#just forget about your rowing team that won nationals

[rowingcentral]

[stellar-haikyuu]

get well soon ☆ shirabu kenjirou x reader

synopsis: second-year reader has been shirabu’s classmate and academic rival since their first year. when reader overworks themselves and they break down during a test, shirabu is unexpectedly “kind.” details: academic rivals to friends/lovers, some angst, hurt/comfort, ~3.2k words, gn! reader. warnings: some descriptions of reader having low self-esteem and test anxiety :( also, this is long; i hope the time skips are clear.

Sometimes, you wonder how you ended up here. 

You were excited to finally reach the last leg of your high school journey after years of studying at Shiratorizawa Academy. 

Of course, you knew the climb would only get harder, but you had no idea the mountain would be this rocky.

Your goal was clear: consistently be at the top of your class, for at least two out of three terms every year. 

When you started your first year, the classes seemed pretty manageable. You didn’t think you’d have any trouble.

That was until your classmate, Shirabu Kenjirou, came out on top in the first term.

He didn’t say that much, but his scores spoke for themselves. Threatened, you pushed back.

You recited at least once every class. You volunteered to help your teachers. You made damn sure that you’d be congratulated for getting the highest test scores.

By then, you knew you had his attention.

An academic rivalry was not part of your plan; but for the sake of maintaining a competitive medical school application, you told yourself to accept it. 

And apparently, he has plans to apply to med school, too! Great!

Through sheer determination, you successfully beat him by the end of the second term. When you came home to your family for winter break, you proudly shared the news.

Come third term, everyone in your class knew you two were battling it out. Even the teachers caught on and reminded you two to keep the competition friendly.

Nobody would ever forget your pair work in social studies that ended in an impromptu debate about the Japanese economy. Your teacher just sighed and reiterated that your grade was shared, not separate.

Despite it all, you survived…only to end up tied with him in the class ranking. It was so unlikely, but somehow, the cumulative totals of your percentages were equal.

You had no idea how it made you feel, but you prayed to everyone and everything, hoping it would come to an end.

However, the day you walked into your new second-year classroom, you wondered if your wishes fell on deaf ears.

Sat in the front row was the sandy-haired boy with the infuriating bowl cut bangs.

You know it’s not like you, but you crave seeing the sour look on Shirabu’s face whenever you win against him.

It’s become second nature to send him a sickly sweet smile each time you get praised by a teacher.

You couldn’t help it, not when you found out he became the starting setter for Shiratorizawa’s volleyball team this year. 

Sports was never something you cared about, as you’d rather spend the rest of the afternoon studying. But, it irked you to see how well he seemed to balance his extracurriculars with his academics.

No, you even envied it—the training was no joke. Your friends tell you that it’s constant early morning and late afternoon training, plus a harsh coach. 

Yet, the guy comes into class acing his assignments, almost as if he hasn’t spent hours of his day throwing and hitting balls.

Just for once, you want to see him break.

You feel ashamed to think that way about someone, but sometimes, it seems easier to be resentful.

It didn’t help that he was constantly being congratulated by classmates and teachers because Shiratorizawa won the Miyagi Interhigh Tournament.

Internally, you were happy because it meant not seeing him in class for a while. But the more you thought about it…

He’s going to Tokyo for Nationals. He plays with a team. He has a life outside of academics. 

You? You’ve got nothing going on.

Your days all blend together: late-night studying, rushed breakfast, intense classes, library time, dinner, studying some more. Repeat.

Your roommate offers company, though they're equally busy, chasing their own dream of becoming a lawyer. 

And while you see friends at lunch, you’ve started declining invites to go out, even on weekends. You can barely recall what the arcade or nearby cafés look like.

You always say you need more time to study. That you’re tired and want to rest. There’s truth to your reasons, yet you feel frustrated.

Unfulfilled. 

Pissed.

Why can’t I be like him?

Adding insult to injury, they release the first-term grade cards and class rankings. 

Just like last year, Shirabu took the top spot. You came in second, but only by a small, decimal point difference.

Something twists in your gut.

Normally, you do pretty decently in your mathematics classes, but it doesn’t mean you never struggle with the lessons.

The second-term curriculum seems to be out to get you though. Limits? Elementary Calculus? Where in the world would you need this kind of math in your life?

Lately, you’ve been observing Shirabu at the library on his free days. You wait until he brings out the math textbooks and worksheets, then time how long it takes him to finish studying.

It takes him about half the time it takes you. 

You’re not even surprised when he’s applauded for getting the highest mark on the lastest math test.

Of course. He has a way with numbers that I don’t.

When you receive your test paper, you stare at the red ink. You passed, but only by a few points. Relief and disappointment swirl inside you.

The teacher starts to go over the items that most students had difficulty with, but you don’t pay attention. You can’t, not when you know everything’s starting to fall apart.

For the first time in your life, you felt the danger of failure. It was terrifying.

You can feel Shirabu gazing at you, but you don’t look back.

He’s not important now. You need to survive.

If he starts wondering why you stopped going to the library, it’s none of his business.

A distraction is the last thing you need.

You stop talking to everyone, choosing to stick your head between your books during break.

You no longer recite in every single class. Once a day is enough to conserve your mental energy.

The weekends are reserved for a strict study regimen that gives you more time to study for math.

Your classmates whisper about you. They send concerned looks your way.

Some teachers ask if you’re okay, but you say that you’re fine.

You should be. 

You have to be.

Two weeks have passed, and there’s another stupid math test coming. Tomorrow, to be exact.

Your dorm room is silent. Your roommate has long fallen asleep on their desk, knocked out from working on their chemistry assignments.

It’s past midnight now, but you’re only halfway through the test coverage—partially, it’s also thanks to an English project draft that was also due tomorrow.

Your head is buzzing with anxious thoughts, worries that you’ll forget everything you’ve spent days studying.

I need to pass, I need to pass, I need to pass…

The numbers and symbols start to fly around the page. The steps starts to lose all sense of logic.

You don’t even register your eyelids drooping and the pencil falling out of your hands.

Fatigue is a tough thing to fight off. 

The next time you blink, it’s to wake up.

Both you and your roommate jolt at your morning alarms.

When did I fall asleep?

You groan and sit up, massaging a small cramp out of your neck. Your head has a lingering ache, you realize, as you wipe away a small amount of drool from the corner of your lips.

But you have no time to think about it. You need to get ready for the day.

The rest of the morning goes by in a haze. You pick up one of the energy bars on your bedside table. You feel like you can’t really eat anything more, anyway.

There’s a pit in your stomach. You suppose it’s hunger, test anxiety, or something else.

Whatever, whatever, I’m going to be late.

Your roommate gives you one last “good luck” before you both dash to your classrooms in the high school building.

Thankfully, all your morning classes were either entirely new lessons or reviews of familiar material. You cannot listen to anything your teachers are saying.

On your desk, your physics notebook is secretly opened. You try to review what you can, but it’s tough.

You feel like nodding off at any moment. The room feels hotter than usual, too.

When recess comes around, you’ve lost your appetite entirely. It’s an odd, contradicting feeling. You’re hungry and you know you need to eat, but you don’t want to.

Maybe you shouldn’t. You feel like you might throw up if you do. Lunch comes right after anyway, so you’ll wait until the nerves are gone.

It’s time. 

Your teacher walks into the room and you cannot believe that you’re about to take the dreaded test. Your legs can’t stop shaking. 

Somehow, the worst sensations are hitting your body all at once. Heat, chills, nausea, sluggishness, and some sort of brain fog.

You can’t even focus on the final reminders that your teacher is giving you. There’s some chatter from your classmates, but it’s all garbled noise in your ears. 

Every second feels like a century. The testing sheets make their way down each column, and you whisper one last prayer before your papers are passed to you.

Oh god.

Even though you’re staring directly at the page, none of the words or numbers register. The questions send a shiver down your spine.

How the hell do I do this again?

Breathe.

Breathe.

You’ve studied this.

You try to focus on the simpler questions first, to get them out of the way. You avoid reading the last few pages to give yourself some peace of mind.

You’re thankful that there are some parts with multiple choice questions, but your mind spins, trying to comprehend the conceptual aspects of your math lesson.

Your heart starts to pound wildly in your chest. You grip your pencil tightly as you attempt to solve or answer something.

You manage to come up with responses, but you get the feeling that there may have been something wrong in your computations. If there’s one thing you hated about mathematics, it’s how the careless mistakes result in a domino effect.

Whatever. It’s done. Next part.

You glance around the classroom, seeing nothing but your classmates working around you. Nobody seems to be struggling like you were.

Maybe they’re better at hiding it. It’s fine. It’s fine.

As you progress to the other questions, you find it increasingly challenging to concentrate and recall the steps. Nothing is surfacing to your memory. You feel like your skull is just stuffed with cotton.

What’s wrong with me?

The feeling is overwhelming. You look at the clock, realizing that you’ve already spent half the period on less than half of the questions.

I might not finish.

I don’t know what to do.

Nothing makes sense anymore. You feel like your insides are going to explode. Everything hurts. You feel like throwing up. It’s cold and hot and you don’t understand it.

I’m going to fail. 

The very thought brings your anxiousness to a peak. Tears fall from your eyes without warning. Your pencil drops to the floor as you hold your head in your hands.

It’s like a dam breaks.

It’s not long before you catch your classmates’ and teacher’s attention.

You can hear your teacher call out to you, but you don’t know what to to say. You register her coming closer, asking you questions with surprise and concern.

“Darling, what’s the matter?”

You can’t stop crying. Your mind runs a mile a minute.

You feel a cold hand on your forehead, and there’s a hiss that follows.

"You're burning up," she mutters, a crease of worry in her brow. "I think you've got a fever. You should go to the nurse. We can schedule a make-up test this week."

You sniffle and nod in response. The teacher takes your test booklet, giving your shoulder a gentle, reassuring squeeze before returning to her desk.

"Is there anyone finished? Kindly help them to the nurse if so," she asks, her voice echoing in the quiet classroom.

You don’t even realize who volunteers. You just want this to end.

There's a small tap on your shoulder. "Hey, let’s go." It's a voice you know all too well.

You look up to find none other than Shirabu standing over you.

Of course he's already finished, you think bitterly to yourself.

You muster a weak nod, feeling even smaller as he helps you pack up your things.

The hallway is nearly deserted, with a faint murmur of voices and the shuffling of distant footsteps. You’re aware of the sideway glances that a few students and teachers give you as they pass by.

You cover your face with your hands; you’ve always hated what you looked like when you cry. 

And I just had to break down in front of him like this.

To your surprise though, you notice that Shirabu’s matching his pace to yours. Shirabu always walks quickly, often a few steps ahead of anyone else. But right now, he's walking just slow enough that, if you picked up the pace, you'd be side-by-side.

Is he only doing this because the teacher asked him? But she isn’t here to see him right now, so-

"What happened to you?" His voice cuts through your thoughts.

You startle at his question, expecting this entire walk to be silent.

“I…I don’t know.” Your voice is still a little thick. “I couldn’t answer the questions at all.”

"No. I meant, why'd you go even if you were sick?"

“Oh.” You sniffle, embarrassed. “I thought I could handle it…didn’t know it would be this bad. Just wanted to show up.”

Shirabu goes quiet for a moment, before asking more questions.

“How long have you been feeling this way? Did you even eat or drink anything? You didn’t do either during recess.”

His questions catch you off guard. You can’t believe that he’s asking you something this personal. There’s no bite to his words. Just genuine curiosity.

“Uh,” you falter. You try to think back to yesterday and this morning. “Well, I…”

"You...?" He prompts, urging you to continue. 

“Um, I mean, I’ve been tired lately. Who wouldn’t be?” You mutter.

Shirabu raises his eyebrows.

Ugh, he won’t stop until I tell him.

“I didn’t really eat a lot yesterday.” You sigh. “Energy bar this morning. Water, I don’t know how much.”

You can see the gears turning as he processes your response. “So, you haven’t been eating, drinking, and resting enough. Surely, you would have realized this wouldn’t end well for you?”

Hearing him say it out loud suddenly makes you feel defensive. It feels like he’s about to counter your argument in a debate—a deliberate search for weak spots.

“Well, sorry about that, Mister Perfect."

“What?”

“I get it! I don’t have my damn life together right now!” You grit your teeth together in frustration.

"How will you practice medicine without taking care of yourself?" Shirabu responds.

Oh, you’ve done it.

“Why the hell do you care?” You snap. Fresh tears spring to your eyes. 

The both of you stop walking and a heavy atmosphere settles after your emotional outburst. 

Shirabu doesn’t respond immediately, which somehow makes you feel worse. You feel stupid for overreacting.

“Look,” he says quietly. “I’m not trying to be mean. It’s just that…you have to make it.”

Your head lifts up in surprise. “W-What?”

“You have to make it into medicine.”

“Why?”

“That’s your dream, isn’t it?”

“I, yes…” Your voice is soft. You’re not sure what he’s trying to get at. “But what’s it to you if I achieve it or not?”

“We need more brilliant doctors.”

That stuns you and you chuckle in disbelief at his words.

“Don’t mess with me. You can’t be so sure,” you mutter.

“I’m usually right about things,” he deadpans.

You glare at him, though a small part of you is thankful for that tinge of “normalcy” at a moment like this.

“Just...” He sighs, pausing to think. “I’ve never met someone that pushed to work this hard academically.”

You let out a weak laugh. “Hm. The feeling is mutual, Shirabu.”

There’s a few beats of silence before he continues. 

“You still feel that way now? Is that why you pushed yourself to take this test instead of resting?”

“Maybe…I don’t know,” you answer. Your brain can only take so much now. “But whatever. I get it—I’ve been making a lot of stupid decisions.”

“Then don’t make any more,” Shirabu says in a firm voice. He turns his entire body to face you, and his hands settle on your shoulders. “Listen to me.”

“Woah, what-”

“You better follow what the nurse says so you can recover.” He pauses, considering his next words carefully. “Once you’re better, I’m going to help you with math.” 

He grip tightens for just a moment before he lets go. When his words sink in, you blink at him, bewildered. 

“I’m sorry, did you get hit in the head by a volleyball?”

“I’m serious,” he glares.

“Why are you doing this? You’re helping me?”

“Did you not hear what I said earlier? I want you to make it.”

“...into medicine.” You whisper, completing his statement. 

Wait. “I want?” Didn’t he say-

“Yes.” He continues walking, but halts for a moment to look over his shoulder. “Come on.”

You follow. 

“And you plan on making it to medicine, too, Shirabu.” 

“Mhm,” he responds with absolute certainty.

As you both round the corner, the nurse’s office comes into view. You decide to ask the question forming in your mind before you lose the chance to.

“Are you saying that you want me to stick around?”

You brave a quick glance at his face, but the intensity in his eyes takes your breath away.

“I do.”

At some point, you drifted off after the nurse questioned you and guided you to one of the beds.

You vaguely remember Shirabu holding on to your belongings and lingering for a while before the nurse dismissed him.

“Hi, darling,” the nurse says, noticing you sit up. “Are you feeling a little better?”

“Yes,” you respond. Your fever’s gone down, according to the thermometer, though you still feel groggy.

“That’s good. I think you can go return to your dorm once you’re ready.”

You nod in response and you thank the nurse for her assistance. She moves to return to her desk, but then she stops.

“By the way…” She faces you again. “That kind boy from your class brought you some food from the cafeteria.”

Huh?

She points to the wrapped bowl on your bedside table. 

“Oh, I see. Thank you.”

Shirabu bringing you food was already surprising, but what truly catches your eye are the pages of class notes held together by a metal paperclip.

You gasp once you read the sticky note on top.

These are notes from today’s classes.  Review them when you’ve recovered. Take your meds, eat, hydrate, and rest properly. Get well soon. - Shirabu

masterlist

[zillennial97]

Enemies to Lovers | Larry Fanfic Recs

Walk That Mile by purpledaisy | 149k | Explicit

Harry stares at him, the line of his jaw standing out scarily. “I wanted to get the most out of this trip so I planned it carefully.” His voice is low and steady and somehow that’s worse than when he was yelling. “So far, you’ve put your sticky fingers on everything I’ve tried to do.”

“Sticky fingers?” Louis repeats, offended. “Are you saying it’s my fault you got stung by a bee? Had you been alone you would have gotten halfway to the Dotty Diner and ran the car off the road because of an allergic reaction, so don’t go blaming me.”

“Polk-A-Dot Drive In,” Harry spits before getting out of the car. He slams the door shut with a deafening reverb and Louis rolls his eyes.- A Route 66 AU where falling in love was never part of the plan.

Unbelievers by isthatyoularry | 136k | Explicit

It’s Louis’ senior year, and he’s dead set on doing it right. However, along with his pair of cleats, a healthy dose of sarcasm and his ridiculous best friend, he’s also got a complicated family, a terrifyingly uncertain future, and a mortal enemy making his life just that much worse. Mortal enemies “with benefits” was not exactly the plan.

Or: The one where Louis and Harry definitely aren’t friends, and football is everything.

we're not friends, we could be anything by nooelgallagher, yoursongonmyheart | 115k | Explicit

Louis narrows his eyes at Harry. “What that supposed to be a fucking joke?”

Harry narrows his eyes right back. “It was a good joke.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Jokes require laughter, Curls.” Louis glances down at Harry’s thighs again, Christ. “Your pants must be so tight they’re restricting airflow to your brain.”

Harry wipes a bead of sweat off his forehead. “Pretty sure yoga is supposed to increase airflow, blood flow, and all that,” he responds dryly, finally jumpstarting himself and walking away from Louis towards his own bedroom.

Louis can’t help but stare at his broad back, still sheen with drying sweat, and his perky bum in the tight yoga pants.

Louis swallows. Christ.

...Or, the one where Harry and Louis are unlikely uni flatmates who definitely don't like each other and definitely won't fall in love (even if Liam and Niall think otherwise).

Our Lives, Non-Fiction by indiaalphawhiskey | 113k | Explicit

Heralded as the next Neil Gaiman, Louis Tomlinson does not appreciate being told that his very serious novel is in dire need of a PR boost. Even worse, that it comes in the form of a joint book tour with the UK’s #1 online romance-writing sensation Marcel Styles. Already turbulent at best, their partnership takes a drastic turn when, overly stressed about his looming deadline, Marcel accidentally blurts out a secret: though he’s famed for his scorching hot literary love scenes, he is, actually, a virgin.

Convinced that the only way to rid himself of writer’s block is to gain some experience, Marcel asks Louis, author-to-author, to sleep with him – for Science. And of course Louis agrees because, well, what on Earth could possibly go wrong?

Or, a lesson in romance that proves that sometimes the best love stories aren’t always by the book.

Soft Hands, Fast Feet, Can't Lose by dolce_piccante | 112k | Mature

American Uni AU. Harry Styles is a frat boy football star from the wealthy Styles Family athletic dynasty. A celebrity among football fans, he knows how to play, he knows how to party, and he knows how to fuck (all of which is well known among his legion of admirers).

Louis Tomlinson is a student and an athlete, but his similarities to Harry end there. Intelligent, focused, independent, and completely uninterested in Harry’s charms, Louis is an anomaly in a world ruled by football.

A bet about the pair, who might be more similar than they originally thought, brings them together. Shakespeare, ballet, Disney, football, library chats, running, accidental spooning, Daredevil and Domino’s Pizza all blend into one big friendship Frappucino, but who will win in the end?

Dance to the Distortion by Lis (domesticharry) | 96k | Explicit

Louis accidentally breaks Harry's camera lens and in order to get it fixed, they decide to participate in a romantic couples study. The only issue is that they are not actually couple. Well that and the fact they cannot stand each other.

You’ve Got My Devotion (Hate You Sometimes) by lucythegoosey | 95k | Explicit

Harry was in the biggest boy band in the world. He was also one half of the best (or worst, depends on who you ask) kept secret relationship in the music industry.

Now, almost five years on, after One Direction has broken up, and Harry and Louis' relationship has as well, a video threatens to put everything at risk.

One determined Irishman, a massive publicity stunt and two begrudging exes are all it takes to bring One Direction back to life and maybe, just maybe, Harry and Louis' mangled love life too.

Or: Harry and Louis are forced to fake-date after an old video from when they were dating emerges.

The Sidelines by RedRidingStiles | 47k | Explicit

"Alright, I know you guys are the best of friends but I'd like you to do this for the rest of the team,” Cowell says, making the rest of the team snicker. "So I want both of you to compliment each other." "I hate your trainers. I mean that in the nicest way possible. They're very...yellow," Louis says, arms crossed as he offers a fake close-lipped grin. "It's really nice of you to blow anyone you find slightly attractive," Harry replies, a sickening sweet smile on his lips. "Thank you, children, let me remind you this is a college hockey team. Try again," Coach says, completely unamused.

Or Harry and Louis play hockey for Penn state and can't stand one another, since they can't keep their hatred off the ice their coach and team do what they can to keep their hard earned spot in the playoffs and their two star players from killing each other

Wonderwall by AFangirlFantasy | 43k | General Audiences

Taking the sheet cluttered with times available for the next few weeks, Louis notices a pattern in the list. The name of the person Perrie had just mentioned: Harry Styles. It’s written at least seven times, and three of which are during timeframes Louis wants.

“Who the fuck is Harry Styles?”

“You’re about to find out,” she answers, pointing over Louis’ shoulder.

Or a Love/Hate College AU where Louis Tomlinson is the lead singer of The Rogue - the most popular band on campus - and Harry Styles is the talented Freshman unknowingly challenging all that.

All the Right Moves by cherrystreet | 32k | Explicit

This is the third game in a row that Harry has been distracted by the noisy boy in the stands, five rows back.

There’s really no reason that he should feel compelled to stare into the audience as frequently as he is, but he can’t help it. This boy is a nuisance. And he’s loud. Even from basketball court with nine other players running by him, shoes squeaking on the shiny hardwood floor, and thousands of cheering college students, Harry can hear this boy nearly shrieking, his laugh more like a cackle than anything.

It’s seriously obnoxious.

Nicotine by KrisStylinson | 32k | Explicit

"We're two different types of people, Liam. He likes sex and drugs, I like theater and tea. Trust me, we'd never date." Except they would, they do, and neither of them plans on letting go anytime soon.

"Just because you can get me hard doesn't mean I like you," Louis whispered. The fact was, he didn't like Harry right now, not at all. Not even a bit.

"Yeah, yeah," Harry murmured, his breath fanning over Louis' cock as he spoke. "You done telling me how much you hate me so I can suck you off?"

Like Candy In My Veins by littlelouishiccups | 31k | Explicit

“Um…” Harry said slowly after a moment. “Okay. That’s… this is… Let me get this straight.” He lifted up a hand and swallowed. “You told your family that you have a boyfriend… and my name was the first one you thought of?” “Harry Potter was on TV, alright? It wasn’t that much of a stretch.” Louis pinched the bridge of his nose. He couldn’t believe he was explaining himself to Harry fucking Styles. He couldn’t believe he was stooping this low. “Forget it. I’m sorry I even thought about bringing you into this.”

Harry snorted. “What? Did you want me to pretend to be your boyfriend or something?”

(Basically the A/B/O, enemies to lovers, fake relationship, Christmas AU that nobody asked for.)

We're Like Bumper Cars by sincehewaseighteen | 31k | Explicit

“I have won, I won the final cross country. I win, Harry--”

“Whoever gets to fucking nationals wins it, pretty boy,” Harry teases. “You haven’t won. Interhouse is nothing compared to nationals, or interstate. You haven’t even won interschool. You can dream all you fucking want that you’ve won.”

