#up to the quarterfinals at least.

[episodeoftv]

I was feeling impatient so I decided to end the first poll early since these two were pretty far in the lead

Edit: consider what you would submit‚ what you’d vote for‚ stuff like that

Also note that this is only one day long SPEEDROUND

After I get the results of this‚ I’ll probably post a submissions form within the day.

[nats--sw]

Gold chain (pt3) | Leah Williamson

A bit more of Leah while everything around you gets more intense warnings: just fluff and slow burn pt1 - pt4 - my masterlist

Leah's love for tennis skirts had just been solidified. She found herself frozen, her fork suspended midway to her mouth. Your video call had caught her off guard, and the first thing to greet her on the screen was you, your back facing the camera, only in your sports bra and the skirt you wore during your recent match, which had wrapped up just a few hours ago.

"Hellooo?" Leah said, gently placing her fork back onto the table.

"Just a sec!" you called out, still with your back turned to the camera.

Leah watched as you reached into your bag, pulling out a black t-shirt that you slipped on.  Unlike the tight one you wore for tennis, this one was baggy—definitely a guy’s shirt, she thought.

"Did you watch my match?" you asked, now facing the camera on your phone, which sat at the coffee table in the room.

"Yep" Leah replied, flipping her phone’s camera to show the TV tuned to the sports channel.  “Feeling nervous about the quarterfinals?” she asked, sounding both curious and supportive.

"Nah... I don't know who I'll be facing yet though," you said, slipping off your socks. "At least I’ve got two days to rest before the game."

"Yeah, like you’ll actually rest," Leah teased.

"You're probably right," you chuckled knowing she had you figured out. During your first call yesterday, you had explained your intense training routine before matches. "What are you having?" you asked Leah, curiosity evident in your voice as you held your phone again.

"Smiley faces," Leah said, poking a potato and showing it to you through the camera.

"What?" you laughed, not quite sure what she was showing you.

"Potato smiles. Delicious," she said, grinning as she popped the potato into her mouth.

"Ew! Didn't your mum teach you not to talk with your mouth full?" you teased, though you found it amusing to watch Leah goof around. "Do they taste like real potatoes? I've never tried them."

"What are you talking about?" Leah gasped, dramatically dropping her fork onto her plate. "Are you kidding me?"

"Whoa, you sound genuinely offended," you said, struggling to contain your laughter.

"Of course I am! How is it possible you've never tasted these? What did you eat all through your childhood?" she asked, her face completely serious.

"Leah... would you believe me if I told you I didn't try a nugget until I was 16?" you said, your tone turning more serious. "It was when a friend from school invited me over for dinner. My mum was always particular about what I ate." Leah's expression turned to a slight frown as she listened intently. "I always had well-balanced, hearty meals. She just wasn't a fan of processed food," you said, hoping to provide context and prevent any misconceptions about your mother.

"Sounds... kind of sad," Leah said, finishing her last potato. "I should invite you over for smiley faces, shouldn't I?" she asked with a shy smile.

"You could... I'd gladly accept," you replied.

"I'll think about it," Leah said, shaking her head with a playful grin. After a brief pause, her face suddenly lit up. "Oh, I wanted to ask you something."

"What is it?" you asked, intrigued.

"Today, something caught my eye. Well, actually, it's been catching my eye for a while now, but I think I've finally spotted a pattern," Leah explained, narrowing her eyes. "Your chain around your neck... I've seen you tug on it from time to time."

By reflex, your hand went to your neck, and you felt a brief panic when you didn't feel the chain right away, realizing it was hidden beneath your shirt.

"Is it something significant to you?" Leah asked.

"Yes and no. It's kind of silly," you replied, settling into bed and arranging the phone between the pillows. "Sometimes when I'm feeling nervous or a bit anxious, I tug on it to remind myself it's there, but it's not a big deal to me. I started wearing it a few years ago for a silly reason."

You hesitated, thinking you might bore Leah with the details. But seeing her through the screen, now cozy on her couch with a blanket over her legs and a smile on her face, you realized that perhaps this time someone would actually be interested in listening to you.

"I've never been picky," you began to explain. "I never asked my parents for anything special. They always gave me everything I needed, especially when it came to things that could improve my game. But as for gifts, I always felt too embarrassed to ask for certain things." You bit your lip, trying to stay on track with your story. "The thing is, I always wanted a chain. I didn't care much about the material. Everyone at the academy had one, boys and girls. It's a common accessory, after all. I wanted to be like them."

You fell silent, suddenly feeling a bit silly for sharing such trivial details. Leah, however, misinterpreted your silence and blank stare, thinking she had touched on a sensitive subject.

"Did someone special give you the chain you wear?" Leah's gentle voice interrupted your thoughts.

"No," you shook your head, trying to suppress a smile. "I bought it myself. That's why it has my initial on it," you explained, holding the chain up to the camera.

Leah felt conflicted. On one hand, the story ended with a bit of humor, but on the other, there was a hint of sadness. It was the kind of gift typically given by a loved one or partner, and in the end, you had to buy it for yourself… which was a bit sad.

"After I won my first WTA title, I had quite a bit of money, so I went to the first jewelry store I could find and bought it," you explained.

You noticed the puzzled expression on Leah's face; she had gone silent when you expected her to laugh at the end of the story. You smiled nervously, wondering if you were diving too deep into conversations with her.

"Maybe she thinks you're weird," the insecurity echoed in your head.

Just then, a notification popped up on your phone, rescuing you from overthinking.

"Ugh, I've got to go meet Lucas. He wants to work on my serve," you said, standing up quickly with your phone in hand.

"You have a great serve," Leah said without hesitation.

"You're only saying that because you're a fan," you replied, rolling your eyes and trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach that always fluttered when Leah complimented your game.

"Exactly, and I watch every move you make," she said, crossing her arms and wrinkling her nose playfully.

"How adorable," you thought to yourself.

"Tell your coach you don't need any improvement," Leah said.

"He's my coach. I pay him to help me get better," you said as you slipped on your shoes.

"Yeah, whatever," Leah responded with a playful smirk.

"Do you buy the whole love at first sight thing? Ouch!" you winced as your physio applied pressure, stretching your leg into a position that felt tight.

"Take a deep breath," advised your therapist, easing off the pressure. "There you go," she said, gently returning your leg to its natural position.

"It's not something I believe in, in case you're wondering," you said, laying face down on the table and removing your headphones. Conversations during your physio sessions were rare, you typically dozed off, hence the headphones to drown out the noise around you.

"I guess that's not your cup of tea," your physio chuckled softly, now focusing on massaging your calves. "Is she pretty? They say love often comes in through the eyes, especially if it's love at first sight, as you said."

"She's definitely pretty, yeah," you admitted, wincing as your therapist's thumbs applied pressure into your muscles. "Geez, who said these sessions were relaxing?" you muttered, closing your eyes to bear the discomfort. "She's pretty, but it's more than that... I feel like I can talk to her."

"Y/N, you talk with tons of people every day," your therapist reminded you. "Honestly, you never seem to stop talking," she added with a laugh.

"It's different with her. I can talk about anything, even tennis, but there's no pressure... It's like talking to her puts me at ease," you explained.

It was so calming that you had fallen asleep chatting with her the last two nights.

"I shouldn't be catching feelings for someone I'm just getting to know," you sighed.

"Well, actually, it's perfectly normal," your physio reassured you.

You sighed with relief as the tension in your muscles began to ease under her skilled hands. It wasn't a sigh of relief because someone validated your growing feelings for Leah. Definitely not.

"There are times when love hits you fast and hard, you know? When it's intense." the woman explained, now focusing on your back. "And you, my dear, are intense. It wouldn't be surprising if you fell in love just as fast."

"I haven't fallen in love," you protested, attempting to sit up from the table, but your therapist effortlessly kept you pinned down with a swift motion.

"And you're impulsive," she added with a tired sigh, familiar with your reactions. "I'm surprised you haven't declared yourself to her already."

"There is no one," you insisted.

"You've already admitted there's a pretty girl and that you have feelings for her, even if you're not quite sure what those feelings are yet," she teased with a mischievous smile. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to have someone special," she suggested, helping you onto your back on the table. "She could be good for you… here" she said, gently touching your heart. "And here," she continued, touching your temple with her finger.

"What are we watching?" Lia asked, settling down next to Leah on the couch. They had planned a dinner date to catch up, but Lia suspected it was more about Leah avoiding another night of cooking.

"There's a match about to start," Leah replied, quickly grabbing the remote from her friend's hands.

Lia glanced at the screen, which now displayed the stats of two tennis players. "Has Wimbledon started already?"

"No," Leah sighed, rolling her eyes. "There are tournaments throughout the year, not just the Grand Slams," she explained, her focus on the screen.

"Since when are you an expert on this?" Lia asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It's basic knowledge, not all sports revolve around football," Leah defended herself as the players stepped onto the court.

"Is this match a big deal?" 

"It's the quarterfinals," Leah replied.

"How do they win?" Lia inquired further.

"They win by taking two sets." Leah explained, her irritation starting to show.

"And how do they win those sets?" Lia pressed on.

"God, Lia, just watch and you'll figure it out," Leah snapped, feeling her nerves creeping in. She was clearly on edge.

“Why are you so grumpy today?” Lia eyed her suspiciously.

"What's wrong with her? What's she doing?" murmured Leah, leaning back on the couch, her eyes glued to the match on the tv screen.

"Huh?" Lia turned to her.

"She's struggling to reach her shots," Leah pointed out, just as you lost another point. "She had the match in her bag."

It was true. You had started strong, winning the first set 6-1 and even taking a 4-1 lead in the second set. But now, your opponent had fought back, and you found yourself in a 1-6 tiebreaker, unable to secure more than a single point.

"Set point," was announced on the tv, and Leah waved her hand.

You positioned yourself, shifting from side to side, anticipating your opponent's serve. But before you could react, she sent a powerful shot down the line, leaving you with no chance to return it.

"Bloody hell," Leah exclaimed, standing up from the couch.

"Woah, I didn't know you were so into tennis," Lia remarked, intrigued by Leah's intense reaction.

"It just frustrates me when they give away easy points during a match," Leah explained, which was partly true. Your unforced errors had contributed to your opponent's comeback in the set.

Leah let out a long sigh and sank back onto the couch. She couldn't relax until you managed to turn the match around and win the third set tiebreaker 7-4, securing your spot in the semifinals. You had come dangerously close to losing your spot in the semifinals.

Leah couldn't bring herself to try talking to you all day. It had been a dreadful match, one of the worst she had ever seen you play. Despite not knowing you that well, Leah figured you probably needed some space and didn't want to talk to anyone for a while. She had watched you storm off the court after the match, something she had never seen you do before. The heated exchanges with the chair umpire and the tense moments with your coach had been impossible to ignore. 

She had only mustered the courage to send a brief message: 

"Hope you're doing okay." 

But you hadn't responded yet.

So, when she was already tucked up in bed, half asleep, she was surprised to see an incoming video call from you.

"Y/N?" Leah replied, not looking at the screen as she fumbled to switch on her nightstand lamp.

"Shit, I didn't mean to wake you up." you apologized.

"I wasn't quite asleep yet," Leah said, finally turning her attention to the screen. "Are you okay?" she asked, sitting up in bed, noticing your slightly red and puffy eyes.

"Yeah," you lied, settling back on the couch and pulling your blanket up to your neck. "What about you? How was your day?"

"I just watched your match, which was horrible," Leah thought, feeling sorry for you, but instead she replied, "Not much. I just had dinner with some friends."

Leah couldn't help but smile as she saw your features relax at her answer. She knew you had probably anticipated her bringing up the match. You had mentioned how intense your day usually was: tennis talk at breakfast, tennis talk in the afternoon, tennis talk at dinner.

"Nothing too delicious," Leah continued. "Did you have dinner?"

You didn't respond verbally, instead, you shook your head and bit your lip, a sign of your struggle to hold back tears. Leah immediately noticed.

"I was running late and didn't feel like eating alone," you explained. "But my physio brought me a sandwich about half an hour ago. I'm just not hungry."

Leah frowned. She mentally calculated the hours since the match had ended at noon. Considering the disastrous game, you probably hadn't eaten afterward, and your stomach was likely empty except for breakfast.

