#it's a difficult circuit for chasers!

[carlosdropshot]

bettiol could win this

[amjustagirl]

Summary: Sakusa Kiyoomi's heart has always pointed north. He wonders if it's broken when it starts to point inexorably towards her. 

Set in the aftermath of The Astrophile, in the same universe as Storm Chaser.

Pairing: Sakusa Kiyoomi / f! reader

Genre: Fluff, angst, romance 

Wordcount: 7.8k 

Masterlist link here

A/N: Dedicated first and foremost to Ami @softsakusa, one of the first people to convince that my writing isn’t shit and that I should keep creating fics. 

This fic is also for all the readers who wanted a happy ending for the reader in The Astrophile (which sets out the backstory of the reader, Iwaizumi and Oikawa), and also follows the events of Storm Chaser (which follows the turbulent relationship of Miya Atsumu and now wife - I named her Kaiyo in this fic to avoid confusion!). 

Hope you like it - reblogs and comments are always dearly appreciated <3

It must be the worst meet cute of all time. 

That is – if he’s using that phrase correctly. It keeps appearing in the god-awful English movies Bokuto and Miya keep playing during team movie nights that makes him want to tear his hair out. 

But yes, he meets her at Miya Shino’s seventh birthday party, the birthday girl the apple of Miya Atsumu’s eye, the princess of his castle, the most perfect angel in the entire heavens - the list of pet names growing longer and longer the more the obnoxious setter prattles on about his daughter. 

And apparently Miya Shino is a chip off the old block, and is as obsessed with volleyball as her father. Which means that he, one Sakusa Kiyoomi, is forced to turn up on a Saturday afternoon for a birthday party to teach a group of children roughly about the same height as his kneecaps how to play volleyball. 

There are plenty of other MSBY players that Miya Atsumu could have rounded up to fritter away a Saturday afternoon. Hinata, for instance - the sunny, fiery headed opposite hitter a perennial favourite with young fans. Or Inunaki - the liberio has an amiable personality that he certainly wouldn’t mind snot nosed children hanging off his arms like a walking, talking monkey bar. But no, Hinata is apparently busy on a weekend meditation retreat, and Inunaki is at his sister’s wedding party, so both of them managed to escape this travesty of a birthday party. 

That leaves him with Bokuto who’s practically a child himself, beaming, bumping balls at screaming children with one hand, the other hand lifting another child above his head. Meian’s here too but his own kid is somewhere in this gaggle of monsters anyway, so he’s here to carry out his parental duties – hopefully his presence might balance the sheer chaos he’s sure he’s about to face.   

‘Omi-omi you made it!’ Atsumu greets him with a slap to the back. 

Sakusa resists the urge to bare his teeth. Is this what hell is? Screeching gremlins underfoot, the nauseating smell of fried food permeating the air. 

And it’s probably because he’s still in a horrified daze at the situation he’s put himself in (which Atsumu is either too dense to pick up on or already immune due to the series of similar expressions he pulls at him on a daily basis), Atsumu manages to snap a party hat on his head, before he prances off in victory. 

Sakusa snarls, ripping off the red paper hat off his head. 

Why on earth did he agree to this again? 

‘Sakusa-san! Thank you so much for coming!’ 

His glare softens by a fraction. 

Miya Kaiyo, Atsumu’s long suffering wife approaches him, careful not to touch him, waving at him instead. He appreciates her thoughtfulness, so he thaws a little, giving her a slight nod in greeting. 

Right, she’s the reason why he’s here. 

He’s always been fond of her - competent, patient, intelligent, far too good for her idiot of a husband. Approximately a year ago, he sought her professional help with his accounts. He graduated with a business degree from Chuo University, so he can tell there is obviously something fishy that his manager is pulling with his finances, but the accounting courses he took weren’t in depth to pinpoint the problem. Miya Kaiyo, on the other hand, a trained forensic accountant with a nose like a bloodhound for fraudulent accounts, nailed down the problem within a week. So when she asked him after a game whether he’d be free to attend her daughter's birthday party, he hadn’t been able to turn her down. 

‘It was no problem’, he says stiffly, already itching to spray the whole place down with disinfectant. ‘I’m glad to be here.’ 

Kaiyo laughs at his obvious lie, tugging at his sleeve to seat him in a corner. ‘You don’t have to go play with the kids if you didn’t want to! I invited you so we could catch up, and besides, I did want to introduce you to someone.’ 

‘Hm.’ 

He doesn’t try to mask his reluctance this time. Kaiyo means well, he knows, but between her and his mother, he’s tired of having to fend off match making attempts. It’s not like he can’t get a date – he can and he has, it’s just difficult to find someone willing to put up with his prickly personality and busy schedule.

‘Well she’s not here yet, so you’ll have to wait. And while we’re waiting, tell me how’ve things been, Sakusa-san?’ 

Grateful that he’s not going to be forced into shepherding children into playing anything remotely resembling an actual volleyball match (he suspects he might have more luck teaching cats how to do the conga), he settles into his seat, mouth stretching into something resembling a smile. He lets her chatter about work, and they’re deep in a discussion about his plans post-volleyball (because he can feel the countdown on his career in his creaking bones, his aching sinews)  when Atsumu swoops in on him again, like a vulture seeking easy prey. 

‘What’cha doin’ with my wife, Omi-omi’, he slips a hand around Kaiyo’s waist mock possessively. 

She swats at him. He ducks, raising his hands in surrender. 

‘I enjoy talking to an actual adult sometimes, ‘Tsumu!’ 

‘Oh come on, I already have to share you with ‘Samu most of the time, now you’re leaving me for Omi-kun?!’

‘Dramatic ass.’ 

‘Please, you chose to marry me.’ He crows, flipping his hair. He looks ridiculous, he always does. Kaiyo seems to agree - 

‘And I wonder why sometimes.’ She retorts, Atsumu squawking indignantly at her response, hair ruffling like an offended chick. But Kaiyo ruins the effect of her words by laughing, leaning over to affectionately peck her husband on the cheek. 

Sakusa should be annoyed by this display of childishness, but for some inexplicable reason, a frisson of longing bubbles in his chest instead. It’s strange. Marriage or even serious relationships have never been something he’s actively sought. After all, it always seemed horrendously illogical to put all your eggs in one basket and hope nothing trips up – but his heart pays his mind no mind, and the strange sensation continues to trickle down his throat into his chest. 

He makes up an excuse to slip to the bathroom for a tactical retreat from this madness. 

Then he takes a breath. 

Rinse. Lather hands with soap. Rinse. Repeat again .

Familiar motions, bred out of a desire to do things right, transformed into an unbreakable habit. Cold water, washing away soap bubbles.

Right. Now he’s ready for another plunge off the deep end . 

He’s a foot past the threshold of the community hall where the party is being held when Miya Shino darts towards him. She’s very clearly her father’s daughter with his penchant for mischief because she dives between his legs, making him stumble in confusion. Then Meian Shugo’s eldest son Makoto barrels towards him, intent on reaching the ball held aloft in Shino’s hands. 

Athletic reflexes be damned in the face of a pair of hell-spawn. 

‘Shino!’. Kaiyo shouts. 

‘Makoto!’ Meian thunders. 

Sakusa flails, decidedly without grace, and in his attempt at not squashing the two little devils, he manages to do something even  worse . 

Much, much worse. 

He manages to trip over his feet and bump right into the woman Miya Kaiyo wanted to introduce him to (this, he finds out later). It’s a lost cause – he’s six foot two of pure muscle, dwarfing her by a mile, and she’s carrying a huge box in her hand. 

He ends up face planting directly into her chest. 

His brain short circuits at the feeling of plush softness and vanilla and – , 

‘Woah - Omi-omi, never thought I’d have to defend the honour of my cousin in law’, Atsumu laughs.  

The sudden flare of irritation at Atsumu’s words kickstarts his brain back into gear. Rearing back in alarm, he promptly topples over onto his butt. 

‘Uncle ‘kusa, I’m sorry’ Shino screeches, distraught. Makoto merely snivels. Kaiyo is evidently the only one with working brain cells, because she rushes over to help them up.  

The-woman-with-the-mysterious-box makes Kaiyo take the box first. It holds precious cargo - Shino’s birthday cake, he later finds out, but because she manages to cling on to it with admirable tenacity, it emerges more or less intact. Then she turns to him, still sprawled on the floor. He scoots away, still dazed. 

She offers him a steady hand. ‘Hello’, she says. ‘It seems we’ve gotten off to rather a bad start.’

There is a hint of mirth in her voice, but her eyes are kind.  

He takes her hand with a rare smile. 

Miya Kaiyo grins behind the cake box. It turns out her daughter is a better matchmaker than either her or (heaven forbid) her husband. 

It turns out that Miya Kaiyo wanted to introduce him to her cousin, newly moved to Osaka from Tokyo. She’s a sports journalist, used to cover volleyball even, but for some reason their paths never crossed. She too, is tired of her cousin’s well intentioned meddling, but asks him if he’d like to meet her for dinner one day ‘if only to get Kaiyo off her back, because she’s persistent’, and funnily enough, he agrees. 

He doesn’t mind making a new friend, he reasons. She seems decent enough. 

They go out for dinner on a Tuesday night. She doesn’t complain when he tells her that due to his diet planned by MSBY’s nutritionist, most restaurants are off limits. Instead, she asks intelligent questions about whether the sources of protein and fibre he’s relying on are varied enough, even suggesting alternatives like tempeh, a Southeast Asian soy product. 

He appreciates that. 

She doesn’t also fawn over the fact that he’s a professional athlete. That makes sense, considering she’s probably interviewed dozens, if not hundreds of individuals who are just like him. It’s nice - he’s tired of groupies who start dates off by staring at him starry eyed, but ending it with disappointment in their eyes when they discover that he’s just a guy who practices hitting balls enough to do it for a living. And best of all, she doesn’t mind that their conversation sometimes wanes into silence. She doesn’t seem to feel the need to fill empty spaces with inane drivel, nor expect him to entertain her like a circus animal. 

He likes that. 

So when the night ends, he asks her whether she’d like to have dinner with him again. ‘Just as friends’, he’s quick to clarify. 

‘Sure’, she nods, and they bid each other goodnight.  

They start having dinner every Tuesday night, subject to their erratic schedules. 

He enjoys her company. She’s thoughtful, bringing him home made baked goods like zucchini cake (low sugar, of course), sneaking him chocolate scones for his cheat days after she discovers his hidden sweet tooth. She’s considerate too, never blinking an eye at his compulsive need to make sure everything is just in order, even if the waitress stands behind them aghast when he insists on using disinfectant to wipe down their table. She doesn’t even call him paranoid when he passes her a bottle of sanitizer. 

