#junior pairs short program

[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."

[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.

[wethotcrazy]

SYMPATHY IS A KNIFE (vi)

pairing: Yuki Tsunoda x Fem! Driver! Reader

word count: 1267

part 6. just something short and sweet for tonight, as i have to finish uni homework. i hope you guys enjoy. also cant wait to watch quali and the race later the anticipation is getting to me. thats all happy race day everyone

part i part ii part iii part iv part v

The first time Yuki saw YN at the Program, she carried herself like she already belonged in Formula 1. While other drivers tried to make themselves bigger with false bravado, she didn't need to – her presence filled the room naturally. Those intense eyes of hers had sized up every driver, every engineer, silently calculating the challenges ahead.

Yuki remembered the exact moment their friendship began. During a particularly dry briefing about fuel management strategies, he'd muttered under his breath, "If we save any more fuel, we might as well push the car ourselves." The room had stayed silent except for one sound – YN's unexpected laughter. It had started as a snort she tried to suppress, then evolved into a full belly laugh that lit up her entire face. The serious facade had cracked, revealing something genuine underneath that matched the passion in her eyes.

They'd gravitated toward each other after that. Long debriefs became more bearable with shared glances and subtle jokes. They'd stay late comparing data, YN explaining corner entry techniques while Yuki shared brake balance insights. Their competitiveness pushed them both to improve – neither wanted to be outdone by the other.

When they became teammates in Formula 3, it felt natural, like pieces clicking into place. They developed a rhythm – YN's analytical approach complementing Yuki's instinctive racing style. Even their engineers joked they could predict each other's feedback before either spoke. After particularly good races, they'd celebrate with convenience store snacks, sitting on the pit wall and dreaming about their future in Formula 1.

The years when they raced in different series had been strange. Yuki would find himself checking YN's race results before his own, watching grainy livestreams of her races whenever he could. She'd send him detailed messages about his performances, always ending with some variation of "You're going to make it to F1 before me, I just know it."

He still remembered every detail of telling her about his AlphaTauri contract. They'd met at their old favorite chip shop in Milton Keynes, and he'd barely gotten the words out before she'd launched herself across the table to hug him. "I knew it," she'd said, her voice thick with emotion. "I knew you'd do it." When she'd pulled back, her eyes had shimmered with unshed tears of joy, filled with such genuine pride it had made his chest ache.

But then came the reality of Formula 1 – different schedules, different countries, different priorities. Their constant communication dwindled to quick messages and reaction emojis to each other's Instagram stories. He'd still wear her team's cap during race weekends he wasn't driving, and she'd defend him fiercely in interviews when journalists tried to stir up drama. But gone were the late-night data sessions and shared dreams on the pit wall.

Sometimes, during particularly lonely nights in far-flung hotel rooms, Yuki would pull up old photos from their junior days. YN in her first Formula 4 car, both of them covered in champagne after their first Formula 3 podium, the grainy selfie they'd taken the night he got his F1 contract. He'd trace the evolution of her smile in each picture, from the intense rookie with something to prove to the confident driver she'd become.

He thought about texting her more times than he could count, wanting to recapture that easy friendship they'd had. But what would he say? "I miss when it was just us against the world"? "Sometimes I catch myself looking for you in the paddock even though I know you're racing halfway across the globe"? Instead, he'd send another emoji, another quick congratulations, and try to ignore the growing distance between them.

The neon lights of Singapore streaked across Yuki's hotel room walls, casting shifting shadows that matched his restless thoughts. His phone screen glowed with notifications – messages congratulating both him and YN on their double points finish, her first podium dominating F1 social media. P3. She'd finally done it.

The champagne had long since dried on his race suit, but he could still see her radiant smile as she'd stood on that podium, trophy held high above her head. The way she'd looked down at him in parc fermé, eyes shining with accomplishment, had stirred something deep in his chest – feelings he'd tried to keep buried under the weight of professionalism and friendship.

Rolling onto his back, Yuki let his mind drift to that pivotal moment in their junior days. They'd been analyzing data after a particularly grueling test session, YN's hair falling to her face as she leaned over the laptop. She'd been so focused, breaking down every apex, every brake point, completely lost in the pursuit of perfection. When she'd finally looked up, catching him staring, she'd given him that soft smile that seemed reserved just for him. That was the moment he knew – knew that what he felt went far beyond admiration for a fellow driver.

He remembered telling her about his F1 contract, how her eyes had lit up with pure joy, how she pulled him into a fierce hug. Even then, chasing her own dreams, she'd been genuinely happy for his success. That was YN – competitive to her core but never letting rivalry poison their friendship.

When she'd finally gotten her own F1 seat, Yuki had watched her try to navigate the pressure with grace. The media scrutinized her every move, questioning whether she deserved to be there, whether she could handle the physical demands. She'd answered them all on track, letting her laptimes speak louder than words. Still, he'd seen the toll it took, caught the moments when her smile would slip in the garage, noticed how she'd grip her steering wheel a little tighter before qualifying.

Now, lying in his hotel room, Yuki's phone buzzed with another notification. It was a photo from their team – YN kneeling beside her car in parc fermé, eyes closed, forehead resting against the nose cone in a moment of pure emotion. His thumb hovered over the screen, tracing the outline of her figure.

He was proud of her – so proud it felt like his chest might burst. Proud of how she'd fought through the day, how she'd defended against more experienced drivers, how she'd proven every doubter wrong. But beyond pride was something deeper, something that had grown from those late nights comparing data, from shared dreams and inside jokes, from years of watching her pour her heart and soul into every lap.

The city lights caught a drop of moisture on his phone screen, and Yuki realized his eyes had welled up. He wanted to tell her everything – how seeing her succeed made his own accomplishments feel brighter, how her determination pushed him to be better, how sometimes he caught himself watching her in team meetings instead of the presentations. How somewhere between shared convenience store meals and podium celebrations, she'd become more than just his teammate or friend.

