#junior pairs short program

[bucketbueckers]

HIIIII SEXY

if ur taking requests can i request smth angsty for paige ? i was thinking maybe if you could do something based on ilyis by gracie abrams where reader is in love w paige but doesnt think paige will ever like her back cause paige is always flirting w azzi and then paige comes over and acts all flirty with reader and reader blows up at her and is storms out and paige forces her to admit her feelings cause all along paige liked her but she didn’t know if reader liked gworls 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

and it ends happily PLEASEEEE I BEG

I LOVE YOU, I’M SORRY

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

content: language, teensy bit of angst, girls who hate communicating, reader might be a lil mean but we ball

wc: 2.4k

synopsis: You’ve been in love with Paige Bueckers for years, just another one of the countless moths drawn to her flame. You’d made your peace with only being her friend long ago, but it’s not until a well-timed blow up at Ted’s makes you realize it was mutual all along.

notes: as requested and in honor of finishing my last fuck ass exam 🫶 thank you sm for the request and im hoping i did this justice for you anon!! im sorry its a lil short 😓 but as always i hope y'all enjoy 🫶

Ted’s was supposed to be a welcome distraction to cap off a hectic week. Between two back-to-back away games, constant traveling, terrible naps on bumpy bus rides home, and homework that just seemed to keep piling up, you were ready to unwind and tackle the next week with a clearer mind. However, you couldn’t seem to relax, and the jealousy blooming in your chest like hemlock as you stared at Paige and Azzi whispering to each other wasn’t doing you any favors, either.

The team had invited you out with them, intent on celebrating another regular season conference win. You’re one of their graduate assistants, having served as the team manager for a few years before the position opened up, although you’d built incredible friendships with the girls over the years. Well – most of them, seeing as your brain and your heart couldn’t quite agree on how you felt for Paige. Her freshman year was your first year as team manager and she went out of her way to make you feel welcomed, greeting you every day at practice and inviting you out to team get-togethers.

At first, you’d kept it together. You were strictly friends, not even considering anything else. By Paige’s sophomore year – your junior year – you’d realized that she was beautiful. Like, a dangerous beautiful where you’d find yourself staring at her, even when she wasn’t doing anything more than watching film on her iPad. During her junior year, you were finally able to put a name to your confusing feelings and discovered that you were falling for her – hard – somewhere in between ACL recovery and her corny jokes. You realized it was love at the end of her junior year when you told her that Coach agreed to bring you on as a graduate assistant and she almost broke your spine hugging you. Now, nearly a year and a half into your Master’s program, you’re still hopelessly in love with Paige Bueckers and dreading the day the NCAA tournament begins – because the end of the season means the end of you and her. Because she’ll be on the first plane to Dallas and you wouldn’t have gotten the chance to find your courage and confess to her.

Ted’s was supposed to be a distraction. But it’s not, because the drink you’re sipping on makes your throat burn every time you swallow, and all you can think about is how you and Paige are a ticking time bomb that’s set to explode in April, and all you see is Paige looking at another girl that’s not you, and all you feel is the sickening mix of jealousy and shame that courses through your veins – jealous because all you want is Paige; shame because she’s your friend and you hate the way she makes you feel. You hate that your love makes you a little insecure and you hate that it feels like she’s choosing someone else over you.

Jana, who’s sitting next to you, throws an almost absentminded arm over your shoulder, pulling you out of your thoughts and back into whatever conversation they’re having at the table. KK is yapping and you barely catch the gist of it – something about Coach making them run suicides and how the new protein powder she’s trying gave her a tummy ache, but the heat of Paige’s gaze on you makes you glance over at her. Her brows are furrowed, eyes hardened as she stares at Jana’s arm around your shoulders like it’s personally offended her.

What confuses you even more is how Azzi notices. She sighs, an exasperated sort of noise, and stands – not without flicking Paige harshly on her forehead and muttering something about “Talk to her” as she slides her way out of the booth and towards the bathroom. Paige’s cheeks are a little red as she rubs her head forlornly. You’d probably laugh if you weren’t feeling so green.

You go to take another sip of your drink, needing to occupy your hands and your mouth if you wanted to appear somewhat put together tonight, but you frown when you realize you’re empty. Catching Jana’s attention, you motion to your cup and she nods, removing her arm and allowing you to make your way to the bar.

You don’t think too hard about your drink order as you rifle through your clutch for your card. What you do think hard about is the all too familiar voice saying, “I got you. Can I get another Shirley, please?” as Paige slides her card across the bar, her free hand finding your wrist like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

“Paige,” you deadpan, an amused annoyance lacing your tone. “I can get my own drink.”

She grins ineffably at you, but there’s an uncharacteristic hesitation in her eyes. It’s almost enough to make you forget why you’ve been so off all night. “Doesn’t mean you should,” she retorts.

“Oh?” you ask. “You making decisions for me now?”

Paige shrugs coyly. Her hand trails from your wrist to your waist, tangling in your belt loops – not pushing or pulling. Just holding. The touch makes you freeze. You and Paige had always been close. She was a touchy person, but never in public like this. “Just the important ones,” she murmurs. “So I know you’re taken care of.”

You blink at her, mouth suddenly dry. The sound of glasses scraping against the hardwood counter startles you. Paige thanks the bartender as she retreats, leaving the both of you alone at the edge of the bar, and you reach for your drink to occupy your hands as your mind spins. As unsure as you are about Paige returning your feelings, you’re not dumb. You’ve been flirted with before, been around Paige enough to know what her flirting looks like. The gentle confidence in her voice, the way her eye contact is so intense that strangely, it forces you to focus on her because otherwise, you’re sure that she’d find something she didn’t like if you couldn’t face her. The physical contact and the way she’s leaning into you. She’s flirting with you. Under any other circumstance, you’d probably be jumping for joy, but not now.

From the corner of your eye, you spot Azzi making her way back to the table. You make direct eye contact with her. She glances down, taking in your proximity, and she smiles at you. It sobers you up instantly.

“What the fuck are we doing?” you ask Paige, setting your drink back down on the bar and yanking her hand off of you. She blinks, her jaw falling slightly and confusion twisting her brows. “What are you doing? What, Azzi walks away, so you go and find someone else to keep you entertained? The one person who would run back to you anyway?”

“I – what?” Paige asks, hurt lacing her tone. She reaches out for you again but you take a step back, your thighs hitting the stool behind you. “I don’t understand what you mean. What does Azzi–”

You don’t realize you’re tearing up until you register the burn in your throat and the way your eyes sting. “You flirt with Azzi in front of my face all night. She leaves, and you wanna follow me up here, talking about taking care of me? You wanna touch me and buy my drink, ignore this weird push and pull thing we have, and then walk away like it means nothing to you?”

When she doesn’t say anything, you laugh despite the hurt swelling in your chest. “Sometimes you can be such a dick.” You wipe your eyes, trying not to lose your mind when your thumb comes back smudged with mascara. At the heart of it, sure, you’re sad, but the most pressing emotion is anger. You’d rather not be a choice at all than be a second choice.

The both of you pause, just staring at each other, until guilt and realization blooms simultaneously on Paige’s face. She murmurs your name, her voice cracking a little like what you’ve just said has changed her life, but you don’t let her reach out for you as you turn on your heel and walk out.

You know you can’t leave – Aubrey drove you and you’re not built for walking home at midnight. You lean against the railing, your head in your hands, knowing that Paige will likely be on her way. The two of you weren’t one for arguments. On the rare occasions you got carried away, apologies were swift. Guilt of your own bubbles in your stomach – you blew up for no reason, allowing your emotions to get out of hand. Now, you know that you and Paige will have to have another difficult conversation, and you’re not even sure if she’ll still want to be your friend afterwards. This is something you might not be able to come back from.

You feel her next to you before you see her. She leans against the railing, giving you space, and it’s in this devastating little moment that your anger comes back. It’s muted, not directed at her, but at yourself. You’re angry because as much as you want to be angry with her, you’re not, and all you really want is her. It’s selfish – you’d hurt her feelings in the bar, barely thirty feet away from your friends, but your body doesn’t care about that.

She breaks the silence to ask you, unsurprisingly, “Do you like me?”

There’s a million responses on the tip of your tongue. You consider sarcasm, but you feel as though the weight of this conversation needs something a little more genuine. Maybe genuine communication could have saved the both of you from feeling like this. No more cop outs, is what you tell yourself, so you exhale and admit, “I love you.”

You’re not sure what you’re holding your breath for. Maybe rejection. A small part of you holds out for Paige’s agreement. You’re unprepared for the way her arm wraps around your shoulders, pulling you into her body, and despite the shock, you sink into her anyways, your head falling onto her chest. It feels like acceptance, like forgiveness. “I didn’t know you liked girls,” Paige confesses, sounding a little sheepish.

At that, you groan, resisting an eye roll. “I literally have a pride flag in my Instagram bio,” you mumble. “You want my coming out in writing too? ‘Dear Paige, I’m gay. I’d apologize but you probably should have known anyway. Love, me.’”

“You’re annoying,” she huffs, but you can hear the amusement in her voice anyway. She tightens her hold on you. “I probably…should have done that a little better. At the bar. Don’t want you thinking it meant nothing to me. It does. And I just–” Paige trails off a little, looking for the right words. “I was really scared. I’ve always been worried about doing too much, scaring you off, and losing you forever. I thought…maybe I could drop hints and let you figure out what you wanted, but I never stopped to think about how that would feel from your end. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too,” you say. “For calling you a dick and making those accusations. I was scared and I let it consume me.”

You can feel the tentative smile Paige presses to your temple. “Truce?” she asks, and you nod, your fingers tangling in her shirt as you finally let the tension in your body dissolve. “For the record…there’s nothin’ going on with me and Azzi. She’s been telling me to ask you out for years. She was the first person I told when I thought I was in love with you.”

You pull back a little, meeting her eyes. The earnestness and honesty is clear as day, but you refuse to get your hopes up. “You love me?” you ask, not only to clarify, but also because this is something you’ve spent countless hours thinking about, wondering if it was even possible. To have it so close within reach…you need to be sure.

Paige, in typical Paige fashion, smiles crookedly at you and says, “You want that in writing, too?” She clears her throat dramatically. ‘To my favorite grad assistant, I’m in love with you. I’d apologize, but–”

“You are so fucking annoying,” you seethe, but there’s no real malice in your voice, your smile far too wide to be anything but over the moon. You’d thought about this moment a hundred times – how you’d respond to Paige confessing, or even how your own confession would sound. You’d never planned for it to happen this way. Maybe it was something that was supposed to be a spur of the moment thing. Maybe something out of a rom-com involving rain. Never an argument like this. The realization was never something dramatic with some cinematic soundtrack in the background. It was simple, almost like something clicks into place quietly. It’s messy, but it’s yours. And that’s enough for you. “So what happens now?”

Paige hums, leaning against the railing as her thumb brushes against your jaw gently. “Well…you can let me buy you another drink. Maybe split some fries. And, I don’t know if this is something you’d be interested in…but maybe you could be mine, too?”

You raise a brow, resting your hands over her shoulders. “Oh, really? Is that everything you want?”

Paige grins at you, her eyes flicking down momentarily before finding yours again. Her expression softens. “Not everything,” she admits. “But I’m trying to do this right. I wouldn’t want to assume.”

You roll your eyes, not missing the subtle tease in her words. When her hands drop to your waist, finding your belt loops again, you don’t freeze up. If anything, you melt into her. “Whatever you’re thinking…I don’t think it’s that much of an assumption.”

“Yeah?” she echoes. “‘Cause I’m still thinking about the fries.”

Huffing, you cup her cheeks in your hands, her skin warm against your palms, and you stand on the tips of your toes as you lean in to kiss her. She laughs, although she responds with a mix of softness and eagerness that makes you want more. It’s everything you’ve ever wanted and more, but you pace yourselves, taking it slow and sinking into the feeling.

When you part, Paige brushes her lips across your temple, her arms tightening around you like she can’t believe she has you. And, maybe, the truth is you’ve always been a little bit of hers, just like she’s always been a little bit of yours. That is all you could ever need.

[kumkaniudaku]

Peace and Quiet

Summary: Terry spends a summer day with Patrice.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC (Patrice Ellis)

Word Count: 2.8K

Warnings: Mentions of Death, Blood, and Injury

The worst had come for Deidra Richmond and the Richmond family. 

Months of doctor’s visits leading to long hospital stays full of machines that beeped incessantly to taunt any who found enough courage to visit Catherine Alexander slowly devolved into a grim diagnosis, rapidly declining health, hospice care, and, finally, the end. At 75 years old, Catherine transitioned to a realm beyond the physical to suffer no more from the pain of late stage breast cancer. She passed away with her loved ones standing beside her bed, oscilating between laughter and painful wailing until the sounds became one. 

Terry watched his mother crumple into a mess of tears from the doorframe before turning away to entertain his twin sisters who couldn’t quite piece together what was happening with grandma. He could though. He knew exactly what’d happened to grandma. He’d never hug her neck again and hear his nickname, Peanut, come in her wonderful high-pitched Southern drawl. She wouldn’t make him another double chocolate cake for Thanksgiving or gift him sneakers for Christmas. All of her birthday cards were no more. Monetary gifts for good grades became relics of a time before his first dose of grief nearly knocked the wind from his lungs. Grandma was gone. 

A full day of crying and consoling two ten year olds clinging to their big brother quickly became a dizzying week full of people parading in and out of the Richmond household. Routine condolences became like nails on Terry’s mental chalkboard. Yes, he knew how much his grandma loved him. No, he didn’t know where he mother wanted the follower. He didn’t want to be strong. He wouldn’t be okay. He just wanted to be left alone and released from walls closing in one him with every unwanted hug and request to help type the funeral program. 

Patrice offered to come over on day two. She could sense his heavy heart over the phone when he called to break the news and ask if her mom knew how to make a good potato salad because his aunt was still barred from making the dish for their family after the last debacle. 

“Yeah, she does,” Patrice answered, hoping he could hear the sympathy in her voice. “I could bring some by if you wanna taste.” 

Terry sighed and chewed the inside of his cheek. “Actually, can I come over there instead?”

He didn’t stay long for his first visit. Rosalyn offered the boy with a forlorn smile and tired eyes a healthy helping of her special dish and he picked his way through it, too sad to say anything but a quiet “thank you” and ask if she minded making more for the repast. 

“Of course, baby. Whatever you need.” Rosalyn didn’t need Patrice’s pleading to convince her. Terry was just as much one of her children as Patrice and Junior. 

