#i want to dress him in 90s neon winter clothes

[zivazivc]

jd's hair going from green to teal would be a cool 'maturing' thing - as well as darkening post their parents' death. like you get hints of blue to match your mother and then suddenly you have to basically fulfil that role - oop

JD and Clay share a gene where their hair goes through changes the way blond kids' hair does lol

Also how dare you about the mom part 😢 But his hair darkening because of stress could be cool and would also explain why Branch's hair is nearly black instead of desaturated blue or gray...

[thicctransboi]

Sam+Grizz If New Ham had never happened- Finale

(If anyone has any more prompts for a fic/ one shot/ smut they’d like to see me do please message me! Also feel free to share and comment what you think) ending of this little prompt starts now!!

Friday

The rumors about Grizz’s relationship with Sam had spread like wildfire, much to Campbell’s help. He had been telling graphic and untrue stories about what he had supposedly caught the pair doing. And it was all taking a tole on Grizz. His friends had questioned him relentlessly, people stared and whispered as he walked down the hallways. He had avoided Sam, including his messages, all week. He didn’t know what to say to him, or anyone for that matter. But, today they were supposed to present their project.

When 5th period rolled around, Grizz was tempted to skip. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t lie to nor abandon Sam. So, he came early.

Sam was waiting for him, sitting in his usual spot near the back of the classroom. His vibrant blue eyes caught Grizz’s, and he felt his heart melt. Grizz May have been sporting a black eye, but Sam looked somehow more broken.

He approached him slowly. “Hey.” He said simply.

“Hi.. So, do you want to do the speaking? I made the power point so it seems fair. Im not in the speaking mood today.” Sam said quietly, his voice distant. His signing even seemed distant.

Grizz simply nodded and sat beside him, the tension between the two seemed to be toxic as they waited their turn. When the teacher announced their names, Grizz made his way up to the front of the class, Sam following suit as he plugged his USB into the teachers computer and loaded up the PowerPoint.

Grizz suddenly felt shy, exposed standing in front of the class. Though he never had issues with it before, everything seemed to have changed.

“So, for our poem we chose ‘An Eastern Ballad’ by Allen Ginsberg. Also known as ‘song’. Ginsberg was one of the Beat poets in the 50’s through the early 90’s. Okay so the poem goes, ‘Winds around the beaches blow:

Things being as they are, although

Half clearly understood, and I

Uncurious is mystery;

Such thoughts as once were my dispair,

-The frantic sea, the silent air,

The changing moon and fridged shore-

I find delight me more and more.

I had not dreamed the sea so deep,

The earth so dark; so long my sleep,

I have become another child.

I wake to see the world go wild.’

“Now, there are lots of ways to interpret Ginsbergs work. He used to often say that he never had any meaning for most of it, and that the reader should interpret it. It’s well known at this point that Ginsberg used psychedelic drugs to jumpstart his writing and to discover his style. So, it’s safe to assume that that is what he means in this poem by becoming another child and his soul being awoken.” Grizz began.

Sam’s interpreter was signing along for Sam to understand, even though Sam knew what Grizz was supposed to be saying. However, he didn’t see the plot twist that was about to happen.

“But, upon reflecting and rereading this poem, I have another interpretation. If you read ginsbergs letters up until this poem, he talks about realizing his sexuality... he uhm.. He realized he was gay and how that realization opened his eyes. I believe, that this poem isn’t about realizing and noticing the world through the use of drugs. But it is about waking up and seeing the world through new eyes upon realizing who you are, as a person.”

Grizz was shaking, and Sam was speechless.

“That’s a rather interesting interpretation, Grizz. I assume by the two different annotations that the first was Sam’s interpretations and the second was yours?” Mrs. Newberry asked, easing an eyebrow.

Grizz nodded slowly, his eyes filled with tears.

“Mr. Eliot. What do you think of Grizz’s interpretation of this poem?”

Elliot gestured for his interpreter to speak for him as he signed l, “I can see where he is coming from. But, I disagree. Eveidence shows that this is a spiritual awakening, caused by Gimsberg’s drug use at the time. But, Grizz likes to read into things.”

Grizz felt his heart plunge.

“Well, very well done you two. You may have a seat.”

**

Sunday evening, November 21st

Weeks went by, Sam ignoring Grizz’s texts, Grizz ignoring the questions from the gaurd and his other friends. It was soon late November, and the pair had not spoken. The winter formal was coming up, and Sam asked Becca to be his date.

“You know I hate those things. Besides, I’m not who you want to go with. Ask him, he’s been texting you non stop for over a month now. It’s kinda annoying.”

Sam chuckled and rolled his eyes as they sat in Becca’s bedroom. ‘You know he wouldn’t risk his reputation going with me. Besides, you’re my best friend, I want you to go with me.’

Becca sighed, “Sam, talk to him. I hate school dances, you love them. It’s your senior year, go with the guy you want to go with, not your beard.”

Sam felt dejected. And conflicted. He refused to make a spectacle out of himself or Grizz. Grizz was obviously not ready for this yet, and that was partially Sam’s fault that it ended this way. Or, at least, that’s how Sam felt.

**

Sunday evening, November 21st

Grizz had been fidgeting in his room for over an hour now, anxiety coursing through his veins. When his mother called for dinner, he knew it was time.

Making his way downstairs and to the kitchen table, he rubbed the sweat off of his hands as he sat down across from his father. He was nervous, really fucking nervous. But he had to do this, he had been holding it back for too long.

