way cool in a miniature cap from Marco’s fashion line. “Can I build the fortress with you? I don’t think she wants me to sit with her.” The player nodded at the interlocking plastic block set his wife lugged out there in a bag, and imagined she was rolling her eyes behind her sunglasses. They didn’t talk a whole lot during the rest of that party, and he dropped her at home before heading to the other restaurant with the guys. She said she wanted to get to bed, and he didn’t make an issue out of it. It wasn’t worth it to have a big fight. He thought she was being petty and spiteful, and Christina all but admitted she was being those things but for a good reason. He also figured he probably could have been a bit more considerate. He did know she had a long and busy day, and that he didn’t give her any notice about going to the party so it wasn’t like she could have planned better. The after-party-dinner was fun, and his girl was sound asleep when he got home, and then already up and at ‘em when he got up for training.

“I don’t have a doghouse,” she chirped. Her plan to ride a bunch of horses, hack out with Kimi, give him a luxurious bubble bath, and take him for grass all worked out well, and was as satisfying as she imagined. She called it a day after that and went over to the house to catch up with Lukas, but the horses called her back. It was too nice to be inside, firstly, and there is something as significant to horse people about watching a beautiful, muscular, sculpted specimen as there is in patting his butt or shoulder and feeling those things. It wasn’t hot enough yet during the day to need to switch them to overnight turnout, and it was too cold at night still anyway. Christina let Tom know she preferred to let the horses enjoy the long days, sun-wise, too. Instead of turning them out at 8 and bringing them in at 3 for grooming and then dinner, or bringing the ones who worked during the day in at 5 to eat, they shifted everything back a little. They went out a little later and got to stay in their paddocks until about 7. That meant even the ones who didn’t come in at some point to work had to be brought in in the middle of the day for their daily grooming and onceover. The guys had to make some extra trips. Their boss thought it was worth it.

Dirk and Calvin were showing some signs of boredom when she went out and sat under the tree near their paddock at 5:45. They darted around for no reason, and tried to get Goose to come over and visit. Goose hated everyone though, and wasn’t inclined. Even he looked great in the evening sun. At 21 years old he was the oldest on the property, and he did the least work. Kyle rode him about every other day, and just for the exercise. He was fat and round and fit but not working-fit. His blood bay coat reflected the sun’s nearly horizontal rays in different golds and bronze, and the gray hairs creeping up his face from his muzzle were almost invisible in the glare. That sun was like a highlighter, and made every imperfection and remnant of injury on his well-used legs stand out. The contrast of old man Goose alternating between sedate snoozing and disinterested nibbling at the grass on the left and two batty stallions looking for trouble on the right made Christina think about time and age.

Dirk and Calvin were four years apart, age-wise, but could be equally immature. A 12-year-old stallion is considered an adult, and should be approaching his prime as a competition horse if you’re talking about a top-level jumper. Calvin never acted his age. He was perpetually 5, despite maturing in the ring in leaps and bounds under Christina’s training and love. Dirk was 16 and most definitely in that prime zone, though he could act 5 too whenever he felt like it. His human was starting to think about when the end would come for him. The drop off after a top horse’s prime comes quickly. Equine performance is not a bell curve, upside down or otherwise. He can be good for many years before becoming great, but once greatness is achieved around the usual age, his body will begin to fail shortly thereafter. Marcus’ great stallion, Plot Blue, competed at 19. That was pretty rare. Nick was already 17, so she was thinking about him too. Sitting out there looking at the three very different horses, she got as far as thinking about which show she might choose for Nick’s retirement ceremony, and if it would come the next year or the one after that. Dirk’s couldn’t be all that far behind, and for a few moments she even considered the possibility of the Olympics being a mic drop moment. If he got his gold medal, she could take him to the Nations Cup Final after that and retire him at the end. But he was frolicking around with his friend, and he looked wonderful, and she knew his mind was still wonderful and that he’d hate to be home forever and not competing anymore, so it would be difficult to know how and when to call time on his career. There was also the option of just scaling back his calendar, and dropping him down a level. Something about that felt a little pathetic and sad.

