#but imagine he wins the championship having bottled how many wins in the first half of the season...???

[singsweetmelodies]

i like lando norris - i actually, genuinely do - but it makes me hopping mad that he is now in the conversation to be a world champion

[whoacanada]

‘Wishful Thinking‘

Summary: Every NHL champion gets a single brush with ice magic. When Jack takes his first cup with the Falconers, he accidentally undoes the wish that brought him back from the brink of death in 2009, and Bitty becomes hell-bent on lifting the cup himself for a chance to set things right.

A/N: Finally posting some concepts I’ve played around with that aren’t 100% complete massive fics, but still pretty solid, just little things that might be enjoyed. Yet another cup-wish-gone-wrong-au with monkey-paw components. Also inspired by discord convos about canon!Jack meeting an older, veteran NHL!Bitty and having a lot of feelings. Also mentor/father-in-law!Bob trying to help Bitty navigate the NHL. There’s more to this floating around but this is the meat of it

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Bob can sense when it happens. A shift of something monumental that he’s only felt on a handful of occasions his entire life. A quick glance across the ice finds a number of the celebrating Falconers looking around curiously, unsure of the sensation; for so many, it’s their first brush with ice magic. A pleasant novelty. The vets, though, they look to each other.

Bob turns and doesn’t have to look far to find his son, one hand clasped around the cup, the other around Eric Bittle’s waist, smiling from ear to ear. Something about the moment is wrong, but Bob can’t quite determine why as he’s overcome with a wave of nausea. The stadium lights are too bright and he blinks hard, face scrunching, trying to force whatever wrongness he’s feeling out of himself.

Someone’s made a wish.

The moment passes. Bob’s vision clears. There, veiled in a shower of blue and gold confetti, is Eric; alone at center ice, face twisted in confusion as he looks around for the man who only moments earlier had been in his arms.

“You take the cup, you get one real wish,” the decades old, bourbon-lacquered voice of his first coach reminds him. “But only the one. Can be something small, like an empty cab in the rain, or it can be something big. World changing, even. The one thing, the most important thing — ”

“No,” Bob breathes. “Please, no.”

“— You never use your wish on another player.”

____________

____________

____________

They don’t know exactly what Jack wished for, but the next time Bitty’s blades touch the ice, it’s as if he’s stepped into the body of a new man. No more slurs. No more targeted chirps. He’s just one of the boys.

He plays. He wins. Then, the offers start to come.

NHL teams looking for fast wingers, team players, leadership material; not one of them mentions diversity, or Eric’s status as the first out NCAA hockey captain. No one cares. No one remembers Jack, and no one cares about Eric.

The best and worst case scenarios rolled into one. If this is the reality Jack unknowingly traded his existence for, Bitty has no choice but to walk through the door his partner opened.

Bitty swallows, trying to force the words out on one of his now nightly calls with the man who would have been his father-in-law in another world, if the shared connection between them hadn’t been interred in a Montréal cemetery almost a decade prior.

“I think . . . I think he wished for acceptance.”

___________

___________

___________

“No one remembers anymore.”

Eric scuffs his skate against this ice, building up a small pile of shavings before scattering them again, focusing on the soft white as if somehow he’ll be able to transport himself bodily to somewhere cool and quiet. Jackson Hole. Banff. Tremblant. Anywhere but here. Anywhen but now.

“Saw Tater last week at a press junket. Blank stares all around. Some days, most days, I wake up and I don’t know how I got here. I can go without thinking of him.”

Weeks. Eric doesn’t say aloud. Months. Those hideous mornings when he wakes up beside a warm body and forgets they aren’t him. They aren’t supposed to be him. Was there ever even a him.

Jack. Eric mouths silently, just to remind himself. His name is Jack.

The details always slip. The universe constantly trying to correct the fallacy of Eric Bittle remembering a man who died before they technically ever met. Faded photographs and corrupted memory cards. Selfies that used to have two people in frame. Vlog posts with cosmic ADR, swapping Jack’s name for someone else’s like a hastily rewritten script. Eventually, even Eric’s memories turn traitor. First times lost to reshoots and post-production magic. Blue eyes are brown. Black hair is blonde. Jack becomes Phillip. Eric’s first love recast. In desperation, he pulls a page from Memento, finds a tattoo parlor and has ‘Jack Laurent Zimmermann’ inked in dark, unmistakable letters on his inner thigh. Adds a cup, the Falconers’ crest, and the date they lost everything. It works well enough until the name fades; there are still days where a hook up will ask why Eric has a championship tattoo for a team he never played with.

Now, all he has is Bob.

“That’s why I’m here.” Bob reminds. “That’s why we talk.”

“But what happens if we don’t.”

Bob’s familiar assurances rumble through the phone. Constant. Refusing to acknowledge the harsh realities of the passing of time. The ever-present doomsday clock moving them both toward disaster — Bob aging, Eric aging out. He’s good, but he isn’t great, and the only offers coming his way are single-season contracts with teams that haven’t sniffed a championship in years. One day very soon, there will be no more chances for Eric to undo what’s been done. No more favors to ask of teammates that have long since forgotten a world where Jack Zimmermann was a college graduate and a rookie MVP. Not just an addict. Not just dead at nineteen.

Eric listens to Bob ramble, asks him to tell him a story, to tell him about the Jack that Eric never really got to know. The Jack he can barely remember. A man that Eric has dedicated his entire life to honoring, to bringing back — from where he cannot fathom — and Bob obliges in a soft tone Eric imagines is not dissimilar from how he must have spoken to his son as a child.

Eric ignores his teammates rushing around him — tossing chirps and gentle insults about his ‘Sugar Daddy’ — and focuses on the accented voice in his ear; grasping desperately at the memory of a man who doesn’t exist. Pretending. Hoping.

__________

__________

Across the ice, Eric sees Kent Parson watching him. When they lock eyes, the aging star glides toward him, under a guise of one amicable captain greeting another. He’s pushing 37, and while the years of competitive play are starting to show, he’s just as viciously handsome as the day they first met. At least, Eric thinks he is. He can’t imagine a life where Kent Parson strolled onto a college campus and played beer pong at a frat party, but there’s a folder of old photos on Eric’s computer. Jack is in none of them, but there’s one of himself and Kent. Smiling.

Eric can’t recall why the image bothers him so much.

Parson used his wish years ago on something that he’s never bothered to share — and Eric’s far too much a gentleman to ask a man who was once a rival what he wasted his golden ticket on — but now, he’s slowing down, and this is supposed to be his farewell season. Going out with a bang, riding the high of his fifth cup win. He’s worked hard, and he deserves to shove the Penguins back down into obscurity for another season. Deserves it far more than Eric, with his selfish, single-mindedness that’s ruined god knows how many careers in the last decade between his own ruthlessness and Bob’s meddling.

Except. . . this is also likely Eric’s last season. His last chance to undo the great tragedy of his life, and Parson knows it.

“How you feeling, Peaches? You ready?”

Eric hates the nickname in the same way he hates when his father calls him ‘Champ’.

Eric fights his own shame because he wants to be honest, say, ‘No, I’m not ready, I’ll never be ready,’ but Eric can’t ask for what he wants, anymore. He wants the Aces to balk on a power play. He wants Parson to flub a pass and throw the game —  he even knows the man would probably do it, too — but Eric needs to come by a win honestly. They learned the hard way in 2022 when Eric hands were wrapped around the cup, wishing, praying, crying, pleading . . .

Clear eyes, full hearts, or some such bullshit.

Cheaters don’t get wishes.

“I can’t remember, anymore,” Eric admits as they square up across the face-off circle, the resigned terror of an inescapable end creeping upon him like the burn of an old injury ignored for far too long. “Kent. Please.” Parson leans down, rests his stick against the ice, and holds Eric’s gaze as if to say, I’m here. Trust me. Just play.

The puck drops.

________

________

________

There’s someone watching him, young, handsome with dark hair and the kind of bright blue eyes that scream ‘notice me’ with all of the biological bluntness of neon plumage and a mating dance. The man weaves through the crowd, unnoticed by Eric’s teammates, and comes close enough that Eric can’t help but assume familiarity. He must be a fan, the way he’s flushed and excitable.

Eric’s drunk enough on the moment that he’s happy to indulge his baser instincts. He also literally can’t remember the last time he brought company home and if there’s ever been a night to get laid, it’s this one.

“Crisse, look at you, Bits.”

The man is caught between being awestruck and simply struck, reaching out to touch Eric’s arm but not quite making contact, like his depth perception is the tiniest bit off. He drops Eric’s old nickname so easily, so earnestly, that for a moment Eric thinks they might already know each other — but that’s impossible. Eric would remember someone so handsome, so very much his type.

“Only my friends call me ‘Bitty’.” Eric cautions, raising his half-empty champagne bottle in a mock toast and flashing his best ‘you’re coming home with me tonight’ smile. “But I’m more than happy to to get acquainted with you, Sugar.”

Eric isn’t usually this forward, this unrestrained. Tonight, it doesn’t matter, he’s celebrating: another championship, the end of a career, a life well lived. It’s to be expected. What isn’t expected is how the man’s relieved smile falters; as if Eric’s unbridled joy is somehow misplaced.

“Bitty? It’s me.”

“And ‘me’ is called . . . ?”

On very few occasions in Eric’s life has he been able to witness true devastation first-hand; and those instances were related to deaths, hockey losses, or blackout morning afters.

“Jack.” The man says softly, face slack with surprise. “It’s. . . Jack. Bitty, you know me.”

“If we’ve met before, I’m sorry,” Eric apologizes, hating to see the kid look so defeated. “I meet so many people — ”

Over Jack’s shoulder, Eric catches sight of Bob Zimmermann and waves, delighting in the way Bob’s face lights up when he catches sight of Eric, practically going supernova when he notices Jack as well, crossing the ice like a man possessed; Bob moves to pull them both into a hug but Eric’s new friend holds up a defensive hand and Bob stops mid-gesture.

It’s extremely apparent something is off, and between the reporters, the confetti, the champagne, and the fans, Eric is missing all of the context clues.

“Just won my last cup,” Eric singsongs, gesturing with the bottle between his mentor and the man Eric would very much like to fuck — who look very similar now that Eric can see them side by side. “Everyone’s super excited, right? Yeah? So, what’s going on. Did someone die?”

“No.” Bob says quickly, eyes flicking between Jack and Eric warily. “No. Not . . . that.”

“Severely injured?”

“. . . Non.”

“Okay, then, we should be celebrating!” Eric throws his arms wide and nearly clocks a passing teammate. “No more party pooping, Bobbert. Speaking, this is my new friend, Jack. Jack, Bob, Bob, Jack. Though, I’m getting the feeling you two might know each other. Or might be . . . related.” Eric gasps and smacks his free palm against his forehead. “Oh my god, the Tremblant retreat? Is that where I know you from? Listen, I was fucked up on pain meds that whole weekend, I am so sorry if we’ve already met.”

Despite Eric’s continued attempts at clarifying their shared mystery past, Jack keeps looking at Bob with that same wounded expression and it’s really killing Eric’s buzz.

“Bob.” Eric redirects. “Help me, here. Cutie’s nervous.”

“Eric, this is my, ah, well,” Bob’s smile is so forced, so tense, it looks more like a grimace. “Well, this is my son, Jack.”

There is only one ‘Jack’ Eric has ever known in relation to Bob Zimmermann, and he is not someone to be mentioned in polite conversation.

“Your son?” Eric echoes slowly. “Your son, Jack.”

Bob realizes what Eric’s tiptoeing around and casts a furtive glance toward the younger man, lifting two fingers to his cheek conspiratorially to imply ‘it’s a long story, not meant for public ears’. Eric knows how to play along.

“Wow, okay, did not expect that, but now that you’re saying it, I can one-hundred-percent tell. You have the same, well, everything.”

Eric takes Jack’s hand for an obligatory shake, not missing the way Jack’s features twist up into something caught between flattery and misery, before staring down his pseudo-mentor.

“My question is this, where have you’ve been hiding him — because how long have I know you, Bobby? Shame.”

“I’ve been . . . away.”

Jack’s tone is weighted with context Eric absolutely does not possess, but can definitely read into. Given the age difference and Alicia’s conspicuous lack of attendance this evening, Jack’s definitely a love child from some 90s Zimmergroupie. Or, original Jack didn’t actually OD and Bob spirited away his kid to keep away the prying eyes of the public; but that wouldn’t explain the age difference or the shared name.

Oh, Bobbert.

“Couldn’t wheel him out too soon,” Bob jokes, but Eric can tell the man’s heart isn’t in it, reinforcing Eric’s suspicion.

“Well, I’m happy you did,” Eric says graciously, trying to smooth over the awkwardness. “He’s very handsome, when he isn’t doing this Eeyore impression.”

“Just like his father,” Bob says reflexively —  defensively —  as Jack goes pink. “Eric, will you excuse us for a moment? Back in five minutes, tops.”

Eric offers a gracious wave, gaze lingering on Jack’s retreating back — and backside, bless — watching Bob rest a firm hand on his son’s neck, gripping tightly to lean in and furiously whisper something. As Eric watches, Jack looks back over his shoulder; it’s not the fond glance of a potential paramour. Regret, maybe? Grief, definitely.

He must be as disappointed to be cock-blocked by his father as Eric is.

Across the ice, Kent Parson has rushed Jack, gathering him into a crushing embrace that the younger man returns easily —  burying his face against Parson’s pads; pulling back only when Parson grabs Jack’s shoulders to push him away, taking a long look at him, holding his face between his hands briefly before pulling Jack back into his arms.

They don’t just look like old friends, it’s a reunion of desperation, like the videos his mother sends of soldiers coming home from war, but before Eric can think better of it, a teammate fists a hand in the collar of Eric’s sweater and pulls — away from Bob’s forlorn love child and forgotten first meetings — and the night goes on.  

Bob doesn’t return. Neither does Jack.

Eric doesn’t even notice.

__________

__________

[coeurdastronaute]

Essays in Existentialism: Rivals II

Previously on Rivals

There really wasn’t anything to be nervous about. Why should she be nervous when she’d already spent two nights in the same bed as a complete stranger and player for the opposite team. That was weird, but going on a date was incredibly normal. It was the most normal part of the timeline of their entire flirtation, and yet, Clarke was slightly antsy. 

The nerves might have stemmed from the lying. 

It wasn’t really mentioned when her friends asked her what her plans were for the weekend. Vaguely, she insisted that there was some family stuff she had to do and kept out of the conversations about meeting up, much to the dismay of a few voices. But the lies were made easier by the proximity to winter break. If she told them what she was really doing, she’d never hear the end of it from Octavia, and that was a fight she didn’t want to have. She’d never get over Bellamy’s sad eyes. She’d have to listen to Raven rail about this and that, and why not avoid it if she could?

In the end, lying felt right and easy and when everyone gave up trying to figure out when she’d be able to do something, instead chalking it up to a complete family weekend, she relaxed. 

Maybe her nerves stemmed from the intensive dive into Lexa’s scant social media presence, strictly for science. 

The very night she got home from the state championship trip, she laid in her bed and did the only normal thing she could think of doing-- looking into a certain Lexa Woods, all while texting the star kicker deep into the night. 

And though she didn’t find much, she did see that Lexa was too cute and it was going to be a problem. Candids taken by friends of her in weird positions, reading. With glasses. Adorable glasses. Pictures hiking with her family. Camping with her little brother. Volunteering at the Special Olympics. Record shopping. Camping. Running. Biking. Studying film. Dressed up for a family wedding. 

It spanned her entire high school life, and Clarke learned that she was an outdoorsy person who seemed too good to be true. She had a crush on a stranger she slept with-- twice. 

Yes, that was where her nerves came from, Clarke decided as she heard the doorbell chime downstairs before she gave herself a once over in the mirror while taking a deep breath. There was nothing to be nervous about, she chanted. 

Except it’d been two weeks of almost non-stop texting and Lexa was funny and nice and sweet and a nagging part of her brain couldn’t let Clarke believe that this girl was real. 

“I’m coming!” Clarke yelled down the steps as she hurried to the bathroom and quickly sprayed a dash of perfume from the tiny, expensive bottle her dad got her for her birthday. 

She heard the rumble of voices downstairs and tried not to think of how embarrassing her father could possibly be. In record time she snagged her coat and phone, pocketing and tugging on as she hustled down the steps. 

But handling it well enough, Lexa stood there, in Clarke’s house, in the flesh, real, alive, and in-person. Red letterman jacket folded over her arm, she stood there and listened intently to Jake Griffin talk about something before catching her date’s eye and smiling. 

“I will have to check that movie out, Mr. Griffin,” Lexa nodded, tearing herself away from Clarke. “Thank you for the suggestion.” 

“Okay, we’re heading out, Dad,” Clarke interrupted before he could start talking about something else. “I’ll be home later.” 

“Not giving me much time to embarrass you, honey,” he chided as she leaned up to kiss his cheek. “I got distracted talking about movies.” 

“An easy way to avert him. Nice work, Twelve.”

Lexa smiled quickly as Clarke came to stand beside her. 

“I do want to hear some embarrassing things though. I’m sure we have ti--”

“Okay, we’re off,” she cut off the thought. 

“It was nice to meet you, Mr. Griffin,” Lexa stuck out her hand and shook Jake’s. “I’ll let you know what I think of that film. I’m always looking for new favorites.” 

“You won’t be disappoint,” he smiled, surprised by the action as she shook her hand. “Home by twelve at the latest.” 

“What about one?” Clarke tried. 

“Actually, I have to be home by eleven,” Lexa offered. “So unless you plan on bailing…” 

“You know, eleven sounds so much better to me,” Jake grinned and looked at his daughter expectantly. 

With a shake of her head and sigh, Clarke moved toward the door, Lexa trailing behind her and shrugging on her coat as the moved out into the cold. The patriarch of the small family stood behind the glass and watched them hurry to hop into the still-running car in the driveway. It wasn’t that he truly trusted anyone that took his daughter out on a date, but something about Lexa seemed okay enough for him to not worry as much, which was surprising for someone with a letterman jacket. 

But he waved as they pulled out into the street and he smiled, the faint remnant of the perfume he bought for his daughter for her last birthday still lingering on the stairs. 

XXXXXXXXXX

As much as she told herself that she wasn’t nervous, that it was pointless to worry about it, that Clarke obviously liked her enough to make out with her in a hotel bed, twice, Lexa still felt a little nervous about their first official date. She did a valiant job in pretending though. 

But then she saw Clarke and she relaxed, despite the fact that her heartbeat picked up by about half. It was baffling and she wasn’t sure what it meant, but she didn’t waste any time thinking about it too hard. 

“I can’t believe I’ve never been here before,” Lexa smiled as they pulled up to the museum parking lot. “My brother has a thing for museums.” 

“Now I get to spoil it for you so when he drags you here eventually, it’ll be old news.” 

“You know, you haven’t insulted me once since I picked you up.” 

“Can’t let them go to your head,” Clarke grinned and waited, sticking her hand out for her date to grab so she could lead her into one of her favorite places in town. “Your ego is already monstrous after winning a championship.” 

“Did you know I get a ring and everything? The lunch lady gave me an extra cookie the other day, too.” 

“What a life you lead. And here I am, taking up your time when you could be basking in the glow of being the city’s golden child.” 

“Not this town,” she murmured, feeling slightly out of place in her jacket. 

“Don’t sweat it. You’re with me, Woods.” 

It was a baseless sentence and in no way did Lexa imagine that Clarke ran her town, but there was something to her confidence and ease that made her want to believe it without question. Clarke was easy that way-- just constantly moving and pushing and remaining undaunted, it felt like. Through their late night chats, she’d learned that Clarke really figured out that she didn’t like a lot of who she was over the past few years, and was restarting, with purpose. 

Lexa wasn’t sure what it all meant, just that Clarke was honest and fun, she was unpredictable and passionate, and most importantly, she was fiercely independent.

Somewhere between the paintings of the boats and the ones that were just lines, Lexa felt Clarke’s chin on her shoulder and the proximity of their bodies as they walked through the massive rooms, perusing and joking, appreciating and debating, predominantly disappearing into themselves without a care for anyone else in the place. 

Somewhere between the busts and the installation art, Lexa kissed Clarke’s cheek and held her hand a little tighter, occasionally pulling her own behind her back to pull Clarke closer to her side. 

And at the end of the night, after dropping Clarke off and getting a kiss for her troubles, Lexa smiled and replayed the entire date in her head on the drive home. 

XXXXXXXXXX

Despite the normal festivities of the holiday season combined with winning a championship and having many more friend obligations to attend with, Lexa ignored what she could and spent her most of her break driving back and forth to the rival town to see a certain cheerleader who like to kiss her and sometimes slip her hand up her shirt. And she liked returning the favor, hence the driving and hosting. 

But between the family and the girl and break homework, Lexa was sure to spend time preparing for her soccer season. That was a point she made because she sure as hell wasn’t going to only get scholarship options for one season in a sport she didn’t truly love. 

There was a schedule and Clarke fit into it all, much to Lexa’s relief. 

“You have to head home soon,” Clarke whispered, though her lips moved to capture the kicker’s once again. 

“I can push my luck a little bit. Your dad likes me.” 

The scoff was cut off by a low moan as Lexa let her hands get a little more brazen than they’d been before. She was fueled by the fact that they were busy and school was starting again and she wouldn’t know how long until she’d see Clarke again. That and the delectable little noises coming from beneath her. 

“You should leave, before I make you stay.” 

Lexa smiled against Clarke’s neck and bit there before pushing her thigh harder into her center, earning a shift of hips. Fingertips dug into her neck and she sighed at the sensation. She wanted more time. She wanted to pause everything. 

“You feel so good,” Lexa whispered. 

“We should see each other again.” 

“I’d like that.” 

“You’ll let me know when you get your schedule for soccer?” 

“You’ll be the first to know. I’d like my own cheerleader,” Lexa smiled, kissing toward chest. “And as my girlfriend, you get the perks of wearing my jacket and old jersey whenever you’d like.” 

“Girlfriend, eh?” Clarke adjusted so that Lexa hovered over her. She cocked her head and smiled before pushing hair away from her eyes. She loved Lexa’s green, and how deep and expressive they were if you were smart enough to pay attention. 

“Yeah, well. If the letterman fits.” 

“I do look cute in it,” she shrugged, smiling enough with a dimple and all. 

“Much better than me.” 

“I can’t go wearing it at school. That’d be the end of me.” 

“I suppose we should talk about being star-crossed and such, since we’re heading back to the real world.” 

Clarke groaned a complaint and hugged Lexa toward her tighter. 

“What is there to talk about? My girlfriend goes to a different school.” 

“It’s adorable how you think it’ll be easy.”

“You’d be amazing at how good I am t being difficult.” 

Despite herself, Lexa chuckled and shook her head before kissing Clarke’s cheek and jaw and nose. She finally pushed herself away. 

XXXXXXXXX

The fall out was… biblical, in a way that Clarke never fully expected. It seemed insanely trivial for her to develop a crush on a person that could develop so much ire from her entire world, but she bore the brunt of it with a flippant disregard to such ridiculous stigmas. 

The worst of it was Octavia, fiercely loyal to her team and her school and most importantly, her brother. The news worked its way through the friend group, debated and marvelled over for a few days before it became old news. It was a novelty and for a while Clarke fielded their questions and took their taunting well enough. 

It wasn’t until spring that Clarke finally blew up, lashing out at Bellamy, Octavia, Murphy, and a few others who were still bitter about their lost. It ended with her scolding their pitiful performance and childish behavior. It didn’t really help, but she certainly felt better. 

“Good job! Nice kick!” Clarke cheered from the bleachers amidst the large crowd in the waning evening light. 

“Oh now you’re a cheerleader,” Octavia rolled her eyes and scoffed from a few rows away. 

Clarke grit her teeth and shook her head before focusing back on the pitch as number twelve streaked down the field, maneuvering quickly through defenders. She shoved her hands into the pockets of the jacket for the opposing team and smelled a hint of Lexa on the collar still, vowing to give it back to her for a few days to get more of it back. 