Slowly, he finds himself confiding in her about things he’d maybe only tell his cousin, Motoya. Or at least, the things he would tell Motoya if the guy would only pick up his calls. 

‘Sorry’, Motoya texts back after a couple of missed calls. ‘ Practice has been brutal recently. 

In a remarkable display of restraint, Sakusa does not point out that EJP Raijin is below MSBY in this season’s rankings. 

So he tells her instead about how he’s contemplating retirement, how he’s trying to chart out his next steps career wise. She surprises him by listening to him gravely, pointing out that he can lean on his business degree to possibly land an office job in event management or with sports associations, putting him in touch with one overly excited Kuroo Tetsuro. He tucks her suggestions away carefully at the back of his mind.   

It’s nice to have a friend, he tells himself, his lips quirking ever so slightly when her hand grazes his as they walk down the street together. 

He invites her to the monthly gatherings that the MSBY players take turns to host for their family and friends, making the excuse that he needs a human shield in any event hosted by Miya Atsumu. She agrees easily, perking up at the chance to spend a Sunday afternoon with her cousin and niece - ‘ and Kaiyo’ll need help, especially since she’s pregnant’, bringing far too many cupcakes topped with the lightest, fluffiest cream cheese frosting he’s ever had the pleasure of tasting. Even Miya Osamu gives her a nod of respect after stuffing his face full of her cupcakes.  He, unlike his twin, has good taste.

Her brow furls into a concerned frown when he quietly sneaks himself a second cupcake. ‘You don’t have to force yourself to eat it just to be polite! I made it, so  I  know it has so much sugar and butter it would make your nutritionist weep. If you want, I snuck some zucchini cake in my handbag for you instead.’ 

He stubbornly shovels a large bite into his mouth. ‘I won’t tell if you don’t.’ 

She bursts into laughter, leaning forward to wipe away the smudge of frosting on the tip of his nose with her thumb. 

Miya Kaiyo shoots him a knowing look across the room, waggling her eyebrows in an eerie imitation of her husband. He fights to keep his face blank, refusing to feed her satisfaction, but fails, a hot flush rising in his cheeks. 

‘Traitor’ he mouths at her. Her smirk only deepens.

Fortunately, the gathering ends with no further mishaps, either to his physical well-being or his dignity. Makoto is packed off with Meian, the little boy whining for more time to play with Shino. Hinata and Bokuto prance off for some ridiculous buffet on the other side of town.

As for himself, he hangs back with her to help the Miyas put their house back in order, expelling an amused puff of a laugh from his nose when she forces the very pregnant Kaiyo to ‘stay still, for goodness sake!’  on the couch, dancing around the house with a mop, Shino trailing after her waving a feather duster with gusto. He refrains from telling the little girl that she’s more likely to spread  the dust than to actually clear it – at least she’s not causing more havoc this way. 

‘I can’t believe I could’ve ever taken this for granted, y’know’, Atsumu comments from behind him, mouth wide in a tender smile. ‘It’s the best feeling in the world to have a wife and kid who loves ya to the moon and back, welcoming ya home after a long day at work. They make everything worth it.’

He’s thrown for a loop at this rare display of emotional vulnerability from the usually obnoxious setter and for once, does not resort to hostility, choosing instead to acknowledge the blonde setter’s words with a tacticum nod. 

The Miyas’ apartment is far too chaotic for his tastes, with colourful toys scattered on the floor, mismatched picture frames of the little family on the walls, but laughter hangs in the air, and light spills from the windows, illuminating the warmth and love and fondness in every look and word the Miyas gift each other. 

His father gave him a compass when he was a child, as a present to celebrate his first match. His mother clucked her tongue because it’s a strange gift for a child - delicate, fiddly, its gold exterior tarnished with age. But his father chuckled and told him that he’s old enough to appreciate that the compass is his father’s, and his father’s father before that, an heirloom to remind their sons to work hard at everything they do, and to keep their hearts on course, pointing north. 

And Sakusa thinks he’s done that. He’s worked and worked and worked at perfecting his skills in his chosen sport. He’s accepted his solo course, so laser focused on carving out a career in professional sports leaves little time or space for intimate relationships. Not to mention the fact that watching the disaster of Atsumu’s early years of marriage from the sidelines, made him swear off similar heartbreak for himself. 

But there are times when he can’t help but feel a little lonely - when he has to struggle to find a date for MSBY events, when he has no one to celebrate the holidays with, when he goes home every day to his neat, cold apartment with space for only one occupant. 

The compass in his heart creaks. It starts to turn a few degrees just off-course. 

‘Do you ever wonder what it’d be like to get married?’ he asks her as he’s walking her home that night. 

‘I did, once upon a time’, she shrugs carelessly. He misses the sudden strain in her smile. ‘Why do you ask?’ 

He stays silent for a while, the length of the quiet street giving him time to properly ferment his response. He considers the effects of adding splashes of colour to his dull life, weighs it against his long cultivated instinct to avoid the potential chaos of any emotional entanglements. He finds himself suddenly craving the sweetness of cream cheese frosting, and wonders how it’d be like to come home to light, fluffy cakes baked by her hands. 

When they reach her apartment block, she tilts her head at him curiously, obviously awaiting his answer. He tugs his words together, strings his swirling thoughts into a decipherable sentence. 

‘Because Atsumu and Kaiyo seem happy together. And I wondered if we’d be happy together too.’ 

He watches her puzzle over his words, her brow furling into a confused frown. ‘And I wasn’t proposing, by the way’, he feels the need to clarify. 

She snorts. ‘I didn’t think so.’ With a directness that he very much appreciates, she looks at him squarely and asks - ‘Are you asking me out, Sakusa Kiyoomi?’ 

He meets her gaze. ‘Yes, I am. We’ve known each other for a decently long time for me to conclude our personalities are well matched, and we’re both mature adults who respect each other’s work schedules and commitments. And if you don’t mind that I can be overly blunt and quiet sometimes - ‘ 

‘ - which I don’t’, she interjects, with a chuckle. 

‘I think we might be happy together’, he concludes, with a small smile that’s becoming more common in her presence.

He allows her the space to turn his proposition over in her mind. 

‘Alright’, she finally says. ‘I guess we can give it a go’. 

So much for Atsumu accusing him of having a heart made out of tin. Flesh and muscle works overtime to pump blood into his cheeks as she slots her fingers between his and gives his hand a squeeze. 

Being in a relationship isn’t too different from what they had before. 

They still keep to their standing date to meet every Tuesday (schedules permitting, of course). But now he doesn’t have to make up excuses to ask her out on outings that aren’t food related. At first he tries his best to adhere to dating norms, arranging for romantic dates at candlelit restaurants, buying her massive bouquets that make her sneeze. 

‘It’s fine, Omi’, she tells him gently after they spend another uncomfortable evening in a dimly lit restaurant eating off plates too large for the laughably tiny food portions. ‘I’m happy just hanging out with you. You don’t have to go out of your way to impress me, I’m not holding on to any ridiculous expectations of you’. He stops after that, glad he doesn’t have to suffer another night trying to decipher which utensil to be used at which course, or having to put on starched formal wear to yet another stuffy restaurant. 

She’s noticeably happier when they accompany each other on trips to the supermarket, each holding a stack of coupons to take advantage of the latest deals. She shields him from any overly zealous obaa-sans with gusto, throwing elbows and using her grocery basket as a makeshift battering ram before they crowd close enough to him to trigger his anxiety. He helps her reach for things on the top shelf ‘to prevent her from scaling the grocery shelves like an overgrown teenager’ , he snarks. He’s worried his attempt at teasing lands wrong, but she snorts and thanks him good naturedly anyways. 

On the weekends, they develop a habit of meal prepping for the rest of the week at her apartment. His kitchen lacks the fancy mixers and blenders that she has, and in all honesty, his dark, spartan apartment lacks the sunlight and warmth that spills into her apartment from the windows, so it’s only logical that they should spend the bulk of their time there. It’s an oasis of calm for him, chopping vegetables and chicken into small cubes, sautéing them for the week ahead, while she bustles around whipping eggs and flour and milk together to form another delectable cake that they always end up sharing at the end of the day. 

He starts to dread matches away from home a little more than he used to. While hotel rooms are as spartan as his own apartment, he doesn’t have the option of heading over to her apartment to bask in her quiet warmth. His meals come in styrofoam boxes instead of the glass tupperware she stacks on her kitchen counter, and he turns up his nose at store bought cakes that his teammates offer him, only craving for those baked in her oven. He even starts looking up to the stands for a glimpse of her, only to remember that she can’t be there to cheer the team on. 

‘Cheer up, Omi-omi! We’ll have a home match next week’, Atsumu tells him jovially. 

‘It doesn’t matter either way to me’, he mutters resentfully, but the setter only grins.

‘Trust me, it matters a great deal to have the girl ya love cheering ya on, y’know?’ 

He stalks off to the changing room, ignoring the peals of laughter from the blonde annoyance he leaves in his wake.  

The tight coil of loneliness only loosens when he sees her waiting for him at the station when he returns. She ignores his protests to snag his suitcase away from him, the case looking comically large against her small frame, but she uses it effectively as a tank to force a path through the crowd, and drag him back to her apartment in no time. 

‘You need a home cooked dinner to make up for all those industrially prepared food you must’ve been eating this entire week’, she tells him, bustling around the kitchen, only stilling when he takes her shoulders in his hands. 

‘Are you happy?’ he asks, when he cups her face to carefully brush the dusting of flour on her cheek away.  

‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ She laughs, the sound fond.

‘Just checking in’, he tells her, closing his eyes as she pulls him down towards her for a kiss. 

All in all, it’s a happy, uncomplicated relationship. He likes it that way.

If his heart were a compass, he’d suspect it’s broken because instead of pointing north, it starts to inch inexorably towards her. 

But there are strange quirks he notices about her that niggles at his brain. 

She refuses point blank to check out the planetarium when she attends an event held at the adjacent Art Museum as his date, professing to have an irrational dislike for stars. 

‘They’re just balls of burning gas and light ’ , he points out. ‘What could you possibly have against them?’ 

There’s a flicker of irritation in her eyes that he does not miss. ‘I know it’s stupid but just humour me, ok?’ Her tone verges on a snarl, before she storms away, ostensibly to the bathroom to freshen herself up. 

She returns later with an apology for her behaviour. Though he’s confused, he respects her privacy and does not push for an answer. 