Louis becomes so ignorant he decides to no longer eye the boy taunting him. “Trophies prove it all, Styles.”

“Where’s your trophy for biggest asshole?”

“Where’s yours for winning cross country?”

Harry growls before hooking his fingers in Louis’ belt loops and bringing them together for a flat kiss.

Or the AU where Louis and Harry are rivals of the century and Cross Country competitors before things get complicated and they play pretend.

After Hours by Velvetoscar for shipsdrifting | 26k | Not Rated

Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson are the bane of each other's existences. Unfortunately, they're already in love--even if they aren't completely aware of this minor detail.

[A "You've Got Mail" AU]

When It's Late At Night by Rearviewdreamer | 25k | Mature

Louis has zero interest in an ex-boybander turned solo artist when his appearance on the show gets announced, but that's exactly who he gets stuck with when Harry Styles shows up at the Late Late show to promote the release of his debut album. For an entire fucking week.

Or

The Late Late prompt that we all need to get through this excruciatingly hard time.

Love Me Please by angelichl | 23k | Explicit

Louis hates Harry, which is fine because he would really rather prefer to avoid him at all costs.

The only problem?

They're soulmates.

runnin' like you did by orphan_account | 20k | Explicit

“Should we tell him?”

When Lauren is met with everyone either nodding their heads or shrugging, she takes a deep breath. “I mean, I think it’s pretty obvious by now.” She stalls, sounding ominous and Louis doesn’t like it one bit.

“What is obvious by now?” Louis asks. He’s starting getting anxious. “I swear to God, spit it out. Stop being so damn cryptic.”

“I—We think it’s pretty obvious that you’re in love with Harry,” she states simply and shrugs as if she isn’t telling him he’s in love with the second—Nick being the first—most annoying person on the planet.

or, a college au where Louis knows how to hold a grudge and is definitely not in love with Harry Styles

Three French Hems by 100percentsassy, gloria_andrews | 20k | Mature

In which Louis is a designer at Burberry and Harry spends December wearing Lanvin… and Lanvin… and Lanvin.

once bitten and twice shy by pinkcords | 19k | Mature

This time as his stomach rolls, there’s no doubt about it. He’s going to vomit. And if he does, it’ll be on Louis’ shoes, a nice little parting gift to go with the embarrassment he’s caused the both of them. “I’m gonna throw up,” he says just as Louis turns to look at him, blue eyes swimming with shock and confusion, and asks, “Is that true?”

Or, in a rush of bravery only senior year can bring, Harry confesses his feelings in a letter to his neighbor and best friend, Louis, only for the entire school to hear it and laugh him out of their small town in Wisconsin. Ten years later, Harry's a successful lawyer at Columbia Records, coming home for Christmas for the first time since he departed for college. He plans to work his way through the trip, eat his mom's cooking, and avoid everyone from his past for as long as possible. The only problem is best laid plans hardly ever go as intended.

That's How I Know by allwaswell16 | 19k | Explicit

Louis Tomlinson has just landed his dream job, coaching soccer at Augustus University. When he moves into a new house near campus, he meets his very fit new neighbor, English professor Harry Styles. Although their first meeting leads to an instant mutual dislike, the more Harry gets to know Louis, the more he likes what he sees.

Or the one where Harry’s African grey parrot spills his dirty secrets to his very hot neighbor.

Get Off of My Cloud by Marora_Daris | 9k | Explicit

Harry is the most annoying neighbour that sexually frustrated Louis could have. Niall decides it's a good idea to handcuff them together.

Featuring guinea pigs, animal print leggings and inappropriate boners.

Erase My History, (Expo)se Me by BayouSexual, pacificrimjob for Edandcurly | 6k | Teen And Up Audiences

“My hair does not smell like strawberries.”

Louis blinks up at Mr. Styles. “I never said your hair smells like strawberries. How would I even know that?” Harry’s hair does smell like strawberries, Harry himself smells like strawberries, everyone who’s been within three feet of him knows this. ~~~~~~~~ Or the one where Harry and Louis both teacher history, their students think they should date, and one pink dry-erase marker is trying to ruin their lives (with a little help of course).

[themadamespod]

The Great White Gripe

A lot has been said about the “social commentary” within The Falcon and the Winter Soldier. 

“Since when is Marvel a bunch of SJWs? I don’t need this shit.”

“All this race stuff feels SUPER forced.”

“Oh here we go Marvel tryin to be all woke to get the libs on board.”

If you personally know anyone who spews this brand of ignorance, we’re sorry. 

Let’s make one thing perfectly clear: there is no social commentary on TFATWS. Showrunner Malcolm Spellman and director Kari Skogland simply show the reality of life in America. It’s not their fault that so many (white) people (men) don’t like looking in the mirror.

And some people claim they have no problem with film and television addressing politics and social change.

“Just keep it out of my comic book movies. It doesn’t belong there.”

They could not be anymore wrong, even if Chandler Bing himself was lecturing them. 

If you asked 100 people to name the top ten movies of all time, you’d get 100 different lists. But one thing we can all agree on is that film has power. It has the power to move us, to divide us, to unite us. Entertainment can lead to the kind of discourse that prompts action and positive change.

And that’s why The Falcon and the Winter Soldier and the conversations it’s sparking are so important.

One World, One Reality

“Marvel has always been and always will be a reflection of the world right outside our window.” - Stan Lee

There are two takeaways from that statement:

One: Stan Lee didn’t say that in the 1960s, 1970s, or even the 1980s. He said it in 2017.

Two: Our window, not your window, is a subtle but important distinction, particularly as it relates to TFATWS. The Flag Smashers, led by Karli Morgenthau, live by a simple creed: “One world, One people.” The core message of the show is that white Americans and Black Americans experience the world very differently, but there’s still only one world, one reality. 

It’s just a matter of people opening their eyes and seeing it.

TFATWS is an extension of Marvel’s early support of the Civil Rights Movement. In 1963, Stan Lee created the X-Men as an allegory for the ongoing struggles of the African-American community. Though he didn’t explicitly base Professor X and Magneto on Martin Luther King, Jr. and Malcolm X, there are ideological similarities.

Five years later, following the assassinations of Dr. King and Robert Kennedy, Stan wrote the following:

“Bigotry and racism are among the deadliest social ills plaguing the world today. It’s totally irrational, patently insane to condemn an entire race—to despise an entire nation—to vilify an entire religion. Sooner or later, we must learn to judge each other on our own merits. Sooner or later, if a man is ever to be worthy of his destiny, we must fill our hearts with tolerance.”

In 2021, Stan’s words still resonate. Racism in the United States is as virulent and damaging as it’s ever been. Black Americans are facing deadly policing, Jim Crow 2.0 voting laws, mass incarceration, and countless other roadblocks to mobility that most white people have never encountered.

Through the journeys of Sam and Sarah Wilson, Lemar Hoskins, and the heartbreaking Isaiah Bradley, TFATWS shows the unvarnished truth of what Ira Glass might call Black American Life. And through John Walker, the writers nail home the message that’s really making certain people squirm:

White men are the greatest threat not just to Black Americans, but all Americans, because TFATWS is as much an indictment of toxic masculinity as it is of bigotry. 

As aggressive racism has spread like wildfire since 2016, so has hostile sexism towards women of all colors. John Walker is the embodiment of the hyper aggression that the Proud Boys applaud. The clearest example of this comes when Walker dares to clap the shoulder of Ayo, one of Wakanda’s Dora Milaje.

Her swift and, ahem, pointed response had women the world over screaming like they’d just won the lottery. 

One could also argue that Walker’s dogged pursuit of Karli and displaced peoples supporting the Flag Smasher cause mirrors the Trump administration’s war on immigrants. 

There are plenty of parallels to draw. The point is, none of them are forced or manufactured or exaggerated. And whether we’re talking about a fictional road in Latvia or a real street in Minnesota, white Americans need to stop avoiding conversations that make them uncomfortable.

The Politics of Comics 

In 1938, Americans were still reeling from the Great Depression. Enter Superman, the everyman hero, who made his comic debut while the nation was facing widespread unemployment, rampant poverty, and blatant corruption at every level of government.

Superman could have faced off against any number of supernatural villains. But Siegel and Shuster went a different route, setting a precedent for comic books that has prevailed to this day:

They got political. 

Throughout Superman’s earliest adventures, he fought against evil politicians, apathetic bureaucrats, aggressive police officers, greedy businessmen, and even a Washington lobbyist. 

Then in 1941, Joe Simon & Jack Kirby introduced Captain America just in time to fight the nazis and free the world from fascism. A couple decades later, Kirby and Stan Lee would tell the tale of the aforementioned Erik Lehnsherr, who survived the horrors of Auschwitz. These comics endured because their passion and nuance transcended entertainment. So what was the secret sauce?

Like Siegel and Shuster, Simon, Kirby, and Stan Lee were Jewish. Representation matters, folks. 

Later on, the X-Men weren’t the only conduit through which Marvel supported Civil Rights. In 1966, on the heels of the “March Against Fear” from Memphis, TN to Jackson, MS, Stan Lee & Jack Kirby unveiled Black Panther. When African-Americans were fighting harder than ever, Black children could suddenly read a comic book about T’Challa, the noble warrior king of a highly advanced African nation. 

Marvel has never been shy about critiquing foreign policy either. Tony Stark and Iron Man debuted in 1968 as the conflict in Vietnam was escalating. And let’s not forget, Tony made his MCU debut in a film that is a clear indictment of the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan.

We could do this all day, but you get the idea. 

Comic books have always reflected the politics of our times, and so has the MCU. Fanboys can’t start crying now just because they’re on the wrong side of history. And when they do, we defer to the great Jon Bernthal when asked about alt-righters appropriating the Punisher symbol:

“Fuck them.”

Life Imitates Art

In 1986, American men felt the need for speed. After Top Gun was released, applications to U.S. aviation forces increased by a staggering 500%. 

Two years later, Errol Morris exposed police corruption in his film The Thin Blue Line. The documentary prompted a new investigation that eventually exonerated death row inmate Randall Adams for the murder of a police officer.

That same year, the Polish government ceased all executions after leaders were swayed to do so by A Short Film about Killing.

Following the release of Michael Moore’s Bowling for Columbine in 1999, Kmart bowed to public pressure and stopped selling handgun ammunition. 

And 5 years ago, Pakistani Prime Minister Nawaz Sharif changed the law on honor killings in response to the critically-acclaimed film A Girl in the River. 

Like we said earlier, film has the power to spur social change. Even if the effects aren’t always so direct and immediate, television and movies have always contributed to the process in America. 

Seeing the Ricardos sharing a bed allowed some Americans to start relaxing their prudish ways. 

The Mary Tyler Moore Show and Maude empowered women as they fought for reproductive rights.

The Jeffersons and Good Times facilitated calmer discussions about race relations.

And The Ellen Show led to greater representation of queer people on screen and greater acceptance of queer people in society. Though Ellen herself has become a problematic figure in the last year, that legacy still remains.

The Falcon and the Winter Soldier is hardly the first show of its kind. And given the impact film has on society, we believe Hollywood has a moral obligation to produce content that exposes society’s ills and fosters productive debate. 

Stan Lee would be very proud of the team behind TFATWS for bringing the stark reality of American life into people’s living rooms. The next time you see someone bitching about it, remind them what Stan himself said just a few years ago: 

“Those stories have room for everyone, regardless of their race, gender, religion, or color of their skin. The only things we don't have room for are hatred, intolerance, and bigotry.”

[bladekindeyewear]

HS^2 bloggin’ mainline 2020-09-15

This caught me laaaate at night gosh I’m tired but I’m gonna get it outta the way so it won’t stick in my craw!  Already saw the first page, so it’s time for:

> CHAPTER 13. The Funeral

Church with chess symbols at the peaks and a Prospit/Derse or Hope/Rage split color theme on the stained glass windows.

JANE: Dearly beloved...

> (==>)

Trolls, humans, and papparazzi.  Oh, hm, this church is RATHER carapacian isn’t it?  Between the chess and the continuing Prospit-Derse themes, like how this corresponds to how they align in the incipisphere top-left to bottom-right if I recall:

(Minus the outlying orbs to the left and right for symmetry.)

That twisted pattern is interesting, and not quite a spirograph.  Is that gonna be important later?  If we’re going to get some sort of class chart later in the comic, it’d be easy for them to hint at the chart’s graphical structure subtly by dropping it places like here.

JANE: Ladies... JANE: Gentlemen... JANE: News outlets... JANE: And other valued members of the Human Nation State.

Technically true, but still odd to hear--  ...oh right, I forgot this was asshole dictator-wannabe Jane, too.

I read an interesting twitter thread recently about the intense psychological distinction between wanting to BE the best, and wanting to be TREATED like you’re the best.  Epilogues/HS^2 Jane is kind of written as a case study on the pitfalls of leaning on the latter instead of the former.

> (==>)

They brought Yiffy WITH them-!?  --Oh right.  The hostage exchange was supposed to happen here wasn’t it.

Yiffy definitely looks like a Harley-Lalonde daughter in this shot.

JANE: Gamzee Makara, High Court Jester, exalted saint of the purple veil, has left us to traverse that grand, gay carnival in the sky, where, I am told by various members of the clownly cloth, he will spend the rest of history, honking in grand tribute to the Mirthful Messiah.

SINGULAR???

Weird.  Is it because Alt!Callie “won” here?

Or is Jane just forgetting because she’s culturally used to monotheism (ironically) and is insensitive.

JANE: And my first memory of our Purple Prince, was his robust codpiece--

Wow.

> (==>)

JANE: --As he offered me his friendly support, along with the sacred blood of his brethren, the holy sacrament--

He STILL killed trolls??! (EDIT: No, a friend points out that she's talking about when she met him first in Act 6 and he tried selling bottles of troll blood to her. EDIT2: -which may be another inconsistency, since Vriska supposedly overwrote that post-retcon.)

> (==>)

It takes Jake a few seconds of puzzled eye contact before he catches exactly what it is Yiffany is tossing down. In his defense, he is distracted by his wife’s speech, which is doing the emotional equivalent of wringing him out like a wet towel, before using that towel to slap the sweaty buttocks of a large, odorous man. Even if he knows everything she’s saying is a load of horsefeathers, it does nothing for his composure to hear her heap praise on that smelly, homewrecking clown.

Bad things about Gamzee deserve to be said here, yes.

Jake wonders what she’ll say about him, at his own funeral.

Now those are some uncomfortable thoughts.

He narrows his eyes in Yiffany’s direction. She’s a lovely girl, really. He wishes he could have gotten to know her under better circumstances. He’d known she existed, of course--Jane had complained about her often enough--but they’d never had much chance to get acquainted. He rather believes her and Tavvy would have been fast friends.

Then again, perhaps it’s better that she never had much of a chance to get to know his family.

He lets go of the leash.

Yep, there’s a plan to set in motion that he’s probably already discussed with her privately.  Gotta unite this four-kid team after all.

> (==>)

Wait, are you ATTACKING?!?  --Of course you’re attacking.  You would even if the plan was something different, wouldn’t you.

JANE: And I know that at times like these it is easy to want to give in. JANE: To throw in the towel, and turn our faces away from the light of democracy and moral fortitude that we, the citizens of the human kingdom, are blessed with from birth. JANE: God knows I’ve had my own faith tested in the last few weeks.

Jesus Christ, what has she turned the place into, a fucking theocracy?

She sounds like the leader of some screwed-up, fundamentalist country!  Like the United States!

*rimshot*

JANE: As many of you know, I did not grow up with the same privileges that all of you enjoy.

Jesus.

JANE: I was born on proto-Earth, that half-finished dystopia mangled by the ravages of foolish leadership and endless war.

Jesus, she really IS a self-evident takedown of hypocritical entitled political figures.  With the bonuses having Jasprose explicitly ADDRESS said entitlement to make things even clearer cut.

JANE: And as for Gamzee, well, his upbringing was even worse. JANE: He was born to a violent and uncaring home, a lonely child with few natural gifts.

...Some natural gifts and status.

> (==>)

She’s just, shaking with fury here isn’t she?  And about to perform an impressive corpse-lob.

JANE: It would be simple to let this disgusting, vile, SHAMEFUL act of spiteful revenge turn us away from the blinding light of the sword of justice that hangs over us all--

This sentence seems suspicious so I’m quoting it to refer to later if I need to, but is probably just platitudes.

> (==>)

JANE: Poised

> (==>)

JANE: Trembling

Okay maybe the sword’s a dick, but what exactly is Yiffany doing??  I’m finding it difficult as usual to tell between some of these image transitions.

> (==>)

JANE: Ready to burst forth--

Bad PR to shock-collar a kid mid press junket.  (Very dicks description.)

> (==>)

Click.  (Did they swap the shock function with Jane’s necklace somehow, that’d be fun.)

JANE: I want to give up, at times. I understand your pain.

While shocking a kid?  GREAT PR.

> (==>)

JANE: I sympathize with your pain.

Wow, those horrified audience members.  She REALLY can’t even see herself anymore can she?  Not even hear herself.  And they’re making sure this is pointed out to EVERYONE watching.  They described this as in large part a PR campaign to defeat her, didn’t they?

> (==>)

Great furious businesswoman-villain look, that art.

JANE: But when that pain! Becomes too hard! To endure! JANE: Remember poor, lifeless Gamzee! Who suffered pain far worse than any of us could ever fathom! JANE: THE PAIN OF BETRAYAL!

Click click click.  This is a fun sequence.

> (==>)

DIRK: Dude, didn’t you lower the voltage on that shock collar? DIRK: Little Red isn’t looking so hot. JAKE: Yes of course i did but the damn doohickys got the kick of a donkey! JAKE: I couldnt remove it completely shed know i was the one who did it! DIRK: Well, if that supervillain cuntwaffle doesn’t stop, she’s going to kill her. Not really the best at hostage management, is she.

Decent plan.  (And of course Dirk would pull out the word cunt.)  When’s the cavalry coming?

> (==>)

JANE: But we cannot allow his memory to be in vain! JANE: For Gamzee Makara taught us that even the most loathsome degenerate can take their place in society. JANE: All they need is the right redemption arc - !

Trying to hammer home some of the Epilogue’s trolly-critical themes a little less bleakly, I take it.

I kind of like the violent vibration in ALL of these gifs in a row.  It makes the scene seem small, slow, teeth-clenching but still full of steady action, emphasizing the importance of the relatively small events from panel to panel while giving them the sense with the animation of them being [i]drawn out[/i] and tortuous instead of just “occurring”.  It feels that way to me, anyway.

> (==>)

If he got up alive here, that’d be hilarious.  (Presumably he’s been treated and done-up like a normal funeral body, not “dormant” and undecaying like a dead god-tier.)

> (==>)

CORPSE PUNT w/ CLEATS

> (==>)

That face is just.  I love that face.

> (==>)

SHE MAD

JANE: Young lady, I am just about at the end of my rope with you. JANE: Throw all the dog bowls you want at the walls of my warship. JANE: But don’t you dare act up in front of a JANE: Live JANE: Fucking JANE: Newsfeed! YIFFY: Grrrrrr

What did you expect to happen?  Do you expect to shout her down from this, Jane?

JANE: After everything I’ve done for you--paying for your education, helping your parents cover up your existence from the world! JANE: Just imagine what Rose and Jade would say if they could see you now, even dissidents can have a little decorum! JANE: Get down from there at once! YIFFY: Grrrrrr

But this is GAMZEE.  --I guess it’s seriously disrespectful to his followers, though.  Still.  If you wanted civility from her, a shock collar, leash, and food bowl wasn’t the way to go about it.

JANE: Don’t you threaten me, young lady. Not today! YIFFY: GRRRRRRRRR

What is your PLAN even, Jane?  You’ve completely disregarded her.

JANE: There’s nowhere for you to go. My agents are swarming this church. Be reasonable, Yiffany. JANE: Ugh. JANE: Disgusting name. JANE: But that’s hardly your fault. You were always just a footnote. Your parents’ little prank. JANE: Honestly, that’s why I helped them all those years ago! I do love a good jape. JANE: But let’s be serious. JANE: You don’t matter. If you did, they would have come for you already.

Can all the press hear her being such an asshole?

Okay, stereotypically, their arrival should be the next couple panels:

> (==>)

Jake, do something useful like hoping harder.

> (==>)

And she knocks the remote away.  Excellent.

And she does. Seemingly at the end of her tolerance for insults toward her name, social status, and heritage, Yiffy performs an impressive backflip off the podium and down onto the church floor. One that, if it hadn’t been happening amidst a sea of other newsworthy events, would surely have ended up on someone’s instagram story within thirty seconds. She gives Gamzee’s corpse one last parting kick: a hard, proper kick that proves those cleats aren’t just for fashion. Although they are certainly also for fashion.

Good, good.

He vanishes into the seething crowd, and we are confident that we will never have to deal with this asshole ever again.

God damnit.

> (==>)

Jake watches this from a safe distance, poised on the edge of intervening to pull Yiffy out of there. But in the end he doesn’t have to. Instead he watches in admiration as she tears the place to utter shreds. An echoing sympathy swells inside of him as she rends apart the funeral flowers and punts Gamzee into the shrieking congregation. Here is a girl who felt the cold, indecent hand of fate wrapping around her, and instead of submitting to it and slowly sublimating down into morasse of boiled doormat, she slapped it away from her with a lively oh, no thank you.

All at once, Jake feels immense affection for his granddaughter. He hopes the two of them can make up for lost time.

Lessons belatedly learned, but learned nonetheless.

> (==>)

JANE: Enough of this. JANE: Seize her!

Kind of Red Queen of you.  (Are those stained glass windows in back of the frame about to burst?)

> (==>)

Yep.

The stained glass window shatters inward, obliterated to stardust. The war is knocking.

Even attacking a disgusting faith’s church is pretty bad form, though.

Tired and busy, seeya next upd8.  <3

[bubmyg]

an out of bounds umbrella - myg

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre/warnings: college!au, basketball player!au, (light) enemies to lovers, the real enemy is taehyung, fluff; yoongi’s birthday fic!

word count: 10,296

summary: you’re apologetic about almost blinding your university’s star point guard with the broken tip of your umbrella until you share a class with him and find out he’s a three star recruit but a four star dick or min yoongi doesn’t find your high school musical puns amusing.  

a/n: merry birthday to the light of my life :-(

You pressed buttered pieces of popcorn into gently chewing cheeks, squinted eyes trained on the television screen. Blurs of red and white streaked across brown panel flooring, squeaking shoes and dull roars from the crowd picking up on the mics as the two announcers rambled on about something you weren’t conscious of.

The color of the sweatshirt draped across your torso matched the jerseys of the opposing team, just as the embroidered logos stitched on the corners mirrored that of the website pulled up on your idle laptop on your desk. Going to a university with a nationally ranked basketball team gave some sense of pride, even if you hadn’t adamantly followed the team’s progress otherwise. So said the email pulled up on your laptop, one from a class you hadn’t yet, one from a professor you hadn’t met yet, insisting that you could have the first day of class off if and only if your university won the game currently transpiring before your eyes.

You weren’t watching for that reason, but to not have to wake up for the first day of a new semester gave a new sense to the grit on your teeth as the gap in the score dwindled in the favor of you having to set an alarm on a Monday.

