#but she just can’t seem to land the Olympics

[moonrver]

Heptathlon starts tomorrow and I always find it SO stressful watching KJT it’s as if my own sister competing 😭 I just care sm about my fellow Scouse girl and something always seems to go wrong for her when it comes to the Olympics

[onsomenewsht]

'cause everybody knows something I don't wanna know

About when, despite the victories and the defeats, you still talk a bit too much, but all the questions are answered

《 read part 1, I just wanna feel something, tell me where to go

》 Alexia Putellas x fencer!Reader

》 words count: +4.5k

》 move mountains [idiom]: to do something that seems impossible, particularly when love or belief makes one feel determined to succeed in something incredibly difficult to achieve

“En garde!”

The weight of the blade in your hand is familiar, well balanced as you adjust the position of your feet on the piste.

“Prêtes?”

A cocky smirk appears on your opponent’s face, somehow not disguised behind the mask tinted with the Hungarian flag. It just sparks more determination inside you, fuelling a fire that will burn ‘till the very last point.

“Allez!”

You know she’s coming even before her body moves in a leap, the sabre twitching to surprise you with a low line attack. A quick step on the side is enough to gain the space you need for a clear defense, deflecting her blade away from the target and sliding your own on her back.

A red light turns immediately on, firing up your side of the fencing piste.

The referee gestures in your direction to confirm the touch, the score is now 10-13.

With not much time left to catch up to your opponent’s advantage before the end of the second period, the need to start another assault overcomes the joy of the successful hit.

Three points behind, you can’t concede anything, you know that, but every single person in the arena thinks you’re desperate to land as many touches as possible.

However, you’re not desperate.

You’ve never been desperate in your entire fencing career, and you’re not tonight, at the dusk of your Olympic experience.

For once, for this last dance with the gods and goddesses of the sports, it’s all about being present and enjoying every moment.

~

“Look, this could be us if you let me take you out on a date”

Barely awake to register your words and definitely not enough to deal with your overexcitement this early in the morning, Alexia just takes the phone you unceremoniously put on her face as soon as you spot her eyes opening.

The article on the screen reports about "the 9 couples who competed at the Olympics together and won" with great details and pictures. She’s definitely not going to read it.

“We don’t play the same sport”, she states.

“Not the point of the article”

“We don’t even compete for the same country”

“Still missing the point”, you roll your eyes unimpressed, knowing she’s once again just avoiding the topic.

Or trying to annoy you for the abrupt wake up.

“We’re not together–”

“Yet!”

The footballer isn’t able to hide the smile that rises on her lips, yours is always so contagious. She hands back the phone, turning on her side to face you properly. The light sheets now barely cover her body, exposing a couple of darkening marks.

Not letting your gaze wander is, ‘till this day, the greatest display of strength and self-control you had to perform.

And you came back from the Olympic Games just a couple of months ago.

“We’re not together yet ‘cus you don’t let us go out on a proper date!”

It’s Alexia’s turn to roll her eyes, but the redness that tints her cheek is much more difficult to hide than your disappointment.

The two of you meet a few times since the Closing Ceremony, both with medals hanging from your necks and a strange force in your chest pulling one towards the other – despite everything.

Despite the older woman insisting it can’t work.

Taking advantage of a moment of distraction, you push her back onto the bed, sliding one leg over her body and successfully holding her hands above her head. The blush spreads on her face and your grin grows, but when you find her eyes, you make sure she knows you deeply mean what you’re saying.

“I just need a chance, Alexia”

“I’m–”

“Just give us a chance”

~

Fencing is a strange combat practice.

“En garde!”

Doesn’t matter how many times, how hard, or where you’re hit.

“Prêtes?”

You’re immortal.

“Allez!”

The only touch that kills you is the 15th one.

You launch yourself at the Hungarian girl, knowing that to win the game she just needs to land two more attacks or rely on your mistakes. She’s pushed to the very end of the piste, her sabre desperately circling around yours to defend her target, while her foot is moving quickly to avoid a step behind – a step that could mean one more point for you.

An idea comes up as you intentionally let your attack fall short, fooling your opponent to advance. Her front leg extends in a forward motion, pushing with the back foot to create more energy and gain space from the end line.

She’s exactly where you need her.

With a clean parry, deflecting her blade away, you successfully withdraw her line and gain right-of-way to attack. Now vulnerable and off balance, you just have to press the tip of your sabre on her shoulder.

The piste lights up with a vivid red and, a second too late, bright white reports her no valid touch.

11-13.

In your corner, your maestro is nodding his head slowly and suggesting you the next move with rapid motions of his hands.

Not a man of many words, someone could say, but you like him like that.

He knows exactly when to spur your competitiveness and hunger to win, when to keep your feet steady on the piste, and when to let you be.

~

“You know, I think I wasted my entire life”

Alexia moves her hands from your back to your shoulder, raising a sceptical eyebrow at your statements but now used – and resigned – to your questionable sense of humour.

“I’m made to be a wag”

As her head drops down and her eyes light up with pure amusement, you can’t help but think you want to be able to do this for the rest of your life. Managing to make her laugh so openly and carefree is still one of your biggest accomplishments.

“I have to say, you do look good”, the footballer points to the jersey you’re wearing, blushing a bit at the thought of her name on the back.

She can just hope you will not notice, blaming the effort the past 90 minutes demanded from her.

“Better do, I don’t know how much longer I can keep rocking Barça merch for”

“Good for you, there’s only one game left”

“Bold to you to assume I’m stopping at the Champions League, Putellas”, you reach out to drop one arm around her shoulders to hold the Catalan in an embrace you’re now really familiar with, “There’s a World Cup title to defend next year, I’ve already cleared my schedule”

~

Coming from a family of respected and accomplished athletes of the sport, the road ahead of you is marked out with the characteristic arch of a fencing blade since you’re old enough to hold the weapon properly.

Probably even before that, knowing your parents.

“En garde!”

The techniques of parring and thrusting, the movements of feet dancing on the piste, the special feeling of the blade as an extension of the body. You master all before you’re actually ready to admit the desire to make fencing a living, not just a passion passed on or a demanting hobby.

Hating the sport could have been so much easier, blaming the ‘nepo baby’ status either you succeeded or you turned out not to be up to it.

“Prêtes?”

But you love fencing.

“Allez!”

And you’re damn good at it.

A couple of steps into the assault, you take advantage of a moment of hesitation in the Hungarian’s preparation to perfectly timing your next move. Pushing from your front leg with impressive force, your body flies high to quickly cover the gap that divides the two of you. The jump allows you to deliver the attack slightly earlier than expected, striking your sabre against your target with no mercy.

The red light turns on as the crowds erupt in cheers, 12-13.

~

“Shouldn't I be the nervous one?”

Alexia’s hand finds yours before you’re even able to register her comment, stopping you from biting your nails off. She pulls it away and kisses your knuckles, keeping her eyes on your tense body.

The drive through the countryside’s streets is slow and calm, giving the footballer the time to appreciate the view but also a clear idea of how little you want to arrive at your parent’s villa.

A summer break under the Italian sun looks like a great idea, taking your girlfriend to your favourite hidden gems all around the country and finding together new places for new memories is just what you two need.

And it’s perfect, until your mother calls to invite you to spend the weekend with them.

“It can’t be that bad”

“You know my parents”

“I don’t, actually”, she argues, honest but not unkind.

It’s not like you don’t want Alexia to meet your family, she had bumped into them on several occasions and had brief conversations with them when their paths collided in your life.

A formal meeting though? Two entire days with your parents at their summer house? Sounds like hell to you.

“They’re going to be obnoxious and stern without reason”

“I can deal with them”

You stop at the side of a deserted road, too close to your destination for your own liking. Needing some time to prepare yourself and your girlfriend for the upcoming and unnecessary drama, the unplanned break looks like the best compromise over turning the car the other way altogether.

“I know you can deal with them, I don’t want you to”

That sounds wrong.

Alexia’s face contorts slightly, even if you’re perfectly aware she’s trying to understand you without just assuming you don’t want her to enter your family’s bubble.

“I’m not making any sense”, you state, taking a long breath in and relaxing at the feeling of the Catalan’s hand still holding yours.

“We don’t have to go if you don’t want to”

“No, I– Ale, my parents aren’t bad, but that doesn’t necessarily mean they are good. I told you what my childhood looked like. I had everything I’d ask for, and I’m grateful for that, but–”

When you meet her eyes you find complete support and desire to know how to take this pressuring weight out of your chest.

You never felt more cared for in your life.

“I met your family, I’ve been in your house. It feels like home, warm and lived, and– I can’t explain, but your family feels like a hug. My family?”, you scoff, trying to find the right words, “My family feels like a distant pat on the back on the good days. I don’t want you to feel like that, I want you to feel all my love”

She doesn’t let your hand go to gently hold your face with her free one, her thumb wiping away the traces of tears from your cheeks.

She makes sure to have all your attention, she makes sure to convey all her love for you.

“I’ll be your hug”

~

The protests of the younger opponent are cut short by the referee, who gestured for the two of you to take the centre of the piste.

“En garde!”

An old maestro, one of the unfortunates who had to train you when you were an annoying and reckless teenager, demanded from you absolute control of your reactions every time you landed a hit.

“Prêtes?”

You used to never celebrate any point but the last one.

“Allez!”

You don’t hold back anymore.

The Hungarian’s steps are now more calculated, jumping forward every now and then but keeping a fair distance from you and your sabre.

Fencing has taught you a lot about discipline and respect, you’re grateful for how much you’ve grown thanks to the sport. It was a long way from a tiny hyperactive kid, who just wanted to win and couldn’t accept any decision against it, to where you stand now.

Sometimes you still feel like that kid.

You hold your ground, you don’t rush the action just for the sake of it. Keeping up the pace of the assault, your blade finds the opponent’s one in rapid motions of attacks and responses without any real commitment to push for the point.

Other times you wish you were still that kid.

Suddenly, you both launch forward – aiming for a different target but with the same purpose. While she uses her front leg and an elusive movement of her arm to find your shoulder, your back leg slides and your body extends lower, trying to catch the other fencer by surprise.

The blades collide several times in a rapid succession of parries and responses until the piste lights up and you both pour out in celebration, claiming the touch.

You don’t hold back anymore, you have nothing to prove.

You don’t have to prove you’re worth your family’s name, you don’t have to prove you’re good enough to compete with the bests of the world in the biggest stages.

You don’t have to prove anything to anyone but yourself.

When both signals indicate the hit, it rests upon the referee to decide which fencer scores the point – retracing the entire action and giving their interpretation of it.

If they say the point isn’t yours, you have to accept the decision.

It goes without saying that you are not happy with it when the referee indicates your opponent when conferring the point.

12-14, it doesn’t look good for you.

~

Your pacing around the rooftop is frenetic, quite comical if seen from outside.

A gust of wind makes your exposed skin shiver, blowing your hair and completely ruining the intricate style you spend almost an hour on. It could also be your nervous hands making, but you’re not going to blame yourself for that too.

“Can you just stop?”

“No, Alexia, I cannot!”

The footballer covers the distance between the two of you in a few, determined steps. Her dress moves in a way that perfectly highlights the curve of her body and the definition of her muscles.

You could be fixed on your fiancé, devoting your attention completely to her, if you’d not be too preoccupied with freaking out.

“It’s not working”, you state.

“You really think that?”

Another shiver runs through your back, this time caused by the thought of the ending of your relationship with Alexia. Do you really think it’s over?

“We’re planning a wedding and we’ve never been in the same city at the same time for more than three consecutive months”

“Since when has that been a problem?”, she asks, holding you by your arms and never dropping her gaze, “We deal with the distance just fine. We go on dates and spend time together, we communicate and we are honest, we are there for each other when it matters”

“I want to be there when it doesn’t matter too”

“What does that even mean?”

The desire of stability and an everyday life that can grow into a future is something you both crave but are too scared to admit to the other.

“I want to be there when you’re back from training and you just want to watch a wild nature documentary, I want to be there for the daily and boring errands like doing the dishes or going to the supermarket just because we’re out of toilet paper”

It’s difficult to build your lives together far away from each other, to then meet and intertwine your paths, just to say goodbye and start all over again.

But the life you’re building is so beautiful.

A life that now looks like a carefully planned date in a stunning location, set up months in advance, or like a spontaneous surprise just because you have a free weekend and a pull from your heart that cannot be ignored.

But a life that soon will look like a walk out with a dog in the middle of the night because you forgot to do it after dinner, or like a weekly double date with your friends at the same restaurant.

A life that now looks like expensive gifts and flowers sent from a different country, but a life that soon will look like an electric bill with both your names on it.

A life that now looks like a shared calendar to make sure you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be, exactly at the right time.

But a life that soon will still look like a shared calendar to make sure you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be, exactly at the right time, just for completely different reasons.

A life you are already building, already living.

“Do you remember when you asked me to give us a chance? Well, now is my turn”

“Alexia, I–”

“Just give us a chance, amore mio”

~

“En garde!”

As a smirk reappears on the Hungarian’s face, you take a deep breath and remember your journey to this very fencing bout.

Your fourth Olympic Games, your fourth Individual Final for a medal.

“Prêtes?”

This could be a poker of victories or a bittersweet send off to the biggest sport stage.

“Allez!”

Sabre is the fastest and most aggressive of the three fencing disciplines, both parts rushing their opponent from the moment the referee commands to commence action. Just to secure a touch as soon as possible.

That’s why sabre fencers purposely take the defensive approach just in really particular situations.

You make a couple of steps forward, faking a lunge, as the young girl let her blade circle around yours without a real intention to engage. The exchange goes on like this far longer than you wish for, you know it’s a matter of moments before someone has to stir the combat.

Learning to understand when to attack and when to wait has been a challenge your entire life – not just professionally-wise. A maybe too talkative kid, a maybe too reckless teenager, a maybe too presumptuous woman.

Always maybe a little too much.