Unsure of if the booing spurred her or the fact that her girlfriend was watching, but Lexa and her team won by a wide margin, which was gratifying to the singular fan in the audience. 

“Hey, Twelve, you looked good out there.” 

“Oh thanks. Just showing off a bit for you,” Lexa grinned, hanging on the railing of the bleachers as she watched her red jacket walk towards her. “Thanks for coming.” 

“Couldn’t miss it. Hottest seat in town.” 

“I have to get on the bus in a few…” 

“Can’t waste time then,” Clarke grinned, jumping off the final step and wrapping her arms around the sweaty soccer players neck. 

In a second, she was kissing her girlfriend and smiling, content with the glares she knew she’d be getting from the peanut gallery. 

“You should come over this weekend. There’s a great movie playing at the Local, and I could be persuaded to take you for dinner.” 

“Persuaded, huh?” 

“Mmhm,” she nodded, setting her girlfriend down.

“Do you want to meet my friends?” 

“I think I’ve met some of them,” Lexa looked at the gaggle that followed. “Hi.” 

“Guys, this is Lexa,” Clarke offered as she turned around and found the rest of the group. “Lex, this is Bellamy, his sister, Octavia, Raven, Murphy, Monty, and Madi.”

A small chorus of hellos greeted her as she lifted her hand awkwardly. 

“Sorry about making that field goal. I can honestly say I didn’t mean to, and it just kind of happened.”

The crowd relaxed slightly and mingled about with some small talk before the coach called and Lexa looked over her shoulder, realizing it was time to leave. 

“I’ll see you Saturday, if that’s okay?” Clarke asked, walking with Lexa toward the bus. 

“Did I do well enough with the friends to earn a date?” 

“You did. I do have to spend Friday with them though to make up for it, but yeah, I’d say you’re okay.” 

“Am I going to have to see them more?” 

“Definitely.” 

“Whatever works.”

“Here,” Clarke shrugged off the coat. “I need you to break this in again for me. I lost your smell.” 

“Can’t have it not smell like Ireland looks, I guess.” 

“Shut up.” 

With a shove and a kiss, Clarke pushed Lexa toward the bus.

[queen-scribbles]

The Good Stuff

Prompted by @storyknitter, though not exactly in keeping with the prompt she pointed me toward(which just means I get to do it later :3)

---

One of the biggest downsides to a career like the military or Intelligence was that sometimes your bad days were so spectacularly awful they made the news and were common knowledge before you even got home. Which was why Briyoni detoured past a liquor store on the way back to her place. And why she dropped half paycheck on a bottle of Corellian Whisky. She had a feeling they would need the good stuff tonight.

She left the bottle on the table before heading back to her room to change into something more comfortable--in this case, shorts and a shirt emblazoned with the fading remnants of her favorite gravball team’s logo. Once comfortable, she returned to slouch in a chair and try to focus on the stack of datawork Garza had given her until Jonas showed up.

She didn’t have to wait long. She hadn’t even finished reading the first report when the door slid open. Jonas stepped inside, running one hand through his hair as he tapped the door controls with the other.

Bry dropped her datapad on the table even as she stood. “Hey, Jo.” He looked awful; disheveled, drained, with a beaut of a bruise coloring his right cheekbone.

“That bad, huh?” he tried to joke, flashing a lopsided smile. It didn’t reach his eyes, though, and faded quickly as Bry stepped forward to hug him. He leaned into the hug his arms settling around her shoulders as he rested his unbruised cheek against her temple. “Guess you saw the news, huh?”

“Yeah.” She rubbed his back. “I know this is a dumb question, but how’re you doing?”

Jonas inhaled deeply and hugged her tighter. “Been better,” he admitted, letting out the breath in a rush. “Also been worse.” He hesitated. “I know we had dinner plans, gorgeous-”

“Already canceled the reservations while I was changin’,” Bry cut him off. She reached up to carefully cup his jaw with one hand. “Figured you’d rather spend the evening in.”

A tired but genuine smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “I love you,” he said, quiet yet emphatic, before kissing her forehead. He didn’t fully disengage from the hug when he started for the couch, pulling her along with him. Bry bit back a smile and grabbed her along with him. Bry bit back a smile and grabbed the whisky as they passed the table.

Rather than just drop onto the couch like she expected with how tired he seemed, Jonas sat slowly, pulling off his boots before he leaned back. It made her wonder how many other bruises he’d picked up in the course of today. Bry sat next to him, resting the whisky bottle on the floor as she settled in close enough to twine an arm around his shoulders and play with the hair at the nape of his neck. They sat in silence for several long moments, but she only felt his exhausted tension ease slightly.

“Full blown gang war’s been inevitable for a while now,” she finally said.  “Everyone’s seen it comin’, and that the SIS even tried-”

“Not in the mood to talk about it yet,” Jonas muttered, leaning his head back against the wall.

Bry slid her hand free, tickling the back of his neck as she did. “Sorry, sure.”

“Not something you need to apologize for,” he said. He squeezed her knee affectionately. “Just a topic that needs to wait until at least tomorrow.” 

“That’s fair,” she laughed wryly. “You wanna watch a trashy holovid and get pretty damn drunk?”

Jonas snorted. “And people wonder why I love you.”

Bry grinned. “It’s my charm, of course. And my excellent taste in booze.” She picked up the whisky bottle and balanced it on his knee.

He lifted his head up and leaned forward to read the label, wrapping his hand over hers around the neck, then shot her a disbelieving look. “What made you shell out for kriffin’ Corellian Whisky?”

She shrugged. “I had a feelin’ you’d need the good stuff after a day like today.”

“Thanks, but this is a little too good to waste on drowning out a bad day.” He smiled crookedly and squeezed her hand. “This is the kinda thing you save for something special.”

“I dunno,” Bry said breezily, trying to play casual. “My man walked away from a mess most wouldn’t’ve and some almost didn’t, that seems pretty special to me.”

That got an actual laugh(good, her plan was working) and Jonas wrapped his free arm around her shoulders to pull her in close enough for a kiss. “Thanks, gorgeous, but I really do think we should save this for something a little more widely considered a special occasion. What else d’you keep around here?”

“Alright, handsome, if you insist.” She winked and made a show of extricating herself to carry the whisky over to the cabinet where she kept its like. “We do have other options...”

“What’ve you got?” he asked, leaning back again and rubbing at a spot on his chest she would bet serious credits was another bruise.

“Let’s see...” Bry opened the cabinet, slid the Corellian Whisky in, and looked over the other beverages already stored there. “Got the old standbys; rodian ale, juma juice... half a bottle of Old Janx, uh, Deltron spiced wine...” she leaned around the edge of the cabinet to shoot him a sly look. “I have an almost untouched bottle of daranu in here if you you’re interested, Jo.”

Tired as he was, Jonas lifted his head enough to shoot her a dirty look--before actually seeming to consider it. “Y’know what, after a day like this, I could use something that hits like a kick in the face...”

“Haven’t you had your fill of that already?” she raised a brow pointedly at his bruised cheek.

“This?” Jonas gestured at the large purple-blue mark and waved dismissively.  “This is from the butt end of a scattergun, not someone’s foot.”

“Oh, yes, that’s worlds better,” Bry said dryly as she took him at his word and poured two glasses of daranu. This would make whatever they wound up watching far more entertaining. “Exactly the mental image I needed.”

“All the more reason to get it out of your head as quickly as as possible,” he countered with a tired smile. 

“Touché,” she laughed as she carried both glasses and the bottle back to the couch. “So, whaddya want to watch?” she asked, sinking down next to him and handing over one glass. “Doesn’t have to be a trashy holovid, or even a holovid at all. We can watch a gravball match or somethin’, if you’d rather.”

Jonas took a sip of his drink and shook his head. “Nothing with a chance of  cutting to the news. And for once, nothing... action-y. Beyond that... “ he rubbed his eyes with his free hand. “I’m too tired to pick, so, your call.”

Bry smiled sympathetically and rubbed his arm. “We don’t have to watch something, you know,” she pointed out. “We can just sit here in silence and enjoy a good stiff drink.” Not her preferred way to spend the evening, but if it was what he needed, she’d do it.

He shook his head again, taking a longer drink of daranu this time. “Watching something is fine, it’s just your call what.” 

She pursed her lips in thought, swirled her drink before taking a sip. “Mm. We could drunkenly trash talk our way through the sappy romance Sayna’s  been buggin’ me to watch.”

Jonas let out a soft laugh. “That’s not nice, Bry.”

“Well, then I’m gonna go with rewatching last season’s gravball championship match. We know who won”--she plucked at the front of her shirt with a smirk of lingering triumph--”so we don’t have to pay attention, but it was a good match if we do decide to pay attention.” She took a swig of her drink. “An’ drunkenly commentating gravball is always good.”

He snorted, but there was something forced about his casual tone. “Fine by me.”

“Gravball championship it is,” Bry crowed, and pulled up the recording she’d made of the match. As the familiar opening statistics scrolled across the screen, she settled back in, tucked under Jonas’ arm with her head against his shoulder by sheer habit. Jonas flinched ever so slightly, but settled his arm around her shoulders nevertheless. Their free hands sought each other out by equal habit, fingers intertwining as they rested against Bry’s shoulder.  They sat in comfortable silence for several minutes, as the sportscasters ran through the pregame chatter and the referee stated the game, then through the initial back and forth until Bry’s team scored.

“Right there,” she said, motioning toward the screen with her glass. “That right there is when I knew they were gonna win.” She took a large swallow, knocking she didn’t have long before the effects hit her, but savoring the sweet burn for the moment. “B’fore that was all team loyalty and bravado, but I knew right there that they would win.”

“Confidence has never been a weakness for you,” Jonas muttered, sounding distracted.

Bry shot a concerned glance in his direction. She couldn’t help wondering what the source of that distraction was, but she’d said she wouldn’t ask, so she wouldn’t ask. Instead she squeezed his hand and kept watching the game. 

They watched mostly in silence, and even the breaks in that were mostly her muttering admiration for clever moves or longshot goals she’d known were coming. Daranu was a strong drink once it kicked in, so they nursed each round, but the bottle was still over halfway empty(less than half full, Bry thought tipsily) when the game entered its third quarter and she felt Jonas finally truly relax. Maybe it was that, maybe it was the booze, maybe she was just turning into one of those worrywart fianceés she always rolled her eyes at in holovids. But she had to ask.

“Hey, Jo,” she began hesitantly, brushing her thumb softly over his knuckles. His hm? of acknowledgement was so faint she first wondered if she’d woken him up and then if she’d imagined it, but she pressed on. “Are... have bad days always been like this?”

“Nah, gorgeous.” He shifted and she faintly felt him kiss the top of her head. “I used to do my drinking alone.” A wry snort. “Occasionally with smuggled goods in a medcenter room.”

It was good to hear an edge of his usual humor creeping back into his voice. Even if  the implications of his words made her roll her eyes. “Jonas.”

“Hazard of the job, Bry.” Jonas slipped his hand free of hers and withdrew it enough to run his fingers lazily through her hair. “Even if it’s nowhere near the risk factor of yours, stuff does still happen.” 

“I know...” Her words trailed off, distracted by a cheer from the vidscreen. When she looked back over, he was watching her, one side of his mouth tugging up in the faintest hint of a smile. “What?”

“Right there,” he said, nodding toward the replay of the absolutely beautiful goal that had just been scored. “When we watched this live, you got  so excited at that score, you almost elbowed me in the face.” His smile widened, the flickering light of the vidscreen casting his features in sharp relief with pale blue light. That was one of the first moments some part of me realized we weren’t just another nothing serious. I almost got elbowed in the face on my own couch, and all I could think was how damn happy you looked your team was winning.”

Bry smirked. “I’ll hafta remember daranu makes you sappy as hell, Balkar.” She leaned in to kiss him.

“Daranu, the long hard day, the good company...” His fingers grazed her cheek.  “Take your pick.”

“Or maybe you’re always this sappy and just can’t hide it once there’s enough of the good stuff in ya?” She waggled her eyebrows and nudged the bottle.

“If I say yes, is daranu going to become your new weapon of choice?” He stole a slow, lingering kiss.

“Oh, darling, with you, it already is,” she laughed, reaching over to cup his jaw and curl her fingers around the back of his neck to pull him into an even longer kiss.  “Well, one of many,” she corrected herself as she resumed her original position. “Glad I make the hard days a little better in return, at least. You know, for all the teasing about sappiness.”

“It’s more than a little,” Jonas murmured, gratitude and relief oozing from the words. “You’re much better company than I ever expected to have.”

Bry simply hummed in reply, and they returned to silence for the rest of the game, then sat there still after it was finished. But it was comfortable silence, and he’d finally relaxed, so not a bad end to the day, even if it was long and hard enough they both drifted off on the couch, still nestled together.

[thirteen-beaxhes]

Our Last Words - Chapter 6

Summary:  In a universe where the last words your soulmate speaks to you are printed, Cyrus Goodman wants nothing more than to never meet them. And he definitely doesn’t want it to be the blonde-haired boy in his class.

ALL LINKS IN REBLOG

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come out and play - billie eilish

Well, this was getting ridiculous, Cyrus thought to himself, deciding to change his shirt for the third time in half an hour. He had to look as good as he could, while also keeping the outfit appropriate to the activities they were doing.

Snapping another picture of his new outfit, he sent it to his group chat with Andi and Buffy.

Cyrus: guys im freakin out

Buffy: not this again

Andi: cyrus tj wont care what ur wearing

Andi: hes probably freaking out about ur date rn

Buffy: exactly cy

Buffy: now will you just choose a goddam outfit n get ur man

Cyrus: ok ok just one more

Buffy: CYRUS GOODMAN DON’T YOU DARE

Andi: sry buffy u gotta deal with him alone. im hanging out with amber

Cyrus: ooooooooooh

Buffy: amber huh nice nice andi

Andi: …….

Andi: i hate u guys

Cyrus laughed quietly, shaking his head slightly. Oh Andi. Not realising how obvious her crush on Amber was. Not that Cyrus had any grounds to say anything to her on that. Cyrus sighed and went and grabbed another shirt, changing for what was now the fourth time.

He was acting stupid, he knew that. TJ wouldn’t care what he wore, but Cyrus did, and he wanted to look perfect for their first date. They were going to Adrenaline City, surprisingly Cyrus’ choice. He had been afraid to go on the new rollercoaster, mostly because he and heights really did not mix, Well, he and heights and loops and being upside down. But he had his motion sickness patches! And TJ would be there.

Cyrus smiled to himself, thinking about TJ. He was one of the only people who could convincingly talk Cyrus down from his fear spirals and calm him down. TJ always believed in him, no matter what. And he had helped him do so many things he never imagined he could ever do, like somersaults and even dirt biking. And those were their best moments together, Cyrus glancing towards the white ‘S’ shirt from their ‘Summer-salt’ costume, his heart soaring at the memory of that Costume Day.

He was so lucky.

Of course, there was a little voice in the back of his mind, reminding him about the thing, but Cyrus pushed it away. He wasn’t going to worry today. Besides, he’d make sure to be home before 5:30 pm just to be safe.

His phone chimed, a text from TJ telling him he was outside. Cyrus practically tripped and fell down the stairs to reach the door. Outside, he saw TJ standing, wearing a green shirt with a black jacket. He looked so good, death was just inevitable, wasn’t it.

“Wow, TJ. I didn’t know you owned anything other than hoodies or basketball shirts,” Cyrus said, running up to the boy.

“Ouch, Underdog. Bullet after bullet. Is my fashion really that bad?” TJ said, faking offence.

Cyrus just remained silent, giggling at the way TJ’s face morphed into one of shock as he lightly punched Cyrus in the shoulder.

“Wait, what? I thought you liked my style!”

“Liked is a strong word,” Cyrus replied, still giggling. TJ tried to fake anger but failed miserably, soon collapsing into laughter with Cyrus.

“So, shall we?” Cyrus asked, holding out his hand to TJ after they both had calmed down.

“I thought you’d never ask.” TJ replied, slipping his hand into Cyrus’.

Cyrus never expected holding TJ’s hand would feel so normal. Like it was something he was always meant to do. Like it was natural. They swung their hands slightly as they walked in comfortable silence, both constantly sneaking glances at each other. Often they would catch the other staring and look away, blushing messes. God, they were such saps.

Somehow, he just knew that he was going to have the best day of his life.

*

“Okay, TJ, I changed my mind. I really don’t wanna go on it,” Cyrus said, trying to turn around in fear.

“Come on, Cy. What is it scaring you? Is it the 7 loops or the fact that the ride is named ‘Death Trap’?” TJ joked, holding onto Cyrus so he couldn’t run away.

“Oh haha, very funny. Easy for a fearless athlete like you to be like this.”

“Hey,” TJ said, smiling brightly at Cyrus. “I’m right here, I’ll protect you.”

“Pinky promise?” Cyrus said, holding out his right pinky. “And I don’t care if we look like dorks.”

TJ laughed softly, linking his pinky with Cyrus’. “Promise. And I don’t mind looking like a dork if it’s with you.”

Can this boy try not to give Cyrus a heart attack for once in his life?

They went up to the booth, pinkies still linked, Cyrus feeling significantly less panicked and scared. And while he was scared out of his mind throughout the duration of the ride, with his hand firmly clasped with TJ’s, it wasn’t so bad.

*

After Cyrus’ stomach finally stopped doing somersaults, the two boys walked around the park, occasionally bumping into each other’s shoulders. They were currently having a very serious debate over whether chocolate chocolate chip muffins were better than blueberry macadamia ones. And it was no surprise who was on which side.

“How can you deny the absolute decadence of biting into a chocolate chocolate chip muffin? It’s a chocolate cake, and chocolate chips thrown in!” Cyrus argued.

“But how can you say that to the incredible fruity burst of flavour of blueberries and the crunch of macadamia nuts? How Cyrus how?” TJ replied, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him.

There was a moment of silence when they just looked into each other’s eyes, before collapsing into laughter.

“You know, this is probably the best date I have ever been on,” Cyrus said, as they continued walking.

TJ looked at him with an expression of amusement and fondness. “Yeah?”

Cyrus nodded, a smile creeping up on his face.

“Glad I could be of service,” TJ said, his face slowly turning red.

“Well, of course.”

They walked for a while, talking about nothing in particular when they passed by the ring toss games. Cyrus desperately hoped that TJ wouldn’t notice them, but when has his luck ever been incredible?

“Hey, we should try these! I bet we can win that teddy bear,” TJ said, excitedly running over to the stall.

“Hurray,” Cyrus said in a flat voice, as he watched TJ run up excitedly to the counter.

This was going to be a disaster.

*

“This is impossibly embarrassing,” Cyrus groaned, hitting his head on the table of the stall. He had been trying for the past 15 minutes to try and even reach the bottles but to no success.

TJ just laughed, holding a giant teddy bear he had won for Cyrus on his first try. “Don’t worry, Underdog. This is quite fun to watch.”

Cyrus simply glared at him, no malice behind his eyes of course. “This isn’t fair, you’re an incredible championship-winning athlete and I walk into glass doors and fall while skateboarding. The playing fields are on two different planets.”

Pouting at him, TJ asked, “Do you want my help?”

“Nope. No. Nuh uh. I’m doing this.”

“Okay,” TJ backed off, holding his hands up. “Just know that Bear and I,” TJ said, holding up the teddy bear, “Are rooting for you.”

Will there ever come a day when TJ Kippen doesn’t induce heart attacks with his soft words? No. The answer is no.

Cyrus squinted his eyes and was about to take aim when he heard TJ chuckle. “Okay, you’re doing it wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, your stance is off. Here,” he said, walking up behind Cyrus. Suddenly, Cyrus felt arms wrapping around his waist. And he swore at that moment, he stopped breathing. And thinking. And living. Honestly, he just ascended to another plane of existence.

“You need to keep your balance on the back foot,” TJ whispered into Cyrus’ ear, helping adjust his position.

Cyrus could barely hum in response, his heart was beating so fast.

“And you need to keep your arm this way,” TJ continued, holding Cyrus’ hand and guiding his arm into the correct position. There was no way TJ didn’t know what he was playing at. That sucker.

“Okay,” Cyrus choked out.

TJ laughed quietly, backing away from Cyrus. Much to the chagrin of Cyrus.

“Now, don’t use too much energy, okay?”

Cyrus focused, and threw the ring. It felt like it was going in slow motion, and everything around him had stopped. And then, by some miracle, it landed on a bottle.

“YES!” Cyrus cheered, jumping up in excitement as the employee handed him a giant purple T Rex.

“Cyrus, I knew you could do it!” TJ yelled, pulling in Cyrus for a hug. It was kind of hard with a giant stuffed dinosaur in the middle, but they made it work.

“I never stopped thinking you could,” TJ said, turning to kiss Cyrus on the forehead. And Cyrus gave apples a run for their money with how red he knew he was turning.

“You never do,” Cyrus said, holding onto TJ’s hand. “Well, I believe this is yours, Not-So-Scary Basketball Guy,” Cyrus said, presenting TJ with the T Rex.

“And this is yours, Muffin,” said TJ, handing Cyrus the teddy bear.

“Still going with Muffin?” Cyrus asked, his eyes gleaming.

“Yeah, just feels right,” TJ said, looking at his feet.

“I love it,” Cyrus replied, placing a quick kiss to TJ’s cheek, leaving the boy a stuttering and fumbling mess for a solid 5 minutes afterwards.

“I’m glad.”

*

5 rides, 2 cotton candies and a throwing-up scare later, Cyrus and TJ were still roaming around Adrenaline City, constantly threading their fingers together as they walked.

“Maybe we should head back,” Cyrus said, looking up at the greying sky. “Looks like it's about to rain.”

“Maybe we should,” TJ replied, following his gaze.

They stood in place for a while, neither one having any inclination to leave anytime soon.

“We aren’t leaving, are we?”

“Only after we are drenched to the bone will we think about it.”

The two boys started laughing, Cyrus holding onto TJ’s shoulder. When it died down, they looked into each other’s eyes. Cyrus was keenly aware of the tension, and he began to lean in slowly. He could feel TJ doing the same. They were so close, Cyrus thought, noticing the many freckles on TJ’s face, and how his eyes seemed to glow. So. Close. Oh. My. God.

Just then, Cyrus’ phone began ringing in his pocket, startling the two, Cyrus inwardly groaning. When Cyrus saw the caller ID, however, he was surprised to see the name ‘Slayer’.

Why was Buffy calling him?

“Hey Buffy, what’s up?”

“Cyrus, can you come to Andi Shack? Like right now?” Buffy asked, her voice panic-stricken.

“Wait, Buffy what happened? I’m with TJ right now,” Cyrus said, growing more concerned by the second. What was going on?

“It’s okay he can come too. Just please.”

A moment of silence. Then, in a broken whisper, almost inaudible to Cyrus.