It was a ten point game with ten minutes left in the game, something you noted when you were out of popcorn on your plate and had to dive for the bag on your desk in the short media timeout. It was a seven point game by the time you’d settled back into the stiff cushions of your couch, announcers adamant about the player profile stretched across the screen while play still happened in the background.

You recognized the plush lips stretched into a smile on the head shot simply because your roommate freshman year had made out with Park Jimin for five minutes at a frat party and hadn’t let you forget it. His dark hair was swept across smiling eyes, teeth wide and smile crooked as his stats proved the analysis that his three point percentage helped the team prevail from behind more often than not.

The graphic faded as Jimin regained possession off a steal on defense, burnt orange streaking through the middle of the court as the ball was passed and landed in the hands of the first one back in transition. He laid the ball in for an easy layup.

Five point game.

“Park certainly is an asset to the glue that holds this team together, however—” The announcer spoke as another graphic, smaller this time, adjusted to the corner, “—we have to talk about the one who got him the ball on that last three. Or who beat everyone back on defense after that steal.”

“Or who may certainly be in serious talks for player of the year.”

Going to a university with a ranked basketball generally meant that you were aware of the team’s top ranked recruit, top scorer, the one who drew handfuls of pro-scouts into the stands every home game. He was elusive on campus, presence at parties a myth without any proof, attendance in class mandatory but quiet, walks to class huddled between various members of his teammates.

Maybe you found the aura he gave off attractive, that he wasn’t incredible or loved by people his own age who he didn’t even know.

Or maybe it was just because Min Yoongi was really fucking pretty.

When you were done gaping at the pretty shape of his eyes or the lazy upturn to one corner of his mouth that didn’t quite show his teeth but dimpled his cheeks nonetheless, there was a live shot of his expression as he jogged to the huddle for a timeout. Bleached hair stuck in individual pleats to his forehead, gums on display as he pumped his fist and got intercepted by the round of individuals around the bench, dragging him into the open seat with high fives and claps on the back.

Yoongi had hit a pull up three. Two point game. Five minutes to go.

Your popcorn was cold and forgotten by the time the final buzzer sounded, the ten point swing now in the favor of you not having your first class in the morning, another win and the umpteenth in a row for your university's team, another thirty point game to bring Yoongi’s average scoring up to a national high. He was quiet now in the handshake line, lips tight, eyes down turned as the camera followed the team along while the announcers bid their goodbyes.

A notification emitted from your laptop, another email with the tagline thanks number fourteen and the contents assuring you that you wouldn’t be having class until Wednesday.

You switched off your television as those in the next sporting program on the channel began to chatter about the infamous number fourteen. Unpopped kernels ricocheted through your trash can as you binned your cold snack, sighing at the half opened email on your screen.

You sighed, “Thanks, Min Yoongi.”

The second day of the semester was dulled by a mid winter day warm enough to elicit a torrential downpour of cold rain. And if there was something that never changed with the whether or the term, it was the wind tunnel created through the middle of various academic buildings, whipping ice into your cheeks and blowing the sleeves of your jacket out from the sanction of your gloves. You’d left early, mostly to assure you found the classroom, not be late on the first day of a class.

But mostly to not be picked up Mary Poppins style by the cheap umbrella clutched blindly in aching knuckles.

You could hear the thin metal pieces groaning each time you changed direction, barely glancing into crosswalks for cars or buses or that singular brave soul who would try their bike. The place where they connected in the middle was pressed against the layers of hoods and hats on the top of your head, as close to the ground as you could manage while still protecting your laptop keys from freezing to a standstill. You swayed with each gush of the wind and your boots anchored you in place the best they could while still moving forward as you observed two dark blobs moving in the opposite direction from you in the distance.

Preparation began fully when you could hear them noisily chatting over the wind. You rooted the umbrella in place with two hands, slower steps stalling as close as you could get to the edge of the sidewalk without dipping into the slush mess of snow and mud, raising your head just enough to assess your distance from the two approaching individuals.

One scrambled out of the way as he seemed to register you in the same moment, but the timing was not in favor of the next lift of your foot off the ground as you were stumbling a half step in their direction.

You hadn’t looked enough to notice the two individuals were without, protection limited to black hoodies cinched underneath their chins, but you expected your umbrella to clash into one of theirs. Instead, you narrowly avoided driving the rounded edge of cheap metal into the nearest boy’s eye socket as he locked up at the last second to let out a grunt of annoyance.

Blonde hair draped out over dark eyes with the startled jerk of his head and suddenly you were seven more layers of horrified as you leaned as far as you could in the opposite direction.

“Oh, Yoongi, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

His voice was gruff as he quipped curtly, “Control your umbrella, maybe?”

You stood rooted in a shallow puddle of mud, creaking umbrella clutched in loosened palms as his gaze turned from yours, hands shoving deeper into his pockets as a kicking step carried him away from you. The proceeding gust of wind was the only thing to derive your attention, grip quickly clamping back down on the object in hand as you swallowed thickly in watching their backs saunter away.

The other one’s hood had fallen off now and you wished the puddle below you would gape into a black hole and swallow you whole when Park Jimin smacked his friend’s chest before beaming at you over his shoulder.

“I like your umbrella, babe!”

Your tongue was dry from the ajar hang of your mouth in driving winds, muffling your responding thanks! as much as the leftover horror still clinging to your numb veins did.

The umbrella was crumpled and shoved into the bag of your backpack when you settled into your second class of the day, phone pressed against your ear as your irritated glare seemed to keep your back corner of the lecture hall clear.

“Imagine that news headline,” Jeongguk was chattering through the speaker, “Local dumbass on college campus blinds star point guard with a shitty umbrella. Team never wins a game again. Student body rallies to burn down apartment building of the attacker.”

“Can I stay with you when they do?” Your cold glare met the far wall as you dipped a hand into your sopping wet backpack, drawing out a notebook and a pen and you wished the wall were Jeongguk’s stupid smiling face so you could jab your pen between the gap in his bunny teeth.

“Absolutely.”

“I hate you.”

“Noted for whether I put you on the couch or make Taehyung share his bed with you,” You heard him cackle and it lessened the automatic grimace that graced your features. “Seriously though. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“It’s not, I’m just an idiot.”

Jeongguk hesitated and you wanted to punch him through the line, “Maybe. Is this your last class today? I have to remember your new schedule so I can know when to be a pain in the ass but like, respectfully.”

“Yes, Guk.”

“Do you want me to bring you soup later?”

Your grateful answer stalled on your tongue and you nearly swallowed the muscle when a stupidly familiar blob of drenched black fabric plopped down in the seat three down from you. You turned with a cocked eyebrow, the tiniest voice in your head that wasn’t Jeongguk’s rambling for you to answer him telling you that the odds were ridiculous and this was a class for your major and why would Min Yoongi be in a literature class?

Min Yoongi was definitely in the literature class and he was definitely sitting three seats down from you and he was definitely staring at you with one eyebrow cocked and an annoyed round to the black of his eyes.

“Does your silence mean yes but you want me to bring the soup but with, like, crackers or something?”

“Yes, Guk, soup sounds good. I’ll, uh, see you later, profjustwalkedinbye!”

You heard him snort and with another fleeting glance you found that he was no longer staring at you but instead picking at loose skin around his fingernails. You took the discovery with a sigh of relief and the freedom to do the same to your own battered nails.

He was two seats closer when the professor had halfheartedly split the room in discussion groups with a waving flick of her wrist in general corners. The individuals who were presumably meant to speak with the two of you had joined the group a layer below in the lecture hall, leaving the awkward silence that went with you fingering at the pages on your notebook while Yoongi pretended to read the passage projected on the board.

“Did you...do this reading?”

You startled at the rasp of Yoongi’s voice addressing you and when you looked up your irritation grew tenfold because now you didn’t want to admit that he was super fucking pretty. Delicate eyelashes blinked at you, not amused by the frantic fish of your mouth as you snapped harsher than you meant to.

“Of course I did,” You swallowed, shoulders sinking, “Did you?”

There was something infuriating about his next, almost rhetorical inquiry, purely because the lack of anything cocky encompassing his entire being. There wasn’t a smug smirk plastered to his lips, no knowing smile, no wink to precede the words. Just a lazy cock of his chin as he squished his cheek into curled knuckles complete with pursed pink lips.

“Do you know who I am?”

If the easy lack of care that encompassed his entire being intrigued you before it made you grind your teeth into jagged edges now, especially with the connotation of his question no matter how simply he asked it.

So you contrasted his expression, a sweet smile meeting your teeth as you still cold cheeks screamed from the movement, “No? Should I?”

Something sparkled in the corner of Yoongi’s right eye when it crinkled ever so slightly, lips twitched as he straightened, dragging the hand on his cheek down to rest around the back of his neck as his eyes diverted to the board.

“Well, I’m Yoongi. And no, I didn’t do the reading. Little busy this last weekend.”

“Well, it was essentially about how—”

He held up his hand, “Why don’t you just answer her questions when she calls on our group, then?”

Yoongi didn’t wait for your answer as he was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed. “Yeah,” You muttered dryly, “I can do that.”

“Perfect,” The back of his head hit the plastic of the chair and he craned his neck to squint at you, bleached locks tumbling away from dark eyebrows to expose the wrinkles rippling across his forehead, “What was your name again?”

You murmured it and he hummed, eyes falling shut as his fingers ran across his face.

“Wake me up when she starts discussion.”

You rounded a tour group exiting the basement of the student union without considering the eye roll the guide shot at the back of your head, swinging onto the staircase to the second floor and taking the arching marble two at a time. Your wet backpack felt three times heavier on your shoulders as your wet boots squeaked around the corner of the second story, retching open the tiny blue door hidden at the apex of the last stair of the main hallway.

The stairs were narrower leading up the chute to the virtually nonexistent third story of the union, wooden and cracked and creaking with each step but you took them two at a time as well, not stopping to stroke your fingers over the random pieces of artwork hung to the walls as you normally would. The room was dark when you reached the hilt, not that you expected otherwise, and you stumbled into the space with a stupidly exaggerated sigh of relief.

For once, the ache in your joints from the cold and the wet welcomed the strange heat that constantly infiltrated the spacious room at the top of the union, the south ballroom as it was advertised to clubs looking to rent space on the university website. It was spacious, the wooden floors scuffed and dotted in various streaks of grey and white paint, a lifted platform at the front of the room with stacks of grey chairs pressed against the wall, windows facing the street lining the walls but the cobwebs so bad it wasn’t worth it to try to see out of the frosted glass, a singular piano at the head of room that you were sure hadn’t been played in years.  

You stumbled on your favorite study spot on accident years ago and were thankful for the refuge that only a handful of students knew the whereabouts to every day, even when it was only the second day of the semester and you didn’t have highlighted notes to spread out the length of the room while pacing in front of the corresponding flashcards.

You discarded all your wet articles of clothing in a pile in the corner, your backpack, socks, shoes, jacket, top layer of shirt, leaving you in slightly damp jeans and a t-shirt as you hobbled across the uneven floor to the raised platform. Your ass hit the surface first, then your shoulders, sprawling openly across the floor as you welcomed the sound of muted traffic as the only thing your ringing ears could hear.

Until your phone went off in your bag, muffled by the layers of clothing piled on top of it and the thin sheen of ice still clinging to the pores.

“Are you upstairs?” Jeongguk whined pitifully, “I’ve burnt my hand twice of your fucking soup and want it gone.”

You sighed.

“Yeah.”

“Stop being all sulky, it’s day two—” There was some rustling and then he was grunting, “—why are you pretending that we didn’t know all student athletes are assholes.”

“You’re a student athlete.”

He was whining again, “Yes, but the swim team is different.”

“Beg to differ, Tae’s an ass.”

“He’s an ass to you because he thinks you’re hot and I said no.”

“He’s an ass even if you would have said yes.” 

“He’s a lovable ass.”

You parted your mouth to contradict when the rickety old doorknob was jiggling in it’s much too big hole, stalling your heart in your throat. You were stood, barefoot and drenched in the corner of the room with your clothes spread everywhere. Not a good look for an unsuspecting freshman who’d accidentally stumbled upon the room in search of the office who handled lost or stolen student ID’s.

“Hey, are you here?”

“No, I’m like two blocks away,” Jeongguk paused for the wind, “Why are we whispering?”

The door jiggled again, cracked barely a sliver, and then shut all the same. The echo of retreating footsteps echoed your breathing as you sighed, shaking your head even though Jeongguk couldn’t see you and he was prodding again with an expectant noise in his throat.

“No reason, thought somebody was coming up the stairs,” You slumped into a nearby chair, “Hurry up.”

“So we aren’t whispering?—”

It was two weeks later and the sun was out enough for you not to have to zip your winter jacket to your chin when Yoongi’s quiet confession and page full of notes almost made you think he wasn’t an asshole.

“I, uhm,” His chair rolled closer despite the apprehensive narrow of your eyes at the side of his head, “did the reading.”

“Good. That is, generally, the only thing you’re required to do in a literature class.”

He blinked, “It was...good.”

You blinked back, “You found Freud good?”

“Truthfully? No. Not at all. I hated every bit of it,” Yoongi’s notebook hit the desk with a dull thud, the metal spiral unraveled at the end and catching in the strings of his hoodie, “but I did read it. Aren’t you happy?”

“Why should I be happy that you actually did the assignment?”

“Because I can talk in class today—”

“—just because you can doesn’t mean you will—”

“—and because I was busy last night.” Yoongi flattened his palm over his notes, “Did you watch the game last night?”

“Just because you’ve suddenly developed this brooding hatred for Min Yoongi doesn’t mean you aren’t required to go to the games with me anymore,” Jeongguk’s weighed slumped against the door audibly and you groaned in response.

“I’m the only one of us that has tickets—” You tucked your pillow tighter to your face, “—you’re required to go with me.”

“Get up or we’re not going to get our seats.”

He let out a noise of surprise when you tossed your pillow at your door. “Are you wearing that stupid quarter-zip that’s a size too small for you?”

“Open the door and find out.”

“That’s a yes.”

“Open. The door.”

You rolled out of your duvet, flicking the lock on your door. Jeongguk nearly crashed the pointed edge against your nose as he shuffled through the threshold of the doorway. A quirked eyebrow rose higher into fluffy bangs as his gaze drug upward from your socked feet to your glaring eyes.

“Thought you only wore those socks to games,” He gestured vaguely, “and that ring. Move your hoodie, do you have your lucky sports bra on—”

“Jeongguk.”

He was knuckle deep in the shoulder of the heavy fabric, fingers plucking at the thick strap for good measure as he feigned, “What?”

“Get your hand out of my shirt and let’s go.”

The tall man groaned as he trailed you down the stairs of your building, longer legs taking them two at a time with incessant fingers prodding at your shoulder blades, “Eager to see your boyfriend in his element?”

You didn’t hold the door for Jeongguk as you took a running step forward out onto the sidewalk, “That shirt doesn’t make you look like you hit your bench max this week just because it’s tight.”

He caught up to you, shoving his fingers in the back pocket of your jeans, “And Yoongi won’t be able to see your ass in these from the court.”

“I didn’t wear them because of that—”

“He’s looking at you.”

“Jeongguk there’s two thousand people in this general direction. He’s not looking at me.”

“He’s definitely looking at you,” Jeongguk snorted when you lifted his arm to hide behind it, “He just smiled. I’ve never seen Min Yoongi smile during a basketball game.”

“They’re up by thirty. He thinks I don’t know who he is.”

“...and he’s still looking at you. Especially now that you’re attempting to hide. Secrets up I think.”

“Is it too late to move to the top section?”

“We’re not moving. This is our spot.”

“Bring Taehyung next time and I’ll move up to the top. Perfect plan.”

“Not to interrupt your existential crisis but Park Jimin is definitely waving at you.”

You whipped your head around at that, nearly bashing your nose off of Jeongguk’s flexed bicep as you immediately found the fluffy haired guard cackling in your general direction. If you weren’t paranoid, you wouldn’t have noticed him nudge the bleached haired one you were refusing to acknowledge and mouth that one?

They both waved this time and your muscle twitched to return the favor for whatever impulsive reason until bile burned up the back of your throat at the sight of nearly everyone around you waving as well. The pair seemed satisfied with themselves, having found whoever their target was as they exchanged a few nudged elbows to their stomachs.

You resisted the urge to flash your middle finger at Yoongi even though he was most certainly not looking at you when he cast another fleeting glance over his shoulder.

The back of your neck burned but you deadpanned, “What game?”

Each corner of Yoongi’s lips made the shape of a capital I and he nodded, throat visibly jumping as he dragged his notebook closer to his nose. “So Freud and why he’s not, in fact, good—”

You acquired Min Yoongi’s number a month and a half into the semester when group projects were a flippant announcement at the end of class and he’d shoved the device into your palms without asking what he wanted.

“I have to keep my grades up for my, uhm…” He trailed off and his hand was on the back of his neck again while you regarded him with thumbs stalled on the keyboard of the glass screen, “...my scholarship. So, I’d like to do well on this. You know?”

You began to type them, nodding, “I also would like to do well.”

“Good,” Yoongi accepted the phone back, tapping around on the screen as your own buzzed in your back pocket, “Then we’re on the same team.”

You waited until three days later in the middle of an away game that was illuminated on your television, finishing half your bowl of popcorn and texting him a question on his limited work on the shared powerpoint. It sent as he drained a three pointer and you couldn’t help but groan.  

They won and he responded almost an hour after you’d crawled into bed, a smiling emoji punctuating the roll of your eyes as you shoved your phone under your pillow, completely unsuspecting of the four extra slides he finished on the plane ride back to campus.

“Why are you calling me?” You squinted out the glass of one of the windows in your study room, cobwebs swept aside from the room’s yearly cleaning and enough for you to see blurred blobs crossing the sidewalks below.

“Because I don’t know how to explain this to you over text,” Yoongi mumbled on the other end, “There’s only so many emojis I can use to describe Shakespeare and my lack knowledge with anything technical.”

“There is a keyboard besides the emoji keyboard.”

“Exactly a thing helpless me would not know. Can you not be insufferable for two seconds?”

“Only if you never call me again.”

“Sounds like a fair trade,” Yoongi quipped dryly. “Get on the powerpoint, I think I accidentally deleted all our sources.”

“You did what—”

He sent you a picture of sprinkle covered donut after hanging up and brought it to you in a crumpled napkin the next morning.

You were tripping up the narrow stairway to the room the next time that you called him and he answered with the same petty sarcasm, “I thought the deal was no more phone calls.”

“I said for you not to call me,” You huffed, pausing in the middle of a bowed piece of wood, “This is different.”

“Right,” A melodious noise echoed on the other end of the line and Yoongi grunted, “Well then, get on with it. What do you need?”

“I need you to check my work on the analysis portion—” Another noise and you frowned as it seemed to echo with the next timid step you took in ascend, “—see if you agree.”

One more noise. A ding but softer. It got louder when you took three steps higher and you pulled your phone off your ear to squint at it. His voice was softer as he was unaware that you were frowning at the bottom of your phone, “You care if I agree with you or not?”

“Not really, I just need to say you looked it over in case you decide to complain to the prof or something,” You held a steady hand on the doorknob to the room as you delicately cradled your phone to your face, “Do you hear a weird dinging noise? It kind of sounds like a—”

“Piano?—” The noise came again and you jumped when it was louder than it had been any of the previous times, “—yes, I hear it.”

“Then why…” You pushed open the door only for the sound to curl fully into your ears, tinkled and coming all from a few keys pushed close together as feathered by a veiny hand not holding onto a phone.

“...why the fuck are you in here?”

His phone slapping off the keys didn’t provide near the beautiful sound that previously had been coming from the careful touch of seasoned fingers and you winced as it came dully in one ear and directly in the other that still held your phone. You scrambled to hang it up while Yoongi scrambled for his to scoop it off the floor.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize only you could use this room,” Yoongi’s retort was spoken as he was bent like a pretzel underneath the creaking stool he was perched delicately upon, managing to pluck his phone between his thumb and second knuckle on his index finger.

“This is my room,” You tried dumbly, still halfway in the door with the loose knob bobbing in your grasp.

“Do you have it reserved?” He’d straightened now, black eyes challenging you.

“...no.”

“Were you here first?”

You grit your teeth at the childish question.

“No.”

“Good, then it’s our room,” Yoongi pushed himself away from the piano, stalking to his backpack that was slumped in the corner. Your corner. “We can work on this project together instead of exchanging awkward phone calls and texts.”

The door shut but you continued to stare at him as he settled onto the floor, pulling his laptop from a pouch in his backpack.

“So you don’t carry a basketball around like Chad Danforth?”

Yoongi cocked an eyebrow in the exact moment that you panicked of the words that just left your lips. He said it slowly but it sounded like he’d been thrown through a chipmunk generator, “What do you mean?”

“It’s just—” You gestured so wildly with your hands, your backpack slid off one shoulder and you stumbled, “—he claims he doesn’t dance and then can dance. You give off the impression that all you do is sleep but you can play piano. Same concept.”

Or that you play basketball and share the same number with the infamous Troy Bolton.

“When you have to explain the joke, it’s not funny anymore,” Yoongi singsonged and the deep gravel in his tone made you shiver and contemplate the idea of jumping his stupid heart shaped mouth if he could fucking sing too. He hid under his bangs as he added, “The second movie is best one of the franchise, though.”

The implication that he knew enough about the movies to even argue that point didn’t register as you deadpanned, “Respectfully disagree. First one is the best.”

Yoongi sighed and the trace of a smile slipping to your lips was unconscious.

“I’m not arguing with you about High School Musical when you’re supposed to be helping my dumbass understand Macbeth, get over here.”

“What’s the point in this competition if we just end up sharing the space every time anyway?” You heaved into your phone receiver, skipping individual blocks of concrete lining the sidewalks in route to the union. Your backpack flapped on your shoulders where you’d failed to zip it in the rush out of your last class of the day and the notifications on your phone were all from a Jeongguk you were ignoring.

“Principal of the matter,” Yoongi was equally out of breath, “or, if you’d ever beat me, I’m under no impression that you wouldn’t kick me out. You should be grateful I always get there first and let you stay.”

“You don’t always get there first.”

“I’ll let you think that. Anyway, I propped the door open. Follow the smell of the breadsticks I bought us.”

“I don’t want any of your fucking breadsticks.”

“Good.”

Good news, you have the room to yourself today. I have things to do.

Translation: There’s a game today.

Don’t threaten me with a good time, Min Yoongi.

Translation: I miss you.

“Can you stop doing that?”

You popped an earbud out, even if you’d had your music paused for well over fifteen minutes, nothing but an absent doodle on the margins of your notes as you’d listened intently to the gentle sounds of the old piano filling the room as played by Yoongi’s crooked fingers. It was the nodding off of your cheek against the chair you leaned against from your position on the floor that erased the sleep clinging to your digits as you grit your teeth and reprimanded the only other individual in the room.

He turned with a single raised eyebrow, soft caramel eyes widened in surprise. Quickly did they flatten into something of mischief after drawing in the sight of your swollen eyes and slightly frumpled hair.

“What?” Yoongi teased, poking a succession of keys with a lopsided grin, “Playing you a nice lullaby?”

“Seriously, Yoongi,�� Your voice came out harsher than intended and you winced when the playful smile erased from his lips, “I have to get this done.”

There was a pause in between his shrug and his low, “You can always go home.”

