#man said in an interview recently he’s focusing on the small wins

[whereareroo]

GET OUT THE VOTE

WF THOUGHTS (9/13/24).

On our recent Special Assignment, my workday ended at about 8:00 p.m. Thus, I was able to watch the debate between Trump and Harris. Now that the dust has settled, allow me to share some thoughts.

Let me start by saying that this debate did exactly what a presidential debate is supposed to do. What kind of person is Donald Trump, and where does he stand on the key issues? What kind of person is Kamala Harris, and where does she stand on the key issues? Those questions were clearly answered by the debate. The contrast couldn’t have been any sharper. Both candidates were on full display. The debate served the purpose of educating voters. I was pleased to learn that more than 67 million people watched the debate.

Overall, the debate was a colossal failure for Trump. It was a smash success for Kamala Harris.

Going into the debate, Trump had two basic goals:

1. He wanted to show that Harris doesn’t have the “right stuff” to be president. In interviews before the debate, Trump said that the debate would prove that Harris is too weak, too timid, too uninformed, too confused, and too dumb to be president.

2. On top of highlighting Kamala’s alleged personal deficits, Trump wanted to present a clear argument that Harris is a radical liberal with far left policy positions. He wanted to show that Harris is an extremist who stands to the left of folks like Bernie Sanders and AOC.

Trump didn’t achieve either of his goals. Harris controlled the stage like a superstar who is fully qualified to be president. Trump was so flummoxed that he was never able to launch any attack against Kamala’s policy positions.

Harris had four goals at the debate:

1. To show that she’s the only candidate who is focused on all Americans- -particularly the middle class.

2. To show that she has specific policies designed to make America a better place for everyone.

3. To show that she’s the candidate of unity and positivity who wants to lead America into a new future focused on love and freedom.

4. To let Trump make a fool of himself.

Kamala achieved all of her goals. She was particularly adept at opening doors that allowed Trump to make a fool of himself. She made him look small. She made him look negative and angry. She made him look tired, old, and slow. The best part was that she dismantled Trump without being aggressive or obnoxious. With a smile on her face and a glint in her eye, she set little traps and let Trump fall into them. Her performance was masterful.

I won’t attempt to summarize the entire 90 minute debate. Let me focus on some highlights.

On matters of substance, Trump’s answers and/or non-answers made the following very clear:

1. He wants Russia to win in Ukraine.

2. He will sign a national abortion ban.

3. He idolizes anti-democratic autocrats.

4. He still believes that he won in 2020, and he has no regrets about the attack on the Capitol on January 6th.

5. Even though he’s been talking about repealing Obamacare for 9 years, he has no alternative plan.

Trump’s demeanor was disturbing. For the entire 90 minutes, he was unlikable and nasty. Every boxer knows that if you’re getting clobbered you need to recognize the situation and change tactics. Presidents must constantly recognize changing situations and make tactical adjustments. Trump lacks that capacity. He just stood there and took the punches from Kamala. He didn’t even counterpunch. To compound his problems, Trump kept saying crazy stuff. He kept peddling a false story about migrants eating stolen pets. On a different point, he defended his erroneous position by saying that his source was Fox News. It was weird stuff. Trump looked like a defeated man.

Substantively, Kamala clearly won the night. She wanted to show that she’s focused on the people and their real problems. She discussed specific programs to help small businesses, stop price gouging, fund first time homebuyers, protect and improve our existing healthcare system, and to assist families with small children. She also discussed protecting democracy and our fundamental rights- -especially the right to vote and a woman’s right to control her own body. Kamala had the right answer to all of the national security issues, including the importance of NATO, our interest in a Ukranian victory, and the necessity for a two-state solution in the Middle East. There is no doubt that Kamala is smart, informed, and that she knows how public policy is supposed to work.

It was fascinating to watch Kamala’s demeanor under the pressure of a nationally televised debate. She’s the whole package. She has all of the tools. She doesn’t get flustered. She can easily transition from toughness to softness. She can easily transition from forcefulness to humor. She’s likable. She’s inspirational. She has style and grace. Unfortunately for Trump, she’s also a master of sarcasm and facial expressions. She owned Trump.

How bad was Trump’s performance? Trump’s friends on Fox said that it was “awful” and a “disaster.” The Wall Street Journal, which is openly conservative, ran an article under the headline “A Catastrophic Debate for Trump.” The opening sentence of the article said that the debate was a “train wreck” for Trump and that it was “far worse than anything Team Trump could have imagined.” Frank Luntz, a leading Republican pollster and consultant, said that Trump will lose the election because of the debate. Trump was so bad that even he has accepted the fact that Kamala mopped the floor with him. He has announced that he won’t debate with Kamala again.

Of course, winning a debate has little to do with winning an election. Our presidential elections are almost always 50-50 affairs. Somebody wins by virtue of a small slice of votes distributed across 6 or 7 key states. Kamala is playing a smart game. She has declared herself the “underdog.” Right up until Election Day, she’s going to fight for every available vote.

For Trump to win in 2024, he needs to keep every single vote that he received in 2020. The 2020 race was before Trump’s disgraceful participation in the events of January 6th. The 2020 race was before Trump was criminally indicted four times, before he was criminally convicted in New York, and before he was found civilly liable in a sexual assault case. The 2020 race was before Trump’s team at the Supreme Court created upheaval in America by reversing Roe v. Wade. The 2020 race was before Trump accumulated another 4 years of bizarre behavior. Will any of those factors cause Trump to lose votes? That’s the big question.

Can Kamala peel off 2% or 3% of the 2020 Trump voters. Compared to 2020, can she increase the number of Democratic voters by 2% or 3% ? If she can move the needle by those small increments in a few swing states, she’ll probably win.

This is going to come down to the wire. There are only 52 days until Election Day. Trump seems to be back on his heels. The momentum seems to favor Kamala. It will be another nail-biter. Do your part. Make sure everyone you know is registered to vote. Make sure everybody votes. Do whatever you can to land this election on the Kamala runway. For reasons I have explained previously, I continue to believe that America and our democracy will not survive another Trump presidency. Why would anyone take the risk of putting Trump in the White House again? If you’re still supporting Trump, you should have a serious talk with yourself.

[rafesgfs]

side to side

Warnings: swearing

Word count: 4.6k

Summary: In which you're performing your hit single in front of your fellow Avengers cast-mates and Chris can't seem to take his eyes off of you, catching the attention of a few cameras.

"I'm here with the biggest pop-star of this generation, and she plays the very talented daughter of Tony Stark," the interviewer announced your name, smiling brightly at you as the camera panned your way. The hundreds of thousands of fans at home screaming when your face appeared. "How do you feel with all your nominations tonight?"

You smiled at the camera, giving a small wave at the people watching at home. "Honestly, I'm just glad I was even considered for these nominations. I mean, my girls Taylor, and Billie...they're amazing and I'm so happy to be put in the same category as them."

The lady grinned at you, her eyes twinkling. Or maybe it was her sparkly dress, the fabric nearly blinding you with how it shined under the lights. "If you ask me, you've got a pretty good chance at winning. I mean, your hit single—Side to Side—surpassed, like, a billion views in just a month? That's impressive."

"Well, I couldn't have done it without my fans." you replied, winking at the camera.

It was that time of the year again, where every artist, actor, and YouTuber hit the stage for the People's Choice Awards. With your crazy schedule, and the lack of sleep, you had planned to skip the award show until your friend, and co-star, Chris Evans—Captain America himself—convinced you otherwise. Even with the categories you've been nominated for had been more than a handful, but it was the begging and constant complaining from Chris that made you get off your tired ass and put it into a tight dress.

Your hit single, Side to Side, had everyone anticipated for your performance, unsure if you would be performing until the producers had put your name into the advertisement, making fans blow up Twitter. You were sure they had advertised your own song, along with your movie nominations, more than you ever had.

With nominations of Movie of the Year (Avengers: Infinity War), Action Movie of the Year (Avengers: Infinity War), Female Movie Star of the Year (Amara Stark), Female Artist of the Year, Song of the Year (Side to Side), Music Video of the Year (Into You), Beauty Influencer of the Year, and Social Celebrity of the Year, you had your hands full, which had only made your manager glow with happiness.

"Of course!" the interviewer agreed, glancing at the teleprompter filled with tiny words. "It was rumored that you wouldn't be coming, and a lot of us were upset, including me. Was that just a rumor or..."

"Actually, it's not that far off. I'm fucking—oh, shit—oh no!" you gasped, covering your mouth before anymore foul words could come out on live television. Instead of correcting you, the lady laughed, patting your arm softly. "Can't say that on tv. My bad. I, uh, with everything going on, I've been really tired, and I haven't slept in a week. I just wanted to chill, and accept my nominations at home but someone convinced me to come. So, if I say or do anything ridiculous tonight, I'm blaming him and my lack of sleep."

She nodded, clapping slowly. "I think that's fair. Is that someone, your onscreen father, RDJ?"

"He was one of the many people who unsuccessfully changed my mind, but no, it was Chris Evans. He promised me a day with his adorable dog, Dodger, and I couldn't refuse." you said, grinning at how his face had changed from hopeless to cocky as soon as he brought up Dodger.

"If I'm remembering this correctly, Chris Evans is that very handsome man you had kissed in your music video earlier this year. Into You, right? How do you feel kissing one of your co-stars outside of the movies your working on?"

"Technically, it was still acting, and I have kissed him before, so it wasn't awkward at all." you answered, glad Chris had accepted the role. Not only had it sky-rocketed the views and streams, but it made you feel better that it was his lips you were kissing and not a random model's. Yet, it didn't feel as professional as it had before when you pulled away after a take.

In scenes where you had to kiss the Boston actor, it was as professional as kicking Anthony Mackie's ass in Civil War but the kisses you shared on the set of the music video was definitely more personal. At the time, you had brushed it off as Chris being recently single, but now that you had broken up with Henry, you started questioning it again.

The interviewer nodded, squinting once more to read the words off the teleprompter before asking you another question that would certainly make the headlines. "I've been reading up on all those juicy tabloids and I've got one question that would satisfy my curiosity. Was Into You written about Henry Cavill or Tom Ellis?"

Usually, that type of question made you change the subject or altogether avoid the matter but this time, you wanted to joke about your failed engagement. "Henry, but Side to Side was written about Tom since I wanted more Grammy's considering the last album I put out won me a few. But this time, I'm gonna do it without an engagement."

The woman faked a laugh, surprised by the blunt honesty of your answer. "Um, you certainly do have a thing for British men, eh? I don't want to keep you up, but one more thing, for the fans. They've been dying to know if there's anything going on between you and Chris Evans. Any tea you wanna spill?"

"There's none to spill. We're just friends but it's always amusing scrolling through Twitter to find these edits of us." you replied, fidgeting slightly with the hem of your dress. Like usual, you had wondered if you should've worn something less extra but you had let your stylist play dress up with you for the past few months.

"Of course. Well, good luck to you, and I can't wait to see your performance." she said, giving you a little pat on the shoulders before announcing your name once again.

You got off the little platform, immediately taking Chris' awaiting hand, holding onto it as you climbed down the steps in your dangerous stilettos. Sighing, you leaned on him, trying to avoid the blinding camera flashes. "That was more exhausting than I thought it would be. You need to get me some caffeine after this is over because there's no way I'm making it to the after show without at least a few cans of Red Bull."

"So dramatic." Chris grinned, childishly sticking his tongue out as he guided you down the red carpet, stopping when told to take a picture. He let go of your hand, only to wrap it around your waist as you posed for the pictures. "Are you going to the after party?"

Posing seriously for a few seconds, you let your smile back on your face, facing the man beside you. "I was thinking about it, take a few photos, and head back home. Aren't you?"

"Actually, I was thinking we could ditch it and just hang out. You know, I did promise you some time with Dodger and you could waste a couple hours sleeping." he replied, his hand tightening ever so slightly on your waist. Flashing you a shit-eating smirk, he nudged you a little, pulling you away from the blinding flashes. "What do you say?"

You opened your mouth to answer only to be cut off by your manager, Alexandre coming out of nowhere to rip you away from Chris' arms. The latin man sighed in annoyance, glancing at his watch while giving you the look you've seen too many times before. "You're supposed to be in wardrobe right now. Get your ass backstage, and change before you miss your own performance. As for you, Mr. Evans, Megan wants your ass in a chair."

"I'll see you after." you say, getting dragged by your manager, winking at the actor before walking towards the changing area, the cameras following you until they couldn't enter the area.

Getting ready before a huge performance always calmed you down, maybe it was the smell of makeup or the feel of designer clothing made especially for you, but something about it made you feel comfortable and cozy. It was like a routine, especially with all the music videos and movies you had to film, the makeup, the hair.

They made you sit back, giving you your phone like a child while they made you even more sparkly than before, making sure you'd stand out against the flashing lights during the performance. A performance you made sure no one would ever forget. Smiling, you let your thoughts drift back to a certain super soldier as you were pampered.

—

"Welcome to the People's Choice Awards!"

The room darkened, the blue and pinks lights focusing on the stage as cameras all turned towards your shadow. Making sure your mic was set properly, tried to see past the darkness, to see a familiar face or two but with the headache coming on from the tight half-ponytail didn't help your case. The music started, the beat vibrating, you flipped your hair, and started.

"I've been there all night

I've been there all day (Nicki Minaj)

And boy, got me walkin' side to side (Let then hoes know)"

You rode the bike, belting out in your microphone, the attached headset limiting your movements a little. Gripping the handles, you made eye contact at the camera to your left, winking at it as you pedaled.

"I'm talkin' to ya

See you standing over there with your body

Feeling like I wanna rock with your body

And we don't gotta think 'bout nothin'

I'm comin' at ya

'Cause I know you got a bad reputation

Doesn't matter, 'cause you give me temptation

And we don't gotta think 'bout nothin'"

As you had sung, your eyes had adjusted to the bright spotlight focused on you, seeing a shadow of the one person you wanted to make you walk side to side. While you had answered the reporter's question, you hadn't been completely honest. Some of the lyrics had been written for the Bostonian; or to be more exact, your sex fantasies. With the chorus coming up, you let go of the handles, trying not to fall on your ass as you clapped your hands above your head, the claps matching the beat.

"These friends keep talkin' way too much

Say I should give you up

Can't hear them, no, 'cause I..."

Trying to be bold, you stared at him, his face in particular. The spotlight had blinded you so much that you couldn't see what his reaction was—or anyone's for that matter—but maybe it was a good thing. After all, his gaze always made you blush no matter how hard you tried not to. Pedaling faster, you threw your head back, hoping the motion would draw everyone's—Chris'—eyes on your chest.

"I've been here all night

I've been here all day

And boy, got me walkin' side to side

I've been here all night

I've been here all day

And boy, got me walkin' side to side"

With the help of a shirtless dancer, you got off your bike, taking the sheer jacket from him, and putting it on as you walked towards the front of the stage, moving your hips in to the beat of the song. Resting a hand on a shirtless dancer, you positioned yourself so you were grinding your ass against his crotch, throwing back an arm around his neck.

"Been tryna hide it

Baby, what's it gonna hurt if they don't know?

Makin' everybody think that we solo

Just as long as you know you got me

And boy, I got ya

'Cause tonight I'm making deal with the devil

And I know it's gonna get me in trouble

Just as long as you know you got me"

Sashaying to the little balance beam at the front of the stage, you made sure your hips swayed more than usual.

"These friends keep talkin' way too much

Say I should give you up

Can't hear them, no, 'cause I...

"I've been here all night

I've been here all day

And boy, got me walkin' side to side

I've been here all night

I've been here all day

And boy, got me walkin' side to side"

A few seconds after your note ended, you strike a pose on the balance beam, posing for a few more seconds while the cameras turned their attention away from you and onto the queen of rap herself: Nicki Minaj. The leather, pink bodysuit was identical to yours except for the color, her attitude fitting the badass outfit. She began to walk towards the stage, never breaking eye contact with the camera in front of her while the men pretending to work out to the choreo.

"Uh, yeah

This the new style with the fresh type of flow

Wrist icicle, ride dick bicycle

Come through yo, get you this type of blow

If you want a ménage, I got a tricycle

All these bitches' flows is my mini-me

Body smoking, so they call me Young Nicki Chimney

Rappers in they feelings 'cause they feelin' me

Uh, I-I give zero fucks and I got zero chill in me

Kissing me, copped the blue box that say Tiffany

Curry with the shot, just tell 'em to call me Stephanie

Gun pop, then I make my gum pop

I'm the queen of rap"

By the time she had finished her verse, you had caught up with the multitasking of both working out and singing, able to use your full singing capabilities for your high note. Nicki joined you on stage, hyping up the crowd while you built up for the high note, almost every camera pointed at you except for the one focused on capturing the headline-worthy expression slapped on Chris' face.

"These friends keep talkin' way too much

Say I should give em up

Can't hear them, no, 'cause I...

"I've been here all night (Been here all night, baby)

I've been here all day (Been here all night, baby)

And boy, got me walkin' side to side (Side to side)

I've been here all night (Been here all night, baby)

I've been here all day (Been here all day, baby) (Ooh, baby)

And boy, got me walkin' side to side (Side to side)"

Both you and Nicki motioned for the dancers to come towards you, curling your index finger at the sexy men. Singing the refrain, you both made them drop to their knees in front of you, as if they were kneeling at your command.

Just as the last note was sung, everyone clapped, the majority standing up, and more cheered. You noticed Chris hadn't done either, still sitting in his motionless while two camera men pointed their cameras at him. Your eyebrows furrowed, thankfully after the spotlight had shifted over to the miniature stage where the two hosts were babbling about nominations.

You were ushered off the stage along with the queen of rap herself, taking a few backstage photos before quickly returning back to your dressing room to change into your tailored dress. Your mind had wandered to why Chris hadn't applauded—not that he was obliged too, but a little something would've nice, especially with all the days put into the performance.

Taking a deep breath, you entered the big room, filled with your co-stars and other A-list celebrities. Little did you know you'd find out the reason to your question in the morning.

—

The loud ringtone woke you up, the sound obnoxious and borderline abuse to your ears. Beside you, Chris groaned, rolling onto his stomach, trying to muffle the sound of the call with his arm draped over his head. Putting him out his misery, you lazily reached for your phone, pressing the green button with dread, seeing the name across the screen.

"Hello—"

"You're trending on Twitter." Alexandre announced, happy with the results of the previous awards show. While it wasn't something as big as a Grammy or Oscar, judging by the amount of awards you had taken home, you became the people's favorite. "Hold on, lemme rephrase that. You and Chris are trending. Number one, world wide."

Glancing at the man sleeping beside you, you sat up, confused by the information given to you. You blamed Chris for making you stay up so late for your confusion. "Um, why? Did I accidentally have another nip slip?"

"What the hell?" Chris mumbled, rolling onto his back, his arm grazing your bare stomach. He immediately took it back, sitting up to look over your puzzled face. "What's going on?"

You shrugged, putting your phone on speaker so Alexandre could explain. Your manager chuckled, knowing you had stayed the night with Chris. He was just waiting for the day you'd finally have the guts to speak about the growing sexual tension. "Okay, Alex, explain."

"As much as I would love to go into full detail, I have other stuff to do so, I'm going to give you the basics. Chris' reaction to your performance went viral, people are shipping the both of you, and there's been thousands of memes made." Alexandre replied, a smile evident in his voice. "Anyways, I have to go. Got some interviews to schedule. Have fun getting your way out of this, Chris."

Your phone screen went back to the home screen, a picture of your family dog, Buster, smiling widely. Looking at Chris, you saw his eyes widened, his hands coming to rest of his face in embarrassment as he fell back onto the bed with a bounce, his head nearly hitting the headboard. "Oh, fuck."

"Are you going to show me what your face looked like or do I have to scroll through Twitter until I find it? Oh! Maybe they edited it in my performance." you thought out load, tapping on the YouTube app. You hadn't trusted yourself enough to log into your official account, knowing you'd probably make a mistake so you opted for having a secondary account where you could watch cat videos without the anxiety of posting something stupid.

Chris' hand snatched your phone away, tucking it in his pocket, the sweats he had slept in was somehow wrinkled, and his shirt damp from the warmth. "You wanna get some food? I'll cook some bacon but you'll have to make the pancakes 'cause the last time—"

"I wanna see your reaction." you whined, reaching across his stomach for your phone. Chris turned his body away from you, shielding the phone from your reach. "Chris!"

He waved your attempt away, rolling off the bed, his feet hitting the floor before you could fall back on the mattress.You poured, getting on all fours, crawling towards the edge. Chris took a step back, brows furrowing. "It's not important. Let's get you some food."

"Fine." you mumbled, an idea making you light up. Rolling off the bed, you glanced at his phone on the nightstand, exposed and easy to take. With quick reflexes, you grabbed his phone, rolling back on the bed until you reached the other side, making it impossible for him to reach for his phone back.

"Hey!" the Bostonian shouted, launching himself on the bed in attempt to get his phone back. He made a noise as you rushed out of your room, locking yourself in the nearby bathroom, laughing evilly when he threw himself at the door. He yelled out your name, his fist banging on the door. "I'm serious! Don't!"

Ignoring his begging, you opened his phone with your thumbprint. How ironic how much he didn't want you to look at his phone when he was the one who insisted you have the password to it. His arguments became louder as you opened up his Twitter, immediately heading to the trending section, seeing both your names at the number one spot.

"Damn, I look hot." you joked out loud, making Chris silent for a second before pleading for you not to continue. You smirked, scrolling through the tweets, trying to find his reaction. "Jesus Christ, what the hell happened to you? Did you fall on your face or something?"

Chris groaned, banging his head on the door in defeat as he heard your almost inaudible gasp, that quickly turned into little giggles. If he wasn't so embarrassed, he would've broken the door down to hold you in his arms. "Oh, no."

Bursting out into hard laughter, you fell into the large bathtub, hitting your head on the wall but you couldn't care less. The expression on his face during your performance had been borderline comical, the wide eyes, the jaw hanging open, the open hand resting on his chin while his eyes stayed strained on you the whole time, never wavering from your body, the sexy choreography making his jeans tight.

Cackling like the Wicked Witch of the West, tears ran down your cheeks, your stomach cramping from the maniacal laughter. Lifting yourself up from the tub, you stumbled to the door, your loud laugh ringing out towards the whole house. You let Chris in the bathroom, his phone quickly taken from your hand but it was too late. The blush on his cheeks wasn't going away anytime soon. You leaned against him, your head resting on his chest, while you panted out a question. "Why did you look like you were trying to attract flies in your mouth?"

Chris groaned again, covering his eyes with a hand while the other rested on your back. "You're not going to let me live this down, are you?"