But tonight wasn't about his feelings. Tonight was about YN's triumph, about years of hard work finally paying off. Tomorrow they'd be back in the garage, professional as ever, pushing each other to go faster, to be better. And he'd keep these feelings locked away, grateful just to be part of her journey.

He pulled up their old photo from their junior days, the one where they're both covered in champagne after their first shared podium. YN's smile in that photo was the same one she'd worn today – pure joy mixed with fierce determination. Some things, he thought with a slight smile, never changed.

here are some of the tags: @floweringanna, @hiraethberry, @holendernik, @oooom4arie, @burnhampeaches, @dying-inside-but-its-classy

let me know if you want to be added to the list :))

[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.

[cierraonline]

More Than Ready

chapter one: more than ready

warning: none

masterlist | next chapter

XXX

A father holds his daughter's hand for a short while, but he holds her heart forever.

What does that mean?

I’m about to beat this old man in a game of basketball - Sasha James

“You’re not getting close to that hoop,” LeBron James huffs as he tries to block his daughter's clear path by staying low and close to her.

“Good thing I don’t need to be near the hoop to make the shot,” Sasha smirks, dribbling the ball between her legs. She pulls back and aims for a long-range shot... which goes in. “And the crowd goes wild for The Assassin!” The brown-skinned girl runs around the court, making loud cheering noises. “Thank you, thank you…” She stops mid-run, pretending to give a heartfelt speech. “As the number one draft pick, I would like to thank me, myself, and I. Because I couldn’t have done it without me, myself, and I.”

“Is that really going to be your acceptance speech next year?” her father laughs, still trying to catch his breath.

“Next year?” She furrows her eyebrows, her pearly whites still visible, but her overall expression shows confusion. “It’s my junior year, remember?” Sasha turns to her father. How could he make a mistake that meant the world to her? “You remember... the plan? I can enter the draft my junior year, be the number one pick, and get sent to play for the Sparks.”

“I know that’s what we agreed on, it’s just... maybe it’s too early.”

“What do you mean, ‘maybe it’s too early?’” She laughs, shaking her head, retrieving the ball from the bushes where it had rolled after swishing through the net. “If anything, it’s the perfect time to enter the draft. I’m projected to be the number one pick, and the Sparks get the first pick.”

“I know, but... you’re not ready,” he says, trying to come up with an answer.

“Not ready?” Sasha scoffs, offended. “My stats are higher than yours when you were with the Cavaliers, and your fans considered that your prime.”

“You haven’t even finished college.”

“I have two bachelor’s degrees, one in sports management and another in racial and gender equality. 4.5 GPAs, always on the Presidential List. I’ve interned at the WNBA, did a semester abroad as head coach for the Youth Olympic Games, and we took home the gold.” The list of accomplishments echoed through the hot California air.

“What about your master’s programs?”

“I can always finish them online, Daddy,” Sasha shook her head, not believing the excuses coming from her father. “Since when were you against the plan?”

“I’m not against the plan, baby girl.” LeBron approached his daughter, trying to offer a comforting touch. He noticed she was starting to work herself up, as she usually did when her mind entered defense mode.

“Well, you sure don’t seem for the plan,” she said, taking a step back, not wanting her father’s touch as if he were about to deliver bad news.

“You guys ready to head to the airport?” Savannah James, wife and mother of the father-daughter duo, stepped out onto the patio in a mocha brown suede tracksuit, paired with a clean pair of white Nike Air Forces.

“Baby, I called the airline and made sure they have cans of ginger ale so you don’t get sick during the flight,” said Paige Bueckers, the 6-foot tall UCONN guard from Hopkins, Minnesota, and Sasha James' wife of two years, as she entered the area with a bubbly smile.

The two women on the porch noticed the tense energy between father and daughter and decided to take the risk of finding out what was going on.

“What’s happening?” Savannah asked, her gaze shifting intensely between her daughter and husband.

“Daddy doesn’t want me to enter the draft this year!” Sasha blurted out, turning to her mother for support.

“Bron?” Savannah’s expression filled with confusion as she turned toward her husband. “The plan?”

“It’s just... she’s not ready!” LeBron defended himself, raising his voice as he often did when confronted by the women of the house. “She’s not ready to be drafted!”

Silence fell over the patio. No one knew what to say, stunned to hear such words from LeBron James himself. This was the father who always told people his kids would be drafted and playing in the big leagues. The father who said his children could achieve anything if they worked hard. The father who had seen how basketball had lit up his daughter’s eyes from the moment she first touched a ball. And now, that same LeBron James was declaring in their household that his daughter, Sasha James, wasn’t ready to be drafted into the WNBA.

“LeBron!” Savannah sharply scolded him, her tone resembling that of a mother catching her child with something they weren’t supposed to have after being told multiple times to put it down.

“What happened to my dad who used to rave to his teammates that I’d be the face of the WNBA when my time came? The dad who swore his son and daughter would play in the same city under the same family name? The dad who said, ‘Don’t get filled with rage and attack on the court, just wipe the hate away, because one day you’re going to be the number one draft pick, and they’re going to be sitting behind you wondering if their name is even going to be called’? Where’s the dad who jumped up in excitement when Bronny suddenly said he was going to enter the draft his sophomore year at USC, even though we both know he doesn’t have the stats and the recruiters aren’t confident in him yet?” Sasha looked at her father, her eyes filled with hurt. “I’ve been planning this moment since I was four. I sat on countless benches, forced to watch, study, and practice because no one wanted to play against a girl for years. You can’t say I’m not ready when my stats match yours at your prime. You can’t say I’m not hungry for it because I’ve always put in the work, on and off the court. What happened to my dad who was all for the plan and ready to make revisions when things got tough and we thought there was no coming back?” Without another look, Sasha shook her head and pulled away from the tense bubble between her and her father, heading back inside the house.

“I-I should probably go check on her,” Paige awkwardly pointed in the direction her wife went, not wanting to stay in the tense, somber atmosphere.