He watched anxiously as his mother laid out their dinner on the table before sitting down.

Now or never, he thought to himself. “Mom, dad. I have to tell you something.”

***

Monday, November 22nd

Sam walked begrudgedly to his locker, spinnng the dial around until the lock came undone. As he opened the metal door, a small slip of neon green paper floated to the ground from inside the door.

It was a note. He unfolded it and read it to himself:

Sam, the winter formal is next Saturday, I hope to see you there. I’ll be wearing green and pink.

-Grizz

Sam felt his heart stop momentarily. This couldn’t be serious, could it?

**

Sam, being himself, had arrived to the dance right as it started. Only to find out his ticket had already been paid for. He wore a white button down with a rose gold vest and a plaid neck tie. His ginger hair styled neatly on top of his head. He felt anxious as he made his way into the gym: lights were hung here and there of all kinds. Fairly lights, that changed color, random lamps and chandeliers. All fashioned in blue, silver, and white. The tables were dressed with silver table cloths with blue placemats and white flowers. Student council had gone all our for this one. He could feel the bass of the music through his shoes and he anxiously made his way through the crowd, finding a lone spot near the back at an unoccupied table. He suddenly longed for Becca. He had a bad feeling about this.

Time rolled on, and soon 45 minutes had passed with no sign of Grizz. He hadn’t shown, and Sam had given up and lost patience. He rose to his feet, and began shuffling through the crowded dance floor. He was stopped in his tracks when he felt a firm but gentle hand grasp his wrist. Turning, he saw Grizz. Towering above him in all of his glory. Wearing a neon green button down and a plaid bow tie in similar fashion to his own. Sam couldn’t hold back his smile.

“I didn’t think you’d come.” Sam said, taking a step closer to Grizz.

Grizz could feel eyes on the pair, but it was too late to turn back now.

“Neither did I.”

Without another word, Grizz pulled Sam into him, pressing his lips against his. Sam happily kissed him back, standing on his tippy toes to reach him.

[dat-town]

Under the same stars || chapter 1

Characters: Park Jimin & OC (Xu Xianni)

Setting: Winter Olympics, figure skater!Jimin AU

Genre: 90% fluff 10% angst

Summary: A story about Olympics, first love and rules that are meant to be broken.

Words: 5802

Chapters: 1, 2 , 3 (the end)

Alternatively titled: Kiss and cry. (exp.) The area in an ice rink where figure skaters wait for their marks to be announced after their performances during a competition.

I blame Jimin’s end of year dance stages for this mess. I don’t have any first-hand experience about figure skating so if I claimed any uncorrect detail about the sport, please feel free to let me know.

The story is set in 2018 during the Winter Olympics in Pyeongchang, Korea.

The rules

 My mother told me three rules I should never forget:

Number One. Everyone who steps on the ice rink is your enemy. Don’t trust them.

Number Two. Everything in the Olympic Village is a temporary illusion. Don’t hope to bring home other than a medal.

And last but not least, Number Three. When you fall, no matter how much it hurts, get up and forget it ever happened.

I might be a bad girl for not listening but I happen to broke them one by one and I’d do it again in a heartbeat. I proudly claim that I have no regrets even though mother was right: falling in love indeed can influence careers.

 Breaking rule no.1

Day 0 - 9th February

 “I still can’t believe we’re here,” I let out a sigh in awe as I look out of the hotel room’s window.  It grants me a magnetic view of the Pyeongchang mountains covered by pearl white, fresh snow. The peaks and downhills under the azure blue sky look like sweet meringues freshly out of the oven. It resembles to heaven in my mind with all the tiny houses and sparkling lights below. So much prettier than on the poster.

“You better believe it. Hurry up with unpacking, The opening ceremony starts in two hour,” my coach’s strict voice rings in my head just like those times when I mess up practice and she scolds me for not paying attention. Usually I lift my chin high and try harder but we’re not in the ice rink now. We’re in a room on the 4th floor in the Olympic Village at my very first Winter Games.

“I know. I’ll take a shower and change. I can finish unpacking after it. I have plenty of time,” I try to reason and give an explanation about my calm state.

The woman at the edge of my made bed is a little shorter than me and unlike me she’s already wearing an appropriate clothing for tonight: a business costume. It’s so different from her usual casual training clothes that it makes her look older. Her cheeks are rosy and her hair is a little messy from the chilly wind we came across on our way here from the airport.

“I have to leave to the coaches and staff’s accommodation and you’ll be on your own,” she warns with a frown on her face and stares at me with her famous piercing look. It makes me feel belittled because it implies to that I can’t take care of my own luggage despite the fact I have been travelling around the world because of competitions since I was thirteen.

“I know. I can handle it.” This time a shudder sigh leaves my mouth but my voice never wavers. “I’m not a kid anymore, mom.”

As I emphasize the last world, the woman before me tenses. Sometimes I wonder how she sees herself. Is she my mother first or my coach? When she decides what the best is for me, is she thinking about me as her daughter or just her most potential student who can make it big?

“But you are,” mom sticks to her own opinion and brush aside my weak protest with a last pat on my suitcase. “I have to go so we’ll meet in the lobby before the take-off to the opening ceremony, okay?”

“Yeah,” I mumble a little discouraged and let her press a kiss to my cheek. I try not to pout as I wave her off because I know she only wants to protect me but I still can’t shake off this uneasy feeling that she’s overdoing it.  There must be so much more to this world than she lets me see.