"Oh, God, no." you giggled, wiping the tears away, beginning to calm down. Glancing up at him, you noticed everything above the shoulders was gleaming red, the embarrassment too unbearable for him. "Chris, you looked exactly like the first time we were forced to share a bed together."

"Yeah, you have that affect on me."

"You gonna tell me why you looked so ... shocked? Or do I have to search through Twitter and go with whatever fan theory makes the most sense?" you asked, unable to keep the smug grin off your face. Chris closed his eyes, wishing he hadn't made you come to the awards show in the first place. You raised an eyebrow, fingers itching towards his phone. "You know I'll do it, Evans."

The man raised his hands, taking them off of you as he paced around the bathroom, deciding if this embarrassing moment was the right time to finally confess. "It's just, you know, the dance was so ... sexual and hot that I probably wasn't the only one looking at you like that. You can't exactly blame me for being shocked, watching the girl I'm in love with—"

Chris stopped as you be watched the colors drain out of your face, immediately freezing when he realized what he had said. Both of you stared at each other, eyes wide, not moving a muscle, barely blinking; the atmosphere so tense neither of you were breathing, waiting for the other to talk. But neither of you wanted to go first, terrified.

It wasn't until you started to feel dizzy that you realized you hadn't been breathing, letting out a huge breath, trying to relax while Chris did the same, his hands shaking, a nervous tick he got whenever he was anxious. You got the courage to speak first.

"What?"

It was better than nothing.

Chris was so nervous he nearly ran out of the room. There wasn't some kind of handbook or script he could read, helping him tell one of his best friends how head over heels he was for her. So, he said what his brain was stewing. "What?"

"What—what?" you replied, unsure if he even said the L word, so lightheaded by the sudden confession.

The actor stilled, eyes widening even further, while his eyebrows shot up his forehead. "What?"

"What?"

"What?"

"Say what one more time, Evans, and I will make nothing but mac and cheese for the rest of your stay." you threatened softly, getting tired of not having an answer to your one-worded question.

Chris took a deep breath, hands trembling as he clasped them together, hoping to find the right words, hoping his inner thoughts would come out clear, giving you the answer you asked for. "I'm sorry. What do you want me to say?"

"What you were saying before. You know, before you looked like you saw a ghost and almost stopped breathing. I think that would be a good start." you replied, backing up to take a seat on the plush chair. Chris mirrored your actions, putting down the lid to the toilet before sitting down.

"This isn't the way I wanted you to find out." Chris whispered, his blue eyes trained on the emotions that flashed on your face. Your uncertainty of the situation didn't help his anxiety.

"Okay, um, were you going to tell me in the first place?" you asked, playing with the hem of your shirt—it had been a borrowed Patriots shirt from him. Looking back, you realized all the little things he'd done hadn't been because his platonic love for you. "Or were you just going to keep letting it be this way?"

Fidgeting with his hands, Chris peered through his eyelashes, seeing the hurt flash across your face before you quickly composed it. "Scott was hyping me up, trying to convince me to tell you before you got into another relationship. Do you know the real reason I broke up with Jenny? It hurt like hell when you announced you were engaged. Fuck, I couldn't even pretend to be happy because you were going to have the life I wanted with you, with someone who wasn't me. It was selfish and I got really mad at myself for being a dick."

"But—"

"And then the horrible, horrible relief I felt when you called off the engagement." Chris continued, his heart clenching. "Truth to be told, that was the day I found out I was in love with you, breaking things off with Jenny. Of course, I wanted to wait until you moved on, hoping to be the friend you went to but with my schedule, that was impossible. So, you seemed out comfort in Henry fucking Cavill."

"You're in love with me?" you whispered, hoping this wasn't some kind of cruel dream. If it was, you wouldn't mind staying.

The actor nodded, waiting for you to call him names and rush out. "Yes. You can leave or slap me or whatever you want to do but I love you."

You got up, running a hand through your hair. "Okay."

Chris' heart sank, wishing for any other kind of reaction, wishing you'd do something. Taking a deep breath, he got up. "Is this a goodbye?"

Frowning, you walked up to him, taking his face between with your hands, pressing your lips softly to his. You could feel his heart beat, the little organ beating so hard. You pulled away before he could recover from his shock, before he could kiss you back.

"Hello."

[smol-green-angry]

zukka, dumbass geniuses

They’re in London, or somewhere shockingly similar, at least.

Sokka is a mechanical engineer, and he’s really good at it. His job consumes his entire life a lot of the time. His colleagues know him to go deep into a sort of trance while focusing, and they know not to interrupt him. He never talks about anything beyond work to them, so they know nothing of his personal life. All they know is that the same time every day he leaves to go home with the determination of someone who has somewhere to be.

Zuko is a poet. Or, he thinks of himself as a poet. The rest of the world knows him as an author, and a bestselling one at that. Poetry, he was told early on, does not make money. But he can sell novels, and he can fill those novels with metaphors and symbolism and the sort of flowery language he likes to use, and that has won him awards. He works at home in the closet of his apartment that has been converted into an office. He spends most of his time indoors. Every morning, though, he heads down the street to a small cafe where he gets his first coffee or tea of the day and a croissant for breakfast. The people who work at said cafe are fascinated by him. They know who is, they recognize his name, and they find it amazing that they get to be a part of the daily routine of someone often called a literary genius.

The neighbours know. Well, they have their suspicions. Two men, both approaching middle age, living together? I dunno man, seems kinda gay. Especially how they’ve lived together for the past seven years and all. But they know better than to talk about it. They’re nice enough to respect the privacy of these award-winning geniuses.

“Are you married yet?” Zuko had once been asked in an interview. “No,” he had responded, quite flatly. “What about a girlfriend? Do you have anyone to go home to?” “I don’t go home, I work at home.” He had said. The reporter, sensing the man’s agitation, had quickly moved on from that question.

“To Sokka” read the dedication page of his most recent novel, a fascinating murder mystery. An interviewer asked him who Sokka was. He just shrugged.

“Do you wanna get a drink with us after work?” Sokka’s colleague had asked once. “Can’t.” Sokka had responded, still mostly trapped in his thoughts. “I promised Zuko we’d watch a movie tonight.” “Zuko?” Asked the colleague. “Who’s Zuko?” Sokka looked up as he realised what he had said. “He’s my, uh... roommate.”

[mahixa]

so @maxricciardo messaged me earlier today and maybe possibly probably inspired me to write this cute, fluffy lestappen fic. Listen, she’s great and she deserves to read something nice and comforting about Max after today’s race. And for any of you searching for something sweet and a short fic about the boys being happy together - I hope you will enjoy it as well.

You can read it on ao3 [HERE]

ship: lestappen

word count: 1734

fluff. It’s fluff. Boys kissing. Fluffity fluff. Let there be fluff. Max realises his feelings for Charles and thinks Charles is pretty. We all agree with Max.

The interviewer is someone Max has never seen before during their press conferences. He looks like he could live and survive on drama alone. Beastliness shines dangerously in his eyes and the way he tilts his head before he asks Max the question indicates deviousness.

Max doesn’t like this at all.

“So, Max,” his voice is obnoxious already. “We all know how painfully honest you can be. Let me ask you about Charles Leclerc.”

Something stings Max’s chest. It has been difficult couple of days for Charles, with his bad last racing weekend and a lot of family burden going on right now. The Monegasque, if asked about it, would kindly state that everything is fine and there is nothing to worry about.

But Max knows Charles and he is aware when things become too much for him. And it’s obvious that Charles has his ups and downs. Should anyone be surprised by that? No one. And yet the media keep doing what they do best – they wait for the smallest mistake, the tiniest inconvenience, and they dig deep into the topic. They remind Max of vultures, always ready to find a person during their weak moments and portray such person as the biggest victim possible. A loser. Rend their vulnerable skin and make them bleed for the sake of the headline. Pain them black and white.

For the media everything is zero to one. You either win, or you lose. You drive or you crash. There’s no in between.

And Charles is sitting right next to Max during this press conference, and Max can feel him switching his position uncomfortably as they both hear the begging of question.

“Charles seems to like creating controversy,” the man states the biggest lie Max has heard in a while and dares to continue speaking. “And recently he has been loosing his nerves in the most crucial moments. He is, let’s say, not good under pressure these days. Does it even make him a good driver then?”

Something boils inside Max.

“Does any of it have something to do with the upcoming date of Charles’ father’s death? Should Charles continue to drive during this weekend, or is he a threat to others? Clearly he might be, with his mental condition.”

The conference room goes completely silent.

Max doesn’t take his eyes off of the interviewer. He doesn’t even blink. His gaze must look dangerous enough for everyone to make them to look at him and the man multiple times, anticipating the answer. Max lifts his chin defiantly and squints, and it sends unspoken fulmination all across the room. Someone clears his throat nervously.

“You know,” Max starts, joining his hands together. “I think it takes some fucking audacity to come to this room and say such things about one of the greatest driver of this generation.” Someone gasps in the room and everyone lifts their cameras up. “So you come here, and you have your confidence, and well. You have to be confident, for sure, to ask such dumb questions and state such idiotic statements, clearly not understanding what does it mean to be a normal human in this sport, having better and worse days. So no. Charles is more than the questions about his father, he is more than your silly cheap mind games and neither him, or me, will waste our time on you. And he will drive with us on Sunday. He’s the best person out there when it comes to mental strenght and he doesn’t deserve such crap from the media. So shut up. Next question,” he finishes and points at another man.

His heart is beating incredibly fast and he can hardly hear another question. His mouth is dry, palms sweaty and his legs bouncing nervously.

He does his best to ignore Charles’ stunned look on his face and Lewis’ dropped jaw.

When Max comes back to his hotel room he is exhausted and doesn’t really know why. He has dealt with stupid interviewers on more than one occasion by now, and he thinks he should be able to handle this situation better. Not that he regrets saying what he said.

He just doesn’t know why it caused such him such an emotional response.

Before he can think about it more, there’s a soft knock on the door and there’s only one person who knocks like that.

“Come in, Charles.”

Charles’ smile is small and almost timid, as he enters the room and then looks around. Max smiles to himself, observing a very awkward Charles. As if he wasn’t here yesterday to see the room. And the day before.

“I, eh,” he starts, putting his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I wanted to say thank you, Max.”

Max doesn’t know how to react to his cheeks which turn bright red.

Charles has always been like that. Like that? So like what? Max thinks, forcing himself to finally understand what he has been feeling for so long, searching in his head for the best word to describe the other man.

Lovely. Charles has always been quite lovely, he admits to himself.

That describes Charles pretty well, actually. And now Max thinks about all those moments they shared together, from the early karting days too. Their fights and arguments when they were children, and Charles coming to check on Max after their races. Bringing him his home-made cookies or lemonade, and thanking Max. Or saying he is sorry. And these confessions were always a bit clumsy, always a bit awkward, but the words were always there. Charles might not always look the most confident during moments like this, but he always is there. Ready to speak and be tender when other people hide themselves and run away from confrontation. Charles is ready to say the things Max is often unable to.

Today’s press conference was different, though. It was the first time Max said so many things about Charles. In a room full of people, on top of that – people who were paying attention to his every word. Wasn’t that rather stupid, to go off like that? But that question has to be one of the dumbest and most arrogant he has heard in a long while. And it was about Charles.

No one should ever talk about Charles like that.

Not about Charles. How dare they? Have they ever seen the way he drives? The way he trains? How he can stay under pressure? The way he achieves his goals and keeps his cool even in the most stressful moments?

Have they seen the way Charles smiles? The way he rolls his eyes when he sees something silly or the way he wrinkles his nose when he laughs, but truly, truly laughs? Have they seen the way Charles can’t cook or dance, but he likes to do these things and it makes it even more enjoyable to observe him?

And what about the way Charles sleeps, with his lips slightly parted and his strong chest moving up and down? Or the way he gets excited over the stupidest TV programs Max doesn’t understand, but doesn’t mind when Charles asks him to watch them together, already too fascinated by the way Charles comments on things? And the way he plays the piano. The way he chooses songs and hums to himself when he plays.

The way he sneezes and then apologizes for it. The way Charles can assemble furniture from IKEA, and refuse to use any instruction, but somehow his chaotic energy helps him manage? And Max knows how it looks like.

Because Charles helped him with his furnitures.

Charles has always been there. When Max was sick and didn’t want to take any pills, Charles was there. Brining him his mum’s soup and talking how much he likes the fact that they both live in Monaco now. And when Max got completely wasted in one of those bars they like to go to, it was Charles who helped him get clean from all the unpleasant post-party aspects of the night. And he didn’t complain. He didn’t make a sound. He took off Max’s clothes, leaving him in nothing but his boxers, and helped him shower. He made sure Max made it to bed and he placed a glass of water on his bedside table.

Charles was there when Max won his most important races and he was there to celebrate it with him. He was there when Max argued with his father and when it all looked like a lost cause. He was there to rub soothing circles on Max’s back with his gentle hand and embrace him with his soft voice.

And he always says “thank you” and “I’m sorry” when other people could never do it, for different reasons. Charles has always been brave and able to rise above others. Be a bigger person.

Charles is kind and lovely.

And so damn handsome.

It all makes Max’s head dizzy. The realisation of his feelings washes over him and he has to grab the chair not to stumble. What now?

Charles looks beautiful in his blue hoodie, messy hair and his confused smile. He looks way too soft to remain reasonable or sensible about this.

“Those things you said during the press conference, did you mean them?” he asks, finally breaking the silence between them.

Max nods, coming closer to Charles who doesn’t move away. His eyes are focused on Max’s and he licks his lips.

“I meant every word,” Max says, his voice becoming almost a whisper, as he moves even closer and cups Charles’ face with his hand. “Jesus, Charles.”

Charles closes his eyes at the contact and breathes in through his nose. He looks stunning and Max is mesmerised.

“Kiss me,” Charles whispers, not opening his eyes. “Please.”

Max feels like melting. He slowly cups Charles’ face with both his hands.

“Look at me,” Max whispers back, and when Charles opens his eyes slightly, Max places a kiss on Charles’ forehead.

Then on his cheek. And then the other.

And then they kiss. They kiss and kiss and kiss, Charles’ arms around Max’s shoulders and Max’s hands on Charles’ waist. It’s the softest thing to kiss Charles, his lips eager and opened and lovely, lovely, so, so lovely, and warm.

Max moves them around the room so Charles can fall on the bed, and as soon as he does, Max climbs on top of him. The way Charles’ reaches out for him, the way he holds him closer, kissing him harder and deeper – that definitely goes on top of “the different ways of Charles Leclerc” list Max has made.

And Charles is beautiful under his touch, and he glows like a golden, Autumn sun, and he sounds like the softest, warm melody.

“I meant every word,” Max says between kisses and touches, between moans and sighs. “Every word.”

[aliaslua]

Right to live

Chapter 02 of my on going series: In broad daylight

Chapter summary: Michelangelo has a productive therapy session after his interview. April and Casey announce their wedding and in a jealousy crisis, Donatello has his first one-night-stand. Warning: This chapter contain light smut (mature, not explicit) if you're a minor please DON'T INTERACT. TW: Trauma mention (nothing too graphic or descriptive, but it does contain a short account of a panic attack).

Michelangelo started therapy after his first panic attack.

It was - maybe - the worst night of his life. At that point in time he didn’t even knew what a trigger was - and even if he did, he wouldn’t be able to identify or anticipate his reaction. If felt like he was dying in a literal, visceral sense. It was like having a bomb growing inside his shell, the beating counting down to a heart attack, he felt his lips cold, his head heavy and the touch of Donatello’s hand in his shoulders felt cold against his skin for the first time in his life. He could still remembers his brothers calling to him and his inhuman effort to look them in the eyes, just as he gazed into the house he grew up in and didn’t recognize the color of the new floor tiles.

The rest was a blur.

Dr. Miller was April’s last effort to persuade Leo and Raph that Mikey needed professional counseling. At this point, Mikey didn't have enough will to have a strong opinion on his treatment, he didn't have the will to do anything, really. All his days were spent sleeping by day and having terrible night anxiety, followed by an earth-shattering cry until morning, when he went back to sleep.  Despite their best effort to care for and protect the younger sibling, all of his brothers knew that he had become impossible to handle - and more important than that, his emotional and physical dependency got so intense that it was perfectly clear that there was nothing they could do: Michelangelo need help, professional help.

On the first day they entered Dr. Miller’s office, April had reassured everybody she had send the therapist recent photos of Mikey and explained all his possible triggers in detail. The clinic would open two hours early so that they could have privacy and that this first encounter would include Mikey, his brothers and Sara Miller only.

Mikey was so nervous he felt like this situation alone would end up triggering his next attack: his hands were sweaty, his chest heavy and the feeling in his stomach made him realize that maybe he would throw up all those recent pizza slices. When the door to her office opened, he felt an immediate relief upon looking at her.

Sara (as he would start calling her later) was a 67 years old black woman, wearing a knitted cardigan and a puffy ponytail. She looked at him with eyes free from any king of judgment: any kind of feeling at all, actually, it was very… neutral. After gazing at him and his brothers she had smiled lightly and then calmly said:

"Good morning. I am Dr. Miller. Are you Michelangelo?" Mikey just nodded " Welcome. Please, come in.”

So he did, on that Monday morning and all the next yet to come, for two years straight.

━━━━━━ • ✿ • ━━━━━━

“Did you see the interview?” Mikey asked just as he entered her office, not even worrying about greeting Sara.

“Yes I did.” She answered with the same peaceful deep voice, unbothered by the absence of a greet “You looked very handsome.”

“I sure did!” The mutant turtle seated at the large red sofa, his body melting in the comfortable cushions, he grabbed one of the small pillows behind him and held it tight against his chest “Ugh! It was so fun!”

Sara smiled. She always gave him a kind of smile that made Mikey feel like she was the perfect embodiment of a fairytale grandma and for the first time, Michelangelo actually considered she might actually be someone else’s grandmother.

“I am glad to hear that. Did you do the exercises he practiced?”

Mikey hummed “It helped. But what really made all difference was that Leo was there. And April. Oh, April is getting married!” He announced “She and Casey told us about the engagement just after we all saw the interview air. It was a great night.” He stopped for a minute and laid his head against the couch, focusing on the abstract painting that always caught his attention since the first day he sat there, he knew his voice let out a sadness he was trying to hide. He didn’t need to pretend there.

“It was… Weird, I guess… Like, I should be happy for them, right? Casey is a nice man, he treats her right, they already have a life together, an apartment with a huge TV and an aquarium… I can’t argue with that, right? Right?” Sara didn’t answer, Michelangelo laid his head completely on the couch, staring at the sealing “She was my first love…. Or something like it. I feel so attached to her and…” He sighed deeply and closed his eyes, trying to measure all the feelings filling his chest “...I think I… Should I feel happy for her? Because I felt… Huh, I felt betrayed.”

“Do you feel resentment?” Dr. Miller finally asked, gazing calmly at him.

“Yeah, I guess… I didn’t know what I expected... and I don’t want to marry April. Not anymore, I mean. She is like a sister to me. No! It’s more than that… She’s like… I- It just.. it was all so fast! Everything is so fast right now, and she decided to announce just as the interview ended and I felt so… I felt so overshadowed!”

“You felt it was your night.”

“It WAS my night. And I don’t mean to sound selfish, you know? I just… Wished they had waited.”

Sara looked at her patient making a conscious effort to avoid giving away her own feelings, the enormous man in front her had a gloomy expression and tired eyes.

“Mikey, is not the first time you mention feeling like this.”

“Like what?”

“ Overshadowed .” She quoted him.

“Yeah… I guess it's something I’ve been feeling for a while.”

“You mentioned once that you felt… Smushed, is the word you used.”

“Yeah. Smushed between my brothers.”

“Hmm” Sara nodded “What about that?”

“Well, you know about that… They are all special in their own way. Leo is the leader, Raph is the muscle, Donnie is the genius, I am the… Comic relief?”

“You sound like you are all characters of a cartoon.”

“We look like it!” Mikey said, humorous. Sara did her best  to contain a tiny smile that formed in her cheeks.

“Well, you are your own person, Mikey. You don’t have to fulfill an imaginary role you fantasized for yourself.”

“Yeah I feel like you’re always telling me that.” He sighed “What this has to do with April?”

“You were telling me about her engagement…”

“Yeah. It was crazy… I mean, me, Leo and Raph kept it together but Donnie just… Bolted.” A nervous laugh escaped him “She told the news and he just… Left. I guess it was too much for him. You know, April was the only person we knew for so long… It was only natural to fall for her, right? She’s so nice, kind, and after the expected first meeting shock she treated us with… Dignity is the world Master Splinter likes to use... But then we all grew out of it.”

A long silence followed before he complemented:

“I guess Donnie didn’t”

━━━━━━ • ✿ • ━━━━━━

Donatello felt his feet too tight against the leather shoe and considered for the third time on that evening that maybe this was a terrible idea.

Ignoring his own better judgement, he knocked.

Alicia Ellis awakened in him two utterly contradictory and madding feelings: disgust and lust.

Many times he had tried - and succeeded- at disguising the amount of attention he paid to her body, especially since the context they first met didn’t allowed for flirtatious endeavors and despite knowing his physical body was searching it’s hormonal peak, Donatello proud himself on being utterly respectful: an effort that he felt he was making alone. Ellis never even tried to hide her indiscreet wants, playing with their encounters just enough to not be considered harassment, but clear enough to not allow ambiguity. Was that even possible? Donnie asked himself. Did it even matter now?

He felt disgusted mostly towards himself, actually, knowing full well why he had come to her apartment after that eventful night, just as the women he thought he could win over announced her engagement to the man he honestly felt he could one day surpass - pathetic, he beat himself again, cringing at the mere fact he once imagined a possible future for them, together. What a pathetic, emotional, delusional monster you are, dreaming about the pretty girl that once held your hand… And now you surrender to your most selfish desire, luring this woman who will be stupid enough to let you in.

This is going to ruin you. Was the last thing he thought before she opened the door.

She was astonishingly beautiful, with her thick luxurious wavy hair and round plump figure, pressed against a tight outfit he didn’t have enough interest to notice in detail.

“Took you long enough.” She said in a malicious tone, grabbing him by his belt. The apartment was warm, had a delicious floral smell and it was lit in subtle yellow light that mimicked candles. It was sexy, inviting and terribly scary, just like her.

This is going to ruin me . The feeling echoed towards Donnie as he willfully closed the door behind him.

It wasn’t hard for him to understand why a woman like her would take interest in being with a man like him, the internet had allowed Donnie to have a very indiscreet access to the human world - especially since people seemed really comfortable in sharing online things they wouldn’t even tell a best friend - and he knew way before they even came out to the surface that most probably wouldn’t be difficult to find someone willing to share a bed with him. Alicia was just a part of a very niche - yet not so small as one may think - group.