Mournful silence followed the pair out to the driveway as they prepared to part ways and agree on the what time Patrice should meet at Terry’s house to accompany him to the funeral. 

He stopped short at his truck’s driver’s side and leaned against the door to face Patrice. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want, Treece. It just gonna be a bunch of people crying and actin’ like they ever came to see her when she was sick.” 

“Stop sayin’ that, TJ,” Patrice admonished. “If you’re going, I’m going. So I’ll have my mama drop me and the food off at 10, okay?” 

“Yeah.” Passing cars swept Terry’s murmured response into their cacophony of sounds. Eyes committed to counting the pebbles beneath his feet finally looked up to ask the question clawing at his throat, itching to break free. “Can I…come back tomorrow?” 

It was then, with the summer sun high in a cloudless sky, that Patrice could see the faint pink hue coloring the whites of his eyes. Tears shed in private and a burden far too heavy for a child brought to light without a word spoken between them. She didn’t draw attention to her discovery or reach out to pull his shoulders into a tight hug in the only window of unsupervised time they’d had all day. 

Instead she nodded and answered plainly. “Come here whenever you want.” 

Patrice didn’t ask either of her parents for their blessing. She didn’t consult them for permission or even alert them to Terry’s intention to use their home as his escape pod. When Rosalyn found him sulking at the kitchen table, a bowl of chips and half eaten sandwich in front of him while he stared absently into the distance, she didn’t disturb his moment of reflection. She didn’t scold Patrice for her lack of communication or tiptoe around as if she’d inherited an unwanted house guest. Leon didn’t ask questions when he found Terry dressed in all black and quietly watching Junior play video games with Patrice nowhere in sight instead of eating dinner with his extended family a neighborhood over. No one said anything when a week had passed and their bonus kid and extra sibling was still finding solace in a home free of death’s heaviness. 

Lunch had just wrapped when Terry trudged up the front steps, rang the doorbell twice to cue Patrice, and slipped into the ice cold confines of his safe space. 

“You look tired.” Patrice didn’t mince words and Terry couldn’t find it within himself to lie his way through an answer. 

He shrugged. “I was helping my mama clean up Granny’s house last night. Guess it got late.” 

“Did you sleep after that,” Patrice questioned over her shoulder as he followed her toward her bedroom.

“Kinda hard to get rest when you have two kids in your bed.” His attempt at a laugh sounded more like a bitter huff, dry and lacking the goofy joy only Patrice was privy to on a day to day. 

She followed his every move around the room while carefully propping the door open for when her mother eventually made her way back in from Mrs. Wright’s next door vegetable garden. 

The weary sigh escaping his lungs melded with slow moving, heavy legs easing his body into her favorite chair in the house. Patrice made herself comfortable at the head of her bed, allowing silence to blanket the room.

Terry let his eyes drift closed for a moment, only to open them and find a set etched with concern staring back at him. “I’m fine, Treece,” he asserted, hoping to quell any worry. “What’s the plan for today? Wanna take Junior to the skate park like we promised?” 

“I think my daddy wants y’all’s help finishing that bench swing on the back. Then maybe we get ice cream after that?” 

“Sure.” Terry’s thoughts had taken him to some far off land too secluded for even Patrice to accompany him on his journey, leaving her with a half-assed response and a friend staring blankly at the wall ahead. 

Patrice shifted in her cross-legged position before speaking. “Are you…okay, TJ?” The question felt incomplete and went entirely unanswered, but not unheard. Terry quickly glanced in Patrice’s direction but remained silent. She tried again. “If you aren’t we can talk. Or we can sit here and watch movies until my daddy gets back. It’s up to you.” 

Still nothing. Time passed painfully slow while Patrice waited for any sign that Terry might twist the lid on canned emotions and welcome her inside his head. But, he provided nothing and she didn’t press. 

Terry sat motionless, suspended in a state of paralysis, wanting to speak but not possessing an iota of strength to open his mouth and ask for help. He was drowning. Water from his tears and some of his mothers had long engulfed him a wrafthful, unyielding high tide slowly pulling him into water too deep for rescue. He wrestled with himself, desperately begging his tongue to move to no avail. 

A wavering breath steadied rising emotions as Patrice appeared to give up on any possibility of a conversation and searched her nightstand for the television remote. “No.” His voice paused Patrice’s shuffling to shift her attention across the room. Terry closed his eyes and sighed again to push the words out of his mouth. “All my days are bad. Unless I’m over here. Then it’s less bad. I know I have to be happy for Zanah and Zorah and mom and dad so they don’t have to worry about me too, but -” He paused to gather the anger bubbling inside his chest before starting a new thought. “I like being here. It’s peaceful. Cold as bitch, but still. It’s a good break.”

Patrice scooched closer to the edge of the bed to lay on her stomach and study Terry. He kept his gaze low to avoid eye contact he knew would make him cry in the presence of his own high school crush to stick past a few weeks.

“You’re dramatic about the cold. It’s hot as the Devil’s kneecaps and you worried about the cold,” she joked. Terry allowed himself the gift of laughter, chuckling along with Patrice before finding enough resolve to return her curious stare. She offered a smile that he mirrored without effort. “I can’t tell you what to do, but it might help for you to spend a little more time with your mom. I’m sure she misses having you around. Maybe y’all could figure out how to be happy together.”

An unreceptive heart and mind sorted Patrice’s lofty idea into the pile of advice Terry had labled nice but ultimately just a thing to say when someone dies. He shrugged in indifference then slid deeper into her beanbag that had all but molded itself into his body shape after days of being its only inhabitant. “Maybe. Can you find something to watch, though, Confucius?” 

Roller her eyes, Patrice mumbled a retort under her breath and turned on the TV to scroll through the channels list for something worth their while. A seemingly endless search yielded little results, leaving Terry to drift back to his private mental island. Already waning speech crept to a halt. Defenses lowered. Limbs became putty under the weight of crisp air conditioning blowing from the vent across the room.

“Wanna watch Bad Boys 2?” Patrice’s question fell on deaf ears for a spell before she looked in his direction. Her frown slowly loosened into a fond smile while she watched his chest rise and fall, mouth slightly ajar to release the beginnings of a deep snore. Tossing a pillow from her bed, Patrice sent a soft mound of down feathers to startle him awake. She snickered at the wild look on his face when he came to. “Movie or no movie TJ?” 

“Girl! Movie! I said that, right? I said movie,” he grumbled, placing the pillow behind his head and wiggling his long body until he was comfortable again. “You play so much, Treece.” 

She waved him away and selected their first feature of the afternoon. “Whatever.”

Martin Lawrence and Will Smith had at least one active viewer. The other, slumped on the floor with a bean bag chair and an orange satin pillow case as a makeshift bed, chose dreaming as the alternative to action packed comedy. Patrice resisted the jester on her shoulder recommending different ways to interrupt his rest and convince him to join her for hijinks and pointless conversation, preferring to quietly slip a throw blanket over his body, draw the curtains, and tip-toe out of the room.

Life in the Ellis household went on with Terry out cold on Patrice’s bedroom floor. Rosalyn put a snack to the side for when eventually emerged from slumber. Junior tried his hardest to keep his voice down in the bedroom just down the hall with threats on his summer freedom as a motivator. Leon, though worn ragged from a days work and ready to start his weekend with a cold beer in the backyard, delayed completing his wife’s porch swing project to allow Terry a little more time to nap. All in the home conspired together to allow the young boy with heavy burdens space and opportunity for needed rest. 

Two hours later, once the sun had started to cast orange and pink hues on the city and turned the backyard into a golden paradise, Terry appeared in the living room feeling emotionally lighter and ready to work. Patrice saw him first and offered a small wave and smile that he returned with more visible happiness than before. She was right about the nap, and when she wasn’t so hellbent on gloating in her wins one day, he’d tell her she was right about him being tired.

He gave his thanks to Mrs. Ellis for saving a sandwich for him, playfully wrestled with Junior to satisfy his need for a little boyish horseplay, then dutifully follow Mr. Ellis outside to see his joint work through to completion. 

Patrice played supervisor as she stood with her arms folded and eyes darting between Terry’s muscles contracting from the effort and various blunders from the motley crew of handymen trying and failing to hoist the bench onto its metal chain.

“Alright, lift one more time, boys. I think I got it now,” Leon instructed Terry from the top rung on his ladder. 

Terry and Junior signaled their understanding then counted down from three to brace themselves for their fourth attempt. 

Counting down from three was inexplicably confused with counting to three in Junior’s mind. Somewhere in the middle, wires were crossed, yelps of pain rang out loud enough to disturb a flock of birds perched on the nearby wooden fence, and blood from a deep gash in Terry’s hand trickled down his aching, bruised fingers. 

He hopped around the back porch grimmacing and holding his hand while Junior apologized profusely. “It’s okay,” Terry gritted through clinched teeth. “Can I get a bandaid?” 

“Oh my God,” Patrice gawked. “Terry! Come inside and sit down. Mama!”

“Son, you gon’ need more than a bandaid. Ros! Grab the kit! The boy damn near lost his hand!” 

Leon’s exaggeration nearly sent Terry into shock as he wobbled his way into the kitchen. He finally understood where Patrice got her flare for the dramatic once Rosalyn had carefully cleared away all the blood and debris to reveal an ugly but totally normal cut running the width of his palm. 

While she worked to heal his wound with gentle care, Terry’s mind drifted to his mother a few neighborhoods over and what she might do to make him feel better. He knew she’d go to great lengths to kiss away his pain and mend his body until hurt passed and all that was left was her love. She deserved as much from him. They deserved as much from each other. He had to get home. 

Down one unharmed hand and up an almost full roll of gauze wrapped around his palm, Terry walked in front of Patrice on the way to his truck, laughing at the spectacle from before. 

Terry took a gander at his new accessory and chuckled. “At least I get a couple days out of conditioning. Shoutout to Junior for that.” 

“I don’t even know why Daddy had him out there. The boy gets out of school and forgets how to count every summer. Now I can’t get any ice cream!” Their shared laughter rang out on the empty street, floating into the sunset intertwined like two pieces of a whole. “When you come back tomorrow, I’ll have some cupcakes or something for you. By then, Daddy oughta had somebody by here to hang that thing and we can sit outside.” 

Terry chewed his bottom lip before responding. “Uh…I think I’m gonna hang out with my mama tomorrow, actually. Probably go get lunch or something. You can come too, if you want.” 

“No, that’s okay. Don’t even think about me. Spend some time with your mom. It’ll be good for you two.” Patrice didn’t hesitate to quell Terry’s anxiety with a tight squeeze around his shoulders. “Drive safe, Terry. Let me know when you get home.”

Terry brought his uninjured hand to the small of Patrice’s back and pressed her closer. “I will. Love you.” 

“Yeah. Love you, too.”

Quick bursts of electric energy passed between them before becoming the very energy to repel their bodies for good. 

Terry flashed a final smile at Patrice, putting all 32 teeth on display, then climbed into the front seat to make sense of driving without his dominant hand. The loud roar of his engine and two quick honks sent signaled his departure. Patrice chose to stand in the driveway until his was out of sight, giving Terry a mental picture to cherish forever as she grew smaller in his rear view mirror. 

He smiled when she finally seemed to go inside, unaware of the heart string spooling its way into existence.

------

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[wileys-russo]

my girl maybe :)

my girl ficlet

despite popular opinion you knew the mean girl act your girlfriend put on was merely that, an act.

that wasn't to say you excused the way alessia treated people sometimes, but you also knew the other sides of her and had the pleasure of seeing the real her behind closed doors.

maybe an act was the wrong word for her abrupt attitude and behaviour, but you knew your girlfriend had more substance to her than the foul mouthed quick tempered hothead who'd bite at the drop of a hat that everyone else perceived her to be.

more often than not you knew there was more to it, especially when her attitude worsened and it for once wasn't anything to do with you or the green eyed jealous monster which lay forever coiled in wait in her stomach.

which is why when you heard about the training long before you saw her, you knew something was off.

"how bad was it?" you winced as you asked lotte whose look told you all you needed to know, paired with the sweltering summer heat and the fact she was as red as the bib she had in her hands, training had been brutal.

on tuesdays the coaching staff held their media meetings so as captain it was alessia's job to follow along with the program she'd be given by them and run that afternoons session with her team.

it was a day that the team forever dreaded, they respected alessia immensely as a captain, a teammate and a friend, but they were also well aware of the lengths the blonde would push them to to see results and just how terrifying she could be sometimes.

but hell no one could deny that was part of the grounds why she was made captain so early on. the blondes drive to do her best and get the best out of others paired with the fact she wasn't afraid to be hated or the bad guy if it meant the team were pushed to their limits and played at their best every weekend.

again, there was a reason the junior team were back to back state champions and like or hate her, a large part of that reasoning was alessia.

"get some water yeah?" you murmured to lotte squeezing her shoulder, sending sympathetic smiles as the rest of the girls trudged their way off the field, most avoiding your eye for fear of alessia which you knew had meant she was even harsher than usual.

"hey baby." you smiled at your girlfriend who had a face like thunder, though the sharp frown softened seeing you waiting for her at the edge of the pitch. "wait there, i'll be quick." she mumbled nodding over to the bleachers, pecking your lips and walking off without another word.

normally after training you'd just wait for her to either show up to your dorm room or invite you to hers, but having received a text from lotte during their water break you'd changed and made the journey toward the field arriving just as practice finished.

you winced hearing the sounds of throwing up echoing from the change rooms followed by your girlfriends stern voice ordering a few of the girls into an ice bath which wasn't optional, wandering away to the bleachers and taking a seat.

you lost track of time as you doom scrolled your social medias, pausing to chat to a few of the girls who passed you, though most could only offer you a nod or a small smile as they limped away toward the dorms.

your girlfriend among the last to appear, having changed into shorts and a tank top she merely nodded for you to fall into step with her, silence falling between you as she walked the two of you in the direction of the dorms.

you could sense the moment she emerged that something was wrong, but not wanting to push until the two of you were safely alone you allowed her to wordlessly lead you away, hands tightly gripping the strap of her gym bag as she detoured and headed for your room instead of hers.

you frowned a little in surprise at the choice but didn't say anything, fishing out your keys from your pocket and unlocking the door as the two of you stepped inside.

her stone like facade cracked the moment your lock clicked, her bag dropping to the floor as the taller girl all but collapsed into you. "hey, hey, lets sit down babe." you murmured quietly, moving the two of you to the bed.

you moved to sit against the headboard as your girlfriend wasted no time laying down so her head rested on your stomach, your fingers threading through her hair as she clung onto you tightly and her taller form settled between your legs.