He’s at her apartment preparing meals for the week ahead when the doorbell rings and an enormous bouquet of white lilies are deposited into her arms. She stares dumbly at the flowers, their sickly sweet scent permeating the air. 

His brow furls. ‘Today isn’t your birthday, is it?’

His words jolt her out of her trance. ‘No’, she answers, before inexplicably storming to the living room and dumping the bouquet with a vengeance on the coffee table. Pollen flutters to the floor, delicate white petals crushed in her hands. 

‘It’s nothing’, she tells him as he shoots her a questioning look. 

When she disappears to the washroom, he peeks at the card. There’s no name on it, just a simple message - ‘consider it, please?’

He doesn’t question her about it when she returns to the kitchen. She doesn’t offer him any answers either. 

He finds himself wondering about them. 

It was refreshing at first to have a relationship free of any expectations. She never asks for more than he’s willing to give, seems happy enough to slot herself into the pockets of time he offers, only attends his games when he gives her tickets, doesn’t get upset with him when he inevitably forgets to text. 

But therein lies the issue, doesn’t it?  

If she truly likes him, wants to pursue a relationship seriously with him, shouldn’t she be demanding more than the crumbs of affection and attention he shows her? They’re both past the age of thirty, shouldn’t she be looking to get married and settle down, maybe spawn a demon child or two? 

He’s tried raising it with her once, but she responded with confusion. 

‘I don’t have any expectations of you, Omi’, she’d replied. ‘We both have busy lives, so whatever you’re willing to give, I’m happy to take’. 

There’s technically nothing wrong about her answer. It’s wholly considerate and kind - very much her.  

Still, it makes him wonder - if her heart were a compass, would it point towards him? 

He manages to hold his tongue until she gets another delivery of flowers. 

This time he opens the door when the doorbell rings, assaulted by the heady scent of lillies, pollen smeared on his sleeves. This time, there’s a name on the card. 

Oikawa Tooru . 

It takes a couple of seconds for him to realise why the name is so familiar. It’s the same name Hinata and Kageyama used to buzz about every Olympics - the famous Argentinian setter who started his career as a schoolboy from Miyagi, a prodigious setter who never made it to Nationals in high school, refused to give up and forged his way to success in a whole new land, continents away.

‘How do you know Oikawa’? He asks her. ‘And why does he keep sending your flowers?’ 

‘He’s just an old acquaintance,’ she admits. ‘He’s just sending the flowers to persuade me to attend his wedding.’

His forehead crinkles in confusion, and he tries his best not to leap to conclusions, but since she doesn’t seem to be forthcoming with further clarification, he presses her further. 

‘And why won’t you attend his wedding?’ 

Her shoulders slouch in obvious reluctance as she turns away, focusing her attention on the mixing bowl. But Kiyoomi isn’t easily deterred, so he firmly takes the mixing bowl from her and sets it on the countertop. He raises an eyebrow at her, clearly seeking an answer. 

She huffs a sigh through her nose. ‘Because he’s getting married to my ex-boyfriend, ok?’   

He blinks. That was unexpected. 

‘It happened half a decade ago. Ancient history. I’m over it.’ She mutters to the floor. 

‘Why didn’t you tell me about it?’ 

‘Because it’s none of your business’, she snaps, grabbing the mixing bowl again, beating the batter with a vengeance. 

‘You’re going to ruin the texture if you whisk it too hard’, he tugs the bowl away from her again. She refuses to relinquish her grip.

‘Leave me alone!’ she snarls, yanking the bowl back. Confused by her sudden fury, he lets go of the bowl, only for her to stumble back, eyes wide as she loses her balance, knocking her head against the countertop.

He drops down onto his knees, not even noticing the batter soaking into his pants, combing through her hair, scouring the back of her neck for any sign of injury. It’s only when he’s satisfied that her fall has resulted in nothing more than a bruise that should go away by tomorrow that he notices her tears soaking the front of his shirt. 

‘Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?’ he asks, wiping her tears away with a batter splattered thumb. 

She hangs her head, body still shaking from her sobs. ‘I’ve already made such a mess of things – don’t want you to have to listen to my nonsense – am just bein’ stupid, that’s all - ’. 

He patiently waits until her sobs dissolves into mere sniffles before speaking. ‘I want you to tell me what’s wrong. If you’re up to it.’ 

So through more broken sobs and hiccups, he listens to the tale of Iwaizumi Hajime, a boy who was her world, who only realised he was always in love with Oikawa Tooru, a fortnight before she and he were to wed. Her voice wavers as she tells him the full story of the white lilies, explains that her irrational dislike for stars stems from the reminder that she chose to give her world up to a boy-king burning brighter than the stars in the night sky combined. 

He waits until her words run out, and she’s leaning against him, broken and pliant in a way that makes his heart ache. 

‘I wish you told me about it earlier’, he tells her, tucking the loose strands of hair behind her ear. ‘That you would trust me enough to tell me about the things that hurt you in the past. And I wonder about the state of our relationship if you don’t even trust me enough for that’. 

‘That’s unfair. You never asked - ‘ 

‘How could I ask about something I didn’t even know about?’ He takes hold of her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. Hurt and anger and shock simmer in her eyes, each swirl of emotion fighting for dominance. 

‘I didn’t want to expect anything more from this relationship than you were willing to give’, she admits after a pause. 

She’s scared of being hurt again. He doesn’t miss the subtext.  

‘Shall I tell you what I want from you then? I have a list, if you’re willing to hear me out’ he asks, with a smile that’s growing more common the more time he spends around her. 

She nods, but keeps her gaze stubbornly on the ground. 

He takes his time to choose his words. He’s never been verbose - not like Atsumu or Bokuto or even easygoing Motoya, choosing to only say what is strictly necessary, using the precise amount of words, nothing more, nothing less. But this is a situation that requires more emotion rather than precision, so he inhales a shaky breath, letting it fuel the sentiment in his heart as he exhales. 

‘First. I want you to trust that I’ll never hurt you like he did’, he says, and with a self-deprecating smile he adds - ‘I don’t have any childhood friends to be secretly in love with besides Motoya, and I’m hardly going to be pining after my flake of a cousin’. 

That triggers the corners of her lips to tilt upwards, and encouraged, he carries on.    

‘Second. I want you to be open with me about what you want - your dreams, your expectations of me. I want to hear them all because  you’re important to me.’

That makes her flush pink, and she sneaks a glance up towards him. 

‘Third. I want to wake up each morning with you by my side and come home to you every night. I want to watch you fight cranky old ladies in the supermarket in my honour, be the first person to taste test all your baking experiments - even the failed ones that are only fit to feed Atsumu. I want us to be happy together. Forever, if possible.’

He lifts her bodily into his lap, brushes his nose against her cheek. ‘Now that I’ve told you what I’m willing to give, is that too much for you to take?’ he murmurs against her lips. 

Her blush blossoms into a deep scarlet, but her eyes are iridescent pools of startled delight. She doesn’t speak, sealing her answer instead with her lips. 

His heart’s compass is irretrievably broken, the needle melted into place. It doesn’t point north any longer, no  – it’s always going to point towards her. 

They move in together after that. 

He gives up his apartment, professing to prefer the warmth and light of hers. The Miyas help him move in even when he tries to refuse their help, Atsumu helping him to lug cardboard boxes up the stairs, Kaiyo helping him sort out his belongings, sorting them into his allocated cupboards. 

When they’re done, they order pizza and she bakes a cake to celebrate. ‘An impromptu housewarming’ she says, toasting Miya Kaiyo with a slice of pepperoni pizza with a laugh.

Kiyoomi shares a slice of chocolate cake with Atsumu in complete defiance of their nutritionist’s advice, jostling forks over the very last bite. She and Kaiyo scold them teasingly, telling them to behave like they’re actually thirty and not teenagers on the cusp of adulthood. Atsumu pulls at Kaiyo’s ponytail in retaliation. He refuses to engage in similar tomfoolery, reddening instead when she reaches over to ruffle his curls.

‘This is nice’, he remarks to Atsumu later, when their significant others are out of earshot, gossiping and giggling about something or other.  

‘It is, isn’t it’, Atsumu replies, a dopey smile on his face as he stares at his wife. 

It truly is , Kiyoomi thinks, staring at her.  

He takes over most of the cleaning, it clears his mind, he tells her. So to split the chores evenly, she insists on doing their laundry and cooking, and he doesn’t even nag her too much when she forgets to split the white and coloured clothes and stains some of his shirts once in a while. 

Wedding invites printed on expensive cream paper and bouquets of white lilies start to litter their doorstep every day. He tries his best to dispose of them before they reach her sight, but every so often, he comes home too late, catches her wilt as she brushes white petals from their doorstep. 

‘I don’t blame either of them’, she tells him, after he asks if she’d like him to call Iwaizumi and tell him to drown himself in a vat of batter, thank you very much. 

‘You’re too kind to both of them’ he says plainly, as they share a pot of tea, his head pillowed in her lap. ‘I would’ve just set them both on fire and left them to rot.’

‘Hajime loved Tooru for almost all his life - I just wanted to see him happy in the end. Argh  - I sound so stupid and sentimental like an old grandma, just laugh at me already’ she complains, hiding her burning cheeks in her hands.  

‘You aren’t stupid for being kind.’ He hums, quiet and low. ‘It’s why I love you so.’ 

He relishes the soft light dawning in her eyes, captures her whispered affection with careful fingers, spins them into gold. 

He has to turn off the stove to answer the door when some rude lout bangs on their front door far too early on a Sunday morning. 

With his coldest sneer and thinking resentfully about his breakfast, Kiyoomi swings the door open, fully intent on looming over the disturbance with his full height, but takes a step back instead when he finds one Iwaizumi Hajime hanging off the door knob. 

‘Hello’, Iwaizumi looks up at him confusedly. 

‘Hi’, he nods a greeting back at his old Olympic team trainer. They stare at each other. 

‘Eh - I think I’ve got the wrong house’, Iwaizumi scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. ‘Sorry about that, Sakusa-san.’

He’s about to close the door in Iwaizumi’s face when her voice chimes in, clear as a bell. 

‘Who’s at the door, Omi?’ 

The shorter man shoots him a look of barely contained rage as he uses his bulk to push his way through the doorway towards her. Kiyoomi tries to stop him, protesting that he can’t barge into someone’s private property without an invitation like that, but it’s as futile an endeavour as trying to block the path of a raging storm.