There’s a fairly big distance between the two of you, the Hungarian’s back leg shakes in subtle desire to close the gap and take the initiative.

It’s the hint you need.

Learning to understand your feelings and your emotions, accepting them as they are, doesn’t matter how strong or uncomfortable, has been the real challenge.

A battle you still fight against yourself, against your own mind. A battle no one can really see or comprehend.

You accelerate and move forward, stamping your front foot to the ground and extending your hand, both fainting an attack and disguising your defence stance. The motion is quickly followed by your opponent’s launch, but, tricked by the fast movement of your blade, she completely miscalculates the actual distance between your bodies.

She falls short, and, without time to recover, she has to take your punishment.

A battle you face with yourself, but with people in your corner ready to cheer for you despite the outcome.

Once again, the only light turning on is the red one – the score is now a compelling 13-14.

~

“Oh”

Looking up from the paperwork you’re proofreading, you notice how Alexia stops in the middle of your bedroom with a cup of coffee in one hand and a startstrucked gaze fixed on her face.

“We have to make another one!”, she whisper-shouts as she doesn’t seem able to look away from the baby currently sleeping in your arms.

It’s not the most comfortable position, but it’s too early for you to deal with your six-month old daughter’s fussing and your wife’s quite emotional state.

“We make another one”

“No, now hand me my coffee, please”, you lay the papers on the bed to make some grabbing gestures towards the cup – still in her very still, very far away hand.

“We have to replicate, we have to make another one”

“No, we really don’t”

“Look at her!”

You don’t look at her, finally reaching for your coffee as Alexia comes sitting next to you to gently caress the little girl’s face.

A smile rises on your lips, the picture of your growing family is always able to warm your heart and make up any doubts in your running mind.

Being loved and taken care of is not as hard as you thought it’d be.

It’s simple, it’s comforting.

It’s the hug she promised you, and you feel it wrapping all around your body when you need it the most, and also suddenly, out of nowhere and for no reason at all, in mornings like this one.

“She’s like a white rhino or the Amur leopard”, she doesn’t need to look at you to feel your raised eyebrow, “We fell asleep watching a documentary about the rarest and most critically threatened animals on the planet”

“I can’t leave the two of you alone unsupervised, never again”

“She’s rare, amore mio. We need to create more so the world could be a better place”

Holding back your laughs is getting more and more difficult, restrained just by the idea of waking up the baby still fast asleep. At least the Catalan is keeping her voice down as her enthusiasm runs wild.

As soon as she starts kissing her cheeks you know you’re done.

“Leave her alone, let her sleep”

“I can’t, look at her!”, she pumps your daughter’s nose with a finger, making her steer in your arms with a too-cute-for-your-own-good face.

She’s always reacting to Alexia’s soft touches and whispers.

Your wife’s basically tearing up at this point, too overwhelmed by the moment. At least you can blame the post partum hormones for your now emotional state.

The happiness you feel all around your home? That’s all Alexia’s making.

~

The crowd is loud and beaming, excited for the last tale of this fencing Individual Final and to see who will come out as the winner.

“En garde!”

A quick look at your maestro, he nods with his arms crossed. That will do.

“Prêtes?”

Breathing in and out, you savour every second of this as you find your position. A good preparation means everything in fencing. It’d make the difference in any moment of the assault, in any moment of the entire bout.

You learnt that a good preparation means everything in life too.

“Allez!”

The younger girl moves fast, launching herself forward as soon as the referee gives the go. But you’re prepared.

A good preparation gives you time to watch your opponent, ready to move in either direction you need to. You’re ready to move forward or take a step back, you’re ready to jump or to slide low. You’re ready to do everything you need to not get touched.

You’re prepared for this to be your last time fencing at the Olympic Games, you’re prepared for this to be your last time fencing all together.

The Hungarian tries to take you off balance with a quick sequence of attacks, going for the high hit and then aiming at your exposed target. You parry every single one, predicting her movement with impressive precision.

There are different ways to prepare – the posture, the speed, the steps can be varied, depending on the style of the fencer and on the opponent. There’s no right or wrong way. But you’re prepared for anything tonight.

When you see her going deep, you know how to move to anticipate her blade, rotating yours against it and leaving her target open just enough for you to breathe out and press the tip of the sabre in the middle of her chest.

The red light turns on before the green one, the score now announcing a draw at 14.

~

“This one looks comfortable”, you tap Alexia’s foot, waking her up efficiently from the nap you find her taking.

How can she manage to fall asleep in the most unhinged positions, it’s something you ask yourself to this day. Your daughter takes after her, obviously.

That’s how you find the two of them on the sofa with a National Geographic’s documentary on.

At least the girl immediately stirred up at hearing you coming back home after a couple hours out to run some boring errands.

“I was just resting my eyes”

“Sure”, you bend down smiling, kissing her forehead, “You have training in an hour, coach”

“Plenty of time”

A firm hand finds the back of your neck, holding you in place for a proper kiss. Alexia’s lips are soft and taste like fresh tomatoes and kid’s chapstick – the latter probably your daughter’s doing.

Said daughter now alone and unsupervised in the kitchen.

You reluctantly pull back from the Catalan, leaving a light peck at the tip of her nose as soon as she frowns unhappily about the loss of contact.

“You used to like me”, she complains.

“Good old days, mi amor”

~

Eleven seconds left may be the entire time of a race or may count nothing in some other sports. In fencing, eleven seconds may be the longest time ever or not quite enough at all for a point.

You’re not going to drag this into the final round.

“En garde!”

Breathe in.

“Prêtes?”

Breathe out.

“Allez!”

Smile.

As soon as the referee gives the go, you rush forward with your hand held back – quite a vulnerable move if not for the four metres distance the starting positions guarantee. You bounce a couple steps, staying very high against the Hungarian’s low stance, building speed and momentum to lunge upwards without giving her any clear clue of what type of attack you’re going to choose.

Your blade slides on the target before she has time to realise where you actually hit.

There’s no doubt, no hesitation.

The red light turns on in what feels like the longest time ever, the crowd erupts in cheers, and the mask falls off your head as you celebrate like never before in your entire career.

Taking the centre of the piste, you point your sabre in a really specific direction, aiming at a very specific person.

Two, actually.

You mimic a bow and the audience goes wild.

It’s for none but the two people you can’t keep your teared up eyes off.

After that, it’s all a blur.

Saluting the opposition and the referee is a natural gesture. You manage to give the younger fencer your sincere compliments and some words of advice she takes more gracefully than you could have ever done at her age.

Your maestro holds you in a big hug, he says it’s been an honour, and you will not start doubting him now.

Someone drags you for a quick interview, asking questions you have been asked your entire life. You answer sincerely, but the desire to get this over with as soon as possible is clear as the smile on your face.

“It’s a bronze medal, how do you feel about it?”

“Honestly? I think this is the most important and beautiful of them all”, you politely say your goodbyes to run in the opposite direction.

Finding Alexia has always been easy, your eyes lock in the middle of full rooms despite everything and everyone. A warm hug envelops your body when you’re close enough to fall into her open arms, feeling tiny hands holding onto you at the same time.

“We’re so proud of you, amore mio”

“Thank you, for the chance”

fine.

[ma1dita]

have you been watching the paris 2024 olympics?? i just think luke castellan is so like athlete coded, i’m just imagining him like as the athlete from sweden (?) in pole vault who broke his world record and then ran to his girlfriend like imagine luke doing that to you AGHHHH i’m on a luke as an olympian (the athlete) brain rot

the alchemy

luke castellan x reader a/n: i absolutely loved this request. mando duplantis i dream of you and your girlfriend every night. wc: 612

Luke Castellan swears he can feel his heart beating out of his ribcage. That, or it’s the thunderous roar of the crowd—it must be one or the other with so many people here, a sea of faces and noise and….

Deep breath in… and out.

Luke doesn’t think he’s ever seen this many people in a single room, and his brain hurts to even consider the people watching this live. Gods, there weren’t even this many people at qualifying, and there’s so many people counting on him. Honey brown eyes scan the crowd for you, his good luck charm as he squints, getting on his tiptoes in hopes of catching a glimpse of your smile. Your presence does wonders for his performance and his nerves, the past few years of late nights at the facility, strength and endurance training, and the crazy diets you’ve joined him on to accommodate bulking and cutting. 

You’ve been there through it all.

He’s got two more shots at breaking his own world record, and to most, they’d assume he’d treat it like a piece of cake. But his mother always taught him to be humble, and he reckons she’s whispering something similar into your ear right now, wherever you two are in the stands. You’re his biggest cheerleader after all, on the days he feels like he can walk among the clouds and even the ones where his feet seem stuck to the concrete.

Luke rolls out the crick in his neck before bending over to grab his grip tape and liquid chalk. Going through the motions of years of proficiency worth his blood, sweat, and tears, he zeroes in on the crowd, walking up to the runway.

Just like we practiced, he thinks to himself, hearing his name get called out by the officials.

LUKE CASTELLAN, REPRESENTING THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA!

LUKE CASTELLAN, DES ÉTATS-UNIS D'AMÉRIQUE!

Two minutes start on the clock—-and he runs like the wind.

Sprinting, taking the air out of his own lungs as his feet pound against the pavement, his fingers tapping against your initials that he etched into his pole as he gives it his all.

And then the other end meets the vault box and he’s flying.

Soaring through the air, momentum swinging his legs like a pendulum and by the smile that grows on his face—he knows he’s got it even before his feet touch the ground, and the only thing running through his mind is you as he contorts over the bar effortlessly.

Like echolocation, the only voice he recognizes through the commotion is in tune with the blood rushing through his ears, a scream that could only come from the depths of your soul, “BRING IT HOME BABY!”

And he’s ecstatic now, suddenly unaware of the resounding smack his body makes against the landing mat because his joints spring up tirelessly as he propels himself in your direction like Pavlov’s dog running towards the sound of a golden bell. Luke can barely see at the speed he’s going at, launching himself over the stands but he knows you’re there to catch him and he knows he’s gotten gold as he smashes his lips against yours. This must be the alchemy that you do to him, pulling his heart into yours with just the glimmer in your eyes and the sheer love you show to accomplish his dreams—he’s a winner for sure, with you by his side. Flashes from cameras surround his peripherals and you both can’t do anything but chuckle.

Gold medal aside, he’s got all he needs in his arms right now. 

Luke thinks he’ll be getting you your own gold hardware soon too.

[humanitys-strongest-brat]

Kintsugi - ch. 1

Summary: After an injury causes you to lose your spot in the World Figure Skating Championship your last hope falls into the hands of Levi Ackerman, a former Olympic competitor.

Pairing: Coach!Levi x Injured fem!Reader

CW: Injury, major themes of depression and hopelessness. 18+ mdni

wc: 3.2k

a/n: Starting off with a huge thank you to @tobbi-loves-levi for helping me throughout the process of making this fic and always listening to me yap about my ideas. This is my first chaptered fanfic and I'm very excited to share it~

dedicated song - dividers 1/2 - masterlist

You cry out as your hip collides with the ground. Rolling into a sitting position you pull your left leg up by the knee. Just resting your blade on the ice sends another shock of pain through your ankle and up your leg. You let out a hiss and squeeze your eyes shut. 

You refuse to believe it, deep down you know you just sustained a serious injury. You tell yourself it's not that bad.

get up.

walk it off. 

Come on. 

Your breathing staggers as you twist your body and pull yourself into a kneel, your good foot anchoring on the ice ready to stand back up. The pain is excruciating.��

“Stay Down!” your coach shouts as she races towards you. “Sit back down.” She demands, and you listen, carefully pulling your weight onto your left hip, carefully settling back down onto the ice. 

Coach Tarasov bends down, instructing you to extend your leg out. When you do she carefully applies light pressure to your boot, only nudging it a little to confirm her fears. Your hand immediately flies over your mouth, you curse and wince in pain. “Not good,” She breathes out “Let’s get you up and off the ice” she says, her voice stern and serious, you know now that it’s really bad, you don't want to believe it.

“Coach,” your lip quivers as you look up at her, you feel destroyed. Panic fills your body and your throat is burning. “...Worlds-” Part of you is humiliated. Sure, you’ve cried in front of Coach Tarasov before; during long sessions that never seemed to end, practicing jumps you couldn't land no matter how many times you tried, watching your peers excel on your bad days. This was different.

This was devastating.

Mid February, four weeks before the World Figure Skating Championship. It was just like any other practice. today you were doing triple toe loops and landed wrong.

You can’t contain your sobs as your coach helps you up. She urges you to hold your foot up while she pulls you to the rink’s exit. When you finally sit down on the bench you notice how tight your boot feels. Holding back your sobs causes you to shake as Coach Tarasov kneels in front of you to untie your skate. “I’m just going to look at it.” She tries to sound comforting, but you can hear the disappointment that laces her words, the acceptance in her tone. Like she knew you were done right then and there without even seeing it. 

Your panicked sob catches in your throat as she pulls the boot off, every surge of pain was just as bad as the last. You can't look, you keep your eyes on your coach. When she peels back your nylon sock she stops and stares for a second before letting out a sigh and dropping her head down in defeat. “You need an X-ray,” she says plainly, only confirming your worst fear. “You can't drive, I'll call an ambulance.” she leans back and requests an ice pack from the rink employee standing over the two of you, observing. You're only just now noticing he was there.

“Stay calm, we don't know anything yet.” You know she's lying. You pick your head up and see your fellow competitors have stopped to watch. Most look shocked, some seem to be showing pity. You lock eyes with your friend and fellow contestant Mikasa Ackerman, her eyes well with tears as she watches you. That’s when you finally accept that your dreams are ruined. 

***

You stare up at the blinding lights of the emergency room ceiling, waiting for the results the X-ray ordered to rule out a fracture. Arms folded over your chest, you simmer in the acceptance that everything you worked for your whole life is gone.