André’s finding her out there in a fairly remote and unexpected place reminded her that their property wasn’t that enormous, really, and not only was there nowhere to hide, but there was nowhere to turn out more horses. Neither Nick nor Dirk would be leaving after retirement. Neither would ever be sold, and their rider couldn’t really imagine retiring them somewhere she couldn’t still see them every day. They would need to be replaced though. She would need more horses to keep competing the way she was. Rio and Calvin and perhaps Socks might move up and step into their shoes, so to speak, and then leave room below for new horses. Or perhaps Christina would have the opportunity and desire to acquire one of the other most elite jumping horses on the circuit and her retirees’ spots would be filled that way. Either way, there was no room, physically, for more horses. She wasn’t sure if there would be more room in her heart for them either. It was possible that she simply wouldn’t want to keep competing as much, or have enough hunger to need the new best horses in the world. That was a lot of uncertainty about the future, which was her worst enemy. At the very least, it was a big enough mental stumbling block to ensure she couldn’t care less about André’s passive aggressive teasing about her treatment of him.

“You definitely have one,” he told her. “I know it, Mausi knows it, those horses know it. All the people you teach know it. Even Juan knows it.”

I could retire Dirk and Nick to the nonexistent farm at Juanin’s beach house, his wife mused. That’s like a real retirement. The only question is how much time will I be spending at Juanin’s beach house and thus with them?

“What’s the matter? I’m just messing with you,” he tutted when she collapsed abruptly backward, covered her face with her hair, and made some kind of beleaguered exhale/groan combination noise.

“My horses are getting old,” Christina whined through her dirty, second-day waves.

“Dirk is prancing around Calvin like a matador trying to taunt a bull. Why are you thinking about how old he is?” the player snorted. “He behaves exactly like his son the last time we went to see him.”

“I don’t know. Because I’m a glutton for punishment.”

“I think you like to punish me more than yourself.”

“Oh shut up already. I don’t care about last night. It’s not a thing.” His girl shook her head vehemently on the grass and then unfolded her legs to make it easier to sit up again.

“Oh. What have you been doing all day then that you don’t talk to me?” I’m confused, André reiterated. First it was the age of the horses, and then her silence. I texted her like four times. I thought she was ignoring them because none of them were apologies. He put Lukas down to go back to his block fort building, a sat down between the fort and the rider.

“Riding. Teaching. Barn stuff. Munchkin stuff.”

“Did he draw on you or did you sneak a new tattoo?” He squinted and moved his head to follow the inside of her right arm. There was something colorful there by her elbow.

“Lauren came by to get something from Tom’s car. Emily assaulted me with a temporary tattoo. It’s a kitten.” Christina showed him her arm and held the sleeve of her adidas tee out of the way even though it was at least 4 inches from actually being in the way.

“Why did she put it on that spot?”

“How should I know?”

“You’re kind of grumpy today, Prinzessin.”

“I need a hug, I think.” She held both arms out in André’s direction and turned her lower lip over. He leaned over to close her up tight in his much longer arms, and made a loud sucking sound when he kissed her temple with the side of his mouth. I prefer not grumpy but grumpy is okay when it’s not my fault, he decided. He dropped one hand down to rigorously rub her back, pushing her shirt up in the process. His palm slowed when he felt more than heard her sigh and release the tension from her body, and he let it come to rest tucked just inside the top of her black leggings at the small of her back.

“Better?”

“A little.”

“I picked up fish to grill in case you were going to be mad at me and make dinner for you and Mausi and pretend you thought I didn’t want any or something,” André laughed, his cheek on the top of the side of his girl’s head.

“What kind?”

“I think you call it trout.”

“Gross.”

“It’s sooooo good, and so easy. You heat oil with garlic and some herbs and then you pour a little vinegar into it, cover the fish with it, and then just grill it a few minutes. Delicious.” The BVB man let go of his wife to rub his stomach instead. “You should try.”

“Hard pass. I have chicken legs and breasts brining in the fridge. Are you sitting on my sunglasses, by the way?”

“Not that I know of.” He felt around his butt and found her plastic-frame Dior aviators, safe from harm. Then Lukas brought him a fuzzy neon green caterpillar. “That’s cool, Mausi. Where did you find him? Was he on your blocks?”

“That one!” The little boy turned around to point to a red block, and then lifted the little bug to his face on the back of his hand.

“Do not eat that,” his mom warned sternly.