The thought brought him a small relief and a strike of courage that he much needed at that moment.

“I didn’t think you would come.” She said, bringing two glasses of a clear-yellow liquid. What an inappropriate move to bring a glass of white wine to a young adult not-yet-of-age , his better judgment told him as he accepted the glass, but wasn’t he 21 yet? Yes, he was... Maybe it was just judgment.

“Me neither” He answered after a sigh, too honest for his own sake.

“What changed your mind?” She mischievously asked, crossing her legs in an angle that brushed against his knee.

Donatello considered for a minute to said the truth, my heart was broken and honestly I really want to have sex, how would she respond to that? Was there a polite way of saying it? Instead, he said: “I’ve decided to change my approach on things.”

“Oh, really?” She smiled honestly “...And how’s that gonna happen?”

I will take every opportunity that life gives me, irrespective of its consequences, “I’ll stop sabotaging my wants…” He turned his body a little bit in her direction, he had planned a second sentence to follow but it seemed like he had already said all she needed to hear.

She slid her knee between his legs to climb his lap, brushing the space between the buttons of his shirt lightly. How quickly she hopped on top of him and how quickly his body responded to the feel of her warm perfumed breath against his neck. “That’s great to hear.”

It wasn’t Donatello’s first kiss but the tension of feeling the soft lips of a woman he barely knew nothing about added to the oh-so-suggestive friction of her thighs against  his zipper made it an entirely new experience. If he granted himself a moment of reason, Donnie would most likely find her too hurried and eager - but again, what was his experience in this field? Wasn’t this how the encounter should go? What else was he expecting? Independent of what his reason may have considered, the friction of her palms against the now prominent bulge in his pants added to the delicious sounds coming from her throat made every single indecision go away.

He felt his head light and dizzy as their tongues danced against each other and the urge to feel relief made him bold. She answered the squeeze he gave her bottom with an audible moan that gave Donatello’s stomach a cold wave of shock along with the first visible stain in between his paints. She felt the thickness of his fluid against the fabric and smiled against his lips.

“Such a passionate… response.” She said in what sounded like a performative tone - well, she was a journalist.

He took her incentive and slide her tube dress above her ass, stoking it as he lowered his lips to her neck. Her skin was soft and the way it reacted to his mouth - the small flinches of her body and the building pressure between his legs could only compare to the amazing feeling of her silk soft thigh skin. She used her hands to guide his head further down, lowering the piece of garment herself, he instinctively took one of her nipples in his mouth, enjoying the contrast between the soft skin of her breasts and the beaded texture of her nipples.

When Alicia laid her body against him on the couch, he followed her moves and felt the soft pillow against his head, the discreet but unmistakable sound of his zipper being opened followed by her stocked gasp at his member followed by “Oh I’m gonna have fun tonight!”. Donatello held her waist closer to his own, trying to reach her lips again, wondering if he could say the same. The warmth between her legs and the delicious feeling that jolted through his body and she aligned him to her entry - and the irresistible pleasure of feeling his tip tease her plump lips - made him think that the most likely answer was yes .

...And what an unnecessary concern the wine proved to be: he didn’t even get to drink it.

━━━━━━ • ✿ • ━━━━━━

“...you know, Raph made a friend.” Mikey had stood on his feet and now looked through the squared window. He had a regular habit of standing up during the sessions, usually as they were reaching the middle of the appointment. Sara it wrote down anyway, before adding:

“Really?”

Mikey hummed “...It’s a complicated story - but he left to buy a bear, this old man didn’t want to sell it to him, so he got really angry, so someone threatened to call the police, so he started to freak out and then this… girl appeared!”  He was switching his body height between his legs “Clara. What a name! Heh- I don’t get to say that, huh? Well, her name was Clara and he said she looked like an anime version of a character from Fresh prince of bel air … Can you imagine?” He turned to look at her. Sara just nodded.

“Wanna hear some really crazy stuff? Raph told me that they were talking and she told him she saw my interview… and she said she was in love with me!” He offered his therapist an incredulous happy smile “ME! Can you believe it?”

Sara hummed and made another note.

“I know she was kidding, I don’t think she loves me. But saying it like this sounds like… Like I am a celebrity! Like she would like to know me… Like…”

“Like you have been seen.”

“HELL YEAH!” He exclaimed, sitting down on the couch again grabbing his trust-worthy pillow “... And that sucker didn’t even got her number…” A deep sigh followed silence. Very discreetly, Dr. Miller checked her watch.

“It doesn’t matter, really, it just made me realize… That I wished I had someone…”

More silence.

“-I know I already have someone, if that's what you’re gonna say… I know my brothers are my care net and that I have friends and confidants, and bla bla bla”.

“Well I wasn’t going to…” She said peacefully.

“ I want… A lover . Someone to be my special one. Someone to cherish and spoil and share my life with! Someone who can say they’re in love with me… For real.”

More deep silence.

“... And why don’t you?” She finally prompted. Michelangelo turned to look at her with a impatient expression:

“Are you kiddin’ me?”

“I am definitely not.”

“You can’t be that cynical!”

“I am not.”

“Sara…” He sighed uneasily “... not this again.” she heard pain in his words.

“You have the right to live, Mikey.” She gazed at him with the same kind eyes, letting her strong words get to him “...Just like anyone else.”

This time, that was an anxious silence. Michelangelo rubbed his hands together as if he was facing a cold storm “What if it happens again?”

“Then you will do what we practiced.” She waited for an answer that didn’t come “... Do you wanna remember it once again with me?”

He simply nodded.

“I am more…” She started.

“...than people perceive me.”

“I’ve the right…”

“...to occupy space.”

“No one…”

“No one can deny me my right to live.”

“That was great, Mikey.” Dr. Miller said kindly.

He squeezed the tears away from his eyes, not even realizing they were there. “...Yeah… Yeah, it was.”

━━━━━━ • ✿ • ━━━━━━

It was certainly.... Memorable , Donatello thought, staring at his brand new shoes as they made the path back to the lair. How was it again that he found himself in that situation? That sad looking, empty feeling, walk-of-shame. Oh, yeah, Alicia Ellis.

Something felt terrible wrong about that whole endeavor. He tried to think about the details, to analyze the facts: it has been clearly consensual, sober, communicative sex. So why did he feel like some part of him had been left behind in that apartment? Was it his clear shyness when they finally consumed the act or her generous overlook at his even clearer lack of experience? Had him fail his mission? Factually not! He performed… Fine - it was hard to measure, but she seemed pleased enough. He was also pleased… Physically, at least.

So why did he feel so… Empty?

He walked among the streets of New York without the concern his older brother seemed to carry. Donatello was always really good at not carrying - just as he was good at carrying too much . Oh, yes, his overthinking nature was still going to kill him, no matter how hard he tried to pretend like it didn’t matter at all.

Nothing mattered, everything mattered. What a contradictory and childish state of mind. Could he ever find balance? Would he ever be able to take risks and still be prudent? To be disappointed and not lose all faith? To love deeply and move over from it, stronger and ready to love again? Did he ever truly love her ?

He remembered her ring shining against the light, mocking his defeat. A zirconium, Casey Jones…  Can’t even buy her a real diamond . He muttered to himself and the night, kicking a small rock in the path.

The worst part, the real strike of the devil - was the fact that she looked immensely happy. Heartbreakingly happy. And there was nothing, nothing in this world that Donnie could think that could justify taking this away from her - not even the fantasy that she could be happier.

He took a deep breath and grabbed the keys in his pocket. That was no way out of it: we would have to get over her. At least now he knew that running away to unknown women’s homes was not a viable solution.

[webrokethe4thwall]

Can you write a Fanfic where Rupert Swaggart finds his own brooch and gets his live back?

Sorry for the wait @the-deku-guy, but here’s your request!

Brooches before Swine

A large man adjusted his trench coat and fedora as he scanned the stalls of the jewelers’ black market. He was not searching for your standard silver necklace or ruby ring, but a brooch. Specifically, a cloaking brooch. Meat Sweats was once again on the hunt for a mystic cloaking brooch. However, even now as he looked over the charms laid out on the table, his hopes plummeted. Several brooches, ranging from simple to ornate to tacky, were lined up, but none of them were mystic.

He had been through all of the black market stalls, antique malls, and even online auction halls. Each location yielded the same result: nothing. The former celebrity chef released a frustrated groan. He had been so close to reclaiming his old life with the last brooch he had found here. If only those two pesky girls—the curly-headed one and the slime-ball—hadn’t stolen it from him and ruined his plans!

And to add insult to injury, they had trapped him in that backwater barbeque studio. Did those amateurs not understand how to properly prepare meat before cooking it?!

“Rubbish, pitchfork-wielding hicks,” Meat Sweats grumbled, stalking away from the broach district. “Don’t know the difference between brine and a bay leaf.”

Regardless of the past, Meat Sweats was determined to regain his fame, his cooking show, and his previous life as Rupert Swaggart. Nothing and no one was going to stop him! …Well, except for his lack of a human appearance. Meat Sweats continued to mutter under his breath. He had seen other mutants—pardon, yokai—with cloaking brooches. Why was he unable to find one? Maybe there was a recall for some kind of mystical enhancement.

“One moment,” Meat Sweats grunted. “A memory stirs.”

He put a fist to his chin as he thought of a past conversation. It had been a few weeks ago with a tiny worm mutant whose name completely slipped his mind. The fellow had said he purchased a mystical enhancement jewel from some mystic shop disguised as a secondhand corner store.

“If that’s the case,” Meat Sweats mused, “perchance a visit is in order.”

That very night, the pig mutant went to the corner store. He pulled his clothes tight to his frame upon entering the store. He didn’t much care if he looked suspicious; he just didn’t want the police called on him tonight. The first thing Meat Sweats saw was some skinny greasy guy standing behind the counter. This fellow must’ve been the cloaked yokai. Meat Sweats took in the man’s lackluster appearance, baseball cap, and vague scent of chevon. After taking a moment to size each other up, the mutated chef decided to break the silence first.

“I heard that you sell delectable jewelry in this establishment,” Meat Sweats said.

“Oh, we sell all kinds of things here,” the man stated. “Lamps, dolls, and toasters to name a few; but yeah, jewelry is in the mix. The name’s Clem!” He gave Meat Sweats a lazy onceover. “You, uh, looking for something particular, friend? Nudge, nudge.”

“Nudge, nudge?” Meat Sweats asked. “It’s ‘wink, wink,’ matey.” What a peculiar character.

“Clem, get your act together!” The man shook his head in self-deprecation. Giving the password away again because he forgot an idiom. How embarrassing!

Before Meat Sweats could fake curiosity over what Clem meant, the man began shedding his disguise. The now purple goat yokai rang the bell on the counter, revealing hidden compartments in the displays that contained his mystical wares. Clem spread his arms out, showcasing the jewelry on his shelves.

“You said you’re looking for jewelry,” he droned. “What kind?”

“Cloaking brooch,” Meat Sweats stated, tearing away his trench coat. “Can’t really go on live television looking like this, now can I?”

“Wouldn’t really recommend it, no,” Clem said after a low whistle. “I’ve got just the thing.”

He knelt down behind the counter and pulled up a tray laden with stunning brooches. Clem plucked one up and handed it to the pig mutant. Meat Sweats turned it in his metal hands, admiring the star-shaped silver with a shining pink pearl in its center. He pinned the brooch to his collar and gave it a little shine. Soon his body was wrapped up in the soft pink glow of the mystical cloaking energy. Meat Sweats looked at himself in the counter’s shiny surface. It was perfect.

“All kinds of handsome is me once again,” Meat Sweats, now Rupert Swaggart, grinned.

With a wink and kiss sent to his reflection, Rupert threw a few bills at Clem. He had no appetite for goat yokai shopkeepers at the moment. No, it was time for Rupert to reclaim his previous life in full.

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A few nights later, Mikey upped the volume on his kitchen television. It was time for Kondescending Kitchen, and he was determined to make the perfect risotto!

“Are you ready to unleash the flavor?!”

Mikey came to an abrupt halt. That voice…it couldn’t be! He focused fully on the television. Meat Sweats, disguised as Rupert Swaggart, stood front and center for a cheering audience. Not good.

“Guys,” the box turtle yelled, already reaching for his kusari-fundo, “we’ve got a problem!”

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Rupert left the stage with the sound of the audience’s queued cheers pouring into his ears. He smirked to himself as he entered his dressing room. It was quite refreshing to hear after months of absence from his television career. The station manager even said that she was going to schedule an interview about his dramatic transformations and his unexpected final return. Yes, his cloaking brooch shining brilliantly on his apron was working greatly in his favor. The chef grinned as he picked up the night’s winning dish: pork risotto.

“Time to savor my victory,” Rupert hummed contentedly.

“Not a chance, Meat Sweats!”

One yellow and four green blurs swept into Rupert’s vision. No, not these reptilian nuisances and that ruinous girl! While Rupert hadn’t done anything more than reclaim his television program from an undeserving rival, Meat Sweats should’ve known that these pains in his tendrils would catch wind of his return.

“Not you rotten eggs!” Meat Sweats snarled, ditching his disguise in favor of his more combat-ready pig mutant appearance.

“You know it!” April defiantly retorted. “Which poor yokai did you steal this brooch from?!”

Now Meat Sweats was genuinely confused.  He was also annoyed, but he had some modicum of integrity. He never stole the brooch. He didn’t even steal the first one! He bought both pieces fair and square. Granted his newest item was from a slightly more legitimate business. Nevertheless, why are these pests coming after him tonight?! He hadn’t even attempted to eat or poison anyone recently!

Before Meat Sweats could state his innocence, the fight was on. Raphael and Donatello charged him head on, while Leonardo and Michelangelo went for his sides. Meat Sweats easily knocked all four of them back with a swing of his meat tenderizer. He nearly missed April reaching for his rose gold cloaking brooch.

“Hands off!” Meat Sweats roared, stepping away from the girl and raising a protective hand over the shining pearl. “This is me own brooch!”

“Oh, yeah?” Mikey challenged. “Show us the receipt then!”

Meat Sweats, fed up with these annoying teenagers that always seemed to pop up in his life, shoved the seedy secondhand shop’s receipt into the smallest turtle’s face. The turtles and girl clearly didn’t expect this response. All fighting stopped, and it appeared the children were taking a moment to process the strip of paper between the pig mutant’s gloved fingers.

“Satisfied?!” Meat Sweats demanded.

“Wait,” Raph said in disbelief. “You actually, legitimately bought a cloaking brooch?”

“How much does one go for?” Donnie asked, squinting at the too small smudged numbers.

“Enough to get the job done,” Meat Sweats stated, stuffing the receipt back into his pocket. “Now, leave me be before I cook you all into turtle soup!”

“Not so fast,” Leo said. “Why do you need a cloaking brooch anyway. You’ve just been trying to eat and poison people this entire time. Did you want to do that when you were human, too, or is it a pig thing?”

Meat Sweats sighed in exasperation. Maybe he should’ve just let the fighting go on until either he passed out or they ran off. It was too late to find out, in any case. Now he had to converse with, ugh, teenagers about his rather tame plans and not-so-tame eating habits.

“Pig thing,” Meat Sweats stated shortly. He rubbed his cloaking brooch and reactivated his human façade. “I’m taking back what’s mine with this brooch. My show, my fame, and my life need my human face. I’m not about to let some mediocre fry cook take over my kitchen!”

The so-called chef the station had replaced him with was barely out of culinary school his skills were so dull. It boiled Meat Sweats’ blood. Whether those pesky teenagers liked it or not, Rupert Swaggart was making a comeback. Kondescending Kitchen needed him! Meat Sweats just needed a human face to rescue it. While some people were accepting of mutants or cosplay junkies, the public eye required a certain degree of discretion.

“How do we know you’re telling the truth?” April asked. She gave Rupert a distrustful once over.

“Not a problem!” Mikey interjected. He slid himself between his siblings and the returned celebrity chef. “We’ll just enroll him into my Evil League of Mutants Going Good Rehabilitation Program!”

“His what?” Rupert asked, baffled by whatever the exuberant turtle was rambling about.

“It is Michael’s method of transforming our enemies into allies,” Donnie drawled. “It has been showing promising results for Draxum. Though there may be a learning curve.”

“Yeah,” Leo reluctantly agreed, “but Draxum’s the only one that Mikey has worked with so far. How do we know it’ll work on this guy?”

“That’s easy,” Raph stated, fully confident in his baby brother. “Since we know that Mikey’s program worked on one of the worst people we know, we’ll help him with setting Meat Sweats on the right path.”

“And keep Mikey from getting star-struck,” April muttered, eying the way Mikey fawned over the sweaty chef.

Rupert rolled his eyes. What is wrong with these kids?! Were they seriously discussing the future of his moral status in front of him? He didn’t need to put up with this!

“Don’t I get any say in this?” Rupert demanded.

“No!”

All the teenagers glared at him, except for the orange clad turtle who had stars in his eyes. The audacity!

“Rubbish,” Rupert grunted.

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For weeks, Meat Sweats was under the unnervingly close surveillance of the Mad Dogs. A ridiculously unsuitable name for those five obnoxious kids. He despised how involved they forced themselves to be in his life. Telling him what to do and what not to do. It was annoying! Don’t eat the mutant silverfish this, and don’t sabotage your culinary rivals that. He was sick of it and was very vocal about his displeasure.

However, the teens didn’t seem to care nor let up in their efforts to conform him to the moral high ground. The chef didn’t know if reclaiming his glory was worth the hassle. At least he didn’t have to waste energy tenderizing their bones anymore. Michelangelo even had a realistic view of his character in spite of his fanboy attitude towards Rupert Swaggart.

The box turtle never expected him to become 100% kindhearted, if he ever became nice at all. However, Mikey did put limits on Meat Sweats and made him stick to some simple moral codes. Rupert just wanted to get his status as “Most Pretentious Chef in New York” back on track. Unfortunately, the youngest turtle did not allow him to perform any of his deliciously underhanded tricks on his competition.

“Meat Sweats!” Mikey admonished. He had just caught the reforming chef about to pour mystic poison into his delightful pizza puffs. Again. “What are we supposed to do with our culinary competition?!”

Meat Sweats released an annoyed grunt. He was getting tired of repeating his supposed mentor’s lessons, but it was mildly better than the intermittent fighting they used to go through.

“Out-serve them with quality meals, not quality poison,” Rupert droned. It was verbatim from one of Chef Mikey’s many “Maintaining Healthy Competition” lectures.

“Exactly,” Mikey said in a condescendingly sweet tone. He took the poison from Meat Sweats’ grip and yeeted it into the distance. “Now put on Rupert Swaggart, and let’s make filet mignon!”

Meat Sweats rolled his eyes at the young turtle’s antics but went along with it. Michelangelo was a decent enough chef for his age, proving his potential by the way he prepared that salmon when two drooling snakes were baring down on them. Rupert Swaggart activated his cloaking brooch and picked up a knife. He may as well humor Mikey with an attempt to mature his talent.

“Not a bad idea, lad,” Rupert agreed. “Filet mignon with roasted asparagus and,” he smirked, “truffles.”

Mikey’s eye twitched at the traumatic memory. “Not funny, sweat sock.”

Meat Sweats laughed uproariously, and even harder still when he saw Mikey’s annoyance growing. It was fun messing with this one. No matter what the chef threw his way, the young turtle always bounced back with an even snarkier reply. He might make a Kondescending Chef out of the boy yet. With no further preamble, the two mutants proceeded to craft a fine meal of filet mignon over roasted asparagus drizzled with mushroom sauce.

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A month later, Rupert’s program established itself as the most popular food-related show on television once again. Crimes related to a food truck driven by a pig mutant plummeted as the celebrity chef made more public appearances. He had finally achieved his goal. Now Meat Sweats could kick back in his apartment, resting in his easy chair, and let the adulation from his fans inflate his ego, and his wallet, once more. A loud knock on his door broke him out of the moment, and the door being kicked open entirely had the pig mutant falling out of his chair.

“What in blazes?!” Meat Sweats shouted, quickly activating his cloaking brooch.

“Sorry for the door,” April cheered, giving no sign of remorse at all. “But I come baring gifts, and they’re heavy!”

April lifted several plastic bags filled with groceries. Rupert gave the girl an annoyed glare. He got up from the floor, set his door back into place minimal effort, and stared his “visitor” down. The chef didn’t know why she was in his home without her turtle friends, but he did catch the delightful aroma of raw meat, seasonings, and vegetables wafting from the bags in her hands. April immediately went to the kitchen and dumped a few wrapped lamb chops, fresh artichokes, a jar of capers, and several other ingredients onto the countertop.

“What are you doing, girlie?” Meat Sweats asked, dropping his disguise.

He was well used to the turtles’ surprise visits, but they always came in through the window or a portal into the living room. April rarely came by herself, so the chef had yet to learn her favored way of barging in.

“Setting up an apology,” April replied, organizing the meat, spices, and other ingredients.

“A what?” Meat Sweats was taken aback. This teen had been screwing up his life for months. Why was she apologizing now? What was she apologizing for?!

“You’ve been doing pretty good since you got that cloaking broach and went into Mikey’s rehab program,” April snickered. She rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly. “And I started feeling kinda bad about trapping you in the ‘Sauce That Hog’ studio.” Meat Sweats frowned deeply at the memory, and April had the sense to move on to the ingredients on the counter. “So I brought over all the ingredients for fancy lamb chops.” She waved the bag of artichokes enticingly. “Including some mystic artichokes fresh from the Hidden City.”

Meat Sweats snorted at the attempt to woo his culinary pallet. He may not spend much time with the girl, but he knew April could kiss up to anyone’s better nature once she found their Kryptonite. His was fairly obvious, and the chef took great pride in flaunting his cooking skills.

“So you thought that catering to me superior culinary taste with mystic produce and corner store mutton would make up for that torment?” He wasn’t going to let April off that easily though.

“It’s actually hogget from my cousin’s farm,” April corrected. “She raises the best meat livestock I’ve ever tasted, so I thought you might like to try it.”

“No kidding?” Meat Sweats, surprised that April knew different types of lamb meat, looked at the wrapped meats inquisitively.

“It’s sheep meat,” April smirked, “not goat.”

“Why must you pun like the blue one?” Meat Sweats grumbled. “Just give me the ingredients and watch me—”

“Unleash the flavor!” The mutant and teenager chorused.

Meat Sweats wasn’t expecting that either. He gave April an odd look. Mikey was his fanboy, so what was her excuse? April just grinned.