This was your first year qualifying and being invited to participate in the World Championship, you knew after your performances in the Grand Prix and Nationals that you had secured your place and a chance to take gold at Worlds. Competitive skaters everywhere spend their lives training and competing for the chance to get where you were, just as you had, only for one accident to take it all away from you and hand it off to the next person. 

You blink back more tears, easily warding them off since the initial shock of everything drained you. The uncertainty of your career plagued your mind. The excitement and determination to compete was gone, replaced with the dread of agonizing failure. All you wanted to do was go home and sulk. An apartment you rented in the city chosen to host this season’s training sessions with a handful of competitors. Everything reminded you of your loss, even the place designed for you to decompress at the end of the day, your apartment was a representation of the things you endured and achieved to make it to the World Championship to begin with, now it’s just a roof over your head to house you while you heal and watch your dreams slip through your fingers like sand. You're wiping away tears with the sleeve of your shirt as the doctor enters the room. 

He strides into the room, greeting you as he pinned your X-ray up and flicked the light on to illuminate the image. You pull yourself upright on the bed, even in this moment your chest fills with hope for good news. “It’s not fractured,” he says, pulling a pen from his breast pocket. You sigh out in relief. A fracture or break was the worst case scenario, and at least you’re safe from that. He lifts his arm, extending his pen out to the board and pointing at the areas of your ankle with speckled white spots “what you’re looking at is a grade two moderate ankle sprain, you have some torn ligaments” he explains, slowly circling his pen over the white spots highlighted by the bright glow behind the picture. “Based on your X-Ray, swelling, and pain level at intake, we’ll have you in a boot for two to four weeks.” Your heart sinks again, it’s not like you forgot that this injury took something from you, but you got excited too fast hearing it wasn’t as bad as you originally feared. You listen and nod as he goes through the details of the first phase of healing, just as you imagined, stay off of it, never put pressure on it, keep it iced and elevated. “After the boot comes off, you’ll start immediately with physical therapy. They will determine when you have the green light to return to your usual activities.” 

You stare at him, feeling it all come back. “Physical therapy? Isn’t that a little intense for just a sprain?” You plead, your voice shaking again. 

He points again to your X-ray, and those damned white streaks on your ankle. “This is not an injury to be taken lightly, I strongly recommend you stick to your treatment plan to prevent possible irreversible damage. Especially as an athlete.” He warns. 

You get your boot, and you’re promptly discharged and wheeled out to coach Tarasov’s car. They help you into the passenger seat and that’s it. You’re left to face this all on your own now. 

Before you leave, you hand coach your discharge documents and lean your head on the window. The sound of the pages turning as she skims through sends pangs straight to your chest. She rests a hand on your shoulder but you refuse to face her. “I’ll make the calls, I need copies of this and your X-rays” she said with caution. 

You cried the entire drive home. 

***

The three weeks of recovery before you’re cleared to take the boot off could be described as nothing less than hell. You barely left your bed for the first five days, you ignored calls, you didn’t take care of yourself. Your parents found out online, you only answered their persistent calls so they would stop worrying. Days started blending together quickly, when you weren’t crying you felt nothing, even your phone proved itself a shitty distraction. Your name was everywhere, the news of your injury and drop from the championship chased you on every app you used. 

After a week you deleted all your social media.

The start of the second week it dawned on you that the competition was just over two weeks away, and you wouldn’t be there. It made you sick to even think about watching it and keeping up with the scores. Several times a day you wonder how you would have done had your injury never happened. Would you have taken gold? Thinking on it now, if you knew this was the alternative you would have been happy to place at all, just to be there. You took it all for granted, high on success. 

At the end of the third week, you’re out of the boot and booked to start physical therapy, just this week you started eating and taking care of yourself again, you leave the blinds and windows open to let in some fresh air. Every step you take still reminds you of what you could’ve had, you walk with a limp. 

***

You decide to watch the Women’s singles program only, anything more would have only twisted the knife. You watch with a bottle of wine and a box of tissues. 

You feel genuinely happy to watch Mikasa perform, part of you was living through her as you watched. Mostly you’re happy she gets to experience this for herself, you know how much it means to her.

She placed 6th overall, you cried tears of joy for her.

***

You’re given an estimate of eight to twelve weeks of physical therapy. when you do the math, you can’t hold back your grin. Even the longest course of recovery would have you back on ice just in time for the start of the next skating season. You decide right then that you’ll be back on the ice competing in next year's World Championship no matter what it took.

Mid April you finish the first phase of physical therapy, three weeks of balance training taking a decent chunk of confidence from you. to put it bluntly, it was horrible. The pain was almost completely gone, it only hurt during specific exercises. Your balance was abysmal, any added weight beyond walking had your ankle shaking. You knew you could do it, you just had to make it past this part. 

Early May, during strength training with your physical therapist, your phone buzzes in your pocket. After your program you excuse yourself for a much needed break and check your phone to see a text from Mikasa, you catch yourself smiling. It’s been weeks since anyone reached out to you. 

Mikasa ⛸️💨

“Been too long, I miss you! Free for a quick lunch today?” 

You can barely contain your happiness, it shocks you how quickly you text back, letting her know what time you’d be available, and to your surprise it works out. You agree on a location and after your session you rush home to get ready, taking extra time to ensure you don’t look like a husk of your former self when you see her for the first time in over two months. 

When you approach her at the table, she stands up and immediately pulls you into a tight hug, gripping your shirt in her fists as she squeezes. You congratulate her on her placement in the championship and quickly you’re catching up on everything the two of you missed during your time apart. 

“So, how’s that going?” Mikasa asks about your physical therapy after you mention that you're about half way through, almost cleared to begin off-ice sport specific exercises. 

You look down, biting your lip before you respond “honestly? Not well.” You begin explaining how you’ve felt the past couple of weeks, even mentioning that you decided to return to competitive skating this upcoming July. “It doesn't feel like it’s enough. My ankle is still shit, it’s enough to gain back mobility but I can tell I’m not where I need to be.” Your voice shakes a little. Mikasa is a wonderful listener, she never breaks eye contact or interrupts, she lets you unload all your grief. “I know I can do better, they won’t let me push myself, my home based exercises are strict.” You explain. 

Mikasa doesn’t say much, and that’s okay, you were happy just to be here with her after weeks of seclusion, only leaving your apartment for physical therapy. It took weight off your shoulders to talk with someone about what you were going through, and no one could understand you better in this moment than Mikasa. 

When your lunch arrives the conversation dulls down to casual pleasant tidbits of information of Mikasa’s life post competition, eventually she tells you that she’s recompeting herself. You couldn’t be more happy for her. 

Somewhere in the endless chatting you can tell something is on her mind, she detaches from the conversation a couple times, staring down at the table before snapping out of it and apologizing. Eventually she excuses herself. “Sorry, I’ll be right back” she promises and makes her way outside. Your brows stay knit as you crane your body to watch her walk out until she’s just out of view. You sigh when you turn back, that was definitely odd, but you decide maybe it’s best not to press when she comes back. 

She’s gone for no longer than five minutes, when she sits back down it’s like nothing was ever bothering her to begin with. You’re tempted to ask but it couldn’t be too bad if she looked this relieved coming back. The two of you finish your meals and send your bills off to be paid, she grins at you from across the table. 

“What?” You ask, crossing your arms over your chest.

Mikasa quickly reaches in her bag, grabbing her planner and pen from the bottom and dropping it on the table, she quickly flips to one of the back pages and scribbles something down fast. “Here.” She says, ripping the sheet from its binding and sliding it across the table towards you. 

You raise a brow and stare at the page that’s text side down. After a moment you finally bite “what is this?” You ask, pulling it towards you and lifting it up, looking back towards Mikasa. 

“My cousin is a rehabilitation coach,” she begins, letting her excitement take over. “For competitive figure skaters. He agreed to work with you for me.” 

You have no words, you just blink at her. When you finally take a quick glance at the page you notice a phone number and email address written across the page “Mikasa, this is..” you don’t know how to feel, this came up so quick “I don’t know-.. I appreciate-“ 

She cuts you off “Please take the offer, I insist. He has an opening.” She says “Levi’s great, high success rate. I can get you more information if you need it.” 

Your heart drops into the pit of your stomach “Levi..Ackerman..?” you breathe out, now staring down at the paper in your hands. You should have known he was related to Mikasa. Hell, you don’t even know why you never thought about it to begin with. They share the same last name. “He was injured at the Olympics all those years ago.” you think aloud, unable to take your eyes off the page. 

“That’s the one,” Mikasa beams “and he doesn’t like to talk about it. So maybe don’t start with that when you call him later.” 

You look up from the page at Mikasa “I don’t know what to say.” Truthfully you didn’t even know rehabilitation coaches even existed, your current coach and physical therapist never mentioned that as an option. 

“Don’t say anything. Just call him later, and tell me how that goes.” Her voice was firm, but her eyes were nothing but gentle. 

When the two of you eventually get up and walk out together you stop in the parking lot to give Mikasa one final hug before you split again. “Thank you so much.” you whisper.

“Don’t mention it,” she replies, pulling back and letting her hands rest just above your elbows, “and don’t be a stranger anymore.”

***

When you arrive home, you catch yourself staring down at the contact information that was given to you. Nervousness didn’t even begin to describe how you felt. This wasn’t just any coach, or another physical therapist. It was Levi Ackerman. He was a part of the best figure skating pairs, finally making it to The Olympics with his partner before the accident. 

You haven’t even come close to a skating rink since nearly breaking your ankle almost three months ago now. Working with a rehabilitation coach to get to your previous level of skating wasn’t even a fleeting thought. Hell, you didn’t even know those kinds of coaches existed until today. What if you were just wasting his time? Surely a coach like him is a privilege, right? Letting your nerves get the best of you, the contact info sits idly on your bedside table as you drift off into a world of ice and gold medals. 

***

The next morning, your dream fresh in your mind, you grab the contact from your nightstand. Ignoring the blaring anxiety, you dial the number without too much thought. The more you think about it, the more inviting backing out feels. The dial tone sounds, causing you to begin pacing your apartment. No more blaming the injury, no more blaming the physical therapy program. You couldn’t just keep sitting around, wondering about the what ifs when you were handed a golden ticket. You’d be crazy to pass this up, even if it was just a chance. 

“Took you long enough.” A rich warm voice answers the phone, stopping you dead in your tracks in the kitchen. How the hell did he even know it was you? How were you even meant to respond to a greeting like that anyway. “I was beginning to think you changed your mind.” He states

“Uh, no.” You reply quickly, tapping your fingers on the kitchen counter to give your free hand something to do. “No I didn’t change my mind, I’m interested.” you cursed yourself, trying to sound so formal. This was the type of thing coach Tarasov always took care of, you were completely out of your element. 

“Great,” he says, you have trouble reading his tone but you try not to think too much of it. Over the phone you hear a series of keyboard clicks and your phone buzzes against your ear “I sent a couple things to your email,” did Mikasa already give him your information? “Go ahead and authorize your physical therapy records over, send me copies of your X-rays and prescribed treatment plan, and sign the following documents.” He lists off “after that, I’ll work up a schedule compatible with your PT, I’ll be in contact.” 

If you were nervous before there wasn’t a word to describe how you feel now. “Thank you, I look forward to working with you.” 

“Have a nice day.” he says in the same tone, your phone beeps to indicate the call has ended.

Taglist: @amywritesthings @littlerequiem @humanitys-strongest-bamf @hideandgopeep (please let me know if i missed you and ill add you on to ch 2)

[waklman]

Pool Rules

summary: you get yourself into trouble trying to surprise your boyfriend during swim practice.

pairing: bob floyd x female reader.

warnings: no use of y/n. fluff, like one suggestive joke. 18+ blog in general.

olympic swimmer au

the last lap masterlist.

“Floyd, security detained your girl again,” Jake flatly announces, stalking into the locker-room with his very own girlfriend in tow, leading her inside with their hands entwined.

“Again?” Bob pivots on his damp feet, zipping up his arena jacket back up out of courtesy. 

Really, it should alarm him more that you’ve been snagged by pool staff, but this was the third time it’s happened, this week.

“It was so mean!” Jake’s girlfriend chimes in, microfiber towel thrown over her head. Not bothered enough to ask if Bob’s decent, she rips the cotton draped over her eyes and Jake grits, wrestling to get it back on. “They just—they grabbed her thinking she’s some random fan that snuck in! Isn’t that horrible?”

“Would you just—get out of here Floyd.” Jake redirects the scolding to his teammate, still fighting against his girlfriend as she erupts into a bout of giggles at Jake’s struggle to keep the towel in place. 

Understanding that Jake’s frustration isn’t fully targeted towards him, Bob nods and steers his body towards the exit, leaving his pile of dry clothes behind on the bench.

Assuming you’ve been stuck into that detainment room, Bob makes his way up there, swim tights still dripping wet.

Nearing you in his climb up the stairs, he sighs remorsefully, turning the corner. They probably stuck you in the grubby plastic chair that you swore flattened out your butt. And despite his tireless efforts to convince you otherwise, you were fully set on the fact that your rear quite literally sunk.

With a gentle knock to the door, the athlete cuts through his own stream of thoughts. And in getting no answer to the polite gesture, Bob pauses, waiting out a few more seconds before cautiously letting himself inside.

He’s not the least bit surprised to find you sitting in that very chair you hated so much, pouty face painted in streaky lines of red white and blue. As usual, you look like you’re ready to cheer on the U.S team at any given moment. 

Wordlessly coming to a stop in front of you, Bob lets you stain his white nylon jacket with your patriotic face paint as you slump forward, landing flat on his stomach. In all fairness, his bare legs do wet the front of your shirt in return, but it doesn’t seem like you care all that much when you whine and curl your hands behind his thighs to pull him closer.

“Hi there, pretty girl,” he looks down at you, his shriveled hand petting the back of your head. All it takes is the feeling of you leaning into his palm, for the tight wounds of Bob’s muscles to finally loosen, despite his wearied efforts to alleviate the strain post-practice. 