Iwaizumi reaches her first, raising a hand as if to cup her face by instinct, before letting it fall back limply by his side. ‘You weren’t answering any of my messages or calls’, he says. ‘I was worried about you.’

She stares at him blankly for a moment. Then fire sparks in her eyes. 

‘Well, as you can see, I’m completely fine’, she replies, jaw and fists clenched. ‘You don’t need to do a welfare check on me, we’re not involved anymore.’

The scorching pain in Iwaizumi’s eyes is evident, even from a distance away. ‘Yeah. Well. I thought we were friends. You didn’t even tell me you were dating again’. He shoves his hands in his pockets, tossing another heated glance in Kiyoomi’s way. 

‘I didn’t think I needed to update my ex-fiance about my love life, especially not when he’s trying to drag me to attend his wedding that I already said I’m not going to attend’, she bites back. 

Iwaizumi opens his mouth, then closes it with a resounding snap. ‘I’m sorry’, he says, with heartbreaking honesty. ‘I told Tooru that you probably didn’t want to hear from us, but he insisted and I got worried when I didn’t hear from you for months’. 

Kiyoomi can see her glare soften into molten sympathy. The tension in the air crackles with electricity. He’s neither blind nor stupid – he can sense the years of longing and love not quite lost between them. 

He thinks she loves him, Sakusa Kiyoomi – weird habits, cold disposition and all, but the doubt clogging up his arteries and veins is enough to make his heart seize – and if she’s going to break his heart, he’d much rather she not do it in front of Iwaizumi.  

‘Hajime - ‘ she begins to say, and at this point he jumps in - 

‘I’ll excuse myself so you both have the chance to catch up’, he says, waving aside her protests as he slips on his shoes. Even in his haste to leave the house, he clicks his tongue at the mess Iwaizumi left behind at their  genkan , kneeling down to arrange their shoes, only standing up when he’s satisfied they’re neatly arranged back in place. 

‘Omi, you don’t have to leave’, she says, holding the door open. 

He shrugs his shoulders at her, nose and mouth already obscured by his usual face mask. ‘Let me know when you’d like me to come back’. 

If she’d like him to come back. She doesn’t chase after him, after all.  

It’s a beautiful Sunday morning, but the golden sunshine feels more like a taunt rather than a balm to his mood. His stomach growls, making him long for the scrambled eggs he was in the middle of frying before he was so rudely interrupted, but his growing sense of nausea keeps him from seeking out an alternative meal. 

Instead, he makes his way to the park, sits on a relatively clean bench. There are couples a-plenty, strolling around hand in hand, families picnicking merrily around him, compounding the growing chasm of loneliness in his chest. He tries to count the seconds by his breaths, tries not to let the minutes expand the insecurities crawling, inch by inch up his throat. 

He sits alone. Poised, yet short of breath. 

He wonders if Iwaizumi Hajime has finally figured out that stars, for all their brilliance, cannot compensate for their lack of human kindness. And if so, he wonders which direction her heart would point towards if it were a compass - whether it’s as broken as his, and whether it points towards Iwaizumi or him.   

He waits. 

Then his phone buzzes. 

Ah. 

She’s asking him to come home. He does not dare to overthink the meaning of that single word. But he does not hide that his steps back  home are lighter than when he left, though the key in his hand shakes so hard it takes him three tries to fit it into the keyhole. He does not try to suffocate the seed of hope budding in the soft earth of his heart when he realises Iwaizumi’s shoes have vanished without a trace.  

“Omi?” 

She’s waiting for him, slipping warm arms around his waist, tangling her fingers in his curls, ignoring his complaints about letting himself wash his hands first. 

‘Am I silly for missing you, even though it’s only been an hour?’

He refuses to be distracted by the affection in her voice.

‘But what about Iwaizumi?’ he frowns, hesitation still poisoning the well of thoughts in his mind. 

Perhaps it’s a testament to how well they’ve grown to know each other that she doesn’t need to read the silent subtext of his statement. She smiles, bringing his palm flat against her chest, does not answer until his pulse matches the steady beat of her heart.  

‘I love you , Omi’, she tells him. Her heartbeat does not quicken, her smile does not waver. ‘You told me not to long ago to always be upfront with you about what  I  want so I’m going to be honest with you now - Iwaizumi is only ever going to be my past, and I want you from now on’. 

If her heart were a compass, the steady beat of her heart tells him, it would point only towards him.  

‘That is – if you’ll have me’, she adds, a shadow of doubt suddenly appearing on her face. 

‘Don’t be ridiculous’, he scoffs, burying his nose to breathe in the familiar scent of vanilla in her hair. ‘Who else would I rather have than you?’ 

Who else would he be lucky enough to call his home – a woman with a heart large enough to fit a whole ocean within its depths, with kindness in her eyes and mirth in her smiles. 

She laughs in spite of the salt in her throat and water in her eyes, leaning on her toes in a vain attempt to reach his face. He lifts her into her arms, laughs when she squeals indignantly as her feet only find air, toppling them both onto the couch where he can seat her between his legs, press kisses to her cheeks.  

She’ll tell him later that Iwaizumi came looking for her because he’s never outgrown his overprotective streak, and he’s truly happy for her - for them, because they’ve both moved on with their separate lives. And she ended up agreeing to attend his and Oikawa’s wedding on one condition – that an invitation is extended to him, Sakusa Kiyoomi, to attend with her as his date. 

He’ll tell her later that he’s happy to attend the wedding with her, just not to expect him to smile in any wedding pictures. And more importantly, he’ll tell her in his plain way that the list of expectations he has of their relationship has expanded yet again. 

He’ll lay out his dreams of a pair of matching golden rings to bind them to lifelong companionship, of hellspawn of their own and a dog, maybe two. 

He’ll ask her if it’s too much for him to ask of her.  

She’ll tell him that she’s willing to give him everything he asks for and more. 

It’s Miya Shino’s ninth birthday party. 

He’s retired from volleyball proper, and is thankful he insisted on getting a business degree from Chuo University before going pro, because it comes in handy working alongside Kuroo Tetsuro at the volleyball association. 

Miya Atsumu insists on inviting him to the party, though he supposes he’s invited not by virtue of being a former teammate, but because he’s also Shino’s uncle by marriage now. The thought that he’s related to Miya Atsumu, however distant and most definitely not by blood, still fills him with dread. 

The birthday girl is a little less imbued with her father’s chaotic energy this time, though she still squeals when her birthday cake is unveiled – though to be fair it’s less a cake, more a tower of cupcakes with cream cheese frosting spelling out her name. 

‘Thank you Auntie!’ Shino cries, flinging her arms around her. Kiyoomi flinches at the sight of anyone, even his nine year old niece, coming in close contact with his extremely pregnant wife, but a sharp glare from her subdues any complaint he dares to make. 

He fusses over her the minute he has the chance to corral her away from the clutches of Miya Shino. ‘Are your feet hurting? What about your back? I don’t know why you insist on walking so much when you know the doctor said you should be on bed rest soon’. 

‘Stop fussing, Omi! The baby and I will be fine’, she replies, exasperated. ‘This is the last social event scheduled before I pop and I’m determined to enjoy it while I can.’ Then she scuttles off faster than he imagines her frame allows, leaving him floundering in her wake. 

‘Just let her be’, Miya Atsumu laughs, slapping his back. Kiyoomi is on the verge of pointing out -  pot, meet kettle, reminding Atsumu that the last time Kaiyo was pregnant, Atsumu didn’t stop fretting until she went into labour and delivered a healthy baby boy. But then he remembers the grief etched into Atsumu’s face when Kaiyo miscarried in the stands during a game, so he holds his tongue and rolls his eyes instead. 

‘I’m just worried she’s pushing herself too hard’, he admits in a rare bout of vulnerability. 

Atsumu smiles, genuine for once. ‘Those crazy women, eh? They’re always gonna drive us up the wall, but they’re worth every minute of it.’ 

He looks at her, belly swollen with their first child, peach blossoms blooming in her cheeks. His past self would never imagine that he’d find this much joy and contentment in being a husband and a father, but then again his past self was satisfied coming home alone day after day to a cold apartment. He knows better now - life is so better when he has her, sharing stories of their day of over steaming mugs of tea at their kitchen countertop, listening to her hum as she bakes treats for the weekend, warmth and laughter and love abound in their cosy apartment for two, soon to be three.   

So feeling vaguely drunk though he hasn’t had a drop of alcohol in the months since she whispered during their anniversary dinner that they were expecting, Kiyoomi laughs aloud. 

Atsumu lifts his eyebrows in surprise.

‘She really, really is’, Kiyoomi says, breaking into an unguarded smile.  

If you wanna know more about the backstory of the reader - check out The Astrophile, and if you wanna know more about Miya Atsumu’s relationship with his wife, check out Storm Chaser. 

As always, reblogs and/or comments are so very appreciated <3

Taglist: 

@snoozless @softsakusa @moondaius​ (yeon i’ll be shameless and tag you cos I know you’re an Omi stan!)

[jilyyall]

Everything Has Changed

One evening on the shore of the Black Lake as they bathed in the orange glow of the setting sun, everything changed. Or, the first ‘I love you.’

They hadn’t been officially dating very long, but they’d shared a few snogs before they started dating – if just about every day since the beginning of the school year counted as a few snogs –  and they had been open and frank about their feelings for each other for weeks before they’d made it official, and she’d known him since they were eleven, so when James was silent all day, Lily knew something was on his mind. She didn’t think he was upset with her; it wasn’t an angry silence. It wasn’t as if he was trying to hurt her feelings or punish her by not speaking to her. That wasn’t something that James would do – it was what Sev would have done, back when they were friends and he thought she had done something wrong and was trying to guilt her into apologizing to him.

Rather, she got the distinct impression that he was wrestling with something in his mind, taking his time mulling it over. It was so rare that he took the time to think things through rather than diving in head first that she let him have the day, the whole damn day, even though it drove her mad. She would even let him have the night, if she thought he still needed it. Tomorrow, however, all bets were off. Her boy was going to get this off his chest, whatever this was.

They were in the Great Hall having dinner quite early tonight, their two separate friend groups sitting near each other, but not entirely together – James sat on Lily’s right, and his friends sat to his right with only Sirius sitting across the table from Remus, two bodies down from James. On Lily’s left sat her friends Mary and Dorcas. The only indication that the two groups were at all connected was how close Lily and James were sitting, hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder, knees knocking, feet tangled beneath the table, even as they turned their heads away from each other to focus on their respective friends.