"You should eat," Leah insisted gently.

"I don't want to eat alone, it's... depressing," you admitted, sinking further into the couch. Leah could barely see your mouth now, the blanket covering you.

"Okay, hold on," Leah said, letting out a sigh as she got out of bed. She placed the phone on her bed and reached for a hoodie. "Come on," she said, picking up her phone again.

You watched through the screen as Leah left her room and headed to her kitchen, leaving the phone on the counter.

"Okay, what kind of sandwich did you get?"

"Huh?"

"I'll eat with you," Leah explained simply, reaching for the bag of bread. "Well?"

You rolled your eyes but couldn't help but smile. It was such a tender gesture, one that softened your heart. Leaning over to the coffee table, you picked up the bag your physio had left there. You hadn't even opened it yet.

"Let me see..." you said, pulling out the sandwich and reading the ingredients on the box. "Tuna, cucumber, mayonnaise, and salad cream."

"Ugh, not my favorite," Leah said, her face visible at the edge of the screen as she looked through her fridge.

"What's your favorite?" you asked, starting to unwrap your sandwich. Suddenly feeling your appetite return.

"I'm a ham and cheese girl. I like to keep it simple," Leah explained, already assembling her own sandwich.

"Sounds boring," you teased with a chuckle. Leah stuck her tongue out at you. "I prefer egg sandwiches. Probably the store didn't have any."

"What else did your physio get you?"

"Uh... a bottle of water and a bottle of juice."

"Orange?" Leah guessed, reaching for a box of orange juice.

"Yes," you confirmed, smiling as you watched Leah return to the couch, settled in just like you with a blanket on her lap. She held up her sandwich to the camera.

"Shall we eat?"

An hour later, you were in bed, with Leah still on the screen, tucked under her own sheets. The time had flown by as Leah passionately tried to convince you why Arsenal was the top club in London.

"Uh, according to Google, the men's team hasn't won a league since 2004," you teased in a mocking tone, enjoying Leah's furrowed brow and her stumbling attempts to defend her team. "And the women's team... maybe I shouldn't say anything," you added innocently, staring up at the ceiling.

"Oi! You're being mean!" Leah protested. "I just won a cup, you know?"

Of course you knew, you had seen the post on Leah’s instagram. 

"Winning a cup isn't quite the same as winning a league," you continued to tease.

"What would you know about it? You only just learned the difference between a cup and a league because I explained it to you," Leah retorted, though she couldn't help but crack a smile. Despite her attempt to feign annoyance, she couldn't shake the sense of relief seeing you in a better mood than an hour ago "You're such a headache sometimes.”

"Sorry," you said between laughs. "Well, I'd better get some sleep. Got an early start tomorrow."

Leah's heart sank at the reminder of your upcoming semifinal match. She knew you had pushed yourself to the limit today, both physically and mentally.

"Thank you," you added, catching Leah off guard.

"Huh?" Leah's brow furrowed in confusion.

"For not bringing that up," you explained, your cheeks tinted with embarrassment. "I really appreciate it... I just needed to talk to someone. And you're easy to talk to."

Leah's heart skipped a beat. 

"It was nothing. You can talk to me anytime, about anything, including that," Leah assured, offering you a warm smile.

You fell silent for a moment, your eyes closed. Leah almost thought you had drifted off to sleep until she heard your voice again.

"I've never won a semifinal match on grass," you confessed. "I hate playing on grass. I can't move like I want to, can't slide, the ball bounces weird... It's a faster game, and I don't like it."

Leah struggled to find the right words to comfort you, though it seemed you weren't seeking comfort. You just needed to vocalize your thoughts.

"Well… get some good rest," you said "Speak to you tomorrow."

"Sleep well," Leah replied softly, just before you disappeared from her screen.

Leah hadn't been able to watch your game; she'd been tied up with a radio interview in the afternoon. Perhaps it was a good thing, sparing her from witnessing what felt like a complete disaster.

You were trailing 1-0 after losing the first set 6-2.

"Y/N, listen up," Lucas's voice echoed in your head as you wiped your face with your towel. He sounded both concerned and frustrated. "You've got to get up to the net. Focus and do it just like we practiced this morning.”

The tension intensified in the second set, now tied at 3-3. Each point intensified, increasing the pressure on your already fatigued body.

Struggling to steady your breath and calm your racing heart, you attempted to regain your composure. Lucas's instructions only seemed to agitate you further. Your serves lacked accuracy and power, the weight of exhaustion settled in your arms and legs.

With your breath hitching, you turned to Lucas "Gotta keep your mouth shut," you muttered to him, before returning to your position on the court.

You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment, trying to shut out your coach's voice which, instead of helping, was only adding to the overwhelming pressure and fear of failure creeping in. 

For a while, you felt completely disconnected from the game, just focusing on getting the ball back over the net and hoping for the best. Your ears felt muffled, you swung at balls in every direction, chasing after them when your legs allowed. It felt like your body was on autopilot.

When you finally regained control, you glanced at the scoreboard. It read 5-4, with the set tied at 30-30. Had you been playing for that long already?

"Just 2 more points and I'm out," you muttered to yourself, accepting the ball from the ball kid who hesitated a moment before returning to her position. Your emotional state must have caught her attention, you could feel tears welling up, but you refused to let them fall now. You couldn't afford to show weakness, not in front of them.

You adjusted your visor lower, not too concerned that it obstructed your view. After all, you were resigned to the inevitable defeat, recovering from this set, let alone the entire match, felt beyond your grasp.

Taking a deep breath, you served. Your opponent effortlessly returned the ball, and when you sent it back, she executed a perfect drop shot with spin. Despite your best efforts, your legs failed to get you to the net before the ball bounced a second time. 

All you could do was shake your head and chuckle at the brilliance of the shot. It was a damn good point.

The next rally was a bit longer. Determined to get at least a point, you decided to take a calculated risk. You placed the ball strategically close to the net, hoping to force your opponent into a difficult position. Yet, she managed to return the ball, forcing you to approach the net. Anticipating her move, you weren't surprised when the ball sailed over your head, landing just inside the line behind you.

And with that, it was over.

"Stay the hell away from me!" you shouted as Lucas and your physio entered the dressing room. You pointed your racket at him. "I don't want to hear a word from you!"

"Y/N, calm down," Lucas said, his brow furrowed in concern.

"I said no! Get out!" Tears streaked down your face, your voice raw with frustration. "You're the reason I lost!" you accused him, venom lacing your words as you vented on your racket, smashing it against the ground. "You told me to charge the net," you seethed, the anger palpable. "And what happens? She pulls off the damn shot of her life!"

Deep down, you knew it wasn't entirely his fault.

Lucas struggled to make out your words through your sobs and the racket's crashing impact. He signaled to your physio to grab your bag of remaining rackets before you decided to destroy another one.

"You need to cool off," your physio interjected, her tone firm.

"I need everyone to leave me the hell alone!" you yelled, throwing the shattered pieces of your racket against the wall in a burst of frustration.

Lucas shook his head and firmly guided you to sit on the bench. "Listen to me," he said,but you shook your head, lost in your thoughts. Frustrated, Lucas removed your visor and tossed it aside to get a clear view of your face, then gently tilted your chin to meet his eyes. "I said listen to me, kiddo."

You met his gaze, holding your breath. He looked visibly upset, his brow furrowed deeper than usual. Taking a moment to study him, you noticed the new wrinkles and more gray hairs, likely a result of the stress you often caused him.

"You played well today," he continued, his voice steady but firm, still holding your gaze. "But she played better. It's not a reflection of your performance, it's not about you playing badly. Can we improve? Absolutely. And we will, I promise you that. But for now, we need to stop."

"What do you mean?" you asked.

"You're drained," your physio chimed in. "Your body can't handle more. Your muscles are exhausted."

"And your mind isn't much better. Since the first game you've been clouded," Lucas added, sighing. "We're heading back to England first thing tomorrow."

"Eastbourne?" you asked. 

Lucas shook his head. "No, you won't be playing in any more tournaments until Wimbledon. I've made it clear, you need to stop," he said firmly, now taking a seat beside you. "We're heading to London. Your psychologist is already there."

You had resisted having a psychologist travel with your team for months, but now circumstances were different.

"You'll see the psychologist tomorrow and then you'll rest for a few days. Your rackets are off-limits," your physio said, your bag slung over her shoulder as she tried to lighten the mood. "Seriously, no tennis, not even for fun," she added quickly, when she saw you about to protest. "We'll focus on light gym sessions, nothing more. These are your days off, you'll do anything but tennis."

You nodded, feeling somewhat scolded, almost like a child.

As the tension eased, the reality of a few days off in London began to sink in.

"Leah," you muttered. 

"Huh? Did you say something?" Lucas turned to you when he heard your voice. You hadn't realized you had spoken aloud.

"What time is our flight?"

[nicxl333]

hello

Could you write about bllk boy accidentally hurting their s/o badly.

It's okay if you're too busy. No pressure

BABY YOU SOLD ME A DREAM

characters: isagi yoichi, mikage reo, nagi seishiro, barou shouei, itoshi rin

content: major angst, reader is female coded (wears a dress, heels and makeup), mentions of smut in barou’s part but nothing actually happens (lol), vulgar language

☆彡 ISAGI YOICHI

“you think you know better than me? do me a favour and go find someone else who has the time to put up with your bullshit. ‘cause it won’t be me.”

you lay in your cold, desolate bed for the umpteenth time this week alone, which, considering it was only wednesday showed just how often isagi trained past late hours. as much as you understood his passion to climb to the top, it was simply neglect at this point. to you and to himself. you woke up, he was gone. you went to sleep, he wasn’t beside you.

of course, things were never like this in the beginning. he used to be around, take you out, nurture you and show you devoted love for you each and every time.

until he wasn’t.

once his team reached the quarterfinals of the champions league a while back, he changed. 2 hour training sessions in the evening turned into 4, and the time he spent with you halved as a result. it made you feel lonely and simply put, abandoned.

your texts querying his location and when he was coming home lay unanswered and unopened, probably within the confinement of his phone which lay in his bag during training. so you went to bed alone like you always did, missing what your relationship used to be.

as you stared at the pristine, bare white ceiling you heard a key in the lock of the front door. a few moments passed and the door pushed open, pads of feet resounding in the apartment.

you decided to go meet him in the living room, wanting to know if he’s at least okay.

as you entered the room, you were met with his figure, donned in black sweatpants paired with a black compression shirt. his normal post-training gear. the same gear that never failed to make you melt each and every time. he glanced at you in your nightwear and weary expression, due to him returning back so late.

“hey ‘ichi, how was training?”

“alright.”

you immediately frowned. outside the pitch he was never so curt and void of language. especially with you.

you ventured closer towards him, trying to debunk his guarded persona.

“are you sure? did anything happen to you?” you stepped closer still, till you were right in front of him, immediately noticing his dark circles, even in the dim lighting of the living room from the hallway light. you attempted to give him a hug, shrinking back in disappointment once he shrugged you off.

“i said it was alright. i’m fine, just go back to bed, i’ll join in a bit.”

bullshit. you knew full and well he would just retire to the sofa, watching playbacks of his games to further evaluate his performance. even when he wasn’t working physically he would somehow manage to work himself further mentally.

“yoichi. what’s wrong baby?”

“y/n, i won’t repeat myself again. go to bed.”

you stood there in disbelief. as far as you were concerned, you hadn’t done anything wrong, so it’s quite unbelievable that he would take whatever happened today out on you.

“isagi,” you made sure to use his last name to make aware you weren’t fucking around. “come correct with me please. i haven’t done anything to you and i’m concerned for your well-being. you’ve been going to sleep late, training until ungodly hours. this isn’t good for you and i’m now on the receiving end of your misery, god knows why.”

the tone in the room shifted, isagi, now displaying a scowl across his features at your rebuttal. yes, he was well aware he was maltreating himself, but to have you acknowledge his moment of weakness gave him an displeasing itch of anger that no one could scratch, not even you.

before he could think, the next words that flew out of his mouth changed the status of your relationship, whether he meant to or not.