“They still didn’t recognize me from last time,” you dejectedly share, ignoring his greeting. “The guys that put me in here didn’t even believe Seresin when he tried telling them I was your girlfriend.”

Doing a quick scan of the dusty room, Bob notices that they’ve left you unsupervised this time. From a technical standpoint, the athlete can’t exactly blame them for not realizing who you actually were. Because everytime you did pay Bob a visit, you wore bizarre USA themed outfits to cheer him on—that altered your appearance each time. 

He hated to admit it but, Bob was impressed that Jake could even manage to tell you apart from one of the crazed fans camping outside the training center.

But, even if you were one of them, Bob knows there’s a partially pathetic side of him that would still forget how to expel a breath if he saw a girl as cute as you choosing to root for him, instead of one of his teammates. 

“You know why? It’s ‘cause you get prettier each time you show up looking for me. They can't believe how I got so lucky with you," he finally suggests with a small smile, coaxing you to stand up.

“Let me see what you got on today, Champ,” he reaches for your limp hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles before lifting it above your head, to twirl you around.

A shy giggle bubbles out your chest when your boyfriend spins you, whispering about how pretty you looked as he runs his eyes over you. 

Not wanting to make you dizzy, Bob slows down the movement, his hands moving to your hips to steady your balance. “Where’d you get this from? It’s cute,” he leans back slightly, chuckling when you proudly puff your chest at him. 

Pulled up on each of your legs are knee high socks, one blue and one red with white stripes lined at the hem. And stretched across your t-shirt is a saturated Getty image of your boyfriend, gold medal between his teeth.

Lifting yourself on your tippy toes, you glide your fingers through his damp strands, pushing it out of his face. “Would you believe me if I said I had it made? I think it’s my favorite picture of you,” you confess.

A surge of butterflies suddenly flutters in your stomach, when your eyes slowly drift down to his flushed chest, that just barely peeks through the small gap of his unzipped jacket. You swallow, spotting a droplet of water still clung to his skin that runs down the line of his torso.

“Oh yeah?” He teases, pulling your attention back to his face. Though Bob’s trying to act coy, a rare side of him that had his coach choking on his sandwich the first time he witnessed it—there’s a matching tint of pink on his cheeks that gives him away. 

Lightly tugging on the roots of his hair, a mischievous look washes over your features. 

“Mhm, I just love having you on me honey,” you playfully bite back. And there goes the controlled breathing practice Bob spent half his life perfecting.

“Okay, that was—that really wasn’t fair,” he falters, feeling another wave of heat settling into his already flushed skin.

"Oh I'm sorry, didn't know we were playing fair now," you egg on, watching your giant boyfriend grow shy.

Bob only pokes his cheek with his tongue, until he takes in the fact that you’re wearing a shirt with his face on it. And he couldn’t see it any earlier because you’ve been trapped up here the whole time.

“I don’t know why they keep doing this to you, I’m sorry Champ,” he feels the need to apologize, drawing you in for a hug.

Bob considered himself a fairly polite guy, but when his girlfriend’s been given a hard time repeatedly—he feels less inclined to be so nice in his next run-in with security. 

But instead of showing his sudden wear in patience, he relaxes completely—finding it nearly impossible to retain any tension in his body when you gently scratch at his scalp.

“It’s okay,” you assure him, twirling a piece of hair around your finger. “You found me anyway.”

“They made you sit in that chair though.” 

“My butt is probably so flat,” you let out groan at the reminder, pressing your feet to the ground. 

Not a second later, Bob goes to squeeze your butt. “Not, really,” he decides, seriously. "Even if it was, I don't think I'd care."

“Don’t you lie to me,” you scold, brows pinched together.

“M’ not. Did you want me to check again?”

Before you can anything, a uniformed man stands under the door frame, lifting his eyes off his clipboard. Almost in sync with eachother, you both stiffen hearing the noise.

“Alright young lady, I cleared things up with—Oh..”

note: swimmer bob swimmer bob swimmer bob!! as always thank you for reading, and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

join the taglist for this series here or follow me on @waklman-library and turn on notifs to be notified when i post!

tags: @Genius2050 @eli2447 @s-u-t @averyhotchner @et-homephone @olymosity @wkndwlff @cruelmissdior @eternallyvenus @queerqueenlynn @sushiwriterhere @ravenhood2792 @Natdrunk @goosterroose

[jjkamochoso]

Cupid’s Arrows

Noritoshi x gn!reader

Angst, fluff

Noritoshi teaches reader archery!!

Warnings: none

You needed to train. Your curse technique skills were fine, above average even, but your sparring abilities were… needing to be worked on. That’s why you were out on the Kyoto school’s lawn early in the morning, fighting to hold your own against Mai. Todo had offered to spar with you, but you weren’t in the mood to get completely pummeled so you kindly declined. You two were circling each other as you were presently at a standstill, neither of you going down without a fight. You were quietly planning where to attack next when your attention was caught elsewhere. You heard the tell tale thump of an arrow make contact with a target and from over Mai’s shoulder you saw Noritoshi practicing his archery not too far from where you stood. You were too busy staring at his perfect frame, perfect stance, perfect strong arms—

“Ugh!” you grunted out in pain as you harshly landed on the grass. Mai smirked as she declared herself the winner, laughing at how easy it was to swipe your legs from under you.

“I can’t believe you were so stupid to leave yourself vulnerable like that,” she said in her typical snarky manner. You knew she held no ill will toward you, though, as she extended her hand to help you up. You took it, muttering a quiet, “thanks,” and brushing yourself off. You’d already felt the bruise forming from falling on your shoulder and hoped it didn’t look too bad since your summer uniform was sleeveless.

“What had you so distracted anyway?” Mai mused. Following where your gaze was held once more, she couldn’t help but laugh again. “Kamo, huh? What, you got a crush on him?” When you didn’t answer, her eyes got wide and you knew you were about to get teased for the rest of your life.

“Oooh! Y/n’s got a crush!” she exclaimed and you attempted to cover her mouth so Noritoshi didn’t overhear, but she was too nimble and easily stepped away from your grasp. Before you knew it, Mai was beelining toward him and your stomach dropped, fearing she’d spill your embarrassing secret. You had never run so fast in your life but you were too late. She was already talking to him!

“Hi! Kamo! How are you this fine morning?” you asked, out of breath and sweaty when you finally joined them. You didn’t even want to know how you looked right now. You could only imagine the disgust Noritoshi must feel seeing you huff and puff like you were on death’s door. Thankfully, he seemed to pay no mind to it. You were grateful he was raised to be respectful.

“Hello, l/n. Mai was just about to tell me something,” he said, slightly irritated his archery practice was getting interrupted.

“Yes I was,” Mai answered smugly, “I was going to tell you that y/n—”

“Wanted archery lessons from you!” you blurted out, completely overtaking whatever it was Mai had said. Noritoshi tilted his head ever so slightly, presumably in confusion, so you pressed on. “I was sparring with Mai and I saw you practicing, but I told her I was too nervous to bother you so she came over instead.” You felt warmth creep into your face and down your neck and it wasn’t from all the physical exertion you had just done. Noritoshi raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“Oh! I, uh… sure, I guess.” You breathed a sigh of relief that he believed you, but he continued on as Mai slowly backed away toward the dorms, a devious grin on her face. “But… why?”

“Well,” you said, your fingertips fidgeting with each other, “I really admire your skill. I think it’s cool you use an unconventional weapon against curses. And I’ve always thought it looked fun.”

Noritoshi looked away into the distance for a moment, seemingly deep in thought, before suddenly breaking the silence.

“Okay. Tell me what you know about archery.”

“Well, it’s ancient, it’s a sport in the Olympics, and Cupid does it,” you answered and Noritoshi let out a deep sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“So you know nothing?” he confirmed, you nodding in agreement with his assessment. “That’s fine. I can work with that. It’s easier to start from scratch than break old bad habits. Look at my stance and do exactly what I’m doing.”

You tried your best to stand the exact same way he was, but judging by the look on his face, you weren’t doing a good job.

“No, see, your front foot is all wrong and your back leg needs to look more like this.”

You tried to tweak yourself but you weren’t getting anywhere. You were already embarrassing yourself without even picking up the bow. You sighed, standing normally, and put your hands on your hips.

“Look, Kamo, I’m sorry for bothering you. I’m clearly not getting this so I’ll leave you alone. Thanks anyway.” You started to turn away, but his hand reached out to your arm, stopping you in your tracks. Noritoshi also must have realized what he had done and quickly retracted his fingers like you had burned him. After a beat of silence, he spoke up.

“L/n, you’re not giving up. You want to learn so I’m going to teach you. You can’t just turn away when you don’t understand something in your first try.”

“Fine. But when I get good enough at this, you’ll have to let me shoot an apple off your head like we’re in a cartoon.” You went back to where you were previously as Noritoshi let out what sounded like the tiniest laugh. You didn’t know he could be anything but stoic!

“I’ll pass on that offer as I enjoy living with both eyeballs in tact,” he replied. “Now, back to lessons. Stand like this.” When you felt you had it down, he came over to inspect you. You were extremely nervous. You never felt like you had caught Noritoshi’s gaze in the years you knew him and now all he was doing was staring you down. It certainly didn’t help when he leaned over you to straighten your shoulders. Satisfied with his work, Noritoshi picked up his bow and handed it to you.

“Please, be careful with this. The school’s gonna kill me if I break another one.” When he turned around to pick up an arrow, you decided to mess with him.

“How easy is it to fix a broken bow string?” you asked innocently. He whipped around to see you snickering and his bow perfectly fine.

“Don’t mess with me like that,” he grumbled, and you only laughed harder.

“Aww, c’mon Kamo, it was a joke!”

“Jokes are supposed to be funny.”

“Well, good thing we’re not studying in clown school.”

“You’re right. If we were, we’d be at the Tokyo school right now.”

You gasped and hit his arm.

“Kamo! Did you just make a joke? That was actually funny!”

Noritoshi’s face held an amused look as he demonstrated how to hold the bow.

“I guess I’m teaching you two things today then.”

You scoffed jokingly, “I miss the quiet Noritoshi already,” and he gave you the tiniest hint of a smile. You liked seeing this side of him. You knew his hardships within the Kamo clan and you truly felt for him. You understood that he had way more at stake than you and most of your classmates so you tried your best to stay out of his way during missions, practice, and any other time you’d mess around with your peers. However, you knew he was probably lonely. He’d looked longingly at your group of friends, desperate to feel normal, to join in on the antics, but knew he had to keep up the perfect facade or else he’d be seen as a failure. You were just glad he hadn’t become too jaded in his life of isolation and perfectionism. It didn’t help that you had a huge crush on the seemingly most emotionally unavailable guy in jujutsu society. You couldn’t help it though. He was aloof, yet kind when needed. He was a strong, respectable leader, and at the root of every decision he made was compassion. He was extremely handsome too. You couldn’t get enough of his gray eyes, inky black hair that fell just right, his big, ever so slightly chilled hands that were currently readjusting how you were holding the bow—

Wait. You seriously needed to stop spacing out, especially since Noritoshi was so close to you that you could make out every detail on his face. You tried to calm your breathing and just focus on the techniques he was trying to teach you.

“—and then you’re good to go. Ready to try on your own?” he asked, stepping back, and you gave him a meek answer of affirmation. He gave you an arrow as you took a deep breath. Launching it, the arrow flew about 10 feet and flopped sadly into the grass. Noritoshi let out a frustrated sigh.

“Were you even listening to a word I said? I don’t know how to explain it any better than that,” he said, running his fingers through the untied hair at the back of his head. You had never seen anything more attractive than that action. You had never heard anything more attractive than his little laugh minutes earlier up until now when he asked:

“Is it alright if I stand behind you and guide you through it?”

Your eyes almost popped out of your head and he must’ve noticed how that sentence sounded because you noticed a deep blush rush to his face.

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean for it to sound like that, I’m sorry. Was that weird? That was weird. I meant—”

“No, no, please, have at it. I’m all yours,” you tried to console him, and he nodded, keeping his eyes cast down.

“Please, stop me if I come too close to you or am touching you too much. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“You could never make me uncomfortable, Noritoshi,” you replied. It felt odd using his first name but he didn’t oppose to it after the second time you used it, so you figured it was okay. Besides, his chest was pressed firmly against your back while his hand rested on your wrist near the bowstring. It was a very intimate position so you figured first names were allowed for this occasion.

“Okay, we’ll try this again. First, you have to stand tall.” His fingers drifted down to your waist to adjust you, then up to your shoulders once more. You tried to even your breathing so you didn’t pass out from being so close to him. His voice was soft and even more angelic when he was practically whispering in your ear. You were lucky no one else was up because if anyone saw what was going on between the two of you, in a public setting no less, you’d definitely get reprimanded. Even if you did get caught, you would have absolutely no regrets. Being in Noritoshi’s presence like this was worth a lifetime of detentions.

“Good. Now, make sure your front arm holds steady. You want it straight, but not locked up. Yes, just like that. Here’s the fun part. When you pull back the string and the arrow, you should keep it close to your face.” Speaking of closeness and faces, Noritoshi’s nose was practically in the crook of your neck as his fingers ghosted over your arm that held the arrow. The bowstring took its place on your cheek but you wished it was his lips instead. You felt his heart thudding in his chest as he kept his stance against you and you tried to ignore what that meant. You figured he was just nervous to be so close to somebody, especially in a semi compromising position, not because he could smell your delightful shampoo and could easily reach down to kiss your neck—

“Now, y/n, you can let go.” Noritoshi literally whispered in your ear, but he didn’t care. He was craving to show you the tiniest bit of softness he could, to show you how much he truly cared for you. If his love could only show itself during archery lessons, so be it. When you saw the arrow imbedded in the bull’s eye of the target, you wanted to jump and yell in excitement, but you couldn’t get yourself to pull away from Noritoshi. Noritoshi, who, by the way, just called you by your first name. Were you reading into this too much? Did he actually return your affections? And if not, why was he leaving lingering touches on your shoulders?