“It’s Andi.”

~~~~~

this is the fluffiest thing i have ever written omg. anyway, guys im going out of town where there is no WiFi for 6 days so, rip and remember me. so updates will resume after 6th April!

[caiuscassiuss]

Well Played (basketball player au! NCT Johnny)

Genre: basketball player! au fluff

Member(s): Johnny ft. the rest of NCT as his basketball team

WC: 3.5k

Warnings: swearing

Description: In which you are a yearbook photographer in denial and 600% done with the basketball captain’s antics.

masterlist | requests | updates

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(A/N: I always wondered what it’d be like to go to American highschool with Johnny so here’s a hot basketball captain Johnny for you thirsty hoes)

You sighed as you look at the yearbook spread you helped edit. 

It was of the annual Fall Festival the Key Club put out, and there were many pictures filled with autumn amusement and merriment and it turned out fucking great but your unusually strict yearbook advisor demanded a complete redo of the pages. Apparently, it wasn’t “festive” enough, whatever the hell that meant. Because none of the yearbook staff actually do what they’re supposed to do, it looks like it’s Y/N to the rescue (for 28723847th time)!! Even though it wasn’t your job!!!

You quickly got back on a desktop in a quest to somehow make people picking pumpkins more “festive” when you suddenly heard a yell from the office.

“Y/N! Tonight is the Semi-Final State Basketball Championship and you have to shoot it at Deerfield!”

You made a sour face then walked over to your advisor’s, Mrs. Weather’s, office.

“Do I at least get free tickets?”

“No, but you have a yearbook pass which is just as good!”

“Ugh,” you murmured quietly as you went back to the desktop.

“C’mon, they chase away any photographer that isn’t you! The boys love you, especially that captain boy… what was his name again? Jake? Justin?”

“Johnny, Mrs. Weathers.”

“See! You even remember his name! Maybe his feelings are reciprocated, hm?”

“Mrs. Weathers,” you whined. We’re not all forgetful like you, you passive-aggressive old bat!

“If I were 40 years younger…” she chuckled.

Oh ewww. Like, double ewwww.

Glenbrook North’s Boys Basketball Team (the Spartans) is Chicago’s #1 basketball team in the city and state, winning both championships for the past 3 years. They’re even more funded than the football team, which basically never happens in American high school. They’re great and all but their captain…

Johnny Seo. A 6’1 senior sometimes called “Yao Ming Ming” for being Asian, tall, and really good at basketball. He was a rich kid, and incredibly popular for being funny and relatable. A lot of girls somehow found him and to be one of the hottest guys in school. And unfortunately, he was the son of your parents’ good friends.

You didn’t like taking pictures of the basketball team. Sure, some of the members like Mark or Sicheng were sweet and too pure for this world, but some members like Yuta and Johnny annoyed the hell out of you. It’s not as if like Johnny, or anything like that. You were always stuck with them because they always played tricks on other photographers so you were sent out in their stead.

The bell rang and you quickly packed up your stuff and saved your progress then walked out of the computer lab. You had a Socratic seminar in AP Lang next, and you had to be early so you could sit at the front. Normally, you would be in the middle, but your teacher had threatened to take points off of people not actively participating, and this bitch ain’t losing her GPA. You strode quickly through the crowded hallways.

“Hey! Y/N!!”

Your quick stride faltered as you froze at the voice. You turned around slowly to see Johnny in a Chicago Bulls windbreaker with some black skinny jeans and Vans. He had an easy gait as people parted for him like the goddamn red sea, his backpack casually slung over one of his broad shoulders.

“Yo broski,” he greeted as he caught up to you.

Sigh. “Hi, Johnny.”

“Can you at least sound excited to see me? I mean, we’ve known each other since we were 4.” Johnny huffed as he slung an arm around your shoulder.

You rolled your eyes.

“Exactly.”

“Oof, right in the gut!” Johnny dramatically pretended to bend over his injured gut as you walked.

“I’d give you real pain if it weren’t for your game,” you snarked.

“Aww worried about me? I’m flattered! Anyway, you know about the game? I thought you didn’t like sports.”

“I don’t. Mrs. Weathers ordered me to shoot the game for your inevitable state championship 4-page spread.”

“That passive-aggressive old-bat?”

“You got that right,” you barked out a laugh.

You turned towards him and looked up at his totally not handsome face. His cheekbones are totally not my aesthetic. Nope, that piece of brown hair flopping over his eye is not attractive. Noppity nope nope nope.

“Hey did your parents confirm that they’re going to dinner at Morton’s?” you asked as you turned left into the Lit hallway.

“Oh yeah, I think they did this morning.”

“Are you sure you can make it after your game?”

“When you’re involved? Totally, babe.” Johnny winked causing you to blush.

“Shut up-” you slapped him on his totally not hard biceps- “No, but really? I don’t want to be the only teen there to be interrogated about my life.”

“Yeah, I’ll be there. Hey, if you want a ride there you can just ride with me and I’ll stop at your house so you can get ready.” Johnny offered as you slowed down, seeing the entrance to your classroom in a few minutes.

“Oh, thanks! I’ll see you later Johnny.”

He smiled as you turned towards your classroom. The warning bell sounded, so he increased his pace to his AP Calc class which was 2 hallways down. He plopped down at his desk that was uncomfortably small for him next to Taeyong.

“Bro why are you so late?”

“Um, I just had to do… something,” Johnny fibbed.

“Liar,” Doyoung interjected from the back.

“He walked y/n to class in the Lit hallway,” Doyoung laughed as he spun his mechanical pencil around.

“The fuck bro? Are you stalking me?” Johnny leaned away from the dude who’s face looked like a rabbit and happened to be his point guard.

“Nah, I just saw you walking down the hallway with her.”

“He’s not the one doing the stalking here, Johnny, you are,” Taeyong said and Doyoung cackled and offered a high five.

“Like seriously Johnny boy, can you make your crush on her any less apparent than the past 4 years?” Doyoung wondered as Johnny was digging around for his graphing calculator.

“He’s whipped.” Taeyong laughed as he downed some water from his bottle.

“Shut up or I’ll bench you for the 2nd quarter.” Johnny threw an eraser at Taeyong who merely smiled innocently and opened his textbook.

_______________________________________________________________________

“Oh fuck!” you cursed as you looked through your bag while sitting in your Mom’s car. She was pulling into the roundabout of Deerfield High school where your school was playing against their hometeam.

“Language! Anyway, what’s wrong sweetie?”

You sighed as you turned to face her.

“I forgot my yearbook pass at school to get into the game.”

“Oh no! Well, that’s a problem. Hm… why don’t you ask Johnny to let you into the game? It’s his team playing after all.”

“That’s not how it works mom.”

“Don’t take that tone with me, young lady!”

“Sorry.”

Your mom put her hands on the driver's wheel in thought. “Ok, $10 dollars isn’t that bad.”

“Mmm-” not when you’re a brokeass teen “-kay, bye mom!”

“I love you! Make sure you go to Morton’s immediately after- wait, hold on, how are you getting there?”

“Johnny’s driving me,” you murmured absent-mindedly as you collected your camera equipment from the back seat.

As busy as you were, you didn’t see the secretive smile that crept up your mother’s face.

_______________________________________________________________________

“Aight team, warm-up on the court in five! Get your asses out there!” Johnny shouted at the locker room full of boys. They all murmured in consent as they quickly put on their notorious dark green and silver track pants and jacket for the warm-up. They all filed out of the locker room to the arena where the stands were already bursting with people.

A roar rose up when crowd favorite entered. Even though they were at an away game, more than half of the crowd were Spartan fans. Even some people who attended Deerfield liked the Spartans better, because a lot of them were supposedly attractive and skilled when they played. All you saw was a goddamn headache.

As per their pregame ritual, someone grabbed one ball and they all stood in a line. The first person bounced the basketball on the headboard, which bounced back and into the hands of the second person, who did the same thing and so on. From the sidelines next to the coach you took some pictures of the boys standing in line. Some of them caught sight of you and waved hi, while others pulled funny faces which made you giggle. You checked the screen of your camera to check the lighting. In a few minutes, the whole team dispersed to do their own thing and took advantage of the cart of basketballs available.

“Y/n!”

You looked up and some hair went in your face. You huffed the rebellious stand of your face.

“Hey, Johnny!”

He jogged over to your position right under the headboard, his usually defiant brown hair contained in a headband just imagine Johnny at the NBA photoshoot

“Um, at the end of the game, just meet me near the entrance. I promise I’ll be there quickly.” He smiled sheepishly at you as he scratched the back of his head.

“Yeah, sure.”

Your eyes suddenly narrowed as you pushed a finger to his chest.

“I had to spend 10 whole dollars to get into your game. 10. Whole. Dollars. Money I could’ve spent on fried chicken or food or whatever.”

“What happened to your yearbook pass?”

“I fucking forgot it at school,” you pouted, secretly embarrassed.

She looks fucking adorable, fuck. Johnny thought as he laughed, his normally booming laughter drowned out by the crowd.

“The only reason I was allowed onto the court was that your coach recognized me!” you lamented, shifting your weight on one foot. You had to crane your neck to look up to him because he was a good 1 and a half heads taller than you.

“Captain! Stop flirting with y/n and get on the court!” Johnny’s vice-captain, Kun, yelled out as he sunk a shot from the 3 point line.

“Fucking hell- I’ll see you later.”

“Sure,” You smiled at him.

As the toss-up began and the game progressed, you moved quickly over the court to take some epic action shots. You could use this for your portfolio for art club, so you were really focused on taking good quality photos.

When the players switched offense to defense or vice versa and ran across the court, they made weird faces at you. Taeyong stuck his tongue at you, Doyoung creep-smiled complete with a double chin, and many more antics that made you lament over the wasted pictures.

When a picture of Lucas completing a lay-up with a meme expression on his tanned face popped up on your viewfinder, you sighed. When you saw Johnny, you were going to make some sort of complaint because you could not use a shot of Mark dabbing on your yearbook spread, and certainly not in your art portfolio.

You came across a shot of Johnny setting up a screen. He certainly did not look hot. No, he was not attractive when sweat dripped down his face and body and made his muscles stand out mo- Fuck this, ugh.

The game ended and as usual, the Spartans beat the Deerfield warriors by a large margin, 100 to 76. You packed up your equipment into your bag and left the court as soon as the crowd left the arena and waited near the entrance, the cold autumn air permeating through your lined denim jacket.

Johnny exited the school, some of his team laughing with him with their arms slung around his shoulders.

“Johnny!” you called out when you saw him in his tracksuit.

The little group’s attention turned toward you as his face turned red in the dim lights. Yuta grinned and said something in Johnny’s ear that made Johnny slap him upside the head, Yuta still grinning the whole time.

Johnny walked over to you and you both walked to his mustang that his dad bought for him the previous year for winning the state championship. He opened your door for you and you both sped off into the streets of suburbia.

_______________________________________________________________________

When you both were led by the maitre’d to the private, reserved table and no one was there, you both groaned. Earlier, he had stopped at your house and you both got ready (he brought his clothes with him). You put on a nice white lace sundress with some nude heels complimented with light makeup. Johnny, on the other hand, wore a white oxford shirt with an unbuttoned, navy blazer. paired with khaki slacks underneath and some smart leather shoes. Nope, not hot at all. He didn’t look like a snack. y'all probably looked like some rich suburban couple lol

“Oh my god. My parents had like 4 hours to get ready and they’re still not ready? Ugh,” you curse.d.

“Rip. Well, we’ll just have to wait for them”

He pulled out your chair for you WHAT A GENTLEMAN and you both sat down to look over the menu. After you ordered water with lemon and he ordered Sprite, you two struck up easy conversation.

It was when he recounted the time when his underclassman friends, Jeno and Jaemin, got detention for duct-taping someone’s phone to the ceiling, he cracked up. You looked at his laughing face and blushed.

Honestly, you really didn’t know your feelings for Johnny. Yeah, he was annoying and kind of a smartass most of the time, but he was funny and always seemed to care about you. Not to mention you’ve known him since forever; your families always went on did stuff together so you kind of were forced to interact. You always saw him as Mr. and Mrs. Seo’s son who played piano really well but in freshman year it kind of all just… changed. He quickly became popular. Johnny shot up until he was a fucking tree and his facial features became more defined and chiseled, so whenever you saw him, whether it was at a restaurant or a gala or a game, your heart beat out of your chest.

You stirred your straw around in your drink and sighed. Your friends always had sworn up and down he had a crush on you, but you never believed them. Why would he like you, the girl that he’s known since she was in her awkward braces phase, the girl that always seemed annoyed by him, when he could probably hook up with anyone in the grade?

“Y/n! Johnny! We’re so sorry we’re late, but traffic was just so bad downtown!”

Mr. and Mrs. Seo walked towards your table with your parents in tow.

It was not like you were 30 minutes late and forced me to stay with Mr. my-hair-flops-a-lot-and-covers-my-eye-and-makes-me-look-really-attractive.

They all sat down and when you engaged in conversation with Mr. Seo about your photography competition, you didn’t notice the triplet of smirks passed around by your parents and Mrs. Seo when Johnny stared at you over the rim of his drink, an adoring look in his eye.

_______________________________________________________________________

“Y/n, you know what tonight is?” Mrs. Weathers voice warbled from the office.

“Yes, today is the Boys Basketball State championship,” you sighed.

How could you forget? With your dads’ passion for basketball, yours and Johnny’s parents were attending the state game tonight.

“Well, you know what you have to do!”

“Yes, Mrs. Weathers.”

Hopefully they didn’t joke around this time. It was the State Championship game, for god’s sake.

_______________________________________________________________________

Sike. They did. From pre-game warm-ups to the time they had scored their winning baskets, they had some really fucking weird faces in store for you.

Of course, the Spartans of Glenbrook North’s Boys Basketball team crushed their opposing team. I mean, you didn’t particularly have a lot of school pride, but you still felt something warm in your chest when you saw them hugging each other as the final buzzer rang out and the crowd went wild. Not to mention it was kinda funny watching the normally “manly man” team lowkey crying.

You were waiting for your friend to pick you up to attend Jaehyun’s post-game party at his ginormous house when you felt a hand on your shoulder.

It was the man of the hour, Johnny Seo.

“Oh hey, Johnny! Congrats man, I’m so proud of you!” You smiled as you pulled the man behind you into a hug.

“Thanks, y/n.”

You looked up at his face which was kind of… tense?

“I can’t believe your team put up with you for all these years. If I were Sicheng I would’ve skrt skrted the day you joined as center.”

His unusually tense facade broke for a minute as he flicked you in the forehead.

“Shut up!”

You both laughed and fell silent, hearing the loud chatterings of excited people near you. His face quickly grew tense again.

“Y/n… I… uh… this is going to sound weird, okay?”

“Well you were always weird in the first place, so no surprises there.”

He smiled slightly and took your hands in his. His calloused hands felt rough, but soothing at the same time. You blushed from the contact and looked down for a moment.

“So… I’ve kind of liked you for the past 4 years, y/n. And probably more than that.”

Your head snapped up quickly in shock. Johnny? Johnny Seo? Seo Youngho? Likes me? Plain old me? What the fuck.

“Um, I know it’s alright if you don’t share my feelings but I figured since it was the last game of my high school career, I’d thought I just get this off my chest-”

“Johnny, I like you too.” You smiled at him, and slight blush still adorning your cheeks.

His eyes widened and his mouth dropped open.

“Holy shit. Fuck. I did not expect this to happen, I thought you were going to reject me since you’ve always been annoyed with me, god-”

“Johnny I’ve always been annoyed with you because, well, I’ve liked you since freshman year too.” Your arms snaked around his corded neck and played with his slightly damp hair from his shower. You couldn’t even describe your feelings right now. You felt like you were high, and every nerve in your body tingled. Holy pigs on a stick Johnny likes meeeeee!

Johnny smirked as he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you close to his body, against the dim lights of the school lamps. The harsh light defined his features even more (if that was even possible), and made his eyes sparkle.

“Well, damn,” he whispered as he swooped down to capture your lips in his.

Yeah, there were no fireworks but there was definitely heat. The heat in his gaze you saw when he played on the court, the heat in his gaze when he played a particularly difficult run on the piano you could feel all around you when you closed your eyes and kissed him. Those longing looks you always sent towards each other and the shy brushes of your touches felt absolved as you kissed each other for quite some time.

“DAYUM JOHNNY BE GETTING SOME!!!”

Your make-out session was broken when both of your heads snapped in the direction of the noise. Johnny’s whole basketball team stood cheering in the parking lot, with a lot of girls giggling next to them.

“FUCKING FINALLY,” shouted Sicheng.

“JOHNNY GREW SOME BALLS!” Mark laughed as the whole team went wild over their captain, who they had known to crush on you for a long time and had to deal with his whole she-doesn’t-like-me-and-never-will deal.

“MARK!” Johnny shouted as his grip on you tightened.

You laughed and settled his head in his broad chest.

_______________________________________________________________________

The whole school basically rioted when they found out the next day. A bunch of people was congratulating you guys in the hallways because of his popularity, and he walked you to class and y’all held hands. His teammates kept on sending you guys sly glances throughout the whole day. Hell, even your teachers (including Mrs. Weathers) congratulated you. However, they weren’t as bad as your parents.

Your parents, when they found out, as you told them while holding hands, cried. They congratulated you like you had announced you were going to get married. Mr. Seo and your dad patted Johnny on the back and jokingly threatened to kill him if he hurt you, while Mrs. Seo and your mom hugged you tightly and cried into your shoulder.

“Oh, my sweet baby, I have been waiting for this for years!” your mum wiped a tear from her eyes.

Hold on… years? The pieces of the puzzle quickly clicked together in your mind and you gasped.

“Wait… were you deliberately late to the restaurant after the semi-final game?!”

_______________________________________________________________________

Later, when you were in Johnny’s arms and watching a movie you slapped him in the chest.

“Ow! Babe, what was that for!” Johnny laughed as he snuggled his face into the crook of your neck.

“I told you earlier I wanted game faces, not meme faces!”

[thelifeofasloth]

Two Options ~ Shawn Mendes Imagine

Request “The reader is this champion figure skater and she's dating Shawn Mendes but he gets frustrated bc every time he's able to come home she can't do a lot bc of practice and training"

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You had worked hard to get to where you were today.  From a very young age all you have ever wanted to be is a professional figure skater. Your parents helping you with whatever outfits you needed, making sure you were on time to every competition there was.  You owed your whole career to them.  You finally got your dream after you left High School.  Your parents got contacted by a large cooperation who wanted you to work with them.  You were hesitant at excepting at first, although you did love what you did you also realised how much work and time you would have to put aside from your life to do this.  But, knowing how much this meant to you, you accepted which in the long run has been the second-best decision you have ever made.

 It was in the second season of your competitions you had met Shawn, you didn’t notice him at first. You already knew that someone was going to be coming to preform while you all warmed up, with this being the biggest competition of the year and being broadcasted on live TV the pressure was really on.  Shawn’s voice captivating you while you skated, the way it sends shivers to every inch of your body.  You knew right then that you needed to understand this person, know why he likes to sing, why he does what he does.  You felt as though you could relate to him.  He had to spend months away from family, you had to spend months training all day unable to see your family most the time also.  Him doing what he loves while knowing all of this was the exact same as you.  

You were never confident in making the first move, considering most relationships that you have had ended in the 2 months because you spent little to no time together. So, when Shawn spoke to you and asked for your number you were in complete shock.  Obviously accepting his offer.

Now, surprisingly to you and many others you and Shawn were still together after 3 years.  At the beginning like past relationships when Shawn was home he wanted you all to himself, but this was impossible especially when his tour usually ended when your training began.  But, he put up with it because he understood that this was important to you.  He stepped aside and allowed you to continue.  But, recently this has not been the case.  Shawn was clingier recently.  With you being busy with championships coming up in the next few months he wanted to be by you whenever you came back from practice.  All you wanted to do was have a nice relaxing bath before getting into bed and watching a few episodes of your favourite show.  

But, with Shawn being like this you were unable to do so. ��This was the first time he was home for well over 5 months so you did want to see him also, but your company needed you to win this competition.  With all this pressure on you from work and home you sometimes just couldn’t handle it and part of you just wished Shawn would go back on tour so you didn’t have his pressure on you.

It was like today, with you not finishing practice until after 12 in the morning.  You walked into yours and Shawn’s shared apartment expecting him to already be asleep because of how much he had to complete tomorrow. You walked into the kitchen, filling the kettle up with water and getting your cup to fill it up with hot tea. As you turned around Shawn was situated on your breakfast bar, a neat whiskey in his hand.  He never usually drank, only when he was stressed from making his albums but even then, it was only on the days where he didn’t have a break.

You placed your empty cup down and looked up and Shawn, finally taking in his appearance.  As you left early and came back late you never got to see him and it really did shock you with what you saw.  His face had become paler, with his eyes showing how sleep deprived he was.  You were unsure why this was, considering he did not really have a lot do especially not early in the morning.

“How was practice?” Shawn his voice monotone, he glanced up once his eyes quickly shooting down when he noticed you were looking at him. His thumbs rubbing up and down the half full glass.

“Stressful, I am hoping to get a day off soon so I can have a break.  How was your day?  You look exhausted.”  You went to place a hand on his arm but as you did so he pulled back, downing the rest of the glass and placing it to the side of him.  The kettle being long forgotten as the worry for your boyfriend overwhelmed you.

“Ah, well.  Having a break for yourself will be nice.  Wish I could have one” a dry laugh being heard throughout the house.  You knew something wasn’t right, but you were too afraid to ask him.  He seemed like a stranger to you now.

“You see Y/N.  I come back from tour every year and I think, you know I finally have time to spend with my girlfriend.  But you?  You want a break for yourself.  I see how this relationship is to you.”  He went to grab the whiskey bottle again but you snatched it away, not wanting this to get out of hand.  

“Shawn, you know I want to be here with you, but it hard with championshi”

“Oh I know all about that, considering you care about it more than me” He pushed the glass off the table, the glass spraying everywhere.

“Shawn what are you doing? Why are you being so stupid?”  You walked into your cupboard to grab the pan and brush.  As you stepped out Shawn pushed you against the door taking you by surprise.  He didn’t do it hard enough to hurt you but it was still uncalled for.  

“Do you find the fact that you have no time for me stupid?  Or the fact that you care about your job more than me?  Because if you asked me too I would drop everything for you. This just proves that it has been onesided all this time.  You know my friends always told me that I cared about you more, right?  Like they literally said that if it came down to me or figure skating you would choose that.  I mean I didn’t believe them.  But, then you don’t come home.  The days you do have off you go in anyway.  So, it just proved to me what they said was true.”  A tear fell down Shawn’s face before he walked upstairs into your bedroom, you are following behind.  As you stepped inside you saw him grabbing his tour bag and placing it on the bed before getting a few shirts from his wardrobe.

“Shawn, you can’t seriously be leaving over this.  We can sort this out, please don’t” You walked over taking his bag away before he came in front of you with an expression you could not read.

“If you love me, you will let me leave”

“I can’t Shawn”

“I am sorry Y/N, but I can’t stay here with you like this.”  He walked to the front door having already taken the bag from your arms.  The only hope you had that he would stay shattered like the glass as your feet.  “Give me time” that was the last three words he had spoken to you for almost a month. You waited by the door every time you came home, just waiting for him to walk in and apologise.  But, recently you didn’t want him back.  He had broken you in a way that no one else could. 

[leagueofawesomedudes]

LOAD Week 9 Preview

Well well well well well well well.... would ya just look at this.... Jared Donovan’s team, the number 1 fantasy team in the entire country. Is it a coincidence that the first year that I said I would try I’m dragging my balls on everyone’s face below me? No it’s not. Fantasy is 100% skill, there’s literally no luck involved whatsoever, I always knew it would be too easy if I actually cared but I just said fuck it this year and thought I could use some extra cash. My experience as a Division III CB and John Carroll Univeristy early has paid off.. it essentially makes me a Patriots football coach and directly correlates to my fantasy football skillset. It’s science. But enough of the obvious facts, let’s get to these predictions, huh?

*Warning: content is in no way a preview of the players on the managers’ teams*

Jared Donovan’s team vs. Mahomies Chubbies

Just ran into chad in the bathroom before I started writing this. We had a good talk about the Browns sucking and us giving up on them and how fantasy just isn’t going well for him this year. You’re telling me bro, you fuckin suck at fantasy idiot.. also, tiniest pp on the planet. I was going to say he might be more laser focused since moving out of the penis palace that was His and Dom’s Bingham apartment.. but it’s hard to believe you can’t focus in a place with what seems like 5 couches thrown on the floor, 4 TVs, endless wires, and a pool table coated with semen. That’s ideal if you ask me. Also, now he’s in Lakewood, where the gays are plentiful so there’s nooo way he’s gunna be able to focus. He’s gunna be fuckin dudes and chicks left and rooight. Might even sneak into Bennett’s apartment and fuck him too. Luckily for me this all plays to my favor, not that I need any luck, like I said it’s all skill... Jared > Chad