“you think you know better than me? do me a favour and go find someone else who has the time to put up with your bullshit. ‘cause it won’t be me.”

you instantaneously drew back, his words punching you in the gut and twisting your insides. your heart leapt and fell, never expecting those words, out of isagi’s mouth of all people.

it was deathly silent for a moment, both parties having a staring match. you fought back tears, trying so damn hard to not allow him to see how his words affected you. alas, your emotions got the best of you.

you lightly sniffled, before balling your hands into fists. “you know what yoichi? fuck you, i’m done.”

you turned on your heel and made a beeline towards your shared bedroom, grabbing your biggest duffel and shoving clothes into them, not minding what it was that you picked up. only once isagi was the only individual in the living room did he snap out of his state, realising the weight of his words. he listened to the loud shuffling, registering that he may have just fucked his relationship over for good.

he swiftly followed you, watching you in a frenzy, having just changed into an outfit suitable enough for outside. it was then that he grasped you were serious, and slipped into full panic mode.

“y/n! y/n please baby, i didn’t mean any of that! don’t leave me.” he reached for your arm, falling apart, the same way you did moments before, when you pulled away from his touch. you knew if you succumbed to his pleas you might— might just stay. but you couldn’t. his words resonated within you and made you accept that fact that you needed space at the most, before your relationship delved into something irreparable.

you stood, duffel bag slung on your shoulder, tears running down each cheek, until they conjoined at your chin.

“isagi, i can’t. not right now. not when emotions are running this high. i need space. we should probably talk when we’re both calmed down. i’ll be at meguru’s house so you don’t need to worry about where i am.”

he respected your wishes, he had no choice. if he wanted this relationship to survive he had to.

so he let you go.

☆彡 MIKAGE REO

“you’re very much subpar, do you think i need to keep you around? my name alone will help find me someone better than you.”

one thing about mikage reo that really ticked you off was his obsession over his best friend, nagi. simply put,

he was always there.

when you were chilling together, when you went out, even after date nights he would come to your shared condo, playing video games with your boyfriend until who knows what time in the morning. it always felt like you had to share and fight for reo’s attention, which was pretty much a losing battle considering reo gave nagi as much of his attention to nagi as he did.

you did your best to not voice your concerns to him, withholding your true feelings, that you did. but sometimes there’s just moments where you can’t help but snap.

and that moment came at your first year anniversary dinner with reo. hell, you should’ve called it your first year anniversary dinner with yourself, considering the fucker didn’t even show up.

you had dolled yourself up so nicely, a sexy silk black dress (purchased with your own money, you didn’t like to depend on reo too much) with matching heels. your makeup was done flawlessly and not a hair out of place.

you sat at an expensive table at an expensive restaurant, sipping over-expensive wine while you waited for him to show up. you hadn’t seen him since this morning, due to him training all day today, but you had planned this dinner with him together a month ago, reservations and all, with reminders here and there about the upcoming date.

you had waited for about an hour, taking into consideration that there could be traffic, although you hadn’t experienced any on the way here, thus giving him the benefit of the doubt.

however, when no signs showed of him arriving you turned to a waiter and excused yourself, paying the bill and walking out to collect your car from the valet.

once it was brought to you and you were seated, ready to drive off, the first thing you did was call reo via the bluetooth feature, beyond pissed off.

after a few rings he picked up, the sounds of video game gunfire audible in the background.

“y/n? what’s up? where are you?”

you scoffed incredulously, ignoring the city lights whizzing past you as you drove on the highway.

“what’s up? where am i? reo, do you know what day it is today?”

“no, why?”

you gripped the leather of your steering wheel, your frustration hitting a boiling point. “you cannot be serious. does our one year anniversary ring any bells, huh? the fact that i’ve reminded you, time and time again? you stood me up reo! what could you have possibly been doing that was more important than remembering a big milestone in our relationship?!”

he didn’t even have to answer for you, because the answer came in the form of a “reo, why did you stop? our team just lost.”

nagi seishiro.

if you weren’t angry before, you were absolutely livid now.

“reo, so you mean to tell me that spending time with your friend was more important than remembering your one year anniversary with your girlfriend? do i mean nothing to you?”

“y/n it’s not that deep, we can just reschedule for tomorrow or something.” you could hear his exasperation through the phone. the audacity of him, considering he was completely at fault here.

“not that deep? not that deep?! you let me sit there for over an hour in an upscale restaurant by myself and didn’t even think to worry about where i was! why is it not getting through to you that you missed our anniversary to play games? you see nagi everyday, whether it’s at training or at home. you mean to tell me that you couldn’t bear to not see him for one singular day out of the week?”

there were probably a ton of possibilities and explanations for why he said what he said next, but if you had to choose, it would probably be the fact that nagi could most likely hear the argument over the phone, which lead reo to attempt to regain control over the situation, by any means possible, to not appear weak.

“you’re very much subpar, do you think i need to keep you around? my name alone will help find me someone better than you.”

oh. you see how it is.

his words stunned you into silence, knocking the wind out of you. the only sounds that could be heard was the continuous tapping from reo’s controller and the low hum of your engine as you drove.

“look y/n i’m busy now, so we can talk later when you’re ho-”

you didn’t wanna hear what else he had to say, hanging up the call via the steering wheel and letting out a deep breath you didn’t realise you were holding.

without fail you indicated to turn off the highway, making your way to the nearest hotel. nevermind the fact that you didn’t have any clothes, you simply couldn’t handle seeing reo after the way he just wounded you.

once at the hotel and settled in your room you lay swaddled in the crisp white blankets. without any external eyes being able to see your state you let all walls crumble, tears cascading down in waves as you let all the previous bottled emotions fly free.

unbeknownst to you, your phone lay on the side table, softly vibrating whilst the screen lit up to show a picture of you and reo at a theme park, a call coming though from him.

it lay unanswered.

☆彡 NAGI SEISHIRO

“being in a relationship is a hassle already, i shouldn’t have to deal with you bitching and whining on top of that.”

you awoke to the sounds of rapid gunfire emanating from the living room, sighing to yourself. once again, nagi was devoting himself to a night of endless gaming.

it was a never-ending cycle. when he wasn't gaming, he was training and vice versa. as much as you loved and embraced the fact that nagi was lazy, he could at least make some effort to give you attention every once in a while.

rubbing the sleep away from your eyes you trudged your way through the apartment wearily, before being met with his figure, hunched on the sofa, eyes glued to the screen in front of him.

"sei, when are you coming to bed? i miss you."

"in a bit y/n."

"sei baby you said that last night, and i came back to you passed out on the sofa. the bluelight isn't good for you, especially so late."

he barely was around as it is, but when he was, he either slept, or was parked on the sofa.

it made you feel unappreciated, and majorly unloved. he never made the effort to take you out, tell you that you ever looked pretty or even acknowledge you anymore. to you at this point he was practically a roommate with a shoddy title that really shouldn't apply to the both of you.

"y/n, just leave me alone for now. i'm too tired to get into it with you."

"so you're too tired to argue with me being concerned for your wellbeing, but not too tired to invest your time into games, which ultimately drains your thought processes more? really sei?"

he was still focusing on the tv instead of your words, which ticked you off. so, determined to get his full attention, for once, you walked towards the tv and stood directly in front of it, blocking his vision, arms crossed and frowning.

"what the hell y/n? you made me lose."

"seishiro, can you stop being an ass for just a second and focus on me and what i have to say?”

faced with no way out, he had to oblige, placing the controller down with a heavy sigh, letting you know he was agitated. you couldn’t give a flying fuck though. you’d had enough of being neglected by nagi, and weren’t going to let him off this time.

“you don’t spend time with me anymore. you never take me out, we don’t ever talk to each other anymore. is it so bad for me to want to spend time with my boyfriend? is a game really more important than me? or is being with me detrimental to you in some way?”

he rolled his eyes, sinking back into the soft material of the sofa, irises piercing into yours. you shrunk back at his change in demeanour.

“being in a relationship is a hassle already, i shouldn’t have to deal with you bitching and whining on top of that.”

huh?

“nagi, where is this coming from? what do you mean being in a relationship is a hassl- i’m a hassle?”

he shrugged while rising to his feet, placing a hand behind his head and massaging his neck.

“i said what i said didn’t i? look, i’m going to bed, happy now? i don’t wanna argue with you, you’re too loud when you’re angry.”

you stood in shock, registering his words fully before swallowing and deeply inhaling.

“forget it nagi, i’m leaving. lose my number.”

“leaving to go where?” he watched as you briskly walked to the bedroom, following you in as you changed, grabbing your phone and keys.

“that’s none of your concern anymore. i’m breaking up with you.”

he said nothing as you walked to the front door, leaving with a final slam.

he should’ve stopped you, he really should’ve, for he would come to realise soon enough that allowing you to go,

would be one of the worst decisions he ever made.

☆彡 BAROU SHOUEI

“oi, i didn’t get into a relationship with you just so you can make my life harder. fix up or leave.”

when you asked barou out, you knew damn well what you were signing up for. considering he was so headstrong, particularly when it came to football, there would be moments where he might be nonchalant or absent.

what you didn’t anticipate, would be just how bad he would get.

once his mind was focused on football, specifically climbing his way to the top, there were no distractions, especially from his girlfriend, who at times he deemed his biggest distraction.

you did try to help and aid him every way you could, cooking him meals to eat after late night practices, tending to his injuries he may obtain after over-intensive sessions, cleaning up the apartment flawlessly so he wouldn’t be tempted to do it himself. all you really wanted in return was love.

surely that wasn’t too much to ask for, right?

wrong.

even after 7 months of dating, public outings with attempts to hold his hand resulted in subtle swatting away, instead opting to walk side by side. laying in bed together? don’t expect any cuddles from him. quite laughable actually that you’d ever think he’d be willing to do that. don’t think movie nights will be any different either. you’d better be keeping your hands to yourself.

fucking was a rarity, only really when he was very much pent up with frustration from football, libido overflowing from lack of release. and even then, while you were able to cum, that’s pretty much all there was to it. no making love or anything like that. he wouldn’t display his emotions to you enough in the first place for that to ever happen.

when you asked barou out, you knew damn well what you were signing up for. but you didn’t know it would be this hard. you figured he would loosen up eventually, getting used to at least some form of affection towards you. a little peck on the lips, or a hug from behind every once in a while would be nice.

one day, you simply grew tired. you were sitting on the dining table with him, having just finished dinner. barou stood up, ready to leave the table to shower.

“shouei.”

he stopped in his tracks, pivoting on one heel to turn and face you. his face remained blank, save for his usual signature eyebrow, arched in waiting.

“hm?”

“i-” you suddenly grew self conscious, afraid to voice your concerns to him. if you wanted things to change however, this conversation had to happen sooner rather than later.

“can we do more stuff together?”

his face now contorted into utter confusion, genuinely puzzled by what you were trying to say.

“what do you mean? i do enough with you do i not?”

“no, not that that sho’, i mean more couples stuff. like…couldn’t you just be more affectionate? i just— i don’t know how you feel about me at certain points, you don’t tell me anything as it is.”

he looked at you, playing with your hands, trying to look anywhere but him, clearly uncomfortable about this conversation.

“cmon y/n, you know how it goes already, i’m not into shit like that. i may like you and all, but all that lovey-dovey stuff? that ain’t me. never has and never will be. surely you should understand how i feel about you? the fact that i’ve kept you around this long should say more than enough.”

damn. fucking cold. either way, you weren’t backing down. you stood there, holding a firm staring competition with him before opening your mouth to speak.

“shouei, it’s been 7 months and news flash! it doesn’t. when you do shit like this, it makes me feel fucking inadequate. like i’m not deserving of you. long story short, you make me feel like shit. i’m tired of it sho’.”

“y/n, regardless of how you feel, i told you how i feel, and that ain’t gonna change.”

you couldn’t accept what he was telling you, believing that what you were saying weren’t getting through to his thick skull. his stance was too relaxed for your liking, arms simply crossed over the other, looking slightly bored.

“you’re not getting it shouei!” you raised your voice slightly, not quite shouting, but about two thirds of the way there. “you’re not understan-”

“oi, i didn’t get into a relationship with you just so you can make my life harder. fix up or leave.”

you halted, making sure you heard him correctly. to hear that he basically wouldn’t fight for 7 months worth of memories and time with each other left you in denial that it would be so easy for him to let go.