“I hope it’s not one of the poisonous ones. There was an infestation some years back,” André chuckled, examining the creature that was slowly trying to crawl up Lukas’ arm.

“What? Get it off him! Babe!”

“Nooooo, mine!” Lukas protested as he ripped his hand away. “My worm!” He knew about worms from a storybook about bugs. His bug vocabulary was limited to “worm”, “spy-uh”, and “ant”.  

“Can you put him on a stick or something?” Dad offered as a compromise. “You can keep him. Just not on your arm. Find a stick or a big leaf,” he told Christina. She barked at him to just hurry up and get the caterpillar off the child before she was willing to get up and look for an alternative host for the creature. André said he was “pretty sure” it wasn’t one of the poisonous varieties. Lukas didn’t want to give it up though. He tried to make a run for it, ended up falling over his own fortress, losing the caterpillar, and crying. His mom asked him if he was crying because he fell and he shook his head. She asked if he was crying because he lost his “worm”, and he shook his head at that too. Dad asked if it was the ruined construction project that upset him, and that got another headshake. Dad hugs didn’t dam the tears. Mom hugs didn’t dam the tears. Dirk fixed everything. He came over to the fence to find out what all the wailing was about, and Christina carried Lukas over to see if petting the inquisitive black horse might at least distract him from whatever mystery ailment was upsetting him. Dirk blew hot hair on his face and tried to eat his hair, and that made him giggle. Then all he cared about was getting Mommy to hold him closer to Dirk. André said they were all in big trouble if their son was going to be just like her and need the Holsteiner stallion to make everything right for him, and he tried to make an old age joke about it too, about how the horse wouldn’t be around forever. Christina was aghast. She shot daggers at him at first, and then her face simply fell and turned profoundly sad. The good news was that her husband could do a pretty good job of making everything right for her too, and he kiss-assaulted her until she giggled as well.

They made dinner together. The equestrian granted the footballer a small section of the outdoor grill to cook his fish, and used the rest to make her chicken. She char-grilled sliced zucchini, asparagus, and herbed golden potatoes. They let Lukas determine which of the trout or chicken was best. He favored the chicken, primarily because he could hold a drumstick and eat it without a fork. That was the main reason Christina bought chicken legs. Her son loved to eat them, no matter how they were cooked or what she put on them. He also liked to chat during dinner. Sometimes he thought he was participating in his parents’ conversation if he threw out words while they talked. He thought they were responding to him. Sometimes he interrupted to ask simple questions just to keep their attention. André tried to lead him into meaningful conversation. He asked him if he liked his food, what sort of food it was, if he had his napkin and could wipe his mouth on his own, who made the food for him, and what he’d like to do after dinner. Some nights were better than others for getting responses that made sense. It depended on how tired the little boy felt.

Dad talked to him about his birthday while he ate his drumstick that night. He tried to get him to say what gift he might like after he explained the concept of a birthday again. He told him his Mommy’s birthday was coming soon too, and that they needed to get her a gift. Lukas said they should give her grape juice and Nick Fox. “Nick Fox” was how the family referred to the fox character in the movie Zootopia, Nick Wilde. It was the only way to get Lukas to let them know if he meant Nick the Hanoverian stallion or Nick the animated movie character. He really liked Zootopia. It was his current favorite film. He was turning out to be a really big fan of Shakira. Her featured song for the movie made him dance every time. Christina introduced him to other Shakira songs, and André caught her dancing with him too, and trying to be Shakira. She told her little boy she wanted kisses for her birthday, and he looked surprised at first and then offered to give her kisses right away, no special occasion required. The footballer’s heart melted when his son kissed his Mommy on the cheek three times, hugged her neck too, and then asked if she needed more kisses, all from his highchair.

“Are you sure he really has to stay with you this weekend?” Christina questioned dejectedly after putting the affectionate blonde to bed. André was outside on the patio with a burgeoning fire in the stone pit, relaxing in one of the Adirondack chairs that used to live outside the barn. She chose the wicker sofa and curled up at one end with a Corona. Even after the sun went down, it was Corona weather. One look at him out there with the small flame and the deep blue night sky, and she knew she had to grab one and cut some lime.

“Yes. I want to take him to the match!”

“I know, but is it really that big a deal? Wouldn’t you rather he be there for the cup final since you might actually play in it?”