“Mikey got me to watch a few episodes from his favorite seasons of Kondescending Kitchen,” she explained. “What can I say? It’s a catchy line.”

“Yes, well,” Meat Sweats countered, “it’s my line.” He knows it was a lame comeback, but he really didn’t know how to respond. One minute he and these kids are at each other’s throats, the next he’s cooking filet mignon and lamb chops with them. He shakes his head and gestures to the other side of the sink. “Hand me my knife block. I want to chop up these artichokes for a marinade.”

“Yes, Chef,” April saluted.

“Cheeky girl,” Meat Sweats commented.

He and April made a delightful set of lamb chops topped with marinated artichokes and seasoned capers. The chef figured that if the return of Rupert Swaggart meant being badgered by those annoying Mad Dogs, then there are worse fates he could have been forced to endure. They weren’t as awful as he dreaded. If he didn’t enjoy being a jerk so much, he may have been tempted to even call them his friends. He still might. Just not when they were around. He had an image to maintain after all.

[soranihimawari]

Leyenda Local

Beach volleyball was an avid part of yn's life. Even after they take a hiatus from the scene for a year to see what else life has to offer aside the invitation to join the national beach team in the past, meeting one popular indoor player was enough to make them consider going back to the sport they love.

Pairing: oikawa tooru x reader (can be considered gn!reader for use of they/them pronouns might edit it to use 'xi' pronounced like "chi" greek letter)

tagging: @oikawaandkuroostan, @smolbludandelions, @ats4mu, @m0nstergeneration20xx, @prettyy-kawa

word count: 1.3K

notes: translations are done below!

Bumping the old volleyball on your forearms as a form of exercise while walking seemed like a good idea at the time. You've been doing this for a little over an hour, practicing your overhead receiving techniques along with the passes you've come to be known for. The waves crash around your usual jogging route on the beaches by the sand court. You watch with envious eyes as the young men practiced together, yelling at each other in both Spanish and Portuguese at their teammates. Their racket was enough to cause you to pause your self-practice and wander up to the court. Four tall men stood out to you, and while their accents seemed foreign to you, you realized you were in the presence of the one the national and local sports fans called "Ninja Sho" and "Grand King," thus making you swallow nervously. You too had a name which was recognized in the local league albeit a bit earlier than their arrival to your home country.

Several hours later, you were still at the beach, wandering tiredly as you sat on the stone fence facing the street behind you. The nightlife of the clubs and bars cast a ring around your frame. You seemed a bit disappointed about not joining the volleyball men from that afternoon, although one member of the party stayed behind with someone else. Their conversation in a different language you haven't heard either:

"They've been staring at us since the last set," Hinata states. The red orange haired one shuddered as a response.

"I saw them when we met up shrimpy-chan," Oikawa states.

"Perhaps they'd like to play?" Hinata says nodding his head as he heard you bumping the ball on your arms.

Yet, that was hours ago. Currently, you breathe evenly while you stretch your calves out before you were joined by the one you observed being called, "Grand King." Nervous though you were not intimated much by his presence, his mahogany orbs glance at your welts on your arms.

"Quieres jugar conmigo?"

In his hands, he extends a volleyball to you. You blink in surprise, explaining the time is late, but you instinctively do not turn down a chance to play the sport you loved. As you two walk toward one of the courts, you speak to one another trying to get a feel for the other. He arches an eyebrow at you skeptically when you mentioned you were an all-around player and have been nominated on more than one occasion to participate in competitive leagues.

"Me llamaban leyenda cuando jugaba. mi amor por el juego nunca vaciló, no hasta hace poco. Mis médicos dijeron que había agravado mi lesión de rodilla en más de una ocasión, así que, como todos los buenos jugadores, tuve que parar. hoy mi rodilla estaba mejor, así que vine aquí para practicar algunos de mis pases, pero ver cómo juegan tú y tus amigos me dio ganas de intentarlo de nuevo,” you explain this as you walk with him to the courts. Your eyes may have been focused on the stars above, but your words have captured Oikawa Tooru’s undivided attention. You don’t notice how he glances at you in a curious perplexed fashion as you continue.

“El voleibol forma parte de mi vida hasta el punto en que es tan fundamental como comer o respirar ... jaja. lo siento, parecía divagar cuando me hiciste una pregunta tan simple,” you end your answer with an exasperated sigh. The bag on your shoulder drops to the border of the sand court. Thus this game of ‘king of of the court’ began between you and the foreigner with bouncy hair.

It wasn’t until you received and returned his monster serve, after you stretched your arms and cracked your neck. The act alone caused Oikawa to become a firm believer in not questioning the things you said. You just proved truth in the subtlest of ways with a shit-eating grin on your face. Your form when it was your turn to serve was exquisite even now despite your slight wince as you land on the soft mounds of sand. You might have made a service ace, but Oikawa knows and notices, but chooses to not say anything just yet. He realizes just how sharp your instincts are to chase the ball, following its trajectory all over the small court. Your digs are on par with some of his own team players in high school, hell even some of the ones he was travelling with at the moment.

The sand is kind to you as you land and give rise to your muscle memory gaining momentum in this sort of tug of war before you received one more brutal spike. You were breathing hard, yet so was your partner because for the first time in a long while you both felt evenly matched. There were no points to be playing for today. It was just an exhibition match as he had deemed it. Your heart beat rapidly as you sat down on the sand facing him and he did the same. Another bead of sweat trickles down the side of your face before you ask if perhaps both of you should call it a night. He hums and as he stands, he hands you a cell phone from his bag. You smirk behind the blue light, silently understanding why he passed you the phone; you press the numbers and the save button right after you take selfie.

“¿Te gustaría acompañarme a casa?”

At this, the grand king smiles when you hand his phone back to him.

The church bells ring in the surrounding neighborhood and seeing how late in the evening it actually is, your new friend escorts you to where you live.

“Aqui es donde vivo,” you say in your home dialect’s accent. Of all things for Oikawa’s brain to focus on after playing against you at the beach and having fun, he focuses on how your voice sounds like a smooth symphony to him. You reach into your pocket to fish out your keys and give the nice young man from Japan (as you’d out) a soft smile.

“Gracias por acompañarme a casa.”

“No problemo,” he says. Mind you, he doesn’t let you know how in the brief hours he had known you, you’ve managed to make him develop a playground crush on the mystery person named, “YN, venti-dos anos: leyenda local (del voleibol).”

“Buenas noches Oikawa Tooru,” you said with a nod.

“Buenas noches,” he says with a chuckle.

Inside the elevator of your building, he unlocks his phone, opening the contacts book. There he scrolls until he finds your photo, biting his bottom lip whilst a chortle escapes his throat.

“Leyenda,” he reads to himself. He shakes his head as he exits the building, grinning like he just played the best game in his life (up to that point).

FLASH FORWARD:

Tokyo, JPN, 2021 Olympics: GOLD MEDAL QUALIFIER

“And with this win, Team Argentina advances to the next round. Tomorrow night, they go up against Team Japan for the gold!” the announcers were excitedly talking about the game you had stood in the crowds to watch.

Indoor volleyball matches were the same, yet different to you, but you understood the appeal. Your boyfriend’s number had been painted on the right side of your cheek throughout the entirety of the games he was a part of. A few of the Olympic spectators noticed who you were since their favorite international star had made headlines in the local news channels reportedly he was seeing someone just by the way he makes a small cross over his heart after an interview. It was a sign he made recalling the first of many promises after your injury took you out of playing for good. Nevertheless, you persisted and eventually earned a spot (and title) of sports rehab specialist back home.

As blurred photos of you at his matches increased in the last two and a half years, bystanders would know (and recall) that you two were made for each other. Passerbys and the occasional fans of both you and him took note to how you kept each other performing at your personal best. Besides, if you think about it, a high-calliber player and his equally high-calliber significant other would eventually be caught stealing congratulatory kisses and warm embraces pre and post-match. This afternoon’s match was the first time the news and sports journalist columns finally got a clear photo of the person whom the captain of the Argentine team makes a silent reference to: your hair draped loosely over your shoulders and you wear the colors of your lover’s team in your outfit. You wave first then yell with the crowds jumping with your fist in the air as the players respectfully thank the attendees for coming.

The cameras were focused on both you and Oikawa when you watch Oikawa’s eyes finally find you in the stands and with a solid triumphant point with one hand to you and the other on his chest, you couldn’t stop the sensation of pride coursing through your veins. Afterall, Oikawa Tooru said this to you after making the national Olympic team:

“Si ya no puedes jugar, ganaré para los dos mi querido.”

Translations below!

Quieres jugar conmigo: would you like to play with me?

Me llamaban leyenda cuando jugaba. mi amor por el juego nunca vaciló, no hasta hace poco. Mis médicos dijeron que había agravado mi lesión de rodilla en más de una ocasión, así que, como todos los buenos jugadores, tuve que parar. hoy mi rodilla estaba mejor, así que vine aquí para practicar algunos de mis pases, pero ver cómo juegan tú y tus amigos me dio ganas de intentarlo de nuevo. El voleibol forma parte de mi vida hasta el punto en que es tan fundamental como comer o respirar ... jaja. lo siento, parecía divagar cuando me hiciste una pregunta tan simple.

they called me Legend when i played. my love for the game never wavered, not until recently. my doctors said i had aggravated my knee injury on more than one occasion, so like all good players, i had to stop. today my knee was feeling better, so i came here to pratice some of my passes, but watching how you and your friends play made me want to try again. volleyball is part of my life to the point where it is as essential as eating or breathing... haha. sorry, i seemed to ramble when you asked me such a simple question.

Te guestaria acompanare a casa?: would you like to escort/walk me home

YN, venti-dos anos, Leyenda Local: YN, 22 years old, local legend

Aqu dondes vivo: this is where i live.

Gracias por acompanarme a casa: thank you for walking me home

Buenas noches: good night

Sí ya no puedes jugar, ganaré para los dos mi querido: if you cannot play, then I will win for both of us.

[purvishraick]

Blood Bound Chapter 6

Fanfiction : Bloodbound (Choices)

Pairing : Adrian Raines x Amy Richard Parker (MC)

Warning : none

Rating: PG - 13

TAG LIST : @otherworldlypresents​  , @evelynistic​   , @silma-words​ , @fireycookie , @lauren-raines-x

If anyone wanna be tagged in future do let me know….

read previous chapter here ….. Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5

so i have been busy .... so sorry it is late ..... so in today’s chapter here comes our favourite MR. RAINES *fangirl scream* 😍😍😍😍😍

It was the same old day , same Monday morning , and Adrian felt nothing special about it. For others everyday was a new day but for him it was the all same , nothing new. For the others with each and every passing day, the number of days reduced from the lists but for Adrian, with each and every day the number of days increased only.

He didn’t have any interest in the life he was living. He just lived for the sake of living.

Adrian watched as life continued around just like every day, from his office. He frequently thought about the safety of people he was responsible for. His existence as a vampire among all the humans was a thing he was always afraid of. He always dreaded that what would happen if his secret is revealed as it could bring a lot of harm to both the worlds. He always had to be cautious about his actions.

To Adrian, one of his major priority was the safety of all the employees of his company, as he was responsible for them. But after the recent incident he thought he was not doing his job properly. Though it has been a month since then but still, Emily’s screams as the feral attacked her, were quite fresh in his ears.

Emily Vaughn has been his executive assistant for past 3 months, and he thought that it was his responsibility. He always did his best but the things would still go south anyways. It was a good thing that she didn’t die or any serious injuries didn’t take place, but still he had to debrief her and send her away for own safety.

Adrian never tried to make connections in this world, he was oblivious to the pleasure of being loved since more than 100 years. Every time giving away his feelings brought him nothing, it only ended I misery and pain. He was always haunted by the memories of his family and his lover. He swore to never give his heart away ever again, after being left wounded two times by doing so.

He always wondered what could have happened if his family was alive, he could have seen his beautiful boy grow up into a handsome man , but fate had something else in store for him.

The day he was turned into a vampire was the worst of his, he didn’t understood why some vampires see immortality as a gift to them , to him immortality was a curse because living too long without the ones he loved is useless.

“Adrian …” interrupting his thoughts a voice came through the corridor. He turned to see who it was. As he expected it was Nicole Anderson, the VP of Raines Corporation.

Nicole was a dedicated woman and focused on her work. Adrian has been working with her for years now. She is also one of the people he truly trust. Even after knowing his truth of being a vampire , she stayed there. She was always stern which he despised the most.

“yes … “ he replied .

“ Adrian , the interview for executive assistant will begin today at 10.30 sharp , so --- “

“ok … you take it and let me know of the progress later on “ he interrupted her .

“okay…” she was taken aback on his sudden response , she might have thought that Adrian might want to take look at the candidates but anyways she was least bothered by these things , so she stormed out as she came in .

Adrian sighed and went out of his office . He was just going through the corridor and something caught his eye.

A small figure at the end of the corridor , just standing there and talking to someone on her phone , with a big smile plastered on her face. He neither had seen her before here nor she was any of his employees. But whoever she was , she was exceptionally beautiful with a professional attire and her flowing hair and that amazing smile that could  win heaven. He was irresistibly attracted towards her. He heightened his senses to listen what was she saying on her phone and hid in the shadows.

“ Ya – ya I know…oh stop it …I am not a kid…” the beautiful girl said.

“ I know you are not a kid …because if you were I wouldn’t have sent you to Manhattan“  the man on the other side spoke . Adrian assumed him to be her father or her boyfriend .

“ Come on brother stop it …she is right …she is not a kid …and you didn’t even give so many instruction to John and Jenna when they left for school”  another voice said .

“ya maybe because our sister is an  even smaller kid , in the flesh of an 25 year old “ the first one shot back .

“ Excuse me brother …can you repeat what you just said “the girl said while attempting to be mad at him but at last giggling . But it sure as hell , cleared their relation and failed his assumption.

“ it is better you not listen to that one …” first voice .

“oh really …now I am even more intrigued “ the girl snapped back .

“ well well well …you can give me $1000 to keep my mouth shut , brother “ the second voice said .

“ how will it be, if I punch you to keep your mouth shut , brother “ first voice snapped back in mock sarcasm .

“ well well …what did I say about not murdering one another in my absence , brothers “ the girl said .

“ well… then remember to stay away from my euology “ the second one said.

They both laughed , Adrian assumed that it must be some inner joke between them , but watching that girl laugh mesmerized him. She did have a beautiful smile, and Adrian never admitted it but he did found her beautiful .

“okay okay ……now if you two five year olds are done …then let me say something serious to our little sister …now Amy …”

Oh her name is Amy

“…you listen to me carefully …now you will stay alert and if there is any problem you will call me and tell me everything ……and don’t you dare go to any other club – “  he was cut off again .

“ you cant bloody… restrict her from not going to clubs …that is not fair …she is not a minor …for god’s sake Christopher … she is effing 25 years old …you yourself said that “ the second one said .

Adrian kind of agreed with him.

“I swear… if you interrupt me once more… I will throw that laptop of yours and you yourself… out of this house” he warned .

Adrian understood that he surely does have some authority in their family and that girl was the youngest among them . She came out to be pretty sweet to him.

“ I love you , Nathaniel …I hereby promote you to the post of my most favourite brother now on “

“ I love you too sissy “ second one replied .

“ oh you two are going to be the death of me …now stop this nonsense …Amy listen …seriously this time …if I get to know you are getting wasted at a club in the middle of the night then I swear that I will deport your ass from Manhattan to New Orleans myself …getting--- “ he was cut off again by his sister this time.

“ hello…brother …I cant hear you …you are not audible to me “ she kept taking the phone away from her ear.

“no…don’t you dare do that Amy , don’t you dare cut the fucking phone …AMY “ the first one shouted but was late as she cut off the phone.

She let out a long sigh and continued to explore the place, then after taking a look at the place she sat down  on the bench and waited . The girl must have got some alert senses , that she realized that she was being watched by someone and searched behind her but found no one. And he was smiling to himself at the look she got on her face after finding no one .

She was extremely beautiful , Adrian has never seen someone like her in centuries . There was an undeniable attraction towards her .

And in that moment he knew that he has to know her, moreover he needs to know her , but as he started to approach her , Nicole came near her and she followed her away. He got it that she was one of those candidates for being his assistant. He saw the look Nicole gave her , which clearly reflected that she was jealous of her and he knew that she will give her a hard time. So he followed them inside, putting on his most professional face and decided to take the matter in his own hands.

- Purvi Shraick ❤❤

[gstqaobc]

CBC THE ROYAL FASCINATOR

Friday, November 20, 2020

Hello, royal watchers and all those intrigued by what’s going on inside the House of Windsor. This is your biweekly dose of royal news and analysis. Reading this online? Sign up here to get this delivered to your inbox.

Janet DavisonRoyal Expert Fact, fiction and The Crown

The last time Arthur Edwards took a photo of Prince Charles with Lord Louis Mountbatten, the heir to the throne had his arm around his great uncle. Similarly, Mountbatten had his arm around his great-nephew. They both seemed to be in fine form that day, not too long before Mountbatten lost his life to an IRA bomb in the summer of 1979 off the coast of Ireland. "They were laughing together," Edwards, the longtime royal photographer for the Sun newspaper, recalled over the phone from the U.K. this week. The recollection came to mind as controversy swirls over the newly released Season 4 of the Netflix drama The Crown. The show takes viewers into the reign of Queen Elizabeth, with the latest season moving the action into the 1980s. In the first episode, Mountbatten is seen just before his assassination writing a letter to Charles saying he could bring "ruin and disappointment" on the Royal Family with his pursuit of Camilla Parker Bowles, who in real life is now Charles's wife but at that time was married to someone else. There's no evidence — again, in real life — that such a letter was ever written or that Charles and Mountbatten quarrelled before he was killed. It's just one of many moments in the latest season that have set off debate over how fact meets fiction in the award-winning drama created by Peter Morgan. "Many people will think it's the truth ... but it's not," said Edwards, who snapped his first photo of Charles feeding sugar to his polo ponies in the mid-1970s, just after he'd left the Royal Navy. "Much of it … comes out of a scriptwriter's brain, which I can understand because … it's drama.” What bothers Edwards, he said, is the portrayal of Charles. "I've worked with him now for over 40 years, and I don't recognize that man in it." And therein lies a challenge of turning history into drama. "Certainly, in every season [of The Crown], there's a blend of fact and fiction, but it stands out in Season 4 because we are getting closer to the present day," said Toronto-based royal historian and author Carolyn Harris. Because so many in the audience will have their own memories of how what is portrayed in Season 4 turned out in real life — how Charles's marriage to Diana, Princess of Wales, collapsed in spectacular fashion, for example — there is perhaps further potential for the controversy now swirling. "It's always a challenge with historical fiction that the people who are being portrayed do not know what's going to happen next, but the audience ... does," said Harris. In some instances, the episodes present events that played out in the public eye and reflect the historical record. "An example is that engagement interview where Prince Charles famously said, 'whatever in love means,'" said Harris. But there are many other examples of events being fictionalized or put together to create a narrative. Take Michael Fagan's break-in at Buckingham Palace, a focus of Episode 5. That actually happened, in 1982. He breached security and made it to the Queen's bedroom, where he spoke to her. "But Michael Fagan describes it as a very brief conversation before he was arrested, whereas for the purposes of the series, he has a more extended dialogue about [Prime Minister] Margaret Thatcher's politics in order to tie this event to the series's critique of political developments while [she] was prime minister," said Harris.

CBC Archives: The leadership fracas that forced Margaret Thatcher from power

Edwards worries, however, that people will believe The Crown's version of what happened when Fagan broke into the palace that night, which isn’t true, with its portrayal of a longer chat with the Queen. "That's what really irritates me," he said. And he remains troubled by the thought that the portrayal of Charles, pilloried for a bad marriage, doesn't reflect the driven and hard-working man he has seen up close, whether he is visiting and offering support to schoolgirls in northern Nigeria or the Jewish community in Krakow, Poland. "You won't see that on Netflix." Edwards went with Charles when he returned in 2015 to the site of Mountbatten's assassination. "I watched him … and he was remembering it." As aware as Edwards is of The Crown, he has stopped watching it.   "You've got to remember it's drama; it's not necessarily the whole truth."

Just let loose and dance Peter Morgan may be the creative mind behind The Crown, but in the current season, at least one moment playing out on the small screen came straight from the actor. At one point, Diana — played by Emma Corrin — dances by herself with wild abandon inside a very well-appointed room at Buckingham Palace — or in this case, a stately home filling the role of the palace where Diana went to live after her engagement to Prince Charles was announced in 1981. "It was one of my favourite scenes to film," Corrin said in a recent interview with the Royal Fascinator. "I loved it because they wanted to choreograph it, and I said, 'Do you mind if we don't ... I don't think we can choreograph a moment like that. I'd love to just let loose and dance.'" So she did, and she chose the song that was blasting over the speakers during filming, a bit of musical time travel to 1998, and Cher's Believe. Corrin's love for the song dates back a few years. "There's a theatre company in Britain called DV8, and they do this show called The Cost of Living, and there's an amazing dance scene," she said. "A guy does this dance to Cher's  … Believe…. It's like the truest form of expression I've seen." In Corrin's research for the role, she was surprised to learn how important dance was for Diana. "It was quite a private thing," said Corrin. "You see her dancing and what that does, how that is such a mode of expression and release, and I thought that was really interesting."

Looking ahead — and looking back

Every so often over the past few years, there have been rumblings about whether Queen Elizabeth, now 94, might step aside from her role as she gets older. And as soon as those rumblings emerge, other royal observers are quick to note how that is unlikely for a variety of reasons, including the dark shadow cast by her uncle's abdication as King Edward VIII in 1936, her deep devotion to duty and how she has always considered her role as one for life. So it wasn't too surprising to see that scenario play out again in recent days when one royal biographer suggested Elizabeth might "step down" when she turns 95 next April. But soon after, there was also a very strong signal from Buckingham Palace about looking ahead in her reign. The first plans were announced for celebrations in 2022 to mark her Platinum Jubilee, or 70 years on the throne. It would be an unprecedented milestone — no British monarch has reigned as long as she has. In the United Kingdom, it will culminate in a four-day bank holiday weekend in early June. Oliver Dowden, the British culture secretary, said it would be a "truly historic moment" worthy of a "celebration to remember," the BBC reported.

Royally quotable

"Let us reflect on all that we have been through together and all that we have learned. Let us remember all victims of war, tyranny and persecution; those who laid down their lives for the freedoms we cherish; and those who struggle for these freedoms to this day."

— Prince Charles,

during a visit to Germany

to attend events commemorating its national day of mourning, which focused on British-German relations this year.