If he were physically distant, she thought, then she would have worried because anyone who knew anything about James Potter knew that he could not keep his distance from the people he cared about. Be it an arm slung over a mate’s shoulders, fingers threaded with hers or carding through her hair or dancing down her arm or brushing down her side, or the simple disregard for personal space, the boy was incapable of not showing physical affection. She doubted the idea of not touching her or Sirius or Remus or Peter at any given time ever even crossed his mind.

Not ten minutes ago, for instance, he’d walked in with his mates, a dejected Peter tucked under his arm, spotted her seated at the table and sat all but on top of her with nothing more than a graze of his lips to the side of her head in greeting as he continued to devote his sympathetic attention to Peter’s woeful tale of rejection. He’d even had to pull his place setting over in order to maintain his proximity to her. So, no, she didn’t have cause to worry that he was upset with her, or contemplating ditching her or anything of the sort.

Still, she was having a difficult time concentrating on Mary’s story about the Muggle boy her mum wanted to set her up with back home. Instead, she was wondering what exactly could be taking up so much space in James’s head. Currently, she knew, it was Peter’s heartbreak. She tried not to be very obvious as she studied him; none of the boys were paying her any attention. She could hear James’s soft, earnest, comforting tone as he spoke to Peter, told him not to worry about Melinda Sprockett, the pretty sixth year Ravenclaw girl who must have turned him down earlier. It should have comforted her to know that James wasn’t being quiet with everyone. It only made her more concerned that he seemed to be holding something back from her.

“Right, Lily?” Mary said loudly.

Lily snapped her gaze to her friends, embarrassed to have been caught not paying attention. “Er, yeah, of course!”

“I told you she wasn’t listening,” Dorcas giggled as Mary rolled her eyes.

“Yes, I was!” Lily insisted, but she knew she was arguing in vain. She had been caught out, but she wasn’t going to just admit it.

Dorcas wanted to drag it out - Lily could tell by the smirk on her face and the mischief in her eyes - but Mary, sweet, sweet Mary, took pity on her. “I was saying it might not be such a bad thing, you know? There’s obviously nothing wrong with Muggles on the whole - I am Muggleborn; it would just be stressful trying to keep magic a secret.” 

“But do you even want to date him?” Lily asked. 

Mary shrugged. “Well, he’s cute enough, I guess. But I don’t even know anything about him.” 

“Well, it may not be a terrible thing to just have some fun getting to know him; then you can decide if he’s worth potentially breaking the Statute of Secrecy for,” Dorcas said around a mouthful of Yorkshire Pudding. 

“Certainly it’s not really breaking the Statute of Secrecy?” Mary said, looking shocked at the thought. “If you fall in love with a Muggle, there’s got to be some sort of bylaw that says you’re allowed to tell them. Just like the Ministry told our parents about it when we got our Hogwarts letters.” 

Mary looked at Lily as if expecting her to argue with her or confirm that surely it wasn’t illegal, but Lily simply didn’t know. She’d never dated a Muggle.

“You’re probably right,” Dorcas hummed and lifted a shoulder. “I really don’t know much about it, honestly.” 

James’s fingers tangled gently in Lily’s hair and she glanced over at him, distracted, expecting it to have been an unconscious thing he did while still deeply invested in his own mates. She was surprised to find him staring at her, eyes soft and warm and glowing with something akin to awe behind his glasses. There was a small, fond smile on his lips as he let his hand fall from her hair to twine his fingers with hers. 

“D’you want to go for a walk?” he murmured. 

“Sure,” she said, and was about to stand and eagerly lead him away when she noticed the plate in front of him. Before she could say anything else, he was standing and gently pulling her to her feet. “But you’ve hardly touched your dinner.”

He shrugged and began to lead her towards the wide doorway.

Their friends watched them go without a word. Despite the fact that they had both been at least somewhat involved in conversation, there were no protests from either the boys or the girls. Though she hadn’t said anything, she knew the girls were aware that something was on her mind and she suspected that the boys knew much more than she did about what was going on with James.

“I’m not hungry,” he told her.

“What?” Lily couldn’t honestly remember a time James had turned down food when he wasn’t deathly ill or on the brink of collapsing from sheer exhaustion. 

As if reading her mind, he gave her a look as they reached the Entrance Hall and headed out onto the grounds. “I’ll go to the kitchens if I get hungry later. It’s not a big deal.”

Lily let it go, but she still found it rather odd until she noticed how jittery he was. James was never one to sit still, was in constant motion be it a bouncing leg in class or long slender fingers tapping the desk during Prefects’ meetings. But this was a bit more than usual, she thought to herself as she watched him drag his hand through his hair for the fifth time since they’d walked outside. His head was swiveling this way and that and Lily would have worried he was looking for a getaway were his hand not so steady and secure in hers. 

She realized as he gnawed on his bottom lip that he was nervous and despite the fact that she had been so convinced all day that he wasn’t planning on ditching her, ignoring the warm, fond look he’d given her just moments before, Lily suddenly felt herself growing paranoid. What in the world could possibly have James Potter feeling nervous around her? Unless he was planning to break up with her. Or had some other likewise bad news to share.

There weren’t very many people out; it was that time of year where it was beginning to get cold out and the sun was just starting to sink beneath the tree line of the Forbidden Forest so most of the student body was inside. 

James led her over towards the Black Lake, and Lily watched him closely as he cheerfully greeted Martin Greene, his fellow Gryffindor Chaser, who was on his way up from the greenhouses. He didn’t seem nervous as he promised to see the younger boy at their early morning practice the next day, but his hand immediately jumped to his hair when Martin was gone. 

“You’ve been quiet today,” Lily said softly, bumping her hip against his gently as they ambled along the shore of the lake. They had made about a half-circuit by the time she spoke. 

James hummed, and she saw him nod out of the corner of her eye. 

“A lot on your mind?” she asked. She had told herself he could have as much time to process his thoughts as he needed, but he’d invited her on this walk, hadn’t he? He wouldn’t have done that if he didn’t want to talk to her. 

“Yeah, I guess.” He sighed, and his thumb stroked along the back of her hand. “Sorry.” 

“It’s okay. You’re allowed to be pensive sometimes,” she assured him. Then that awful nagging worry struck again. What if she was reading all the signs wrong? What if his hand in hers wasn’t a sign that everything was fine after all? “As long as you’re not trying to ditch me.” 

She tried to make it sound like a joke, but she knew she failed when he halted in his tracks and pulled her around to face him. His eyes were wide behind his glasses and his jaw dropped as if nothing had ever shocked him more than that one suggestion.

“What?” he said, still gawking at her. Then, “What?”

“I was only joking,” she lied weakly.

Though his shock had done more to assuage her sudden worry than anything she imagined he might say, she still felt oddly vulnerable. Ever since she had accepted her feelings for him at the end of Sixth Year, she wasn’t used to feeling off-kilter around him. Even before they were officially dating, when they were in that odd will-they won’t-they limbo, she hadn’t felt nearly so uncertain than in that moment.

When she tried to turn away to keep things light, he held her there by the hand, once more turning her to face him. His free hand lifted, stroking her face, cupping her cheek as he stepped closer and peered down at her, that same awed look as before mixing with the confusion. 

“Lily,” he breathed, then shook his head as a bemused smile played on his lips. “Honestly, that’s the farthest thing from my mind. That’s the last thing I would ever do.”

She didn’t try to convince him she was joking, not again, not knowing that he could see right through her. Instead she bit her lip and tried to duck her head, but his nimble fingers on her cheeks kept her eyes on his. She felt her face flush, and she sighed. 

“I’m mad for you, Lily,” he mumbled, and brushed his lips gently over hers. 

“I feel the same about you,” she whispered, but she realized quite suddenly that maybe it was a bit more than that, actually. Maybe she a bit more than fancied the boy before her, judging by the way his silence had nagged at her all day until it had her on the edge of panic, fearing the worst even though she knew, logically, that her fear was unfounded. 

And since when had being single again been the worst possible outcome her brain could conjure? It had only been a few weeks and already she couldn’t imagine her life without James Potter taking up so much space in it. 

He smiled at her soft admission and then let go of her hand to bury both of his in her thick auburn hair. He kissed her, gently again, but much more solidly than a mere brush of his lips to hers. His mouth fit perfectly over hers, moving overs once, twice, thrice, before he tilted his head and deepened the kiss. 

A piercing wolf-whistle broke them apart after what may have been several minutes and they looked across the lake towards the castle to find their friends, his blokes and her girls, gathered near what was widely considered the best tree due to its full foliage and location mere steps from the shore of the lake. It was fairly obvious who had made the obtrusive sound as Dorcas was currently hitting Sirius’s arm none-too-gently. 

Lily looked up at James, surprised to find him looking somewhat disappointed by the arrival of their friends. She couldn’t recall ever seeing him anything less than thrilled to be reunited with his boys regardless of how brief their separation. 

“Shall we?” she asked when he met her gaze. 

He sighed, and his hands trailed slowly down her arms until their fingers were linked once more. “I suppose.” 

They continued on their course, not bothering to speed up despite Sirius’s distant and persistent urging. James tugged her to a halt again just as they were about to round the last little curve of the shoreline, mere meters from their friends. 

She peered up at him, mesmerized by the way the orange glow of the setting sun bathed him. He looked unreal; he looked perfect; he looked like a figment of her wildest dreams.

“I am sorry for worrying you today,” he said softly. “I didn’t mean to be distant. I was just… thinking about something.” 

“It’s okay,” she told him again. “I didn’t actually think you were going to ditch me all day. I don’t know why I suddenly got afraid of that.” 

He smiled at her, and there was a slightly manic look to the way his lips curved up. “It’s just that… I got myself all worked up and nervous over it.” 

She laughed at him because, well, she’d already realized that, hadn’t she? Almost as soon as they’d left the Great Hall he’d made it obvious how nervous he was. As he slid his arms around her waist and pulled her just a little bit closer, his expression dead serious, she suddenly realized why he was so nervous. And it was so obvious as well, wasn’t it? Hadn’t she all but come to the conclusion for herself mere moments before? Her breath hitched as he opened his mouth. 

Suddenly, the wild Gryffindor in her wanted nothing more than to beat him to the punch. The softer, more caring part of her recognized that he had been struggling to work himself up to this all day and she had only had a few minutes of the realization, and she couldn’t take that from him. So, she smiled up at him and waited. 

He was quiet for another second, then took a deep breath, and on a sharp exhale said, “I love you.”

Though she knew it was coming, the declaration made her heart sing and a little relieved giggle passed unbidden from her lips. Lily beamed up at him and it wasn’t until she registered the lingering anxiety in his eyes that she realized he was waiting for a response. 

