#semi pro football

[willkimurashat]

I didn’t expect one today👀

[truthundressing]

.

[alpha-mag-media]

England legend, 62, tipped for sensational return to semi-pro football with world’s second oldest club to ‘send him SOS’ | In Trend Today

England legend, 62, tipped for sensational return to semi-pro football with world’s second oldest club to ‘send him SOS’ Read Full Text or Full Article on MAG NEWS

[ur-mag]

England legend, 62, tipped for sensational return to semi-pro football with world’s second oldest club to ‘send him SOS’ | In Trend Today

England legend, 62, tipped for sensational return to semi-pro football with world’s second oldest club to ‘send him SOS’ Read Full Text or Full Article on MAG NEWS

[wileys-russo]

are requests open? if so could you do a comfort blurb the prompt “i could really use a hug right now” with alessia? thanks!

need a hug II a.russo

"oh for fuck sakes!" you swore as you knocked over a pot plant, dirt and rocks spilling out everywhere, groaning as you flicked off the vacuum.

the house falling you silent you gingerly moved the vacuum out of the way, sighing as you hunted around in the cupboard beneath the sink to try and find the dustpan and broom.

"where has she put it?" you huffed, your girlfriend having an infuriating habit of using something and never placing it back where she found it, eventually fishing it out from the bottom of the pantry.

squatting down you began to sweep up the mess, only you'd barely begun before the brush promply snapped in half. "are you joking?" you had to laugh in disbelief, now only holding the handle.

"how does that even happen?" you grunted, grabbing the jagged brush and trying to sweep up as best you could, dropping it into the garbage and vacuuming up the rest before trying to repot the poor plant as best you could and setting it aside.

you were interrupted by a few short sharp knocks at the door, grateful you hadn't started the vacuum yet and hurrying over, well aware you currently looked an absolute state.

thankfully it was only the post man and with a smile you collected the few packages addressed to your girlfriend, closing the front door and leaving them on the corner of the bed for her to deal with once she got home.

you knew alessia had been stressed lately, she was so close to finally finishing her studies but juggling that, the podcast, brand deals, appearances and football, she did well to hide it but you knew her well enough to see how thin she was wearing.

the blonde was already gone before you'd woke up, having a photo shoot and interview before training and you knew she had a rather large assignment looming over her which she'd spend hours doing once she got home.

so you'd elected to work from home today which consisted of two meetings you'd moved to the morning and an hour of admin, and freed up your entire afternoon to try and make the house as lovely and tidy as possible.

your girlfriend proudly half italian had taught you how to make pasta many times only you'd never attempted it by yourself, but you'd ducked out to the grocery store to make some for the pair of you for dinner, determined for her not to lift a single finger tonight.

only your grand plan of this large self care evening in which you'd oh so keenly do whatever your girlfriend needed to unwind was being apprehended by one thing, the fact that someone, somewhere, with some unknown grudge against you seemed to have cursed you the most rotten luck in which nothing was going to plan at all.

the tipped over plant wasn't even the start of it, accidentally near blinding yourself with a bottle of toilet bleach as you'd wrestled to get the cap off and slipped on your freshly mopped floor, almost tipping it all over your face as you'd just capped it.

then there was your coffee, a slight lapse in your concentration meaning you'd burnt your milk and then had no more left to remake it, struggling through a very unwelcome long black instead.

thankfully the next hour passed incident free, a satsified click of your tongue as you arranged the lilies you'd gotten for your favourite blonde in the crystal vase which was a present from her mum on your first christmas with the russo's.

but now perhaps the biggest mission of all, dinner.

a brief glance at your phone and you smiled seeing a few messages from your girlfriend, fingers flying as you shot back a reply and tucked your phone into your pocket.

for some extra support you'd found a video online to run you through making the dough, which you knew would be the hardest part of it all as you'd watched even your semi pro pasta making girlfriend mess it up before.

your first attempt, was an absolute dud and the only thing it would be feeding was the garbage bin.

you were beginning to get the hang of kneading while also being acutely aware that any minute now alessia would be home, and you wanted as much of this done as possible because you knew your girlfriend well enough that her first instinct would be to takeover.

sure enough not even a moment later you heard the keys in the door, almost done with putting the dough through the pasta roller and withholding a laugh as you heard a thump and a curse ring out.

"welcome home clumsy!" you called out, the blonde appearing with a playful glare and blowing you a kiss, holding up her gym bag which you knew no doubt was full of dirty laundry she'd want to put on soon as possible.

it all seemed to be going well, dough rolled and ready to be shaped, but alas, your rotten luck struck again.

you rounded the counter to grab something, but having just washed your hands and not drying them they'd clearly dripped onto the floor and before you could even blink you'd slipped and your back hit the floor.

but no, of course that wasn't it, your hand collecting the half full bag of flour and sending it toppling down on top of you, a squeal leaving your lips and footsteps thundering toward you as your girlfriend skidded into the kitchen, concern clearly plastered all over her face.

"what happened?" alessia breathed out, eyes wide at the sight before her and you buried beneath a small mountain of flour, hand smacking over her mouth as you exhaled sending a puff of white up into the air.

"i could really use a hug right now." you mumbled, grateful somewhat for the flour smeared across your cheeks covering how red they'd flushed with embarassment.

"oh baby." alessia bit her lip clearly trying to conceal a grin, gingerly treading her way across the kitchen toward you. "c'mere." the striker stood over you and offered her hands, taking yours within them and very carefully pulling you up to your feet.

you exhaled tiredly into her chest as without a second thought the taller girl wrapped you in a hug, holding tightly as her hand rubbed up and down your back soothingly.

"i was just about to say everything is so clean." the blondes body vibrated with laughter against yours as you let out a pitiful whine. "i was trying to give you a lovely clean home and hot dinner to come home to." you sighed, words a little muffled against her jumper which was now covered in flour. "hey." you looked up as hands cupped your cheeks.

"i'm coming home to you, and that's always more than enough." your girlfriend spoke firmly, bright blue eyes locked with your own as you could only nod. "i love you." you leaned up to kiss her, frowning when the blonde craned her chin away.