Under the Influwentz vs. Kickers and Defense

What can I say, Doug and I have really gotten a lot closer this year, 2019 has been filled with so many great memories for us, to that thing we did and then that other thing we did, man... friendship ya know? It’s great. Now Solden... there was no way Solden was going to have a good year in fantasy... the dude got engaged and is planning a wedding, but trying to have a kid which may possibly trump the wedding... wow, now THAT is stress. Also, bold move planning a wedding 1,600 miles away on an island country but maybe possibly not having it in case you plop a baby in Mere. This would be great for me since I told you I likely won’t be going and would have less FOMO and would feel like a better friend. This wedding is tentative, how fast can your swimmers swim, the clock is ticking... kickers and defense huh? well Kick that D into overdrive and go to town. And no jerking off, save it for when it counts. God I’m a good friend. Good luck man. And you get the W in fantasy this week. Solden > Doug

My Quads are Danger6 vs. Rooney Tunes

Dammit I don’t have any ammo against these two men... both stand up guys. But have they ever met? I don’t think so, but nevertheless... Jon, Shawn said you’re a bitch. And Shawn, Jon said lick his nuts... so... yeah I don’t know what you guys wanna do about that but I thought I’d just relay the message. Shawn hasn’t set his lineup yet but based off of the 92% chance Jon currently has of winning that definitely won’t change, Jon > Shawn.

Uncle Rico vs. She Diggs My Cobb

Ohhhh boy... look at this one. These two have had a nice little rivalry building over the past few weeks.. Bennett lives for just a few things... triggering TJ, bridges, fishing shirts, and endless blizzards... it’s almost as if Bennett has intentionally been trying to trigger TJ... but let’s be honest TJ, you’re triggered easily... fucking pussy. But really...TJ has definitely had a rough 2019 guys... from sales people doing sales people jobs, from fortnite dramas, sjws that literally have no affect on his life, a few birthday IG stories that sent him spiraling into fury, not to mention the ankle injury ending his 2019 beach volleyball season. And I swear to God if you guys don’t respond to his GroupMe messages quicker there will be hell to pay. Maybe one of the bright spots this year from tj was falling back in love with fantasy, falling out of love with it, falling back in love with, falling out again, and then his knight in shining armor Gardner Minshew arrived and restored hope. unfortunately Minshew has disappeared just mysteriously as he arrived, but he has left an everlasting mark on the Uncle Rico’s and lifted yet another 2018 consolation championship contender into the top 3... just look at us now TJ. TJ > Bennett

Christian McCuris vs Injured Reserve

I did the math, and according to my calculations it’s OK for Casey to date his brother’s girlfriend’s sister. I probably said that last year but fuck it’s still funny. Unfortunately for him there are no calculations that result in a W for him this week so I’ll just get that out of the way now.... Sam > Casey. Sam has somehow cheated his way into the top of the crop again.. but who are we kidding we all knew this would happen. I can see his fake innocent smile, smiling at this preview right now... sickens me. he won’t beat me this year so 1st place is out for the question, the only hope for you 2nd place contenders is that he gets distracted by his new future wife, Ashley. What a love story ya know guys? I did the math on that too...Sams in the clear, right Paul? AYOOOOOOOOOOO. Which brings me to my game of the week.

Butker in the Cooper vs. Juju Kachoo

4 vs. 8... this has big implications moving forward. Dom went from the top spot for most of this season but has dropped off to the 4 spot as we begin the all important second half stretch... it’s almost symbolic as he slowly phases himself out of Cleveland life while preparing to move to LA... Moving to LA.. Reaaaaa original!!!! But imagine how many places have bottle service out there... it’s basically gunna be him, Nico, probably 40 finance bros and fuckin Mel getting bottle service 4 days a week. Don’t forget that pool table Dom! And Paul... Paul, Paul, Paul... has Paul changed? I’ve heard some murmers that Paul’s a dick now? I’ve missed like 3 roast sessions where Paul has supposedly told you all how he really feels... I’m upset that I haven’t received my roast from Paul yet but I hope to someday. Maybe he’s upset because he was once champion but now is nearing the bottom of the league... which essentially proves last year is a fluke and the championship should probably be voided. We’ll look into that. What do I need to do to get roasted Paul? I’ll do anything.... even tell you how you’re gunna lose this week... Dom > Paul

Alright that’s it. Don’t get your panties in a bunch. Good luck idiots

[loveteen-s]

[fic] i’ve been caught in your net; the8 x yein

seo myungho x jeong yein. 2868w. myungho had been feeling unlike himself since that day at the gym. high school/volleyball au. (part 1) (requested by anonymous) (title taken from here)

Myungho had been feeling unlike himself these past couple of weeks. He wasn’t down with a cold or a stomach bug, nor did he feel under the weather. He had been eating fine, interacted with his family as normal, laughed at Seokmin’s jokes as usual (even at the ones he didn’t understand). Everything was okay, normal, mundane even.

Until Jeong Yein passed by his table in the cafeteria to eat with her classmates slash volleyball teammates, and he was just like, Ah.

He would usually just squint his eyes at her whenever they passed by and noticed each other, or ignore each other without sparing another glance. But now Myungho found himself intently watching her talking with her friends, expanding her arms, waving her chopsticks around in high energy, and when Yein started laughing so gleefully she almost shoved her friend off the chair Myungho didn’t know if the sigh he released was of exasperation or adoration.

Maybe it was exasperation for the adoration, because he never thought the latter noun was something that he would associate Yein with.

Ever since that day they—he could say—practiced together, when Yein beat him on the spiking competition by one point, he had been keeping an eye on Yein, and it was a different one from when they were mere rivals. Before, he kept an eye on her performance on the court.

Now, he even stealthily craned his neck to see Yein in her class through the window.

He didn’t want to put a name to the unusual feeling yet, so he stored it at the back of his mind and quietly stood by the door of the gym to watch Yein’s class practicing.

Another of his teammate, Mingyu, came by a few minutes after he had settled in, with a can of soda in his hand. “Oh, you’re here to learn their moves too?”

Myungho took a glance at Mingyu for a fleeting second before nodding. It wasn’t his original reason, but it wouldn’t raise his friend’s suspicions. Imagine if he knew that Myungho was there to watch Yein, the whole school would know by tomorrow.

“You gotta keep an eye on Yein and Seungkwan,” Mingyu said, pointing at the two he was talking about. “I heard they practiced together a lot these days to improve their communication in the court, so I guess they can communicate with only their eyes by now.”

Myungho turned to Mingyu in confusion. “They’re practicing together now,” he said, pointing his thumb at the team.

“I mean together together,” Mingyu said with raised eyebrows. “Just the two of them.”

It took Myungho that, two weeks, and Yein hopping in a circle while holding hands with Seungkwan on the court for him to finally put a name to the odd feeling: infatuation.

As a middle blocker, one of Myungho’s task was to pay attention to the opponent’s setter, to read them, because if he couldn’t determine where they were going to send the ball, he wouldn’t be able to block their hitter.

It was the first day of the tournament and his class was up against 10-4; Yein’s class. But today was definitely not his day, Myungho thought as he sniffed and heaved out a big sigh.

He had caught a cold the night before due to the stupid weather change and all the sniffing he was doing had started to ache his head.

He could still play, he wanted to play, he had to play, but the headache was spreading like an oil spill and Yein was her team’s setter.

Myungho had blown his nose away from the sight of the other teams so none of them would know that he was sick and saw him as the weakest link, but when he stepped into the court and bowed at their juniors, he noticed that Yein was staring at him. Myungho sniffed as quietly and subtly as he could, and he could see Yein mouthing something at him from the other side of the net.

‘Are you sick?’ Myungho watched as Yein’s lips moved to produce those words, and he thought a smug smirk would be something she’d throw at him, so he was a little flustered when he saw concern written all over her face.

Myungho shook his head but he could tell she knew, maybe from how he kept huffing even before the match started, or from his unfocused gaze, but she knew. She knew, but Myungho just kept shaking his head, more to assure himself that he wasn’t sick and that he could play, until Yein wasn’t looking at him anymore.

His headache wasn’t the only thing bothering him anymore when, halfway through the first set, that Yein and Seungkwan’s chemistry was great, to say the least. Yein sent the ball to Seungkwan lots of times, and it should’ve had been something predictable if not for Yein looking like she was going to send the ball to someone else before changing to Seungkwan at the last nanosecond. Myungho did a good job blocking Seungkwan’s spikes despite his headache, but the ones that went past him added to his headache. He sent a glare to Seungkwan, who was oblivious, every time he high fived Yein.

Myungho tried his best to keep his feet steady, jumping as high as he usually did, blocking as many spikes as he could, but it wasn’t just his day and probably the whole team’s as well when the juniors won. Seo Myungho, the school legend (self proclaimed), lost in his very first game in this year’s winter tournament, because he caught a cold and the opponent’s setter was turning his attention upside down.

Myungho bowed at the opponent’s middle blockers to congratulate their team and behind him, his teammates gave each other a hug of consolation. Myungho could feel Mingyu latching himself onto his back and patting his shoulder, but all he could see was Yein and Seungkwan hugging at the side of the court, wide smiles on their faces like they just won the world championships, before they broke apart and threw their hands in the air. Amidst the cheers from the bleachers, Yein’s laughter traveled to his ear.

Before she could turn towards his team, Myungho had already left the court, taking his water bottle with him and exiting the gym.

Myungho ended up sitting on the staircase, away from the gym, chugging the content of his water bottle in annoyance, but anger. He had a lot of reasons to be angry today. He was angry at the cold, at his immune system, at himself. He lowered his water bottle, suddenly feeling guilty for walking out of the gym like that. Maybe he should go back.

He was about to stand up when he saw someone approaching from the end of the hall. Myungho squinted his eyes and his shoulders slumped when he recognized who it was.

“So you are sick,” Yein said as soon as she was within his earshot. A soft smile was present on her lips, something he rarely saw, let alone became the receiving end of it.

Yein took a seat next to him on the staircase and immediately handed him a pack of egg sandwiches and a strip of cold medicine without a word. Myungho, bewildered, didn’t take them until Yein spoke, “You have to eat before you can take the medicine.”

“How did you get the medicine?” Myungho asked, finally taking the sandwiches and medicine into his hand. If this happened three weeks ago he would refuse, but this was now and he was sick, his pride was the last thing on his mind, and he liked Yein now. “And thanks.”

“From the infirmary,” Yein replied. “You shouldn’t have played.”

“What, and let you have an easy win?” Myungho snorted and started eating a sandwich.

Yein rolled her eyes. “This isn’t about that. You were clearly very sick. I can’t believe your coach allowed you to play.”

“I bribed him,” Myungho absentmindedly said as he munched on his sandwich. From the corner of his eye, he saw Yein shaking her head in dismay.

“Just finish your sandwiches and drink your meds,” Yein said in a final tone and he expected her to stand up and leave, but she leaned back on the staircase, already looking comfortable sitting on it.

Myungho glanced at her. “Why aren’t you celebrating with your friends?”

“I did. We’re gonna order pizza later,” Yein said, her grin almost pulled the corner of his lips up. She was silent for a moment before she said, “I have to admit, you still played well for someone who’s sick. But I should’ve expected that from the school’s legend, huh?”

Myungho’s head turned towards her so fast he almost had a whiplash, which was bad when he was still nursing a headache, but he didn’t care, because there was only one person who called him “the school’s legend” and that was himself. He didn’t think Yein would also consider him as that.

Seeing Myungho’s agape expression had Yein cracking up, which left Myungho even more bewildered than before. “I don’t actually consider you that. I heard you calling yourself that yesterday when you were practicing alone in the gym.”

The older boy rolled his eyes and continued eating, ignoring Yein’s bubbly giggles. He had finished his first sandwich when he said, “You played well today too.”

“Thank you,” Yein smiled. “I have a great team, and Seungkwan and I were like the golden duo earlier.”

Myungho squared his jaw. That Seungkwan again. He bit into half of his second sandwich harshly, chewing on it quick so he could, after gaining his composure, say, “I heard you practiced together, just the two of you.”

Yein nodded, seemingly oblivious to Myungho’s sudden rage that he was taking out on the sandwich, and replied, “Yeah, a few times. We spent so much time together that our communication skills in the court improved.”

This time, Myungho bit into his sandwich slowly, chewing on little pieces, his brain cooking something up. His head was still aching, although it had become much better than when he was playing, and it must’ve had been because something was pressing on his brain. “This is the sick me talking, and I have to ask you something.”

Yein looked at him with those wide eyes that Myungho had been seeing these past two weeks whenever he daydreamed in class. “Sure,” she said, seeming amused by the concept of Myungho’s sick alter ego talking.

“Is Seungkwan your boyfriend?”

Yein’s response was immediate and surprised Myungho a little bit when she suddenly exclaimed, “What, no! He’s just a friend. What makes you think that?”

Myungho shrugged. “You said you guys spent so much time together, I thought you meant like dates. Or are you guys not there yet?”

“We are not going anywhere,” Yein said, looking at Myungho in disbelief. “He’s just a good friend and teammate.”

Myungho bit into the last piece of his sandwich, chewed on it three times, and said, “Okay.” He looked away, more to hide the embarrassment that belatedly appeared in his head. Why did he even ask that? ‘This is the sick me talking’, what even was that? Myungho’s inner self shook his head in a disproving manner.

Yein didn’t utter a single word as Myungho drank his medicine, not even when Myungho exaggeratedly slammed the water bottle on his lap. He was starting to think this was his cue to thank Yein for the food and the meds again and leave, until Yein finally spoke. “Why did you ask?” She looked up at Myungho, and asked, “Did you feel threatened?”

“I was—what?”

It seemed like Myungho wasn’t the only one who did not see that coming. Even Yein looked petrified, her doe eyes were now filled with shock that mirrored Myungho’s.

“Threatened?” Myungho repeated the word back to Yein, who, at it, seemed to grow even paler.

“F-forget I asked that,” Yein stuttered, masking it with an even trembling laugh. “Oh, it’s good that you’ve taken your meds so I should probably go now.”

She rambled without once looking at Myungho and was ready to stand up when Myungho—the sick him, he reminded himself—grabbed the hem of Yein’s shirt and said, “Wait.”

Yein stared at his hand, grabbing onto her volleyball jersey, and it seemed to make him self-conscious as he soon released his grip. However, in silence, Yein sat back down, her back stiff and her eyes looking straight at the empty hallway.

None of them said anything, trying to make sense of what was happening. Myungho thought of the feeling that he had labelled as ‘Infatuation’, one that he thought was temporary and would be gone soon if he just pushed it far back in his mind. He had done just that, only thinking about the tournament these past week, but the feeling was still there. It was either it needed more time to disappear, or Myungho mislabeled it.

As Myungho thought back to the time they were at the gym together, to just this morning when he stormed off the gym after Yein and Seungkwan hugged, and the word that kept ringing in his ear—threatened, threatened—he thought it could be the latter.

“Listen, Yein,” Myungho said and he cleared his throat when Yein merely glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “This is not the sick me talking, and I need to tell you something.” He had had enough of putting it on the headache and the cold. If he had something to say he himself was going to say it.

Yein’s hands balled into fists on her lap as she waited for Myungho to continue.

“I like you.” Myungho bit on his lip. Yein’s eyes widened, but her gaze was kept on the hallway. She didn’t offer any comment so he continued. “Ever since that day we practiced together at the gym, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. About you.”

He saw Yein sucking in a deep breath and she finally turned her head to look at Myungho, though she still looked like she knew Myungho wasn’t finished.

“The reason I stormed off earlier wasn’t because I lost, but,” he heaved out a sigh, could not believe he was about to confess, “because I was jealous that you were hugging Seungkwan.”

At Yein’s disbelieving look, Myungho raised his hands in defeat. “I know, I know, it was immature of me.”

Yein sounded as if she had been holding her breath since Myungho’s first confession, as she exhaled a long breath. She huffed again, and said, “Well, now you know that there’s nothing going on between me and him.”

“I know,” he said.

“That he’s just a friend.”

“I know.”

“And that I like you too.”

Myungho was stunned for a moment. Sure, even when sick, his brain still worked fast, and he had put two and two together. It resulted in a rather conceited thought about Yein liking him back, so he didn’t think about it much further because it was embarrassing to even say it to himself when Yein hadn’t said anything to him yet. But now that she had, it still caught him by surprise.

“I do now,” he replied, dumbfounded. “When…”

“Since that day at the gym. Ditto.” Yein looked away from Myungho, though in the end her eyes came back to lock with his. She looked shy, glancing up at him through her lashes, nothing like the confident and snarky Yein Myungho had gotten used to.

“So, we like each other,” Myungho said. Even to his ears he sounded dumb.

“Apparently, we do,” Yein said. They stared at the hallway again, lost in their own thoughts.

“You look cute when you’re shy,” he said, turning to Yein with a teasing smirk on his lips.

Yein rolled her eyes. “Quiet, or you don’t get a pizza slice.”

“Can I get two if I asked you to be my girlfriend right now?”

Yein squinted her eyes at him, pursing her lips. She looked like she was weighing the pros and cons, though Myungho was certain there was no con in that proposal. “Depends on how you do it,” she finally responded.

“I’m sick, what do you want me to do?”

“Right, you’re sick,” Yein mumbled. She hummed, musing, and said, “Okay, I’ll give you two slices but you do something amazing on our first date, alright?”

“I’ll rent a hot air balloon, then,” Myungho said, more to himself, but Yein still burst out laughing at that. When her laughter died down, he stepped down one step to get on one knee and said, “Jeong Yein, you made my pulse spike every time I think about you, and that’s a lot of times.” Yein smiled at his clever incorporation of a volleyball term. “Will you be my girlfriend?”

So, Myungho mislabeled it. It wasn’t infatuation. It was fondness, adoration, affection, all mixed into one.

Yein’s hand reached for Myungho’s and clasp both her hands on his, and answered, “Yes.”

(“You know I was just joking about you having to do something amazing on our first date, right?”

“I know, but I wasn’t about the hot air balloon.”)

[fisicol92]

Four skaters from Japan, Rika Hongo, Keiji Tanaka, Satoko Miyahara and Yuzuru Hanyu talked to us about their skating career before the ISU Four Continents Championships 2017.

Q = Interviewer Wei Xiong for ISU RH = Rika Hongo KT = Keiji Tanaka SM= Satoko Miyahara YH= Yuzuru Hanyu

Q: How did you get into figure skating?

RH: My mother is a figure skating coach. I followed her to work when I was three years old, and I played around the rink. When I was five, I told her that I want to learn figure skating, and that’s how I started.

KT: There was a skating rink near my home, so at the beginning I went there just for fun. It was during my first grade in elementary school. Then I enjoyed it so much that gradually I started to take regular skating classes, and before I realized, I was already a member of the skating club.

SM: I started skating when I was four. I lived in the U.S. for two years and a half when my parents were studying there. There was a skating rink inside a shopping mall, when I went there, I tried to skate for the first time and I really enjoyed it, so I started to skate.

YH: It was my elder sister who started to skate first. At that time I wasn’t particularly into figure skating, but I was just following my sister and skating with her.

Q: When did you decide to dedicate yourself to this sport and be an athlete?

RH: I was inspired by Shizuka Arakawa’s victory at the 2006 Olympics, since then I started to dream about competing at the Olympics, and I started to train hard to be a skater.

After she won the Olympics, there was a parade in her hometown Sendai, and you were the kid who accompanied her in the parade car. Do you still remember that day?

Yes, I remember I was sitting next to her, and I saw the shining gold medal at a close distance. I thought that was so cool and I was inspired.

KT: After I joined the skating club, I think being an athlete just became something very natural to me, and I never thought about quitting because training was tough.

SM: I kept skating and naturally began real training after I came back to Japan. When I was in third grade in elementary school, I competed at my first international competition. Ever since then I realized I would become an athlete.

YH: For me, an athlete equals to an Olympian, an Olympic gold medalist. When I was around five-years-old, I already seriously thought about winning the gold medal at the Olympics. But what made me want the Olympic title strongly was the battle between Yagudin and Plushenko at 2002 Salt Lake City Olympics.

Q: Did you already have the confidence that you were going to be a top skater in the world?

Tanaka: I still don’t think I am competitive on the international stage, but one thing that inspired me was when Yuzuru won the World Junior Championships. He is the same age as me, and the best among us. When he won the junior title, I thought it was really awesome, and I wanted to catch up with him. So I made up my mind and set my goal to be a competitive skater in the world. One year after, I won the silver medal at junior Worlds.

SM: I didn’t think about being a top skater at that time, but I strongly wanted to go to the Olympics.

YH: Yes! I remember I got the second place at my first ever competition since I started to skate, but soon I won my next competition. I was presented a trophy in that competition, and I lifted the trophy over my head, just trying to imitate what Plushenko and Yagudin always did. It was a small trophy like this size (he pointed to his beverage bottle), and I did it like this (he held up the bottle over his head). It was a small, domestic competition, I think I was five years old, or maybe first grade in elementary school.

Q: Being an athlete is tough, but is there anything even tougher that you hadn’t expected or imagined?

RH: All your time is occupied by skating, I train every day, and it is so difficult to find some time just to hang out with your friends. Also, I need to get up early in the morning, that’s also tough.

YH: The risk of injury is high, and there is no guarantee that the harder you train the better you become, so I think that’s really the difficult part. Also, I think this is unique in Japan, but figure skating is so popular here that I cannot go out easily, and there are paparazzi around, so this is something difficult to deal with too.

(Does training in Canada make things easier?)

Yes, I can get more of my own time in Canada.

Q: What’s your favorite element in figure skating and what gives you headache?

RH: I like the jumps the most. Among all types of jumps, I like toe the most, but I am not good at loop.

KT: I like doing footwork, especially when it fits the music, it feels really enjoyable. As for what I am not good at, compared to those best skaters in the world, I have a lot of work to do on my spins.

SM: I like all elements. But I am not good at twizzles, and I wish I could spin faster on flying camel spins.

Q: Could you share with us the stories or inspirations of your programs this season?

RH: My free skate this season is choreographed by Akiko Suzuki. I want to enhance my presentation, and I think I can learn a lot from her. Before she retired, we were skating in the same rink, and I was always amazed and inspired by her. It feels great that I can continue to learn from her now in this way.

KT: It is a new genre of music (“Federico Fellini Medley”) that I’ve never tried before, so it was really difficult at the beginning of the season, I just couldn’t catch the feeling of the program, and couldn’t show the right facial expression. When I made a mistake on the first few jumping passes, it felt very hard to concentrate on presentation, and hence couldn’t put the program together. But at the NHK Trophy, I did well with the first few jumps, so I carried the momentum to the rest of the program, kept the energy and paid attention to facial expressions. I finally felt I was able to perform this program well.

SM: Tom Dickson recommended the “Star Wars” music to me in the middle of last season, and we started to do the choreography right after the season ended. The music is something different from what I’ve skated to before, but I think it is so cool and I like it.

You are always shy off the ice, is it difficult to skate to something so “cool”?

Yes, I really need to pay a lot of attention to the movements and scale when I skate, and give much more strength than before.

YH: The music of my free skate was composed by a Japanese composer, if I go deep into the story behind the music, it was actually the opening song of 1998 Nagano Paralympics. My mom watched the Nagano Olympics and Paralympics, and then she wanted my elder sister to skate, so she took her to skating class. If you think about it, those Olympics were the starting point of my skating life, so I want to use this piece of music. Also, as I mentioned, it was composed by a Japanese composer, so I think I can continue to present something I’ve learned from “SEIMEI”.

The Olympics really is something special for you, isn’t it?

Yes. On one hand, when it comes to competing at a competition, like in Sochi, I treated it as a normal competition; but on the other hand, I am planning and preparing for the next Olympics, so I guess I have a special feeling for it. Of course, I want to win the gold medal again in Pyeongchang.

Your long program is called “Hope and Legacy”, and you talked about how skaters’ performances can remain as a legacy. Which performance of yours do you think is your legacy?

YH: It was my first novice national championships, which I won. I was very happy at that time, not only happy for the win, but also for my score. It was still under the 6.0 system, I watched competitions on TV a lot, so I knew only those very top skaters in the world could get over 5.5 points, but I got 5.2 for my presentation. I was so happy at that time, and my performance at that competition became my motivation of skating, and it still motivates me now.