I cast a last glance to the wonderful scenery then do as I promised. I take a quick, cold shower and put on the common athlete training clothes with my surname and my county’s name on it. I always wear it proudly and it makes me feel like I have a whole nation supporting me. It’s a feeling beyond expression just like the heavy weight of gold around your neck. I just wish I could experience the weight of an Olympic medal no matter the colour.

The opening ceremony is grandiose and splendid; South Korea really does it justice and doesn’t stir disappointment. There are all kind of performers on a big scale, even kpop stars and traditional sword dancers. I enjoy the whole thing but for me, the most heartfelt moment is when all the athletes march in. I see a few familiar faces from other competitions and we greet each other but I have no idea about most of them.

 Day 1 - 10th February

As the fireworks paint the sky in rainbow colours, the clock ticks and the day turns. Everyone is cheering, the Olympic Flame is shining brightly in the dark night. The reality finally settles in my bones and veins: it really did start. When I leave the huge stadium alongside with a few other skaters, mom finds me at the lobby where we met before the ceremony. The bus ride back to the Olympic Village in Gangneung is quiet. It's already well past midnight when we arrive so her sudden request sounds a little absurd.

“No staying up late, no partying with others. I’ll wait for you at the ice rink tomorrow morning at seven.”

It takes a lot of my willpower not to whine. Of course, even though ladies competition is last in line, mother would never waste the opportunity to practice.

“Mom…”

“No buts, honey. Now I have to go, I meet one of the Russian coaches. Good night!” She pursues her lips and sends me a kiss before storming out of the lively hall. The Village buzzes with excitement. Nobody plans to sleep tonight. There are bars and clubs waiting for just us and lots of athletes want to loosen up a bit before their big day.

The girl from the skiing team whom I room with is also one of them because she's in the middle of preparing to going out when I arrive back to our place. We introduce ourselves in hurry but it looks like she doesn’t plan to waste any more time for formalities.

“Hey… you comin’?” Yanmei turns around at the door as she fixes some ribbon on her tight black dress. Her make up is smokey and wild, she’s definitely going to get a date tonight. Thinking about clubs, loud music, lots of frustrated young people and what I learned about them from American movies, I only hesitate for a moment before answering:

“Yeah, I’m coming.”

Maybe I should listen to mother but we spend 350 days out of 365 practicing and today I just want to relax. It’s hard to lead a normal life, to graduate with good GPA and to have friends when you’re going after the gold. It’s impossible to ‘hang out’ when you’re at a training camp this week and at the Grand Prix the next. I gave up friends for this life. I even delay university for this. But I won’t deny myself a little fun. I’m not a robot; sometimes I need a break as well.

I quickly disconnect my phone from the charger to shove it into my jeans pocket. I have nothing party-worthy outfit (otherwise mom would have burnt it anyway) but these black jeans and platform heels make my legs seem longer and the baby pink blouse with pearls is pretty. I let my hair down so the golden locks swirling around me and I’m ready to go.

The club near our accommodation is quite nice. To be honest, I have never been at any place like this so my judgement can be mistaken but I find Wings okay. The place is full of athletes and Olympic staff members. The UV light paints the wide space and everybody fluorescent blue while the DJ is providing some mashup of famous songs that takes the party to the dancefloor. Almost as soon as Yanmei and I step inside, someone jumps on her. (Almost literally.)

“Do you wanna dance?” the tall, broad shouldered guy flashes a smile at my fellow citizen and he prolongs his broken English’s syllables probably because of the alcohol in his system. But that doesn’t stop Yanmei from saying yes and she’s trailing after the German snowboarder.

I sigh as I’m all alone once again and I try to manoeuvre my way towards the bar before any suspicious looking guy could hit on me. When I’m there I examine the supply of drinks and search for something without alcohol. It’s not like I can’t drink, I’m of age but I should be on ice in less than seven hours and I don’t intend to break my legs because of a clumsy slip.  I wait for my cocktail while casually sitting on one of those modern stools as I sway my legs like a child would. My fingers follow the rhythm of the loud music when suddenly I hear Korean chirping behind me followed by a warm hand planted on my shoulder. The sudden action makes my heart jump like a bad horror movie would and I turn around astonished. The pitch-black haired guy I’m facing seems even more surprised based on how quickly he jerks his hand away as if I had burnt him.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. I thought you’re someone else,” he switches to English quickly that makes me eternally grateful because my Korean knowledge is confined to surviving. I know nothing more than sorry, thank you and where can I find the toilette.

“It’s okay,” I reply with a warm smile. It happens, nothing to be sorry about. It could have been worse.

I expect the stranger to go away without another word but he stays still and eyes me curiously so I return his gaze. He dressed up casually in knee-ripped jeans and a big white sweater that seems baby blue under the artificial light. He has stylish coal black hair hinted with glowing sparks because of the neon white disco lamp. His faintly reddened face seems familiar yet I’m sure we’ve never met before. Maybe the same realization keeps him here only a foot away from me.

“You came here alone?” The guy furrows his eyebrows and it sounds more curious than suggestive so I don’t mind answering.

“No. With my roommate but she left with a guy,” I shrug lightly. I was well aware why she came so it didn’t take me by surprise when she vanished into the crowd and since I don’t really know her, I can’t be mad either.

“So cruel,” the obviously Korean guy pouts and it’s kind of cute which should be weird for someone as handsome as him. But no, he gives off the typical, approachable, kind boy-next-door vibes while he has a face of models and the glint in his eyes are ethereal as well. As if he wasn’t on the verge of heart attack and all flustered just a minute ago, he dares to act cocky by asking. “Mind if I keep you company then?”