"hey! kiss me." you scowled, a grin curling into her lips which again dodged yours. "you are covered in flour." alessia laughed as you rolled your eyes. "so you don't love me, noted." you sighed dramatically, pulling away from her.

"oh no no no, don't you be like that." your girlfriend was quick to capture you back in her arms, spinning you around so your back was pressed against the counter.

"kiss me then." you challenged with a sly smile, the footballer sighing dramatically as if you'd just asked her to build you a house, a scoff leaving your lips before they were promptly pressed against her own.

"i love you too pretty girl."

[lalunanymph]

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 ─── you always knew oliver aiku was a bad influence. but just how bad, exactly? let's just say that if your parents ever looked out the window and happened to peep inside oliver's idle sports car, someone is about to get murdered tonight.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 ─── you're now reading . . . 𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐔𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊 + 𝐒𝐄𝐌𝐈-𝐏𝐔𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐂 𝐒𝐄𝐗 with oliver aiku

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 ─── fem!reader, perv!oliver, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, sex in a car, fwb!oliver, repressed feelings, oliver is a jackass, language

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 ─── for the anons who once asked me many moons ago abt oliver corrupting us—this one's for you 🖤

⇤flip back to the pervtober masterlist

“Oli, we can’t do this.”

Your whimpers were lost in the scruff of his neck, a breathy moan released from the tight confines of your lips into the heat of his Porsche’s interior. 

“Mhm.” 

Honestly, if it wasn't for a soft spot you had for Oliver Aiku, you would've stabbed him.

Many men tried to get you in this position, but they could never succeed. 

You were a headstrong woman; tenacious, a hard worker and a corporate climber through and through. You had dated boys who thought the peak of communication was Snapchat streaks and “you up?” texts. But, you had never dated a man like Oliver.

In your defence, ‘dated’ seemed to be a stretch. 

Oliver was a wild ride for sure. 

Tall, handsome, pockets lined full with a pro-athlete salary, he was every girl's wet dream. 

After years in the media industry, you learned to differentiate the bad apples and genuinely lost ones. You have encountered influencers, moguls and celebrities under the scrutiny of your analytical and roaming eye. However, Oliver was an enigma to you. 

Though friendly and approachable to everyone else, you couldn’t help but feel there was a part of him he tried to hide from the world. A part which shredded through football fields and tore men’s hopes and dreams from their white-knuckled clutches. 

Many people had been destroyed by Oliver’s sheer force, both on the field and off of it if his playboy status was anything to go by. And you would be damned if you were going to be one of them. 

“Oli,” you muttered, a little firmer this time. 

The rough strip of his tongue teased your sensitive earlobe and you hissed, flinching from the sudden stimulation. 

“Oliver.” 

“What?” 

He sounded a little pissed off. You may be younger than the girls he was used to, but you were experienced enough from your years networking under intense strain and pressure to figure out when you were on the losing end of a potential relationship. 

With Oliver, it was a constant push and pull. As you moved forward, he pulled back. And for whatever reason, when he decided to reach out, you would hesitate to let him back in.

Anyone would decide that such a relationship—if it could be even called that—was doomed from the beginning.

But, Oliver and you never did have a conventional relationship. 

He saw you as a plaything, and you regarded him as a little bit of fun to unwind after a hectic week. It was a mutual agreement based on a sudden spark of crazy chemistry which neither of you wanted to solidify. 

Those large, rough hands which were used to causing destruction on the field, were parting your thighs softly, reaching for the soft promise of pleasure in between them.

In other circumstances, you would let Oliver have his way with you. But today, you were determined to put up a flimsy boundary—one he was desperate to break. 

“Oliver, my house is just a few feet away.” 

True to your words, the place you rested your head for every night was in the form of your parent’s modest two storey home right in the heart of downtown Tokyo. 

Lace curtains iced its domestic eggshell white walls, keeping you safe in the veil of night and away from prying eyes. But, the thrill laid in the fact that anyone who pulled apart those flimsy curtains could catch a look of you in such a compromising position. The engine of his idle car thrummed underneath your thighs, and you wished you had worn a longer skirt to combat his straying touches. 

If there was one thing Oliver reminded you of, it was a hurricane. His determination and stubbornness pushed him to where he was today—rising high in the world's eye. 

It was one of the traits you admire about him—and one which would change your morals forever. 

“I can’t,” you murmured in a cross between a hitched breath and a soft moan. “Oliver—”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head off. Just let me feel you.”

Those unique dual-tone eyes flashed sincerely under the waning street lamp light. There were times when Oliver’s simple touches and presence could push out the nagging thoughts in your mind, and there were instances when it drew up red flags in your periphery like a race day warning. 

Like speeding down the highway without a seatbelt on, you were sure kissing someone else would never be as enthralling as kissing Oliver Aiku. 

The scruff of his sparse five-o-clock shadow and moustache rubbed on the soft skin of your chin. You tasted the beer he drank for dinner, and a little bit of your own fruity lip gloss in between the curls of his tongue. 

Everything about Oliver was enticing; how he kissed, how he fucked, how he made you feel like you were the only girl in his world when you knew that was the furthest from the reality. He was also attentive when he wasn’t a huge prick. Out of the men you fooled around with, Oliver remembered exactly what you liked and he wasn’t afraid to push those lines. 

His hand was between your thighs again, this time pushing your skirt up inch by agonising inch. You didn’t fight him, too dizzy and weak with lust. He used two thick fingers to pry apart the seat of your panties, already sticky with arousal and ready for the taking. 

“So perfect,” he whispered into your neck. “How're you so perfect for me?” 

Over time, you had to tell yourself it was just words from a man who wanted to lure you into bed and they didn’t mean a thing.

But sometimes, you forgot. You forgot that this wasn’t real, that Oliver doesn’t actually love you. 

It didn’t help that his kisses felt like coming home at the end of a hard day; though already complicated as it was, whatever emotion you both harboured for each other could never be said out loud. 

He tipped your head towards him again, to catch your lips in a languid, teasing kiss that was more tongue than lips. The taste of him sent a thrill down your spine, settling right into your core. 

