#i love his self-reflection and sharp awareness of the state of the sport

[hanyusan]

I thought, “This isn’t retirement.” [...] It’s not that I’m withdrawing from the front lines or anything, it’s that I’m at the starting line to become even better.

Yuzuru Hanyu, 19 July 2022 TV Tokyo interview

+ August 2022 NTV News performance of “Intro & Rondo Capriccioso”

[greywritesfics]

One Day At A Time

Overview: The moment you first saw Shinso’s performance at the first year Sports Festival set off a chain of fateful interactions and an unrequited declaration of rivalry. Now, as you stand hand in hand with your husband-to-be, you can’t help but think back to everything that brought you here. 

Pairing: Shinso Hitoshi x Reader

Word Count: 3741

Genre: Scenario, Fluff 

A/N: I had so much fun writing this for the POCuties Server Collab: ‘A Wedding to Remember!’ My heart went binkie boom doom. I hope you all enjoy best boi Shinso!! And thank you to @tui-lah​ for beta reading, I appreciate it! You can find the rest of everyone’s amazing works here.

The flowers entwined between your fingers twinge with sweat from your palms as the beating of your heart ran a mile a minute. Exhaling a breath, you briefly glanced at the bouquet of beautifully arranged flowers before the double doors broke you from your reverie. On either side stood your best friend, Mina, in a beautiful gown that accentuated her figure, and Kaminari, your husband-to-be’s best friend. 

Mina beamed, the black sclera of her eyes twinkling as she caught onto the small sigh of contentment that left your lips as you basked in the physique of the love of your life in a tuxedo at the end of the peddle-filled aisle. The light reflected from the vibrant bouquet, which made you look dazzling in the spotlight. Carrying on an otherworldly trance before the two left your side, not before the blonde sent you subtle thumbs up. 

Facing your groom, your eyes roamed his figure, giving him a once-over. The tuxedo hugged him perfectly, highlighting his broad shoulders and slim build. The black of his suit had a velvet quality to it, and brought something out of him, a self-respecting pride and confidence that had you nibbling your bottom lip. 

“Oh, hello, Mr. Bond,” you whispered with a cheeky grin. You couldn’t help yourself, Shinso looked like the perfect action man with a license to thrill. His typically messy indigo hair was slicked back, or at least tried to be, you had to give him an ‘A’ for the effort. You peaked at the tips that were haphazardly pushed back, intertwining into a beautiful chaos-- you’d fix it later into his naturally ruffled tufts. 

You heard a breathy snort from the man across you. Looking up, your eyes latched onto an all-too-familiar pair of glaciers that resembled hyacinths and the lazy-smirk that had the corner of your eyes softening. 

Shinso reaches out to you as soon as the one to wed you both begins to speak, his calloused hands holding yours. It’s funny actually, as you gaze at your intertwined hands and the paleness of his skin of how the two of you ended up in the aisle together, rings readied to be worn, and a life promised to spend together forever.

You remembered it like it was just yesterday.

After his fight with Midoriya during the first year Sports Festival, you left the stands to find the General Studies student in the hall. Luckily for you, you saw him in no time, the striking lavender hair and familiar U.A. uniform that he wore was hard to miss. You quickly fell into step with his languid steps.

“Shinso Hitoshi, right? I’m (L/N) (Y/N), nice to meet you.”

With his ashy lilac and deeply sunken eyes, he faced you with a bored expression on his face. “Okay.”

The two of you walk in silence for at least a few minutes, his hand coming up to scratch the back of his neck before he speaks. “Uh--” he clears his throat a little awkwardly, “why are you following me?” It was a simple question, not one that harbored an accusing tone, and you were almost shocked by the fact that he made no effort to chase you away.

“Oh shit,” you cursed, smacking your forehead, having forgotten to announce the reason why you followed him in the first place. “My bad, dude, I can’t believe I forgot. You’re my rival.”

“What?” he asked, furrowing his eyebrows, his pace slowing even more until they stopped. 

“Rival, y’ know where two people compete for the same objective or superiority.”

He clicked his tongue, rolling his eyes, “I know what a rival is, but why are you declaring that you’re mine.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. You thought that at this point, it was obvious enough for him to catch on. Maybe he was a bit slow; the bags under his eyes may have killed a couple of brain cells over the years. “‘Cause we have the same goal,” you shrugged your shoulders nonchalantly. “We want to prove everyone who doubts us wrong.” Mich like him, growing up with an ‘evil’ Quirk, you’ve had a fair share of gossip surrounding you. That’s why you wanted to be a hero, to end the discrimination against labeling Quirks as villainous. 

“Really?” he paused, “what would a student from the heroics course know about being deemed as a criminal.” One look into his eyes, and you already knew. The bitterness in his orbs was unmistakable.

“More than you know,” you murmured, refusing to break eye contact. 

The mauve haired boy’s uninterested expression softened at the dispute in your eyes, the corner of his mouth tugging into a small grin. Looking at you properly this time, like he really saw you as a person, not just some random stranger that decided to follow him around.

“Sorry, but no,” Shinso stated, the usual indifference lacing his tone, the smile falling from his face. “I’m not looking to make friends or rivals.”

You giggled mischievously at him, the purple of his eyes side-eyeing you with weariness. “You’re cute,” you state bluntly, bouncing on the balls of your feet. His expression is replaced with a gawk at the pure boldness from you, red splotching on the apple of his cheeks. “You actually think you have a choice! See ya soon, rival!” 

With that, you turn on your heel, searching for your homeless-looking homeroom teacher. You have the perfect recommendation for an intern.  

“(L/N)?” he demanded, stunned by your sudden appearance.

You turned your head from your position on the floor, stretching, glancing toward his direction. “Hey, rival.” The boy looked slightly different from the last time you had seen him, with a bandage-like material wrapped around his neck, similar to Aizawa’s.

Hopping onto your feet, you brushed the dust off your hands, walking onto the mat placed in the middle of the gym as Aizawa spoke up. “Shinso, you’re training with (L/N) today. It’s a joint training to access your weaknesses, first to get knocked down or pushed off the mat loses,” he said, his expression never changing.

Bending down a bit, you prepared to make a move before the boy with lavender hair stopped you in your footsteps. “How the hell did you get Aizawa-sensei to agree to this?” he asked with an amused look in his eyes. 

Smirking, you peered up through your lashes, looking at him with faux innocence. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Yes, you do. At the Sports Festival, you told Aizawa about the general studies student, but Aizawa was already aware of the male since he had taken note of him. Unsurprisingly to you, your teacher decided to mentor the student, and it took a lot of bribing and coaxing for you to convince him to join just one training session, but that’s all you needed. 

You stiffened immediately, your eyes glazing over as you become immobile, not even able to process or think properly. You watch the white of your rival’s teeth move, and the next thing you know, you blink, conscious, and off the mat. The stoic male wore a bored expression on his face as your eyes widen in realization, he just brainwashed you. 

It was as if a match sparked over you as you glared at him. Lunging forward instantly, taking the purple-haired boy by surprise, you brought your leg up to kick him in the shin as he lost balance. Without giving him a chance to catch his breath, you pounced, both arms wrapping around his torso as you tackled him, or at least tried to. It seemed that Aizawa had been training his student well because the tackle didn’t do anything besides move him backward. Quickly, you leaped back, creating a space.

The boy’s ruffled hair from his night’s sleep and current fight had strands sticking together, slick with sweat. “What, that’s all you got?” Shinso asked, but you bit back a sharp remark, refusing to take the bait again. 

Failing to evade the knee that came straight for your abdomen, the impact knocked you back slightly but lacked to knock you down. You were taken aback by his speed and accuracy, and for a second, you wanted to smile at the growth of the male that stood in front of you, it was like he wasn’t the same boy that had lost to Midoriya. 

Focusing on the match at hand, you dodged his next onslaught of attacks, moving efficiently to evade them with the slight knowledge of his fighting style from the Sports Festival. Thanking yourself for forcing all those hours you spent training your physical abilities, you moved forward the moment you noticed Shinso starting to take labored breaths from his never-ending assaults. However, before you could even register what was happening, Shinso loosened the material around his neck, effectively capturing you amid some ridiculously strong bandages. With the help of the capture tape, he swung you around, gathering momentum before releasing you. Before you were thrown off the mat, though, you grabbed the white scarf and pulled yourself safely in bounds. 

With record speed, you raced across to meet Shinso, the capture material moving forward to shield its wielder from an attack, but you abruptly shot your arm up, tensing the male’s muscles you pushed it out of your way, continuing your route to the lilac haired male. Using your remaining strength before your sight dotted from vertigo, a drawback to your Quirk, you used both of your arms to grasp onto his, crouching you flip him over. 

Falling flat on the mat, you heaved a breath and closed your eyes to regulate the spottiness surrounding you. When you heard shuffling, you peaked an eye open, pointedly-eyeing the hovering male. 

“You’ve gotten better,” you commented. 

Shinso let out a soft chuckle. “You’re not half bad,” he countered, crossing his arms before adding, “besides when you became a sore loser and just hopped back in here without a word.”

You gave him a non-threatening pointed look, “hey! I forgot about the brainwashing bit for a second there. Can you blame me?”

Scoffing, you took his outreached hand and pulled yourself up with his combined effort. 

“I mean for a rival, that was just sad,” mused Shinso, running a hand through his hair, tufts of purple sticking out in random directions, suiting him. 

The corners of your mouth lifted up into a smile, a slight stinging sensation from the cut on your lip from the fight somehow, but you didn’t care as your smile widened into a brilliant grin since Shinso finally acknowledged you. “Rival, huh?” you laughed, feeling absolutely delirious. 

After Shinso acknowledged you as his rival, you both became training partners and soon enough close friends. Before either of you knew it, you were already in your second year at U.A., and your purple-haired friend had been accepted into the hero course. 

You’re not exactly sure when you started developing feelings for the boy. Maybe it was the moment he exposed his perfectly aligned teeth, glowing with happiness and hope. Or it was his innate ability to spark a conversation with anyone, despite having a reserved and calm attitude. Even stating that he had no interest in making friends, yet you swiveled your way in and surrounded him with support, along with Kaminari, the greenette, Midoriya, and even the cerulean blue-eyed Monoma. Or it’s his aspiration to usurp anyone who walked the same path as him to become a Pro. Either way, there was no denying the flutters roaming around in your stomach. 

As you heaved, trying to catch your breath,  your exercise friend was doing the same, but talking about something, you weren’t really paying attention to his words. Just hearing his voice made your stomach tingle and your heart beat erratically in your chest so hard that it felt it’d burst. You followed the beads of sweat trickle down his face and run onto his lips, focusing how the red of his tongue would peak out to catch the salty droplets. 

When your eyes met, you swore that your heart thumped so hard that it was audible, even for him. His eyes, those deep magenta orbs that could tell a whole story just by looking at them, felt like you were injected with liquid adrenaline into your bloodstream, and the entire zoo grew rampant in your chest. Shinso’s cat-like eyes felt like looking into the sun for too long-- a maze you could get lost in and soon enough be blinded by. He was so effortlessly looking handsome. 

And his hands. The same slender ones that have been on you time and time again, training after training. The image of his hands brushing against your own as you walk flickers throughout your mind, growing into a daydream of your own intertwining. Suddenly you speak, “Hitoshi, I like you.”