“You have a bruise on your shoulder,” he murmured, his voice sounding like his thoughts were a million miles away. The pad of his finger was barely grazing over the now deep purple spot and you felt goosebumps rise up all over your body. You shifted around to face Noritoshi but he wouldn’t meet your eyes.

“I know, I got it from Mai earlier this morning. She really knocked me down.”

“I don’t like seeing you hurt,” he told you hurriedly. You were taken aback by his statement.

“It’s just a bruise, I’ll be alright, I promise,” you teased, but that didn’t seem to help.

“It’s not just the bruise, y/n, I just… I don’t like seeing you get hurt at all. On missions, in training. It just brings up all these feelings, ones that I shouldn’t have. And it’s not just that. Today, teaching you archery, being so close to you. I shouldn’t have done it. It was wrong.” He tried to back up but you filled the space once more, not ready to give him up. “I can’t have these types of feelings for anyone, it’s not fair. Especially not to someone as good and kind like you. I can’t hurt you like that. I could never live with myself if I hurt you.” You could’ve sworn you saw tears in his eyes but they were quickly wiped away with the sleeves of his uniform.

“Noritoshi, listen. I don’t know what kind of feelings you have for me, but I really like you. I would never want to jeopardize your position with the clan, that’s why I never said anything.” He shook his head, his tied hair swaying with every move.

“I hate this. I hate this position that I’ve put you and I in. I love you, y/n, from the first day we met. I’m sorry I can’t be the man you deserve.” He tried to turn away, but this time, it was you who reached out and grabbed him.

“Noritoshi, stop. It’s alright. Just know that I’ll always be here for you, no matter what. As a friend or whoever you want me to be. Just know you’re not alone, okay? Not anymore.” You dropped his arm, instead giving him a playful shove on the shoulder. “Thank you for the lesson today. It really was a lot of fun. And hey, you must be a great teacher! You got me, of all people, to get a bullseye!” That, at least, made him smile a bit. You thanked him again and gave him his bow as you walked back to your dorm. You were a bit disappointed, sure, but it wasn’t like your situation was either of your guys’ faults. Even if nothing romantic could come out of today, at least you were able to relish in his touch for a few moments. As you got clothes out for after your shower, you heard a knock at your door. It was still fairly early so you didn’t know who it could be.

“Mai, if that’s you, nothing happened—”

When you opened your door, you were met with a frantic looking Noritoshi who, without hesitation, grabbed you by the waist and pulled you in for a kiss. You immediately melted like putty in his hands, your lips perfectly fitting against his like you two were missing pieces of each other’s puzzles. When you both begrudgingly pulled away for air, he turned serious and got down on both of his knees, holding your hands while almost bowing to you.

“I can’t go another day denying my feelings. As you know, I’m in love with you and I can’t stand being parted from you any longer. I’ll make it work with the clan and do whatever it takes so that I can stay with you however long you’ll have me. If you’ll have me.” When he looked up at you, you’d never seen Noritoshi with such sad, pleading eyes, and you hoped you’d make him so happy he’d never have to look at you like that again. You bestowed a loving kiss onto his cheek and afterwards pulled him up off the floor and into your arms for a hug. You didn’t know what the future had in store for you two, but you knew that he would be by your side, no matter what.

[rebelspykatie]

Gymnastics/Olympics AU Part 1

Steve’s not used to sharing the spotlight. He can’t believe this fresh-faced nobody is out here acting like he has any idea what he’s doing. For years, Steve’s been the golden child of gymnastics. Everyone loves him, no one’s come close to beating him at any of the events he specializes in, he puts butts in seats, which is more than most of the field can say. Until now, when Eddie Munson just waltzes onto the scene like he was born to do gymnastics. 

He makes it look so easy, long limbs flying through the air as if the universe created him to be aerodynamic. Strong arms holding him in place on the rings, not moving an inch, and perfect balance on the pommel horse. It makes Steve furious. He’s trained his whole life, worked for years to get to this level. It shouldn’t be easy. 

Every qualifying event leading up to the Olympics just made it more obvious that Steve should be concerned. Eddie kept climbing the ranks, perfecting his routines, sticking every landing. It grated on Steve’s nerves. His success doesn’t feel earned, which is stupid because he did earn his place just like Steve, but it happened in the blink of an eye. 

And Steve just has to suck it up and accept it or he doesn’t look like a team player. The media loves pitting them against each other, too. Golden Boy vs. Wild Child. Steve’s known for his looks, perfectly coifed hair, bright charming smile, eyes that melt the panties off the ladies in the crowd. And here Eddie is, long hair wild and untamed, just like his personality. His smile is coy, teasing the crowd. He’s boisterous, where Steve is reserved. 

So of course when they get to the Olympic village, they’re paired up. Roommates. Steve can’t help groaning when he walks in and sees black and leather scattered all over one side of the room. He makes it his mission to stay out of their room as much as possible over the course of the competition. He’s being cockblocked by a tragic set of circumstances. At his first Olympics, he was a bit too young to honor the tradition of sleeping his way through the Olympic village, but the next year, he made a name for himself.

Now, he’s frustrated, not just with Eddie stealing the show, but he’s got a lot of pent up emotions he wishes he were taking out on the hottest athletes from around the world. He can’t even focus long enough to convince someone to take him back to their room, mind only on Eddie and the way he looked at podium training. 

Robin, who's on the US soccer team, thinks it’s hilarious, following him around and pointing out all the ways Eddie is better than him. She likes to humble him. When she catches him staring, she has this smug little smirk on her face like she knows that Steve can recognize how talented Eddie is, but won’t admit it. And that’s not the problem at all, he can admit it, he just doesn’t want to. He’s fascinated with the way Eddie stays on his feet, like a cat falling from its perch, he alway seems to land upright, perfectly positioned. His eyes are drawn to his lithe limbs and how strong his forearms look as he’s braced in the air over the parallel bars. 

And maybe Robin picks up on that too, teasing him about how dumb his face looks when Eddie flexes, or how Steve can’t help but stare at the way his shorts ride up when he dismounts an apparatus. It’s not enough that Eddie’s taking his spot, but he’s captured Steve’s attention, as well. He lies awake at night, listening to Eddie’s even breathing, wishing he had the courage to be nicer. But there’s a tone to their relationship now. A reputation built on rivalry. It would be foolish for him to think that Eddie would want to even be friends after the way they’ve circled around each other in these competitions. 

Little does Steve know that Eddie’s been watching him, too. 

Part 2 | AO3

[mari-writes]

Koutarou attends The Nutcracker for his sister, Kai, who's dancing as the Snow Queen. 

This is her second year in the role, but he missed last time, so he’s so excited! He can’t wait to see his big sister dance! 

And then he sees him. 

In the role of the Snow King is a young prodigy named Akaashi Keiji. He’s a year younger than Koutarou, and his sister says Akaashi is “the best dance partner she’s ever had.”

Koutarou is immediately enamored. His eyes follow Akaashi wherever he goes on stage, despite Kai being the focal point of the routine. He’s lean, but obviously so strong, capable of lifting, throwing and catching his sister flawlessly. Effortlessly.

(Also, those tights look so good on him.)

Koutarou pretty much begs his sister to introduce them. “Please! I’ll do anything!” He cries as he unleashes the full force of his pout. “I don’t even care if he’s not available or interested in me! I just want to meet him!”

She finally relents after a week of his hassling. Koutarou attends the show again on closing night. He’s a bit nervous. The Nutcracker has been a huge hit, with critics and audiences alike praising the Snow Queen and King specifically. Akaashi’s name is on everyone’s lips; he's “the next big thing” in the Tokyo dance scene.

“Calm down, Kou,” Kai hisses as she leads him down the hall and towards the theater’s green room. “He’s just a person just like you. Trust me, it’ll be fine.”

Koutarou nods. Swallows. He holds his breath as they finally step into the room.

They find Akaashi casually leaning against the back wall, munching on an apple and swiping through his phone. Koutarou’s eyes roam his form. He’s wearing a cropped, midnight blue hoodie that cuts off at the hem of his black joggers, displaying his slim build. His feet are covered in a pair of beat-up sneakers.

“Keiji dear, do you have a moment?”

Akaashi looks up, and Koutarou sucks in a breath. The man has perhaps the prettiest eyes Koutarou has ever seen. A devastating mix of blue-green-grey, piercing, with heavy lids and long lashes.

Surprisingly, those eyes widen when as they land on Koutarou, and his mouth drops open. “Of course,” he nods, “um, hello.” His voice is like velvet, soft yet with a gravely texture that send a shiver through Koutarou. He also can’t help but notice that Akaashi is a few inches shorter, which forces the man to look up at him as they approach.

Oh my god, he's an actual angel.

Kai pulls her brother forward until the two men are a few paces apart. She squeezes his arm, a gesture she’s been using since they were kids to lend him comfort, encouragement. He leans appreciatively into the warm touch.

“It’s, um, it’s wonderful to finally meet you, Bokuto-san.”

Koutarou blinks, confused. Akaashi is addressing him as if he knows who he is. “Oh! Uh, it’s nice to meet you, too!” He grins sheepishly. “Did Kai tell you I was coming, or..?”

The man shakes his head. Now that they’re so close, Koutarou notices leftover sparkles and flecks of fake snow still clinging to Akaashi’s wavy black hair.

Enchanting. 

“Well, I did know you were her brother… but I didn’t know you would be here tonight.” His eyes narrow at Kai, who chuckles.

“Keiji here is a big fan of volleyball,” she smirks at her brother, who nearly chokes at the new information. "He watched every single one your matches at the last Olympics. Apparently.”

“Really?!” Koutarou can’t believe his ears. Akaashi Keiji, the beautiful man who he’s been obsessing over the last few weeks, is a fan of him, too? It’s a bonafide Christmas miracle!

“Yes,” Akaashi’s lips twitch upward. It’s not quite a smile, but close. “I’ve, ah, been hoping Kai would introduce us someday.”

Koutarou beams. He can’t even be angry at his sister for keeping the secret. He’s just too happy right now. "I'm so glad she did!"

They end up at the closing night after party, sitting side by side in a booth, surrounded by family and friends. Conversation flows easily. Akaashi is rather quiet, but he seems content to just listen to Koutarou talk. He occasionally barks out a dry, sarcastic comment that only enamors Koutarou further.

He also smells nice. Like sandalwood and rose. Koutarou has to restrain himself from taking a big, long whiff.

“Y-you know, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says, words slurring a bit from the whiskey shots he’d just downed. “I actually played a bit volleyball when I was younger.”

Koutarou gasps. “You did?!” 

Akaashi giggles, then hiccups, and it’s the cutest thing Koutarou has ever heard. “I did,” Akaashi nods, “but only into middle school. Dance sort of took over my life after that. I’ve continued to follow the sport, though.”

Koutarou is having trouble containing his excitement. He grips his beer with one hand and reaches to grip Akaashi’s forearm lightly with the other. “You have to play with me someday!”

Akaashi snorts (wait, no, that is the cutest thing Koutarou has ever heard) and shakes his head. “I couldn’t possibly keep up with a pro player like you…”

“And I can’t keep up with your dancing,” Koutarou winks. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to do that with you sometime. If you want, that is...”

For a brief moment, Akaashi just stares, and Koutarou wonders if he’s being too forward. But then Akaashi’s lips settle into a sweet smile, and he glances down into his drink. His sharp cheekbones bloom with color. “Are you asking me on a date, Bokuto-san?”

Well then. Koutarou hadn’t expected things to progress this quickly, but sometimes, fate has other plans. “I mean,” he clears his throat, “maybe..?”

Akaashi looks up, and Koutarou is suddenly drowning. He swears his sees an entire future in those stormy eyes, just waiting to pull him under. 

(And Koutarou would go, gladly.)

“I would love to,” Akaashi says, leaning forward to clank their glasses together. “Merry Christmas, Bokuto-san.”

//

A short advert ft. The Nutcracker's snow scene 💙❄️

Thank you for reading this sappy little thing I wrote after working a week straight of Nutcracker performances (eight shows in one week; it was insane). If you enjoyed this, PLEASE reblog! It really helps me out, way more than just a like (though I appreciate those, too). You can also share my post on Twitter! Thanks everyone for your support this year. It’s been rough, for many reasons. I hope you all have a happy holiday season. Here’s to 2024! 🥰

[massivechildtidalwave]

Olympian Skull.

I did a post on this a while ago but wants to go more into it. Long post.

We don’t get a concrete definition on what a Clouds territory actually is. Because of its description most people view it as a land territory like Hibari basically owning Naminori however a lot of other people also headcannon Hana as a Cloud or Cloud latent with Kyoko as her territory. Obviously Kyoko is a human not a piece of land and ‘territory’ doesn’t have to exactly be a place.

so what or who is Skull’s territory?

The Strongest Seven was a gathering of the strongest Flames users. Even if Skull was a civilian he had to have been a Flame user in order to get the invite, despite the fact he doesn’t seem to know about Flames. it appears he had his for a while because the group seems surprised he doesn’t know about their existence. They have had time to get used to his body, cool down, calm down.

Skull doesn’t get a lot of screen time and we don’t know a lot about his past, something fan fiction writers use to their advantage. All we really know is that he acts childish and that often leads people to believe he is younger than the rest of the arcobalenos.

We know he is a Cloud and does more than likely have a territory even if he didn’t consciously make one so the best place to look at is the circus. He is a stuntman after all and while he could have been more into acting a free traveling circus seems like the best fit for him. What’s a circus known for?

Freaks and runaways . Circuses in the past took in anyone willing to work including runaways and many ‘freakish talents’ could easily become high paying shows. You have a ‘abnormal’ hair color, guess we don’t need to pay for hair dye!

Either the circus was flame active and decided against telling him or thought he already knew. Or for flavor- was mostly flame active but didn’t know either until he bring news back that the weird fire isn’t just weird fire.