“The plan was for Sasha to enter the draft her junior year if she was ready,” Savannah spoke up as she watched her husband stare at the spot where their daughter had stood. “She’s been ready to enter the WNBA since her freshman year, but she compromised because we wanted her to have that college experience we never got. She’s done that and more, LeBron.” She made her way down the porch and over to her husband. “Now, if you can give me a good reason why Sasha shouldn’t enter, I’ll support your decision—no further questions asked. But you can’t say she’s not ready when we both know she’s more than ready.” She gently placed her palms on his chest, looking up to meet his eyes.

“I see and read about these powerhouse women basketball players having to march up to the league commissioner’s office, asking for what they deserve. The benefits, the salary, the promotion... And you know what those corporate people tell them, Savannah?” LeBron finally lifted his head to make eye contact. “They tell them no. They tell them their seats aren’t filling up like the men’s league, that the quality of the game isn’t marketable, that they don’t deserve equal pay to the NBA rookies because no one is watching. I don’t want to go to practice one day and see Sasha marching to the commissioner’s office, begging for what she’s worth, only to be shut down. I can’t handle, as a father, watching my daughter be told she’s not worthy when she puts in the most work. I won’t do it, Savannah. Not again.” He shook his head, lowering it again.

“And as a father, you’re forgetting who your daughter is.” Savannah lifted his head again. “Your daughter is Sasha Bianca James, ‘The Assassin,’ and she’s number one. Everyone’s been watching her since we took her to her first basketball game. And as for the issues within the league... Sasha knows about them, and she’s been fighting to change the mindset. She’s not just a player, LeBron; she’s an advocate. She’s our daughter, and we raised her to stand up for change. Her goal isn’t what yours was when you were first drafted—chasing a fast life of basketball, money, and escaping struggle. She doesn’t have the struggles we had, so that’s not her goal. Her goal is to change how the world views women in sports. She doesn’t care about the money or the fame. She cares about her love for the game, as a young woman. As a player who believed she was never going to play once upon a time.” Savannah straightened her posture, her gaze firm. “So either get with the plan or be left behind, because my baby is entering the draft. She will be the number one pick and she will play for the Sparks.” Savannah’s determined tone, filled with motherly authority, aimed to lighten the darkened mood. “Now come on, we’ve got to drop the girls back off at college in Connecticut.”

taglist @averette98 @hedidnotpleaseme @unknown5397 @girlyglitterprincess @sunwalker355 @akiracutie @pinkandlilacroses @bennybabyyy @pbueckerslover @pbueckers @okimreadynow @blackbarbie96 @blue-whiteuc @randomhoex @tyler-adaline @espersonalsj @hidden-kay1 @kayckeny @chip-the-teapot @woso-scotland @rickflagfine88897 @amourrnini @hon3y-girl @apreer @stfuzoeyy @50shadesofdeville @rebecca-woso @yourmom-25s-blog @lxonix-ac @kaliblazin @klexiasblog @selenalei @thenewprophecysworld @areyourlightsup @billiesrighthand @lordfarquad-k @rhearipley-69 @vvaaaall @dandelions4us @kluvsspongebob @bratyee @bilssharky

[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.

[captainsy-cookiemonster]

Welcome Home

Prompt: Okay! You gonna love this A sandwich.... between....*drum rolls* Mike and Touch Starved!Will … They both brothers, and Mike is a horn dog, while after 3 month parted Will needs a hard release after a stressful business agenda😘😘

Summary: while your one roommate is away, things get steamy with your other roommate. it just so happens that the roommate who was gone comes back while you’re fooling around with the other one. this is fun.

Pairing: bi!Mikey x unnamed OFC x bi!Will Shaw

Warnings: dom x switch x switch, f2l, threeway, p in v sex, oral sex, unprotected sex, cumming inside (on, uhh both ends), grinding, little bit of degradation, implication that Mikey came in his pants while OFC was grinding on him once, my first time writing a threeway, me picking up a wip after moooonths and a very draining semester, hints at a possible polyamorous relationship?, rules of physics? is this even possible? we don’t ask these kinds of questions here sir, the female character is not described beyond having “grip-able” hair however you want to define it, for the sake of not being called inclusive enough for a reader i chose to make her an unspecified OFC

Names used: bunny, good girl, sweetheart, slut, good boy (Mikey), sir (Will)

A/N: I hope you don’t mind that I changed your prompt a little bit. I didn’t really feel comfortable writing them as brothers, so I made them all roommates. Thank you so much @wolvesandhoundshowltogether @littlefreya and @luna-aestas for helping me when i got stuck or felt it sucked. You girls are amazing ❤️ not beta'd much. Typos we're going down swingin'!

Word count: ca 4k

Title: Welcome Home

Writers live off validation. If you liked it please like, comment and reblog 💕 thank you for reading 💖

It started as roommates. As a guy in his junior year, with friends mostly in higher semesters, Will was suddenly left with an empty apartment and a rent that was far too high to handle all by himself. 

That’s when I came into play, a little freshman who happened to not have gotten a dorm room on campus. It was especially convenient since I got a job at the little café just across the street once I was accepted into college. The wage was just enough for rent and food and I was lucky my parents still supported me.

A few weeks into the semester, another boy joined our little arrangement. Mikey was trouble, which, in a way, was good because that meant he was rarely home. He was always out partying, slept during the day, and missed most of his courses. But at least that meant it was quiet when Will and I  had to study or do homework.

That was two years ago. The three of us have become close friends, almost like family. The boys grew protective of their little barista, who would bring them their favorite coffee whenever I came home. They were almost like big brothers. Well… Almost.

Will has finished his bachelor’s by now and is currently building his own startup, while part time working on his master's program.  So he’s still living in the apartment with the two of us.

Well actually… not right now. He had to go away for three months. Something to do with his business, I can’t really remember. 

Three months alone with Mikey have been... interesting, to say the least. And fun. Lots of fun. Take that however you want.