His eyebrows rose in surprise at your confession, mouth ajar, and hand frozen on his capture material. The intensity of his gaze put a crack in your steely disposition as you glance the other way. “But don’t worry. I don’t expect you to say anything, I just wanted to get that off my chest. 

You watched as Shinso grinned, shaking his head in disbelief, his arm rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. He wasn’t one to smile much, never having much reason to and the fact that it took too much effort. But every time you spoke, you somehow made the corners of his mouth tug upwards each time. You didn’t merely speak words with no meaning behind. With every word you spoke, they were curt, straight to the point, and your conversations didn’t need the time-consuming falsehood of small talk. So, it was no surprise when you bluntly admit your feelings to your crush. 

Like you promised, you never forced Shinso to speak up about your confession, not once asking if he felt the same way. You guys’ relationship continued to grow without a hitch, but that never stopped you from making flirtatious remarks with the male from time to time. A cheeky grin permanently painted across your face every time you were with him. 

Scrambling up to your feet, you hurriedly made your way over to him despite your aching muscles. Clasping your hands around his neck in a chock-hold, you used your legs, dropping him on the ground right then and there.

“What were you saying about beating me?” you asked, laughing in between pants. 

After three years of regular quirkless and quirkful combat with Shinso, you both had improved drastically every battle with one another. It took you everything to drop him over your shoulder like before, but you collapsed on the ground next to him, panting as soon as you did. 

“I’m going to kick your ass,” Shinso retorted, looking at you. Picking up on your exhaustion, he rolled over, immediately entrapping you with his weight as he grabbed both arms with his own, pinning you down. 

“That’s not fair! The match was already over,” you pouted, however made no effort to push him off. He grinned, breathing out, his breath fanning over your face. It took mere seconds for him to realize the close proximity of your two faces, his own heating up, instantly taking on a rose hue. He hastily scrambled off of you, looking away as he tried to calm his face. 

“Damn, I was hoping to be wrapped in your arms for longer,” you teased, whipping a fake tear delicately from your face. 

He coughed at your words, choking on the water as his head snaps at you from the comment, hints of pink still present on his cheek. “Huh? Wha--”

“Relax,” you scoffed, propping yourself up with your elbows. “I’m just fucking with you.” As you made your way to your bags that were thrown onto the floor, you patted the male’s toned back as to acquiesce that everything’s alright. But before you can maneuver around him, Shinso’s hand latches itself on your wrist.

“Wait,” he murmurs, pulling you toward him. You make no move to pull away, feeling safe and secure in his arms, not the edge of intensity that comes with dancing with danger in your daily life as a hero-in-training. Subconsciously, you find yourself leaning into Shinso’s embrace, even more, an affectionate smile on his face. 

He tugs your cheek softly. “I like you too.” You stay silent, holding your breath as the pad of his thumb brushes against the skin he just pulled, and fingertips lightly grazing your jaw, you find yourself leaning into his palm, the ends of your lips tipping up slightly. You two focus on one another’s eyes, and all your common sense shuts down because the attention he’s giving you his startling, the vibrant violet of his orbs near closer, stealing your breath. 

You brought your hands to the back of his neck, and in an instant, his lips found yours with a content sigh. Your eyes flutter shut, and even in darkness, you see light exploding. Although his movements were gentle and slow, his lips were firm, the two of you moving in perfect sync, sending shivers down your back. With each move, the blurred lines of your friendship beginning to clear, forming something new entirely. Parting your lips, you sighed as he slowly pulled away from the kiss, his lips plump and red. 

Fluttering your eyes open, you find Hitoshi wearing a sweet smile on his face, filled with affection. His smile was one of happiness growing, much like spring flowers. You could see how it came from deep inside to light his eyes and spread into every part of him. While your heart was pounding, and your lips were still pulsing from the way he kissed you, the silly smile never fell from your face.  

“Finally.”

You and Shinso have been dating for five years now, debuting and growing as Pro Heroes. As time passed, your love for him got even stronger. Whenever he looked at you, it was like every ounce of air was taken from your lungs, floating in the sky like a midnight smoke cloud. Every time your lips tangled, the world would stop, leaving just the two of you wandering the earth together. When the two of you cuddle, and he holds your face between his hands, it’s like he’s keeping you in an eternity of security.

When the two of you were patrolling the streets, you came across chaos and panicked citizens. In the distance, there were flickering flames that hinted something deadly. 

“Stay near me, (Y/N), and be careful,” Hitoshi announced as you catch up to his hurried pacing, nodding in acknowledgment, walking right into the heat of battle. The scene you were met with was unlike the disarray clues you had witnessed from the running citizens earlier. 

All around, you could see the burning of bright orange flames as they devoured everything in their path. Your nose scrunched up in alarm from the smell of charred concrete and ash as they dusted the air. The moment you observed your surroundings, you wished you hadn’t. You narrowed your eyes as a menacing creature hovered around a horde of panicked civilians that desperately tried to scramble away. The beast had an ugly beak head with wings and extra limbs, and bloodlust radiating out of its beady eyes. It’s what every Pro has been acquainted with, a Nomu.

“Ready?” he grunted, quickening his pace to match yours. 

“Always,” you answered, reaching out an arm, and in an instant, you immobilized the Nomu-like creature grasping hold of one of the unfortunate bystanders, your boyfriend running by you with his capture scarf in tow. 

You rushed over to the person ungracefully falling with its captor. Grabbing the man’s arm, you slung him over your shoulder as you hauled him to safety. The man gasped out a thank you, slumping over a wall a fair distance away from the fighting, trying to catch his breath. 

When you ran back into action, you and Hitoshi captured villains, the Nomu, and protected citizens. Multiple other heroes had arrived at the scene at this point, and the creature had been dragged out of by policemen, sirens echoing down the streets.

You had been rambling to your boyfriend about your costume, mentioning that you’d need to see Hatsume soon for some upgrades, but as you glanced over at him, you recognized the far offness in his eyes. 

“Hitoshi?” you ask with furrowed brows, snapping your finger in front of him.

He blinks, his hands finding purchase around your waist. He pulls you closer as he nudges his head between your neck, and you wrap your arms around him. “I love you,” he whispers into your hair. Pulling back slightly, he reaches for your hands, interlocking them. A light smile adorned your face as you looked into his unblinking dark purple eyes.

“Will you marry me?”

Now, as you stand in front of your soon to be husband, you feel the way your heartbeat picks up while your lungs fill with more air, but at the same time, you feel incredibly light. This is it. You’re seriously going to marry the love of your life. 

There is so much to admire about him like his raw honesty. The way his words spill out real slow as if the truth can take its time. There’s like a force behind them, yet the kind that is respectful and quiet-- an observant and patient determination. He supports your pure, unadulterated personality, the good and bad. But of everything, it was looking in his eyes you loved the most. That’s all you ever needed to connect, just you and him, eyes, no words.

“You may now kiss.”

Shinso ran the tip of his tongue along his lower lip, gently drawing you closer to him, placing both hands on either side of your face. You two share a brief but deep kiss, yet you two are still grinning afterward as cheers from friends and families surround the two of you like magic, causing you to shiver in complete pleasure and ecstasy. 

In a world of chaos, the two of you find a place where togetherness means peace, where savage winds cease, and no clouds can block the warmth of the brightening rays. 

And neither of you would want to have it any other way. 

[bentenharuki]

So while looking at my favorite episode in Haikyuu anime this past week (in Italy, Man-Ga channel on Sky is broadcasting Haikyuu Season 2), I felt the urge to dissect a bit of the things that in Haikyuu gets so often mistaken regarding Kageyama. And Oikawa. And generally, a ton of dynamics that become highlighted especially in season two of the anime.

I chose to make a little video out of the parts of the manga which are matching Episode 6 (TEMPO/Timing) and I isolated the parts with The Lord Kags and Oikawa as their relationship is the single most pushing element in all of Kageyama’s development as a player up until he meets Atsumu and Sakusa in the manga (because of course, finally meeting with potential PEERS in his career would ignite a ton of reverberating effects for such a perceptive player such as Kageyama is).

I LOVED dearly all about episode 6 immediately, much like I have loved the manga parts (which are better, and more defined though, hence my choice to use them as material here).

First of all, the epiphany of the interaction between what shall be two rivals and enemies, which immediately looks nothing like it.

When Kageyama meets by accident Oikawa, he immediately relies on him for advice.

Why?

Because there is NO ONE Kageyama looks up beside Oikawa, until he will meet Sakusa and the likes.

NO ONE. Of course he interacts with his Karasuno teammates and respects his senpais there (he does, especially the third years) but they treat him already like he is better than them (he IS) and they ask him about deep strategy details right off the bat (it’s Kageyama suggesting first Hinata as a decoy, mind you!) so it’s not like he can ask them much beside some needed team dynamics outlooks.

In Kageyama’s mind, Oikawa is STILL his senpai to look up to, where things about the practical parts of the volley game concern.

This may shock the naives unless one doesn’t accept that the infamous and way exaggerated episode of the slapping at Kitagawa isn’t anything which has shocked Tobio AT ALL. He eats quietly after it. He isn’t affected at all by what has happened.

Oikawa was the one all shocked, NOT Kageyama.

This because the emotional one between the two IS OIKAWA, who is immature and weak and scared in front of his kouhai’s presence, NOT the opposite. But he becomes all calm and reflective and sharp and on point when is about volley advice, because he feels THERE he can still teach and be above Kageyama, although minimally, for a little while more. This because Oikawa has always gotten a team and a coach behind him, unlike Kageyama who had no teammates and also NO coach at Kitagawa, being the coach a fool unable to guide him at all, feeling his overwhelming talent as a reason in itself to let him run free (idiocy: especially the most talented need a guide, to not being left alone with their talent, which is useless if not controlled).

This all is still clear even in this episode.

What wounded Kageyama at Kitagawa WASN’T Oikawa.

It was Kunimi, Kindaichi and the rest’ abandonment of him, unexplained, cruel and cold.

And it’s not like kageyama is not aware of all that.

He is.

Kageyama is very open, honest and straightforward and also VERY intelligent.

When Tsukishima first teases and mocks him about what made him break at Kitagawa, Kageyama as the King and special soul he is DOESN’T deny it hurt him. He states it clearly.

No shame, no sugar coating (which SHOCKS Tsukishima, because he thought he could easily wound Kageyama saying those things), just the truth.

Kageyama is the STRONGEST character in Haikyuu, and it makes me vomit when people depict him any differently.

He is a Kingly and High Above Everyone BEAST.

Nothing delicate or weak about him.

NOTHING.

So during this episode, Kageyama speaks and almost imposes to Oikawa to answer him, with that adorable (to me it is very adorable) Kingly attitude he has where if he wants something, he gotta fight to obtain it, no failure allowed.

Oikawa complies… why?

Why giving his future (almost contemporary) nemesis the final key to surpass him (which he will do invariably by the end of the season?)

Because in a twisted way, Oikawa is BOUND to Kageyama.

His existence is the push for him, too.

Oikawa thrives because he feels he has to face a kraken who’s going to eat him alive, and that makes him able to polish his skills and work on himself the most.

Their reciprocal growth is interconnected, and in a subliminal level, they BOTH understand this.

Not only.

Their interactions are completely devoid of any fakery.

When they speak, they can tell one another EXACTLY what they think, and when one of the two tries not to, the other asks for complete truth, GETTING IT.