"whats wrong lessi?" you asked softly, gently scratching at her scalp as you messed about with her hair like you knew she loved. "i'm tired." was all that was mumbled, her fists balling your shirt even tighter as she pulled herself closer to you.

"just tired?" you dared to ask again, moving her hair from her face as she moved to look up at you. "everything is just...trainings, games, exams, assignments, time difference trying to speak to my family, the whispers when i walk past, the dirty looks. its exhausting!" the blonde exhaled, though this one seemed to hold an air of annoyance rather than sadness.

"you don't make it any easier for yourself when you bite peoples heads off for those little looks so quickly baby." you raised an eyebrow, further proving the point that you really were one of the only people who could call her out on her behaviour.

"shut up." the striker rolled her eyes but shuffled about so she was laid more so on top of you, burying her face in your neck. "have you tried being nice?" you teased, snaking a hand up her top and scratching gently at her back.

"i am nice." alessia huffed into your neck making you squirm a little at the sensation. "can you help me study for my biology final tomorrow please baby?" the blonde pulled her head back with a pleading look, pecking your lips repeatedly as you nodded.

"but we're studying my way." you warned her with a smile as she groaned, rolling off of you and laying on her back. "but your way is so boring." she pulled a face and pouted, making grabby hands as you slid your body down so you laid beside her.

"and your way means that no studying gets done!" you laughed, knowing her tricks all too well, relieved her bad mood had seemed to settle, as being around you always seemed to do for the striker who truly was head over heels.

"thats not true. you know i just benefit from a little extra encouragement and motivation!" the blonde pushed herself up onto her forearms so she hovered over you with a grin.

"making me take my clothes off anytime you get a question right just motivates you to do anything but study lessi." you shook your head with an amused smile.

"well yeah but i deserve a reward for all my hard work, no?" her leg hooked over your hips and suddenly her body was settling itself on top of you as her lips ghosted over yours, warm breath fanning your face.

"in fact, i think we should studying right now my pretty girl."

[yuzurujenn]

[2025.04.03] KISS & CRY -THE STAGE4 - Jeffrey Buttle Interview

— I heard that you were responsible for choreographing the Piano Collection in Echoes of Life. How did you get involved with this project?

Yuzu contacted me directly and said, "I would like you to choreograph a medley of short piano pieces." He provided me with a list of selected pieces, some of which reminded me of the Ballade No.1 I had choreographed before. He also specified certain elements he wanted to include, such as "I want to add a 4T here," but beyond that, he gave me full creative freedom. Unlike competitive programs, which come with many rules and restrictions, I was able to fully explore my creativity. Moreover, it had been a long time since he last commissioned me for a program, so I felt incredibly happy and honored.

— Did he give you any specific direction for the concept of the performance?

I heard that the theme revolves around the past, present, and future. Yuzu also explained that he wanted to express one person’s timeline through this performance.

— Was the idea of using a medley of piano pieces something Hanyu suggested?

Yes, the concept of weaving together multiple short piano pieces was his idea. When I first received the request, I asked him at which part of the show and in what way he planned to use these pieces. This was because I knew the choreography I would create wouldn’t be simple and would require a lot of physical effort, so I wanted to confirm where in the overall show this program would be placed. Of course, I was well aware of his extraordinary stamina…

— What was the choreography process like?

Since I couldn’t go to Japan, we worked together remotely via video communication. I first sent him a video of myself skating, and then Yuzu sent me back a video with much higher quality than mine (laughs). We completed the choreography through this back-and-forth exchange. Most of our communication was done through emails, along with a combination of calls and video sharing. We had worked this way a few times before, so there were no issues.

— What was the most important aspect you focused on while choreographing?

My main focus was on how to express the emotions conveyed by each piece of music. I paid particular attention to the fundamental aspect of skating—connecting steps. This is an extremely crucial element in figure skating, and working on it was a fascinating process. Since I couldn’t skate and film myself at the same time, I asked Yohnatan Elizarov, a Canadian skater who had been part of the Junior Worlds pairs team, to help demonstrate the movements. When I showed him the video Yuzu had sent back to me, he was amazed by the high quality. It was an interesting experience to let a junior champion involved in this process as well.

— Ballade No.1, which you choreographed, was also performed in the show. I saw that part! That’s not an easy piece at all, and performing it at the very end of the Piano medley is just unbelievable. I can’t even imagine the level of stamina he has…

— Hanyu continues to perform competitive-era programs you choreographed in his ice shows after his career transition. What do you think about the evolution of his performances?

It’s such an honor that he’s still performing programs I choreographed. What’s amazing about Yuzu is that he continues to evolve mentally and artistically. It’s similar to when Joni Mitchell sings her older songs. It carries a different flavor than when she was younger. Yuzu is the same. When he performs past programs, you can clearly see how much he’s evolved, both as a skater and as a person. The way he expresses subtle nuances in the music, the way he handles every note—it all keeps changing, and it’s mesmerizing to watch.

— Hanyu has been producing solo ice shows since his transition. What are your thoughts on this?

It’s unheard of for someone to perform an entire ice show solo from beginning to end, but I know Yuzu well, so I’m not too surprised. He has a unique ability to hold the audience’s attention for two and a half hours. I hope people realize how special it is to witness his performances. Honestly, I don’t think we’ll see another show like this again anytime soon. Performing for two continuous hours on ice is on a completely different level from a concert. It’s a rare talent, a gift. Usually, including myself, athletes stop training at a competitive level after retiring. But Yuzu has kept at it, and that’s why he’s capable of something like this.

— If you could freely choose, what pieces would you like to choreograph for Yuzu?

Actually, I already have a few pieces in mind. One is Alexander Scriabin’s Symphony No. 4, Poem of Ecstasy. Some pieces immediately bring to mind a skater performing them, and certain pieces make me think, "Only this skater could bring this music to life." This was a piece I came across when I was searching for my own competitive programs, but even back then, I knew I wouldn't be able to do it justice. I've kept it close to my heart ever since. Later, I thought, if it were Yuzu, he would be able to embody it perfectly. Another piece is the final movement of The Pines of Rome by Ottorino Respighi. The music builds and builds, layer upon layer, pushing toward an overwhelming climax. Without extraordinary stamina, it would be impossible to skate to this. But I believe Yuzu has that strength. If I ever get the opportunity, I would love to choreograph these pieces for him.

— Hanyu recently celebrated his 30th birthday. What does the age 30 mean for a figure skater?

Personally, turning 30 wasn’t an issue for me. It was turning 20 that scared me the most. Like gymnastics, figure skating is often seen as a sport where youth is an advantage. If you have talent, people say, Wow, they can jump so well at such a young age! and you get a lot of attention. But when I was 20, I hadn’t achieved much as a competitor yet, so I was afraid. But later I understood that every athlete develops at their own pace. Yuzu has countless achievements to be proud of, but more than that, he should take pride in how much he has contributed to the sport as a whole. He has accomplished so much, and yet, he’s still only 30. That actually amazes me.

— You became a world champion at 25, right?

Yes. Then I retired at 26. By 30, I was doing what I loved and living a very fulfilling life. I’ve always loved skating, but I never really liked competing. So being able to focus on ice shows and tours in my 30s was a truly happy time for me.

— Thank you. Lastly, do you have a message for Hanyu?

Everything Yuzu has achieved is the result of his own effort and passion. Even now, he continues to share that passion with the world, and that makes me incredibly proud of him. He could have chosen to retire and live a more relaxed life, but instead, he keeps pushing himself forward, constantly working hard, and continuing to grow. He is a true icon.

Source: https://weibo.com/6473801248/Plx2mfQ9e https://weibo.com/6473801248/PlxLTnE4T

[sywtwfs]

2024 ISU Congress: Accepted Proposals

Our website has been updated with the decisions made at the ISU Congress. For reference, the full ISU Congress Agenda with all proposals is located here.

Notable accepted proposals include:

Starting in 2024-25:

Proposal 45 - Change maximum age limits for junior pair skaters to less than 21 for women, and less than 23 for men. Change maximum age limits for junior ice dancers to less than 21 for both partners. (Current age limits in both disciplines are less than 19 for women, and less than 21 for men.) A maximum age gap of 7 years would be allowed between partners in both disciplines.

Proposal 188 - Remove the qualifying round from future World Championships. (The qualifying round had been approved at the previous ISU Congress, and would have started at the 2025 World Championships.)

Proposal 230 - Remove the order draw for free skates at ISU competitions. The starting order of the free skates will be in reverse order of the rankings after the short program.

Proposal 236 - Somersault-type jumps such as backflips would no longer be illegal moves.

Starting in 2026-27, numerous technical rule changes, including:

Proposal 234 - The Euler will no longer be a listed jump, and will have no base value.

Proposal 235 - A jump sequence can have up to 3 jumps in singles skating, but only 2 jumps in pairs skating. An Euler is allowed in the jump sequence.

Proposal 239 - Reduce the number of jumping passes in the singles free skate from 7 to 6. Replace one leveled spin in the singles free skate with a choreographic spin.

Proposal 240 - Reduce the number of jump combinations/sequences in the singles free skate from 3 to 2.

Proposal 241 - The same type of jump cannot be included more than 3 times in the singles free skate, regardless of number of revolutions.

Proposal 245 - In the pairs free skate - Replace one leveled lift with a choreographic lift (seniors only). Replace the leveled pair spin with a choreographic pair spin. Remove the choreographic sequence.

[sunnebeam]

twin flame bruise. (01)

PART 1.

pairing: jeon jeongguk x reader, jeon jungkook x reader (yes they're different people)

plot: the jeon twins have become nothing more than two strikingly similar looking guys who share a mere home address and a last name. but in their senior year of college, the estranged twins may have found one more thing they share in common – you.

warnings: jeon twins au, possible headache bc the use of jeongguk and jung kook is v confusing (but they're different people here your honor), specific warnings will be emphasized in the actual completed fic (whenever that may be)

series index. | masterlist + disclaimers.

note: normally i don't post unfinished wips (especially ones with plots that aren't completely fleshed out yet) but this au has been sitting in my drafts since amas 2021, so i thought why not post a lil snippet and just dip right after? (p.s. please manage ur expectations bc 1. i'm too lazy to write this and 2. i have no idea where i'm going with this plot)

More often than not, identical twins are actually more different than similar.

The Jeon twins are a testament to that, even going as far as to insisting they’re entire opposites instead of merely different.

Jeongguk — the older of the two by a mere seven minutes; the golden son — can’t remember the last time he and his younger brother Jung Kook — the black sheep of the family by a great margin; the problematic son — saw eye to eye. In fact, their whole lives have been a flurry of grit and determination to prove they’re not the identical twins people saw them to be; that they’re individuals, that they’re their own persons.

First it was the nicknames. Despite the differences in spelling, Jeongguk and Jung Kook sound almost exactly the same and neither twin is having that. Thus, Jeongguk became “Guk” and Jung Kook became “JK”. Anyone who calls them otherwise will earn themselves a grimace from the older twin and a scoff from the younger.

Next it was their personalities, and by extension, their forms of expression. Both twins are conventionally attractive, a commonality they can’t help but share through their genes, but each own up to the word “beautiful” in their own unique ways.

Jeongguk is the calmer of the two, the more responsible one, the reliable pillar. His stellar grades and bookish habits surprisingly go hand in hand with his eleven piercings and constant need to work out at the gym. He prefers his hair in a short, neat cut and favors studs as earrings for a generally clean look.

Jung Kook on the other hand is the more adventurous of the two, the mysterious one, the wild card. His grades are just enough to make him pass despite the fact that he rarely shows up to classes, always disappearing during periods of time and reappearing as if nothing is amiss. He prefers his long, chin-length hair slicked back so that it complements his undercut and favors hoops as well as dangling earrings for a slightly bolder look.

Despite these insistent differences, the twins still end up in the same university, in the same campus, albeit in different programs. Guk earned himself an academic scholarship into the business program their parents always pushed at, whereas JK also landed himself a scholarship through his participation in their old high school’s varsity team that allows him to pursue a sports science program.

Studying completely different majors and living in completely different parts in the huge campus, the two brothers see each other less and less with each passing year.

After their freshman year, JK stops coming home for holidays and breaks. In the middle of their sophomore year, Guk stops making excuses for his younger twin whenever their parents ask questions. By their junior year, the two brothers have become nothing more than two strikingly similar looking guys who share a mere home address and a last name.

But in their senior year, the estranged Jeon twins may have found one more thing they share in common.

Something. Someone.

You.

You’ve known JK since your first year and after that first hookup, you’ve become a regular fixture in his apartment. You fight endlessly, you make up frequently, you fuck constantly, but most of all, you care for each other deeply. Though you never really crossed the line between friends-who-fuck and something more, you know him well enough to be assured of your place in his life.

You trust him. That is, until you meet his twin.

You meet Guk in your last year of college, which opens up a whole new jar of questions. Why didn’t JK tell you about his twin brother? Didn’t he trust you? What other secrets is he hiding?

Will you just be another thing they have in common that ends up further driving the wedge between them?

He’s running out of time.

Fuck, Jung Kook knew he shouldn’t have come here. No amount of money is worth the stress of putting himself in sketchy situations. Not to mention this is the longest he’s been gone and there’s no doubt that his phone is filled to the brim with your concerned texts and voicemails.

“What did Yoongi tell you about this guy?” his partner Namjoon asks him as they’re observing their client from a distance.

“Nothing,” Jung Kook replies robotically.

“Figures.”

A tense silence falls over them. Nothing like the smug, comfortable silences they shared in previous gigs. This one is more fragile, more different. Just like how this client seems more different, more dangerous.

“You still wanna go through with this, JK?” Namjoon still thinks to ask even though he already knows the answer.

The logical decision would be for Jung Kook to say no, to not risk their safety for the sake of measly profits that they only get a portion of, to walk away and forget all about the sketchy looking client. But Jung Kook has never been exactly logical.

Your face flashes through his mind, your smile, your laugh, the way you felt in his arms, the sincerity in your voice when you said three peculiar words to him, the tears you cried when he shut you out weeks ago.

Even in this tense situation, you’re all he thinks of. You’re it for him and that’s exactly why he needs to make this gig. He needs the money. He needs you.

So instead, Jung Kook replies with, “yes,” and takes a step forward.

All he needs to do is take a step forward.

The front door is already open and he can already see the inside of the apartment, but for some reason Jeongguk can’t move. Maybe he’s afraid of what he might find. Or more specifically, what he might not find.