Right now, we're lounging on the couch, watching some silly movie. I couldn't tell the name even with a gun to my head. It’s late, and Mikey's soft, but progressively more daring caress is using up all the focus I can muster. His hand snuck into my shorts and is squeezing my buttcheek. I bite my lip to stifle a whimper and press my thighs together. He does it again, drawing the same reaction from me; except this time, I bury my face into his chest. I can practically feel his smirk and look up to glare at him. I don’t even meet his eyes before his lips catch mine in a sloppy kiss. 

In a scramble of arms and legs, he pulls me to straddle his lap, his hands kneading my ass while mine paw at his chest and neck, tug at his hair, and grip his shoulders. It’s messy. It’s clumsy. It’s desperate. I want more. I need it. I need to be closer, need to feel him everywhere. 

I start grinding my hips into his crotch, feeling him grow. His hands on my hips urge me on, but instead of speeding up, I slow down. Giggling and out of breath, I break the kiss.

“Nuh-uh, remember last time? Not gonna happen again.”

Mikey huffs and rolls his eyes. “That was one time!”

Laughing, I shake my head and lean down to kiss him again. His hands are everywhere, on my ass, my hips, then sliding up my back underneath my shirt. With skilled fingers, he unclasps my bra, pulling the straps off my arms. As it falls between us, I take it and blindly throw it into the room behind us. Faintly, I hear it hitting the floor before my attention focuses on Mikey’s hands sliding up my tummy and letting his thumbs brush over that spot on my ribs. 

I gasp and grind my hips down harder, making him chuckle. In response, I capture his bottom lip between my teeth, tugging and sucking on it a little before releasing it. Can’t have the boy think he’s got the upper hand in this.

But he still thinks he does. His hands find my tits, and the triumphant grin on his face…

“Oh! Your nipples are hard! Is this turning you on, baby?”

Ugh! That boy! 

“No, Mikey. Obviously not.” I roll my eyes and snort. “And what about you? I’m sure you find it absolutely terrible to have me grinding in your lap, hm? As hard as your cock is.”

“Hatin’ it.” He grins and pinches my nipples. “You know what I’d like better?” He leans in, his breath hot against my neck. “If the two of us got naked.”

“Hm, yeah… Now that you’re saying it… that does sound like a good idea.”

Scrambling to my feet, I’m quick to slide down my jogging shorts. I’m about to take off my shirt, when Mikey gets up and stands right in front of me… Entirely naked. Damn, he’s quick!

“Lemme do it?”

I just nod, lifting my arms to assist him, but of course, he takes his sweet time, letting the tips of his fingers glide up my skin underneath the fabric. Of course, he has to squeeze my tits when he reaches them, but he lifts the shirt over my face too quickly for me to glare at him. It doesn’t stop me from trying, though. Once the shirt is off my body and Mikey sees my face, he can’t suppress a chuckle and quickly kisses the tip of my nose to make the glare disappear. To his credit, it works. A hot flush gathers in my cheeks, and I quickly turn around, searching the room for… Damn.

“Be right back,” I tell Mikey over my shoulder, taking off my panties to toss at him, but I’ve already dashed through the door before I know if I hit him or not.

Not even a minute later, I come back to the living room, finding Mikey still where I had left him, with my panties in his hands, grinning to himself, most likely proud of himself for getting me to soak them that much.

“What do you want with that?” he asks once he notices I’m back, eyes on the towel in my hand.

“Well… I thought that Will would appreciate it if he didn’t come home to cum stains on the couch.” I shrug.

“Ohhh, yeah… Probably.”

He takes the towel from my hand and puts it down on the couch, then sits down on it. Mikey pats his thighs, signaling for me to sit, but I look at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh!” He grins sheepishly, realizing what I’m looking at and quickly tosses my panties to the floor. He doesn’t even manage to pat his lap again before I climb on top of him. With one hand on my hip, the other on my neck, Mikey pulls me closer until my lips meet his, and the length of his cock rubs against my pussy.

I start to grind my hips into him, throwing my head back at the friction. I feel Mikey’s breath heavy on my neck, then his soft lips on my tender skin. His hands grip me tighter as I move on his cock, pulling my hips deeper into him. By now, the hand he had on my neck has wandered to the back of my head, tugging at my hair to keep my throat exposed to his kisses. I’m sure my neck will be covered in hickeys tomorrow. There’ll be bruises on my hip, too. Fuck! The thought of carrying his marks makes me even wetter. 

“Bunny, I need you,” Mikey pants against my neck. I nod, and he lets me go, so I can sit up. He grips his cock to guide himself in as I hover above his lap, steadying myself with my hands on his shoulders.

“Ready?” I ask.

“Just a second.”

Oh… yeah… Mikey and tits, how could I forget? With my chest on eye level, of course Mikey has to bury his face into it, peppering kisses all over my boobs, sucking and biting at my nipples until I’m a whimpering mess, swaying my hips in the search for friction, inches away from his cock.

“Okay, ready.” He grins, his free hand coming up to my hip to help me ease down on him.

Fuck, fuck, fuck! No matter how many times we do it, I’ll never get used to his size. The delicious stretch of being seated on him all the way has me panting.

“Good girl.”

“Mhh.”

For a moment, I just sit there, resting my head against his shoulder while feeling him pulse inside me. I smile against his skin when he begins to gently stroke my back. His hands shift down to my waist when I start to roll my hips slowly. He squeezes my hips, making me lift up and brace myself on his shoulders. 

Gasping, I relish in the feeling of his cock stroking every spot inside me. I go faster. Harder. His hands shift even lower, grabbing at my butt and guiding my movements. 

"Fuck," we sigh in unison, before breaking in a fit of giggles. With heaving breath, I smile at him, wiping a strand of sweaty hair from his brow before cradling the back of his head in my hands, leaning in to kiss him. He kisses back instantly, tongue swiping along my lower lip to request entrance. Opening my mouth for him, I let his tongue explore my mouth, sucking on it and trying to fight for dominance. We both moan into the kiss, the movement of our hips growing more sloppy, rushed.

"Hey, uh… Oh."