It’s extraordinary, and it’s the deepest bond Kageyama has in the whole saga.

He is forced to stay with Hinata.

They are teammates after all.

But the way he seeks for Oikawa… that is HIS CHOICE. He could have met him in this episode and let him go as Oikawa was trying to make it happen: but Kageyama DOESN’T. He can’t miss the opportunity. He WANTS to have Oikawa’s advice. He NEEDS it.

He looks up to the one he thinks can help him, because he admires greatly Oikawa.

Always.

There is NEVER anything clearer in Haikyuu than the utmost consideration Kageyama has for Oikawa, which is hilarious giving how SCARED and unable to keep his cool with him Oikawa is.

Oikawa is a very intelligent person (the smartest one in the saga along Tsukishima) but he is also very sensitive and fragile and with not much concept of himself (unlike Kageyama, who has complete dominance over his own being, and doesn’t despise any part of himself, just like the super cool one he is), which brings him swinging moods and reactions when with Kageyama, trying to be condescending the most, but failing (in this specific episode, his mask crumbles thanks to his nephew TAKERU, whose faces at Oikawa are ME in the whole of this episode).

In the end though, everything that Oikawa says constitutes the push and the inspiration Kageyama imposes himself to follow from there on.

Kageyama won’t be a coward; he will try to see things from another perspective; he will reimagine all his approach at tossing once again.

NOT FOR HINATA, Hinata is the outcome, not the starting point. He will because he has to master all about volley, and since Oikawa says to him what he should do, he, believing Oikawa KNOWS, will TRY to follow that input he has been given.

It’s ALL on volley.

For Kageyama, volley is the only thing that matters.

What amazes me, is that Kageyama is ZERO self considerate.

While people often can’t see it, and this also makes me mad, Kageyama tries always to get better and never feels satisfied.

Anyone else would get offended by Oikawa’s words, being called coward, and back to dictatorship.

Anyone else would stand on their own ground, blind and deaf to the accusation, especially if aware of their own worth as Kageyama anyway is.

Kageyama?

He thinks first if he actually COULD IMPROVE.

This will also be what he will do when Hinata will accuse him of having backtracked on trying the toss (as usual, with arrogance and zero tact). Kageyama will immediately question himself HONESTLY, and being strong and cool, the fact he may have won’t break his spirit (like it would if he were a weak person), on the opposite, it will push him further ON and ON.

This is amazing.

These are all reasons for which I love Kageyama so much.

He is a perfect character, so strong, so willful, so determined and pure in his targeting towards unbound greatness.

Kageyama is the quintessential sport master.

That’s why people unaware of sports really can’t get him.

Another part of the episode focuses on who has the command of attack in volleyball.

This is another thing that needs to be explained to the poor minds trying to understand things they have no handiness in.

When in the episode Oikawa, Ukai senior and others say that during attacks (or in this case, better, QUICKS) the INITIATIVE is belonging to the spiker, they state the TRUTH.

What they won’t explain (and what tons of light people involved in Haikyuu won’t understand, because they have no actual fondness no direct experience of the sport Haikyuu itself is based on ) is that what is prerogative and final choice ONLY of the setter is WHICH ATTACKER WILL BE USED. 

This makes the setter the ruler on a court. Let’s try to explain to the light headed: if a setter has more than an option to use in attack, he will choose which attack to execute. So, while the initiative for an attack belongs to the spiker, it’s all but decided if THAT will be the attack effectively used.

When there is always ruckus on how “connected” Kageyama and Hinata are, people tend to forget that options for The Lord Kags aren’t that many, especially with the starter form of Karasuno team, before many of them will improve a bit, giving Kageyama more actual options.

But I always say to those blabbing about “connection” this: WHAT IF KAGEYAMA COULD USE PEOPLE LIKE BOKUTO or Ushijima? Do you REALLY think he would keep using Hinata? You dream.

No matter how fictionally fast and jumping the midget becomes (and that REALLY is a work of superpower fantasy, hence my calling of him Boku No Hero Karasuno), point is Hinata still light & scrawny. His shortness and lack of weight makes him having ZERO power. No matter how fast one can be, people will catch up to velocity in volleyball. So you have to have POWERFUL people on your team. People whose height PLUS weight can translate into a mattering attack, an attack infused with power which derives from height plus weight (and technique plus jump). Hinata has just the jump (an irrational one, but let’s let him have that).

In no real team where Kageyama could have different options with talented and mighty spikers someone like Hinata could survive.

That’s why Furudate has to fool people with the so called “connection”, making Kageyama being “drawn” at Hinata (it happens a lot of times in the manga to have Kageyama reflect on how Hinata forced him in a way to toss to him).

It’s the only (irrational and irrealistic in real volley life) way such a midget could be the protagonist of the saga. By FORCING the only one able to make something worthy out of him bound to him (forcefully).

This is why I am SO disappointed at Furudate, who started good on real volley premises and now is progressively fading into a realm of superpower and untrue projectivity.

But let’s get back to scratch.

In this episode, it’s stated more than once that given Hinata’s inabilities in pretty much everything, poor Kageyama HAS TO IMPROVE in the sense to give the midget opportunity to “fight on his own” (how IRONIC… it’s not really on its own this way it is?) poor genius prodigy kid has to FORCEDLY create from nothing.. hear me now… a STOPPING TOSS to allow the midget to spike it.

Whenever I get bombed with the “oh so cute moment” (NAH) where Kageyama visualizes five Hinatas to set his magical toss right, I cringe at the comments saying “Look, he only does it thinking about Hinata!” like it is some sort of super tied connection between the two.

IT IS NOT: Kageyama visualizes only Hinata because ONLY HINATA IS SO WEAK to need such a toss tailored at him.

People with more qualities than just his jump would spike another type of toss, and in fact, as Karasuno progresses as a team, this becomes all the more true. The only one needing “special care” is Hinata, but just because that’s the only way for him to achieve results (always on the Lord’s back).

Ah, and don’t get fooled. From now on it will be clear this special stopping toss is in itself a STAGGERING PHENOMENAL move. Every other setter at any level will simply say that’s a thing ONLY Kageyama can do that perfectly well.

When Akaashi and Bokuto witness it in the camp, and Bokuto asks flat out to Keiji to do the same for him, Akaashi simply states the regular, namely that HE CAN’T DO IT. He can’t, because Kageyama is at another level of capacity compared to him (or anyone else, probably save Sakusa).

So, The Lord Kags keeps being awesome and do the amazing things only he could because it’s his call, to be the best.

He doesn’t do it FOR HINATA.

That’s the consequence of another input, not the first one.

Kageyama does it because it’s a challenge for him as a setter, to manage that special toss. He does it because Ukai believes he can. He does, to show Oikawa that he can give the midget THE BEST TOSS ever, something only he could.

He does it because if he can THINK of something, he - like the monster champion prodigy he is - will try to DO IT, no matter how extraordinary it could seem to others.

Because Kageyama has learnt how the setter gives people their chance at 100% potential, (he has learnt it from Oikawa’s existence, Ushijima’s words on him, and got PUSHED by that to SURPASS that, thing that he ACHIEVES already creating the stopping toss, as that isn’t simply to give somebody his 100% potential, but MORE than it, given that the sole 100% of Hinata wouldn’t suffice, words of both Ukais, to perfect the special move), so he wants to challenge himself and give Hinata a chance.

That chance ISN’T because he has who knows what special link to Hinata.

It is because, given his limits, Hinata is the only spiker who NEEDS something special just tailored on him to perform.

And that is a setter’s responsibility to achieve.

Kageyama BLEEDS to achieve that.

What pisses me off greatly is that such a phenomenal efforts is simply unseen by ordeals of lightheaded “Haikyuu fans” (call them midget and unbelievable hero’s fans, not volley fans for sure…), while it is clear how much Kags is versed in getting something incredible done.

I also always laugh at how they think he is “emotionless”. He is COOL, which isn’t emotionless. Being cool is a way to deal with emotions too.

Just look how he reacts when he can’t immediately get the toss right with Yachi.

He gets all raging, but then, being a natural champion who understands how freaking out won’t help him reach his targets, he just breathes in and resets that disappointment to start it over again.

And when, along Takeda sensei, he GETS the toss, does he stop there?

NO WAY, he pushes on because he knows in sports the effort never ends.

You are a prodigy?

It ends even later, because people will ask you to do impossible things’ and you will oblige because YOUR LIFE IS THAT SPORT YOU LOVE.

Another point.

This REALLY makes me angry a lot.

In the subsequent episodes of this toss saga, one of the stupidest parts is when Yachi and her pea-sized brain calls Hinata’s expectations about the toss “the showing of a King”.

It is, in the sense the obnoxious midget has asked to obtain something, and he later gets it as he demanded to.

This is EXACTLY what has taunted Kageyama’s back in middle school. To ask people something he thought they could perform, and getting ostracized for it.

Now tell me: if Hinata does EXACTLY the same this round of events, what makes his “kingly attitude” in there a GOOD thing people are enthusiast of, and on the reverse that same thing had made Kageyama a pariah in his old days?

WHAT?

Because the only difference in those two attitudes is that while Kageyama couldn’t obtain a thing from his Kitagawa teammates, because they were not at his level to perform what he wanted, in this case Hinata gets his wish BECAUSE KAGEYAMA’S ABILITY IS FROM ANOTHER GALAXY, not because Hinata’s attitude was anything different than what Kags’ showed in Kitagawa.

But Hinata is cute and so sweet and he’s short and he gets through so much to succeed so let’s hype him, while Kageyama, well, Kageyama is a genius so we can’t really get him therefore let’s assume he is just a strange freak and blame him when we can.

I HATE THAT.

Kageyama is volleyball perfection and he is surrounded by a bunch of scrubs and he has to endure so much to be what he has to be, and he should be shown tapestries of rose petals just for existing to be walked over, not having to stand a loud redhead midget trying to exploit him without mercy (this is what Hinata mostly does) and with ZERO manners at that, while getting pity because he so unsocial and needs to learn how to communicate with teammates who mostly are not on his spectrum at all.

Kageyama doesn’t need to learn to communicate.

He needs just to practice volley and find channels to express his visions there, he needs to be socially skilled to relate to his teammates, but not at any point he needs to be social to have them as friends, this unless he’d like to have them there too.

Does he? We don’t know and so far there is NOTHING which tells us he considers any of Karasuno people more than teammates or acolytes.

And, just to be clear...To be super social isn’t forcedly a desirable skill.

Some people are social, some people are not.

What does make more social people better?

NOTHING.

They may be in need of being social because otherwise they couldn’t deal with the world themselves?

Some of them may need to be social because their weaknesses can be hidden in large numbers gatherings?

They like it because they can find people to use better being social, rather than not?

I mean, being social in itself ISN’t either a positive or a negative.

It is a trait, much like having eyes of a color rather than another.

Kageyama needs to improve his social skills for VOLLEY?

Yes, that’s right, and he tries. He tries hard at that, and it is the MAIN reason he looks up to Oikawa, because he has that ability naturally with the Seijou team, and Kageyama longs to try and get better at that.

But does he need to become a super frilly individual in life, too?

NOT AT ALL.

His coldness and perceptivity and single minded focus are awesome.

They make him so unique and regal and elegant and distant, he oozes charm that way.

A social Kageyama in life could be almost irking, for all we know.