It’s been a week since he heard around campus that his twin brother has gone AWOL, and this time around doesn’t seem like one of his usual two-to-three-day disappearances. Normally Jeongguk wouldn’t meddle. After all, it’s been several months (or was it years?) since he last physically saw and talked to his own twin. But something is tugging at him this time. Something tells him this time is different.

He sighs. Then takes a step forward.

JK’s apartment looks exactly like how he remembers it, save for a few minor changes. Nothing seems to be amiss. Nothing indicates distress or disturbance, but almost everything indicates a voluntary exit. He pinches the bridge of his nose. He’s heard all the rumors about what exactly his twin does in his spare time. He once tried confronting him about it but was met with an enraged cry of, “mind your own business!” When he asked again on a particularly calm day when they were both civil with each other, the latter merely whispered a shaky, “nothing too dangerous, I swear.”

Guk paces around the modest apartment, running his hands through his hair in agitation. It’s obvious what he has to do but how exactly does he start looking for his younger brother who’s been gone for nearly three weeks? He doesn’t know where to begin, where to sit down and think. He doesn’t even know if this apartment is the right starting point.

A knock on the door. Then another one. Then a series of hard knocks followed by frantic shouting.

“I know you’re in there, asshole!”

Jeongguk lurches out of his seat and fumbles with the locks on the door. He doesn’t know if the shouting was directed at him, that whoever is outside was talking about him, or at his absent brother. The yelling continues with a mix of “open up!” and “I hate you! I hate you!” before he finally manages to open the door and is greeted with the sight of an angry, tear-stained face.

You’re panting, looking at him as if he’s the bane of your existence but that’s impossible because he’s sure he’s never met you before.

“You asshole!” you screech at him as you step forward and land punches on his chest, not noticing how it’s slightly bigger and sturdier than you’re used to. “You act all cold to me out of the blue! Disappear for three weeks, ignore my calls and texts! Then you come back and not tell me? I hate you, JK, I hate you!”

Jeongguk is bewildered and if he isn’t so distracted by your hands on his chest and your pretty eyes trained on him, he would’ve noticed how your entire body relaxed in his hold and your lips formed a pout.

“Fuck it,” you whisper.

Then you kiss him.

He’s kissing you back.

You deepen the kiss, and it’s like the past three weeks of worrying never happened. The kiss is as explosive as usual, both of you so into it with passion and eagerness, and you’re just grateful he’s back. He’s safe and in your arms again. Your tongue darts out to trace his lower lips and you hear him moan appreciatively before your wet muscle feels something different. Something metal.

You pull back all of a sudden. His eyes are still closed as he tries to chase your lips but you push his chest back with narrowed eyes. He opens his eyes in a daze.

“You got a lip piercing?” Your squinted eyes land on his right eyebrow. “And another on your eyebrow?” Your eyes trace the six studs that form an aesthetically straight line on his right ear. “You look different. You cut your hair. And your arm… those tattoos…” you trail off when you spot a full sleeve tattoo on his right arm instead of the few inked doodles you remember. “JK, what’s going on?”

The name which you call him snaps Guk out of his kiss-induced haze and he finally, finally, takes a good look at you. You’re beautiful. Wait, that’s probably an understatement. You’re the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen — from your swollen lips to your arched eyebrow to your sweet, confused face.

“Who are you?” he asks. Something he should’ve done before he welcomed your lips on his.

You growl adorably in irritation and he almost kisses you again before you spit back a retort. “I’m not playing around. Be serious for once, JK.”

“That’s the thing,” he says slowly as he steps back and looks at you cautiously. “I’m not exactly JK… I’m his twin brother—“

“I told you to stop messing with me!”

“I’m not! I’m not, I swear!” He holds his hands up in surrender when you look at him threateningly. “I’m his twin brother, Jeongguk, but I mostly go by Guk. I’m sorry my brother never told you about me but I’m sure he has his reasons.”

Your eyes narrow even further. “What are you implying? If you’re saying he— Are you saying he doesn’t trust me?”

“That’s not what I meant. Look, I’m sorry, I don’t know any more than you do but I promise you I’m telling the truth.” He grips his hair in frustration and resumes his earlier pacing.

You eye him cautiously when he finally takes a seat on the couch. You observe how he looks eerily similar to JK, if not the exact same — from his doe eyes to his luscious hair to his full, rosy lips — yet he harbors his own unique features that separate him from your missing lover. Your chest aches when you remember those same pouty lips spouting hurtful words at you weeks ago and shutting you out.

“So you’re really…” you start cautiously, “…JK’s twin brother?”

“I am,” he answers promptly and you vaguely hear him add a hushed, “unfortunately.”

JK has always been secretive with you but hiding the fact that he has a twin brother is like a slap to your face. How could he have kept something this big from you? How could he, when you have always been unapologetically open with him?

“Why didn’t he ever tell me?” you whisper, your voice cracking in the end.

Jeongguk sighs. “I don’t know.”

You’re both quiet when you sit on the couch a few inches away from him. You both stare at nothing on the floor, with you trying to grasp the fact that JK never told you about his identical twin and with Guk trying to comprehend the truth that his twin brother never told him about you.

“Jeongguk… I mean, Guk?” you whisper. “Do you know where he is?”

He answers after a minute. “I don’t.”

Another minute. “Is he in danger?”

Half a minute, then Jeongguk turns to you with soft voice. “I hope not.”

COPYRIGHT 2023. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

[liamrrys]

vfv!ballet&theatre au headcanons !! pt. 1 — Conservatoire Dramatique du Château de Versailles. (CDCV)

the cdcv is a prestigious dramatic arts program that specialises in theatre and ballet — the first and only one of its kind. the training is rigorous and state of the art. the program is competitive. many students specialise into either the theatre or ballet, but there are a select few who are accepted into both programs.

louis dieudonné is one of cdcv's stars. he's a principal performer in both the theatre and ballet streams. his scene partner is a coveted role— one mostly held by maria–theresa.

maria–theresa is another one of cdcv's principal artists who are enrolled in both programs. when paired together, the two are a force to be reckoned with. technically perfect — a well oiled machine, though through the trained eye, their on-stage connection leaves something to be desired.

an exchange student from spain, maria–theresa is not too familiar with french, and typically doesn't have many friends in the program.

renèe manon de noailles is a wildcard. having received formal ballet training as a young girl in russia, renèe was on a path to success. this path was short-lived, when financial ruins had hit her family – her tuition being redirected to pay for her mother's health.

despite this and having moved back to france, renèe continued to dance and train as much as she could. her family had managed enough funds to send her to a small ballet studio where she would attend classes after school.

alexandre bontemps was a promising cdcv alumni— up until a great injury that left him unable to dance at the professional level. a devastating blow to his career, he now spends his time working as one of cdcv's creative directors and coaches. he's got a sharp eye for talent.

philippe dieudonné is the younger brother of louis. philippe is two years his junior and tries to stray away from him — always being caught in the shadows of his spotlight. he is strictly part of the ballet program. he's one of the principal artist, but not as decorated as louis.

where his brother almost perfectly technical, and more powerful in his movements, there is an effortless beauty and grace in philippe's movement. his artistry is refined — something that cannot be taught and is a sight to behold. an actor in his own right.

philippe had been trained in acting before his acceptance into the academy, the same as louis, but found that he had a penchant (which he keeps hidden) for writing and screenplay.

[macaroni-rascal]

Skate Canada Day 1!

Pairs short program:

A pairs event with not a single actually fall???? Did I dream it??????

The Polish team Chtchetinina/Wozniak turned the party, the crowd loved them, and they really started the energy train that did not stop the entire event, they were magnetic and I loved them!

Laurin/Ethier looked tight from the warm up and you could tell they were just going to be off in their performance, which is a shame, that death spiral wobble was a bummer

Hocke/Kunkle kept that short program, and they seem to like skating it, which is good for them, I was a bit bored.

My queen Deanna Stellato-Dudek is perfect and can do no wrong amen amen amen

Women's short program:

ALYSA LIU! MY GIRL! What a lovely program, and skated with such feeling. Her skating first and leading for so long gave me Tessa and Scott at 2017 Worlds vibes. Iconic of her tbh

Kaiya had a nice program, but she's still skating like a junior to me, and her combo looked under from where I was sitting, and her score reflects that

I zoned out of Sara-Maude's, Yelim Kim's, and Elyce Lin-Gracey's programs, all of them were snore fests that I could not pay attention to.

Kimmy Repond created such a moment, the crowd felt like it wasn't breathing, it was so cool.

So glad Maddie got that skate, she has areas that can be polished, but this was awesome for her! She's in with a small chance for a medal if she skates well

Moment of silence of Kurakova, that was rough

Hana Yoshida's program is so sick, loved it.

KAORI! I cannot believe this is the second time I get to see her live, what a gift! Her speed and attack is unmatched. Loved her.

General thoughts:

Truly took me half way through the pairs to realize that giant ass moose is because our hockey team is the Halifax Mooseheads. So....that's an oops.

Grand Prix's are 10000 times better that Worlds. Worlds is too long, too much, too everything. I was in and out and 3 hours, and that's how I like it.

Had some fun convos with two old ladies sitting behind me, they were super awesome, shoutout to Edna and Simone.

Excited for tomorrow!

[beoljibentertainment]

Nara and Hangeng cooking time

Pairings: Nara (OC) x Hangeng (platonic), Nara (OC) x Kyuhyun

Warnings: none

w.c:  1,4k

English isn't my first language, so it'll probably have some mistakes — I'm also trying to use quotation marks, but in Brasil we usually write dialogues with dashes, that's why it'll probably look so off

please interact with me, I'm dying to know what you guys think about her/the story/everything!!! I want to know your thoughts and asks and what more you want to see 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

Hangeng wouldn't let Nara near the stove nor the knives. They were making Beijing rice with roasted pork, and he didn't want her to burn anything, or set the kitchen on fire, or cut her finger and bleed on the meat. He just wanted to cook, and she was basically a kid that needed to be who had to be supervised, so they settled that she would sit on the bench while he cooked, without touching anything, just chatting to pass the time.

But she couldn't. She was incapable of staying seated and began to wander around. She wanted to hug him – as if she didn't just hug him before he started to cook – but knew he could burn himself if she wasn't prepared for the hug. His eyes followed her on her short walk through the kitchen. 

“What are you doing?” he asked, his eyes divided between stirring the spoon and making sure she wasn't going to set the dormitory on fire. 

“I missed you guys so much,” she said, a smile on her face. Hangeng furrowed his eyebrows. Was this a prank or was she being truthful? Nara let out a sigh and leaned on the cupboard, her little fingers playing with the hem of her shirt. “I wanted to be on Super Junior-M and promote in China. You always talk so much about there…” her lips pouted slyly, before she continued, "but that piece of crap children's program stopped me”. 

He did miss her too. Nara really was the little sister he never had. “You know you'd have to work, right?” he said, with a laugh in the back of his throat. 

She tilted her head, biting the inside of her mouth, pondering about this. Yes, she complained about training, recording, having to do everything and never being recognized… Somehow, she was getting exhausted from her life as an idol. But she only cared about this when she was alone. “I like working so much when I'm around you”, she answered. 

“You're going to miss me?” he questioned. There was something off about this question, but Nara couldn't understand what it was. 

Her eyebrows furrowed and she crossed her arms. “Again?” she said, before thinking about what Hangeng was saying. Maybe he had another schedule in China or a photoshoot – before his departure, he was one of the most famous Super Junior members, he was always busy. She didn't know what was going to happen… not yet. 

She began to wander around again, tracing her fingertips through the furniture, opening the lids of the jars to see what was in them and, then, she stopped beside him. They took a couple of seconds just looking at his cooking, the smell was amazing, before she muttered something along the lines of “Can I tell you something? Private? You promise not to tell Heechul?”

Hangeng laughed, saying “of course”. Her insistence on not telling one of her best friends was comical. He really was the devil, wasn't he? Nara knew that, if she told him that, he would totally joke about it in front of all the members and make her life hell. 

Nara didn't usually keep her voice down or look away, she thrived through eye contact and gesticulation. She was direct, at times even awkward, but never uncertain. She whispered “I've been thinking a lot about Kyuhyun lately…” with a pitch of unsureness in her tone. 

It seemed so out of character. Hangeng waited two seconds, thinking about what she meant by this – you normally continue talking about what worries you and why you're thinking about the person, right? He realized she wasn't going to continue talking (as if he already knew what she meant), just letting a “huh, what do you mean?” scatter, while stirring the spoon to spread the pork seasoning.

Then, he stopped. This was definitely out of character, but, at the same time, Nara never showed any real interest in romantic relationships (well, not to others anyway). Was she trying to say she was interested in Kyuhyun? Really interested? Hangeng furrowed his eyebrows and blinked a couple of times, before turning his head in her direction and yelling “NO”, totally in disbelief. 

She nodded her head, biting the inside of her mouth and shrugged. Her breathing caught in her throat. “I don't know… ever since he came back from China, all I can think about is him. I wake up thinking about when we're going to meet, and I stare at him all day, then when he looks at me I look away like a fool. I don't act like that, it's just… weird” she said and, again, looked away. 

Nara didn't even understand what was happening to herself. She didn't know how to act, what to say or how to show she was interested, when did her interest flowed from being friends to romantic interest? “I want to hold his hand and hug him, but I want it to mean something, not to be something like I do with the boys… I don't know, I think about him and I just smile” she said, with a blush on her face, still not looking at Hangeng. 

There was no one prettier than him, and he was always there for her. They were a match, and she couldn't stay away from him, like magnets… she just didn't know how to say something. When she watched their chinese variety shows promoting Super Junior-M, her eyes would always be in him – even with her proudness of Hangeng, or her fan-like relationship with Zhoumi. She missed Kyuhyun the most. She wanted him there, with her. 

She never knew how to act when she was having a crush. And, after the fiasco that was when she tried to persue her last crush the year before, she didn't want it to go bad again.

Seeing her struggling in her own thoughts, Hangeng dropped the spoon and put a hand on her shoulder, stroking his thumb on her skin. He smiled, trying to break the uncomfortable atmosphere and joked “I expected you to say that you liked anyone but him”. 

She smiled too, “even Heechul?”

“Ok, definitely not Heechul” he said, and she laughed. Better than before, this moment had soothed her heart a little. She knew she could always talk to Hangeng about anything, but saying she was liking someone out loud, a member of the group, was really frightening. 

At least the jokes with Kibum would stop – or so she thought. 