“And who is going to bring him to Berlin? Hmm?”

“Your parents?” She shrugged and took a sip of the icy cold hallmark of summer nights past. Somewhere in one compartment of her mind, she thought about how much she hoped there would be a chance to sit outside and enjoy a nice night with her colleagues in Spain, where it was probably even warmer.

“But I want to experience the game with him. It’s going to be a great atmosphere. We need third-place. Qualifying stages is a disaster for preparation! The fans will be crazy. I want him to be part of it, and feel the energy, and I want to take him out on the pitch with me. He hasn’t done that yet,” the midfielder-on-the-mend explained. He’d negotiated with his wife for Lukas to stay home instead of accompanying her to Madrid. He was going to Hamburg and St. Gallen with her instead.

“Well I hope for your sake that the atmosphere isn’t that crazy, or he’ll cry the whole time and you’ll want to strangle him.” Christina pulled her sweatshirt sleeves down from where they were pushed up her arms. The beer was making her cold from the inside out.

“Did you want to talk about the horses growing old?” André asked after shrugging off her warning. “I didn’t mean to glass over it earlier.”

“It’s “gloss” over it,” his girl smiled. “And no. It’s not a big deal.”

“Are you sure? I can just listen, if you want. I promise not to counter everything you say. I know you hate that.” He wasn’t just handling her with kid gloves in an effort not to make waves that could turn into tempests. That urge was slowly passing, much to his relief. He really didn’t like feeling as if he had to be so aware and so conscious of every little thing he said or did. Dismissing things she brought up, even passively, was something he always tried to be mindful of. The new thing was trying not to refute or push back on every part of her thinking or her argument when she did want to talk about an issue, or a quandary, or decision. Christina often thought he just decided that something was bad, or wouldn’t happen, for example, and then shot down every fact or bit of evidence she presented as a matter of course, without really thinking about what she said or giving it due diligence. He was trying to be better about that, for her and for himself too, so it wasn’t just a relationship-mindful exercise. It was like personal growth.

“It’s really not a thing,” she stressed before diving into the subject anyway. “I’m just feeling very aware that I’ll have to make difficult decisions about Nick and Dirk in the medium-future. I don’t know how I’ll know what’s right for them.”

“Let them tell you. No one reads them better than you. You’ll know when to call it a day, or how to do it, and I’ll be here to make sure you stick with your decision,” André replied with a lazy wink. “They’re both great right now. Don’t miss out on what they have to give you now because you’re in a hurry to think about the future, yeah? You have such an...inability to live in the now, pretty girl.”

“I know.” Christina stared into the fire and took several sips of the beer. The only sound besides that of the wood burning in the pit was the dull cacophony of spring bugs doing whatever it is they do after dark, mixed with the frogs by the pond. Her pensiveness wasn’t a red flag, but it was unwanted for her partner. I know I said I wouldn’t argue her points and I kind of just did, but I don’t think it’s good to keep going with this one, he reasoned. There are other things I want to do with her tonight.

“Are you showering tonight?”

“I dunno yet. I haven’t decided. Can you smell me from all the way over there?”

“No. I want to get in bed soon and you should be naked for that. I need some Naked Prinzessin time. I like it when you get into clean sheets without clothes and like, roll around and...stuff. I also want to put my head on your stomach and play with your boobs. Or your butt. Definitely your butt.” André nodded emphatically as if he’d just made up his mind about which of her features he most wanted to fondle. She stared across the fire at him and thought about how Juan told her pretty much the same thing in terms of just wanting to spend time with her while naked. He said he wanted to be close to her body, and touch it, and that the desire for that was separate from one for sex. “What? Is distant staring your resting face now?” The other player’s brows lifted questioningly, then narrowed, then relaxed as he blinked a bunch of times. For some reason, studying her stoic and immobile expression made his wig out.

“I’m mentally exhausted,” she supplied as an explanation, with a very tiny grin. “I have to turn off the outside in order to power the inside.”

“There is nothing I want more for you than some way to make the inside work part-time, Prinzessin, honestly.”