And in no way better than the way he is now.

NOT A SINGLE WAY.

So, that’s it.

My rant’s done.

Somehow I felt like to write this will satisfy me for a longer time than originally intended.

The world doesn’t deserve Lord Kageyama’s perfection.

It’s just not worthy of so much, right?

;)

[obduratemoon]

Sedimentary City 06: Love & Violence

Love comes preceded by 3 occurrences of synchronicity, one may have been told by a street augur.

Jan first saw her walking across the aerial hallway connecting the twin towers of the Central Confederated Academy, a long and tubular walkway strung up like a strand of gossamer. Despite assurances of rigidity by its engineers, it swayed imperceptibly in the wind often causing those inside to feel unease. Eva walked passed, wan and unsteady, a hand gripped clammily on the railings.

He was struck by an instant and uncanny recognition. Who was she? Why did this stranger feel familiar? It was a dolorous and sweet sensation unexplainable as déjà vu and just beyond reach, like a ghost or figurant in a dream misplaced upon waking but remnant in impression.

He looked away just as she looked up, telegraphing exactly what he was trying to hide. What could have Eva seen in that sky suspended hallway? A diffident and clumsy school boy in the body of a gangly man, clearly Level 1 birthed and pedigreed into a family and society who knew no other level or life, a person whose every intimate and subconscious mannerism was congruent to the hallowed and beatific nest of this world’s affordances. Shiftly eyed like a thief or miscreant, he felt himself uncomfortable and self aware as he passed her. All for nothing; she was too nauseated to notice.

The second time they met was at a noodle shop, a popular stand where Jan often went to slurp thick strands drenched in spice and pungent ferment. He always ate too fast with eyes closed and rolled up like a shark in the act of feeding, his mind obviated by the sensations of the tongue and teeth, lost and devolved in a participation mystique within the penumbra of taste. And when he finally looked up from his bowl and saw her standing there with an amused smile in her eyes, eyes which laughed and expressed merimert more than her lips, Jan was once again embarrassed. His lips were cherried grotesquely like a clown from the red oil, an errant noodle dangling from a mouth slightly ajar, a simple kind of comedy that brightened her day.

The third time was at a Samuelson rally held in some interstitial and contingent space between level 1 and level 2, where he had been listening in thrall and, then at the end, joined in choral solidarity with the audience, chanting slogans and lost in the collective. Some youthful part of him thought that he had at last found a purpose, a reason like a life raft bobbing on the oceanic ennui he had been dropped into. He felt a tap on his shoulders and found her standing there, eyes again merry and lips wry with amusement.

“I didn’t know you were a Samuelson supporter,” she said.

Jan looked at her surprised, overjoyed at her presence, the thrill of the rally having touched a genuine and innocent thread in his soul causing it to efflux, overflow, and show itself in an opened and unabashed way. His eyes were lit up like twin molotov cocktails exploding at the end of graceful and parabolic arcs. “Oh, it’s you!” he said, automatic and sincere. In that moment Eva thought he looked like a smiling puppy; in that moment his face struck her as dear and lovable.

“Yea, he’s incredible isn’t he?” Jan continued, sort of breathless, “And his theory of the egalitarian imperative and his critiques of the State are undeniable! But what are you doing here? I’ve seen you at the academy right? I have no idea who you are”, the last sentence trailing off and spoken to himself. “Who are you? Where did you come from?”

He was still young, some core portion of him untouched and vibrant, a sapling replete with vitality in his phloem. That he was drawn to Eva was a foregone conclusion, for she was that dusky image inside of him now reified and reflected in all objectivity. That she liked him as well was the sort of mystery the universe will guard until its final moments, when the whole association of stars and planets, of matter inverted, of memories, dreams, and stories, of those made flesh and those ghostly likewise wink out in a final and resplendent collapse snuffing it all out in a complete and orbicular death, a voiding of the here, then, and ever-will-be into a kind of non-existence that would never be imagined in the minds of sentients, who shall also be annihilated as if never’d and nothing to begin with as well.

A voice broke his reverie, “Hey, where you from, huh? You aren’t from here are you? You’re from one of the upper levels right? That’s where you come from? Hey, what’s the matter, are you hard of hearing?”

Jan turned towards the voice and saw a sharp face, nose like a beak with eyes slant and predatory. He was tall and spindly, folded like a crane on the other side of the bar, smiling a scant and untrustworthy smile. To his right sat his friend, a large and hairless man, a pink meaty face full of idiotic menace, a flesh-orb with thin colorless lips that opened to join in, said: “Yea, you from up there?” Sausage like fingers gestured approximately upwards as if pointing out some stain on the ceiling. “What’s it like up there?”

He looked at them and offered no reply, a bit stunned like an uncomprehending spectator at the beginning of a slow motion accident. Part of him thought he should do something, but he also felt paralyzed and mute even as adrenaline filled his vessel. Don Quixote and Sancho Panza from hell, Jan thought, suddenly remembering some ancient text.

The young bartender receded to the back of the bar, uninterested in any involvement. The rest of the patrons spectated with a familiar mixture of interest and boredom as if watching a rerun.

“You should reply when someone talks to you,” the sharp faced one said, voice treacly with malice. “It’s just polite, we’re just trying to make conversation.”

“Yea say something,” boomed the big one, for all his corporeality reducing himself into an insubstantial echo. Then the slender one downed his drink and approached Jan, the meatier one following like an indentured golem. Jan’s heart sank. His antagonist leaned an arm against the bar and bent at the hips to bring his keen face close enough for Jan to smell the complex notes of halitosis and ethyl. Jan noted with some relief that they did not appear to be wearing All-Suits but rather regular clothing, the tall fellow sporting a black short sleeved jerkin exposing lean and sinewed arms. The bigger guy wore a colorful assortment of loose colors and fabrics, looking like some demented jester.

“What’s your name, motherfucker? Where are you from?”

“I’m just passing through. There’s no need for any of this,” Jan replied.

“You better just tell him your name, buddy,” urged the big guy while calmly limbering up with head circles, the lack of a perceptible neck making the whole exercise look comical.

Someone in the bar interjected, “Just leave him be, Chiklin!” Thus named, Chiklin turned and spat, turning his hawk like face towards the speaker. “Shut it!” he said and then restored his malign gaze to Jan. “Get up!” he commanded.

Jan did not reply but instead remained seated, his head bowed saying nothing, one hand hidden underneath the bar as the sleeve of his All-Suit quietly extended itself to cover his hand with a glove, growing embossments of little hard pebbles over his knuckles.

“I said get up, fucker!” Chiklin repeated. Jan finally looked up at him feeling inexpressibly sad down to his core. Why this, why now, he wondered, feeling tired and demoralized by this collusion of randomness and violence.

“Hey, listen friend, we don’t have to do this. Can I buy you and your friend a drink? Whatever you like. I don’t want any trouble, I can leave if you like.”

Chiklin gave him a nasty look and then turned back to look at his corpulent friend chortling malevolently, “Look at him, Zasha, he’s about to cry!” and then turning back, “Are you about to cry? Is that what’s happening now, friend? Fuck me, you are! Haha haha!” and then suddenly serious, he said: “You’d better get up now.”

Jan commanded the All-Suit to inject hypodermic meta-amphetamines into his bloodstream, he could feel a vicious coolness spread through his arms and dissipate towards a heart which was revving up like a hard driven engine. Feeling immediately brave, he stood up while pivoting his hips to execute a cross, the All-Suit contracting and stretching subtly in order to impart the last little bit of force to that clenched hand made into trebuchet stone. The impact of the punch sent out a well described plume of spittle, pellucid but dotted with specks of red; it sent Chiklin flying backwards and crashing into a table, scattering the patrons seated there. Jan had probably broken his large beak nose and some teeth as well.

Zasha boomed: “Not very fair, using your fancy All-Suit, not very fair at all,” and in a swiftness belied by his size and slothy demeanor lunged forward and swung both arms, extending further than seemed possible, around to clap Jan’s head between two meaty mitts like two steel doors swung in upon each other.

Pain exploded in Jan’s ears, a thunderclap of jangly sounds went off in the middle of his cranium. He let out an involuntary scream that he himself could not hear, his ears now filled with a cacophonous ringing that caused him to stumble down onto one knee. Confused and vertiginous, he wrapped his arms around his throbbing head, holding it with desperate affection like a mother embracing a dying infant. The big guy then front kicked him plumb and square in the face, the hard shod feet crumpling Jan’s face with a reverberant crack. It all dimmed for him.

When he came to he was outside and on the ground, curled up in a fetal ball as Chiklin and Zasha stomped him with gusto, arbitrary furies enacting a pointless retribution. The All-Suit was protective but only partially absorbed the force of those many blows. Jan wondered at the vast and unplumbed sadism now being doled out with such casual generosity. He wondered if they would simply keep kicking him until the end of time itself.

At last he heard someone call out: “The police will be here soon.” The violence ceased and there was the sound of receding footsteps. Jan sat up to see snot and blood oozing down his chest and the young bartender regarding him.

“Damn, they really did a number on you,” he observed.

Adrenaline and speed left his body in a rapid ebb and Jan began to shiver from their sudden recession, feeling cold and hollow. A pain that had been heretofore suppressed rose up like an unwelcome moon. He felt exhausted.

Jan forced out a hoarse whisper, “Please … please don’t call the police.” Something seemed to be off within his mouth but he was not sure what, his teeth felt weird, his tongue no longer in its familiar cage.

“Too late. I don’t want to see them any more than you do. But they’ll be here soon,” the bartender repeated matter of factly.

“I have to go,” Jan mumbled to himself, “I can’t be here when they arrive.” He tried to stand up, and perhaps he even did so for a tottering second. Then the young bartender watched as Jan’s eyes turned vacant, his tall and still frame falling hard like some Icarian returned to earth.

[fandammit]

Wonderwall (2/5)

[A/N: Nearly 6000 words and I didn’t even get to the promised slow dance. Probably 4000 words are straight up dialogue, so I hope you like talky fics. As always, thanks to @shefollowedfires for her help in making sure people don’t sigh and shrug forty times a chapter.]

on Ao3 || Chapter 1

Abby shifted, determined not to turn back around and catch another peak. She tilted her head in confusion at Callie.

“Wait, how did you not know what he looked like? I thought you Facebook stalked everyone.”

“I did. But he’s your same level of weird. His profile picture is a random landscape photo and everything else he’s tagged in is from faraway or from a weird angle.” She raised a teasing eyebrow at Abby. “Believe me, had I known he’d gotten this hot, I would’ve mentioned it to you earlier. As it is, he is now definitely top of the list.”

Abby shook her head.

“For you, maybe.  

Callie threw back her head and laughed.

“Ok,” she said once her laughter had died down, “because you didn’t just stare at him and imagine running your hands through his hair and beard.”

Abby drew her brows together, an indignant look on her face even as she wondered just how exactly Callie had pinpointed her line of thinking.

Callie looked at her over the top of her wine glass.

“Hey, who knows? After all those years of arguing with each other - maybe beneath all that angry tension is a whole lot of sexual tension.”

“No, I’m pretty sure that beneath that tension is just more tension.”

“C’mon, at least flirt with him.”

“Callie, why don’t you flirt with him. He could be your type.”