“Can I feel you, baby? Can I touch you here?” He stroked the soft flesh of your inner thigh with his thumb, locking eyes with you in the half-light. 

They brought you down a spiral; into a light purple and a hazel green tide which tried to rip apart your resolve. 

You were half out of your mind when you nodded, giving your consent with a shaky little sigh. 

He immediately pounced onto that opportunity like a panther to your jugular. 

Using his strength, Oliver dragged you onto his lap, where you fit against his edges snuggly. Those plush lips descended upon yours again, and he kissed away your troubles and worries, only determined to bring towards the brink of giving everything up for him.

Like a riptide, it was no use holding him back. 

Oliver had fucked you in shady motels and even in his practice locker room, but this was new territory. The both of you were within reach of your parents who had no idea of your budding situationship with the famous footballer. 

At the reminder of them, you broke the kiss off with a gasp, pinning your wide eyes onto his half-mast ones.

“Oli, how tinted are these windows?” 

“Really tinted,” he murmured without a shred of hesitation. Despite yourself, you believed him. 

You let him kiss down your neck, bite on your collarbones and pull you back in for more sloppy kisses. Unlike other men, Oliver wasn’t jumping into the main event. 

He took his time to prep you, slipping two fingers through your folds and gathering the slick there to rub along your entire entrance and back hole. Though his movements were jerky, he was still gentle with you—peppering smooches down the bridge of your nose and jaw.

If you were a weaker girl, you were sure your heart would melt into your ruined panties just for Oliver Aiku. 

He hummed, feeling you slowly ease yourself up and down his two fingers, fucking yourself on those static digits.

The first time he met you, Oliver was sure you were an upstuck, prudish type of girl. You weren’t exactly his flavour of woman, but where would the fun be without a challenge? 

He spent weeks pursuing you, doing the cheesy lame boyfriend shit people like Isagi would do for some girl he met two weeks ago. 

But, Oli’s goal was simple: Make someone else who wasn’t his type be into him.

Though you were right here with him, the task felt impossible. It was hard to get a woman who already had everything to take a chance on him. Your life was perfect—great job, great friends, supportive parents.

What could a man like him offer besides sending you to additional therapy sessions on your insurance’s dime? 

Under all the layers of his cocky playboy persona, Oliver knew he was a wreck waiting to implode. He never felt good enough to warrant a spot on Japan’s football team. He was insecure and lacked control in every part of his life except his dating one. 

It was why he went after more soft-willed girls than you.

And why the sight of you undulating your hips over his fingers nearly sent him into overdrive. 

“Fuck,” he breathed out. “You’re really something, huh, Y/N. Look at you—getting yourself off on your own. Good girl.”

Something about his tone and that endearment made both your heart and pussy throb.

“Oli,” you sniffled, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. Oliver had barely touched you—he had fondled, kissed and fingered you—yet, you were already dripping for him. 

Such eagerness made your cheeks burn, and you hiccuped more of your moans back, afraid to let him hear.

But, Oliver—as attentive and controlling as he was—could sniff your shame from a mile away. He nudged your face up to look into his, those soft, dual-toned eyes edged with a ring of steel in them that cut through your flimsy bleats. 

“Let go for me,” he urged, brushing the pads of his fingers down your soft cheek, and you lost yourself in his unique eyes and handsome face again. “Don’t be afraid to show your real self to me, angel.”

Again, something in you broke. 

The last flimsy excuse, your remaining shred of dignity… all for you to finally hiccup: “Oliver, please fuck me.” 

That was all the begging he needed. 

Oliver slid his pants and boxers down, far enough for his cock to spring free and leave a smear of pre on your exposed soft belly. Your skirt was around your hips, panties pushed to the side, and that was how he took you. 

The stretch burned, but it was a satisfactory one. Your thighs ached and tears were smarting in your eyes. 

Oliver was bigger than most guys and you weren’t used to taking him without a soft bed and a little more prep work. 

But, you held onto his shoulders, every bit of your skin feeling like it was on fire from trying to hold back your moans. You didn’t want anyone to hear, or for random people to suspect; even when the car frame started to shake or the windows began to fog up. 

This was your tryst with Oliver Aiku; your dirty little secret. 

He pulled you close to kiss you again, and this time, those large hands moved to the front of your shirt, kneading your breasts with an eager vigour. You let him lift the hem up, untuck your bra cups and bathe your slowly stiffening nipples with soft kitten licks. 

Oliver guided your hips to grind down on his cock, while he suckled and tongued your buds to stiffness. The filthy squelch of your pussy coating his length with her excitement and the smack of his lips and tongue turning your nipples into fleshy diamonds echoed through the car. You were lightheaded and felt like someone had spiked your system with alcohol.

The sleek lines of his Porsche’s interior were swimming in your eyes, and you felt like you could faint from the excitement. 

Your internal pressure ticked up a notch when one large palm of his wrapped around your neck, stopping your breath in your throat. If there was one thing you were sure Oliver was made for, it was to drive you insane.

He squeezed down on you, while intermittently fucking into you with clean, sharp thrusts. He kept a consistent pattern—squeeze, fuck, let you breathe, squeeze, fuck…

“Oli!” you wheezed in between those breaths he gifted you, your swimming eyes breaking and tears running down your cheeks. “Oliver…”

“Cum for me,” he coaxed, slipping his thumb in between your lips where you sucked on the tip with what he thought was almost love. He retracted his thumb, glossy with your spit and notched it right on your windpipe, putting pressure.

Oliver watched the ecstasy, fear and lust flash across your expressions, one melange of an erotic sight he would remember forever. 

“Let yourself go, baby,” he urged, squeezing down on your throat, while you felt his abs undulate against the soft planes of your belly—a tell-tale sign he was going to cum. A pinch appeared in his brow, and sweat bulleted down his forehead. 

“G’na—fuck—you’re so tight,” he nearly gasped that last part out. “Pussy so perfect for me. Go on then, give ‘em a show… show everyone how you’re creaming just for me, sweetheart.” 