Royals in Canada

While members of the Royal Family have made numerous trips to Canada over the years, The Crown hasn't turned its dramatic attention to them yet, even though the show has featured several foreign visits.

"It's a shame," said royal historian Harris, because during Queen Elizabeth's reign, "there have been some very interesting Canadian tours."

Sure, there's been a brief glimpse of a Canadian flag at a table during a Commonwealth Heads of Government Meeting portrayed in The Crown.

"But we don't see Canada assuming a prominent role, whereas the series has had at least three tours of Australia," Harris said.

One episode in the current Season 4 focuses on Charles and Diana's 1983 trip Down Under. Shortly after that visit, Charles and Diana came to Canada. Had that been portrayed in The Crown, it would have backed up a developing theme, Harris said.

During the visit, Diana celebrated her 22nd birthday on Canada Day.

"There's press footage of Canadians giving Charles birthday cards to give to Diana, and a scene like that would have supported the theme of that episode of Charles feeling overshadowed by Diana," said Harris.

Edwards, the Sun photographer, was along for that trip, and has been to Canada about 15 times with members of the Royal Family.

The 1983 trip lasted 17 days and was "fantastic," he said. "It was just brilliant. I can recall it like it was yesterday. We criss-crossed the country."

During the opening of the World University Games in Edmonton on July 1, the crowd sang Happy Birthday to Diana.

"The whole crowd. It was phenomenal," said Edwards.

Harris sees potential plotting for future seasons of The Crown possibly playing into how the series has portrayed foreign visits so far.

"We see a stronger Australia focus, and it's certainly possible that the 1999 Australian referendum [on the monarchy] may come up in a subsequent season so some of this may be building towards that.

"But definitely in terms of the Commonwealth, certain nations are emphasized more than others in the series."

Royal reads

1. Queen Elizabeth and Prince Philip

celebrated their 73rd wedding anniversary today

, and a photo was released of them reading a card from their great-grandchildren. [CBC]

2. In a rare statement, Prince William has said he

welcomes an investigation by the BBC

into circumstances around the controversial Panorama interview his mother, Diana, Princess of Wales, gave to Martin Bashir in 1995. [CBC]

3. Meghan, Duchess of Sussex,

did authorize a friend to talk to the authors of Finding Freedom

, a biography of her and Prince Harry that was published his summer, court papers say. [ITV]

Cheers!

I’m always happy to hear from you. Send your ideas, comments, feedback and notes to

royalfascinator@cbc.ca

. Problems with the newsletter? Please let me know about any typos, errors or glitches.

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦🇬🇧🇦🇺🇳🇿

[fuckyeahjoonmyun]

High Cut Magazine Sept 2019 issue - Interview with Suho

It's been a year since you met High Cut for the <Student A> photoshoot, what have you been busy with recently? 

“It's already been a year? Haha. Although I'm still busy as usual, recently I have been focusing on EXO's concert and album but even then, I feel like my body and heart are more relaxed.”

You recently attended the Jecheon International Music & Film Festival and was awarded the New Discovery award for your role in <Student A>. It seems that your time in Jecheon must have been special. 

“Unfortunately I had to go to Hong Kong for a concert but I managed to eat ddeok galbi (grilled rib patty) and greeted the other senior actors and directors. I also met SNSD Sooyoung-noona. It's been over 10 years since we knew each other and we were thrilled to be able to win this award together. It was a short, sweet, and meaningful time.”

Recently you were also appointed as ambassador for Daegu International Music Festival and Suncheon Animal Film Festival. It feels like you are doing activities as a "professional ambassador" and that you really like what you do. 

“I really like movies and musicals. It was something that I would definitely do if I had the chance and time do do so. For the last 2 years I couldn't match my schedule with theirs so I couldn't do it. If I can help out even with just a bit I will be glad to let people know of these good movie and musical festivals (through being the ambassador).“

We know that you like movies and musicals. It also seems that you love animals.

“Honestly, I think the environment and animals are more important than people. Even though it's important to take care of those around you, it's even more important to take care of the environment. Nowadays it seems like people think too easily of the environment and animals to the point that they are harming them.“

You have a pet too, a Yorkshire Terrier called Byulie. How is she doing? 

“Haha. She's our house pet, so in the past although we spent a lot of time together, nowadays I don’t really get to see her...”

You are gradually expanding your "territories". Taking on the role of EXO's leader well, you are also working hard for acting, musicals, and now even being an ambassador. It seems like you are slowly expanding your spectrum.

“It can be put that way, but I feel that it's even more important to connect all these activities together. Rather than doing well in only one area, it's interesting that all these areas are helping each other. Although I like them all, I also like taking photos as a hobby and I'm interested in paintings but I can't draw at all... even though people tell me to try, I don't think I can do it at all haha.”

Instead of drawing (since you can't draw), why don't you upload some photos that you took yourself instead? 

“I would like to do that but I really have no time haha. I'm busy enough with my main job... It's hard enough to take care of my Instagram account, phew!”

Fans definitely know all about Suho's charms, but the general public may see Suho as someone who is goodnatured, upright with a model student image. If we look at Suho closely we may see that he is a someone who has desire to do a lot.

“Should I say that it's due to this model image that has influenced my impression? In reality I have a lot of desire about the things I like and I lead a rather intense life. I'm challenging different genres with EXO activities, and with each new experience I discover a new side to myself, and it seems that the more I (do this) the more greed I have, oh no haha.”

What do you do to unleash this greed and desire?

“Even though it's a rather obvious method, I will plan everything from small goals to big goals, and execute them out calmly and orderly. When I complete a small goal I get a sense of accomplishment and I get a sense of faith and the strength to move towards my big goals. Actually, there's nothing grand about plans. For example, the goal of "I want to get a good figure so that I can show off a cool image for the concert” can make you exercise for one hour everyday. And when you see your body get better each day you will get a sense of accomplishment. After that it becomes 2 months, and when the concert comes you will be able to achieve it. This makes me have a bigger goal of filming an action movie, and it's because of the small goal of exercising everyday that I'm able to have this big goal. If I have to film an action movie right now I'm able to do it because my body is ready. I tend to be someone who makes plans bit by bit so that I can grab the opportunity when it comes.”

In that case, on what do you express the most greed/desire? 

“No matter what it's EXO of course. I have been doing movies, musicals, and other works in parallel so that I can concentrate wholly with the members on preparing for the concert/album.”

With D.O. and Xiumin's enlistment, EXO must have felt changes. As the leader you probably must have felt amazed with how things have changed.

“Our maknae Sehun debuted in his teens and is already 25yo (western age), that's how much time has passed. The members have all aged and because of that, we are able to express the maturity well on stage. Also, the members are able to do the music/acting that they want to do, by using their own ways, and I feel proud of that.”

How did you (EXO) fill up the gaps left by the members who enlisted? 

“The members have felt as much responsibility as the spaces left by the friends who aren't here, and are doing a good job filling them up. It's to the point where Xiumin, who watched our concert performance from the audience, said "I feel very relieved and that you guys are dependable".”

When is their absence most felt then? 

“I think it's when we get together and the number of people seem small. I keep thinking "is everyone here? So strange..." haha. It feels strange and empty.”

We're curious as to what the members said to each other when the two of them enlisted.

“Truthfully we didn't say anything 'deep' nor serious. We just kept telling each other to be healthy. Being healthy is the best.”

GLORY DAY, STUDENT A, RICH MAN, etc, from tainted(?) youth story, coming of age story to romantic comedy, you have acted in a variety of works. Have you thought about what image of Actor Suho to show? 

“I haven’t really thought of it. It will be nice if I could tell a story about someone's life. A story about the people we see around us everyday, or a story about an ordinary person whom people just pass by, I think that would be interesting.”

When do you find acting the most fun? 

“Probably when I match well with the other actor. It's an experience that you can't get from the stage. There are certain things that can only be seen if you match well with your partner, unlike if you read your script alone. I also find ad-libs and reactions very fascinating and interesting.”

You've done 2 musicals, <The Man Who Laughs> and <The Last Kiss>. Musicals must have another kind of fun then. 

“For musicals, because everything is scripted, you have to follow the script. The acting is repetitive, so if you change it and the other party gets flustered, you could become a nuisance. But if you plan and do everything as promised, you can present something different each time. That's a special kind of fun.”

Are you someone who searches online for feedback from the public? If you are, do you pay more attention to the singing or acting activities?

“I tend to look for feedback on both. If I were to say the difference between the two, it would be that since in EXO there are the other members and we are seen as a team, I don't know if I'm doing well, and even if I make a mistake it can get covered. We depend on each other and have great synergy, but on the other hand for acting, I'm 100% seen alone. It's more burdensome no matter I get praised or criticised because their focus is on me.”

You're spending the last few years of your 20s. What do you talk about with your friends? You probably talk about how the front digit of your age is changing, like any other youths? 

“Because I started school early, most of my friends are already 30 this year. Which is why I feel like I'm already 30, and I don't feel any burden about my age. Rather, I think because of our jobs we talk about acting or our works. Also, because we all love to travel around, "this place is good", "this is exotic", we tend to talk a lot about such places. Because we don't really have time to go play together, we will send each other photos that we took, and talk about it together.”

Even then, you probably must have talked about how you're ageing. 

“We keep dreaming about something, executing it, and keep doing something innovative and creative. If we do this I don't think age will matter. Honestly because everyone is taking good care of themselves be it looks or the mind, everyone is getting younger overall. Now people tend to live longer past the age of 100. But if there's one thing I'm worried about, it's the fact that I can't catch up with youtube...”

Seems like you're not a "youtube human"? 

“Haha honestly I can't see what's fun about it, and compared to reading words, you can skip parts of videos. But I get this weird worry(?) that I will miss out something important if I skip the video. I also don't like the fact that time seems to fly when you watch youtube videos. I have to watch movies, dramas, and do many other things... which is why I can't get interested in it haha.”

You have an analogue side too I see. Is this why you previously told us that you will definitely make time to watch movies? At that time, you recommended <Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri> and <The Shape of Water>. Is there any recent movie that you want to recommend?

“Recently I've been watching at least 3 movies per week regardless of genre haha. If it's a new recommendation I want to recommend <Park Hwayoung> and <Delta Boys>. They are movies that reflect the current reality well. <Park Hwayoung> is something that made me feel hurt badly. <Delta Boys> is a movie that I think will give good energy to ordinary people. It's an interesting movie that makes you smile. Even though both have been released for some time, if you haven't watched it I recommend you to do so.”

Summer is almost over. What kind of autumn does Suho hope it will be? 

“Hmmm (trying to think of an original expression)... it'll be nice if the pretty colours, as red and yellow as maple leaves, could dye me gently. Also, it would be great if I could become even more matured, that would be a really fruitful autumn.”

(trans. cr.: myeonmehmeh)

[blackfreethinkers]

A racial realist IS a white supremacist!!!

By Greg Miller

In unguarded moments with senior aides, President Trump has maintained that Black Americans have mainly themselves to blame in their struggle for equality, hindered more by lack of initiative than societal impediments, according to current and former U.S. officials.

After phone calls with Jewish lawmakers, Trump has muttered that Jews “are only in it for themselves” and “stick together” in an ethnic allegiance that exceeds other loyalties, officials said.

Trump’s private musings about Hispanics match the vitriol he has displayed in public, and his antipathy to Africa is so ingrained that when first lady Melania Trump planned a 2018 trip to that continent he railed that he “could never understand why she would want to go there.”

When challenged on these views by subordinates, Trump has invariably responded with indignation. “He would say, ‘No one loves Black people more than me,’ ” a former senior White House official said. The protests rang hollow because if the president were truly guided by such sentiments he “wouldn’t need to say it,” the official said. “You let your actions speak.”

In Trump’s case, there is now a substantial record of his actions as president that have compounded the perceptions of racism created by his words.

Over 3½ years in office, he has presided over a sweeping U.S. government retreat from the front lines of civil rights, endangering decades of progress against voter suppression, housing discrimination and police misconduct.

His immigration policies hark back to quota systems of the 1920s that were influenced by the junk science of eugenics, and have involved enforcement practices — including the separation of small children from their families — that seemed designed to maximize trauma on Hispanic migrants.

With the election looming, the signaling behind even second-tier policy initiatives has been unambiguous.

After rolling back regulations designed to encourage affordable housing for minorities, Trump declared himself the champion of the “Suburban Lifestyle Dream.” He ordered aides to revamp racial sensitivity training at federal agencies so that it no longer refers to “White privilege.” In a speech at the National Archives on Thursday, Trump vowed to overhaul what children are taught in the nation’s schools — something only states have the power to do — while falsely claiming that students are being “fed lies about America being a wicked nation plagued by racism.”

The America envisioned by these policies and pronouncements is one dedicated to preserving a racial hierarchy that can be seen in Trump’s own Cabinet and White House, both overwhelmingly white and among the least diverse in recent U.S. history.

Trump’s push to amplify racism unnerves Republicans who have long enabled him

Scholars describe Trump’s record on race in historically harsh terms. Carol Anderson, a professor of African American Studies at Emory University, compared Trump to Andrew Johnson, who succeeded Abraham Lincoln as president and helped Southern Whites reestablish much of the racial hegemony they had seemingly lost in the Civil War.

“Johnson made it clear that he was really the president of a few people, not the American people,” Anderson said. “And Trump has done the same.”

A second White House official who worked closely with Trump quibbled with the comparison, but only because later Oval Office occupants also had intolerant views.

“Woodrow Wilson was outwardly a white supremacist,” the former official said. “I don’t think Trump is as bad as Wilson. But he might be.”

White House officials vigorously dispute such characterizations.

“Donald Trump’s record as a private citizen and as president has been one of fighting for inclusion and advocating for the equal treatment of all,” said Sarah Matthews, a White House spokeswoman. “Anyone who suggests otherwise is only seeking to sow division.”

No senior U.S. official interviewed could recall Trump uttering a racial or ethnic slur while in office. Nor did any consider him an adherent of white supremacy or white nationalism, extreme ideologies that generally sanction violence to protect White interests or establish a racially pure ethno-state.

White House officials also pointed to achievements that have benefited minorities, including job growth and prison-sentence reform.

But even those points fade under scrutiny. Black unemployment has surged disproportionately during the coronavirus pandemic, and officials said Trump regretted reducing prison sentences when it didn’t produce a spike in Black voter support.

And there are indications that even Trump’s allies are worried about his record on race. The Republican Party devoted much of its convention in August to persuading voters that Trump is not a racist, with far more Black speakers at the four-day event than have held top White House positions over the past four years.

This story is based on interviews with more than two dozen current and former officials, including some who have had daily interactions with the president, as well as experts on race and members of white supremacist groups. Many spoke on the condition of anonymity, citing a desire to provide candid accounts of events and conversations they witnessed without fear of retribution.

Coded racial terms

Most attributed Trump’s views on race and conduct to a combination of the prevailing attitudes of his privileged upbringing in the 1950s in what was then a predominantly White borough of New York, as well as a cynical awareness that coded racial terms and gestures can animate substantial portions of his political base.

The perspectives of those closest to the president are shaped by their own biases and self-interests. They have reason to resist the idea that they served a racist president. And they are, with few exceptions, themselves White males.

Others have offered less charitable assessments.

Omarosa Manigault Newman, one of the few Black women to have worked at the White House, said in her 2018 memoir that she was enlisted by White House aides to track down a rumored recording from “The Apprentice” — the reality show on which she was a contestant — in which Trump allegedly used the n-word. A former official said that others involved in the effort included Trump adviser Hope Hicks and former White House spokeswoman Sarah Sanders.

The tape, if it exists, was never recovered. But Manigault Newman, who was forced out after clashing with other White House staff, portrayed the effort to secure the tape as evidence that aides saw Trump capable of such conduct. In the book, she described Trump as “a racist, misogynist and bigot.”

Mary L. Trump, the president’s niece, has said that casual racism was prevalent in the Trump family. In interviews to promote her recently published book, she has said that she witnessed her uncle using both anti-Semitic slurs as well as the n-word, though she offered few details and no evidence.

Michael Cohen, the president’s former lawyer, has made similar allegations and calls Trump “a racist, a predator, a con man” in a newly published book. Cohen accuses Trump of routinely disparaging people of color, including former president Barack Obama. “Tell me one country run by a Black person that isn’t a s---hole,” Trump said, according to Cohen.

These authors did not provide direct evidence of Trump’s racist outbursts, but the animus they describe aligns with the prejudice Trump so frequently displays in public.

In recent months, Trump has condemned Black Lives Matter as a “symbol of hate” while defending armed White militants who entered the Michigan Capitol, right-wing activists who waved weapons from pickup trucks in Portland and a White teen who shot and killed two protesters in Wisconsin.

Trump has vowed to safeguard the legacies of Confederate generals while skipping the funeral of the late congressman John Lewis (D-Ga.), a civil rights icon, and retweeted — then deleted — video of a supporter shouting “White power” while questioning the electoral eligibility of Sen. Kamala D. Harris (D-Calif.), the nation’s first Black and Asian American candidate for vice president from a major party. In so doing, Trump reanimated a version of the false “birther” claim he had used to suggest that Obama may not have been born in the United States.

These add to an already voluminous record of incendiary statements, including his tweet that minority congresswomen should “go back” to their “crime infested” countries despite being U.S.-born or U.S. citizens, and his claim that there were “very fine people on both sides” after torch-carrying white nationalists staged a violent protest in Charlottesville.

In a measure of Trump’s standing with such organizations, the Stormfront website — the oldest and largest neo-Nazi platform on the Internet — recently issued a call to its followers to mobilize.

“If Trump doesn’t win this election, the police will be abolished and Blacks will come to your house and kill you and your family,” the site warned. “This isn’t about politics anymore, it is about basic survival.”

As the election approaches, Trump has also employed apocalyptic language. He recently claimed that if Democratic nominee Joe Biden is elected, police departments will be dismantled, the American way of life will be “abolished” and “no one will be SAFE.”

Given the country’s anguished history, it is hard to isolate Trump’s impact on the racial climate in the United States. But his first term has coincided with the most intense period of racial upheaval in a generation. And the country is now in the final stretch of a presidential campaign that is more explicitly focused on race — including whether the sitting president is a racist — than any election in modern American history.

Biden has seized on the issue from the outset. In a video declaring his candidacy, he used images from the clashes in Charlottesville, and said he felt compelled to run because of Trump’s response. He has called Trump the nation’s first racist president and pledged to use his presidency to heal divisions that are a legacy of the country’s “original sin” of slavery.

Exploiting societal divisions

Trump has confronted allegations of racism in nearly every decade of his adult life. In the 1970s, the Trump family real estate empire was forced to settle a Justice Department lawsuit alleging systemic discrimination against Black apartment applicants. In the 1980s, he took out full-page ads calling for the death penalty against Black teens wrongly accused of a rape in Central Park. In the 2000s, Trump parlayed his baseless “birther” claim about Obama into a fervent far-right following.

As president, he has cast his record on race in grandiose terms. “I’ve done more for Black Americans than anybody with the possible exception of Abraham Lincoln,” Trump said July 22, a refrain he has repeated at least five times in recent months.

None of the administration officials interviewed for this story agreed with Trump’s self-appraisals. But several sought to rationalize his behavior.

Some argued that Trump only exploits societal divisions when he believes it is to his political advantage. They pointed to his denunciations of kneeling NFL players and paeans to the Confederate flag, claiming these symbols matter little to him beyond their ability to rouse supporters.

“I don’t think Donald Trump is in any way a white supremacist, a neo-Nazi or anything of the sort,” a third former senior administration official said. “But I think he has a general awareness that one component of his base includes factions that trend in that direction.”

Studies of the 2016 election have shown that racial resentment was a far bigger factor in propelling Trump to victory than economic grievance. Political scientists at Tufts University and the University of Massachusetts, for example, examined the election results and found that voters who scored highly on indexes of racism voted overwhelmingly for Trump, a dynamic particularly strong among non-college-educated Whites.

Several current and former administration officials, somewhat paradoxically, cited Trump’s nonracial biases and perceived limitations as exculpatory.

Several officials said that Trump is not a disciplined enough thinker to grasp the full dimensions of the white nationalist agenda, let alone embrace it. Others pointed out that they have observed him making far more offensive comments about women, insisting that his scorn is all-encompassing and therefore shouldn’t be construed as racist.

“This is a guy who abuses people in his cabinet, abuses four-star generals, abuses people who gave their life for this country, abuses civil servants,” the first former senior White House official said. “It’s not like he doesn’t abuse people that are White as well.”

Nearly all said that Trump places far greater value on others’ wealth, fame or loyalty to him than he does on race or ethnicity. In so doing, many raised a version of the “some of my best friends are Black” defense on behalf of the president.

When faced with allegations of racism in the 2016 campaign, Trump touted his friendship with boxing promoter Don King to argue otherwise. Administration officials similarly pointed to the president’s connection to Black people who have praised him, worked for him or benefited from his help.

They cited Trump’s admiration for Tiger Woods and other Black athletes, the political support he has received from Sen. Tim Scott (R-S.C.) and other Black lawmakers, the president’s fondness for Ja’Ron Smith, who as assistant to the president for domestic policy is the highest-ranking Black staffer at the White House, and his pardon of Black criminal-justice-reform advocate Alice Marie Johnson, expunging her 1996 conviction for cocaine trafficking.

In his speech at the Republican National Convention, Scott used his personal story of bootstrap success to emphasize the ways that Republican policies on taxes, school choice and other issues create opportunities for minorities.

Trump “has fought alongside me” on such issues, Scott said, urging voters “not to look simply at what the candidates say, but to look back at what they’ve done.”

For all the prominence that Scott and other Black Trump supporters were given at the convention, there has been no corresponding representation within the Trump administration.

The official photo stream of Trump’s presidency is a slide show of a commander in chief surrounded by White faces, whether meeting with Cabinet members or posing with the latest intern crop.

From the outset, his leadership team has been overwhelmingly White. A Washington Post tally identified 59 people who have held Cabinet positions or served in top White House jobs including chief of staff, press secretary and national security adviser since Trump took office.

Only seven have been people of color, including Defense Secretary Mark T. Esper and Health and Human Services Secretary Alex Azar, who are of Lebanese heritage. Only one — Ben Carson, the Secretary of Housing and Urban Development — is Black.

Under Trump, the nation’s federal courts have also become increasingly White. Of the 248 judges confirmed or nominated since Trump took office, only eight were Black and eight were Hispanic, according to records compiled by NPR News.

Retreating from civil rights

Trump can point to policy initiatives that have benefited Black or other minority groups, including criminal justice reforms that reduced prison sentences for thousands of Black men convicted of nonviolent, drug-related crimes.