“I love you too, you idiot,” she said with a fond shake of her head. “I can’t believe you’ve spent a whole day stressing about saying three little words to me when it’s so obvious how I’d respond.”

“I’ve fancied this girl for four years and finally got her to date me and she thinks I want to break up with her,” he shot back, but he was grinning now, a mischievous teasing glint in his eyes. “Honestly, and all these years I thought you were clever.” 

She rolled her eyes and he shook his head at her, splitting grin still in full effect, before he slid his arms around her waist, pulled her to him, and lifted her off her feet to swing her around in the air. Lily wrapped her arms around the back of his neck and threw her head back, laughing freely as he made her dizzy with all his spinning. 

“I love you,” he said again as he finally set her feet back on the ground. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” 

“You know it doesn’t make it any more meaningful if you repeat it incessantly,” she teased, but he clearly wasn’t bothered as he lowered his head, his mouth covering hers completely, hands leisurely trailing up her body until one rested tenderly on the side of her neck and the other cupped her cheek. 

He jerked away from her as a stream of water from the lake suddenly shot out and struck him in the side of the head, magically missing her by inches. They both whipped around to see their friends all laughing at them, Sirius’s wand hanging limp in his hand at his side as he was all but doubled over. 

James took several hurried steps away from her, clearly intent on retaliation, before he turned around again, kissed her quickly and with a flash of a grin, and repeated, “I love you.” 

Then he was gone, and was nothing more than a tangle of limbs as he wrestled Sirius to the ground Muggle-style. Remus and Peter stood close by, laughing, as Mary and Dorcas retreated hurriedly to avoid falling casualty to the boys’ roughhousing. They stopped in front of Lily and all three of them watched warily as James and Sirius rolled into Remus’s legs, causing the poor boy to fall on top of them as Peter dashed a few steps back. 

“Boys,” Dorcas said, shaking her head as she watched Remus, usually the most composed of the lot, laugh and throw himself wholeheartedly into the pile of wrestling limbs. 

“So immature,” Mary agreed with a little dismissive sniff.

But Lily couldn’t stop smiling as she watched James play with his mates like children. “Still love ‘em, though.”

[olgagarmash]

Are You Guilty of Any of These Flawed Fitness “Shortcuts”? – InsideHook

Here in the land of life hacks, we’re always on the prowl for automators, money-savers and better ways to multitask. Need a last-minute speaker? Place your iPhone in a cup for an instant volume increase. Forgot to chill a soda or beer, but don’t want to water it down with ice cubes? Wrap a wet paper towel around the bottle, pop it in the freezer and set a timer for 10 minutes. Hungry but low on food (and also frugal)? Beeline to Costco or another store that’s generous with the samples, and knock out your grocery shopping while filling up on free snacks.

I can’t argue with any of those tactics, or deny using them myself a time or two. But I will argue that some domains reward shortcuts more than others. Morning routines and keyboard shortcuts are ripe for hacking. Fitness, unfortunately, is not. Just think about your last attempt to get in shape or lose weight quickly. You probably started out with a flourish, full of motivation and willpower and bikini body dreams at the start, but more than likely you fizzled out before reaching your goals or enjoying them for long. (Buzzkill, yes, but true: studies show that nearly eight out of 10 New Year’s resolutions don’t even make it past February.)

The issue is that physical fitness is a lifestyle, and it requires gradual adaptations, a sustainable approach and a tolerance for delayed gratification. Much of the journey is uncomfortable and unglamorous, and progress can feel agonizingly slow. But as I see time and time again in the marathoning world I inhabit, the athletes that spend years paying their dues, slowly chipping away at their goals and clinging to the belief that their time is coming, are the ones whose careers both last the longest and shine the brightest. Sara Hall, Des Linden, Meb Keflezighi and Deena Kastor are my personal posterchildren for the long-game approach.

The best defense against a crash-and-burn is awareness of the common pitfalls of fellow fitness-chasers, and an understanding of why they’re not the quick fixes they seem like. Here are four of the most tempting hacks in this arena that often end up doing more harm than good.

Force a certain body size

It’s not hard to assume, based on the looks of elite athletes, that what makes them successful in their sports is the size and composition of their bodies. It’s the most visible difference and an easy one to fixate on. As one example, all else being equal, propelling a 130-pound body across the pavement for 26.2 miles is objectively easier than heaving a 180-pound body down the road, right? 

Well … kind of, but not exactly. First of all, no athlete succeeds solely because of his or her size, and very few achieve elite physiques overnight (or in a single season). Some may be genetically predisposed for sprinting thanks to a surplus of fast-twitch muscle fibers, or for endurance activities thanks to small calves and a monstrous aerobic engine. But even they still have to develop those gifts and strengthen the rest of their bodies so that it all works together harmoniously. I can also rattle off plenty of examples of phenomenal athletes whose figures defy the traditional mold within their sport. The point is that it’s not the way your body looks, but how you train it and what you believe about it.

Go hard on recovery days

We all know them: the guys and gals that train hard nearly every day, with not a lot of fluctuation across a given week. As an extreme example, I have a friend whose dad has been doing the exact same gym workout seven days a week for decades: 45 minutes on the elliptical, 45 minutes on the stationary bike and an unchanging strength circuit, all of it pretty hard. No matter where in the world he is, what holiday he’s celebrating or whether he’s feeling under the weather (or worse), he simply will not adjust that routine.

If all you’re after is maintaining a baseline level of fitness, as I presume is the case with him, then doing the same thing every day is not a terrible idea. At least you’re being consistent with it. But in addition to becoming mind-numbingly boring after a while, your body is smart enough to adapt to whatever workload and exercises you regularly throw at it. A better approach, if you care about continual gains or maximum performance, is to diversify your training and keep your body guessing. How that looks is unique for every activity, but weightlifters alternate arm days and leg days, just as endurance athletes build in recovery days between hard sessions, with some days shorter and some days long. Many athletes train differently depending on where in a season they are, too. Whatever you do, I beg you: shake up your routine at least once a decade.

Ramp up training quickly

It’s difficult to reason with a driven athlete. He puts a key race, game or competition on the calendar, formulates an idea of what it’ll take to show up at his best, and puts together a rigorous training program that will no doubt get him there. Then he goes to town, ticking every box he can think of each day, feeling his confidence soar alongside his progress. You probably know what comes next: more than likely, his motivation flags well before the event comes around, or his body breaks down before he even has his go.

Anyone can start off strong out of the gates and exhibit superhuman dedication for a period of time. Much harder is rationing out that energy and enthusiasm over the long haul — a necessary skill for high performance at anything. Rather than trying to do everything better all at once, a wiser way about it is to choose a variable or two to manipulate, and then proceed cautiously. Change too much at once, and not only do you risk injury or burnout, but you also make it difficult to pinpoint what’s “fluff” and what’s worth keeping.

Buy all the gear first

I’m always astonished when I see a casual gymgoer or recreational jogger rocking a pair of supershoes — usually some iteration of Nike’s NEXT% racing shoes. What gets me isn’t just the $250-275 price tag (although that’s definitely part of it); it’s the value that these athletes place on top-of-the-line, edge-giving gear, even for everyday workouts. I don’t blame them for getting suckered into shelling out the big bucks for a promised 4% improvement. But I’m afraid that what’s getting lost in the obsession with shoes and other increasingly high-tech equipment is the good old-fashioned method of getting better through hard work and dedication.

Here are some cheap, if not free, things that I wish more people would do before pulling the trigger on another pair of carbon-plated shoe (or your sport’s equivalent): go to bed a little earlier, gradually build up your weekly training volume, spend more time on “the little things” (like mobility and core), work on improving your form and prioritize homemade, high-quality fuel. To me, only once you’re doing all those things does it make sense to invest in cream-of-the-crop gear. And even then, don’t forget that there’s also an edge to be gained from the Rocky approach — though it probably will never be marketed online or measured in a lab.

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[jerrisdiction]

Maybe I should talk to someone

"I feel like... Maybe... I'm too mindful of what people think of me," I attempted to confess admist the urge to cry.

"That's true of you."

[[MORE]]

I always got angry at calmness, perhaps because it formed a stark contrast with how volatile my dark emotions presented themselves. Yet these days I find something profound in how Mum appears undisturbed by my problems. It almost bordered on mockery to me, that she's known what's wrong but I'd never bothered to hear what she had to advise.

Despite being less than halfway through Maybe You Should Talk to Someone, I found myself crying through some of the chapters. Some parts hit hard not because of how profoundly "relatable" they were made out to be, but how raw they are as a true story, how people might not always heed these words of advice. How we as humans, priding ourselves on logic and analysis, can fall prey to such traps even if the answer sounded 'simple'. Though life itself isn't simple.

But this book is indeed challenging me on my thoughts. I tell everyone how much I dislike the job, hate accounting and detest any form of confrontation. The problem seemed to lie in the job itself, and in times when I was more sober, I'd tried to picture the problem as "excessively victimising myself".

I was definitely not thinking of how I nurtured the monster into its size today, when I realised I didn't wanna be contactable to anyone. I thought it was just a symptom of how done I feel with the job.

And I certainly did not notice that nearly all my concerns so far, were not with the technical competencies of the position, but in dealing with people. My unproductive behaviour showed in a few ways including:

- stalking others' Skype/ Teams status to calculate when I can go offline to be 'fair'

- calculating when's the best time to reply a manager so that I don't seem rude nor overly responsible

- rereading email drafts over and over again, wondering how the recipient would feel reading my email. And the amount of time I take to send an email simply paralyses me

- constantly wondering what a superior will think upon reading every single line I wrote in my work or in an email. Results in multiple edits that may not be productive

- jumping from one task to another because I felt uneasy neglecting the other task, and different superiors oversee these tasks. Ends up getting neither done, and panicking that both sides would haunt me

- panicking when someone asks me about the status / progress, hence scrambling to send a chaser or follow up email to client immediately, only for them to ask why I did that. It makes me feel like I was overreacting, they were simply just asking how things were going, not trying to perceive me as bad

- just... Don't feel like getting up to work - the fear of emails or messages is too much

- when a problem isn't solved, mulling over it despite knowing that worrying won't solve the problem. Ends up worrying more because superiors wouldn't reply when I try to ask how to solve it, wondering whether they don't have a solution or was I not important enough. Fearing that when the problem becomes more urgent for them to prioritise, they'd blame me for not taking action earlier

- celebrating when I realise there's no new email or message for the past hour

As the most junior employee in the hierarchy, there's indeed nothing colossal about the complexity of my work. But this fear and anxiety within me is getting out of proportion. Such that each Excel file, each email, each message, each software I use - they all seem scary. Not because of the work itself, but from who might review, comment, criticise, question it etc.