Just as you were approaching your high where white light was flooding behind your closed lids, Oliver pressed his damp lips to your ear, his whisper cutting through the fog and bringing your climax crashing down like an implosion.

“The windows aren’t actually tinted, baby… everyone just saw you fucking my cock so good.”

Your eyes rolled back into your head, manicured nails stabbing into his shoulders. Despite every fibre of your being yelling at you to stop and hop out from his lap, something darker and sultrier begged you to stay—to give into this ruin. 

Those voices warred and clashed with each other for a few seconds, which felt like an eternity as you were stretched out on another plane of pleasure no one could touch. Your ribs expanded, your spine arched and your toes curled and—

“Oliver!” 

With everything you had, you came for him. 

All the voices in your head stopped; replaced by the chanting of his name over and over again. 

Like he was a prayer and you were the repentant sinner, you sobbed out his name, holding onto his neck like a lifeline and slowly bucking your hips up and down, prolonging the almost cruel pleasure.

Oliver came around the same time you did, with a grunt and his fingers clawing into the doughy flesh of your hips. 

You sagged against him, and through a lapse of judgement, his lips found your temple, leaving a small peck on the sweaty skin.

Oliver held you like you were meant to be cradled. You couldn’t think about anything that occurred within these past few minutes; your mind was on a fever high and your body was melted to his like hot wax pooling into a holder. 

“You okay?” His deep voice rumbled under your cheek.

You nodded, too exhausted to speak.

“Can you walk?” 

Flexing your thighs, you offered another pathetic nod.

“Do you want to stay here for a bit or go?”

You should probably go. After all, it was encroaching a tender territory you dared not ventured through. He felt too good, too comfortable to leave, but you ignored the screaming in your bones when you forced yourself off his lap and back into the passenger seat.

Adjusting your panties, skirt and shirt, you flashed him a tight smile, one which he echoed with an uncertain grin.

For a few seconds, neither of you spoke, and it felt like you were leaving a movie just before the good part came on. 

But, you had already seen multiple films like these before, starring numerous women this great actor before you had duped and jilted. 

You weren’t interested in entering his rotating roster of desperate girls waiting to be picked, so you strengthen your resolve and put your dignity back in the driving seat.

“Bye, Oliver.”

He hummed. “Bye, Y/N. Goodnight.” 

Oliver didn’t offer to see you again, and you didn’t bother mentioning it.

Sometime next week, the both of you would fall back into this toxic cycle—either you would call him up drunk out of your mind or he would get pissed off during his training and call you after to let off some steam. Rinse and repeat. 

Life was predictable like that with Oliver. You didn’t want to disturb the peace.

You got out of his car, adjusting your skirt one more time. Usually, you would never turn back to give him a second glance—out of sight, out of mind.

But, this time, something compelled you to turn around, and when you did, you gasped out loud; nearly running towards his retreating car to smack the roof, the hood or even the lying man behind the wheel. 

Through those crystal clear windows which were obviously not heavily tinted like he promised, Oliver shot you a smirk and a wave, leaving you stewing in both horror and an inexplicable desire to fuck that smug look off his stupidly handsome face as the reality sank in. 

You had fucked Oliver Aiku right in front of your parents, and judging from the silent house behind you and the lack of a usual warm vibe, you were positive they were going to rip through you a new one.

intellectual property of ©️lalunanymph. do not copy, repost or play around with my sentence structures, plots and characterization.

[fitsofgloom]

The great tough guy actor William Smith, whose biography is akin to a come-to-life series of covers from Men's Adventure-style magazines. He was a pilot and an interrogator during the Korean War, fluent in five languages (holding a master's degree in Russian). At various turns, he was a downhill skier, a boxer, a biker, a champion bodybuilder, and played semi-pro football in Germany. He's purported to have once performed over five thousand sit-ups during a five-hour period. He amassed over three hundred credits in a career that began in 1942 with a role as a child extra in Universal's "The Ghost of Frankenstein" and extended well into the Twenty-First Century.

[scoatneyhall]

This news has people saying they'd like to see more from AFC Richmond (obviously) including the creation of the women's team. This is kind of a nightmare idea for me, because one thing I, as a football nerd, need people to understand about the concept of an AFC Richmond Women's Team is that they absolutely definitely already should have had one during seasons 1-3 of the show? Which made the pitch from Keeley in the s3 finale montage land SUPER badly for me. Like, a nice idea, easily conveyed, but nope.

Because the "football canon" of the situation is that every established Premier League club now has an affiliated women's team. And like yeah, Richmond aren't very good. But most other clubs going down the ladder into the Championship, League One, etc, also have women's teams. Richmond, when the show started, had been in the Prem without relegation for a long time. They would not be the only Prem club without a womens team!!! They would have been constantly called out for it, it would have been a huge criticism and pressure point.

(Side note: same goes for a youth academy - clubs are required to have one. So you can imagine that off-screen, AFC Richmond is operating an academy, a Development/ Reserve men's team, and a women's team, it just has nothing to do with the squad Ted coaches and their training may well be housed elsewhere.)

The WSL (womens top tier in the UK) doesn't have as many teams in it as the Prem due to structure (12 vs the Prem's 20), so the levels the men's and women's teams play at can vary drastically within the same club. Not all Prem clubs have the womens team in the WSL. But any club you (or the TL writers) may have compared to Richmond, or based them on? They do have a women's team, whether they play at the top level or not.

So for me, the moment with Keeley works okay as a "don't question it" thing in the context of a harmless series finale montage, but it doesn't work as something to build new stories off, at least not in the simplistic way it was presented. Because any extension of the Ted Lasso Universe, or a Ted Lasso season 4, that would possibly incorporate the "starting of a women's team" would be the show going SO far outside the realm of football realism that it feel like a major contrast to how the show has approached the football element before - including like, what division or tier a newly launched team would even be allowed to start in, and all that. You're not meant to dig into the moment in the finale, just process it as a nice, fuzzy concept. But if there is more show to come, with a plot line that tackles the idea pitched in the finale, it could never match the level of football realism that was applied to the show before, because they've invented a totally fake situation that just doesn't work like that. They would be lowering their own bar. I know that many elements of TL, like Ted coaching, are already extremely fake, but their dedication to most of what counts is very good and very specific. Following through on what the finale implied about the women's team would be a drop in football realism from their existing standards and I am suuuuper not interested in that happening. It would be a quality drop for sure.