About 4,700 inmates have been released or had their sentences reduced under the First Step Act, an attempt to reverse the lopsided legacy of the drug wars of the 1980s and 1990s, which disproportionately targeted African Americans. But this policy was championed primarily by Jared Kushner, Trump’s son-in-law, and former officials said that Trump only agreed to support the measure when told it might boost his low poll numbers with Black voters.

Months later, when that failed to materialize, Trump “went s---house crazy,” one former official said, yelling at aides, “Why the hell did I do that?”

Manigault Newman was similarly excoriated when her efforts to boost funding for historically Black colleges failed to deliver better polling numbers for the president, officials said. “You’ve been at this for four months, Omarosa,” Trump said, according to one adviser, “but the numbers haven’t budged.” Manigault Newman did not respond to a request for comment.

White House officials cited other initiatives aimed at helping people of color, including loan programs targeting minority businesses and the creation of “opportunity zones” in economically distressed communities.

Trump has pointed most emphatically to historically low Black unemployment rates during his first term, arguing that data show they have fared better under his administration than under Obama or any other president.

But unemployment statistics are largely driven by broader economic trends, and the early gains of Black workers have been wiped out by the pandemic. Blacks have lost jobs at higher rates than other groups since the economy began to shut down. The jobless rate for Blacks in August was 13 percent, compared with 7.3 percent for Whites — the highest racial disparity in nearly six years.

Neither prison reform nor minority jobs programs were priorities of Trump’s first term. His administration has devoted far more energy and political capital to erecting barriers to non-White immigrants, dismantling the health-care policies of Obama and pulling federal agencies back from civil rights battlegrounds.

Under Trump, the Justice Department has cut funding in its Civil Rights Division, scaled back prosecutions of hate crimes, all but abandoned efforts to combat systemic discrimination by police departments and backed state measures that deprived minorities of the right to vote.

Weeks after Trump took office, the department announced it was abandoning its six-year involvement in a legal battle with Texas over a 2011 voter ID law that a federal court had ruled unfairly targeted minorities.

Later, the department went from opposing, under Obama, an Ohio law that allowed the state to purge tens of thousands of voters from its rolls to defending the measure before the Supreme Court.

The law was upheld by the court’s conservative majority. In a dissenting opinion, Supreme Court Justice Sonia Sotomayor noted that voter rolls in African American neighborhoods shrank by 10 percent, compared with 4 percent in majority-White suburbs.

The Justice Department’s shift when faced with allegations of systemic racism by police departments has been even more stark.

After the Rodney King beating in Los Angeles in 1991, Congress gave the department new power to investigate law enforcement agencies suspected of engaging in a “pattern or practice” of systemic — including racist — misconduct. The probes frequently led to settlements that required sweeping reforms.

The authority was put to repeated use by three consecutive presidents: 25 times under Bill Clinton, 21 under George W. Bush and 25 under Obama. Under Trump, there has been only one.

The collapse has coincided with a surge in police killings captured on video, the largest civil rights protests in decades and polling data that suggests a profound turn in public opinion in support of the Black Lives Matter cause — though that support has waned in recent weeks as protests became violent in some cities.

A Justice Department spokesman pointed to nearly a dozen cases over the past three years in which the department has prosecuted hate crimes or launched racial discrimination lawsuits. In perhaps the most notable case, James Fields Jr., who was convicted of murder for driving his car into a crowd of protesters in Charlottesville, also pleaded guilty to federal hate crime charges.

“The Civil Rights Division of the United States Department of Justice is vigorously fighting race discrimination throughout the United States. Any assertion to the contrary is completely false,” said Assistant Attorney General Eric Dreiband. “Since 2017, we have prosecuted criminal and civil race discrimination cases in all parts of the United States, and we will continue to do so.”

But the department has not launched a pattern or practice probe into any of the police departments involved in the killings that ignited this summer’s protests, including the May 25 death in Minneapolis of George Floyd, who asphyxiated after a White policeman kept him pinned to the ground for nearly eight minutes with a knee to his neck.

The department has opened a more narrow investigation of the officers directly involved in Floyd’s death. Attorney General William P. Barr called Floyd’s killing “shocking,” but in congressional testimony argued there was no reason to commit to a broader probe of Minneapolis or any other police force.

“I don’t believe there is systemic racism in police departments,” Barr said.

Deport, deny and discourage

Days after the 2016 election, David Duke, a longtime leader of the Ku Klux Klan, tweeted that Trump’s win was “great for our people.” Richard Spencer, another prominent white nationalist figure, was captured on video leading a “Hail Trump” salute at an alt-right conference in Washington.

People with far-right views or white nationalist sympathies gravitated to the administration.

Michael Anton, who published a 2016 essay comparing the country’s course under Obama to that of an aircraft controlled by Islamist terrorists and called for an end to “the ceaseless importation of Third World foreigners,” became deputy national security adviser for strategic communication.

Ian Smith served as an immigration policy analyst at the Department of Homeland Security until email records showed connections with Spencer and other white supremacists. Darren Beattie worked as a White House speechwriter before leaving abruptly when CNN reported his involvement in a conference frequented by white nationalists.

Stephen K. Bannon, who for years used Breitbart News to advance an alt-right, anti-immigrant agenda, was named White House chief strategist, only to be banished eight months later after clashing with other administration officials.

Stephen Miller, by contrast, has survived a series of White House purges and used his position as senior adviser to the president to push hard-line policies that aim to deport, deny and discourage non-European immigrants.

While working for the Trump campaign in 2016, Miller sent a steady stream of story ideas to Breitbart drawn from white nationalist websites, according to email records obtained by the Southern Poverty Law Center. In one exchange, Miller urged a Breitbart reporter to read “Camp of the Saints,” a French novel that depicts the destruction of Western civilization by rampant immigration. The book has become a touchpoint for white supremacist groups.

Miller was the principal architect of, and driving force behind, the so-called Muslim Ban issued in the early days of Trump’s presidency and the separation of migrant children from their parents along the border with Mexico. He has also worked behind the scenes to turn public opinion against immigrants and outmaneuver bureaucratic adversaries, officials said.

To blunt allegations of racism and xenophobia in the administration’s policies, Miller has sought to portray them as advantageous to people of color. In several instances, Miller directed subordinates to “look for Latinos or Blacks who have been victims of a crime by an immigrant,” then pressured officials at the Department of Homeland Security to tout these cases to the press, one official said. Families of some victims appeared as prominent guests of the president at the State of the Union address.

In 2018, as Miller sought to slash the number of refugees admitted to the United States, Pentagon officials argued that the existing policy was crucial to their ability to relocate interpreters and other foreign nationals who risked their lives to work with U.S. forces in Iraq and Afghanistan.

“What do you want? Iraqi communities across the United States?” Miller erupted during one meeting of National Security Council deputies, according to witnesses. The refugee limit has plunged since Trump took office, from 85,000 in 2016 to 18,000 this year.

In response to a request for comment from Miller, Matthews, the White House spokeswoman, said that “this attempt to vilify Stephen Miller with egregious and unfounded allegations from anonymous sources is shameful and completely unethical.”

As a descendant of Jewish immigrants, Miller is regarded warily by white supremacist organizations even as they applaud some of his actions.

“Our side doesn’t consider him one of us — for obvious reasons,” said Don Black, the founder of the Stormfront website, in an interview. “He’s kind of an odd choice to be the white nationalist in the White House.”

Trump’s presidency has corresponded with a surge in activity by white nationalist groups, as well as concern about the growing danger they pose.

Recent assessments by the Department of Homeland Security describe white supremacists as the country’s gravest domestic threat, exceeding that of the Islamic State and other terror groups, according to documents obtained by the Lawfare national security website and reported by Politico.

The FBI has expanded resources to tracking hate groups and crimes. FBI Director Christopher A. Wray testified Thursday that “racially motivated violent extremism” accounts for the bulk of the bureau’s domestic terrorism cases, and that most of those are driven by white supremacist ideology.

Major rallies staged by white nationalist organizations, which were already on the upswing just before the 2016 election, increased in size and frequency after Trump took office, according to Brian Levin, an expert on hate groups at California State University at San Bernardino.

The largest, and most ominous, was the “Unite the Right” rally in Charlottesville.

On Aug. 11, 2017, hundreds of white supremacists, neo-fascists and Confederate sympathizers descended on the city. Purportedly there to protest the planned removal of a Robert E. Lee statue, they carried torches and chanted slogans including “blood and soil” and “you will not replace us” laden with Klan and Nazi symbolism.

The event erupted in violence the next day, Saturday, when Fields, a self-proclaimed white supremacist, drove his car into a crowd of counterprotesters, tossing bodies into the air. Heather Heyer, a 32-year-old Virginia native and peace activist, was killed.

Trump’s vacillating response in the ensuing days came to mark one of the defining sequences of his presidency.

Speaking from his golf resort in Bedminster, N.J., Trump at first stuck to a calibrated script: “We condemn in the strongest possible terms this egregious display of hatred, bigotry and violence.” Then, improvising, he added: “on many sides, on many sides.”

In six words, Trump had drawn a moral equivalency between the racist ideology of those responsible for the Klan-like spectacle and the competing beliefs that compelled Heyer and others to confront hate.

Trump’s comments set off what some in the White House came to regard as a behind-the-scenes struggle for the moral character of his presidency.

John F. Kelly, a retired Marine Corps general who was just weeks into his job as White House chief of staff, confronted Trump in the corridors of the Bedminster club. “You have to fix this,” Kelly said, according to officials familiar with the exchange. “You were supporting white supremacists. You have to go back out and correct this.”

Gary Cohn, the White House economic adviser at the time, threatened to resign and argued that there were no “good people” among the ranks of those wearing swastikas and chanting “Jews will not replace us.” In a heated exchange, Cohn criticized Trump for his “many sides” comment, and was flummoxed when Trump denied that was what he had said.

“Not only did you say it, you continued to double down on it,” Cohn shot back, according to officials familiar with the exchange. “And if you want, I’ll get the transcripts.”

Trump relented that Monday and delivered the ringing condemnation of racism that Kelly, Cohn and others had urged. “Racism is evil,” he said, “and those who cause violence in its name are criminals and thugs, including the KKK, neo-Nazis, white supremacists, and other hate groups”

Aides were briefly elated. But Trump grew agitated by news coverage depicting his speech as an attempt to correct his initial blunder.

The next day, during an event at Trump Tower that was supposed to highlight infrastructure initiatives, Trump launched into a fiery monologue.

“You had a group on one side that was bad,” he said. “You had a group on the other side that was also very violent. Nobody wants to say that. I’ll say it right now.” By the end, the president appeared to be sanctioning racial divisions far beyond Charlottesville, saying “there are two sides to the country.”

For all their consternation, none of Trump’s top aides resigned over Charlottesville. Kelly remained in his job through 2018. Cohn stayed until March 2018 after being asked to lead the administration’s tax-reform initiative and reassured that he could share his own views about Charlottesville in public without retaliation from the president.

Kelly and Cohn declined to comment.

The most senior former administration official to comment publicly on Trump’s conduct on issues of race is former defense secretary Jim Mattis. After Trump responded to Black Lives Matter protests in Washington this summer with paramilitary force, Mattis responded with a blistering statement.

“Donald Trump is the first president in my lifetime who does not try to unite the American people — does not even pretend to try,” Mattis said. “Instead, he tries to divide us.”

In some ways, Charlottesville represented a high-water mark for white nationalism in Trump’s presidency. Civil rights groups were able to use footage of the mayhem in Virginia to identify members of hate groups and expose them to their employers, universities and families.

“Charlottesville backfired,” Levin said. Many of those who took part, especially the alt-right leadership, “were doxed, sued and beaten back,” he said, using a term for using documents available from public records to expose individuals.

“When the door to the big political tent closed on these overtly white nationalist groups, many collapsed, leaving a decentralized constituency of loose radicals now reorganizing under new banners,” Levin said.

Some white nationalist leaders have begun to express disenchantment with Trump because he has failed to deliver on campaign promises they hoped would bring immigration to a standstill or perhaps even ignite a race war.

“A lot of our people were expecting him to actually secure the borders, build the wall and make Mexico pay for it,” Black said.

“Some in my circles want to see him defeated,” Black said, because they believe a Biden presidency would call less attention to the white nationalist movement than Trump has, while fostering discontent among White people.

But Black sees those views as dangerously shortsighted, failing to appreciate the extraordinary advantages of having a president who so regularly aligns himself with aspects of the movement’s agenda.

“Symbolically, he’s still very important,” Black said of Trump. “I don’t think he considers himself a white supremacist or a white nationalist. But I think he may be a racial realist. He knows there are racial differences.”

[sidharthshukladaily]

Baby’s 2014 TOI interview..

Sidharth Shukla, 33, is simple, honest, helpful and vain. Extremely popular as the Shiv of Balika Vadhu, he has bagged a three-film contract with Karan Johar and is awaiting the release of his first film 'Humpty Sharma Ki Dulhania'. Over an hour-long conversation with Bombay Times, he talks about his godfather Karan Johar, his friend Amit Shirodkar, who changed his life, and why he would do anything in the world for his mother. Excerpts:

How did you get into television? We are Brahmins originally from Allahabad, but I was born and brought up in Mumbai. My father was a civil engineer employed with the Reserve Bank of India. I thought I was a big waste and would not be able to do anything in life and had no clue what I would do, till I met Amit Shirodkar while giving my tenth board exams. He was sitting next to me and I found him liberally copying from me.

All through the exams he copied and passed and we parted ways. Later, one day, I was passing him on the street and stopped to remind him that I was the guy he had copied from and how he owed his passing to me. We became best friends and for the next three years, my life just revolved around his. His father was an interior designer and he told me, ‘Sidharth, you don’t feel scared, my father has his interiors business and I am starting interiors, so you just be with me.’ I was thrilled. Amit was just 19, when he died all of sudden in a bike accident and I was devastated. The accident happened on a Saturday and he went into coma. On Sunday evening, his mother came to my building running, surprised that I had not come to see Amit in hospital, despite supposedly being with him on the evening when he met with an accident. Amit was a full- on party person, whereas I was considered a seedha boy by his mother who had permitted him to go that night as he said that he was going with me. I rushed to the hospital, but lost Amit the next day.

You might find it uncanny, but recently I was with Aunty (Amit’s mother) on Mother’s Day and she said to me, ‘Sidharth, I never left the side of Amit in hospital so I did not come to your building.’ I still can’t figure out then how I came to know that day about Amit’s accident. Either she has forgotten or I can’t understand it. Amit anyways got me into interiors and he would tell me, ‘I will do everything. You just sit around.’ I, of course, knew that it would be the other way round, where I would be working and he would be chilling. But I miss him a lot. There is a lot in life that I learnt from him. For instance, he would do these small things, like feeding beggars at Haji Ali with the extra money he had. That is something that does not come to a 19- year-old boy on his own without his parents asking him to do so. I learnt how to help other people from him. He was also the one who first took me to a club. It was an afternoon and those days, the clubs would be dark with neon lights. Since it was my first time, I missed seeing the low seating and fell down. After Amit’s passing away, I did the interiors course and worked with his father for a couple of years. He was very nice to me and his family till date is my second family. Right from the time I can remember I have been vain, looking at myself in the mirror thinking I was the best thing that had happened. My sisters would always be watching models on TV and I would always want them to someday watch me. I was skinny, so started working out to build my body to become strong. My mom told me, ‘Tu itni herogiri karta hai building mein, why don’t you participate in this Cuffe Parade fashion contest?’ I didn’t want to as I didn’t want to lose, but still agreed. I did lose the contest, but, surprisingly, got selected for the Pantaloons ad campaign, which was the gratification for winning the contest. I then started modelling and became the first runner-up in a national manhunt contest. I had not taken my mother along as I didn’t want her to be disappointed if I lost. I was disheartened that I had not come first, as I desperately wanted to win it. But then I became the first Asian to win the Best Model in the World contest and till date, no one has ever won it. I travelled out of the country for the first time and was a part of many ad commercials, till I got my first break on television.

What led to your transformation from being a wasted person to being so focused?

I lost my father in 2005 just after winning the national manhunt contest. I was just 25 then. Not that I felt any major pressure personally before that, but I suddenly became the man of the house. I had two elder sisters who were married, but did not want to burden my mother. I love her the most in the world. After my father I have become closer to her, as she has had to go through a lot of hard times. He died due to a lung disorder due to smoking and had been ill for the last seven years of his life. But he worked till his last day and I think he was working only because of me, as I was the only unsettled person in the family. I was doing nothing in my life. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do as there was nothing concrete I was doing till then. My dad never had a lot of money, but the best part is that he never made me feel that. In his entire life, I don’t think he would have worn clothes including his shoes, for more than `2,000, but if I wanted to wear a jeans for `2,000, he would somehow ensure that I got it without me knowing. I know all that he has done for me. I realise today that I was just living in my own world at that time and was quite oblivious to what he was going through. Being the youngest, I was always protected, so money problems never came to me. It hurts me a lot now, but, at that time, I didn’t realise. There was a time when he also had cancer which got cured. But he would get chemo done and come back home by a bus, whereas I would move around in a taxi. We didn’t have a car at that time and got one only later when my sisters started working. My father saw my first commercial, but he died after that. I strongly believe that it was his blessings that made me win the Best Model of the World contest. I cry a lot remembering him. I remember when my first print ad appeared, he would keep all the cuttings of the newspaper in his pocket. He used to love watching TV and I know he would have been thrilled to see me as Shiv in Balika Vadhu. After my father, I have done everything I could do for my mother. From being a complete waste, I transformed to being hard-working. My mother is very religious and she wanted to visit all the four dhaams and Mansarovar. I ensured she went everywhere and also went along with her to three of the four dhaams. Of course, she would want me to express my appreciation for her more than I do, but I will do anything to make her happy. From my first earnings, I took her out to dinner. And like all mothers she looked at the rates on the menu and ordered the cheapest item. All my life I had looked at the menu and ordered the most expensive item while growing up. I want the best for her and love her the most in the world.

 How did you get a role in Humpty Sharma Ki Dulhania?

I was on the last season of Jhalak Dikhhla Jaa, where Karan was the judge. He liked me and called me. Karan Johar calling you was a big thing and the first time he called me, I couldn’t believe it. He is very grounded and is so real. From the outside when you see him, you feel that he is this huge mountain, but actually he is such a plateau and is so easy to talk to. He has no hangups and he doesn’t feel superior in any way. I can have a conversation with him without offending him and can speak anything to him. Karan Johar is like Narendra Modi in my life because I feel ab achche din aane waale hain.

[X]

[thecourtneychronicles]

“Courtney Act says she’s enjoying an endless “hot girl summer”. Which, for those not initiated into American rap memes, basically means she’s having a damn good time.

“I’m kind of lubed up and ready for Mardi Gras, so to speak,” she says. As Australia’s most famous drag queen, active since the turn of the century, Courtney helped lead the mainstreaming of queer culture in this country along with figures such as Carlotta and Bob Downe.

But being a leader or pioneer doesn’t guarantee being comfortable in your own skin. Courtney says that until recently her understanding of sexuality and gender was actually quite limited. When she was performing, she was a woman, but when she stripped off her make-up, she went back to being Shane Jenek, a man.

“Although I did drag, my masculinity and femininity were compartmentalised in the binary,” Courtney says.

But over the past few years, as public discussion of gender, sexuality and identity has grown, she has discovered things are more complex than your genitals, clothes and hair.

“I think sometimes people think identity has something to do with the wrapping, but really it’s the gift underneath,” she says. “It’s about how you feel. For me, I definitely feel like I occupy masculine and feminine qualities.”

Courtney explores this journey in her pop-cabaret show, Fluid, showing this week at the Eternity Playhouse in Darlinghurst as part of the Sydney Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras festival. It’s a change of pace for her after focusing on television in recent years; first by winning Britain’s Celebrity Big Brother in 2018, then as the runner-up (with Joshua Keefe) on last year’s Australian Dancing with the Stars.

It’s also a far cry from her humble beginnings in the DIY world of drag, which has never been regarded as high art but remains a staple of gay bars and culture worldwide.

“There’s a lot less hot glue and sticky tape in this show, which makes it feel a lot more professional,” Courtney says of Fluid. “I don’t know if that will hold until opening night.”

Set to original music, Fluid was written by Shane and American comedian Brad Loekle. For the most part it’s a one-woman show, with some help from a ballroom dancer in the second half. (“It’d be weird doing a ballroom dance by yourself,” she says.)

The show acknowledges that, more than ever, people are being flooded with “ever-changing and flowing ideas of who we are, what we are and what we might become”.

This is something we should embrace, says Courtney. “We change our clothes every day – we change  our hairstyles, we change our jobs. Everything is constantly in motion and constantly fluid. But we have this idea that our identities are fixed. When we look at our lives they’re actually a lot more fluid than we think.”

Courtney, or Shane, doesn’t identify as trans but has said that seeing more transgender people represented in the media was liberating and allowed her to explore her own doubts about gender. She’s previously been described as “gender fluid, pansexual and polyamorous”, although she no longer embraces those labels as she once did.

“They all work,” says Courtney, who prefers to identify as “just generally queer” these days. “It’s funny … so many of our groups identify so strongly with labels and they’re so important to us. I kind of feel less attached to those labels.”

She also understands why some people might feel confused, or even confronted, by the politics of queer identification. The acronym LGBTQIA+, which stands for lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer, intersex, asexual and others, has expanded over the years to the point that some critics deride it as “alphabet soup”. Even those who are part of the community can be intolerant.

“I get that LGBTIQA+ is a little cumbersome from a marketing standpoint,” says Courtney. “But if you find yourself with the time to complain and be confused by a few extra letters, then you’re one of the lucky ones. If there are people that get to understand themselves more because of a letter in an acronym, I’m all for it.”

“I definitely feel like I occupy masculine and feminine qualities.”

Courtney casts a sceptical eye over everything, including the rise of cancel culture, a predominantly left-wing phenomenon which argues that anyone who says or does something deemed to be racist, sexist, homophobic or in any way offensive should be called out, shamed and, preferably, silenced.

Lamenting the state of political discourse while appearing on the ABC’s Matter of Fact program last year, she said: “The volume’s too loud now and everybody’s yelling.” While history showed that people sometimes need to raise their voices, “when you actually sit down opposite someone and have a conversation with them, you get so much further”.

How, then, does Courtney view the debate over religious freedom that has raged ever since Australians voted to legalise same-sex marriage in 2017? She says it’s clear that sometimes people, especially older white males, perceive other people gaining rights as a threat to their own. She says religion can be a lost cause because it is, by definition, about faith rather than rational argument. Still, queer people have to make the effort to engage.