And again, I imagine superiors telling me "this isn't that difficult, why do you need so many hours" "you just need to do xxx". And it turns into a whirlwind of self reproach.

I imagine people to be monsters, perhaps to avoid the realisation that my imagination (and constant addiction to imagine) of how others think of me was the true colossal monster. Suddenly, this monster doesn't seem all that impossible to fight. It's still difficult, but...

Are people scary?

I tried to rationalise that everyone is trying to stay afloat, not necessarily mean or nasty. Everyone has deadlines to meet, and everyone feels lost with this circuit breaker. But I get guilty because no matter how much I do, it doesn't seem to help my clients or superiors keep themselves afloat anyway.

I also tried to tell myself that I am loved. But it also disturbed me, that people who potentially think I'm incompetent, are also very much loved by their loved ones. It makes me wonder if I'm worthy of love at all.

Perhaps my thoughts about people would never yield a correct answer, simply because humans are too complex - I'm finding answers in the wrong place. It only leads me back to the constant toxic mind guessing, draining my mental energy.

I hope I find my own answer by the time I get to the end of the book. The answer to peace.

[torentialtribute]

Clan Des Obeaux looking best stayer for Cheltenham Gold Cup after impressive victory at Ascot 

Gold Cup contender Clan Des Obeaux landed the Denman-chase on Saturday

] He is currently a 5-1 admission for the Gold Cup and might have been shorter race-day

By

Peter Scudamore for daily post

Published: 23:23 GMT, February 17, 2019 | Updated: 23:23 GMT, February 17, 2019

The best horse does not always win the Cheltenham Gold Cup, it can be the horse in the best physical condition of the day and the one who has had the best trouble-free preparation for the race

While we four weeks before the main race at the festival, Clan Des Obeaux has presented a very strong case that he is the best lasting chaser who is currently training and it looks absolutely like he has the best lead-up from the main contenders.

Ante-post favorite Presenting Percy was absent on Saturday and it is now possible that he will compete in the Gold Cup without racing over fences this season. Hardly suitable.

The forced break caused by horse flu also means that the winner of the Gold Cup last year, Colin Tizzard-trained native river,

with Clan Des Obeaux. Trainer Paul Nicholls was planning to win his King George VI chase in the Denman pursuit and, while that race was delayed for a week and moved from Newbury to Ascot, he got his wish.

There may be more bumps in the road, but I think he will be the happiest trainers with the Gold Cup hope right now.

Clan Des Obeaux played Saturday with a decent rival in Terrefort. He gave him 3 pounds and beat him 11 lengths. He is currently 5-1 for the Gold Cup and I see him become shorter as a racing day.

Saturday was a fantastic day for Nicholls. His best Ascot chase winner Cyrname looked fantastic, but due to the fact that he races best on right-handed circuits, he does not even have a mention for Cheltenham. The Punchestown Gold Cup in May was named as its big target.

I remain impressed by the tenacity of Nicholls & Haydock winner Quel Destin, who should fight against a strong Irish challenge in the Triumph Hurdle.

It is also difficult to see Nigel Twiston-Davies-trained Dancer who is not in the shake-up for the Hurdle of the Supreme Novices after his impressive three-and-three-quarter success in the Betfair Obstacle at Ascot.

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[lewisgabriel84z31]

Bitcoin Glossary

Bitcoin Glossary

We’ll be the first to admit it – the world of Bitcoin can be a bit overwhelming at times. That’s why we’ve put together this handy glossary of the most important Bitcoin terms with accompanying definitions. More than just Bitcoin, we also look at words associated with Bitcoin and cryptocurrency terms. Some of them will be familiar to you, while others might be new. 

Address – a Bitcoin address is used to send and receive Bitcoin transactions. The address is made up of sequence of letters (both upper and lower case) and numbers, but can also be represented as a QR Code [see below].

Altcoin – the name for cryptocurrencies that are alternatives to Bitcoin. An example of altcoins is Litecoin.

ASIC – the acronym for Application Specific Integrated Circuit, which is a chip meant to do one thing. In Bitcoin’s case – they are used to process hashing problems to mine Bitcoins.

Bitcoin – a decentralized, peer-to-peer online currency with open source software. Learn more about Bitcoin here.

Bitcoin ATM – like a regular ATM, Bitcoin ATMs provide people with Bitcoins after depositing regular currencies.

Bitcoin Whitepaper – written by Satoshi Nakamoto in 2008, it describes the original plan and protocol for Bitcoin.

Blockchain – this is a list of every block that has been mined since Bitcoin began. All Bitcoin transactions are displayed within the Blockchain in order to provide transparency for the currency.

BPI – the Bitcoin Price Index, showing the price of Bitcoin against a number of other crypto and fiat currencies.

BTC – the shorthand name for Bitcoin, and also the unit for 1 Bitcoin.

Cold Storage – a security measure for Bitcoin that is disconnected from the internet. Could be a paper wallet [see below], USB stick or hardware wallet.

Confirmation – hashing a Bitcoin transaction successfully and its being added into the Blockchain.

Cryptocurrency – a currency based on mathematics and cryptography. Learn more about cryptocurrency.

Difficulty – a number defining how difficult it is to hash a new block. As computing power for hashing increases, the difficulty level increases.

Dogecoin – a cryptocurrency featuring a Shiba Inu dog from the famous “Doge” internet meme. This is one of the top altcoins.

Exchange – a resource for exchanging currencies. Bitcoin exchanges are used to convert fiat currencies into Bitcoin and vice versa, or to exchange Bitcoin with other cryptocurrencies.

Faucet – a resource that provides free Bitcoins, usually in the form of hourly or daily deposits of several Satoshis [see below].

Fiat Currency – “regular” currencies such as Dollars or Pounds that are given value based on people giving them a value.

Genesis Block – the very first block in the Blockchain.

Gigahashes/sec – the amount of hashes possible every second, measured in billions of hashes.

Hash – hashing is an action of performing a hash function to output data. Used in order to confirm and process Bitcoin transactions.

Hashrate – the level of performance of mining computer hardware expressed in hashes/second.

Input – the input side of a given Bitcoin transaction is the side where the Bitcoin payment is coming from. Usually, this is expressed with a Bitcoin address.

Liberty Reserve – a digital currency processors located in Costa Rica that was shut down and seized by the United States government after it was found to be laundering money.

Litecoin – another top altcoin. See our guide to Litecoin.

mBTC – 1 thousandth of a Bitcoin (0.001 BTC). Learn more about Bitcoin denominations. 

Microtransaction – the ability to pay for things in very small sums thanks to the fact that Bitcoin may be extended to 8 decimal places. Microtransactions are especially important to Bitcoin casinos by providing players the ability to deposit and gamble fractions of Bitcoins.

Mining – the act of creating new Bitcoins using computer hardware. For more read our full guide to bitcoin mining. 

Mixing Service – the act of combining Bitcoins from different people by switching their addresses. This can help improve privacy and anonymity, but also can be used for money laundering.

Mt. Gox – one of the first Bitcoin exchanges that began liquidating after more than 850,000 of its users’ Bitcoins were lost or stolen – an amount equal to more than $450,000,000 at the time.

Namecoin – an altcoin allowing people to use the currency to purchase domain names.

Node – a computer connected to the Bitcoin network in order to input and process transactions.

Output – the output side of a given Bitcoin transaction is the side where the Bitcoin payment is being sent to. Usually, this is expressed with a Bitcoin address.

Paper Wallet – paper versions of Bitcoins that are meant to be more secure due to being offline.

Pre-mining – mining of a cryptocurrency before it is actually public and live, generally performed by its creator.

Private Key – an alphanumeric string of characters that is meant to be kept private. This, in connection with the public key, is used for digital communication and completing Bitcoin transactions.

Public Key – used in connection with the private key, and also known as the Bitcoin address.

QR Code – like a barcode on products, the QR Code contains a pattern that is meant to be scanned by cameras and can be used to directly connect to a Bitcoin address.

Reward – when mining for new Bitcoins, the miner may claim new coins in a new block as a reward for helping to add new Bitcoins into circulation.

Satoshi – a Bitcoin “cent��, the smallest form of Bitcoins. One Bitcoin is equal to 1 million Satoshis.

Satoshi Nakamoto – the creator of Bitcoin and the author of the original Bitcoin whitepaper and code. His real identity is unknown to the world. Learn more about Bitcoin’s mysterious creator.

Signature – a series of bytes that is a digital signature to connect someone to their public key in performing Bitcoin transactions.

Silk Road – an underground website, as part of the “dark web”, that was essentially the black market online. One could purchase illegal drugs, organs or hire assassins online. The site used cryptocurrencies such as Bitcoin and was shut down in 2013 by the FBI.

Stale – when a Bitcoin clock is successfully hashed, the act of hashing it becomes ‘stale’, which means that no other miner may attempt to hash it.

Testnet – an alternative to the Blockchain, used for testing, as the name suggests.

TOR – a program used by internet users for anonymity online. Also used many times by those attempting to access Silk Road.

uBTC – the unit for a microbitcoin (0.000001 BTC).

Vanity Address – a Bitcoin address that is personalized, like a vanity license plate.

Wallet – a method for storing Bitcoins, and is generally the first step for anyone looking to buy or own Bitcoins. There are various forms of wallets – online, offline (software), hardware and paper – with varying levels of security.

Zero-Confirmation Transaction – during a Bitcoin transaction, the seller may choose to send the product before the transaction has received confirmations. This is generally a show of good faith but also runs the risk of using the Bitcoins twice.

The post Bitcoin Glossary appeared first on Bitcoin Chaser.

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[sbknews]

New Post has been published on Superbike News

New Post has been published on http://superbike-news.co.uk/wordpress/back-in-the-hot-seat-riders-warm-up-for-buriram/

Back in the hot seat: riders warm up for Buriram

It’s almost time for bikes to head out on track for the PTT Thailand Grand Prix, putting Chang International Circuit into the pantheon of MotoGP™ history as it becomes the newest venue to play host. But before engines on, it was time to talk in the pre-event Press Conference and with so much unknown on the horizon, there was plenty to say.

Reigning Champion Marc Marquez (Repsol Honda Team) was joined by his closest chaser Andrea Dovizioso (Ducati Team), Valentino Rossi (Movistar Yamaha MotoGP), Andrea Iannone (Team Suzuki Ecstar), his teammate Alex Rins and Aprilia Racing Team Gresini’s Aleix Espargaro in the Press Conference, with talk kicking off with the pre-event in Bangkok for Marquez.