This is a bit of a rant and I am possibly the only fan who cared about this, but that Keeley and Rebecca scene was honestly one of the worst finale moments for me just because it implies something soooo wroooong.

HOWEVER, there's a pretty easy fix, and it would be cool if they went in this direction: the only reasonable explanation is that Rupert ran the women's team into the ground/never funded it, just met the bare minimum requirements, and they were currently playing below FA level, like in the 5th tier with only semi-pro players who don't get a professional wage - basically hobby players, and Keeley’s pitch was about reviving them and getting promoted up the tiers ASAP, Welcome to Wrexham style, with new funding, recruiting etc. Sucks that they got no attention from Rebecca before now but they may not have had money to spare for it during season 2 or before Rebecca sold shares in the club... dealing with that, and the fact that Rebecca had to knowingly leave them on the back burner and neglect them... that could be interesting. There's a story to be had about the women's team, don't get me wrong, but it isn't as simple an idea as the finale implied and that the fans have since run with.

[ruggiezz]

imagine nrc during the world cup era OMG 😟 rook after france loses to argentina, heartslabyul watching england losing

— REACTING TO THEIR COUNTRY LOSING IN THE WORLD CUP : twisted wonderland

[synopsis] twst characters and their reactions to their country getting disqualified

[characters] ace, deuce, cater, trey, riddle, ruggie, floyd, jade, azul, rook

[extra] this is just for the funsies, me spreading my octavinelle + ruggie latinos agenda. i'm a firm believer in the cater is american headcanon (AMERICA RAHHH🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🦅🦅💥)

ACE TRAPPOLA and DEUCE SPADE got together with you to watch the World Cup. Oh? You're not interested in football? Too bad, you're watching it with them anyways. Pros: They buy snacks for all of you to eat while watching. Cons: Ace screams at the television and gets extremely frustrated. The silence was loud when the match with France ended. At least the food was good...

CATER DIAMOND was not #LiveLaughLove-ing that month. Imagine being the only american in your friend group full of british people while the US had a match against England. Don't get him wrong; he doesn't really care about football, but it's hard to ignore it when the whole school is talking about it. At the end of the day, Magicam material is still Magicam material. He got lucky though; the match ended in a draw; it could have been worse. Needless to say, he did not care about the US losing, #WorldCup #Disqualified.

TREY CLOVER felt like he was in a nightmare—a 29-day-long nightmare. The Heartslabyul students were either having a blast or screaming when they won, or they were having heated fights about whose country would win. Trey was stressed; maybe other housewardens were enjoying the World Cup (like Kalim, who was throwing parties every opportunity he had), but RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS was certainly not happy. The students were so focused on, in his words, "guys running after a ball", that they weren't studying for their final exams. Yes, he had become less strict after his overblot, but a few students still got collared. Both of them were relieved when the World Cup ended; they could not care less about their country losing.

RUGGIE BUCCHI listened to the brazilian matches while working, like it was a podcast. He was a busy guy, you know? He had to work, but he still wanted to listen to the match. To be honest, Ruggie was pretty confident that they would make it to the semi-finals. We are talking about Brazil here; their team is good. "There's no way the europeans are winning this one" he thought. Imagine his face when they lost by a penalty goal, a penalty goal... Ruggie bought himself a doughnut at Sam's to cope and not have a mental breakdown.

Peru didn't even qualify; they lost against Australia. FLOYD AND JADE LEECH were in a bad mood during the whole World Cup.

Yes, Chile didn't qualify either, but a business opportunity is a business opportunity. Did you hear? You can watch the football matches while eating in the Mostro Lounge, and if you spread the word and bring your friends, you get a special discount. AZUL ASHENGROTTO got showered in money during those 29 days it lasted; the restaurant made three times the amount they usually make. He was very happy, to say the least.

ROOK HUNT was delighted to see all the students celebrating. The passionate cheers of the students, the way they all rooted for their country, how they got together to watch, how sad they got over their team losing, how beautiful. Yes, maybe the students were screaming at each other; maybe one even threw a chair across the room, but still. There was something captivating in seeing how a game could bring students that had nothing in common together, all with the same goal: to see their country win and crush the others. He was more sad about the World Cup ending than France losing, even if they were so close to first place.

[moneeb0930]

‘Pimp’ and ‘Lyss’: The Immortal Young Brothers by Claude Johnson (Black Fives Foundation)

They were brothers on and off the court. William Pennington Young, sometimes known as “Pimp” to his friends, and his older brother Ulysses S. Young, known simply as “Lyss” to his pals, were an unstoppable sibling pair of African American basketball stars that played during the 1910s and early 1920s.

They also made significant pioneering contributions off the court, long after their playing days ended.

Ulysses was born in Virginia in 1894. A year later, after his hard working parents migrated tot he North in pursuit of a better life, younger brother William was born in Orange, New Jersey.

A few years later, in 1900, their parents rented a room of their home to a young couple from Virginia, the Ricks family, who had a newborn son named James. Over the years the Young brothers embraced little James as if he were their own kin, and as the older boys got involved in sports, so did their protégé.

Something in that combined household created serious athletic skills.

Lyss and William attended nearby Orange High School, where they starred in football, basketball, and baseball. In 1910, while still in high school, the pair began playing semi-pro basketball for the Imperial Athletic Club, a local squad that competed against such teams as the Newark Strollers, the Montclair Athletic Club, and the Jersey City Colored YMCA. The two immediately received attention in the black sports press, including the popular and nationally circulated New York Age.

Their attraction to basketball got young James hooked on the sport too, and he soon developed his own talent. One huge advantage was having the opportunity to learn from- and train with the Young brothers.

The little basketball apprentice, James Ricks, would grow up to become James “Pappy” Ricks, who would become a founding member of the New York Renaissance Big Five professional basketball team and eventually reach the Naismith Basketball Hall of Fame.