“The way to do that is to get people to picture themselves in other people’s experiences. That’s the only way you can foster that empathy.

“Rather than yelling aggressively back at the people trying to oppress us, I think the most important thing to do is to share our stories.”

Another thing you can do, of course, is march. This weekend, Mardi Gras culminates in the annual parade up Oxford Street, which will feature more than 200 floats and 10,000 marchers. For the first time, Courtney will co-host the coverage on SBS with comedians Joel Creasey and Zoe Coombs Marr, and Studio 10 presenter Narelda Jacobs.

She had something of a practice run hosting the coverage on Foxtel some years ago. “I saw a clip of it the other day,” she says. “And I’m definitely hoping to redeem myself.”

As a character, Courtney has been on the gay scene for about 20 years. The person behind the facade, Shane, turned 38 last week. He grew up in Brisbane and remembers watching the parade on television as a teenager in the 1990s, huddled up close to the TV so he could quickly switch it off if his parents came downstairs.

Shane came to Sydney when he was 18 and attended his first Mardi Gras. “I just remember it was such a melting pot of people,” he says. “It was the first time I really understood what a community was: that there were all these different parts, and we all faced different challenges and struggles.”

But even then, Shane says he failed to really comprehend about what Mardi Gras was all about. Just like many heterosexual critics over the years, as a young man he gawked at the giant dancing penises, fetish-wear and nudity and wondered: why?

“I remember thinking: why can’t they just be normal?” Shane says. “Have your parade, but why does it have to be about sex and penises? Because I had shame about all of those things. I realise now that the parade’s brash display of sexuality liberates the shame … it’s a really radical way to shake people and say there’s nothing wrong with sexuality – not just homosexuality but sexuality in general.”

The queer community has given Shane a lot: acceptance, identity, a career and fame. It has taken him to Los Angeles, where he was based for some years until 2018, and now to his new home in London.

Love, on the other hand, remains elusive. He is “on the rebound” at the moment, though eternally optimistic. “It’s Mardi Gras time, it’s summer in Sydney, I think this is the perfect time to be single. Maybe I’ll find love under a disco ball at the after-party.”

Incredibly, at 38, Shane is about to attend his first ever wedding, straight or gay – his friend Tim is marrying his partner Ben. It is set to be a baptism of fire. “They have asked my ex-boyfriend and me to give the best man’s speech together, which could be slightly sadistic,” he says.

Shane is still adjusting to the relatively new world of same-sex marriage. It’s not for everyone – many queers still think of it as a conservative and unnecessary institution – but it’s growing on him. “Weirdly, seeing all these people get married, I feel like my cold heart has melted a bit,” he says. “I think there’s something really beautiful about marriage.”

It’s a reminder of why events like the Mardi Gras are still so important – a celebration of diversity at the same time as the old divisions between straight and gay are knocked down. As well as marriage, this can manifest in small shifts, like the politics of Bondi Beach.

“I was at North Bondi on Saturday [and] it was surprisingly unlike North Bondi,” Shane says. “It was all families and those banana umbrella things. I was like, ‘Oh, I remember when this used to be [gay nightclub] ARQ, but with more light.’"

“I guess that’s the progress we fought for – the families are happy occupying the gay beaches now.”

Fashion director Penny McCarthy. Photographer Steven Chee. Hair Benjamin Moir at Wigs By Vanity.

SBS’s Mardi Gras broadcast airs live from 7.30pm on February 29. Fluid will return for a tour of Australia and NZ in spring.

This article appears in Sunday Life magazine within the Sun-Herald and the Sunday Age on sale February 23.”

Courtney’s interview for The Sydney Morning Herald - February 21, 2020

[pjnknim]

Best friend!Mark

Genre: fluff? i think so lol

Word count: 2k

Warnings: none

Authors note: Hi! This is my first story i’ve written on here so it may be a little messy or bad. I hope you enjoy anyways though. Don’t be afraid to write back to me and give me constructive criticism, I only want to get better. Thank you!

At the hotel you’re staying at, you help your bestfriend Mark get prepared for the Grammys that he’s attending along with the rest of the members from nct 127. 

“y/n we gotta leave soon, we can’t be late” Mark says. 

Being so focused in on getting a part of his hair right you don’t say anything in response until seconds later. 

“Im FINALLY finished. Stand up and look, I think you’ll like it.”

Mark gets up to look in the mirror, “yes! this is the exact look I was going for” he says. 

You smile a beautiful smile and say “i'm glad-” you’re then cut off by Mark squishing your cheeks.

“What was that for?” you say chuckling.

“I don’t know, your cheeks are just super squishy and cute” he says smiling.

For the longest time you’ve had a huge crush on Mark and whenever he does or says things like this it makes you wonder if he has any interest in being more than a friend with you.

“Ok ok weirdo, let's head downstairs and meet with the others.” You both head downstairs to the lobby where the rest of the members are waiting patiently.

You see Haechan and Taeil over to the side singing quietly, Yuta resting on Winwin’s shoulder, Johnny and Jaehyun goofing around, making lame jokes with each other, Taeyong, Doyoung, and Jungwoo practicing their choreography. Everyone seems to be doing something. They see you and Mark come down the hallway and their faces light up knowing that they’ll be heading to the Grammy’s now. 

“Oh my god! Mark you look so different, you look really good” Yuta says. “Mark hyung you finally look decent for once!” Haechan says jokingly. 

Mark runs to Haechan putting him in a headlock and messing up his hair. They play fight for a few more seconds before Taeyong interrupts them and pulls them over to their van outside. You look back at the rest of the members who are slightly embarrassed by what just happened in the middle of the lobby. 

“Alright, I guess we should get going now”. 

You start your way to the van and the rest of the members follow you. Since there's 11 of you guys you all are split. 5 of you go into one van while the rest go into another. You step into the van with Mark inside and take a seat next to him. 

“Of course” you say to yourself chuckling. “He’s asleep again”. 

While he’s sleeping you take a look at him and realize how gorgeous he looks in the sunlight. You take in the sight of your best friend, his glimmering dark eyeshadow that you put on his face, his sparkling skin that drives you crazy, his pink lips that you dream of kissing, his black hair blowing in the wind from the car window being slightly rolled down. You can’t help but continue to admire him. 

“y/n, you’ve been staring at him for the past 10 minutes” Doyoung says. 

“hUH?!” “Doyoung, I was just making sure that I did his makeup correctly duh.”  

“yeah yeah, I know you like him y/n, it's so obvious” he says. 

You look down feeling a bit embarrassed. 

“It’s alright though, I won’t tell anybody. Plus he might like you back” Doyoung says smirking.

“C’mon now we gotta get out the car, we’re here.” 

You look up from staring at your hands and realize that you’re finally at the stadium where the Grammys is being held at. Time had passed so quickly after getting lost in your thoughts of Mark. 

“Hey, wake up now Mark. We’re here.” You say while rubbing his back. Mark wakes up almost instantly and a smile forms onto his face. 

You can tell he’s so happy to finally be at the Grammys. As you’re getting out the van you see the second van pull up behind you guys, the rest of the members jump out the van looking like excited children arriving at their favorite candy shop. 

“Are you guys ready to perform and possibly win an award here at the Grammy’s?!” Johnny says excitedly. 

Everyone else responds with loud “yeahs!” while throwing their hands up in the air and jumping. It’s heartwarming to see them so happy and excited. They get done with their tiny celebration and continue on to the red carpet. 

“y/n, i'm gonna need you to go into the Grammy’s from another entrance and go backstage ok?” Mark says. 

“Ok, i’ll see you when you’re finished, have fun answering questions!” 

You watch Mark leave with his members and soon you leave too, heading to the entrance. Once you go inside and find backstage you go to a room with a small tv that's broadcasting what's happening on the red carpet. You see so many of your favorite celebrities there, and then the screen flips to nct being interviewed. You almost scream just from seeing them. You lean in a bit closer to the tv to hear what’s being said. 

“We’re here yall! The Grammy’s! Are you guys loving it so far? How’s it feel to be here?” the host then moves her mic closer to nct. 

“Yeah, it's our first time here but I think we’re having a good time here so far” Johnny says nodding his head, other members doing the same. 

“That’s great to hear! I heard about your most recent album ‘Regular-Irregular’. People seem to be lovin it! It's been everywhere.” 

“Yup”, Jaehyun says. “We put a lot of effort into it and we’re so happy that it's getting much love and attention.”

“If you haven’t seen the music video yet or have listened to the album, please do so!” Mark adds on. 

“Alrighty then! Keep killin it and doin what you’re doin. You have so much more success coming your way. Thank you guys so much for being here, it was a pleasure meeting you!” 

“No thank you” Johnny says with a smile

The camera pans to two other hosts who are announcing that the Grammy’s are going to begin shortly. You turn around to see Mark and everyone else behind him entering the room you’re in. You run to them trying to grab as many member as you can between your arms hugging them tightly.

“Ugh you guys did so well, you didn’t look nervous at all!”  you say to everyone. 

“I- I mean we really wish you could’ve been with us y/n” Mark says. “I know me too” you say pouting. 

“Nct 127?!” a man from across the room yells. “We need you to be ready to go out on stage soon” 

“ok!” Mark says giving a thumbs up to the man. 

You all form into a huddle, getting a bit emotional Taeyong starts to tear up. “I can’t believe it, how did we make here guys? How did we make it to the Grammys?” he says. 

“You’re right, how did we? I remember earlier on, training with you guys and doing little smrookie performances with you. And look now, im performing at the Grammy’s with you” Haechan says. 

Even you start to tear up a bit. You say goodbye to the members as they leave the huddle. Mark is left staring at you. 

“What is it?” you ask wiping your tears. 

Mark walks up to you quickly and gives you a small peck on your cheek before running off to catch up with the members. You’re left feeling almost dizzy-like. Magical tingling feelings run through your body as you walk to your seat to watch their performance....

---------------------

Time comes for their performance and you’re sitting front row to watch them. You promised them years ago that once they made it big and they were performing you’d be there, front row, and here you are. Doing exactly that. The stage lights up and ‘Regular’ the english version starts playing. The members are already on stage posing. Right after Mark says “yeah yeah” as part of the lyrics, they all begin to move with such energy and sing with voices like angels. You’re completely flattered by it. 

They really put on a good performance you thought to yourself, all those years of training truly paid off. They finish off their show with Taeyong in the middle holding up the nct sign, while everyone else is doing different poses.

You see Mark looking sweaty and breathing hard from all the dancing and moving. Hair sticking to his forehead. You’ve seen him like this many times before but this time looking at him its seems different. He makes eye contact with you and blush so hard. 

He gives you a smile making you melt. They head off stage and you follow them back. As you head backstage you hear the host coming back on stage to announce nominees for best song of the year. You come back to them with a big smile and open arms, you all join together in a big group hug. All you feel, see, and hear in that moment is joy. 

Your body is filled with tingling feelings of euphoria. You’re beyond happy that you could be here with them, especially Mark. 

“YALL WERE SO GOOD I-” you say

“It felt so nice to be up there, I can’t even explain it” Yuta says jumping up and down. 

 A loud voice is then heard saying “NCT 127!” You all look around to see what's happening when suddenly a fairly large bearded white man with a cap on comes up to them and says “hurry up and get on up there! You’ve won!” 

Without even finishing your conversation you push the boys towards the entrance on the stage and blow them kisses. Taeyong runs up on the stage crying because of how happy he is, other members come on too crying. Grabbing the award he moves towards the mic to give his speech. 

“Guys I can’t-”

He steps back from the mic a bit to gather himself before speaking again. 

“I'm beyond grateful right now and I wish you all could feel just how we feel right now. This is such a huge moment for us, coming from a different country and winning a Grammy, I mean that's something we never even thought of before. Thank you thank you so much” 

Taeyong steps to the side to give other members a chance to say something. Taeil steps up to thank specific people. 

“I want to give a huge thanks to our team, my parents, and our fans. I swear this never would’ve happened without you guys. I love you so much and please never forget that.” 

And with that the rest of the members walk off stage waving with smiles. They come back to you but this time you see them differently, they’re not just the guys you grew up, they’re Grammy award winning artists. 

You begin to cry just as much as them with tears of pure happiness streaming down your face. Mark comes up to you and brings you into his arms, you bury your face into his arms and cling onto him, bringing him as close as you can to his body. 

“I love you so much, thank you” he says quietly 

you look up from his chest from what he just said.

“Mark stop joking.” 

Without him saying anything back he pulls you into a deep kiss. You don’t even begin to kiss him back til 5 seconds later because of how shocked you are. The rest of the members don’t know what to be surprised by anymore, the fact that you and Mark shared your first kiss, or that they just won a Grammy. 

“Aw! You guys are so cute!!” Haechan exclaims. You pull him and other members into another group hug as a way to express your gratitude to them....

--------------

The night is over now. its 3:19 am and you’re now back at the hotel, sitting up in your bed next to a small lamp typing in your laptop about how today was your most happiest day. 

“y/n, lay down now. We have another long day tomorrow” “I will Mark, soon, just wait” you say back

You get a message on your from Doyoung saying 

“I knew you liked him :) i'm NEVER wrong” 

You ignore it for now feeling too tired to respond. After all those hours of screaming in the audience, crying, and just being simply happy, you’re worn out and decide to turn the lamp off and lay down next to Mark. Falling asleep peacefully…

[365daysoftododeku]

18th February 2019

Author: Z

Author’s Note: A Yuri on Ice AU

Warning: Panic Attacks

________________________________________________________________

Stay Close to Me

Izuku rubbed his eyes and clenched his fists to keep his balance as he knees quivered. He hadn’t slept due to the anticipation of today’s competition, and his eyes glazed over staring at the ice that lay beneath him.

A finger tapped on his shoulder, and he shuddered as he slowly turned around to see who the culprit was.

“Are you okay?” a soft-spoken voice asked him, laced with worry.

Izuku nodded vigorously. “I'm fine. Just…nerves you know?”

The man behind him grunted in understanding.

Though, this man was much more than just someone asking if he was okay.

He was Todoroki Shouto, five-time gold medalist and the only one who had the patience to coach him. They'd been working together for a few months now and before that...well Izuku was a fan to say the least. Shouto and his father were legends, and Izuku wanted nothing more than to be able to skate like them.

He wasn't a huge fan of Shouto's father...not like he was of Shouto. It was hard to escape that man though, he had a tight grip on what Shouto could and could not perform, and had been his personal coach since he was a young child. Only recently had he gained independence from the strict and tight styles that his father had insisted on.

As Izuku wasn't a fan of his father, he also wasn't a fan of that tight, closed-in skating style that Shouto had been forced to learn and perform.

Izuku was in awe of Shouto's own flowing, free style that he was able to do after cutting away from his father’s rules when he became an adult. Watching it was like watching two skaters at once, one burning with fiery passion, and the other unsure and distant; the intricate footwork and risky jump combinations never matched that melancholy expression.

Izuku had always aspired to be a skater like that; someone who could always surprise the audience. They never knew what new move Shouto would include in his routines, and that was what Izuku had latched onto. Shouto was mysterious, and before he’d been able to have a conversation with the man, he’d seemed intimidating.

After months of training together, though, Izuku learned that Shouto was less than adept in social circumstances, and wasn’t all that intimidating at all. They’d been able to form a sort of trust bond between each other in the recent months.

Ah, and just how did the famous Todoroki Shouto end up coaching Midoriya Izuku, who hadn’t even gotten bronze in the last Grand Prix event? Izuku had put out an ad on a whim, accompanied with a video. Izuku had worked hard to create a perfect imitation of one of Shouto’s gold-winning routines, and had been running on only two hours of sleep when he decided to post the video.

He may have tagged Shouto in the ad, and he may have been hoping he’d get a response from him specifically. But that didn’t mean he thought it’d work.

It worked well alright. Within two days of posting the ad, there was a knock on his door, and when Izuku opened it, he was greeted by a man two-toned hair and beautiful mismatched eyes, who had the smallest confused smile on his face.

Shouto hadn’t sent Izuku any sort of confirmation of accepting the ad, he just showed up to Izuku’s door.

“Oh, hi, um...how did you know this is my house?” Izuku stammered as the one man he idolized most stood before him.

Shouto cocked his head to the side in confusion, the red hairs mingling with the white. “The sign out front says Midoriya on it. I assumed it was the right place? Unless you’re his doppelganger with the same name.”

Izuku squeaked. Right. His family owned an inn. It was called “Midoriya Inn,” a clearly fitting name. His mother had been interviewed here before, as an advertisement for the inn, and she’d mentioned Izuku. It was a bit odd that Shouto would know this though, it wasn’t like the word spread that fast about him of all people.

“Oh, well, come in.”

The expression of wonder and confusion on Shouto’s face then was the same as it was now, at the last skate before the finals.

“Did you sleep well last night?” Shouto asked, snapping Izuku back to the present.

Without thinking, Izuku nodded. “Oh, yeah, I’m good.”

Shouto’s eyebrows furrowed. “You’re lying. I can see the bags under your eyes.” He reached forward and poked at the soft flesh under Izuku’s eyes. “You should take a nap before the skate starts.”

Izuku knew he was right. But he was more determined to win the semifinals to make it into the finals than he was to get rest. Anyway his body was shaking with anticipation and anxiety. There was no way he could sleep now.

Izuku groaned. “I’ll be fine. I just need to wake up a bit. We could go for coffee.”

“You’ll just crash once the competition starts. I know from experience.” Shouto clenched his fists and set his jaw. “I don’t want you to be overwhelmed.

Izuku groaned louder. “Ugh, I won’t be able to sleep. I’m fine.”

Shouto grasped his shoulders. “I just want you to do well.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Izuku turned his head away from Shouto. His eyes focused on something he couldn’t even make out. It was all a blur to him. He couldn’t focus on anything right now, really.

Shouto was right.

---

After an hour of lying in the hotel bed without any remote sign of being able to fall asleep, Izuku got up again. During that time, Shouto had joined him, claiming to have been bored from sitting in the chair off to the side and thought a nap would do himself well also. Though there was another bed right next to Izuku’s...they’d gotten a room with two beds.

Izuku only felt more restless from the subsequent thoughts that came with sharing a bed with not only his coach, but quite possibly the only person he’d every looked up to and also the most powerful person in the skating world at the moment.

He sighed and rubbed at his eyes, which were now even more droopy and watery. “We should head back,” he told Shouto.

“Alright,” Shouto agreed as he also got up and pulled his coat back on.

---

The shaking had gotten worse. Watching his opponents did nothing to calm his nerves. They were all so talented, not like him. He’d gotten such a late start in skating, only after finding Toshinori to show him the ropes. His mother had always supported his passion, but she couldn’t afford the lessons when he was younger. And she had to tend to the inn every day of the week. He couldn’t ask her to drive him to lessons and then later competitions.

When he found a frozen pond near his home, he decided to put on shoes with less traction, and try sliding around for a bit. He fell a lot. It was disheartening, but after an hour of falling and getting back up, he was able to make progress moving forward and keeping his balance.

That’s when Toshinori found him, frantically trying to make progress on his own without smooth ice or proper footwear. He offered to bring him to a rink and go over some simple things, gradually working up to the jumps that Izuku had always admired. He owed everything he knew to Toshinori, but he owed Shouto for giving him opportunity.

Not like all these other skaters. They grew up skating, their family being a major part of their skating career, maybe even being their coach as well. Some were prodigies and didn’t even need to learn the basics, they just picked it up on their own. They had personal rinks and were able to practice every day. Izuku still had duties at the inn and wanted to support his mom as much as he could. The only rink was a twenty minute walk from his home, and it was often too cold to even do that.

There was no way he had the skill to make it. Even with Shouto’s help, this came down to his own skill, which was pitiful at best.

“You didn’t sleep again,” Shouto pointed out. He frowned at Izuku, shivering even though he was wearing a jacket. “We shouldn’t stay here.”

“I’m fine,” Izuku insisted. He couldn’t look at Shouto. He knew that those beautiful gray and blue eyes would be boring into him, the care and worry so strong Izuku wouldn’t be able to resist it. “I slept. I promise,” he lied, but he tried to keep his voice steady.

Shouto hummed in disapproval. “Okay.”

Shouto stood next to him, taut as he watched the first few routines with Izuku.

Izuku tried to calm his thoughts by doing small stretches and keeping his eyes away from the rink. But the noise of the announcer commenting on every flub and incomplete rotation heightened his panic further until he couldn’t keep up with his stretching and he just stood still, staring at a wall.

“Izuku,” Shouto muttered behind him, hand on his shoulder. Izuku couldn’t find the voice to respond. It was like it died in his lungs. “Izuku,” Shouto said again, more forcefully.

Izuku shook his head. “I can’t,” was all he could whisper.

“We’re going then, come on,” Shouto decided, tugging at Izuku’s arm. When Izuku’s legs stopped shaking finally, he was able to walk normally. Shouto’s arm stayed behind his back and he led him through the crowds and down to the basement of the rink.

They came upon the parking garage, and Izuku froze. “Why are we here?”

“You need to calm down. And being up there will do you no good.” Shouto stood in front of him, holding his shoulders still. “You’re shaking. Is there anything I can do for you?”

Izuku stared at the concrete ground. He clenched his fists and tried his hardest to hold back tears. “No. Not really.” His voice shook, his throat tight. This wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair to Shouto that he had to watch him like this. It wasn’t fair that Izuku was the one he got stuck with coaching. He could have chosen anyone much calmer and focused, but he got stuck with Izuku who was still horribly self-conscious and lacked the experience of everyone else. “Why are you even here with me?”

Shouto didn’t answer. He tightened his grasp on Izuku’s shoulders.

Then, the announcer stated the last skater’s score. It was high. There was no way that Izuku could come close to that, much less surpass it.

He couldn’t stop the tears.

Warm hands pressed over his ears and he looked up finally. Shouto was staring at him, lips pressed together tightly and his eyes big with worry. “Don’t listen.”

Izuku cried harder. His shoulders shook not only with the result of his panic attack, but also the tears that streamed steadily from his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I don’t know how to handle this, but it isn’t your fault.” Everything Shouto said was distant, but he could understand it. “You’re sure there’s nothing I can do? I could...kiss you? Would that be better?”

Izuku sort of wished he hadn’t heard that. Not now. What the hell was that supposed to mean? He grit his teeth in frustration.

He just shook his head and cried, “No, that’s not going to help! I just need you to stay here!” He shuddered through a sob and shook his head harder. “I just need you to stay with me, Shouto.”

“I don’t know if I can do that.”

What? Was he messing with Izuku now? “What do you mean?”

“If you don’t do well in this, that’ll reflect poorly on me. And my father. If that happens, I might as well resign as your coach.”