“excuse me?”

“did i stutter? fix up, or leave. two choices, one answer. it’s up to you but whatever you pick is your business.”

he gave you an out, an out from what you were currently going through. and as much as you did love and care for barou, you’d be a fool not to take it. things would only get worse.

you chose the latter, opting to leave, considering how little value your relationship held to barou. weeks passed, and the items you once held in the apartment decreased, leaving a half completed house, just like your heart.

he continued as normal at first, trying to get used to the newfound ‘freedom’. but as days passed on, the emptiness of the household became more apparent. the meals you used to cook were no more, barou having to take on the tasks himself. his injuries were taken care of in a subpar manner. while he could do it adequately, they weren’t bandaged or plastered as well as you used to do it. yes he would clean, but having it done already when he came back from training and to his standard…made him start to realise just how much you really did for him.

and maybe— maybe you weren’t so bad to have around. you did give him a sense of comfort that he could not achieve on his own, filling him on things that happened during your day gave him a sense of normalcy which alternately gave him that balance from his meticulous life as a quickly rising footballer.

he missed you, he missed what you had,

it’s a pity he realised only when it was too late.

☆彡 ITOSHI RIN

“honestly i don’t understand why i got with you in the first place. you’re so lukewarm it hurts.”

you were both busy. you both knew and understood that. rin was constantly abroad on travels for football and you had your own stuff going on at work, often leaving the office late at night.

when your schedules would occasionally match up and you’d both be home, most of the time it would still be you alone. rin would go off on his own to his usual training ground and work himself to the bone. he wouldn’t even tell you he was leaving, disregarding your worries or concerns that may surface.

you jolted awake randomly, looking to your left to see disturbed duvet covers, but an empty side. yet again. next you turned to your phone, squinting at the light from the screen which temporarily blinded you.

2:34am

you could take a guess or two at where rin was. specifically because you knew he lost his last match abroad and was pissed off about it, meaning double the training he usually did. you threw on some clothes, splashed water on your face and grabbed your car keys to drive to the open football field.

the massive stadium style lights lit up the field, illuminating it in a cool white, as you pulled up next to rin’s car. even from the car park you could hear the discernible sounds of rin’s foot booting a ball repeatedly. once closer, you could see him in his normal training gear, sweating profusely, enough to fill a small bucket.

“rin!”

he stopped, just short of making the next ball his victim, making eye contact with you, not expecting to see you there of all places this late.

he waited until you had crossed the distance between you, and stood in front of him to speak.

“y/n, why are you out here this early? i thought you were sleeping.”

“rin, i should be asking you that. it’s too early to be this active my love. come home please, i’m worried for you.”

all was silent for a moment, the only audible sounds on the pitch being a crow cawing in the distance, and rin’s heavy breathing.

“…i’m fine. just go back home. it’s too early for you to be up.”

you stood, hand on hip, showing your determination to get him to give up, not taking no for an answer.

“rin, you need to sleep. you’re overworking yourself. what happens when you’re fatigued and you leave yourself open for mistakes to happen? it’ll be worse for you in the long run.”

“tch, i wouldn’t expect someone who does office work all day to know the inner workings of an athlete. you don’t understand y/n.”

you sighed exasperatingly at his attempts to disarm you. he could be so stubborn when it was really for his own good.

“rin, i don’t need to be an athlete to understand that this isn’t good for you. anyone with two working brain cells can understand that constant working out and lack of sleep isn’t healthy.”

he rolled his eyes and turned back to the football in front of him.

“fine. whether or not you leave isn’t my problem, but i’m not leaving. stay or go, the outcome is the same either way.”

he took position, aiming and shooting flawlessly at the top left corner of the goal, the ball spinning against the net before falling to the ground.

he grabbed another ball, ready to complete the same procedure before you interrupted him once more.

“rin, just please come home, you can come back tomorrow. just because you lost your match doesn’t mean you should overwork yourself like this.”

this time when he turned back towards you, the tone had shifted. his face immediately darkened, eyes thinning into dark slits, eyebrows forming a crease on his forehead. his teal eyes shot daggers into yours.

“listen. we may be together, but that doesn’t mean you get to talk to me like you know what i’m going through. i’m going to be the best football player out there, and if i need to work double to make that happen, then so. be. it. i don’t need someone like you telling me about what i should or should not be doing.”

you stood in silence, effectively stunned and insulted simultaneously. you couldn’t say anything to counter yourself, rin’s harsh words opening up a side to him you’ve never seen before. that wasn’t the worst of it though.

“honestly i don’t understand why i got with you in the first place. you’re so lukewarm it hurts.”

your heart shattered, face hung in desolation and disheartenment.

after not hearing you argue back for a while he scoffed, walking to the side to collect his training bag. “whatever, i’m leaving now.”

he left you there, standing while the gears turned in your head to make some semblance of his words.

you didn’t even register you were crying until the cold nipped at your cheeks, decreasing the temperature of the liquid against your face. you pulled yourself together, just about enough to shakily make your way back to your car and press the ignition button.

you spent the whole car ride crying your eyes out, before wiping your eyes as you arrived back home. rin’s car was nowhere to be seen.

you walked up to the front door, slotting your key in and twisting your wrist to align with the lock.

pushing the door open, you stepped in to see the lights off and the aura dark.

“rin?”

silence.

“rin, are you there?”

nothing.

you sighed, tossing your keys on the table next to the door, making a beeline to your shared bedroom. it was empty, no signs of life present.

you stripped out of your outside clothes and slipped under the covers,

leaving you to cry yourself to sleep, wondering when it all went wrong.

baby you sold me a dream pt.2

[allaboutnayeli]

FALLING DEEP | e.de almeida x reader

summary: all elisa wants after a bad game is you.

author notes: this is a special fic for my bestie @moonystoes 🩷 since this dumb bitch be dying for elisa fics. i changed the whole plot from what she originally wanted, but hey beggers can't be choosers 🤷🏾‍♀️ the rest of yall enjoy too!

contains: elisa de almeida x reader, elisa is lowkey a little insecure about her football skills, fluff/comfort, based after brazil's quarterfinal win at the olympics (might not be accurate so just chill), lesbians being lesbians

playing break from toronto by partynextdoor 🎵

elisa hates losing. she wouldn't even call herself a competitive person, but it's just something about losing that irritates her. especially when it comes to something she wants so badly, like getting far in the olympics.

after the regular ninety minutes, then nearly nineteen minutes of stoppage time, france just couldn't get a goal into the back of the net. getting a draw then going into penalties would feel way better than just not having a goal at all. at least france would have something to show for themselves, but no, the whistle is blown, and the game is officially over, and elisa's heart feels like it's breaking apart. trying not to cry is a challenge within itself. it's a home crowd, and still france couldn't pull through; it feels a bit embarrassing to elisa. especially as a defender, the french player strongly believes that if her team can't score, then she should be able to stop most goals coming near the net but that's not what happened.

france was messy this match, that can't be denied. the exhaustion of playing games with only a day of rest had gotten to them, and this is the outcome.

time feels like a blur as elisa goes from the bench to the locker room. the tiredness from the tournament is starting to really set in. not just the physical exhaustion but mentally as well. elisa definitely needs a twenty four hour nap when she gets back home.

when everyone is in the locker room, that's when the words of comfort are spoken. elisa can't focus on that much when her brain feels like it's turning to mush, so she just blocks everything out and waits for the talking to stop. her mind drifts off to the only thing (well, person) that could bring her a sense of comfort right now: you.

that soothing voice of yours flows into her mind, distracting her from anything else. you couldn't make it to the match due to work, which elisa isn't even annoyed about anymore. she would be embarrassed out of her mind if you saw that performance of hers in person. even though she knows you will watch the match eventually, that's still better than elisa looking into the crowd and seeing your shining eyes look at her.

fianlly wendie stops talking, elisa gets up to go shower right away. a few others go to the showers as well. the french player takes a shower longer than usual until the water runs cold. when she steps out of the shower, picaud is stepping out of her shower as well.

"are you feeling alright?" the taller woman says. elisa lets out a hum at the question. she doesn't answer for a moment, changing into a nike tech set. when she's changed, finally she says, "i feel.. okay. it is what it is, you know."

"yeah.. you played good though, don't beat yourself up about it," picaud says.

good.. suree elisa thinks to herself before turning to see picaud is fully dressed as well. the defender shrugs, "you played good too. everyone did, we were just not connecting."

"don't be so hard on yourself. i know how you get," picaud pats elisa's shoulder before leaving out of the showers. elisa doesn't answer but follows after the goalkeeper. the only two left in the locker room beside picaud and elisa is katoto and sakina.

sakina looks up from her phone when the two walk into the locker room, "finally. everybody else is on the bus, so we can go back to the hotel." katoto grabs her bag then picaud and her leave out of the locker room first, leaving sakina and elisa.

the moccoran looks at elisa as the defender puts some of her things into her bag. sakina can clearly see the down mood elisa is in, anyone would be able to just by looking into the defender's eyes. when elisa finishes packing, then makes her way to the door, sakina follows. when the two of them step out of the locker room, sakina speaks, "don't beat yourself up about the match, eli. we all played like shit."

the bluntness of sakina's words makes elisa laugh. sakina laughs, too. the mood lightens a bit as they reach the bus. with them being the last ones to get on the bus, they have to sit next to each other, obviously. the bus is mostly quiet, which is expected after being knocked out of a major tournament at home.

elisa's mood drops again as she closes her eyes. the movement of the bus should be calming her like it usually does, but not this time as all she sees when she closes her eyes is brazil's goal followed her performance in the match before she was benched off. then her mind drifts off to you, and elisa realizes she hasn't texted you since the match ended. the french player wasn't thinking about her phone at all after the match. she especially wasn't thinking about social media, already knowing the team is being tore apart for their performance. good thing she deleted twitter before the match.

anyways, back to you, elisa pulls her phone out of her pocket of her pants. she immediately sees the notifications of the messages you sent to her. seeing that even when you're busy, you still find a way to support her makes elisa feel all warm inside.

y/n 💕

play well my love ❤️❤️

sorry i sent the message late 😓 it's busy over here!!

are the first messages elisa sees. they were obviously sent early on the match. she usually would have seen them at half time, but with the team not playing the best, half time was focused on trying to fix what's going on. she looks at the other messages you sent,

y/n 💕

i finally have some free time

i saw the score 💔 so sorry for you and everyone else baby

i haven't watched the game yet but i'm sure you played well

elisa smiles at the messages. even though they remind her of the entire reason her mood has been down since the last whistle was blown. still, they make her feel better anyways. she reads the rest of your messages that are mostly just checking up on her after noticing she didn't reply to your previous ones then asking her if you can come over to the hotel where france is staying.

y/n 💕

i can sneak into your room once i get off?

elisa 💛

you don't have to sneak but yes okay ❤️❤️

y/n 💕

okay baby ❤️

elisa slips her phone back into her pocket, then leans her head against sakina, who side eyes her but lets it slide. for the rest of the bus ride, elisa just looks at sakina's phone, which is playing some tv show she doesn't care to know.

the team reaches the hotel, and everybody gets off the bus. everyone make their way to their own hotel rooms (thankfully, france allowed everyone to have their own room) with elisa and sakina exchanging "goodnight"s before going into their hotel rooms.

elisa closes her door behind her, letting out a sigh at finally being able to truly rest. she drops her bag near the closet then slips off her shoes before heading to the bathroom to shower.

forty minutes later, and elisa comes out of the bathroom. she's wearing a robe while letting her hair air dry. elisa doesn't check the time because if she did, she would realize your shift at work ended ten minutes ago and that you're probably on your way over to the hotel.

she absentmindedly changes into some pajamas before going to sit on her bed. elisa only gets a few scrolls on her phone in before hearing a knock at the door. the french player internally groans, not really wanting to deal with anyone right now. still, she gets up and answers the door. her entire mood changes when she sees it's you.

"hi baby," you hug her the moment she opens the door. she hugs back, pulling you into the room. she shifts you two slightly so she can close the door.

after a few more minutes, you pull away from her. a soft smile on your lips as you say, "i didn't even have to sneak in."