After high school, the Young brothers attended Lincoln University in West Chester, Pennsylvania, which was not only America’s oldest historically black university but also was the closest to home for them. In college they both were once again three-sport stars. Though the brothers excelled in each sport, their first claim to fame was through football.

Playing quarterback, William was named as a Negro All-American during his senior year. Ulysses, playing end, was named to the Milton Roberts All Time Black College Football Squad for the 1910s Decade.

After graduating from Lincoln (“Pimp” was class valedictorian in 1917), the Youngs were recruited to play professional basketball in Pittsburgh by prominent African American sports promoter Cumberland Posey. Posey, historian Rob Ruck wrote in Sandlot Seasons, his landmark book that explores the city’s unique athletic heritage, “was,as much as any one man could be, the architect of sport in black Pittsburgh.”

The pioneering promoter had been cultivating Pittsburgh’s black basketball talent through his operation of several different squads in the city, most prominently the Monticello Athletic Association, since the early 1910s. But with America’s imminent entry into World War I and the resulting lack of resources, Posey decided to consolidate his best talent into one powerfully built team.

The result was the Loendi Big Five, a legendary combo that was sponsored and got its name from the Loendi Social & Literary Club, an exclusive African American social club in the the city’s predominantly black Hill District.

1921.

Adding the collegiate superstars from Lincoln not only helped Posey promote his new team but also sparked the Loendi Big Five’s domination of black basketball, with a dynasty that included four straight Colored Basketball World Championships from 1919 through 1923.

[rebelrayne]

he's back......

what my husband thinks of the season six male islanders with little to no information

aka he based it on their profile in the game. under the cut because it's long.

jamal

black tony hawk. he looks like he's cooking up some drama. obviously hasn't learned to button up his shirt. i don't see how he would have had a threesome cause he doesn't even look like he could have a twosome. small bulge. he has glossy lips. i'm done with him, he's kind of boring.

lewie

his combover looks stupid. did he paint on his five o'clock shadow? semi-pro? what's that mean? he's a fucking weekend warrior? "golden retriever energy" aka he has bad hips. his body just looks gross. it's all elongated and shit... his ears don't match his fucking face. he's got chicken ass legs to be playing football (soccer). he probably cries when he has sex. who the fuck names their kid lewie? he's the kmart version of gary. he looks like he's poor. probably gets drunk off two white claws. his mouth fucking irritates me. it's like he has an asshole for a mouth. show me his picture again - ugh just look at how fucking ugly he is. his personality probably matches his looks.

also was told to attach this meme curtesy of my husband's mind:

ozzy

what the fuck does he tell his barber? like 'keep it long in the front but cut everything else i want no hair on any other parts of my body'. at least he's proportional (unlike lewie). seems like the kind of guy that would invite a girl over to hang out then breaks out a fucking bong. and then gets stoned off his ass. i've never seen that color nipple before. his jaw is the shape of a rhombus. his puppy dog eyes don't work on me. what kind of dancer is he (🤨)? because if he's an erotic dancer, he only works day shift because he's not good enough for night shift.

roberto

he actually looks kind of cool. i don't like the way he holds himself though. he looks like he could be a pirate - he looks like johnny depp. does he have to take his watch everywhere? like that citizen watch doesn't mean you have money, bro.

ryan

he looks like frodo baggins. "we have to save the shire!" probably has some hairy ass feet. he's literally trapped in the body of a 12-year-old and looks like he's 4'10". he's a singer? what's he sing? hobbit songs? where did he buy his shorts? the fucking youth section? (tries to zoom in, gets annoyed he can't). is definitely the one that is going to try to talk mc and amelia into having a threesome - then makes them compete for who's better.

[nagipoem]

Pray tell what’s the reogiri idea about pls

omg so so much ...

alright so the story would be non linear and take place over the course of a decade. it's set during the time they were pros and after, so their 20s-30s

hyouma retires from football first. his acl tears during the semi finals of the world cup. it completely ruins him, mentally and physically. worst of all? japan still wins the world cup, without him. he can't even suffer properly. after a particularly bad argument with reo about it, he cuts almost everyone off. but now what? hyouma is losing his dream for a second time but this time it's worse, because it wasn't just a childhood fantasy, being the best in the world was just within arms reach. he doesn't know what to do with himself and a terrified part of him is scared he can't even live with himself

reo retires from football second. i've always had this theory but i feel like after winning the world cup he kind of just ... doesn't care anymore? it's not that it didn't make him happy, but it's more like ... okay what's next? to me, reo def has a toxic #workgrind thing and so he can't ever really be proud or happy with his achievements! his whole thing with football was doing something that he wanted, not something his parents wanted for him and something he had to work hard to achieve! and he achieved it, so now what? he feels like he's back to square one again but this time, he's 24 and there's no running from being the mikage corp's heir

(oh also, reo has a messy on again/off again toxic fwb/emotional codependence with nagi)

(oh oh! side bachirin. i need to write them in a fic. desperately. terribly. horribly.)

over the course of the fic (told non-linearly ofc) and the ten years of the timeline, it's a bunch of instances where the two of them love, fight, but in the end, are there for one another

lemme know if you'd read!

[jeanniecrush]

LITG Lewie Moodboard ⚽

Lewie，24，Semi-Pro Football Captain

Faceclaim：Kevin Pabel

[alpha-mag-media]

England legend, 62, tipped for sensational return to semi-pro football with world’s second oldest club to ‘send him SOS’ | In Trend Today

England legend, 62, tipped for sensational return to semi-pro football with world’s second oldest club to ‘send him SOS’ Read Full Text or Full Article on MAG NEWS

[ur-mag]

England legend, 62, tipped for sensational return to semi-pro football with world’s second oldest club to ‘send him SOS’ | In Trend Today

England legend, 62, tipped for sensational return to semi-pro football with world’s second oldest club to ‘send him SOS’ Read Full Text or Full Article on MAG NEWS

[okkotsuus]

meddle about (ryusei s.) !

features: ryusei s.

contents: post bllk au. shidou is an ADULT. pro!shidou. reader lives in italy. alcohol (bar setting). bar fight (shidou is himself). nosebleed. strangers to lovers. kissing. implied sex. suggestive. angst if you squint. fluffy at the end. i love shidou. 2.8k words

tags: @17020

you met ryusei shidou in a bar after he scored a game winning goal for his football club. currently he was signed for some group in italy, near your town.

his entire team was out to celebrate, slinging back shots like they would die tomorrow.

you sat alone on a barstool, stirring some fruity drink a random person had bought you. you had no intention of leaving with them, though. they had been talking about themself for the last twenty minutes. the last thing that was said pertaining to you, was when they had asked what drink you would like.