Or

it’s a regular civilian circus and all Cloud traits were brushed aside as Skull just being Skull, their protective slightly whiny and possessive younger cousin figure/older brother figure. A lot of shows in a circus are acrobatics or gymnastics related and while I can’t see them owning a TV, when at a big stop and after a show ends groups too tired to cook or bother someone else to cook could go to a restaurant in the city they are preforming at and see the news.

Olympics are a big thing in almost every country- that is a sign of nation pride. Getting to show off on TV as one of the greats for the world to remember your name!

That’s when it comes on. The gymnastics… only it’s kind of boring to Skull. Yes they are talented, they deserve to be on the stage but he watched Blue do a better bean routine on the headboard of her temporary bed than some of the girls there.

(Blue who is too competitive, whose leg was broken and never truly fixed during a competition she should have won. Blue, named after her eye color because she refused her name even when now they almost always look more like his purple then her old Blue… no one dares to mention the change if they notice it at all)

And Skull for some unknown to him reason feels lightly slighted at this development. His people don’t get a chance at the fancy stage, they get stuck cleaning the elephants and picking popcorn off the floor while counting pennies. They only get internet credit and an occasional movie about them made by a person who doesn’t know how to fold laundry.

How is that fair?

He hasn’t had to do gymnastics for a while but he is in no means out of shape, so he practices and tries out for his home country.

for extra pettiness, he gets citizenship in a small country that doesn’t win often just to make a point.

He gets a note about the Strongest Seven but he’s busy, he’ll go to one meeting, maybe two and then he has to buckle down for the showing of a lifetime. Flames are cool but don’t matter right now.

He can’t be seen with assassins and drugs, he is representing more than himself and he refuses to allow HIS people to be more associated with them than they all ready are.

It takes a few attempts for him to escape their clutches, Fon is too observant, Colnello too quick from military training, Reborn too ruthless for him to try again immediately after a try. But he manages it.

(Whether he makes it out before or after the curse is up to the person, after the curse just means he does it under heavy mist illusion.)

He gets in, he gets gold. In Interviews he mentions his group of talented family members who taught him everything he knows. (He mentions Blue).

He goes home to a circus of people just like him who are his and are willing to be his.

Skull ignores the phone Verde made for him going off violently in his pocket. He already checked it for trackers. They wouldn’t be finding him for a while. He could rest.

[crescentbea02]

"Time cast a spell on you, but you won't forget me" pt. 1 (Timeskip!Oikawa x fem! reader)

Tropes: second chance romance, long distance, friends to lovers, right person wrong time, ex-relationship,

Summary: In which Oikawa Tooru finds himself forecefully reviving memories in a flight for Japan, in hopes to reecounter with the one person that has him on a chokehold even after six years apart.

Part 1: here

ハイキュー

Some say that time heals all wounds. That the hands of the clock smooth the skin, that spread peace over our body, the peace of passing time. Saying goodbye to our phases, living in peace with what we once were, with what we once had.

Oikawa was a firm believer in that. He was a strong person, he had always been a strong person. A person too strong for this world, who seemed to take whatever trick the universe played on him. He didn't think anything else was going to make him collapse to the ground other than his ambitions. Or rather the lack of them.

His ambitions, his goals, his dreams were always in the first place for him. That was why so many girls had already dumped him for it. For being in a constant competition between them and the great love of his life, volleyball.

Oikawa always wanted more, he always wanted to go higher. He was a wild horse without dominance. A current of a winter wind. He was never satisfied. He always wanted more and more. And if for that he had to be alone, without serious commitments to any person, no matter how much he liked her, he would do it.

That was what he thought until he met Y/N.

“Tooru” a voice sounded.

An empty suitcase on top of his bed was enough to make his heart sink. The boy, now twenty-five, turned towards the doorway of his room. A small smile painted his face when he saw Emma, ​​his current girlfriend, in his doorway.

She looked at the mess of clothes, sneakers and towels on top of the player's bed with a mischievous smile.

“What is going on?” she asked, walking into the room with a raised eyebrow.

What wasn't going on would be easier to answer.

Over the years, Oikawa has shaped itself on its own terms. He continued to fight, to work, until he ended up where he was now. An Olympic champion, playing for the Argentine national team, with so many trophies that not even the shelf could fit. It was what he deserved, after so many years of being spurned, if there was one thing he deserved was that. Now he had Emma, ​​a beautiful model he had met at a company conference, in his life. The two were fine, there were no arguments or dramas, no crying, no passion.

But how unfair was the world, he still was not satisfied.

“I look so good in so many clothes that I can’t seem to decide which ones to take” he gave her one of his playful smiles, those smiles that everyone complained about how annoying they were.

Every piece of clothing strewn across the bed seemed to be a reason why his heart was squeezing with every minute that brought him closer to the moment he would land in Japan. Argentina was his home now, but part of his heart would always be buried in Japanese soil. Mainly because of all her favorite people who lived there. But he hadn't visited him for a couple of years, and the times he did go it was just for a few days to spend time with his family. Oikawa had games to win, training to do, in Argentina.

Imagine his surprise when his national team coach announced a supposed season in a foreign country for one of the players. All eyes were on Oikawa, and he quickly felt his heart drop when he realized that they would be spending some time in Japan to train for the 2021 Olympics. some time in the country, even if it was a thank you gift for Oikawa's effort.

Such news led Oikawa to immediately call Iwaizumi, who pretended to be extremely irritated with the fact that, very possibly, he had to put up with his friend in all his training sessions, teasing his players and upsetting everyone. The thing Oikawa knew how to do best in addition to his services. But he knew that Iwaizumi would be happy to see him. He always was, despite trying to hide it.

This ended up causing Iwaizumi to send him some high school photographs that he had found in the bedroom of his old house.

And one of them was the same one he kept in his bedside table drawer. Another reason why the various relationships he had in Argentina did not last long.

A picture of him and his high school girlfriend. Y/N L/N. What for many was seen as a puppy love, for Oikawa it had been much more than that. It had been proof of how his ambitions would always trump the person he was with. Even if he loved that person even more than he loved himself.

It looked like she haunted him. From the moment he left on that plane, she had never left his mind. No matter how hard he tried to get her to leave.

“Let me help you choose” Emma smiled, with her sweet smile that lit up an entire room. He approached the bed full of clothes and began to choose the clothes that Oikawa liked the most, and that best suited him “Look, these ones will look good with you in Japan. Don’t forget it’s cooler there” she held a sweater and struck him with her playful eyes.

Oikawa laughed.

“I just wish I could take everything” he said, in a nervous tone “Japan is my home, but Argentina slowly also became it.” he took one of his favorite jeans and fold them along with Emma “I’m afraid it will be those situations when you feel like nowhere feels at home anymore.”

“It won’t be” Emma answered, on her usual serene, mature and understanding voice "Some people don't even have one home. Be grateful that you belong to two places at the same time. If you don’t have one, you always have the other”

That wasn't really what worried him. After all, Oikawa had always believed that his home is what he made it.

What worried him was the deliberate choice he was going to make, which was to talk to someone who had been his home after six years of not even saying a word to her. But even so, he still felt her inside him.

And it was his fault, no one else's.

When the fateful day of the trip arrived, Oikawa didn't know if he loved or hated airplanes.He always loved space. He loved anything that did not have limits. But he hated feeling helpless. At any moment the plane could crash, and he wasn't going to be able to do anything about it.

With his head leaning against the window, he looked up at the starry night sky. That sky that reminded him so much of his youth. He thought about what would happen when he saw his friends again. He knew nothing ever changed, but it still made him a little nervous to imagine awkward silences and not the chaotic energy that used to happen whenever they met.

And he kept thinking of Y/N.

In his innocent nineteen-year-old mind, in a faraway country, building his future alone, after breaking up with his girlfriend of two years. With the one person who made him question his love of volleyball.

Oikawa chose his dreams over her, and he knew Y/N would never blame him for it. She didn't blame him so much that, even after that, she insisted that they remain friends.

At the time Oikawa thought she had been selfish. If Y/N could perfectly live her life in Japan, talking to him every day, just like a friend, which he no longer could remember what it was like, he couldn't. The distance, the time apart, only made him love her even more. He saw her everywhere he went. As soon as he saw a (y/h/c) hair his heart filled with hope that maybe it was she, in a sudden impulse of passion, who had come to visit him.

But it wasn't her.

It was never her.

A year went by, and Oikawa couldn't look at any woman he met without thinking about Y/N, how much he wanted her to be with him. How much he should be talking to her on the phone, that she must already be worried because he hadn't said anything in some weeks. Then, they always found that photograph in the drawer. And then they left the house, unintentionally hurt by him.

He thought that time would heal the wounds, that the hands of the clock would soften his skin, that they would spread peace over his body, the peace of passing time. Saying goodbye to his phases, living in peace with what he once was, with what he once had.

Because of this, Oikawa decided to give Y/N a break. And pretend that she didn't exist, or that she never existed. Maybe if he pretended she didn't exist, he would eventually forget about her existence. A decision that now, at twenty five years old, made him want to bang his head on the wall with the stupidity of his thinking.

But, after all, he was only twenty years old. And what does a person know at twenty?

“Good evening, would you like some snacks, sir?” one of the hostesses asked.

Oikawa slowly returned to real life. He took his brown eyes from the window and faced the hostess with a smile.

“Some milk bread, please”

ハイキュー

some silly idea I thought of. i crave for second chance romance. pt 1 of maybe 3 parts. i hope you liked it <33

[star--joy]

5 Times People Thought Percy and Vex Were Dating...

And the one time they decided to prove them right.

Chapter Four: Jarett

-

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Warnings: None

Words: 1353

Originally posted: 6/15/22

Ao3 link: archiveofourown.org/works/43509219/chapters/120750616

Jarett’s smile is small but smug as he rapidly lifts his cross-bow and lets two bolts fly through the air, landing perfectly in the center two different bulls-eyes. Awed eyes drift in his direction, observing his carefully practiced skill. His smile ticks up a little more.

“You just did that to show off,” Vex accuses, lowering her own bow and leveling him with a knowing look.

“Maybe,” he agrees, unashamed. That’s his favorite part of the archery range: the amazed looks he receives from all the beginners as he hits target after target without breaking a sweat.

Vex chuckles, a gleam making itself at home in her eyes. “If you really want to show off, darling, we could have a competition.”

Jarett chuckles, quick to shake his head. “I’m not that foolish, Vex. A wise man knows when to turn down a losing challenge.” Although Jarett has practiced with professional trainers and the best of equipment his whole life, he is well aware that Vex has a confusing level of skill that even he can’t best. If she had any interest, he’s sure she could make it to the Olympics. Would probably win gold, too.

“Stop being boring,” Vex grumbles, not even breaking her attention from him as she pulls back another arrow and lets it soar, hitting the mark precisely.

“Boring? Me? Oh, Vex’ahlia, now it’s you who’s being the fool. I’m sure I could show you a good time in many other ways,” he hums, throwing her a wink.

Vex’s laugh echoes through the field, loud and unrestrained. Jarett grins, even blowing her a cheesy kiss to get some more giggles. She pretends to catch it, holding the imaginary kiss to her chest dramatically.

The clearing of a throat slices through their fun. Behind Vex, a man has approached. Jarett vaguely recognizes him from around campus, though they’ve never interacted, and the tight expression painted over his face makes him straighten.

Vex glances over her shoulder, but shares none of Jarett’s caution. Instead, her face lights up. “Percy!”

The man, ‘Percy’, attempts to cover his frustration with a strained smile. “Hope you don’t mind me stopping by. Just thought I’d bring you some lunch,” he hums, doggedly not looking at Jarett. Sure enough, he holds a paper bag in his hand that no doubt contains a meal.

The smile that settles onto Vex’s face is one Jarett has never seen before. She’s always seemed to have an edge to her, whether it’s playful or serious, but this little grin is the softest thing he can imagine. “You didn’t have to do that, darling,” she hums, propping her bow on the ground and unstrapping her gloves.

Percy shrugs, some of that discontent melting away. “Yes, well,” he stutters, pale pink dusting the tip of his nose. “You’re always badgering me about coming down here, anyway.”

Vex giggles, standing on her toes to lightly kiss his cheek.

Jarett is only brought back to himself when he registers his cross-bow slipping from the slackened muscles in his hands. He just barely manages to regain his hold before it goes tumbling to the ground.

Vex is seeing someone?

Shit. He’d never actually liked her romantically, but they’re both flirtatious by nature. Even if it’s all jokes, he wouldn’t have gone that far if he’d known she’d been in a relationship.

And Percy certainly hadn’t seemed happy about it.

Fuck. The very last thing Jarett wants is to come between a relationship. That involves far too much drama.

“Come on, there’s a nice spot over here…” Vex says, leading Percy off without even a goodbye. Jarett watches them leave with a deep frown and a budding headache.

Perhaps he’ll have to talk with Percy, later, establish what the boundaries are.

For now, he goes back to his shooting and tries to ignore the clamor of laughter shared by the two of them.

*LINEBREAK*

When Jarett knocks on Percival de Rolo’s dorm, two days later, the door is opened by a redhead who greets him with a polite confusion. “Hi… um, can I help you?”

Jarett stares at her, eyes narrowing. “Hello. Is Percival here?”

She takes a small step back, and it occurs to Jarett that his tone was perhaps a bit more hostile than he intended, but he does not like the implication of a pretty girl being in the dorm room of Vex’s boyfriend. “Uh, no, he’s at class. Is everything okay?”

“What class would that be?”

“Fundamentals of Thermodynamics. Are— what do you need him for?”

“Just some homework help. Thanks,” Jarett grumbles, not bothering to stick around long enough to see if she believes him.

He may not be in love with Vex, but he does care about her. She’s a good fucking person, and if this Percival is cheating on her, well, Jarett can’t just do nothing. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he stalks through the hallways, eyes searching the crowd for a distinct head of white hair.