"told you so," elisa chuckles, then pecks your forehead. you pucker your lips for an actual kiss, and she obliges, kissing you. the two of you pull away to breathe.

"missed you.." you say while moving away from elisa slightly to slip off your shoes. then you grab her hand and pull her towards the bed. you fall onto it first, then elisa falls right next to you onto the mattress. you giggle before pulling her close, letting her snuggle her face into your neck.

elisa murmurs into the skin there, "missed you more."

the two of you lay in silence after that, you gently playing with her hair. elisa just lets out soft hums as she closes her eyes and enjoys the warmth of your embrace. her mind feels so calm that she doesn't even think about the match or what everyone is saying online. all she has to think about is right now, being with you as your hands play with her hair and she listens to the beating of your heart.

you enjoy the comfortable silence, but you think about the match and its result. you already know how elisa gets after losses; in a mood of blaming herself for mishaps of the game. the french woman truly believes most weight lays on the shoulders of defenders, so when she fumbles it, she feels like shit. you debate in your head whether to say anything about it or not. in the end, you decide it's best to say at least some comforting words. elisa has a bad habit of keeping her emotions to herself and doesn't vent as much as she should.

"so about the match.." your words knock elisa out of the nearly sleep state she was in. she doesn't say anything, but you can feel her slightly grip on your waist.

you continue, "don't put all the blame on yourself, love. it's a team sport at the end of the day."

elisa doesn't reply right away, letting your words sink in. of course, you're the rational one between the two of you. still, she wants to cling to the feelings of self-doubt and regret that linger from a match that ended hours ago.

"i played like shit," is what she ends up saying. her bluntness doest surprise you. based on the score you knew she would feel this way. it makes sense truly. that doesn't mean you agree with the statement.

"you all played like shit obviously," you say, giggling when elisa moves her head from your neck to give you a look, "not in that way, dumbass. i meant that teams have bad days sometimes and sometimes they happen on the days of the most important matches. that's football."

you and elisa shift positions slightly so you two are facing eachother face to face. your noses are kissing and you're looking straight into her eyes. some slight regret lays in her eyes, but at the same time you see some acceptance.

acceptance of the match outcome or her performance? you don't know, but either way it's better than the emotions you knew she felt earlier.

elisa smiles, "you're right.. still it's so frustrating how messy we are when it matters most."

"hm.. rant to me about it?" your right hand goes to her hair, starting to play with it. elisa smiles again before moving slightly to peck your lips.

"okay."

elisa rants all her frustations out about the national team for nearly a hour. somehow she ends up with her head on your chest. after that, the two of you watch your favorite tv show until you both fall asleep.

author notes: first fic now that i'm back from my writing break 🫠 this is cute and simple and i hope you guys enjoyed it!

© THINKINGABOUTJAEDYN

[art-that-fucks-you-up-tournament]

QUARTERFINALS MATCH THREE

"Ivan the Terrible and His Son Ivan on 16 November 1581" (c. 1883-1885 - Ilya Repin) / "Two Earthlings" (2003/2009 - John Brosio)

IVAN THE TERRIBLE AND HIS SON IVAN ON 16 NOVEMBER 1581: OUaghghhhhhhhhhhh oughhh the fact that they have the same names the blood ouaghhh the anguish ouaghhhhhh (snowdoesntexist)

TWO EARTHLINGS: When I first saw this painting and then it’s title it was like getting punched in the gut. In a good way. It’s super contextualized by it’s title, of course, and it really gets me in the heart!! There’s lots of artwork around that juxtaposes our modern lives with humans of the past in ways that make you feel connected to them and feel a sense of kinship for them, but this one stretches that feeling back millions of years beyond humans back to earlier eras of earth, and makes you feel that sense of connection with ancestors so old and different we aren’t recognizable as each other unless put into perspective in the way this painting and it’s title do, all because we share the same planet. It really really makes me emotional and I think at the very least more people deserve to see it and think about it. (reactorc0re)

(“Ivan the Terrible and His Son Ivan on 16 November 1581” is an oil on canvas painting by Ilya Yefimovich Repin. It measures 199.5 cm × 254 cm (78.5 in × 100 in) and is on display at the Tretyakov Gallery.

"Two Earthlings" is an oil on canvas piece by John Brosio. It measures 48 x 48 in (122 x122 cm).)

[billboard-hotties-tourney]

Good news, everyone: we'll be able to debut the finals tonight. Thank you for your patience in this time, it's greatly appreciated.

But before the finals begin, it's time to present the Billboard Consolation Prizes...

*cue Hot Chocolate's "Every 1's a Winner"*

We have fourteen awards to give out this tourney; some were voted upon by the followers of the tourney, some were given out directly.

The first award is one that the fans voted on: The Powerful Mustache Award. This award goes out to the competitor that had the sweetest, sickest 'stache in the game. There were a few nominees that had the lead at some point in the voting, but the winner ended up being...

Frank Zappa! Congratulations, I'm sure some people will Freak Out over this win.

Next is the Failure to Launch Award. This one goes out to the round-one loser that had the most submissions to be in the tourney. With five user submissions (and no wins in this tourney,) the winner of this award is...

Elvis Presley! Elvis unsurprisingly lost out in the first round to Johnny Cash on the Johnny Cash website, but now he has an award for it.

The next award is the Who? What?? Award! The Who? What?? Award goes to the most obscure/strangest submission in the tournament--no shade here, he's a cool dude. This award was originally going to be a user vote, but I figured that nobody else could possibly take the title except...

The one and only Moondog! Shout-out to the one who submitted him in the first place for introducing me and undoubtedly others to this musical character.

Our next award is the Mama's Boy Award! For those of you who haven't seen I Love New York (most of you, I'm assuming; I think the venn diagram for lovers of vintage music and VH1 reality TV is two circles), the Mama's Boys were those contestants handpicked by New York's mom...and in this case, the Mama's Boys were picked by me! If you remember at the beginning of this tournament, I added more contestants to bring the total number of men to 256. These were musicians and singers who were so famous that it was baffling that it wasn't there, or perhaps they were added to round out some band lineups (newsflash: John Bonham and John Deacon were Mama's Boys.) Some were also added to throw in some characters that were significant in music that you might not have thought of, like Jorge Ben, Arthur Lee, or Richie Havens.

Now that I've explained who could be in the running for the Mama's Boy Award, I'll explain how you win: by making it farther than the rest of the contestants selected by the pollmaster. That distinction goes to...

Mickey Finn! Mickey made it to round five without having been nominated by the public, but was bested by Billy Preston.

In a similar vein to the last award, next we have the Spanish Inq-

Next we have the Spanish Inquisition Award. This one was a fan vote, and it went to the competitor that nobody expected to make it as far as they did. Overwhelmingly, the votes went to...

Bruce Springsteen! ...Bruce Springsteen? I can honestly say I didn't expect that result.

Next is the Crossover Award! In the days of yore, a crossover artist was one that was marketable, or could chart, in more than one music chart. In the modern age (or at least in this tourney,) a crossover artist is one that can qualify for more than one tournament. The nominees of this award, one that has been awarded based on fan vote, were all also featured in @hotvintagepoll as well. This award, like the tourney, was based on hotness, and the winner is...

Elvis Presley! This is Mr. Presley's second nomination and second win. (Didn't make it out of round one but he's doing pretty well here.)

Next award is the No Help Required Award. This award goes to the contestant that made it farthest in the tournament without having propaganda submitted during or between rounds--that means nothing on the post, nothing in the propaganda tag. The winner of this impressive feat is...

Stevie Wonder! Stevie made it to the quarterfinals without the help of propaganda, but was ultimately defeated by David Bowie.

The next award, voted on by the fans, also had a surprising winner. This one is the Robbed Icon Award. I asked voters to think of the contestant whose elimination was the most unfair...maybe he was up against a guy you thought was gross, maybe he didn't have enough propaganda, maybe he was just hotter in the 80s and hadn't grown into his looks yet. The votes are in, and the award goes to...

David Bowie! The amount by which he lost was a shock, but he had a most worthy opponent. David, you make a lovely third alternate.

Next is the Multi-Instrumentalist Award. Many of our contestants choose to be a master of one skill, be it guitar, vocals, songwriting, piano...but some would rather be a jack of all trades (and maybe a master of one or two? This is a bad metaphor right now.) I chose a handful of contestants who could truly be considered great multi-instrumentalists, and asked you to say which one was hottest. Without a doubt, the winner is...

George Harrison! Most known for playing guitar, George Harrison is said to have been able to play 26 instruments, from the sitar to the glockenspiel.

Next is the Band Assassin Award. Because the pairings were random, there was always a chance that a contestant's opponents might have something in common with each other (weirdly, Ron Mael both defeated and was defeated by David Jones.) Two contestants, however, each defeated two members of the same band, both wiping out half a lineup. The TWO winners are...

Paul McCartney and Jimi Hendrix! Paul McCartney beat two members of The Monkees (Peter Tork and Micky Dolenz) in rounds one and two, and Jimi Hendrix took out half of Queen (Brian May and Freddie Mercury) at the same time in the quarterfinals.

Our next award is the All Together Now Award. As you've probably noticed, there were several complete band lineups in the Billboard Hotties Tourney. While some were completed by yours truly, some were all submitted by the voters! This award goes to the first band to have its complete lineup submitted by viewers like you (thank you!) The winner is...

The Who! Roger Daltrey, John Entwistle, Keith Moon, and Pete Townshend were all submitted by you guys, Keith Moon being the last to round out the lineup. The Monkees were the second group to have their whole band submitted.

In the grand tradition of many beauty pageants, this tournament has a Mr. Congeniality Award. Now, it's a little hard to judge the contestants themselves, as they're unaware of the poll's existence and/or are dead, so we won't be judging their decorum today. Instead, this one goes out to the fans of the contestant. Each poll is going to have its tantrums, but for the most part, this musician had fans who were hilarious, kind, and generally well-behaved. Mr. Congeniality goes to...

Clarence Clemons! One more time...spotlight on The Big Man.

The penultimate award is The Popular Kid Award. This one goes out to the contestant that had the most nominations. You'll see why the Spanish Inquisition Award winner surprised me, because the Popular Kid Award winner is also...

Bruce Springsteen! The Boss is the only contestant to crack the double digits, with ten nominations to his name. David Bowie came in second with nine.

Finally, we have the Not Just a Pretty Face Award. Let's face it, it's fun to gush about how cute your favorite singer is or AWOOGA over a bassist every once in awhile, but that's not what music is really about. It's not about the sight, it's about the sound, and that's what this award is for. Voters were asked to pick their favorite musician music-wise for this one, and they overwhelmingly picked...

David Bowie! You may not have won the beauty pageant, but you sure do sound great.

Thanks for playing, everyone! The final poll will go live tonight at midnight PST.

[fritzes]

the curse of ATP Madrid 2024

remember toronto's chaos? yeah this one's crazier

(shoutout @rodlaveraryna for helping me find the toronto post when I totally lost it)

first of all, the World #1 Novak Djokovic has withdrawn from the tournament, making the fairly new #2 Jannik Sinner the top seed at a Masters 1000 for the first time.

In the first round, Félix Auger-Aliassime (who, keep in mind, took Nadal to five sets at Roland Garros) loses the first set to Nishioka. However, he comes back in the second and third sets to win the match 4-6 6-1 6-4. We'll be seeing a lot of him. In a Next Gen battle, young phenomenon João Fonseca loses the first set to the clay incompetent Alex Michelsen but proceeds to bagel him in the second set and then win the third with 4-6 6-0 6-2. Fabian Marozsan (of beating Alcaraz in Rome fame) saves eleven set points against Karatsev to win the first set and goes on to win the match 7-6 7-6. Moutet and Shang play an almost four hour match in which Moutet caused a massive delay by demanding the umpire give him coffee. And, most insane of all, teenager Darwin Blanch is drawn against Rafael Nadal for his second tour match ever. The scoreline is 6-1 6-0 (at least he got a game!)