After everyone was back from their schedules, had dinner and showered, they locked themselves in their respective rooms, ready for a full night of sleep without interference – something that happens once a month. Except for the two of them. Nara and Kyuhyun stayed in the living room, watching a movie. He was tired and, if he lay down on his bed for two minutes, he would sleep for 20 hours straight, but he would never deny spending more time with her. 

Maybe it was the anxiety they both shared that was keeping each of them awake. They would control their breaths and look at each other slightly through their peripheral vision, pretending to watch the movie continuously. A joke would pop up from time to time, but that damn distance was still there, in the middle of the sofa. 

Hangeng left his room just for a moment, just to drink some water, but it was at exactly this moment that he could see Kyuhyun poking Nara's ribs with his foot, a silly smile on his face, and suddenly she was laughing too, trying to defend herself. Then, she tried to counter-attack, throwing herself to the side of the sofa where Kyuhyun was, to poke his ribs with her fingertips. 

It was a mess. Just the two of them laughing like kids, trying to poke each other and defend themselves, bringing the other to their embrace… till their eyes were connected and the fool's smile was now just shy. They were shy. Swallowing dry, but didn't want to get out of that position. 

So they just stayed still, now cuddling on the couch, trying hard to act as if it was normal. Their attention was back on the movie, or at least they pretended it was, and Hangeng knew it was only a matter of time for them to date.

𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑓𝑖𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑎𝑙 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑦 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑚𝑎𝑑𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑜𝑙𝑒 𝑝𝑢𝑟𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑡𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑏𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑎𝑠 𝑠𝑢𝑐ℎ.ᐟ 𝐼 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝟶 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑜𝑓 𝑜𝑓 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑑 — 𝐼 𝑎𝑙𝑠𝑜 𝑑𝑜 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑐𝑙𝑎𝑖𝑚 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑟𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑖𝑡 𝑖𝑛 𝑎𝑛𝑦 𝑐𝑖𝑟𝑐𝑢𝑛𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑠, 𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑙𝑢𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑜𝑛𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑦.

𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑖𝑠 𝑚𝑎𝑑𝑒 𝑏𝑦 𝑎 𝑓𝑎𝑛 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑎𝑛𝑠, 𝑛𝑜 ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑚 𝑖��𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑑 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚 𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑝𝑎𝑛𝑦.

[humanitys-strongest-bamf]

"get me a damned matcha" | Chapter 5: October I

{{ Chapter 4: September | Chapter 6: November I }} Chapter Directory

levi's stupidly observant for someone who pretends to be aloof all the time, js

if you're interested in getting tagged for updates, fill out this form here!

✧ pairing ➼ levi ackerman x fem!reader, college x coffee shop x roommates!au ✧ summary ➼ After you find yourself plagued with misfortune due to struggles in your personal and family life, you find yourself needing to move last minute. As a junior in undergrad with little money and little social support, you considered yourself lucky when you found a sublease that was close to campus and was relatively cheap. Unfortunately, it seemed that your roommate did not seem to be so excited regarding your presence. ✧ content/warnings ➼ fluff, slowburn, enemies to lovers (sorta), strangers to lovers, fem!reader, descriptions of reader being superficial (ITS PART OF THE BACKSTORY ILL EXPLAIN LATER ITS FINE), jean and eren being comedically competitive, the ex-boyfriend that was supposed to be porco that i renamed to zack, floche being gross, explicit descriptions of grief, substances/alcohol, college-typical parties ✧ word count ➼ ~4.8k

"Did you have to plan this on the day of the Rumbling?" 

You shot an intentionally offensive side-eye towards Oluo. The two of you, plus the rest of the officers for your Honors Society, currently found yourselves at an arcade that was about a 10-15 minute walk from campus. It was the weekend after midterms, so you figured that it was the perfect time to host your first official social event.

However, your generally clueless vice president and social committee chair decided to conveniently book the event on the one night in which another major event that you were all planning on attending was occurring. You had initially said you would handle the booking and were pleasantly surprised when Oluo had offered to do it instead, only to be horrifically disappointed once you found out the date he chose.

This was why you never bothered asking the other officers to do anything—it always ended up like this. It was chaotic, disorganized, inconvenient, or all of the above.

The Rumbling was a rave at a nearby club on the outskirts of campus. They hosted a Halloween party every year, but had an age restriction of being 21-years old due to the open bar, which meant that this was the first year that you could attend without doing something shady to get a fake ID of some sort. 

Literally all of the other officers were planning on going together, so you were more than pissed that Oluo had planned your social on this day. Not only did it disrupt your plans, but it also might give the freshmen a bad first impression. It wasn't much of a social support community if you were cutting them short and leaving them on their own at their very first formal event. 

"I forgot!" Oluo exclaimed in defense, which earned an eye roll from you. 

You looked over towards the entrance as you heard the door open and saw a few other students walk in. They weren't at your general meeting last month, so you didn't recognize them, except for one.

You smiled and waved at Marlo. You had never talked to him, but you've seen him behind the counter at the café before.

"Oh hey!" you said with a smile as Marlo walked up to you. "You're the freshman that works at Levi's café, right?"

"Sophomore," Marlo said awkwardly as he shuffled. "Just started, but yeah!" 

After chatting a bit, it turns out that you and Marlo were both in an individualized track related to writing, although you were focused more on creative writing whereas he was focused more on grant-writing for criminal justice organizations. It was the same program, but completely different tracks. 

Everyone had formed into their own little circles. Most had gathered around the dining table to chat while devouring the pizza you had ordered.

You looked up as you noticed a particularly rowdy group on the other side of the arcade.

It seemed that Eren and Jean were bickering with each other in front of a Dance Dance Revolution game, nearly having a yelling match over who was better at the game, while Mikasa was playing, clearly outscoring the both of them combined. 

You were nervously checking the time periodically, wanting to end the event as late as possible without having to rush to get to the Rumbling later. After about an hour and a half, you began wrapping up, motioning for everyone to clean up before heading back to campus as a group.

Although the event had ended early, you were able to tell that the freshmen had a good time with how chatty they were on the way back to campus. 

While that was good news, you still found yourself being restless, walking at a slightly faster pace than everyone and forcing yourself to slow down and wait occasionally. You were more than overstimulated by the time you finally dropped everyone off at the main hub on campus for them to each head to their individual dorms.

You watched them intensely as they all went into the building. By the time the door had shut, you were long gone, leaving the other officers confused. 

They were supposed to accompany you to the party, but you found yourself much more stressed than they were, which resulted in you making a beeline for your apartment.

By the time you had arrived, you were out of breath and running purely on adrenaline. You entered through the front door and immediately ran for your room, without even taking a moment to notice if your aloof roommate was at home. 

You frantically opened the door to your closet, your eyes scanning through all of your clothes.

It was silly, but the reason you were so stressed was because you weren't sure of what to wear to the Rumbling. It was a high-key Halloween party, so you felt obligated to wear a costume. There was nothing about a dress code and a good amount of people went in casual clothes, but you still felt the need to wear something that was obviously a Halloween costume. 

Your eyes immediately fell onto a party dress that you had bought a few weeks ago that you had planned to be your default get-up whenever you went out. However, it'd be boring to wear such a plain thing to a Halloween party—and you definitely didn't want to seem boring.

After a few minutes of digging through your closet, you tensed as your eyes fell on a maid costume you had bought as a joke freshman year. You never intended to wear it as an actual costume—even now, a part of you resisted against it, wondering if you could find something else to wear. 

You tapped your finger on the closet door, desperately trying to think of anything else to wear.

After a few minutes, you realized that you couldn't afford the time needed to labor over this decision. You immediately grabbed the maid outfit, groaning in exasperation.

~~~~~

The club was more than filled by the time that you arrived. Both you and Petra stepped inside after showing the bouncer your ID's. The music was stupidly loud, there was a DJ cheering everyone on at the very back, and fake smoke littered the air. A mix of students and locals were dancing on the dance floor, with some choosing to hang out around the local bar.

This wasn't your first party. You've definitely drank and partied before, but being 21 meant that you could officially drink now. It had a different feel to it. Some of the thrill that you used to get from illegally drinking had faded, but you felt that you were now able to enjoy it properly.

A few minutes passed before you noticed Oluo and Gunther also step in, with a tall gentlemen quickly following. You had never met him, but Gunther mentioned that he was friends with Eld and that he was bringing him along to catch up. 

"You got changed fast!" Oluo said immediately, eyeing your maid costume.

You immediately punched his shoulder, feeling more than a little embarrassed that his first comment to you was related to your last-minute costume that you were already reluctant to wear.

"You think we'll see anyone we know?" Petra asked as she looked around.

"Probably," you said, walking past Oluo who was now rubbing his shoulder in pain. "It's a pretty big party."

The first half of the night was a blur for you. You remembered doing some shots while getting to know Eld, never mingling too far into the dance floor. The mosh pit-style get-up was just never your thing.

You were feeling a gentle buzz at this point and the sensation allowed you to let loose for a little while and forget all the bullshit you had to otherwise deal with.

However, that didn't last very long.

You felt your entire body freeze up with anxiety as your eyes fell onto your ex-boyfriend's figure on the dance floor.

Your relationship with Zack was not the best one. It wasn't anywhere near healthy, and the last time you saw him, you were having a yelling match and he kicked you out, which was what prompted your whole housing situation. 

You saw him begin to turn in your direction and you immediately hid behind Eld's tall figure, thankful that you had noticed in time so that he didn't see you. 

"What's up with you?" Eld asked, noticing your sudden change in behavior.

"N-Nothing!" you replied nervously, forcing a smile. "I'm going to grab a drink!" 

You kept your head low as you quickly headed towards the bar, which was on the opposite side of the venue, immediately finding the most tucked-in corner seat that you could find and plopping down onto the barstool while burying your face in your hands.

After you took a few minutes to catch your breath, you gestured over to the bartender for a shot. Suddenly seeing Zack had sobered you up more than you would have liked it to and you definitely needed the numbing effect of more alcohol to forget his presence, although your night was already somewhat ruined.

Just what I needed. On the one night I decide to let myself let loose after the shitshow that was the first half of the semester and he's here.

You frowned as you glanced back towards the dance floor.

He can come out to a rave in the middle of the night, yet he couldn't find the time to drop off my shit?

You weren't surprised, but it still pissed you off.

Your view of the dance floor was immediately obscured as someone decided to sit next to you—a bit too close for comfort.

He was a scrawny dude roughly your age, with a cocky face and a questionable haircut that somewhat looked like a bird's nest. You couldn't tell if the haircut was purposeful or not. It looked ridiculous either way. 

You've seen him around campus. He was a sophomore majoring in business, so you never had the chance—or desire—to interact with him. 

"Name's Floche," he said with a tone of confidence that didn't really match his appearance. "Can I buy you a drink?"

You scoffed at him.

"Are you even old enough to be drinking?"

"I can be," he said with a shrug.

You grimaced for a split second at his answer, although it was barely noticeable—and especially not noticeable to someone like Floche. You quickly changed your expression to one of a forced smile.

"I'm okay, thanks! Already took a bunch of shots."

"Oh c'mon, let me treat you!" he responded, scooting a bit closer. "You're too pretty to be here alone, so let me keep you company." 

Part of you had hoped when he sat down that he was just being friendly, but now you could no longer deny that he was being aggressively flirtatious. Normally, you wouldn't mind the random comments you'd get at parties. They were usually non-consequential, other than making you uncomfortable in the moment. 

However, with your elevated anxiety due to suddenly seeing Zack, you really didn't have the emotional capacity to handle something like this at the moment. Any intention of humoring Floche with his cheesy and flirtatious commentary was nowhere to be found.

"Who said I'm alone?" 

He needed to go away. 

Instead, he scooted even closer to the point that you were starting to feel cramped as you scooted back towards the wall, cursing at yourself for choosing to sit in the corner.

"Well, you're over here on your own, without looking around for anyone you know."

He was getting way too close.

"Just let me buy you a drink! I promise you won't regret it."

"Mmm, I said no thanks," you responded sternly.

Floche responded by gesturing to the bartender.

You were not in the mood for this. You were beginning to get more than pissed, to the point that your people-pleaser façade began rapidly diminishing. You couldn't get yourself to continue masking.

You scowled at him.

"Dude, are you allergic to the word 'no'?"

"Don't worry," he said with a smirk. "I like it when you play hard-to-get!"

That did it. In that exact moment, you no longer gave a single shit about what others thought of you.

"What the fuck, I'm not-"

"Oi, fuck off, you lanky parasite."

You heard a familiar voice that brought you a heavy sense of relief—in contrast to how irritated it usually made you feel.

Floche looked over and made eye contact with Levi. He was about half a foot taller than your roommate, but Levi was much more intimidating than he was.

"What, are you her boyfriend or something?"

"Fuck no," you both responded at once. 

You felt the corner of your lips tugging up subtly into a smirk in response to your simultaneous answer. At least you were on the same wavelength with Levi on something—a feat you never thought you'd achieve.

"See? I wasn't here alone?" you motioned towards Levi, hoping that this would be enough to get Floche to go away.

"So fuck off," Levi scolded, not giving Floche to make the decision himself. "Don't make me say it again."

After Floche finally left, Levi sat on the stool next to you. You glanced at him and noticed he wasn't in a costume of any sort, simply wearing a t-shirt and jeans. He couldn't possibly look any more plain.

"Fucking undergrads," he grumbled.

"What's with you and hating undergrads?"

You'd lost count of how many antagonistic comments he had made towards undergraduate students at this point. 

"It seems I can't get rid of you even when I'm not at the café or apartment," he said, dodging the question. "How annoying."

You pursed your lips, giving him an unamused expression.

"You're the one that chose to sit next to me. You could be anywhere in this giant ass theater."

"That douche was harassing you," he said in a matter-of-fact tone, as if he was astonished that you were even questioning him. "And there's too many fucking people in here."

He paused, his gaze moving from your eyes down to the rest of your body, finally noticing your outfit. 

"Kinda ironic that you're in a maid costume when you're shit at cleaning at home."

You groaned and rolled your eyes. While you were embarrassed when Oluo commented on it, you felt your head ache in response to Levi's comment. 

"I'm going to need at least three more shots if I'm going to be forced to talk to you," you grumbled as you gestured the bartender over. 

You immediately downed the shot when you received it, grimacing a bit at the feeling of the alcohol traveling down your throat. 

Your eyes went back into the crowd, scanning the crowded theater nervously. You were well hidden, but the fact that Zack was here still threw you off. This did not go unnoticed.

"What the hell are you doing here if you're truly not alone?" Levi asked, raising an eyebrow at you. "Doesn't seem like you to just be drinking in the corner."

"Don't act like you know shit about me or why I'm here," you immediately responded, barely giving him a chance to finish his sentence.

You realized that you responded much more defensively and sternly than you had intended. His question had struck a nerve and your anxiety plus the alcohol made it harder to regulate around him. 

You took another shot as he looked at you in his usual unamused fashion, but didn't inquire further.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, deflecting from his question. "This is the last place I thought I'd see you at."

"'Don't act like you know shit about me'," he muttered, repeating your phrase word-for-word, earning a scowl and a groan of frustration from you.

You told yourself it was the lighting or the alcohol playing tricks on you, but swore you saw an ever-so-subtle smirk appear on his face that was gone within the second.

Levi glanced into the crowd and motioned over towards the opposite corner of the bar. You looked over and saw two people conversing. You vaguely recognized Hange, who was rapidly chatting away with a tall blonde gentleman that you had never seen before.

"Friend's in town," Levi mentioned. "He's actually the roommate you replaced."

You glanced at Miche again. Although the two of you were in contact to get the sublease set up, you had never physically seen him before.

"I'm kinda pissed at him for moving out because now I have you to deal with," Levi grumbled.

You stuck your tongue out at Levi, which earned you a grimace in response from Levi. 

His eyebrows immediately scrunched together as he saw your eyes slightly widen before your entire body tensed up again. 

Your eyes followed Zack's figure as he walked by again. Once you were able to confirm that he hadn't noticed your presence, you finally let out a breath that you weren't aware you were holding in.

Your anxiety was acting up again and you felt like you couldn't stand being in that theater any longer. It was as if you were suffocating on the spot. 

"I'm getting out of here," you mumbled as you took the third shot, immediately getting up.

"On your own?" Levi asked, turning in your direction as you began to walk off. "You're not seriously thinking of driving, are you?"

You stopped in your tracks and scoffed at him. 

"Of course not. I'm walking, dumbass."

"It's a 45-minute walk at least, dumbass."

"Well, I have plenty of time," you retorted as you began to walk away again.

"Tch. I'll just drive you, you stubborn brat," Levi said in exasperation as he dug his keys out of his pocket.

He glanced up as you gave him a skeptical look, questioning his ability to drive.

"I'm sober contact anyway. Just let me grab Hange and Miche."

He got up and walked past you to summon the two of them over, indicating that he was leaving.

"Any excuse to leave this place."