“Oh, please. Don’t try and deflect, Abby. We’re here for you, not for me.” She sighed melodramatically. “Besides, if you’ll remember - Marcus Kane is immune to my charms.”

“I do remember. You used to flirt with him relentlessly.”

Callie grinned at that.

“If you’ll remember correctly - I used to flirt with everyone relentlessly.”

Abby raised a brow.

“Used to?”

Callie didn’t answer, though her expression deepened into something slightly more mischievous. She leaned over to glance over Abby’s shoulder.  

“Anyway, I mostly flirted with him because he was so damn unflappable.” She looked back over at Abby with a smirk. “Except for, you know, when it came to you.”

Abby rolled her eyes.

“Yes, then he was just pissed off rather than emotionless.”

“Ok, fair. But you were the only one that could ever get a rise out of him. Figuratively speaking, of course.” She grinned wickedly at Abby. “Though maybe tonight you - .”

Abby held up a hand and shook her head.

“Please don’t.” She shifted in her seat. “Besides, I can’t imagine we’d even have anything to talk about. I mean, we had nothing in common even then.”

Callie nodded sagely.

“Right.”

Abby nodded, tilting her head towards Callie as she did to add emphasis to the motion. Callie continued to look at her with a glint in her eye, nodding her head and pursuing her lips as she did.

She sighed.

“What, Callie?”

“Just that, you know, you actually did have a lot in common.” She tapped her fingers onto the table. “You took all the same classes. You were both in Student Government and on the Debate Team and in Yearbook.” She paused and furrowed her brows. “You were even both in Track and - oh my God, Abby.”

Abby leaned forward, her hand going out in an open gesture as she tilted her head towards Calie.

“What?”

Callie looked over her shoulder again in what she assumed was in Marcus Kane’s direction, shooting him a look of such unhinged glee that Abby could only hope his back was turned. She didn’t want to have to explain away her friend’s temporary case of insanity.

“Callie - what is going on with you?”

Callie’s attention snapped back to her, her glee practically sending her bouncing in her chair.

“Abby, he totally did those things so that he could spend time with you.”

Abby leaned away from Callie, crossing her arms in front of her and shaking her head.

“Oh my god, no. I am not going to participate in your revisionist history of our time in high school.“

“Abby, seriously - what’s revisionist about it? Mr. Kaforous spent two full years trying to recruit Marcus to the debate team. Then you join and all of a sudden he’s the first one on the sign up list.”  

“It was our Junior year,” she shot back, “he needed to bulk up his resume.”

“But why not Academic Decathlon instead, which, let’s face it, was totally up his alley?” She leaned forward, her eyes shining with some weird excitement as her theory began to run through her mind. “Why’d he join Track and not Cross Country like the rest of the Soccer guys? And why Yearbook instead of Newspaper, even though I can tell you firsthand that Mrs. Belanger begged for him to join us every year?”

Abby looked around, casting her glance as though the answer to Callie admittedly good string of questions was on the table around her. When she couldn’t find one, she simply looked at Callie and pursed her lips.

“I don’t know why he did those things, Callie. But they must've had some added benefit we aren't thinking of.”

A self-satisfied smile spread itself across Callie’s face.

“Um, I'm telling you I do know the benefit and it’s that he got to spend time with you.” She stared at Abby, her smile spread so wide Abby wondered if her cheeks hurt. “You know, I always thought he was into you the back half of our Senior year, but now I'm pretty sure that he spent half of high school in love with you.”

“Callie, even if were true that he joined all those clubs because of me, you know how Kane was - he was probably just trying to figure out a way to get under my skin - and don’t,” she said holding up a warning finger, “turn that into an innuendo.”

Callie shut her mouth tightly, very obviously keeping herself from saying any more. She took a long drink and set down her glass, then looked at Abby thoughtfully, her fingers tapping out a rhythm against the table

“Just say it, Callie,” Abby said after long, loaded moment.   

“Ok, just - there is some evidence that he wasn't as bad as you remember.” She took in Abby’s raised brow and nodded. “When he was chair of the athletics committee, he worked really hard to get new jerseys for all the girls’ sports teams because they were like, ten years old and disgusting.”

“Because he cared about females in sports?”

“Well,” Callie hedged, “mostly because he cared about our image as a school, but hey, the girl’s soccer team finally got new jerseys, so I was grateful.”  

“Of course. The school image reflected on him, so he wanted to make sure we looked good.”

Callie finished her drink before she continued.

“He also used to tutor people after school in the library. Do you realize he was basically the reason that we had the highest percentage of people in the state pass all the AP History tests three years straight?” She reached across the table and took a sip of Abby’s wine. “He’s the reason I even managed to get a three on the AP US History test. You remember how useless Mr. Lemons was.”

Abby furrowed her brows at Callie.

“I didn’t know that.”

Callie lifted a shoulder in a easy gesture.

“Why would you? You never needed one and you definitely never would’ve asked him to be one.”

“I mean, I didn’t know you needed a tutor. You could’ve asked me.”

Amusement flashed across Callie’s face.

“Abby.”

“What?” Abby asked, indignant. “I got a five on that test.”

“Honey, you know I love you and I’m sure you’d be great at it now, but in high school -.” She shrugged her shoulders. “You were just so naturally great at everything that it frustrated you when other people weren’t.”

Abby blinked rapidly at that, caught off guard by the statement.

“And he wasn’t?” She asked, not even trying to dig at the man, mostly just curious about it all.

Callie shook her head.

“I’ve known Marcus since pre-school. He always had to work a lot harder at everything than you did. Not just the social stuff, though God knows how much work he needed in that department, but all the academic stuff, too.Somehow that made him a good tutor.”  

“I didn’t know any of that stuff.”

Callie arched an eyebrow over the lip of Abby’s wineglass.

“As if it would have mattered.”

“It might have,” Abby said defensively, though not with any real conviction.  

Callie gave her a look of pure affection.

“Abby, one of the things I love about you is that once you decide on something, there’s nothing that can stop you from doing what needs to be done.” She swirled the last of Abby’s wine before drinking it down. “Which makes you an awesome friend and mother and head surgeon now, but when we were younger it mostly meant that once you made up your mind about something or someone, nothing was going to convince you otherwise.”

Abby was quiet for a long moment, staring pensively across the table at Callie. She was self-aware enough to know that Callie spoke the truth, and old enough to recognize all the ways the sharp edges of her personality had been softened with time and maturity. She’d long cast Kane as an emotionless, prickly antagonist of her high school years; now she wondered what the story might look like if she had to live it all over again.

“So, you’re telling me,” Abby said slowly, “that he wasn’t actually the asshole I remember him to be?”

Callie snorted a laugh, then shook her head.

“Oh, God no. He was an asshole. It was only my desperation to pass that class that made me turn to him.” She beamed at Abby and leaned over, knocking their shoulders together. “But I also think you've made him out to be some kind of outlier, when really he was an asshole the same way any eighteen year old kid can be an asshole.”

She stared at Callie for a moment, the thought coming to her in a moment of embarrassing epiphany.

“Apparently, so was I.”

Callie flashed a smile at her, then threw an arm around Abby’s shoulders.

“Sometimes. But you were also way more fun than he was and actually capable of showing human emotion, so you still won out.”

Another glass of wine arrived for Callie then as Abby mulled over what Callie had just said. While she wasn’t quite sure if she really believed it, she found herself admitting that it wasn’t as far fetched as she had made it seem to Callie. Truthfully, she had definitely spent far more time with him than with any other single person in her high school career - hundreds of late nights finishing up Yearbook spreads or preparing for competition, hours of traveling in cramped spaces to Debate competitions and Track meets. And they had been thrown together or paired up fairly often, much to her constant irritation and dismay. But could she have really misread and missed him so completely?

She felt her lips turn up in a sardonic expression.

Well, actually, yes.

She’d long known that a tendency to focus on big ideas and broad ideals meant that she was more susceptible to missing the details that were directly in front of her. It was perfectly plausible that the hostility from her end hadn’t been reflected, but instead had been deflected.

But really, did it matter? High school was twenty years ago. The fact that he might not have been as terrible as he’d beenin her memory didn’t really change the fact that they’d spent three years verbally sparring with one another, that those years probably negated any reason for them to really speak to one another tonight.

She turned around to find Kane in the crowd of people in the middle of the room, her eyes finding him immediately at the far end of the ballroom. Apparently all that time spent together during high school made it easy for her to quickly pick him out of a crowd. She was grateful that the distance between them and the breadth of the room made it possible for her to study him. He was wearing a dark grey sweatshirt with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, the fabric of it thin enough to show off the hardened lines of his back and torso. He moved easily around the room, reaching out to hug old friends and offer handshakes to former classmates. It was a strange sight, because she felt like she had spent all of high school seeing him hold himself apart from everyone, arms crossed and features shuttered closed. He also smiled more in the few minutes that she watched him than he had their entire time in high school. Too bad, too, because she found herself liking the shape of it - wide and open and completely honest.

She cleared her throat, trying to shake that last thought from her brain.

“Anyway, regardless of all that, he is still not a candidate for your mission for tonight.”

She heard Callie snicker behind her.

“You mean, regardless of what I just revealed about our time in high school, or regardless of the fact that he got ridiculously hot and you can’t stop staring at him.”

Abby felt her cheeks heat up, suddenly grateful that she wasn’t facing Callie.

“Um - I. Both.” She shook her head, though she still found herself unable to keep herself from tracking him in the crowd before her. “And I don’t - I’m not - he isn’t that hot.”

“Right.” Callie drawled out, sarcasm running across the word. “You know that defense is way less convincing after the third time you’re caught lusting over the man.”

She turned around abruptly, her eyes narrowing at Callie.

“I am not..”

Callie reached over and rested her hand on Abby’s shoulder.

“Abby, you’ve licked your lips a half dozen times since you started staring at him and you keep, like, running your hand down your neck.”

Abby froze, her hand flush against her neck. She dropped it before shaking her head vehemently, unable to meet Callie’s knowing stare.

“Really. He could stand right in front of me and it’d have no effect on me. At all.”

“Well, that’s good to know, because he’s coming over here right now.

“Wh - what!”

Callie’s grin widened.

“Yup, headed this way with - I think - yes, Sinclair.”

She was suddenly filled with a desire to - jump up, fix her hair, smooth down her dress. It was only by sheer will that she did neither, just barely managed to rearrange her features into something approaching curious rather than frantic.

“Seriously? Why?”

Callie raised her eyebrow at her.

“Uh, because it’s a reunion? And you’re supposed to...reune.”

She laughed loudly, hoping that she didn’t sound anxious.

“Right, that’s not a word.”

Callie smirked.

“Also, since he’s with Sinclair, I’m guessing it has something to do with that yearbook project he’s doing...”

“What yearbook project - ?” She asked, confused at the way Callie mentioned it like she was just supposed to know what she was talking about.

“It was in the email.”

“There was an email?”

“Oh my God, you’re impossible.” Then, her eyes brightened, a cheshire cat grin splitting her features. “Hey, wait - weren’t you and Marcus voted most likely to succeed for senior superlatives?”

“What?” She asked, confused at the sudden change of topic. When Callie offered no clarity or explanation, she nodded. “And yes, we were.” She snorted a laugh as she shook her head. “Most awkward picture of my life, if recall correctly.”

Callie smirked in a way that made Abby worry, just a bit, about the trajectory of the night.

“Well, we’ll certainly see after this if that stays true.”