“-and so i said: that’s crazy! i mean, the guy was just-”

their words slipped in one of your ears and went right out the other. you couldn’t even remember what they were talking about, nodding idly as you took a sip of the strawberry daiquiri in front of you.

in the blink of an eye, the person had finally stopped talking, now looking at you with a trace of anger. you already knew what was coming as you swallowed down the last of the drink, watching as they got their words together.

“i don’t think they’re interested, bud.” the voice that spoke behind you had a sort of menacing gravel to it, one that you had never heard before. you spun around to see a roman sculpture of a man, blond hair with pink tips and a smirk sharp enough to cut steel.

“and who the hell are you?!” the person who had been mindlessly blabbing to you for the past half-hour stood up. in a miserable attempt to size up the man behind you, who easily towered over them, his figure was enough to have you gulping.

this was someone you had never seen before. must be new to town. that’s when you recognized him, from the game that was playing earlier today in this same bar. shidou ryusei, a new transfer to the city’s soccer team, who had made quite the name for himself in just ninety minutes.

“heh, i should be the one asking that…” with that, the man jumped up and side-kicked the person directly in the center of their chest; sending them crashing back into a couple other bar stools.

his magenta eyes met yours right after his feet reconnected with the ground, cocky smirk still stretching widely across his face. while his eyes flicked over your being, as if studying you, the other person had gotten back up.

they charged him with vengeance, successfully landing a clean hit across his nose, before the footballer had knocked him back to the ground. but this time, he was pissed. he cracked his knuckles as he eerily approached the semi-unconscious form.

luckily for them, but unluckily for shidou, a bartender saw and had security escort the blond out. and for some reason, you were thrown out as well, the cold air nipping any exposed skin.

shidou stood next to you, blood dribbling from his right nostril, which he quickly swiped with the back of his hand: letting it smear across his face. his gaze trailed back over to you, crawling up your form, cheshire-like grin returning to his features.

“what’dya say you and i have some fun, sweet thing?” the rasp of his voice sent shivers different from the cold down your spine. it suddenly felt quite hot, despite the clear puffs of your breath seen in the air. his hand was outstretched, waiting for you to take it.

his eyes were so intense, as if they were glowing. the smeared blood on his face that he got sort-of for you did not help to fan the flames burning under your collar.

so, you took his hand.

just like that he pulled you flush against his form, his other hand reaching to smush your cheeks together: making your lips pout. his touches were searing against your skin, your eyes growing half lidded as he looked at you.

his lips were hovering above yours, breath fanning against your own. the clouds that your heavy breathing made mixed with his own. you inched forwards, bumping your nose against his. that was all he needed.

he surged forward, lips pressing against your in a way that had your back arching to bear the brunt of the impact. he dragged his lips against yours in a slow drawl, forcing you to grip onto his biceps to ground yourself. when his tongue swiped against your bottom lip, you opened to it with no thought. 

every slide of his lips and nip of his teeth sent you further and further into a haze, no longer yearning to breathe: for it means you would have to part from him.

but he parted first, chuckling as you chased him by leaning yourself forward. his hand let go of your cheeks, instead running down the side of your body. he leaned to whisper in your ear, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand at attention.

“why don’ we go back to mine?”

when you woke up with a tanned and muscular arm wrapped around you, you knew you screwed up: big time. 

pro athletes meant publicity, publicity meant paparazzi, paparazzi meant there was no way someone didn’t see the two of you. the buzz you had last night was not nearly enough to give you the mercy of forgetting everything that had happened the night prior. from the kiss that swept you off your feet to everything after, you remembered it all.

you tried to slide out of his arm, to do the walk of shame in peace while he slept, but his grip simply tightened. a groan slipped between his swollen, parted lips. you couldn’t help the heat that crept up the back of your neck, screwing your eyes shut to try to stop the memories of a familiar sound from playing.

at the sound of shuffling, you looked back to see his eyes peek open, glazed with sleep. after blinking a couple of times, he realized he was awake.

“oh damn, that wasn’t jus’ a really good dream..?” his voice was even rougher than before, sleep doing god’s work and blessing your ears. you shyly nodded and began to get up, wanting to leave before awkwardness ensued. but, that toned arm just pulled you right back down; into his chest.

“where’re you goin’ sweetie?”

“home, don’ wanna make it awkward.” you avoided his gaze as you rustled around a bit to escape his grip, failing. he just chuckled against your shoulder, the scent of mahogany teakwood filling your senses.

“nah, don’t worry, lemme make ya breakfast.” with that he stood, pulling on a pair of sweatpants over his boxers. he slowly padded away, allowing you to slip your clothes back on before following.

when you left his room you were a bit surprised at the size of his apartment. the team must've paid a lot to have him: meaning he was pretty damn good at soccer.

you approached his kitchen, watching his back as he flipped a pancake in the pan. he was ripped, even when just doing something simple like holding a pan and spatula.

you leaned comfortably against his granite countertops while waiting for him to finish, sipping at the mug of coffee he had gestured to when you entered. his hair was even pretty badass when it was down, it seemed like his razor-sharp eyeliner was some sort of tattoo because it was still intact.

“done, here ya go.” he slid a plate and fork over to you, watching with anticipation as you bit into the fluffy cake. for how he looked, he wasn’t half bad at cooking.