[3one3]

The Sequel - 781

Truth To Power

André Schürrle, Juan Mata, other Chelsea players, and random awesome OC’s

(okay they’re less random now but they’re still pretty awesome)

original epic tale

all chapters of The Sequel

Spending 6 hours touring the Natural History Museum and visiting the London Film Museum to see the Bond cars exhibition with the whole family was a good way to recover from Wednesday night’s emotional diarrhea. Taking Lukas on any all-day outing was always a production that left little time for personal reflection. Christina was glad she didn’t have any opportunity to start picking through all that was said about her relationships with three of the four top guys in her life, and really enjoyed showing the fourth guy all kinds of cool things. He was just getting into dinosaurs, and he liked the Stegosaurus skeleton. The one on display in London happened to be the most complete ever found, and even if Lukas couldn’t put together that what he was looking at were the bones of the creature he had in stuffed and plastic form, he still found the staged skeleton captivating.

The whole experience of being in the crowded museum was fun and interesting and new for him. There were lots of little people around, which made it different from just walking around a busy store. There was no hurry. And Mommy, Daddy, Gran Ma, and Papa were all there to pick him up and show him things, or hold his hand so he could wander about and pick what to look at, or come over and look at whatever he wanted to show them. André found an “Investigate Center” near the bug exhibits, where everybody could pick up artifacts and check them out up close. The whole experience was a lot different to what the littlest Schürrle was used to in terms of going out to public places. Usually he was pushed or carried around while adults took care of errands or just getting from A to B. He was almost confused at first that they were there for him to have fun, and that he could do so much of his own walking. He liked the mammals exhibits best, with the big taxidermied animals he could name and identify, and some he’d never seen before. His mom liked the animal photography exhibit. Dad was into anything and everything to do with Earth, like the rocks and minerals displays. The grandparents were into feeling like grandparents. They took a million photos and virtually none of them were of the museum’s artifacts or recreations.

Lukas was pretty into cars, or anything with wheels, so he liked the Film Museum too even without any understanding of the significance of the cars used in the various James Bond movies. His parents enjoyed that aspect more. Christina took a lot of pictures there and her kid wasn’t in any of them. She also enjoyed the cappuccino she had when they stopped at a little cafe for a snack break, but it completely ruined her plan to nap they got home. Lukas went straight to sleep and André was ready to lie down, watch TV, and probably pass out. Christina wanted to rest a little too and then go squeeze in a few horses before the very late dinner reservation.

“May I read on you?” she asked her partner after giving up on the nap and getting herself some juice instead. She returned to the couch armed with the biography of Ernst Kantorowicz, a historian of medieval kings and their body politic. It was a study written by another medieval historian, who credits Kantorowicz, who began his career as a militant German nationalist in World War I and then sought safety in leftist-academia first in Oxford and then California, as the “most influential” medieval historian of all time. Christina wasn’t interested in that so much as she was in Kantorowicz’s evolution from right to left- from an outspoken and proud nationalist to the kind of person who stood up against a communism-fear-obsessed era loyalty oath tabled by his employer, the University of California, in 1949. He said, “This is the way it begins. The first oath is so gentle that one can scarcely notice anything at which to take exception. The next oath is stronger!” He said resistance must begin with the first oath because it was a “typical expedient of demagogues to bring the most loyal citizens, and only the loyal ones, into a conflict of conscience by branding nonconformists as un-Athenian, un-English, un-German.” The rider wanted to know how he got there from once writing that “since the dawn of time,” true loyalty had been possible only for Germans.

She wanted to know if it was through his study of kings, their politics, their realities, and the myth that worked its way into their legacies, or if it was more about his own experiences in life. He sounded like an interesting guy. The proprietor at her favorite independent bookshop recommended it to her when she stopped in to look for Christmas gifts. Things like that- like having a bookstore hookup who knew what she liked to read and could point her toward non-obvious books that could tickle her fancy- were among the reasons she still hated the idea of having to move away from London. Christina liked having ties to strangers since she didn’t have a lot of ties to family or even friends. She was going to miss her shopping consultant too, and the guy at Audi who made sure the techs were careful and mindful of all the non-original and very expensive parts on her R8 when she took it in to be serviced.