Izuku was sure Shouto was messing with him now. Unless Shouto really hated him and everything they’d been through in the past couple months was for nothing. That would be just like Izuku to falsely assume he was close to someone. Like how it had been with Kacchan. People were bound to ignore him in due time.

There was nothing Izuku could think to do beyond stare at Shouto. Shouto’s face was the same blank expression as always. “You’re messing with me. Why would you say something like that?”

Shouto didn’t confirm or deny it.

Izuku couldn’t hold back any more tears, they released all at once until he was sure he looked like a total disgusting mess of snot and tears. Every corner of his body shook with panic, grief, and disbelief. “You...you hate...me. Don’t you?” Izuku choked out.

“What? No, Izuku, that’s not what I meant. I don’t hate you at all.” Shouto took a hand away from Izuku and brushed his bangs in frustration. “I worded everything wrong. I don’t want you to cry anymore.”

“That...was the exact opposite of what I needed to hear.” Izuku almost laughed with how ridiculous what Shouto said was. “Just. Don’t say anything. Next time. Just stay there and listen. That’s all.”

Shouto nodded, his faint, soft smile returning. “Okay. I got it. I’m sorry.”

Izuku wrapped his arms around Shouto carefully. His tears soaked into Shouto’s thick jacket, but he let it happen. “Promise you’re not going to leave me?” Izuku asked, his voice thick still from crying.

Shouto sighed, and with it came a small laugh. “I won’t leave. That was stupid of me to say.”

---

Izuku’s eyes still hurt from crying and his nose was raw from rubbing it with tissues. He was up next, and it took all he had to calm his nerves and steady his breathing.

Shouto stood behind the wall of the rink, handing Izuku another tissue to wipe the remaining moisture from his face. When he was about to hand it back, he thought of a way to get Shouto back for the stupid thing he said. Instead of dropping it into Shouto’s gloved hand, he dropped it a few inches from the wall, where Shouto had to bend down to stop it from falling onto the ice.

That left his head open, Izuku poked at the part in the middle, where it was split between red and white, and before Shouto could bring his head up, he ran fingers through the red side. It was soft and silky, just as he’d expected.

Shouto brought his head up and scowled at Izuku. The culprit stuck his tongue out and turned to skate to the center of the rink.

Izuku took another deep breath. The ice was scraped up from the other skaters before him, but it still glistened beautifully. He focused on the sparkling surface as he got into his starting pose. The music started, quiet and calm at first, slowly picking up speed. Izuku focused on what each shift meant to him, and made his way through the first movements with ease.

Maybe I can change it up a bit. Shouto won’t expect it if I add more jumps.

It was a stupid idea, but Izuku had always been chock full of stupid ideas that made their way to real life before they could stew in his head. He didn’t know which was more dangerous, an idea that sat too long, or one that couldn’t be thought through enough before he pursued it.

He was impulsive, so it was always the latter.

He would add Shouto’s signature move to the end of his performance. It was arguably the most difficult jump he’d ever seen, but if he were to ever be able to live up to Shouto’s legacy, he had to try it. Shouto couldn’t be the only one able to surprise the audience.

The second half came, and Izuku’s heart was beating fast. His palms were sweaty and the stinging of his eyes worsened. He was losing focus, but he had to try still.

First were the planned jumps. He flubbed one, he totally fell during another.

Well, shit.

He made it through the second to last one before he replaced the last with the difficult move. He looked over to where Shouto was standing and watching with his hands pressed against the wall, leaning forward. He looked nervous.

Izuku smiled at him before he readied himself for the jump, his knees shaking again and his whole body tense with anticipation; both of which were absolutely horrible for what he was about to attempt.

Once he made it into the air, he closed his eyes and tried to keep his rotations going, but once he landed a foot on the ice again, he lost his balance and almost toppled over. But he hadn’t totally fell.

The audience erupted in recognition and awe. The announcer went wild with describing what Izuku had just attempted, but he couldn’t pay attention to it all. He grit his teeth and continued through the last pieces of footwork to finish off the routine. He was out of breath, but at least this part was easy. He’d see Shouto’s reaction when he finished, he just had to wait.

The music finished off with a flourish and he posed, his arm extended toward Shouto, whose eyes were wide and cheeks flushed. Izuku breathed heavily, not able to move for a second, but once he figured out what was going on, and that he could move again, he began skating toward where Shouto was.

Shouto also started moving, making his way to the entrance and actually stepping on the ice before Izuku made it over.

“I did good right?” Izuku cried out, hoping with every part of his body that Shouto was happy and not upset with him. He really could never tell.

Shouto didn’t say anything but launched himself forward, toward Izuku, his arms wrapping around Izuku’s back. But it wasn’t a hug, like Izuku had expected.

Before Izuku was completely knocked back onto the ice, Shouto’s eyes closed and his lips pressed against Izuku’s.

Holy shit.

Izuku was too confused and overwhelmed to also close his eyes and return what was apparently a kiss. He stared at Shouto’s gently closed eyelids instead as his back hit the ice.

Shouto pulled away and raised his body up with his hands. “That was surprising. This was the only thing I could to return the favor.”

Izuku stared at the man hovering over him, his eyes sparkling and his nose red from the cold of the ice and heat of the moment. Izuku stared for a while, his mouth open in awe. He couldn’t quite comprehend what had happened.

If there was any doubt in his mind that Shouto liked him, it disappeared right then.

“It worked,” Izuku breathed.

________________________________________________________________

Would you like your work to be featured in the 365 Days of TodoDeku Project? Apply here! (≧∇≦)/

[jenanigans1207]

Of Hands and Hips [Victuri]

   Hi. Since the Ice Adolescence trailer is dropping, I couldn’t resist writing this fic. So here you guys go, the Victuri Soul Mark AU that nobody asked me for!

--x--x--x--x 

Yuri sat next to Yuko on the benches just outside the rink, his skates half laced up on his feet. In front of them was the rink TV, airing an interview with his idol, Viktor Nikiforov, who had just won the gold medal in the winter Olympics. Yuri had been in the middle of donning his skates, preparing to go out on the ice and practice his most recent routine when he’d seen Viktor’s face on TV and gotten distracted. Yuko had all but tackled him as she dove onto the bench next to him, her hand gripping his forearm tightly as they stared, transfixed, at the screen. Her grip was almost painful but Yuri barely even registered it, his undivided attention on Viktor.

    “Viktor Nikiforov, the youngest gold medalist in history, how do you feel?” The interviewer asked, pressing the microphone closer to Viktor’s mouth so his answer could be heard.

    Viktor smiled his infamous smile, causing the crowd to erupt into cheers around him. Yuri could feel his own heartbeat triple at the sight. It was the same smile he had in all the posters that donned Yuri’s wall. It was the same smile Yuri was used to looking at— used to looking up to. His heart soared in his chest. “I feel incredible!”

    People were coming in from all sides to congratulate him, gripping his hand, patting him on the back and whispering in his ear. Yuri tried not to imagine what it would be like to be one of those people— tried not to think about how much he would give to be able to meet Viktor in person. Viktor smiled politely the entire time, always turning his attention back to the interviewer. In between congratulations, the interviewer managed to squeeze in a few more questions and Viktor answered them thoroughly. Yuri watched, enraptured, the entire time, his breath held.

    After the very last question had been answered, the interviewer reached out to shake Viktor’s hand. Viktor raised his hand to meet him in the middle, giving the camera a good look at the black soul mark that covered the entirety of his right palm. It had been rumored that he had one for years, but he’d done a good job of keeping it hidden by constantly wearing gloves so nobody was ever certain if it were true. It seemed the thrill of winning gold has caused him to go temporarily lax, something Yuri could understand. With a sudden gasp, the interviewer grasped Viktor’s wrist, pulling his hand up to look at it.

    “A soul mark! The rumors are true!” He flipped Viktor’s hand so it was facing the camera, ignoring the blush that tainted Viktor’s cheeks. It was the first time Yuri could ever recall seeing Viktor look anything other than perfectly composed— and he had seen every single interview Viktor had ever done. The blush somehow suited him even more than his infamous smile and Yuri had to fight to not reach a hand towards the screen. He wished he could have a picture of Viktor looking exactly like that— wide eyes, pink cheeks and parted lips— to add to his wall. “Who’s the lucky person?”

    It took a moment for Viktor to regain his composure, but when he did, the smile rose back to his lips. Yuri wondered how it came to him so easily, how he could possibly be so self-assured all the time. But then again, he was Viktor Nikiforov— young as he may be, he was already a world champion and the heartthrob of the entire population. It was probably easy to be confident when he constantly had people dropping at his feet and bending over backwards just to spend even a fleeting moment with him.

    “Nobody, yet.” Viktor said, throwing a wink at the camera for good effect.

    The breath Yuri had unintentionally been holding whooshed out of him in a rush. He turned his head to Yuko only to find her beaming back at him, her eyes as wide as saucers. The interview continued on but Yuri wasn’t paying attention anymore. Yuko jumped up from her seat, gripping both of his hands in hers and yanking him up off the bench, completely ignoring his untied laces. Before she even said anything, Yuri could tell by her grin that she was thinking the same thing he was, even if it was a ridiculous thought.

    “Can you believe it? Viktor hasn’t found his soulmate yet! That means it could still be anyone! It could even be you!” She cried, pulling him through the stumbling steps of an awkward dance. “Yuri! You could be Viktor’s soulmate!”

    Yuri tried not to take her words to heart, tried not to let his hopes skyrocket. Just because he, too, had a soul mark— something that was relatively rare, as it were— didn’t mean anything. They were talking about Viktor Nikiforov, living legend. There was absolutely no way Yuri would ever meet him, let alone be his soulmate. The idea was beyond absurd. And yet, as Yuko let go of his hands, Yuri couldn’t stop his hand from drifting to his own soul mark, situated just above his left hip.

—

    The rays of light stream lazily into Yuri’s room, illuminating the room in a soft haze that makes everything feel magical. Yuri blinks against the light, letting his eyes focus on the man in bed next to him. Viktor looks peaceful in his sleep, silver hair splayed out around him like a halo on the pillow. Yuri still isn’t used to this— isn’t used to waking up in the mornings to a literal angel beside him, isn’t used to the way his heart swells in response to seeing Viktor first thing. There’s a comfort in the way Viktor’s chest rises and falls softly next to him and in the warmth that spreads across the small bed and envelops Yuri. He would happily stay in bed with Viktor all day, curled into his chest, head tucked under his chin. He can’t imagine a more perfect day.

    But then, the remnants of the memory that had come to him in his dreams cling to the corners of his mind, bringing him down from his high. He glances at Viktor’s right hand, the soul mark like dark ink coating his palm. It’s stark against Viktor’s pale skin and Yuri’s white sheets, making him come crashing back to reality. His mornings with Viktor seemed too good to be true because they were. The truth of the matter, the one that Yuri did his best to deny at all times, was that Viktor likely belonged to someone else. They had never touched soul marks— Yuri had never even told Viktor that he had one— but it didn’t matter. He was Viktor Nikiforov, five time world champion. He was miles, lightyears, galaxies out of Yuri’s league and there was no chance that their soul marks would match. Yuri had considered testing it, just to put himself out of his misery but he knew he wouldn’t be able to stand the pain. He knew it would force him to finally give Viktor up and he wasn’t ready to do that. So he chose to keep his own mark hidden, chose to keep the illusion going longer, to hold on, foolishly, to that secret hope.

With a slight sigh, Yuri slides out of bed, careful not to wake Viktor. He feels Viktor stir and watches as he reaches a hand to Yuri’s now vacated side of the bed, his heart constricting at the sight. More than anything he wants to crawl back into the warmth and to ignore the world around them, but he doesn’t. Instead, he heads to his closet, drawing out a shirt for the day. Yuri’s silver medal hangs on the corner of the full length mirror next to his closet and it catches his eye as it glints in the early morning light. He reaches out to it, carefully tracing his fingers around the edges and glancing back at Viktor in the mirror. His heart feels heavy in his chest as he glances between the two, realizing that Viktor would be taken from him any day now and he would never get to provide him with the gold medal he desired.

In a futile attempt to stem the sad thoughts that were overwhelming him, Yuri yanks his shirt over his head, tossing it into his closet. He turns to the bed, reaching for his new shirt that he had deposited on the edge, only to come face to face with an awake— albeit sleepy— Viktor. Viktor is beautiful at all times of the day, but Yuri loves him the most in the morning when his edges seem to be blurring with the sunrise, making him look ethereal. There’s something about how soft he looks when only half awake that Yuri finds irresistible.  

“Good morning,” Yuri says casually, trying to keep any sadness from leaking into his voice.

Viktor smiles sleepily in response, reaching up to rub at his tired eyes. “Mornin’”

A part of Yuri wants to reach out and brush the stray strands of bangs out of Viktor’s face, but the rest of him fights against the desire. He wants to indulge himself as much as he can, knowing that someday it will end, but he doesn’t want to willingly break his own heart. Instead, he settles for smiling down at Viktor, “How did you sleep?”

Viktor doesn’t immediately answer and, just as Yuri is about to ask him if something is wrong, he realizes why. Viktor’s gaze isn’t focused on Yuri’s face, instead he is looking intently at Yuri’s waist— more specifically, his left hip. Viktor starts to reach for him, for the soul mark that he’s just seeing for the first time, but Yuri scrambles backwards, snatching his shirt off the edge of the bed and hastily pulling it over his head. He can feel the questions and disappointment swirling together in Viktor’s gaze, but he tries to ignore them. He’s not ready to have his heart broken, not yet.

Surprisingly, Viktor doesn’t address the topic, and Yuri is able to let out a breath. Instead, in a somber voice, he says, “You ready to start training today? It’s finally time for us to work on our lifts.”

After the Grand Prix, Viktor and Yuri had agreed to skate a duet routine. Yuri wasn’t exactly sure who had brought it up or why he’d agreed— skating alongside Viktor was both his biggest dream and his biggest fear— but their competition was coming up soon and they had no time to waste. The training had gone well to date, Yuri felt significantly more comfortable around Viktor now than he had a year ago when they’d met. That was only reasonable, of course, but it still helped a lot. Plus, he absolutely wouldn’t complain about spending his day at his favorite place with his favorite person.

“I guess we can’t delay it any longer, huh?” Yuri strived to sound casual but he knew his voice was a little pinched.

Viktor sat up in bed, the covers falling off of his torso and pooling around his waist. In the past Yuri would’ve tried not to look at his bare torso, too embarrassed to get caught, but time changes everything. Yuri doesn’t nothing to hide his gaze as he glances down at Viktor’s chest, as he watches Viktor throw the covers off and climb out of bed in just a pair of sweatpants. He glances up at Viktor’s face as he stretches, able to read his train of thought through his eyes. Yuri steps away from the closet, keeping enough distance in between them that Viktor can’t “accidentally” brush along Yuri’s hip.

With a resigned sigh, Viktor dresses quickly, pulling a hoodie on last. He pulls the hood up as they head out the door, protein bars in hand in lieu of breakfast. The hood pushes Viktor’s hair into his eyes and he reaches up casually to run his fingers through his hair, brushing it out of his eyes. Yuri feels his heart skip a beat at the sight of Viktor, in his casual but still well fitting clothes, running his hand casually through his hair and brushing the hood back off. Typically in the mornings they would jog to the rink, keeping in perfect step with one another, but today was just one of those days where they took the walk leisurely, occasionally bumping shoulders as they looked at the scenery around them.

They didn’t speak as they finished their walk to the rink, but the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. In the past, Yuri would have panicked in the quiet, but he was comfortable with Viktor now and was able to thrive with just his presence. He had grown a lot since he’d met Viktor, turned into the kind of person he’d always wanted to be. He’d gained confidence and a comfort in his own skin that he used to think was impossible. He had vowed, long ago, to never let the lessons Viktor had taught him go to waste. If— when, he tried to remind himself, but his heart wasn’t having it— he lost Viktor, he wasn’t going to fall back in on himself the way he had after his horrible debut at the Grand Prix Finals.

Just like it had been for the last year, the rink was empty when they entered. It had gained a huge amount of popularity after word had spread that it was Viktor and Yuri’s home base, but Yuko still refused anyone entry if it was a time when they needed it. Yuri was beyond grateful to her for her care and support over the years and swore that he’d pay her back someday. She insisted seeing him happy was enough and the skyrocketed popularity was an added bonus, but someday he was still going to do something extra special for her.

“How do you want to start?” Yuri finally breaks the silence around them as they finish lacing up their skates. Viktor looks more tense than usual, his shoulders hunched as he bends forward to tug his laces tighter in a motion that is so practiced he could do it in his sleep. “Start with the lifts? Or work on the choreography first?”

He watches as Viktor sits up and straightens his spine, finally settling his gaze onto Yuri. There’s something in the back of his eyes— nothing unkind, but something Yuri isn’t used to seeing— that sends a chill down his spine. “I think we need to do lifts. We haven’t practiced them at all yet.”

Yuri is so caught up in his thoughts over Viktor’s expression that he nearly stumbles as he steps onto the ice. He feels briefly like he’s been transported back a year— back to when he overthought everything. Viktor reaches for him easily and automatically, gripping his shoulder to steady him as he struggles to get his feet underneath him. Yuri’s cheeks flame as he sways, gripping Viktor back to help steady himself.

“S-sorry,” Yuri murmurs, ducking his head.

Viktor pulls him close, a hand finding its way to his cheek and tilting his head up. “Yuri, I think there’s something you’re not telling me.”

It’s not exactly a lie, but it’s not the full truth, either. Viktor knows there’s something Yuri isn’t telling him, he saw it stark against his skin earlier this morning. They both know what Viktor is referring to, but Yuri just pulls his head back and pushes away, gaining some distance between them. It was careless of him to have been shirtless in front of Viktor. He had been so careful for the last year to ensure that this sort of thing didn’t happen and he had gotten too comfortable.

In a desperate attempt to change the subject, Yuri insists they start working on their lifts. Viktor agrees, although hesitantly and Yuri rushes into it just to get their minds on something else. It isn’t until Viktor is reaching for him that he realizes exactly where his hand is required to go to properly do the lift. At the last moment Yuri turns, accidentally rolling himself out of Viktor’s grasp and tumbling to the ice. He hits it hard, right at Viktor’s feet. Frustrated and helpless, Yuri slams his hands into the ice. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go down. They had a competition to skate soon, this was not the time to lose Viktor.

“I’ll put my hand higher,” Viktor says softly, extending a hand down to Yuri. “If you’re that worried about it, I won’t touch it.”

Yuri looks up at Viktor, immediately feeling the tears prick in the corners of his eyes. He’ll never know what he did to be lucky enough to have Viktor in his life, to have Viktor caring for a looking after him. “Really?”

“If it’s that important to you,” Viktor agrees, hauling him to his feet.

A feeling of gratitude floods Yuri as he gets his feet back underneath him. He smiles gratefully at Viktor who, to his credit, does his best to smile back. Yuri knows it’s only a temporary fix and they’ll have to talk about it eventually but for the time being they can just focus on practicing. And that’s what they do. They practice lift after lift and Yuri falls a significant number of times but now it’s only because they’re getting their movements perfectly in sync, not because Yuri is dodging Viktor’s touch.

And then, on their final lift, it happens. Viktor is tiring out quickly, his stamina never being comparable to Yuri’s, and he’s struggling each time to lift Yuri as he’s supposed to. Still, he obliges when Yuri asks for one more. It goes well up until the midpoint and then, as he’s holding Yuri at the peak of the lift, hands bracketing just below his hips, the fatigue sets in and his grip slips. Yuri starts to drop through his hands but Viktor corrects it automatically, tightening his grip… right above Yuri’s hip bones. Yuri doesn’t even have a chance to panic before he feels a warm sensation under Viktor’s hand spreading out through the rest of his body.

He hears Viktor gasp underneath him as he sets him back on the ice, letting go immediately to look at his right hand. His eyes go wide as he raises them to meet Yuri’s gaze and Yuri can’t even believe what he’s seeing. In between the two of them, Viktor holds his hand, his usually black palm cycling through a series of colors. In disbelief, Yuri lifts the edge of his own T-shirt, exposing the handprint just above his left hip. It, too, cycles through color after color.

“Yuri…” Viktor breathes, immediately placing his hand back over Yuri’s exposed soul mark. “Yuri, you’re—”

The tears that had been in Yuri’s eyes before fall freely now, dripping down onto the ice. He watches the way Viktor’s hand lays over his soul mark, the way it’s a perfect match. He can feel the warmth associated with finding his soulmate spreading through every vein in his body.

“V-Viktor.” Yuri sobs, looking up into his face. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t have words to express that this is greater than every dream he’s ever had coming true. He would give up every gold medal in the world for this. He’d never skate again if it meant getting to wake up every morning to Viktor by his side. “We’re—”

Before he can finish his thought— not that he had any idea how he was planning on finishing it anyways— Viktor reaches up with his left hand and hooks his fingers under Yuri’s chin, pulling him forward until their lips collide in the middle. Fireworks go off inside of Yuri and he knows immediately that this is the best feeling he will ever experience in his entire life. Standing on the podium holding a gold medal up to the crowd could never even come close to touching this feeling.

As they pull apart, Yuri realizes that Viktor, too, is crying. His hand tightens around Yuri’s hip, pulling him until they’re flush together. “Yuri, we’re soulmates,” He finally breathes and the words barely even sound real. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Viktor, you know who you are, right?” Yuri says, hiccupping a laugh through his tears. “You’re the heartthrob of the entire world and you expected me to think that I would be your soulmate? Me?”

“Of course it’d be you, Yuri.” Viktor says, threading his fingers into Yuri’s hair and drawing their foreheads together. “It couldn’t possibly be anybody else. For the last year, I’ve been thinking my soul mark was a mistake because it was so clearly you that I was meant to spend the rest of my life with and you didn’t seem to have a mark of your own.”

Yuri could feel the heat rush to his cheeks and down his neck. “How can you say that?”

“I’ve told you before, my life had no purpose until I met you.” Viktor had always been one to lay his heart out openly and it never ceased to amaze Yuri. Still, it had never cut to Yuri’s heart quite as directly as it did now. He reached up and brushed his thumb across Viktor’s cheek, wiping away the tears. “And now my life has a purpose forever.”

As Yuri pulls Viktor down into another kiss to seal that promise, he can’t help but think about how surreal his life is. He went from idolizing Viktor to knowing him, to loving him and now he can say with absolute certainty that he gets to keep loving Viktor every day for the rest of his life. They pull apart a moment later, forced to go back to practicing but suddenly the pressure of the competition isn’t so strong. With Viktor— his soulmate— by his side, there’s no doubt that they’ll sweep the competition and every other obstacle life throws their way.