We jump at the familiar voice. Wide-eyed, we turn towards the door, where we find a very flustered looking Will. The thud of his bag hitting the floor makes my eyes snap to his hand that dropped it, then the prominent bulge in the front of his jeans. Once my eyes find his face again, I can spot the hint of a smirk playing around his lips.

"Uhm." Mikey's voice is a little shaky. I feel him twitch inside me. I look back at him, raising my eyebrows in question. He gives me a nod and grinning, I nod back. 

"Will! C'mere." I turn towards him and gesture for him to come closer. He hesitates for a moment before finally taking determined steps towards Mikey and me. 

Standing in front of us, Will leans down to meet my face. his hand reaches up to caress my cheek and I lean into it, missing the gentle touch when his hand wanders down. I gasp when I feel his fingers lightly squeezing my throat, my eyes fluttering shut when he gets even closer. His kiss is still rougher than expected, his tongue claiming dominance right away. I feel myself clenching around Mikey’s cock, a new wave of wetness soaking his lap. Will breaks the kiss way too soon. I try to chase his lips as he pulls back, but he keeps my head in place with his hand around my throat. Smiling while I pout at him, he turns to Mikey.

“Has she been good?”

I feel Mikey shuffle to sit up straighter. A moment passes before he can answer, stunned and with his mouth hanging open slightly. “Yes.” Another moment before he adds an uncertain “...sir?”

Will just nods before finally sitting down right next to Mikey. “You’re gonna be a good girl for me too?”

All I can do is bite my lip and nod. As a reward he grabs my neck again and pulls me in for another deep kiss that leaves me breathless.

Feeling Mikey’s cock twitch inside me, I start grinding on him again. Hot breath against my ear and suddenly there is a pair of lips sucking on my neck. I whimper against Will’s lips when Mikey starts to graze his teeth over the sensitive skin below my ear.

Once Will allows me a moment to breathe again, I kiss my way down to his neck. It’s so much rougher than Mikey’s, the well grown out stubble leaves my lips tingling. I feel him turning his head and his Adam's apple bob against my kiss. At first I think it was to give me better access, but from above me I hear the unmistakable sound of a hesitant but needy kiss. 

Are they- ? Oh fuck, why is that so hot?

Mikey must have felt me squeezing around him because a moment later his hand that was still on my body pushes me to adjust on his cock by the small of my back, nudging against that spot, making me gasp. Being so focused on the changed sensation inside of me, I haven’t even noticed how my nails have started to dig into Will’s chest, until I hear his groan. It wasn’t a pained groan, more like he was enjoying it. Maybe even a little too much. I took that for a sign to take the next step and while he and Mikey are still making out, I start to unbutton Will’s shirt, kissing and nibbling at every inch of skin I uncovered, making sure to scrape my nails down his chest as I go. The lower I go, the more he tangles his fingers into my hair, pushing me further. Once I reach the waistline of his jeans, nuzzle my nose against the thick hair of his happy trail and look up at him with big eyes.

“Can I?” I ask, with my hands on his thighs, close to his crotch.

“Can you what? C’mon, be a good girl. Use your words.”

Wow, those three months really changed him.

I swallow a little nervously and nod before I try again. “Can I take your cock out? I wanna taste it.”

Waiting for an answer, I watch as Mikey sucks on the side of Will’s neck, making him throw his head back and groan.

“Please… sir?”

“Yeah, sweetheart, you can.”

With eager fingers I unbutton his jeans and fumble a little before I manage to pull down the zipper. Already starting to drool with anticipation, I tug at his boxers. He lifts his hips to help me and finally I’m met with the sight of his hard cock springing free.

He is a bit thicker than Mikey, but they’re about the same length. Taking hold of him, I give the head a gentle little kiss before sticking out my tongue to collect the small drop of pre cum leaking from the tip.

“Mmm, good girl,” Will hums and strokes my hair. “Suck on it, c’mon.”

I nod before I take him in my mouth, just the head, suckling on it and toying with it a little with my tongue.

The moan that comes out of his mouth… I’ve never heard anything sexier. It has me squeezing around Mikey unconsciously. 

“Fuuuuuck,” I hear him mutter into Will’s neck. 

The wave of confidence that washes over me at the fact I’m pleasuring not one but two men makes me take Will deeper into my mouth. I hollow my cheeks and press my tongue against the underside of his cock, slowly taking more of him. As I keep bobbing my head up and down his grip on my hair becomes tighter and more and more moans fall from his mouth .

The tingling sensation that spreads through my body from that makes me try to take him even deeper, until I start gagging and my eyes begin to water. By now, my nose is pressing into his hip.

“I can’t… I can’t!” I suddenly hear Mikey wheeze. Will immediately lets go of my hair and I hurry to get off Mikey’s lap.

“What is it?” 

I’m stunned at how calmly Will asks that while I’m staring at a panting Mikey, almost panicking.

“I fucking need…” he wheeses again. Both Will and I stare at him, anxiously waiting for him to continue. “... to get off!” 

I let out a sigh of relief, watching Will chuckle and playfully nudge Mikey with his elbow. The younger man smiles sheepishly and scratches the back of his head.

“I was serious about it, though. So-” he drags out the word “- can we like… get started?”

 I nod slowly, feeling their eyes on me, and look towards Will for guidance.

“How do you want to do this?” He asks me gently, and I shrug, unsure. “Okay then, c'mere.”

While I get closer, he stands up and rearranges the towel so it covers most of the couch and drapes over the armrest, causing Mikey to jump up as well.

“Now, can you get on your hands and knees for us?” Will nearly coos, still it feels like he’s giving no room for discussion. “Isn’t she such a good girl for us?” I can hear him ask Mikey, now behind my back, and I can only imagine Mikey nodding while giving Will puppy dog eyes. “And you? You’re gonna be a good boy for us and let her suck you off.” Again, no room for discussion.