“Isn’t the TV going to bother you?” André asked. His girl shook her head so he turned from his side onto his back, unsure of exactly where she intended to read on him. Sometimes she liked to sit sideways across his lap so that she could lean over on his upper body, but he didn’t feel like being sat on so he remained relatively flat in his corner. Christina just stretched out on her back too and used his stomach as a pillow for her head. She tossed a blanket to cover her feet and wished Spencer and Lucky were around to sit with her. She could hold the heavy book with one hand and pet with the other, but they were at the barn. André was fine with only having her to pet. He finger combed her hair out across his waist.

He did spend a bit of his Thursday thinking about his Wednesday night. Watching Lukas look at stuff and either smile, turn pensive, or look like he could care less was only entertaining for so long. He thought about how relieved he felt to have a clear plan. André liked plans. Problems didn’t scare him if he could make a plan for fixing them. He believed eliminating some of the conflict within Christina by taking away boundaries could help her focus more on getting the best from Dirk, and that seeing some success there would make her feel whole and happy again, and that if she were whole and happy then all the other issues and questions she listed would shrink back into the shadows where they used to exist and where she was capable of ignoring them, or at least not let them consume her. He also felt good knowing he finally had the whole picture. His wife kept a lot of things inside that could have prevented some of their fights or difficult talks. He would have responded to things differently if he had the full context. So it looked to him like they were in for less of those fights and difficult talks going forward. He fell asleep untroubled and feeling positive, and Christina was actually able to focus on her book. She only had to read each paragraph once. The author’s voice and style were easy on the eyes and ears. Only when Isandro’s prodding texts went from “when are you coming?” to “can you please ride soon so I can go home?” did she put the book down and get up to get changed.

“Do you want me to go with you?” André yawned. He woke up when she tried to stealthily kiss him goodbye.

“No but I would like you to go shave your face.”

“I wiiiiiill. I’m going to shower and shave while you’re getting ready later.”

“Nuhuh then you’re gonna make it steamy and humid in the bathroom and it’ll ruin my hair.”

“Fine.”

“Go do it now so you can play with Luke when he gets up, which should be soon or he’ll never go to bed tonight. He said he wants to build with you, remember?” Christina poked at the player’s right bicep, in part because she was afraid he was going to go back to sleep but mostly because she just felt like it. What she didn’t really feel like doing was leaving. There was nothing inside averse to riding. There was just a lot inside in favor of staying within poking distance. If she wasn’t already in the love bubble because of everything that was said between them the night before, spending the day watching him do Dad Things would have shoved her into the bubble anyway. Even when he did things she hated, like hold Lukas right up to the museum glass and let him put his hands all over it, he was still the cutest dad and the most fun person with whom to co-parent.

“He wants to build a pyramid because he saw the Egyptian stuff at the museum.”

“So build a pyramid with him. If they could do it 3000 years ago without science, math, and machinery, I think you can manage one with some wood blocks.”

“I wasn’t suggesting that I couldn’t. How many horses are you riding?” André took possession of her poking finger- not to end the poking but just to hang onto it, kind of like Lukas did when he was bored and there was nothing else good to play with.

“Just two. I won’t be long.”

“Are you going to wear something pretty tonight, or beautiful, or sexy?”

“I dunno. Which would you prefer?” Christina lay back down again, on her tummy. Her plan to make sure he got up was not only not working but also sort of reversing on itself.

“Don’t be too sexy or I’ll think too much about coming home to enjoy the food. Wear a nice dress, and straighten your hair,” the player suggested, reaching to gently tug a few of her locks between his middle and pointer fingers. “And do the makeup like you did for Juan’s party. I liked that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You looked...so awake, and alive, and...beautiful, with the dark eyes,” he said quietly, his own set of blues still on the hair in his fingers. “Or you’re just happier being around him and his family. You’re...irresistibly beautiful when you’re happy, pretty girl.” I don’t want it to be that. He was a little sad from thinking about that night. He didn’t really look at her until she was all-over radiant, having slipped into her natural element at the table- charming people, and delighting in random conversation, and laughing, and smiling, and laughing and smiling entirely in her grayed eyes. Before that his only thought about her face was that she shouldn’t have had to bring supplies to do a whole makeover in the car for dinner. Dinner at Juan’s wasn’t supposed to warrant that much effort, or that much blending of eye shadows.  

“No, you were right the first time. I need pounds of makeup to look happy these days,” Christina quipped as she prepared to get up again.