Second round - here come the seeds. Jakub Menšík, yet another Next Gen wonder, upsets Dimitrov in three intense sets 6-2 6-7 6-3. Félix bagels known clay flop Mannarino. Fonseca loses quite brutally to Norrie. The ultimate clay hater himself, Daniil Medvedev, loses the first set to Matteo Arnaldi and looks absolutely done but comes back to win 2-6 6-4 6-4. Another known clay hater, Alexander Bublik, jokes his way through a win against Carballés Baena, who was so frustrated that he hit a serve directly at Bublik. Ben Shelton bagels Machac. Rafa manages to beat de Minaur, who he just lost to in Barcelona. Stefanos Tsitsipas, fresh off of two clay finals, is beaten by qualifier Monteiro 6-4 6-4.

In the third round, our top seed Jannik Sinner starts to show sign of discomfort, and his opponent Kotov is serving for the second set after Jannik won the first. Kotov has set point... and hits a questionable underarm serve that Jannik crushes down the line. Jannik goes on to break back and win the match 6-2 7-5. In the beginning of a long line of strange occurrences, Félix's opponent Menšik retires in the second set. Daniil loses the first set to Korda, yells at everyone, accuses the umpire of working for the Illuminati, but comes back to win the match 5-7 7-6 6-3. Bublik, the other resident clay hater, beats Ben Shelton 3-6 7-6 6-4, stetting up a match against who but Daniil. Holger Rune, who made two clay masters finals, loses to Griekspoor 6-4 4-6 6-3.

We start off the fourth round with another shaky Jannik match where he barely gets past Khachanov 5-7 6-3 6-3. At the exact same time - I kid you not, the exact same time - is a rematch of last year’s final. Carlos Alcaraz has match points over Struff at the very same minute as Jannik, but loses all three of them and extends the match another half hour or so, eventually winning it 6-3 6-7 7-6. Daniil comfortably wins the clay hater battle 7-6 6-4, and Bublik seems perfectly fine with it. In a strange occurrence of two varying levels of servebots on clay, Taylor Fritz beats Hurkacz 7-6 6-4 (including a very predictable tiebreak). Perhaps the strangest of all, Félix takes out Casper Ruud, the man who would marry clay if he could, 6-4 7-5.

And now to the quarterfinals. Think these matches have predictable outcomes? Wrong! Only Taylor manages to emerge as the favorite who wins, beating Cerundolo 6-1 3-6 6-3, an American servebot into clay masters semis. Meanwhile, Jannik withdraws entirely, giving Félix yet another walkover. In what may be the calmest match of his career, Andrey Rublev beats Carlos 4-6 6-3 6-2, ending his Madrid title streak. And, Daniil retires against Jiri Lehecka.

So, the semifinals no one expected. Andrey dispatches Fritz 6-4 6-3 after they traded breaks in the opening two games. And Félix receives yet another walkover when Lehecka retires a few games into the match. Yes, he received not one, not two, but three walkovers en route to the final.

In the end, though, Andrey wins it and claims a second masters title. So, that’s the end of the story, right? No, because in his interviews afterwards, Andrey reveals that he has been extremely sick for the entirety of the tournament and that he could barely sleep or eat. A bizarre yet fitting end to this strange tournament.

[graneymar]

Hello ✨ 

Can I have Neymar x Reader that the reader is Davi's mother, but they both broke up (like Carol and Ney), but the reader still loves Ney, and when he gets hurt (2014 World Cup), the reader is with him and takes care of him all the time, making Ney realize that the person who really loves him is the reader, in the end they are back as a family again 

your writing is very good, I love it! 💗 Sorry, English is not my primary language.

#12. NEYMAR: BACK TO YOU

SUMMARY: above

WARNINGS: none

PAIRING: Neymar x fem!reader

"Look Davi, who's there?", I said smiling, pointing at Neymar. "Papai!", Davi exclaimed happily. Neymar immediately noticed us and blew his son a kiss.

The Brazilian national team was warming up for their match against Colombia that was going to start in 30 minutes.

"Oh, hey Y/N", Rafaella greeted me, giving me a short hug. She instantly took Davi out of my arms and smooched him a hundreds of times. "I didn’t expect you to come", she continued, her focus still on her nephew. I shrugged, "I felt like I needed to finally show my support as well now that they’re in the quarterfinals. It was about damn time I attend a match."

Rafa nodded, "Yeah, we've been waiting to finally see you again." She pointed at her parents that sat down right behind us. I greeted them politely before turning around to watch Neymar and his teammates.

Actually, I tried to avoid Neymar and spend as little time with him as possible. We broke up three years ago, right after I gave birth to our son. It was his decision and I still wasn’t completely fine with it if I was being honest. I tried to get over him a million times, but every time he called, even if it was only to hear his sons voice, or came over to pick up Davi, my heart still was racing; I still felt those butterflies in my stomach. We could’ve been a match made in heaven, in my opinion at least, but Neymar seemed to look at it differently. He jumped from one relationship to another, letting me think it was easy to forget about me. Yes, he hurt me, but I couldn’t even blame him. Just because I was unable to become interested in someone else than him, didn’t mean he wasn’t allowed to find love and happiness.

Rafaella and I always remained good friends though. She also was the only one who knew about my feelings for Neymar. When we got drunk one time, I accidentally told her, crying my heart out.

——————————————————————————

We were all cheering for Brazil, until only ten minutes before the end of the match, Colombia had a penalty - and scored. It didn’t mean much to me since Brazil was still about to win with two goals, but I noticed the match getting wilder, the Colombians seemed to feel pressured and became more aggressive.

There were only three minutes left when I saw Neymar laying on the ground - again. He has been fouled countless times throughout the match, but I realised something was off the moment Marcelo called the doctors to come. Neymar wouldn’t stop screaming and crying, it looked like he was even unable to move. I watched the staff carrying him off the field and started panicking. Whatever just happened was far from an 'ordinary' injury, I have never seen Neymar like this before. Tears started forming in my eyes, my whole body shivered. I quickly gave Davi to Rafaella and ran down the stairs, heading right into the building. I followed Neymars screams and shouts as the tears rolled down my cheeks. "Neymar!", I shouted out when I finally found him. Staff and doctors were surrounding him. One of them tried to move Neymars leg, which had to be incredibly painful according to how he cried out. "Y/N", he mumbled a few seconds later, just now noticing I was standing beside him, "Are you crying?" Seeing him in pain, not knowing what was going on, I couldn’t hold myself back from bursting out into tears. "Bebê, não chora. Estou bem. [Baby, don't cry. I'm good]" He tried to fake a smile but the pain was clearly visible in his eyes. He got carried away again, while all I did was silently pray that he'd be okay.

——————————————————————————

"Let me help you with your stuff", Neymar said as I entered his apartment with three bags and Davi on my arm. I looked at him in disbelief. "Boy, you're in a fucking wheelchair. You won’t touch a thing, understood?" He rolled his eyes. Obviously he was annoyed at how he couldn’t help with anything, but thinking of the fact that he almost got paralysed, I preferred him being mad at me than see him hurt again. "You really don’t have to do all of this, Y/N. I would’ve called my mom or sister if I needed something", he insisted.

"Mhm, okay, and who will clean the house, who will make sure you don’t slip while showering, who will stop you from doing shit you’re not supposed to do?", I asked raising my eyebrows. Davi already found his way to his fathers lap. "Ahh, you want to shower with me?", Neymar smirked. I held back a laugh, but couldn’t stop myself from grinning widely, "No idiot, I'm just making sure you do not slip, fall and break your neck."

Now that Neymar was finally home after being in the hospital for days, I decided Davi and I would stay at his place so I could take care of him until he got better. Of course his family tried to support him too, but Neymar has always been too stubborn. He was convinced he could do everything on his own. This way, he would’ve pushed his friends and family away sooner or later. I wouldn’t allow him to do me like that, so he knew he had no other choice than let me help him.

The first week passed. I tried my best to keep the house clean, we cooked together, watched a lot of movies and played around with Davi, who was the happiest to finally have both of his parents around. Even the bond between Neymar and me became much better again. We were finally able to talk to each other and hang out without making it somehow awkward. Whenever Davi was already asleep, we would drink one or two glasses of wine, play video games or simply talk for hours. This made me realise how much I missed his presence, but also how much love I actually had left for him. And it was a whole lot.

It was in the middle of the night when I heard a loud noise. "Shit", I murmured to myself. I quickly jumped out of the bed, still tried to be as quiet as possible to not wake Davi up. Getting out of the room, I saw the bathroom lights shine from under the door. I heard Neymar inaudibly cursing himself out. "Hey there, are you okay?", I asked as I softly knocked on the door. "I'm fine", he coldly answered. I rolled my eyes at the mister showing off his attitude again. "Can I come in?"

"Y/N, I said I'm fine. Go sleep or do whatever you want", he replied in a kind of mad tone. I took a deep breath and decided to wait for him to come out, so I could check if he was actually alright.

Only a few seconds later I heard some banging again. "Okay whether you want me to or not, I'm coming in now", I warned him before swinging the door open. There he was, sitting on the floor, looking up at me in frustration and disappointment. "Where’s your wheelchair?"

"I tried to walk on crutches", he said pointing at them laying on the floor. "Ney", I started as I sat down next to him, "You know you're too weak yet. The doctor said you need to use the wheelchair for at least another week." He threw his head back and stared at the ceiling. "It would’ve been fine if there wasn’t any water on the floor. I slipped, just like you predicted it would happen", he said, a small grin formed in his face at the last part. "Are you okay though? Does anything hurt?" He shook his head left and right, his eyes wandering to the floor. "Y/N, why are you doing all of this?" My brows furrowed at his question. "You do not owe me anything, we’ve been barely talking lately and yet you are the one who’s really there for me. I'm just trying to understand where this is coming from", he explained. I softly smiled. "Remember how I said you could always count on me, no matter what? I promised you - good times, bad times, whatever might happen between us, I would always be there for you. And you know I'm not one to break promises." He chuckled, but his facial expression again turned serious in a matter of second. "But that was before I hurt you." I nodded as I got flashbacks of how broken I was after he called it quits. "To be honest, I often think back and regret it. Leaving you was probably the dumbest decision I've ever made. We could’ve been a happy family now", he said, breaking the silence. "No, it wasn’t stupid of you. There’s no reason to stick around when the love is gone. You've been honest with me and looking back, I can finally say I appreciate and respect you for it. It would‘ve been worse if you played pretend instead", I answered.

"But… but what if… what if the love was never gone?", he suddenly said. My eyes widened. What the hell was he talking about? "I broke up with you because I was naive and egoistic, not because I didn’t love you. I wanted to see what life has to offer, thought I could do better - but I couldn’t. The last days I realised that everything I was looking for the last years was what I left behind… and I'm afraid I'm not getting the chance to get it back." I swallowed hard at his words. There were only two options to what would happen now: Either I was about to become the happiest woman on Earth or this would be the biggest disappointment I experienced in a long time. "Can you please say something?", he interrupted my thoughts. "What do you want me to say Neymar? I'm confused, I'm not sure what you’re on about."

"Do you think that there’s a possibility of us getting back together?" After hesitating for a short moment, I nodded in response. His lips formed a sweet smile and his eyes lit up, "Really?"

"I've been thinking the same, I just didn’t expect you to feel this way", I told him. My heart was racing, I got absolutely weak in the knees. "I didn’t start feeling this way just now, it’s been quite a while", he admit. We simply sat there, looking deeply into each others eyes, both of us grinning like crazy. Neymar was slowly leaning for a kiss that I was about to return, when we heard some weird noises. Turning our heads to the bathroom door, we saw our toddler staying there, expressing his disgust by acting like he’s puking. "Baby, what are you doing here? Why aren’t you sleeping?", I asked, trying to hide the fact that I was slightly blushing. Davi babbled something that I was unable to understand until Neymar replied to him. "Sim", he laughed, "Mommy and Daddy like each other a lot." Davi again crinkled his nose in disgust and walked out of the room. "Get used to it, meu filho [my son]", Neymar shouted after him. I slightly slapped his shoulder, both of us bursted out into laughter.

"Where did we stop again?", he smirked before finally crashing his lips onto mine. "Another one", he whispered after we pulled away from each other.