Again, nothing suggestive, just a question. Nice and kind. Maybe I wouldn’t be so oppose of saying yes but I can’t help but find something fishy.

“Didn’t you look for someone?” I raise an eyebrow in question because his sudden appearance is suspicious. Or maybe I’m just paranoid because this is my first time in a place like this and all of my experiences are taken from books and movies.

“Nope, not really.” The guy shakes his head and gosh, his smile could make flowers grow and my heart skips a beat. Maybe I should consult with a doctor about sudden palpitations. “I’m Park Jimin by the way. Korean team. Figure skating men’s single as in the category. But I’m single too if you’re interested.”

His breathy laugh makes it sound like a joke. A lame one but I giggle anyway and try not to care about the heat that makes its way up on my face. Suddenly, I’m grateful for this luminescent light because I’m sure I could make a tomato jealous. Nonetheless, I cover it up with a counterattack.

“Do you always flirt like this?”

“Why? Is it working?” Jimin attempts to keep his serious macho behaviour with wiggling his eyebrows but fails and instead he shows a genuine, toothy smile.

“Sorry, I’m not like this usually. You’re just really cute and… I should shut up.”

“Yes, probably,” I chuckle as I downcast my eyes bashfully. I’m not used to compliments outside of the rink. It takes a few moments before I look up again but Jimin wait patiently with his outstretched arm. “I’m Xu Xianni from China. Figure skating women’s single”

I take his hand and smile at the gentle pressure of his fingers. Maybe I even let the feeling to linger a little more than it should.

“Thank god we’re not competing in pair category. That would have been awkward,” he says when he lets my hand go and it falls back to my side. His laughter is fairly nice, I have to admit. It sounds like a chime of bells, a melody that is soaring in the spring sky under rainbows or a beautiful flower that grows in the middle of winter and fights its way through the snow.

“Yeah,” I agree because his statement couldn’t be more right. If we were in a different category we could have been rivals and that would probably mean the end of our so far enjoyable conversation.

Jimin flashes a smile at me and orders a drink for himself, some cocktail which I’ve never heard of and then he casually asks about my day like we had known each other for years. We talk about my flight and that kid on the plane that just didn’t shut up. We praise the opening ceremony and Jimin makes a show of copying one of the kpop groups’ choreography. We compete to see who had been in more foreign country and we go on and on about our favourites. Jimin tells me about that time when he and his high school best friend, Taehyung ran around in a hotel after shower because of some game controller and got locked out of their room in nothing but their underwear.

I can’t even remember the last time I had so much fun like today with Jimin. However, everything comes to an end eventually and the sight of what time it is makes me slightly panicked. I’ve been here for almost three hours and I have to get up in less than the same amount of time. The funny thing is I’m not even tired because miraculously I didn’t have practice today and I had some sleep on the plane. Yet, I need a nap because mom will ask how I slept and I can’t lie to her in the eye or else she will know about it immediately. Mother censors and stuff.

“I should go,” I mumble in the momentary silence of our conversation, sorrow evident in my voice. Jimin’s reaction is immediately dumbfounded.

“So early?” he pouts with a sad puppy look on his face. He’s frank about his disappointment because I can’t stay longer and doesn’t try to hide it. It makes me giggle a little because it is early: half past three in the morning.

“Well, my coach wants me on ice by 7am so I have to,” I groan in mild annoyance and Jimin’s usually narrow eyes go wide at my statement.

“What? That’s ruthless. Isn’t female skating like a week away?” he asks in a struck and perplexed state.

“Yeah, but she wants me prepared,” I shrug because my mother’s methods are not even shock me anymore. Jimin nods understandingly and yawns.

“Today I think I’m gonna sleep in. Luckily, my coach is a pretty laidback guy. Such a shame he had to stop competing early. You may have heard about him. Taemin was kind of a big deal back then...”

“No way! Lee Taemin is your coach? He's a legend,” I squeal and my eyes lit up at the mentioned name. I can’t believe I just spend the last three hours talking to someone who is a student of Taemin. He must be good, but unfortunately nowadays I can only keep up with Chinese athletes and foreign female contestants.

Jimin hums in agreement but doesn’t say anything. When I stand up I suddenly don’t want to go. It would be so easy to stay and enjoy this cozy bubble of ours a little more without paying attention to the trap music and kissing pairs around us but I’m not the one who goes back on her word.

“Thank you for keeping me company. I’m glad we talked.” I can’t force back a sincere smile which he returns without missing a beat.

“Likewise. See you around,” he turns his body towards me and his arms are really inviting while I’m shifting my weight from one leg to the other and back because I’m not really sure what should I do. How girls do this? Should I hug him, shake his hand or just wave to him? Oh, I’m so damn pathetic when it comes to being social. Goodbyes are really not my thing.

“In case we don’t meet until then, good luck!” I decide on honest best wishes, finally ready to go.

“You too. But I sincerely hope we will meet,” he adds and I nod hesitantly, preparing to go. However, Jimin beats me to it as he envelops me in a hug that ends way too quick and smiles at me widely. I smile back and forget about being nervous.

As soon as my body touch the bed, I sleep like a baby.

 Day 3 - 12th February

Gangneung is a coastal town near the mountains and here will be held events like ice hockey, curling and skating. All contestants in these categories stay in this Olympic Village so I’m sure the Korean figure skaters are no exceptions. But with so many people around it’s easy to get lost in the crowd.