“That is not what I was saying. Don’t be like this,” André urged, recognizing he’d really stepped in it. “You put on makeup to look extra pretty. I can’t say that it works? And that I like it?”

“You don’t get it. I was being sarcastic.” The rider shook her head once she got to her feet, but let him succeed in reaching out for her hand to stop her from leaving. He looks so confused. I’m not complaining that he thinks I look better with makeup than without. I’m complaining that he’s only attracted to me when I’m happy. I hate that. In sickness and in health. You’re supposed to feel the same about your spouse no matter what. Juanin is the same no matter whether I’m happy or miserable. Even Marco once told me I look gorgeous when I’m depressed. Granted, he was drunk and then kissed the side of my face in the weirdest way I’ve ever experienced.

“Then why are you mad at me?”

“I’m not. Can I go, please? If I don’t get moving then I don’t have enough time to put the makeup on so that I look happy for you.”

“Chris. Stop. Explain it to me if I don’t get it.” André was tired of being blamed for not understanding things she made no effort to help him understand- things she seemed to deliberately withhold the pertinent facts and background about. He tried to be calm though. “Isn’t it easier to talk to me than it is to get all upset?”

“Why do you only find me irresistible or whatever when I’m happy?”

“I feel something inside when you smile and it’s real, and when you smile just in your eyes,” he shrugged. How is this a problem, he wondered, still confused. “I didn’t say the word “only”. You added that. It’s not like I think you’re ugly when you’re down. I can’t appreciate when you feel good? Would you...like...rather I find you the most sexy when you look like you haven’t slept in a month and want to disappear from the world? I should hope for that so I get to see it? You don’t make any sense.”

“I just- When you’re unhappy a lot and the person you love most is constantly reminding you how much more he likes you when you’re happier, it’s like extra pressure to...get happy. I’m trying,” Christina relented. She appeared more sad to him than angry, which he considered a strange form of progress in the exchange. Being duly sad was better, he thought, than angry for no good reason.

“I’m sorry,” he told her. “I don’t mean it that way. I was just trying to tell you how beautiful you looked the other night.”

“Okay. Whatever. Let’s forget it. I need to go change.”

“Kiss.”

She bent down to get a little peck on the lips and then somewhat hurried to vacate the area before anything else could come up. The footballer rubbed his face and turned over onto his right side, curling up in the process. The prior conversation was a reminder that having a plan to make things better didn’t actually make things better, at least not yet. His girl was never as assured about the whole having a plan thing as he was. She was, by nature, more skeptical and less inclined to believe that which she couldn’t see or touch. Having a plan to fix things was a reassuring relief to him and just a small source of hope to her. Real things were more significant for her. Having a definitive answer on the moving agenda, for example, was a real thing. Knowing she didn’t have to live in the apartment was a real thing that relieved some stress. Knowing and actually believing that she didn’t have to fight any Juan urges, at least from an André-perspective, helped a little too. That meant she could stop worrying why she was willing to indulge herself in ways that hurt him, because it didn’t actually hurt him. That took away Juan’s ability to make her question it and suffer from the subsequent doubt about her relationships with them. She was about specifics and details that way, and she was apprehensive and cynical, so it hurt her less when a speed bump cropped up in the “having a plan” process. To her husband, a speed bump like the one he experienced after his nap was a discouragement instead of an anticipated event.

I guess the reason she doesn’t want to tell me everything is that she knows she reacts badly to hard truths and then assumes I will too. I was just trying to tell her how good she looked the other night, and to ask her if it was because she enjoyed being with Juan and his family. It would have been okay if she said yes, he thought while staring at the TV. Obviously I wish she could fit into my family as well as she fits into that one, and connect with my mom the way she does with Juan’s, but it would have been okay. I wouldn’t get angry with her, or make a fight out of it. She makes a thing out of hearing the truth, though. Obviously she thinks everyone else will too. I didn’t say she looks bad, otherwise. Just like I’m not saying now that she doesn’t like my parents or doesn’t get along with them. They have a good relationship too. It’s just different. This is going to get hard again when I leave next week. At least during camp I have a lot of down time and I can use it to talk to her a lot. But I hope they finish the damn house soon. If I harass Marco about it every day in Marbella, will he harass Zoe to harass the contractors?