“What do you - .”   

“Hey you two,” she heard a voice behind her say.  

Abby turned around, greeting Sinclair with a hug. They’d been in Yearbook together, she in charge of clubs, he as the editor their Senior year. Kane stood back behind him a few feet and raised his hand in greeting when she let go of Sinclair.

“It’s good good to see you - both,” she said, tacking on the last word and peering around Sinclair at Kane. He smiled at her, and even though it was uncertain at the edges, it was still absurdly and immediately pleasant. She had to fight her own responding frown - not at the man himself, but at the fact that she found him so distractingly attractive. Instead, she allowed herself a small smile at him in return, then turned her attention back to Sinclair.

“So, hopefully you two read the email?” He asked.

Callie shook her head.

“Abby didn’t, Sinclair, so you should explain it to her.”

“Uh - ok. So we’re doing a video yearbook with everyone - you know, a then and now sort of thing. And since you two,” he said, pointing between her and Kane, “were voted most likely to succeed, we need to take a picture of you two looking, you know, successful. And then I’ll interview the two of you and see what you’ve been up to.”

“So everyone can judge whether or not we lived up to their vote?” Kane asked, speaking for the first time, dry, self deprecating tilt to his words.

Sinclair smirked.

“Something like that.” He held up a camera and stepped a few feet away from them both, Callie shuffling back behind him. “So, I’m going to need the two of you to stand next to each other and, you know, look like you’re on top.”

Behind him, she saw Callie mouth “of each other” and sighed heavily, wondering how she managed to have a 38 year old friend who still sometimes acted 12. Luckily, a peek beneath her lashes showed Kane folding down the sleeves of his sweater, thank God, so he didn’t have to wonder why her best friend and date for the night was now making lewd motions behind Sinclair.

She straightened her own dress out, smoothing out the fabric, before standing just near enough to be deemed close but not so much as to be touching any part of him. It seemed dangerous, somehow. She noticed that he did the same, his arm hanging stiffly beside him, careful not to brush up against her.

Sinclair cleared his throat.

“So, ok, maybe stand a little bit closer to one another.”

She shuffled in closer to Kane, squinting up at him. Jesus, had he always been this tall? She knew he hadn’t always been this good looking, but had he always towered over her so completely? He looked down at her, his expression as uncomfortable as she felt.

Somehow, that actually made her feel better.

She took in a deep breath and tried to exhale her strange sort of nervousness. She was being absolutely ridiculous. So what if he was undoubtedly twice as attractive as any other man in the room? It didn’t mean anything, really. She straightened her spine as she stepped in close to him. She looked up at him and smiled, then looped her arm around his waist.

“We should at least try and make this photo less awkward than the one where we were eighteen and hated each other.”

He chuckled at that and nodded. After a moment’s hesitation, he draped his arm around her shoulders.

She smiled brightly at the camera, trying not to think about the fact that she was pressed close enough to feel the hard lines of his body and idly wondering what he looked like without a shirt on.

She blinked rapidly at that last thought. She really needed to slow down on the wine.

After a few moments, Sinclair nodded and looked down at the screen of his camera. Callie sidled up close to him and waited for him to tip the camera screen in her direction.

“Just so you know,” Kane said, glancing down at her, “I didn’t hate you when we were eighteen.”

She made a noise of disbelief as she tilted her head up at him.

“I find that very hard to believe.” She shifted to get a better look at him, but didn’t pull back her arm from around his waist. Probably because he hadn’t moved his from around her shoulder yet either, though she found that didn’t mind. “You could barely get out two words without arguing with me.

The corner of his mouth turned up.

“I think by that point I wasn’t really sure how to talk to you without arguing.”

She stared at him, surprised at his level of honesty.

“I guess - well I know, actually, that I didn’t exactly make things easy for you,” she finally said, deciding to offer up her own honesty in turn.

He huffed a laugh, then shrugged.

“We were kids,” he said quietly. “There’s quite a lot I would’ve done differently.”   

Not even an hour ago, she probably wouldn’t have agreed with him. Or even have given him or her the chance to talk to one another.

But it wasn’t an hour ago. And it wasn’t twenty years ago.

So instead she just offered him a small half smile and nodded.

“Yeah, me too probably.”

He stared down at her, his dark eyes registering surprise.

“That’s unexpected.”

Her smile became something closer to a grimace as she looked at him with a halfway chagrined expression.

“It’s recently been brought to my attention that I may have been overly harsh to certain individuals in high school.”

He chuckled, then shook his head.

“Certain individuals should then probably admit to being overly blunt and unapproachable.”

“What - .”

“Pictures look good, you two.” Sinclair called out, causing both of them to turn towards him. It suddenly occurred to her that their arms were still wrapped around one another despite the fact that the last five minutes had been decidedly without any picture taking. She quickly dropped her arms and stepped away from him. She tried to ignore Callie’s knowing look and focused instead on Sinclair as he gestured to the seats beside him. “Wanna have a seat and we’ll do a quick interview? It shouldn’t take very long.”

She hurried to the proffered seats and sat down, smoothing out her dress as Kane took a seat next to her.

Sinclair steadied the camera on a tripod next to him and clicked it on before turning to Abby.

“So, Abby Griffin, formerly Walters. Take us through your life since you graduated from high school.”

She groaned inwardly. She wasn’t overly fond of talking about herself, and still couldn’t quite figure out how to mention the fact that she was a widow without deflating the entire room. She stared at the camera and decided to skip mentioning it completely. It was a quick interview about where she’d been and what she was doing, not a confessional of how hard the last few years had been.

She stared into the camera.

“Well, I went into college with a bunch of credits, so I graduated a year early and went straight to med school. Survived that, got married and had a beautiful daughter named Clarke soon after that. A few years later, I became a surgeon. I worked in trauma for a while but -.” Her voice skittered to a stop and she bit her lip in attempt to focus away from the feeling of sadness welling up in her. She saw Kane’s eyes flickering with sympathy, his gaze understanding in a way that made her wonder if he knew about Jake somehow. She looked away from him and back up at Callie, who was giving her a look of love and affection, the expression giving her the focus to return back to the moment. She cleared her throat and continued. “Sorry, I, um, ended up switching to Obstetrics, which is what I’m still doing right now.”

Sinclair gave her a long look before he nodded and switched his attention to Kane.

“And what has Marcus Kane been up to since being voted most likely to succeed?”

He cleared his throat and sat up straighter. She turned to face him, curious as well to hear what he’d gotten up to. While she had always known what she wanted to do, he’d always been so all over the place in school that she could never figure out what he even wanted to do.

And, of course, she’d never bothered to ask, either.

“I got a business degree, worked for a few years, then decided to go to law school,” he began. “I ended up in political consulting and moved out to DC, where I worked on a few campaigns until about five years ago when my mom got sick.”

His gaze faltered for a moment, his eyes taking on a faraway, sorrowful look that made Abby want to reach out and lay a comforting hand on him. She’d heard his mother had died a little less than a six months ago, had felt guilty when a last minute surgery had kept her from attending the funeral. She’d had his mother as a teacher- as almost everyone at their school did at one point or another - and could remember always wondering how such a warm, kind woman could’ve raised a boy as aloof and distant as Kane.

Except that she didn’t need to wonder that, now. Kane’s eyes, though still filled with sadness, now gleamed with a warmth she always remembered from his mother. Kane cleared his throat and moved on.

“Anyway, I lost the drive to work in politics and ended up as became a freelance development consultant, mostly for the non-profit industry. Which is what I’m still doing right now.”

Sinclair nodded, then leaned back in his chair.

“So, the question I’ve been asking everyone - what’s the thing in your life that you’re most proud of?”

Abby shuffled in her seat, trying to come up with an answer that balanced honesty without too much sentimentality when she heard Kane clear his throat next to her.

“For me, it’s that I was able to take care of my mom in her final years and…” He looked away for a moment, then back at Sinclair. “And be the kind of son she deserved all along.”

She swallowed hard against the lump that suddenly grew in her throat, though grateful that he gave her the opening to say something similarly honest and touching.

“Wow,” Sinclair said, looking at Kane in surprise before shaking his head and turning to Abby. “And what about you, Abby?”

She smiled at Kane before she turned towards Sinclair.

“Having a daughter who has all the best parts of Jake and me and raising her to be better than I ever was.”

Sinclair nodded before he shifted towards the camera and turned it off.

“Nice job, you two. That one should be a real crowd pleaser.”

He turned towards Kane with a raise of his brow.

“You know, I’m a little surprised you didn’t mention your kids.”

Kane blinked rapidly, his brows drawing towards the bridge of his nose. Abby, too, turned toward him in surprise. She’d never been great at keeping track of everyone post high school, but she did feel like between her and Callie, one of them might’ve known that Kane had a son.

“What - .”  

Sinclair waved a hand at him.

“I saw you at the St. Mary’s Promotion yesterday. Your son - Bellamy, right? - gave a great speech. And your little girl was hilarious.” He chuckled. “I tried to find you afterwards, but you guys had already left.”

Understanding dawned on Kane’s face.

“Oh.” He nodded, his eyes darting between Sinclair, Abby and Callie. “Bellamy and Octavia - they aren’t mine. They live next door to my mom’s house.” He crossed his arms in front of him. “Their own parents aren’t really around, so I’ve tried to help out where I can.”

“Ah,” Sinclair replied. “Ok, yeah. I was trying to figure out when you would’ve had time to have a fourteen year old son. Also, it makes a little more sense now why he used your first name in his speech.”

Kane smiled.

“Yeah, I definitely didn’t have the time or probably the empathy needed to raise a kid when I was 24.” He scrubbed his hand through his beard. “I do what I can whenever I’m in town.”

Sinclair clapped him on the shoulder.

“Must be a pretty damn good job for him to single you out during his speech.” He turned to Callie. “Alright, you’re next. We need to find your fellow life of the party.”

Callie nodded, shooting a completely unsubtle grin at Abby before she hooked her arm through Sinclair’s.

“Oh, we can get to me last. I can help you find everyone else who might be here.”

She gave an overtly obvious wink in Abby directions while Kane - thank God - was saying goodbye to Sinclair. She watched them go with a roll of her eyes, then turned back to Kane.

“Hey,” she said quietly, “I'm sorry about your mom.” She leaned forward and laid a hand on his arm. “She was a really kind soul.”

He looked down at her hand and swallowed before meeting her eyes.

“Thanks,” he said softly. He opened his mouth to say something, then hesitated. She quirked an eyebrow in his direction, encouraging him to go on. He took a deep breath, his eyes flickering with uncertainty. “And I'm sorry, too - about Jake, I mean.” He shook his head. “I really can't imagine how difficult that must've been - must be, actually.”

She nodded, grateful that he seemed to be neither uncomfortable or overly emotional like people tended to get when they learned she was a widow.

“It's been a difficult few years.” She admitted, then gave him a small smile. “But things have definitely gotten better.”

They were quiet for a minute before a thought hit her.

“I'm surprised you knew - according to Callie, you're not exactly active on Facebook.” Her eyes widened suddenly, her face warming up against her will. She had definitely not meant to own up to the fact that she and Callie had talked about him at any time in the night. It didn't help either that her hand was still lingering on his arm. She quickly drew it back. 

Luckily, he seemed to be battling his own inner monologue to really notice her telltale embarrassment.