~~~~~

You felt like you could finally breathe again once you got home. Not only were you able to dull down the anxiety that had been itching at you ever since you saw Zack at the party, but you were also able to finally take off that incredibly uncomfortable maid costume, regretting ever putting it on in the first place. You immediately changed into sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, which was the complete opposite of the costume you had been wearing earlier in the night. 

By the time you came out of your room, Levi noticed that you had looked much more relaxed than usual. It was that stark contrast that he noticed every day. The person he knew at home versus the person you presented yourself as in public were two very different people. 

Despite both Hange and Miche hanging out at the apartment, you were more than fine being in your casual home clothes. It was likely due to the alcohol and heightened anxiety from the party making you exhausted enough to just not be bothered to give a shit once you actually got home.

You typed a quick text message to Petra letting her know that you got home safe before tossing your phone onto the couch and sitting down on the floor on the opposite side of the coffee table in your living room. You didn't want to think about that party for the rest of the night.

The company helped keep you distracted. Miche sat on the couch while you, Levi, and Hange surrounded the coffee table. You were sipping on a beer as you chatted with Miche about having Levi as a roommate.

"Was he as annoying when he was living with you?"

A smug grin appeared on your face as you noticed Levi scowling at you.

"He had his quirks for sure," Miche responded with a shrug. 

"So he's just a dick. Got it."

Levi's scowl grew more intense as he glared daggers into your skull.

"A dick that cares," Hange chimed in.

The scowl on Levi's face turned into an unamused frown as he looked over at Hange, wondering exactly what was going on through their head at all hours of the day to prompt them to say such things.

"Ha," you forced a dry chuckle as you sipped on your beer some more. "What an oxymoron."

The four of you spent the next 45 minutes or so just chatting. Miche and Levi were catching up. Hange was asking you about your studies. Hange and Miche bonded over what it felt like to be free from the constraints of University. 

You and Levi avoided talking directly to each other, but this wasn't new—and from the lack of surprised looks from Miche or Hange, this wasn't news to them either. He had talked to them about you.

All horrible things, I bet.

A frown appeared on your face as you began to ruminate over what it was that Levi could have been saying about you behind your back. You couldn't stand him and couldn't really care less what he thought of you, but the possibility of him spouting that nonsense to others made your stomach churn.

"So what made you need the sudden move?" Miche asked, pulling you out of your head. "I had basically given up on finding a sublease when you showed up."

You looked up towards the ceiling, trying to figure out the best way to describe your situation in a way that wouldn't upset you or require further explanation that you weren't prepared to give.

"...Shitty ex kicked me out."

The look on Levi's face went from an intense scowl to a subtle frown as you spoke. He was more than prepared to spit out a snarky response at whatever excuse you came up with to justify upending his life, but he found himself staying quiet once you started talking. He hadn't bothered to ask (or care) about your housing situation prior to living with him, so he didn't know any of this either.

"Didn't really have anywhere to go."

As long as you left it at that, you could continue this conversation without getting too upset and be able to ride out the rest of the night.

"No family?" Hange asked.

It was an innocent and normal question. Most people would first go to their parents—or whoever took care of them growing up—for refuge in those situations, and especially for undergraduate students, who could just wait until August for leases to start renewing.

You fell silent. An unreadable expression appeared on your face and in your eyes as you lowered your gaze to the ground. You were emotionally exhausted and still buzzed from the alcohol. Masking was out of the question. 

"Sorry," Hange spoke after a few seconds, knowing that they had brought up a sore topic. 

The atmosphere was thick with tension and you felt yourself grow increasingly tense. You felt like everyone's eyes were on you, even if they physically weren't.

Family—who would you consider family? There wasn't anyone real that came to mind, other than your aunt, who was likely the least supportive person on the planet.

"Shitty aunt that was out of the country. That's about it," you said shortly, clearly indicating that you didn't want to continue the topic.

It was already too late. The conversation had already brought up all the grief you had buried deep within you. You felt like saying a single word more about it would make your whole personality come crumbling down into a sobbing mess.

"I'm getting another drink," you mumbled.

You were too enclosed within your own mind to notice, but Levi's gaze had been focused on you ever since he saw your reaction to Hange's question. He saw the way that you tensed and emotionally withdrew. He could tell that it was a painful topic to talk about—and likely, fresh. Your pain was either fresh or repressed to the point of agony.

He wasn't a stranger to that pain.

He subtly watched you as you stood up and made your way into the kitchen to pour yourself another drink, your expression remaining stagnant—but Levi could tell by the way you moved or even the slight way that you scrunched your eyes that you were deeply disturbed by the conversation.

For the first time since he first set eyes on you, he saw you as someone other than just a spoiled brat.