He finds him walking out of class, and his stomach twists when he sees Vex by his side. Shit, he’d hoped to break the news to her in a more secluded place, far, far away from Percy.

Before he can back off, though, wait until they separate, Vex spots him. Her head cocks. “Jarett? What are you doing here?” she sounds suprised, but pleased.

Percy follows her gaze to find him, and smiles thinly.

Jarett lets out a low breath. “Can we talk, Vex?”

She frowns, leaving Percy’s side to approach him. “Is everything alright?”

And then Percy is approaching, as well, awkwardly hovering near Vex with that strained expression of jealousy. Jarett doesn’t hide his glare. “No. Listen, I don’t want to… make a scene, but—”

“Make a scene…? What are you talking about?”

“I— maybe we should do this somewhere else.”

Vex looks him over, eyebrows pushed together. “Alright. Percy, dear, I’ll just be a few minutes.”

Percy nods. “Of course. Shall I wait at your dorm?”

And Jarett knows, as he says it, that it’s a mistake, but he’s just so fucking angry at this prat’s nice-guy act that he can’t help but spit, “Oh, fuck you.”

Both Vex and Percy startle. “I beg your pardon?”

Jarett steps closer, eyes burning. “Don’t play dumb. I saw that girl in your apartment. How long have you been cheating on her?”

Silence. The people around them are openly staring, but he doesn’t care. Vex deserves so much fucking better.

“I… you mean to imply I’m cheating on… Keyleth?”

What.

“No— you’re cheating with her. On Vex.” His aggressive tone is suddenly undercut by confusion. What is he attempting?

And then, Vex giggles. It’s so out of place that both Percy and Jarett whip around to face her. She’s rubbing circles into her temples, but the laughter is unmistakable. “That’s not what’s happening, I promise you.”

“Vex, I— I’m sorry, but—”

She cuts him off. “If Percy were going to cheat on me, it wouldn’t be Keyleth. She’s his roommate, and they’re like siblings, but this is all really a moot point given that we’re not together.”

“I wouldn’t cheat on you at all—” Percy begins, frowning deeply.

“Like I said. A moot point. Percy and I are friends, nothing more.”

Jarett looks at Vex. Then at Percy. Back at Vex, trying to determine if this is some joke or prank or form of denial. Then closes his eyes and lets out a long groan. “Goddamnit.”

When he opens his eyes again, Vex looks faintly amused. “People really should stop jumping to conclusions.”

Percy huffs out a laugh.

“Look, I— Shit, I’m sorry.” His cheeks are burning, and he praises whatever god exists that the blush isn’t visible on his dark skin.

“No, I’m— it’s good to know you’d care. If something like that was happening,” Percy mumbles.

Jarett sighs. “Yeah. Listen, I’m going to go and… go somewhere else. Far away from here. Too awkward. Sorry again.” He’s practically running away before they have a chance to respond.

In the background, he can hear them chuckle, sounding as awkward as he feels.

[sarah-dipitous]

Hellsite Nostalgia Tour 2023 Day 51

Bedtime Stories/Fear Her

"Bedtime Stories"

Would I Survive the First Five Minutes??: omg stoppp, they’re doing a three little pigs thing for the opening??? And the one hiding behind cinderblocks gets to live?? Maybe?? No. Turns out I would also just die. Anyway, think we’re getting more hellhounds stuff

Fun fact: thought this was the one I was watching last night for about half the episode and couldn’t figure out how the episode title fit…it makes sense NOW

I mean…he’s NOT gonna let it go, Dean, but sure.

Oh!! He DID live! As he should have because…that’s how the story goes, but it really didn’t look like it. Also it’s not…it’s not hellhounds

Love it when the victims give the brothers an excuse to actually say what they feel without saying (or yelling) it to each other

Oooo, now Hansel and Gretel (you can see why I originally loved OUAT when it came out)

Omg omg omg this is such a fucking fun yet…gory episode. Watching this sweet as pie looking old lady ruthlessly stab a guy is admittedly funny. I can’t wait to see what’s causing it

Fellas, is it gay to have a working knowledge of extremely popular mainstream fairytales?? I’m sorry you didn’t get to have a childhood, Dean, but this in no way determines Sam’s sexuality

Making…a weird half prediction now. Since we’ve spent a decent amount of time in this episode at the city’s hospital, maybe the little girl is in a coma there? Being read to? Making her a sleeping beauty or Snow White figure. Still don’t know what’s actually CAUSING the fairytales to come to life, but I’d be willing to put a little money on this

Snow White it is.

Are…are they gonna somehow convince this doctor to…let…his daughter…die? because of their (completely right) theory of what’s happening in this town? It just seems a little far fetched.

BITCH ARE YOU FOR REAL??? This fucking doctor. I cannot. He KNOWS his daughter is some kind of spirit and just played it off like he didn’t????

Omg of COURSE. The huntsman(/hunter/DEAN) is going into Little Red Ridinghood’s grandma’s home to go take out the big bad wolf…this shows so dumb. I love it.

HELLO??? Sammy? Where are you going?? Are. You. Fucking. Kidding. Me. No…come on. NO.

Well, at least we know everything they did to modify the colt was a bust and useless. Well…not completely useless. I guess Sam did find out that killing the crossroads demon doesn’t release Dean from his contract. So that’s something, I guess

"Been On My Mind...": Nope...

"Fear Her"

This is one I remember as being properly scary the first time I watched it. Like not "quaking in fear" scary but just...there was an unease. This isn't "Blink" we're talking about.

Ah yes, the 2012 Olympics. Another fun fact: I went to a convention in the summer of 2012 and Hank Green, dressed as the Doctor, ran in during the opening ceremony with a (probably fake, right? like we were in a hotel in Chicago) torch as one of the big moments. (Unless he did that at the 2011 one, but the 2012 one makes so much more sense). That was very fun.

I can't remember why this girl is always indoors.

This goof with landing the TARDIS with the door facing the wrong way is fun.

Man, why can't my side ponytails ever look as cool and effortless as Rose's here??

I'm glad the super old lady is the one with sense. Does she know HOW this is happening? NO. But fucking hell if she's gonna just let everyone turn on each other and point fingers at the innocent road construction crew. She wants the REAL answers.

WHY IS THIS LITTLE GIRL ALL ALOOOOOONE??? I can't tell if she's being COMPELLED to draw or if it's at all of her own free will.

Ah yes, a box is an easy place to disappear a cat without having to use any CGI

Because they blew the whole CGI budget on the scribble come to life

Ohhhhh, she thinks the drawing in her closet is her dad...and I know there's some sort of alien ship in the spot where cars keep stalling, but I can't remember any of the motivations.

Seeing this little girl cry from the loneliness of HER life and the alien's life is...heartbreaking

OMG I forgot that she starts drawing the stadium and temporarily empties it. Amazing...

Genuinely love how seriously this guy takes his job. He truly loves laying tarmac and is proud of the work he does, and good for him.

SHE'S GONNA DRAW THE WORLD. OMG.

Also, I'm so sad that this guy's hard work went to waste and the moment they're filming the torch on this street is when that pothole is wide open. Poor thing.

"They keep trying to split us up, but they never ever will" I am DISTRAUGHT. Doomsday is so close...

[motownfiction]

glancing blow

Daniel hasn’t had much to bond over with Will lately, so maybe it’s actually a good thing they’ve both hit Charlie.

They meet up in the early spring. After news broke about Elenore’s pregnancy, everybody wanted to come home and hold each other (and get away from Charlie). Lucy’s on sabbatical this semester, anyway, and Will took paid time off. Not for vacation. For comfort. Daniel takes a little pride in the fact that he can still be his friend’s comfort. It wasn’t long ago he thought those days might be gone.

The two of them go for a drive in the evening, no destination in mind, a little like when they were young. Daniel insists they’re still young, but Will thinks otherwise. Daniel understands. He got old before his time.

“And I’m only getting older faster,” Will says as he comes to a stop on Colgate. “I should’ve realized that becoming a dad at seventeen would make me a young grandpa.”

Daniel laughs, but he thinks there’s something caught in it.

“Yeah, but you probably thought it’d be with Sean or something,” he says. “How could you have predicted Charlie?”

“He’s the sneakiest guy I’ve ever met. Even when we were kids. I should’ve seen it coming. I should’ve seen him coming. It was in my house, Daniel. In my house.”

Daniel shakes his head.

“He’s lucky you didn’t kill him,” he says. “He’s actually lucky I didn’t kill him.”

Will snorts.

“When have you seen Charlie?” he asks.

“Christmas Eve,” Daniel says. “He came home. Wanted to see me. Not even Sadie or the kids. Just me. We spent the whole evening together. Even ran into Steph.”

“How’s she?”

“Not the point.”

“I guess not. Go on.”

The light turns green, and Will rolls on through it. He likes to drive when he’s back home since he never gets the chance in New York. Too much congestion. Daniel suddenly becomes very aware of the CD trapped in the car stereo.

Sometimes, it seems like you’re falling / falling out of the sky …

Daniel feels himself turn bright pink.

“Sorry about that,” he says and toggles the radio back to FM. “You don’t want to hear the soundtrack to Ice Princess. Neither do I, for that matter.”

“Eh, it’s OK,” Will says, grinning like he used to for the first time since his plane landed. “Emma’s the same age as Rose, remember? I also have a copy of the Ice Princess soundtrack. And I’ve got that preview memorized.”

“‘I’m going to the 2010 Olympics –’”

“‘– could you try not to, like, squish me?’”

Daniel really laughs for the first time since before Christmas. Maybe even longer than that. It’s hard to laugh when your friends are on the Coast or in the dirt. But with Will here, even bullshit is hilarious.

“Daughters,” he says.

“Yeah,” Will says. “Think Charlie will have another one?”

“Hard to say. Anyway, you wanna hear how I decked him?”

“Obviously.”

“Yeah. Well. We were in the cemetery …”

“Daniel!”

“We were in the cemetery, visiting Sam’s grave, which Sadie and I never do. We don’t think he’d be hanging around there, even if he was a ghost.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“And while we were there, right there, in front of Sam’s headstone … Charlie told me he and Elenore … I still can’t finish that sentence, you know. Makes me sick to think that he could.”

“No kidding. When I think about it … God, I just want to kill him.”

“So did I. And I … Will, I swear, I don’t know what got into me. I don’t even know how I did it, with Charlie being a foot taller than me and all that … but I got him. He bled, right there in the snow.”

Will smacks his hands on the steering wheel. Daniel grins. It’s still easy as ever to impress Will. Just give him a bit of movie violence, and he’s in heaven.

“You did that!” he says, over and over. “You did that!”

“I did,” Daniel says. “And the whole time I was driving home, I thought, ‘Man, Charlie must be really weak. That was only a glancing blow.’”

Will laughs a little more. He takes a turn, and Daniel thinks maybe he knows where they’re going.

“I guess I gotta thank you,” Will says.

“What for?”

“For standing up for Elenore when she wasn’t there to stand up for herself. You kinda … you really love that kid, don’t you?”

Daniel nods.

“I know I’m not her godfather,” he says. “But sometimes I like to pretend like Sam split his job.”

“He didn’t,” Will says. “I think it’s stupid they make you narrow it down to one, anyway. You were always … you are always … you’re important to my kids, OK? Emma and Elenore.”

There’s something about that for Daniel. Makes punching his best friend out seem worth it.

“I’d do anything for your kids,” Daniel says. “You know that.”

“I do,” Will says. “You already have.”

(part of @nosebleedclub september challenge -- day xxvii!)

[jdgo51]

Take Every Thought Captive

Today's inspiration comes from:

Don't Give the Enemy a Seat at Your Table

by Louie Giglio

"I’m a college dropout. Not because I’m not smart enough. But because when I was eighteen years old I was losing the battle of my mind. The Enemy had gained a foothold in my life, and that foothold was called laziness. I could sleep through morning classes like a champ. If there had been an Olympic competition in skipping class and making excuses, I’d have gold medals hanging on the wall. Eventually, the letter arrived from the dean of my program requesting that I kindly take some time off from pursuing my university education.

No worries, I thought. I’ll enroll at the junior college in town.

Not long after, I received a similar notice from them. I had succeeded in failing out of two schools in the same year.

Talk about the Enemy sitting at your table and eating your lunch!

All the while, I still had huge dreams. Through a powerful experience of being called to ministry, I knew God had big plans for my life. I could clearly see my future. But I had lost sight of what it was going to take to get there. I was pumped about eventually going to graduate school for further ministry training. I had just lost interest in the undergraduate grind necessary to get there.

Once the light bulb came on and I connected the two steps, I literally took the next exit on the freeway and within an hour was sitting in that same dean’s office, begging him to let me back into Georgia State. He was gracious, and I was awakened to my future plans and what it was going to take to get there. My identity wasn’t being a college strikeout. I was called by God to preach His Word. I had the capacity to sleep through class, for sure. But, as I demonstrated, I also had the ability to crush two years’ worth of classes (crush in the very best way) in a little over a year. I graduated with my original freshman class and enrolled in grad school on schedule.

I won the battle of my mind. I woke up every day convinced God was going to accomplish through me all He had called me to do. I believed I could be who He created me to be.

Can you see where you want to be?

I’m not only talking about where you want to be in some personal accomplishment, business success, sports endeavor, or financial goal. I’m talking about where you want to be in your soul. I’m talking about being in charge of your thoughts, attitudes, and actions. I’m talking about moving into purpose and living the life God has designed you to live.

Perhaps the Enemy has convinced you that you can’t move from where you are to where you want to be. You’ve listened to the voices of fear. You’ve been caught in the spiral of sin and temptation. You’ve convinced yourself you have no value. Your mind is clouded by worry and uncertainty. The Enemy has accomplished this by sitting down at your table, but you don’t need to let him stay there and get comfortable. You do not have to entertain the Enemy’s voice.

Through Christ, you can move to a place of victory in your life.