I shuffle closer to the couch's armrest, balancing my weight on my elbows on it, and give Mikey a reassuring nod. He swallows a little nervously, looking at Will, who's getting into position behind me. I lean forward to give Mike a small kiss to his hip bone, then nuzzle my face against the base of his cock. He cups my cheek with one hand, stroking his thumb across my bottom lip when I lean into him, while his other hand grips the base of his cock. I open my lips a bit and suckle on the tip of his thumb as he gently brings my face and himself into position. He pulls his finger from my mouth and I open my lips wider, giving the tip of his cock a little lick, looking up at him through my lashes to see his reaction. He groans and throws his head back. That’s when I take the head in my mouth and start playing with it with my tongue.

Behind me, Will puts a hand on my hip to hold me steady, with the other, he grabs is cock and swipes it up and down on my lips, coating himself in my juices.

“Fuck, you’re so wet!” He groans and pushes in a little. I let out a moan around Mikey’s cock, making him shiver in response. Will slowly keeps pushing in, a deep moan escaping him once he bottoms out. I can only whimper around Mikey’s cock, feeling so full already. 

“Now just stay still, baby, we’ve got you,” Will says, if a little bit strained. I nod as much as I can and look up at Mikey, who’s still holding my face. He pushes himself a little bit deeper into my mouth. I can still taste myself on him as I suck. Will starts moving, thrusting in a slow and steady rhythm, pushing me down on Mikey’s cock with every time his hips meet mine. Again, I moan around Mikey, whose hands start wandering to my hair and grips it to push himself further down my throat. My eyes begin to water when Will picks up the pace, making me take Mikey even deeper. The room is filled with the beautifully filthy sounds of the two men groaning in erotic harmony, skin slapping on skin and my strangled moans as I gag around Mikey’s cock.

“You’re being so good, bunny,” Mikey praises, breathing heavily. “So good for us,” Will adds. “Letting us use you like a little slut.” I can’t help but whimper at that, squeezing around Will’s cock. 

“Oh? Did you like that?” Will leans down closer to my ear, whispering, “You like it when I call you slut?” I nod as much as I can with Mikey in my mouth. “You’re so filthy. Nothing more than a toy for us to use.”

He fucks me harder, making me whimper and take Mikey even deeper. Tears are beginning to stream down my face, but it all feels so good. I can’t help but clench around him, the coil in my belly starting to tighten. 

So it takes me by surprise when Will suddenly slows to a stop. A little out of breath he says, “This isn’t it. Let’s take this to the bedroom.” 

Mikey nods, pulling from my mouth and Will picks me up, carrying me over to the bedrooms. My mind is far too lazy to see whose bedroom we end up in when Will tosses me onto the bed with a bounce.

“Let your head hang over the edge. Yes, just like this, good girl.”

I watch upside down as Mikey kneels down by my head, positioning himself. I open my mouth widely, obediently and he pushes his cock back into my mouth. Closing my eyes, I start sucking on him again as Will climbs up over me, kneels on the bed and grabs my thighs. He doesn’t make me wait long and thrusts back in in one smooth movement. I moan loudly around Mikey’s cock when he bottoms out, finally feeling full again. Complete, in a sense.

Before he begins to thrust, though, he pulls my hips up onto his legs, making me arch my back and take Mikey deeper down my throat. All three of us moan in sinful harmony, skin slapping and wet slurping composing a filthy melody of bliss. With the new angle, I can feel the burning coil tightening faster as the tip of Will’s cock strokes all the spots perfectly, the base of him rubbing against my clit. My moans rise in pitch, even muffled by Mikey fucking my face. His hips begin to stutter, he’s close as well. Will, of course, notices that and picks up his pace, fucking me faster.

Fuck! This feels so good!

Mikey’s groans mix with little gasps as I feel him twitch. He’s close, I can tell. I use my tongue to play with him, eliciting little whimpers from him.

“S-sir, ‘m so close… can I cum? Please?” Mikey begs between little gasps and whines.

“Go a-head,” Will tells him, his own voice strained as well. I brace myself, sucking Mikey harder. A few more thrusts into my mouth and he stills, whimpering loudly as his warm load hits my tongue. I swallow it down eagerly, but gasp when he pulls out of my mouth. I take a few deep breaths as I watch him stand and jerk himself, another, smaller load landing on my chest.

“Fuuuck,” he groans.

“Good boy,” Will praises him, doubling his efforts now, fucking me even harder. His hand comes up to my chest, grabbing and kneading my tits for a moment before swiping two fingers through Mike’s cum and bringing those fingers down to my clit, drawing slow but firm circles around the little bud. I cry out, clenching hard around him. The coil keeps growing tighter until it… Snaps. With a high pitched moan, I fall over the edge, white hot bliss carrying me as my body writhes in pleasure. Through a haze I can hear Will groan and feel a warmth spreading inside me. I open up my eyes to see him hovering above me, dipping his head down to meet my lips in a passionate kiss. I kiss him back eagerly, letting our tongues fight for dominance until we need to stop for air. Will sits up again, reaches out an arm and pulls in Mikey for a just as passionate kiss. I watch them, a satiated smile on my face. I get up on my knees, squeezing between them to kiss their necks and chests alternately. Once the part, the three of us collapse on the bed naked and panting, a tangled mess of limbs. 

“You know…” Mikey breathes heavily, “we were going to throw you a welcome home partly…”

Will chuckles at that, “You still could…”

I just shake my head, giggling. “Let’s just order pizza.”

[lil-shiro]

A (hopefully) half decent guide to get into watching figure skating

With the Junior Grand Prix circuit starting this week, I wrote up a little guide for my online pals and anyone else interested in getting into the sport. I'm going to be focusing on Elite Level Skating.

Disclaimer in case I put this into the main tags: I may make a metaphors or two to F1 for comparison since I primary post F1 related things but I do have a #figure skating tag

Honestly if you want a really good write up/guide I highly recommend the website So You Want to Watch Figure Skating and they even have a Tumblr where they post updates.

If you want to read my more condensed, lower quality version, then stick around.

General Info

The International Skating Union (ISU) is the governing body for competitive ice skating disciplines (not just figure skating but speed skating as well). They're like the FIA in this case and decide/vote on regulations and changes.