“Oh, uh .” He looked away from her momentarily, his posture suddenly stiff and awkward. “Sinclair mentioned it - earlier, when we were catching up.”

She stared at him, trying to keep the corners of her mouth from turning up. She wondered at the line of conversation where she had come up before his event at St. Mary's.

And speaking of -

“So, what was that about Bellamy’s speech?” She asked.

His shoulders relaxed into relief. He was quiet for a moment, then tapped his fingers against his thigh, his expression a mix of anger and sympathy.

“Bellamy was NJHS president, so he got to make the class speech. Unfortunately, his parents didn’t show up. Which wasn’t really a surprise and it was only an eighth grade promotion but - .”

“It’s still important to show up,” she finished up.   

Kane nodded.

“Exactly.” He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “Anyway, there was a part in the beginning when he asked all the parents and guardians to stand up so they could be recognized for all the hard work and support they’d given to their students.” He shook his head. “I felt terrible for him that he didn’t have anyone there to stand up for him.” He paused, his eyes softening with tenderness. “But before he asked everyone to clap, he looked right at me and said, ‘Marcus Kane, that means you, too.’”

Abby felt an overwhelming sense of fondness blooming in her chest at the very obvious fact that Bellamy’s recognition meant so much to him.

“And what about his sister?” She asked.

A look of affection gleamed in his eyes.

“After he pointed me out to the crowd, Octavia yelled out, ‘what about me? I helped you, too.’”

Abby laughed.

“Yeah,” Kane said with a grin, “that’s the exact reaction she got out of the crowd, too.”  

“How old is she?”

“Just turned ten.”

“Same age as Clarke, then.” She was quiet for a moment, letting the last strains of a Boyz II Men song wash over them. “Do you have a picture of them?”

Kane nodded, then pulled his phone from his pocket, swiping across the screen for a moment before turning it to face her. She peered down at a photo of him bracketed by two dark haired children. The boy - Bellamy, she corrected in her head - had dark, curling hair and a wash of freckles spread out across his tan skin. Octavia had the same dark hair, though was paler than her older brother, her eyes a striking shade of green. Whoever had taken the picture had caught Bellamy mid laugh, while Octavia smiled brightly up at him, her face awash in obvious devotion.

She looked back up at him.

“No wonder Sinclair thought they were yours.”

He didn’t say anything as he put his phone away, though she caught sight of his contented expression as he did.

“Do you have a picture of Clarke?” He asked.

She nodded and pulled out her phone and showed him the screen, the wallpaper a recent selfie of her and Clarke.

Kane looked at it for a moment, then glanced back up at her.

“She looks like you.”

Abby snorted and looked at him, an eyebrow raised in disbelief.

“How do you figure?”

He smirked at her.

“She just looks like anyone who thinks they can give her shit better be prepared to catch hell.”

She laughed, nodding slowly as she did.

“You know,” she said after a moment, the words stuck halfway between an accusation and a compliment, “you’re kind of charming.”  

He stared at her, his expression somewhere between confused and flattered.

“Thank...you?”

She let out a rueful chuckle, then shook her head.

“It’s just - you didn’t used to be.”

“That’s a rather nice way of saying I used to be a complete asshole.”

Laughter bubbled out of her. The corner of his mouth tilted up.

“You know, I’m actually still an asshole. I’m just better at hiding it now.”

She smiled at that.

“Well,” she said, tipping her head as she shrugged her shoulders, “at least you’re honest.”

He gave her a wry look.

“As I’m sure you can remember - honesty was never really my problem. It was tact that I needed to work on.”

“You seem to be doing alright with that now,” she pointed out. “I mean, I haven’t felt the need to argue with you even once tonight.”

“I guess it only took me twenty years to figure out how to actually talk to you.”

“And it only took me twenty years to not want to constantly challenge everything about you.”

“I didn’t mind,” he said quietly, not quite meeting her eye. “That was part of the appeal.”

She glanced down and caught his eye, the air between them abruptly charged with tension and then gone. She exhaled out slowly and steadily, the wine and the dim lighting combining with his surprising charm and the fact that he smelled ridiculously, deliciously good to make her feel flushed and keyed up.

“So, what’s my appeal now?” She asked after a moment, leaning in with a playful smirk. She had meant the question to be teasing, but instead it came out low and throaty.

He took a small, sharp intake of breath, and stared at her for a moment, surprise flickering across his face. Then, he smiled and pushed his seat back, standing up in front of her. She furrowed her brows in confusion at the abrupt movement, then did a double take when he reached out a hand in her direction.

“I’ll tell you if you dance with me.”  

[torentialtribute]

David Millar’s obsession with the Tour de France led to the wheels falling off his life

It was never enough. Until it became too much.

& # 39; The only thing I wanted to do was take a ride from France & # 39 ;, says David Millar. & # 39; That's all. That was the extent of my ambition. But it was a pretty big one, given that I was a child in Hong Kong and there was no tradition to race there or in my family. & # 39;

Millar continued to ride in 12 Tours de France and won five stages. De Schot was the first Briton to wear the leader's jersey in the three major tours of France, Italy and Spain . He won national championships and Commonwealth gold.

His career was broken by the events of June 23, 2004, when the police found bottles of EPO and syringes at home. The dusty, rising young star was a baptist.

Fourteen years later, sitting in the back of a Maserati who accelerated him from a screening of the extraordinary movie Time Trial (timetrialfilm.com) in Edinburgh to run again in Glasgow, Millar talks with a frank, cheeky honesty, preservation of those who crashed at high speed but still survived

The details of the drug failure – the science, the moral, the legal process – have since been examined, not least by Millar himself.

Yet his most fascinating aspect, his teaching to ordinary mortals living in the slipstream of elite sport, has not been fully investigated. Can salvation be achieved? How? And at what price?

There was life after 2004. There is life thereafter, not in the last place to continue racing career for a decade and now, at 41, the future in which Millar has to use all his gifts to illuminate away from the saddle to push itself into other areas. He does not reject the pain of 2004.

There were questions that needed to be answered.

& # 39; Are we now just wallowing in self-pity and suffering? Or am I going to take this over and say: "Yes, this hurts, but I can beat this, I can change this and overcome it". It is really very important to make that conscious decision. & # 39;

His work, his obsession, his passion gave him the means to do this. It is in extremes that the true self emerges. Racing takes you to the edge, & # 39; he says. & # 39; I have always taken myself to the breaking point and further. I found the truth in dark places. I actually noticed that it was not so dark, but you have to go there to realize that too. & # 39;

Time Trial is a stark, cheeky, funny and compelling glimpse of Millar's last year as a cyclist in 2014. He spent eighteen years as a pro, the majority of his childhood dreamed and his first years of retirement as a writer, commenting on others and now the subject of a film.

This process is liberating. It started in a moment caught in the movie. "In an anonymous platoon in an undisciplined race, Millar suddenly says to no one except the world:" I have to change. "It turned out to be his resignation letter

& # 39; I had an awakening. I do not have to do this anymore. I am not going to sacrifice my family in the purest sense as father and husband to finish a line. & # 39; So who said goodbye?

& # 39; First, I assume, the competitor. I spent a lot of time on a bike, but I always enjoyed it, "he says. Well, I loved racing, not so much from the training side of things. It was an unadulterated love for racing. & # 39; Beyond genetics, training, even the customized bike, he is aware of the element of his personality that made him, broke and eventually recovered.

& # 39; It was my ability not to give up, "Millar says. & # 39; People talk about enduring, succeeding. But it is even more primitive.

& # 39; When people told me something was impossible, I said: & # 39; I do not believe you. & # 39; I continued and did not give up. It was about the inherent desire to challenge myself, to prove that I could do things that people thought impossible or that you would break. That was fun. & # 39;

& # 39; Athletes do not feel guilty about this. The whole behavioral pattern is: "What will help me achieve this?" Everyone around it can be collateral.

& # 39; The nice man or nice woman as a top athlete is extremely rare. They are normally not caring, thoughtful, attentive people. These are not attributes that help you to be successful. & # 39; Given the effects on his emotional life, the physical pain, the dullness that is broken by controversy, why did he continue to do it?

& # 39; It's essentially about competing against yourself & # 39 ;, he says. "Cycling has a lot in common with boxing. You are going to take hits, but it is up to you not to stand up, not to look away. There is something very interesting about the psyche of the cyclist. What do we do ourselves?

& # 39; The rewards are deeper than money or fame. You go to places in the psyche that you otherwise never go to. You can enter a state of grace. I always called them magical days. It is an example of flow, you go to the meta level where there is clarity and clarity. It is almost out of the body.

In Time Trial there is a moment when fellow remarks that Millar is too much & # 39; a thinker & # 39; is.

He pleads guilty and adds: & # 39; The creative side of me was something that acted against the thinking that you need to be successful. I had an intellectual curiosity, enjoy learning things, meet interesting people, but that is difficult as a professional athlete. You are almost conditioned against the opposite. Do not think too much, do not look outside, do not pierce your own bubble. & # 39;

& # 39; The hardest thing is to change, but it came to me through a process of reflection that I can not do this anymore, "he says, I can not lie to myself. must be outside and be someone else, be the other part of me. "A father of two boys and a girl, all younger than six, he writes, comments and is involved in the sponsor and marketing deals reserved for the retired top athlete, but he looks at more.

& # 39; I hope that I will be very successful in something else in the coming years. ", says Millar." This is much more difficult than The Tour de France Building my life is the biggest challenge I've ever experienced. "Six hours later, his company ends with a question from a punter in Glasgow's movie theater.

Asked if he parvenu & # 39; s race that might challenge him for his daily bike spider, he answers: & # 39; competitive chip is mine. I think it's great when we are busy with the bicycle as a family and are floating around with the kids. There is joy in that. & # 39; The racer has become the father. This is more than enough.

Source link

[n-o-w-is-l-a-t-e-r]

Everything is Exploited for Surival Pt. 2

In a sociological study with youth of color in Oakland, Victor Rios found that youth learned to “code switch” into this performance of “acting hard” to in order to survive in the streets and specifically to resist “the violence of the state and other institutions that criminalize and punish them” (Rios, 2006: 48). The “respect as domination” modality of masculinity is based upon intimidation and maintaining a constituted power based on hierarchal social relations and is supported by patriarchy, racism, homophobia. As such, it is often embodied by the hegemonic masculinity as practiced by men involved in law enforcement, the military, and sports teams.

Utilizing violence and psychology (fear), they learned to dominate much like their oppressors. In order to live on this planet and to avoid death (nothingness) we must learn to survive. This eventually lead to their animalistic nature as we become reliant on survival. We become bent on distinction through competition (ego). In turn, we become  paranoid. Masculine paranoia is the fear of being percieved as weak. In a white supremacist patriarchal society such as the United States of America, dominance is the realm of straight white men. When men of color embody this masculinity, it at once reinforces the patriarchy against women but creates a racial conflict because brown men cannot embody whiteness. This conflict usually requires the confinement and premature death of men of color because by embodying the dominant masculinity, they are transgressing the hegemonic order of white supremacy. This is one reason why young men of color are systematically shot to death by white law enforcement officers who fear for their safety, and why there are so many men of color who are incarcerated to keep the threat to White Supremacy at bay. The historical legacy of the reality of Lynching is a tremendous amount of confusion for young men of color about what it means to be a man.?