He was silent as you shoved papers into the smallest pouch on your backpack, uncaring that you’d just folded half your notes in route to jam your notebook in with your laptop. You barely got your jacket over your shoulders, backpack dangling from the crook of your elbow as irritated steps worked to carry you toward the door.

Your bag tumbled to the floor, jacket covering it when gentle fingers pried their way into one of your curled fists, tugging just enough to stall your pointed advances.

“I’m sorry,” There was a sincere shine in the gentle blink of Yoongi’s eyes up at you, one that mirrored the squeeze around your palm, “I’ll stop. Stay.”

“I just have a lot to do.”

Another squeeze. A trace of his thumb over the back of your knuckles. “I know.”

“Sorry.”

You stepped away from him but he didn’t let go of your hand, carefully drawing his gaze over your features until you averted your eyes to the side, trying to pull your hand against your chest. He let go of you, only to softly inquire, “Do you need help studying?”

“Do you know anything about statistics?”

Yoongi quirked an eyebrow, taking a step forward to your step back to your previous position.

“I can learn.”

There were eight, neat little crescent shapes carved into Jeongguk’s forearm by the time the clock clicked over to zero, effectively sucking the life from the thousands of individuals seated around you. Your grip loosened on him only when someone trying to retreat down the staircase to your right bumped against your shoulder, drawing your blank eyes to squint in confirmation at the scoreboard.

Jeongguk didn’t move because you didn’t, your gaze sweeping over the heads of still seated fans to the members of the opposing team to finally assess the frustration written over Yoongi’s features. He ducked out of the handshake line as the last of the opposing team members clasped him on the back, evading the hand of Jimin that reached out from him as he bent over the bench to retrieve a towel. The white was draped across his head, ends pulled underneath his chin with white knuckles as quick steps carried him toward the locker room.

“Hey,” Jeongguk jiggled his arm still loosely clasped in your fingers, trading it to drape across your shoulders as he playfully nudged your hip, “Can’t always win them all.”

You nodded slowly, eyeing the two point difference on the scoreboard with a sour taste in your mouth. “The close ones are the ones that hurt the most.”

“Right, just like when I was three points off a C on that bio test you helped me study for—”

“Guk.”

“Sorry,” He grinned sheepishly. He used his grip on your shoulders to steer you out around the dwindling mass of students, “Next game, right?”

The lid of the piano was closed but Yoongi sat at the bench nonetheless, his notebook propped awkwardly against the curve in the wood with the plastic end of his pen clenched between his front teeth. He’d spoken nearly three words to you, about the same amount that was written across the top of his notebook in giant bold letters, ones he kept filling in over and over again. It was the class name and the date, scribbled in permanence in between shuddered sighs and the push of his fingers through his hair.

You watched him warily, you own progress on work going slowly as two sides of your conscious fighting for the correct approach to the situation. Acknowledge you knew of the loss and try to comfort him that way (hey, are you okay after missing those couple of free throws at the end of the game and turning it over with fifteen seconds left? Just curious.), or simply ask the question you already knew the answer to (Clearly you aren’t, but are you okay?).  

He beat you to either, the smack of his notebook against the floor entirely louder than the tremble in his timbre, “Hey, uh…”

The jerk of your chin toward Yoongi’s voice startled him and he swallowed in between his words, “Uh, do you have a lot to do?”

“Nothing too important,” You lied of the essay you needed to finish outlining. The blank word document on your laptop mocked you from it’s place behind you, “What’s up?”

He nodded toward the instrument he was perched at, “Do you care if I play a little bit? It won’t be too long I just need to—”

“Go for it,” Your smile was tight lipped only to threaten it from breaking into either sympathy or pure endearment, “I’ll try not to fall asleep.”

Yoongi’s fingers had only feathered over a few collection of notes before something harsh was ringing through the room as he settled his palm down over the keys, turning again to you. “I know a way to keep you awake while I play,” He tried bluntly and you cocked an eyebrow at the gentle pink brushing up the back of his neck.

“What’s that? Play me the entire High School Musical soundtrack? I had you as Chad, not Kelsey but now I’m intrigued—”

He ignored you with fully pink cheeks, dragging his stature across the creaking old bench to pat the space next to him, “Come sit with me.”

“I—”

“Only if you want to,” He touched the back of his next with fingers crooked at the very tip, rambling more so to the uneven floorboards than to the amused smile on your face, “Might keep you awake if you’re closer to the source of the sound. Or I can just pinch you when you start to—”

“Hush, you have to give me a second to get up,” You abandoned your post on the floor without a second thought, uncaring that you probably just lost your last good pen to one of said, uneven floorboards.

There was a touch of Yoongi’s gums in your peripheral as you settled rigidly next to him, watching as he laid dainty wrists to the keys while glancing at you, “I take requests only if they’re not High School Musical related.”

You rolled your eyes, folding your hands in between the awkward cross of your thighs, “Just play something.”

You were awarded the forward face of his unabashed beam at that, one that ducked away from you in flushed embarrassment, mumbling in an attempt to close the spread of his lips up into the apples of his cheeks.

“Yes, ma’am.”

The I’ll be late text appeared in your palm as you’d opened your text thread with Yoongi to tease of his competitive spirit dwindling. It hadn’t, he was fresh off a game where he’d scored thirty points and grabbed ten rebounds in a demolishing comeback win that kept him out of class for travel but assured he’d be back the next day for his presence to annoy you while studying.

You opted for a thumbs up in response rather than your normal snarky response, dropping the device into your pocket with a sigh. The novel you were to be reading looking ten times less appealing without the calm of Yoongi’s presence just a glance through strands of your hair away. You rolled the tattered spine over in your fingers, drawing gentle fingers down the glossy cover as unconscious steps carried you away from your usual corner near the risen platform toward the piano bench. The curl of your toes into one of the legs was more violent than your ears were prepared for and your backside hit the unforgiving wood, hard, from the start of your heart in your ears.

A page in and the aura the piano suggested was doing you no good, especially not when you checked your phone and lacked an update of how late late would be. You dogeared the page to reread when you weren’t unconsciously on edge, sliding the book across the floor until it came to a sad rest a few feet before your bag.

Your fingers instead found themselves pulling up on the tattered wood of the piano, revealing the dull ivory that you were clueless to other than the comfort that the sounds, or the potential of someone playing the sounds (or, quite frankly, the comfort that someone you knew who could play), brought. One poke to a key and you winced, the sound dull to the jabbing thump of your rigid finger. Another, softer, and you relaxed as you began to poke around at the keys closest to you as if you were hunting for letters on a keyboard in pitch darkness.

“Why is it me playing for you?” You startled a crescendo of keys with the flat of your palm but the smirking figure shuffling through the door showed no other emotion than joy, “You should clearly be playing for me.”

You recovered after a handful of stuttered syllables that resembled nothing of what you wanted to say, “Well I figured if you could play, it couldn’t be that hard but I was, uh, wrong.”

“Want me to teach you?”

Yoongi towered over you, white fringe stuck in blinking eyelashes, smashed down by the black hood cinched around puffed cheeks, but nothing was teasing about the purse of his lips as they paused in wait for your response, one hand supporting the lean of his stature against the side of the piano.

“I, uh, actually probably need to get to my reading,” You tripped in slow motion off the bench, “maybe some other time—”

You barely registered the pressure of his fingers around your wrist as he tugged you back, taking your place on the edge of the seat while dragging your hip to knock against his in the same movement. He apologized only with a quirk of his lips into a soft smile, fingers trailing over the underside of your wrists to situate your hands against the piano keys.

“Just a quick lesson,” Yoongi’s voice brushed your ear as he leaned across you to press one of your fingers down against the key it held.

You were deaf to any of his instructions, feeling only the heat of calloused fingertips guiding your movements while listening only to the rasp in his murmur rather than the teaching his words held.

“We don’t play like you type,” He told you after a moment, and it was when he’d risen to move behind you that you thought you were going to, literally, pass out into his chest. He paid no mind to your panic, nudging your hands aside to place his where yours had once been, “I can’t concentrate sometimes with you hacking away over there.”

“Shut up,” The words felt dry on your tongue and you were lucky anything came out at all.

You could hear the smile in Yoongi’s voice as his chin leaned over your shoulder, “Put your hands on top of mine.”

Min Yoongi’s hands were massive, swallowing the small surface area they rested against, pale and freckled with prominent veins crossing through red knuckles, a few rings wrapped around bony digits, nails cut neat but fingers around them worn raw from picking and chewing, ones that you would beg to have cradled around your own or hollowed between your cheeks.

Either one would suffice.

You hesitated at the clamminess you felt pulling off the material of your pants but he hummed in encouragement from behind you, wiggling his fingers. You were delicate in the way you rested your hands over his, as if the feather light touch could mask the sheen of sweat and their constant shake.

“Like this,” Yoongi was explaining, fluidly, drawing seasoned fingers across the keys, indirectly helping you to play something so complex you could only dream of ever learning. You were entirely more attuned to the flex of his appendages underneath your own than the sound they made at the tips, flooding his voice as though your ears were underwater and he were at the surface.

He slipped his hands away from yours, still leaning over you as he affirmed in a breath, “Better?”

You craned your neck to look at him, lips parted to respond but you nearly swallowed your tongue at his proximity. Long eyelashes brushed against his cheeks, minuscule twitch of his chin following the stare of your eyes into deep brown irises. Petaled lips rolled when his tongue traced from the inside of his cheek to run the length of his bottom lip, soft fringe brushing against your forehead as he leaned a fraction of a space closer.

“Yeah,” You managed to offer at a whisper, molars catching the inside of your cheek as your eyes darted to the plush of his parted lips, “I think I’ve got it now.”

Yoongi’s lips were soft like the cup of his hands around your face, testing the waters of your mouth as his scrunched nose bumped against your cheek. He met the sharp breath you sucked in when you didn’t pull away, settling into the repeated brush of his mouth against yours, kisses tender and sweet like the swipe of his thumbs against your cheekbones.

You held onto his wrists when he pulled away, pressing his forehead to yours to regard you with darkened pupils.

His voice wavered between a thick whisper and an airy inquiry, “Did you ever get a less shitty umbrella?”

Seven shades of horror encompassed you again like they had that day but he held you in place when you tried to jerk away, pressing another chaste kiss to the startled part of your mouth.

“You, what—”

“First of all, you’re a terrible liar,” His lips pressed to your cheek, “secondly, I see you at games. You stick out when with that tall prick from the swim team—”

“His roommate on the swim team is a prick, not him—”

Yoongi muffled your groan of protest with a reprimanding kiss, leaving one on the tip of your nose for good measure, “You called me by my name when you ran into me.”

“I had on three different hoods and was sopping fucking wet.”

“Would it be cheesy of me to say I’d never forget a face as beautiful as yours?”

Your cheeks heated underneath Yoongi’s grasp even as you glared, “Yeah, it would.”

He hummed, one hand leaving your face to pass bent knuckles underneath your eye, “You are, though. Beautiful.”

You went to protest and Yoongi pinched your cheek this time in reprimand, “—and you treat me like a normal college student who likes the shitty breadsticks at the dining hall and doesn’t understand Shakespeare without the Internet.”

“No one calls me out on my bullshit except coach. Sometimes. You do though, and you’re unapologetic about doing it. But you also don’t treat me like some dumbass athlete, even though you knew. You don’t treat me like a dumbass in general.”

“Because you aren’t.”

He thumbed at the seam of your lips, gaze wandering from the place where he plucked at the wet of your bottom lip to somewhere behind you. “I really like you…” His throat bobbed, “...even if you think I’m a little bit of an ass.” 

“You can be,” You reciprocated again and you pressed your thumbs into the pulse on the underside of his wrists, “but I like it. I like you.”

 Yoongi’s nose wrinkled and something like doubt flashed in his gaze as it dropped to your lap this time, grip on your cheeks loosening, “Yeah?”

You kissed him this time, trying desperately to assure him that, yeah, even if the tiniest part of you resented the rest of you for it. His grip tightened again on your cheeks, holding you in place for two, three, five prolonged presses of your mouth before he was breathing nearly out of context, “Are you coming to the game tomorrow?”

“Yes, Jeongguk and I have—”

“Will you stay after?” The words jumbled together but you didn’t have a chance to assure him with another nip to his bottom lip as he added, “We can go get pizza or something. I don’t know if my roommate will be home but my room is pretty comfy…”

You quirked an eyebrow and Yoongi’s entire features were shaded the prettiest hue of pink, the only exceptions the freckles dotted around his cheeks and nose, “We really can just hang out, unless you want to come up here and sit on the cold floor—”

“Yoongi.”

He stopped rambling and peered at you under lidded eyes.

You kissed his cheek, lips lingering as you agreed, “That sounds perfect.”

“He’s looking at you again.”

Jeongguk spoke without looking at you, nudging you first. When there wasn’t an immediate, snarky reply, he was tucking his chin to his shoulder, eyes still stuck to the happenings on the screen.

“I know.”

“Hey, did you hear me, he’s—” Jeongguk’s sharp gaze sliced into your cheek then to your hand that was lifted and twisting back and forth at the wrist, “—wait, you what?”

There was a fond smile pasted to your lips, one so tight it hurt your cheeks like the ache in your wrist from how enthusiastically you waved to the court. You’d clearly caught Yoongi’s attention, a lopsided smirk indenting into his cheeks as he shook his head, fringe falling over his eyes as his chin dropped to the stitching across his chest. An itching heat burned up the back of your spine, one that you couldn’t and didn’t want to squirm away from until a hand wrapped around your elbow and tugged.

You jerked your attention away at the third, painful, tug on your arm. Jeongguk was looking at you like you’d sprouted a new appendage from the apex of your throat, pupils twisting down the length of your features and back up as though he’d find that third hand growing on your forehead instead.

“What do you mean you know?”

“He was looking over here because I waved at him,” You blanched, twisting your chin in faux questioning, “He’s my friend?”

“Oh.” Jeongguk blinked, “So you’re finally accepting it.”

“What?”

“Nothing. He’s waving back,” He used his grip on your arm to angle your shoulders back toward the court and sure enough, Min Yoongi was flushed the same bright shade of pink that wasn’t from the thirty minutes of game play he’d endured. His hand rose gradually, flicking once just above his shoulder as he cocked an eyebrow at you.

Your mouth went dry and you were thankful for Jeongguk’s grip on you when Yoongi winked, bottom lip escaping from his teeth as he turned and jogged in the direction of his teammates.

An elbow on your opposite jabbed against your side and a voice an octave deeper than your giggling best friend mused, “Friend, huh?”

“Yes,” Jeongguk’s grip dropped to your wrist, as if to keep you from swinging at Taehyung as you turned toward him. “He asked me to come.”

Taehyung snorted, arms folded tightly to his chest, one thick eyebrow raising, “Yeah? You would have came anyway, he knows that right?”

“Will you switch me seats?” You beamed sweetly at the boy on your left, jerking your wrist from his grasp in the same movement.

“Absolutely not,” Jeongguk answered with an equally shitty grin, leaning closer to you, “You’re the one that asked Tae to come.”

“You’re stuck with me for another seventy seconds, sweetheart,” said swimmer sang, nudging your side again.

A minute ten. Just say a minute ten.

“Do you want to head out early?” Jeongguk nodded toward the scoreboard, another blowout score with some ridiculous stats by the part of a player who wore the number fourteen, “Try to beat the traffic?”

“Why don’t you two go ahead and go find the car and then—” You stroked a ticklish finger under Jeongguk’s chin and he retracted in on himself, “—you can come pick me up.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you owe me for making me stand next to Taehyung all game.”

“He’s not that bad.”

Another nudge to your far side, “Still here. And I know you love me.”

Jeongguk blinked at the unwavering annoyance in your glaring eyes, nodding once, twice, before frantic jerks of his chin followed the clamber of his lanky stature from the bleacher seats. “C’mon, Tae, let’s go.”

The sounds of music had filled the arena by the time their backs disappeared down the staircase, the melody of victory as the times weaved through formality handshakes. You clapped along with the remaining crowd that weren’t trying to escape after Taehyung and Jeongguk, numb feet rooted to concrete, tongue dry as it stuck to the roof of your mouth. The tingling prick in your hands fumbled your phone from your back pocket and your conscience blanked on the contents of the email notification and the celebration emojis Taehyung had texted you.

You only moved when the last of the students were five stairs down from you, taking each individual step at a pause of thirty seconds or more. You fumbled your phone again, ignoring Jeongguk’s found the car, Tae is driving so we’ll be there….at some point to switch to Yoongi’s text thread.

You nearly face planted the last three stairs in the rush to exit out of his messages when the rise of typing bubbles appeared.

Give me ten minutes. I’ll meet you out in the hallway.

You recovered your steps in favor of rolling your eyes at the basketball emoticon Yoongi sent next, followed by a thumbs up.

Hallway was a broad statement and your nerves were timing the ten minutes to the millisecond, shoes scuffing your way about cleaners and those left scraping up forgotten nacho cheese in the concession stands and alumni donors with grey hair and sweater vests milling in front of exit signs while brake lights and the glow from campus fuzzed through glazed glass behind their statures.

It was five minutes into your adventure when you found tile becoming hardwood and you were on the outer edge of the floor, various assistants and managers and fans still milling about as the sound echoing off the polished wood became barely a fraction of what it had been amist another win. There was a wide opening just underneath the goal closest to you, the hallway to the locker room, one that a uniformed officer faithfully guarded with a shoulder against the concrete and his nose scrunched at his phone.

Your joints were two conscious steps into scurrying back off the floor when the loud sound of shoes slapping against the floor directly preceded the call of your name and the jerk of the officer’s attention.

Park Jimin was draped in light grey on light grey, a black duffle bag tucked under his arm, dark hair wet and dripping and pasted to his smiling cheeks as the shine of his crescent eyes slowly grew closer.

Park Jimin was calling your name and running at you.

And waving at you too, technically.

His footsteps went from slapping advances to gliding precision, stopping in front of you with a delighted giggle.

“Hi!” Jimin’s voice was higher than you remembered from his half attempt at amending his friend’s actions months ago, but endearing nonetheless as his eyes crinkled around the edges and he chirped, “You’re meeting Yoongi after, right?”

You wet your lips, cheeks hot, “I-I, yeah, yeah I think so.”

The man in front of you giggled again and then there was a gentle hand clasped around yours, gleefully dragging you toward the tunnel he’d game from, “I know so. C’mon, I’ll take you back.”

“I can really wait out here—”

The officer barely looked up as Jimin bounced past and he winked at you over his shoulder, “It’ll be fine, babe, trust me.”

He led you around a confusing maze of hallways, all decorated in jerseys of past players and painted numbers of current players, colored in the hues of the university and screaming more school spirit than you cared to have until you graduated. He dropped your hand in the middle of a long hallway, grey carpet wiry below your shoes, the cinder block walls on either side of you painted an obnoxious color that dizzied your nerves into another unintentional spiral.

“Here good?” Jimin barely paused a beat for an answer before nodding, “He should be out any second.”

You nodded, shoulder blades hitting the slick paint of the wall with a genuine but tight smile, “Thank you, Jimin.”

“Of course!” He heaved his bag under his arm, shooting you another charming smile complete with disappearing brown irises, “Have fun!”

You’d lost track of your timer on account of Park Jimin but you assumed it was somewhere near five minutes over. A man passed by, black polo tucked into beige dress pants with a laminated badge clipped to his belt, one who barely passed a glance in your direction. Another, one around your age but sporting the same uniform dragging a cart of dirtied white towels behind him. You relaxed with each individual that offered you a familiar smile but tensed with each person that wasn’t Yoongi.

You checked your phone three times. Nothing new until the fourth time when Jeongguk called you. You sent it to voicemail and lied about finding someone that was in one of your classes that was going to take you home.

But I may need you later.

You smiled at Jeongguk’s eye roll emoji and you could hear the textual version of his always here.

Taehyung says he is too.

At ten minutes you were lost in a turnoff from the hall Jimin had left you in, intentions faltering from finding Yoongi to bite the cocky smirk from his features to slap it away, thoughts swirling from anxious excitement to jump to the first horrible conclusion. That he hadn’t wanted to meet you, that he’d recruited Jimin in on his plan, that he was standing you up and would effectively get you dragged out and banned from any further athletic event from wandering around in unauthorized territory, that he didn’t actually like you at all really, that he was still the same asshole you’d vehemently harbored a distaste for.

The maze had deposited you back out to the tunnel of the court, one that was nearly void of leftover individuals now, just a student manager and the child of an assistant coach dribbling a tattered basketball off their tiny feet. You set your shoulders, willing to walk the miles off campus in the rain to your apartment to spare some of your pride.

Your surroundings whirled when you took a step forward only to be shuffled backward by an arm looping around your waist. A tiny mewl of protest died in your throat when your hips were twisted around to meet the soft pair of brown eyes that had been imprinted to the back of your eyelids for longer than you cared to admit to yourself let alone out loud.

“Hey,” Yoongi’s thumb brushed your hip and he tilted his head, “Jimin told me he left you back by the locker room but then I couldn’t find you…”

“I went looking for you after twenty minutes. You told me ten.”

“You were timing me?”

“I didn’t think you were coming.”

“I thought you left.”

He laughed first, second arm joining the one snug at the high rise of your waist to draw you against his chest. You laughed too, cheek settled against his shoulder.

“We’ll figure it out,” Yoongi mumbled, lips at your forehead.

You sighed and it was an unconscious brush of your lips against his neck that prompted a purposeful press of your mouth, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” He drew back from you and you reveled in the blush pink that dusted his cheeks from the promise of your lips against his neck. “Did you enjoy the game?”

Your inhale was audible, mostly due to the endearing puff of his cheeks that you wanted to prod at, nose wrinkling enough to make the freckle dotted on the side prominent enough to round your lips over, soft coffee eyes defined on the edges of their gentle unwavering, bleached white drying on the ends in silky pleats begging for the thread of your fingers, petaled mouth a pretty heart that your lips tingled to meet.

“You played well…”

Yoongi hummed, following the drop of your gaze from his lips back to his eyes. The arms on your waist bracketed you to the far wall, the tip of his nose twisting against yours when he his chin twitched to the side, “Yeah?”

Your grip rounded the veins that crossed up the bend of his elbow, anchoring yourself by touching him. “Always.”

His thumbs nudged upward on the hem of your hoodie, nose slotting against your cheek as he peered at the bare skin under calloused fingertips, “I’ll find you something of mine to wear next game. If you want—” His lips touched the corner of your mouth, “—...my good luck charm.”

“You lost with me present though.”

The softness of brewed caramel hardened a bit, bottom lip nudging your cupid’s bow when Yoongi’s gaze shot up, jaw clenching when he rasped, “Watch it, angel.”

You dragged blunt fingernails up his biceps, “Too soon?”

Yoongi shut you up with his tongue between the seam of your lips, hands rounding the curve of your waist so that your hoodie pooled around his wrists, rings cool against your skin as opposed to freshly showered flesh of his palms.

“Ready to go?” He taunted after his teeth had snagged at your bottom lip and nipped at the corner of your jaw.

“I heard it’s raining...”

Yoongi left where he’d been painting a mark on the column of your throat, lips brushing your ear.

“Happen to have an umbrella handy?”

[am-imagines]

Legendary Pt. 3  Morgan!Reader

“O’Hara! Put me down!” You shriek when your best friend decides to carry you over her shoulder.

This is not the first time she does something like this, but a warning would have been deeply appreciated. You’re not that lucky, and Janice only laughs at your disgrace while carrying you all the way to breakfast.