Each country has their own individual national associations that administers the sport at the national level.

For example, USFS (U.S. Figure Skating), Skate Canada, etc. These associations do things like assign their skaters to competitions, decide funding, hold national level competitions etc.

Figure skating has 4* disciplines - Men's single - Women's single - Pairs - Ice Dance

*(There's also synchronized skating but I don't really keep up with it)

The two categories I'll be focusing on are: Junior and Senior. You can read about the specific age requirements here

Scoring

A final competition score is comprised of the total score of two programs (segments) added together.

A Short program (SP) score + a Free program (FP) score*

The main difference is that the SP is shorter and the FP is longer. But you can read into the different technical element requirements that I linked since they vary from disciple.

*In ice dance the SP and FP are called Rhythm dance (RD) and Free dance (FD)

To break it down even further, each total segment score is calculated based on the following:

Technical Element Score (TES) + Program Component Score (PCS) = Total segment score (TSS)

TES:

Each technical element preformed has a base value of points (following the code of points) depending on difficulty (it's comparable to gymnastics code of points scoring)

The judges then assign GOE (grade of execution) that increases or decreases the base value depending on how well it was executed

For more detailed info and to read about what makes up the PCS, the USFS has an overview here and guide here.

Competitions

I'm only going to focus on major and easily accessible competitions for this guide. The goal of competitions is to place high and get world standing points.

National Championships Typically held mid-season ish (Dec-Jan). Pretty straight forward, each country hosts their own national champion competition (most people just call them Nationals) for each discipline and age category. Depending on the country, these results may have a little or big impact on which skaters they pick to go to international championships for the rest of the season.

Grand Prix Grand Prix are a series of qualifying events (each held in a different country) that lead to the Grand Prix final. Skaters earn qualifying points at each Grand Prix event and the six highest-ranking qualifiers meet at the ISU Grand Prix Final.

A skater/pair can only participate in a maximum of 2 events. And each individual Grand Prix event can only have up to 3 skaters from the same country in each discipline.

Senior Grand Prix: 6 qualifying events

- for break down of how to qualify for the final refer to this page - skaters are eligible to be assigned to events based on results at the previous World Championships, season’s best scores from the previous and current season, and overall world standing

Junior Grand Prix: 7 qualifying events

- the same requirements apply for qualifying for the finals - eligibility wise, juniors have no minimum score required, as long as they're old enough their country can enter them - there is also no cap on the total # of participants unlike in seniors - # of spots for each nation are designated by previous world junior championship results

Europeans (European Figure Skating Championships) As the name states, Europeans is an ISU Championship in which only European skaters ("members of a European ISU Member") compete for the title. It is regarded as quite prestigious since it's the sport's oldest competition (first held in 1891).

# of competitors per country at Euros is determined based on results from the previous year

Four Continents Championships (4CC) 4CC is like Europeans but with all the other continents [Americas (North America and South America), Africa, Asia and Oceania]. Skaters must belong to a non-European member nation of the ISU.

Each nation can have up to 3 skaters from the same country in each discipline

Each skater must have obtained the minimum TES score requirement in the current or previous season

*Europeans/4CC are senior level only events

Junior/Senior World Championships Aka: the most important competition of the season! (Other than when the olympics happen)

Just like Europeans, # of spots each nation is allocated depends on results from the previous year. This is how they're determined (wording from this reddit post):

A country can have between one and three skaters/teams per discipline.

Each country automatically gets one spot in each discipline.

To get a second spot next year, that skater/team has to place in the top ten. 

To get a third spot, that skater/team has to place in the top two. 

For countries who already have multiple placements, both skaters or the top 2/3 entries: 

must add up to ≤13 with their placements to secure/maintain a third spot (ie. 8th and 5th, 3rd and 9th, etc.)

or ≤28 to secure/maintain a second spot. (ie. 10th and 8th, 5th and 20th, etc.)

How to Watch

All the competitions I mentioned are live-streamed on the ISU YouTube channel. They also stay up so you can watch replays if a competition is held at an inconvenient time!

The Junior Grand Prix events were streamed on the ISU Junior YouTube channel but this year they will also be streamed on the main channel. You can still watching replays all the way from 2011 on it tho!

Occasionally you may find yourself Geo-blocked from a stream. I find this only happens when a competition is being hosted in your country because they want you to use the local streaming/TV service. For example, I'm based in Canada so I'm blocked from the Skate Canada GP event on YouTube because they're streaming it on CBC. I was also blocked from the World's 2024 Youtube stream because it was hosted in Canada. This includes full replays as well. But this is really easy to bypass with a VPN.

Refer to this page for more info

Resources

Here are a few resources to keep up with schedules, timing, standings etc.

Skating Scores: Overview of events, scores, and world standings

@/fskatecomptimes: Time-zone adjusted schedules for ISU-recognized figure skating events

So You Want to Watch Figure Skating: Recommending them again because they're awesome

Jackie Wong: Figure skating analyst, provides updates/live tweets from events

Notes :)

I hope this helps and is somewhat understandable. If you have any questions feel free to send me an ask or DM!

My advice is to just start watching and things will come naturally. I never thought I would be able to identify any jumps aside from an axel...but here I am watching competitions, finding myself calling under rotations on a 3T...

This season is the pre-olympic season and there's lots of skaters returning from injury/break so it should be exciting!

My figure skating tag

My favourite discipline is women's but I try to watch everything

I'm desperate for a Canadian skating revival (2018 you were everything)

Favourite ice dance team: Evgenia Lopareva / Geoffrey Brissaud

Current fave skaters (senior): Chaeyeon Kim, literally all of team Japan, Adam Siao Him Fa, Andreas Nordebäck, Alysa Liu + many more

*I would like to mention that just like any other sport there are a lot of issues within figure skating. It's an environment with a lot of young people whom are susceptible to mistreatment/harassment/abuse, so I just wanted to bring that to light since new viewers will probably discover shocking things that have happened/are happening. And overall raise awareness about being mindful viewers like not commenting on a skater's body for example and just advocating for the increased safety of the sport

There is also most definitely politicking involved when it comes judging, but we as viewers will never know how rampant and the details surrounding it. Some posts explaining it more here and here.