Pain/tension create strength. Strength = power. Power = control. Men are conditioned to not be weak. The very purpose of mind control in the military settings are to impose a means of mind control. Through conditioning, the subject loses its subjectivity in becoming a tool for a larger ideological agenda (superego). They are told how to think, act, and appear based on the authority. They are conditioned to break the threshold of pain in becoming fearless. This ultimately leads to the development of a one-track mind. To receive and obey. Thus why the greeks and romans trained young males from the earliest age possible to mitigate their fear and to stamp out weakness. In Fight Club (1999) the men are conditioned to be fearless, no longer giving into the whims of their own subjectivity. The projection of the phallus in fight club symbolizes the need for authority, for control. They become cogs in a system to destabilize the dominant mode of society. In the end, Tyler releases this need for authority (masculinity) and willingly “castrates himself” thus reuniting with Marla (Marla etymologically means = “mother”, the divine feminine – nothingness ). In closing the buildings falls in orgasmic splendor symbolizing the chaos of the material realm, the false realm. Jack and Marla, in uniting (holding hands) The quickflash cut scene of a penis at the very end of the film symbolizes projection of hegemonic masculinity in fight club (masculine – penis- ego-surface) and its fades to black symbolizes the demise of the phallus in the 4return to nothingness (chaos). American Psycho (1999) reveals the psychosis/emptiness of formality and function. The psychosis of perfection and the need to compete, compels Patrick Bateman to kill. American Psycho symbolizes the psychosis of the surface, and the hierarchy of those in power within American structures. Blackness is deemed “negative” as it is an emotional state (passivity) does not correspond with ruthlessness of whiteness. This is conveyed perfectly when Patrick interrogates the homeless black male, assuming the position that his attitude is the purpose behind his failure in society. Much like dynamics of wealth in American culture, there is always a gap between the wealthy and the poor. American Psycho is about the pointlessness of evolution. Form is empty.

In order to truly be free, we must free ourselves from these forms. Psychopathy is also complicit in domination for it allows one to conquer someone/something without fear. White people trained themselves on fear, on learning to adapt to circumstances through conquering anything in their way. An assassin/solider thrives on cold logic and an equally cold, hard shell. He is motivated only by what exists for him: survival. Humanity is an evil thing, thriving only through separation. Its inherently flawed. It's full of psychopaths. Much like Plato's Cave, humans are largely ignorant of themselves and others. Much like Suzanne Collin's The Hunger Games and The Lottery by Shirley Jackson: obey, mindlessly, and you'll “survive”. This films simulate an exaggerated reality but one not dissimilar to our own. Contestants are chosen randomly (without consent) similar to the process of birth. You are then forced to fight to the death (survival/base) to survive in a simulation. Much like the fighters in District 1, the “Careers” (military) have been trained by the empty logic of survival, only seeing enemies to be hunted. This hierarchy blends these ruthless “tributes”, with tributes from other districts, who are most likely unskilled and lacking in killer instinct, where they duel to the death. You adapt, utilising any skill available, or you die from ignorance, fear, or starvation. Compassion (divine feminine) is a vulnerability. This hierarchy is established so only the strong can survive (narcissism-ego: animal form) can win. The tribute who wins gains access to the Capital for life, safe within the illusive confines of “freedom”: wealth, sex, etc. Collins alludes to the dynamics of hetero-capitalist dichotomies, which only allow a small percentage to thrive due to competitive advantage, forcing those below them to adapt, or die. In Beastly, a recent adaption of Beauty and the Beast, the antagonist is vain, and selfish. Alex “Kingson” (son of the king-ego) is the embodiment of modern vanity. At (0:46) we are introduced to his infatuation with the surface (ego). Only building up his surface layer, (ego) nothing He embodies the flesh or the “Beast” (father-fire: narcissism). We then see his reflection superimposed onto the skyline of New York City, a place based on image-based materialism. The smatter of billboards focused on the surface preceding this introduction help in framing the narrative themes of greed. 1:27-2:36 : Alex running for Green Committee Leader emphasizes his ignorance. It is no coincidence that the color Green symbolizes Earth, it is also the color of the Heart Chakra. This is an allusion to imperialism of the Earth due to greed. 2:47- 4:10, we are introduced to the “Witch” Kendra, who, cloaked only in black garments embodies Chaos (nothingness). She is not concerned with vanity, only what exists beneath the surface. She deliberately scrawls on his campaign, “defacing” his features. Linda (etymology: Beauty, Belle) symbolizes compassion, self-awareness, and mercy. She is the embodiment of the spirit (Earth). 4:55 to we are introduced to “Kingson” interior. Pearlescent, sharp, and minimal the space devoid of vibrancy (color = Life). this interior “reflects” the vanity and coldness that exists on the surface, and helps to showcase the emptiness of the relationship between Alex and his father, and his lack of love. 6:15, cue the black “maiden” who embodies “life”, she is the caretaker of the estate. This is a racialized/gendered shallow exchange as Alex can only interrogate the surface. The maid status positions her underneath the surface, unable to fully interact with her due to the dynamics of power in place. Alex blinded by the surface of who she “appears” to be what he interprets that as being. Women are the pedestals for his ascent, for without the exploitation of women, he would be nothing. In, The Truman Show, Truman faces obstacles concerning his true nature (nothingness), he is being watched over by Christof (aka God, the creator of this realm) and his story being projected onto the consciousness of the culture of humanity through television. Truman's whole life is built around illusions. Illusions that he merely “human”. He is then forced to find his way out of the maze or he will be confronted with the limitations of his consciousness by those who wish to dissuade him. My mother settled out of fear. Instead of putting herself first she was indoctrinated to believe that she was incapable of existing on her own. She convinced herself that the mother was the only role she was capable of playing. Entrapment became a full time job for my mother as she couldn’t bear the thought of existing alone and or worse: dying alone. So she married a man out of convenience and lay'd her egg. Unfortunately, for my siblings and I, we were conditioned by the dominant Western culture forced to survive on our own terms. She made it extremely difficult for me to walk away because she projected her fear of loneliness on to me. She projected her fears/insecurities onto her children so that in turn they would latch onto her, thus creating an imbalance in their own personal lives. She provided us her damaged view of relationships. In turn, we suffered because we lacked the courage to pursue our convictions in honesty. I had poor eating habits and a general naiveté that left my vulnerable. I was truly afraid of being alone and expressing my convictions because I was afraid of dying. Parents must raise healthy individuals. The Heathers final scene involving Veronica watching JD blow himself to smithereens symbolizes his need to destabilize his ego. Veronica in turn, visibly filthy due to the fallout symbolizes her  transcendence of status-ego. She becomes Disrespect is an illusion based on fear, there is no authority. Authority is symbolic (glamour) a mask for the purpose of both concealment and visibility. It cloaks itself in form, however, this is mostly empty. The mask of gender forces us to adapt to the social expectations of others. Ruthless competitive form. A form that is only concerned with survival. Empty individualism, the exaggerated surface (phallus) is concerned with order. Compassion is considered a weakness in this masculine world. For if you are “soft” or “weak” you can be exploited my men. I am at a loss because I was not bred as a male. I was not bred to be competitive/or arrogant. I was socialized as a women: compassion, giving, and soft. My stepfather stepped in and* I am a ghost. When you become a ghost you no longer have any distinction, any purpose, any meaning. You are not tied to your ego and you have nothing. The truth of the universe lies in its emptiness. I wake up to realize how empty I am that I'm am just ‘there/their', here and now and that society casts its blanket of social roles onto to me to distinguish the separation between something and nothing. Death is freedom from distinction. Freedom from ownership. Freedom from the animal nature which haunts these forms. I've taken on a radical shape, no longer distinguished through “surface”. Once you cast radical ownership of yourself, you break through the illusion of “I” and “me” and you become aware of the nothingness that awaits us all. “Pride is an illusion of the ego, of what/whom we appear to be. The nothingness that swallows the paranoia of existing/percieving in a schism body/mind perspective. I am empty, and I will fade. My mother played the role of “mother”, she bathed, clothed, fed, and loved me but didn't understand my needs. She should of addressed my traits instead of rejecting them. In turn, I embodied my mother (because in truth I am just like her),but in actuality, her projection was for me to be obedient within a hegemonic system. However, I couldn't be disciplined within a hegemonic cis, white, het system so I was deemed an outsider. This world was not meant for me. I was meant to convey the principles that this world conveys. yet for so long I adapted to what others wanted, out of fear of being isolated. Now, I can recognize whom/what is necessary in my life. What you created I must die for or live for myself. If living, I must build an ideology around my values. I must become the beacon of light for the ideals I strive for. I must practice love, compassion, and courage constantly, for that is the only way I can survive. I must break the chain of injustice and build upon a foundation (Taurus Sun) of truth (Leo) for myself. Only when you get tossed on your ass continually will you learn to fight back. Finding your ideology The Death of the Monastery and the rise of ideological space: There has been a death of the monastery. A space where souls could exist and devote themselves to their faith within the confines of an intimate space in contemplating the divine. In turn, we have come to worship the individual-self and the materialism that it carries. We worship at the temple of the World Banks, where we exchange service for monetary value. We scour the restaurants, shopping malls, and venues of the world, both exotic and familiar, to fill the void of emptiness inside us. To feel a sensation other than pain. The ideology of capitalism always a profit to be made. In a cis/heteronormative patriarchal those at disadvantage are forced to perform. Those who have inherited traits (competitive advantage) specific to thriving within the dominant system are rewarded. Weakness of any kind, especially disobedience results in death. Much like Commander Snow in the Hunger Games, he embodies the principles of God (authority = government) and more specifically the wrath of God (military = mind control). For those tributes chosen are forced to compete in spite of personal objection because if they don’t they will suffer the pain of torture or worse: death (the fear of the unknown). To win, they must fight against the odds of inherited traits (“May the odds be ever in your favor”) in winning the wicked game.This game, symbolizes the reality of our lives. We exist at the expense of an external source which controls our development We learn to survive based on upon our environment. The ideology of tradition is emphasized, as this tradition has been established by Snow (God) and it must be tolerated, treated as  sacred. Without this tactic, the curtain vanishes and the fear along with it. This fear is outlined in Plato’s Allegory of the Cave and perfectly captured in the tone conveyed by Varys in Games of Thrones: “Power resides where men believe it resides. It's a trick. A shadow on the wall. And a very small man can cast a very large shadow.” You adapt, or die. There is no in between in a white hegemonic system you are either adapt to your animal instincts, or suffer the consequences. We are the puppets of God, doing his will out of fear of severe punishment. This is the ideology of Christianity, you are obedient in faith you will receive, if not you are banished to “eternal hell”. Many people are puppets for their parents, state, and other authoritarian for doing their bidding so they can receive the benefits. They fall in line with principles that are not aligned with their intentions and they become doomed to repetition. Others are punished for their honesty. In truth, God is only an illusion, a meter for human morality projected through the consciousness of the super-ego. The mechanics of Christianity were reliant upon the basis of control so in gaining said control they created the ultimate Authoritarian. However, God is truly nothingness. Normative ideologies insist on controlling behavior of those involved. I recognize that nothing is normal. Form is evil. Evil-oution. In truth I am more than my body. The ego is taught to fear because in truth it fears pain. The spirit is free. Free from distinction. From harm. Death is the only way out or “smile, and behave”. The surface is a delusion.