“so-” both of you had spoke at the same time, immediately erupting into giggles at it. shidou cackles like a hyena, which oddly suited him.

you set down your plate, deciding to lead the conversation. “you play football, right? saw your match the other day, that was a sick goal.” his eyes practically lit up. he began to excitedly go on a tangent about soccer and his passion. but unlike the person at the bar last night, it did not peeve you in the slightest. rather, it was quite endearing.

“so, about last night.” there it was, the dreaded conversation. you already knew that he would never want to see you again. this was an incredible danger to his career, you had already accepted it.

“i’m sorry, you won’t ever have t’see me again.”

“we should keep in touch, it was great.”

again, you both spoke simultaneously. but this time there was an awkward silence attached to it. he stared at you with some form of shock in his eyes as you immediately felt so incredibly embarrassed.

“nah, wanna see you pretty damn often.”

you and shidou had a no-strings attached sort of relationship. you only messed around with him and vice versa, but you weren’t officially anything. to be fair, you had only met him just the other day, about a week ago. but he already had you feeling some type of way.

here you lay, in his bed, right before he has the biggest game of his career with this team. he was pumped full of adrenaline in anticipation, being a menace as usual.

you laid with your head resting on his chest, the erratic beating of his heart was what you assumed to be nervousness for the game tomorrow. so, you felt the need to try to alleviate his worries somehow.

“ryusei, you’re gonna do great tomorrow, i’ll be cheerin’ for ya.” his hold on you tightened as a breathy chuckle rasped from deep in his chest. his magenta eyes traced you, softer this time, like how they did when he had first met you.

his hand reached up to ruffle your hair, grin splitting his lips.

“thank ya, havin’ a sweet thing like you cheerin’ me on will make me win.” shidou had bought you vip tickets, right next to the green. he said that seeing you while he played would help keep him motivated. due to soccer’s less appropriate nature for him, he claimed that having you there would help intensify it for him: somehow allowing him to play better. you knew it was bullshit, but it was sweet enough, so what’s the harm?

“you better, or i’ll end up cryin’ about it.” his cackle had you smiling again, back to himself. he hugged you, burying his face into the crook for you neck. his breath fanned over your skin as you felt your cheeks begin to feel warmer and warmer.

somehow, along the way of this ‘no-strings attached’ relationship, you had fallen for ryusei shidou. and you had fallen deep. 

at the fear of possibly ruining what you had, you decided to keep quiet about it. ryusei shidou was like a wild animal, he had burst into your life. you worried that if you scared him off, he would crash right out of it too.

that fear was what kept your mouth shut as you whispered “goodnight,” desperately wishing to tag on an ‘i love you’ to the end of it.

so, you would be satisfied with what you could get, lest you end up losing it in pursuit of more.

“g’night sweet thing.”

the stands erupted in cheers as shidou got possession of the ball, roaring down the rest of the field to get to the penalty zone. you were out of your seat as you jumped while shouting. you knew he couldn’t hear you, but you couldn’t help the action.

“GO RYUSEI, YOU’VE GOT THIS!!”

one minute of additional time was given as he entered the penalty zone, the remaining defenders running to swamp him and the goalie readying to block anything. but shidou had that smirk on his face that said he could devour the world, and in your heart you knew he would make it in, no matter how illogical it may seem.

just like that, his leg snapped back and the ball shot into the top left corner of the net, threading the needle between three defenders and the goalie that had leapt for it. the entire stadium went silent as the crowd erupted in cheers.

the whistle rang out, signaling the end of the game. the score was 3-2, shidou winning the game for his team with the last goal.

as the players celebrated, you didn’t see shidou in that huddle, failing to notice him sprinting towards the stands, towards you.

suddenly, you were hauled over the border as he took you in his arms, spinning you around. he was yelling about how you were his lucky charm, but all you could do was stare at the glow in his eyes while he looked at you. he had this pure sense of awestruck admiration that so greatly contrasted his hardened exterior.

you felt yourself leaning forward, you lips pressing against his before you knew what you were doing. he didn’t even hesitate, despite the yells going around the stadium. neither of you cared. all you knew was love, all you knew was him, all he knew was you,

when you separated you again acted before thinking, heart moving before your ind could shut you down.

“shidou ryusei, i’m in love with you.”

“took ya long enough sweetie, loved ya since i set eyes on ya."

shidou knew when loved you when he saw you that night at the bar. him ‘rescuing’ you from the other person was really his selfish attempt at forcing you to notice him, combined with the jealousy of seeing someone else having your attention.

the kick he delivered was to try to impress you, and the punch he let hit him was to try to get you to care about him.

he kissed you because it was what he had wanted to do since he laid his eyes on you.

when you two had gotten with each other that first night, he knew that he wouldn’t be able to easily let go. which is why he quickly shut his eyes after admiring your sleeping form, pretending to sleep. and when you tried to shimmy out of his embrace, he played the sleeping card to keep you from disappearing into a fond memory.

he made you breakfast so he could keep you there longer, dreading parting. his heart broke a little when he found out you thought he would never want to see you again.

the night before the game, he was going to confess to you. but he was too nervous, his frantic heartbeat was actually from that, not the game. when you had whispered goodnight so sweetly he felt his heart swell.

maybe if you had just been awake for a second longer you would’ve heard him say “i love you,” after his goodnight. but he found peace that you didn’t hear, but shidou would never settle when there was something he desired. especially when what he desired was you.

he knew he had to win the game. the need just intensified when he saw you in the stands. so when you cheered for him, his performance increased, which was the real reason he wanted you there. 

ryusei shidou played the best soccer when he had something, or even better; someone, to play for. and your sweet cheers from the best seats in the house, the seats he bought you, had him on overdrive.

that last goal was a flex, he waited to pull one out at the last minute. hoping it would make his confession immediately after the game even more meaningful. making you more likely to say yes, at least he hoped.

but what shidou expected least was for you to beat him to it. much less for you to beat him to it by kissing him on international tv in a stadium full of thousands of people. but immediately after he took what you were giving him, because he had no qualms. 

it was like a two for one deal, he got to have you and broadcast it to the entire world. it gave him the same euphoric sense that he got when he scored a goal.

truth be told, despite his tough act, shidou ryusei is a softie. and he had been whipped for you since day one.

okkotsuus 23