[dramatic-dolphin]

disclaimer: I was halfway through typing this when I checked your blog again on another device and saw that it's been addressed, but here I go anyfuckingway

let's just interrogate that facts that we know about Imane Khelif. not even doing a deep dive and like, looking up Algerian birth records, let's just read her fucking Wikipedia page

She stated that her father initially did not allow her to participate in the sport because "he did not approve of boxing for girls".

At the 2018 AIBA Women's World Boxing Championships, Khelif finished 17th after being eliminated in the first round by Karina Ibragimova.

At the 2019 AIBA Women's World Boxing Championships, she finished 33rd after being eliminated in the first round by Natalia Shadrina.

She represented Algeria in the women's lightweight event at the 2020 Summer Olympics, where she was defeated by Ireland's Kellie Harrington in the quarterfinals.

At the 2022 IBA Women's World Boxing Championships, [she was] defeated by Amy Broadhurst in the final and finished runner-up.

In 2023, IBA president Umar Kremlev told Russian news agency TASS that the disqualifications were because DNA tests "proved they had XY chromosomes". (editor's note: TASS, lmao)

The Washington Post stated, "It remains unclear what standards Khelif and Lin Yu Ting failed [in 2023] to lead to the disqualifications,"

"There never has been evidence that […] Khelif […] had XY chromosomes or elevated levels of testosterone"

The IBA did not reveal the testing methodology, stating the "specifics remain confidential."

On 31 July 2024, regarding their 2023 decision, the IBA stated that Khelif and others "did not undergo a testosterone examination but were subject to a separate and recognized test, whereby the specifics remain confidential"

The IBA's Olympic status was revoked in June 2023, due to governance issues and perceived judging and refereeing corruption.

so, an organization so irredeemably corrupt that they lost their Olympic status said she had an unfair advantage, based on their painstaking methodology of "trust me bro". the widely accepted scientific approach of "we didn't check her testosterone but her vibe was mid".

Imane Khelif was born a woman, lived as a woman, boxed as a woman and has lost to other women multiple times. JK Rowling, Elon Musk and Luca Hámori can collectively choke on a bag of dicks.

Angela Carini can have little bag of dicks as a treat.

oh wow this is nice and clear, thanks for putting it all together. yeah. randomly declared a man based on their painstaking methodology of "just trust me bro. not telling you the details btw." which like. yeah it's private medical information but still. at least say what kind of test it was?

[serialadoptersbracket]

Quarterfinals, Match 1: Daenerys Targaryen vs. Gintoki Sakata

Submitted kids:

Daenerys Targaryen: Drogon, Rhaegal, Viserion, Grey Worm, Missandei, the entire population of Slavers Bay

Gintoki Sakata: Kagura and Shinpachi Shimura, his own de aged mentor Shouyou, Hashida Kanshichirou, and Seita

Propaganda under the cut!

Daenerys Targaryen:

1. “Is there any better example of a serial adopter than someone who has adopted an entire city? Daenerys not only is the mother of dragons with her three dragons being her magic children, but she's also adopted soldiers, polyglot preteens, and old man renowned for his honor, and three cities worth of freed slaves. She takes her responsibility as their mother (or 'hysa' as used in the books) extremely seriously, giving up her goals of reaching Westeros to help ensure that her freed children are able to function in Meereen (notably the books handle this situation much better than the show but the show's cultural impact is too big to ignore)”

2. “#girl takes being mother to her people to the extreme sometimes #not many people have the dedication to risk catching the plague to go personally help the afflicted”

Gintoki Sakata:

1. “Gintoki is introduced to us as a depressed twenty seven year old dealing with ptsd who first adopts Shinpachi after protecting him from Amanto (aliens, who have somewhat taken over earth) who were harassing him, which led to Shinpachi losing his job, and Gintoki having to help him rescue his sister Otae from the family’s debtors. Shinpachi comes to work for Gintoki as Odd Jobs, soon joined by Kagura (an amanto herself with super strength who was working as part of gang prior to Shinpachi and Gintoki helping her leave) Kagura leaves in his house and later Gintoki allows her to get a pet dog. It’s made clear that these three are a family and more than a few episodes make it clear that Kagura seems Gintoki as her earth father (her bio dad, the strongest man in the universe, goes around the galaxy fighting monsters) and Shinpachi feels a familial connection to him as well. There’s also Hashida, a baby who looks a lot like Gintoki, whom Gintoki takes care of when the custody battle over Hashida becomes an actual battle. This includes drinking together, tying the baby to his back while fighting his way to Hashida’s mom, and Hashida crying when Gintoki leaves, after promising they’ll share a drink when Hashida is older. In a similar vein is Seita, a street kid who tries to pickpocket Gintoki but gets robbed in return and ends up working for Gintoki’s landlady (Gintoki’s own adoptive mother) and being taken care of by her and the odd jobs family as a whole, before Gintoki discovers Seita’s mother is Hinowa, the Sun of Yoshiwara and its highest ranking courtesan, and fights Housen, a crime lord who fought Kagura’s father for three days and nights until they considered it a draw, and kills him, just so Seita and Hinowa can reunite. During the timeskip late in the series, we discover after seemingly defeating the Big Bad Utsuro (an immortal who formerly was Gintoki’s adoptive father and teacher Shouyou) Gintoki spent two years raising the reincarnated Shouyou as a baby, before being given his heart to prevent Utsuro’s followers from taking it. These are just the most notable examples, pretty much any character younger than Gintoki gets taken care of or helped by him in a way, including Kagura’s older brother, temporary member of Odd Jobs Pirako, and even to an extent youngest Shinsengumi member Okita Sougo. Gintoki is positioned as acting as the same adoptive parent role as his own adopters (Shouyou and his landlady Otose) are, taking on similar burdens and making, or trying to make) similar sacrifices as well. He can be really soft with kids at times, and has at least once carried Kagura and Shinpachi away from a fight on his back.”

2. “#hell adopt your unorphaned kid hell adopt your dad hell adopt his own deaged mentor!!!”

[thecatfight2023]

side B, match 1 (quarterfinals!)

Jellie (GoodTimesWithScar): GoodTimesWithScar's (youtuber) cat, that got a minecraft cat skin after her.

Meowth (Pokémon): "Meowth is attracted to round and shiny objects and has the unique ability to produce coins using its signature move, Pay Day. Being nocturnal, it is known to wander about city streets at night and pick up anything that sparkles, including loose change. Upon finding a sparkling object, its eyes will glitter and the coin on its forehead will shine brightly. It shares this intrigue with Murkrow, with whom it often fights with for objects and prey. Meowth is a playful but fickle Pokémon with the capacity for human-like intelligence, with at least one member of the species teaching itself how to speak."

[nartml]

Still pissed about that Kamomedai match.

Not from a critical perspective.

The fact that they could've—.

No, that they would've won that match, were it not for Tsukki's cramp and Hinata not properly taking care of himself was the point, after all.

It's different to all the other huge Haikyuu matches (Seijoh 2.0, Shiratorizawa, Inarizaki etc).

The reason why the losing team's defeat stung so much was exactly because they could've won.

They could've had it. They gave it their all, and so did Karasuno, but at the end of the day, the winners played just a smidge better on that particular day.

Had it been the next day, or the day before, maybe Seijoh or Shiratorizawa or Inarizaki could've been the winners.

Exactly because these teams were all such strong contenders, and pretty evenly matched with Karasuno. (Though that's not entirely it, but that's a different conversation)

The difference is, with Kamomedai, Karasuno would've won the match.

That they could have goes unsaid.

It's more important that they would have.

And that's the point, and why this defeat stings even more than it would've if they just gave it their all and still lost.

It's not that Kamomedai overwhelmed them, or that they were just objectively better.

Had Hinata been more careful with his health, they would've won.

Self care has been a subtle, ongoing theme throughout the series, which became that much more prominent during the ball boy/nationals arc.

This loss needed to happen, for Furudate to get the point across without leaving a shadow of doubt in anyone's minds:

Taking care of oneself, eating healthy and sleeping well and taking breaks etc, is one of the most mundane, but most important, parts of being an athlete.

A message not just for the audience, but for our protagonist as well.

Personally, I find that this loss was the most meaningful one during Hinata's career.

And the lifestyle he built and maintained for himself in Brazil reflects that he's learned his lesson, and he's not planning to ever forget it.

It was just one of the things that needed to happen, and I think Furudate executed it beautifully.

Hinata's fever also happened around the same time Itachiyama's captain, Iizuna, injured his ankle.

Which highlights the difference between an unpredictable injury you couldn't have prevented, and, say, a fever that could've been avoided had you taken better care of yourself.

Besides all that, it was a good point to end it.

Quarterfinals are nothing to sneeze at.

Not to mention, the boys achieved everything they set out to accomplish.

They made it to nationals, which was the initial goal.

And they finally had the trashcan showdown, which became the second main goal after a point.

All that said, to reiterate my initial statement, I'm still pissed about that Kamomedai match.

I desperately wish that my boys advanced to the semifinals, won those too, and went onto the finals and played against Fukurodani.

Apart from another two legendary matches, we would've gotten to see an official game against Fukurodani, a school that we've been seeing for ages, a school that we've built up, one we know, and one that I was convinced we would encounter in an official match.

And I know that it wouldn't have been all that realistic to beat Ichibayashi, the tournament winners.

But even if they lost in the semifinals, we would've gotten at least one more badass match.

Yes, yes, I'm whining at this point, I know.

However, understanding, appreciating the ending we got doesn't mean that I don't also wish for the fun outcome.

[makoto-shizumu]

A Long Rant About the 2024 Olympics Boxing Gender Row

Disclaimer: DO NOT REPOST. This post contains personal opinions and information gathered over the past week concerning female boxers and Olympic finalists 🇩🇿 Imane Khelif (left) and 🇹🇼 Lin Yu-Ting (right), as well as their opponents. You are welcome to share your thoughts, but if you come to me with hate or an attempt to convince me they are men through claims such as that of XY chromosomes (which have never been proven, mind you), especially if you or your source(s) cite the corrupt, biased and discredited International Boxing Association (IBA), will be blocked and have your comment(s) deleted. If proper fact-checking is too much work for you, I suggest you save your energy and block me instead. On the other hand, if there are relevant updates or information that I may have missed, do let me know in the comments, and I will edit this post accordingly. Lastly, I do not condone the harassment of any of the individuals involved - that time is better spent on more valuable causes such as 🇵🇸 helping Palestinians, 🏳️‍⚧️ supporting trans people, and calling for the rearrest of convicted child rapist Steven van de Velde. Thank you for reading.

Angela Carini is not a hero.

We all know Carini abandoned her match not even a minute in and complained about being “punched too hard” by Khelif - who made the women’s lightweight quarterfinals in Tokyo. The cop competed in the welterweight division and lost her opening bout 2-3 to 🇹🇼 Chen Nien-Chin (who will join Khelif on the Olympic podium, fuck yeah).

Carini’s involvement has gradually garnered less attention since her apology, but she will have a long way to go before she can be forgiven, especially by Khelif. An Italian posted and translated her deleted tweet before the infamous 46-second bout clearly alluding to Khelif as a man, and Algérié Football Média recently released a recording of Khelif, where she explains how Carini’s club and the Italian media took advantage of her.

What’s worse, the IBA decided to offer Carini a hundred grand as a “consolation prize.” At least this time the Italian federation values their dignity more and refused the money.

Luca Hámori is not a hero.

Remember the Instagram story reshares that she had to take down? Besides the bull-headed giant, Hámori reshared another which called Khelif a korcsot - a dehumanizing Hungarian slur which Google interprets as “monster” or “freak,” but more accurately translates to “mongrel.”

Hámori entered the ring expecting to walk out as a “savior,” but it was Khelif who turned out to be the bigger person that day. Upon her victory, Khelif called out the IBA for their abuse towards her, but she fights on because of her faith in justice.

Svetlana Staneva is NOT A FUCKING HERO. Neither is her equally ill-informed coach, Borislav Georgiev.

This case makes me especially furious not just because I’m also a Taiwanese woman like Lin Yu-Ting, but also the abysmal immaturity of 34-year-old Staneva, THE SECOND OLDEST BOXER IN THE FEATHERWEIGHT DIVISION. Even Hámori has shown more decency in the ring, and she’s eleven years younger!