[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!

[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 🎀

[everything-fine-n-peachy]

The sun is also a star (l.dh)

pairing: lee donghyuck x reader genre: angst with some fluff (if you're delusional like y/n) summary: high school besties who may or may not be just besties, a dash of one sided pining and very oblivious golden retriever energy dh

You’re the type of girl to fall in love with the stars. The kind of person that enjoys the thought of distant worlds, the idea that there may be life beyond the pale blue dot. The mystery of space thrills you. 

The same applies to love. 

You liked them bright, burning with so much intensity, and warm despite being lightyears away. Like Lee Donghyuck. Always so close yet so far. 

There was always something in between you, you just couldn’t put a finger on what it was. 

He was supposed to be your best friend. None of this was supposed to be a problem. You think maybe it’s your fault for thinking up all this nonsense. All your fault for the tightness you feel in your chest when he so much as looks your way with those eyes, for the banging in your ribcage when he pulls you in for a hug, and for those godamn thoughts that plague your mind of this boy before you go to sleep. 

Donghyuck would always linger. Never long enough for it to mean something but long enough for it to fill your head with fuzz so that you can’t think straight. 

Your eyes meet from accross the large assembly hall as you bring volunteers in for your clubs’s peer program. Just like that Donghyuck is bounding towarding you at a hundred miles an hour. He drapes an arm around your shoulder before flashing the group a careless grin. 

His gaze falls on you and you feel the ground shift under your feet. You push him off, highly aware of the watchful eyes of underclassmen.

“Get off of me, jesus Hyuck, we’re working here!” you scold, earning a few sniggers from the juniors in your care. 

Despite yourself you laugh. Typical Donghyuck and his typical antics. 

Before you could even say anything, in true Donghyuck fashion he addresses the crowd, “I sure hope this senior isn’t being a debby downer.” 

You playfully slap away the finger he has pointed on you. “Oh, stop it. Just say that your own group got bored of you and kicked you out.” 

You smile trimuphantly with your hand on your hips. 

Donghyuck feigns offense complete with the perfect look of utter betrayal, “is that how you treat your best friend?” He yields but doesn’t leave you alone just yet. 

“You know they say, the more you hate, the more you love,” he singsongs before clicking his tongue, “bet you’re just secretly in love with me.” 

You glare at him, looking nothing short of annoyed. You will yourself to stay calm despite the nerves bubbling just below the surface of your stomach. 

Donghyuck bursts out laughing after a beat and you don’t want to admit it but you feel a sense of relief wash over you. 

“You know I’m just messing with you right?” He swiftly boops your nose before running off back to where he was supposed to be. 

Oh he really had no idea, did he? 

[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.

[russilton]

If you don't mind, what happened to Ben Barnicoat?

So, you’ll have to forgive me if I make any mistakes, because outside of occasional mentions, I’ve never known much about ben because my foray into endurance racing is very new, and most of my knowledge has come from sourcing for this ask. I wasnt watching junior formula series when ben was racing, but the short summary is that his story is near identical to George’s as I discussed here, only unlike George, it did effectively end his career in single seaters.

By all accounts from the articles I read on Autosport, Formula Scout, and racer, Ben was a well regarded up and coming talent in the junior series, with a very impressive karting record and his early single seaters entries following that pattern. PREMA was considered to be the best possible team for him to join for his European F3 run, and after he tested with them early, they seemed really really happy to have him. It seemed from what I read, to be a done deal, and Ben would partner Lance and another driver for the 2016 season. Then, surprise, with a couple weeks or so to go before the season began, Ben was dropped from PREMA out of nowhere and suddenly announced a move to newer team Hitech GP to partner- wouldn’t you know it, George Russell. Here’s freshly 18 year old George and 19 year old Ben in 2016.

Now ill say upfront, unlike George’s case, in my quick search I didnt find explicit proof it was Lawrence, and Ben himself said he wasnt sure and couldn’t presume how he lost his seat— but given that its an identical situation to George, two years after George lost his seat, and the seat Ben was set for WAS to directly partner Lance— its a pretty foregone conclusion that Lawrence likely had a sudden say in his sons teammates. This bbc article also implies Lawrence was putting quite a lot of money into lances appointments, including buying him a seat as a test driver in Williams in 2016. Lance went on to partner Nick Cassidy and Maximilian Günther (yes both of fe fame) and Ralf Aron, who tested alongside Barnicoat and seemed to be considered the weaker driver of the two.

According to this feeder series comment (which yes, is not a strong source, but does go into a lot of detail around lance), both Aron and Cassidy were considered good drivers, but less strong than Russell and Barnicoat. This is also the same year that George went on to publicly criticise Lance for receiving team orders to benefit him at the detriment of Cassidy, and from all the accounts I’m sifting through, Lawrence put obscene amounts into PREMA that year, like buying them a new sim, and moving f2 engineers to f3 instead- to the point many competing teams outright pulled out. This article does a good job covering the issues people had with Lance’s junior career and also has Lance quoted as comparing buying a team to buying a tennis racket.. do with that as you will

I’m guessing based on the fact that George mentions ben in his comment, the pair of them had gone from being competitors to having a sudden common ground at hitech. Either way, George had an okay season at hitech, but ben struggled quite severely, and he credits it to the end of his single seating career. Despite the fact PREMA won almost all of the races that year, 9th is a hard number to have on your record, and in the end Barnicoat Single seater career ended at hitech as he made the move to endurance racing .

This excerpt comes from this article that puts the whole situation more succinctly than I can- Ben had other issues relating to the dissolving of the McLaren young driver program— but that 2016 season is what he thinks put the nail in the coffin.

Ben does seem to be doing pretty well in endurance, hes won a couple titles in IMSA and Asian Lemans, but it’s a shame his single seater career ended the way it did.

[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!”