You only have half a day of practice, and then you’re free to explore the city.

You’re excited not just because Australia has a ton of places to visit, but because your mom will be there too. Maybe hanging around their parents would have been embarrassing for most people, but when your mom is a living soccer legend, your biggest idol and the coolest mother ever? You’re glad to have her around as much as possible.

Besides, Kelley will be joining too because this is Australia; the paradise for any surfer.

You are almost vibrating with excitement during practice; much to Janice’s amusement. You’re an emotional player, and no, that doesn’t mean you cry all the time. What it means is that your game reflects your emotions, and most of the time, the team feeds from your energy. If you enjoy the game, so do they. If you’re angry, you play harder and they become a wall to back you up. When you act like a puppy; imaginary tail wagging behind you, they’re compelled to pat your head once practice is finally over.

A few minutes later, Janice and you meet with your parents, and no time is wasted before you jump into Alex’s arms. She laughs but holds you tight for an extra second.

“I’m so proud of you,” she whispers against your hair.

Moments like these make you remember that yes, Alex Morgan is your mother, and she looks at you with pure adoration. She doesn’t have to say those words for you to feel them, but doing so makes you smile a little wider.

Winning three world cups in a row is a giant accomplishment, unmatched by any other team, but when she’s asked about the most important victory of her life, you’re the first thing that comes to her mind.

Lifting the cup is something she won’t forget, or bending to accept a gold medal, but for her, nothing compares to the first time she held you.

“Thanks, mom.”

“What is this? Aren’t you going to hug your favorite aunt too?”

With a chuckle, you hug Kelley with just as much enthusiasm. She has been there since you can remember, and you wouldn’t be surprised to know she changed your diapers too.

The car ride to the beach is filled with hilarity while Kelley and Alex wonder what happened to Taylor Swift and what exactly you call music nowadays.

“You two are old,” Janice says offhandedly.

“Excuse me!?”

Alex’s outraged question makes you laugh until your belly hurts. One doesn’t call Alex Morgan old and gets away with it. Janice will pay for that once you make it to the beach, and the mere thought makes your mother smile.

Soon enough you arrive at your destination.

Being an L.A. girl has its perks, you decide with a surfboard under your arm.

Kelley taught you how to surf when you were just a kid. Living five minutes away from the beach meant you fell in love with the sea before you could even walk properly. Still, things are a little tougher here; higher waves that look unforgiving, and a permanent alert for sharks that you don’t know how seriously to take.

That’s why you stay close to Kelley; surfing waves that you can control and enjoying the afternoon with your family. There’s no need to risk an injury that could cost you the World Cup. There’s no way to know what will happen on the field; accidents happen, but not like this.

At the end, being careful pays off and you make it safely back to the shore.

Exhaustion takes over you once you’re back in the car. Kelley is the one at the wheel, and you fall asleep resing your head in Alex’s lap. She runs her fingers through your damp hair like she has done since you were a kid. It works like magic, and the tension vanishes from your shoulders.

This is your first World Cup, and you’re glad to have your family there.

The most intense, chaotic and wonderful month of your life has just begun. And you’re glad not to be alone.

One match down. The rest of the World Cup to go.

And you’re ready.

***

“I’m ready,” you mutter to yourself after tying your shoes. “Totally ready.”

A chuckle to your left makes you turn to face “Krash”. Her smile is confident and it helps you calm down. Even when you’re technically ready, the nerves refuse to go away.

“Take a deep breath, Morgan. We know these guys. We face them quite often, right?”

Your next match is against Mexico. Their team has improved greatly over the past few years, but Harris is right. They’re one of the teams you face the most. You know how they stand on the field, how they move, and more importantly, how to stop them.

“It’s the World Cup, and they’re gonna play their asses off, but so will we. We’re determined, disciplined, and hungry. But our biggest advantage is here.”

Harris taps your chest and you feel the way your heart beats; stronger than ever.

This team craves a chance to rise from the ashes; an opportunity to write their own story in a book filled with legends. There’s talent around you, but the passion is tangible beyond anything else. You’re not the only one with a known last name or number, and as such, everyone wants to prove they’re more than handy down.

You’re ready to leave everything on the field; except hope.

“We’ve got this,” Harris says once again.

“Aye aye, captain.”

Harris knows how to be a leader on the field, but also out of it. Sonnett’s trust pays off every time Krash keepers her head cool during a heated moment. It pays off when she keeps pushing you to do more; to do better, even when a game seems lost or won. Her mentality is to never give up because most of the time a match lasts more than ninety minutes.

Your job doesn’t end until the whistle is blown, and even then, there’s a lot of work to do.

You step into the field with a renewed sense of excitement and awe.

This is the second match of the World Cup for the USWNT; winning would put you closer to direct elimination. The next round is just around your corner, and so far, destiny is in your hands. 

But you don’t think about that when the game starts. You can’t think about the future when this moment is so big. You don’t think about “what if’s” because the world only follows what you do right then and there. So, you move and run; touch the ball with the delicacy and precision the moment requires. You treat the ball right, and spaces open in Mexico’s defense.

You’re patient when you don’t have the ball, but explode like a firework when you do.

You follow Long’s lead, and a perfect pass turns into an assist to Press.

              “The USA is on the board! Morgan with the assist and Press didn’t                        hesitate to convert. Only ten minutes into this game, and our triple                        threat proves to be a nightmare for the rival. There’s no better way to                    start this match. USA 1, Mexico 0.”

The roar of the stadium is felt more than heard. It makes you vibrate with adrenaline when you jump into Press’ open arms. She doesn’t know how to celebrate, so you  both laugh and wait for the rest of the team to join your hug.

Somehow, that’s a good enough celebration.

“You’re next,” you tell Harry once the match resumes.

The blonde shrugs although you can see the smirk on her face.

It doesn’t really matter who scores as long as the team wins, but Long deserves a goal too. She’s always grinding, but her efforts aren’t always appreciated by the rest of the world. But you see it; the way most of your goals came from her boots, and when you have an open look is because she pulled the mark. Your numbers wouldn’t look as good as they do without her, that’s for sure. And when all eyes are on the USWNT, you want to return the favor.

Fifteen minutes after Press’ goal, the match is closed up.

You don’t find spaces, but neither does Mexico. It’s a tough battle just to retain possession of the ball, but it’s mostly fair play. Their team has improved, their league has grown and that’s obvious on their National Team as well. It doesn’t look like a team willing to receive another goal, much less five like they did so often in the past.

The world stops not long after. You see it happening; someone in a green jersey taking a shot within an inch of free space. You see it soar with crazy effect, and a moment later is already on the back of the net.

               “That’s an equalizer. USA and Mexico are tied to one. They found a                     way to get through the dense, and boy, they didn’t look good on that                     one.”

There’s a general sense of frustration while Mexico celebrates, but there’s nothing you could have done better. The defense was tight as it could have been. Harris stretched as much as she could, but it was one hell of a goal; finding its home in the right corner.

However, the frustration doesn’t go away for the rest of the half, but it turns into annoyance when the public boos you all at halftime.

It’s like they don’t see Mexico playing. They don’t see what they do right, and instead focus solely on what you do wrong. It’s a fair point of view, you guess, but then again, you couldn’t have done anything better in that play. People don’t care.

Winning this game won’t matter if you don’t win the next. And whatever you do in the group stage will be in vain if you don’t win the Cup. It seems unfair, but after so many years of nothing, the entire nation has lost faith in you.

              “Is this the beginning of the end for this team?”

             “I think it is. After what we saw versus Germany, I feel like they don’t                      know what to do now. Maybe they found an accidental victory last time,               but that won’t happen again. They won’t be able to top this poor                           performance.”

            “What about the talent on this team?”

            “It’s moment to reconsider if it’s actually there of if it’s what we want to                 see. Everybody wants the dream team back, and with two members of                 the golden era leading them, it was easy to believe. But let me tell you                 right now, this isn’t the dream team even with all those kids with big                     names on their backs. The USWNT won’t make it to the next round.                    They won’t be able to win tonight, and they won’t win against Japan. It’s              over.”

          “There you have it, folks. It’s time to go back to the action to see the end               of this match.”

“Heads up, girls!” Harris shouts when you jump back to the field.

You have a new strategy; simple and crazy at the same time.

A position switch is made. Long will be a forward while you take her place as the right wing. The change should be enough to confuse Mexico’s defense; more so when the change is subtle at first. But finally, after what feels like forever, you get a single chance to change the game.

You can’t stop even when you see the hit coming from miles away; you’re surrounded by green shirts and they don’t appreciate what you’re trying to do. You don’t shy away from the contact nor give up an inch. If you did, then the team would have a free kick, but Mexico’s defense would have time to recover.

So, you wait until the last second possible; until Long is on the penalty spot with no mark, to nutmeg a Mexican player and fake an auto pass. It’s only natural for the same player to block your path, but it doesn’t matter.

The contact is hard but Long has the ball and plenty of space.

The hit sucked the air from your lungs, but you couldn’t care less. Hitting the turf is the last thing on your mind when Harry shoots.

The whistle goes off. The stadium breaks into cheers. Long did it.

You want to laugh, but air refuses to make it back into your lungs and pain hits you out of nowhere with a vengeance.

            “Unbelievable! They scored! WIth one of the most questionable                            decisions we’ve seen on this World Cup, the USA retakes the lead.”

Janice makes it to you faster than anyone. She helps to bend your legs until you’re able to gasp. It hurts like the devil, but you chuckle anyway. A muttered thanks is all you can offer before the medical team reaches you.

Everything happened so fast that no one thought you were hurt until you didn’t go celebrate with Harry. You’re not seriously injured, and you thank Heavens for that, but another moment to fully catch your breath does wonders.

The game only has seven minutes left, and Pinoe decides you can catch it on the bench.

There’s no need to risk you, and you trust your team completely.

Even when the pain subsides, it’s impossible to breathe normally until the match ends.

You’ve secured three more points, but that’s not the reason you celebrate. You join your team and hug everyone that comes your way, if the crowd cheers or not, it doesn’t matter. This victory belongs to the team, and no one can take that away from you.

“I told you, you were next!” You say holding Long by the cheeks. “And you scored!”

Before you can say, or do, anything else, someone is carrying you out of the field.

“O’Hara! Oh my God, right in front of the cameras?”

She just laughs, but you accept your fate by wrapping your arms around her neck. You’ll have your payback at some point, probably once she puts you down. Damn it, everybody is watching you.

“I hate you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Love you too, Morgan.”

You can only roll your eyes at that. Best friends, right?

[linesfornct]

Promise

A/N - Thank you so much anon 😭 I've tried my best, I hope you like it 💕 Thank you for requesting 💙

→ Pairing | Footballstar! Lee Jeno x Reader

→ Genre | Angst / Ex-lovers!au

→ Word Count | 1.6k

→ Warnings | None

→ Synopsis | You thought he would remember you, even after two years. He did, but there wasn't anything he felt when he saw you.

Your life took a turn that day when he appeared on TV for the first time.

He didn't change at all, his eye smile, his gestures, the way he talked, everything was still the same. 

Jeno had a passion for football since he was little, at school during recess you always found him playing with his friends.

One day you approached him to say that he played very well and that gave way to your friendship.

He was kind to you and you loved being with him. He was also a shy boy whose smile could brighten up the world, but it didn't stop him from confessing to you.

"I really like you" He said while he held a flower in his hand. 

Your heart fluttered as you accepted the flower and also his confession. 

After that you both started to date. It lasted long enough for you to say that you had many good memories with him.

"I promise that one day I'll fulfil every single dream you have" He said one day while you both were lying down on his terrace and contemplated the stars, stars that were beautiful, but more when you saw them shining in his eyes.

You used to heal his wounds after he played football.

"You should play carefully Jeno" 

"I get nervous when you're watching me" He replied pouting.

You smiled and caressed the bandaged wound.

You also helped him studying.

"I don't need this. I will become a football star one day" He defended himself when he got the wrong answer.

But after graduating, he said he wanted to talk to you.

That day was the worst day of your life. Jeno wanted to break up with you, he was now going abroad to train and become a football player. 

"I think breakup would be the best decision" He said, unable to look into your eyes "I still love you…"

But his passion was stronger and that was his only chance to fulfil his dream.

"I can't let this chance go" He shrugged.

"But…"

"You've been the best person I've ever met and you will always have a special place in my heart"  He replied knowing what you were going to say.

You once promised him that you wouldn't cry in front of him, but tears rolled down your cheeks as you hugged him for one last time, not knowing when would be the next time you would see him.

But it didn't take long and he reappeared in your life.

Your hand trembled as you held the remote control in your hand and watched his interview on the TV.

He became the new member of the national football team.

He finally made it.

You tried to smile, but couldn't.

You wondered if he would still recognize you, two years went by already since he left.

Two years weren't a long period of time, but were long enough to forget someone...

But how could he have forgotten someone he used to love? 

You thought about going to the match he was going to play next week.

The stadium was still half empty, people were entering and sitting while you nervously waited for the match to begin.

After a long time, Jeno came out to introduce himself as the new member. 

Your heart skipped a beat, he looked good in those clothes.

Then the match began, everyone played well, but your eyes did not turn away from Jeno, he improved a lot and now played professionally.

You found yourself cheering for him, since you were sitting in a row in the middle, you could see him quite well.

His team won and you felt a burst of joy within you.

You wanted to run and hug and tell him how well he had played, but you couldn't, now you were just the audience and you would only see him from afar.

You waited outside and saw his team leave. Jeno came out smiling and waving to everyone with his hand, suddenly his smile faded when he recognized you in the crowd. You forced a smile, but he quickly looked away.

You came home with a bitter feeling. Why didn't he smile at you? Didn't he recognize you? Yes, he had, but instead of smiling at you, he ignored you. If you could only talk to him once...

"It's a bit shocking" Said Jaemin, one of Jeno's best friends and also yours.

"I know, he saw me but looked away" 

Jaemin frowned as he ran a hand through his hair.

"Me and Haechan are going to his match next month. We bought the VIP passes" He let out after a few seconds.

You gasped as your eyes widened.

"VIP?" 

"Yes. We have an extra pass and we were wondering…" Jaemin smiled teasingly.

"Can I…"

"Yes you can come!" He said excitedly as if he was waiting for you say that.

A smile curved your lips.

"Thank you" 

"As long as you two are happy" 

Those words made your smile fade away.

Did Jeno still feel something for you?

You remembered those dreams in which Jeno appeared. In each dream he started to become a stranger, just an old memory.

You impatiently walked behind Jaemin and Haechan while they walked in front of you.

There was half an hour left for the match to begin and you could go and meet the players in the dressing rooms.

Haechan looked behind to see if you were okay.

"Everything's going to be fine" He smiled trying to make your nervousness fade away. But it didn't help and it reminded you the reason why you were there.

You were guided very carefully towards the room and when you saw the door, your legs started to tremble.

Haechan and Jaemin entered first and a smile lit their faces when they saw someone, you perfectly knew who it was.

They pointed you and then made you come in.

Your heart skipped a beat when you saw Jeno standing there with his hands on each shoulder of his friends.

He suddenly moved away his hand and his smile faded away.

"Look who's here with us" Haechan said happily looking at you and then Jeno.

"Hey" Your voice was barely a whisper.

He nodded but didn't say a word.

You felt something weird in his behaviour, he looked more reserved than before and didn't even want to talk to you.

"Come on Jeno, stop being shy!" Jaemin pushed him towards you softly.

He looked at Jaemin and seemed irritated.

"Congratulations" You said nervously while he stood there in front of you, a few centimeters away.

"Thanks" He simply replied.

"I've missed you so much" You approached him but he raised his hand to maintain the distance.

"Oh..." He replied.

What was wrong with him? Why was he being so distant? You swallowed nervously trying not to look irritated now. He was acting as if you were a stranger.

"Jeno, did you miss me?" You dared to ask. 

He looked away, somewhere else, avoiding to look at you.

"Sometimes"

You fluttered, well he didn't forget you at least.

"I still love you Jeno" You confessed suddenly.

Your own words surprised you, but maybe you wouldn't see him in a long time. Maybe you wouldn't see him face to face again.

He didn't say anything, he didn't even look at you. You felt a distancing between you two, there wasn't that vivid feeling you had two years ago. He seemed to not want to be there with you.

He raised his eyebrows and sighed.

"I… I don't" 

Your eyes widened as your heart skipped a beat.

You looked at Jaemin and Haechan, who seemed just as surprised as you and then Jeno.

Your heartbeat echoed in your ears and your lower lip trembled. 

You thought Jeno wouldn't have changed, that he would still keep you in his heart, as a special someone, that he would still feel something seeing you, but his words said the opposite. 

Your hopes were shattered.

"Why?" Your voice trembled and pain was evident in that question.

He remained silent, but then spoke.

"I love someone else"

Those words that you feared that he would say, broke your heart into thousands of pieces. You felt anguish, pain.

"But you promised…" 

"Not all promises can be kept forever" He interrupted you.

"Then why did you give me false hopes?" 

He didn't answer. 

"Let me just live my life, you're just my past now" He rolled his eyes and turned towards Haechan and Jaemin.

"It's been nice to see you two again" He approached them smiling.

You stood there watching how, the Jeno you never knew, laughed with his friends.

You felt dropped out.

He really changed, so much that pride and selfishness were the only things left in his heart.

He turned around a few times to look at you, but there was nothing in his eyes. You felt as if he was a stranger now. 

The room was starting to get smaller around you, you couldn't stay there, especially if Jeno was there.

You went out of the room and left your other friends behind, who even though were talking with Jeno, didn't stop looking at you concerned. 

He didn't even turn around to see you leaving.

You threw the VIP pass in the trash can and left the place as quick as you could.

Tears threatened to come out.

You were his past now? He had always been your past, present and you thought that the future too...

His love was kept in a box now, the key wasn't yours anymore.

You felt betrayed by yourself. You built fake dreams, in which he still loved you.

Never, you never knew that he would say those words to you.

He didn't feel anything for you anymore…

And he loved someone else.

You didn't feel jealousy or that's what you thought, but the mere idea of him loving someone else enraged you.

Maybe you were too delusional, no, those promises made you delusional.

He would live his life, not even caring about you anymore. But he left a stain of pain in your heart, a stain that wouldn't disappear easily.

[wiersema1]

Reid ‘Em & Weep (2020.1)

It’s been awhile since we wrote the “Reid ‘Em & Weep” column of sports nuggets and other assorted issues that are on the “Dutch Lion’s” mind. So as Nike suggests, “Just Do It!”

What’s up with those NFL Conference Championship Trophies?

Ever since the NFL merged with the AFL in 1970 to combine into one super football league, the National Football Conference (NFC) and the American Football Conference (AFC) have played Conference Championship games, with their winners meeting in the league championship game, known as the Super Bowl. For the first fourteen years there was no trophy for these Conference Championship games (1970-1983). Then the NFL introduced the conference championship trophies as they honored their founding heroes by creating the George S. Halas Trophy to be awarded to the NFC victor (founder of the NFL) while the AFC Champion would receive the Lamar Hunt Trophy (founder of the AFL). These original Halas Trophy and Hunt Trophy were introduced in the 1984 postseason. Therefore, the inaugural winners were the San Francisco 49ers and the Miami Dolphins on their way to Super Bowl XIX (19).

The original George Halas NFC Championship Trophy

The modern George Halas Trophy

For whatever reason, after 26 seasons the NFL decided to have Tiffany & Co. redesign the trophy. These current trophies were introduced in the 2010 postseason. They remain the current trophies, as many of you saw on Sunday when the 49ers and the Kansas City Chiefs dominated their opponents to win their respective conferences. These trophies are hollowed out silver footballs that look like lame miniature Super Bowl Lombardi Trophies. Only these Halas and Hunt Trophies look like cheap garbage compared to the old oak wood base topped by the conference logos and sporting a design of old-fashioned players on a silver platter background. It’s a shame. The old ones were amazing. We grew up with those incredible trophies and they stood for something. The new ones look cheap and unoriginal. Hey NFL, word to the wise. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.

The original Lamar Hunt AFC Championship Trophy

The modern Lamar Hunt Trophy

The Illinois Fighting Illini basketball team is for real!

Under Coach Brad Underwood, the Illinois basketball program is starting to turn the corner just as we suspected a couple of years ago. After years of disappointments followed by recent malaise, the Illini are really rolling as we enter the new decade. Now in his third season, Coach Underwood currently has his squad sitting in second place in the B1G conference with a 6-2 conference record and a 14-5 record overall. Illinois has now won five games in a row including Tuesday night’s huge 17 point victory at Purdue by a score of 79-62. Who wins at Purdue’s Mackey Arena? Not #11 Michigan State. They lost at Mackey by 29 points on January 12. So did defending National Champion Virginia on December 4, also by 29 points even though they were ranked #5 at the time. Nobody wins at Mackey, including Illinois every time they’ve played there since 2008. This year, Illinois has only lost two B1G games so far, at Maryland and at Michigan State. I’m really looking forward to the rematch with the Spartans on February 11. Mark that one on your calendar as it should be a crazy atmosphere at Assembly Hall, led by the Orange Krush. The House of ‘Paign will be rockin’ that night baby!

Led by sophomore Ayo Dosunmu and freshman Kofi Cockburn, this Illini team is better on defense than most years since 2006, the last really good Illinois team. The reason is because of the talent which includes some solid big men in Cockburn and fan favorite Giorgi Bezhanishvili. Don’t forget about sharpshooting Trent Frazier! Plus, a relentless style preached by Underwood has some insiders saying his practices are brutally tough, intense, and competitive. That’s what it takes if you want to be great. Currently ranked #21 in the AP Poll, this Illini team will go to the NCAA Tournament for the first time since 2013. You can book it Johnny Red Kerr!

The Australian Open

I absolutely love the Australian Open. Have I written about this before? I feel as if I’ve gone there but whatever. Let me know if this is a repeat. Anyway, there’s something about the first big tennis event of the year. It’s the first of the four tennis Grand Slams. Every Winter here in the upper Midwest, I celebrate the beautiful hot Summer of the Southern Hemisphere. Australia is a hidden gem of a country, if you will. I can’t wait to visit someday. I’ll be going in January with a trip to Melbourne for the Australian Open on my agenda. It’s a bucket list event.

The AO started in 1905 and has been held in Melbourne since 1972. As for this year’s predictions, I’ll go with Rafael Nadal, the #1 seed for the men and Simona Halep, the #4 seed for the women. Nadal has only won the Australian once, back in 2009. This tournament has been dominated by Novak Djokovic (seven-time champ) and Roger Federer (six-time champ) over the last two decades. I think Nadal will win his second Australian Open Championship this year. As for Halep, she has never won this Grand Slam event, finishing as Runner-Up in 2018. I look for her to get off the schneid down under. Tune in and enjoy the beauty of Australia while watching some incredible tennis. Plus, I really enjoy ESPN’s tennis commentators such as Chris Fowler, John McEnroe, Brad Gilbert, Mary Joe Fernandez, Pam Shriver, and the eternally young Chrissie Evert.

That’s it for now. So long and farewell!

Reid “Dutch Lion”

Reid ‘Em & Weep (2020.1) Reid 'Em & Weep (2020.1) It's been awhile since we wrote the "Reid 'Em & Weep" column of sports nuggets and other assorted issues that are on the "Dutch Lion's" mind.