Despite my foolish hopes, we didn’t meet again that day. I guess he really did slept till late and yesterday we could have missed each other’s practice hours. However, since everyone trained in the Ice Arena, at least one meeting was inevitable. It was bound to happen eventually.

Yet, I was surprised to find him on the ice Monday morning. He just finished his routine to a music I don’t know and get off the rink gracefully. There’s another men beside him in a puffy coat who keeps talking to him while offering a towel and a bottle of water. Jimin shakes his head, black locks sticking to his forehead as he looks conflicted. It’s weird to see his recent carefree personality to change so serious.

“Who is he?” I point at him when nobody’s around and step closer to our team’s male figure skater because if anyone then he must know well who he is. Of course I could search his name on the Internet but that would be cheating and less exciting. Fortunately, Yan Han doesn’t seem bothered by my sudden question and just shrugs.

“He’s Park Jimin, South Korea’s sweetheart. He and Hanyu are the biggest rivals. They’re constantly breaking each other records since Sochi. That time, the Japanese won the gold but it was Jimin who claimed the world champion title. With them in the competition everyone else fights for the third place.”

Wow. That’s all I can think about. I still stand there mindlessly and speechless when Yan Han has to step onto the ice.

Today I arrived early (No way I did it in hope of seeing someone. Nope. Not at all) so my mom still hasn’t arrived yet. I make the most out of my free time by going over the choreo once again in my head meanwhile absolutely not stealing glances at the other end of the ice rink. That’s the only reason I notice the approaching steps of a certain someone. Alone with his coach watching him from afar.

“Hi there,” Jimin greets me with a warm smile as beautiful as sunrises.

“Hey, Mr. Champion.”

The new nickname I made up just now makes him laugh. I take a moment to scan him over in his training clothes under the natural light. He seems amused and even more handsome than the day before.

“I see you did your homework on me but to be honest that gold was only luck.”

“So humble,” I comment on his shyness because there’s no way someone becomes world champion because of purely luck. I can’t wait to see him in action.

“And what about you? They say you're China's Kim Yuna.”

“She's the queen,” I protest quickly just like every time they mention it. It’s an honour to hear my name in the same sentence with hers because I look up to her as a role model but her achievements outshine all of my attempts. ��I’m not even close.”

“So humble,” he mimics my earlier response with a cheeky smile and run his fingers through his silky black hair.

“I almost didn’t recognize you with your hair in a bun,” he admits and drops down to sit on a bench behind the barrier. I copy his movements but I make sure not to sit too close. An arm-length should be a comfortable distance between friends, right?

“Well, I have to keep it in one place if I don’t want to bother with it while dancing,” I let out a chuckle and unconsciously touch my made-shift hair.

“It’s cute,” Jimin compliments with an easy-going smile and I feel my cheeks turn rosy pink again. But before I can mutter out an answer, someone interrupts us in Chinese:

“I hope you have already warmed up.”

“Mom!” I react instinctively in my native language as I lift my eyes up to see my parent standing in front of me with a strict look on her face. I get on my feet quickly and the boy beside me follows. “This is Park Jimin...”

“I don’t care who he is. You’re here to win gold and not to make friends, understand?” she’s preaching as always. But this time it’s quite rude to act like the other athlete wasn’t there and speak in a language that he can’t understand. “I want you on ice in five minutes. Hurry up!”

And with that she leaves as if nothing happened. While on the other hand, there’s me with poppy-coloured cheeks from anger and humiliation. How could she do that to me? How could she act like that to me in front of a friend?

“Sorry,” I mumble turning towards Jimin who has this sad look on just like last time when we had to say good bye. Sorry doesn’t cover what my mom did but I can’t do more and I still have to put on my skates before she comes back and grounds me for the rest of the Olympics. That would be unfortunate since that’s only my third day here.

“No, no, no. I’m sorry for causing trouble for you. I should have known your coach is quite strict. She seemed pretty angry. I didn’t mean to distract you or anything,” Jimin apologizes even though he shouldn’t be the one doing that. But the guilty look on his face is sincere and I don’t want anything more than reassure him that he didn’t do nothing wrong.

“It’s not your fault. She’s a perfectionist and basically spent her entire life to build my career. She has everything planned out for me and if something unexpected happens like me talking with you she freaks out a little bit,” I explain hastily because I don’t want any misunderstanding between us. Hence, I don’t really think through what I’m saying and it ends up sounding like a complain. For a second, I’d like to rephrase my words but sometimes my mother’s behaviour really makes me wonder. Am I only an investment? Am I living her dream? I never really felt pressure of doing what she told me but she made me feel ungrateful if I didn’t. Would it be the same? I don’t know; the result is the same anyway.

“You can tell your coach no if she’s overdoing it,” Jimin suggests lightly with concern evident in his fascinating onyx eyes. He takes a step closer and for a brief moment, I think he’s going to hug me or something and I have to catch my breath. In the end he turns and leans over the barrier with a sigh.

“It’s not that easy. She’s my mother,” I tell him a bit anxiously in case he didn’t figured that out already. From the way he looks up with bewilderment, he hasn’t thought about this possibility.

“Oh.”

“Oh exactly,” I nod while a lump is forming in my throat. Well, bye-bye my newfound friendship. I know acquaintances at competitions don’t last but my mother tends to ruin all of my chances of a normal life. I doubt that Jimin would like anything from me after this. “Sorry, I have to go now.”