Q: What’s your equity in Team Japan? For example, are you the one that laughs the most, or talks the most, or are you the one who likes to give advice and take care of rookies, or are you the one that doesn’t talk at all, etc.

RH: There are younger skaters coming up this season, but this is only my third year on the senior circuit and there are more experienced skaters than me, like Asada or Murakami, so I am the one who still tries to learn from the elders during competitions.

KT: I am the shy one and not good at talking. On the contrary, Yuzuru is very outgoing and really talks a lot, sometimes I cannot follow him.

YH: We are all teammates, but at the same time competitors. For example, I am at the same age with Ryuju Hino and Keiji Tanaka who also competed at NHK Trophy, we know each other since we were kids, we are really good friends off the ice, but on the ice, we are competitors.

Q: Yuzuru, Keiji just said you always talk so much that he sometimes cannot follow.

YH: I admit. I really talk a lot, but I am thankful that he is always willing to listen. Just like I said, we knew each other from long ago, so I feel like he can understand me.

Q: How about in the skating club? For Rika and Satoko, there are many younger girls in your rink, do you give them advice?

RH: I talk to them a lot, but we seldom talk about skating.

SM: I often practice with them, and I get stimulation from them, I enjoy skating with them. I don’t always do that, but sometimes I do give them advice. I also have things to learn from them, so I think it is a very good training environment.

Q: What do you like to do off the ice?

RH: I like sleeping and eating. I especially like ice cream, so whenever there is a limited edition or new flavor of ice cream, I will go get it and enjoy.

KT: I like watching movies. Recently I watch a lot of Japanese movies.

SM: I like reading books and sleeping, and I like cooking. I like something sweet, and I like Japanese food. I cook for my family when I have time.

Q: Yuzuru, you are taking university courses via e-school, right?

YH: Yes, but I am too busy training to keep up with my studies. Nevertheless my classes are very interesting. I am majoring in Human Science, it is very broad, and I study a lot about human, about computer science, etc. Recently I am really into Human Bioethics. I’ve thought a lot about “life” in my life so far, and I am also thinking about “life” when I perform “Hope and Legacy”, so studying Human Bioethics helps my skating. Given that I don’t really have much time, I try to take less courses, but study in depth and make every minute out of it count.

Q: One thing I have to ask Keiji, your name “Keiji” (which means “police” in Japanese) is so special. Who gave you the name?

KT: It was my father. He gave me this name because it is very unique, you can’t really find another person with the same name, and he wants me to be a person with strong sense of justice. He didn’t expect me to be a policeman, but I think this is really a good name, and I am glad that people can remember me by this name.

from isu.org

[msbigredmachine]

I Won’t Let You Fall - A Roman Reigns One-Shot

She was ready to give up on herself, but one man had to let her know he was not ready to lose her, even if it meant revealing a certain secret he'd kept to himself for years. Roman Reigns/OC. Dark one-shot.

WARNING: Themes of suicide.

My first attempt at mass tagging:  @lavitabella87 | @cynda-wrasslin | @caramara3 | @alexahood21 | @nickysmum1909 | @iloveenzoamore | @fan-fiction-galore | @flawlessglamazon | @hardcorewwetrash | @helluvawriter | @emmarablack | @banrioncethlenn | @laigy2213 | @redalternativefirefly | @fmlallthewayup | @lilmisscrisis | @imagines–assemble | @knowdagirlm | @blondekel77 | @lclb12 | @shadow-of-wonder | @fandom-preferences-imagines | @reignsappreciationpagefics | @heilisk | @reigns420 | @withwordslikeweapons | @hiitsmecharlie

----------------------

I Won't Let You Fall

Cradling a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels in her arms, Aja sat in her hotel room, intoxicated and out of her mind. She was fresh off yet another non-appearance on Monday Night Raw, live from the beautiful city of Toronto, Canada. But there was nothing beautiful about how she'd been feeling for the past several months.

She currently hated her life and everything that was in it. Her life was spiraling out of control, unraveling before her very eyes. She lost the Women's title nearly a year ago and was yet to get it back. It was the umpteenth week in a row that Creative had made her job to some talentless hack who couldn't wrestle her way out of a paper bag. AJ Lee, her best friend in the business, had left the company almost two years ago. Since then, the newer girls from NXT, Sasha, Charlotte and the rest, were taking over and taking her spot. She’d been walked over and left out in the cold, and it sucked ass.

She laughed cynically. How ironic it was that she was griping about being walked over. It wasn't too long ago that she was doing the exact same thing. There was no rule she didn't break, no line she didn't cross during her short time with the WWE. Her father was a wrestling superstar in his hey-day, and she unashamedly exploited his name to speed up her ascent to the big time. She trampled on everyone at developmental that she thought was a threat or standing in the way of her success. She slept with whoever she needed to, Triple H included. She'd taken performance-enhancing drugs for years to keep up with the Joneses, and systematically and cleverly beat each drug test they threw at her. You name it; she did it. More importantly, she got away with it.

But no one in the industry could deny her immense talent or beauty. Signing with the WWE in 2010, Aja helped FCW’s Women's division get noticed with her eclectic style of wrestling and remarkable microphone skills. Her feud with AJ on the main roster was one of the most entertaining in recent memory, and she'd been hailed as one of the greatest female wrestlers of her generation. These days, the five-time champion and guaranteed main eventer was barely on TV. And just as the brand split seemed on the verge of rescuing her career, she fell victim to a back injury that kept her off TV for even longer. Once upon a time she was on top of the world. Now here she was, thirty years old, injured and directionless.

However, her current professional plight was a bed of roses compared to her personal life. A notorious flirt, she was no stranger to breaking up relationships. She'd been on her fourth run as Champion when she started sleeping with John Cena. Despite her friendship with Nicole, she went ahead with the affair and only stopped when Nikki threatened to blow the whistle on the whole thing. Knowing Nikki had Stephanie McMahon, head of Creative, in her pocket, Cena dumped her quickly. The scandal was hidden from the public, but not the locker room, and she couldn't escape the taunts of her colleagues. Stephanie, who hadn’t forgotten the other woman’s affair with her husband, made her pay by wasting her on TV. Aja’s career hasn’t been the same since.

A lone tear slipped out of her eye as she wondered how she had let things get so bad. She was stuck in a nightmare. Her life had taken this route that she saw no way back from, no matter how hard she looked. She no longer had family to turn to in this tough time. Just over a year ago her parents were murdered in their home during an armed robbery gone wrong. The tragedy made headlines everywhere, and she felt all alone as she tried to pick up the pieces of her life.

It was all too much. No human being could withstand this kind of pressure. She was not as strong as she looked. She was no longer the self-assured, indestructible badass who kicked ass night after night in that ring. She was a fraud. She'd spent years lying to all those young girls that looked up to her and now she was paying for it. She was lonely. She was depressed. Alcohol was her new best friend. But this time, not even this bottle of Jack could numb the pain, or cover up the gaping hole in her soul that just seemed to widen with each passing day. Her past was haunting her, torturing her until she decided she'd had enough.

The deathly silence permeating her hotel room only served to vivify the despondent thoughts that ran riot in her head. Nia, her roommate and traveling buddy, hadn’t returned yet. Good. Nia did not need to be here when she did what she had in mind.

Aja seized a sheet of paper from the table beside her and tried to write a letter explaining her actions, but she could barely hold on to the pen. A few more failed attempts later, she shoved the table away in frustration. She didn't need the stupid note anyway. She was tired and fed up and wanted to get everything over with. Getting to her feet, she staggered towards the balcony. It was freezing outside, the land below her a vast blanket of snow, but she could not feel the bitter cold. She felt nothing anymore.

Swigging out of her bottle again, she surveyed the vast landscape before her. In all honesty she could not have found a better place to end it all; at the venue of her first Championship win at Summerslam two years ago. She brushed her fingers over her wrestling attire, which she still had on. This was a good way to go, perfectly outfitted for the occasion. It was a pity she wouldn't get to go out on top. But then again, how many people did? She didn't deserve to anyway, not after everything she had done.

Running a hand through her hair, she shut her eyes and took a deep breath, then tilted her head back as the cold breeze caressed her face. Sensing the final seconds ticking closer, she felt overwhelmingly at peace. Slowly, she climbed up onto the ledge and looked down. She had to be at least eight stories high up. There was no way she would survive the fall. That was what she wanted.

She thought of the people she was leaving behind; the few colleagues who still cared for her; her trainers; what was left of her family…she thought about him. The man who would never know how much she loved him, how much she respected him for sticking by her all these years even when she treated him like shit. She didn’t deserve him, but it didn’t matter now. She would no longer be dragging any of them down with her. Tears trickled down her cheeks; tears of joy, tears of sadness, tears of relief that all the pain and humiliation and suffering she'd endured for so many years were finally coming to an end.

She thought of her mother and she smiled, taking one final deep breath. Finally, she was going home.

So long, world. It was one hell of a ride.

------------------------

"Man, there's no alcohol in here," Seth Rollins complained as he burrowed through the contents of the mini-fridge. He emerged with a couple of juice boxes instead. "Roman! Did you ask for OJ?"

His roommate, Roman Reigns, did not respond, neither did he move from his spot on the edge of his bed, clearly wrapped up in his thoughts. “Yo, Earth to Roman," Seth snapped his fingers in the bigger man’s face. “Dude, you alright?”

Roman’s voice was tired as he spoke. “I’m fine, man. Just thinkin’.”

“About Aja?” Seth asked, referring to their good friend and fellow Superstar. He raised a challenging eyebrow when Roman looked at him. “Easy guess. I mean, you’ve only had feelings for her forever.”

“Dude, don’t end this friendship before it gets restarted,” the Samoan warned, then added with a sigh, “Did she seem…different…to you today?”

“How do you mean?”

Roman went through the day’s events in his head, focusing on his female friend’s demeanor. “I don’t know man…there was just something strange about her behavior today…the way she kept talking…Like she was sayin’ goodbye or somethin’.”

“You think she’s leaving the company? Didn’t hear anything about that.”

“Neither did I.”                                                    

"For real? Strange. Thought she tells you stuff and all that,” Seth mused.

“Well, this time I’m as clueless as everyone else,” said Roman.

Seth plopped down in the middle of the bed, bouncing slightly off the mattress. “Maybe she is leaving. Taking a break or something. She deserves it after all the shit she’s gone through. Don’t worry about her too much, dude. Aja is a tough chick. She’ll be fine.”

Roman observed his younger friend, and sighed. Perhaps he had a point. Rising to his feet, he headed into the bathroom to splash some water on his face.

His mind flitted back to tonight's show. Like always whenever they had a show abroad, the atmosphere was electric. Though there was a lot of the usual booing and "Roman sucks" chants, it didn’t affect him like it usually did. Regardless of the backlash he endured, he never got tired of meeting the fans wherever the Superstars traveled, and he still couldn't get over the rabid fan base the WWE had overseas. He was proud to be a part of it, more than his critics and naysayers could ever understand.

Seth's booming cackle sounded from inside the bedroom and the TV’s volume was cranked up. Maybe he'd found an entertaining program. The Samoan recalled Seth’s words about Aja possibly leaving the company. Crazy, complex, controversial Aja. As one of her close friends Roman knew how badly things had been going for her. She was being forced to watch her legend get picked apart and she lashed out at everyone, including him – Roman couldn't count how many fights and arguments he'd gotten into with her. Fights about the drugs and alcohol, the sex, the unsuccessful rehab stints. He'd watched her get slapped with fine after fine and then the inevitable suspension. It was well-known that she pushed the envelope and people's buttons. If it was the truth, that she was leaving, he wouldn’t be surprised. It’d been on the horizon for quite some time. She’d never been the same since her parents’ murders. But he would be lying if he said he wouldn’t be bitterly disappointed if she did. He wondered if there was a way he could convince her to change her mind, if he could figure out a way to pass off his reasons as unselfish. Because truth be told, her being away from him was not a welcome proposition. He would miss her. Miss her like crazy.

Roman stepped out of the bathroom to join Seth, but stopped short when something caught his eye as he passed the glass door that led to the balcony.

Aja stood outside on her own balcony. What the hell was she doing outside in this cold? He watched, puzzled as she ran her hand through her jet-black hair, clearly in tears. It was obvious that she didn't know she was being watched. She was still in her wrestling gear, holding a bottle of Jack Daniels in her hand. She squared her shoulders and threw her head back, like she was taking a deep breath…

Then she climbed up the ledge, standing straight, a look of chilling determination etched on her face as she looked down…

The realization of what was about to happen hit Roman like a speeding truck. Instinct and adrenaline took over and he raced out the door. Seth glanced up in surprise as he whizzed past him.

"Whoa, where's the fire?" he asked the empty room.

-----------------

Roman reached her hotel room in record time. He pushed the door and was relieved to find it was open. He hissed as the cold air swept through his body. Then he saw the open glass door, saw her peering over the ledge.

"Aja! What the fuck are you doing?" he demanded, shocked.

She looked over her shoulder, and a small gasp of shock escaped Roman's lips. The sight before him was nothing short of dejected with a generous dose of pathetic. Her dark hair was wild and unkempt, her nose bright red from the cold. Her tear-filled bloodshot eyes were narrowed at him, irritated that her privacy was invaded. The frustration, resentment and self-pity he'd been seeing in those eyes for months were prevalent.

However, this was the first time he was seeing 'suicidal'. He never thought she would be driven to attempt something this drastic.

He took a step forward. "Babe-"

"Stay back!" she spat. "Don't come any closer!"

"If this is your idea of a joke, it ain't funny-"

"Yeah, that's right. I'm a joke! I've been a joke for as long as I can fucking remember!" Tipping her head back, she gulped down some more of her booze.

Shaking his head, he held out his hand to her. "Hey, I ain't playin', woman. Come on, give me your hand. I'll bring you down."

Her brown eyes narrowed dangerously. "You come any closer and I'll jump!"

"Bullshit," Roman stated matter-of-factly. "If you really wanted to jump, you'd have done it already."

She was incensed. "Fuck you, Reigns!" she snapped, stabbing a finger in his direction. "Just because I…I tell you things don't mean you know everything that's going through my head!"

"Oh, I got a pretty good idea," Roman retorted. "You're up there, hammered and freezing your ass off, about to make the biggest mistake of your life!"

As if on their own accord, her teeth started to chatter, but she quickly pursed her lips tightly. "Go back to your room, Roman. Leave me alone."

"Can't do that, sweet pea. I'm involved now. I've been standing here for five minutes and done nothing. So basically I'm so deep into this I'll be tagged as an accessory if something happened."

"Then leave!"

"I told you, I can't. If you jump, I'll come after you."

A bitter, derisive chuckle escaped Aja’s lips. "Oh suuuure. Roman Reigns, WWE's poster boy, turned to road kill because of some washed-up 'Diva'." She made air quotes at the last word. "That's sure to make front page news." Rolling her eyes, she took another large, sloppy gulp of whiskey.

Roman knew how she got when she was intoxicated. Humoring her was usually the best solution to calm her down, but because of this potential disaster he had to act very fast indeed. "Actually I kinda fancy my chances of survival with all that snow covering the road," he said, taking another casual step closer. "It's probably the cold that will kill me. The temperature’s about to hit the negatives, you know that? You got balls standing here wearing just your wrestling gear." His grey eyes swept over her body. "Not that I'm complainin'."

At his words, she felt the blush creeping into her cheeks. He was flirting with her, like he always did, and she felt a pang of resentment, hating him for being so oblivious. "Forget it, Reigns. This has been coming for a long time and you know it." She turned away, adding in a soft, defeated whisper, "You can't save me. No one can."

Roman sucked in a sharp breath as she swayed precariously on the ledge. She was borderline wasted, making things all the more volatile. One wrong move and she was history. "Look," he said. "You can't just give up. Not like this."

She shrugged helplessly. "What's the point? It's obvious my services are no longer required. No one gives a damn anymore, not even the fans. I'm doing everybody a favor."

Roman scoffed in disbelief. "Are you serious? If you think the fans hate you, what about me?" He pointed at himself. "I'm the one getting booed night in night out, and probably will for the rest of my career. There's nothing I can do about it but keep working my ass off like I have ever since I entered this business. You of all people should know not to give a fuck about what anyone says! We've talked about this! We got our shitty days, we got our good days. But we got no other choice but to deal with both of 'em. Trust me; you won't be doing anybody any favors by jumping off that ledge. The last thing anyone wants to do is scrape brain matter off the road in the middle of the night."

He was getting closer and closer to her. A few more steps and he would reach her. "And no matter what you've done, the fans would not want you to go this way. And neither would I."

There was something about the way he spoke that caused her resolve to falter. "Why do you give a damn about me after everything I've put you through?" she asked, gazing at him.

"Because you're my friend, and believe it or not, I'm your biggest fan," he said softly. His eyes welled up as they met hers. "I watched you at FCW. You were amazing then, and you still are now, what matter what anyone says. You can get that form back. I know you can. That’s why I refuse to stand here and watch you do this. So do me and my conscience a favor, okay? Get down from there. You don't want to do this." He stretched out his hands again. "Please," he whispered. "Just get down."

She stared long and hard at Roman. Her gaze switched from his face, to his hands, and back to his face. Suddenly, she burst into tears, her legs giving out from underneath her. Roman rushed forward and caught her, then carried her back into her room and sat down on her bed. Dragging her onto his lap, he held her tightly, gently rocking her back and forth. The sounds of her cries caused him to squeeze his eyes shut, trying without success to stop his own tears from falling.

"How could you?" Roman whispered into her hair, his voice breaking in anguish. "How could you be so selfish? Do you know what this would have done to everyone? To your friends, your fans…Do you know what this would have done to me?"

"I can't take it anymore," Aja sobbed, burying her face in his chest. She’d been in his arms like this several times before; Her first NXT title win; when she won the then-Divas title for the first time…the day of her parents’ murderer’s execution. In his arms was the safest she’d ever felt. But these days it wasn’t enough. Not anymore. "I'm so fuckin’ tired of everything. I just want my life back. I want someone to notice me, to love me again…"

"What are you talking about? Babe, you got people who love you. Your fans, your friends! We all love you. I love you." Roman was confused. How did she not see that?

Pain jabbed at her heart at his words, her expression was forlorn as she responded. "I…I know you do. But it's just not the way I want you to."

It was as if time had stood still. Roman stared at her, his heart pounding as his mind tried to process what her words were implying. He watched as she turned away, but he quickly caught her chin with his finger. "Aja, look at me," he cajoled her. "This is me. Talk to me."

Reluctantly, she faced him, shame and anxiety in her irises, but it was the quiet sincerity in them that shone through. She may have been drinking but in that moment, she had never looked more sober. Taking a deep breath, she began her confession. "I…fuck, this is so fucked up. I'm in love with you, Ro," she murmured, and she vaguely heard him inhale sharply. "I have been for so long now. But I never had the guts to tell you. I didn't want to ruin our friendship. Besides, I saw how you were with the other girls, Summer, Alicia, Sasha and even April when she was around…They’re much saner than I can ever hope to be. As far as I was concerned I didn't stand a chance. I didn't expect to. You took so much crap from me, hell, I was just surprised you wanted anything to do with me, let alone be with me."

She swallowed hard, gauging his expressionless features, and she ducked her head in shame and ran a hand nervously through her hair. "Wow. Um…" Words failed her, and tears filled her eyes. She'd been right all along. He'd never seen her as anything more than a friend. God, she should have just kept her mouth shut. She started to pull away, desperate to get off his lap, to get out of the room, back on the ledge even. But Roman's hold around her tightened. She dared to meet his gaze again, puzzled by his behavior.

"You once asked me what my biggest regret was." He found his voice at last, and it was thick with emotion. "Still wanna know?"

Until now, she hadn't realized how close their faces were. "What?"

Grey eyes bored into brown ones. "Not doing this a long time ago."

He leaned down and kissed her.

She was certain now that she had indeed died. This was a dream. It had to be. Roman Reigns, the man she'd loved for so long, the man that always seemed so close yet so out of reach, was kissing her. Moaning softly into his mouth, she gripped the back of his neck and clung to him. Their lips melted together in such a blissfully familiar way, as though this kiss was not their first. The intensity, the gentle urgency of his lips caressing her own sent tremors down her spine.

Roman's large hand was around her waist, holding her protectively like precious cargo. The other was in her hair, tilting her head so he could kiss her better. He poured everything he was feeling into this intimate moment. She tasted like whiskey but the flavor only made her lips more irresistible, making him fall harder for her.

He remembered when he first laid eyes on her, all those years back in FCW. She’d walked into that dusty warehouse and her smile had lit up the entire place. They gravitated towards each other, both uniting to share the burden imposed upon them as offspring of famous wrestlers. He also ended up sharing the battle with her ever-mounting personal demons, and by all rights he should have walked away from the ticking time-bomb that was Aja, kept his distance. But he’d never met anyone like her and he was drawn like a moth to a flame. she was beautiful, confident, funny, and always kept a positive attitude despite the bullshit she was going through. Roman always knew that he would one day tell her how he felt about her. But he never imagined it would be in a situation like this. He knew now that he couldn't stay silent any longer, not when he'd come so close to losing her forever.

They finally broke apart, breathless, and Roman wrapped his arms around her, gently pressing his forehead against hers. "I've always loved you. I loved you the moment you walked into my life five years ago. With a five-minute conversation I found someone who got me, understood me more than anyone ever could. Yeah, so we fight all the time and we have our issues or whatever, but I'd rather have that than lose you altogether. If you jumped off that ledge tonight, I'd have followed you."

"Stop saying that!" She reprimanded him, shaking her head vigorously.

His smile was bittersweet as he tucked a stray lock of her dark hair behind her ears. "You don't understand how much you mean to me, do you? I'd do anything for you. I'd get my ass kicked for you. I'd take a bullet for you. If I lost you tonight, it would have broken me. I don't ever want to go through this again, you hear me? I need you Aja, more than you can imagine."

His eyes shone with unshed tears, and Aja was overcome with guilt. It was a pity that this had to happen for them to reveal their true feelings for each other. Still, she knew she would be dumb not to seize this rare chance to finally be with the love of her life. Shifting her body so that she straddled Roman's lap, she cupped his face in both hands and looked deep into his eyes. "Kiss me again. Prove to me that I'm not dreaming."

"Can't get enough of me already, huh?" Roman smirked, laughing when she slapped his arm. Again, he pressed his lips to hers, kissing her more softly this time. "I love you," he whispered, then chuckled, looking away for a second. "God, it feels so good to finally say that to you."

When he met her gaze again, she saw his words, his heart, in his eyes. "It feels better to hear it from you," she replied, kissing him tenderly. The feel and taste of his lips was something she could definitely get used to. Just like that, her will to stay alive, to pick herself up and turn her life around was reignited.

"Ro...Stay with me," she pleaded. "I don't want to be alone."

Roman shook his head, pulling her body even closer to his. "You'll never be alone, baby. I'll never leave you. I promise."

And with those words, they shared another heartfelt kiss. Aja’s near-death experience had turned a tragedy into a new lease on life, kick-starting a long journey towards her recovery and a brand-new relationship with Roman, who planned to stay by her side every step of the way.

------------------

A/N: I’m very much aware that suicide is not a light topic at all, but this was in my head and refusing to go away.

Fic title taken from the Nickelback song “Never Gonna Be Alone”.

[thisdaynews]

Marieke Vervoort: Tribute to the Paralympian, who ended her life through euthanasia

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Marieke Vervoort: Tribute to the Paralympian, who ended her life through euthanasia

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Living with euthanasia: Marieke’s story

When I heard Marieke Vervoort had died, I felt deeply sad – for her loving family, her many friends and her fans around the world.

She was a remarkable champion, on and off the track. She was outrageously funny and full of life, but I’ve never had such frank conversations about death with anyone.

Somehow, though, those conversations weren’t depressing; she had accepted her time on earth would be shorter than many, but she was determined to wring every last drop of fun out of it that she could.

I can still hear her voice telling us to enjoy “every little moment”. And she had planned her end.

“I want to end like Marieke”, she told me, a year on from our first visit, when her eyesight was failing and she was increasingly dependent on carers and medics to alleviate her constant pain.

We drank Cava on a beautiful summer’s evening; she was still able to enjoy the good moments, but they were becoming less frequent.

Her friend Lieve told us then she thought she might have another six months, maybe a year. That was two years ago.

I hope and pray that, when the end came, it was a soft and beautiful death, as she wished.

I’ll never forget her, or the two extraordinary days we shared with her, talking about how to die and, crucially, how to live.