If you, like me, have watched their full match, you should acknowledge that Yu-Ting was undoubtedly the better boxer that day - same case in her RO16 bout against Sitora Turdibekova.

On the other hand, you’ll see that Staneva doesn’t need “protecting,” considering she literally held Yu-Ting by the head and SLUNG HER ACROSS THE RING (around 3:25-3:30). I’m sorry, Staneva, did you ever realize the audience was there to watch boxing and not wrestling?! And she calls herself a “proud XX woman.” Our commentators did not witness that gesture, but if they did I trust they would’ve been fuming as much as I have the past few days.

If she truly were a proud woman, she would not play dirty the entire time, then give up five seconds before the final bell. Look me straight in the eyes and tell me that you would want to be represented by such behavior. I feel sorry for the Bulgarians and her other supporters who had to witness such a shameful performance.

Oh, one more thing… Guess who the IBA gave a bronze medal in the 2023 World Championships after disqualifying Yu-Ting?

That’s right, it was Staneva. No wonder her coach was willing to give up all professionalism and pander to the IBA’s lies. And look what that got them - now they’re not allowed anywhere near the Olympic podium! This could be unlikely, but let’s hope they are punished by the IOC and/or any relevant departments back in Bulgaria.

(I’m not going on Twitter for a better resolution of this photo. This one fries my eyes enough.)

Esra Yıldız Kahraman is not a hero.

I am at a loss of words.

What the actual fuck, Kahraman. We thought you were better than this.

I will only say this once. DO NOT confuse bad sportsmanship, disinformation, transphobia, (inter)sexism, and racism with “defending women’s sports.”

Reducing womanhood to chromosomes, genitalia, physical appearance, and/or some other bullshit is the most despicable and disgusting thing to come out of such hatred, and I will die on this hill. And gender tests? They were abolished due to their ineffectiveness at identifying maleness after Atlanta 1996, but the IBA won’t admit it. And considering their latest mess of a press conference, they would rather stay relevant with empty claims and unnecessary threats. Stop giving them the time of day! Listen to the podcast Tested instead for more info on this matter.

Imane Khelif and Lin Yu-Ting did not make the podium in Tokyo, but they will both leave Paris with their heads high up and medals hanging down their necks - all the while the likes of “fEmInIsTs” and bigots such as J.K. Rowling, Elon Musk, Donald Trump, and Logan Paul can only COPE AND SEETHE. Their victory is a victory for women, a victory for Algeria, a victory for Taiwan, and a victory for the boxing world that I never thought I’d care so much about.

I’m counting on Khelif and Yu-Ting to win gold and dunk on all the haters all over again. But respect to every other medalist in the welterweight tournament for being great sports - 🇨🇳 Yang Liu, 🇹🇭 Janjaem Suwannapheng, and our dearest Nien-Chin. You all deserve the podium! 💖💖💖

[comicaurora]

If you were to actually write a tournament arc (be it in Aurora or a future story) fashioned in your own preferences and ideas, what would it be like?

Oh boy. That's an interesting challenge, because there are so many factors to the Tournament Arc that I just don't like on principle-

Foregone conclusion. If the tournament is centered on a final battle with the Super Scary Big Bad, as they so often are, the heroes are just killing time before they get there, and at least one of the heroes is guaranteed to get to the final round. If the stakes of the tournament are too high, the conclusion is set in stone from the outset. If the heroes are being forced to participate for hostage or supervillain reasons, their victory becomes narratively assured. If the heroes aren't being forced to participate by narrative necessity, then the whole thing becomes an even bigger waste of time.

Formulaic. There's only so much you can mix up a tournament format - environmental hazards, minigames, ring-out rules - and without that, it's just a linear series of fights. Can give the heroes a chance to show off their unique movesets, but narratively they're just ticking up a progress bar before they can get to the end.

Fuckton of characters. Tournament needs meat for the grinder, let's make several dozen characters to throw at the heroes of which maybe five will be memorable enough to recur later. Better make sure they all have interesting gimmicks too - otherwise the formulaic fights will become even more formulaic!

None of these are particularly enticing for me, so in order to construct a tournament arc I actually liked, we'd need to find some way around them:

To avoid a foregone conclusion, the tournament stakes can't be a simple boolean value with "heroes win" and "heroes lose" tied inextricably to things like "heroes save hostage" or "villain destroys entire world." The easiest way to do that is to remove "the heroes" as a single unified participant. It's not a question of whether good will triumph over evil, it's a question of which characters will win and under what circumstances? Part of the reason I liked the tournament arc in MHA more than most is the actual overarching victory was basically irrelevant and our protagonist got eliminated in the quarterfinals, because it was actually all about character development inspired by that fight. So splitting the heroes up, letting them work independently and making their opponents something other than a monolithic antagonistic force would probably help to reduce that issue.

Some tournament arcs also make things more interesting by having a single loss not categorically eliminate a character from the running - the Dark Tournament arc of YYH was pretty good about this, despite being way too long, since it meant protagonists could actually lose fights without being kicked out of the arc entirely, which was a very smart way to keep the tension going, since only a few fights became foregone "either the heroes win this one or they die" situations.

The problem of fights being formulaic can also be addressed here, although I think the more relevant way to fix that is to simply make sure the tournament doesn't drag on for too long. Like, three to five fights is probably the max number we can really focus on. But we can also dodge the formulaic-ness accusations by making sure the fights have more going on than just "which action figure gets mashed harder." This is where most tournament arcs solve things by making a lot of unique gimmick characters with weird powers (so the heroes can't just smack em around the same way every time) and by giving the heroes either handicaps or new abilities/powerups they're still figuring out. This makes the choreography more interesting, and honestly even a really boring plot can be significantly brightened up by extremely cool fight choreography. "They fight and [character] wins" is a single line in the screenplay that can translate into something very spectacular in the execution. But this is, again, something they did in the YYH Dark Tournament arc, and that was still way too much tournament arc, so I think plotline fatigue is a problem that can't entirely be solved by finding new spices to pepper onto the same bracket structure.

You can, of course, also add emotional stakes like "this character's self-worth is tied in with their victory" or "this character is being manipulated by someone else" or "this character is having a personal crisis and handling it poorly" or even something really basic like "the other people in this tournament think we suck, let's prove them wrong."

The "fuckton of characters" problem isn't intrinsically an issue, because it can also be an opportunity to create and introduce a lot of very interesting secondary characters, but it does unfortunately lock them into an extremely artificially constraining plotline. The problem with a tournament arc is it is literally the same subplot template over and over again until the finale inevitably breaks the format. It's an extremely rigid scenario to lock a character-driven story into, and no matter how individually rad parts of the fights are, the overarching structure is repetitive and it limits the characters' ability to shine. Ultimately, no matter how neat or complicated a new character is, they only exist in the arc to be defeated and then get out of the way of the plot. They can have cool stories when they show up later, but in the bounds of the tournament arc they're just more obstacles.

On paper a tournament arc should be a fantastic way to elaborate on a character. The number one recipe for cool character moments is putting that bitch in a Situation and seeing how they handle it, and "a bunch of different fights with different enemies with different powers and different rules" sounds like an ideal Situation Gauntlet. But practically speaking they're all the same! Outside a tournament arc, the stakes of a fight can be anything and the victory condition can be anything. The heroes can bypass the fight, talk down the antagonist, plan a heist, turn the bad guys against each other, organize a prison break, hide and be sneaky - they can find allies, negotiate with political leaders, get captured or rescued, protect someone from pursuit, navigate a hostile and unfamiliar environment, outwit a super-persistent predator, join an underground resistance movement, run off for an angsty solo arc - but within the confines of a tournament, no matter how wacky that tournament might be, everything boils down to a fight with a clear-cut victory and defeat condition. The space of characterization carved out by this format is very, very narrow, so I think legitimately the only tournament arc I would uncritically enjoy is a short one.

[friends-to-lovers-tournament]

Friends to Lovers Tournament: Quarterfinals, Match 4

propaganda under the cut!

Zosan:

They’re rivals yes, but first and foremost they’re best friends. They know each other better than anyone. Sanji asked Zoro to kill him if he’s ever not himself (long story), the implication being that Zoro knows him so well he’d be the first to tell (he would). Your honor, they are friends and they are in love.

Percabeth:

Submission 1

they are the cutest thing ever with 5 books of slow burn

Submission 2

HOW CAN YOU NOT LOVE THEM?? THEY ARE THE BEST OTP! THEY START OFF WITH UNCERTAINTIES BUT ANNABETH CHOOSES TO BE HIS FRIEND, HER FIRST INDEPENDENT STEP TO NOT CONSIDER THE OLYMPIAN'S WISHES WHEN MAKING CHOICES. SHE IGNORED HER MOM'S OPINION GUYS, THAT IS BIG! AND HE DOESNT REALLY HAVE FRIENDS UNTIL THE SUMMER HE TURNS 13 AND SHE IS ONE OF THEM. SHE AND HIM ARE ALWAYS BY EACHOTHER'S SIDES (METAPHORICALLY AT LEAST). THEY WORK TOGETHER ON QUESTS SOO WELL BECAUSE THEY KNOW EACH OTHER THAT WELL. AND SHE KISSED THEM DURING THE LABYRINTH QUEST AND HE KINDA IGNORED IT FOR LIKE A YEAR. AND SHE WAS HIS ANCHOR TO THE MORTAL WORLD. AND HE TOLD HER ABOUT HIS ACHILLES HEEL. AND SHE BACKS HIM UP ALL THE TIME. AND IT WAS THE GREATEST UNDERWATER KISS OF ALL TIME. AND WHEN HE WENT MISSING SHE DID NOT SLEEP. AND SHE WAS ALL HE REMEMBERED WHEN HERA TRIED HER SHENANIGANS. AND THEY FELL TOGETHER. AND THEY ARE EACH OTHERS BEST FRIENDS (sorry grover, but you get it) AND I LOVE THEM TOGETHER SO MUCH. THEY EMAILED EACH OTHER AT 13 BECAUSE CELL PHONES WERE A BIG N O! AND HE KEPT A PICTURE OF HER IN HIS BINDER. AND SHE WANTS TO BUILD SOMETHING PERMANENT WITH HIM.

[theturncoattournament]

The Best New Main Character Tournament (Round 4/Quarterfinal Poll)

Note: I recommend reading this blog's pinned post that explains what this tournament is about before voting

The four most voted for characters on this poll will proceed to the semifinal round; the two least voted for will be knocked out of the competition.

PROPAGANDA:

Palamedes Sextus- You'd have Palamedes and Camilla solving the mysteries of Canaan House and tracking down the murderer, you've got his emotional turmoil at being rejected by the love of his life, you have his sheer bafflement at his good friend Protesilaus taking up a vow of silence and repeatedly attacking this other huge, silent weirdo who showed up. It would also be the best detective novel ending, in that he'd give his solution speech about who the culprit was and how they did it, then immediately explodes. Book over.

Descole- He's the antagonist of the prequel trilogy of games and often helps add to the mysteries to solve. I would love to see his perspective of all he did throughout those games.

Garrus Vakarian- None submitted

Eli 'Weevil' Navarro- Francis Capra is a fantastic and immensely underrated actor and he deserves his own show. Weevil is truly the best character and the under-utilised potential of the parts of his life that should have been relevant and weren't will haunt me until I die (worse because he was a major character/series regular). Please, I am begging you, force Rob Thomas to put his money where his mouth is in actually reckoning with the class (+race) inequality the show is always nominally condemning and then reinforcing every time they give racist millionaire characters a giant narrative spotlight and a seventeenth chance instead of paying attention to their POC regulars with so much more potential

Vee- There is just so much potential! It could be a cute cartoon about an awkward little shapeshifter trying to behave like a human. From time to time, a backstory episode about her past as a basilisk and her escape out of the Boiling Isles. Their closest friend is Masha, who slowly discovers their secret, and becomes their confident, like MoringMark Comics from 2022-10-20. (And of course, romance). With the return of Luz in the the human realm, it could be more psychological, exploring complex feeling toward her (envy, but also affection). But yeah, imagine a cute slice-of-life cartoon with the cutest character of the show! Completely in the mood found family, "weirdos staying together" and "being understood"!

Kim Kitsuragi- None submitted