[alitaimagines]

request: “sooo, i could i have an imagine where hongou has an s/o. to like go off your foreign imagine with hongou where they have a foreign s/o and they get hurt and they’re upset but in the end, they come out and win the game? like the cliche move and hongou is like, omfg i’m in love? like im actually in LOVE.” 

hongou masamune x fem! reader (requests open)

fandom: ace of diamond / daiya no ace 

You looked up at Jingu Stadium with a smile on your face. This was the Meiji Jingu Stadium. The stadium that every baseball and softball player wants to end up at. It was like a myth but a myth that was real. 

“We’ve made it.” Your teammate Akari said. “We’ve made it to the one place where everyone thought we wouldn’t go too.” 

You smiled as you wiped a tear from Akari’s face. This was dream for you and your team. While the boys had won three major tournaments, this was something even bigger for the school. This was the first time the girls team had gone all the way to nationals. 

You were facing Hakuryuu High School. They had been dominating the tournament so far. They had a no hitting streak and you couldn’t lie, you and your team were a bit intimidated. Their pitcher, Fuyuko, was a beast on the mound and for the first time, Hokkaido was an underdog. 

As both teams entered their respective tunnels, you peeked out the curtain. The stadium was filled. Fans of both schools as well as family and friends. You knew that Hongou was in the front row with Renji and the rest of the boys team. 

“From Southern Hokkaido, Komadai’s Fujimaki.” The announcer said as you grabbed your schools flag and held the pole against your shoulder. “Captain ( your full name) leading Komdai’s girls softball team.” 

You waved the flag in the air as everyone from the Hokkaido section cheered loudly. You placed the pole into its designated section as Hakuryuu walked in the building. You gave an awkward smile to Fuyuko as you tipped your hat to her. 

Both you and Fuyuko exchanged baseball caps as a sign of respect. You looked over to Hongou and he held the same expression. To anyone else, he looked intimidating as usual but you knew when it came to baseball or softball, he took it seriously. When the two of you trained together, it was straight training. No love pecks or easy practices. Straight to business. 

Hakuryuu was batting first so you went to the dugout to wait your turn. When you realized that this game was not like the others, Fuyuko had already struck out your first three batters. You gave your coach a look of nervousness as she patted your back to get on the field. You heard the chants of your name from the stands but you couldn’t concentrate on it. Your focus was directly on the batter. 

You struggled with the first batter but as the nerves went away, you struck out the next two batters with ease. 

//

The game had everyone clutching to their seats. It was the bottom of the sixth and it was still tied at zero. Your team broke the no hitting streak as a few of your teammates had gotten on bases but nothing came of those loaded bases. 

You were up to bat as you looked at Fuyuko with an evil expression. You were determined to make a home run. As you went to swing the bat, instead of feeling the impact of the ball on the bat, you felt the ball hit your right shoulder. You dropped the bat as you held your shoulder in pain. 

The umpire blew the whistle as everyone on your team crowded you. The umpires ruled it an intentional hit. Fuyuko let them take her away as you were the only one to notice the small smirk on her face. 

Tears ran down your face as your manager as well as one of the on staff medical trainers escorted you to the back rooms. Before you realized what was happening, you were already running back to the pitcher and immediately sized up to her. 

“You realized that you were going to lose so you resorted to intentionally hitting a player? What are you, a dumbass? Did you forget that you could actually hurt someone and leave them with a permanent injury?” You screamed to her. “If it wasn’t for my arm, I would have kicked your ass by now.”

She didn’t say a word as Akari grabbed you and started begging you to leave her alone before you got ejected. Your manager dragged you back to one of the rooms as they started to check on your shoulder. 

//

The seventh inning was dragging as you sat in the room with the lights off. The staff had left the room as you laid down to ice your shoulder. When you seen the door open, you knew it was Masamune. 

“I don’t care about the score.” You stated as you hid your fresh tears. “Whatever happens, happens.” 

Masamune grabbed your hand as he flipped the lights on, “Well, if you didn’t know, the officials ruled you back in the game if you’re feeling okay so get up.” 

You gave him an annoyed expression as you turned your back to him, “My right shoulder is probably dislocated. Fuyuko intentionally hit me. What makes you think that I’m in any kind of mood to go back out there? To lose? I’m sorry but I’m not you. I will lose this game if I go back out so I won’t.” 

Masamune grabbed your left hand, “You dumbass, your left pitch is solid. At what point did you forget that?”

Masamune was right. He had been working with you on your left-handed pitch. It wasn’t exactly as good as your right-handed pitch but it was enough to make a team scared. You turned around and gave him a look of realization. 

“Holy shit, you’re right.” You screamed as you screamed at him to help you put your jersey back on.

The two of you walked back through the tunnel. Masamune held your hand as you gave him a kiss. It lasted longer than expected as he deepened it. When you pulled back, he motioned you to enter through the dugout. 

Your manager immediately screamed in surprise as she and the rest of the team questioned why you looked like you were about to play again. 

“You can’t play!” Akari screamed. “Your right shoulder is dislocated. We can’t have you play through an injury!” 

You laughed as you looked over to Masamune who didn’t say a word. He sat down on the bench as he motioned you to hit the field again. “Just because my right arm is injured doesn’t mean that my left arm is.” And with that, you walked back to talk with the umpires. 

They allowed you back to the mound as they announced the change in pitchers. You scanned the crowd and noticed that not only were the boys cheering as loud as possible, your mom was in the crowd with tears running down her face. 

You noticed that someone was already on third base but they only had one strike left before they were out. You begged to any god listening to you to give you a miracle tonight. You would even sell your soul to give you the win. 

You shook off your left hand before throwing the pitch. Akari caught it in her glove and gave you a tearful smile. You threw the next pitch and although it wasn’t perfect, you struck her out. 

You instructed the plan to the team. Try to have Akari get to first base to throw them off and have your third baseman bat for you. They followed through and Akari went up to bat. She looked to all of you and you gave her an encouraging smile as she swung the bat. It wasn’t until the third throw that let her get on first base but she did get on first base regardless. 

Your third baseman got on plate and you instructed her to bunt it. If they didn’t see the bunt, they would let it roll enough to get Akari to home. Bunts were  Hakuryuu’s challenge and you were determined to exploit it. As soon as she swung the bat, instead of it being a bunt, it turned into a heavy it which gained enough momentum to be a home run. 

You screamed as you jumped off the bench. Your third baseman, Gina, as well as Akari, sprinted until they got to home plate. You ran to them and gave them a tight hug. 

“Even if we get struck out, that’s the end of the inning. We’ll win as long as we get struck out!” You screamed as you noticed your shortstop hitting the plate. You whispered to her to swing just to finally end the game and she did just that. She intentionally swung even though Hakuryuu’s pitcher tried to make them foul balls. 

As she swung to the last ball heading her way, you were already on the field tackling her. Hakuryuu had lost the game and you were now the first team in Komadai’s softball history to actually win nationals. 

Since your right arm was injured, the president of Jingu stadium tapped your left shoulder as she showed you the trophy. You screamed to the team as they realized what you were holding.

You handed off the trophy to Akari as the boys team made their way on the field along with your mom. You hugged your mom tightly as she started worrying about your shoulder. When she seen Masamune approaching you, she released you. 

“I’ll leave you two alone.” She whispered as she went to talk to your coach. 

You ran into Masamune’s arms as you didn’t bother to hide your PDA from the media. He whispered congratulations into your ears as he tried to tell the media to back away from you. 

Before you knew it, you kissed Masamune once again as he tenderly rubbed your right shoulder. He knew that even though he helped you and trained you, you winning the tournament was entirely your doing. He wasn’t going to take the spotlight but he did want to continue to kiss you so he didn’t let you go when reporters ran up to you as you broke the kiss. His eye twitched in annoyance as he held your hand as you spoke to the reporters. 

[stephenjaymorrisblog]

Weirdest World Series I Ever Witnessed: 2019

  By Stephen Jay Morris

Thursday, October 31, 2019

©Scientific Morality

 Ah yes, The World Series.  It used to be a major event next to The Academy Awards, Miss America, and the Pasadena Rose Parade.  Then football became America’s pastime.  To answer that, Major League Baseball found gimmicks for selling more tickets like the play-offs, and then the Wild Card games.  The latter is where a team with above average wins can make it to the play offs by playing and winning just one game against their league’s best team! Still, sadly enough, more of America watches the Super Bowl than the World Series.

             Here is a list of my favorite World Series games:

1.  Los Angeles Dodgers versus New York Yankees, 1963

2.  Los Angeles Dodgers versus New York Yankees, 1977

(This was the game where New York Yankee Reggie Jackson hit 3 home runs in Game 6.  He was bestowed the nickname “Mr. October.”  I watched it on my portable Sears TV in my mom’s old bedroom while living at my grandmother’s house.)

3.  Boston Red Sox vs. St. Louis Cardinals, 2004

4.  Chicago Cubs vs. Cleveland Indians, 2016

5.  Washington Nationals vs. Houston Astros, 2019

 Why did I like these particular series?  The teams that won these games were the proverbial underdogs. The Nationals hadn’t won a World Series since 1931, when they were “The Washington Senators.”  And the winners of the first two on the list were my home team, the L.A. Dodgers.

           The Nat’s, as they are affectionately called, attained a Herculean feat of coming from obscurity to play a Wild Card game against the Milwaukee Brewer’s – and won!  Then, they beat the mighty Dodgers in the first round.  Next round, they beat the dynasty of the New York Yankees.  It was remarkable!

           What made this series so unusual was the absence of “home field advantage,” where, when a team is playing in their own hometown’s stadium, they do so with the passionate support and cheering of their fans.  It is the same for all sports.

To see the World Series in person you need two things:  lots of money and lots of luck!  It’s only natural to want to see your home town’s team win in your town, however, in this series, that did not happen.  The Nat’s won the first two games in Houston, where the Astros fans were devastated.  When the series went to Washington D.C., the Astros beat the Nat’s 3 games in a row. The Nat’s were confounded!  Yet, they went back to Houston and beat the Astros in Games 6 and 7, earning them their first World Series Championship! This will go down in Baseball history as “The Series with no home field advantage!”  

One more thing:  There was a baseball tradition where the President of the United States attended a World Series game ever since President Calvin Coolidge did.  It was a 109-year tradition.  Many of the Presidents even threw out the first pitch. Franklin Delano Roosevelt, afflicted with polio and in a wheelchair, threw out the first pitch!  But,  what about the 45th president?  He showed up for Game 5, though he chose not to throw out the pitch. When his face appeared on the Jumbo Screen, the Washington Nationals’ fans booed and then chanted, “Lock him up!”

This is one World Series that I will never forget.

[amyscascadingtabs]

long as my heart is beating, this is it

or, happy halloween have some plotless peraltiago fluff on me

read on ao3

There is no tradition at the Nine-Nine more sacred than the Halloween Heist. There are no excuses, no exceptions, no forgetting the yearly spectacle that is a bunch of cops blatantly ignoring their assigned duties for a day to team up and go through the ordeal of attempting to steal a chosen object in order to be crowned an amazing detective or human slash genius; until there is.

Early in October, Holt announces he will be at an important conference in Washington during the day of the heist. A week before, Charles and Rosa are asked to go undercover for two weeks to get more evidence on the dealer they’ve been tailing for months. Then Terry’s kids bring home a nasty case of the flu, spreading through Terry to the rest of the precinct and resulting in the majority of remaining detectives coming down with a fever.

Calls are made. Cancellation fees for body doubles and ruse pizza delivery guys are paid. Sighs echo through the bullpen when Holt announces the heist will indeed be postponed until further notice.

No one won the Halloween heist last year, but this year there won’t even be one.

It’s lucky there are other things to celebrate. The day after Frans Bruggen’s birthday, National Knock Knock Jokes’ day or Caramel Apple day; the possibilities for festivities are endless, and yet Jake is focused only on one.

“You know what today is, babe?” He whispers it in her ear when the alarm rings at seven a.m sharp. The shrill noise is hurtful as always, but after a full night’s sleep curled up next to his wife for the first night after three night shifts in a row, it could practically be a new Taylor Swift hit.

“Yes”, she groans, voice croaky and eyes still closed. “It’s the first day in three years I’m calling in sick to work.”

“Are you sure? It just might bring about the end of the world, Ames.” She is warm - he feels the unnatural heat emanating from her skin as he presses soft kisses to the side of her forehead. “I’m honestly impressed they invented something you weren’t vaccinated against.”

“No one invented viruses, Jake. And yes, I’m sure. I feel like I’m doing that horrible winter bath with Holt and Rosa again, but I’m also burning up and my throat is sandpaper.”

“Miserable you is kind of cute”, he muses, handing her the cup of water on her nightstand. “But that might be because all you-s are cute.”

“Sure.” She empties the water cup in big gulps and launches straight into a coughing fit before slumping her head back down on the pillow. “Cute is definitely top ten of things I am feeling at this moment.”

He shakes his head, unable to stifle the smile creeping up on his lips when he sees her. She does look pitiable blinking at him with glossy eyes, but damn it if she’s not still the cutest sick person he’s ever seen. “Happy engagement day, babe.”

“Aww. Today’s Halloween, huh?”

“Sure is. And you look so much like a zombie you won’t even need a costume!” His grin is short-lasting, abruptly interrupted by a pillow to the face after only a second or two.

“Screw you”, she mumbles, but he can see the corners of her mouth twitch.

“While a tempting offer, you, m’lady, need to save your energy.”

“Very funny.”

“Constantly. In all seriousness, flu-friendly celebrations will be taking place tonight, so be there or be square.” He gives her one last brief kiss before reluctantly slipping out of bed. “Call if you need anything, okay? I will be checking my phone obsessively.”

“Jake, you’ve got work to do.” “Amy, my wife is sick.”

“Right, right. I forget my husband is a hopeless dork.” She rolls her eyes before coughing and pulling up the covers to her chin again. “See you tonight, babe.”

He’s heard her say it for three years, and it still makes every inch of his skin tingle.

He misses her at work. He successfully bargained with Terry to have the night off - the man loves love after all - and so he only needs to survive up until seven p.m before he’s allowed to leave, but today it’s an eternity. An Amy-less eternity, which is arguably the worst kind of all eternities.

She texts him hourly updates to assure him she’s not dying. He sends back cute bitmojis of the two of them, retellings of the most fascinating arrests of the day and encouraging compliments telling her she’ll kick this flu’s ass and be back in tip top shape in no time. It’s not quite waiting for the last minutes to pass while feeling the ring box burn inside his back pocket, heart fluttering like it’s threatening to jump out of his chest, but she sends him a Die Hard gif after one of the updates and he swears he falls a little bit more in love with her right then and there.

It never gets tiring.

~

“One Whole Foods chicken noodle soup and one Meat Supreme pizza served room temperature, delivered to your door.” He places the plastic bags on the kitchen island quick as he can when he gets home, eager to join her on the couch. “They made sure to send their most good-looking delivery guy too, so you better give them a good rating.”

She snorts, laughing at him from beneath the three blankets she’s buried herself under. “They did, huh? Can’t argue with that. I’ll leave him a tip.”

“Kisses are accepted as currency at this particular chain. Especially if the customers are hot.”

“Sexist”, she mutters. “And I don’t want to make you sick.” “My immune system has survived thus far, ergo, it’s unbeatable.” He leans over to press a chaste kiss to her forehead anyway. “How are you feeling?”

“Never better, thanks.” Amy gestures to the assortment of napkins, empty teacups, medicine and crossword magazines occupying the couch table. “Lucky there’s no heist this Halloween. I would never have been able to win in this condition.” “You would have figured out a way.”

“Oh, for sure.”

He hums something soft in agreement, moving one of the blankets to minimize the space in between them. Amy looks like she’s about to protest for a split second, but then he gestures for her to move over and soon she’s in his arms, the little spoon for once this time because she’s sick and Jake’s not a monster. She lets out a content sigh when he lets his fingers run through her hair, drawing circles and playing with it to design a strictly alternative hairstyle. A few strands of hair gets caught under his wedding ring somehow, making both of them laugh, and it’s not the electrifying suspense of a Halloween heist but it’s perfection still, this intimate moment of safety and satisfaction and the intangible definition of knowing things worked out in the end.

“I knew you were going to figure it out, you know”, he says when her breathing has grown so even he fears she might be falling asleep. “Last year. I designed my entire proposal after that assumption.”

“I know, Jake.” “Humble as always.”

She shakes her head before turning around to face him with a smug look, lips together in a confident smirk. “I am the last one in this relationship to have been crowned an amazing detective slash genius. If you recall.”

He grins, remembering this night three years ago. “Pretty hard to forget. That was epic.”

“Was kinda brilliant, wasn’t it?”

“It was a genius move.”

“Mm-hmm. And how is that word spelled again?”

“Sheesh, Ames, that was one time!” He punches her teasingly in the shoulder.

“Five, and I screenshotted them all because the fact that you were calling yourself a genius while spelling the word itself wrong was absolutely hilarious.”

“You never forget something, do you?”

“Nope. Congrats on marrying me.” She lights up at her last words, that infectious smile shining brighter than should be allowed, and kisses him. It lasts too short, and will probably cause him to wake up with a fever tomorrow, but he still considers it worth it. “Sorry I’m such boring Halloween company. I know take-out and binge-watching The Good Place maybe wasn’t how you’d planned on celebrating.”

This time, he’s the one to kiss her before answering. “Every day I get to -”

“Nope, nope, nope.” She places her hand over his lips without letting him finish the sentence. “You don’t get to repeat your wedding vows at any given occasion just because they were good. Come up with something new.”

“You’re asking too much of the man who complimented your butt twice in his proposal speech, Ames.” She sticks out her tongue at him in response and he laughs sweetly, linking their hands under the blankets to run his hands over the two rings. “But as long as it’s with you, it doesn’t matter whether it’s takeout and Netflix or crazy-ass heists. Honestly.”

“I love you.”

“Love you more. Dinner on the couch tonight?”

“You got it.” She curls up like a ball with the blankets in the corner of the couch after he untangles himself from her, watching him get to work on heating up her soup. “Oh, and Jake?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for making me like Halloween.”

(Flu-friendly engagement celebrations end up being dinner and ice cream and Amy falling asleep halfway through the second episode, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.)

[jessamygriffin]

The Legend

Dear @youcantdothatpod

Hello, Hockey Coven, it is I, one of the two responsible for the Pierre-Édouard Bellemare DreamBoat Manifesto of old, penning this under my normal Tumblr journal instead of the hockey one for no good reason, and I come to you, with respect, and with full knowledge of certain coven members love of Russian players (though this one is not a Siberian) to ask for either a history lesson or dream boat nomination for my guy - for having an interesting life, to say the least. He is my favorite Russian player. Yes, possibly even over Ovi. 

And yet he never made the NHL.

Oh. My. GOD. some listeners must be thinking at this point. Why even BOTHER with this guy??? he’s not in the fucking NHL!

(And can I just say, in this case, we must never be the Bettmans of the hockey world, who was bloated with hubris thinking to bring hockey like a Messiah to the unenlightened Asian continent a few years back [ha ha fuck off, they’ve had hockey here as long as the NHL has existed? I live in Japan btw] and we must not think that the NHL is the end-all-be-all of hockey aspiration. It wasn’t. It isn’t. Times were different. There wasn’t even a KHL at the time our story begins.)

I bring him to your attention because he is THE BEST.

His story begins in the Siberian IHL, passing a pretty tough try-out as a kid to start playing for the Red Army team, CSKA Moscow.

I feel like I ought not throw in all his info here? Maybe just a few highlights? And some comments. Ok who am I kidding it will get long.

Here: Vladislav Tretiak.

Vladislav Aleksandrovich Tretiak, goalie, current president of the IIHFR.

He won a lot of shit. I’ll just link the Wiki here - it’s a list.

He looks kinda like Spock, but in the best red-blooded ways, not that I would ever judge anyone for wanting to get freaky with a green-blooded half-alien. His goalie training looks a lot like cossack dance.

(MUTE THIS VIDEO THO)

There’s some other worse quality vids of him doing similar and playing with his son, so. There’s that. Skip ahead to the tennis ball part.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qrfOsCVakvs

He started hockey kinda late, at age 11.

And Canadian hockeys LOVED him. *See below pic of jersey swap with Wayne Gretzky for proof.

Really, you gasp. Say it ain’t so! Impossible!!!

Truth.

How did the so-called hockey world (which of course was based in NA according to old boring hockey men) discover this Dumbo-eared wunderkind? The 1972 Summit Series.

(Yes, he grew his hair out and covered the mudflaps, and it was MUCH BETTER, sorry Vladdy.)

‘Ho hum,’ said the Canadians, ‘Russia thinks they are good at hockey, how ‘bout we have the Summit Series and quash their pretensions? That gold medal in Sapporo? a FLUKE. Ha ha, look at their goalie, this will be a cakewalk, he let in EIGHT GOALS in this game we just saw, oh well, let’s go have a beer and light up a dart, eh, boys? Eight games, pfft. We’ll sweep them.’

Joke was on them - Vladdy or Vladik was gettiing married the next day and weirdly? Couldn’t concentrate.

Summit Series ended up with one tie, 3 Russian wins and 4 Canadian, with the Canadians playing their dirty rough style, and the Russians their smooth, machine-cog style. That series was a gongshow of biased refereeing, Russian goal judges not turning on goals lights, and teams leaving the bench to have Canadian or Russian tantrums. Actual ankle-breaking occured.

Canadians had two goalies. Russian had one. He was 20. My boy. He KILLED it. And to say the Canadians were pretty horned about about this alien cheekboned man-child after expected a blow-out? MASSIVE understatement, HUGELY horny. As they should have been. Ken Dryden LOVED him. Jacques Plante himself, maybe feeling sorry for the kid, came and talked to him before the tournament started and let him know how different players would try to score. ‘A big help,’ Vladdy said. ‘I don’t know why he did that.’  LOTS of players were in awe. Canada was turned upside, Toronto became Tijuana and nothing was ever the same. The Interest in Russian Players was, officially, a Thing. (Kharlamov was a big part of the interest but that’s a whole ‘nother story.)

The horniness was, in fact, so uncontainable that several NHL teams expressed an interest, and one team was bold enough to draft him in 1983, when he was the ripe age of 31, which at the time was not TOTALLY hockey-old for goalies and players like it is now. Yes, the Habs. Consider that 3 years later rookie Patrick Roy backstopped the Canadiens to several Stanley Cups, and imagine what they could have been even earlier, with Tretiak. HOooooO.  Serge Savard hit up Moscow four times during the winter of ‘84 to try and secure his release.

Russian wouldn’t let him go, of course. Tretiak was a only lieutenant-colonel in the Soviet army, and not playing the high level hockey he had previously, and thusly COULD be replaced in the system. Soviet officials ultimately vetoed a transfer. “Oooh his dad was a major, how can we let this son of a distinguished man go and play HOCKEY, it’s a disGRACE!” Or at least that’s what we were told. Okay, Jan.

He quit playing at age 32. Thirty fucking two!!!  He’d done his 4th Olympics in a row by this point in 1984, and had the honour of carrying the flag for his nation, though he said it was probably because no one else had done 4 Olympics in a row. He wanted to spend more time with his family, and asked Tikhonov, coach of the national team and CSKA to let him have, ya know. Quality family time. (You’ll remember this douche from previous Russia Hockey Stories.) Tikhonov said, no, you live at the compound like everyone else for 11 months of the year. Ah ha ha.