A version of the article below was originally published in December 2016. It has been updated by the author following the death of Marieke Vervoort.

Doors open for you in Diest when you’re with Marieke Vervoort.

Go to a restaurant in this pretty Belgian town, and all the diners know her. They come over to congratulate her on winning two medals at the 2016 Rio Paralympics; she raises a glass to a family celebrating a birthday.

For a few hours, she’s the life and soul of the party.

But, at 37, the Belgian wheelchair racer suffers such pain she wakes her neighbours by screaming in the night. As she watches her precious, fiercely defended independence dwindling, she has planned her own death.

Euthanasia is legal in Belgium, and in 2008 Vervoort signed the papers which will, eventually, allow a doctor to end her life. It’s not that she wants to die. She wants to live. But she wants to live on her terms.

Fight to the finish – Marieke Vervoort: download the BBC Radio 5 live podcast

Watch more of Marieke’s story on Victoria Derbyshire

‘My mind says yes, but my body cries’

It is three months since she won silver and bronze at her second Paralympics [at Rio 2016] and Vervoort is still the toast of Diest, where a large billboard bearing an image of her face declares the town is “so proud” of her.

We’re greeted at the door of her specially adapted flat by Zenn, Vervoort’s assistance labrador. Nurses come in four times a day to tend to Vervoort’s medical needs, but Zenn gives her mistress an extra degree of independence, fetching items and helping her dress. She is, most of all, a mood-enhancer.

‘Zenn makes me Zen,’ says Vervoort

“When I’m happy, she’s happy,” says Vervoort. “When I’m mad, she’s scared, and she goes to sit in another part of the house so she’s not bothering me. When I’m crying, she’ll come to lie down with me, lick my face, hug me.

“When I’m going to have an epileptic attack, she pushes her head between my knees. She is saying to me, ‘Marieke, you have to lay down. Go to a safe spot because something is going to happen to you’.”

The walls of her flat are crammed with framed photos and paintings of her winning moments, while medals, trophies, and bottles of champagne jostle for space on cupboards and counter tops.

Her achievements have been hard won. A progressive, incurable spinal condition, diagnosed when she was 21, ravages her body and no two days are the same.

“I know how I feel now, but I don’t know how I’ll feel after half an hour,” she says. “It can be that I feel very, very bad, I get an epileptic attack, I cry, I scream because of pain. I need a lot of painkillers, valium, morphine.

“A lot of people ask me how is it possible that you can have such good results and still be smiling with all the pain and medication that eats your muscles. For me, sports, and racing with a wheelchair – it’s a kind of medication.”

Just getting to the start line in Rio was an achievement. In 2013, a racing accident left her shoulder so badly damaged a doctor told her she would never reach the top again. To that, as to so many setbacks in life, her response was a defiant hand gesture.

“I turned my bed into a gym – physio, elastic belts,” she says.

“I was doing my own physio, my own exercises. After the rehabilitation, I broke three world records.”

She went back to her doctor and thanked her for telling her she would not reach the top again.

“You gave me the power to fight back like an animal,” she told her doctor. “You make my mind only stronger.”

Vervoort was happy to end her career on a high but sad to say goodbye to the sport she loves

The silver medal in the T52 400m in Rio came after 30 hours of violent sickness and a day on a rehydrating drip in the Paralympic village. The bronze in the 100m came after a bladder infection sent her temperature soaring.

She said they were medals with two sides – happy and sad.

“I can’t imagine a better way to end your career, but also there’s a side of sadness, to say goodbye to the sports that I love,” she explains.

“Other people stop with their sports because they say they don’t want to do it any more. I have to stop because my mind says yes, go further, you still can do it. But my body cries, says help, stop training, you break me.”

Marieke’s major medals 2012 Paralympics:Gold (T52 100m) and silver (T52 200m) 2015 World Championships:Gold (T52 100m, 200m and 400m) 2016 Paralympics:Silver (T51/52 400m) and bronze (T51/52 100m)

‘A living hell is not the life that she wants’

To get a fuller picture of the athlete known as ‘The Beast from Diest’, we travel to see her close friend Lieve Bullens, the woman Vervoort calls her “Godmother”.

Ask Vervoort’s friends and family to describe her and they will use a variety of adjectives. Determined, independent, joyful, stubborn. I would add funny, thoughtful and a terrible back-seat driver.

The constant threat of an epileptic episode and her deteriorating sight mean she is no longer allowed to drive her car, emblazoned with her picture, fist punching the air after another race win. I take the wheel. It’s clear my caution is damaging her image as Belgium’s fastest woman on three wheels.

“You are driving like an old woman! Ha ha ha!”

Many pictures on her walls celebrate the achievements of Vervoort, whose nickname is Wielemie

Bullens welcomes us into a house which is part home, part Buddhist retreat. Large windows overlook the winter garden, drums and dreamcatchers are suspended from the ceiling. The open cooking range has been converted into a candle-laden altar. It’s the perfect place to recuperate from the stress of the car journey.

Vervoort met Bullens, a mental coach and therapist, when competing at the 2007 Hawaii Ironman triathlon for para-athletes.

Triathlon had become her passion when the onset of her disease made her reliant on a wheelchair. She was para-triathlon world champion twice, but in 2008 her condition deteriorated to such an extent she had to give up the sport.

It was the lowest point in her life. The pain was agonising, the loss of independence insupportable. She told her friend she wanted to kill herself.

“She said ‘there’s no point in living, no point in going on because it’s too hard, it’s too bad’,” Bullens says.

But Vervoort’s psychologist recommended she speak to Dr Wim Distelmans, a leading palliative care expert. He suggested an alternative option: euthanasia.

Euthanasia – in which a doctor intervenes to end a life – has been legal in Belgium since 2002. It is available only if a patient has an incurable condition, is in unbearable pain, and is able to make a rational decision to request it, and even then two doctors have to agree it is the correct course of action.

In 2015, MPs in the UK rejected the Assisted Dying Bill, which would have allowed some terminally ill adults to end their lives with medical supervision.

Bullens was the first person Vervoort told about her decision. She is also the person she wants with her when she dies.

“I immediately supported her,” Bullens says. “She is stubborn. She knows what she wants. But she also knows what she doesn’t want. A living hell is not the life that she wants.

“I immediately had the feeling it was something that she could control, and if she had control of her life, she would live longer. The pain is always there. She doesn’t have to wait for the pain to have an end for her life. She says to the pain – I decide when to go. Not you.”

In the hall of Bullens’ house is a wall upon which friends and guests have written inspirational messages. But, until now, not Vervoort. She puts that right. It’s a painful process, as her hands are beginning to fail her. Bullens knows it’s a precious moment.

“The woman who’s writing it is forever in my heart,” she says. “She’s not forever physically. It’s a peaceful thought that she will go in a beautiful way, and not a hard way. In a strong way.”

What is the law in Belgium? Belgium, like the Netherlands and Luxembourg, permits euthanasia A patient’s suffering must be constant, unbearable and the illness must be serious and incurable Since 2014, a terminally ill child in Belgium may also request euthanasia with parental consent but extra assessment is required An adult does not have to be terminally ill but must be mentally competent A child seeking euthanasia must be terminally illand mentally competent

‘I’m a real rich girl, even with this miserable, ugly disease’

Jos and Odette Vervoort are no different to many proud sporting parents, travelling extensively to support their daughter. They get out a photo album of memorable moments on Copacabana Beach, Sugarloaf Mountain, and – the highlight – Vervoort being presented with her silver medal and getting a hug from Princess Astrid of Belgium.

They’ve watched their sporty child grow into a world-beating adult. Like all parents, they know they need to let their child go. But for them, letting go means having to support her decision to end her life with euthanasia.

“She’s always been independent,” Jos says. “When she came in a wheelchair, she was frightened she would live all her life as a disabled person with mum and dad under the same roof.

“You can see her situation, you are realistic, and you say yes, if she feels better with [the decision to choose euthanasia], I can live with it.

“In the beginning we knew it was a decision for the future. Now we know the future is coming near.

“It may be a question of months, a question of years. But we see as she becomes more dependent, it becomes more difficult.”

Her parents don’t know, and she doesn’t know, when the moment will come. What is clear is she is not ready for it yet.

Vervoort has swapped wheels for wings

She has given up wheelchair racing and taken up indoor sky diving – the vertical wind tunnel allows her battered body a sense of precious freedom – with the aim of doing an unassisted dive from a plane.

She wants to fly in a stunt plane, and bungee jump from a bridge. She loathes not being able to drive her car, but her friends, family and Zenn give her much to live for.

“I’m the richest girl in the world,” she says.

“I’m a real rich girl, a really lucky person, even with this miserable, ugly disease which I hate.”

Is she afraid of dying?

“No, if you asked me 10 years ago, do you want to do a bungee jump – are you crazy? I’m not afraid any more. I risk everything, and I love it, to do all these things, because I’m not afraid to die any more,” she says.

“To me, death is peaceful, something that gives me a good feeling.”

‘I was thinking about how I was going to kill myself’

Vervoort’s fridge is well stocked. Not with food on the day we’re there, but with sparkling wine. She opens a bottle before dinner. It’s part of her pain relief.

We go to eat with her at a restaurant in Diest, where she is the guest of honour. She recommends the sizzling beef and the shrimp tagliatelle, both delicious. It’s a great night.

The next day we arrive to do one last interview but find Vervoort curled up on the couch, exhausted and barely conscious after a pain-racked night.

She called the nurses in the early hours to administer morphine. Zenn keeps close to her mistress’ side.

It’s hard to believe this is the irrepressible woman we spent the previous day with, and a stark reminder of how unpredictable her illness is.

But 40 minutes later, she wants to talk again. We talk about the reason she chose euthanasia over suicide.

“If I didn’t have those papers, I wouldn’t have been able to go into the Paralympics. I was a very depressed person – I was thinking about how I was going to kill myself,” she explains.

“In England, I hope, and every country, they will look at euthanasia in another way – it’s not murder. I’m the best example. It’s thanks to those papers that I’m still living.

“All those people who get those papers here in Belgium – they have a good feeling. They don’t have to die in pain. They can choose a moment, and be with the people they want to be with. With euthanasia you’re sure that you will have a soft, beautiful death.”

The conversation finishes in gales of laughter when Zenn, sensing the mood, decides to lighten it by passing wind.

Seconds later, Vervoort’s eyes roll backwards. She’s having an epileptic fit. We hit the red button and medical staff are there within a minute. It’s become part of her life.

A couple of hours later she is in Brussels, giving a motivational speech and saying yes to selfies and autographs for anyone who wants them.

She is determined not to waste a second of the life she has remaining. She has planned her funeral, and it involves a lot of sparkling wine. She also knows what she wants her eulogy to say.

“I prepared everything. I wrote to every person who’s in my heart. I wrote to every person a letter when I could still do it with my hands,” she says.

“I wrote texts that they have to read. I want that everybody takes a glass of Cava, [and toasts me] because she had a really good life. She had a really bad disease, but thanks to that disease, she was able to do things that people can only dream about, because I was mentally so strong.

“I want people to remember that Marieke was somebody living day by day and enjoying every little moment.”

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[psychotherapyconsultants]

Podcast: From Homeless to Prisoner to Olympian



In his teens, Tony Hoffman was a BMX Amateur being featured on magazine covers. But soon after, he was a drug addict living in the streets and ultimately ending in prison. After his parole, a now clean Tony returned to the BMX world in a big way: by taking the silver medal in the 2016 Olympics. Since then, Tony has dedicated his life to helping others with addiction issues with his motivational speaking and special projects.

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About Our Guest

After paroling prison on December 13, 2008, Tony Hoffman started living out his dream, with his addiction behind him. Tony is a Former BMX Elite Pro and placed 2nd at the 2016 World Championships in Medellin Colombia in the Masters Pro class. He is a 2016 Rio Olympic Games Coach, with Women’s BMX PRO, Brooke Crain, in his lineup. His story is full of redemption as he has seen some of the highest highs, and the lowest lows. Tony is the Founder and Director of The Freewheel Project, a non-profit organization that mentors thousands of youth through action sports: BMX, skateboarding and after-school programs. The Freewheel Project focuses on teaching kids leadership skills, and making healthy life choices, including substance abuse prevention, each year.

Find Tony on Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook.

TONY HOFFMAN SHOW TRANSCRIPT

Editor’s Note: Please be mindful that this transcript has been computer generated and therefore may contain inaccuracies and grammar errors. Thank you.

Narrator 1: Welcome to the Psych Central show, where each episode presents an in-depth look at issues from the field of psychology and mental health –  with host Gabe Howard and co-host Vincent M. Wales.

Gabe Howard: Welcome to this week’s episode of the Psych Central Show podcast. My name is Gabe Howard and I’m here with my fellow host, Vincent M. Wales. And today, Vincent and I will be talking to Tony Hoffman, who is a former BMX elite pro and placed second at the 2016 World Championship in the Masters Pro class. Tony, welcome to the show.

Tony Hoffman: hanks for having me, guys.

Vincent M. Wales: Glad you could make it with us here. You know, Tony, what you’ve accomplished is pretty incredible. I mean, I think anybody would be very proud to have achieved the things that you have. What makes your accomplishments so fascinating, especially for our show, is what your life was like prior to that. Can you tell us about it?

Tony Hoffman: Yeah. The foundation of me being a speaker is obviously my past life. You know, I was on the cover of a magazine at 18 years old. I was endorsed by gigantic action sports corporations like Fox Racing, AirWalk shoes, Spy sunglasses. I was ranked number one in the country that my senior year going into the final race. And a lot of people at that time would have said or assumed that I was going to be an extremely successful person and racing BMX. And that’s not quite what ended up happening. About that same time, 18 years old, I started smoking weed and drinking alcohol, much like many other people that I was going to school with. What I didn’t know at that time when I started smoking weed and drinking was that I was going to be one of many addicts in my group of friends that would not be able to control their drug use and it would escalate from marijuana and drinking to use of cocaine. And then finally, the one that became, you know, kind of my doomsday drug was the introduction of prescription painkillers, specifically OxyContin started at 18 years old. By the time I was 21 years old, I committed a home invasion, armed robbery and robbed a family friend. I robbed his parents in their home for their OxyContin prescription that they had.

Tony Hoffman: And I was basically what I call people a pharmaceutical junkie. I had no idea that the stuff that came out of the orange bottle was the same stuff that came from the cartel. It was just packaged different. And because of this pack is different. You know, I automatically assume that it was OK. But, you know, I didn’t go to prison after that robbery. My parents spent a bunch of money on an attorney after I was finally apprehended for that crime. And it kept me out of prison. I wasn’t aware of all the things I was going to need to do to actually get clean and sober, stay clean and sober. And within two years of that moment, I was completely homeless. And when I say homeless, I don’t mean that I was couch surfing. If I got a couch, I was lucky. I slept in dirt fields, slept behind dumpsters, pushing shopping carts. And on January 21st, 2007, I had a spiritual experience that changed the course of my life. On January 22nd, I was arrested and I was sentenced to four and a half years in prison, 30 days later. And that’s where I chose to rebuild my life, to set myself on a path to accomplish the things that I’ve accomplished today.

Vincent M. Wales: Wow.

Gabe Howard: Wow. That’s a lot. There’s several questions that spring to mind. So we’ll just kind of take them in order. But the first one is, is do you think that all of the pressure that you were under at such a young age contributed to this? And I know you’re not looking for excuses, but I’ve often thought, you know, you’ve got a 17, 18, 19 year old on the cover of national magazines. And what does this do to development? I mean, I just I can’t imagine how I at 40 would react if all of the sudden I had nationwide fame. And, you know, I’m fully baked.

Tony Hoffman: Well, I think there’s some things that need to be stated, and one is a BMX is a niche sport. I was on the cover of the largest BMX magazine in the world, but that’s nothing compared to being on an NBA type cover magazine or some of these other sports that get massive recognition. But I do believe that there was a lot of pressure starting from when I was a young kid with coaches, because they recognized that my potential as an athlete, because I wasn’t just a BMX racer. What I’d tell people was I was a gift. I could play basketball, baseball, soccer, rollerblades, skateboards, BMX, bikes, volleyball, tennis, whatever the sport was. I was always the best. And there was a lot of pressure that came from coaches. But I don’t know that they contributed to the stuff that I went through. But I do know that I didn’t know how to deal with the pressure that was put on me because I didn’t know how to be disciplined. I only wanted to work hard on my own terms. I kind of had the “addict isms” long before I ever tried using drugs. And so I was very selfish and self-centered. I was unwilling to work on somebody else’s terms. I was an un-coachable athlete and I think that those things actually played a bigger role and my substance use issues than, say, the pressure did.

Vincent M. Wales: I think those statements there, Tony, are very insightful and I’m  wondering, how did you come to that conclusion?

Tony Hoffman: This is the hardest part of an addict’s journey or somebody who suffers with substance use. And that is there has to be a portion of time in which the individual separates themselves from all distractions. I don’t care if you have to cut the TV out, cut the Internet out, cut the phones out, cut all of that out and cut the busyness out of your life. This is why treatment is so important. This is why we’re not even close when it comes to what real, authentic treatment looks like for an individual, because insurance companies typically give us 30 to 45 days to do this. But when a person can separate themselves from all distractions, they begin to then listen to themselves or hear of themselves and they get time, which is what I did was take this time to relive all of these situations that I went through in my life. When I tell my life story and with youth audiences, I tell these stories that somebody might ask, why did you tell this story? The reason I tell these stories is because in my meditation work in myself, inventory work, these moments that I speak about had a very significant role and where my life went as a result of my attitude and my choices. And so separating myself, spending time meditating and self inventory, allow me to relive situations and take my responsibility and hold myself accountable for the outcomes that had taken place back to when I was in third grade. That was so important to me to understand how just even in third grade I was making decisions, thinking certain ways and having these isms that were producing the product that put me in prison.

Gabe Howard: We’ll be right back after these words.

Narrator 2: This episode is sponsored by BetterHelp.com, secure, convenient and affordable online counselling. All counselors are licensed, accredited professionals. Anything you share is confidential. Schedule secure video or phone sessions, plus chat and text with your therapist whenever you feel it’s needed. A month of online therapy often costs less than a single traditional face-to-face session. Go to BetterHelp.com/PsychCentral and experience seven days of free therapy to see if online counselling is right for you. BetterHelp.com/PsychCentral.

Vincent M. Wales: Welcome back, everyone. We’re here talking about addiction with BMX pro Tony Hoffman.

Gabe Howard: One of the things I want to say is I really like what you said about how insurance companies and the medical establishment is like, okay, you’re sick. As long as you’re better in 30 to 45 days, we’ll call it a win. But if you’re not, it’s probably your fault and we’ve got no more resources for you. This is not the way that we treat cancer and other physical illnesses. And I think it really leaves a lot of people desperate. One of the other things that you said is that, you know, going to prison kind of helped save your life. And I don’t want anybody to hear this and think, oh, so all the addicts need to go to prison and they’ll all end up being like, Tony, because I know that’s not what you’re saying.

Tony Hoffman: No, it’s not what I’m saying. I went to prison and my neighbors in front of me, behind me, and left of me, and right of me all shot heroin, every single one of them. It was a shooting gallery. There’s more heroin in prison than there is on the street. The guards are not there to help you. The vocational programs in California institutions, they may have been reinstated. I know they’re at least trying to reinstate them. But when I was there, there was nothing in there to facilitate recovery. I’m not the rule. And I tried to tell my probation department and judicial factions all over the country, don’t put me on a pedestal. My job is not to run around and say, look at me, look what I did. Everybody else should be able to do it, too, because that’s not the case. I’m a very, very, very small, small percentage of an exception. The rule is most people need long term treatment. The rule is most people need social programs or exit programs that are long term mentorships to help these individuals who go into gang ridden neighborhoods, who’ve been through foster care their entire life, who have not had a mom and dad who’ve been married 43 years and an upper middle class financial status. That’s what I had. I had all of the things that I needed. What I didn’t have was the attitude, choices and an addiction that I didn’t get to choose whether or not I was going to have in my life. And so the answer is not institutions in terms of jailing. The answer is social programs, treatment and mentoring programs that can help individuals overcome whatever specific hurdle they have in their life. And there’s many, many that need to be addressed individually.

Gabe Howard: You know, it’s a very powerful thing that you said there, that one of the ways that you were able to get well is because, you know, you had a good family, a good support system. You were upper middle class. Your parents were married to each other. And they loved you very much and they tried very hard. But you’ve got to put that against the fact that even though you had all of those things, addictions still played a huge role in your life. So even with all of those things, you couldn’t avoid it, but you needed all of those things to help get through it. And then you can really start to see the breadth of the addiction issue in America. It’s not as simple as, oh, well, they come from bad homes or well, if your parents weren’t divorced or well, if you had money or tried harder, there’s all these little corners that everybody tries to shove this problem in. And I think that your story illustrates very well that whatever corner you have, it doesn’t matter. It’s addiction has no reason. And it can really hit anybody.

Tony Hoffman: It can hit anybody. And I will tell you right now that I’ve been sober for almost 12 years. And the hardest person to get to listen to you as an addict is the person with money. They cannot let go of the belief system that their money will fix things. Their money has made them better than people. Their money has deluded them. All of these opportunities and that they’re not like those other people. And we’ve communicated this to the baby boomers, Gen X and the early millennials through the D.A.R.E. program that said stay away from PCP, cocaine, crack, methamphetamine, heroin, LSD, those drugs. We knew that those drugs were only found on the other side of town. The other side of town was lower socioeconomic. They were different color skin. They had all of the gangs. They didn’t say anything about the orange bottle because the orange bottle was people who had insurance and went to doctors and the doctors prescribe them the medications that they would become addicted to. And so we separated ourselves because our money put us in a different region of how drugs would be administered to us. And so letting go of those belief systems when you have financial status is extremely difficult.

Gabe Howard: You know, you make a good point about like the D.A.R.E. program and things like that. I went through the D.A.R.E. program and you’re right, it always showed a well-dressed 15 year old. And then somebody would come up dressed like, who knows what? But clearly somebody that didn’t belong in the neighborhood and they would offer to sell you drugs. And they taught you how to say no. You were never offered drugs by your peer group. You were never offered drugs by somebody dressed like you. You were always offered drugs by somebody who stumbled upon your schoolyard, no doubt, to victimize you.

Tony Hoffman: I’m so glad you brought that up, because in my speeches, at times I will tell kids when I was a young kid, I remember this commercial. There were in the end of a hallway where the lockers are in and this little weak, measly looking kid goes into his locker. And then this big bully looking guy comes up and he says, “Hey, Johnny, want to smoke a joint?” And it’s like, just say no. And then slams a locker. That’s what they told us peer pressure was when I was a kid. They didn’t tell us that peer pressure actually looked like this. You’re going to have a group of friends that you went to elementary school with, intermediate school with, slumber parties, ski trips, family vacations. And one day three of your friends are gonna decide that they’re going to start smoking weed and that there is a component in you that does not want to experience what it’s like to lose your friends and be lonely. And so you have a choice. You either have what it takes inside of you to decide that this is not who I am. I can be alone and make new friends, or you are going to be overcome by the fear of losing friends and being alone, and you will end up doing the same thing that they do. That’s what peer pressure looks like. It’s not the bad guy coming up to you. Nobody ever offered me drugs that didn’t like me. It was always my best friends.

Gabe Howard: That’s a very good point.

Vincent M. Wales: Wow. I was just going to say we need to do a show on peer pressure. But I think we just did it.

Gabe Howard: Yeah. And you’re right. All the peer…

Vincent M. Wales: Tony, that was great.

Gabe Howard: Tony, you’re absolutely right. That’s what peer pressure looked like for me. It was never my enemies that wanted to hang out with me and do anything. It was always my friends that wanted to hang out with me and do something that got us in trouble.