Maybe he was wrong about you.

~~~~~

Your head was pounding. You couldn't tell if it's from the hangover or the lack of sleep—and you couldn't tell if the lack of sleep was from the alcohol, the mention of your parents, or both. You had been chugging water ever since you woke up, but it was doing little to help.

You squinted and groaned in pain as you arrived at your obnoxiously bright classroom. Holding your hand up to your forehead to shield your eyes from the assault of the bright lights, you slowly made your way over to the table that Oluo and Petra sat at, immediately burying your face into your arms once you finally got to sit down.

"Rough night?" Petra asked.

"You could say that," you responded quietly, your voice muffled as you continued to hide between your arms.

Just being upset was one thing. Just being drunk was one thing—you never could sleep well after drinking, anyway—but Hange's question brought up bad memories. Those memories frequently translated into nightmares. You couldn't sleep no matter how hard you tried.

You couldn't get your parents' death out of your head.

Ever since their passing, it was literally just you and your aunt. She became your main source of support, but you couldn't realistically count it as support. Although you were hesitant to admit it, you knew that she was a pretty shitty person, and generally drained you more than she was able to help you.

You were well aware of your people-pleasing tendency, or your inability to really stand up for yourself or voice your opinions in certain situations, and you knew where that came from. Your aunt constantly made comments along the lines of having to "save face" in front of others, and that social relations made or break whether someone could be successful in their lives and that you should prioritize getting along with others, even if it was at the expense of your own autonomy.

You knew it was bullshit deep down. You knew she was projecting her inability to hold anyone in her life onto you, but she had made those comments ever since you were young. Your parents did try to passively shield you from it, but then the comments came in full force once your parents passed, leaving you completely vulnerable to those thought processes. It was going to take a lot of time and effort to break that chain of thinking, but that involved energy that you just didn't have right now.

Your breakup with Zack plus Hange's question from the night before were rude reminders that you really didn't have anyone else. You didn't have anyone that you could really call your family.

"Magath is out today, isn't he?" Oluo mused out loud.

"Partied too hard?" you joked dryly, trying to distract yourself. 

You turned towards the classroom door when you heard footsteps approaching. The door opened and a tall blonde man with a beard and round glasses walked in. You remembered him as the neighbor that helped direct you to Levi's café on your first day at the apartment. Apparently, he was the substitute TA for the lecture today.

His voice, and therefore his lecture, was difficult to focus on, although you couldn't tell if it was because you weren't used to him or if it was due to the hangover. You felt yourself nodding off throughout the lecture, which you didn't fight, although your dozing never lasted for long.

It was either fall asleep in class and miss the content from a substitute TA or force yourself to stay awake and deal with the chaotic thoughts mixed with grief, anxiety, and anger that were running through your mind—and miss the course content anyway because you wouldn't be able to focus.

You were quickly regretting even coming to class, but staying at home wouldn't have been much better. You'd be trapped with your thoughts regardless—your thoughts of losing your parents and being left to navigate a harsh world all on your own, without a single stable source of support.

#: @levisbrat25 @gothgril69 @sckerman @berrijam @notgoodforlife @meowjaa @averysmolbear @roseofdarknessblog @bejewelledd @hhighkey @ayame236 @sad-darksoul @velouria17 @kamyru @l1zk4 @layenacreates @lamees004 @whoami-72 @highgoon69 @chaotic-on-main

[denim-mixtapes]

Aren't We All Sinners? - Vol. I: The Good Girl's Guide to Secular Music

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Female Reader Word Count: 3.4k Summary: Summer 1991, you're home from college and questioning everything you were raised to believe by your preacher father. When another fight leads to you storming out of the house and driving aimlessly, you stumble upon a record shop and a man who would change life as you know it for good. -- OR -- Eddie Munson teaches you that there's more to music than praising Jesus. Warnings: WHOLE SERIES 18+ ONLY! For this chapter, only adult language and a bit of Eddie being a perv. More warnings to come as they become relevant.

[Series Masterlist] [Mixtape Playlist]

It’s a tough pill to swallow, the first summer home after going away to college. The bittersweet sting of dry, over-conditioned air and watchful eye of strict parents after your first real taste of freedom. 

Coming out of your shell at university took some time. Nineteen, fresh off of two years at the local catholic junior college and a lifetime of lectures from your preacher father, you swore you wouldn’t make any waves, you were just there to get an education and that was it. What you didn’t expect was that out there, out from under your parents shadow and influence, you would be exposed to all sorts of walks of life. You found friends in people you never would have expected – or even had the chance to meet had your parents had any say – and your randomly assigned roommate challenged your beliefs and pushed your buttons in a way for which you could never thank her enough. But as soon as your guard started to drop the school year was over and you were shuttled back home to curfews and modesty and God-centered TV programming.

Now, it’s the summer of 1991 and you’re questioning more than ever. Your parents' expectations stick on you just as much as your clothing in the humid Indiana air and every ounce of freedom you tasted at school has been ripped away, landing you back in church four days a week and cooped up at home the remainder of your free time. It’s enough to drive anyone to madness. So when a childhood youth group friend invites you to lunch the next day after Sunday Service you’re thrilled for an excuse to leave the house, hopeful for some sense of normalcy in this newly foreign town. 

That hope dies the second you bound down the stairs on Monday afternoon. 

A tired grumble comes from your father behind the wall of the newspaper he’s reading. “Ain’t no way you’re leaving the house like that.” You aren’t even really sure how he saw you from behind it, but stop in your tracks nonetheless. “Go upstairs and put on something more respectable.” 

“I-I’m just going to meet up with Janie,” you stutter, pulling the frayed hem of your denim shorts down as far as they’ll go. The garment had been a gift from your roommate, one of her many hand-me-downs that she passed on to you when you tried to go to a party with her wearing a turtleneck and midi skirt. “I don’t need to be in church clothes.” 

The corner of the paper folds down, one bushy eyebrow raising at your defiance. “Did I say church clothes?” You want to protest, you want to brush past and just run out the door, but the pout on your lips and slump in your posture earns you another stern warning. “I won’t tell you again, young lady. When you go anywhere outside of this home, you represent the church and our parish, so I don’t care if you’re going to the mall or the Met, you will be covering more skin than that.” 

You respond with a stomp on the bottom step, much more childish than you’re known to be, but if he’s going to treat you like a child you may as well get to act like one. From the kitchen, your mother calls out to listen to your father without so much as a glance at either of you. 

Back up the stairs, bedroom door slamming behind you, you shimmy out of the shorts and into a knee length, fluttery skirt and pantyhose. It’s soft contrasted against your hardened, angry features and billows behind you as you descend the stairs again, not even bothering to hear what either of them have to say before you slam yet another door behind you. 

In your car you take out your anger on the radio, punching at the buttons and silently willing any station to come in, but the antenna has been broken on the God forsaken thing since you bought it, so you give up and opt for shoving the only tape you own into the cassette player. From crackling speakers Rich Mullins croons about how awesome God is, the words settling uncomfortably in your ears, and you slap the eject button just as quickly as you put the tape in. The rest of the drive is shrouded in silence except the engine rumbling under the hood and wind whipping in from open windows. 

The drive is aimless. You know where you should be headed, but with your mood already soured the last thing you want to do is sit through shallow small talk and hang on the nostalgia of Church Camp memories. Janie is a sweet girl, though, and she doesn’t deserve to get stood up, so at the sight of a payphone you pull over and pray that she hasn’t left home yet. 

“Hello, Peterson residence, this is Janie,” she answers, bubbly and polite as ever, on the third ring. 

“Hey, Jane,” you say, voice tight and tired, and identify yourself. 

“Well hi, stranger!” She says, south Georgia twang and sweetness still saturate her voice even after 12 years in Indiana. “I was just headin’ out to meet you!”

“That’s why I was ringing, actually. I think I might have to take a rain check.” 

“Oh no! You feelin’ okay?”

You sigh into the phone, guilt already setting in at the worry in her voice. “Yeah, Janie, I’m fine. I just- the heat’s getting to me and I’m in a foul mood–” neither untrue. The telephone booth is steaming up from your humid breath, sweat beading along your hairline. “– and I don’t think I’d be very good company.”

Her hesitance is clear, but she relents. “Well, I doubt that, but… if you’re sure.”

Making quick work to end the phone call, you’re blessed by a light breeze when you step out of the booth. Feeling the heat trapped under your skirt, you roll the waistband twice to feel more of the breeze on the tacky skin behind your knees and weigh your options. 

It’s hot, and you’re heated. The best option objectively is to head home and enjoy the air conditioning, or maybe take a dip in the pool, but the thought of facing your parents again without any time to calm the storm in your head is more unbearable than the sun beating down on your shoulders, so you get back into your car with a huff and decide to just drive. 

Approaching the edge of town, right when you’re thinking about turning back, you come across a strip mall you can’t recall ever seeing. Surely it’s been here some time with its crumbling brickwork and missing shingles, but growing up you didn’t venture too far outside your neighborhood or that of your father’s church, so this side of town is unfamiliar to you. 

Gravel crunches under your tires as you pull to a stop under a darkened streetlamp and look around. Nothing stands out too much as you wander the sidewalk storefronts. Nothing until Camelot Music. 

Bright white glittering letters hang above the doorway boasting the store’s name, and the bulbs behind the ‘t’ flicker with age. The front door is propped open with a sizable rock, a heavy, thrumming bassline inviting you in to curiously peer at the shelves lined with colorful record sleeves and bright signage. At the very least you can get some new tapes for your car, then this excursion could be considered a success. 

The song changes as you step into the store, an impressive, tinny guitar solo opening up the song. It’s good, not something you’ve heard before but you can’t help but nod your head along as you browse the shelves. You see artists your friends have tried to introduce you to and thumb across the covers, but none of them stand out. Madonna, Cyndi Lauper, Culture CLub, they were all definitely better than the worship music you’re made to listen to at home, but none of them sat with you as well as the song that’s playing over the store’s sound system. 

From the moment you enter his store, Eddie is captivated. Spine straightened and brow lifted with interest. The scent of your perfume came wafting in with the wind, something sweet and fruity and oh, so enticing. 

He doesn’t jump into customer service mode just yet, instead choosing to observe, see what artists you approach. See if you’re sure of your direction before he comes on too strong. 

Watching you wander through what he likes to call the ‘cookie cutter aisle,’ his eyes are drawn to the movement of your skirt, the hem brushing at the soft skin just above your knees, the tension in your calves when you tiptoe to read the titles on the top shelf, the anxious fiddling with the gold pendant on your neck, though he can’t see what it is with his distance. 

He has to get closer. 

“Looking for anything in particular?” A voice from behind startles you. 

Instinctively, your hand goes to the crucifix on your neck, clutching it comfortingly as you jump and turn to face the sole employee of the store. 

All signs point to danger with this man. Long, dark, unruly hair hangs in his face as he leans toward you, a hand on the wall beside your head and a smirk on his lips. Snug, ripped jeans and tee shirt with a devil on it cling to his frame, no sign of a uniform except for the name tag that reads ‘Eddie the Banished’ and he’s weighed down with silver. Countless heavy rings and chains adorn him, a stud through his eyebrow and a hoop in the opposite nostril. Ink stains most of the skin you can see. He looks like mischief personified, but he’s looking at you with the biggest, softest brown eyes and his expression softens when he notices your tension. You swear you can see his eyes fall to your chest, but when you smooth the cross back into your skin and drop your hand, those round eyes flick back up to yours. 

“Oh, uh,” you stammer, then point toward the ceiling. “Yeah, actually. Who is this? I really like it.” 

Shock paints his features, his brows shooting up with amusement and he laughs. “What kind of a rock do you live under?” Your shoulders rise and fall in a soft shrug, your arms wrapping around your middle defensively. “It’s Guns N’ Roses, here,” he beckons you down the aisle, past a few genres, and stops in front of a sign marked Hard Rock. You follow his gaze as he scans the shelf before finding the tape in question, plucking it off of the rack and pressing it into your hands. “Appetite for Destruction, their debut album. Sweet Child O’ Mine is the song on now, but the whole record is pretty fuckin’ good.” 

Eddie takes note of the way that you flinch at his swear, but still offer him a smile in thanks, and banks it in his memory alongside all of the other things about you that drew him in. The gold crucifix that rests against your collar. The bruise on your thigh that he shouldn’t be seeing, but he is, because your waistband is rolled and bunched up, shortening the skirt. The way your chest heaves rapidly, the way he can practically see your anxious pulse in the vein running up your neck. The tiny dart of your tongue as you wet your lips nervously. 

You’re a total stranger, a ship passing through, and he wants to ruin you.

“Cool,” you mumble, looking away from his stare and at the shelf of tapes. “Do you have any other suggestions that are similar?” 

A ring clad hand comes to rest on his chin as he thinks, a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat. “I could come up with a ton for you if you give me some time to think, but off the top of my head...oh!” He snatches another title off of the wall and hands it over, “Mötley Crüe. I’d recommend anything of theirs but this is their best album to date.” 

You look down at the cassette in hand, bold, red letters titling the album Shout at the Devil. You have half a mind to put that one back, already hearing your father’s claims of devil worship and sin swimming around in your head, but ultimately decide to just go for it. You nod to the man, Eddie, in appreciation and brush past him toward the counter. 

He prays you don’t feel his eyes on your backside, or the skin exposed by a run in your stockings and the way the material cuts into your skin, making a little roll that he can’t stop thinking about sinking his teeth into. He stands back, distracted, until you reach the counter and turn his way again and he hurries to join you behind the register. 

Register beeping as he types in your items, he asks, “So why the sudden interest in rock, hmm?” He prompts, bagging your items and pushing them toward you. You hand the cash over and he continues, “Wham! just not doing it for ya anymore?” 

“I don’t…know who that is,” you admit sheepishly, savoring the laugh it draws from him, even if it was at your expense. “No, um, actually, hold on.” Digging in the bag, you open both tapes and peel the paper from inside the cover, shoving the crumpled cardboard across the counter. Eddie stares on, appalled that you would deface these albums so quickly.  “Can you throw that away for me? My parents will lose their minds if they see that I’m listening to anything other than worship music. That’s…why I don’t know anything about music. I’m not technically allowed to listen to secular music.” The man before you pales as you speak, straightening his posture from the flirtatious lean he had on the counter to a cautious, respectable distance. He may be a horndog…some may even go so far as to call him a pervert, but he’s not about to put the moves on a fuckin’ teenager. As you continue ranting, however, his internal monologue heaves a sigh of relief. “It’s like – I’m 20 years old for Pete’s sake. I could be living across the God forsaken country if I wanted to, but because they’re paying for my college and I’m under their roof, it’s like they think they can control my every move like a child.”

As you complain, he studies your face. The rosy, heated hue to your cheeks, the heaving of your chest as you get more and more worked up, the way your hands flutter around your face as you rant. The smirk from before takes over his face again as he leans his elbows on the counter, and you feel yourself shrink under his scrutiny. 

“Sorry,” you mumble, taking the bag from the counter. “You didn’t need to know all of that. It’s just…frustrating.” 

Christ, he wants to bite the pout that rests on your lips. Shaking the thought from his head, he says, “no worries. Listen, if you want more recommendations I’m happy to help. Music is kind of my thing.” 

You study those big, brown eyes cautiously, and you’re met with an intriguing cocktail of promise, sincerity, and a little bit of a warning. It’s a surprise to both of you when you nod. “Yeah, okay, thanks.” 

“Great,” he grins, waving as you back up toward the door. “Give those a listen and tell me what you think, I’ll have more for you next time you’re in.” 

You spend the rest of the evening driving around Hawkins. Wind from the open windows whips your hair around your face, lip gloss staining the straw to your coke. Accompanied by the hum of cicadas, Axl Rose serenades you through fuzzy speakers, bringing goosebumps to your skin. 

When you pull into your driveway, the sunset has painted sherbert tones across the sky, and you sit and wait for the track to end before stashing the tapes in your glove box and heading inside. 

Not even the scolding from your mother for returning home after sundown can bring you down from the floaty mood you’re in.

On your next visit you’re eager to tell him your thoughts on both albums, and he presents you with Led Zeppelin IV. “An oldie but a goodie,” he claims, pressing the plastic into your hands and then guiding your fingers closed around it with his own.

You’re back every few days, always discarding the packaging as soon as you make your purchase, always strutting around the store in those damn skirts and knee socks, soft pink and off white tops and shiny lip gloss, innocence and purity and daring him to steal a glance at parts of you he shouldn’t. Eventually, Eddie starts inviting you to stay and listen in store, instead of spending all your money. It’s not a great business tactic, but he loves the idea of you coming around more often and staying longer, and he loves getting to see the blissed out look on your face when you’re enjoying his selection of the day even more. Besides, you always end up buying at least one new album for yourself every visit anyway. So now you spend your afternoons on the little wooden stool behind the Camelot Music counter, feet kicking back and forth beneath you, making small talk and getting a heavy metal education from Eddie Munson. In between albums he inquires about your upbringing, usually through shock that you don’t know 90% of the musicians he references. He teases you for your aversion to swearing, and promises that one of these days he’ll get you to say ‘fuck.’ You inquire on the meaning behind his tattoos. Sometimes there is one, sometimes the meaning is that he had extra money and thought it looked cool. For the most part, though, you just listen to music together and talk about the parts you liked and the parts you didn’t care so much for, passing smiles across the counter and between stacks of tapes.

On your sixth visit, he sends you on your way with his own personal collection of Black Sabbath tapes, his top 3 favorites, claiming that they mean more because they were borrowed. You’re about to walk out of the store when he stops you with a hand on your forearm. 

“So, these guys are a little heavier than what I’ve been giving you, but I know you can handle it,” his eyes flick down to where you worry your lip between your teeth. “But they’re one of my favorites. They’re a huge inspiration for my band.” 