Unless I want to anger my mother even more.

“Me, too. See you later,” the Korean boy bids his goodbye when he hears his name called and jogs off to somewhere I can’t see him anymore.

It’s better this way. No more distraction. No more heart fluttering eye smile. I can focus on winning the gold.

 The practice goes well even though my mother is harsher than usually. I guess she’s still mad about what happened earlier. I just don’t get why. It’s not like I did anything wrong. Is it so bad that I talked with another country’s contestant? But that’s the whole point of the Olympic Games, doesn’t it? To enjoy sport in a spirit of friendship, solidarity and fair play. Sad that people usually forget this.

“It was good.” mom pats my back as I get off the ice. She immediately starts the review as I massage my sore ankle. “Although your candlestick spiral can’t be this sloppy, the doughnut spin needs to be more graceful and don’t forget that we changed that last double axel to a triple.”

How can I forget? As far as I know only seven or so female skaters involved triple axel in their program on competition so far. I can’t blame mom for wanting me to be the eighth. I’d be proud if I could make it perfectly. It happened before and I spent a lot of time trying to improve but still, one out of four times I fail.

“My step sequence and Biellmann spin were good? What about the jumps?” I ask and try to curve everything into my memory to get everything right next time. I love reviewing with my mother because she’s really good at her job. No wonder why I won the Chinese junior nationals when I was 9 years old.

We spend half an hour monitoring the video she just took to point out every possible problem and everything’s fine until she calls it a day. As soon as I start to walk off to take a cold shower, she has to make a remark:

“I don’t like seeing you getting involved with that boy.”

It gets on your nerves really fast because Jimin didn’t do anything to deserve this negative attitude.

“What boy, mom? You scared him off, too. Are you happy?” I huff through clenched teeth and walk out of the room before she can muster another word. I need to cool down.

 After a nutritious lunch, a run-through dance lesson with my choreographer and two interviews, I can finally enjoy freedom. After changing into comfy clothes, I decide to visit some souvenir shops downstairs. Even though I still hold grudges against mom, I send her a message informing her about my whereabouts so she won’t worry about me. Amidst the Pyeongchang 2018 printed T-shirts, mugs and refrigerator magnets Park Jimin is the last person I’d expect to see.

“Xianni? Hi!” he’s waving at me with a beaming smile like nothing bad ever happened. It helps me forget, too.

“Hi, yourself. Did you find anything to buy?” I step closer in order to make way for a passing customer. This shop is a quite small but it looked so cute from the outside I had to come in. Its unique charm seems to successfully draw Jimin in, too.

“Yeah. This is for my little brother,” he proudly holds up a big sweater with the mascots on the front. From the size of it, his siblings can’t be a lot younger than him but that endearing smile of his shows how much he cares for him. “And you?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe I’ll buy a pair of earrings,” my bottom lip quivers because I’m a little jealous. I have nobody to buy for. Dad no longer lives with us, I only meet him a few times a year and mom is with me here, why should I buy for her? I have no friends who cheer for me. It’s kind of sad and the realization hits me like bullet train. Maybe my expression falters, I don’t know but Jimin drop his smile and change the subject in a serious tone.

“Are you free the rest of the evening?”

“ Yes. Why?” It should be embarrassing how quickly I answer. In a heartbeat as if I was afraid he would change his mind. Also, I might be imagining things but maybe there was hope in his voice. Or was it in mine?

“I’ll go to the city and look around with a few friends,” he starts carefully dragging out the syllables but I can’t help but interrupt.

“Don’t you have the short round tomorrow?” I narrow my eyes in suspicion. I know he said his coach is pretty laidback but shouldn’t he rest?

“In the evening, yes. But I have been preparing for this for months now. My performance won’t depend on my last minute rituals.”  Jimin shrugs wisely choosing his words. “So about the sightseeing… Would you like to join us?”

I know for sure mom wouldn’t approve but who cares? I’m an adult. I can make my own decisions and suffer the consequences. She didn’t get to know about the opening party either and I had fun there. Nothing can go wrong.

“You know what? I’d love to.”

Jimin’s smile grows wider. There are crinkles around his sparkling eyes and the apples of his cheeks are close to exploding.

 We agreed on meeting in 10 minutes at the front gate so he can call the others and I can grab my camera. My roommate is currently doing some fitness so I also invite her but she refuses to hang out with Koreans. I have no idea what’s her problem with them but to be honest I can’t find myself regretting that she won’t come. I call the elevator in hurry and I feel anxious all of a sudden meeting with Jimin’s friends. In the end it turns out that there’s no reason for me to be nervous. All of them are nice.

“Guys this is Xianni I told you about.” Jimin presents me and two guys in the back exchange a knowing look. They’re at the same height, both a few inches taller than Jimin who’s so into introducing doesn’t notice this. “They are Seokjin from the curling team and Hoseok who’s competing in speed skating. I guess you know Chanmi, she’s our female figure skater after Yuna. And last but not least, there’s Jungkookie, the hockey team’s star. Don’t mind him. He’s a little shy around ladies”

“I am not,” the said boy crunches his nose in offended.

“If you say so,” Jimin shrugs teasingly.

“I’m glad to meet you all,” I smile at them happiness bubbling inside me because of how direct and open-minded they are. They don’t make me feel like an outsider at all.

“The pleasure is all ours,” the tall guy called Seokjin bows like a gentleman and Hoseok shoves him away in a friendly manner as laughing cracks them up.