Tony Hoffman: And you’ve got to strip it down to an emotional level, like we’re talking about emotional awareness right now. When you look at peer pressure, somebody might say, well, I never experienced peer pressure that way. You did. If you can stop, remove yourself and you can examine all of the emotions that are at play in those situations. One hundred percent. That’s exactly what it looks like. We’re talking emotional awareness of what people are experiencing in those moments and what drives us to make the decisions that we make, because that’s what it is. There’s layers beneath the cognitive level that we can understand and see that are actually driving us as human beings, assisting us in the choices that we make, they’re survival instincts, whether we know it or not.

Vincent M. Wales: That’s also very insightful. Thank you. I want to go back to something you said a little earlier, which was that addiction isn’t a choice. You didn’t choose to become addicted to anything.

Tony Hoffman: Mm hmm.

Vincent M. Wales: A lot of people out there will say, OK, sure, nobody chooses to become an addict, but they do choose to start using those drugs in the first place.

Tony Hoffman: I say to those folks, what is the statistic of people that have never drank one time in their lives, or smoked weed or a cigarette? I am telling you right now, that number is far less than it is people that tried it. And so my thing is, if most of us have tried a substance at one time in our lives and you didn’t become addicted to it, what you’re choosing to do in that moment is take the reality that was your life and say it didn’t happen to me, shouldn’t happen to them. But not everybody is alike. If it was, we’d all die from cancer or we’d all die from heart failure because we’re all robots. We don’t live the same realities. We don’t have the same bodies. If it was my choice tonight, I’d be able to sit down with my family and I’d have a glass of wine. But I can’t because that glass of wine will kill me. That wasn’t my choice. When I started smoking weed, I said, I’m just going to smoke weed one time. I just want to try it and see what it’s like. What I didn’t understand was I had a lot of emotional issues anxiety, depression, these mental health issues. And so I didn’t have good self-esteem that were looming me into these regions that would allow me to make a decision to smoke weed so I could fit in. But then when I started smoking weed, what would happen after that? That wasn’t my choice. So you can’t blame me for making a choice that 95 percent of other people are doing. It’s what happened. It’s what happened after I make that choice. It’s not a lack of willpower. That’s one of the biggest reasons why I picked up the microphone. I went from a prison cell to the Olympics. When it comes to willpower, most people will tell you I have an abundance of it. But as soon as I put a drink in my body, I put a drug in my body. I have none. I can’t stop it. That’s what I didn’t get to choose. And that’s what I wish didn’t happen to me because like I said, I’d love to be able to sit down with a friend or go to a function, have a glass of wine, have a beer, or get injured and take a pain killer the way it’s prescribed and then stop and not have a problem. But that’s not me. That wasn’t the card that I was dealt, unfortunately.

Gabe Howard: I think it’s incredibly profound. The way that you said is we’re not all the same. So I can do something and have a different outcome than when you do the exact same thing, because we’re not all robots, because I think that we understand that when it comes to achievement. For example, if I tried to ride a BMX bike and I worked as hard as I could, I would never be as good as you. I have a different body type. I’m you know, maybe I don’t have the same muscle mass. Maybe my shoulders are too broad. I’m too tall. Who knows? But the point is, is that hard work.

Tony Hoffman: Right.

Gabe Howard: Didn’t get all of those other people that tried to beat you in the Olympics up to your level. You were, what, the second best in the world?

Tony Hoffman: Second best in the world in 2016. That’s after I’d stopped racing for three years. My athletes challenged me to come back and try and win the world championships three years out after I put a bike away and I showed up at the world championships and took a second place.

Gabe Howard: But you gotta figure that the third place person worked just as hard as you and wanted it just as bad.

Tony Hoffman: Yeah. One hundred percent.

Gabe Howard: That’s the point, though. You both wanted the exact same thing and got different outcomes. And people understand that. We understand that when it comes to sports competition and everything else. But for some reason we talk about, you know, more negative things like things like drug addiction. It’s like, well, I smoked pot and didn’t become an addict and you smoked pot and did so therefore your lazy defective and didn’t want it as bad. You chose this. It’s all your fault. And that’s really just kind of what I wanted to put out there. Just nobody would think that when it comes to anything else. We don’t think that the losing team just didn’t want to win.

Tony Hoffman: Right. Right. And this is where we go back to the surgical board. We started dissecting thought processes and belief systems and personal biases. And when a person is unwilling to use sound logic like you just presented, it’s all being blocked by personal biases and belief systems that were created when they were young individuals. They’re not aware of those belief systems at play and how they’re an improper use of survival instinct and how they push their reality onto other people is they’re unwilling to accept that somebody else could make the same choices as them and it affect them completely different because maybe they want to believe that all drug addicts come from bad areas. Drug addicts are bad people. Drug addicts are a result of bad parenting. All of these belief systems or personal biases that they’ve created from somewhere in their life growing up, they’re not aware of them, but they’re willing to push them on to other people.

Vincent M. Wales: Tony, this has been a fantastic talk

Gabe Howard: Excellent.

Vincent M. Wales: We’ve covered so many different aspects of human life in this past 20 minutes. And I thank you for that. What message would you give to our listeners that you want them to walk away with?

Tony Hoffman: I tell people this. When I was homeless, the worst thing about me being homeless was not not having a house or a place to stay. It was this stuff that people threw at me. It was the jokes that people made when they saw me in a liquor store asking for money or change because I was hungry or thirsty. It was the looks that the nurses gave me or the doctors gave me when I ended up in an E.R. And those things contributed to my shame and my guilt. I was never asked by any individual, “What’s your story? Are you OK? Do you need help? Is there anything I can do for you?” One of those conversations could have changed my life. And when we see people that are struggling on the street, especially homeless, we have a big homeless problem right now across our country. Every time I see one of those individuals, I ask myself, I wonder what his or her story is. I wonder where it all started. Were they in foster care? Were they sexually abused? Do they have a mom and dad? What was the social construction of their life and where did it go wrong? This is where their story has taken them. How do we help that individual? How do we understand that individual? Those are the things that we should be asking ourselves as human beings. We should be trying to understand somebody’s situation instead of pushing our reality onto other people and judging their situation without ever knowing it. We’re never going to cross any kind of lines and get people to help that they need in all kinds of arenas. If we don’t start trying to understand individuals more, because even though I was on the cover of the magazine, came from a family that was married for 43 years, upper middle class, I still experienced some of these situations in which people would say that person is a piece of, you know what. That person will never provide to our country. Why am I paying taxes for that person? Nobody ever stopped and asked me. I didn’t want to be that way. I’m blessed and so fortunate that my life is the way it is. That’s why I picked up a microphone. That’s why I do podcasts like this. That’s why I try to get people to understand. We need to start asking and trying to understand people and their situations so we can actually get people to help that they need.

Vincent M. Wales: Thank you, Tony. I wish more people thought like you do.

Gabe Howard: Amen. Amen.

Tony Hoffman: I’m doing my part. Guys, I’m really trying.

Gabe Howard: You’re doing great work. Where can our listeners find you if they want to connect with you after the show?

Tony Hoffman: Absolutely. Instagram – TonyMHoffman, Facebook – TonyHoffmanSpeaking. You can find my web tonyhoffmanspeaking.com. If you’re interested in any kind of my presentations. And I do health care presentations, colleges, Division I sports programs, high schools, middle schools, communities. You can find my website, tonyhoffmanspeaking.com. Also, I have my own personal podcast called One Choice. It’s found on iTunes, Spotify and Google Play, our Google podcast app, Just search for “Tony Hoffman one choice.” You’ll find the podcast. I talk a lot about the mechanics that have made me successful. I have a trading war stories that’s kind of entertainment. But we also talk a lot about recovery. Try and push the conversation forward and moving, removing stigmas and so forth. So find me on any of those outlets, I’d love to have you guys be a part of my journey.

Vincent M. Wales: Great. Thank you.

Gabe Howard: Thank you so much, Tony, for being here. We appreciate it. And thank you, everyone else for tuning in. And remember, you can get a week of free, convenient, affordable, private online counselling anytime, anywhere by visiting BetterHelp.com/PsychCentral. We will see everyone next week.

Narrator 1: Thank you for listening to the Psych Central Show. Please rate, review, and subscribe on iTunes or wherever you found this podcast. We encourage you to share our show on social media and with friends and family. Previous episodes can be found at PsychCentral.com/show. PsychCentral.com is the internet’s oldest and largest independent mental health website. Psych Central is overseen by Dr. John Grohol, a mental health expert and one of the pioneering leaders in online mental health. Our host, Gabe Howard, is an award-winning writer and speaker who travels nationally. You can find more information on Gabe at GabeHoward.com. Our co-host, Vincent M. Wales, is a trained suicide prevention crisis counselor and author of several award-winning speculative fiction novels. You can learn more about Vincent at VincentMWales.com. If you have feedback about the show, please email talkback@psychcentral.com.

About The Psych Central Show Podcast Hosts

Gabe Howard is an award-winning writer and speaker who lives with bipolar and anxiety disorders. He is also one of the co-hosts of the popular show, A Bipolar, a Schizophrenic, and a Podcast. As a speaker, he travels nationally and is available to make your event stand out. To work with Gabe, please visit his website, gabehoward.com.

    Vincent M. Wales is a former suicide prevention counselor who lives with persistent depressive disorder. He is also the author of several award-winning novels and creator of the costumed hero, Dynamistress. Visit his websites at www.vincentmwales.com and www.dynamistress.com.

      from World of Psychology https://psychcentral.com/blog/podcast-from-homeless-to-prisoner-to-olympian/

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Podcast: From Homeless to Prisoner to Olympian



In his teens, Tony Hoffman was a BMX Amateur being featured on magazine covers. But soon after, he was a drug addict living in the streets and ultimately ending in prison. After his parole, a now clean Tony returned to the BMX world in a big way: by taking the silver medal in the 2016 Olympics. Since then, Tony has dedicated his life to helping others with addiction issues with his motivational speaking and special projects.

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About Our Guest

After paroling prison on December 13, 2008, Tony Hoffman started living out his dream, with his addiction behind him. Tony is a Former BMX Elite Pro and placed 2nd at the 2016 World Championships in Medellin Colombia in the Masters Pro class. He is a 2016 Rio Olympic Games Coach, with Women’s BMX PRO, Brooke Crain, in his lineup. His story is full of redemption as he has seen some of the highest highs, and the lowest lows. Tony is the Founder and Director of The Freewheel Project, a non-profit organization that mentors thousands of youth through action sports: BMX, skateboarding and after-school programs. The Freewheel Project focuses on teaching kids leadership skills, and making healthy life choices, including substance abuse prevention, each year.

Find Tony on Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook.

TONY HOFFMAN SHOW TRANSCRIPT

Editor’s Note: Please be mindful that this transcript has been computer generated and therefore may contain inaccuracies and grammar errors. Thank you.

Narrator 1: Welcome to the Psych Central show, where each episode presents an in-depth look at issues from the field of psychology and mental health –  with host Gabe Howard and co-host Vincent M. Wales.

Gabe Howard: Welcome to this week’s episode of the Psych Central Show podcast. My name is Gabe Howard and I’m here with my fellow host, Vincent M. Wales. And today, Vincent and I will be talking to Tony Hoffman, who is a former BMX elite pro and placed second at the 2016 World Championship in the Masters Pro class. Tony, welcome to the show.

Tony Hoffman: hanks for having me, guys.

Vincent M. Wales: Glad you could make it with us here. You know, Tony, what you’ve accomplished is pretty incredible. I mean, I think anybody would be very proud to have achieved the things that you have. What makes your accomplishments so fascinating, especially for our show, is what your life was like prior to that. Can you tell us about it?

Tony Hoffman: Yeah. The foundation of me being a speaker is obviously my past life. You know, I was on the cover of a magazine at 18 years old. I was endorsed by gigantic action sports corporations like Fox Racing, AirWalk shoes, Spy sunglasses. I was ranked number one in the country that my senior year going into the final race. And a lot of people at that time would have said or assumed that I was going to be an extremely successful person and racing BMX. And that’s not quite what ended up happening. About that same time, 18 years old, I started smoking weed and drinking alcohol, much like many other people that I was going to school with. What I didn’t know at that time when I started smoking weed and drinking was that I was going to be one of many addicts in my group of friends that would not be able to control their drug use and it would escalate from marijuana and drinking to use of cocaine. And then finally, the one that became, you know, kind of my doomsday drug was the introduction of prescription painkillers, specifically OxyContin started at 18 years old. By the time I was 21 years old, I committed a home invasion, armed robbery and robbed a family friend. I robbed his parents in their home for their OxyContin prescription that they had.

Tony Hoffman: And I was basically what I call people a pharmaceutical junkie. I had no idea that the stuff that came out of the orange bottle was the same stuff that came from the cartel. It was just packaged different. And because of this pack is different. You know, I automatically assume that it was OK. But, you know, I didn’t go to prison after that robbery. My parents spent a bunch of money on an attorney after I was finally apprehended for that crime. And it kept me out of prison. I wasn’t aware of all the things I was going to need to do to actually get clean and sober, stay clean and sober. And within two years of that moment, I was completely homeless. And when I say homeless, I don’t mean that I was couch surfing. If I got a couch, I was lucky. I slept in dirt fields, slept behind dumpsters, pushing shopping carts. And on January 21st, 2007, I had a spiritual experience that changed the course of my life. On January 22nd, I was arrested and I was sentenced to four and a half years in prison, 30 days later. And that’s where I chose to rebuild my life, to set myself on a path to accomplish the things that I’ve accomplished today.

Vincent M. Wales: Wow.

Gabe Howard: Wow. That’s a lot. There’s several questions that spring to mind. So we’ll just kind of take them in order. But the first one is, is do you think that all of the pressure that you were under at such a young age contributed to this? And I know you’re not looking for excuses, but I’ve often thought, you know, you’ve got a 17, 18, 19 year old on the cover of national magazines. And what does this do to development? I mean, I just I can’t imagine how I at 40 would react if all of the sudden I had nationwide fame. And, you know, I’m fully baked.

Tony Hoffman: Well, I think there’s some things that need to be stated, and one is a BMX is a niche sport. I was on the cover of the largest BMX magazine in the world, but that’s nothing compared to being on an NBA type cover magazine or some of these other sports that get massive recognition. But I do believe that there was a lot of pressure starting from when I was a young kid with coaches, because they recognized that my potential as an athlete, because I wasn’t just a BMX racer. What I’d tell people was I was a gift. I could play basketball, baseball, soccer, rollerblades, skateboards, BMX, bikes, volleyball, tennis, whatever the sport was. I was always the best. And there was a lot of pressure that came from coaches. But I don’t know that they contributed to the stuff that I went through. But I do know that I didn’t know how to deal with the pressure that was put on me because I didn’t know how to be disciplined. I only wanted to work hard on my own terms. I kind of had the “addict isms” long before I ever tried using drugs. And so I was very selfish and self-centered. I was unwilling to work on somebody else’s terms. I was an un-coachable athlete and I think that those things actually played a bigger role and my substance use issues than, say, the pressure did.

Vincent M. Wales: I think those statements there, Tony, are very insightful and I’m  wondering, how did you come to that conclusion?

Tony Hoffman: This is the hardest part of an addict’s journey or somebody who suffers with substance use. And that is there has to be a portion of time in which the individual separates themselves from all distractions. I don’t care if you have to cut the TV out, cut the Internet out, cut the phones out, cut all of that out and cut the busyness out of your life. This is why treatment is so important. This is why we’re not even close when it comes to what real, authentic treatment looks like for an individual, because insurance companies typically give us 30 to 45 days to do this. But when a person can separate themselves from all distractions, they begin to then listen to themselves or hear of themselves and they get time, which is what I did was take this time to relive all of these situations that I went through in my life. When I tell my life story and with youth audiences, I tell these stories that somebody might ask, why did you tell this story? The reason I tell these stories is because in my meditation work in myself, inventory work, these moments that I speak about had a very significant role and where my life went as a result of my attitude and my choices. And so separating myself, spending time meditating and self inventory, allow me to relive situations and take my responsibility and hold myself accountable for the outcomes that had taken place back to when I was in third grade. That was so important to me to understand how just even in third grade I was making decisions, thinking certain ways and having these isms that were producing the product that put me in prison.

Gabe Howard: We’ll be right back after these words.

Narrator 2: This episode is sponsored by BetterHelp.com, secure, convenient and affordable online counselling. All counselors are licensed, accredited professionals. Anything you share is confidential. Schedule secure video or phone sessions, plus chat and text with your therapist whenever you feel it’s needed. A month of online therapy often costs less than a single traditional face-to-face session. Go to BetterHelp.com/PsychCentral and experience seven days of free therapy to see if online counselling is right for you. BetterHelp.com/PsychCentral.

Vincent M. Wales: Welcome back, everyone. We’re here talking about addiction with BMX pro Tony Hoffman.

Gabe Howard: One of the things I want to say is I really like what you said about how insurance companies and the medical establishment is like, okay, you’re sick. As long as you’re better in 30 to 45 days, we’ll call it a win. But if you’re not, it’s probably your fault and we’ve got no more resources for you. This is not the way that we treat cancer and other physical illnesses. And I think it really leaves a lot of people desperate. One of the other things that you said is that, you know, going to prison kind of helped save your life. And I don’t want anybody to hear this and think, oh, so all the addicts need to go to prison and they’ll all end up being like, Tony, because I know that’s not what you’re saying.

Tony Hoffman: No, it’s not what I’m saying. I went to prison and my neighbors in front of me, behind me, and left of me, and right of me all shot heroin, every single one of them. It was a shooting gallery. There’s more heroin in prison than there is on the street. The guards are not there to help you. The vocational programs in California institutions, they may have been reinstated. I know they’re at least trying to reinstate them. But when I was there, there was nothing in there to facilitate recovery. I’m not the rule. And I tried to tell my probation department and judicial factions all over the country, don’t put me on a pedestal. My job is not to run around and say, look at me, look what I did. Everybody else should be able to do it, too, because that’s not the case. I’m a very, very, very small, small percentage of an exception. The rule is most people need long term treatment. The rule is most people need social programs or exit programs that are long term mentorships to help these individuals who go into gang ridden neighborhoods, who’ve been through foster care their entire life, who have not had a mom and dad who’ve been married 43 years and an upper middle class financial status. That’s what I had. I had all of the things that I needed. What I didn’t have was the attitude, choices and an addiction that I didn’t get to choose whether or not I was going to have in my life. And so the answer is not institutions in terms of jailing. The answer is social programs, treatment and mentoring programs that can help individuals overcome whatever specific hurdle they have in their life. And there’s many, many that need to be addressed individually.

Gabe Howard: You know, it’s a very powerful thing that you said there, that one of the ways that you were able to get well is because, you know, you had a good family, a good support system. You were upper middle class. Your parents were married to each other. And they loved you very much and they tried very hard. But you’ve got to put that against the fact that even though you had all of those things, addictions still played a huge role in your life. So even with all of those things, you couldn’t avoid it, but you needed all of those things to help get through it. And then you can really start to see the breadth of the addiction issue in America. It’s not as simple as, oh, well, they come from bad homes or well, if your parents weren’t divorced or well, if you had money or tried harder, there’s all these little corners that everybody tries to shove this problem in. And I think that your story illustrates very well that whatever corner you have, it doesn’t matter. It’s addiction has no reason. And it can really hit anybody.

Tony Hoffman: It can hit anybody. And I will tell you right now that I’ve been sober for almost 12 years. And the hardest person to get to listen to you as an addict is the person with money. They cannot let go of the belief system that their money will fix things. Their money has made them better than people. Their money has deluded them. All of these opportunities and that they’re not like those other people. And we’ve communicated this to the baby boomers, Gen X and the early millennials through the D.A.R.E. program that said stay away from PCP, cocaine, crack, methamphetamine, heroin, LSD, those drugs. We knew that those drugs were only found on the other side of town. The other side of town was lower socioeconomic. They were different color skin. They had all of the gangs. They didn’t say anything about the orange bottle because the orange bottle was people who had insurance and went to doctors and the doctors prescribe them the medications that they would become addicted to. And so we separated ourselves because our money put us in a different region of how drugs would be administered to us. And so letting go of those belief systems when you have financial status is extremely difficult.

Gabe Howard: You know, you make a good point about like the D.A.R.E. program and things like that. I went through the D.A.R.E. program and you’re right, it always showed a well-dressed 15 year old. And then somebody would come up dressed like, who knows what? But clearly somebody that didn’t belong in the neighborhood and they would offer to sell you drugs. And they taught you how to say no. You were never offered drugs by your peer group. You were never offered drugs by somebody dressed like you. You were always offered drugs by somebody who stumbled upon your schoolyard, no doubt, to victimize you.

Tony Hoffman: I’m so glad you brought that up, because in my speeches, at times I will tell kids when I was a young kid, I remember this commercial. There were in the end of a hallway where the lockers are in and this little weak, measly looking kid goes into his locker. And then this big bully looking guy comes up and he says, “Hey, Johnny, want to smoke a joint?” And it’s like, just say no. And then slams a locker. That’s what they told us peer pressure was when I was a kid. They didn’t tell us that peer pressure actually looked like this. You’re going to have a group of friends that you went to elementary school with, intermediate school with, slumber parties, ski trips, family vacations. And one day three of your friends are gonna decide that they’re going to start smoking weed and that there is a component in you that does not want to experience what it’s like to lose your friends and be lonely. And so you have a choice. You either have what it takes inside of you to decide that this is not who I am. I can be alone and make new friends, or you are going to be overcome by the fear of losing friends and being alone, and you will end up doing the same thing that they do. That’s what peer pressure looks like. It’s not the bad guy coming up to you. Nobody ever offered me drugs that didn’t like me. It was always my best friends.

Gabe Howard: That’s a very good point.

Vincent M. Wales: Wow. I was just going to say we need to do a show on peer pressure. But I think we just did it.

Gabe Howard: Yeah. And you’re right. All the peer…

Vincent M. Wales: Tony, that was great.

Gabe Howard: Tony, you’re absolutely right. That’s what peer pressure looked like for me. It was never my enemies that wanted to hang out with me and do anything. It was always my friends that wanted to hang out with me and do something that got us in trouble.

Tony Hoffman: And you’ve got to strip it down to an emotional level, like we’re talking about emotional awareness right now. When you look at peer pressure, somebody might say, well, I never experienced peer pressure that way. You did. If you can stop, remove yourself and you can examine all of the emotions that are at play in those situations. One hundred percent. That’s exactly what it looks like. We’re talking emotional awareness of what people are experiencing in those moments and what drives us to make the decisions that we make, because that’s what it is. There’s layers beneath the cognitive level that we can understand and see that are actually driving us as human beings, assisting us in the choices that we make, they’re survival instincts, whether we know it or not.

Vincent M. Wales: That’s also very insightful. Thank you. I want to go back to something you said a little earlier, which was that addiction isn’t a choice. You didn’t choose to become addicted to anything.

Tony Hoffman: Mm hmm.

Vincent M. Wales: A lot of people out there will say, OK, sure, nobody chooses to become an addict, but they do choose to start using those drugs in the first place.