“You’re in a band?” You ask, though you’re not at all surprised. 

“Sure am,” he boasts, thumb thrust over his shoulder at a flier on the wall that reads Corroded Coffin. Washed in grayscale, an elevated version of the Eddie you’ve come to know stands at the front of the group in a fishnet top and leather pants, electric guitar slung low on his hips and dark makeup lining his eyes. Normally you’d laugh at the sight of someone you know dressed like that, but on him it works. “We’ve got a gig out at the Phoenix in Muncie this Saturday. If you end up liking Sabbath you should check us out.” 

“Oh, I’m-” you shake your head, laughing at your own hesitation, “is it 21 plus?” 

“Oh shit,” Eddie says, and you blink at the word. He shrugs, “don’t worry about it. They don’t usually card, and if they do I’ll tell them you’re with me.” The statement is accompanied by  a wink and a squeeze to your shoulder that has you nodding dumbly. 

“O-okay. I’ll be there.” 

With a stare fixed firmly on your behind, shameless in his attraction now that he’s gotten to know you, Eddie calls out to your retreating figure, “countin’ on it, sweetheart!” It’s only when you get to your car that you realize he’s given you four tapes. The three Sabbath ones you knew about, but tucked into the front pocket of your purse is a fourth tape, a mixtape, the title of which has you blushing and shaking your head as you pop it in and watch the permanent marker scrawled “The Good Girl’s Guide to Secular Music” disappear into the tape deck.

[kazu-naito]

here are my list of complaints about oti, figure skating wise:

1) triple axel

a) pairs don't do triple axels

b) if they did they surely wouldn't be stuck in sectionals much less terminating their partnership

2) tate changing partners like underwear

a) most skaters don't have that many partners even in their decades long careers

b) you spend at least a season with someone before dumping them and even then you should wait more

c) anyone who can't keep a partner like that is a problem

3) jumps and lifts

a) both are mandatory in both short and free program

b) girlie tell me how you wanna be a pair skater and have trauma from both, switch to ice dance then

4) training for the olympics

a) i can guarantee you someone training for the olympics is also not stuck in sectionals

b) they would also be part of the national team

5) lack of real competition

a) well if you are training for the olympics then where are the actual competitions. the grand prix circuit? four continents? even the challengers series? they just don't exist

6) ages don't match

a) she's a PAIR skater her ass was not at worlds at 16

b) JUNIOR worlds maybe but that's not what was said

psa: senior age eligibility at the time the book was released was 15, but this was only common in single disciplines (more the women's discipline) and it still depends on the skater and the federation. pairs and ice dancers usually wait longer

7) changing partners a week before a competition

a) you can't do that. simple.

8) running home after a low score

a) first of all fuck off? are you an athlete or a child?

b) figure skating competitions are made of 2 programs in 2 different days and the final score is both of them combined. therefore even if you fuck one up you can still make up for mistakes later. by running away after the FIRST program she caused them to withdraw from the competition as a whole for NOTHING

i'll update as i go with this replay 🎀

[lilfishiefigureskates]

Canadian National Skating Championships Preview

I’m only gonna do a top 3 for each discipline because I don’t know enough about the Canadians to do a top 6, and their depth of field is not very deep especially in the singles lol.

Men - My Predicted Top 3 (in no particular order)

Aleksa Rakic - Was decent at Skate Canada. Seems like he has a solid 4T which is good. Don’t remember his programs very well, but I do remember not loving his jump technique.

Anthony Paradis - I was able to watch a couple of his performances from the Junior Grand Prix and I love him. Not the strongest when it comes to the technical elements but his PCS will be huge. You can feel every emotion he portrays when he’s performing.

Roman Sadovsky - With Wesley out it’s Roman’s time to shine. It’s crazy that the only thing I’ve seen from him this season is his short from Skate Canada lol. I hope his injury is all good and hopefully he can put down two clean skates.

Women - My Predicted Top 3 (in no particular order)

Kaiya Ruiter - Had a pretty okay short at Skate Canada but she struggled a bit in the free with a couple of URs, but I did like the Wonder Woman theme she had going on.

Madeline Schizas - She was great at Skate Canada. Cup of China went okay, she had a couple of small mistakes but she this is her’s to loose. Don’t love the Lion King program on her just because it makes me think of Wakaba but I love her Danse Macabre. I just really want miss girl to do well.

Sara-Maude Dupuis - Her Skate Canada was pretty rough so hopefully things go better here. She got a lot of UR so she needs to get everything around. She also popped her 2Lz in the short which really hurt her.

Pairs - My Predicted Top 3 (in no particular order)

Deanna Stellato-Dudek / Maxime Deschamps - Things will have to go very wrong from them to not win. It was so sad not seeing them at the Grand Prix Final. I’m hoping that they’ve been able to polish their programs a bit - especially the free. I am so excited to see them! And Deanna is officially a Canadian!!

Kelly Ann Laurin / Loucas Either - They are super slow. But I think Separate Ways is a great song choice for them because it is also slow. They improved quite a bit between Skate Canada and Finlandia Trophy so I I hope we’ll see two solid performances from them.

Lia Pereira / Trennt Michaud - We also saw a lot of improvement from them between their two Grand Prix events. I remember liking their Sing, Sing, Sing short. I hope they land the Throw 3Lo.

Ice Dance - My Predicted Top 3 (in no particular order)

Marie-Jade Lauriault / Romain Le Gac -They are good performers but I unfortunately do not vibe with them. Their free dance is a cowboy program and I’m not the person you try to impress with a cowboy program lol. But I did think he had a good cowboy mustache. .

Majorie Lajoie / Zachary Lagha - His free dance makes me laugh every time and that program is just very goofy in general. However, their free is stunning. I really like them.

Piper Gilles / Paul Poirier - If Paul falls again imma lose it. I wonder which costumes they’re gonna wear for their rhythm dance. I don’t like Paul’s backless suit at all. I actually it it’ll be pretty close between them and Lajoie / Lagha.

[austerlitzborodinoleipzig]

Japanese Junior Nationals Results

Junior Women

Gold : Mao Shimada

Silver : Kaoruko Wada

Bronze : Ikura Kushida

Ami Nakai is in 4th (did a three turn between her to jumps in combination in the short and fell on her 3A in the free). Rena Uezono finished 5th. All of them are going to Senior Nationals along with Haruna Murakami and Mayuko Oka who finished respectively 6th and 7th. Mei Okada had a horrible SP but a clean FS which allowed her to climb ten spots to place 8th.

Yo Takagi unfortunately ended up in 14th place. Just too many mistakes in both programs.

As for the Ultra-c elements.

Reina Kawakatsu, Ami Nakai and Mayuko Oka attempted the 3A. Only Reina landed her maybe with UR, haven't seen the protocols yet.

Mao Shimada landed the 3A but fell on the 4T.

Junior Men

Gold : Rio Nakata

Silver : Sena Takahashi

Bronze : Taiga Nishino

Shun Uemura, Shuntaro Asaga, Haru Kakiuchi. Ryoto Mori and Diaya Ebihara round up the top 8. Besides Rio not a lot of successful quads.

Junior Ice Dance

Gold : Sara Kishimoto/Atsuhiko Tamura

Silver : Sumire Yoshida/Ibuki Ogahara (the kids with the One Piece FD)

Bronze : Kaho Yamashita/Yuto Nagata

Only Sae and Lucas were competing for the pairs.

What does it mean for Junior Worlds Assignments ?

Only the winner is guaranteed an assignment. For junior men and women the other two spots will be selected by taking into account Junior Nationals and Senior Nationals placement + JGPF performance.

[corner-stories]

familiarity

Pieck Finger. Porco Galliard. Marcel Galliard. Pairs Skating. Lifts. Choreography. Figure Skating AU. 1425 words. (ao3.)

The pairs skating team known as Pieck Finger and Porco Galliard were notorious for their intensive practices. Now in their first season as seniors, the amount of time they spent at the rink seemed to double. Lifts had to be practiced, throw jumps had to be landed, and pair spins had to be rotated to the very end. 

It helped that Pieck had been skating with Porco since they were thirteen — their familiarity with one another made the hours on the rink or in the weight room more bearable. Nowadays, it was hard for Pieck to imagine skating without her beloved partner by her side, without that instinct to look for him on the ice or anticipate his hands on her hips. 

So on a frigid autumn morning, one that caused frost to collect in every corner of the town, Pieck arrived at the rink in the afternoon. It was getting easier for her to balance community college and skating. Porco thought she was insane for attempting to take both on together, but so far she had gotten very good at transitioning into practice mode the second her part-time classes would end. 

As a result, Pieck’s mind was focused on her programs as she entered the change room. As she got into her practice clothes, she thought about how she was still struggling with her and Porco’s planned double axel-triple lutz combination. As she walked to the rink she thought about what costumes they would require to perfectly encapsulate the energy of their on-ice tribute to Britney Spears. 

And as Pieck stretched, she truly wondered what the world would think of Finger-Galliard if they debuted their Barbie Girl routine at the next international competition. 

Nonetheless, Pieck laced up her skates as the other skaters used the rink to their heart’s content. 

On one end of the ice she could see Zeke working with Annie, using the harness to help assist her axel. As of lately, she had been determined to finally start training a triple. Weeks ago, one of their rinkmates — an even tinier blonde named Historia Reiss — managed to land a quadruple toe loop and flip against all odds. 

Perhaps seeing such a thing had motivated Annie to begin upping the ante on her own jumps. Having to compete with someone nicknamed the “Quad Goddess” could do that to a person.

In the middle of the rink was an ice dance team practicing to the music playing through the speakers. Pieck didn’t know Mikasa Ackerman and Jean Kirschtein personally, but she did know of their skating and how meticulous they were at practice. The amount of times she walked by them in the dance studio had given her insights to their complicated curve lifts and balletic footwork, every move they made could exude both musicality and pure athleticism. Mikasa could effortlessly leap into Jean’s arms and he could just as easily transition her onto his shoulder… while spinning. It was hard to believe that they were still juniors. 

Pieck had overheard in the hallway that they were currently concocting something called the “Moulin Rouge Routine” for the upcoming season. She had never seen the movie, but judging by the loving way Jean would look into Mikasa’s eyes as they glided across the ice, Pieck wondered if it had a happy ending. 

Meanwhile, the skaters that Pieck was actually concerned with were on the other side of the rink. 

Porco had told her that he would be assisting Marcel for the day, as his brother was keen on getting his choreography career started somehow. Marcel had created a short program for a teenage skater named Colt, and in doing so requested that his brother record him performing the routine from an on-ice perspective. 

But instead of going over step-sequences or Marcel's killer triple salchow, the Galliard Brothers were doing something a lot less productive and a lot more playful. 

Pieck looked over just in time to see Porco raising Marcel over his head, utilizing the familiar hand-to-hand press lift that he had used with her countless times. The expression on Marcel’s face was joyous, astounded, and utterly effervescent. Even with his ability to defy gravity on the ice, he was reaching heights he could barely even dream of. 

Pieck couldn’t help but laugh as the Galliards had the time of their lives. 

For a slender guy, Porco was very capable of keeping Marcel airborne. Perhaps it helped that he was the taller of the brothers, despite being the younger one. He managed to keep Marcel afloat long enough for Pieck to step on the ice and zip over.

Once she arrived, Porco finally let his brother down as both grinned from ear to ear. 

“Hey, Marcel, didn’t we come to an agreement?” Pieck said as she came to a stop. She smiled cheekily at the older — yet shorter — Galliard and playfully wagged her finger at him. “At home he’s your brother, but here he’s my partner?” 

Marcel let out a chuckle. “Apologies, Pieck, we just wanted to try something new.” 

Porco was laughing along. “Yeah, we’re working on a new move for our next gala!” 

“Good to know,” Pieck soon said. She took Porco’s hand, the familiarity of which when mixed with the chill of the rink brought a sense of calmness to her. The way his hand could fit with hers was second nature to her now. 

She looked at the elder Galliard playfully. “Anyways… Marcel, you know how it is. You got something else to do, right?” 

It was telling of her closeness to the Brothers that she could speak to them in such a way.

They had all been skating since they were barely eight years old, having been put in the same class. Back then Pieck could barely manage a waltz jump and Porco was nowhere near as strong as he was now. During those days, Porco would watch enviously as the boys on the other side of the rink played hockey — being stuck in a figure skating class with his brother and a bunch of girls was not how he wanted to spend his Saturdays. But apparently, Mrs. Galliard insisted that the brothers have a shared class together, as they didn’t have one in school. 

Porco only seemed to truly dedicate his time and passion towards the art form once he was paired with Pieck. It had been the suggestion of Zeke that they skate together, as Porco struggled with the jump elements after hitting a growth spurt — unlike Marcel, who was a god-sent prodigy with loops and flips. 

Even if the Galliards were skating in different disciplines, Porco made sure to watch Marcel during every competition and vice versa. Fittingly, Pieck was often the one sitting beside him as they watched the elder Galliard dazzle the world with his spins and footwork. 

Over the years, their consistent support had bonded Pieck with the brothers, something that had been thankful for from the very start. 

When Pieck looked up to meet Marcel’s gaze, he was rubbing the back of his neck and looking to the opposite side of the rink. 

“Well, I was gonna show Annie what I cooked up for her short program, but…” he started. 

Just as Pieck and Porco looked to their rinkmate, Annie was attempting her triple axel without the harness. Despite falling on her rear end, she was back on her feet immediately. Zeke’s expression remained stern as he gestured for his trainee to try again, something that made Annie glare at him despite obeying his orders. 

It was very fortunate that Marcel was a calm, kindly, and patient choreographer in general. Annie was probably going to be thoroughly irked once he came around. 

“... she looks a bit stressed,” Marcel finished off. 

Pieck rolled her eyes, though a part of her hoped that Zeke wasn’t slightly harder on Annie than he was with her and Porco. Perhaps Annie simply reacted to the coach’s drill sergeant-esque attitude differently. 

“While you’re at it, think you can convince Zeke to reconsider our Barbie Girl routine?” Pieck asked sweetly, batting her eyelashes at Marcel for extra measure. 

Marcel’s expression remained playful, though slightly defeated. It had not been the first time that Pieck brought up her beloved routine to him. 

Porco let out a chuckle as he put his arm around her, a gesture he did quite often. “Not letting that one go, aren’t you?” He playfully tapped her nose with the end of his finger. 

“Well, we didn’t spend all that time perfecting our Iron Lotus for nothing!” 

[yapwithsyd]

Too Many Timeline Jumps | Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation

We have officially hit the halfway point of Grandmaster of Cultivation. Points are beginning to be connected and questions are finally being answered, but that also means that I have even more questions after finishing this novel.

With so many jumps in the timeline, it was a challenge to keep track of what happened where and how this effected the timeline. We get to see glimpses of childhood, the Sunshot campaign, and even a bit of the current day.

The biggest section of this book for me was the time spent during the education period held by the Wen Clan. This set up a lot of information like the extreme existent that the Wen Clan went to in order to retain control over the other cultivation clans. Threatening and punishing people for the smallest issue that could be spun into a call to overthrown the Wen’s was such an overstep of power, only to be followed up by a forced education program where every clan had to send juniors to be taught by the Wen clan on how to be proper cultivators. This was not the case (shocking, right?), but instead was a stage for Wen Chao to boast about his subpar skills and take credit for other’s hard work.

In taking the swords of the cultivator, they are left defenseless to large monsters and were used as live bait in order for Wen Chao to swoop in and deal the killing blow. This is shown in full force when the group is sent to an underground cave to hunt down a large yao beast. When push comes to shove, things take a turn for the worst and the juniors end up abandoned in the cave with a historical yao beast who has already eaten thousands of people. Through self-sacrifice all but Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji are able to escape from the cave and flee to their homes.

The time in the cave is the only real point where we can see Lan Wangji saw raw emotions from the overwhelming stress he is under. We also see Wei Wuxian be able to a good person and put Wangji before himself. This does lead to the two pairing up to take out the big bad that is keeping them trapped, but in that 6 hour raid boss battle, Wei Wuxian’s injuries just get worse. You would not think that a quick moment riddled with sickness haze would lead to the moment Lan Wangji would recognize Wei Wuxian in a whole new body, but it does. A simple song that Lan Wangji sings to a half conscious Wei Wuxian leads to this huge story unfolding the way it does.

The only time that we see current day is when Wuxian and the Lans try to uncover evidence that Jin Guangyao is the evil mastermind behind these terrible events of the past book (the corpse puzzle). The big secret is revealed that the purity song that Xichen taught to Guangyao was altered to interweave a song that pushed for the death of a close friend. With the huge blow to Xichen’s mental state knowing that his sworn brother might have betrayed his good will, the brothers set out to meet at the Burial Mound.

This period is where we get a short reprieve to a more might hearted mood. With Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian paired up again for their journey, they run into a sea of bunnies, a pile of soft stray, and Wen Ning following them like a stray cat. Once the three get to the Burial Mound, they free the trapped cultivation juniors only to be surrounded by cultivators set out to rehash the original battle on the Burial Mound some ought fifteen years earlier.

The second big arc of this book is the Siege Hunt. Putting young, prideful cultivators from different clans together to fight it out for the most kills is bound to bring up drama. And the games didn’t even start before the pride jumped out. Egging on Wei Wuxian to one-up a bullseye on a horse can only result with him matching it with a blindfold on.

The blindfold leads to the scene that (to me) came out of nowhere. The first kiss. Happening with only one side knowing and being hidden in the dense forest surrounded by yao beasts and ghosts was not how I expected Lan Wangji to make his move.

A lot of tension happens on the mountain. From Lan Wangji about to have a mental breakdown, to Wei Wuxian and Jin Zixuan about to hash it out with swords and fists, emotions run high.

The last main section is a spotlight on Wei Wuxian and Jiang Chen’s childhood and rough start. Getting off on a terrible start, Jiang Chen is a menace to Wei Wuxian. Being force to get ride of the dogs that he loved for a random kids off the streets didn’t set well with Jiang Chen. The boiling point came when he was meant to share a room with the new burden in his life. Locking Wuxian out of the room and tossing his sleeping mat out into the hall was not the welcoming that was expected. Riddled with terror, Wuxian runs away only to be brought back by Jiang Yanli, the loving big sister that she is. They dynamic never seems to really change with the two boys. One always seems to be chasing after the other, jealous of the other’s abilities and insecure about his own.

This book seems more about putting pieces together as we only get a glimpse at the current day and set up the biggest suspense cliffhanger. Now officially over the halfway point, full pictures are beginning to come to light and the hostility is ramping up in preparation for the big fight. I can only image what can happen after the inevitable big reveal. The only question is how and when it can happen.