“Yah, stop flirting!” he says with his cute broken English and we’re finally ready to go. Rather as a group of giggling youngsters than Olympic athletes.

We take the bus to the beach while talking in a weird mix of English, Korean and occasionally Chinese because the oldest of the group knows a bit of my language. We find a good seafood restaurant there and stop for dinner. Because of my diet, I only eat salad with salmon while the boys except Jimin are having a feast with various types of food. I notice that the figure skater boy barely eats something but I blame it on his nerves. Tomorrow is the competition and even if he doesn't admit it he can’t be entirely calm. But he has to eat if he doesn’t want to faint on ice tomorrow so when it comes to desserts I ask him to share a slice of cheesecake with me. He says yes gladly.

Later, we wonder around near the sea, searching shells in the sand using our phones as torches. Darkness has already settled and gazillions of tiny white dots decorate the textile of night. We come upon the town’s museum and pay it a visit. It’s very interesting to me because I know so little about Korean history and because normally I don't have enough time to go to places like this. While leaving we meet a few citizens who recommend the night market by the port for us. We discover lots of goods there, I buy a pair of leather gloves and Jimin keeps feeding me famous Korean street food such as Goldfish bread that is a fish shaped patisserie filled with red bean pasta and tornado potato which is basically seasoned roasted slices of potatoes.

“Do you trust me?” he asks me after he buys some weird looking brown sauce with breaded fish on a stick and offers me a bite.

“Yes.”

I'm a little startled by his intense gaze when he holds it to me but I do trust in him nonetheless. I know we don’t know each other for long and everything will end in three weeks. Despite everything, I can't help but feel this connection between us. We just click somehow. I have never felt this way before with anyone.

The fish cake with black bean pasta sauce turns out to be heavenly.

[kalachand97-blog]

New Post has been published on Globeinfrom

New Post has been published on https://globeinform.com/how-clown-pants-saved-my-lifestyles/

How Clown Pants Saved My Lifestyles

Last January, after a lifetime on the East Coast, my then fiancée, Amanda, and I moved from The big apple to L. A. and right away fell in hapless portions. Our reasons for moving were sound. She’d been presented a good task out right here, and she or he become uninterested in winter. We had been approximate to get married—I’d already pledged to observe her anywhere she went. Plus I preferred the concept of trying something new. So I followed her to L. A.. We rented a house at the aspect of a hill above Hollywood and leased matching motors with sequential license plates. She labored on a studio lot a short force away, and that I worked from home, wherein I wandered around our house and marveled at the thick silence that had settled in around our lives.

One aspect nobody told us approximately Los Angeles is that it’s one of the loneliest towns within the international. All people who live here is aware of this, however, we did no longer. It’s flat regular splendor summons you out of doors, and then there you’re: outside. You and the coyotes and the palm timber and the guys hoping to get paintings on Away to Escape with Homicide. Neither folks had moved given that we had been embryos, basically. I stored getting caught on elemental matters, like what to put on. How do you dress whilst the weather requires without a doubt nothing of you? The big apple became the place I grew up, and what I wore there has been a blandly literal expression of the character I grew into: prideful however in general nameless, quiet, however, with any luck, tasteful. In Los Angeles, a town that prizes none of those features, 1/2 my cloth cabinet—darkish blue sweaters, scuffed-up shoes, clothes that might move from a wet sidewalk to a neon-lit subway vehicle to a stylish workplace and lower back, in The big apple manner—appeared efficiently useless.

The opposite half of made me feel like I nevertheless lived in New york however changed into somehow trapped here, journeying. It turned into a sensation I began to realize well: that dislocated feeling, like being on a permanent excursion from the sector I knew to be real.

and then I commenced to realize it even better. 13 days when we left NY, I learned that my mom has been diagnosed with breast most cancers. I used to be lower back in the city on a reporting trip while my father e-mailed my sister and me and told us we ought to find each other and expect a smartphone call. We sat around the smartphone in my sister’s Brooklyn condo even as she wrote the information down on a blue Publish-it note. Metaplastic—a form of most cancers so uncommon, my health practitioner father advised us, there was no setup a remedy. Her docs had determined to deal with it like its closest analog, some other shape of breast cancer I’d by no means heard of: triple bad. It becomes a Friday night time. My mom became approximately 90 miles away, at domestic in Philadelphia, her voice parabolic with worry. My sister and that I went out and drank ourselves blind. The following morning, drenched in helplessness, I was given on a aircraft lower back to Los Angeles.

It changed into Amanda who first intuited what I was doing. I used to be handling some matters, she knew that, and she was looking to give me area—but had I observed, possibly once I looked in the replicate, that every day I was sporting something extensively extraordinary from the Closing? As though the garments I owned have been a deck of cards and I used to be absentmindedly shuffling them. This will be been unremarkable given what I’d moved to La with. but I’d been shopping. I’d been replacing the matters I owned with… I guess I wasn’t certain what those new matters were.

It started out in a garb save in Culver town—I’d gone there with a close pal of mine, Sean, and our partners. Sean knew the co-founder, Josh Peskowitz, a touch. Josh had long gone into business with Levi’s to make these jeans—they were 501s but reduce wider, with greater panels of denim sewn into the legs, hemmed comically excessive, around the mid-calf. They have been…clown pants. Sean wouldn’t even pop out of his dressing room with them on. I did and became rewarded with Amanda’s disbelieving laughter. For something motive, I carried them to the sign up anyway. Maybe because they made me sense like someone aside from myself. Or due to the fact I wanted to head on the offensive against what was happening to my family, and this turned into the dumb reptile manner I chose to fight back. All I truly understand for sure is that I have become their owner. and then I kept going.