Tony Hoffman: I say to those folks, what is the statistic of people that have never drank one time in their lives, or smoked weed or a cigarette? I am telling you right now, that number is far less than it is people that tried it. And so my thing is, if most of us have tried a substance at one time in our lives and you didn’t become addicted to it, what you’re choosing to do in that moment is take the reality that was your life and say it didn’t happen to me, shouldn’t happen to them. But not everybody is alike. If it was, we’d all die from cancer or we’d all die from heart failure because we’re all robots. We don’t live the same realities. We don’t have the same bodies. If it was my choice tonight, I’d be able to sit down with my family and I’d have a glass of wine. But I can’t because that glass of wine will kill me. That wasn’t my choice. When I started smoking weed, I said, I’m just going to smoke weed one time. I just want to try it and see what it’s like. What I didn’t understand was I had a lot of emotional issues anxiety, depression, these mental health issues. And so I didn’t have good self-esteem that were looming me into these regions that would allow me to make a decision to smoke weed so I could fit in. But then when I started smoking weed, what would happen after that? That wasn’t my choice. So you can’t blame me for making a choice that 95 percent of other people are doing. It’s what happened. It’s what happened after I make that choice. It’s not a lack of willpower. That’s one of the biggest reasons why I picked up the microphone. I went from a prison cell to the Olympics. When it comes to willpower, most people will tell you I have an abundance of it. But as soon as I put a drink in my body, I put a drug in my body. I have none. I can’t stop it. That’s what I didn’t get to choose. And that’s what I wish didn’t happen to me because like I said, I’d love to be able to sit down with a friend or go to a function, have a glass of wine, have a beer, or get injured and take a pain killer the way it’s prescribed and then stop and not have a problem. But that’s not me. That wasn’t the card that I was dealt, unfortunately.

Gabe Howard: I think it’s incredibly profound. The way that you said is we’re not all the same. So I can do something and have a different outcome than when you do the exact same thing, because we’re not all robots, because I think that we understand that when it comes to achievement. For example, if I tried to ride a BMX bike and I worked as hard as I could, I would never be as good as you. I have a different body type. I’m you know, maybe I don’t have the same muscle mass. Maybe my shoulders are too broad. I’m too tall. Who knows? But the point is, is that hard work.

Tony Hoffman: Right.

Gabe Howard: Didn’t get all of those other people that tried to beat you in the Olympics up to your level. You were, what, the second best in the world?

Tony Hoffman: Second best in the world in 2016. That’s after I’d stopped racing for three years. My athletes challenged me to come back and try and win the world championships three years out after I put a bike away and I showed up at the world championships and took a second place.

Gabe Howard: But you gotta figure that the third place person worked just as hard as you and wanted it just as bad.

Tony Hoffman: Yeah. One hundred percent.

Gabe Howard: That’s the point, though. You both wanted the exact same thing and got different outcomes. And people understand that. We understand that when it comes to sports competition and everything else. But for some reason we talk about, you know, more negative things like things like drug addiction. It’s like, well, I smoked pot and didn’t become an addict and you smoked pot and did so therefore your lazy defective and didn’t want it as bad. You chose this. It’s all your fault. And that’s really just kind of what I wanted to put out there. Just nobody would think that when it comes to anything else. We don’t think that the losing team just didn’t want to win.

Tony Hoffman: Right. Right. And this is where we go back to the surgical board. We started dissecting thought processes and belief systems and personal biases. And when a person is unwilling to use sound logic like you just presented, it’s all being blocked by personal biases and belief systems that were created when they were young individuals. They’re not aware of those belief systems at play and how they’re an improper use of survival instinct and how they push their reality onto other people is they’re unwilling to accept that somebody else could make the same choices as them and it affect them completely different because maybe they want to believe that all drug addicts come from bad areas. Drug addicts are bad people. Drug addicts are a result of bad parenting. All of these belief systems or personal biases that they’ve created from somewhere in their life growing up, they’re not aware of them, but they’re willing to push them on to other people.

Vincent M. Wales: Tony, this has been a fantastic talk

Gabe Howard: Excellent.

Vincent M. Wales: We’ve covered so many different aspects of human life in this past 20 minutes. And I thank you for that. What message would you give to our listeners that you want them to walk away with?

Tony Hoffman: I tell people this. When I was homeless, the worst thing about me being homeless was not not having a house or a place to stay. It was this stuff that people threw at me. It was the jokes that people made when they saw me in a liquor store asking for money or change because I was hungry or thirsty. It was the looks that the nurses gave me or the doctors gave me when I ended up in an E.R. And those things contributed to my shame and my guilt. I was never asked by any individual, “What’s your story? Are you OK? Do you need help? Is there anything I can do for you?” One of those conversations could have changed my life. And when we see people that are struggling on the street, especially homeless, we have a big homeless problem right now across our country. Every time I see one of those individuals, I ask myself, I wonder what his or her story is. I wonder where it all started. Were they in foster care? Were they sexually abused? Do they have a mom and dad? What was the social construction of their life and where did it go wrong? This is where their story has taken them. How do we help that individual? How do we understand that individual? Those are the things that we should be asking ourselves as human beings. We should be trying to understand somebody’s situation instead of pushing our reality onto other people and judging their situation without ever knowing it. We’re never going to cross any kind of lines and get people to help that they need in all kinds of arenas. If we don’t start trying to understand individuals more, because even though I was on the cover of the magazine, came from a family that was married for 43 years, upper middle class, I still experienced some of these situations in which people would say that person is a piece of, you know what. That person will never provide to our country. Why am I paying taxes for that person? Nobody ever stopped and asked me. I didn’t want to be that way. I’m blessed and so fortunate that my life is the way it is. That’s why I picked up a microphone. That’s why I do podcasts like this. That’s why I try to get people to understand. We need to start asking and trying to understand people and their situations so we can actually get people to help that they need.

Vincent M. Wales: Thank you, Tony. I wish more people thought like you do.

Gabe Howard: Amen. Amen.

Tony Hoffman: I’m doing my part. Guys, I’m really trying.

Gabe Howard: You’re doing great work. Where can our listeners find you if they want to connect with you after the show?

Tony Hoffman: Absolutely. Instagram – TonyMHoffman, Facebook – TonyHoffmanSpeaking. You can find my web tonyhoffmanspeaking.com. If you’re interested in any kind of my presentations. And I do health care presentations, colleges, Division I sports programs, high schools, middle schools, communities. You can find my website, tonyhoffmanspeaking.com. Also, I have my own personal podcast called One Choice. It’s found on iTunes, Spotify and Google Play, our Google podcast app, Just search for “Tony Hoffman one choice.” You’ll find the podcast. I talk a lot about the mechanics that have made me successful. I have a trading war stories that’s kind of entertainment. But we also talk a lot about recovery. Try and push the conversation forward and moving, removing stigmas and so forth. So find me on any of those outlets, I’d love to have you guys be a part of my journey.

Vincent M. Wales: Great. Thank you.

Gabe Howard: Thank you so much, Tony, for being here. We appreciate it. And thank you, everyone else for tuning in. And remember, you can get a week of free, convenient, affordable, private online counselling anytime, anywhere by visiting BetterHelp.com/PsychCentral. We will see everyone next week.

Narrator 1: Thank you for listening to the Psych Central Show. Please rate, review, and subscribe on iTunes or wherever you found this podcast. We encourage you to share our show on social media and with friends and family. Previous episodes can be found at PsychCentral.com/show. PsychCentral.com is the internet’s oldest and largest independent mental health website. Psych Central is overseen by Dr. John Grohol, a mental health expert and one of the pioneering leaders in online mental health. Our host, Gabe Howard, is an award-winning writer and speaker who travels nationally. You can find more information on Gabe at GabeHoward.com. Our co-host, Vincent M. Wales, is a trained suicide prevention crisis counselor and author of several award-winning speculative fiction novels. You can learn more about Vincent at VincentMWales.com. If you have feedback about the show, please email talkback@psychcentral.com.

About The Psych Central Show Podcast Hosts

Gabe Howard is an award-winning writer and speaker who lives with bipolar and anxiety disorders. He is also one of the co-hosts of the popular show, A Bipolar, a Schizophrenic, and a Podcast. As a speaker, he travels nationally and is available to make your event stand out. To work with Gabe, please visit his website, gabehoward.com.

    Vincent M. Wales is a former suicide prevention counselor who lives with persistent depressive disorder. He is also the author of several award-winning novels and creator of the costumed hero, Dynamistress. Visit his websites at www.vincentmwales.com and www.dynamistress.com.

      from World of Psychology https://ift.tt/2FIPw2M via theshiningmind.com

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Justin Olsen Will Get Lost

New Post has been published on https://www.articletec.com/justin-olsen-will-get-lost/

Justin Olsen Will Get Lost

Feb 8, 2018

Justin Olsen’s start is perfect.

It’s a frigid November evening in Park City, Utah, and the gold medalist’s final run on Park City’s bobsled track. After three races and two days competing against twenty-three teams at the Bobsled World Cup, this will earn him the points he needs to get to Pyeongchang.

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The four-man team hunkers down in the bullet-shaped sled: Olsen first, in the driver’s seat, with three push men (responsible for furnishing a thigh-crunching boost of power) behind. They gain speed through curves one, two, three, gravity thrusting the sled down. Spectators spring onto their tiptoes; a kid whoops and punches the air as the sled barrels through curve six.

Olsen (top, right) consults his teammate, Evan Weinstock, before a run at the Lake Placid Olympic Sports Complex.

Joao Canziani

Half bent over, in helmets and matching skintight navy-blue suits, thirty-year-old Olsen—the gold-medalist push man turned pilot—and his teammates are nearly impossible to differentiate from each other. Together, the team looks more like a giant whooshing snap pea than a quartet of elite athletes. Bobsled is a balancing act, and shaving off a few hundredths of a second comes down to Olsen’s power, speed, and precision.

In his 2013 memoir, But Now I See, legendary bobsled driver and Olympic hero Steve Holcomb likened bobsled to ballet. It’s an apt analogy. These men could blend in on an NFL sideline, but they’re actually burly ballerinas, exploding off the starting block tiptoed in steel-plated shoes that flex like a leather slipper, and mirroring each other with near-perfect synchronicity.

Holcomb led the U.S. Men’s Bobsled Team to three Olympic medals, ten World Championships, sixty World Cup tour medals, and served as Olsen’s unofficial mentor. If things had gone according to plan, Holcomb would’ve been piloting down this slippery, fifteen-turn track. But in May 2017, Holcomb was found dead in his dorm room outside of Lake Placid, New York, upending U.S. Bobsled’s plans and expectations. Olsen was left to grieve his friend and advocate—and get back in the sled. With only a few short months to spare, he had to figure out not only how to lead a team he wasn’t supposed to be leading, but also how to find a way to the Olympic podium.

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Spectators at the Lake Placid bobsled track wait for the next sled.

Joao Canziani

Bobsled might not seem as dangerous and difficult as it is. If you’re watching a race on TV, say, it could look as if there’s not much to it: What else is there to do besides jump in a sled on an ice-coated slide and let gravity take over?

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But bobsled is wild. If you know nothing about the sport outside of the movie Cool Runnings, here’s how it works: In either the two-man or four-man race, one or three brakemen (or push men) push the 450-pound sled. The driver (also called the pilot) steers by tugging on D-rings, like taut sleigh reigns. Once they’re off, bobsled speeds can exceed ninety miles per hour, with each rider plastered to his seat by more G-forces than astronauts experience at takeoff. Every turn on the track is like getting kicked in the groin and chest while a truck sits on your head, Olsen told me. It’s almost like the nauseating pull of a roller-coaster loop, but 100 times more intense.

The International Bobsleigh and Skeleton Federation

The goal is to maintain fluidity, to not crash or fall over. The subtlest of movements can mean the difference between a gold medal and missing the podium entirely. If the driver catches a curve too late, or comes off early, the sled can flip and plummet down the track, ejecting the riders onto a sheet of ice that cheese-grates the skin.

And bobsled drivers barely get a chance to practice before competing, upping the stakes on the entire enterprise. There are only sixteen tracks in the world, each with its own set of curves, gradients, and conditions. So pilots have to memorize them, walking down a track to quickly learn its quirks before getting in maybe three runs prior to a major race. (Imagine if NASCAR drivers, jockeys, or speed skaters had less than five minutes on their tracks before go time.)

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Piloting requires not just skill but a hefty dose of intuition, since it’s impossible for a driver to see much more than a few feet in front of him in the twisting, thunderous tunnel of ice. It also demands the ability to mentally disconnect. It’s not about strategic thought, but about letting go, almost like getting lost, and somehow finding the right amount of control in a largely uncontrollable craft.

“Every run down the track is kind of like a car crash,” Olsen says. “Like an old car hitting a really long patch of ice.”

Joao Canziani

Who would want to repeatedly relive a car crash? As a job?

Olsen might not have dreamt of becoming a bobsled champion growing up (not many kids do), but he was built for it. Born to two competitive athletes—his dad played football and basketball, while his mom ran track—Olsen was raised in West Texas and immersed in the Texas faith of football. Early on, he showed a propensity for two traits bobsled coaches love: a hunger for speed and an utter lack of fear, no matter how turned around he might’ve been. At age four, says Olsen’s mom, Kim, he took off his bike’s training wheels so he could go faster. (He suffered his first concussion shortly after, when he flew over the handlebars and landed on his face; in sum, he’s had around ten.) As he grew up, he’d wander off aimlessly into the woods and fields around his home for hours, somehow always navigating his way back home. “He’d come back with scraped shins, dirt splotched across his face, bruised up, and mosquito bites covering every inch of him,” says Kim.

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When Olsen was ten, his football coaches told his parents that he showed boundless promise, thanks to his abnormal commitment to extra practice time and his untamed exuberance on the field. He went on to play football at the Air Force Academy, where he studied engineering, a dream asset for bobsled, since athletes are tasked with repairing their own sleds. But he didn’t stay long—“I wasn’t ready for that kind of structure”—and went back to Texas, where he worked multiple jobs and took engineering classes, unsure of what to do next. “He was sort of just…lost,” Kim says.

One day in 2007, Kim heard a radio ad calling for athletes with strength, speed, and a high vertical jump. “And something about bobsledding,” she says. “In San Antonio, of all places. I figured Justin had all those things, so I told him to go.”

Joao Canziani

Olsen and four other guys showed up and went through the paces. Team USA coaches invited him to travel to Lake Placid, New York, the headquarters of U.S. Bobsled, to be evaluated for the team. “It felt like it was right to at least give it a shot,” Olsen says. He was nineteen and broke­, so he sold his motorcycle, stereo—anything he could find to pay for the plane ticket. “I thought he was out of his mind,” Kim recalls. But a few weeks later, after cutting it in early tryouts, he called home with news: He was moving to upstate New York.

The sliding track suited him. He craved its explosive starts and the adrenaline of winning by .01 seconds. “He didn’t mind that when you’re making it in bobsled, you end up riding in a sled that gets flipped over by amateur drivers,” says Brian Shimer, U.S. Bobsled’s head coach. Physically, Olsen was a near-perfect push man: tall, with broad shoulders and knotty legs that could lift the entire U.S. figure-skating team.

About a month into his new career, he met Holcomb, the centerpiece of the U.S.’s Men’s Bobsled Team. (“The best,” says Olsen.) All of the new push athletes wanted to be on the ten-year veteran’s sled, USA-1; Olsen surprised everyone when, in his second season, he landed the coveted spot and started pushing for Holcomb in the two-man. “He called me and the first thing he said was, ‘I’m on Steve’s sled!” Kim says.

Over the next eight years, Olsen traveled the circuit with his team, racing in both the two-man and the four-man with Holcomb, hanging out with him in training rooms and hotel lobbies. “Justin was the man-child on the team, and definitely the entertainment,” says retired push man Steve Mesler, a veteran of Holcomb’s four-man sled. Holcomb was the pro who “kept to himself,” says Olsen. He’d always been the quiet teammate, and for good reasons.

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A stoic older-brother figure, Holcomb was an unlikely Olympic champion with a complicated backstory. In 2006, just as he started to succeed on the track, he noticed his eyesight worsening. He told no one. Doctors diagnosed him with keratoconus, a degenerative eye disease that distorts the cornea, and warned him that total blindness was imminent. He kept driving—bobsled is the rare sport where one can get away with less-than-20/20 vision—but the pressure of battling the disease, and his decision to keep it secret, isolated him from the team. He suffered from depression and, in 2007, washed down seventy-three sleeping pills with a bottle of Jack Daniel’s in a suicide attempt. A few months later, upon his coach’s urging, Holcomb received an experimental surgery—a surgery subsequently named Holcomb C3-R—to correct his vision.

After winning the gold medal in Vancouver. L-R: Curt Tomasevicz, Steve Mesler, Olsen and Holcomb.

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Holcomb returned to driving just as Olsen started to shine as one of the team’s best push men. The legendary driver remained reclusive, but Olsen had a penchant for opening him up—cracking jokes about the young upstart one day beating the older vet, peppering Holcomb with questions about what to look for during walks down the track, indoctrinating him into Olsen’s not-so-secret Swiftie side. “Steve walked in on me once in my hotel room,” says Olsen. “He was like, ‘Dude, you’re this big-ass guy, in tiny little underwear, listening to Taylor Swift.’ I said, ‘I don’t know, man. It just makes me feel good.’” The duo often appeared together doing “the Holcy Dance”—a kind of restrained shuffle of Holcomb’s that became a team joke as they competed around the globe.

Together, they medaled in two World Cup races and won the 2009 World Championships in the four-man. In 2010, as they headed into Vancouver’s Olympics, their four-man sled, dubbed the Night Train, was number one in the world, and for the first time in sixty-two years, Americans won the gold. Along with their teammates Steve Mesler and Curt Tomasevicz, Holcomb and Olsen landed on the cover of Sports Illustrated.

L-R: Holcomb, Olsen, Mesler, and Tomasevicz.

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Throughout, commentators spoke about Olsen and his meteoric rise with astonishment usually reserved for kid prodigies. Bobsledders typically either push or drive; switching positions is rare, especially after reaching the pinnacle of the sport as a push man. “It’s very difficult to be a brakeman, then pick up the skills to drive,” says head coach Shimer, a five-time Olympian himself. But Olsen was different. He’d had a great mentor to study, the best in the world. After Vancouver, he thought, Maybe my time as a brakeman is done. “My coaches said, ‘You’re a great brakeman, and you’re young; we’ve got to get you in the driver’s seat,’” he says.

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He split his time between pushing for Holcomb and feeling out driving. “In driving, if you’re not really ready for what you’re about to see [on the track], that’s when you can make mistakes,” Olsen says. And he did make mistakes, a lot of them, but he knew what a winning drive should feel like. “I was ready for whatever challenges driving came with. Learning to drive new tracks and managing stress, I was fine with that.”

“For me, [he] was going to be our next Steve Holcomb,” says Shimer. “Our next franchise. The program was going to be built around Justin Olsen.”

Last March, Holcomb and Olsen were in Pyeongchang for a World Cup race—the first on the new track built for the 2018 Games. They strategized how best to run the track’s sixteen curves. Curve two was particularly tricky. On their second day, while Holcomb was still bumping the wall, Olsen ran it clean and explained to Holcomb what he’d done. Advising his mentor felt new, and weird.

Afterward, they sat together and talked. “He kind of caught me off guard,” Olsen recalls. Whatever it is that makes bobsled pilots great—that intangible quality drivers and coaches can’t exactly define—Holcomb said he thought Olsen had it. “Pilot instincts, I guess,” says Olsen. “It was the first time he’d ever said anything to me like that.” Olsen, Holcomb said, was going to be a phenomenal driver. “Well shit, thanks,” Olsen replied, humbled.

Olsen and Holcomb at a New York Rangers hockey game following the Vancouver Olympics.

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Two months later, on a humid and cloudy May morning at the U.S. Olympic Training Center in Lake Placid, where dozens of winter Olympians live year-round, frantic texts from his teammates suddenly popped up on Olsen’s phone: I’m worried. I haven’t heard from Steve. Have you seen him?

More texts rang out. I’m just really worried about Steve. I have a really bad feeling. Olsen asked them to call the building’s manager to open Holcomb’s door, on the opposite side of the dorm-style building from him. “I don’t mind if we barge into Steve’s room and he yells at us,” he texted back. “I’ve done it before.” He dressed quickly, then heard furious knocks at his door. Olsen opened it to find the manager of Lake Placid’s training center, one of Steve’s closest friends, winded and panicking. “It’s bad, it’s really, really…”

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Barefoot, Olsen ran through the halls to the opposite wing of the building and found two of his teammates hugging outside Holcomb’s door, tears streaming down their faces. “Somebody tell me what’s happening,” Olsen said. “What did you see?”

Holcomb celebrates a four-man run in Koenigssee, Germany in January 2017.

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“He’s dead,” one of them mumbled. Olsen didn’t believe it at first. “Did you check his pulse?” Olsen asked. The door was cracked. “Yeah, we did. He’s not moving,” they said. Holcomb, only thirty-seven, had died in his sleep. (An autopsy later found excess amounts of sleeping pills and alcohol in his system; the coroner ruled it an accidental death.)

Olsen went back to his room before the emergency medical technicians arrived. “I just didn’t want to see my close friend like that. I was shocked, but I wasn’t completely frozen,” he says. He had calls to make, to coaches and the CEO of U.S. Bobsled.

When he hung up his last call, Olsen felt his tempered resolve give way to a familiar dread—shortness of breath, nausea, and panic, as he experienced a kind of déjà vu from two years prior, when his father had died from a sudden heart attack. Back then, with his dad, he tried not to think about it and just kept racing. He’d deal with it later, he told himself. But with Holcomb’s death, “I knew I couldn’t act how I did with my dad,” says Olsen. “I knew I needed to be here this time…I knew that I needed people around me, and that people needed me.”

“Olsen was a rock,” says Holcomb’s best friend, Katie Uhlaender. “He helped me sort through the chaos.” He’d lost the person who represented his immediate future; the person who told him, You’re next, and was supposed to lead him there. “You’re not prepared to lose someone close until you lose somebody close,” says Olsen. “No one can replace Steve. I won’t.” He couldn’t breathe well at times, but he adopted the role of a leader, a role he knew the team needed.

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“Justin stepped up. He knew how important Steve was,” says Shimer. “Steve Holcomb was the soul of this team. He was one of the best drivers in the world. The prospect of the two of them driving at the Games—that’s tough to walk away from.”

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After the memorial service in Lake Placid, Olsen knew he had to get back to training for Pyeongchang. Training was relatively simple in the off-season—a lot of cardio and weights and making sure you don’t get hurt. Getting back in the sled was not.

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Four months before the Games, the team gathered, as they always did, for the first run at the Lake Placid track. For a decade, Holcomb had taken the first run. “This year, my coach looked at me and said, ‘Olsen, you’re going to be the first one down the hill.’ That was my oh shit moment.”

For a second, he felt physically unable to take a step forward. “I had to,” Olsen says. “Even though I didn’t feel like [Holcomb] and I were done when he passed away—this is still my sport, even though it’s not the same.”

Holcomb’s death doesn’t make it harder to drive, Olsen says. What’s difficult are the waves of yearning for more time spent walking down the track, knowing that Holcomb would do anything to help Olsen improve. He’s motivated by his memory, by trying to find what else of Holcomb’s he can carry with him, and by all the things Holcomb taught him—like how reveling in achievement isn’t as important as the opportunity to have it.

“All you really have is what’s right in front of you,” Olsen says. You travel full speed, falling into a blinding, white blur where unexpected things happen—where, if you’re going fast enough, you can soar upside down and come back again, seamlessly.

After his November run in Park City, Olsen competed in five more World Cup events, ending up as the top American finisher in the last two races before the Games. It’s the position Holcomb would’ve been in, the one with all the hopes and expectations for the medal stand.

This week, after the ceremonies and the practice runs in Pyeongchang have passed, Olsen will arrive at the track again. He’ll close his eyes at the top of the hill and find a dark kernel of stillness. In the symphony of low hums coming from somewhere down the ice, he’ll summon his previous runs. He’ll think of curve two, and Holcomb’s advice about curve nine will reverberate in his head.

He’ll open his eyes at the start and tap the sled to signal to his teammates that he’s ready. He’ll jump in and let go. The world will turn quiet for fifty seconds in a sea of blurry white. And, hopefully, he’ll lift his gaze and punch his fist in the air because his start was perfect and he’d figured out the rest.

Photography by João Canziani • Videography by Matthew Troy •

Edited by Whitney Joiner

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