Roll back a few years, for a grudge. Tretiak, if you’ll recall from the Miracle on Ice, was pulled from the game against the Americans by ol’ Tikky after letting in ONE (1) goal in the first period. All the Russians knew, but would never say until much much later, what a massive mistake that was - and you know the Miracle story anyway. Tretiak said himself it was a mistake, and he wouldn’t have lost the game. 

So, all things considered, in spite of having loads of playing life left in those kicky legs, Tretiak noped out and retired, for the reason of  being denied time with his family. And not getting to go abroad to play, which was probably a bitter pill and so quitting while he was still useful was a good Fuck You to the officials who used him up like a tissue playing hockey for his team and country. And of course, he was exhausted. At age 32.  "I'd played fifteen years with the Army Club and the National Team without a break. Backup goalies came and went, as did three generations of forwards and defensemen, but through four Olympic Games, all the important ones with the professionals, all the World Championships, all the Izvestia tournaments, it was I who played in the net."

Frankly, he should have just defected like others did later. Sent his family to watch him in a tournament and done a Sound-of-Music-esque Von Tretiak escape out the Zamboni exit, over the mountains and far away.

He would have been the first if he had. One of the most famous players in Russia, leaving for a career in the corrupt West. I’m glad he at least thought about it a little, even if it never happened. God, that would have been great. I’m glad that the NHL were able to pull their xenophobic heads from their asses enough to know greatness, and to want that brilliance shining on their teams.

But really, in the end, the man done him dirty. “In spite of aggressive discussions with Soviet authorities, Canadiens' general manager Serge Savard was unable to secure Tretiak's release for Montreal. "I would have loved to play in the Forum," Tretiak admits. "I was hoping to one day play in the NHL. I would have liked to do it even for just one season. Unfortunately, it didn't work out that way. I regret not having the chance." “

Still, the NHL and hockey in NA didn’t forget him. There were laurels left to be given.

He was the first Russian to be inducted into the HHoF, and the first to be entered without ever having played in the NHL.

Was he done with hockey? Heck no. Remember when I said Canadians loved him? It may have been mentioned a time or five.

In 1988, hockey royalty got married - Wayne Gretzky and Janet Jones. Befitting royalty, her dress cost $40,000, and gifts filled three rooms of the hotel. Notably, amongst them was a gold swan from a certain Soviet goalie Vladislav Tretiak. Why??? Swans are good luck, said Vladdy. They mate for life. And lo, the couple is still together.

In 1990, Mike Keenan hired him to be a goalie coach for the Blackhawks, and was (again) so turned on by his mastery that he suggested the 38 year could still play in the NHL? Vladik laughed and said no, but coaching was the next best thing. He worked with the best - Belfour, Hasek, Thibault, and you’ll be shocked that loads of tendies wear his #20 in tribute. He runs - or ran? website not updated in a while - the most challenging goalie school in NA in Toronto in summers.

He worked with the ‘Hawks until 2007, and then went on to be a pillar in Russian hockey leadership. Coach. Etc.

He wrote a book, which was really what got me into Russian hockey - it was wild to me at the time when I read it in high school some (Cough cough) years ago, so alien. But it’s chock full of the stories you love. His first coach Tarasov, wanted him because he was ‘tall’ (6′ is tall in Russia???) and had ‘huge hands’ and reminded him of Jacques Plante. The book’s pretty frank about hockey history and the role ‘Miracle on Ice’ played into a kind of American propaganda, which is refreshing. He was politely horrified by seeing Canadian players smoking. His training was bonkers, and included tree-climbing at speed. The Russian team was always trying new stuff, and one time decided on sports psychology, which a teammate helpfully volunteered Vladik for, ‘He’s the most important player, he’s the last defence, work with him!’ (since no one else wanted to). The positive thinking mantras seemed to work as at the next practice they were amazed by his clean play and kicks. But lol, no, next game he got blown out, and was probably glad to send the sports shrink on the way.

And he was crushed  when his teammate, Valeri Kharlamov, with whom he played so long, died at the young age of 33 in a car accident. But Kharlamov is a guy for another section of Hockey Histories.

So. This dream boat.

Ok. I know y’all prefer a defection story, and I think some listeners also? But. Here’s the thing. It’s sexy and romantic but also traumatic as fuck to ditch your country, your life in that political climate, to play the game. And dangerous,  shit man. 1983. U.S.S.R.!!! People still got disappeared! It was fine to treat players like garbage and lock them up for months in a compound and not let them see family! And I sometimes get the feeling that people consider the NHL the pinnacle, like, what a fool is Tretiak? who wouldn’t throw away everything to play NHL hockey? But that’s like, Bettman thinking, that the NHL is the best and perfect when we all know it’s fucking garbage, I know the current KHL has issues, SO MANY it would be a three hour podcast to talk about! So there’s no high ground, really. And in the end, Vladislav Tretiak made a choice that did good by himself, going on to a successful post-hockey career and the upper echelons of Russian hockey, and did well by his family, and of course, being patriotic is sexy, as anyone screeching at their team during the current World Cup of hockey knows. It’s okay that he stayed there. It’s fucking sexy NOT to defect, sometimes. Dude was a champion either way, his life is not a tragedy or lesser for not having played in the NHL and I really want people to know that. 

"For me, it was all, and all of it is with me forever."

Yes, there is life and hockey beyond the NHL. 

And it’s beautiful.

[seoulscenarios]

College AU! Lee Felix

We’re finally on the home stretch, the end is near for this series!! thank you for the immense amount of support you guys are giving us it means the world xxx

-Major: Musical Theatre

-Minor: none, he has no time outside of rehearsals

-Sports: the same martial arts club as Woojin but he specialises in taekwondo, he’s the college’s star taekwondo player and even won them several medal in the nation championships he like a god on campus tbh,, also plays soccer but isn’t officially part of the team bc he has too many other commitments with his course though sometimes they do call him up if they’re in DIRE need of a player

-Clubs: film club, just bc he likes to watch films and listen to other people’s opinion of films tbh (and he can take naps if the film is boring lmao), is also the deputy of the musical theatre society so he has a lot of power of what musicals they covered

-Felix for the last time we’re NOT doing Wicked and if we ever did I point blank REFUSE to cast you as Glinda bc you are a “cute blonde”

-But pleeaaaaaaase I’ll do more vocal training!

-Felix NO, Glinda is a soprano and you struggle to hit even the alto notes most days

-ONE CHANCE

-NO

-Felix chose to do musical theatre bc it combines his love of singing and dancing and being completely over the top,, like have you ever seen a musical at least one character wasn’t kinda over the top

-When he was a kid his parents took him to see The Lion King and he was in awe of it that he decided that he wanted to be in musical theatre ever since then

-At first, he helped out backstage with props, makeup, costume etc. during his school years and it wasn’t until his first year of high school that the director encouraged him to actually audition

-Everyone was extremely shocked that the deep voiced backstage genius could actually sing extremely well,,, like who’d have thought that

-Whilst he wasn’t the best singer he still got cast in a supporting role and he had the time of his life,,, now he got to experience what the actors did when he put them through stuff and he even did his own damn makeup as well during rehearsals

-So yeah up until he graduated Felix went to star in other musicals put on by his school and by his last year he was finally made principal role and he was all big smiles when the cast list went up and he was beaming for days and went into rehearsals with a fully learned script that was all highlighted and sticky notes on the front with potential prop/costume/makeup ideas on he’s just a wholesome boy

-Tho nothing prepared him for the sheer STRESS of being the main character as well as helping out the younger kids, organising props and costumes AND choreographing (can confirm this is the worst and happened to me, it was HELL)

-So yeah, Felix loved musical theatre and was pretty much accepted straight away onto the college course bc of his bright personality and beautiful voice, not to mention he was pretty much an all rounder when it came to the industry so they were delighted to accept him

-However,,, felix missed the accommodation deadline so ended up messaging all the college facebook boards asking if anyone was looking for a flatmate or house share,,, it was chan who saw this and was like yes my son pls join me

-Chan and Felix have this weird father/son/best friend dynamic, like chan would always pack Felix with a lunchbox and water bc he knew that Felix would forget especially when he was rushing round bc he was nearly late for dance class but they also played video games and had wrestling matches in their dorm for ??? no reason ??

-One time Woojin walked in on them arm wrestling and he was like ??? is that how friendship is formed in Australia ??? how bizarre before helping himself to snacks as Felix lost and decided to flip Chan over taekwondo style and Woojin just watched as he munched on some Cheetos or something

-It was just a bit weird but they had come to accept it,,, besides Felix loved being looked after bc it meant he didn’t have to cook food or anything bc chan really enjoyed it lmao

-Felix’s favourite class by far was his dance class

-He was one of the star dancers of the group and loved to help out to choreograph routines for literally every dance number

-Like,, u need ballet for At The Ballet from A Chorus Line??? He’s got you covered. Jazz sequence for West Side Story? He got you COVERED

-He’s just a very talented boy,, though he admits that he may not be the best technically bc he hasn’t received formal dance training whilst at high school he just had the ability to pick up the dance quickly and wasn’t afraid to ask for help when he needed it

-Hell, he even dragged Minho after he finished class one day so he could get pointers on where  he could improve and Minho was like,,, fine but pls buy me coffee I’m DYING (yes Minho does have a coffee addiction,, it’s a problem tbh)

-Felix was an extremely talented kid but he got all shy whenever someone complimented his dancing, or his acting but ESPECIALLY his singing

-Bc even to this day,, he was still nervous about singing

-Like he knew he could sing,,, but in comparison to some of the other people on his course he wasn’t exactly the most confident in his singing ability

-He often went to the music practice rooms so he could practice his songs over and over again until his throat was sore and chan had to make him honey and lemon tea when he got back from practice

-Please protect this soft boy

-Also,,, you KNOW that the boys were his biggest fans whenever he was in shows

-His first project performance happened and he managed to get all of his friends tickets on the front row (how he did this was unknown to literally everyone bc it’s practically impossible)

-He was extremely nervous bc his friends had never seen him perform in a musical before and it was his FIRST college performance how could he not be nervous

-The project was a piece celebrating the different genres and songs from iconic musicals and Felix was the centre for the Rent portion

-(But can you just imagine Felix in Mark’s red and blue knitted sweater and wearing circle glasses whilst he dances to La Vie Boheme??? Okay it would be the best thing ever convince me otherwise)

-He needn’t have been worried bc as soon as he stood on stage and the music kicked in, he was Mark Cohen singing about the death of Bohemia and jumping around the stage like he was born to be there

-He doesn’t remember much of that performance bc he was whisked off stage to prepare for another song but he does remember how the audience (read: the boys) screamed his name as he ran off stage

-The rest of the show went incredibly well and as he came out for his bow, he saw Chan wiping a stray tear as Jeongin laughed at him and Felix had to stop himself from feeling the urge of crying bc his hyung was

-They waited for him as he collected all of his belongings from backstage, too lazy to wipe his makeup off figuring he could just do it home

-When he stepped into the auditorium, all 8 of them pulled him to a bone crushing hug for a good 5 minutes before he literally had to push them off him so he could BREATHE

-Chan pulled him for one more hug, mumbling into his neck about how proud he was of Felix and damn,,, Felix nearly started crying

-It wasn’t until Chan was prompted to let go off him so they could give him his flowers (Changbin claims he was coerced into it when he gave them to him but u know that he went and sought out the best flower shop the day before so they could get the flower bouquet ready for the next day uwu)

-Felix laughed when Changbin handed over the smile and just tapped his cheek, tilting it towards Changbin

-Changbin BLUSHED like hell before giving Felix a peck on the cheek

-Felix would like to go on record to say no he did not squeal happily when Seo Changbin kissed his cheek thank you that is a LIE

-Anyway all the other boys just hollered at them except Minho and Jeongin bc,,, affection??? No thank u

-After they had their little celebration, Chan and Woojin announced that they were taking them out for bbq bc of how well Felix performed and they all whooped in excitement, honestly thrilled that mum and dad were taking them out for food

-Jisung, walking to the bbq place: thank every deity under the sun I’ve not eaten a proper meal since I left home 4 months ago

-Minho: well, this might be your last

-Jisung: :O

-Minho: :)

-Legend has it that the 9 boys who entered the restaurant nearly fully cleared out the entire restaurant’s kitchen but it has yet to be confirmed, reports say, stay tuned in to see if it ever does (hint: it doesn’t)

-Your first meeting with Felix is very different and honestly, you wish to erase it from your memory

-You were part of the musical theatre department, focusing on the backstage aspect with particular focus on lighting and sound

-You knew of Felix, bc how could you not, but you never worked with him beyond getting prompts from the director as to when to light him or turn his mic on

-As much as Felix wanted to go and meet all the backstage crew when they were practicing all together it just wasn’t feasible bc he could not justify running to the sound box just to say hi right in the middle of practice

-And he didn’t have any time in between classes bc your classes were on at the same time as his

-The only time he got to at least have some form of greeting was when he waved at you so you could see what he looks like for your lighting cues

-Felix was sad bc he wanted to say hi and wish everyone good luck for the upcoming performance but he couldn’t as he was rushed off his feet with rehearsals and class bless his soul

-After the performance finished, some of the practical course students asked the backstage crew if they’d like to go to karaoke once they had tidied up

-Everyone agreed, tho u weren’t actually there bc you were in the lightbox above the stage but once you got there all your friends were like !!!!!! Y/N THEY INVITED US TO KARAOKE YOU HAVE TO COME

-You just rolled your eyes and let yourself be dragged towards the karaoke rooms

-At first, you were a bit awkward bc you had never hung out with the actual musical theatre kids as you mainly stuck with ur lighting crew buddies but you were willing to give them a chance

-The first few songs were a little bit serious and you were kinda bored so you went up to the machine and were like “let’s liven up the place a bit”

-Well it was at this point that Felix walked into the room, late bc he was going through some notes with the director, and saw you on top of the table screaming your lungs out to American Idiot whilst everyone screamed along with you

-Well Felix wasn’t one to ignore a party esp when Green Day was playing so he grabbed the other microphone from Jihyo’s hand and began to scream along with you

-You grinned, grabbing his hand and pulling him onto the table with you

-The two of you jammed out and nearly broke it but honestly,,, it was worth it bc you got to hear Felix’s beautiful laugh for yourself uwu

-When the song finished the two of you were just stood on the table panting and grinning wildly at each other before he hopped off and offered you his hand so you could get off the table my HEART

-Felix pulled you over to the sofa and introduced himself to you

-“I’m Felix, musical theatre student”

-“I’m Y/N, also a musical theatre student but not practical, I work backstage but you would probably find me in the lighting box or the sound booth”

-“OH I remember you, you did the lighting for the dance performance today right?” he asked excitedly

-“Yes I did” you couldn’t help but grin back at him,,, bc hello is smile is beautiful and contagious as hell!!!

-The two of you chatted as best as you could over the sound of Jihyo and Youngjae crooning another love song down the microphones

-You just shook your head, gesturing Felix over to the machine so he could pick a new song

-Well,,, he interrupted the love fest and the sound of Wonderwall bled through the speakers and you started crying in laughter as Felix introduced the song “so anyway here’s Wonderwall”

-The two of you did a very dramatic re-enactment of the song and Felix couldn’t help but smile when you were basically screaming down the microphone during the chorus

-Your friends just watched in part hate,,, bc hello its Wonderwall and part admiration bc how the hell could two people who have only just met do such an in-sync performance of a well hated song????

-Magic, Youngjae told Jaebum as they both watched in disgust as you threw yourselves across the room in some form of contemporary dance??? Youngjae definitely didn’t know what he was witnessing but he wasn’t sure he liked it

-So anyway the night ends with relatively few casualties, only one broken glass that Dowoon  managed to cut himself on and Jae somehow managed to lose his voice???? But other than that,,, it was a fun night

-As people parted ways, Felix noticed you walking the other way and he quickly ran after you throwing goodbyes to whoever was left

-“HEY Y/N WAIT UP!”

-You whipped around, not expecting Felix to be running after you

-Like,, wtf?

-You waited for Felix to catch up with you before you asked him why he ran after you

-“I just,,,, wanted to make sure you got home safely and besides I live this way too so I thought we could walk together!”

-You just smiled at his bright response and the two of you walked back to your accommodation talking about literally every topic under the sun

-He told you all about Australia and his flatmate Chan

-Don’t tell anyone but Chan is actually CB97 from 3RACHA

-You mean the underground rap group that is supposedly made up 3 college students

-The very same

-DUDE THAT’S SO COOL YOU HAVE TO SNEAK ME IN ONE DAY I’VE BEEN TRYING FOR MONTHS YOU KNOW

-Let me into the lighting box and consider it done

-You have a deal Felix pleasure doing business with you

-(felix pulls through a few weeks later and the two of jam just a little too hard and seungmin is extremely embarrassed to say that he knew the two of you)

-As it turns out, you live in the same apartment block as Felix and he actually walked you to your flat just so he could make sure you got home safely n u were like,,,, mate it’s a bit too much but okay

-Felix began to walk away as you unlocked your door before you heard footsteps approach you and you quickly turned around, brandishing your keys in the assailants’ face

-The assailant, however, was Felix who just looked at you in shock before laughing

-“Well, least I know you’re capable of defending yourself haha”

-“You asshole oh my god you scared me what do you want from me?”

-“Your number”

-O H

-Felix was very straightforward huh, you thought as he took his phone out of his pocket and handed it you

-You punched in your number and handed it back to him

-All the while, Felix was just smiling at you bc HECK he found you cute

-Ever since that night you and Felix became fast friends and yes, you did let him into the lighting box and teach him how to operate the basics bc Felix was hella interested in all aspects of musical theatre not just being on the stage

-You admired that quality about him bc many of the other students just took lighting and sound for granted and just tapped their foot impatiently as you configured the mic pack to the sound booth before handing it to them

-Not Felix though

-He would make conversation with you and even let you secure his microphone properly and you won’t lie that you felt yourself getting a little flustered as you hooked the mic round his ears and as you pulled back to see if it needed adjusting he was just smiling softly at you

-HECK

-Felix found you super cute when you were concentrating and he got distracted once as you were fixing the lights on stage than Jihyo had to literally smack the back of his head bc he was too focused on you lmao

-In his spare time he often begged you to let him see your notes for lighting and sound bc he was genuinely curious and wanted to see if he could figure out what all the codes were

-You just threw the script at him and told him to stop pestering you or else you would stop stocking up on timtams

-Felix never did pester you again, his love of timtams got the better of him

-So yeah,, you and Felix were hella close now

-You even found yourself going on “dates” (that’s what your friends called them, dismissing your protests claiming it was just a friends thing) with him

-And by dates, I mean the two of you went shopping together and had dinner afterwards, going to coffee shops and hell you even let Felix practice new makeup on you so he could improve his skills

-Felix,,, why the hell have you literally painted my whole damn face with cat features!

-We’re studying CATS okay let me LIVE

-I know for a fact you’re not bc literally yesterday you told me that your focus in class at the moment was Starlight Express and the last time I checked,,, that was about trains and people on roller skates not CATS

-You,,,, you’ve got me there I’m sorry

-Anyway,, before you knew it you found yourself falling hopelessly for Felix

-It didn’t help that you were preparing for the final musical of the year and you were practically assigned to work with Felix

-(You can bet your right sock that the rest of the lighting crew were in on this as they snickered whenever you were testing a new microphone with Felix and you began to blush, causing Felix to ask you if you were feeling okay and your crew were like GET IT Y/N)

-Little did you know that Felix was crushing on you as well bc well,,, everything you did was a distraction and he found himself thinking about you practically every day

-His class mates had noticed and told the lighting crew and they were like UGH FINALLY YOU NOTICED and they made a betting pool to see who would confess first

-Most bets were on Felix tbh, he was a loud outgoing kid so he probably had more guts do it than you

-Only a few lone members of the lighting crew stayed loyal to you bc they had a hunch you would confess at the end of the show

-Ah the show,,,

-It’s always stressful preparing for the show and Felix had ended up with the part of Enjolras in their production of Les Miserables

-The two of you were rushed off your feet bc the rehearsal process was actual HELL and it was hell both on stage and offstage

-Like Felix had to learn a whole new type of musical, with very little dance in it, and he was stressed bc he didn’t think he was doing a good job of portraying his character

-Whilst you,,, had the horrible task of designing lighting for an entire show (how you had ended up with that horrible task was beyond you but here you were, wishing for the show to be over so this hell would STOP)

-But alas,, the weeks running up the first performance were crazy and you barely had time to even text Felix bc half of your day was spent running through lighting with the crew and the other half was spent correcting your errors bc the director was a grouchy piece of work n nothing was perfect

-You missed spending time with Felix bc he could make you feel happy and relaxed with just a smile but every time you saw him offstage he seemed,,, a little off and distracted

-Just as you were about to go and ask if he was okay, you were whisked away by one of the sound people bc one of the mics weren’t working

-You never forgot the look on his face though

-Before you knew it, opening night was upon you and the theatre was in full work mode getting everything into position ready for when the audience came in

-Before the actors had arrived however, you snuck in backstage and dropped off a small bouquet of flowers onto Felix’s makeup station with a note that read “I’m sure you’ve got this Apollo”, a bottle of water and a timtam that had strict instructions to eat AFTER the show

-You giggled as you saw Felix wandering round with a small smile on his face, twiddling the note in his fingers unsure of who this was

-Throughout the performance your eyes were drawn to Felix almost like a magnet bc he was captivating as the leader of the revolution and tears actually started to trickle down your face as he sang Do You Hear the People Sing

-Like,,, you were so damn proud of how he was performing considering literally yesterday he was moping around

-As the show week progressed you left bigger bouquets of flowers with different encouraging notes and snacks on them and every day you saw Felix’s smile grow wider and his performance grow stronger

-As the final night rolled around you decided that today was the day

-You were going to confess your feelings to Felix

-You didn’t leave flowers this time, just a note that read

-If you want to know who I am, find me after the show. I’ll be the one with the bouquet of red roses love XXXX

-When Felix read this he was extremely nervous bc all week he had hoped for some sign as to who it was yet all of a sudden they were going to just reveal themselves?

-He didn’t know how he was going to react but secretly,,, he hoped it was you and if it wasn’t he wasn’t sure how he was going to react

-So anyway,, the show went on and by the end of it the whole audience was in tears

-When the actors came on for their individual bows you heard Felix’s friends literally roaring his name,, and was that Changbin holding a Felix banner and standing in his seat??