Bins from far-off places started out to reach our house weekly, each day. The things I wore were broadening, going horizontal. At GQ, we pledge allegiance to tailoring, to in shape. This turned into something one-of-a-kind. This changed into a David Byrne in shape—billboard-sized, rectangular—constructed from cotton and denim. a few days I looked like two guys status side by means of aspect, or Perhaps one very beaten boy. A just-landed paratrooper thrashing around in his own parachute. Hiding in the material. I did laps around our dwelling room, attempting out new shades and shapes.

The silhouettes that emerged from those experiments have been dopey and various. Amanda said she in no way knew who might come out of the bedroom at any given moment. To be sincere, I didn’t, either. I zigged, zagged, light to dark, light to colorful. Dignified to, frankly, ridiculous. I bought a turtleneck that had the word CACTUS right on the neck, upside down, a garment that I lacked the self-assurance to put on 98 percent of the time—however a man, those 2 percentage days. I cherished a grey Tim Coppens sweatshirt protected in stiff, random blotches of colour—the sort of garment so deliberately weird human beings needed to renowned it when I wore it. After Donald Trump’s election, I blacked out and came to on New Yr’s Eve carrying a turtleneck threaded with gold. Sean stated I seemed like a washed-up Italian film director attempting his twenty-third movie. It becomes now not intended as a compliment.

Subsequently, it was given to the point in which I desired to talk to a person approximately what I was wearing. someone professional. I used to be on a journey without knowing in which I used to be going, and i stored by accident guidance off the street. (here I think of the pinstriped pants by means of Our Legacy, thin and diaphanous and accommodating, that Amanda refused to let me wear out of doors the house. Or within the home.) Who may want to take my education wheels off, give me permission to move deeper? I wished a person to assist me sort out my emotions approximately garments—or the emotions that had led me to have feelings approximately clothes. a person to train me sufficient about style to get through this tough patch in my Lifestyles in a planned and aesthetically captivating manner. I wasn’t proud that this turned into what I had chosen to awareness on at a tumultuous time in my Life. However the idiot thoughts desires what it desires. Hiroki Nakamura. Fashion designer of the cult label Visvim. Famously elusive, but additionally famous in fashion circles for making clothes with the identical emotional the rest, that lingering inchoate magic, that a museum-caliber work of art has. He resided inside the zone I desired to enter, where garments were more than garments. I’d well-known his designs for years, even as in no way being able to come up with the money for even an unmarried object. The fringed moccasin sneakers he’d emerge as recognized for; the denim jackets, hand-completed, heavy with an air of mystery; one-of-a-type painted shirts; robust, historical-searching pants. Hiroki’s inspirations have been antique workwear, the turquoise, and silver of the Yankee Southwest, and the insane stages of artisanship he’d seen developing up in Japan—indigo dyers, silk-weavers, folks who had been glazing porcelain for hundreds of years.

He’d once labored at a skiing organization, Burton, which gave him a technical savvy. however in 2001, at age 29, he’d left to start Visvim. His garments are prohibitively highly-priced—flannels that cost $975, unstructured jackets that value two times that—and coveted by the likes of John Mayer and Kanye West. Hiroki’s pieces have the feel of artifacts—of uncommon materials assembly uncommon craftsmanship but coming collectively in familiar forms, like denims or parkas. They appear like they have been hand-sculpted after being dug out of the earth in a few far-off desolate tract. They have strength.

inside the few interviews, I should find, he becomes slightly…gnomic. A person of noticeably few phrases. However the matters he designed seemed reassuring. Like they’d fought off demons and received. I idea Perhaps he’d have a few advice on doing just that.

Rapidly earlier than Memorial Day, Amanda and I flew lower back to Big apple and drove north into the Catskills to get married. My mom wore a wig to approximate the hair she’d misplaced, and walked me down the aisle. by this factor, she turned into hollowed out from chemotherapy, but her doctors have been constructive—the same drugs that have been annihilating her were annihilating her cancer. She become going to live. For our wedding ceremony, she’d skipped her weekly chemo consultation so that she’d have the strength to pop. She danced! And for a second, everything went calm and quiet. In June, she had surgery—they took her ovaries, each breast. My father informed me he dreaded the instant after the stitches came out when the reality of what she’d lost might set in for her. After the surgical procedure, I flew to Philadelphia, and we took walks across the block—as soon as a day, after which twice, and then practically every hour. You cannot preserve my mother on a couch. by the fall, she turned into nearly herself once more. Her hair had begun to develop back; she got her first haircut in months. She had gone thru hell and got here out looking like Jean Seberg in Breathless. It becomes the maximum magnificent aspect. at the telephone, I told her how I’d been coping, and asked if she might thoughts if I went similarly, Perhaps even documented whatever bizarre quest I was on. She admitted that she’d noticed that my clothes had gotten more and more…whimsical. If I desired to write approximately that—approximately her—she became ok with that.

I reached out to Hiroki. It wasn’t clean—he’s, via layout, difficult to locate. He’s usually on an aircraft, or on an avenue experience without his cell phone, or meeting with the planet’s one armadillo-skin harvester in an undisclosed vicinity. Finally, some weeks after the election, I heard back. He become amenable to the concept of gambling therapist, of trying to dispense a few emotional and/or sartorial advice. He requested if we’d meet in January, in Paris.