“It was a tough day,” says the number 93 of his day in the Thai capital. “It was even hotter than here! But we had a good day, including riding the tuk tuk in the city! And I know a bit more about Bangkok because I’d never visited. Then last night I got to Buriram.”

Now he’s arrived, it’s reset for racing – with the goal the same as always; fighting for the win.

“The mentality is the same like in Aragon, Misano, Red Bull Ring…” affirms Marquez. “Try to start on Friday with the mentality of fighting for the victory on Sunday. Try to prepare all weekend to be ready on Sunday and see if we can be ready to fight for the victory, or if we have to take points. It’s the best way. But you have to take some risks over the weekend and be in good shape from FP1. It will be important.

“We tested here but I think all manufacturers now have arrived with a different balance and it will be interesting to understand now what the level is.”

Next up was Andrea Dovizioso, one of those who has gained a lot of momentum since that first test in Thailand. It wasn’t a timesheet-topping test for the Italian then, but does the track look good for the Ducati on paper? “The first half of the track yeah,” he says, but “the second half is a bit slow, second gear and we struggled in the test. But we only did the test and we haven’t raced here, and the tyres are completely different to the test. The situation with the speed of the riders is different to February so anything can happen! For sure we’ll start with good speed but we’ll see how the tyres are. In the test we tried something but the grip was very low.”

And that final corner? On paper, it looks set up for some late-race fireworks…

“For sure, I think this kind of corner could be an important corner in every class,” he begins. “But to think about the last corner we have to think about a lot of different things. The first is the heat. The heat is high, maybe even more than Malaysia and it’s very hard for everyone. The bike is very hot, that will affect the race – and the tyres will. It’s impossible to know much now…”

The heat was also on the tip of the tongue of Valentino Rossi – for whom Chang International Circuit counts as the 37th career venue. But first, the nine-time World Champion talked about racing in the region.

“It looks like we spend more and more time in this part of the world because the passion for MotoGP is very high,” begins Rossi. “It’s also important for all the manufacturers. It will be interesting to race in Thailand for the first time. On paper it will be hard because the track isn’t fantastic for the M1 but we’ll try. Like Andrea said, the weather is difficult because it’s very very hot, and it can rain every day. So first we hope for a dry race! We did the test here and it wasn’t great but we’re in a difficult moment so we have to try and concentrate.”

Nevertheless, the Italian remains an impressive third in the Championship – and he’s focused on consistency to retain it: “Given the speed we’ve demonstrated during the season, being in third is a good achievement,” says Rossi. “I have 29 points of advantage above Maverick but also above Jorge, who is strong during this last part of the season. So I think it will be difficult to keep the third place but we’ll try and stay consistent.”

Compatriot Iannone, meanwhile, struggled more in the test – but was on the podium once again in Aragon. Much like Dovizioso, he won’t yet be drawn on the unknown quantity of the weekend.

“In Aragon it was a good race for us, me and Alex, and for Suzuki,” says Iannone. “We pushed a lot from the beginning and stayed close to Marc and Dovi, but here is a different rack for us. During the test I struggled a lot here but Alex did less than me so that’s a positive. But I’ll only have an idea about the weekend tomorrow when we start. I hope we can start well, and then we’ll see.”

And Rins? He was also positive about Aragon – but the Spaniard had top pace in pre-season testing at Chang International Circuit, too. “I think Aragon was a really good weekend, two weeks before the race we tested as well and it was a good test. But during the race we learned a lot. I was struggling a bit with the front in the last bit and I tried to overtake Andrea to take the podium but I was close to crashing. But we’re on a good level and have a competitive bike,” he confirms. And Thailand?

“The test was good and I was able to be fast. I think and hope the bike will handle the track well. I like it a lot, there are a lot of fast corners, two or three slow corners but the layout is fine for me, and I think it could be good for our bike.”

Later going back to the point of learning from Honda and Ducati, Rins says he had a lot to report back: “I saw a lot on their bikes that I can tell Suzuki, what we’re missing or where they have an advantage…”

Aleix Espargaro, meanwhile, was the final rider to give his thoughts on the weekend. Off the back of an amazing sixth place in Aragon, the Aprilia rider says spirits are high again after the top result.

“Aragon has been a good track for me but we didn’t have amazing pace on Saturday…but this season we struggle in qualifying and then in the race we’re more competitive,” he explains. “We did a good job in the sessions, I did a super start and managed to stay close to the top guys. It’s not just that it was P6 but the gap to the leader wasn’t very big. It’s a bit of a break because it’s been a difficult season. I would say the bike is slightly better than last season but everyone improved so much.”

Now the question remains as to who has improved since testing at Buriram – and what the race weekend will bring. Friday sees Free Practice begin from 9:00 (GMT +7) local time, and the race is on Sunday 7th October at 14:00.

[olgagarmash]

Here in the land of life hacks, we’re always on the prowl for automators, money-savers and better ways to multitask. Need a last-minute speaker? Place your iPhone in a cup for an instant volume increase. Forgot to chill a soda or beer, but don’t want to water it down with ice cubes? Wrap a wet paper towel around the bottle, pop it in the freezer and set a timer for 10 minutes. Hungry but low on food (and also frugal)? Beeline to Costco or another store that’s generous with the samples, and knock out your grocery shopping while filling up on free snacks.

I can’t argue with any of those tactics, or deny using them myself a time or two. But I will argue that some domains reward shortcuts more than others. Morning routines and keyboard shortcuts are ripe for hacking. Fitness, unfortunately, is not. Just think about your last attempt to get in shape or lose weight quickly. You probably started out with a flourish, full of motivation and willpower and bikini body dreams at the start, but more than likely you fizzled out before reaching your goals or enjoying them for long. (Buzzkill, yes, but true: studies show that nearly eight out of 10 New Year’s resolutions don’t even make it past February.)

The issue is that physical fitness is a lifestyle, and it requires gradual adaptations, a sustainable approach and a tolerance for delayed gratification. Much of the journey is uncomfortable and unglamorous, and progress can feel agonizingly slow. But as I see time and time again in the marathoning world I inhabit, the athletes that spend years paying their dues, slowly chipping away at their goals and clinging to the belief that their time is coming, are the ones whose careers both last the longest and shine the brightest. Sara Hall, Des Linden, Meb Keflezighi and Deena Kastor are my personal posterchildren for the long-game approach.

The best defense against a crash-and-burn is awareness of the common pitfalls of fellow fitness-chasers, and an understanding of why they’re not the quick fixes they seem like. Here are four of the most tempting hacks in this arena that often end up doing more harm than good.

Force a certain body size

It’s not hard to assume, based on the looks of elite athletes, that what makes them successful in their sports is the size and composition of their bodies. It’s the most visible difference and an easy one to fixate on. As one example, all else being equal, propelling a 130-pound body across the pavement for 26.2 miles is objectively easier than heaving a 180-pound body down the road, right? 

Well … kind of, but not exactly. First of all, no athlete succeeds solely because of his or her size, and very few achieve elite physiques overnight (or in a single season). Some may be genetically predisposed for sprinting thanks to a surplus of fast-twitch muscle fibers, or for endurance activities thanks to small calves and a monstrous aerobic engine. But even they still have to develop those gifts and strengthen the rest of their bodies so that it all works together harmoniously. I can also rattle off plenty of examples of phenomenal athletes whose figures defy the traditional mold within their sport. The point is that it’s not the way your body looks, but how you train it and what you believe about it.

Go hard on recovery days

We all know them: the guys and gals that train hard nearly every day, with not a lot of fluctuation across a given week. As an extreme example, I have a friend whose dad has been doing the exact same gym workout seven days a week for decades: 45 minutes on the elliptical, 45 minutes on the stationary bike and an unchanging strength circuit, all of it pretty hard. No matter where in the world he is, what holiday he’s celebrating or whether he’s feeling under the weather (or worse), he simply will not adjust that routine.

If all you’re after is maintaining a baseline level of fitness, as I presume is the case with him, then doing the same thing every day is not a terrible idea. At least you’re being consistent with it. But in addition to becoming mind-numbingly boring after a while, your body is smart enough to adapt to whatever workload and exercises you regularly throw at it. A better approach, if you care about continual gains or maximum performance, is to diversify your training and keep your body guessing. How that looks is unique for every activity, but weightlifters alternate arm days and leg days, just as endurance athletes build in recovery days between hard sessions, with some days shorter and some days long. Many athletes train differently depending on where in a season they are, too. Whatever you do, I beg you: shake up your routine at least once a decade.

Ramp up training quickly

It’s difficult to reason with a driven athlete. He puts a key race, game or competition on the calendar, formulates an idea of what it’ll take to show up at his best, and puts together a rigorous training program that will no doubt get him there. Then he goes to town, ticking every box he can think of each day, feeling his confidence soar alongside his progress. You probably know what comes next: more than likely, his motivation flags well before the event comes around, or his body breaks down before he even has his go.

Anyone can start off strong out of the gates and exhibit superhuman dedication for a period of time. Much harder is rationing out that energy and enthusiasm over the long haul — a necessary skill for high performance at anything. Rather than trying to do everything better all at once, a wiser way about it is to choose a variable or two to manipulate, and then proceed cautiously. Change too much at once, and not only do you risk injury or burnout, but you also make it difficult to pinpoint what’s “fluff” and what’s worth keeping.

Buy all the gear first

I’m always astonished when I see a casual gymgoer or recreational jogger rocking a pair of supershoes — usually some iteration of Nike’s NEXT% racing shoes. What gets me isn’t just the $250-275 price tag (although that’s definitely part of it); it’s the value that these athletes place on top-of-the-line, edge-giving gear, even for everyday workouts. I don’t blame them for getting suckered into shelling out the big bucks for a promised 4% improvement. But I’m afraid that what’s getting lost in the obsession with shoes and other increasingly high-tech equipment is the good old-fashioned method of getting better through hard work and dedication.

Here are some cheap, if not free, things that I wish more people would do before pulling the trigger on another pair of carbon-plated shoe (or your sport’s equivalent): go to bed a little earlier, gradually build up your weekly training volume, spend more time on “the little things” (like mobility and core), work on improving your form and prioritize homemade, high-quality fuel. To me, only once you’re doing all those things does it make sense to invest in cream-of-the-crop gear. And even then, don’t forget that there’s also an edge to be gained from the Rocky approach — though it probably will never be marketed online or measured in a lab.

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via Wealth Health