-When the bows for the technical team were happening you ended up locking eyes with Felix and he was just grinning at you, even as they moved around the theatre

-The final bow happened and you cracked your fingers, knowing it was time

-You bid the rest of your crew goodbye before picking up a bouquet of roses that were underneath the desk and they were like !!!!!! omg they’re going to do it?!?! And you just grinned, pressing a finger to your lips and sneaking out into the main auditorium

-You were slightly nervous bc heck,,, his best friends were here as well and they knew you and if they saw you they would not shut up

-They saw you anyway but Chan had literally choked Felix out to stop him from yelling at you and the rest of the boys were kinda scared so they just left you alone,, wondering if you were going to confess to Felix bc quite honestly,,,, they were sick of Felix’s pining over you lmao

-Before you knew it, the actors began spilling out into the auditorium and your heart began to beat rapidly, waiting for Felix to appear

-When he did you gasped a little bc honestly,, how dare he look so good with his blonde hair all curled and slight traces of makeup still around his eyes with a tired smile on his eyes

-You saw his eyes dart around the room, undoubtedly looking for the red roses you had told him about

-He eyes lit up and started to walk towards you so you decided to remove the flowers from your face

-Felix’s eyes literally widened and his pace picked up

-You just smiled before literally running to him and throwing yourself around his body and kissing him square on the lips

-W O W

-You didn’t plan on doing that but it worked I guess

-The whole auditorium burst into raucous applause, finally glad that the two of you had gotten together after literally almost a year of pining like wtf guys come on

-Chan wiped a tear before motioning to the other boys to go over to the two of you

-You had broken the kiss and were resting your heads together, giggling when the boys approached you uwu

-“So, Y/N you’re finally dating Felix hyung? Took you long enough” jeongin stated bluntly

-“JEONGIN YOU CANT JUST ASK THEM THAT JE-“

-“yes we are dating” Felix said, kissing your temple softly and wrapping an arm around your waist and the other one cradling the bouquet of roses you gave him

-DATING FELIX:

-Oh god it’s a whole MESS dating this boy istg

-Like where to even begin

-For a start, he’s even more smiley and insufferable during class bc he’s like yeah I’m dating the cute lighting technician whilst u Jackie are dating??? Who again exactly? I lost count after you dumped Jaebum bc you found Mark more attractive but then Mark refused to date you bc ??? I forgot tbh

-He literally runs his mouth too much that you literally had to fly from your class to his so you could slap a damn over his mouth so he would shut up

-He didn’t mean to be mean but honestly,,,, he was just saying what the whole class was thinking n you were like babe, I know Jackie is like that but pls keep your mouth shut otherwise if Jackie comes for you I refuse to help you

-B A B E

-Oh yeah, felix definitely calls you babe more than your actual name which makes seungmin fake vomit into his work every time he hears felix call you that

-You just stick your tongue out and call Felix baby and right that’s it Seungmin is transferring college bc he’s SICK of all the affection going round atm

-Date nights are mainly just movie nights bc you and felix are so damn tired all the time after class and there’s nothing better than cuddling him after a long day of class

-Whilst the film is playing you like to lay on half on top of him so you can see his face as he lazily tells you about the ballet workshop he went to that morning

-You just loved listening to him talk and you also liked to rest your head on his chest, feeling relaxed by the steady lull of his heartbeat and the way his chest moved up and down

-More often than not you would fall asleep like this and Chan would find you there at 2am when he went to get a glass of water and he would throw another blanket over you, tucking you in so you didn’t get cold during the night

-(You never did bc Felix is the literal embodiment of the sun in two ways,,, his personality and his damn body heat)

-Also hear me out,, you would take felix to the lighting box on weekends and teach him new lighting methods and you loved watching him being a giddy child when he got it right that you would reward him with kisses whenever he did bc it made the both of you giggle

-Honestly,,, kissing felix? A blessing you weren’t quite sure you deserved though he assured you everyday that you did bc he was always kissing ur forehead, nose, cheeks u name it

-One thing you loved doing was gently tracing the freckles on his face before lightly peppering them with kisses

-It made Felix blush like CRAZY but he loved it bc it was you and you were being cute as heck

-Other date nights included karaoke with the boys and the two of you confusing all of them when you yelled that your song was playing when Wonderwall came on

-Woojin,,, are they being serious right now?

-You know Chan, I really wish I knew

-Study dates weren’t really a thing the two of you did bc you were on such a practical course with not much studying,, but you still liked to go to coffee shops and rehearse lines with him when he had a show coming up or accompanying him to the dance studio when he had a dance project due in

-You being Felix’s biggest fan? Confirmed.

-Going along to every single one of Felix’s taekwondo matches and yelling alongside Changbin as Felix flipped his opponent over??? OF COURSE

-Though, people always wondered which one of you was actually dating Felix until Felix ran over to you and kissed you on the lips and not Changbin lmao

-You always greeted Felix with a bouquet of red roses at the end of each of his performances and he still blushed bc he still couldn’t believe you confessed before he did

-So he decided to reverse the situation and surprised you with flowers during the bows of the last night of one his shows

-Like,,, he called the lighting crew down under the pretence of giving them praise but the ulterior motive,,,, he gave you flowers on stage and then kissed your cheek UWU

-The two of you were the powerhouse couple of the theatre department that everyone was envious of bc you just understood each other so well???? Not to mention between the two of you, you could literally run an entire theatre by yourselves and still have sold out shows

-Just wow,,, you were THAT couple

hi i would like a lee felix pls he’s cute as HECK and i just wanna compliment his freckles till the end of my days goodbye x

[ourceliumnetwork]

God it's no wonder i never thought of my birthday as anything really special and have just been waiting for people to forget it's a thing for years. Fuck the reality of the situation dawned on me and my god is it depressing.

Like...

When your choice - the thing you pick to do because you want to and think it will be fun - for your EIGHTEENTH BIRTHDAY is a Southern Republican Leadership Convention and the only reason you can complain about it 13 years later is because your politics have changed so drastically (for the better, absolutely for the better do not get me wrong), something has gone deeply, deeply wrong in how your family has handled your birthday up to that point.

oh sure we did fun things over my birthday but it wasn't like I had requested we go on a 2 week trip across the country by minivan, mainly camping the whole way in early springtime, and the only reason we were in town to be able to go to the Washington National Art Museum was because my dad wanted to go to a weekend hockey camp, and that just so happened to be the same weekend when the hockey team my family rooted for actually fucking won a game to get into the Stanley Cup on *coincidence* like...

My sister always complained about what we did "for" my birthday, especially if it was something I specifically requested (like the Art Museum because if we're going to be there and i'm 16 and fucking really into art, i wanna go to the art museum because what the fuck else is there for me to choose from in April in Washington DC?). You know what we did for her birthday *at her request* multiple years in a row? Waterparks, Amusement parks, fancy dinners at her favorite restaurant. My mom *chose* to go on long family vacations over her birthday, it wasn't on accident and coincidental and because we were already going to be there, it was on purpose and the reason we were going was *for* her birthday (except that one year, when it was for my sister's choir opportunities but one year as opposed to *multiple instances.)* We went to the beach many many times for my dad's birthday. We always did things *they* wanted to do.

When I became "fun" to hang out with (read: I was old enough to drink alcohol with my parents), I did a sit and drink with my family at a local bar until my little sister drove us home. I went to the only gay bar in a 100 mile radius with my roommate and didn't even drink, and no one even really cared it was my birthday. I went out drinking with my parents, my aunt and her at the time boyfriend (now husband) and their frat buddy and we lost my aunt, my mother collapsed because she was too drunk and I had to half carry her to the corner where my sister was going to pick us up, and hand feed her chips my dad bought for her when he finally fucking caught up like fifteen minutes later after we told him it was time to go home.

My requests for my birthday were "Something small, at home, nothing fancy, just maybe if we could get steaks and potatoes and broccoli, and a fun dessert" because if I made a big fuss, it was always "oh well that's really expensive and we all know your sister is going to want a big ol' birthday and man we really can't plan for that, and boy the off season in springtime is a terrible time to do things huh? Except for when it's your mother who has an earlier birthday but that's obviously beside the point"

My birthday this past year, another "milestone" in my family were it for anyone else, was a complete disregard for my request of something small because I didn't want anything big. And I got ignored. At my own birthday. And told that my family doesn't believe what I tell them about myself. And judged and berated and the only reason any of that was saved was because my partner loves me and even though they lived far away at that time, they bothered to try and do something special for me, but only within the bounds of what i was comfortable with and that's all i wanted.

i cried because i hadn't gotten anything even close to that in over 2 decades. I didn't know i could *like* my birthday.

I am....I am so mad. I am furious. but also? mainly? I am just...

i'm really fucking sad. what the *fuck*.

[axelsandwich]

yuzuru hanyu: an exhaustive introduction

YUZURU HANYU IN 8 SECONDS: A SUMMARY 

the weird goat noise crying at the end is yuzu himself basically going ‘nooo no way, no I don’t want this, that was scary, so scaryyy’

THIS IS ALSO YUZURU HANYU IN 13 SECONDS

YUZURU HANYU JUST BEING HIMSELF (PART 2)

choose your fighter

he’s happy a lot

basically the embodiment of the n__n emoji

and cute

the cutest 

ever

loves nature on the rare occasions he goes outside

hitting his coach with a fan

scaring his other coach and then running away

adorable w kids

loves teaching

but also falls down a lot. very cutely.

sometimes in a stupidly beautiful way

factual info you could probably Wikipedia but are too lazy to do so: Yuzuru Hanyu is a Japanese figure skater from Sendai, born 7 December 1994 who competes in the men's singles discipline.

PSA: YUZURU HANYU IS NOT THE MODEL FOR KATSUKI YUURI FROM YURI ON ICE (yuuri katsuki is canonically based on tatsuki machida thank u)

japanese media (esp in sendai) basically filmed him growing up and called him a young prodigy so we’re lucky to get footage of chipmunk-cheeked yuzu with his (flying) mushroom hair 

look at this tiny bean

he was interviewed in ice rink sendai with japan’s other figure skating gold medallist shizuka arakawa. to quote, when asked “can you become a gold medallist too?”, he said “probably”. and then he went and did exactly that.

he would get into fights with his rinkmates, used to ball up skate rink magazine flyers to hit like a baseball and basically had a 5min attention span after which he would get bored

he also remained top 5 in his class academically while competing internationally during high school and does online education at waseda university, which is one of the most prestigious universities in Japan (this kid was away the day God handed out laziness and procrastination I s2g)

he’s studying Human Informatics and Cognitive Sciences (ie. basically a massive maths nerd)

my favourite in-depth and extended interviews with yuzu are his press conferences with the foreign correspondents club in japan, he really lets his intelligence and thoughtfulness shine here in particular:

2014 post-sochi olympics

2018 post-pyeongchang olympics

2018 post-pyeongchang olympics (japanese media)

memelord mc memeface (no, I am serious)

literally can’t control his face

I could go on.........

for a long time

(this is my fave)

the duality of man

10 expressions for the price of one

‘yuzuru will also respond in english’

yuzuru was a victim of the 2011 Japanese earthquake and tsunami and lived in an emergency shelter with his family for about a week. spent the summer afterwards skating 60 different ice shows to raise money for the victims. he lost his home rink because of the earthquake and so would go to the show rinks early to practice ): 

it’s heartbreaking that he’s still very affected by the memories. he’s said he doesn’t take anything for granted and is always grateful to have a rink to skate on, and the impact he had on the survivors had a profound effect on his skating

he mentioned it in his post olympics interview

if you feel like crying really really hard today, watch yuzuru visiting sendai’s disaster affected areas and where he stayed initially in the days after the disaster

he donated all his olympic winnings to helping tohoku recover

the only regular TV appearance he does every year is 24hr TV which is a charity marathon to raise money for various causes, especially for areas affected by natural disaster 

“If it is because I visited them that those who suffered from the disaster can forget about their hardships for even just a moment, to me that would be something very meaningful. Therefore, at that moment, I thought that I wanted to get another Gold medal at the next Olympics.” 

the reason why he’s going for another olympic medal. cry with us

gets on with nobunari oda like a house on fire and carries out shenanigans whenever they meet

nobu and ex-tennis player matsuoka shuzo have been his most zealous and purest hype men since he was sixteen, it’s the cutest thing in the world, they’re regularly worried about him, stunned by him and moved to tears by his performances

here they are reacting to his olympics programs

here’s yuzu thanking shuzo for his support by putting his gold medal around shuzo-san’s neck

has the cutest bromance ever with training mate javier fernandez (eg. when he cried bc he didn’t win but was also super happy for javi, and when he watched javi’s free skate)

gives the best hugs to javi

iconic(TM)

just before the Olympic medal ceremony, yuzuru cried after javi told him this would be his last olympics and saying ‘no I can’t do it without you’ wow I didn’t need my heart or anything today

has the cutest interactions with all skaters including his direct competitors

here’s boyang jin giggling about how he got a hug from ‘the guy who likes Pooh’

nathan chen commenting on yuzu & both of them complimenting each other

dodges media attempts to pit him against shoma uno as bitter rivals bc they are NOT ABOUT THAT LIFE 

olympic gold medallist checking to make sure the olympic silver medallist has his jacket on straight and teaching shoma to wave bc he is actually just a mother

the only person who has the ability to make him lose focus: his forever-idol evgeni plushenko (now in motion) 

probably the only asian boy who willingly opted for a bowl cut 

who he shamelessly cheers on during ice shows

literally not capable of not being extra as fuck

here’s his pre-competition rituals aka. lipsyncing silently at a wall

he does it a lot

where every other male skater is in sensible shirts and pants, you will find yuzu standing there BEDECKED IN SEQUINS AND FEATHERS

he don’t give a fuck about your gender norms

and looks excellent while doing so

here he is, single-handedly destroying toxic masculinity

here he is just generally being Extra, with the rest of the men, bullying junhwan, bullying boyang... speed skating

tbh his milkshake seems to bring all the boys to the yard...seriously. and obviously most of the girls...

famous for his death glare murder face of hyper-competitive intensity

scariest thing is how quickly he can switch it on

there’s literally a collection of photos of yuzu - from when he was a bb to presently - eyeing the gold medal from another podium position like ‘my precious will be mine soon’ (here’s another one)

but also for being the sweetest kid ever 

he is truly SUPER polite wherever he goes

hugging his competitors at the 2018 pyeongchang olympics

staying behind to answer all questions from media at the competition

CRAWLING ON HIS HANDS AND KNEES behind competitor shoma uno so he doesn’t get in the background of shoma’s interview

mr worldwide (he thanked reporters at the Olympics in five languages)

watch him say thank you in korean

JP TV basically had entire TV segments where they were like ‘OBSERVE HIS GOD-LIKE BEHAVIOUR’. It continues to this day

there’s literally a shrine with kanji similar to his name and fans pray for him there

he has three dedicated shrines that his fans make pilgrimmages to - yuzuruha and the two seimei shrines. 

oda nobunari visited one and basically all the ema wishes were for him (yuzuru himself also visited the shrine to pray as well)

helping people repair the rink after competitions

single-handedly keeping the winnie the pooh soft toy industry alive.  

Disney-senpai finally noticed him in 2018

he donates all the toys he gets to local orphanages and charities

gives his fans regular heart attacks

watch him save jumps that shouldn’t have been physically possible

changing program halfway through when he failed a jump to accommodate #emergencyquad and #yolotripleaxel 

casually breaks world records because he was annoyed with himself

casual jump combinations during practices

casually says shit like wanting to jump hithero impossible jumps

jumped new quad when pissed off at the world team trophy It is REALLY IMPORTANT to know that the main reason for fan heart attacks is because he’s dealt with a distressing number of injuries, illnesses and misfortunes in his skating life but has somehow managed to come back and succeed in spite of them

a really scary accident that happened at cup of china 2014 and he decided to skate anyway because he wanted to qualify for the Grand Prix Final (which he then went on to win) and he really should not have been allowed to but he.......did that > <;

he then came back a month later to win the Grand Prix Final for the 2nd year in a row

he then had abdominal pain and surgery right after winning Japanese Nationals in 2014

and after spending a month recuperating, still managed to win a silver medal at worlds 2014

this is why we don’t talk about boston

important to note he skated his iconic chopin/seimei 2015 grand prix final programs WITH THAT INJURY

but then he came back and won the world championships in Helsinki in 2017

he missed almost the entire 2017-2018 olympic season he severely injured his ankle while practising the 4Lz in practice at the NHK Trophy, while recovering from a fever

is making his comeback from injury either at the pyeongchang team event or potentially yolo-ing it and going just for the individual event, we have no idea, we just know heart attacks are imminent

update: he skipped the team event and made his COMEBACK SKATE FROM INJURY after 3 months of no competitions and 1 month of prep at the individual mens event of the pyeongchang olympics.... AND FRIKKIN WON HIS SECOND OLYMPIC GOLD 

he then...injured himself again for the 2018-19 season, went out and skated anyway, won the event and showed up to the victory ceremony on crutches. he made a comeback at the world championships 2019 on painkillers yet again and still managed to get a silver medal

is proficient at disappearing like a ninja and subjecting his fans to radio silence for months on end, usually bc he injured himself ))):

so his fans made him a banner

(he has some ridiculously talented fans tbh)

a helpful guide to stanning yuzu (warning: you may feel Attacked)

did I mention he happens to be pretty good at figure skating? 

he’s broken the world record 16 times and counting (the video is his reaction to the first 11 (most of them are his own records)

he’s the first man in 66yrs since Dick Button to win back-to-back Olympic gold medals in mens figure skating (sochi 2014 and pyeongchang 2018)

I cannot emphasise HOW FRIKKIN #YOLO HIS 2018 OLYMPIC SEASON WAS. this was the medal he wanted his ENTIRE LIFE, which he had literally planned since he was a novice skater and had seriously begun planning since right after he won the gold in Sochi. this plan had to be adjusted due to the truly distressing number of injuries, illnesses and misfortunes he sustained during the last quad (his Olympic athlete profile has PARAGRAPHS dedicated to all his injuries - and note these are only the post-2014 ones). but yuzuru started the 2017-18 olympic season with a plan to basically break all 3 of his WRs at the olympics by recycling his Chopin and Seimei programs but upgrading the layout and introducing a new quad - the 4Lz - which he had been preparing for years. and then this plan was, once again, thrown out the window when he sustained the injury in NHK in early November, which was much more severe than he first thought. he sat out of competition for 3mths despite hoping to return first at Japanese Nationals and then to the Pyeongchang team event, but pulled out of both as well. yuzuru made his comeback from injury debut at the individual men’s event, aka. the BIG DEAL, after marching into the airport like a BOSS. we were told he had only recovered his triple axel 3 weeks ago and his quads 2 weeks ago, but post-Olympics, he’s slowly revealing that it was even more dire than that. he skated the entire Olympics on painkillers that were not working 100% which meant every jump landing hurt.  and he. frikkin. WON. by doing this. and this.  (it was also the 1000th medal in Winter Olympics history because destiny rewards those who are Most Extra)

seimei is arguably one of the greatest masterpieces of skating programs and yuzuru was involved in every step of putting it together

his iconic moves ; _ ; 

edges, have you seen anything more ridiculous

romeo and juliet 1.0 at worlds, less than 1yr after the tsunami disaster and really launched him onto the international stage

sochi olympic short program (the thing that won him the gold lbr)

sub point: his reaction to gold

sub point: his reactions to BOTH HIS GOLD MEDALS

chopin and seimei at Grand Prix Finals 2015/16 

WR for highest short program and total program score and he’s gonna bring them both back and try to surpass them for the Olympic season because he wasn’t already under enough pressure.........

hope and legacy FS at Worlds 2016/17 where he came back from 5th place in the short program to win the free and break his own world record yet again (annotated version)

broke his 12th WR in the first event of the 2017-2018 Olympic season at the ACI Challenger event with a sore knee and downgraded jump layout

hilariously, his coach brian orser was - uncharacteristically - warning everyone that his first skates of the season are like ‘first pancakes’ and to not expect too much from him before the SP

his fans, needless to say, were amused

he did go ahead and die in the free skate the following day though, and finished with his obligatory Canadian silver

Jumped and landed his first 4Lz in competition at the Rostelecom Cup 2017 (watch it clean - it’s a THING OF BEAUTY) and now has landed 4 types of quads in competition (4T, 4S, 4Lo and 4Lz). Has now said that being the first person ever to land the 4A - his childhood dream - is one of his key motivations. 

just go watch all his programs lol

has a majestic jump face. it’s art. literally. 

seemingly endless appetite for getting better and continually challenging himself

his favourite word: kuyashii (ie. frustrated)

one of my favourite interviews of him ever was right after his broke all 3 world records and went over 200 and 300 for the FS and total competition score for the first time at NHK 2015.  “[On losing to Patrick Chan at Skate Canada & the fact he was practising during gala rehearsal where everyone else was chilling] I thought I want to improve, even here right now.  Patrick was nearby and it was a really good motivation.   It’s like, ‘Watch me.'  I will definitely practise all kinds of jumps and I will grow for sure.  I will win the next time for sure, I have been practising with that in mind.”   Then 3 weeks later, at NHK Trophy, he had a different lay-out. Yuzu:  This is not related to Patrick anymore.  I was really fired up this time. Boyang Jin got 95 points in SP, right?  When I saw that score, I thought, wow NO MISTAKES!!  He gave the best of his abilities!  OH YES!!!! Matsu: You didn’t think OH NO!!!  You thought OH YES???? Yuzu:  I thought “It’s here!!!"  Since I was a child, I have never liked winning a competition when others made mistakes.  Everyone skates to their best, but I still come first, above all.  That is what I like. I like pushing myself to the edge—.” (translation cr: yuzusorbet) says volumes about his competitive mentality.

this is also iconic AF. ‘In your mind, what do you mean by wanting to win with a commanding lead?’ yuzuru (no hesitation and immediately): after everyone goes clean, I go clean and win. (matsuoka shuzo’s face is a MOOD)

oh, also he’s had asthma since he was two 

he talks about it here

it was referenced in a movie

he got an asthma attack 2wks before the World Championships in Helsinki 2017 and still went out and Did That

the new york times did a long feature on him and it’s mostly a pretty comprehensive article if you want an overview

has remained at number one in the world standings for the entire olympic cycle since 2013 despite aforementioned heart-attack-inducing injuries and illnesses

sucks at finding suits that fit him. because he needs one imperfection

questionable fashion sense in general (generally remains stuck at ‘japanese teenage boy circa 2005′)

he wears toe socks and has been seen wearing crocs once, ho n e st l y

Good Guy Yuzuru: doesn’t wear fitted suits often because he knows it’ll kill his fans and/or will only do so if he gets paid for it tbh

unless he’s wearing under armour

he can keep wearing under armour

seriously, why isn’t he being sponsored by under armour

why

really obsessed with earphones and has like 50 pairs, many of which are custom-made and cost over $1000. he gets really excited about sound quality & bonds with sound technicians over their headphones. basically it’s the only thing he talks about when interviewers want to know what he likes to do in his spare time

that and play games in his room by himself

he’s hyper-competitive about games too

is this a surprise at this point

he’s basically a shut in when he’s not on the ice rink, in competition or at an ice show. he is not v exciting

he got really obsessed with kendama and now has like 8 of them

can’t dance but has no shame (yeah) (YEAH. you’ve been warned). werq it boi

made his japanese film debut in a bald cap, playing the young lord of Sendai which he SORT OF BASICALLY IS

get you a man that loves you like the entire city of Sendai loves yuzuru

their cheer video for sochi and pyeongchang

as of originally writing this intro post - part of the top six men in figure skating right now. probably possesses the Most Lack of Chill, being world champion, olympic champion and holder of all 3 figure skating records. we’re all drinking heavily this olympic season, not in the least because Olympic season has been a Pretty Big Disaster So Far

BUT HE WON THE GOLD MEDAL AND THE MENS EVENT WAS - FOR THE MOST PART - PRETTY DAMN BRILLIANT, especially given all the disasters that happened this season.......so I recommend watching it all. ; __ ; 

alas Patrick Chan and Javier Fernandez have now retired ;;

he’s also b e a u t i f u l 

um excuse me, rude

VERY RUDE

apparently not interested in sex appeal......... 

‘acting’

want to research more? 

here’s a recommended watchpost

a compilation of interesting interviews by tsukihoshi14

gif cr: balladestorm

in conclusion, thank you for reading and I hope you know more about this special, brilliant boy ( :