This happens when you learn to win the battle for your mind. The Enemy knows this. One of his main ploys is to go after your thought life. He’s patient too. In the garden of Eden, the serpent didn’t shout his temptations to Eve over a loudspeaker. He planted seeds in her mind and waited. He prompted her to question God’s goodness. He coaxed her to wonder if God was withholding something good from her. Eventually Eve relented and let those seeds take root. Eve acted out what she had been thinking about.

That’s how the Enemy works. If he can win the battle for your mind, then he can win the battle for your life. In Numbers 13, when Moses dispatched the twelve spies to explore the land of Canaan in preparation for Hebrew conquest, ten spies returned with a fearful, faithless report. “We can’t attack those people,” the ten spies said, shaking in their boots. “They are stronger than we are…. We seemed like grasshoppers in our own eyes, and we looked the same to them” (Numbers 13:31, Numbers 13:33).

Hang on. How did the ten spies know what they looked like in the Canaanites’ eyes? Did the spies ask their enemies, “Hey, what do you think of us? How small and puny do we look to you?” No, a seed had been planted in the spies’ minds. They tended that seed and let it grow and acted on it, and as a result, they wandered in the desert for the next forty years. They never tasted the promises of God for their lives.

It didn’t have to be that way, in the wilderness never tasting God’s promises — not for them, and not for you and me today.

Victory can be yours. Right here. Right now. Victory is about examining the seeds that have been scattered in your mind and not letting them take root. It’s about pulling up and throwing away the thoughts that do not coincide with the heart of God. It’s about changing the way you think. And one prayer helps in particular.

Victory is about examining the seeds that have been scattered in your mind and not letting them take root. It’s about pulling up and throwing away the thoughts that do not coincide with the heart of God. It’s about changing the way you think.

Readiness for the Power Prayer

Maybe one of the seeds planted in your mind is doubt. You don’t know if any of this teaching is going to work for you. You’ve tried other ways to change before, and none of them worked, so why should this? Or maybe some change will come, but it won’t last because it’s never lasted before.

Already the Enemy has influenced your mind. Seeds can be scattered in your mind anytime, anywhere, and particularly when you read a book such as this. Before the truth can set you free, you need to see the lies that are holding you hostage. Ask the Holy Spirit to reveal to you which lies you’re believing. Ask Him to be specific. Are you having any of the following thoughts?

I’ll never change. I’ll feel better if I sin. The gospel doesn’t really work. I’m not worth much. No one loves me. No one believes in me. I deserve to be bitter. I deserve to be filled with rage. I am my failure. I am my addiction. I’ll always be this way.

None of those thoughts came from God! Jesus Christ, the Good Shepherd of John 10 and Psalm 23, did not tell you that you’re a failure. He doesn’t prompt you to worry. He doesn’t provoke you to fear. He provides clarity, not chaos. He doesn’t stick your nose in the vomit of sin. He provides green pastures, not dry wastelands. If any of these things are in your life — fear, worry, temptation, feelings of worthlessness, feelings of confusion — guess what? The Enemy has shown up and dropped a seed in your thinking. He knows that if he can lodge a deceptive thought in your mind that goes unchecked, it will eventually take root and settle into your heart. If you harbor a deceptive thought and let it take up residence within you, in time, you will act on that thought.

Maybe you’re saying, What’s the big deal? It’s just a thought. Nobody sees it except me. It’s harmless. No. All the thoughts we entertain in our minds eventually get played out. Either our attitudes will reflect those deceptive thoughts or our behaviors will.

As he thinks in his heart, so is he. — Proverbs 23:7 NKJV

One way or another, those thoughts will harm us.

That’s why it’s so important for you to step into your new identity in Christ immediately. Jesus is already in the story of victory, and He has invited you into this story with Him. The way you step into that story is by reminding yourself of these truths:

I was a sinner saved by grace who is now a new creation. I do not have to sin. I am in Christ, and Christ is in me. Christ has all victory, and His victory is mine too. God is always faithful. He will always provide a way out. I can always take the way out.

Stepping into these truths changes your mind. All twelve of the spies knew that the promised land was good. They all viewed the abundant milk and honey. They all saw a single grape cluster so big it took two men to carry it on a pole (Numbers 13:23). But ten of those spies didn’t believe they could get to the promised land.

How about you? Do you believe you can live in victory? If the answer is no, the deceiver is winning the battle for your mind. He’s real, and he has a real plan. He’s circling your table, ready to sit. So keep this in mind: the stakes are high. This is your life we’re talking about. This is your now. This is your future. This is your family. This is your sanity. Your peace. Your success. Your calling. Your destiny. This is everything God has made you to be. The Devil wants to destroy you. He has no mercy, and he has all the time in the world.

Fortunately, any seeds the Enemy scatters in your mind don’t need to remain for more than a millisecond. Seeds do not need to take root. Any new seeds can be immediately removed. Even seeds that have been there for years can be removed. And it’s not about you using your superpowers. I want to drive this point home. Victory is not about something you do. That’s not the message here. The message is the gospel of Jesus Christ. It’s about what Jesus does for you.

Jesus won the total victory Himself. God makes the way.”

Excerpted with permission from Don’t Give the Enemy a Seat at Your Table by Louie Giglio, copyright Louie Giglio.

[bounrevoyage]

left behind | voltaire | motive 1

It’s cold.

(It's 85 degrees ((farenheit!)), but it’s cold.)

It’s a phantom kind of cold, the kind that gets in your bones and stays there long after the winter’s passed. Like when you lose someone, and sometimes you still feel it - aching, sore, unaware that the pain is over.

There’s a girl in the city who wears a scarf in the dead of August.

-x-

A bell clangs as the door to a tiny coffee shop at the edge of Central Park swings open, bringing with it a gust of hot air and a blur of pink and white.  It’s an odd sight for some, but the barista doesn’t even look up. The smell of the new arrival’s citrus perfume is as familiar as the precise time she shows up every day.

4:18 a.m. Long before the sun rises.

“Hey, ▇▇▇,” calls the college student working the register. “Drink’s getting cold. You’re late.”

The girl makes a big show of checking her watch, naturally theatrical. “By thirty seconds. Blame the rats.”

“Why, I never,” says the barista, putting his hand to his heart in mock offense. “Now you’re dragging the good citizens of the A train down with you?”

“The good citizens of the A train ate the ends of my shoelaces three days in a row.”

“Aglets.” The barista grins and slides her drink across the counter with a flirtatious wink and more flair than necessary. “And hey, they probably want to sell them on eBay or something. I bet people would pay good money for aglets belonging to the pride of New York.”

Pink eyes roll in a practiced orbit as the girl stirs her latte, snorting. “I don’t think I’ve been the 'pride of New York' in like, three years. They moved on to that Russian girl. Nikolaev. The one with the lutz combos.”

Register girl comes to join them at the end of the bar, hopping up to sit on the counter. “She can’t do the quad, though.”

Shaking her head, ▇▇▇ shoots her an odd look. “…Uh, neither can I?”

“I mean, you probably could. That could be your big comeback - ▇▇▇, the incredible flying girl, landing a quad axel.”

“A quad axel?” ▇▇▇ says incredulously, pausing her stirring. “What, and fuck up my knees for the rest of my life? No.”

“Well, you gotta give them something new to talk about,” register girl says, turning to wave at a new customer but otherwise ignoring them. “Your program from the Olympics went viral again. Like clockwork. It’s been eight months, when’s your next competition?”

“I…” The girl hesitates, but only for a split second. “I’m not really thinking about that right now.”

“Come on, ▇▇▇. You know we know your seeeecret~.” The girl leans in and whispers conspiratorially. “You've never cared about winning or losing. So why now?”

“Lay off, Kim,” the barista cuts in, as ▇▇▇ takes a grateful sip of her drink, reveling in elective silence. “She’s got all that other stuff going on. Besides, aren’t you, like, a hundred years old in figure skating years by now?”

The girl calmly removes the lid from her coffee just to flick a minuscule amount of foam at him. “I’m twenty five. So yeah. I may as well have turned to dust in the wind.” Quieting again, she looks out the window, distracted, muttering under her breath. The barista raises an eyebrow, concerned.

“…You good, ice princess?”

“What?” She seems startled out of a trance. “I- yeah, sorry. I was just thinking it’s kind of…”

“Cold?” He finishes, worry heightening. “You say that more and more these days. It’s summer. Are you sure you didn’t -“

“I’m fine,” she sighs, waving him off and starting to back away from the counter. “It’s probably just a mental thing.”

Let me explain to you the physics of convection.

Energy can be transferred in many different ways. It moves through the air, carried along by forces unseen, and the process of transferring heat is called convection. It occurs when particles with a lot of heat energy move and take the place of those with less. Liquids, and gases too, expand when heated because the particles move faster. In summary, convection occurs when heat is moved by the air around you, warming it slightly in your place. You are never quite given cold, rather, heat is simply taken away from you.

When the air that surrounds you is freezing cold, oppressively so, you can barely move forward. You, just like the particles, have difficulty moving in those temperatures. If your world is an endless, frozen expanse, with no heat in sight, naturally, you’ll lose the heat that’s in you.

You’re never quite given the cold. It’s just all that’s left when you lose the warmth.

-x-

There’s a girl who wears scarves in August, who still feels the ghost of frostbite on her skin.

She stands in a blizzard now, and it isn’t the snow that's cold.

[kidpool]

for ethan , kidpool duties typically consist of kicking ass & being unapologetically himself . despite the constant hardships that come with being an anti - hero , he still makes time to talk with robby on his way to missions , even in ( currently , his tinier , child vessel’s ) full kidpool gear . he’s super careful to not say robby’s name aloud - you never know what villain might be listening nearby . the last thing ethan ever wants is for robby or vanessa to find themselves in danger . outside of missions , he’s typically lounging with vanessa at their apartment , or meeting up with robby at sister margaret’s , where his fiancé is a bartender .

ethan sees the whole event , start to when wade waves at him to end . ( he automatically , enthusiastically waves back to him in greeting , of course ! it’d be RUDE of him not to , after all . ) but his unearthly blue eyes grow wide in a mixture of alarm & horror as his advanced hearing picks up on the exact second the infamous anti - hero eats pavement for brunch . the noises of his bones snapping sounds fucking horrid , the scent of papa’s blood overwhelming eldritch senses instantly .

❝ papa ! ❞ ethan cries out . ❝ holy shit , my love , i'll call you back in a couple minutes . uh , don’t be alarmed , but papa just fucking fell off a roof again ! . . . yes , i'm dead serious . i love you , be right back ! ❞ he promptly hangs up his communicator , ending the call , then runs over to his pained , pancaked papa on the pavement . sharp eyes take a few seconds to survey the DAMAGE , then he cringes slightly . oof . mama’s not gonna be happy if she finds out papa got himself hurt by free - falling off a building .

fucking tom petty & his stupid - ass song . fuck that mother - fucker .

❝ well , first & foremost , i gotta give you some credit . . . if free - falling off a building was an olympic sport , i’d give that a score of 7.5 . i saw the whole thing . you had solid execution , good form , but you should’a made an adjustment rotation of five degrees on that final tumble in order to completely stick the landing . your knees still would’a been fucked , obviously , but you’d be less of a pancake . ❞ ethan sighs softly , then decides to make a mental note aloud , mostly for papa’s benefit . ❝ note to self , for the rest of eternity : don’t let papa listen to tom petty’s free fallin’ anymore . ❞ that seems like a great idea . maybe papa shouldn’t be imitating those types of songs anymore . or , even better : any songs in general .

a glove - clad hand reaches out to gently pat the top of his papa’s head in an attempt to comfort him . empathy is still a thing that he’s learning , but hey - he thinks he deserves points for trying . ethan inhales deeply , then exhales slowly . chaotic nature dilutes then fades as quickly as it made an appearance , replaced by genuine concern . the boy decides asking him if he’s okay seems redundant . he just fell off a building , he didn’t just stub his toe .

❝ ok , i’m all finished makin’ jokes now . papa , what the shit - flinging , donkey - farting , shark - nippled fuck !? do you want me to heal you up completely ? ‘cuz i can do that . i’m fucking awesome , & all that jazz . ❞ he can’t help but make a worried noise in the back of his throat . ❝ ooh noooo , mama’s gonna be so mad if she finds out what happened . ❞ ethan mutters . kidpool glances up at the same building wade unceremoniously tom - petty’d off of ( would it be fucked up to say he wants to try it some time ? ) . by the way the boy’s mask’s eyes squint , he’s clearly contemplating doing a similar stunt . hmm , maybe they could lie to mama , tell her that some bad guys from some crime ring got the jump on them both , & that’s how they BOTH wound up looking like two gorier versions of flat stanley .

[         don't   do   it   …   don't   do   it   …   don't   –         ]         he   shushes   the   endless   loop,   leaning   further   off   the   edge   of   the   building.      it   wasn't   like   he   could   die   ,   anyway.         [         but   it   would   hurt.         ]         reminds   the   other   voice   ,   and   that   one   he   listens   to.      sort've.      he   does   lean   back,   but   only   until   he   sees   ethan   in   the   distance.      his   son   was   the   epitome   of   chaos   ,   but   he   was   his   nonetheless.         leaning   forward   ,   he   waves   frantically   at   ethan   from   the   top   of   the   building   he's   on   until   …   whoosh   –      down   he   goes.         it's   an   agonizing   five   seconds   or   so   ,   as   he   free-falls   through   the   air.         turning   end   over   end   until   finally   …      SPLAT   !         ❝         ouch   …         ❞         word   is   muffled   by   the   pavement.      shifting   his   head,   it   takes   him   a   second   to   realize   that   nearly   every   bone   in   his   body   is   broken.      somehow   ,   he'd   managed   to   spare   his   neck,   though.      what   a   joke   !         ❝         ethan   !         ❞         he   calls   ,         ❝         come   help   papa,   will   you   ?         ❞ / @cosmichunted